Thursday, March 27, 2014


A:  (Ang bantered with characters in her work all day and eventually turned off her computer and rocked back into her chair)  I want to talk.  ( The unspoken was with someone else not her multi-personality disorder-ish self.  She was done being the Sybil-like author.  Far too many characters to channel at once and she needed a rest from herself.  Yes, she adored her wonderful creative side but every once in a Blueman Moon, the brilliant needed to refresh by getting the thoughts of others [guess who wrote this])
Z:  I want to write.  (Maintains his serious look, focus was intense as he tapped away at the computer keys and as he often did, rose from his chair, as he became more involved leaning over the keyboard striking it as might someone playing a video game)
A:  Talk to me.  (Adds a little whine with her cheese.  Yes, she pulled out a cheddar cheese and wheat cracker snack pack and began to nibble, and yes, talked with her mouth full)  Taulllk wifff meee.
Z:  Write with me.  (Absently, grabs a piece of cheese, and ignores her disapproving look, bites half and balances the remaining on the top of his eye-drops bottle)
A:  (She shouted and pointed)  Look.
Z:  (He turned his head to see what she was referencing, and as he did, she turned off his machine and added a girlish giggle, though mooted by the spitting of a cracker piece which laughingly settled on his eye-glass lens)  Oooook... what do you want to talk about?  (The glasses were cleaned using her sweater sleeve)
A:  Stuff.  She removed the sweater quickly and in so inadvertently undid a button on her blouse which caught on the sweater's weave and when she threw the knit top toward the chair two additional buttons came free)  Hey! 
Z:  (Not focused on her )That narrows the field to everything in this universe.  (Fingers inched towards the computer’s switch.  His thoughts were still on the story)
A:  Hey... don't be mean.  (She removed the sweater and re-buttoned)
Z:  You are being a Princess.  (Entwined his fingers over his head as if a crown, now looking at her)  Why are your buttons buttoned up wrong?  Look at the pucker.
A:  It is so I can put my cell into my bra if you had to know.  (She looked for her phone an realized she had left it home so she put his into her bra)
Z:  Whatever you say Princess.
A: Cinderella lives within us all.  (Actually pulled out a tiara from her desk drawer and reverently placed it on her head)  Bow peasant for I am Silly, Princess of Wee-Willie Way.
Z:   (He deliberately stopped his eyes from doing the infamous roll) I get it.  (The words rolled out as if being nice to a younger sister, why, because older brothers did that)
A:  The foreverness of romance ... Casablanca... “Was that cannon fire, or is it my heart pounding?” Ilsa in “Casablanca” with Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart. Warner Bros. 1942, directed by Michael Curtiz.   Romance that hung on my heart.   (She put her hands to her chest causing the phone to pop out)
Z:  Hey!  Is that mine?  (He reached for the phone)
A:  Watch it Grabby!  (She removed the phone, looked it over, and put it back into her bra)  No.  Ours look alike.  (Wanting to change the subject from her phone ruse)  A romantic would never just grab at a gal's boob, but seduce the boob into his hand.
Z:  You are feeling mushy?  (Gives up trying to work and eats the cheese from the eye-drops bottle)
A:  "Other men said they have seen angels, But I have seen thee.  And thou art enough." Was written by G. Moore.  That stuff tugs at my heart strings.  It sends a poignant message, heart to brain then brain to eyes... cry!
Z: (He nods getting into the spirit of her quoting tirade) "Your beauty just embarrassed the first cherry blossom of Spring."  Wrye Balderdash.  ( Bowed as if a Knight to a Lady) 
A: Are you hitting on me?
Z:  Hitting, no.  Quoting an obscure author with you, yes.  Just jumping on the Mushy Motorcade.
A:  Yes you get it.  (Gives him the double-thumbs up, and then licks some crumbs off one of her thumbs... she read from a note pad... as she adjusted the jewel bedazzled phone because it was bedazzling in a very uncomfortable way [ yes, his phone was sparkled, why, a joke... see Ang picked it up for him])  "When you love someone, all your saved-up wishes start coming out." Was by Elizabeth Bowen (1899-1973)
Z:  You are acting a bit hormonal.
A: (She transferred her tiara to Bodi, who also licked Ang’s thumb) Love is important and our world is becoming fast and expedient.  Can one be titillating in 140 characters?  Can one hope to wrestle the hearts from characters and entwined them into the readers soul by lingering, seducing, prolonging the sizzling inevitable, or must one just do the not so good ole slam bam and not even a thank ye ma'am?
Z:  Wow!  Ooook.  (He sensed her conflict and wanted to run and hide)
A:  Well?  (Her tone was a give-me-an-answer-right-now sound)
Z:  “Sex is nature's way of saying 'Hi!'”  Love notes and letters are oft done as IMs.  If you get a date in 140 characters and that date leads to her bending and lifting her skirt.  Maybe that is titillating.  For some maybe love.  Shallow?  Who can say.
A:  But loving?  Where is the loving?  Where are the sweet sighs and breathlessness not just grunts and groans.  (Hugs Bodi as if for solace, and then flaps the dog's ears, playfully, the tiara wobbled, threatening to fall)  Sometimes we write idiosyncratic characters.  Quirky characters may lose their sexual appeal or not.  I love the push and pull of loving.  And we agree that all people need love.  Even the quirky. 
Z:  Yes, even quirky folks need love.  "A woman who doesn't wear underwear feels naked in public... unless she is trolling... she wants everyone to notice but no one to point it out."  Wrye Balderdash.  Odd but should she not find love?  Or send us pictures?  He laughed as Ang kicked at him.
A:  She should find love and we should let her.  (She jotted down a thought, drew hearts and flowers around the words)  Are love letters romantic or not?  “To write a good love letter, you ought to begin without knowing what you mean to say, and to finish without knowing what you have written."  Was written by Jean-Jacques Rousseau.  Should we write about love that way?
Z:  No!  (He wanted to be cutesy and say that Ang did it all the time... write without knowing where she was going, but resisted, sensing she was being pseudo-serious and was wearing her sturdy kicking shoes)
A:  Lawrence Durrell wrote, “A woman's best love letters are always written to the man she is betraying.”  I don't want love to be so cruel and self-serving.  (Released the dog, the crown fell off the pup's head and she batted it to the fellow dog Jamie, who brought it back to Ang)  Oh, so you think I'm a Princess.  Gee, thanks.  Princess of Cur Collect East of Pussy Hollow.
Z:  I'm a Jon Bon Jovi fan.  He said, “You know these love letters mix with whisky, just don't light a match when you kiss me.”  He was saying that words can be intoxicating as well as combustible.  I want to light the fire of love when I write.  Why?  To please.
A:  Me too.  (She removed a corn pad from her baby toe and put it into her pocket)  Can words cause one's panties to spontaneously fall to their ankles?  You say that often.  (Checked the floor as if checking to make sure her panties have not fallen... then checked to see if she had even worn any... yes, she was occasionally forgetful... today, she had on a pair, but lo and behold, they were on backwards)
Z:  Yes they can.  "From the first clash of our eyes, the earliest waft of your daisy scent, the melodic rhythm of your voice, and the awe inspiring eyes, it was easy to see that you took my heart, hugged it and made it yours."  Wrye Balderdash.  Tell me that you don't feel from time to time sexually moved by what we write.
A:  Your point?
Z:  Panties do follow the well crafted word. 
A: (The phone rang... Zi stared at Ang's chest... it rang again... she reached in and removed it... answered the call)  It is for you.


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