I hope that you’ll visit my NEW new and improved site, with all the bells and whistles and organization of wordpress and all the control that a controlly control freak like me needs.

Poethelena.com

Holla!

Years later
after he’d married the babysitter
they figured out that
Rodney was the one
who’d killed his wife
with that hammer.
Not the poor slob
who took a bullet
and was buried a murderer.

When I hear this story
all I can think
is that I bet Nancy wished
she’d learned how to hang
her own fucking pictures.

On the television
is a clip show marathon:
police chases
horrible accidents
memorable assaults.
I’m not really watching it
but I leave it on in the background
so that my brain can absorb
all of the terror
with none of the effort.
While a man is drowning in a river
I pay my electric bill
and when the little lady shopkeeper
is attacked by a thief with a crowbar
I am putting the last dish away.
Every so often I glance up.
Shaky camera
people trying to fuck
or rob
or kill each other.
Desperation.
Tragedy.
Flashing lights.

But no one ever dies.

That’s the beauty
of television.

for Chubby Bunny, my online shop that has been hiatus for a little over a year. Well, I’m resurrecting that baby. I pared down selection to help me focus on a few items and not be so scattered, but will be adding more items, including “real” jewelry (for grown ups who don’t want to wear bunnies), bags, and (maybe) apparel.

Please consider helping me work the bugs out before I begin promoting it, by visiting and clicking around. If you experience slowness in pages or pictures loading, or other glitches, please let me know. Any and all feedback would be of great help.

You can follow the image link or click here to be whisked away. And thanks!

Anyhow, one of my favorite things has long been checking out the “search engine terms.”  These are the terms that people put into search engines that turned up one of my entries as a result and brought them to the site.

There have long been some terms that were more popular than others, some understandably and some…not so understandably.  For example, lots of people are curious about the lyrics to Roxette, or shitty college Lit essays. That, I can understand.  Then there were…the others.  “Pearl necklace slut,” “mosquito bite boobs,” “nice looking cocks,” “meeting shemales,” “poop slave,” and the like.  The terms that made it clear to me that the advent of the internet really has been 99.9% about pornography.  And then there were the people that I wished, after I saw their search terms, that I wished I could have written an entry for to be of greater use than the (more often than not) totally unrelated entry they were directed to instead.   I mean, really think about someone sitting in the glow of their computer screen, trying to find answers to such questions…it blows my mind.

These include:

• drunk and throwing up blood
• how to tell he’s cheating on you
• why does love slip away
• respond to manipulative person
• girls call and hang up
• will mosquito bites give you a black eye
• telling a friend you love them
• how do alligators fuck
• airport x-ray machine cannabis
• reason for silent treatment
• i keep on spitting and if i swallowed it make me sick is that and pregnancy sigh
• nacho would you ever ask me out again poems

The list goes on.  Of course, I wonder how on earth I ended up as a search result for a number of these terms.  I want to ask how many links they went through before they came to a page from me.  Like, I know that “Harriet Carter vibrator” puts me at number one (and proud I am), but how many pages of search results did you comb through until you found me while looking for “gorgonzola slave,” seriously?  There’s one that turned up today though, it was pretty priceless.

exgirfriend revenge

That’s right, “exgirfriend.”  Apparently, even if you’re not exactly spot on with the spelling, google knows when to send you my way.

Which stories?

The stories where you are talking about some girl named Andrea but you’re actually talking about me.

Why would you read those?

How could I not?

Well, you should know that those are composite characters.  Nothing about her is really about you.

Not the part where you describe her surgical scar and it sounds just like mine? Or the time she was confiding her shittiest secrets in you and started to cry and her secrets are the same as the ones I told you?  Or when she took you with her to pick up her prescription down at the CVS a block away from my house?

I can’t fucking believe you read those.  This is bullshit.

Don’t worry, I’m not angry about it.  Of course I understand, I create composite characters all the time.  I even used you for one recently.  Well just a small part of one, actually.

So which small part of the character is actually me?

Just the asshole.

Well it was only one of those free Angelfire sites to start with.  I didn’t own my own domain until 2000.  And it was a gift!

Whatever. You create and maintain websites that are shrines to you.  YOUR poems and stories and pictures.  I mean, your relationship with your blog has lasted longer than any man I’ve ever seen you with.

First off, everyone has those sites.  I’m not the only person on Flickr or Myspace Facebook, ok?  And second, my “relationship” with the site has lasted this long because I can ignore the blog for, like, months at a time and come back whenever I feel like it.  You couldn’t do that with a man.  And even if you could, is that the kind of man you’d want to be with in the first place?

That’s exactly what I mean.  You know things would have never worked out with this guy.  Even if he DID take you back after all that bullshit, you would have no respect for him whatsoever.

Maybe.  I don’t know.  I like to think that I’ve learned a lesson, that I’m different now.

But you haven’t.  You’re not.  Do you even read your shitty blog?  You’ve been complaining about the same crap for like six years.

I’m not complaining.  I’m connecting.

Oh my god.  You can’t be serious.

I am!  Lots of people come to the site and relate to what they read there, and then it’s like we’re–

–mutually masturbating?

Fuck you.  It’s a meaningful connection.  It makes us both feel better.

Sounds like mutual masturbation to me.

Whatever.

Listen, all I’m trying to tell you is that you have to stop being such a victim.  Stop feeling sorry for yourself and pining over your great goddamn lost love (that wasn’t even lost, by the way, you totally pitched it into the garbage) and acting like you haven’t had the opportunity for a meaningful relationship since then.  You just blow it every time so you can put on your silk robe and drape yourself over the side of your fainting couch and write shitty poetry that will get other people to feel sorry for you too.

That’s really unnecessary.  A fainting couch?  Could you give me a little credit, please?

You may not have a fainting couch, but I’ve seen that robe.  AND those ridiculous slippers with the little poufy bit on the front.

Those are feathers.  And they’re called Marabou.  Marabou slippers.

Ok, Blanche, anything you say.  I just have to tell you, as a friend, that you are getting too old for this shit.  People are getting married.  They’re having babies.  What are you doing?  Spending weeknights at dive bars?  Well that’s a great way to meet the Man of your Dreams.

Why does it have to be about meeting the Man of my Dreams?

Because that’s all you ever talk about.  You are a broken record.  It DOESN’T have to be about the man of your dreams, but you make it about that.  Why can’t you just focus on doing things that make you happy, and see what happens then?

But nothing makes me happy.

Oh, cry me a fucking river.  You can’t be for real.

It’s true.

And whose fault is that?  Don’t you think that there are people who would betray their own country to have what you do?  Do you realize how lucky you are, that you have the luxury of sitting around and bitching to the internet about how lonely and misunderstood you are?  You know what your problem is?  Too much free time.  That’s what.  They probably haven’t even heard of Facebook in Cuba, ok?

God, you sound like my mother.

We kind of are.

I know.

All I’m saying–

I get it.  Man.

Let me finish.  All I’m saying is that you don’t have to feel like this.  You don’t have to be an irrational slave to your emotions.  You don’t have to be so insecure, so worried about what you’re supposed to be doing and where you’re supposed to be.  But don’t say you’re going to try and then not try.  We’ve had this talk before and you get all fucking gung-ho for like a week, then you date some jerk and totally forget about all the things I just said.  Just try something different.  Try not dating a jerk.

I’ll try.

Promise?

No.

Well then at least stop whining so much.

Maybe.

At least stop whining so much to the internet.

Fine.  But not today.

Starting tomorrow.

Starting tomorrow.