Comments Posted By Belinda Roddie

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“The return of the Je – wait, no, that’ used before.”

“I didn’t know if you were gonna say Jedi or Jesus.”

“…Return of the Jesus?”


“THE Jesus?”

“Yeah. As opposed to Jesús down the street.”

“I heard that!” Jesús barked from his upstairs window. We kept kicking at fallen leaves and laughed quite a bit about the coming of the Jesus man.

Because the Jesus man saves kittens.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.06.2011 @ 5:48 pm


An old Irishman deserved a slap in the face, so a slap he received at the Brazen Head one February evening. From his daughter, no less. She had been kissing her boyfriend after he had played a sweet ballad for her on his banjo. The drunkard father, bless his sore heart, had broken the banjo strings in response, cussing out the poor lad until his face went as red as his hair. The slap sent the Irishman keeling over his bar stool, where he landed right into a lonely lady’s lap. And thus the love story began.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.05.2011 @ 5:52 pm


The necktie in the bosom. A picture frame on a mantle. Crystal within a brooch. The thing your eye is drawn to. The thing that holds your gaze. The nose should be the centerpiece of the face, but instead it’s the gaze. Defiant angles and shapes. Geometrical rebellion. The lips pursed and try to upstage. They are successful.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.04.2011 @ 11:40 am


Obey your stomach, o’ hungry child. The candy speaks to you. Cadbury creamery and Ghiradelli goodness. You seek the bag with treats and salivate in glee. Obey your stomach, o’hungry child. Because even if you consume too much sugar and fat, there is always a pack of insulin and a liposuction appointment awaiting you.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.03.2011 @ 11:22 am


Stable boy cleans the stable. Rich wife of a baron who hailed from a stuffy family in London trots over on her black horse. She has been hunting foxes. Stable boy mops his brow from the flies. He smells like shit and sweat and sweaty shit and shitty sweat. But the wife can’t get enough of him. She wants to tear off that bodice of hers and tackle him into the dung. How typical.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.02.2011 @ 9:41 pm


I slouch. I slurp. I slip up. Again. I thought I was better than this. 3 o’clock on the computer. Three minutes fast. I screwed up again. Hammer to the head. They glare at me. What did I do wrong? I’m trying. I really am. I’m isolated. I’m failing. No papers are coming in. I’m writing in my journal. No. Not allowed. All my fault I’m not doing well. All my fault. All my fault. All my fault.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.01.2011 @ 6:09 pm


Anywhere is a word that tends to bother certain people because saying you could go anywhere you wanted isn’t exactly accurate, being that we are stuck on this tiny pearl of a planet and go not fly out to Mars for fear of our heads bursting like candy-filled balloons, spraying confetti all across the solar system – or travel back in time, for that matter, to Victorian England, where you’d be more likely to get the black lung than have a lovely dance with the aristocracy, but at least your lungs wouldn’t compress into ribbons upon your intrepid voyage to Jupiter…without a helmet.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.30.2011 @ 5:35 pm


The skyline sat behind our heads and the clouds clustered around the tailcoats of the sun as we sat on the beach. It was very Bergman-esque, sitting here and playing chess in the sand. My opponent had even worn the cloak as an homage.

We held our breath. Waves licked the shores. I moved my knight.


“Oh, you bitch,” Ely snapped in his lisp-aided lilt.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.29.2011 @ 6:04 pm


The lights dimmed, the pancakes eaten, we settled down for an early morning movie. We had stayed up for hours, cuddling, too alert to sleep, too stubborn to dream. The dream was here, and now, with one o’clock breakfast and a horrid 1950s sci-fi film. I buried my head in her shoulder. I breathed happiness.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.28.2011 @ 5:58 pm


In a marble archway, I shared a kiss with an older man, whose stubble was as white as the blizzard swallowing us up. He had smoked a pipe earlier and tasted like cheap tobacco, and he held me close to his chest that heaved with a tuberculosis rhythm. I didn’t want him to let me go, not even when my hands turned to ice and I couldn’t taste anything in my mouth anymore.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.27.2011 @ 1:15 pm


One morning at the museum, a Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton decided to wreak havoc upon a small tangle of delinquent school children who had decided to throw rocks at the displays. How they were able to smuggle so many rocks into the museum without security being none the wiser was unclear to curator Benjamin Reynards, who grinned a toothless grin as the preteens shrieked like girls at the dinosaur bones lumbered toward them. He’d have to give his pet a treat in reward.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.26.2011 @ 5:58 pm


“The next president of the United States…Milo the cat!”

I rolled my eyes as my brother carried our large orange tabby into the room, humming a very awkward theme song. I threw some popcorn at him in response.

“What are you watching?” he asked.

“V for Vendetta on demand.”

He snorted. “You a communist?”

“No, I’m an anti-fascist. There’s a difference.”

He sat down beside and Milo squirmed to get away. In the corner of my eye, I saw my mother cooking in the kitchen.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.25.2011 @ 11:43 am


Mick Jagger’s “Wild Horses” was playing in a small diner where Roger sat, drinking a coffee. The autumn leaves were damp and clogged with rain and dirt, and a tinny jukebox was already playing Christmas songs in the corner. As he stirred sugar into his mug, he watched as the young Irish waiter, Ferris, set down a plate of sliced turkey in front of him.

“On the house,” he said. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Roger smiled. At least he had something to be thankful for now.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.24.2011 @ 12:23 pm


She walked out with eyelashes bristling fire, her lips molten lava melting into her tongue as she licked the ripe skin. Bosom bulging outward to complete the volcano. And probably most of the boys in the room were about to erupt.

Instead, I clapped. Then I took her hand and escorted her to the small corner table reserved for us, where we’d watch the show.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.23.2011 @ 6:57 pm


Study time was replaced with chips and drinking that night, while Stacy and I used our textbooks for propping up our glasses. The TV was blaring a re-run of Frasier, and I liked how we both laughed at the witticisms. My twin brother Terry had fallen asleep on the sofa with the empty bowl used for popcorn rocking on his stomach.

“I had a good time tonight,” Stacy said when she was about to leave.

“Yeah, you can thank Napoleon for that.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.22.2011 @ 6:29 pm


I realized, with a light laugh, that a client at my law firm was named Robert Browning. I addressed it to him over a light lunch at the nearest café.

“Like the poet.”

He frowned at me over his latte “Come again?”

“Robert Browning. The poet. I haven’t read much.”

He smiled and recited a whole verse of Browning perfectly. I had a beautiful, literary nerd moment and washed it down with a cup of black coffee.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.21.2011 @ 7:42 pm


1. There are no rules.
2. Pay no attention to rule #1, since there are no rules.
3. Wait, #2’s a rule, isn’t it?
4. Shit, this is not going as well as I planned.
5. I could always just cross this all out,
6. but I figured a list would look good on our clubhouse wall.
7. To Hell with this. I’m getting myself a sandwich.
8. Sandwiches always prevail over club proceedings.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.20.2011 @ 11:24 am


Tempers flared like lightning bugs, thumping loudly on the carpet, blowing tinsel ’round the room. It was ugly, absolutely, and I stood there heart a-trilling with my cider in my hand and not remembering its taste. My dad and brother were standing in their blue and crackling fire, fists clenched and the spittle flying ’til it struck me in the hair. This was going to be one hell of a Christmas party.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.19.2011 @ 4:52 pm


Caught reading at work and I shuffled off feeling a mite embarrassed. Not that it mattered in the long scheme. I could still play the newbie card for another week, or maybe the rest of the month. After a while, though, I’d grow out of the ownership phase. Oh, well. I was learning. And I had a wicked inclination for Hefeweizen.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.18.2011 @ 6:00 pm


“I don’t know how to play solitaire.”

Francis watched the cards dance in his mother’s hands. They were wrinkled far beyond her actual age. He wondered if they were actually wrinkles.

“Well, I’ll teach you.”

He looked up into her watering eyes. She was so focused on the deck, her lips pursed and thin. True passion for something so simple. Within her worn out face, Francis saw warmth.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.17.2011 @ 6:19 pm


He had a jar of fairy hearts on my desk. They buzzed with a marvelously bubbly music. He listened to the sound and smiled as his ears noticeably tingled from the vibrations. He hadn’t taken the fairy hearts by force. He had found them, left with a little red card, telling him to take good care of them until the fairies came back for them.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.16.2011 @ 6:28 pm


To the left were pigeons. To the right, foxes. And all around me, the sound of horns and baying. I strode to the podium with an axe in my hand. It was spray-painted gold. I spoke in a Nordic tongue I didn’t recognize. The foxes yelped. The pigeons did not pay attention. And when I was finished, a fireball struck my throat and rendered me mute while all the world crumbled around my tennis shoe-clad feet.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.15.2011 @ 6:13 pm


The orchestra played Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 1 with grace and gusto, and the minor intonations of a horrifying “Frere Jacques” crept into my ears to sleep. That night, I drank beer on the apartment balcony, with my brother curled up in a ball beside me. He was five years old and too tall for his age. He had cried during the third movement. I didn’t blame him.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.14.2011 @ 6:35 pm


There’s a lot of emphasis on the abstract telling more than the concrete. However, as I stand in this exhibit, I find myself more drawn to the chair with nails sticking out of its seat than the blur of colors on the canvas nearby. The canvas is called Somethingus Latinus. The chair? “Chair With Nails.” Which one makes me think more? You make the conclusion.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.13.2011 @ 7:46 pm


Snapping an icicle from the rooftop, she licked away at it until she giggled as her tongue stuck to the frost. She let the ice dangle from her mouth for a moment. Two moments. Three moments. And then it dropped in a wet, soggy lump to the ground below.

“You’re silly,” I told her as I wrapped my arms around her. My face was scratchy against her scarf.

“You’re sillier,” she retorted before she kissed me.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.12.2011 @ 2:22 pm


In the beginning…there was cheese. At least, there should have been. At least, that’s what my boyfriend John’s father said. He had not only been a cheese artisan in his youth, but he had tasted almost every cheese in the world. All, he said, but the mystical ones.

“Let me guess…you’re planning to fly to the moon, aren’t you?” John asked his dad.

His dad winked and grinned. “I’ve got the rocket already built.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.11.2011 @ 5:52 pm


I was absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure that my brother was a shapeshifter. It happened when I first saw a tabby sitting at the computer. Then a raccoon watching TV on the couch. I’m not quite sure how he garnered the talent. Maybe from some sort of mishap in chemistry class. Or some intergalactic tool he received like in Animorphs. Or maybe I just left the front door partially open during the night and some pests came in.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.10.2011 @ 6:07 pm


When the prints were ready, David hung them out to dry and watched the images ooze out in red patterns before him. Upstairs, his wife was making dinner in the kitchen, the TV blaring an old Seinfield episode with the same old bass transitions. In the backyard, his sons were playing catch.

As his eyes focused and unfocused, David morphed in the red glow around him, completely at peace.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.09.2011 @ 12:50 pm


You have a patent for a hamburger. Which means you’ve got a patent on beef. Which means you’ve got a patent on genetically engineered cows. The beginnings of a mad scientist’s wet dream as he controls all the cattle in the world for scientific purposes.

Elsewhere, a woman invents a new type of computer. Steve Jobs’ ghost snatches it up before it goes public. And all the while, people are growing rhino horns from patented genetic bacon cheeseburgers.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.08.2011 @ 11:57 am


There’s something about Autumn in autumn. She blends in with the leaves, painting her face in reds and golds and oranges. Her hair branches out in roots. She drinks hot coffee under the shade of a large oak tree that has the words “Save Me” spray-painted on its stomach. And she giggles as the cold air kicks up around her shoes and carries her about the city.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.07.2011 @ 11:42 am

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