Dear Atlas,
I thought knew how much I loved you.
I thought I knew the way you made me feel but the distance between us has taught me that I knew nothing.
That I know nothing. Continue reading
Dear Atlas
Tag Archives: diary
Festivus For the Rest of Us: Part I
It’s The Most Magical Time of The Year
Ah, December. What a magical time. Frost in the air, cookies in the oven, stockings hung on the mantle with care. It’s a time when families gather all around and set out as a pack to choose one tree that will serve as a reminder to the other trees not to get too cocky as we parade it through the streets atop our four-door, family vehicles before dragging it inside and decorating it’s withering body with sparkles and various other whimsical baubles. We prefer to put them in front of large windows so that its slow and drawn-out, but none the less beautiful, death tells passerby’s “Hey, hey look at all this shit we can pile on this thing. I know right? Keep it moving, plebeians”.
O Christmas Tree
O Christmas Tree
How much better does your slowly rotting carcass look in our house that it does from that
tacky whore, Debra’s?
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
It was the last day of class. Finally I would be free from the toils of the mountains of essays and the relentless onslaught of writing page after page of dull, lifeless prose that sucked out my soul and left dark rings under my eyes. No longer would I have to sit in the classroom that smelled of wet cardboard and stale kitty litter and listen to Professor Hammond’s twin prattle on about Iambic Pentameter while making a makeshift beat on his podium, losing it about five seconds in and restarting the lesson from the top.
.gif)
On a side note here, it honestly scared me how much he looks like my professor. Down to the hat and cane.
I was positive that I had begun to develop a brain tumor out of stress, not due to difficulty, but out of frustration that he insisted on using the space bar when the tab key would indent the correct amount already. I was mentally exhausted from holding back audible screams of rage when ever he would look into my eyes and proceed to center his words using his fast little clicks.
Tiptiptiptiptiptiptiptip “Oh darn, too far” Tack Tack Tack Tack Tiptiptiptiptip Continue reading
T.Hanks and the Tab Key
“Does anyone not know how to log on to a computer?”
I lean back in my desk and feel the glaze on my eyes further solidify as I join the rest of the class in silence. The curve of the chair bites into my tail bone but at least I feel something again. I check the time on my phone from the pocket of my dress. We’re entering hour two of our three-hour tour. I was forming a theory that this was a psychological experiment of some sort over how long it will take for millennial’s to go all Planet of the Apes on an old man.
“Okay, so you start with your name, usually it has this format with a name box and password box.”
Lord have mercy he’s doing it again. I could not count the times that I had seen this exact presentation. It was a good fifteen minutes about the importance typing with the correct fingers.
“Now, some people do, I think it’s chicken beak type style, like this”, he held up his stubby little hands, “Notice my pointer finger is up, like this, and the rest of my fingers are curled under like a fist without the raised finger. Now watch.” Continue reading
Born in the U.S.A.: The Sequel
This is the sequel to the Independence Day Special “Born In the U.S.A.. You can find that by clicking right here!
It was later in the day now and after endless bouts of going inside and outside to back inside I had officially had enough of the mosquitoes. I could already pass as someone with chicken pox and I was beginning to worry if I would have any blood left after this incessant holiday. I rejoined my allies at the kitchen windows.
We were like spectators at a zoo watching the children swim in the water.
Earlier before our journey into the outdoors, our scantily clad guests had wandered upstairs to change and we each gave each-other a look that, in-turn, assured us that our thoughts were in the same place. After noticing how the girl seems to walk on her tip toes, someone suggested that if she had relaxed on her feet, the shear force of how high her shorts were pulled would either A.) rupture her clitoris and create an elevator-from-the-Shining-esque mess of blood or B.) split her in half altogether. Either way, I would be stuck cleaning it up and it would be icing on the patriot cake on my least favorite day of the year. Continue reading
Not Today
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
Polly Doesn’t Want A Cracker
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 . . .
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
The Birds Never Came
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
My Suddenly Okay Life 