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Desert Debonair

These are two tweet-length stories for Microfiction Monday, hosted on Stony River. The challenge is to write a 140-character long (or shorter) tale based on the photograph or illustration provided every week. Here goes:

 

“What?” said Batman. “It’s the desert. Nobody wears body suits in the desert. Do you have any idea how hot that thing is? Ask Robin.”

*****

Hello, ladies. Look at your man, now back to me. What’s in my hand? A stick. Now look up. I’m in a poncho. (Who cares about riding a horse?)

(Here’s the context.)

*****

That’s it! Now head on over there and give it a try. 🙂

A typical conversation in our apartment

My sister and I, talking about a surprise a friend was planning:

ME: I know what you know.

HER: What do I know?

ME: You know…
That…thing…
That I know you know.
Now I know it, too.

HER: What? Can you please just tell me?

ME: No wants. Isn’t this fun?

HER: Noooo. It’s really not.

ME: Yes! It is!
I know what you know and now you know that I know what you know.
nyahaha
And don’t I know it.

HER: Oooookay. I’m outta here.

See what I have to deal with? Total lack of respect. I was just trying to share. 😦


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Abigail needs… (LOL. Too funny.)

I was messing around on the intarwebs when I saw this game.

Here’s how it works: Google “[your first name] needs” and share the results. That’s it: it is that simple. But be honest! Pass it on…

1. Abigail NEEDS A DRUMMER
— seriously, it was the first thing there, in capital letters. hahaha. oooookay…..

2. Abigail needs more character development
— um. life advice from google?

3. Abigail needs special care
— is it just me, or does this sound a bit off?

4. Abigail needs a family that will be patient in allowing her to adjust to her new home
— hey… I sense a trend here…

5. Abigail needs a therapist to help her deal with her rages and fears
— No! I cant trust anyone, not even a therapist! Everybody’s out to get me!

6. Abigail needs a date (just because she’s a puppet doesn’t mean she can’t find Mr. Right)
— apparently I’m not only hopelessly single, I’m also a lifeless doll. great. thanks.

7. Abigail needs to chew
— first, my sanity is questioned, then my love life, now my eating habits? what next?

8. Abigail needs a new cage
— hey! what the -?

9. Abigail needs you
— to play the drums. to help me develop my character. to provide special care. to help me adjust to my new home. to give me therapy. to have dinner with. to….chew? for dinner? okay, maybe I do need that cage.

10. Abigail needs a scandalous story to save her father’s newspaper
— my autobiography would probably do.

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Not Quite the Fairytale

What girl hasn’t dreamed of her first kiss? Long before I even had a crush, I’d already pictured that perfect moment in my mind. I would be standing on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean with a guy who was somehow a cross between Aladdin and Leonardo di Caprio. And as the wind blew the skirt of my long, beautiful dress around my legs, he would take me in his arms and kiss me tenderly at the exact moment that the setting sun touched the horizon. It would be perfectly and utterly romantic. For most of my childhood, that fantasy ranked right up there with the hope that I actually had a fairy godmother who would wave her magic wand and turn Steve (name changed to keep the peace),  the classroom bully, into an ugly frog.

But not all childhood dreams come true. Thanks to all my godmothers staying stubbornly, boringly human, Steve grew up from an obnoxious kid to an even more obnoxious teenager without even the slightest amphibious attributes. And as for my first kiss? Well, that, too, did not go exactly as planned.

I was sixteen then, and we’d moved from the small, sheltered neighborhood where I grew up to the capital of the province. However, we lived quite far from the town center, where my mom and my aunt worked as teachers and my siblings and I attended school. To make the daily commute easier, we hired a tricycle to take us to the city proper during the weekdays. The driver was this twenty-something guy with a barbed wire tattoo on his wrist and dyed blond hair. My mother, being one of the friendliest people I know, would chat him up throughout the 45-minute ride. I seldom paid them any attention; I was too busy putting on my socks, cleaning my shoes, combing my still-dripping hair, or doing whatever part of my routine I hadn’t managed to finish before my mom rushed me out of the door. By the time the others had gotten off and I was the only passenger left, it would be pretty quiet in the tricycle. I wasn’t much of a morning person.

Unfortunately, my mom’s friendliness had given the driver the idea that he had license to flirt with the daughter. He kept trying to draw me out in conversation with pick up lines so cliché they should be outlawed. One of his typical attempts at being charming would go like this:

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

I’d shake my head.

“Really? How come? You’re cute. They should be lining up for you.”

A shrug.

“You must be choosy. You’re choosy, right?”

Another shrug.

“Well, what do you look for in a guy? Come on, tell me.”

I’d smile politely and say nothing.

“Let me guess – handsome. Girls always like handsome guys. Right?”

By this time I’d be wishing I just lied about not having a boyfriend.

“Maybe you want someone who’s sweet. Come on, don’t be shy. Tell me.”

I wanted to tell him I wasn’t shy, I just wasn’t interested.

“Me, I’m a simple man. I like girls who are petite and have long hair. They should be pretty, like you.”  Then he’d look at me so long I’d worry about our safety on the busy road. It was the morning rush hour, and we were surrounded by other vehicles, which, I noted enviously, were being driven by relatively normal, non-amorous drivers.

He would repeat this performance, with slight variations, every morning, not at all discouraged by the fact that the conversation was entirely one-sided. For some reason, he seemed to think himself quite debonair. It wasn’t exactly the best way the start my day, but mostly I found him annoying but harmless enough. I endured his daily pestering until the day he decided to take it to another level.

It was Friday morning, and I was still pretty sleepy by the time we dropped off everybody else at their school. I woke up completely, though, when instead of going the usual busy route to my campus, he steered the tricycle out of the traffic then turned into a quiet, tree-lined, secluded road and stopped….

“Why are we here?” That must have been one of the longest sentences I’d ever said to him.

“I have a great idea,” he said. “Why don’t we hang out for a while and then go watch a movie later?”

I looked at him blankly. “I have classes.”

“So? You can be absent just this once. It’s Friday. I won’t tell.”

“But I don’t want to be absent,” I protested. “Please take me to school now.”

“Come on, don’t be a killjoy,” he wheedled.

“I’m not allowed to go to the movies here.” It was true; there were only two cinemas in town, and they both showed x-rated movies all the time.

“Your mom likes me. She won’t get mad, you’ll see.”

I don’t like you, I wanted to tell him. I was beginning to get nervous, though, so I started to get off. “I’ll just find another ride,” I said.

All of a sudden, he grabbed my arm then leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. Then he waited for the effect.

I was stunned. How dare he? I wanted to slap him, but horrible scenarios were already flashing through my mind. What if he gets violent? What if he does it again? Wh-what if he rapes me? Oh my god, was I gonna end up as one of those girls who were murdered then chopped into pieces? I looked around frantically – there was even a huge balete tree at the side of the empty road. It was the perfect crime scene, and my ghost would be haunting this spot for all eternity. I took off running.

He followed me. “Come on, get back in,” he cajoled, as if I didn’t know how close I was to being a chop-chop victim. “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t do it again.”

Yeah, right.

“I’ll take you to school. Just don’t tell your mom.”

I kept running, but I was getting tired. He, on the other hand, was just driving his stupid tricycle and effortlessly keeping up with me as I headed towards the intersection where that quiet road joined a busier one. Where’s traffic when you need it?

Suddenly, he chuckled. “Isn’t this just like a movie? You know, like Robin Padilla and Sharon Cuneta.”

A movie?! Did he just say that? And was I supposed to be Sharon Cuneta? The guy’s delusional. If this were a movie, it would definitely be a horror film, not a romantic flick.

He kept following me like that until I finally got to the intersection. I flagged down another tricycle which, thankfully, stopped. When I got to school, I immediately rushed to my friends and told them about the ordeal. The girls were all shocked and sympathetic. The boys wanted to hunt him down for revenge. My teacher, on the other hand, only wanted to know if he was cute. Once the initial excitement was over, though, there was one common reaction. It was my teacher who voiced it out.

“So I guess you already had your first kiss,” she said.

What? No! I looked at my friends to see if they found the notion as preposterous as I did.

“Yeah, she’s right,” my seatmate said. All the others had the same thoughtful look of agreement on their faces.

“But that doesn’t count!” I objected. He didn’t even look like Aladdin!

No matter what I said, though, it seemed like history was determined to mark that morning as one of the momentous events of my life. At our high school graduation, several of my classmates’ farewell notes said something along the lines of “You’ll find the right guy someday. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind that you already had your first kiss….

Seven years later, I still get teased about it. My friends and I would be riding a tricycle, and one smart aleck will come out with “Isn’t this just like a movie?” Then everybody will laugh like it’s the funniest thing since the first knock-knock joke. If there’s someone new in the crowd who doesn’t get it, the whole sordid history of my “first kiss” would be dragged out right there and then. Now if only that fairy godmother would do me the favor of appearing anytime soon….

 

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Fresher than sushi

LOL. Something’s wrong with me. I’m in a public place and I can’t stop laughing about something I just heard over a jeepney’s AM radio. In an interview over a recent fishkill in their town, the mayor issued this public health warning:

“At present and until further announcements, the residents are advised to avoid eating dead fish.”

Hahahahahaha. I’m sorry. This is completely shallow, I know. OMG I have to stop. Hahahahahaha.

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Some Random, Obscure, Completely Unimportant Facts About Me (aka Egocentrism 101)

1. I can bend my right pinkie backwards.

2. My sense of direction is worse than useless. I have been known to get lost and give up when I’m fifty meters away to where I’m going.

3. I know all the words to all the songs in The Sound of Music movie. Umm, and the dialogue, too.

4. I used to have a pet cemetery when I was a kid. I buried the remains of unsuccesfully rescued grasshoppers, birds, chicks, catterpillars, tadpoles, etc. there. And yes, the neighborhood kids attended the funerals, too.

5. I am deathly afraid of dentists. And any injections or blood tests are a form of torture to me.

6. I once burped continuously over a period of 3 days.

7. My friends once caught me reading a horror book by peeking through my fingers. I have never read horror since then.

8. My childhood ambition was to be a princess.

9. I can’t make a big bottle of lotion last for more than a month. Why? I put a lot on my feet every night before I sleep.

10. I am frequently mistaken to be no more than 18 years old.

11. For some reason, the line “I bid you stand, Men of the West!” has been running through my mind all day.

12. My name is mentioned 18 times in the NIV Bible. It means “father’s joy” in Hebrew. The worst (mis)spelling of it that I ever saw was “Aveguel.”

13. I didn’t know I had a birthmark on my back until I was in highschool.

14. My comfort books, the ones that I reach for when I need some time away from real life, are The Lord of the Rings, Watership Down, and Tigana.

15. My parents experimented with me when I was a baby to find out whether a child will learn the language spoken by her parents or the common tongue in the community. They spoke only English at home, so it became my first language. I didn’t learn how to speak Tagalog until I attended preschool.

16. I am addicted to Cloud9, Chooeytoffee and pritong isaw. Anything with cheese also rates high on my list of gourmet fare.

 

 

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You know you’re addicted to the Lord of the Rings when…

  • You’ve read The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Books of Lost Tales, The Silmarillion and everything else Tolkien has written – heck, everything he’s even touched – more than ten times.
  • No one in your family is allowed to speak, breathe, or otherwise suggest their existence while you’re watching the trilogy for the 57th time.
  • You know exactly what the characters in the movies are going to say next because a) you’ve watched them 57 times, b) you actually have the script and have read it over and over again, and c) you recorded the sounds with your mp3 player and keep listening to it all day.
  • You’ve been caught talking to trees and sympathizing that “nobody cares for the woods anymore”.
  • You want to petition your school to add Elvish 101 and The History of Middle Earth to your curriculum.
  • Anyone who dares to criticize, or heaven forbid, compare The Lord of the Rings to Harry Potter gets treated to a passionate two-hour rebuttal from you.
  • You’ve memorized quotes from the books.
  • You’ve memorized quotes from the movies.
  • You’ve memorized Elvish phrases.
  • You’ve memorized EVERYTHING connected to Tolkien!
  • You use “mellon” as your password.
  • You take more notes and pay more rapt attention when reading The Books of Lost Tales than when studying for your final History of Civilization exam.
  • Your mom warns visitors who have limited time to never mention “Tolkien”, “The Lord of the Rings”, and other similar words to you.
  • You start saying “eleventy-one” instead of “one hundred eleven” and refer to potatoes as “taters”.
  • There are more Lord of the Rings posters in your room than pictures of your family and friends.
  • You try to convince your married friends to throw their wedding rings into the fire.
  • All your favorite things are your “preciousssss”.
  • You decide whether the people you meet have good taste or not by asking them what they think of The Lord of the Rings.
  • You refer to your friends as your “Fellowship”.
  • You feel proud that you’re only five feet tall, because even the smallest person can change the course of the future.
  • You refer to meetings as “councils” and “Entmoots”.
  • You are seriously considering plastic surgery on your ears.
  • You think the world has changed. You feel it in the water. You feel it in the earth. You smell it in the air.
  • You know who Glorfindel is.
  • You seriously consider wearing green on your wedding day and walking down the aisle holding a banner.
  • You try to buy lembas bread at the bakery.
  • You know what LOTR, FOTR, TTT, ROTK, BOLT and Sil stand for and use them often.
  • You know exactly where and how the movies deviate from the books.
  • When you have no load or you’re in a place where there’s no network coverage, you try use beacons to communicate long distance.
  • You’ve memorized Middle Earth geography while you can’t quite remember whether Samar is in Visayas or
    Mindanao.
  • You’ve spent hours looking for “There and Back Again – A Hobbit’s Tale” in the library.
  • Fifty percent of the sites on your bookmarks are about The Lord of the Rings.
  • You know what happened in the Second Age of Middle Earth but don’t know the year that the Japanese landed on Philippine shores.
  • When you’re worried, you say that “a shadow and a threat is growing in your mind”.
  • When you’re sick, you ask for athelas, or kingsfoil. You’re also convinced that the doctor is a king in disguise, because “the hands of the king are the hands of a healer”.
  • You can relate to this list and…
  • You make lists like this.

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