kick_back_80s

Hi! This post is in reference to this fest: http://rarewomen.livejournal.com/4001.html

( textCollapse )

( First, for reference:Collapse )
(That's right, celebrities singing the alphabet song).

Now...

Let's say we have two first graders, Steven Smith and Susan Smith.

You are the teacher of a bunch of first graders, including young Steven and Susan. So, since you want some kind of order in your classroom, you decide to have them sit alphabetically. Thus, little Steven comes before Susan. Which is probably for the best, because otherwise Steven could pull Susan's pigtails and no one really wants that.

With me so far? Good.

So now let's take this lesson and apply it to filing away folders alphabetically. You know, to keep order. STEVEN STILL COMES BEFORE SUSAN. I promise. The standard English alphabet used in the United States doesn't change from the classroom to the filing cabinet. Cross my heart. :D

Title: Not Quite Anthony's Song
Author: kick_back_80s
Original Fiction
Word Count: Googledocs tells me 442
Rating: PG
Summary: Mikala realizes she's probably taken Jennifer's presence for advantage one time too many when she comes home and the house is half vacant.
Beta: Unbeta'd
A/N: This never quite got around to being the required length for the challenge itself... so here's what I finished. (Posting for amnesty month)

Prompt 05 #23 'Kite' for story_lottery; Table is here.

( Moving OutCollapse )

Why. Why am I reading this blasted NOM column??

Oh, right. I'm a masochist.

Anyway. Here's why I mention this:

"Equality is typically predicated on characteristics that do not imply actions, because actions are always choices. Skin color is irrelevant. And unchosen. Sexual orientation is almost certainly unchosen, but the decision to incorporate a sexual desire into one’s identity, and then to act on it, is a decision. Maybe most people think it’s the right decision, the healthiest decision, but the point is that it’s a choice, and subject to moral reflection. A sexual desire is not its own justification."

Equality is typically predicated on characteristics that do not imply actions, because actions are always choices. Skin color is irrelevant. And unchosen.

Okay, I agree so far. Except actions aren't necessarily always choices. I mean, there are involuntary actions like... breathing and blinking. Admittedly, that's a weak (and nitpicky) argument, but, nonetheless, it makes the "actions are always choices" line false.

Sexual orientation is almost certainly unchosen, but the decision to incorporate a sexual desire into one’s identity, and then to act on it, is a decision.

Sooo... this applies to heterosexuals as well, yes? Good, glad we agree.

Maybe most people think it’s the right decision, the healthiest decision, but the point is that it’s a choice, and subject to moral reflection. A sexual desire is not its own justification.

Right. Let me now morally reflect on my sexual desires... yep, seems pretty okay by me. I mean... what's... morally wrong with me sexually desiring a female? Guys do it all the time....

Maybe I'm morally bankrupt or something. Doubtful, I think, seeing as I probably fall within what NOMinites would consider morally sound categories aside from sexual orientation.

So, Dearest NOM, please stop trying to covertly guilt trip me. I don't try and tell you that maybe you should stop being all ~heterosexual~ and reproducing because there's a slight overpopulation problem, and where's the morality in letting people starve because there's not enough food?

well, it's kind of for all_unwritten?

--

This is for story_lottery and the problem that I'm running into is that everything has to be 1000 words... :/

So what I'm attempting to do for the "kite" prompt, is ten sets of 100. Which is also proving difficult...

Anyway, snippet:

Mikala realizes she's probably taken Jennifer's presence for advantage one time too many when she comes home and the house is half vacant. She didn't think it would be this empty when Jennifer left, either. But it is, because there are less plates and bowls in the kitchen, the shower looks bigger with half the shampoo and conditioner gone (why didn't they both use the same hair products and save money?) and there's a whole closet that's waiting to be filled with clothes. Mikala sighs, and resigns herself to a relationship that's like a kite with no wind-- a failure.

Not interfere.

swine flu induced zombie-ism

No. Now can we please not talk about it anymore?

So I finally got voted out on a week when I was planning on skipping until I was like nooo, let me just, you know, try and write something. Blah. So here are all of my entries:

( The DestinationCollapse )

( Unconditional LoveCollapse )

( BetrayalCollapse )

( FireCollapse )

( The ForbiddenCollapse )

( VioletCollapse )

for all_unwritten (I know. I'm just as shocked as you are.)

--



--

It was a portal to another world. A better world. One where she wouldn't have to worry about money or jobs or food or anything that made this world suck so much. All she had to do was walk up the stairs. Just start walking and then keep going. Step into the void, the light and she would be able to leave her troubles, her problems, behind forever.

for linebyline

--

The bag went on sale.
She just couldn't help herself,
her last paycheck... gone.

How to program them all to play a continuous loop of the Numa Numa song or I Kissed A Girl or something that's catchy and at the same time really really annoying when played continuously.

And then if there was a secret passageway to a different world where I could seek asylum.

Title: N.U.G.
Author: kick_back_80s
Original Fiction
Word Count: 1013
Rating: PG13
Summary: In the beginning, the government was good.
Beta: Unbeta'd

Prompt 04 #12 'Mikado (pick up sticks)' for story_lottery Table is here

( NUG: Never Underestimate the GovernmentCollapse )

Title: If You Fall Back Down...
Author: kick_back_80s
Original Fiction
Word Count: 1002
Rating: PG
Summary: We were constantly falling, collapsing on one another.
Beta: Unbeta'd

Prompt 01 #7 'Dominoes' for story_lottery Table is here

( I knocked you down, you knocked the next person down, and they knocked the next person down, one after the otherCollapse )

Title: The Roof, The Roof
Author: kick_back_80s
Original Fiction
Word Count: 120
Rating: G
Summary: We walk into the house, and they've got it set up so nicely.
Beta: Unbeta'd

Prompt BONUS 07 #31 'Scrabble' for story_lottery Table is here

( Not that we should be factoring that into our decision to rent the house.Collapse )

for all_unwritten

--

coffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffee--

Oh man coffee! Sweet, sweet amazing coffee... Coffeeeeeeeee, yes!

Later

Oh my head... I need an aspirin.

for all_unwritten

--

We've got to get to the emergency room, quickly. Like, post-hast and all of that nonsense. It's already almost too late (and once it's beyond too late then we have a problem and I do not want to deal with something like that).

But, yes, we've got to get to the emergency room. I'd call for an ambulance and a police escort or something, but I can't. Not because I lack a phone or any of that (I've got one, I do-- land line and cell phone. I'm telephonically connected to the outside world), but because I've got a lost voice.

Yeah, I can't talk. My vocal chords seem to have done a disappearing act, and not the fun kind.

Ugh... just... need to get to the hospital and get it fixed.

for all_unwritten

--

"Anthrax," he said, checking off one of the boxes on the form.

"What?" She asked, her own clipboard perched on her head as she walking across the tiled floor.

"Anthrax. You know, one of those weapons of terrorism," he replied.

"Ooooh," she said. "Where was it this time?"

"In the mail," he said, pen moving across the information lines on the report.

She shook her head, causing the clipboard to fall off and hit the ground. "That's a shame. Did it get anyone?"

"Nope," he said, switching pages and continuing the report.

"Fantastic," she said, putting the clipboard back on her head and following him.

So... I've always known that there were Conservatives on campus. Seeing as we had such a divisive election, it's a given that we have people with different ideologies on campus.

Which has led to the creation of "The Minority Report."

I suppose I should chronicle what I know of this, oh, neoconservative (nooo I'm not biased....) movement on campus.

It started (hardcore) when the Institute for Liberal Studies brought William Ayers to campus.
The people against this protested (on, you know, the grounds that he was a domestic terrorist and we were giving him money during a budget crisis... the latter, I will admit, is a valid argument). Then, when they were moved to the campus free speech zone (one of those touchy subjects for a lot of people-- whether we should have a free speech zone or not or whatever), they decided to create a facebook group (always effective, right?) called AMERICA is my 'Free Speech Zone'. Whatever, right?

Then they went and revived the FSU Institute for Conservative Studies. Which is perfectly fine, because if we have one for liberal studies, we should have one for conservative studies (we're not FOX, so we're fair and balanced... right?).

All rather, well, irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

Now, apparently, they're rather annoyed, or upset, or something, about President Obama's economic policy or being president or something (see why I said I was biased by calling them neoconservatives? There's such a negative, racist connotation to that. I will admit that I am not unbiased in this). So they've taken to creating... The Minority Report.

Which is an interesting title, I must say. Because either they're calling themselves a minority (uhm... white conservatives... reeeeeal minority there), or they're calling it that so they're a report on... our minority president? I actually have no idea. Either way... they've taken to chalking "Obama is a failure" and other such things around campus. Which makes me just roll my eyes most of the time (because, come on, it's freaking chalk on the ground. First time it storms-- hello, Tallahassee?? It's gonna storm at some point-- bye-bye propaganda).

However, I figured I should at least compile all of those handy-dandy facebook links into one spot...

PULL OUT A PIECE OF PAPER NOW! Or open up a comment box or something and don't peek at the meanings.

Pick a color, any color and use three adjectives to describe this color
example: yellow-- vibrant, sunny, sickly
Pick an animal and again choose three adjectives to describe it
example: rabbit-- chewers, bouncy, fluffy
Now pick a body of water (can be specific like the atlantic ocean or general like a simple lake or river); you get the idea, another three adjectives.
example: creek-- tiny, slim, feeder
And last, think of your favorite white room. If your room is white and you like it, use that, or maybe it's a school cafeteria from years ago. Any white space, and another three adjectives to describe it.
example: the kitchen-- yummy, sticky, tiled

( MeaningsCollapse )

So... what'd you put?

No apologies.

--

for all_unwritten

--

Unless your insides are rotting and decaying organs because you're actually dead and a zombie, in which case it's how many brains you can find and eat that counts.

soooo orbitaldiamonds posted a music meme

And I commented... and got the letter "P"

Therefore...

Rules:
1. Reply to this post and I'll assign you a letter.
2. List (and upload, if you feel like it) 5 songs that start with that letter.
3. Post them to your journal with these instructions.

( P stands for...Collapse )

for tellmeaboutit (and technically ths_just_in)

--

Back when he felt indestructible, Larry wanted to get drunk to the point that he passed out and woke up with a massive hangover. Mostly because he figured it would be better than trying every drug there was to try, but partially because he didn't think it could happen.

It's this desire to get completely, well, shitfaced, that leads him to a friend of a friend's apartment for a party with a plethora of kegs (and plethora is a word that Larry probably won't remember he used later), and a decent amount of floor space to properly pass out on later.

After drink seven (or eight... maybe ten?), Larry's fairly sure that he should probably stop (something about alcohol poisoning?), but he promised himself that he was going to drink until he passed out, so he continues filling his red plastic cup until it falls next to him (half full) on the carpet.

In the morning, his mouth is full of fuzz, and the bathroom just isn't close enough and he swears to every deity he can think of that he's never drinking that much again.

for all_unwritten

--

Sex

This is the third time they've met up just for this purpose... She always worries before and after, but during the act she's so swept away by the sensations that she forgets to ask for more or to end it.

Drugs

The fifth time they meet up, he gives her a little pill and tells her to take it, because it will enhance the experience... She doesn't remember anything for a few hours after.

And Rock

He keeps asking for a new location in which to complete the act... the twelfth time, they rent a covered carriage and hope no-one notices.

And Roll

The twentieth time, the do it on a rug in front of a lit fire in a cabin... when it gets too rough and the rug catches on fire, they end up running outside and rolling in the snow.

for ink_twist

--

Title: Frank Wills Won't Catch This
Rating: G
Prompts used: quote (It’s only breaking in if it’s locked. - Trilby)

( Frank Wills Won't Catch ThisCollapse )

This may be... the most unfinished thing... EVER...

--

for all_unwritten

--

At the rate this state's (and society's) going, there's two things they're never going to have: children and wedding pictures. Sure, the first one has a biological basis, and there will be the not-quite-the-same substitute for the latter, but the alternatives aren't quite what they want...

for linebyline

--

Out in the open,
we're persecuted and vilified.
But we feel more like ourselves,
and more free to be ourselves
than hiding away ever did.

Out in the open,
we hold hands and don't care
about the looks that others give us
(their hate can't permeate our barrier,
built up after years of this treatment).

Out in the open,
we give way to their attacks
and wonder on dying lips
if staying inside
would have been better.

so, I really like my titles for these

--

for ink_twist

--

Title: They Cut The Thread, And Hercules Fell
Rating: G
Prompts used: sentence ("Do you really know me? I might be a god.")

( They Cut The Thread, And Hercules FellCollapse )

T_T

I don't have texting for the moment

T_T

This is a problem.

Like... a huge problem. I had to disable about 5 things, tell all of my friends and generally fume about it (I'll still fuming, in all honesty).

All because Amanda (who is in charge of the phone plan) IS A FUCKWIT.

Seriously. She canceled the texting for my mother and I and didn't tell anyone until after it was too late to do anything about it. (Last time this happened, I had a $300 charge for 3000 texts... and my dad got me back unlimited ASAP).

So... I'm beginning to think my own phone plan is in order...

Except I don't have a job (yay being a full time student) and it would probably cost too much to break the current contract.

Ugh.

for ink_twist & tellmeaboutit

--

Title: If It Was A Wall, This Would Be A Pink Floyd Reference
Rating: PG (I curse once :/)
Prompts used: sentence ("You don't want this...You have to sit there and watch them destroy him...") and quote (Those goofy bastards are about the best thing I've got going. - Pat Healy.)

( If It Was A Wall, This Would Be A Pink Floyd ReferenceCollapse )

Title: We'd Go Marching One By One Hurr-ah, Hurr-ah
Rating: G
Prompts used: animal (ants)

( The Little One StopsCollapse )

for all_unwritten

--

"Hey! Sorry if this comes out rushed, I'm running from one plane to another. Anyway, mostly wanted to tell you that I'm only a few hours away and then we will be gloriously reunited for the next few weeks. It's going to be awesome. I've missed you so much and I lov-- shit. Last call for my flight. Talk to you soon!"

for all_unwritten

--

On the weekend, the bags under my eyes get bigger and the piles of papers keep increasing and the to-do list finally gets written and then nothing ever gets crossed off and I wish it was Wednesday, because then I have the weekend to look forward to again.

The child who was afraid of thermonuclear war was a very... interesting child. I mean... who worries about thermonuclear war the same time their peers are worried about the boogeyman and... vegetables, apparently (why yes, this was a poorly worded question!)?

Anyway, to answer the question... I don't remember what I was afraid of during my childhood. I know what freaks me out now, though (water slides, large dogs, drowning).

So, yeah... I'm sure there was something. :/

for all_unwritten

--

I watched her from across the street, through the windows of the shops that I should have been looking in. She didn't look changed at all, which surprises me. She'd been off in third world countries, feeding and nursing and just being good. Why didn't she look different?

I know I did.

for linebyline

--

it's been the same date
for the past fifty long years
how could you forget?

for all_unwritten

--

They were friendless. Which makes you think that they would friend each other. But, that logic never quite appealed to their senses. Thus, they meandered around in their states of isolation, each one sagging with the loneliness more than the last. It's sad, really, that secrets don't make friends.

for tellmeaboutit

--

This isn't the first time it's happened, this feeling of dismay. If it was, then maybe I wouldn't feel the need to rush to the nearest clinic and check myself in. But I'm not so fortunate as to have been in a constant state of happiness for the duration of my inhabiting this earth. And, oh, am I one for flowery prose when I'm feeling this... down. It's like a coping mechanism, something to distract my mind from the fact that it feels so completely inadequate.

Now I'm just being ridiculous. I should stop, back up the train of self-pity and check into the station of... that's a horrible metaphor waiting to happen. Now my flowery prose has morphed itself into something unrecognizable. Fabulous.

Can this day get any worse?

(Oh, thank you, Baba O'Riley... I've now entered into a teenage wasteland.)

I've reduced myself to a floundering ball of pathetic with legs, all because every text that comes through isn't yours, and I know something major has happened and I wish we weren't so far away...

One state over has never been such a long distance before.