Phone Phucks

There are two types of people with whom I cannot stand talking on the phone...or sometimes just talking to in general, actually.

I. The "I Never Stop for a Breath" Talker

This is that dear friend who, for all the good about them and all their good intentions, just never takes a hint.  Phone conversations are lovely when they are quick and to the point.  Sure, a long talk here and there is great, but before you settle in for a good long chat, make sure the person on the other end of the line has the energy and time; please do not drag them, kicking and screaming, into "I wanna talk about me" land.

When I talk to someone, I like input.  I want to have a conversation, not give a damn sermon, so when people talk to me like they might just as easily be talking to a wall with no feelings or thoughts of its own, I call them preachers who bogart conversations and I will typically try to avoid speaking with them, especially on the phone, in the future.

This subject brings me to the second type of person I cannot stand speaking with, and they are called:

II.  The "I May As Well Be Plaster on the Wall Because I Am So Boring and Utterly Responseless" Individual

This is the one that bugs me the most, even more than the bogarter. This is the person that you can pour out your heart too, tell them what you think is probably the funniest story in the world, or with whom you bestow some other titillating little tidbits that you are excited to share with another human being, and what do you get?  "...Uh huh...yeah...grunt...*undetectable head nodding*...yeah."  Wow, thank you! I'm so glad we could have this conversation!  I may as well have just spent the past five minutes shellacking my toaster with cream cheese for all I have just gotten out of speaking to you just then.  Bravo!  Let's be sure to do this again...NEVER.

Thank you for reading and "Phuck you kindly."

Sicka Chicks

Chin strap beards in the corners of your photographs.
Glare on the hair dyed so many colors it's evident you can't make up your
mind.

I wonder what you see at the bottom
of that glass,
when it's on top
of your face...just space?
Swirlingspecks of lipstick
or lip-liner
or maybe a nice glossy shimmer, whatever you girls are wearing nowadays,
folded within the ebbs and flows of your drunken
backwash?

Is it fulfilling, this sight,
day in and night out, this sight, every night,
what life is all about?

 And it doesn't make me furious, that you leave me
out

because really
the next morning, what more have you gained?
Have you sustained
even a memory
from the washed-out stains
on your name...it's a shame,
because everyone has their party phase
but when it seems no longer to be just a phase
but, instead, a way to pass your days,
living long in that haze,
where potential's erased...

in your photographs, I see
you erode
at Mr. Toad's when that last call is called out
for the last
time,
and my rhymes might be all that remain
in your
mind, so have a good night
--now I'm gonna go
sHiNe.

Sal's Cologne

Every day and night, an old, old man who lives on my street takes a walk. He is always dressed to the nine, with a sharp hat and coat to match, and a thick, white handlebar mustache groomed to perfection. He stops to talk to people on his way up and down the street, and occasionally I run into him and stop for a chat. His name is Sal and he moved to Pittsburgh from Italy as a young man, evidenced by his thick Italian accent. He always remembers small details I tell him about my life and asks me about them when we run into one another, even as we meet in passing. He tells me about his homemade wine, and always gives me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, his white grandpa whiskers tickling my skin. It's heartwarming to know that such kind and caring people exist, and that even as a very old man or woman, there is still so much life to be lived, if only one chooses to live it. I will always remember my first deep breathe after each time we part ways, strong with the smell of Sal's cologne.

Lost.

You
are
sparkling...
gleaming
collecting
dirt, in the farthest corner
near the dustiest edges
of the most
forgotten
place.
I knew I'd find you
so I let you go, to
where?
Ah, yes, I know--that pocket
in that bag;
the space between the stove and the counter;
the tiny zipper part
of my purse, the spot
that exists solely for that moment
when you find it, that it you thought
you'd never
find
again...
the nightstand, beneath the nightstand, behind
the couch,
hovering inside
the bubble in the carpet--
you're there,
but as soon as I look,
try to measure you with my gaze
the uncertainty of your place, shifts space and
you're gone...
to my sock drawer, the dryer lint catcher, that box
inside the box,
inside the box in my head,
under the bed! In the covers...
hidden inside/under
just above/just below
beside
myself, I search and find
a line
of shimmering
dust.

I feel like joy.

"Life is short, but it is wide."

A Listy-List

I seem to have a new-found "thing" with making ongoing lists on my blog so, what the hay, here's another.

I shall deem thee, henceforth, my list of all-time favorite songs of...well...all...time.

I don't just mean songs I enjoy.  Or songs I really, really like. No, not necessarily even songs that I love.  This list is dedicated to only those songs that I find totally irreplaceable and which always have held and always will hold a warm, cushy spot in my heart, just for them.

MMmmm yummy. Let's begin. And in no particular order they are...

1.) Always Be My Baby--Mariah Carey

There is nothing I could be doing that I will not immediately drop to start belting this song at the top of my lungs.  Like...forever.  It will always be my baby (sorry, I had to).

2.) 100 Years--Five For Fighting

I can think of very few songs as touching and all-encompassing as this one.  If a song was a tangible thing, some glowing, warm little trinket that could be held in the palm of one's hand and cherished or given as a gift to someone oh-so special, I'd give this song to all of the kids in my family to grow up listening to and holding in their little hands until they gracefully reach 100 years and know what it's all about.

3.) Remember When--Alan Jackson

This song is along the same lines as 100 Years, though still very unique and special to me.  What 100 Years is to the individual, I'd say this song is to the couple.  It so beautifully attempts to capture a life and a love in the lyrics and melody of a song, and I would offer that it does a pretty damn good job.  Makes me long to live it out in my own way.

4.) Man in the Mirror-Michael Jackson

First of all. If you have a problem with Michael Jackson...I'm going to go ahead and say I have a problem with you.  He was an amazing man with about as kind, conscientious, and empathetic a heart as ever there was on this Earth.  I feel he was terribly misrepresented and misunderstood.  But back to the song.  This song is just one of his many calls to action for each of us to, essentially, be better people--to love more and give more and care more.  Music is a powerful, universal and far-reaching tool, and to use it in such a noble way, not to mention with such a rockin' beat (makes me wanna dance EVERY time), well that gains my respect and a place on my top songs of all time list :)

5.) The Way You Make Me Feel-Michael Jackson

I physically cannot NOT dance when this song is playing.

6.) In My Head--Jason Derulo

For years I have wondered when i would finally get sick of this song, and I finally know the answer to my question: NEVER. Dancey dance dance WOOO!

7.) Who I Am--Jessica Andrews

I am Edna's granddaughter...and when the day is done my momma's still my biggest fan.  It's all a part of me, and that's who I am.  Totally relate-able and inspiring.

8.) Light in Your Eyes--Sheryl Crow

9.) The Good Stuff--Kenny Chesney 

I feel like poo.

I feel like poo today.

First of all, my contacts are not the correct prescription and are annoying the ever-loving crap out of me like nothing has annoyed me before.  Well...that is a lie.  I'm sure things have annoyed me worse, or at least just as bad.

In keeping with the spirit of being agitated, peeved and/or experiencing a ruffling of one's tail feathers, I am going to make a rare exception on my blog.

I am going to write a post that is inherently negative.  Not in an artsy, brooding sense.  Just negative.  Just full of poop.

Typically i don't like to do this because I don't want to encourage negativity in myself or others, and quite frankly, who really wants to read something with "poo" in the title? I mean, it's a small miracle you've made it this far.

Since Christmas is right around the corner and we all know that Christmas requires cheer at any expense, let us take this opportunity to really give misery one last hoorah before we officially become jolly.

So here it is, my

LIST OF SHIT THAT BUGS THE CRAP OUT OF ME AND MAKES ME FEEL LIKE POO:

-contacts that do not work, and cause one to appear lazy when one avoids doing work at all costs because it gives one an awful headache, causing one's day to feel ruinous.

-the smell of broccoli.

-people who don't know how to drive.  Particularly Pittsburgh drivers.  Way too timid--be a little more aggressive.  When the speed limit says 65, it does not actually mean 40...it obviously means 80.  And you people who slow down instead of speed up when you reach an on-ramp, I'm definitely talkin' to YOU TOO.

-doing dishes. looking at dishes in the sink.  smelling dishes in the sink.  knowing dishes exist in the sink as I hide from said dishes in my bedroom wishing they would just disappear.

-being forced to wake up early.

-people past the age of six who cannot spell and/or use proper and correct grammar.

-southerners.  the war is over.  you LOST. we WON. now get over it, ya'll.

-people who regularly watch sports of any kind that they do not themselves actually play, or have not actually played in the past.

-ethnocentrism

-CIGARETTES, drugs. sorry if you look down on me for disliking these items.  but my vice is food and I prefer to keep it that way.

-chauvinism

-people who live in the USA but constantly talk about how awful it is to live in the USA.  no one is forcing you to stay here, bucco.  in fact, you should probably go try to live somewhere where you have no freedoms and where your children can't walk outside your own front door without fear of being shot at from a tank.  please, feel free to leave, I'll get a good chuckle out of it, and I looove me a good chuckle.

-whorebags
-whorebags
-whorebags

-when anyone, including myself, does not live up to their full potential in life


But, after all of this is said and done, let me just tell you all one thing that I absolutely, positively, love love love and ADORE:

...YOU!

Merry Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanza/Whatever the Hell Tom Cruise celebrates

Much love. Ya'll come back now, ya hear?