Lost souls

Once upon a blog, I began a writing prompt which came to be known as Three Word Wednesday.  It feels like a lifetime ago now.  The premise was simple: I would post three words, and people would write something -- a poem, short story, whatever -- including the three words in their piece.  After a few years, with forty or fifty people participating each week, it became a bit more than I could handle, trying to read and comment on each post every week.  But as I was thinking of ending Three Word Wednesday, another blogger, who I knew as Thom G, offered to take it over.  That was a few years ago.  Today I checked to see if it was still going on, and was happy to find it alive and well.  So I decided to participate, if only for old time's sake.  If you're looking for a writing prompt, I encourage you to check it out here.

This week's words were: brutal, grope, transfer.


"Thirty-six?"

I say it with a tone of disbelief.  All along I had taken her to be thirty-ish.  I tell her as much, I think.  Oh God, was my tone offensive?  I mean, thirty-six isn't old.  It's just, in a place like this...

Ah yes, I can see it now.  A little age in her face.  The lipstick slathered on a bit too thick.  I had been too preoccupied with her body to notice.  It's not hard to imagine she knocked them dead back in her day.  Not that her day has passed.  What am I doing?  Is any of this out loud?

"You want a beer?"  She saves me from my over-thinking.  Damn, I probably should be the one asking her, right?

"Uh, sure."

"What do you drink?"

Um, chocolate milk?  Mountain Dew?  What's a popular beer?  Name a beer, any beer.  I look over at the bar.  There must be twenty beer signs.  I pick one.

"Uh, Guinness?"

"Wow, a real man."  Uh oh, I don't like the sound of that.

She orders the drinks.  She knows the bartender.  I surmise she comes out to a place not all that different from this every weekend.  Maybe more.

Thirty-six and single.  I want to save her.  I want to tell her it's gonna be hard.  But who I am to say?  I'm certainly no expert on the topic.

The beers come.  I take a healthy gulp of mine.  Holy S-word!  That tastes like used motor oil!  Who drinks this?  Vikings? 

I feel like I'm gonna throw up.  I manage to hold it down.

"Um, I don't have any cash for the beer, but I could transfer some money into your account?"

What am I saying?  Who says that!  She giggles.  Is she laughing with me or at me?  "It's fine, really.  You have a card, don't you?"  I nod.  "You can buy the next round."

And I do.  I buy her drinks all night.  It's clear she can out-drink me, especially with me pretending to sip on my Quaker State 10W-40.  I want to drink.  I want to forget about life for a few hours.  Or a few days.  I wonder what she wants to forget.  Or who.

She's at ease here.  Alive.  In the dives and the bars.  Places that used to be smoky.  But for me, this is brutal.  I don't like the crowd and the noise.  But mostly the crowd.

Whenever I catch myself leering at her chest, I immediately divert my gaze to a nearby table.  There's a kid in a backwards baseball cap who looks to be about fifteen groping a blonde.  He's wearing a shirt that says "I never sleep 'cause sleep is the cousin of death."  And all I can think is I could so go for a nap right now.

I glance at my phone.  It's 11:35.  It feels like 3 AM to me! 

I'm beginning to survey the crowd and decide to myself who I could take and who I couldn't if a fight broke out.  I decide I probably have an unhealthy sense of how tough I am.  Once again, she rescues me from myself.

"You wanna get outta here?"

And once again, I'm thinking I should have been the one to say that.

It's the perfect situation.  She's at that point of being just drunk enough to be fun but still sober enough to be fairly lucid.  

And why shouldn't I?  I've never had a one-night stand.  The closest I came was making out with some girl in the gazebo at the park when I was sixteen.  She was hot, but I forgot to get her number and never heard from her again.

But I know me.  I'll get too attached too soon.  That's why I can't have a one-night stand.  It's not some ethical, gentlemanly choice.  It's that I can never leave it at one night.  I'll be in love before the sun comes up.

But my God, that body.  And it will not quit.  The things I could do to her...

"Did you hear me?  Do you wanna go to my place or something?"

I want her.

I want to save her.  But I'm no savior.

"Yeah, let's get outta here."

Hell, I can't even save myself.

"Suddenly between sheets and eyelids / I am reminded why I don't do this / I fall in love far too quickly / I never want her to forget me..."

Here lies IYROOBTY

My fans have spoken, clamoring for a new blog post.  By fans, I mean fan (thanks Sherri).  And by clamoring, I mean probably just being polite in that way that you ask someone how they are, all the while hoping they don't regale you with a five-minute tale of how their gout is flaring up again and their continuing gastrointestinal issues.

Saturday was my bloggiversary, so it seemed like as good a time as any for a new post.

I've been at this nine years.  That's a whole lot in blog years.  Ancient, really.  Look, I'm not blind, I can see the writing on the virtual wall.  When I think of all the dead blogs I've cut from my link list over the years, it's a sobering thing.  And soon, I too, shall join them -- the ghosts of bloggers past.

At this point, I'm pretty much the blogging Betty White.  Now if I only knew who the blogging Rue McClanahan was we could move in together and ride out these final golden years in style.

To kick off year number ten, I apologetically announce the creation of a new poetry blog.  No, seriously.  Why are you laughing?  It's my bloggiversary, try and control yourselves.  It struck me this weekend that the time has come for me to get things in order.  Here on the blog, I mean.  I wanted to have a place to keep all my poetry and lyric-y things together.  There'll be some previously posted stuff, some I wrote and never posted, and anything new I manage to scribe.  I'm calling it Poetry Wrecks.  Like Cake Wrecks -- except far less popular, but every bit as delicious! 

Speaking of end-of-(blog)life decisions, not a lot of people get a chance to do this, but I would like to take this opportunity to write my own eulogy.  Or is it an obituary?  Maybe it's only a eulogy if it's read aloud.  Either way, here goes, and you can fight amongst yourselves as to who gets to read it aloud.  You know, when the time comes...

Here lies If You Read Only One Blog This Year, age (undetermined as yet).  It expired on (TBD), suffering in its later years from long bouts of post-lessness.  The blog had been dormant and mostly unresponsive for more than (TBD) hours prior to its death.

Born May 5th, 2003, on AOL.  It was raised on AngelFire, before moving to Blogspot in October of 2003, where it spent the remainder of its days.

A contemporary of such infinitely more famous blogs as Dooce and Stuff White People Like, IYROOBTY enjoyed its greatest popularity in the years of 2006 & 2007, just before the explosion of Facebook when blogging would go the way of the cassette tape.

IYROOBTY was home to a veritable hodge-podge of topics, ranging from golf to General Hospital, Bama football to Brandon Walsh, frequently following the protagonist's never-ending, if sporadic, efforts to end up in Wikipedia or the Guinness Book Of World Records.  Its writings on Welcome Back Kotter and WKRP In Cincinnati are some of the only on the internet.  And to the very end, every post was ended with a carefully chosen song lyric.

It is survived by its author, Bone.  Although according to those in his inner circle, he is said to be completely despondent and reclusive.  More so than normal, even.

In the final days of his life, he revealed an unknown side of his psyche. This hidden quasi-Jungian persona surfaced during the pursuit of his long-reputed soul mate, a woman whom he only spent a few precious hours with. Sadly, the protracted search ended late Saturday night in complete and utter failure.  (Oh, sorry for that very out-of-place Serendipity interlude.  I just always wanted my eulogy to say that, and be read aloud by Ari.)

Other survivors include one (brain)child, the moderately successful writing prompt, Three Word Wednesday, which continues under new management; several invented fake blog holidays including NaBloSoThaDraWe, Blogust, and Blogtober (although survive might be a strong word for those); and a small but loyal group of readers whose friendship, kindness, and encouragement will not soon be forgotten.

In lieu of flowers, comments may be left on this post.

"And if you threw a party / And invited everyone you knew / You would see the biggest gift would be from me / And the card attached would say / Thank you for being a friend..."

Someday

(This was inspired by the 3 Word Wednesday exercise. This week's words were: frequent, open someday)

someday waits on sun drenched sand
for lovers two
walking heart in hand
a lost and lonesome wind in search of sails

someday longs for stroke of pen
to close distance 'tween
long absent friends
someday sighs as stubbornness prevails

someday hopes and someday dreams
and forever someday frequent seems
promises someday often makes
yesterdays left in someday's wake

someday I'll make time for you
do all the things we meant to do
someday we'll go here and there
someday will be soon I swear

someday breaks in distant place
where promises are kept
and dreams are chased
father and son play catch in open field

"When you comin' home son? I don't know when. But we'll get together then. You know we'll have a good time then..."

Uninvited

(I wrote this for 3 Word Wednesday The words were: Deny, Smile, Uncomfortable)

E. Barclay Logan stared across the wide mahogany table, almost glaring now. The young man looking back at him was holding up a wallet-sized photograph. Logan snatched the picture out of the boy's hand, glanced at it, then thrust it back in the direction from which it came.

"Never saw her."

"Are you sure about that?" the young man shot back as he held up a second picture. Logan was growing more and more perturbed by the boy's audacity. Who was this kid to question the wealthy E. Barclay Logan. And in his own home to boot. But at the same time, maybe that was the very reason he'd not called security to remove the young man yet.

Reluctantly taking the second photograph, the gray haired man was stunned when he saw it. It was a picture of the woman from the first photograph standing next to a much younger version of himself.

This time he examined it a bit longer. And though there were no visible outward signs, for just a few seconds the old man softened. As he remembered the shiny brown hair and genuine smile, just a bit crooked with mouth slightly agape. He gathered himself, then spoke.

"What are you trying to pull here, boy? You got something to say? Say it," Logan growled, hoping to intimidate his uninvited guest. But for the first time in this meeting, he was the one feeling uncomfortable. He realized his hands had begun to sweat, his throat was parched.

"So you do know her?" the young man wasn't backing down.

"I knew her," Logan admitted, no longer able to deny it. "A long time ago. She was just a girl. There were a hundred of 'em. What's it to you?"

The young man got up from the table and started to leave. Pausing when he reached the door, he turned and looked at Logan with hazel eyes that were suddenly familiar to the old man.

"That was my mother."

The door closed and the young man was gone. His words still reverberating thru the otherwise silent room like thunder that just rumbles on and on and seems like it will never end.

"I was thinking I was angry, but I let it go. I was waiting on a miracle, but nothing showed..."

Human

(Here's my entry for 3 Word Wednesday. This week's words are: cautious, human, maybe)

I've seen grand plans turn to nothing
Got good news out of the blue
Been called to my father's bedside
I know what prayer can do

I've said maybe when I meant no
And no when I meant yes
I've been not quite good enough
And once or twice I was the best

I've been cautious to a fault
And I've thrown caution to the wind
I've disappointed those I cared about
But I've tried to be a better friend

I've trusted way too easy
And put up insurmountable walls
Hated myself, been too full of myself
And wondered if I mattered at all

The candles on the cake don't lie
But it's so hard to believe
The mirror might betray me now
But inside I'm still nineteen

I've believed when there was no reason to
And I've gotten scared and run
I've learned words can't be unsaid
Deeds can't be undone

I've laughed until I cried
Tried to cry but no tears would fall
I've been too proud to pick up the phone
I'm not proud of that at all

I've cursed the skies for raining
And I've played in the rain
I'm still unable to forgive myself
For times that I've caused pain

I'm human
Wonderfully
Tragically
Only

Human

The Highway

There's a highway out of town and it can take you
Any place you want or don't want to go
I knew a girl who took it seven years ago last Sunday
And I ain't seen her since, the days can pass so slow

You can hear the cars on that highway from my window
And imagine where they're going as they fly by
I told myself a million times someday I would take it, too
But I'm still here 'cause a million times I lied

That highway took my best friend off to some cursed war
And they brought him home to us in a box with a flag
They told us he's a hero, but it just left me empty
Now each day I try to live the life he never had

They say you can chase your dreams down that highway
You can leave your past behind, or go to clear your head
I told myself a million times someday I would go chase mine
But dreams too long ignored just wind up dead

The Wall

(I wrote this for 3 Word Wednesday. This week's words were: Glass, Question, Token)

"Why won't you fight for us?"

I was somewhat taken aback by her question, or more accurately that she had said anything at all. After an hour and thirty-three minutes of going back and forth, airing all our grievances and leaving all that once was good buried beneath the bad, I had expected her to just keep walking. But right before reaching the door, she stopped, turned around and made one final stand.

For the first time, she began to cry, causing her makeup to run in dark streaks down her face. And in that instant she looked like an angel, completely vulnerable, pleading to me.

But I was never much of a fighter. I stared towards her, careful to never let our eyes meet, with a much practiced stoic look. The wall around my heart personified on my face. If I cared, I didn't want her to know. And I wasn't sure why.

Somehow that is what we had turned into. Silly fights over who loved who the most had twisted into an unspoken competition over who could care less. Kisses, the kind that sent my stomach into a storm of butterflies and left me gasping for air, had turned into nothing more than token gestures. And "I love you" was spoken more out of habit or obligation now than anything else. I didn't know how it started, but I knew too well this was the end.

I wanted to say something, but "I'm sorry" was the only thing that came to mind and seemed pathetically inadequate by that point. Instead, I sat in silence, watching the last of the embers die, three years reduced to ashes, and never being sure if this was a mistake.

And so, she left, slamming the door with such force that it shook my heart and rattled the glass in the window pane. But it didn't break. It used to, but I fixed that.

"The end is coming. She don't even feel it. It's a strange sensation. I'm almost happy. Well I believe that I'm just plain tired..."

3WW: Indisposable

(Here's something I wrote for this week's 3 Word Wednesday. The words were: money, tangled understood)

It was somewhere around hour fifty-seven of his work week when he happened across a forgotten memory buried in the back of a desk drawer. It was a snapshot of her on a trip they took to King's Island when they were still dating. Immediately, the memories came pouring, filling up his mind.

Money was tight then. Rolling change to help make the rent. Buying a dollar and fifty cents of gas. So they had made the trip in one day to save the cost of a hotel. Leaving before sunrise, he spent much of the day in line for the rides leaning on her shoulder with his eyes closed. They bought a disposable camera for five dollars and got a man who looked like Dick Van Dyke to take their picture in front of the fake Eiffel Tower.

The hardest rain he had ever seen began to fall late in the afternoon and they ran laughing and splashing for cover. That is when he had snapped her picture, her hair soaking wet and her face just beginning to turn away from the camera when she realized what he was doing. She made him promise at least seven times he would throw the picture away.

Coming back to the present, he found himself smiling. One of those big goofy smiles that you hope no one has seen. He also realized they had not taken a trip in... he couldn't remember when. It had been several years. Years of sixty hour weeks. Years of too much working late and not nearly enough leaving early. They had plenty of things and money now. But staring at the picture again, he found himself longing for who they were then, when money was what they wanted and love was what they had.

All at once, in that office on the 5th floor at 6:18 PM on a Friday, his tangled mind was clear. The work he had been stressing to get done and that had seemed so important a few minutes earlier could wait. There were more urgent things to tend to. There always had been, he just needed to be reminded. Grabbing his coat, he carefully placed the photograph in the inside pocket, and started home.

She would be confused at first, no doubt, when he told her to pack an overnight bag because they were taking a trip. When they crossed the Ohio, she might have some idea. And when he finally showed her the photograph he had promised to throw away, he hoped she understood.

"Remember digging through your old purses in hopes we'd get enough change for an RC Cola or a pack of cigarettes..."

Routine?

(This was inspired by this week's 3WW prompt. The words are: rest, sidewalk, twice)

I check the front and back doors twice. I make sure the refrigerator is closed, as having all my perishables perish is my seventh greatest fear. I check the thermostat, touching it exactly five times. Then before I start upstairs, I look out the front window to make sure there are no burglars lurking in plain sight.

I sprint up the stairs, running from whatever may be chasing me. There are fourteen steps, so I skip exactly four to ensure that it takes me ten steps to reach the top. Ten is good. Ten is my friend. It's not too bad going up. A bit more of a challenge coming down, but of course, nothing's chasing me. Plus, I'm young and insured, and I've only fallen a couple of times.

Once upstairs, I check to see that the iron is unplugged, though I haven't ironed in weeks. I make sure the printer and computer speakers are turned off and that the office chair is pushed underneath the desk. Then I leave the room, completely closing the door behind me.

Next, I do whatever I need to do in the bathroom, with the last thing being to wash my hands with anti-bacterial soap. The bathroom door is always left open. I don't know why this is OK, so don't ask.

Finally, I enter the bedroom, again making certain that the door is shut. I switch the alarm clock to off and back to alarm at least twice, and also check the time. I set the sleep timer on the television for one hour and make sure that the volume is between 15 and 25. Basically, it can be any number which is low enough that it doesn't keep me awake and is not a multiple of thirteen.

On the nightstand, my iPod and Blackberry have to be placed on top of my wallet, and the chapstick tube has to be standing up. The remainder of the nightstand layout is negotiable.

Why do I do all these things? I'll tell you why.

Because there are two kinds of people in this world. Those who skip the cracks in the sidewalk, and those who display a blatant disregard for the karma of the cracks, thus inviting tragedy into their lives and the lives of those they love. So go ahead, laugh it up. Deride, if you must. But at least I can sleep in peace.

Hmm. Did I make sure the candle I haven't burned in three days was out?

"I can't sleep sometimes but I've been told, it's a lonely condition called growing old. Let me stumble sometimes..."

3WW: The Punch

(This is for the Three Word Wednesday exercise. This week's words were: punch, t-shirt, unravel)

I had stripped down to my tuxedo pants and t-shirt and was sipping on my second glass of punch when the door to the reception hall opened. The wedding party had all gone, but as best man I figured I should hang around. Now it was just us two.

He walked like he had two bad hips and poor equilibrium, his feet barely leaving the floor, leaning forward slightly as if each step might be his last. Stopping at the first chair he came to, he sat down. I tried to break the ice.

"Cops gone?"

"Yeah," he sounded almost hopeful, as if something had finally gone right with the day. A few seconds of awkward silence followed, until I spoke again.

"It's, uhh, good they got there when they did. I've never seen so much hair pulling. And all that cursing... inside a church building!""

"Yeah," he repeated his earlier response, this time with no inflection at all.

"Boy, in all the weddings I've been to and been in, I've never heard someone actually object when the preacher asked for objections," I chuckled, but it wasn't sincere. "You should write a book."

He looked up at me as if I were speaking jibberish, but didn't respond. I continued.

"The whole thing was like a movie, but in slow motion," I spoke as if I were giving a first-hand account of the Mount Saint Helen's eruption. "Like I'm standing there hitting frame advance watching the entire thing unravel."

This was now officially a one person conversation. Each sentence I spoke was followed by a few seconds of silence until I spoke again. I was alternating between utter disbelief at what I had just witnessed and trying to look on the bright side of a situation that had none.

"Really sucks about your car. I'm sure most of those dents will buff right out. Where did she find a baseball bat anyway?" I shook my head in disbelief. "Must have been the something borrowed."

He seemed almost in a trance, as if the Earth's moon could come crashing thru the roof at that very moment and it wouldn't even phase him.

"Hey, how many people can say their wedding made the local news?" I leaned over and gave him a friendly punch on the arm. Again I got the jibberish look.

This was becoming more and more uncomfortable. I took a sip of punch then paused as if savoring it to buy myself a couple more seconds.

"This is really good punch. You want some?" I held up my glass, then pointed towards the bowl. "There's... plenty."

3WW: Crossing Over

(This is something I wrote for this week's Three Word Wednesday. The words were: bridge, disturbed, still.)

Christine crossed the bridge into Carrollton five times a week. Ten, if you counted the trip back. It was the trips back when she felt the most alone.

Crossing over into Nebo, the sleepy town lay quiet and still. The streets all but deserted. As she passed the darkened houses, she would think about her friends, all married now. Why wasn't that her?

All she had ever truly aspired to be was a faithful partner and loving mother. Instead, she was driving in from work at 11 o'clock on a Thursday night, to an empty apartment where the appliances and furniture seemed to take on more of a human personality with each passing day.

She had promised herself she'd stop waiting tables before she turned thirty. When thirty came and went, she amended it to thirty-five. Now, forty didn't seem so bad.

The prospect of changing jobs seemed too intimidating. It was easier to just keep doing what she had always done. Tips were decent, and she knew she couldn't make this much money doing anything else she was qualified to do.

Most of the time, the only people she spoke to all day were people at work. That had disturbed her at some point years ago, but by now she had grown used to it. Friends were busy with their families. She never made an effort to get to know her neighbors. And her mother hadn't uttered a word to anyone in over three years.

Christine felt like she had missed some very important lesson or step somewhere along the way. Each day felt like the world was speeding by, leaving her farther behind.

No one cared if she slept until 3. No one noticed when she came home late at night. Would anyone notice if she wasn't there at all? She wondered that often.

Her phone rang. She recognized the number. Her heart sank into her stomach.

"Hello."
"Miss Grant?"
"Yes?"
"This is Lydia with Lakeshore Assisted Living."
"Yes?"
"It's your mother. I... think you should come right over."
"My mother? What happened!"
"Your mother... just asked to see you."

"We may lose our focus. There's just too many words we're never meant to learn. And we don't feel so alive..."

3WW: Frozen

(This week's words are button, luck, & pretend)

i wish i could leave
but i feel stuck in place
with this same expression
always frozen to my face

i'm not all that happy
think maybe i'm just cold
the scarf is nice but not much help
when it's twelve below

i don't mind the sun
it's better than the rain
maybe with a little luck
i'll just melt away

i don't mind this button
but pretend my eyes are blue
who thought it a good idea
to give a statue a broom

i'm off to the village
and there's that silly cop
like me, does he ever wish
this carousel would stop

"We start out loudly and go in circles, all things converging. We find an end to each day, slowly melting..."

3WW has moved!

Click here, and be sure to update your links.

I apologize for not getting around to reading everyone's entries last week. I wasn't around the computer much at all. The post below explains why.

3 Word Wednesday LXIV

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Closing
Headlights
Virtual

I would have been first in line for tickets to the last show ever at the Twilight Drive-In Theater, had there been a line. Ten minutes before the movie was scheduled to begin, and the lot looked more like the movie had been over for ten minutes.

Though I suppose it didn't have any direct effect on me one way or the other, I found myself disappointed that more people hadn't come. Did people not care that the Twilight was closing? Didn't anyone realize what this place had meant to me and thousands of others?

Then I felt guilty. I hadn't been to a movie here in fifteen years. I was as much to blame for its closing as anyone. The Twilight never managed to get any current movies, or lately even many decent ones. But there was a time when that didn't matter. Coming to the drive-in was more about the atmosphere, being free from the folks, socializing and soaking up the evening air. The movie itself was almost superfluous.

In its heyday, the Twilight Drive-In was the place to be on weekends. It was a familiar and expected sight back then to see cars lined up in a long train of headlights, stretching from the ticket booth back well out onto the road. The Twilight was also known for having the best burgers in all of Cook County. The whole concession stand was great. It was like eating at the fair, except year round.

During my late teens, it was a virtual certainty you would find me there every Saturday night. At the drive-in, that is. There were first dates, hoping the movie would last just a little longer, affording me a few more minutes to work up a bit more courage to kiss her. There were not first dates, not noticing the movie was over, being the last car to leave, affording me just a few more minutes to kiss her.

I wasn't sure what I missed most about those days, I just knew I missed them. Those days when sneaking thru the gate in the trunk of a car was about the worst thing I or any of my friends ever did. The Twilight represented my life then. And soon it would be torn down. I felt like I was losing a friend, and I was sad that so few people had shown up for the funeral.

I was halfway thru my first Twilight burger when the screen came on, and I realized I had no idea what movie was showing. Not that it mattered.

"Making our love with the moon above at the drive-in picture show. It was burgers and fries and cherry pies in a world we used to know..."

3WW LXIII

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Absent
Notebook
Persuade

jealousies persuade
temptation persists
privacy ignored
notebook opened

secrets read
heart laments
guilt engulfs
notebook closed

betrayal confessed
trust fractured
love unravels
eyes absent

notebook opened

3WW LXII

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Afford
Cigarette
Dim

There has perhaps been no more tragic figure in the United States in the past thirty years than the cigarette.

Once a rite of passage, a sign of maturity, and nervousness, there was a time when the cigarette was the ultimate in cool. Think James Dean with a pack of smokes rolled up in his sleeve. Or Cary Grant offering Audrey Hepburn a light.

But today, it's future is dim. Yes, there are still a few who voluntarily ingest this once proud carcinogen, but they are now forced to do so in dark alleyways and other secret out of the way places, mostly hidden from the rest of the world.

By and large, the nicotine filled, buzz inducing, cylindrical apparatus has become a symbol of the addicted and those banished by society. And what is it all for? Oh sure, we may gain in life expectancy, but what have we lost?

I'll tell you what I've lost: a cheap and easy way to hit on girls. A light costs next to nothing. A drink, that's like six bucks. Converted to bacheloronomics, that's eighteen frozen burritos. And who among us can afford that?

But they never consider the poor bachelor when making these decisions. Next thing you know, they'll take away the whole astrological chart. Then I'll really be out of lines.

I just remembered, I once kissed a girl who had been smoking...

Yeah, I think they made the right call.

"I believe the world is burning to the ground. Oh well, I guess we're gonna find out. Let's see how far we've come..."

3WW LXI

Hey guys. 3WW will be taking off November 21st for Thanksgiving, and will return November 28th. If you'd like, feel free to go back and grab three words from a previous week. Remember if you didn't participate that week, then they're new to you :)

I might encourage you also to take this opportunity to visit some of the 3WW participants and read some of their other blog entries. That's what I plan on doing.

Thank you all for participating and helping to make 3WW a pretty cool thing. I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving.



Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Icy
Pause
Train

"Will Dean be home soon?"

The frail voice startled Donna. She had been on the verge of dozing off to the sound of mindless television droning on in the background.

"Yes, Momma," she said softly.

"I'm worried. The roads are getting icy."

It hadn't snowed there in ten years. Donna didn't know if her mother even comprehended a single word she was saying. But just in case, she thought it better to try and ease her mind.

"Don't worry, Momma. He'll be fine. He'll be here real soon."

Day after day her mother just laid there, staring blankly at the ceiling, or sleeping. But once in awhile, she would say something out of the blue. Mostly they were things that didn't make sense, but sometimes she would speak of something or someone far in her past.

It always broke Donna's heart, but it was especially hard when her mother spoke of Dean, Donna's older brother. He had gone to Vietnam and never came home. Even now as Donna thought of him, she could still see his goofy smile as he boarded a train and waved goodbye that crisp April morning.

"The snow is beautiful, isn't it Dee Dee?" It made Donna glad and broke her heart a little more that her mother still called her Dee Dee. It seemed almost cruel that she still had certain memories, but not much else.

"Yes, Momma. It's perfect."

The mention of snow gave Donna pause. She thought of a particular Christmas when she was seven and Dean was still at home. It had snowed then. Dean had pushed her on a trash can lid "sled" down the hillside. It used to snow a lot. Now the winters were warmer, but somehow left her feeling much colder inside.

Donna pulled a blanket tighter around her, barely noticing that tears had started to trickle down her face. She remembered another snow. The memory was fuzzy, but it seemed like Dean was gone. He had been out. No, on a trip. And the roads had been bad, and her mother had been so worried. That must be-

"Dean! You're home!"

Her mother's voice once again startled Donna back to the present. A haunting chill instantly covered her entire body. She turned quickly to see her mother lying completely still, eyes closed.

"Momma?"

Donna jumped to her feet and ran to the bed.

"Momma!"

Her mother was lying completely still, eyes closed. She was no longer breathing. Just smiling.

"Where've you been? I've looked for you forever and a day. Where've you been? I'm just not myself when you're away..."

3WW #60

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Compensate
Modern
Radio

(I have no idea where this came from. Maybe it's my audition for The Colbert Report. Yeah, let's go with that...)

Ever find it odd that more people vote for the American Idol than the American President?

Ever feel like your votes over the years for candidates such as Dennis Kucinich, Pat Buchanan, and Walter Mondale don't really matter?

Well those days are over!

America's premiere television network is proud to present the first ever reality show that will elect the next President of the United States: Are You Smarter Than George Bush?

Follow the candidates of both major parties as they live together Big Brother style. As in, the reality show Big Brother. Not "the government is monitoring innocent Americans' telephone conversations" big brother.

The show is the brainchild of Bone, a rogue blogger who describes himself as Simon Cowell with looser fitting clothing. He created the show to help compensate for what he perceived to be injustices in modern campaign financing. Are You Smarter Than George Bush will provide almost equal exposure for all candidates in an aggressive campaign of print, television, radio, and internet ads.

Republicans will inhabit a red house and Democrats a blue house, all vying for the chance to wind up in the White House. Watch as candidates interact with one another from day to day and also compete in a rigorous series of quizzes and physical challenges.

Will Fred be able to handle Rudy and Ron gossiping behind his back? How will Barack react if Bill wins the first Head of House? What will Mitt do when he is given the chore of vacuuming? What are Dennis and Joe discussing in the jacuzzi? And why is Chris so angry?

Tune in and watch the fun ensue. Each week, America will vote off one candidate from each party, until only the final two remain.

The three-hour season finale will be held on Election Day 2008, featuring the Republican and Democratic winners, plus a surprise third-party candidate to be chosen by a poll conducted on the Internets.

The next President of the United States will be introduced the following morning by Ryan Seacrest.

Are You Smarter Than George Bush, premiering Summer 2008 with live performances by Aerosmith and Enya, and special guest appearances by Martin Sheen, Erik Estrada, and Dog The Bounty Hunter.

"Oh beautiful for spacious skies, but now those skies are threatening. They're beating plowshares into swords, for this tired old man that we elected king..."

3WW LIX

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Hopefully, this week's words will be a treat.

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Phone
Stumbled
Windy

You never realize how ear-splitting the ringing of a phone can be until it rings in the middle of the night, piercing the formerly silent darkness and causing the mind to race and the heart to pound.

Kari fumbled around on the nightstand until she felt the phone. She didn't recognize the number. She looked at the clock. It was 2:18. She sat the phone back down.

Out wasted again, she thought to herself. Needing a ride. Or needing money for bail.

He called again. And then a third time. She fought the urge to answer, then waited for a fourth call. But it never came.

She lied awake wondering if he would get a ride, if he would have a place to sleep. A tree brushed against the house, reminding her the night was chilly and windy. The urge to give in one more time was continuous. But he had gone too far. He had pulled a knife on her. He was out of control.

Still there was no satisfaction in knowing she had made the right decision. She wasn't even sure she had. The only thing she felt at that moment was pain. Immense, unbearable, sleep-depriving pain.

Miles away, he stumbled out of a phone booth and sat down on the pavement. Out of change, tired, weary, but completely sober for nine days and twenty-two hours.

"I haven't had a drink in nineteen days. My eyes are clear and bright without that haze..."

3 Word Wednesday LVIII

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Care
Unexpected
Weekend

Jason stood on the familiar plastic green doormat with the white and yellow flower. He wasn't sure how long doormats typically lasted, but this one had to be up there in the all-time doormat longevity rankings. Finally, the door opened and there stood Keith, with a sheepish look Jason had seen at least twenty times before.

"Uh oh. What is it?" Jason squinted, expecting the worst.

"I... uh... I can't go," Keith stammered.

"What? Why not? We've had this planned for weeks."

"I kinda promised Lauren I'd... take care of her cat," Keith replied almost ashamedly.

"What? When? She dumped you!"

"Well, something unexpected came up and she had to go out of town for the weekend."

"What came up?"

"Ski trip," Keith looked at his feet and mumbled so quietly that Jason didn't understand him.

"What?"

"She went on a ski trip."

"Oh my gaaaaaaa!" Jason slapped his hand to his forehead, covering his eyes and shaking his head in disbelief. He let his hand fall away before continuing. "You need help."

"What?" Keith asked innocently. "She needed someone. Besides you and Troy can still go."

"I can't go with Troy."

"Why not?"

"He's your friend. We don't have anything to talk about."

"So?"

"You don't understand. It's... hard to explain. We need like a third-party mediator to hang out."

"Oh yeah, and I'm the one who needs help," Keith said sarcastically.

"You do."

"Well, you're welcome to hang out here with me and Princess."

Jason looked down to see a long-haired white cat had come to nuzzle itself against Keith's leg.

"No thanks. I think I'll go home and advertise for some new friends."

Stepping on the plastic green doormat again as he left, the symbolism wasn't lost on him.

"I wrote her off for the tenth time today, and practiced all the things I would say. But she came over. I lost my nerve. I took her back and made her dessert..."