Publish a post in the style of a favorite author/blogger or photographer.
Sorry in advance, guys. I’m disobeying the prompt. I’m a rebel.
I can honestly say that I am terrified to ever try to imitate my favorite writer. Sure, I may have a few inspired quotes in a story or two that I can thank this person for, but never in a million years will you see me try and match the genius of Joss Whedon. Continue reading
In-between moments can be just as memorable as grand finales. This week, share a photo you took on the way to something else.
If a picture is worth a thousand words, maybe this one will make up for all of the blog posts I’ve missed in the past few months. Continue reading
A misused word, a misremembered song lyric, a cream pie that just happened to be there: tell us about a time you (or someone else) said or did something unintentionally funny.
I’ve been hanging around six- to ten-year-olds for the past week, so there are definitely plenty of misused words and completely abused song lyrics going around. The latest and favorite is “Let it Poop,” the genius remix of Disney’s “Let it Go.” There are many more mentions of poop throughout the song, along with a little subplot about green beans. Not sure what went wrong there.
Cutest of all, though, was trying to teach my cousin’s one-year-old how to say my name. It’s a tough one for babies; when my brother was little he would shorten “Siena” to “Seeena.” This little guy, though, was having none of that first syllable. For a while, when people would point at me and say “Who’s that?” he would say “Unk.” No no, I’m not an uncle. I’m not even an aunt. I’m a cousin once removed. Maybe it was just an expression of frustration. Anyway, he loves the word “nana” (banana), so since my name pretty much rhymes with banana, I tried using that approach.
Now my name is Na.
Take a look at your bookcase. If you had enough free time, which book would be the first one you’d like to reread? Why?
Harry Potter (the whole shibang). Boring, I know, but there are three good reasons why:
You return home to discover a huge flower bouquet waiting for you, no card attached. Who is it from — and why did they send it to you?
It’s probably from my mom or dad. It’s even more likely it’s to my mom or dad (unless I’m living in my own little hypothetical awesome NYC apartment). Of course, if it’s to me it could also be from one of my biggest fans. Wait, that’s still mom and dad.
I hiked 800 feet of elevation down to the Rio Grande then spent the rest of the day looking after hyper kids. Excuse me if my creativity is running a little low today.
Have you ever named an inanimate object? (Your car? Your laptop? The volleyball that kept you company while you were stranded in the ocean?) Share the story of at least one object with which you’re on a first-name basis.
If you’ve read any of my other posts, you know that I’m a college student. Which means I shouldn’t have a stuffed animal that I go to sleep with. But I do. I have no shame.
In first grade, I got a stuffed animal for my birthday. For some reason, I had a tendency at that age to name everything after words that described what they did. I named my dog Happy, and I named my stuffed leopard Pouncer. Happy didn’t stick around too long (he got run over by an angry old lady), but Pouncer, for some reason that I myself can’t explain, is still here. Somewhat more whiskerless, but still here.
Stop judging me.
When life gives you lemons… make something else. Tell us about a time you used an object or resolved a tricky situation in an unorthodox way.
So I am incredibly exhausted after a long day of working in the pool and then swimming around in a lake. To go along with the theme of my day and this late daily prompt, I’ll tell you guys a true work story (I am much to tired too make something up).
When I was first starting out as a swim instructor, handling six to eight children in a class was truly daunting. It only took one screamer or crier to make my day that much more difficult, and I remember my very first class on my own had three screamers. Fun fun fun.
One day, I was teaching an eels class, which is essentially three- to five-year-olds in the big pool who can swim by themselves with a barbell. None of them were happy to be there, which thrilled me, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. There were no screamers, just terrified little children reaching their tiny fingers toward Mommy or Daddy. It made me feel like the evil villain taking them away from their parents, so I decided to be nice and give them all life jackets. Today was going to be all about learning safety. Easy stuff. Continue reading