Yes, I’m still alive

Hey kittens.

Sorry that I’ve been AWOL. The time off really messed with my writing mojo and I did a lot of partying over the break. I have no idea what day it is anymore.

But don’t fret, I did some cooking over Thanksgiving (can you say Shrimp Sputnik?), I just haven’t had a chance to download the pics and put pen to paper. Or finger to key. Whatever. 

I am actually part of a little cooking challenge that is going on over at The Rantings of an Amateur Chef called DICED! My dish is going up on Thursday, but if you want to see the other entrants, check the site out all this week. AND THEN VOTE FOR ME TO WIN BECAUSE I AM AWESOME.

In the meantime, here’s a little ditty from the vaults. Be well, my friends!

 

Love Poem #99

 

I hate you.

 

I hate you with an intensity reserved for those who have truly wronged me:

tailgaters and line-jumpers and shitty waitresses.

I hate you the way I do stretch pants on fat women, high-

waisted jeans, and Crocs.

I hate you as much as hangnails and paper cuts and stubbed toes.

I hate you with every ounce of my being—like cockroaches

and menstrual cramps and Kenny Chesney.

I hate you even more when the lights go up, the keg is kicked,

and the last cigarette is smoked.

I hate you all-encompassingly like frizzy hair and pimples and wrinkles.

I hate you like razor burn, sunburn and hives.

 

I hate you because you remind me of New York City heat waves:

100 degree days in brownouts.

 

I hate rum & coke.

 

You are the New England Patriots.

You are the Westboro Baptist Church. 

 

My misplaced apostrophe is you. 

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0 thoughts on “Yes, I’m still alive

  1. Hey, I’m fat at the moment and I, too, think stretch pants are a bit odd. You have to be pretty damned skinny for them to look good. They’re just too tight – I didn’t even wear them when I was skinny because they weren’t comfy. It’s not fat-shaming in a poem! @.@ This was . . . weird? I think you got punked by a troll. Kind of a stupid one though. >.< Does this mean I am a goon too? LOL I didn't come here for this post, but I certainly read it now!

  2. This post had 0 replies since you posted it on December 3rd and then all of a sudden you got three of your goons to try and defend your hateful words. Pathetic.

    The proof is in the pudding. Or, jello in your case. I’ve said all I had to say. And anyone coming across your post and these comments will be able to form their own opinion of all this.

    1. The proof is in the Jell-O. I like that.
      True, now others who happen upon this will be able to form their opinion, whether that is positive or negative. I was not expecting a poem I posted more than a month ago to elicit such a response.
      Thank you for boosting traffic to my blog.
      Be well.

  3. Mark, I’m going to point out a fatal flaw in your argument:

    “I hate you the way I do stretch pants on fat women, high-waisted jeans, and Crocs.”

    Nowhere in that statement does she say “shouldn’t.” She expresses her *opinion* which she is free to do. Just like if I had a blog, I would write “I hate you the way I do Ford cars and oatmeal.” I’m not saying no one should like them, just that I don’t.

    And as far as growing up, maybe you should take your own advice instead of starting an argument over non-existent issue on a cooking blog.

      1. The fact that you’re comparing ford cars and oatmeal to people shows how much is wrong with you. Fat women have feelings. Fat women coming across things like that ON a cooking blog is hurtful. As if hearing things like that on a DAILY basis isn’t exhausting enough, they have to see on a cooking blog as well? Is no place safe from body shamers? What your friend said was rude. Your statement is invalid. Just stop.

  4. Hey Mark! How about you start your own blog if you want to have an opinion. Or, better yet, read more than one entry. Emily is awesome. Thanks.

  5. I discovered your blog a few days ago because of the Vincent Price cook-along that you participated in. I was actually really liking your blog until I came across this.

    “I hate you the way I do stretch pants on fat women, high-waisted jeans, and Crocs.

    Now I realize that you’re just an asshole. A body shaming asshole.

    1. I just came across this comment right before I am going to sleep tonight.

      I do not need to defend myself to you, anonymous Mark, because it is my blog, and I can say whatever the hell I want because I am not getting paid for it.

      But I will say this to my friends and other people who may happen upon this:

      I am not body-shaming—and you all know that, kittens!

      It is my poetry. In my poetry I write from a lot of different viewpoints and characters—not just myself. Wait until you see some of my other stuff from a male perspective!

      In my real life, I was,not long ago, a larger lady. And I currently do own high-waisted jeans. And there is not a damn thing wrong with that!

      But there is never–EVER–a good excuse for Crocs. They are a footwear abomination.

      1. Yes, it is your blog and you’re free to write whatever the hell you want. Just as I have the right to respond to it.

        You ARE body shaming. Despite being previously fat, you’re saying that women wearing stretch pants, high-waisted jeans, and Crocs is not okay in some way or another in your poem. I would say that is some sort of reflection on how you feel, considering you wrote it and mention hating menstrual cramps. Pretty personal. Stop making excuses, okay?

        I have a bunch of friends of all various sizes and I hear comments similar to yours quite often. “Fat women shouldn’t wear this, fat women shouldn’t be eating that, fat women shouldn’t be doing that, etc/inserting anything ever including, ‘fat women shouldn’t be breathing.'” It’s rude, hurtful, and completely unnecessary. Once you step outside of your fantasy bubble, you’ll understand why.

        Also. You want a good excuse for wearing crocs? Ask any person working in a kitchen what they they wear during work for support and comfort. Hell, I’m pretty sure Crocs are pretty common for people working in hospitals and certain retail jobs. Not everything is worn because it’s “pretty.” And not everything is an abomination because you deemed it so.

        Grow up.

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