My Cardboard Balcony

So, even though this wasn't one of the most stressful weeks I've had, it felt so good that it was Friday today. We're now hurtling toward the final deadline for Yearbook. Spring sports are once again the bane of my existence because the rain has caused multiple game cancellations. I had to explain to my English students that having a grown-ass adult date an underage person is bad - regardless of how close to being 18 they are (seriously, that conversation happened). Got home today and read stuff on Stephen Glass and other journalists because why not. Ate some pizza. Now I'm getting sleepy, and it's not even 10:30 PM yet. Welp - time to nod off, then. This weekend, I'll be taking the wifey on a clothing shopping spree for her birthday. Maybe I'll snag an outfit or two as well. Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

Sweet Tooth by Belinda Roddie Kevin was a white cat. He liked eating my cupcakes.

I know what you're thinking, and yes - I know we look similar. We may not be related, but the hair is the same hue of red, the eyes the same shape and color. Our freckles settle like dead stars in the same constellations, and I know that freckles are compared to stars so damn often, but that's what it seems like when we stare at each other - like holding a mirror up against the night sky. We are in the same solar system, swiveling around the same sun.

My Identity by Belinda Roddie My identity ain't hard to define: I may look like just a basic cowgirl, all gussied up in boots with stones of Rhine and a hat with a brim wide as the world. I wear my flannel and I drink my beer out in the saloon after a long day of work out on the ranch. The guys draw near, but I reject them 'cause I'm super gay. Yep, I'm one of them Wild, Wild Western dykes, and I'm damn proud of it. My pappy said that we'd go hunting for chicks on our bikes and toast to beautiful babes dressed in red. My interests ain't that hard to define: Just be sweet to me, and I'll make you mine.

The birth of the prince turned the entire kingdom upside down. Of course, this was before she made clear that she was a princess, not a prince, and the king doted on this little baby as if she were a beacon of light radiating from the heavens. As she grew older and became more feminine, it seemed that the king found her glow to be dimming. It was not easy living in that castle.

Tempura Sushi by Belinda Roddie Curious how the battered fingers rise from seaweed - a rolled up ocean, wrapped around a shriveled hand. The heat subsides, but the taste lingers in the back of your throat: the ample curves of the Pacific, jet streams drawing catches into steaming nets. Apart from the flavor, the ambience of the restaurant, as you devour the fried palm of God, is simply sublime.

Watch how, on the island, everything is green. See how the wind makes all of the palm trees sway. They want us to call this utopia, but the taste of scant fresh water and undercooked fish is not something I've adjusted to in all the time we've been here. The chief is fat with white hair, and she directs us all to wade up to our knees in the waves of the ocean. She makes us pray that a god I don't believe in will save us.