Adam Dorsey.com

typetrigger of the day: “Tassels”

It’s like one giant tassel. That’s what they should call it. A “tassel.” I think that’s a better name anyway, better than comparing it to something that comes out of a horse’s butt. A “Ponytail.” Sounds like some weird sexual act. Can’t believe they let little girls walk around with something called a “Ponytail.” Not my daughter. Not my hypothetical, unborn daughter. No, sir. 

I had a friend who used to like to bat them around. The ponytails. Excuse me, the tassels. Whenever we had some long boring assembly to go to in school—you know the ones where they would make all of the classes throughout the day ten minutes shorter so that you could sit in the gymnasium for an hour or two learning about the dangers of drugs or abstinence or positive thinking or something—I had a friend who used to choose a real good tassel to sit behind during these things. He would choose his bleacher seat very carefully, getting one with primo length and sheen, then spend the next hour just staring at that tassel. Sometimes he’d take the back of his hand and gently brush up against it. If the girl turned around he’d just smile that smile of his and she’d think she was the one out of line, that she was just imagining things. God, by the end of some of these assemblies, through a complex regiment of “accidental” grazes and recovery smiles, he’d just be batting the tassel around, like a kitten with a play toy. Once I saw him manage this with two tassels at once, double-fisting the tassels, and when the girls turned around they looked at each other, blamed each other, and he just sat there smiling. 

You’re right, maybe “tassel” is creepier than “ponytail.” Forget what I said.

The above is something I wrote for typetrigger, an awesome writing website that gives you a new “trigger” every 6 hours and 300 words with which to express yourself. In the near future it’ll solve all writer’s block, or at least give you something funny to read. It’s in beta right now, but if you ask me nice, I’ll send you an invite.

TypeTrigger: “Night Swim”

Here’s a TypeTrigger that I did today with the trigger “Night Swim.” TypeTrigger is a cool new service for writers and people who want to be writers. You write a short piece for a “trigger” that they provide, and new triggers pop up every 6 hours, so you never get writer’s block. Drop me an e-mail and I’ll get you in the beta…

Night Swim

The ice cube hits my drink with a splash. I wipe the drops of lime and tonic and gin from my face. “Come on,” she screams from the water, barely visible but for the moon’s reflection off the lake. “Quit acting like my dad! Take off your pants and  get in here.” 

“I just poured this,” I jostle the ice in my glass so that it echoes a “ting-ting” through the forest trees. I take a sip from the gin and tonic and—- 

Oh Christ, I am acting like her father. I mean, besides drinking this gin and tonic, and being thirty years her senior, and teaching at the same school as her father—-but who wears a Black Label Ralph Loren sport jacket to a midsummer night’s lake rendezvous? Rachel’s father that’s who. And just like William, I’m sitting here drinking my drink and remembering those cliched days of yore while a beautiful co-ed doggy paddles before me, nude and begging for my company. She looks just like Debbie in this light, which I guess makes sense. 

What am I doing here? When did my lectures bleed into my love life? Probably the same time William began signing my checks, which was about the same time those thirty-year-old grad school jealousies of him and Debbie grabbed hold of every facet of my life, which—-for those really keeping score—-was about a week before I decided the solution was to bed this lovely teacher’s assistant. 

“Coooome oooon!” she whines again, wailing arms and glistening breasts the only thing visible in her lazy backstroke. Genetically, she’s half-William and half-Debbie, so I guess I’m about to fuck them both, which seems… appropriate. 

I let my ice melt

TypeTrigger

A friend of mine in Seattle is working on a website called TypeTrigger. It’s for writers, with the intent of defeating writer’s block. Every few hours they have a new “trigger,” and you use that trigger to inspire a short bit of writing (300 words max). Then you can read what other people have written using the same trigger. I think it’s super cool.

You can check it out at http://www.typetrigger.com but they’re in beta right now. That said, if you’re a writer, a friend, and you drop me a note, I can probably hook you up (I’ve still got 3 invites to give out).

Below is the piece I wrote today, from the trigger “While I was out.” It is exactly 300 words, because I am crazy like that. Enjoy:

I wake up in a pile of my own disgusting. This isn’t like that movie The Hangover at all. There’s no exciting action montage. There’s no hilarious Mike Tyson. There are no friends. I’m just here alone, on the floor. I’m not having awesome adventures trying to remember whathilarious antics took place the night before. I remember everything that happened the night before. I just don’t remember why I would ever think those things were a good idea. 

It’s a sobering experience. It really is. You know, besides the fact that I’m still completely drunk, it’s a totally sobering experience. 

We used to just drink Jack and Cokes. Then she started being concerned about a nonexistent tummy pouch, and so she switched to Jack and Diet Coke. I figured I’d one up her, so I switched to Jack and… well, to straight Jack. In retrospect that’s probably where things took a turn. 

Last night, in between the shots and the sipping, I remember ordering a Jack and Diet Coke. Keeping it near me, I nursed on it between my other drinks. That bitter mix of booze and aspartame made me feel like she was there, like we were sharing a drink again. 

So then I called her, to tell her about my Nutrasweet flashback, and she said hello half asleep and I said hey, Kara, Diet Coke and whiskey, remember? and she said Adam and I said yeah and she said it’s late and I said yeah. She asked me if I was okay and I said yeah. Then she stayed on the line for a while more and then she said goodbye. 

The cool think about sleeping in late is that you can start drinking immediately.