This Was My First Time Shooting Basketball This Season And I'm Obviously A Bit Rusty.

This was my first time shooting basketball this season and I'm obviously a bit rusty.

NU ladies fell to Penn State 77-63. At least they had pink jerseys for breast cancer awareness. And pink Willie and pink cheerleaders...

NSTF Prompt II

Writing club's prompt of the week was to use these eight words in a story of 300 words or less: dinosaur, red wagon, nymphomaniac, red velvet, spray paint, architectural, battleaxes, fingernail. After five minutes, I only managed three, but whatever.

*** 

Mary who towed her Fisher Price red wagon continuously around the block on Friday afternoons when her mother entertained her very important gentlemen clients liked to chew bubble gum as she skipped. Friday afternoons on her block, the men who worked night shifts routinely reclined on the stoop before their houses like architectural fixtures. They looked at Mary and, thinking of her nymphomaniac mother, wondered if her thundercloud afro and large almond eyes and big white smile could have been their own. 

NU Wrestling 2.17.12 against Indiana

I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy this more than I expected to.

NSTF Prompt

Every week at No Stranger To Fiction, we finish our meetings with a short prompt. This week, our president picked a random paperback romance from the shelves at Barnes and Noble (where we meet) and requested the story behind the title. 

The book was "Undeniably Yours" by Shannon Stacey, and this is what I came up with in five minutes. 

***

“Undeniably Yours,” was what she signed most of the letters with, followed by his name, Covington, printed in small letters spaced very far apart from each other. That had been his style in the past when he still wrote to Mrs. Covington personally. For years, he had been unaware of how she liked to add that small flair, had been completely oblivious to the way she started the letters with “My Darling—,” that she interlaced his unfailingly somber dictation with the occasional slip of sincerity and always, always sealed the envelopes with a kiss.  

***

In my head, it's an Edwardian lesbian romance in which a man discovers his secretary and his wife have been staging an illicit love affair through him.

I do give value. Like preachers, I sell vision, like perfume ads, desire or its facsimile. Like jokes or war, it's all in the timing. I sell men back their worse suspicions: that everything's for sale, and piecemeal.

"Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing" by Margaret Atwood

Because the truth is: this is not about children. And when you strip away all the layers and you get to the seed, this is not about children. If it were, these people would go to the sewers in Columbia, they’d go to AIDS wards. There’s millions of babies—they’re thrown out like trash on the streets, like cabbage. Nobody cares about the children once they’re on the planet; they don’t care. They walk around with guns and blow each other up. They have no food, they have nothing. Nobody cares about that. This is not about children. This is about having control over a woman’s sexuality. And some women don’t want to claim that power because they feel ashamed, they feel guilty, they’re torn—love and lust. Christianity has nothing—absolutely nothing to do with that. Nothing. And it saddens me because these people—the anti-choice people could be doing so much for the children that are on the planet.

Tori Amos (via pacify-eris)