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WhyDid’s Words: Happily in Your Head

By |August 8th, 2017|Uncategorized|

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“You see,” she said, “the problem with being a hopeless romantic with an active imagination is that you turn everyone into a storybook character. That asshole with reckless tendencies who keeps you on the hook? He becomes a brooding sensitive artist type with insecurities who is in love with you but is just ‘scared.’ He speaks in riddles so as to leave everything open to interpretation.”

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A wind blew the picnic blanket up knocking over a striped paper cup of prosecco and spilling it onto the already wilting salad.  She dabbed at the bubbling puddle with a gingham cloth napkin then tossed it back into the wicker basket once realizing her efforts were in vain.  She looked back up, eyes clear.

“Suddenly the damsel becomes the heroine. The princess who should be fought for gets busy trying to save all these half assed imaginary characters.  She’s confused the villains for the white knights, the fire breathing dragon for Prince Charming.  And instead of a ‘happily ever after’ she’s left with her own tragedy.  One nobody can write her out of but herself.  Unless, of course, she wants to spend all of eternity locked in a tower with seven dwarfs and a singing candlestick.”

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Her friend laughed out of courtesy because it was the truth.

The intended audience stabbed at a chunk of tomato with a plastic fork and took a deep breath wondering if she’d been constructing her own fairytales in her head well past the days of dress up and jungle gyms.

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“Listen, you are a fairy princess.  We all see it– and I’m not talking about your fairy princess hair and flowy dresses.  You’ve got the biggest heart and maybe that’s your problem.  You can’t seem to accept that sometimes people are just– bad, so you find the tiniest sliver of goodness in them and focus on that– which, as I say it doesn’t sound like such a bad thing, but that’s why you get hurt, bamboozled, left in the damn dust scratching your pretty little head.

You can’t rewrite real life and you can’t fix everyone– well, my spiritual adviser would correct me there, but… anyway, sometimes an evil stepmom is an evil stepmom and a flying monkey is just that.”

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The wind picked up again and the hammock began to swing.

“Enough with Jafar and his harem.  Where the eff is Prince Eric?”

They both laughed and then were quiet for a moment enjoying the warm summer breeze.

“Wait… should I change my bio to ‘fairytale princess?'”

Photos by Michael Stiegler

WhyDid’s Week, April 2

By |April 5th, 2017|Uncategorized|

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You’re much more interesting when you’re gone.

A melody remembered,

A distant song.

He said, “Inspire me.”

She asked, “How?”

She left without an answer

And he’s left wondering, “Where are you now?”

WhyDid’s Week, March 26

By |March 27th, 2017|Uncategorized|

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The further I get

The stranger it seems

I once was unable

To escape you in my dreams.

The more time that passes,

The longer I go

How strange it seems

You’re someone I know.

WhyDid Words: Fear and Loathing…

By |March 24th, 2017|Uncategorized|

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“Did you know it is New York state law that you can’t buy alcohol before 8am?”

“It makes me sad that we are even trying to buy wine before noon.”

Kate laughs.  Her long white blonde hair covering her porcelain white skin.  She tucks it behind her ears revealing her eerily clear green eyes.

“Fuck it.  We’ll get some on the plane.”  Her Australian accent even makes curse words charming.

We struggle with our bags all the way to the gate.  I’m not even sure what we packed or why we packed as much as we did for a long weekend.  I think I always have a moment of panic towards the end of packing when my strategic outfit count goes out the window and I just start throwing random things into my suitcase– just in case.

A little eyelash batting had gone a long way at check in as both of us had gone over the allotted bag weight.  The same can’t be said for the restaurant where we attempted to procure two glasses of pre-flight, mid-hangover champagne.

I’m not sure how I even ended up agreeing to this trip.  I hate Las Vegas, but I love my friend who is in town from Tulum.  How this beautiful Australian ended up in Mexico is a longer story than I have time to tell.  We are meeting a few of her friends from Mexico City where everything is said to have been “taken care of” for us.  She had to do a good bit of convincing to get me acquiesce, but I trust her.  I have since the first time we stared up at the moon together on top of The Standard.  The best way I can describe her is an alien.  She’d take that as a compliment.

We finally board and take longer than most passengers to settle into our seats.  Maybe we are still slow from last night’s events or we just have more belongings than anyone else, most likely a combination of both.  She takes the seat closest to the window.  I nobly take the middle, praying that no one has reserved the aisle.  I pull out a book, Black Tickets, and hope that I can fall asleep before we take off as I often do.

Then my mind starts to wander.  I remember the last time I was in Las Vegas.  Much different than the first time, nearly five years prior.  The last time I set foot in the city of sin, I nearly got married.  Not in a drunken fit of fun that would have left me with much more than a hangover, but I had been with my ex as he had been hired to photograph the opening of The Cosmopolitan and they realized that they had no one to be the first couple married in the chapel.  He looked at me through his checkered glasses and shrugged, “Should we just do it?”

I considered it.  My father would be thrilled at the prospect of not having to empty his bank account for a wedding.  My mother would never forgive me for not being there.  He told me I had a few hours to think about it.  I took a nap instead.

Before I could come up with a good reason for opting out, he called to tell me that someone had volunteered.  I went back to sleep until he was done shooting.

I was jolted back to reality as the plane started to move, at which point my good luck had already begun– no one next to me.  Kate grabbed my arm and squeezed it.  Her enthusiasm never ceases to amaze me.  She makes it hard to have a bad attitude.  Kate’s sunny outlook can make you feel guilty for being anything but positive.  I smile back at her and then we both stare out the window, dark sunglasses protecting our bloodshot eyes from the early morning sun.

I flip my book open and try to distract myself.  I make it through a few pages before Kate’s gasp startles me, dropping my book.

“What?  Are you ok?”

“Look!” she says pointing to the panel next to her seat.

I burst into a fit of laughter, although there is nothing funny about her discovery.  The panel is popping out and you can feel the cold air coming in through the space.  She sticks her hand in the space and my laughter only gets louder.

“We are going to fall out of this plane!” she says, green eyes wide, as she pushes the call button to attract the attention of a flight attendant.

It takes a few minutes for anyone to arrive and as Kate expresses her concern about the panel and inevitable end of our lives, my laughter only intensifies.  The flight attendant assures us that there is nothing to worry about though her face deceives her.  She suggests that she’s going to bring us some wine to make reparations for our stress.

“Well, you’re finally getting your wine,” I manage between my fits of giggles.

Kate stares at me and then bursts into her maniacal laughter.  “This is NOT funny!”

We continue laughing until the flight attendant returns with four mini bottles of wine for us.  Surely, she doesn’t think that is going to keep us from fretting for the next four hours.  We clink clear plastic cups and I think Kate took hers down in one large gulp.

Eventually, a combination of the laughter and wine lull me into a light sleep, waking now and again to readjust my neck.  Sometimes startling myself from my own snores.  I groggily look over to see Kate asleep.  Head resting on the same faulty panel.  I smile and fall back asleep until I feel the plane make contact with the runway.

I never thought I’d be so happy to land in Las Vegas.  In a city so full of sin, surely we’ve met our guardian angel.

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Photos by Skinny K

WhyDid’s Week, March 19

By |March 20th, 2017|Uncategorized|

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For something to change, something has to change.