Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: Never Been Told

Chatting with an acquaintance on the subway this morning, she and I are politely, but nonetheless giggling at shared memories and the fact that I have clearly caught the eye of the male sitting across from me. I’m wearing mirrored sunglasses and one of the things I love most about them is that while my head can be facing you, you have no way of knowing with certainty if I am in fact looking at you. It comes in handy for ignoring the guy who is using every non-verbal attempt short of semaphores to subtly garner.

Knowing he’s being ignored, I give him moxie points for getting out of his seat to stand directly in front and say “Hello.” My acquaintance grins broadly as even I cannot ignore what’s less than three feet in front of me. Thus I look up and return the greeting.

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re very beautiful?” He smiles almost bashfully, and damn it all to hell, the Grand Canyon of dimples craters his cheeks. Because who adores cute guys with deep dimples?-This gal.

“Why thank you.” I smile beguilingly in return. “But honestly, look at me. Do you really think I’ve never been told that before?”

To his credit he grins undeterred and the canyon gets deeper. He fixes me with a brown doe-eyed stare as he gathers the gumption to continue. “Fair enough” He nods sheepishly at last, “I’m almost to my stop, I’d still like to ask you out to dinner.”

“You can ask, but the answer will be no.”

I know age is just a number and all that hoo-hah, but the thought of this going down the presumed natural procession and my one-day having to introduce him to the Baal and Beelzebub tag-team duo known as my sons gives me just pause. It takes everything I have to not guffaw in his earnest face at the thought of the scenario of my grown sons giving me the side-eye for dating someone likely ten years their junior. The train pulls into the next station and I can tell by his rueful expression, this is his stop. He starts to speak, but I quickly cut him off.

“Look, I’ve got acne scars from my teens older than you.  Thank you, really, but no. You better hurry before you miss your stop.” I say dismissively. Peripherally I can see my acquaintance’s jaw come slightly unhinged at my words. I ignore her, fixing the would-be Lothario with a pointed stare that I know he can glean, even with my sunglasses on. He nods once, turns and exits the train. I exhale not even realizing I had held my breath until it came rushing out of me.

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re a bitch?” She shakes her head at me laughing, watching as the doors close quickly behind him.

“Why thank you.” I smile. “But honestly, look at me. Do you really think I’ve never been told that before?”

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: Song and Dance

A friend posted the following image from Telly Leung’s Facebook page:

I think the world would be so much happier if everyone broke out in song and dance every once in a while

Click for full-size image.

Sorta sequitur: If you see the name Telly Leung in any play or musical, just buy the damn ticket and go. He is a phenomenal performer and once you see him in action, you do not forget him.

Now for those of you who may not recognize the photograph, is from the 1978 movie musical Grease. It is the film adaptation of the  Broadway musical of the same name.  Specifically it is a still from the last scene and musical number “We Go Together”.  Whether you’ve seen the movie or show, and love it as I do, I know you’re already singing it in your head, but I digress…

My initial comment to her post was “This should be a lawful requirement. At least once a quarter, mandatory. Don’t know how one would regulate it, but this should happen. lol”

A cutesy enough response, I thought nothing of it as I went back to to what I was doing. However, the idea of actually regulating such a thing must have continued to run in the back of my mind because about fifteen minutes later a scenario popped into my head and would not let go. Of course I had to share it with K, my friend who posted the pick. The scenario (with spelling and grammar corrected) went like this:

Note: “K” of course is my beautiful friend. Official Looking Gentlemen (OLG) in my crazy mind looks and sounds a lot like Agent Smith from the Matrix trilogy.

K answers a knock at her front door.
Official Looking Gentlemen: Ms. S., we are from the DOE-PHD, Department of Entertainment – Personal Health Division.

K: Yes?

OLG: According to our records you have not broken into spontaneous song and dance within the past six months thereby breaking Ordinance No. 68251.3 Section 2LEFTFEET.

K: Right now? But, but I’m just so busy!

OLG: Ma’am if you do not break into a rousing rendition of “Cabaret” we will have to immediately detain you with others who have failed to comply. You will not be allowed to return to your home until enough people are gathered to recreate either the “We Go Together” scene from “Grease” or “America” from “West Side Story”

K: Oh no!

OLG: Oh yes! Lyrics and dance moves will be provided if necessary. I should advise you that either number requires a minimum of ten attendees for your PHD fulfillment to be deemed complete. I currently only have three others, thus this may take a while.

K: What should I do?

OLG: I highly suggest that you drop everything and give me Liza in 5…4…3…

K (grabs convenient bowler hat and cane located right next to the front door): 🎵 What good is sitting alone in your room?
Come hear the music play.
Life is a Cabaret, old chum,
Come to the Cabaret! 🎶

PS -1: I know this would NEVER happen to either one of us K. We break into unprompted song and dance now as it is.

PS-2: Man, I crack myself up sometimes!

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Yes, I have issues – as if you didn’t already know that.  Now excuse me, while  belt out a few-flat- bars of my current earworm “Diamonds Are Forever”, soon to be the chagrin of my co-workers.

No Arguments Here

This morning I’m standing in line at one of my usual breakfast places. That there is a long line, long by my standards as a regular, tells me someone came in with a large order that is slowing down the usually quick and efficient process of the line cooks. It happens sometimes, you deal with it or you walk away. I was contemplating between the two options when one of the line cooks spies me at the back of the line and smiles. He holds up one finger, then two fingers, his head cocked to the side in an unspoken query. I smile back, wave and then nod, holding up one finger. In this particular restaurant they have two things I like to order for breakfast. Isidori, the second line cook, is silently asking if I want my breakfast sandwich (#1) or my omelette platter (#2). Thus, I just as silently respond yes, I would like the sandwich. He smiles and indicates with his head to go ahead to the cashier.

Ah, the sweet perks of being an engaging regular! I am spoiled sometimes.

I blow a kiss to him in gratitude and go to pay for my meal. I stand adjacent to a woman who is ticking off the various items ordered to Cristina, the cashier, making sure they have everything. Now I know who had the big order. Cristina asks about the size of a coffee ordered and the woman calls out to someone on different line.

“Margie! What size you want your hazelnut coffee again?”

Now, saying she was loud, really does not do it justice. Seriously, I felt my ears pop as though I were in a rapidly moving elevator. At least six different people in my line of vision reacted to the decibel level of her voice by turning their collective heads either towards or away from her and vocalizing some form of exclamation and/or expletive, including my leaning away from her with “Well damn!”

As the nearest person to her, I received the venom of her stare.

“Please! I weren’t that loud.”

I mentally bit my lip resisting the urge to inform her folks on the other side of the International Date Line, where it is the middle of the night, are likely waking up wondering why they are thinking about hazelnut coffee. Luckily, she was spared my snark when her friend came over and settled it.

“Yeah, you were. What the hell wrong with you screaming like that?”

She glances around at various raised eyebrow/“you crazy”/WTF reactions to her. You can all, but hear the “Whatever!” going through her mind.

“Raivenne, here’s your breakfast honey.” Isidori and Cristina in their usual efficiency already have my food cooked, coffee poured and items bagged.

“Thanks Cristina, here you go.” In my usual efficiency have my credit and restaurant discount card at the ready as I walk around the two women and pay for my breakfast.

“Have a nice day,” Cristina hands me my cards and my bagged order. “See you tomorrow?”

“Thanks, maybe. Enjoy your day.” I take my items and start turning to leave.

“Wait, I was in front of her, how she go first?” Ms. Decibel wants to know. At least her voice has returned to a volume more acceptable for human conversation.

Cristina looks at her in confusion, clearly not understanding her question.

“Because she’s Raivenne…” she states as though it should be obvious.

I smirk and walk away, who am I to argue with such infallible logic?

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It’s Tuesday – come see how others are slicing it up today at Two Writing Teachers:

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Slice of Life Story Challenge – Two Writing Teachers

Verbal Diarrhea Diares: On Bended Knee

I’m in Starbucks waiting in line to order a chai latte. I happen to be standing by the fridge unit where the yogurt parfaits, salads, sandwiches et cetra are kept. The line, as usual, is long and formed a curve around.  A guy opposite me on the curve politely says excuse me and ask to look at the items in the fridge.  I’m in line, but I manage to step back a smidgen to give him a better view. When he leans over to visually scan the items and reaches out for something, the back of his hand accidentally brushing against my thigh lightly. He snatches his hand back apologizing profusely.  It’s a small space between me, the person in line in front of me and he in between us, shit happens, I wave him off ignoring him.

Not surprisingly , there’s some sort of traffic jam at the cash registesr and the line doesn’t move for a good two minutes and “shit happens” again.  He is on one knee as he picks up items and puts them back “deciding”.  This is clearly not an accident.  His friend who is still in queue at their original spot, looks at the idiot clearly surprised by his behavior. He glances at me, who is clearly about to catch a case on this mofo, and suddenly becomes interested in a spot on a wall far, far away.  So it’s like that huh? No problem.

I look down at Tweedledumb “Honey, I know I smell good down there, but from that position you either need to get up out of my way, ask for my hand in marriage or commence cunnilingus immediately, your choice.”

He turns beet red, knocking over a basket with various coffees for sale in his haste to stand, much to the amusement of those who heard me, especially his friend who called him an ass and laughed in his face.

“You sure you don’t want to take me up on the last offer?”  I ask as the line finally moves, sparking more snickering.  He quickly shakes his head in the negative and finds that same far off spot his friend found earlier.  Yes, I’m evil.

I place my order and the idiot and his friend wind up waiting together with others for our respective purchases.  I have my earbuds on, but the music is playing low so I can hear when they call my name. I can also hear Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber speaking low off to the side.  Apparently the hand brushes against me were accidental, but he wasn’t going to apologize again until he had stood up.  And while I was being facetious when I said it to him, apparently I really did smell good to him while he was down there. He was trying to decide if it was me or the fruit in the fridge that he smelled when I busted him.

I did not hear the result of his ‘analysis’ as my name was called then, but me being me I just had to have one last word. Chai in hand I whispered as I passed him.

“Your loss, I taste *divine*!”

Repeat: Yes, I’m evil.

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Slice of Life Writing Challenge

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: I’ll Be Damned

.
So, a guy emails me through an online dating site:

“I am going to assume that my profile is too casual/risqué for you, but I thought I’d shoot you a line anyway. (You have a fetching smile.)”

Of course I check out his profile. He states he wants a FWB, not looking for serious dating and is desirous of a woman with intelligence.

Got it – he wants a fuck, just not a dumb one.

My response?

“Hello,

My dentist and I thank you.

“Check you out!” as the kids say, throwing down the gauntlet on the opening play.

If I respond in the negative I come off as looking prudish, yet a positive one is indicative that I am open to only being someone ‘beneficial’. If I am open to such with you, who else have I been beneficial to? Providing I am someone simpatico to your intelligence and views to be worthy of said fornication.

Damned if I do and damned if I do. Fiddley-dee, whatever is a woman to do?

Oh, I can pick up that gauntlet and cyber strike you across the face with it. (Insert emoticon with tongue sticking out here.) [<– Yes, I actually wrote it out as such.]

Ya gonna take that?

Rai”

This is not to say I would or would not go for a roll –or a few- in the hay with him. He is attractive and arrogant and just the sort of ego balloon I like to stick my pins in and pop.

Regardless, one has to prove worthiness of my wrapping these thick juicy thighs around, and that ain’t the way, Bub.

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: Tinkering Around

Some of my holiday cards arrived at my job. The glitter from one card fell out of the envelope and dead into my lap, highlighting an area that really does not need attention called to it, especially while I’m at work. When one my of co-workers jokingly asked what happened it went like this:

Me (looking down seeing the extent of mess for the first time): Well, you know how with fairies their kisses always leave a trail of sparkles?

Him (cautiously, knowing it’s going to be bad): Yeah…?

Me: Well, Tinker Bell was attempting cunnilingus again as I was getting dressed. The little bitch is sooo good, but won’t take no for answer when I have to go to work.

Him (laughing): What?

Me: I look like I’ve been vajazzled under these pants.

Him (groaning): Dammit, I had to ask.

Me: That’s what you get for looking at my crotch.

Friday 55: I Know

3am wake-up to catch a 5am flight. Don’t want to wake him yet, so I trod to the bathroom in the dark.
The splash of cold water on my cheeks is bracing and I cuss waking him anyway.

“Crap! I know, sorry!” He yells.
“What do you know?”
“I left the toilet seat up again.”

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Just having a little fun with today’s Friday Flash 55

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: Halo? Hell No!

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries (a.k.a. the shit that comes out of my mouth):

Lyn:  Well, I already knew you’re beautiful inside and out, but this makes you positively angelic. Now stop sticking out your tongue and continue to straighten out your halo.

Me:  Straighten out my halo? Are you kidding? That thing needs a forge, an anvil and one hell of a beat down to get in any kind of usable shape.

It’s A Thin Line…

Got on the train in the midst of a married couple having a major lovers’ spat on the subway. Nasty hygiene, who slept with whom, the whole laundry basket. Everyone around them were interested in their books/tablets/music etc. The desperate were highly engrossed in the subway advertisements farthest down the car.

I could hear them through my ear buds. And yes the iPod was up as loud as I dared after the crap I overheard the other day (my Facebook friends know about it, I’ll spare the rest of you).  Still, after a solid 1/2 hour I could not take it any more and screamed at them. “For Christ’s sake, if you can’t get along together at home, stay the hell apart when you’re away from it! You are our *elders*! The ones who are supposed to be our examples of love in longevity and longevity in love.  You wonder why we young ones don’t know how to be together? Who the hell are we to learn from when you behave like this?! “

Now mind you, who is a couple of weeks shy being 50? This gal. We young ones? HAH! Boy, was I on mini rant.

They, and several commuters; turned to me stunned. I actually, I was pretty surprised at myself. I sat there fully prepared to be cussed out and put in my place for getting in grown folks business. Because yes, Ma Pot and Pa Kettle Black were well into their 70s.

Surprisingly, after apologizing to everyone within earshot, they did not say another word for about 15 minutes until they disembarked. Then they were all ‘Honey’, ‘Sweetness’, lovey-freaking-dovey. The crazy part is it was clearly as genuine as the arguing earlier.

No matter the age, it’s a thin line indeed…

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Slice of Life Writing Challenge

That Which Is Called…

What’s in a name? Shakespeare asks.

Clearly he was never subjected to the abject cruelty of schoolyard children to the poor child whose mama got a little thoughtless in the naming department. I’m also guessing one simply did not use a diminutive in those days. At least not one associated with male anatomy, right William?

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Another go at Flash Fiction, also called sudden fiction, micro fiction or nanofiction via Friday 55.
Write a story in exactly 55 words, then tell the G-Man!