The “All I Want for Christmas” Tool-Shed “Juicer’s Only” Diet

Using only a hammer, screwdriver, and needle-nosed pliers taken from the tool-shed, remove a tooth a day until there are no more. This experiment will make eating painful at start and inconvenient later. This diet also offers unexpected value by eliminating:

1- the expense of future dental maintenance

2- the time involved in three daily brushings and flossing’s.

3- the worries of romance.

The Out Behind the Tool-Shed Diet

Pay a large, mean person to follow you around and beat the snot out of you every time you reach for a Reece’s, a Big Mac, a brownie, or a Mountain Dew. (To include ice cream if it is a particular problem, and I would bet that it is.)

The Out Front of the Tool-Shed Diet

Take your unused bicycle out of the shed. Put your pantry, refrigerator, and car keys inside where the bike was, then chain an unfamiliar Rottweiler in front of the shed's door. Five feet beyond the chain’s length place the bicycle. You can think about the food in the pantry and fridge, but I wouldn't advise going there! Instead, use the bike to ride to the store once you are completely famished and must eat something.

This diet is great for maintaining a steady weight, as you cannot carry a great many donuts while riding a bike. This diet is also cost effective, as the dog works best when he, too, is hungry.

The Eat Only What You Can Find or Kill Inside the Too-Shed Diet

This diet is self-explanatory, and is very, very effective... ick!

The Use The Tools Inside The Tool-Shed Diet

That’s right, the scariest diet yet! Get out there and work the weight off! (You could even earn a dime or two as an added bonus, if you were so industrious as to carry the tools over to a neighbor’s yard before you begin.)

I wish you all good luck in choosing the diet that works best for you!

Southern December, a fraud, at best

Jones traditions, keeping up with the rest

Chirping birds galavanting nest to nest

No snow, no cold, not even a sweater

Tans aplenty, enjoying bikini weather

Overdressed, pretend, birds of a feather

@coldfront

I remember when I believed in wishing upon a star

That dreams came alive and true love was a concept not too far

That fairytales could happen if you just had enough faith

That hopes were usually bittersweet like an over done fruitcake

But that was a different girl from a distant past and this is the present

I stopped imagining myself as the princess and came to terms as a peasant

The revelation of reality has set my mind free

To grow in different paths much like the shade from this old tree

Broken out of the chains wrapped around me at birth

Taking in my new found point of view with winter and mirth.

here we walk

through veins of blue and organs of pink,

all of it painted black to hide its beauty.

here we have

shreds of paper, lines of poetry,

embedded in the flesh of my heart.

in some places we might see cuts

where i came in and dug out some words

coated in blood,

i dripped them onto paper.

and over here we have

regret, painted on the black-and-white canvas of memory.

faces and words that can't be undone.

here we have love,

it's a small room,

but i would die again and again

for each and every one of them.

here we have pride,

the smallest room of all,

and every shred of pride i feel,

i lock in here and never talk about,

because i don't want to be seen as arrogant.

here we have lust,

the things no one wants to talk about

locked in here and hidden

because i'm told my feelings are wrong.

here we have greed,

the things i can't help but want,

the things i lie and say i need,

then hide away, never used.

here goes gluttony,

eating and eating when all she wants to do is starve

starve away the weight

starve away until she's skin and bone,

but she can't stop eating

and

eating

and eating.

down here in the basement is wrath.

he watches the tv with scorn,

throwing empty bottles of shame

into brick walls

and watching them shatter.

wrath never stops.

his anger never ceases,

he just bottles it up

and then he throws the bottles at walls

and watches them explode.

he loves the destruction

because it makes him feel better

about his own emptiness.

down the hall is sloth,

he never moves much anymore.

sometimes he is so still that you almost move right past him,

forgetting.

but he always surprises you

when you're alone

creeping up and feeding you

spoonfuls of laziness.

sucking away at your motivation through a straw

because he's too lazy to go get his own.

these are the freeloaders in my heart;

sin that lingers around corners and on couches,

eating my food, sitting at my table.

parasites living off of my happiness.

this is my heart

where sin has a face

and that face has a body

and that body needs to eat

i feed my sin,

like throwing bread to ducks,

and i paint the blue veins and beating walls black

so no one can see in

or out.

She is tired, a combination of too much sleep and too little in no particular pattern. The spring in her step is not quite as springy as it once was, like a slinky that gets stretched a little too far and never quite returns to normal. She has been stretched a million different ways over the years, bending over backwards and contorting herself to the whims of others, a master of self-manipulation, and it has left a weariness that ages her beyond her years. Most recently it has been her children that stretched her; her belly to carry them, her arms to hold them tight, her heart to love them. Her heart is the biggest and fullest it has ever been, and she wears it proudly upon her sleeve for all to see. It bears many scars, some which have faded to barely-there traces, others deep crevices across its chambers, but they are healing. One day they might not be there at all, she hopes.

She speaks with a lisp from too many years talking through a mouthful of braces, which make her wonder if the braces were worth it. But her voice is girlish and tuneful, ready to break into song at any moment. She loves to sing, and to dance, although her steps are never as precise as her notes, and she suffers from chronic clumsiness; her arms and legs usually sporting bruises from her lack of spatial awareness. She sometimes feels as if she is simply too big and ungainly, where in her mind she must be two inches smaller in every direction than she is in reality.

She can never hide her emotions. She laughs loudly, and cries when she's hurt. She struggles to lie, because her face will always betray the truth. She is fiercely loyal, and as protective of her loved ones as any beast. She daydreams and likes the world to be silent so she can listen to the songs and stories in her head. Her mind is a beautiful mess of song lyrics, scientific facts, untold tales, hidden memories, and self-hatred. She is by far her biggest critic, and craves the approval of others as she can never approve of herself.

She often wishes she could be anyone other than herself. But she is not. She is who she is, and that will probably never change.