Singing and Drinking

I was at Saint V de P today doing something that I really shouldn't do. It's not a sin, but it really should be; I was buying books. I have a bookshelf in my little tiny apartment that is exploding with books and the last thing I need is more books. Anyway, I'm sitting on the floor trying to decide if I really need my own personal copy of My Utmost for His Highest, when someone turns on a radio playing oldies. At first I was irritated because it sounded awful with the elevator music that was playing over the intercom, but then the clerk in the back started singing. "Ooooh girl, come back to me . . ." he was good, he was LOUD, and he was even doing the falsetto parts.
I don't know about you, but I'm one of those people who sings in their car. I have seen other people doing this, so I know that I look stupid. I usually stop singing at intersections so I can pretend that I'm not being an idiot. Anyway, the situation in St. V de P reminded me of the last random car singer I rolled up on. This guy not only sang along, he also did air guitar while steering! Talk about multi-talented.

Speaking of talent, drunk people always seem to say things that have a mixture of wisdom and humor. Probably the most insightful comment I have ever heard came from a soused stranger who said, "Don't trust her! Too many sequins! So many sequins, so many lies."

After talking to me for a few minutes, a (drunk) acquaintance asked me, "Are you a vegetarian?"

"No," said my (also drunk) friend, "She's just weird. She taught me the difference between antiperspirant and deodorant."

Possibly the Last Short Story for Awhile

Something strange happened this month: I missed my 12 Short Stories deadline. There have been many things changing in my life, and I’ve realized that there are a few things I will need to put less energy into. That doesn’t mean I won’t write anymore, but that I may write less, or may just focus on longer pieces. That being said, I did write something, it just didn’t meet the word count. So here is one more story. It’s not a story about politics, it’s a story about human nature and human feelings. ——— The war is over, or at least that is what they say. But how do you stop such a thing once it is started? Charles sighed when I asked him, “You act as if you don’t understand politics.” “I don’t,” I scratched a sliver of paint off the window with a razor, “I’m not even sure we should be doing this.” “They said we could remove the blackout paint,” Charles swiped an even curl of latex to the ground. It fell among the budding roses, an artificial petal. “But there are still soldiers ove

Decay, Swine, and Beauty

We are staying at an estate that is like a beautiful woman with tangled hair. Neglect is slowly wearing away at her, and you know that in ten years she will no longer be beautiful. But right now, her unkemptness makes her eyes seem wild, and she is ablaze with a vibrancy no clipped hedge ever had. And there is a pig. I'm hoping to have a little more time to write while we're here. The kids have attended one day of school this month thanks to the snow, and they had some fierce cabin fever. I've been inching along with my mystery, but I really want to get sidetracked and write a little office romance for kicks.

Short Story: Distraction

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city. There were windows, visible to the lucky few cubes on the ends of the rows. Then there was Vera's cube, situated next to the row of manager's offices. Today she was lucky, someone had left their door open and precious slant of sunlight escaped, warming her back and washing out half of her computer screen. "I never realized your hair was red," Tracy dumped a large stack of paper on her desk, "The florescent lights make everything look so soupy." "What is that?" she pointed at the stack of paper. Tracy only offered compliments when he wanted a favor. "I need this entered," he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "You have a secretary," Vera waved a freckled hand to her left, "Ask him." "He's sick," Tracy gave her puppy-dog eyes, batting his long dark eyelashes. Vera sighed and fought back a smile. Tracy was such a s

Refracted Neurons

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