To those who live in or visit NYC

. . . exactly HOW dangerous is NYC for a woman traveling there alone? Say, if a person has finaled in a contest (not a writing contest–something physical) and has the chance to go there for the contest itself, all bills paid, would it be that dangerous for a female to go alone? Consider that this is a broken-down fat old hag we’re talking about, not a young pretty thing, but then again she’s not a tough old fighter either (she’s such a dumb bunny that she always gives a dollar to beggars on the street and lets the cashier swipe the “$1 to charity” card when she checks out at the grocery store.). <-[NEED I EVEN MENTION THE UGLY PUNCTUATION ISSUE–AAGH]

They aren't gonna let me go. Hubby says he hates NYC and won't go with me and furthermore won't let ME go because "it would cost money–you'd end up buying some of your own meals and taking cab rides over that weekend." Sigh. I know I won't take the big prize in this contest, but I think it would be a trip to remember anyway. I'd better stop being delusional, though, and face reality. Even if y'all tell me it's safe, that won't matter. Who are we kidding?

I bought a Mega Millions ticket for tonight. If I can match five numbers or some combination, and get $2000, maybe I can go because then I would have "my own" money. But that doesn't happen. . . .

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Author: shalanna

Shalanna: rhymes with "Madonna" and "I wanna," and is not a soundalike with "Hosanna" or "Sha-Na-Na." Aging hippie with long hair, husband, elderly mother, and yappy Pomeranian. I've been writing since I could hold a crayon. I started with fiction, which Mama said was "lying." “Don’t tell stories,” she would admonish, in Southern vernacular. “That's all in your imagination!” When grownups said this, they were not approving. So, shamed, I stopped telling stories for a few years--rather, I stopped letting anyone read them. I'm married to a fellow computer nerd who doesn't really like hearing about writing, but who reads sf/fantasy and understands the creative drive. I'm actually a nonconformist/hippie still wearing bluejeans and drop earrings and the Alice-in-Wonderland hair with headbands and sandals. Favorite flavor is chocolate/orange, favorite color is either Dreamsicle orange (cantaloupe) or bubble-gum pink, favorite musical is either Bye Bye Birdie, Rocky Horror, or The Producers . . . wait, I also love The Music Man. Is this getting way too specific and irrelevant yet? Obvious why I don't sell a ton of flash fiction, isn't it? To define oneself, I always say, it is good to make a list. How about a booklist? Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird Frank and Ernestine Gilbreth, Cheaper by the Dozen C.S.Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (all the Narnia books) J.R.R.Tolkien,The Hobbit/LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy Gail Godwin, The Odd Woman F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby J. D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye (before dismissing it, actually read it) George Orwell, 1984 Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle Donna Tartt, The Secret History Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn James Allen, As A Man Thinketh Mark Winegardner, Elvis Presley Boulevard James Thurber, My Life and Hard Times The Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum Winnie-the-Pooh/House at Pooh Corner, A. A. Milne Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie The KJV and NIV Bible (each translation has its glories)

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