The Many Adventures of Carlaberry

COLD FEET

2011-10-19T12:04:00.001-07:00

ACT I

Scene 1

Lights go slowly up as a man dressed in a Tuxedo runs to the middle of the set from stage right. An open black Coffin is upstage center and two pews are facing upstage on either side of the coffin. The coffin is plain yet elegant. It is painted in gold and opens from the middle. It has an obvious copper latch that locks the coffin from downstage. The pews have soft seats and bright colors like green or tan.

Chuck-

Oh man oh man oh man. Why did she have to tell me that half an hour before the "I do's?" I just can't believe they'd do that. This is terrible. I can't believe my fiancee would cheat. (to casket) can you believe it. I went to the brides room too confront her and BANG! my best-mans got her in some sort of yoga position... (shivers) How could things get worse? This creepy back room with a coffin in it is sure to help calm my nerves. Crap this whole church is creepy, it's a wonder I didn't have a nervous breakdown as soon as they put this tie around my neck! You probably felt like you were marrying your mother in law too! I mean it is her wedding! I just wanted a nice peaceful ceremony, and a faithful wife would have been a bonus...I guess I don't have it as bad as you do, though? You're an old stiff. When I'm in the ground I hope people say, "That Chuck was a handsome looking corpse" You're not too bad for an old guy. I actually kinda like you. Oh man here comes that bridesmaid! Let me in!

PressilaA -

(enters stage right)

Where is that hunk of a man!? Oh look a dead body, I just love dead bodies they remind me of my daddy. (peeks inside and closes the lid violently) It can't be! (repeats action) It CAN'T BE!

(Priest walks in upstage right singing a little song)

Pressilaa -

Father! When did it happen?!

Priest -

It? (priest gets up real close to Pressilaa to see her face but shies away as soon as he gets close enough)

Pressilaa -

I mean when did he die?

Priest -

Oh this is one of the fastest burials we've ever done. I like to get them right in the ground.

PressilaA -

But how did he die?

Priest -

I seem to remember it was something about bad news...

PressilaA -

Oh?

Priest -

And his wife..

PressilaA -

Oh?

Priest -

Then he just hit a wall.

PressilaA -

OH NO! (opens casket) A wall killed this lovely man.

Priest -

(looks in the casket) Wow they made him up real good! (exits stage right)

Bridesmaid -

(picks his head up out of casket)

Why why you beautiful man why did I have to tell you?

James & Mother in Law -

(enter stage right followed a few paces behind by Bride)

We lost the groom! Pressilaa Chuck is...

(bride walks in faints just as she stops)

JAMES -

What happened!

PressilaA -

He hit a wall

Bride -

He did like his walls!

Mother in Law -

He can't be dead he can't be (she makes sexual advance, when he does not react) He must be.

BRIDE -

He did like his women!(getting more hysterical with every phrase)

(James comforts he in what could seem like a romantic way)

JAMES -

What a horrible tragedy!

MOTHER IN LAW -

Maybe we should have the funeral while we're all dressed!

(Priest enters upstage right)

JAMES -

May we hold his service now?

Priest -

The sooner the better I guess, that smell should be put under ground.I'll go get the old man his stuff.

BRIDE -

(as priest exists stage left) He's not that old! But he did like his smells...

Mother in LAw -

I'll open. (room bows heads, Chuck slowly opens casket to try to escape) We gather here today Lord to morn the loss of something truly great. A wedding. No one will know how long I slaved over my only daughters reception, because it will never be. All because Lord you decided to take a sexy man from this earth before his time. But Heaven knows how he really died because none of us trust that no account Pressilaa...

CHUCK –

Amen!(as he is trying to get out)

MOTHER IN LAW -

(continues)Lord forgive Pressilaa for eating too much sample wedding cake and my daughter for choosing the wrong man. As she obviously did because this man is dead. Even though his best friend James (she opens her eyes to look at James, Chuck falls into casket and groans with pain) Say hello to God James. (James waves in a heavenly direction, she closes her eyes again) his best friend James always treated him with such tenderness and always baked cookies. This man obviously didn't appreciate what he had so forgive him as worms eat his flesh in the ground. Amen (Room, Amen, casket closes) There wasn't that nice? (MOTHER suggests the plant come up on stage, priest enters again with wedding things in one hand, then realizes a funeral and switches hands to funeral things, plant sits back down in audience, JAMES stands)

James -

(hits casket throughout)Thanks for that Honey, I just wanted to say, oh this is hard. I would always be there for you. Even if you had gotten married. Boy am I glad you didn't get married to her (winks at BRIDE) I was your best man in your wedding and I'm going to be your best friend in Buddha heaven! I loved you, and I loved your fiance', and I loved you!(starts to cry) I'm sorry I can't do this. Let's just have a moment of silence. (He sits down, everyone bows head, casket opens, reaction to being hit)

PRIEST -

(locking casket)

Wouldn't want anyone climbing in! (laughs to himself, Groom freaks out)

BRIDE -

(stands in place addressing room)

He did like his moments of silence but...

PressilaA -

(interrupts, stand up) I can't hold it in any longer, I killed this man! (bride faints, room gasps)

PRIEST -

(enters with box)

No!

PressilaA -

I told him something he needed to know and that forced him to go running into walls!

MOTHER IN LAW -

What did you say!

PressilaA -

Don't blame me! I just told him that he was cheating with her!

BRIDE -

No such thing!

MOTHER IN LAW -

you wouldn't!

Pressilaa-

She would!

PRIEST -

You go man!

MOTHER IN LAW -

(becomes hysterical)

And ruin my big day! It's one thing to have a dead son in law but quite another to have hussy in the family!

BRIDE -

We didn't, we didn't cheat!

PRIEST -

Don't think so...

PressilaA -

You must have!

MOTHER IN LAW -

Prove it! How would anyone really know what you would do!

JAMES -

I know because I'm GAY!

(room is shocked, a loud bonk comes from the locked casket, room notices and everyone goes quiet)

MOTHER IN LAW -

(sitting)

Oh that's fine.

JAMES -

Don't look so shocked, I am the most normal of all of you people. Gosh!

BRIDE -

(standing solemnly)

Well, lie's and jealousy were part of his death. But they would not have been a part of our marriage, he liked many things, but he loved me. Despite everything going on around us. And I still love him, despite his being dead. Goodbye my sweet Chuck.

(opens casket lid to kiss him)

Do corpses bleed?

PRIEST -

Finally I found his picture!

(pulls out picture of old man)

James -

That's not him!

MOTHER IN LAW -

That's an old man!

Priest -

Ooh and I found my glasses! Oh and I found the groom! And the wedding party! Someone help me get him out. You would not believe how many grooms end up in these things!

(Best man and Priest remove him and set him in a chair, bride sits next to him)

Bartholomew you've had quite an adventure today.(laughs softly)

James -

I can't believe it your alive! Chuck you're alive! (kisses Chuck just as he wakes up)

Chuck-

Dude get off me. (laughs)

JAMES -

Sorry, sorry.

(Awkward…)

Pressilaa-

You mean he hid in there! I didn't kill him, I didn't kill you! Father, is it a sin to accidentally think you killed someone! No, NO it's not! Because you told me he was dead!. Hey you told me he was dead!

PRIEST -

Bartholomew died (checks notes in the box he has) when his wife decided 93 was the right age to live with the other old folks. The old man thought kissing his wife in public everyday would kill him and sure enough three days later he had bought this coffin, then 6 months later he stubbornly died sky diving.

PressilaA -

He didn't hit a wall until he hit the ground isn't that great!?

CHUCK-

No, wonder he was so flat...

PressilaA -

I could just!..(kisses Chuck, Mother pulls her off)

MOTHER IN LAW -

Everyone gets to fulfill their fantasies. What about me!? (runs toward Chuck but then past him as she jumps into Priests arms) Father take me! To a wedding!(they exit right)

BRIDE -

I was thinking everyone gets to be happy except you were in a coffin with a poor flat old man...

James-

Look man I don’t know why you hid in a coffin but I know a thing or two about hiding, and if that cut(cut on Chucks head) shows you anything it's that hiding from your feelings hurts. So I'm not just going to bake cookies I'm going to do what something from my heart! I'm going to make Peanut Butter Chocolate chip cookies for everyone !

(Pressilaa runs into arms in gratitude)

BRIDE -

And Chuck you do like cookies.

PressilaA -

Who needs a man when you can have baked goods!

JAMES -

Amen sistah!

(as James and Bridesmaid exit right)

PressilaA -

I love gay men they remind me of my daddy!

(bride tries to kiss Chuck during this line but he is distracted)

BRIDE -

Why does everyone get to kiss you but me!(groom gets a headache)oh, oh I didn't mean for our wedding day to kill you! I know you're scared, you should go keep kissing girls. I can wait until you're good and old and don't have any more life to live.

Chuck –

This morning I thought our wedding was the end of my life with the cake and the bridesmaid and ever being able to flirt ever again! Our wedding may kill me, but our marriage is what is going to bring me comfort. Let me introduce you to my friend. He died and was still able to show me how important it is to live your life. When I die I hope people say that man sure knew how to live his life and he lived because of his best friend.

Mother in law-

(from offstage)

Come in here! we still have my wedding!

CHUCK-

And not with her mother.

(bride and groom kiss while laughing.)

A slow decent into Swagger-less...ness

2011-03-21T16:23:00.000-07:00

It has come to my attention that as I grow older I am beginning to lose track of where my feet are going. This is not because I am growing taller or even because my nose is sticking higher in the air but because I am growing wider. And, like a pregnant woman as my belly becomes larger I feel more wise as I become more wide. Wisdom, age, and thickness all equal one inescapable fact. I am no longer date-able.

I'm writing a blog about it to let the world know that I am far to grown-up to take offence at this fact. Wisdom being the only trait that I am able to admit to willingly it is also the only reason I will say is allowed to revoke my extreme date-ability. Some may say it is because I have become less pompous, but I cannot say that I know this is a fact. I am the only one who has my head on my shoulders and will therefore be the only one to measure it. Some may say it is because I am focusing more on my skills. Also I beg to differ, as the owner of my hands I know where their callus's are coming from and I say that their sources can in no way be called skill.

As my body parts distract me from my daily doings I am losing my swagger and gaining my destiny. It seems that keeping track of where I have been was keeping me from where I was going. But along this road I cannot shake my hips and keep my balance...oh the tragedies.

So about Popcorn Haters

2011-01-07T08:06:00.000-08:00

I have never once met a person that has ever had a legitimate reason for hating the things that I love. Then again I have never met a person with a legitimate reason to love the things I hate. I'm open minded that way. Because of the absolute validity of each of my extreme and irreversible opinions I often, and seldom chose my opinions non consequentially. For instance, I love Sandwiches, and I hate pickles, except when they are on sandwiches. And there is no substitution to this rule. There will be no rule as silly nor as highly important to my lunch ever again in the course of my life.

There was a time when someone challenged the absolute solidarity of such choices in my life. I was a freshmen and was still looking up to my older friends as role models for life. Emilia had once loved the way I loved. Yes, we both ate popcorn on a daily basis. But then I had my very first heartbreak in all my fourteen years. She told me Popcorn would one day be boring. That Horrid word is hardly mentionable but to say it of my dear sweet popcorn is cruel and hurtful. So I decided on that day that Popcorn would never no never leave my good graces, no matter the circumstance.

This has proven to be a difficult life devoted to a snacky treat. I have endured many burnt kernels and walked many a cold night just to find a working microwave. Flossing has become my greatest companion and a disdain for that certain sophomore role model has grown with each passing year. My love remains.

My OTHER condition has generated quite a few enemies in this regard. Besides Emilia I have also lost a number of female friends to the love for popcorn. All have been worthy losses. You see none of my friends have ever been quite as buttery.

And So it begins, and So it ends

2010-10-12T07:13:00.000-07:00

There seems to be a point in my life where I allow everything to fall apart. I have just finished celebrating several small victories but have just discovered that the immediate need for rather big accomplishments is looming and kind of imposable. I need to write a ten page paper with opinions I don't have with skill I don't have while accepting the fact that the Boy friend I only kind of liked is dating somebody else and that it hurts for no reason other than my selfishness. Then of coarse I need to accomplish all these goals that make me feel like I will be worth something.

Obviously all I want to do is be melodramatic. Be a viking! Tell the world my tale! But no. Many of my battles are now private. Not that I don't still share. I do. People deserve to see me be me, instead of see me be a bedroom moper. But I have seen how this ends far too often for me to let anyone know that it is beginning. I'm going to create all kinds of goals that will pull me out of this feeling of loneliness. And once I fail I will revert to an age old technique. Step one, eat. Step two, drink. Step three be merry. And Tomorrow be sure you die.

Note to Self

2010-03-05T16:10:00.000-08:00

I declared myself a writer at age five when I discovered that a by-line was one of the most effective ways to get attention that I had ever before achieved. I then began to discover as I grew up that “writer” was also far more interesting than doctor, lawyer or candlestick maker; that also was a plus to this decision. When people would ask me what I would write I would answer something silly, something equally as different, so that I may receive the same reaction. It was not until much later that these attributes that made me foolishly choose my course in life were befitting a writer; in fact writer just seemed to be befitting of me. But the truth of the matter remained; I simply had not yet had anything to write about. They say write what you know, the more interesting writers council to write about your adventures.

Putting off any writing that might affect my future I went forth and began what I believed might be my very first adventure. I came out the other side and sat down in the figurative dirt road and wept. In all reality it was my pink polka dot bed, and I hadn’t really come out of the Jungle, lost any tragic love, or saved the children of some forgotten land. Adventure does not come in that way though, not for most that is. There are those few that have that benefit, that way to “really experience life,” but that is not what most of us call life, no, we call that adventure. People who desire the discovering of Atlantis and the theft of some hidden art piece fail to recognize the moments they have where they sit down on the dirt road and weep.

No, no, my excuse to not write because I am awaiting something to write about is now most certainly invalid. Life is the great adventure that we all face, and I must reveal this. A pirate who is hung can draw parallels with a thirty-year-old man who overcame his past and still…still must pay. So if being dragged through Hell, abducted by bandits, inserting yourself with a substance that turns you into a monster and finally building a house of gold is not proof of where real adventure lies I begin, from this day onward, to challenge that disbelief. I will write what I know and all that I know.

Mini-analogy

2010-03-01T00:43:00.000-08:00

I had a magnificent opportunity recently go enjoy a roller coaster ride. Now normally, I'm afraid of roller coaster rides. And after a certain age, nuh uh, there is no way you are getting me on one I have never ridden before. So let's use logic. We know this ride would not be blog worthy if I had ridden it before. And I just contradict myself.

I did get on the ride, a stranger peer pressured me. Most of the ride I was closing my eyes just as tightly as I was screaming, sometimes thinking that I sounded like a man. I could just see it. My friend standing at the exit smiling his cocky little smile and laughing his cocky little laugh. Exempting yourself from a half flipped free falling loop-dee loop was not my idea of friendship. After my ears stopped ringing I hear the manly scream again, but my mouth was closed. I was not ridding this baby alone.

I looked over and saw him just before the final drop, he gave me a smile and lifted his hands above his head and looked straight down. As we plunged to near death I found myself waving my hands in the air laughing myself silly.

The cars pulled up to the loading station slowly. The man who had sat with me squeezed my hand and asked in a hoarse voice "Wasn't that fun?" We jerked to a stop and the harnesses came up. I pondered this question, then I pondered the conveniently placed barf bag at my side. he took my hand and lifted me out of my seat. "Well, I had fun." he said as he kissed my forehead.

The ride was over, I had made it out alive, which is always a plus, and according to my rules now I could ride it again, if I ever had the inkling to completely incapacitate myself again. Despite that, I still hadn't answered the question. I thought about it all, every head bob, every speed jump and all those times my stomach hit my brain. The stranger was walking away. I had to yell, my ears were still ringing. "HEY GUY!" He turned around, cocking one eyebrow. "THANKS FOR GOIN' WITH ME, TURNS OUT, I HAD FUN!"

So yes, the workers were really mad that I yelled, and the next costumers stopped mid-entrance, but heck who cares. The ride was over, and not even a pimpled boy in a stripped vest calling security to drag me out of that ride without the fond knowledge, that I can ride that ride again some-day.

Inspirations, Muses and Leftovers

2010-02-27T11:27:00.000-08:00

Have you ever wanted to stop everything you were doing, sit on the ground and scratch out in the dirt what you have just seen thought or understood? Can you imagine that that power sometimes overtakes the will-power to not run home and scrawl down even the things that you do not think makes sense? Then consider that the power is not yours.

Whenever that most magnificent and frustrating event occurs we are lucky enough to be accompanying something more than what we are. It spills out onto a page, or a canvas, or is strummed across a guitar, sometimes we are even lucky enough to step back and realize that it is beautiful; so beautiful that we then forget the way people see us and just want people to see what we've done.

Lady's and Gentlemen that is the charm of a Muse.

Like Comming Home

2010-02-25T17:23:00.000-08:00

At age six I learned a motto that has been influential in my life from the original My Little Pony's Movie, "Home is where the Heart is." As that little Gnome sang and danced I thought I knew what he meant. That Home is where you put your heart. Indeed I did discover this last weekend that I have put my heart at home. But that is only because years of comfort love and understanding have dragged it there and given it a worm cookie. And if you give a heart a cookie, it's going to want some milk to go with it.

So that is how I have come to the conclusion that a homey feeling comes when your hear is already in something, and NOT when you put it there by force. So I began an experiment. I decided to put as much of my pride and principles aside as passable and see what exactly Mr. Gnome meant.

When I traveled back to California I decided to be with and do whatever reflected the feeling I got on my living room couch. Thankfully Owl City matched that description, and Disneyland did too. But so did Country music, and California Adventure. That, and being a Republican unfortunately...make me happy. *Sigh* so I am going to do everything in my ability to feel as at home as passable so that I may figure out where the Devil my heart lives, despite my pride.

A House-full

2010-01-21T13:45:00.000-08:00

In my living room, if you lay facing the right side of the couch, cock your head to the left and squint just the tiniest bit, you can see our fishbowl that sits next to a plastic potted plant. And if you are patient enough you may see the little orange fish float just in the right place to reflect the little orange leaf. That little fish will just sit there and look at the reflections of himself; above him, below him and beside him. And sometimes, if you see him there long enough, you begin to wonder if he doesn't think the leaf is the most handsome of reflections. Of coarse being a fish he doesn't know what he should look like, nor does he really know what handsome is. But still, what a curious thought.

Really Stripy is the only fish on the whole earth who could discover such a spot in his bowl and I am the only one who has ever seen it. My little home is filled with such wonders. Like how many steps it takes to get from my bed to my bathroom, (12) or what kind of juice WON'T stain the old carpet (apple cider) and what kind WILL (no substance known to us). But what fascinates me the most is that no one besides myself takes part in the wonderful joys of drinking from the Woody and Buzz Cocoa cups. I personally get a lift from Woody promising me that I'm his favorite deputy every morning.

There is very little about my roommates that I understand. I used to miss, in my mothers home, the vocalizing and the musicals and the movies. Now I have a house-full, now I have a house-full of music and spills and marmalade. An adventure such as this requires allot more attention, like a camera that always seems to be low on batteries...stupid rechargeables.

Mint Hot Cocoa: Day 7

2009-12-07T17:02:00.000-08:00

This is my confession, I cannot remember WHAT day had hot chocolate in it. But my roommates and I all enjoyed the wonderful of the oven taste of hot chocolate mixed with candy cane...at some point.

Family Fudge: Day 6

2009-12-07T16:35:00.003-08:00

Fudge, this particular recipe is legendary among my clan. in my home there are two dishes that seem to be dedicated to the memory is this treat. The fudge sauce pan, and the fudge pan. When referring to these two tools there is a hushed reverence that the speaker must implement. The sauce pan is as older than my own parents. In fact the only memory I have of how old it actually could be is that when I was a child I heard my father telling me of it's origins and I envisioned the pioneers melting butter with it over an open flame. I did mix up my time periods just a tad, and I misunderstood how to use a pot; there one part of that story I know is true, the pot has only ever been used to make this fudge.

So when my determination to make fudge on this Monday finally turned into the action of making fudge I stopped and wondered how on earth fudge was made without these two objects. It seemed that I was walking a tight-rope without the use of an umbrella and stunt music. But I was reassured by my father that fudge could indeed be made with a regular saucepan and that it could be cooled in any container with the right volume. Above you see the pie tin that does NOT have years and years of fudge shaped cuts in it and was NOT made over an open flame, but it seems to be just as tasty.

Oreo Cheesecake: Day 5

2009-12-07T16:34:00.002-08:00

This Cheesecake was inspired by a LACK of Christmas spirit. One day I was sharing my treats with an apartment of boys. When they rushed over to receive some only two of the four were present. the third received some only a little later but the fourth was never told about the treat. So, in order that he might feel vindicated I asked this fourth boy to have me make him anything his heart desired. Half an hour after I informed him of this he called and said one word, Cheesecake.

I do not like to make things that I am not sure will come out at least decently so I bought a mix to fulfill his request. I added my own Oreo flavoring to make it feel more homemade. But If I learned anything through this experience is it that Cheesecake, ladies, is the way into a mans heart. (Coincidentally, it is also the way to stop a mans heart.)

Brownies: Day 4

2009-12-07T16:34:00.001-08:00

To the people not very familiar with apartment 7 this seems commonplace in comparison with my imaginative previous recipes. These did come from a box and did only take half an hour to make, but they are wonderful.

My superpower, according to my roommates and our apartment quote board, is to know exactly when to take the brownies out of the oven. Hence they always seem to be the perfect consistency and are always gone within the first hour of their life. My personal theory is that they would not taste as good as they do if they lived any longer than that, but unless I make them when nobody is home, I may never discover the truth of that.

Candy Cane Cake: Day 3

2009-12-07T16:31:00.000-08:00

As some of you may have noticed, I have been lacking in my posting. But my facebook keeps me honest as I display the name of my treat as my status. Because really, what I am making is how I am feeling.

On this particular day I was not feeling like a cake. But I had no other ingredients with which to celebrate the season. In consequence I went to work and brought back a gigantic, broken, candy cane. I swirled this vanilla cake with pink and mint flavored batter and then sprinkled the top with the rest of the crushed candy cane.

I hope y'all use this because it has been one of my most popular treats thus far.

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies From Daddy!: Day 2

2009-12-02T09:12:00.000-08:00

Margarine, sugar, brown sugar, eggs, vanilla, flower, baking soda , baking powder, salt, pumpkin, and chocolate chips put together make one of the classic treats of home. The very taste of them brings me to a progressive dinner, warming next to a fireplace. Fortunately I can eat these cookies without a real fireplace. I don't know how the apartment management would feel about an open fire.

Pumpkin Chocolate chip cookies not only taste good but they are super fun to make. My dear sister Holly gave me the grand idea over the phone and the one or two ingredients I lacked for them. Thank you HOLLY!

Now look at these delectable lovelies. I only made half the batch and I know I will not be able to find people to eat these fast enough! I know many who are looking forward to the mixture of leftovers at the end of every week.

Chocolate Chip Cookies from the Freezer: Day 1

2009-12-01T20:02:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the 25 days of Christmas. In an attempt to make sure my roommates remember that it is Christmas time and not just Finals season I have decided that in replacement of a Christmas countdown chain I am going to attempt the 25 days of Christmas Concoctions. Unfortunately 100% Christmas deserts seems imposable since the recipes I have already looked up seem to be for the Martha Stewart Homemaker. And by that I mean of coarse that they have a checking account the size of Dear Martha's.

This project was a bit impromptu so the ingredients required for a nice home cooked smell was imposable so I simply took from the freezer my name brand chocolate filled cookies. But my blasting Reggis Philbin Christmas music and my ever lengthening crocheted scarf is doing enough for the Christmas spirit...for now.

~Quotes and Context~

2009-11-09T17:41:00.000-08:00

I love living by the portable journal. When something brilliant is said, weather it be brilliantly funny or brilliantly described, I record it. So, according to circumstance, my computer, my phone and random strips of paper have accumulated senseless and out of context quotes.

As to save the memory space on my phone and to put some use to the scattered word documents on my computer I have decided to here display them so that they may have someone else's eyes glance over them; be warned.

Phone:

Why would you bring your keys with you to Switzerland!?

If I found a bear in my dryer I would kill it

I realized that I was happy WHILE I was happy; what a pleasant lifestyle.

Your friendship was important to me. It helped my confidence; so you're right up there with my razor for appreciation.

Severely impressed

Every body is right

Insuperior

Sterling Dakota

sexist money

Good thing you don't get paid to wear a shirt.

My life is so active that I feel like my knees are going to explode

I'm big enough to cradle a cow.

Thanks for the absurd thanksgiving music

I apologize if my humor does not amuse you. "Rock" usually gets um rollin' in the isles, or a concussion in the head, but that's only when I throw it.

I do give up, all the time, but not until the time is right.

I took one giant leap for girl, you can take one small leap for mankind

Computer:

As long as falling is a scary experience he will never jump

It's not the facts that affect response, it's the way they are presented.

You can be what you want but you can't want what you are.

Acting is the lie to others that helps you discover the truth of you.

Part of being humble is to be grateful, and part of fasting is offering.

I really love jazz and I really love piano, those two things combined...let's just say that's the kind of feeling that makes Peter Pan fly.

That wasn't a line. I wouldn't use a line. These are facts. And when presented with facts you need to present them with words as well represented.

Happiness is the lemon juice in my open wound of fear.
Why don't you go off and realize that I'm just "someone," while I go off and realize you're just another one.

If you are going to tell the truth don't do it with so much false flair.

Mother and fathers bed was always far bouncier

What can you do with pretty?

She said yes to a party, not a date with you.

for now is the preparation for ever

Writing Month

2009-11-02T13:31:00.000-08:00

November, apparently, is the month where all aspiring authors come together and make a point to write down crap. Yes, all the characters and plot lines that have been swirling around in their heard all year without being released onto the blessed blank page get a place to rest as all of us come together and admit that they do indeed have faults. The goal is words per day, not quality per day; as is the normal obsession of an author. I unfortunately refuse to admit that I have any such nonsense that could passably come from my nimble fingers. "Don't Ever Change" came from someone else...

Ah but wait! What about me? All I have done is experience the overthrow of an evil world in the sky! My best friend saw his friends and family kill each other only because they realized that grass was real! But I understand. You don't want to write about us because we are Sci-Fi. You would have to study how a world could be in the sky and how clones could be made to be born at 30 years old or how they could be placed on a conveyor belt with new memories of personalities and lives that never happened. The bubble boy isn't important enough to you to even be talked about, what a historian of fiction you turned out to be...

I'm not going to complain, she can write about what she chooses. Everyone suffers, everyone has problems. Personally I would rather that she not talk about mine to begin with. She would tell my story in a forgiving manner. Infidelity should never be forgiven, even if I never really did do anything. She'd be asking me all these questions, difficult to answer. I'm in a polygamist colony, not a university, all of her questions would help her to plea the case that I found love with him. I am not learned enough to stop her. But the husband must not be forgotten that way...

Pity? She'll never show pity. All she ever did was write about the people I love dieing! I never once tried to stop it either! No, it wasn't disease and NO it wasn't beyond my control. I couldn't turn him in! I would never turn him in! And it's all because of my pride, the fact that he gave me something real to live off of. Real adventure real drama real kisses. But the closer I got to him the closer I dragged all those around me into danger, into death. She exposes me for who I truly am, but will never finish my story and write to the world who he is...

Adventure, yeah she really does like to think about you all and your adventures. Mine she began to tell with honor, even with pride it seemed. I'm not a good King, I'm not even a great king, nor am I even a real king. But I protect my people, I love them and I will make sure that they are safe from danger even without their consent. In my tale we all discovered joy, individual power and an unquenchable lust for love. She had begun to tell my tale but it seems no one will ever know how it ends...

Sorry about that. Sometimes Characters just escape. Maybe writing month isn't such a bad idea after all...

(Sick Days)

2009-10-29T00:23:00.000-07:00

Always the same.

A phrase no one is ever enchanted by. There is no gumption in such a notion. But, think about all the times we desire those events that always seem to be the same; A movie, a book, a kiss on the forehead, the news of a friend. Tragically, these always seem to remind us in the midst of their occurrence that, once again, the outcome will not change. No matter how hard we seem to hope, you and I dear reader, we can see that we forgot. Forgot to be sensible, to weigh the consequences, or protect what we are.

I remember in elementary school when the children would all treat the one snot nosed kid like he were the unbless-ed creature with the plague. Then our own noses would get runny and we would beg to our parents to let us stay home. Home then became a sanctuary of warm and inviting things. Mother would lie you down with the blankets from her own bed, a hot cup of cider and always make sure you had more than enough to eat. I'll bet you can still remember closing your eyes and feeling as if your fever that was drying your eyes were a reflection of all the comfort that was being provided personally for you.

And that, dear reader, is the moment when you forever wish for a sick day. Then you discover how it feels to have a paper due, a concert to get to and... a cough, and no other sick day has ever been quite so convenient. You weren't hoping when you woke up that morning to have to take care of yourself, or cancel plans with a friend-- you had been hoping for that worm wintry sick day.

As will always be, my first few sick days in Utah happened on the first snowfall of the winter, and quite honestly, the first snowfall of my life. I had spent the last few weeks cooped up in my little world of lazy, but the night before the terror I had determined to be a productive human being. Alas, I still felt the determination when I woke up...at noon, in cold sweat. So I was pathetic, hypocritic, and mal-aphobic.

Hope does, more often than we would like to realize, grants us our wishes. But why, so often, do we hope for what we know
will not change.

The Reason for Imperminent Things

2009-10-26T20:40:00.000-07:00

All that I have ever known has been forever. My elementary school had always been my sisters elementary school and will always be mine. We always shop at Stater Brothers and Oreos will always be stalked ten boxes high in our pantry. That goes to prove that all good things do not come to an end but are easily expected to last forever. My parents will never move, Mark Twain will never be out of style and my name will always be beautiful. But this expectation has often proved to be a folly of mine. I deplore, I detest anything that is to end: friendships, books, meals. As you may imagine my life has been a lonely, boring, flavorless place. I lost happiness, I lost fulfilment and I lost pounds.

Around a point, the point at which I gave up on omelets, I realized that no longer was anything in my life permanent. My apartment, my roommates, my job, my hair color; all would invariably change and leave me, forever. So I changed, believing I was befitting of my surroundings. Inconsistency became my middle name and momentary happiness was all that I knew; Kiss him, eat that, spend this. Dedication to a practical non-entity seemed like a waste of my fluctuating time.

Eventually, as all senseless actions do, mine came to a strange roadblock. I wanted something to last, to last me anytime, even a short time. Why? I ask myself, why would I become attached to something that way? This something, as you may imagine, is a very special something. (and of coarse I would never cease to have fun for anything less) But the current state of my life remains, anything I encounter will not last much more than a season. (another new thing that is impermanent to me) In the beginning I deplored, I despised the idea of only being able to grasp this sort of happiness for a day, a week, a month. Forever, forever was all I would accept.
A conclusion was drawn from this! One that will slap me in the face each time I give up on anything in its birth! The thought of forever made me unhappy.

So what is the point of all this? Attachment still aches when it is broken, a favorite car, a circle of friends, the Star Wars movies; I have found that some good things do indeed come to an end. That does not challenge the fact that they are good things. A week in New York helps us see the world, but we cannot all live there! Pets die, classes end and yes friendships do break up, but those become memories to visit in the dark of December, pathways to new adventures and wounds to make the heart stronger. So why do we have things, wonderful things, that we can see the end to at the very beginning? Those are blessings reserved for a time when we are still waiting for our beginning.

Party For One!!!!

2009-10-21T20:38:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wish I could scream at the top of my lungs, tell the world, spread it wide! There is good news there is good news! All the instincts in my whole body come together and begin to plan. How to draw the most attention to our host as possable? The whole world is going to take some effort.

So I feel the need to have my muscles loosten, my lungs begin to fill with air and a very large and rediculous smile appears on my face, but i have to keep the party to myself.

A party of one can sometimes be the best of celebrations!

An Unknown Participant

2009-10-13T14:42:00.000-07:00

Outside my bedroom window there is a shortcut, the quickest way between the apartments and campus. When my blinds a re open I get to see students walk to and from their classes. Most of the time it's backpack on, head down and walk fast. The only other variation seems to be if the persons hands are in their pocket or clutching a few last minute notes.

Today as I was folding clothes and enjoying the harsh wind blowing the trees I saw this exact pattern, but this time it put a smile on my face. Head down against the wind, grey backpack on and hands in the pockets of his rebelliously anti seasonal shorts a young man walked just underneath my window. Then I saw it, the look. He stopped in his tracks, looked straight ahead then turned on his heal. You know what that means. he forgot something and he was already late. You can feel it, anger frustration, disappointment and even a touch of embarrassment. You see the expression on his face in every detail, because you know it well. Whomever the reader is can relate to this most dreaded of interferences with your routine. And that is why it made me smile. That is the first time that I had ever been an observer of such a moment. One that will not change anything to this young man, but feels like everything.

I smile because this made my passer-by human, real, full of thought and emotion, and all he did was turn around mid stride. How truly common the strife's of man are; that we may recognize these simplicities in our neighbors. You reader, this man, and I all have a common experience to share. How many universal experiences does the world have. Why isn't it as simple to see as looking out your bedroom window.

~And Then What Happened Was~

2009-10-13T13:31:00.000-07:00

Sadly, I have been neglecting you of my wonderful adventures. I've had picnics in the cold, (literally multiple) gone star gazing indoors, found symbolism in the MTC, discovered how to both succeed and fail, been on at least a dozen dates, reviewed a play, and begun the Halloween ritual. Exciting right? The details are even more thrilling, compelling and thought provoking but, not on the forefront of my mind. Carlaberry can see what you cannot; that is not what a year off of school is about. Someone recently told me I was "livin' the life." While yes, being a professional dater was fun, I didn't even have to feed myself and I still gained weight, I had no job. I was not productive.

Someone invited me to an Astronomy Lab. I sat there holding hands with a cute boy and staring intently at a dome with spots of light that imitated galaxies and constellations. Did you know that Serious Black was named after a star!? A Star! Puck, Hercules and countless other folks we know are suspended in our skys and have been for as long as couples have been holding hands and gazing intently the different kinds of light that shine so beautifully.

The wonderful human being that let me have my first taste of college is now getting to see stars shine in my eyes, even the light that shines so beautifully, whenever he wants to. And good news to all you romantics out there, he wants to see my eyes quite often.

This particular weeks brand new adventure is that I have a bet going on. Apartment 26, and David specifically, had it coming to them anyway. Not the loss of their bet, you see if I loose I am supposed to make them dinner. I owe them so much foot it's not even funny and I need to practice my cooking skills so either way I win! In your face gambling little boys! But I'm going to win. I get a meal from Dairy Queen when David, once again, does not ask this girl on a date by the end of the week. Each week he promises he will, and each week he does not. Kevin believes that I don't know David as well as I think I do; that Dave will pull through even if only to help Kevin win the bet. He is wrong.

Official Rules

David Must ask her this week

David must actually go on the date this week, or in the event that she is busy, within an approved extended time.

The time cannot be extended further than a week

I win when David doesn't go on the date, then Kevin will by me a full meal at Dairy Queen.

Kevin wins if David is able to prove that he did, Kevin gets a home-made Chicken dinner.

Don't Ever Change Chapter 4

2009-09-29T10:15:00.000-07:00

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, that 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

2009-09-29T08:44:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-28T12:27:00.000-07:00

"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

2009-09-23T12:20:00.000-07:00

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 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 wive. 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 standing sitting inside 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

2009-09-23T08:47:00.000-07:00

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 hear 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 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 on 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 that password! 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

2009-09-14T09:33:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-09-10T08:58:00.000-07:00

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"

2009-09-09T12:23:00.000-07:00

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.

My New Philosophy

2009-08-29T13:57:00.000-07:00

It seems as if the last three weeks have been dedicated to the rise of my self esteem. If I was at notch 3 before the cosmic universe seemed to have been on the path of getting me to notch twenty. If my title did not give this blog away I would like to now announce that this will be purely philosophical, By pure I mean all the stories will have been of detrimental worth if I consider them anything but slightly intangible.

Not too long ago I believed that the guys I like are the guys I am not worthy of. Pretty? Not for me. Nice? Can't stand the sight of me probably. Honest? Now why would I even look at him without paying a fee?

The same rules almost applied to women. Except instead of admitting my uncool defeat with them I would hate, despise and torture them, claiming the disdain was genetic. But now, if anyone missed and episode, I had that one guy that made my misconceptions about all of that disappear into a dark Neverland mist. That clicked my confidence up about ...hmm 10 notches?

I also had those roommates that were lovely and nice. The loveliest and most popular of them all hugged me for heavens sake. I may have discovered a way to alter genetics... up about 3 notches.

New best friend, 5 notches.

But then there was Jigga. None of this would have passably been able to sustain itself through my old memories and daunting nightmares if Jigga had not assigned me some self esteem homework. Scriptures, talks, and more scriptures were emailed to me and I was ordered to read.

I believe it may be irreverent to express what I wish to in a blog situation so I will merely say that that may have put all the other clicks to shame.

Have you ever seen a trick done ten thousand times and assumed that that experience alone was enough to make you expert the first time you tired? That you could make the most golden cookies or make that watch disappear? But true experience has now taught you, seeing is only believing, not feeling. At the first test for each of these facts that people tell me about myself none of them withstood their first test. Although I will always believe myself beautiful because of the mysterious stranger that swept me off my feet, believing is not a feeling.

So how was it tested you ask? In the same way all young women are tested, with the undeserving eyes of a dog. A dog licks and plays but the bite is so terrible that the scars last a lifetime. Because all of this new self confidence had not yet been tested to be strengthened I allowed myself to be treated as if I believed the dog was of more worth than I...

Thankfully that is over. Thankfully he is gone. Thankfully I have a David.

So When I see it, I'll believe it, but only when it's tested will I feel it.

And that's my new Philosophy!

To See Unexpected Sights

2009-08-26T11:02:00.000-07:00

Card Captors was one of those anime wonders that helped to raise my generation. From this short lived show I take the wise words of the living beanie baby use it in all aspects of my life, "Expect the Unexpected." Of coarse he was referring to the monsters that would regularly attack and confuse the thirteen year old in a mini skirt, but when I was in middle school I applied it to whomever would show up to my after school club. Strangely enough no one ever showed up in the same order, some even came in pairs! I was never caught off guard in those days.

But the days where my maturity was at its true peak are long passed and I have forgotten many of the lessons TV has taught me. So in recent days I have been falling pray to being knocked on my backside by the lightest of unexpected breezes.

For example, yesterday I passed the boys apartment not expecting to see any lights on. But Lo they were and I found myself inside chatting while I truly had other things I could (and should have) been doing. Laughing and having a wonderful time some words popped out of my mouth. I had been pondering this for a long time so all that was strange was the timing. I asked David to be my best friend.

Such a proposal to someone so much older than I (and well a boy) I expected to be shot down. Card Captors could have saved me from making such a hasty judgement. As you may now expect as the learned reader, he said yes. We laid out the rues and regulations and sealed the responsibilities of each other in this lofty position. Now I see with the up most clarity the face of my reason to be a good little girl. As you may expect part of the rules include punishment for my excessive flirtation. I just won't be looked at sideways with the eyebrows up again! I can't stand such torture!

So I glided to work this morning not expecting anything. Such a mistake, such a mistake. I walked in to open the kiosk and saw a single cherry red rose sitting on my seat. I know who it is from, and no he has never been mentioned in this blog, and no, I am not interested. Another instance where Card Captors could have saved me, my heart stopped by the act of affection. My mind now has the lonely mall chair and Kiosk enhanced by the loveliest blooming bud, almost filling the great hall with a presence of peace. Most unexpected.

So what have I learned from this? That firstly, I must go back and watch Pokemon and Yu Gi Oh so that I may be the knower of all things. Secondly, that sometimes not expecting the worst can be a pleasant surprise.

Awkward Fun!

2009-08-25T12:43:00.000-07:00

(More) Fiction

That is the second day you wouldn't look at me. I didn't know there was going to be an awkward stage. Man, I haven't done one of those in years! How come you didn't tell me? But how would I know without you telling me? Really, how could I have misinterpreted so badly and skipped all that great fun!

Just look at the time I've waisted on being your 'just' friend when I could have been in transition mode. I could have come into work half done and unshowered! I missed out just because I was perfectly willing to take this thing to the sub level seamlessly. I suppose you would know that that's inappropriate; you learning to be normal and all. Maybe you wanting to be normal right now may teach me how to.

But Man oh man how I would have loved putting some lemon drops in my eyes to sport the red puffy look! I've wanted to since every one started doing it this season, just look at all people tryin' on hay fever. Unfortunately the lemon drops would have been necessary. I don't have hay fever and I just didn't cry. It seems I don't when something minor like that happens.

But now that I know where we are, for real, not friends just acquaintances that avoid each others glances every one in a while, I can leave work early. You know, when the sight of you just becomes too much. Melodrama! What great fun days off, lazy mornings and Halloween makeup tricks will be!

How long was this normal natural stage going to go on for again? Playing games is fun, but I hate watching the both of us be something we're not for too long. You know, that normal thing?

The Temple Watches

2009-08-24T11:42:00.000-07:00

Many Literary geniuses have used a towering building in their art. They create a structure that is far superior and far more useless than the common dwellings that surround it; maintaining a contestant symbol of some kind. But because all the authors in the world seem to be tortured in one fashion or the other the symbol is commonly dark and sinister therefore much too ominous to expect anywhere in our safe world of real life, right?

Alright, safe is not the word to be used when referring to real life; those authors were tortured because they had been a part of that very experience. But I do not experience real life, you see, I live in Provo. Each symbol I have found in this magnificent novel has turned classic literature on its head. The mountains that surround us do not close us in on ourselves and our nightmares, oh no, they are partly the Pride Rock of Mufasa and partly the gigantic Y that people hike to to change their lives. Mountains are walls surrounding us is an encouraging safety, duh, how could you think otherwise?!

When the winds begin to blow and the clouds roll in from the east, the atmosphere morphs; a new kind of breath is drawn. This breath does not rattle, quiver or shake; in fact you want to breath more deeply and relax. The smell produced by this overtaking darkness leaves the air sweet and perfumed, even making the thought of romance more prevalent.

But along with these terrifying and confining omens inside a perfect little town...we also boast the almighty looming structure. There are eleven of these hill toppers in all of Utah, despite the small militia they say it is this very object that changes all that its light touches.

The Provo temple can be seen from wherever you are. Look and you will see your true goal, your reason for going home early, the way to happiness, the reminder you are blessed...and the contradiction this has to all learned men is that...well, there is no contradiction in it. No rich gentlemen lives there in daily agony and loneliness, no witch has cast a spell and no, there isn't even a slightly unsettling feeling produced by its presence.

What kind of reality is there when the rules laid down for us by fiction are ignored, even mocked. I say Something has to give, either Perfect Provo goes or depressing symbols do.

No matter what the masses choose, I stay; some tortured author has to pick up the pieces.

I sat down to a Test One Day

2009-08-22T15:06:00.000-07:00

(fiction)

I sat down to a test one day. Rubbing my eyes and yawning enough to daze me I pulled out my exam tool kit: three pencils, an eraser and a fuzzy black pen. I hadn’t studied, oh, no one had. Each of us knew this because our noses had been in our notes and not pressed up against the summer warm windows. The end was so near. We were now counting down in hours rather than days, 182, 179, 160, but all seniors were required to take
one
more
test.

“Begin,” the Procter said.

My classmates and I had all been separated, five feet apart, at long desks. I cracked my back to the right, then to the left (for luck), then turned the first page in my packet. The first few questions were easy, I wouldn’t let that fool me, security in testing was a fools game. I began to notice, none of this had been in the notes! Was I wrong, had I not studied well? I went back to review my answers. They were all right, they had to be. But who else would know these answers? Questions about paint colors, emergency procedure, fast food.

I skipped ten pages ahead in my packet. The questions were all the same! It asked about my friends, my family, my childhood. What kind of test…how did they know that…who…why did we have to take a test on my life to graduate? I looked up, sure that someone else might have noticed. The person to my right was almost halfway done, but the poor guy to my left, his hands were shaking. I put my finger on the next question, “The people in your testing center are: A. taking a state test. B. all part of your dream. C. taking specialized tests. D. all more sane than you are.” I shot out of my seat, out of reaction. Some people were just finishing up and others were following the example of poor guy next to me; he was now sweating profusely. I sat down and quickly marked C. I breathed deeply, cracked my back and continued.

Oh how simple that test should have been! I had eighteen years to study! Countless hours to ask my father where he used to catch beetles or wonder about the shade if my eyes. I skipped the questions I did not know. Twenty pages later I looked at all the hole I had left. Approximately one of every ten answered, ONE of every TEN! Most people had finished, some even had gone; allowed to leave by some unknown authority. That poor guy had been allowed to leave when he fainted. I had watched as they gathered his test and straightened his chair. The test had gone into a manila envelope. I knew what was happening to that test…

I went back to the beginning and went through each question racking my brain for clues. I kept telling myself all I needed to do was pass, pass. I had never needed to tell myself that before. How many times had my test set the curve; driving everyone into a competitive rat race? How many hours had been spent volunteering, or filling out college applications? That time had been well spent. Homeless people got soup and I got something sparkly to put on my resume. Win, win. Where was the question about that? Give me a question on how much money my parents made last year and I’ll give you an answer. Or what school Katie was going to. Not this, not this, “Katie conceals her views on change because,” Money was my life! Boys were my life! Graduation was my life!...it was my life. That? That was my life?

I stacked my test, put away my pencils and stood, slowly.

“What now?” I said allowed. I wasn’t asking anyone. I didn’t even expect an answer.

What You didn't did Last Summer

2009-08-21T13:39:00.000-07:00

The plan, for one good long year, was that I attend my University for two split semesters. This became the decision after a complicated series of maybes ad what ifs. A constant flux in variables is only to be expected in such impacting choices, but in the end the only imporatnt variable to me was that I attend school at all. You see I am going to become smarter; defying all odds. Unforunatly, I never really concidered math as a porion of my intellect. The varioubles became mixed, there was some bad adding and missplaced subtracting and the solution came out to one good long year off school.

My determination to continue to grow in my intelligence remains strong. In theory, this emotion is unshakable. In theory, so much time to focus on the importance of money and balance should aid me in molding my priorities, and education is one of them....but I have been in school for the last thirteen years...and I have worked in the summer before...is this really one big fat glorious season filled college vacation summer? The only thing that keeps people from going haywire when their shades are on and the top is down is the knowlegde that their tuition is due. The very essence of carefree is the current light hearted feeling in my chest.

Watch out roommates, batten the hatches Captain, deploy the lifeboats Titanic, she's about to BLOW! Her mind is a slush ball being kept in my fingers to the ears!

My first lesson to you as Professor of things you wish you could do: Hold under the microscope sandcastles and snow forts and you will find that the only differnce between them it that one has study questions edtche into it. But not for me! Fasinating business, no? And no, I will not be thinking so hard about the one whole year that...wow.

This is so not real life, but it is going to feel like it. If my cranium implodes please publish my journals, but I will admit, I did not spend a good long summer correcting my spelling.

So whatever you didn't do last summer is what I will become an expert in. If I spend my time learning, you will know that your vacation was duely wasted. If I learn to have more fun than any beach could have provided without the use of any thought, well, you may just regret what you didn't did last Summer.

She Shows Her Underwear.

2009-08-20T17:22:00.000-07:00

I feel as if I have begun to misrepresent the Female Gender. I have found myself in a situation where I must live my self made slogan "Live Beautiful." Many of you may know that this is not in any way correct grammar, but it inspires a certain joyful sunlit image that makes you want to join in. I now daily put on a makeup designed for my face and bone structure, make sure my outfits are form fitting and wear pink. Pink is the lovely color that Carma threw at me. When coming up to Utah I told my mother that I was going to abandon dark colors so that I would be inspired to be happy daily. Now I sell Mary Kay.

My two uniforms consist of either pink lettering or pink stripes of pure joy. I sleep in a pink bed and work in a pink booth. If I were to tell you that being beautiful daily has not become a joy in my life I would indeed be lying; the amount of pleasure I get from it may never be duplicated in the course of my life. This being said I must now admit that beauty is only painstakingly pinned and painted deep. I have gotten in the habit of hanging out with boys. And now my work clothes are my beauty and my chill wear is running mascara. So in order to be comfortable around boys I enjoy I must be...manly. So with them I have hiked, devoured three bags of popcorn and stood and cheered when Batman flipped over a 16 wheeler. Yes, I am truly feminine. Don't let the pleasant light misted smell deceive you, it is a well crafted witches brew that smudges all the ruff and tumble edges that are my new found qualities.

So the question must be posed. What should people believe? The cellulite-free blemish-less Goddess? Or the suspicious smell in her kitchen? I know what one person would answer. My dear friend David has a brother that met me on Halo II night. I sat and reveled in the testosterone air as six men called each other girls. (That in itself deserves the question of gender definition) I ate brownies and laughed at the jokes I should never have known the punchline to. I expected myself to burp at any given moment. Then today I had dozed off on Dave couch and his brother walks in and notices that the shirt I had thrown on to replace my work shirt did not cover my pink striped underclothing. despite my graceful sleeping position this lack of concern could only mean two things on my part, that is to any one looker. That, one: I was expected to show my underwear anywhere, or two: that I don't feel like a girl around those dang boys. I am hoping that number two is that wonderful revelation, simply because I know that this three color blend of eyeshadow does not suggest hooker.

~[Again] With Feeling~

2009-08-11T18:51:00.001-07:00

I know many who are of the opinion that when left unchecked life....remains absolutely the same. Adventure is a new liquid detergent and romance is found on page six. And while, yes, these are golden nuggets of news that must be shouted from the mountain tops, my own series of adventures come in more of a Soap Oprah fashion. In Utah I have found that I have a series of faithful listeners that have an instinct as to when to tune in. Most of my day to day does not stray too far from the hole in the laundry basket or burnt popcorn, but when I report it I report it with the fiery passion of the viking; surviving as I can, in an unnecessarily difficult way.

For those of you just joining us I am a college freshmen living in Provo but attending school in Orem, I work at a Kiosk in a land far far away from my home, and sell Lisse', The Cellulite Ice Wrap. (join us on the web at www.lissewrap.com) In truth though, all you really need to know, to know me, is that I am driven by passion, a terrible reckless force that pushes me into corners and cars and couches.

Presently I am enjoying the memory of an unmatched weekend, one that if I had ever attempted to imagine it I would have never proceeded. I went to a party, left a party and returned to a patternless boy for the swing. Within twenty minutes I was sitting on his lap, my number in his pocket, interviewing him for a space in my memoirs. At one in the morning the suggestion that we go for a drive together was made and he officially became something to write about.

Though our first few moments had been so deep and meaningless, for some reason I still could not trust him, but the air tasted of something, and I needed a bit of it. And as we took his friends home, his communicate with them struck something within me, my motivation and trust in the situation shifted and I knew him. In two hours I found myself in his arms after a night of romantic clifftops and conversation peppered with laughter. He had surprised me with the beauty of a peak. I closed my eyes as he lead me to the edge and held me. There a world of delicate lights, mysterious lakes, and majestic mountains spanned beneath me. This is a beautiful memory, but not because of the view, but the new and strangely familiar arms that held me.

Since this night I have discovered that this man works in the Kiosk next to mine, so in 48 hours I saw him 4 times, not including work, and danced with him more times than that. even though this episode is finished this Steven character that may prove to be a good refrence point in the season. Tune in next time!