Sunday, December 20, 2009


Always alone
No one stays
Unwanted, discarded
I am past my
Use by date

Monday, December 14, 2009


They think you silent and
For them you are
Alone you fill every atom
With words strung like
Magician's handkerchiefs
Profound and mundane
Require equal discussion
Your views steadfast and sure
Authority exists to be ridiculed
O daughter, O celebration
You reflect me in more
Than physicality


Chocolate waves of silk
Caramel skin
Mocha eyes
Peanut butter kissed lips
My little, almost edible, love


I wait in the cold of my heart
For a fire worth stoking

Monday, December 7, 2009

Sarah's Wedding

This is a short story (very, very short story) I wrote for my Lit 260 class. I'll be discussing it in class on Thursday as part of my final presentation. I decided it was best to go first and thus be done with it. I hope it doesn't suck.

Sarah’s Wedding

Sarah looked at herself in the mirror. Every brown curl was in place. Her makeup was impeccably applied. Her nails were freshly manicured and painted a demure pink to match her lipstick. Her dress was adorned with Victorian lace and fresh water pearls. The train of the dress was over a foot long. Her shoes were a perfect match of the ivory colored dress although it was not likely anyone would see them. This was how she had always pictured herself looking on her wedding day.

Her flower girl matched her bridesmaids who were decorated in pink taffeta. The groomsmen would be wearing pink cummerbunds with their black tuxedoes. Alex had tried to talk her into a black and white themed wedding, but she refused. It was too trendy; Sarah wanted a traditional wedding like she dreamed of when she was a little girl.

A knock on the door startled her. It was the flowers arriving none too soon. Seven small bouquets of pink roses surrounded by baby’s breath for her bridesmaids, a medium size bouquet of lilies for her to carry and a basketful of rose petals for her flower girl to scatter along the bridal path; the bridal path that she soon would be walking with her father.

She looked over to her mother and asked if it was time. Not quite yet, about ten more minutes. Her mother, once again, started to cry and tell her how happy she was for Sarah and that she hoped Sarah’s marriage would be as wonderful as her own. Sarah’s mother and father had been married right after high school and despite everyone saying it would never work; they were still together and deeply in love thirty years later. That is what Sarah wanted, a marriage where she woke up each day more in love than the day before. She was sure she would have it with Alex.

It was time; the bridal party left the little waiting room and spilled into the church hall. The hall was surprisingly warm despite the cold New Hampshire winter. Sarah’s father took her arm as they watched the flower girl disappear past the double doors and down the aisle. He told Sarah how much he loved her and how happy he was that she found a love he knew was as wonderful as the love he had found with her mother. He was so very proud of her and a tear slipped down his cheek. It reminded Sarah of the day that Alex and she had told their parents they were engaged. She had never seen four people so happy.

Alex’s parents had insisted that she start calling them Mom and Dad right then and there. Both sets of parents had wanted to pay for the wedding and had eventually agreed to split the costs. Sarah knew how lucky she was to have future in-laws who truly liked her. Her friend Jane’s mother-in-law had actually stood up and objected during her ceremony. No one would be doing that today.

The bridal march began to play. Sarah’s father looked at her and asked if she was ready. She laughed; she had been ready since the day Alex proposed. They walked down the aisle, arm in arm, until they reached the altar. Alex was standing there waiting for her and took her hand from her father. Alex looked so beautiful; she was dressed in an ecru gown but had refused to wear the veil that Sarah had picked out for her. Alex’s golden locks fell to her shoulders in waves that always reminded Sarah of the beach where they had first met.
The reverend’s voice filled the church. Sarah pledged her love for Alex. Alex pledged her love for Sarah. The rings were blessed and exchanged. They were pronounced married and they shared a sweet, gentle kiss. A cheer arose in the church as they made their way down the aisle taking their first steps as a newly married couple. It was all how Sarah had dreamed it would be; a sweet, traditional wedding with the woman she loved

Saturday People

The smell from the spill wafts
Cheap whiskey burns my nostrils
So badly my eyes scream in protest
Stupid Saturday people
Value only the now
Gas fumes not as
Unpleasant as the whiskey
Another now choice
Forward thinking impossible for those
Who barely think past desire
Burning wood and vomit swirl into one smell
Kill your brain cells while young
Die childless, stain not humanity
Acid wash your genes
Remove the miasma
From the flesh of humankind

Friday, November 27, 2009


Always they talk about my hair
Long curls spun from the sun
Easily I was lost in the woods
Looking for flowers for Mother
The smell of porridge was so inviting
I knocked and there was no answer
I tried the door, I know it was wrong
Into the house I went undaunted
The smell of sweet honey and oats
Reminded me I had not eaten
A little taste could not hurt
Sated I needed a rest
How could I know it was not
Strong enough to hold me
A nap was needed before
I went back into the woods
They woke me, growling
Frightened I ran out of the house
Out of the woods I found my
Way back to my home
Mother punished me and said
I was lying when I told her
Of the house in the middle of
The woods, too many fairy stories
Is what she said, time to grow up
Bears do not live in houses,
Wolves do not speak to little girls lost
No prince would choose a peasant
So I faced the reality of my life
Where fairy godmothers do not grant wishes
And peasant girls like me grow
Into farmers’ wives and barmaids
And raise little peasant girls and boys
To take our places when we move on

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Get rid of aunts

No more red lipstick stains
Cheeks go unpinched
No awkward moments
When they try to remember
Your name, your birth number
No smelly perfumes
Mixed with mothballs
And cigarettes
No hairy places
You are supposed
To not see
Get rid of aunts
And maybe
Uncles too

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

group effort

So Monday, we did a little class exercise. We each wrote a line or two and passed it around the class so that everyone wrote at least one line and then we wrote an ending. Some were pretty funny and I wish I could remember them or had copies to post here. The assignment we were given was to take these poems, such as they were, and revise them. The only caveat is that we had to leave at least *2* words from each person.

This is what I ended up with at school - The black text is mine and I will use a different text color for each person's contribution.


The azure sky was interrupted
A saffron burst of light
glared from afar, slightly blinded
each man standing along the bridge of burden
there be just a twinkle of fright
as it is undertaken, steadfast they stand
anxiously waiting for the reaper to grant them release
Firetruck, run over this concrete squirrel madness of city and rust
leave your men for burnt nights
Days are ablaze now, the city an ash of nothing
Burn down the very walls of my being
End me in a sheet of copper

This is what I revised it to for tomorrow

Schizophrenic Pyromania

Azure sky
Saffron burst
Glared blinded
Bridge of burden
Twinkle fright
Undertaken stand
Reaper release
Burnt nights
Days ablaze
City ash
Burn down
Sheets of copper
Bask nothingness

Monday, November 23, 2009

I Am Purple

I am purple, vibrant and bold
You are a washed out gray
I face my sepia world armed
With a box of bright crayons
You face your world ready
To drain all the color away
I prefer bold hues
You prefer subdued shades
I live for the red, the orange times
You live for the muted pink

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Why is there nothing new here?

I can't post the first poem I wrote for tomorrow because it is a collage poem and I don't own a scanner (if I get a chance to scan it at school, I might) and I can't post the second poem since I haven't written it yet. I may post one of the poems I wrote for my other poetry class (yes, I am taking two poetry classes, no I am not completely insane....yet) but not right now as I should be sleeping since I have to get up early tomorrow and write a poem.

Friday, November 13, 2009

the accident

My God why did he slam on the brake?

He gave me no room to stop

Probably some stupid old guy

He was going too slow anyway

Now I'm going to be late for work.

Why didn't she watch the road

In front of her? Stupid blonde,

I bet she was text sending

Or doing something stupid

They shouldn't let young bimbos

Drive big jeeps like that.

Is anyone hurt? It doesn't look

Like it, thank goodness

I can't believe she

Was not paying attention

To the traffic, doesn't look like

Either car has too much

Damage Good I don't

Want to be involved

I will just keep walking

I know the cops would

Find some way to

Make it my fault

They'll call me

A stupid drunk

Bum again and

Tell me I smell

Just keep walking.

Wow an accident!

Any one hurt? No.

The vehicles aren't

Even damaged that

Bad If you're going

To back up traffic

You should at least

Give me something

To look at so I have

A Story for when I

Get to that damn

Boring office No

One wants to

Hear "but everyone

Was okay" it's not

Juicy enough to

Earn a cup of coffee

Yet alone to distract

People from the

Firings they know

I have to do soon.

Not another accident

I've got to get

My kids to school

Come on get it off the

Road, got to drop

The kids off, got to

Get to work, got

To stop first and get

The bagels, damn I

Wish I had not

Forgotten to get

Them last night

Damn Timmy getting

Sick like that. God

I'm an awful father

What is wrong with

Me? At least I'm not

That stupid blonde in

The jeep, I hope

She doesn't have

Any kids, she's

Obviously too stupid

To handle them.

Stay calm stay calm

The traffic will

Move soon, the traffic

Will move soon

Then I will get

To the hotel

And he will be

Waiting for me

He always waits

Did she hit him or

Did he hit her?

It had to be

Her hitting him

Her car was behind

His, mine behind

Hers, so glad it

Wasn't my car

I don't need that

John would ask

What I was doing

All the way over

Here this time of


The little stone house

The stone house down the road

Where the fire was lit by the

Farmer's wife while he tended

The livestock and planted the

Crops to fill the cupboards, crops to

Sell to buy the fancy window

Hangings she fancied down at

The general store that made her

Feel as if the house wasn't so

Plain and the floor weren't cheap

Planks loose here and there that

Creaked each time the children

Ran through the house stopping

Only long enough to grab a quick

Bite and change out of their

Fancy school clothes into their

Chore clothes, she barely saw

The children now they were older

Except for Sundays after they

Did their knee time down at the

Church, they'd fill the little

House back up with laughter,

The fire would be lit,

Papa would sit in his rocking

Chair near enough to singe

His whiskers, he had no

Idea how old he looked

Nor did she, they had

An unspoken agreement not

To let any looking glasses into the

House, the small house which

Creaked and groaned its

Loneliness in the night

The kitchen which never

Saw a hungry child

The big room in the front

Where they gathered in the

Cold nights around the fire

Before going to one of the two

Little bedrooms to sleep

Warmed by the closeness of

Each other dreading the

Call of nature in the middle

Of the night having to get

Dressed and creak along

The house, out the back

Door, down the little path

To the little shack hoping

There was still a page of

The Sears catalogue left

And then back in the house

Every plank letting the rest

Of the family know you

Made back in safe

And sound into the

Little stone house

That was so cold

In the winters

Yet was so

Warm in their


Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Near North Side

My life is a slum neighborhood
Prime for gentrification
Gone will be the unsightly
Gone too will be the flavor
Safety will increase
Personality will die
The uniqueness washed clean
Bland faceless facades
Replace ramshackle row houses
Gone will be the corner store
Swallowed by the corporate behemouth
What price betterment?

Tuesday, November 3, 2009


This poem is a little geeky, I decided to use library science jargon.


Your call number is unclear, your place in the stack unknown

What is your ISBN, I must order more of you

I cannot find you in the catalog

Even with my information literacy, I am left without a clue

Are you desiderata? Controlled vocabulary will not help

Has a patron checked you out or put you on hold?

Never Daddy

A quick explanation - I had to write prose poetry this week for class, so this is a little different in form. I personally do not care for prose poetry, but I don't run the class.

Never Daddy

O father, I hate you. You know my birthday? No. Tell me my middle name if you can. Mother why did you stay so long? Shelter after shelter. Deny my paternity. My visage betrays me. Beat me until I behave. My child's will stronger than your. Your death came much too late. Your body, a gift to science. A gift the six agreed. Let the bastard do some good as he has never for us. Miraculous liver. Years without time soaked in the milk of demons. Five years of cancer you survived. Regrew hair you lost long ago. Your personality far worse than the colostomy bag. Less than one year Mom had. Even at her memorial your son from the first family wanted you in her place. Long ago he's cured the doctor cried. Take him home. The children are safe. Siblings shivering as my diaper bursts. His only fatherhood. A dry diaper while they cry locked outside. Appeal to the reasoning of a mad man who shuts out his beloved and shuts in his which is not his. Forgive you father, for you have sinned. Forsake aspirations of paternal love or even regard. Deny me your love, I will thrive on malnutrition. Dangle me over the railing. (What was the girl's name who fell and bit her tongue off?) Mother, forbid me the cycle

Sunday, November 1, 2009


Whine to me and
Tell me she is the one
You really love and
Miss while I let my
Heart suffer more
Than I should for
A man who does
Not think of me

the ties that blind

A little lie is all
You can give me
At least at this
Little liasion
I will accept
It as truth

Mother tree

Rejoice tree, embrace your loneliness
Your apples have fallen
Fulfilled their purpose
Rejecting your love


Bing, bang, boom
Meow goes zoom
Woof goes crack
Woof gets snack


At right – the might burned off the testament

Unashamed of their flag-flying hatred

Their brains so weak, their reasoning a new low

They quote an unreliable source –report it as gospel

Their cronies in Washington allow their crime

To flourish free from the steel gaze of truth

While spineless men behave as human cattle.

They have two choices they can see, only two.

One is the brainless following of right wing;

Fat cats and clods, feeble nimrods, the lies

Stacking up clinging to their minds and souls.

The other is thinking in a new way.

They hate the idea, the freethinking anger,

And the way, they get lost in finding views

Gays, taxes, economy, and foreign trade,

Crippling thoughts of chaos that they breed.

Monday, October 26, 2009


She wakes up a mere three hours late
She runs for the bus and falls on her face
Part of her knee stays on the sidewalk
The bus drives an entire two blocks
Before it breaks down completely
Another bus will be there, in an hour
She pulls out her phone, no signal
Blood pools around the new rip in her jeans
She waits in the hot sun until the new bus comes
She arrives, sweaty and bloody, at her work
The boss frowns and says he tried to call
“We don’t need you today, you can go home”

Monday, October 19, 2009

In the Old House

Underneath a loose floorboard,
priceless treasure lies
secure in a box of azure.

Faithful truck used
for countless getaways
and trips to the unknown.

Gold dubloon cleverly disguised
as a smooth black button
with an anchor on top.

Pieces of the ransom note
never sent to extort cookies
from Mom before lunch.

The key to a thousand
treasure chests dug up
in the back yard.

Red raffle ticket used
to board countless trains,
planes, and buses.

Pins of the secret society,
a shamrock and a pegasus,
one for each member.

All these treasures lie secure
in the little blue box and
in childhood.


Almond, vanilla, and woody scents through the air waft
Dance on a yellowed page black inked words
Cry “Hold me” soft, sensual covers
Beckons other worlds contained within
From reality bleak, I disconnect
Choices have these characters lack I
Hours at a time through them I live
A laugh elicits this one
Evokes tears this one
This one a shudder prompts
Not free from pain or strife are these
unlike mine contained easily
Into the pages I will myself
In other reality I ache to live
In actuality I live to ache

Snake *

Slither, slither, slide
Sneak up in the grass
Soak up all the sun
Silently slide away
Look for food
A nice field mouse
Suck it in and swallow
Find a quiet, warm place
Slither, slither, slide, slide
Too cold now to slither or slide
Find a nice rock in the quiet
Slither under, coils wound tight
Sleep through the bitter cold
Awake again in the spring
Slither, Slither, slide
Shed the skin too tight
Bask in the sun again

once again some of the formatting of the original was lost, it used to wind on the page like a snake


Scritch, scritch, scritch
Words from you flow
Smudges form on my hand
As I try to write fast
Enough to keep up with
My thoughts
Your barrel grows
Warm the longer
I grip you
I need more words
My hand bring you
To my
I chew your
Pointy cap
I lower you
Back to the
Paper no longer
Scritch, scritch, scritch
Your blood
Your ink
Flows once
As I fill
The page with
My humble words
And I
If you
Approve of
The words
I force from
Your body,
Your center
Your soul
I empty
And set you
Useless to me
I grab a
New pen
And delight
In its
Against my
Sweaty hands
To release the
Words inside
It as I have
Emptied you

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Pitiful poetry

Yes, I have more pitiful poetry for you to peruse.

This was for my vocabulary quiz to demonstrate free verse

This poetry test is so very hard
My mind wants to wander
South Park plays in the background
It amuses me not
Jack in the Box is not scary
The King from Burger King is
I should be studying
Where did I leave? my shoe?
Did I check the mail today
The test
Concentrate on the test

This one was to demonstrate metaphor

My mind is a steel sieve
That strains the juice
And keeps the meaty bits
Of my memories

This one was to demonstrate connotation

I must be connected
Wire me now
Stabilize my ports
Insert my cables
Increase my bandwidth
Celebrate my uploads
Have pity on my downloads
Never leave me wireless
Connect, connect, connect

And this one was to demonstrate parody. We had to parody "my love is a red, red rose" (look it up, you're online anyway, google is just a few clicks away)

O, my cold is like a red, red, nose
From which the snot doth flow
And fills my tissue
Every time I blow

An intoxicant fills up my glass
I love thee, Nyquil
And I will love you even more
When my body is tranquil

My cough grows harsh, oh dear
My head pounds once again
I take more of you sweet Nyquil
And a tiny shot of gin

Bright and lively, I put
You back upon your shelf
Til once again I feel the need
To medicate myself

This one was one of my homework poems is supposed to employ slant rhymes (Look it up. Do I look like google to you? Okay maybe a little around the eyes but still) WARNING - The following poem has a very adult word at the end that may offend some people

Happy Ending
Kelli Reynolds

It’s been a while
Since I was a child
Toys I no lover have
Rocks I no longer save

Open no longer
Is my heart
I do not linger
Dreaming by the hearth

No longer do I wait
For the princely promise
Promises too sweet
I know to dismiss

My views may be extreme
Perhaps I am jaded
But men will say anything
To be properly fellated

This is my other homework poem and I may have slightly plagiarized a tweet I did several months ago

Homework Haiku

I sit at my desk
I stare blankly at my wall
And think of nothing

Friday, October 2, 2009

This morning I woke up after a good 3 hours of sleep and jumped in the shower. I am flying back to Las Vegas today, so I grabbed the bags I packed - one back pack with two sets of clothes, my laptop and the manga Jamila lent me last week (the first three Shutterbox books,now I want 4-6!) and my ugly black purse filled with happy meal toys and Their Eyes Were Watching God - I ran out of the house planning to catch the early bus in order to get to the airport as early as possible just in case my purse full of happy meal toys earned me the honor of an extra, more personalized security check.

I had decided not to put on a sweater thinking it would warm up as the sun rose. The sun rose without warmth. I froze my tukas off. The bus came and it was a full 2 degrees warmer than the bus stop where I had waited. The busw was a bit crowded, but I found a seat. I started reading Their Eyes Were Watching God.

Halfway to the airport, too late to go back home and get back in time, I realized that I had left my boarding pass at home. Crud, I thought. I decided I would just have to check in again at the airport. The bus arrived at the airport on time and I rushed in ready to face the long line I envisioned at the check-in counter. There was no line. I explained how stupid I was to the lovely agent behind the counter who asked me if I really wanted to fly today. I responded affirmatively and she printed a new boarding pass for me.

As I waited in line at the security checkpoint, they decided to open a new lane speeding things up. The guy in front of me had to have his luggage rescanned but they made him wait until after my things went through. I glided almost effortlessly through security. I put my shoes back on and was putting my netbook back in my backpack when I noticed that I had not packed my camera.

I bought a sweater at the airport and I am now stuck with Tucson written accross my chest.
I stopped to get a sandwich for the flight and a din broke out. Clapping, cheering, shouting and Spiderman caught my attention. Spiderman was carrying a young boy and Spidey put that young boy on a flight. That flight was a wish flight ( ) and the boy who is most likely very, very ill looked ecstatic.

I don't have any real point with any of this. This is just my friday morning. Soon I will be in Las Vegas celebrating Jyoti's 7th birthday and praying that she (and the other girls) never will be on a Wish Flight

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

crapatacular poetry

More crappy poetry! Rejoice the well has not yet run dry.

This is the poem I was supposed to turn in yesterday which I will turn in tomorrow. (t was supposed to be like the Acadian Dream Garden which I do not like. Some of the formatting will be lost again, but it's not important. It's really short

Mythical Love Garden
Kelli Reynolds

A statue of Hades littered with rose petals
A statue of Kore covered in thorns

Wildflowers dance around the glorious fountain of Poseidon
Weeds climb and choke the cracked statue of Canace

Zeus’s concrete body reclines leisurely in the grass
Europa, Leda, Metis, and Taygete cower on the barren soil

Apollo sits in his chariot among the clover
The serpent coils around Dryope holding her fast to a poplar tree

This is the second poem is for the same class and was also due yesterday. There were no parameters.

Kelli Reynolds

You were a fuzzy lump
My little fuzzy lump
Cheeks the size of sumo wrestlers
Chubby little toes
Dimpled little legs
Thumb never far from your mouth
I fell in love
You grew
So did my love for you
Your eyes changed
They still change
Minutes became years
The fuzzy lump became a young woman
A beautiful, intelligent young woman
I miss the fuzzy lump
But I love the young woman
I would not trade her for the lump

Monday, September 28, 2009

These pictures are from June 28, 2003. The girls were so small and Jyoti wasn't even a year old yet. She will be 7 on Friday. It's amazing how much the girls have grown. I took some pictures this weekend when I visited Las Vegas, they didn't come out very well, but I'll post a couple to use as a comparison. I will try to take better pictures when I go back Friday for Jyoti's birthday.

Jyoti with some chocolate on her face
Jubilee and Jamila (12 and 16!)

Jovial (14) with her new stuffed pig

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Hopefully, you few who read my blog aren't too tired of my crappy poetry because, yes, oh, yes, I have more!
The first poem was from an exercise from my Whitman week in Lit 262 in which I had to write a poem similar to the Song of Solomon (from the Bible) about someone I love or hate. I figured writing a hate poem would be more fun. I was right. I didn't title it. Oh and the person I am referring to only uses the internet for porn.

Take heed, you are hideous, young man, you are hideous; you have enough grease in your hair to fry three months worth of food at McDonalds; your hair is like a thousand cockroaches scattering from the light.

Your eyes are like two clouded marbles, ever rotating away from each other, each repulsed by the other’s resemblance to excrement.

Your nose is like a trip to the gynecologist, unpleasantly unforgettable.

Your lips are like two pieces of used dental floss, worn out and speckled with disgusting bits of what was once food.

Your neck is like a tree stump overgrown with moss, slowly decaying.

Your chest is like a bowl of bread dough waiting to be kneaded.

Your back is like an overfilled jelly donut, pasty with bright red globules bursting out.

Your genitalia are like a Ken doll.

Your buttocks are like homemade mashed potatoes that have been left on the table to cool for a few years.

Your arms and legs are like sweater wearing pencils.

Your feet are like ginger roots dipped in Oreo cookie crumbs and skunk juice.

Your personality is like the odor that clings to a dead body decaying and decomposing

I'm not sure the second poem (which I really didn't like) will look right on here. It was for WRT205 as a list poem of signs (the instructor let me know that I didn't filfull the "list" requirement and I didn't care). I just threw it together and hoped it wasn't too craptacular.

Safe Place


Do Not Enter
Left Turn Only
Right Turn Only
No Turns
Wait For Light, Then Open Door

*Okay it didn't post the way I had it. The words were all in sign shapes, and the words were not just one right under the other, some were on the left, some were on the right and some were centered. So I guess the blog will have the *light* version of it because I probably could figure out how to duplicate it, but I should be packing for Las Vegas since my plane leaves in about twelve hours.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

feel me up, feel me down

If you have a Y chromosone, this post maybe slightly uncomfortable for you. Fair warning - this post will discuss hormones, gynecology and yes, the dreaded menopause. By this sentence almost all the guys have moved on to manlier blogs about manly things like chest waxing and the proper way to readjust a penis in public.

On Monday, I went to see my new gynecologist. I was not looking forward to it. I hate going, so much so I hadn't been in more than 4 years. (Yes, I know, that's bad, bad, bad) I picked the new place because they have a birthing center that uses all kind of cool stuff like pools, massages, spa bathrooms and what not. No, I don't need a birthing center. I just like the way they approach gynecology. There is no Dr. So and So, it's this is CeCe. I figure if a woman is going to stick things up my hoohah, I should at least be on a first name basis with her. It's also the first gynecological office to ever ask if I sleep with men, women, or BOTH. It has a happy granola feeling to it.

So I met CeCe. She was a big woman, warm and kind, she reminded me of my mother. We discussed my medical history. She congratulated me for fighting with my doctor to do a VBAC after two Csections and being told I was "too small" to ever pop a kid out of my bajinga. Then it was time for her to pop out while I put on the oh so flattering hospital gown and arranged a paper blanket on my lap.

Cece returned and felt my boobies. Good news there, nothing but fat. Finally, I slid down and let Cece play "find the cervix." It only took her two tries. My last gyne needed 4 minimum. I have an extremely high cervix apparently. My old gyne used to laugh about how hard it was to do my pap smears while I writhed in pain. Cece apologized to me and seemed genuinely upset I was not having a happy fun time. Then she left me with my shame.

So, after I redressed, Cece came back in and gave me the preliminary verdict. Either I am entering perimenopause (yippie more Hormone induced mood swings!) or my thyroid is screwed up. I'm not sure which to root for. And yes, I just ended that sentence with a preposition.

even bloggirls get the blues

Okay as part of my assignment for lit 262, I had to write a few verses of a blues-type poem. Here is my humble attempt.

It is what it is

My man done left me
Left me high and dry
My man done left me
It is what it is

My man done left me
Left me with his child
My man done left me
It is what it is

Ain’t no food on the table
While my baby cries
Ain’t no food on the table
It is what it is

My man done left me
Left me high and dry
My man done left me
It is what it is

No money in my pocket
Tears I will not cry
No money in my pocket
It is what it is

My mama warned me
He’s no good child
My mama warned me
It is what it is

My man done left me
Left me high and dry
My man done left me
It is what it is

Monday, September 14, 2009

New York

Okay, so I went to New York this weekend (well technically I went to New Jersey and just visited New York on Saturday, but it sounds cooler to say New York) and I figured I'd use it for the poem that was due this morning. The version I turned in ended at the Walk after Times Square and I added to it tonight. It's probably all out of the actual order, but my memory is a little fuzzy and I don't think the order is that important.

By the way, it's supposed to resist ending and be primitive as part of the assignment.

New York
Kelli Reynolds

Path Train
Ground Zero
Flowers, candles, tears
Unfinished balloon animal
RR Donnelly & Sons
Remaining beams form a cross
Stock Exchange
Handbag miss?
Saint Paul’s Cathedral
Times Square
Falafel and pretzels
East Village
Street faire
Roasted corn
Curly haired child
West village
Hudson River
Statue in the fog
Fake birds on posts
The Dakota
Central Park
Strawberry Field
Cameras and footprints
Living statue
Battery Park
Melted metal globe

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Okay, I have a nasty rash on my leg for which I have to take even nastier pills. The side effects list is way creepy. Hopefully, most of it will be gone by the time I land on Friday. I thought I'd check in really quick and post the poem I turned in during class today.

Nothing but Net

The banal, the inane
Must be stopped
The internet has become
A breeding ground for mediocrity
We can, Nay, We shall
Do better than this
LOLCats are forbidden
No one shall “can has”
Real words are required
Save TXTSPK for sending texts
Forwarding shall be minimal
Mass emailing is verboten
Facebook is not a verb
Quoting is fine BUT
If you have nothing original
To say Ever, say nothing
Connect, embrace, champion
Your cause, your movement, yourself
Discuss, dissect, debunk
Your issue, his issue, every event
Post your poetry, your prose
Be it good, bad or ugly
Talk about your life
Your loves, your losses, your wins
Find something no one has seen
Show it!
Entertain yourself
Ignore the Trolls
Admit your guilty pleasures
To someone you will never meet
Do not engage in
(trek is better, picard is superior)
Learn the rules of a forum
Before posting
D0 ]\]07 \/\/ri73 i]\] 1337
(in public posts)
It confuses the newbs
Be kind to newbs
You were one….once

Thursday, September 3, 2009

quick post

I haven't posted lately for two reasons, one - school has started and I therefore have homework that I must do and two - I did try to post something from my phone's web browser, but the internet ate it.

Right now, I am sitting at the downtown campus which is full of loud construction noises which really help the pounding in my head. My Lit 240 class starts in a little bit and I am anxious to see if the teacher will be wearing a blouse that is not see through. In our first two classes, I am afraid I was too distracted by the contrast of her skin to her bra to really pay attention to much of anything. This is why I can not be a teacher, I simply can not bring myself to wear anything see through.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

In just a few hours, my redhead will be 12. It will also be her first day of 7th grade. Mila will start her last year of high school. Jo will start her first year. Jyoti will start 1st grade. And I will be starting my sophmore year in college.

I don't know which makes me feel older, knowing my kids are far from babyhood or looking at my classmates and knowing they're only a few years older than my Mila.

The birthday girl is in the happy bunny shirt

Friday, August 21, 2009

blowing in the wind

My mother had always told me that when she passed, she wanted to be cremated and have her ashes spread out over Lake M* by a certain beach (I am being purposely vague) she used to swim at as a child. So when she died, far too soon, in 2000, my sister (the good one) made the memorial arrangements. It is illegal to spread ashes in public places, so we decided to do it late at night. The law was not going to stop us from fulfilling her wishes.

So after the memorial most of us headed towards that beach that I won’t name. Everyone found parking spots and no one noticed the machine that dispensed the parking stickers. We walked towards that beach and it was not a beach anymore. It was being converted into a golf course. This did not stop us. We found a way in, there is always a hole in a fence; it is one of the great unwritten laws. We headed towards the lake. We stood on the rocks and prepared to spread my mother.

Her best friend and I each took half of her. After a few quick words, we got ready to send her on her way. It had been calm most of that night. As we began to spread the ashes, the wind came at us and so did some of my mother. I think she would have found that hilarious. I would not have been surprised if the parts that were coming towards us had once been her posterior and this was her final way of telling the whole world to kiss her ass.

Everyone ended up with a parking ticket. We may have inhaled pieces of my mother. We broke at least three laws. It may not have been the most dignified send off, but it was funny and a great story. My mother would have been pleased.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Oh and I hate that a rose shows up on my blog.
I go to the movies fairly often and I go alone most times. I enjoy going alone because I never have to argue over which movie to see or justify seeing an animated film. I also don't have that awkward moment where we discuss if we should share popcorn or get our own. I always want my own because as much as I like my friends, I hate the thought of touching food someone's hands have been all over. Strangely, I don't mind sharing food that my daughters have touched or even finishing things they have taken bites out of it.

On Thursday, I got two free passes to a screening that's going on today. I made the mistake of inviting my friend Cyn. She often cancels out on me, normally at the last minute. I invited her on Friday, she said sure and I even offered to buy the snacks. I checked with her on Sunday and asked if she could still make it today. She responded affirmatively. I thought this might be one of the rare times that she didn't cancel. I talked to her yesterday and asked if she wanted to grab dinner before and she said sure. I thought that she might actually not cancel this time. I was wrong.

This morning I sent her a text just saying hi. She sent me a text back half, an hour later, just saying hi. The delay made me suspicious. I sent her another text asking if everything was okay. Fifteen minutes later, she sent me a text saying yes, but she has to cancel tonight. Because I am an adult (shut up) and I have adult (shut up, shut up) friends, finding someone to do something on a weeknight last minute is pretty much impossible. So I guess I'm going alone, which I really don't mind doing, I just hate wasting a free pass.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Not hard boiled

The idiot told me one of his friends had a problem with me, this letter is my response.
The names in the following letter have been changed to amuse me.

Ms. Huge Ego:

You recently informed my ex-husband, Mr. T. Idiot, that you are dissatisfied with my performance at my place of work. You expressed dismay at what you considered to be my unprofessional and personal attack on your delicate perishables. I was shocked when informed of your claim. What is the reason for my dismay? I have no idea who you are.

You see, although you are so familiar with me that you were able to recognize me with only the
help of a name tag and information gleaned from Mr. Idiot and your mutual friend Ms. Whatever, I regret to inform you that until informed of your complaint, I had no idea you even existed. Even now, with my new knowledge of you, I still could not pick you out of line-up. The only visual clues Mr. Idiot gave was a vague racial category.

As for my alleged attack on your precooked omelets, I did not wantonly and willfully destroy them. I do not know you. I do not care about you. I do care about my job. It may not be glamorous or what some people would consider important, but I take pride in my work. Even if I despise the customer I am serving, which has never happened, I would never do less than a stellar job. If you do not wish for me to serve you, that will not hurt my feelings as I will still get paid.

Mr. Idiot also informed me that you sought my dismissal by bringing my alleged misdeeds to the attention of my work superiors and you were disappointed when they did not immediately discharge me. I must further inform you that I was not aware that you had even registered a complaint about my service as I have only received commendations from said superiors.

Now to put all this in simple words in case I have overestimated your intelligence – I did not break your eggs. I don’t know you. I don’t care who you are, I’ll bag the same. I didn’t even know you were petty enough to try and get me fired because I do such a great job my bosses are too busy praising me to tell me anything negative.

In parting, I would like to thank you, while I was temporarily confused by your complaint, you have given me quite a jolly laugh.

Monday, August 10, 2009

I will

Okay, so when I get insomnia, I write crappy poetry. I enjoy writing it and I enjoy subjecting others to it. So read it, make fun of it, laugh at how bad it is; I already have.

I will

I will eat oranges.
I will eat grapes.
I will eat bananas.
I will not eat grapefruit.

I will read too much.
I will write, poorly.
I will sing off-key.
I will not dance…in public.

I will remember my friends.
I will forget their sins.
I will treasure their love.
I will not abandon them.

I will make fun of you.
I will make fun of myself.
I will make fun of everyone.
I will not spare anyone.

I will laugh.
I will cry.
I will pout.
I will not take life too seriously.

I will love.
I will lose.
I will win.
I will not hate.

I will live.
I will try.
I will do.
I will die.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

I woke up this morning when my alarm went off at seven. I decided it was too early to be up and went back to sleep. I woke up again when my second alarm went off at seven thirty. I decided that it was still to early to be up and went back to sleep. Then my phone rang at nine twenty and sleep was no longer an option.

I turned on my television and tried to find some decent cartoons. I didn't pay too much attention to the television until I realised that I was watching the Care Bears. As if that realisation was not horrific enough, I also realised that I had already seen this particular episode....twice.

Friday, August 7, 2009

A day or two ago (I lose track of time when I'm not working or going to school and today was my first day back at work after four straight days off), I was reading I absolutely adore Aunt Becky and I read her every day, but what I'm trying, in my own meandering way, to get to is that a post that she wrote about understanding her adorable boy's babble made me remember when I couldn't understand Jo.

Before I even met the idiot, I realised that one day, I might have children. I had already done a lot of babysitting and had even been the primary caretaker for my sister's spawn for a stint. Somehow, I didn't think that real life experience with other people's children had made me ready for my own. So I did what I always did when I was unsure about something. I checked an armload of books out of the library.

I had my oldest, Mila, first (which normally the way it happens) , she was a dream baby. She slept through the night by the time that she was a month old. She hardly cried. She was the perfect little baby that no one believes really exists. She even potty trained herself the Christmas before Jo was born. There was never even a pull up stage with her.

Then Jo was born. Mila adored her from the day she was born and even changed Jo's diapers. Yes, I let my toddler change her newborn sister's diaper. I know I'm evil. Jo was not an easy baby. She was full of energy. Lucky for me, Jo also adored her big sister. Mila was more help than most of the adults around me (except for my mom, of course) and the two grew close.
Jo was always in a hurry to do everything and she hit most of her milestones early. I think she was just trying to be just like her sister.

One of the things she did early was talk. This would turn out to be not a great thing later on. Now, because I had read all those books and continued to read more books and researched things online, I knew that I should be able to understand about 50% of everything my girls said by the time they were two and 75% by the time they were three. With Mila, I understood about 75% of what she said when she was two and 99% of what she said when she was three. (I now only understand about 80% of what she says, but that's because she tends to speak Japanese.)

It was not the same with Jo. When she was two I only understood maybe one-third of what she said. I was concerned and brought it up with her doctor. Since she was doing great otherwise, he thought it might just be a delay and we would see how she was doing at her three year checkup. A year flew by and the redhead joined our family. I took Jo for her three year checkup. I only understood about half of what she said at this point. It was very frustrating for her. I'd constantly have to ask her to repeat herself and try my hardest to decipher from the words I could understand what she wanted or needed. Having had a speech problem when I was little, I completely empathised with her.

Her doctor asked to her to say a few things, asked her a few questions and gave us a referral for a speech therapist. I was elated. Jo was going to get some help with her speech and I'd be able to understand my little ball of energy. I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. I took Jo to the speech therapist. The therapist asked Jo to say a few words and grilled me about Jo's development. She looked at Jo's mouth from every angle but inside of it. Then she burst my happy little bubble.

Jo's speech problem was not a physical problem. The reason Jo had developed the speech problem was because she had started talking too early. Then she told me the last thing that I wanted to hear. Our insurance wouldn't cover speech therapy for Jo because she didn't have a physical defect. There was no way we could pay out of pocket for it. She would have to wait until kindergarten to finally start it. I had to spend two more years asking her to repeat herself and playing translator between her and everyone but Mila (strangely Mila understood her).

She got through speech therapy and if you spoke to her now, you'd have no clue that she had ever had a problem. She is still a ball of energy at fourteen and is far more verbose than I am.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Shut your stupid mouth already

I'm in a mood so I guess this list reflects it.

8 things I never want to hear again.
I am sick of hearing certain things and I really have no desire to hear them again.

1. Blonde jokes or” having a blonde moment” – Replace blonde with your favorite racial slur and you’ll have a classic racist joke. They weren’t funny as racist jokes and they’re not funny now. They’re just excuses to make fun of women as stupid and slutty.

2. Don’t crush my bread/ be careful with the eggs – I was going to pretend the bread was an accordion and juggle the eggs, but since you warned me to be careful, I’ll pretend I have a modicum of common sense and treat them as if they were fragile. Thanks for letting me know how delicate such items are, I never would have figured it out on my own with my lousy 3.9 (darn math 122!) average.

3. Item A is the next/new Item B – Pink is not the new black. The snotty high school basketball star is not the next Jordan.

4. Your hair is so short! – Oh my bob, it is! Here I was thinking I was ready to play Rapunzel sans silly wig and now you’ve destroyed my delusion.

5. My sponsor/going to meetings/any 12 step references; I had to drop; I was so high; my p.o. - Now if I was actually in a conversation with you and revealed these things in confidence, it probably wouldn’t annoy me. You talking about these things loudly, in public, annoys me. When did the second A in AA /CA/NA change from Anonymous to Announcers? If you are out on probation on a drug charge, do you really need to announce to everyone on a public bus that your last drop was dirty because they told you not to smoke weed so you smoked some crack instead? (For those of you not up on the lingo – drop is the term for having to submit to urine analysis and a p.o. is a parole officer – the things you learn on the public bus is amazing.)

6. I’m so broke/I’m so poor/ this pay is so lousy– This is normally from someone drinking a four dollar coffee who has never worried about being evicted or which meals they would need to skip. People who have never had only one hot meal a day in a church or community center where they had to sign their name for each plate. People who never slept during the day at the library and walked around at night, trying not to be picked up for vagrancy. People who have never tried to feed five people and get school supplies and clothes on an $8 an hour job.

7. Any complaint about the weather before it hits 103 – This is Tucson, it gets hot. It gets hot every year. It’s not a surprise. It’s not considered a heat wave. It’s normal. It isn’t even as bad as Phoenix, so quit whining.

8. Don’t you miss the girls? – No I’m heartless and emotionally void. Of course, I miss them. They’re the reason I’m transferring to UNLV next year instead of U of A. They’re the reason I go to Vegas as often as possible. They’re the reason I put up with the idiot.

Sunday, August 2, 2009


I wasn't sure about posting this here. If you hate it, I won't be offended. It's a very short story I wrote about a month ago. It's a bit depressing and there's no humor in it.


She looked at him, this man she once cared for, and imagined him choking on his own blood. She despised him, loathed him. His touch made her skin crawl. His drunken slumber was loud and his limbs flailed. If she were stronger, physically and emotionally, this would be over tonight, but she was weak, dependent on him for everything. She had let him run her life. He kept her from having any friends of her own, moved her away from her family.

She hated herself almost as much as she reviled him. She knew better than this, had been raised better than this. Why was she here? Surviving her childhood had not been easy, had she learned nothing from it? Why didn’t she grab the kids and run, somewhere, anywhere? She knew there were places that would take her in, protect her. Why was she so afraid to leave?

Tonight he had come home drunk, again. When they had first married, he had agreed that if he were ever to come home inebriated, he would sleep on the couch. He knew how the smell of alcohol made her think of her father, how it triggered the fuzzy memories of which she wanted no part. Tonight he didn’t sleep on the couch. He came in to their bedroom, held her down and forced himself on her. The violence of it seemed to increase his pleasure.

Still she couldn’t do more than imagine the knife slitting his throat. She was a coward. She deserved what he gave her. She cried. She thought of her mother, miles away, slowly dying of cancer. Her mother was a strong woman; so much stronger than she could ever hope to be. She put on some clothes, careful not to rustle the fabric.

She went to her children’s bedroom. Her precious, beautiful children. Thank God, she thought, they sleep so soundly. Please dear God, she pleaded, don’t let them ever find out how he behaves when we’re alone. She put the blankets they had kicked off back on them. They slept as fitfully as their father. She went to the bathroom.

No bruises. He never left bruises. Bruises would have made it easier for her to leave him. She suspected he knew that. She knew that he would apologize in the morning. She knew she would say that she forgives him. She knew that she would not forget. She knew he would overcompensate for his behavior for a week, and then it would start again. He would hurt her again, as he had before. He would force himself on her, as he did before. That was how they had conceived their middle child.

She went back into their bedroom. He was still now, in a deeper calmer sleep. She lay down next to him and wept herself to sleep, terrified to stay and terrified to leave.


I have nothing to say today. I had nothing to say for a couple of days now. Actually, I have had a few things to say, just everything I had to say, I thought of at work, where I couldn't write anything down. Since I'm easily distracted...ooh shiny...what was I saying? Oh yeah, since I'm easily distracted, if I don't write down my ideas or at least text myself a short synopsis, I forget what I was thinking. I have been known to forget what television show I am watching during a commercial. I'll try to have something interesting up some time soon. Now, back to the shiny thing. It's so pretty.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

For the past few days, tiny men have been trying to dig their way through my ear with rusty pickaxes (or so it felt), so I decided to drag my lumpy behind to the doctor's office. First I called my doctor, who I used to loathe but have now come to almost adore. I normally don't have a problem getting a same day appointment and I probably could have today....if he wasn't on vacation. So off I went to urgent care.

I got signed in fairly quickly because I had downloaded their registration form online and filled it out on my way there. Then I waited. I picked up the Highlights magazine which every medical waiting room is required by law to have regardless if children are seen. I found it far more interesting than the magazine next to it that had articles on erectile dysfunction and bedwetting on facing pages. Gallant and Goofus were up to their usual schtick. I found the hidden pictures.

I was called into the tiny room. The nurse, or whatever she was, came in and asked me why I was there. I was tempted to tell her that I was lonely and wanted to be surround by people with big hair in scrubs, but I resisted that urge and told her, as I had told the reception people and as I had written down, I have an earache. Lucky as I am, I got the chance for bonus points! "Which ear?" she quizzed me. Not wanting to lose points, I told her it was the left. I got it right, first try! Then we got to do the scale, because there's nothing more fun then having to tell the skinny girl weighing you, she needs to move the bottom part over.

Finally, it was time for her to take my vitals. My temperature was a little raised but not worrisome. For some reason, she decided to cut off my circulation in my left arm. Sure, she said she was taking my blood pressure, but I'm not sure I believed her. She released my arm from the boa constrictor she had disguised as a cuff and told me the doctor would be "right in." That is one of those lies that continues to spread even though no one believes them -the doctor will be right in, the government works for the taxpayer, no those jeans don't make your butt look big.

I waited. I sent texts to the idiot. I read the Grimm Fairy Tales on my Ipod. I waited. I looked out the tiny window at the driveway behind the center. I waited. A mere twenty minutes later, the doctor was there. It was lightening round time, but I was ready. Why was I at the urgent care, which ear, how long has it hurt, any other symptoms, do you have allergies? Amazingly, I knew all the answers. Then the doctor took his little flashlight thingy (sorry, I'm not a medical person obviously, and I have no idea the name for it) and first looked in my throat and then in both my ears. I bet he wanted to make sure I hadn't mixed up my left and right ear.

Then it was the doctor's turn to provide answers. So why has my ear been hurting for days? Allergies.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Weighty Issues

When I was a child, I was thin (a condition that I have long since overcome!) and short. Not just regular kid thin, but wearing a size less than my age in slim with a belt thin. My redhead and my littlest one have the same build I did as a kid. My sister (the one I like) was not thin. She was not obese by any stretch of the imagination. She was just a little bigger than average. My darling Emo Snow White has the same build, healthy but far from skinny.

When my sister and I were children, strangers felt compelled to share their opinions about our respective sizes with my mother. They would stare at me and ask my mother if she ever fed me. My mother, being the wonderful role model she was, would respond with such gems as “but if I feed her, I’ll never get rid of her.” I know that they would also stare at my sister (people suck) and make snide remarks (people really suck) but I’m afraid that I was so egocentric (I was a child) that I don’t remember what the people said or what my mother might have said in response.

I would love to say that people are no longer as rude as they were, lo those many years ago, when the world was young and so was I. I would love to say it, but I try not to lie on the internet. (I want to be unique) When my Emo Snow White was little, people would stare at her and tell me things like, “don’t worry, a little exercise will slim her down.” Being who I am, I would normally respond with something like, “and a few manners would do wonders for your personality.” When my redhead was little, she perfected the meanest looks and few people were brave enough to comment on her figure. When she started kindergarten, an older child told her she was too little to be in school. My delicate little thing responded with an uppercut. My littlest (and she still is a tiny thing, weight wise) was not spared any remarks. I had one lovely grandmother figure ask me if I ever fed the poor thing. I said no, she feeds herself. (She was two by then.)

Speaking of lovely grandmother figures, I always want to slap them. Okay, not all of them, just the ones who think, because they have somehow managed to live past 50, they have the right to sit in judgment. Like the one who told me how cute my little boy is (I’ve never had a boy) and when I told her my youngest is a girl, she told me that my daughter, whom everyone said looked so much like a darker version of me, had a boy’s face. This happened on one of the rare occasions I actually dressed her in pink! (The outfit was given to me, I would never, never, never, never buy pink!)

Finally, this is directed to the idiot’s mother (I know he won’t read this and she probably won’t either), my children were given perfectly good, if a tad unusual, first names. I did not pick these names out of a hat. I did not surprise your son with them after the girls were born. I did not pick these names to upset you. Remarkably, I did not even think about you when I was considering what to name the fruits of my womb. Their first names may never meet with your approval. That does not give you the right to refuse to use their given names. Oh, and the redhead’s first name? Your son picked it out.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Who I am

At work, I converse pleasantly with the customers, even the ones who grab $400 worth of groceries and only have $150 on them. I smile, I repack in paper when they change their mind after they tell me plastic is fine. I apologize and get them a fresh loaf of bread after they smash it in their cart. I thank them and tell them to have a nice day while they grunt at me. I tell them it's my fault when they run me over or back into me with their carts. I'm pleasant when they yell at me. So I know I have the capability of filtering my responses.

I just don't know how to filter in my personal life. I am the person who will tell you that your hair looks like a pet groomer cut it. I'm the person who will tell you that your breath stinks and shoves a roll of breath mints at you. I'm the person who laughs at your bad comb over. I'm the person who will correct your grammar. I'm the mean person who will tell you that it's not the pants that make your butt look big, it's the ice cream you ate for dinner. I'm the person who will tell you that your writing is derivative. I'm the person who will tell you that you look like a serial killer in your picture.

I am also the person who will remind you that hair grows back and a good shampoo will make it better. I am also the person who will make sure no one else knows about your breath issues. I am also the person who will proofread your essays for you and help you raise your grade level without wanting anything in return. I am also the person who will commiserate with you as we both try to have a healthier diet (ice cream for breakfast only!). I'm also the person who will make suggestions, if you're open to them, of ways to improve your writing. I'm also the person will still love you even if you do look like a serial killer and remind you that Ted Bundy was considered very handsome.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Panties and a butt, but not together

I like to post pictures on my Flickr stream from time to time. Sometimes it's a cute picture of one or more of the fruits of my womb, sometimes it's just something I saw that looked odd or interesting. With Flickr, I can see how many times a picture has been viewed. These are the top 2 pictures on my stream.

This is number 2

This is number 1

I find it kind of disturbing that a guy with a bad rash (the picture doesn't close to the reality) on his hindquarters and an empty pair of panties are the most viewed of all my pictures. It's almost as disturbing as when I saw said panties on the bus. I know people forget things on the bus like umbrellas, toys, wallets, purses and occasionally their manners, but how do you forget your panties??

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

I found it!

So I guess I'm a little slow because I had a copy of the final draft in my school email (duh!) since I had to use Here's the final draft

Pizza Hut versus Magpies (take 2!)

Magpies Pizza and Pizza Hut sell freshly made pizza at a reasonable price. Magpies Pizza and Pizza Hut have websites featuring menus, nutritional information, and money saving coupons. Magpies Pizza and Pizza Hut have dine-in, pick-up and convenient delivery service. Magpies Pizza and Pizza Hut have locations in every major part of Tucson.

Magpies Pizza is a locally owned company that has easily won the Tucson Weekly's Annual "Best of Tucson" Best Pizza award nineteen times. Pizza Hut is a national franchise under the Yum Brands Inc. umbrella of questionable food choices. The Yum Brands Inc. includes such culinary atrocities as the greasy, understaffed Kentucky Fried Chicken, the nauseating Long John Silver's, and the E. coli haven Taco Bell.

Magpies Pizza delights the palate with their heavenly regular, scrumptious sourdough, and healthy wheat crusts to which cheese and herbs can be added. Sauces that can be added to the hand tossed crust at Magpies Pizza include the refreshing "House" pesto, the tantalizing spicy "Juan Carlos" pesto, the delicious tomato pesto, the uncompromising "House" red sauce and the simple yet satisfying olive oil and garlic. Pizza Hut disappoints with a choice of cardboard, thinner cardboard, undercooked biscuit dough, and undercooked biscuit dough with chunks of cheese crusts. The only sauce available at Pizza Hut is an overly sweet, conformist red tomato sauce.

Cheese is lovingly and generously applied at Magpies Pizza. Gooey mozzarella, fragrant feta, creamy ricotta, and hearty cheddar among others clamor for mastication. Light, soy or no cheese is an option for dietary concerns. Pizza Hut has a waxy cheese that employees take great care to distribute in the smallest possible portions. Ordering extra cheese is the only sure-fire way to have the entire pizza dusted with the cheese.

Magpies Pizza serves slices made to satiate Paul Bunya which take mozzarella cheese to a height normally reserved for the perfect grilled cheese sandwich. Pizza Hut serves personal pan pizzas that leave a toddler hungry cut into four triangular pieces. One of the four pieces will have all the cheese; the other three have only the doughy crust and the bright red sauce. These three pieces are reminiscent of used surgical sponges.

Magpies Pizza keeps a staff of happy, intelligent, caring individuals. Their dining rooms are cozy and brightly lit. Some locations feature butcher paper and crayons on the tables. Children and artistic adults have their tablecloth creations proudly displayed by the window in which the pizza dough can be seen being handmade. Pizza Hut keeps a staff of depressed mannequins on valium. Pizza Hut dining rooms are ten percent brighter than an underground cavern and have the atmosphere of a funeral for the guy in the office no one really liked. Children are occasionally tolerated by the wait staff. The kitchen is well secluded in an attempt to hide their gastronomical gaffes.

Saving ten box tops from Magpies Pizza will earn a free large pizza. The pizza toppings include over forty, mouthwatering, gourmet choices including squash, zucchini, and eggplant. Any pizza with that many vegetables qualifies as health food. Vegetarian choices abound. Saving ten box tops from Pizza Hut will earn an unfortunate smell in the house. A vegetarian must use care when ordering since the same cooking surfaces, utensils, and oils are often used for both meat and non-meat items as disclosed in the allergen information section on their website.

Delectable, robust calzones tantalize the taste buds year round at Magpies Pizza. Paired with any of the enticing sauces, or on their own, these pieces of heaven offer a suitable alternative to pizza that gets the filling to crust ratio exactly right. It feeds a small army or one hungry teenager. Calzones are occasionally proffered at Pizza Hut in two varieties; burnt and tasteless or doughy with sweat sock filling.

Ambrosial desserts can be had at Magpies Pizza. Sinfully creamy cheesecake, decadent tiramisu, scrumptious cinnamon swirls, and the heavenly almond cream cake all plead to be devoured. These homemade treats are worth an extra thirty minutes at the gym. Pizza hut offers baked cinnamon sticks. These "sticks" are basically their pizza dough formed into bread sticks, drowned in butter and suffocated with cinnamon, then baked in the same oven as the unsavory pizza which leaves them with an unappetizing aroma of cinnamon dusted pepperoni.

Ordering from Pizza Hut, available nationwide, guarantees the same tasting pizza whether in New York or California. Ordering from Magpies Pizza, available only in Tucson, guarantees a great tasting pizza.

Old essay

This is from way back (April of 2008!) and it's the first draft of a finished essay that I can't find. I know I changed the Barney line but I don't remember to what or what else I changed.


I've deleted the first draft because I realised the only differences in the final draft was the removal of the torture/barney line and the addition of the last paragraph.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Self Betrayal

Your voice fills my heart
In a way I never thought
Would be possible
Your words mean more
To me than any other words
Ever have
My logical brain shuts off
My emotions take over all
Things concerning you
I find myself smiling
And hating myself for it
I do not like
Not being in control
I am not some silly
Schoolgirl seduced by your
Poetry and finding
A soul mate in your verse
Yet I am drawn to you
Even though I find fault
In your words, my heart
Still leaps at the
Sound of your voice

Almost Love

We sat on the beach and I asked you what kitchy coo means.
You looked at me and laughed.
What a great song that would make you told me.
We waited for the sun to rise over the lake.
We sat side by side, neither brave enough to make a move towards the other.
The sun emerged from the water as you rose from the sand
You offered me your hand.
A ray illuminated your cheek as we walked towards the train.
We had a conversation that would soon be forgotten
On a morning that never would be.
Your stop came too soon and we parted
With a gentle kiss that would never be repeated

Saturday, July 18, 2009

I hate Glinda

I've never been particullary fond of The Wizard of Oz. The flying monkeys didn't scare me, even though I questioned their fashion sense (Why dress like bell hops?), they seemed kind of cool. The Wicked Witch seemed ok, she just wanted her sister's shoes back from the girl who killed her. I hated the way the movie dismissed Dorothy killing the Witch of the East. Even Gregory Maquire wrote both slayings as accidents. Okay, so I'm rambling, but the point I'm trying to make is that I don't like the Wizard of Oz. Not the movie and not the books.

I especially loathe Glinda. Maybe it's because I was never particularly girly or into frilly things. Maybe it was the blonde curls (I have blonde hair when I don't dye it, but much to my mother's frustration, I could never hold a curl) or the garish makeup. Maybe it's because she was portrayed as the Good Witch even though we have no proof of her goodness other than the Munchkins like her and she knows the way to the Wizard. She is still referred to as a Good Witch even though she sent Dorothy on an extremely dangerous journey that was completely useless. She robbed the so called Wicked Witch of her sister's shoes and who knows what she does with those Munchkins when the cameras are off.

I probably had a point when I started this post, but I have no idea what it might be besides I hate Glinda