(written by me:)
My throbbing calves carried me back to my apartment where once inside I shut the door and collapsed on my Q-Bert bean bag chair. It was a tender relic from the past I refused to give up no matter how it clashed with my Rachel Ashwell shabby chic decor. I'd lost my innocence on that bean bag chair and no one could take that away from me. Maybe Jovan would be the next man I would lose my innocence to. What would I wear? Glaring at the Wii Fit, I stalked to my closet and threw open the door.
(written by OfficeGnome:)
"Egads! what are you doing here?!?" I squealed at the intruder, like a wild boar approaching his prey. I hurriedly shut the door in a panic. How could this have happened to me, on today of all days? I took a long deep breath, and tried to pull myself together. It was just a spider afterall. The daddy long-legs had made my closet its new lair and I was going to have to face my fear if I was going to put on my perfect sexy tube dress and make it to Jovan's show in time for the royal procession.I flipped through my mail looking for the appropriate weapon. The magazine issue I had been waiting for had arrived, but there was no way I was going to use it to bludgeon the bug. Ahah! My new Vermont Country Store catalog would do the trick. I hated that crap anyway.I flung open the closet door and then like a medieval warrior, I smashed the critter with all my might. The catalog was a lance and the spider was the black knight that I had sworn to assassinate. I was a murderer. And now it was time to get dressed to kill.
(written by Carrie:)
I tossed the be-smeared catalog aside and flipped through the fabulous fashion file of my closet. My evening looks and club wear were nestled in the back corner of the closet, a plush treasure trove of crushed velvet, ruched satin, cubic zirconiae, and draped tencel. Regularly adding new looks to my twilight repertoire was a fulfilling and healthy hobby of mine, no matter what my financial counselor said. Where was my perfect sexy tube dress?? I was starting to panic and sweat heavily as I swatted aside several polyester halter tops. This couldn't be happening. Not tonight. I could feel my stomach plummeting like a barrel over the Lower Falls of the Grand Canyon. It wasn't there! My brain suddenly screamed with the partial memory of that wild night at Coka Cabana's. I had been wearing the tube dress when we took that baking sheet, can of hairspray, and lighter fluid out to the steep hill behind the club. Regrettably, my memory ended there. I was going to have to both improvise and compromise with my fashion choice.
Showing posts with label "Mysterious Whispers" young adult novel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label "Mysterious Whispers" young adult novel. Show all posts
Monday, June 7, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
mysterious whispers, part 3
*I obtained permission to partially identify Friend #1 and Friend #2! I know your curiousity is quelled.*
(Written by me)
And check it out I would. Though I couldn't let Jovan know my intentions this early in the game. I would have to play coy like Luann deLesseps aka The Countess told Bethany to do on the Real Housewives of New York. That is how you bag a man, she said. I tossed my auburn-ish hair over my shoulder and lowered my gaze before going in for the kill.
"Maybe...I will," I said, reeking with mystery. He was so intrigued he furrowed his brow and tried to act like he was done pouring detergent into the washer.
(Written by OfficeGnome)
I grabbed my parachute and headed upstairs to hang it up to dry on the long, thick, glistening rod in my bathroom. I've always found that air-drying fabrics above my bathdub is the best way to keep them looking their best.
The basement steps creaked below me as I made the difficult ascent back to the main floor of the building. My calves throbbed and I made a mental note to do some Wii Fit when I got back to the apartment. I caught a glance of my Swatch and was thrilled to see it was finally 2pm. 2pm meant that our mailman had probably arrived with the Saturday delivery. I wondered if the magazine issue I had been waiting for had arrived? As I skipped toward the building's mail area, I realized I wasn't alone. Standing in front of the brass mailboxes was my next-door neighbor nemesis - Nancy.
(Written by Carrie)
"Oh, hello Nancy," I said coolly. Nancy rotated around slowly to face me. She had just extracted her mail pile from the cold industrial depths of the mailbox interior. Her cane rested against the wall.
"Hello dear," she rasped. As she had turned around, a letter had wafted out of the pile of mail, floating to the ground like a delicate Japanese wishing flower. "Let me get that for you," I said coldly, snatching it up and offering it to her forcefully. Before she could accept it, my eyes landed on the text in the sharp crisp clear letter window: "JOVAN ____." Like a lynx discovering her prey, I snatched the letter back from Nancy's reaching claw-like hands. Jovan Musk's mail!! I could bring it to him personally!
"OH!" I exclaimed. "I-I just noticed that this letter is actually addressed to me. It must have gotten into the wrong box. That happens all the time, you know."
Nancy stared unblinkingly with wet eyes and said "Oh that's fine dear." Satisfied with my clever heist, I smugly retrieved my own mail. I would have to look at it once I was back in my apartment, lest I waste another precious minute in Nancy's presence. I clutched the supple pile of slippery documents to my chest, turned abruptly on my heel, and muttered goodbye.
(Written by me)
And check it out I would. Though I couldn't let Jovan know my intentions this early in the game. I would have to play coy like Luann deLesseps aka The Countess told Bethany to do on the Real Housewives of New York. That is how you bag a man, she said. I tossed my auburn-ish hair over my shoulder and lowered my gaze before going in for the kill.
"Maybe...I will," I said, reeking with mystery. He was so intrigued he furrowed his brow and tried to act like he was done pouring detergent into the washer.
(Written by OfficeGnome)
I grabbed my parachute and headed upstairs to hang it up to dry on the long, thick, glistening rod in my bathroom. I've always found that air-drying fabrics above my bathdub is the best way to keep them looking their best.
The basement steps creaked below me as I made the difficult ascent back to the main floor of the building. My calves throbbed and I made a mental note to do some Wii Fit when I got back to the apartment. I caught a glance of my Swatch and was thrilled to see it was finally 2pm. 2pm meant that our mailman had probably arrived with the Saturday delivery. I wondered if the magazine issue I had been waiting for had arrived? As I skipped toward the building's mail area, I realized I wasn't alone. Standing in front of the brass mailboxes was my next-door neighbor nemesis - Nancy.
(Written by Carrie)
"Oh, hello Nancy," I said coolly. Nancy rotated around slowly to face me. She had just extracted her mail pile from the cold industrial depths of the mailbox interior. Her cane rested against the wall.
"Hello dear," she rasped. As she had turned around, a letter had wafted out of the pile of mail, floating to the ground like a delicate Japanese wishing flower. "Let me get that for you," I said coldly, snatching it up and offering it to her forcefully. Before she could accept it, my eyes landed on the text in the sharp crisp clear letter window: "JOVAN ____." Like a lynx discovering her prey, I snatched the letter back from Nancy's reaching claw-like hands. Jovan Musk's mail!! I could bring it to him personally!
"OH!" I exclaimed. "I-I just noticed that this letter is actually addressed to me. It must have gotten into the wrong box. That happens all the time, you know."
Nancy stared unblinkingly with wet eyes and said "Oh that's fine dear." Satisfied with my clever heist, I smugly retrieved my own mail. I would have to look at it once I was back in my apartment, lest I waste another precious minute in Nancy's presence. I clutched the supple pile of slippery documents to my chest, turned abruptly on my heel, and muttered goodbye.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
mysterious whispers, part 2
(Written by Carrie:)
"Hhhey," the voice breathed. I mopped the steam and sweat from my glasses and blinked in disbelief. There he stood--Jovan Musk! He was so golden, as golden as a Palomino colt, which is a male horse under the age of four. It was as if a beacon of light was shining on him, highlighting his glimmering sandy hair and Werther's Original (c) colored skin. And as the steam cleared, I saw that he was shirtless, just like a Greek centaur. It was all I could do not to gulp. "GULP," I choked. Then I noticed my parachute, wadded in a wet puddle of circus hues, on the table next to the washer. Jovan had touched my parachute!!
"Sorry about that," he said, noticing my eyes lock with the wet parachute like a plastic lid on a Glad tupperware container. "I had to use the washer." .
(Written by me:)
"It-it-it's okay," I stammered as I felt my cheeks flush darker than my Nars Handcuffs blush. I tried to break the Gladware lock with the parachute to examine his sinewy musculature. Any more centauresque and he'd have a tail. Quickly I came to my senses and rejoined the conversation. "That's my parachute you have there. It means a lot to me." I stopped short of saying I could no more part with it than I could place my firstborn in a basket in the bullrushes.
"Yeah, the spin cycle had just finished and I really have to wash this load. I'm going to Medieval Times tonight." Medieval Times? Alone or with a date? The thought spun in my head like a sprawling grape tendril seeking earth.
(Written by OfficeGnome:)
"Medieval Times? I love eating with my hands. And Bryan Adams!" I blurted out.
Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, starring Kevin Costner as the sultry British bandit was my ultimate favorite film of all time. My dream wedding featured me walking down the aisle to Adam's masterpiece "Everthing I do, I do it for you" and having our first dance to "Heaven." Medieval Times would be the perfect place to hold a reception.
"Enquiring minds want to know - Does your girlfriend like eating with her hands too?" I inquired of Jovan.
"Girlfriend? Huh, Who?" he answered and then with a pregnant pause continued, "Oh...I'm not going to the show with anyone. I'm actually performing in it."
(Written by Carrie:)
Performing!! Of COURSE he was performing. I knew he reminded me of a centaur for a reason. I briefly imagined him galloping heroically across a sawdust-floored coliseum, like Ares, the God of War, the blood of his victims smeared on the ground.
Suddenly I realized Jovan was looking at me expectantly. How much time had passed? Did he want to ask me something? I shook my mind free of clanging suits of armor and bloodthirsty townspeople and yelled "W-wow, performing! Do you JOUST at all?"
Jovan shrugged as he poured liquid detergent into the washer, tenderly, as if it were liquid jurassic amber containing rare fossils. "Yeah I think I might be jousting tonight. I do whatever they need me to do. Sometimes it's performing, sometimes preparing marinade. It's a pretty cool place. You should check it out."
"Hhhey," the voice breathed. I mopped the steam and sweat from my glasses and blinked in disbelief. There he stood--Jovan Musk! He was so golden, as golden as a Palomino colt, which is a male horse under the age of four. It was as if a beacon of light was shining on him, highlighting his glimmering sandy hair and Werther's Original (c) colored skin. And as the steam cleared, I saw that he was shirtless, just like a Greek centaur. It was all I could do not to gulp. "GULP," I choked. Then I noticed my parachute, wadded in a wet puddle of circus hues, on the table next to the washer. Jovan had touched my parachute!!
"Sorry about that," he said, noticing my eyes lock with the wet parachute like a plastic lid on a Glad tupperware container. "I had to use the washer." .
(Written by me:)
"It-it-it's okay," I stammered as I felt my cheeks flush darker than my Nars Handcuffs blush. I tried to break the Gladware lock with the parachute to examine his sinewy musculature. Any more centauresque and he'd have a tail. Quickly I came to my senses and rejoined the conversation. "That's my parachute you have there. It means a lot to me." I stopped short of saying I could no more part with it than I could place my firstborn in a basket in the bullrushes.
"Yeah, the spin cycle had just finished and I really have to wash this load. I'm going to Medieval Times tonight." Medieval Times? Alone or with a date? The thought spun in my head like a sprawling grape tendril seeking earth.
(Written by OfficeGnome:)
"Medieval Times? I love eating with my hands. And Bryan Adams!" I blurted out.
Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, starring Kevin Costner as the sultry British bandit was my ultimate favorite film of all time. My dream wedding featured me walking down the aisle to Adam's masterpiece "Everthing I do, I do it for you" and having our first dance to "Heaven." Medieval Times would be the perfect place to hold a reception.
"Enquiring minds want to know - Does your girlfriend like eating with her hands too?" I inquired of Jovan.
"Girlfriend? Huh, Who?" he answered and then with a pregnant pause continued, "Oh...I'm not going to the show with anyone. I'm actually performing in it."
(Written by Carrie:)
Performing!! Of COURSE he was performing. I knew he reminded me of a centaur for a reason. I briefly imagined him galloping heroically across a sawdust-floored coliseum, like Ares, the God of War, the blood of his victims smeared on the ground.
Suddenly I realized Jovan was looking at me expectantly. How much time had passed? Did he want to ask me something? I shook my mind free of clanging suits of armor and bloodthirsty townspeople and yelled "W-wow, performing! Do you JOUST at all?"
Jovan shrugged as he poured liquid detergent into the washer, tenderly, as if it were liquid jurassic amber containing rare fossils. "Yeah I think I might be jousting tonight. I do whatever they need me to do. Sometimes it's performing, sometimes preparing marinade. It's a pretty cool place. You should check it out."
Thursday, April 15, 2010
mysterious whispers, part 1
Two of my friends who shall remain anonymous until I get their permission to identify them, and I are writing a young adult novel. We each write a paragraph and then email it and take turns adding. We got the idea for it based on Friend #1's hot downstairs neighbor whom she only sees in the laundry room, and I thought it should be called "Mysterious Whispers" after a They Might Be Giants lyric that I think is funny. Anyway, here 'tis. I'll specify who wrote each paragraph.
(Written by me)
"Mysterious Whispers"
A YA novel
I was restless, and not without reason. Steve Raible was talking on the TV, but it was hard to concentrate with all the clanging around downstairs. I knew what the all metal slamming meant: Hott Downstairs Neighbor was doing his laundry. I'd peeked at his mail and learned his name was Jovan Musk. It only piqued my already-simmering curiosity about the man behind the swarthy exterior.
(Written by OfficeGnome)
I took a deep, slow breath and tried to focus on listening to the tonight's breaking news. Steve was reporting on a recent rash of robberies in my neighborhood. I was troubled by these crimes, but even more troubled by my incredible attraction to Steve's sexy voice.
(Written by Carrie)
Torn between two diversions, I sank into my papasan chair in a reverie. But before I could absorb Steve's sensuous murmurs about the robbery at Super Supplements, I suddenly remembered something! The realization hit me like a bar of Ivory soap inserted in a tube sock. I had volunteered to wash the colorful parachute from my most recent interactive Trust Issues class, and I knew it had completed the wash cycle by now (75 cents for one half hour). We use the parachute to bounce popcorn in the air, and last week the popcorn had been especially buttery. I realized with a jolt that Jovan Musk could be wondering how to work around this large mass of vibrant nylon. I shot up out of my chair like a poison dart from a straw. Before I even knew what I was doing I had grabbed my key and was stumbling down the stairs to the laundry room, clenched with simmering curiosity about what lied therein.
(Written by me)
As I approached the laundry room door my breath quickened, and I paused. Reaching to touch the bulbous girth of the doorknob, I licked my lips breathlessly and wondered what I could say to Jovan. Surely he would be up for discussing my Trust Issues parachute. But if I invited him up for Triscuits and maybe a white wine spritzer, what would he say? I pondered the many possible scenarios unfolding before me like cards spurting out of a dealer's shuffle machine. Worst case scenario, he would tell me to eat a hot bowl of dicks. I could live with that. Or could I? It was too late now. I gathered every ounce of courage I had, and forged into the laundry room.
(Written by OfficeGnome)
The room was moist and foggy, like the San Francisco that I've seen advertised on Rice-a-Roni commercials. The thick steamy air made seeing out of my brand-new Neil Hamburger-style (TM) glasses impossible. Ever since I saw Britney Spears wearing a pair in the latest issue of US Weekly (R), I knew I had to get some for myself.
"Hello, is anyone there?" I called out. A mysterious voice whispered back to me from beyond....
(Written by me)
"Mysterious Whispers"
A YA novel
I was restless, and not without reason. Steve Raible was talking on the TV, but it was hard to concentrate with all the clanging around downstairs. I knew what the all metal slamming meant: Hott Downstairs Neighbor was doing his laundry. I'd peeked at his mail and learned his name was Jovan Musk. It only piqued my already-simmering curiosity about the man behind the swarthy exterior.
(Written by OfficeGnome)
I took a deep, slow breath and tried to focus on listening to the tonight's breaking news. Steve was reporting on a recent rash of robberies in my neighborhood. I was troubled by these crimes, but even more troubled by my incredible attraction to Steve's sexy voice.
(Written by Carrie)
Torn between two diversions, I sank into my papasan chair in a reverie. But before I could absorb Steve's sensuous murmurs about the robbery at Super Supplements, I suddenly remembered something! The realization hit me like a bar of Ivory soap inserted in a tube sock. I had volunteered to wash the colorful parachute from my most recent interactive Trust Issues class, and I knew it had completed the wash cycle by now (75 cents for one half hour). We use the parachute to bounce popcorn in the air, and last week the popcorn had been especially buttery. I realized with a jolt that Jovan Musk could be wondering how to work around this large mass of vibrant nylon. I shot up out of my chair like a poison dart from a straw. Before I even knew what I was doing I had grabbed my key and was stumbling down the stairs to the laundry room, clenched with simmering curiosity about what lied therein.
(Written by me)
As I approached the laundry room door my breath quickened, and I paused. Reaching to touch the bulbous girth of the doorknob, I licked my lips breathlessly and wondered what I could say to Jovan. Surely he would be up for discussing my Trust Issues parachute. But if I invited him up for Triscuits and maybe a white wine spritzer, what would he say? I pondered the many possible scenarios unfolding before me like cards spurting out of a dealer's shuffle machine. Worst case scenario, he would tell me to eat a hot bowl of dicks. I could live with that. Or could I? It was too late now. I gathered every ounce of courage I had, and forged into the laundry room.
(Written by OfficeGnome)
The room was moist and foggy, like the San Francisco that I've seen advertised on Rice-a-Roni commercials. The thick steamy air made seeing out of my brand-new Neil Hamburger-style (TM) glasses impossible. Ever since I saw Britney Spears wearing a pair in the latest issue of US Weekly (R), I knew I had to get some for myself.
"Hello, is anyone there?" I called out. A mysterious voice whispered back to me from beyond....
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