goodgollymissmolly
She looked across the books, admiring the light gleaming off the perfect, unbent, cover of the 321 separate bindings that she'd published over the years. The Fabio cover years, the remergence of superheroes and pirates with the popularity of those movies, her career ebbing and flowing in both quantity and quality over the 35-year-span she'd been writing. Looking at the section which housed her life's work, she ruefully admitted to her editor that seeing the words 'Romance Section' brought one predominant and persistent thought to mind...
"Rah-ah-ahahahahah, Roma-romama! Gaga, oo lala, WANT YOUR BAD ROMANCE!"
Still in denial to all but herself, she thought "Damn, but it is catchy."
There are certain proficiencies that I've always wished I had, like the ability to cook more than one dish to be ready at the same time, or being able to french braid my own hair. One of the big ones has always been the ability to look at an engine and not picture myself as the Little Mermaid, who has to all forks thingamajigs and music boxes whatjamacallit. This urge to learn anything about the mechanics of my car tend to hibernate until that point that I have to trust a relative stranger to not take total advantage of my naivete.
She looked around her house and her life and tried to convince herself that, if necessary, she could do well without any of the material objects she'd spend her life assembling. Memories matter more than materials, and she doesn't really need all of those books she'd promise that she'd reread at some point, the clothes which were never as good of a deal as convinced herself standing in the checkout counter of department stores.
In reality, it was easy to tell from her daily habits that this wasn't the case. Going to the store required a purse that was probably designed as a messenger bag, overnight trips involved at least a backpack's contents, and any voyage longer than two days meant at least two types of luggage that was mostly filled with "just in case" activities, and "This might be the trip when I find that I really do like wearing heels, so I should bring a few different pairs" supplies.
He could feel the sand beneath his feet dissipating as the ocean water receded back into the surf. Of all of the sensations he experienced-- the warmth of the sun, the salty taste of the air, the cry of children as they chased each other in and out of the wave, this was the most significant. How long would it take for the outgoing tide to remove all traces of his presence, for the low tide to remove all evidence of his presence on the shore?
She knew the minute that he left that he was lying. Not from his stance, and the flick of his eyes that communicated he was telling her lies. Instead, it was the taste of his words as they passed across the room, the subtle saltiness that she knew from experience would eventually fill her mouth with bitterness as they hurled verbal spears at each other.
Words are words, and that's fine because I spend too much time of thinking about them and find my self on a philosophical merry-go-round ("when I'm thinking about words, are the still words if they're in my mind? What about words that look like what they stand for, like "bed"? Why do other languages have completely awesome words that stand for something we encounter all them time-- shandenfreude, for example. If they rhyme, do they still rhyme in my mind? And if people have different accents, should they have a different rhyming dictionary? Why does slant rhyme sound to weird until your here it performed on a Shakespearian stage? Old Billy did invent a lot of words, but now we've got all of these ridiculous words that never seem like real words-- spatula... syzgy... and on, and on, and on...)
Writing this post really highlights my excellent procrastination skills, as well as a probable need for Ritalin or something.
Anyway, why do we call in upright? Is this some kind of subliminal belief in a good and bad equality linked with a specific position and location? Living in the penthouse is usually considered far better than living in the ground floor. Like having a word map that always has North America on the top and South America on the bottom seems to convey the message that North America is better than South America (and if this debate comes around at all, I say we settle it with a global Soccer tournament which would indefinitely show the superiority of nearly all South American countries. Ok, we've got some pretty great stuff going on up here, but I really think that we'd get our asses kicked in any kind of sports matchup). On the other hand, I think that I'd freak the hell out if this changed, since, you know-- I hate change and the burden of making decision.
Before this timer started, I was listening to Bulletproof, by La Roux, on youtube. This is the kind of pop culture that although I enjoy, I almost try to separate from the person that I want to be. I'm not sure why, it's a catchy song, but the video makes me feel like our culture flash froze in the mid 80's. I like geographic prisms and bright colors as much as the next person, but whoa, I could have made this video on the first computer my family every brought, back in 1995.
I'm not sure why I try to excuse myself from enjoying many of the things that I do: its like I have to segregate the part of me who really enjoys reading the New York Times, from the part that also went to the midnight showing of High School Musical 3, and can do the entire "Hoedown Throwdown" by Hannah Montana.
But then again, maybe this is how our culture evolves-- the things we once knew about and used as a motion of irony become our actual responses in the world.
Song's over, and so is my time...
My sister asked me why people who plan murders and are outraged by being caught by Detectives Stabler and Benson don't have a better story planned to prove their innocence. We decided that it probably had something to do with them being stupid enough to commit a crime, as in, this population probably wasn't particularly bright to begin with.
And then we realized that we'd watched marathons of Law and Order:SVU for so long that we were speaking in jargon. And we could tell the season of any episode based on Mariska Hargitay's haircut.
And, you know, talking about fictional crimes.
ive never. Been sure why gold is supposed to be better than silver, whether you win a race or make it to that anniversary. To me silver shows strgth'. And understanted fortitude. My mother and both of her parents went gray/ silver long beofre their time, and truly, ifi can be more like them, i would consider myslf a better person. There is also the phrase "all that glitters is not gold", the gold rush, and gold jewelry shops that compell economic victims to transform any kind of familial gold for green-- cash money which is easily exchanged at any number of transactions. Siover jewelry, purchased for young couples starting out, is harder to. Exchange in a moment of panic. Given the choice, illtake silver myself, whether as a hue of my hair, or a methaphoric embodiment of my familys past in dishware form, or in e sibver tounged words that compose our famial legacy
Would it be considered a slight to claims someone'S LIGHT for your own? It's a homonym for the word that also means a kind of great, subtle hand trick. As much as I've always wanted to be a magician or illusionist, or at all grateful, I'm totally incapable of performing a slight of hand.
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