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."

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...

Poetry and Stuff

Grief:Peripheral The flicker of bluish light filters out what is missing; there is only one set of boots by the door, an apple sits on the counter uneaten, and even if you don’t make a sound, the notch in your heart is nothing personal. ____________________________ Yeah, I know I said no poetry, but I lied. From The Culling, because what girl doesn't dream of owning a library with a ladder? I just posted the last chapter of The Bond, which I'm not 100% satisfied with. It is the end of this novella, but the story continues in the next book of the series. One of my biggest problems is I don't have a title for the next novella. The working title was "The Break," which doesn't really work. If you have an idea or two, throw 'em in the comments.

The things people say

1. "I don't know. I don't know what you do." (In response to me asking, "Why would I have a blowup doll?") 2. "What are you saying? I can mouse with my right hand." (From a lefty after he was accused of moving the mouse to the left side of the computer.) 3. "I (hic) gave this girl my (hic) my phone number (hic) and she (hic) she never called (hic) called me." 4. "You're hurting me!" "I'm stabbing your coat." "With a knife!" "So?" "Knives hurt people!"

Refracted Neurons

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