Jessy Delfino's Blog

WHAT I LIKE TO DO
by Mabel Happenstance

When I come home, the first thing I like to do is make a sandwich. This is how I make a sandwich:

I take two pieces of whole wheat bread, not generally white bread (I'm prejudice against certain kinds of bread) and two pieces of pepper jack cheese (sometimes I use cheddar cheese in those wrappers because it is fun to open the cheese in one swift whoosh of plastic wrap inertia, but other times I just love pepper jack cheese) and then I put the cheese on the bread, one slice overlapping the other, and then I squirt mustard on it. I use the store brand mustard, because you can buy it in an enormous tube (painted yellow so you know it's mustard) and then you can squirt it onto your bread using that very handy nozzle that is so accurate, you could write your name on the bread in mustard (and I often do). After it's all put together, I eat it in a very specific way. I take the bread and I lift it up to my mouth area on my face region. I then slip any corner of the bread (there are four) into my mouth and bite! I chomp with a ferociousness and a voracity that is unmatched by sharks or tigers. I clamp my teeth into the soft, spongy bready goodness and pull back, ripping a bleeding mustard slathered hole into the once whole concoction. Then, I chew and chomp with my mouth closed so my husband doesn't punch me. I chew and I chew, and while I chew, I think about everything that is wrong in the world - I think about how batteries die (that's just a way for the government to totally scam you!) and I think about how clouds move too fast so that if you see a pretty image in the clouds, by the time you tap your friend on the shoulder to show it to her, the cloud is gone, making you look like you're the insane one. (That, too, is a conspiracy). I think about park benches, and how birds shit on them. (It's not fair to the benches or the shit). By the time I'm done thinking of all the world's sorrows, my sandwich is finished and it is time for me to pair socks.

I start pairing socks with one thing and one thing in mind: socks of one will become two. It's not hard to pair socks, if you have the right tools and the imagination to boot! What I do is put on one of my favorite sock pairing CD mixes, like the one that is an Aerosmith and They Might Be Giants parfait. It's all like, I'm back in the saddle again! Ana Ng and I are gettin' old... I was crying when I met you.... Particle man! Particle man! It gets my blood flowing and really puts me in the mood to make my socks make sweet love. I then hold the socks up to eachother. If they are right for eachother, the static makes them move closer together, where they will kiss. If they aren't right for eachother, the static makes one sock punch the other out. I then pick up the one sad, bloodied sock and clean it up before the cops get there.

After all the socks are either paired or bloodied, I put them in a drawer, side by side, like the way people park cars in a junkyard. Then, I pray that god forgives me for siding with the bad socks sometimes. It's just that I always love bad boys, you know? That's what I call the punching socks. It's not easy to find punching socks in America. Sometimes you have to go to South America and smuggle them in through your stomach. It's illegal to have them here, but if you keep them in your room, no one will know. Just hide them next to the place you keep your cocaine and prostitutes.

SQUANDERED YOUTH

Mama, sissa, men in charge,
I know you think I'm crazy
And maybe you're correct, y'all
I shoulda joined the Navy
then I would be all programmed right
and wouldn't be unruly
Cause lately I've been making art
and all anti-authority
I wish that I could join the team
that makes the world go round and round
It seems like such a close knit group
in mediocre boring town
I'd like to help the rich get richer
if not for my self-righteous goals
I guess that makes me more selfisher
than the ones who fill the holes
One day far from now, I'm sure
I'll look back down on all of this
and I will say, I wasted life!
I should have worked, not been jobless
I shouldn't have spent clear days out
in nature, kissing, smelling grass
I should have been behind a desk
inside gray walls, completing tasks
I wish I'd done more paperwork
for men with names I do not know
instead I wasted life on art
when I could have helped some dude's business grow