ninanevermore

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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about the fact that my friend, the Cajun Queen, got married the Friday before last. She notified me by sending an email with photos taken at the courthouse where it happened. This casual method of notification didn't hurt my feelings one bit, because I suspect she probably notified her parents the same way. She queen likes attention, but she doesn't like fuss. If the spotlight is going to be on her, it needs to be on her simply because she is fabulous, not because of anything her fabulous self is doing.

( I certainly do, your honor. )

Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about the day it was determined by the women I worked with one part of my body is substandard, and that I don't have to worry about men watching me from behind because there is nothing to see there.

( No back to this baby )

Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about my friend the Cajun Queen, and how music and sex are strongly linked in her mind. She likes hard rock and roll, and only hard rock and roll. She likes her music to throb, pulsate, and dominate. Music is not a soothing thing to her, and it's not a spiritual thing. It is simply a phallic thing.

( Get it On, Bang a Gong )

Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about the Cajun Queen I used to work with and the tattoo on her hip. Both tattoos, actually: one on top of the other. The tattoo on the bottom is the name of her ex fiancé. Since getting a lover's name tattooed on your body dooms the relationship to failure, she had to get another, larger, tattoo to cover it up once she booted the guy to the curb.

The first tattoo probably caused her to stay with him a little longer than she would have if it weren't there. There is a certain awkwardness that comes with starting a new relationship and having to explain why someone else's name is permanently displayed upon your ass. Because the Cajun Queen is normally a smart woman, I asked her what possessed her to get that tattoo in the first place.

( Covering Up A Mistake )

Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about, Sharon, the Korean woman who used to run the deli in building where I work. Everyone in my office adored her, but the rest of the building regarded her with terror. The idea that a plump Korean grandmother standing less than 5 feet tall could intimidate anyone might sound strange, unless you met her. It then became perfectly clear.

( In spite of rumors to the contrary, I have it on good authority that I don't cause trouble. )

But sometimes I do like to post it. I know most people hate poetry, and with good reason. ( My feeling won't be hurt if you skip this; no one hates poetry more than I do. )