Day: April 2, 2019

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I’ll Keep My Lips Chappy, Thank You

I feel obligated to point out stoopid products I run across. Brown-and-tan Bow Tie o’ the Day was afraid to get near this one. I was too, at first. But we put our disgust aside and gathered our bravery so I could acquire it. I bought it for you. I care about you, and I sacrificed to bring it to your attention. Consider yourselves forewarned.

This is chocolate-flavored lip balm, and it is packaged with a bigly poop emoji printed on its cap. Who came up with the idea to market chocolate-flavored lip balm in this manner? Who wants to put pretend poop on their lips? Who wants to encounter the implication that it’s not chocolate in the tiny tin? Not me– even if it’s clearly chocolate-flavored lip balm. I kinda hope I don’t know anyone whose brain would come up with such a rank idea.

If a tin o’ this kind of lip balm is the only cure, I prefer my chapped lips to simply chap until they crumble off my face. Just the thought of slathering this paraffin “poop” anywhere sickens me. Do not buy this item. It will only encourage the lip balm makers to produce more of this crap (no pun intended), and to produce even grosser things nobody needs. We certainly do not need more gross-osity on the planet.

But even as I’m doing my duty to warn you about this item, I know I’m part of the problem. I only bought the product so I could give y’all a heads-up, but I did– in fact– buy it. I guess the lip balm company’s marketing worked, didn’t it? If they keep producing 💩, blame me for keeping them in business.

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My Brain Says Odd Things

Bow Tie o’ the Day is proud to show off its circuitry. Hat o’ the Day reminds me I haven’t yet posted my initial impression of Tucson. When we drove away from the Tucson airport, and we could get a clear view of Tucson for the first time, I told Suzanne it looked almost like Albuquerque– where we had visited a few months before. Except, of course, Tucson has a whole lotta cacTIE. I immediately renamed the city– and will forever refer to it as– CACTUSQUERQUE.

I have never understood how my mind does that. Sometimes my brain moves at a pace I can barely keep up with– even when I’m not manic. I don’t think it has anything to do with my being bipolar. (Stay tuned for interesting, bigly news about a new thing I’ll be trying, in order to tame my rapid-cycling bipolar-ness.) My mind has always functioned like this. It cuts to the validity of what someone says, and/or it cuts to the joke. The perspective that humor can provide often shows a truth we otherwise couldn’t see.

For the past few years, I haven’t been writing many “new” poems. Instead, I have been combing through my notebooks– forming poems out of ideas, snippets, lines, and whatever I can mine from my basically indecipherable handwriting. I have spent the bulk of my time editing. I’m working to form sense and poetry out of what I wrote over the last decade. Sometimes, it isn’t pretty. It requires going back to what was happening when I scribbled these bits and pieces of language. That can be painful. Sometimes it can be exhilarating. One thing is for sure: Going back to those memories, from the perspective of where I am now, is always enlightening.

Looking at things I wrote long ago can also be mystifying. When I sat down at my desk this morning, I picked up a notebook and found some weird tidbits. Here are a handful of examples of the notes I discovered today:

“I ordered a tiara, so I can explore my princess side.” I have never ordered a tiara in my life. What could this sentence possibly mean? It is funny though.

“I never meant for that to NOT happen.” We could all make a list of things we tried to make happen, but couldn’t.

“Be angry when necessary– but always without carrying resentment.” That’s got some wisdom to it.

“My Tobasco heart” I’m thoroughly stumped about what I was thinking when I wrote this phrase.

“It’s a desert thing./ You have to be there/ In a truck,/ To get your clue/ That leads you to/ Your ghost/ Of many colors.” Puzzling, but I like it. I can probably turn it into a decent poem.

“Is there a patron saint of bipolar?” Must have been a particularly bad day.

“Scrabble and scrapple are not cousins.” WTFudge????

See. Strange. I told you so. I have my editing work cut out for me.