Don't Ever Change Chapter 4

I really am pretty good looking. Each time I look in the mirror I surprise myself. Not because of how handsome I look but that I forget I look that way. My perfect tri-corner nose, the symmetry oh my cheekbones and the way my eyebrows compliment my green-brown eyes. Who would believe they looked like that without constantly checking up on their own reflection?

My reflection was straightening his tie and checking for anything in his teeth in that second before the plane landed. A consultation in Chicago had gone long and run into my prep time for a date. I moved to Arizona because the airport was close to my house and all the best restaurants.

My hand was placed at the small of her back as I greeted the metre d. This girl was an employee at a competing local event agency. I was invited to the biggest party The Cilia's had ever accomplished. They wanted to show off. I cleared my schedule and brought my pen. The poor women didn't yet realize that showing off would cost them, oh I'd say 20 million dollars. My pen was well used that night.

I ran out of my cards before 10:30 and had to start writing my information down on napkins. Even through tacky disco lights and dry-iced punch Ace is easily recognizable. The party was decent though. I mean for a giant heated tent in the middle of the Sonora Desert, a portable dance floor and lots and lots of twinkly lights they defiantly pulled off something that could be called unique. I only had to take one picture all evening though. They had this table center piece that looked like a flamenco dancer, and when you spun her around you could get into her skirt where there were different chip dips. That is now what my wallpaper is set to on my blackberry.

DJ Dodgy was too loud, I know this because when the host was trying to make a speech with the microphone only her husband even saw and he clapped right after she said, "And I know that no one looks better than the Celia's tonight." I heard tell that he slept alone that night.

I had only begun to consider staying more than an hour when Illyanna Celia met me in a corner beneath the strings of paper lanterns and plastic stars. She was only a cousin of the original partners and had so many questions about how to start up her own business.

"Why not just work for me? Ace is certainly not going to fail any time soon." She blushed as I kissed her hand. "And we most certainly need more lovely women to show up when we roll out the red carpet."

"Mr. Ace, dat is just my problem. I can't work for anybody else. I don't have a degree or anything to get me started. Just a natural sense for having fun."

"Oh, I am sure you know how to have a good time Miss Celia."

"Mr. Ace, please help me. A few pointers here and there, an endorsement, a client." She cuddled close to me and played with my jacket. I left that night with Illyanna's number. That poor girl needed help, naturally I had to be able to contact her twenty-four seven.

Tonight's restaurant was my favorite. I had been with them since their grand opening when I convinced them to invite the Govern. When he showed up I got free meals for a lifetime, but I always left the Waiter with a tip the price of the meal. For some reason I always get the best service and they always convince me to get the finest on the menu. Shawn walked us to a small round table with two high backed chairs and no neighboring dinners. "Thank you for holding the reservation Shawn, I know how difficult it is to keep a table just before thanksgiving."

"No trouble sir. Can I start you off with something to drink? Our special goes perfectly with your favorite wine sir."

Illyanna and I had a delicious first coarse but we only talked business. If I was going to be used for my connections I was going got be used properly.

"Where do you think you would be basing your company? Are you bold enough to try to compete directly with your established relatives? Your eyes are just so lovely tonight, anyway such a bold move would be without president so helping you directly might be something I would have to think over very carefully." Like I said, forward is kind of my style. I get to, I'm a lucky rich dog.

"Do I sense some fear? I had heard that you had none." A tone in her voice made me believe she thought she was sly. Even capable of working me. If she only knew who at the table was the expert in all aspects of fun.

"Mm!" Ilyanna enjoyed these burst of delight with every other bite she had of her meal. "The sauce is just to die for Ace! Do these guys cater?" my lips pursed. The trying ways the universe reminds me that my expertise does indeed come with a price.

"The sauce is the best part. Savoring the sauce by dipping some bread in it is the way that Italians show their appreciation, not by asking about catering." I had stopped her from flagging down Shawn to ask. I had given myself a good idea and reached for the basket of bread in the center of the table, she did also.

I looked at our hands, meeting accidentally, my heart quickened but I still felt at peace. I noticed that her fingers were long and thin, lovely hands. When I looked up I swear I realized how beautiful she really was. An angel, almost like sunshine was beaming in from behind her eyes. "Your eyes really are lovely tonight Ilyanna." She and I both took a bite of the bread in the red sauce that was on our plates. "Wasn't I right Ilyanna? Dipping the book in the sauce is like..."

"Bread," She laughed softly. "You said 'dipping the book' you meant bread."

Sounding crazy is not the way I like to spend my evenings. I tried to explain why I had said book but my explanation sounded even more insane. All I could think of is that when I saw our hands I saw a math book underneath them, that some book had fallen in the grass in the backyard of my house...a friends home, that I felt the same peace there that I had just felt with my hand on hers...

Instead of hiding her hands under the table when she heard I had felt 'at peace' she reached it toward me. So what if I enjoyed holding her hand so much that I didn't let it go the rest of the meal. There are other adults who do that in the world.

I let the car go on ahead and I walked Ilyanna home. I knew a long path in the park that lead right to her apartment. Business had almost completely disappeared from the conversation except when we talked about how many Luau's were requested as soon as May hits. Even the most mediocre of party planners can't be open for longer than a year without being expert in pineapple storage. She told me a story about how she had read somewhere that freshly cut pineapples keep their flavor longer if you put them in lemon juice. We both laughed as she described the look on all the retirees faces as they bit into the Hawaiian cake!

I learned so much about her that night, she was an only child that spent her summers in Paris with her spinster Aunt. She spoke fluent french and had attended countless Christina Dior shows. The woman was fascinating and I found myself asking her on another date as soon as we got to her door.

I called for my car and went on home. A second date wouldd'nt hurt anything, Father was going to be furious. What could he do, he may even try to take away my allowance? Those eyes really were beautiful.

Last Days of Pompii

Being here at my second to last day of work makes me ponder what tomorrow could passably bring me. I do in fact have a rather lengthy shift tomorrow that will prove to be as anticlimactic as my last day in Fast Food. The week I left Bakers 3 other people left along with me. My last shift was a slow Thursday that I remember only because I gave someone a ride home. That persons name I have yet to remember for longer than a day. (and as soon as I wrote that 'Jackie' popped into my head)

But the other three that left, man oh man did they shoot out of that grease pit with style! My Managers name was Brianna. She was a disgruntled youth that was dang good at salting fries. Such skills brings a person right to the top in that establishment. So it is to be expected that in her last three hours of her last three years she would be expected to treat a rude costumer civilly. Heh!

Anyone who has ever hated a costumer in their life would have payed fifty bucks to see what Brianna pulled on a man that demanded his order of two dozen burritos be remade because he thought they were cold. He thought because he never even touched them. He demanded because he was a jerk. He threatened because he felt like it gave him some kind of power. A supiriority, to destroy the lives of already unhappy people. Let that be a lesson to you, fast food workers are in a visor and hairnet because they want to be happy.

This 19 year old girl tried to reason with this middle aged man, she then tried to appease him. Blowing everyone out of her way she forced the man to watch her remake his entire order to be sure it was fresh. But he complained and yelled and blah blah blah, "Give me my money back" "I wanna talk to your manager" "I'll make sure you get fired, I swear you'll **** get fired!" Meh, human beings always talk to each other that way when referring to burritos. Briana threw the bags of food on the counter, got right in his face and, well, for lack of a better word, yelled.
She yelled that she couldn't get fired, she yelled that she already had a new job, she yelled that she didn't care one whit about this mans burritos and that he could leave without money and without food. Of coarse three years of pent up language included much more ...um ...detail than all of that but I know that most of us that were lucky enough to have been there still think back and envision her in a red cape and tights. I sigh personally.

What can I do to remember this last historic Wednesday of Lisse'? Will the glory of pink just fizzle out and die? I had considered steeling all the money from the register, but we are no longer accepting cash, I would only be able to steel nickles and dimes. I could tell every woman passing my kiosk that I could do something about that cellulite for a small price. Oh, oh but my personal favorite is sell everything on the kiosk, everything! Every decoration, every box, every fascinating bead and jewel that ever drew a little girl in to us! That would be the best selling day Lisse' has ever seen!!

Whatever it is that I end up doing I am sure it will end up being EPIC...in my head...only to me.
But I swear to you little Billy, I'll get 'er done!

Don't Ever Change Chapter 3

"I haven't seen such a lovely pattern in all of my life!!" Sarah picked up the china plate and let the light bounce off all the pretty colors. "Mommy would love this! Greg , my mother would just, she would die. Ace why can't my mommy be here!?" I feared for the life of the plate. They don't last very long when smashed over my head. Not an uncommon experience with brides.



"Sarah, look at me. Sarah. Come here and look at me." I pulled her in by the shoulders until her nose touched mine. "Mommy can't be here."



"But Ace!"



"Mommy loves the colors and the silverware, but she loves something else much more."



"Me?"



"No.

"She lives for surprises!" From what I remember mommy did love this better anyway. "If you covered her eyes and walked her into the perfect wedding the look on her face alone would last in your memory forever!" The sentimental tears that I was now pulling from Sarah were accompanied by girlish gasps of surprise.





"Greg, she will so love this plate!" She handed it to the clerk that was following us. her tears crashendoed as she said,"Wrap it." Then bam! a wail that would match an over pleased banshee.



"That girl is gentle." Greg was following his love at a safe distance examining everything in the shop as if each object held a new and precious soul for sale. "She cares so much about the simple things, I'm not sure how much longer she could have lived without me." He looked down at me and smiled with his eyes. He obviously believed that he had made a joke. Greg was funny that way. When the three of us had been hunting out a venue Greg had researched each of the places at one point or another in his lifetime. He made jokes about how half the locations had suffered some terrible murder and the rest were assisted with bad luck. That irony alone was super funny.

Yes, he was certainly funny in some way.



Sarah laughed the whole way through, even though I swear she mostly was laughing out of her kindness.



"He's just so smart Ace. He can't help that most of his humor goes right over our heads." Sarah whispered this to me just as we were pulling through the ten foot gates to the driveway of Greg's family manor. I laughed for the first time all day. His humor was most certainly far, far above our heads.



A handmade wood shop project, the single-story sheet-cake made its own furniture seem like it had come from a little cobbler in a tree. But as Greg so brilliantly pointed out, "Even if some ghost did try to drop something on us during the wedding we'd hear it in time to get away!" Sarah laughed.



This backwoods gentleman certainly seemed like he could have once been mistaken for normal. His house had been designed to cater to the great height that Greg's family had accumulated, his own head was a foot and a half higher than mine but once you get to his face he's just another dashing dark haired man. Revoltingly normal.

So now I have the very simple task of making my dear friend feel like an angel out of heaven in colors that matched mold, dead grass and dog hair. I decided to start as far away from the actual beauty as possible, the reception.

"Sarah! Don't even think about touching one of those glasses!" Greg jogged up the isle to were Sarah was holding a gold trimmed crystal flute.

"This glass shimmers Greg, don't yell at the shimmer." She put one finger to her lips and cradled the champagne glass in her other hand. Greg didn't laugh. Maybe that joke didn't quite reach his head.

"The shimmer," Greg whispered. "has to be sacrificed, we're using my Grandma's wedding glasses. Darling you know how much this means to her." Sarah placed the glass back on its shelf, running her slim fingers along it as she let go.

"Ace," Sarah addressed me while looking at her love. "It's hard to choose punch bowls."

This statement was true, the last choice was almost always the jerk punch bowls, but Sarah is a woman who likes things to finish quickly. The three of us Sarah, myself and the disapproving eyes of a giant, developed a precise method of making the decision. Sarah lined all of her favourites up in the parking lot so we could throw wedding mints at them. The rule was whichever bowl had the most mints would be the bowl we used. As often happens we underestimated the number of mints we had. The parking lot was covered in pink and white sample mints.

By the time we had convinced Greg to join in we still had half a bag left, And he only began to throw his fair share when he noticed I was aiming for the bowl that had the two headed dragons.

"Oh man you are so in for it!" he then landed each and every mint into the large bowl with one plain rose stretching from the center. Even though the activity was loads of fun the men were disappointed when the girl broke the only rule and wrapped up the bowl that had had the fewest mints in it. This bowl looked like it was expertly embroidered together.

"I like how this one reminds me of my grandma." Why women can never follow logic is still beyond me at my old age.


Greg treated us all to dinner. Sarah had been comparing everything we passed in the car to a type of stake. When she finally got the first piece of rare sirloin into her mouth in over six months Greg got an urgent call on his cell. I sat and watched Sarah eat, my meal had not yet arrived.

"You know that I am not a child." Sarah didn't look away from her plate but I felt the seriousness.

"Sarah, you keep acting as if..."

"I know, sometimes I wonder why my bottom lip doesn't pop right out. I hate having to pout for every little desire." she put her fork down and held her mouth with both of her hands, almost subconsciously holding her lips in position. Her blond curls fell back across her face as she looked up into my mine.

We sat in silence communicating the frustration and confusion of the day. Somehow I got that it extended much further back than that but she refused to let herself believe. My potatoes a gratin came along with the rest of the 70 dollars I had put on Greg's tab.

"I'm so sorry it's hard." I whispered to my food.

"Oh Aviran, it's not all that hard. Marriage is hard."

My water glass had begun to bead. "you're not even married, sometimes Sarah, hard is just har..."

"You know he is so wonderful!" Sarah was eating her stake much too fast to chew now. "I can't believe I forgot about his grandmothers glasses! He cares so much about his family, even though they are rich they still all care, not as rich as you but who really is, and you don't even talk to your dad, but I knew that and. Yo u know I have yet to meet the woman but I hear Grandma is kind, they say that is her biggest character flaw...is her...kindness..."

I messaged my eyes, "How is Nanny anyway?"

"My nanny? Still living with Mommy and Daddy." She began to laugh at her own secret joke, "she, she has the most wonderful wish for her birthday this year..." She broke off, still laughing softly.

I reached out to fix her hair with unsure movement, "You really don't deserve hard."

Then Greg's urgent phone call was over.

Dreams are often disturbing, those are the ones expected to leave a person laying awake in their bed staring at the ceiling. When the sun rose at six thirty the dream I was pondering disturbed nothing but my sleep. I had been in a short suburb home walking along a long hallway toward a white opened door, the smell of roast beef wafting around me. "Aviran, Aviran" was echoing down in the voice of a little girl that couldn't have known more about life than that pretty things first came out of Pandora's box. I suddenly turned and was overwhelmed by a room that was embroidered from carpet to ceiling fan. The pit in my stomach suddenly became very noticeable and I turned to try to run. An old woman sitting in an armchair had frightened me. The woman called, "Aviran, come see what I am making." The sound of my name had made the pit in my stomach so heavy that I could not run. I moved closer and watched the wrinkled long fingers shake and poke, shake and pull, shake and poke a needle through a piece of stretched cloth. The thread on it was bunched and random, stripes of white red and pus overlapped and knotted making the work appear as if it were a foggy Monet.

"That stuff's ugly!" I heard myself exclaim. I watched, I laughed, I listened, I told. The things that I told this strange old woman. Flipping the cloth she revealed swallows, birds flying parallel into an orange glowing sunset.

"Sometimes," Her voice seemed to be coming from the birds in flight. "life looks ugly and difficult to understand, when you see the right angle, what was hard is easy, even beautiful. This bird just could not be without all the horrible complicated ugly." I heard myself promise to never forget, to never forget, to never forget...


Yeah, I didn't ever get to sleep.

Don't Ever Change Chapter 2

I flew back to Arizona that night, other more prominent investments on my mind. Necessary changes had been made during that lunch to her original and most lovely concept. Even though gold and burnt orange had been an inspiration for her fall wedding, she was not having a fall wedding. Sarah was getting married in June. Even though she fought me on such a big change (scene here? remissness about fight) she needed more time to plan a perfect wedding, she gave in. Not in her nature but I reminded her that none of my pennies were getting waisted, and no special day of hers would either.



When breakfast goes well the day goes well. And there is no way that breakfast can go well any time before 9:30 A.M. Most people are early worms and have a problem with digging in the dirt from eleven to eight. Especially when most of their weekends are spent cleaning up parties until sun rise. For the last four years I have catered to this complaint by doubling breakfast as a conference call with whatever office needs my expert knowledge. On this particular morning the Eastern ,Southern, and Midwest representatives of Ace Events needed to go over some general policy issues.



"When the barmy old people want to plan for their ninetieth five years ahead a time! I have never planned anything five ears ahead and I won't do it for some geezer who thinks their going to live forever!" My blackberry was balancing on my fork as Linda's voice came small and yet so so angrily out of the speaker.



"Linda, get a commission, plan it. That is the policy. I don't even understand this dispute. I planned an opening after party for a show that never even opened. We got compensated."



"Jerry," I held the phone up to my lips, it's a power trip thing. "The business isn't about compensation it's about making sure that people have the day, night, weekend of their lives. even if 5 percent of the projects turn into compensation projects we lose a great deal of profit and reputation."



"And when our reputation goes our costumers go." My Father is a suck up, if the family dynamic wasn't already American enough. "Aviran has a new policy to fix all that right."



"Alvin always has some blindin' idea to get us out of some rut doesn't he." Being ignored is part of the charm of these calls. And apparently being called a chipmunk has also been added to the list of conversation to expect.



Calling myself the boss has never been a responsibility I relished. To solve this problem I hired three people that would never consider me a boss anyway. Jerry one of my college professors held the East fort down, and Linda, a lovely British woman who believed she could see right through me had the South. My Father had the responsibility of the Midwest. Those parties never really got bigger than a rodeo or a tea party on an oil field. And once you got that down each one was pretty easy. My Father really wouldn't be able to handle anything else. But as a result almost all communique with them consists of my being called names that would make great business owners turn in their graves.



"Rockefeller!" One day I will miss Linda's voice. "let us know that brilliant compromise yeah hun?"



"Linda, while your concerns are valid and while I hate to admit it we are running a business so increase in income is an increase in income especially when we don't have to do half the work so..."



"Aviran?"



"Father."



"Aviran, you told me all about the new policy, can I draw up the contract?"



"I need to explain it to everyone else first."



"Can't I?"



"Terri will be explaining the proposed policy and once he is finished we can vote on how fair you all believe it is. Terri."



"Aviran and I decided that we are going to add a 'reservation fee' to all events planned further than nine months in advance. This will cover twenty-five percent of the anticipated event cost and is to be payed again for each half of planning is complete, then at the party finish the additional fee of a normal event will be added. Since most supplies are not purchased until event we would make a considerable profit on any event canceled."



My Father continued pitching my idea to my staff. We voted, we drew up a contract and we set up a follow up meeting; I finished another pot of coffee.



Jessica. Jessica, Jessica, Jessica. I chose Arizona for it's beautiful women. On our first date I had asked the frail runner up for Miss Arizona 2008 to go horse back ridding. When Jessica showed up with her voluptuous brown hair and her milk white Cowgirl hat cocked to one side I knew there had to be a second date. Girl can't ride horses for diet pills but she looked like a candle lit dinner would do her some good.



Date number three is always something I attempt to avoid. Attempt is a rather shaky word as it turns out. The girl asked me out on our second date, and potato's a gotten were not anywhere in the arrangements. No matter how pretty a woman may be I with a Frisbee date, especially when the planner forgets the Frisbee.



A gentlemen doesn't discuss what sort of things a millionaire and a beauty-pageant contestant do when a mid afternoon date is disrupted so rudely but it was enough to make me remember that candle lit dinner thing.



The dress she wore on that night made me sure that someone had made the wrong choice for winner at the state pageant, that was until she said howdy. She was walking into a five star restaurant and called howdy halfway across the hall to some neighbor she hardly knew. Then she tucked her napkin into the front of her dress and ate prime rib. Some strange mood that I was in that night forced me to eat the salad. I had a chicken salad...



Jessica wanted a fourth date and I told her I was seeing someone else. And really I see a lot of people throughout the day. I am not cruel I am slightly honest. Shallow interests are not beneath me. People who ignore the external characteristics of a person are ignoring all the years of hard work their mothers and teachers did to keep the elbows off the table and the hours a woman spends on her hair. No I do the honorable thing and pay just as much attention to a woman's external as she wants me to. That just very rarely leaves room for much other thought.



I was driving home alone. Car time is good planning time; pick the music for a sweet sixteen, ponder seating arrangements and wonder why the heck anyone invites their relatives to anything. That night I began planning on Sarah's wedding. I was one week away from meeting her and her fiance' to drive around to different locals. Meeting the man is always important. Often that's when I get fired or have to delegate the job to one of my female planners. The men just can't stand that dashing young Ace is spending more time with their betrothed then they are. Other men just assume I am too excited about the pretty colors to look too closely at their wife. Some men don't even care. What kind of man would Sarah's man be?



I have one of those houses that gets right down to what is necessary right away. No entry way or porch swings just what is absolutely necessary. I walked into my front room it was dark and warm. Only the gigantic highly decorated fireplace gave off any kind of light. The licking flames gave my maple red walls a dangerous glow. Maybe I perceived it that way because Father was sitting in one of the arm chairs. Dangerous glows just seem to follow him when he comes into one of my houses. I shut my front door making the wood thump like a dead body.



Father jumped in his seat but refused to admit to himself that that is how he realized my presence. He had a double take over the chair then stood to greet the prodigal son.

"Another date with Jessica?"

I nodded my head.

"Son, interest in s girl like that is just, is just..."

When Father uses the word Son a parental pretence is about to ensue. And in the case of women such a lecture is always to be expected. He'll start out with something that sounds as if it could be sensible.

"Son, she has a very narrow mindset, she, she wouldn't really understand the partying that you have to do."

Then he may try to back it up with some personal experience.

"As a sports fishermen all the women that I dated..."

But of coarse he has no personal experience.

"If I had ever had a girlfriend when I was a sports fishermen they really wouldn't understand the bond that I had with my rod."

Then he would stop making sense.

"The jealousy they had, would have had, with me and my rod, or as a consequence of my rod would be something like Jessica's jealousy with, in consequence with, of consequence of..."

And then he would start to realize it.

"You know better than I do what I'm getting at! You, you have seen this with your clients!"

The final piece of constructive advise would then be an emotional mess of bias.

"Jessica just can't think up to your level son! A a a model,"

"She is a beauty contestant Terri."

"WHATEVER, just don't get caught up in all that beauty and witty joking she is just another one Aviran! She is just another one!"

Once my Father caught his breath I invited him out of my house and watched him leave, shutting the door gently behind him.



The click of the door echoed in my mind, my Sunday shoes clicked along a mahogany landing overlooking 30 square feet of unused floorspace. the orange light was streaming in from the tall windows. I flung my backpack over one shoulder and felt the weight bounce as I ran down the spiral staircase I ran because I was taring myself away from something. the pull was tangible. A car horn honked outside and I could hear Fathers voice shouting something. A tall women in a dark suit met me at the door. she smoothed my hair back against my head and looked down at me with dead eyes. I pulled the large door with all my strength and headed toward the running Mercedes in the driveway.
That was the first right decision I had ever made in my short little dorky life. So what had I been pulling myself away from? I remembered a rose pedal, but why was it in pieces...

Don't Ever Change

As a general rule I do not remember my childhood. When brought into conversation I convey some vague story that includes a school and some Tupperware but I'm convinced even this is some convoluted history my subconscious cooked up to fill in some blanks. Unfortunately in the coarse of human events there are smells, warm faces, and some hits from back in the day that can take the reality right out of a situation morphing the smell into a fifth birthday cake, the warm face into the hot high school teacher and the oldie into a rockin' concert with some buddies. The furthest back these triggers can force me is to those awkward loneliest days of my last move. I remember having many childhoods that played out in many different houses. That final dwelling was the prison of my freshmen year. Each time I snap back from the bad haircut and gum at my desk to my present hair style and the woman at my side I feel uncharacteristically disheveled...dizzy and whichever warm face I am with has a fading smile that says something akin to, "What am I doing with him?"

Thankfully the flashbacks are about as rare as most of my stakes. Once I reached my adulthood I began to disregard anything my mother ever told me, allowing me to live up to my potential. I became popular, rich, successful and most importantly devilishly handsome. Feeding my own vanity is not a practice that I am proud of, unless of coarse I am good at it.

When I graduated college I started the Ace Event Planning Community. I owned several independent event planners and regulated them to my satisfaction. Together, and independently, we planned anything, bring us your tired, your bored, your hungry and we'll make them poor so they can have a happy wedding day! The high cost is easily justifiable to the customer when the details are presented. Planning has always been a sort of gift of mine, as well as getting that plan to pull through. I attribute my success directly to the passion I have for a good party. Now those independent planners have their own underlings, and those underlings have their own. Most of them discovered that Independence is an expensive venture especially when they saw that they would eventually have to be competing with my independence.

I maintain a state of needing nothing. I have friends, whom I like to refer to as connections, all across the country, a mansion in Upstate New York and my "permanent" residence in Arizona. I'm not sure why I chose Arizona but I now claim it was a tribute to Charles Mingus. That cat deserves some real spotlight; I most certainly can help with that.

Everyone knows me, at least everyone knows my name. You may have seen "Ace" plastered on every tent, ice-sculpture and sushi bite in celebrity photos. My name is actually Aviran but somewhere along the line I was blessed with the nickname that reveals both my sensitive side and my risky nature to the the beautiful women who meet me.

I've got to be honest, because I am an honest person, I only look filthy stinking rich as an investment. I only have one sports car at each office and afew different colored tux. I eat Rice-aroni on weekdays just like everybody else. But who is going to entrust their cash to Rice-aroni? So I act the part just to help my necessary business to grow.

Once, in California, as a testimony to my average qualities, I just needed a burrito to wash down the fillet minion I provided at an area conference. I sat dining El Fresco and just as I was tackling a bite a baby blue blouse and bracelets sat down across from me, sending me to a familiar mahogany bed. I was remembering a fever, and the smell of the washcloth that was resting pointless on my forehead. The covers had been tucked up tight under my chin and several comforting items had been piled up all around me: an empty bowl of soup, a VHS of Karate Kid, bottled water and pictures of something brightly colored, it seemed to be spinning. Beside my bed a girl sat on a stool reading Huck Finn aloud with great vigor, her gypsy toes playing more fervently with the rose pedals on the floor depending on the intensity of the passage. Her flowing skirt and gentle blond curls fell across her and seemed to make my fever get worse, rather than better.

I stayed here afew moments, trying to reason why rose pedals had ever covered my bedroom floor. But when I glanced up at the woman in the blouse her smile had not faded, in fact I believe it was growing. I tried to ask who she was but I'm such a man that I forgot about the bite of burrito. The girl laughed and rested her bracelet jingling hand on mine. "You my friend, have not changed." She then smiled right into my face.

"Ah, but I plan on it, some smiles could make any man change." That day had not been my most gentlemanly, but weakness is a desirably quality sometimes. Any girl this forward was a friend of mine. I squeezed her hang and then let it slip off. "But for now I am going to finish my burrito the way Heaven intended."

"Yes, please eat! Ace I can't even believe I ran into you here I heard you had moved to Texas or some other forsaken corner of desert!" Expression is a science, I've learned that well for my kind of business, but the way her hands banged the table, softly, had convinced me that this woman had mastered expression down to an art form.

"Arizona is not forsaken, the culture is actually quite rich and I don't know how you would have recieved that infor..."

She interrupted me.

"You told your dad! Goodness Ace the things you forget." She did seem to actually know me, but I had begun to notice why I would have forgotten who she was. If she interrupted me one more ti.... "Ace, just ask me what I am doing here. I mean, you do remember me?"

I waved to the waiter for the check, the famous Cali two finger wave, and set my napkin on the plate. "Miss, would you please stop referring to me as if you know me. No, I will not discount a party slash event for you if you claim to be from my hometown, even if you did know my father you would know he would hate for me to give up a penny for anyone, let alone a friend I hardly know."

"I forgot, 'Father'. Goodness Ace. And I wasn't expecting a discount, my wedding will be remembered, if only remembered for how much dept it put Greg and me into." His name produced the silly love stricken expression that usually meant the wedding day would most deffinently put them in a dept that the prenump would never cover. I would defiantly remember how much their wedding would cost.

I began to leave, she couldn't know I was seeing dollar signs all the way to my next vacation. "I'm sorry for being so rude, I hadn't realized you just wanted your special day to be the best it could be. I agree, luck did help bring us together today. I'll leave you with my card and you tell my receptionist Clara that the..."

"Ace is in the hole." She took the card and examined both sides with the flick of a wrist.

This no-body knew my password! No Ace Events fanatic could have found out a password he had changed yesterday! I sat back down and stared. I looked into her eyes, I studied her nose and tried to see if her roots were showing.

"I'm Sarah, Ace, I'm Sarah."

"Sarah got married."

"Sarah got engaged."

"Sarah moved."

"To California."

The waiter came back and asked if the "young lady" wanted anything. "Sarah the Cella?"

"A hole beneath the place."

"A hole that has an Ace." I had been shocked, and I humbly admit I had been wrong. Getting old really is a burden. The Waiter looked highly confused as he stared blankly at the space between Sarah and I.

"That rhyme was always dumb Ace." That childhood friend of mine began to stand. All great teachers had had a teacher of their own once, this woman had been mine. There was no way I was letting her leave.

"This old lady will have three taquitoes a chicken quasadilla and two sides of guacamole. Sarah, sit your fat toosh down, you and I have a wedding to plan."

Nu-life: The Womens Expo Story

Close your eyes and imagine a paradise. (I mean theoretically of coarse. If you closed your eyes now you might not get the point as to why I made that request.) Imagine a women's paradise. What does it consist of? Is there the perfect outfit strung out on a dummy; an outfit that you have been looking for for years? Are there places to do hair, nails? Are there boys? Are there shoes and messages? But the one thing that you could passable not imagine, something that doesn't even fit within your realm of imagination, is that it would all be... F.R.E.E.

That's right, I have experienced a true paradise, that I may have to put somewhere in my list of fond memories among Disneyland. For two days I worked the Women's expo at UVU. The first day I came back and could not believe what I saw in the mirror. The changes had been so gradual. I had been from booth to booth to booth. Not taking in the significance of it all. But I saw a girl whose neck could move without pain and who knew exactly why it had been in pain. I saw a girl a younger skin, (thanks to NuSkin and you!) and red sparkly strands of hair. In short the one thing that I had spent money on, a nickle free necklace that I have been searching for for 6 months, was only the icing on the Women's Expo cake.

My roommates noticed, they noticed in a big way. When I reported that I had signed us up for what that mysterious world of "Sparkle Toes" calls a Shoe party, and that I would get a free pair of shoes because of it, they all bravely volunteered to go the next day. I had taught them how to get half an hour of free messages, free cookies, candies and ice cream; where to go for a complete makeover, hair, nails, makeup; and how to get free baseball tickets, hair colorings and t-shirts. But when they heard they had to pay five dollars to get in that all was not worth it. And I totally understand. I mean come on, all of that so does not add up to a five dollar value at all....*ahem*

On the second day I went home with my hair straightened, my back all but healed and lookin' pretty dang hot if I can believe the wolf calls, the creeps on the bus and the popping of my friends eyes. A whole NuMe, a whole NuWorld, a whole NuLife!

Who cares if I was brainwashed? Or if I can't even spell Nu anymore because the company has told me that I need their kind of new to be really up-to-date. I'm real pretty! Just liek a woman should be.

You may feel like this is some fairly-land, unaware of what it really looks like, or if it really is there. Like when a child comes into the house all muddied up in the middle of summer. The mud didn't come from anywhere that you know about, but you have to believe in it. So believe in the Women's Expo. Believe that I will now work on keeping its lovely memory alive.

Tim... Tim Timmy Tim Tim!

This just in! Timothy Heckt, the critically acclaimed missionary, has had a story to match that of the great Carlaberry! As may be expected the great Carlaberry is involved in this grand tale of the earnest attributes of romance.

From the day I heard of Tim I knew that he would always be within the view of my hawk-like vision, but I had no idea that fate would have brought us together so soon after our first meeting. Returning home on the bus, lonely and subjugated, I arrived at my stop just in time to spy this young gentlemen walking. Walking toward my street. Unsure that I had ever been so lucky in all of my life and could passably have been right then, I walked behind him; wondering at the reality of his existence. Finally I pretended to say hello to a 'Tim' on the phone, I pretended rather loudly. His head tuned and there was no more denying that this was the family rock star himself. So I stopped to chat. I talked myself into a very small pit and parted ways with him. The interaction was simple, it was short, but boy have I told that story a million times!

A discovery last night showed me that I did not indeed have a full knowledge of what repercussions this brave bit of luck really had. Tim held most of the story in the palm of his hand.

His old mission buddy had seen us...
Tim was accused of flirting with a pretty girl on the street; it had even been implied that she was...that she was...interested!

Aha, and now you begin to realize that this entry is ironic, even sarcastic, just as many of my others are. For those of you without a prior knowledge of Tim, he is THE friend of Julies from Freshmen year. He also likes math. So you see, this story is really exciting, as far as how exciting it is to watch my family laugh at the conclusions poor mission buddy had drawn from the quick glance he caught of Tim and I. But there was also a moral to this story, Tim told the truth. My morals are obviously lacking because I would have let the assumption go on being assumed and had a great time doing it. Thank you Tim for helping me be a better person by example.

And that concludes the 10 o'clock news with Morally Loose Carlaberry. I'm Carlaberry, join me at 11.

XXX or as they say in Carlandia "The Elixer of Calm"

In case you did not get the allusion to good old fashioned comic strips I will let you, poor reader, know that "XXX" is the marking on Alcoholic containers. And now for all those readers under 21 Carlandia versions of alcoholic relief are far tastier.

"What did you do in St. Goerge Carlie?" "What do you mean 'Fantastic'?" "You don't sound too thrilled about the hiking and teh food and the boys..."

What Happened in St. Goerge.

St. George was the excursion that has caused me to feel as if I have fallen off the face of the Provo Earth. I am now a part of real life, that illusion that spans the whole globe. I have been being contacted by the folks from home, folks from Russia and folks who curse. (this is foreign to Provo) I came home from the trip only to be tested by these people. But I prevail thorough all the trials of my new persona. I stand back while another girl flirts with my man and I am a calm listening ear while still taking on my new responsibilities. This person, the one that has her head on both of her shoulders, was born out of the mysterious goings on in Southern Utah.

Though I know you are dieing to hear the events that finally tamed the beast, if I told you you would have to be taken care of in the Norwegian sense. (That means I kill you ) My dear Cousin Brittany and My dear Friend Richard, companions in the Jungle of my transforamtion, saw only the effects, slowly twisting and turning on my face and in my soul, not the battles in the shadowed woods. Events, people, places, to them it was their weekend but in my contemplatings they were all but a canvas to what was truly happening. My most True of Adventures.

Intoxication. The only way to explain how out of touch I was despite how consistently I was touched down. No real beverage can produce such an effect. Intoxicating thoughts penetrated my mind, altering me far enough to be outrageously calm. Which during a football game is a calamity.

Such an internal war! Death, happiness, love, faith, loyalty, trust and priorities were being presented at every turn. On the Mountain death became a new reality; In the basement a whole part of me who I never wanted but always was had been discovered cast along the floorboards, and in the collapsible temple of holy worship I shed a burden, heavier than that of Atlas.

Among the twisting and turning that was visible only with examination I had the happiest of joy and the most sobering of discoveries. But you, oh reader, will never know. The most secret elixir that takes your mind, your body and your soul into the real Southern Utah, that Southern Utah in my Carlandia.