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.

Breen’s Cafe has a grill right on the end of the bar. There were also no menus, no credit cards, no receipts. My kind of no bullshit establishment. Without a proper kitchen, the place got so smokey that this old guy actually lit up a cigar and nobody noticed. Chris, my BFF, was being lame and kept getting in the way of me taking a picture of the guy, so you will just have to trust me on this one. And regardless of what anyone said, I highly doubt the patron would have really come after me just for taking one little picture. But he did look a bit like Whitey Bulger…Hmmmmmmm.

Michael was the friendly bar tender at the fine Irish establishment we spent the morning at. He was completely mystified that I choose to spend my first day of vacation in Worcester and helpfully suggested that I might spend my second day in some place called Sharon. I have no idea if this was sarcastic or not. Or maybe Sharon is a person, and he thought I was a lesbian. I’ve been getting that a lot since I started wearing glasses. However, I liked Michael because he laughed right in some guy’s face who asked for Grey Goose in his drink.

This sign that was taped to the bar, I found very confusing, and Michael agreed with me. I tried lying on the ground while ordering beer and lounging on top of the bar. However, both were unsatisfactory options.  The drunk guy sitting next to me told me that any moron who could write messages with her fingers on a telephone should be able to figure out the correct meaning. Yet, he failed to inform me exactly what said sign meant. A few minutes later, he put his head down to take a nap and the mystery remained unsolved.

Of course, I spilled something on my pants. This particular stain is burger grease, but my friend, Chris, just shook his head and said, “Why don’t you just dump the beer in your lap and get the inevitable over with.” I didn’t find Chris all that amusing. However, it is a known fact that a pair of emergency pants is a good idea when going out drinking with me.

One extremely interesting feature of this bar was the sheer volume of flat screen televisions packed into one tiny room. And playing on all twenty-four televisions at 11:00 a.m. on Monday morning was this…Giraffe Autopsy.

I took these pictures of the screens, which will explain why my offering to eat the abandoned lump of nondescript meat off the bar was really quite courageous of me. All for the small price of Chris paying for my beer and lunch. He refused, by the way, saying, “Look Fred, I need to find a job before I can resume betting you to eat gross things that I know you will most likely eat regardless.” I hate logic.

Side note: Fred is Chris’s nickname for me. That and Space Shuttle.

Now, I know in my heart that this was probably basic hamburger. Even so, I would of had to wash it down with a full beer. Speaking of things that make me want to vomit, the original plan was to travel to Worcester to hit up the thrift stores. The only thing I found of interest at the SalVal was a sweatshirt that featured a squirrel holding a baseball bat. The text below the picture read, “protect your nuts.” It was very cute; however, on the sweatshirt were more dried white crusty stains than the headboard at a roadside motel in Nevada. Chris described them as the nastiest dried crum stains he had ever seen and managed to talk me out of bringing it home. Still, one has to wonder how the wearer got those stains all the way up around the shoulders..Oh wait..I just realized how!! He must of had some help……

Autopsy and crum aside, it was a great start to my one week vacation. Tomorrow, it is off the Portsmouth for three more days of further shenanigans. Happy St. Patty’s!!!!

I am a woman who has a lot of male friends. They seem to tolerate my foul mouth and tendency to fart on my friend’s heads when I am drunk just a little better than most women. As a result, I get to hear all about their latest love conquests and once in a while, one of my man friends gets really desperate and asks me for advice about women.

Oh goody, right?

As my male friends have started aging and can no longer see their feet and hair is starting to grow out of all kinds of curious places, I find myself more and more trying to look interested as my male friends talk about teeth whitening, skin clarifying, and of course, strategic shaving.

Manscaping. The cool kids call it.

I have finally figured out why you guys are dragging me into Bath and Body and asking me if the moisturizer smells too girly. Lets face it. We are all getting old. You more than me because I plan to be 39 forever. So the questions on many aging men’s minds appears to be, “Will proper grooming keep me looking younger and get me laid?” And the answer is…..Well, yes and no.”

I once dated this really great  guy from over the pond, and he had about the worst grooming habits that I have ever seen in my life. I swear that the image of the fuzzy tumbleweed tangle of blond fur on his taint still burns unpleasantly in my head. That nightmare didn’t stop me from …..Well..lets just say it didn’t stop me. But this wasn’t someone I had much of a long term relationship with, and I was coming out of a nasty divorce. Plus there was quite a bit of alcohol involved.

But the bottom line is that when Mama is in the mood, Mama is in the mood. Smelling like you bed down with sheep or me having to get at your privates with a weed wacker won’t be much of a deterrent. A disappointment and subject of future blog posts, but not a deterent. However, I do appreciate having the path cleared a little and maybe take a swipe at it with some soap. Everyone knows that women have a distinct scent, and the big surprise is that men do too. And it’s not unlike the smell of old cheese and feet.

I fricken love to drink in my man’s sweet manly smell, and if my man happens to pick a cologne that I really like.. stand back!! That little touch can keep me jonesing for seconds, thirds, and so on. I love that after my man leaves, I can still smell him on my clothes and pillows.  On the other hand, I once broke up with a guy because I seriously hate the smell of mint and Green Tea. Moreover, I love when a man picks out perfume for me and vice versa.

But let me remind you that good grooming means more than just body wash and having skin as soft as a baby’s arse. I have a female friend, and she dated a man who showed up for dates impecably groomed. However, the first time she went to his house, they made out out on his bed. Her head happened to tilt back in the throws of ecstasy, and it was at this moment, she noticed the underside of his nightstand with twenty-five wads of old, hardened chewing gum fermenting there.

That would have been a deal breaker for me…but she soldiered on.

I’ve thought about men’s products, and have come to this conclusion. What good grooming in your thirties and fourties means to women is simply that you have your man shit together. You can wipe your own bum, and a woman doesn’t have to chase you into the shower like a child. It’s also a silent contract between a couple that you won’t let yourself go too much after we get comfortable. On the bright side,  shaving really does make things look bigger which is exactly why I never let a razor anywhere near my own derriere.

Of course, if you have a giant package please disregard everything previously written because you have a gift and may do exactly as you like. And if all this just sounds like too much work…just buy a big bottle of whiskey and stand outside the civil courthouse.

My awesome friend Rich just sent me this picture. He said that this product reminded him of me….Funny I imagine that underpants I am supposed to wear over my mouth would be more appropo. Plus..they don’t even have Hello Kitty on them. Underpants are just not right without a little _____________ . Pink, cartoon picture of a cat, of course….

You all thought I was going to say something else..huh???

The whole experience started out quite unsettling. Some crazy drunk women was late for her seminar on S&M prison play and came hurdling toward me on the one way street outside of the hotel where the event was being held. I of course, happened to have my camera out to capture the drama. (See picture below.) I almost died right in front of the Sportsman’s Inn and not even while wearing particularly clean clothing. To be honest, my Everything-Is-Better-With-Bacon sweatshirt was going on its third day.

The Fetish fair itself reminded me of after hours at your typical Renaissance Fair. Boringly commercial!!! The only truly creative thing I saw were these hand painted gas masks by a company known as Broken Brains. However, I prefer my accouterments more on the burlesque/vintage side. And I saw nothing even vaguely Victorian/steam punk. Truth be told, I can appreciate the aerodynamics of Medieval bustiers, but they make me think of having to serve beer to drunk people in taverns. Not very sexy..more like annoying.  Even worse, the sounding stuff, electrical shocking, and medical kits sheared their images into my retinas and basically gave me mental damage. PTS anyone??? Personally, I spend the time in a doctor’s office steeling my nerves and detaching myself from the experience, and the medical equipment really set off my alarms in a “Hostel” type of way..

I suppose that the point of fetishes are to break through mental barriers and to rearrange our perceptions of power and gender roles. I don’t know why I found most of the products to be profoundly depressing and many reeked of loneliness. I should have been happy that people who don’t usually feel like a part of society have found a place to feel welcomed and wanted. That is truly the beauty of a subgroup microcosm.  

I guess its just that I have a problem with some fat dude who looks like he lives in his grandmother’s basement leading a emaciated, dead-eyed Sissy Spacek around on a dog leash. But let’s not be all judgey….HA!

Then, I came upon the grand finale. In a corner room there was what amounted to a giant replica of the same horse barn and paddock my Barbies and Breyer model horses innocently galloped around when I was a young girl. One woman and about five men were tied up and happily munching something out of buckets. A woman in full riding habit from merry old England was driving two strutting steeds around as if she were training them to pull a cart. Cheerful, colorful,fake blossoms were woven through the wooden fencing and green, plastic spring grass decorated the floor of the make-shift arena.

Deep breath….This vision has assured that I could drop dead tomorrow, and I will have seen everything. I grew up riding horse, but never in my life would I imagine such an electric kool-aid melding of human and beast.As regal and serious as these people tried to appear…It didn’t help one bit that the pony men wore name tags with names such as “Fuzzy” and “Trigger.” Oh sweet Jesus..I’m glad Will Rogers isn’t alive to see this.     

I got the following straight off of Wikipedia….

BDSM pony-play

Pony-play is sometimes referred to as “The Aristotelian Perversion,” in reference to legend that Aristotle had a penchant for being ridden like a horse. Ponies (people involved in pony-play) generally divide themselves to three groups although some will participate in two or perhaps all three:

• Cart ponies: ponies who pull a sulky with their owner.
• Riding ponies: ponies who are ridden, either on all fours or on two legs, with the “rider” on the shoulders of the “pony” (also known as Shoulder riding). Note that a human back is generally not strong enough to take the weight of another adult without risk of injury, so four-legged “riding” is generally symbolic, with the “rider” taking most of their weight on their own legs.
• Show ponies: ponies who show off their dressageskills and often wear elaborate harnesses, plumes and so on.

A documentary film Pony Passionwas produced by British pony play club De Ferre in 2003 showing their club’s activities and Born in a Barn, a 2005 documentary film, depicted the lives of several pony-play enthusiasts.

So, when she arrived this afternoon. I was somewhat relieved to see that she had a present for me wrapped in recycled, pink tissue paper. And then, I opened it….

Jane Fonda eat your heart out!!! I was looking for the perfect outfit for a teacher/student party this weekend. The only problem is that I can’t figure out which is the front and which is the back as both sides seem to end in a bit of a thong. Curiously, I don’t exercise and I can’t dance. So other than the obvious trip to the grocery store, I can’t quite figure out where to show off  my new gift.

Never mind…Add a pair of purple sparkly tights and my black suede scrunch boots and…Oh baby!!!

I haven’t posted in a few days. I was busy freaking out over a meeting with my boss who as many of you know hates me the same way that I hate finding a dark curly hair on my hotel pillow.  My favorite comments from my job review include: “You come across as little Mary Sunshine,” and “The percent of those who were active participants were far less than those who were either lost or bored.” Ouch, right?  And total bullshit. Although, I will not bore you with the details of my workplace woes.

In other news, I thought my truck was broken. It started making this weird noise like something landing in Close Encounters. In addition it, took to bucking and heaving in an extremely violent and alarming manner. I complained endlessly to everyone I knew about the cost of fixing it, only to FINALLY realize that I had left it in four-wheel drive for about a month. DUH!!! Strangely, the minute I switched it back, it started snowing.

I have also been preoccupied with pondering the cultural ramifications of pajamas bottoms disguised as jeans. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that wearing my Hello Kitty pajamas bottoms and bedroom slippers in public was a social faux pas. Oh..the shock. I need a hug.  

I’m feeling  a little drained from all this contemplation, so I decided it might raise my spirits to mock others for a while. They say the window into someones soul is through the eyes. I disagree..the most prolific insight can be found from perusing late night Twitterings. In the dark cover of night and after a few glasses of wine..a person’s self absorbed inner dumbshit rears its head and radiates through his/her fingertips. . Here is Pink Monkeys samplings of people who currently annoy me and the crap that comes out of their I-phones.

1. Sara Palin is the 2012 Apocalypse

Read my palm..Sarah Palin is a douchebag. It’s bad enough that she resorts to cheap games to deflect attention from her own stupidity, but some of the weird stuff that appears on her Twitter account downright mystifies. Thank goodness for William Shatner because he seems to be the only one who can makes sense of it. Dare I say Palin/Shatner 2012???

One of my personal favorites..”God told me to sue the Internet.”

Truly, how else would a Republican celebrate the Fourth of July??

2. John Mayer should be banned from speaking and texting.

This guy has such a bad case of diarrhea of the digits that its hard to know where to start the mocking. This is a man who excels at loving himself. Frankly, I have no idea how he makes time for anything else. I wonder if he actually has carnal knowledge of the women he tweets smack about, or does he just text them from the next room while they service themselves. Is there such a thing as a Nerdolean Complex??

In addition, any man who names his penis is a complete moron, but John takes it to a whole new level by refering to his member as a ‘white supremist.”

“My d–k is sort of like a white supremacist. I’ve got a Benetton heart and a f–kin’ David Duke c–k. I’m going to start dating separately from my d–k. I always thought Holly Robinson Peete was gorgeous. Every white dude loved Hilary from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. And Kerry Washington. She’s superhot, and she’s also white-girl crazy. Kerry Washington would break your heart like a white girl. Just all of a sudden she’d be like, ‘Yeah, I sucked his d–k. Whatever.’ And you’d be like, ‘What? We weren’t talking about that.’”

If you have any doubt that John Mayer is an immature D-Bag let me offer the Tweet he sent while his friend Rob Dyrdek got his stomach pumped.

“In triage at Cedars with @Robdyrdek. When the contents of his stomach hit that silicon bag and we all saw it, we just broke into applause.” Minutes later he added, “Applause. Sh*t! Applause.”

Watch out Mayer!! More comment like these and Sarah Palin will be asking you to write a theme song for the Teabaggers.

3. This Dude

And the all time most moronic Twitter… came from this guy!!!!

“I am still getting used to this twitter thing!!! But it must be cool if Ashton Kutcher tweets.”

No, I’m not talking about some environmental zealot or self-serving politician. I’m talking about me. Let’s face it, I am a single mother who is barely holding onto her job. I don’t have time to read every environmental report issued by the IPCC, EPA, or the SOB. And I was pissed when I thought Obama’s State of the Union speech was going to interrupt the premiere of Lost.

As many of my readers know, I was quite disturbed by the election of a Republican MA Senator. I’m sure why his election puts my panties in such a bunch, other than I am proud to live in a state who leads the pack in liberal open mindedness such as same sex marriage and the decriminalization of marijuana. For some reason, I see Republicans as being predominately art hating, homophobic, big business loving, rich, fat, white men.  

I have recently bore witness to several heated conversations about the state of affairs in our country. Friends who think Americans who smoke weed have no empathy, and people who think global warming is a hoax, and others who claim the world is doomed. And my friends fight about what politician is good and which one is evil and which scientist is brilliant and who is just faking his/her results. I just sit back and watch and listen because frankly I have no idea what any one of them is talking about, and I try not to speak about things I know nothing about. Let’s face it, I’m no genius, and I get most of my news from the few seconds I catch on WERS between songs or from the bar keeper at the local pub.  

What I do have are my instincts and a keen sense of observation. I don’t need to use my head to figure out how I feel about these issues because as much as the idea is so corny that it makes me want to vomit, I can use my heart. Plus, I am one sexy nerd, and my word should be law. Furthermore, I’m not swayed by the billions of dollars spent on research or discouraged by the idea that global warming is a myth. I was sold on the idea of of conservation way back in the 1970s when I saw that commercial with the Native America who cried one solitary tear. To me protecting the Earth is just common sense. You don’t shit where you eat.

Regardless of any statistics, it is obvious that most humans want more and more stuff until our basements and storage spaces are overflowing with brand new things. Our desire for materialistic status symbols is such a disease that here in Wellesley, nobody will even buy anything at a garage sale.  In my eyes, the problem is that humans will not change to fit the planet, they want everything else to change to fit them. Of course, the Earth will get the last laugh when we are all dead and gone and weird squid creatures are swinging from the trees.   

So this is my mantra..Pink Monkey’s Environmental Beliefs based entirely on what I, and I alone think.

The Environment

1. If you throw all your trash out your car, it makes peoples’ yards really ugly and cheap looking. And if people’s dogs and cats eat the garbage on the ground, then they barf on their owners’ rugs or in their beds. So throwing crap on the ground or in the water is bad..for people, animals, and my washing machine.

2. If I end up behind a bus blowing out dark fumes or behind some dude smoking a cigar, it stinks and makes me want to vomit. Obviously, don’t put anything in the air that smells really bad or is the color of death.

3. Some people (businesses) are stupid and lazy, so if they can’t walk two steps to the trash can to throw away his/her stuff. Therefore, somebody has to remind them. More than two reminders deserves a consequence. “Don’t make me count to three!!!”

My Libertarian friends just gasped in unison. Yeah…I said it. Some people are just too stupid, wasted, or just plain greedy to be left to his/her own devices. In my opinion, total freedom is only for people who earn it and prove they can handle it. The problem of course is who will monitor the world’s morons because it seems like only bigger morons are interested in the job.

4. As far as recycling goes, if trash cans (dumps) get too full…people just start throwing unwanted stuff everywhere.  If you have two bags and three trash bags worth of trash…you will have a problem. So reducing trash is a no brainer. Just don’t make it so damn hard for us to return our beer bottles.

5. As for the plastic continent??? Isn’t it obvious? Let’s just start packaging stuff in drawstring hemp bags. I find those damn cd and toy packages way too difficult to open anyways.

6. Big cars suck because they take up all the parking places, and I can’t see past them on the road. My children and I; however, drive a big truck because we get violently carsick in a small car. On that note, I would be perfectly happy if car sickness was considered a disability. We would be allowed to stay home in peace or we could be chauffered around in some type of special bus.

In summary, properly dispose of your own gross refuge, don’t put anything into the public air space that smells too bad, take responsibility, stop whining , start doing,  and don’t assume anyone knows more than the universe itself.

On the other hand, as my friend, Tim, said to me, the post apocalyptic world so eloquently portrayed in the Mad Max movies is so fricken cool that maybe we should all be outside right now spraying cans of aerosol into the environment. What do I know????  Unfortunately, I own no hockey equipment, so I am guessing that I wouldn’t last a minute in Thunderdome.

I truly wish that I could say this claim was figurative..but it’s me, which means, it is quite literal. My dog Phoebe was asleep in my bed last night, and around 2:00 a.m., she had to go out to pee. I begrudgingly took her outside in the arse freezing cold and tried to hook her to the chain that is staked in the front yard. However, there was a quarter size chunk of dog poo frozen to the hook.

At first I tried to just stick the whole chain through her collar. It seemed to hold, and I went inside to hide because my pretty pretty princess Chihuahua won’t pee with someone looking at her. When, I got back out, she was loose in the front yard.

Crap..I thought..now Im going to have to chase her all night through the neighborhood in my smurfs thermal underwear and fuzzy bedroom slippers. But miracle of all miracles, she got spooked by the wind and dark, and she ran into the house. I knew I would not be so lucky when she went out in the morning, so I went and got a coffee mug of hot water and submerged the poo infested hook into the glass. The poo fell off..problem solved.

Or so I thought…. 

Five hours later..morning came and the dog asked to go out again.

I take her out and the hook is now frozen shut from being submerged in water. I, without even thinking, look at the ice clump clogging the lever and what do I do????

I stick the damn hook in my mouth!!!!!!!!

It takes two second before I get this sudden flash of the night before and the swirling of hot, pooey water….

Sigh..why do I always have shitz for luck????

But..don’t worry..I’m still sexy. And am suprisingly undeterred by the experience.

However… no one will kiss me on the lips.