October 30, 2008

The bathroom at work, a poem.

Filed under: Deranged Denise,Poetry — Tags: , — denise @ 9:28 am

Ode To A Poo Nugget
Poor, forgotten poo nugget
floating in the handicap disabled really big stall
in the 3rd floor bathroom
why… why are you always left behind?
Why must I swing open the door
and see you floating and bouncing
in the white porcelain bowl?
Are you the guardian of the stall?
Refusing to go to your final resting place?
You guard it well from me, nugget.
For I tell you this:
You are not my poo nugget!
I will not risk sitting on that pot
lest you refuse to go down again
and I, horribly, mistakenly, humiliatingly
am thought to be the leaver of said floater!
Nay, poo nugget, nay!
I will go in stalls one or two instead.
I will giggle to myself when I hear someone else
some unsuspecting coworker
enter the stall.
Beware the poo nugget –
he is small, but mighty.

August 21, 2008

Crazy sexy since 1960.

Filed under: Deranged Denise — Tags: , — denise @ 9:00 pm

Thanks to Mocha Momma, I’ve been playing with this for like an HOUR.

1960 Denise was a Glee Club member as well as president of the local chapter of the Beatles fan club.  She had a steady named Stanley, whom she suspected was a little “funny”, which was fine with her because everyone knows that boys are dirty.

1964 Denise knows what she wants in life. Husband and 2 kids she can fix a nice roast for every Sunday. A perfect lawn.  Church on Sunday. She may dabble in some part-time Avon sales, but she’ll be at the door at 5pm every day to serve dinner for her family. And if her kids learn early on how to “make Mommy a martini” – so be it.  Her tomato aspic is out of this world and the lawn is impeccable.

1966 Denise is peppy!  She almost always addresses groups of people with, “YOU GUYS!” and is undeterred by her 4th consecutive year not making the cheer squad and is happy, instead, with her role as student council secretary. 1966 Denise will make the semi-finals for Miss Corncob but will be sabotaged (as her story goes) by a jealous competitor who steals her sheet music for her flute solo routine, just before the competition.

The most notable thing about 1968 Denise is that almost everyone she meets wants to punch her in the face.

1970 Denise secretly wishes her name was FiFi and is planning to move to Paris to study art and literature and music.  She will settle for a summer job making shakes at Tastee Freeze and practice french kissing with a cook named Roger.  Privately, he calls her Fifi and she calls him Armando.

1972 Denise accidentally took a drink of a Coca Cola that had a bee in it shortly before yearbook pictures were taken.  She spent her entire senior year being called, “Big Lips Denise”. At prom, the popular kids played a trick on her and splashed her dress with pig’s blood. She killed them all with her telekinesis and no one ever called her Big Lips Denise again.  The end.

Oh, 1976 Denise.  Why?  WHY?!

This is 1980 Denise.  I would rip on her more, but I have several pictures of my mother that look almost exactly like this.  So, point her toward the disco and LETS DANCE! She wants to party! (WHOO!) She wants to get down! (Whoo!)

In 1982, Denise turned into an heirloom varietal of mushroom.  The kind that delicately holds a dainty flower to it’s ruffled head.

Finally, we have 1988 Denise… the year the ACTUAL Denise ACTUALLY graduated from high school. I would venture that this Denise doesn’t look all that dissimilar to the actual Denise if you add about 12 bottles of Sun-In, and all my best friend’s make-up, jewelry and clothes.  Because, yeah, I didn’t have a single thing I owned on in any of my senior pictures.  It was Steph’s sweaters and Steph’s rings and Steph’s make-up and Steph’s Sun-In and Steph’s lipgloss that we stole (she liked to call it “borrowing”) from Thrifty’s.  My personal favorite is the one where I am hunched pensively over – with my fist crammed into my neck while I lean against a fake tree with big fake knots in the wood, which is in front of a large plastic screen with a picture of a forest on it.  Because, the 80’s were all about being natural and environmentally conscious.  Heh.

August 13, 2008

Why I should not have conversations with myself while driving home in the fog.

Hooooooooly shit.  Look at all this FOG.

This is like Fresno. Or Chicago. No, wait that’s the WINDY City.

Is there a foggy city?  Maybe London?

New York City was foggy.  Except that fog REEKED.

So, maybe it wasn’t fog?  Also, that fog seemed to come from the grates in the street…

Which probably means that it wasn’t fog. It was something like sewage gas. Gross.

I sure wish I hadn’t done the Marylin Monroe pose over one of those grates.  I probably have latent sewer gas molecules on my thighs.  DOUBLE GROSS.

I can’t see a thing.  This fog is so thick.  I think I will text message Kory and Steph and tell them it’s really foggy.


Maybe it’s not the best time to text people…. at 1a.m…. on a freeway, going 70 miles an hour…in the fog.

This is sort of like “The Mist”.  Except without monsters. And grocery stores.

*locks the doors*

It’s getting really hard to see.  I should slow down….

*runs windshield wipers*

If a monster jumped out onto the road, I wonder if I could swerve in time?

What if I swerve but it attaches itself to the car?!

How do you shake a monster off your car? Back and forth jimmy-jam movements?

Wait.  I know.  Speed up and then break really fast to make them fly off!

Or, is that only if they are on the hood?  I mean, if the monster is hanging on the back, that won’t really do anything.. unless I DRIVE BACKWARD really fast then slam on the breaks.  God, it would be really dangerous to drive backward really fast on 35W. In the fog.

If the monster breaks the window or has some sort of Mazda-melting saliva, then what?

Is it wrong the honk my horn and flash my lights to get someone to stop and help me?  Or is that selfishly endangering other people?  What if it’s a monster that only comes out like once every 70 years and only needs to eat one person and then everyone else is safe and it just goes away?   THAT’s a dilema.

Oh my god.

What if the monster can run as fast the car and when I look over, it’ll just be loping along beside the car…like, GRINNING at me?

WHAT if I look on the other side and there is one there, too, and maybe even one behind me?


Holy Christ.

What if, I just suddenly hear a voice from the backseat go, “Hello there.


What if something cold and squishy touches the back of neck and then just whispers little grunt noises?


What if… there was suddenly a little baby on the side of the road… and so I pull over the save it, but it’s decoy!  A decoy to get me to stop and then the monsters come out – or, NO FUCKING WAY, what if the BABY IS THE MONSTER??????

Or…ok…ok… what if little tiny men start crawling out of my air vents?  And what if they have tiny little swords and long beards and I just start swatting at them and screaming and they swing around me on little ropes?




Super America!

Stupid fog.

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