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“642 Things to Write About” and The Great Gatsby

I watched the movie today. More on that later. Or right now, with terribly cynical words for 642.What would Fitzgerald say about boxers or briefs? #76?

Also, I had a rough conversation with my dearest brother, that highlighted all the differences between us. #78

Actually, really great entries from us today. Yes, I’m tooting our horns like nobody’s business.

Prompt #74- The greatness of sandwiches

My response:

Not including hamburgers (as I’m sure many don’t), I found sandwiches the bane of my existence, avoiding it at all costs. They seemed to represent all that was wrong with being less than wealthy. Sandwiches now, and forever. Jelly, baloney with cheese and mayo, bacon-egg-cheese- hell, even Nutella.

Towards the time when I realized that I could starve myself with idiotic discontent, I noticed that every sandwich I made was out of desperation. I was hungry, and in order to fill me up, it was quicker to put that jelly or baloney or egg on bread.

Now, I usually skip the sandwich deal. It reminds me of being poor and hungry. But I eat the bread alone, the ‘deli’ ham between my fingers rolled up like a burrito, and shredded cheese is sprinkled into my mouth. I don’t remember the last time I’ve had mayo, but no part of that can go without a sandwich, and that, too, has been buried.

Sister’s response: 

Sandwiches can really describe the person who’s eating it. You can learn a lot from sandwich. For example, the creativity of it. How the person organizes it or what they put on it. There are thousands, maybe millions of variations you can do to make a sandwich. Not too mention that you can organize it in your own special way that no one will get. And, it tastes good.

Prompt # 75-Parades

My response:

I remember only one kind of parade that happened from year to year. The Martin Luther King Parade in Beaumont, Texas. For some reason, it was always a huge affair, something I always looked forward to. The people in the great slow line would throw beads and candy, so, so, so much candy. One year I lost a tooth to a Tootsie Roll from the parade; that Halloween I lost another to another.

It always gave me great anxiety to see it winding down, and the way it so concretely began to make outward signs that, yes, it will be over.

One year, it rained. Not many people came, and my elementary self had been close to tears at the disappointment. No candy was thrown, or beads, since there was water everywhere and it was slippery. Dancers and bands and performers had canceled, so there were gaps and it was quick. Too quick. I remember thinking that parades were fast enough, and the rain had hastened them all away.

I made a note early never watch parades on TV- like the Macy’s one, or the New Year’s one. To hear it thrillingly from articles and people who had visited kept it alive far longer than if I had been there.

One time I had gone to a Christmas parade in Beaumont, on Crockett street, closed down now. Our class was on our way to a grand, grand, grand theater to see a magnificent rendition of A Christmas Carol. We were watching the parade beforehand, to pass the time. It is still bright and glorious, with horses dressed in red and green lights and a thousands Santas marching. It’s been neverending.

Sister’s response: 

Parades to me are like bubblegum. The first ten minutes of it s good, but after awhile, it’s bland. There are times when I just be happy about it but deep down, I just want to go home. I remember the MLK parades when they passed beads and stuff. I did enjoy that part, like any other kid would. But, I’ve been in parades like five times. Tiring, tiring stuff. Marching up hills while playing music. I do love festivities, so my feelings about it are neutral.

(MY! We are just on a blaze, aren’t we?)

Prompt #76-Boxers or briefs? Discuss.

My response:

Depends on the character. You can’t just put boxers or briefs on a man or woman and pretend it’s always going to be so. That’s like saying someone should always wear sweaters, while another always V-necks.

Cupping a nice package in briefs is all I think about with briefs. The package can be in the front or the back, but it should be well-formed and fulfilling. Briefs for my attractive people, the muscular and shapely, the curvaceous (and BBWs). It just won’t work with men, unless their erections can fill as much as their stomachs covers.

Boxers are mostly for style and comfort- oddly enough. Free-falling and airy, with much more room for decoration, which is always good if your pants go down to your thighs.

Boxer-briefs, mostly.

Sister’s response: 

I prefer boxers because whenever I see guys wearing briefs, I tend to stare by accident. It’s like, right there… Like, a girl with big boobs. A lot of times I see sexy men wearing briefs, so I really can’t help staring (look up Ian Somerhalder).

(Perverts! The both of us!)

Prompt #77- Screw you.

My response:

Whenever I hear someone say that some book I like was boring, I have the extreme urge to say “Screw you”. I find the word in league with phrases like ‘too-PC’ or ‘hyperfeminist’ or ‘Obummer’. It’s a word to say towards something that has a lot more to it, most of the time. In essence, it’s one of those words many use without really trying to say anything. It’s somewhat dismissive.

Ah, screw you!

Sister’s response: 

I find it rude. But then again, they could say worse, like f-off or something. I still don’t like it though. Seems kind of hurtful and mean.

(It is!)

Prompt #78-Write about a difficult conversation you’ve had recently. Then rewrite the conversation, saying what you couldn’t say at the time.

My response:

My brother came to visit for Mother’s Day. And when the rest of the family went to church (except for my youngest brother and my niece- and brother, of course) I asked Brother if he could take me to the gas station so I could get me some Dr. Pepper.

I couldn’t find my debit card in my wallet or anywhere, and I asked Youngest Brother to ask my parents if they’ve seen my card. I was sure they had taken it without my permission, for I had recently given my mom my pin number so that she could withdraw money to buy some… uhm… medicine. I had already checked my bank account, and it recorded a transaction for that day that I didn’t do.

My parents sent a message back saying ‘Didn’t no one touch your card’.

Incensed at the cowardly display of fibbing, miles away at a cultish church, I told Brother I no longer wanted to go, and he asked if I was mad and of course I was.

He soon went on a familiar rant about how I needed to leave the house, get my life together, be successful, go somewhere, anywhere than my parent’s place. He remarked how I shouldn’t be surprised about that charge, how I probably wasn’t, and shouldn’t be, again.

As his voice radiated in the house, my niece froze in place. I could see in her eyes the nervousness she always displayed when someone was angry, for her shitty father would get like that and be unkind to her.

I could see father in my brother’s eyes. They may have wanted what was best, but it came off so patronizing, so agonizing. But I couldn’t tell my brother who had PTSD from my father that he was anything like him. I couldn’t tell him that I was, obviously upset, but, on the whole, my sister and niece was making this the best place to be in the world right now. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay with them.

He told me how I shouldn’t be working at Denny’s, how I needed my own place, how I needed to take out loans, and make plan B’s and C’s just in case Temple University didn’t accept me.

Where should I work at? How would I get my own place? Should I go back and be miserable at Johns Hopkins?

Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, thinking that I can’t get into Temple University?

did immediately get defensive with that. I don’t know if he noticed; but he’s sensitive. He might have. I told him I would like to live on my own, somehow, and he was quick to say that things didn’t just happen that way, and I was careful to say that I had no choice then.

But I didn’t say, simply, that I didn’t want to. Unfortunately for him, whenever he visits he is addressed by panic attacks, tearful fits, triggers from Dad- Dad with his fake laugh, and passive aggressive way of asking for favors (He works in Murfreesboro, and he told my brother that he might need to hang at his house one day. Ugh.) and all that crap. Fortunately for me, my subconscious deals with this and I deal with it all subconsciously. But consciously I immerse myself in my grand imagination, my sister’s wit, and my niece’s laughter, the narrator from Far Cry or the NPCs of Skyrim. I’m also perfectly confident and complacent in my superior wit, intelligence, and empathy (but not diligence to the seriousness of this world, my world) to anyone who tries to come against me.

Where the hell do you get off thinking I can’t get into Temple University? That I can’t be successful just because I bide my time collecting money so that I will be able to pay my way through just a few more years of college and the great beyond. You with the PTSD with the many boyfriends of all types, and hundreds of followers, and forty likes for a status on an imaginary snippet on closing an elevator on a group? You who have always had friends and the love of so much of the family, who no one would ever just call cute so that they can’t honestly say that I’m unattractive in the general sense?

I’ll stay here. I’ll go to Temple. I’m fine.

Sister’s response: 

My sister versus my brother and me on God. She’s an atheist and we were figuring out why she doesn’t believe. She made some valid points and so did my brother, but I ran out of things to say. At one point, she said that, there’s no proof that God exists and that she lives for fun.

I wanted to say that I wish I can die and see heaven so that I can come back and tell her about it. I felt doubtful if God exists or not, but I know in my heart that I do believe.

(so heartfelt…)

Prompt #79-Write the copy for a cereal box so that someone would actually want to buy this exciting new flavor

My response: (Hilarious, since most new flavors aren’t new at all)

Trix Cereal now made with REAL FRUITS! That’s right, lemony yellow and raspberry red are now tinged with luscious lemons and riveting real raspberries. Try these delightful swirls in your favorite type of milk- try it with some vanilla soymilk and let the creamy goodness bathe your receptors with an almost yogurty wave!

Sister’s response: 

Kix! Now with flavor! Go on… Add sugar to it… Keep going… Pour all that sugar in it… The whole Kix will still taste like the box it was made in… Buy new Kix now!

(I love Kix!)

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