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*Language warning: F-bombs dropped in this story.*

First short story assignment:

From Lisa to Gina: “I have your opening sentence. It’s first person”:

I always wanted to go to Tasmania.

****************************

I always wanted to go to Tasmania.

Figures.

I’m choking and I can’t even see my life flash before my eyes. I have to see my non-life. The things I fucked up.

Thanks, brain.

Of course there’s no one here to watch me die — or help, if they even wanted to. Not even a cat.

God, that shelter. What was that, almost two years ago? The calico with the sad eyes. … Just couldn’t do it.

Divorced woman, over 40, living with a cat? Not ready for that. And I have no room for a dog in this shit-hole apartment. Pretended to get a phone call and ducked out before the staff could glare at me. Coward. Bet they knew.

Now I’m here.

No super cat to dial 911 like you hear about. Not that I would’ve ended up with one of them. I’d get the incontinent one or the one who likes everyone but me. We could’ve been Jerry and Newman.

Jesus, how long does it take to die? I should’ve worn better pajamas. Jumping up and down like an idiot, like that’ll help.

“Never never never shake a baby!” Love that bumper sticker. So fucking soccer mom. Thank God I never got a minivan.

If I survive this I’m going to have a helluva bruise on my stomach.

If Sean were here he’d be dry humping me from behind to get it out. Not too close, though. No copping a feel. Like I’m contaminated. Like I’m his fucking mother now and it’s all just soooo embarrassing to even know me.

I should give those chips to the squirrels in Haven Park. I don’t think I’m going to want them anymore.

Like that’s an option.

Dammit, it wasn’t even that funny a line! “I’ll be home having lots of sex.”

Death by “Bachelorette”? Jesus.

Who’ll write my obit? Who knows what year I did what?

Doubt they’ll even spell check.

Who’ll get the call? Mom’s not listed anymore after the magazine thing. I don’t think I have her new number in my cell.

Do I even have an emergen— Oh fuck, it’s still Sean.

That’s what I need. Sean and Smug Bitch rescuing me in my wrinkled pajamas at quarter to 11 during “The Bachelorette.”

Don’t know what she’s so smug about. ‘Cause he’s such a prize? Believe me.

It’s almost better if I do die at this point. Bruised and exhausted, I’ll be useless at the office tomorrow — but God save me if I try to call in.

Tanya will demand a full report and grill me like fucking Columbo.

As if she doesn’t leave at 11:45 for an hour and a half every day so she can have lunch with her son.

Aww … Yeah. So cute. Except she puts 12-1 on her time card like everybody else.

But if I complain to Roy and Brian weeeeelllll, I’m the evil childless woman ratting on the poor loving mother. Never mind that she’s a liar setting a bad example for her kid.

Nazi bitch. Micromanaging everyone else’s time. Why are they always the ones who get promoted?

Oh God I think it’s moving. Oh thank God. It’s moving.

Where’s that wooden spoon? Jam it out.

Jesus, if anyone looks in the window they’ll call 911 just thinking I’m a suicide.

Fuck Tanya.

I’m definitely calling in. She can bitch to Roy if she wants. I’ll bring her a bag of chips on Thursday.

They weren’t even that great. But if you have one, you have two…

I’m every damn cliché. At least it wasn’t Haagen Dazs. Can you choke on ice cream?

Bet Smug Bitch doesn’t let him near chips and ice cream. Probably has him on some vege-fru-fru macrobiotic shit — ass shavings and celery.

Uuuhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Holy Christ!

Cough myself to death just trying to stay alive.

Where’s the Poland Spring? Fuck it — tap.

God that feels good. Thank God …

Oh that feels good.

Thank God.

Thank God.

That’s it. No more Wal-Mart T-shirts and striped pajama pants. If I’m gonna die, I’ll do it in a nightie or whatever Samantha would wear on “Sex and the City.” Probably nothing. Not sure I’m ready for that.

Phew.

Even Death is taking a pass. It’s not me, it’s you, right? Hey, I’ll take it.

Maybe I should get a cat. Why not. The calico with the sad eyes will be gone by now, but … someone else will be there. A little tortoiseshell. Little sweet face.

Fuck, the show’s over.

Ed does not look well at all.

Ed does not look well at all.

I’m not feeling it. The whole Ed Swiderski thing.

I do think he has more of a connection with Jillian Harris than Kiptyn Locke.

Then again – no offense – I’m thinking amoebas may have more of a connection with Jillian Harris than Kiptyn Locke.

Please tell me the rumor about Kiptyn being the next “Bachelor” is false. Nice guy. Good guy. Just not interesting to watch (unless we just watch the abs).

This is how it played out:

Ed met Jill’s family.

Kiptyn met Jill’s family.

As usual, the fam liked both of them. No real help there.

Jill had overnights with both guys.

Jill’s romantic problems with Ed are over. Volcano eruption over.

The guys picked out rings. They both planned to propose.

Kiptyn got out of the limo first — which, five seasons into “The Bachelorette,” we know is a bad thing.

Kiptyn made a lovely speech that Jill should’ve cut off at some point. At least she didn’t let him pull a Jason Mesnick and propose.
He was “hurt” but not devastated, it seemed.

But before Ed could get out of his limo and propose, Reid Rosenthal returned.

No shock there, but WHY does ABC pull this crap? Why did they rush him from the limo between Kiptyn’s and Ed’s limos?

Host Chris Harrison said Reid didn’t have much time because Ed was on his way, forcing Reid to do his quick “I love you” and bended knee thing and forcing Jillian to make a quick decision.

Jillian isn’t good at decision-making, even on the best of days.
So this was obviously contrived, especially if Reid really did decide to return on the plane ride back to Philadelphia. That must’ve been at least a few days – if not a lot more – before this last episode was taped.

They had plenty of time to bring him back, even if he did have to pull a million strings, as he claimed.

(Doubt it. The producers needed a dramatic finale to at least come close the climax of Jason Mesnick’s “Bachelor” earlier this year.)
Chris Harrison sat down with Jill and basically talked her into sticking with Ed.

Ed came out, he said he loved her. She said she loved him. He proposed. She said yes.

All very happy ending?

Read the full story here.

It’s funny to think of Cameron Diaz or Bruce Willis groaning at the same rainy weather as the rest of us. But they probably did, and recently. And after they left, Christian Bale and Brendan Fraser showed up. And pretty soon, Tom Cruise will arrive. (And Cammie D. will return to join him.)

Portsmouth had its own taste of the limelight earlier this month as Chase Bailey directed scenes for “Crooked Lane,” with Ann Cusack and Brett Cullen.

But just south of here, Massachusetts —and not just Boston — is becoming the true Hollywood East.

No L.A. or New York soundstages can do justice to the New England aesthetic, and the Bay State’s generous tax structure makes it appealing to big names.

The following are a few films that have been shot recently, are currently shooting or will soon be shooting in the general area.

Read the full story here

Leo and Marty were close to this area. (What's with all the Ipswich love?)

Leo and Marty were close to this area. (What's with all the Ipswich love?)

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