I know everyone is DYING for some Starbucks, Especially the blogger who REALLY knows how to shoot the poop the best. At least now, I can't say I have never been stalked, hahaha. The winner winner chicken dinner of the $25 Starbucks gift card (kaching!) is..........................
Congratulations to allthingsnew! You hit the poop shootin' jackpot with over 24 (including 2 conjugations!) uses of the word "poop" in 9 comments. She was just full of poop, eh? She doubled down and summed it up well:
"the final moments of our opportunity to talk about poop are coming to an end. That's kind of sad because it has been fun to let all of the poop out of my mind these last few days. I'm pretty sure that anyone with children 3 and under have lots of poop to deal with in their lives. We just don't have many opportunities to deal with it. ;)"
Steph, email me with your address so I can send you that card!!!! Enjoy the roulette of Starbucks and the porcelain throne and think of me often!
Thanks to everyone for taking a gamble and playing along this week. It was great fun and lots of giggles. It was fun to feel young again.
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For those who have been following along with my Weathered story, here is the Prelude to the story. I have been tempted to go back and edit, but I will save that for later. I have 9. 273 words to write today if I am going to ever get in a 5,000 word mode.
Prelude
“Why am I looking at a blank canvas? The assignment isn’t that complicated.” Blair’s college art professor clucks her tongue in disappointment. “I cannot give you the A you ask for until you put something on that paper, anything, even a stick figure is better than the white paper.”
“Just give me one more day. That’s all I need, and I will give you a masterpiece. I promise. I…” Blair blinked coyly, hoping to get her way. “I just can’t work here. There’s nothing to inspire me. I need to take my canvas home.”
“You know that is not possible. I cannot bend the rules for you just because you are the chairman’s daughter.” Miss Tatum looked down her long nose at Blair with disdain. She looked especially spinsterish today with her dark hair pulled back in a tight chignon. The crows feet around her eyes made her look extra fierce when she looked down her nose, and the glasses that hung on a chain around her neck did nothing to disrupt the image.
“Just this once, please? I promise you I will have it finished tomorrow. I just can’t do it here. It’s too…sterile, bland, dry. I need my music, my color, my warmth. I will wait til classes let out for the day and then pick up the canvas. No one will know about it. I promise you.”
“I will not. You need to work in any circumstances, and you especially need to learn that money does not buy everything and everyone. If you cannot do the work like everyone else, then just like anyone else, you will fail. And that’s the bottom line.”
“But I can’t fail. Blair Weathers never fails. I am an artist. You cannot fail me.”
“ I can and I will if you do not complete this assignment. You have until tomorrow morning to complete it, and I will be watching you. The canvas cannot leave the classroom. Period.”
The hour was over. There was no more Blair could do at this moment to convince Miss Tatum otherwise. She had to figure out something and fast. She absolutely could not fail this class or her father would take away the trust fund. He had insisted that she continue on in the family business and attend his alma mater, Stanbridge University, but she had cried and won her way to attend the college of her choice and pursue her love of art. If she failed even one class, her father would pull his money out, and she would either have to pay on her own, or give in to his demands. She intended to do neither. With no other classes for the rest of the day, she headed towards her dorm with a plan formulating in her mind.
The dormitory stood tall and stoic against the sky. It was a modernized building designed to look like it was old. There were three floors with 15 rooms per floor. Blair shared her room with one other woman, though she had hoped to get a room to herself. Having a roommate had its benefits at times, like now. Her roommate, a slight brunette with an artsy initial at the front of her name, also took art classes. They rarely ever talked though since they ran in different social circles-Blair having money, and R. Angelina Potts having none. R. Angel, as she preferred to be called, was talented enough to receive a full scholarship, otherwise, both she and Blair knew she wouldn’t be there. The dorm room itself was bright and colorful, the walls filled with paintings of various sizes and mediums.
R. Angel was sitting at the one desk in the room when Blair entered. She had her headphones on, with her sketchpad before her. Blair was able to get a brief glimpse of her work before she realized that she was standing there. Blair knew her roommate was talented, but the little bit of drawing she had seen literally took her breath away. Her plan came into formation and she decided to test the waters. It was going to take some smooth talking to get her roommate out of the room without her sketch pad, but Blair knew she could do it. Money is a powerful motivator.
And now, the real fun begins....
This post is a part of the
carnival. 
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