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You'll be dancing a jig!

Isn't it Obvious

A few Obvious Observations for your morning:

How can you tell a North Carolina driver - they have to completely stop prior to making a right hand turn.

If they are from Maryland - the rolling right hand turn, only stopping to barely miss the pedestrian.

If they are from New York - the rolling right hand turn, finger hanging out the window at the pedestrian.

From Massachusetts - the rolling right hand turn at top speed trying to beat the tourist.

From California - the rolling right hand turn because their electric vehicle just ran out of juice.

From Georgia - the rolling right hand turn on the curb because their large SUV meant they couldn't see the turn.

From Florida - missed turn completely, even at 21 MPH, blue hair barely over dashboard, didn't pass the drivers test the last time.

From Washington DC - hitting the turn hot, hand on the horn.

Me?  I'm wondering where everyone else is going?

Can you add a few drivers?

Shawnee - I am dog

I am dog.  I am unique.  I am important in this household, well, except after cat - now there's one egomaniac.  Thank you for bringing your "the dog must stay outside" into your home.  Here's a few ground rules:

Do not interrupt my morning routine.  I must have my time with the Poo Poo bulletin board.

If you wait too long, well, I can't help it.  When it stinks in here - clean it up.

Presenting your butt to me is one of the best gestures you can do.

This house is mine.  Do not change my bed, do not wash anything of mine.  The stinkier the better.

I am the surpreme hunter - I will find the dead squirrels, mice in the yard and bring them to you.  Not because I am the supreme hunter but because they are easy to catch..

Anything left around the home is fair game.  Bagels, Pop Tarts, Bacon, I would rather a little more vermouth in my martinis though.

If I find it on the floor, it is mine.  Especially underwear and socks.

Please don't complain about the dog hair, if you don't like it then don't sit on the couch.

I am the supreme house guard - except for that really nice robber with a biscuit.

I do not do tricks for strangers.  This is something personal just between you and me.  Of course, I'll learn the trick, but then it becomes our little secret.  That blank stare when you ask me to perform means, "I love you."

Oh, I forgot to add, if it is broken, then it is yours.  And of course, the cat did it.

Lies you tell your children - WHAT?

We know we tell those little white lies we tell our children, things to make them feel better?  Here's a quick take on a few of the big ones.




You will love it, just taste one bite. - Adults create this rule because we love to see your face when we give you something disgusting.  Plus it saves us money when we need you to eat the "whatever we found in the refrigerator" casserole.  Something we wouldn't touch.

It won't hurt a bit. - We were told this by friends when it came time to give birth to you, so we're paying you back for that.  (Hold still, you're spilling the alcohol, this won't hurt a bit)

Momma knows best - this can be true because we've been at this rodeo a little longer than you've been. But it's a lie because we've already forgotten most of it due to the amount of alcohol consumed due to having children.

It will feel better - this is our catchall, "stop whining about what hurts because 1: there is nothing I can do about it and 2: I'm tired of hearing it."

You'll go blind if you.....This is the do as I say, not what I do.  And a good explanation as to why all adults need reading glasses.

This is going to hurt me more than it will hurt you - because that scream soon coming out of your mouth will deafen everyone within a mile radius - even possibly from the satellite taking your picture.

If you keep making that face, it will stick that way - Have you seen your father?  Mr. Vinegar face, he started making that face when he was young and look at what happened to him.

Mommy and Daddy are taking a nap - really, we are taking a nap.  Ya'll wear us out.

Being the youngest makes you special - you, my son, were the best birth control.  After you, we never, ever wanted another child.  Yes, you are that special.

Looks don't matter, it's what inside that counts - well, that one is the truth.  At least that's what my mother and father told me and look at me now -- FABULOUS!

Studies show that a few little white lies don't hurt your children, that Moms and Dads both lie at the same rate (doesn't that make us all feel a little bit better) and if you really think about it, your parents said the same lies to you and look how well you turned out.

Is there any you would add to the list?

What if you went with the first draft?

There is nothing worse than sitting at a blinking cursor thinking, “I got nothing.”  Many famous authors also had the same problem, but they did something about it - they just started writing.  Some of it was not that good, but others turned out to be great.  I wonder where certain stories would be if the writer had gone with their first idea, that idea that jolted then out of writer’s block?  Here’s a few false starts, can you guess the novels?

Call me Darryl  - “Call me Ishmael.”

In a hole in the ground there rabbit. - “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”

Jacob Marley has just had permanent cessation of biological functions. - “Jacob Marley was dead as a doornail.”

Who doesn’t enjoy watching the charred remains of paper in the fire. - “It was a pleasure to burn.”

As Gregor Samsa woke one morning, he found his bed turned into a pink Barbie Convertible Glamour Mobile. - “As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous vermin.”

The sky above the port was tuned to The Price Is Right. - “The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.”

They’re out there, waiting to give me my happy pills.  Maybe today, I’ll take them. - “They’re out there. Black boys in white suits up before me to commit sex acts in the hall and get it mopped up before I can catch them.”

All happy families are dysfunctional, but ours, we got the gold medal. - “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

Lolita, you never told me you were a pole dancer? - “Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.”

It was the best of times, it was the worst of time...heck, Once Upon a time. - “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity...” (psst, maybe the first was better, what a LONG sentence!)

Getting that opening line just right is an integral part of the creative process, the best thing for your novel is having an opening line that grabs.  It can grab in absurdity, or surprise, or stating something simple but compelling.  Remember, anyone can write a first draft, it’s taking that first draft and making it polished that separates writers from writers.  Happy writing.

Hi, I'm the Underwear Drawer

Hi, I’m a leftover gobstopper, I’ve been living in the corner of Max’s underwear drawer for two years now.  There’s been a lot of visitors to our drawer, friends that come and go.  I guess being wedged into the corner makes me a veteran of the drawer.  As many times as the drawer has fallen to the floor, you’d think I’d end up with Gatorade bottle under the bed.  But some part of me is stuck in this place.  Me and the pair of Spongebob underwear shoved all the way in the back.  He’s been there so long he just talks to himself in the other corner, something about looking for his starfish.

Ham sandwich lasted a little while in the drawer.  He was a messy type of friend, very funny and full of mustard.  He acted like he was King of the drawer until everyone in here agreed that his attitude stunk.  Then everything about him stunk until finally Mom intervened.  Someone said his life became trash after that.

Boy Scout belt has always been a help in the drawer.  He always has an answer for everything  He doesn’t travel much, sometimes he whispers to me that he feels forgotten.  He’s been used as a collar for the dog, and a way to hang from the bannister.  We think there is a different purpose for him, but none of us can really figure it out.

Kayla’s picture is very sweet.  She’s a veteran like me, sitting in here over year.  She tells me about Max’s classroom and how she sat in his desk.  On the back is the note, Hi Max.   She also told me about how she used to break his crayons to get his attention.  Now they are in different classes and she only knows the inside of the drawer like me.

Dino has been there almost as long as Spongebob.  He moves around the inside of the drawer throwing his weight around acting like the tough guy.  The one time he fell out onto the floor, the tough guy turned into a wimp.  Luckily he was picked back up and thrown into the drawer, now he hides when the drawer opens.  You’d think he was afraid of becoming extinct or something.

Me, I’m the sweet one.  I may see tough or hard on the outside, but I'm just sweet on the inside.  Call me hard headed at times, but since I’m the veteran I help the newcomers to the drawer.  Bandaid, he’s not been here long, since he's a Transformer bandaid, we have the feeling he's here for the long haul.  And screwdriver, he’s never been sure exactly why he’s there.  Socks are the crazy ones, almost kind of schizophrenic, they spend most of their time talking to themselves about some long lost relative.

The only one I am unsure about is Bazooka, he’s seems to be full of hot air.

Flash Fiction - Frances and Larry

1,000 words, take an event from my life and rewrite it as fiction.  Here's my dear friend Frances and love her life - Larry.

Bust a Move

It was too early to ask for the dance, he knew it but walked up to the girls anyway.

They didn’t acknowledge him at first, talking to each other deeply about something that involved looking over at the bar then back to each other.  When they realized he was waiting for them to acknowledge him, they both sat down in their beers.

“Would you like to dance,” Larry asked, hoping inside that one of them would say yes.  He wasn’t going to be picky that night, all he needed was a warm body so he could show off the great moves he learned on Let’s Dance.

Frances looked over to Kelly, who shrunk in her seat.  Kelly, was having mobility issues, something in her right hip was limiting to only The Bump.  A appointment with the chiropractor was due for a hipness check.

Kelly looked him up and down, thin, flexible, eager.  “You go,” Kelly said to Frances, “He looks your type.”

Frances looked over to Larry, “I don’t know.  I really don’t want to up stage anyone like I did before.”

They both looked over to see the poor young man drowning his sorrows in a shot after his attempt at dancing with Frances.  No one at the ski resort knew her, it was in the lowlands that she gained the title “Master of the Dance.”  Starting at a young age with The Hustle, Frances was known around town as one that could spin any move.  She could pop when most would hop, swirl when others could only twirl, and tweak what ever came her way until her partner would drop in surrender or exhaustion.

Kelly smiled at her friend, “Just tone it down a bit lady, he may survive.”

Frances walked out onto the dance floor with Larry, both eyeing each other like wolves ready to devour.  “He’s got some nice thin hips, he’s in decent shape, maybe he can keep up with me,” Frances thought as she rolled her hips to soften her stance.

“She’s got some cordination.  I don’t really need her, but I always look desperate dancing with myself,” Larry figured as he looked over to the band and put his hand up in the air.

The first song was pulled straight from the 80’s, Toto’s “Africa” one with an easy beat, not too many crazy twists and turns, so the most basic of dancer could not keep up.  They both looked each other and circled the dance floor like wrestlers getting ready to rumble.

Frances laid down the first line, leting her hip flexors go, the side swipe of her hips caused several guys seated at a table in front of the fire to look her way.  Larry stopped and stared at this woman in front of him and thought, “Oh you want to play that way,now don’t you?”

Larry returned her fire with his hands over his head, his back thoroughly stretched out from yoga that morning letting him show her there are many different ways to show off his assets, the tight blue jeans clinging, black leather vest slight open showing the 6 chest hairs.  The rapid fire of his pelvis caused Frances to stop in her tracks and look at him.  With a slow smiled she moved up close to him, letting him smell her Love’s Baby Soft perfume only to disappear with with a quick dart and twist.  Larry moved with her, picturing the dance mat under his feet, Miley Cyrus on the television, his mind seeing the next light before his foot even stepped there.  Frances, sweating slightly, enjoying their joust, pulled out the shimmy shake, causing several at the bar to completely miss their shot ski.  The tight ski pants, straining against her assets, held on as she moved close to the band, Larry right with her.  They got to the front of the dance floor, as Larry grabbed her around the waist, ducked her under the red lights of the band.  The lead singer came to the part in the song, “AAAFFFFRRIIICCCCAAA,” as Larry came in for the kill.  Frances could smell machine oil on him, wondering if it was part of his job or he just used it to lubricate parts for dancing.

“You’re quite good,” she said as he face came close.

“And you are too, my lady,” Larry replied, taking in a long whiff of Love’s Baby Soft.

“I’m sensing a few Let’s Dance moves here,” Frances said.

He dipped her lower, “Just a few.”

“Then follow me,” Frances said as he moved in for a kiss but she was gone before he reached her, leaving only Love’s Baby Soft in her wake. 

She went over to the side of the dance floor, her body twisting and turning as more eyes went from the party at hand to the dance floor.  Larry followed like a puppy, his eyes never leaving her assets but his rhythm shown in how effortlessly he slid right in behind her.  She showed him a move, and he followed--the yin in her yang as they told a story with their hands, bodies and eyes.

When the song stopped, both stood by themselves in the middle of the dance floor, the bar silent.  The slow clapping started by the poor guy with the shot at the bar, “Well done friend, well done,” he said as he clapped.  It went around the room, as Frances bowed then walked back to her seat next to Kelly.

“Damn,” Kelly said as she took a sip of her beer.

Larry thought he had found his soul mate, he walked back over to their table breathless.  His future wife sat there, the love of his life.  They could trip the light fantastic as they faded into the sunset.

“Would you like to dance,” he asked.

“I don’t know how to,” Frances replied going back to her friend and her beer.

“Another lonely night,” started the second round by the band.