one of these things the

one of these things

the friggin suburbs
good for fast food and shopping
good for soul-sucking

Lately, when I take the wee one out and about I hear this little song in my head. It’s the one that says, "One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn’t belong…"

Whether we’re duking it out with the surly moms and the sweater-vested kids at the indoor play area at the mall (visiting that horrorshow of an ebola-invested swamp of kids will never happen again), or laughing it up over the wee one’s shoes being on the wrong feet at the grocery store (while jog-suited moms look on in disgust) I can’t help but feel that everything that happened to me in high school is happening again.

I guess it’s dumb to think that people grow out of their stupid shit – I mean, I haven’t, why should I expect that other people have? Then again, you also think that the bond you might share with other mothers would outweigh what the fuck brand name jeans your kid is wearing at the Streptococcal Fun Park in the mall.

This is such a tired subject, I know. All moms whine about this. All grown-ups whine about this. From office politics to neighborhood association power-hungry playahs to playground snobs… everyone complains about this crap, but then we all fall neatly back into our place in the social evolutionary scale. I should be used to being on the outside. I like being on the outside. And in fact, I don’t mind that there’s a pied piper social ecosytem. Fine. Whatever makes people happy. But I’m getting way too old to dye my hair blue and buy reactionary t-shirts just to piss off the bitches at the mall.

starving crazed desperation as conversation


crazed desperation
as conversation ebbs, flows
with sighs of relief

If you took a starving person and brought her to the all-you-can-eat buffet at the Sizzler she would go crazy. If you brought a guy out of the desert and gave him a big gulp full of lemonade, he would feel like he won the lottery. Similarly, if you put two stay-at-home moms in a room together long enough for the conversation to move beyond eating habits, sleeping habits and foot growth… well… those mamas can and will talk for hours. Let the kids chase each other around and collapse in an exhausted heap. Cause when you get two starving mamas together who start talking about their college theses (among other things), it’s like those starving people at the Sizzler. So the food is terrible. So you’re a little rusty talking about about Kasimir Malevich and Solzhenitsyn. It doesn’t matter now, because it’s just what you need.

it’s time why don’t we

it’s time

why don’t we get them?
with J. Lo, Jon Stewart, Cher
cool, branded band-aids

my cuts don’t need Bob
or Dora, or Boots, Spongebob
they are grown-up cuts

my cuts need X-Files
maybe some Alias, Lost
Locke could kiss boo-boos

David Letterman
would make a kick ass band-aid
with a tiny Paul

I guess Muck will do
keep me from bleeding on self
impress playground kids

Oh, damn has it come

Oh, damn

has it come to this?
am I an evil stage mom?
next Bravo star here

The wee one is mortally afraid of his dance costume. We had to leave it at the studio. He wouldn’t try it on. He basically freaked his shit when he saw it. I don’t know what was so scary about it… a green sparkly shirt, a green hat with a red feather, a sequined belt. Maybe his 2 1/2 year old manliness took a step forward and was all, "I am not wearing sequins." I have no idea. What I do know is that for the first time he screamed and hollered and cried and asked to go home from dance class. It was a sad scene.

Maybe by next week he’ll be recovered. I hope so. Until then, Peter Pan is officially on vacation in this household. Well, except for the hat I made him.

Nice, huh?


by the way I have

by the way

I have 46 gmail invites. That’s right, 46. And as much as I’d like to hoard them save them all for a rainy day, I figure I should make nice. So if anyone out there wants a gmail account, write me a haiku about it and email karianne AT gmail DOT com. Maybe I’ll be nice and give you an invite.

sale you day after sale


you day after sale
spoil me with your temptation
and pocket change price

I did it. I gave in. I bought $1 day after valentine’s chocolates at the grocery store today. They’re the kind of chocolates that are so cheap they’re made out of gasoline and asbestos, but damn. A heart filled with chocolates – for only $1? Who could refuse? Certainly not a person infected with the non-flu flu. Most certainly not.

a love/hate relationship good ol

a love/hate relationship

good ol sun is back
though mother nature taunts me
with flu-like ailment

You will find no loving tributes on haikuoftheday. None of this Valentine’s Day crap. I’m blackhearted about V-Day (though I still expect my chocolate. Yes, I’m a bad hypocrite).

Mother Nature’s valentine to us Austinite’s is a GAWgeous, sunny day. High 78. Blue, blue sky. Ahhhhh. But of course, Mother nature doesn’t give these things out for free, especially to people who continually whine about the weather. So now, during these few sunny days, before it turns rainy and 50 again, I have a non-flu flu. Yep. Sore throat, fever, body aches, all that awesome stuff. (But the doc says it’s not the actual flu. She stuck a giant Q-tip up my nose to prove it.)

The sun hurts my throbbing head. My achy legs can barely carry me to the bathroom, much less out the door to enjoy the sunshine.

What was it Kurt Cobain said? Mother Nature is a whore?