A Unique Creative Writing Exercise

I am not your Ukulele Bitch. I refuse to listen to you pluck the goddamn strings anymore. You’re not with the right person for me. I don’t believe that you and I are meant for each other. You can sit there strumming your ukulele but I myself will want to be with each solitary male who walks in here without company. Does that scare you? I’m sorry if it does, but the tunes from your ukelele scare the shit out of me. Frankly, we have no use for tiny guitars in this relationship. Yes, darling, I called it a tiny guitar. Well I’m sorry it’s not, at least in your opinion, but it’s never provided me any joy. I remember when you got it for your birthday and you asked if I’d care to hear you play it. I said yes but you should now know I meant no. I don’t think it was a terrible gift, but you and I are two different souls, and I myself would never ask for a ukulele.

How many strings are on the ukulele anyway? How many would it take to lash a few wrists in this coffee shop? Why in God’s name do you keep bringing it back to the coffee shop anyway? Wish I could stop craving mocha lattes all the time and also that you didn’t come with me. I also wish you’d move out of the building, but I suppose you pay your rent just as I pay mine. I’m so very thankful I’ve never witnessed you collecting rent money by playing the ukulele on the sidewalk. I’d toss a penny in the case because I’ve been taught that giving a person a penny as a tip is by far the most insulting thing you can do. I know that you’d want to talk about it afterwards too, but I’ll be tired. Just let me sleep.

I wish you never played the ukulele the first time we met. I had just moved into the building and you were helping me move my boxes in and around. I loved your glasses and then I would have listened to you play the goddamn piccolo. I just thought you were neat. I came by way too often then, room 401. I didn’t like your room, but I liked what you added. Colorful posters of bands like Radiohead and the Yeah Yeah Yeah’s and bobbleheads of Russian Czars of the past and half empty bowls of macaroni on your counter. I like how I sank into your couch. I like how you took off those glasses of yours that I liked and pushed me onto the couch and touched me when I told you it was okay. Now, I’d like to do that with anyone else. Anyone else who has no ukulele talent, that is.

I think it’s pathetic that girls are always staring at you, groups of two or three of them, sipping their caramel macchiatos and texting their actual boyfriends, reconsidering breaking up just like they wanted to last Valentine’s day. I eat my chips and want you to think that I’m too fat or too bitchy or too short or whatever and leave me and go be with one of them. I bet at least one of them is a Tiffany. I just don’t like that name and I never did. I see you two now, though, artsy as the day is long in your apartment down the hall. I’ll be able to write down my press releases in peace and I won’t have you chasing after me to go out and get lattes.

Doesn’t the ukulele weigh you down? You have to take a carrying case with you each time you take it. People treat it as they’d treat someone with a dog. What instrument is that? How long have you had it? Can I see it? I swear that a golden retriever is ten times better than any instrument that makes you envision the seedier sides of Hawaii. I don’t suppose that thoughts like that often cross your mind. What does cross it? The fact that you have a girlfriend who cooks you pasta as you try to book your gigs? The fact that last Christmas you took her to meet your family in Boca Raton and all the did was sit on the couch the whole time? You’re an ugly person, man. Ugly.

Hope you enjoyed that. Penned it in class, really quickly. I liked how it came out.

Free Admission? You Can Bank On It

Often times, college kids are strapped for ideas. "But I've already SEEN Mean Girls fifteen times." "Okay, well then what do YOU want to do?" See what I mean?

Recently I came across the Bank of America Museums on Us program. What is it? Glad you asked. For the first FULL weekend of every month, your Bank of America card is your admissions pass to 150 Museums across the country. Each state is included in the list.

Not only do I salute Bank of America for providing free admission, but I salute them for giving me something to look forward to each month. Not even reality t.v. does that for me.

Some of my favorites include:

Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, MA

Harvard Museum of Natural History in Cambridge, MA.

Las Vegas Natural History Museum in Las Vegas, NV

Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, New York

Museum of Photographic Arts, San Diego California

Go to: http://museums.bankofamerica.com/ to see a complete list. Go out and enjoy some priceless works of art (literally).

Frieda B., You and Me

Greetings followers,

Sorry I haven't updated in some time. It's probably because I've been busy with my internship! I'm currently working alongside author Renata Bowers, creator of Frieda B. Published early on in 2010, the book is already becoming a local favorite for elementary schools and high schools, children and adults alike. Getting a behind the scenes view of what goes into promoting and developing the Frieda B. (soon to be) series is really interesting. Renata is an excellent advisor, who gives me great advice each day I work with her. I'm taking away plenty from my job; tidbits from how to get your work published to organizing events and even building my own future internship program.

Frieda B. Herself is an amazing children's book, and I'm not saying that just because the author is my advisor. The quality of the writing and illustrations is top notch and the message is even better: Dream your dreams big and believe they can be! Children have vivid, ever expanding imaginations, but the message applies to everyone. You should never let go of your dreams, from 5 to 95. The nicest thing is that Renata cares about the message of the book getting across to a captivated audience more than profiting, which is so nice to see in a world that's run with money.

Treat yourselves and buy Frieda B. Herself; for you, your siblings, your parents, and others you know. Go to FriedaB.com to find out the easiest way to get it, or to find out a list of retailers near you.

Promenade

A bright pink dress with bows to stand out amongst others,

and a corsage boasting flowers and lace.

Young bodies sway and pose and stand

for their parents who invested so much in the day.

“Turn this way, darling” a mother squeals,

The explosive eruption of camera light

shines down on the kids of the neighborhood,

who adapt from blue-jean overalls to ball-gowns

and shaking rattles to slow dances.

One girl, coral dress, who had preened in front of her mirror,

lipstick tube gliding over her lips,

poses with her boyfriend, who

holds her waist

like you’d hold a photograph,

fingers unsure of where to be.

A boy in a black tux with an orchid boutonniere

toys with the notion of calling his date “beautiful”,

her hair up and doted with pearls and glitter.

A boy and girl stir at the thought of holding each others’ hands.

The heavy makeup and bursting energy will wear off in a few hours,

and the boys in their tuxes will still be too shy to say a thing to their dates,

but for now, their middle-age parents do their best

to capture another awkward moment in the life of their teenagers.

Locks-of-lovin' life!

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

New haircut!

I had ridiculously long hair about two hours ago, before I stepped into Insparations Spa, a cute place where I have gotten my hair cut many times. I had grown my hair for about two years, and once it hit a certain point, I decided it'd only make sense to donate my tresses. I chose Pantene's Beautiful Lengths program because they only require 8 inches, instead of the common 10. Having Laura, my usual hair dresser, snip off the ponytail wasn't sad at all. I mean, it WAS my hair, so naturally I was a little sad to see it go, but believe me, this hair hit it's peak a while ago. It got caught under backpacks, bags, people, you name it. I was ha

ppy to see it go. My hair was "inspired" by a short cut Jessica Simpson had, but thank god I don't look like her. Either way, I feel healthy, happy, and hairtastic. I recommend donating if you have long locks. It feels great and you know someone will "wear your hair" eventually.

Old photos of the hair:

Fish

I flit around, scales constantly cool,

pecking what I want and glaring at the sun,

a golden harvest set above me in the sky.

I see you, you look programmed,

rotating and gliding through water, all so smoothly.

We go along together, sometimes,

to socialize at the reef or go spelunking.

Our tails propel us deeper into the blue:

French blue to cobalt to midnight,

so we can kiss in the quiet dark.

Then our lips swollen from pressure and water,

you and I become intoxicated,

so much so that I watch you drown,

slippery fin

s and waterlogged body,

and you drown below me.

I hover, while you and my heart sink.

There’s no thrashing, you’re sedated,

in an elevator to the ocean floor.

When you’re gone, no trace of you to follow.

I can’t tell the difference between all sorts of salt water,

what I make or what we had shared.

There’s no life around me then,

so I travel, sea scapes and rock beds,

but the community is quiet,

all swimming in x and y formation.

Without you, there are no other fish in the sea.

Spread Out!

LOVE

Love is a

four-letter-word-describing

compassion,

emotion,

relations

and friendship.

Those

who

struggle

to be compassionate

themselves will tear down

t

h

o

s

e

who love. Lovers ARE fighters,

or they can be

breaking out boxing gloves to combat those who O N L Y

know hate. Hate for differences, hate for progression,

hate for anything

that I S N O T them.

Lovers bring C O L O R S and mAgiC into the world, and

with light ignorance or disinterest,

the C O L O R S are snuffed out.

and the world as we KNOW it

is black and

white.