Something Very Bad Happened At My Work Today

I did not work very hard at my work today.

My mother sent me an email I can't even open because it's so nice. I'll probably just go around feeling ashamed for awhile before I finally delete it.

It's hard to be funny all the time. A friend gave me a manuscript to read. I wrote something funny then deleted it. It felt like a lie. But I am in a better mood now than when I was always trying to be funny. I just want to say what I think. The manuscript is something to look forward to. I get so caught up in shits and giggles sometimes. The shits and giggles make me sick.

I have to get out of Borders. So I took some good steps today. Anything better than inertia. Wish me luck. But don't think you are never going to have to hear about Selma, or my life as a wolf, or my dashing cat, Gerard Butler. I just needed a little break because my roommate was driving me crazy. And that guinea pig is getting all holier-than-thou about 'rations' and 'appropriate dosages.'

In Other News, I Have Absolutely Nothing To Say About Anything

Please enter the void of my mind. It is ugly and sinister here, so make sure to bring layers.

I had to go away for a few days. But I am not sure where I went. There was some guinea pig there wearing a fanny pack who kept trying to give me Klonopin.

I met a lot of lost souls along the way. People who had committed all sorts of sins.

You're just going to have to bear with me, I told them. Because I'm not exactly sure where I'm going. I just woke up in a parking lot somewhere. I remember that I went to the store to buy cigarettes. I must have had a fugue. Hopefully I lucked out of having to do something hugely responsible.

The others didn't buy it. Also they thought the guinea pig was really, really weird. Go back to school, they said. And then suddenly I remembered who I was. I was Selma, Beowulf's girlfriend! I had been waiting for him to swing by my hut on his horse because we had planned to go for a little picnic, but he never showed up and then somebody sneaked up on me from

behind and hit me over the head with a piece of petrified troll dung.

I don't think I remember a guinea pig there but we might have just eaten it.

Just A Few People I Think I Might Like To Meet

not quite on the list

1. Christine de Pisan. Sure, she could write. But what did she look like?

2. Gerard Butler. Mostly to apologize for taking his name in vain. Over and over and over again. And over. With no real plans to stop.

3. Okay, you caught me. I listened to Enya last night. I needed help falling asleep! But that doesn't mean I want to meet her.

4. Jesse. You know. To find out what happened to his girl! (You have to admit that "Jesse's Girl" would be a bold and unusual way to start off any wedding reception. That first special dance between bride and groom. Hints of a back story.)

5. Amy Winehouse. Amy Winehouse this, Amy Winehouse that. Mostly to slap her around. Why should she get all the credit? A number of us have been quietly destroying ourselves behind the scenes without accolade since long before she even got her first tattoo.

6. Selma. Obviously. And I think everyone can guess the question I would pose: who the f*ck ...?!

7. The unnamed, underpaid individual who is going to be changing my diapers when I'm old, if I make it that long. Thank you in advance. Please don't beat me.

8. My 'inner child,' if you will. The last time I saw her, she was in the fetal position. However, I am pretty sure that she can be coaxed out with a rapid succession of piping hot tuna melts and delicious tapioca puddings. Maybe my outer child should get her inner ass on a plane to Chicago. Before I finalize my travel plans, though, I will have to consider one burning question--

Burning Question: Who is going to take care of my cat, Gerard Butler, while I am gone?

Burning Answer: My cat, Gerard Butler, is a Spartan! Spartans are like wolves. They do not necessarily get to eat everyday.

9. That elusive health care professional I know is out there somewhere who will admit that 'everything in moderation' is actually true. Take cigarettes, for example. They can't be all bad. Just check this out if you need proof--


To stand under the blue gleaming sea of wide air
and burn in so obviously pious a manner
a fragment of white cigarette
is to contribute to the negative of the moon's light and glitter,
to the cold moon on the water

(Miyazawa Kenji, from "The Moon on the Water and the Wound")


But then, I really like cold moon on water. So maybe Miyazawa Kenji as well.

10. Last but not at all least. The anonymous poet. He would lecture me on the danger of laughing hysterically while simultaneously rolling over in one's grave. Multi-tasking can be dangerous. Just because you are dead does not mean you can't hurt yourself.

Oh, and go see Lily Brown at Pegasus tonight!

In Other News, I Had to Work Yesterday. And Today.

I used to live in Bavaria. In Bavaria, the Ascension of Mary is a state fucking holiday! No mail. All stores are closed. As an atheist I wholeheartedly disapprove of this unabashed union of church and state. As an atheist who enjoys eating potato salad and going to bbqs, however, I wholeheartedly embrace these bizarre religious practices.

In other news, I didn't feel very well at work today. I told my friend-at-work Rebecca that I thought I might be suffering from soy protein deprivation AS THE CASE OF THE PURLOINED CHOCOLATE SOY MILK STILL HAS NOT BEEN SOLVED! Rebecca was surprised I hadn't called out sick. She thought that 'soy protein deprivation' sounded like a 'Berkeley' illness.

I know who fucking drank my soy milk. I just don't have any proof. I haven't found any little drink box straws while rooting among my roommates' personal effects for clues. But in my heart and in my soul.

In other news, Korean tv dramas on AZN are only fun to watch alone or maybe with one other person who will pretend not to notice how into it you are.

I need to read a book. Please tell me what book to read.

In other news, I don't think my mouse is working properly. Or my hand isn't working properly. Or the soul attached to my hand. Actually, that's probably it.

I Am A Gentleman And A Scholar. Except When I Am Neither A Gentleman Nor A Scholar.

I would put a picture of myself here except that I am so ashamed.

Like when I came to workshop totally unprepared and did not even feel slightly guilty about it. In fact, I felt sort of good about my lax nature. I further did not even bother to use the class time to hurry up and write comments in the margins based on the useful things that other people were saying. I have not been in a workshop where anyone has ever said anything useful. Unless it was something good someone said about one of my poems. That still counts.


On a recent Saturday afternoon when I was in a bad, bad gloomy mood: instead of diving into one of the 3 new books of poetry I bought at Pegasus and writing various sorts of super-serious book reviews and sending them off to serious literary magazines (possibly laboring under the perhaps false assumption that if I publish a book review somewhere, I have a better chance of someone actually consenting to read my poetry before the inevitable rejection slip) I took a 3 1/2 hour nap with my adorable cat, Gerard Butler, and got on the Who the F*ck is Selma train again. How many more stops can I make on that train before I get to the end of the line? Don't worry, I'm sure we'll find out together.


(Anyone who can figure out why my roommate is talking on the phone so goddamn loud right this very moment should let me know pronto. I'll be checking the comments field every 5 minutes for your ideas.)


Worst of all, I recently deleted all of the Kurosawa films from my Netflix queue and replaced them with movies like "Phantom of the Opera," "Blades of Glory," and "Druids." We all know how I feel about Vercingetorix! I did not regret my choice.

I Am Going to Have a Niece! Her Parents Are Catholic Republicans! I Will Be A Hero!

a very relaxed Gerard Butler, just moments after sipping the last of his raspberry / hibiscus blend purchased the day before at the natural food store

I have something very serious to talk about today. I have a niece on the way now. I take this very seriously. I mean, everybody has to have a bad influence. After all, her due date is October 31. What a badass day for a baby to be born! However, that means I have just a few days short of two months to get a motorcycle, develop a severe drinking problem, and get ill-thought-out tattoos on a whim in very visible places. Like my forehead.

This is a really tall order, people. However, I figure that by making a spectacle of myself and just in general ruining my life, I would be doing my entire extended family a huge favor as well. If my family didn't have me to embarrass myself at wedding receptions or family parties, there would be nothing to do but make small talk with Beverly, third cousin once removed that no one possibly has ever met before. The family that laughs at the failure of others tends to stay together. And why shouldn't I be that failure? I can get up on a table, wag my finger, and sing "No, No, No!" in a smoky, soulful voice with the best of them.

Still, I am feeling a certain amount of trepidation.

Sure, I used to be a bit of a wild child, if I do say so myself. And I do. But now I'm older and hopefully wiser and I've gotten used to hanging out in my bedroom with my cat, Gerard Butler. We'll often spend a quiet evening together drinking herbal tea and talking late into the night about our feelings.

A typical conversation might go like this...

Me: Gerard Butler, am I fat?

my cat, Gerard Butler: Meow!

Me: Oh thank you, Gerard Butler. It's so good of you to say so!

my cat, Gerard Butler (coyly): Me-ooow?

Me: Oh sure. You can be Selma this time.


Going out to the bar every night to the point that I am sweating alcohol and look and feel like an ashtray would get in the way of these small but heartfelt interactions. But I mustn't be selfish. I have my niece to think of. Maybe I can compromise. Maybe if I ever get another f*cking cat carrier my cat, Gerard Butler, can ride on the back of my motorcycle.

In Other News, Please Bring Your Pitchforks and Torches to My Residence at 10pm Tonight.

some trusty villagers on their way to my residence to drive out my foul-tempered roommate

My foul-tempered roommate is not delicious to live with. And my poor little furry friend, Gerard Butler, is feeling the brunt as well. My cat, Gerard Butler, is not used to being verbally abused. That's it. That foul-tempered roommate has got to go. 10pm. And tonight it won't be stylish to be late.

In other news, everything I am wearing right now was purchased by Gerard Butler's deadbeat dad. The important thing to understand about going out with people with $ is that you pick someone who is not your dress size. Likelier than not, they will show their affection by buying you things. And because they aren't your size, once they are inevitably no longer affected by you, you will get to keep the merchandise. Not that I need cocktail dresses living in poverty and squalor as I do. Of course there are those fancy dress parties I throw in my bedroom for myself and my cat, Gerard Butler.

Ah! I just went down to the corner for Jarritos and now I am Jarrappy!

Apropos Gerard Butler. Last night when we were playing 'Beowulf' and 'Selma,' I got to be 'Selma' for once. My cat, Gerard Butler was quite dashing as Beowulf. I could see why Selma wanted to sleep with him. Of course she also slept with Grendel. Oh my god, did I just write that?! Did I just give it away?! We still haven't figured out just who Selma is. But this much I know: Beowulf + Selma + Grendel=LOVE TRIANGLE! If I were the anonymous poet, I would probably go back and forth between thinking all of this was very funny and periodically turning over in my grave.

In other news, my mother said if I came to Chicago to visit her she would make me piping hot tuna melts and delicious tapioca pudding every night if I wanted her too. Actually she didn't say anything of the kind but it never hurts to plant the seed. She also mentioned that it would not be any sort of problem for her whatsoever to do all the dishes herself while I lay face down on the sofa.

I was thinking I should write something called, 'Frankly, I Prefer My Own Mother to My Mother-in-Law.' Actually I don't have a mother-in-law right now, but I sort of did for awhile. Brrrrrr! The best part ever was when she sat me down at her kitchen table and told me to give her the "dirt" on my mother. My mom and I had a good laugh over that one. Everyone knows only I am allowed to criticize my mother. Usually during some part of the process of being ungrateful. In any case, the moral of the story is you shouldn't talk shit about my mother or I while make fun of you on the internet.