Looney Tunes

This topic makes me think of misheard lyrics. There's a whole site devoted to them: http://www.kissthisguy.com/ That's a good place to waste some time. I'm kind of famous (at least with my husband) for misheard lyrics, but I'll save myself the blushes for now and not share them.

Instead, I'll think about Looney Toons--the other part of the topic. There's a new show on called Man Vs. Cartoon. It kind of intrigues me, but I don't want my husband to know. (Wes, you aren't reading the blog, are you?) Anyway, the premise of the show is to test some of the antics from cartoons, starting with Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner.

Speaking of the Roadrunner, can I just say that I wanted the coyote to catch him a long time ago? And I think the coyote has a potential lawsuit against Acme Corp., whose products never work as promised. I guess Acme supplies the bullets for Arnold Schwarzenegger movies since no one ever gets shot except for him.

Apparently, my word for the day is "Random." Come on; say it with me, "Random." Now try to model it. Bet you can't do it as well as I can!

The fruit salsa tastes delicious. Good job, J-Glo! I keep expecting to drop some on my white pants. So far, so good, but the morning is still early. Now that I wrote that, I keep checking around me every time I take a bite, wondering if people are watching me eat. Yep, I'm such an idiot that I have forgotten that writing isn't the same as posting and that no one (except for me) has read these words yet.

Carrie Beth has been abnormally quiet today. I wonder if she's okay. Or if she's plotting something. Perhaps against me . . .

Topic switch again (are you getting whiplash, yet?), I think this may be the first time I've eaten blueberries other than in muffins. Wait, let me clarify because I can hear my mom saying, "Yes, you have," just like she says every time I say I haven't been somewhere. It is the first time I can remember eating raw blueberries although I'm sure I have. I'll mention that I've never been somewhere, say, Nashville, and she'll say, "Yes, you have. We went there when you were eighteen months old with your dad when he had to buy a tractor for M&M Tractor." Yep, I can't imagine why I don't remember that trip.

My mind skips haphazardly,
considering one topic,
rejecting it,
choosing another.

My mind is Scarlett O'Hara,
flirting with everything,
committing to nothing,
perhaps needing to be committed,.

Monica coughs,
and I write about it.
Carrie Beth looks at me,
unsmilingly,
and I fret over her plans for me today:
maybe I need a food tester?

Jennifer sneezes,
and I long
for Alison's travel-sized Lysol.

I eye the coffee pot,
no help there;
it's almost half full.

I search for distractions,
for topics,
for sanity,
but all avoid me,
ignoring me,
rejecting me,
as I type,
thoughtlessly,
wanting to be smarter,
prettier,
saner,
wittier,
thinner than I am today.

The final version,
not the shitty first draft--
that's who I want to be,
but instead I muddle through the rough draft,
hoping someone can polish me,
transform me,
revise and edit me,
someone other than me.
It's too big a task for me.

Um, okay, I don't know where that came from, but I had fun playing with it. I hope it doesn't freak anyway out. But I don't care enough to delete it from the blog. I'm just saying . . .