Category Archives: Daily Prompt

The Hungry Commuter

On a very hungry day of the week, my friend CM was driving home from work on the northbound freeway between Goleta and Buellton when she was passed by a California Highway Patrol car at the precise moment she happened to be biting into a burger.
He pulled into the lane behind her and switched on his siren lights.
She safely stored the burger in front of the speedometer until she found a decent spot to pull over.
The officer stepped up to her window and asked, “Ma’am, do you know how fast you were going?”
CM glanced under her dashboard.
“Well, no… I couldn’t tell because the burger was covering the numbers…”
The officer told her he was going to have to write her a ticket and went back to his car.
Just then a strong ocean breeze came upon them and swept one of her food wrappers out the window.
She watched in despair through the rear view mirror as the wrapper stopped every few seconds only to then roll away some more.
Not only was she facing a speeding fine, but now, if the officer saw the wrapper, she would also be facing something like a $400 littering fine.
The implications were overwhelming.
Should she risk endangering her life by stepping out of her car next to the busy freeway traffic just to pick up a silly wrapper?
Would the officer think she was going to attack him?
Should she pretend nothing had happened and pray the officer didn’t notice the wrapper rolling by?
As the officer stepped back up to CM’s window to hand her the ticket, she saw the wrapper lodge itself behind a prickly plant.
The officer asked if there was anything else she wished to tell him.
“Well yes…” she said, “Would you mind handing me that wrapper that just flew out of my car?”
“Where is it?”
“Behind us, lodged in that prickly plant.”
“That one there?”
“Yes.”
“Ok.”
So he handed her the wrapper and sent her on her way, with clear instructions not to put burgers in front of her speedometer in the future.

Someday

The last time Rita saw Theo, he was at a red light about to make a right turn onto a busy speedway that led straight into the city.
If it hadn’t been for that damn zigzagging biker, she wouldn’t have honked her horn.
He wouldn’t have turned towards her.
Their eyes wouldn’t have met one last time.
He shrugged and blushed.
She threw her hair back and laughed, shaking her head at him with a twinkle in her eye.
He waved, made the turn, and that was that.
Of course, there’s always that instinct…
That human survival skill that kicks in around your mid-thirties that makes you want to seize whatever opportunity you have left in life because it may not come around a second time.
She fought the urge to follow him.
Besides, she was in the wrong lane.
She drove forward towards her grandparents’ beach ranch.
One intersection.
No U-turn.
Two intersections.
No U-turn.
Three intersections.
She was going for it.
‘It’s now or never,’ she thought.
Never mind the milk in her trunk that would probably spoil.
Never mind her niece she was supposed to pick up from school. She knew the way home. She was old enough to walk.
She would make a U-turn at the next intersection, just past the railroad tracks.
Then she heard the train coming.
She slipped her heel off her right foot and jammed down on the accelerator.
She passed the tracks nice and clear before the rail started to come down.
She made the U-turn and then- No.
It was too late.
The silver late-model railcars reflected the intense summer sun one by one.
Beyond the glare she imagined happy couples falling in love at first sight and dining together for the first time.
By the time they got to their destinations, they would have exchanged addresses and they’d send each other post cards until they were ready to move in together.
50 years from now they’d be celebrating the anniversary of the date they met on this very train.
Rita clenched her teeth and lay her head on the steering wheel.
What was this, the 300th car? 400th? She’d lost count after seven.
Finally, the rail started going up and she didn’t know whether to try to find Theo’s car, who by now was probably a good five minutes ahead of her, or to turn back around and go to the ranch.
“Ah, what the hell,” she said to herself. “What do I have to lose?”
But the rail came back down again.
She rolled her eyes in despair.
Was the train going to go in reverse?
Yes, the train was going to go in reverse and switch tracks.
Ludicrous engineers.
How dare they.
But it was a momentary false alarm, and the train went forward again on its way.
Rita wouldn’t have known that, having made another U-turn and taken a back alley over to the speedway.
She thought Theo would be at his brother’s house and took that exit.
She wove between faster cars down the boulevard, looking for his car, which he would have to have parked out on the street.
She went around the neighborhood three times, unable to recognize the house.
“Perhaps they painted it? Added a second story?”
She hadn’t been there in five years.
Finally, she gave up and pulled over at a gas station.
She thought she saw Theo’s car, but there was a young woman driving it.
Up until then it had never occurred to her that Theo might have moved on.
The notion had been there- the fear– but not the belief.
After all, why should he move on, if here she was daydreaming about him after all these years?
Her imagination had been enough to fuel her affection, so why shouldn’t he feel the same way?
Suddenly, it all made sense.
Why he’d stopped texting her all of a sudden.
Why he’d been so curt every time they happened to run into each other.
Of course.
He’d moved on long ago.
How could she be so dumb?
It was there before her eyes all along.
She didn’t finish filling her tank and went home.
The truth is, it wasn’t Theo’s car at the gas station that day.
Theo had been headed into the city, but after he got on the speedway, he got off at the first exit and came back around toward where he’d seen Rita.
In fact, he would have seen her were it not for a passenger train blocking his view.
When the rail finally lifted, what with the sun in his eyes and the eagerness to pull out of there, he didn’t see Rita turning her car around and Rita sure as hell didn’t see him.
He went to her grandparents’ ranch, didn’t see her car there and waited half an hour for her to show up.
A little girl passed by the gate.
“Is Rita around?”
“Aunt Rita?” said the girl. “She was supposed to pick me up. Something real important musta come up.”
“Will you tell her…”
“Huh?”
Theo saw he was making the young girl nervous.
“Never mind. Thanks.”
He drove off back into the city, where he made a decent living and lots of friends over the next couple of decades, letting time roll down his back.
Rita found the strength to move on too.
She married a real nice man whom she gets a real nice alimony check from every month, which kind of sort of makes up a little for his real nice new wife that’s taken her place.
But no one’s taken Theo’s place.
If they’re not so knuckleheaded, perhaps they’ll find that out someday.

The Girl Who Could Not Conform

Nonconformity Girl wasn’t born with superpowers.

Back in the day, next door, she was just a pipsqueak in pigtails and braces doin’ quite a lot of conformityin’.

Her 22 brothers and half-brothers and stepbrothers would order her around like she’d been a Godsend to slave for ’em.

Sure, they bought her dolls and dresses, tea sets imported straight from China. There was plenty of that.

None but one ever looked out for her. His name was Robin. And just like a robin, he was meant for the skies. Became a pilot at the age of 16. You may remember him. Dropped outta school, joined the Air Force, back in ’05.

Mira- that’s Nonconformity Girl’s real name, mind you- Mira really felt his goneness.

Grades dropped. Got pregnant at 15. Neighbor said, “No daughter of mine is gonna make me no grandmother, nah-uh, not while you’s still in high school, not this year, not in this lifetime!”

And next thing you know, Mira’s a runned away from home.

Ain’t nobody knows what she’s done next.

But I can tell you; Robin and my boy- they was bestest friends. My boy kept tabs on that family even after Robin went MIA.

Mira gone and have that kid in Las Vegas. Hear that? Las Vegas.

She ain’t have one kid either. After 22 brothers, that’d be too easy.

She went and had twins? Nah-uh. Not Mira. She gone and have triplets.

All girls.

That’s where the nonconformity started.

She worked that Fremont street in that little white feather dress- you know the one I’m talkin’ about- like she’d been doin’ it since she was one. She worked it right up until the seventh month. Then the girls was a born.

Her boyfriend from back home went a lookin’ for her. Word on the street was she wasn’t livin’ the straight life. He wanted to help her out.

She bought him  a one-way ticket back home. Ain’t never filed for child support either. Those kids are as hers as the tits on her chest.

I seen him at the bar some months back. He still cryin’. I says, “Boy, you gotta get over it. She’s a superhero now. Just look at the T.V.” There was our Mira, in a hot pink skin-tight leopard print leotard, flyin’ with her rocket pack in and out of a burnin’ 16-story hotel. “You can’t hold a woman like that down.”

“I just don’t see myself with any other woman.”

“OK, you keep dreamin’ then.”

Poor kid. Became a doctor. Never even practiced. Waste of gray matter, if you ask me.

Mira, on the other hand- you give that girl a match, she’ll build you the most spectacular fireworks show you seen from Dubai to Shanghai.

After the girls was born, you’d think any girl at her age would’a just given ’em up for adoption. Well she got ’em an agent. Made models out of ’em. You may remember them from those Spearmint and Twix commercials. That was them. I also seen ’em up on Baby Gap posters. I know it was them. They have her face. I’d know that face anywhere.

Lots of people wanted her business. You know, a place like that, she could stay busy if she wanted. She did a men’s magazine shoot once herself but threatened to sue if they published after they paid her 20% of what they’d originally offered. Said they’d get back to her with the rest. ‘Course, they didn’t care. Lots o’ women threaten things like that then back off when they start gettin’ hate messages from strangers. Legend has it she hacked their cloud storage, for she’d been goin’ to adult school. She deleted her pictures- over 500.

But she didn’t stop there. Nah-uh. That wasn’t good enough for her. She deleted all the shoots that were pendin’ publishing so the magazine would have to pay the girls to shoot again. But that wasn’t good enough for her.

She’d topple down the sex trade empire if she could and if anyone could, I supposed it’d be her. But ain’t no one can do that, you and I both know that. Why, without that, I s’pose heaven would fill up too full and there’d be too much idleness in hell.

So she’d gone and done the next best thing. She photoshopped the original untouched images with superhero costumes and replaced all the images on the magazine’s website. That’s when she got the brilliant idea to become a superhero herself.

Now a girl who grows up the way she did- a girl like that knows how to defend herself. She knows when to strike and when to run. You can’t teach someone things like that. They gotta pick it up in their prime. It’s like a second languages.

So she bought herself a police radio and started rescuin’ folks she knew the cops ain’t ever gonna come there. Or in some cases, the cops is already there. Yeah they pulled guns on her. But her daughters helped her video the whole ordeals and then they’d sell them to the media, you know, like that Peter Parker character, only this was in real life. And it wasn’t no sissy town. This was Vegas.

Then Robin went MIA and that’s the last and only time I seen her come ’round here. My boy invited her out to drink. Of course, nobody knew Mira was Nonconformity Girl. Except we did. We’d know that face anywhere.

And Mira tells my boy she’s gonna disappear from all the thunder for a while. Gotta find her brother. That was 6 months ago. She swore he wasn’t dead. My boy told her to be careful. Kinda redundant to a girl like that.

“Yeah. I’m careful,” she said. “But every now and then I gotta be a little reckless.”

She left the girls with their agent, a fine respectable woman if ever an agent was one. I woulda showed you their Snapchat ‘cept I promised my son not to disclose their birth names.

Fremont Street by Ave Valencia
© Ave Valencia 2017

World Introvert Day

World Introvert Day may be one of a handful of holidays i celebrate:

Jan. 2nd – World Introvert Day (as of today, when i realized it existed)

Second Sunday in March – When the clocks all get distorted and the day has 25 hours

March 20th/ Spring Equinox – When i sacrifice a virgin to the sun

April 1st – April Fool’s Day (and the following day when i meet bail)

April 7th – National Beer Day (US)

May 25th – National Wine Day (US)

June 2nd – National Doughnut Day (US)

July 7th – World Chocolate Day

Sept. 10th – World Suicide Day (or is it suicide prevention? i think i’ve been doing it wrong)

Oct. 29th – National Cat Day (US)

And probably my wedding anniversary ought to be up ^ there somewhere.

So to celebrate World Introvert Day, i will give you a sneak peek into the interior of my amazing mind, because let’s face it- i am awesome.

(1) Everything, absolutely everything, has a song or can have a song. My mind is the stage of a never-ending musical.

(2) I always picture worse-case scenarios. Chances are, if we’ve ever spoken, i was simultaneously picturing at least one form in which you might have horrifyingly died in a sudden freak accident while listening to you. And usually the more i care about you, the more horrific deaths i picture. With a choir singing in the background. But if you’re a boring conversationalist or if you’re explaining something important, then i just picture a chimp with an accordion on a unicycle, or those flying elephants from Fantasia.

(3) I eat all day. If an hour passes without me putting something into my mouth, i will get fidgety. If five hours pass without me consuming anything, i will get a terrible tension headache and all hell will break loose. This is why i always carry a whip with me. (Well- the other thing too).

(4) I tend to accidentally speed read and then when i realize it, if i actually want to go back and conscientiously read an entire long paragraph- it can take me between 15-30 minutes because i will continuously get distracted. I attribute this to an excess of awful bad modern authors and i do not believe i would get distracted in the least bit if only they would

(5) On the other hand, when i remember something i read, i remember all the numbers involved and the font that was used.

(6) I have very vivid dreams which are mostly about how much people love me, but it’s always people whose faces i don’t recognize or can’t see. I think they are my subscribers 😉 and i also dream lots of meowing cats. I often try to wake up only to find myself in another dream and will go on like this for usually five or six dreams. It is very scary as i think one day i will give up waking up and just stay on the wrong dream level. Maybe this is the wrong dream level. Maybe i’m in a coma right now. Maybe it’s you who’s in a coma. I bet it’s you. I just want you to know- hang in there- i hope no one pulls the plug on you, and i still own the copyright to these posts.

Thank you for journeying into the Interior of My Magnificent Mind (that’s  what i’m calling the ride now). (The ride is the blog post). NO REFUNDS; the time you waste here is wasted forever.

Year: 7076

Year: 7076

Earth folk have decided it might be safe to crawl back to the surface after living underground for 250 years.

Auto-imposed exile was a result of the last war, which left radiation residues in over 90% of land surface.

The dwindled population’s government intends to send its top scientists to go explore the surface and then provide a report as to whether or not it is inhabitable.

These scientists, in turn, have outsourced their jobs to newly graduated scientists who don’t matter diddly squat in case something were to suddenly deprive them of oxygen on the planet’s sore surface.

This is where my team and I come in.

Dr. Jocelyn is the lead scientist. She graduated top of her class and has been working in biochemistry since she was eight. She was brought up by the government in a laboratory and has no known genetic family. She has dark olive skin, blue eyes and straight silver tresses. My brother dated her in college before his motorcycle accident. Otherwise I have never seen her show much affinity toward anyone.

Fil is an extraterrestrial from an uncharted planet whose family dropped him off on the surface when he was a baby, with nothing but a note and 6 bags of powder baby food which contained minerals no one has been able to trace. He would have died on the surface except one of the professors taking samples from the sky hole’s edge heard him crying 32 years ago. The professor raised him as his own son and was able to duplicate the minerals for his survival. There are no traces of radiation on Phil’s body, so he might be immune. He is 7’2″ and walks erect like a homo sapiens, but has ghost-like white skin, no hair and a tail he coils around his waist. His face looks otherwise human, sometimes more human than others I have seen. His intelligence spans that of several top scientists’, but he is quiet and mostly goes underappreciated. I wonder if he has a penis.

Xavier is an enthusiastic handsome lad who just graduated on a full scholarship. He comes from a large immigrant family who has worked for the underground farming industry these 250 years. If it were up to him, he’d be leading the team. (He likes to point out he has a penis).

I am just a senator’s niece who happens to have a minor in culinary arts. I graduated last year but have really just traveled the underground tunnel system since, popping my head up through an air hole every few hundred kilometers to graph air samples and then sell them to government and news agencies.

My team and a I aim to spend 60 days on the earth’s surface, photographing and taking minute samples of any plants known to be edible, as well as oxygen and radiation levels at different altitudes.

From the sky holes, I have seen blue skies and white and orange clouds, hills that to me look like mountains… but I have been denied this one privilege: I have never set my eyes on the night stars.

There are records and many computer images of beautiful star systems millions of light years away, but the stars have not been visible since the explosions that exterminated most of the land life. Some say God is punishing humanity. I think, that if God exists, he’s afraid we’ll destroy those too.

Our mission begins tomorrow at 5 AM.

______________

Log

Day 1:

Captain Jocelyn led us down a black valley between two active volcanoes. Fil offered to try my cooking before everyone else to assure them that it is palatable. I did not know Fil could eat earth food. Apparently, neither did he. Xavier insisted on pitching my tent and it feels like he didn’t entirely clear the spot of rocks. I wonder if this was on purpose or if he is just a dimwit.

Day 2:

We have found samples of Coffea plant! It turned out to be edible. That is, drinkable. There were Aloe plants nearby. We saw bird specimens of the Psittacoidea family. The earth here is an entomologist’s paradise. This was on the west side of the south volcano. No water in sight yet. I pitched my own tent tonight.

Day 3:

We found a southwest stream with a waterfall! The bugs are getting noticeably larger as we move forward- some as large as my palm. I haven’t seen any crickets, otherwise I would very much like to fry those and see if they taste like the underground crickets at fine restaurants. Fil has taken two of my food packs from off my shoulder while I made my way down the side of the waterfall. We each took turns bathing at the bottom. Xavier picked up my other backpack on the way out, without my consent. Captain Jocelyn then gave me two inflatable containers equivalent to twelve liters to carry water out. She is quite practical. Surface hot coffee tastes and smells like heaven! Still no stars.

Day 4:

Tonight we have reached a wall to a mesa and there are lots of potentially edible plants to sample. We will stay here a couple of days. There is a spring about 300 meters away. Xavier built a bonfire and I tried climbing up the mesa wall. I got stuck on a ledge and Fil, who has better balance, has climbed up to fetch me. Then he has carried me all the way to the top of the mesa on his shoulders. We had to climb through a low cloud at about 1500 meters in altitude. Oxygen levels were still good. We reached the top and there were stars everywhere. If you lie down on the grass and move your arms it feels as if you’re swimming in them. I asked Fil if there were stars on his home planet and he said there are stars across the whole universe. I wonder if he has always known this or if he just now realized it.

 

 

 

 

 

Mope, the One-Eyed Mutt

Mope wasn’t always named “Mope.”
Long ago, he was an “André,” fearless puppy of the night, keeper of justice for the barefoot children that played soccer in the alley.
Brought up on chicken and tortilla scraps, with all his shots current, he had a bright future ahead of him.
He would follow Alexis to school everyday, wait for him by the gate, walk him back home, watch him do his homework, and then he would responsibly destroy said homework.
Around eight they would have dinner together, and he would listen in from the corner on how everyone’s day had gone.
Papa Edmund had a new secretary at the bank.
He would take the kids to the beach that summer if they got good grades.
André had never been to the beach.
He’d seen it on T.V. and other dogs had talked to him about it.
He looked forward to romping in the waves and running through freshly built sand castles.
Mama Mayra said the meat had gone up at the butcher’s and fruit never seemed to be in season anymore.
Sister Sylvia said she was trying out for the volleyball team.
Alexis fed André bacon under the table.
Then, religiously every night, they would go play soccer with the neighborhood kids.
The months went by and the weather got warmer and warmer.
The beach vacation became more and more prevalent in the family dinner discussions.
Everyone talked about what they would pack.
Papa Edmund would take a cooler and a barbecue pit.
Mama Mayra would take a picnic basket and wine bottles, sunscreen, and her crochet needles.
Sister Sylvia would take her volleyball, a couple of mystery novels and her new bikini, which her dad had been unaware of until then.
Alexis would take André, a soccer ball, his snorkeling gear and a boogie board.
André would take his favorite bone and cushion.
The last day of school was excruciatingly hot and Alexis brought water for André, who was faithfully waiting outside by the gate in the sun.
When the bell rung, Alexis, Sylvia and André ran home from school and packed their bags while their mother yelled “Don’t forget this! Don’t forget that!” from the living room downstairs.
The a/c had broken the day before and everyone was sweating or panting.
Papa Edmund came home from work and the family gathered around him, welcoming him home with a big bear hug.
“Mayra, we need to talk.”
The couple entered the bedroom and André ran under their bed before they closed the door.
“What’s wrong?” asked Mama Mayra.
Edmund sat down on the bed.
“You look upset. Did something happen?”
Edmund didn’t look straight at her, but mostly looked past her toward an open window. He got up to shut it.
“Edmund, it’s 100 degrees up here! Leave the window open.”
“Stop telling me what to do! There you go again, giving me orders.”
Mayra bit her lips and shook her head.
It had all seemed too good to be true.
She started pacing around the room packing more things into her beach bag.
“We’re not going to beach, god damn it, Mayra! Stop packing!”
“Well I’m not going to stay here. You promised the kids. At least one of us has to keep their word.”
“I lost my job.”
Mayra stopped packing.
She tried to hug her husband, but he just stood up and pushed her away.
“What happened?”
Edmund’s cell phone rang. Mayra looked at the caller ID. It was his secretary. Mayra crossed her arms and her face and looked intently at Edmund.
He took the call in the bathroom.
A few hours later, Mayra had packed the station wagon full of as many things as a family relocating could possibly pack in a situation in which they are fully incapable of packing the most important thing of all.
The kids were crying in the back seat and André, confused, put his paw on little Sylvia’s face, alternating licking each child’s cheeks.
They had driven about two miles when Mayra pulled over and said, “You know what? We have nowhere to put that dog.”
The children screamed in resistance.
Engulfed by jealousy, she was willing to get rid of anything that reminded her of any decision her husband had ever taken without consulting her, including bringing home this mutt.
“What are we going to feed him? I don’t even have a job! We have nowhere to live!”
The kids protested in indistinguishable whimpers.
She opened the back door, picked up André, and left him on the side of the road.
She turned red as she realized, walking back to the driver’s seat, the unrighteousness of her vengeful act.
André barked and ran after them for a good three miles, while Alexis stuck his head out the window, shouting that he loved him and he would return for him.
Eventually, André lost sight of the station wagon and he had nowhere else to go but back home.
When he got there, he was thirsty as hell and ready to collapse on his cushion.
Papa Edmund had been hitting the bottle and now he seized the opportunity to take out his rage on someone.
“So you’re the only one who came back? Stupid beast. Where are the rest of them? Are they gone because they can’t stand to see me like this? Because they’ve always known I’m a liar?”
André looked down and rested his head on his paws.
Then, Mr. Edmund did something that André cannot believe to this very day.
He took the bottle and broke it straight into André’s right eye.
The next morning, still hungover, Edmund took André to the pound and said he was a stray he’d found near his house.
André is no longer a puppy.
No one has adopted him because they say all he does is mope in his cage, so the staff there baptized him “Mope.”
He awaits Alexis’s return to this very day.

The Wallflower Hums

There is a tape recording of me as a child crying in the background while my father plays some of his songs on his guitar.
Then the tape stops abruptly.
You turn it around and I continue to cry.

My parents listened to a lot of Santana, Roberto Carlos, Rocío Durcal…
Mostly 80s latino sounds.
That was 50% of it.
The other half was when we’d play what we wrote ourselves.
There is another recording in which my parents are pressuring me to sing a song i wrote into the tape recorder.
I refuse because my brother is “looking at me.”
I was a very self-conscious 4 – year old.
While my present style of writing music is heavily influenced by Rocío Durcal, if no one else, i discovered Classic Rock when i was 12 and would say my lyrics have also been influenced by what’s her name, the blonde one.
Stevie Nicks.

I saw Christie Hynde (the Pretenders) perform not too long ago.
I love her 80s music.
But she’s really rude on stage.
Not Rock rude.
Bad rude.
Not bad rude.
Stupid rude.
For example, the concert opened with this great Irish guitar duo.
Then Christie got to the part of her show where she presented her band.
She didn’t know the pianist’s name and regarding her guitarist, asked, “When was the last time you heard a good guitar player?”
Uhm, half an hour ago?
Your opening band?
She cursed every time a flash went off.
Then she kept saying she was leaving but kept coming back.
I understand when bands do this to take a breather.
Or hit or whatever it is they do backstage.
But she did it over and over and over.
My husband and I kept walking down and then up the theater stairs to go back to our seats.

The theater where she played has a whimsical romantic style about it.
My best girl friend in high school and i once saw the Wallflowers play there.
After that show, we knocked on the bus door and the drummer asked us to have sex.
“Uhm, we’re underage?”
YOLO.
But not us, cause we’re Christians, so we told him we just wanted to talk about God.

To be honest i never really have been able to play or sing my own songs in front of my family.
They’re so much more talented than me when it comes to music.
The other day i was playing a recording of my newest song in the car and my husband inadvertently turned it off.
Then i texted a fb friend of mine who also composes if he wants to do a collab, but he wants to barter for his services.
I feel a bit deflated.
Which is great kindle for a wannabe song writer.
I’ll try experimental sounds next.
Perhaps an album where i cry for an hour.

If you agree with me that sound is music, i recommend you watch the movie Frank.☆☆☆☆☆

This was written in response to yesterday’s daily prompt, but i fell asleep before i could finish it.

My Anti-Style

How I really am…

My style of dressing:
What’s on sale at Goodwill?
Do I have to iron it?
Can I find matching heels?
Check today’s high temperature…
…Wear the same thing I wore one week ago.
Hope no one notices.

My style of singing:
Start soft, hold high notes, explore second voice, tap tempo, interweave lyrics slightly off beat, fall out of key, apologize.

My style of carrying keys:
Insert key ring through finger and jingle as I walk.

My style of walking:
Drag feet as close to the ground as possible. Kick pebbles.

My style of running:
30 feet uphill then hyperventilate.

My style of drinking water:
I always miss my mouth for some reason.

My style of driving:
Window half down, left hand steerer, right hand on the emergency break, listening to NPR.

My style of reasoning:
Well I could do it so why can’t they?

My style of befriending:
“Here kitty kitty kitty. Oh you’re such a fat kitty,  aren’t you?  Mrreow? Mrreow?”

My style of petting:
Ear scratch followed by a back stroke, followed by a tummy rub, sealed with a chin scratch.

My style of saving money:
I’ll have to come back to this one.

My style of eating:
Remove braces, remove what I’m allergic to, nomnomnom, choke on something, nom…nom…nom…, drink, brush teeth, insert braces.

My style of cooking:
Fry everything in oil with spices, then add sauce, boil, add more sauce,  melt cheese, add more spices.

My real style of cooking:
“Mom, do you have leftovers?”

My style of parenting:
“Kid, I appreciate your fondness,  but I’m really not your mother.”

My style of birth control:
Showering profusely.

My style of intercourse:
Rejection, crying, writing a song about ponies and daffodils.

My style of cleaning:
Natural store-bought liquids and recycled paper towels, sweep to my heart’s content, avoid mopping and vacuuming when possible.

My style of working:
Work a little, blog a little. Leave a stack for when my manager is here.

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My style of receiving calls:
Act like you’re the center of my universe while I draw on a post-it.

My style of blogging:
Somewhat anonymous, somewhat sporadic, mostly non-linear, pretty much inconsequential.

My style of saving money:
Be generous and life will be generous to you.

In response to today’s prompt Style Icon.

Jury Duty Part 4

These are the drawings I mentioned in “Jury Duty Part 3” post, with the line in the fire pamphlet that prompted them.

forest fire animals

AveForestFire

bipolarbear-firefighterbipolarbear-firefighter

Speaking of prompts, I really liked today’s Daily Prompt about whose life story you’d like to hear.
I enjoy Bitter Ben’s blog but he’d probably ruin my day.
I’d also like to hear Theodore Ficklestein’s life story but mostly because he hardly writes anything concrete about himself.
He is practically the most anonymous elusive blogger that I know of.
What is it he’s trying so hard to keep to himself?

The TV room is full of napping jurors sleeping through a soap opera about the kidnapping of a guy named Sam.
I tried to kidnap a guy named Sam once. But he wouldn’t get in the car.

There’s a guy sitting in front of me wearing an army jacket who keeps laughing to himself.
Freaking me out.
The old man next to me is snoring.
Euw.
Time to go for a little walk. 🙂

 

if i ruled the world daily prompt

Daily Prompt: If I Didn’t Rule the World and Then Did (Again)

This prompt implies I don’t rule the world.
I like to think that I do.
But if I have to argue it, it kind of falls apart on me.
I find this prompt depressing.

Lemme concentrate on the superpower.
I can change one law of nature…
Last night I dreamed I had a baby pig and the baby pig was running around everywhere with a cape tied around it’s neck.
It was the most darling thing I’ve ever tentatively seen in my life.
If pigs could fly.
Nah- that’s a dumb idea.
Who could ever write about that?

What if photographers could fly?
Yes that’s the law I would change.
I wouldn’t want everyone to fly.
Just photographers.
Then again everyone would want to be a photographer.
Then again everyone already thinks they are.


Hm.
This is harder than I thought.
I know!
If people could breathe under water!
That would solve so many problems.
We’d have a better understanding of our oceans and would feel impulsed to stop throwing trash into them!
I could learn to speak Whalish and Sharkish.
I could even live under water.
Instead of cats I’d have sea otters.
I’d never have to shower.
Maybe just vacuum myself.
Wait. Where would my toilet water go?
Into the mainland?
Maybe I need to put more thought into the logistics.

Response to WP Daily Prompt: If I Ruled the World