1. Start to think you're really hot.
2. Wear your hair up in a makeshift bun after attempting to let it air dry, which it never does. Brushing optional.
3. Tell him he can refer to you as "Chip Chick" or "Sassy Lil' Mama."
4. Only wear minimal make-up: base, mascara on the upper lashes only, eye shadow, lip gloss, and a little pencil.
5. Wear the company provided biker looking black non-slip boots.
6. You're a size 6, but put on the size 8 khakis so you look slimmer than what you really are.
7. Pretend you're not the slightest bit interested while staring at your handheld computer.
8. Try to turn him off in every which way: swear like a sailor, flip the bird, tell it like it is and tell him you can only accept "diet" drinks because you're watching the girly figure.
9. Offer to listen to his problems, nod, and say a few encouraging words as if you're really interested.
10. Always, always, wear the padded bra, even though the twins could really use a minimizer.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Orange Peels at Night
The scent of burning citrus
against the black sky
full of musky silence
and sticky cobweb like film
I'm running towards you
backroads full of stunted palms
overgrown crabgrass
and hidden scenes of despair
The sounds of Kenny
singing about wine
in two dixie cups
the thoughts of your love
filling the vessel inside
a new-found addiction
comforting an over anxious soul
fighting for something she can't yet see
You open the door
without the sound of a knock
sensing my arrival
seconds after the final call
telling me how and where to go
almost lost
like my heart
in an entwinement of skin, lust and feeling
of finally
this is it
So easy
So free
So long gone
like that scent of orange peels
burning in the night
just a forgotten mist
of invigoration
and promise of an inviting dream
Now awake
the phone doesn't ring
and your voice is only a recording
stored away in a box
sitting on a dampened floor
wondering if it should be replayed
or left to collect the dust
that will soon accumulate
once the sunrise's rays
begin to shine again
against the black sky
full of musky silence
and sticky cobweb like film
I'm running towards you
backroads full of stunted palms
overgrown crabgrass
and hidden scenes of despair
The sounds of Kenny
singing about wine
in two dixie cups
the thoughts of your love
filling the vessel inside
a new-found addiction
comforting an over anxious soul
fighting for something she can't yet see
You open the door
without the sound of a knock
sensing my arrival
seconds after the final call
telling me how and where to go
almost lost
like my heart
in an entwinement of skin, lust and feeling
of finally
this is it
So easy
So free
So long gone
like that scent of orange peels
burning in the night
just a forgotten mist
of invigoration
and promise of an inviting dream
Now awake
the phone doesn't ring
and your voice is only a recording
stored away in a box
sitting on a dampened floor
wondering if it should be replayed
or left to collect the dust
that will soon accumulate
once the sunrise's rays
begin to shine again
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Endangered Flirtation
He's an ass
covered in dim lights
and perfect cream-colored clothes
the kind you find
in a magazine
or plastered on a billboard
So inviting
to the one
who likes
perfected air-brushed beauty
like the image
everyone had told her
she should be
He doesn't tell her his name
Only questions
That seem to come out undisguised
in the midst of brown sugared tea
too strong to be indulged
yet carelessly consumed
so that for a moment
she can reveal
what's really inside
The only thing missing
is a puffed out cigarette
or two
He asks if her hair has a little red
She says yes
And lets his hands
caress
what only one man should have
The gold band is forgotten
mentioned in passing
as though it doesn't really exist
He offers her a ride
an invitation for danger
or perhaps just a way
to forget the emptiness
until a new void
gets created with the rise
of the sun's first set of revealing rays
covered in dim lights
and perfect cream-colored clothes
the kind you find
in a magazine
or plastered on a billboard
So inviting
to the one
who likes
perfected air-brushed beauty
like the image
everyone had told her
she should be
He doesn't tell her his name
Only questions
That seem to come out undisguised
in the midst of brown sugared tea
too strong to be indulged
yet carelessly consumed
so that for a moment
she can reveal
what's really inside
The only thing missing
is a puffed out cigarette
or two
He asks if her hair has a little red
She says yes
And lets his hands
caress
what only one man should have
The gold band is forgotten
mentioned in passing
as though it doesn't really exist
He offers her a ride
an invitation for danger
or perhaps just a way
to forget the emptiness
until a new void
gets created with the rise
of the sun's first set of revealing rays
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Lingering Facade
You were a gentle breeze
The kind that sneaks up behind your back
Brushing against the skin like a tease
You wanted what you couldn’t have
A sense of control
Entitlement to a gift you hadn’t yet earned
But you thought you did
I’m sorry it didn’t work out
Quite the way you wanted
You can’t catch what you don’t already have
An independent spirit won’t be burned
Because she’s already free
To make her own choices
And define her own life
Not be tricked into a trap
Of whom you think
She should be
Good-bye was the right choice
Even though the prize you dangled
Was a temptation shrouded sometimes
In regret for not being taken
We can’t go back
You realize
To an unspoken almost tune
Suddenly creating steps that were never written
Destiny always has its way of manifesting
If not now, eventually
And ours was just a brief moment
Of passing connection
So beautiful
Incapable of being forgotten
Yet discarded
Like a piece of paper
With scribbles
Of what we don’t want anyone else to see
The kind that sneaks up behind your back
Brushing against the skin like a tease
You wanted what you couldn’t have
A sense of control
Entitlement to a gift you hadn’t yet earned
But you thought you did
I’m sorry it didn’t work out
Quite the way you wanted
You can’t catch what you don’t already have
An independent spirit won’t be burned
Because she’s already free
To make her own choices
And define her own life
Not be tricked into a trap
Of whom you think
She should be
Good-bye was the right choice
Even though the prize you dangled
Was a temptation shrouded sometimes
In regret for not being taken
We can’t go back
You realize
To an unspoken almost tune
Suddenly creating steps that were never written
Destiny always has its way of manifesting
If not now, eventually
And ours was just a brief moment
Of passing connection
So beautiful
Incapable of being forgotten
Yet discarded
Like a piece of paper
With scribbles
Of what we don’t want anyone else to see
Saturday, July 10, 2010
A $20 Bottle of Chardonnay
The last bottle
of cheap wine
poured into glasses
painted with margarita palms
takes me back to the tipsy tank
A tank that sometimes I get drowned in
until morning starts to shine its first rays
of wake me-up light
No more fun dancing
or bad karaoke interpretations of Ms. LeAnn
It's now 5:30
Not midnight
No more darkness
Slept away in a swirl of dizzy
Only a small remnant of regret
For doing what you said you wouldn't
A lingering feeling of almost sickness
From a toxic substance
That erases the pain you feel about yourself
Enticing you with the allure of everything's wonderful
No matter the name
Chardonnay,
Cabernet,
Pinot Noir,
Grigio,
Merlot,
Or perhaps Sauvignon or Sangria
If you're feeling a little edgy
It all ends the same
Reality is a prison you can't escape
You are a reality you can't escape
Decisions made
A chapter written
A synopsis now unfolded
That wasn't quite the tale you meant to have told
The only hope
Is a blank page
That is still pure white
Inviting in its innocence
Waiting to become the reflection
Of what and whom you really feel inside
of cheap wine
poured into glasses
painted with margarita palms
takes me back to the tipsy tank
A tank that sometimes I get drowned in
until morning starts to shine its first rays
of wake me-up light
No more fun dancing
or bad karaoke interpretations of Ms. LeAnn
It's now 5:30
Not midnight
No more darkness
Slept away in a swirl of dizzy
Only a small remnant of regret
For doing what you said you wouldn't
A lingering feeling of almost sickness
From a toxic substance
That erases the pain you feel about yourself
Enticing you with the allure of everything's wonderful
No matter the name
Chardonnay,
Cabernet,
Pinot Noir,
Grigio,
Merlot,
Or perhaps Sauvignon or Sangria
If you're feeling a little edgy
It all ends the same
Reality is a prison you can't escape
You are a reality you can't escape
Decisions made
A chapter written
A synopsis now unfolded
That wasn't quite the tale you meant to have told
The only hope
Is a blank page
That is still pure white
Inviting in its innocence
Waiting to become the reflection
Of what and whom you really feel inside
Friday, June 18, 2010
A Preview from "Miss Davis"
The sun was beginning to shine its first rays across the lush, green crabgrass that still showed a few droplets of dew trickling down the interior. A view of the ocean’s blue line was just a few steps away. The chaotic force that drove the water towards the shore, only to end in a calm whoosh of foam white could be heard from the edge, even though the strings of saw grass hid it from the naked eye. Sometimes she came out here to clear her mind. Other times it was to escape from the emotions that she was forced to keep bottled up. Here she could let them escape and ride into the wind, the same way the seagulls above flew without a sense of care. Miss Davis had lived here for almost twenty years, but it wasn’t until the last five that she had ventured out to the coast to catch a glimpse of the beauty that drew so many to her home. It was early, but she could spot a few runners making their own trail in the white sands that could deceptively burn you in minutes if you weren’t careful. She found a bench under the shielding shade of one of the cypress trees a half mile back from the shore. A sigh of peaceful relief escaped her lips as she stared out at the teal green expanse of the Gulf of Mexico. It was a peace she so desperately needed this morning and a peace she wouldn’t feel again for several months to come.
“Twisters!” “Twisters!”
The collections of screams were shouting with a mixed sense of urgency and fear, as they ran to find shelter inside the building. They moved together like a herd of animals wanting to outrun the source of inevitable danger. The screaming voices were an awakening to both her mind and weighted down legs, jolting them out of complacency into the fevered action that blurred its way down the sidewalk, up the stairs and through the peeling, painted brown doors. Dark gray swirls of uncertainty seemed to follow the herd past the doors into the room that they had haphazardly gathered in. No windows. No basement. No sure sense of safety. Only hope. Hope that somehow they would be spared the impending wrath of destruction that didn’t seem to care what or whom it took with it before dissipating back into the nothingness that it came from.
Scenes like these were beginning to become somewhat commonplace. Storm after storm, in an endless chain of devastation. Miss Davis couldn’t remember a time when she had witnessed so many. There had already been so much loss, so much chaos and confusion. People’s lives were in shambles. Homes destroyed; in some cases wiped right off the foundation they had once stood so proudly on. TV crews kept documenting the tragedies for the rest of the country to witness. But a few scenes of plywood, steel tin panels and street lamps being whipped in wind and rain aren’t the same as actually being the ones the cameras are busy pointing at. “Ivan” was the latest arrival. So many names and so much irony in the fact that they were essentially all the same unfrozen blizzard that kept returning as though it were seeking revenge for a past indiscretion. Though miles away from its center, Central Florida still had to worry about the effects the outer bands might unleash on the fragile land that merely floated on the underlying aquifer beneath it.
Miss Davis enclosed her arms around Muriel’s chest, shielding the top of her head beneath the cylinder hollow she created in an attempt to keep the young girl safe from any flying debris. She could feel the structure of the building beginning to sway with the force of the wind that was screeching like it was a runaway train trying to make a last minute stop.
Two sets of clouds were beginning to separate from each other, each edge still almost touching as the whispered fragments allowed a few rays of sunlight to shine through. Even though the ground was beyond damp, with the promise of mold and must, the slivers of yellow light against a piece of blue sky were enough to inspire hope. The wind was still blowing its cool swirls of animosity against the remaining droplets of rain that continued to fall from what was left of the mass of gray danger hanging above. The pain in her right leg was unbearable. Fighting back the urge to cry out in sheer agony was easier than wondering how she was going to hoist herself up. Somehow she had to. She had to sift through what was left of the walls and the ceiling that once stood around them. She had to find the children. She had to find Muriel.
“Twisters!” “Twisters!”
The collections of screams were shouting with a mixed sense of urgency and fear, as they ran to find shelter inside the building. They moved together like a herd of animals wanting to outrun the source of inevitable danger. The screaming voices were an awakening to both her mind and weighted down legs, jolting them out of complacency into the fevered action that blurred its way down the sidewalk, up the stairs and through the peeling, painted brown doors. Dark gray swirls of uncertainty seemed to follow the herd past the doors into the room that they had haphazardly gathered in. No windows. No basement. No sure sense of safety. Only hope. Hope that somehow they would be spared the impending wrath of destruction that didn’t seem to care what or whom it took with it before dissipating back into the nothingness that it came from.
Scenes like these were beginning to become somewhat commonplace. Storm after storm, in an endless chain of devastation. Miss Davis couldn’t remember a time when she had witnessed so many. There had already been so much loss, so much chaos and confusion. People’s lives were in shambles. Homes destroyed; in some cases wiped right off the foundation they had once stood so proudly on. TV crews kept documenting the tragedies for the rest of the country to witness. But a few scenes of plywood, steel tin panels and street lamps being whipped in wind and rain aren’t the same as actually being the ones the cameras are busy pointing at. “Ivan” was the latest arrival. So many names and so much irony in the fact that they were essentially all the same unfrozen blizzard that kept returning as though it were seeking revenge for a past indiscretion. Though miles away from its center, Central Florida still had to worry about the effects the outer bands might unleash on the fragile land that merely floated on the underlying aquifer beneath it.
Miss Davis enclosed her arms around Muriel’s chest, shielding the top of her head beneath the cylinder hollow she created in an attempt to keep the young girl safe from any flying debris. She could feel the structure of the building beginning to sway with the force of the wind that was screeching like it was a runaway train trying to make a last minute stop.
Two sets of clouds were beginning to separate from each other, each edge still almost touching as the whispered fragments allowed a few rays of sunlight to shine through. Even though the ground was beyond damp, with the promise of mold and must, the slivers of yellow light against a piece of blue sky were enough to inspire hope. The wind was still blowing its cool swirls of animosity against the remaining droplets of rain that continued to fall from what was left of the mass of gray danger hanging above. The pain in her right leg was unbearable. Fighting back the urge to cry out in sheer agony was easier than wondering how she was going to hoist herself up. Somehow she had to. She had to sift through what was left of the walls and the ceiling that once stood around them. She had to find the children. She had to find Muriel.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Buried Imprints
In a not so distant yesterday
I held onto your arms
In a tight grasp
Afraid of having to let go
Of who I thought we were
Unsure of what would become
Of our hearts
In the distance and solitude
Where only our minds
Could possibly touch
Or go astray
Saying good-bye
Was almost too easy
As though there were no more threads
Left of the strings between what was
And what could be
I guess we were tired
Of night dances
And daytime wishes
That couldn’t erase the emptiness
Between what was
And what should be
Of an existence entwined
Love is funny
In the sense that it never ends
Even after you’ve let the last pebble of sand
Slip from the grasp of your fingers
So that it can become free
To find what it now wants
Becoming just a memory
That fades slowly
Like the light of a sunset
Returning only in pictures
Captured by time’s stillness
Forgotten until the lines of the imprint
Rub up against today’s reflection
I held onto your arms
In a tight grasp
Afraid of having to let go
Of who I thought we were
Unsure of what would become
Of our hearts
In the distance and solitude
Where only our minds
Could possibly touch
Or go astray
Saying good-bye
Was almost too easy
As though there were no more threads
Left of the strings between what was
And what could be
I guess we were tired
Of night dances
And daytime wishes
That couldn’t erase the emptiness
Between what was
And what should be
Of an existence entwined
Love is funny
In the sense that it never ends
Even after you’ve let the last pebble of sand
Slip from the grasp of your fingers
So that it can become free
To find what it now wants
Becoming just a memory
That fades slowly
Like the light of a sunset
Returning only in pictures
Captured by time’s stillness
Forgotten until the lines of the imprint
Rub up against today’s reflection
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