sanies

"Would you ever want to return to your teenage years or are you glad that era of your life is done?"
--Given the chance, I don't think I'd be in a rush to revisit those years. Not that anything bad happened or they sucked but... I mean, c'mon, compared to being an adult?
Living in my own apartment?
Decent job?
Fantastic boyfriend?
AWAY FROM PARENTS?
Can't beat that. Seriously.

Also, NaBloPoMo only posts prompts for Monday through Friday so, thanks to an anonymous tipster, I found The Daily Post to help me with prompts for the weekends and when the month is over.
Gotta write, gotta write, gotta write.
Since that last question was, technically, for Friday (and I'm counting this post as Saturday's), let's see what The Daily Post has for me:
"Is all fair in love and war?"
--I don't think I've ever been certain on that saying. To me, it sort of goes by honor... like the honorable thing should be done, regardless of the situation.
For instance, I'd never imagine myself in a wartime situation but if it came to it, I'd do my best to engage in non-violent combat, using force, deadly or otherwise, as a last resort.
It's the Daoist in me. Tai Chi has taught me that fighting is the last thing you want to do. And even when you're done breaking your opponent's arm into eight pieces, you stay by their side and help them to recover or wait for medical attention to arrive.
But 'all is fair'? For some reason, I have trouble wrapping my head around that.
Everything is fair... anything goes... no limits and no rules.
All is fair.

What the fucking fuck.

rodomontade

Raaghhh, I've fallen behind again (don't judge me). But, in my defense, this exercise has helped my brain develop some sort of knee-jerk reaction once I realize I haven't blogged for the day.
I'm hoping this will carry over to NaNoWriMo and I'll be able to force myself to write (or continue writing) for the month.
In any case, the prompts I missed:

"If you could return to one restaurant that you've eaten at before, where would you go?"
--Hands down, without a doubt, Mellow Mushroom. Best pizza joint I've been to in YEARS.
(It's funny I used the term 'joint' because Mellow Mushroom has a very... psychedelic, acid trip atmosphere to it... hence the name, I suppose.)
The only thing that upset me was that I couldn't get all of their pizzas at once... something like a sampler pizza. That would put them right over the top.
The location I visited was in Murfreesboro,Tennessee and I was immediately floored by their pizza selection. Just so many different kinds of pizza. I had their Red Skin Potato Pie:

I mean, come on, how good does that look? Potatoes, chives, tofu (in place of bacon), with sour cream and a spicy ranch dressing? Are you kidding? ARE YOU KIDDING? Easily the best pizza I've had.
If only I could find another Mellow Mushroom closer to me...

"What point in time would you like to return to and live again?"
--I'm not sure if this question is asking about a certain point in my life or just a specific point in history...
In any case, if it's my life, it'd be the years I spent in Alaska. Oodles of memories and natural beauty to boot!
Any point in time? I think I'm divided between the 60's and the 70's.
The 60's would be for experiencing that whole civil rights fiasco; I think it'd be a major eye opener. Once, in high school, we had a Spirit Day (y'know, to foster school spirit!) and it was Decades Day, where each grade dressed up as a decade. I believe I was a sophomore at the time and we had the 60's so I threw on a button down, some khakis, plain brown shoes-- as plain and 60's as I could be. Then, I think it was at lunch, I purposefully ripped my shirt (like, borderline tore the sleeve off), and used markers and colored pencils to simulate blood on my undershirt and grass stains on my pants.
When people asked what happened, I explained that, due to it being the 60's and all, I made the mistake of "walking into the wrong neighborhood". Some people got it. Others didn't. I didn't give a fuck.
The 70's would mainly be for all the partying. Cocaine and double-knit pants! Ok, not really for the drugs but that decade, in my mind, was one giant romp from club to club (Studio 54, anyone?) and lord knows I love a party.

"If you could return to any past relationship and experience it again, which one would it be?"
--Well, you never forget the first love, right?
As a junior in high school, still settling into his sexuality, it's a bit startling to discover that the cutest German exchange student in school has a crush on you. We kept our relationship a secret; only close and trusted friends knew. Eventually, he had to return. We were only together for about a month and a half but letting him go was difficult for little 'ol me. Over time, I moved on. We've remained friends via Facebook. But still, you never forget.

"If you could return to any grade in school, which one would you want to do again?"
-- I mean, is this with the assumption that I could change things? If not, I'd pick senior year of high school. I think that's when I started becoming who I am now. Granted, I'm pretty sure my plans for the future back then don't match where I am right now but hey, things change.
If I could change things, I think I'd go back to fourth grade. It's a silly, long story, but there were a group of girls that I wanted to be friends with and back in fourth grade, I was the class clown so they knew I was a goofy kid. Through some kind of misunderstanding, my silly attempts at befriending them caused them to tell our teacher and it became this big, unnecessary mess.
They thought I had some weird obsession with these girls and incorrectly assumed it was some kind of sexual harassment, which is hilarious because at that age, I hardly even knew what sex was (I was a little on the naive side).
So it went as far as separating me from the girls who I just wanted to be friends with and daily talks with the guidance counselor and sometimes my teacher about my feelings. Part of me knows those girls knew what they were doing. The other part wonders if any of the adults in the situation really believed them.
Still, if I could revisit that whole year, I'd do my best to call those bitches' bluffs.
"Me? Sexually harass you? HA. Some hot, tranny mess you are." And then I'd snap my fingers or something and do a runway walk out of the classroom.

pirog

Just returned from a charming weekend cabin excursion with boyfriend and company.
Leaving for home in the morning.
So much traveling.

"What was the last thing you returned to a store?"
-- Again, can't recall, seeing as how I rarely return things. And even if I do make a mistake, like buying a shirt that's a size too small, I'll create a workaround in my mind, tricking myself into justifying the purchase ("...hm... I guess I'll only wear it to bed...").

"Have you ever returned a meal to a restaurant kitchen?  What did you order?"
--What?! No? People do that!? Why?
FYI: I'm a big, fat fucking pig. My stomach is a black hole. Besides, I'm not big on confrontation, especially in a store/restaurant setting.
The only thing that sticks out in my mind is when my family and I went out to Olive Garden and I ordered a soup. When the soup finally came, I noticed it had a sticker in it, y'know, like the stickers that are commonly on different kinds of produce? It didn't really bother me but I think my dad noticed it and asked the waiter for another bowl of soup for me.
The waiter apologized and complied, taking my bowl and bringing me another. About halfway into it, I notice this new bowl of soup also has a produce sticker in it (it's debatable whether or not this was actually a different bowl). Again, we ask for another bowl of soup and the waiter, who was very apologetic once more, rushed back to the kitchen.
Third time's the charm, right?
Nope.
Lo and behold, another sticker in my soup. I kept it to myself this time. Y'know, enjoyed my soup.
And ate around the sticker.
Ate around it so that it was the only thing left in the bowl.
The waiter came back to check on us and appeared dumbfounded when he spotted the sticker sitting ever so neatly in the center of the bowl I cleaned.
After more apologies, the manager came over and our meal was free that night.

But as I said before, I'm flying back home in the morning and intend to bring my good 'ol laptop to blog on the way. While I haven't exactly been up to speed with the day-by-day posting, I'll say that I've blogged more this month than any other month before.
How this will help with NaNoWriMo around the bend eludes me, but I'm still looking forward to tackling it this year.

photostatter

Yeah, yeah, delayed. I've been traveling. Actually, I'm going to be doing quite a bit of traveling in the next few weeks so forgive me.

"Write about your childhood bedroom."
--The only thing that stands out, when I think of my bedroom as a kid, is that there were two beds and yet I was an only child until around '92. Even then, my new baby sister wasn't about to sleep in the twin bed next to mine. Furthermore, when she came of age to actually sleep in her own bed, she chose to sleep in my parents' bed for a few years into elementary school.
The only time the extra bed came into use was when I had a friend in 2nd grade and he spent the night.

"What was the last book you returned to the library?"
--That's something I really don't recall. Last time I checked something out from a library was...

"Have you ever kept a book from the library instead of returning it, paying the missing fee just so you could keep it?"
--Back in high school, a friend of mine suggested the book Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett to me. At first, I was intimidated by the size of it, but, over the course of several months, I read it, found that I enjoyed it, and returned it to the library.
My friend said it was one of her favorite books and that she loved reading it.
So.
Senior year of high school, a few days before graduation, I went back to the library and discovered that no one had checked out the book since I had it earlier in the school year. And with some tricky maneuvering around the library sensors, I was able to liberate the book from my school and present it to my friend as a sort of going away present-- she was moving to Florida.
Now, when I call her from time to time, she tells me that she still has it and still loves it.
I've been thinking of picking up a copy.

(...actually buying one, that is.) 

recrudesced

"If you could return to a place you once lived, where would you go?"

No offense to any of my friends in Virginia, Arkansas, and Florida, but if given the chance, I'd head back over to Alaska.
It's been years since I've visited and with good reason. I went through the first three years of grade school there (if you count kindergarten) and most of the people I knew are probably long gone (add on the fact that it was an Army base and the chances of meeting an old acquaintance are super slim). Still, I think it'd be fantastic to visit and stir up memories that seem like fundamental building blocks of my childhood.
I always found it funny that, upon seeing the Northern Lights for the first time, my father was more surprised over the fact that I knew the technical name for the phenomena at such a young age.
"It's the aurora borealis, daddy," I said nonchalantly.
Such a bratty kid.

(I'd also like to take this time to note that, in an attempt to stay consistent with my monthly blogging, this entry was done on my lunch break while I was on the toilet.

DETERMINATION.)

matrilocality

"What is the first thing you see when you walk in your house?"

The cushions on the couch in the living room are a playful tangerine color and my eyes usually dart to them first.
If not that, then I read whatever message my roommate left for me on the dry erase board near the kitchen. She and I come across times where our work schedules differ greatly and one of the many ways we keep in touch is by the little metal square hanging by a nail on the wall. Sometimes she'll draw a picture or I'll playfully make fun of her, but it's all in the name of companionship.

(also, I'm deathly tired as of late due to an extended work week. I am looking forward to having time off to sleep, visit friends, and more boyfriend time.)

coact

"How do you feel when you return home at the end of the day?"

I think, more than anything, I'm just glad I made it through another day. There's a bit of sadness, knowing that I have to wake up in the morning and head right back to work, but I try to stay in that moment of bliss that usually begins right as I take those first few steps from my workplace.
I actually think I walk differently when I'm going to work and when I'm leaving work.

(That's a lie; I run as I'm leaving work. Run to my car and just speed off into the night.)

francium

And just like that, I'm already behind on writing an entry a day for a month.
But, in my defense, it's a holiday weekend and I've been spending quality time with boyfriend (i.e. sprawled in bed, reluctant to move).
In any case, the prompt:
"What was your favorite part about returning to school?"
--Mainly using all the new school supplies my parents bought me for the year. New pens and pencils, reams of wide-ruled paper, and a binder with dividers to keep the subjects separated.
I think one of my favorite memories of school was third grade. I'd just moved to Virginia and had been out of school for some time after my family and I drove down from Alaska. All I remember was this mixture of anxiety and excitement because, for me, it was a new place and a new school filled with new kids to make friends with.
To this day, I still get that feeling with each new location I visit. It's almost like an opportunity to be a new person, not that it's my goal to do so each time or anything (hello, disassociate identity disorder). But I certainly think that a person's persona adapts to their social surroundings.
As a kid, I grew up the class clown and was often the rascal that the teacher had to put a little extra effort into. Junior high, I mellowed out a bit but still had that silly streak in me that a few of my teachers noticed and enjoyed.
High school is where the classroom goofiness ended and my family of friends began to solidify.
Since I went to a community college, there wasn't too much of a change; most of the people attending were the same faces I'd seen months ago, excited for high school graduation.
Through it all, my love for fresh writing utensils and paper spilled over into the whole 'office supply' territory and now Staples is one of my favorite stores to frequent.

Unrelated: what's the significance of people putting hashtags everywhere? I have a hunch that it's Twitter related (which I don't use) so forgive me if I sound ignorant, but... I dunno... it looks silly to me.

megasporophyll

Stumbled across a site that I found through a friend and I think it'd be good practice for me in preparation for National Novel Writing Month.
All I have to do is blog every day.
There are prompts that I may utilize in these next 29 days but I mostly just want to try and write everyday, something I haven't done in ages.
Lately, the boyfriend has introduced me to the show 'Doctor Who' and I'm enjoying it so far. I'm drawn in by the imagination and mythology behind it all. All of these alien races and distant planets have their own little history. So much characterization. It inspires me a little.
In fact, the other day, boyfriend brought up the topic of what role I'd play in a zombie apocalypse situation and I replied with "awkward comic relief who makes a last stand sacrifice so the others could survive," but it made me think of last year's NaNoWriMo project involving zombies and a character based off of myself (who, as it stands now, is still lounging in an abandoned McDonald's, waiting for his story to get back on its feet).
But the more we talked about it and who boyfriend would be, it helped me flesh out a potentially new character (aka hijack ideas from him).
It's just this feeling of opening that file again and knowing that I've got all that blank page to fill and, for some reason, dreading it.

I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer. I'm a writer.


Dammit.