How I Began to Love Writing ~

Good DAY, detectives!

Once again, this blog has been as lonesome as those sorry little tumbleweeds in western movies for the past . . . couple of months?! I apologize – my schoolwork has swept me off my feet and dumped my free time into, well, a bottomless abyss.

[Now for a rather watery-eyed confession from me, Kezi, but if you love to write, you’re going to read this because you’re curious. Like all writers, you’re curious as to how other crazy people like you started out.]

THE BIG BANG – The website that started it all

Today, I decided to explore my thoughts and interests, because, guess what? I’ve had this blog for almost two years!

As a refresher – this blog was an alternative, a blog just for me, after my trials and errors with a cutesy writing website. I made it when I was 11 or 12.

I, surprisingly, learned so much about people in general and about the responsibility of pleasing my viewers. I think that website, where I showcased my writings, however childish they may seem now, had finally clicked for me. Creating morningblossominc.webs.com unknowingly changed my life. It was something I never told my parents about. Or all of my friends, despite its rising popularity. I wanted to be completely independent and learn things myself.

And I did! Not only did I explore and pave my path to finding my voice while writing, (which has always been important to me) I actually WROTE. Almost every day. I kept editing and I spent countless hours in front of the computer revising and revising and revising because I had an active audience who expected great things from me.

With motivation, I could transform from an awkward, shy girl into something like a superhero.

I learned how to manipulate photos and use photo editors, and just more about technology in general.

Those were the days! That website really affected me, and I am just realizing this now as I am typing. It was permission to give some of myself to the world, and I received positive reactions, not flying fruits! It was glorious. That is what inspired me to pursue a career in communications, or more specifically, journalism or creative writing.

Sadly, I faded out of this phase voluntarily because I spotted that those who loved and enjoyed my site were escaping the whole “pretty-graphics-on-a-webpage” phase as well. After many years, I decided I only had two choices:

1) Never update my website & slowly fade out of existence

2) Close it down with a proper good-bye and explanation, & give my viewers a substantial reason

So I chose option 2.

Rather than continually chugging out stories and writing tips for people who knew more about writing than I did, I decided to feed and cultivate the love I had for writing even more by exploring my “talents.”

This, TA-DA! Was my product. I’m quite satisfied.

I’ve looked back at my old website I put so much effort into, and I remembered making people so happy. When I closed it down, 14 people (hey, 14 is better than none) told me they were inspired to write more because of the dedication I put into my stories. I discovered I even had a secret fan club with an intimate 5 members who visited and raved over my stories every day. I realized I CAN do it. I can probably make it in the writing business – if I can attract a couple of hard-core fans without realizing it, I could probably attract more down the road if I worked hard.

I’ll tell you a secret – that was the best feeling in the world. To know that I had made a difference by simply having an enthusiasm for something that I already had a deep-rooted love for. Although sometimes I look back at my silly and frilly pink website with a cartoon elephant saying, “Welcome” on the home page, it really meant a lot to me, and it STILL means a lot to me. And that’s saying something, since I was only 11 or 12 when I made it, and I’m just a silly teenager who’s about to be 15 right now.

Many things  have changed. If you look back to some of my previous entries on this site, which stretch back to July 2011, you’ll see that I become increasingly sarcastic over the years! I’ve unconsciously stopped using an abundance of smiley faces, and my writing has become more formal. I’ve also written about more mature subjects. For example – this is the opening of a blog I wrote in August, 2011.

Hey guys! Wow, today was such a great day! Our grade had a retreat, all day, (no classes) at the gym of the neighboring church. My goodness, it was really fun & inspiring. We made play-doh monsters, skits, lectures, FREE FOOD, piggy-back races, races with the interns & basically, when we weren’t in the middle of an activity or lecture, we were partying :) Everyone was running around, dancing on chairs & spinning around & getting dizzy. (that’s what I did ^_^)

Ahh, how refreshing is that sweet child-like innocence?! I’m still a child, of course, but I’m just a little more sure of myself now and it’s pertinent.

The early years, and the scary books I wrote that freak me out now.

I started like any other person who love to write – by reading! My favorite book in Pre-K was Hippopotamus Wants to Take a Bath  and in Kindergarten, it was The Dying Cactus. Now that I think of it, I have no idea why a 4/5 year old was so intrigued by dying plants . . . but perhaps this inspired me to create my first “serious” – and rather morbid – story in 2nd grade.

But before that, my first story ever was called Flora Buttercup, a girl who lived in the Philippines. Yup. That’s it. (Don’t blame me, I was 6 when I wrote those 2 pages!)

My next one was when I was 7 – 9 years old, but I mostly remember 2nd grade. It was called The Deals and Julia. This is why it was morbid –

-Julia and her family go on a kayaking trip down a river

-What they don’t know is that river extended into a humongous waterfall

-The water fall was about 30 feet high.

-Julia, her parents, her little sister, and her baby brother fall down the waterfall.

-Her parents died because they didn’t know how to swim. I gave the reader false hope and I gave the parents a log to float on but then I made a wave, which washed it away, and therefore they drowned

-Her baby brother drowned

-Her sister hit her head on a rock on the way down, Julia saved her. But then the sister got bit by a poisonous banana spider, turned purple, and fell into the water, drowning.

. . . I don’t know about you, but I think that is pretty morbid for someone who’s hasn’t lost all their teeth yet.

My point has been made – I’ve never been afraid to push boundaries and limit myself to what is “normal” and “acceptable” writing. In fact, I find writing about twisted murders, shady characters, and post-apocalyptic worlds  highly amusing. On the other hand, sometimes I write about sappy things, like teenage love stories because, I hate to admit it, I’m a romantic.

Over the course of the years I made more stories, and I won’t get into that because there are too many to count!

Something else, other than the website that really made me love writing even more (and more cocky that I already was) was winning gold at a district competition for Ready Writing. They give you a topic and you write as much or as little as you want about it, and it’s judged subjectively by a panel of 3 judges. There were 50 kids my age and a year older then me in the competition.

That’s my writing history, because quite frankly, I haven’t been alive for too long.

Why writing is an escape for me

I’ve always thought of writing as an escape. I’ve learned that words are malleable and can be manipulated to form the most beautiful and interesting passages, and I fell in love with that. Writing is a form of self-expression that tears down barriers in my mind and leaves a gateway into creativity and beauty! It’s so spectacular how amazing good writing can make me feel  – because of the many talented writers out there, I’ve been able to explore in a completely new way. I get chills when I read good books, I become so enveloped in the story and the characters that I want to create something that will make other people feel that way, as well.

I fell in love with those moments where a word just FITS so perfectly to convey my thoughts – at those moments, I am reminded of how words can be so incredibly powerful. I love how I can be completely stuck on what I’m writing and suddenly, images and words string themselves together to help me create a perfect affirmation of  what I’m writing. It’s a beautiful and mysterious thing that I can’t seem to shake off.

As much as I’ve been told I’m a good writer, I’ve had more times where people tell me there is no career in it. Some people don’t seem to take me seriously when I tell them, because later on, they either question it or they ask me again what I want to do. My answer will not waver. 

I’ve realized over the years that writing is something I’ve always considered and never negated. Although other careers like being a sociologist or teacher have been possibilities for me, nothing can beat the elation I feel when I write. It’s tough and sometimes drives me crazy, but perhaps that’s the “consequence” of becoming more accomplished and creating something I am proud of. I also love to write because it often comes out as wild and unpredictable, and free. The freedom is so sweet.

 

Although I don’t write as much as I used to,  I still feel the same raw and pure joy I feel when I put something together. I also can’t go a day without reading. And when I read, I dissect the words, I dissect the characters. I dissect the meanings of the book and how the writer used certain words to produce a certain effect. For some reason, I can’t just enjoy the story, I have to understand how the writer came to carry it out. I think that means something.

Call me cocky or inexperienced, or call me an inefficient girl who wants to make a name for herself one day, but doesn’t have the natural talent to. Or, tell me that I’m still a sapling in comparison to the greats and I have a lot to learn. I agree, I need to experience more things to truly be labeled a “writer,” because technically, I’m not one.

But I’ll tell you this – I do have a burning passion for writing, and people always tell me if you love what you do, keep doing it.

9-11 Tribute

8:46

It was Cailyn’s birthday, though I had to start off the day as I normally would. Drop off Cailyn at my sister’s apartment, take the subway from Queens to lower Manhattan and then grab a quick coffee before heading to the office.

“But daddy, it’s my birthday,” she had said with her big green eyes when we were in front of Vicky’s apartment complex. It was a beautiful day, moderate in weather & the leaves on the leaves were turning colors, slowly.

“I know, sweetheart, I’m sorry but I couldn’t get off from work today.” I wanted nothing more than to spend the day with my 2 year old daughter but I had a presentation to do and I knew she would be in good hands at Vicky’s.

Cailyn just looked at her new pink shoes and frowned. “But what about Mommy?”

“Mommy’s coming home today, remember? When I pick you up from Aunt Vicky’s she’ll be with me, I promise. Isn’t that exciting?” She smiled and threw her arms around my leg. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Cailyn.”

Cailyn was adopted. She came into Sharon and I’s life when she was only a few months old. And let me tell you, Cailyn was the light of our lives. She had always been a happy baby and I loved my daughter more than anything I could ever imagine. It pulled at my heartstrings to know that today her mother wouldn’t be here to celebrate the day and I wouldn’t either.

Sharon was flying in from Colorado. Her flight was scheduled to arrive at the airport at 9 in the evening. We both agreed to pick up Cailyn a bit later than usual so she could see her mother right away.

I was turning into the subway station, about to take the route I always toke to work. But I realized immediately something was wrong. The air was full of tension. Several people were in tears, and other had just stopped whatever they were doing and prayed. Reluctantly I boarded the subway – I couldn’t think of anything but of the fact that I was late for work. I was called in at 8:00 but now it was almost 9. I had spent the hour taking Cailyn for a small birthday breakfast before dropping her off at Vicky’s.

As the subway started to move, I noticed several people were on their phones and many people were swiping at their eyes. I leaned over the man beside me, who was wearing a sleek black business suit but despite his professional, no-nonsense demeanor, his eyes were puffy.

“Excuse me sir, but could you please tell me what’s going on?”

He looked at me with eyes so filled with heartbreak that I prepared myself for the worst.
“Son, did you not hear? The North tower of the World Trade Center was hit, and as we speak, thousands of people are dying.”

But although I prepared myself for the worst, nothing could’ve prepared me for this.

“Hit? Hit by what?”

“Hit by a plane. It hit the all the top floors. The people were probably never able to escape, with their offices so high.”

“Thank you sir, I appreciate it.”

I put my head in my hands, not sure what to do. I was shocked and confused. My office was on the 83rd floor. I thought of all the people I knew that worked there – my friends, my co workers, my boss. The man that pushed the buttons on the elevator. The secretary, the front desk clerk. The janitor, the interns – heck – there could’ve been children in the building. Children visiting their fathers or their mothers. Children just going to visit their parents, not even knowing…  My mind switched back to my daughter. If I had gone to work at my regular time today, Cailyn would not have a father.

The subway halted at my stop, and as I walked out, the business man I had talked to said, “God bless you.”

I gave him a polite nod and braced myself to see what disaster lay ahead of me. Immediately thick smoke slithered into my lungs and crowded my vision.

Once my eyes focused, what I saw made everything go fuzzy and it seems as though everything happened in slow motion. Both towers, now, were engulfed in flames, one with a plane jutting from the top of the building. Papers, documents and clothing fell from the sky as if it were raining. Broken glass, wood, shoes and countless other things littered the streets of Manhattan. But despite the shouts of the firemen yelling orders, or the alarms blaring in the distance or the crackling of the flames nearby, the loudest sound of all were the people. Hundreds of people were wailing or crying, all at once like a big, depressing symphony.

My ears were muting everything slightly – as if they were filled with water. It was only until later that I heard shouting, directed to me this time.

“WALKMAN!” Screamed a voice.

WALKMAN!”

I swiveled around at the sound of my last name. I was relieved to see Ted Kingsley, one of my co-workers who worked on the 15th floor, was limping towards me, sweat dripping everywhere, clothes tattered and blood mixed with soot on his forehead.

He choked out the four words that changed my life.

“I have a message.”

“From whom?”

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he fished his hand into his pocket and pulled out a partly scorched folded up piece of paper. While eyeing him fearfully, I unfolded the piece of paper. It was a note filled with my wife’s curly but skinny cursive handwriting.

Clyde-

I took a flight home early to see you. I wanted to be there for Cailyn’s birthday. I missed you & her so much while I was gone. This note is just to inform you that I went up to see Harvey’s wife b/c I brought something back. Come up to see me when you arrive, will you? Remem – “

What is it?! What did you want me to remember?! Inside I was screaming. My world had been taken away from me. All I could focus on was Sharon. Sharon, who had came home early to surprise Cailyn. Sharon, who visited Diane, who worked on the top floor. And the planes. The planes that crashed into the towers.

It seemed that in this whole mess, people were only trying to get away from the towers, and I was the only one trying to go towards it. Gingerly I folded the note safely into my pocket. No way was I going to lose her. I ran, faster than a 37 year old man should have been able to run, to the north tower.

I didn’t care about the people who were shouting at me, or the firemen who were trying to stop me. I wanted to go into that building and climb to the top floor and see my wife. I wanted to take her home and pick up Cailyn and go out to eat, just like we used to. I wanted everything to be ok. The firemen around me were struggling to hold me back.

Then I felt a blow to my face. A firewoman in full uniform took me by the shoulders and looked me straight in the eye.

“Sir. You cannot go into that building. I’m sorry if someone you know was killed,” at the next part her voice broke. “Go home, go home to safety. Go to your kids.”

And I did. I went home. I walked all the way back to Vicky’s house, just for the fact that there was nothing else I could do.

Standing on the doorsteps, waiting for Vicky to answer the door and thinking about how to break the news to my child – was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my entire life.

Vicky opened the door, and I handed Sharon’s note to her. She broke down in tears and sat collapsed on the couch.

Cailyn wobbled over to me, and I picked her up. “Daddy! Daddy, you’re home.”

The world went fuzzy again. “Yes, yes, sweetheart. I’m home. I’m here.”

“But where’s Mommy?”

“Mommy . . . isn’t here right now.”

“Where is she?” She stuck her thumb in her mouth.

“She’s gone, sweetheart.” After saying those words, I felt as if someone shot me in the heart. It sounded too official, too quick and too odd in my mouth to be real. Sharon had not died quickly. She was trapped inside a building with no way out with smoke and fire and fumes everywhere. My wife was dead. It sounded too horrible to be true.

“But you promised Daddy! You promised she be home!”

I set her down on the couch, and put my face in my hands. I felt Cailyn’s little hand slip into mine.

“It’s ok, Daddy. Don’t cry.”

At that moment, looking at my beautiful daughter, with her soft green dress, blonde, wispy hair in pigtails, and big emerald eyes – I realized maybe everything will be ok. Maybe everything will be fine after all.

 10 years later

“Cailyn, you’re up next,” said my teacher, Ms. Francy.

Normally I would be nervous, speaking in front of the whole class, but today I wasn’t, not even a drop of anxiety in me at all.

I pulled out my essay and started reading.

“What is a hero, really? A hero is someone that is loyal, someone that is brave, and someone that grows up to be an amazing person. Today we commemorate the hundreds of thousands of lives lost in the tragedy of 9-11.

Hundreds of lives were lost, and although we see their deaths all as one, we must look at them individually because the death of every person who was lost that day affected many, many people. These heroes that died never got a chance to live out their lives fully, and many of them never got to say goodbye. Maybe their last words were spoken over the phone, or by email, or passed along by a note.  But the tragedy of this situation was that most of those last words were not tailored to say goodbye. Most of them were probably, “Pick up the mail,” or “Go to bed early,” or even, “I hate you.”

Any one of these people could’ve been the President of the US, or a teacher, or a fireman or woman, or part of the police force. Any one of them could’ve dedicated their lives to serving other people. Any one of them could have been a mother, or a father. It saddens me to know that innocent people were killed and that their parents, children, friends, and family are all still mourning because of their deaths.  But today, as we mourn over this ordeal, each and every one of us should know that these people are heroes.

My hat goes off to those who sacrificed their lives for others, and for those that risked theirs to save this country.

Ten years ago today my mother sacrificed herself to see me on my 2nd birthday. Although I only knew her for two years, she is the bravest person I know.

Ten years ago today everything changed, but our nation grew closer. On that day everybody became one, and they only had one mindset – terrorists had attacked our country. On that day enemies became allies. We all worked together, as a nation, to rebuild the ruins of our country and put them back together. Today, we are stronger than ever. Through the darkness we pinpointed light. And I have to say that I am very proud of our country. I am very proud of the heroes lost, but most of all, I am proud of my father and mother.”

******

Hi everyone :) I hope you enjoyed my 9-11 tribute. I thought the least I could do today was to commemorate the lives lost ten years ago by writing a short story. I hope we can all pause a moment and think about all the lives lost this day, 10 years ago.

I actually have a story of my own. My cousin Erika used to work at the Twin Towers, and she was scheduled in for work that day. Thankfully, her alarm clock didn’t go off and she didn’t wake up until after the planes crashed into the towers. Things like that don’t happen coincidentally – I’m glad God decided to spare her life that day! I hope this short story will help you see how important this was. That’s all for now! Thank you for reading and may God bless you!

ONEWORD OF THE DAY: DISTINGUISHED

She was wearing neon colored leg warmers and cowboy boots, with a super high pony tail tied up in a flower elastic headband. She was wearing a long owl necklace with a bright yellow clock face where the tummy was supposed to be, and a electric blue vest over an orange long sleeve sweater. She had some dirt smudged on her face and candy pink lips that were always curled into a smile. I fell in love with her instantly.

(hint, hint! the girl above may be a future character for Film!)

SONG OF THE DAY:

To tone it down a bit, here’s Jack Johnson’s Banana Pancakes!! :) My friend ‘Churro’ (lol) and I love Jack Johnson! She’s crazy about him :) This was the very first song I heard from him, and I really liked it because of the title (PANCAKES ARE MY LOVE) and it’s a great song too! Hope you enjoy it! :)

PS – Please visit my tumblr :) 

parasolrose.tumblr.com

Stunning Photography!

I love nature. I think nature is far more beautiful than any man-made thing in the world. I’m going to share with you some beautiful pictures today! Hope you enjoy the eye candy :)

20110723-052444_large

 Nature photography by Patrick Zephyr5

 Nature photography by Patrick Zephyr30

 Nature photography by Patrick Zephyr19

 Nature photography by Patrick Zephyr38
 Nature photography by Patrick Zephyr1
All of these are very beautiful! I especially like the second to last one. It’s such a pleasant & dainty scene :) I love flowers :) Hope you enjoyed these! I got most of them from stumbleupon & the last from google :) Credit goes to the photographers.
By the way.. I’m just about to add more to my story, Film. I’m really excited-today I realized that my second revision wasn’t good enough (the one i was going to post) so I rewrote chapter one today! It’s much more exciting now! Hope you guys can read it!! :)
Question of the day:
If you removed the world of all color, would everything be white…or clear?… And if it’s clear, what is there to see through it if everything is clear?
Arg.. this question is hard, but interesting & makes you think :) Thanks for reading.. or.. er.. viewing!! Have a good one :)

Story! ♥

Hi guys! I don’t really have much to say today, but I just want to tell you I added one of my old stories, Film, underneath the story page. Just roll over it & you’ll be able to see it :) I’ll update it as much as I can. Unfortunately, it’s password protected :( And if you hadn’t previously been one of my close webs friends, then sorry! No trespassing for you :( If you are one of my webs friends secretly reading my posts but you haven’t spoken up yet, please take it into your own hands to contact me to get the password :) The secret word is the same as it is for the Stories pages. Ok well I guess that’s all! I don’t really have anything to say today :) Sorry I’m so boring :p

✧ Stories/Jokes Part 1

I know its 3 days late for this but..

Image above belong to me, so no sticky paws please :) Today I’m going to share with you some stories/jokes I found on the internet that aren’t really true, but I love them because they’re funny & witty! So if you like to read, I’m sure you’ll enjoy these♥ PS- None of these belong to me! Credit goes to writers. :)  

♛ ♛ ♛

 One night, four college students were playing games till late at night and didn’t bother to study for the test which was scheduled for the next day.

In the morning they thought of a plan. They made themselves look as dirty and weird with grease and dirt. They then went up to the Dean and said that they had gone out to a wedding last night and on their return the tyre of their car burst and they had to push the car all the way back and that they were in no condition to appear for the test.

So the Dean said they can have the re-test after 3 days. They thanked him and said they will be ready by that time. On the third day they appeared before the Dean. The Dean said that as this was a Special Condition Test, All four were required to sit in seperate classrooms for the test. They all agreed as they had prepared well in the last 3 days.

The Test consisted of 2 questions worth a total of 100 Marks.

Q.1. Your Name…………………….( 2 MARKS ) 
Q.2. Which tire burst ?……………( 98 MARKS ) 

a) Front Left
b) Front Right
c) Back Left
d) Back Right

♛ ♛ ♛

**This one is kinda long, but definitely worth reading :) ** 

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person-her name was “Information Please” and there was nothing she did not know. “Information Please” could supply anybody’s number and the correct time. 

My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn’t seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. “Information Please,” I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. 

A click or two and a small, clear voice spoke into my ear. “Information.” 

“I hurt my finger. . .” I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience. 

“Isn’t your mother home?” came the question. 

“Nobody’s home but me,” I blubbered. 

“Are you bleeding?” 

“No,” I replied. “I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.” 

“Can you open your icebox?” she asked. 

I said I could. 

“Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger,” said the voice. 

After that, I called “Information Please” for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts. 

Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called “Information Please” and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. I asked her, “Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?” 

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, “Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.” Somehow I felt better. 

Another day I was on the telephone. “Information Please.” 

“Information,” said the now familiar voice. 

“How do you spell ‘fix’?” I asked. 

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific northwest. When I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. “Information Please” belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy. 

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, “Information Please.” 

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, “Information.” 

I hadn’t planned this but I heard myself saying, “Could you please tell me how to spell fix?” 

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, “I guess your finger must have healed by now.” 

I laughed. “So it’s really still you,” I said. “I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time.” 

“I wonder,” she said, “if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls.” 

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister. 

“Please do, she said. “Just ask for Sally.” 
Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered “Information.” I asked for Sally. 

“Are you a friend?” She said. 

“Yes, a very old friend,” I answered. 

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” she said. “Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago.” 

Before I could hang up she said, “Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you. The note said, ‘Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He’ll know what I mean.'” 

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.

♛ ♛ ♛

This woman can’t hold her tongue :)

A male driver is pulled over by a cop and the following conversation takes place:

Man: What’s the problem officer?

Cop: You were going at least 75 in a 55 zone.

Man: No sir, I was going 65.

Wife: Oh Harry. You were going 80.

(Man gives his wife a dirty look.)

Cop: I’m also going to give you a ticket for your broken tail light.

Man: Broken tail light? I didn’t know about a broken tail light!

Wife: Oh Harry, you’ve known about that tail light for weeks.

(Man gives his wife a dirty look.)

Cop: I’m also going to give you a citation for not wearing your seat belt.

Man: Oh, I just took it off when you were walking up to the car.

Wife: Oh  Harry, you never wear your seat belt.

Man: Be quiet, woman!

Cop: Ma’am, does your husband always talk to you this way?

Wife: No, only when he’s drunk.

♛ ♛ ♛

Wow! That’s a lot of reading :) I hope you enjoyed these joke stories! I will post more if I receive positive reviews on it :) Thank you!