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.