Oh my God

Look at... look at what they've done to Blogger.

This is horrid.

There and Back Again

Three hundred and sixty five days later, and it's all over. When I first started this challenge, I said that I hoped to become healthier, happier, and more fulfilled.

I think the pinnacle of such feelings occurred this summer. I met Jesse, I was having so much fun with Jessica and Ashley, and I had nothing to worry about for months.

Then the fall started, and there was all sorts of stress involved, topping it off with having to move out of the house I grew up in.

I can't say I expected all of this to happen. I can't say I expected to be making such a year-end post. I feel like I'm in a state of flux, and I can't shake it. My mood keeps jumping about, and it doesn't take much anymore to set me off. I think the worst of it is that this house doesn't feel like a home, yet. My mother is in love with it, and I think the disparity between us is causing a lot of the conflict in recent weeks.

Before this turns into a shame spiral, there were a multitude of great things that happened this year. I realized I was gay and okay with it, met someone I love, went to my first concert with Ashley and had an amazing time, went to Busch Gardens with Jessica, went to Harry Potter World, traveled across multiple states several times for love, turned 21, got Tumblr, and made some friends online and in reality. I feel like I've really gotten closer to Ashley and Jessica, too. They're honestly the best friends I could ever ask for.

So, at the end of the year, I'd say if I have gained anything from this year, I'd say it was enlightenment. Everyday I learn something new, good or bad. Life is random and weird, and sometimes it hurts, but sometimes it's great, too.

As I end this post, I have to say that I think I'm at a crossroads of my life. I don't know where I'm going, or what tomorrow will bring me, but it's coming, and could go any way imaginable.

Penultimate

I can't believe this, but tomorrow will be one year ago that I started blogging everyday. Or, at least making a post for everyday.

It's strange, really. I've gotten so used to making them that they just seemed like a part of my day-to-day schedule. It'll be weird not to have a new post for everyday. I mean, I'll still update often, just not everyday. Which is actually good news, because having something to say will mean more quality posts, as opposed to my summation of the day posts that I've made so often.

The year really flew by, I think. I mean, it just feels like yesterday that I started posting everyday, but so much has changed since then. I'll talk about it more tomorrow, but it's still surreal to think about.

Actually enjoyed Physio Psych today

Which is weird, because most of the time I can't understand what we're talking about due to sleepiness and how bizarre biology is. But, I think it helps that my professor kept getting side-tracked by theoretical physics, multiverses, and optical illusions. Plus, he liked my experiment idea, which is awesome, because now I don't have to worry about thinking up a new one.

I went to Eager Beaver and got my car cleaned and vacuumed for the first time in ages, and it looks so pretty now.

I got the talk about job-hunting again. Subbing is looking like it won't be happening again, at least not at the elementary school level. Time will tell if I can sub at Verot. I'm going to talk to my dad about talking to my aunt and having her see if I can get a job in her field, since she does social work. That'd be good, since social work goes hand-in-hand with psychology.

Also... Mass Effect 3 will be in my hands this time next week. #Obsessed.

My professor really liked my story

He said it was hilarious and that I could write well, which was a major confidence boost. I decided to go ahead and post the story here, since I'm really happy with it.


The Rocket Scientist
I ordered the salmon, but I only ate the truffle risotto.
The Lakers game played over the bar, a huddled mass cheering and booing with each throw or pass. Seated in front of me, the girl whined like an incontinent puppy begging to go out, only the girl just wanted my attention. I focused on her big, marble-colored eyes and her bleach blonde curls. Her name was Sofia, but everyone called her Newt. For what reason, I didn’t ask. It’s unprofessional to get too personal in my line of work. She had delicately shattered the caramel shell of her crème brulee, eating it in tiny nibbles, as though small portions would keep her trim. Well, it had worked so far. “Mr. Fletcher,” she said, pushing out her pouty lips.
“What is it, Newt?” I asked, my finger thoughtfully rubbing condensation from my cup of watered-down cherry Kool-Aid. I always ordered Kool-Aid when a Lakers game was on. So far, my good luck charm had worked somewhere around 27 of 56 games. Too close to give up the superstition, especially this close to the championship.
“I want answers,” she said.
“And I want my cartoons published in the New Yorker, but we can’t always get what we want.” I began tapping my foot gingerly, cursing myself as the Rolling Stones got stuck in my head.
Newt gave me a vacant stare, and I began to realize how she earned the amphibian nickname. I took pity and said, “yeah, yeah, I know what you mean. You want to know who whacked your hay feverish hubby.”
She nodded like a bobble-head, curls falling from her temples. “Well,” I said, “it wasn’t the shark from Jaws, I can tell you that much. It was Jimmy Fontanero who gave him the facelift at the Edison’s mall map.”
“Jimmy Fontanardo—Fontanerio—Font—“
“They call him the ‘Hurricane.’”
“Oh…. Wh—why’d he kill him?”
“Your hubby got too deep into Jimmy’s gang. Got scared, y’see? So he went to the cops and sang like a parakeet. Hay fever and all, what a trooper.”
“What was he into that made Mr. The Hurricane so angry?” Newt’s poodle poked its head out of her purse. I thought she said the mutt’s name was Wallie, but I’ll be damned if I could bother to remember. I should have asked for something added to this Kool-Aid.
“Hurricane has lots of irons in the fire. My informants tell me that your husband was into a gambling ring, but was coming up like the kid who can’t ride the roller coaster.” She blinked again. “Short,” I added, thinking I needed to come up with better similes. The huddled mass cheered when the buzzer sounded. The game would soon be over. I looked and saw, between the gaggle of jersey-wearing fans and t-shirts, some shady folks in black hats. Hurricane’s men never were much for subtlety. “Excuse me one second, Newt. I’ve gotta visit the john.”
“What for?”
“To go put in a tampon, what do you think, sweetheart?” I stood to go, keeping my eyes on the hats. I was pretty sure they were Hurricane’s mooks, but I wanted to be certain. I studied them carefully from where I stood. Yep, folks in black hats couldn’t be anything but mooks. Except for wizards, but that seemed unlikely.
“You talk funny, Mr. Fletcher,” said Newt.
“Shut up.” I like to think I sauntered over to the bathroom as cool as the Fonz, but I’ll be the first to admit that it was probably more of a half run than anything. I splashed some cool water on my face and looked into the mirror. Yes, still good looking. Still working the dark and mysterious. I took a breath and walked back to Newt, who was lost in the reflection in her pocket mirror. For a moment, I was worried that statement was literal. “Newt.”
Breaking free from her enchantment, she looked up, her eyes a little wider than before. “Yes?” I sat back down in front of her, the cold plate of salmon between us.
“I don’t want you to panic,” I whispered, expecting her to panic no matter what, “but Hurricane has two guys in the crowd that probably want you next.”
Thankfully, she was silent, but her eyes started darting to-and-fro. “Relax, I have a plan.” Right on cue, she quit her jumping about and focused on me. “It’s gonna be a bit… extreme, but you seem like a good actress.”
“I made 128 films when I was in Hollywood for a year.”
“Jeeze Louise. Any I’ve heard of?”
“Depends. Do you stay up late with Cinemax on?”
“Ye—I—let’s get back to the plan. You’re gonna take a bite of this salmon, and then… choke on it. Or pretend to choke, depends on if you’re into that method acting mumbo jumbo. I’ve got a buddy who’s an ambulance dispatcher. He’ll send over an ambulance with a getaway driver that’ll take you to the airport, and put you on a plane to Canada.”
“Why there? I hate the cold.”
“It’s either being cold in the north, or cold and pushing up daisies. Your choice.”
She crossed her arms and sighed. “Fine.”
“I’m going to follow you in my Caddy XLR. When we get to the airport--”
“Mr. Fletcher?” The two black hat mooks from earlier were standing over us. “What a Wonderful World” started playing over the speakers which, if movies taught me anything, meant bad news was coming.
“What’s it to you, beardless Hagrid?” I said, looking up at his gargantuan height.
“You’re under arrest,” the first black hat said as his companion took me up by the armpits like a parent taking their kid out of a high chair.
“For what?” I said, kicking as though the child being taken out of the high chair still wanted his apple sauce.
“Practicing private detective work without a license.” As the first mook put his handcuffs on me and led me out of the restaurant, I heard Newt shouting for me inside.
“Mr. Fletcher! Do you still want me to do the choking thing?”
Newt was a lot of things: widow, dog-owner, probably a porn star, but she was no rocket scientist. Then again, she wasn’t the one being led away in handcuffs.

The Oscar's are not good this year

I'm not talking about nominations (though I'm not overjoyed with those, either). The show itself is just not good this year.

Spring break next week. Oh my God, this week needs to end as soon as possible. I want my spring break pronto.

This was a great day

I'm glad we got to start Sherlock, but I'm really happy to have a day where we spent the entire time talking. It was really awesome for us to do that, and it's going to suck that we'll have to go without for the next few weeks, but I'm sure we can survive, somehow.