Globe Odes I used to

Globe Odes

I used to hate her
but she called herself “has-been”
and that was too cool

am I a sucker
to watch these pats on the backs?
most definitely

please tell me, Jamie
did it hurt real bad when you
got a head tattoo?

Marc Cherry thanked mom
cameraman showed Racquel Welch
I almost peed pants

no one ate dessert
spied no confections at all
eating butt-kiss pie?

I love Meryl Streep
when she attacks young winners
she can be my girl

lisa marie’s cape
defied Edna Mode’s advice
will cause big trouble

hoo hah could have been

hoo hah

could have been blinded
without some quick reflexes
attack of nose hair

Just a friendly note for any police officers out there: if you’re going to be out pulling people over for very, extremely minor offenses (like an expired registration), please make sure your nose hair is trimmed. ‘Cause, damn. It’s not only a hygiene thing… looking up into your Nostrils of Doom could seriously put out an eye.

Dr. Strangehoover the future is

Dr. Strangehoover

the future is now
atoms trump wiley dog hair
a great idea!

Did you know that around 1957, a man named Alexander Lewyt, president of Lewyt Vacuum Cleaners stated that, “Nuclear-powered vacuum cleaners will probably be a reality in ten years.”

I tell ya, Alexander, if a nuclear-powered vacuum cleaner would get all the damn dog hair out of my carpet, I’d buy one.

Heebie Jeebies thanks for scaring

Heebie Jeebies

thanks for scaring me
is this how you order fries
you insane banshee?

Dear Psycho Nutjob,

Hi. You don’t know me, because I was inside the Post Office while you were going apeshit outside the Post Office. But I know you. I heard your harpy wailing just like everyone else did who was waiting in line to mail stuff.

Just because you either:

A) can’t read
or
B) think the world revolves around you
or
C) both of the above

doesn’t mean you should cause a truly terrifying experience for others. Seriously. Did you think that laying on your horn and screaming obscenities at the PO guy would really make him reopen the closed drive-through window? I mean, come on. Every other living soul in town knows that the drive-thru at the Post Office closes a half an hour before the rest of the place does. And for those who are unsure… guess what? THERE’S A GIANT SIGN WITH POSTED HOURS.

Choosing to ignore the sign and instead wail and curse and honk your horn for ten minutes is… and listen closely here… NOT the right tactic to take if you want someone to help you out. It’s the perfect tactic for having the PO guy call the police. Which he did. I watched him.

It’s also the perfect tactic for giving every single person in the PO a heart attack. Because as a situation like the one you created escalates, we all begin to truly worry for our safety. Luckily you didn’t have a loaded gun in your car. If you would have, I’m pretty sure you would have shot through the drive-thru window. Maybe you would have heaved your fat ass (and, yes, I’m sure you have a fat ass) out of your car and held us all hostage until you got your $7.40 worth of stamps. I’m glad your gun was in the shop. Or wedged so tightly into your wrangler jeans pocket that you couldn’t wrench it out. Either way… you scared the shit out of me and several other people yesterday and you should be ashamed.

A violent hissy fit for stamps?

You suck, bitch.

Sincerely,

Kari
Concerned Mother

Huh? no wire coat hangers!

Huh?

no wire coat hangers!
what is it joan crawford has
against my nice tree?

I went outside this morning to get the newspaper and I discovered a bunch of small coat hangers under my tree. Is this some kind of suburban occult thing I should be aware of?

Maybe it’s just a weird punishment for still having the Christmas lights up.

(Hey, at least the hangers don’t look like this. Then I’d really be concerned.)

such. a. dork. a playground

such. a. dork.

a playground miscue
leaves young mommy embarrassed
and with wilty ears

Took the wee one to the playground a couple of days ago. It’s this huge place in a neighborhood right near ours. There’s a small kid playground and a big kid playground and swings and volleyball and a baseball diamond, etc. It’s like the closest thing we have to Disney World. Technically, it’s just for the residents of the neighborhood, but I figure as long as we stay out of the pool, no one will bother us.

Anyway, we spent a zillion years climbing and sliding and playing and running and “eating” “ice cream” the wee one made with rocks in the little picnic table area. Finally we were all worn out and were heading for the car. On the way, we passed a nice looking young man – someone probably a bit younger than me, but not young enough to be in high school or anything like that. He had that nice scruffy look that I dig.

As a mom, my first reaction was, “What is this man doing at a playground with no children?” As a girl (a dumb girl who would probably get kidnapped or robbed), my reaction was, “He’s nice looking.” (but not, of course, as nice looking as my husband. I love you honey)

Anyway, he walked by us and gave this huge grin, and I was kind of taken aback.

Then I thought to myself, “That’s right, girl. You’re still workin’ it. You’re still hot.” And I was very pleased with myself as the wee one and I got in the car.

Once in the car, I caught a glimpse of myself in the rear view mirror and did a double take. I had totally forgotten that nestled between each of my ears and my head were two giant dandelion blossoms that the wee one had picked for me. I looked like I should be wearing leiderhosen and/or wooden shoes.

Nice.

I don’t know what’s more embarrassing… the flowers or the fact that I thought the possible kidnapper/robber/child molestor was cute.

Real life X-file an apparition

Real life X-file

an apparition
scares living piss out of me
good thing on toilet

I had a bit of a shock the other night. I woke up in the wee hours of the night, cause I had to, well, wee.

Blearily sitting on the john, I had a vision of the dirty clothes hamper in our closet. And by vision, I mean it was glowing bright white.

Pitch black bedroom. Pitch black bathroom. Pitch black closet to the right. Except for the glowing hamper.

I finished my bidness, stood up and carefully leaned my head into the closet to see if what I was seeing was real. Lo. The hamper really was glowing. I briefly wondered if it was a religious moment and should be somehow recorded for posperity, or if the hamper should be sold to the online casino that bought the Virgin Mary grilled cheese.

Then I thought maybe my hamper had somehow inherited the mystery contents of the briefcase Jules was after in Pulp Fiction.

Upon further inspection it turns out that there’s an electrical outlet behind the hamper, and in the outlet is plugged this big heavy thing that powers the security system to our house. The big heavy thing has a light on it that I have, apparently, never noticed before. The light is perfectly positioned to shine through the white wicker of my hamper.

So viola. There you have it. A wee morning X-file. As much as I wanted to be all Mulder about it, the Scully explanation was the right one.

Poo.

can’t believe it question for

can’t believe it

question for mommy
“what’s a four hour erection?”
thanks, friggin TV

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’m coming out against the television. I know, I know. It befriends everyone with it’s warm radioactive emissions. It makes us all feel like we are Oprah’s friends. It makes secretly conspire to thwart the local CSIs. It wraps us up in our own melted brains, just like a grandma might tuck us in with a comfy quilt.

But when a television commercial can go on and on about erections while my kids wanders about the room… well… I’m no prude, but is this really something a toddler needs to hear?

I can’t believe my kid is growing up in a world where erections have their own TV commercials. And I can’t believe I’m a mom who sorta, kinda has a problem with that. It’s a strange conflict I haven’t fully sorted out yet. On the one hand, I want to the kind of mom who’s open and supportive and answers all of her child’s questions without resorting to words like “your pee-pee.” On the other hand, I just feel kind of squibby about a bunch of ad-execs and TV programmers deciding it’s cool for my kiddo to get hit over the head with erection commercials.

I’ve always been the kind of person who is way into free speech. Like ACLU into free speech. So it’s really hard for me to feel these little rolling pin-wielding, apron-wearing, pearl-around their necks mommy demons creeping up into my head that whisper, “It’s wrong to talk about erections on public TV at 5:30 in the evening.”

So I’m learning to turn the TV off. It’s hard. Like 12-step-program hard. But the TiVo makes things better. At least then I can just boopity-boop through the erection commercials. And my kid gets the chance to be traumatized by other, more interesting things, like a static-induced shock from being licked by the dog, or the picture of george w. bush on the front of last week’s Time magazine.