"I’ll set the alarm for 9:30," I said.
"You’ll wake up at 7," she said.
"Its 2am and I’ve been drinking. I’ll sleep past 10," I said.
The blanket fell to the floor in the overly air conditioned morning. As I picked it up, I looked at my phone. Exactly 7am. A little later, still shivering, I get up to turn the fan away from the bed. Then again to turn off the AC altogether.
I look at the clock again. It’s only 7:08. How did I spend thirty minutes struggling to fall back asleep in the span of only eight?
I glance at her. She’s snuggled under her comforter, as cozy as a slug in a mug. But I’m still not convinced. Whether through stealth, telekinesis or time travel, she caused that blanket to fall.
Or maybe some god just likes her better. I don’t blame him.
"I’ll set the alarm for 9:30," I said.
This recipe is soooo good! I did make a few changes. I used pork instead of chicken and BBQ sauce instead of orange sauce and instead of rice, I made french fries, but my husband and kids loved it, so I’ll definitely make it again! ★★★★★
I didn’t have any chicken on hand so I used peanut butter instead. My kids hated it. ★★
My oven is broken so I tried baking this pie by setting it on the sidewalk but my neighbor’s cat ate it and then got ran over by a car, so I’m sure not feeding this to my family! ★
I hate onions, so I didn’t expect to like these onion blossoms and I was right. This recipe sucks. I wish I could give it negative stars. ★
I am on a gluten-free diet so I switched the 2 cups of flour with 2 cups of metal shavings and the cake didn’t rise at all! :( ★★★
This recipe is horrible. The 5000 people who rated it 4 or 5 stars must have made it wrong. I followed it exactly and it came out tasting like warm concrete. ★
I cooked this lasagna for my lady friend and then we had sex. ★★★★★
I learned how to cook from my grandmother and she never needed a recipe, so I don’t use them either. If you use this recipe, you’re not a real cook. Make everything from scratch. ★
The girl at the McDonalds window looks through me with dead eyes, already taking the order of the next person in line, as I hand her my debit card. She thanks me as she returns the card but her words are as robotic as electric sheep dreams.
The guy at window #2, with his dark skin and bleached blonde afro, radiates life when he hands me my food. He clearly hears what I say and responds in kind.
The radio is playing a Florence and the Machine song, the first by the band that I haven’t disliked.
And I think: I should write a poem about this.
I want to open a massage parlor named Bipolar Finale. The customer will never know if they’re getting a handjob or just punched in the junk.
Also, I want to open a strip club in a college town and call it Tuition.
They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. You hadn’t been gone for five minutes and I felt like slitting my wrists. If that’s how I react to a six day trip, I refuse to ponder forever.
On the drive home, I listened to Guns ‘n Roses, a band you hate. I thought Welcome To The Jungle might pump me up. But your stereo, ever finicky about MP3 CDs, insisted on playing Don’t Cry. How fucking ironic.
I occasionally browse through the casual encounters section of Craig’s List because I enjoy seeing how many different ways people can misspell slang words for vagina. These are a few of the recurring thoughts that enter my mind:
- You can’t tell if I’m real unless I type a specific phrase in the subject line? Are you expecting a check from a Nigerian prince any day now?
- Do the “straight” guys seeking to have sex with other “straight” guys believe that the sex is less gay if both participants are in the closet?
- It’s a good thing that Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was repealed because there sure are a lot of soldiers telling the entire world.
- Are the women who place W4W ads looking for someone to sleep with their husband too stupid to know the difference or are their husbands too stupid to see what’s coming?
- What are the odds of a woman who’s “ready to have [her] cooter licked” being computer literate enough to use Craig’s List?
Stumbling along the empty streets at dawn, my stomach as uneasy as my every step, I look to the sunrise, hoping it will eradicate the the fog blanketing my brain, only to discover a throbbing pain behind my eyes. I’ll never forget her body, but the only name I remember from last night is Jose Cuervo.
Originally written in response to a prompt for Auntie Mae’s Mighty Fine Poetry Night, where it was first read.
My penis is larger than Tao Lin’s penis.
I know because someone asked him
how long his penis was
in a Q & A session
at The Rumpus
and he said ~5” erect.
Mine is in the 6.5” range.
What relevancy does this hold?
other than it has inspired me
to assemble a collection of poems
that I will entitle
My Penis Is Larger Than Tao Lin’s Penis
in which I will probably include this poem.
So thank you, Tao Lin, for having a smaller penis than me.
I’ll take my inspiration wherever I can find it.
Apologies for failing to update this blog for the past couple of weeks. I was in traction after being accidentally kicked in the balls by a converted lesbian.
A typical male fantasy involves “converting” a lesbian and having her fall in love with him.
A typical male fails to take into consideration that lesbians, by definition, have little-to-no scrotal experience. Thus they are prone to accidentally kicking you in the balls when rolling around in bed, forgetting that it will reduce you to a crumpled heap of crippling pain.