Fiction 500

So I'm absolutely thrilled - my short story has been posted over at Fiction 500! The site itself is the brain-child of the Badass Geek. Basically, it's a collection of short-stories that are all under 500 words.

It's tougher than it sounds. Fleshing out a story in a measly 500 words is proving to be an interesting challenge.

So, if you're interested, go on and click that little button to the right labeled Fiction 500. Go on...dooo it.

Or you can just click on the link below :)

Happy readings!

Fiction 500

Snowfall

It's cold outside.

I'm sitting here in my chair, exhausted after the month from hell, looking out the window. The snowplow has piled the snow up in huge piles (although, those from the north would probably laugh at how much us Delawareans are panicking), and it's actually kind of pretty. In a frigid way.

Of course, I had to work yesterday and today. State of emergency? Pft. People need their pet food!

So I'm sitting here, with a billion and one ideas to write about. I could write about the funeral. I could write about Bug, and what an amazing person she is. I could write about Rusty, Lili, or the dog that I want to get. I could write about social justice. About common courtesy. About my thoughts and feelings and ideas for the future.

I could write about any number of things, and yet I won't - because I am too emotionally exhausted to do any of those topics any sort of justice.

My mother forced requested that my father go to the store to pick up eggs, milk, and bread.

I don't understand why people rush out to get these three ingredients. I mean...what are people making with this stuff? French toast?

And so I'm here. I'm contemplating building a fire - there's something about the crackling warmth of it that just cheers me up (yes, I fully admit to my pyro status). Hell, there's something about just sitting down with a throw blanket and a hot cup of cocoa and curling up with a good book.

Or, in my case, season one of Lost (which I've recently gotten hooked on).

So, World, how have you been?

Argh!

Warning: bitchy, angsty, whiny post ahead. Read at your own risk.

So, I realize that it's already December Twelfth, and I will admit it - I've been neglecting my blog. And my Christmas shopping. But eh.

I have a very good reason for this.

The month of December (and, if I'm being honest, probably the last half of November) has been absolutely crap-tastic.

First, my best friends dogs die. Both of them. Within a month of each other. Then, I had to deal with all sorts of work drama (well...more work drama than usual). I just noticed that my once-best friend (who, for some inexplicable reason, stopped talking to me) is now engaged to her jackass of a boyfriend.

And then, to make matters worse, the woman who might as well be my second mother, was hospitalized for cancer. So that prompted all sorts of visits to the hospital, and awkward run-ins with the ex-boyfriend and his demon spawn wife.

Then I got sick - with both a sinus and an ear infection. Fantastic. This prevented me from visiting Bug (the woman who might as well be my mother), because...duh. They tend to frown upon sick people visiting. She was later moved to a hospice.

And then she died. Two days ago, to be exact (I, of course, never said my final goodbyes, because I've been stuck in bed trying not to suffocate myself). Her funeral is on Tuesday.

It doesn't take much to make me go all berserker - and I think I'm at that point. I haven't eaten in five days. I haven't left the house in five days, and I sure as hell haven't slept in five days. I'm pretty sure my boss is going to try to fire me because I keep calling out sick.

If anyone so much as gives me the stink eye at that funeral, I will jam my pointy high-heel up their asses.

On the upside, I've lost ten pounds. Apparently not eating for five days tends to make one lose the bulge.

Great. I'll be skinny in no time. Now I just have to figure out how to kill the little man that's poking the back of my eyeballs with an ice-pick.



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Aunt Becky's publicity stunt

So, Aunt Becky's doing one of those aweful publicity ridden fantastic blog giveaway things. I figured that I'd enter it, because...

a.) She's kind of awesome (seriously, if you're bored with reading my crap and need something new to read, head on over to her place. You won't be disappointed), and

b.) I'm poor and in need of new reading material

So, she told all of us (her loyal minions readers) to answer a few questions in our blogs.

She also told us to open our whore mouths. Full of the love, that one.

Look, it's legit - she even made a button about it:



Let's get on with the opening of my whore mouth:


1) Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream? Yes. And gummy bears. And chocolate chips. And cherries. My dentist hates me.

2) If you had to choose one word to banish from the English language, what would it be and why? I'm finding this one a bit difficult to answer. A word I'd want to banish? Huh. How about the word "Friskies." I'd say "Fancy Feast," but you said that it just had to be one word, and so I'm picking Friskies. I hate that cat food. WITH. A. PASSION.

3) If you were a flavor, what would it be? Cherry. Most definately cherry.

4) What’s the most pointless annoying chore you can think of that you do on a daily/weekly basis? Folding my underwear. I mean, really. What's the point?

5) Of all the nicknames I’ve ever had in my life, Aunt Becky is the most widely known and probably my favorite. What’s your favorite nickname? (for yourself) I don't have a nickname, really. My real name is Sara - it's kind of hard to shorten that. I was once likened to a Keebler Elf though....

6) You’re stuck on a desert island with the collective works of 5 (and only five) musical artists for the rest of your life. Who are they? Beatles - because...well...obviously. Nirvana, Ray Charles, Linkin Park, and Green Day. I think that just about covers a good portion of my musical cravings.

7) Everything is better with bacon. True or false? True. Absolutely true. Bacon is the reason I have a spare tire of fat banding around my thighs.

8 ) If I could go back in time and tell Young Aunt Becky one thing, it would be that out of chaos, order will emerge. Also: tutus go with everything. What would you tell young self? Shutup and stop whining - if you think this is bad, wait for what's coming!

Rusty's Shenanigans

I remember the first time we tried to show Rusty. That's right, World, we showed our dogs.

In those prissy "run around the ring once again, please" shows. The ones that judge a dog's motion, gait, overall appearance, bone structure, personality, and so on and so forth. It was all a bit high-faluting for me, but I went anyways, because it was something my dad was interested in. Rusty loved being shown. Unfortunately for him, his personality wasn't exactly "show" quality.

He bunny-hopped around the ring. Whenever a judge went to touch him, his tongue lolled out and he'd squirm around trying to reach the judge so he could be petted. And, above all, he hated (with a passion) his handler (who also happened to be his breeder).

Hm, let me give you a few examples.

The first time he had even shown, we didn't know that we weren't supposed to feed him. Apparently, dogs get stage fright as well. Well...heh.

He peed on the breeder's leg. And then puked on her shoes.

Everyone was absolutely horrified (except for my sister and me - we were too busy laughing our asses off to be horrified). They had to postpone the show so they could clean up his mess. And that incident pretty much set the tone for Rusty's show career (which ended after a few short (or if you're the breeder, long) years). At less than six months old, my dog knew what was up.

I remember one show where he walked perfectly. Absolutely perfectly - he had the show in the bag. Guaranteed first place. But, in true Rusty fashion, he ended the last quarter of the show by bunny-hopping. All four paws left the ground. And then he stopped, and then ran out of the ring - with the breeder still attached to his leash. Her gorgeous pantsuit was ruined - green grass stains ran all down the front of it. Apparently that happens when one is dragged fifty yards behind a seventy-five pound dog (the little fences around the ring didn't even slow him - or her - down. He just jumped over them. She, unfortunately, went through them).

The judge was amused. The breeder? Not so much. We thought she was going to kill him that day.

My dog was a legend. People used to come to his shows not to see the competition, but because they wanted to see Rusty's antics. We were going to take him out of the shows, but he seemed like he was having so much fun.

And the breeder wanted to keep him in. She said he was an ill-mannered dog (wonder where she got that impression from?), and that she was going to fix him.

Ha. Needless to say, he won that particular competition.

That's my boy. Three years of showing and he has less than five ribbons, but many memories full of laughter. And, looking back on it now, I don't blame him one bit for hating the breeder. We got our other dog, Lili from her, at four months of age.

We later found out that the breeder's son beat dogs, and that Lili is the only puppy from her litter to survive. We, of course, had no proof (other than that she was terrified of men, and from what we had heard about the breeder from outside sources. The other puppies apparently died of an "infection").

My dad instead sued her for her breeding practices, won, and the AKC shut her down. She is no longer allowed to breed (although she does it anyways now under her husband's name).

Looking back on it now, I think Rusty knew what type of person she was. He never gave anyone as much shit as he gave her, and there have been a few instances where he's been an excellent judge of character. I wouldn't trust anyone he didn't.

My father used to bring Rusty with him to work. One day (after being suitably worshipped by the receptionist), Rusty was hanging out at a job site under the receptionist's desk. Well, in walked her boss, and Rusty growled - low and menacing. He came out from under the desk, and the next thing my dad knew was that the boss was backed into a corner, with our dog growling at him. Keep in mind here, Rusty was one of the most gentle natured and sweet dogs that most people have ever met (Lili was the mean one).

So, needless to say, this was unusual. My father grabbed Rusty, put him in his kennel, and once his work was done they left (the funny part about it is, all of the workers in the office came by the cage and gave Rusty treats after it had happened). A few weeks later my dad learned that the boss that Rusty had growled at had been arrested for embezzlement and spousal abuse.

I think that, sometimes, animals do know best.