Yeggman

yeggman (plural yeggmen)

Noun

1. (cant, slang) a person who breaks open safes, a burglar : a yegg.

Synonyms

• safecracker
• yegg

 http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/yeggman

  

Though it is not found in the dictionary, yeggman is a legal scrabble word.

Yeggman

You have cracked me like an egg

(a single cell)
(the basis of life)

and separated yolk from white,
leaving me
unwhole
with scrambled dreams of we

 a little beating could coax me into
a meringue: whipped vapidity
caps and peaks
saccharin epitomized
or mayonnaise:  glob-ular spreadability
a chemical emulsion
fat suspended

garnishes

Confession

Hi. I'm Molly. And I'm an addict.

Yes, you read correctly. I have an addiction. Well, actually, I have several addictions, including New Orleans style chicory-coffee and Charles Bukowski and thesauruses and facebook stalking and wine wednesday and Food Network and mascara and The Real Housewives of Anywhere.  But those addictions are not what I need to confess today.  Today, I need to confess my online shopping addiction.

I love shopping online! With just a swipe of my mousepad and a couple of clacks from my keyboard, I can shop at virtually any store in the world.  And in little ole Siloam Springs, America, this, my friends, is a beautiful thing.  You see, I can drive to the Gap or Dillard's or Bath and Body Works in about thirty minutes, but I can't drive to American Apparel, Nordstrom, or Lush without traveling for at least four + hours. I could go to Barnes and Noble and stock up on overpriced titles and grab a chai tea latte from a non-Starbucks trained barista, but sometimes (often times), they don't have all the books I want and even with my ten to twenty percent discount I get from being a card-carrying B&N member, I can get what I want at a lesser price from Amazon. I can also get American Apparel clothing at super amazing outlet store prices and the most delectable smelling, discontinued almond hand soap that I'm in love with, shipped directly to my post office box in three to five days for FREE, without being guilted and "assisted" by annoying salespeople who work on commission! Amazon.com, you hold a piece of my heart.

Today, after I got home from work, I jumped online and ordered a couple of books that I've been absolutely yearning for in the worst way.

After making sure they were being shipped to the correct address and selecting the correct payment method (check! and check!), I headed over to lush to order a new block (or two or three) of the body soap that I discovered over spring break that I am now absolutely obsessed with.

Its called "Sultana of Soap" and besides having the most luscious scent, it makes my skin baby-butt soft and it's gentle enough to use on my awfully sensitive face! Lush describes it like this:

"Revel in Sultana’s majesty, and have a wash with the royalty of soaps. It looks like a fancy Italian dessert; a giant nougat cake topped with succulent currants and apricots. Smooth a slice of our soft decadent soap all over your body for a creamy lather and the most dazzling bergamot and olibanum scent. Your skin will be delighted and you’ll be left softer and smelling like a fancy candy shop with a touch of fruity sweetness. If you weren’t invited to the wedding, at least you can brush shoulders with royalty in the shower."
http://www.lushusa.com/Sultana-of-Soap/00609,en_US,pd.html

I clicked through a couple of solid shampoos (you've gotta try Godiva if you've got over processed hair like me), a few perfumes (which I decided against because, really, buying perfume you've never smelled is just a bad idea) and a new shower jelly (texture problem) before realizing that all I really needed was my Sultana. I went to my cart and created an account and was ready to check out.  But when I went to enter my shipping address, the ugliest little notification popped up in red. "We do not currently ship to PO Boxes in the US."

Seriously, lush.com ? I could have had it shipped to my actual house, but, and I guess this is another confession, I don't even know that address (pathetic, I know).

But don't worry! As a resourceful kind of girl, I decided to call my grandma and have the soap shipped to her house. Because she knows her address. Because she's an adult. And adults know their physical addresses. Which leads me to the conclusion that, even though I find myself clever, resourceful and rather witty, I am not an adult. For some reason, this doesn't bother me too much. And I still get to have my Sultana soap. And all is right in the world!

Do yourselves a favor and go to lush.com and order you some Sultana. Order some for your mom, your sisters, your bff, and even your boyfriend, cause he'll love the way it smells, too (and I'm speaking from experience, not because I have a boyfriend, 'cause I don't, but because my friend who is a boy can't get enough of the stuff)!

Thank you for reading this confession. I feel much better now that I've shared it with the blogosphere. Now I'm off to call my grandma and, finally, place my order!

I just discovered the Stats tab!

United States  542

Germany  129

Slovenia  24

United Kingdom  19

Russia  5

Denmark  4

Canada  3

Spain  2

Greece  2

Croatia   So over the lifetime of this little blog, I've had readers (viewers?) from all over the world, apparently! If you are reading this post, you should really leave me a comment so that I can get to know you! I promise that I'll check out your blog and leave you a comment, too! New poems coming soon, just as soon as I can get them edited enough for people other than those wonderful people in my fabulous poetry class, whom I've come to love and trust very much! Ciao!

Please, Please, Please...READ THIS!!

This project confronts a predominant evangelical Christian posture towards
female identity, particularly the manner in which gender roles and modes of sexual
expression and experience are theologized and disseminated. By correlating the
categories by which evangelical Christian media has praised Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight
saga to the theology of popular evangelical gender-formation texts geared towards young
women, this paper critiques the demonization of female sexuality and the spiritualization
of female subjugation common to both.

http://stories.theseattleschool.edu/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/Why-Are-You-Apologizing-For-Bleeding.pdf

Poet Tree

Hello! I realize that its been a very, very long time since I last posted. Well, thats because I'm busy. Very busy. Working hard, schooling well, and playing long takes a lot of energy out of a girl, ya know? But this is not a post about not posting. This is a post about new posting! This semester, I've been in a poetry class with some very talented people led by a very talented and wonderful professor. Her name is Patty Kirk and I sort of love her. She's a writer. She writes essays that go into books that are funny, real, and sometimes make me cry. You should all read them because they're very good. She has a blog. But I won't post it because I don't know how she'd feel about that and I don't really want to ask her, either. Anyway. This poetry class is by far my favorite class that I've ever taken at JBU, which is really staying something, because I've really loved a lot of my classes. One of the course requirements is to publish some original poems. Well, I'm working on a couple that I want to try and have legit published, but like I said, I'm working on them. But! We are allowed to publish them on our personal blogs and since I have a personal blog, neglected though it may be, I'll be posting some of my work on the world wide web.  All of these poems, unless other wise noted, belong to me, so nobody may steal them, borrow them, or use them in any way without my permission, which I probably won't give you, because some day, I'd really like to have books published and these little lovies might possibly be in them! I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I've enjoyed finding them.

In my head, this is what every poem that finds me looks like.

Sparkling

            When I was working on an American military base in Stuttgart, my boss was a Scotsman from Edinburgh.  When I first started the job, I could barely understand John.  Eventually, though, after training myself to listen closely, I began to understand his lilting Scottish accent.  After we became friends, John told me that he had had trouble understanding my accent too, and he thought that I spoke way too fast!  John said the cutest things about his daughter—he always referred to her as his wee lass.  One weekend he took her to see the Stuttgart Christmas Market, which is one of the oldest and largest Christmas markets in Europe.  When I asked him if they enjoyed their time together, he answered with a sigh and said, “Aye, me wee lassie’s eyes sparkled more than all the twinkle lights of the city.”  While obviously a hyperbolic turn of phrase, the poetry of his Scotts tongue painted a vividly beautiful portrait of his little girl that I will always remember.

I made my prof cry!! The Story of English part 2

Last fall, I had the opportunity to live in Stuttgart, Germany, for a few months.  Not being independently wealthy at the ripe age of twenty one, I found a job at a gas station on the American Military base.  Working at the Shopette, as it was fondly called, offered me the chance to meet virtually every military-based Americans living in Stuttgart, as it was the only station of its kind on the four posts in the city.  The accents, from New Joisey to Georgah, were really interesting to hear. After talking to a customer for a few minutes, I could usually make a pretty good guess of where they had come to Germany from. Most of the people who came through my line asked me where in the South I was from. That always surprised me, because I’ve never thought of myself as having a Southern accent, but apparently I do!  Before my German experience, I never thought about how language has the power to connect people.  Once I met a lady who sounded so familiar, so of course I had to ask her where she was from. Turns out, she had recently moved to Stuttgart from Rogers! When I told her I was from Siloam, we had an instant connection.  Although the chances of ever seeing this woman again (I don’t even remember her name!) are slim to none, our accents brought us together for a fleeting moment, and as the snow fell quietly in the dusky German sky, I felt at home.