type a slacker

Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln

Oh so this is one of those stories I keep meaning to tell, but then didn't because I wasn't doing this whole blog thing, and then forgot to put on that long list yesterday, and am now glad I forgot because it's pretty much too awesome to NOT tell.

As you may have heard, I quit my job in preparation for grad school and gave myself a little staycation in my adopted city of Chicago.  It was going to be great- I was going to spend every minute in my running clothes or a bathing suit, running by the lake or being on the lake, boating with that very very neat man I used to date.  But then! Something happened to my knee, either tendonitis or my IT band or maybe both, so the running was out. and THEN! That very, bizarrely, obsessively neat man dumped me.  Now, it was not, all things considered, a crushing blow.  We were not meant to be.  But I wasn't done yet! and I wanted to be part of the decision! and I wanted some more time on the boat during Chicago's meager, measly summer!

But of course, HE dumped ME.

On the street.

In the rain.

Can you get any more cliche?

So then my staycation took on a whole new focus, what with me trying to fill up my time without spending ANY MONEY. And that was how I ended up spending an afternoon weeding my friend's yard.  In truth, it was incredibly satisfying and obviously cathartic, and, not really surprising, really fun, but it's probably not something I'd have volunteered to do if I actually had anything else to do.

We're out there in his yard, two grad students with too much time on our hands, listening to a country station that seemed to flip solely between Taylor Swift, Carrie Underwood and Rascal Flatts (which I believe is a group, not a person, but would be an awesome person name), and it's a little rainy, but fine. And he is, I swear, the chattiest person I've ever known, and not really with me, necessarily, but with everyone who passes us, which is one of those traits I wish I had just a little more in myself. ANYWAY GET TO THE POINT.

So the mail lady comes by, and we start talking to her, obv, and apparently she had just been on vacation. To the Caribbean! Now, if you know me, you may have heard I have a weird quirk in which I don't like to know the exact location of places if I can help it, meaning I'm not entirely sure where the Caribbean is. I haven't been there, but I have been to the Virgin Islands. I don't know where those are either, but I asked if she went to St. Thomas, bc I mean, how many places can there be islands on earth?

Well, turns out she had been to there! And, y'all, for real, this is how she tells us about this cruise of hers, because my telling you just won't do it justice.

"Yeah, it was a real nice cruise. Real nice. I don't know how much I loved that St. Thomas. But ooh, I sure did love Blackbeard's Castle! That's in St. Thomas, right? Well I loved it. It was real full of tourists and so many steps.  You would not believe how many steps! We just kept going and going, down so many steps! And you wouldn't believe it, an old man died! he was just walking down all those steps with his wife, walking real slow like, and then wouldn't you know he just fell right over and died! I saw him all white looking, he was just right there in front of me.  You know, with all those steps, they should really do a better job of deciding who's too old for all that climbin. But no one asked me.  I made it to the bottom, and it's pretty scary down there. I liked that part a lot. It was sure more interesting than that island the cruise owned. That was just full of tourists."

Did you catch that? that, that part in the middle, where the man DIED? HE DIED, RIGHT THERE ON THE STEPS. RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF HER. I'm telling you, right now as I type this, I'm using more enthusiasm than she had for his death.  But she sure was enthusiastic about all that Caribbean rum. Priorities, I guess.

Shakin' things up

So. Friends. If you have ever read this little blog o' mine before, you'll remember it was pink and green, and my profile picture was of a 19-year-old me, in a tiara no less (though you'll see I still have the headware thing going on).  But I'm sorta starting a pretty new stage in my life, what with the whole giant career switch-give up my job- become a student again thing, and on the edge of 26 (hello, Wednesday), and the creator of a brand-new Linnarp, i thought it was time to resurrect the old blog.  And just like Bella Cullen, the blog is INCREDIBLY STUNNING upon awakening

See, the past few weeks have been full of all kinds of changes, and so many times I've thought I should write about it. Like, for instance:

* The time I got pulled over ON THE SIDE OF I-90 and was saved from the brink of nervous breakdown by the comforting presence of my friend Jason.

* That boy who gave me jewelry and told me I was perfect and dumped me 4 days later.

* The PERLER BEADS they now sell at Ikea.  In fact, I wanted  to tell y'all about almost every thing I sat at ikea. And THEN the effort it took for my tiny self to push that giant cart around. Then for my tiny self to get that giant cart outside by my car, and the GIANT DOUCHE BAG who stood there with his, i feel safe in saying this, slutty girlfriend watching and I believe smirking as I tried to get the Linnarp from the cart into my car. Thank god I have a hatchback and took some physics, because I just hoisted that 7-million-pound box off the cart and onto a bench, then slid it right into the car. And then! AND THEN getting it into the house! I contemplated trying to carry it for about 7 seconds, and then i just took out the million planks of (NON PARTICLE BOARD) wood and carried them in, armful by armful. Oh, hey, looks like I just did tell you about that one. But there would have been a lot more complaining if I had written it yesterday. Instead I just sit here typing proudly at my new Linnarp, which came together incredibly, surprisingly easily.

* My super-recent (hello 18 hours ago) date with a radiologist PICKED OUT FOR ME BY MY GRANDMA. He's cute and sweet and funny, and, again, a RADIOLOGIST, but he has the same voice as every Georgia boy I grew up with and I had zero desire to make out with him. I'll keep y'all posted on the progress of that one.

* That time I left my job, and it was sad and hard and weird and GLORIOUS.

* The Giant Fly Infestation

Ok, so the point is, my life has been pretty chock full of stuff lately, and I keep forgetting how much i love to share. So. We're back, me and my Bella-Cullen-Vampiric blog. We won't suck your blood, maybe just a little of your time.

Ok, Ricky named it Sailboat.

A long time ago, I came up with a very good idea for a movie.  Picture this: a Big, GIANT 747, or whatever a really big airplane is (I'll get my  brother to help with that part), stuck on the tarmac due to terrorist interference—they can't land and they can't take off or they will EXPLODE! And because this is such a big airplane, there are all sorts of shenanigans going off.   A woman has a baby! An old man has a heart attack! And because I'm all about the humor in the face of tragedy, there will be a botched engagement proposal! And, of course, I'm going to call it Terminal Velocity.  In fact, dear bleaders, I may have even blogged about this before.

Now, I know what you're thinking, and I hear you. 

"But isn't there already a movie with that name?"

Well yes, but that movie didn't have the punny nature of taking place AT A TERMINAL.

"But isn't there already a movie with that plot?"

IT WAS ON A BUS, PEOPLE! Do you feel the same on a bus as on a plane? I THOUGHT NOT! It is not the same at all! Buses are stupid and planes are glamorous and that is why Terminal Velocity wins!

Well, I tried to tell this to some of my friends in the industry (they are writers assistants on tv sitcoms, which is so far from an actual connection I may as well be telling a bus driver, not that I ride the bus or anything.  Like Stephen Colbert says, "I stand with Martin Luther King by refusing the ride the bus EVERY DAY."), and they thought it was a pretty stupid idea for a movie, no matter how many times I pointed out the really good pun.

So, like the dreams of generations of Women before me, I have shelved Terminal Velocity (for now) and am moving on to bigger and better things.

Which leads me to announce! (pretty anticlimactically, way down in the middle of the post)

I AM OPENING A RESTAURANT!

Ok, that might be a little optimistic, but I DO have a really great IDEA for opening a restaurant.  Are you ready? BRUNCH TAPAS!

Don't you hate when you pop on over to your favorite brunch spot (Orange, Clarkes, Toast, Wishbone, Nookies, what have you, etc, etc, goodnight.) and are faced with that eternal dilemma: Savory or Sweet?? I don't want an ENTIRE plate of giant bigger than your head blueberry pancakes, or a 23495 egg omelet, or a vat of oatmeal or a tureen of fruit salad with yogurt and granola, all at $12 a pop!  No, what I want is 1 egg benedict and 3 silver-dollar blueberry pancakes and a teacup of oatmeal and a single fruit kabab!

I WANT BRUNCH TAPAS!

And so, I'm going to open a brunch tapas restaurant. It's going to be so delicious and wonderful that it will SUCCEED even in this volatile economy. But, friends, what do I call it? Ideally, Sarah Beth's, but THAT HAS BEEN TAKEN!  Then I suggested Blueberry, but ricky said he wouldn't eat there. He suggested Somplace, or Somewhere, which seemed a little vague but is par for the course from him, considering the names he has come up with for my various romantic dalliances (someone, everyone, one, and that one. And maybe there was a which one.)

Do you have any suggestions? I will give you credit on the menu, and maybe even name a tapas in your honor. Thanks, friends!

Under my Dorito Tree

As you may have gleaned from my previous post, I have recently started working in Skokie and now spend a serious portion of my week—10 HOURS—driving to and from work. Because I am forced to, you know, look at the road, and not at a book or the New Yorker (as was my wont when I took the train every day), I have found that my daily choice of music is a lot more important than it was in my former, environmentally friendly life.  Today, for instance, I found Bohemian Rhapsody on the oldies station, and spent a happy 7 minutes pretending I was in Wayne's World.

 

But because the radio is 98.9 percent of the time terrible and not worth the bother, I tend to put a lot of trust into my ipod and very-ancient cd collection.  For instance, I have a cd called "80s mix tape," that I bought at target for the sole reason that it has Elvis Costello's Veronica on it.  Or the classic "Fluences Fluences Fluences," which is an amalgam of the dirtiest songs you've ever heard (love in her mouth, put it in my mouth…), 80s gold (I'm coming out, I touch myself,) 60s pop (ABC, band of gold), and total randoms (the origin of love???).  But the cd I love the most most most, and it's totally terrible and I made it myself, is the collection of 15 songs I purchased on my work computer and had to burn to a cd to transfer them to my home computer.  The cd consists of:

 

10 Country songs (including Rascal Flatts's Skin, which is hands-down the saddest song on earth) (and Something like that, by Tim McGraw, which has only recently reentered my life but which so reminds me of high school that I can smell our house from Spring Break, which, frankly, didn't smell so good.  All that coconut rum.)

 

4 songs from High School Musical (the original, pre-original-zac-vocals, pre-zac-looks-enough-like-a-man-for-me-to-not-feel-dirty-to-have-the-hots-for-him.)

 

And

 

My Favorite

 

The Year 3000 by the Jonas Brothers

 

Now, before I continue with my commentary, I ask that you watch this youtube video for your edification.
 

Now, let's think about this song. First of all, you have to respect the flux capacitor name-drop in a song written by a bunch of boys born in the 90s, but maybe, right, they should have seen the movie? Because they say they drove off in a flux capacitor, but EVERYONE knows that you can't get IN a flux capacitor! You get IN a Delorean which is able to time travel BECAUSE of the flux capacitor! Get it right, boys!

 

But that error is easily overlooked in light of their ATROCIOUS math.  As you may have noticed by watching the video, the boys claim to have traveled to the year 3000, where they met "your great, great, great granddaughter." Now, I know that I don't have superior math skills, but after rough (and very generous) calculation, I determined that the great great great granddaughter of a girl who is currently a teenager would be approximately 800 YEARS OLD in the year 3000.

 

That's not like saying she's 100, or even 200 (who knows how long we'll be living in the year 3000), but 800.  Even if we assume that our life expectancy doubled since the year 1000, there is simply NO POSSIBLE WAY that we will be living to 800 in a mere 4 generations.  Im. Possible.  Maybe those Jonas Brothers should have, I don't know, gone to high school? Taken some anthropology? Biology? ARITHMETIC?

 

This bothers me every single time I listen to the song. Plus, they claim that in the year 3000, their 7^th album has gone multi-platinum and they outsold Kelley Clarkson.  Also, impossible. Also, how could that be a surprise to them? Was their 7^th album released posthumously? I mean, isn't it totally likely that a group of teenage boys who are already on at least their 2^nd or 3^rd album would live to see the release of their 7^th? Unless, somehow, it took 900-ODD YEARS for it to sell a million copies?

 

Do you think they'll still have mp3s in the year 3000?  Because, additionally, according to the Jonas Brothers, we'll all be living underwater, and WHO KNOWS if music will even still exist (I mean, other than their 7^th album).

oh skokie.

As some of you may know, my office recently relocated to Skokie, Illinois, and I have been having some trouble adjusting to the change.  First of all, the old office was in my college town of Evanston, which I just love love love.  Second, Skokie sucks. Third, I have to drive there everyday, killing the planet a bit more with every commute. The gods are displeased, I can tell, as they MADE ME GET INTO A CAR ACCIDENT LAST WEEK on my way home from work. I mean, it wasn't my fault, and it was badly raining, and the car isn't that hurt, and I'm not hurt at all in the slightest, and as a reward I did get to sit in the back of a cop car, but still. I can tell they frown on my commute.

 

Anyway, the point is, I now have to work in Skokie.*  I spend a lot of time in the car, and also I spend a lot of time complaining about my lunch options.  Lunch options are basically the same as in Evanston—potbelly, noodles, panera, jimmy johns—plus the added bonus of Corner Bakery and Portillos, but to get to ANY of these, I AM REQUIRED TO DRIVE.  So I spend a good part of the 11 am hour every day complaining about having to go get lunch (because we all know it's just about impossible for me to bring lunch, let's just face it.)

 

So anyway, today I went to Panera, which I don't even like that much, but which is next to Ulta 3 where they sell the nail polish I wanted (it's called Moscow at Midnight, which looks JUST LIKE Lincoln Park After Dark, except it's shimmery). So after I got the nail polish, I traipsed on over to the Panera to get my turkey sandwich and the boy behind the counter, who had magician hands (they were all twirly and distracting, just like a magician's.  I learned that from a book i just read about magicians. Rather than telling you the name, i'm going to tell you the twist-- THEY'RE TWINS! and also, HE ACTUALLY TRANSPORTS HIMSELF!) Anyway, that's beside the point.

 

The point is that he  was named Josh, and his name tag was in English and Hebrew.  And because he greeted me by name (which he got off my credit card, because, yes, I CHARGE A $5 SANDWICH), I then said, Why thank you, Yehoshua. Which is Hebrew for josh. And you know what he did then? He said, B'vakasha! At mevenah ivrit? Ani meveen k'tzat ivrit. And while this was an exchange ALMOST exactly from my Hebrew language learning tapes, and one I could understand anyway, as I was once fluent in Hebrew (though that seems like a lifetime ago), I totally froze! I said k'tzat! K'tzat! And then I got all embarrassed, and then he was like, b'seder,  and then said it all in English. I couldn't prove to him that I knew what he was saying! I mean, I was able to read Joshua in Hebrew, so at least I knew a little, but it never feels good to be one-upped by the guy working in panera.  Especially when he has magician hands… and lives in Skokie.


* Randomly related story-- when I was in college, Janaene Garofolo came to speak on campus, and she revealed that she used "Skokie, Illinois," in the same manner that the rest of us use the phrase Bumblefuck. you know, for WHERE THE HELL IS THIS PLACE AND WHAT IS THE POINT OF ITS EXISTENCE?!??!

In Which I Eat a Hotdog!

The other day, I was at a BBQ  (ok, obviously that day was the fourth of july, but whatever), and it was very late at night and I had had a lot of beer and not a lot of food, so I was poking around the fridge (I like to make myself right at home wherever I go) and found, to my great delight, yellow mustard and American cheese, which I obviously turned into a sandwich using a hamburger bun.  It was possibly the most delicious cheese sandwich I've ever eaten.

 

Now, this may not seem like a big deal, but during the winter I made a truly terrible decision and read the Omnivore's Dilemma and you know, that other one, about how to eat—both by Michael Pollan. Now, these are EXCELLENT books, they really are. They make you think about what you're eating and why and where it comes from and it really makes you much more conscious about everything you eat.  But for a while, and I'm going to be honest here, if you read these books, you're going to become convinced that pretty much the only thing that is ethically and organically safe for you to eat is locally grown wild mushrooms.  But that's beside the point.  My phase of eating mushroom-and-local-lettuce salad only lasted about a week, don't worry.

 

The point is that after reading these books, you stop eating things like Jell-O and triscuits and special k and fish sticks and processed cheese and really, processed anything.  And you start eating thigns that are much fresher and more delicious (and more expensive) and you feel good about yourself as a person—all that crunchy kashi and crunchy locally made whole grain bread and all that in-season-only fruit meaning that you can't really eat fruit in march at all, because what's in season in march? And I guess it's healthy but it's freakin' expensive and kinda depressing and definitely not all that colorful.

 

But then! I HAD A CHEESE SANDWICH! And I haven't been a perfect eater since the Michael Pollan books, not really—I still eat regular condiments, and if I'm at a party I'll eat Doritos, and I love Coke, but you know, when I shop for myself, it's all pretty healthy.  I DEFINITELY cut out American cheese.  But you know what? I DON'T KNOW WHY! That sandwich was DELICIOUS!

 

And since then, I'm ALL ABOUT the processed food (I also had a hotdog earlier at the bbq, but that doesn't count, because I HAD to eat and I thought it would be a fun adventure—it had been years since my last hotdog!).  I made BROWNIES FROM A BOX and I bought jarred salsa and then, you know what I did on Monday after some prompting from Sailboat?

 

I went to the Ghetto Grocery on my corner and I bought a BOX OF KRAFT MAC & CHEESE.  And it was so delcious. (but then I tried to eat the whole box, and after one regular sized bowl I was kaput and had to put the rest in the fridge. But it was still SO GOOD. Just as good as I remembered from childhood, which is probably the last time I ate it.)

 

And you know what I'm going to do tonight? I'm going to have a sundae from the dairy queen. FOR DINNER.

Here are a few things i'd like to recommend

1. Half and half in your iced coffee.  I am usually a skim or soy kind of girl, but when you are drunk and there is only half and half, you'll take it. And then the next day at Einstein Bagels, you'll wonder if it only tasted so good because you were drunk, so you'll try it again.  And you know what? IT TASTES EVEN BETTER. 
2. Hold On, Hold On by Neko Case.  This is a good one to listen to when you're feeling like a 20-something girl.  Which I am. So I listen often.
3. Having enough boxes when you pack up your house.  Self Explanatory.
4. Not eating Pancakes.  If you ever go out to breakfast with me, I will want pancakes.  DO NOT LET ME ORDER PANCAKES.  I hate pancakes, I hate them. I never want to eat them.  Tell me if I want syrup that I like French Toast.  You might like pancakes, but I'll bet you like French toast better.
5. St. Elsewhere.  Even though I know the big twist at the end, it doesn't seem to diminish my enjoyment.  Unlike knowing that Bruce Willis is dead.  That totally changes the way you watch that movie, AND I WILL NEVER KNOW HOW IT WAS MEANT TO BE SEEN.
6. Dogs.  Especially my dad's dogs Cobalt and Gracie, but also any other kind of dog that vaguely resembles them (labs, retrievers, nothing yappy, etc.)
7. Not watching Jurassic Park.  I was watching it last night on TV for the first time ever, and shoot, that's a scary movie! Those Dinosaurs are vicious! I'm not trying to be funny here, either. I've really never seen it, other than the first 30 minutes that my parents made me watch IN THE THEATER when I was TEN YEARS OLD.  I was, OBVIOUSLY, too scared, and my mom waited in the lobby with my while my dad stayed with my brother. 

I held a gun today.

I held a gun, and I aimed it at the back of my senior year apartment building. I stood there, packing heat, looking serious.  Then I realized my hand was trembling, and just now I thought I should let you know there were no bullets.  But! It is the same kind of cool steel gun that James Bond uses.  And I'm wearing all black today. And I looked awesome.

 

I should just have you know that I am seriously anti-gun, as is my boss, and we really did NOT like the gun in the office and got all freaked out and did little girl squeals about it.  My boss's rationalization for holding the gun? "Well, if those desperate housewives can shoot guns…"

 

Oh I should also let you know that the gun belongs to our security director, a lovely woman who is even teenier in stature than I, and who packs. Heat.  She got shot TWICE, and will show you the scars if you ask. 

 

I should ALSO let you know that my 13 year old sister is a junior member of the NRA.

 

Oh, there is another, also true version of the story, in which i was attacked on my way to Whole Foods, and using some slick tae-bo moves, I managed to wrangle the gun from my attacker and shoot off the tip of his nose with perfect aim, leaving him terribly maimed but still alive.  Because I am, after all, anti-gun.

 

On a totally unrelated thought, this is my favorite text conversation of my life:

 

Me, 4:56 pm: [REDACTED], also, v drunk

Katie, 5:27 pm:  Oh my, are you winning?

Me, 6:34 pm: haha so not winning. Btw do you know what a lemon party is?

Katie, 6:41 pm: no, what is it

Me, 7:13 pm: look it up, I had to

Katie,  10:21 pm: Are you still alive?

Katie, 10:36 pm: Dead you are dead!!

Katie, 10:36 pm: Don't worry I will take care of your fish.

Me, 11:03 pm: alive, drunk, [REDACTED]

 

Actually, upon further reflection, this is not the greatest text conversation ever, but it's pretty awesome for several reasons:

1. please note the symmetry of my first and last texts. The redacted text was almost the same, as well.
2. I got to redact information.  I mean, I guess I could include the redacted information, but then I wouldn't have a secret, would I?
3. If I had to go around an ENTIRE PARTY asking what a lemon party is, you can at least experience the WONDER and GLORY of googling it for yourself.
4. Katie is such a good friend. I go to an event where I am away from my phone for 15 minutes and she determines I am dead. I mean, she's really looking out for me there.  At least my fish will be taken care of.  He's anorexic, you know.

 

Actually, last night we decided my fish is not anorexic, merely going on a hunger strike, like ghandi, to protest world hunger and global warming, and possibly oil consumption.  He's a whole new kind of betta fish.  Last night I said he was a Buddha fish, but in the light of today, that seems a little punny for my tastes.  (like that time someone said I should call my old fish Annette, "Annette Finnicello" instead of Funicello. Luckily, Frankie Avalon is not so easily fish-punnable.)

 

 

Point of Clarification:  I know I made that whole big deal about writing about the marathon training and how that's all I was going to do blah blah blah, but then not five minutes (and three weeks into training) later, I hurt myself and was put on rest for 2 weeks.  And then I was told I could not run my 10 mile race, and then I cried for two days, and then I thought, welp, I'm moving in a week anyway so I should probably pack instead of run.  And so you know what I did? I watched Dirty Dancing five times and a Jon & Kate plus 8 Marathon instead of packing.  And now I'm moving in two days, so instead of crying over my non-race I'm crying over how much I have left to do.  So clearly it was time to update.

Ask me about my new motto--

Dear Friends,

I hope you don’t mind if the focus of my little blog here changes for the next… 154 days, give or take. See, in … 154 days, which seems like a lot when you think that a school year is just 180 but not a lot when you remember that doesn’t include vacations and weekends, I will be running the Chicago Marathon. Yes, it’s true, all 26.2 miles. For those of you who might not know how far that is, 26 miles is the distance from:

 

• My mother’s house to the Atlanta Airport
• My father’s house to Stone Mountain
• My house to the northern edge of Highland Park
• Katie’s house to Lombard. Fyi, it takes 45 minutes to drive from Katie’s house to Lombard. 
• Marathon to Athens
• I bet you can think of some more, feel free to leave them in the comments.

 

FAR! SO FAR! Sometimes I think about 26 miles and realize how far it is and hten I have to STOP THINKING ABOUT 26 MILES. So instead I think about something more relaxing, like my love life or global warming, or the Armageddon that is clearly happening over in Asia these days.  Sometimes, now, my dad calls and says, 26 miles! And that’s it. That’s all he has to say, because that is 4.5 hours of running. Without stopping. From my house, to highland park. Shoot. Must. Think. About. Something. Calming..

 

(deep breath, practice breathing, better).

 

Ok, back. Anyway, I’ve always wanted to run a marathon and every year I say I will and then every year I don’t, because I didn’t really want to before, but now, I really do. So I went right over to the friendly Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and said, Hello Sir, I’d like to sign up to run with your Team in Training! And they said, “Sure! Just raise $1400 and we’ll call it a deal!” So… in exchange for my (and your!) $1400, I get to be trained and make new friends and run a marathon AND raise lots of money for a really really excellent cause, which is curing blood cancers.

 

But now I’m running a lot more than I was, with more focus and less walking, and my hips hurt. There, I complained. That will be all of my complaining for now.  

 

Anyway, the point of this post is a warning that I’m going to be probably focusing more on my marathon for the next few months, so that I can remember what it was like, and since I imagine I’m going to be freaking out all the time and doing ridiculous things like running in the rain at 7 am on Saturday mornings (oh yeah, that’s right, team trainings are every Saturday at 7 IN THE MORNING.)

 

Also, feel free to support me!

 

http://pages.teamintraining.org/il/chicago08/swarshauer

 

I’ll put this link on the side bar too, but here it is if you want to help my fundraising efforts and then you can come cheer me on! Esp if you live on the southside!

 

That is all.

 

Thanks, friends-a-roonies.

one more

this isn't the most adult poem you'll ever read, but i don't think that matters so much, especially when i'm missing the sailboat so much right now.

It’s a wonderful world but they made a few mistakes.
Like leaving out Unicorns and putting in snakes.
Like no wishing wells, no magic carpets, no genies.
Like good guys getting picked on by the meanies.
Like arithmetic, especially multiplication.
Like expecting a person to stay at home for a whole week with a sitter while that person’s mother and father take a vacation
Like needing to finish green beans to get dessert.
Like everyone caring way too much about dirt.

Like letting there be a cavity in a tooth.
Like calling it a lie when all that this person has done is not mention part of the truth.
Like raining on soccer games, and liver for supper.
Like bunk beds where the younger person always gets stuck with the lower and the older person always gets the upper.

Like leaving out mermaids, and putting in splinters and bee stings and wars and tornadoes a stomach aches.
It’s a wonderful world but they made a few mistakes.

-Judith Viorst