Lovers in Japan

On rare occasions, I won't skip Coldplay on my Pandora station. Their songs sound mysteriously similar, though. Like "Clocks" and "Speed of Sound"... anyone? I was actually listening to "Clocks" when I crashed my car and had a sweet near-death experience, so it kinda does the opposite of relax me now.

In other news, I have finally put a shirt on for the day... and put my contacts in, too. This is the life.

I sometimes write stuff on here that I don't actually post, and I was reading through one of those unposted entries just now. I'm grateful that I can come here and dump the contents of my brain onto the webpage. Not sure if getting it out in the sunlight helps it wither and die, but it definitely helps.

Remember the persistent kid? He's back. Always catches me in a weak spot. Nothing can happen from the long distance, though.

This kid is so nice. First of all, I can actually have a conversation with him that doesn't revolve around him... unlike the original guy. Second, he doesn't push. Third, I don't think I've had someone actually beat me to paying for dinner, but it was kinda a nice feeling. Thought it would be emasculating, you know? Haha, but I guess I probably shouldn't even worry about that. And it isn't.

And so I started thinking the other day about how I don't necessarily believe I deserve this guy... which  made me wonder why... which made me wonder if I'm using relationships as a way to punish myself for being this way? Which made me really confused and a little worried, so I stopped thinking about it altogether.

Thing is, I think I do deserve someone nice- someone who'd be as willing to sacrifice for me as I'd be for them. I deserve someone who brings out the best in me, who doesn't make me feel like I have to try to be good enough.

Not like I've made plans to elope in a gay-marriage state with the kid or anything. I just appreciate the fact that every other text I get doesn't make me feel like I need to do something to make myself better. I appreciate that interacting with him helped understand this a little better.

That'll do for today.

The Minstrel's Prayer

Yes, I will admit that Cartel is a little "yell-y," if you will... but it's still a good song... and WAAAAYYY better than what my Pandora was playing last time.

Not sure (like the majority of the other times) why I'm on here, but blogging kinda makes me feel productive? I was wide. awake. at early o'clock this morning, just like every other Saturday since my biological clock decided it was time for me to be an old man. I mean, seriously... I was tired and went to bed at 11:30 last night... it was Friday? What the hell? And I get a little bent out of shape if I'm going to bed later than 10:30 on weeknights.

But blogging! I have this bimonthly (or even monthly, sometimes) tradition of going through the Connexion guys. No, no profile for me, but it does remind me that I'm not the only gay person on the face of the planet. And some of those guys are pretty dang good-looking. I figured out what gets me: a good smile, and a defined jaw... weird, right? The jaw thing might be because I've always been a little disappointed that I don't have a chiseled jaw, but it's not like I stand in the mirror and count the reasons why no one could love me... Just a personal observation. And scruff. Anyway, that was what I decided to do this morning with part of my extra hours of consciousness.

And remember that missionary? He got transferred away a little bit ago... but called me last night... which kinda made me miss him... lots... until I walked myself through the logic of how that could (read: couldn't) work out. But it's confusing. I mean, come on, man, I've accepted the fact that you're not and it can't be, but I still feel little (big) twinges when you do stuff like that.

I had a breakfast of graham crackers and nutella with a glass of organic whole milk to wash it down. And I wonder what happened to my abs... but here's the deal--organic milk really is so much better. Granted, there isn't much of a difference (I think) in taste between organic/non-organic skim milk, but 2% and better definitely have a better taste. There's something about the milk fat or cream or whatever. And it comes in a glass bottle, like a throwback to the 50's and milkmen. We actually had a milkman when I was little. I remember him leaving milk in this kinda steel (it was metal, that's all I remember) container.

Also, for once, I'm not so poor. And my car is being fixed under warranty. Also, my mom still hasn't figured out that the answering machine is now just three seconds of screaming. I'm halfway waiting for the day when she calls and asks me why someone had the police sent to her house to check up on her. The novelty still hasn't worn off for me, maybe because I've been at the same level of maturity since I was 8.

I had one more funny story for you, and then I won't tell stories for a little while. But I was thinking about this the other day- oh! I know why. I saw this person and couldn't figure out if it was a feminine man or a manly woman. I know I shouldn't stare, but it's kinda like a car accident: you can't look away. And it got me to thinking (which got me to laughing, which is really weird when you're by yourself and laughing in public)...

It was freshman year, and I had gone out with one of the guys on my floor. I don't really understand why, but during my freshman year (not really before, and not really after... or not very often, at least) girls would call out or whistle or whatever at us. Let's get this straight (hahaha something on this blog should be...): it's not like I'm an ugly guy, and you wouldn't have to put a bag on my head if we were hooking up, but looks that'll stop traffic? Definitely not. Maybe I just missed the opportunities of a brief window of extreme hottness during my freshman year? haha. I did have an extra 20 lbs of muscle on me...

This is taking too long to tell you the story. So we were out one evening, and these girls pulled up in a car, rolled down the windows and were like, "heyyyy." It kinda surprised us, but we started walking up to them (not like it mattered to me). I got closer, looked at them, and (I really should think before I say shit) yelled, "those aren't girls! Those are trannies!"

Why did I say it? Truthfully, for a brief moment, they did look a little like trannies. I didn't realize that was just Utah's attempt at looking hott. Why did I yell it? Because apparently I should be on medication. I think it just caught me so off-guard that I didn't have time to filter my words...

Needless to say, the girls rolled up their windows and drove off. I was still a little confused at how this just happened. It was like an out-of-body experience. My buddy was a little disappointed, I think, but laughing too much to say anything more than, "nice job, dude."

And that was the first (and last) time I ever told someone they looked like a tranny... to their face...

You stay classy, San Diego.

Waiting on the World to Change

The song is good, not great. My Pandora's not working too great tonight.

Just one other really funny thing:

My bro-in-law and me taped over the stupid robot voice on my mom's answering machine. Now, it's just three seconds of us screaming. Most of the messages people leave now begin with confused mumbling and then something about the answering machine... and my mom hasn't figured it out yet. I can't stop laughing.

I Miss You

Just a quick funny story-

We were laughing about my niece the other night (in a good way--that girl is hilarious) and started talking about some of the stuff she does that I actually used to do... and I thought you might appreciate this one:

When I was little, I used to talk a lot. Like, really a lot. So, instead of talking, my parents used to make me count in the car. It was 350 from our house to the school, give or take some by how fast I was counting. It didn't take long before I started recognizing the patterns and stuff...

SO when it came time to start going to preschool, the preschool teachers sat down with us (individually) to see how much we knew about colors, numbers, shapes, etc. The teachers asked me to start counting, and I asked them how high they wanted me to count. They asked me how high I could count. I told them 1000. "Why don't you count to 100 right now, and then maybe you can count to 1000 in the car on the way home today, they said."

It's funny because it's one of the few specific memories I have from that far back. The teachers told my mom when she came to pick me up... only got to 350 on the way home, though.

My mom was almost crying from laughing so hard as she was retelling the story to us the other night. Oh man- what am I gonna do with myself?

I don't talk so much anymore, though, so don't worry.

The End Where I Begin (a repeat?)

Yesterday was the first day where I actually accepted the fact that it is going to be fall soon... well, that the weather would catch up to the season, I guess...

I thought about all of the winter things--traditions, food, decorations... it made me excited for it. Then, I started wondering if I really do want to live somewhere warm? I'm not sure a cup of super thick hot chocolate and a slice of pumpkin pie work out too well if it isn't cold outside. And cranberry sauce. Hmmm. Made an apple-cranberry chutney yesterday.

Yeah, I guess there is a time and place for the cold... I don't know why, but it seems like most of my family's traditions are all for the winter. I mean, there's the 4th of July tradition of boating, tubing, listening to the symphony, but that's really the only summer thing I can think of.

Have you ever been to a candlelight service? We used to go to one at a really traditional Christian church when I was little. I remember my mom forcing me to wear these itchy wool sweaters, being given a candle at the beginning of the service, singing tons of Christmas carols, then lighting the candle at the end of the service, dimming the lights, and singing "Silent Night" by candlelight. We'd pile in the car after the service and drive around, looking at the Christmas lights in this one area where they'd go all out. Then, we'd head home, head upstairs, head to bed. Sometimes, I'd lay underneath the Christmas tree and stare up at all the lights. I know they don't really give off tons of heat, but it still felt warm.

I actually didn't like Christmas morning too much--that was the time when you knew it was coming to an end.

But man, we're not even to Halloween. I do remember going door to door as fast as possible, getting home and dumping out all of our candy and spending the next few hours trading my siblings for what I wanted--Reese's and Crunch bars, for the most part. Pumpkin carving and toasted pumpkin seeds.

Yeah, this is an ok time of year, even if I do hate the cold...

Show Me What I'm Looking For

I can't remember if I've posted under this song title or not... and I'm too lazy to go check... so I'm sorry if I shafted you.

There was an article on MSN that I was just reading about sleep and what it means about you. I was reading the article, and it was like, "if you sleep like a log, you're grateful in real life... if you have restless sleep, you may be overly critical of yourself and anxious in general and at an unusual risk of death..."

Well, dammit. I am THE lightest sleeper in the world. For example, my stereo (when stereos were cool...) would make this whisper-quiet clicking noise before turning on in the morning to play music and wake me up. I always woke up to the click. And I wake up at night trying to solve problems and being really angry that I can't come up with the answer. When I force myself to actually sit up and think about the problem, it usually turns out that there is no answer. Otherwise, I will literally lie in bed for hours, frustrated and half-awake.

But then, the article was like, "If you have really vivid dream recall, you are probably a very creative person in the daytime." Yes! I have vivid dream recall! It felt good knowing that I was creative.

"People in this category are also at a higher risk of schizophrenia."

Oh...

So lemme get this straight, I'm an ungrateful, anxious, perfectionist, schizo who will die an early death?! And don't forget the "creative" part...

Well, come visit me at the mental health facility (but don't procrastinate, 'cuz I might die on you), and you'll probably find me yelling at me for never fully appreciating all the work the orderlies do for me and how if I'm not more grateful, I'll drive them away. But I will paint you a sweet picture... actually, I don't paint.

I went to my grandpa's farm this weekend to do some work up there. If you're picturing me as the hot farm-boy type, you should probably stop right there. I'm not. Wish I were... or that I could find one... or a cowboy... what the hell is wrong with me? But I definitely was not cut out for farm work. Really.

But I was talking to my grandpa, and I learned something about him that I never knew before: he wanted to be a concert pianist. No shit. "I had to be realistic, though; so I stayed here instead of going to music school." I've never even seen my grandpa touch a piano before. And then I started to think about me--did I throw away something that could have been really amazing? But talk about a profession that would drive me to kill myself. I couldn't handle it... no matter what you win or how well you do, you can't ever be perfect, and you can't beat everyone in the world... and nothing is ever good enough, either. But that's the way it has to be. You don't get better by thinking you're "good enough," you know?

Didn't mean to give you an earful. It's a delicate balance, though, and one I couldn't handle. And, to be perfectly honest, it is impossible to pursue all possible courses at once. We trudge ahead and, perhaps with bravado, claim it was the correct path. We can't measure what might have been, but we trust that it pales in comparison to what is.

It's still hard for me to be ok with myself sometimes. I'm grateful for the rational me that forfeited the audition processes and put me in an environment that was maybe a little more nurturing.

And I respect the life my grandpa has had. For one, I'm here. For another, he raised amazing (although some of them turned out Republican--wtf?) kids... his contribution was quiet but miraculous in a way that few people will ever recognize, but that's what makes it beautiful. Leave the stage to someone else, I say.

My dog is asleep on the floor in front of me. She's having a running dream right now. Maybe we can be schizophrenic together.

The Adventure (Angels & Airwaves)

***Spoiler Alert! This really isn't worth your time to read.***

I guess I'm getting a little more consistent in my blogging, again.

What stories do I have to share with you guys? It's kinda funny how I sometimes get the feeling like I should get on here and talk about something, and then I sit down and realize I don't really have anything to talk about...

My Friday has been about as uneventful as possible. I watched Bones, did some yoga-

Which reminds me. My brother-in-law gave me the P90x yoga... I guess I'm use to yoga being kinda relaxing (slash really uncomfortable), but this was different.. First of all, I cannot tell if that guy is gay or straight, or maybe bi, or maybe asexual. And he's a tool. And he seems to have something against Audra. And he calls the dancer guy "a wild man." What does that even mean? And I know yoga is a workout, but this seems a lot more "work out-y" than normal... But let's be honest--I am far from an expert.

Anyway, then I did some laundry, cleaned, cooked myself a super-late dinner, and sat down to blog.

I am currently home alone, which can be a little creepy. I keep the music on, so that helps. One really nice thing is that things stay clean. I can look at the kitchen without having a seizure. But then I start thinking about someone breaking in and trying to kill me, and then I think about what I would do to stop them... It depends on what kind of weapon they had. As long as they don't have a gun, I have a fighting chance. Even with a gun, I'd still like to think I'd put up a fight.

Now that we've discussed that...

I really should go to bed. There is nothing meaningful that is coming from this blog post.

Dang it. I should write something meaningful.

I was trying to home teach the other day. As I'm giving the lesson, I suddenly realize that my heart really isn't in it... that it wishes it were, that it wishes it could kindle that fervent faith... It was kind of depressing. I got in the car and drove home in silence, trying to pinpoint what was happening. I think that I've begun to believe (and sincerely) that religion does not have a monopoly on goodness, that there are so many good and beautiful things and people in the world- people trying to do their best to lift and brighten and improve. On the other hand, there are church members who are complete douches.

If I had taken time to think about it, I probably could have delivered the message more meaningfully. The Church really did help awaken a desire for me to look outwards and spend my energy there, and I believe that it has worked miracles in my life. But I've realized that the Church doesn't have all of the answers.

Yes, we could argue that the Spirit is our guide in finding answers to the problems we have. That belief has been a source of personal conflict: no answer--what do I do? How do I make this go away? I don't even know where to start. I'm doing everything I know how to do. Maybe I just need to be doing it for longer. Maybe I need to take more drastic measures. Just don't let me feel like I'm doing this on my own. Don't let me feel like I'm doing this in vain.


Maybe I should have waited longer, been more patient. But it is hard for me to ignore the potential beauty I could experience in this life for the promise of being able to get by under a guise of normalcy... It's also hard to know if what I'm doing is courageous.

But there is no black and white answer for that. For some people, I believe that the courageous thing is to forfeit the potential happiness of living a gay life for their belief in the Gospel. It's all very gray and confusing.