Dr. Awkward is a palindrome. Minus the period and capitol letters.
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A friend got a tattoo of a typewriter on her bicep. The guy who put it on, inked it on, drew it on was named Ty Palotta. No lie. Quite the pun.
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I just came up with my new tattoo. It's gonna say "Cultural Appropriation." But I can't decide whether to put it in Hindi, Chinese, or Spanish. Seguro que no lo pondré en español. Ni pa pensar. Qué miedo.
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Odio el español de aula. En especifico, el español del aula donde enseño en East Texas. Extraño el español callejero (de México pues).
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Another tattoo idea: a row of all the houses where I have lived. Or a row of small maps of all the places.
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My new favorite word: hokey.
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Step 1: Bury the hatchet.
Step 2: It's water under the bridge.
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Come to my new party. A svelte smelt 'n' spelt party.
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The same friend with the new tattoo had a job where she had to call people and notify them that they had been exposed to syphilis or HIV. At the city Health Department. People who tested positive would do a long interview with her about all the people they had slept with. They'd give her lists of names and phone numbers and she would call them all to inform them.
She: I'm calling to inform you that someone you've slept with has syphilis.
Him: Who?
She: I'm sorry, I can't tell you that.
Him: This a joke.
She: Um.
Him: I know this a joke. Some fool playin a joke on me.
She: No sir, I'm an employee of the Health Department.
Him: Wait, wait.
She: Yes?
Him: You white?
She: Yes, I am.
Him: Oh, then I know this for real. I don't have no white friends.
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Happy Indigenous Peoples' Day.
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My friend with the tattoo said people loved to talk about their sex lives in detail with her. Also said gay white men always said no, for privacy reasons. Well, then.
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Pillows pies bed for pequeño. Grapefruit trails though littered puddled gutters. Swept that gutter days ago. And now. Northwest wind blows blustery moments in. Not a poem. Don't write poems. Or much at all.
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Feliz Día de San Giving.
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A friend got a tattoo of a typewriter on her bicep. The guy who put it on, inked it on, drew it on was named Ty Palotta. No lie. Quite the pun.
°
I just came up with my new tattoo. It's gonna say "Cultural Appropriation." But I can't decide whether to put it in Hindi, Chinese, or Spanish. Seguro que no lo pondré en español. Ni pa pensar. Qué miedo.
°
Odio el español de aula. En especifico, el español del aula donde enseño en East Texas. Extraño el español callejero (de México pues).
°
Another tattoo idea: a row of all the houses where I have lived. Or a row of small maps of all the places.
°
My new favorite word: hokey.
°
Step 1: Bury the hatchet.
Step 2: It's water under the bridge.
°
Come to my new party. A svelte smelt 'n' spelt party.
°
The same friend with the new tattoo had a job where she had to call people and notify them that they had been exposed to syphilis or HIV. At the city Health Department. People who tested positive would do a long interview with her about all the people they had slept with. They'd give her lists of names and phone numbers and she would call them all to inform them.
She: I'm calling to inform you that someone you've slept with has syphilis.
Him: Who?
She: I'm sorry, I can't tell you that.
Him: This a joke.
She: Um.
Him: I know this a joke. Some fool playin a joke on me.
She: No sir, I'm an employee of the Health Department.
Him: Wait, wait.
She: Yes?
Him: You white?
She: Yes, I am.
Him: Oh, then I know this for real. I don't have no white friends.
°
Happy Indigenous Peoples' Day.
°
My friend with the tattoo said people loved to talk about their sex lives in detail with her. Also said gay white men always said no, for privacy reasons. Well, then.
°
Pillows pies bed for pequeño. Grapefruit trails though littered puddled gutters. Swept that gutter days ago. And now. Northwest wind blows blustery moments in. Not a poem. Don't write poems. Or much at all.
°
Feliz Día de San Giving.