Photobucket Lunch for my son. Perfection. Even my nails are clean.

Happy Valentines Day

valentines dayFrom my son. I also took him to Mexico, Miami, the beach, the movies, the Children’s Museum, Central Park, but the card’s small so it’s ok. I did correct his tenses though; can’t start too early.  Some people are very caught up in making sure their child is the smartest one on the block. I saw a book the other day that read…”Einstein Didn’t Use Flash Cards.” Which is surprising to me because he’s so damn smart. Nonetheless, there is one less, lame-ass thing, I can pass on to my son.  I remember visiting my father in some remote town in South Florida. I was so young I barely remember if he was living in this place or just staying there for the weekend but I was with my older brother and good ol’ dad forced me to go over and over, all these words for a spelling bee. Nine or so stapled pieces of paper. A hundred words on every page. This was how I spent my Saturday or Sunday or whatever day my Dad was allotted to see us. What a waste of time. I would have learned a lot more watching him smoke cigarettes. Which I also did. I learned  Continue reading Happy Valentines Day

Wanted: Lover of Chocolate

 spaghettiCame across this ad last night; seemed like a worthy cause, wanted to be of service.

I figured Craigslist was as good a place as any to post an ad like this so here goes. I had a boyfriend for three years or, if I listen to him, two years, and one where he got to f*ck me for fun. Let me get right to the point. I am feeling sad. I am feeling hurt. I am feeling confused. I’m not angry, I broke enough of his belongings to curb that portion of my emotion. I want someone, preferrably a guy (just so I don’t end up hating men all because of one scared and ambitious {with your cock} little prick), to meet me at the Buttercup Bakery on 2nd Ave and 51st on the West side of the street. Let’s meet there, and fuck  Continue reading Wanted: Lover of Chocolate

Dating Anne Frank (a prose piece)

Sometimes my face doesn’t do what I want it to do.
I don’t like your face.
What are you going to do about it.
On such a beautiful day you might think nothing matters.
Nothing can hurt you, or us.
But something can.
I don’t like the attention you give to me.
Isn’t anything else important in your life?
Or is it this new trend, ‘me.’
I know my sign says I’m suppose to enjoy such ego boosting
But I don’t like it.
It’s boring me.
So boring that I need to write about it.
Man, I don’t like ending sentences with ‘it.’
Let’s just have sex.
I like ending sentences with ‘sex.’
I like ending nights with ‘sex.’
If there’s ‘sex’ in the anywhere, anytime, during any sentence,
I will not complain unless it’s to ‘not have’ sex.
I need to write a poem that my cousin Continue reading Dating Anne Frank (a prose piece)

Kitchen Window

Photobucket The moss across the way is home to a number of great parties. Lots of women, lots of beer, tons of laughter all into the night. I never get invited. Not sure why. Different building. I never run into the guy.

My Bubby

Welcome to Miami ladies and gentleman! This is my Bubby. 5″2. Single. Enjoys playing cards, floral t-shirts, and listen up boys… has all her own teeth. She is my only grandma left. This woman has been through some shit. She escaped the holocaust by running away. At eight years old she came home to her house in the south of Poland (presumably from school or getting bread) to find her parents gone, her home vacant. She went from neighbor to neighbor asking if anyone saw her Mother, Father, brothers, sisters. No one said anything. And no one would Continue reading My Bubby