Songs from Childhood

Take the 605 to you know where! _____! _____! Cerritos Auto Square!

No you won't get a lemon, at Toyota of ______.

Reunited and it feels like crap.

Just last week I waited in line at the mall to get a sheet of the 5x7s featuring me, sitting meekly on the Easter Bunny's lap, a nervous smile on my face--just like the good old days when I was 5. The Easter themed display was a bold one that took up the entire east wing of the mall. I was impressed; it felt like the real thing, like I was actually on the Easter Islands for the first time in my life. There were like giant eggs all over the place! They were like wild trees growing all uncontrollably and stuff. At one point, I got scared, remembering velociraptors, afraid they would hatch on this island on which I was currently stranded. I got so desperate that I lit up a cigarette to send smoke signals into the air. For that, I almost got kicked out of line, and that's when I remembered I wasn't stranded on no island! I was about to reunite with the Easter Bunny. So it was quite disappointing when I finally came face to face with him, because he didn't remember me from back in the day. I kept asking him, "Remember me?" He just nodded and smiled nervously. There was all this tension in our encounter, because the costume job didn't recognize me and wanted to play it off like he did. I felt all weird when I left. I didn't like that.

Make me over!

It's time to shop for a new face. I want a cheetah face so I could model and sell Cheetos.

Story: Climbing my way to knowledge.

Today I fancied apple trees and pearl necklaces. I wore three pearl necklaces, while carving my lover's name into an apple tree. The tree began to cry, begging me to stop. It said, "Stop! Please stop and eat an apple." I climbed up the tree to search for the prettiest, shiniest apple in the giant green crown, and the tree swallowed me in its enormity. Just kidding. Trees don't have digestive systems. But the apple monkey does, and it swallowed me as I reached for the prettiest, shiniest apple near the top. The apple monkey thinks it's hot shit with my pearls around its neck. Meanwhile, the apple tree is scarred with my lover's name, yet the monkey can't read. I hope you never forget this important lesson, my dear children.

Ovaltine is old-fashioned.

So what milk-based hot beverage is considered cool these days? Lattes? Let me tell you what I think about your pansy-ass, lilac-flavored, twinkle-toes-tulip-topped 2% lattes: I think they're too expensive. Why, my fellow Americans, my barista-loving bastards, do you keep handing over $4.95 for a cup of watered-down milk when it doesn't have half the vitamins and minerals found in Ovaltine? Ovaltine makes you strong enough to knock out a Starbucks customer on the way to the office.

Explaining Important Things

I haven't been writing because stress has paralyzed my desire to give birth to creative expressivenationness. To wind down at the end of the day, I watch a lot of t.v. in my brand new fifty thousand dollar monster SUV. Lying also helps me cope with stress. I'm a liar who got her teeth cleaned at the new dentist today. He's not new but he's new to me. And even if he were new, he couldn't be a whole new because that's just something stupider people say. Stupider people can say funner and still be correct. They have more fun than people like me. I'm going to go and draw black SUVs with some crayons or something. Oh shit. I can't. My creativitizationality is paralyzed.

Completely Pointless Point

By the way, I hate unwitty oxymorons, but this is an unwitty post, so maybe it's appropriate. Gee, how excitingly ironic. And how blandly sarcastic. Anyway...

When I was about 12 years old, I joined some extended family on a walk down Hollywood Boulevard. One of the kids begged his mother to get him a souvenir. He was obviously illiterate at the time, because he was whining over a cheap t-shirt that read Eat Shit and Die. Well, my dog ate shit once and was promptly reprimanded. A few months later she found more shit to eat and ate shit again, but she didn't die. Eat shit and die...what a useless threat. It's not even true.

In the corner of mind my is you.

You are waving to me, and your eyes, bright. I get closer, anticipating our exchange. I stand before you now, and you say, "Crap!!! I found the pack of socks I bought from Kmart three years ago!" You hug your six pairs of bright whites, closing your eyes for added drama. I stumble back, shocked, saddened. In a fog of rage, I attack you with bug spray. You shrivel up but, out of courtesy, crawl into the toilet bowl where you'll conveniently be flushed away, and die. I steal your socks and put them back in the corner of my mind. Don't be going though my shit like that again.

It's after lunch. You're at work.

And you're reading this goddamn blog like you ain't got nothin' better to do. Like they pay you to sit on your ass and read this shit like you ain't gotta earn your shit. Fuck you. You are killing America. Yet, you wholeheartedly believe in the American Dream. And you're not going to quit your job just because you're going to buy a house one day. You're going to keep working, and you're going to read blogs and eat Fritos while on the clock. By the way, your boss is standing right behind you with a butcher knife, and he's going to hack up your PC and make you alphabetize some files from 1987. You asked for it.

Hello? Would you like to come?

Hey...um...I'm not good at leaving voice messages, but I'm just calling to tell you about my party this Thursday. A few of us are going to hang out. Don't worry about what to wear. Just wear whatever...jeans...I don't care. My friends are cool. I think you'll like them. Just...whatever you feel like...if you're busy, that's cool. If you can make it, please call me so that I know how much to get at the grocery store. Um...this message is getting kind of long...sorry. Um...what else, what else...did I mention it's an OVALTINE PARTY?

Take Advantage of YOURSELF!

I'm a motivational speaker now. When I brought it up to my boss at work, she was skeptical. She was like, "Don't take this the wrong way, but are you serious?" I said, "I like salsa music, but that doesn't make me a jokester." See, that kind of strength comes from within. The spirit drives all of you. Without a strong core, you are just mealy apple matter. The core holds it together. So when you feel like life has dealt you a really shitty hand, build a card tower, and then blow it down with one powerful breath from within like a mighty wolf. The world is full of pigs always trying to bring you down. You have to fight the powers that be. You can't let them build brick houses on your spiritual landscape, because that's your property. Put your heart and your soul first. You can do anything, but not before you know how to do it, so come see me this weekend only at the Minneapolis Radisson. Bring two friends and get a free Starbucks coffee.

Mmmmm BOP!

You are a fallopian tube in love with David Hasselhoff. You remember when you posed, thumbs up, sitting in the Knight Rider car at Universal Studios back in the 80s. You even spent $3.25 on a photo button of your superstar so that he could literally be close to your heart. You wish you were German. You wish you could gyrate to his music, but you can't. You are just a thumbless, heartless, hipless tube without the Hasselhoffian goods.

Bomb Ass Employee of Da Month

Da Bomb Ass Employee of da Month is back, yo! After my long ass vacation, I was pretty sure the people at work missed me and the enormity of work I churn out by the minute, but no. After my announcement at the front desk, sister payroll from cubicle 24 was like, "You got a nickel for my five cents?" All of a sudden I felt all average and shit, so I started doing paperwork at light speed to prove my worth, and my supervisor was like, "If you're going to play origami, I'll give you some work to do." I was like, "What, you mocking my Asian status or something?" She was like, "Nah," and she quickly backed off like I was her manager. Later, I felt bad, so I folded her a paper crane.

Los Angeles...

has a lot of wankers. Some were my friends, and we were kickin' it, non-smoking Los Angeles old school lounge style. There were these people on the road gettin' me and my homies all stressed out. They're all road rage and shit, because they're insecure and go around hatin' everyone all the time because their rides ain't all pimped out and they're all exposed through their non-tinted windows and shit. Let me tell you something: Pimpin' ain't easy. I ain't got that kind of energy, straight up. And that's why I kick it with the wankers behind the tinted shit.

Uh oh, Sylvia's got a case of the Mondays!

MONDAY: Waking up for work is such a drag...

TUESDAY: I hate waking up for this shit.

WEDNESDAY: I hate waking up for this bullshit.

THURSDAY: Oh, hell no.

FRIDAY: Where the fuck are my jeans?

Who makes you cool, baby, who?

Tom Jones, baby. He reaches my emotional core, leans on the frame of its door, and goes, "What's new pussycat?" And, like, I just DIE! Then I make him take me to JC Penny, and he buys me anything I want. On the way there--in a limo, of course--he'll sing his heart out. Sometimes, though, while he's singing, I'll be smiling and tapping my foot to the groovy beat, but inside I'm thinking, "Slow down. Damn, you'll get a hernia..."

The meerkats are vacationing in Orange County.

But they don't call it The OC.

This one's for the children.

Three years ago when I moved to Minnesota, I fervently completed the initial chapters of a children's story, but quit the project abruptly. I couldn't let children read anything so bitingly sarcastic, yet those who did taste of the lucsious fruit of my endeavor still, to this day, beg for more! More narrative to satisfy our rotting little hearts, swift writer of children's stories! More characters we love to hate and hate some more! More, more, more! To them, I say, "Please contact me at work no more, no more. You're all starting to creep me out. Why don't you get on with life? You're missing out on childhood. Look--there it goes. I don't think it even likes you...so, uh, did you get anything nice for Christmas?"

If children are make-believe children, as featured in the above paragraph, then mean comments made about then can surely be excused.

Petula Clark, Downtown!

The song swims merrily into my mind each time my bus nears Nicollet Mall, the heart of downtown Minneapolis. Featured several nights of the week between Thanksgiving and Christmas is the Holidazzle Parade, a procession of costumes and props lit with holidazzling holiday lights. I happened upon it after work a few times and was astonished by the masses of people huddled along the sidewalks and packed in the skyways like cans of lamb and rice dog food. If you like those kinds of things--bumbling snowmen wagging oversized candy canes at you in public--then this parade is for you. Otherwise you could just observe the crowd as you're walking to your rerouted bus stop (thank you, street-hogging parade). Some kids are playing patty cake with a sidewalk that got a summer's worth of spit and cigarette ashes stomped into it. Damn, that's nasty.

Day After Christmas Cheer

For today I have marked on my calendar, "You will not miss Christmas songs," and indeed I do not.

Hey, here's a fun idea. Let's all chime in and post how much weight we've each gained since Thanksgiving. That way, none of us would feel so bad about our weight gain. Misery loves company, right?

No, misery doesn't love company. Misery wants to be alone the day after Christmas to eat a mayo-slathered sandwich in peace. Misery has had enough of songs about unrealistically pleasant family gatherings and a winter that holy-crap-no-way! doesn't make your face hurt, and Misery thinks if more Christmas songs aspired to be as uplifting as the catchy ditty by Wham!, Misery might entertain the thought of company.