Mini -Post Monday

Of course my first Mini-post Monday is a dull one, some highlights though

  • Boyfriend and I found out we get to take the Chipmonkey trick-or-treating this year, because it falls on a Friday!! ASK ME HOW EXCITED I AM! SO FUCKING EXCITED OKAY! 
  • I invited Chipmonkey’s mama, her boyfriend and his spawns to come with us, and would genuinely enjoy it if they came. This is sort of a ‘piss-off’ to my periodic insecurities, as she’s one of the few women I would really like to get to know better. Boo-yah for feeling like a grown up now and again!
  • 100$ cheques out of the blue? Well thank you ServiceCanada! Might there be disposable income after the rent gets paid?! Stay tuned to find out…
  • No. No there was not.
  • I’m currently eating Smartie ice cream from the tub with a plastic kids spoon, regretting my false rejoice at being a grown-up.

This post (and all future Mini-post Monday’s) were inspired by Tempest Rose, who’s entire blog you should probably go ahead and check out, right now. Why are you even still reading this.. Not convinced? Then enjoy this delicious little excerpt from her About;
“What began as a personal journey of fuckism has translated into images of bacon and the third toe on the right that resonate with LGBT people to question their own plaidness.”

If you haven’t already opened up her page then there is no hope left for you, and I apologize for your lack of sense and humor.


Complicated Coast Proof Jagged Weed

My words this week are : Complicated Coast Proof Jagged Weed


Frigid air filled her nose, carrying with it the dew and cleanliness of morning. In the distance the birds and chipmunks carried on their relentless war over the feeder. The suns first, weak attempts decorating the sky a multitude of colors.

She was finally starting to feel a buzz, but guessed you couldn’t really complain about the quality of free weedLetting her cardigan fall slack on her shoulders, she lazily leaned back on the garage. The dope making her head the disconnected static she craved more and more as of late.

Releasing O’s of smoke into the air she sighed.

Since moving to the East Coast this was how she’d spent the beginning of every day, getting stoned,  staring into space while coating her lungs with as much nicotine as she could before the kids got up and started their demands. Not that she didn’t love them or appreciate being the one they entrusted to fulfill their needs, they were everything, the only thing.  Since Rick left it was all she could do to get out of bed every morning… okay, most mornings. The babies were always mimicking the question that rang endlessly inside her her skull; Where’s daddy? Where’d he go? When’s he coming back? Where the fuck is he?
He didn’t leave a single damned thing behind.
The only proof she’d never slept alone was the ache in her chest.

They had been happy once upon a time, before the complicated components came into play; the pregnant test, the lying, the cheating, the 2nd pregnancy test, the wedding, the drinking, the fighting, the 3rd pregnancy test, the fighting, the miscarriage.. they had been happy right? She could still see them dancing through the streets, heads back, howling in the moonlight. When did he stop trying to make her laugh? When did he become so jagged? 

Her eyes began to burn with the effort of staying dry while she lit up another joint and inhaled deeply.






While some may not consider this something to ‘lol’ over, it’s a beautifully written piece with an ironic sort of ending. Also, there’s nowhere better to categorize this, without committing to a poetry page!


Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acid stains you;
Drugs cause cramps;
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

By Dorothy Parker

A poem from her collective book, Enough Rope. I highly recommend giving some more of her work a read, it’s well worth it.

If you whine like dog you just sound like a bitch

I am hitting the end of my rope at a rapidly increasing rate, the burn in my hands and my skin becoming unbearable.
There’s no reprieve. 
You whine like a broken toy, inching me towards insanity, an edge I’m ready to jump from.
Give me back my home.
I’ve met your pre-successors and you’re interchangeable. Sorry I’m not sorry.

End of rant.