I'm Trying Not To Be Upset About Diesel

linking to Bossy instead of me. I mean, Bossy and I are virtually blogosphere twins. We both blog about John Cusack, which sounds more kinky than it is, really. We both blog about our hair. So help me understand. Is it my Lloyd Dobler finger puppet you don’t like?



Is it my bangs you’re afraid of?



Seriously Diesel, the only difference between us is that Bossy blogs about construction workers eating lunch on her lawn, and I blog about my French exchange student who diets. Do you have something against the French? Or diets?

Or is it me? My blogging about beer? My not blogging about beer? My couchsurfing? My Hamell stalking? My Jeff Tweedy? My Cher doll?

Dude, is it Ringo?

Or maybe it’s because JD does things for me, which sounds more kinky than it is, really.

Or maybe it’s because I keep posting this photo, which seems more kinky than it is, really.



Is it because I gave that award to Brent and not to you? Cause dude, I’ve got something even better in store for you. And by in store here, I mean in my Etsy shop.

That’s right. In order to get into your good graces I have named a pair of earrings after you: Diesel Dangly Earrings. They’re fun and flirty just like me, just like Bossy. But you won’t find them on Bossy’s site. They are a Meg exclusive.



And wait…there’s more:

I’ll also be hosting my first caption contest soon with the prize being your book, Antisocial Commentary. That is, after I win the book from you first--which means I’ll have to actually enter your caption contests, which I will--once I finish my video, Meg Loves Diesel.

Call me a whore, it wouldn't be the first time I've heard that. And “to get into your good graces” sounds kinky and is intended to.

You can vote for this post at Humor-Blogs where there is a lot more behind the scenes drama than you might think. Unless, of course, you hate my bangs too.

We Are Women

This is my 2nd debut blog posting.

My real debut was sort of a blog of bloopers. And because I’d like to show all you out there in the blogosphere that I really can write, I’m redoing it.

Problem is, I’m so hungover, ur…I mean…worn out from the first debut (and the first blog debacle--the blog I had to abandon) that I’m recycling a poem. I’m sure recycling is against the Bloggers’ Manifesto, but I’m in no mood, so just let them come for me.

Anyway,

some year ago my friends Carolyn and Kris and I wrote this poem as the opening of a readers’ theatre. With the revision of one word, it is still relevant today.

But first, audience participation:

IMAGINE sitting in a writers’ group at a lesbian…ur rather, women’s bookstore and because your children aren’t making enough demands on your time, coming up with the idea of a readers’ theatre.

IMAGINE changing the venue to a place that sells wine, and with your buddies working months on the script (the arguments, the tears, the M&Ms, the hangovers) and then writing a grant proposal for STEW--Stories of Tired Emotional Whiners—I mean, Women.



IMAGINE you and your friend (both in your artsyest clothing) presenting the proposal to the arts council and having a female member say she was offended by the term ‘whiners,’ calling it “borderline politically incorrect.”

IMAGINE shouting the word ‘bitch’ but instead, going out for a drink with your fellow whiner (college bar, of course) and deciding to change the title to: STEW--Stories of Tired Emotional Whiners—I mean, Women. A Borderline Politically Incorrect Readers’ Theatre.

It goes without saying you must imagine the whiners---hot, sexy women, sober for once, ur….delivering the lines with power and authority and of course, perfect timing. Picture the hotsexywhiners alternating some lines and joining in on the chorus for others. For the last verse, picture their fingers in the sign of the girl scout oath (even though all of them are far from girl scouts).

If that doesn’t work: pour yourself a drink. Poetry always works better under the influence.

We Are Women

We are mother
daughter
wife
friend
lover

We are nurse
chef
secretary
seamstress
mistress



We are bitch

We are stock broker, ego stroker
Woolite soaker, midnight toker

We are bread baker, xanax taker,
butt shaker, orgasm faker



We are homemaker
home wrecker
homeless
hopeless
lawless
We are braless

We are historical, hysterical, pms-tical

We lack testicles (but not balls)

We are keepers of tradition, the faith,
The books, matched pairs
(and underwear)



We are keeper of fish, puppies, turtles, kitty
Cats (and large rats)


We are Women.





We must stick together



Through all types of weather



We must fight the blues and go in twos.



On my honor, I will try, to go to the john,
accompanied by one or more women, to repair
makeup, fluff hair, and talk about… Hillary Clinton.



One more thing:

IMAGINE that this poem was written so long ago (think oval office, cigar) that an earlier draft said ‘Bill Clinton.’

IMAGINE that ten years later a whiner, I mean, woman is running for president of the United States of America. That’s something to drink to (in a college bar, of course).

Happy Women’s History Month, everyone!!!

And a special shout out to the women in my life who’ve put up with me, and the women bloggers who’ve inspired me Tracy (Tiny Mantras) Jill (Writes Like She Talks), and Wendy (Creative Ink).

p.s. does anyone know to get the strikethrough key formatting to work on these blogs?