Showing posts sorted by relevance for query bitter single poetry. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query bitter single poetry. Sort by date Show all posts

Breakfast is Served

Because we were deeply concerned for you, the masses, who will not be hearing from Cicada for at least a week while she is on her honeymoon and may possibly go into withdrawals without a Cicada fix, we convinced her to invite us to post as her guest bloggers, so that we might share with you the excitement and beauty of her lovely wedding day. It will not be the same, but it will be something.

And so, without further ado, we give you Cicada's Wedding Day as seen through the eyes of Miss Nemesis and Daltongirl. As determined previously by coin toss or lots or something, Daltongirl will go first.

Installment 1: The Wedding Breakfast

Daltonboy and I arrived at the reception center to find a bunch of people standing around watching a video. Murray whispered sheepishly that he wasn't sure whether Cicada would approve of the preview, since the video was part of the program for later, but he felt the need to entertain. The video was awesome, partly because it was backed up by some cool scat singing by Ella Fitzgerald, but also because it featured a photo of jr. high-age Cicada with a really tight perm and an unfortunate blouse, covered with a print of flowers larger than her head. Later, during the program, that photo got a huge laugh--even though most everyone was seeing it for the second time.

Cicada arrived, surrounded by her entourage, in the manner of a rock star.

I found myself trying to catch a glimpse of her out the window, just so I could say I'd seen her. Sadly, she was blocked from my view by a group of men in dark suits, so I had to wait until she made her entrance into the dining room.

We found our seats and waited patiently until the moment when we could devour the creme-stuffed crepes in front of us.

Nemesis joined us after almost running the entourage down with her car.

Being schooled in the ways of Europeans and High Brow people, she immediately noticed the classy raspberry curd on the table. I, trying to cover up my white trash upbringing, somewhat abashedly admitted that I had thought it was ketchup. And so it turned out to be, after Nem delicately spooned some onto her plate next to the creme-stuffed crepes. I was ever so disappointed that she hadn't glopped it directly on top of them.

By the time I had eaten half the breakfast, I had consumed more than my entire day's allotment of calories. Perhaps this is why, at 9:00 in the evening, Cicada could say to me, "I haven't eaten since 9:00 this morning, but I'm really not hungry." Seriously. SO delicious.


After the breakfast, we were treated to a short program, wherein both Cicada's and Murray's parents said nice things about them and their impending union--all true as far as we know. Switchback, the loveliest of Maids of Honor, proposed a fabulous toast. Murray's brother started out jokingly, but quickly became choked up in the sweetest way. Then Cicada's family plus Switchback treated us with this musical number, which we understand was a collaborative effort by El Senor, Captain Fabuloso, and Captain Mom, with Richie on guitar.

Sung to the tune of John Prine's "Dear Abby."

Dear Abby

(girls)
Dear Abby, Dear Abby,
My life ain't so great.
I've come out of college with barely a date.
I had a great future worked out in my head.
But now I live with my brother instead.
Signed,
Old Spinster

(boys)
Dear Abby, Dear Abby,
I live all alone.
I bought me a car, and I bought me a home.
I've spent many years to build me this nest,
But now all I need is a bird to come rest.
Signed,
Bird Watcher

(girls and boys together)
Old Spinster, Bird Watcher,
You have no complaint.
You are what you are and you ain't what you ain't.
So listen up Spinster, and Bird Watcher too:
Be patient. One day all your dreams will come true.
Signed,
Dear Abby.

(girls)
Dear Abby, Dear Abby,
I give up on love.
My family's been praying for help from above.
I edit and bike and I work on my blog.
I'm busy, successful, and have a great job.
Signed,
Still Patient

(boys)
Dear Abby, Dear Abby,
I have to work fast.
I often am told that my best years are past.
I go to church with the singles but don't have a doubt
That when I turn thirty they're kicking me out.
Signed,
Dejected

(boys)
Dear Abby, Dear Abby,
Oh, what's apropos
When you've fallen in love with a girl you don't know?
I read all her stories and she sounds so sweet.
This is surely a girl that I'd like to meet.
Signed,
Web Lurker

(girls)
Dear Abby, Dear Abby,
I never could see
That Internet dating was in store for me.
I googled his records and he came up clean.
So with friends in tow we ate Indian cuisine.
Signed,
Optimistic

(boys and girls together)
Dear Abby, Dear Abby,
The time has been short.
It's just been six months since we started to court.
Today we will marry--to the temple we'll go.
Our future together will be great, we know.
Signed,
Just Married

And what could top that, you wonder? Well. Cicada decided to give her single days a proper send off by reciting some poetry, written especially for the occassion. You may recall that in the past, she had gained some notoriety for reciting bitter single poetry. So this was a fitting close to those days, but as she said, "These days, I'm finding it hard to be bitter, so you won't see a lot of that here." And we didn't.


After her sweet poem and some kissing, Murray stepped up to the plate by offering a little creative piece of his own: "For Sentimental Reasons," sung in the manner of Jimmy Stewart. Brilliant!


Thanks ever so much to the entire Terreno di Amore family for providing us with such a splendid repast and delightful entertainment.

And now, on to the wedding proper. Nemesis?

Un-merry'd Christmas

Today was our work party and I performed the following poems. Those of you who have heard my bitter single poetry before can probably imagine a little better how these would be performed, but those of you who haven't seen my performances can still use your imaginations.

Wretched

Snowflakes! Fall! From the Sky!
A Million-Billion
Snowflakes!
Laughing,
Dancing,
Twirling,
Swirling!

i am
alone

The snowflakes fall
like acid drops of loneliness
on my
formerly
beautiful
face.

Now wretched.



Un-merry’d Christmas

Dearest Santa, hear me wishin’:
I’ve been single since my mission.
I’m not mad, I’m not irate.
I simply wish to get a date.

I wish one man at BYU
would only want to date me, too.
But if no zoobie chooses me,
I’ll settle for UVSC.
(But please, no one from U of U—
We desperate girls have standards, too.)

Among the things that I’ve been missing
are cuddling, snuggling, hugs and kissing.
And no amount of mistletoe
has made a man kiss me. Although
not for lack of trying—see?
How can I make a man kiss me?

I want to follow Elder Oaks,
and keep my pantry locked so blokes
can’t eat my food and give me naught.
I try to do what I am taught.
But if I can’t give food for free,
How can I make a man kiss me?

I’ll wear red lipstick all this season!
To make men kiss me is the reason!
I’ll wear short skirts! (up to the knees)
And then I’ll flirt and laugh and tease!
The air will ring with tee-hee-hee’s
that say “come here and kiss me, please.”

I’ll tell men that I take ballet
(They won’t know it’s a lie, will they?
’Cause all girls know that guys like dancers.
Don’t ask my why—I have no answers.
Will they forgive a girl for lying?
After all, I’m only trying . . .)
to make them love me, kiss me, too!
And ain’t that worth a lie or two?

I never have played hard-to-get,
I simply haven’t tried it yet!
So maybe if I now pretend
I don’t like kisses, it will send
the message, “Kiss me! Kiss me quick!”
Perhaps deception is the trick!

I’ll wear pink sweaters all this year!
For pink attracts the men, I hear!
Then hordes of suitors will appear!
And one, perhaps, will hold me dear,
And love me with a love sincere . . .
And then, his lips to mine adhere.

Oh, dearest Santa, comprehend!
This year, I want a nice boyfriend!
A man who’ll love me for myself.
If not—could you send me an elf?




During the second poem, I suspended mistletoe over my head with a fishing rod. It was pretty good, but all the mistletoe was trashed before I ever made it home, so I might have to buy more before tonight's performance at my ward party.