Comments Posted By Belinda Roddie
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“Where’s your phone?”
“Where’s your wallet?”
“In my left back pocket.”
“Where are your keys?”
I dangled them in front of her face, and she pawed at them like a hyperactive kitty. That got a good laugh out of her.
“So you’re good without your phone for a couple of hours?”
“Why not? I could handle not having one in my twenties.”
Ah, the eighties. So easy to be nostalgic for. Yet so much wrong about them.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 09.17.2019 @ 9:04 pm
Caitlin had piercings in her ears, hoops in her eyebrows, studs in her nose, a glistening ruby on her tongue – and I wanted to kiss every single one of them. The combination of sterling silver and stainless steel against soft dark skin and full pink lips made me excited every time I came to the parlor. Every time she inked me – a new portrait, a new signature, a new controversy – it was like she was the painter, and I was the overly eager canvas.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 09.11.2019 @ 9:08 pm
I tried everything to make the store look nice. I printed banners. I redid logos. I arranged all the products into nice and neat columns and rows. I wanted everything to be picturesque, quaint, distinguished…perfect, even.
But a pristine aesthetic wasn’t going to save the business from my sister. Not by a long shot. The day I renovated the place, she came in reeling drunk, almost blind, singing loudly to the first morning customers.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 09.09.2019 @ 9:44 pm
“So…why did you punch Jim in the nads again?”
“Oh.” I swallowed my lukewarm mouthfull of beer. “Because he said women were the weaker sex.”
“So, what, you wanted to remind him of his ‘weak spot?'”
“That, or I really just wanted to hear him cry.”
Susie raised an eyebrow. “Did he cry?”
“Like a f***ing baby,” I chuckled.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 09.06.2019 @ 9:36 pm
When I told her the truth, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father raise his hand. For a brief, terrifying moment, I thought he was going to slap me. But he didn’t. Instead, he reached for a glass on the middle shelf of the kitchen cabinet, when he then promptly filled with peanut butter-flavored whisky that he had won as a gift from a holiday raffle.
My mother didn’t blink at first, which caught me off guard.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 09.05.2019 @ 3:24 pm
We stayed up until dawn, slept until three, and kissed until our lips were blue until midnight. Then we stayed up again for the sunrise, drinking cold tea mixed with rum and breathing in sour notes of coastal air, exhaling out equally tart words of “wisdom” and “witticisms.” We did this for nine days in a row. Then you had to pop down to see your mother on her deathbed, so I stayed up until dawn with the cat.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.30.2019 @ 6:38 pm
When we were told the Juggernaut was in town, we locked the doors, latched the shutters, and stayed in our bedrooms for the night. We had all heard the stories, had all been taught the precautions. No dancing. No singing. No sudden movement. The Juggernaut would hear it all, and the Juggernaut would punish you for it.
There was one neighbor, Fifae, who did not take on the same fear as we did. And so, when night fell, she stayed outside, perched on a stump, playing her wooden flute.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.29.2019 @ 9:04 pm
Tell me, how does holding a banquet in your honor serving as nutrition to my allegedly “emaciated” enlightenment? And why does said banquet provide the head of a pig, which looks remarkably like the head of my father, before he passed away?
I see you at the table, commemorating “long forgotten glory,” while I debate which tine on my fork shall enter your left eyeball first.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.26.2019 @ 9:25 pm
I ran three miles a day, ate nothing but the nutritious food, drank water, and sipped milk to strengthen my bones. And yet, I was fat. I weighed a lot more than I had when I hadn’t worked out, and all I could do was determine that the more powerful I got, the bigger I got.
So I pumped iron until my arms were as big as my head and my gut protruded proudly from above my belt.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.25.2019 @ 6:03 pm
“Did you hear about the riots?”
“Yeah, man. Where they break windows and stuff.”
I shook my head. “No riots that I’ve seen,” I remarked. “I know a large protest is underway in the next city over, but I don’t think it’s turned violent.”
“You’re dumb, bro. Protests always turn violent.”
I sighed at my brother. “And you always turn into a moron when you open your mouth. But maybe that’s permanent now.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.24.2019 @ 10:24 am
Have you ever heard the motto, “Boys will be boys?” Well, I say let’s push it to the stereotypical extreme. Get them to wear camo and paint black stripes below their eyes. Make them shoot each other in the twig and berries with pellets until one of them starts to cry. Then, feed them bacon and mayonnaise sandwiches until their stomachs are distended. That night, make them believe that girls are the enemy. Bitches love that.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.21.2019 @ 8:49 pm
Go ahead – try our new delicious product! It has all the essential vitamins and minerals you need to get through your day and stay healthy. Perfect as a topping for your everyday meals, or you can consume it on its own!
Just be sure to season it. And remember, when the full moon hits, you’re going to want to drink an entire bottle so you’re strong enough to battle the werewolf onslaught because you know damn well you won’t be able to rely on silver bullets to survive.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.19.2019 @ 8:33 pm
Here we are, merely mammals, living in a cocoon of our own making. A cocoon built from steel and plastic and discarded souls. A cocoon that holds a studio apartment that we pay two thousand dollars a month for. A studio apartment where we maintain our belongings, which aren’t much – besides ourselves, our sweet tabby is our closest companion. We play board games in our cocoon. We drink wine in our cocoon. We daydream in our cocoon. But we never achieve metamorphosis. Mammals don’t get that perk.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.15.2019 @ 10:10 pm
Kiss me with the tongue of a venomous serpent. Caress me with fingers analogous to the legs of a black widow. Trace my outline with the tail of a scorpion, and I’ll tell you how much it stings.
I am immune to your advances. None of your toxins can incapacitate me for long. I’ve played this game too many times to be weakened. In the end, it will be you who succumbs.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.14.2019 @ 9:33 pm
“I don’t know the answer.”
She repeated herself. “I don’t. Know. The answer.”
Mr. Juarez was furious. “You gotta be joking me. What, were you not being attention? Are you high? Or are you just dense?”
The whole class fell silent at his words, and they hovered awkwardly in the air for a moment before Lindsay spoke again.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” she calmly explained, “considering I was kicked out of my house yesterday for being a d*ke.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.13.2019 @ 2:34 pm
We are masters of our own fates, yet we’re not really good at following our own scripts. We write, but the penmanship is illegible. We plan, but we sleep in when the time of action is now. We get drunk and tired and hungover when we should be taking action. And the crushing capitalist goliath is bearing down on us, snorting loudly, cocaine residue lingering on his enormous nostrils.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.11.2019 @ 7:13 pm
The water was crisp and cool, and I drank as much as I could before my stomach ached. Then, I lay across the flat stone beneath me, letting the wind settle like an invisible blanket against my knees and chest.
It was just another lukewarm autumn day at the family cabin, and from what I could tell, my family was inside, playing board games and listening to records. My brother was blackberry picking, and my kid sister was catching waterdogs along the creek.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.10.2019 @ 1:46 pm
Singer, songwriter, yet lonely in a studio, the guitar strings growing cold, even though it’s almost ninety degrees in the space. You’re sweating so badly that your fingers slip and slide across the fretboard, creating a miniature waterfall all the way down the body of your pristine acoustic Fender. Suddenly, you forget the words; you forget the melody. And all you can do is shrivel away on a minor chord.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.08.2019 @ 10:17 pm
A happy marriage? What a novel concept? Luckily, I’ve got one of those, but sadly, my friend Howard doesn’t. Nope, he’s hitched to a cranky old white-haired curmudgeon with a badly deviated septum and an even worse attitude. I know he married him for the money, but sheesh, if I were gold digging, I still wouldn’t want to touch said gold if it were buried in a massive mountain of shit. But they’re rich, man. Dressed in suits while Howard’s husband slowly decays in a bow tie and holding a bottle of Chardonnay.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.07.2019 @ 10:02 pm
Gypsy is a slur, and you should know better, man. So is dyke, and f*ggot, and of course, the all powerful n-word. Mind your mouth when it comes to these terms, because I promise you, your privilege is about to turn into an angry dragon and bite your goddamn head off. Oh, and don’t shriek, “POLITICAL CORRECTNESS! MAH FREE SPEECH!” because you can say 90% of what you damn well please; you won’t miss the other 10%.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.04.2019 @ 8:52 pm
Raymond’s cat, Murphy, was incredibly fluffy and incredibly vocal. He was the epitome of a ragdoll cat, and his blue eyes seemed to stare directly into your soul and then out of it just as easily. As I sat on the couch, eating spicy cheese puffs and drinking a can of ginger ale, Murphy curled up next to me, finally content with whom he had decided was a suitable caretaker while his owner was on a business trip in Dallas.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.03.2019 @ 6:58 pm
We drank whisky and ate tater tots at the Grown Boy Bar near the Mackerel Street train station. I savored each crispy bite before polishing it off with fine scotch, and she was happy to partake. We talked about everything from our jobs to our dogs to our old pog collections when we were kids – until, inevitably, the discussion became more serious.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.02.2019 @ 10:08 am
“Jeremy, we shouldn’t go out,” opined Nancy. “Your car can’t handle these conditions.”
“It’s just a bit of snow. What’s the issue?”
“The issue,” she stressed, “is that black ice grows like a goddamn plague on the freeway. I, for one, don’t feel like skidding off the road into the great abyss to my doom.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes, clearly believing that his wife was being overdramatic. But he turned on the TV and settled onto the couch for the night.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 08.01.2019 @ 10:35 am
Take a swizzlestick to that sweet liqueur shot of glamour, and stir as hard as you can until the bubbles spread. Then, you can use pearls as a chaser, lace gloves puckering around the wrists, as your socialite friends swallow larger and sharper gemstones. Soon, they’ll be living treasure caves, and they will drink, drink, drink.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.29.2019 @ 8:43 pm
“Are you sorry for what you said?”
“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”
“Are you sorry for what you said?!”
“I REALLY don’t think my words had that big of an impact.”
“They had an impact on ME!” she cried out, tears in her eyes. “Okay? When you talk like – when you misgender me like that – LOUDLY – in a public space?! That has an impact on ME and MY identity! So are you SORRY?!”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.26.2019 @ 11:21 am
I found herself standing on the rafters long after the concert was over, observing the gymnasium lights as they flickered on and off and on and off again. I lugged my trombone with me, ascending the steps to the tops of the bleachers, and stared up.
“You’re gonna fall and die, you know.”
She laughed, straddling the beam. “Just don’t call me a quirky girl for this, okay? I just have issues.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.23.2019 @ 6:14 pm
Mr. Arnold was shocked to find that his beautiful, impeccable, perfect pick-up truck had been towed from the handicapped spot. He gasped. He screamed. He cussed and stomped his feet. And as his face turned violet, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself face to face with a sweet little old lady…using a walker, no less.
“I called the towing company,” she whispered. “Don’t be a dick next time.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.22.2019 @ 10:30 am
We will not attack – we will defend. We will not seize – we will apprehend. We will not detain – we will preserve. We will not traumatize – we will disturb. We will not hold back – we will not desist. We will not act coy – we will resist.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.20.2019 @ 1:27 pm
Man, that joke was so good that you left me in stitches. I mean, literally. I laughed so f***ing hard, I fell off my stool and took my half full pint of lager with me. Wound up breaking the damn glass and leaving gashes large enough to land flying saucers in. F***ing grand canyons, those wounds. So I got all knitted and crocheted up at the ER. Still, though, fan-f***ing-tastic joke. Well worth the steep medical bills I got now.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.18.2019 @ 10:32 pm
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Look, I brought you a bottle of sadness. Drink it up, drink it up, so you’ll feel the weight of the world press so hard into your shoulders that they’ll leave divots – pull your feet down like gravity, your ankles swelling from pitting edema. You’ll be so miserable and fatigued that you’ll need to sit down. But hey, I never forced you to imbibe the sadness; you wanted it. You said so.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.17.2019 @ 12:48 am