Phone Starts with Pee

Ever since cellphones have become mainstream, I have always heard stories about people dropping their cellphones in the toilet. I always ask, "Why did you have your cellphone in the bathroom? Do you talk on the phone while using the toilet?" The answer I have always recieved has been, "No, don't be silly. I only listen to my messages in the bathroom. It's multi-tasking."
This past weekend a friend of mine broke the code of silence and told me that she talks on the cellphone while peeing. While she was telling me this, her phone was turning itself on and taking pictures of random things because (guess what) it had been dropped in the toilet.

While this was on my mind yesterday, I went to a restaurant to celebrate a friend's birthday. When I went to the bathroom, I could hear the lady in the next stall talking loudly. Either she was talking on the phone, or she was the most boring schizophrenic I have ever met. At any rate, I could see under the door her ankles and tell that her pants were down. Another phone pee-er!

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.

We Go West

I am on this path to find something lost to me, something I never owned. The long dusty roads, the people, the noise, sleeping sitting up, or in unfamiliar rooms the moonlight pressing down on us. We go sunward to stop the clock from unwinding, to shelter the world from the sky. My long bones cramping, hair blowing, the hum of the engine, the throb of blood in my temple, I want something I cannot break. This was not my itinerary, I didn’t write the guest list nor draw the maps. A cup of tea, The smell of fresh newsprint, The silence sitting around me Like faithful attendants, the moon, light as a flower petal drifting in the sky. But we are still traveling, no more than a one-night stay anywhere and trust no one there are always shadows behind us and every beautiful face has cruel eyes, especially the mirror. I am too weary to protect anyone. Time has begun to turn back on itself, sometimes I look down at m...

Refracted Neurons

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