Go Get Your Husband

-- I thought of this when I read about an overly protective wife.  I don't understand protective people.  I always feel that the moment you feel like you need to not only be protective, but over-protective, you've already lost what you're protecting. --

"Go Get Your Husband"

Go get him

Go ahead

I won't judge you

I'll just sit right here

Just like I'm sitting now

And not say a word

Go get him

Go pick him up off the street

Stinking drunk

And carry him past all the other bars

He's frequented throughout the night

Past all his buddies

As they catcall at you

And make rude gestures

Or better yet

Go to her house

Whoever her is this time

And drag him by his hair

While his newest slut

Hops on your back

Pulling your hair

And telling you

That she did him real good

This time

Better than you've ever done

What's the matter, Ma?

Am I being too crass

Too crude

Telling too much truth

This time?

Go

Go, please

Don't let me stop you

I'm just your son

I only love you

He's just my father

He's just a fuck-up

You refuse to divorce

Go ahead

Go get him

Go get your husband

And see if you can remember

When the last time you had to do this was

You probably won't have to think back too far

Think back on the last time

When he promised it would be

The last time

And how much he loved you

All the shit he laid on

Until you tucked him in bed

And swore to yourself

You'd leave him in the morning

When you weren't so tired

Go get your husband

Your prize

Your trophy

The envy of the neighborhood, Ma

That's you

Aren't you a success?

Oh, you don't think that

Or you didn't think

That I thought

You think that?

Huh?

I see you looking at your yearbook

At the photos of you and Dad

Prom King and Queen

All the other girls probably standing

Right out of the frame

Crying into their dresses

Because you got him

You got the handsomest boy in school

You got the winner

Didn't you?

I see that look on your face

Every time you come dragging him home

I've seen that look for years

And I wonder

Is that what you need

To tell yourself

To make it worth

Dragging him home

Time

After time

After time

Is that what it takes?

Telling yourself he's still handsome

Telling yourself he's still got those Irish eyes

That you can't help but love him

That you can't help but stand by him

That when you're listening to him tell you

That he could have married someone else

And had smarter kids

And been so much happier

It's all worth it

Because your sister's husband got fat

And your other sister's husband isn't charming

And who could be married to a fatass or a bore?

Yeah, Ma

Everybody wants what you got

So you got to protect it, right?

You got to keep your eye on the prize

Because the prize seems to like to wander

Your life is you walking around with a cage

Trying to trap Dad underneath it

It's gone past tragic

Now it's just darkly humorous

The hunter and the hunted

And believe me

It's been a thrill

From your child's point of view

Do you have any idea what it's like

Having Elmer Fudd as a mother?

Do you have any idea what it looks like

From my bedroom window

At three in the morning

Hearing you two

Coming down the street

Watching you cry?

Hearing you scream?

Smelling the slut's perfume

All around the house the next day

Because you were too tired

To put Dad's coat

In the hall closet

When you got home?

Why won't you leave?

Can you explain that to me?

Why do you keep chasing him?

What is you think is going to happen?

Do you think one day

He'll get so tired

He'll stop running?

You'll die first, Ma

You'll die before that day comes

And on that day

He won't be there

He'll be at her house

And I'll have to go get him

Think about that

No

No, you know what

I never will

I will never go get him

And you should tell him that

You should tell him

When you pick him up tonight

That he may be your husband

But he's not my father

Not anymore

So once you're gone

That's it

He can run as far as he wants

And there won't be any bungee cord

Pulling him back into stability

He can drink himself to death

And suck the stains from the sewer

But he better have something on him

Telling the police not to call me

When they find his body

I'm done with him

And I'm done with you

If you go get him

You had a husband

And you had kids

And someone should have told you

Sometimes you can't have both

I want you to stop this

I want you to stop

Making a fool of yourself

And making a fool out of me

And this family

And our lives

But hey

I'm just going to sit here

I'll sit here

And let you make your choice

Or maybe you already have

Maybe you made it a long time ago

And I'm the one fooling myself

Who knows?

Go ahead, Ma

Go do it

One last time

I'm sure this will be it

Go

Go get him

Go get your man

Your pride and joy

Go get your husband

Just don't plan on me being here

When you get back

Division

-- I read a miniature biography of Abraham Lincoln yesterday by James McPherson, and I have to admit, I don't think I'll ever be a Civil War buff, or any kind of war buff.  As soon as I start reading about battles and strategies I zone out.  I did think it was interesting, however, that the author didn't equate the mood in the country at the time of the Civil War over the idea of slavery with the way the country feels now in regards to more contemporary issues.  The scary thing was that they didn't sound that different now than how we sound then.  It was basically 'We don't think like those people.  Why should we be governed by ideologies different from ours?'  I wanted to run with that idea, and try to work the Civil War in where I could.  Let's take contemporary language and apply it to the problem back then and hope to find some common ground with the people back then we consider to be the 'bad guys.'  Guess what?  Look in the past, and all you'll find are bad guys, even Mr. Lincoln wasn't always so honest.  Oh, and by the way, McPherson's won a Pulitzer, so that's how much I know. --

"Division"

What if I just don't like those people

What if I don't want their vote

To count

For me?

What if I don't want my name

To be connected to someone's name

Who lives their lives

Around ideals

That I find repugnant

Or antiquated

Or just plain stupid?

What if I'm forced to be ashamed

Of where I come from

Because within where I come from

There is ignorance

And people who attack me

And what I believe

Every chance they get?

I know a house divided cannot stand

But I also know

That when half the people in the house

Want to kill the other half

It's time for somebody to move out

And that's all we want to do

We want to move

We want to disconnect

Burn the bridge

And any roads that lead to it

That man

And I won't call him my President

No, he's not my President

You have to vote for a President

Only forty percent of this country

Voted for him

That man

Wants to give me problems

Without solutions

Because he feels

That the system of living

My family has lived on for years

Is wrong

Well

Isn't that easy for him?

Isn't that a walk in the park

For him?

And where am I supposed to go?

Where is my family supposed to go?

They tell me I'm wrong for owning property

Are they wrong for living in townhouses

Are they wrong for owning tables and chairs

Are they wrong for trying to put half this country

Out on the streets?

What if I want division?

What if we all stop talking

About what we dislike

And don't agree with

And finally just say

You go your way

We'll go ours

What about that?

There is no connecting us anymore

There is no mending these tears

Bridging these gaps

Fixing these breaks

While we're busy trying to do all that

Someone's going to come along

And do harm to this country

They're going to destroy us

While we're trying to avoid

Destroying each other

I say we end this

I say we part ways

And who knows

Maybe we'll actually

Start to get along

Maybe we can be two countries

Two happy prosperous countries

Rather than one miserable lot

Stretched at all sides

By mutual distaste

So why can't you let us go

Why can't you let us move on

Why can't we be those two successful nations?

If you don't embrace the division

There will still be a divide

But by that time

It might be too wide

For any of us to cross

Name Your Poison

-- So you know there had to be a follow-up to 'The Man in the Faded Jeans,' and this is it. We've already done the femme fatale in the bar, so what happened to Bryce? Did he escape the clutches of the faded jeans? Let's find out... --

"Name Your Poison"

Take off your shoes
I don't like shoes on my rug
I just had this rug put it in
It's dark red
You know
In case anybody bleeds in here

I see you made it back

Good

Glad to know you didn't die
In the embrace of some pervert
In a dingy little apartment above a bar
You're not Ernest Hemingway after all
You deserve better than that, Bryce
But then again
So did Hector

Why don't you fix yourself a drink?
Fix me one too while you're at it
Pour yourself a glass
From the bottle at that table
Then pour me a glass
From the bottle on the bookshelf
And put the two down
Right there on the oak desk

Have you ever been in a penthouse before, Bryce?

I only ask
Because you look so nervous
Well maybe you should be nervous
A lot of things can happen in a penthouse
Dirty, tawdry things
Up this high
Where nobody can see
Not to mention
When you're thirty stories up
It's hard not to think about

Going back down again

And not the way you came

Sometimes when I get bored

I just toff things over the edge

Crumpled up pieces of paper

Empty cereal boxes

Employees who steal

Tiaras

Whatever's handy

. . . . .

Oh relax, Bryce

I was kidding

Do I look like I eat cereal?

I gave up breakfast

When I gave up square meals

They call them square meals

But you end up looking like a sphere

If you eat three of them a day

They don't teach you that

In health class

. . . . .

So Bryce

Before that little barfly died

Did he confess to his little misdeed

Did he confess to killing Hector?

Did he purge his soul?

Oh...

No?

Well

Life's just full of surprises

Isn't it?

Here's another one

Would it surprise you to know

That the night before Hector died

He actually made it out of that little bar

And crawled his way up thirty flights of stairs

Right into this little penthouse

And he laid himself out

On that chaise lounge

Intending to pass out

When I walked in here

Straddled him like a mechanical bull

And made him feel better

Than you ever did

Better than you've ever made me feel

That's for damn sure

Oh, what tangled webs, Bryce

Did you know I used to be an actress?

It was truly my passion

But then I got sick

Of using sex to get success

Oh, don't mistake me

I don't mind fucking my way to the top

But fucking your way to the middle

Was just something that never made sense to me

You should understand that, Bryce

You are the middle

After all

But Hector

Oh, Hector was choice

My choice

But he got boring

Just like you

And unlike you

He couldn't keep his mouth shut

I have to give him one thing though

He had a great body

Nice and slim

Frail

Nearly weightless

Why

You could almost pick him up

And toss him...

If you wanted to

Oh what am I saying?

I'm sure you tossed him

A few times

Didn't you?

. . . . .

Look at you, Bryce

You're killing yourself

Eating all the wrong things

Drinking all the time

And screwing all the wrong people

You want to play with your life

That's fine

I'll find some other yo-yo

To do tricks with

But when you start rolling the dice

With my pussy

That's when you leave the casino

And Bryce

I don't see any chips sitting in front of you

I was going to keep you around

But because creeping down

To your little suburban paradise

When your wife was at the P.T.A. meetings

Was kind of a thrill

But now I've got no choice

You have to go

Because you're getting as nosy

As Hector

Although you're a little heavier than him

So I'm going to have to be creative

Aren't I?

. . . . .

I'll tell you what

Do you see those two glasses

Sitting before you?

One of them came from a bottle

Of your favorite

And believe me, baby

I know what it is

I know what you like

The other

Is laced with a little something

That'll stop your heart

Quicker than me in a teddy

They look just about the same

Don't they?

So you tell me

Which one I'm drinking

And which one you're drinking

Oh, I'm not scared

I've looked over this balcony enough times

I wouldn't mind seeing

How it looks

From the bottom

I'll tell you what happened to Hector

Whether he ran out of here

Into someone else's arms

Or whether he ran

RIght into pavement

Go ahead, Bryce

I'm ready

Name your poison

The Wine Woman

-- This one was cut from "Whatever It Takes," but hopefully it'll be revived for a church fund raiser I'm doing. That's right, a fund-raiser...for a church. --

Andrea’s little girl calls me the wine woman. She’s told Andrea that the reason she calls me that is because every time she sees me I’m holding wine in my hand. Andrea insists that no matter how many times she tells her daughter that referring one of my Mommy’s best friends—her only friend—as ‘the wine woman’ is impolite, her daughter refuses to call me anything else. When I ask if her daughter has this problem with some of Andrea’s other acquaintances—acquaintances, not friends—for example, does she call Marla the obese lady, or Tina the adulterous female, Andrew just does that thing with her mouth where she’s upset and befuddled at the same time, so I end up just changing the subject. To be honest, I’m surprised little Kristina doesn’t refer to Andrea as the lonely spinster, rather than Mommy, since she certainly is more one than the other. Andrea has three caretakers for little Kristina. Three. Bob and I had the two of us, plus Angela, who I referred to as Angela who refuses to be called Angela. And as just about everyone knows, I could have replaced Angela with a rabid Saint Bernard for all the good she did with Lucy and Lila. Andrea has caretakers coming in and out of her home so often, I’m sure there are times when the neighbors wonder if she ever actually gave birth to little Kristina, or if all these blandly decorated women is yet another nurse come to see if she’s breached yet. It doesn’t help that Andrea does not let Kristina out of the house for any reason except to come visit Auntie Wine Woman. Then we’re forced to temper our discussions and watch our language as Little Kristina can’t be let out of her mother’s sight. The poor thing just sits on the chaise for hours; her only entertainment being my purse. I allow her to play with whatever she wants inside it as long as she doesn’t lose any of my birth control pills. The last thing I need is another set of twins destroying the body that took yoga and Dr. Rosenbaum three years to reconstruct after the two identical hellions burst forth from me like Athena from Zeus’ hip—chariot and all. Andrea usually sits and cries with me about Phillip. When will he be back, she wonders out loud, right with his little spawn sitting there two feet from her applying my lipstick to her elbow. I have a sneaking suspicion that Kristina is developmentally challenged, but it’s not a concern I make it a point to voice. When, when, she asks, pleadingly, in that shrill upper register of hers. I’m then forced to pat her back and allow her to cry all over me. Despite the fact that I go rigid the minute her mascara starts to run, she doesn’t seem to pick up on the idea that I’m uncomfortable with situations like this. Bob and I rarely get emotional with each other, and when we do it’s only in the presence of a trained therapist and/or security guard in close proximity. I tell Andrea that she should have convinced Phillip to go to therapy, but apparently when he found out he couldn’t take his brass knuckles into the sessions with him, that was the end of that. Now there’s no telling when or if he’ll ever return from North Dakota. That’s right, you heard me. Andrea’s been left for a state that amounts to a little more than a nuclear waste site. It must be like being left for a one-legged woman or someone who won’t wear make-up before noon. I can’t help but ask myself, was she really that bad? Don’t ask me what I was thinking, but I’ve agreed to baby-sit little Kristina while Andrea flies to North Dakota and attempts to bring Phillip back home. Bob and I are calling it Mission: Find Dopey, and it usually gives us a good giggle to say it after dinner when we’ve had a few glasses. Kristina still calls me the wine woman, no matter how many times I remind her that I’m doing her mommy a very big favor by allowing her to stay in my linen closet while Mommy finds Daddy in the barren wasteland near the mountain with Washington and the other three Presidents on it. It doesn’t stop her. And now she says it so gleefully and with such affection, that I barely even correct her anymore. Some roles just take time to settle into, I suppose.

We All Hate Him

-- Any of you sassy girls like this one? --

"We All Hate Him"

Melissa
Before you get married
We've gathered here today
To tell you
That we
As your friends
Have a very strong feeling
About this wedding

Now
We're aware that we should have brought this up
When you first asked us to be bridesmaids
Or maybe before that
When you got engaged to Ian
Or when you first started dating him
Or when you saw him at that bar
Drinking beer out of a girl's navel
And singing 'Smack My Bitch Up'
In the karaoke contest

But we just...

We just thought it better
To keep our opinions to ourselves
But now...

We just can't

Melissa
We hate him
We all hate him
We hate him so much
It's become all we talk about

We spend hours on the phone
Talking how horrible he is
My cell phone bill
Has gone through the roof
Because of how awful Ian is

Maya faked a hard pregnancy
And told she was on mandatory bed rest
She just didn't want to have to
Spend time with you and Ian
And that got her nine months
Of No-Ian time

That's why you haven't seen the baby
Or been invited to the Christening
And that's why Maya is having a hard time
Looking at you right now

Maya
This is a time of sharing
We're releasing our guilt
Look at Melissa
She can forgive you

We hope

While we're confessing
Meg's been avoiding your calls
Because Ian tries to sleep with her
Constantly
No, he doesn't flirt with her
Flirting is what you do with the guy at the deli
When you ask for extra potato salad

...Anyone?
...Anyone at all?
...Just me?
...Okay, never mind

Point being
He does more than flirt
He's humped her before
Granted
Dry humped
But still
I caught him
That's how his jeans got all wet
At Linda's son's third birthday party

I found Ian in the kitchen
Chasing Meg around the table
Nearly knocking over the Elmo cake
And I grabbed the dish washing hose
Right off the sink
And sprayed the bastard
To get him to calm down

So no
He didn't fall in the kiddie pool
The party was in February, Melissa
Where the hell did you think we were hiding a kiddie pool?
It must be nice to be oblivious
But it's time to see the light

Molly has seen him out with other girls
And no, she's not making it up
Because one of them is her mother
Apparently your slimeball
Has a thing for Mrs. Robinsons
Who would have guessed?

Oh, but condition
They have to be old and slutty
I'm sorry, Molly
But it's true
Your mother makes Lady Godiva
Look like an introvert

The point is
This wedding cannot go on
It just can't, sweetie
And that's why we're all here
In our bridesmaid dresses
Holding our bouquets
Having sucked back at least four mimosas apiece
Finally telling you the truth

We have a car waiting
It was supposed to take you to the airport
For your honeymoon
To the Football Hall of Fame

...I'm guessing that was Ian's choice...

We also have the number
Of a man who can break any bone on Ian's body
For about two hundred dollars
And you can pick the bone!

We love you, sweetie
And we may know
That you may go through with this
And ruin your life
And never speak to us again
But we were willing to burn that bridge
If it meant you would at least think twice about this

Yes, you were never the skinny one
Yes, you were never the pretty one
Yes, you were never the smart one
Or the funny one
Or the successful one
Or...okay, moving on

And yes
We know that you may feel
That putting up with Ian's bullshit
May be the trade-off you're willing to make
In order to sleep with someone
Who doesn't live with his mother
Or raise ferrets to juggle
But think of twenty years from now!

When Ian goes through a mid-life crisis
If this is him now
Imagine him trying to recapture this
All over again!

He'll toss you out
And all of your patience
And kindness
And the money you posted for bail
Will have been for nothing

So please
We're begging you
We hate him
We all hate him
And honestly
At this point

It's either him or us

...But if it's him...

We're still willing to go through with the ceremony
We did pay for the dresses after all
Plus we want to see you open our gifts...

And we don't want to leave you high and dry
And our boyfriends are friends with Ian
And they're your groomsmen

Plus Maya hates making a scene
And Meg wants to catch the bouquet
And Molly still wants to sing at the reception

But if you decide to bail
We're with you
And we'll support you
And then we can all start hanging out again

You just won't be the first one
To get married...

...Not that that's important at all...

Remember
We're here for you
For better
Or worse

When They Don't Want to Fuck You

-- Jackson is the gift that keeps on giving, but he does love to use bad words. --

"When They Don't Want to Fuck You"

When they don't want to fuck you
The facebook wall dries up
And the only people commenting
Are girls
Sad girls
Sad fat girls
That love you for who you are

Ugh

When they don't want to fuck you
You spend Friday nights
Standing at the bar
Texting yourself
Just to look occupied
While you shoot sneers
At the sneer-shooters looking at you
To beat them to it

And you don't dance
And you don't mingle
And nobody wants to dance
Or mingle
With you

And you leave early
And on the walk back to your car
You look up at the sky
And wonder why
You even bothered
Coming out tonight

When they don't want to fuck you
You stand in the mirror
And try to remember
What you looked like
Before age set in
And took your abs
And the slabs of muscle
You called your chest
Your arms aren't slabby either
They're more flabby
To be honest

And you try not to cry
And you fail
And get on the computer
Inviting some guy
You wouldn't have given a second glance at
Ten years earlier
Over to kiss you
And make you feel wanted
And needed
And cuddled
And after it's done
He goes home

And you shower
And cry again
And go to bed
And begin again the next day

When they don't want to fuck you
You say that you're smart

'I'm smart'

You say you're a good friend
And you're funny
And reliable
And a good person
But really
It doesn't matter
You never had to be any of those things before
You had lapses
Where asshole actions
Pervaded the lives of all your closest friends
Almost as if to see
If you could get away with it
Treat them like shit
And see if they still wrote love messages to you
Late at night after drinking to much

And they did
How bout that
But not anymore
Not even when you're nice

So why be nice?

So now you're pissy
And prissy and detached
You've got scowl lines
And frown lines
And lines everywhere
Where time has not been kind
And you work nine to five
And eat microwave dinners
While grinners are out
Having fun with their friends
Never thinking of you
Or their own personal ends

You surrounded yourself
With only admirers
Not heeding the words of Machiavelli
Should have sent the fawners packing
And kept track of those
Who weren't quite so impressed with you
But liked you anyway
But hey
Hindsight is twenty-twenty

When they don't want to fuck you
I'll be there, sweetie
Still dancing
And mingling
Cause I'll have been nipped and tucked
More than a fucking origami swan

I'll be out with the grinners
Eating dinner hearing them ask
Whatever happened to you
And I'll change the subject
Or say I heard you moved
Because why bring down the mood
With news of your social evaporation?

So have your fun now
And shoot me your sneers
I'll be saying cheers when I see you
Texting away at the rejects buffet
And I'll raise my glass
And toast
The boy who nobody remembers

And I'll write something cute on your wall
And all your friends will ask
Who I am
Cause damn
I'm still cute
And they'll still want me
When they've stopped fucking you

Burn Every Bridge

-- So if Leann's piece is the prologue to the show that will hopefully be coming up soon, then this would be the opening piece and the title track.  --

"Burn Every Bridge"

This is the story

Of Lyle John Tucker

A poet

A lover

A bad motherfucker

. . . . .

He dated the girlfriends

Of important persona

And fucked them on giant oak desks

On the scripts under consideration

On the numbers of subscribers

On the very nice stationary

Then he left a note

Detailing how they moaned

That their boyfriends received

With their coffee Monday morning

And a copy of their latest bad review

While Lyle worked on his piece

In a worn out old basement

With rust crusting over the tin chairs

And tin cans and rubber bands

Floating in puddles

That leaked down from the floor

Which Lyle called a ceiling

With grease on his hands

And beers in the fridge

He said fuck all the girlfriends

And burn every bridge

He talked shit about everyone

Spread all their grief

Around town

And at Brown

He was known as The Baron

To students who saw

His midnight solo pieces

Eating Reese's while he performed Nietzche

Set to the music

Of old German beer songs

And later played beer pong with them

At their dorms

He'd talk about this one

And bag that one's taste

Impersonate the wasteful tears

Cried by eyes that couldn't discern

Between concern and paradise

A million miles between them

Between Lyle and success

What he knew and he felt

Looking over the cliff

And kissing the ridge

He said fuck all the students

And burn every bridge

He was hunted down

On a cool winter's night

Driven out without fright by a mob

Of artists who distrusted

The rusted powers of a man

Without fear for disconnection

But with a sure direction and path

Towards speaking the truth

And talking some trash

They drove him to New York

LA, or wherever

And if he's there today

Then all the better

Because Lyle knew the truth

Chances are

So do you

There's no point in bridges

That don't lead to greener pastures

Getting your masters can't compare

To living in a basement with rust and despair

If you've got nothing to hide

Then you let a man talk

Your skin should be as strong

As what your art is, or tougher

Rougher mouths talk than Lyle

Though he is one bad motherfucker

Man, we miss Lyle

He took truth when he left

He took truth

And his candor

And he took that old fridge

He said fuck me

I'm out

And burn every bridge