Today’s blog post is divided into two completely unrelated parts, much like my brain hemispheres. The first part is my first meager attempt at writing poetry because I was inspired by some truly talented writers in Portsmouth this weekend. I have vowed to try and learn to write something other than the useless, verbal diarrhea I usually create. The second part of this post reads much more smoothly because let’s face it, that is my niche and I could bitch and complain for the Olympics. And every time I write a poem, it ends up sounding like a dirty limerick.
This is NOT a Love Poem, Cause That Would Be Gross
The minute you walked into that bar, the whole room knew that we were totally fucked.
Both of us pacing in endless circles.
Finding solace in everything but silence.
Sucking whiskey off your tongue at 6:00 a.m.
Telling stories about toast.
Making love on sweaty sheets, leaving the sticky mess for someone else to clean up.
Never finding my car keys or cell phone again.
Distracting myself from the emotion with something more familiar.
Such as the sweet pain of getting a tattoo of something ironic.
You and I have the potential to be one glorious train wreck.
Yet, I willingly draw upon your scent.
Trusting this has already played out somewhere else.
Knowing our meeting would always be the outcome.
Jesus Drives an Airstream Trailer
If Jesus were on earth.
He would drive across the country pulling a retro silver airstream trailer.
He would not speak very much, but he’d be a man of his word.
Sitting in the back of bars talking to bartenders who sport kick ass pompadours.
Jesus would offer to buy a lonely man a drink and give him a ride home.
Then, the next day the man would wake up with the urge to join AA.
And not just for the doughnuts.
Jesus would drive through the South and into the West.
Ordering lemon meringue pie out of rotating pie refrigerators.
It’s unlikely we would meet; although, I do like pie.
But if we did, I hope I wouldn’t act like a slut.
Because figuring out guys is a bitch in itself and waiting for Jesus to call would make me crazy.
My Views on Russian Spam:
On a lighter note: Why the heck do I get twenty Russian bloggers spamming me with European porn on a daily basis?? I can can not read their language and am not stupid enough to ever download anything onto my computer. There is no point to their efforts. Yet, I get stuck spending five mins of my life every single day deleting this bullshit. Wordpress has to do something all the link dropping and spamming because now my panties are all in a bunch about this, and I am a very dangerous and powerful person.
In truth, I have no idea if the spam really is porn or not because as previously mention, I cannot read Russian. But I like to imagine that it is hot European porn rather than cooking tips or a discount membership to AARP, which by the way, I have also received.
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