Taittinger

"Excuse me,

I need an employee to unlock the fine liquor, please." She hurriedly asked.

What a big girl, not even accountable for 21 birthdays, yet here she was, inquiring.

"Who are you trying to kid, kid?" I thought.

But her eyes were too grey and her hair was too straight for dishonesty so I played along.

"I'll be 'round in a minute, dear."

So I finished bagging the pop-tarts and dryer sheets.

She was crouching next to an ancient man, examining the luxery champagne through the plastic barrier. I open it.

"I don't want Nappa Mumm's! I want french, La France. What's this bottle say?"

His decrepit arm could barely hold the bubbly to his tired eyes. She steadied them by holding the neck. I flinched at the near spill of $169.

"Nope that's not authentic either, Nappa again."

More grabbing, more flinching, more steadying.

What patience.

"1996 Taittinger, see? It's french! Not Mumm's, but it'll do right?"

And she held his hand in one champagne in the other as they returned to the register.

She helped him with his wallet, slid his card, and even signed for the damn alcohol.

And like a fluttering moth, she was on her way.

I watched her load him into a white sudan, and drive away.

Such a big girl.

I saw her again, once, alone this time, at the gas station. I wish I knew what business she and those eyes had on this planet.

Routineagers: If.

Dear Johnny,

Hi, It's just Amanda Hathes, your good old friend. So in all honesty I'm writing you this letter (it may not be appropriate to call it a letter just yet--actually--because I'm not sure how long it is going to take for me to say what I need to say, so we'll see...) because I'm not happy with the way things were left off the last time we saw each other. I normally don't do this, and by this I mean write rambling letters, but I have this feeling of regret gnawing away deep inside of me and I fear that if I do not give this feeling an outlet, it will consume me. OKAY that was a little dramatic, but you get the idea. So I guess this letter is a trial run on dealing with conflict because to tell you the truth, I'm way better at communicating in writing than in person, I never write with out thinking and say things I don't mean, or forget what I was going to say in the first place and fib a little literarily... No, that doesn't happen when I write. So here I am, candidly, explaining why I am writing to you. Oh lord I've already wasted a ton of your time rambling, hopefully my little asides with press the hint of a smile on your lips, the way a good letter would (are you smiling?). Hopefully anyways. Back to business, the bottom line is, Johnny, as you may already know, I really like you. Now, I don't mean that in the saccharine "Amanda and Johnny sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g." kind of way, not at all. I mean it in a, "Wow, I find myself superbly content when I'm around you and am compelled to be a better person, the kind of person that could compel you to be a better person and we would both take turns getting better and better until we hit the nirvana of being decent inspiring folks and gee, I wish I was musically inclined so I could write a song that exemplified my feelings of happiness so other people could hear it too and be happy then we'd meet those other people who are happy too and be friends and share this bliss with the world and wow, I'd be willing to change to be more compatible with you because practicality is important to you and I'd be willing to work hard to make things work for this kind of companionship but the work wouldn't even seem like work because we enjoy each other's company so much along the way." kind of way. The kind of like that makes me stop abruptly on a Thursday night, mid-packing-my-life-away-for-university, and hop on my sister's mac and write a semi-coherant, embarrassingly honest rant because it's the only thing I have not tried yet to get you off my mind. A brand of fondness that is permanent and patient, that would say "Hey, it's cool, take your time to sift through all the guts and inner workings of my heart that I just poured in you lap, if you find something you like let me know." So here I am, no barriers, unprotected, wishing that I had had a chance/worked up the courage to chat with you a little more about our relationship before I left. As of right now, standing here on the precipice of my so-called future, there is nothing I fear more in the universe than the two miniscule words, what if. What if we just keep each other, in mind or heart, and later on things work out? What if you think I am insane and are totally creeped out by my copiously long letter and I've doomed our friendship to be eternally awkward and contrived, revise that, what if you've already dismissed my feelings as unwarranted and fickle and have stopped reading entirely? What if the feeling of having a lead ball inside my stomach that is some how simultaneously expanding and contracting never goes away? What if I chicken out (likely) and never send you this and as life would have it, as these things usually go, we grow apart and up (zeugma) and we become vague memories of each other that are only brought out of the mental library and hastily dusted off then put back when the taboo subject of senior prom dates comes up at a cocktail party? What if you feel EXACTLY the same way and are elated to not have been the first person to say something? Probably not... but hopefully your somewhere in the middle of all that. So heres where you come in, please take your time (but not too much because I will be anxious waiting) and do not feel any sort of obligations because of my vehemence. I'm just putting this out on the table, if anything feel flattered and mull it all over. I'll be keeping myself quietly busy at school, waiting and hoping, much like this summer. If you do find a moment, spare a thought for me, and I do wish you the best, Johnny, always.

Amanda Hathes

Melancholing Around

If I possessed a time machine,

a very useful thing.

I'd go back to that January,

and let you know your keen.

And in that milky winter

I'd keep your knuckles warm,

forget why I said "No, sir."

and give into your charm.

If I could ever time travel,

quite a covetable skill.

I'd wander back to those dripping

days of enchanted April.

I'd remove my wellingtons

inside your bluish 'stang

and listen to your musings

in california slang

I'll leave this poem meandering

through unrealized hopes

that were once yours but now are mine

regret hast got my goat.

The Wire

Isn't it hard?
when we have so much perspective and so little credibility
Like trapeze artists
with slim wrists and cold sure naked feet
we make a chilly journey across the wire
that will
cut deep into our arches if we stand still.
Truth,
but we would probably fall off the indifferent wire
before it gets a chance to slice.
This stillness means thinking,
stopping, unstable, volatile, and unsure.
And so we continue
forward and unthinking
a lavender pilgrimage
not daring to look up
and praying pardon from down.

Pinkie Swear

Einstein proved that it's all relative,
built the A-bomb and made energy square,
while Genesis teaches that we're all relatives,
and that loving thy neighbors a burden to bear.
Well I've got more than just two cents to spare
on
what makes this big blue world spin madly
on
So here's my conclusion, my lifetime prayer:
Come on, sister, you gotta let down your hair!
take a deep breath, unswallow your pride
and tip your ear to the new groove out there.
Loosen up! and shake those hips side to side
to the single beating heart for all to share.
Cuz' I think we
can all agree
that the human race has been goin' crazy
just bruising our tongues and livin' lazy
So let's make like Tom and fool around

Because for seven days of work,
God made us a darn' good ol' playground.

untitled

smoke a bowl, maybe two
to soften the sack i hit
early to escape
thoughts of you.
eyelids shut!
but quite soon
mother moon
vomits melted
dreamsicles into my
dead
head
blurry blurry blurry
hurry hurry hurry
white rabbit!
through the hole
another bowl
your late!
it used to be
that i was free
and dreams
like these
wouldn't dare
haunt me.
another bowl.
an empty heaving chest
my heart
you stole.

Blooms Birds and Bullets

If happiness really was a warm gun
and sunflowers bent their necks towards the sun
as humming birds hum just for the fun
of humming a song whilst' their morning chores done
then, perhaps Lover, we could be one


If the mocking bird twas' never shot by Warm Gun
cradled in an anxious palm of Adam's son
his pursuit of Happiness henceforth won
through triggering the wrathful foe that canst' be outrun
that is why, lover, we shant' be one

a forbidden, sacred, clandestine union

Mas Haikus

oldies but goodies

Please

Lets not pretend that
we don't think of each other
once or twice a day

ZZZZ'

A soft aroma
of laundry scents flannel sheets
as I drift to sleep

Nutella

Scrumptious chocolate
and hazelnut butters my
toast, how delightful!

Rountineagers: Obligatory PDA

Routineagers will be a series of writings relating to the profound banality of teenage life. Stay tuned kids, you won't want to miss this...

Morning shnookums! Hows your day?
It's time for our obligatory PDA
So lets get frisky, and block this hall way
Jean Baptiste Pierre Antoine de Monet.

We get at it and our peers skirt the scene
A bubble gum binder held awkwardly in between
As we rehearse an ancient mating routine
8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13.

Have you ever witnessed something so contrived?
Since American cheese, or Priscilla's Bee Hive?
Since six-inch stilettos, or those mail order wives?
Organically Grown Hypoallergenic Endive.

More Casseroles?

Here we are, once again on a Tuesday night. I showed up at your door bearing a thermos of soup and warm bread. An appreciative smile escapes from the crevices of your small bird-like eyes. We eat in an easy warm silence as always although I can tell you've grown weaker. Naturally, my left hand deftly shovels chicken and noodles into my mouth because my rights is reassuringly clutching yours. Soft and thin shiny skin covers brittle bones that still offer a promisingly firm grip. I want to cry, but I don't because tears are a scarce substance in my world. However I do wonder if a few of those salty droplets would altar the flavor of my soup. I haven't tasted much lately anyways and I know your taste buds haven't had the pleasure of tasting since 2003.
Seven years. Look how far you've made it. I can't say I'm happy for you, for I know there is somewhere else you would much rather be, but I am grateful. Grateful for you gracing us with your wisdom for seven more lonesome years. A lot can happen in seven lonesome years. A girl can become a woman, a house a home, and mourning a lifestyle.
An intrinsic characteristic of the lifestyle of mourning is one's relationship with photographs. Their memories become life-like companions in a drafty three-bedroom track house of a single inhabitant. There have been many times when I've let myself in the door and witnessed you chatting with her two-dimensional self. Sepia shadows lovingly contour her cheek bones as the brightest brown eyes you'll ever see gaze towards the light of a perfect Rembrandt. Bushy brown hair gleams in a perfectly styled 1940's up do framing an exotic yet wholesome face. You tell me I have her features joking, "Someday your going to poke someones eye out with those cheeks if your not careful!"--the comparison is flattery at it's finest.
I set you up comically close to the television in your easy chair and let the lullaby of the Lakers serenade you to sleep while I do the dishes and let myself out. The volume is on maximum.

Farewell little fish!

Little fish
in a porcelain bowl
white and shiny
wet and smelly
little fish
gush!
in
swim
in
haste
and settle
flush!
evidence gone,
erased.

Pearly Gates

"Saved"...you say?
Hmmm, not sure
but let's put it this way:
I do my best
just A-okay
and try my darndest
to behave
and if I happen to see
you up there on
judgment's day,
I'll be sure to give
a hardy wave.

The Lament of a Routinager

a product of 9th grade emo-liciousness

It's not too safe to swim with shark bait
as her words of wisdom permeate
my numskull enters a spell bound state,
and I realize why we have learned to hate
our inevitably dull and washed up fate.

Because some lifetimes in this world can go by
like a whisper of wind or a silent sigh
so carpe the jugular and forget about why
cause' you'll always regret what you never did try
and you'll also forget why you never did try
the ones who survive are the ones who aim aim high

and the lamenting routinagers just drenched in their woes
I'm also quite certain I don't want to be one of those
and the self righteous pity at the tip of your nose
poisons the body straight down to your toes
and now your bitterly reaping the seeds that you sow
bitterly reaping the seeds that you sow.

Because some lifetimes in this world can go by
like a whisper of wind of a silent sigh
so take many chances before it's too late
because the life that you live is the one you create
and a life that you love is a life you don't waste
and the life that you waste is the life that you hate
the life that you hate is the life you might take
and a life that is taken
is a life that's forsaken

I see some silent sighs just passing me by
some muffled lies just passing me by
some feeble tries just passing me by
some desperate cries just passing me by
then somebody tries
to fly and then dies
and we all just get by
and wonder a little why

cause' the life you forsake is the life that you take
the life that you take is the life that you hate
the life that you hate is the life that you waste
the life that you waste is the life you create
so take many chances before it's too late
cause' the world we create will control our own fate.

Casseroles-intro

The fragrance of vintage cuisine filled her nostrils and made the lead ball inside her stomach double in weight. The rest of the procession had arrived. There is something about death that signals a sudden dire need for casseroles to your fellow parishioners, mainly the elderly and devout church ladies who bustle about with their purses chock full of coffee drops and smelling of slightly stale perfume. Sarah imagined each of them meticulously preparing their dishes in a cozy, cluttered kitchen, following a sacred recipe memorized years ago when high schools still offered Home Economics as "A necessary subject for young ladies," directly from the the only book held in equal regards to the Bible, the original Betty Crocker Cook Book. She tried to muster some appreciation for the women's effort but could not help feeling it was in vain. You see, no matter how much care you put into it, tuna and pasta that is smothered in cheese and condensed soup, and baked for hours (*until a light brown crust has formed and the soup is bubbling) cannot embed life back into a limp corpse. Death is the ultimate permanent. Not even Campbell's Cream of Mushroom can persuade it to undo it's deeds.

Just Some Fave Poems

A Route of Evanescence by Emily Dickinson

A Route of Evanescence
With a revolving Wheel --
A Resonance of Emerald --
A Rush of Cochineal --
And every Blossom on the Bush
Adjusts its tumbled Head --
The mail from Tunis, probably,
An easy Morning's Ride --

This Is Just To Say by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

anyone lived in a pretty how town by EE. Cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

Sir. Realist and I

Sir. Realist is a fine young man
though, he believes in things I do not understand.
He takes peoples hands,
gives second chances
and
worships quixotic star-crossed romances.
Never questioning a smile,
his trust runs deep.
Yet he watches the moon set while
the rest of us sleep.
I
once asked him of his lupine affairs,
He gave a simple reply:
"What if this saucer tears
a whole in the sky?
a deluge of nightmares.
and that is why."

mildly plagarized

rain, rain, go away
come again another day.
huh, familiar.

Gone for College

I walk into my bedroom
the air is strange
there's something softly restless
an anxious wind of change
though my possessions remain stationary
somethings bound to stir
because the hand of destiny
has taken my sister
her bed, perpetually prim and made,
a shrine to her absence
mocks me for my solitude
and feeble innocence

Hott Tips

-When cleaning glass with Windex, use newspaper instead of a paper towel. It leaves no streaks or fiber residue, plus its better for the environment!

-If your having trouble getting a vending machine to take a dollar breath on George Washington's face.

-Spread mayonnaise instead of butter on your grilled cheese sandwiches before toasting them. It fries better, has less calories, and spreads easier.

-If you lose your earring backing during the school day you can use an eraser to hold it in place temporarily.

UC Application Essay

Learning to Read: A Love Affair with the English Language

It is around noon, I’ve just finished watching Sesame Street and I’m sitting on the worn rug of the den wearing Osh Kosh overalls and playing with my Etch-A-Sketch. I deliberate with furrowed brows, then carefully carve the letters “B-O-M-B” into the screen. Giddy and proud, I toddle over to my Papa to find out what I spelled. “Bomb, baby, you spelled bomb. Have you been playing with bombs?” He chuckles. I giggle in delight. This is an ongoing game we play ever since I memorized my ABC’s in day school. Fascinated with the fact that these simple figures can create words, I invented a primitive guess and check method of learning how to spell.
Fast forward about two years: it is the first day of kindergarten and a pig-tailed young lady sits with her hands folded in her lap and feet swinging in excited anticipation. Mrs. Reagan asks the class, “Who here knows their ABC’s?” The young lady, along with the rest of the class, raises her hand high and beams. “Very good!” says Mrs. Reagan. “Now who here can spell the word dog?” Promptly the girl’s hand shoots up. “Yes Ms. Michelle?” With the utmost confidence the pigtailed girl replies “D-O-G.” She finishes with a smug smile. “Excellent Michelle, that is correct.” As the exchange continued Michelle, familiar with every word, raises her hand and huffs in frustration when Mrs. Reagan doesn’t call on her. “Alright last word, hmm lets see… how about the word, horse?” Several tiny hands raise cautiously, Michelle’s is not among them. As Oliver Toole spells the foreign word, Michelle realizes that she did not, in fact, know how to spell. What she had been learning to do, was memorize. In her novice mind there was no correlation between the sounds of each individual letter and the word as a whole. She went home that day humbled and distressed.
Experiencing such chagrin from early on had bruised my confidence, creating a mental block for reading and spelling. Through most of my early education I struggled along, unable to forge the connection of phonics. Luckily, I am blessed with an acute memory and was able to pass spelling and grammar with it. I spent my school days oscillating between frustration and daydreams. Daydreaming, I was good at. Fabricating stories about people and things I’ve never met or heard of was a source of solace and distraction. In retrospect, I see that my daydreaming is my earliest form of creative writing, I just did not have means to record my ideas yet.
Then I understood. One day in Mrs. Cortez’s 3rd grade geography lesson I read the word “Atlanta.” It was an unfamiliar word I had not memorized, yet I could still read it. “AT-LANT-A.” Just like that, I fell in love. With this new insight I embarked on reading a real chapter book from the advanced section of the SSR (silent sustained reading) bookshelf. Before my epiphany, I skimmed over heavily illustrated books extracting limited comprehension through my mental word bank. I chose “MA-TIL-DA.” To this day, Roald Dahl is one of my favorite authors. Much like the fictional character Matilda, I devoured books, often reading far above my intelligence level with relish.
I craved more than reading though. I longed to create, to write. Words were my bread and butter, and appropriately my writing journey began in a very logical place, the dictionary. I poured over my Webster’s for hours, collecting words for their the meaning or sound, like coveted gems. Often I played games with the words to see how many words I could discover with the same meaning or vise versa (I now know these are called synonyms and homonyms). At nine I began a journal to keep track of all my treasured words. Sometimes it would take the form of a diary, sometimes as a word jewelry box, but most often I’d use it for poetry and short stories. As I grew as a writer I began to appreciate sentence structure as a frame for my beloved words. My diction is the diamond, and syntax is the intricate setting that composes the figurative engagement ring to the English language I don. Yes, I am proud to admit it, my one true love is words, and I feel it is safe to say we will live happily ever after.

new words

Words are fun, even pretend ones.


forget+regret= forgret

forgret: v.- To have deep remorse over forgetting something important.

ex/ "I forgret losing our passports and causing our trip to Prague to be postponed."

vicious+malicious= valicious

valicious: adj.- To act both savagely and immoral simultaneously.

ex/ "Wow--did you see Kobe's fowl?--it was VALICIOUS!"

relationship+shit= relationshit

relationshit: n.- The predicament of being in a shitty relationship.

ex/ "Michael and Jan from the sitcom, The Office, are in a relationshit."

*note: You can replace any word ending in the suffix "ship" with "shit" to create humorous slang describing a difficult situation.

ex/ "leadershit," "dictatorshit," "friendshit," "sponsorshit," "cencorshit" etc....

routine+teenager= routeenager

routeenager: n.- An average adolescent whose in a funk and needs to get his/her groove back.

ex/ "Sheila, ever since Robby broke up with you, you've been moping around like a total routeenager."

snow+flake= snowflake

snowflake: n.- One who flakes out on a trip to the snow with their friends.

ex/ "Because Brian is being a snowflake we have an uneven number for ski-lift buddies."

and now for some spanglish:

i ola hola ! = wave hello

*note ola literally translates to wave, as in one made of water, hence this phrase is both a pair of homonyms and a translated pun.

ex/"i Ola hola to the surfer !" (wave hello to the surfer)

vomamos= let's go

shortened slang: vom

*note: this slang is to be used like the words split, or ditch.

ex/ "You guys ready to vom? I heard this party's gonna get rolled pretty soon."

Bese ese= Kiss that

*note: Use this slang as an insult or comeback by indicating to something vulgar to kiss.

ex/ insult: "Your stupid." comeback: "i Bese ese ! (pointing at tush)"

Sophomore Land

It's that time of year
When school is near
It starts back up
and soon enough
we'll be rarely there but almost here
and erasers will renew their old careers

we'll wear lots of scarves
to keep us warm
at football games
but it's not the same
as that time when we watched hand in hand
and smiled at the kids in marching band

well there's a boy
in history class
I take a glance
he smiles back
often I can't help but simply laugh
with those silly billy hopes of sweet romance

in sophomore land
it's hard to stand
way to profound
to stay on the ground
we read and write
to keep in sight
those goals to reach
that teachers teach

and leaves fumble tumble bumble to the ground
to sleep until the snow comes safe and sound
and leaves fumble bumble stumble to the grass
with those sill frilly hopes of sweet romance

More Haikus

Wayne and Martha

It's seldom ever
noticed just how often we
entertain angels

Sneeze

salty and spraying
much like the ocean's breath but
less satisfying


Noel

lights of fruit sparkle
on an evergreen tree that
has baubles on it

Bluster

A gust of wind gulp
it in with deep life giving
breaths of gratefulness

Blast from the Past

I happened to stumble upon a collection of poems I wrote as a 5th grader, being a high school senior now, that means 7 years ago. This finding brought me back to the days Mrs. Fritz's stuffy classroom at my parochial elementary school when the most important things in the world were for square and who got the last blue otter pop. I left in the spelling errors for authenticity, and am rather impressed with my ten-year-old self.

In a Diary

I can write my life
away from here
when sadness comes
shed a tear
feel lost and lonesome
draw you near
to share a story
with you, my dear
pages fill up
a lifes whole year
fantastic adventures
all end with a cheer
there is something
about my book that I fear
these recolections
may not always be clear
for there often less grand
than I make them appear

Another Chance

Deep breaths
the air is
cold and fresh
it's sunny
the day after a storm
fragranse of
wet concreet and grass
night has renewed
starting over
mistakes stay
in the past
deep breaths

Questions

People assume the oposite of
life is death
but isnt death the
ending of life?
So would birth,
the beggining of life,
be the opposite of
death?
then what is the
opposite of life?
These questions
consume me.

Leaves Haiku

Red, orange, brown, and green
all seasons leaves will be seen
summer fall and spring

SubText

jst a few simple words

chosen wth care
typed wth all thumbs
& sent thru the air
i kno it sounds silly
but i jst wanted 2 share
the fact that
i luv u!
& ill alwayz b ther!

FB wall post

i have something to
tell you a short message so
here we go ah-hem

haikus are the best
because you can fit so much
meaning into them

thats all my friend i
hope you enjoy this because
i do, like legit.

so legit in fact
i may never stop just keep
on trying to quit

well this indeed has
been procrastination at
its finest um, bye!

Content

I’ve had my moments
when the touch of my hand turns
everything gold

I’ve had my moments
when I choke back a whimper
just lonesome and cold

I didn't shape the
century but I did have
a warm hand to hold

I cannot boast a
war like Helen, but at times
behaved brash and bold

I sit now with my
peppermint tea in hand, and
watch it's steam unfold

It swims a while
then disappears, just like my
story, still untold

Wild Flowers

You have sunflowers
that solemnly lie
framing the pupil
of eye crystalline eye.
And when we stand closer
your hips touching mine
I notice your lashes,
a gold fringe of dandy lion

You explore my body
with resolve and strong hands.
and there it goes fleetingly,
just at your command
not sure what I've lost,
and still have, do not understand
the harsh thorn of a rose
punctured deep in my hand
and the lovesick blood still flows

But for now, I am empty.
You quietly take your leave.
I glance around, hesitate,
and silently breathe
a sigh.
and heave.
undeniably empty

Regret Haiku

numb, fumbling lips,
burning bile, crusted hair,
pinned, juxtaposed hips

Media, Media

Mirror,mirror, on the wall
who really is fairest of them all?
because according to US magazine, Instyle, Vogue, and Seventeen
it's no one in real life I've seen

painted cheekbones, inflated lips
ever so slightly photo shopped hips
a nip right there, a tuck right here
silicon to the rescue, have no fear!

and in this land where everthing's shiny
the hair is straight and waists are tiny
nails are polished, lips are glossed
both behinds and teeth are religiously flossed

I gussy, I primp, I powder, I contort
though convincingly synthetic, I still fall short
this mission is over, it's time to abort
this artificial beauty isn't worth the effort