Ode to Lena Dunham

I'd like to take this moment to say, "Hey!"
To this fine young woman who beat out Tiny Fey.
It's not that I don't love her too, 'cos I do,
But it was quite the shit that went down yesterday.

It's like a little indie band beating out Geffen,
Or singing the alphabet backwards after 8 shots of gin.
It just didn't seem quite possible
To beat all odds and have Lena Dunham to win.

It's true that I wasn't worried about Zooey whatsherfuckingface.
If she won it would've been a serious disgrace,
But the others made for a tough and stellar line up!
And here's where I'd want to add a clever and hilarious rhyme about a poker face but Gaga went and fucked up that phrase for at least the next 2 generations, minimum. You and Drake should hang out and together should laugh about how you two have successfully contributed to ruining much of our vernacular.

Anyways, here's to you, Lena, for accomplishing so much.
I mean, it's not really about winning, but of whom you touch.
Your characters are real and quirky and complex.
And sex is perfectly addressed; you don't use it as a 'go to' crutch.

Your writing is tight but your girls aren't . . . overly.
I nearly wet myself when you wrote about HPV.
I wanna squeeze your sexy love handles with joy; is that okay?
I see much of myself in you, except of course that you're younger, smarter, funnier and let's not even try to compare motivation levels because while you are up there writing and producing and directing and winning and shit, I'm . . . well . . . right here, on the couch, eating Reese pieces and sipping on cold coffee I made 4 hours ago, thinking about all the screenplays and miniseries that are floating around in my head but will most likely never get put to paper.

I guess what I'm really trying to say is . . .
CONGRATULATIONS.
You deserve it.

{Image source: SkinnyVsCurvy}

Vagina on Fire

(Alternate title: The Antibiotics Lament)
Please feel free to sing this to the tune of Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon. . . 

Ya know, if you want.

--------------------------------------------

It's like my vaj's dying

I hope no one's around

I shouldn't be scratchin' 

But I'm scratchin'

Applying the lotion

The hubs wants to play 

But I'm cock blockin' 

Blockin'

Yaa-ho

My vaj is on fire

In the darkness of my valley

There'll be no foreplay 

This yeast is thrivin' 

It's thrivin' 

I'm really hopin' 

That Vagisil's on sale. 

It feels like I'm dyin' 

I'm dyin'

Yaa-ho

My vaj is on fire

Consumed

With an itch that is dire 

Hot as a fever

Down in my zone

Don't taste it 

What the fuck is wrong with you? 

It's not forever 

It's just my current plight 

I just had the greatest, 
The greatest. . .
Scratch of my life. 

Yaa-ho

My vaj is on fire

Yaa-ho

My vaj is on fire

Yaa-ho

My vaj is on fire

Consumed

With an itch that is dire

--------------------------------------------

I have also posted over at In The Powder Room! It's about trying to find gawd damn Wall.E toys in NYC (or anywhere other than eBay for that matter). Let's just say that it was good motherfucking times.

An Ode to Twenty-Five

If I could go back to any age,

it wouldn't be any time during high school;

what a fucking awkward stage.

I also would not be a young girl.

I just agonized about everything

to the point where I would almost hurl.

Forever twenty-one is getting closer

But I wasn't quite taken seriously.

In fact, I was likely an obnoxious poser.

I wasn't overly impressed with thirty.
I spend the majority of it being unsatisfied,
bloated, chafed and dirty.

Of course, it's been down hill from there.
Getting jigglier by the minute
And Cheers! to watching me not care.

I cannot see myself choosing any older age.
The damage has already been done
And I've securely bottled up my rage.

So let me celebrate when all the stars aligned;
when I had barely a care
and my metabolism was kind.

Twenty-five's the year to watch.
I was finished with school
And my skin? Nay a blotch.

I could hold my booze
And, oh, what's that?
I don't give a shit. I'm taking a snooze.

Did I mention that at twenty-five
car insurance went down a lot?
Oh yes, and so did my boyfriend.

I know that stanza didn't rhyme,
but holy fuck, it was pretty funny.
Yes, twenty-five was truly my prime.

I travelled a lot and took birth control pills.
I didn't have a high interest mortgage,
Or stacks of overdue bills.

I had few responsibilities whatsoever.
And if I had the option
I'd likely be twenty-five forever.

Christmas is coming...

Christmas is coming,

My ass is getting fat.

The kids have all gone mental

And the dog just shat. 

I'm oddly rather horny —

Just a quickie shag'll do.

If you can't put out for Christmas

Then really, fuck you.  

Christmas is coming,
I don't mean to be a crank,
But get your shit together
And then I want a spank.

There's so much crap to do
And I hate to be so blunt.
But after all the chores are done
You need to lick my cunt.

Your folks are staying over —
A tiny piece of Hell.
I think I've more than earned
For you to ring my bell.

This time of year is when
I really start to twitch
'Cos Christmas is coming...
Ain't she a lucky bitch.

Last Year Ago

This time last year I had reached my limit.

I couldn't breathe.

I had to escape --

Self-preservation at its most desperate.

I needed to go home.

Melbourne.

Approaching the city,

My breaths became heavy;

Fighting back tears of relief,

Of elation,

Of memories,

Of a place so alive.

This time last year I sat on the train,

I laughed and cried openly

As the city revealed itself to me.

Some different; improved.

The important things stayed the same.

I walked through the Richmond gardens

Usually buzzing with people

Dead silent this day --

No football.

I sat on the steps of the MCG.

I shivered and then wept.

Why? I'm not sure.

Relief, perhaps.

I missed you intensely.

This time last year I touched your skin,

I felt your lips,

I smelled your skin,

I saw your smile,

And heard your voice.

This time last year I kissed you goodbye.

AGAIN.

It wasn't enough.

I'm still recovering.

Last year ago, I felt something.

I've been searching ever since...

Hohum: A poem

Hohum my chum,
Hohum my chum,

Please keep away from my bum.

I do not like it, Hohum my chum.

I do not like it up my bum.

Would you like it here or there?

I would not like it here or there.

I would not like it anywhere.

I do not like it up my bum.

I do not like it, Hohum my chum.

Would you like it with my thumb?

Would you like it with some rum?

I would not like it with your thumb.

I would not like it with some rum.

I do not like it here or there.

I do not like it anywhere.

I do not like it up my bum.

I do not like it, Hohum my chum.

Would you do it with some lube?

Would you like it if I squeezed your boob?

I would not do it with some lube,

And what the fuck does squeezing my boob

have anything to do with wanting to put your dick up my ass?

Anyways...

I would not like it with your thumb.

I would not like it with some rum.

I do not like it here or there.

I do not like it anywhere.

I do not like it up my bum.

I do not like it, Hohum my chum.

Say! In the dark?

Here in the dark!

Would you, could you, in the dark?

I would not, could not, in the dark.

If you could not, would not 

let me try that route,

Then could you, would you, up MY shute?

I would promise not to toot.

I would not do that up your shute.

And, oh my fucking god, the fact that you bring up tooting

is the exact reason it's so repulsive.

A queef? Sure. But a toot? Heinous!

Anyways...

Not that route. Not up your shute.

Not in the dark.

Don't leave your mark.

Not with your thumb. Not with some rum.

I will not do it here or there.

I will not do it ANYWHERE!

I do not like it up my bum.

I do not like it, Hohum my chum.

You do not like it. So you say.

Try it on me! TRY ME!

And you may.

Strap it on and you may, I say.

Hohum!

If you will let me be, I will try it.

You will see...

SAY!

I like it up your bum!

I do! I like it, Hohum my chum!

And I would fuck you here and there.

And I would fuck you anywhere…

And we could do it in the dark.

And with some lube. 

What the hell? Go ahead and squeeze my boob.
I do so like it up your bum!

Thank you!

Thank you, Hohum my chum.

For showing me it's good, so good, you see!

But still...

You ain't ever fucking doing that to me.

--------------------------------------------------

Thanks to Brandon (Lost in Idaho) for nominating me for Dudettes: The X-factor. Yay! Smooches ;) 

An Ode to Summer

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

I'm a Software Girl

This is inspired by the last phone conversation I had with my dad, for over an hour last night - trying to set up my "new" laptop for work, which is actually a shit-box hand-me-down from one of the programmers. I feel like I'm using someone else's toothbrush and wearing their skid stained underwear and I don't know where anything is located, nor can I get anything to work. 
(If you know the song, this is adapted from the tune Oh Father, by Madonna)

Oh Father, I need you to help me

They switched my laptop upon me

Why can't I get on the net?

It's funny that way, just copy the settings

from your other computer

What a brilliant idea

I should have thought that myself.

You should know this by now

I don't care for this stuff, I never thought I would

This is making me cry; why won't it connect?

I really wish you were here!

It was just yesterday

My old one was working and nothing was wrong

Oh, the anger I feel

Oh Father, I'm losing my shit.

Maybe someday

When I look back I'll be able to say

Just look in the advanced properties

Change the configuration.

Oh Father, you might have to come over

Wait! It's working; what did we do?

I don't know but I'm online.

You have helped me out

I rocked this shit, I never thought I would

I won't have to cry, it once had the power

I never felt so good about myself.

Ode to Melbourne

I love your sun that shines upon my face;

Like a long-lost lover’s warm embrace.

I love your gum trees across the terrain;

Their scent is crisp after a cool winter’s rain.

I love your trams that glide down the road;

They rush towards Finders Street to unload.

I love the noisy birds that warble and chatter;
As I watch the tiny geckoes as they scatter.

I love the Bottle Brush that hangs from the trees;
Their silky red bristles dance in the breeze.

I love the rush from an exciting footy match;

The fans roar and cheer after a great catch.

I love the sea salt that blows in the air;
It makes my skin glisten and bleaches my hair.

I love my mates that I haven’t seen for a while;

Their sense of humour always makes me smile.

I love the Southern stars and your rabbit moon;
It won’t be long now ‘til I see you all soon.