Merry Christmas!

This one is for Kelly:

Okay, listen, you guys.  It's been about two or three weeks since my last day at applebee's.  I knew that it was slowly killing me and that over the last six years I have only compromised my standards and morals to make money.  I knew that.  But I didn't know to what degree it was killing me.  I didn't realize how miserable it was making me.  So to all of my friends and coworkers at Applebee's I want to issue this blanket apology:  I'm sorry for being a douche. 
I compare it to being in the ocean.  The ocean is freezing at first, but as you get out, your body adjusts and kind of starts to lose feeling.  Temporarily, that sort of thing is fine but over the long term, I don't think it's very healthy.  And that's kind of what happened with Applebee's.  I came back from my mission and swore I would only work at Applebee's for a minute.  I'd get some cash flow going on and then quit.  But that didn't happen.  I lingered and got comfortable.  As I compromised myself for comfort and convenience, I slowly grew embittered; day by day, month by month.
Now that I am free of Applebee's, I feel like I can breathe again.  I wish everyone I meet a merry christmas and I feel compelled to be kind to people, without motivation or expectation of anything in return.
I haven't spent money in four days and that's the price I pay for quitting a job that pays pretty well.  But I don't care.  I don't mind living on a budget and scrimping by if it means that I can be content in life.  Everything is going to be fine.  I know it.
So, in conclusion, I wish all of you fellow Applebee's friends and coworkers a merry christmas! Thanks for all of the good times.

Christmas is coming soon.  For the first time in a very long time, I don't have to work on Christmas Eve (Last year, my final table stayed about an hour after we closed on Christmas Eve.  I was at Applebee's until about 11:00 PM.  Can you believe that?  Where' the humanity?? Anyway, they didn't even tip me, so as they walked out the door, I shouted "merry Christmas, bitches."  The dad turned and looked at me as he was walking out the door.  I was pretty bugged).  I'm so excited!  I'm excited to spend free time with family, to build fires and just hang out.  I think I really love Christmas.
Another thing, I'm currently running Christmas Carol on Tues., Thurs., and Sat. nights.  I really think all of you should come and see this play.  It's beautiful.  Chris(the guy that plays scrooge) is brilliant.  There have only been like, three shows that haven't made me cry.  It's beautiful and if you want to come see it, text or message me.  I'll see if I can get you in.

I love you for reading.
Do what you love.
Merry Christmas.
As ever,
AJK

I'm not scared.

For all those with ears to hear, let them hear:

You guys.  I did it.  I quit applebee's.  It was magical, I say.  MAGICAL.  Last friday night, I was at my bar, thinking about this oncoming month of December and how busy it's going to be, and I thought "Enough."  It's honestly like something snapped within me.  All of the pressure, all of the compromise, all of the irritating people; enough. 
You see, I bar tend.  I tend bar.  However, I don't drink.  When people sit down at my bar and ask me what's good, I lie to them about what I think is good and suggest popular drinks.  If they want to know the difference between two drinks, I act like I know.  It's a lot of compromise, you see?  I'm not an advocate of alcohol; I'm not!  I don't think it's a good thing.  Taking religion completely out of the equation, I think it ruins lives and families and puts people's lives at risk.  Do you know how many people out there drink and drive?  I'll clue you in: All of them. Ok, maybe not all of them, but I would say about 90% of the people that come and sit at my bar leave without a designated driver. 
Putting religion back into the equation, my religion explicitly states that alcohol is bad! That it's not to be consumed.  How can I look someone dead in the eye and tell them how good a Perfect Margarita is?  There's so much conflict.
It's been a long 6 years of compromise and I'm done.
I don't have a backup plan.  I don't have a way to replace that money, but I've made a good choice- one that will further my life and soul- and I'm confident that God will support me.
I'm not scared. 
I am excited for Christmas; I am excited to cut down a tree and decorate it; I am excited for crooners on the radio singing gentle songs about love peace.  I want someone to decorate my tree with and sit next to my fireplace while watching Charlie Brown's Christmas or It's a Wonderful Life. 
What is happening to me?
I love you for reading and I'm sorry I haven't been as faithful. 
Stupid school.
I love you.
Happy Thanksgiving

I told him a really funny joke

Well.  Something weird has happened to me, you guys.  It happened to me on Saturday night and I wonder (if I may be so melodramatic) if I will ever be the same.
Every now and then, I go over to my sister, Renee's house to do my laundry.  She is kind enough to leave that service available to me and it's nice to go and see my little nephew Jagger.  He and I are like, best friends.  We sword fight, wrestle, I throw him higher into the air than most people are comfortable with; he loves me and I love him.  Here's a picture of he and I, right after I told him a really funny joke:

He's shirtless because he was busy being really awesome.
Anyway, Jagger hasn't ever inspired the thought or feeling of "Man, I want my own kids."  In fact, that thought hasn't ever come without being beckoned by some ornery and incredulous female companion.  Here's what I'm trying to say:  I haven't ever really, truly wanted kids.  I haven't ever had an interest in extending my lineage or living through them or blah blah blah whatever other stupid crap that people say about the matter.  But on Saturday, as I wrestled with him, I felt something.  I mean, I felt something.  Like some sort of bitter medicine, the thought "Maybe I would like this kind of bond, this kind of companionship in my life" came.  And, not only did it come, but it is lingering!  Lingering I say! It won't leave me.
The feeling has left me feeling terribly lonely, as well.  I've always been fine being alone.  I don't mind it and I actually kind of guard it rather jealously.  But this feeling takes me being alone and changes it to me being lonely.  My priorities are suddenly jumbled.  I have always had a plan and something going on; I've always known, kind of, exactly what I was doing and where I was going.  But now, I feel so... wayward.  ha ha ha.
My name is Andrew Keele and for the first time in my entire life, I'll admit it:  I want to have kids.
You don't understand, I bet.  I'm really more selfish than you think I am. Here are some things I want: to travel the world; to drive a nice, fast car; nice carpet and a studio downstairs, in my basement. Here are some things I don't want: to wake up at 6 am to make sure that my kids get to school; to wake up in the middle of the night to some screaming baby; to have to cancel a movie night or a night at a play because one of my kids is sick.
I could go on and on.  But here's the point:  for the first time, I find that the bond and love of and from children could outweigh all of those stupid, material things that I hold in such high regard.
What is happening to me?
this has been an insightful post.
I love you for reading.
Keep the faith.

maybe later on

Hey everybody.  It's been a minute, huh?  Lookit, here's the truth:  I don't have even five seconds to myself these days.  The last month has been just crazy and I'm running around like an idiot trying to do everything.  At this very instant, I'm typing to you, my faithful readers, while I should be making a time line that shows what was going on in George Wythe's life during the time of the founding of our great nation.  So... I'm sorry, okay?  I had a ton of free time during the summer, but with the dropping of the leaves and the mercury, my free time has diminished.  Just back up off of this.
I've had kind of a lot on my plate the last few months, you guys.  I've been spending my every weekend working on a web series called Grunt Slingers.  I have been going to school (to be honest, I go about fifty percent of the time.  I just hate it so much) and doing homework.  I'm working at the hale most nights, but when I'm not there, I'm working at my accursed job, Applebee's. 
School is almost over for me.  I can't wait to be free, but at the same time, it sort of scares the bejeezus out of me.  All of my carefully laid plans must come to fruition.  Or I must attempt to make them come to fruition.  ha ha ha.  We'll see what happens, I guess. 
Spain is out, you guys.  I'm not going.  I'm not going to explain myself on here, but it's out for the time being.  Maybe later on.  Plus, if I go and spend time in Europe, I kind of want to go everywhere.  I want to go to spain, italy, france (especially normandy) england, scotland, germany, blah blah blah.
Sometimes, I think about Germany.  I think about the Germans and how the populace at one point was like "yeah.  Yeah, all of Europe should speak German.  That's good.  Also, I like that idea about how everyone should have fair skin.  That's good, too."  I mean, what the crap??  I also think about bicycles and the history of them.  Who invented the bicycle?  Oh.  Wikipedia said that it was some German.  Go figure.
But you know what I mean?  I wonder if bikes were like X-boxes.  Maybe the unreal graphics can be compared to the fact that someone could move at high speeds while maintaining their balance.  "You what?! 15 miles per hour and you were riding around on just two wheels??  How did you sustain balance?"  I bet you, when the bicycle came out all those years ago, it was the bee's knees, man.
Okay.  That's it.  I'm all done talking to you fools.  It's friggin late, anyway. 

I love you for reading.
I'm trying to be like Jesus.
xoxo

myself thinking

that one is for all of you Fun "fans".

Here's the truth: when I type in the dark, I get vertigo.   I begin to feel my body flip upside down and my head gets dizzy.  I have to type with a light on, otherwise I really start freaking out.
My week is rather cyclic.  It begins on Friday.  I spend the entire day at Applebee's.  And usually, it's fine.  By the end of the day, I'm pretty tattered and worn, and I find myself usually (only a little bit) wondering why I continue to work at a place that robs my soul.  Saturday and sunday go by, they are both nice because they are days off.  Monday comes and I swear, it's like death.  I can't explain it; I don't understand it; I work one shift at Applebee's and by the time Monday is over, I just want to rip my shirt off, light my bar on fire, kick a few hosts in the mouth and walk out the car side door, never to be heard of or seen again. (funny little anecdote: there was this guy that used to work at applebee's, I can't remember his name.  But, he just stopped showing up for his shifts one day.  A month later, his wife showed up, wanting to sit in his section and we told her he hadn't been in for a month and that he was fired for not showing up; we never heard from either of them again.  Alright, maybe it's not so funny.)  The work I do is so... compromising.  Everything about it is a compromise.  It's a compromise of my morals.  Dealing with people I don't want to deal with is a compromise.  Admitting that I'm wrong when I'm not is a compromise.  Just... my entire career (honestly! even the fact that I work there.  It's a funny  sad story.  You should ask me about it sometime.) is a conflict of interest.  It's me doing something that I haven't ever wanted to do.
Anyway, by the end of Monday night, I'm ready to quit; to throw in the proverbial towel.  But tuesday morning comes, and I find myself thinking about guys who work in Ecuador, picking bananas for 13-14 hours every day to make $200 per week.  Wednesday comes and I think about construction guys that work 12 hour days doing hard labor in the hot sun or in the freezing cold.  Thursday I find myself thinking about how some people have to work every day.  And by friday, I have realized how cushy I've got it and what a whiny bitch I am.  Ha ha ha. 
So I go to work and start the whole thing over.  End over end, I'm circling.

I love you for reading my meanderings of thought.
Always do what you're afraid to do.
I'm skipping school tomorrow.  Don't wake me, I plan on sleeping in.

Love is watching someone die.

this song is really beautiful.

I took tonight off to go to a barbecue with some very dear friends.  But I ended up sitting with my grandma as she spends her last few hours on earth.  Death is so surreal.  Does anyone really have any idea what comes after this life?  What's the deal with goodbye for forever?  I held her hand and watched as she laid there, unconscious, fighting to breathe. 

Fighting to breathe.

When I was younger, I used to hang with this guy named Frank.  He was my first friend in elementary school after moving to Santa Maria.  He had a bowl cut. He used to take major league batting gloves (he had a bunch of them.  Specifically, Angels and Dodgers gloves) and cut the fingers off of them.  Sometimes he would bring them to school and let me have one.  It was very nice.  My parents didn't like Frank a ton; he cursed and wore gloves with the fingers cut off.  He wasn't a good influence on me. 
I often wonder about Frank.  I don't even know his last name.  I hope he's doing okay, he was one of my very first friends.

Every now and then, while riding my bike, I think about jumping off, and hurling myself into a back flip, just to see if I could land it.  Wouldn't that be rad?  If I could actually do it, it would be sweet.  But then, I quickly remind myself that my motorcycle isn't paid off, that it would crash into oblivion and that I would probably end up dead. 
So I doubt I will ever attempt my cool back-flip-from-the-motorcycle idea.  Too bad.  It's a great one.  I wonder if it's even physically possible?

I'm still thinking about going to Barcelona, Spain.  I don't know, man.  It's fraught with danger, that's for sure.

Thanks for reading.
I love you.
Better get living while we're dying.

Normandy

 

Lookit, everybody.  I want to go to Europe.  I think I'm going to go in October.  You are all maybe rolling your eyes or thinking that I always say crazy crap like this.  And you're right.  But I think that in October, I am legitimately going to go to Spain.  Or maybe Italy.  I can't decide.  I know that I want to go to one of those two place, then take a train north to France.  I am going to visit versailles, possibly Normandy and St. Michel (not sure what that is? Don't worry, I put a picture below.)  After that, I think I'm going to take the chunnel north and then fly out of London.  I'll be gone all of 11 days or so.  So stoked about the idea.  

Now, about the funding... ha ha ha.  We'll see what happens.  A fool and his money, you know?

Isn't this rad?? It's over by Normandy.

It's been a minute since I posted on here.  School started.  Guys, I really hate school.  I honestly wonder if it hurts my soul like pornography or hard-core gangster rap does.  It's just so dumb and artificial.  I'm so close to being done... so close.

Somebody in my house is using my toothpaste.  It drives me CRAZY.  Not because I'm not willing to share my toothpaste.  I really don't mind sharing.  However, I do mind when they squeeze the tube from the middle.  Look, I know it's not that big of a deal, but I really, really can't stand it when the toothpaste tube is squeezed from the middle.  It says it on some of the tubes:

FOR BEST RESULTS, SQUEEZE TUBE FROM THE BOTTOM

I just can't stand it: as you reach the half-empty point of your toothpaste experience, your tube of toothpaste is this sort of mangled, pliable mess of plastic, fluoride and gel. So, dear toothpaste thief, if you're reading, I warn you to take caution.  I will exact my revenge!

I love you for reading.  Seriously.

Live lucky.

xoxo

promiscuous!

This is honestly what I'm listening to, right now:

The last 45 seconds sound like you're flying.  I swear.
Also, I toured around Ecuador with a guy named Ben Stocking who can play this song.  He's incredibly talented.
Today I made a realization.  It was like, a tender mercy from God.  It was momentous, but at the same time, silly and kind of simple.  You know what I am saying?  Well, anyway.  I guard my alone time rather jealously.  I don't like to spend a ton of time with people.  The older I get, the more hermit-like I become.  It's easier and quite honestly, I like to dictate what I eat, what I do and what I think (not talk about.  because talking about something alone would be crazy.).
Today, I had to take my motorcycle in to get a little repair done.  It was nothing big or fancy; just a fork seal.  Something I could have done on my own, had I the inclination and the tools.  I set up an appointment for 9:30 A.M. this morning.  Last night however, as I was thinking about the day, I realized that I needed someone to drive my car to the garage so I had a way back.  Getting my motorcycle to the garage wasn't something I could do by myself.
There's a parallel I draw right there.  Each day, I grow more and more comfortable being alone, but that's not the best way to be.  As easy as being alone is, I would be better off with someone along with me.  I would be better off with someone to drive my car while I drive the motorcycle; with someone to share sodas; with someone to blah blah blah, something sappy.  It's easier to be alone and regulate my whole day.  I decide what is spent and what I do, but that's not the best way.

I wax reflective.

I blame the classical music I'm listening to.

Here's something: I hate urinals without walls (originally, it was "here's something I hate: urinals without walls." but turns out, I like the first format better.).  It's really not that big of a deal, you stare straight in front of you and don't talk.  I just want to know how much those walls cost, though.  How much are you losing to make all of your guests a little uncomfortable while they do their business?  And you know what else?! why do some people even have the desire to talk while peeing??  I can't wrap my head around that one.  Yes, we are both standing at the same wall, peeing.  No, that doesn't mean we are friends, nor does that mean we are associates.  In fact, it doesn't mean anything.  So shut up and let me pee.

I love you for reading.
I really do mean that.
Always do what you're afraid to do.

on really busy nights

this song is one of my most favorite songs of all time.  It's just really perfect.

Okay.  Look you guys, I'm going to tell you something that you're going to disagree with.  You're going to think something along the lines of "No, that might happen to others, but it won't happen to me.  I know the difference!"  But I'm telling you, straight up: you don't know the difference.
When people order ranch at applebee's, I tell them okay and run into the kitchen.  It's usually not a big deal and most of the time it takes me all of two or three minutes.  However, some nights, I'll go into the kitchen and find that the ranch is out! Getting more ranch is a quick fix, as well.  I just head into the cooler in the way back of the restaurant and grab a giant bag of it.  Honestly, worst case scenario, getting ranch to you when it's totally out in the kitchen takes about four minutes.
The thing is, sometimes, on really busy nights, four minutes is too long.  Sometimes, someone asks for ranch and instead of immediately getting ranch, I have to go greet a table (two minutes).  After greeting a table, I go and make a few drinks (three minutes).  At which point, I discover that there isn't any ranch so I have to go all the way back, open up a new bag and bring it to the front (four minutes).  Before you know it, a simple task of getting someone some ranch has become a 10 minute affair.  And that's just a simple scenario.  Sometimes, people have been waiting 15 minutes for their ranch and they're pissed about it.
So a quick fix to being out of ranch?  It's quite easy.  You bring them bleu cheese.  Yes, if you ask for ranch, but it's a hassle to get some, I will bring you bleu cheese.  Go ahead, cry foul.  "YOU BRING THEM BLEU CHEESE INSTEAD OF RANCH?!" you shout, with your fist in the air.  To which I calmly reply, "I do. And you can't tell the difference."
You see, I've been in the restaurant business for quite some time.  More than 7 years ( I know I'm pathetic, I knew when she said it...).  It was an accident the first time it happened.  Someone asked for ranch, I accidentally took them bleu cheese.  They didn't even notice.  I wouldn't have known if I hadn't poured some for myself not minutes later.  So, my gears start turning and one night, when we're out of ranch up front, I try my little trick again. 
Wouldn't you know it? success.  SUCCESS!
I've only been caught twice switching bleu cheese for ranch or vice versa.  In seven years I've only been caught twice. You can't tell the difference, my friends.
Don't be mad.  I'm not mad.
I think that that is all that I've got tonight.
I love you for reading all of my crazy thoughts. 
Peace be on you and your home.

An honest view of my poor heart.

No music.  I'm kind of insecure about this post.  So... whatever.

So many stupid words
like 'love' and 'appreciation'
an example of stupid terms
Like death do us part
Such a light and kind soul
With such deep lacerations
And that wonderful feeling
Of when our hands touch
melodramatic words
Like explosive or dire
inhibited emotions
Like terror, hate or blame
And I'll repeat after you
And I'll feign indifference
But dammit won't you leave me alone?
Be sure to text me when you're safe;
Won't you text me once you're home?


I love you for reading.

almost certain

 I think humans travel in packs.  Yep.  I'm almost certain, in fact.  Seriously, though.  It might be in our nature, or it might be because of traffic signals.  I would need some sort of controlled environment in order to reach a conclusion.  But I really believe that the great majority of humans prefer to travel in packs.
I have been driving for a while now.  I got my license when I was 18 (don't make fun) and I have been driving, just like all of you, ever since.  I tend to drive a little faster than I'm supposed to.  Usually, about 10 miles over the speed limit.  Not that big of a deal.  But while driving, I have noticed patterns.  As I get onto the freeway, I sometimes find myself in the midst of a big clump of drivers.  These clumps are sometimes stretched out and sometimes quite dense.  Inevitably, I make my way out of the group and find freedom: a stretch of road without many cars.  That freedom seems to always be short-lived, however as it is almost certain that I will eventually enter a new clump of drivers. 
What's more, not only are there packs of cars, but there are leaders, as well.  People that end up in front, controlling the speed of the followers.  I call them leaders because it seems like they have the biggest problem with me passing them.  They do everything they can (without breaking any laws) to stop me from passing them and leaving them behind.  They will box me in, speed up, slow down, change lanes, etc., etc., etc., all for the sake of preserving the pack.  And almost always, as the leader speeds up, so do the followers.
You, my fair reader, can participate and discover for yourself whether or not this claim is true.  If you are of valiant heart and accept the challenge, here is what I want you to do:
I want you to get onto the freeway and speed.  Go a long distance; maybe an hours worth of driving at 10 miles over the speed limit.  Let me know what you find!

I kind of want to join a biker gang.  Maybe not join.  Maybe form is a better word.  You see, joining a biker gang means I have to assimilate to their already-established code of conduct (how they dress, things they do, things that they don't do, etc.).  And I kind of don't want to do that.  I think in my gang, instead of leather, we're going to wear short shorts.  Like the type that I'm wearing in my facebook profile.  And instead of joining some association like BACA (bikers against child abuse), we're going to form our own like BTLCB (Bikers that love comic books) or BAP (bikers against pickles).  I'm like, way stoked about this.  We can go to different comic book stores on our motorcycles and just spend the day reading.  Or, persecuting those that are eating pickles. 

I love you for reading.
Sincerely.

hey, you suck. Here's why.

I am bugged about something.  Honestly, I'm a little irritated.  And it's been something that has consistently bothered me throughout my entire serving career.  It only happens every now and then, so it's not like it's a huge deal; it's not like I die.  But, it's enough to hang onto and recognize that it happens.
Look at this picture:

 If you look hard enough, it says "you suck!" at the top.  With an exclamation mark, none the less!  it wasn't enough to just say it, she had to exclaim it. 

At work, a pair of women came in.  One ordered an Arnold Palmer and the other, water.  I kept their drinks full and got their food orders right.  When they wanted dessert, I got it to them.  They paid separately, but they both left me a dollar and one of them wrote that little ditty right there at the top of the ticket.  "You suck!" she exclaimed.  How do I argue that?  How am I supposed to defend myself from that attack?  I can't.  And that's where my contention comes from. 
How am I supposed to get any better as a waiter or bartender, if I can't get any feedback?  Ask to speak to a manager or let me know where I have failed you.  You can't just write "you suck!" and call it good, can you?  What happened?  Where did our journey go wrong?  I think writing belittling insults like "you suck!" and leaving is one of the worst ways to deal with a bad visit to a restaurant.  It's also rather cowardly.  Don't you think?  It's way more difficult to look me in the eyes and say "hey, you suck, here's why" than writing "you suck!" and leaving a dollar.

I'm just bugged about the whole thing.

Here's an interesting thing that I wonder if some will take offense to (and if not offense, perhaps a gate.  Eh? see what I did?  Say it aloud.).  Sometimes, I use prayer to absolve myself of responsibility.  If ever there is something that I want to do or want to say or want to ______, I will say a prayer.  In that prayer, I will say something to the effect of "God, if this is something that I shouldn't do, please make that apparent," or "God, if this is something I shouldn't say, please stop me."  Then, I go and do or say or _____ that thing.  And I have never been stopped.  Nope, not once.  Ha ha ha.  Do you see though, how I am absolved from being the responsible party?  "If I shouldn't have done such and such thing, God would have stopped me, but he didn't and holy smoke, do I always talk in run on sentences?"  I just realized it a few days ago.  It makes me more bold of a person.  It's like manifest destiny, you know?  Just a smaller, more personal, to-scale model.  There's more I want to say about this, but I think that's all I've got on the matter for now.

I love you for reading.
Just tie the rope.
I could fly, if I wanted to.

Here it is, here is the new alphabet:

As I'm writing this, I'm watching the movie I Am legend.  It's at the part where the dog turns into a zombie dog and will smith has to kill him.  It's really sad.
I've been subjecting myself to a lot of end-of-the-world type media.  My little brother has been playing fallout 3 (which deals with a nuclear bomb being dropped on the united states and the pandemonium that would ensue) and I have been following that closely.  I have also been watching the Walking Dead and now I'm watching I Am Legend.  The thing is, these things fill me with such despair.  They leave me feeling hopeless.  So maybe I'll try to ease up on them.  Because I feel like the things I'm watching are somehow damaging my soul.
I was thinking about the alphabet today.  The alphabet begins with a and ends with z.  But who set that standard?  Here's the real question: who came up with the song?? You know, the song we sang since we were young?  Who is the writer of that catchy tune?  I'm going to arbitrarily rearrange the alphabet and rewrite the jingle.  The jingle has got to be more catchy than the one that we are currently using, though.  It has to be in order for the new one to catch on. 

Here it is, here's the new alphabet:  jufirandykqezbmxcpsgwhvlot
Isn't it great?!

Dr. pepper lately has been making me sick.  I might give up soda for a little bit.   Maybe I'll set a goal not to drink soda until the super bowl.
I've always wanted to fly.  No, not like, hollow out my bones and sprout wings.  I mean, that would be cool, but that is not what I meant.  I want to be a pilot.  I love to travel and I love to fly.  It's my choice career.  I had heard from a few sources that a pilot that is just starting out has to be gone a lot and therefore, I gave it up.  I chose against learning to fly.  I wanted to have time for a family instead.  You can all see how well that is working out.  But I digress.
A few nights ago, I was out at my thinking spot, watching the stars (no. not the stupid meteor shower. It was a different night) and as a plane flew by, I felt a little pang of regret.  Maybe it wasn't regret, maybe it was something like wonder.  I wonder where they are going and what they are doing.  I wonder if they left someone for a long amount of time and they finally get to return to them.  I wonder if they are up there, wondering if I'm down here, wondering about them.  Being a pilot seems so romantic to me.  Traveling is so romantic to me.
 

I want to go everywhere and I want to do everything.
I've got to quit watching movies where the world ends.

Thanks for reading.
I love you for it.
Don't be safe.  Be sorry.

It was like I had traveled back in time

I finally have internet in my apartment, again.  you see, the first time I had internet, I was mooching off the kids who were here before me.  They left a modem behind and so I tested it out.  Sure enough, we still had service.  Huzzah for free internet!  But it was short-lived.  The guys showed up like, within a few days and took their modem from me.  Thus, I was left alone.  Sad.  And without my precious interwebs.

The other day, I was at Best Buy and Come On Eileen came on.  Not the original version, but the new version by Save Ferris.  It was like I had traveled back in time to the mid 90's.

Although there is something to be said about the convenience of Walmart, I don't think anybody likes it.  Nobody really likes walmart, right?  Stinky, poorly dressed people, usually speaking a different language while letting their unruly children run up and down the aisles typically makes for a bad experience for everyone.  Right?  (exhibited here: http://www.peopleofwalmart.com)
Now, I don't really get that irritated with the people of walmart as much as everyone else seems to.  I get more irritated with the parking situation.  Some of those rows of parking stalls are just one way, you know?  As you're driving along, you can park on the right or the left because the direction you're going is one way.  But it seems like not everybody gets that.  It seems like every other time I'm trying to park, I have some fool coming up a down only lane.  And then what?  Then, I have to pull all the way to the right side, nearly hitting the other parked vehicles, so this idiot can squeeze his/her suburban past. 
Lately, I haven't been doing that, though.  Lately, I stay right in the middle of the lane.  I come to a complete stop and wait for the giant suburban to go in reverse.  Yes, I am the embittered about people driving down the one way parking aisles.
Another thing that has me kind of irritated about parking at Walmart, is all of the jockeying that goes on for a close parking space.  You know those people that will turn on their blinker and wait for a parking spot?  That's fine.  I don't have a problem with that.  But what about when they're not even in their car yet?  Just park a little further away and walk for heavens sake! It's a grocery store, anyway! You're going to have to walk!
A lot of times, I'll pass the fool that's waiting, park 20 yards away and walk past them.  All the while, they're still waiting for their coveted, close parking stall. 

I love you for reading.
Chin up and all that.
Keep muddling through.

maybe there is more to being human

It's been a minute since last I posted.  Man, what a hectic weeks it's been.  I'm not kidding.  Hectic.

Business before pleasure:

Let me just take a break from building my garbage bookcase and say some things.

The Olympics started.  Holy crap, is anybody else irritated by it, or am I alone on this one?  I don't care if they're wearing a U.S. jersey, an English jersey or a jersey representing friggin Andrew James Keele (alright.  I went too far.  It would be rad if someone was in the olympics competing in my behalf.), shot put is still boring.  So is speed walking, for that matter.  And archery.  And the 400 m run.  Look, it's all boring.  Just because they're sporting a jersey with 'U.S.A' across the front doesn't make it anymore interesting.  Right?  Doesn't anybody else agree with me??  I feel like I'm all alone in my total distaste and indifference toward these games. 

I moved out of my sister's basement this week.  I have lived there for the last 2 1/2 years and it's weird to be out.  As I sit in my new room, watching the bobblehead of myself's head bobbling to the rhythm of my fingers punching the keyboard (for reals.  I have a bobble head of myself.  I'll prove it.), I wonder at my new adventure.  I went out and bought a bunch of stuff for our bathroom; I set up my little project studio, again.  I'm excited to see what this year will bring me.

I have a nephew that is only two years old.  I used to watch him every single wednesday as a favor for my sister.  We would sword fight, watch movies, run around the house and wrestle.  I love him like I would love my own son (hypothetical son) and I will tell you that I miss him like crazy.  It has only been one week and I already long to see him.  Kind of weird how our proverbial hearts are affected, huh?  In an earlier post, I boiled love all down to chemicals and science, but things like my ache to see baby jagger give me pause.  Maybe there is more to being human than just hormones and genes. 

see? proof that I am a bobblehead.  Also, proof that bobblehead andrew james keele hangs out with bobble head Iron Man.

Okay, back to building my book case again.  There is still a lot of stuff that I've got to get done. 
I love you for reading.  Honestly.
be brave, little piglet.

Gap baby, indeed.

Some sick music:

 I almost got fired from my job at Applebee's today.  My manager asked me to do something and I simply refused.  It was a prideful thing and I later on apologized to him.  He didn't deserve my bad attitude.  It's just that sometimes, amidst all of the needy customers and demanding coworkers, I get a little short tempered.
I keep thinking that I need to get out of Applebee's.  The only problem with that idea however, is that Applebee's really does allow me to work at the Hale like I do.  I make enough at Applebee's, working just two days a week, to pay the bills.  The money I make at the hale typically is for happy fun play times.  So.  There's that.
Today is the last day that I spend at my sister renee's house.  I'm moving out.  It's strange.  I've been here for just about two years, maybe three.  I'll miss it, a lot, I think.  I'll especially miss my little nephew, Jagger.  You think you have some sort of distant or immediate relative that is super cute and should be a gap baby?  Wait until you  meet my little nephew Jagger.  He's so handsome.  And tall.  And (for a two year old) solemn.
I'm not kidding, the kid can decide when he's ticklish and when he isn't. 
Gap baby, indeed.

I have been buying stuff like crazy to decorate the new apartment.  I'm really stoked about this new dining table that I've got my eye on.  It's a tall table with bar chairs.  It's just a really regal piece of furniture and I'm so so so so stoked.  Yep, I'm blogging about furniture.

I don't like automatic paper towel dispensers.  To be completely accurate, I hate them.  Most of the time, they don't work.  You wave your hand in front of the sensor and nothing happens.  You stick your hand up in the crevice where the paper is actually dispensed and jiggle the little sensor, right there.  Again, you're disappointed to find that your paper towel has not been dispensed.  Finally, you wipe your hands on your jeans or (in horror) you head over to those damned hot air blowing machines.  I'm going to be straight up with you:  If there isn't a paper towel dispenser of any kind and my only option is the hot air blowing machine, I don't wash my hands.  That's how much I hate the hot air blowing machine.
But I digress.
Is it too much work for us to pull a lever and dispense our own paper towels after washing our hands?  Why is anybody wasting their money on these faulty machines?  I swear, half the time they don't work properly.  JUST LET ME DISPENSE MY OWN PAPER TOWELS.

I love that you read.
I would love you anyway.
I'm trying to be better. Every single day.

Everything is free flowing

another crappy video put to incredible music:

What do I think? What do I think??

I had a really serious epiphany today.  For me.  I don't know how much for you.  Like, I don't know that it will change your orbit or anything like that.  I was talking with a very dear friend.  We were talking about circumstances of other people and how we would react to them.  And out of my mouth popped this very profound (or, so I deem) thought:

It's better to be sorry than safe.

I've written and rewritten this paragraph like one million times.  Which is not usual for me.  While I blog, I don't go back and rewrite stuff.  Everything is free flowing.  There is one draft and one draft only.  So why am I so stuck on this paragraph?

There is so much that I want to do.  I want to do everything.  I want to go everywhere.  I know it in my heart; I know it in my bones.  But, it's interesting how quickly and easily the coward inside of me rises.  Excuses become so easily found.  It's like I am my own very worst enemy.  And what am I afraid of?  I want to live my life in a way that I don't regret any of the decisions I've made.  And the only way to do that is to be sorry, not safe (I know, I know, it seems like that's counter-intuitive.).  But it's so difficult to convince myself that that is the best way to go.  I want to rise, I want to be valiant and courageous.  I don't want to take no for an answer and I don't want to settle.  I don't want to settle.  I deserve to be happy and so do you.  So make yourself happy.  Do everything in your power to make yourself so.  Consequences be damned, I'd rather be sorry than safe.

Always do what you're afraid to do.

I need you to understand something:  I hate typing.  I hate the uniformity of it all.  I much prefer to write in my own handwriting.  And who knows?  Maybe I'll stop typing out my blogs and start writing them out.  I could scan them into the computer and just post the pictures on as my blog post.  And then, you would all complain about my cursive.  Or stop reading.  Ha.  Though, i like that I write in cursive.  Typed letters or emails or facebook messages have less value than a handwritten letter, I think.  I don't just write out letters.  Letters take too much effort.  I think I really need to care in order to write a letter.  And I guess, that's what gives it its value.

I have been eating a lot at Arby's lately.  It's kind of my place right now.  I just really like Arby's.  Anyway, two days ago, I decided to go to Arby's at the orem mall.  While there, I met Johnathan.  Johnathan's name tag was spelled out like this:  $$JoHnAtHaN$$.  Do I even need to say anything about that? ha ha ha.  I'll just leave it there.  $$JoHnAtHaN$$ was very helpful in selling me my Big Montana. 

I think that's all I've got for now.  Maybe I'll expound on the better to be sorry than safe idea later on.  I'm not sure, though.  I'm having trouble focusing it.  We'll see.

I love you for reading.
Don't settle for less and learn to play baseball.

It sounds so over dramatic.

classic: Crappy video, great song.

I haven't been alone a lot in the last couple of days, so my thoughts aren't all organized and shiny like usual.  I mean, I usually have thought ideas through and know what I want to say about them, but not right now.  Right now, it's all kind of a mess.  That's kind of how my first blog was.  I didn't quite know what I wanted to write about or what I wanted my blog to be.  I still don't know what I want my blog to be.
(On the one hand, I want to fill it with short stories and poems; I want it to be filled with all of my fiction.  But on the other hand, I just want it to be my ideas and stray thoughts.)

Honestly, I've got things on my mind that I don't want to make public.  But that's not true.  I've got things on my mind that I can't make public.  Eh? See the difference?  I hate writing that.  I might delete this entire paragraph.  It sounds so over dramatic and... high school.

I always try to stop at lemonade stands.  As often as possible, anyway.  What's 50 cents to me?  What's a dollar for heaven's sake?  It's nothing.  So, if I ever have cash and time, I'll stop to buy some most-likely-really-crappy lemonade a few young entrepreneurs (for the record, I spelled that correctly the first time, without spell check.) have made.  One day, I was out in springville and I came across a stand with little kids outside.  I was with my sister and we decided to stop.  As I pulled up, the little kids started hopping around, obviously stoked on their sale.  I hadn't come to a complete stop, but as I focused on their banner and advertised price, I saw that they were selling blue beaded necklaces for $3.

WTF

What kind of venture is that?! I put my foot on the gas and drove away.  I wonder if I crushed those poor kids.  But what kind of crappy business model is that?? Are you ONLY trying to appeal to the women on the road? I was bugged.  This happened like, three weeks ago and I'm still bugged by it.  What in heaven's name am I going to do with a blue beaded necklace? Three dollars?? forget it.

 I want some cookies and lemonade and I want it to cost me only $1.

Do you ever feel like you're too mistrusting of others?  Like, you've become too cynical?  It's a constant battle for me, to be honest.  I'm always fighting this "i know better" attitude.  I'm always wondering at people's ulterior (yes. ulterior. no, not alterior. That's not a word.  It's ulterior. See? snobby.) motives.  But I think I might be wrong in that.  I think that living my life worried about whether or not I am being hoodwinked is not a way to live at all.  I want to be able to take things at face value.  I want to take compliments sincerely and have compassion for everyone. 

I love you for reading.
Tell me you love me.
Don't stop believing.

Back to the chicken tenders.

Some 1980's-I-wish-I-was-Phil-Collins song played on the radio.  Neither seemed to notice.  They both sat there, two grown men, in awkward silence.  Every now and then, the seemingly younger one tried to make conversation and the older one would respond with short, terse, one word answers before returning to his chicken tenders.  Sometimes, he would stare off into the distance as though he was mulling over some great and philosophical thought, then give his short, terse, one word answer.
Time had taken its toll on both of them; on their hair lines; on their waste lines; on their sense of fashion.  One wore nikes with wranglers and the other wore brown loafers with some sort of generic brand of jeans, suspended by a black belt.

Slow clenching and releasing of the jaw; avoiding eye contact.  "How are your chicken  McNuggets?" he ventured.  We're currently at Wendy's.
Profound silence.  Avoiding eye contact.  Looking out the window as his chicken tender is consumed. A man on a motorcycle drives by.  The older, more awkward, silent man watches.  I wonder at his reluctance to answer.
"Great."
Back to the chicken tenders.  A sip of coke.  I sip some of my less-than-desirable orange coke.
The younger one is checking his phone, now.  Nope, no texts or emails or any reasonable distraction. 
Now, the Clash are playing and the younger one stares at a mexican family in a booth across the restaurant.
Perhaps they are work acquaintances, or some sort of distant relative.  I wonder if either of them settled for less than what they wanted in their life.  I wonder if an unexpected baby or injury set them back to the extent that they cashed in their dreams for a bonus and a dental plan.  I wonder if either of them are good singers or if they can paint.  Did either of them ever think about going to the moon?  What happened along the way?
The silent one checks his watch.
Time to go.
They pile up their surplus, dump it into the trash and are gone.  Back to work, I suppose.

So, we'll see.

So, I'm going to try something.
Quite often, I spend the day alone, just kind of doing my own thing.  It's okay, I'm not mad about it; I'm actually really okay with it.  I don't mind doing things alone.
Being in this state of solitude, I have the opportunity to watch people.  I love to watch people.  You see, I recognize that I'm something of a weirdo (aren't we all, though?).  I recognize that there are a lot, a lot of people who i can't connect with.  Thus, it is fascinating to me to sit and watch them; to listen to them.  They love, they hurt, they laugh.  Sometimes they cry.  Most of the time, I can't relate to their sense of humor or their anger.  But I think that's what's so interesting to me.  It's our diversity that makes us beautiful.
Anyway, I think every now and then, my blog is going to be just a description of the people that I'm eaves dropping on.  There won't be a climax or a plot.  It will be just people; just the descritptions of people.  Ha ha.  I bet I'll lose readers this way.  John Steinbeck lost me for this exact reason.  Except instead of people, he would describe dust.  Or crops.  I hate John Steinbeck.

So, we'll see.

Here's what I want to know: How can I meet Katie Holmes?  She's single now, you know?  Her and Tom are calling it quits.  The problem isn't meeting her.  Any obsessive fan can meet Katie Holmes; that's not what I'm interested in.  I want to meet her in a neutral setting.  I want to meet her as an equal.  We can talk about scientology or film or Applebee's (I don't know anything about scientology), the point is, she needs to realize that I'm not freaking out.  that I view her as a person.  And that's when it will happen: she will fall in love with me.  All I need is to meet her in a neutral setting.  I guarantee it.

Today, on my way home from getting work done on my motorcycle, I was riding with the visor on my helmet open.  No big deal.  Until a friggin bee flew into my helmet and stung me.  The side of my head swelled up.  It was awful.  I don't care if all of the flowers die, I want all of the bees to die.  Right now.

I went and watched the sunset tonight.  It was very pretty.  I have proof.  Czech it out:

LOOK AT WHAT A GREAT PHOTOGRAPHER I AM.

I love you for reading.
Let's stop fighting and let's all just hug each other.

At the same time

This is for all of you hipster kids:

Look, this one might be kind of long and all about English.  While I was at Barnes and Noble today, I was really struck with my absolute disdain for John Steinbeck and love for Boo Radley.  At the same time.  It was comforting.  While there, I wondered:
Why are the smartphone magazines in the 'art' section of the magazine rack at Barnes and Noble?
How can books that haven't been released yet be on the New York Times best seller list?  What if they have only been out a week?  Surely, The Count of Monte Cristo has sold more copies than Glen Beck's new book "Coward"?  Why isn't the Count of Monte Cristo on the New York Times best seller list?

I'm afraid of foreshadowing.  No, I'm not afraid of foreshadowing in books or whatever;  I'm afraid of foreshadowing actually occurring in my life.  Like, when people say things like "Today would be the worst day to hit a rollerblader," my heart kind of skips a beat.  What if that's premonition that they're feeling?  Do you see how that could severely affect my every day life?  The simplest, slightest remark could lead to hours of avoiding that very situation that was alluded to.  Life's a hassle, man.

I think, in my heart of hearts, I'm an english major.  I was thinking about today and I think that it's true.  I came up with three reasons:
1) I'm snobby enough to be.  Yes, English majors are snobby.  I've come to grips with it, why haven't you?  There, their and they're? you're and your? c'mon.  People that are more familiar with English  than others use it against them.  Embrace.  We're all friends here.
2) I'm smart enough to be an English major.  See?  Kind of snobby. 
3) There's something subtly sexy about a girl (or a guy, for that matter) that knows how to use a semicolon.  I'm not kidding, when a semicolon is used correctly or appropriately, it gets my motor humming. 

This wasn't as long as I thought it was going to be.  I'm kind of tired anyway. 
I hope you love my blog.
I love you for reading.
Always do what you're afraid to do.

The time I hit a rollerblader

Today, I went toe to toe with the city of orem and I lost.  Too bad.  About a month ago, I rolled right through a stop sign and hit a kid on roller blades.  I am not remorseful; I wasn't moving that fast.  The kid hit me more so than I hit him.  Anyway, I was anticipating witnesses and the kid that I hit to be available for testifying, so I wrote up some cross examination questions and what have you.  I prepared a defense.  But what I didn't anticipate was a surveillance video of me blowing through the stop sign.  That's tough evidence to refute.  So once I finished watching the video, I plead guilty.  No sense in trying to dance; there wasn't any music.  The judge would have found me guilty, regardless.
I did, however, ask for a copy of the video of me hitting the rollerblader for my own "personal records".  So, for your viewing pleasure I present to you:
The time that I hit a rollerblader.

I only get hungry twice a day.  Once at 2 pm and then another at 1 AM.  Tonight, I stayed up way way way late watching The Walking Dead (I hate television.  Honestly, it's all garbage.  But holy smoke, The walking Dead is so so so good.).  I only have three more episodes to go until I'm all caught up.  Anyway, at about 1:30, I was hungry.  So I went and got a number 1 at McDonalds (no pickles, obviously) with a large coke.  I put August and Everything After into my CD player (mp3s are for chumps) and I drove all around.  I ended up somewhere around Salem.  It was a great drive.  I have some things on my mind that I don't dare make public, but it involves the country Greece.  And somebody's birthday.


Anyway, that's my blog for tonight.
I love you.
forgive everyone

and the righteous hurry past.

Music:

I kind of wish i was ambidextrous.  While my parents were moving stuff from their house, it was necessary to take one or two doors off their hinges in order to get desks and furniture out of their home.  On one occasion, we couldn't get the door off because of the weird angle (the hinge was kind of between the door frame and another door frame.  Really awkward.) of the door.  I tried to get a good angle to get the pin out, but I just couldn't.
As I sat there for a solid five minutes, trying to get a good angle, a man from my parents' ward asked if he could try.  He was left handed and you can bet that he had that door off in about 15 seconds flat.  I felt so ashamed. 
Plus, think about how good I would be at baseball if I was a switch hitter,  I wouldn't even need to practice.  They'd be like "you bat left OR right handed? well, I guess you're hired, then."  Baseball isn't even difficult, anyway.

After work tonight, I sat on my sisters creepy street ( It's dark, without any street lights.  It's always really windy in spanish fork at night and  I'm always afraid I'm going to get attacked by wolves.  Not kidding.  No, there aren't any wolves in Utah.) in the grass and stared up at the stars.
Space must be a very lonely place.
We're talking about pure emptiness for millions and millions of miles in every single direction.  We're alone out here.  I focus on individual stars and try talking to them.  I wonder, amidst all of it's violence and malice, if there's anyone out there that's just like me.

Weird thoughts.  yes, I talk to floating orbs of gas millions of miles away.

Also, sometimes I cry when it isn't appropriate.
Exhibit A) For a time, I lived in Orlando Florida.  Those were some of the happiest days of my life.  I was at Disney World one day, watching a really crappy reproduction of beauty and the beast.  Belle came on stage and the Beast wooed her.  As the story reached its' climax and the music swelled, all of the sudden, I started to cry. 
Exhibit B) My sister, Samantha was in a really crappy reproduction of Les Miserables.  Honestly, it wasn't crappy.  It was high school.  Anyway, as she was up there playing her minor role and singing "at the end of the day" or whatever and I just lost it.  It was harsh and angry. 

Okay.  That's enough.
I love you for reading.
I don't seem obvious, do I?

Love and science

Today, I wore socks that are thicker than the socks that I usually wear.

 I love love LOVE Jay-Z:

I don't even want to talk about anything.  I only have one thing on my mind.  It's corny and it's cliche and it's a lot of things that I don't want to be nor do I want my blog to be.
I'm going to talk about love.
Let's be straight: I'm the easy kill.  I fall in love fast.  I go from A to Z and then from 1 to 5 million all within like, two seconds.  I'm a romantic.  All of those stupid cliche sayings are my bread and butter.
But (now bare with me; we're getting into the thick of it) what is love if it's not just a bunch of chemicals swirling around like some sort of electrical storm in your head?
Honestly, here's what love is:  
We all have chemicals in our brains and blood streams, right?  And all of us are unique in the quantity and type of chemicals.  Some of those chemicals make us really happy or really sad;  make us poetic or linear; make us driven or lazy.

Here's an important point:
We are defined by our chemicals.  We don't get to decide our dispositions.

 Moving forward:
Let's say that I have chemicals X,Y,Z, yes?  Let's say that one day, I was walking down the street and I meet a girl with chemicals H,I,J., and there's instant chemistry (pun).  We get along with each other better than she or I have ever gotten along with anyone else ever before.  There's ease in our silence and ease in our conversation.  Our senses of humor compliment each other and we both feel like the other is a great kisser. 

Our chemicals (which we don't have control over) jive with each other. 

But it's almost like we have nothing to do with it.  It's almost like our love was predetermined; all we needed was a meeting place or a reason to say hello.

Do you see what I'm saying? No?  okay.
When we fall in love with each other, it's because the chemicals in brain 'a' excite the chemicals in brain 'b's, causing feelings or thoughts that are not otherwise independently manufactured.

Here's my point: We don't get to choose who we love and there's nothing we can do about it.  Love is nothing more than science.  Two separate compounds coming together to form what we call happiness.

In some ways, love could be considered dementia.

this was a weird post.  I mean, all of my posts are weird, I guess.  But, this post I felt really strongly about.  I don't know.  I am worried this post is incomplete.  Also, I worry that i lost my point.
Did I even make a point?

Great talk guys.
I love you for reading.  Honestly.
may the best of your todays be the worst of your tomorrows.

Could you please, just once, just hear me?

I'm writing this in church. I'm not kidding.
Music: 

I am a writer. I've written kind of a lot. A lot of fiction, anyway. But I never finish my work (nor do I eat the last 10% of my food. Eh? Full circle. Stupid college.). Anyway, ive been reading the works of an author by the name of Raymund Carver. He's a really great short story author. He doesn't say a lot; he says just enough.  And I think maybe he's got it right. Maybe I was never meant to be a writer of novels or epics, maybe I am more of the short story persuasion, yeah?  Just create them, give them life and leave them. 

Today, I felt my first pang of longing for fall.  It came because this guy said the word "enthusiastic" just so and it brought all kinds of desires to dress warm and wear beanies.  Does that ever happen to anyone else?  When someone says a single word, it makes you miss something?  Weird.  I think fall is my favorite season.  I love the colors and the smells; I just really love it. 

I live in my sisters house.  She is the mom of two very cute young men (and I mean way young; like, they're babies).  For my sister, Samantha's birthday, I bought her a fish tank.  However, Samantha didn't take the fish tank from me.  So, I kept the fish tank.  I really grew to love my fish.  I didn't name them because I didn't want to get attached.  I cleaned their tank every week and fed them every day.  A month ago, I had to move from my room upstairs in my sisters house to a room in her basement.  I was stoked because it gave me more isolation.
The basement is a lot more cold, though.  My fish didn't take the temperature change well.  They became lethargic and I could tell that something was wrong.  Then one day, I went to feed my fish and they were all dead.  I think it was the cold.

Seriously, I miss my fish a lot.

I definitely prefer pencils over pens. Well, kind of.  I guess not definitely.  I mean, on the one hand, pens are permanent.  I like my writing to be permanent. But, I think pencils are more romantic, you know? They've got a sort of allure.  Whatever you create can be erased.  It's not a permanent thing.  Even time wears down pencil.  Pencils give a sort of life cycle to writing.  "You had better enjoy this soon because if you don't, it might fade to the point that you can't read it anymore."  Pencils are much more dramatic.  Writing in pencil is more human.  I definitely prefer pencils over pens.

This post has been longer than usual.
I really love you for reading.  I mean that.
Drive fast and take risks.

I still have like, one million questions.

Here's what's I'm listening to:

Will you count me in?
I had an epiphany the other day about my life. Well, I don't know if you could call it an epiphany. Anyway, I was at Barnes and noble, reading my latest fling, and I decided to buy.  I was drinking a coke.  Whilst at the check out stand, I asked the lady if she could throw away my soda.  I still had about 10% left and the lady decided to comment on it. 
"Do you always throw away your last little bit of soda?" She asked.
The question caught me by surprise.  As I thought about it, I realized that I don't eat or drink the last 10% of anything.  I won't eat the crust of my sandwiches (but not all of the crust.  Just the bottom); I won't drink the last bit in the glass; I always leave one or two vegetables on my plate.  And I wonder if that translates into my life. 
As I come to the end of college (one year left, baby) I have this really strong desire to drop out.  I don't want to do it anymore.  I want to get out now and get my life moving, you know?  I haven't even filled out my FAFSA for next year.  And I wonder if that could have been predicted.  I wonder if a psychologist had known that I didn't like to eat my crust, that he or she would have said "be careful when it comes to graduating.  That last ten percent might kill you."

I seriously rode home from bountiful today on my motorcycle today.  Do  you know what it's like to ride a motorcycle for one hour in the pouring rain?  it's miserable, I tell you.  I went up to bountiful to watch fireworks with a very dear friend.  Afterword, we watched the two towers on blu ray and fell asleep.  Much to my chagrin, when I woke up, I found it raining.  And all I had were shorts and a short sleeve shirt.  Ha ha.  I was wearing sandals for heavens sake! (exclamation marks are like laughing at your own joke-- francis scott key).  I couldn't feel my legs or feet; I was sopping wet.
Needless to say, I'll be driving around in my car for the rest of the day; I'm all funned out.

Well kiddos, as is my wont, I am going to keep this short.  I don't want anyone getting bored reading this, you know?  Gotta keep it concise. 

Stick around; enjoy Stevie Wonder.
I love you for reading.
You can't stop me from topping these charts

I think I know too many girls

Here's the song I'm listening to:

There's a  lot of insecurity in starting something new.  I was so so so nervous to start at the Hale, you wouldn't believe it.  What if I was a total amatelur?  What if I couldn't hear it? what if I simply couldn't do it?  All of these doubts scared me to the point that I considered not taking the job.  To a degree, I blame Applebee's.  I got comfortable at Applebee's.,  For five years, I didn't do anything new.  I didn't put myself in a position to fail.  So when the time came to rise, I nearly didn't.  Moral of the story:  Don't get comfortable.  Stay Hungry.  Get comfortable with being out of your comfort zone.  Every day, I am more and more convinced that this is the only way to live.

I hate brushing my teeth.  Honestly, it's a chore that I do twice a day, every single day of my life.  I love showers.  Waking up in the morning and taking a shower is the best.  But it's like... taking a vacation to somewhere far away.  The shower is the vacation.  You get there and it's great. You're relaxing, hanging with your family, maybe and then it's over.  And you find yourself on this 12 hour airplane ride, sunburned, drowsy, cramped and miserable.  The old lady next to you smells like cats and the kid behind you keeps kicking your seat.  That's how I feel about brushing my teeth after I get out of the shower.

Here's a question for you: How is the maximum occupancy of any establishment determined?  I was at Del Taco tonight, doing some reading (let me tell you this: weird people are at del taco late at night) and I saw the maximum occupancy sign.  It was 60. 60 people can be in the dining area of del taco in springville.
I guess my actual question is: Does the guy just walk in, maybe touch a few tables, smell the air and then- through his expertise and wisdom- come to the expert conclusion that 60 is the maximum amount of people?  Or maybe by trial.  Maybe he fills the room with 20 people.  Then 25.  Then 30.  Finally, once he's squished in the corner at 60, is it time to call it quits?

"okay, you're in my hoolahoop and I can see that there's no way for you to get out of my hoolahoop.  Better call this the maximum occupancy."

This is turning into an every night things.  I come home and write my thoughts out.  My hopefully-entertaining-yet-slightly-eccentric thoughts.
I wonder how long it will last.  It can't last.
I love you for reading.
Everyone knows but they won't tell.

I am the entertainer

for realsies, this is what I've got stuck in my head:

and it's more applicable than you might think.

This is honestly what blogging feels like:
I'm standing on a stage in an auditorium- a big auditorium- ranting.  I'm on the stage, alone.  I've got this stupid spotlight on my eyes so that I can't see how many people are out there, but every now and again someone coughs or moves, letting me know that people are present.  And I just keep on talking as my words keep echoing on into oblivion.

I think the next time I'm feeling saucy in walmart, I'm going to accuse the person in front of me in line of cutting.  I'm going to tell them that they know I was there before them and maybe next time they should be more considerate.  If they try to be kind and trade me spots, I'm going to be passive aggressive about it.  I'll refuse the spot in the line and then mutter barely audible phrases like  "what a complete jerk" or "I wish some people would just drop dead".  Maybe, I'll even throw a few bags of chips or knock over a display of chap stick.  Once I get to the cash register, I'll say something like "can you believe that guy? sorry you had to put up with him."

Tonight, after work, I went and hung out with my sister, Samantha.  She's like, one of my very best friends.  I tell her everything.  She gets to hear all of my over-analytical hypotheses and all about my constant social faux pas. (how do you make 'faux pas' plural?).  Tonight, even though she was very tired, she allowed me to come over and complain about the constant punch line that is my everyday life.  She gave me insight, told me where I was wrong, but more than anything, she just listened to me.  And I don't think I'll ever be able to thank her enough for just listening to me.

I'm looking out the window while I type, again.

When the Hale pays me money, I consider throwing the check away.  It feels dirty to me.  This theatre pays me to do something that I love.   That doesn't seem right, does it?  At Applebee's, I get paid to do things that I hate.  It's hard to accept that money does not necessarily come from exclusively doing things that are miserable.  After so many years doing something that doesn't make me happy, it's hard to adjust to the idea that money can come from doing something that you actually enjoy.

 At age 28, I'm doing something that I could do for the rest of my life, and I am being PAID to do it.  Many a man have lived their lives in search of the very thing that I have stumbled upon. 

Is this blog too scattered to be enjoyed?  I try to keep in concise so that people don't get bored.
I love you for reading.
I hope my life works out perfectly.

melodrama

I've got this song stuck in my head:

I don't think I'm going to make my blog pretty, at all.  I like the black background with the white wording.  I want it to just be plain.   I kind of wish I could write in handwriting and post THAT onto the interwebs.

I love, love, love my job at the Hale.  Like, if there is such thing as a calling in life, I think that I found it.  I think that I'm good at it.  I've been doing it for only a month or two, but when I sit down at that mixing board, I still get nervous.  I'm still exhilarated by the whole thing.  I know that I can't be at the Hale for forever, but I think when it comes to my career, I would like to be doing something of that nature.  Strange how life works out.

Last night, after I got done at the hale, I went immediately to my parents house and helped pack up the last of our belongings.  It's such a strange thing, losing your home.  The kind of sadness is almost surprising.  It's like jumping into a pool that you know is going to be cold, I guess.  You hold your breath and hope that it's not as cold as you think it will be.

This time, it was colder than anticipated.

I don't think it was losing the home, as much as it was seeing the sadness on loved ones' faces.  I mean, I was prepared for the loss of the home.  To be honest, I was kind of indifferent.  But the way it has sort of strangled my family into this sad, disdainful company breaks my heart.  I think that is what hurts the most.


I feel like I'm being melodramatic. Or whiny, maybe.

Tomorrow I'm supposed to go to Wyoming to buy fireworks.  Stoked about that.  We've got a band of dudes that are heading up there.  I love the fourth of July.  It's probably my favorite holiday.  I love the barbecues and the pyrotechnics; I love all of it.

I'm kind of bugged that Utah has been on fire for the last two weeks.  I'm bugged at the people that caused the fire.  STOP LIGHTING STUFF ON FIRE, YOU IDIOTS (as I go and by illegal fireworks...).  Seriously, just be intelligent?  Don't go into a field of dead plants and light fire.  Very simple.

Ok.  I'm taking a sunday nap now.
I love you for reading.
Maybe I suck at this.
These are the thoughts that swirl around my head.