Shit Happens

Saturday, September 16, 2006

My most-inexpensive hobby

I can't think of titles. I also think this is all action, and no imagery. It's a draft.

Pull my hair back
from my scalp
as I scream
in agony the pain
stretching my mouth
agape in a twisted
spitting "O"

Shear it thin
leave me raw
bleeding and bald
the cancer that won't
kill me slowly hair
by hair by

Watch the blood
seep through each pore
tiny dots turning to
a wash of red
waves covering me
like a ghost in a crimson

Wednesday, September 13, 2006


I once slept with a man
because he reminded me
of Ernest Hemingway

without a single literary skill
and a similar reputation
for honesty

down three wives (one
to go) his talent lie in his stories-
untruths I easily ignored

instead, I saw an aging naked man
I watched him fight mortality I saw

the bare spot on his head
he could not cover when we lied

I saw an ass that flattened
and sagged, worn eyes useless
without glasses and a jar of suspicious blue
liquid next to his bathroom sink

“I’ve been to Africa,” he said
“I’ve seen death this close,” he continued

and as I nodded
in seeming appreciation the way younger
women have been nodding since the beginning
of younger women

I was really thinking
“You can’t fuck your way to youth”
“You can’t lie your way to absolution”

I can’t save you
from yourself

instead, I insisted that he fucked
like a young man and asked innocent questions
like if grey hairs ever grew from his eyelashes
(they didn’t)

I traced my smooth fingertips
long, manicured nail side up
across every scar on his body

and I drowned out their beginnings
with the Dylan albums of his youth

inwardly praising myself
for my own taut skin and future lifetime
of younger men

touching me and dreading
their own middle-age

Tuesday, September 12, 2006


I just found one of my favorite poems ever, "Confession," by Susan Hahn, online. Blogger ruins it when I try to cut and paste it, but you should go check it out.

A highlight ...

Do you swear to tell the whole truth...?
No Sir, the truth hemorrhages in my pen,
but lies clotted on my tongue.

Do you want a lawyer?
No Sir, I like the unprotected exposure.

Are you a Confessional Poet?
No Sir, they all committed suicide
in the 60's and 70's.

If you can't tell, I love, love love confessional poetry - I'm only 30 years behind in the trend. hah! Unfortunately, Sharon Olds is the only living confessional poet I feel passionately about - if you're into dirty/creepy poems, she's your girl.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Hot-ass no more

The SPANX (it might not really be in all caps, but come on SPANX? how do you resist) made it until lunch when I stripped them off at the tanning salon, decided to go commando and leave the SPANX in the backseat of my car.

Product review: My ass did look hot. My SPANX made it through a full 6 hours without a single tear. Besides living in fear of a yeast infection (and I think I'm still yeast-free) they were fairly comfortable. The tummy was tight, but they gave you enough material that you can hike them up under your breasts and avoid an unsightly fat-roll.

I have a hard time hiking anything up under my breasts and found the protruding fat-roll to be uncomfortable when I sit. Which is all day.

Although I have sworn off all activities relating to bridesmaids and especially bridesmaid dresses, I'm with Amanda - they'd be okay for special occations, but not for everyday.

I'm still getting birthday presents from last month. I like having two months of birthday. People really know what I like- meaning I keep receiving things I already own. I really appreciate the thought, but what do I do with these double-things?

In case you're waiting until the exact middle day between my birthday and Christmas, here's something I do not have:

Light blue VW hat

I know, I know, I'm against wearing labels - I cut them off and out of my clothes, But I really love my car. I LOVE MY CAR (do you hear that camero-Jessie??), I think a fuzzy little VW hat would help keep my Volkswagen happiness near, all winter long.

Notice the hat is a highway-robbery $29. Volkswagen has standards to uphold. EXPENSIVE standards to uphold. "Official" new daisies for my car are like $12 (I don't want to talk about it).

Luckily, the yarn for the matching scarf I'll knit will cost me under $5.


Check out my most recent impulse buy:

Yes, I realize I purchased over-priced footless pantyhose. But the ad said they were designed to flatter my ass, in pants.

After spending at least 10 minutes to get the damn wanna-be-pantyhose/tights on (we're both still in one piece!) I've decided that they're a yeast infection waiting to happen.

But damn, my ass looks hot.

(I haven't worn pantyhose for years, do they all take that long to shimmy into?)

And I don't even care that much about how my ass looks. I rarely bother wearing thongs to work. I wear boring cotton underwear with flowers or cherries or margaritas on them everyday (unless someone might see them ...)

But today I am wearing scary Spanx. I will probably start wiggling in my seat by this afternoon. I'll end up sharing the handicap stall with the smelly bulimic/laxative lady (we really have one - and she's skinny but the bathroom smells disgusting) and figure out how to get out of these suckers standing up.