Experienced Tree Decorator Seeks Tree

This year I was not invited back for Christmas tree decorating at the home of a longtime acquaintance. Last year it was all light stringing and glass ornaments in Redondo Beach. Bows were also used to decorate the tree. I was thanked for my efforts. It went a little something like this: "GEE, THANKS FOR JUST TOSSING THE BOWS AT THE TREE AND HOPING THEY'D STICK."

I have to admit, I had become weary of all the meticulous ornament placing 15 minutes into it, but when he said that, I was re-energized! I immediately grabbed a fistful of red bows and slammed them into the tree like God would a powerful snowstorm. And, yes, bitch, they all stuck.

I will eventually think of a title for this post but right now I cant even punctuate

Carmen De Boheme

Sinuously winding through the room
On smokey tongues of sweetened cigarettes, --
Plaintive yet proud the cello tones resume
The andante of smooth hopes and lost regrets.

Bright peacocks drink from flame-pots by the wall,
Just as absinthe-sipping women shiver through
With shimmering blue from the bowl in Circe's hall.
Their brown eyes blacken, and the blue drop hue.

The andante quivers with crescendo's start,
And dies on fire's birth in each man's heart.
The tapestry betrays a finger through
The slit, soft-pulling; -- -- -- and music follows cue.

There is a sweep, -- a shattering, -- a choir
Disquieting of barbarous fantasy.
The pulse is in the ears, the heart is higher,
And stretches up through mortal eyes to see.

Carmen! Akimbo arms and smouldering eyes; --
Carmen! Bestirring hope and lipping eyes; --
Carmen whirls, and music swirls and dips.
"Carmen!," comes awed from wine-hot lips.

Finale leaves in silence to replume
Bent wings, and Carmen with her flaunts through the gloom
Of whispering tapestry, brown with old fringe: --
The winers leave too, and the small lamps twinge.

Morning: and through the foggy city gate
A gypsy wagon wiggles, striving straight.
And some dream still of Carmen's mystic face, --
Yellow, pallid, like ancient lace.

--Hart Crane

Video Games Ruin You!

Obviously, the term "ergonomic" wasn't a very important one in the 80's when the Atari joystick permanently damaged the joints in my hand. Look, I don't really want to talk about it okay? It was a wonderful Christmas surprise, and Moon Patrol was terrific, but all joy was lost the morning I couldn't hold a spoonful of the de-fuckin'-licious Pac Man cereal to my mouth due to the overuse of my thumb. As I said, I don't want to talk about this. I get so angry at technology.

The Company's Paying for It

Great balls of fire. We're going to have a raffle at the company Christmas party. Gee, I wonder what we're going to win. Perhaps a free pass to get out of next year's party. Oh. Oh. Maybe even just a free pass to sit with people I'd actually recognize from work. Hey, maybe we'll be able to upgrade our company logo mugs and plastic tumblers for better middle management. Now we're really thinking.

Teach them well and let them lead the way.

Hear the children clanging their china and silverware. In five minutes I will have to tell them to keep quiet. The naughty ones won't obey because, of course, I am not their parent, and, also, because I failed to tell them about the Noise Control Unicorn waiting to be released from the pantry to stab naughty kids in one eye (right or left, your pick) with, what else, its uni horn. I have to work on more effective means to deal with youth.

Sick and Paranoid

Several people were asking about me yesterday when I was absent from work.

I was sick at home--where did you think I was? Shopping at my local grocery store for steel cut oats to feed my new pony at my ranch nine hours away in Arizona? Uh, no, my pony does not have a name because there is no pony! Ponies only exist in science fiction. And Arizona's not real either.

Unfortunately, the moment has passed...or has it?

I waited too long, and now I have no stories about working with fools. I came to understand that these people I work with are not fools. They are not even foolish. They are simply passive aggressive people and can be found eating lunch among us, the sane. I study them at lunch. And when I have no other choice but to share the same table with them, I make small talk. Fill inthe facial expressions yourself:

"So, you like carrots, huh?"
"I like them, yes."
"What else?"
"What else what?"
(awkward silence)
"What else...what else do you have on tap for today?"
"Pardon my boldness, but in my humble opinion, I believe you are implying that I have a problem with alcohol."
(awkward silence)
"Just an expression. Got anything going on today?"
"What makes you think today's any different from the others?"
(silence)
"Sorry. Didn't mean to get philosophical."
"Oh, you weren't being philosophical at all."
"You know what I mean."
"Not always."
(pause)
"What do you mean not always?"
"I don't know. I'm not the whiz with the expressions."
(pause)
"Boy, I can't wait till this day is over."
"Why? Don't you like your job?"
"Sure, it's okay, I guess."
"Well, I love my job. Angie (boss) says chemistry at the workplace is important."
"Are you trying to hit on me? Ha. Ha."
(pause by co-worker this time)
"I really don't think it's wise to joke like that at work. There are people who are very sensitive about that kind of thing."
"Sorry. I'll stop now. Please, continue with your lunch. I'm sorry I interrupted. Eat your fucking carrots and have a fantastic day."

I Work with Fools

I Work With Fools Dot Com

(my stories to be published later)

I'm a big kid now! (That is, I wear underwear-like diapers.)

Thanks to the Write Source, my creative juices flow like mad rhymes! I am now writing at the Grades 4-5 level:

A special secret place: Last year when I was still in the 3^rd grade, none of the kids believed that trolls lived down by the creek behind my house. The kids came over to prove me wrong. On the way home, I showed them the scratches on my arm, proving to them that the nasty trolls were indeed alive and living in proximity to my bedroom. A few kids, like Joanne the pony-cat killer, got scared and headed straight home with tears in their eyes. The curious and the brave stayed with me. We got to my house, dropped down our knapsacks and entered the gate to my backyard. A few kids hushed the noisy ones. I said, “Eh, trolls don’t care about noise,” and led them to the creek. When we got to the creek, the kids bunched together, their eyes darting every which way, fearing that a troll would attack from behind. We stood out there for a long time, and no one saw any trolls. The kids left and I felt like such a sham. That evening, I sulked at the dinner table. My mom said, “What’s wrong, Sylvia? Don’t you like your elk steak?” I said, “It’s fine. The kids came over. They didn’t believe that trolls live in the back.” My mom put her hand on my shoulder and said, “I’m sorry, Sylvia, the trolls hurt a baby and were forced to move out of the neighborhood. It’s good for all of us, Sylvia. You’ll learn to accept this in time.”

Doing homework: When I’m supposed to be doing homework, I start to think about what outfit I’ll wear the next day. What can I wear without people saying I’m a skank? What can I wear without people saying look stupid? What can I wear without people teasing me, saying I still listen to Michael Jackson? Definitely not my Beat It t-shirt with an iron-on Michael Jackson and his pelvis-to-the-camera pose.

When I was upside down: When I was upside down, I wasn’t on the monkey bars. I was in the zoo, in the monkey exhibit, participating in a human-monkey integration program. I walked out when the monkeys started to sling their poop at each other. I’d rather play Crossfire…THE BOARDGAME.

A song that means a lot to me: Nothing gets me going more than that song that starts, “Blinded by the light. Revved up like a deuce. Another runner in the night.” What is the song about? Anyone know?

My most embarrassing moment: I was sick and tired of the mean kids making fun of me for being so quiet in school. One day, to win over these asswipes and gain their friendship, I targeted another quiet kid in my class. I announced to the rest of the students that this girl fell on her ass playing hopscotch during recess. If only I’d noticed who she was playing hopscotch with while I was sitting by myself on the other side of the yard. Turns out she was the leader of the mean kids, so I got my sewn-on jean pockets ripped off after school.

Talk about being scared!: For Halloween, I went out as Strawberry Shortcake, the girl with the cute red hair and freckles. When I turned the corner on 5^th Street, the leader of the mean kids thought I was publicly mocking her, so I got my Strawberry Shortcake mask dented—a lot.

A terrible storm: A terrible storm brewed in the eyes of my teacher after I told her I wasn’t following her math lesson…for the ninth time. Even though I was sincere, she felt I was disruptive and formed a storm in her eyes. Then she cried like torrential rain.

This school really needs . . .to stop using beige paint. The color is so unappetizing that I end up skipping lunch most days. Then I get sent to the nurse’s office because they think I’m sick. More beige. I get so depressed in the nurse’s office that the nurse brings in this woman to talk to me. I cheer up and tell her about caterpillars turning into butterflies. She thinks she has cured me, but it was really her uplifting chartreuse dress that made me excited about school and learning and participating with teacher-types. Was she a teacher? I don’t know, but she should be.

Wacky Lunch Hour Fun

I'm standing in one of the aisles at Trader Joe's over my lunch hour, trying to find a box of the exact kind of tea the receptionist gave me on Friday. That day, the kitchen was out of tea bags, so I thought she'd have one to spare. I was right, but as she handed me her very last tea bag at 4:13 in the afternoon, 47 minutes till the end of the work day, she said, "Will you bring me another tea bag on Monday? It has to be this kind," she pointed at the box before dropping it into the wastebasket. I nodded, "Yeah, okay" and accepted the tea bag, not knowing I had just entered a serious contract. I intended to give her a replacement tea bag, but the weekend was long, and I had nothing to give to her on Monday. She said nothing, so I thought it would be lame of me to bring it up and make her feel stupid. "Hey, about that tea bag...I'll have it for you tomorrow." Tuesday is today, and I was the one who felt stupid because she did ask me for the tea bag. "Did you remember to bring the tea bag?" I looked at her water-filled cup and said, "No, I'm sorry. You don't have any, do you? I'm sorry. I'll go to Trader Joe's on my lunch break and get you some." She said, "No, that's okay. Don't worry about it." But did I believe her? No. It was not okay, and she made me feel it. Anyway, I got back from the grocery store with a slightly nicer version of the tea she had. Same ingredients, only more fragrant. Flavor remains. Antioxidants, the same. I showed her what I'd gotten and she looked at me with a slightly deranged smile--skeptical, but too polite to roll her eyes and sigh. Having picked up on this, I said, "Would you like to try it at least?" She said, "Do I have a choice?" I threw the tea bag on her goddamn keyboard and walked off in a huff.

When things cooled off, I got an email from her, saying, "So, are you going back to the store to exchange these?"

Role Model

Face it, biotches, you can't handle how cute she is. Yeah, she just signed a record deal and will be promoting the new line of junior fashion at Kohl's. She's also the new sponsor for Nutella because wha? Because she's wholesome. (Photo of some dog eating a biscuit out of some person's hand is provided by Sylvia.)

Grade 2: More Writing Topics to Test

Thanks to the Write Source website, my creative juices flow like spilled milk over which I will not cry because I am stoic! Allow me to test some of their Grade 2 topics:

My new friend: I met my new friend Patty while we were washing our hands in the classroom sink with that hard grainy pink and white soap. I remarked at how disgusting her fingernails were and asked if she was accustomed to eating with those fingernails. Patty told me to mind my own fucking business and asked if I was done with the sink yet, because my fat ass was taking up a lot of space. She’s not really my friend. I don’t ask bitches to be my friends.

How to make new friends: I’ve found that to successfully make new friends, you have to keep your opinions to yourself, wash your hands at the speed of light, and have a small ass. Patty, you’re a bitch.

Something funny that happened to me: Long ago, and oh so far away…

What I like about math: I don’t like a goddamn thing about math. This writing topic sucks! What do I like about math? What do I like about math?! What do I like about having a nervous breakdown and being sent to the nurse's office before a math final? Not a goddamn thing, my friend!

Testing Writing Topics

Thanks to the Write Source website, my creative juices flow like blood from a serious head injury! Allow me to test some of their Grade 1 topics:

A special birthday: When I was seven I told my parents I wanted a pony for my birthday, but I'd never seen a pony in my life. I was a little girl with no originality: my classmates all wanted ponies, so I thought, What the hell, give me a pony. On the day of my birthday, my parents got me a grey cat and called it a pony. I believed it to be a pony and told all my classmates that I did in fact get a pony for my birthday. All the little girls in my class wanted to come see my pony, so one Saturday I had a pony party. I put a saddle on my grey cat and Classmate Joanne crushed my cat to death with her sorry ass. I regretted making such a big deal about my pony-cat.

Friendly places: The Gap is a friendly place. The workers always greet me even though I rush past them to the clearance section. No one seems to judge me for shopping in the bargain section. No one.

I'd like to see...: Yes, after seeing a lot of things in life, I'd really like to keep seeing. Going blind now wouldn't be easy.

The biggest thing I ever saw: *sigh*

Picnic fun I like to make . . .: I like to crack open a huge watermelon and watch the scout ants come. Then I take three or four of them hostage and see what I can negotiate with the queen ant. An hour later, the entire colony will band together and haul out an entire sheet cake in tiny crumbs and lumps from within their intricate lair in order to get their scout ants back. Ant picnics are fun for me.

What if toys could talk? If toys could talk, Pixar would make a hell of a lot of money.

I rode on a . . .: I rode on a wild reindeer and crashed into a tree. I don't celebrate the story of Santa anymore.

See More Pictures

The photo blog has been updated.

Sylvia's Specific Description of Babies

Infants look like worm heads, magnified.

This is what happened after I sent you that email this morning.

The usual over-the-top “How are YOU today?” greeting was hard to respond to this morning. I knew she had the power to fire me on the spot, but maybe that’s what I was asking for when I said, “Well, I ‘m sober. Let’s just settle for that this morning, huh?”

She, now in tears, accused me of twisting her words around and veered unstably into her corner office.

I sipped my coffee and waited for my next email to come through.

Would you be my friend if I...

• asked you to tie my sad and uncool shoes?
• told you I walked into the voting booth and was confused about how the hole punching stuff worked on my ballot so I just did whatever?
• eagerly took your business card so that I could finally complete my house o' cards?
• snobbishly remarked that the words "Rob Thomas" don't exist in my vocabulary?
  
• ate small children (especially the ones who don't run fast)?
• compiled these lists in my head at work so that there was no room left for work-related information? (C'mon, that's what tomorrow is for!)
• Poppycock!--made poppycock the new cool expression for teens?
  
• told you, look, I really need a friend and I accept that I'm uncool but you seem to be open-minded so why don't we give it a try and if it doesn't work out I'll buy you some new flip flops because yours are looking pretty ratty?
  

Review of Rock Star: Supernova

Oh shut up and read.

I have two reasons for watching the show: One, the rockers. And two, it's all about the music, (if it wasn't also for the rockers). Combined, these elements form Rock Star: Supernova. Rock music is passion and not giving a damn about what other people say. Know it!

Unfortunately, that sort of delusion bores me, and over half the contestants (the whiny Chris being the worst) should be eliminated before the ratings start to sink. Especially annoying is when each of them, in introducing themselves to the tv watching world, default to the whiny phrase: Music is My Passion. Well isn't that nice? By the way, writing is my passion: I'm living a friggin' dream come true with this blog.

My Brain Cells Die at Work

Shit, what was I going to do?

There are a hell of a lot of toddlers on this planet.

Toddlers are everywhere. They've come from all over town to Toddler Storytime here at the public library this Friday morning. On my day off today, I learn that life is much more than my shit job, my shit attitude, and the people who share my same shit predicament. On my day off today, I learn that there are a hell of a lot of toddlers on this planet, and their lives are shittier than mine.

I mean, look at them: they can't even wait in line to check out books without bursting into tears. And why? Because they can't read and have to sit helplessly through their parents' awful sing-song reading styles the way we big people have to sit through their sing-songy speeches at work. It's no wonder why I start dreaming about my biscuit-faced friends in Dr. Seuss books when our CEO gives her reports.

Toddlers are weak. They get tired after doing nothing. They can't even get through a passive hour of storytime without falling asleep and/or getting all crabby. I can kind of see where they're coming from, though: their strengths aren't played up and job satisfaction must be really low for them.

Toddler Storytime...HA. I say they need to stop resorting to these morningtime escapist fantasyland story hours and start confronting their troubled inner lives.