Van Gogh's "Two Women in the Woods"

Disturbing the Peace

You know you're in trouble, when you wait for the car to pull up along side you, so can say, "Go away! It's over!" . . . . but it never comes. Don't you just hate those late night spectacles? The loud screaming ones that consist of throwing nearby objects, hiding phones and car keys, and threatening murder? No good fight is complete without a very specific murder threat. But what could be better than making up before you go to bed, and starting a new day? Nuthin...

Oh, Boy...

The days of The Bad Boy are over. Their appeal has simply slipped to pass, much the same way as AquaNet hair spray, Pauly Shore, and Hair Band Rock. Have women grown wiser? Accepting the unforgiving truth that bad boys rarely reform their lives and turn a new leaf? Their originality has been washed out like last night’s sheets.  The Bad Boy is no longer an anomaly. He no longer offers that rollercoaster ride of surprises, in fact he is quite predictable. He no longer stands out in a crowd; he’s simply in the way of a much shinier Prince. And don’t we all just love shiny? . . . And new?  

Ink

You are written all over me - all over my heart with those heavy sighs, encasing my body with absent kisses. You are written all over me - tightly, deeply, seething, and taking, and taking, and taking, and discarding the shell, like the wrapper of a pack of smokes. You are written all over me in the half hearted lies I wholeheartedly believe, you are written through and through the diminished sparkle in my eyes, you’ve inked your name to my bruises, engraving with a hard, cruel hand. And yet you sleep a sleep that is sweet, and pure, and full of tomorrow. And I am gone.

A Dream Within A Dream

We used to have time, and more importantly – privacy. Not any more. It’s almost an inevitable certainty that once you get married and have children – your sex life, your ANY life will, without a doubt, revolve around your kids. From what time you get up, to how long you have to take a shit – everything is determined by your bloodsucking children. I had great plans for tonight, but instead of grownup time, I’ve got Vivian in our bed reading every single Poe poem aloud, Jared reciting Poe in a Pirate dialect, Mikey dressed in nothing but underwear and a Captain America getup while waving a shield and putting marbles and small toys into Jared’s belly button (as Jared recites ‘A Dream Within A Dream’ in Jack Sparrow character), the dogs rubbing their bodies on the carpet and stealing Baby’s stash of smelly scraps, NFL highlights blaring in the background, the phone ringing with calls from bill collectors, and of course – every light in the house is on. Somewhere in this Zoo someone gets hurt, someone is crying because someone else isn’t playing fair, or someone got a little too rough and followed through with a Ninja kick…..and that’s our nightly charade. So by the time I finally have peace and quiet and climb into bed, I have to remember to dust off the animal cookie crumbs, return all the hidden toys and trucks and weapons to their designated areas, it’s been another long, long, long day. And as I lay my tired head down, I go to remove whatever is causing a lump under my pillow and find it’s a sippy cup of milk…..from breakfast.