Poetry Friday – Yeah Yeah, I Know

No poems about men, me and men, whatevah today. Too damn tired, and now I’m feeling like someone took my head off and substituted a gigantic fire-puffed marshmallow.

(Excuse me while I rant for a minute.) So yesterday was gorgeous, mid 60s, sunny, for the first time since, what, OCTOBER??? I left the soul-sucking sound that is work and headed out with my car windows down, blaring music, and for the first time since, what, OCTOBER???, I felt ‘normal’, and pretty happy. THEN I woke up this morning at some ungodly hour not being able to breathe…fack…stupid springtime cold, every damn year. Stupid nose wouldn’t let any air come in and out, and mouth-breathing sucks because then my throat feels like a paper towel is shoved down there, and no matter how many times I get up to blow nose and quaff water, it still SUCKS. I did get a brief respite when Sergei jumped my bones this morning (Note: Sex will clear your sinuses), but now my nose is the OTHER way. I bend down to tie my shoe, or pick up my pen, or sniff someone’s shoe (don’t ask), and when I unbend, WHOOSH, and the river of nose starts flowin’.

OCTOBER!!!!

Dammitdammitdammit.

Heavy inhale...exhale out. Okay.

Today is Poetry Friday. Because I like repeating myself. Today is Poetry Friday, and my poetry is at home, and rilly, my brain cells are pretty scrambled. So once again, I offer you the “Free-Write”. 5 minutes of free-association writing on a word from the dictionary.

The word is…

“summer stock”.

SUMMER STOCK? That’s two words, Mr. Webster, ya freak.

Oh well.

“Summer Stock”

And…begin.

Stock is something I keep in my pantry, why its soup and cattle, its theatere, those bizarre thespians thou, summer stock is driv9ing the cattle to market, yeehaw, not like Filty Rich Cattle Drive which I missed the last episodes of and that Fabian guy should just have been beaten, and beaten good, beaten with a stick of ‘sense’, because he’s such a pansy ass crybaby.

Sergei and I met doing summer theatre,

FUUUUUUUCCCCKKKK!!!!!!!!

My computer just fucking DIED! I don’t even know how this thing got saved I mean I hit draft at some point but floody fucking hell this place sucks.

Oh yeah, summer theatre, and there was this kid working backstage, this high school kid, with initials for a name, and round glasses like the kid in Christmas Story like Ralphie, and this kid was on point, I mean sharp and did all the crappy backstage stuff that no one wants to do. Sergei and I were dating and we’d do stuff to purposely get under this kids skin, like make out in front of him before we went on, and this initial-kid had a bit part and we’d tell him dirty jokes before he had to go on, he was sixteenyears old and never girlfriended, and I’d flash him my thigh before he went on stage, he’d enter red-faced and stammering, and we’d laugh our asses off because I don’t know, messing with kids is fun. Nowadays we see this kid, who’s now late 20s, on the pbs channel during the auction week, we find him and scream, there’s initial-kid! My how he’s grown!

That play was the most ridiculous thing, our props person was high on meth or something, the set pieces looked like kids toys and nothing worked, I had to bring the rope myself. I was to be strung around the neck with an ACTUAL rope, and I told the propguy, thanks I’ll get my own, and I did, a nice soft nylon rope that I dyed brown to look like real hurty rope, and it worked great during the play, afterwards I kept it (I bought it) and now it’s in the closet when sergei wants to tie me up and pour ice cream toppings all over my naked body. I can’t bear to watch the video of us, my voice, like I says before, sounds like Minnie Mouse on helium, only more gravely,

And Stop.

(Dammit.To.Hell. Our servers at work came out of fast-food boxes, I swear. Half the time I can’t get on the internet, and the other half of the time I have to worry about the damn thing crashing. Sigh. Some time I’ll have to blog more about that whole play experience, about when Sergei came out on stage during brushup rehearsal wearing just a tea-towel. Or how we dry-humped in the back of a guys car while the guy screamed in the front. Ya had to be there. Have a good weekend, y’all!)