The Group Formerly Known as BOB.

One, two, three, four!

We roamed the halls without a care in the world. The only thing on our mind was what was for lunch and the weekend to come. Altogether we were bob plus me. Me being the boy, the guy, the man. And bob of course being my three female best friends. One was pretty, smart, athletic. She seemed to have it all. But she was a bitch. Two was pretty, energetic, spoiled, and fun. She seemed to have it all. But she was a bitch. Three was pretty and driven. She had nothing to work with but all to fight for. She too was a bitch.

One grew up in the most suburban of homes. Mom, dad, two younger sisters. She made her way from butch to beauty in a mere three years. By the end she has a beautiful smile and gorgeous hair.

Two has had a difficult life. Two moms, but neither of them loved her as they should. Two dads who were just there. But not much help. She was on the fancy side; family drives nice cars. They live in nice houses. But the bruises tell a different story.

Three had very little. She lived with her mom in a two bedroom house with all her siblings. She is yet to have her own bedroom. Barely making ends meet. But always seems to look good.

I knew two first. She broke my heart. I asked her out, and she said yes. But then a week later she dumped me. She moved away and I was happy as could be. One introduced me to three, but two is how I knew one. One and I became friends when two was gone. I said “hey, you are two’s friend right?” and she replied “yeah, but now I’m yours.” And so it began. At first it was a simple acquaintance. But then it grew into something much more. Something fun. Fun for all of us. One was my best friend. She and I would strut our stuff through the halls of junior high knowing that we were the shit and that no one could touch us. We would find a toy store out of a piece of card board, and a candy shop out of a single piece of gum. We loved life. Nothing could kill this high. Three and I were really never great friends until ninth grade. We never had our moments. Not yet. One was the first one to break the silence. Then she was totally dorky. But now she is the shit. We would eat lunch together. Play together. Make movies together—Joke, laugh, kid, wrestle, pound each other’s heads into glass windows while trying to convince each other there was a doughnut on the other side.

I slowly moved into ones locker. And in turn into three’s as well. We were happy. But then I heard them call two’s name over the intercom. At first I was mad. Who the hell does she think she is? She can’t just come back. No, I still hate her. But then I let my thoughts wander. And I found myself imagining her and me together—again. This time it would be different. I would love her and she would love me. And only me. But I couldn’t very well just jump right into that. Plus… she had a boyfriend. I hated him. Two was my first real love. Slowly, I became friends with two again. Talking on the phone, hanging out, chillin at the water cooler—but it never happened. I’m glad it never did. Three and I, by now, were friends. We could hang out just us two. We didn’t, but we could have. That summer before ninth grade is when it was official. They were hence forth referred to as bob, but only by me.

High school began and things were awesome. Love interested bloomed from one, two and three, but not in that order. Two still had the upper hand; three was next, followed closely by one. As it failed with all of them, the idea of a relationship beyond friendship was pushed under the carpet. As high school progressed, one met four, making us more. I dated some random number, as two was with a string of read heads and three was with strangers. Four seems to be the only one to stay.

Soon after high school, three fell out of our lives. ‘Twas I, one, two and four—we were real cool. Then, again, as it seems, another seemed to slip through our fingers. But not before we meet five. Five is a cute girl in a normal life. She is pretty, funny, silly and driven. As I was saying, two began to fade. She became a mere memory even with our best efforts to keep her intact. All is well that ends well, though. I, one, four and five are having the time of our lives.

Of course, the numbers don’t stop at five. Our numbers have only gotten greater. There is six, the used-to-be curly headed fuck who we adore, caring, passionate and in the army, six is who we live for. There is seven, eight and nine, but they’re just siblings of one. Ten I met through a friend. She is pretty, silly and a bit of an alcoholic, but that is what we love most about her. She does things by year, perhaps because of some OCD she’s got going on. Yes, the numbers go on, too many to count. But who wants to spend time counting when we could spend time having fun? My number = adventure, and it is so much better than math.

On the occasion, I do miss the group formerly known as bob, but I don’t think they miss me. I try to keep in contact with three, but I feel as though she thinks she is better than us. But we really just want her to come back. And while I miss three a whole lot, I hope to never have to deal with two again. One phase of my life I am happy that it’s complete.

Not Till the Sky

Lets look back at the year. Lets turn our heads, open our eyes and see what we were. Who we were. What lessons we've learned. How we've grown.

People learn lessons everyday. Some lessons are for a guitar, as teenagers and middle aged men want to learn to play. Some lessons are harder learned. Lessons as "simple" as behavioral sciences of the schizophrenic mind, or as complex as trust. Those who learn these lessons have a pulse; they breath, walk, talk, eat, sleep. They are just like you and I. But what keeps those miraculous little muscles dancing?

The heart is a miraculous muscle. It not only pumps our blood for our own health, but it functions as an alarm as well. The heart alerts us when something is frightening. When things are glorious, exciting and scary. It tells us when we're in a place we shouldn't be. A single chest begins to pound when walking down a dark alley way, or in a house full of drugs. The heart also tells us when we know we're in the place we should be, whether it be among friends, or in the arms of a loved one. Have you ever felt that feeling of flight? That feeling of escape. The feeling one feels when words are whispered. Three simple words can take your breath away, but not because the lungs can no longer release the contractions they create, but rather because the blood is suddenly rushing from one end of your body, to the next. It has to pass through your chest; through your heart. Millions of cells are at work for three simple words. The same millions of cells are at work for the words that are never said. They work for those who never get to hear the words. For those who long to hear them. I love you.

We're all looking for one thing; that is something we've all got in common. Many artist write songs about the phenomenon, many groups of teenagers and young adults sing drunken songs about the concept. A brush is touched to a surface with the idea in mind. A dancer warms his body in preparation to glide across a stage. A father prepares a favorite meal, a mother leaves early from work, a dog wags his tail; all in the name of love.

But what is this thing we call love? Is it something you can buy? Is it something you make, borrow or steal? Does love expire? Even now my cursor blinks in search of a definition of the word. What is love?

Many people wake up everyday in hopes of finding the answer to that question. They clean the house, go grocery shopping, take the kids to school, rake the leaves, attend class, mail bills and letters, and ignore or embrace thousands of thoughts while doing it. Is it not always on one's mind? Subconscious, dormant, hidden from immediate thought. Love is what we're always thinking of. When will I meet him? When should I ask her. Will he say yes? What if she says no? Where should we go to dinner? I love her. I love him. I love you. I love you too. these are the subtext thoughts to all things said, thought, written, read and heard. But our question remains, What is love?

Is love not being able to keep someone out of one's mind? Having them always on the train that we call our thoughts? Riding through one's everyday, comfortably, with a pillow and a tasty drink? Is the absence of love, therefore, not having that person on one's mind? I don't think it is that simple. I feel as though love begins before that moment.

Every time one opens his or her mouth to say the words, "I love you," he or she is not only expressing the love for the person meant to hear it, but to him or herself. That sentence begins with the word, "I."

Love begins with oneself. The ability to love oneself is power. It is, as I believe, the greatest power there is. And this is because I believe love is what powers the world. One may hear the words, "Above all, I believe in love." Or, "All you need is love." Every one assumes that these words mean that we should all find someone to love, but what we're missing is that the one we should love the most, is ourselves. I'm sure that there is a biblical scripture denoting the same concept, but I'm not about to find it.

How can we share love, when we ourselves don't hold it. How can one have a best friend, when one doesn't get along with him or herself. I am my own best friend. I have the most fun with me. I'm always there in the times of need; my shoulder is the closest for my crying eyes to fall on. I'm present at those moments that we think of when we hurt, when we want to laugh, or when we're being attacked by Dementors.

I am excited to share what I have with someone else. Because if they can feel a fraction of what I'm capable of feeling for myself, that person will know that my love is honest. They will know that my love is true.

As strong as I am, and as ready to love as I think I am, I'll wait. I'll wait to go after you. I'm not ready. But I will be one day, and when that day comes, you can bet that I'll be at your doorstep.

Marvelous will happen again.

I owe it all to him.

No, I don't mean that literally, I'd like to say that I'm pretty great without him, and that I've got my own ways of giving back... But still.

I'll explain what the hell I'm talking about. This holiday season I've been more charitable than past years. I think it is because I actually have the money to this year. Last year I was so down on my coin that I made all my friends their gifts. This year I did it again, because I loved it, but this time, with the money I've saved, I've managed to give Christmas cheer to more people. I've got a better job and I spend less (arguable) money on myself and stupid things this year.

Hmmm... Maybe we should fast forward to a few weeks ago. I was walking through the union building at WSU when a hot coco machine caught my eye (best marketing tool ever). I stopped for a cup, knowing that you don't actually have to do whatever the hell those tables always want you to do. As I was pooring, I felt bad that I didn't even inquire as to why I'm getting this delicious free coco. Then I inquired as to why I was getting the delicious free coco. It turns out that the lovely people behind that purple table were promoting something called "the Angel Tree Program." Not unlike the "Giving Tree" where you take a paper flyer-ornament-thing (has the name of a child, age, and sizes, along with their wants and needs for Christmas). Anyway, you pick one and buy a gift for a needy child that would otherwise have nothing under the tree. I took two. I knew that I could afford it this year.

When I told my mother about it, she offered to help pay for it. She bought the clothes, and I bought the toys. This was cool because I was only planning on buying the toys. Anyway, on my way to the station the other day, it occurred to me that maybe we were only supposed to buy one of the gifts... As it was after Student Involvement Office hours, I consulted the inanimate "Angel Tree." Because the tree doesn't speak, it answered no questions. Instead, I picked up another child. I went shopping for them today. While out, I came across a blanket for a good price. It was so warm and fuzzy. I remembered that there was a child that needed a blanket on the tree. I bought the blanket. I get to take the last two children's gifts in tomorrow; I already took in my first two this afternoon.

This is all so helpful! I love it!

In addition to that, I donated 20 of my pay check to something about warming the soles of children (there was a shoe involved on the design of the flyer)... I wasn't exactly sure what it was, but it is all for a good cause!

No, I am not trying to toot my own horn, but I am trying to toot a Horn. Every time I donate, I think of Taylor Dewey Horn. He is so selfless. He is amazing and thoughtful; he is caring and giving. He will one day save this world from the thing it has become. It all starts with just knowing him. I have someone that I care because of. I hope that we've all got someone like that. Someone that makes us stronger and nicer and kinder and just all around better people.

Go out of your way to give someone else a Christmas this year. Please.

I know you read this...

I miss you.

In time.

It has officially been more than a year since I last saw him. A lot has happened in this past year. I've grown and changed a lot. I've got a stronger outlook on life, love and people. I've changed my life, I've changed my home, I've changed my oil, my sheets and my clothes. After all these things have changed, one thing hasn't. I, inside, still have the same desire to see him as I did one year ago. Nothing has changed the way I feel about this boy. I miss being able to say goodnight, it was my way of letting him know that I was thinking about him as I feel into my peaceful slumber. I miss waking up with a pleasant "good morning!" from him. I miss the hugs he gave me, and the time we shared together. Probably the thing I miss the most is when he would scrunch up his face. For some reason, I loved that.

He wants to hang out. I'm terrified. But I need to do this. If for no other reason, I need to be, at least, at peace with myself when he is in the room. I owe it to our friends that we share. If I ever actually get the opportunity to attend a party of theirs, I need to be able to be there and have fun with them. It also wouldn't hurt to finally have him as my friend. It is something that I've been wanting for such a very long time. I'm still scared shit less, though.

How I feel right now. You ask me how I feel right now? You want to know? You want to know how I feel... How I REALLY feel?

Ok.

First off, I am comfortable with myself. I like my body, with the exception of the fluff that will put a damper on hot tub season. I like to wear the clothes I own because I think they make me look good. I think I look good. Some might feel self conscious about their appearance... I'm just conscious. Aware. I know what is going on, but I am also ok with the fact that I can't change that. I know that I don't have perfect skin or eye brows. That is ok. If I see myself that way, then you see me that way.

Second, I like being alone. Mostly just because I don't have time to be with someone. Between work, school and homework, I am exhausted daily. That is not to say that I wouldn't mind having someone to cuddle with at night... But, honestly, even if I began to date someone, I feel that I may rush things (again) and it would just be another relationship over too soon. Yes, I like being alone. And what is more, I am good at it. I just need another blanket to protect me from the harshly frigid nights.

Third, I love going to school. I have felt that since I began a few years ago, school has gotten so much more fun and cool. I like seeing my friends everyday, I like learning all the things I am taught, and I love experiencing the incredible happenings that occur. That being said, I hate homework. I do it... but I usually do it right before it is due. I also hate my Spanish class, in addition to my History and Literature class. They suck.

Fourth, I like my job. I've always liked it. I am good at it. Everyone I work with is fun and cool and energetic. I've made some really great friends that I adore. I love that my work recognizes the hard work I do and they've given me raises and promoted me to shift leader. However, I hate when I do dumb things. Things that could have been avoided if I just put more thought into it, or spent more time analyzing the situation. I hate feeling dumb about my performance.

Fifth, I love my friends. Some of them are bitchy on occasion, and some of them are three hours late, but I love them. They make my world go round. I miss quite a few of them; I hope to change that. I want to see a lot of them more often than I do...

Sixth, I feel like the world is falling apart. Yes, we are actually making progress, but as I become more aware of the things going on on this Earth, it actually looks like we are getting worse. When I was little, nothing bothered me. I was so ignorant. My friends actually got me to tell my parents to vote for Bush. Luckily they saw that the opinion of a fourth grader was not valid and voted for Gore instead, but that just shows how little I knew! Now, I see war, death, violence, disease, poverty, hate, etc. It is a terrible place to live. And you can't escape it.

Finally, as always, I believe in the power of love.

I hope you got what you were looking for.

Higher Than Clouds

I know. I am aware. It is to be expected... And yet, when it happens again, I'll be surprised... Again.

A couple of days ago a friend from high school, Destree, posted on her FB page how she agreed with the new LDS president (What the hell happened to the old one?!). Packer was saying that man was put on this earth to replenish it-that lead to the subject of homosexuality. Because of this, Destree believes that gays are "unnatural and perverted." A few people commented and said either she was wrong or they agreed with her. I felt, naturally, that she is/was wrong. I put my cursor on the white box that said Comment here... and I clicked. I began to right. At first I didn't know how I wanted to approach the subject. I don't really like hearing the phrases, "I'm not gay but I still support them." I feel like no one ever said, "I'm not black but I think they should be able to share our water fountains." Isn't it obvious who is not black? And while it may not be as obvious, sexuality should not be defined in a defensive comment. So I began it with courage. "I'm gay," I said.

"I'm gay. I am not perverted. I don't feel I am unnatural. In fact, being the way I am is the most natural thing in the world for me." I went on saying what I believe and defining what is actually unnatural. I suggested that not all homosexuals are perverts and that most child abusers and sex offenders are "heterosexual." I ended my rant with a simple note. "I might add that we aren't looking to share our beliefs, we are merely looking for acceptance. Love has no gender."

Apparently, for Reese, another kid from high school, this did not fly. He began with, "Derek Williamson. Youre a dumb ass." Resisting the temptation to comment on the fact that he spelled you're wrong, I continued. Reese spoke of many things. None of which made sense. He got belligerent, violent, and rude. He spoke very highly of himself and his church (LDS, of course) and called me a faggot in passing. He demonstrated the utmost foul way of going about being a good person. Mind you, I cannot say I have ever really liked or disliked Reese. We were never friends. We went to high school together, but we never actually spoke. I found it funny, though, when he knocked up our Senior Class President in the back seat of a car in the parking lot of BYU, where she had a full ride scholarship. Why, you ask, did I find this funny? Because it is always funny when a dumb-ass gets pregnant! Haha, and he called me the dumb one?

His comment was not unnoticed, Adam, (another former class mate) took the more calm approach to explaining what Destree was trying to say. He said his church believes in marriage and family and all that great stuff that people believe that I will never have. Let me tell everyone here something, I'll be damned if I allow society to determine whether or not I will be allowed to have a husband or to start a family. I will be a far more fit parent than Reese, or my brother, or the 16 year old crack head in the alley.

Religion is the opium of the people. They thrive on it. They flock to it is going on sale the day after Thanksgiving. Without faith, people fail.

I believe in love. Above all things, I believe in love. With out it, I fail.