Tag Archives: humor

Am I writing a novel or going insane?

Louise, who the fuck are you? I am sick of you and I don’t think I can be a part of this relationship anymore. I try and try to get inside your head and all you do is laugh. Or shut down, comatose, you might as well be dead. I can kill you, you know that don’t you? I might light you on fire and watch you burn, edges curling, blackening, the crinkling pages glowing red, embers fluttering into the night air. Will that wake you up? Make you pay attention for a goddamn second and follow me the way I have been following you for all these years. Following you down empty streets, never-ending hallways, cattle call cafeteria lines, endless rows of bathroom stalls and through mirrored images, inside out and multiplied.

Have you learned anything? Did you ever really open your eyes? Was it I who looked away? Did you tell me to fuck off a long time ago and I didn’t hear you?

Late last night I decided to write something different, as a distraction. I wrote a fucking sitcom, seriously. I created about 10 different characters and stupid scenarios for about 3 different episodes. So, take that Louise, I might just say, “fuck you” for real, move to Hollywood, write terrible sitcoms and campy commercials for tampons and hairspray. Yes Louise, I might give it all up for hairspray.

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Big Bird contemplates the End

A peculiar pairing of books I purchased at the library bookstore. The little old lady who collected my $1.80 was rather visibly disturbed.

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Pissing on Park Place

I knew I was going to piss my pants eventually. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. I was that girl at school that kept a spare change of clothes in the nurses office “just in case”. I would just get to laughing and suddenly no amount of concentration, squirming or crotch grabbing could keep it in. Warm piss soaking through my underwear, streaming down my legs and puddling inside my shoes. Tears of laughter became tears of shame.

I pissed my pants everywhere; at school, at the park, on a tennis court, while filming a goofy fitness video with friends and even on a Monopoly board. My cousin loved that one! We were playing a long drawn out game of Monopoly and I probably did something ridiculously stupid to make the game more interesting which resulted in a laughing fit which of course led to spontaneous urination. As I leapt from the ground and headed towards the bathroom I left a yellow trail of piss down Park Place, soaked the community chest and defiled the bank.

Later in life I pissed my pants more than a few times while drunk and these stories were probably quite funny if I had any recollection of them. Waking up with cold piss soaked into your jeans isn’t nearly as fun as peeing all over a Monopoly board.

Now I feel like I am going to piss my pants almost all of the time and it’s not due to the giggles or vodka tonics. I have a growing baby smashing the fuck out of my bladder. I swear sometimes it feels like he is bouncing on it like a goddamned trampoline.

Whenever I leave the house I am in a constant search for public bathrooms even if I don’t feel the urge to go at that moment. Chances are that I will have to pee sometime in the next 5 minutes no matter what. Today was no exception. Luckily I was at the Library where the bathrooms are usually clean (even though at this point I will pop a squat behind a bus bench if I have to).

I enter a stall and attempt to close the door. Halfway closed, it hits my stomach. I can’t fit into the goddamned stall! I rush towards the handicapped stall, it’s a shit storm. Fuck! Back to the original plan. Again, stuck. I place one foot on the toilet and scoot over a little more. The door makes it past my rotund stomach and I almost expect a cartoon style “pop” noise to follow. Oh my fucking god! Now the piece of shit door doesn’t have a lock and the weight of my purse and bag of books hanging on the hook is forcing the door inward preventing me from pulling down my underwear. And……it’s too late. I am pissing myself. I push my head into the door to keep it closed and frantically try to position myself. Precariously positioned, I finish peeing but not without a significant amount of spillage, splashage and soakage.

And no, I did not clean up my mess. Fuck that bathroom. I wipe my legs down with paper towels and I am somewhat proud of myself for not feeling any of the old emotions of shame that once accompanied this sort of situation. I had heard that pregnancy led to being less inhibited but I had no idea that I would be quite so accepting of pissing myself.

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Filed under I am Pregnant, I remember, Something that happened

Selfish

My greatest desires are for solitude and anonymity. Neither of which are possible especially now that I am bringing a new life into this overwhelmingly intrusive world.

I am a selfish ass bitch, always have been, mostly with my self. I am an only child which automatically gives a person the right to be selfish but I have taken selfishness to an entirely new level. I am not talking about the kind of “no, you can’t have a cookie, they are mine” kind of selfishness but the much more destructive kind that causes a person to withdraw from reality without any consideration for those who still reside in a world where people say “hello”.

I am secretive and sneaky as shit when I need to be. I became an amazing liar, mostly to myself. I faked a life and almost succeeded at death before I realized I was so full of shit that I could barely breathe. Terrible way to die, suffocating on your own stinking shit.

Opening myself up, airing out my rotting cavities, hanging my bloody panties out on the fence, staring into my own asshole just to see what’s in there. Offending my senses, arousing my curiosities, I peered further and found that I am not just a selfish alcoholic on the verge of collapse, that I am flesh and blood, that I am real.

Now that I am pregnant and feeling more “real” than I ever could have imagined, I would hope that I would lose some of my selfish ways and see shit from some entirely new plane of Motherhood consciousness that I should somehow have gained access to. No such luck. I am feeling even more selfish, more reserved and less communicative than ever. But I am remaining positive that the destructive nature of these emotions are being put to good use and with all hopes of a positive outcome for the kid. I am positive because now the basis of my selfishness is founded solely on love. Love and a huge amount of “get the fuck away from my kid or I will kill you” sort of emotions.

Fuck, all I do is contradict myself. In one afternoon I address and mail about 100 invitations to a baby shower that I am halfheartedly committed to and then suddenly and belligerently swear off all human contact simply because I couldn’t fit into my fluorescent Hawaiian gown.

As I resign myself to black stretchy yoga pants I realize what I am really feeling (besides the kids knees pounding into my ribs). I am afraid. Afraid of the moment when the kid is no longer just “mine”. He is going to come out and be a part of the world. He will be held by other people, cuddled by family and friends, stared and cooed at by strangers and licked by my dogs. His toes which once tickled my insides will soon be kissed by lips that are not mine. My selfish ass bitch self is fucking angry about this. I want to scream out, “He is mine motherfuckers, back the fuck off!”

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Filed under Alcoholism and other Assholes, Fashionably Unreasonable, I am Pregnant, Something that happened

Morgan Freeman Sundae Special

Last nights dream

Breastfeeding while everything falls apart around me, chaos and destruction. I keep walking with this tiny baby latched onto my breast. I have no idea where I am going yet I am not afraid and I do not hesitate. Men are scrambling for cover, an escape. I keep walking. Booming voices call out orders. I keep walking. There are explosions in the distance and the not so distant. A plane takes off near me, people are running for the door trying to climb aboard and falling out as the plane takes flight. Fences are being erected on all sides of me and are being torn down just as quickly by the frantic masses. I am oblivious to the mess which surrounds me, my only focus is to nourish and protect the tiny baby with my own strong able body. And I keep walking.

A dream from a few years ago

I was at a carnival and saw a sign that said “Morgan Freeman Sundae Special” and I knew I had to have one. I walked up to the booth and ordered the special. I was handed an ice cream sundae the size of a human head. It looked exactly like Morgan Freeman but it was made entirely out of ice cream and candies, whipped cream and chocolate sauce. It had little chocolate chips for his adorable freckles on his cheeks and his eyes were made out of marshmallows. The chocolate ice cream was cold and delicious and I was especially excited to find strawberries inside his head as the brain! It was the best ice cream sundae I had ever eaten. I don’t remember it having a gold earring like I have recently seen him wearing. I wonder if I accidentally swallowed it?

Hmmmm….

I haven’t had a silly dream in quite a while. I used to dream about ridiculous stupid shit all the time. I have written down thousands of dreams starting from when I was about 7 years old. My earliest dreams were those of cartoons, like a variation of Scooby-Doo and Sesame Street. Grover joins the gang and Scooby gets jealous, shit like that. I also began having nightmares (night terrors) around the same age or earlier. I still have them and it scares the shit out of anyone near me when I wake up with a scream. I never remember what I am dreaming about when I have a bad nightmare, I really don’t want to know what could possibly be that horrifying.

So, where did my silly dreams go to? Is this what it really means to grow up, to be an adult? I dream about awful shit and weird shit, but no silly shit, like eating Morgan Freemans head or Michael Myers as an interior decorator who has an unfortunate way with blood that his clients find a bit off-putting but are too scared to complain about. Or Ricky Ricardo joining a “Biggest Butt” contest and all the antics of Lucy and Ethel trying to enhance his rear while stuffing ice cream and butter into his mouth. I miss the nights where I woke up laughing from my dreams. Seriously, nothing beats the shit out of laughing in your sleep so hard that you wake yourself up.

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Filed under I am Pregnant, I dreamed..., I remember, Something that happened

The attentive fetus and Howard Stern

At six months pregnant the little guy has become familiar with noises like our dogs barking and my constant vacuuming, but he is also familiar with voices he hears often; mine of course, his Father’s and the most important voice of all, that of Howard Stern. I listen to the King all day, every day; as I sit at the computer, as I clean the house and as I commute on the bus, making a spectacle of myself, laughing like a lunatic.

I have been listening to the Howard Stern Show every single day for almost twenty years. Howard, Robin, Fred, Gary, Benjy, Sal, Richard, Beetlejuice, Wendy the retard, Jeff the drunk….they are all a part of my family. I mourned the death of Hank the Dwarf as if he were my own drunken misfit Brother. During the Artie years I felt especially entangled emotionally in the show, addiction spiraling out of control in a disaster of lies and chaos. Artie was one of the funniest motherfuckers ever and I hope with all my heart that he somehow finds some solace in his life.

The show and everyone who has ever been a part of it have all been such an important part of my life, the building of my personality and my sense of humor. I honestly don’t know what I will do with myself when the dreaded day comes when Howard retires. I hope he sticks it out for a few more years so the kid can get a good start in life with the King as his mentor.

I know what people think about Howard, people who have never actually listened to the show for any period of time, people who have opinions simply to have them with no actual foundation on which to base them on. Luckily, I don’t give a fuck about other people’s opinions about Howard Stern, the same way I don’t give a fuck about anyone’s opinion about anything, especially those pertaining to my life.

I wonder if when the kid is born he will look around and think, “Ok, so that’s the loud cackling laughing lady and that’s the big guy with all the stupid voices. Where the fuck is the other guy? The deep voiced neurotic guy who yells at Ba-Ba-Booey and gives such great ass wiping advice?”

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Filed under Alcoholism and other Assholes, I am Pregnant, Uncategorized

The flying fetus to the rescue

Social obligations are the absolute fucking worst and now that I am pregnant I am suddenly on everyone’s dance card. Am I more interesting now that I have a human being growing inside my body? He hasn’t contributed much to any conversation that I have noticed. Are people being entertained by my fetus without me knowing? Is he secretly telling funny anecdotes when I’m not paying attention, attending open mic nights at the local Laugh Stop? Maybe he fights crime while I am asleep; sneaks out of my uterus, dons a cape and flies through the night looking for wrong doers and lost puppies?

I know for a fact that I was way more interesting, funny and entertaining when I was drinking so it can’t possibly be my personality attracting this new-found attention. Oh I know! I am way bigger in girth, roundness and wobbliness, therefore making it impossible not to notice my massive self and then in turn feel sorry for the poor pregnant giant and offer her…of course, a meal!

And what else is on my obligatory social agenda besides eating overpriced meals that will most likely make me ill? Shopping for “baby stuff”! Not even close to what I would ever choose to do on a lovely rainy afternoon. The only shopping I can tolerate is thrift store shopping by myself. Malls are guaranteed to give me an anxiety attack; the stale air, the crowded aisles, the putrid smells from the food court and all the annoying motherfuckers and their screaming asshole children. And what does a baby need with all this crap anyways? Ok, some stuff I totally understand; bassinet, changing table, blankets, clothes (no designer shit, simple fucking onsies), diapers and wipes. That is really about it, I mean they eat and I’ve got that covered (my boobs have already grown 3 goddamn sizes, so I am prepared), they sleep and they shit. The rest is just clutter, adorably pastel, soft and cuddly useless clutter.

Maybe I will trick my unsuspecting social pal on our shopping adventure and at least veer us towards the shoe department, because if I have to go shopping it might as well make my feet happy. And maybe while I am distracted by stilettos and leather the little guy will peek out and make a special appearance, entertaining my host with impressions of other famous fetuses. I heard he does a good Jessica Simpson fetus, it already has its own plus size baby clothing line and smells like fried butter.

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Filed under Fashionably Unreasonable, I am Pregnant, Something that happened

Pregnant woman down

There is nothing funny about a pregnant woman falling down. I usually laugh when I take a tumble, a frequent occurrence of mine due to funky ankles and feet from being born a club foot and my natural lack of balance, coordination and grace. Last night I fell while walking my dog down the hill near my home, and I didn’t laugh, I didn’t find it the least bit amusing. The fall was in no way caused by my at times unruly dog, Choe, a 2-year-old Shar Pei Boxer mix. I literally fell down for no reason at all, just that asshole gravity. My Dad who was 6’4″ always said falling down was rougher for us tall people because, “we had further to fall and gravity just had it out for us.”

After I crashed down on the rough asphalt on my hands and knees, leash thankfully still wrapped around my wrist, I remained perfectly still, in a state of shock. I really need to stop falling down, goddamnit, I am pregnant now, get yourself together. I realized quickly that I was fine, that I had not put the kid in any great harm and all was well. A scraped knee and a jammed finger with minimal asphalt pieces embedded in the palms of my hands. Nothing really compared to some of my previous falls, at least I wasn’t wearing 4 inch heels.

I patted my swollen abdomen as if to apologize for being the clumsy ass Mother that he will be meeting soon enough. God, he is really going to have to put up with a lot having me as a Mother, not only will he most likely be embarrassed by my flamboyant attire and painted eyebrows but he will have to put up with my vulgarities, fucked up sense of humor and ridiculously loud laugh. He is probably already mocking my screaming cackle as so many have done over the years.

I heard somewhere that babies are kind of like little drunk people in the sense that they are all squishy and handle impacts by being flexible and loose. If you are ever in a car crash it’s a good idea to be drunk as you won’t get hurt as badly and if you are going to be carried around by a bumbling woman in heels it would be in your best interest to be a floppy little baby.

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Filed under Fashionably Unreasonable, I am Pregnant, Something that happened

A mysterious lesson

This is something that happened

It was in the Summer of 1991 in San Diego, CA. My Dad noticed it first and called me outside. We stared in confused amazement, throwing ideas around like a hot potato. I ran to get the camera and when I returned many of our neighbors had gathered around my Dad as if he had the answers, he alone could explain this strange swirling form in the evening sky. It was always like that with my Dad, he was one magnetic motherfucker. His charisma lingered as strongly as his cologne, both comforting and energizing. His humor, although a bit cheesy (ok, straight up mozzarella) was a dependable stronghold, an anchor on which to tether your expectations of the moment. No surprises here, just a plastic thumb magic trick and some dried up play on words, the punchline you could see a mile away in a snowstorm. His intelligence; a mashed up collection of National Geographic magazines, Discovery Channel, an unfortunate dose of right-wing talk radio and books on every imaginable topic, spanned every generational interest. Having a conversation with my Dad was an art form at times. He loved a good debate and could easily take either side, switching back and forth until you were debating yourself and losing.

I often lost my Dad to the crowd, he needed an audience and they needed him. I knew that on this day something was happening and if anyone could explain it, he could. I knew it the way I knew I was lucky to have him, the way I knew he would always be there for me, the way I knew that no matter what happened I was safe just being there with him. He took a few snap shots, pausing between each one to shake his head and give a slight shrill whistle through his teeth. His whistles all had different meanings; the slow quiet one through the teeth meant “holy shit, will you look at this”, the quick loud spurt of a whistle was to get your attention in a hurry, the sweetly whistled on-going tune was to say, “don’t forget that I am here, I need attention” and my favorite was this little sharp almost a hiss of a tune that he would do when he wanted to you to know he was there without startling you, a little hello unlike any other.

The crowd slowly dispersed, children teetered on the edge of boredom, wives grew weary of the mens’ all knowing bullshit explanations, the men remembered they had dinner and a cold beer back at home and soon we were the only ones left. The luminous trails in the sky had all but completely dissolved into the warm summer night when finally I asked him, “So, what was it, really?”

“I don’t know Regina, I really don’t know”

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Filed under Feels like Sunday, I remember, Memories of Dad, Something that happened