Who knew two fake mustaches could be so much fun? Well, now you know.
[kelsey and me after winning 143 tickets at the nickelcade]


short story:

A text message? At this hour? How unusual.

But really, it was not.

She was used to late-night contact. She had even begun to like it. And that, too, was not unusual.

What would be unusual would be if the contact stopped. If she was never aroused from her sleep by the sound of an electric chime. If she was no longer needed, wanted, or useful.

It was easier to think of it in that way--being needed, wanted and useful. In reality she was not truly needed. She was wanted, perhaps, but a better word for "useful" would be to say she was used.

Yes, she was used. Like a plunger. Undesirable until a crisis arose. And there she would be, sitting, waiting to be used at their convenience. When she did her job--offered the advice they sought, the listening ear they wanted, the hundredth favor with no hope of repayment--she was placed back and forgotten, like that germ-ridden rubber on a wooden handle behind the toilet.

The text was answered by her tired fingers, with her tired head hoping this time it would be different. That this time the plunger would be truly appreciated.

With that thought, she drifted away, awaiting the next time the toilet would back up.


short story:

"Swish ... no, no, no. That's not right. ... Ffffffffwip. ... Hmmm, no. ... Ssssfffffwish. Yeah, that's it. Sfffwish. Sfffffwish. Sfwish."

"What are you doing?"
"Creating sound effects for everyday tasks."

"And you think 'sfffish' is the right sound for ...?"
"It's 'sssssfffwish." And yes."

"Yes what?"
"Yes I think it's the right sound effect for ..."

"What? You didn't finish your sentence."
"Neither did you."

"...Sfffwish, huh?"


short story:

"Touch me with that stick, and I'll break your arm."
She was not in the mood today. Not in the mood to be touched with slimy sticks, to search for striped rocks, or to even pick blackberries. Her brother didn't understand that. Obviously. She just wanted to be left alone, sitting in the middle of a clump of alder trees. But it was no longer a suitable place to mope, now that he was there with his slimy stick and constant rambling about frogs and grasshoppers and how the cat that had killed a mouse yesterday. She pushed herself off the ground, walking past her little brother without looking at him. The urge to shove him to the ground was great, but she resisted. There were acres and acres of forest to explore on their property, but he would rather follow her around, asking her over and over to feel the stick. It was incomprehensible to her. To him, though, it was as natural as the wind. Why shouldn't he tag along? Why shouldn't she like to hear all his stories? Why shouldn't she want to feel the slimy stick? It was the most amazing texture he'd discovered all week, yet she refused. As she marched away, he quickly followed behind, inviting her one more time to touch the stick.
"If that stick touches me, I'll break your arm..."


short story:

He sat. He pondered. He drifted. He stopped. Nothing made sense at 2 a.m. Nothing made sense at 2 p.m. Or at 10 a.m. Or at 5 p.m. Except that bottle of scotch. That made sense at any time he wasn't required to be anything, say anything or do anything of significance. He'd drained half the bottle in his search for sense. For truth. For peace. All he found was the familiarity of liquor on his breath, on his brain, and in his bladder. And that was a familiarity he'd rather forget. He closed his eyes gently, his body hunched over the bar, glass in hand. Gradually his eyes shut tighter simultaneously causing his fist to grip the glass with increased intensity. He sat. He thought. He beat himself up from the inside out. Nothing made sense at 2 a.m.


"Do not be concerned about whether or not others know you; be concerned about whether or not you know others." --Confucius

I haven't felt inclined to write anything lately. Well, not anything of consequence, anything personal, or anything fit to print (even on my blog). I've been writing in my journal a lot though. I've been talking to my sisters and my mom a lot. I've been thinking and discussing and stewing. And after I'm done, I feel no desire to type it here. For one, it's much too complicated. And for another, it's mine. What can I say, I'm a selfish person. I don't want to share. And then I get to thinking maybe there's something morally wrong with this blog of mine. No, that's silly. It's not morally wrong to share thoughts and ideas and, yes, even feelings, with the internet world. But lately it hasn't felt right. So instead I'll copy and paste others' thoughts and pretend I'm cool like them, being all profound in my statements about life. And if you get a call from me, you can count yourself as either lucky because you get to know what I'm not writing here, or very unlucky, because you have to listen to my nonsense. Oh, the glass. Half-empty or half-full?

(Either way, I'm still thirsty.)


Two things I agree with completely:
"Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy." --Anne Frank

"Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves." --Carl Jung

One thing I agree with half-way (because shouldn't your heart and head agree?):
"If your head tells you one thing and your heart tells you another, before you do anything, you should first decide whether you have a better head or a better heart." --Marilyn Vos Savant

Photographs (which I agree with):

Sarah and Matt at the Nickelcade.

Mac and me at the Nickelcade with our prizes--a boomerang and vampire teeth.

Adventures of my Vans -- Part II
At EFY in San Antonio.

At a blacklight dance party.


A Quote:
"I am continually trying to keep the "ME" out of as much of my relations with people as possible, and transfer a full interest to you/them, which automatically... makes me a more lovable person to them, and them to me." --julia childs

A Thought:
It's days like these that I'm especially grateful to be a print journalism major, and not broadcast. I guess they're doing screen tests or something next door and the amount of make-up, hair gel, high heals, suits and yes, even shoulder pads, was astounding. I walked down the hall, passed all of these Katie Couric and Peter Jennings wanna-be's, and couldn't help but chuckle to myself. But, to their credit, I do like Edward R. Murrow. But, then again, he disliked TV broadcasts for the most part and favored radio. Hm.

A Deep Thought:
"Fear can sometimes be a useful emotion. For instance, let's say you're an astronaut on the moon and you fear your partner has been turned into Dracula. Next time he goes out for the moon pieces, wham! You just slam the door behind him...... and blast off. He might call you on the radio and say he's not Dracula, but you just say, 'Think again, batman.'" --Jack Handy

A Picture:
i took this photo on my phone. i like it. my mom is one of my best friends and my best teachers. i love her a lot.

p.s. how, do you ask, did i get it from my phone to my computer? i figured out how to use the Bluetooth and did it all by myself. i'm a genius! ;o)


We won. Probably only because of this, but regardless, we won. 14-13. Ah, it feels so good.


I think that expressing "happiness" and "gratitude" has been exhausted in my life. So in attempt to make things a little more balanced with the other emotions, here's another sort of list...

things that make me sad:

1- washing perfectly good brownie batter down the drain.
2- my favorite pen running out of ink.
3- wanting more hours at work but getting to go home early.
4- missing a call from someone i actually want to talk to.
5- having no missed calls after being in the bowels of the library for 5 hours.
6- eating a really good burrito and then biting into something not so good.
7- smiling at a stranger just to realized they're blind.
8- having a cute boy sit next to me in class, and then immediately move seats because they see someone they know, thus leave to sit next to them. (jerks).
9- standing right underneath a school bell when it goes off.
10- people missing a perfectly good joke because i said it too softly.

i know, i know, this may have been hard for some of you to read. my life really isn't as happy as you thought, huh? that'll teach you to assume.

p.s. the first time my mom told me what "assuming" does i was completely lost. "Uh, a-s-s-u-m-ing? wait, where's the "me?" that's stupid. all they could come up with was "ass." I could do that. you know what giving "assignments" does to you, right? har har har... lame."

[photo found on]