Fifteen

Fifteen pairs of underwear
Left on the bedroom floor
Fourteen items I forgot
To pick up from the store

Thirteen times reminding you
About tomorrow’s plans
Twelve frenzied calls from freeways cause
I don’t know where I am

Eleven times of coming home
From a day from hell
Ten TV dinners eaten that
Did not heat up too well

Nine times I asked “the garbage out?”
You claimed you didn’t hear
Eight peanut butter Oreos
That somehow disappeared

Seven days complaining that
I’ve got nothing to wear
Six drains that need plumbing since
They’re clogged up with my hair

Five neighbors pissed because we are
Rehearsing on their heads
Don’t forget the four in-laws
I think that’s enough said

About three dumpsters worth of junk
That have since accrued
The two monkeys that lie around
And eat up all our food

And then one other sleepless night
Spent listening to you snore
But I love you darling
So here’s to 15 more

For my husband on our Anniversary!

Inspired with the help of Dina over at Wine and Cheese Doodles and her post 15 to Life.

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All That I Am Taking

Leaving for a week or so
My fave vacation spot
This time I promised to myself
I wouldn’t pack a lot

A toothbrush and a change of clothes
Nothing too backbreaking
Some lip gloss and some underwear
That’s all that I am taking

And that’s it now I guess I am
All set for my departure
Perhaps I’ll bring my laptop don’t
Forget it’s case and charger

Some bandaids and some aspirin too
If feet or head start aching
That’s absolutely positively
All that I am taking

But what if my clothes wrinkle due
To how they have been stored?
I better take my iron and
So hence my ironing board

Some sunscreen, moisturizer just
In case my skin is flaking
That does it! I swear that this will
Be all that I am taking

But food can be expensive so
It’s pretty wise I pack
A few bottles of water and
About a dozen snacks

And maybe too some pots and pans
For frying and some baking
I double pinkie promise you
That’s all that I am taking

But time wore on and my resolve
Was weakening with doubt
My mind obsessed with what to take
And what I should leave out

My bunny slippers, magazines
Some mouthwash and a flask
Dog food, rollers, panty hose
A scuba diving mask

I worried, fretting, stuffed and zipped
Til early morning light
And by that time I realized I
Had somehow missed my flight

A bit of a take off on my last blog and further inspired by a blogversation I had with wonderful blogger and friend Joanne Sisco.

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Memories Of A Not So Free Festival

She set off to Coachella with
Some flowers in her hair
And 30 pairs of jean shorts in
The 3 days each she’d wear

To cavort with the great unwashed
In land of milk and honey
Who also bought their passes with
Their daddy’s hard earned money

And much more to buy water, henna
Tattoos for her body
Seeks fleeting glimpses at romance
Inside a porta potty

Her iPhone at the ready cause
Her trip ain’t worth a damn
If she can’t post up selfies of it
On to Instagram

She’s pissed because she lost her favorite
Pair of black sunglasses
Distracted to the point she may have
Ate the yellow acid

And in harsh light of Monday to
Suburban home she’s crawling
Sure she’s summoned to a higher
Spiritual calling

And so it goes, I would say
A good 6, 7 days
What here to now on shall be known
As her Moonbeam phase

When asked about the music clear
She barely understands
Furrows her pretty brow and asks
“You mean, there were bands?”

Inspired by the Coachella festival which took place in California’s Coachella Valley the past two weekends. This is not meant to typify everybody that goes to these things.

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The Appointment

Every day he tells her that
He’s come in for his meeting
He’s lucky if he gets a scowl or
If at all a greeting
He knows his place, a chair that neither
Rests his back or feet
If asked what it was made of he
Would prob’ly guess concrete
Her coffee is a blackened brew
That frankly tastes like crap
And if he begs a cup it likely’d
End up in his lap
Her phone’s lit up with callers who
Have long since been condemned
To hear the same 2 bars of muzak
For hours on end
He knows the office drill if someone’s
Knocking at the door
She grunts at him to answer she
Just got a manicure
And after waiting hours and
The day turns into evening
She tells him that the boss stepped out
Though no one saw him leaving
He’ll go back to his dungeon sure
To return the next day
And hopes she’ll be attired in
Her leather bustier.
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Pretty Clothes

 

I’ve been floating in 1975
Between Mick Jagger and Stayin’ Alive
Cause that old Beatles haircut just would not do
Said Johnny Rotten so I died it blue

With old bell bottoms from my mom
Put on my shades and I’m Elton John
With platform shoes so fine and showy
I must be Prince or David Bowie

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Verse 2:

I’m feeling a little bit down these days
I dress like John Lennon in his heroin phase
My sister’s dressed up just like dead great eccentrics
Somewhere between Joplin and Hendrix

My mother she laughs at my short little skirts
And wonders why I rip all my tee shirts
Searching the wardrobe for that perfect blouse
And if I don’t find it well I don’t leave the house

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Verse 3:

On a shopping spree of the Lower East Side
I pack all my bags as I swallow my pride
I’ll haggle I’ll bargain I’ll buy it by mail
Just blindfold and guide me to a sign that says sale

Lookin’ all over for my pretty stuff
And no matter how much its never enough
Cause I’m lookin so fine from my head to my toes
I never have money but I always have clothes

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Chorus

Go go boots seersucker suits
Consult my wardrobe dye my roots
Bell bottom blues front page news
Psycho psychedelic hues
Color me silver color me gold
But never mess my pretty clothes

I’ve been a bit braindead this weekend so decided to post lyrics from a song from my old band Sisters Grimm.

One Woman’s Trash

Oh to me talk me discarded frock
With stories no one knows
Let’s go mingle to the lingo
Of discarded clothes

And without fail I’ll tell your tale
Great polyester find
My fingers track the thrift store racks
And so I read your mind

An open back sure has the knack
A sexy look for sure
But if it’s frigid things go rigid
Now where to put that bra

And watch the incline on those heels
Though absolutely stunning
Pained back and toes they had to go
I could have seen that coming

A tank dress always spells success
When one is keeping cool
So rayon fine, linen divine
But this one is black wool

A cummerbund that’s since been shunned
A shoe made like a slipper
A cocktail dress that might impress
If I could reach the zipper

This sequin one will come undone
Watch you don’t pull that thread
Or sweater set if I could get
This damn thing past my head

I fin’ly see the one for me
I tell you she’s a charmer
The price is right fits nice and tight
I say “come home with mama”

It seems perfection but obsession
Nags me til this day
If it’s so great what was it made
Someone give it away?

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One Day I’ll Find A Body

When every leaf is a dead body
Of the rodent caste
And each discarded rag a pigeon
That has long since passed

The sidewalks telling stories of
A jaded negativity
A rope sentenced as guilty for
Weird sexual activity

A pair of old discarded boots
Left lonely in the street
I’m sure each hold their designated
Now dismembered feet

All typical of just another
Walk on my work day
When I see an old used condom and
Just ponder “How cliche”

A bit of a departure for me but a true rendering of my break-time outings at work ever since my office moved from an upscale neighborhood in Sherman Oaks to an industrial ghetto in Van Nuys. Highlights have included a rat scurrying under my sandaled feet and a man driving by who pulled up to me to ask if I was ‘working’. The image below is an actual street view, but the office is buried all the way in the back of the lot and I think the picture doesn’t near do the disgustingness of the place justice. Maybe next time I can embed the smell.