Work bad poetry and tea.

Here's a good fact about tea I learned this weekend from one of the Real Hot Bitches at her shack on Red Rocks Beach (Seal paradise): A nice cuppa tea should always be brewed for 3 minutes. If you brew it less all you're getting is the color, not the taste, so if you want a week cuppa, just add more water after you're done brewing (or brew in a larger pot).

I felt nauseous this morning, but my properly brewed tea is soothing everything. I still feel tired, but in that zombie-content way that makes me want to go through thousands of pages at a slow steady pace. My hangover is in part thanks to free food and drink at Logan Brown, courtesy of this wealthy organization I work for, and part because I had a drink and a smoke afterwards with Francisco, to say farewell to his Scottish bartender friend Andy. It was Andy's last day working before heading off to the married life, hi-ho and away. Now I'm ready to throw in my social life hand for a while, watch some tv, sit on the toilet, read some stories, lie on Francisco. This work day just began, hopefully I can survive until then (good luck required for my coworkers too, my digestive system is not being olfactorily friendly today). Bon Voyage my friends, I'm sure you'll make it through alright too.

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Salt-rimmed margarita eyes
complain lazily from their fly trap cocoons.
Water washes last night's grievances down the drain,
or would, if the drain didn't have it's own encrusted protestations.
We should call the plumber soon,
before soggy hairballs flood the house.

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Haven't done this in a while:
Considering not biting my nails,
becoming that confident woman on the street
wearing heels like they suit her feet.

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If I pick all the pills off my sweater
will I look more respectable?
Or will I be in the ultimate tv nightmare,
naked at work?

****

Your khakis are attractive.
Let's make clean cut radioactive.

****

Fish Bagel?
There's a Jew at the table!
My boss is also Australian,
Desert Aquarium.

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"Hurray for the weekend"

On Saturday we'll mess up the kitchen,
Sunday we'll clean it up.
Sticky fingers, fart on my belly,
eat the queens with royal jelly.

****

It hurts less than it used to,
but steals my energy faster.

I'd pick sleep over winning the fight any day,
it's more satisfying and the colors are nicer.