Father’s Day
It’s been five years since you disappeared,
Stole my heart, took my tears.
You left our lives that Father’s Day,
Closed your eyes and flew away.
I felt the breath get knocked from me,
Felt the pain intolerably.
I never thought I’d laugh again,
Breath, feel, or live again.
But something happened over time,
It’s still not perfect, still not fine.
While the red of hurt is now shades of gray,
How wish you could have stayed.
I know you’re somewhere looking down,
Or up or sideways, oh heck, you’re just AROUND!
‘Cause I don’t know where heaven exists,
But know this Dad, you’re so DAMN missed.
So whether in heaven or here on earth,
Not much rhymes with earth, but birth.
Which makes some sense because I do believe.
Though you’ve gone, you don’t truly leave.
Happy Father’s Day from Your Ever Lovin’ Daughter
LARA
The Boob Police, Part I: There is a Reason Hillary Lost and I Know Why
I really should have been her campaign manager. So, I was simply minding my own friggin’ business last night at 230 5th— a NY roof top lounge when all of a sudden, these were shoved into my face. OK, not shoved. But near enough so they came pretty damn close up as I whipped out my Blackberry in order to ask you, internet, why in God’s name, do women dress like this? It’s like, I want to know, do guys have to see boobs to leave a good tip, or to ask a girl out, or to vote for her in the primaries? But then, THEN, another girl, who doesn’t even work there, came in dressed like THIS.
So, does this work? I mean, do you guys want to date her? I can tell you that today most likely will be my highest traffic on the site EVER. Simply because I mention the word BOOBS in my post. Ok, that’s not fair. Perhaps, that’s the reason I mentioned boobs in the first place. You know, SEO and all that.
I know if I styled Hillary, perhaps she would now be up at bat, instead of deciding between leaving Bill and marriage counseling.
Well, anyway, our presidential candidates have nothing to be ashamed of now, do they?
It’s ALIVE
Hello out there! Thanks for all you folks reading about MY LOUSY LIFE and NOW a whole new site, with a whole NEW LOOK! With extra added features too:
The Rant: Will tell you all about, well, my lousy life.
The Daily: Kinda a photo of the day and why it means something to me.
The Weekly Poll: Yes, I do it. You do it. Check out who does it too.
Post Bitch: Your opportunity to POST YOUR RANT! If posted, your rant will be entered to win a $25 AMEX gift certificate toward the shrink of your choice. Hey, artwork can be submitted too.
Comments: YES, they finally work.
And more!!! So thanks for coming to visit, and refreshing all the time, so I can slowly make my way to millionairehood.
Lot’s of new posts to come and hopefully your POST BITCH too!
Cheers,
LARA
The Cleaning Lady: Part II– But is it Really Clean?
So, my second new cleaning lady actually quit the job before she even started, she said, because she got a full time job. Ok, bravo. Glad we could help you.
So, I have continued to resort to my own special rub and scrub talents, which, while it’s not my favorite way to spend a Saturday after working 50 hour weeks, it’s not the worst either. Call me crazy, but it’s kinda therapeutic. (Alright, maybe I shouldn’t have dumped the shrink but it’s a hell of a lot cheaper. BREAKING UP IS HARD TO DO)
So meanwhile, Bella gets asked to clean her room as well as her bathroom. NOTE TO ALL PARENTS WITH CHILDREN UNDER 5: Do NOT, under any circumstances, I repeat DO NOT have your cleaning lady clean their room. Make your kid do it. This is the most valuable advice you will ever get from any parent to another. Forget about all those pre-school applications. Forget about reading, forget about building blocks, coloring, and ABC’s. Cleaning their room is the most important skill they will ever learn as a 5 year old. Because, if Vilma cleans forever, they grow up with this sense of entitlement there is never any cleaning in the home to be done by them. And if, in the unlikely event, the cleaning lady resigns, and through a series of happenstance you can NOT replace her for anything, and you expect your very capable teen age daughter to Read the rest of this entry »
The Pool Picture Police
Saturday was not too friggin’ bad. Hot, 95, and awesome outside.
So, I go up to the roof pool where the view is, as so eloquently spoken by a stranger passing, “holy shit.” Yes, it is, it is indeed, which is why I have spent the last 15 years throwing money after this rented apartment, rather than moving out of the big dirty apple where I could afford something somewhat larger than a 500 square foot apartment neatly divided into three bedrooms and a den. And a stall shower. In the hall. If you can call it that. Well, anyway, back to the pool. As I turned to dip, I noticed the new lifeguard, sleeping. Or at least he appeared to be sleeping. So I whipped out my Cannon to show you guys how terribly dangerous roof pools are when the lifeguard is snoozing and suddenly, he POPPED TO LIFE. “No picture taking in here. No picture taking in HERE!” What?? I’ve lived here for 15 years and I always take pictures in here. “Well, you are NOT SUPPOSED TO!” Where is the manager? (My usual kneejerk reaction: SPEAK TO THE PARTY IN CHARGE.) Barefoot and bathing suit clad, I composed myself to ask her: “What the FUCK?” To which her response was, “well, I don’t know why exactly. They think that maybe you could make money selling pictures of the Empire State Building.” What???I’ve never heard anything SO RIDICULOUS IN ALL MY LIFE.
So, There.
And THERE.
Walmart? Schmalmart. It’s the thought that counts.
So, not everyone’s a rocket scientist. I sure as shit don’t claim to be. But, um, hell, it’s one fat hell of a going away cake!
So, here’s what we think the conversation was:
Walmart Employee: “Hello ‘dis be Walmarts, how can I help you?”
Customer: ” I would like to order a cake for a going away party this week.”
Walmart Employee: “Whatchu want on the cake?”
Customer: “Best Wishes Suzanne” and underneath that “We will miss you”.
Thanks Natuba, for having this gift on your site.