Megan Hart

While looking for something else in an old folder I found  a poem I wrote in high school, and I would like to share it with you today.

* * * * * * *

Dawn breaks over the hills

like a sword slicing through veal

A slice slips down, sliding down

veal cutlet

Is the sun.

We eat it.

The moon is a cheese biscuit.

I didn’t know you when you started.

Oh, I saw the articles in Entertainment Weekly, heard the buzz. But you came on in a time when I didn’t watch television, had no Tivo to help me. I didn’t care much about you, in the beginning.

And then…Netflix came into my life. That saucy whore. Teasing me, tempting me with unlimited rentals of programs I’d heard about but had never watched.

Like you.

So…yeah, I rented you at first. Just one disc. I said, “hey, if I don’t like you, I don’t ask you out again.” I didn’t know when I slipped you into the DVD player, slowly, carefully, that you’d turn out to be so. Damn. Beautiful. That first season murdered me. Tore me up, slit me open and sewed me up again. I screamed, I cried, I writhed.

I fell. Hard. Fast and deep. All the way.

Dr. Troy? Yes, please. Over and over again, and then one more time? Break my heart, please, because it yearns to be broken by the likes of you.

That first season was some of the most balls-to-the-wall, over-the-top, outrageous, horrifying, tantalizing, scintillating and sometimes disgusting television I’d ever seen. Oh, sure, you were too much to believe. Sure, you took everything that was good in anyone and turned it bad. I knew I could count on your characters to always make the wrong choices, no matter what.

You have no redeemeable qualities, Nip/Tuck. You know that? You know you’re filthy and unrepentant, don’t you? Just like you know you have me begging for more every single time you’re on.

Season two was next, and I ate that season. Oh, I didn’t rent any more. I had to OWN YOU. Yes, Nip/Tuck, you’re my filthy, nasty habit. I could watch you over again…and here’s a secret…oh, yes. Yes, I did. Snuck peeks at you during the day when I was supposed to be writing. “Research,” I called it. But we both know I lied. That’s what you do to me, Nip/Tuck, you turn me into your dirty, lying whore, and I LOVE IT.

Got caught up just in time for Season Three on broadcast, and with the help of some strange gadget called a DVD recorder (NOT A DVR, no, baby, this thing actually used RECORDABLE DISCS) I was able to keep up with you every week. Oh, sure, the dvds never recorded right and the timer was always off. Sure, I had to scream myself hoarse with frustration when I missed you. Thank God FX played you so many times I could always catch up.

This is it, Nip/Tuck. I wasn’t with you from the start, but I’ve been with you a damn long time. I’ve cried. I’ve laughed. I’ve cringed. I’ve stayed with you through every single unbelievable, repulsive story twist and plot line. I kept up with you even when Sean and Christian moved to L.A. because…how fucking ridic was that? But I was there with you. Loving you. Yearning for you. Aching to be filled with your weekly dose of OMG WTF.

And now…

Now, we say goodbye.

There’s only one episode left. And I can’t watch it. I can’t. I cannot bear to watch you end.

Christian, Sean, Liz, Julia, Matt, Connor, Annie, Kimber…none of you could ever get your heads out of your asses, and with one more episode to go, I don’t see as how you possibly CAN. But I guess that’s okay, because it would be unfair to expect any of you to get it straight after so long.

And after all, isn’t it what I so loved about you? Your constant flaws? Your never-changing lack of common sense?

Oh, Nip/Tuck, my dear Nip/Tuck…my beloved Nip/Tuck. I weep in advance at the thought of losing you. You were the one show I cheated on Supernatural with. The one I have to watch. Must see. Can’t be without.

I’m going to miss you.

<3,

M

Well, I cleaned off my desk today, and let me tell you something. It always takes a really long time. I also did laundry, and that takes a long time, too! Which makes my eyes all squinty, the laundry and the cleaning.

I also edited a Spice Brief called The Experiment and sent that off to my editor; so that’s what I do instead of watching The Super Bowl. I work. Oh, I did play some Sims 3 earlier today, but I don’t really count it since I was actually editing while I just let my Sim lady go about her business.

She discovered a star.

I know, right? Who knew they even could? Left to her business, she will play her guitar a lot and flirt with people. She also apparently likes to discover stars. And she found some seeds, but I don’t think she’ll plant them. Well, maybe she will, I don’t know.

Tomorrow I aim to get up at a good time (instead of letting the alarm just go off, then again, then again later…) which means I intend to get to bed very shortly. Which is also what I’m doing instead of watching the Super Bowl. Going to be early. I believe I shall read. Now, I just finished Under the Dome which was a doorstop of a book, my God, over 1000 pages, really? REALLY?! And I think I’m going to read The Lightning Thief or possibly The Dead and Gone next. Because I feel like it.

On the other hand, if I’m going to dive back into Collide tomorrow, I really should read through it to refresh my memory. So maybe I’ll take that to bed with me instead, and go over it.

See, that’s what I do instead of watching football.

I work!

M

So, if you don’t really like books with lots of sex in them and consider them “porn” maybe it would be better if you didn’t…um…read them? And complaining about the fact that an erotic novel has a lot of sex in it really makes you look sort of…well…not even sort of…just plain silly.

So, you know, if erotic ain’t ya flavah, why not read something else?

So far’s I know, none of us are holding you down and forcing your eyes open like they did to little Alex in A Clockwork Orange.

M

It’s the tick-tick-tock of the countdown. I have 45 minutes until Spawn2 gets on the bus.

And I will be. Alone.

Blessedly, quietly, silently, caffeinated, house-a-wreck, laundry-looming…ALONE.

If you could see my face it would be smiling.

So, what am I going to do on my glorious, glorious first day alone after what seemed like an endless holiday? I’m going to work on Collide, that’s for damn sure. And I think I shall clean off my desk, not because I want to clean anything but because I have to, if I want to see my keyboard.

And then I’m gonna write me some woe. Oh, yes, woe. Because the heroine has been soundly rejected by the hero and she’s one pissed off woman. He’s gonna get a smack down of epic proportions, that foron. He’s gonna get soundly spanked…and guess what?

HE WILL F-ING LOVE IT.

I do not know why I sometimes fake like I don’t curse by adding a “dash” in the middle of the f-word, when really, we all know I let that word fly around all the time. I shouldn’t act like I’m classy, that’s dishonest.

In other news, there are some people in this world who are simply so douchetastic it seems unbelievable that they could become any more ridiculously foronic, but guess what? THEY CAN! I know, right? Seems like that shouldn’t be so, but it really just is. And I’m not talking about the forons who keep putting my work up on illegal download sites (sorry if you don’t like to hear me complain about that, but the fact is, until they stop doing it, I’m not going to stop getting all Christian Bale about it) — I’m talking about the type of forons who act like the world is not just their oyster, but their entire f-ing pearl necklace.

And here’s what it looks like when the UPS person leaves my boxes of books out in the rain and I must save them, saaaaaaaave them!!!!!

And this is the disaster zone of my office:

And here is the disaster zone of my desk:

So. Yeah. Down to 18 minutes and counting. I’ma get my spawn into his shoes and coat and out the door, I’ma get my coffee brewing, I’ma get some sh** picked up off my floor and get to work!

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Oh, btw? WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Say it with me now….

M

No matter how bad your day was, at least a squirrel didn’t die on your bed.

Oh, and if it’s still a bad day, just think about what babies would look like if they had mustaches.

It’s a strange, strange, thing, innit?

I mean, any monkey with a computer can have a blog. And these days, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that monkeys have computers. And blogs.

I have a blog. I’m basically a monkey with a computer. I talk about what I want to write about and figure if someone likes it, great, if not…well, the world’s a vast and wondrous place, full of things to see and do, and if you don’t like what you see, move on. I mean, I’m not kicking puppies on here.

It seems the world is blogging or maybe it only feels that way because *I* blog and therefore I’m aware of blogs being created and people blogging; sort of like how the world becomes smaller when you become associated with something you like. Ride a Harley? Suddenly everywhere you look, there’s someone riding a hog.

It’s that way with blogs.

But really…
mostly…
much of the time…

Umm…who really cares about what’s on them?! I mean, like, literally, I’m laughing and shaking my head at the thought someone might care what I had for breakfast or what I’m doing today, or how I met my husband or…well, whatever.

And Twitter. Ohhh, don’t get me started on Twitter. And yet I tweet. I do. I do it!

AND I FUCKING LOVE IT.

Yes. I love to write on my blog and tweet and play around on Facebook and do all that stuff. I do. I really, really do.

I’m just another monkey with a computer, folks. That’s all I’m saying.

M

I’m transferring old journal entries to a bound book, for keeping…and I found this one:

Dirty

M
Sun Sep 18 17:49:00 EDT 2005 |

I have to say it might be the only book I’ve felt that way about.

M

Well, well, well, Amazon.com, how does it feel when the mighty hammer of smut readers and queers and kinksters comes down to smite you?

I don’t need to reprint the email that people are receiving after complaining to Amazon.com about the whole ratings stripping debacle, but I do like that they admitted it was “embarrassing and “ham-fisted.” (You can read the whole reply in Melissa’s comment in my previous entry. Thanks, Melissa!)

You know, saying “sorry” goes a long, long way. It would be nice if more people realized this. I’m not entirely mollified — I’m not convinced Amazon.com had an evil plan to segregate or censor based on sexual preferences, but I’m not unconvinced there was something puritanical afoot. But I *am* pleased that they at least acknowledged there was some fuckery, and that there seems to be an attempt to fix it, and while I’m not trumpeting Amazon’s horn, I’m reserving my eternal condemnation until I see how this plays out.

In other news, anyone seen Adventureland? Wow. It wasn’t what I expected AT ALL, but it was sweet and poignant and evocative, and it reminded me so much of college summers working in a theme park,and just youth in general, and a lot of things — including 1987. I loved it. I have to go buy the soundtrack now! You know how hearing music in a movie makes you remember it and say “awwww!” and then you want it? Yeah.

Appointments today. Should get some writing in, too, somewheres along the way. My mousing hand hurts, though.I need a massage. I also need something to wear for Thursday…! Don’t forget, I’ll be doing this:

IN THE FLESH EROTIC READING SERIES
VIRGIN NIGHT
April 16th at 8 PM
AT HAPPY ENDING LOUNGE, 302 BROOME STREET, NYC
(B/D to Grand, J/M/Z to Bowery, F to Delancey or F/V to 2nd Avenue, http://www.happyendinglounge.com)
Admission: Free
Happy Ending Lounge: 212-334-9676

http://inthefleshreadingseries.blogspot.com

In The Flesh is proud to present its second annual Virgin Night, featuring new authors and first-time readers. Texan Jenny Block reads from Open: Love, Sex, and Life in an Open Marriage, Smart Bitches, Trashy Books blogger and co-author of Beyond Heaving Bosoms Sarah Wendell shares the sexy side of romance, memoirist (I’m Perfect, You’re Doomed) and ex-Jehovah’s Witness Kyria Abrahams talks about losing her virginity, Jehovah’s Witness style, while Nerve.com Scanner blogger Emily Farris delivers a sex story and erotic romance novelist (Stranger, Dirty) Megan Hart reads her steamy prose, along with Gideon Levy of Kinky Jews and Sugarbutch Chronicles blogger Sinclair Sexsmith, and first-time reader Nicolette Dixon. Books will be available for sale by Mobile Libris. Hosted and curated by Rachel Kramer Bussel (The Mile High Club, Do Not Disturb, Spanked). Free candy and cupcakes will be served.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!!!

M