Better luck next time

Note: this is political satire. paul ryan is, sadly, not cheating on his wife with me.

March 26th

9am

So I’m watching TV in my cute little pajamas, eating ice cream with rum (sorry, mom) and some good ol’ Fox television when some orange bimbo comes on and says that the repeal of Obamacare failed because of Paul!

“Paul Ryan needs to step down as speaker of the House,” Pirro said. “The reason? He failed to deliver the votes on his health care bill. The one trumpeted to repeal and replace Obamacare. The one that he had seven years to work on. The one he hid under lock and key in the basement of Congress. The one that had to be pulled to prevent the embarrassment of not having enough votes to pass.”

Well, you know what, Ms. Pirro? Paul Ryan is an excellent speaker of the House! The reason? He’s a good man and an even better lover. Yes, Obamacare is terrible because it actually helps many people around the United States. Yes, no one should experience that much freedom or get coverage despite previous conditions. No one should feel safe in America. And Paul knows that. So it takes more than 7 years? So what. It took me 22 years to find Paul.

11am

Speaking of freedom, I have nothing to do. I’m terribly lonely. I went to the store one day to buy some chocolate and get some baby food, and I found myself talking to the store clerk for 15 minutes. Paul is rarely home now that Donald is finally being presidential. His wife is supposed to sign the divorce papers soon, though.

Oh, Paul. TLC–Tender, Loving (Obama)care

March 23rd

11pm

Paul has not breastfed in 10 days. The new healthcare act is under intense scrutiny by Republicans as well as Democrats. Ha. Like there are democrats in Congress. Like Trump can be persuasive. Or even a real president.

11:20pm

Oh god. The Speaker just came in. “I’m sick of Trump trying to blame Obama. There was no wire-tap! I mean, come on! Who thought that Dorito Man would ever become the Commander in Chief? More like commander of bleach! Am I right, Chloe-bear? Because he is blond?”

“Oh, honey, go to bed.”

March 24

12:50am

“I can’t sleep, baby,” Paul softly murmurs as he cradles me in his strong, pale arms.

“Why?”I ask, stroking his vampire face.

“I just keep thinking about Obama.”

“What?”

Paul Ryan sighs. “I just miss him. This is too hard. I want maternity leave.”

“Paul, you already took maternity leave.”

“If Trump can golf, I can go back to mu-mu’s and intense sleep aids.”

“Dear Diary” (Paul Ryan Chronicles)

“It’s a very good start. It’s actually an excellent start,” Ryan said of the bill, known as the American Health Care Act.

The Washington Post

March 15

4pm

Dear Diary,

Hello. This is Paul Ryan, Speaker of the House. And Man of Chloe’s House, if you know what I mean 😉 I’m so freaked out right now. According to The Washington Post, I’m fucking drowning. Like, they keep saying the words, “Ryan urged the senators.” As if I’m their whore. And I get that I sound like an idiot every time I say, “TRILLION DOLLAR TAX CUT” but really. Who are we kidding. It’s super true.

Chloe is not buying it. She’s bitching about a bunch of small things. Like ‘senior healthcare’ and I even think she muttered, “John McCain could do it better,” as we went to bed last night.

7pm

Diary,

Chloe here.

See what I mean. Under that fabulous widows peak is the brain of a squirrel. He is so out of my league.

The Puppies

Two puppies lay at my feet.

One brindle and striped like a tiger

The female is a lovely gray. It is she

that is striking. Her face so small, her legs like flappers.

she would be a beautiful dancer, but

how frightened of every little sound!

I took her out to the front yard and she heard wind chimes

and skirted back to the door—I took them out together once

‘til two pit bulls barked

and Luna dived under a parked

car

The first time

I coaxed her out with a treat. “Come here, baby.”

The second time, “Get the fuck out of that car!”

 

anonymous 231 said a man grabbed her privates on a subway

(why do we use that word… ‘privates’…they are not private)

i was grabbed

he grabbed me

a schoolmate grabbed me in a classroom. In class.

30 people stood, all in groups, chatting

uncomfortably. I can’t remember what I did. Why this boy laughed and reached out and          touched—

cupped

           no—

     eah!

 

I yelped.

Potty training is better. I must softly pet them every time they go outside

or they’ll forget themselves and pee inside.

They’ve done it often. Tejunio will worry his eyes at me and meander

to the door sometimes. I tried to rub his nose in it, and

 he bucked like a wild horse. Like I’d beaten him.

Women envision strange things:

A woman fantasizes she’s in love and gets married and

has a thousand babies while juggling a career.

A woman fantasizes she is on a cruise ship and

there is a murder and only she can solve it.

Occasionally a woman fantasizes she’s at home. Cooking. Or on the street, or

at a frat house. And a man approaches her. A nondescript white man, age 22-30.

A lewd request. A reaching out to touch.

She whips out her gun and shoots him dead like Butch Cassidy or John Wayne.

And the blood and the police come and she says breathlessly

I’d rather go to prison than be Raped! And the jury acquits

the brave young heroine

But the boy’s last name was Cho. He wasn’t older. I couldn’t find my gun.

Puppies

are doing well. They

follow me, they

drink when I drink, watch

me use the bathroom,

eat each others’ meals,

chew up all my furniture

and sprawl on my bed. Luna loves

belly rubs. She spreads her legs and shows the world–

I call it her ‘teepee’

because it looks like a little Indian hut.

I fight this strange urge to touch it—

but my hand disgusts.

I can’t remember how they neuter females.

Paul Ryan, you sexy beast

Trigger warning: an ode to a fascist Repubican I love to hate.

#SavePaulRyan #dumptrump

January 26th, 2017

4:15pm

Hey Diary, it’s Chloe the homebreaker again.

I’m getting fucking sick of this bull, i.e. Trumpie and PenCity trying to run away with my man. What slots. Yeah, I said it. Slots!!!!!! Because Trumps a friggin gambling Queen, and I can’t have more babies running around my house. I got two kids and a Speaker of the house that can’t breast feed because “It’s a woman’s job.”

7:10pm

Wine intake: 2 cabernets

Weight: 11o

Belly fat:12 lbs

And that’s just me, not the Speaker of the House.

9pm

Paulie is just so tired that he asked our atheist black neighbor to rpaul-ryan-somberaise our children. Not that that isn’t a little sweet because it was Black History Month but isn’t that the definition of racism?

February 28th

4am

It’s the big day. Trump will make his ‘speech’. Behind Trump’s back, I call him “Don’t ask, Don’t Tell” ).

Not sure how to handle it, my boo drank 2 and a half Ensures today. Not my recommendation. But he handled it well! And he was so cute with that–I-will-tolerate -you and that widow’s peak and that milky face that screamed “I am not a cheeto”.

giphy


March 1st

I’m having my baby tomorrow. I’m super scared but can’t wait to see her face. Paul Ryan got so hysterical that he bought a Mom car–a minivan. I tried to tell him he was wearing himself out. “Chloe, if I don’t do this now, I won’t have the energy or nerve to replace and repeal Obama-Care.” He told me once he secretly didn’t care about the issue, but he was giving birth. I don’t hold it against him. 😉

But that shiny minivan…That thing means we’re that family. Instead of a mom and a dad and two kids…now we have a minivan.

Paul Ryan: A Love Story

Prompt:

If Paul Ryan and I got pregnant at the same time, I’m pretty sure we’d be in the same Lamaze class. And then fall in love.

November 8th

2:36am

Hey, Diary. It’s me. Sorry I haven’t written anything recently. Quick update: Got pregnant in April. My baby’s father sells shitty trailer meth in Plainfield, IN. And I had to move to Maryland because that’s where my Dad lives. God.

2:50am

Sorry, pee break.

November 10th

7am

I’m going to Lamaze class. I don’t know why other pregnant people subject themselves to that ‘natural birth’ shit. Like, my future offspring is tiny. Pretty sure it won’t remember the drugs. Only I will, and it will be delightful.

9:35am

I met Paul Ryan there! He is another pregnant person. God, it feels so good to chillax with an older, more mature PP. We just gabbed. Compared bellies. This is his second kid. He showed me pictures.

“I was in labor with Jenny for 12 hours,” he said. “She is just so cute. When her mom and I saw the ultrasound, she was a tiny little thing. Like a bean. So we nicknamed her beanie.”

“Did you plan on eating her?”

He huffed and walked off. He’s probably texting Biden right now complaining about me. Catholic to Catholic bonding.

November 22nd

8pm

I have pre-existing medical conditions. I’m a woman who believes in separation of faith and policy. A public position and opposing personal opinion are okay because not everyone has the same life experience or background.

But for some strange, fucked up reason, I’m falling for Paul Ryan. A pregnant Paul Ryan.

I know, I know. It’s wrong. It’s sooooo wrong. Ryan looks like the devil every time he pops up on C-SPAN. He’s got those cold AF Jack Frost eyes and a widow’s peak that (let me tell you) is not fake. It’s real. Gloriously real.

8:50pm

And he basically would never dream of me, right? At the same time, he’s so pretty.

So pretty.

November 29th

God, sometimes I hate that I’m pregnant. The smug married couples around me say that it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to them.

“You’re glowing!”
“It’s so miraculous, the gift of life!”
“Childbirth is amazing–so special. No drugs. Don’t do drugs because it causes autism. And not the cute kind of autism that’s barely noticeable. The kind where you spend your whole life in a hospital. Yikes.”

And the worst: “Kids change you. They make you better.”

Am I not good enough already? Do I need to change? I look fantastic except for the bowling ball under my blouse. Long blonde hair down my back. Legs to my neck. And because of lil Kim (nicknamed after Kim Kardashian), my breasts have swelled to the size of melons.

I have a good job. Great friends. I don’t want to change.

 

December 3rd

10:20pm

I regret to say I’ve started sleeping with Paul Ryan.

I can’t help it. His wife is busy working all the time; my baby daddy is off selling drugs on 38th street.

The bedroom thing is pretty great. 😏 It’s nice to sleep next to someone at night. Cuddle. Whisper and laugh. All my ex-boyfriend did was cough a lot afterwards and go into the bathroom for 45 minutes. I still don’t know what he did in there.

If you must know, the sex is a bit like a game of twister. Or jenga. I have 27 extra pounds. Paul has 70. 70 freaking pounds. He’s very sensitive about it. Apparently Bernie Sanders made a joke about his weight gain. I saw the C-Span clip:

Bernie: Are you stressed about the election? You haven’t officially endorsed Donald Trump.

Paul: Mr. Trump and I have very different opinions about public policy. But I’m not stressed.

Bernie: Really? Because the way you’re going at those tacos, it’s like you’re trying to eat all of your problems.

It was kind of funny. But I can’t tell Paul.

December 10th

3pm

Sometimes during the middle of ‘Twister,’ the Speaker of the House mutters, “method of conception.” That’s coo’. Everybody’s got a weird sex thing. But during our first joint climax, when I was closing my eyes in ecstasy, he shouts in my ear, “AYN RAND!”

Who the hell is Ayn Rand? Should I be jealous?

December 25th

11am

Can’t talk much today. In Rockville, MA. I’m waiting for Paul to finish his family Christmas in the city. It’s agonizing, bc he has the nipple cream and I need it.

My father has no concept of personal space. He keeps making me soup and cookies and putting his cat in my lap because it stands on my belly crest to lick my face. It’s gross.

January 12th

Today, Paul Ryan’s terrible wife found out about our intense love affair. She leaves him the day before Paul is supposed to be induced into labor (because he’s stupid and refuses an Epidural). God, what a terrible person.

January 13th

2:04pm

I break into Paul Ryan’s room after his wife abandons her pregnant husband. The doctor says, “Paul has to push but he won’t.”

“It hurts! I can’t do this!” the Speaker of the House screams with his feet in stirrups.

I kneel down and whisper, “I know you despise affordable healthcare, sex ed, abortion rights. But god damnit, Paul. I love you. Even though you’re a Republican. So take the effing epidural.”

2:18pm

In the hospital room. My boyfriend Speaker Paul Ryan is about to give birth.
“Chloe! I can’t take drugs, I have a birth plan!”
“The hell, Paul! Come on. Take the drugs.”
“No.”

2:25pm

“PAUL TAKE YOUR DRUGS OR I WILL SLEEP WITH BARACK!”
He takes the epidural.

January 21st

12:45pm

It has been a blissful week since Paul and I took home our baby. Yes, our baby. His wife has not come back to take custody.

We’ve named him Tucker Putin Ryan. The middle name is my fault. Donald Trump came into the delivery room wielding a Russian transcript, saying he lost a bet. Then Donald Trump cried a lot. All I could hear was blubbering about ‘family values’ and ‘China–chi-na.’

Idk. My due date is next week. Yikes.

 

#paulryan #lovestory #PaulRyanLoveStory

The Itsy Bitsy Suicide (Long Poem) Pt. I

When my grandmother abandoned me
on a Friday night, I was watching
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

I was on the couch, the small loveseat my father
bought when he moved to Fishers–
It was our weekend together.
Friday, August 20th
2009.
I thought, I haven’t heard from her in awhile. I’ll
call
tomorrow.

My father, never one to push
me, shook me awake that night. Whispered.
Cried with me as he said she had a heart attack.
Her legs over the side of the bed. Small, fat body motionless.
God, I cried. Like my heart had burst. I had put all my dreams
into her, like she was my Easter Basket.

I remember
her touching my hair one Easter, saying
how thick and beautiful it was.

Right now, I can’t explain it. The anger and pain
for a woman I knew only five or so years. Mother loves to
say how terrible she was, how crazy, how…
the list goes on.
I want to forget the list. Tell me something good.
Tell me
tell me that time she made you tea, sewed your wedding dress.
Remember the soccer game, when I made brownies
and she was diabetic but
ate them anyway? Remember when we went to
Florida
Grandpa couldn’t drive well
so she had to? Remember when
on September 26th, 2007 I got
my period, and later you, me, and her
went to Target, bought a 7 dollar t-shirt?

I accidentally put the cardboard applicator in,
and we laughed, like you expect
the Golden Girls to
laugh. With their
bosoms, with their
shiny hair.

Fear and Sickness

I am going to New York City in two weeks. Exactly two weeks from today. And for the past few days, I have been in inundated with headaches and nausea. Nausea that grasps the back of the throat and does not let go. For awhile, I thought it was because of my phobia of taking medication, but I know it’s my travel fright. Ha! Travel fright. I think that should be a thing. Unless it’s already taken?

I feel guilty a bit because I just bought a plane ticket a few weeks ago and didn’t tell my parents. If you remember the horrid time I had in Paris, then you know I have bad luck. And since the trip to Paris and England (That Time I Got Lost And Had Several Seizures, Not In That Order), I’ve felt my family thinks I’m irresponsible in traveling and can’t take care of myself. I had this big fantasy when I bought the airplane ticket to go quietly to NYC, have an awesome time, and then reveal my successful journey to my fam later. They would be so surprised and impressed. Never would they say I was a bad traveler!

But it seems I already think I’m a bad traveler because I feel horrible.

My trip secret only lasted two days. I asked my brother to come with me, and he spilled the beans to my parents. Ugh, brothers. But after a lot of fighting, my brother gets to come to NY with me! So I won’t go alone. Because I was originally very scared to go alone. You must understand my mother, though–she is apprehensive when it comes to me traveling. True story: I was going to DC and it appeared my flight would land in Baltimore. I get a text twenty minutes after I told her. baltimore is the 32nd unsafest city in the united states

She kind of freaked out when I said I was thinking of living in the Big Apple after college for publishing.

So I am writing about my Travel Fright in hopes of curing it. Or postponing it. And so far, it’s worked.

More Updates That You Probably Don’t Care About

  • I’m off Facebook because the fucking politically correct feminazis pissed me off too much. And I just realized I cared too much what they and others thought of me.  Now I’m on Instagram and Pinterest. And Snapchat. Wow. Still too much SM.
  • Still single af. But not quite as bad. Actually went on two dates last week, but they both went terribly. My fault.
  • My pill phobia is worse.
  • I’m campaigning for Bernie Sanders, but kinda like Hillary Clinton. I bought a suit and it has shoulder pads and I love it. I feel like her when I wear it.