Life Is More Fun After You

Look at me, you’ll see it’s true,
Life is more fun after you,
And if there’s any doubt at all,
I’ll post it on my Facebook wall.


Napowrimo 11th and Final Entry



Wiggly, jiggly, big and bouncy or a champagne glass aesthetic,
But if you’re not happy with them you can get them done synthetic.
And if you are conversing, a girlfriend might think it rude,
If she’s talking with her mouth while you’re listening to her boobs.
Men think if they had them there really is no way,
They’d ever leave the house they’d just play with them all day.
My husband thinks they ‘re made for him so don’t tell him God gave me,
These wonders of creation so that I could feed a baby.


Napowrimo Entry #10

The White Trash Palette

Blogging is challenging because, not only do you have to write well, but you have to engage your audience.

I wrote this poem for my husband not too long ago. I, of course, thought it was HILARIOUS.  And then I asked myself, I said, “Myself, does anyone really care that my husband is worth his weight in saturated fats?” Probably not. But today is our 13th wedding anniversary. So this one’s for him. And if you like it, that’s cool too.

Oh, and don’t try to tell me I’m not romantic.

Some husbands got money,
Some husbands got talent,
I think I landed me the best,
When I got the White Trash Palette.

Don’t need no GPS for fast food chains,
He knows just where to go,
If he don’t know the locations,
He sniffs them out with his nose.

It’s like the golden gates of heaven part,
When we step inside,
Cause he’s the White Trash Palette,
And he does it deep fried.

He’s eaten more burgers,
Then the Earl of Sandwich,
Burger King is his servant,
Ronald McDonald is his bitch.

He’s hanging with Carls Jr.,
And he’s getting macho,
With Jack in The Box,
And upper management at Del Taco.

Don’t need to ask how to take my meals,
I know that he’s the boss,
He’s the connoisseur of french fries,
And he gots the special sauce.

And when it comes to lovin’,
We take that magic ride,
Cause he’s the White Trash Palette
And he does it deep fried.


Las Vegas, NV 4/28/2001


Napowrimo Entry #9

A Sunday Confession

I always try to be polite,

To hold the door and do what’s right,

All this but a masquerade,

For what goes on inside my brain.

Thoughts acted on would guarantee,

Crimes far worse than hypocrisy,

Superficial or filled with rage,

Not appropriate for one my age.

And for being so juvenile,

My thoughts should probably go on trial,

No other sentence serves me so well,

To be condemned to rot in hell.



Napowrimo Entry #8

Underachiever Seeks Employment

Every day I go to work and do just what I’m told,
But the challenges that await me I feel are getting old.
There’s nothing innovative that might engage my noggin,
So I spend a good part of my day on the computer blogging.

But today something happened, something awfully strange,
But what’s that in the air? I think I smell a change.
The boss says I’m doing great, with that much I am pleased,
But he says he knows of a way our income will be increased!

He talks of making more money so all our wallets will be fatter,
And perhaps he is expecting me to climb the corporate ladder.
Putting me in charge of people and if what he says is true,
We’ll all be livin’ large due to increased revenue.

A better life for all of us with income that is steady,
But for me to live the corporate life I don’t think I am ready.
If these changes come into play, think of all the stress,
So instead I will seek a job doing what I do best.

So please let me know if you hear of any openings for a job,
Where an underachiever like me can sit on my ass and blog.




Napowrimo Entry #7

Potty Mouth

When my children were born,
I tried to be caring,
And I swore I would.
Swear off swearing.

But my anecdotes,
Just wouldn’t work,
When I could call my boss,
No more than a jerk.

And the F word,
Couldn’t be duplicated,
In all it’s glory by using,

The stuff on the floor,
Became just that – stuff,
And the expression shoot,
Not quite strong enough.

It was difficult to give people,
Insulting one liners,
Capped off by calling them penises,
And vaginas.

So I’ll go with ‘fuck off’,
Rather than ‘beat it’,
And hope that my children,
Never repeat it.



Napowrimo Entry #7