52 and Broken

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She was 52 and broken.
The prospect of children
Now out of the realm of possibility.
Her life had been an unfortunate series
Of bad relationships,
Poor decisions,
Emotional windfalls.
She threw herself into her work.
What else did she have?
She was a successful investment banker
Making a killing on Bay Street.
Most men feared her.
Some wanted to fuck her.
Others just felt sorry for her.
It was obvious,
That her life didn’t pan out
Quite like she had hoped
But at 52
She felt it was too late
To find a man,
To get married,
Have children…
Or
Do all of the things
That she once pictured
Herself doing.
So instead;
She found her salvation
In the comfort of a bottle
Reached for it every night,
To feel it’s embrace.
It’s warm comforting touch.
Her closest relationship,
Best friend.
The only one
Who knew all of her secrets,
Regrets,
Desires,
Broken dreams.
The bottle never let her down.
Was always there for her,
To kiss her gently on her crimson lips
Until she fell into a deep slumber
Woke up in her panty hose
Washed away the booze
And lived the same day
Again
And again
Occasionally finding a
Temporary distraction
But always
Wading her way
Back to the bottle
Avoiding
Life
And the disappointments
It had to offer.

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The Last Word

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“Why are you here?” she asked
“I had nowhere else to go”
She looked at him sideways and flicked on the kettle
“So are you gonna take off your jacket then?”
He did
She glared at him with unavailable eyes
The tension was spectacular
“I’ve been thinking about you” he said
“Uh heh…”
“Really… I’ve missed you”
“Sure you did”
“What you don’t believe me”
“Just don’t care either way”
“I know I fucked up” he said “Here let me make the tea”
He pulled two mugs from the familiar cupboards he once used to frequent
She shot dagger eyes at him
He opened the creaky pantry door to grab a couple of tea bags & dropped them into the mugs
Her eyes went wide “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Making the tea” he said
“Not like that you’re not… I don’t steep my tea in a cup”
“Sorry” he said “tastes the same to me”
“Yeah it would to an unsophisticated git like yourself”
“I shouldn’t have come”
“Probably true”
“Do you want me to leave then?”
She took over the tea operation, pushing him aside
The sun was setting, casting a warm glow into the kitchen
“You can stay for a cup of tea, say what you wanna say, then go”
They sat at the table in awkward silence
Sipping their tea
“Do you still think about me?”
“Mmmm not really” she said coldly “I don’t do that sorta thing. I’m more into progress.”
“Not at all?”
“Well. Once I did when I had sex with an uncircumcised boy.”
Silence
“Can we try again?”
A movie on fast forward played through her mind;
his earth shattering snoring
blowing his nose in the shower
clipping his toenails on the couch
leaving rotting food on the counter
toilet seat up
farting in bed
alphabet burping
boring nights of nothingness
the fights, the insults…
the cheating
and of course, the daily lies.
She paused for a moment, smiled and said “No!”
“Why? You’re so fucking bitter”
“Because you’re just not the one for me”
“Whatever you bitch”
“I was waiting for that”
“I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t know why…
I thought you’d have an ounce of sympathy in that cold fucking heart of yours.”
“Well… you ARE the one who fucked around”
“Have a nice life”
“Yep thanks.. I will.”
She slammed the door,
Lit a smoke…
And sent him one last text message
“Oh… and learn how to make a fucking cup of tea if you wanna date a Brit!”

Out with a bang

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Walter was an 85 year old perv who lived in a retirement community in Niagara on the Lake. His wife of 60 years (Pearl) passed away, giving him a new lease on life. When Pearl died, Walter took up drinking and drugs, gained an interest in prostitutes, began gambling at Casino Niagara (where he often got kicked out for pissing in the water fountain), and died his remaining hair Manic Panic Pillarbox Red.

The staff at the Casino rolled their eyes whenever Walter showed up, usually with some awful rented whore on his arm. He sold his Buick and bought a moped, so his dates didn’t always enjoy their ride… especially if Walter was naked, which sometimes he was. But they were usually high anyway. Walter also had this bad habit of taking his Viagra too early, so the staff at the casino sometimes had to kick him out for reasons other than peeing in the fountain.

One early morning Walter and Destiny (a 40 year old stripper with a nasty crack habit) emerged from the Casino whacked on the rock. Walter began having chest pains. Destiny, with a smoke dangling from her lips stopped dead in her tracks.

“Walter – baby are you okay?”

“I – I – I don’t know pudding pop… My chest… It’s tight… I… I may have had one too many blasts from the ol’ base pipe there”

“We gotta go then. We have to get you back to the motel.”

“Hold up just a minute there my beautiful bag bride, I need to catch my breath first. I have more miles on my odometer than you do, remember?”

Destiny stood there with the smoke in her mouth staring at Walter in absolute fear. She began taking drags of her cigarette without using either of her hands. “You know… Honey, if I get thrown in the slammer for posession again, I won’t be out for a while. I need you to pay me now cuz I gotta go sugar.”

Walter held up his hand “Listen now, don’t go gettin’ all greedy on me now. You know I’m good for it. The plan was that you come back to the motel with me and fuck me for the day.”

A security guard began approaching the odd pair. This must have been a trigger for Destiny who began twitching uncontrollably and talking to herself. Walter remained motionless, clutching his chest.

“Do we have a problem sir?”

“No we don’t have a fucking problem you wanna be, so take your pansy ass back over there with your little billy stick and leave us the fuck alone so we can get back to OUR MOTEL AND FUCK.”

Destiny laughed hysterically and squeezed Walters package, which was still solid.

The rent-a-cop shot them both a death stare and said “You two are a couple of nasty cracker jacks! Get out of here.”

Walter & Destiny put on their helmets and headed back to the Super 8 to get their freak on. Destiny’s ass hung out of her mini skirt, exposing her lumpy thighs and ass, much to the dismay of families and tourists. When they got back to the motel neither of them could locate the key, so the decided that breaking the glass was a better idea.

Destiny, who was missing teeth, smiled at Walter when she noticed a wad of cash on the nightstand. “I’ll take that… Then I’m all yours Honey.”

Walter threw the bills at her and said “here, take it all… I’m gonna go hook up with Pearl after this anyhow. I need some rest.”

Sweet Surrender

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She rarely made eye contact with people
Sat at the back of the bus alone.
Came from a broken family of violent alcoholics.
Was sexually abused between the ages of seven and twelve.
Quickly learned that men weren’t to be trusted.
Looking into her eyes,
You would swear you were looking at an abused dog.
The abandonment
The fear
Her missing soul
She went to work at 8 each morning.
Didn’t make many friends or talk all that much.
Got home around 6 and sat with her TV dinner
Alone
Lost in her sadness.
Wondering if this life
Would ever free her from mental prison.
Show her what love is
Tell her she’s beautiful
Cut her a fucking break.
But that night
Would be the last night she would wonder that
Because she had thrown in the towel
A smile graced her weathered face
As she swallowed her 30th pill
It won’t be long now she whispered
“I’m ready.”
But there was a knock at her door
She staggered over
Her neighbour
Wanted to wish her
A Happy Birthday
He remembered.
She cried
Told him what she had done
He carried her over his shoulder
Threw her into his truck
Off to the hospital
Her life’s movie sporadically spliced
Snippets of her misery
The passing lights above
As her dying body
Was pushed quickly down the hall
On a stretcher
Her neighbour by her side
Holding her hand
Told her she was beautiful
Said this life was worth it
“Don’t go yet”
She smiled at him
As a single tear
Fell from her cheek
As she took her last breath.

About a Word

This is a story about a word…

One day I lost it over this word.
The word was controlling my life, and causing me some strife.
I remember thinking, if I hear this word one more time so help me OPRAH I’m gonna SNAP.

I’ll tell you what the word is, if you promise not to repeat it…
That is of course unless you’re under the age of 12 and then I can’t really blame you, because that’s what you people do! It consumes every fiber of your being!
But I can get mad at you.
And… hey, if you’re under the age of 12, what the fuck are you doing reading this anyway? Shouldn’t you be at school or in bed or something. What kind of parents…

I digress. Distress…. These words make such a mess.

This particular word that I hate, could be something really great. But because I hear it so often and by two people that are only four, and they don’t use it casually or sprinkle it like pepper… they’re FUCKING hardcore. I can’t take it anymore!

The word that I am talking about is “WANT”

Now, I know you might not get it. You might think “Selina you have issues” and you’re not entirely wrong, but your missing the point of my song.

I hear this word 50, 65, 86, 100 times a day. And not by one deafening high pitched little diva of a voice, but by two… because I don’t have a daughter, I have daughters and they gang up on me, they talk continuously, and tell me things to nauseating degrees of repetition and the only time they stop to breathe is when one of them passes the baton to the other sister… while I am left spinning my head, my ears about to explode, my eyes glazed over as I hear “and I want… and I want… want want want want fucking want” until the word WANT becomes like my mortal enemy.

I hate WANT now.
WANT and me are at odds,
in fact I want to KICK WANT’S ASS!

If I was walking down the street and saw WANT, I’d probably throw my purse to the floor and kick it in the balls. Because I don’t know if you know this, but WANT has BIG BALLS. Big hairy ones.

I knew the only thing I could do to beat WANT at it’s own game was to turn my girls against WANT. Make them think WANT was a loser… like the kid in class that eats paste and always gets stuck with the brown crayon.

And so started the classical conditioning. Yes I’m a bad mother.

Day One went a little something like this:

“Mommy I want – ”
“Did you know that little girls that say WANT sometimes spontaneously explode into a flaming ring of fire. Yep, it’s true. Santa was telling me.”

(SILENCE)

Day Two
“Mommy I want – ”
“Hey – Did you know that the word WANT actually means DON’T WANT. Who knew.”

(Confused Silence)

Day Three
“Guess what I want -”
“WANT was just declared the most disgusting word of the year, did you know that? Ask your teacher, she’ll tell you.”

Day Four
A little hesitant now, but still with the whining…
“Mommy – I want -”
“NO… NO YOU DON’T”

Day Five
First comes the glare, then the tug on my shirt, then a faint whisper “Mommy, I want -”

And I can tell I am winning. WANT is getting weak. WANT is losing!! WANT is becoming my little bitch and I’m FEELING GOOD ABOUT IT.

Honey – whenever you are about to use the word WANT, stop yourself. Remember that WANT is greedy, WANT is ugly, Beautiful princesses like you don’t need to be saying things like “I WANT I WANT”

The phrase “I WANT” can be replaced with much nicer phrases like “I HOPE FOR”, “I WOULD APPRECIATE”, and “I WOULD LIKE”…

There was a long silence while my daughter studied the Littlest Pet Shop commercial for the entire 28 seconds it graced our television. She looked at me questionably while pointing to the TV and said “Mommy… I really NEED to have one of those”.

And that was the day, that I fucking missed WANT.

The Problem with Imagination


It was 3am. I was in bed alone before the episode struck. My dreams consisted mostly of fabricated conversations of non-existent relationship problems with several people in my life. I tossed and turned as sound waves and voices echoed through my mind as if passing me on a train.

I stared at the clock, 3:13. For some reason the conversations and fabricated arguments faded and I began seeing bugs and insects. Every time I closed my eyes a massive bug with huge eyes and antennas would be staring at me, almost as if it were waiting for something.

A movie reel of an earlier National Geographic film started playing sporadically and quickly through my mind with no sound. It was the same film I had watched weeks earlier about bed bugs, clearly here to haunt me.

My mind and I were at a stand off. It wanting to grab me by my hair and drag me through a series of horrific mind-fucking scenes… and me, wanting to sleep peacefully, without the impending relationship doom or delusional bed bug infestation.

I began counting. That sometimes works. I worked hard to envision the numbers and block out all other images and sounds, but those conversations were coming back faster and more garbled, and they were mixing with images of giant bugs.

I shot up from my bed and began scratching my arms my legs and shaking my head. “It’s just your mind… It’s fucking with you “ I told myself. Just to be sure, I turned on the light, stripped back the comforter and inspected the sheets.

All clear.

Dark again, I lowered myself into my bed, pulling my comforter around me like a cocoon while trying to envision myself meditating on a Cuban beach. Suddenly I began to feel the sheets move. I heard noises, like clicking noises (similar to the ones those creatures in Aliens make). My heart started pounding like a fucking jack hammer. The meditation scene faded into black and quickly filled up with thousands of scurrying noisy bugs.

I screamed and shot up and out from my bed, ripping my comforter and all of my pillows off. I even pulled off the fitted sheet exposing the bare mattress. I spent a good hour inspecting every square inch of the mattress looking for signs of an insectopia.

Never found it.

A.J. who must have fallen asleep in front of the PS3 came running up and said “What the fuck are you doing?” noticing that I had torn apart our bedroom. I had a bit of twitch at this point and was still scratching frantically.

“Bed bugs” I muttered “bed bugs”.

He laughed at me nervously and said “I don’t think so, our sheets are pretty clean. Do you want me to look?”

I shook my head and slowly backed out of the room leaving it in a disgrace. A.J. just stared at me with sleepy eyes astonished by the power of my delusions.

I slept on the couch for two weeks.