It's Everywhere

I live in a haunted city
every corner, ever street
festers with intentionally forgotten
memories.
the whole city
overflowing
with familiar faces
with misplaced names
an infection of memories
a plague of phantoms

I see faces.
they remind me of someone
I know (miss & love)
but it's never them
no matter how hard I search
it's never ever them.

just infected ghosts
haunted memories
created to torture me

it's everywhere

This Is Madness. (And No, It Is Not Sparta. More Like UVU.)

So fall semester just started. And it's insane.

I transferred from SUU that is located in Cedar City, Utah. Here are some statistics:

Population of SUU: 8,000-ish
Population of Cedar: 29,000
Population of UVU: 30,000

Yeah, so by my calculations, there are about 22,000 too many students at this university. It takes me about 20 minutes to find a parking spot. In every hallway, a mass of people go one direction & a mass of people go the other and trying to get to a class from one side to the other is like a real life game of Frogger. I get really uncomfortable in huge groups of people, especially if I don't know anyone. So UVU is pretty much a nightmare.

However, despite the terrifying masses of people, UVU is starting to grow on me. I like my classes. I like my professors. I'm even managing to make some friends, believe it or not. And despite the fact that there are 30,000 students, there are some times when I see the same person more than once. It makes the campus seem a bit smaller.

I don't remember if I mentioned this before, but I am a part of an improv group called, "What's So Funny?" We meet every Tuesday night for practice. We haven't scheduled any shows yet but hopefully we'll get going on that soon. I really like being a part of it. It's kind of funny. In high school drama, I never ever liked improv. It drove me nuts. But now I really, really like it. And the other people in the group are really awesome. I enjoy spending time with them. Some of them make me laugh so hard, I feel like I’m going to die. Good stuff.

Hopefully I’ll be getting a job soon. I applied for a tutoring job with my old high school. The guy I talked too seemed to really want to hire me. So I’m keeping my fingers crossed. 22 years old is just too old to have to keep asking your parents for money. In order to be available for the job, I had to rearrange my schedule a lot. It’s gotten to the point where only two of the classes I attended on the first day I’m still registered for. I’m even taking an evening class. But I really don’t care if it means getting this job. I know it won’t be as epic or awesome as when I was tutoring in Joe’s classes but I don’t think anything else will be. Ever. That job pretty much ruined me.

Other than all that, I can’t think of anything else that’s worth mentioning in my life. I’ve been working on a poem for the last few days. I really like the idea behind it so I want to make sure it’s the best I can get it before I post it. I’ve also been working on some other “Experiments in Writing” that hopefully will be up here soon. I’m not really sure now that school is in full swing again and I have the UVU paper to write for, my improv group, and (hopefully) a job. But I like that I’m going to be busy. I was never one to enjoy idleness.

So until next time, I guess.

Love you.
Mean it.

For A Person Who Embraces Truth, I Can't Be Honest

I've dedicated my life to truth.

Nearly everything I've done for the past three years has been done in pursuit to discovering what is true in my life. Truth is the ultimate ideal. It is the only thing I can count on. There is nothing greater than truth.

Then why am I so scared to be honest?

There are so many things I want to say to people, so many things that probably need to be said. But I'm too scared to say them. I'm scared of how they will react. I'm scared of how it might change things. I'm scared I might look like an idiot.

But more than anything, I'm scared to death that if I say these things, those people will go away. Either they'll be scared away or want to distance themselves from me. I already know the bitter taste of losing everything. I know it all too well. The few people I still have in my life, those people who matter the most, I'm terrified of losing them. I don't want to lose any more people in my life. If I tell them how I feel, they might leave. I can't risk that.

So I keep all those feelings, all those honest, true feelings to myself. They're my secrets, the only ones I really have. And all those people will probably never, ever know how I felt. Even when they do leave me, as all people are going to do, they still won't know how much they meant to me.

I know it's stupid.
But I can't bring myself to be honest if it means risking everything I have left.

So all those people I'm keeping secrets from, if any of you read this,
I'm so sorry.

Love you.
Mean it.

That's a True Story.

What is so therapeutic about punching these keys?

The constant punch-slam followed by the ding-whirr.

New sentence.

With a typewriter, every word, every letter I punch I have to mean it. There's no going back.

After an hour or so of the sound, my ears are ringing and my head is aching. But I don't stop. It's a good ache.

Satisfying. Raw.

I've grown too accustomed to the formal, rigid tick-tack of the keys on my macbook. How can I call myself a writer when I've forgotten the sound of a typewriter? The punch-slam of pure, organic creative energy?

It's glorious. It's real.

How have I forgotten the sound of creativity? Of urgency? How can I call myself a writer when I no longer use the bravest form of writing? Without the convenience of a clean delete button, without the cut/paste trick?

How could I forget the feeling when it was just me, my typewriter, and my insatiable need to write?

The sound reminds me why I need to write.

There is so much in my head at once, it's nearly impossible to stop thinking. All those ideas, thoughts, memories, stories, questions, pain, joy, love, and despair all screaming at once.

If I don't write, if I don't get it all out somehow, if I don't try to make sense of it all through an endless tangle of words, those thoughts and memories, that pain and joy begin to rot and fester becoming a neglected & powerful monster.

Too much piles up and I feel myself edging closer to insanity--the one thing I truly fear.

(This is not the teenage-corny-ironic idea of insanity. I've felt my mind reach a breaking point where I no longer have control over my emotions or my thoughts. The terrifying feeling of being stuck with the uncontrollable force of my mind is a memory I wish I could forget. I know what it's like to go crazy. And the fear of it happening again haunts me.)

How then can I not write? How can I not put everything in my brain out there somewhere?

So many times I've felt myself again on the edge of insanity, consumed by fear & dread, waiting for the last of my mind to slip and become lost forever only to be pulled back by the punch-slam sound of my typewriter. That raw, honest punch-slam and ding-whirr has sometimes been the only thing keeping me out of a padded cell. The sound of each word, each letter punched with purpose reminds me I'm still here. My mind has not festered to the point where I can no longer create tangles of words to make sense of everything.

As long as I can create, as long as I can listen to the punch-slam of my own creativity till my head is numb, I know I am still fighting for my sanity.

This typewriter saves my goddamn life.

That's a true story.

Love you.
Mean it.

#55: What have been your various nicknames throughout your life?

I haven't really had that many nicknames in my life. Kelly is a pretty short name to begin with so there really was no immediate urgency to make it easier to say.

My dad calls me Jell. This comes from Kelly rhyming with Jelly and Jelly being shortened to Jell. It's always entertaining when my dad calls me Jell in public. People give us odd looks. It's great.

My mom calls me Kellygirl. I don't really know why.

Lucas Bueno once called me Kells. That was the first time anyone not related to me gave me a nickname.

I didn't have any others for a while. Then I met Amber McNew. She'd call me Kill-lee Ca-non.  That's my attempt at writing how it's pronounced. It's just putting the emphasis on the wrong syllable.

I had a guy in college named Charles who started calling me Kellykins. He did it to just annoy me but it stuck, unfortunately.

Love you.
Mean it.

#73: Who is your favorite artist?

I know I'm going to be judged for this but I don't care.

My favorite artist is Jackson Pollock.

I find his art to be chaotic but beautiful. There's disorder and yet a certain harmony in all his works. It's as if all those colors, lines, and splashes know they're not suppose to work together and yet they do. It's like finding beauty in the unpredictable. Finding peace in confusion. Finding hope in anguish. It's real. It's true.

When I tell people that I love Jackson Pollock, most reply with something along the lines of, "Psh. He's not a real artist. He just splashes paint on a canvas. I can do that." This is true. Anyone can do what Pollock did. But there are two points I try to make.

One: yes, anyne can do what Pollock did but he did it first. Sometimes when it comes to art (I'm including literature, theater, music, fine art, etc) being the first to do something new is just as important as doing something perfectly.

Two: you can go and do what Pollock did. But you will not even come close to the beauty the man created. Pollock was an artist and this was the medium & method he chose. He worked on it for years. He perfected it. You can just splash paint on a canvas without any thought or process but you will not be able to achieve the beauty Pollock did.

I love Jackson Pollock's work. If anyone is a millionaire and wants to get me the most epic birthday present ever, get me an original Pollock.

Love you.

Mean it.

If you think this is about you, you're probably right.

So there's this guy. We'll call him Jude.

You know those people who you meet only by chance but they become a big part of your life?
That was Jude.

I'd see him every day, talk to him every day. It wasn't long before he became something I looked forward to every day. Anytime he'd show up unexpectedly, my day would get better. He didn't even need to talk to me. Just having him around made me feel good. Really good. And when we would talk, nothing else really mattered.

I'm starting to forget his laugh. He had a great laugh. It was loud and always genuine.

He was so good at telling stories, especially about his life. Once he was telling me a true story that made me laugh so hard, people started staring. It really wasn't the right time to be laughing but I couldn't help it. That was the effect Jude had on people. On me.

My favorite thing about Jude though was that he was never tried to be anyone but Jude. He lived his life in a way that left me envious. He was free. He lived as if he were constantly falling in love with his life. I wanted my life to be that way. I still do.

When I left, I didn't say goodbye. I was a wreck that day. It was the bitter taste of losing everything and I could barely cope. I wanted to say goodbye. But that would've made everything real, I guess. And I didn't want to break down in front of him, like I knew I would.

I know he's one of those guys who is going to haunt me the rest of my life. I can't seem to forget him. But you can't choose to forget the guy you fell more in love with every time you saw him.

I miss him.
And I know that it's stupid, but
I'm afraid to tell him how much I miss him.

If you think this is about you, you're probably right.

Love you.
Mean it.

#46: If you were to write your autobiography right now, what would the title be?

My sophomore English teacher, Ms. Durham, asked us this question on the first day of class. I didn't have an answer for her. She was not amused. I came up with some lame title just so I wouldn't get on her bad side (she frightened me a bit). But I've thought about it since and this is the best one I've come up with.

It's Okay, I Don't Get It Either.


Love you.
Mean it.

#17: If you could tell the world something and everyone would listen to you, what would you say?

I would steal a part from Kurt Vonnegut's God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater. In this scene, Mr. Rosewater is giving a "blessing" of sorts to a pair of twins that were just barely born.

"...you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies--'Goddamnit, you've got to be kind.'"

That's all I would say really. It's not grandiose or complicated. But it's true. We all have to start being kinder to others. Life can be pretty shitty on its own. It doesn't need anyone else's help with that. So if you can't make someone's life better, at least don't make it any worse.

Be kind, goddamnit.

Love you.
Mean it.

Sometimes His Stories Scare Me

The closest I have ever come to war is sitting in my various literature classes discussing Stephen Crane, Tim O'Brian, and the like. Safe in my climate controlled classroom, passing judgments on soldiers and discussing the meaning of death without ever having experienced it. We throw ourselves in the midst of words describing a battle with calculating eyes and indifferent separation. Then the hour is up and we remove ourselves and go on with our day without looking back. We judge without any understanding. How can we do that? How can we dare do that?

I see my friends go off to war and I make friends with those who come back. I don't know how they do it.

Jack tells me things about war sometimes when it's dark and we're alone in bed. His arms wrapped around me, my head on his shoulder, my hand on his chest, he sometimes tells me things. Horrible things. Not just about the fighting he did a world away but the fighting he still does here. The fights that keep going on within his own mind. Sometimes his stories scare me.

Sometimes he hints of things he's capable of, how he can't be anything but a soldier. But lying so close, I'm not afraid of him. I know Jack. I trust him. I want to help him. Even if it's just listening, even if it's just letting him know I care. I don't understand war & death and it all frightens me so much. But I'm not going anywhere.

When my warm body is pressed against his, I listen to what he says. My arms instinctively & unconsciously tighten around him when his words scare me. Sometimes I don't even realize how tightly I'm holding on until I feel my muscles ache.  I relax a little but I never let go. I know he's only giving me the bare minimum of his stories. Some stories he's leaving out all together. I don't blame him for that. Some stories aren't worth telling. Some are too painful to tell. I'll be there to listen if he ever does want to tell me.

Those who know me know my mind never turns off. I'm always thinking. It comes to no surprise then that I have thought about the major issues facing our society today and have formed an opinion on the matter. Except for the war. I don't like war but I know that sometimes the benefits outweigh the costs. Sometimes we must do terrible things to achieve the greater good. But I don't like it. I don't want it. Our country is facing so many problems back home, I can't see why we're so fixated over there. But at the same time, I support our troops. I have friends who dedicate a portion of their lives to fighting. I would never criticize them or their decision. I just wish they didn't have to.

Love you.
Mean it.

Summer Romance: Better Luck Next Year

I've mentioned it before. I don't particularly like summer. It's too hot and it makes me miserable. Summers used to be awesome when I was little. It meant no school and all day to goof off with friends. But those days have come and gone. And now I'm left feeling hot, sticky, sweaty, and angry.

But summer does hold a stupid little ideal with me. The idea of the summer romance. Granted, I'm no expert on the matter considering I've only had one or two in my life. But I do have a great imagination and that fills in the holes quite nicely. I don't know why I like the idea of a summer romance. Maybe it's the fact once the sun goes down and it's not so oppressively hot, then it's nice to go outside and play games or go for a walk or just lie down on the grass somewhere and talk. The nights are longer so you can spend more time together. And because of a little bit more free time, you can go somewhere and just be together.

It seems like every summer I hope for a romance of some kind. More often than not, it doesn't happen. It's not to say that I didn't enjoy my summer. But I think it would've been more awesome if I had found a guy to spend it with. But I guess I'm just going to have to wait till next year.

 There is that song, 'Boys of Summer' by the Eagles or the Ataris depending on what generation you belong to. It's about this guy who wants this girl but he knows he will get her only after all the boys of summer have left. I like this song and I (as silly as it sounds) like to imagine myself as that girl, that their is a guy out there just waiting to make his move. The only problem is I don't really have any 'boys of summer' right now.

So if there is a guy out there waiting to make his move, just make it already! I'm getting quite impatient. Summer is basically over but there is sometime also romantic about a fall romance. But don't wait till winter. There is nothing romantic about winter whatsoever.

Love you.
Mean it.

#47: Who have been your best friends throughout your life?

Growing up, my best friend was a girl who lived down the street. Her name was Kimi Smith. We did everything together. We played together every single day, we had sleep overs, we even sold pop in the summertime for 50 cents a can. We naively said we were going to be friends forever. Her family then moved to Wisconsin. I still remember the sound of her voice on the phone when she told me they were moving. Years later they moved back but too much time had passed for us to rekindle our friendship. So it goes.

In middle school I became friends with Heather Smith & Danielle Butler. We did everything together as well. We were more like sisters than best friends. We trusted each other, helped each other, and loved each other. They were there for me and I was there for them. We stayed close until about our Junior year in high school. Heather and I had a fight that resulted in her not speaking to me for months. I was devastated. I stayed close to Danielle as much as possible but she was in a tough spot having to split her time/loyalties between us. Eventually Heather & I forgave each other but things were never the same between us. I'm still friends with both of them to this day, more so with Danielle. I was one of Danielle's bridesmaids at her wedding a little over a year ago. And I was the only one with her when she found her wedding dress.

From my senior year of high school to this day I have a group of best friends that I love so much. There's Ashley & Amber McNew, Jacob Ludlow, & Paige McGuire. We all knew each other from drama classes and school plays. While I had known everyone else for a few years, Paige and I weren't really close until my senior year when A Cappella went on tour to California. Paige and I sat by each other and shared a bed in the hotel room. We became really close after that. These four are still some of my closest friends. They're the type that no matter how much time has passed, we can all get together and just pick up where we left off.

My freshman year of college, my best friend was Brian. He and I would stay up practically all night long talking. We did date for a few months but after that we still remained close. He told me once I was the first person he considered to be his best friend. I miss him.

Then there was Scott Spongberg. He and I were best friends for months. We told each other everything and spent practically all our time together. We even took a trip up to Canada together. We ended up dating. It didn't work out and it ended badly. We haven't spoken since.

My current best friend doesn't even carry the title of "best friend." We refer to each other as "Numero Uno." His name is Sean Kendall. We became friends when I was best friends with Scott. We decided we needed our own unique title for our friendship so Sean suggested Numero Unos. Even after I no longer considered Scott my best friend, our title didn't change. I owe a lot to Sean. He's been there for me when no one else has. He's helped me a lot over the last few months. I've helped him with everything that has come up in his life as well, from stupid girl problems, school, family problems, and lots more. He's good for me and I think I'm good for him too. He's one of the few people I trust completely. I'm planning on writing a whole separate post about him so stay tuned.

Love you.
Mean it.

Hope at Mt. Pleasant

It's been years since I went
to a drive-in movie.
All of us
piled into the bed of the truck
a mass of bodies, blankets, and pillows
laughing at every joke on screen
and between us,
passing popcorn and sodas
and silently counting the shooting stars.
I'm more focused on catching each one
to make the same wish.

Now
driving back
I'm lying on the back seat.
Paul and Maria & Rachel
separated by a decade
fight over the radio
and exchange corny jokes.
Paul's jacket
rough against my cheek
serves as a decent pillow.
I can't remember the last time
I had so much fun.

Maybe things are getting better
but I can't be sure.

#26: What Would You Consider To Be A Perfect Date?

In all honesty, the simpler, the better. I really dislike any date than involves huge, complicated plans that require precise timing and exactness. It usually leads to my date spending more time worrying about the actual date then in just spending time with me. This is probably why I hated school dances so much. Way too complicated with the day-date as well as the evening dance. If it was a formal/semi-formal dance, I'd have to spend the evening in a dress I more than likely don't like because of its "modesty" or in other words, its boxy, generic cut that flatters no one or because I'm not comfortable in clothing like that. No matter what I wear, I want to be comfortable. This doesn't mean I don't like to dress up and occasionally look sassy/flirty/sexy/etc. But when I do, it will still be in my classic clothing mentality: I'm a jeans, t-shirt, converse kind of girl.

So back to the perfect date idea.

He would pick me up, obviously. He'd come inside and not just honk the horn or call me because that's what a gentleman/guy with any guts does. He'd bring me flowers. Call me old fashioned, but I'm a sucker for flowers. But not roses. Roses are so formal, archaic, stiff, solemn, and depressing. They remind me of either stupid old soap operas during cliche romance scenes or funerals. Both of which I don't want to think about on a date. I prefer daisies, sunflowers, chrysanthemums, or any flower that looks happy to exist. But, please, spare me the carnations. I hate them.

He'd then drive me to his apartment where he has been preparing dinner. It doesn't have to be anything truly fancy. If he knows how to make a mean cheeseburger, I'd be thrilled. We'd sit and eat and talk. This is the most important part. I love talking to people and it's the only way I know how to really get to know them. Hopefully our conversation would cover a variety of subjects and I would find it both intellectually simulating as well as enjoyable and relaxed.

After dinner, we both do the dishes and then settle down on the couch to watch a movie. Ideally, he'll know me well enough to know my taste in movies. We'll watch something bad-ass, with guns, explosions, fighting, etc. preferably involving the mafia somehow but I'm not picky. We'll cuddle on the couch while still keeping a casual feel about the night.

After the movie, we'd go for a late night walk. Here we would talk some more but about deeper, more personal things that are too rich for dinner conversation. These types of talks are the kind that help me feel emotionally connected to a person. We'd talk and not be afraid to say/confess anything.

When he'd take me home, he'd walk me to my door and kiss me softly on the cheek. Even with all of his laid-back self confidence, kissing a girl still makes him nervous.

Love you.
Mean it.

#39: What Is Your Favorite Number?

For the longest time, my favorite number was 12. It was just a good looking number to me. But over the years, I've found it has lost favor with me. Now I would say it's a tie between 7 & 9. They're both excellent numbers.

Love you.
Mean it.

#64: Where do you get your best ideas or do your best thinking?

Generally, I do my best thinking when I'm driving. I tend to go for long aimless drives whenever I'm upset or I have a problem I can't figure out. Sometime during the trip I am able to come up with some idea or solution.

The other place is fairly typical. It's in the shower. But just to throw in some randomness, I usually get my best ideas when I'm using my body wash. Not when I'm shampooing my hair, using conditioner, washing my face, or shaving my legs. It's always when I'm washing my body using body wash. Weird, eh?

Also, an honorable mention goes to my bed. I can come up with a good idea lying in bed once in a while but it's pretty inconsistant so I can't qualify it as a best thinking spot.

Love you.
Mean it.

Burning Bridges

I've never liked the night. You know that better than most. For one thing it's dark and the dark frightens me. I can't see anything and therefore anything is out there. That uncertainty scares me. But mostly I don't like night because it's when my mind naturally reflects not only on the day but on my whole life. I don't know if this causes my depression to worsen or if it just happens on its own and reflection makes it worse. Either way, I don't like it.

I wish you could see my room. Like always, nearly every wall space is occupied with something, most of which are pictures. I finally took your picture down. It didn't seem right to keep a picture of a married man on my wall, especially when he's my ex. But I still have pictures up of other friends and lovers who have left me. Some betrayed me, some just moved on, and some I still stay in contact with though it's erratic at best. I wonder if I'll ever see some of them again. I wonder if I'll ever see you again.

You know me, love. You know me better than pretty much everyone. Please, tell me why am I so good at burning bridges when it causes me so much pain? Once someone leaves me, even if it's on good terms, I do very little to sustain that relationship. And at night when I think of those burned bridges, the smell of smoke, the ash in my hair, the heat on my face, knowing it was me who did it, it nearly destroys me. I can't figure out why. It's counterintuitive to continue doing something that I know hurts me. Why do I keep the past behind me? Why do I do everything I can to ensure the past stays behind me? Why do I keep burning bridges when I know those charred remains will one day haunt me? Please, tell me, love. I can't figure it out. I need you to tell me why. Make sense of my life just one more time. Please.

I hope you're doing okay. And I sincerely hope that no matter what you're doing, you're finding happiness. I can promise you three times I will never burn our bridge. You don't do that to those you love.

Love you.
Mean it.

#43: What Is Your Least Favorite Sound?

Those annoying electronic alarm clocks that make that ungodly noise to wake you up.

Babies screaming their heads off.

Does heavy breathing count? If so, that. 

When someone's nasal passages are clogged and they snort then open their mouths to unclog the mess they just sent down their throat. 

Any & all sound effects from the video game, "Call of Duty."

My mom's cell phone ringtone that she hasn't changed in over ten years (and it's on LOUD).

Love you.

Mean it.

#72: What Are Some Things That Make You Uncomfortable?

Please see: Things That Make Me Uncomfortable

Love you.
Mean it.

#87: What Are You Afraid Of?

In regards to physical, non-abstract fears, I am afraid of tarantulas, taxidermy animals, earwigs, and the dark.

The fear of tarantulas stems from an old fear of spiders. I still don't like spiders but if I see one outside, I let it live after I explain to it that if I see it inside, it will die. Nine times out of ten, I can kill my own spiders now. But tarantulas, no. No. No. No. First, they're HUGE. Second, they're HAIRY. Third, they're HAIRY & HUGE. No. If I had to choose between being thrown into a pit of snakes or a pit of tarantulas, snakes all the way.

Taxidermy animals...I don't know why. They just freak me out. It's weird knowing they were once alive but now they're dead, staring at you with fake glass eyes. When I was little my mom took us kids to the Bean Museum on BYU campus, which is an entire museum filled with taxidermy animals. Yep, childhood trauma was established. Today you could beat me with a brick stick and I still won't step foot in that building.

Fear of earwigs comes from the time our basement became infested with them. My room is downstairs, fyi. They were EVERYWHERE. At night, I could hear them crawling across papers I left somewhere. Not to mention, they're like cockroaches where if you step on them, THEY STILL DON'T DIE. You basically have to grind them into a fine paste to assure they are officially dead. Eww.

And I'm afraid of the dark because of its inherent absence of light. You can't see anything in the dark. You don't know what's there. So really, anything could be there. I don't like this idea.

As for abstract fears, I'm afraid of going insane, being completely alone both physically & emotionally, and one day being a bad parent.

Love you.
Mean it.

#37: Who Is Someone You're Pretty Sure Hates Your Guts?

Oh, where to begin?

Well, for starters, a girl named Jessie from SUU hates my guts and probably for a good reason. I sort of called her stupid kind of to her face. She is now engaged to an ex of mine who also hates my guts, though I don't really know why because we broke up on good terms. Jessie probably convinced him to.

Brooke Lund probably hates my guts for many, many reasons (the validity of some are questionable). But I don't really care cause I hate her back. The most recent reason being I physically threw her not only out of my Numero Uno's bedroom but out of his house. I also told her that if she ever hurt him again (intentionally or unintentionally), I would bring her the rapture.  The girl is bad news. I advise you all to stay away.

Haley Bowen hates my guts because I called her a slutty version of the antichrist.

Cassie might hate my guts cause I helped convince her boyfriend to leave her because she was sucking the life out of him.

The following ex-boyfriends most likely hate my guts:
Danny Smith
David Martin
Sage Kolle
Dan Wilson (Unconfirmed. More like a gut feeling)

Oh, and I do not have confirmation but my feelings tell me Chris & Andy might hate my guts (for different reasons).

Love you.
Mean it.

44 Guys

This comes from the sketch journal of a guy I used to know. His name is Chris Bodily. I met him down in Cedar. He hasn't updated it since May, which makes me sad since he always had cool things to draw/say. This one has stuck with me, even more so since moving back home. 

You know me. I make lists. I just made three lists: Guys I've Dated, Guys I've Kissed, and My Unrequited Crushes. The totals are as follows:

Dated: 21

Kissed: 27 (Keep in mind, some of the dated & kissed guys are the same)

Crushed: 12 (that I can remember off the top of my head. There are dozens more, I'm sure)

I look over these lists of guys who all have played a significant role in my life. And this is what I know. 

Six of them are married or engaged.

One has a wife who is expecting.

Three of them I know hate my guts.

Ten of them I can't stand

Twelve of them I haven't thought about in years.

Twelve of them probably don't remember me.

Two of them I can't remember their last names.

One of them I can't remember his name at all.

One is in Saudi Arabia

One is in Iraq

One is in the Utah State Mental Hospital.

Twenty I have no idea where they are. 

Two of them are brothers.

Two of them I thought I was going to marry.

&

Eight of them I can't forget.

Five because I don't want to. 

Three because they haunt me. 

I think Bodily had it right. 

"How is it that the more people that come into my life, the lonelier I feel?"

Love you.

Mean it. 

Things I Thought I'd Know By Now

1. When you get in a car accident and exchange information, what specific information are you suppose to exchange.

2. How much it cost to get something dry-cleaned.

3. How to change a tire.

4. How to change the oil in my car.

5. How to make Jello

6. How to pick a good watermelon.

7. How to pick a good pineapple.

8. When it's appropriate to use "who" & "whom.
9. When to use "effect" and "affect."
10. What antioxidants actually do and why they're so good for us.
11. What is the difference between Tylenol & Advil.
12. What to do if you're bit by a shark.
13. How to remove ink stains out of clothes.
14. In the slang term, "Jesus H. Christ," what the H. stands for.
15. How the scoring in tennis works.
16. How to play rugby.
17. How to play cricket.
18. How to properly cook a steak.

Love you.
Mean it.