an odyssey of speaking the unspeakable...
32 flavors and then some...
Archives
04/01/2004 - 05/01/2004
05/01/2004 - 06/01/2004
06/01/2004 - 07/01/2004
07/01/2004 - 08/01/2004
08/01/2004 - 09/01/2004
09/01/2004 - 10/01/2004
10/01/2004 - 11/01/2004
11/01/2004 - 12/01/2004
04/01/2004 - 05/01/2004
05/01/2004 - 06/01/2004
06/01/2004 - 07/01/2004
07/01/2004 - 08/01/2004
08/01/2004 - 09/01/2004
09/01/2004 - 10/01/2004
10/01/2004 - 11/01/2004
11/01/2004 - 12/01/2004
Sunday, July 18, 2004
temperamental tasha - part 2 (of 2)
"Shut up."
Tasha had not even opened her mouth yet.
"Bu-", she started, and quickly realized mouth closed was the only safe option at the moment.
"I don't want to hear it. I really couldn't care less what your excuse of the day is Tasha," Cassie enunciated as she took a seat on the edge of her desk, still staring down the flustered brat.
"And whatever lie you might come up with is surely not going to help your case here."
"But I-"
Whine. Clamp.
"Jordan was late too this morning," Cassie began, with a deceptively anecdotal tone.
"5 minutes. And she came running in saying nothing but 'I'm sorry.'"
Jordan.
Tasha could not fully swallow her scowl.
Little sister Jordan, 2 years younger than Tasha.
A fine gymnast in her own right, had spent 2 years on the national team.
However, her body just couldn't withstand the extra pounding of elite training, so she had chosen instead to focus on the goal of competing at the collegiate level.
Tasha may be the gym's super-star, and she loved her sister dearly, but it seemed all she ever heard was, "Why can't you be more like Jordan?" Miss responsible, miss humble, miss outstanding work ethic.
"Do you know why she was running behind schedule Tasha?"
*I am so not falling into this trap*
"Maybe because her sister couldn't be bothered to get out of bed, so she had to ride her bike to practice?"
*hmph* pout. *hmph*
"Did you say something, Tasha?" Cassie queried in an ominous tone.
Despite herself, Tasha responded with a mutinous stare.
"Stand up."
Cassie less than gently pulled Tasha out of her way, and took her seat on the couch.
"NO FUCKING WAY!"
Talk about brain and mouth failing to communicate.
Cassie stood back up.
Her wiry body build belied her considerable strength, but either way, she was a good 1/2 foot taller than her exasperating charge, and used it to her looming advantage.
"Then leave," she stated simply.
No answer.
"I was more than clear when I let you come back. We do it my way, or not at all."
Tasha was not unfamiliar with Cassie's way.
Or Cassie's way when it came to Tasha.
Her Olympic experience wasn't the only one unique among her teammates.
Tasha didn't move towards the door or anywhere else.
In one swift move Cassie resumed her seat, this time with Tasha upended over her left knee and her right trapping her in place.
Tasha predictably let loose with a screaming and continuous string of expletives.
Cassie ignored her.
As filled with unending frustration with the girl as she was, she equally loved her w/ all her heart.
They had been together for well over ten years, and had shared as many moments of ecstatic joy as down-and-dirty, no-holds barred collisions.
She knew these displays were not who Tasha really was.
She knew what she was capable of, and she knew she wanted it, another trip to the Olympics, and all that went with it, as fiercely as ever.
And she wasn't going to let her blow it without a fight.
Tasha only got louder and crasser as Cassie bared her backside with expert skill.
She began applying her hand with equal vigor and went into her own version of an athlete's "zone."
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
GODDAMNMOTHERFUCKINGBITCHGETTHEFUCKOFFMESHITFACEFUCKINGASSHOLE
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
GODDAMNMOTHERFUCKINGBITCHGETTHEFUCKOFFMESHITFACEFUCKINGASSHOLE
And so it went.
Tasha may be a formidable powerhouse and master of the explosive tantrum from hell.
But Cassie had the advantage of endurance and was not the least concerned about her ability to outlast her.
Her flying arms were quickly pinned behind her back.
And her voice was starting to crack.
With her emotional volatility under 'normal' circumstances, tears were a long foregone conclusion.
At five minutes, Cassie was still going strong.
The hairbrush in easy reach could speed things up a bit, but she was saving that for the encore.
A good long time in this most childish position, being disciplined in this most old-fashioned juvenile manner, was what the world-class athlete most needed.
When they were approaching 10 minutes, the obstinate one with the thoroughly crimson bottom and upper thighs, finally let go.
If you listened very closely, you could make out a lot of "i'm sooooorrrrryyyyyy"s and "i'll be goooooooooodddddd, i proooooommmissseeee", and all other sorts of sincere pledges to get her act together and follow Cassie's every demand.
Cassie ceased her assault on Tasha's bottom.
"How old are you are Tasha?"
It was hard to tell if the answer was even in English, but she accepted it as the correct response of 18.
Now reaching for the hairbrush, she reinforced that fact by bringing it down an equal # of times.
And finally began the process of soothing and calming down her well-chastened girl.
And of course, a long talk, in the literal sense this time, followed, with no shortage of affection and passionate promises both.
In the following months, Tasha was on her very best behavior.
For Tasha at least.
That didn't preclude a few more non-verbal discussions w/ Cassie.
But she was obsessively punctual and sharply focused on the ultimate goal, a trip to Athens.
Tonight, July 18, 2004, @ 7:45pm...we'll all find out if it was enough.
(^^that's when the women's gymnastics Olympic team will be announced on NBC^^)
"Shut up."
Tasha had not even opened her mouth yet.
"Bu-", she started, and quickly realized mouth closed was the only safe option at the moment.
"I don't want to hear it. I really couldn't care less what your excuse of the day is Tasha," Cassie enunciated as she took a seat on the edge of her desk, still staring down the flustered brat.
"And whatever lie you might come up with is surely not going to help your case here."
"But I-"
Whine. Clamp.
"Jordan was late too this morning," Cassie began, with a deceptively anecdotal tone.
"5 minutes. And she came running in saying nothing but 'I'm sorry.'"
Jordan.
Tasha could not fully swallow her scowl.
Little sister Jordan, 2 years younger than Tasha.
A fine gymnast in her own right, had spent 2 years on the national team.
However, her body just couldn't withstand the extra pounding of elite training, so she had chosen instead to focus on the goal of competing at the collegiate level.
Tasha may be the gym's super-star, and she loved her sister dearly, but it seemed all she ever heard was, "Why can't you be more like Jordan?" Miss responsible, miss humble, miss outstanding work ethic.
"Do you know why she was running behind schedule Tasha?"
*I am so not falling into this trap*
"Maybe because her sister couldn't be bothered to get out of bed, so she had to ride her bike to practice?"
*hmph* pout. *hmph*
"Did you say something, Tasha?" Cassie queried in an ominous tone.
Despite herself, Tasha responded with a mutinous stare.
"Stand up."
Cassie less than gently pulled Tasha out of her way, and took her seat on the couch.
"NO FUCKING WAY!"
Talk about brain and mouth failing to communicate.
Cassie stood back up.
Her wiry body build belied her considerable strength, but either way, she was a good 1/2 foot taller than her exasperating charge, and used it to her looming advantage.
"Then leave," she stated simply.
No answer.
"I was more than clear when I let you come back. We do it my way, or not at all."
Tasha was not unfamiliar with Cassie's way.
Or Cassie's way when it came to Tasha.
Her Olympic experience wasn't the only one unique among her teammates.
Tasha didn't move towards the door or anywhere else.
In one swift move Cassie resumed her seat, this time with Tasha upended over her left knee and her right trapping her in place.
Tasha predictably let loose with a screaming and continuous string of expletives.
Cassie ignored her.
As filled with unending frustration with the girl as she was, she equally loved her w/ all her heart.
They had been together for well over ten years, and had shared as many moments of ecstatic joy as down-and-dirty, no-holds barred collisions.
She knew these displays were not who Tasha really was.
She knew what she was capable of, and she knew she wanted it, another trip to the Olympics, and all that went with it, as fiercely as ever.
And she wasn't going to let her blow it without a fight.
Tasha only got louder and crasser as Cassie bared her backside with expert skill.
She began applying her hand with equal vigor and went into her own version of an athlete's "zone."
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
GODDAMNMOTHERFUCKINGBITCHGETTHEFUCKOFFMESHITFACEFUCKINGASSHOLE
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
GODDAMNMOTHERFUCKINGBITCHGETTHEFUCKOFFMESHITFACEFUCKINGASSHOLE
And so it went.
Tasha may be a formidable powerhouse and master of the explosive tantrum from hell.
But Cassie had the advantage of endurance and was not the least concerned about her ability to outlast her.
Her flying arms were quickly pinned behind her back.
And her voice was starting to crack.
With her emotional volatility under 'normal' circumstances, tears were a long foregone conclusion.
At five minutes, Cassie was still going strong.
The hairbrush in easy reach could speed things up a bit, but she was saving that for the encore.
A good long time in this most childish position, being disciplined in this most old-fashioned juvenile manner, was what the world-class athlete most needed.
When they were approaching 10 minutes, the obstinate one with the thoroughly crimson bottom and upper thighs, finally let go.
If you listened very closely, you could make out a lot of "i'm sooooorrrrryyyyyy"s and "i'll be goooooooooodddddd, i proooooommmissseeee", and all other sorts of sincere pledges to get her act together and follow Cassie's every demand.
Cassie ceased her assault on Tasha's bottom.
"How old are you are Tasha?"
It was hard to tell if the answer was even in English, but she accepted it as the correct response of 18.
Now reaching for the hairbrush, she reinforced that fact by bringing it down an equal # of times.
And finally began the process of soothing and calming down her well-chastened girl.
And of course, a long talk, in the literal sense this time, followed, with no shortage of affection and passionate promises both.
In the following months, Tasha was on her very best behavior.
For Tasha at least.
That didn't preclude a few more non-verbal discussions w/ Cassie.
But she was obsessively punctual and sharply focused on the ultimate goal, a trip to Athens.
Tonight, July 18, 2004, @ 7:45pm...we'll all find out if it was enough.
(^^that's when the women's gymnastics Olympic team will be announced on NBC^^)
oh no don't you put me in that box you know what you can do with those locks bet your life i'll come crawling out again you'll have to deal with me then you'll hear me in the wind...