Man Arms

This is an inside joke between my daughter and me so it may fall flat as I thrust it out into the "real" world (Does a blog count as the real world? Discuss.)

Recently, TMZ (Uh, did I just admit to reading that? Daily? Stop that!) featured a photo of Madonna and her new trend . . . man arms. This made me laugh hysterically. Why, you may ask? Because for the last two months, my 12 year old has been harassing me about my very own pair. Of man arms, that is. Her words. Man. Arms.

Now I am 5'3" and about 100-105 lbs. depending on which way the wind is blowing, so a body-builder I am not. In shape, though? Thanks to a guilt- and age-driven gym regiment, it's not bad actually. Not bad at all. Did I mention I turned 38 recently? And that I have a new tattoo? Uh, yeah. Moving on . . .

The truth is my daughter thinks I am far too manly -- I drink beer, read Esquire, and enjoy Fight Club possibly just a little too much (and not just because Pitt is smokin'). So the fact that I have well-defined arm muscles apparently just puts me in a category that is just a bit too butch for her comfort.

I have been assured by others in my life that I am not butch. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

The bottom line is that I am thinking of bringing legal action against TMZ (and Madonna, what the hey) for stealing my trend. I could use the cash and am, at this point in my life, shamelessly attention-seeking.

This is a very sad excuse for a blog post. I apologize. Hopefully no one is reading this.

If I weren't so effing lazy I would get a photo of my own man arms, and post them here for your consideration (which might be a moot point if in fact no one is reading this). Actually, I believe I will do that, but true to my commitment to procrastination, I shall do it lata.

And if you are reading this, I am sure that is just the hook I need to bring you back. I'm clever like that.

Image courtesy of TMZ.com

Grand Theft Auto

Not terribly original, but I used that title to encourage search engine traffic, so sue me.

Picture this: someone steals the spare set of keys to your Jeep Grand Cherokee out of your Dodge Neon. Would you get the Cherokee re-keyed? Most people would. But not me. Ohhhhhhh no. Cuz that's not the way I roll.

Flash forward three weeks: I have been lulled into complacency by the fact that the key thief (who also scavenged $1.32 in random change and my son's nasty-ass school backpack) is apparently a moron who doesn't realize he can come back and take a WHOLE CAR. Then one day, wake up, husband goes out the door to work, comes back in, and says, with less urgency than one might imagine, "Where's your car?"

I walk out the door and check of course, just in case he has somehow overlooked it, and sure enough, just a blank space where my car used to be. Who's the moron now?

Not so fast.

As it turns out, the car is recovered, oh, a week later, by a cop who, while very friendly, calls the neighborhood it was found in "the Ghetto." We live in a Mississippi River town of 30,000 or so in southern Illinois. Detroit it ain't. This made me laugh, on the inside of course.

Anyhoo, the car was in reasonable shape, but filthy, out of gas, and smelling like the inside of a strip club. Not that I would know.

He was generous enough to leave me some homemade rap CDs and a really lovely Crown Royal cap in place of the 500 pennies that were stashed in the cup holders, but the best thing he left behind? Er, his Illinois picture ID. Uh, yeah. NOW who's the moron, sucker!!!

Funny. Funny. Funny.

What's not so funny is that he left most of my crap in the car but for some reason tossed all of my CDs -- RHCP, Nirvana, Foo Fighters. Strangely, this pissed me off more than the actual car theft itself. Perhaps it's time to re-examine my priorities . . .

Top Five Song List

I am in need of new music to experience, so I am posting my current top five song list (current meaning subject to change at any second) and encourage you to do the same. All two of you.

1. Everlong -- Foo Fighters

2. Funny Face -- Red Hot Chili Peppers

3. Rape Me -- Nirvana

4. I Used to Love Her -- Guns N' Roses

5. Superman -- Goldfinger

Incidentally, my 11-year-old son is walking around the house right now singing "Night Train" by GNR ("wake up late/and honey put on your clothes/and take your credit card/to the liquor store"). I'm fairly sure I could lose custody to the State for that kind of thing . . .

A Poem I'm Still Working On

Someone interesting suggested I should consider more poetry here, so here's one that I'm still working on -- it may actually suck, I'm really not very objective about these things. Regardless, I'm hoping that by posting it here, it will somehow miraculously finish itself . . .

slip


she writes a letter and in it: slivers, planks of wood, symbols for dissection, pause, break, closing remarks. she skipped the salutation and signing; he’ll know. the light pools in its marshy way across the kitchen window but doesn’t enter. the envelope is sure and fit and she is ready to mail in now now now and so she sits by the front door waiting, licking glue and sticking stamps and clips it to the mailbox with a clothespin so there’s no mistaking it. pigeons roost and coo in the porch roof next door. there is a break in the momentum; saliva pools and back inside. she slips.

she writes a letter and in it: slugs, pumice, a shallow grave. deep poultice of love, it's laid on thick. she is clay, stale bread, and this is her last blood chance. derivative of nothing, sealed with crumpled scotch tape. she’s out, down the stairs into the writhing brick street and to the blue mailbox with its cavernous space into which she could possibly fit. small white square seems insignificant now and she’s afraid it will be lost amidst the rest, left in a deep tomb. a gut. digested.

she writes a letter and in it: she forgives. nothing.

New Rules for My Blogging Experience

Clearly the posts I'm writing lately are more for me than anyone else, which is probably a good thing since I currently appear to have one reader (down from an all-time high of oh, say, 10). So another list, this time redefining what will be my blogging experience:

1. I will update whenever the hell I feel like it. My previous blogging experience was completely ruined by my ridiculous need to post daily, lest I feel like a failure. So, since I am writing for myself, I will post when I feel like it. So there.

2. I may curse. This is a warning for you, my lone reader (who will hopefully be joined by another stray friend or two of mine who used to feign interest in this whole thing). Previously, my blog was squeaky clean . . . but, quite frankly, as a writer, I enjoy freedom of word choice. Shocking, I know.

3. I will take topic suggestions. I just thought of that as I was writing this, so I'm putting it out there. I have no idea why anyone would care to suggest something.

Well, I had imagined the list much longer, but I'm bored with this topic already. So, to sum up, I will be erratic, occasionally earn a PG rating, and write to suit.

I may lose my only reader if I keep this up . . .

P.S. That's not me up there, it's Heidi Klum. I know, the resemblance is uncanny . . .

Some Things I Have Not Blogged About, Since I Stopped Blogging

A list:

1. Turning 38. Woo hoo! Uh, yeah.

2. My new tattoo. I will likely mention this at random, approximately 634 times, in coming blog posts. Be prepared.

3. My car being stolen. This is actually a good story. Stay tuned.

4. Fight Club. There's really not much to say about this. Just wanted to mention it, and have a reason to include that very creepy picture of Ed Norton up there.

5. Brett Favre's retirement. There were a couple of rocky moments there, but I think I'm okay now. Thanks for asking.


6. The completely miserable winter I suffered in the St. Louis area, after being told repeatedly by multiple sources that "we don't really have winter here." I'm a sucker.

7. Jack Daniels. Again, not much to say here. Just enjoy it.

8. A complete and total existential breakdown. Okay, but don't tell anyone -- trying to keep that one on the down-low . . .

Oh Yeah, I Remember This . . .

I'm back. I'm sure you are all delighted (cue an underwhelmed silence). I'd decided to simply forget this blog existed -- feeling it perhaps had run it's mediocre course -- when "Colin" posted a comment on my last post, wondering where I'd gone. Not sure that he (or possibly she) really cares, but it got me to thinking. Perhaps it's time to revisit.

And to answer your questions, ColinJ: no, not lost in Florida (though I frequently wish I was). Actually did join the Obama campaign, donating, oh, a whopping 10 bucks or so, which apparently doesn't get me a seat on the campaign bus. On tour with the Chilis? Ohhhh, how I wish it were so (I did manage to get a Chili Peppers logo tattoo during my hiatus, however). And finally, they still might get me on the mp3s, but so far, so good.

Anyway, the truth is I've had a ton, ton, ton of work. But perhaps this will get me writing for fun again. Who knows. So if you care, check back and see if I have anything interesting to say. One can only hope.