Oh, Mary Tyler Moore and the 7 Deadly Saints.
What now.
The cat died today.
The good one, not the bad one.
@#$%#%$!
(Oh well, I'd miss the bad one, too,
come to think of it.)
Crikey.
If anyone needs me, I'll be sitting on the couch
in a football helmet with a glass of wine
and some cheesedip and whole grain Doritos.
Whole grain, people. I try.
And maybe a tub of Ben & Jerry's,
something chunky.
Boy,
I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue,
didn't I?*
*Thank God for comedy.
No, really.
Oh, and let's thank 'im for Beck, too, while we're at it.
He's just flat-out gooooooood.
I know I sound insensitive, but I'm just trying to laugh
my way out of this invasive
"baseball bat, indiscriminately bashing in car windshields"
thought I keep having.
Nice dream, but I wouldn't do it.
Not violent, have a conscience,
plus I don't have that much
upperbody strength either.
It would just end up being an embarrassing display.
I'm just sick to death of death these days.
Dude.
I need a nap. For about a year.
Damn.
I hope I just didn't wish for a coma.
Well.
If that happened, trust me, don't worry, I'm covered.
Boy.
Been funnelling my frustration into mindless chores.
Have become a super hero with special powers.
Not a cool special power. Just one that gets really tidy.
That's my super power, my superhero name:
Tidy Girl.
Last weekend in Episode Two of "Tidy Girl"
I recaulked the whole outside of the house,
every tiny crack I could reach,
even some I couldn't,
wobbling around the top rung of a squeaky aluminum ladder,
shots of adrenaline tingling and burning in my fingertips,
my brain is calmly thinking,
"Hey, Tidy Girl, you really need to go hand Ron
your insurance card for this next scene."
Then, I weeded the Yarden (which was looking pretty seedy,
vacated, overgrown, thick and garter snakey,
just needed an empty 40 oz. tossed in the bush,
can't even see the tacky yard gnome,
the wild violets are out of control,
strawberry vines everywhere...
hey, isn't that a band from Canada?...)
and sculpted the bushes into nice,
round masterpieces.
Therapeutic. Shrubapeutic.
Y'all.
Wish I'd been aware of it all.
I'd have Edward Scissorhanded a bush
into a topiary koala or something.
Well, maybe next time.
And there will be A Next Time.
Truth is, I could do it all over again, too.
Anyone need their house painted?
You buy the paint and let me know where you live.
I draw the line at car waxing though.
Bad for the nails.
Anyway, what I really wanted to say was just,
"Rest peacefully, my sweet Little Girl.
We'll miss you. I'll chase some birds for you.
The neighbors expect that sort of behaviour from me anyway."
What now.
The cat died today.
The good one, not the bad one.
@#$%#%$!
(Oh well, I'd miss the bad one, too,
come to think of it.)
Crikey.
If anyone needs me, I'll be sitting on the couch
in a football helmet with a glass of wine
and some cheesedip and whole grain Doritos.
Whole grain, people. I try.
And maybe a tub of Ben & Jerry's,
something chunky.
Boy,
I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue,
didn't I?*
*Thank God for comedy.
No, really.
Oh, and let's thank 'im for Beck, too, while we're at it.
He's just flat-out gooooooood.
I know I sound insensitive, but I'm just trying to laugh
my way out of this invasive
"baseball bat, indiscriminately bashing in car windshields"
thought I keep having.
Nice dream, but I wouldn't do it.
Not violent, have a conscience,
plus I don't have that much
upperbody strength either.
It would just end up being an embarrassing display.
I'm just sick to death of death these days.
Dude.
I need a nap. For about a year.
Damn.
I hope I just didn't wish for a coma.
Well.
If that happened, trust me, don't worry, I'm covered.
Boy.
Been funnelling my frustration into mindless chores.
Have become a super hero with special powers.
Not a cool special power. Just one that gets really tidy.
That's my super power, my superhero name:
Tidy Girl.
Last weekend in Episode Two of "Tidy Girl"
I recaulked the whole outside of the house,
every tiny crack I could reach,
even some I couldn't,
wobbling around the top rung of a squeaky aluminum ladder,
shots of adrenaline tingling and burning in my fingertips,
my brain is calmly thinking,
"Hey, Tidy Girl, you really need to go hand Ron
your insurance card for this next scene."
Then, I weeded the Yarden (which was looking pretty seedy,
vacated, overgrown, thick and garter snakey,
just needed an empty 40 oz. tossed in the bush,
can't even see the tacky yard gnome,
the wild violets are out of control,
strawberry vines everywhere...
hey, isn't that a band from Canada?...)
and sculpted the bushes into nice,
round masterpieces.
Therapeutic. Shrubapeutic.
Y'all.
Wish I'd been aware of it all.
I'd have Edward Scissorhanded a bush
into a topiary koala or something.
Well, maybe next time.
And there will be A Next Time.
Truth is, I could do it all over again, too.
Anyone need their house painted?
You buy the paint and let me know where you live.
I draw the line at car waxing though.
Bad for the nails.
Anyway, what I really wanted to say was just,
"Rest peacefully, my sweet Little Girl.
We'll miss you. I'll chase some birds for you.
The neighbors expect that sort of behaviour from me anyway."
2 comments:
Here's a pat on the back and I'm passing you the box of tissues and the tub of Ben and Jerry's (Chunky Monkey do?) Oh, and here's a glass of wine, hold that will you? One for me too, and a chocolate bar, an expensive one, with nuts. Now, curl up here and let's watch a funny movie. :)
Thank you, that sounds divine. Especially with the expensive chocolate bar with nuts which psychic-ly I just bought at lunch, and I think we need more wine. Definitely more wine.
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