Table of contents
Week One:
Week One:
There's a big house party of drunken high-school students. Describe the scene in three ways: as one of the teens attending the party, as the police officers called to the scene, and as the parent of one of the teens.
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Week Two:
Week Three:
Week Four
What your desk thinks about at night
What your desk thinks about at night
Week Five
You are the Grim Reaper. Write three different opening paragraphs for your autobiography, trying out very different styles
You are the Grim Reaper. Write three different opening paragraphs for your autobiography, trying out very different styles
Week One:
There's a big house party of drunken high-school students. Describe the scene in three ways: as one of the teens attending the party, as the police officers called to the scene, and as the parent of one of the teens.
Ky couldn’t be more excited. She and her friend Lola were getting ready to go to a party. Ky had told her Mom she was spending the night at Lola’s. Then of course, Lola told her Mom she was spending the night at Ky’s house. Perfect plan, right? Surely no one else had ever thought of it before. The girls were still at Lola’s house acting as if they were packing Lola for the sleepover. What they were really packing was their outfits for the party that they would change into at the gas station before they got to the party. Ky wanted to look extra cute tonight since Leland was going to be at the party. Ky had been secretly crushing on Leland for months and he had finally broken up with his idiot girlfriend. Ky and Lola left the house and headed off to the gas station to change their clothes and add another layer of makeup that their parents would not have approved of.
Later that night Ky’s Mom, Shawnee, plopped down on the couch grateful for a minute to relax. She decided to send Lola’s Mom, Sandy, a quick text to thank her for having Ky over. A minute later Shawnee’s phone rang. It was Sandy and she was frantic. Ky was not at her house, she thought the girls were with Shawnee. Shawnee and Sandy immediately tried to call and text their girls with no response. They spent the next hour calling every friend the girls had ever had asking if they had seen either of them. After getting nowhere with the phone calls the two Moms decided to meet up and drive around looking for the girls. They tried to console each other with promises that everything was going to be ok, they would find the girls.
By this time, Ky and Lola were having a blast at the party. Neither of them was completely sure how much they had drank, or even WHAT they had drank for that matter. Ky and Leland were dancing together while Lola sat on the couch laughing with some guy no one really knew. They kept yelling “best party ever”.
Shawnee and Sandy had been driving around for hours. They had called and texted their daughters so many times with no answer that they have given up on their phones. They were both tired and extremely worried. They weren’t consoling each other anymore. They each were lost in their own thoughts imagining the endless possibilities of what could be happening to their babies. Then Sandy’s phone rang. It was another Mother who had just heard there was a party going on about a block from the High School. The tires on Shawnee’s car squealed as she made a u-turn and headed for the High School.
Officer Keyes and Officer Norris were on their way to check out a noise complaint near the High School. Callers said they had seen tons of teenagers going in and out of the house, possibly drinking. As the two policemen pulled up to the house officer Keyes sighed and said “Don’t you get sick of breaking up these parties?” Officer Norris thought about it for a second and said “If there is underage drinking going on here we will be calling their parents one way or another.” Officer Keyes asked what he meant by that. Officer Norris said “Well, either we call their parents now and tell them to come get their kid or we call their parents later and tell them their kid has was driving home drunk and got in an accident."
Shawnee and Sandy pulled up to a house near the High School. They were sure they had found the right house because there were police cars and an ambulance on the street in front of it. As they got out of the car Sandy saw that Lola was being taken out of the house on a stretcher and ran to her. The E.M.T told Sandy that they were taking Lola in to have her stomach pumped, they were pretty sure someone had put something extra in Lola's drink. Ky was coming out of the house just behind the stretcher when Shawnee walked up. Ky saw her Mom and said "I'm really sorry Mom." "How long am I grounded?" Shawnee looked at her daughter and said "forever".
It was kind of scary being out at night. KY was never a rule break and she felt really guilty. But she had to help her friend. If Lola's mom found out she would kill her. She quickly got over it to get her friend. She had wanted to pop in, grab her friend and pop out but it took KY a while to find her. She kept getting interrupted by her faded classmates offering her a plethora of substances she would never put into her body. The music was so loud and so much was going on around her it was hard to keep focused. She was having trouble with the amount of stimuli. She was very disappointed in her friend for going to the party. She had just broken up with her boyfriend and was spiraling down a path of destruction. KY did not approve of drugs or drinking. To KY a party was inviting friends for junk food and movies at her house. The fact that Lola was going down this path was a big problem in their friendship. KY didn't like people who did this to herself. And now it's her friend doing it to herself
KY finally found LLola throwing up in the bathroom. She should have looked there first. Her friend was barely conscious as Ky dragged her out of the house. By the time she got her outside she realized she needed to go the hospital. She had way to much alcohol and God knows what else. Her friend was falling all over KY as she pulled out her phone to call her mom, who answered after one ring.
"You are in so much trouble." Shawnee said as soon as she answered the phone. "Did you really think you would get away with sneaking out?" Her daughter started to speak on the other line. "Don't answer that. What were you thinking?" Her daughter tried to speak again. "Don't answer that. I'm on my way." KY explained on the way home from the hospital that the only reason she snuck out to that party was to help her friend. Shawnee explained that while she did it for a good cause she still snuck out when she could have just woken Shawnee up to go get her friend. Hiding her Lola's condition was not the right thing to do. KY friend could have been in a lot of trouble if she hadn't gotten to the hospital. At least KY was smart enough to call Shawnee when she realized she was over her head.
As the girls drove home they passed the street where the party was. The house was surrounded by cop cars and ambulances.
Officer Callahan rested her hands on her belt as she watch the last of the teenagers either being wheeled to the hospital on a gurney or lead in handcuffs by the other officers.
Callahan's partner, Litchfield, went to stand next to her as she looked at the trashed house. The lawn was covered in beer cans, red cups, toilet paper and vomit. It smelled disgusting, stomach acid and cheap booze. "Remember when you were their age?" Litchfield asked asked his partner, nodding to the teens as the were driven away.
"No." She says with a worried look on her face.
"You don't remember the wild parties?" He asked as they walked to their vehicle.
"They were never this wild."
Week Two:
If I weren’t writing this post, I’ll tell you what I’d be doing:
- Looking around at my house, groaning about the mess.
- Not stopping to clean the mess. After all, my three kids will undo the cleaning in a fraction of the time it took me to clean, so why bother?!
- Ignoring the complaints from my kids that they are bored.
- Suggesting that if they’re that bored, they could clean. (They’re not that bored, it turns out.)
- Complaining that the humidity is killing me.
- Wondering if I should move to a climate more moderate than San Diego. (Ha ha. We have it so rough here.)
- Shedding clothing.
- Making art for next week’s creative art challenge.
- Realizing that I’m cold, and putting layers back on.
- Breaking up arguments between my two older kids.
- Tripping over my own shadow.
- Washing dishes. Again.
- Enjoying a break from the early-morning squawk of the alarm clock. Summer schedule rules!
- Wondering aloud how there are people who don’t like chocolate. Excuse me—WHAT??!?!?!?!?!?!?!
- Marveling at how much dust collects in our house in such a short time
- Mediating more of my kids’ fights.
- Wondering if there is an Olympic competition for arguing and if so, where I can sign them up because I know they’d win gold medals.
- Wondering where all the toilet paper has gone. (I’m wondering this as I am sitting on the toilet. Realizing that my 5-year-old has taken the roll away for safekeeping.)
- Suggesting to my son a break from PlayStation.
- Mopping up the flood after my youngest child takes a bath. (Bathing is a very splashy event for her.)
- Frowning at how quickly my gray hairs come back after I cover them with dye.
- Making a giant list of things to do this summer: some fun, some obligatory.
- Questioning whether I should even have a To Do list in the summer because it takes away from the freedom of summer and turns summer into a warmer version of the school year. Keeping the list anyway.
- Forgetting why I walked into a certain room.
- Asking aloud why I walked in there.
- Hearing my son tease me about my horrible memory, a sign that I am old, he says. “I’m 41,” I respond, to show him I’m not old. “Right, 41. Old,” he says.
- Watching my creative 8-year-old make an amazing art project. She does this every day. She’s not fond of cleaning up but at least she has a wonderful imagination.
- Reading with my 5-year-old. Laughing when she insists on mispronouncing words I know she knows.
- Laughing with my 11-year-old son while we watch a video on YouTube with clips of funny St. Olaf phrases from a tv show I loved in the 80s, Golden Girls.
- Yelling about mess.
- Saying sweetly, “Hubby? Can you pleeeeease figure out why the computer is being crazy? You’re my tech guy. I don’t speak computer.”
- Spilling things in the kitchen, for the millionth time today.
- Googling random stuff.
- Admiring my neighbors’ flowers.
- Emailing. Reading. Drawing. Cleaning up more messes. Walking through my neighborhood. Contemplating doing more laundry. Putting it off.
- And at the end of the day, collapsing into bed so that I can rest and do it all again tomorrow
- Convincing myself I need to write today's post then deciding I have more time later
- Eating goldfish or cereal or a sandwich
- Babysitting my sister
- Getting in arguments with my sister
- Getting frustrated by my sister
- Watching the clock eagerly for when my mom will get home and I can be relieved of my babysitting duties
- Watching ice age with my sister and fighting over how we sit (who sits where and in what position)
- Reformatting my blog for the millionth time
- Doing laundry
- Cleaning my room
- Blowing my nose
- Sleeping
- Blowing my nose
- Sleeping
- Watching Markiplier on YouTube
- Fantasizing about Markiplier from YouTube
- Organizing my room
- Working on summer homework (Read three books, I've finished two. Writing an essay on two of the books, half way done. Making an art project on the third book. Read several packets on how to write an essay, done.)
- Wanting to read all the books in my "to be read" pile but knowing if I read I should read for my summer homework
- Blowing my nose
- Sleeping
Week Three:
Bravery is only possible when you are scared.
Why are you asking me, I’m just a cookie.
Mistakes aren’t wrong if you learn from them.
Your Mom is missing you, you should call her.
Be kind to your waiter/waitress. If serving you was fun you wouldn’t be at a restaurant right now.
Always pick the one with Polka Dots.
You can’t change the past but you control the future.
Chew your gum until the flavor is gone then put it in the trash.
Put your pajamas on now, you will feel better.
Week Four
What your desk thinks about at night
The secret thoughts of my desk while I am asleep: Why has this wacky artist waited so long to turn out the light? I’ve been ready for sleep for hours but she keeps finding just one more thing to do. And then one more…And then… She’s left me in disarray, as usual. There are tiny snips of thread everywhere, and lots of pins under the sewing machine. Bottles of paint are shoved into one corner and there’s a heap of fabric in the other. Does this lady need mess in order to create? Clearly, an intervention is needed. But at least she doesn’t ignore me. She sits before me every day, either sewing or painting or both. I may be rough around the edges but I’m not forgotten. And my life here in this art studio is more exciting than where I used to live before she bought me on Craigslist. I wasn’t used to my full potential by that guy who lives in PB. He was too busy walking around in his flip-flops to appreciate the magnificence that I am. He spent a lot more time gazing over the Pacific, waiting for the perfect wave, than he did admiring my smooth plastic top and sturdy, strong legs. So life here with this oddball artist is a step up. Sure, she has about a million things tucked under me for FAPs (Future Art Projects). Yes, she has piled tons of stuff on top of me. Sometimes she swears in front of me. But life here with her gives me real purpose. I know she loves me!
She takes her creativity out on my a lot. My surface is covered in tattoos and decorative tape. My board is a showcase for her sticky note obsession. My drawers are plastered with movie tickets and fortunes. She's been decorating me for so long i can tell she tires of the tattoos and tape. the tape is pealing of and leaving a sticky residue on me. The tattoos are fading or are of things she no longer has an interest in. I feel a make over coming. The other day when she was painting she swipped me with a small amount of black paint. I'm worried.
Week Five
You are the Grim Reaper. Write three different opening paragraphs for your autobiography, trying out very different styles
You may know me as the Grim Reaper but there isn't anything grim about my work. I am mearly a guide from this world to the next. Many people think my presence signifies the end, but really it is the beginning. I do not chose when it is your time to pass from this world, nor do I take pleasure in your demise. I am an Angel of mercy. I have only love and compassion for you as you travel from this realm to the next. I only hope to ease your pain and suffering, as I walk with you from this place to another.
Yes, The Grim Reaper, not my favorite of all my names. Doesn't quit express the fear and loathing most people have for me. I don't quite understand the loathing. You must go sometime. Why hate what is inevitable. Oh but I do enjoy your fear. Truth be told I enjoy all areas of my work. And why shouldn't I. Anyone would be tempted by the power I hold, even you.
I am a collector of sorts. Everyone needs a hobby. Some collect stamps, coins, dolls. Who's to say one collection is any better then another. To each his own. I don't judge you and your collection of beanie babies. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. One man's trash is another man's treasure. How can what I treasure be considered any less interesting then a stamp. I am a collector of souls you see. As any collector I am always watching for that next great piece. Always watching....
2.) So, yeah, I'm in the death business. It's not a big deal. I don't kill people or anything. No. Not at all. I just . . . Kind of . . . Escort them to where they go. When they die. I'm an escort service. Yeah. Wait. No. I'm like a taxi. Yeah. A taxi. For the dead. It's a gruesome job but someone's gotta do it. I mean if the dead just roamed around after they died that would be uncomfortable for the living. I'm really a humanitarian.
3.) I hate my job. That's what it is. A job. It's not a life. It's no life for me. This isn't what I wanted to do. This isn't what I wanted to be. I always dreamed of being . . . A dancer.
Until next time,
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