Got/Get/Getting my LEARNIN on

Some terms you finish up and realize after the post-final euphoria wains that you did not really learn anything during all those studious hours spent trying to keep your GPA from nose diving. I can't accept that student loans/grants paying my tuition could be so pointlessly wasted. Here are some things i know i have learned while up on campus that i can count some credit hours towards.

-Your best dating service are the seats behind, in-front and to your immediate sides. That is right, sit next to her or him. A few quick quips here and there, a direct stare with a quick goodbye, then you see them at some weekend social event and BAM the moment both of you have waited for during those 50min (1h 15 Tue/Thurs) during the week presents itself. Time to bridge the gap, "so what are doing Tuesday night" too forward??? OK, "you going to B-ball game?"

-I can sleep where ever i want too when ever i want too. In any position i want too additionally. Lecture halls with my legs over the row in-front of me. Tiny little desks with my chin resting on my collarbone. Some people sleep on all those couches and what not but honestly that grosses me out a bit. Couldn't explain why just does. But the point is Power naps are the best thing ever, you try to tell me that once i wipe the drool out the corner of my mouth that i am not 10x more productive than 15 min before.

-$$$ don't mean a thang. I pay over $200 in textbooks and i read maybe $25 willingly, it is not only until i botch the first quiz that i may take the plastic wrapping off. You think our liquified (and dried up) savings would give us more motivation.

-If i don't want to do it, it will suck. If i do want to do it, then i'll do it until i don't want to anymore. Then i'll review it and impress by how much i think it didn't suck. But i still don't want to do it anymore.

-The Professor will mess up, some will admit and be admired but be subject to forced compromises by desperate students. Others will not admit and lose much respect because, hey we are in college and we can spot a FAIL miles (or multiple youtube suggestions) away.

-The craziest times happened to me in the library...(open for interpretation)

WAKE-UP

Different ways to wake up and some ways i'd like to wake up:
-well rested
-alone
-way too early
-way too late
-late for a test/work
-from a power nap with work to do
-from a way too long nap and now you can't move
-in middle of the night, worrying
-right when the sun is coming up and the birds chirping
-when the neighbors/roommates are leaving the driveway/house
-on someone else's couch and they are giving you a dead arm
-when the dvd menu just keeps repeating itself
-after everyone else has left the room and you don't know where they went
-on the trampoline
-as your head falls off your hand in class
-on the pebbles in the garden
-driving on the wrong side of the road
-holding your baby niece
-blindly searching for your alarm clock
-with someone tapping on your car window
-being the big spoon, her hair all in your face
-on your knees
-with the same song on repeat
-hand against face now that side of your face is all sweaty
-book/laptop on your chest
-walking to the fridge to drink something cold to calm down
-after hearing a weird sound outside
-phone on your collarbone so you don't miss the alarm or call your expecting
-in the same clothes you wore last night
-christmas morning
-hungry
-not horny
-horny
-with the 6 hour old text reply he sent you after you fell asleep
-shivering with the no blanket
-someone using you and the bed as a landing pad, unexpectantly
-with an emergency phone call
-hours before she is bound to even think about getting up
-mom cooking breakfast jamming "More than a Feeling"
-sore with bruises
-3am and you're sick
-pulling into the driveway after a long trip
-as fast as you can to beat roommates to the shower
-on the opposite end of the bed
-freaking out because you do not know how you got here
-bad dreams
-hearing her curse the kids outside with that sexy whiny morning voice
-after a really big blow to your cranium
-with dad dying and mom is screaming downstairs
-waking up after every single time you go to sleep

128 square feet to Freedom

I have not lived a long time on this planet. So the feelings to have lost something that you once possessed are relatively new for me. I am not talking about losing my teeth, or even my fear of camping in dark forests.

As you grow up you learn lessons. You gain attributes and skills. You get stronger and more independent. You find your own direction and method to get things done. You are adding and adding and maturing.

So this new feeling of noticing that something you depended on has slipped away, is not one i like at all.

To be Free.
The idea of freedom for me, is something so different than the word really relates. When i am free it is because i made the right decision and i will not suffer any pain from a wrong decision. Without that pain to slow me down i am free to do what ever i want for who ever i want. (a humble man would replace the "want's" with "can")

I do not have the same fire and passion for that freedom anymore. I've let so many little things wash it away recently.

It is time to fix that.

Among other more personal parts of my plan, i have a empty wall next to my bed. 16x8 feet. In the bottom right corner, near where my head rests while i sleep there are seven cards. On each of these cards i have written something that my former freedom brought me, the things i miss the most. I plan on tacking up at least one card a day. I would like to cover the 128square feet with reasons to make my freedom, mine.

Now i must decide wither to go scotch tape or thumbtacks.

'91 is 19 backwards

I won't lie i was looking at pictures of a former high school flame. One of the few girls in my memory that actually got more attractive as opposed to more drunk, pregnant, addicted, boring or dead in the six years since we all parted. I am not getting all "just friends ryan reynolds" here wishing it would have played out differently; no need i survived high school and the six years afterwards i shouldn't ask for more. But i looked at some of her pics and was slightly enamored to the point of thinking, "hmmmm how could i swing seeing her again come christmas break?"

The First thoughts that came to me where quite the shockers...

Its been a while since you have ever gone/made/went -out with a girl your age. BOOM

How did i get to the point that i'd have to look into the dating historical annals to figure out the who was the last girl i dated that was within two years of my age? BOOM

Mitch to the best of your knowledge it was WELL OVER 2 YEARS AGO. BAM

Do you even remember what it was like to date someone who wouldn't get carded at a bar? BOOM

so i began to think...

Mitch did it really make that much of a difference when you did date someone who was born before grunge died? In those cases no Mitch they didn't.

Would it make much of a difference in any case? It has the potential to make all the difference, common interests, and some of them must of grown up a bit just like i have, right.

When i reached the conclusion that maybe more mature women may be necessary to my romantic interludes. I immediately posed myself the magic bullet question. Which magically blew my heart out the wrong side of my spine.

So Mitch, where are all the women closer to your age that you could be attracted too?

Oh yeah, all the older mature boys snatched them up when they were 19.

Vexat-, Tribulat-, Redempt-, -ion

I really like the films like, Cinderella Man, Invincible and The Sting. Cinderella Man and Invincible are at their most basic level inspirational sports movies and well Robert Redford ran a lot from mobsters and crooked cops in The Sting. But the sports have really nothing to do it, maybe a little but not too much.

What are the experts calling it now, "growth recession" or even the "BBQ Recovery"?

Low and slow just like the coal grill on the back patio. Stats might (with the right tweaking) be growing but not faster than that nasty inflation. You know that thing that makes the same product more expensive as it just sits there.

We patted ourselves on the back this September, we stayed at 9.1% unemployment. You know i lowered my expectations once to make things look better. She wasn't disgusting but the only thing she had going for her was that she qualified with my hetero-sexual ways, she was a girl.

GOP hopeful's remind me when the first kid got a trampoline on the street. How many kids could we fit on the biggest toy on the block, trying to steal the bounce from each other? Reversely Obams (cute huh?) feels like that QB who couldn't get that 3rd and long conversion all night, his punter must be getting tired.

I rant (Wall Street should choke and die) and I rant (banks are dens of thieves) and I will now get mooshy.

I like those movies because, they are people surrounded by their families whom are surrounded by really dismal economic situations. The world sucked at the start of the film and it sucked at the end. But the characters and their families experienced redemption. Albeit (finally got to use that word) after much cinematic tribulation.

I would wish that the director is getting close to that scene, for us (vague on purpose).

Talkin shop with Pops

I was waiting outside on my older sister’s driveway in Lehi. My cousin was late, we were taking her car back up to Logan for the Homecoming game which I had to work at that night with the rest of the Media Relation minions. I had said goodbye to my family earlier on, because they were still at this crazy mud race in the canyon. I was kind of down that I spent less than 12 hours with them, but I had work to do and that is a priority for me and parents alike. God granted me boon, when my family pulled into the driveway before my cousin.

I was able to hug and kiss my little sisters goodbye and give mom one more hug. But Dad just went and grabbed some gross power bars and sat with me. We talked college football, the best sporting league in the world. I was super anxious to leave so I wouldn’t be late so I doubt I was super conversational. Dad offered to drive me up if I needed to leave right now. My cousin showed up I hugged Dad and jumped in the car. Up in the press box we texted throughout the game. Scores and big plays were passed son to father. This afternoon we talked about the game I told him all that I saw and we talked about how next week’s game needed to play out.

This isn’t a “Disney movie” plug for how great this sport is. My Dad and I will always talk on or off season. But it is great to talk shop with my Father.

Dream like its 2013

So I was talking to my mom today while her and father and the remaining siblings traveled home after a fam-reunion. She was talking about certain ideas that were thrown around by the various family members for the next fam-reunion that should take place in 2013. She talked about urban scavenger hunt that takes place city wide in west coast towns like San Diego or San Francisco. Our family loves little cutsie things like that, I don’t really care either way. I attend these things to play with all the little ones, avoid questions about my future and eat allllll the free well prepared food.
But then I said, I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it.
“You know mom, my wife and I will be working at least two low-level, low pay jobs each. Plane tickets from Philedephia, Boston or Austin might be out of our price range.”
Mom was quick and played along.
“Yeah but by that time your father will have a job, and not just any job. He will be District Manager of some burgeoning medical sales company. 100k a year probably. We will fly you out, or help pay the rental car/gas costs so you can make that cross country trip you have always wanted to make.”
So it was settled my parents would finance the trip my beautiful wife and I will make out to the next reunion. Never mind, that I have eight more months till graduation and no real job leads. My car is less mobile than a terminal cancer patient. Completely small detail that I do not have a wife or any relationship and that the last one still makes me want to use up my yearly “f-bomb” quota in one fell swoop.
We can over look the negligible facts that it has been five years since my Dad has had a job that paid more than what he was making his first year out of college. That this isn’t the first time my family has been food stamp eligible. Little things like that.
I am not whining, Lord in heaven please do not think I am getting down with this. I just really appreciated the little scenario we created together my Mom and I. I have no idea why I loved it so much either. But in a “rough” time like this, can you blame us for enjoying it so much?

Then the past called

So there was this girl last night. Her hair was long down past her shoulders. She had faint freckles around her shoulders. If i hiked over a mountain I could rest my weary arms on her wide hips, like a shelf. Her derriere makes me wish I could palm NBA sized basketballs. I would gladly break my face on concrete if it would spare any harm to come on the most perfect set of legs ever. She has a triangle bottom lip.

I was in a hot dark room with this girl. The windows were open and the night breeze would gust in from time to time. There was abundant use of every flat surface. I could taste the salt in her glisten around her collar bone. Its rare to get opportunities hotter than this. This was as hot and heavy as I am allowed to experience.

Then the past called.

My phone was visible so i took a really fast glance at the name of this ill-timed caller. It was her, it was my past. I couldn't take the call (manners ya know), so I let it go to message. But from that moment on while I have an absolute vision breathing heavy in my ears, I could NOT stop thinking, "why was she calling me tonight?".

The past came ringing in for a 2nd time.

Now I am driving myself absolutely up the walls trying to think, "how am I going to get out of this and listen to her message, WHY IS SHE CALLING TWICE?"

I know exactly why this happened like it did. I know why I wanted to hear a voicemail more than sweat with a goddess. No analysis required.

PINKERTON = i am a mess

Hello my name is Mitch and i am a mess. I am a mess that inadvertently has been living his summer life up to this point in a fashion akin to PINKERTON. Yep that WEEZER album that no one really liked but the losers and now its recognized as one of their best ever. But let me explain track by track the realization i came today while rocking the entire album out.

1. Tired of Sex: i don't have sex, i am a good Mormon boy. With that said due to several failed and still smoldering attempts at making serious relationships work; i decided to take a break from seriousness and MAC my way through May, June, July and August. Its been fun but I catch myself often wishing that i could perceive some substance in any of these girls. When Rivers says "i know i am a sinner, but i can't say no", i know i once shunned the shallow types for exactly what i am doing now, but i can't say no. Because there is no better option at the moment.

2. Why Bother?: "Its just sexual attraction, nothing real so i better keep whacking." This one is a great testament to my attempts to totally mangle and maim my social life and previous social standards. I am only physically attracted to these girls, i know its not real, i've felt real and this isn't it. But then he screams, "i've known alot of girls, whats the harm in knowing one more." Because even if its not real, whats the harm, why bother? Its called a fling for a reason.

3. Across the Sea: Despite my attempts to be reckless, i do have some really cool and legit crushes on some cool and legit girls. Ones i would consider real. I consider them as such because we pen pal and i enjoy our conversations. That is real enough for me.

4. El Scorcho: This one is a hope more than a reality, its about meeting a girl that you click with on multiple levels as suggested by the verses about 1/2 japanese girls, and her not knowing about Green day (back in '96 it was quite a feat). Then his declaration of love, "i think i'd be good for you and you'd be good for me." Its simple and honest which i usually try to be when i am not trying to be reckless.

5. The good life: My life is not a terrible, I have jobs that pay me money and take up my ample time. I have an awesome pad and a car that works and plays PINKERTON really loud. I am cocky/arrogant/egotistical/good-looking/self-aware and for some reason girls of all kinds like this. So to be able to decide hey i am going to make a mess with all this and enjoy it, (and not get struck down by God), means that i cant be having it too hard. If anything i make harder than it needs to be by choice. "But who do i have to blame? nobody but me".

I am Mitch and i am making a mess while its hot and sticky, contact me if you feel so inclined to participate in any way.

Inside Marla

(went on a long drive with Lupe Fiasco this is what came out, my first rhyme)(my truck's name is marla)

Please will you grow up and act like you are young and reckless.
Young and in love so please get some mental correctness

I can’t love if you don’t survive
Act your age girl and be young and alive.


C’mon learn the lessons and leave the baggage
Yeah you been hurt,
Like my whole social network
Know the pain know the game
Just like how they know to jerk

I set that up to bring a smile
You was colder than morning floor tile
Its cool but I wont be chill
My heart is looking for a thrill
Flying on a buzz that ya know only how to kill

Wanna String me up on your front lawn tree?
Invite the whole neighborhood cause it’s warm tonight
Sundresses, front porch and ice tea
I’ll be filled with sweets from anotha
But You want my heart for a party piñata

I do not want to write this

A forced moment of self-degradation
I do not want to write this at all. But I do not have a choice in the matter. What I don’t want to write about is how I drive myself to the brink and over when I get bored. I do not have a choice because I have absolutely nothing else I can do to stave the boredom. I killed every Scrubs episode till the sucky season (I’ll let you decided which one that is). I have watched every Tremors movie in the series and which I think was genius until thirty two minutes into the second installment. There are 4 movies in that series. I make multiple trips to Wal Mart to get only one or two items that I may need the next morning for breakfast. Then I go back to what? You guessed it more Netflix. Blah blah blah blah how I suffer and how I am my own worst enemy.
I told you I do not want to write this. I don’t. I am sitting here thinking how I can make the little tidbits about how I spend my time funny to a reader. How can I depreciate myself in a pathetic situation like David Sedaris? My heart is not in it, this is a forced catharsis. So it is not really cathartic at all just an explanation. Explaining to whom? No reads my blog anyways. So lets force this catharsis even further.
So I am bored and I hate it. I hate it because I think too much. My mind goes 1,000 mph towards self-doubt-Ville. Bo-hoo me right? Yeah I think of what I’ve done wrong to other people. What other people have done wrong to me and why I might have deserved it or not. What am I doing here, should I be somewhere else? Am I doing the right things in my major, am I in the right major? This isn’t motivated by self destruction, the opposite actually. I want to always to fix things. Find problem and fix it. That’s what I do. Combine that with a good memory and enough free time to solve world hunger and bam we got a problem. We got my last two weeks. This is a problem that I must fix. But how do I fix the problem of me looking for problems to fix. That is a nasty nasty nasty catch-22 right there. I laughed at how pointless it seemed till it went all clairvoyant on me. I don’t fix it. I leave it the akslfkjnadwkjfa alone. To fix the problem of constantly looking for problems I stop trying to fix the problem. I fix the problem by not fixing the problem. Holy mother of cows and other tasty animals!!! This catharsis worked. I seriously wasn’t planning on that. I was just making myself take a break from Netflix, catharsis achieved.

What if i dated my old GF's?

I was reading about one of my favorite bands on Wikipedia (a favorite pastime of mine) and at the end of the article it talked about the possibility of a reunion tour. Can you imagine my delight!!! I would put on my most torn up jeans and my meanest black punkrock tee, lace up my chucks real tight and turn 16 again for one night. Delighted until I read that one of guitarists wasn’t too keen on the idea. He was quoted saying, “you want me to get back up there and play some 10 year old songs, that is like me asking you to go get back with your first girlfriend.” Which got me thinking, what if I went back and dated my first girl-friends? I thought it would be really cool to facebook stalk them and get a good bead on who they were (totally possible thanks FB) now, and see how we would match up today. That idea sadly died fast because I could not remember what their names were accurately enough to chase them down. Give me a break; two of them were German exchange students, of which I am still proud of to this today. So I’ll stick with my original plan.

One of the first girls was a German exchange student by the name of Andrea. She was an Aryan dream. 5’10” blonde that sounded just like the Austrian gal from The Last Crusade, which would make me Indiana Jones, great logic. How did I get her to like me, I lied straight to her face. While walking back from an autumn football game , I told her that I was constantly depressed because I had no real close friends, to talk too (sniff sniff). She took it hook line and sinker. “Troubled boy, who has deep underlying feelings, I want him”, she undoubtedly thought. We made out on top of spyglass hill, in my truck cab (didn’t care that I was 15 didn’t have my license yet) and any park benches on the golf course. She played amazing defense though, i couldn’t score with any trick plays. One night she tried a DTR I caved against every fiber of my being and we became official. The next morning at 6:00AM she texted me this line “good morning sweet heart I dreamt of you last night”. ARRRRRGGGHHHHH! I avoided her for two weeks and then gave her the lets just be friends talk and that was the last time we ever talked. If she could deal with my cockiness instead of depression, this might work now. She was a bit needy though and who doesn’t think that’s annoying now.

I can’t even remember this girls name so her name will be Kelly for ease of printing. She I am ashamed to admit was my first and only Myspace hook-up. She lived up in Washington and I think she started talking to me because I liked the then unknown band called “taking back Sunday”. We held a ridiculously cheesy teen-internet-romance for like 4 months until she moved down to my area. We met in the skate shop in the mall, she was Hella Curvy to my 17 year old delight. She was my first ash-tray; I never ever ever want to kiss a smoker again. But I was that horny at 17. I broke up with her when she drunk dialed me asking me to drive 45min out to get her and her dumb friends one night. I told her to find her own ride or die on the return trip. Never underestimate how much I didn’t care back then. I hate anything long distance and I still hate party-girls. I think I also appreciate girls that have different musical tastes than me, makes for better conversation.

Karma will always be a Beezy. I had a friend who I helped get his first GF. Like he would copy-paste what she said onto my AOL IM chat and I would tell him what to say. Cute huh? She had the most beautiful shock green eyes in the whole school. So when she denied him the rights all high school boys think they earned after a month of commitment he dropped her so quick no analogy can accurately describe its speed. So we were talking and I being the imminent sweet talker told her through AIM chat, “no matter what Cameron says I will still think your super cool and my really cute friend.” We hooked up before we even had finished our Slurpee’s in the mall parking lot. Man, were her green eyes something to look at on the pull-back. I left for college and we moved on after the mandatory Christmas break re-hook-up. My friend Cameron and I stayed pretty tight, until I left on my mission. Karma dictates that I would suffer my mission GF to be knocked up by my friend. Needless to say I haven’t really kept in touch with either the girl or my friend. Thank you Karma. This girl was by FAR the most normal and down to the blessed earth. Never any drama, just hang out, make out, chill out, drop off. Super simple. Now if I could only remember her name…

I was wonder bread

97.9, 103.5, 95.3, 96.1 Do you know what these numbers mean. They are not equations from my stats homework; they are not measurements of appendages in millimeters and they aren’t numbers representing my weight though some people would assume so. These numbers represent some semi-saviors of mine. Back nearly a decade ago there was an extremely fresh faced Mitch who just started working his first legit summer job, 8-5 Monday through Friday. I was on an interior-painting crew that cleaned up section-8 $h*t holes and repainted them just to be trashed again by the new drug dealing-prostituting-meth using-porn addicted tenants.
The guys I worked with ranged from a summer working college student, recently paroled felons, high school dropouts, and illegal immigrants. I was the only high school student on the crews and one of two Mormons. Compared to guys who spent the night before work telling girls they were having a relationship with at that moment that they had AIDs just for the reaction, it didn’t matter how much of a punker I thought I was. I was a loaf of wonder bread to them. The first place I helped clean out and paint was a deserted brothel, I was put on sex toy watch. I was to locate any sex toy and store it in a separate bag for later unplanned pranks on the other paint crews. My innocence stood less of a chance than a remnant piece of cocaine on Hunter S. Thompson’s kitchen table. But what did the numbers mean!?!
These numbers are call signs, radio frequencies for all the rock stations in the Willamette Valley. We drove all over that valley for three months in crappy non-AC’d trucks filled with off white paint and old mattresses that some diabetic died a lonely death on two weeks before we cleaned it out of the apartment. But if there was one belief we had in common was that Journey was God. Rage against the Machine made you win any red light stare down no prob. You had insane echoes in an empty apartment with for guys singing more than a feeling. Metallica was a great morning wake-up call and the college radio gave all the Gin n’Juice we would ever need. These were fantastic eye-opening times, because every hourly wage worker in each city would be bumping the same jams. Walk into this paint shop you could finish your new wave anthem “Just what I needed”. The landscaping guys are busting some crazy latina-polka we just heard in the Taco Bell or Gn’R. The talk for all of august was how the college radio was doing every 15minutes up-dates on the top-less car wash going on in front of the West 11th 7/11. It really brought everyone together just like Duck football games did during the fall.
I was stripped of a lot of my innocence that summer, but I gained a chunk of confidence because I didn’t drown in (for the lack for a better word) the shiz of my co-workers but I learnt how to even do a very cocky, jack-assed butterfly stroke.

-Y girl

(older deal that i wrote a while back but never posted)

There are a few questions about my likes, dislikes and tastes that I cannot answer. I have learnt to dodge answers that get me out of answering them without explaining why I do not like to answer these questions. i.e. what kind of music do you listen too? If I tried to answer that I would end up saying “rock” at some point and feel like should A) try to assemble a 1,000 piece puzzle in the middle of a four lane highway. B) Spend the night with any girl that gets excited when either of the “you’re a jerk” or “soulja boy” songs come on at a house party. Both are hazardous to my health and self-respect. But both are more comfy than trying to answer that question. One of the worst question I can think of at the moment is, “what is your type?”

This type means what is the type of woman that I will be attracted too. I could and you too, could spend hours naming off adjectives. None start with –A- (attractive but that can't end in a -y unless its an adverb) so , bumpy, cozy, dressy, EE-y, freaky, geeky, hotty, irresistibly, jazzy, kinky, lovely, mega-sassy, nippy, obedient, pretty, Quirky, riskay, slutty, touchy-feely, not ugly, very __, wispy, x-rotic, yappy and zesty.

Adjectives can’t explain what anyone can feel when a connection is made. Adjectives rarely can describe what a person is when this person makes you want to stalk them on facebook multiple times before you see them again. Adjectives don’t knock your socks off, they can’t keep you up at nights (even when you didn’t take a nap).

–Y doesn’t. He/She does.

THE PILE

There this pile right in the middle of my room. In side this pile are all me clean clothes all my dirty socks, all my opened school text books, my tax information, my deodorant, my cell phone charger, my laptop power cord, my journal, my other journal (intimidated that i have two?), my wallet and keys are somewhere in there in some pair of jeans, i own two belts and they too are buried in this pile that in more or less everything that i use on a weekly basis. When i get out of my towel that by divine providence of heaven does not get thrown into the pile, i start pulling my outfit out of the the pile. All my clean clothes are in the pile because i washed them earlier that day or when ever and then instead of folding them and putting them into the entirely too small drawer, i just leave them on my bed. So when i am ready to hit the hay i look at my bed and see it is going to be tough to dream on top of all my jeans. So i just move the new clothes to the bench press next to my bed. They will fall off as i try to fine a shirt that actually go with my shoes (its so tough ladies) and start to make the pile. My homework and books will get thrown in there because i am so sick and tired of them when i am finished that i set them on top of the pile and walk out. When i get undressed to climb under my electric blanket at nights i just toss everything on the pile. It takes less effort than you'd think for me to remember which shirts i have worn earlier in the week so i don't pull those out of the pile the next morning. At the end of the week i say i need to clean my room but really it only means to stick the whole pile except my books and tax stuff on most occasions into the dirty clothes sack. Take the sack containing the pile and washing everything in two loads. I will undoubtedly put all those clean clothes on my by there-in-by repeating the entire process again the next week.

I hope by making this known i will stop this ridiculous man-boy tradition.

He Didn't Even Make It Through A Full Gallon of Milk

This title was the line from an old friend. I watched her as we grew up in our crazy town. As i went down the proverbial hill i watched her slide down the same slippery slopes. I never had much of a attraction to her which always baffled me because she is a pretty gal but more so just a observational interest akin to a JD (from scrubs) closing monologue.

But where were we? Oh yes i watched her as we both did our straying. Once i got my act together and pulled myself out of the pits i was falling into i saw she was super far away in some pits i managed not to find myself in the bottom of; lucky me right? I left and when i got back this girl had married a real idiot, someone we both knew that saw these same pits that we were dealing with as little muddy puddles that one jumps in and gets everyone around all wet and gross. Gets all your friends and family all dirty too.

This kid got sent to jail, which left my friend with a ring on her finger and an empty space in her bed. Two more years with good behavior she told me at a Christmas party as we ate from the brownie tray. In the time he was busy getting prison tat's, my friend got herself a diploma and a job doing what i knew she probably always wanted to do. It just fit her so well. I watched as she pulled herself out of those pits, it was great to see out of all of us that strayed someone else besides me come back. It made church back home during winter break a lot more interesting. Who was there because they wanted to be and who was there because they had a huge fight with their parents the night before and were sitting in those ol'benches but were more uncomfortable because of the awkward family tension.

Anyways where was i? Oh yeah, this idiot got out of jail last week. She had a pizza party for him and even my parents were there to wish them luck. She arranged for him to have a parole officer in the state where she was living. They arrived home and spent the next day getting him some new clothes and by the next morning he was gone. Took the car and left it somewhere in a nearby city and is on the run. Her line, "he didn't even make it through a full gallon of milk", means so much. I love it.

I've watched this girl for most of our lives, and i know that others would consider those three years she waited for her husband a total waste but i know she will see it maybe not right away but she will see it as such a great blessing to have that time to come back to love. Real love. Like love of her family her real friends and her real heavenly father. Divorce is a ugly, terrible word. But every now and again, it brings a big smile to my face for an old friend.

I could have lied

It’s a valley

Keeping in cows, clouds and cause

Not my plan, plans or plans

What I learnt I sought

What hurt I fought

What I stole was caught

My head and heart

Open empty were ready to start

I d hate to see

The real tuition I had to pay

For this education during my stay

My eyes go one thousand yards

Burning in this 60watt life

I feel this way

So many hours left to learn

I am not sad babe

I just yearn

Pop a cap in sancho...

I have written but never posted many a blog that have to do with others. I look at my posts and they are either like a microscope put on 100x to some part of Mitch, or they are about completely random people or groups that couldn't be connected to me by less than six degrees. To me at least there is this huge black hole in secondary representation in my prose. Respect for the eternal documentation power a blog has on anyones actions and how public it can be is the main reason why this glaring hole exists. But wow do i want to write and post things about you all. Honestly because you have such a huge effect on where my brain waves go.

Example (oddly not a far out one either): I was recently made a SANCHO over a 2 weeks period. A sancho is the man that a wife cheats on her husband with, get it? I unknowingly presented myself to this girl during a rough patch in their relationship. I resisted as best i could and i succeeded no doubt about it. But it was a enlightening moment when i found out the existence of the boyfriend. This girl rightly perceived me as one that is "rough around the edges" and wrongly assumed that i was up for quick action and defined myself by man-whore choices. Leaving me thinking that she couldn't be the only one to think that i was the male equivalent of the girl with the tramp stamp on the small of her back.

Normally i would just skip that whole debacle to tell you that i am making plans to not be seen as a slut. I would skip the whole sancho era and just explain why i would be thinking twice before dating a born and raised Utah chica because they (very generally speaking) think that since i wasn't like their prom date mommy and daddy can't know about me.

But i was reading from one of my favorite books and noticed in all of his short stories he didn't hesitate to explain his affect on others their affects on him. I enjoyed that and at the risk of sounding like Kelly Clarkson or Taylor Swift i will start easing you all into my stories. It will be good practice and look at the title of this blog and you'll see why thats a good thing.

SIMPLE BOY

She is a girl and i am a boy. She is five foot something and everything from that inch mark to the floor is making my heart, the most central organ in my body in charge of regulating every output in my body, punch instead of beat.

I met her and my mind, heart, soul, chemical signals or whatever told me to chase this girl. She is a girl and i am a boy so she says yes when i ask her out. I hold about 40-60% of myself back and I get a second date. Because she is a girl and i am a boy, i make supposedly random physical contact with her. Sometimes i look her in the eye when i do, sometimes i do not. It is all for the same effect, preparation.

She is a girl and i am a boy. When she talks i listen, i question and listen again. I subtly keep me to a minimum. I am a boy, she will get what i give of me. But i get what i work for in our conversation, such is the double edge of chivalry. What else would she want from me? I am a boy genuinely interested in a girl, therefore i am a simple boy. She is a girl, this is why she enjoys all the attention she is receiving and why there is a third or fourth date.

She is a girl and i am a boy. Everything about her mattered to me until this exact moment. Now it is, "will she let me kiss her?" Everything about me mattered to her until this exact moment. Now all it is, "is he going to kiss me right now?"

I do not have her in an embrace that we have held for hours even minutes before. It may or may not be in a semi-public area with the possibility of a 3rd party encounter at any moment. We are not on any piece of furniture or in my car.

Everything but this potential kiss will stop mattering when i take that last step to her, place one hand on the small of her back and the fingers of the other weaving through her hair. I will be the last to close my eyes.

She is a girl and i am a boy.

When it hasn't been your day, month or even your year...

I am jennifer aniston, I am rachel karen green, i am She. Let me tell you how.

I walked into my lil sisters apartment prepared for a great sunday feast that those girls always seem to turn out. But they were all in sweats eating mac n'cheese and with a fresh new friends DVD gearing up to go. I pulled out my yoga mats and blanket and sat down for a nap/friends marathon.

After what i could only guess to be the 14th or 15th episode in a row, i was so strongly identifying with Rachel that it felt weird to still be so attracted to her.

She is a chaser. I am a chaser. Upon meeting an attractive potential the air we breath, the food we eat the simple actions to sustain life take on the purpose of making sure we can maintain the chase of this attractive potential.

We know they would fall in such deep, meaningful, sitcom-based love with us, if only they could let us show who we really are. A resilient confidence based on our own perceived attractiveness.

Our daily high points and dive-bombs are usually relative to how well interactions with the potential went.

In potential romantic situations exclusively, there isn't enough sleeve to wear our emotions on. We don't even sit on the handle anymore because we fly so often off of it. Confrontation yay!

Now Rachel is just a character and a sitcom character at that. Meaning she is inherently shallow compared to my marinas trench of personality traits. But wow i enjoyed the comparison even if i had to force it a bit. a lot.

Original & Determined

I HATE HIPSTER GIRLS!!! This has been a claim that has been a long time coming. But only because i have such a deeply rooted disposition to being so incredibly attracted to you types it has been very hard for me to come these terms. Ever since a young'in i knew the value of a skinny to the ankle pair of jeans. No magazine ever needed to tell me that bohemian styled and cut shirts, cardigans, changing in suggestiveness and body coverage with the seasons was all i ever wanted in life. I wanted as many rings, bracelets, necklaces, lockets, bandannas, scarfs, sachels, carpet bags, back slanted beanies, hair string thingys, artsy ironic earrings, 2nd hand belts worn 4" above the actual pants, and kitten slippers as i could get. Long flowing soft cotton skirts starting right below the hip bones and ending at knees could stop me in traffic anytime. I wanted your hair to be in crazy wavy patterns tied up in flowery bows. "Please" i said in my head, "don't just stop at two colors in your whole outfit, catch the whole FREAKING rainbow." I would think treason if i didn't see a stylishly small leather jacket worn over a horizontal stripped loose fit tank-top. I was sure Buddy Holly, Elvis Costello and Rivers Cumos meant something to every thick rimmed glasses girl i saw. I never believed your finger nails could not be some outrageous clashing color, never. I knew irony was what i wanted before i could even use the word right.

You see i have spent my whole "interested-in-women" life watching the Hipster girl. I know probably as much about the essence of hipster than the most bohemian of you. But hipster girls, i hate you. Your dress and style to me always suggested originality and determination. They said to me, she thinks for herself and loves it like that. I would assume if you were that determined to be yourself you would respect yourself as well. Well you have never substantiated these claims i made on your behalf (should i have made them?). Eventual failure on either the originality or the determination or some of both always would surpass. I say i hate hipster girls, but i could never give up hope. Even though now masses and throngs impersonate the much publicized image of originality de la bohemian chic without embodying the hipster soul. I am too ingrained to find you gorgeous, compelling, and entrancing to give up hope that the original idea of why a hipster girl is what she is and there to fore, is what i want. (see title)

How much Post-rock fits into one Friday Night?

At one point when i was a young and confused high schooler with too much emo running through my veins I tried a social experiment where i didn't call anybody Friday or Saturday night to see if anyone would call me. No one did, and it had a very downward spiral effect on my social life. No calls meant more angst, more angst meant more motivation to continue not calling, which in turn meant even less calls.

Then college in Utah back in '05 came and if i didn't have some poor girl attracted to my rebelliousness to smooze with then yet again my Fridays and Saturdays were very vacant. Somewhere in these moments i developed an intense sense of failure if i didn't have plans for the weekend nights. Like super depressed, desperate and dumb acts were contemplated and committed because of it (do not worry my wrists never took the brunt of that). I would go on solo building break-in's in industrial areas of town, just to snoop around and past a lonely night. I would listen to a lot of sad music, not so much angry tunes but sad stuff. Lots of drawn out instrumentals and Smashing Pumpkins, i hadn't found The Smiths yet but they would of been in heavy rotation no doubt.

Anyways fast forward to tonight, i am super tired from an incredibly chemically imbalanced kid at work. I have offers to do things but i find myself saying i'll nap but not falling asleep. I am listening to the long drawn post-rock tunes of Mogwai, Rachel, My Bloody Valentine, B.M. Pierce and kinda getting nostalgic about that weekend pain. Slowly and surely as i grow up i confront my adolescent short-comings and fears. I smile at how they used to really get me like nothing else could, and how my actions and thoughts in those times have played a part in making the me now. But most of all i enjoy looking back on that pain and not feeling it now. A dew from heaven for sure.

needles and pins in my closet

Bow-chica-bow-bow. Thats the sound that should be bumping by some floating ghetto blaster next to me as i have walked around these past few days. It is a lot like that Broadway musical part of 500 days of summer but more egotistically founded and no ridiculous cartoon birds. Not to say that i haven't lately experienced similar yet "Mormon-esque" moments as what prompted the dance scene in 500 days. But thats not why i am really walking with a swagger and a grin. I just cut my hair. I have been doing this since high school. I have developed a cycle that fits itself about 2-3 times into a year. Newly cut (must use goo to style)--> Long & thick enough to use natural grease and genetically thickness to faux hawk--> 1st ugly phase too long to hawk, too short for flip, wear a lot of beanies--> start of the hipster flip, looking good with beanies-->full on shag can you say ashton kutcher--> slick back like undercover cop--> cut back leave front--> get really pissed at something non-hair related and hack it all off--> restart. Now no matter what song is blasting in the ears, that bass beat is meant for me and my steps. Do i imagine myself just getting more looks from pretty passing girls? Probably. But i'd look at me at least.

Step 1. straddle your space-heater

My room became my room today. Up till recently I hated being down there in the cold basement nook that I pay $235 + utilities a month to sleep in and store everything I own. I would sleep there, get dressed there, watch an occasional hulu episode there, come back home to sleep and start that all over again. I hated to spend any time there, I would even walk all the way up to library to do some night studying so I wouldn’t have to do it in my own room. The walls radiate the cold and are periwinkle purple from some dumb wanna-be beatnik granola chic before me. Her poems written on the back of the closet door sucked too. I decorate in a painfully required effort with relics I picked up from the mission, to give the illusion that I actually think home-décor says something about my persona. I have thumb tacked personally designed gospel pep-talks anywhere near my bed. Wither I am bringing just myself or others into bed or pulling just myself or others out of bed I’ll know that to stay humble I must keep a heart full of charity. I know where the traffic is. I have a bench press that has made itself equally useful as an upper-core tonner as a towel drying rack. My windows are frozen shut and the one wall outlet has two power grids plugged into it. So if I want to run my space heater, electric blanket, laptop, laptop connected sound system, and cell phone charger I’d have 5 more plug-ins left but only 20 seconds before I blow the fuse. I don’t have a chair for my desk which is really only like my wider but less deep trash can. Finally, cleaning up really means doing the laundry and kicking the electronic cords back under the desk.

I didn’t like this place until today when I had to study a whole bunch for a test and then write a whole bunch for a group project. I enjoyed the time spent sitting the floor against my bed with my laptop on my lap and my space heater between my legs. The one remaining 60 watt light bulb is so dim that it will not cast that annoying glare on my glossy textbook pages whilst I read. I can reach anything I need from sitting here or assuming a prone position across the floor. At least for tonight I am enjoying my den, my pad, my room. Yeah for acceptance of ones surroundings!

Bring the Rock, I'll bring my desk

Talk show Musical Guests. Letterman, Sullivan, Leno, Fallon, Ferguson, Conan and anyone else that sits behind a desk and talks to celebrities will at some point look over their desk past the pointless pretty faced actress and there, you will watch the muse. It must be the hardest thing to do for any band or artist. Everyone is there to NOT see you, it is that simple. I mean every band will play a show where they don’t fit the bill or no one got the memo that they existed. But they never did it on live national television. Another thing is that everyone is sitting down which is never cool for rock n’roll and at least thirty feet away from the front mic. The thing that would scare me the most would be the fact that the show’s host probably hates me and my noise. Like when you knew a parent of your friend didn’t want you to be over at the house for dinner. So awkward. But I what I love the most about musical guest stars is how great they are at showing the evolution of music and how it is played live. My video examples are not extremes they are both awesome songs, they are just really good examples on how things have changed. My first is a band called Grass Roots (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJlY2QThjoA&feature=related ). They play an awesome folksy drama-rock song, lets live for today. The song has tons of emotion and these guys play it like they mean it, but now a days one finds the video lacking. The drummer embodies it all, I mean he was just tapping those crash cymbals like they were lil’puppy heads and it would give them brain damage. Which leads me to I think the best Musical Guest Performance ever and never to be replaced. I like watching Letterman with my dad, we both can connect to his humor and pop-culture references and laugh together. Letterman came back to his show after a short break due to heart surgery, and he invited his favorite band to play his favorite song. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jz_3G3sSufs ) After that song there was not a non-Foo Fighter fan in the house that night. My Dad and I were both blown away by their raw emotion. My Dad could not believe Taylor Hawkins on the drums either. The emotional levels people experience while playing music or listening to it have not changed, we have just progressed in projecting it. Long live the rawk.

As my HP laptop gently weeps

I was having one of those days where I woke up and even before I could reach my muscle-bound (a.k.a scarecrow) arms out of the electric blanket covers and turn on my space heater I had already my top three spots on my 5 problems to fix list already taken. Say you are a problem and you make it on my list, I will contemplate you every spare second I find. You are a problem and I need to fix you, that is how simple I am with the likes of you.
But just because you are on my list and I want your bumpy complexion to become smooth doesn’t mean you will. Something’s need time along with my best efforts to straighten out, but that doesn’t mean you can’t indulge in “F-this” music to really get into the mood. “Bury me With it” Modest Mouse, “Glue man” Fugazi, “parties and Bullsh*t” Biggy, etc.
Anyways no matter who you are there is always someone you want to talk to, someone who will let you vent. Someone you can trust. So I call this person and of course I ask how they are doing. I never thought I would be the “vented” this call. But he or she needs to vent and got to it before I did, so I listen. He or she gets to the end of their catharsis and something unexpected has happened. I do not want to vent anymore.
Nothing has changed in my situation, except me. I will not purge my troubles through the phone line, because I have this new calling to be the strong one during the call. Not only for their immediate well-being, but because I have this new desire to tackle my problems so I have room on my back for their burdens too. Such is the power of love. This love that we have not only will urge me to help, but also buck up and fix mine so I can help sooner. To be helpful not hurtful. This love will help fix both our problems in time. Mi aime a ou mamma.

i love voyeurism and oregon

Computer lab observation 5,236

There is a young man dressed up all nice in a seasonal sweater and it is this dog’s day. No doubt about it. Apparently he just got a haircut that could allow him to do the “jedi padawan pony tail” that all hipsters covet. It is his day because he is sitting there spread legged with one girl standing in between his legs leaning forward pulling all his hair back. No bother that even from this viewing point ten feet away I can tell that this girl’s bra isn’t from JC Penny, one can only imagine how great his point of view is, two inches from her collar bone. Now that is not all, this lucky lil’puppy has got girl number two taking all the pulled back hair and winding it into the post-masculine pony tail. Not to bother that every time she wants to say something to him she puts her chin on his shoulder and breaths it into his ear. With pony tail secured girl number two leaves but cleavage girl number one stays to not so much chat but stare him down and run her hand up and down the small of his back. Every dog gets his day; some get theirs in the middle of the computer lab. Glad everyone including a creepy kid wearing and “green heart Oregon” shirt are watching. But does this dog enjoy his moment of pimpage or thinking that everyone sees him as a pimp more?

My personal I.D. page (required class work)

Vital stats
1. I am a Junior
2. I am probably going to end up being a P.R. major
3. 562-754-6353 mfiggat@gmail.com (my people will always contact your people first though)
About me:
If I was back on the west coast I would be called lanky, here in Utah I am called lurpy, and no one further east has experienced my body type in my presence long enough to tell me what adjective would be used.
I have a totally non-intrusive and completely harmless aptitude for participating in people’s daily noteworthy events. Nothing too big, just tons of boys and girls say I just made their day. Odd how that’s usually the last thing they say to me before I never see them again.
I do not hold many interesting hobbies that inspire awe upon declaration, because I grew up poor, still am poor, and have an emotional attachment to money saved. I make much out of little because of the aforementioned reasons, so I’ll surprise you with what happens on my time.
I grew up in the town of Eugene, OR and it will always affect me. But for the last 6 years I have lead a very nomadic non-drug related life in many various west coast cities.
I read the majority of my news through the MSN news reel. It used to be the actual paper but the state of Utah doesn’t require breaks at work, so that outlet ceased to exist in my world.
I have been in love one half of once.

AN EVOLUTION - manscaping

It is never an original thought, never an innovative initiative. The idea always comes from some friend who has an older brother, or someone who is on some sports teams requiring showers post-practice.
The idea is Manscaping.
This word may confuse some female readers but rings true for any male. The root of the word “man” is self explanatory, but the “scaping” part may require some explaining. We liken it unto, landscaping. Explained, the art of sculpting ones outdoor surroundings including both growing and stagnant things for both functional and athstetic purposes. Now we apply that same logic to the male body. We sculpt certain growing parts for both functional and athstetic purposes. There is one particular area that always has a great story or two connected to it, which is the pubic area. This is an evolution by which every young man passes through from his first snip to current practices. I thus state it in evolutionary vernacular to make even more respectable.

Stage 1: We are made aware that we can indeed sculpt or at least cut back the growing hair all over our body. What was once a glorious moment when this hair became visible and proved our maturing manhood, has now become negligible maybe even a nuisance.

Stage 2: We think, it is hair right? So what does mom cut our hair with? Now we are hiding mom’s scissors in our pockets as we walk to the bathroom. Standing over the little bathroom garbage can or in the shower with a spread legged stance bent over for a head-on view, we do the 1,2,3 check. These are mom’s sharp scissors and we are so very careful to check from every possible angle before we even think of snipping. It is a slow and tedious process that yields a very uneven coiffure.

Stage 3: We discover that the men at Norelco are freaking geniuses and are light years ahead of our primitive ways. With one flip on the back of dad’s electric razor pop’s out a mini-electric hair trimmer. But in the words of our very wisest teacher Jerry Seinfield, “sharp metal teeth aren’t what I want around that area.” To which I add sharp metal moving teeth. In the impatient and hardly poised hands of a teenager this hair trimmer causes irritation, razor burn, razor bumps and heaven forbid razor malfunction caused by flesh jamming. In the end it made for a closer more even shave, but we had to make sure dad never caught on.

Stage 4: We started shaving our facial hair by now, some may have demised that a razor made for cutting facial hair may have an equally fantastic effect on the love down below. We were so pleased by how smooth and sleek the quatro left us. We were so very UNpleased when we thought maybe that pore opening shaving cream may help also, only to find that our super sensitive skin down there will burn with the heat of a thermite grenade for days only minutes after application. Still it gave us the best feeling both functionally and athstetically. But those razor bumps never left and with our newly gained STD knowledge from sex-ED class we became super aware how much they looked like a visible case of the clap.

Stage 5: What is the difference between dude razors and chic razors? They look like they may operate in similar manners. These questions required answering; maybe just maybe this is what we have been waiting for our whole manscaping evolutionary lives. The clean and smooth feeling of a Schick razor. The even coiffure of the electric hair trimmer. But magically this pink venus razor gleans away the hair without leaving razor bumps the day afterward. The only down side is having to explain why such an item is hidden behind all the AXE body soap bottles, when your roommates find it.
Dare I predict that when the world falls so far into corruption and blurred gender lines and man is faced with an actual leg-razor designed for men (it will happen) we may find lemonade in this most acidic of lemons. Knowing that we have what our pubic areas always wanted the most.
Authors note: not 100% autobiographical

The Great Valley

Littlefoot, Cera, Ducky, Petrie, and Spike. Do these names mean anything to you? They are the main characters of my now official and never to be removed favorite animated/kids film. Land Before Time. I say it is now my favorite film not because I just recently watched it for my first time. I was watching it on VHS before I couldn’t turn around without using a barrel roll. It was my movie before time, you could say. But that’s the thing about kids movies, you leave them alone for awhile, through that awkward adolescence. Then you find them back at home, or while digging through the walmart $5 dvd bin. Or at your gf’s place and you are too scared to watch it then and get “emotional” in front of her. But you watch them anyways and then come the crush. I get crushed. Not by how awesome it is but by how much I cannot appreciate the movie anymore. I am turned off by the shotty film work and the anorexic excuse of a plot line. If it is live action I will undoubtedly hate the child actors. I got so messed up after I watched brave little toaster again I was afraid anything I threw away would gang up with other discarded by Mitch objects and nearly kill me at a junk yard and guilt trip me afterwards.
Not the case with Land Before Time. Just to get it out of the way, I had three single tears make it out of my eye cavity. But there are too many parts to talk about that got me joked up. The opening egg hatching part, especially with Littlefoot making me want to find the closest baby and hold it forever. The death of Littlefoot’s mother of course. The inner-group fighting scene to redemption. When Littlefoot sees his mom’s figure in the cloud and says “its just too hard”, then yells “don’t go mother, don’t go” and the cloud leads him to the Great Valley. Then to wrap it all up with that ending song by Diana Ross, “If we hold on Together”.
I love this movie and it had tons of great morals and lessons, and oddly enough a great faith and family analogy. Take time to watch it, not as a lets get the crew together and be cute, giddy and funny while we watch it. Watch it alone or with little siblings so you can appreciate, how this movie can make you feel.