"Why I am in such a Good Mood?"

Introducing "Lil' Xanie, The Helping Friendly iBook".
Thank you everyone who submitted...

And now, finally, a real post.

"Why am I in such a good mood?"
How many times have I asked myself this question...how many more times have I heard other people inquire after the mystery of their unexplained happiness. Doesn't that strike anyone as the least bit...sad? Do we walk around miserable so much that a moment of happiness brings about confusion and consternation? Like, there SHOULDN'T be a reason for this happiness, or somehow we don't deserve it. A conundrum to be sure...

And now for something completely different... results from a couple writing exercises...

required words...
Thistle
Cannabis
Harangue
Coffin
Juice
Cadillac
Voodoo
Widow
Convulse
Blood

The Story:
“My hair feels like a thistle bush” Anna intoned to no one in particular. She hadn't run a brush through it in a couple days. She was standing in the corner of her living room desperately trying to avoid being harangued by the black-clad mourners that had descended upon her home after the funeral. She hardly knew any of these people. Yet they all approached her in that “I don’t have anything to say to make you feel better but I’m obligated to say something anyway-” way. Some even hugged her. She wasn’t a fan of being touched.

She managed to duck into the kitchen. There was a bottle of vodka squirreled away in a cupboard with her name on it. The thought struck her funny and she giggled as she pictured a giant bottle of vodka with “ANNA” stamped on the label. Nice to have something in her head besides the image of her sister in a coffin. Who’s bright idea was it to institute the tradition of an open casket wake? The last thing she wanted to remember was Sara garishly made up lying dead while people whispered bullshit wake phrases like “She looks so peaceful.” “Gosh, she just looks like she’s sleeping”. And then the assholes who didn’t think Anna was listening: “They did a good job on her.” “Looks just like her!” “That lipstick is all wrong”. Actually, Anna LIKED that person and agreed. She wanted nothing more than to turn around and scream at the top of her lungs “THAT CORPSE LOOKS NOTHING LIKE MY SISTER! SHE LOOKS DEAD AND HER MOUTH IS STUFFED WITH COTTON AND SEWN SHUT YOU FREAKS!”

She thought better of the vodka and poured herself some orange juice. She needed some air.

Her brother was leaning against the side of the house smoking. The familiar scent of nights in the basement listening to old 8-tracks filled her nostrils.
“Ah, cannabis, my old friend, where have you been?” She sighed taking the joint from John.
“This is all so surreal.” He said flatly.
Anna didn’t respond. She just smoked.
“And I can’t even imagine how Pete must be feeling. I can’t imagine losing a spouse. I mean, watching mom…a widow for 15 years… she was a mess most of the time…”
“Yeah, well, save your sympathy, son. It was his mid-life crisis that precipitated the purchase of “the Porche”. And now we know who wins in a fight between said Porche and a Cadillac. Fucker.” Anna exhaled. John took the joint back gingerly.
“C’mon Anna. Be fair.”
“I am being fair. My fucking sister is gone. I think I’m entitled to lay some blame somewhere. And, since I can’t blame God, as I don’t believe in any of that bullshit Voodoo crap, then it falls on the asshole who bought an impractical car.”

She knew she was being ridiculous. The pot made her feel heavy. Blood pounding in her ears. With a shiver, her body convulsed.
“You ok?” John asked.
“Yeah, fine. Gotta go back inside and take inventory of casseroles. And coffee cakes. And Jello molds. What is up with funerals and food?” She mused.
John laughed,
“Well, I’m of the opinion that all that food is for those that choose to deal with their grief by getting irreparably stoned so they have something to eat when the munchies kick in.”
Anna giggled, the giggle turned into a cackle…and then she finally started to cry.
John stood there for an awkward moment and then did the only thing he could.
He hugged her.

Required words:
crust
sweat
electric
wedding
fangs
canopy
ferris wheel
weep
torrents
rapture

The Story:
Thoughts of a Bridesmaid...
"If the Rapture happened right now at this very moment, I don't think I'd mind too much"
I'm thinking, standing, sweat collecting at the armpits of my tacky taffeta, under the canopy of the Chupah as I watched my best friend throw his life away.

Two weeks ago I was still convinced this day wouldn't come. Mark and Stacy (uck "Stacy", GOD I hate that name) weren't doing well. Wait, check that. Mark and Stacy were just as they've been during the tenure of their relationship. Completely dysfunctional and awful. Most days I sit waiting for Stacy to reveal her true self. I picture her skin peeling away from her body to reveal a pulsating mass of black nasty. With fangs. And Crust. Maybe it'll happen during tonight's inevitable Electric Slide. Ew.

The Rabbi drones on... God this wedding is so wrong. Still, I was too much of a pussy to speak up during the potential "audience participation" portion of the ceremony. I feel sick. Like I do when I get on a ferris wheel. I hate the ferris wheel. And now I feel like I'm on one. God I hate Stacy. Torrents of loathing waiting to come exploding out of me...

Smile! Yay, they're married. Woo hoo! Thaaat's right Stacy...you gold-digging succubus. Wait...can women be succubuses? Succubi? Oh Christ. Fuck it. I'm going to the bathroom.

God I need a drink so fucking badly I could weep.

That is all...

PS: Two days til Star Wars bitches!