Friday, March 30, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Hands
I just wrote this two minutes ago, and haven't even reread it. It's like a fresh-baked bread from the oven, so warm, a pat of butter melts onto it. Taste it.
Let me know your thoughts--
Do you remember the first time
You held his hand?
Sweaty in your palm, you itched to wipe yours onto your jeans,
But knew it would seem awkward to do so.
Plus, then he might not take up your hand
again, twirl his fingers through yours.
Do you remember the first time you felt his skin touch yours?
Lightly, gently, embracing you, finding you?
Do you remember the first time you fought?
So fervently that you almost wished him dead?
That you wanted to push him away, scream and spit at him.
Tell him you hated him?
Do you remember how he had grabbed your wrists, while you still
Screamed your envious rant.
And he just looked into your eyes, holding your wrists tightly.
Waiting for the calm of you to be contained.
Then, when you silenced.
He moved his hands from your wrists,
And intertwined his fingers into yours,
And you leaned into him.
Breathed him.
Loved him.
And all was good again.
Let me know your thoughts--
Do you remember the first time
You held his hand?
Sweaty in your palm, you itched to wipe yours onto your jeans,
But knew it would seem awkward to do so.
Plus, then he might not take up your hand
again, twirl his fingers through yours.
Do you remember the first time you felt his skin touch yours?
Lightly, gently, embracing you, finding you?
Do you remember the first time you fought?
So fervently that you almost wished him dead?
That you wanted to push him away, scream and spit at him.
Tell him you hated him?
Do you remember how he had grabbed your wrists, while you still
Screamed your envious rant.
And he just looked into your eyes, holding your wrists tightly.
Waiting for the calm of you to be contained.
Then, when you silenced.
He moved his hands from your wrists,
And intertwined his fingers into yours,
And you leaned into him.
Breathed him.
Loved him.
And all was good again.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Burnin' In My Pocket
I've got a perfectly good itunes card sitting here not getting any younger and I need some good tune suggestions.
Old, new, funky, rappy, hip-hop (but not too hippy), no jazzy, nothing too whiny, upbeat and something to keep me movin' on my iPod. Beetles need not reply. I want some stuff I may have never heard of but will WOW me.
So, send in your suggestions! And I will hold a drawing. The person who wins will receive a Manic Mom CD with those 15 songs I've chosen.
Rock on! And Peace UP!
Old, new, funky, rappy, hip-hop (but not too hippy), no jazzy, nothing too whiny, upbeat and something to keep me movin' on my iPod. Beetles need not reply. I want some stuff I may have never heard of but will WOW me.
So, send in your suggestions! And I will hold a drawing. The person who wins will receive a Manic Mom CD with those 15 songs I've chosen.
Rock on! And Peace UP!
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
My Type
This is why I write:
OK, not because of HIM, but because of HIS STORY, which I located on Stephen Parrish's site.
Follow your dreams, no matter what you have to do to get there. And man, is this guy hot or what? Maybe I should print out his photo for motivation! Shame we're both married... tee hee, kidding... I wonder how tall he is? I only go for tall guys. In fact, that's the first thing that I find attractive about a man. Has to be tall.
What about you? What 'gets' your motor runnin'?
OK, not because of HIM, but because of HIS STORY, which I located on Stephen Parrish's site.
Follow your dreams, no matter what you have to do to get there. And man, is this guy hot or what? Maybe I should print out his photo for motivation! Shame we're both married... tee hee, kidding... I wonder how tall he is? I only go for tall guys. In fact, that's the first thing that I find attractive about a man. Has to be tall.
What about you? What 'gets' your motor runnin'?
Monday, March 19, 2007
Miss Snark Hearts Me. Or At Least Sets My Fears at Ease. For Now...
For those of you Writer Types who visit Manic Mom, the witty and always impressive, all-knowing, Clooney-lusting, gin-swilling, Killer Yapp-walking, nitwittery-loathing, fantabulous mysterious agent extraordinaire, Miss Snark, posted a question from me on her popular blog.
View it here: Miss Snark
I think I'm in love.
View it here: Miss Snark
I think I'm in love.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Can Anybody Say, "Irish Car Bomb?"
Do you know what an Irish Car Bomb is?
I didn't.
Until last night at about, well, actually, when you consider it, I mean until this morning at about 12:15 a.m. That's when I learned what an Irish Car Bomb is.
And I did one. Or drank one. Or slammed one. Whatever you want to say.
It's a shot of Bailey's mixed with Jameson Irish Whiskey dropped into a glass of Guiness and then slammed down the throat while it foams.
And that, my friends, is what did me in. It wasn't the two appletinis, the shot of Goldshlager some dumb idiot blond drunk chick bought us at like 8:30 p.m., it wasn't the four or eight or nine Stoli Os with cranberry and a splash of soda and a wedge of orange. Nope, it was the Irish Car Bomb. No wonder they call 'em Bombs.
I just got up for the day. It's 6:29 P.M.!!!!
OK, so that's not exactly true. I got up once or twice before. But not to puke!! Yay me! I am learning how to handle my liquor at the ripe old age of nearly-but-not-ready-to-admit-it 38! I got up because Friend S, her hubby, and their three kids spent the night so this a.m. was like a slumber party of sorts where we lied/laid/(OK Lied is to not tell the truth... Laid is to... well, what hubby didn't get last night!!!)... So, Friend S and I laid on the couch for a while, picking each other's toes and maybe, possibly tootin' a little bit, cuz that's what kind of friends we are.
Then, we went back to sleep, she and I, in my bed, while the hubbies lay on the couch downstairs watching TV, and the six children ages nine and under ran amuck in the house (and now that I think about it, I was just reading the other day and I think amuck is spelled amock--anyone care to google it for me cuz I'm too tired?).
When I woke up around 11 or so, she was no longer in my bed. I thought they left. I walked out of my room, and there she is in the guest room.
"I thought you left!" I accused.
"YOU SNORE!" she accuses right back. This, from the college roommate who had the CROUP cough for the two years we shared an eight x eight bedroom together.
I didn't deny the snoring.
Anyway, so now it's like nighttime and I'm ready to start my day!
Oh, the second time I got up for the day was when hubby and hubby's friend came home with Portillo's and I stuffed my face with a burger, fries, and the largest vanilla ice cream shake in the state of Illinois.
Then, I went back to bed. And dreamed weird shit.
Like that I lived in a high-rise condo, and it was infiltrated with wild animals and two bears, big ones, came into our condo, and I tried to get the kids out, and Diva was going too slowly, and finally I coerced the bears onto the balcony where I trapped them there. Then the security guy decides the only way to get all the bears out of the condo (cuz I guess the place was crawling with 'em) was for everyone to throw out food from their balconies, and then run down the stairs so then the bears would jump off the balcony to chase the food and die.
And that worked, for the bears. They jumped and died. And I think hubby was asleep in his room, unaware of the Wild Kingdom episode going on right outside. (And now I know why I was dreaming of the animals -- it's cuz Friend S and I watched a little bit of that Mutual of Omaha Animal Kingdom on the Animal Channel today while we were snuggling! Amazing how the mind works!)
But it wasn't just bears. We would try to get back into the building, and the elevator doors would open, and like a lion and a tiger and a giraffe would be in the elevator just waiting. It was a screwed-up dream.
So, that was a glimpse of my St. Patrick's Day. Drinking, a lot of dancing, some more drinking, and a taxi cab drive home where I interrogated the driver: "DO YOU SMOKE???!!"
He looked at me like he wasn't sure how I wanted him to answer so he said, "Yes?"
He told the truth. He smoked. I sniffed into the cab. It kinda smelled like florally.
"Smells OK." I said.
"I have an air filter."
"Good enough for me buddy, now take me home pal. I've had enough."
Gimme a recap of your Green Day. Hope it was cheery, fun, yet safe! And Green. It had to be green. Just like the frog.
I didn't.
Until last night at about, well, actually, when you consider it, I mean until this morning at about 12:15 a.m. That's when I learned what an Irish Car Bomb is.
And I did one. Or drank one. Or slammed one. Whatever you want to say.
It's a shot of Bailey's mixed with Jameson Irish Whiskey dropped into a glass of Guiness and then slammed down the throat while it foams.
And that, my friends, is what did me in. It wasn't the two appletinis, the shot of Goldshlager some dumb idiot blond drunk chick bought us at like 8:30 p.m., it wasn't the four or eight or nine Stoli Os with cranberry and a splash of soda and a wedge of orange. Nope, it was the Irish Car Bomb. No wonder they call 'em Bombs.
I just got up for the day. It's 6:29 P.M.!!!!
OK, so that's not exactly true. I got up once or twice before. But not to puke!! Yay me! I am learning how to handle my liquor at the ripe old age of nearly-but-not-ready-to-admit-it 38! I got up because Friend S, her hubby, and their three kids spent the night so this a.m. was like a slumber party of sorts where we lied/laid/(OK Lied is to not tell the truth... Laid is to... well, what hubby didn't get last night!!!)... So, Friend S and I laid on the couch for a while, picking each other's toes and maybe, possibly tootin' a little bit, cuz that's what kind of friends we are.
Then, we went back to sleep, she and I, in my bed, while the hubbies lay on the couch downstairs watching TV, and the six children ages nine and under ran amuck in the house (and now that I think about it, I was just reading the other day and I think amuck is spelled amock--anyone care to google it for me cuz I'm too tired?).
When I woke up around 11 or so, she was no longer in my bed. I thought they left. I walked out of my room, and there she is in the guest room.
"I thought you left!" I accused.
"YOU SNORE!" she accuses right back. This, from the college roommate who had the CROUP cough for the two years we shared an eight x eight bedroom together.
I didn't deny the snoring.
Anyway, so now it's like nighttime and I'm ready to start my day!
Oh, the second time I got up for the day was when hubby and hubby's friend came home with Portillo's and I stuffed my face with a burger, fries, and the largest vanilla ice cream shake in the state of Illinois.
Then, I went back to bed. And dreamed weird shit.
Like that I lived in a high-rise condo, and it was infiltrated with wild animals and two bears, big ones, came into our condo, and I tried to get the kids out, and Diva was going too slowly, and finally I coerced the bears onto the balcony where I trapped them there. Then the security guy decides the only way to get all the bears out of the condo (cuz I guess the place was crawling with 'em) was for everyone to throw out food from their balconies, and then run down the stairs so then the bears would jump off the balcony to chase the food and die.
And that worked, for the bears. They jumped and died. And I think hubby was asleep in his room, unaware of the Wild Kingdom episode going on right outside. (And now I know why I was dreaming of the animals -- it's cuz Friend S and I watched a little bit of that Mutual of Omaha Animal Kingdom on the Animal Channel today while we were snuggling! Amazing how the mind works!)
But it wasn't just bears. We would try to get back into the building, and the elevator doors would open, and like a lion and a tiger and a giraffe would be in the elevator just waiting. It was a screwed-up dream.
So, that was a glimpse of my St. Patrick's Day. Drinking, a lot of dancing, some more drinking, and a taxi cab drive home where I interrogated the driver: "DO YOU SMOKE???!!"
He looked at me like he wasn't sure how I wanted him to answer so he said, "Yes?"
He told the truth. He smoked. I sniffed into the cab. It kinda smelled like florally.
"Smells OK." I said.
"I have an air filter."
"Good enough for me buddy, now take me home pal. I've had enough."
Gimme a recap of your Green Day. Hope it was cheery, fun, yet safe! And Green. It had to be green. Just like the frog.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
