PROMPTuesday #88: Cheeky Monkey

Was it something I said? Maybe the intestinal reference?

 

No matter. Here is today’s PROMPTuesday…late and unshowered.

For two days.

 

So it seems appropriate to talk about monkeys.

 

Today’s PROMPT is:

What is the monkey on your back?

 

Maybe it’s a monkey you’d like to push off for the New Year. Or maybe you want it around because it keeps you on your toes. Either way, I would like to hear about it, please.

 

I’ve been wanting to write more about my monkey for some time now, especially since I recently “forgot” to take my anti-depressants the last two weeks. But NOW, I have a new monkey. And boy howdy, he’s even cheekier than that other guy.

 

Anyway. I’ll tell you about him soon.

 

For now? What is your monkey?

 

Please post your submission in the comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in the comments.

 

First time to PROMPTuesday? Read a bit about it here.
Want to see what’s been written in the past? Catch up on the PROMPTuesdays archive here.

 

Here’s to the Holiday

Merry Christmas everyone!

 

It’s very pink over here. Also, I decided to go off my brain medication.( Well, not “decided” really as much as “forgot to take for 5 days.”)

 

Whooo! Let the holiday glee commence!

 

On a serious note, thanks for being my friends and readers.

 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a Barbie to rescue from the nefarious clutches of a Razor Spark scooter.

I gotta tell ya, it’s not lookin’ good for Barbie. Not good at all.

 

P.S. Update: Barbie is now more of a Harvey.

 

PROMPTuesday #87: It’s Bawdy Holiday Prose Time!

This is a companion piece to last year’s PROMPTuesday. Read the link first, then come back and give me what you got!

(That’s what SHE said…)

 

I shouldn’t eat more Christmas dessert

My intestines are really starting to hurt

Though eat it I shall

I’m that kind of gal

Butt sure ain’t pretty under my skirt

 

Please post your submission in the comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in the comments.

 

First time to PROMPTuesday? Read a bit about it here.
Want to see what’s been written in the past? Catch up on the PROMPTuesdays archive here.

 

Tidblatherings

Here’s what’s happening lately:

 

I’ve been crafting all my blog entries in my mind at around, oh, 3:30AM. This morning was a real hamdoozle of a post about the media’s role in shaping public perception, and that the media needs to be mindful of that great responsibility and not continue to F it up through biased and sensationalist reports.

 

I even did research on the subject. In my head. I believe I referenced “yellow journalism,” and had experts weigh in, like the renowned Steubing McFactspants, who really laid into Fox TV and MSNBC.

 

I believe the takeaway was: It’s the news folks, not a reality show, a Howard Stern outtake, or a corporate-shaped message. Please report the news, and not produce a soap opera.

 

I’m all up in arms.

 

But I don’t feel like going into it. Suffice to say? I was a journalism major and today’s news reporting is a whole different beast than how I was taught. In fact, I wouldn’t call today’s journalism “news reporting” at all.

 

Wow, still mad.

 

Back to 3:30AM.

 

I wrote a great post in my brain, I really did. But once I get to the keyboard, all I can call to mind is drivel like the above. And for that, I apologize. Maybe tonight, I’ll bring my Flip with me and vee-log my mind’s emptyings.

 

I bet you’d all enjoy that.

 

But for now?

A story.

 

It was 1999. A small group of us gals planned to travel to LA for the weekend to see the sights and buy new clothes without our significant others around to count the money. It was going to be great.

And super expensive.

 

My best friend, Lisa, and I left early Friday afternoon to beat the traffic. Our friends, Wendy and Andi, wouldn’t arrive until much later in the evening, and so we set a time to meet up at the hotel’s rooftop bar. But first, around 3PM, Lis and I rolled into town, checked into the Mondrian, and flounced around the room a bit, opening mini refrigerators and ransacking the toiletries basket. Then, we dolled up and made our way to the Sky Bar for LA action (as we lamely imagined it to be at the time).

 

Little did we know.

 

We trolloped to the pool bar, ordered some wine, and sat ourselves down for girl time. As I recall, we never left our goblets unattended or untouched, for that matter. But halfway through our second glasses, a wave of indescribable exhaustion and fuzzy headedness engulfed us both. We were just tired, she and I decided. Tired tired. I think it was 7PM.

 

We left our unfinished wine at the table and gangly-legged entered Asia de Cuba, the hotel restaurant. We needed to eat something. Yes, that was it. We should eat. However, after Lis passed out in her rice bowl and I saw someone famous but don’t remember who because I had one eye closed, I helped Lis up and we dragged ourselves back to our hotel room.

 

We feel asleep.

 

I guess.

 

Neither of us woke up until 10 the next morning, to find Andi and Wendy staring at us concernedly.

 

“We tried to wake you,” they said.

 

“You both were still dressed and in full makeup, so we thought you fell asleep waiting for us,” they explained.

 

“We tried to wake you,” they said again.

 

Huh, we thought.

 

We don’t remember a darn thing after 8PM. Lis didn’t even recall eating dinner.

 

Huh.

 

I’ve never slept through the night, and for me to not hear Andi and Wendy enter the room the night before, get ready, and play music, was most abnormal.

 

Lis and I looked at each other, then at ourselves, then back at each other.

 

“Are you wearing underwear?” I asked.

 

She snapped the elastic. “Yep.”

 

“Me too.”

 

“Do you have an open incision on your back?”

 

“Nope,” she said.

 

“Me either.”

 

“Did we pee the bed”

 

“All dry,” she confirmed. “But….”

 

“Yes?” I asked.

 

“Is this rice in my hair?”

 

“Yep,” I said.

 

“Huh.”

 

And that was that. So with our underwear on, our kidneys intact, and our fuzzy heads held high, we enjoyed the rest of the weekend.

 

But we didn’t order the wine again.

 

The End.

 

PROMPTuesday #86: In The Name of Love

What’s the grossest thing you ever did for somebody because you loved him/her/it?*

 

*Inspired by this weekend’s toenail-cutting adventure.

Toenail cuttee will remain anonymous to protect my innocent dad.

 

Please post your submission in the comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in the comments.

 

First time to PROMPTuesday? Read a bit about it here.
Want to see what’s been written in the past? Catch up on the PROMPTuesdays archive here.

 

More on the Spirit

thegirlsnov09.jpg

 

I thought to come back and write more about things that uplift me, happy things that don’t involve death and ectoplasmic soda pop. As such, I’m going to list some of my uplifters here. A few I’ve referenced before, so I suppose this could be a compendium of those songs, foods, etc. that are happy makers. Guaranteed. I can put on the song below and instantly grin, or make the cauliflower dish and bask in internal sunshine.

Every time.

 

Maybe something below will do the same for you?

 

First, please try not to be Little Miss Happy Skirt while watching this video:

 

 

Upendo means love in Swahili and this song IS lyrical agape (I’m mixing languages like a true woman of the world). To the max.

 

Next?

 

“`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.”

 

Each time I navigate Lewis Carroll’s Jabberwocky, I am delighted and bedazzled. I adore this poem with every kid cell I have left.

 

And so now here we have:

 

Moonstruck – I´m Confused

 

You heart Moonstruck too, right? It doesn’t matter how I feel when this movie starts, I am in love at the end. It’s funny and loud and boisterous and sad and perfect.

 

Fourthly.
This recipe:

 

(My recipe book uses “grams” and I have no idea how to convert that into cups, so I completely wing the measurements. (It still turns out lovely.)
Also, I forgo the potatoes. I like it better that way. (And I’m a potato person.)

 

Cauliflower Bake of Awesomeness, Rainbows and Non-Extinct Unicorns

450g Cauliflower, broken into florets

2 large Potatoes, cubed

100g Cherry tomatoes

Sauce

2 tblspn butter, or vegetarian margarine

1 leek, sliced

1 garlic clove, crushed

25g plain (all-purpose) flour

300ml milk

75g mixed grated vegetarian cheese (parmesan!)

1/2 tspn Paprika

2 tblpsn chopped, flat-leaf parsley

Salt & Pepper

Chopped fresh parsley to garnish

Instructions:


1. Cook the cauliflower & potatoes and then drain well.

2. Melt butter (or margarine) in a saucepan and saute the leek and garlic.

3. Add flour and cook for a further minute.

4. Remove pan from heat and gradually stir in the milk, 50g cheese, the paprika and parsley.

5. Return the pan to the heat and bring to boil, stirring. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

6. Spoon the cauliflower into a deep ovenproof dish. Add the cherry tomatoes and top with the potatoes.

7. Pour the sauce over the top and sprinkle with remaining cheese.

8. Cook in a pre-heated oven at 180*C (350*F) for 20 minutes, or until golden brown and bubbling.

9. Garnish with parsley and serve immediately.

Serves 4+.

 

Onto a Wrinkle in Time.

Mmmmm mmmm mmmm mmm mm. I can cry (happy tears) just thinking about this book. It’s the one that inspired me to want to write children’s books and each time I read it, I am transported.

 

More recently, I once met a boy whose mom neglected him. Each time she picked him up from daycare she smelled like booze and yelled at him until he cowered. The only respite he seemed to have was reading and so (among other things, like alerting the proper people to his mother’s behavior), I bought him The Wrinkle in Time box set.

 

I’ve never seen him again, but I hope he was transported too. And that his mother is a mother.

 

Finally, I’ve saved the most improper thing for last.

 

 

Oh but how it makes me laugh.

 

Meanwhile, anything you’d like to share?

 

I’m all ears and inappropriate laughter.