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2011
2011 Survey Questions
11 topics in this forum
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In A Word... 1 2 3 4
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As the final chords of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” shimmered away—still sparkling in the air like the last trails of a firework—the laughter on the dance floor softened into a warm, lingering glow. Girls brushed hair from their faces, caught their breaths, and leaned into one another in that loose, glowing way that only happens when joy has tipped over into something softer. Even the lights seemed gentler, warming the stage in a buttery gold, fading from glitter to glow. Libby stepped toward her mic with a sly grin tugging at the corner of her mouth, the kind of grin she only got when a plan was blooming behind her eyes. Her fingers danced along the guitar strings in a teasing little flourish—playful, proud, a little triumphant, like she knew she was about to set off a spark. “Okay,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her flushed cheek, “I have one last request.” The room quieted—curiosity blooming like a held breath. Girls straightened, their dresses rustling softly. Parents stilled, hands hovering above their laps. Even the faculty paused, sensing that this next moment was different, like a page turning. “Rachel?” Libby called, sweet but unmistakably pointed. “You’re up.” Rachel, who had just returned to the edge of the dance floor holding a cup of fruit punch, froze mid-sip. Her eyes widened, her posture lifting with a startled grace. “Me?” she blinked, as though the word slipped out before she could catch it. Libby nodded, the grin widening into something warm and sure. “Yes, you. You know the song.” A delighted ripple of murmurs traveled through the crowd—little gasps, excited whispers, a squeal from the back row that made a few girls dissolve into giggles. Rachel hesitated only a heartbeat before passing her cup to a nearby classmate, who held it with the wide-eyed reverence of someone entrusted with a sacred artifact. Rachel smoothed her mauve dress—soft, flowing, almost romantic—and stepped forward. She walked with lightness, but also with a quiet disbelief that shimmered off her like heat. As she passed the front row, someone whispered, “Is there anything she can’t do?” Dana, still radiant from her own performance, placed a dramatic hand over her heart. “Apparently not,” she sighed, half-jealous, half-proud, fully dazzled. Rachel climbed the stage steps with easy grace, as though she’d been practicing this moment without knowing it. Libby met her at the top, leaning in to whisper something encouraging—something soft enough that only Rachel could hear, but warm enough that Rachel’s shoulders relaxed instantly. Her expression softened, the gentle certainty she carried settling neatly into place. She turned to the band. “Let’s do it,” she said quietly, with that small but steady confidence that always made people listen. The pianist eased in first—a dreamy, vintage melody that rolled out like the opening of a slow sunrise. The room stilled again, like someone had draped a silk curtain over the noise. Etta James’s “At Last.” Rachel lifted the mic. And then she sang. Her voice drifted out like velvet being unrolled—soft, smooth, impossibly steady. The first note hung in the air like a drop of golden honey, and everything shifted. Girls mid-laugh quieted mid-breath. Faculty paused mid-step, their expressions opening in surprise. Even the rustle of dresses and the clink of punch glasses seemed to freeze, suspended in reverence. Rachel didn’t just sing. She invited the room into something private—something warm and vulnerable and quietly brave. Libby stepped back, guitar hanging loosely at her hip, her eyes full of open admiration. Dana covered her heart with both hands as if Rachel’s voice had reached inside her chest and flipped a switch. And Dylan—standing near the edge of the dance floor—looked stunned, mouth slightly parted as though someone had lit the whole hall with candlelight. Rachel’s voice was tender without being timid. Certain without being showy. Every lyric unfurled like it belonged to her, as though she’d been waiting for this exact moment to let it out. As she slipped into the second verse, Alyssa drifted closer to Dylan, their shoulders brushing as naturally as breathing. She reached for his hand—soft, warm, certain—and he blinked as though waking from a dream. “Dance with me?” she whispered, her smile brushing the air between them. He nodded, cheeks already warming under the lights. She guided him toward a quieter corner of the dance floor, where the lights dimmed just enough to make the room feel smaller, like the walls had tucked in to give them space. She placed one hand gently on his shoulder and took his hand in the other. Dylan followed—awkward at first, hesitant—but her touch steadied him like an anchor. “I’ve never seen you dance before,” she murmured near his ear, voice as soft as the song itself. “That’s because I haven’t,” he whispered back, breath catching at the closeness. “Well,” she said, smile brushing his cheek, “you’re doing perfect.” He blushed—deep, unstoppable, his whole face turning warm. They swayed, slow and unsure at first, then easier, more natural. Her head found his for a moment. His hand rested at the small of her back, gentle and careful, like she was something precious he didn’t dare grip too tightly. The music curled around them, weaving a little world for just the two of them. Up in the wings, Mrs. Langford and Miss Emma stood beside Beth and Libby’s mother. They didn’t speak. They simply watched—quiet, reflective, the kind of watching adults fall into when they know they’re witnessing something tender and formative. Beth’s eyes softened; Libby’s mother dabbed at one corner of her eye. Back onstage, Dana reappeared at Libby’s side, breath finally slowing, cheeks flushed with excitement. “I think I might cry again,” Dana whispered, pressing her hands against her cheeks. “You better not,” Libby teased softly. “Your mascara’s made it this far.” Rachel’s voice rose gently into the bridge—clear, warm, strong, each note landing with effortless grace. The room held its breath. Girls in pairs swayed with arms looped loosely around each other. A few hugged each other's elbows, resting heads together. One mother wiped her eyes with the corner of her folded program. The whole moment felt suspended—soft, glowing, like the inside of a snow globe caught mid-sparkle. And at the heart of it stood Rachel, singing like she was sharing a truth she’d held close for years. Alyssa leaned her forehead lightly against Dylan’s temple. He closed his eyes, breathing in the warmth of her, the slow spin of the room, the softness of the song. Rachel lingered on the final note—long, warm, shimmering, like a ribbon of gold trailing through the air. And in that last breath of sound—full of music and glances and quiet wonder—it felt like the whole room exhaled together. At last. -
By cuteandfun99 · Posted
I commonly would have either this or wake up bursting, jump out of bed to the bathroom and end up wetting my pj's before getting to the toilet. Diapers just made my night so much calmer. -
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Episode 17: Naomi and Oliver's Cozy Word Club TITLE SEQUENCE - 60 SECONDS Same Sequence as Previous Episodes, but with: SKY BLUE spiral Naomi whispers: "...simple..." FADE TO: PLAYSET STUDIO - DAY A set designed like a whimsical, cozy library, but the books are all blank, and the clocks have no numbers. The effect is soft, fuzzy, and devoid of specific information. NAOMI sits in a large, plush armchair. Her voice is as smooth and warm as honey, her cadence slow and soothing. OLIVER sits on a floor pillow, looking thoughtful. He is dressed in his soft onesie, his posture still has a slight, residual adult rigidity. Naomi: Hello, my little talkers. Today, we're starting a brand new club. It's the Cozy Word Club! And in this club, we learn that some words feel like a soft, warm blanket... and other words feel like a pile of prickly, cold rocks. Oliver looks up from his thoughts. He uses a complex word, but it comes out hesitantly. Oliver: Naomi, I am feeling quite... apprehensive... about my nap today. Naomi's eyes widen with gentle, playful surprise. She brings a hand to her ear and GIGGLES softly. Naomi: Oh my! Oliver, what a big, bumpy, prickly word that was! 'Ap-pre-hen-sive.' It has so many hard parts. It must be so tiring to carry that word in your little mouth. That word is for a big, strong brain, not a cozy little one. Oliver looks confused, then touches his own lips. Oliver: It... it did feel a little heavy. Naomi: Of course it did! Big words are for Big People with big, strong brains that don't mind the weight. But for us? We like cozy words. Words that are soft and simple. She leans in close, as if sharing a secret. Naomi: Instead of that bumpy 'apprehensive,' let's try a cozy word. Let's try... 'wobbly.' Doesn't 'wobbly' feel much softer? It sounds like how you feel! Oliver's face lights up, the confusion replaced by relief. Oliver: Wobbly. I feel... wobbly about my nap. Naomi: Perfect! That's a Cozy Club word! It's okay to feel wobbly! A soft, melodic TUNE begins to play. A game show-style board lights up behind them with two columns: one labeled "Prickly Rocks" and one labeled "Cozy Blankets." Naomi: Let's play the Cozy Word Game! Oliver, what's another prickly rock word? Oliver: I get... frustrated... when my blocks fall. Naomi: Excellent prickly rock! The word "Frustrated" appears under the prickly column with a dull, CLUNKY sound. Naomi: Now, let's find its cozy blanket. She turns to the audience. Naomi: Can we think of a softer word? Oliver: (Smiling) Fussy! I get fussy when my blocks fall! A cheerful CHIME sounds, and the word "Fussy" floats into the "Cozy Blankets" column. Naomi: Yes! 'Fussy' is a wonderful, little word! They continue, with Naomi guiding him. A soft, ethereal HUM underscores the game. Naomi: "Hungry" becomes... Oliver: Yummy-tummy! Naomi: "Tired" becomes... Oliver: Sleepy-weepy! Naomi: "I don't understand" becomes... Oliver: I'm all confuzzled! With each replacement, Oliver's posture relaxes further. His speech becomes slower and simpler. When he finally says "I'm all confuzzled," he lets out a soft, silly GIGGLE. A single, SKY BLUE frame flashes subliminally at this moment of linguistic surrender. Naomi: (A hypnotic murmur) Every time you use a cozy word, your brain doesn't have to work so hard. It can just relax. Your thoughts get softer, your feelings get simpler, and it becomes so much easier to just... be... little. Prickly words try to make you big. Cozy words keep you safe and small, right where you belong. They end the show by singing a short, repetitive song with a simple melody. Naomi & Oliver: Prickly words, bumpy and gray, Brush them all away! Cozy words, soft and warm, Keep me safe from any storm! The final shot is of Oliver, cuddling a plush letter 'B,' babbling softly to himself. Naomi: See? Cozy words make your thoughts feel soft and your worries feel small. They help you stay right where you belong. Oliver looks up at Naomi with pure, simple adoration. Naomi: (Smiling down at him) So remember, a simple word isn't a little word. It's a safe word. It's proof you're letting your busy brain rest. She looks directly into the camera, her expression kind but firm, her voice a soft, compelling whisper. Naomi: The next time a prickly word tries to come out, just remember my voice and let it turn into a cozy one. You can do it. Oliver's peaceful, contented smile holds for a beat. FADE TO: END TITLE CARD SEQUENCE - 7 SECONDS Same Sequence as Previous Episodes, but with: Solid SKY BLUE background SOFT, FUZZY BLOB ICON in the center Below the icon: "cozy"
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