Life Is One Big Party When You're Still Young, But Who's Gonna Have Your Back When It's All Done

--"Angel", Shaggy

"I've got a joke for you."

"What's that?"

"What did one drunk IM to the other one?"

----

miss carly (12:27:41 AM): im wastoiddd

Mojo shivers (12:27:56 AM): Aren't we all?

mc (12:28:00 AM): yes

mc (12:28:01 AM): sakdjas?

mc (12:28:03 AM): uh oh

mc (12:28:05 AM): patrick

mc (12:28:07 AM): i cant take this

mc (12:28:15 AM): some kid ive been hanging out with is like in love with me and i cant do it

mc (12:28:31 AM): i can only fuck people i have no emotional attachment to

Ms (12:28:33 AM): Let him down gently.

mc (12:28:47 AM): im wastoid so i used it as an excusse

mc (12:28:52 AM): im the best wastoid typer

mc (12:28:59 AM): i swear itsmy specialty

mc (12:29:04 AM): some kid ripped a hole in my fave shirt

Ms (12:29:13 AM): You, you are pretty good at typing now.

mc (12:29:27 AM): aww mannnn

Ms (12:30:06 AM): I swear, you're one of those rare types that people just instantly gravitate towards.

mc (12:30:13 AM): nooo

mc (12:30:23 AM): i dont talk to people!

mc (12:30:26 AM): how does this happen?!

mc (12:30:31 AM): but the one person i want to fuck i cant

Ms (12:30:57 AM): Yeah, I'm totally into you, platonically of course, and I can't really explain why.

People just want what they can't have.

mc (12:31:38 AM): but we are friends

mc (12:31:42 AM): and im doing my best to make it up there

mc (12:31:45 AM): but my dads being weird

mc (12:31:50 AM): and all into meeting stupid socialites

Ms (12:32:56 AM): I'm just saying, there's no reason why i should think you're as awesome as I think you are. The only reason I can think of is that you have a talent for making people gravitate towards you.

I know you're trying to make it up there. I don't doubt that and it's not big deal if you don't. I'll see you eventually.

mc (12:34:10 AM): i mean i can go up there whenever its just because i have so many responsibilities this weekend i can only really go if ill see my dad for a bit too

Ms (12:35:18 AM): I understand. Sorry about texting you earlier all clingy. I hate that. I just think it would be cool to see you again.

So how wastoid are you?

mc (12:35:36 AM): no no i really appreciated the texts

mc (12:35:42 AM): thats why i ansered

mc (12:35:47 AM): if i think theyre clingy i dont answer

Ms (12:36:31 AM): I just don't want to weird you out. I like that we're friends, but it's difficult that because of circumstances we can't be closer friends.

mc (12:38:41 AM): i agree. it bothers me because we always hae best talks

Ms (12:40:15 AM): I don't know--I think you're one cool individual with a very fun and pleasant personality. I think a lot of my interest in you is the fact you do... maybe you are... the person I always wanted to be ten years ago.

mc (12:42:04 AM): dont you understand though?

mc (12:42:17 AM): theres a scared person underneath all that

Ms (12:42:17 AM): Understand what?

mc (12:42:21 AM): i mean the scared person isnt always there

mc (12:42:23 AM): but its there

Ms (12:43:26 AM): I know, but everyone's scared. The difference is you don't let it stop you from doing a lot of things that I let it stop me from doing.

Like, last week was the first time I've smoked anything. Not because I had any real reason against it, but because I was afraid to try it.

You're not like that.

mc (12:44:25 AM): but its not alwyas good to not be afraid

mc (12:44:31 AM): im afraid of the things i shouldnt be afraid of

Ms (12:45:31 AM): It's worse to be afraid of too much, though. Like I'm not afraid of doing things people don't like, but I'm afraid of doing things that everybody else likes... if that makes any sense.

What makes the great Carly afraid?

mc (12:45:50 AM): just do whats best for you

mc (12:45:56 AM): a lot

mc (12:46:01 AM): feeling.

mc (12:46:04 AM): i get too into the issues

mc (12:46:09 AM): sometimes i just feel like sylvia plath

mc (12:46:19 AM): completely hopeless when realizing the reality of things

mc (12:46:27 AM): and getting to sinto it that i know it dolesnt actually matter

mc (12:46:30 AM): but then realizing

mc (12:46:37 AM): that if it doesnt actually matter...why am i here?

mc (12:47:15 AM): i dont even have free will

mc (12:47:20 AM): so what?

mc (12:47:23 AM): what...

mc (12:47:26 AM): nothing is here.

mc (12:47:30 AM): sadderday.

mc (12:47:33 AM): oops

mc (12:47:36 AM): i didnt mean to say that

mc (12:47:44 AM): that was a freudian slip

Ms (12:47:56 AM): I feel hopeless sometimes. Sometimes I feel like the life I live is the one I got stuck with for making the wrong choices. Like my life could have been so much better if I'd just made better decisions.

I think you handle yourself admirably and I think you do more to establish yourself as an individual with free will than you truly know.

mc (12:48:36 AM): but its not recognized

mc (12:48:39 AM): and i dont evben care about that

mc (12:48:48 AM): but its so hard sometimes when you look around and see whats reallyh out there

Ms (12:49:23 AM): I recognize it. And I think being able to recognize there is more going on than what's in your world now is the first step to becoming a bigger part of the world at large.

mc (12:51:06 AM): its scary

mc (12:51:10 AM): but you know what

mc (12:51:15 AM): im willing to go beyond the fear and laziness

mc (12:51:28 AM): and when you go beyond that compeltely and know whats in your past and how it can affect the now and the future...

mc (12:51:40 AM): then you go where no one has gone and you expand like no one else can

mc (12:51:58 AM): you almost become something new

Ms (12:52:06 AM): I'm telling you, you and I should have been friends a long time ago. You talk and think about the same ideas I have in exactly the same way I view them.

mc (12:53:12 AM): does it ever really fuck with you and make you just question everything to a degree that makes you so hopeless that youre hopeful?

Ms (12:54:07 AM): Yes. Sometimes I get into a state where I think there's nothing I can do to change my world at all that I think if I take small steps it'll be something. Then when those small steps add up to something big I realize I can change some things.

mc (12:55:01 AM): yeah i want something big

mc (12:55:03 AM): hey guess what

Ms (12:55:07 AM): what?

mc (12:55:12 AM): i think my newly out of the closet friend and i are going to homecoming!!

mc (12:55:19 AM): i dont know because i REALLY dont want to buy a dress

mc (12:55:21 AM): and figure it all out

Ms (12:55:53 AM): That's cool. I never got to go to my homecoming. I did all my big dating in college.

mc (12:56:42 AM): i hate dnaces

mc (12:56:49 AM): do yiou know the mustic of gunther?

Ms (12:56:57 AM): Not really.

mc (12:57:48 AM): its euro trash

mc (12:58:02 AM): and i cant be in a relationship at all right now and i dont know what to do about ittttt

mc (12:58:05 AM): i only wantto be with henry

mc (12:58:06 AM): but i cant

mc (12:58:10 AM): and thats okay

mc (12:58:13 AM): i know how to get past that

mc (12:58:20 AM): but i just cant do anything else

Ms (12:59:00 AM): I was just talking about that with someone else tonight. It sucks to want to be with someone you just can't be with. I'm kind of going through that right now too. IT sucks.

mc (12:59:30 AM): it sucks a lot especially when youve had something with them but it just cant be because of circumstance and thats all

mc (12:59:37 AM): and you can only have that person once in a while

Ms (1:00:11 AM): It's like you feel so strongly about a person and all you can do is wait and wait for things to change when, in all likelihood, they won't.

mc (1:00:27 AM): i know that too

mc (1:00:40 AM): but my situation is just more that hes in college and i guess you know it really is the same thing

mc (1:00:49 AM): but henry was the best person for me to be around

mc (1:01:08 AM): it just kept me on the right track emotionally and all that

Ms (1:02:09 AM): I've done the whole age difference thing. Did you know my best friend and I slept together when she was still in high school and I was in college? It wasn't the same as your situation, but I remember how hard it was to know that pretty much was the only thing preventing us from being closer than we were.

mc (1:02:43 AM): yeah and doesnt that just fucking suck?

mc (1:02:56 AM): i mean youre so tempted to just call the person and see how they are and meet up for coffee but you cant

mc (1:02:58 AM): you just cant

Ms (1:04:02 AM): Yeah. And Georgia isn't like a drive away either, but I seriously would have moved for her if she kept up how hurt she was we couldn't be together as I'm sure if Henry told you how much he needed you day after day you'd be doing evertying you could to be with him.

mc (1:04:23 AM): i dont know anymore

mc (1:04:24 AM): about anything

mc (1:04:28 AM): ahh i just want to sleep


girl, you’re my friend when I’m in need, lady

Ms (1:04:49 AM): You go sleep then and I hope I see you sometime this weekend.

mc (1:05:09 AM): yeah and if not this weekend we gwont go as long as last time

Ms (1:05:18 AM): I can totally drive down there.

Ms (1:05:38 AM): Or meet up halfway if you want to dinner one day after work and your classes.

Ms (1:06:12 AM): Because eight months just ain't good enough, especially with you're moving away next year.

mc (1:06:30 AM): i probably wont even finish my apps

mc (1:06:33 AM): and then i wont go anywhere

Ms (1:06:47 AM): I wouldn't let you do that.

Ms (1:06:59 AM): I care about you too much to let that happen.

mc (1:07:05 AM): aww

mc (1:07:08 AM): ]thanks

mc signed off at 1:07:18 AM.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

If You Fall, Will You Get Up? You're Stuck In A Dream, Will You Wake Up? And If You Fell In Love, Will You Hold On To It?

--"If You Fall", Azure Ray

"Come on, baby. Just let me in the door," I heard Fanny's voice say to the closed door in front of her.

I watched as she pressed her head ever into it, as if threatening to headbutt the entire edifice down. There was frustration in her voice, frustration in her demeanor, frustration in every inch of her body. Yet I could also hear how much she wanted To keep it together. Mostly it was to save any embarrassment for herself and for him. The dorm halls were crowded enough without adding the hint of possible drama into the mix; that would have been like bringing along a stallion to a stampede. But I also think she was genuinely concerned about being tossed out. My friend Fanny hadn't always made the best impression when it came to public scenes and it would only have taken one more incident for her to have gotten banned from his building. She was trying especially hard to insure this night would not be that incident.

That was partly why she had brought me along, to make certain she didn't step over that invisible line where trying to convince him to take her back merged into trying to prevent her from causing any more damage than she'd already done. I was her friend. It was my job to support her, but it was also my job to convince her to cut her losses if this latest plea didn't seem to be working.

Twenty minutes I'd sat through already, the back of my head leaning up against the wall, knees folded beneath me. I could have played her Cyrano and given her advice as to what to say, but this was her deal. Personally, I couldn't see what she saw in this guy. More to the point, I couldn't see what he saw in her. She was reckless, she was impetuous, and, for someone who professed to care about him a great deal, she was thoughtless when it came to him She was like some toddler playing at love, unable to deal with its finer points, throwing a tantrum because her playmate wouldn't play by her rules.

"We can talk this out. I know you don't want to end things like this. Come on."

As body after body stepped over me, I could only shrug my shoulders. There was no explaining this. It was it was, a cold display of the unfortunate side of having to deal with emotions. I smiled and laughed it off as best as I could, counting on the fact that every man and woman who passed had been through a similar tragic tale. A few passed me that knowing glance that said, "yeah, I've been there before," to which I could only shrug my shoulders. What could I do? It would have been worse if I'd let her do this thing she just had to do on her own. What kind of friend would I be if I allowed that to happen. Also, everyone knew that's not what I did. If you were my friend, well, then I was your friend to the bitter end. I would follow you no matter where you lead.

After a while, I drowned the one-sided conversation out. I got lost in remembering a time when I thought giving up your heart to someone only led to tears. I remembered a time when I thought the whole world was against me being happy, just like Fanny, and I remembered how like a spoiled Miss Priss I had handled it. I had had the conviction of someone in love and I thought I was invincible. For that day, maybe I was. Hell's bells, through sheer will alone I had turned my mother's opinion around, who had helped me, later that day, to turn my father's wrath. It was all persuasion and charm that had won the day, the persuasion and charm of someone who believed in something larger than herself.

"It wasn't that bad, baby. I wasn't going that fast. I only wanted to rattle you is all."

"Just get out of her, Stephanie. Just, please, leave," I heard him say from the other side of the door finally.

"I can't do that. I won't do that. Not until you've heard my apology. Just give me a chance to say I'm sorry."

He'd said something. That was a start. I had been beginning to think that he was going to shut her out completely the whole night. If I had been him, that's what I would have done. Eventually everyone gets tired of an argument that they feel like they are having with themselves. With a dialogue, there's room to change people's minds; when one party is silence, it seems more finite somehow.

I think Fanny sensed it too, because she stepped up her pleas. She tried his cel phone once more. Still straight to voicemail. Then she began the gentle knocking on his door. No more reply. Finally, she resorted back to the reserved, but firm explanation of why he just had to forgive her.

Even I would have found the whole affair romantic if there hadn't been an air of desperation surrounding it. She was my friend and, because of that, I had to take her side. I couldn't side with the poor guy being besieged by my hapless cohort. But he knew what I knew, that anyone can play the pretty little princess or handsome little prince when the times are good. It's when the times are bad that the wicked witch or hungry wolf shows itself. When the first sign of trouble or hardship and the guy you're with turns into a jackass, that's when you're seeing who you're actually with. And when the girl you've been dating for four months starts to swerve uncontrollably in and out of traffic because you start hinting that you're unhappy with her, that's when you know what kind of future you would have if you stayed with her.

He knew that.

I knew that.

It was just too bad that she couldn't see that for herself.

In retrospect, as I sat there, maybe it kind of showed what kind of person I was, as well. When my parents began to question my judgment and my devotion to God, I didn't falter. I didn't play the meek, little lamb and just allow them to decide what was best for me. But, unlike my friend, when I was faced with adversity, I didn't give down the country either. I didn't allow my emotions to dictate my actions. I did quite the opposite, actually. I used my actions to explain my emotions. I showed my mother how every decision I made regarding what I had done was made with full clarity and in good conscience. I showed her how I made a choice and how every step of the way I pursued what I thought was best, rather than being manipulated or talked into the situation. I didn't get angry with her. I didn't grow upset. That would have only fed into her belief that I wasn't mature enough to have made up my own mind. That would have been counter-intuitive to my goals. I needed her to believe that I meant what I said. I needed her to believe that I believed I was in love. More than that, I needed her to know I was capable of loving someone and being loved in return.

That's what Fanny didn't understand. Her every word did not lend credance to the fact she was capable of having a relationship with him. She sounded like a puppy whelping to be let back into the house after making a mess on the carpet. There was no conviction in her voice. There was no honesty in it either. All there was was playfulness and youthful exuberance. There was no sign of remorse or acknowledgement that she'd done a bad, bad thing.

"This isn't fair. You can't punish me like this. I told you it was never going to happen again, baby. You have to believe me."

I may not have known it all. I've been accused of being too big for my britches. I've even been accused of being a burr in other people's britches, but I do know a thing or two about the human heart. It's been my experience that the surest way to win someone's affection is not to appeal to their forgiveness time and time again. Forgiveness is a right you earn through patience and understanding. If the person truly cares about you, knows where you're coming from, and understands your personality, he or she will know what your true intent is. Based upon that, he'll make up his mind whether or not to forgive you. Your asking for it isn't going to make up his mind any quicker or any surer.

The surest way to win someone's affection is to appeal to their sense of appreciation. It should be your job from day one to let them know that there is nothing you won't do for them and anywhere you won't go for them. Then, instead of demanding the same out of them, you leave it out that. You don't tie any strings to their kite. What you offer them should be a gift and not a treaty.

"You're going to have let me in eventually. I'm willing to wait out here all night until you let me in, baby."

That's when I had had enough. I got up from my perch, my lily white ass still sore from sitting down close to forty minutes in one position. I moved Fanny out of the way and knocked on his door.

"Listen, sugar, it's me, Breanne. I'm not going to get in the middle of this mess, but, in the interest of allowing your nice neighbors some peace of mind, I wanted to give you two some advice. I want to tell you both a story."

And that's when I told both of them the whole sordid story about my first time being in love and how far I was willing to go to keep it. I told them about all the horrible things that happened after it, how both my parents had flown off the handle that day, how, later, my cousin Shelley basically disowned me as her kin, and how much broke it my heart when I was faced with the inevitable truth that what we had just wasn't meant to be. But, most of all, I emphasized how much I had to fight to show everyone that my feelings were genuine and would not easily be curtailed because I thought it was all worth it. I tried to express how, when it's somebody you feel is the right person, love is something you can lose it. If it's real, love is something you hold onto tighter than an eskimo holding onto sunshine. I told them how love, if it's real, is not something you can do half-cocked. Either fish or cut bait, because if you go into something as stressful and as hurtful as love can be when it's going strong, you'll only come out the other side torn up like a sail in a hurricaine.

"Now, ask yourself, do you think my friend Fanny's worth all that?"

No reply from him.

"And, Fanny, ask yourself, would you let him lead you around blindfolded all day? Do you trust him that much?"

No reply from her.

"Because if you can't, then I think the two of you have a lot to discuss."

I pounded on the door, making sure he would open it. I watched as a crack appeared on the side of the door.

"Now open the door and let my friend in so the two of you can either say your good-byes or get to working on what you want this relationship to be.

"Either way, darlings, I'm going back to my place to forget this whole night happened."

Breanne

Like A Heartbeat, Drives You Mad, In The Stillness Of Remembering What You Had, And What You Lost, And What You Had, And What You Lost

--"Dreams", Fleetwood Mac

For those who know me, I don't get ill very often. I pride myself on being able to carry on, power through most diseases that other people have let stop their entire day because of. Because of that fact and because of the fact I don't too often rely on medicines, syrups, or pills ot cure whatever ails me, I believe I've built quite a resilient immune system that takes more than your average cold to bring down. It bothers me to miss work, miss writing, miss whatever else I had planned for the day to be stuck in bed, feeling miserable. I just hate being sick.

Four main qualities stick out when I think of exactly why I hate being sick. The first is I hate how hot and sticky it makes you. For someone who lives in California I don't have a high tolerance for feeling warm. In fact, I used to get all itchy and even break out in hives when I felt too warm. Even if it's the dead of winter, I will still cling to wearing t-shirts and shorts for as long as possible throughout the year. Being in bed, all sweaty, all warm, just doesn't suit me. It's uncomfortable and it doesn't allow for trouble-free sleep, which is usually my main means of getting over an illness. I hate the fact I have to get up two or three times a day just to shower because I feel so warm. I hate the fact that it can be five a.m. and I'll still be tossing covers off because I'm so hot.

The second reason why I hate being sick is because I sleep way too much. I've often called sleep the enemy. I've just never been one to want more sleep rather than less. Most of the time, there are a half dozen other things I would rather be doing than sleeping the day away. I hate the fact that it takes me away from writing on here, I hate the fact it takes me away from talking to people I always talk to, and I hate the fact it makes me feel even lazier than I already am. I don't know--sleep has never seem all that important to me, which is probably how and why I do get sick when I do. I know I don't sleep enough. Insomnia and I are good friends. But I can't get over the feeling that there's more to life than resting it all away.

That brings me to the third reason why I hate being sick. I hate being sick because it gives you all manner of strange dreams. Not only that, but, because I'm so delirious when I get sick, I often believe that what I'm seeing is real. Nothing is worse than the feeling of having conversations with somebody who isn't actually there. For instance, last night I dreamt that B. came over to take care of me, which is ridiculous because she's in Georgia and because she has never once taken care of me when I've been sick. What induced me to imagine such a ludicrous scene I can only guess at. But there she was, tending to my needs, getting me whatever I wanted, honoring whatever silly request I may have had. And I loved it. It was great. Not only did it feel real, but I was gladdened that it was real. I loved having her over here to take care of me. It felt right, like what a normal friend would do for someone.

I think that's what I hate about dreaming while you're sick. It makes you think of the things that you wanted and wished for while your guard's down. Normally, I would block it out as wishful thinking. I'd wake up in the morning and I'd acknowledge it was all a dream. I could go about my day, thinking it was no big deal. But, when you wake up from a lucid dream while you're not feeling well, it feels wrong. It actually feels like something or someone has been taken away from you. You wake up feeling confused and disoriented. It doesn't matter what you dream about. You could dream about being away on vacation in Hawaii or talking with your long-dead grandmother. When it's while you are sick, you always wake up feeling cheated. And nothing sucks worse than when the thing you dream about is something that you haven't had for awhile... or ever.

I mean--there's a lot of people I've dreamt about taking care of me when I was sick. I once dreamt that Willow from Buffy the Vampire Slayer took care of me once while I was sick. Yet she made more sense taking care of me than Breanne does. It's like I expect fictional characters to be able to take care of me, but I don't expect that from her. There's something wrong in that logic and I can't quite place my finger on what it is. I suppose it's just that in some areas I have high expectations for her, but in others, like being able to comfort me while I'm ailing, I have absolutely zero expectations for her. Like I said, there's something wrong in that logic.


dreams of loneliness

The fourth reason, and the one I hate most of all, of why I hate being sick is that it only reminds me of how alone I am. Nothing is worse than being alone while you're sick. Nothing.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Little Darling, I Feel That Ice Is Slowly Melting, Little Darling, It Seems Like Years Since It's Been Clear, Here Comes The Sun, Here Comes The Sun

--"Here Comes The Sun" (cover) - Nina Simone

When I was fifteen there were three things I told myself I would never do--I would never drink, I would never smoke, and I would never do drugs. I rationalized it that it was a healthier lifestyle and that I didn't need any of these three things to make my life better. In some respect that may have been true, but the real reason I didn't ever wanted to get started on any of those vices was because at an early age I recognized I had a problem getting obsessed about things. From collecting memorabilia to watching television, when I found something that pleased me I almost invariably did it to excess. This was all well and good when it was something mundane like buying Magic: The Gathering cards. That may have made me broke, but it wasn't going to kill me. Any of those three things, however, if I got hooked, it very well might have.

I started drinking rather late. Breanne had been introduced to her first taste of alcohol at eleven or twelve. It took me till I had just turned twenty-one to take my first sip. But even then it was always one or two drinks to last me five, six, or even seven hours. I wasn't anywhere close to being buzzed, let alone drunk.

It took until 2004 and I went to Dallas with my cousin Vincent to have my first taste of really getting trashed would be like. I don't know why I did it, but I think it had something to do with the fact that I have no real reason to be afraid of getting drunk except fear. I got tired of telling myself it was strictly a health reason when everything about me--getting to the gym less often than I should, eating absolutely horrible things, and visiting the doctor about as often as Hailey's Comet--testified I really wasn't a big health nut. I got tired of just being afraid to do something because of what may happen to me. So, yeah, I get obsessed about things, but that time, during that trip, I decided that at some point I would have to grow up. At some point in my life I would have to learn self-control and it might as well start with an activity that was fun and socially accepted.

I can't say I ever started drinking like a fish, but, more often than not now, I'll order a beer or two with dinner. Also, every so often, I'll really cut loose and get into my bourbon. I've learned to moderate myself and I think I've pretty handily overcome my fears when it came to drinking and getting drunk.

Last week, I faced another test when Carly invited me down to her town to hang out. She mentioned something about going to a hookah bar, a concept I was totally unfamiliar with. I agreed to it anyway because I trust her judgment implicitly--probably more than I should, but she's yet to steer me wrong.

That night the two of us went to dinner, talked, did some shopping and generally had a good time. Yet the whole time in the back of my mind I was visualizing how I'd excuse myself out of actually going through with the smoking. I didn't want to disappoint her or seem like a total prude, but I'd yet to overcome the stigma that smoking still held for me. Even more than drinking I was sure, dead sure, that I would never even try smoking anything. It didn't hold any interest for me. It didn't look like very much fun. I didn't want to get caught up in that scene.

As the night went along and I grew more comfortable being around her again, it became less important to me to hold onto my high moral ideals and more important for me to not let the fun end.

When the time came to start smoking the mixed berry-flavored smoke, I was hesitant at first. It irritated my throat. I kept having to drink water in between puffs. It didn't look to be something I was going to enjoy. I just hoped I didn't bring down the conversation with my obvious lack of ability. For her part, Carly never said word one about how clutzy I was or how I uncomfortable I seemed. I kept at it, though, because this was something she liked to do and I really did want to give it its due diligence. I wanted to be able to tell her that I gave it a fair shot and that it wasn't for me.

After the first hour passed and I was still at it, I began to realize it wasn't that bad. Once I got used to it, it really was an interesting social activity. Sitting around the table, sharing smokes with one's friends, engaging in good conversations, wasn't the worst waste of my time I've ever experienced--far from it. In actuality, it was one of the most stress-free nights I've had in a long while.

After the second hour I couldn't even remember how awful those first few minutes were.

Into the third hour, the night began to wind down and I realized I'd survived my first smoking experience. I didn't keel over. I didn't have to be rushed to the hospital. I'd made it through the other side.

More than that, though, I came to the realization that there are a lot of experiences that I've closed myself off to without a really good reason why. I've been shy to jump into things that I don't know about and I've been stand-offish to a lot of friends and family members who only wanted me to open up a bit more.

Sure, it may have just been another case of a pretty girl talking me into doing something I thought I was dead set against, but I don't think that's quite it. I think it has more to do with the fact that I'm not some scared fifteen-year-old any more. I'm old enough to realize that there a lot of mistakes I haven't made yet and to try avoid messing up is no way to live your life. It's a lot more enriching to sample everything life has to offer, even if it means a few bad clams here and there, instead of only sticking with what you know. Sure, you'll be a lot safer that way, but I don't think that's really living.

Sometimes you've got to ask yourself if the juice is worth the squeeze before you do anything... and sometimes you've just got to squeeze anyway.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

All Through The Night, I'll Be Awake And I'll Be With You, All Through The Night, This Precious Time When Time Is New, Oh, All Through The Night Today

--"All Through The Night", Cyndi Lauper

He lays next to you.

This is a heaven you never thought possible when the younger version of you pictured her life. You grew up wondering if you would ever find someone to lay next to you the way your mother laid next to your daddy when you would sneak into their room while they were napping. You would shuffle your feet, imagining yourself a koala bear with their slow, almost lazy looking movements, until you would reach the edge of their bed. Once there, you would climb until you reached the other side of your daddy. He looked like a great, big 'ole grizzly hibernating for the winter. Peaceful like. Happy. You would wrap your arms around him, being extra careful not to wake him up. Then, from just the other side of him, you would hear more than see your mother. She would move her face to peek around him, to peek at you, like a playful panda. She would cup her face behind her eyes, playing the silly, little games you swore you were too old to still be playing with her. Yet you would still try and hold the laughter in. Then you would see her smile. She too was happy, there, napping with you and your daddy. And that's the way the rest of the afternoon would go. Just three little bears oblivious to anything of the world outside. Just three little bears sleeping the day away.

Right before you went to sleep yourself, amidst the wonderful rays of the noon-time sun, you would have the thought that this was the most wonderful feeling in the world, to be able to sleep like this next to the people you love. This is what love must feel like.

He lays next to you.

When you got older, more grown-up, more your ideal picture of the young woman you were supposed to be, you neglected this idyllic cornerstone. For you it was all about exploring the world at large, being one with the teeming universe around you. You were always in such an enormous hurry to accomplish so much with so little time given to you. You never had the luxury of falling asleep next to a person you cherished. You stopped seeking it out. It stopped being important to you. You were like a paper airplane, aloft on the winds that carried you, but with no real drive of her own, with no real direction. All that mattered to you was that you kept constantly moving. All you wanted is to feel alive, to go as fast as possible.

Until somebody reminded the innate joys of being able to slow down. He laid you down on your bed and just held you, like a baby in his arms. He didn't say a word. He didn't ask you to do anything for him. He just held you and kept on holding onto you until you felt it. He wanted to remind you that often times there are far more important things than accomplishing everything on your imaginary checklist. There are things like friendships, things like family, things like love that all equate to the bigger picture. And that bigger picture is that having a life is good, but sharing your life with someone is the greatest gift of all. And as he kissed you good night that first night, you chided yourself for forgetting that simple lesson and you promised yourself that you would dedicate at least a portion of your life to keeping this feeling of joy with you forever.

You closed his arms tighter around you and you fell asleep, knowing you had found love for the first time.


we have no past we won't reach back
keep with me forward all through the night

He lays next to you.

You're married now and there's somebody else sleeping next to you ever night. It took some getting used to at first, sharing so much of yourself with him. You didn't know when they told you that being married meant sharing 100% of yourself that they actually meant it. You thought they were exaggerating. But, day by day, you let a little bit more of the real you out to show him. You let a little bit more of the real you out to show yourself. You find depths to your character that you never knew you had inside of you. You sparkle a little bit more each day. All because of him.

Now when you lay down in bed, it isn't always to sleep. Now when he lays you down and you feel the two of you becoming one, it isn't just sharing your life with someone; it's making two lives into one. And when he holds you, like he always does even when it becomes rather annoying, you feel invigorated. You found the great love of your life and you get to sleep next to that every night of your life. You couldn't ask for anything more. You've found that feeling. You've found that feeling and you've captured it in a bottle. It's yours to keep forever.

You take one last look at him before turning out the lights.

Then you lay next to him and sleep finally. Happy.

Breanne

Sugar, Ah Honey, Honey, You Are My Candy Girl, And You've Got Me Wanting You

--"Sugar, Sugar" (cover), Mary Lou Lord with Semisonic

Serendipity is a funny concept for me because it seems my life is flush with it. Part of the reason why I write on this site is to chronicle just exactly how strange life sometimes is for me. Events, places, and especially people have a habit of becoming motifs in my life without my realizing it. One minute I'm remembering how a certain anecdote with one of my friends when, a few weeks later, something totally superfluous to the original conversation will bring up the subject again. That's why I think of life as something resembling close to Quantum Leap's balled up string theory, where every moment in one's life can and often does intersect every other moment in that same life.

It's my belief that even my smallest actions have repercussions that I cannot possibly forsee. More to the point, these repercussions would make no sense were I to be explained exactly how that one decision will inevitably change the course of my life. For example, in 1995 I bought an innocuous album called Saturday Morning Cartoon's Greatest Hits because I was always a big fan of Saturday morning cartoons and an album full of current band covering the theme songs sounded like a no-brainer to me. As I began to listen to the album more and more, one song struck an especially resonant chord with me. "Sugar, Sugar" by Mary Lou Lord with Semisonic not only became my favorite song on the album, she instantly became a singer who I wanted to get to know better. The following week after getting that album I bought the only CD I could find of hers, the eponymous Mary Lou Lord EP.

Ten years later and she has become the premier singer-songwriter for me. Any album she ever puts on, any show I can attend, I lap it up. In my eyes that woman can do no wrong when it comes to music.

Yet to this day it still spooks me that, had I not thought the idea of rock stars covering cartoon theme songs hilarious, I may have never heard her in the first place. The initial purchase was so spur of the moment, I very much could have gone the other way and thought the whole idea frivolous. I was this close to losing out on being inspired by a great talent.

I tell you that small anecdote to tell you this development. In 1991 I got lost at Epcot Center. That story in itself was a memorable piece of my history. Not only was it the only time I have ever been separated from the people taking care of me for more than six hours, but it was also the first time that I ever met, knew, and said good-bye to someone I wanted to know all in the same day. I mean--I've met plenty of people I've been introduced to by friends or family, but Brandy was the first person that felt like a complete span of a friendship in the course of a day. She was Celine to my Jesse. It was a random encounter that I've never forgotten even though, from the outside, it didn't appear to be much of anything.

Flash forward to September 15th, 2006 and I'm checking my e-mail when I find this curious note there:

Dear Patrick,

You're probably wondering who this is. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure why I'm writing this. I was directed to your site by a friend of mine who browses blogs, something I never do. She was struck by the similarity in a story about getting lost at Disneyworld you posted a year ago and the story along the same lines I told her in confidence one evening. Weeks later she told me of her discovery and asked if I had ever kept in touch with you (if it is the same you, which I'm thinking it is). I told her no. That's when she suggested I go ahead and read the story and see if it made sense with my version.

Well, I did and it does.

I'm not sure what to expect here. I'm not sure what I'm after. Frankly, it's more of a curiosity factor than anything else that is prompting me to contact you. Personally, I'm hoping it's you. You, indeed, did a kind thing for me once and I've been curious to see whatever become of you. Now, after reading some of your stories, I can see for myself.

I'm attaching a picture of myself to jog your memory.



So let me know if I'm correct in my assumptions. Write back or don't, it's your choice. But it would be amazing if it's true we finally found each other after about fifteen years. It might even be some kind of record.

Brandy P.

P.S. - Write me back here at this e-mail address. It's not my personal one, but I do check it. I wanted an alternative place to write from in case I'm way off the mark and you're wondering who exactly I am. If it turns out I'm correct, I'll send my real e-mail.

I don't know if it's her, but it sure sounds like her. Plus, the way my life goes, I wouldn't be surprised if she joins the ever-growing list of people like DeAnn, Jina, and Breanne who, at one time, I thought I would never hear from again and who suddenly decided to find me out of the blue. This whole time I was sure I hadn't made as big of an impression on her as she did on me, that she had forgotten the whole incident.

It turns out doing nice things does come back to you somehow. People forget about all of the thousand times they've been slighted in their life, but the times when people actually do something from the heart as one person helping out another person in trouble, those are the times that people remember. And, as aforementioned in the opening of this post, serendipity and me just go hand-in-hand. I truly believe, if anyone else had helped her out that day, she would have never found her guy. It's only because I put myself out there, leave myself open all over the internet, that people can find me so easy. Yes, I still think there is a level of randomness involved in my re-connecting with all these people after all these years.

But the truth is this has been part of the reason why I write here and why maintain a myspace site, so that people who I want to find me, can. It may be chance that these people stumble upon me, but it isn't chance that some of them end up becoming fixtures in my life.

It's just like the record. It may have been cartoons that led me to discovering Mary Lou Lord, but it's my wanting to keep her in my life that led me to doing just that.

Will Brandy take her place among this echelon?

I guess the answer is we'll just have to wait and see...

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

It Goes Dark, It Goes Darker Still, Please Stay, But I Watch You Like I'm Made Of Stone, As You Walk Away

-"A Night Like This", The Cure

why I couldn't sleep last night

TWILIGHT TIME
a poem by E. Patrick Taroc

Such great heights do not haunt my sleep,
Thoughts of death do not cause my shaking,
And withering away my years
Is not what gives light to my fears.
It’s in the company I keep
That my rampant turmoil returns;
It’s for that ghost that my soul burns,
The nightmare witch of my waking.

I shall never have her kiss--
That is my sleepless misery,
That is to be my restless fate,
To be sealed in this searing state.
For my nightmare consists of this--
In silence hearing my screaming,
Forever laying awake dreaming
Of the girl not dreaming of me.

(09/18/06) Copyright 2006 E. Patrick Taroc

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Because It's Not Love, But It's Still A Feeling, No, It's Not Love, But My Body's Reeling, To Move Closer Next To You

"Because It's Not Love (But It's Still A Feeling)", The Pipettes

I was only talking about the mundane details about my day--what had happened in school, the latest row my mother and I had gotten into, why I thought the latest pair of shoes I had bought would never go out of style--when I was pulled back into reality. Normally, there isn't a subject taboo enough for me not to put my two cents in. Normally, my mouth moves so fast that you'd have to hire help to catch it. But with one subject, up until that point, I had been coy, pretending not to notice his inquiries and concerns had all grown more persistent. I'd usually slipped past his questions with deft changing of subjects and the usual self-deprecating humor we had both shared. But that night, while talking to him on the phone, he snuck the question.

"So who was he, Breanne?"

"Who's who, sugar?"

"You know who I'm talking about."

Who he was talking about was the object of my affection from about the age of nine till I was about fourteen. Who he was talking about was the neighborhood boy who had done such a resplendent job at capturing my heart that I had had a real concern during those years that I may never get it back. Who he was talking about was the unnamed boy, that certain boy you soon outgrow but never quite forget.

The problem wasn't that I was shy to talk about him with other people. If that had been the end of the discussion then I would have divulged all my secrets gladly sooner rather than later. I've never been one for bottling my emotions whenever the occasion did not expressly call for it. I had too much practice doing that when it came to my mother. The problem was that I was too insecure to really explore about how I felt to myself. My rationale, if you could call it that, was that he really was a silly crush, nothing to be taken seriously. As long as I treated him that way, as long as I admitted to nothing, and maintined my tunnel vision regarding the subject, I could maintain some semblance of decency. The truth it was fun to be able to think I was totally in love with a person. It gave me something to do. It gave me something to write about. It gave me something to gripe about. The last thing I wanted to do was probe my feelings about the matter in an earnest discussion. I would sooner herd cats than get to the root of my infatuation.

"If you don't want to talk about him, that's fine. But don't insult my intelligence by pretending he doesn't matter to you. When you talk to me I want you to be able to talk to me like I'm right there with you. I want you to be able to talk about everything and everyone."

"I know that."

"Obviously, you don't, otherwise you would understand you could trust me."

An awkward silence followed. It was one of those moments where the two of us weren't quite mad with each other, however, one more word could tip the scales over. We proceeded to lay in silence over the next few moments--neither of us knowing what to say.

"I'm just going to hang up, Breanne. It's late, we're both tired, and I don't want to get into an argument with you. Okay? Is that fine?"

"Wait," I said quietly.

"What was that?" I heard him ask.

"Wait," I repeated, a little louder this time.

I hated being on the defensive. I hated feeling like I had done something wrong. I hated feeling like I was the bad guy for not wanting to talk about it all. I wanted to be stubborn, as stubborn as he was being. Yet I knew that wouldn't get us anywhere. If anything, it would only forestall the matter until it came back again like a stray puppy wanting to follow you home. I could have played the "it's nothing" card once more, but I was beginning to tire of the game truthfully. It'd been over a year since the two of us had been talking and he'd always been patient with me when it came to this particular subject. After a year, even I would have been curious as to why my best friend refused to relay any information about an obviously important portion of my life.

I relented.

"Hell's bells, Eeyore, when you bite onto something, you really don't let go, do you?"

"In a word, no."

I told him. I told him everything. I told him how I had first seen him on my way home from school one afternoon. He had been outside his front door, sitting on the porch with two of his friends. At first, when I was walking by, I had thought they had been just shooting the shit, as it were, but, upon closer inspection, I saw that what they were doing was sneaking smokes. Up until that point I had never seen anyone but my daddy smoke. I asked my mother, who walked me home everyday in those days (because the exercise will do your legs wonders, honey), why they were smoking. She told me that it was only boys pretending to be men and never I mind them. She attempted to hurry me past the house, his house, and that's when I saw him wave at me.

I smiled and waved back.

He wasn't more than twelve, maybe thirteen at the time, and he looked to be the bee's knees. Maybe it was the smoking, associating it so closely with what my father was, what my father represented it to me, or maybe it was the fact he smiled and waved to me so clear out of the blue. It wasn't like I had been staring obsessively. I hadn't even been stealing glances. I was what I was, a curious, little Breanne, trying to understand the scene before me.

Well, it wasn't too long before I started to see him appear everywhere. My mother and I would get to shopping one day and, wouldn't you know it, he'd be there with his mother and brothers, shopping as well. My father would take me to the diner for steak and eggs and there he'd be with his family for brunch. I'd be playing outside my house by myself and there he'd be, riding by on his brand-new bike. I chalked it up to fate when I really should have chalked it up to the simple fact we were practically neighbors.

"It isn't like I really like him. It's just that he makes me feel... better... whenever I see him."

"I understand. I have been there before, trust me."

"And it isn't like I don't know I'm being silly, please, thank you. I feel silly for even mentioning it to you. But you wanted the truth and now you have it, darling. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

The truth was I was rather happy as well. It'd been like trying to bottle a snake with my bare hands, trying to keep this from him. Now that he knew, I felt on better terms with him.

That's when the real discussion began.

"So you want to talk about it?"

"What's there to talk about? I like a boy. Woohoo. Call the reporters."

"I mean do you want to talk about why it is you think it's all silliness? I don't happen to think it's silly at all."

"You don't think it's silliness to fixate on someone who, until recently, barely even remembered my name?"

"Now ask yourself, is that his fault or is that yours?"

I guess I had been suffering from a strain of pedalitis. I had been so busy placing him up on this grand stage, far, far away from what I thought was attainable by me, that I had never bothered to reconcile if he was, indeed, human and approachable. I had been to wrapped up in not disappointing myself, that I had never ever tried pleasing myself. I didn't want to find out he was a nice, normal guy. I wanted him to be everything I had hoped him to be, the man of my dreams and more. To even consider muttering more than eleven words to him would have made me nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. It was all silly. I was being silly.

"Mine, I guess. But that isn't the whole story. There's something else."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that it'll never work even if I could talk to him."

"How's that?"

I felt like I shouldn't have had to spell it out for him. To me it was as clear as the summer sky. It would never work because he was far too old for me. My parents would never allow it. His parents would never allow it. There was no point in even trying it.

It had only been the previous summer that my daddy, of all people, sat me down to give me the talk on love and relationships. I had thought my mother would have been the one to go through it all with me, but, with my preferring my daddy's company over hers, it was decided he should be the one. We talked about a great many things that day. Some of it I kept and most of it I threw away. The one piece of advice that managed to linger on, though, was the idea that I had many years yet to grow into loving someone for real. He told me to give myself time to experience what it was like to be young and not to concentrate on things I would come to understand much deeper later on. I'd always been in a hurry to grow up. Both my parents understood that. That had been my father's way of encouraging me to slow down a bit for everyone's sake. Yet what I took from it was something else entirely. I took it to mean that my feelings, my silly, often wicked, feelings were nothing more than "kid" feelings. They weren't real. They were like baby teeth. He was telling me that I shouldn't get too attached to them because, in time, they'd be replaced by my real feelings, my "adult" feelings.

That's the way I took the whole subject matter of the unnamed boy. It didn't matter what I was feeling at the time. My feelings weren't real. They were illusionary and insubstantial.

"I think your feelings are perfectly valid, Breanne, and whoever told you they weren't should be shot."

"My daddy told me that, darling, and I hardly think he needs to be shot over that."

"At any rate, he should be severely tongue-lashed by you."

"I hardly think I'm in any position to tongue-lash my own daddy. I kind of still love him, you know?"

"Understandable."

"So you're saying you don't agree with my daddy's position?"

I'd always noticed that when it came to matters dealing with my parents, he would always defer to their judgment as much as possible while still trying to remain on my side of the argument. This was the first time I'd ever heard him out-and-out disagreeing with one of them.

"I'm saying that there's no such thing as an incorrect feeling. There's no wrong or right about them; they just are. I just don't agree with him telling you to discount something he doesn't have first-hand knowledge about."

"If there is one thing I've learned it's that I speak about things I don't quite understand completely all the time. Even you say that I tend to leap before I look. In this case, I don't see that he's that far off."

I didn't want to be saying that. I didn't want my daddy to be right. I wanted to say that I had the courage to act on my impulses. But I didn't. I simply didn't think what I was experiencing was anything more than your average, common schoolgirl crush. I didn't want to put any stock into it because the letdown would have been tremendous. I'd been told by my mother for such a long time that I could have the stars as long as I reached for them everyday and that, if I ever slipped up even once, I wouldn't just fall, I'd fall all the way back down to Earth with the other underachievers, that I didn't want to place myself in another position to be disappointed. I convinced myself what I was doing, stifling myself from acting, was for the best.

"Do you love the guy?"

"Of course not."

"But you do have feelings for him? You can admit that much, right?"

I had to think about it for a second, but I had to agree I did feel something.

"I do, I do, I do."

"Then start there. It is a feeling. Even if it isn't love, it's where most of us start out anyway."

"It's funny. I always thought that that was how it was going to be, with my instantly falling in love with someone. I always thought the long, drawn-out relationships were the ones who had gotten it all wrong. I was going to be one of the lucky ones, Eeyore. I was going to be the girl who got it right the first time. I was going to be the girl who would meet Prince Charming right off the bat and never have to settle for anyone else. And, because I thought that, I thought this couldn't be it, this unnamed boy couldn't be the one. He couldn't be the one because it wasn't instantaneous and it wasn't complete. The mere fact I couldn't say hello to him, the mere fact he didn't instantly ask me to spend the rest of his life with me, only reinforced the fact that it wasn't love.

"I was safe in that knowledge. I was safe, knowing that whatever I felt could be dismissed to the foolishness of youth."

"But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I not only deserve these feelings, but there do have some truth to them that I always mistook for hopeful wishing. Maybe my instincts were right all along, sugar."

"See? Now that's more like the Breanne I know."

I love my parents and I'll probably go on for the rest of my life only learning to love them more. They've only ever done what they thought was best for me. They've provided for me, cared for me, put up with a lot of foolishness, and had to rescue me from my own wickedness on more occasions than I could ever count. But, in this instance, I know they were wrong. They spent a lot of my youth trying to convince me that not only did they know what was best, which most parents do. But then they took the extra step of trying to convince me that everything I thought, everything I felt, was somehow faulty for the simple reason I was younger than them. I think that is wrong on so many levels. It was like telling a river to go left instead of right because right is where you'd go and right is what's best for everyone concerned. Then you spend all this time and effort preventing the river from going left, wasting all this time trying to bend it to your will, when it could have been better spent seeing the benefits of it just being allowed to go left all along.

Sometimes you simply can't turn back the river.

Sometimes this river is going to go exactly where she pleases.

Perhaps, at the time, what I was feeling wasn't love. Perhaps my daddy was right in thinking that it'd be a few more years before I really understood what love was. But, that night I learned to trust myself a bit more. What I was feeling had depth to it, even if it wasn't love. I didn't just pick his name out of a hat. From what I could see he was nice, always respectful of his family, and he looked good. Perhaps that isn't enough to get hitched and start a family with him over, but it was worth something. At the very least it was worth greeting him in the morning. It was worth exploring whatever may happen to its full potential. He would always be on a pedestal for me. He was the first, after all. But it was that night, talking with my greatest friend, that I realized that there was some room to put myself on a pedestal as well.

I was smart enough, mature enough, and wise enough to handle myself in most things. As much as my parents wished to keep me small and controllable, place my curls in pretty, little bows, I was growing. I was growing up to be someone who yearned to be independent and full of cheer. That would never happen if I always doubted myself and who I was. The only way that would happen is if I learned to believe I knew what was best for me.

"Mr. Patrick."

"Yes, Miss Breanne?"

"I think tomorrow I may say hello to my neighbor as I just so happen to be walking by."

Breanne

The Rest Of My Life Is So Hard, I Need A Photo Opportunity, I Want A Shot At Redemption, Don't Want To End Up A Cartoon, In A Cartoon Graveyard

--"You Can Call Me Al", Paul Simon

last week at Kerri Ray's very belated birthday dinner...

MS - So are you saying that without consequences that ethics get thrown out the window? Or are you saying that without consequences that one can sublimate one's code of ethics?

KR - More the former than the latter. It's my assertion that were people allowed to express their most base desires, without fear of repercussions or prosecution, those people would fail to do the right thing more often than not.

MS - So in your example how would that be applied?

KR - Well, using murder as an example, if one could do away with an individual that was despised with full assurances she would never be convicted then there would be more murders. Consequences dictates behavior.

MS - I see your point and I do agree with it, but I think you have to make allowances for a collary to your theory.

KR - Being?

MS - Being that I believe that, if people could gain the results they desire without having to go through the process, I think they wouldn't be so hesitant to want for unethical results either. It's kind of akin to the theory that people will always take the easy way out. If it's easier to do away with someone that annoys you than allow them to live, then that person would be killed every time.

KR - Granted, there is something to be said about that, but how would this correspond to my example. How can you kill someone without murdering them?

MS - Well, what's the practical result of killing someone? Not their death, but their disappearance. It follows then that, if there were some means by which to do away with someone without them actually having to be killed, there would be no ethical gray zone. If you could literally make someone disappear at the touch of a finger then there would be no qualms about quote-unquote spilling their blood. I'm not afraid to say that such an approach would cause me no uneasiness in the least.

KR - But wouldn't there be some conscientious objection on your part to the loss of life even if it isn't the actual ceasing of life through physical means?

MS - No more so than the loss of life without societal judgment. In either case there exists a state of apathy on the part of the test subject. In your case, he is apathetic to his own moral code. He knows it's wrong because he feels it's wrong, but, because society does not judge one way or the other, he feels secure in his decision to commit the action. In my case, he feels he is still within his ethical boundaries. He did not take a life so he is not a murderer in his eyes. In my case, he is apathetic to the results themselves. He produces the same results, but through less guilt-inducing means.

KR - What we're basically saying is that were we presented with the opportunity to rub someone off without fear of being charged, we'd both not hesitate? That's rather scary.

MS - But the difference is I wouldn't kill anyone.

KR - And I wouldn't be guilt-ridden because I'd be allowed to persist in complete honesty with my actions.

MS - What if we were to move it to something less adversarial?

KR - Such as?

MS - Relationships?

KR - And since when isn't love or our approximate represantation of it not adversarial? Wasn't it just a few decades ago that songs were written about how love is a battlefield?

MS - That's evasion and you know it.

KR - So the idea is that, if one could have a relationship following one of our two models, how would that be accomplished? Then, establishing that, which would be the more favorable of the two? Hmmm. Intriguing.

If we were to apply such conditions to my model it would approximate a relationship which could proceed along without resolute feelings being attached to a relationship. The relationship would have to be billed "as is" and no subsequent attachment would have to be agreed upon before the relationship could be entered into. It would be like a No Buyer's Remorse clause placed onto the affair, but instead of not being able to sell back the relationship, there would be a ban on commenting on or retaliating against the other member of the relationship should that relationship cease due to whatever cause may arise.

MS - And in my model it would have to be some manner of relationship where one could no longer be with an individual without actually having to break up with them. It would have to arise out of some sort of amnesia condition where, according to the other member in the relationship, as you put it, the relationship never existed. Same result, less combative means.

KR - I think I would draw the line at playing with actual human attachment, though. That's a little like playing with fire. The whole point of having a relationship with someone is to have that capability of feeling something substantial, of feeling at all. Taking feeling out of the equation, in my mind, would disqualify that arrangement as being a real relationship according to conventional standards.

MS - You're right, of course. I mean--we're both just playing Devil's advocates here. There has to be guilt and conscience and remorse to have any real connection. I could not imagine being chained to a relationship of convenience, where nothing could go wrong because, if it did, the relationship could be erased like last week's taping of 24. There has to be some sort of stakes to have any real shot of winning big.

KR - Which means the opposite must be correct as well. There has to be some sort of reward to have any real shot of losing something meaningful.

MS - And what of the middle ground? What of those relationships that don't really have any room for improvement or degredation? What do you make of those?

KR - I think such a relationship is transient in nature. All conditions, if placed in the universe we live in and subject to the same natural laws we abide by, do not remain fixed. A relationship is doomed to succeed or compelled to failure.


if you'll be my bodyguard
I can be your long lost pal

MS - But your definition of success might differ from someone else's?

KR - Such as yourself?

MS - Possibly. I mean what if I were to propose that every time a man and a woman connect at a basic level that I do not believe a successful relationship doesn't always need be a romantic one? Where is written that every successful venture end with the same result every time? That'd be like saying the only successful people are those who graduate college and get married before thirty. If you were to use that definition, I'd have no hope of ever being successful. I don't think there's a hard line when it comes to a successful relationship.

KR - I think there is a hard-line when it comes to relationship. And I think it's when two people are of a like mind when it comes to their perspective of the relationship. When one individual wants a more intimate progression and the other discounts any such future being possible that, in my mind, constitutes a failed relationship.

MS - It's not that I don't believe such a fate isn't the ideal, but sometimes what's ideal and what's possible are not intertwined.

KR - And what if they are?

MS - Then I would have to refer back to the earlier argument you made, an individual's perspective about relationships, even the relationship he may be in, does not remain fixed. There's always a shot at redemption, always a possibility that his perspective may change.

The one basic law of human nature is that no one chooses to be alone; it's pretty much chosen for him. That basic need can and has led to an individual forsaking any clinical detachment to what he believes he wants in order to actively gain what he subconsciously desires.

KR - That's good. I would very much hate to think that two people who seem well-suited can be driven apart for frivolous reasons such as principles.

MS - And I would hate to think that two people who seem well-suited can be driven apart for frivolous reasons such as momentum.

KR - Then we're in agreement?

MS - As much as the two of us ever are. I believe you've hurt my brain again, Miss Hamilton.

KR - And I believe your mind will heal with the arrivial of a fortuitous chocolate-laced concoction, Mr. Taroc. Summon the waiter and I shall expect some frivolous nourishment awaiting me when I return from the ladies' room.

MS - Thy will be done.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

God Only Knows What I'd Be Without You, God Only Knows What I'd Be Without You, God Only Knows

--"God Only Knows" (Beach Boys cover), Mandy Moore and Michael Stipe

When I turned twelve my parents bought me a book. Normally, this feat in itself would not be enough to raise my eyebrow, but the book they brought home for me was no ordinary book. It was a magical book, a lyrical book, a book full of artistry, called Griffin & Sabine by Nick Bantock. I cannot stress enough how overjoyed I was to receive it as a gift. I had seen it in the bookstore months before and, even perusing the artwork alone, I knew it was going to be a book I cherished.

As a child, I never liked creating my own worlds as much as I did being taken to someone else's. I was never one to pine for an impossible dream as much as pine for the one grounded in reality. I was like a traveller who appreciated the gardens I visited who never had a thought to being my own. Even to this day, even though people have told me I have a knack for writing, I still consider myself doggy-paddling in the shallow end while my betters swim laps around me. Even when I do write, I tend to stay away from anything that seems farcical or over-the-top. My stories and poems always seem to be centered around me, with my ghost stories being my only concession to my more imaginative side. Nope, I would much rather enjoy someone telling me a story than enjoy telling a story. I simply wasn't meant for the spinning of yarns.

That's why Griffin & Sabine was like a godsend. There I was, little 'ole Breanne, content to lose herself in other people's words, but afraid to lose herself in her own. When I opened the first page and read the first postcard from Sabine to Griffin, I was amazed. This was unlike any book I'd ever read on my own to that point. Mostly what I'd been reading to that point were traditional novels told in traditional form, beginning to end. This book was different. This book, aside from the illustrious artworks on every other page, representing various postcards and letters, was like a correspondence between two friends who had just found each other. Sabine, the woman, wrote all her missives long-form, with beautiful penmanship, replete with long strokes and a particular brown shade of ink. Griffin's hand-typed letters seemed closer to what I thought a novel should be, but even they had typos which were subsequently scratched out and corrected. All in all, it gave the verisimilitude of reading love letters midway from sender to recipient. Even the letters were folded up and stuffed in handmade envelopes, making the whole experience a voyeuristic one.

I remember thinking, after hurrying through the first book like my eyes were on fire and my hair was catching next, I told my parents that I absolutely needed the next books in the series. Then I remember the torment of me standing in need of those books for the next few years as my parents used my condition as a means to exact whatever good behavior I had been lacking before my miraculous transformation. They understood that I was a changed young girl and that, for that moment or so in time, I would have done anything to see how the whole tale played out.

It wasn't just that, though. I was beginning to shape other ideas from the books themselves. They didn't write all fancy-like as the books my teachers had given me. Even though the communicated themselves intelligently, they wrote as a man writes to a woman, and a woman back to him. They didn't try to fool anyone or put on airs. They only wished to convey how they were feeling and the questions they had of one another. It was all very much a sumptuous course of delectable eavesdropping. I thought to myself, I could write these. They're just letters. Yet these books were being hailed as a marvel, a blend of visual and literary artistry.

It was at that point, after finishing Griffin & Sabine that I tried my hand at crafting my own pieces. My first efforts were meager at best. I lacked the confidence that I had shown elsewhere in my life up until that point. You see, I had been told all my life how cute I was, how graceful I was, how well-mannered I was, but no mention had ever been made of reinforcing whatever intelligence I may have possessed at that point. To be sure, my parents knew I was smart, but it just never seemed to matter that I be praised for that. For them a good showing and a good demeanor were the necessities, while a good head about myself was the luxury. If I had turned out half as beautiful as my mother and half as personable as my father, well, then, being half as smart as both them would be gracious plenty.

Fairly soon, though, I began writing letters in earnest to my friend Torry and to my friend Alex. The more I wrote and the more they wrote back, the more I started to believe that I had decent enough talent to do this for a long time. Soon after that I tried my first stab at writing poetry and that's when I began to find my niche. There were silly things, writings about the unnamed boy, writings about how unfair I thought it was to not be able to do all the things that Shelley got to do--all writings from a wicked brat who didn't know any better than to complain about the innocence that my parents, my mother especially, were only trying to preserve for me. It was after I had written over a hundred in my first four months of writing that I really began to believe that I did have something to say and that, Hell's bells, how I said things was truly unique to me. And it was after I had written another two hundred that I grew bold enough to submit one on-line for review on a bulletin board, a bulletin board that was subsequently read by someone who is probably reading this right now.


well life would still go on believe me

Like I said, I don't craft stories. I more often write about who I am and what I am thinking. Yet I cannot deny that, of all the strange names I would have never thought to call myself in my youth, I am a writer in my heart.

I may never win any awards for my writings. I may forever pale in comparison to my betters, even here on this site. I may even lose my skills over time as I age. But something was awakened within me on that fateful day.

When I turned twelve my parents bought me a book and who I am has never been the same since then.

Breanne

Sometimes We Laugh, Sometimes We Cry, Sometimes We Hurt Inside And Don't Understand Why, We're Only Human

--"You Are The Best" (Carole King cover) - Whittni Wright

Apparently, I'm a latecomer to the party that is lonelygirl15, but watching it last night brought to mind one of my biggest beefs with the manner in which we, as a people, conduct ourselves. I happen to think the videos she puts out, disgenuine as they may be, are still comparitively entertaining and well-thought-out in comparison to most of what passes for entertainment these days. I think what the creators are trying to do is original and, though the execution may be a bit dodgy at times, for the most part, I think they have succeeded in garnering interest and attention for whatever future endeavors these episodes may be setting the audience up for. More importantly, I think the "episodes", or what have you, are plainly amusing. I don't look for her to be anything more than that. I'm not out to critique its social ramifications for art in general or how it's yet another example of the media attempting to manipulate the audience.

I think watching the videos are just fun.

It all ties into my philosophy of the Crow, "if it makes you happy, then it can't be that bad." It's why people have guilty pleasures, because there are always going to be examples from the media that I, as an individual, am going to like which 95% of the rest of the world isn't going to like. I don't have to like everything you like and you don't have to like everything I like. Sometimes you have to just learn to dislike each other's opinion without resorting to disliking the other person. People are full of nuances and subtleties springing from how they were raised, what influences they were exposed to, what friends and family members they had, and especially what they have learned from trial and error to provide them the most bliss.

That's why I can say that I really have no shame when it comes to entertainment. I probably listen, watch, and read what qualifies as crap more than any other individual on the planet. I will plumb the depths of obscurity, esotericism, and pure oblivion, and discover nuggets of quality that most people have come to see as rubbish. Yet all of that doesn't bother me. I have come to expect that at least 50% of the things I like not very many others will. I accept that. In fact, I welcome that. I have always strived to make myself happy before all others which engenders a certain self-interest. It's not that I'm trying to stand out; it's merely that I have no interest in fitting in.

For example, when it comes to movies, I possess as my favorites some real inappropriately beloved films in my collection. My favorite is and probably forever will be The Wizard. I'm a sucker for most romantic comedies, especially the so-called chick flicks, and especially the Hugh Grant/Working Title variety. Yet I also call some of the masterpieces, like Casablanca, Gone With the Wind, and Chinatown as some of my personal favorites too. I have been known to laugh harder than I should at films like Jackass and Beerfest, but I also like intelligent films like L.A. Confidential and Memento. I can and probably will again make a double feature out of two disparate movies like Hard Candy and You, Me, and Dupree. Hell, I might even do what I did with Camp Nowhere and go see it five days in a row, at the theaters, paying for each ticket. I'm that reckless and impulsive.

But that's what I mean. I don't mind telling you all that because it's my personal preference as to what constitutes good entertainment and what movies will probably have an emotional impact on me.

Especially in the latter category, one never truly knows what movie shall tug at one's heartstrings. I've seen many sad and emotionally distraught movies. Movies like Schindler's List and Ice Castles have all made me tear up at one time or another. I've been to movies where my date and I have ended up bawling right next to each other because it seemed the whole crowd was crying at the same time. I think the last time that happened was at Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Yet for all the movies I have seen, including classic weepies like Steel Magnolias, Terms of Endearment, and Beaches, none of those movies still absolutely kills me like they did when I first saw it. Only one movie to this day can do that.

That movie is I'll Do Anything (1994) with Nick Nolte and Whittni Wright.

I don't know why I took to this movie like I did. Maybe it's because of the relatable plot of a father who's on the downturn of his career and life having to sacrifice what he wants to make his daughter happy. Maybe it's because the whole movie is just cheesy and sentimental enough to make me blush like a schoolgirl. Or maybe it's because the sappiest moment really does sneak up on you. Whatever it is, when I get to the end of the film, where Nick Nolte's character gives up being with the woman that's a total bitch, yet is attracted to him; gives up on his career as a lead film actor; and gives up all sense of the person he used to be for his daughter, Jeannie, I know the emotions are all going to hit me hard. Sappy as it is, when Jeannie, who had been worrying for a good portion of the film about being able to cry on cue when called upon, is sitting there, unable to do it, unable to cry, I feel her frustration. Then that first tear starts to roll, she begins to well up, her face begins to redden, and then she starts to cry in earnest--all the while her father begins to beam with pride. Then she says her line, but, instead of rushing to the woman who is playing her mom on the television show she is performing on, she rushes to her dad off-stage I cannot help but laugh.

He tells her that he loves her and that he'll never stop loving her. She gets this surprised, then pleased expression on her face. Then she says the line that seals the deal as the most memorable moment from a film ever for me.

"When I had to cry," she whispers right into his ear, "I was thinking of someone taking me away from you."

That's all it takes. That one little scene absolutely kills me every time I see it.

I think that's what all good entertainment is supposed to do, make an impact on the person watching it regardless of what other people around him may saying or how they may be reacting. I'm fairly sure no one else has the same reaction I do to this movie, but it doesn't change the fact I do. I'll Do Anything will always have a special place on my shelf.

I'm not saying Lonelygirl15 will ever occupy the same special place, but it is something to enjoy despite what the masses may think of it. It entertains me and that is all I ever need to know.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Ah, But The Pardons Never Come From Upstairs, They're Always A Moment Too Late,But It's Entertainment, Keep The Crowds On Their Toes, It's Justice

--"It's A Hit", Rilo Kiley

ORDINARY MOMENTS IN HIS ORDINARY LIFE
a story by e. patrick taroc

He’d been stood up again. Much in the same way the first fourteen times had stung, he was feeling the sting of her betrayal now. It was a dull ache, stemming from the inside of his lungs and extending to his outer extremities, and, as such, he didn’t exhibit any of the signs of man who seemed troubled. In fact, most of the people he had passed his way out of the office building hadn’t noticed anything amiss. What they had seen was a man in his late twenties who seemed very focused on his task and very impatient to get to it. They would have seen what they wanted to see, the world in its place for everyone other than themselves.

Yet he was troubled and his erratic driving towards the McMillans’ house bore witness to that. He had a job to do, but something in the manner in which his day had began had confirmed that today was going to be a long one.

Of course, he wanted to call her. He wanted to find out what exactly her excuse was. He knew better, though. He knew that would only serve to antagonize the relationship further and he knew that he was better off waiting patiently, as he always did, for her to make it up to him.

He reached the McMillans’ house without incident, however. Nice house, he thought, as he stepped out of his black Lexus and onto their front lawn. The house floated comfortably on a sea of green, a lawn obviously well-maintained and cared for. It was flanked by hedges that seemed to be more natural extensions of the house itself than mere decoration. As for the house itself, it was a humble home—well, as humble as a three-story Edwardian residence can be—painted in ashen grey hues and trimmed with forest green. It was exactly the kind of home he had hoped to own someday—if he could ever find the right time to ask her to share it with him, that is.

He rang the door bell and was escorted inside by the lady of the house as if he were royalty. When he sat down she offered him high tea in the most unique teacups he had ever seen. They were dainty with an illustration of a grasshopper on each one so life-like he imagined that they could come right off the cups at any time. He accepted. Also, when she offered him the scones she said she had baked herself, he had no choice but to accept those as well. He watched as she took a sip of tea herself and sat down.

“I really must apologize for my husband. He’s rather kind of upset about today and this whole business about why you’re over here,” he heard her say, straining at the pleasantness he figured on a normal day would not be so forced.

“It’s understandable. It’s rough work for both you and me, I assure, ma’am.”

He smiled and she smiled. They sat in silence, eating their foodstuffs and sipping their tea, for a moment before their silence was broken by the clanging of the grandfather clock in the front hallway.

“Two o’clock already?” she asked. “Where has all the time gone today?”

“I know what you mean, ma’am. I’m counting the moments until my day is done.”

“Did you have big plans?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, yes,” he told her. What he didn’t tell her was that those same plans had been cancelled an hour ago. He also didn’t tell her that now he would probably go back to his empty townhouse and risk calling her all night. He really didn’t want to pick a fight, but he also wanted her to know that he felt it important to keep plans once they had been made. He thought she knew this already so his debate arose out of whether or not one more reminder would be too many.

“Plans are good. My husband and I have always been big planners.”

“Have you?”

“Oh, yes. Every night is an adventure with him, as they say.”

“That’s good. It’s always good to have that excitement in a relationship.”

He took another bite of scone. He looked around the parlor. Even it was decorated meticulously. A baby grand was placed in the corner of the room facing the window and in the opposite corner was a bureau, where upon its surface were placed at least a dozen photos of the lady, her husband, and their teenage daughter. Even the frames on the wall, amid the fine paintings by artists he had never heard of, contained other pictures of the family. Little moments of bliss surrounded by ostentatious presentations of their impeccable taste. He thought it rather like living in a museum, where the spectacle of artistry was accentuated with small touches of homelife. He envied them for their precision. They knew exactly how everything was supposed to look and feel, everything so carefully designed to put forth the best possible image.

Yet here he was to shake up the image. There were times when he felt like the villain in the story and today was beginning to look like one of those times.

Just then, the woman’s husband decided to join them. He came with weariness in his eyes, the red in them unmistakable. There was a softness about him that the man hadn’t been expecting. It came with the job, the sadness, but after seeing the lady of the house’s resolve, he had assumed that the man of the house would employ the same tact. He stood up, shook the man’s hand, and the three of them sat.

The husband started directly with the discussion, wasting no time with pleasantries.

“How can you live with yourself, doing what you do?” he heard the husband ask.

“Honey, now’s not the time,” she tried to say.

“It’s alright, Mrs. McMillan. Your husband has a right to be upset. It’s understandable,” he repeated again calmly for their benefit. “This isn’t an ordinary visit and it usually requires a bit more than ordinary explanations.”

The strange part was it was an ordinary visit for him. He made eight to ten visits like this every week. It was part of his job. It was part of his routine. It was a good deal of his life. Yet to tell them that he’d been through this procedure hundreds of time in the last few years would be insensitive of him. He needed them to know that he had a heart and that he didn’t relish intruding upon their happy life. He had a job to do. They had agreed to what had to happen. It was all nothing more than business.

“Sir, I don’t take any sort of pleasure in my job other than the satisfaction of a job done well. I don’t particularly like hurting others or even inflicting pain on anyone. I’m a decent person and I’m just trying to do the decent thing for all parties. I have been tasked by my employers to fulfill a certain role just as you have been tasked by your honor and by the contract you signed to fulfill your financial obligations. I am not asking for anything extraordinary or even expected. I’m just asking for what’s owed to us. I’m just asking for the process to move along as painlessly as possible.

“That’s how I live with myself. That’s how I do what I do. It’s nothing personal against you nice folks. It’s strictly business.”

At this the husband proceeded to get off his seat and pick up one of the cups. He then threw it at the man’s head, missing by a matter of inches.

“It is personal. You can’t say it isn’t. You’re ruining our whole lives here. That feels personal to me. That is personal to me.”

“I can’t control that, sir. I’m only the humble employee of the company that you agreed to do business with. I didn’t ask for this job, just as you didn’t ask for the situation to be as it is. There are a lot of things in my own life that I wish were different. But I do what all of us must do, endure whatever trials are set before me with a modicum of discipline.”

As he came to the end of his sentence, he felt his cel phone ring. That’s when he saw the familiar name across the display.

“Excuse me, I must take this,” the man said as he retired to the foyer.

It was her. She had messaged him with a few sentences, but those few sentences spelled out a small sign of hope that today would not be as bad as he originally envisioned:

i’m sorry. will call later.

He texted her back quickly that there wasn’t any big hurry and that he loved her. He wanted to tell her a dozen other things, but he was still on the clock and he still had a soon to be distraught couple to deal with in the other room.

He stepped back into the parlor, sneaking a quick glance at the wife now doing her best to calm her husband down. Her wrinkled hand spoke of how much her marriage had taken out of her, but her weathered smile spoke of how much it had given her. When she spoke, after the man had sat down, he knew she was speaking for both her and her husband.

“We’re not begruding you your job, Mister. We’re merely trying to get accustomed to what our new life is going to be like, how we’re going to fill this hole once it’s there.”

“I know what you mean. Every time I do this it never gets any easier. I assure you we’ll take good care of her and maybe in a few months’ time the three of you will be reunited. I have high hopes this isn’t going to be a permanent solution.” He smiled.

“I’ll get her ready,” the husband said, trying his best not to lose it all. “I think she’s almost packed anyway.”

When he had left the room, the wife attempted to explain their situation to the man.

“It’s been a rough few years. We fully intended to keep up with our payments, but sometimes God has other intentions for your time. No matter what we tried, we just couldn’t come up with the money. We should have never taken out that loan with your company. It was reckless of us. The price was too high. But we were desperate. We only wanted to do what was best for her and we thought we had. This house, this life, we’ve only ever tried giving her the best.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, Mrs. McMillan.”

“Do you have somebody in your life that you’ve been so desperate to take care of that you did the most foolish things in order to accomplish that?”

He thought about it for a second, but he already had the answer in his mind.

“There’s this woman I know. She doesn’t always show it, but I know she loves me a great deal. In the last few years it’s been hard finding the time to always be with her as much as I’d like. It’s been hard realizing that things are never going to be as comfortable and as exciting as I’d like them to be. It’s never going to be perfect.

“Yes, I’ve done some foolish things, committed some foolish deeds and said a lot of foolish things to her, but I’ve never wavered in my dedication to her. I’ve never been so desperate to keep her that I would ever think of…”

“Sacrficing her?”

He sighed. This was always the hard part. This was always the part where the customer’s desire to do what was best met his own perspective on what was right and was wrong. He couldn’t wrap his head around the notion of loving someone so much that you would put their well-being into someone else’s hands.

“Well, yes. I’ve been at this job awhile and I can’t understand why any of you do it.”

He watched her come around to his side of the coffee table.

“You’ll understand someday. You’ll understand that sometimes it’s not about doing what’s comfortable or what’s ordinary for a person. Sometimes, to show someone you love them, you have to be willing to reach for their extraordinary even if you lose everything, including them in the process.”

He nodded his head, but inside he was shaking it.

Nothing. There was nothing in the world that would ever lead him to conclusion that it’d be okay to use someone as collateral for a better life for all of them. There was nothing in the world that could convince him that someone he loved was able to used as a commodity under any circumstance. It was beyond his understanding.

However, it was his purview to make them all understand. There are consequences for actions and, when you flirt with desperation, sometimes you lose more than you bargained for.

“If it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I’ve made my peace with the ordinary life. I’ve made my peace with having someone in my life who I can’t give the extraordinary to. Because, you know what, at the end of day she’s still there and I’m okay with that.”

Just then the husband brought his daughter down the staircase. He watched the wife immediately run over to her and hug her. Their were tears in the girl’s eyes. He was sure they had explained the situation to her in the days leading up until today, but for her the reality of the situation never really sank in until now. He had seen this same act play out a hundreds of time—the teary good-byes, the promises that the circumstances would be rectified fairly soon, all of it. He did his best to smile, but it broke his heart every time.

After a few minutes, he interrupted the family.

“It’s time to go,” he said simply.

The couple turned around quickly, not even bothering to say good-bye to him. Perhaps they thought it was easier that way. As it was, he would have preferred shaking their hands and reassuring them that was a temporary arrangement. It was the one part of the job that he did enjoy, doling out that hope when the customers had none to speak of. It left him with the feeling that he was the good guy when everybody else out there was out to make him the bad guy.

As he took the girl’s hand in one arm and wheeled out her large suitcase with the other, he did his best to show his best upbeat demeanor. They walked out to the car together. He began to think of how long it would take him to get back to the office and then again of whether or not he would see her today. He decided that he would wait till nine or ten. If she hadn’t called by then, he would call her.

Just then, he felt the girl tug on his arm, trying to get away. He increased his grip on her and said a few words to let her know he wasn’t the bad guy here.

“Don’t be scared. Your parents love you and you’ll see them again in a couple of months, hopefully.”

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers