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Archive for the ‘flash fiction’ Category


5 (2)

Cheese should be service room temperature. I learned that is France. I just took the cheese out of the frig, so I’m sitting on it trying to warm it up with the bun power. See, I am a super hero with super buns.

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32 (10)

The following is a series of short random thoughts I had during the day when I should have been doing something productive.

I didn’t stretch my jaw enough before I started talking I think I pulled a muscle. Now I have a headache. Am I the only person alive who has to stretch her jaw muscles to start the day?

I was feeling nostalgic thinking back on my childhood, so I decided to recreate a summer camp memory. I took a shower in cold water pretending I was back in girl scouts … I remembered why I hated girl scouts.

How is it the blinking light on my phone saying I have emails or tweets wakes me up, but I sleep through two alarms? Maybe that’s my super power and I’m now a super hero.

I hate it when I have to go to the doctor for a shot. The shot doesn’t really bother me. It’s my doctor. He has osteoporosis and his nurse has arthritis in her hands. Who do I chose? I wind up flipping a coin,

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I’ve been a bit under the weather. The doctor prescribed me a cough medicine with codeine.

Wrapped in a warm blanket snuggle into the depths of the sofa, the darkness had settled and with it a drowsy drugged feeling. I hadn’t coughed in almost an hour.

The light from the television pushing just enough light into the room to make out the patches on Grandma’s old quilt.

Soft elevator music played in the background while a man in the lobby of a large office building buffed the floor. A comforting fog moved into my mind.

What was the name of this movie? My mind drifted like a cloud.

A deafening crash echoed through the room as a body slams on top of a truck on the screen in front of me.

My chest was heaving my body tense, I was hardly able to process what just happened. I looked around at the people watching TV with me. They were staring at me with open mouthed amazement.

“Did I scream out loud?”

“Yeah,” my roomie replied.

I screamed like I have never screamed before. Hollywood pays people for this kind of high pitched, gut wrenching scream of terror. I tell you this so that you may learn a lesson from it. If you are taking cough medicine with codeine, do not watch a movie called Devil. I had to pray myself to sleep last night.

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After hours of shopping, I was trying on slacks in a brightly lit dressing room. Finally, I found a pair that fit perfectly.  Tight enough in the right places and loose in others.

When I stepped out of the dressing room to show my friend, she said, “You have the ass that could rule the world.”

Maybe I could rule the world. I seriously considered her statement before realizing there are already enough asses ruling out there now.

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3 (2)

My Boss has been curious about Twitter. His daughter has an account and he wanted to check out what she might be up to. So he created an account.

The next day he came to me and said, “I’m not sure how, but my daughter figured out I was following her.”

I asked, “What’s your user ID?”

He said, “His first and last name.”

“I think that might be the issue.”

____________________________________________

He sent me a text that said “What’s your phone number?”

I sent back, “I think you just texted it.”

____________________________________________

My boss has the same first name as someone else I know. I was going to be working late so I wrote the following email.

“Dear Tom,

I’m working late tonight. I’ll have to cancel dinner.

Love you, DD”

I accidentally sent the email to my boss, who wrote back –

“We need to finish all the test cases tonight. I’m going to pick up some pizzas.

Tom, your boss not the other one.

P.S. I love you too.”

 

I love my boss. He understands me better than most, nobody’s perfect.

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53 (9)

I’m sitting here on my toilet while blogging you. Not on the toilet as in its intended use toilet, but in a I don’t have any funiture kind of way.

You see I got a call on Thursday offering me a job in Portland to start on Monday and I live in Dallas. I wouldn’t be able to fly back and forth every week like I’m use to. I would need to stay in Portland for six months.

It’s a really great job and is something I want on my resume. So I spent about two hours throwing stuff in my car and took off. I drove for thirty hours got a hotel and drove another twelve to get here on Saturday. Sunday I took the first apartment I looked at and here I am sitting on the toilet, using the counter as a desk.

Don’t worry the lid is down. I know that might have been a concern for some.

I ordered some furniture which should have arrived over the weekend, but it didn’t. I got a message at 5:00 a.m. saying it will be arriving this morning. So I’m sitting here on my toilet, waiting for something to sit on.

I’m calling this office in a toilet a concept now. It’s really not so bad in here. The heat lamp is warming the place nicely. The porcelean’s bright and white. I have plenty to drink (from the faucet, not like a dog from the toilet). My shampoo and conditioner smells nice. It has pretty good accoustics thanks to the shower. I think I’m going to create a powerpoint and write a book. My new title, The Office Toilet Consultant.

Oh, thank God, the sofa’s here.

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109

Jim was a nuclear physicist, a brilliant man. Much to his own detriment, he didn’t know when to stop thinking.

He had been through a series of interviews. The job was basically his. All he had to do was pass a drug screening. I don’t know if they said drug test or not. I’m assuming not, they must have been vague.

The company had an on-site clinic where the test was performed.

So, Jim comes toddling in. The tech hands him a cup and tells him to return the sample to her desk.

Does Jim think “They want to see if I use drugs.”?

No.

He thinks “It’s a nuclear facility. They want to take a baseline reading now so they can measure the affects of potential radiation exposure over time.”

So instead of urine, he gives them a sperm sample. He is still trying to figure out why he didn’t get the job.

Can you imagine the technician’s reaction when a cup of sperm lands on her desk?

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67

Do you ever have thoughts that you wish you didn’t have? Like maybe this one.

In my imagination, I’m hanging out with a couple of friends. We’ve been drinking wine, laughing, and listening to music.

When someone says, “I found this old porn in my Mom’s closet. It’s so bad, it’s hysterical.”

She puts it on. The hair is plastered with hair spray and way too tall. You all laugh.

A guys come on screen and someone says, “Hey he’s not bad looking.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “he actually pretty hot.”

Another friend with a fist full of popcorn says, “That looks like your Dad.”

“No,” you insist shocked and a bit disgusted, “that guy is hot. I’d go out with him. He doesn’t look anything like my Dad.”

One of your other friends chimes in, “He really does look like your Dad around the eyes and that nose.”

Then he does something so quintessentially “your” Dad and you know that IS your Dad. You’re watching a porn starring your Dad.

The screams of horror are echoing through my head as I type.

So you’re pissed because you have to live with that image for the rest of your life and you want to confront your Dad, but you’re not sure how that’s going to work.

You start the conversation with something like, “What the H-E- double toothpicks is wrong with you? A porn?”

“You’ve been watching porn,” your Dad counters.

“You were in it.”

Your Mom interrupts, “Do not yell at your Father.”

“Mom, did you know Dad was in a porn?”

And she replies, “Well yes, dear that’s how we met.”

And that’s why I try not to think.

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I woke this morning from a dream turned nightmare. It starts colorful and bright, euphoric and exciting.

I’m carrying my baby so beautiful no one can take their eyes from her. Her face shines up at me from my arms as I walk through the store, showing her everything and she taking it all in.

A knowing look from a familiar face catches my eye. The world is illusion, replaced by reality. The bundle of joy in my arms turns to a wad of filthy rags. There is no baby and there never has been.

The world turns grey and dark, sharp and hard. I feel their eyes on me, like pawing hands pulling me apart seeing everything I really am. Most look on horrified or disgusted, a few pity me. I want to disappear, to cease to exist. But I don’t. I’m on display, my crazy rantings are on display.

Hands are gently pushing me towards the doors.

My sister come rescuer whispers, “Everything will be okay.”

I feel reality so sharp, my body is bleeding from cuts no one can see. I’m covered and cannot move without wanting to cry out. But I don’t, the pain of humiliation is too great. I keep silent.

I woke this morning from a dream turned nightmare. I don’t know where it came from. I tell myself I’ve never had delusions. At least I don’t think I have.

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My head was thumping. I was having trouble thinking.

Oh God!

I shot straight up, realizing the lump in the bed next to me was alive and possibly awake. A sliver of light broke through the darkened hotel room.

Minutes ticked by while my mind raced to remember.

Why was I in a hotel room? Convention, yeah, we were at a convention. Who was we? Me and my three closest friends.

A late night of shots and gambling left me hazy as to the details. The other three lumps began stirring. Three heads started popping up, then burrowing back into their pillows and back up again. If I had a mallet I could have played whack-a-mole.

I flipped on the lamp.

Holy mackerel!

I fell asleep with my friends in the room and woke up with three trolls instead. These women were able to completely change the shape and color of their features.

I have a heart-shaped birthmark on my cheek. I like to tell young tattooed people it started as a little heart by my eye. But by the time I’m eighty it’ll have fallen to my boob and look like an arrow pointing straight to hell.  I digress.

That mark is always there no matter how much stuff I try to cover it with.  I feel like a throw back to the Jurassic period.

I was on my knees praying to Maybelline to save me.

Holy Sephora! How’d they do that Cover Girl?

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