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Live, From My Closet: Now, With Extra Humiliation!

October 03, 2006

People, in the interest of total and complete frustration, I am going to go ahead and post this entry. I have written two other entries, but I have inadvertently deleted them both, and it is getting very very frustrating over here in movable type land. So, I am going against all of my better judgment, and am actually posting A Drunk Entry. I apologize.

Really, this is something which I never do, because my drunk entries are overwhelmingly stupid, although they are also incredibly funny to me at the time I am writing them. But then I wake up the next day and drink a Diet Coke and reread the things, and think, "What the hell? I made a joke about cellphones being small? Is it 1999?" and then I roll my eyes and delete the whole sordid business.

Only this time, I actually kept one, because it continued to be funny to me, and I thought, well, hell. I will keep this for my own amusement. Because at least I will sort of giggle mildly upon rereading. But I won't actually post it, because, I do not post drunk entries, according to a hardline rule that I made up one morning. And lord knows, we can't violate that ironclad rule of blog governance! Heavens no!

But, obviously, that was before I deleted two entries in a row, and before I finally exploded with HOLY SHIT SCREW IT ALL about the entire situation. And now I am thinking along the lines of "Also, screw that ironclad rule thing, too, because since when is the internet bound by rules? Guidelines, people! Advisories! That's all that exists in this brave new world, and I'm going forward with a drunk entry, and we will probably all survive."

And therefore, here you go, y'all. Date: Last Thursday night. Location: Childhood bedroom of parents' home. Parties involved: Dukay, self, and several dogs. And way, way too much wine. And again, I apologize in advance.

Drunk Entry I Can't Believe I Am Posting (Spelling Since Fixed)

So, Dukay and I have had some wine and we are giggling like a couple of miscreants (note to self: Just said "miscreant" in blog entry) (Second note to self: must stop being such dork) (Third note to self: Despite language, and repeated assertions that "I just don't get those kids today, what with their MySpace and their little fucking phones!" must remember that I am not actually sixty-five years old).


Wait. I am off track. Anyway, what's up, Thursday night? We've had some wine.

So, how this happened is, that it is not entirely my fault. See. Because, I went to dinner with a friend, and that was very fun, and then I came home to my parents' house, and Dukay came over here, and then we had some wine with my parents, who are leaving town at dawn tomorrow to go away for a while and I will be dogsitting, and for this reason, I am here again. And y'all, this is all incredibly entertaining to me right now because I am totally in my high school bedroom at this moment, and there are treasures, TREASURES to be found here. Dukay and I are like pirates, and the drawers of my closet are our booty.

Booty! We have found photographs, and old notes, and most spectacularly, my old diary. And, oh, the fun we have had tonight at the expense of my seventeen-year-old self. Apparently, I was mad then! And also quite rhyme-y, and so we've also held an impromptu poetry reading up here, and I am thinking about calling Ziz and reading her lines of my poetic masterpieces, just randomly and without explanation ("You think you know me/ Based on what you see/ But I'm very different/ Sycamore tree.")

I seem to have developed these startling seventeen-year-old talents from an overdose of e.e. cummings, because there is NO capitalization anywhere, but there is also a healthy dash of Wesley Willis mixed in there, in that I just...randomly throw out words, apparently, which seem to bear no relationship to the rest of the poem (example: "sycamore tree"). I suppose this was quite deep and cryptic to me at the time, but now it is making me laugh so hard I am about to die. ("Pontiac! We build excitement!")

(People who do not know who Wesley Willis is: This makes no sense to you at all. It gets better below.)

But..."sycamore tree." Honestly, seventeen-year-old self: what the fuck?

Anyway, so, we are having fun with poetry. And we are having fun at my parents' house, once again, which is where I will probably live for the rest of my life, despite owning a perfectly good house several miles away. And yet, I am again not able to live in that house, because guess what happened this time? Because something is always happening with that house? This time, I came home from work one day and found that, oh. Someone stole my front yard.

Seriously. My front yard was stolen. Someone just took it. I pulled into my driveway, and could not help but notice that what used to be grass was now an enormous, nine-foot deep trench. What used to be solid green was now a bumper crop of Georgia Air and red, gooey mud. Spectacular!

Matters were not assisted by the fact that, taped to my front door, I located a letter from the Department of Public Works, explaining how they had exercised their easement to enter my property and dig the shit out of it, in order to fix the broken water main lying deep beneath my hydrangeas. Delightfully, along the bottom of the page, scribbled in green marker, was a name, a number, and a note. And the note said -- and I am not making this up -- "Call me about this big hole in your yard!"

Which I did. And this is when Mr. Public Works informed me that hey, love you, but going to need to turn off your power, water, and gas to continue searching the area for the missing, miscreant (note to self: just turned eighty!) pipe, because they couldn't much find it yet, and hey, how do you feel about fescue, anyway? It's lush!

About two seconds after I finished reeling from that stack of information, Mr. Public Works then asked me, in all sincerity:

"Now, tell me about your irrigation system."

And I said: "Rain?"

And he said: "HA HA! HA! Seriously. Sprinkler system? Garden hose?"

And I said: "Sometimes Bo pees out there."

And Bo said: "BO PEE IN YARD HOLE."

And he said: "HA! HA...heh -- Oh. Oh. You're serious."

And I said: Oh, screw you and your irrigation system, and just give me fucking fescue. Maybe I don't know what fescue is and frankly, I AM PLANNING ON GOOGLING IT, MISTER. But if you're going to dig to China in my front damn yard, then I want some fucking fescue in return. Or maybe some Chia. I think that is also a kind of grass.

Or possibly I just said: "I guess...fescue."

Anyway. That is why I am here. Because there is a hole in my yard, and various utilities have been turned off so that the city’s diggers will not accidentally be electrocuted or blown up, and can continue excavating the Lost City of Atlanta Suburbs in peace. And Dukay is here also, just because he likes me and stuff. And we are collectively not sober, thanks to the wine that also lives here. But despite the stolen yard and the fact that we are all packed into my bedroom, this evening has been fun, in part because of the poetry, but also because it has prompted Dukay to make us an appetizer platter from food discovered in the kitchen. Which is not a lot of food, because my parents are always traveling, and so their cupboards are all damn Mother Hubbard, but still, he's put together quite a lovely spread. Including various cheeses, crackers, and bologna, which he has carefully rolled for maximum bologna-attractiveness, and when I ate a piece he looked at me in horror and said, "You can't just shove it in your mouth! You need to appreciate the roll!"

Also, I am highly entertained by the fact that Dukay keeps wandering around and picking shit up, because I suppose it is just so mysterious up in this bedroom. He is currently in the bathroom, and I am guessing that he is smelling all the bath salts, because he just hollered out, "WHAT KIND OF FUCKED UP FRUIT DOES THIS SMELL LIKE?" and that is the only logical explanation I can think of for why someone would ask me that question at 1 a.m. Anyway, I'm ignoring him. Hi.

Or, wait. Correction: I was ignoring him, but he has now emerged from closet, wearing a lampshade as a hat, and announced, quite seriously, that "THIS IS THE ONLY LAMPSHADE THAT FITS MY HEAD."

And Bo said: BARK.

Bo does not like it when Dukay wears lampshades on his head. Apparently, this is very threatening to Bo. Now we know.

Anyway, clearly, things are beginning to get a little bit out of hand up here, what with our rolled bologna, fucked up fruit and lampshades, so I am going to leave you with a few lines of poetry before I wrangle one boyfriend and four small, angry, scandalized dogs into the bed and force them all into sleeping. Wish me luck, but in the meantime, do enjoy, and be really, really damn thankful that I seem to have grown out of this:

There’s a thin line
Between love and hate
So I guess I don’t love you
You fucking ingrate.

Wheaties! The breakfast of champions! Y'all have a good day!

sleepytime copy.jpg
Bo just about had it with you, sycamore tree.

Posted by doxie in I Got Drunk And Bought Shoes Online | permalink


Hmm, am not sure whether this comment will go through because there are currently zero..and there's just NO WAY that I'm cool enough to be a first on a Doxie post. Anywho.

I am encouraging you to post more of the drunk-y posts. That was quite amusing, and slightly reminiscent of my 17-year-old self. I wrote dark and brooding poetry too, only most of it was about my father (who died that year), so it was legitimately dark and brooding. And still not funny.

Wow, that was cheerful, huh? :-)

Posted by: Peyton | October 3, 2006 12:16 PM

I love drunken posts! They're the best!

I just wish you could have somehow insinuated Bo's 'bark' into a poem. That would have been the cherry on top.

Posted by: michelle | October 3, 2006 12:27 PM

I seem to remember a lot of similarly cringeworthy peotry in my teenage years - woe betide the unlucky soul who finds my old journal. I think I was convinced that I was actually some sort of Romanov princess who had been cruelly placed on the doorstep of a family who Did Not Appreciate the Wonder of Me. How lucky they were that I condescended to associate with them! (Poor them. I should call and say hi.)

Posted by: Chryseis | October 3, 2006 12:38 PM

Or poetry. Not peotry. Though I like it that way better.

Posted by: Chryseis | October 3, 2006 12:38 PM

Yay for drunk entry! Drunk entry rules!

Posted by: Swistle | October 3, 2006 12:49 PM

Hilarious. It made me feel a little drunk just reading it and boy do I ever need that today!

Posted by: Laurie | October 3, 2006 12:58 PM

Oh boy, that was funny. Sorry about your yard troubles, that sounds quite sucky. I loved the poem at the end.

Posted by: Beachgal | October 3, 2006 01:02 PM

Where is Gimmie?


Posted by: LISAME | October 3, 2006 01:12 PM

What - no online shoe purchases? You couldn't have been *that* drunk!

Posted by: Linda | October 3, 2006 01:16 PM

That's like the first poem I've ever understood, and I'm stealing it. Thanks!

Posted by: laura | October 3, 2006 01:41 PM

Please Please keep posting drunken post, far to funny to keep to your self.

Posted by: Emily | October 3, 2006 01:50 PM

Dear god, is it too late to stop them from planting fescue in your yard? You live somewhere in the South, right?

Okay, my back yard is full of that godawful fescue. I'm in southern Ohio, which means that although my north-facing front yard has a climate typical of Minnesota and nothing will grow out there, my south-facing back yard has a climate more like that of, say, South Carolina.

And that fescue? Grows. Like. A. Weed. Its real name--I kid you not--is "tall fescue" ( http://www.american-lawns.com/grasses/fescue_tall.html ). If it rains at all, even a little drizzle, it grows about an inch a day. The only thing that slows it down is veryvery hot, veryvery dry weather. Then it only needs to be cut about twice a week. Do not let them plant that in your yard!

Seriously. Go google "grass varieties" and the name of your state. You probably want them to give you something like Kentucky bluegrass or zoysia or something. Both of those will look dead at the height of summer but at least they don't grow an inch a day...

Posted by: Daisy | October 3, 2006 01:51 PM

Holy Hell, that was funny.

Now I'm off to Google fescue.

Mr. Public Works
Won't you please come and rescue
Me from the big hole in my yard
And cover it with fescue

Posted by: LadyBug | October 3, 2006 02:22 PM

Fescue's hot.

Posted by: Boomer | October 3, 2006 02:26 PM

More drunken posts, please. Also, you are way more coherent drunk than I am sober. So kudos. Cotton! Its the fabric of our lives.

Posted by: Leslie | October 3, 2006 02:56 PM

Hmmm... I got pretty drunk this weekend also, but instead of writing a funny blog post, I drunk dialed my mother (MY MOTHER!) and threw up in a Wendy's bathroom. Would be funny, if I were not 25 years old.

Next time I will have to try this drunken blogging idea. It really seems like much more fun!

Posted by: jennifer | October 3, 2006 02:58 PM

Wow. That sucks about your yard. You should put your foot down if you don't want that Fescue stuff in your yard. They dug it up, it should be their responsibility to get your yard back to it's original state.

...And they tore up the hydrangeas?!?! That is just unforgiveable.

more drunk posts!!!

Posted by: katie carman | October 3, 2006 03:02 PM

I also live in Atlanta (kind of between Buckhead and midtown...Hi Leigh!) and I will say that if Leigh has a big hole in her front yard it can't be pretty. Red Georgia clay = messy and also ugly. I think the wise people who run Atlanta just love to dig shit up around here. I'm shocked I've lived in my house for 2 years without my yard or driveway disappearing while I'm at work.

Posted by: Bevvy | October 3, 2006 03:12 PM

wow. wesley willis. rock on chicago!!

Posted by: iLLa | October 3, 2006 03:20 PM

You and Dukay should purchase matching "Bad poetry/oh noetry" T-shirts from toothpastefordinner.com

Here's a link to a photo: http://www.toothpastefordinner.com/gallery-bad.jpg

Posted by: Laurie | October 3, 2006 03:40 PM

You must have the most loving and trusting relationship EVER with Dukay for you to let him read your diary. I unearthed mine the other day that I'd written at age 15 and I swear if my husband ever got ahold of it, he could justifiably divorce me on the grounds of Past Dorkdom.

Posted by: Toni | October 3, 2006 03:46 PM

Drunk post = AWESOME!!! Please more drunken posts! Am howling at the thought of Giant Dukay coming out of room with lampshade on head - saying this is the only one that fits! LOVE IT!!!

Also Calgon, take me away!

Posted by: Diane | October 3, 2006 04:17 PM

This is probably one of my - if not the - favorite Doxie posts ever!!!!

Posted by: Ashley | October 3, 2006 04:24 PM

Yea, where is Gimmme?

Wouldn't the hole be the perfect little holding pen for Bo?

Posted by: Mrs.MGA | October 3, 2006 05:04 PM

Just stumbled upon your blog and I think it's hysterical. Love the writing!!!! I'm glad I found it... i'll be back.

Posted by: Jen | October 3, 2006 05:06 PM

I love drunk you. Hell....I love sober you.
And I am not a dog fan, but I think me and Bo would get along.

Posted by: Liz | October 3, 2006 05:20 PM

I think we all wrote terribly angsty poetry once upon a time. But yours is funnier than mine. :)

Posted by: Heather | October 3, 2006 05:49 PM

I need some wine to come live at my house.

I'm guessing the image of Dukay with a lampshade on his head might be scarier to Gimme than the potential of falling in the big yard hole.

Poor Gimme. Unclench, Bo.

Posted by: Pammer | October 3, 2006 05:55 PM

I just post I fucking rock over and over when I'm drunk. Impressive.

Posted by: Heather | October 3, 2006 07:07 PM

I think that your home is on an indian burial ground or something. Weird stuff goes on there. What with the holes, and fescue...what the hell is fescue?? It's too many letter close to feces...and that's just gross. I just looked it up and I still don't know what it means. Doxie! Explain!!

Posted by: Lani | October 3, 2006 07:52 PM

Perhaps there should be a Fescue Haiku:

The tall fescue grows
Too fast for Doxie to mow
She needs more wine, stat!

Posted by: Luck O' the Irish | October 3, 2006 08:02 PM

Ah, yes. The misunderstood and very DARK teenage years. At least you just wrote your poetry in a journal. I once wrote a poem that I set to music and then would insist on singing to people when I got drunk. It was very repetitive and dirgelike and beyond depressing. And man, was I cool. (not!) It makes me wonder how I ever overcame the embarrassment and left the house.

Posted by: StampyDurst | October 3, 2006 08:58 PM

Too bad you didn't hang on to those pallets!!! I'll bet you could use them for that nice big hole in your lawn.

Posted by: Strawberry Shortcake | October 3, 2006 09:28 PM

Go to http://queserasera.org

you could read your 17 year old poetry on national tv. Something called Cringe.

You should really go, really you should! Good Luck!

Posted by: peanutbrittle | October 3, 2006 10:37 PM

Seriously, next thing you know your whole house will be gone. Then Atlanta suburb will leave a note pinned to a tree saying that they have invoked eminent domain to donate it to the Georgia Red Clay Preservation Society.

Oh, and Hallmark, when you care enough to send the very best.

Posted by: a horrible warning | October 3, 2006 10:44 PM

You are a crack up woman, drunk or sober.. but drunk is funny as is the energy coming from the post. But I'd be so pissed about what they did to the yard. Don't people ever call anymore and inform you before hand?! Rude! Especially since they ruined the hydrangeas. Bastards! Don't give them any wine!

And I have no idea what we're doing.. but thought this appropriate cuz I lovelovelove my new Mac: Apple - It just works.

Posted by: Angel | October 4, 2006 02:37 AM

OMG! I totally drunk dialed Jennifer's Mom, too, and then I puked in Wendy's bathroom! Argh! Just kidding!

But, I did write a gray poem while wearing baggy-pants and a Marilyn Manson t-shirt whilst listening to Korn after attending a rave. And I'm pretty sure I was angry that my glow necklace no longer acted as a beacon of my "life electricity" and the ecstasy tablet only brought me woe.

So not cool!

But, you Miss Doxie, are pretty cool, indeed.

Posted by: 123Valerie | October 4, 2006 03:18 AM

rock over london, rock on chicago!

also, rock on doxie. good choice with the drunk post!

Posted by: chuck | October 4, 2006 03:55 AM

My teenage me once wrote a poem that ended with 'Hey Judy, hold my hand until it shatters'. I still have it, and oh how it makes me laugh.

I love drunk posts! You should be drunk more often!

Posted by: jo | October 4, 2006 06:00 AM

Ok, I do not have time to read all the comments this morning, which ticks me off because La Doxie always has the best comments, because I have to go work for The Man. The Man who I kind of hate, a litle bit.

I just wanted to let you know that I shared your affinity for bad poetry, only I let others read it and was always slightly heartbroken when they did not fall to their knees weeping at the beauty of my words. Sigh.

Posted by: Contrary | October 4, 2006 07:54 AM

I say if there are rules, they should be broken. And I'm glad you broke this one. Otherwise, we wouldn't have known about your 17 year old self, and we wouldn't have known that Bo is scared of people wearing lampshades. :)

Posted by: carmen | October 4, 2006 08:01 AM

Dude, I have diaries upon DIARIES that are so embarrassing that I cannot bear to read them...yet, to prevent anyone else from reading them, I have stored them in a box which I have moved with me across 4 states during the past ten years. I would just destroy them, but somehow I can't bring myself to do it...I can just hear my 14-year-old self: "You're gonna throw this away? GOD! I hate you! You have no idea what it's like to be ME!"

But - thank the LORD - I did destroy an essay (AN ESSAY!) I wrote in 7th grade about a desperate crush I had on a 9th grader...I believe I said something about "someday our love will take root and flourish..."

OH JESUS that makes my butt clench with embarrassment.

But thank you for sharing some of your poetry, you sycamore tree, you. Hee!

Posted by: jive turkey | October 4, 2006 08:33 AM

Not only did I write sucky assed poetry in high school...my English teacher submitted one of my epic poems to the YEARBOOK. Accck. So now, for eternity, everyone that went to my school can read the words , "our love was meant to be" followed by a rebus version of "I Love You." (Eye, Heart, U) Jesus, the humanity! at least I didn't draw an ewe for the you.

Posted by: Attention Whore | October 4, 2006 09:48 AM

Nothing reminds you more of how much you used to suck than finding something you wrote in your teens.

I wrote a humor column when I was a college freshman. At the time, I thought they were kind of snappy. Now, I reread them and say, "WTF? Doesn't the HUMOR in HUMOR column imply some sort of funny? And also a lack of sucking? Why is there not a lack of sucking?


Posted by: Brad | October 4, 2006 09:49 AM

Dude, shit. That's friggin' awesome. i'm all in with you on the sycamore tree and the irrigation dude...why bother? I don't remember the details now, but I do remember writing a poem and for some reason leaving myself NO real option but to include the word Marshmallow. Details are sketchy, but I remember it was MANDATORY. Ah well. Drink up!

Posted by: andy | October 4, 2006 10:13 AM

Um, apparently, you inspired me a little too much. I posted a drunk comment, which is way sad.

So, yeah, if any part of the above doesn't make sense, I blame it entirely on Guinness.

I was trying to parody the dark, sad, raver kids I went to high school with ... you know what? Never mind.

If it didn't work the first time, it won't work the second. I will leave the drunk posting to you as someone who has turned over an inebriated new leaf. Cheers!

Posted by: 123Valerie | October 4, 2006 10:41 AM

My parents have fescue, and they live in southern Missouri. It looks nice, and is easy to take care of, from what I understand. This probably doesn't help you at all.

Also, my high school poetry binder is utterly humiliating and ridiculous. Partly because I listened to the top ten radio station all the time.

In other news, best. post. ever.


Posted by: kara marie | October 4, 2006 10:44 AM

I have decided that there must be, in Atlanta somewhere, a commission named "Let's Do Weird Shit To Miss Doxie's Yard." I believe they go by "LDWSTMDY." Because... pallets? Holes? Peeing dogs? Not normal occurrances!

Also, I, too, grouse about the state of Kids These Days (KTD). With their baggy pants and their huffing of paint. And it is TOTALLY IRRELEVENT that I was a teenager only five years ago.

And I definitely never wrote horrible, horrible poetry well into my college years including that one poem about how WOEFUL it was to be nineteen. Nope, never.

Drunk entries = awesome!

Posted by: Emily | October 4, 2006 12:02 PM

(Also, better the mud be in your yard than in your sinks/toilets again).

Posted by: Emily | October 4, 2006 12:03 PM

I could not help but think of the movie "Fun with Dick and Jane" where Jim Carrey becomes a lawn theif. I honestly thought for a split second of someone like Jim Carrey coming into your yard and stealing a chunk to take home. It's because of this that I cannot contain my laughter.

About the whole lampshade thing. You definitely need to get pictures next time. Being drunk is not an excuse for no photos of Dukay with a lampshade on his head! You mustn't take it for only our enjoyment. Other reasons include but are not limited to: his embarressment, and black mail purposes. Though, sadly the time may have already past that you can get him to try on lampshades.

Sorry about the long comment Doxie. It's just that it was really a great post and I had to let you know! =D

Posted by: Rochelle | October 4, 2006 12:05 PM

I wish someone would come and steal my front yard. Since it's all weeds and nasty poplars, I would rather have dirt, mud, and clay.

Posted by: Lioslith | October 4, 2006 04:32 PM

I don't care what you say, drunken blogging is funny. Maybe slightly embarassing for you, but worth it to us!

Posted by: Mrs X | October 4, 2006 04:35 PM

"So tell me about your irrigation system.

Me: Rain?"

That's the funniest damn reply I've ever heard.

Posted by: shaxgirl | October 4, 2006 04:49 PM

We called them Poetry slam books. We would carry them around school and compare poems. If we found a poem we liked, we would dilegently copy them into our own...I found that book last year when unpacking some books.
It explains why I didn't date much in highschool....

Posted by: KaraMia | October 4, 2006 07:47 PM

T'hell with the grass, have them replace the hydrangeas!

Lovin' the drunk post. Must do away with rule forbidding such. mk

Posted by: markira | October 4, 2006 08:24 PM

I'm with everyone else--funny funny funny. I too write drunkenly sometimes. At the time I'm doing it, it seems like gold. Then I read it the next day, with a hammerin' head, and I find that it is simply discombobulated copper shit. You held it together very well. Hip hip hooray, hip hip hooray hip hip, ah fuggit.

Regarding the theft of your lawn, I can feel your woe, but I can also see the other side of the Buffalo nickle. I work for the gas company in Michigan and sometimes we have to bring out the ole Ditch Witch and go to town. I always feel bad for the people after my company leaves--torn-up lawn malaise and deep ruts o' tread veining across what used to be a nice swatch of green. But the alternative is that the gas migrates underground into nearby homes and collects and then goes boom. So, damned if you do and damned if you don't.

Keep the wine flasks pourin' and the fingers flyin'. Funny shit.

By the way: "Sycamore tree" makes absolute sense.

Posted by: adambomb1973 | October 5, 2006 12:38 AM

Love the drunken post.

Posted by: liz | October 5, 2006 12:53 AM

The drunken post is great, but what really makes me laugh out loud is the picture at the end of the weiner between Dukay's legs!!

Very funny to me. I have had 3 weiner doggies myself and its always great fun to say "weiner" in naughty ways.

Posted by: Laurel | October 5, 2006 11:42 AM

okay note to Doxie:
guess what a reasonable person would know better than to do (after having read you faithfully for over a year)?
She would not read you while in torts because of the substantial (now realized) risk of cracking up while supposedly looking at "duty-risk" (yep, I'm in Louisiana, we do everything the hard way!)
And now I'm called on, SHIT, do you know Hill v. Lundin innernet?

Posted by: Jes | October 5, 2006 12:22 PM

Jes! Something about duty! And risk! And Louisiana!

Posted by: missdoxie | October 5, 2006 12:25 PM

This person -


Just left the following comment on amalah's blog -

"um...want to write children's books??? i'm looking for some grade 4 writers right now (writing for grade 4 kids, not writers who are in grade 4...just to be clear...)"

Sound intersting?

Posted by: beammeup | October 5, 2006 04:46 PM

That poem? Is FUCKING BRILLIANT, and I am SO going to use it. Anyone who can rhyme "hate" and "fucking ingrate" is a bard indeed. That should be the next Miss Doxie t-shirt.

Posted by: Gretchen | October 5, 2006 05:28 PM

I cannot tell which SHOCKS me more: that every blogger in the blogosphere turns out to have been a mediocre adolescent poet (self was 16 when Dead Poet's Society came out: self didn't stand a chance) or that a Drunk Doxie Post is just as coffee-out-the-nose funny as all the others.

SHOCKED, I tells ya.

Posted by: holley | October 5, 2006 07:12 PM

Oh No, Holley. I hardly think it's shocking that bloggers were once awful teen poets.

I wrote a poem about a guy I dated and subsequently made out with at 14, and started every line with "In Paul's New York" (I just winced writing that) because he was Paul and he lived in New York, and I was IN LOVE, and no one could hold me back, not even you and your rules, MOM.

Posted by: culotte | October 6, 2006 04:06 PM

OK hahahahaha AWESOME. I love drunk posts. I totally get behind the drunk posts.

Unfortunately I also post drunk posts, but mine are usually more navel-gazey and not even a third as funny.

And I think I use miscreant, like, a lot. Because I am eighty. And was an English major (current dork).

When I am drunk, my cat looks at me as if I am the most idiotic thing ever to walk the face of the earth, and she is right.

Posted by: Trance | October 6, 2006 09:45 PM

Although I was not drunk last night, my friends and I were EXCEEDINGLY slap-happy. We kept jumping up and landing in a sort of stand-up H stance yelling "hormone!" Why? Because we were feeling hormone-ee-like, of course. Sigh. Getting old makes you weird.

Posted by: Erin | October 8, 2006 01:40 PM

And on a completely unrelated note, but refering back to the Kubla Khan post - I, too, have a random phrase running around in my head. But mine makes me giggle uncontrollably in supposedly controlled situations. Like, when I'm teaching class. There's just nothing like a giggle fit when you're supposed to be teaching a room full of adults about Contract Law.
What is the phrase?
"Trampled by tiny ponies."

Posted by: Erin | October 8, 2006 01:45 PM

Haha, "city diggers" "BO PEE IN FRONT YARD" hahah-he, I love it. Bring on the drunk posts. You never cease to crack me the fuck up. I am I have to say jealous though, as my husband dosen't drink, just cause he dosen't like it, we can never have those smooshy fun drunk couple nights, so it's ususally just me having my own little party, alone and by myself, alone....

Posted by: Bethany | October 8, 2006 02:11 PM

Lord do I love you, Leigh.

Posted by: Martha | October 10, 2006 01:05 AM

lmao@your closing poem. Genius.

I have one minor problem with you posting drunk, and hey - who am i to complain? - but, please, never fix drunken spelling errors again... they are far and away the most entertaining of all.

Posted by: daniel | October 10, 2006 01:51 AM

Geee .... All this??? Have a nice day

Posted by: Kirsten Namskau | October 10, 2006 06:51 AM

Yeah...no more spelling corrections.
You probably spell better drunk than I do sober.

Posted by: Lazy-i'd | October 11, 2006 04:23 AM

First time reading the blog and I just wanted to say I love it. From one shoe lover to another!

Posted by: Molly | October 11, 2006 02:05 PM

Rock on, New York.
Rock on Chicago.

Posted by: Eddie | October 12, 2006 05:19 PM

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