Sunday Scribblings #190: Beauty

Apologies, very rushed and rough....

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"You know you remind me a lot of myself when I was your age," the old lady said.
Leila sighed impatiently. What would the senile old hag know, after all she was just another ugly old woman with wrinkled skin and wiry grey hair.

With her long silky black locks, emerald eyes and flawless skin, Leila on the other hand was beautiful. She had come into this world beautiful, announcing her arrival with one loud indignant scream, followed immediately by an angelic smile. From that moment on, her parents devoted all their time, money and energy on pleasing their only child. As the days and years passed her beauty only became more and more apparent. Leila learnt at a very young age to use her beauty to manipulate and dominate others.

"This will be perfect for your tea party. It's a new recipe I've invented. I haven't named it yet. You'll be the first to try it, " the old lady said presenting Leila with the pie.
"A special gift for you and your husband," she added.
Without a comment, Leila ungraciously took the pie, turned on her heels and walked out of the store.
From the store window, the old lady watched with amusement as Leila pushed her way through the busy street. "May you get what you deserve."

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"This is absolutely delightful," the Mayor's wife trilled, taking another delicate bite of the pie, as the other guests nodded their agreements.
"It's a new recipe I came up with. I haven't named it yet." Leila lied.
"You'll have to let us in on your little secr ---"
The Mayor's wife gasped as the other guests looked on in horror.
"Leila...your face..."
"What is wrong with my face?" Leila cried, running her hands frantically down her face. Where once there was flawlessly smoothe skin, Leila now only encountered bumps and grooves.
"A MIRROR! I NEED A MIRROR!"
No one moved. Their attentions were focused on Leila's hair, clumps of which now lay on the floor.

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A month passed, doctors came and went. Not a single one of them knew why or how the once beautiful Leila came to lose her exquisite looks. They could only shake their heads in pity. Only one person knew the real reason and she called it a slice of humble pie.

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The Dream Writers: redrafted

There is a world beyond our dreams, existing on the edges of our imagination but not very far from where we are. It is not very far at all. In fact is is only just a porthole away...

CHAPTER 1

"At the tone, it will be twenty strokes before the dream porthole closes."
"Hoot, hoot, hoo-"
There was a loud bang as the alarm owl narrowly dodged a blast from Wexland Dreamer's pen.
"Ahem, at the tone, it will be nineteen and three quarters strokes before the dream porthole closes," the suicidal alarm owl continued.
"Hoot, hoot, hoo-"

This time, the bang was followed by a shower of feathers accompanied by the smell of burnt chicken. Wexland's stomach responded by letting out a loud rumble. Surprisingly it was the rumbling that woke him up.
"Hoo...huh..." puffed the alarm owl, before fainting dead away. There was a thud as it fell from its perch and onto the floor.

With eyes still closed, Wexland almost succeeded in trying to unglue his face from the pile of paper he had fallen asleep upon. With his right cheek still firmly attached to a piece of paper, he dragged himself to the kitchen and stuck his head in the refrigerator. The blast of cold air finally managed to peel the last of the sleep from his mind. He pulled himself out of the fridge, but not before grabbing a slice of rhubarb and cherry pie.

It wasn't until his stomach was full (this required polishing off the rest of the pie as well as a pumpkin and five peas) that he noticed the smell.
"Fiddle cakes!" he cried.
With a little panicked hop, Wexland launched himself into the air. For a few seconds the only sound that could be heard was the frantic waving of arms. This was then followed by a loud thud. For a stunned moment, he lay on the floor. After the brief moment of confusion, Wexland realised that his wings had been confiscated (for violating section 13, that is flying while operating a mobile pigeon phone) . Picking himself up, he ran into his room and tripped over the fallen alarm owl. At exactly ten strokes to the dream porthole closes, Wexland's nose, followed by the rest of him, came to a skidding halt in front of the pigeon phone.
"You have a message," the pigeon phone announced despondently.
"Umph," Wexland grunted in reply.
"Press one, if you would like to listen to the message. Huh...two if you...well you know the drill."
From his position on the floor, Wexland reached up and pressed one. There was an unhappy sqwark as the pigeon phone squeezed out a message egg. The egg fell through the air and landed with a messy splat on the floor.
"Message received at eighty two strokes before the dream porthole closes. This is Dreamwriters Central, you have been reassigned to Billy Kramer, aged eight. His file will be faxed to you following this message."
There was a loud SPLAT! which was then followed by a muffled "Umph".
Unfortunately for Wexland, the fax-egg had landed on his head. The contents spilled out to reveal an unsmiling photo of Billy Kramer, aged eight. Class bully.

CHAPTER 2

Sunday Scribblings #175: New

Sunday Scribblings Prompt #175: New

There’s a trick to this, I think to myself, as I re-read the instructions for the third time. There must be something here that'll tell you how not to pee all over your hand. I give up on trying to find what is clearly not there. I’m a scientist, surely I can figure this out. Unfortunately I don’t, but a few minutes later the magic words appear, PREGNANT.

I sit on the toilet seat, stunned. This is what we’ve been dreaming of for the past year. So why am I so scared? Oh crap, I think to myself. I've only just got the new promotion at work. How am I going to break the news to my boss?

I take a deep breath and give myself a mental shake. I’m going to be a mother. I smile at this thought. I'm still grinning like a nut, when the phone rings.

"Hey babe, I just got off the phone with Marcus from the car dealership. I'm going to test drive the car this afternoon, do you want to come?"
Darn I'd forgotten about Boyfriend's obsession with buying a new car.
"Um...the new car might have to wait. We're going to have a baby."
There's silence on the other end of the phone. Then Boyfriend starts to giggle like a teenager.
Somehow we manage small talk before he hangs up.

A few seconds later the phone rings again. “I wasn’t dreaming was I, you did say you were pregnant?”

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The Dream Thieves

Artle reached over and threw his time blinker off its perch beside the bed. Unperturbed the suicidal time blinker imp continued to announce, "It is now four blinks past the previous dream. The porthole no longer has any vacancies. The next opening will happen in ten blinks, counting now..."
By this time Artle had regained enough of his senses to grab the wand from under his pillow and direct it at the imp. Unfortunately, everything he owned including the wand was, either broken, on its way to being broken, or hastily mended.

There was a loud bang.

Artle woke to find himself stuck to the ceiling looking down at his bed.

The ceiling groaned in protest.

When he regained consciousness for the second time, he was lying face down on the floor beside the bed. A whimper of pain escaped from his lips, while the imp announced, "It is now two blinks to the last dream. This is the final warning before the porthole closes." Artle groaned in reply. This was the second day in a row that he had missed the portholes. At this rate he would never eat.

There was a knock at the door. Artle barely had enough time to roll himself over before the door opened to reveal a goblin and a troll. He let out another groan.
"Ah, Mr Tobler, I see you've managed to get out of bed," sneered the goblin.
"Morning, Mr Le Tat."
Ignoring the greeting, the gobling continued, "It has come to my attention, Mr Tobler that you haven't paid this weeks rent. Where are my dreams?"
"Well you see, Mr Le Tat...funny story actually. You wouldn't believe the kind of week I've been hav - "
"Enough! You see Mr Tobler the agreement was for two dreams a night. Imagine our disappointment, Mr Tobler when Friday came and we didn't see or hear from you. Now just to make sure you understand the agreement, Mr Dizzlebick here will remind you."
He moved aside to reveal an angry looking troll, carrying an even angrier looking club.

Rings and things...

Boyfriend and I are sitting down to dinner.
"How was the marine mammal workshop?" I ask Boyfriend.
"It was great. I missed you though," he replies, reaching for my hand.
"That's so sweet. I misssed you too," I say blowing him a kiss.
"I thought about you, but there was this pretty chick in the group. So I didn't think about you for long," he adds laughing. I flick a pea at him.
"You really need to buy me a ring," Boyfriend informs me.
"Why?" I ask.
"I'm surrounded by all these women who want a piece of me. I'm in high demand you know."
It's my turn to laugh.
"I'm serious. You're marrying a very handsome man. I've got to let these women know that I'm spoken for."
I laugh even harder.
Boyfriend turns to our dog, "I think she loves me, Rusty."

Scribble Soup for Writers' Block #56: Is that even a word?

What word or words would you use to describe the missing sock phenomenon, ie when you wash a pair of socks, you somehow mysteriously end up with only one.

Do you have word/s or terms that you have made up to describe something?

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The Great Socktery: when washing a pair of socks, you somehow mysteriously end up with only one.

Daylexia: dyslexia caused by early mornings.

Worklexia: dyslexia caused by work.

Couch-a-tional field: the gravitational field of a couch. The force required to remove oneself from the couch is directly proportional to...well I haven't been able to remove myself from the couch to calculate this one.

Remote dependency: one's dependence on the t.v remote control.

Temporary Bridge Craziness: The compulsive need to speed when driving over a bridge, especially when you're stuck behind a slow moving truck.

Speedmosis: the uncontrollable need to keep up with other speeding cars.

Breakfast-a-la-car: eating breakfast in the car, on the way to work because once again you're running late.

Dreamscaping: daydreaming during an important meeting.




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Okay, need to start posting again soon. I've been very busy at work...and very slack.

I was so tired on the way home from work Thurdsay afternoon, so I wasn't quite 'with it' when the I was pulled over by the booze bus police. In all my years of driving I've only ever been breath tested twice (this being the third), and as my grasp on technological breakthroughs - like my grasp on reality - is tentative to say the least, I wasn't quite sure what was happening when the copper shoved the breathalyzer in my face. My first thought was where do I blow as there was no nozzle. The policeman said something, which I completely missed (since I'd lost another 10% of my hearing after going to see Nine Inch Nails on Tuesday night - they were awesome by the way). I asked him to repeat it.
"Can you count to ten, ma'am." So I do, silently in my head.
"Out loud please." Oh, it was then I realised that the gadget he was holding to my mouth actually didn't require me to blow on anything. He must of thought I was an idiot. I know I felt like one.

lemonade award

Sunshine was gracious enough to pass the Lemonade Award to me.

The way the “When Life Gives You Lemons, make Lemonade” Award (for short, The Lemonade Award) works is:

1) You must link back to the person you received the award from.
2) You have to nominate 10 bloggers who are deserving of this award!


Now comes the hard part. Since I don't know that many bloggers, I'm going to pass this on to everyone who is interested (leave a link if like). I'm giving a big shout out to the following people for their beautiful blogs.

** Abra for her fantastic way with words.
** Giggles for her art and great blog.
** An English Girl Rambles for her stunning photos.
** Rambling Woods for all her informative posts and amazing photos

From baskets to trolleys

Boyfriend and I decide to do a late night supermarket run.
"Okay, let's not go overboard this time," Boyfriend suggests.
"No problems, I just need some stock up on food for my lunches," I reply reaching for a shopping basket.

I check my mental shopping list and head straight for the items I need. Boyfriend disappears. I find him half an hour later intently studying the label on a packet of cramp bark.
"I should get this," Boyfriend tells me.
"What about the magnesium powder your chiro gave you."
"I keep on forgetting to take it."
I raise my eyebrows. Boyfriend snickers, "Okay, I'll put it back."

Boyfriend mysteriously disappears again. Twenty minutes later, we meet at the check out line. Boyfriend has swapped his shopping basket for a trolley. I raise an eyebrow.

"It's not my fault. You left me unsupervised," he says defensively.
The eyebrow moves another inch higher.
"Okay, I'll put this one back,' Boyfriend says reluctantly reaching in the trolley for the packet of 100's and 1000's.
"Here, take this with you," I say handing him a box.
"Not the garden light. It's for the garden gnome."
"We don't have a garden gnome."
"We do now," Boyfriend announces excitedly.
I give him the 'look'.
"And you can return the butter as well," I say quickly scanning the items in the trolley.
"But we're out of butter."
"No we're not, we have two tubs at home. The Anson's left a full tub when they came to stay."
"But this is different, it's organic butter"
"Anyway, you're not supposed to be eating butter...or cheese...or bacon," I say removing the items from the trolley.
"You never let me have any fun," Boyfriend whinges.
"It's not my fault you have high cholesterol."
"I knew this would happen. I was good, I walked away from the chocolate section."
"So is that a bag of carrots I see disguised as a bag of violet crumbles?"
Boyfriend snickers guiltily, "That's different. It's for work."
I mentally count to ten before asking, "How is that diff -"
"Shh," Boyfriend says, placing a finger over my mouth. "You're so much prettier when you don't talk."
I poke him in the stomach.

Ten minutes later and $203.05 poorer, we head back to the car.
"Not bad," Boyfriend says.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"We spent $100 less than the last time. Next time we'll do even better."
I laughed, "Next time, I'm leaving you at home."

Scibble soup for writers' block #46: the art of gift giving

For my 25th birthday Boyfriend presented me with a non-stick frying pan.
"Happy birthday! Look what I got you," Boyfriend exclaims, waving the unwrapped pan around. "It was on sale," he adds, oblivious to my 'I can't believe you got me a frying pan for my birthday' look.
"Uh...thanks," I say packing the pan away.
"Don't put it away yet, we can use it tonight."
"You mean, I can use it tonight to cook you something." My sarcasm falls on deaf ears.
"Yeah, I got some salmon steaks to celebrate."
I picture a big fat dent in the shape of a frying pan on Boyfriend's head. I pack the pan away, just in case I give in to the temptation to use Boyfriend's head as batting practice. I count to 10 slowly, before saying, "It's my birthday, why don't you cook me something instead."
Boyfriend finally realises that I'm not as enamoured with the non-stick frying pan as he is, "It's a fantastic pan. You never have to scrub ever again!"
I give him 'the look'.
"Okay, I'll take you out to dinner instead," he grumbles.

A few months later for his 26th birthday I inform Boyfriend that his present was a pair of binoculars.
"Where is it?" he asks.
"I haven't bought it yet."
"Why?"
"I've been busy."
"But you work only a few doors down from the store."
"Okay, you'll get them next week," I promise.
Months passed. Boyfriend waited.
"Guess what!" Boyfriend shouts from the doorway one afternoon.
"What?" I reply.
"Happy birthday to me," Boyfriend sings, entering the room with a pair of binoculars hanging from his neck.
I giggle guiltily. I had forgotten about his birthday present.

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