Satsifaction

What do you get when you stop putting out? Emo boys who need to grow up because they realize they can't push you around anymore.  Oh, and mild stalkers apparently:

"Can I come over?"

"Feel free."

"Um, you wanna do something?"

"Not, really, why are you over here hovering anyway? Don't you have a life somewhere else?" 

"Apparently not."

"I guess I should go home."

"Ya think?"

He he he he...yeah, I've kinda gotten my revenge the last few days and man, it was very sweet *evil laughter*

On a different brighter note, I fell in love...again.  With a fictional character...again.  Curse you Le le and your adorable Angel.  Tidus, is seriously the funnest, sweetest, most amazing angel ever.  I *may* have liked him more than Rafe, but that's cause Rafe wasn't as funny (I still love Rafe *sniffle*) Plus he is all dark and melancholy at first.  Yeah, I love him.  Let the pining for non-existent characters begin! I LOVE YOU TIDUS! :P

Annabeth and Percy

So, it's taken me quite some time to read through the Percy Jackson books (I'm halfway through #4 now) and it has been an awesome adventure.  I pretty much love Percy.  Yeah, totally, his character is hilarious, modest, heroic and still a bit bad ass.  I love it, cause he's also so sweet.  And apparently Annabeth kinda likes him too. *spoiler alert*
When I first read the Harry Potter books I was convinced that Hermione and Harry were totally going to end up together, and then as things progressed I realized that that was not the case.  I was kinda sad, cause they seemed like such a perfect couple (although I'm glad Ron and Hermione got together instead, now). With Percy Jackson there seemed to be some Percy / Annabeth hints, but I wanted to ignore them in case I fell for another couple that wouldn't make it. So I was pretty thrilled with Annabeth finally kissed him. It was so unexpected that I think I reacted a little like Percy, I blinked at the page and had to re-read it three times.  What a shocker.  Who knew Annabeth was such a minx! I certainly never expected anything, although Percy's feelings for her have definitely become more evident recently. 
Anyway, so yeah.  I love Percy, he's awesome.  As is Annabeth.  I want them to live happily ever after.  Only one and a half more books to go and I have the whole day off, and it's raining so I won't feel guilty if I just lay in bed and read all day long :P

Joy of Loud Music

I don't know why, but there is something extremely satisfying about playing loud music that I love. I'm not sure if it's a desire to share an elated emotion with the rest of the world, but part of me loves to roll down my windows and "turn up the beat boys". Why does this desire seem so inherent? Being brought up without any rock and roll for the first 12 years of my life (approximately) I've often wondered if I ruined myself by bringing in all the sounds. I don't have to have music playing all the time(in fact right now all I have is the cooler and the sound of my typing) but there is still a great deal of fulfillment that comes to listening to a song I love. Early in live my dad talked to us about the Book of Adam and Eve where some guy went off and made music, convincing the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve to leave their high places and go dance with the children of Cain (or something to that affect) and since then I've wondered, if I feel a beat and want to move with it, does that mean I've succumb to the call of the devil? :P I don't really know. I love music though, and it makes me want to dance and sing and smile and run and be free all at once. Is it something we aren't meant to have because it's so awesome, or something we shouldn't have because it's so bad? Maybe I will never know. I must be a rebel, because part of me thinks I will always love it no matter how bad it is ;)

Lack of Bloggation

Been a while. Hope everyone is doing well. I'm still a little insane. Sometimes I could hit myself with how stupid I am :P Anyway, getting ready for school and still trying faithfully to get my novel accepted by some genius Agent who will just love it. In between times I find I'm a lot less depressed then I have been, probably why I haven't been blogging as much. Writing always makes me feel better. I'm feeling pushed to write more, so after my dry spell I think I'll start writing a bit, maybe even on here. I have an idea for a really great short story, at least I think it's cool, so maybe I'll put the chapters on here. Kudos to Le Le for her short story, I'm really enjoying it, I vote you submit it to our writing club next. Oh, which reminds me I need to send out that email. Oh, and I hate Facebook. It makes me more depressed than almost anything else. All those moms with their cute newborns/6 months old. Yeah I kinda hate them. I need to not spend that monthly hour on facebook crying to myself about how much I want a life and family. It only pisses me off. No one try to cheer me up btw, I'm wallowing for a few minutes thanks! :P I love you guys, have a great insane week!

The Pain of Hell

Pain is a funny thing. It can cloud your mind or clear it.
Laying on my back, I was tied to the table underneath me. It was cold and I was shaking. My body was going through shock and I could see faces above me – different people hovered over me, some I recognized some I didn’t. They weren’t ugly, they weren’t beautiful, they were average. People I couldn’t understand, people I could understand. They were all there, leaning over me. A scalpel here, a knife there. They all used different instruments, but all were used on me. Some were exact cuts, easy to recover from. Others were more vicious as though they whacked at me in anger. I cringed at first, but after so many cuts and so many wounds I became numb. There was only pressure left – the pressure left by pain. The blood eased out of me, but I couldn’t feel it. I just felt weak.
At first I had been anxious, aware, active. I had looked for Him, but He was in the background, watching, but doing nothing. It’s amazing how far away someone seems when they do nothing but watch. Do they care? Are they shocked? Are they happy? What are they feeling? I could still see Him, but it didn’t matter, He wasn’t doing anything, so why was He even there? Why didn't He leave? He had no business here. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t see Him anymore, the pain had flooded my mind like the blood had flooded over my body. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered.
After they were gone, I knew I wasn’t alone. He was still there, watching me, but in silence. I didn’t need to say anything and neither did He. Did I deserve this? Maybe. Probably. Maybe not. That wasn’t the point, we both knew that. Some wounds seemed to be closing up, but others were bleeding profusely. Even though they were gone, their actions remained. The blood still lingered. The pain still hurt. My mind still thought. Everything was the same, and nothing was the same. It all hurt, but I couldn’t feel anything. It throbbed, it was numb, it was there, it was gone. Nothing mattered, everything mattered and He was still there.
His arms were folded and He leaned against the door post. Was He going to leave me? Was He going to stand there all day? I couldn’t see the details of Him, just an aura of what he looked like – lean and tall, dark hair, dark suit, his stance was stiff. Was it in pain? Was it in justice? Was he happy with what had happened to me? Was He pleased or did He hurt? I didn’t know, it didn’t matter. It did matter, it mattered to me, but I couldn’t see. It was fate, it was destiny. It was a ruined life, it was out of control. Everything was destroyed, everything was renewed. There was nothing left, there was everything left. I was ruined, I was whole.
I hurt, the blood was on my hands, the wounds were all over me but the tears were too deep to come. To survive I ignored them, I hated me, I hated them. I fought through it all to live through it all. Did it matter? Did it not matter?
He walked around the room and I knew He was there. I knew He wouldn’t leave until I did. Where could I go? I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t feel. Where would I go? Was He crazy to think I could go somewhere else? Is that what He expected? What the hell? I hated Him, but I knew he didn’t hate me, his aloofness was almost worst. Why couldn’t He hate me for what I had done? Why couldn’t He choose sides? Why couldn’t I?
What the hell.
I was in hell.
My own hell.
But He was still there. Waiting to follow me out.

A Ribeye's Fate

Creeping quietly through the back door of the restaurant I work at last Saturday afternoon, I did not anticipate the excitement I would have over cooking a ribeye - I thought it was just another ordinary day. That was until the waitresses with hushed voices gathered, whispering intently over something. That was the first hint that things were different. I could only guess at the meaning, catching a few words here and there such as "Lopez" and "here".  As an individual that attempts to retain the guise that I do not eavesdrop, I ignored the distant chatter and maintained an outward aloofness that seemed to be somewhat convincing. 

Outward aloofness maintained, I found myself face to face with my boss, Chris, who generally updates me on particular details for my shift.  I could tell that he too, was acting aloof. 

"The Lopez's are staying here tonight." He said distinctly.  I'm sure there were any number of Lopezs in the world, so I gave him a questioning glace as if to say "And? what of?" 

"The George Lopezs" he clarified. 

Jaw drop. 

"Yes, that one." He said almost triumphantly, all aloofness gone. He continued with various details, leaving me somewhat awestruck.  He warned that they probably wouldn't order, but if they did they were to have a room that they wouldn't be gawked at.  Images of shocked red-necks and cowboys gulping and saying "Howdy" flooded my mind.  Yes, we certainly didn't want them gawked at, and Sanpete was one of the few places that wouldn't be able to avoid doing so. 

Following through with our daily preparation was an unusual thrill of excitement, especially after the ten seconds it took for the entire staff to inform each other when they returned. That was when my preparations took me to the back room (I believe due to frozen chicken retrieval) and upon my return to my generally steaming, cooking, and bubbling kitchen, I walked into a hush of silence. The only one moving was my boss, who was cutting a lime with precision, observed by non other than the celebrity in question! 

  

Yes, there was George Lopez, who seemed to be taller than I expected (but then who isn't?) and in good shape, patiently awaiting his lime slice. Could I help it that I found myself secretly smiling as I absently stirred my pot of creamy potato soup? Definitely not. There was George Lopez in my kitchen, not five feet away. He was standing in my kitchen, surrounded by things I see nearly every day, taking part in a very normal activity; yet somehow the snapshot seemed inconceivable (I do not think that means what you think it means!).  I mean, how is it that George Lopez, the George Lopez of comic and TV fame could be standing in my kitchen surrounded by sinks and dirty dishes and steaming food? I have no answer to you, but I do know that as soon as Chris was done, the George Lopez walked out, taking his lime slice with him.  

That was when Chris and I stared at each other, (and mind you, we don't exactly see eye to eye all the time) both of us grinning like children who have just been promised a holiday from school.  Thinking back to it now, it almost ridiculous the way that our smiles appeared simultaneously in an almost grinch-like movement. I keep wondering if I fabricated such a particular moment, but it did indeed happen.  Chris and I starred at each other, grinning from ear to ear, not even having to comment on the moment of George and the Lime, for we both understood the depth of unbelievability and giddiness that moment brought involuntarily. 

The Lopez family did decide to have dinner a few hours later, and I was required to actually cook the meal, which despite Chris' warning that I better do good, he showed enough confidence by allowing me to take grill and tongs in hand and properly cook that tender piece of meat. 

For those who have ever wondered if someone likes your cooking, something the restaurant has taught me is that you can never judge by someone's first bite, instead you judge by how their plate looks like after the meal is over.  This was why I was almost shaking with emotion (alas, I'm not an active enough emotional person to be fun to write about, because I wasn't really shaking) when the plates were returning - most of which the prime rib* was left uneaten. Oh burn.  Such an insult, because our prime rib really is pretty tasty (especially with horseradish and anjou sauce). Two plates, then three, then four (their party had six people) and finally...an empty rib eye plate. Deep breath.  The plate was returned and George had properly devoured the much thought over piece of cow. 

That was my brush with fame. Truly, parts of it are nearly unbelievable, but the excitement still lingers. Days pass and as I use my cooking utensils once again and I find myself thinking back to that day and the fate of that small, yet juicy, ribeye.

*To those of you confused about prime ribe verses rib eye, these are separate things, two members of the party ordered prime rib, and because their plates came in first I was worried that no one had liked their food, but George ordered rib eye, so I had to wait until his plate came in to see if he ate it all, which of course he did! :P

Lost and Found

Lost.  The end. The beginning. The experience.

Yes, we did have a Lost party.  Yes, we did watch the two hour review just prior to Lost that helped build up the Lost excitement. We also watched the hour after Lost where they interview the Cast, but most importantly we watched the two and a half hours of the episode where all was not revealed - or was it?

After being enthralled with direct Lost quotations for over five hours straight, it's no surprised that after I went home and attempted to sleep my dreams were vividly controlled by Lostmania. As I lay in bed, after consuming way too much junk food and a Monster Java, my brain refused to turn off and I found pieces of the Lost puzzle floating around in my mind. The answers all seemed there if only I was conscious enough to put them together. 

Something was telling me how important Lost was.  How important was it?  No idea, but in my dream Lost was the asnwer to everything, the ending was the key to all the questions of humanity. In a Matrix-esque ending I was left to ponder on the meaning of life, death and the world in between.

What has Lost left us with? (*spoiler alert* I think) The idea that all of us could die and continue living and experiencing things such as vivid as pain, love and heartbreak can be both intimidating and relieving.  I like to think that all emotion doesn't end when we die.  Death for me has been a mixture of a friend and foe, something I've longed and dreaded when things have become extremely difficult.  Lost seemed to open the possibilities that there is something there and it might be something we have never realized but might actually have to work for and come to love.  All of the couples at the end were happy with the person they found, (after?) they died. It was as though in life they couldn't discover them in the way they were meant to and so in death they were led to them, someone they could be happy with and learn to truly love.  I guess it gives me hope in some strange silly way that the fear of death isn't necessary  if it's just another kind of life.

I wasn't happy with the ending at first, it left so many questions - Michael and Walt? What was up with them?  Why were the others after the children all the time?  What was up with the golden showers (he he)?  Why the Jacob vs. Smoke Monster story?  Was it all just a spiritual manipulation created to force people like Jack and Locke to believe in something greater than themselves?  Was it all just a tool to test the existence of faith in each person? To see at what point they would believe or give up?

And then, the question is, did they leave all the questions unanswered so that we could interpret everything in our own way?  Are we meant to apply the island to ourselves personally...to examine what impossible feats seem required for us to accomplish? To believe in? Are we are very own smoke monsters? Our own Jacobs?  And do we fight amongst ourselves, trying to release or contain the bad?  I'd like to think we are.  The idea of placing ourselves in a situation that will test us in ways we never see coming is the very essence of Lost, and it makes us think outside the box in a new way for every new episode.

I hate to claim such a blasphemy, but in many ways it seems that God has done the same to us.  We all are on our little island, fighting the "others" that we see, trying to determine who we can trust and who is looking to betray us. What we determine is ultimate evil (smoke monster) we discover may have a story of their own, and our reactions to it could be good or bad.  Yes, we all believe that Jack was good throughout, but he seemed to make stupid decisions sometimes.  He was too faithful at points (the bomb - "none of us can die") and not faithful enough at times ("the island has chosen you"). Aren't we all that way?  Do we learn to over-apply faith sometimes and under-apply it other times? I know sometimes I do.  Sometimes there is that constant reassurance "everything will be okay, that doesn't matter" that makes me placated, and I have to force myself to fight for something instead of become dormant. Other times I'm so full of doubt that I just want to roll up into a ball and forget that I'm even alive.

In the background there is always the belief that I'm special, but someone seems to be arguing with me in my head.  My smoke monster says "no, no one is special, that's just a cheat to make you believe in something" and my Jacob "No, you were meant to be here, you are a candidate, you are special"...

They are Always fighting.

I am Always Lost,

Just waiting to be Found.

Maybe it's just about finding myself...