A Ghost I Am To Her

My sister doesn’t see me
She doesn’t see my whole
She’s sees a part created
To make her feel control
It’s sad she is so miserable
Projecting self-inflicted pain
Pathetic world she lives in
Empty creation by her vain
That cover stick she uses
Covers not disdain
Bleach that birthright white as snow
But true roots always remain
I wish my sister saw me
But instead forgets her name.
Her transparency is logo
And reality a farce
Following a path most travelled
She creates a person false
Too busy directing traffic
To notice it’s all her loss.
Breaking family member’s hearts
Patting blood with dying moss
My sister is not known to herself
And so I remain the cost.

Feces Face

And these are the days of our lives...
Laney’s new name is “Feces Face.” I can’t help it because apparently…she can’t, either. Right after Andy jumped in the shower at 10:30 last night, I yelled for the dogs to come inside. Since it had been raining, I attempted to herd the troublesome trio onto the front porch. Quickly, Copper flew around the house. Shocking. He was visibly soaked and looked quite happy as he smacked his tail against me, making sure to bury his left front paw on my foot. Next, Laney and Mocha scrambled around the front yard, Mocha bashed into Laney like a punching bag. Poor Laney, I momentarily thought as she thrusted herself past Mocha to get to the porch.
Then, it hit me. The pungent smell ferociously garbled any free, clean air I previously enjoyed. As I stood on the edge of the porch, in a t-shirt, beckoning Mocha while she bobbed her head from side to side, Copper silently snuck back outside. Nearly gagging, I yelled, “Get in here! It’s raining!” And both dogs leapt inside. As I slammed the door closed, I turned to see Mocha staring at Laney, whining and moving back and forth. I moved towards the door to the house and as I did, I looked at Laney. Something hung from the right side of her neck.
“Andy! There’s something wrong with Laney. She has something hanging off of her head, “I yelled. “Oh great,” he said as he entered the porch. A few seconds later, I heard, “It’s FECES!” There we were. Andy in his underwear, me in a t-shirt that ironically, “Give a shirt,” and three wet dogs - one with poop on her head.
It was 10:45 at night and Laney was being hustled into the bathtub. Forty minutes later, we emerged. While I swept, Andy mopped. While I loaded the washing machine with dirty, wet, poop enhanced towels, Andy mopped again. While I sprayed Lysol, Andy disinfected the sink. Sixty minutes later, we made it to bed. At 5:30, I woke up shivering because the power had gone out from the wind. Andy scrambled to start the generator and I set my cell phone to wake me in another hour. As I snuggled back under the covers, I thought, “My next T-Shirt is going to say, ‘Pooped on’.”

My life as a comedy

So, you know, I have to look nicer than usual because I have to teach tonight. Therefore, I had to wear a real bra today instead of my oh so comfortable sports bra. This morning, I felt like something was chewing the top of my right shoulder off. Now, mind you, I am wearing a button up, collared shirt with a sweater pulled over the top of it. The sleeves of the sweater are short and the sleeves of the shirt underneath it, are long. Oh..and there is a collar on my shirt, too. And…I have a necklace on. I realized my bra strap was the culprit for what felt like flesh being knocked off, so I made a mental note, “CHANGE YOUR BRA AT LUNCH!” All morning I’ve been twisting the bra strap, repositioning the stupid back and cussing out Target for allowing such a stupid designer hook up to their, what I consider, a pretty decent bra line.

ANYWAY! Andy (being the white knight that he is) calls to ask if he can pick me up for lunch because it’s so snowy out. “OF Course!” I reply. Minutes later, he pops in, I throw on my coat and we leave for lunch. An hour later, he brings me back. As I jumped out of his truck with mail, papers, a blanket and hand warmers, I realized, “I forgot to change my stupid flesh eating bra!” After dropping my load on my desk, I stuck some Kleenex under the strap, threw my blanket over my knees, stuck the hand warmers in my shoes (my tooties are frozen) and settled in to work. Then, I thought, “WAIT! Andy (being the white knight he is) bought me two new bras this weekend and they are still in my car!” Without hesitating, I burst outside, opened the car door, cussed as the snow covering my car fell inside and into the bra bag, and flung myself back inside – hair over my face. But! That was ok. I still had the hand warmers (left one semi-stuck to the bottom of my foot) and I was going to change my BRA!

I got in the bathroom, ripped off the tags of one of the “Microfiber” lies of a comfortable bra, and started taking my top(s) off. Necklance on the floor, sweater hanging around my neck, shirt on the sink…I get the carnivorous bra off and the new one on. No sooner had I gotten the left bra strap on, my back felt like had been scrapped by a 50 mile an hour windshield wiper. HUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…I thought as I ripped it off. OK! How about number 2 new bra! It worked. I got it on and there was no blood.

As I stood in front of the mirror with hair static, glasses sideways and my sweater still around my neck, I looked up and thought, “Yea. Real funny.” Because the PIG POOP Incident JUUUUUUUUUUST wasn’t funny enough.

The humor in my day

I stopped at the Marathon in town to get gas at lunch. While the owner was pumping my gas, I asked him if he was getting a lot more business since the bigger gas station had closed. He said yea, but the bigger gas station was supposed to open again in the next week. Then he said, “I’ll be happy. I’m tired of people asking me why I don’t have a lottery machine.” Then, he said, “I want to get one of those fast tap credit card things. We have an old Matilda and it would be nice to upgrade. Of course, you can’t lose your fast tap because if someone picks it up, they’ll fast tap you to death!”

I might still go there for gas just for the conversation.