My Cardboard Balcony

Our Natural Disaster by Belinda Roddie This is real life. Our bedroom torn up like Tornado Alley. We've tied our T-shirts together to make curtains so our Peeping Tom neighbors can't see us writhe on the mattress like we've been possessed by a witch doctor. This is an illegal fireworks show, and we are lighting up the white plaster in reds and blues and pinks and violets. Heaving, howling, hairless coyotes shrieking at the full moon outside. We move like animals, but that's because we are animals, baring our teeth and contorting our bodies so that we can hit each other's sweet spots at just the right moments. One-two-three-four, five-six-seven-more. More. More. More. This is real life. This is the B-roll they discard after the final cut. The footage is raw, but it catches people's eyes, and that's why we don't let anyone watch us in our personal cyclone, our terrific typhoon, our hurricane still lasting through the night and le...

"I can smell pine," I told her as she held the unlit candle up to my face. "I can smell sugar and vanilla and caramel held to a flame. I can smell the tundra and the waterfalls and the surging river below." "Okay, babe," she said, rolling her eyes. "I get it. You're not into it." I blinked. "No, for real, though," I replied. "I can smell all of that. Like, the odor changes every time you breathe in."

Updates on the OneWord website have been pretty spotty this week, so nothing today. Heading home from my trip now!

I think the way this is working now is that I get a free pass on a Storyteller once a year (save for when I work on NaNoWriMo, which is pretty much storytelling super-charged for a month). So, yeah. My friend got married tonight to the love of his life, and I'm celebrating. Beautiful wedding, amazing food, great company. And hey, I updated my blog throughout the whole week even when I was on vacation. Hooray for free wifi at the Airbnb. 'Til next week, Storyteller lovers and contributors! Cheers, Belinda

I was smiling the entire ceremony, dressed in my tux with the silver bowtie, as my good friend married his wife on a sunny Saturday in Southern California. Once he kissed his bride, the groomsmen whooped and hollered, raising their fists in a unanimous sign of "Yes, we approve." I was glad to be considered one of said groomsmen, even though I was not considered male biologically.

Tomorrow, one of my good friends is getting married. Yes, it is that time of my life. Time for those I know to start getting hitched. Myself included. This wedding also marks the first time I have been a member of a bridal party. As I know the groom, I am a groomsman (or groomsperson, I suppose? Is that the better descripto for me). I get to wear a tux, look all cool with the rest of the boys, and make my fiancée swoon. I get to see some amazing friends of mine who I don't get to hang out with that often due to distance. I'm really happy for my friend and his wife-to-be, but I'm also happy for everyone involved because it means we can reunite and commemorate our friendships and times together. And that sappiness is enough to make any pragmatist gag. Time for me to get some sleep and get ready for my buddy's big day. Weddings are pretty intense, yo! Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

Here Comes The Bride by Belinda Roddie Joe's best friend was getting married to a devout Satanist.