ugly dinner plates plastic ware shoes and schools bridges of Madison county what? hey look at me! write write write left hand doors food fun games jews and shoes. good name for a shoe store that sells dradels. I like juice and tea and bland things yes bland that’s where it all started.
Jessica
The taste on my tongue was so very depressing. I couldn’t stand the non-taste! What in the world was this stuff I had put in my mouth. Bland, blech. It was better when I could find my own food and cook it. Now I relied on the graciousness of the institution, forcing food down my throat.
Aadel
The food set before her looked bland. “Do these people have something against spices?” she mused. She picked up her fork and poked around the dish. The woman who had cooked the meal looked expectantly at her. The cook’s face drawn tight as if it was permanently pinched where her cheeks met her nose.
The room was the color of a sugarless milkshake, one that had sat out in the sun too long. In the stark light pouring from its single window, a cream-skinned girl fidgeted as the lurid glare soured her complexion. She ran her hands across the papery folds of her dress, longing for texture, for color. It was all so bland, so vapid. She licked her lips and tried to remember what sweetness tasted like.
The bland vegetables sat on her plate, next to a pile of lumpy mashed potatoes. She pushed them around with her fork, wondering if she could wish them all away. She was supposed to be good, supposed to finish all her food, supposed to run off and play with her brothers. But instead she kept pushing everything around until it became a pasty green mess. Maybe if she just ate slow enough, waited long enough, her aunt would lose patience with the whole endeavor and let her free.
i never want to sit down, and realize that my life is bland.
i want it to be full of flavor.
i want it to change and move like a river.
i want every day to be an adventure.
i am my own worst enemy.
i need to relax and let life happen, but
i also need to be active.
i need balance.
i once had some oatmeal that was so bland it only brought up pictures of cardboard and parchment. its amazing what a little brown sugar and raisins can do…
When you’re a wolf the world seems a little bland, he guesses the same could be said for if you’re a human, but he’s experienced both and canine seems less thrilling than standing in the middle of a clearing on two legs. He misses color, but he can smell life. He doesn’t know which he’d choose if he were ever asked to.
I felt bland like the frozen icicles on evergreens, like melted ice cream covering sticky fingers. I’ve grown to realize that the sun will always shine and that I need to hear the song in my heart, and finally sing along.
I always worried I was just this: bland, boring, unmemorable. Yet, maybe it’s a cyclical, self-fulfilling prophecy. I have so little faith in my own thoughts and opinions that I don’t share them with anyone but my pen and paper. If I don’t offer a grain of salt for anyone to survey, how are they to decide whether I’m bland at all?
It was raw, cold and slick. I had never had anything like it before. But it was so bland. I wanted it to taste great, amazing, but it wasn’t. It was just blah, bland.
Food and life need a spice. Whenever we are dealt a boring white slate in our lives, we need to add color. Make it ours, splash black paint everywhere and add neon green to make it pop.
The soup was still bland. I thought I’d added everything that Mom always had whenever she’d made it… but it still just didn’t taste like much of anything. Plane potatoes at best. Why in the world would anyone want to eat soup that tasted like nothing? Cooking wasn’t my strong suit. Still, with Dad at the office, it’s not like anyone was counting on me or anything. I’d have to send Mom another e-mail and ask what I’d done wrong. Maybe… Maybe I could save what I had, and she wouldn’t take too long getting back to me, and then I could fix it… maybe.
Thinness, standing alone among a million faces in a checkout line. white noise, black noise, the all-consuming consumer of time. conspicuous, innocuous, the small silver screen. obey. obey.
Connor
I hope that your mom gets this message before you. I know she reads everything I write. Anyway I bought that food you told me to get and you know what? It was bland.
Olivia
I gently lifted the spoon to my mouth and let the food fall on to my tongue. After swallowing, I gave a look of disgust.
“Well?” He asked me from across the table with curiosity.
“It’s…bland.” I answered him, sticking out my tongue for effect.
“Oh? I hadn’t thought so.”
Staring at the flat ceiling above me and the white paint that covers it. I wish it dripped or melted even if I was strangled and asphyxiated by it but it’s dry, its constant. Though nothing lasts forever, it’ll chip someday.
bland is something i dont know ive never heard of such word a giggle esacapes from my mouth and she comes in wondering what im doing. leave me dont bother me ive been out of your way for the last few days the least you can give me is time to myself i dont want to be take me away from theses people
The first time I had sex it was so bland it was almost lesbian. She may have been more of a dyke than I, more masculine features. Her tits like eggs nailed to trees, trees nailed to eggs. Her ass, wasn’t horrific, really. The first time I had lesbian sex was bland.
Anything that is too bland is no fun. You need to have a little spice to enjoy yourself.
Bri
He sighed as he saw the bland cereal that he had every morning. It was nothing new, and he was considering trying something new, when he realized he had to stuff his cereal in his mouth to catch the bus, and ran off after three spoonfuls of cereal and milk.
Kari
It needed something. What it was she couldn’t be sure. Salt and pepper just weren’t doing it. Paprika maybe? It had to be perfect… special…. tonight was the night she was certain. She cursed herself for not taking the damn ‘Engagement Chicken’ recipe.
The walls were white and the door squeaked as it was pushed open, but never when it closed. But all in all, there was nothing special about the room. The bed was made neatly, the shelves packed with books that were alphabetized by author, just like any other library.
My life tasted bland during those eight solid hours. I went through the motions, but as far as feeling went, I was number than the ice under my shoes. It’s not that I didn’t want to feel; it’s that I couldn’t. Something snapped inside of my body long ago, and I let it be. Some things are better off broken, and I knew I was one of those exceptions.
Bland is bold colors floating in the wind what colors they are stays a mystery.
A canvas is bland. What if the colors run into the canvas? Is it bland any longer? No. The canvas is me. With depth and wonder. Who am I what am I doing here that is for you to decide.
I AM HERE FOR I AM BLAND
I NEED COLOR
Bland sing to the wind
Bland has no depth
Bland see through you
Bland can not hide
Bland is with in you
Bland can deceive you
Bland is ME
I AM AM BLAND SAVE ME
I NEED YOUR COLOR
MARSHMALLOW MONKEY
It needed something. Everything about it was vanilla. It wasn’t her. Wasn’t THEM. And it had to be didn’t it? If their apartment was bland then what did that say about the relationship?
Emily
There’s something about the plainer ones
Something about their introverted character
It makes me crave their lifeless existence
And form it into mine
It’s just the roar of the colorful ocean
Meeting the soft, quiet sand
As if it were the first time, every time.
i feel weaker by the minute, i feel blander by the second. i’m terrible at waiting, but i’m also scared of people. i want to cry out, i want to be heard, but what good would it do me? i’m yelling but it’s no louder than a whisper. i’m a stranger in my head. but everything is bland and i just want you to stay, to paint my world in more than just black and white, in the misty gray my injured eye can’t see
the blandest band of badder lands has strands of rand-om-ness in it’s hands…
But even bands can’t be always bland…
Ethan
there once was a man who thought life was bland. he looked and he searched but, with nothing in hand, he gave up and decided that, were life to be lived, he’d be damned if he did it anyway close to bland.
jimmy
Why must this be so bland? As to ask me about bland? I don’t like it! BUT I LIKE THIS MUSIC! Music makes it unbland. I can do anything without the bland, you just need that expression of music! TO SET YA FREEE
Bland,
brand,
band, hand
kind of a bland day for me
but maybe bland only applies to food
okay I am having trouble writing anything about the word bland
so off to dictionary I go
Alyce Rocco
Rice pudding
Soap
Eggshell white walls
My mind goes blank when I see this word
Like the fruitless flavorless, odorless
Things this word can describe
This entry
Is somewhat
Utterly and grotesquely
Bland
ellie griffith
not very tasty, kinda boring bland band, just like a pancake with no syrup, much rather have the syrup. so bland is that, it what she said, not veru exciting. just like a boring guy. is my minute over yet so I can see how this thing works. its a real long minute to write about a boring bland word.
cheryl
This is possibly the worst coffee he’s ever tasted. Actually, it’s worse than that – it doesn’t even taste like anything. But he drinks it anyway, the taste inconsequential. As long as it has caffeine, it’s doing its job, and that’s all he cares about.
He pushed the food around his plate. Bland. As usual. Well not as usual, really. It had been bland for a while though. Everything in his life had been bland since she left. He sighed, got up from the table, and threw his uneaten dinner in the trash.
The coffee was rich and tasty, my tongue erupting in joy. The food was crafted by a virtual virtuoso. The atmosphere sublime, the music wonderfully fitting, and the waiter, a charm. The date however, was as bland and dull as could be. Filling the room with her tiresome stories, someone please remove me from this dream.
ugly dinner plates plastic ware shoes and schools bridges of Madison county what? hey look at me! write write write left hand doors food fun games jews and shoes. good name for a shoe store that sells dradels. I like juice and tea and bland things yes bland that’s where it all started.
The taste on my tongue was so very depressing. I couldn’t stand the non-taste! What in the world was this stuff I had put in my mouth. Bland, blech. It was better when I could find my own food and cook it. Now I relied on the graciousness of the institution, forcing food down my throat.
The food set before her looked bland. “Do these people have something against spices?” she mused. She picked up her fork and poked around the dish. The woman who had cooked the meal looked expectantly at her. The cook’s face drawn tight as if it was permanently pinched where her cheeks met her nose.
The room was the color of a sugarless milkshake, one that had sat out in the sun too long. In the stark light pouring from its single window, a cream-skinned girl fidgeted as the lurid glare soured her complexion. She ran her hands across the papery folds of her dress, longing for texture, for color. It was all so bland, so vapid. She licked her lips and tried to remember what sweetness tasted like.
The bland vegetables sat on her plate, next to a pile of lumpy mashed potatoes. She pushed them around with her fork, wondering if she could wish them all away. She was supposed to be good, supposed to finish all her food, supposed to run off and play with her brothers. But instead she kept pushing everything around until it became a pasty green mess. Maybe if she just ate slow enough, waited long enough, her aunt would lose patience with the whole endeavor and let her free.
i never want to sit down, and realize that my life is bland.
i want it to be full of flavor.
i want it to change and move like a river.
i want every day to be an adventure.
i am my own worst enemy.
i need to relax and let life happen, but
i also need to be active.
i need balance.
i once had some oatmeal that was so bland it only brought up pictures of cardboard and parchment. its amazing what a little brown sugar and raisins can do…
Nothing.
When you’re a wolf the world seems a little bland, he guesses the same could be said for if you’re a human, but he’s experienced both and canine seems less thrilling than standing in the middle of a clearing on two legs. He misses color, but he can smell life. He doesn’t know which he’d choose if he were ever asked to.
I felt bland like the frozen icicles on evergreens, like melted ice cream covering sticky fingers. I’ve grown to realize that the sun will always shine and that I need to hear the song in my heart, and finally sing along.
I always worried I was just this: bland, boring, unmemorable. Yet, maybe it’s a cyclical, self-fulfilling prophecy. I have so little faith in my own thoughts and opinions that I don’t share them with anyone but my pen and paper. If I don’t offer a grain of salt for anyone to survey, how are they to decide whether I’m bland at all?
It was raw, cold and slick. I had never had anything like it before. But it was so bland. I wanted it to taste great, amazing, but it wasn’t. It was just blah, bland.
Food and life need a spice. Whenever we are dealt a boring white slate in our lives, we need to add color. Make it ours, splash black paint everywhere and add neon green to make it pop.
The soup was still bland. I thought I’d added everything that Mom always had whenever she’d made it… but it still just didn’t taste like much of anything. Plane potatoes at best. Why in the world would anyone want to eat soup that tasted like nothing? Cooking wasn’t my strong suit. Still, with Dad at the office, it’s not like anyone was counting on me or anything. I’d have to send Mom another e-mail and ask what I’d done wrong. Maybe… Maybe I could save what I had, and she wouldn’t take too long getting back to me, and then I could fix it… maybe.
Thinness, standing alone among a million faces in a checkout line. white noise, black noise, the all-consuming consumer of time. conspicuous, innocuous, the small silver screen. obey. obey.
I hope that your mom gets this message before you. I know she reads everything I write. Anyway I bought that food you told me to get and you know what? It was bland.
I gently lifted the spoon to my mouth and let the food fall on to my tongue. After swallowing, I gave a look of disgust.
“Well?” He asked me from across the table with curiosity.
“It’s…bland.” I answered him, sticking out my tongue for effect.
“Oh? I hadn’t thought so.”
Staring at the flat ceiling above me and the white paint that covers it. I wish it dripped or melted even if I was strangled and asphyxiated by it but it’s dry, its constant. Though nothing lasts forever, it’ll chip someday.
bland is something i dont know ive never heard of such word a giggle esacapes from my mouth and she comes in wondering what im doing. leave me dont bother me ive been out of your way for the last few days the least you can give me is time to myself i dont want to be take me away from theses people
The first time I had sex it was so bland it was almost lesbian. She may have been more of a dyke than I, more masculine features. Her tits like eggs nailed to trees, trees nailed to eggs. Her ass, wasn’t horrific, really. The first time I had lesbian sex was bland.
Anything that is too bland is no fun. You need to have a little spice to enjoy yourself.
He sighed as he saw the bland cereal that he had every morning. It was nothing new, and he was considering trying something new, when he realized he had to stuff his cereal in his mouth to catch the bus, and ran off after three spoonfuls of cereal and milk.
It needed something. What it was she couldn’t be sure. Salt and pepper just weren’t doing it. Paprika maybe? It had to be perfect… special…. tonight was the night she was certain. She cursed herself for not taking the damn ‘Engagement Chicken’ recipe.
The walls were white and the door squeaked as it was pushed open, but never when it closed. But all in all, there was nothing special about the room. The bed was made neatly, the shelves packed with books that were alphabetized by author, just like any other library.
My life tasted bland during those eight solid hours. I went through the motions, but as far as feeling went, I was number than the ice under my shoes. It’s not that I didn’t want to feel; it’s that I couldn’t. Something snapped inside of my body long ago, and I let it be. Some things are better off broken, and I knew I was one of those exceptions.
Bland is bold colors floating in the wind what colors they are stays a mystery.
A canvas is bland. What if the colors run into the canvas? Is it bland any longer? No. The canvas is me. With depth and wonder. Who am I what am I doing here that is for you to decide.
I AM HERE FOR I AM BLAND
I NEED COLOR
Bland sing to the wind
Bland has no depth
Bland see through you
Bland can not hide
Bland is with in you
Bland can deceive you
Bland is ME
I AM AM BLAND SAVE ME
I NEED YOUR COLOR
It needed something. Everything about it was vanilla. It wasn’t her. Wasn’t THEM. And it had to be didn’t it? If their apartment was bland then what did that say about the relationship?
There’s something about the plainer ones
Something about their introverted character
It makes me crave their lifeless existence
And form it into mine
It’s just the roar of the colorful ocean
Meeting the soft, quiet sand
As if it were the first time, every time.
i feel weaker by the minute, i feel blander by the second. i’m terrible at waiting, but i’m also scared of people. i want to cry out, i want to be heard, but what good would it do me? i’m yelling but it’s no louder than a whisper. i’m a stranger in my head. but everything is bland and i just want you to stay, to paint my world in more than just black and white, in the misty gray my injured eye can’t see
the blandest band of badder lands has strands of rand-om-ness in it’s hands…
But even bands can’t be always bland…
there once was a man who thought life was bland. he looked and he searched but, with nothing in hand, he gave up and decided that, were life to be lived, he’d be damned if he did it anyway close to bland.
Why must this be so bland? As to ask me about bland? I don’t like it! BUT I LIKE THIS MUSIC! Music makes it unbland. I can do anything without the bland, you just need that expression of music! TO SET YA FREEE
Bland… It makes me think of spam. Never had it, never want to. But this makes me think of spam because it seems so… I don’t know. Not tasteful.
Bland,
brand,
band, hand
kind of a bland day for me
but maybe bland only applies to food
okay I am having trouble writing anything about the word bland
so off to dictionary I go
Rice pudding
Soap
Eggshell white walls
My mind goes blank when I see this word
Like the fruitless flavorless, odorless
Things this word can describe
This entry
Is somewhat
Utterly and grotesquely
Bland
not very tasty, kinda boring bland band, just like a pancake with no syrup, much rather have the syrup. so bland is that, it what she said, not veru exciting. just like a boring guy. is my minute over yet so I can see how this thing works. its a real long minute to write about a boring bland word.
This is possibly the worst coffee he’s ever tasted. Actually, it’s worse than that – it doesn’t even taste like anything. But he drinks it anyway, the taste inconsequential. As long as it has caffeine, it’s doing its job, and that’s all he cares about.
He pushed the food around his plate. Bland. As usual. Well not as usual, really. It had been bland for a while though. Everything in his life had been bland since she left. He sighed, got up from the table, and threw his uneaten dinner in the trash.
Though his appearance was rather bland, there was more to him to be had. His heart beat calmly in his chest, his eyes wide open to see the rest.
The coffee was rich and tasty, my tongue erupting in joy. The food was crafted by a virtual virtuoso. The atmosphere sublime, the music wonderfully fitting, and the waiter, a charm. The date however, was as bland and dull as could be. Filling the room with her tiresome stories, someone please remove me from this dream.