WoW July 10, 2010

Crack Jacker July 9, 2010

You, my Drug Store Cowboy, work in dismal retail hawking all kinds of shit. From ‘Hair Mayonnaise’ to infant incontinence meds.

The first time, a slouchy Hello sent my eyes to catch yours. In the same moment, there was a voice from o’erhead shrieking Assistance to beauty please!
An angry lady in a wheelchair, feverishly avoiding her morph into a Velociraptor in the fluorescent light, interrupted your seismic stare. My heart melted when you came from behind the counter to adjust her oxygen tank so a wreath of plastic-filled plastic bags could balance like a sunflare around her chair.

I played a little hide and seek with the voice from above until I spied her behind the counter, arranging cheap perfume. She was a bonita babe with large hooped earrings and a Bump-it even-keeled with a baby bump. Like a vitamin deficient rare bird, I quietly observed her biting her empty nail pits. Then, you waltzed over to her and said in a faux-French accent, “Assistánce?”

“You ever heard of Olive Foil?
“You mean, Olive Oil?”
“Yeeuh, for stretch marks.”
“Sure, it’s used for all sorts of stuff..greasing a gun, home labor, cooking mostly.”
“So, like, you can eat it?”

I could see you squirm, so I came over for a price check on Hair Mayo.
$9.99, she said, then turned to you and asked if she could “eat this too?”

Narrowly escaping that vom-filled conversation, I prayed a self-checkout would be available for my “5 days sooner!” pregnancy test. God answered at least one of my prayers when you said “I can help you over here!”

“Would you care for CrackerJacks? 2 for 1..”

“No, but I wouldn’t mind the prize. Crack and a Jack & Coke, amiright?”

“Robitussin is on sale, the orange flavor..”

“Oh really? A true treat! Do you know if Hair Mayo can be used as an expectorant? Or is it for external use only?”

Medical assistance to the front register, please.

HIGH by DEFINITION

You always said Lovers should be lovers. I knew this was true, because I heard you say it in your sleep. Your sounds were high definition, like you were closer to God with a pipe in your praying hands. Your wheezing set flame to my foot. By the light of your computer screen, I rummaged your desk drawers like a vagabond to find your red inhaler. I was immediately concerned and desperately in love.  My sleeping, wheezing angel had half empty canisters of dizzying depression stashed away in dusty corners. Your wheezing made sense. No use in hiding mine, now.  I wrapped my lips around the nozzle and opened my heart to you. Our sins now in sync, I laid my head on the yellowy pillow next to your sleeping, talking head and listened. I listened to your somniloquy loud and clear like crystal meth.

nose bleed April 1, 2010

your eyes are still awake.
are you sleepy?
i’ll stay late…

sometimes early-
never fake.

wind energy
sleepy breath.
stunning and svelte
don’t be impressed.

never stay never.
or
never stays never.

tired is the one that
 hell hath.

Would you like a glass of pink champagne? March 29, 2010

Gizzards thoroughly glittered and pink ruffle butt rompers waltzing, stilted, 10 feet above my mind. Mum texted me twice to tell me her location (in front of Tommy Bahama!) I glanced up from my smart phone screen and thar she blew.

My mother, the nautical nurturer (and newly nudist,) had driven her Jeep all the way across town to meet me at the Domain for a Betsey Johnson Fashion Show. Her hair was still wind-blown from sailing at the lake all day. She zipped up her bright blue NorthFace jacket to protect her from all the couture. Her weight shifted in Sperry deck shoes; she seemed occupied with herself.

I missed her enthusiasm, but I dismissed a potentially catastrophic conversation about my absence as of late.

Together, we browsed the lush jewelery under the glass counter. I tested an over-sized, Swarovski encrusted whistle pendant. Just as I realized how quiet she was and how clashy the whistle was with my outfit, my Mum reached down into her shirt and around her neck was a real, live water safety whistle that she had employed during her oh-so-daring day on the sail boat. To the horror of every hearing individual within a 2 mile radius, she sounded this device as if she were in hurricane waves with failing floaties. Fashion fail. Demode.

Unique knits and last seasons sale distracted me long enough to decide that dinner at California Pizza Kitchen was not in my tarot cards this evening. The Fool was following with all four suits. My runes should read differently. Escape plan enacted.

“Can I help you ladies with anything? Would you like more pink champagne?”
“Oh yes! Go ahead and fill ‘er up.”

“If you need anything, my name is Claire! Just let me know!”

“OH, CLAIRE! THANKS GURL! I was just shopping with my daughter, Blair. I almost named her Betsey! Then her name would have been ‘Betsey Johnson’!! Iddinnat cool?! OMG I know!”

A thorough eye roll was not enough.

Cool is so fucking boring.