Two-week creativity challenge: Once upon a time...

Go ahead—share a quick story from your life or something happening with someone you know.
It could be a photo album, or if you’ve got skills, a comic strip works too.
The deadline is May 23rd.
"Creativity" isn't exactly the word I'd use for this theme; last time around, most of us just stood there posing like statues for the camera.
Only Mia actually tried to be creative, posing on a moped, behind the wheel of a compact car, and even doing headstands just to get a reaction...😁
Velveteagle8, watch out—I think he's heading toward Chicago on a tractor.🤣

I'll go first. It was relatively recent, but definitely better times when we actually had the freedom to dance and kiss

Picture this: New Year's Eve. A group of about thirty of us—basically a whole traveling circus—decided to head up into the Appalachian Mountains. We rented two houses from the same owner. My wife, a friend, their partner, and about seven or eight other cars followed us up. The two cars behind us were just running their mouths the whole way, talking about some woman joining the party later. Apparently, she’s a total man-eater. They warned us to watch our backs, making comments about how she has a small chest but refuses to settle for anything less than a heavy-duty push-up bra. Once we arrived, we sorted out the sleeping arrangements and the party kicked off. Food and drinks were already flowing, so I went to find the host. I know the guy personally, so I asked if he had any corn on the cob. He gave me this look and said, "What kind of trouble are you looking for? Just let me talk."
Anyway, he brought it out, I tucked it into my waistband under my shirt, and headed back to the floor. I spotted her and asked for a dance just as a slow song started playing. As we danced, I gave her a little squeeze. She just rolled her eyes at me. I thought to myself, *you might have the push-up bra, but I've got push-up boxers.* She kept leaning in, while my wife sat there giving me this look that clearly asked, "What on earth is happening?" I whispered to her to stay quiet. Then, this woman has the nerve to ask me if we can slip away somewhere. I told her, "Are you insane? How could we possibly go unnoticed?" Fast forward two days after the party ended, and she was relentlessly pursuing me with calls and messages through mutual friends. When I finally told my wife the whole story, she just looked at me and said, "You are absolutely out of your mind."
Can you imagine if I had actually ended up alone with her? If anyone had "seen the truth," she would have died laughing and I would have died of pure embarrassment.

I think this story popped up on another thread once, so some of you might have already read it.
Regardless, consider this a little nudge for the rest of you.
I'm waiting to hear your stories. Let's go.🙏

Those who can sing well can also get their point across through song 😁

The seventh creativity challenge is basically just turning corn into popcorn. 🤣
At first glance, this is specifically for driftingmarlin44, assuming he hasn't already exhausted his entire repertoire of romantic escapades fueled by pure imagination and old anecdotes. Drew Lee9’s story serves as the cautionary tale here. The lesson centers on one specific question: where did the peanuts go?
And what do you mean by "singing well" in your intro? We all sing, whisper, or chuckle... you don't need to write it down, just tell the story.
Is that acceptable?
🙂

Megan Gray4 said:So, the seventh creativity challenge is basically just watching corn turn into popcorn 🤣
At first glance, this is specifically for driftingmarlin44, assuming he hasn't already blown through his entire repertoire of romantic adventures fueled by pure imagination and old anecdotes. Drew Lee9's story is the one with the actual moral... though the lesson really boils down to one thing: where the peanuts are hiding.
And what do you mean by "who sings well" in your intro? I mean, we all sing well, or whisper, or chuckle... you know, you don't necessarily have to write it down, you just tell the story...
Is that okay?
🙂

Love and hookups aren't really cutting it for this challenge... I've realized the folks on the off-topic boards are way more into animals and nature... so I guess I'll play along this time...

So, my take is that driftingmarlin44 either ran out of things to say or his anti-anxiety meds wore off. 😁

hey, did you see that...

Megan Gray4 said:So, the seventh creativity challenge is basically announcing the legendary transformation of corn into popcorn. 🤣
At first glance, this seems tailored specifically for driftingmarlin44—assuming he hasn't already exhausted his entire repertoire of romantic adventures fueled by pure imagination and old anecdotes. Drew Lee9's story actually carries a lesson. And that lesson revolves entirely around one question: where on earth did the peanuts go?
And what do you mean by "who sings well" in your intro? We all sing, whisper, or chuckle... you don't necessarily have to write it down; you just tell the story.
Is that okay?
🙂

😁 🙂

Come on, join in with a story or an anecdote.

Is anyone actually breathing in here?
Come on, people, don't leave a winner hanging 🙂

Megan Gray4 said:Just checking if anyone is still breathing in here.
Come on, guys, don't leave a winner hanging. 🙂

Lead by example.😉

Drew Lee9 said:Give us an example 😉

I certainly will.
How many applications are you taking in, and where is Ace?

Megan Gray4 said:I certainly will.
How many applications are you taking, and where on earth is Ace?

Perfect. I’m waiting for you to get the others moving; there's plenty of room given the crowd.😁

Ace shouldn't be gone for long. Hopefully everything is okay.👍

Drew Lee9 said:Ace, she hasn't been around in a while. Hope everything is alright. 👍

Fair enough, Ace. We just happened to cross paths on another thread. 🙂

Chloe Cooper10 said:It was just a coincidence, Ace... we bumped into each other on a random thread once. 🙂

Why haven't you stopped by our place yet? And where even are you?
You've completely vanished. 😒 😳

Exactly. We’re all nothing if not talented and diverse here. Some people ride motocross, some play classical piano, others are behind a camera... then there are those special types who spend their time doing headstands while cracking peanuts or begging on their knees 😁

Megan Gray4 said:Exactly. We’re all just a bunch of wonderful, gifted geniuses here. Such a diverse group... some ride motocross, others play classical piano, and then there are the photographers. And let's not forget the special ones—the guys who spend their time doing handstands while peeling peanuts or begging for attention. 😁

😁 😳

I haven't seen this many animal lovers and nature junkies packed into such a small space anywhere except this chat room... one person’s got a parrot, another has a turtle, someone else keeps a Betta fish, and then there's the fourth person with an axolotl. Well, actually, there are more than one axolotl... it's like every single person on this board has some kind of exotic pet. And the nature stuff too... one's out hiking through the Appalachian Mountains, another is tossing pebbles into a lake just to watch the ripples, one gets a tick stuck in her bikini line while trekking through poppy fields, and someone else gets bitten by a venomous Chinese ladybug on their eyelid while trying to get macro shots of wild shrubs... since I'm also a bit of a nature and animal enthusiast, I figured I'd give you guys two little stories about things that happened not so long ago involving my pets and the great outdoors...
first story:
Cat and Masks
I have a black and white Cat... he's 15 years old. He has a few virtues but way more flaws... his main virtues are that he doesn't really care for being cuddled and he's basically a street cat at heart. Not a true street cat, obviously, because he's neutered, vaccinated, and spends half the day inside during the fall and winter... but his biggest flaw is that he's spoiled. So, I go to Buy food for this spoiled cat one day, not that long ago (probably during the second or third wave of that massive pandemic, the kind so bad you can't even remember the waves), at a Target, even though it's nowhere near me or even convenient. But whatever, it's his favorite brand. I walk into Target, a couple of customers and maybe two employees around, and they're all looking at me weirdly (well, only their eyes are visible) even though I said hello... oh crap, damn it, I forgot my mask... so now what? Nothing... I know where the cat food is, but I also know where the perfumes are and those testers I end up spraying myself with every single time. And apparently, my constant spraying discouraged one of the sales clerks... a total comedian... we sort of know each other from passing by before.-"Sir, you don't have a mask." Yeah, I don't need one, I have cancer.-"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" and you could see in her dark eyes—holy hell, this handsome guy has cancer. It's fine, lady, everything's fine. I Buy the crazy cat food and some other random junk, and on my way to the register, I ask her casually: "Do you need proof?"-"What proof?" Well, doctor's proof that I don't need to wear a mask. And her dark eyes were laughing like crazy—"What do you mean proof? I don't need proof from you." Dammit, I smelled like Versace Eros.

p.s.

The lifespan of a street cat is five years max...

View on imgur


Out of all the things that have happened in my life—the good, the bad, the messy—nothing has fundamentally shifted my entire existence quite as deeply or comprehensively as becoming a parent.
It’s an entire spectrum of shifts, starting with the fact that your body simply doesn't belong to you anymore. Your chest changes size overnight, and then there’s the stomach situation—you eventually lose sight of your own feet.
Then there are those middle-of-the-night moments where you wake up with an uncontrollable, inexplicable urge to eat pickles straight from the jar dipped in Nutella.
Inside, there's this little alien kicking and playing soccer with my kidneys and spleen; it sounds painful, but somehow, it’s actually a beautiful sensation.
Just when you think you’ve settled into being a total wreck, labor begins—a process that, in all its raw intensity, serves as a brutal reminder of just how resilient and strong the female body can be.
And then, there it is: a tiny, wrinkled, red, screaming little ball that is, naturally, the most beautiful thing in the world to me.
After that, the carousel starts spinning at a hundred miles an hour. The baby has a million different needs, and with every single one of theirs, one of mine seems to vanish.
They need milk, then they need soothing at three in the morning, then they need playtime right when I was finally about to sleep, then a diaper change, then more milk, then another diaper, then more comfort... it’s just a relentless cycle.
Suddenly, you realize you don't even remember what it felt like to drink a cup of coffee while it was still hot, or the sensation of sleeping through the night, or wearing a shirt without a stain, or walking into a living room that isn't covered in random toys you inevitably step on barefoot.
They are little terrorists, really. And the strangest part—the part that makes no sense—is that despite all the exhaustion, you adore them. It’s Stockholm Syndrome, plain and simple. You love this child, your little captor, with everything you are.
Why am I typing this out?
Mostly so Drew Lee9’s contest doesn't go without entries, though, truthfully, it’s probably just some sentimental impulse.
Because these terrorists will grow up, and with every passing day, their demands will diminish. They’ll become adults—independent, strong—and my own needs will slowly resurface. I'll be able to drink coffee in peace, my body will feel like mine again, and the living room might actually stay clean.
But I know I'll look back on these days with a certain level of nostalgia, so I'll leave this here as a permanent record on the internet. As much as I’m looking forward to feeling like myself again, I know I’m going to miss this chaos.
Like I said, Stockholm Syndrome. There’s no cure. 😁

Drew Ross2 said:View on imgur

Change is the only constant.

Of all the things I've been through, nothing has flipped my world upside down quite like becoming a parent.
It’s an entire overhaul of your existence, starting with the fact that your body doesn't belong to you anymore. Your chest size jumps up unexpectedly, and then there's the stomach that makes seeing your own feet a distant memory.
You find yourself waking up at 3 AM with a desperate, irrational craving to eat pickles straight from the jar dipped in Nutella.
Inside, there's this little alien doing gymnastics, playing soccer against my kidneys and spleen—which, believe it or not, feels amazing despite the discomfort.
Just when you think you've accepted your new life as a glorified water buffalo, labor hits, showing you just how incredibly resilient and powerful the human body actually is.
Then comes the baby: a tiny, wrinkled, red, screaming little ball that is, naturally, the most beautiful thing on the planet.
After that, the carousel starts spinning at a hundred miles an hour. The baby has a million needs, and with every single one of theirs, one of mine disappears.
They need milk, then comfort at 3 AM, then playtime right when I finally close my eyes, then a diaper change, then more milk, more diapers, more soothing—it's just a relentless cycle.
Suddenly, you realize you can't remember what it felt like to drink a cup of coffee while it was still hot, how it feels to sleep through the night, how to wear a shirt without a stain on it, or what a living room looks like without stepping on a stray toy with bare feet.
They are little terrorists, and the strangest part is that despite the chaos, you absolutely adore them. It's Stockholm Syndrome, plain and simple. You love that little jailer with everything you've got.
Why am I typing this out?
Mostly to make sure Drew Lee9's contest gets some entries, but honestly, it's just feeling a bit sentimental.
Because these terrorists will grow up, and their demands will slowly fade. They'll become independent adults, and I'll eventually get my own needs back. I'll be able to enjoy a quiet coffee again, my body will be mine once more, and the house might actually stay clean.
But I know I'll look back on these days with nostalgia, so I'm leaving this here. As much as I look forward to feeling like myself again, I know I'm going to miss this beautiful mess.
Like I said, Stockholm Syndrome. There's no cure. 😁

That would be a crime; you have to let someone else babysit every now and then. 🤣

By the way, you're one attractive young mom.🙏 👍

TOP MODELS
I turned into a total tyrant, playing slave driver for forty-eight hours straight. I found two snails during a rainy walk and dragged them into my yard, pinning them down with a cigarette so they’d wait out the clouds with me and pose like models. It's just a prettier way to describe the master-servant dynamic the media has built. On the second sunny afternoon, I moved my little beauties to a prime spot and waited for them to show off, but they wouldn't budge—completely lifeless. I gave them a gentle poke here and there, but they just recoiled like they were offended, or maybe just acting tough. Disappointed by their blatant disobedience, I left them sitting on their pedestals overnight. By the next morning, naturally, the slaves had escaped, and I was declared an incompetent taskmaster. Jan, if only I had been this bossy a century ago! As for how I ended up in the doghouse, I won't say. The photo is for Louise and me 🙂