Ode To JIROBBI
H8N S8N
the self-esteem movement of the early 90's; the paralyzing touchy-feely
don't-let-your-kids-deal-with-reality method of dealing with life that
is rampant in our public schools and the endless parade of rules and
regulations designed to protect but only stifle - our children are
living the life of Bubble Boy.
Back in my day, we didn't worry about self-esteem or agonize over
feelings. We didn't care about elbow pads and cooperative games where
everyone was a winner.
We played musical chairs at birthday parties and laughed and pointed at
the kids left standing. We played dodgeball without sissy rules and our
gym teachers coached us to hit the other players where it hurt the
most. We used the stones from hopscotch games to beat the winner
senseless. Ok, no. But sometimes we would draw on her stupid pink,
frilly shirt with yellow chalk. It made her sneeze. And she would tell
on us and our mothers would say "Oh, stop complaining, Lori. It's just
freaking chalk." Can you imagine this happening today? I'd be sued by
Lori's mother for the emotional damage I caused her child and my
Saturday mornings would be spent in an overstuffed chair in some dark
of office of the state-appointed psychiatrist who would ask me how I
feel about being so evil.
Not back in my day. There were two boys in my neighborhood who used to
throw bricks at me on my way home from school. Bricks. When the
principal found out that the same boys were throwing rocks at me on the
playground, he took action. The boys got the shit beat out of them by
their fathers and no one - not one person - blamed me for being bullied
or looked for root causes as to why those children behaved like
monsters. They just got detention and sore asses.
I laugh and laugh at extreme sports shows today. Extreme? How can
anything be extreme if you're wearing fifteen layers of protective gear
while you're doing it? You want extreme? Try powering a rickety,
unstable bicycle going about 50 miles per hour - with your sister
riding on the handelbars - down the steepest man made slope on Long
Island, a slope which ended at a wall of pure concrete into which you
would smash and die if you didn't apply the brakes with just the right
amount of pressure at the right time. No helmets. No knee pads or elbow
pads. We didn't even carry Band-Aids with us. That's extreme.
We played soccer without headgear. The boys played baseball without
cups. We rode in the backs of station wagons, not wearing set belts and
hanging out the window to wave to strangers. We walked to the candy
store by ourselves. We rode our bikes after dark. We called each other
horrible names and sometimes we had fistfights right on my front lawn
and my mother would tell us to shut up because the noise was drowning
out Dark Shadows. And when we got up from the fistfight all bloodied
and scraped, mom would tell us to stop our crying, slap some Bactine on
us and shoo us outside again.
Oh yea, you saw this coming. In my day we walked to school. Our
district was on an austerity budget for years. Walked in the rain, the
snow, the sleet and hail. Our parents never drove us because our
fathers were at work and our mothers were busy preparing for the fondue
themed dinner party they were throwing that evening. So we walked to
school and when we got there we learned about history without the P.C.
agenda that you get today. And we read books in English that would make
P.C. people shriek in horror. We sang Christmas and Hannakuh songs in
the winter concert and nobody batted an eyelash.
Self-esteem? We didn't exist to build up each other's egos. We were
supposed to knock them down. Life was all about rivalries and
competition. If a teacher back then ever told us how wonderful and
beautiful and special we all were, we would have reported her to the
authorities on suspicion of being a pot smoking hippie.
You know when the world went to hell? When Coca Cola decided to teach
the world to sing. The second that commercial came out, a death knell
sounded across the playgrounds and schoolyards of America. Parents
everywhere, suckered in by the feel-good lyrics and hand-holding
sappiness of the commercial felt an awakening of sorts. All those who
missed the hippie train of the 60's were going to jump on the Free to
be You and Me train of the 70's, and ride it hard.
Back in my day, kids weren't sheltered. We were fed the day's news raw
and uncensored. Our parents took us to see gory, bloody horror movies.
We were read fairy tales, grim and perverse and wicked as they were,
without remanufactured endings where everyone is beautiful and everyone
smiles.
We had real playgrounds with merry-go-rounds and metal slides and
wooden see saws, all placed on concrete. None of this plastic
adventure-in-learning crap sitting on a gentle bed of soft wood chips.
We had broken noses and we had scabs covering half our bodies. The
school nurse would wipe up our blood, swab us in Bactine (the panacea
of our time) and send us back outside for more. Today's kids get a
piece of wood chip dust in their eye and they're carried to the nurse's
office on a stretcher where they're handed ten different accident and
liability forms to give their parents and forced to sit through a video
taped lecture on playground safety, presented by a singing, dancing,
man in an elephant costume.
We learned about life with all its cuts and bruises and hurt feelings.
We worked hard around the house and yard and built up a work ethic. We
earned our allowance and walked half a mile to the candy store where we
spent it all on sugary, fattening candy and rolls of caps for our cap
guns. We would point our guns at each other and say things like bang,
bang, you're dead.
Who knew that a generation later, that phrase would probably get you
sent to the principal's office and an appointment with the school
psychiatrist?
Sure, I lived in dangerous times. Maybe somewhere in 60's or 70's
America there were babies flying out of cars or kids smashing into
concrete walls and maybe death came calling to some in the form of an
errant merry-go-round or a lethal dose of Red Dye #2. But most of us
made it. And most of us made it without the lingering head wound side
effects.
A little head wound builds character, you know.
I will post more soon
H8N S8N
Judee77
popcorn, cheddar cheese kind please. A coin for Steph and now we have
to wait for intermission....
Speaking of, remember when we'd go to movies and they'd actually have
ushers? And throw assholes out who thought it was cool to laugh louder
than anyone else? Or fight with their boyfriend, girlfriend, use the
cell phone, or heck, fight with themselves.
"As God as my witness, I'll never be hungry again..." fade out to an
intermission.
Fricken intermission! Well, guess they've come full circle as I wait
to see where H8H S8N is going to take me. But I'm warning you. It
better be good or I'm going to hunt you down and shoot you like the dog
you are. :)
<munch munch munch>
H8N S8N
Itz my Ode To JIROBBI
Mostly in circles, where we go back and forth to
the Big-Inning, to run around in circles, to get to the end,
where we take a side bar, and get back in the circle again, so
we can get to the tail of the never ending story, where we pick up
the single orr for the canoe that we will paddle in circles back to the
start of the tail,and follow it to part #2 I wll post sooner or later
H8N S8N
rpbc
ahead of a train. Stealing, then dropping a bottle each of acetylene and
oxygen with valves wide open down a mineshaft in the Nevada dessert and
setting it off by remote control just to see the earth belch fire and
debris. Riding down the highway and stopping to ride a cow or two in the
open field.. and, of course, teasing the bull. And the rock fights that
occasionally broke out in fun, and climbing trees to impossible heights on
ridiculous branches. Then the car races on two lane highways, testing
one's passing skills against time and distance... making three lanes out
of two when the situation proved too close. Hell, that is the way I grew
up.
It's amazing what you learn if you survive the leasons. Anything for
excitement... lots of things wrong, but not to be mean.
Reminds me of a Commander Cody song.... Judge threw him in jail for having
too much fun.. and he said, Judge, I've done a lot of things but I ain't
never had too much fun.
H8N S8N
rpbc wrote:
M-80s running the trestle ahead of a train.
and climbing trees to impossible heights on ridiculous branches.
excitement... lots of things wrong, but not to be mean.
We would jump the train at a curve, where they could not see us.
Then ride it down to the trestle, and jump ! What a rush to stand
inches away from a fast train. Our rock fights were against the train !
BOMB THE TRAIN ! One block from my house was,
are you sitting down ? A haunted house ! Yea, thats what I said !
First time we were brave enough to go in, we ran right into ......
A BLACK CAT ! One time we placed a fake emergency call to
the police, we thought there was a murder in the local graveyard.
They keep it padlocked at night. We waited in the bushes, while the
police went inside. WE SWITCHED THE LOCK ! We laughed so
hard, it was just like acid ! I remember the challenge of finding ever
taller trees, so we could climb higher ! Jumping the train is not so
bad, but you just gotta jump off.
I had no intention of including this. However. The lady who lived
next door would make cookie-cutter sugar cookies, almost on a
commerical scale. She would have us over to decorate them. It
was a very big job. When we were done, WE WENT CAROLING !
We would go around the 'hood till we got tired. When I was in 6th
grade, it snowed Christmas morning. I walked to school in -18
below ZERO ! Thirty-six below wind-chill ! This was not mentto be
a serious post, butch yew never know where they will go.
H8N S8N
H8N S8N
we would ride motorcycles on very rural country roads.
no police, or anybody else, anywhere. One of my best
friends mother had a brand new Maveric. Before she
would go out with her boyfriend, we would take the
keys out of her purse. When she left, WE HAD a CAR !
I was 15, my friend was 14 ! I would drive outt town,
then Kyle took over. We got back to town, I drove, I had a permit !
(lol)
I could not count how many times we took the car out !
We just had to be back before her, so we could open the door.
H8N S8N
JIROBBI
I love it, I love all of it.
Shortest post I have ever made.
JiRobbi
rpbc
dragging them up.
Oh ya, a train passing inches by at eighty miles an hour is sheer,
delightful terror. I was an army brat so we lived in different areas of
the US and the world. Lot of fun out there for a kid with all kinds of
energy and a taste for adventure. I remember renting horses on Ft.
Huachuca, Arizona at fifteen years old for a whole weekend at the cost of
fifteen dollars, and a familiar face around the stables. Used to head out
across the SouthEastern Arizona dessert of Chochise county like cowboys in
a movie. You'd take a .22, water, matches, a bedroll, and have a ball.
No adults, just us kids. What a way to grow up. It's almost like it was
someone else's life now.
rpbc
you can take a car if your only concern is keeping moving. I never did
motocycles, friends did. Crazy sons of bitchs. :)
pinkie
Another old scabby kid. I have battle scars as well - a dozen blue
dots on my knee from skidding on asphalt after falling off my wooden
crate orange scooter on a 2 x 4 with old roller skate wheels when it
hit a big crack in the road.
A brownish oval on both knees from two whopping scrapes I got going
head over heels off the slide on the decomposed granite playground.
Why? 'Cause I took off my shoes and slid down in my socks....dumb!
Took the hide off to the bone. Aw...my little 65 year old battle
scars......funny memories -doctored with mercurochrome and a couple of
Bandaids....no Cortaid or Lanacane in them thar days.
H8N S8N
Well,... Thats if any at afgs remembers
Dark Shadows ? (not the board game)
H8N S8N
Judee77
Bet you weren't ever Santa Ana's horse. And no, I don't mean the wind,
Mirria. I mean General Santa Ana of the Alamo's horse. Kingston Trio
sang about him. So, why shouldn't I have been his horse?
I'm also guessing you boys never stole a stick horse either. Had it
been a century earlier, they'd have strung me up for sure. (And I
wouldn't have struggled a bit).
I became a criminal in the wee hours of the morn. Dawn hadn't even
yawned before I'd slipped out of my bed, threw on some clothes, and
darted out the back door. I had less than fifteen minutes to commit my
crime. Fifteen before my parents checked on me.
So quicker than the snap of a whip, I pumped my skinny little legs, the
echoes bouncing off the now waking birds and sun opening its eyes to
watch what was afoot. Twas I, only I. With lust in my eight-year-old
heart.
Not but a few more minutes to my best friend's house. I skidded to a
stop and peeked through the bushes as my gaze honed in on object of my
desire. I sighed down into my toes and felt them curl. There it was.
Tied to the tree like my fool friend left it the day before.
The most beautiful black and white stick horse you ever saw. The stick
was moist with dew, but it was the mane, the white mop mane hanging
like angel hair over the black Arab-shaped head that drew me. My wee
fingers snapped back and forth as I hastend through the jungle of a
yard. Ten yards, eight. My breathing took on a pant. Four yards,
two.
Arms reached forward...and sheer joy stunned me into Neverland at the
feel of that misty mane. Suddenly, a door opened and I slipped behind
the tree, whispering to the steed who now understood something was
amiss. My friend's Dad walked to the driveway and grabbed the paper,
itching his crotch as he stood. "Go, go," I thought as the dumb-dumb
stood there reading the headlines. The clock was ticking and I had
just minutes to get back home.
Yes! Finally. Again, just me, my horse and silence. I untied the
steed, swung a leg over the stick, and away we went, galloping back
through the jungle and as one, raced down the street, the sun now
lighting the way. We made it home in record-breaking time where I
slipped back into the house and tucked Sir Stick way in the back of my
closet.
As I climbed back into bed fully dressed, my heart beat wildly with
joy. I'd done it! Stolen my best friend's horse without an ounce of
guilt. Had she not be so stupid as to leave it tied to a tree, well,
then she'd just have her horse. But no. She didn't care enough.
And now she didn't have it. Nope, now Sir Stick was all mine.
<munch munch munch>
Memories, on the corners of my mind. (Or whatever it is Barb sings).
Top that, boys.
H8N S8N
They were doing a remodel, no one was around. I knew
what I wanted. I barely closed my apartment door so
when I came back, I could just puuuush the door open.
Yea, I can relate to the fast beating heart. Oh, and by the way,
it was about a quarter mile I had to run, trying to manage this
piece on my back. I know how you felt about Sir Stick.
If somebody else posts, if you guys are good.....
Maybe, I said Maybe, I might tell you about the
time I stole a 50 to 70 year old Triple Beam.
I was the envy of everyone I was around.
Judee77: (munch,munch,munch)
19 does not equal 8. you were 11 years ahead on me <3 !
H8n S8N
MT_Hastings
I am a writer. Been published in both ezines and print magazines under
a couple different nom de plumes. (Nothing big, mind you, but I'm
trying!) Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that this little story
you've just posted, if you did indeed write it, is an awesome little
flash piece. With a dash of editing, it's quite publishable in my
opinion. I almost said flash 'fiction', but it's not fiction, is it? No
matter, I'd send it in somewhere if I were you. You're a pretty good
writer. Even your opening sentence is totally badass:
---I became a criminal in the wee hours of the morning.---
Fiction writers, even the best of them, often struggle to come up with
the most intrigueing opening sentence possible for their stories. Got
to hook the reader fast, you know? And in all honesty--this is no smoke
up the ass---I've seldom seen a better opening line than that, and I've
damn sure never written a better one myself.
Bottom line: if you haven't considered it before, perhaps you SHOULD
consider taking up the writing quill in the future. I believe you're a
natural.
MT
JIROBBI
I believe that you win the prize for best short story.
My eyes fixed on the screen and the excitement was building in me as the
crime was revealed.
What a story. I never had a friend that had such a stick horse. I would
have attempted a crime such as this also.
I like this ode to JiRobbi.
JiRobbi
H8N S8N
I remember the 22's, 410, then one day I pulled the trigger on
a 12 gauge. Whoa ! Yikes ! With the 22's, I'm sure it was
the same with you, we NEVER thought about using it to
shoot somebody ? That thought was about as foreign as
trying to explain Jesus on the cross to your dog ! For a while,
when I was21, I had a Colt 38 Detective Special. After about
3 months, I got rid of it. It is just toooo easy to pull that trigger !
(for a 21 year old) the 2 motorcycles we had access to
(pre-licence age) was a 125 Kawasaki, and a 650 BSA !
H8S S8N
believerforsure
opened the garage door. It was a fairly easy task to push dad's 1965
custom ford out the door and down the driveway where I would then start
the beast and drive off into the night. On one particular excursion I had
earlier made plans with the preachers daughter at out Church. WE always
sat together and messed around in the shadows after church while everyone
was mingling. At 12:30 Am I pecked quietly upon her window. It took
several minutes but finally she slipped out and away we went. I ran the
guts outta that car trying to impress that little girl. Got the brakes hot
power brakin it. Boy those were the days my friend.
I remember the last adventure with that car. I would get a run and kill
the engine as I pulled the car up the grade and into the garage. Dad was
waitin on me at the top of the steps.
BFS
rpbc
birthday. A 12 guage was heavy stuff for a kid. I still have my father's
Remington model 11 twelve he bought new in the late 50s. Gas operated, the
recoil is not bad, but that was a high end shotgun not for kids. And
you're absolutely right.... it was completey alien for any of us to even
imagine using a gun for anything except bottles, cans, targets or the
field.
I never liked pistols either. Too easy to swing the barrel around and
across something you would never point a long gun at. I finally bought
one though for wilderness backpacks. I'm not sure if I'm getting old and
more paranoid, or if things are actually not as safe. Believe it or not,
my biggest concern is wild animals. Never used to really think of that,
but I'd hate myself for being helpless if the need presented itself.
dear...@yahoo.com
LOVE IT! Keep'em coming.
To MtHastings,
It was a dark and stormy night....when I
discovered that Judee is a published writer.
You have a good eye.
gypsi...@gmail.com
pass the popcorn, munch munch
MT_Hastings
JIROBBI
up and pay attention. I don't believe I have ever known anyone who could
just come up with a story to describe their eight year old experience
that well and that fast.
H8N S8N
I will post it late tonight. I will tease you, if I may
and tell you Gee-Oh-Dee answered the prayer of a child !
H8N S8N
Judee77
I cannot tell a lie. I was going for publication, studied for...oh,
about ten years. Wrote two novels, 500 pgs, 125,000 words.
Placed in thirteen contests, including the nationals where I was
nominated for Best Time Travel Romance by an unpublished author. But,
I self-destructed before I actually got published.
It's a little gift of mine to circumvent those dreams coming true.
Unfortunately this little self-tumble is still hanging on my back.
So, though I did write once upon a time, I never was published. (I
apologize to anyone here who got a different impression).
But I do thank you for your kind words. It was fun just falling back
into "auto-pilot" and letting the keys become my piano. I hear words
like that. Once, I even started a scene from the porch's POV. Was
told you don't do that. Tell it to Michner. :)
Anyway, again, thanks for the compliments. BTW, it wasn't until
fifteen years later I told my girlfriend I was the one who stole her
horse. Rode that darn thing until one day we were clearing a jump and
Sir Stick missed.
Not one to allow my beloved steed to suffer, I shot him with a water
pistol and buried him in the back yard.
gypsi...@gmail.com
into some kind of coherent posts so she and others could read them.
She told you back then that she had a background in writing.
See if you were not so interested in your terminal logorrhea, you might
have understood her (and others).
Judee77
Kawasaki, and a 650 BSA !
Try a '57 Panhead and then get back to me.
>From Sir Stick to Sir Harley. Leathers are leathers by any other name.
<munch munch munch>
H8N S8N
I have a current M1, I just do not have anything to use it on !
First mc I lifted a wrench to, I rebuilt a 4 cylinder with 4
carbs, that I rebuilt, all at the same time. First time I
hit the start button, it fired right up, no smoke, no noise.
Enough of the motorcycle stuff, back to writing skills.
About 5 years ago I took a bunch of business classes
I needed for my resume'. Acct, HR, MGT, MKT, and
a Business Letter Writing class. I dropped after about
2 weeks when it became clear, ok somewhat clear, I
knew, and had more experience, in this than her. She
would take examples I gave in class, and write them
in her notes, grade book. Any time a tough Question
came up, she would ask me. I said "later" Anyway
back to any mans favorite subject, me. About 3 years
ago I took some advanced classes at OCC. I tested in English
at 2nd year college level ! Ok, heres 1 of my tricks/secrets.
I was born in Gardena, however, my grade school years
were back east, near Peoria, Ill. 2 nights ago it was 5
degrees ! daytime high 17 ! If I write a short post, it would
not be a ode to jabberwalkie. So I will keep going. It was
the schooling I recieved back east that packed into me
any writing skills I have today. And DO NOT get me started
on OTR - Old Time Radio ! So much of that is free on the net.
"Thanks to King, this case is closed" (bark,bark,bark,bark)
Ok, back to Ode to watts-its-name. munch,munch,munch,
In my high school class was Jay Pusser, his brother Jeff
looked just like his famous uncle, Bufford Pusser !
Only the elders at afgs would remember Walking Tall. This
was about 1974-1976. So if eyem gunna keep writing I
will not get back to gypsie's Dark Shadows Story. She did
say pleze. Right ? Oh, no, wait a minute, she did not say
PLEZE. So Judee77, did you listen to OTR ?
H8N S8N
H8N S8N
Judee77
Me: Do you take me for a Windsor?
Humph!
DARK SHADOWS, DARK SHADOWS!
Gypsie said please.
*******
It came at her ever so softly. But not before it had watched her.
Listened to her. Smelled her. It breathed in, savoring the rusty-rich
scent of blood.
The feast beckoned. But young the night still was.
*******
<munch munch munch>
So, anybody? Gypsie ordered up some Dark Shadows. The glove has been
thrown down. Does "it" go for her or not? Actually, I'm sensing
someone else in the room. Why doesn't it?
Where's the coke?
MT_Hastings
Forgive me. I barely know you, but you don't seem as if you've self
destructed to me, at least not as a writer. If you still have that
dream swimming around in your head or heart, you've still got the
talent and time to pursue it. Who knows, maybe Sir Stick could ride
again one day, at least in the realm of words.
MT
studio
Jirobbi wrote:
re Judee77:
It did make me sit
up and pay attention.
studio wrote:
She does that to me too.
I guess I'm Judy bait.
Last thing I remember, she drove me home from the Pink Floyd concert.
1977.
believerforsure
H8N S8N
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....
(ok already, heres the rest of the story) P.H.
It was sometime between 1972-1974 and I was in 6th, 7th,
or 8th grade, small town population 5,900, (the last house I
lived in had wel-water!) there was a pivitol episode to hapen
on a specific date. I had to see it. NOTHING else mattered.
No VTR's, missing it was NOT an option. Remember when
Bart prayed for snow ? And God kicked down ? Well, back
to our story. I VERY seriously PRAYED, and prayed, and
prayed. I HAD to see this episode, nothing else mattered.
Oops, I said that. Ok back to my story. If I don't make it
a loooong drawn out post, it would not be an ode to
Jabberwocky. Well, I got into some trouble with my
teacher. Just like Bart, News is smoething that is NEW !
Teacher told me to go to the office. I was a frequent flyier
there, no need to check up on me. It would be necessary
to leave the building I was in, to go to where the office.
I was next to an ally that lead most of the way to my house.
It realy did not click untill I got outside. " I'M F-R-E-E"
I looked at my watch and I had 15 minutes to race home ! ! !
I shot outta there and never looked back. I got home and
NO ONE was there ! I could, and was able to watch the
DARK SHADOWS episode I prayed so hard to see !
NO one to block my path, or keep me from my goal.
I did it ! Oh yea, I got in trouble the next day. SO WHAT !
ThankYou Jesus, Thank you Lord !
I can offer no other explaination how I (and God) pulled this off.
I can write about this, cause I still remember this from
THIRTY years ago ! It was a big deal !
Shortly after I pulled this one off, (ok, AND God), I thought
I would give this prayer stuff another shot. I desperately needed
my own set of encyclopedias, for doing school reports. We did not
have the money to buy them. So I prayed, and Got serious. It was
"Down & Dirty"
I sent a letter in to a nationaly syndicated science collum for
kids.
"Ask Andy" And yoou know what ? God was now 2 for 2 ! The largest
(local) paper area contacted my mother to tell her I had WON
a national science contest, and when could they come be to take
some (professional) photos, annnnnnd Give me my set of
Merit Student Encyclopedias ! ! ! It was easier to accept/believe
the Dark Shadows answer. This was just tooooo big. I could not
believe it for months ! The paper was the Peoria Journal Star
http://www.pjstar.com/ birth place to Richare Prior.
H8N S8N
H8N S8N
Was that pig at Anaheim Stadium ?
H8N S8N
Judee77
I think Sir Stick is down for the count. My ego is simply not that of
a writer's. Why God would put such a gift in me when I don't appear to
have the character to handle it is something I've often lamented over.
Back when I was writing, I had a hard time with criticism, which
resulted in my becoming one of the best judges for my genre around. I
always tried to understand what it was the author was attempting to say
and critique from that reference point, not what I thought their book
should be about.
Unfortunately, having such a fragile ego, my own writing suffered when
people told me I couldn't experiment (like writing from a porch's POV),
nor do this or that. Well, I'd overreact something awful. Forever
trying to please and learning I wasn't writing my book, rather
reworking it to fit the mold of others.
Then there were the highs when I started hitting it big. Nominated for
this; winning that; editors asking me to toss my book and write for
their line. I acted shamefully...was a real ass. Not to other people,
but from me looking at me.
I'd always prayed that if I ever forgot what God built into me and gave
it the power to move me away from Him...yank it. Well, be careful what
you ask for cause He most certainly answers prayers.
Pride goes before a fall: I was bursting with it, so why wouldn't the
crash be hard?
I regret none of it, for I learned a great deal about God after the
fact. I can look back on that time now without viewing it as a loss.
And you're right. One never knows just what God will lead one to do.
If ever I feel led to write again, I'll do so, hopefully with a bit
more maturity. Until then, all those tales of once upon a time will
stay in the closet right next to Sir Stick.
I do thank you for your words of encouragement though. It's nice to
hear from someone in your position.
:)
PS: Ah, I think you've fallen into a little trap, i.e., "...at least
in the realm of words." Tsk, tsk. I'll have you know, just before the
sun awakes, at least once a month, me and the Stick again race around
the block. On occasion, we've startled a few morning fairies
sprinkling dew over some roses, but other than that, it's been a clean
run.
gypsi...@gmail.com
provide a window into your beautiful soul and IMHO, your God-given
gifts of writing and critique offer views of others' posts that are
most welcome.
(((((Judee)))))
Judee77
Bait me once, shame on you; bait me twice, shame on you again.
Judee77
Hugs back at ya.
Pap...perhaps I'll tell stories from the point-of-view of my body, as
in belly dancing. :)
JIROBBI
I agree with Gyp on this.
JiRobbi
Judee77
a navel
contemplating one's person.
***
You're telling me you've never seen the story of _Alf La Waila Waila_
(1001 Nights) told by a quivering navel? You need to get out more.
:)
believerforsure
sure throw that word around alot. and BTW where can i get some of your
work? I wanna read you. You two timin me?
BFS
Judee77
As to quivering female navels, I'll just walk right on by that like the
lady I am. Yesiree.
But I can't let it pass...it's about a quivering navel quivering alone
that brings sheer joy to the quiverer. Tis no easy task.
You should take one of your potential quiverers to a Middle Eastern
restaurant. Bet you'd enjoy it. So would the potential. :)
Judee77
Thank you. That was nice of you to say.
Take care.
Judee77
Hmmm...I thought I sent a reply through, but it ain't showing up. So
I'll go for a twofer.
Of course you are jealous my wee love. But don't be dishearted. I was
referring to Studio as Stud for short. See, Stud is a very bad man who
enjoys baiting me. Inside joke.
I'd never two-time you. As for reading me...exactly what did you want
to read? Books or belly? Whoohoooo! lmao. I'm bad i'm bad i'm bad.