The Girl Who Wished for a Unicorn and Got One

The Girl Who Wanted a Unicorn and Got One

A short story by Eve McLendon

A few months ago, there was a girl living a few towns away from you who wanted for a unicorn and got one – nothing extraordinary about how (Craigslist) or why (it was being sold at a very reasonable price). The unicorn looked like any unicorn you would expect (an impossible to define shade of white with a long horn on its forehead) and ate a typical unicorn diet (lilacs).

What was of note, curiosity, and surprise was the unique and putrid smell of the unicorn.

Astronaut Important

Astronaut Important, a short story by Neva Reese

The best thing that can happen this year is that the Mayan Apocalypse won’t happen.  That’s it.

Before the Mayan Apocalypse, there were three Starbucks here.

The other major 2012 event is the Presidential election.  Never before has a country been so excited to shrug their shoulders.

I had not been looking forward to New Year’s Eve.  Nothing good happens on New Year’s Eve or on New Year’s Day.  They’re just extra days off, in my opinion.  And how do I like to spend extra days off? Sleeping.  And New Year’s Eve is stupid because it’s one time where people think that you suffocate babies for fun if you want to go to bed instead of staying up to midnight.  It’s like the week before, you fool your kids to going to sleep so Santa will come for them and then a week later, all adults fool each other in staying up to midnight so they can, what?  See the decaying corpse of Dick Clark?  And they get dressed up in ties and sock garters for it?  Booze is delicious, with or without cufflinks.

Polly Pen: Silk Bridges

Polly Pen

A short novella by Neva Reese

Chapter 3: Silk Bridges

Aunt Myrtle owned an Auburn. Polly emphasized this in top positivity.

In song.

“Auburn Auburn, la-li-la! Auburn Auburn, la-li-la! A roo-doo-doo-dah-doo-doo-dah–doo–”

“Polly, please keep your eyes on the road.”

“Never, ever interrupt me in the middle of a song, Darlin’.” She said, the coldness felt in the humid summer.

“Just as long as you put the gin in the boot.”

“You’re in America, Darlin’, call it a trunk and don’t embarrass yourself.” We slowed at an intersection near a bridge. “And we don’t have the gin yet. I’m not risking a bunch of glass bottles to make it in such an old car for miles an’ miles. So we’re pickin’ up along the way. I run a bar. I think I can run a delivery.”

“I thought you liked that it was an Auburn?”

“It’s from 1916. I’m surprised it’s even running as well as it is. But it’s still an Auburn, Darlin’.”

Two Drifters

Two Drifters

a short shorty by Neva Reese

September 1987. I’m eight and it’s the last game of the little league series, the MoHo Mohicans vs. the Shoshone Samurais, and despite all the hard work I’ve done trying to improve my batting average, I only hit a single.  I think my father will be disappointed because we worked together on my batting skills. Instead, he just applauds me as I come out from the bleachers and announces that we’re going for pizza.

I’m eight and this is pizza time with my dad.

Neva Reese: Daughter of a Waitress and a Janitor I’ve Never Met

When I was twenty-three, I had my first real adult job. A very cool one, too – Research Assistant at an independent film market in Westwood.

I remember making tons of mistakes: saving new information on a duplicated database, calling my boss Napoleon to his face, printing twelve copies of 100+ page meeting notes on an ancient printer, agreeing with the president of the company with how she liked to put her niece in pretty dresses as the reason I’d like to have a nephew someday, other typical mistakes.

I also remember being the most ridiculously happy I had ever been. This was an adult job (with DiDi Reise cookies a few blocks away). I bought a peacoat and a brown plush blazer at non-sale price at the Gap. I could pay for my own share of dinner with friends. I sent DiDi Reise cookies and a discman to a posh British man whore I recently picked up.

The dream that I could be an independent adult became very, very real.

MoHo

I grew up in a trailer park across the cemetery and the south irrigation ditch. Wagon Wheel Trailer Park. In kindergarten, the teacher’s aide helped us learned our address. When she asked me what mine was, I thought I could fake not knowing what it was and said with so much belief, “12455 Maple Drive!” (I mouth this to the camera in the first International Model video with the same belief).

“1880 E 5th N #9

Wagon Wheel Trailer Court

MoHo, Idaho”

I was promptly told.

Polly Pen: Escape from Mermaid Lagoon

Polly Pen

A fictional novella and sequel to Peter Pan by Neva Reese

Chapter 2: Escape from Mermaid Lagoon

I had long told my nieces and nephews of their Uncle John being British to the bone and going to work on the Fourth of July, the day that Britain declared independence from America, during his stay in New York City. The truth was far less silly; the home office of the insurance company had neglected to mention that I did not need to come to the law firm for federal holidays.

I was not alone, though. The office on the 32nd floor also contained a secretarial pool, filled with various fish, catching up on work while the attorneys were away from the office. I mostly stuck to my task of auditing files, but once in a while, they would call for me.

“Oh, John!” Mary Fay called. A green-eyed, bronze skinned blond secretary for the new associates. “My ribbon has gotten stuck! Could you come over and smooth it out?”

“Oh, John!” Mary Day called. A brown-eyed, brunette secretary with constellations of freckles who worked for two of the partners, one of them named. “I was about to get some coffee. Would you like me to make you some tea?”

“Oh, John!” Mary May called. A grey-eyed, raven haired secretary with porcelain skin secretary for Gale of Gale Pearl & Riese. She said nothing else, just looked me up and down.

I would smooth ribbons, decline tea, and pretend looks weren’t happening. I was trusted with handling accounting, not women.

Polly Pen: A sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan

Note: After having some very confusing feelings after Peter Pan Live,  I began to remember that when I was ten, I wished there was an actual female version of Peter Pan and began to dream up the idea of Polly Pen. The idea of what would happen if the next eldest member of the Darling family (John) came confronted with a road block to growing up took hold. This may be the silliest idea I’ve ever committed to a story (and I’ve written about zombie Girl Scouts).

Also, I did not make up John Darling’s middle name. That’s canon. That’s crazy. That was inspiration.

Polly Pen

A fictional novella by Neva Reese

Chapter 1: Knot Here

I had not intended to spend the summer of 1922 in America. The insurance company my father worked for needed a poorly paid employee to be in New York to help with an upcoming business deal with a law office located on Wall Street.  As fortune would have it, a well placed aunt of mine who had an apartment off of 7th Avenue needed someone to water her plants while she was out traveling in Africa. My father believed I would be an excellent candidate for both these jobs and that by summer’s end, I would be on my way to becoming a man.

While I was not ready to grow up just yet, I was curious about the American prohibition on alcohol.

Just a few days after starting work at Gale Pearl & Riese, I had met a barrister named Leo who knew the password to a speakeasy called Knot Here. During my studies at Cambridge, I learned about Britain resisting the temptation of giving into prohibition several times. In fact, while Britain was subject to a temporary ban on gin for a few years, we highly encouraged beer as an alternative at the time. I promised to write to my sister Wendy about how silly the Americans were being about their spirits (my younger brother Michael was still too young to appreciate the finer points in being British). I had envisioned maybe publishing my findings.

Where Good Children Go

Where Good Children Go
A fictional short story by Neva Reese

Chora Clamly, Jorgan Heppertipple, Bortney Lightney and little Isilthorpe Grue were on a road trip through the countryside with their trusted chaperone, Miss Tresteen. All four of the children sat politely in the back…at times. It didn’t matter that this road trip was a reward for exceptionally good behaviour at school; they were children between the ages of five and nine. Every few kilometers or so, a fight would break out in the backseat of the reliable German car. Miss Tresteen’s face never carried a cross expression at this; she would just calmly remind the children that they were almost there.

And cooed, “You’re such good children.”

Pete Holmes vs. Neva Reese – Professor Xavier Fires Iceman

A year ago, I discovered Pete Holmes magnificent and legacy making sketches, “Ex-Men” where Professor Xavier fires X-Men. He fired Wolverine, Jubilee and Angel.

Being a noted Iceman fan girl, I wrote a loving tribute to this about a year ago.

Today, I found out that one was actually filmed.

So. Who did it better? Pete Holmes (who has Iceman assert that he chose is own code name which is factually incorrect) or me, who takes into (epically nerdy consideration) Iceman’s accounting background.

Let the odds be forever in your (read: my) favor.

First up, Pete Holmes!

Challenger…the girl who bought all issues of “Contest of Champions” just because it confirmed Iceman had tapped into the natural Russian resource known as Darqstar…Neva Reese.

Neva and Bobby, 1999

Professor Xavier “Fires” Iceman?

By Neva Reese

“Bad ass” wasn’t a title Bobby Drake – the Iceman, one time youngest resident at Xaviers – could ever place on a part of his life. He hoped to earn it by having Professor Xavier fire him from the X-Men. He was so sure it was going to happen, he had written it on his Converse sneakers, right next to “Hungry Like the Wolf”.

“Iceman.”

“Hey.”

“You freeze things.”