Wish in a trash can

I wrote my name on a piece of paper
and added your last name at the end.
I stared at it for only a moment
before ripping out the page
and folding it over and over
until the paper refused to bend anymore.
I held it in my hand
trying to force any good luck I may still have
into that tiny piece of paper.
And as I walked out the door
with nothing left to do
I threw my wish into the trash

Love you.
Mean it.

As heard in the newsroom, part 7

Celeste, we have a bigger problem. We don't have a black friend.
-Andrea

I had to ride the bus when I was a stove.
-Andrea

My butt always feels wet here.
-Andrea about New Orleans.

Did they make sex?
-Andrea

That was an excellent jelly bean.
-Andrea

I skipped class and went home and made pies.
-Andrea

I just got put in primary. I know all about the wiggles.
-Brandon

My beard's a little sticky.
-Brandon

I have nothing against talking birds.
-Carly

So I've been thinking about racism...
-Celeste

...Which sucks balls.
Celeste, you can't say that with a bow around your neck.
-Celeste & Christina

Masturbation is bad.
What??? Since when???
-Celeste & Jarom

We want to know how to kindly–
We want that kid out!
-Christina & John-Ross

That's really creepy and I like it!
-Christina

I thought those were candy. Those aren't candy.
-Clark about a pile of condoms.

If you were a musical instrument, what would you be?
The most popular one cause I always get played.
-Clark & Jarom

Can you come over here so I can rub your belly?
-Courtney

Funny things are happening.
-Courtney

My soul thinks it's a good idea and so do a few professionals.
-Elyse

How long have you been playing the trumpet?
About 23 years.
You were a musical fetus?
-Elyse & Jeff

You should just play all those cliche trumpet songs.
-Eric

Told you! Who didn't believe... Wait, I think everyone believed me.
-Eric

I just need to win enough to buy some ice cream.
-Gilbert on gambling

I'm a man now.
-Gilbert

Should I be a ladybug or a kitten? I think a kitten is more manly.
-Gilbert

Geez guys, what are we? Five-years-old?
You're wearing a sheriff badge.
-Gilbert & Christina

Queen is overrated.
Gilbert, fuck you.
-Gilbert & John-Ross

I don't know why my hands are so soft.
-Jarom

The Village Inn has nothing but a new logo.
-Jarom

I hate school and you but you're both necessary.
-Jarom

Everyone laugh. Even you,  J.R.
I'll laugh at you.
-Jarom & John-Ross

Would you rather have a life size portrait of a naked man in your room...
This is going to be easy.
-Jarom & Matthew J.

What's going to be at this luncheon?
Food and Mormons.
-John-Ross & Kelly

I'll only go cause I like hating stuff.
-John-Ross

I'm Oprah-rich, motherfuckers!
-John-Ross

Matthew Jonassaint, you have been summoned to the council of elders.
-John-Ross

I don't want to bang your kid. I'm just a nice guy.
-John-Ross

Just because Gilbert isn't here doesn't mean we make Tiffany the new Gilbert.
-John-Ross

Clark Goldsberry. That sounds like a made up name.
-John-Ross

Gilbert, it's not a deviant thing. It's just kissing.
-John-Ross

Thank you. I deserve this.
-John-Ross after winning employee of the week.

Do you know how much condoms cost? That's why I don't use them.
-John-Ross

Is it bad I don't think his intentions are good and I'm frightened and maybe we should hide the zebra?
-Kelly

Your wife is adorable. I like her.
I kinda do too.
-Kelly & Jonathan

You do know your headphones aren't plugged into anything.
I do know that.
-Kelly & Parker

Booty call with your girlfriend?
I'm intrigued.
-Parker & Brandon in response to something Vanessa said.

I joined the mile high club! What does that mean?
-Tiffany

Your guy's secret meetings are lame.
-Tom

Are meetings always like this? If so, I'm going to show up more.
-Tom

I'll talk to them on the phone so they won't know I'm brown.
-Vanessa

Beard on beard action.
-Vanessa

Tiffany's a woman now!
Did I hear that right?
-Vanessa & Christina

I'm failing my Polynesian dance class.
How many credits is it?
Just one.
Well, fuck it then!
-Vanessa & John-Ross

I left my broken heart in a Voodoo Temple.

I left my broken heart in a Voodoo temple in New Orleans.

It was a locket I wore at the end of a long chain. Inside were the words from an old song, "Love is not a victory march. It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah." It had broken the night before, snapped in half right at the hinge, leaving me with an ominous feeling. I had felt heartbroken over the last month but especially over the the last two weeks. It wasn't even all heartbreak in the romantic sense, though that did play a major roll in it. An old interest had gotten back together with his old flame, an old crush had proposed to his girlfriend, and while I had two promising prospects, I was starting to realize that things would probably never happen.

But it was more than all that. Melancholy and just a general sadness seemed to follow me around. It was lighter than my normal depression but it was still very present. When my heart locket broke, I stared at it in my hand. It seemed to fit everything else happening. It was if it breaking didn't surprise me in the least.

I don't know if we were drawn to the Voodoo temple that day or we were just caught in a happy coincidence. I don't believe in fate or destiny, and miracles only rarely, rarely happen in my mind but the timing of our arrival was eerily well placed. We arrived right before a prayer service was to be held for a couple who had been there years before and we were invited to join.

We walked into the alter room and were amazed by what we saw. The room was covered with icons, both religious and secular. Items that people had left as offerings were arranged anywhere there was space. Bills were rolled up and sticking out of any crevice possible. Bottles of liquor, both empty and full, stood covered in different layers of dust. Other items were placed in other spots, giving the impression that once it was placed, it was never moved again. The memories of all the lives that had been in that room hung thick in the air. There was history in that room. It was a history that envoked a reverence within us.

An old black lady dressed all in white sat in a chair at the front of the room. Her friend, an old white man dressed all in black with a black leather vest and beret on his head sat to her right. As she began to speak, he pulled out a drum, which he would keep rhythm with later. She spoke of many things. Sometimes I lost her train of thought but would eventually pick it back up again. She spoke of life, of death, of happiness, of sadness and everything in between. There was a part that stood out to me. She spoke of how everything in this life that happens to you, you pick up and hold close to you. You keep those things close to you until you have no more room. You need to let go of the older things before you can begin to pick up new things. It was strange. I have always been a believer in the fact truth can be discovered pretty much anywhere. And here was this woman whom I had never met before and probably would never see again giving me the very words I needed to hear so badly. So much of my life has been spent holding on to things, holding them so fiercely, I don't have room for anything new. If I was going to be happy, if I was going to get rid of this melancholy which had turned into my constant companion, I had to let go of all my heartache.

After she had finished speaking, she stood up to sing. Her voice began unsteadily but grew and grew into one of power and passion. We, who were sitting on the floor, also stood and began to clap the rhythm and a few even joined in singing. I stomped my feet but kept my eyes closed. I knew something was happening, something very unique, something that I would never have a chance to experience again. I let the old woman's voice wash over me, let the rhythm pulse through me. When it was all over, I felt different, not reborn or anything so dramatic but I knew something had changed.

As we were walking out, I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out my broken heart locket. I asked Clark, one of my friends who was there, to wait for me. I found an empty place and set down the locket opened and face up so the words could be read but spaced just enough apart so you could tell it was broken. After I was satisfied, I walked out and didn't look back.

I can't properly describe the feeling I had for hours afterward. Something had changed in me. Those woman's words had rung so true. I couldn't continue to carry this melancholy, this heartache around. And so I left it there.

I hope one day, years from now, I can go back and find my broken heart.

Love you.
Mean it.

This is not for you.

~This post is dedicated to the anonymous formspring questioner who asked me when I was going to post on my blog again. Thank you for letting me know people still care what I have to say~


I think I stopped posting on this blog because of two reasons. The first wass I experienced a case of hardcore writer's block. Nothing I wrote was even remotely decent. Thankfully that was broken after a quick trip to New Orleans. The second was I started to care too much about what people thought about what I wrote here. When I began this little experience, I didn't care if people read it. I honestly didn't think anyone did. I wrote because that's what I do. I am a writer (please god forgive me). I wrote because I needed a outlet for my creative energy. But then I discovered people not only read my blog but also liked it. I began to feel this pressure of writing for an audience, for writing something that people will like, that will get a lot of hits, that will make my stats go up. This is poison for creativity.

It suddenly wasn't about me writing because that's what I love to do and because I needed to do it. It was about choosing topics I know a lot of people would want to read.

This is bullshit, if you didn't already know.

I can't think of a more destructive thing to do in regards to my "art." I sold out, in the spiritual sense since I'm not getting a dime off of this.

Well, no more. I have learned my lesson. Therefore, I am rechristening this blog, letting it go back to its original purpose.

This blog is for my creative writing, for my thoughts, my poetry, my lists, my ramblings, but most importantly, for myself. If you like it and want to continue to read it, that's great. If not, that's okay too.

As Conor Oberst once sang, "I do not read the reviews. No, I am not singing for you."

I am a writer.
This is not for you.

Love you.
Mean it.

As heard in the newsroom, Part 6

My music is fighting your music and Katy Perry is going to win.
-Andrea

Alright, who stole my plant?
-Andrea

Does this sound cool or creepy? Cause it sounds cool to me.
-Celeste

Barbie is okay, even though she's a super skinny skank.
-Celeste

I meant holding hands.
That's fine. That's 14 points above where I am.
-Celeste & Jarom

I plan on having the worst attitude today.
I will beat you.
-Celeste  & John-Ross

I want to be the girl version of Clark.
-Christina

I'd kill someone and it would be fun.
-Christina

Can we take pictures of the girl with a mesh dress and a thong? Cause that's fashionable.
-Christina

I feel like my brain is vibrating.
-Clark

My hips don't lie about how much I eat.
-Elyse

If Mike Vic were white, he'd work at Office Max.
-Eric

Do you know what [Bill Nye] is going to talk about?
SCIENCE!
-Eric & everyone

I discovered it was a girl show. I've been watching a girl show for five seasons.
-Gilbert, about Bones

I'd call him but my phone is in a bag of rice.
-Gilbert

A day without a nap is a day wasted.
-Gilbert

I know music.
No, you don't. You make grilled cheese at a music venue.
-Gilbert  & Jake

This music sounds like my thighs rubbing together, angry at each other. I hate this shit.
-Jake

The world of J.R. is unbelievable.
-Jake

On the subject of faggots and frisbee golf...
-Jarom

Deal with it. Or don't.
-Jarom

We're planning a soiree of sorts.
-Jarom

He is a ninja. He's a blonde ninja.
-Jarom about Clark

I give and I give and I give and I just want to take my pants off.
-Jarom

As long as you only karaoke now and then.
-Jarom

I'm too lazy to go outside. That's my main problem.
-Jarom on his troubles dating

Women can't read. Is that sexist enough?
-Jarom

Do you know if "man-child" in the phrase "idiot man-child" has a hyphen?
-John-Ross

Things just got Norwegian up in here.
-John-Ross

She's divorcing him because he was addicted to alcohol and pot, which doesn't make sense because she's divorcing him for being awesome.
-John-Ross about Bill Murray

People take it way too seriously. And not all of them are potheads.
-John-Ross

We peed in his shampoo bottle.
-John-Ross

My father just sent me a text, "Hey fat Jesus, what are you doing this weekend?"
-John-Ross

I need to stop smoking. The state of Utah is really making a convincing argument.
-John-Ross

It's my fault for assuming Mesa, Arizona has stuff to do.
-John-Ross

This is a safe place, you moron.
-John-Ross

I don't give an asterisk asterisk asterisk asterisk about pandas.
-John-Ross

I'm not going to a wedding. Fuck you.
-John-Ross

It takes 20 years for something to be funny. Except the Holocaust. That shit ain't funny.
-John-Ross

Do you have court? Why are you here?
-John-Ross

You can't even get a decent HJ from a haunted whore.
HJ?
I'll explain later.
-John-Ross & Gilbert

I saw The Help last week.
Was that good?
I didn't fucking see that movie.
-John-Ross & Vanessa

See ya, dirty book girl.
See ya later!
-Jonathan & Christina

It kinda looks like it's smiling and kinda like it wants to eat my face.
-Kelly

Don't tweet about sexual harassment.
-Kelly

If you weren't so damn good at your job, I wouldn't have to be so freaking awesome at mine.
-Kelly

I've forgiven him 70 times 7 times. Jesus says I can kick his ass.
-Kelly

That is highly inappropriate. Maybe later.
-Kelly

Don't point guns at people. It's not nice.
-Kelly

J.R.'s the simplest to explain.
And yet...
-Kelly & Jarom

What is your favorite animal?
Steak?
-Kelly & John-Ross

How do you change someone's race?

Holocaust? 

-Kelly & Thomas R.

Did you just say chlamydia champagne?
I did and I don't regret it.
-Kelly & Christina

I wann do Bill [Nye].
...
Science Rules!
-Kelly & Jarom

Robbin, I'm going to come embrace you. Is that alright?
-Matt P.

I'm a jokester, you guys.

-Tiffany

I'm helping Somali children. Don't bother me.
-Tiffany

He did look like a geek. I saw him.
-Tom L. about Matt P.

Grieving for my grandma

My grandmother died two weeks ago. Today was her funeral. I had been to funerals before but had never participated in one. My grandmother's death is the first time someone close to me has passed away, as I have mentioned before. The service was lovely, with my mom and her three sisters speaking on lessons my grandmother had taught them. She was a wonderful, kind, and charming woman who knew no limits of love and charity. She believed in being kind to others, and serving them in anyway possible.

My grandmother's death has been a bizarre experience for me. During these last two weeks, I have felt sad, yes, but mostly I've felt okay. My grandmother wasn't doing too well towards the end and I know she's at peace now. I know she's surrounded by her brothers, parents, and loving husband. I know that. There is no doubt in my mind. The first time I cried was at the funeral today, partly because I saw my mother crying and can never stay dry-eyed when I see her crying. But for the most part, I've been fairly okay these past two weeks.

To give you an idea of how my mind works, here's an little anecdote for you. When my mom came into my room to tell me grandma had died, she said the funeral would be on the 13th. My first thought, in all seriousness, was "What do they do with grandma till then? Where do they keep her? How do they keep her 'fresh?'" This is how I reacted to the death of my grandma, not with tears or heartache but with the very practical technical question of what they do with her body until the funeral.

I've heard there's no right way to grieve. I suppose that's true, even though I do feel odd about not "weeping or wailing" over the passing of my grandma. She was old and not well. Death brought a certain release from that state.

I will miss her. I will always miss her.

Love you.
Mean it.

He draws me in

He draws me in
with the questions he forms in my head.
He draws me in
with dangerous daydreams.
Fingers running through brown hair,
an arm wrapped around another in the night,
wishful thinking.
He draws me in
with warm eyes.
Mischievous. Playful.
Eyes much older than his years admit.
He draws me in.
While the loneliness grows deeper
and the memories grow darker
still,
he draws me in.