Thursday, November 03, 2005

poetry, and stuff

so I've been writing poetry for my creative writing class. It's interesting. As long as I don't have to make stuff follow any particular form, I'm fine.

I don't know if it's any good, though.....

School sucks lately. I have TONS to do, presentation Tuesday, big psych project coming up. (freudian slip, I dunno, but I just typed psycho instead of psych).

My to-do list:
- finish editing soccer pics from last 2 games and upload to photoreflect.
- Call mother-in-law about babysitting tomorrow night
- lay out clothes for everybody for tomorrow
- have kiddo do his homework (can you believe kindergarteners have homework?!?!)
- start working on 20 minute literature presentation over Robert Browning's "Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister" - presentation is Tuesday afternoon.
- Friday: teach tech ed at AC all day.
- Swim practice, get everyone ready for first meet on Monday. learn how to use computer system and teach a parent to run it. Lineup and event cards need filled out. Make sure kids can actually swim their events. Upload registration info to USA Swimming.
- Pick up M from Grandma's, take him to MIL's house. Meet mom, go to Fort Wayne for poetry reading at the co-op for my creative writing class.
- clean the house
- clear out the rec room, get set up for photo shoot Sunday afternoon.
- work at Wal-Mart 4-10,
- party for JL and Virginia

I'm tired just typing all that.


I want to be a ninja

With orange hair.

We bought hair color in an aerosol can.

I cover my eyes;

Mom shakes the can and sprays.

It’s cold, and smells funny.

I run to the closet-door mirror

To see who I’ve become,

Strike my best ninja pose,

And threaten my reflection.



Bratwurst with mustard wrapped in foil

Licking caramel-apple stickiness from fingers

Old men in uniforms marching proudly

Wailing sirens, flashing lights

Gloves and hats and winter coats

Marching bands dressed like zombies,

Monsters, fairies, and cats

Horses and riders dressed alike

Children racing to gather candy

Cacophony of sounds, smells, and sights.



Last week I bought a new car.

I haven’t yet driven it far.

But soon comes the snow,

And then I will know

If my vehicle’s now up to par.

Today I raked leaves with my son.

We jumped and had lots of fun.

But the wind is now blowing,

The leaf pile is going,

Our fun jumping time is now done.



The trees are dressed in their most flamboyant

Like my grandmother dancing

In a bright pink dress,

Whirling across the floor, laughing.

Yellow-gold, apple red, pumpkin orange.

For a few short weeks,

Their colors are brilliantly joyful.

The leaves fall into brightly-colored heaps,

Dancing in the wind,

Smelling of autumn, cold air, frost.



Clear cool blue water

Ripples when I dip my toe in.

Take a deep breath,

Wiggle my toes. Here goes!

Underwater, the world fades

Into squiggles and squares

Reflected on the surface.

Lungs ache: time for air.

Chlorine-smell biting my nose

As I inhale.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

My most recent literary masterpiece

“So there I was – drunk.”

Jer’s stories always began that way. When he was home on leave, his family called them his “drunk Marine” stories, but they’d laugh at every one. His buddies joked that all his stories started like that because he was always drunk. Jeremy wasn’t always drunk, he was a Marine. He had perfect posture, he looked good in uniform (and knew it), and he always held open doors for the ladies. But even though he took his position seriously, he lived for the weekends.

Tonight, Jer was hanging out at Denny’s – since his girlfriend had been deployed three months ago, he’d spent most of his evenings hanging out at a small table in the back of the dingy 24-hour restaurant. He was eating his usual meal: greasy hashbrowns, eggs with hot sauce, and black coffee. The regular evening waitress, Shelly, sat across from him. She propped her feet up on an extra chair and leaned back, watching him through the hazy blue smoke from her cigarette.

“Okay. So there I was, drunk. Me and the guys were hanging out, shooting the shit, when we got hungry. We were all too wasted to drive, so we figured we’d just walk here.”

“Uh-huh,” said Shelly, as Jeremy shoveled another huge bite of eggs into his mouth. “What exactly did you do?”

“Well, apparently we get a little crazy when we’re drunk. We sort of knocked over some mailboxes and shit. But that wasn’t the funny part.”

“So what was the funny part?” Shelly reached across the table, pulled another cigarette from Jeremy’s pack, and lit it.

“We got lost.”

“You got lost? In ten blocks?”

“Yeah. It took us like four hours. It was light out by the time we got here, and we were mostly sober by then.”

“Oh, Jesus. You need to cut back on the alcohol, hon,” said Shelly as she stood up and stretched. “I’ve gotta get back to work.”

“Have a good night. Are you coming over later?”

“Maybe,” she called over her shoulder.

Jeremy finished his coffee, paid the pudgy middle-aged cashier who said “Bye, sweetie!” as he walked out the door, and headed home. He’d have just enough time for a quick nap before the guys showed up.

“Hey! Open up in there!” Jeremy woke with a start. He wiped the drool from his cheek, and gave the apartment a quick once-over. No dirty underwear on the floor. He opened the door, and five guys with crew cuts filed in, laughing and joking. The tallest of them, Mark, was carrying a brown grocery sack. “I’ve got the refreshments,” he said as he pulled bottle after bottle out of the sack.

“Tonight it’s the four horsemen,” announced Zach. “Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, Johnny Walker, and Jose Cuervo. We brought a bottle of each.”

“Say what?” asked Jeremy. “Shel says I’m supposed to lay off the drinking. I’m afraid she might call Lisa.”

Mark’s voice was high-pitched and mocking: “I’m a big pussy and I’m afraid of my girlfriend.”

“Come on, man, Lisa’s a thousand miles away. What’s a little liquor gonna hurt anyway?” Zach’s voice was muffled, his head stuck deep in the refrigerator. “Dude, when are you gonna buy groceries?”

“There’s some pizza rolls in the freezer. Make those,” said Jeremy. “But seriously, guys, we shouldn’t be drinking so much. I’m about broke.”

“I think there’s sand in my vagina,” mocked Mark, ducking the pillow Jeremy sent flying his way.

“All right, man, give me the Jack,” said Jeremy. “Let’s get this party started.”

The goal was to finish all four bottles of liquor before the sun came up, but three of the guys bailed before the first liter was gone. Jeremy, Mark, and Zach decided to finish the rest on their own.

They sat around telling “drunk Marine” stories until six in the morning. The bottles were all empty, Zach was smoking at the kitchen table, and Mark was passed out on the couch. Jeremy tossed a blanket on top of Mark, and pulled his boots off. “I love you, man,” mumbled Mark as he pulled the blanket around his shoulders and rolled over.

Jeremy wavered unsteadily back into the kitchen and found Zach studying a packet of strawberry jelly. “Hey, Jer, where’d you get this?”

“The jelly? Denny’s.”

“Well, it’s looking at me funny.”

“Zach…it’s jelly. Smoke another cigarette or something. I’m going outside for a bit.” Jeremy stumbled out the front door and sat in the corner of the open stairwell. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed his sister’s number. It rang, and rang…after the fourth ring, the answering machine picked up.

“Hey sister!” Jeremy slurred into the phone. “It’s Friday night, you should still be up drinking! It’s only….four….in the morning. Well, I guess you’re not partying like a rock star like I am. I love you, sister.”

As he was sitting in the stairwell thinking of who else he could call, he heard a crash from inside the apartment. He jumped up and reached for the doorknob, but missed. “I must be drunker than I thought,” he thought.

Zach was standing in the farthest corner of the kitchen, eying the jelly packet warily.

“What’s wrong, man?”

“The jelly. It’s talking smack about my mom!”

“Dude, jelly can’t talk.”

“Jer, I mean it. It’s talkin’ shit!” Zach slowly advanced towards the jelly.

“Well, don’t let him get away with it,” Jeremy joked.

Zach picked up the jelly. “Don’t you talk about my mama,” he growled. “Oh yeah? Now you talkin’ ‘bout my sister, too?” He squeezed the packet; jelly spurted out and splattered him in the face. “Oh, now you’re gonna get it!” he yelled.

He hurled the packet across the room – it left a streak of sticky red where it hit the refrigerator door. Then he threw it on the floor and stomped on it with his heavy work boots. “Take that, sucker!” His glance fell on the broom leaning in the corner; he picked it up and attacked the jelly packet.

Jeremy was laughing hysterically by now. “Dude, you’re making a mess.” Zach picked up a second packet and threw it at his friend.

“Now it’s talking about your mom, Jer.” Jeremy, still laughing, grabbed the broom from his friend.

A few minutes later, they were leaning on the table to catch their breath from laughing so hard. They were both covered with sticky red jelly.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Zach gasped, and they both started laughing again.

Jeremy looked around at the kitchen, contemplated cleaning up the mess, and decided to do it later. He stripped down to his boxers and flipped on the tv.

Just as he was dozing off, Zach reappeared with a towel around his waist. “Your turn.” Jer groaned, rubbed his eyes, and walked slowly toward the bathroom. Zach flopped down into the recliner in his towel.

Moments later, Zach sat bolt upright in the chair. He jumped to his feet – there was a uniformed officer in the doorway with his hand on his pistol. “Oh shit,” he thought to himself. “Uh, what can I do for you, officer?”

The officer looked him over.

“Pants,” Zach thought out loud. “I need some pants.”

“That would be a good idea,” said the cop. Zach grabbed his pants, put one leg in, then the other, and yanked them up as fast as he can. “Now can I see some ID?” Zach turned pale, fumbled for his wallet, and tossed the whole thing to the cop. He flipped through it, doubtlessly discovering that Zach wouldn’t be of legal drinking age for another year.

“We had a report from the neighbors of someone yelling ‘Kill it, kill it!’ What’s going on?”

“Sir,” Zach said unsteadily, “the only thing we’ve been killing is bottles.” He gestured at the empty liquor containers on the table. “Oh, and the jelly was talking shit.”

The officer looked at the kitchen, eyed Zach one more time, and said “You need to keep the noise down, son.” He tossed Zach’s wallet on the table, said “Have a good night,” and left.

When Jeremy emerged from the shower, Zach was curled up in the chair, crying.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Jer, we gotta quit drinking so much.”

Wednesday, October 12, 2005


I just spent the last four hours trying to write a short story. It was hell. But it's done now.

But I can get on here and ramble on for pages and pages with no trouble whatsoever. What's up with that? I guess I just don't like fiction. I've always liked to write, and I'm really good at essays and such, but creative writing does not come easily to me at all.
We're broke, and we don't have much in the way of groceries. I felt like shit tonight, so Jim made supper. I was afraid we were gonna have peanut butter and jelly, or that he'd say to hell with it and order pizza, but he actually made a pretty good meal. We had red beans and rice from a mix, with diced ham added to it. Better than hamburger helper, anyway.

When I buy groceries, I tend to get lots of fresh veggies and fruits, but then we forget to eat them because we're so busy so they just sit in the fridge and rot. I hate that. I LIKE vegetables, I just don't ever remember to cook until it's late and we're starving and everything's still frozen.

I said the word "apeshit" in an IM conversation with my youngest brother. He'd apparently never heard that term before.

My other favorite swear word currently is "skullfuck." Now, you have to have the right context. Like, recently we replaced the screen door. It used to be torn in the corner so the animals could go in and out. Well, now the glass pane is at the bottom of the door. The first time the cat tried to jump out the door, she got skullfucked.

(I actually thought my husband and his friends coined this term, because I'd never heard it anywhere else. But I found out recently that it comes from the movie American History X.)

We watched City of Angels last night. It's soooo cheesy, but you gotta love it. I didn't cry until the very end, when all the angels are gathered together, and he goes running into the ocean.

there's now 34 kids on my swim team. Two of them I swear are ADHD - brother and sister. I could kill them! I could handle 'em fine last summer when the team was half the size it is now. I had 'em doing pushups for punishment. It didn't seem to help.

My brother Matt called from Iraq the other day. I was at work, so I didn't get to talk to him. Apparently, it's a good idea when sending pixie stix across the world to put them in a ziplock baggie, or else they break open and get pixie dust all over everything. But he liked the vampire teeth that Matthew picked out for him.

Halloween. I need to get pumpkins. Matthew has his costume - he's going to be a ninja with orange hair.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005


ahh, the smell of fall in the air, and midterms on the horizon.

Lit midterm tomorrow. Studied some today, got bored, built some shelving units and reorganized the office. :)

Then psych midterm tomorrow night or early Friday morning, whenever I have time - it's an online exam. The rest of this week is crazy: work tonight, class tomorrow, work tomorrow night, teach at AC on Friday, work Friday night. Saturday off - woohoo! Work Sunday evening..

fund raisers

My swim club wants to do a fundraiser so we can buy t-shirts and fun stuff like that. But I HATE selling stuff! Any ideas???

Wednesday, September 28, 2005


I love storms. Summer storms are the best, when you can sit on the porch wrapped in a blanket and just watch the rain pour down. It's been a DRY few months here, but tonight there's a big storm blowing in. It's supposed to get down to the high 40's tonight. It's windy now, and you can see the huge clouds rolling in. I have the windows open - I bet it'll be cold in the morning!

I LOVE my new comforter set. It's microfiber suede, and it's so soft - feels like those expensive hotel blankets. And soft white sheets....aah...

So I'm in bed 9pm...with the laptop. Jim is watching "Lost" with the guys in Man Land. I had a beer (Oktoberfest, yummy), and came in to bed. I still have that lit paper to do in the morning. Alarm's set for 4am. I do my best work early in the morning - if I can drag myself out of bed, that is.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Does anyone actually read these?

I mean, really? Who has time to read the ramblings of total strangers?

random photo of the day

The orangs at the Fort Wayne Children's Zoo -

washed, washing, to be washed...

My car needs washed

My car needs washing

My car needs to be washed

Which is it? Does it matter? I took a linguistics class last semester where we talked a lot about that kind of stuff, so now I always notice....

Are your potholders clean?

So, I was procrastinating, as usual. I had all day yesterday to write a stupid paper, and I never did get started on it till this morning. It was due an hour ago, and it's not done yet. (Half a letter grade deduction, no big deal....)

But I had the WHOLE day to write it. So first, I sat at the computer and checked all my email accounts. Replied to messages, sorted and cleaned out my inboxes, and updated my address books. Then I think to myself, I can't write in a messy room. So I start cleaning. I cleaned the entire house. I cleaned out the fridge. I stripped the beds and washed sheets and blankets. I went to the store to buy candles - atmosphere is everything, right? Then I cooked supper, watched a little tv, surfed some photography message board, called my mom....

Now I'm off to see if my potholders need washed.

My blog title

Shakespearean insulter:

Check it out, it's fun.