Unconscious Mutterings - First Job

Lunaniña posted interesting words for us to free associate with in her Unconscious Mutterings meme. It is so easy to play along, you may want to jump on over to her site and play along. My associations to her words:

1. Traditional :: linens
   
2. Popeye :: the sailor man
3. Gin :: and tonic
   
4. Harsh :: reality
   
5. Topless :: dancer
   
6. The thing :: is
   
7. Defiant :: mist
   
8. Huge :: man
   
9. Food :: eat
   
10. Lenny :: Den

End of meme. Now, I always try to stretch my brain by using all twenty words in either a poem or short scene or story - in the order they were given. Not feeling poetic today, I just wrote. I thank Lunaniña for letting me take this liberty with her words each week. Note:, I had to edit this this morning. . . Trying to do it after my normal sleep cycle kicked in was not, well, it was, no, just say, I messed it up. OK, so now the missing words are added!

First Job


Michelle chose traditional linens for the bedding, though the theme
for the children's bedroom was, of all things, Popeye the Sailor Man
and Olive Oil. The room was for fraternal twins, born of parents who both grew up on the Popeye cartoons. It was a harsh reality for a designer who preferred classic lines to have a first client you had their eye set on cartoon characters, garish characters. Why she would rather guzzle gin and tonic in a bowling alley, of all places, than even remember Popeye existed.

Michelle could no more think the words without singing that ridiculous song than associate a topless dancer with other than a smokey bar and a pole. No, not a fireman's pole. No! I did not mean that either.

The thing is, she had tried steer her clients to a different theme, the ocean or even a castle and forest, but both parents and her own design partner were defiant; they insisted on Popeye and Olive Oil. She could not even allow herself to paint those two characters on the wall. She had to bid that part of the job out. It disgusted her to acquiesce, but she was a new designer and needed the job.

She did agree to paint the mist that hung over the boat in the harbor, just to cut costs, and yes, her eyes did tear up, fitting, she thought to
herself as she painted.

"His muscles are so huge he is ugly," she told her boyfriend that night
as they sat down on the sofa with the food he had picked up on the way home from the station.

"I'm Popeye the Sailor man. . ." He sang quietly as he held up a can of spinach - and a can opener, grinning.

"Sean! I..."

"Shut up, your food is going cold. Either eat it or I'll open this can of room temperature spinach and feed it to you while I enjoy this fried chicken. And be glad they didn't want a room based on someone like Lenny. You could have designed the Lenny and Denny bowling den while wearing a poodle skirt -- or worse."

MeeAugraphie
07/29/07

These words, both mine and Lunaniña's are not to be copied, but I hope you enjoyed them.

Unconscious Mutterings

Lunaniña chose awesome words this week for us to free associate for Unconscious Mutternings meme. Her words are on the left, my association on the right. Why not play along each week!
Just click on her link each week to get the words or get her RSS feed, then you have the words when she posts them.

1. Happen :: stance
   
2. Terribly :: bad
   
3. History :: teacher
   
4. Master :: carpenter
   
5. Petrified :: me
   
6. Moan :: shrink
   
7. Attack :: charge
   
8. Picture :: frame
   
9. Students :: teachers
   
10. Potter :: James
    

'

Now, I like to exercise my brain and I love prompts, so each week I take the twenty resulting words in order and attempt to write a poem or story. Today it became a simple story, not great literature, but a chance to just let words come at will. If you should do this, remember to link back to Lunaniña, half the words are hers, after all.


History Class

It was merely happenstance that I had a terribly bad experience in history class that day. I mean, it is not like I chose the teacher or the desk I sat in. She was so old school she had a seating chart like in grade school.

Now, I normally was a master at memorizing facts. I think it was just that I had practice at memorizing things. The old man was a carpenter. He built our house and the one in Chicago that we lived in during elementary school. He also petrified me when he had been drinking -- and it seemed he was always drinking back then. My sister would moan and shrink back when he was like that, afraid he would attack her the way he attacked the man that ran into him in the parking lot, but I wasn't afraid of him, well, at first, but once I showed him I could be useful, well, I was more in charge of the situation.

You see, he hated it when something was not exactly even, even a stupid picture frame not dead in line with the rest of them would set him sputtering all over himself. And, if he had to cut something twice because he had measured wrong, well, even I wasn't immune to his anger - OK, it wasn't anger as much as drunken rampage, but, it only took a couple before my cleverness showed itself. I hung around him when he was building and measuring things, after all, he was my dad. And when he would measure something, he always said the numbers out loud, maybe so he would remember them, but he never did.

"Forty-two and seven eights," he said out loud the first time I stood there, and then he cut the board one half inch too short. He picked it up and slammed it so hard against the wall when he went to fit it that it put a hole in the drywall. Then he turned on me. Took twice of that happening before I got all smart and clever and asked could I practice memorizing the numbers, so I wouldn't be dumb at school. From then on, I stood by his side and memorized the numbers he read and then told him when he got his saw out.

Now, sometimes I messed up, but only twice. Didn't take no three times for me. So, that day in history class, Mrs. Stinson (We called her Winsome Stinson, but don't tell her that!) was asking students about authors that had made a difference in history. Now, she went in seat order, more of us than alphabet, but unfortunately she made it to me.

"The letter P, Mr. Smith. Which author made a difference in history?"

I looked down at my desk, stalling, I knew authors in the other half or the alphabet. She usually went the opposite direction. Why did she have to start with the other side of the room that day?

"Potter," I said, in a hurry to give an answer. "Harry Potter."

The class laughed out loud, old Winsome Stinson glared at them and said to me, "James, that is not amusing. You may spend Saturday with me at detention,
reading The Public Good by Thomas Paine."

"Yes, m'am," I answered. I would miss taking Mindy to the beach in Hattsville with the others.

"Now, who's winsome, James?"


MeeAugraphie
07/07/07

My words, not yours, so leave them here, thank you!

(Fiction Friday) Sir Easter Bunny

(Note: If you are still visited by the Easter Bunny and tumbled onto this post by accident or while trying to find great things about him, look somewhere else, this is NOT for little ones. It is technical stuff, you know like math and science. )

Over at Write Stuff, they post ideas for us to wax poetic or spout out or whatever we wish. This weeks idea, in their words:

Pick a mythical person or creature (e.g., Santa, Thor, Easter Bunny), and explain through dialogue, essay, or anything else, why they are unhappy with their job or position in life.

Please, read mine, but then jump over and check the comments on their post to get links to other wonderful stories or poems, you just won't believe how these famous people really feel! What tumbled out of my head:

Things have to change!

. . . as told by the future Sir Easter Bunny


"Easter Bunny"

"Oh, Mommy, I want the Easter Bunny to come visit me and leave me lots of stuff."

I am so sick of hearing them call me a bunny. Do I look like a bunny? I am a rabbit, more on the lines of a Bugs Bunny, you know, with personality, strength, cunning, cleverness. Yes, I know, he even had bunny in his name -- but he was a rabbit in all senses of the word, not so mamby pamby bunny. He only allowed them to use Bunny as his TV name because they paid him big bucks! No, not bucks, like male deer, bucks! You know, money. I deserve the respect of being called, Sir Easter Rabbit. I bet if Queen Elizabeth knighted me, that would stop those mealy mouthed kids from calling me The Easter Bunny.

"Oh, Jackson, look what the Easter Bunny left me, I got chocolate and a bunny to hug and bubbles and crayons and toy trucks and. . . "

Jackson bit his lip and felt his feet fidgeting, well, as much as feet could fidget and still hold him upright. "That's nice, Marshall. Wanna play with the trucks?"

"No, let's play with your toys. What did you get? A plane or a fishing pole?"

Jackson answered without telling the truth, "I got a plane AND a fishing pole, but I left them at my grandmother's house."

Now, I am also sick of just being a figure head, like some celebrity star that does nothing but smile and let their picture be put on the billboards and in the TV. Yes, I am one, too. I know it, but when I signed on to this, I thought I was going to be more, I thought I would have total control over Easter morning gifts.

What do you mean, I must be daft to think the universe would give me that kind of control? Why wouldn't it?

What? It works like that? I had no clue.

Well, that is not how it should work. And why should all those kids get all those toys they just ignore or throw at each other or break - just because they can - when those other kids like Jackson get nothing. . . and then find themselves lying about it. Jackson knows better than to lie - his grandmother told him all about lying and telling fibs and cheating on spelling tests and how bad it all was. . . And, you know what, she is going to be awfully disappointed that he lied, 'cause he did get something for Easter, she made him his favorite breakfast, the one they can't afford. She went out and bought a piece of ham, real ham, not that canned stuff with all the junk inside the can, you know that slimy stuff that oozes all over your hands like clear glue. Yuck.

But you know what else, it will break her heart that he didn't get stuff, even though she knows he doesn't get all that stuff.

And you know what else? They will all blame it on me, say the Easter Bunny didn't bring him anything, the Easter Bunny played favorites, the Easter Bunny gave him more, the Easter Bunny is a pansy. AARRRGGGGHHHH, I can't take anymore. These parents all buy into it, they come up with the lamest excuses for buying all that crap.

I'm not a pansy, either, I am Sir Easter Rabbit. And on my honor, I promise that if a campaign is ever paid for to change my name, I will personally see that each child gets the same thing, and only from ME, not from those parents. At least ONE HOLIDAY everyone would be equal.

Yeah, you're right, I am dreaming, but hey, I am rabbit.

MeeAugraphie
06/29/07

Remember, our stories are just drafts, but then on my site that is all you will read anyway. Told as the words flew out of my head onto my keyboard, no sitting for long periods of reflection, just free flow.

And, you , that one or two dishonest person(s) out there who aren't real bloggers, but just hunters for stuff to copy, don't. My words are crazy enough only to be written by me, not you, they aren't a good fit for your site....

The rest of you, great people, thank you for reading!