Tag Archives: marriage

Seventy Years

Poetry and Prose, , , , , , , , ,
Seventy Years #poem | creativeliar.com

Photo credit: Neil Moralee

You sit in the car, sit with an engine
grumbling and rumbling like the sounds
your stomach makes and you lay an
unconscious arm across your seemingly
pregnant paunch. You think to launch your thought
in the air, a rocket in your pocket, the elephant
in the car. Her hair is leaking. She had it colored
while you were “wasting the pension” painting
the shed. A horrible copper color, hair, not shed,
weaving its way down the side of her face.
But you say not a thing and she doesn’t squeak
a sound in the seat next to you, not even the
“Did you remember to fill up the tank?” like
she’s ever pumped gas in her life. So you
don’t mention a thing on your mind as is almost
always the case. You see things etched in the soft
of her skin that didn’t exist forty years before
but she still scares you like the moment you first met.

You press the gas, and glide down the avenue, seeing
what you’ve seen before. She comments on
Mr. Henderson’s door, that “ooky” red, she says,
whatever the hell that means. She taps the tips of four
fingers on the armrest to the tune of some song
in her head. You catch yourself thinking “Heartbreak
Hotel.” The copper river has created a personality,
with invisible eyes, nose and mouth. If only you could smudge
holes for it to see, smell, and speak in the side of her head.

She didn’t believe you when you said she looked beautiful,
choking on the chalky horse pill of a syllable, the “be”
in bea-u-ti-ful, losing its footing. And your sentiment
tumbled down, settled on the ground and she had the
audacity to walk all over it. She starts in, as is to be
expected, and lists the things she’s accomplished this
morning while you were “wasting the day away” in bed,
like a common house cat. You tune her out, spin
the invisible volume notch down with yellow tobacco tinged
fingers, her prune mouth sounding shallow
noise and you catch every other word. Something
about an appointment, doctor’s appointment and a funeral,
always a funeral. She talks about it like it’s a wedding,
listing the blazer, skirt, shoes, she will wear until each
piece of clothing dances before your eyes, a warped
parade. You give up and put her on, full blast,
until her voice rings fierce and ricochets off
the windows. There’s something different
in that voice and it’s not the fact that it’s grainy,
a pile of pebbles. You wonder how she swallows.
No, it’s not the quality, or lack of clarity, it’s the fact
that after all these years of wear and tear, you can no
longer hear her innocence. And at this time, like every
other time she looks at you, waiting for a word, for
something tangible to taste, then critique. But you only
smile, feel the creases gathering at your lids, and wish to
drown in her copper creek.

© 2010-2013 Ericka Clay All Rights Reserved

I’m So Tired I’m Starting to Laugh at My Husband’s Jokes

Vintage Ericka, , , , , , , , , ,

Well hello there to the shitload of people who started following me this weekend!  Apparently one of my pins went viral on Pinterest and it had nothing to do with baking a ziti while doing crunches and making diaper paste out of a half used tube of toothpaste and a jar of Vaseline.  For all of you newbies who want a taste of Creative Liar go here, here, not here, definitely here, maybe a little bit here and then high five yourself in the face.

Since I’m super busy glittering a cat I bought off Ebay who looks exactly like Alf, I’ve decided to publish an oldie but goodie post from one of my now defunct blogs.  I’m also going to spray paint “Wow.  What a great idea.  Yard gnomes.” on the side of my neighbor’s house.

It’s hard being a girl.

***

My husband’s recently developed this character who has the ability to wear all our grocery bags at once while speaking in a Russian accent.  He can often be heard singing: “I have the food, the food to feed all of the hungry children.”  I’m really proud of Matt and think his attempt at method acting is really going to further his career as an idiot.

But I still laughed when he broke out into his impression of a man I’ve come to call Nikolai.  I’m tired.  So tired that I find everything funny and sad and frustrating and pleasantly perverted.  When they tell you to rest up during your pregnancy because you’ll probably never ever sleep again, they’re way too nice.  They should punch you hard in the teeth and say things like “Quit complaining about swollen ankles bitch because in the next couple of months you’d saw off both feet just to sit down.”  But sadly, they don’t.

I always find it funny (but only because I’m tired) when other people say having a baby is the greatest thing in the world and convince their perfectly happy unbabied friends to have babies because gosh, it’s seriously the bestest most happiest thing that can ever wever happen to you!  You know what I call those people?  Mean.  Because the only reason they want you to have a kid is so they don’t have to be alone in their miserable exhaustion.  Call me cynical but there’s nothing deliriously happy about bite marks, dark circles under your eyes and the impossible feat of having to remember your zip code at a moment’s notice (Did they have to make it five freaking numbers?  As if I don’t have enough to worry about as it is.  Like putting on fresh underwear.  That one’s hard, too).

But I’m lying a little bit.  There is one little thing that’s worth all the sleep deprivation in the world:

Cute child in a high chair at a restaurant.

On second thought, put that uterus to use why don’t ya!  Heh.

And if you happen to hear a Russian man singing in the street do you mind kicking him in the teeth for me?  Thanks.

Twenty-One Ways to Keep A Marriage Fresh

The Funny, , , , , , , ,
Picture of a young smiling, married couple.

No sombreros in this one. We were getting them dry cleaned.

Matthew and I have been married for four years which in no way makes sense because in my mind I’m still ten and have dedicated my life to mimicking the Pink Ranger. You have no idea how difficult it is to do dishes when breaking out into a roundhouse kick, but I digress.

Alas, society recognizes us as husband and wife and we’ve managed to navigate these waters without forcibly drowning one another. I don’t know the secret to a perfect marriage because as every Power Ranger knows, the only perfect thing in life is your zord and a super tight hot pink jump suit, but here are a few key tips that can keep any marriage afloat:

  1. Create a theme song. Matt and I penned a song called “You’re My Best Friend.” You really just sing that phrase over and over and when your guests get up to leave, that’s your cue to incorporate the choreographed dance. Don’t forget your sombrero.
  2. Aggression is best served passive. If you’re hungry and don’t want to cook dinner simply lie on the floor and writhe with hunger pains to the tune of Alanis Morisette’s “Hand in My Pocket.” DO NOT SING THE SONG OUT LOUD. It’ll just look like you’re free style dancing and the manager at Target will be none too pleased. You also shouldn’t then proceed to yell “What are you?  On your period?” when he asks you to leave unless you want to be banned from shopping there for the next year.  It’s going to be a sad, sad Christmas.
  3. Text your husband symbol pictures of boobies like this: ( . )( . ) It keeps the marriage fresh and the ten-year-old inside of you pleasantly titillated.  See what I did there?
  4. Never say I’m sorry. I learned that from a movie and when have movies ever lied to us?  If it weren’t for She’s All That, I might still be an attractive girl who nobody can tell is attractive because she wears glasses and sometimes wears her hair in a pony tail.  The horror.
  5. Gifts are crucial when keeping a marriage fresh.  I suggest buying something that screams “I’m the only person you’ll ever get to have sex with for the rest of your life.”  Like cyanide.
  6. Gifts are also great ways to not only show your love for your significant other but to buy crap for yourself in the process.  “Oh, you have no use for a jumbo sized box of tampons?  Well, I guess I can take it off your hands.  I’m guessing you’re not a fan of the Midol either…”
  7. Play fun, flirty games like “If you don’t fill my car with gas again I’ll cut your foot off.”  I’m the house champion.
  8. Nothing says “sexy marriage” like two people dressing up for each other so I suggest spying on your neighbors.  It saves you the effort of changing.
  9. Signs of affection on Facebook prove that you’re both in it for the long haul.  Type a long, sentimental poem about how great your life is now that you’re with your significant other.  Don’t forget to tag your ex.
  10. I really like surprising my husband so dropping hints that I may or may not be a man has kept him pleasantly on edge.  Wait till he finds out he’s adopted!
  11. Nothing says “we don’t go to couples therapy on Thursdays at six” like wearing matching outfits.  To jazz up your outfit I suggest bedazzled fanny packs.  Or nipple rings.
  12. Romance is a dish best served in public, preferably in front of your husband’s side of the family on a major holiday.  At church.  Clothing optional.
  13. A tattoo of your spouse’s name is a momento that lasts a lifetime and is far less messier than carving your spouse’s head out of butter.  Far less delicious, too, but you have to pick your battles.
  14. Carving your respective initials in a tree is for amateurs.  Carving your respective initials into the car of Target’s store manager?  Well, now you’ve just earned my respect.
  15. Cooking for your spouse is a great way to Ambienize their food and watch whatever you want on TV.  Out of love.
  16. Creating something for your husband is not only a personal sign of your strong feelings for him, it also shows off your Pinterest skills, which as everyone knows, is also the only way to become a ninja.
  17. Inside jokes are a wonderful way for you two to get closer and at the same time, alienate others.  The next time your sister-in-law talks about her “home jewelry/make up business,” say something like “Just like the hot pickle accident!” and laugh uproariously with your husband as your sister-in-law begins to cry in embarrassment and confusion.  Be sure to save a few of her tears in a jar to remind her of her weaknesses in the future.
  18. Allowing your significant other to help you make major life decisions shows them that you think they’re a worthy partner.  Just last week I let Matt pick out the pizza toppings.  I instantly created a profile for him at bringbackthespicegirls.com, then emailed the link to all of his ex-girlfriends with the subject line “He hasn’t changed” in retaliation, but still.  Baby steps.
  19. Helping your spouse with chores around the house is the perfect way to show how much you respect them.  The trick is to do every chore as half-assed as possible just so they don’t get too comfortable with your assistance.  A little tip: washing the mirrors with toothpaste never hurt anybody.
  20. Going on dates with your spouse keeps the spark ignited.  I suggest inviting some couple friends, doing shots, screaming something about the hot pickle accident, leaving them with the check and then stealing their car.  Out of love.
  21. When in doubt, super tight hot pink jump suit.  For him.

So, there you go. Ways Matt and I have managed to keep things fresh. I have to say the man is more than my husband, he’s my best friend.

Matthew, this one’s for you: (           .          )(            .          )

And we’ll talk later about the adoption thing…  Surprise!!

How to Make Men Think You’re Attractive

The Funny, , , , , , , ,
Picture of a girl sitting on grass, wearing sunglasses.

Me, just sitting in a parking lot, waiting for a butt load of guys to “get with this.” Or as I like to call it: “every day.”

Step one: be me.  Hahaha, no that’s not all the way accurate even though it very much is.  But there are still ways you can be attractive to men even if you didn’t rip through my mother’s abdomen as a newborn and then proceed to hold up a finger when she wanted to swaddle you because you were still reading your infant sized copy of David Sedaris’ When You Are Engulfed in Flames.  (She was a tad put out by that, but let’s face it: her daughter harbors an inexplicably rageous hatred for any shoe other than Skechers Shape Ups and is the proud owner of a working email account, so I think we can all agree I turned out just fine.)

This “how-to” post was inspired by the uber hilarious Becca at 25ToFly who has been relying on her devastating good looks and charming personality to win men over.  Ameteur.  Right now I’m going to pull out the big guns to show all you single ladies out there how to really land a man who can never find the extra toilet paper and once accidentally sent a naughty text to my grandmother.  (You’ll get your cellphone back when I say so, Matthew.)

So without further ado…How to Make Men Think You’re Attractive:

  1. Men like it when you’re not trying.  So don’t.  You know how he says things like “You really shouldn’t wear makeup.  You’d be just as beautiful without it”?  Prove him wrong.
  2. Men like it when you take a vested interest in things they like.  If he likes football?  Dress like a football.  If he likes hockey?  Buy a hockey stick and practice your moves near his car.  If he likes bean and cheese burritos?  Eat ten of them during his cousin’s christening.  He’ll never make that mistake again!
  3. Sometimes men say things like “Dude, why did you just snip off some of my hair?  Not cool.”  Just laugh and wave the scissors around your head in a jovial fashion.  They’ll admire your childlike sense of wonder.
  4. Sometimes men need your help, and when you help them they think things like “I would totally give up having sex with random women to be the father of her children.”  I’ve been known to do things like wash my man’s car and iron his shirts.  Sure, the soap turned out to be paint thinner and nobody told me you can’t iron clothes with a lit match but details aren’t what make you attractive.  Nakedness is.
  5. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.  That’s why putting sleeping pills in his food is a good idea for two very important reasons: 1) He’ll forget how much your cooking tastes like a roasted foot.  2) You can Instragram pictures of the two of you “snuggling” then accidentally send one to Melanie Haberkorn who in the sixth grade said no boy would ever snuggle with you even if he were comatose.  Showed that skank!
  6. Dancing is an art form all men appreciate.  It’s important to reveal your moves at the perfect time like when his parents invite you over for dinner or when he’s crying because his cat ran away.  Let your gyrations wipe his tears.
  7. Change your name to Gertrude.  It will remind him of the great aunt he was very close to.  Don’t forget to offer him a handful of Werther’s Original stuck in a used Kleenex whenever he calls you by name.
  8. Buy and wear copious amounts of underwear.  Men like underwear so much because they’re incredibly fearful of accidentally seeing their mothers naked.  You can trust me on this.  I have a doctorate in psychology.  Actually it’s just a regular degree in creative writing, but I still force my husband to call me Dr. Ericka.  I call him Toodles.
  9. Showering should be optional and yoga pants are an aphrodisiac.  Men like knowing you claim a scent that hasn’t been funneled into a plastic bottle at Bath and Body Works and yoga pants just scream “I’m so comfortable, I think I’m going to do you later!!”  You’re not, but he doesn’t need to know that.
  10. Tattooing your initials on someone after they’ve eaten a plate of sleepy food is not a crime as long as it’s done in a place that’s not entirely visible.  Two words: butt cheeks.  Two other words: rabid giraffes.

What’s that?  You’re already married and you’ve only gotten to step number three??  Damn right you are!  It just takes a little underwear and a little crushed up ambien to ensure a lifetime of happiness with a man who accidentally sent a naked photo of himself to your sister.  (Ten more months, Matthew.  Ten more months.)

How do you attract guys or girls or both or giraffes?

*Be sure to stop by Black Box Warnings today to learn a little more about my struggle with social anxiety and depression.  It’s in no way funny, but in every way true.  Sorry about being a downer all of a sudden.  Poop on a stick.  That’s better.  

Being Ericka Clay

The Funny, , , , , ,
Picture of a young girl riding on her father's shoulders cross a parking lot.

They look cute. But don’t believe them.

When you’re Ericka Clay, you inadvertently schedule your yearly gynecology appointment during your daughter’s nap time. So naturally, your husband drops you off so he can get the little one to bed and your grandmother offers to pick you up…an hour early. And insists on sitting next to you in the waiting room. And when the nurse calls your name she shouts “Good luck in there!” because that’s what you need when straddling a pair of stirrups. Luck.

I’ve had some time to think about my life (the entire thirty-two seconds allotted for me when I slam my car door and walk around to my daughter’s), and I’ve realized something. Being Ericka Clay is hard.

Walk with me.

So now we’re in my closet. Please stop touching my pants. Okay, now you see right there, that empty space where my shoes should be? It’s empty because my toddler is wearing my ballet flats on her feet as well as attempting to wear my heels as earrings. This means I can’t wear shoes until I head out the door. Which means I’ll absolutely forget about putting on a pair. And when I walk into the coffee shop barefoot they’ll refuse to serve me espresso because last time I got so buzzed off the caffeine I kept trying to shake people’s hands with my naked feet. See? Hard.

Now follow me this way. Are those my pants? Please take them off. All right, now look inside the fridge. You know what that is? A bottle of ketchup. Can you tell me where that bottle is located? That’s right. Second shelf from the top on the right hand side. Do you know where my husband thinks it is? China. Or by now he’s convinced himself that I fashioned a tiny ketchup-sized coffin for the bottle and have buried it in the backyard just to piss him off. If I was going to piss him off I’d get a little more creative. And down the freaking bottle in front of him while he soaked up his tears with his french fries.

Don’t even get me started on the dogs.

Being Ericka Clay is hard because being Ericka Clay involves keeping track of a family and last time I checked, this involves a responsible, mature mindset that I, fortunately, have been afforded. So no more complaining for me. Leave that to the sophomoric dolts in the toy aisle of Wal-mart.

Now help me move this ketchup coffin.

*Cat’s out of the bag.  I’ve officially revealed myself.  Well I guess if you’ve already clicked on erickaclay.com at the top of this blog you already figured that one out.  Let’s just say I have two personalities.  Okay, three, but the third is at the spa getting a hot stone massage.  God, I really hate her.