#11: GAIL

7.

Oh. You know Gail. You know her well. She wears a pruning hat even when she’s not gardening (which is always), and you had better believe that she has a pile of unused coupons in her purse at all times just in case.

She’s on your side, but she’s also tired. Maybe she’ll go to bed at 9pm tonight. ‘Honestly, aren’t clubs a little loud these days? Lit? What does that mean?’ Yeah, Gail, she’s not woke at all my dudes. And GOD FORBID you get close to her in a public place. ‘Can’t people just be conscientious of their surroundings? I don’t need to be touched by every person here and their uncle (Bill).’* So I guess Gail would maybe be pals with your mom…or more accurately Grandma. But she’s quite lovely, if impatient and kinda batty. But you know she has a kleenex, hand sanitiser,** a hard candy, a toothbrush, a few lipstick shades in her purse, and a pack of Wet Ones in her car. She’s your turtle if you need an encouraging pat on the back, a listening ear, or just general mom-ing. Often, she’ll work closely with Ira when you’ve been wronged, but she brings the empathetic angle. You get it. She’s Gail.

*Uncle Bill is a real person. It is an inside joke that make the author laugh. The inside joke is that she has an Uncle named Bill. Golden Globes of comedy over here. But, Bill is literally the most wonderful man in existence. A veritable angel

**not as much these days. Even Gail can’t prepare for pandemic (what she does have is lavender-scented though)

#10: Randy

6.

I’m pretty sure you’ve all met Randy. Randy is the turtle you wish would go back into his shell. Randy is the turtle who took that bit about the conductor-who-isn’t-French-but-wouldn’t-it-be-funny-if-he-had-a-thick-French-accent-and-had-to-introduce-each-scene-of-Roméo-et-Juliette and drove it into the ground.

Literally, Randy lives on laughter. Thrives on the amusement of others. Is elated by the prospect of being the centre of attention. More prominent than most of the other turtles, Randy really loves to be validated, but also enjoys the joy of others’. Sometimes, he’s not super welcome, or kind of misunderstood. As someone very close to him noted while he was beating a bit to the grave, ‘[he’s] relentless.’ But if you ever need someone to distract you with far too many words on far too few a subject, you call him up. He’ll probably make loud noises, do some dance moves, and wink far too many times for comfort. That’s just Randy’s way.

#9: Alice

5. Alice

You know that turtle at the party that disappears for 15 minutes to look at the art in a house (or to just stare at her phone for 15 minutes in a dark room)? That’s Alice. She kinda hates making phone calls in public, doesn’t particularly enjoy shared working spaces, and definitely hates unexpected meetings (but not unexpected phone calls).

Anyways, she’ll usually just sit there eavesdropping [a bad habit, but she can’t help it], until she picks up little tidbits about other people’s lives. She’ll then create an entire fiction around those little tidbits, which usually proves to be pretty amusing. She’s definitely around when Arlene is staring off into space, but usually just lets her do her thing. Alice is also the turtle who imagined what life would be like if a certain conductor [who is not French at all] had a French accent, was required to introduce each scene of Roméo et Juliette from the pit, and did so by saying such things as: ‘in zis next scène, we will see dat uh, zese youts will uh, die by double suicide, alors, it’s uh pretty sad, but dommage, what can you do?’ She passes that info on to a turtle like Randy, and Bill’s your uncle – it’s a bit!

Writing Prompt #8: Ira

Well. Ira. Ire for short. Short like his damn temper. Ira rolls out the red carpet…of pain. So I guess you say Ira comes out when things are irritating. Or frustrating. Or mildly annoying. Or even just a little bit inconvenient. Or if I’m tired… Or hungry. Especially hungry. [not for lettuce, Ira!]

Anyways, usually Ira rolls out that red carpet when someone wrongs a pal or loved one, and only every so often does he whip out his baseball bat in defense of me. Though I must say, Ira is much less present in my life now than he once was. He used to hang around me and my friends a lot, popping his little head out of his shell at every other statement, ready to defend the wrong idea or person or thought. Mostly just ready to over-defend. Thankfully, now that bat has been replaced by a foam bat, and he shows up much less often. Probably due to good influences (lookin’ at you Cals), and due to an increase in self-assuredness and less insecurity. It’s surprising how often Ira popped out to defend those insecurities. So, though I love him, I’m glad to only see him every so often now.

Be warned my friends, if someone wrongs you, the wooden bat isn’t far away, and an irrational turtle is just one text from apoplexy. [Or I guess…be warned, those who might wrong my friends.]

Writing Prompt #7: A Lazy Turtle

Well, I am feeling a little lazy today, which is the perfect day to introduce y’all to Roger.

Even the poem is lazy, but I hope you enjoy. Roger is with me whenever I procrastinate to the point of creating crisis.

 

Roger

There once was a turtle named Roger

He named his duties just to dodge ‘er

He just lazed about

And never went out

He found his work days such a bother

Writing Prompt #6: Meet Arlene, Turtle Number Two

She’s sassy, she’s classy, her eyes are always glassy. That’s right. Arlene is a bit vacant.

She’s the turtle that forgets to participate in conversations. The turtle that didn’t hear what you said but laughs anyways. But we love Arlene, and she’s usually zoning out to think of other lovely things. She’s thinking of that time that you both laughed until you cried until you started laughing again. She’s thinking about her 18th birthday when everyone wore matching shirts. She’s thinking about what she’d do with a few weeks off and a good pair of hiking boots. And she’s not un-interested in what you’re saying, she’s just thinking of other things.

But Arlene will always check back in when you need her, don’t you worry. If she’s not the turtle you need, she’ll get another turtle on the line that can help..she’s good that way. But I can guarantee you won’t see her socializing with the other turtles – she just needs some time to herself.

Writing Prompt #5: ‘I’m actually just 12 turtles in a trenchcoat’

Me. I said that. And if you don’t know me well, you may not have known that about me. But I am the twelve-turtle-trenchcoat-trickster. And it has been eating me alive. Slowly, of course, but eating me alive nonetheless. After much consideration, I have decided to come clean. I’m ready to come out of my shell.

Ambling towards this conclusion for years, I finally have realized that I need to explain to you all the driving force behind my cartilaginous* character. So, for the next 11 days (today is day 12?), I will introduce you to the Twelve Turtles™.

Introducing…

1. Gregory

I think we all know a Gregory in our lives, and we all know what he’s like. Urban Dictionary defines it like this: Gregory is the name of a male, often a lion with a giant heart. But, as stated above, Gregory is one of twelve turtles that create the illusion of me. His lion-hearted nature certainly gives me my 8.3% bravery. I am grateful for Gregory because without him, I probably would never wander on stage, apply for new jobs, or eat lettuce at a painfully plodding pace. Like another famous Greg (Kinnear), Gregory was born on June 17, and is a Gemini, just like the person he is 1/12^th of. He is a crucial component of my being, and I look forward to introducing you to his 11 partners in crime. In due time.

 

*I didn’t know this word before. I looked it up for this. Def: (of a structure) made of cartilage.

Writing Prompt #4: ‘Sopra-no thanks’

…The title of my autobiography…

Chapter 1

I wasn’t born a mezzo, I don’t think. I was born a small ape – full head of hair, good set of lungs, a proclivity for picking things up with my feet – but probably not a mezzo. I was also definitely not born a soprano. But I think we’ve all had times in our lives where we’ve wondered ‘am I a soprano?’ When the possibility is negated, the relief flows in and we continue digging in the depths of chest voice. For me though, I certainly thought – or was told – that I was gifted with that shrieky range for most of my youth, and was only relieved of this illusion in the first year of my undergrad. Until then, I was singing idiotic rep (not only because I’m clearly a mezzo, but also because I was 18) such as Mein Herr Marquis, Stizzoso, mio stizzoso (my first aria), and Saper Vorreste. Clearly, the delusion was strong in all of us who thought that any of that was appropriate.

Enter Dan Dan the Prof Man. Daniel Lichti, my first lord and savior (Jackie being my most recent lord and savior of course). He took one look at my witchy, crone-like face and said: MEZZO. I’m just kidding of course, but he took one ‘look’ with his ears at my voice, and he had some QUALMS and some QUERIES. So we fached around with it a little bit, and PRESTO! I was buying the low-voice anthologies.

The utter bliss of the mezzo being recognized in me was not to last. DanDantheprofman abandoned me for one term, ONE TERM, and I was being forced back into the soprano lifestyle. Never let your profs go on sabbatical folx. It’s the worst.

Anyways, I spent most of my second year, second semester being forced into whistle tone, crying after (and before and during) most lessons, and only by some miracle was I allowed into the performance program. But good lord, those days of whistle tone sure do help me shriek the Queen of the Night into my phone at John Johnston now. The one and only boon of those lessons.  However, at the end of that year, all I could think to say was ‘Soprano? Sopra-no thanks!’ Let me tell you about my journey…

Writing Prompt #3: ‘I just saw a bobcat jump in an abandoned car!’

‘…his name is Bobby btw…’

Bobby the bobcat

Lives in an old hatchback

Bobcat home business

‘ey, bobBY! BOB! Bobby baby! Where you at?’

Where else would he be? In the hatchback in the Beltline is where you can always find Bobby. That’s where he works. It would be bad bobcat business to be anywhere else truly. Though the landlord hasn’t fixed the heat yet, so Bobby sometimes sleeps on the roof of the hatchback. Just makes sense really. Though last night it snowed, and besides getting a little chilly, there’s definitely an embarrassing Bobby-sized outline on the roof… He thought he’d have time to clean that off before his first customer. Thankfully his customers aren’t super observant.

Bobby gave himself a quick scratch behind the ear, did a quick little stretch, and turned to face the source of all the noise. Of course! Carl the crow. Bobby forgot. Tuesday mornings, Carl needed his order.

‘Gimme a sec Carl, I need to fire it up.’

Bobby turned on the ignition and plugged the machine into the cigarette lighter.

‘I’ll need a few extra tiny cookies today. We’ve got company coming,’ crowed Carl.

Bobby looked in the glove-box to make sure he had the goods. He did. He always had the goods. They don’t call him Easy-Bake Bobby for nothing.

Writing Prompt 2: I want animals…party animals..social or political

Well, by this point in time, we’ve all heard that giraffes are slap-happy fools. ‘Slap-happy? How on earth could they be slap-happy?’ Oh reader, you’re so predictable with your questions. I guess we don’t all know then. Let me enlighten you.

World-renown Canadian zoologist and Giraffe specialist Dr. Henry Dugačak-Vrat* has just released the results of a fascinating study. What it reveals will shock. Click on the link to find out! Just kidding, silly reader, this isn’t click-bait. Where would you even click?

Anyways, gotcha! Revealing in his study the shocking fact that Giraffes don’t actually have bones in their necks, but a series of glow sticks that give the neck its structure, Dr. DV was finally able to explain why Giraffes like to smack each other with their necks so much. They’re just trying to get lit.

 

*put Henry’s last name into google translate for a fun surprise