Say What?

One of my favorite bloggers, Anthony Venetulo, alerted his devoted followers to the blog of Micael Chadwick, "The Journey." Micael is inviting his readers to answer 10 questions and link them to his blog. The questions, along with my answers, follow:

1. What is your favorite word?
My favorite word, partly because of what it means and partly because I love to say it, slowly and laciviously is...LUST.

2. What is your least favorite word?
My least favorite word is HATE! I HATE hate!

3. What turns you on, creatively, spiritually and emotionally?
The full moon.

4. What turns you off?
A messy, filthy kitchen with a sink full of crusty, dirty dishes, pots and pans.

5. What is your favorite curse word?
Fuck! Fuckety, fuck fuck!

6. What sound or noise do you love?
Birds singing.

7. What sound or noise do you hate?
Loud, blubbery farts.

8. What profession, other than your own, would you like to attempt?
Absolute dictator of the USA!

9. What profession would you not like to do?
A garbage collector.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like God to say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
"Thank heavens, you're here! Johnny Depp has been waiting for you!"

micaelchadwick.com

POWER!

Are you powerful, or powerless? Would you like to be a SUPERpower? Well, power UP! More power to you! Raise your fists and repeat after me: Power to the people! I'm not just talking about MANpower, either. We WOMEN have to get on the power ball. We need a balance of power! A house divided is not a powerhouse.

-

So let's all get on the power grid. It's my job to guide you, using power steering. I'll show you the power and light. And no, I'm not just full of wind power, and this isn't a power play. I am inspired by a higher power...the almighty SUN! Yes! Solar power is my power within.

-

Don't worry, it's not all work and no power play. Women, enjoy the show, as your suitor delivers his power lines. Men, show your women that you have STAYING POWER! Your power tools will put horsepower to shame.

-

In conclusion, I have this cautionary note. Do not always attempt to overpower everyone, or you may find yourself in a power-gridlock. Remember, absolute power corrupts absolutely!

Here's a "flash" I wrote for a contest that asked for a story inspired by the line, "The lady does protest too much, methinks." Unfortunately, I didn't get it submitted in time, so I'll post it here.

Lend Me Your Ears

Once again, Stan was eating dinner alone, while Sadie was out marching, protesting against something or other. Stan had given up trying to keep track of what was riling her up. There was always something she was upset about, something that must be demonstrated against, and some group she could join that felt the same as she did about a particular issue. Some of the groups were small, and marched on city hall. Others were larger, and marched on the state capitol. Today, Sadie had boarded a bus and headed off to Washington to protest the war, or deficit spending, or capital punishment or any of a number of other causes. Who knows? Stan thought. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. I'm going to have a talk with her when she gets home.

He decided to wait up for her, and while he waited, he tried to think of the best way to present his case. He had to be very careful not to antagonize her, or she'd be marching on him next! He knew it would not be productive to come out and tell her that he was tired of being alone so often and that he felt that she cared more for her causes than she did for him. She would accuse him of being selfish and uncaring. And then, he would not be able to resist telling her that it was she who was being selfish and uncaring and they'd end up angry and sleeping in separate beds, which was definitely not what he wanted. He pondered some more, and finally, he experienced an "ah-ha!" moment, just as he heard Sadie opening the front door.

He rushed to greet her, pulling her into his arms as she set down her handbag and jacket. "Not now, Stan," Sadie said. "I'm tired." She sighed heavily and turned away.

"Of course, you're tired, poor baby. It's been a long day. I've made some hot chocolate for you. Let's sit down and relax, and you can talk about the march if you feel like it."

"I don't feel like it, Stan. But the hot chocolate sounds good."

Stan guided her to the couch, and went to the kitchen to get the drinks. He handed Sadie her cup, with a graceful flourish. "For you, Madam!"

Sadie smiled. "Oh my! With marshmallows even! This will be the best part of my day."

They sat quietly, sipping their drinks. Stan decided to make his move. "Sadie, honey, I've been thinking."

"Uh-oh..."

"No, no...it's good! Just hear me out. It seems to me that you're alway demonstrating against something. You're showing the powers-that-be what you think is wrong with what they're doing. How about this? Instead of 'pro-testing,' how about 'testing-pro'! Try being pro some cause, be for something. Instead of being anti-war, for instance, be pro-peace! Instead of being anti-drilling in Anwar, be pro-drilling someplace less attractive. Do you see what I'm getting at? Honey? Sadie?"

Sadie opened her eyes and yawned. "Oh Stan, I'm soooo sleepy. Let's go to bed. I have to get up early, because I'm marching on City Hall tomorrow. We're protesting something or other."

(This is what can happen if you've had too much wine before posting on your blog.)

Why did I leave California, if I liked it so much, you ask. Hmph! I was dragged, I tell you! Dragged, from my California home, my fingers digging into the rich soil, over the mountains and through the woods, leaving civilization behind forever, forced to follow the man I didn't love, into the wilds of godforsaken UTAH! Utah - land of the setting sun. Dark superstition and light madness. There was nowhere to run, no one to turn to as I battled the demons of the desert.

But was that bad enough? No! Of course not! Five years later, when my torn and ragged fingers had finally healed, the March of Whines was resumed. Off into the always rising sun we drove, finally stopping at the Beast of the East, Lancaster Pennsylvania.

After several more years of suffering, my wild ride was resumed, this time led by a Greek God, truly, the God of Lust, who rose from the ashes of my incinerated libido and raised me to heights never known in the Mountain State. I became a poet!

I am Zeldor! See me soar!
Never again shall I muffle my voice or deny my choice!
I will lead the parade in the March of Rhymes.
I will reside in the middle of the riddle.
There can be no worse verse.
I will pine for the sublime.
But I will never be clever.
I will moan alone.
I won't try.
Goodbye.

Take Me To Your Lender

I was flat broke and needed some money to pay the rent. So, I hailed a cab and told the Arab, or Indian, or whatever the hell he was - he had brown skin and some kind of fucking accent I couldn't understand, and even though I was a skank, I wanted to be polite - anyway, I asked him to take me to the Screw U Mortgage and Loan Company on 69th St. Now...we started out on 35th St, and this Raghead starts driving south toward the lower numbers instead of north, toward 69th! I said, "Wait a minute, you're going the wrong way!" He have me some ishkabibble about road work or something, and I said, "Look, Mister, if I had money to burn, I wouldn't be going to a fucking loan company, would I? Now turn this fucker around, or I'm going to shoot myself in the goddamn head!"

-

"Oh no! Please don't do that, Madam. My last customer did that and it cost me the price of a camel to clean up the mess!"

-

Then he turned around and re-set the meter, if you can believe it. So I had to give him credit for that, and resolved not to call him a Raghead anymore, even if I hadn't actually said it out loud. Not that I would have anyway, you see, because to me, "a rag" means a Kotex! You know, like when you're in your period, you say, "I can't fuck you tonight, Johnny, because I'm on the rag."

-

So anyway, we got to the mortgage company and I paid the Kotex-head his lousy $20 and even gave him a tip, "Kelso in the 4th," but he didn't get it, so I called him Poopy-head douchebag, and the cab took off like a camel in heat.

-

It was hot in the mortgage office too. I sat in front of a desk, with some little twerp in horn-rimmed glasses looking at me like I had just crawled out of a toilet and was sullying his dainty office chair. I started out being quiet and deferential, but after that schmuckette turned me down, I started yelling at him, which felt really good. I could feel the power boiling up in my gut and I reached across the desk and grabbed him by the lapels. "Lend THIS, Asswipe," and spit in his face.

-

Of course, I had to get out of there fast, after that. I hailed a cab and told the new raghead to take me to the racetrack. I was going to put my last 20 bucks on Kelso in the 4th.

The Coffee Chronicles - Part 2

I'm sitting outside, at a wet table

My skirt is absorbing the rainwater on the wet chair

I'm drinking hot, bitter coffee, while listening to a folk-singer

She's strumming her guitar and singing corny lyrics, of her own composition
-

She's very self-confident, I think

Though few people at the little street festival are listening to her

I wouldn't be listening, if I could avoid it, but I can't

Unless I give up and go home, which I don't want to do
-

I feel alive here, at the sidewalk cafe

Watching people walk by, even though no one sees me

I am invisible, which is fine - I don't want people to look at me

To look is to judge, and I don't like to be judged
-

But I do like to be invisible

I can look, without being looked at

I am looking now at a young man in a t-shirt and shorts

He is muscular, with a hairy chest and dark eyes

-

I wish he would stay nearby, so I could continue to look

I want to commit his firm, sexy body to memory

to be drawn upon later, when I'm lying alone in bed

needing some imaginary company

-

Apparently, that is too much to ask; he has moved on

Now my coffee has grown cool, and the music has stopped

There's nothing else to do here, so I'll go home

And be invisible, all by myself

Bitter

It's hot here, sitting outside of Starbucks

at a wobbly table, near the highway

with unpleasant music piped from a speaker

right above my head

I'm drinking hot, bitter coffee, but I don't know why

I could have ordered iced, sweet coffee

I could have sat inside the cafe

in luxurious cool, conditioned air

-

But - there were too many people inside

I don't like too many people

I don't like many people, either

I am hot and bitter

-

I wish I were cool and sweet, but it's too late

I was never cool, no matter how hard I tried

So, I might as well be hot, hot and sweaty

gasping for breath, but resisting my urges

-

If I must be hot and sweaty,

why can't I be in the arms of a hot sweaty man

Why can't I have a smooth, creamy man inside me,

instead of a hot, bitter cup of coffee

-

Next time, I'll go to Sexy Bucks, instead of Starbucks

where I'll order something sweet and filling

And I'll stay inside the cafe, where it's cool

so I can be hot in comfort