Fairy Tales and Shopping Lists

Three days with the kids and suddenly this place is a morgue. Quiet.

Too quiet.

But thank goddess it is Monday. A fresh sheen on the weekly routine. A beginning to two weeks of solitary confinement with my head. A hellish torment until the kids return again. 

Not sure if you have noticed but my head is no place to be unless it is for quick trips down the rabbit hole. 

Eat me. Drink me. Consume me.

The nicely dressed and a touch anxiety ridden hare is late, he’s late, for a very important date.

At this point I would drink tea with an insane companion if there was chemistry betwixt us. A Tweedledee to my Tweedledumbass. The flamingo to my croquet ball. Ideally, a queen of hearts. 

Off with my head? Indeed.

Instead my mock turtle looking ass twirls words as if they were numbers and never quite finds the solution. A dyslexic mathematician with a flair for dramatic exits.

An inebriated troll, recently evicted from under his bridge for goat consumption. A leprechaun with no pot to piss in. 

Destined to be too hot, too cold, too soft or too hard. Never quite just right. Usually just not right now.

The Rumpkestiltskin spinning hay into gold for your first born. The Pea under the mattress. The poisoned apple on the window sill. The solitary needle in the kingdom.


Just sort of followed that thread. Apologies. But sort of fuck you, my words my tangent and my depression. 

The drunken gophers in my mind stumble to and fro telling me the words to write. I am a slave to their toxic whims.

Either that or I need to share less. Meh.

I need someone to help straighten out the thoughts. Someone I can share these ill tidings with and help find structure. Desperately. A goddess to rein in the spirits and reign over my rattled mind.

Grab me by the nipple ring and pull me towards the goal as I scamper about trying to count the lilies. Gilded or not.

That cloud looks like two bears having sex while a dragon fellates a stool pigeon. And that one is fucking staring at me. Maniacally.

Now excepting applications at mennenbach@gmail.com


Must be able to hold three conversations about nothing, everything and that one thing all at once. Patient. Enjoy long walks and listening to me sing. Cuddles. Long passionate kisses. Short sweet ones as well. Being treated like a goddess. 

Must be able to tolerate the absolute worst things a person can utter. Often too soon. Dark, blacker than black sense of humor. Like the gallows are Epcot. Must be able to hear my ideas and expound upon them with me.

I need a Mallory to my Mickey. This an important reference. 

Google it. Then watch and understand. That is the kind of love I can offer. Insane. 

But understand I am manic. Highs and lows. At the highest I will drive you mad bouncing off the walls and spewing words. At my lowest I do so from the opposite side of my brain. Internally combustible. I’m sorry in advance.

I am no prize. But I am loyal. And affectionate. And will always put you a step above all others, even only with the kids. I am not repulsive. Ish. Barely repugnant at all, being honest.

If this sounds like the kind of mess you want to be stuck in until you inadvertently find someone better shoot me an email. 

Or just fucking shoot me. 

Your call.

But if I don’t find someone to share this insanity with soon I may fucking explode. I need a funnel for the onslaught. I have never been so full of things to say, and that is saying something for sure.

For sure. Right?


I can count the number of perfect creatures I have ever met on three fingers. Two are Maia and Dax. The other, well, fuck. Barely enough time to wrap me around her fingers before it could vanish. Still feel the concussive force of her impacting my world.

5000 words today. So many still percolating.

Bear in mind this, dear reader and bestest friend, you are delectable. A sliver of sheer delight in a world of shit. A part of you rests in my soul as I write. This is all for you. I love you for you. Hugs and sloppy wet kisses

8 thoughts on “Fairy Tales and Shopping Lists

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