50 Things – Writing Prompt

List 50 things you’ll never do.

Um, okay. I’m not sure if this is supposed to be a list of “oh hell no, you won’t ever catch me doing that” or one of the “damn, I’m never going to get to do that” variety. When in doubt, I try to cover all of my bases.

1. Walk across a rope suspended over any kind of gorge or canyon. I am afraid of heights and have no balance, as my Wii Fit history can testify.
2. Drive a racecar.
3. Eat a human being.
4. Get out of debt. Damn student loans.
5. Rebuild an engine.
6. Participate in the Spartan Death Race.
7. Write some kick ass computer software. Or even lame software.
8. Work for NASA.
9. Find my soul mate. Okay, I’m hopeful about this one but I’m leaving it on the list. Finding The One (not Neo) is hard because I’m a bitch extremely picky.
10. Visit the wreck of the Titanic.
11. Depend on another person to support me. I just escaped being reliant on a man and I will never do it again. I am an independent woman. I may struggle, but I’ll do this shit on my own, thankyouverymuch.
12. Find Jimmy Hoffa.
13. Dine with Prince William & his chick.
14. Collect dollar bills while wearing a G-string.
15. Compose a score for an action movie where lots of shit gets blown up.
16. Pull off a bank heist.
17. Eat squid or octopus ever again!!!
18. Be abducted by aliens. Or will I? If it does happen, I hope Mulder & Scully rescue me.
19. Not work with kids in some capacity. While I don’t love kids, I enjoy working with them very much, and I can’t imagine not working or volunteering with groups of kids (of all ages).
20. Turn my vagina into a clown car.
21. Make a porno. Not even a home movie. Sorry, dudes.
22. Weave a hammock. There’s a store down here called Nags Head Hammocks. I haven’t seen it in a while, but they used to have guys standing outside, making the hammocks by weaving the rope onto the “frame” of the hammock. Cool story, bro.
23. Kiss Kate Winslet. I should put this on my bucket list and prove myself wrong here.
24. Write a best selling novel.
25. Find proof of the afterlife. Or aliens.
26. Watch every episode of Law & Order and all its spin-offs.
27. Compete in a bodybuilding competition.
28. Perform on Broadway.
29. Read the last two books in the Southern Vampires series. Seriously, I just can’t take any more Sookie.
30. Stop swearing. Hell fucking no.
31. Give up carbs.
32. Tattle on a co-worker.
33. Take my rosacea medicine consistently. I am terrible at remembering my topical shit. The pills, I can remember as long as I fill my pill box each week. But I am too lazy never remember to put the gel on my face.
34. Become a vampire or werewolf. And that’s really too bad because I would be awesome at either one.
35. Read the Bible. I tried when I was younger. I’d almost rather finish reading the Sookie books.
36. Ask that hottie at work out. I suck when it comes to men. Take that how you will.
37. Pilot an airplane. Or anything else that flies more than 5 feet above the ground.
38. Remember all the lyrics to Extreme’s “Play With Me”
39. Rap in public.
40. Have more children of my own. (Though, I would like to be a foster parent)
41. Watch “2 Girls, 1 Cup”
42. Have a velociraptor for a pet.
43. Take hallucinogenic drugs. But I am going to try the Ganzfeld procedure. And soon! It may be a good writing tool.
44. Read a comic book. Oh, excuse me. Graphic novel.
45. Get as many tattoos as I want. I want tons. All over my body. But since I’m never going to win half a billion dollars in the lottery, I will have to settle for less than five. I have one and have finally settled on a design for my second. Know any good, reasonably priced tattoo artists??
46. Enter the Spartan Death Race. Because that’s just insane.
47. Watch The Shining. Or read the book. That wrinkly old woman with the saggy tits scares the shit out of me.
48. Drink someone under the table. One wine cooler knocks me on my ass.
49. Finish this entry.

Margaret Mallory – Writing Prompt

Write a 150-word profile of someone named Margaret Mallory.

She is tall, just over six feet in height, with long golden blonde hair that hangs straight to the middle of her back. Her hair is her curtain, hiding what she does not want others to see. She keeps it swept to the left, viewing the world through one green eye that shines when the light hits it just so. Her other eye is non-existent, the empty socket scarred over many years ago. Thick ropes of red, angry skin snake down the side of her face, from the hairline and angled toward the bottom of her jaw near her ear. Though she tries to keep them covered, the scars are still visible from certain angles. They no longer cause her physical pain. She reaches up with her soft hand and strokes the smallest of the blemishes. Her other hand loosely grips a small handgun. She is calm, ready to end her nightmare. The door opens and she looks up, brushing the veil of hair from her face.

I’d Walk A Mile – Writing Prompt

Complete the statement “I’d walk a mile for…” and continue to write about it.

A mile is not that far. It’s a mile from my apartment to the nearest store. There are many things for which I would walk 5280 feet. A mile is a piece of cake. It’s one twenty-sixth of a marathon. One third of a 5K. Four laps around our high school track.

At this moment, I would walk a mile for a cup of coffee. There is only one place I like to buy my coffee – 7-11. But that’s about two miles away. I would still walk that far for it. I can’t brew my own coffee for shit. I’ve tried everything – freshly ground high quality beans with bottled water, brewed in a French press. I prefer flavored coffee, especially vanilla. I recently bought myself a Keurig and it rocks so hard. I’m cheap, so I don’t often buy the K-Cups. Instead, I have a reusable pod and I can make a passable cup of joe. My “cup” is actually a 24-ounce stainless steel tumbler. I brew my coffee in the Keurig, add a bunch of cream and a shit ton of Splenda. I’m not quite sure how much Splenda is in a shit ton, but I imagine it’s similar to a kilo of cocaine.

But when I go to 7-11, I get the regular blend that’s just normally brewed in an industrial size coffee maker. As the Queen of Excess, I add four of those little half & half thingamabobs (I have no idea how much is actually in them – half a tablespoon, maybe?) and four thingamabobs of French vanilla creamer. And 8 packets of Splenda. Yes, I know that artificial sweeteners are going to give me cancer and all sorts of other nasty shit but something has to kill me. It may be this North Carolina heat, but until my innards boil, I will enjoy my chemical-laden coffee. Nothing beats that smooth, sweet taste. I long for the days when I can just sit on my porch swing, reading a book and sipping from my Wonder Woman mug as the sun rises to reflect off the dew in the soft, green grass.

If I had a porch. And a swing. And an eastern view. And grass. This is coastal North Carolina. My view consists of some grubby trees and some sand with blades of green that people down here call grass but isn’t really grass. It’s nothing like the lush carpet back home in western New York. And right now, it’s too hot for coffee anyway.

This is where the fun begins.

Hell Yeah!