Archive by Author

Idea Sun Bursting

2 Aug

998859_10101022944318365_1714645282_n

 

4.30.13

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

 

Verb

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.

Tags:

Ode to a Stray Hair

31 Jul

At first I was like, “Is this my life now? Should I really publish a poem about a stray hair?” and then I remembered that I published a poem about a squeaky bra and also that this is my place to play with poesy and post photos and do what I please. So there.

____________________________________

A stray chin hair after the storm

A stray chin hair after the storm

 

O, stray hair! An insult
to time, thou art most unwelcome
upon mine chin or stomach or ample bosom
or wherever you decide to pop up next.

You are at your worst when coarse,
dark in shade,
and when my boyfriend is first
to recognize your sneaky, hideous violation.

Be gone, darkling, I beg!
Dissolve into the forest dim,
for I have enough hair, already experience
plenty of awkwardness–

and need not your further assistance.

Tags: , , ,

Hot and Bothered

18 Jul

At 4 pm today, right when I get off work, it will be 98° with a heat index of 110°. Today is one of those days I fully regret not buying a house with central air conditioning. I know, I know–I shouldn’t be complaining, but I’m hot. Like, really hot. If you were inside my shirt or pants, you would understand.

Humidity and thick heat get me really worked up, people, and it isn’t even the good kind. As the temperature rises, I feel a pressure build inside of me that when at its zenith, may actually result in me screaming at and slapping everyone who tries to speak to me.

Also, it makes my hair frizzy and my body sweaty. Sure, cold water will keep me hydrated, but it doesn’t stop the sweating of my heaving, voluptuous bosom. I’m sweating at this very moment and wearing white today and I swear that if I bounced around and giggled unintelligently I could win all the spring break wet t-shirt contests right about now.

And my hindquarters? Just fucking forget about it. If my posterior portion’s climate equals that of a rain forest, you men must feel like you’re in the pits of hell with all that body hair. Seriously, your butts must be so uncomfortable with all that swamp ass. My respect goes out to you, fine sirs.

So anyway, instead of working today I found a few cool things on the internets that might help and I wish I had invented all of them so I could afford a house with central air. If you have more ideas, please feel free to comment and save the world from my T&A issues!

 

First of all, there’s this USB butt cooling cushion:

buttcool

 

and then there’s butt cooling cream that cyclists use:

2696

 

and ladies, there’s cooling cream for your boobs, too. Nursing women use it, but sweaty girls can too, and probably those dudes with man boobs:

300

 

and finally,”My Breast Friend” cooling pads that go inside your bra:

517-9f70v6L

Tags: , , ,

Summer Fun for Poorish People

9 Jul

Is it hot? Are you kind of poor? Do you want to have fun outside AND cool down at the same time? If you can’t join a pool, go on vacation or live somewhere that is currently experiencing winter, I have the solution!

Here is what you’ll need (4-6 are key, folks):

1. A really good sprinkler.

2. Blow up pool.

3. Grapefruit, orange or cranberry juice.

4. Vodka.

5. An imagination.

6. No dignity at all whatsoever (not to be confused with “No Diggity”– the song by Blackstreet ft. Dr. Dre and Queen Pen).

Okay, so the rest is pretty self-explanatory. Go ahead and blow up the pool, hook that sprinkler up to a hose, mix juice with vodka (or don’t…), put on a bathing suit (or don’t…WINK), sit in the blow up pool while the sprinkler sprays you, get hella tipsy, close your eyes and imagine you’re anywhere but the yard. You’re welcome. Oh, and don’t forget sunscreen. I use the kind with sparkles because it makes me shimmer and my neighbors are probably all “ooooh” and “aaaaah” about it.

Photographic summary:

51i75k2NGZL._SX385_

+

1000947_58484EP_A_400    

+

 danzka-vodka

+

tumblr_makp3xmqBt1qiokl3o1_500

= Yay! 

Tags: ,

Katie Couric: Part 2

23 Jun

You may remember part one of the Katie story when I explained that a producer read my blog and had me on the show. The post she read was about the funny, ridiculous stuff I did while taking the sleeping medication Ambien during the first semester of my freshman year at college. I had little to no memory of the experiences and my poor roommate, Kelli, would have to tell me all about it the next day. Luckily, unlike the woman who appears with me in the segment,  nothing bad happened to me while on the medicine.

So anyway, the producer read the post and said I was cute and funny and in my head I had a little party because it’s not every day that a producer of anything ever calls me “cute” or “funny.” Hell, it’s not every day that a producer calls me at all, so I was pretty much simultaneously peeing and pooping my pants with happiness. One of my proudest moments was when she saw me in the green room on the day we taped and announced loudly, “Thheeerre’s my little hobbit looover!” causing me to guffaw nervously as the other guests appearing on the show curiously stared at me. Ugh, I am turning red just thinking about it.

The episode airs Monday on ABC at 4pm EST. Watch the show if you want to see me on TV in my pajamas…most likely being awkward. I’m in the second segment. Also, keep in mind that after we taped, my boyfriend and I had to carry life-size cardboard hobbits through the streets of NYC. Yes, they will be on the show. Yes, I’m a nerd… but I guess you knew that already.

 

1274

Tags: , ,

Lorie the Lesbian

11 Jun

Once upon a time there lived six lesbian artists in the pink townhouse down the street from me.

I was invited over for a birthday party, which also happened to be a clothing swap and a potluck of foods made only with beets because they were all on a beet diet.

It was a hot, humid day and their air conditioning and shower were both broken, so upon entering the house one was immediately slapped in the face by a putrid scent that I can only describe as “men’s locker room.” I wasn’t there to judge anyone for being stinky, though. I was there to celebrate a birthday and sweat while eating a beet cake.

The birthday girl, Lorie, wore a superman shirt, bike shorts and red sparkly pumps that matched the color of her hair.

For her birthday, she received a tandem bike, a hat and a painting of her own vagina. The painting was given to her by a roommate who had a mustache and wore thick glasses, yellow pants and rainbow suspenders. Now knowing what Lorie looked like under those bike shorts, I wished I had purchased her a gift certificate for a wax. Then again, all the ladies there were quite hairy in general and I, the hairless Sphynx of the room, was the outcast.

The only reason I was invited to the party was because she and my boyfriend at the time were great friends. There was a portrait of her that hung above our bed that she drew of herself, which I found quite odd. When we first moved in together I asked him to take it down, but he said I was being silly. “It’s just art,” he said.

About a month later, I found hidden, recent photos of her in lingerie. Apparently those were “just art,” too. Whatever they were, I ended up burning them at a beach bonfire and told him it was for “artistic purposes.” He didn’t find that very funny.

We broke up a couple of months later, I guess due to artistic differences, and soon I bought my own house.

Two years later, I was sitting on my front porch when the pair rode by my house on the tandem bike she got for her birthday. When they saw me they waved in unison and she dinged the little bike bell with wild abandon. I waved back sarcastically and spent the rest of the day with the below song in my head. I often wonder where she hung that painting of her own vagina.

 

Tags: , , ,

Fuck you, Texas lawmakers

7 Jun

Madame Weebles has a few comments for the Lone Star State. Cheers.

Madame Weebles's avatarFear No Weebles

By now I’m sure many of us have heard about this travesty of justice, in which a Texas man was found not guilty of murdering an escort. Under Texas law, a person is justified in the use of deadly force to recover property stolen as part of a nighttime theft—in this case, the theft of $150 that the escort allegedly took from the defendant. This is just one of the many What the Fuck laws on the books in the Lone Star State. Hence, the rant that follows…

————————————————————————————————————————–

So Ezekiel Gilbert has been acquitted. Phew, you boys must be so relieved. How tragic it would have been to incarcerate a perfectly good white man merely for the cold-blooded murder of a woman…a non-white woman who was working as an escort. Interestingly, another Texas man, who happens to be black, was sentenced to 50 years in prison for possession…

View original post 694 more words

History of Taco Tuesday

4 Jun

In my new religion, today is an important day. It is both my duty and pleasure to share the history of this sacred holy day with the community (just imagine that Andrew of Shut Up Dad and I am at your front door and you answer and Andrew hands you an informational pamphlet and NO your passive aggressive huffing and puffing won’t get us to hurry…so listen up).

It began long ago on a Tuesday when the mists of light arose through the darkness to animate and bring purpose to the First Meeting of the First Man and First Woman at Chi Chi’s…many years prior to the Mexican restaurant’s fatal hepatitis A outbreak. As I recall, I had a birthday party there in 1993 which involved a little birthday song that rhymed “birthday” with “olé” and then they gave my fat ass some free fried ice cream and a sombrero that I still own. No one even gives out free sombreros anymore, it’s so disappointing.

I digress. Apologies.

So anyway, the First Man and First Woman went to Chi Chi’s. Unto them many tacos and margaritas were served, which assisted in joyous conversation and a fine First Meeting. Thus, the First Man and First Woman celebrated, for this was a day the food gods had made, and it was good.

The two felt a spiritual connection, one likely brought on by the warmth of the western wind…or maybe just the excess of margaritas…perhaps both. Regardless, it led them back to his place.

Shortly after they arrived, a Mayan drum song began to play out of nowhere and kissing stuff happened and soon even touching stuff happened, too. Even though the First Woman’s mother insisted that all women who sleep with men upon the First Meeting are dirty little hussies and trollops, the two spent the night together as one in bliss. This ignited an eternal fire–it’s light was the mind’s first awakening.

A wolf’s howl can be heard every Tuesday at 10:32 pm as a symbolic reminder of this magical occurrence.

In remembrance, we are called to worship on this spicy Sabbath day through taco and/or margarita consumption, writing poetry and making sweet, sweet love with a consenting partner (or hand) while playing the video below because of the intense passionate music mixed and wolf pictures.

Seriously, if nothing else, do it to the video/song. The sounds of your love-making will reverberate off the rooftops, I promise.

Anyway, have a happy, safe Taco Tuesday!

 

Tags: , , ,

La La’s Relationship Advice Column

22 May

Yesterday on Facebook I asked for people to submit questions to me about relationships. I’ve always secretly wanted an advice column in the newspaper and I thought this would give me a chance to try it out.

I am splitting this up into two posts, so don’t fret if your question is not answered below.

Here we go.

 

1. Why do I always have to brush my teeth before kissing my wife? 

Here’s the deal. Boys are stinky pretty much all the time and we women have to deal with it and that’s okay because we love you. So you’re walkin’ around stinkin’ it up like Pig-Pen from Charlie Brown while us gals smell like beautifulness and angel nectar because we never poop or sweat. It’s true, we don’t do either of those things. So, you have to brush your teeth before you kiss your wife because she has to smell your putridness all the time–should she really have to taste it, too?

 

2. Does the carpet always match the drapes?

When you think about it, if the carpet always matched the drapes, most women would have bald heads or mohawks. Some women would have pubic highlights that would end up looking like stripes. If this were the 70’s, we would all have afros. Actually, that would be really funny. So, in conclusion, the answer is no, the carpet doesn’t always match the drapes, but it would be funny if this were the 70’s and we all had afros. Haha, and oh my god, “disco balls” would play and active role in my sexual vocabulary.

 

3. Is it sweet or perverted that my husband signs his notes and cards to me: “Your Love Muscle”….

WELL, if nothing else, he’s a sneaky wordsmith because we don’t know if he’s referring to his heart or his penis. Very clever indeed, good sir. Is he a husband in love or a husband in lust? We’ll never know for certain, but I’m going to say it’s probably both and that he’s a sweet pervert, just to keep you on your toes.

 

4. My boyfriend doesn’t want to get busy as much as I do. He thinks a dozen or so times a week is fine, but that’s barely enough to get my motor running. What’s the best way to get him to perform his boyfriendly duties to my satisfaction?

I recently faced this same issue. My suggestion is that you dress up as things that guys like–perhaps a food item like chips, for example. Guys love chips. I personally chose to take a bath in whiskey and dress up as football running back Marshawn Lynch and this nearly tripled my weekly sexy time encounters. I yelled, “touchdown!” at the good part, too. He liked that.

 

5. How do I get my boyfriend to propose to me? We’ve talked about it and he says he has a plan, but it hasn’t happened yet!

There are a few simple things you can do that will get him on his knee in no time:

1. Do nice things to his manly bits. Tune his horn…if you know what I mean. Don’t make me say it.

2. Fine. Blowjays. There. I said it.

3. Be passive aggressive about the fact that he’s taking his sweet ass time. Men love that.

 

6. How should I ask my girlfriend to marry me?

It’s hard to think of something original, I know. I think you should surprise her by bursting through the bathroom door while she’s sitting on the toilet and just hand it to her. What a delightful surprise! She will never expect it! (The lady in question 5 can go ahead and roll her eyes because question 6 has nothing to do with her…of course).

 

I hope I was able to offer helpful advice today. I will be back next week to answer more of your questions! In the mean time, please feel free to ask me anything in the comments below!

Tags: , , , ,

The First Time

9 May

When I got home from work, my puppy Porter was in the window wagging his big fluffy tail. Dane was sitting on the couch, watching a documentary on the History Channel. I changed my clothes and we went to Zen West Roadside Cantina to celebrate Cinco de Mayo with sangria.

He had fish tacos for dinner and I had a quesadilla. We talked about little things of no importance and recalled the loud, old Jewish couple sitting in front of us at the Mary Poppins production we saw the night before. He was good at imitating them and it made me laugh so hard. I remember where we were sitting in the restaurant and the little kid running in circles who repeatedly played the same, really annoying song on the jukebox while his mom and dad completely ignored him. I don’t recollect what song it was now, but it was spinning in my tipsy head as I tried to fall asleep later that night.

Back at my house, we drank wine and watched a show that was saved on the DVR. Porter chased his tail and we laughed. Dane suggested that he was just like that kid at the restaurant, really, except fluffy. He adored Porter. He was mad when I first rescued him because he didn’t want a dog, but as you can see, he fell in love with him pretty quickly:

 

Screen Shot 2013-05-08 at 3.56.40 PM

 

When it was time for bed, Dane cuddled with me for a bit before heading to his room. He said he was happy things were going well with us (we had fought in the months prior) and we made plans to see each other when I was back home from house sitting on May 9th.

The next morning, he came in early and kissed my forehead before he left. I glanced at him through squinting, sleepy eyes as the sun poured through the sneaky cracks in the blinds, directly on my pillow.

That was the last time I saw him.

We emailed a bit that week and he called on the 8th to say he wasn’t feeling well. He had heartburn. I told him to get some TUMS.

“Thanks, good idea,” he replied, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

That was the last time we spoke.

I’ll never forget a single moment.

The memories we had together and his passing are a constant reminder of the beauty and fragility of breath and life. One year ago, this propelled me out of my routine stillness. It was like an awakening from the numbness of the patient etherized upon a table in T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock.”

Grateful and inspired, the months that followed sparked the first time I truly began to live.

Tags: , ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →