Guerrilla Poetry

We're about to get down. You should get into this.

Putting on your face

March 27th is National No Make Up Day which, if you look closely at a calendar, falls on a Sunday. Way to cheat, ladies. Way to cheat.


Love you, Miley. You look great, slut.

School Menus

Last weekend, I took a fast and furious trip back to rural Georgia where I like to spend my time skimming through the paper for any former classmates who are now getting married, having babies, or going to jail. Lo and behold, I found the Pike County Elementary and Middle School menu! Let me just say that the following is, word-for-word, what I found in the paper. It may also be considered mild child abuse. (Please note this was printed in a weekly publication that goes out on Wednesdays, so the menu options are listed as Thursday-Wednesday. I just didn't want to confuse you. Weeks work the same way in the south as they do every where else. Food does not.)

Thursday
Breakfast: Pop tarts or breads, cheese grits
Lunch: Fish and hush puppies or ham sandwich, fries, slaw, juice bars

Friday
Breakfast: Croissant with cheese, sausage
Lunch: Tacos or pizza, salad, corn, beans, cake


Monday
Breakfast: Pizza (My response: Is this a college dorm?)
Lunch: Burrito with re-fried beans, Spanish rice or chicken sandwich, or burrito with green beans, potatoes, cookies.
(Are the green beans in the burrito?)

Tuesday
Breakfast: Chicken biscuit
Lunch: Fajitas or hot dog, slaw and chips, or salad and rice, beans, Jell-O

Wednesday
Breakfast: Pancakes, sausage
Lunch: Beef ravioli with vegetable dippers, green beans, or chicken, Texas toast, or tuna salad, vegetable dippers (again), slaw, cinnamon rolls

CINNAMON ROLLS! Those jags wouldn't let us have any Cokes but installed a Fruitopia machine, and now the breakfast options for kids consist of old pizza, fried chicken biscuits, Pop Tarts and "breads"?

To hell with Charlie Sheen! What's up with Gwyneth Paltrow?

Remember back when Gwyneth Paltrow was just that pretty, blond actress who had made out with Brad Pitt in real life and starred in a movie called Shakespeare in Love that made everyone swoon? Then she married a musician, popped out some kids she named after fruit and stuff, made an appearance on Conan with legs so shiny I'm fairly certain their lighting guy quit that day, and everything went to shit.

I don't have much to say on the topic, really, except-Why? She appears in one movie about a country star and now we have to let her sing every damn thing? Two episodes of 'Glee'? No, thank you. Rumors of a record deal? Not even. Today's celebrities need to realize the following: A) You are not Madonna or Cher. B) Even if you were one of those two people, it isn't the 80's anymore. Society is no longer willing to accept listening to your pop album while cruising over to the cineplex to catch your latest flick. The days of Desperately Seeking Susan and Moonstruck are as dead as Michael Jackson. If you need proof of this, ask Cher how she (or anyone else) feels about Burlesque. I'm fairly certain I heard one reviewer say, "It's like Showgirls, except it's really, really terrible.

Cut it out, Gwynnie.

**Oh, and she blogs too. And gives life advice. Kind of like me, but she's serious about it. Bitches, I could BE Gwyneth Paltrow if I had an over-inflated sense of self worth. How did we let this happen?

Dear Dude...

Dude:Yeah, I wanna get some tickets
Me: Okay. For when?
Dude: 8 o'clock, Friday. Absolute Best Friggin' Time of Your Life...
Me: I'm showing that as sold out on Friday at 8.
Dude: Really? That's...weird.
Me: We have the premium seats available for Spoiler Alert.
Dude: What are those.
Me: $46 reserved. Best seats in the house guaranteed.
Dude: Hmmm...what about Saturday at 8?
Me: Nothing is available. We're sold out.
Dude: Thursday?
Me: Both 8pm shows are available on Thursday.

Five minutes later...

Dude: Hey, I wanna get some tickets.
Me: Okay...
(silence)
Me (again): For when?
Dude: What's available on Saturday at 8?
Me: Nothing.
Dude: Not a thing?
Me: No, sir. We're sold out. We have the 11 pm shows available.
Dude: And all you have on Friday are the premiums?
Me: Yes, for Spoiler Alert.
Dude: How does Thursday look? I got some people drivin' in...
Me: All shows are available on Thursday.

He calls back...again...

Dude: Hey! Me again. Wantin' to get some tickets. (Too familiar, buddy. I get a lot of calls. Yes, I do remember your creepy voice, but that won't always be the case.)
Me: Alright...(More inappropriate silence that does not help speed along the transaction in the slightest. Come on, dude. This isn't hard. Give me some more information. The fact that you want to get tickets is a given, as you are calling a box office! Still, I take the bait. Apparently he likes for me to ask the questions.) When were you thinking of coming to a show?
Dude: I want those premium seats on Friday for Absolute Best Friggin Time
Me: There aren't any. That show is sold out. We only have tickets available for Spoiler Alert and they are premium.
Dude: Alright, then, I'll take those.
Me: How many are you looking for?
Dude: 11. (Eleven?! Just eleven people cruising into Chitown and think they can all get tickets to a show last minute?)
Me: I'm sorry, sir. There are only 7 available.
Dude: Oooooooooh. Ooooooooooooooh. Ooooooooooooooh. How does Thursday look?




So your short term memory also took your common sense during the divorce, I see.

Not for the fluttery of heart

Like how I no longer qualify as the "single one" among my friends, and yet I still think girls (and some guys) in relationships are gross? Me too.

Here's the thing-no one other than you cares how truly in love you are at this time, and though you may be feeling extreme joy after finding that "special someone" you're not the first person to feel that, and you certainly won't be the last. Also, call me a cynic, but that shit goes away. Your butterflies will subside. One day you might live with this person and they will most likely end up with a virus that gives them diarrhea or they'll vomit (Happens to most of us). Then, you're really being tested. I wonder why you aren't posting pictures of that on Facebook?

Caption: I am such a lucky girl! xoxo :)<3
My comment: It isn't that I don't care about you as a person or as a friend, and your happiness is more than welcome here. The details behind said happiness, however, may be the best secrets you will ever keep. For fuck's sake, please keep them.

And, once again, no one but you and the person with their face in the toilet would give a shit. Romantic love is a thing that should be shared between two people (or many if you're into polygamy), not between you, your lover (shudder), and your 500+ Facebook friends. Though we may feel as if the entire universe should know how elated we are, though it may seem cute to post the pictures of the flowers we got "just because! He's so great!", though we may want to shout our significant others' respective names from our own respective rooftops, it is not necessary. It comes across as if you are bragging that someone has picked you. Again, I have to say, happens to most of us.

Love can be a tumultuous and overwhelming cacophony of emotions on its own, so why don't you take it upon yourself to be the one who shuts up? It's kind of like this, I like McDonald's for what it is, but I cannot stand or understand the fascination with the McRib. I feel the same way about pictures of your Valentine's Day flowers and how you relate them to love. I just don't get it. Call me a nut bag, but I don't think that's romance.

Let's talk about it, Adele.

Way back when the NBC late night lineup was what it had been for years, Carson Daly somehow managed to sneak his way into my nightly routine. I didn't plan for it, it just happened. Once he decided to change the format of his talk show, he started exhibiting something rather strange-he had pretty good taste in music. It was because of his newly-formatted music show that I was introduced to Adele.

Impressive. Thanks, Carson Daly. Now she has a new album and, I'm just going to repeat what everyone's been saying, but in my own way: Bitch, you know what you're doing, don't you?

I can't deal. What the fuck? (Has any album review ever contained those two phrases back to back?) I guess I should say thanks for releasing a body of work that I can actually love, as opposed to me saying, "Yeah, I like that album," even though I really only think a handful of the songs are legitimately good. I don't think I have liked a new artists' full album since 1996, which was just a few years before autotune came onto the scene, dominated everything you heard on the radio and, by default, stunted my musical growth. When, in order to find good music, one had to go on endless searches that rivaled that of Frodo's quest to the fires of Mordor, I backed the fuck off, because I just didn't have the energy, and stuck with what I knew would withstand the test of time- Beatles, Bowie, bands I listened to in high school, and bands my parents listened to during my conception. I didn't realize, until I downloaded Adele's 21, that my iPod had become a patchwork quilt of four-to-five great songs from each post-90's artist's "great album" stitched together with some mid-90's alternative, 80's new wave, and classic rock.

Adele, girl, take a bow. You've done it. Thanks for being the first in what should be a long line of new favorite albums for me. In a perfect music world those albums would be produced by many talented artists. But I know this world is mass-produced, Gaga-infested (She has her place, but give it a rest.), and an unoriginal place, so all my new favorite albums may be credited to you only.

You're on your way to being a standalone entity of greatness.