Barnmouse Blitherings

On My Office Door
January 12, 2007, 6:15 pm
Filed under: novel schmovel (kids these days can't read anyway)

Oh Holy Crap…

Just to show y’all that I’m serious about posting more than twice a month….ha ha….here’s a little Christmas ditty I wrote about the kitties….

Un-Holy Night
(to the tune of “O Holy Night”)

Unholy night
The cats are barfin’ up stuff
That isn’t food
Or even recognizable

All on the floor
Are little paw prints of dirt
Wait, that’s not dirt
Oh gross, now someone’s getting hurt

Now late at night
Winston finds a piece of plastic
Still not full,
He eats four of my elastics

Now, in the dark
At two AM
I step on something

Oh my, it’s wet
And soaking through my sock
Please someone kill me

Oh kitties, of mine
Oh night
Unholy night.


I also wrote one about the dog, am working on one about the hubby, and also wrote one about me after I dyed my hair and it came out red. Yeah, that was nice.

*insert interesting title here*
September 13, 2006, 3:12 pm
Filed under: novel schmovel (kids these days can't read anyway)

writer [rahy-ter]

1. A person engaged in writing books, articles, stories, etc., esp. as an occupation or profession. an author or journalist.

block [blok]

1. an obstacle, absturction, or hinderance
2. the state or condition of being obstructed; blockage

writer’s block [rahy-ters blok]

1. a usually temporary condition in which a writer finds it impossible to proceed with the writing of a novel, play, or other work.

Nuff said.

Poetry as Therapy?
August 29, 2006, 7:34 pm
Filed under: novel schmovel (kids these days can't read anyway)

Prologue – I love vanilla. The smell. The taste. I even love the way it looks when you mix the teeny little vanilla bean seeds into things! So of course, I have some vanilla perfume. I love it. I used to wear it a lot. I am now afraid to wear it in public. Thanks to a guy who works at our local post office.

I dab just a tad of the perfume on (don’t want to be that girl who wears too much perfume) and head off to run errands, including mailing a package at the PO. After standing in line I walk up to the station of the postal worker who says “Next!”. At this point I’m thinking that at least I don’t have to deal with the other person who works there. (A woman with a serious attitude problem.) As soon as I get up to the counter and hand over the package to “the guy” he takes this deep breath and says “Mmmmm….something smells like ice cream!”. I politely explain that it’s my perfume. What would you expect someone to do then? Stop sniffing and moaning at me! At least that’s what I expected.

Well I was wrrroooooooong!!!

I had to stand there, while the line of people behind me grew, and I could feel everyone staring at the back of my head and probably thinking to themselves about how my jeans don’t fit me right or something (or maybe it was all in my head). The GUY keeps moaning….louder and louder about how good the perfume smells. At this point it’s making me incredibly uncomfortable and I kind of want to run out of there screaming saying “never mind about the package, I’ll just drive it to Washington!”

So. I had gotten a touch of road rage earlier and decided to take all the frustration and write some funny little poems about how the people were ticking me off and it seemed to work, so I thought I’d give it a try with this PO Guy! My friend…we’ll call her Looney Bin (since that’s where we’re probably going to both end up!) thought that my poems were HILARIOUS and told me that I should share them with you all.

This one has the least possibility of being offensive to people I don’t know, so I thought I’d start with that one.

It is entitled “The Sniffer”

What the hell are you doing?
Get away from me!
Stop sniffing me right now!
How dense can you be?

You’re totally in my space bubble.
I just want to run away!
I’ll leave my boxes here,
And come back another day.

Why the hell are you moaning?
I think I’m gonna HURL!
Do you really want these people to see
You get your ass kicked by a girl?

If you don’t go away right now,
You’re definitely going to regret.
One day you’ll read a poem
About yourself on the Internet!

Well there you have it. It’s the shortest of the three I have and probably the worst. But it definitley paints a picture! And I did feel much better when I could laugh about it instead of getting increasingly creeped out!