What a wonderful era we live in to be able to see a doctor that won’t go through your organs with waste covered hands. An era of medical breakthroughs and being able to find out exactly why your Aunt Martha smells like maple syrup after she eats creamed corn. What a world we live in to be able to give butter faces a fighting chance and to permanently freeze a look of childlike wonder on the face of someones aged grandmother. We can even remove enormous uteri to put photos of on the internet for imaginary points and approval. Let’s just admit it, America, we have it pretty good.
Pretty good, indeed. Until some cantankerous nurse decides to move your appointment to 7 a.m. on a monday morning. I’m not sure what about my persona gave her the assumption of “early-riser” or “morning person” when she was playing chinese checkers with appointment times. Maybe it was the dark circles under my eyes or the way my I wear a blazer. I will never know her reasoning and not even Robert Downey Jr. as Sherlock Holmes could decode it, but damn would he look good trying.
Either way, there I was, driving along empty streets at 6:30 a.m., smoothie in hand, wondering if I really needed to see a doctor. I should have just craigslisted a witch doctor to rub eggs and squirrel tails on me while singing the national anthem of Saudi Arabia in B flat. At least then it would probably be around 4 and I’d at least get a free squirrel tail. Continue reading
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There is something magical about summer. New light shimmers on fresh dew as the birds wake with the rising sun. Already at 7:30 am the light is filtered through the trees casting little diamonds on my driveway as I toss my purse in my car. There’s some kind of magic in the air. So much so that it’s almost tangible on my skin.
“Today is going to be a good day”, I think to myself as I sip on my smoothie of the day and buckle in. My my head hits the roof of the car and I sigh.
“This is why we can’t have good hair days”. I put the car in reverse and the small indent where the pavement of the road meets my drive rocks the car, sending my hula dancer into a rhythm and rubbing my head into the fabric of the roof more and generating even more static, but it’s not going to ruin my day as I remind myself what’s ahead of the drive. I continue pulling out of the driveway and onto my street, running my hand over my face to brush away any remains of sleep. As I open my eyes and switch to drive I glance at that decrepit old house on the corner. It reminds me of a gingerbread house that was left inside an ant hill. A rather bulbous skunk snakes its way along its splintering walls and disappears into a crevice that I would have never guessed it would fit into had I not seen it with my own eyes. As I pass the house, its stench burns my nose and I switch my febreeze car freshener to full blast on my air-vents. Not today, skunk.
Not today. Continue reading
Thanks for coming back to the second part of my Intro to Polly! Follow and share if you liked it! Feel free to comment on what you want to see talked about or what kind of story you want me to tell next.
Every great office comedy has an eccentric nutcase that we all can’t help but fall in love with despite their shortcomings. Jim Halpert has his Dwight Schrute. Peter Gibbons has his Milton Waddams. Hell, the whole cast of Workaholics has the whole cast of Workaholics. There’s always at least one in each ensemble that forces you to question what you would do such a situation.
I know exactly what you should do in that situation.
Run. Don’t stop. Just run. Don’t think of the children and go back or think you absolutely need your phone that you left on your desk. You don’t need it and maybe those kids should have tried a little harder in gym. Perhaps then they would have some scrap of a chance at survival. What the movies want you to think is that there is a lovable innocence underneath that quirky exterior. But what if there is no innocence? What if underneath that exoskeleton of broken dreams and filth film theres just evil and cynicism? Like an oyster filled with excrement.
This is Polly. Continue reading
In the beginning, there was nothing.
To be honest it really should have stayed nothing because there’s a lot of messing about in this world. Much of it without purpose. Just aimless bumbling about like a bunch of Walruses that just discovered ecstasy and think they’re really cool because they listen to David Bowie. Not even good, classic, rock-god, spaceman Bowie. Like “China Girl” Bowie. For example, this blog. This blog is dedicated to those who asked for it. It’s contents will be questionable. It’s goals will be vague, but by God here it is. Continue reading
Every morning I wake up and throw a smoothie in the blender while I’m getting dressed. Why? Because it’s delicious and I think blueberries are a delight. It’s 7:00 and I’m just shuffling like a three legged horse in need to be put down. It’s a cruel cruel joke to be up that early. I used to wake up at 5:00 am before I realized that I was an idiot. I’m not a farmer. I don’t need to wake up that early. My ancestors fought to survive and it’s like a slap in the face to them to wake up that early. Hey, I don’t need to forage. I make my smoothies in sweet little zip-locks ahead of time. There is zero scrambling about and that’s great! It’s simplicity! You see people on TV rushing about and serving some sort of brunch nonsense. Why? No one needs a kale garnish at 7am. It’s just silly.
I throw on the basic uniform. Dress, belt, Cardigan, Ellen Degeneres Boxer Briefs. There is a reason to this madness and it begins with the dress. If you ever see me in jeans, call the police because something horrible is happening and I’ve finally snapped. Continue reading