Confidence is a state of mind, and we can’t always see it. I don’t know how to answer this prompt, and I don’t particularly want to. So I’m going to go with Wonder Woman. But it has to be Lynda Carter. I will not be convinced that any other person is WW besides my girl Lynda. My mind is made up.
Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman
She has a lasso, she’s a bad ass with a bad ass costume. I had the WW Underoos when I was little. Anyone remember those? I dressed up like WW for Halloween – you know, the one with the scary plastic mask and flimsy plastic costume? Yeah that was me. I also had a Batgirl bathing suit, but I digress.
This prompt is underwhelming. For those who want to read my poetry, check it out. It’s all here on this blog.
My musical taste is eccentric, just like my personality. The only thing that isn’t my jam is country music. I do like Chris Stapleton, but that is where it ends.
I don’t have a poem to accompany today’s prompt.
I’m going to leave this video and lyrics here. The song sums up my poetry journey so far this year, and I love Jason Mraz’s music.
Details in the Fabric
Jason Mraz
Calm down Deep breaths And get yourself dressed instead Of running around And pulling on your threads saying Breaking yourself up
If it’s a broken part, replace it If it’s a broken arm then brace it If it’s a broken heart then face it
And hold your own Know your name And go your own way
Hold your own Know your name And go your own way And everything will be fine
Hang on Help is on the way Stay strong I’m doing everything
Hold your own Know your name And go your own way
Hold your own Know your name And go your own way
And everything, everything will be fine Everything
Are the details in the fabric Are the things that make you panic Are your thoughts results of static cling?
Are the things that make you blow Hell, no reason, go on and scream If you’re shocked it’s just the fault Of faulty manufacturing
Everything will be fine Everything in no time at all Everything
Hold your own And know your name Go your own way
Are the details in the fabric (Hold your own, know your name) Are the things that make you panic Are your thoughts results of static cling? (Go your own way)
Are the details in the fabric (Hold your own, know your name) Are the things that make you panic (Go your own way) Is it Mother Nature’s sewing machine?
Are the things that make you blow (Hold your own, know your name) Hell no reason go on and scream If you’re shocked it’s just the fault (Go your own way) Of faulty manufacturing
Everything will be fine Everything in no time at all Hearts will hold
Me specifically *not* watching Feliciano López play tennis, Cincinnati 2006.
Apart from me rapping Eminem lyrics in my head right now, this feels like a rehash of a former prompt. I’m answering it, but barely.
I like to watch tennis. I can always get engrossed in a good match (see photo above). And no, I do not have anything personal against Feli. He is quite nice. I don’t know why I wasn’t watching he and Rafa play doubles, but I do know someone from Getty Images (?) caught me (not) doing it.
I like to write. Time seems to slip by when I’m in the writing zone. I think most of us here can relate to that.
Have a great day, everyone.
My book LOVE MATCH waiting with good company for an online review, circa 2005.
Tell me, how would a black-cat-having, left-handed person born on Friday the 13th (who walks under ladders and opens umbrellas in the house) accomplish being superstitious?
I am a walking superstition.
Witchy Woman, Eagles (lyrics below)
Witchy Woman
Song by Eagles
Raven hair and ruby lips Sparks fly from her fingertips Echoed voices in the night She’s a restless spirit on an endless flight
Woo-hoo, witchy woman See how high she flies Woo-hoo, witchy woman She got the moon in her eye
She held me spellbound in the night (woo-ooh) Dancing shadows and firelight Crazy laughter in another room (woo-ooh) And she drove herself to madness with a silver spoon
Woo-hoo, witchy woman See how high she flies Woo-hoo, witchy woman She got the moon in her eye
Well, I know you want a lover, let me tell you, brother She’s been sleeping in the Devil’s bed And there’s some rumors going ’round, someone’s underground She can rock you in the nighttime ’til your skin turns red
Woo-hoo, witchy woman See how high she flies Woo-hoo, witchy woman She got the moon in her eye
If you’ve been with me for a while, you knew this answer was coming. Why would I compare myself to a cat? Why not?
Here’s what cats and I have in common: When we like you, you will know it. When we don’t like you, you will know it. We don’t give our affections to just anyone, we choose the people who won’t look at us. Duh. We will welcome you after you’ve been away for a long time, but we will not run up to greet you and lick your face. That is uncouth. Instead, we will wait the perfunctory 3 to 5 business days to say hello to you, because you left, and that was not approved.
(I love dogs, have had several, and you guys know that I love my friend Petey. The insinuation of dogs being uncouth is a joke.)
Here are some photos of me training to be a cat:
Introductions are made.The initial phase begins.Phase 2 has been reached.Just two cats chilling in the grass.My transformation into a cat is fully realized. Susie is not impressed.
I heard you turned 100. Happy Birthday! I hope there wasn’t a fire when they lit the candles on the cake. Couldn’t resist sarcasm, but you know that about us. Anyway, I just want to say thanks for everything. I’m sorry about the neck. I tried to tell teenage Amy about this, but she didn’t really listen. She carried that heavy bookbag on her right shoulder for 12 years… I was trying to make her see reason, but she wouldn’t have any of that. You know teenagers. I should apologize for the neck as well. I spent hours with my head down, looking at my phone, using poor posture in front of the laptop, and generally not taking the advice that I gave to teenage Amy. I guess I never learned. I hope that you are a “good” 100. By that I mean I hope you’re still active and enjoying things. I hope you are of sound mind. It would dishearten me to learn otherwise. Please tell me you’re still wearing fedoras and dressing like you want. I hope you have a really cool scooter and that it goes 60 mph. I hope you start foodfights in the cafeteria of the assisted living home. I hope they have really good chocolate milk there. I hope there are no weird men. Ha, who am I kidding?
Thank you for all the years, and I hope that all of the versions of us have made you proud. We’ve done the best we could, haven’t we? We protected little girl Amy with all that we had. We did some bad, we did some good, we loved hard, we laughed hard, we worked hard, sometimes we cried hard, and most of all we lived. We really lived.
I see that lady from Room 3A eyeing the pink wheels on your scooter. You’d better get over there. It looks like she’s messing with your music selection. You let her know that no one changes the song but you.
Love,
Amy
100-year-old Amy gets on her scooter and turns up the volume. She tells the lady from 3A to move, she’s got stuff to do. She peels out, heading off to parts unknown, her speakers blaring “I’m Bad” by LL Cool J.
The first one is, “Why aren’t you married?” My standard answer is, “I’ve never met anyone who could convince me that it’s a good idea.” That shuts them up really quickly.
The second question I hate is, “Why don’t you have children?” Again, I reply with, “I’ve never met anyone who could convince me that it’s a good idea.” Again, silence.
It’s my standard answer. It’s flippant and sarcastic and intentional. Come at me with questions that are none of your business, and I’m going to come at you with something you have no response to.
We know nothing of lost opportunities, missed chances, wrong time, wrong place, right person, wrong time, wrong person, right time. we know nothing of desire – or lack of desire – for marriage or children. And there’s a reason why we don’t know anything: because these are personal issues.
Last week, one of the cashiers in the grocery store told me I looked really fashionable. She said she always loves to see what outfit I’m wearing. This particular trip I had on my plaid black and white fedora, with my houndstooth belted coat and matching houndstooth gloves. Finished off with tall black boots. She asked, “You’re not married are you?” Immediately, my defenses went up, but I asked with a smile, “Why do you say that?” And she said, “Because you look so put together and cute. You’re a cutie pie and you take time with your outfits and always look adorable.” I thanked her and put my defenses down. (I’m not sure what that had to do with being married or unmarried, but it was said, from a place of kindness.)
I like those kinds of people. Not because she complimented me, but because she didn’t ask me a personal question to be nosy or critical. She had no ulterior motive.
We don’t know what people go through, what battles they are waging on the inside. We should always strive to be kind and never assume anything.
And never assume a void means lack of hopes, dreams or wishes.
“It's Amy,” I said. 