Monday, February 29, 2016

SUCCESS

Today I enjoyed some success. I passed the Human Growth & Development CLEP exam. As I took the test I thought,"There is no fucking way in HELL I'm gonna pass this bitch. Shit. Shit. SHIT." I studied in a half-assed way for three weeks. My brain feels like Swiss cheese most days. I can't retain information for shit. My younger sister once told me that it would make me ill if I knew how easy it was for her to breeze through four years at the University of Texas at Austin. She rarely studied. She aced her exams. Here I am at the age of forty-three...currently failing introduction to mathematics (I'm going to meet my professor in her office on Wednesday and I'll start attending tutoring sessions at the campus library this week) but otherwise set to finally receive my BFA in May. I grinned as I exited the test center this afternoon. This song was blasting from a sorority tent. Thus. Kanye is my spirit animal.

SUPERIOR SUCKERS


LOVE LETTER TO MS WORD

DEAR MS WORD:

ALKJFA;LSKFJA;SLKFJ
ALGHORIJGADKJGAKD
ADGHA;LKDJ;LKDFJGJEI
AIEJF;ASJF;LKASJ;LFAKDJF
REIHIEHGHPAUH;SHUIEP;OIJRAX
DRIKEGUE;IJZJHIJE;IPIJZ;LKJXLKJ
IJGIEJ;LJEIUHGOEHJZMNCHNIEIEI
22333939393484839394839394939339393
990000000393939393939385858585858585
((((((((((&&&&****&&&^^%%%$$#$####

Love,

Misti Rainwater-Lites
frequent uSeR

TRASH


Thursday, February 25, 2016

DEAR OLGA

Dear Olga,

I hate it when people assume shit. Does SPAM ever work? It did not work in this instance. Wedding bells will not ring for us, alas. I do not have a penis. This is art, Olga. Olga...art this is NOT.

I was born on February 17, 1973 in Bridgeport, Texas which means that I am an Aquarian with a Virgo moon and a Virgo ascendant which means that:

1. I offend Pinterest moms.
2. I defy category.
3. I do not enjoy anal sex.
4. I do enjoy my purple elephant vibrator.
5. I write books and shit.

Much Sincere Disinterest,

Misti Rainwater-Lites

NEW ACQUAINTANCE

Hello my new friend!!!

You are probably surprised where did I find your email. Ok, I will try to explain. It is first time in my life to have acquaintance through the internet. It is new to me. I was never been registered on Dating Sites. That’s why I addressed to the agency of acquaintance to find friend through the internet.
They gave me your email and said that you are also trying to find someone, partner in life. I hope I wrote your email correctly and my email will come to you.

Let's get acquainted! Just a little bit about me;
My name is Olga.
I am from Russia and I hope you are not afraid that I am not from your country.
I am the same woman from different countries, with heart and soul.
I am 29 years old. I was born on 25 of August. It mean I am a Virgo.
My height is 5,7. My weight is 121,25 pounds.
I have high education and work by my diploma. I work in a computer store. I am selling computers and other staff. So I don’t have any problems to write you emails.
Sometimes, once in a week it will be impossible to write you because of my weekend but I will let you know about it.
I am not married and have no children. I decided to look for a man over the Internet. I do not care what country he is.
I have a few questions, I hope you answer me on them.
Have you ever been married?
Do you have children?
How old are you?
I also send you some of my image for you to understand with whom are you talking. I hope you will like it.
This is just my first email to you. Hope my letter will come to you and we will continue to speak.
Waiting for you email.

Sincerely, Olga.

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

ROCK THE VOTE

I'm so discombobulated at this point I don't know if I'm in Iowa or South Carolina. I'm definitely in San Antonio, Texas. Do I have a penis or a vagina? I have a vagina. Do I want gays to get married? Someone has to get married. Might as well be LGBT motherfuckers. I'm a weird flavored motherfucker. I don't know who or what I am. Okay, I love men to a distraction. I am consumed with dick. All the dick I want and will never possess. I live vicariously through my men because I am a voyeur. "Did you fuck her? Do you want to fuck her? Isn't she hot? What do you think of her tits?" I have a vagina. I have an ass. I have tits. I'm a woman. I don't watch porn. I have watched porn. I love me some Evan Stone. It isn't about his dick although he certainly has one. I love his face. I love his brain. I love the coffee porn he posts at Facebook. I've been married and divorced twice. I take my food seriously. I've lived with four different men. Do I think people should be able to own guns? No. If people stop buying guns people will stop making guns and if you want to kill someone you will have to use a knife or an ax or a chainsaw or a brick or a car or a tractor or a weasel or JIF extra crunchy. There are too many guns in America. There should be more rainbow weddings, less guns. The two issues are not related but everything is connected. Pee Wee Herman taught me how to connect the dots. I scribbled notes and turned them into a temporary tattoo on my left ass cheek. There should be more BOOKS. More consensual sex. More joyous sex. This IS the love crowd, right? I'm not sure I can trust a woman who stays married to a man who fucks everyone but her. I know I can't trust a man with hair like that. The truth is...I hide from the census people because I know I don't count. You should see all my Dollar Tree receipts. I think I have $22 on my Capital One. I have $40 in Chase and a $56 T-Mobile bill is due. I wanted to vote for Nico LaHood but I was hungover and my voter's registration card arrived in the mail a few months late. I'm not here. I'm still stuck in 1967. I was born in 1973. Don't eat Ding Dongs. Ding Dongs are terrible for you.

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

BEST INTERVIEW EVER

Don't trust superlatives. They will cheat on your ass with hyperbole. But thanks to Flapperhouse for this damn fine interview. I'm humbled. Love y'all mucho much.

p.s. This is the best interview ever.

Monday, February 15, 2016

NOT SO ANONYMOUS


MULTIPLE ORGASMS

Today I treated myself to several series of multiple orgasms. It had been years since I'd enjoyed such a delectable, addictive ocean of oomph. The multiple orgasms were partially sponsored by Budweiser. No, I was not drinking Budweiser today or yesterday or any day in recent memory. It's a bit of an inside joke. Are you curious? Okay. I'll tell you. I'll spill. I found a new boyfriend at Facebook. We were hot and heavy for a couple of days. We spoke on the phone twice. He called me "Sweets" and "Baby." I dig that sort of thing. In at least one of his Facebook pictures (I blocked him yesterday) he's holding a Budweiser in each hand. That didn't turn me on. The pictures of him at a Sammy Hagar concert didn't turn me on, either. I like that he used terms of endearment on me. I like that we're both fans of Evan Stone. Maybe you're wondering if he's gay. I don't think he is but I'll never know for sure. I suspect the man is married because in a bathroom selfie I can clearly see Bath & Body Works on the counter and the dreaded wedding band on his wedding ring finger. He said he would take me to AVN next year. I was hoping pretty fucking hard but then I pulled myself out of the delusion and blocked his Budweiser swigging ass. No harm. No foul.

I'm just glad I share his enthusiasm for my cunt, the cunt he will never see, taste, smell or fuck. The cunt that enjoyed several orgasms today. Time for art class. Painting for non-majors. We're working with oils.

Thursday, February 11, 2016

Here's my resume.

Born in Bridgeport, Texas.
1973.
Teenage parents.
Cherokee on both sides.
Can't prove it.
So. No free house. No free land.
Too much Swiss, French, Irish
and Scottish gives me some kind
of privilege.
Can't prove that shit, either.
First job was probably a lemonade stand.
I've blocked a lot of shit out.
I remember a dark basement.
Eating peaches out of jars.
I remember French kissing
my favorite cousin
in our grandmother's closet
when I was seven and he was eight.
Dad's black leather belt.
Dad's killer cobalt eyes.
Dad's disapproving drawl.
John Belushi on "Saturday Night Live."
Tony's pizza.
Asthma attacks.
Nightmares inspired by "Little House on the Prairie."
Potsy serenading Joanie.
Tiger Beat posters on my walls.
Walking away from the rental house
(jug of Jack Daniels on top of the fridge)
when I was six
carrying my dad's cowboy hat
with the rattlesnake rattle in the band
and his old billfold filled
with pictures of him in cheap motels
with his one night stands.
The King James Bible.
"If it ain't King James it ain't right."
(Fred Rainwater)
In Midland I babysat a bunch of brats.
Ate their parents' Nacho Doritos,
watched softcore porn on Cinemax.
Danced around to Beatles records.
Imagined myself being some man's girl.
At sixteen I got a job at Burger Time
to pay for my first speeding ticket.
Bought a guitar. Pawned it.
Imagined myself Jessica Wakefield
the popular cheerleader
or Elizabeth Wakefield
the popular writer.
Either way I would win. Someday.
Hid in my closet with scented markers.
Imagined myself some kind of rainbow.
Read fairy tales believed fairy tales
at sixteen seventeen eighteen nineteen.
Never got asked to prom.
I was pretty in pink without the sewing skills.
No Ducky or Blane in sight.
No Psychedelic Furs.
Slow to grow late to bloom.
When I was sixteen I wanted to marry Ringo.
After graduating from Fredericksburg Christian
(the principal lectured me on the evils of astrology)
I got a job as a cashier at Diamond supermarket.
Fired after a couple of months.
I sucked at counting money.
Waited a few tables in Kerrville.
They didn't like me much at the Bluebonnet Cafe.
I sucked at flirting with short order cooks.
I lacked a bubbly personality.
I didn't have bouncy tits and blonde hair.
Bad native Texan.
Where's your personality?
Where's your proof?
Are you sure you weren't born in New York?
Gal, you gotta SMILE
and MEAN that shit!
Mom taught me how to make peach cobbler.
Mom told me not to ask for favors
without my lipstick on.
I thought I'd die an old maid
but before I hit thirty
I married a man from New York.
He dug my poems and pre MySpace selfies.
He thought I gave good xanga.
Then I left the man from New York
for a man from New Mexico
and he helped me put together a zine
I called Instant Pussy.
I was an instant small press success.
I rocked mics from Albuquerque to Santa Cruz.
But I had to work double shifts as a security guard
to afford the airfare so I was still a loser.
Had a nervous breakdown working as a security guard
at the Citi Bank call center.
Husband #2 said stay home, little lady.
I'll slay the working class dragons for us both.
And we made a baby in 2007.
Year of the Golden Pig.
And I waited in line for WIC
and I waited in line for emergency food stamps
during the third or fourth hurricane evacuation
and I fell in love with poets slash editors
from Liverpool to Oakland
while sleep deprived
and anxious and depressed
and shackled and closeted
dreaming of Evan Stone
and a brighter day
when I would be muse to some
porn star slash comedian slash politically savvy
cult hero of social media.
I fell in love with a plumber slash plasma donor
and toughed it out in a bedbug infested
travel trailer in Balcones Heights.
Someday he would love me as much as he loved
the mother of his four sons and we would live
happily ever after hangover to hangover
in Corpus Christi, Playboy calendar on the wall,
our anniversary circled in red.
I wrote a few books.
I maintained a crazy ass blog
that would make Pinterest mommies from
Ohio to New Hampshire scratch their
suburbia smug heads.
I'll never make it to AWP or Bread Loaf
or Iowa Writers' or St. Mark's
but I've been on The Billy Madison Show
with my purple elephant vibrator
and I can still hula hoop at 42
and I'm still standing in front of a mountain
with a plastic spoon in one hand
and a black pen in the other.
I know nada.
I am nada.
But I love my son.
He's eight.
So I need to stay alive.
I'm available all hours.
Give me eighty hours a week
and a free membership to Planet Fitness.
I can start
tomorrow.

Monday, February 8, 2016

MORE MEDIUM THAN LARGE


SEXUAL RAINBOW

Red. You're a cheetah. No one can handle your fiery ass.
Orange. You're a Cheeto. Some people are too smart to eat you.
Yellow. You're a damn recalled mermaid doll. No one wants you.
Green. You're a bud. You'll always be in style.
Blue. You're a Bee Gees record, always spinning somewhere.
Indigo. I don't know. Do you? Let's go to bed, baby.
Violet. You're an ineffable Mexican dream sponsored by...

JOSE CUERVO!!!

This is fiction.

One day the chimpanzee named Koko Loko was curious so he rode a bus to New Orleans. He ate some gumbo. The roux was perfect, thick and spicy. Koko Loko washed down the spicy gumbo with some Mexican beer because that was just how he rolled. There was an old school jukebox in the corner, glowing green and purple and gold. Koko Loko fed it endless quarters because his progressed moon was in Pisces and he wanted to encourage his endless tears. Catharsis it be called, dawg.

Around two or three in the a.m. Koko Loko walked down to the river. It was mud and water as always but in his drunk dream monkey mind it was ink writing the story of his life.

"Nothing's superfluous about this circus," Koko Loko said.

He went on living. Fuzzy.

CREATIVE NONFICTION FLASH

Get off your goddamn phones, zombies. You let people EXIT buses and elevators. THEN you ENTER. Civilization. Basic fucking courtesies. M-A-N-N-E-R-S. Civility. The Virgo in me growls all didactic and petty but damn this mouth breathing moron bullshit is getting on my last motherfucking nerve.

My son plays video games on his television and Kindle. I tell him to take a break. We cuddle. We collaborate on a story we write and illustrate. I'll publish it later at lulu.com. The title is 1...2 Freddy's Coming For You! After my son's bath I tuck him in and make his puppy dog security blanket cuss me out like I always do and he puts Puppy in time out like he always does and I tell him a Cougar & Sally story and then I read four chapters from The Barking Ghost.

I'm so tired I want to die but it isn't time for that yet so I drink green tea and eat raspberry filled dark chocolate and take the bus to campus and walk past zombies whose mommies didn't teach them the basics. I Google ghosts who look better dead than I'll ever look alive.

Channeling Kathy Acker. Channeling Richard Brautigan. I'm still showing off and not going viral.