An Open Letter to the Other Customer in the Subaru Service Courtesy Lounge

Hey, gentleman a few seats over, or shall I say, dude

You may not realize it, but cell phone use here is rude

It’s bad enough that the TV is tuned to “The View”

On top of that, now I’ve got to listen to you

While waiting for a mechanic to replace my oil

It’s amazing how quickly my good mood can spoil

The day is young, that clock over there says it’s not even nine

And I’m ready to shove your Android where the sun doesn’t shine

The coffee may be complimentary, but I certainly am not

If it were legal, I’d kill you right here on the spot

The pastries are stale, and the donuts look greasy

And you’re an argument for the decline of the human species

I’d rather not hear you recite your shopping list

In fact, I’d prefer that you didn’t exist

And when you gossip about some chick from your work

You, sir, sound like both a dick and a jerk

I have an easy solution for you phone-talking bums

Have you considered exercising the use of your thumbs?

There’s a simple way to prevent others from becoming so vexed

All you have to do is stop talking, and start sending texts.

Trader Joe's Woes

Overheard yesterday, in the Trader Joe’s pasta aisle

One hipster to another: “Hey, dude! It’s been awhile!”

“Yeah, man,” said the first. “I just got back from Sundance.”

Well, good for you, I thought, Mr. Skinny Pants

Guess what I’m “back from”? I considered rebuking

Being up all night with a kid who was puking

I examined his cart: no gluten, dairy or meats

And mine: cheese, wine, burgers, and plenty of sweets

I know that in Sundance, it’s only thirty degrees

But here in L.A., it’s hot. Take off your ski cap, guy. Please.

And while I wish I could enjoy hearing about your script

Magnanimity is a trait with which I’m no longer equipped

It’s awesome that you’ve got a new film to produce

But I’m here mainly because my kid needs some juice

You’re off to Palm Springs next? I’ll try not to be bitter

Even though my next trip is to go out for cat litter

Only in this town, does my ego take a beating

While I’m out shopping for what my family’s eating

If I don’t see a hipster with an award-winning script

There’s some goddess in yoga pants, her abs fully ripped

I thought I’d be fine if I avoided the Whole Foods thing

But even Trader Joe’s can inspire a terrible mood swing

“You’re old,” a little voice tells me, “And you’ll die in obscurity—

You use carbs, wine and cheese to help soothe insecurity”

As I approach the cash register, I break out in a sweat

It’s not a hot flash, is it? Dear God, please—not yet!

And I decide to offer myself one more silent prayer:

Don’t call me “ma’am,” cashier girl. I beg you—play fair.

Cum, To Think Of It

I was getting up to clear the dishes from dinner

When my eleven-year-old son came up with this winner:

“Mom—I have a question. Is ‘cum’ a bad word?

I hoped to God that I had somehow misheard

But then, helpfully, he offered to spell it

“It’s C-U-M,” he said, and I thought: “I’m in Hell. Shit.”

Uh, where did you hear that?” I said to him, stalling

While considering my options, each one more appalling

“At school,” he replied. “Some kids at my lunch table.”

And then I decided: better to give facts than fable

Because let’s face it, who’s got more honesty and poise—

Me? Or a table full of 6^th grade boys?

“Remind me, honey—how far did you get in Sex Ed?”

I wasn’t going to over-share, I knew, with rising dread

Here is where I’ll mention my husband’s role in this chapter:

His shoulders were shaking, his eyes wet from laughter

“Thanks SO MUCH for your help!” I hissed to my spouse

In response, he guffawed into a napkin—the louse

“Sex ED?” said my kid. “Come on Mom, just say!”

I took a deep breath. And I said, “Okay.”

“You know how eggs come from the woman, and sperm comes from the man?”

(I’m no good at improv, but lacked a much better plan)

“Ew, Mom!” he said. I added, “Sperm comes out in semen.”

I glanced across the table. My husband just sat there, beamin’

“MOM!” interjected the boy. I coughed, and then spoke:

“The slang term for semen is ‘cum.’” My son said, “Is that a joke?”

“No,” I told him. “It’s true. But it’s not a nice word.”

He shouted, “That’s the grossest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“I highly doubt THAT,” I said, grabbing napkins and forks

I felt nostalgic for the lore of babies from storks

In modern Hollywood, that horse left the barn long ago

I once explained a safe-sex billboard to preschoolers, you know

You’d think by now I’d have finished learning

Teen boys’ favorite topics will get my cheeks burning

And by “cheeks,” I refer to the ones on my face

Stop thinking like a 6^th grader—it’s a disgrace!

Inaugural Post

Thank you so much for visiting my brand-new blog, and welcome!

I've been writing silly little poems since my childhood--usually, personalized ones to commemorate loved ones' milestones. Growing up in the '70s and '80s, my literary idols were Maurice Sendak, Shel Silverstein and Judith Viorst. In high school, I wrote and illustrated a book of poetry for my AP Studio Art class. That book is still sitting on my bookshelf, and if I ever figure out how to use the scanner, I will someday post it here, in its entirety.

I will be posting my observations, in the form of verse, on topics that are dear to my heart, most likely including (but not limited to): parenthood, traffic, current events, food, modern manners, living in Hollywood, and cats.

Here is my very first poem for you:

Parenthood: Notes On Advancing To The Intermediate Level

Oh, ye trapped in the throes of potty- or sleep-training

While it’s perfectly understandable that you find these tasks draining

You have no inkling what, in a decade, awaits you:

A sullen headphone-wearer who, when he speaks, says he hates you

So if you confide that your toddler has a problem with sharing

Forgive me if it doesn’t seem like I’m adequately caring

You may not elicit much sympathy complaining about the ‘terrible twos’

Or decrying Velcro’s role in the decline of kids who can tie their shoes

It’s not that I’ve forgotten what it was like

To worry whether the training wheels were prematurely removed from the bike

Yes, I’m fully aware stroller prices have gone through the roof

Along with the market rate fairies pay now for that first lost tooth

But understand that I live in a world not yet on your map

A place where it’s no longer my concern that little Reese refuses to nap

In my universe, I can’t dwell on whether Clara eats all of her peas

Or analyze the speed with which Hunter learns his ABCs

On Planet Teenager, you toddler parents are in for many a fright

To start, you’re demoted from superhero to someone who is never, ever right

No matter how many childrearing books and experts you’re consulting

One day, guaranteed, your teen will find you revolting

They connect not to humans, but to devices powered by electric sockets

You’ll get eye contact from them, but only right before they empty your pockets

They’ll say you can’t possibly understand their woes

And what do teen children demand, might you suppose?

Well, to start, my son wants me to know he’d feel a lot less alone

If he weren’t the only 7^th grader without an iPhone

And wouldn’t it be awesome if I’d let him go see the latest rated “R” movie

So he could discuss it with the cool crowd that’s all headed for juvie?

Why must I set such strict limits on time spent in front of a screen

He’d like me to know there are no other parents who are quite so mean

And while we’re on that subject, why do I bust his chops

By denying him first-person shooter games like “Call Of Duty: Black Ops”?

In a few short years, your current problems will seem quite quaint

When compared to an average teen’s daily complaints

I’ll let you in on the true test of parental persistence:

It is the ability to still madly love a kid who faults you for your mere existence