Prose/Option No. One - Project #36 - Other Submissions
Prose is a lovely thing when you think about it. It doesn’t have to be creative, but no matter what it always lends itself to that opportunity. The lack of an essay option has kind of gotten me down–I don’t know why; it’s not like I submitted an essay project more than once or twice. At any rate, I’m itching for some creative nonfiction. Here’s how it’s going to work: You’re going to write a story based entirely on your real life, but only one day of that life. It should be something normal, like work or school and the events that surround those obligations. If you don’t work or go to school, it should be about your stay-at-home life or whatever you normally do with your time. The creative part comes in with small embellishments here and there, exaggerations and little bits made up just for the heck of it. But generally, the story should be mostly true but written creatively, as if you’re reading a short story.
It’s up to you if you want to write about one day in your life , or combine several events from different days into one day for your story.
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Brian has figured it out. he left me a voice mail to say that he forgot to move the car. he had parked at a meter spot because all of the free spaces were taken up by the time he got home the other night.if you don’t move the car by 9am, you can get a ticket for not plugging the meter. we have several unpaid tickets as it is, and he was worried we’d get
booted.because my sleep schedule is completely fucked up (bed at 6 or 7am, up around 3pm), i didn’t get the message ’til after 4 in the afternoon. you better believe i got my ass out the door to move the car.
i wonder if he planned this.
i think i’m turning into That Busybody Neighbor. first, it was The Obnoxious Neighbor Kids who played baseball in the courtyard. that wouldn’t be such a big deal except for the fact that the courtyard is about 7 yards wide and 30 yards long; they’ve hit one of our windows while one of the cats was sitting on the ledge; they’re so loud they might as well be inside our living room; but mainly because there’s a fucking park with baseball diamonds 5 blocks away. the landlord said that they weren’t supposed to be using the courtyard as a park, and yet this continued for about a year. and after comparing notes with other people in our building, i know that i wasn’t the only one who complained.
now, i suspect that another neighbor has snuck a dog into their apartment. that wouldn’t be such a big deal either, except that it barks all the damn time at all hours of the night; dogs aren’t even allowed in these apartments; and especially because it’s totally irresponsible to sign a lease for a place that doesn’t allow dogs, with the intention of either getting one or moving in with the one you already have. i mean, that’s how Hopper ended up at the pound. her previous owner snuck her and a littermate into an apartment that didn’t allow pets at all and got busted.
granted, they might be watching it for a week or whatever, but now i don’t know what to do. wait ’til Friday, and if the constant barking doesn’t stop, tell the landlord? but if i tell, the dog might end up at the pound. besides, i haven’t actually seen the dog, even though it’s obvious where the noise is coming from. on the other hand, if i mind my own business, the barking will drive me nuts. then again, if i tell, i’ll become That Busybody Neighbor, a title i certainly don’t want.
what to do? what to do?
now that i’m actually getting out of the house, i’m finding things to write about–imagine that!
at my daily morning trip to the local Starbucks, i was surprised to see a line since it was 10:30ish. but whatever. only one person was behind the counter–the manager, a fellow Buckeye.
the woman in front of me, dressed in a pastel yellow tank top and pastel orange capris with yellow trim to match, bleached blonde and ratted hair, and a face and voice that hinted she had done some hard living, croaked, "are you the only one working? i’m late."
Starbuckeye smiled and graciously said she just sent someone on break, and then poked her head in back to get the other barista.
"thank you," Lady Cryptkeeper croaked again.
as she left, i watched her get into her hearse sedan, which was parked in a not-a-spot (you know, the ones with the diagonally painted lines inside it)–never mind that there were plenty of empty real spots.
i remarked, "it seems to me that if you’re late, you don’t have time to be stopping at Starbucks." this elicited a smirk from the woman behind me. "you are so nice," i told Starbuckeye.
"it’s part of the job," she replied.
no, not the action figure type. i’m referring to those things that . . . i’m not even sure what they do, really. all i know is that they have something to do with electrical power.
off and on for the past week, we haven’t had power in any room but the living room and dining room, and it has nothing to do with ComEd. it has everything to do with "ABCD Management," our landlord. meanwhile, the fridge and other major appliances are plugged into power strips and extension cords running through our apartment.
today, ABCD Management had an electrician (non-union, i’m sure) replace the transformer. luckily, the power was only out for about 2 hours. they’ve finished the job, but i’m still not totally convinced there won’t be any more problems. good thing i had already saved my current game on Xbox the other night when the power went out.
they’re b-a-a-a-a-c-k! maybe they’ll actually finish the house before this coming winter.
what do you mean, “where’s the ‘after’ picture?” this is the after picture.
see? i practice what i preach (see Chicago Living Tip #31): i pulled in as closely as possible to the cars in front and behind. Brian wouldn’t have tried to park here. OK, i just wanted to show off the awesome parking job i did because i’m usually horrible at parallel parking.
we finally replaced what was so wrongfully stolen from us months ago. in fact, we even upgraded from the old 8 or 10-gallon to a big, whopping, 32! i’d like to see you steal this one, dumbfucks!
my doctor wants me to lay off caffeine–completely; i don’t like whole milk because it leaves a nasty thick film in the back of my throat, in addition to having fat; and i don’t like foam because it disagrees with me gastrointestinally. according to Brian, who picks up coffee for us most mornings, our local Starbucks baristas have taken to calling my usual order “the no fun latte.” no caffeine. no fat. no foam. no fun. no shit.
