Challenge Day 10

In the flurry of job applications and good news and bad news and no news and multiple rejections in the course of a couple days, I've kinda neglected my blog.  I feel not too bad about it though because there haven't been any verbally angry outcries missing the randomness that belongs here, so if there's anyone out there missing consistent blog posts here...speak now or forever hold your pieces.  If not, I'll just stick to my non-existent schedule.

After writing today's poem for my Poem-A-Day Project on the actual day to which it belongs, I've decided to tackle another prompt from the daily writing challenge.  I'm making such progress.

Day 10: Start a story with: "She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled..."

She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled, running her fingertips along the edges and scratching at the hinge at the back of the box.  There was a certain amount of triumph to be felt when in possession of a box such as this, and it's true, Adelaide felt all the triumph and satisfaction that came with having a box just like this stowed away in her pocket.  In fact, as she walked away from her lunch break with Stan, she was downright smug.

Stan was a nice guy with calm brown eyes, he had a steady job and a nice apartment in a good neighborhood, and she enjoyed spending her weekends with him.  He'd even made a good impression on her parents, and he couldn't take his eyes off of Adelaide's little sister.  But he was always faithful.  A nice guy.

And Adelaide herself had a pretty decent job as a paralegal with the promise of advancement sometime in the near future.  Provided she keep smiling at the elderly boss who was always nice about complimenting her sweater set.  He tended to notice the best of everything.

Adelaide shifted the strap of her purse on her shoulder, and found herself drawing the box out of her pocket.  She couldn't help herself, she had to take another peek before she had to go back to work.  Slowing to a stop off to the side on the walkway up to her office, she held the box on one palm and carefully opened it with her other hand.  Nestled inside the box were two calm brown eyes that wouldn't get another chance to look at her sister again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I really hated the idea of going with the very obvious "engagement ring" here.  Maybe that's just where my mind goes, but that's where it went when there was a female touching a box that was pocket sized and smiling.  So if I'm the only one that thinks engagement ring when that happens, I'd like to know.  So there you go.  Hope you didn't lose your appetite.

"People have to talk about something just to keep their voice boxes in working order so they'll have good voice boxes in case there's ever anything really meaningful to say."

- Kurt Vonnegut

A Common Household Scene

(It is a Tuesday afternoon, and BRIANNA returns home after spending time at the local library (not the one she planned on visiting), applying for a job.  Note, "a job" because the application for that one stinking job took an eternity to fill out.  When we find BRIANNA, she is laying on her back on the hardwood floor of her family's kitchen while her father passes by to get to the family's computer room.  DAD is not paying attention, but doesn't step on her because that would absolutely awful.  MOM is chopping onions on the counter nearby.)

BRIANNA:  (undisguisedly pleased with herself) I applied for a job today!

DAD:  And?

BRIANNA:  And...I applied for a job today!

DAD:  And?

BRIANNA:  ...um.  It's not--

DAD:  Did you get it?

BRIANNA:  It's not an instantaneous thing...

MOM:  Now's the waiting game, dear.

DAD:  Oh.

MOM:  You're starting to sound like a Millennial.

BRIANNA:  Ouch.  On behalf of my generation, I am injured that you would call him one...

MOM:  Isn't it the Millennials that want everything to happen right away?

BRIANNA:  Maybe?  Did you also know that the older generations think we're shitty?  Thanks...thanks a lot.

(BRIANNA lays back on the cool floor as DAD heads over to play on the computer and watch drum solos of Katy Perry songs.  MOM continues chopping onions.

Scene.)

If I told you that this is a common conversation in my house, you probably wouldn't be surprised.  Well, if you know myself and my parents at all.  Okay, maybe the Millennial comment is unusual, but the rest of it is right on.  I just thought it was important to include everything in the conversation if only to get a decent length for this post.  Yup.

I really wish that this wasn't a common conversation.  What can I say, I'd like to be lauded for my single job application because it was for Walgreens, and it took me two hours to do.

So...what am I really supposed to say to that single word question: "And?"  I guess I can think of a couple things:
-  "And I heard that the Blackhawks lost, that's a serious bummer, right?"
-  "And the weather's pretty nice, did you need me to pick up sticks in the backyard?  I'm just going to go do that..."
-  "And I actually heard back from them at the exact moment that I pressed the submit button, and good news, I'm moving out and I'll have a pay check that's six figures!"

Really?  This is going to be a recurring rant until about the time when I get a job, and by then, it's going to be a rant about how my parents hate my job because it makes me poor, or how I hate my job because it eats my soul.  So anyway, I understand that my father wants me to have a job.  At least, that's the only assumption that I can make from this single word question, because it doesn't really sound like he's saying, "Rah, rah, good job, Brianna!  Go you for applying for a job!"  I mean, I would know how to respond to that, I would just beam happily and preen.  Why yes, I did apply for a job, thanks for noticing, would you like my autograph too?  So...why exactly is my father demonstrating more impatience with my situation than I am?  Is he really that eager to get me out of his house?  Just curious.

On another note, I had a really awful dream about our house burning down, and my thought in my dream was "Shit, I only have one copy of every poem I've ever written for the Poem-A-Day Project."  Because part of me fears this is my seer potential tapping into prophecy that something terrible's going to happen to my hard copies, I'm typing up every single poem I've written and uploading them to Google Drive!  Who's excited to read all of these poems again and get them into some cohesive order?  THIS POET!  Yup.  That's the plan.

"What good has impatience ever brought?  It has only served as the mother of mistakes and the father of irritation."

- Steve Maraboli

Guest Post: Elizabeth vs. Miss Hudson

Ok, so, Brianna offered me the chance to do a guest post on her blog. Now, Brianna is epic, which makes her blog pretty epic, so really any posts on her blog should also be epic. I have to live up to transitive property.

(Am I off to an awesome start?)

In any case, I spent all day trying to figure out what I wanted to blog about. And while I was helping various students, I was struck by the realization that, while my friends know me as Elizabeth Hudson, they haven't met "Miss Hudson" -high school English teacher at Lowpoint-Washburn High School.  And just as my friends don't know Miss Hudson, my students don't know Elizabeth.

So who is Elizabeth, and who is Miss Hudson?

Elizabeth (n): 1). a reflective, introverted individual who opens up to people over an extended amount of time. 2) a middle child with a strange sense of humor but fantastic laugh. 3) a surprisingly morbid individual with more talents than what meets the eye. 4) an perceptive listener who weighs words wisely before offering advice. 5) a great lover of sleep, cats, books, and the color blue. 6) http://ehudson24.blogspot.com/ 7) me.

Miss Hudson (n): 1) first-year LWHS English teacher (10th-12th grade). 2) A supporter of dreams, artisan of intellect, and innovator of minds. 3) a weirdo with a creepy/awesome obsession with death, cats, and purple pens. 4) A beautiful individual in a skirt whom all the boys try to impress. See also: THE QUEEN. 5) A hilarious individual with a contagious laugh. 6) a stressed individual who tries to take everything in stride. 7) me.

And it's interesting to me to see the balance between the two.

(NOTE: I rarely if EVER refer to myself in the 3rd person, so don't judge me too harshly for the rest of this entry.)

I'm Elizabeth when I wake up and wish that I could still be sleeping. I stay in that mode while I put on make-up and dress professionally in preparation of being Miss Hudson (yes, I have purple and silver eye-shadow on, and hell DIDN'T freeze over. What. has. happened?!!??) The entire drive to school, I'm singing and waking up to my music, which brings me to the first clash of selves. Allow me to explain:

There is a male student who lives in Peoria with his mother, and has the same drive to school as I do. He's one of my favorites, but I'm fairly convinced that he has a crush on me (who tells their teacher that they "<3" them?). And since I'm still Elizabeth while driving to school, I find it really awkward to acknowledge his presence in any way. But since he's so used to Miss Hudson, capable of being beckoned simply by raising a hand, being ignored is totally weird...which is no doubt why he honked at me the other day. To get my attention. "I was waving like crazy but you were just singing away to your music with your little sunglasses on!" When he told me this, I smiled. What I didn't say was that I HAD noticed, but chose to speed up instead of wave back. (Which is why I also have to keep an eye out for cops as well as students).

This clash continues when I first get to school. The kids all stand in a line outside of the building before the bell rings at 7:50. They chat and mess around and whatnot...but they also have a tendency to STARE and maintain eye contact as you walk up towards the building. I find this to be especially true if I'm wearing a skirt or a dress. And, being an introvert, I like to have a little bit of time to mentally prepare for conversations. I can't tell you how many times a student has tried to greet me in the morning, only to get a half mumbled grunt back.

But the moment I enter my classroom, my domain, Miss Hudson is in control. Somehow I can make quick, witty comments on the fly. I can make small talk like none other. The boys try to impress me, the girls love talking to me, and they all try to make me laugh and smile (which, let's be honest, really isn't that hard). I make fun of myself, which they find fantastic. I'm patient and caring and genuinely concerned. They call me beautiful and a good teacher, and they truly believe it.


As of late,I believe it as well. It feels like my two selves are coming together as one. Maybe this is just what growing up and becoming an adult feels like. Teaching as Miss Hudson has done wonders for Elizabeth's self-esteem, which shouldn't surprise me as much as it does. My self and personality existed before I started teaching, so clearly it was in me all along.

I remember taking an education night class with a professor/high school teacher whom I wasn't too fond of during my time at IWU. What really destroyed my respect for her was a conversation in which she told me that she was surprised that I did so well in her class, since she thought I would be "too quiet" to become an effective teacher. And that's not the first time I've heard that comment. When I first applied to be a RA, I was put on the waiting list, because they didn't think that my personality was forceful enough to take control over a stressful situation.


If there's any point to my ramblings, I guess it's just this: don't underestimate the introvert. When they do finally speak, you'd best believe that they have something worth listening to.


And this introvert has had her voice all along.

Fowl Play

Remember that time when I told you that I was going to write a poem based on the prompt "foul play" for a writing group?  Remember also that I said I was going to write about theatrical chickens?  Well, I came through.  We're not going to talk about syllables and verb tense though...but if you really want to talk about it...send me an owl or something.

Fowl Play

By: Brianna

The chickens casted a comedy

to perform out in the yard.

The rooster wrote out the melody

(it really wasn’t quite hard).

Rehearsal was held in the henhouse

with hens dancing around eggs.

They were directed by the ruffed grouse

who told them to shake a leg.

Opening night, the cast was nervous

as they gathered out on stage

to do the author a disservice

would certainly cause outrage.

The field mice crept in for the curtain

and brought with them their fine cheese

twould be a good show, they were certain

as long as nobody sneezed.

When they fin’ly reached intermission

the play was going quite well

without a last minute addition

of anything that might smell.

Lovers kissed for the happiest end

and all came out for a bow

by then the poultry death blade descend…ed.

It’s chicken for dinner right now!

A Letter to Tan Lines

Dear Tan Lines,

You know me.  We're pretty close.  I mean, you're attached to me, and I'm a little attached to you by virtue of your being branded into my skin.  But in case you're not familiar with my name, I'm Brianna.  Hey, how you doing?

Back in Florida, I noticed you existed because when I wore tank tops, you were there marking our the sleeves that I wore for my costume.  That costume was adorable, but the sleeves were just too darn long due to the unisex nature of those yellow and white striped button downs that we weren't allowed to roll up.  And then there were the tan lines that reminded me I had to wear socks that covered my ankles, leaving the knobs of my ankles down to my toes a pale Elmer's glue white.  Luckily you didn't mark out my skort because my thighs are always pale anyway.

Well.  I noticed you yesterday.  I thought you'd faded away completely and that I was back to my usual pale and fairly even self, but when I donned that tank top and went out into the sun yesterday, there you were.  Yes, you had faded during the winter months when I covered you up in sweater sleeves and long pants, but you're still there.  I could tell you were still there when I bared my shoulders to the sunlight yesterday afternoon.

And don't get me wrong, I'm really glad that I got tan rather than burned in Florida, but I'd really like the evidence of my shirtsleeves to go away.

So basically, I love you...but please leave.

Love,
Brianna

-------------------------------------------------------

Brianna Life Update:

The job search continues.

My internship has me doing a lot of things, and I'm still really excited about it.  A bunch of stuff that I wrote for the site has even been posted, and you can read all that here: www.heresthestory.org.

I'm still doing my Poem-A-Day Project, but for some reason I keep leapfrogging.  I keep forgetting to write a poem every other day, leading me to write two poems in a day...multiple days "in a row."  I don't know what's up with this, but it's something that I'm going to have to figure out before next month, because it just can't go on like this.

I'm still working on revising poems that I'm sending out to people as part of an artistic pay it forward type deal from Facebook.  I actually wanted to commit to doing that, because I know lots of people post those statuses, collect things from people, and then never actually send out art.  So...I'm doing that, but I'm having difficulty picking poems for people and making sure that they're pretty.  The only reason I'm posting this on my blog is because I'm fairly certain that the people I'm talking about have either forgotten that I owe them a poem or they don't read this blog.  So...I win.

I'm reading too many books at once.  Right now I have bookmarks in Act of Will and Wonder Boys, and on the almost immediate line up after those are The Handmaid's Tale and Beautiful Creatures, both of which I've borrowed from friends.  Though one of them I'm going to hold hostage, so go ahead and try to stop me!

I haven't been on any adventures recently, but I did buy new jeans (whoohoo!) the other day, and they look awesome.  Mostly because I'm wearing them, and I always look awesome, but also because they're super comfy.

And that's about it.  Happy Thursday!

"I think you are wrong to want a heart.  It makes most people unhappy.  If you only knew it, you are in luck not to have a heart."

- L. Frank Baum

Days Gone By

This evening I found myself thinking, "I should write a blog post" and then I promptly stared at the computer screen for a good ten minutes before remembering that I have a prompt box right next to me in a desk drawer that I can use at times like these.  I went through a good dozen slips of paper before I settled on this one.

Lots of things happening.  Internship #2 is over, and I'm sad that it's done, but you know what they say, "all good things come to an end."  Bright side, Internship #1 is now my only internship, and I'm doing lots of exciting things for that.  Like this: audition posting!  And then I have a phone interview for another internship on Thursday!  Fingers crossed!

Today's prompt: What can you do to recycle old calendars?

I spent a little bit of time puzzling this out recently because I had a stack of old calendars sitting in my closet.  On the floor.  Because that's where old things belong.  (I learned recently that I'm a "stacker."  I stack things.  Everywhere.  On everything.  Desks, the floor, countertops, tabletops, car seats, etc.  Why did I not know this before?!)

The first and most obvious answer is that you could make a collage of all the pictures!  Just think, a collage of all those wonderful Orlando Bloom faces all staring out at you at the same time rather than just one for every month!  A collage of Harry Potter characters pasted over landscapes from England and France.  (These are some of the calendars I have had, don't judge...)

What I did with a couple of my calendars, most notably a landscape one and an artsy dreamy one, was make envelopes.  That's right, folks, I made envelopes for sending letters in.  Granted, I haven't sent many letters out in them, but when I do...those letter receivers will have something special to tear open in their feverish haste to get to my profoundly awesome letter.  It's really easy to make envelopes too, you can just unglue an envelope you already have and use that as a template to trace and then glue up the homemade envelope and voila!  The only problem I've found with this is that you have to glue the envelope shut before you send it.  Or tape the hell out of it so your letter doesn't fall out.  On the bright side, that letter isn't going anywhere until the recipient opens up that envelope.

And that, my friends, is what you can do to recycle old calendars!

“Most modern calendars mar the sweet simplicity of our lives by reminding us that each day that passes is the anniversary of some perfectly uninteresting event.” 

- Oscar Wilde

Challenge Day 9

It has been a really rough week.  Lots of things happening, lots of people being seen, lots of hearts being broken, and lots of food being eaten at restaurants paid for with money that I don't actually have.  This is my life right now.  And this is why I'm writing a response to the daily writing challenge.

Though this is going to be difficult, because I don't really have one favorite city.  Oops?  And we're not going to talk about how these are probably not cohesive "stories," but whatever.  Anyone going to call me on it?  I should also mention that these are fictional.  Just sayin'.

Day 9: A story in 250 words or less about your favorite city.

Chicago

I’ve lived in this city for my entire life, I even went to school south of this city, and when people said they were from my city, I was allowed to get upset.  Because they were from the suburbs.  But I never really got to know Chicago for whatever reason.  I suspect it was fear.  Of muggers, gangs, tourists, everything.  This fear permeated my being even when you grabbed my hand and dragged me onto the El.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” you said with the grin that always made me melt like cheese in the microwave.

“I don’t know…” I waffled, like I do.

“Trust me?” you said, raising your eyebrows and peering over the tops of your glasses.

“Never,” I joked.  But it was seeing the reflection of the skyline in your glasses that finally convinced me that everything could be okay.

Paris

“I don’t want to go with just Grandma, it’ll be a total drag.”

“Alright, I’ll go with you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

A six hour plane ride, and we landed in Paris, France, the place I had been dreaming of since I realized French was a foreign language.  The only problem being that I never imagined I would have to cart around my grandmother who doesn’t speak a syllable of French.

“Pare—lay vooz English?” she asked, prompting a groan from me and a sigh from my mother.  Then Grandma whips out a handful of Euros and promptly informs us that she will be paying for everything during our trip.  And suddenly I can see all of my frustrations just melting away…

"Yet once you've come to be part of this particular patch, you'll never love another.  Like loving a woman with a broken nose, you may well find lovelier lovelies.  But never a lovely so real."

- Nelson Algren, Chicago: City on the Make

What Do You Do?

I thought I had an idea for a post.  Actually, I'm fairly certain that I did have an idea, I just chose to dispense with that idea for now because I stumbled upon my friend, Susan's, blog and I was intrigued by her post today as part of Blog Every Day in May even though I'm not sure that I'll be taking that particular challenge.  I've already got one challenge with my Poem-A-Day Project, and then the whole "figure out your life, Brianna" challenge.

So, Brianna, if you couldn't answer with your job, what do you do?

I write.  Lots of things.  Most consistently, I write blog posts and daily poems.  I write scribbles in a notebook that I keep in my bag at all times.  Every now and again I write a character sketch or an idea for a scene.  Over the summers for the past five summers, I wrote stage adaptations of Grimm fairy tales.  In high school, I wrote one act plays.  My last semester of college, I wrote short stories.  I've written lyric essays, but I'm still not absolutely certain what that means.  I also write letters because when I get writer's block, it's a really great and constructive way to get my thoughts onto paper without forcing myself to write something pretty.  Plus then someone definitely gets to read it!

I read.  As a result of my reading, I also leave books lying around the house everywhere.  I read multiple books at the same time because I suspect I have an attention problem.  According to my Goodreads account, I'm reading a bunch of books that I had to return to the library a long time ago, and if I wanted to actually read them, I would probably have to restart them anyway.  So honestly, I'm currently reading The Friday Society, and I'm carrying around Wonder Boys in my bag with a bookmark shoved between the first couple pages.  I also read poetry, though I haven't been reading quite as much as I want to, apparently I'm getting distracted by novels.  Oh, and comics.  Because that's a thing now.

I watch movies.  Mostly because I adore movies.  The last movies that I fell in love with were probably Perks of Being a Wallflower and Ruby Sparks.  There was a time when I was working through all the Alfred Hitchcock movies that I could find at my local library, then there was the phase I had when I watched a handful of Marilyn Monroe movies, and then there was my F-in 80s movie marathon weekend which featured Fame, Footloose, and Flashdance.  Everybody loves a good theme, right?  I aspire to watch AFI's 100 Years 100 Movies, although I'm kinda leery about a couple of the movies on that list.  Let's face it, I just want to see all the movies.

I intern.  I know this is kinda like answering with my job, but there it is.  Too bad.  Plus now I can repeat things that I've probably already talked about.  I numbered my internships based on the order I got them.  So Internship #1 is at Here's the Story, I'm the Communications Assistant, which means that I do social media marketing, write things, and generally take on assignments from my blue-haired boss.  Internship #2 is at Chicago Kids Company, and I help out the box office manager by taking phone calls and making reservations for teachers who want to bring their classes to our shows for a field trip.

I knit.  There was a time when I got home from Florida when I went into a knitting frenzy.  I knit a Hufflepuff scarf and a failed Hufflepuff hat for my friend, Claire, I made myself arm warmers, I think I knit something else too, but it was insane.  I have a pattern for curled toe elf slippers that I really want to make, but I'm terrified of messing them up because they're not square and flat...those being the requirements for all the other things that I've knitted successfully.

What else?

I'm pretty sure that's it.  I also do other things like clean my room, occasionally, wash dishes or do laundry for the family when I notice that it could probably use doing.  I go to free events when I remember that they exist.  I go out for drinks or pie with friends, so I eat a lot of pie and drink more alcohol than is probably healthy for someone who spends time with one person at a time and doesn't go to bars very often.  I also spend an unhealthy amount of time texting and checking Facebook.   I also watch television shows via Hulu or my friend's itunes because there's no conceivable way that I could possibly remember to watch a weekly show without setting a phone alarm.  Because that's another thing I do: I forget things.  I also procrastinate.  And I guess I job hunt right now.

So...those are thing things I do.  What about you?

"We all want progress, but if you're on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; in that case, the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive."

- C.S. Lewis

Easy Street...

This morning, I watched an episode of Glee because I was behind.  I'm all caught up, except for the episode that I missed...last night.  Because of reasons unknown.  So the last episode I saw was Lights Out.

Not only did I cry when Santana rediscovered her inner child and admit that she's trying to figure out what she wants (because heck, I can relate), but I also marveled at Coach Sue singing "Little Girls" from Annie.

I was in Annie once.  Back in elementary school.  Sixth grade, to be exact.  I played Lily St. Regis.  Don't remember who that is?  Take a look at this clip.  Kristin Chenoweth, the blonde in the pink silk?  Yeah.  That was me.  In sixth grade.

For those of you unfamiliar with Annie, the basic premise is that there's this orphan, see?  She gets adopted by this fat cat from 5th Avenue.  But Miss Hannigan and her swindling brother, Rooster (along with his new gal, Lily St. Regis), figure they can make Annie's life miserable and also get some money out of the fat cat in the process.

Lily's one of the villains.  As a rule, it's always more fun to play a villain than it is to play the hero.  Because villains are significantly more interesting.  The hero has to be all pure and stuff, but the villain, well, they get to laugh maniacally and torture small animals.

I don't know if you noticed, but Lily's also a total hooker.  I knew this in sixth grade.  I'm not sure how I knew this, but I did.  I ended up wearing a boa that shed feathers EVERYWHERE onstage and off, these killer black boots with pointy toes, and a drawn on beauty mark.  Over my real beauty mark.  It was definitely the best thing ever.  I also attempted an accent and tried to sound like Kristin Chenoweth.  I don't know how well I did, but I do remember improvising a line that pissed off Miss Hannigan because well, you never learned Lily's name, and I thought that that was a major oversight of the script writers of Annie Jr.

Speaking of Miss Hannigan...the girl who played her was in my class.  She had a killer voice, but she also got stage fright.  For some reason, at that time, I didn't really have that problem.  I'm not proud of it, but there was a point maybe a month away from the show when I tried to convince her to hand over her part and I could play Miss Hannigan.  Because even as a little girl, I was a conniving spotlight-wanter.  Because of all that, I should probably add that classmate to the list of people who probably hated me at the time because I was implying that I could play her part better than she was playing it even though sixth grade Brianna just thought she was being nice and doing a favor for a friend by letting her off easy and taking on the burden of a larger role myself.  I honestly don't know what in my little sixth grade brain told me that that was okay to do.  Given the chance, I would love to apologize for being a jerk, though I probably wouldn't have the guts to do it.

On the bright side, I've grown up, and though I would still kill to play Miss Hannigan, I'm not too fond of the musical she comes from.  Maybe it's because I spent WAY too many months listening to the soundtrack on loop or going through my lines in sixth grade.  Or maybe it's because if I ever got back into theatre and landed a part in Annie, I would have to reconcile the fact that I'd probably be upstaged and outshone by a little girl and a dog.  Yup.  Because that's how that musical works.

Happy Friday!  [this is when Brianna realizes that it's Friday and she could have read a poem.  Oh well...]

"Leapin' lizards!"

- Annie

Challenge Day 8

Remember that time when I said that I was going to do a daily writing challenge and then failed so miserably, but then kept writing based on those challenges anyway?  This is day eight.  For the record, I'm not too keen on writing this bit especially because I had no idea where the superhero post was going, and now I have to make up a back story?!  Back story is haaaaard....

Day 8: Write a prequel to that superhero.  Pre-superhero life.  Maybe their childhood.

On Electrolexi's eighteen birthday, her mother sat her down in the living room.  Electrostatic, Lexi's mother, looked like she had just swallowed a koala, and though it was fuzzy, it seemed to want to claw its way out of the woman's throat.  After the whole Iris VI fiasco a couple weeks ago, Lexi wasn't really sure what her mother had to say to her that could possibly be good.  Especially not with that face she was wearing.

"Mom, are you okay?  You look like you're going to throw up or something," Electrolexi said.  Despite it being her birthday, she was still the type of person who put the concerns of other people in front of her own.  Plus this was the woman who gave her life, and that had to count for something.

"Yeah, sweetie, I'm fine," Electrostatic replied, staring off into some space just past her daughter's head before gulping down the koala in her throat.  "But we need to talk."

"Are you...are you breaking up with me?" Electrolexi deadpanned.

"Alexandra, be serious.  This is important," her mother said, her eyebrows scrunching together in frustration.

"Okay, okay, what's this all about?"

"I have to tell you who your father is," Electrostatic blurted out.  The words sent an unintentional shock through the coffee table Electrostatic had decided to sit upon, and Electrolexi heard the piece of furniture give a little whimper.  The shock extended, of course, to Electrolexi herself, though not quite so literally.

"I, um, what?" was all that Electrolexi could really manage at that point.  "He's Superman, isn't he?!"

Electrostatic took a deep breath.  She didn't seem to be listening up until the point when Superman was mentioned, and the look that she gave Electrolexi was one that said "Come on, really?" without actually verbalizing it.

"Your father is Bad Horse."

"My father...what?  I think I heard you wrong, I could have sworn you said that he was Bad Horse."

"He is Bad Horse."

"Who the hell is Bad Horse?"

"He's...a horse.  Who's bad."

"You kinda have to give me a little more to go on than that, Mom," Electrolexi prompted.  The sinking feeling in her gut told her that whoever this Bad Horse was, he probably wasn't a cool superhero that was going to end up giving her some special superhero training when she came of age and came into her extra powers bestowed upon by him.

"He's the Thoroughbred of Sin," Electrostatic said, hiding her face in her hands.

For some reason, it was at this point when it dawned upon Electrolexi: "He's a horse, isn't he?"

Electrostatic looked up from her palms and nodded once gravely.

"My father's a HORSE?"

"A bad horse.  A very very bad horse."

Well, that explained nothing at all....

"I wanna do great things, you know?  I wanna be an achiever, like Bad Horse."

- Doctor Horrible's Sing-a-long Blog