My Cardboard Balcony

Rainbow Movies by Belinda Roddie Let there be a rom-com about a fashionista who swoons for one of her models as she sashays down the catwalk, flaunting one of her newest designs. Let there be a Western dramedy on a farm out in deep-fried Texas where a city slicker meets her match in a cowgirl, and they share their first kiss over caramel corn at the local county fair. Let there be a grand adventure where a warrior princess bonds with the new chieftess of a forgotten tribe, and as they face the enemy army together, they hold hands and clasp their swords in their free fingers. And while we're at it, let there be a horror feature where the girl saves her next door neighbor from the monster, swooping her into a kiss as the screams from Hell finally dissipate. A sci-fi romp with a space pilot and her wife. A raunchy ensemble piece where two women plan the craziest anniversary party of their lives. A buddy cop flick where the lady cops solve the crime and loc...

"Tyler died two days ago." "No way! How?" Sebastian sighed and shook their head, their fingers dancing through their short bob. "You're not gonna believe this - apparently, he was taking a selfie while hiking...and a mountain lion was behind him and got disturbed by the clicking sound." "So he got eaten by a mountain lion?" "No, he freaked out and ran right into a giant patch of poison oak. Anaphylactic shock."

You Were My Princess by Belinda Roddie You were pure royalty, Carrie - you took the chain that confined you and used it to asphyxiate the angry gods in the sky. Just as you asked, you drowned in moonlight, strangled by your own bra. Your personal galaxy became bigger and grander than the one we all lived in. Stardust was in your blood, towering nebulae in your brain, cosmic monuments to your survival and your sass. You took the scepter and the crown and bedazzled them with your own jewels: Unconventional gems and stones that gave you a different color than the rest, a different shine than the rest. You didn't just endure the fires of criticism and shame; you blew kisses at them, and you waved them off with an extended middle finger before off skipping toward the horizon with your giddy dog drooling in your arms. You were my princess, Carrie, at a time when I realized that princesses were the only people I could truly fall in love with. Your majesty was only...

If I could bottle up my rage, I'd have a whole wine cellar full of the stuff. Then maybe, once in a while, I'd uncork one of those bottles and pour the wrath and anger into a glass. A few sips in, and I'd be ready to roll. Productive aggression is always good. I think I'll start a vineyard and grow fury on the vine. Lord knows the people need to harvest it.

Mona wanted to take up boxing, so I let her. That was when she met Lorraine. Lorraine was the youngest boxing coach at the local gym, and she was already molding champions out of the citizenry. Mona walked over with her own wraps and her very own pair of new gloves, and Lorraine must have fallen in love right then and there. I looked between my daughter, with her curls, and Lorraine, with her black bob cut, and already knew that sparks would be flying inside and outside the ring.

The others were sitting in the living room by the Christmas tree, but I was standing on the back porch with a glass of red wine, staring up at the stars and braving myself against the chill. Standing next to me was Celeste, a friend of mine since high school, and the way she nestled her body against mine was another indicator of how inseparable we had become. We had celebrated many Christmases together, ever since her family disowned her; and while the others watched TV and cleaned up wrapping paper, there we were, keeping each other warm.

by Belinda Roddie Here's how I got nicknamed Plague Nog. It happened on Christmas Eve, when I was babysitting Mister and Missus Norris's nine-year-old and six-year-old daughters. They were little rascals, those two - bouncy, hyper, always plotting, always mischievous. In a good way, of course. Together, we planned escape routes from the house in case of invading zombies or pirates. Sometimes they would dress up as royalty and expect me to do their bidding, until I of course told them I outranked them. "We're queens!" they'd protest. "You can't be above a queen!" "I can if I'm a supreme overlord," I'd reply, and that would be the end of the debate. Jenna and Tiffany, the oldest and youngest respectively, adored Christmas. And their parents allowed the holiday to be as much of a free-for-all as possible. The girls chose the tree, decorated it as they saw fit, and always came up with new ideas for ornaments and stringi...