Archive | August, 2013

Embarrassing Stories

29 Aug

I love that people feel like they can share anything with me. Usually I’m asked to critique poetry, lend an ear, offer an opinion or give honest advice, but my VERY favorite thing is when someone gives me the gift of an embarrassing story.

I know when one’s coming because the person always starts off, “Oh my God, I could never tell anyone else this, but…” and in my head I’m like YES, I should take a bathroom break and grab some popcorn because this is going to be a masterpiece. It usually is, and whether your pants split, you threw up on someone during oral sex or got caught pooping down the chimney of your ex-wife, I’ll never judge, so I understand why people turn to me.

I got permission to share one story from today. Grab a snack, people–this is good.

A girl I know went out on a first date with a guy she had a crush on for years. They went to school together for 12 years, but she was too shy to say anything to him because he was a popular jock and she hadn’t grown into her nose yet and was in the poetry club (been there, sister).

Recently, they began working for the same company. She was surprised when he remembered her and was motherfrigging thrilled a week later when he asked her on a date. She had a new dress to wear, the weather was nice and they went to dinner and had a few drinks and it was perfect blah blah blah.

It was as though she had won the nerdy, hopeless romantic high school kid jackpot, right?

So anyway, he drove her home after the best date ever and when he leaned in to kiss her…she farted.

She farted right when their lips touched, in a silent car, and not only did it sound like a balloon asking a question, but also managed to be the most putrid stench of all the stenches that have ever exited butts.

He laughed so hard through his nose that snot flew out, directly into her mouth. Then, she started laughing hard and farted again and while they both were laughing, she was so embarrassed that she decided to just get out and walk away.

She doesn’t expect to hear from him again, but you never know.

If you have a story that tops this, dear god, please share it. Otherwise, everyone, you’re welcome. Enjoy the rest of your day.


Sean Rants

26 Aug

I’ve been busy with a few things, so today I am turning this space over to my boyfriend Sean, who apparently drank a lot of coffee this morning and had a few things to get off his chest. A little bit about him…Sean is a talented graphic designer and Marine Corps veteran. Also, I think he’s super cute.


Sometimes I like to divulge in a fresh cup of coffee loaded with sugar and creamer, open up my laptop, and rant about whatever’s on my mind. This usually happens around eight-thirty in the morning, right after I’ve awoken from my melatonin-induced coma. I’ll sip that cup of coffee, check my e-mail, click around and read the news before eventually letting my fingers whirl about the keyboard as they relay the thoughts which fly about my caffeinated head. Maybe I’ll leave a clever post on Facebook which I spent five minutes conjuring up, only to delete it thirty seconds later because I didn’t like the way it sounded. I might also Tweet something that I instantly trash because I hate Twitter and only kept the account activated because I won tickets to The Colbert Report last week because of a Tweet they liked about the Golden Girls and now they follow me–a moment that is now in my top ten list of thing’s I’m proud of, right next to the time I got third place in Carnival Cruise’s “Hairiest Chest Competition,” which included being in a conga line with a woman who taped her husband’s hair on her chest to compete. You can’t make that shit up. Fuckin’-A, that caffeine is kicking in.
So anyway, I figured I would give the caffeine rant a shot on Lauren’s blog–it’s longer than 140 characters and I’ll spare everyone on my newsfeed from seeing me post six revisions of the same thing. Today’s topic: 
Top Three Caffeine-Fueled Music-Related Complaints Of The Month.

1. We get it, overzealous music enthusiast at the local dive bar who played the Old Crowe Medicine Show version of “Wagon Wheel” on the jukebox. You like the original song, compared to the new Darius Rucker rendition. We get it. We get the fact that you’re so well-rehearsed and have such a database of music that you went in the backlog files of your elitist brain and wanted to show-off your knowledge and vast taste in a song made in 2004 and get all cocky about it and look around in the sea of people and feel liberated and high and mighty that you were the one who chose to enlighten our pathetic brains that Darius Rucker was not the creator of that song and that it was, in fact, Old Crowe Medicine Show. Well, fuck you. I don’t care. I like Darius’ version better. He’s a cool dude who had some of the cast from ‘Duck Dynasty’ in his video and drove around in an old truck and yeah the video is kind of stupid because they just drive around in an old truck, but I don’t care. I like the song. I don’t care about Old Crowe or their fucking Medicinal Show. I’m sure they’ve got some other good songs. I’m sure they’re a good band. I’m sure I’ll download their shit off of Pirate Bay in the next twenty minutes and like it, but shut up.
2. Next? Radiohead. I hate Radiohead. There, I said it. A cat in a litter box could compose the same moans and groans over instrumentals and keyboard beats. I don’t like listening to a band who blatantly tries to make me feel inferior while listening to them. Their interviews make me want to punch a small bird. I don’t care about your depression. I get depressed. I get anxiety. It comes and goes. It’s good to talk about it, it’s good to relate about it, but I don’t need to hear you whine about it in multiple songs of self-pity or sorrow, Thom Yorke. Even your name is pretentious, buddy. Thom with a fucking “H”? Get out. Just GET OUT. I don’t have anything against the fans of Radiohead, to each their own, I just can’t stand the band. I could make a Radiohead song in four minutes; open up the Garage Band App, choose a bunch of depressing noises, then moan and groan for ten hours while sounding like I am high on Oxycontin. Next.
3. Lastly, for some reason we tried to give pop culture another try, so we watched The MTV VMAs that aired last night. We watched only ten minutes before I had to slap myself and take a whippit of Glade potpourri in attempt to erase what I saw. First off, Betty Ford must be rolling over in her grave. Whoever can go back in time and stop Billy Ray Cyrus from fornicating 20 years ago and producing the attention-whore we now know as “Miley,” should automatically get a Nobel Peace Prize and be bathed in riches and gold for the rest of their lives. My God. And hey, apparently Beetlejuice was summoned last night by the one and only Robin Thicke. He looked like a sleazy Michael Bublé knockoff who just slipped a date-rape drug in a middle-aged woman’s cocktail at a Palm Springs nightclub. His wife must have enjoyed witnessing a party-crazed Miley grinding on her husband’s NFL referee pants. A couple rappers also joined on stage to participate in the visual regurgitation that took place, so let’s talk about that for a minute. Apparently the term “rapper” is very loosely defined these days. I suppose anyone with nothing to say can get a record deal in that industry. Since the show took place in Brooklyn, New York City, I also feel horrible for all the 80’s & 90’s rappers who worked hard to build up the once-respected, street-credibility-thriving borough which was once home to the legendary Notorious B.I.G. Quite a lot has changed Brooklyn’s image since then.
The morning after the VMAs, Brooklyn awoke in Robin Thicke’s hotel room and did the walk of shame down hipster-populated streets. Gone were the echoes of pride once found in L.L. Cool J’s “I represent Queens, she was raised out in Brooklyn.” No more were The Beastie Boys to be found, taking pride in getting “No Sleep till Brooklyn.” She strolled to Starbucks, ordered a mocha latte and sat down, putting on her sunglasses to hide the shame. Then, to add insult to injury, a coked-out Miley Cyrus noticed her and sat down at the end table with her, bantering about last night’s after party. MTV had ruined a lot of things. This time, they ruined Brooklyn.

Phew. The End.

Doin’ Da Butt

7 Aug

I was a shy, lonely child who had two imaginary friends, a mermaid named Adonna and a turtle named Turtle. They lived in the sewer. Every day during the summer, I would ride down our suburban street in my hot pink helmet on my little hot pink bike to the sewer drain and call down to them. I never actually saw them because it was dark in there, but we definitely chatted and sang songs (and don’t worry, you guys–when I finally made real friends, I helped Adonna and Turtle get back to the ocean. They’re wild and deserve to be free, after all).

When I got home from seeing them, I’d grab a snack and head to the basement to play school with stuffed animals or listen to music on my brother’s record player. I didn’t own many records, but I did have a few. One of best was “Mickey Mousercise,” which was basically Disney characters singing and doing aerobics for kids. It came with lyrics and silly moves you could do, such as the Tweedledee and Tweedledum example below.




Another I enjoyed was a collection of songs for children. It included one song with the lyrics, “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I’ll go eat worms. Big fat juicy ones, itty bitty slimy ones, oh how they wiggle and squirm.” Appropriate for any awkward child to sing, no?



Guess I’ll go eat worms…


As much as I loved mousercising and singing about being a loser, neither of those records took precedence over my ultimate favorite, the single “Da Butt” by EU. I’m not sure how I even acquired it, but once I did, that song was played over and over and the kid you see above was doin’ da butt until a state of exhaustion…or bath time, whichever came first.  It’s an amazing song AND they say the word “butt,” which was funny as shit because I was a kid.

Okay…maybe it’s still funny. Yeah, it’s funny. Butts are funny.

So anyway, I revisited the song today and it performed magic upon mine ears and hindquarters, just as it did back then. I needed to share, of course.

Now, go ahead and allow yourself to fall under the spell of “Da Butt.”

You’re welcome.


How do you know when you need a vacation?

5 Aug

I knew last year when this happened.

Last night, my boyfriend and I were drinking margaritas out on my porch. As the sound of sirens and the ice cream truck jingle serenaded us in the distance, I asked him, “How do you know you when you need a vacation?”

“Uh..” he thought aloud for a moment, “having a wet dream of yourself on the beach in Tahiti, only to wake up to a wet dream.”

I laughed and shook my head. “I usually know when I find myself cussing at people on Facebook who post beautiful beach shots from their vacations because every place is effing lovely and I just want to go to there already but instead I’m stuck at work and the life is draining from my eyes and soon we’ll all be regretting not having more fun in our lives and then we’ll die.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be at the beach in one week,” he reminded me. Excited about that thought, we then went back and forth and made a list. Add to it!





How do you know when you need a vacation?

– When the only thing you can celebrate about today was that you pooped before your shower and a butt lint crisis was avoided.

– Your Google Search history at work from 9:30 am – 1:30 pm includes the words “sunsets, “beaches” and “beach sunsets.”

– You daydream in the grocery store for 20 minutes while people yell at you in line.

– You make a different beachy drink every night while listening to the Pandora station “Laid Back Beach Music” because if you’re drunk enough, you can “travel” anywhere.

– Camping in your backyard… which is full of cockroaches and rats.

– You spent 2+ hours skimming, holding back your trigger finger from booking a last-minute deal.

– You wear your bathing suit around the house and pretend you’re going back out on the beach any second now.

– When you hear a Jimmy Buffett song and want to punch him for living in a permanent vacation spot.

– You buy a baby pool so at least your dog and/or feet can get a vacation.

– You make your boyfriend watch “Beach Blanket Bingo” and you both enjoy it just a little too much.

– You look at Yelp reviews of various beach campsites.

– You buy key lime flavored everything as a means of channeling the Florida Keys.

– Everything seems to piss you off and you know you need a wave to knock you on your ass to keep you in check.

Idea Sun Bursting

2 Aug




Connecting the dots on his neck,
my lips making constellations
in the celestial sphere, exposed,
we smoothly spread in the vault of heaven



Some are lucky enough to
uproot, escape
the blind cacophony of
aahs and oohs,

and blend
freely, openly
into the Ultimate Verb


Eros, Philia and Agape

One soul, two bodies,
both with hopeful intensity
that transcends physical appetite.
My best friend, equal, alike in virtue,
we know passion without necessity of reciprocity.
Pure, this is love that consumes and surpasses all else.

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