Green Elephant?
Blue Elephant.
Just don’t try to put my shoes on, Elephant.
What’s an Elephant?
Why you, of course!
No, I think I’d like to be more of a horse.
That’s rubbish, do you know why?
It’s not rubbish, horses can fly!
A horse can’t fly, you’re thinking of a bird.
Now it’s you who is being really quite absurd!
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
a smile says a million lies
Fake smiles only work on people who rarely wear them. Olivia rarely faked smiles back in Kansas, but lately she had found little reason to form a genuine grin. Sure, two or three times a day someone at work could get a giggle out of her...but the perky girl her friends and family knew had all but disappeared.
As she clocked out of her shift and counted her sixty dollars, Olivia began to daze off. Things had changed in this restaurant, and she couldn't figure out why. Her colleague nudged her out of the way so they could ring in an order. Quietly, she slipped through the kitchen and out the back. Saying bye to people had become part of her fake routine; a routine she wanted to break. Lately she noticed more and more people sneaking out without a word. Was there something in the air?
Growing up in a house where everyone said goodbye and announced their plans, the lack of acknowledgment of someone's departure seemed abnormal and almost rude...and yet she had morphed into someone who didn't have sentiments either way about where anyone was going. She barely cared to know where even she was going.
As she clocked out of her shift and counted her sixty dollars, Olivia began to daze off. Things had changed in this restaurant, and she couldn't figure out why. Her colleague nudged her out of the way so they could ring in an order. Quietly, she slipped through the kitchen and out the back. Saying bye to people had become part of her fake routine; a routine she wanted to break. Lately she noticed more and more people sneaking out without a word. Was there something in the air?
Growing up in a house where everyone said goodbye and announced their plans, the lack of acknowledgment of someone's departure seemed abnormal and almost rude...and yet she had morphed into someone who didn't have sentiments either way about where anyone was going. She barely cared to know where even she was going.
Monday, August 29, 2011
reasons to slow down.
Excuse me. Excuse me. On your left. Excuse me. Late for work, yet again, Olivia was desperately climbing the gargantuan out-of-service escalator when she nearly tackled an elderly woman who had failed to hear her pleas of passage. She stopped for less than thirty seconds to observe the short, wrinkled woman and then helped the lady get resettled as she, too, hiked the remainder of the one-hundred escalator steps. Any large city has a tendency to create a false sense of urgency, but in this city only half the people are in a hurry; the other half are just merely in the way. Perhaps pummeling a woman was life's way of telling Olivia to slow down. Instead, she sprinted forward and away from the metro exit. Another day. Another dollar. Another battered elderly person. Tomorrow she'd throw some spare change to an old homeless man. That would make up for her rude behavior, right?
She headed directly toward Starbucks, being careful to avoid the aggressive black homeless man who never hesitated to charge at a woman screaming "HEY YOU! Can I have some money?!" Today was not the day to explain to the poor man that his tactics were less than effective. Who in their right mind would pull out their wallet when a large man is stampeding toward them? She ducked her head and moved swiftly past him.
Olivia had picked up the bad habit of drinking coffee during her college years, but city life had turned her into an addict. Three, sometimes four, cappuccinos a day were necessary to prevent an achy head and an irritable personality. She was already late for work but was certain that her colleagues would prefer to have a post-coffee-Olivia rather than the opposite.
"WELCOME TO STARBUCKS, HOW CAN I HELP YOU?" shouted the 6'5 overweight gay man behind the counter. Upon receiving her order and taking her four dollars he pranced to the other end of the counter to start her drink. Normally there would have been three or four other "team-members" behind the counter but today he was all by his lonesome. "HAVE A FAAABBBBULOUS DAY!"
When she first moved to the city the barista's personality drove her crazy. It was far too early for anyone in their right mind to be so loud and obnoxious. As time passed she began to realize that this was simply who he was...all the time. She took a few seconds to smile at him. "Thanks, You too!" she said, quietly hoping he would never change his personality.
Twenty minutes late with her coffee in her hand, Olivia darted down Connecticut Avenue and into an already crowded restaurant. Coffee? Check. Pressed shirt? Check. Fake smile? Check.
She headed directly toward Starbucks, being careful to avoid the aggressive black homeless man who never hesitated to charge at a woman screaming "HEY YOU! Can I have some money?!" Today was not the day to explain to the poor man that his tactics were less than effective. Who in their right mind would pull out their wallet when a large man is stampeding toward them? She ducked her head and moved swiftly past him.
Olivia had picked up the bad habit of drinking coffee during her college years, but city life had turned her into an addict. Three, sometimes four, cappuccinos a day were necessary to prevent an achy head and an irritable personality. She was already late for work but was certain that her colleagues would prefer to have a post-coffee-Olivia rather than the opposite.
"WELCOME TO STARBUCKS, HOW CAN I HELP YOU?" shouted the 6'5 overweight gay man behind the counter. Upon receiving her order and taking her four dollars he pranced to the other end of the counter to start her drink. Normally there would have been three or four other "team-members" behind the counter but today he was all by his lonesome. "HAVE A FAAABBBBULOUS DAY!"
When she first moved to the city the barista's personality drove her crazy. It was far too early for anyone in their right mind to be so loud and obnoxious. As time passed she began to realize that this was simply who he was...all the time. She took a few seconds to smile at him. "Thanks, You too!" she said, quietly hoping he would never change his personality.
Twenty minutes late with her coffee in her hand, Olivia darted down Connecticut Avenue and into an already crowded restaurant. Coffee? Check. Pressed shirt? Check. Fake smile? Check.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
...tattoo
Confused by a sudden movement and loud noise behind her, she turned around, almost knocking her iced tea off of the bench. In the Circle it wasn’t rare to see a homeless man have a sudden burst of excitement and start running around with their arms up. She could think of at least two in particular who had a history of turning into superman on less than a moment’s notice.
It wasn’t a homeless person. It wasn’t even a stranger. It was him, the man she had tried so desperately to avoid for weeks and yet here he was standing above her with a cigarette in his hand and one pant leg rolled up around his knee. His tattoos were visible in all the usual spots; around his shirt collar, his sleeve, and his calf.
For an instant Olivia wondered if he was standing there to talk to her, but then she realized that he had not yet noticed her.
He was staring into his phone and texting at lightning speed. He started to look around, got annoyed, and then began texting again. Even though it was December the Circle was filled with all types of people. The weather had finally turned into something worth enjoying and apparently Olivia was not the only person to take advantage of the nice day.
Should she hide? Should she get up and walk away? Or should she say hello? He was just a few feet from her, but with his back to her she had no way of knowing if he had noticed her. The commotion she had heard had been his bicycle hitting the pavement. She put her nose back into her book and tried not to breathe too loudly. Her heart was racing. The last thing he had said to her was “Your are a crazy bitch”...From anyone else it might have been a funny compliment. From him it was simply hateful and hurtful.
A loud beeping sound rang out through the circle. She thought it was his phone, but unfortunately it was hers. As she reached down to get it he looked at her. For a second she thought he would say hi. Instead he practically ran away. Olivia sat there confused as several other people began looking at her. The phone was still ringing but she had completely tuned it out.
A homeless man said “Do you want me to answer it?” Olivia forced a smile and reached in her Mary-Poppins-sized bag to find the source of the obnoxious noise. For the first time ever, she was disappointed to see the name that had once made her giddy.
It wasn’t a homeless person. It wasn’t even a stranger. It was him, the man she had tried so desperately to avoid for weeks and yet here he was standing above her with a cigarette in his hand and one pant leg rolled up around his knee. His tattoos were visible in all the usual spots; around his shirt collar, his sleeve, and his calf.
For an instant Olivia wondered if he was standing there to talk to her, but then she realized that he had not yet noticed her.
He was staring into his phone and texting at lightning speed. He started to look around, got annoyed, and then began texting again. Even though it was December the Circle was filled with all types of people. The weather had finally turned into something worth enjoying and apparently Olivia was not the only person to take advantage of the nice day.
Should she hide? Should she get up and walk away? Or should she say hello? He was just a few feet from her, but with his back to her she had no way of knowing if he had noticed her. The commotion she had heard had been his bicycle hitting the pavement. She put her nose back into her book and tried not to breathe too loudly. Her heart was racing. The last thing he had said to her was “Your are a crazy bitch”...From anyone else it might have been a funny compliment. From him it was simply hateful and hurtful.
A loud beeping sound rang out through the circle. She thought it was his phone, but unfortunately it was hers. As she reached down to get it he looked at her. For a second she thought he would say hi. Instead he practically ran away. Olivia sat there confused as several other people began looking at her. The phone was still ringing but she had completely tuned it out.
A homeless man said “Do you want me to answer it?” Olivia forced a smile and reached in her Mary-Poppins-sized bag to find the source of the obnoxious noise. For the first time ever, she was disappointed to see the name that had once made her giddy.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
...but only sometimes.
She was sly, but not too sly
Tall, but not tall enough
Complacent, but not always, and
Daring, but only sometimes.
She was funny when she meant to be stern
Loud, but never obnoxious
Envious, though she was envied by most, and
Daring, but only sometimes.
She was cruel, but sweet and caring
Wild, but always a lady
Sassy, but never rude, and
Daring, but only sometimes.
She was smart, but lacked foresight
Wise, but short on wisdom
Patient, until she grew restless, and
Daring, but only sometimes.
Tall, but not tall enough
Complacent, but not always, and
Daring, but only sometimes.
She was funny when she meant to be stern
Loud, but never obnoxious
Envious, though she was envied by most, and
Daring, but only sometimes.
She was cruel, but sweet and caring
Wild, but always a lady
Sassy, but never rude, and
Daring, but only sometimes.
She was smart, but lacked foresight
Wise, but short on wisdom
Patient, until she grew restless, and
Daring, but only sometimes.
Friday, August 19, 2011
focus
She wasn’t planning on lounging on the couch all day. No. She fully intended to go to the supermarket, clean the kitchen, and possibly even take a shower. Greasy strands of hair fell onto her face with the daunting possibility of causing yet another pimple on her cheek. She didn’t care. She brushed it aside, but could almost hear her mother saying “Lianna wash your face”, so she opted to pull all of her greasy hair into a messy bun on top of her head. She knew she looked disgusting. Pathetic even. At some point she realized she wasn’t paying attention to the movie that was flashing around on the television screen. The film was in Vietnamese…or was it Thai? She wasn’t sure, but she had stopped reading the subtitles about half an hour ago. A car cautiously pulled into the drive-way. Feeling like a pathetic excuse for a daughter, she hopped off of the couch, nearly spilling her Diet Coke on the way, snatched her baby out of the bassinet and ran upstairs to the makeshift nursery.
She gently placed her little girl into the mahogany crib and turned on some music to prevent any unnecessary crying. She pulled off all her clothes and sprinted to the shower, stepping on a hairbrush and a bottle of lotion on the way. The sparkly scented lotion squeezed out all over the carpet. She would have to clean that up later. In the shower, she washed her hair and face, thought about shaving her legs but shrugged, decided against it, and jumped back out. She had only a few minutes to appear as though she had actually led a productive day. The agreement with her mother was very straightforward. Lianna and her daughter (whom she named “Nina” after her “baby-daddy’s mother”), were able to stay with Lianna ’s mother (Carolina -- who, by the way, had no grandchildren named after her) as long as Lianna was studying to become a certified physical therapist. Each evening, Lianna ’s mother watched Nina as Lianna went to a coffee shop to study for the certification exam. It was their routine and until recently it was working quite nicely. Lately, however, Lianna was getting discouraged and sidetracked. Lately everything was just…different. More painful. More exhausting.
She spent four hours writing emails and surfing through Facebook in order to live vicariously through the social lives of other people. She had once had a social life. In fact, she was quite the bombshell (and in reality, still was when she actually got all done up). Life had changed. She had changed. By the time the coffee shop was closing, she hadn’t studied at all and was forced to return to the house that was not hers; the life that was not hers. It was her mother’s. And before that, it was her boyfriend’s. There had been a time, not too long ago, when she owned her life. She could selfishly make decisions based on how she felt at that moment. That time had come and gone. Nina was her number one now and they would figure out how to own their lives together.
She gently placed her little girl into the mahogany crib and turned on some music to prevent any unnecessary crying. She pulled off all her clothes and sprinted to the shower, stepping on a hairbrush and a bottle of lotion on the way. The sparkly scented lotion squeezed out all over the carpet. She would have to clean that up later. In the shower, she washed her hair and face, thought about shaving her legs but shrugged, decided against it, and jumped back out. She had only a few minutes to appear as though she had actually led a productive day. The agreement with her mother was very straightforward. Lianna and her daughter (whom she named “Nina” after her “baby-daddy’s mother”), were able to stay with Lianna ’s mother (Carolina -- who, by the way, had no grandchildren named after her) as long as Lianna was studying to become a certified physical therapist. Each evening, Lianna ’s mother watched Nina as Lianna went to a coffee shop to study for the certification exam. It was their routine and until recently it was working quite nicely. Lately, however, Lianna was getting discouraged and sidetracked. Lately everything was just…different. More painful. More exhausting.
She spent four hours writing emails and surfing through Facebook in order to live vicariously through the social lives of other people. She had once had a social life. In fact, she was quite the bombshell (and in reality, still was when she actually got all done up). Life had changed. She had changed. By the time the coffee shop was closing, she hadn’t studied at all and was forced to return to the house that was not hers; the life that was not hers. It was her mother’s. And before that, it was her boyfriend’s. There had been a time, not too long ago, when she owned her life. She could selfishly make decisions based on how she felt at that moment. That time had come and gone. Nina was her number one now and they would figure out how to own their lives together.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Fresh Air
--Excerpt from "A Work in Progress"--
Cold, almost wet, air filled the shoebox sized bedroom from top to bottom with one quick gust. The smell of damp leaves and burning wood overwhelmed her senses so much that she took a step back, considered shutting the window, and then realized that this seemingly foul odor was actually quite nice upon second whiff.
It had been her routine to open the door-like-window every morning while getting ready for her daily French lessons. Sure, it took her a week to figure out how to actually open the european window, but after that she never missed a morning of cleansing the air of her 50-square-foot French “studio-apartment” (worse conditions than Harry Potter’s cubby-hole under the stairs at Number Four Privet Drive).
In August the smell was sweet and warm, but by October the French air had acquired a cold, winter smell; burning wood, wet leaves, and the unique fragrance of cool air. The wet air was refreshing and almost purifying. Her pea-sized apartment was so small that even the quickest burst of fresh air rejuvenated the space for hours to come. The combination of smells comforted her just as her homesickness was beginning to set in.
Each morning she opened the window, took a shower, dried her hair, and prepped for another day of class at the Université Jean Monet of St. Étienne, France. She pulled on her boots and headed out the door--- only to stop at the elevator, turn around, and rush back to close the gigantic window. On the off chance of rain, the precious contents of her room (family photos, hand drawn pictures from her nephews, and post cards from home) would have been destroyed. Sometimes she made it all the way to the bus stop, looked up at the third floor, and sighed a miserably loud sigh. Missing the bus meant walking down the mountain-like-hill and through the city in the bitter wind. More often than not she opted out of taking her chances with the rain. She hiked back up the stairs to close the window and then walked to class, veering out of her way just a smidgen in order to purchase a fresh, buttery croissant. The wind was torture, but the smell of the St. Etienne cold air was something she wouldn’t have traded for anything in the world.
Two years later an eerily similar smell wafts into her bedroom on the other side of the large pond. Each morning she opens her window to freshen the air in her tiny (but not as tiny) D.C. apartment. Washington, D.C. is her new land of adventure. As she hurries out the door she remembers to close her window, but almost always forgets to grab her umbrella. October has arrived, and Washington rain typically comes without warning.
--Excerpt from a work in progress.
Cold, almost wet, air filled the shoebox sized bedroom from top to bottom with one quick gust. The smell of damp leaves and burning wood overwhelmed her senses so much that she took a step back, considered shutting the window, and then realized that this seemingly foul odor was actually quite nice upon second whiff.
It had been her routine to open the door-like-window every morning while getting ready for her daily French lessons. Sure, it took her a week to figure out how to actually open the european window, but after that she never missed a morning of cleansing the air of her 50-square-foot French “studio-apartment” (worse conditions than Harry Potter’s cubby-hole under the stairs at Number Four Privet Drive).
In August the smell was sweet and warm, but by October the French air had acquired a cold, winter smell; burning wood, wet leaves, and the unique fragrance of cool air. The wet air was refreshing and almost purifying. Her pea-sized apartment was so small that even the quickest burst of fresh air rejuvenated the space for hours to come. The combination of smells comforted her just as her homesickness was beginning to set in.
Each morning she opened the window, took a shower, dried her hair, and prepped for another day of class at the Université Jean Monet of St. Étienne, France. She pulled on her boots and headed out the door--- only to stop at the elevator, turn around, and rush back to close the gigantic window. On the off chance of rain, the precious contents of her room (family photos, hand drawn pictures from her nephews, and post cards from home) would have been destroyed. Sometimes she made it all the way to the bus stop, looked up at the third floor, and sighed a miserably loud sigh. Missing the bus meant walking down the mountain-like-hill and through the city in the bitter wind. More often than not she opted out of taking her chances with the rain. She hiked back up the stairs to close the window and then walked to class, veering out of her way just a smidgen in order to purchase a fresh, buttery croissant. The wind was torture, but the smell of the St. Etienne cold air was something she wouldn’t have traded for anything in the world.
Two years later an eerily similar smell wafts into her bedroom on the other side of the large pond. Each morning she opens her window to freshen the air in her tiny (but not as tiny) D.C. apartment. Washington, D.C. is her new land of adventure. As she hurries out the door she remembers to close her window, but almost always forgets to grab her umbrella. October has arrived, and Washington rain typically comes without warning.
--Excerpt from a work in progress.
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