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Archive for July, 2008

You might need to become a member of the Artichoke Aficionados Club?

Or join a 12-Step Program: Artichokes Anonymous?

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Weather:

JM: Wachhhh! So hot! Your father and I go downtown and I just about sweat to death!

AH: I’m sorry to hear that!

JM: So humid too! Give me heat stroke!

AH: Humid? Really?

JM: I don’t know what going on!! Not like July weather!

AH: Global warming?

JM: Why you talk like such crazy Democrat? Oh wait . . . you are Democrat. You want government steal all your money.

AH: Yes. That’s exactly it.

JM: But you don’t have any money. Don’t even own your own house. No wonder you don’t care government steal all your money!

AH: No wonder.

JM: But my hair! Complete stick to my head, so hot! And my glasses all fog up! And sweat go in my eyes! And your father, he take such long time — he such complete slow poke — make me waiting, waiting, waiting forever in hot car like some kind of dog! I can’t stand it! And then I get a little bit grouchy!!! You ask your father! He tell you!

Sartorial Issues, Redux:

JM: Hey! You wear that nice suit I got you last time you here?

AH: No, not yet.

JM: Yeah, you need do sit up first. Get six-pack ab. Skirt just little bit tight.

AH: Just a little.

JM: So when you going to wear it?

AH: I don’t know yet.

JM: Such nice suit! Suck all my money away! Like money vampire! You better promise me you wear it!

AH: Maybe I’ll wear it at the winter residency graduation for the Nebraska M.F.A.?

JM: Oh good! Yes! That perfect! You do that! Then everybody going to be so surprise! They all say, Who that girl in nice suit? We don’t recognize her? Instead of such hippy looking. They can’t believe it! Don’t you know?

AH: Um . . . I guess so.

JM: Hello, guess so! You wear such nice suit instead of such ugly hippy looking outfit and everything complete different! You wear that kind suit and pull hair back so have swan neck instead of ugly duckling neck and some millionaire Prince Charming going want to marry you!

AH: OMG, are you on crack?

JM: I don’t know what you mumbling about. But okay, you right . . . maybe not in Nebraska. Too many country bumpkin and not enough millionaire. So maybe you have to go on The Bachelorette.

AH: WTF?????

JM: But first you have go on The Biggest Loser!!!!

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OMFG!

I just got slapped
with a wet salmon – really –
I haven’t updated
since people stopped clapping
and Tinkerbell died.

You would not believe it!
My hands were chopped off
and I was waiting for bionics.

My bad . . .

I’m swilling chardonnay
with only your readership
as life preserver, distracted
by the shiny, a delightful
mistress to every Lost Boy
who crosses my path.
My day is filled with
fluorescent light —
from 4:55 a.m. until I see
my beloved’s 10000
text messages, and I am
beyond drunk
most of the time.

(It will be fun fun fun
till they take my TBird away.)

I swear on the bones
of my ancestors to update
you with my nefarious
activities at the first chance.

No, really!

And I will write more
to certain you’s . . . ?
But it might not be you,
in particular,
who I write to. . . .

(A post from The Lazy Bloggers Post Generator, contracted virally from Dr. Medusa.)

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and I suspect a teeny bit of hinky-ness with respect to Author Function.

Here is the note from JM:

(My favorite part is the bit where a typewriter eraser was clearly put into action.)

Here is a note from my father, taped to the kitchen cupboard next to the stove at my parents’ house:

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Coyote Eyes:

JM: I don’t like watch that show Bones. That girl, she have funny eyes. She have the crazy coyote eyes. Such ugly. I can’t stand it.

AH: Who are you talking about? Michaela Conlin? Tamara Taylor? I’m not sure who you’re talking about.

JM: Everybody know! She the one! With eyes like crazy coyote! They follow you around like ghost.

AH: Do you mean Emily Deschanel?

JM: Whichever one. Such pale see-through color. Look like some kind of ghost. Like crazy ghosty coyote eyes.

Father’s Day:

JM: Just barely get here, but your father get your card. He thought you sign you name and then put four A’s afterward.

AH: Those aren’t A’s.

JM: I know! I tell him don’t be stupid! But he say look like four A’s. He say, “What’s that? Ah, ah, ah, ah.”

AH: Ah?

JM: I have to tell him no! Those you make drawing of your Brat Cat! With ear and whisker! I have to tell him his daughter make drawing of Brat Cat all over his Father Day card.

AH: Yeah. Tell him those are his grand cats.

JM: Don’t you dare! Your father seed have nothing to do with those Brat Cat.

AH: WTF?

JM: Those Brat Cat not from his seed!

AH: OMFG. [Hands over ears} La la la la la la la!

Wishy Washy:

JM: I hate that one. I can’t stand him!

AH: Who?

JM: They all go complete gaga about him and say he McDreamy. Hello! He not McDreamy. He can’t make up his mind about anything. First go one way. Then go another. He complete confuse. I can’t believe he brain surgeon.

AH: No?

JM: No! Who going to let such confuse person operate their brain? Why anybody think he so-call good catch? Plus he have rat face. I don’t like it.

AH: Really.

JM: Yeah. Hello, McDreamy! I think he a little bit wet. He complete wishy-washy.

AH: Hmm . . . McWishy-Washy?

JM: Yeah. That’s it. McWishy-Washy.

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