Tag Archives: Short humor

08.14.18
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The Mic May Not Be On, But I Don’t Let That Stop Me

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“Are you talking to me?” you asked.
Oh…um…I guess I am talking to me.
There was an argument to finish up
So I did it in soliloquy.

Then some inner dialogue
Needed desperately to be outer,
And when I reached a conclusion,
I presented it in the shower.

I asked me some interview questions
For my someday late night debut,
So…I’ve talked to myself all day–
I have nothing to say to you.

Sure, it’s not weird if you talk to your co-workers, but if I talk to mine (the candle, the dog, my chair, the pens), I’m “socially maladjusted.” I know I’m not alone in this. Well, technically, I am alone, but I mean you probably do this too, just not with anyone. Creatives have a lot going on in the brain and if you don’t open the valve a little, it explodes.

PS. That great poster in the background is available here for a mere $5: Dumb Runner Obstacles Poster

08.13.18
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Nosleepferu

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I used to sleep every night
With the covers around my neck,
To protect myself from vampires,
Those monsters straight outta heck.

Tasty veins swaddled in safety,
My bedroom door closed tightly,
I slumbered in cozy confidence
All through every nighty-nighty.

Now, at least once a week,
I scream loudly without warning,
As a bedside child scares me awake
Because nothing can wait ’til morning.

I no longer need the blankets.
My door hangs all willy-nilly.
Monsters don’t frighten me anymore,
It’s my kids that scare me silly.

I really did sleep with the covers around my neck right up until we brought home a newborn. At that point, I learned how to fall asleep anywhere, in any position, with or without blankets. The nice thing about newborns is they lack the mobility to sneak up to your bedside and whisper “Mooommmmy” like some little possessed person.

Also…I know that is a huge leap from Nosferatu. *shrug*

08.11.18
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Foam Over Substance

coffee

there is no “problem”
just because I like to use
coffee as creamer

There was a period in my life where quad lattes and the occasional use of bottled Starbucks drinks as creamer was normal. I had a stressful job and I fueled my insane workload with more coffee than was really healthy for one person to consume. It was my own little corner of fatalism–I will do this job or have a caffeine-induced heart attack trying.

Now I drink about 3-4 cups of brewed coffee a day. That’s…less? Yay me? I would quit (I have several times, including two pregnancies), but I still have shit to do in this life and coffee is how I do it. Coffee makes my world go ’round. Sometimes a little spinny, sure, but still.

08.10.18
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Made With Concentrate

editnig bears

Sneak up behind me
While I’m unawares,
You might catch me
Eating editing bears.

Oh! So contemplative
And satisfyingly gummy,
I eat whole bags
When my first draft’s crummy.

It’s a bad habit, I know, but I’ve always had a weakness for gummy bears when revising or editing. Something about a pure sugar high makes it easier to connect, cut, and fix mistakes. If I ever need to go into battle, give me a pouch of Haribo beforehand, and I’ll be your bearserker.

What’s with all the bear puns this year? I dunno. It’s late.

08.07.18
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Clutch Tight Your Pickanick Basket

img_7889high in Montana
bearware the ursine menace
claws, fangs, frosty floats

We went to Glacier and honestly saw very little of it, because of the massively swollen ankle and our lack of an appropriately-sized vehicle. The kids were delighted to see this bear, however, because instead of eating them, he gave them things to eat. A+, A & W bear.

08.03.18
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Lavatriage

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Heart of a young parent
Inside a middle-aged host.
The floor may not be lava,
But your ankle sure is toast.

My dear 46-year-old husband did this to his ankle in the middle of our roadtrip to Montana last week. He was playing “the floor is lava” with the 6-year-old. There are many advantages to having your kids later in life, but occasionally your body decides to remind you that there are consequences for your foolishness.

The 6-year-old was the one who told me exactly how this came about. I’m glad she’s around to make sure no detail is left unshared.

08.02.18
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I Seasoned It With My Tears And It Still Wasn’t Enough

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O gluten-free burrito,
I bought you by mistake.
I had to eat you anyway
Though taste you did forsake.
Your wrapper was so sexy,
Your words I did not comb.
I would have then discovered
Your “tortilla” was packing foam.
O sad disappointment–
Even lime chicken could not serve.
You’re the burrito I had to eat,
But not the burrito I deserve.

This is based on a true story. I have not made the same mistake again.

On another note, after publishing so many of these, I’m finding that I’ve forgotten what I’ve already done. The poem I was working on (in my head) all day is I think a repeat of one about how we eat “The Usual” around here–so you get this one I wrote in 15 minutes instead. Guess I need to make a list or something.

08.01.18
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Vanitree

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built like a tree trunk
but just look at that thigh gap
leg-lifting the sky

This tree might have been offended by my staring at its crotch, but it gave no indication one way or the other. Clearly it works out.

Also—here we go! I actually had enough service as we barreled down the road (I was not driving, just making myself carsick) to post on August 1. You may be a little worried by this start that 2018 is going to be a weird year, and thinking about what I have—well, yes. Probably. Let’s see how weird it gets.

09.24.17
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Underclouds

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When the flaming ball in sky
Squints my poor Oregonian eyes,
I shake my fist and yell real loud:
I wish you were behind a cloud!

Stupid sun, enough is enough.
Get thee behind some cumulofluff!
I don’t want to experience your fiery gasses,
And I can’t find my dark sunglasses.

Rain or not, I’d rather post a status
Of overcast with gray-bottomed stratus.
Nothing like some wispy cirrus
To keep that roaster from getting near us.

If you persist, you orb of glare,
I’ll take you all up on your dare,
Call lightning down like Zeus on Olympus
And banish you forever behind cumulonimbus!

I was made to live in an overcast world.  The sun makes me weary, gives me headaches.  I am energized by misty mornings and a sky that doesn’t make my eyes hurt.  I haven’t done the DNA, and my niece says we’re actually Scandanavian, but I take this as confirmation of my Scots and Irish heritage.  Gloomy skies and a taste for morbid stories and whiskey (though I drink bourbon, hence the “e”).

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Be burned by that nasty sun, you will not.

09.18.17
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Microwaves of Nausea

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Permeating the walls and halls,
The fumes worse than bathroom stalls,
You thought you’d have a nice, warm snack—
Instead it’s a mustard gas attack.

The popcorn doesn’t need that long.
The smoke means you’ve done it wrong.
Last night’s curry should have stayed at home-a,
Now we’re sick from that aroma.

And YOU—with the leftover trout.
Pack up your things and just get out.
If nuking fish is your bailiwick,
Find somewhere else to make people sick.

Crimes against noses linger for hours.
I feel like I need a Silkwood shower.
My nostrils are thoroughly defeated.
Are you sure that “food” should be reheated?

I don’t work in an office anymore, but I cook lunch every morning for my sandwich-hating, food-allergic kid.  Fish sticks at 8AM, folks.  Takes me back to my cube farm days, and not in a good way.

The popcorn was meant to be the other child’s snack.  It only took eight hours or so for that to dissipate.