2007

QotD: Recess!

What was your favorite game to play at recess in grade school? 
Submitted by Elisheva Chana.

Ahh, recess.  That special time of day when, right after lunch, we were encouraged to go run around like maniacs.  I swear it's a miracle in and of itself that no one ever got sick, but I digress.

Back in the day, we played a game called Release.  I suppose it's just like Tag.  One person is "it" and tries to go around tagging people.  If you got tagged, you went to the "jail", which was a huge tree.  I honestly don't remember how you got to be "not it" anymore, but if someone who wasn't "it" got to the tree without getting tagged, he or she would scream "RELEASE!" at the top of his/her lungs and everyone in jail got to go run around some more.

At this moment, I stand about five foot one and weigh in at about 125 or so.  Then, I'm sure I was no more than four foot seven and nowhere near 100 pounds.  I was small for my age, but boy was I quick.  One particular afternoon during a rousing game of Release, I was running for the jail to release my buddies.  I suppose that I turned my head for a second to see if anyone was on my tail.  That split second caused me over a week of pain.  As I turned to look forward, directly in front of me, also not looking and running hard, was Christine Patterson.  Where I was small for my age, Christine was equally as tall for her age.  This is fifth grade I'm talking about here and the girl was already pushing 6 feet.  There wasn't enough time for either of us to stop or change direction and he result was a head-on collision.

Christine got off easy with the knee of her jeans ripped.  I, on the other hand, ended up with a bruised kneecap.  Don't think for a moment that a child doesn't know the meaning of excruciating pain, because I did.  For the rest of that day (and that week), I walked around with one leg straight because it hurt so bad to bend it.  The one time it was FORCED to bend was the day it happened on the bus ride home.  Our principal got on every bus to make sure everyone was okay.  My seatmate didn't understand what happened and thought I was just being a baby and took it upon herself to force my leg into a bent position.  I'm pretty sure I almost passed out.  I made it home though, and good ole Gram fixed it up for me.

Endnote:  No Release! for me for a little while after the incident.

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QotD: Ghost Writer

If you could write like one fiction author, who would it be?
Submitted by Marilyn.

Without doubt, I would love to write like Stephen King.  He has so many of the skills that I want to develop.

  • Longevity – I've been reading his work for approximately the last 20 years and I can't ever wait for the next book to come out.  At least 75% of his books are in my collection as hard cover.
  • Captivity – I'm sure that isn't the word I want, but I just can't think of it off the top of my head.  What I mean is that he has a way of capturing his audience and making them lose hours and days lost in one of his books.
  • Detail – His writing style is such that I create a mental picture of each character and that character lives not only in his books, but in my mind. (Although it sucks when he makes a movie of a book and it's NEVER the actor I envision it to be.)
  • Passion – There is no question that the man loves what he does.  Sure it pays the bills, but you can just tell that he enjoys writing for mehis readers.  I hope that the day he loses that love, he stops writing so not to taint my vision.  (Could've done without The Tommyknockers though.)

Mr. King, I salute you.  You inspire me, you entertain me, you've ruined my mind or so my mother says.

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You're pretty…

…for a black girl.

Someone actually said that to me once.  It was many years ago, and while it stung a little then, if someone said that to me today, chances are great that I would punch said someone square in the mouth.

Who are you to judge what's pretty and why would the standards be different for different races?

Today, I've come to the conclusion that I don't care.  America, your standards of beauty are no longer important to me.  Fuck you.  I'm pretty whether it's to me, my boyfriend, some random construction worker, or you America, with your stuck up ideals and your fucked up morals.  I'm not just pretty, I AM BEAUTIFUL! 

My life is full.  Full of family, full of love, full of work (unfortunately), and full of school.  I am proud of who I am and who I will be.  I am me, dammit, and that's good enough.  There is no longer a single person out there that can tell me otherwise because, while I was lost for a while, I just found myself this morning while walking outside and you know what?  I LOVE ME!

I love all my 5 foot one inches.  I love all 128 of my muscular pounds.  I love my nappy-ass hair and my not-so-ghetto booty.  You won't see me on the cover of some magazine or parading down some runway, and you sure as hell won't see me starving myself because I think (or society has made me believe) that I'm fat. 

I will no longer obsess about stupid crap.  My hair is long enough and it grows more every day.  My boobs are the right size for my body.  That little bit of fat on my thighs or on my belly is no big deal, after all, I'm not 18 anymore.  It's okay to do things for myself and not feel guilty about it.  I am allowed to enjoy life!

I don't know what exactly brought this on, but whatever it was, I'm happy that it happened.  I honestly feel as though a huge weight was lifted off of me the moment I realized these things.  Now I can look around and see that I had everything I needed all along.  Now I can look around and not see that girl that has nicer hair or the girl that's thinner or taller or richer or anything-er.  They're all just regular people with regular problems, probably problems worse than mine.  I am rich in life and rich in love and I need nothing more.

Excuse me while I go live.

 

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QotD: I'm Good.

What are five things you're good at?
Submitted by HapaLove.


 

Hmmm, five things?  Okay, I'll give that a shot.

  1. I am a damn good bartender.  Nowhere am I more at home than behind a bar that's 3 deep.  Behind that bar, I am the queen.  I am in control.  I don't bother with flair.  It's just a time-waster.  I do bother with quality drinks where you never taste the alcohol and you're wrecked before you ever even knew you started.  Recipe for my personal favorite drink here: http://www.webtender.com/db/drink/4346
  2. I am a trapecista.  I'm not the best, but you didn't ask for five things I was the best at.  Carnies have small hands.  Sometimes it's flying, sometimes it's static, it's always fun.  Now give me $1500 so I can have one placed in my back yard.  Proof of my skill here: http://miamishyner.tripod.com/circus.htm
  3. I am a great sponge.  And no, I don't mean sponge as in mooch.  I retain knowledge (on topics of interest) like American Idol retains viewers.  I don't understand why either of them occurs, they just do.
  4. I am pretty good on stage.  (Also reference number one.)  Four years of spending time on some sort of stage at least 4 times a week gave me the confidence to get up there and go crazy.  Little hint:  It doesn't always matter if you're good.  If you have the stones to be up there and you look like you're having fun, people will pay more attention to the fact that you're having a blast than the fact that you might have missed a step.
  5. Last, but certainly not least.  I'm a good mom.  I don't think that really needs an explanation.

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