Six Sentence Sunday

In this scene from Just Friends With Benefits, as Stephanie hooks up with her crush for the first time, she cannot get her mind to shut down:

I had psyched myself up for being with him the night before, but my bravado disappeared the instant he declined my advances, and fear and insecurity took its place. In the first moments of kissing him, my inner voice expressed an hour’s worth of concerns. Does he think I’m a good kisser? Will he think my boobs are too small or my ass too big? Is my bikini wax still fresh? And I wished I taken the time to read that article in Cosmopolitan.

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Six Sentence Sunday

In this scene from “Just Friends With Benefits”, Stephanie looks to pop culture and God to cleanse her of a sin committed to love interest Ryan.

“When I closed my eyes to go to sleep that last night in the Outer Banks, I imagined asking my fairy godmother to grant me not three, but a measly single wish-that I had never broken up with Ryan. And I drafted in my mind a persuasive essay to Mr. Rourke explaining why I deserved a spot on Fantasy Island; a place where Ryan would certainly forgive me for my sin. And I thought about how great it would be if I could just ask Bill and Ted to make one extra stop on their Excellent Adventure, to 48 hours prior, before I had left that stupid fucking voicemail to Ryan. In a last ditch effort, I sat up in bed and looked up at the ceiling. “Please God,” I whispered, looking over at a sleeping Denise. “Please let there be a message waiting for me from Ryan when I wake up.”

I hope you liked! Please be sure to check out other Six Sentence Sunday entries this week:

Six Sentence Sunday!

In this scene from my published novel, Just Friends With Benefits, Stephanie is trying to convince her mother (and possibly herself) that the nature of her relationship with the object of her affection, Craig Hille, is more than it appears:

“I understand. But do you think Hille will decide to upgrade your status from fuck buddy to boyfriend and girlfriend if you travel across states to have sex with him?”

Finally appreciating the humor of my 62 year old mother’s repeated use of the phrase “fuck buddy,” I laughed into the phone. “For the last time, he’s not my fuck buddy, Mom.”

In between chewing something, my mom said, “Ok.”

“And besides, it could lead to more.”


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I’d like to preface this post by stating that I am a pretty smart chick. I won’t claim to be a genius but scores on several IQ exams have indicated that I am “highly intelligent.” I graduated college with honors even while partying approximately four nights a week, I think certain things come easier for me than the average person and I am generally very insightful.

The above aside, sometimes I do the most lame brain things where I have to stand back and say, “Really Meredith? Did you really just do that?”

This post is inspired by something I did earlier this week. I had signed up to participate in Six Sentence Sunday. Writers who take part in Six Sentence Sunday simply post six consecutive sentences of anything they’ve written, published or not, on their blogs each Sunday. The masters behind Six Sentence Sunday centralize the participants by linking all of the writer’s websites to the Six Sentence Sunday website. In order to do so, the site requires that we provide information including the web address and title of our blogs. Sounds simple, right? Well, apparently not simple enough for one Meredith Gail Schorr. When asked for the title of the blog, I indicated that it was “Six Sentence Sunday” as that is, in fact, what I intend to call my blog post this Sunday. After I provided the requested information, I perused the list of other participants and thought it was odd that my name was not there. There were lots of other names on the list, including fabulous author and twitter friend Tracie Banister, but not my name. I checked again and saw that the list was filled with names of participants except for participant number 18 whose name was listed as, wait, “Six Sentence Sunday?” Rut Roh. Apparently, we were supposed to provide the name of our blog; not the name of the specific post. And apparently I was the only one who didn’t understand that. I was able to correct the mistake by sending a quick email but I was mortified. How did everyone else get it right when I got it wrong? DUH.

Which brought to mind other dumb ass things I have done, even in the past couple of months. Check these out:

I was setting up my bike for spin class a few Sundays ago and saw that I had put my tank top on inside out. Now, I’ve put my shorts on inside out more than once but usually on weekday mornings when I’m at the gym half asleep because the sun hasn’t even come up yet. My spin class is at 10:15.

I tried to buy a metro card using my ATM card. I couldn’t understand why the machine kept telling me my zip code was wrong. Er, maybe because I was supposed to provide my pin number, not my zip code!!

I went to deposit my royalty check using the ATM and didn’t understand why the machine said my check had expired. The check clearly indicated that it was good for 90 days and it had only been about 30. I got on line to have a talk with the bank teller. It was lunch hour, the line was long and a bank employee came around to ask if anyone would prefer to use the ATM. I told him I much preferred to use the ATM but it would not accept my check. He said he would assist me and suggested that perhaps my check was too wrinkled. My checks are always wrinkled and none had ever been rejected before, but I decided to humor the guy anyway and let him straighten out my check. I once again tried to deposit the now unwrinkled check and once again, the transaction was bounced because it expired. I gave the bank employee an “I told you so” look and said, “See? It says it’s expired and it’s not!” The employee looked at me with pity and said, “Dear, it’s not the check that is expired, it’s your debit card.” Oh.

I flooded the contents of one of my office desk drawers because I put my water bottle inside without firmly closing the lid.

I walked all the way from 44th and 6th to 52nd and 7th with my dress tucked into my jacket. It wasn’t until I walked into Rosie O’Grady’s that I noticed it. I laughed it off because, really, what else could I have done?

I tried unsuccessfully to unlock the door to my 18th floor apartment. Perhaps the attempt would have been successful had I not been on the 17th floor.

I accidentally flushed the key to my office bathroom down the toilet. I was finally given another key. I lost it.

There are so many more where these come from to which my friends and family can surely attest and they are welcome to share here. But, please, if you’ve ever done anything that seems to defy your own high intelligence quotient, please feel free to leave a comment! I’d like to know I’m in good company.