On Zumba…


I don’t understand why more guys don’t do Zumba. It’s free or cheap live exotic dancing in a socially acceptable setting. No one expects the dance to look great. In fact, most of us hate those skinny bitches who do it all perfect and sexy. Fuck them. Since I’ve lost weight and can dance I think I might be one of them now. But I don’t care. It feels fucking good.

I do things in Zumba I’d never do in “real life.” I want to be watched, complimented, to be in the dance and then walk away. It’s all a practice. This one’s just more sexy. And currently mostly a reprieve from men seeking women. What a comedy that might be…

© Michelle Routhieaux 2018

The Green Thing

From a Facebook forward:

Checking out at the grocery store recently, the young cashier suggested I should bring my own grocery bags because plastic bags weren’t good for the environment. I apologized and explained, “We didn’t have this green thing back in my earlier days.” The clerk responded, “That’s our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations.” She was right about one thing – our generation didn’t have the green thing in “our” day. So what did we have back then?

 After some reflection and soul-searching on “our” day, here’s what I remembered we did have…

Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles repeatedly. So they really were recycled. But we didn’t have the green thing back in our day.

We walked up stairs because we didn’t have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn’t climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks. But she was right. We didn’t have the green thing in our day.

Back then, we washed the baby’s diapers because we didn’t have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts. Wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. But that young lady is right. We didn’t have the green thing back in our day.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house – not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn’t have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap. Back then, we didn’t fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn’t need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity. But she’s right. We didn’t have the green thing back then.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull. But we didn’t have the green thing back then.

Back then, people took the bus, and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn’t need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint. But isn’t it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn’t have the green thing back then?

Please share this so another selfish old person who needs a lesson in conservation from a smarty-pants young person can add to this. ;)

Shared by Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Space Camp

12-6-11     4:35pm

Hi Mom,

Guess what! Outer space is COOL! I’m weightless up here so no worries about wrinkles. Poor earthly folk and their wrinkles. I want to stay here forEVER. For just $49.95 per week I can! They take Visa, Mastercard, American Express and Discover AND I can earn Diner’s Club rewards on food!! Of course this doesn’t include the cost of oxygen, food, supervision, medical expenses, waste management or transportation. Just the glorious right to occupy space for a time.

Oh Mom, I just know you’d love it. They have a parents package too. I’ll send you that too. I wonder if space has a postal system yet…

Anyway, my new friend Max and I found a field of lilies FULL of tiny blue martians. Awww, they’re SO CUTE!!! Can I keep him PLEEEAAASE??!!!

I named mine Max, just like my new friend. He’s blue and fuzzy and mostly toilet trained. Of course his ACTUAL name is Maxemillion Cornelius Barnaby the 3rd of the Order of Planets, 3rd Division Purple Line. But we just call him Max. Oh, Mom. You’ll love him. Just make sure to wear your industrial grade orange goggles when you look at him or his glow will melt your eyes.

Have you ever tried salmon fried by the death rays of a monster alien? I’m not sure how the fish got up here but it’s SOOO good. Mmmmm. :) You can even eat purple glitter here and the snowflakes taste like roses.

We have a complicated waste management system here. We learned all about it yesterday. You’d be amazed what they can do with shit. You know that phrase “Eat shit and die?” Well not anymore. Meet the ShiTron 5000. Turns any size, shape or consistency shit into good-for-you rainbow jellybeans. Magic! Eat some for a snack or sprinkle them on your garden. 100% environment friendly with 0% toxicity. We could get our own ShiTron 5000 for only $800, per month, for the duration of the existence of space. Definitely on MY Christmas list. What’s on YOUR Christmas list?

Oh Mom, I have to go. Max and Max and I send our love and a package of jellybeans. I want to stay here forEVER.

Love, Michelle

PS – I’m not coming home until I at LEAST see a butterfly in space.

Love, Mom

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Side Effects of Christmas

Written on Black Friday at the mall on a bench outside Cinnabon.

11/25/11     4:25pm

Side Effects of Christmas:

  • Fits of joy
  • Random singing & laughter
  • Urges to bake or give things to strangers
  • Uncontrollable shopping sprees
  • Flashbacks
  • Guilt
  • Shame
  • Urges to die
  • Intense anger
  • Spontaneous death of self or others
  • Temporary loss of judgement
  • Poor clothing choices
  • Weight gain or loss
  • Spike in your need to watch Lifetime or The Family Channel
  • Excessive picture-taking
  • Loss of time
  • Sitting for long periods of time alone on a mall bench wondering why it is we do this again… followed by a Cinnabon.

Red flag shopping warning signs:

  • Uttering to yourself more than 3 times in a day, “Man, I must be old.”
  • Sympathizing with the forlorn kiosk people
  • Falling for their “Can I ask you a question?” cuz you just can’t walk any further
  • Wishing you were the kid asleep in the stroller.

Please feel free to add your own.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Showgirls & A Funeral

8-17-11     8:15pm

So, I was just accosted by scantily-clad feathered apathetic showgirls following a traveling Mardi Gras brass band in the middle of a casino. In August. I just came from the best funeral ever. Duck-feeding, bubble-blowing, swings, walking in circles, good music, and more good food than I could ever eat all on a lake at sunset at the end of summer with a cool breeze. Now I’m listening to warm thick syrup flow in my ears and throughout my body. (dreamy sigh) I’m wearing a pretty dress. The only normal thing about today was seeing Jim. I like it. :)

I always wanted to be a showgirl. I know. It sounds weird. Shut up. It was my dream to be beautiful and wear feathers and dance on tables at casinos. I told my mother this in high school. She flipped. Understandable. But really, what else is a young dancer gonna get paid for that doesn’t involve college, teaching children or stripping? Unfortunately, I took the wrong drugs and got fat and now I am destined to a life of watching other showgirls who SUCK while inhaling smoke and writing about life.

For some reason this casino doesn’t allow cameras. For some reason I don’t care. ;) There are these awesome silver globes hanging from the ceiling. I want to lay on my back and just stare at them like stars. The wall beyond keeps changing colors and Allison glows. Ah, such a wonderful

Why do old people like casinos? What is it about flashing lights and large displays of food that makes them want to give their money away? Hmmm… If only we could mimic this effect…

Gold dust at my feet, on the sunny side of the street.

It is the soft rain that makes the fire worth bearing. “I Wish You Love”

“Living there you’ll be free if you truly wish to be.”

You know, there is a point at which I can no longer tolerate anything touching me, including clothes. Gets interesting when that point happens in a casino. I go home tonight with a purse full of lingerie and jewelry. Lol.

What a day. What a day.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011


I used to want to be a therapist. But then I realized I’m too fucked up to be a therapist. But many of the fucked up people I know want to be therapists. Which makes me wonder just how many of our therapists are just well-dressed fucked up people with degrees. Which makes me wonder… I just want a therapist that is fucked up enough to know where I’m coming from but not enough to kill me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Disco Heaven

1-2-11        2:19am

So, I found my cassette tape player in a box I was going through today and put on my FAVORITE tape – Disco Sweatracks. Euphoria ensued. ;) I was texting a friend and sent her this. I just have to share.

I’m experiencing a series of involuntary timeless choreography complete with jazz hands, the airplane, disco fingers, the pony, swimming… even those 50s circle arms. The twist, boogie fingers, a little Richard Simmons, running man, peace fingers, Grease, the YMCA, fake ice skater, bad ballerina twirl, bad melodramatic singer… Daniel Boone searching for a coon to You Light Up My Life… Ahhhhh. Wow. That was awesome. WAY better than sex. My doctors should stop telling me to exercise and just throw on some disco.

I told her I look like a drunk 50 year old Jazzercize instructor – complete with brown yoga pants, a Solvang hoodie from the 80s, rainbow slippers and a red plastic cup of OJ. Lol.

(sigh) I have so many memories of that tape. Road trips with my mom – many a day drying my hair out the car window on the freeway to it. Palm Springs. Lots of Palm Springs memories. I taught to a song from it in Idaho. HD dance always opens with We Are Family. Made friends with the moon… (smile) Good times… Good times.

Now I know where these odd dance moves came from. They were involuntary musical reactions that stuck. ;) Man, I’m tired. :)


Dear Me

Journal entries – Dear Me is a fight I had with myself today.

11-15-10     11:48am

Today’s show is brought to you by the letter F, as in flashbacks – the experience of re-experiencing something, usually something you prayed never to experience again. Splendid. Tomorrow’s show brought to you by the letter S, as in sarcasm.


Why am I wearing sequins? Ask me why I’m wearing sequins today. Because everyone will say I look beautiful and not ask how I feel. Actually, I thought they’d make me feel better. The brush-off is a secondary benefit. It’s not making me feel any better.

I wanted to walk to catch the bus to lunch. But I missed that window of upset energy. Too much FUCKING planning. Now I’m tired and want to sleep and cry. I posted on my FB “I can’t do this.” P- said, “Do what?” Does it really matter?

Dear Me,

Stop saving me. I don’t want to be saved. Ya hear? Why aren’t you listening? Why can’t you DO something? Paralyzed by pain and fear. I don’t want to be here.

Yes you do! You just want to be loved. And YOU can’t give that to me. You fucking failure.

ME? I keep you alive. Every fucking day you don’t want to go on and I pull you out or put you to sleep or find you whatever crazy food will distract you long enough. You are the failure you. You NEVER change.

That’s right. I’m the failure. Saving lives and managing crazy people EVERYWHERE I go is failing.

Yes. You’re not doing what you love. You are withering.

I’m not withering. I’ve already died.

Then why are you still fucking up my life? WHY do I keep having to save you? to find reasons for you to go on?

Because I don’t want to die.

Can we make up our minds? I thought you were already dead.

I am.

No you’re not.

Yes I am.

Then how are you writing?

It’s you that’s writing, remember? You’re the one who keeps saving me.

I hate you.

I hate you too.

I’m still hungry.


You’re on.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Great Quotes from Therapy

11-6-10      4:04am

I am so thankful for my therapist. I had a great session with him this week. He is spot on sometimes and I just had to share these pearls of wisdom. He said:

“You’re a very good codependent.”
“He’s got muscles where his empathy should be.”
“That’s what happens when a poet meets a lumberjack.”
“These are the sticks between which you weave your safety net.”


© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

They call me Ms. Marshmallow

9-8-10                  11:32am

There were times in my life when I would have considered an 18 minute yoga video for beginners lame. However, today I approached it with VCR remote in hand and cursing at the tv. Are you supposed to curse at a yoga video? Seems rather un-zen. Anyway, I made it through in about an hour, quite ungracefully, and rather perturbed. If I’m going to go to the effort to get INTO a yoga pose I’d like to stay there for more than 5 seconds (I counted – hence the pause button). You’d think I hadn’t taken a step in 3 years. Yes, Dr. T. I’m a marshmallow. Ya happy?

I woke up this morning at 7:33 thanks to forgetting to take my night meds. I don’t even know what my meds do anymore. I’m just so tired. So I decided to stay up, even though I’d only slept 4 hours. Why not? Well, we’ll get to that later. I’ve been experiencing this thing where I feel very agitated with an extreme desire to move with zero energy or ability to do so, often when I wake up but other times too. It’s like torture. Like being trapped in your own body. With the blanket on I’m too hot, with it off I’m freezing. There are small bursts of energy when I finally flip myself over like a pancake or roll to one side. Then I lay there not moving, wondering why. It’s like all contact from my brain to one or more of my limbs has completely gone away. Sometimes my voice goes on hiatus too. The thoughts are there, but nobody’s answering.

So I finally found the energy and wherewithal to get up and decided to start my journey to non-marshmallowness by attempting to walk to the donut shop. Dr. T had suggested walking somewhere for coffee but I don’t drink coffee, and I like donuts, and I happened to remember there’s a shop up the street. Ooh, I just remembered 7-11’s closer. Might start with that. But I needed to take a shower. So I took a shower and then couldn’t breathe, so out went the donut shop. So I settled on sitting for awhile and then had a bagel and watched Nick, Jr. I was cool with traveling with Dora through the desert to deliver Cowboy cookies to a blue cow named Benny playing harmonica in a rocking chair, but traveling through space to return Inky, Plinky, Blinky, Dinky and Al to the purple planet is a bit much. What do people DO during the day who don’t work or go to school? I sleep until my life starts around three every day. Today I played with Zoe, whom I might add is fucking crazy.

I eventually decided to try one of my many exercise videos that I’ve owned forever and never use. Instead of Richard Simmons that I know I like I figured I’d start with something simple – AM Yoga for Beginners. Grrrr. I even got out my pink yoga mat. I made it through, huffing and puffing and cursing and pausing and cursing some more. It’s supposed to make you feel energized. Energized is not quite the word I would put on it. I feel mentally alert, but I’m physically exhausted, and shaking, and my eyes are watering, and I can’t stop yawning. Not sure what about that is energized.

So now it’s 11:46am. I exercised on purpose today. The result – urge to watch QVC and say, “That shit is whack, man.” Not sure what they’re putting in that AM Yoga video. I’ve been up for 4 hours. In my normal day it would be dinnertime now and I would be off to a group or to see music or something active with people. But no, it’s not even noon. What, the fuck. Seeing my therapist at 2pm. Hoping to be awake for that. I need a nap…

(sigh) 11:52 and it decides to kick in? NOW I’m agitated? It said ENERGIZED not AGITATED. (zap) Breathe… I need structure and people.


© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Jazz Hands vs Spirit Fingers

7-5-10                  3:05am

Okay, so it’s 3am and I’ve been thinking about jazz hands for awhile. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. But there is a great ignorance in the world about Jazz Hands that I feel the need to clear up.

Jazz Hands are NOT Spirit Fingers. They are not interchangeable. Please don’t mix them up. And please don’t mix them in a crowd. It gets ugly.

Spirit Fingers are the equivalent of playing air trumpet with fingers that don’t bend. Your thumb never moves. Jazz Hands are what would happen if you glued your palm to a tambourine and then played it one-handed. Your pointer finger stays pretty much motionless while the rest of your hand makes music, rotating back and forth around it.

Spirit Fingers are found on a football field on cheerleaders and people screaming things. Jazz Hands are found in a theater on people dancing and attempting to entertain you. Please don’t mix them up. You now don’t have an excuse.

I do Spirit Fingers when I mock someone. Yes, I once was a cheerleader, but the Jazz Hands crowd always wins out. Ya just can’t beat that air tambourine. ;) If you don’t know what a tambourine is, God help you.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

What is a Hampton?

7-4-10                  8:13pm

What is a Hampton? My friend posted on Twitter that the air in the Hamptons is so crisp and clear. I know the Hamptons is a place, but what is a Hampton. Is it a mountain? A river? A cabin? A stream? A proper noun who’s been demoted? A famous person who owned such place and the apostrophe of ownership has since disappeared, as well as the name of whatever he owned? What is a Hampton?

I’m not even in a class of people who can afford to know what they are, much less visit. ;) Somebody help me out.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Late Night Funnies

6-30-10                 12:13am

So, I’m sitting here at the computer tonight when the most hilarious thing happens. While munching on a crouton that I tried hard to resist but didn’t, I said to my mom, “You know you have a serious snacking problem when at midnight on a Wednesday morning you slowly and slyly say to your daughter, ‘Waaaanna croutoooon???’” I laughed. She took a drink of milk. Then it hit her. She spit the milk out like a movie scene. It’s all over the floor and some binders on the table and her. We’re both laughing hysterically. She’s shrieking. Zoe’s licking it up off the floor. Lol. It’s this laughter that happens with my aunt Jackie or my grandma. A mostly silent, can’t breathe, face turning red, squeaks escaping here and there, commotion, punctuated by pauses for coughing. My belly aches and I’m surprised I didn’t pee on myself.

Zoe had 2 white hairs on her back. The rest of her is black. Mom pulled one out today with the new cat brush. And she says right after this incident, “Well, she still has one hair.” Lol. The laughter started all over. This cat’s been through so much. She was held in one hand on the ride from Ramona to Santee. My mom stepped on her. I threw a water bottle the landing of which scared her so bad she wouldn’t come near us for a few days. She’s not all there to begin with. I can understand why she’s 9 weeks old and already has two white hairs. But now, according to my mom, she only has one hair left.

I love this night.


© Michelle Routhieaux 2010