Why We Make Our Own October

We don't cater to thoughts
Of what months should be
After all, what if we feel
Patriotic in April
Rather than in July?

What if we feel romantic
Six months after Valentine's Day
Or flag-ish in November?

This

This is why we make our own October

On the first day, we make promises
That we know we won't keep
And see who can come up with the best one

'This month, I'll climb Mount Kilimanjaro!
'This month, I'll produce a child!'
'This month, I'll choreograph a ballet!'

Then we toast to these lies
Knowing they're lies
But thinking maybe...

Maybe...they're not

We dress up in evening gowns
All of us, evening gowns
Boys included

There is no gender in October
There is no sexuality
There is no creed

We're not sure we have a creed
During the other months of the year either
But we like denouncing it anyway

'NO CREED IN OCTOBER!'

We toast to this too
And we toast to dead celebrities
And bad ideas
And ex's who've gotten fat
And broken appliances
And battered furniture
And drugs
And quitting drugs
And each other

On the fifth of the month
We run around the neighborhood
Shouting out things dramatically
And dancing around in the streets
As if a war has ended

We go to each of our neighbor's houses
Convince them to come out with us
Take them onto the sidewalks
Out from their apartments
And their stores
And from behind their cash registers

We spin them around
Until they're nearly passed out
Then we stop
Give them a chicken stick
And take them home

This is our good deed day
This is our favorite deed

Exposing nearby strangers
To blissful insanity

On the tenth day of the month
We have a yard sale
But due to the absence of a yard
We have it on our roof
And we sell all the things
We've acquired during the year
That we don't really need

Of course, nobody is honest
About what they need
And what they don't
So we end up buying new things
Just to resell them
So that we won't judge each other

Then we end up buying each other's new things
And leaving with more than we came with

Still, when the weather is nice
It's lovely to sit out there
Surrounded by materialism
And let the leaves fall on our tables
And our piles of store-bought happiness

On the fifteenth day of the month
We drive to the beach
And celebrate America
By playing Whitney singing the National Anthem
And wearing our flag t-shirts
And having good old-fashioned American sex
While wrapped up in at least eight beach towels
Because it's usually freezing
By the fifteenth day of the month

On the twentieth day of the month
We agree to babysit
For every child we know

We fill our apartment with bouncy balls
Yo-yo's, wind-up toys, over-sized dolls
Phantom tollbooths, robots, matchbox cars
And everything else we can think of
To make our apartment a wonderland

Then when the children show up
They break everything
And demand popcorn
Which we don't have

So they tie us up
Lock us in the closet
And slip us food under the door
Every hour on the hour

When their parents show up
We tell them the children were wonderful
Partly because what's done is done
And party because we know they're doomed
But why worry them now?

On the twenty-fifth day
We dress up like other people
People we never want to see again
And we go into their heads
To banish them from ours

'I'm my boss'
'I'm my fourth grade teacher'
'I'm my mother'
'I'm your mother too'

When the evening is over
We take off our costumes
And go back up to the roof
To play with the items left up there
From the yard sale

We find ourselves up there more and more
As the nights come on faster
And the days dwindle moreso than pass

We go up there and we talk
About whatever pops into our heads
And we eat food out of plastic containers
And we put on each other's clothes
And we laugh at old jokes
The origins of which we can't remember

And we watch October slip away
And another month come along
And we think of how we're going to make this one

We think of how we're going to make this one last

Still Having 21 Fun

Still going out
On random nights
When I should be passed out
On my living room couch
With the tv set on mute

Still dating people
I should simply avoid
When I should be tied up
To a reasonable spouse
With a logical occupation

Still screwing up
In brand new ways
But I really don't mind
Because brand new mistakes
Have that super cool shine

Still working late
On eight different things
Eating dinner past midnight
And 'to-do'ing 'til two
On a Tuesday

I'm halfway there
And still not close to done
I'll go to my grave
Still having 21 fun

The Status is Complicated

Our status is complicated

I should explain

We set our status to complicated
Because I'm dying on the inside
And I want to tie weights around his neck

And because he's quitting his job
To become a full-time poker player
Which is another way of saying

'I've become addicted to gambling
So why not make a profession out of it?'

So that's, obviously, complicated

His job is complicated
Our security is complicated
My faith in him...

Well, unfortunately
You can't set your status as 'Shattered'
So as far as my faith in him
We're saying it's complicated

I wish there were other options

My relationship status is 'Precarious'
My relationship status is 'Delicate'
My relationship status is 'Hazy'

But they only offer complicated
So we're complicated

And people say about people
In complicated relationships

'Why don't they just break up?'

Because we're not ready to break up
Because we're still trying
Because, as the status says

IT'S COMPLICATED!

It is not OVER
It is COMPLICATED

There's a difference

Granted, most of the time
When it's complicated
It very soon becomes over

Maybe they should say that

My relationship status is 'Almost Over'

It's like a multiple choice test
Where you feel you can defend an answer
But the teacher doesn't let you

I used to write in extra lines
And rationalize all my responses
Whenever I'd take a multiple choice test

'Well, it depends on what you MEAN by The Catcher in the Rye is a coming-of-age tale, Mr. Hopper.'

I guess some habits die hard

Underneath my relationship status, I'd like to write--

'My husband is a gambler, but as soon as he stops things will not be complicated.'
'My husband is a loving, dedicated, man full of kindness and he's currently betting our neighbor which end of the street the garbage truck with come down on Monday.'
'My husband is not the idiot everyone told me I was marrying; he BECAME the idiot everyone told me I was marrying.'

I don't like our status
But it's the best I can do
It's the only way of saying
It's hard, but we're trying

It's really hard, but we're really trying
And we're not broken up...yet

I guess I could always keep our hardship to ourselves
But what is there to be ashamed of really?

Is the fact that relationships can be difficult
Some new revelation that nobody's ever thought of?

Relationships are messy
They're tricky
They're complicated

I love him
He loves me
We don't sleep together
I found him hiding underneath the kitchen table
Muttering the names of different racing horses
And rocking back and forth

It's all very complicated

But I know he's my guy
I know he's still my guy
And I know I don't want to leave...yet

Maybe I put up that status
Because I was looking for an answer
Maybe I was hoping somebody could tell me
How to fix this problem
That I can't even name

Maybe I was hoping people would offer support
Or good advice
Or a listening ear

But maybe they're afraid
Maybe they're afraid they'd be tainted
By my complication

Get On Your Knees

Before you speak
Get on your knees

Get down in the dirt
And look up at me
And see if I look amused
By you, okay?

Let's start the day right
Get on your knees

You don't need to beg
You just need to kneel there
Feeling as short as you are
On the metaphysical plane

See what you can gain by groveling
By shoveling apologies
Onto the shit I don't give
See if you can live like that
A few feet shorter than a hat on a park bench
Wrenching yourself away
From the clouds you're normally sucking
And no I don't care who you were fucking
Before you got to me

I don't want to rehash the past
I just want you on your knees

You're not getting anywhere
One knee at a time
Your crimes are now taller than you
And your dick's even smaller than you
And your clique disappeared
Because they feared, and rightfully so
That I'd snow them in
Once I was done with you

Not fun, I know
But low you have to go
When you've muddied yourself up
And you wanna get clean

And if you're not getting what I mean
When I say that to be okay you'd need to stay there
While I wear away my welcome
In another man's bed
Don't try to get inside my head
Or tread lightly
From now on nightly you'll be found
On the floor
Once your legs give out
I'm all about penance
As you're gonna see

So if you wanna look me in the eyes
You better get on your knees

I'm Not Gonna Suck Your Neck

Could you get away from me?
You smell like cheesy bread
You're so cheesy bread right now
I'm going to gag
I'm going to gag on you right now

Could you throw some dirt in the coffin?
Like fresh dirt?
Like garden dirt?
The kind they grow cucumbers in?
Can you get me some cucumber dirt?

Ew, put some clothes on!

No, I'm not tempted by your virginity
I hate virgin blood
It tastes like V8
Which is gross
Because it's sneaky
So get away

And put clothes on
And stop calling me 'Master'
I'm not your Master
I'm not even your friend
I just like your brother
So chill the eff out
Cool cool?

When's your brother coming home, ps?
I want to tap a vein sooo bad
Don't look grossed out
You know he's hot

He's blonde
Do you know what blonde blood tastes like?
It's like ice cream on a six pack
It's amazing

Ew! No, you can't suck on him!
He's your brother!
What's your deal?

PUT YOUR PANTS BACK ON!

I don't care how hungry I am
I'll snack
Go get me a gerbil or something

No, I don't want to watch True Blood
Anna Paquin gives me psychological herpes
I wouldn't bite her if you paid me

Is there a cross nearby somewhere?
I'm kind of breaking out
Not really loving it
Not gonna lie

Well, can you go check?
And get me the dirt?
And take a shower
So you don't smell like cheesy garlic bread?
And find out when your brother is coming home?
And find a bra you can wear?

Thanks, love, amazing

. . . . .

Stupid bitch

Someone's Gonna Love You

Someone's gonna clean you up
When you get yourself messy
But I don't see me
Being your mop anymore

I don't see myself
On the floor, on my knees
Getting treated like a night shift
Thrift store janitor

Someone's gonna clean you up
But it won't be me

Someone's gonna tie you down
When you fly too high
But I don't see me
Holding tight anymore

I don't see myself
On the ground, looking up
Getting pulled at by my string
Wringing my hands
Hoping you don't come down
Too hard

Someone's gonna break your fall
But it won't be me

Someone's gonna drive you home
Drunk from parties
Someone's gonna pay your bills
Will you stop doing
All the shit that you're doing

Someone's gonna take the hit
And come back for more
Someone's gonna be your mother
Your confessor
And your whore

Someone's gonna choose you
Before they choose themselves
But something's telling me
You're looking
In the wrong direction

For the protection you seek
To be the dick that you are

For a sense of security
And a well-kept car

Someone's gonna clean your rugs
Fill your tires, change your oil
Scrub you down 'til you're clean
Then boil you in rain

Someone's gonna take it all
The pain and the nonsense
The heartache and breaking glasses
And won't pass on one bit of it

They'll see themselves doing it
And they'll like what they see

Someone's gonna love you
But it won't be me

How You Gonna Kiss This One Away?

I hope your lips are ready
To cash the check
Your ass bailed on

I hope you're pucked up
And prepared to smooth over
The rough edges
On my overgrown lawn

I hope you're ready to mow down
The doubt and disbelief I have
That this will ever be made right

I hope you're ready
To dress up these lies
And make them look
Like candy canes

I hope you're going to do a magic trick
Where your dick disappears
For a few years until I'm ready
To see it again

I hope you've got a smile
Tucked away somewhere
For when you've fucked up as big
As you've fucked up today

I hope you've got an answer
And a really good one
When I'm wondering
How you're gonna kiss this one away

A Telephone Day

Barry calls to ask for money
He calls at about four am
Before Viv can even open her eyes
Or estimate how much she can loan him

She hangs up the phone
And wishes for an extra five minutes' sleep
Before she has to get up
And scramble eggs

There's something demeaning about scrambling eggs
Depressing, really
Just depressing

She gets the phone call from Dana
Sometime around nine
After the kids are in school

Tony didn't come home again last night
And Dana wants to go look for him
In case he's dead
Even though he's not dead
And Dana knows it

Will Viv go look for Tony with Dana?
No
Should Dana go look for Tony?
No
Should they still come over on Sunday?
Sure

They hung up
Dana bereaved
Viv relieved
Both with days to go
Ahead of them

Barry called again
And asked if it was the first of the month
Viv had to remind him that it wasn't
That the month was almost over
But not quite yet

Barry sneezed
Was he getting a cold?
Should she go over?

She was NOT going over
That was it
She was staying put

If Barry wanted to make it a telephone day
It could be a telephone day
But she was not going over

Her Dad called at noon
To ask about the boys
And was he still taking them fishing
Next weekend?

She told him yes
She begged him with dead air
Could he please--

'Heard from Barry?'
'Yup.'
'How's he doing?'
'Call him and find out.'
'Don't be that way, Viv.'
'He called a little while ago. He sounds bad.'
'That's him, Viv. That's Barry.'
'Yeah.'
'You know, Barry.'
'Yup.'
'Just how he is. Can't change him.'
'Nope.'
'You busy?'
'Yeah, Dad. I'm swamped. Phone's ringing off the hook.'

She had bills
Bill collectors
Calling at all hours

So she wasn't lying
When she said she was swamped
But she wasn't honest either
Because the truth was
She was an instant away
From telling her father
To go fuck himself

Barry called again
To see if Viv thought
The sun was brighter today
Than usual

She had to tell him no
The sun wasn't brighter
The sink wasn't bluer
The sound in his ears
Wasn't a soft melody
Or a dissonant drumming

It was all just Barry
And you couldn't change him
You just had to answer
When he called

Dana called again to say that Tony had called
He'd broken down on the side of the road
And slept in his car
But today it had magically started

...Again

Dana was relieved
Viv didn't care
They'd see each other Sunday
And could Dana pick up Barry?

'Oh, Viv, I...the kids get so...you know?'
'Never mind. I'll get him.'

Her kids didn't mind Barry
As long as she didn't belabor the point
That they were related
That he was their uncle
That there was a connection
Other than their mother's kindness

The phone rang again

It was Barry

She was tempted to let the machine get it
But she picked quicker instead
To dissolve her hesitation

'Yes, Barry, I'm still home.'

She wouldn't go over
She didn't need to
He had to learn to be alone

'Yes, Barry, I'll be home all day'

He could learn
It would be hard
But he could learn

And today would be a telephone day
And that was okay
That was fine

It was okay
To let the phone ring
And ring
And ring

Thanks for the Divorce

-- Too many people stay in a marriage for the kids. This is a kid thanking his mother for doing exactly the opposite. --

"Thanks for the Divorce"

Hey Ma

Thanks for the divorce

Thanks for ending the yelling
Thanks for ending the hysterics
Thanks for ending the chaos

Thanks for showing me
That how much you love someone
Is not equal to how much of their bullshit
You're willing to put up with

Thanks for showing me
That you can't count on things getting better on their own
Sometimes you have to make them better

Thanks for letting me know
That I come from strength
And dignity

Thanks for teaching me
The value of independence
Of support systems
Of bravery
Of guts

Thanks for realizing that one bad parent
Can often cancel out one good one
And for allowing me to just have the good one

Thanks for taking all the harsh words from me
The nasty stares
And resentment
That should have gone to Dad

Thanks for not letting religion
Vows, sacred promises
Or any other bullshit
Get in the way of what your kid needed

Thanks for taking me through the storm
Without letting me hear the thunder
Or feel the rain

Thanks for not caring what your friends said
How disappointed your family would be
Or if it would be harder if another guy came along

Thanks for showing me
That you can break yourself
By trying to fix a broken thing

Thank you for the divorce
I know I've cursed you for it
Blamed you for my problems
And told you that you were a fool

You were a fool for ever getting married

But I'm standing here
Looking back on all that nonsense
And if I could
I would cover it with apologies
Making it a nice green field

But I know the hurt would still pop up
Like hills over a landscape

So instead I'll stand here
And say 'Thank you'
Thank you here and now
For saving yourself
With that divorce

Because when you did that
You saved me too, Ma

You saved me too

This Is My Apartment

This is my apartment
This is where I kept my fish
This is where I kept my herbs
This is where I kept my bookcase
This is my apartment

This is when the rent is due
This is when the cable is due
This is when the the plumbing breaks
This is my apartment

This is where my boyfriend slept
This is where he sat on the couch
This is where he made omelets every Sunday
This is my apartment

This is where I slept when we fought
This is where he told me it was over
This is where we had make-up post-break-up sex
This is where we ended it again
This is where my tears got caked into the walls
This is where I spiraled
This is where I died
This is where I pulled myself together
This is my apartment

This is the recliner
This is the kitchen
This is bed
This is the fire escape
This is the stain
This is the bathroom floor
This is the spot where his dresser was
This is the closet
This is my apartment

This is the toaster oven
This is the television
This is the table
This is the troll from Sweden
This is the tea tray

This is my apartment
These are my things
This is what I'm leaving

Keep what you want
Throw out what you want
Don't tell me what you do to which

I'm going now
I'm going to say goodbye

It's been a good apartment
So please treat it well

I wish I could have lived here longer

I Miss My Crush

I miss analyzing
That was fun
It was, you'd never believe it
But it really was

Hearing a sentence
And trying to look at it
Until you found a way
To make it drip with love

'Nice running into you'

'Nice' became a choice
A choice to be kind
To be kind means to like
To like can be to love

'Running into you'
Filled with destiny
We're meant to 'run into each other'
Not collide, not crash
Not pass in the night
But 'run into'

'You'
Me
The boy you love

God, I miss my crush

I miss getting shaken up
By the sight of you
Close enough to me
To touch, to make eye contact with
To take in without shame

I miss getting giddy
I don't get giddy anymore
Giddiness was fun
I remember liking it
Even though it meant
I hadn't hit my goal yet

I miss so little
Making me feel so much

I miss bursting into song
In my car
Because every ridiculous pop song
Reminds me of you

I miss hugging you
And trying to make it last
Trying to stretch it out
Until you were five minutes gone
And I could still smell your cologne

I miss not knowing anything
And thinking I understood you
That I knew you so well

I miss being that confidence
In my own emotions

I miss my crush
I miss feeling you descend on my life
Suspending everything in sight
Then flattening it
Underneath you

I miss the world being you
Being close, being so close
And yet needing to go after it
Always needing to go
Just a little bit closer

This Must Be A Dream

We're wearing white t-shirts
And blue jeans, and sneakers
And sitting on a dock
That overlooks green grass
Instead of blue lake water

This must be a dream

You're apologizing
So it must be my dream
I'm not talking
So it must be your dream

We're not screwing up
This must be a dream

Every word you say
Is chosen perfectly
And it lands on me softly
Just enough to register
But not to leave a mark

Every time I look at you
You lean over and kiss me
Leaving me to believe
That you're not going to leave this time
That I can't push you away
No matter how hard I try

Every crash and crazy element
Hovers around us
But we're protected by our certainty
By our ambition
Now trained on each other
To make this thing go
And never stop going

You're not infuriating me
So this must be my dream
I'm not being guarded
So this must be your dream

We're happy
We're safe
We're together

So this must be a dream
But whose dream it is...

I suppose that depends
On who wakes up first

High and Mighty

Hey everybody

Stop the presses

Look who's high and mighty

Can you see him?

He's up so high now
I'm worried we'll miss him
Worried he'll fly right over us

Because he's got a man

He's got a good man now
Doesn't need to bother with us

The single folk

Even worse

The VOLUNTARILY single folk

Sluts of the earth
Oops, I mean salt

That's us, right?

Before he gets too high, though
I feel that I should remind him
That back when he liked the gutter
We took great care
Not to squash him underneath
The soles of our shoes

That when he would throw up
We were the ones sitting next to him
Not telling him 'I told you so'
Regarding his last three drinks

That when the first three good men
Stopped calling for no reason
We stopped by to cheer him up
With bad movies and black licorice

That before he learned to fly
He used to like crawling around with us
Maybe he doesn't like the smell
Of the tarmac anymore

Maybe he's for the stars now
And not the kids covered in tar

Maybe he thinks diamonds
And men who say they love you
And relationships statuses
And promises
And good men
Are all forever

He knows it all now
Because he can see it all
From his throne on the clouds

Well High and Mighty
Good for you

I'm going to salute you
By getting you a pillow
And I'm going to get myself
A good seat

Because sweetheart
That is going to be one hell
Of a fall

This Is When I'm Done

This is when you see me last
This is when I'm done

This is when I'm through
Being eighty different people
To see if any fit you
Better than the cheap tux
You just tried on

This is when I'm terminating
The death grip you have me in
And I'm tossing you off
Like a bad joke
In a crowded comedy club

This is when I'm over
And you're under
Any other priority
That pops up in my life

This is when I'm older
And still think you're cute
But think I'd have to be crazy
To let that determine
How many times
I should change my life
For you

This is it, kid
This is the second
I thought would never come

This smile
This satisfaction
This simple erasing
Of everything else

This is when I'm done

Olivia's Clubhouse

Here in Olivia's Clubhouse
We encourage creativity

So at every table
We have crayons
That you can use
To color the tables with

We believe in breadsticks
We believe asking for breadsticks is silly
Breadsticks should always be there

We do not allow stupid boys
We do allow Dad, and sometimes Lionel the Cat
But only when we're feeling
Like we want to hear a bedtime story

Dad plays every Tuesday night
And usually we have Lionel open for him
By sitting on a stool
And looking especially plump

We like artists who don't try too hard

Here at Olivia's Clubhouse
We have Mom make us muffins
And put them on every table
Next to the breadstick bowls

We talk about our friends
The ones who couldn't come over
Because their parents are too strict
And won't let them carouse
Past nine o'clock

Our clubhouse is made of one side of our couch
Seven pillows of different shapes and colors
A large blanket covered with hippos
And a stage made out of four shoe boxes

Sometimes we fall asleep in our clubhouse
Me, Olivia
And my assortment of dolls

Miss Evelyn, the divorcee
Miss Elle, the career woman
Miss Eva, the famous actress

But when we wake up
We're in my bed
And we run downstairs
Hoping our clubhouse has not been shut down
By the local zoning board

But there it is
Doors wide open
Pillows just where we left them
And fresh breadsticks on the table

And there's Dad
Sitting on the shoe boxes
Telling a story

Mikey and the Model

Mikey, he's a model
Let's keep that in mind
Let's remember
That he models

As in it's a verb
As in it's happening
Now, he models
Now

And not like a fake model
Not like a local model
Like Chris Krittle
Who does those stupid catalogues
For his Mom's store
And says he's modeling

This guy is, like,
A real model

Like I've seen him eat pie
He eats pie like a model
He doesn't even get messy
He's incapable of messy

And Mikey, you're like
Really messy

Like, your life
Is just--messy

And like, he sails
He has a boat
He's a boater
With boating equipment

You work at a music store
Which is, like, a cool profession
Thanks to Nick Hornby
But like, you're not a model

He's been to Europe
He's been to obscure Europe
Not even like, just Italy
Or just Paris or London
He's been to the places
You can't find on a map

He's New York, you know?
You're like...Here

You live here
He lives here
But he's like New York
And you're like here
And here is not New York

You know?

Mikey, I love you
Everybody loves you
You're amazing
But he's not going to love you
It's just not happening
You know?

Because he's a model
And you're Mikey
And you're great
But you're not New York

So why bother?

You know?

Is That Your Ace?

So tell something...

Is this nice apartment
Supposed to make up for the fact
That all night you've been acting
Like I fell into a honeypot
Because you asked me out?

Is this nice couch
The one you thought you were getting me on
While I was all tipsy and silly
And thinking maybe you were getting
A little bit more handsome
With each passing moment?

Is that great big bed in there
Where we were going to hook up
So you could tell all your friends
That you snagged a trashy townie
Who actually pays their own bills?

Was all that talk
About what you're majoring in
At a school I couldn't get into
The missing element
That was going to seal the deal
And the bedroom door
So we could get down to business?

Tell me
I'm curious

Was that extra big tip you left
Going to be what impressed me?

Was that wink at the valet
Meant to indicate
That I was going play out
All your wildest dreams?

Was that mention of Cabo
A carrot at the end
Of what I'm guessing is
A really short stick

Seeing if I'd jump at the chance
To be your steady
So I can go tan
In some wonderland
While you parade me around for the locals

And were you hoping
That at some point
I'd forget

That you're an ugly little fucker
With a Napoleon complex
Busted skin, and backne
Who had to go Ivy League
So he'd have a leg up on the world
And forget that he's really Kansas trash
Trying to play Big Boy in the City

So which is it?

The apartment
The car
The money
The clothes
The linen sheets

Or maybe it's your sparkling personality
Maybe that's what it is

Go on, tell me

Is that your ace?

But My Mom Says I'm Okay

Sometimes I think I'm crazy
But my Mom says I'm okay

Sometimes I get weary
Because people criticize
How I speak or act
Or how I interact
Or how I behave
Or how I misbehave
Or how I am
Just am, just are
Just how I circulate

But my Mom says I'm okay

Sometimes I get shouted at
For how I walk when I walk
Or how loud I am
Or how much I care
Or how I choose to care
Or to whom I give that care
Or because of the hand I'm holding
Or how tight I'm holding on
Or how pissed off I get
At these angry shouting people

But my Mom says I'm okay

Sometimes I feel less than a person
Because other people devalue me
Because they strip away my meaning
Because they challenge my humanity
Because they judge my creative limitations
Because they dissolve my commitments
Because they apply nasty words to my perception
And it's tempting not to try
To scrub those words off

But my Mom says I'm okay

Sometimes I tattoo myself
With left-over ink
From an old lover's pen

But my Mom says I'm doing fine

Sometimes I pierce myself
With brass rings
To have something holy in me
Or to showcase exterior holes
For a change

But my Mom says I'm good
She says I'm a good person
That she raised a good kid

Sometimes I let them get to me
And I crumble down
To the farthest reaches
Of the living room carpet
And anchor myself there
Not wanting to move

And she comes along
And pulls at me
With such supportive force
That the carpet rips up
And underneath it
Is a mirror
Reminding me
That I should see what she sees in me
And not try to make gospel
Out of trash

Sometimes I think I'm done
And she tells me I'm not

Sometimes I say I've fucked up
And she tells me I'll do better next time

Sometimes I beg her to cut me loose
And she tells me she'll cut off her arms first

I hear people say
That when they told their mother
Who they were
Their mother said--

'I just don't want things to hard for you'

You know what my Mom said?
She said--

'You're okay. You'll be okay.'

And nothing has been hard
Since then

Smells Like Morning After

The Lord Be With You

Look at all of you
Fine, church-going people
Some of whom went to bed early last night
Just after finishing a rented movie
From your local Redbox

Perhaps you got up early today
Took a nice shower
Got yourself fresh
And came here today
To hear me tell you about the Lord

Well you know what the Lord
Is saying about you?

YOU'RE BORING!

The Lord is looking down on all of you
And it's like he's watching paint dry
On an ugly wall

None of you are LIVING!

It is a Sunday
It is eight am
And some of you have been up for hours

That is INEXCUSABLE!

Why aren't you tired?
Why aren't you hungover?
Why aren't you wearing sunglasses
And asking me to keep it down?

I AM SHOUTING RIGHT NOW
AND NONE OF YOU ARE FLINCHING!

Except Terry's daughter in the third row
The one that walked in
And asked me to

--Quote--

'Make it speedy, so I can go home and try to remember what I did last night'

That girl is sinful
She's disgraced
She's dripping with the devil

But let tell you one thing
She can be forgiven

She can do everything she did last night
Some of which, I would imagine, involved Lester's son
Since they seem to have matching hickeys
And still be FORGIVEN!

So knowing that...

WHY WEREN'T YOU ALL OUT DOING THE SAME THING SHE WAS DOING?

God didn't put you on this earth
To eat oatmeal and scratch your ass
He put here to live and make progress

You go out
You screw up
You kneel down
You pray
You get forgiven
Then you go out
And you screw up all over again!

God's got a job just like all of us
His job is to redeem us
When we decide one more drink
When we already have double vision
Is a dandy idea

And some of you
Are putting our Lord
OUT OF A JOB!

Last night there was a storm
There was a storm that shook this land
And this morning I woke up
And saw the most beautiful thing
I have seen in many, many months

A fresh clean landscape
Beaten and bruised
But still here

Still taking in the sunlight
And dusting itself off
And ready to go again

The only way to get that way
To be that strong and resilient
Is to go out in that storm
And let the world shake you up a little bit

So next Sunday
When I show up here
I better smell some morning after

Am I understood?

Then can I have an amen?

Who The Hell Was That?

Who the Hell was that?

Was that the the neighbor again?
Is he still saying he's our son?

You know, he's mentally ill

I saw him the other day
Eating an egg
Off a patio table

He's out of his MIND!

It's seven in the damn morning
What if we worked?
What if we were on our way to work?
We could be workers

He doesn't know we're handicapped
He doesn't know you have overactive sweat glands
And a nearly untreatable back injury

He doesn't know ANYTHING
Because he's MENTALLY ILL!

If I want to rent out all our closets
To Kenyan immigrants
Until those poor tortured people
Can get on their feet
In this great country

Then that's what I'm going to do

And that's none of his damn business!

Do I go over to his house
At all hours of the morning
While he's trying to get a buzz on
And ruin his parade
With my schizophrenic rain cloud?

You're DAMN right I don't

Because I got something
Call consideration

He'll probably be back later tonight
To see if we can cook him an egg
On our coffee table

Sick bastard

I'll tell you one thing
He better not be trying to poach the Kenyans off of me
I can see his closets
Through his bay windows

Nice walk-in jobs
But you just know
He'll nick and dime 'em
On the utilities

There he is spying on us again
From his living room!

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU LOOKING AT
YOU CRACKERJACK?

Why doesn't he come over here if he wants--

Huh?

Then who was it?

What?

The landlord?

What the hell did he want?

Rudolph's Revenge

First off, I'm kicking some people
Off of the sleigh team

Y'all thought you were funny
Cracking jokes about my nose
Well, who's laughing now, huh?

Who's laughing now?

Hey Vixen, you feeling catty now?
Guess what?
I'm putting you right in front of the big man
So when he cracks the whip
You're going to be the one getting it

Dancer, I don't know who gave you that name
But apparently they were blind
Because if you tap danced on those hooves
With that body
You'd be going through the rooftops

You're off the team
Until I see some weight fluctuation

Don't give me that nasty look, Chubs
I'll leave you in the stable
With the Bobby, the slow elf

Okay, that's all the changes...for now

Remember to follow me
Because I'm in charge
Unless some of you want to try sticking your noses
In a light socket
And seeing what happens

Any questions...?

I didn't think so

How You Know He's Crazy

Look at him

He's got teddy bear eyes
He drives by ice cream shops
And pops his head in
Just to say hi

You wanna love a guy like that?

Can't you tell he's crazy?

He buys too much stuff
And stuffs his closet
With clothes he'll never fit into
And spend a mint too putting away jeans
For a rainy day when he's thinner

This is not the winner you're hoping for

Don't you know he's crazy?

His Mondays are colored
But his Tuesdays are black and white
And when he's right he stays up all night
Trying to fight the sinking feeling
That what he's thinking is actually true

And you want his arms wrapped around you
Before you fall asleep?

How can you even keep a straight face?

He's got a place on the edge
Near the back of the woods
And could he even move
If he wanted to?

What are you going to do with a guy like him?

Never been to a gym or a bookstore
More than anything else
He wants to shelf condiments
Alongside spices he picks
From the thick of his garden

He works with his hands
And he thinks with his dick
And he picks up girls
Too old for him

And you're not cold to his touch?

You just love him
Because he loves you
Too much

That's how you know he's crazy

You Just F**ked With a Tornado

It wasn't a good idea
Let's put it that way
It was NOT a good idea
To think you could fuck with me

Because you see
You didn't just fuck with me
You fucked with an army
You fucked with an Spanish soccer team
You fucked with the wrong woman

I'm not going to sass you
I'm not going to slap you around
I'm not going to bother with starting rumors about you
And wait for them to circulate

I'm going to rip your fucking house out of the ground
And slam it down on your entire fucking family

I'm going to throw a cow at you
I'm going to pick up your white trash truck
And throw it through the window
Of whatever church
Has the unpleasant distinction
Of being your place of worship

I'm going to eat your children's pet lizards
I'm going to pour ketchup on them
And let them drown in it
Then gobble them up on wheat bread
So I don't spoil my diet

I'm going to decimate acres
Behind and in front of you
So that the last thing you see
Before you get slammed eight feet into the ground
Is land as barren and torn apart
As your miserable life

Do NOT think you can fuck with me
Because I am not just me
I am a motherfucking tornado

So the next time you don't feel like inviting my daughter
To your daughter's house for a slumber party
I'd watch the Discovery Channel for a few hours
And then think again

I'll be dropping Chrissy off at seven

Oh, and by the way
She has the night terrors

Good luck with that

Bogie in the Tropics

Do people ever just...

...Burst into tears here?

I'm not going to
Don't worry about that
I had my tear ducts sealed shut
After an unfortunate incident in high school
When the teacher made us all watch 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'

I took one look at Audrey Hepburn
And BAM!

They had to mop me up
Along with the snot
All the soccer players
Beat out of me

Do you want to hear something funny?

It only made me love the movie more
I went out, bought it
And watched it thirty-seven times
Before I took it out of my VCR

I felt like I'd been spoken to

It's sort of the opposite
Of how I feel now

Now all I feel is ignored

Not just by him

Oh, he's ignoring me
I'm aware of that
But it feels bigger than that

It feels like the universe
And everyone in it
Collectively, is ignoring me

You know those people
Who say life is a book?

I feel like mine ended twenty pages ago
And it was a lousy fucking ending
That's for sure

What is this drink?
Does this have a cute name?
What do you call it?

'A Fancy Day?'

Well, that's adorable
It really is
For something that gets you as smashed
As I am right now
To be called 'A Fancy Day'
Is just unbearably amazing

Thank you for that

I want to walk into the crystal blue water
And have jellyfish eat me alive

Then I want someone to inform him
That I have been consumed by jellyfish
Man-eating jellyfish
Who left nothing but the over-extended credit cards
In my wallet

No jellyfish is that hungry

Isn't life horrible
When the only way to make someone feel guilty
Is to die?

I live for making people feel guilty
If I can't do that
What's the point?

Can you make me another 'Fancy Day?'
I'd be hesitant to drink this much
At eleven o'clock in the morning
But since if anyone asks me what I'm doing I can say--

'I'm having "A Fancy Day!"'

I don't see why I shouldn't just keep
Knockin' em back
Do you?

Of course you don't
How else are you going to get tips
At eleven o'clock in the morning
When every normal tourist
Is out scuba-diving?

I don't want to scuba-dive
I don't want to enter a beautiful sea kingdom
Because if I do
I won't want to leave

I don't want to leave here
That's why I shouldn't have come here
It's not even because it's beautiful
It's because everything's acceptable here
Everything is 'vacational'

Getting drunk at all hours
Doing absolutely nothing
Wearing shorts

It's all kosher

. . . . .

I want him to come get me
That's why I don't want to leave
Because I want him
To come get me

And he's not coming
So I'm not leaving

It's sort of like an impasse
Except he's unaware
That he's causing the impasse

And you're causing the impasse
Because you're keeping me intoxicated
Which makes it very easy for me to sulk

I'm going to sulk endlessly

My unleashed tears are going to rot out my soul
And I'm going to shrivel up like a grape
Then you're squeeze me into one of your 'Fancy Day's
And the circle will complete itself

. . . . .

He won't come
He won't
He just won't

'Won't' is so hard
'Can't' is understandable
'Don't want to' is flexible
But 'won't' is just devastating

. . . . .

I should send him a jellyfish
One that jumps
One that can cling to faces

I should starve it for a day or two
And then send it to him
With a card that says--

'Enjoy'

The card won't be for him
It'll be an instruction to the jellyfish

. . . . .

Make me another
I want to have another 'Fancy Day'

This time put more sugar in it
The last one was a little bitter

Creative Writing

This is my creative writing class.

We have the girl in the black dress
Who writes about vampires
And calls herself 'Mauve'

When we work shop
She always gets the same comments

'There was a lot of blood'
'Why was there so much blood?'
'I could have used less blood'

While we're giving her comments
She chews on a lollipop
I think she's trying to file down her teeth
It's freaking me out

Her last story involved a character
That sounded a lot like me
Getting drugged by a coven
And sacrificed after hours
Of sadistic lovemaking

I won't say I wasn't a little intrigued
But when I tried smiling at Mauve
She hissed at me
Then went back to her thermos of--

--What I can only hope is--

Fruit punch

Wicked gay kid keeps writing about being gay
And about the summer he slept with his cousin
And the teacher loves the story
Because it has gay sex AND incest
Which is like, the double whammy

He uses wayyy too many active adjectives

'His pulsing vibrating stirring loins'

I never knew loins
Could do so much

The fake name he's given his cozy cousin
Is, wait for it, Polonius

That's right
Like, as in Hamlet

'Polonius had a pulsing vibrating stirring personality'

Apparently Polonius
Whose real name was probably Ned
Was a big old
Walking shake 'n bake
Just waiting to get nasty
With whichever branch of his family tree
Happened to drop the most apples

Sorry for getting descriptive there
That's what you learn in creative writing
You learn to be descriptive

My teacher loves to talk about 'scenes'

'You could have used a scene there'
'That could be an additional scene'
'You know what I'd love? A scene'

I imagine her snacking on these scenes
Late at night, when she gets hungry
Because her stomach, like her soul
Is constantly hungry

Again, description, I apologize

I see her approaching our pile of stories
And picking one up
That's particularly loaded
With scrumptious scene

'Mmmmm...Mauve's vampire heroine seduces the stable boy'

She gobbles up the fictional version
Of our less exciting lives
And retreats back to her bedroom
To masturbate using only Wicked Gay's active adjectives

'Pulsing vibrating stirring'

Farm Girl only writes about the farm
Things she did on the farm
Animals she was in charge of
All of them with very sweet names

Whenever she goes to tell a story
I take my allotted smoke break

From my standard spot outside
I can see inside the classroom
And I only return
When I see Farm Girl start to cry
When Mauve explains to her
What most likely happened to Pogo the Extra Fat Pig

Nasty Mary writes things to shock
But I'm never shocked
And neither is anyone else
Not even Farm Girl

(After inseminating a sow, not much will shock you)

But God knows, she tries

Last week she wrote a story called 'Tit Fucking'
And it was about...

Well, pretty much what you'd expect

Work shopping that one was a real joy

'On Page 4, when she licks cool whip off him...I don't know...It was a little much for me.'
'I thought it could have used another scene.'

Why am I taking a class with these people?
Why am I pretending what they're writing is any good?
Why am I bothering to suggest to Nasty Mary
A viable euphemism for 'bondage'?

It's like being a doctor
And knowing someone's terminal
But trying to find a way to say it
So they don't freak out

'Now, I've seen other stories get better. I mean, the odds are slim. After all, you have no plot, one long paragraph, and half your characters are livestock, but really Farm Girl, that's no reason to give up hope.'

You know what I write about?

I write about my Mom

I write about her...

...And it's not very good?

Sorry, declarative statement--It is NOT very good, no question mark

The teacher is going to give me an 'A'
Because she's terrified how to tell me
How to write about my mom

She keeps suggesting I take a non-fiction writing class
But I did that, and it was just too weird
Too close, you know?

Writing about her using her name
Using actual experiences
Having to describe real life
As if it's a passing car

They do that, you know
They make you describe passing cars
To teach you to describe things

Passing car, easy--Shiny, red, fast, convertible

Dying mother? ...Try and find some words for that

Try and find an active adjective

Withering
Wilting
Losing
Evaporating

Okay, so maybe it's not that hard

Until the adjectives stop being active

Then it's just...

Going
Going
Gone

She wants a scene where I confront my mother
She wants a big long messy scene
Where I unleash all my anger
About...everything

She says it's okay to have that scene
Even though it didn't happen
Because it could have
Because it would really help the story

Isn't fiction nice?

All that matters
Is the story

Do you know what it's like
To be told
That your life
Makes a lousy story?

That you are your character
And that your character
Is unlikable

That your unresolved issues with your mother
Are cliche and uninteresting

To have people read your past
And then say--

'Why am I reading this?'

Gee, I don't know...

WHY THE FUCK WAS I LIVING IT?

I cried in class the other day
And Wicked Gay took my hand
And told me I'd be all right

I cried because Farm Girl
Wrote about her pet calf
Being slaughtered

The only reason I wasn't outside
Was because Mauve chose to sit by the door
And I was afraid to walk by her

That calf being slaughtered
It got to me

I mean, why?
It was just a calf
Why did they slaughter it?
And why did I cry about it?
And why did Farm Girl
Out of the blue
Suddenly decide to get so morbid?

I wanted to beg her to stop reading
Because I knew it was true
And it didn't matter how she described it

I knew it had happened
I knew the calf really was slaughtered
I knew that you couldn't dress it up in fiction
And make it any less horrible

I knew that it was happening still
I know that calves get slaughtered
All over the world, all the time
But to hear about it
To sit in a room and hear about it
As if it was such a technical thing
And then to discuss the language
To talk about the nouns and the sentence structure

I almost threw up

She's dead

Why do you need more than that?
Why does anybody?

She's dead
She's dead
SHE'S DEAD

There's no way to dress that up

And there was no ending
Because there was no closure
Because I was never the type
To make a scene

Pun, sorry, sorry about that

I thought if I wrote it
I could get it out of me
And then I tried
And I became afraid
That if I wrote it
It would solidify on paper
And every time I looked at it

It would happen again and again
And again and over and over
And I'd find myself okay with it

The repetition would soothe me
And I'd find myself able to look at it
As if it were just a bunch of words

And I didn't want that

. . . . .

I dropped the class
I took pottery instead
I made an ashtray

I still walk by the building sometimes though
Doby Building, Classroom 161
With the circle of chairs
And the dry erase board

With a bunch of freaks
Freaks I was so much better than
Because I was so deep
Because I was edgy
Because I held back

Sometimes I want to walk back in there
Sometimes I want to stroll in
And slam the whole story
The real story
Right down in the middle
Of that circle of chairs

A big messy pile
Of unfinished conversations
And unresolved psycho-bullshit

And I want to say--

'Here. See if you can make something of that.'

Then I want to walk away
And hear them describe me
Like just another passing car

Sometimes I Think Love Is Tangled Feet

Sometimes I think love
Is tangled feet

Sometimes I think
It's Tuesday morning
Calling out of work
When you're not sick
To sneak in a few more hours
Of entanglement

Sometimes I think
It's the long line
Down the back of your body
When you're facing away from me
The horizon hiding under the blanket
Traceable only by my fingertips
Sunset forthcoming

Sometimes I think
Your alarm clock is wrong
That I've only been with you
A few seconds
Not hours
Not days
Not passing months
Wrapped up in your blanket
Pulled up next to you
Like you're floating in the ocean
And I'm your lifesaver

Sometimes I think
The bed is so massive
We'll get lost in it
Like a desert
And we'll meet at the oasis
Somewhere near the middle

Sometimes I think
I hear people coming and going
Outside your bedroom door
Wondering when we'll get up
And wake up
And stop being so ridiculous
Staying in bed for so long

Sometimes I think
When I wake up
You won't be here

Sometimes I think
I think too much

Sometimes I tangle myself up in you
On purpose
To tangle us up so badly
No one can pull us apart

When We Go to the Mall

When we go to the mall
We sit on the escalators
And let people walk by us
Up to greater flights
And better shoe stores

All the good shoe stores
Are on the third floor
Next to the insane pet store
Where they sell squirrels
And dogs with tongues
That never go in their mouths

We try on high heels
In the cheap shoe stores
Down on the basement floor
And pretend we're escorts
Heading out for the night

'I'm going out with a Turkish drug pusher.'
'I'm going out with a Latvian gangster.'
'I'm going out with a guy from Toledo who's saved up all his life for this.'

We should mention
That we're in high school
But we're very worldly

It's a private school
Seventeen blocks from the mall
And when we're too over the city bus
We just walk
In formation
So nobody mugs us

From the rooftop of the parking garage
You can see the Metropolis Hotel
Where Agatha Christie stayed once
And where we're going to live
Once we become famous
And then retire
And move back here

'I'm going to write my generation's "Less Than Zero."'
'I'm going to star in a camp classic.'
'I'm going to host a reality television show.'

We dance around the parked cars
As if we're at a ball
Where all the guests are Mazdas
And we talk about each other
To our invisible partners
And see how close we can get
Without the whispers being heard

We go see rated-R movies
With sunglasses bought from the sunglass hut
And we gasp loudly
When there's sexual content

Mr. Norman Tonz lets us in
Because he goes to school with us
And we stretch out his name
Until he surrenders

'Noooooorrrrrrrman, let us in'
'Let us in, Norrrrrrrrman.'
'Nooorrrrrrmannnn, I'm carrying the Tonnnnnnz heeeirrrr'

We pretend to do cocaine in the bathrooms
As soon as anyone walks in
And wait to see if anyone reports us

'What are you guys doing in here?'
'We're doing cocaine, Norrrrmannnnn'
'Have a bump'
'It's really crushed up lollipop, but it'll send you spiraling, Norrrrman'
'All the cool kids are doing it'

When we're done with Norman Tonz
We head to the chair store
And sit on the massage chairs the wrong way
Then pretend to experience orgasm

We get kicked out of there
And go over to the television store
Where 'Bonnie and Clyde' is constantly playing
And we discuss how handsome
Warren Beatty is, was, is, was
And how we would have known Faye Dunaway
Was going to be a trainwreck
Even then

We get make-up put on us at Macy's
But request the kabuki treatment
Then go to the kimono store
To complete the portrait

At nine thirty, when the mall closes
We go out into the streets
Repeating leftover bits of conversation
And stand underneath the bulking hulk
Of materialism and credit card debt

We bask in its glow
And we're warm
And we're beginning

Beginning it all
All over again

Call This Glory

Drive down a road with me
See if you can see where the street signs are
This whole fucking place
Doesn't have a name
It's a street with no sign
So how can you find it?

I'm living in Hell
With twenty-four hour McDonald's
But only the drive-thru window

What's the point of that?

I need to see who's giving me
My fries

I need to see that they're not poisoning it
With toxic intentions

I need human contact at three in the morning
Even if it is with a girl
Wearing a golden arches pin

Do you know
That at one point in my life
I considered dating someone
Who was attending an Ivy League school
A sign of success?

Fuck three girls from Yale
Then let me know
How successful you feel

Fuck them on their unfinished term papers
Fuck them on their disposable couches
Fuck them on their townie towel
That they put out just for you

Then tell me
How high you can fly

Ok?

I had a girl tell me
She wanted to have my baby
And I told her
That she could have my keychain
But not my baby

My baby will come out
Covered in disdain
And wrapped up
In muddled ambition

Why would you want all that
Tied up inside of you?
Entangled like the ivy
Covering up your dorm?

I remember creeping out
Late at night
And running through the campus
Imagining the sprinklers coming on
And soaking me
Like a dirty child

Instead I lost my breath
And I laid down
In front of a bench
That was dedicated
To the brave men and women of Yale
Who didn't go to fight in any wars
Because their parents bought them golden tickets
To the land of milk and pre-law

I didn't want to lay on that bench
That bench was a sitting place
For the weak and academic

I was a visceral creature of the night
Smelling like expensive perfume
And cheap fast food
And I wanted to fuck a town girl
Right then and there
Right on that freshly mowed lawn

Instead I ripped up the grass
Hoping to see the dirt
The hidden messiness
Underneath all this pristine glory

Glory
Yeah, glory

All I could think was--

They call this glory?

I stripped off my shirt
And I tied it around my waist
And I walked back to town
Looking like a cross
Between a hitchhiker
And a prophet

When I got to my old bar
Where the wall still had the indentations
Of my knuckles on it

I stopped

My girl came out
Still wiping her hands
Getting them dirty with new dirt
On a raggedy dish towel

Looking at me
Knowing I was ashamed
Ashamed to call her my girl

You want to know guilt?

Look at the purest heart you can find
Look deep into it
Past the apron and the hair bun
Look right at it
And say--

'I'm ashamed of you'
'I think I'm better than you'
'I just played in traffic to see if it would make me a man'

She looked at me
And loved me anyway
In spite of my desire
To rub off on nickels

Told me to come in
Said she'd give me some fries

I told you I like my fries
With a human touch

And her fries?
Man, they're good

They're beyond good

They're glory

I Want to Be Out on Your Balcony

You know where I want to be?

I want to be out on your balcony
I want to be standing there
Right up against the rail
Looking down on the city
And seeing it with you

I want to take in the world
And close my eyes
And make it go away

Being totally fine with that
Because I'll feel your arm
Pressed up lightly
Next to mine

I want to glance over at you
And see you want to kiss me
And want to kiss you too
And laugh a little bit
At how silly this is

How crazy to be up so high
And feel higher than that
Because of a light touch
And the catch of an eye

I want to hear a party going on behind us
And know we could be dancing
But instead we're here
Out on your balcony

We're talking about nothing
We have no semblance of intelligence
Because we're cold and nervous
And because we're aware of how late it is
And that if something's going to happen
It has to happen now

I think of casinos in Morocco
I think of cafes in Paris
I think of the streets of New York

And I look at you

And I want to be here
I want to be out on your balcony
And I don't want to be anywhere else

I can look down at everything
And look over at you
And I know what I want

I want to be cold
And have your sweater to put on
I want to be so close
I want that minute
Right before the kiss
To last until the sun comes up

I want to know that moment
When I'm not sure
But I'm sure
And I'm willing
To be sure
Of how unsure I am

I want to make absolutely no sense whatsoever

I want to fall in love
Miles above
The rest of the world

Then go inside
And help you
Do the dishes

I want to be out here
Out so far and up so high
I'm afraid if I fall
I'll never get back up

I want to live in this fear
Because my heart feels like a heart for once
And not like something
That just keeps me going

Say I can stay, okay?

Just say I can stay
Out here
With you

A Big Old Hot Mess Christmas Spectacular

-- I had to do it. --

"A Big Old Hot Mess Christmas Spectacular"

Okay, everyone!

Welcome to the auditions
For 'Pole Dancing: A Social Christmas Satire'

Times are tough
And all of Santa's elves
Have been forced to become strippers
Male and female
In order to survive the recession
And make enough cash
To afford their North Pole duplexes

Now, I know what many of you are saying--

'Hey, you're a choreographer!
What do you know about writing a Christmas spectacular?'

Kids, I know how to tap dance

...What else is there?

I don't want to hear any Donnie or Didi Doubters here today
Is that understood?

Otherwise you'll sound like those people who say
That dance isn't everything

CLEARLY dancing is everything

Anyone can sing, act, crochet, bake muffins, and fuse atoms
But DANCING?

That's difficult

And no, I do not plan on over-choreographing this
And do you know why?
Because there is NO SUCH THING as over-choreographing ANYTHING

Oh sure

Some people may say
That I went a little overboard
When I added a jazz combo
Into 'Les Miserables'

But c'mon
Tell me that show wasn't a snoozefest
Until MY dancers came downstage center
And saved it
By executing my moves?

But now, kids
We're saving something bigger
We're saving Christmas
And the world
At the SAME TIME!

Our show will move people
It will show them that the world is impoverished
And that reindeer have nipples
It'll defy societal norms
And end with an eighteen person kickline!

QUICK! SOMEBODY CALL TOMMY TUNE!
I'M ABOUT TO PUT HIM OUT OF BUSINESS!

Look at you all
With your doubting eyes

Who are you to question my judgment?

Do you have a Master's Degree...in Accounting?

BECAUSE I DO!

I'm also the head of Dance2DaMusic
A very prestigious dance organization
Founded by yours truly

Two more members
And we'll actually have enough people
To form a board!

Of which I will be President!

Before I go any further
I should point out those of you
Who need to lose weight

I will not have fat snowmen in this show

I don't care if Santa's jolly
Santa's not a professional
He's a perv who goes down more than chimneys

AND he doesn't dance

Which means he's not in the show

Only dancing Christmas characters are in the show

Like...

...um...

Did that gay little elf from the Rudolph movie dance?

Well, we'll make up NEW characters

Dancing Christmas characters
Who do more than step, touch, step, touch
And have something to say about showing your genitalia
So you can put an Xbox underneath the tree

This show is going to be quality
Because I'm all over it

You want to hear something funny?

Writing lyrics wasn't even that hard

All I did was take copyrighted Christmas music
And illegally changed the lyrics

That's right; I said 'illegally'

You know who follows the law?
Not artists, I'll tell you that much, kids

I never knew I had a talent for music
But listen to this--

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Stripper
Had a very shiny nose
And if you saw him stripping
You'd yell out...uh...

THERE HE GOES!

See? Nothing to it!

Okay, let's get this audition started

And remember
I want to see holiday spirit up there
I want to see warmth, love, kindness
And general goodwill

So first thing we're going to do
Is put you all into groups
Pit you against each other
And then wait three weeks to post the cast list
So you'll all suck up to me
For as long as possible

Five--Six--Seven--Eight!

Please Don't Let Me Love Him

Please don't let this happen
Please stop making me think
That this can happen
Because it cannot happen
I won't let it
I just won't let it happen

I see his picture
I see it and I think things
I convince myself of things
That aren't true
That are NEVER going to be true

I tell myself that life is long
I mean, it's short
But it's also long in the sense
That there are many possibilities
That nothing is ever entirely ruled out
But then I really think about it
And I know...

This man will never love me

I say it to myself
And I can feel something quake
Inside me, I can feel it
Take me down
To this really horrible place
Where it's not just him that won't love me
It's the ability to be loved

It's feeling like he'd have to love me
For anybody to love me at all
And it's scary
It's incredibly scary

So please
Please don't let me love him

Don't let me talk myself into this
Don't let me think this is normal
Don't let me let someone else
Get inside my head like this

Just let go easy on myself
Just once

Please

Mrs. Brugel's Haunted House

Come along, girls! Come along!

You don't want to be late.

This is the scariest haunted house in town--if you don't count my Mother's!

Hahahahaha--that's a house full of haunted childhoods.

This one's more fun!

First, you walk into the haunted foyer. Where tacky furniture is strewn about with complete disregard!

Look at that hat rack! It's an antique. And it's placed right next to that modern writing table!

GAHHHHHH!!!

Who designed this foyer? Could it be...Dracula?

Let's not stay in here too long. We might end up putting Venetian blinds on a bay window! Hahahaha--moving along!

Now we're in the living room of terror!

Why is it so terrifying you ask?

Look around you.

That's a photo of me--Mrs. Brugel--back in my twenties.

Do you see me? Drinking? Cavorting? Wrapped around a man who might or might not be Steve Guttenberg?

This, children, is the living room of regret.

Nothing is more terrifying than regrets.

If only I had drank a little bit more, cavorted a little bit more, kept Steve Guttenberg's phone number--at least through the 'Three Men and a Baby' years.

Maybe I wouldn't be stuck teaching 3rd grade in a run-down town where my mother--

...uh...

Moving along!

This is the kitchen of dread! Everything in the fridge is expired! Oh sure, it says I still have a couple of days, but that's a lie children! Just like how the whole wheat pasta isn't really whole wheat. Just like how the pork loins are really goat meat.

The food companies are lying to us, children! They're lying!

Maybe we should call this the kitchen of lies.

Oh, but wait--then we'd have one too many rooms full of lies.

That brings us to--the bedroom.

This is where lies are made, children. Lies and babies, but in this particular bedroom, only lies.

This is where women promise you they're not having second thoughts about their sexual awakening. This is where men tell you that they'd be happy to put on a wig and use a high-pitched voice.

This is where you listen to her voicemail while curled up in a ball and swear you can hear another woman laughing in the background...

...Can you hear that, children? Can you hear the screams?

OKAY!

We're done here.

Who wants candy?

If I Could Stop

If I could stop
I would call this to a halt
And return to routine
Make a smile for lunch
Cut off the edges
And say it's okay

If I could stop

If I could knock it off
I'd go to group after group
Telling my troubles to strangers
And strange men with needles
Ready to make me fine
And find my mind
Inside their puzzle pieces

If I could stop

If I could end this
I would end this
And never see the beginning again
I'd apologize over and over
And demonize myself
Over and over
And over and over again I'd say
That today was a better day
That I had a better day

If I could stop

If I could quit it all
I'd fall into the uncomfortable questions
That surround serenity
Being a slipshod, less fun
Run around version
Of myself
That nobody finds fun
And when I'm done
I'm done

If I could stop

If I could stop loving you
I guess I could do so much more
Than what I'm capable of now
A heart isn't meant to be an anchor
And being close to someone
Isn't supposed to be the same thing
As being tied to them until it's like invisible string
Is tangling you up in each other

If I could stop
I would

I would

I would

Pashmina in Florida

Is anybody else WARM?

I'm WARM

. . . . .

They should DO something about this
It's too warm
I feel like a womb baby

. . . . .

Can someone get me iced tea?
In a glass
Shaped like a small animal
A woodchuck perhaps

Not to be difficult

. . . . .

You know who I saw yesterday?

Madeleine Albright

What a disaster she is

I helped her put a new addition
On her gingerbread house

. . . . .

I really do hate Florida
It's warm

It's soooooooo WARM!

Isn't anybody else WARM?

...I'm warm

. . . . .

Do you ever get the feeling sometimes
That you're not a real person?

Sometimes...

I feel like a pashmina

But not a really person

Like a pashmina puppet
Like Miss Piggy
With a shawl on

You know?

Do you know?

Are you listening?

ARE YOU WARM?

...I'm so warm

. . . . .

I was going to have children
But instead I went shopping

. . . . .

If somebody offered me a slice of pie right now
I wouldn't say 'No'

Emoticon winkie face bee tee dubs

. . . . .

I like to stir my coffee
With a rolled up ten dollar bill

Makes the cream dissipate faster

. . . . .

I'm sweating like an Irish setter
What isn't setting is the sun

It's eight o'clock
And I can still see
Without the help
Of my Chanel flashlight

Something's wrong in Denmark
Or Boca, as the case may be

. . . . .

I really hate it here
Despite what my daughter may say

I dislike it strongly

And it's warm
It's so...

WARM

Isn't it?

I think it is

. . . . .

God, I'm barely me
I'm barely a person anymore

It's already warm enough
And here I am

A pashmina

. . . . .

Well...

Prince Charming

-- For Eric --

"Prince Charming"

If I had to describe myself...

...a few words come to mind...

...hmm...

...well...

...I suppose there's the obvious one

I'm...

...well...

...charming

I'm also a Prince
But that's easy to see
And it's not a word you'd use
To describe yourself
Would you?

You wouldn't describe yourself by saying--

'I'm nice, smart, and fireman."

Maybe you would
But I wouldn't

I don't think being a Prince is that big a deal
Because I've always been a Prince
And I'm always going to be one
Because I'm so charming

Being charming is hard
It's like doing long division
You have to try really hard at it
But not let people know you're trying

Riding a white horse helps
Plus, I throw a lot of balls
Where I walk around
Dance with girls who are pretty
And practice being charming

I like girls with interesting footwear
For example, glass slippers
They're fun

Sometimes I like girls who sleep a lot
Especially girls who sleep behind large bushes
That have dragons in them
Because then I get to use my sword
And it's a great sword
It's blue and everything

...Yeah...

I also like girls who have long hair
Because I like to climb it
But sometimes it's creepy
Because you think to yourself

'I'm hanging onto someone's hair'

So then you let go
And you have to run away
Before the witch that locked her away
Hears you fall
And puts a curse on you

...Yeah...

...Mostly...

...I'd say I'm charming

And I have a cool sword
And I like long hair
And I like weird shoes

Other than all that
I'm pretty ordinary

Mary and the Elevator Man

Mary likes to stop at the eighth floor
Where the widowed sisters
Entertain their gentlemen friends
By playing old Shirley Bassey records
And let their doilies fall on the floor
Ever so softly

She asks the Elevator Man
If she'll ever wind up
Living on the eighth floor
And he says, 'No'
Because she will never get married
And therefore, never be widowed
Because queens do not marry
And that is what Mary is

A Little Queen

Mary likes to stop at the eleventh floor
Where the circus family lives
When they're not traveling the country

She likes the little dogs that run
From apartment to apartment
And do tricks for her
As soon as the elevator door opens

She likes the clowns that live in 11B
And the lion tamers that live in 11C
Across the hall from the lions that live in 11E
And next to the Ringmaster who lives by himself
Because he gets tired of having
To do all the talking

"Will I ever live on the eleventh floor?"
"No, because the number eleven doesn't suit you."
"Yes, I suppose it is an unsuitable number."
"For a queen."
"Yes, for a queen."

Mary likes to stop at the fifteenth floor
Where her little brother has his campaign headquarters
He's running for Leader of the Fifteenth through Eighteenth Floors
And this year the competition is stiff
Because Louisa Jane Mantonbaum lived on the seventeenth floor
And her father owned a stamp factory
And that meant he could throw money at the residents of floors

Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
And Eighteen

But her little brother was not giving up
Without a darn good fight
And when the doors opened
Mary waved to him
But he was busy
Stuffing envelopes full of money

"I'm so glad I'm a queen. Queens don't have to run for office."
"It's true."
"Occasionally they're assassinated."
"Occasionally means 'not often.'"
"That's true."
"So why worry?"
"Exactly."

After a trip to the penthouse
Where she sipped lemonade
With Mollotta the Romance Writer
Mary was ready to go back down

"That was a lovely trip."
"Yes, it was."
"Being a Queen means being sociable."
"Yes, it does."
"Will you miss me when I invade the bakery across the street, Elevator Man?"
"You mean you'll be leaving?"
"Well, one must educate her conquered masses, mustn't one?"
"I suppose so."
"Once I've domesticated the muffins; I'll make you an ambassador."
"I don't know, your Highness. Personally, I like my elevator."

"All right," said Mary, stepping off the elevator.

"I think it suits you anyway."

You're Dealing with a Crazy Person

Before you say a word
Before a stupid, thoughtless
Dumbass word pops into your head
And out of your mouth
Before being looked over
By the half of your mind
That still has any damn sense
Let me remind you of something

You're dealing with a crazy person

I am not rational
I am not logical
I am not sane
By any stretch of the imagination

So keep that in mind
When you tell me
Why I didn't get this job

Keep in mind you are not dealing with somebody
Who can weigh the issues in their mind
And come to the conclusion
That it simply wasn't a good fit

Keep in mind you are not looking at someone
Who goes home every day, does deep-breathing exercises
And lets God take it all off my poor weary head

Keep in mind that you messing around
With somebody who sharpens knives for fun
And is now looking at you like a piece of ham
On Easter Sunday

Try to keep that in mind
Before you tell me
Why I didn't get this job

Do not think you can placate me
Do not think you can assuage me
Do not think you can propitiate me

Do not think I don't know every big word you know
And that any of them are going to delay
From getting to my goal
Which is getting this job

You're dealing with a crazy person
But crazy doesn't mean dumb
Keep that in mind

And if I see your hand reach towards that security button one more time
I'm going to twist around your fingers until they look like a venus flytrap
Security doesn't scare me
If they're going to remove me from a building
They're going to do it with broken arms
And severely injured groins

If I'm going down
I'm going down fighting
Which is, by the way
I think--

A good asset to have
In an employee

What if your office gets raided by pirates?
Who's going to take 'em down?
That secretary you got out front?
And break those press-ons?

Doubtful
Very doubtful

You need a little bit of crazy in this office
And that's what I can supply
That's the mission statement
On my resume--

'To crazy up this place and get it into shape'

And that place is this place
And that's why I'm getting that job

So stop looking at the door
Thinking you're getting by me
Because you AREN'T

And start talking about my starting salary
Which, by the way, better be competitive
Cause I have a few other offers on the table

But don't worry, sweetie
I'm loyal
I'm VERY loyal

You're dealing with a crazy person
But the crazy?

It's all yours

Oughta Be a Crime

You know it oughta be a crime
It oughta be a goddammed crime
To break somebody like that
To shatter 'em up
Then spread 'em out
On a table like a building plan

Trying to see what you left
For the vultures to pick over

It oughta be lock-up-able
It oughta mean you go before a judge
To be that bad a person
And get away with it

There just oughta be something
There oughta to be a reason
That you can't

They say it's okay to be that way
To put down the wall
And just walk away
Like bygones gonna be bygones

But why doesn't somebody just say
You know what?
It's not

It's not okay

Everybody's walkin' around
Actin' like criminals
Actin' like felons
Stealing and hurting
And throwing away a person
Like it's not the same thing
As taking cash from a drawer

It's worse

Nobody ever sat sobbin' for hours
Because somebody took cash from a drawer
But you twist up a person like that
And hurt 'em so bad they're bad just like you
And nobody calls you out
Nobody says you're wrong

Well, I'm sorry
But you're wrong

And in a whole lotta ways
It's worse than a crime
But it at least oughta be that

It oughta be a damn crime

Play Carolina in My Mind

He used to sleep in the room next to mine
Where you could see the pine trees shake
You could hear the floorboards quake right under
The soft soled slippers

He'd trip up and call me
Whisper, to come
And I'd run down to docks
Past the too-fast turning clocks in the hall
Having a ball down by the water
And we'd wonder
If we'd have to go home
Once the lake turned cold

Guess I must be getting older
Cause all I want to hear is Carolina
Can you play 'Carolina in My Mind?'

He'd kiss me on the top of my head
Until the kisses went lower one night
And the moonlight hit my lips
Just before he did

I was a kid with four parents
And not one of them decent
Recent events prompting me
To come see Aunt CeCe for a summer
Thinking slumber parties could cure my mind
And maybe I'd find peace amongst the pines

But instead I wound up in September
Tied to beds with straps
Being read raps I can't remember
Watching embers of my swollen fire
Retire on heaps of diaries
Memories refusing to recall
And all the time humming

And that makes you crazy
Did you know humming makes you crazy?

So can you play Carolina?
Can you play 'Caroline in My Mind?'

I heard he was crazy too
That boy I loved
That boy like you
And you blended into him
Like the music bled into the sheets
And they couldn't beat the smile out of me
Hard as they tried

I lied and said it was immaculate
Because it might as well have been
A friend brought it to me
And I didn't want it to go
I hope I wouldn't show until October
When I could hide it underneath
My Halloween costume

But by September there was already no room
In my school uniform

So reform time came around
And off I went
To be pent up in small rooms
And regroomed for a life
Of civilized decadence
And singularity

Because who would want me
With a wild boy's baby?

I never heard what they did to him
But I'm imagining he was already away
By the time the phone call came

He was only there to put up the porch
And torch the treehouse that Mags used to play in
Before she went in too deep
And Aunt C went to sleep in her mind

I was going to name the baby Mags
Take a bag and go to Seattle
Where I hear he landed
But once I got better
I decided it wouldn't make sense
To show up empty-handed

So instead I dropped out
And started visiting city friends
Beginning again as a different kind of failure
Going to bars before I could drink
And thinking I was sophisticated
Beyond my marked up past

At last I found Seattle
And he wasn't here
I don't know where he is

So can you play 'Carolina?'
Can you play 'Carolina in My Mind?'

I'll tip you well
If for a second it prevents me
From dwelling on where
I should be going next

It's true what he says
Life sort of hits you from behind
So you have to point yourself
Where you're going
So when it pushes you
You at least go where you were looking
Where you kept your eyes

And what's locked away
Can stay that way
Things that are lost
Are meant to stay lost
They're not for me to find

All I want to hold onto
Is that song
Kept safe in my mind

Let Me Know When You've Had Enough

When you've had your last fight
When him being right stops getting on your nerves
When staying up at night after a screaming match
Because you can't sleep
Because you can't keep going like this
When it all seems too much to patch up

Let me know
Let me know when you've had enough

When you stop believing
You can work it out
When you're about five ounces down
And the light switch flicks off

When the pieces all seem
Too small to pick up
And the order's too tall
And you're too drunk...again

When you wished that instead of a stranger
You'd chosen a friend

Let me know
Let me know when you've had enough

When the bruises stay bruised
And the words won't wash out
When the sorries dissolve
But end up bubbling back

When the lack of affection
And rejection for the things
You're trying to bring to the table
End your stable mindframe

When you finally get
That there's no more to gain

Let me know
Let me know when you've had enough

And when you're finally able
To stop telling yourself
That there's nobody else
Who could make you feel better

Who could make the work worth it
And give you as much
As they're willing to take

When you see that sometimes to fix it
It just has to break

Then you let me know, okay?

Let me know
When you hit that day
And I'll just be here

I'm here
And I'll wait

I'm Gonna Wait for Snow

I'm gonna stand here, Ma
I'm gonna stand all day
I'm gonna put my hands on my hips
And sass and skip my classes
Cause it's gonna snow

I know it's gonna snow

I'm gonna wait for it to break
I'm gonna wait for the sky to separate
I'm gonna dance around
Like a rain dance
But with snow

Just for snow

I'm gonna reach up nice and high
And tickle the clouds with my fingers
And I'm gonna go up to the top of the slide
And not come down
Until it snows

I don't care what month it is
I don't care if I have to shovel
I don't care if it makes me cold

I'm gonna hope for it

I'm gonna hope
I'm gonna sit
I'm gonna wait

Gonna wait and wait and wait

I won't wait for George to like me
I won't wait for him to stop liking Abby
And notice I'm here

I have glasses
And he doesn't like
Girls with glasses

That's why I won't wait

I won't wait for my teacher to call on me
Or get the lead in the school play
Or have you ask me about my day
And not sound like you don't really wanna know

I'd rather wait for something
That has to, just has to happen

So I'm gonna wait

I'm gonna wait for snow

A Year Full of Marriage

-- The title is from Anne Tyler's fantastic novel "Back When We Were Grownups" --

"A Year Full of Marriage"

They didn't sleep in the same room
They didn't eat at the same table
They didn't break the same dishes
Or make the same mistakes

But it was still a year
A year full of marriage

He saw other women
He didn't sleep with them
But they were there
Hovering on the precipice
Of 'colossal mistake'

She wouldn't see other men
But then, she hated men
She hated her father
She hated her brother
She hated God

It was a year devoid of men
And that part wasn't unappealing to her

But she hated sleeping alone
And he hated his own cooking
He missed her macadamia nut cookies
She missed his blue socks strewn everywhere

He left because she asked him to leave
She asked him because she hated cooking
And she hated picking up socks
And she hated that she did the laundry
And that she felt like a 50's housewife

So he left

He left two days after Christmas

She remembered that Valentine's Day wasn't so bad
Because you prep for it
Because you expect to be alone
And you tense up for it
And though it's a punch
It only knocks your wind out for a second

She ate spaghetti with olive oil
And lit some candles
And drank too much wine
And cried for a little bit
Then fell asleep on the couch
In her grandmother's blanket

He had chop suey out of the carton
And three beers
Before crashing on the couch
In his brother's basement

Every week there would be a phone call
To touch base

About bills
About car problems
About health

Her Dad's back surgery
His Mom's hysterectomy

And they never brought up the 'D' word
Not for that entire year
Not once

Easter was easy
That was family time
And it was easier
WIth only one family to please
One house to go to
One meal to eat

And too many questions
Too many questions to answer
That didn't have answers

Their families knew
But they kept asking
Hoping for the best

Still, Easter was easy
Much easier than when summer rolled around
And the urge to go out
Started to set in

She would get drinks with friends
He would sit in his underwear
Watching tv all night long
Until exhaustion overtook him

She always found herself
Going home early
Locking the door
And sitting on the linoleum
Staring at the cupboards
And imagining a house full of people
Instead of old American furniture

By September, he was working extra hours
Seeing, just seeing, a waitress from Applebee's
Trying to keep her from falling in love with him
Because that was all he needed

Every time they'd go out
He'd play with his wedding ring
But she'd just laugh
And twist her hair

He missed his wife

She only had to make one dish that Thanksgiving
But she made four anyway
And showed up at his brother's house
With the other three

When he answered the door
She knew he had to come back
Not for her, because she would survive
But him?

He looked awful
He needed his wife

Two days before Christmas
He was sleeping next to her bed
Which seemed silly
But she wasn't ready
To have him that close again yet

But that would come with time

They never talked about that year
Not really

She'd mention a movie she saw that year
He'd mention a place he'd go to eat at
But they wouldn't question it further
They'd just smile

Sort of liking the mysterious spots
They had in their marriage

And it had still been a year full of that
Full of marriage

Because there were still vows
There were still rings
There were still weekly phone calls

But more than that
There was concern
There was fear
There was the hope
That they wouldn't wind up
Being alone

And in that, there was marriage
There was so much marriage