Dandelion Wine

i remember

as a child

plucking dandelion heads

(an untimely demise)

and making wishes while further destroying their fragile remains

with my hot breath.

Even then, it wasn't the end.

Seeds found their way 

to the wind.

Wind found its way

to the ground,

taking hold,

growing again,

like you're meant to.

FanFic the News

I was chatting with a colleague about how silly it is to use creative writing techniques in journalism and I decided to try it out as a little bit of parody. So here it is, a news FanFiction based on Michael D. Shear's NYTimes article today: "Trump Says Transition's Going 'Smoothly,' Despite Disarray Reports." 

Disarray?! He thought. Disarray. Birds chirped merrily outside the 5th Avenue apartment, but he couldn’t get the critique out of his head. The transition is  the most arrayed transition in history. Everyone is saying it. How could they possibly say this tremendous transition is in disarray? His tiny hands raced across the screen, 

“It is going so smoothly”

Donald J. Trump took a long sip of his coffee and thought about how presidential his tweets were getting. 

Days earlier, the golden-haired big wig had watched the map fill with red as his heart filled with pride; America took its first steps toward greatness, a renaissance of glory. But as the news rolled in, so did the tide of presumption and horse-trades. Reporters began to insist Rudolph Giuliani was up for Crooked Hilary’s job and although he had made his career in hiring and firing, Donald J. Trump could feel a great, green lump growing at the bottom of his stomach and he dreaded telling Sean Hannity the bad news. 

“Hey Sean, I know it’s been awhile,” he would clutch the receiver. “Look, about the Secretary position…” Leave time here for dramatic effect, rolling back onto his heels. “No, no, it’s not you, it’s me.” He chuckled at this last part. It totally was Sean. 

Still chuckling to himself, Donald J. Trump sat down in his gold chair, scooted up to his gold desk, picked up his gold sharpie and drew a single, straight, gold line. 

Sean Hannity

Rudolph Giuliani (aka Rudy)

Laura Ingraham (aka Laurie)

Nikki R. Haley (aka Nikki)

Now to deal with the others. He had just begun pinning three pictures in a buckshot pattern on his golden dartboard when “Hail to the Chief” played by a thousand sad Mexicans came blasting through his pocket.

“Vlad! You’re going to be so proud. We won so big, yuuuge…”

His phone buzzed through the thick, masculine accent. He could almost hear the Russian bear being attacked on horseback.

“You are so right. I have a very good brain, everyone says so.”

His phone buzzed again. 

“Look, Vlad, I’ll have to call you back… No, you hang up! No, you!…" The air was thick with suspense "Well, you didn’t hang up either!”

By the time he had hung up he had over twenty texts from foreign leaders around the world wishing him congratulations. Big League. Crooked Hilary didn’t have any friends like he did. The New York Times never saw it coming. This called for a tweet:

“So many calls from many foreign leaders despite what the @nytimes said”

He deleted the neener-neener emoji, the one with the tongue sticking out before hitting “Tweet.” So presidential. Today was going to be a tremendous day. He picked up a gold dart.

Sweet and Sour

Introduction:

I know I haven't told many of you my adventures on the East Coast, but for anyone who has heard anything, you probably know that I LOVE IT out here. This place has everything I've ever wanted! 

There are several wonderful places within a close distance that make it optimal. To list a few: The Library of Congress, The Shakespeare Library, The most amazing little bookstores you've ever seen, and the friggin' Declaration of Independence (a lot about books, wow). ALSO, cherry blossoms, a decent public transportation system that doesn't shut down at like 11:00 on a weekend (I'm looking at you, TRAX), and my favorite thing of all: people from all walks of life. 

Just geographically, about everyone I meet is from a different city or state or country and they're all here because they want the world to be better. AND people almost always look you in the eye and say "good morning" wherever you are. Best. Place. Ever. 

Now, you're probably wondering why I've gathered you all here together today from various parts of the interwebs. The answer is not to rub my awesome life adventures in your face (as if I could compare with all the amazing things you do, I'm serious!), but rather to admit something...

I do miss it. 

I miss Utah and the West Coast. I never thought I would say this, but I miss my mountain-clad, hymn-singing, home of cricket-eating seagulls. At least a little. It doesn't taint my wonderful city-life here, but it opens my heart a little the place and people I left back out there. So much love for everyone!!!

Maybe I've been teaching English too long (haha. 5 months.) but imma boutta blow your mind with my off-the-cuff Shakespeare:

"My only love sprung from my only hate."

BOOM.

Yes, it's true. My realization of love for the Beehive State comes from a place of hate. And here is that woeful tale.

The Woeful Tale:

It all began on a night just like tonight. I was in desparate need of food and the only thing I'd thought to buy last time I went grocery shopping was cilantro (how does this happen like every week???). I had no food. 

In order to stave off the pangs and throes of a quiet death from starvation (and because I'm so lazy I can't even make a grocery list), I found myself turning into the parking lot of a nearby grocery store (at this time, I had no car, so it took a while and my expectations were getting higher with each *click-click* of the stupid fancy shoes I wore to work, so by the time I got there I was craving something extravagent. Like maybe with fruit even, Idk).

I sidled up to a rickety cart and began my quest, pulling slightly to the left and requiring all the strength of one arm in particular just to move forward, and that's when I saw it. The oil. Olive oil. It could have been a sign from heaven, the way the bottle glistened in the light of flickering fluorescent glare, or it could have been my ADHD, but it was beautiful. 

I thought to myself "Self, This. This is what you've been waiting for that whole walk accross the parking lot. And it will be the center of all future purchases." It wasn't. I made many more shopping mistakes that day. I blame it on the tragedy to come.

My natural next thought was "Self, you must now purchase something to dip into the glory pressed from olives and angel wings." And then I had it.

Sourdough bread.

I was a genius. My whole life, I'd grown up with sourdough sandwiches, sourdough toast, and the best thing ever was sourdough with olive oil and balsamic vinegar and I LOVE a good sourdough. 

Filled with hope and anticipation, I scooted, pulled, and yoinked my steel steed to the baker's section and searched in a frantic joy. To no avail. French, french, Naan, challah. No sourdough. In haste, I abandoned my cart. I ran to the sandwich aisle, fearing the worst. *click-click* *click-click* -sliiiide-

I searched through every loaf. I looked up and down and side to side in such a tizzy, the man in the red Safeway vest who had been stocking behind me, decided I was a distraction and swiftly turned around, looked me up and down, and said with a sigh, "Can I help you? Ma'am?"

My words breathless in reply: "Sourdough? Any... have.. any... Sourdough?"

"Right here, Ma'am."

I watched as his finger pointed to something. Something odd. I had never seen anything like it. I reached out to touch it and thought it would reach back, but alas, as I touched the thing, it recoiled. What ho? Soft! I grabbed the whole "loaf" in confusion. Accross the bag printed the words "Peppridge Farm Sourdough" and encased in it's crystal prison was something akin to potato bread. Long, white, and looking just like wonderbread. My body rigid and my hands shaking, it fell to the floor. 

"Is that what you're looking for?" A voice prodded from behind. "Ma'am?"

I turned and stared at this man who must be mad. Eyes wide and heart pumping, I backed away, turned around and bolted. (Okay, I didn't actually do that. I said thanks, put it in my cart and left it somewhere for an employee to find like a decent human being. But, still.)

I left the store that day in the glistening sunlight with new, sad eyes. I looked around at the people going about their daily lives and the masquerade of beauty in this town shattered as I saw them all for what they are: an entire race of people unenlightened. Ignorant of the truth. A facet of life missing. They have everything they think they need and no sourdough bread.

Every few months, I see less frightening loaves of sourdough in the store and I buy them. Some bakery sections have them, Trader Joe's sells something like it. But it's not the same. All soft on the outside and tough on the inside. I sometimes think languishingly "Doesn't anyone here understand?" And let it pass because the truth is they don't. 

And so, I pass on my woeful tale to those of you still in the promised land. Don't let a day pass you by without knowing what you have. Never think for a second that you don't hold the treasure in your hands. And never, I mean NEVER buy the sourdough bread on the East Coast it's seriously awful.

Atonement: A Poem

art is not

 a window

art is not

 a reflection

art 

 

 is 

  not {something so}

   tame. 

words for art: 

labor

pain

bloodbath 

Torture 

teenage torture 

screams, 

cries, 

vows, 

and then (finally)

grows up

but Torture 

spins itself around your heart and tugs

HARDER

drags down to the depths 

of humanity

watches 

a head held just below the surface by 

trusted things 

Torture is not death, but 

too close dreams of too far death

Torture 

turns once happy people artists 

or mad 

but mostly 

both

Yes, but

it is only in desparate spasms of labor that anything new is born

it is only one who has dreamt to die knows what it truly is to truly live

Parenting Done Right. . . and Me

What follows is a list of three case studies in my own family, all taking place yesterday and leading me to believe that I am in a family of wonderful parents, but if nothing changes, it may be good for me, personally, to remain a virgin.

Case Study #1

Transcript from a Phone Call with Mom:

"Follow your dreams, I mean directions. Do you need to get off the phone with me in order to do that?"

In a short interview with the alleged mother, I was informed that it supposedly felt more natural to finish "follow your..." with "dreams" than with almost anything else. Parenting FTW.

Case Study #2

A Convo with Aunt Vicki:

Aunt Vicki heard a loud knock on her door yesterday and after about 15 seconds, she came back walking with a small thing about two feet tall, who wore an argyle vest, small-child Einstein hair, and a scared deer look. The child looked nervous enough to forgo growing up in order to once again use his not-so-big-boy panties. 

Vicki looked the thing straight in the eyes, greeted him like a little adult, and introduced him to our rather intimidatingly large family.

"This is Dean's best friend..." she said, and proceeded to have a nice conversation with the strange little man. 

He calmed down and no panties were soiled... yet.

Case Study #3

Me:

To little deer-Einstein: "Do you want a cookie from a stranger?"

Choose Your Own Adventure: Losers' Edition

Circle the Correct Answer:

Wife: 

Why do you cheer for that (team, guy, side)? You know (they are, he is, it is) going to lose.

Husband: 
You don't know that. (the Chicago Cubs,  Bill Murray, Satan) could win this.

Wife:
Yeah, one round. But you know they won't make it to (first base, first base, heaven). I mean, I can basically guarantee (their, his, its) fans are going to be either really bored or really depressed way before the (playoffs, end of the first half hour, Armageddon). They'll be leaving the (bleachers, theater, world) halfway through.

Husband: 
Well, it's more than just winning and losing. It has a lot to do with sticking to your guns, being committed. It's about loyalty.

Wife:
Or pride.

Husband:
Okay, okay, miss mainstream. Did it ever occur to you that it could be about principles? Shhh! Wait for it, wait for it..... Oh! (They, He, They) almost had that in the bag!

Wife:
I wish you'd just put less effort into a losing cause, it always puts you in a funk afterwards.

Husband:
Aaaaand.... Denial! Honey, did you see that?

Wife:
And during. I mean really. Do you even remember that there's anything else going on? Like that (bake sale, bra burning, bake sale)? It's tonight you know.

Husband:


Wife:
Perfect. I'm glad we had this conversation.

The Best Reason to Not Marry

Just today I was introduced to a book featuring a main character who was also (dun dun DUN) an imaginary friend. While I've never had my own imaginary friend, I was reminded of my last encounter with an imaginary friend.

A few Christmases ago, my boyfriend and I visited some of his close family friends and I should have known from this experience alone it would never work out. 

It all seemed so normal and pleasant. It was dark outside and the woods outside Seattle were thick and quiet. There was a wet, musty kind of smell spilling off the trees and onto us as we walked towards the over-sized, log-like home hand in hand. We were dreaming about families and the social calls we made were almost like a sort of integration ceremony. This one was special. This family had known Tyler almost his whole life and I just knew they would be wonderful. Then...

A red flag.

A red flag that I didn't notice, but wish I'd picked up on sooner.

As we walked into the house, there was a wonderful smell of something cooking, family and friends everywhere snacking and talking and laughing, and a cute little girl with blonde pigtails and a pink dress who seemed to be playing contentedly alone. Sort of intimidated by the family and intrigued by the girl, I walked over and started to play with her. But something was wrong.

"No, Caroline. Go in there!" The little girl picked up her doll and threw it forcibly into a clear plastic box. "You're stuck in there. Without air. Forever." Her curly pigtails bounced and she looked at me with a smile.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Amy." She turned away with her lip curled up just a bit, grabbed the box again very gently, and then, with the strength of a Norse god, started shaking it.

I turned to my boyfriend to see if he thought it was as weird as I did, but he just laughed. "Isn't she cute?"

Cute.

When I turned back to Amy, she'd since thrown the doll and its plastic prison on the ground letting Caroline tumble out into oblivion and moved on with her life. Amy had started playing with her imaginary friends. There were two. Carlos and ... Caroline.

"Someday Caroline and I will get married and Carlos will be sad." Her slightly homophobic parents just laughed and said she didn't understand marriage. I can't help but wonder if she knew more about it than they gave her credit for. When I turned back, Amy had a surprised look on her face, her lips making a perfect "O."

"Uh-oh!" She said shrugging her shoulders like a perfect OshKosh commercial. "Carlos is dead." :)

As Amy skipped away, her parents tried to explain to me how that was normal and that Carlos had already died 5 times that day, but don't worry, he always comes back.

I left that night in a daze, holding Tyler for support. He thought she was cute. We did not get married.

P.S. On the subject of red flags...