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