Friday, February 22, 2008

So one lonesome, cold, October evening, Elizabeth, Glorianne, and myself are sitting in my cozy room, not doing much of anything except talking about why we'd like to be drinking and who is the hottest [physically] candidate for the presidential election.

Liz broke up the monotonous Huckabee vs Obama drama with, "Let's go to a place that starts with a shhh and ends with an eetz."

Glorianne laughed, while I, being sensible, ignored them both and explained I'm becoming a poet.

After Liz and I finished going through cutthroat deliberations as to who was the poet, we decided to work together in writing. With much debate, we wrote our own poem, line by line, alternating who was the creative mastermind behind the phrase.

This is the poem by three lovely ladies.

Life is like a flower.
Chloe thinks she's the favorite.
That idea felt like the color black.
Life was going on Route 66 with Chloe.
The flower felt like red.
I started drinking at the bar where I met Vinnie, the guy on the pay phone.
So I was like, "Bust a cap in yo' ass!"
Because we were drunk and had on beer goggles, with tight pants.
And she's by the stairway to Heaven.
The smoky blanket of drunkenness fills Chloe's head. Yeah.
She had as much judgment as a Mexican Flag.
Vinnie and Chloe walked to the moon.
The Gentlemen's Club took the first step for womankind.
It would not be surprising for her not to finish her work tomorrow.
The bogus fly on the wall said, "To be a rock and not to roll."
It's okay, there's brownies in the freezer,
There's milk in the Fridge,
So Vinnie can come home with me.
Cest la vie!
The beer whispered, "I'm a slave for you."
Or was that the karaoke machine?
Does it matter?
Driving down the open road to nowhere in particular.


It's a masterpiece, and anyone who doesn't think so is a jerk. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

After some thought, and a rather disappointing Friday evening, perhaps the blog is back. We shall see what the future holds.