Sunday, December 4, 2011

The Closest I Have Ever Been to Smoking Pot

Greetings from the Big Apple, home of the most prideful people in America. Johnny Palmer came over to Catherine’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. Mr. Palmer informed me that he was going to the Diamond District of New York City to buy his woman a ring. He invited me to go and I was kind of sick of seeing the same sights in Boston. I had been there three different times, and as Benjamin Franklin once stated, “Fish and cities stink after three times,” and so with that guiding statement I ventured to the city by the bay, the city of brotherly love, New York City.
Johnny and I purchased separate bus tickets. Johnny told me that he sat next to a Mexican Women from Texas. He was able to speak Spanish to the woman for the majority of the time, but was unable to fall asleep. I, on the other hand, had the chance to sit next to a person whose gender I am still unsure of. This was due to the fact that she (because I am confident but not certain that it is a she) wore basketball sweats and a hoodie. Mysteriously, she had headphones on over her hood. This muffled the sound of the music. In an attempt to hear the sound she cranked the volume on the head phones all the way up. After eating a large plate of McDonald's and blowing her nose on the paper napkin she was eating with, the woman turned up her music and fell asleep on my lap. (I am attempting to not be a hater and I hope that is not the feeling that I am giving off, because I really did not find this that annoying. I thought to myself this would make a great part in my journal and so I enjoyed the experience. Again I do not want to be a hater. I am not at all upset with this woman. Merely entertained).
Eventually, my four hours of matronly assisting this woman in falling asleep came to a close and we arrived at the windy city. From the very beginning of my time in the city, I was completely overwhelmed by the brabadingnagian structures that surrounded me. New York is not like any other city in America. Philadelphia, Boston, and Los Angeles have their skyscrapers, but they are avoided simply by moving a couple blocks in any direction. The buildings of New York City, however, are endless. The streams of people are endless. It is fast-paced. There is something appealing about the place though. It is a place that is so foreign to most outsiders that it allows them to feel as though they are in a different country or on a different planet altogether.
Johnny suggested that instead of going ring shopping with me that I go ahead and explore around the region. It took no persuading for me to agree with this suggestion. If there is one thing that I enjoy in life it is exploring cities alone. My method of exploration is usually quite simple. Start walking with a simple destination in mind, but do not be hesistant to switch plans on a whim.
I decided that I wanted to try some Chinese food from Chinatown and so I boarded the subway and headed downtown. I asked a gentleman in a Yankees ball cap where Chinatown was and he told me that it was at a certain stop. I asked where that certain stop was and he explained where it was. He then asked if I "wasn’t from around here." “No,” I responded, “I am from Los Angeles, but I like it here.” The man then went into the New York monologue. It was enjoyably filled with the pride of a New Yorker. It was this man's duty to defend his home territory. In every regard he explained to me why New York was the best. I am fine with this and I was not going to tell him that I was more partial to L.A. He did ask if weed was better in L.A. It was at that time that I wished that I had some marijuana to show my fellow New Yorker just how superior L.A. was. I wished that we could partake of one another's reefer to decide which was the best. I am certain that Los Angeles would be better. That’s what we are known for.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

The Two Truths in this World

There are but two truths in this world. First, we all die. It is an inevitable bridge that cannot be avoided. The second great truth of this world is this: If you ever decide to volunteer for BYUSA and are placed in charge of an event, you can know without a shadow of a doubt that something will go wrong. I am doing the "Battle of the Bands" that will be happening tonight. I don't know how many people we will get there. I am hoping for two hundred. If I get two hundred I will be very happy. This is what happens when the event is scheduled during the day of a football game and when Thanksgiving break is right around the corner. I've spent more than three hundred hours on this stupid thing.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

The Sexiest Thing That a Woman Can Do

I had a short stint as a dating advice blogger. It didn't last long. I think I posted twice on the blog and then I was chased out of the dating blogger realm right after that. I guess that is what you get when you write about how a woman shoudn't be surprised when her man is no longer interested in dating her after if he goes for a kiss and is rejected and that living a life without dating is a better and more fulfilling life than dating. I don't ever think that I have suffered from the "prince charming" syndrome. I suppose that is because I am not Prince Charming.
I share this because I don't want any of my readers to expect that I am going to say the slightest thing romantic regarding the sexiest thing that a woman can do. That would be against my blogging nature. I would be a blogging hypocrite were I to say that the sexiest thing that a woman can do is smile and kiss you on the cheek after you kiss her. You could consider me a blogging charlatan were I to state that a woman who runs up to hug you unexpectedly is a dime piece. People would perceive me a phony were I to state that the sexiest thing that a woman can ever do is tell you that she loves you in a rainstorm and then kiss you when she is soaking wet.
No, none of those are me as a blogger and so I will share with you the sexiest thing that a woman can ever do.
The sexiest thing that a woman can ever do is not finish her meal when you have taken her out to dinner. There, I said it. Now I will not be surprised if I walk out of my condo and am tarred and feathered by an angry mob of women. I will not be the slightest bit surprised if I am whipped with a cat of nine tails by all the members of the Anti-Austens. I will not be surprised if Meg Ryan, Julia Roberts, Anne Hathaway, Reese Witherspoon, and Sandra Bullock bury me up to my shoulders in sand and stone me.
Now allow me to explain myself. I do not do this for some vain purpose. Not finishing your meal does not mean that I think that you're sexy because I think you will starve yourself for the sake of saving a few pounds. In fact I do not care one bit. It has nothing to do with the woman herself.
I do it because I am a miserly fellow. To my very core, I am a miserly fellow. I love saving money.
You may be wondering, "why then would I want someone to not finish that which I have paid for?" The answer is quite simple. For quite some time I would get upset when a woman would not finish her meal. However, as time has progressed and as dates have progressed, I have become a little bit wiser.
If there are two things that I love in the world they are good food and leftovers. "Waste not, want not," as my grandmother would say. Consider this: My date has the appetite of a small bird. Then the check comes, and I simply ask for a leftover bag from the waiter and begin to shovel both leftovers into one doggy bag. I then take the doggy bag home and eat it the next day.
While eating the leftovers the next day I think one of two things. If the date was good, I think about how great the date was. If the date was bad then I think to myself, "well at least I have these leftovers."
You can imagine my horror when last week my date finished her meal. A completely normal thing to do. I cannot blame her in the slightest. Though all the logic in the world be on her side, how dare she finish that meal. I was looking forward to eating that food the next day. She was a good date but I don't know if I can go out with her again. I am one hungry man.

So ladies, until next time...
be sexy.

Friday, November 4, 2011

The Long Walk of Shame

The road that he was traveling down was paved with good intentions,
But so was hell.
He turned left onto 700 North
How could this happen? How did this happen?
He really did have good intentions.
He turned right on university avenue
He just harmlessly flirted with a cute girl, like he had hundreds of times before. How was he supposed to know?
But the fact was he knew she was a girl. Not a woman but the girl.
He turned right onto canyon river road.
Perhaps providence would smile upon him and he would be hit by a rogue Frito Lay truck.
There was no Frito Lay truck.
He swore this would never happen again,
No not after the last time
By this time he had reached bulldog blvd.
The light was red but he drove forward hoping that there would be a Frito Lay truck going the opposing way.
There was no Frito Lay truck going the opposing way.
He reached Helaman Drive and turned right
He wished that he could deny the fact. He wished that he could say he didn’t know
But he knew.
He knew from the beginning that she was
He reached Hinckley Hall and he turned right and parked.
He got out of the car and began to take that ever so short walk across the street
While it was a short walk across the street,
It was a long walk of shame
He looked for that Frito Lay truck
but there was no rogue Frito Lay truck
And then picked the freshmen up for the date.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011


The closest thing that I have ever had to a functioning and real relationship ended on Saturday. The sad thing is that we weren't even exclusively dating. I liked this girl and that usually does not happen. In fact with the exception of one time I have never had this happen. Very rarely do I like an indivdual. Very rarely do I ever remain in a relationship long enough to like a girl. However, this time I think that it really happened. I really think that I liked her and in the end I got shafted. This in many cases would cause me to be upset, but I dont know what happened with me, but for the most part I am not upset.
Allow me to explain. I asked this girl if things between us were ever going anywhere. She replied with a surprising no. When I asked why she quoted her marriage and family therapy teacher who said that when you see that there is a major issue early on in a relationship you should avoid that relationship.
   When I asked what the problem in the relationship was she recalled a discussion that we had a week prior when I explained that I was stressed and when I was stressed this stress happens to boil over to other parts of my life. It tends to shift the relationship that I have with others and the relationship that I have with myself. She asked me to change it. I said that I couldn't. I wish that I could, but I cannot. Not in the way that she wanted it. Immediate and direct.
  The next week I was eating fish taco's with her and she ended it. Due to that reason. Because I could not change the fact that stress and anxiety does not change for me. It is not like a switch that I can turn on and off. It comes and it goes and I am just beginning to learn about how I work and how to manage things.
Unbeknownst to her she ended things in perhaps my most feared way. I have always feared that I would like someone and she would end it due to my depression. Change with me does not come immediately. Depression has been a constant in my life. stress that exists with that depression exists within my life is a constant. I have come to the conclusion that try as I might there will be issues that tear me up. There will be stresses that I will have.
For those of you who have never experienced such stresses and depression I wish that you never do. However, I wish you to be far more understanding of it then you already are. It is not something that can be controlled. It is not a character flaw. It is a real issue. It is a problem. For those of you who do deal with the issue, which out of twenty seven readers that I have following me I am bound to have one, I suppose you know what I am talking about.
And so you may be wondering why I am saying I am not sad about the thing I feared most happening to me. Well I don't know really. I don't really understand. There are a variety of reasons. With time and separation comes realization. I realized that this girl had her own problems. That perhaps she was not as infallible as I had once perceived her to be. Also, that experience taught me valuable lesson and I am glad that it occurred. It allowed me to come to a realization within my own life. I realized that I need someone who is understanding. I need someone who is willing to assist and help. Independence is important, but I need someone who can understand what I am going through. I am just glad to realize that she is not the one for me.
However, I think the greatest thing that I have realized and the greatest reason as to why I am not sad deals with this fact. My greatest fear has been realized and the event that occurred was far easier than living with that fear. If there is something that I have learned throughout my life it is this. That my greatest fears of failure are far more burdensome then the action. If the issue occurs again I know that I will survive. I know that I will get over it.
Well I apologize for not being funny enough. I promise that next time you tune in you will see a far different Rom.
Until next time

I hope your that the person you are dating/married to ends up breaking up with you so you can gain a valuable life lesson like I have.....

Just Kidding ; - )

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Austin Heywood and Bratwursts

I hate stress. I loath it. It harms my personality, destroys my confidence, and kills my happiness. I suffer from stress tremendously. Anxiety is as much a part of my life as, school, dating, work, or friends. This is because my stress and anxiety comes from school, dating, work, and friends.
This last week was especially stressful and difficult for me. My good friend just broke up with his girlfriend and when this happens to him he usually complains. Complaints lead to me attempting to solve issues, but it is difficult to remain happy when you hear issues that you can't solve. You empathize with that person and that empathy ends up dragging you down to the state that your friend finds himself in.
School has managed to give me a plate full of assignments, tests, and essays for me to study. I spent a couple of days studying for a stats test and a couple more writing a paper for my class. Women do not seem to treat me any better either. Relationships never tend to do so. They always seem to demand and demand until you break. Work is good but extra curricular activities simply are not.
 I hate to complain to all of my tender followers, but I am setting the stage for something fantastic. Friday morning i had had enough. I walked into class red eyed, unshaven, and unbathed. It appeared as though I had seen death. After I received word of another assignment in my European revolutions class I began laughing like a lunatic. I then excused myself and tried to figure out the purpose to my life. At that point in time, nothing in life mattered. I could not do another thing. I was ready for the heaven to take my soul and the earth to take my body. I walked home trying to figure out what had happened to my sanity...
I suddenly had an epiphany. It was strange, but it was good. I hoped in my car and drove. Where I was to go, No man Kneweth, but I just went and I drove. As I drove I realized that I was driving away from all of my stresses and worries. Nothing could disturb me. Nothing could harm me. I was a man who could determine his own will. I was a force to act, not to be acted upon. "free at last free at last."
I eventually made my way up to Salt Lake City where I called my friend Austin up and treated him to a delicious Bratwurst from "Seigfrieds" a german deli." For the first time I was free from the cares of my world. I told Austin that we could talk about anything besides, "school, women, work, and BYUSA." He complied and I just enjoyed talking abouut philosophy. It was great. It was life changing. I think its important and even vital to my sanity to shed the stresses of a regular life and to just do something to enjoy life. I will from now on escape to wherever I want at whatever time I want.

From Siegfrieds with Love

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

arguing in Math Class

Why do students argue with far more knowledgeable professors to prove their point in classes that are objective? Math is a subject where right is right, and professors are right 99.5% of the time. But when I think that I am right, I argue ninety five percent of the time... All of the time. I know he is probably right, but I know that I am right.
This post is inspired by the fact I am sitting next to a Korean and his ESL tutor. As time goes on the Korean, who at best speaks a shell of pigeon English, is trying to argue who to pronounce the word cat. He is certain that it is pronounced "carrt." I don't get it. However, he is as sure as "sura cana be." However, I dont think he tutor, who dresses like sailor moon, seems to mind the fact that this Korean is arguing the fact. I think its more of a turn on to her than watching racy Anime cartoons.
that is all

P.S. My professor gave me a B on my last European Revolutions paper. When I looked at the comments underneath the grade they read, "Great Paper... Do you know what editing is?" As a result I have decided to read my blog posts and papers after I write them. I am open to criticism. Make sure you read them.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Things That I dont understand

I promise that I will never have a rancherito's burrito again. I swear. Whenever I do, I regret it. As long as I live I will never touch another rancherito burrito. 
    I have said this about everytime I have ate at this restraunt. However, there is always some reason why I go back there. There is som e craving that occurs within my mind that convinces me that eating a burrito from this place will taste good. It is as if the recollection of me attempting to scarf down a tortilla covered in lard, stuffed with steak, an entire onion, and four cloves of garlic, suddenly vanishes from my mind and the thought of good mexican food replaces the truth... But in the end I always am disappointed and my bowels are filled with something more than compassion. 
This is one phenomena that occurs that I dont understand. How does the mind trick itself into believing something that is not true. Other examples of this phenomena include; 

Going to Sea World. After about two hours visiting Sea World you realize that you have just spent fifty dollars to see Budweiser advertisements and the occasional orca whale. 

Hanging out with a girl that likes you who you have kissed. This hasn't occurred to me in a while but I think everyone has had this one at least once. You are not into the girl you recently kissed, but think to yourself if you end up hanging out with girl there is no way that you are gonna kiss her. three hours and a hicky later you feel like a complete jerk for continuing to lead on a girl that you don't like. 

Watching the latest history channel documentary. The catchy phrases and interesting tag lines somehow always convince you to watch and waste your time learning about how the zodaic killer may have been the black dahlia murderer as well. You as well as everyone else who is watching this show knows that this is neither true nor important. You finish the show and feel as though you have wasted an hours worth of time that you will never et back. 

Feel free to add any of yours. 

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Knock it, Not Rock It

Here is a Wikipedia article that counter revolutionary Will Beback  has already deleted. To Will I share this with you... Open your mind and unfetter yourself from that which has kept your colleagues bound for thousands of year. My mind was once as yours, confused and bewildered yet through heavens grace's I have managed to find the truth. I have managed to see what needs to be seen. The great and honorable Andy Romney has opened my eyes to the truth... And the truth has set me free."

Knock it not rock it

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Knock It Not Rock It : Knock it not Rock it, a sociocultural movement based primarily on the rise of unnecessary and unwarranted social norms and the effect they play on the economy and society. While there have been many failed attempts regarding the creation of the "Knock it, not Rock it" movement, the first successful movement of the "knock not rock" revolution occurred in 2010. "Knock not Rock" represents a shift in the ideals of society. Though American in origin, many failed attempts of knock not rock have occurred. These times include but are not limited to the French Revolution, the rise of the Roman Empire, the assassinations of Julius Cesar, Abraham Lincoln, and Archduke Franz Ferdinand. In 1212 it is predicted that time magazine will write an article concerning the racial, political and social movement called "knock it not rock it."
How to Knock it not Rock it For hundreds of years society has depended upon various handshakes to present various feelings of emotion. One of the most popular handshakes in contemporary society is "the Rock." Where the man giving the handshake clenches his fists and goes to bump the other mans fist. Thus the two hands bump together as though they are two rocks hitting one another. Knocking each others hands is similar to "rocking" one another's hands. However, as John Quincy Adams, the fifth president of the United States, once stated concerning this issue "the small differences make all of the differences." Instead of pounding the fists in the form of a rock the individual giving the hand shake turns his fist straightway toward's heaven and acts as if his clench fist is knocking a door. Thus the action is completed and the contract between friends is completed.
'Historical Attempts to promote "knocking not rocking"' Revolutionaries throughout the centuries have attempted to institute "knock it not rock it" throughout their society. However all have continuously failed until now. 'French Revolution: Following the storming of the bastille in July of 1789, the revolutionary French government was facing a divide amongst many of its members. As time progressed this divide grew greater and greater until many individuals called for the bringing back of absolutist ruler and tyrant Loius XVI. However, in 1791 Jacobin, Jean Paul Marat, gave a rousing speech in front of the revolutionary assembly. During this assembly many great and noble things were stated in an attempt to preserve the revolution. None, however, so noble as his final words which were "Frappez-il pas le rock" which interpreted means "Knock it not rock it." Marat then made a fist and knocked jaque loius Danton's fist. Thunderous applause then occurred. The revolution was saved. However, others, such as maximllion robspierre feared this radical changed and as a result had Marat murdered in his bathtub full of oatmeal. Other revolutionaries feared the same fate as Marat and therefore never used the "knock" again. Rise of Roman Empire and assasination of Julius Cesar Following the crossing of the Rubican Julius Cesar turned to his then fearful troops and proclaimed "Pulsate non saxo" which is interpreted as "knock not rock." his troops then gained courage and began to knock one another's fists. Soon the first ever Roman Empire was created with the inventor of the "knock it not rock it" as the head of the empire. Brutus and other's fearing the power of the "knock it not rock it" movement planned and carried out an assasination on Cesar on the ides of March. While "ette tu brute" is commonly stated Brutus' response is relatively unkown. However, Brutus Responded "Pulsate et timui" or "I was afraid of the knock." 


So I have been falling behind in school. I have ADHD. Thats what I do. I am intelligent. I know that I am and my grades usually denote this. However, this semester has been absolute hell in regard to my ability to focus and concentrate. I have been doing well, but I still have been falling behind. I have been really lagging in regard to my blog posts and everything else that I enjoy doing. It has been about six months since the last time I took adderall. I have never been a consistant user, but I used it enough that I got semi-used to it. For the first hour that I took it nothing really changed. A little while later......

I FELT like I could wrestle a Hump Back Whale.
I looked around for a elementary school that was on fire so I could rescue a classroom full of adolescents.
I Think I could have Skinned freaking Superman.
I could have gone on a crime spree up the golden coast and back again.
I feel like I could have fought Paul Bunyon

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Raising Arizona

this is an excerpt of my experience in Long Beach. 
well eating waffles was great, but  what was about to happen next was a little bit more frustrating then having our own minature racial inequality experience. Father and mother decided to leave me to my own devices and actually spend some time together. I was thankful for that. I decided that it would be in my best interest for me to continue the tradition of skateboarding around cities to find something cool and to explore the ghetto's of every major metropolitin area in America.
                Before I could get on my skateboard I thought it important to move my car from the Roscoe's parking lot before angry waitresses sought to further their prejudices by burning my mothers mercury sabel. And so I moved my car to a parking lot where I had to pay to park. However, I was on vacation and I was happy to do it. I paid the meter machine and then grabbed my skateboard. I was almost about take off when I heard a "hey where do you pay for  this thing?"
I turned around and there stood a porpus man wearing a button up T Shirt, shorts, sandals and socks. His hair was long and grey and ran to about the bottom of his neck. In a vain attempt to make it look a tad bit more presentable he had gelled his hair back.
                I quickly addressed the fellow with a cheerful explanation of how to purchase a ticket. While this man looked slightly unkempt and undesireable, I had no issues with him. I had no problems with who he was or who he is.  so of course I would direct him to the place that he needed to go. After giving a quick directions to him the man looked at me and then replied, "Man California sucks! This place is aweful! I wouldn't live here if you paid me!" Suddenely everything that I had previously felt about this man was erased and a feeling of contempt entered the very bottom of my soul.
                I responded quickly but casually, "where do you live sir?" the man looked at me said, "Phoenix Ari," and before the letters "Zona" could be pronounced I was peddling away from this ignorant chap. I did so to prevent a conflict that would undoubtedly turn out with murder. I bit my tongue. Now I unlike many people I know am not a hater. I do write sarcastic blog posts, but it is only because these posts are entertaining to a wide variety of people. I usually do not hate on things and for the most part I just allow things to exist as they are. However, when someone so ignorantly insults the land that i love I will hate. I will protect the name of california and will not have it dragged through sleeze and sute. I will preserve the name of california until the day that I die.
                were i to have addressed the man it would have gone something like this.  Sir you are the antithesis of everything that is california. Your Gecco hawaii T shirt scremes that you are indeed inept. You dress and your appearance leads one to believe that you have somehow managed to escape from an "Aha" music video. Did you just wake up from a twenty year coma because your sense of style would make it appear so and if you said that you just did I would not find it hard to believe. Your hair screams that you were a college dropout and are now attempting to make your living off of selling used cars and producing music for crappy bands. It is obvious that you have decided to use Elmers glue that you stole from your illigitamate grandson's day care for hair product, rather then spending an extra fifty five scents to pick up a bottle of LA looks from Walmart. Please give me the name of your hairdresser so I can do the world a favor and slip arsenic into her next wine cooler. Great Scott are those actually chino sandals that you are wearing. You do not appear to be a hiker. You do not appear to be an outdoorsey individual. Why on earth are you wearing chino sandals. Whats more why on earth are you wearing socks with those chino sandals. you do not appear to be black and those sandals certainly do not appear to be Nike Jordan sandals and it is obvious you do not have a pair
                Dear sir you apidomize your state. Your virulent reaction toward some of the small negative aspects of this state reflects the envy you have towards it. No man in his right mind would make such a fuss over the fact that you had to pay parking when you were in the middle of downtown unless that man was trying to find fault with a city or a state. Its not my fault that the light bulb salesman of america decided to have their annual convention here in Long Beach. No one is forcing you to come to this state. It not my fault that the large business you work for didn’t want to have their convention in the middle of the god forsaken desert. It is not my fault that they would prefer being in a place that has moderate tempterature an appealing climate and an innumerable amount of sights to see.  So why sir are you acting so bent out of shape about being in the best state in the union? I don’t have to gloat that I am from California. California just does the talking for me. Lets be honest, Arizona is the netherlands of the United States. Nothing really great or life changing has com out of the state. So Sir I say go back to your volunteer minute man station and shoot some illegal immigrant who is attempting to make a better life for himself. Maybe you can feel better about yourself that you stopped some man attempting to feed his family by working as a migrant farmer in your state (I hope you are sensing my hatred for minute man and any ignorant bafoon that would attempt to prevent a colonizer from having a better life). I thank you and your state for producing the most inept presidential candidate since Spirow Agnew. 
Now friends I do not hate arizona, but if you attempt to place your state above my own in an  unwaranted fashion I have a bone or two to pick with you. Arizona undoubtedly has some good qualities (like producing great drinks such as mucho mango and watermelon juice) and I do not want to hate on it too bad. However, I felt it a responsibility to protect the reputation of my state.
Until then
Raise Arizona

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Sit Down

I do not intend this to be a blog about BYU football, but it just might become that. Today I was walking out of the Wilkinson center and spotted a table with a football helmet and a flag that said rise up. To the right of this flag was the most meat head looking coach standing there asking everyone to sign his rise up flag. I observed from a distance and I was not spotted by this coach who is still attempting to relive his glory days as a once relatively good starter for the BYU football Cougars. The flag was littered with signatures of people who still supported their BYU football Cougars. Occasionally the coach would yell, "hey man Rise Up." I then walked away.
 This is the absolute most asinine thing that I have ever before witnessed. Meat-head football coach, how dare you pollute the scenery of this already crappy looking campus. Its bad enough that I have to go to school in a campus which is an jumbled mess of the worst architecture that the fifties, sixties, and seventies had to offer. I thought BYU was improving when they knocked down Deseret towers and did renovations on Heritage halls, but you here with one table measuring a foot and a half in width and three week in length have managed to make up for all of the positive changes that this place has made in the past five years.
 As for you flag you can go ahead and impale it up Braden Brown's hind parts. You actually want me to sign a rise up flag? After the game you played on Saturday night you expect me to support your team. If I sign that flag will Jake Heaps magically stop fumbling the ball? If I sign your flag will that magically make Bronco Mendenhall stop wearing the same Band of Brothers Tshirt that he has been wearing for the past three seasons now? If so I will gladly sign it, but you football coach, wearing your oakley sunglasses and BYU gym shorts, know as well as I do that these things will not come to pass if I sign this flag. The only thing that I could hope for is that signing this flag will allow me to get a refund for my all sports pass.
Am I a Cougar fan? Yes I am. But when you play a little bit worse then the combined members of the general auxilary board of the church could have don't expect me to sign your flag. If I did so I would be signing a commitment to mediocrity. I'd be approving piss poor performance.
  And so readers of my blog I will tell you what I am going to do. I am going to go to the game tomorrow night with a paper bag over my head. I will support my team, but I am ashamed of what they are. 
Those who are ashamed of what the Cougars are should do the same.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Cows, Naked Hippies, and Sarah Holden

Greetings from Spanish Fork Canyon Utah, "home of the Spanish Fork hotpots." As I have stated in blogs previous since school has started my ability to find stories that are worthwhile have diminished greatly. It is no small wonder than that when "The Creator" Sarah James Holden (I gave her the name the creator because she inspired me to write a blog) invited me to go with her to the Spanish Fork hotpots I immediately accepted in a hope to find some small story that I could write about. Normally I would ask what the Spanish fork hotpots were, where they were, who we were going with, and how we would get there. However, I have been lacking a story like a prisoner of war in the Japanese province of the Battan is lacking food, shelter, and clean living. Which is to say a lot. I figured that hot pots would yield some sort of inspiring experience. I know that some of my readers like Christine (shout out given) are just dying for more stories.

Well truth be told nothing that amazing happened. While we were approaching the turnoff for the Spanish Fork Hotpots we just happened to run into a group of irate hefers. No I do not mean large women, I actually mean large cattle. These wild or semi wild bovine's were angry as angry gets. This was partially due to the fact that they had a few nursing calves and were not too excited to see their little ones threatened by man made vehicles. The car that Sarah, I, her best friend from high school, and a random missionary that she knew from Romania, were in would probably have lost in a head to head matchup. These cows were some angry animals. Luckily we managed to move past the cow and get to the road for the hot springs. However our voyage was disturbed thrice other time by the same cows.

Anyway we began to hike to the hot springs. The hike was about two and a half miles there and another two and a half back. It was a good little job and despite the fact that three members of our party only had one thing in common (that is being Sarah James Holden's friend) the company also was enjoyable. Eventually we made it to the hot springs.

Now this has been a pretty crappy story so far. In fact I would venture to state that it hasn't been a story at all. Rather I believe this has been more of a boring recounting. The remainder of the story is no story at all. Instead it is a ephinay that I had. We eventually arrived at the hot springs. We walked past the lower hot springs where a hippie couple was bathing and made our way to the upper springs. Before the hot springs there is a large boulder blocking the view of oncoming people. At least that is what the boulder appears to be. However, to me that boulder is evidence that there is a creator (not of the blog, but of the world) and he loves me. Now readers you may be wondering why this boulder covering the hot springs is a sign that there is in fact a deity. I will soon tell you. As I climbed up to the second hot springs there in front of my eyes stood not one hippie but two hippies. Not only were these hippies hippies but they were old hippies. But not only were they old hippies, but the man was a naked old hippie. He was not startled. He had heard our bantering for the past little while and decided to grab some clothing, but he had not put the clothes fully on. By the time Sarah and the others arrived he had his shorts on.

Now the reason why I knew that this was evidence that there was a creator was the fact that I saw probably the oldest, ugliest, hairiest women I ever have seen right next to him. She had luckily managed to place her top and bottom on before we arrived. Seeing a naked old man really is not that infrequent of a gig for me. I go to the gym a lot and the old men there always seem to be naked whenever I enter into the locker room. However, were I to have seen that woman I would have been blind. Luckily I have been preserved. This indeed is a tender mercy.

However, I have decided that its time that I shed my clothes for a little while. Next week for a story I will tell you my journeys while being a naked hiker.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Searching For a Story

School has cock blocked any stories that are good. The adventures that have once made my blog rich with excitement are no more. What is left is the Ro Jo attempting to make it through his final year with reasonably high marks. I am also attempting to get into the Teach For America program and so that takes a grip of time. There is only so much to talk about after nine hours or so of studying. is a difficult experience. I love blogging. I love writing about random things that happen in my life, but how much random stuff can you talk about when most of your day is spent underground in the second floor of the Harrold B Lee Library. I mean I could write about how rediculous the "you gotta be a scholar" music video is. Or how I dont understand why the library has decided to spend at least three thousand dollars on tv's that only air commercials about the library but that would get dull. I could rant about the woman in my Utah history class who tries to out talk the teacher but I would get too mad. So I just go on not writing. I am hoping that my weekends will yield some sort of literary fodder, but I dont know.

Saturday, September 10, 2011


Don't ever become a BYU football fan.
I am one.
I can say that.
In the words of preacher from the Restoration DVD, "you can expect coldness and darkness for the rest of your lives" if you are a BYU fan. I love my cougars, but lets be honest they are always on the brink of achievement. They flirt with, but never are the great team that we always want them to be. These are the worst types of teams to root for. They are good enough to get you to believe that they might make a run for a BCS bowl and then they will lose some crappy game or something of the likes.
But really what are we to expect. We are for all intensive purposes a group of privileged untalented anglo-saxons attempting to compete with athletes. For who we are we are pretty dang good.
I think that it is our religious nature that makes us believe that we are actually as good as other teams. I think we believe if we have faith we shall overcome. However, when it really comes down to it the game of football has nothing to do with faith. It has everything to do with talent. So I believe that we who are BYU football fans should be like Paul and "glory in our tribulation." (I have paul on my mind right now. I'm teaching in church tomorrow and hes the main lesson).

and who knows maybe in a couple of years we'll run the table and do something great. I remain faithful even though my faith has not a single thing to do with the cougs success. 

Monday, September 5, 2011

Thoughts Regarding BYU Professors

Oh Come my children and you shall here the fateful semester that causes fear.
A's  if in dreams, F's if in life
The greatest thing I can hope for during this semester is a half decent wife
Why the sorrow do you ask?
A simple answer really professor's with ego's who make you task.
Sweat, slave, and lose sleep
Placing taxing burdens upon your back
like you've loaned money from a shark and your in too deep.
Summer is over and there is no time to slack
just time to whine, cry, and unpack

Now it is time to address the future twenty citizens of the moon colony Romneyia. Friends there is no greater evil in this world than a professor who assigns too much homework. If Dante's Inferno were to have been correctly translated I believe that there actually would be an either ring of hell. Brutus and Judas Iscariot are actually only on the second lowest level of hell. I sincerely believe that a professor who is so consumed with his ego and so consumed with his class as to assign eight page papers due each week of the semester along with one hundred and eighty pages of reading a week, deserves a special punishment in hell. I believe that he should be cast out to the lake of fire and brimstone. Lest he repents, he should be thrust to where there is weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. How dare any professor make the lives of his students a living hell. How heartless can you be? How can you expect your students to enjoy life when they sit at home on Friday night not because they don't have a date on Friday night or they do not have a friend to be with on Friday night. Rather they spend their entire life working on projects for a professor. What a pathetic and vain existence that the students of BYU are confined to.
   We attempt to come forth to learn and go forth to serve, but all that really happens is we come forth to waste our lives away in front of a computer monitor and we go forth with a menial job that has nothing to do with our degree. What good are straight A's if at the end of the day you want to cut yourself with a straight razor? 
 Regular professors pale in comparison to religion professors as well. The mere fact that I am being graded upon my personal spirituality and my relationship with God is not only appalling, but it is unethical and unchristian. It is totalitarian like in practice. How can someone with no religious authoirty over myself dictate my scripture study? It is wrong, It is sick, and it is detrimental to the spiritual growth of everyone in a classroom.
    I walked into my Book of Mormon class a week ago and was informed that I was to read half of the Book of Mormon in two weeks. The man then replied, "you can grade yourself on how you did and if you read the material in its entirety.... But remember this liars burn in hell!" Immediately I wanted to shout out that so to do religion professors, but I did not. What a sick and unethical practice. I believe that the average student going to BYU is attempting to live his life in a correct manner. I believe that he wants to do what is right. He wants to obey the council of the church and get good grades, so he can get a good job, so he can provide for his family. However, when a student is placed in a situation where he must choose over his potential future career (which entails providing for his family) and telling a lie can you blame him for choosing to lie? Is it his fault that he must write over a hundred pages of essays this semester and read more than two thousand pages of literature? Is it his fault that he works?  Would you be upset with him if he choose to lie? I think not. I hope not. How dare a religion professor (whose job is about as easy as you can get) assign him half of a book of holy writ to read in the first two weeks of class. \
The sins of your students my dear religion professor are placed to your charge and so you shall go to the tenth level of hell where all other teachers as equally as egotistical and prideful as you will go.

What does the tenth level of hell entail you ask? a punishment far worse then having half of your body in ice and the other half being repeatedly devoured by Satan.

I will attempt to describe it.

In the tenth level of hell you are trapped in the DMV. You are eagerly awaiting the chance to get to the window because you have something more important (which is anything in the entire world) to attend to. While waiting rerun's of Maury and Jerry Springer are playing on the television screen. You are sandwiched in between an exceptionally large Latino woman and a ninety year old man who has lost all control of his bowel movements. He has a colastomy bag but it ruptures every hour on the hour. occassionally your number is called and you go up to the woman in the DMV. She is middle aged and mad becuase her husband has just left her for someone else. You can't blame her for being upset, but she just takes out her failed marriage on you. You simply sit there and take it. Eventually you get frustrated and she uses what little power she has over her life to tell you that you have waited in the wrong line and need to go to another one. You repeat this experience for eternity.

Professors this is the hell that awaits you if you choose to be too hard.
With warning

Thursday, September 1, 2011


My blog has reached twenty people. I would just like to thank you twenty people for loving me enough to follow my blog. No greater kindness has ever been bestowed upon my shoulders than you twenty choosing to read my blog publicly. When I am famous, rich, and successful I will not forget you. Because you twenty individuals have chosen to follow my blog you will receive the following gifts

A spot on my spacecraft when the comet comes to demolish earth in 2012

Free tickets to my first NBA game

a handshake

A visit to the white house when I become president

You will become twenty of the 144,000 chosen and hand selected to make it to paradise after life. (to your left you can see a depiction of Jehovah's Witnesses art and imagine that these are some of the people you will be spending the rest of eternity with).

and an autographed picture of myself posing as Tom Sellick.


Monday, August 29, 2011

Waffles on the Back of the Bus

    Greetings from the shores of long beach, "where Latino's, blacks, and whites mix about as well all oil, water, lead." I am here with my parents for their thirty-third anniversary (don't ask me why they took their son on their anniversary, but they did) and if there is one thing that I have noticed it is the fact long beach is most certainly not a racially friendly zone. The attitudes exhibited by one race to the other is reminiscent of a Mississippi town during the late fifties. For instance, my parents decided that it would be in their best interest if they went to Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles for their anniversary. Roscoes is an excellent choice for any occasion, including an anniversary lunch. I swear to anyone Roscoe's is the best food ever to be tasted by mankind. For the most part and in all but one of their five locations waitresses are respectable and kind to white gentry like ourselves. However, Long Beach was a different story. We entered into the house of fried chicken and waffles only to be snarled at. We were directed the most uncomfortable of seating. My father wanted to move but I decided that it was important for us to experience just the slightest bit of what our waitresses fore fathers and foremothers experienced on a day to day basis. Indeed it could be stated that if Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles were a nineteen fifties bus we would most definitely be on the back of it. What we had over the people of Birmingham and the deep south was the fact that no matter what happened  at the end of our visit we would overcome and eat a delicious stack of waffles draped with syrup, butter, and the likes.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Secondary Thoughts of Carola

                After allowing my wild emotions to rue for a couple of days I find it rather important to speak concerning a conversation I had with the Well endowed and I dare say busty hair dresser named Carola. As I stated in the blog previous to this one Carola was a hairdresser and as such she was confined to a life of being single and for the most part being miserable. Carola, was not an exception to this rule of thumb that happens to be correct. By the age of eighteen Carola had had a child and missed out on many of the standard aspects of a adolscents life (namely getting plastered to the point of no return and watching the fifty worst music video countdown on VH1 rather than studying for a college test). However, while talking to my newly acquired friend carola I decided to ask the fateful question that gains the same response every time no matter who I ask. “Carola” I stated, “what is it like having children?”--- Without fail anyone who ask always states “Oh it’s the hardest thing that I have ever done but it’s the best thing in the world.”  My dear friend answered in a similar fashion. She loved her children and wouldn’t give them up for the world. Of course it was hard and she feels bad for not having the standard lets get drunk lifestyle commonly associated with the college life, but she still wouldn’t do it any other way. I was proud of her at that point. Yet she did not stop there. Carola looked at me right in the eyes and then stated, “You know boyfriends, husbands, girlfriends, and wives, they all go, but your children are always with you.”
                For a few moments I allowed that comment to pass through me without thoroughly examining it. I was expecting the senseless, useless, but appreciative banter intrinsic with the canned question that I ask, yet this certainly was none of that. She had stated something quite poignant but at the same time quite pathetic. Here this forty-one year old woman was, who was about as good looking as a normal forty-one year old could look without the aid of plastic surgery, stating the profound and sad statement that boyfriends and husbands always leave. I suppose the years of abusive and emotional experiences had worn the tred of Carola’s romantic beliefs to nothing.  Here this woman stood convincing herself that love was simply a fairy tale. That no matter what was to happen in this life it could not be attained. The comment was sad and nihilistic in nature.  Sorrow entered my heart.
                It is at times like these where I am glad that I choose to live a moral life. It is times like these I am grateful for the chance I have to listen to the words of a modern prophet. I am thankful for a family that has taught me that my life has a purpose. I am thankful for parents who displayed love to one another throughout my entire life. I am forever indebted to them and my religion, because they have taught me the truth. They have taught me that love is achievable and my hardships and follies with the opposite sex eventually will turn around and I will find someone who I can be content with. I will be with someone who will not come and go as they please.   
                Until the whistle blows (thank you Christobel Jake Balsar for that little diddy. I promise this will be the only time I will close a letter like this).

Mr. Romney Evans 

Monday, August 22, 2011

A Day at the Spa

                Greetings from Redlands California, “where the only people that remain are the people that you never wanted to see” I believe with the exception of Orem, Utah this statement is true for most places. Four years after high school Redlands’ once lively social scene is now a skeleton. I am left to associate with my brother his friends. The last functioning organ of my own personal Redlands interaction is about to move Ireland and so after this there will be no reason to return.
                With this being stated I am really enjoying my stay here in Redlands. While I have been here for only two days it has been two days of rest and recuperation. This morning I decided that I wanted to go to a hair salon to get my hair cut. This is partially due to the fact that Redlands, a town of 60,000 people has over six hundred hair salons and so there is bound to be one that is good. I happened to walk into to a salon called The Wild Hair.  Today was Monday and so it was the only salon in the downtown area that was open. When I arrived I asked if they were taking walk-ins and luckily for me there was a cancelation recently and so I would be seeing Carola. Yes her name was the name of a car. I was immediately called back and when I met Carola, I noticed one thing in particular. We will just state that Carola was perhaps next to some woman I met in Vegas the most well endowed woman that these eyes had ever before done known. 
                Carola began to cut my hair and I sat and wondered how on earth she was able to manage cutting my hair without falling over. She was middle aged. Her hair was dark and her eyes were blue. Remanance of once beautiful women still remained. At the present moment she still looked good, but you could tell that she was past her prime. 
So Carola and I began to talk. Now it is at this moment I will give reason 3,534 of why you should not be a hair dresser. Every hairdresser has the crappiest things of all time happen to her. Without fail, if you become a hair dresser you will end up penniless, with child, and abandoned by your spouse. I dare anyone outside of Provo, Utah to go to a hair salon and talk to a hair stylist who is not single and has two children. If you find one I will purchase you a Salisbury steak.  Hair stylists are the gypsys of the work force. They always are persecuted no matter where they are or what time they are in.
                Carola by no means was an exception to this time honored tradition. I will recite the story that she told me word for word. Carola has two children one who is twenty three and one who is thirteen. She is currently raising her twenty three year olds daughter. When I heard this was I surprised? No. Shocked? No. Saddened? Yes.
But not as saddened by what she would tell me next. 

I asked why she was raising her granddaughter.

 She then proceeded to tell me.

A week prior to her daughters marriage, her soon to be husband experienced a fall and ended up as a quadriplegic.  Wait there is more… Love prevailed and so for the first year and a half of the marriage the daughter loved her man unequivocally, bowel movements and all. He smoked medical marijuana and who could blame him. She got pregnant (don’t ask me how) Then, he left her. I will say that again. A quadriplegic unable to control his bowls left a fully functioning woman. For who? For what? I will tell you. He left his good wife for the love of another paraplegic. I am not even kidding. 
After the walking out, or should I say the rolling out, of her husband the twenty year old shacked up with a drug lord who has two other girl friends. So shes now living with a drug lord. The mother is now taking care of the baby.   
I don’t know what was more interesting the fact the story that she told me or the fact that she had the equivalent of thirty pound weights attached to her chest and was still managing to cut my hair.
After washing my hair out my new friend Carola gave me a head massage and then said if I really wanted a relaxing time I should go on down to the Chinese foot massage place next to the downtown Cantonese restaurant and get a full body massage for twenty five dollars.   So I did.
 I arrived at the foot message place and began to talk to the Vietnamese workers. I always try to do so but to no avail. The place was shady to say the least. It was adorned with pictures from the dollar store, small bamboo trees and of course the golden cat that waves to the paying customer. I then proceeded behind the rice paper thin divider to a bigger room. There were cracks in the floors and in the walls. I sat down on a comfortable chair. A middle aged man that I named Ling gave me a towel and began to soak my feet in water.  I looked to my left and saw that there was a back room covered up by curtains. There is no doubt that this place doubled as a Vietnamese prostitution ring, but who cares when your getting an hour long deep tissue massage. I felt bad for taking advantage of Ling who undoubtedly was being paid minimum wage for this job.  However, I appeased my guilty conscience by thinking to myself in comparison to the working in the rice patty fields that ling worked in prior to coming to the states this is probably a pretty easy job.  My mind for the rest of the hour long massage was occupied by trying to imagine the life of Ling prior to moving to the U.S., the probability of ling and his family living in a one bedroom home in San Bernadino, and the interesting flight that Ling must have taken to make it to the U.S.
Thus ended my very interesting day of relaxation.  

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Water Park Experience

So my summer has finally began. I have finally finished with my Teach for America application and with alot of luck next year this time I will be in the buyous of Louisiana or the frozen tundra of Deteriot trying to change the lives of ghetto boys and girls. I really am praying to get into this and your prayers or whatever religious action you do would really be appreaciated on my behalf. However, I am glad the application process is done.
To celebrate I bought a pass of all passes to Seven Peaks Water Park in Provo. It seemed like a good investment at the time but chances are that this will be a seldom used tool. However, after purchasing a Djembe drum for $90 dollars I dont know if it can get any worse. Anyway the one thing I will state about water parks in general is this  
If you look or are pregnant dont wear a bikini.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

I Curse the Day I Went to a Dance Party

I had the misfortune of attending a dance yesterday night. At times previous I would have not experienced my current feelings of disdain for such a venue but times progress and with those times comes the wisdom of experience. After coming to the conclusion that there was nothing else in Provo to do me and my new friend Stetson (an individual who I met a few days before) decided it would be a good idea to go to a dance party being hosted right in back of the Brick Oven parking lot.
There is something inherently wrong with a back alley party but there is something even more inherently wrong with a dance party where the slightest bit of physical contact is condoned and shunned. In short there is something inherently wrong with dance parties in mormondom in general. Mormon dances... They are all the same. No matter what bow and packaging you wrap it in a Mormon dance still is a Mormon dance. Remove the paint theme or Harry potter theme or movie theme from it, the Mormon dance simply has the same types of people doing the same thing. Stereotypes work well for this simply because there always is the same type of people that attend.
At any dance that I have ever been to in Provo there is always a white DJ who is making his best attempt to forget that he is white. This would not be a problem were it not for the fact that he does so at the expense of all those at the party. He himself curses the day that he was born white. He tries his best to cover up the fact he is white by wearing a fitted hat and a tall t but in the end it is a thin disguise for his curse of whiteness. The music that the man plays is exactly what the DJ is, a failed attempt at trying to be hip. For the first little while the parties progression is stopped because of this wretched style of music. However the eventual fact of the matter is that you have dressed up to go to a dance and so you are going to dance. Now if this dance party were to be located anywhere besides Provo with anyone besides Mormons the vast majority of people who lack the motor skills to dance would not be so noticeable. Physical contact between two Individuals would mask the sad fact that the majority of individuals do not know how to dance. However because we are Mormon we do not grind and bump or do anything of the like of it. So you curse the day that you were born without beat or rhythm and attempt to forget the fact that you look like a complete retard trying to cat daddy, stanky leg, tootsie roll, or do the hustle.
This is lack of dance and dance training is the truth for most individuals at the dance party. However this is not true for all people at the dance party. There is always a crowd of talented dancers who happen to be African American standing right outside the mass of people. For some reason however thy are not dancing. The possible saviors of the dance party look on with neglect and disgust as they see all others looking ridiculous while dancing. I soppose they curse the day they moved to Provo and so they just stand on the edge of the dance floor remaining aloof from all interaction.
 Then there are those occasional women of ill repute that despite the social stigma of being a complete whore have managed the dance as seductively as humanly possible. There they dance throwing caution as well as all human decency to the wind and move their bodies in ways that ought not be moved in positions that ought not be had.  They come in all forms. Big, small, tall, round, oblong, skinny. But they always do the same thing they dance as if they were the main attraction at the Larry Flints Hustler Club. They curse the day that pants were made and hope that somehow someway they're cloths will suddenly be removed and they will be left to dance in the stark nude for the whole world to see. By the end of the evening some primordial slime with a  chromosome will approach them and the match made in hell will have found one another. Much to the disgust of all people in the dance party physical contact will not be used sparingly between these two individuals. No I suppose that if all the dance parties in the world were combined there would not be room enough to contain the couples physical contact. They will most certainly make up for the rest of the dance party and will probably end up an unmarried couple with a child within the next year
As the dance party continues the music heats up. "Party Rockers Anthem" has already played twice and the ying yang twins "Get Low" is the next on the menu. It is about this time where dj whiteboy asks the fateful question "yo Provo how y'all feelin?" the crowd responds with a resounding yell that most have considered to be a cry of approval. I, however, disagree. It is a cry of disgust. How dare you white dj. How dare you remind us that we are in Provo, Utah. We are all a group of individuals attempting to forget the fact the we are living in Provo and you have the audacity to remind us we are still in this foresaken helltrap. And so the whole crowd simultaniously curses the day we moved to Provo. And that is why I hate dance parties.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

What has two thumbs and just finished summer classes?

This guy. It feels good to be done. Whenever I get finished with a semester I just spend about a day doing absolutely whatever the heck I want. this day by no means is an exception to that time honored rule. what is exciting, however, is the fact that I bought a Djembe. You may ask what the heck is a Djembe? thats a good question. its an African drum. I figured that I am trying my very hardest to be a renaissance man and what says renaissance man more than learning the african drums. When I am captured by a tribe of indigenous africans when I am on my safari I believe that this talent of playing the djembe drum will not only safe my skin but also unite a crew of african's and me.  Its gonna be great.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

My Ward

Inspite of the previous postings that I have made I am gonna have to say that I really loved being in my ward. The people there are pretty good.
One thing that I cant stand, however, are bathrooms that have two doors. There is nothing more freightening than going to the bathroom and realizing that you forgot to lock the second door. they should be outlawed.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

66 we're hot chicks

Yesterday I had the privilege of receiving a Facebook invite from a group of girls whose apartment complex I used to live in. they were self titled Apt. 66 "we're hot chicks." (I have actually changed the name of the apartment to protect the names of the guilty). I quickly RSVP'd in the negative. Allow me to tell you why.
 When I arrived in Provo, Ut at that particular apartment complex the only thing that could be stated about the girls who lived in 66 was that they most certainly hot chicks. Never before had Provo ever witnessed such a combination of fly women living under one roof. Some were short, some were tall. One was tan. One was thin and tall. One had voluptuous curves All were blond haired blue eyed goddesses. When I first met these women they were the cats meow. Every guy in the ward had their hearts set on marrying one of the Hot chicks from sixty six. The worst thing about this was that all six members of apartment sixty six knew that they could have whomever they liked...
                And so they had all of us. and we got none of them.
It is interesting to think about those women at that time. My how they were so coveted. It is also interesting to think about the realization that I have come to after being casually associated with these women for an entire year. I would have to say that the progressive snapshots of these women have allowed me to come to a greater realization of what I want out of life and who I want out of life.
 It is also amazing to see what changes in a year. I saw a picture of the tan one on facebook the other day. She was still blond haired and blue eyed, but her skin had changed in the most negative of ways. It appears that coutless sessions with her best friend the tanning bed had changed her skin to the hide of cow. her skin has now been so leathered and worn by the cancerous glow incandescent lightbulbs that she is slightly repulsive.
  Earlier this week I walked behind what appeared to be a survivor of the battan death march. This thing in front of me looked more dead then alive. Her upper arms were now smaller than her lower arms. For all intensive purposes she was a skelton simply covered by a thin layer of skin. I realized that it was the skinny one.
  I ran into the voloptous one a couple of days ago. It appears that her course has taken a much larger and different coarse then that of the skinny one. Her once beautiful curves have vanished and in their stead are stretch marks.
  It is incredible to see how quickly things on the surface fade. It is incredible to think that within the course of a few months, over the span of one year, people can change so drastically in appearance. The hot chicks of sixty six are no more. they are breaking up. Living with one another did a number on all of them. they are moving out of the apartment complex that they were once queens over. I assure you all readers that they will be replaced by a new group of sixty sixers, just as beautiful as these women once were.
 The women of sixty six embody that which is wrong with our society, especially that of mormon society. They were once princesses and now they are paupers in every regard. I saw them again. Me and my friends did...
                 And we had all of them, and they got none of us.        

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Been Through Hell

I have decided that I know the definition of hell. being stuck working with a couple in a bowling alley.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Twlight Concert Series Take 2

 I went to my second concert in the park of the summer. It was a good performance. However, I'd be a damned liar if I said it was anywhere close to the epic night of the first concert in the park. Edward Sharpe and the magnetic zero's were the main act of last night...
I didn't like them.
I assume that by making the previous statement I will enrage any hipster who reads this blog post. Do not be alarmed if you find my corpse dead covered in bike tred from a pack of fixed gear bicycles. However, I am an honest man and despite the admiration that many people have for Mr. Sharpe and his magnetic zero's, I like George Washington cannot tell a lie. They were disappointing.
 The thing that bothered me was that the band looked like a group of vagrants who somehow managed to escape their government sanctioned home at the Sunday Breakfast mission. I mean just look at the guy. Its quite possible that he sleeps on a bed of putrid strawberries, rotten apple core's, cardboard, and rusted Hormel chili cans. I have no doubt that Ed (whose real name is Alex) was conceived in the dumpster behind McDonalds. His father may quite literally be a common street rat. Not the way in which Jaffer uses to describe Alladin but I mean an actual rat who potentially carries with him the bubonic plague.   I doubt the man has ever showered. To be so brazen as to state that he knows what a toothbrush is, I am not.
 After old Ed told us about the vision he had expereinced as a teenager when his father took him to a reservation in New Mexico, I didn't care how folky his music sounded.

I ask you now. Which one of these pictures is Edward Sharpe (Alex) and which one is a picture that I got off the internet when I typed the word homeless man

In the words of the infamous Mr. Owel "the world may never know."

Friday, July 22, 2011

Vern Romney BAMF

Yesterday I was asked by my mother and Uncle Ricky to pick up my grandpa who has just had surgery and take him to his hearing aid appointment. Begrudgingly I agreed to do so. I had things to do and people to see but I suppose that these things were not as important as taking your eighty seven year old grandpa to his doctors appointment. However, that did not soften the fact that my day would be spent accompanying old iron sides whilst he traveled throughout the greater Utah and salt Lake County's (not to mention I would have to take him to the school of the devil. Also known as the university of Utah). I decided to do it for one reason. I respect my grandfather. I respect the person he is, and the person he has been. He was the attorney general of Utah, a bishop in the LDS church, a patriarch, and most pertinent to me in my life a great father to my mother. For that I suppose I owed his old bones ( I use that term not in a pejorative manner but rather in a fond and jovial tone) a trip or two to the doctors.
I arrived at his him and much to my dissatisfaction I noticed every door in the house to be locked. I then remembered that my uncle spent the night last night and he like myself has a tendency to imagine the worst of all possible situations happening and as a result he prepares for such. There was no way of getting into the house so I had to call up Vern Romney and request that he open the door. It took Grandpa Vern about five minutes to walk down the stairs and open the door up for me. When he arrived I saw that he was wearing a blue shirt. It was a nice collard polo. I then entered the room went to shake my grandfathers hand and noticed that the man was wearing no pants whatsoever. There his lower body stood nude and completely unashamed. He himself was unashamed of his grandson seeing him naked.
This was not the first time that I had seen a person wear a t shirt without pants. Nor was this the first time I had seen my grandfather do something rash like this.  On my mission a four hundred pound black woman investigating the LDS faith by the name of ranisha drove up, honked her horn, and beckoned that I come to talk to her. When I went up to her car window and asked if we could visit her for a bible study sometime I noticed that she was wearing absolutely no pants nor underwear whatsoever. I went blind for a couple of days. However, I was once blind but now I see.
Three days after returning home from my mission I went with my aforementioned uncle and grandfather to the BYU SDSU basketball game. While driving home Grandpa requested that we stop. We concurred and went to the nearest gas station so that we could refill on gas and relieve our dear grandpa. We arrived at the gas station and found that we needed a key to go to the bathroom. I went to go find the key and when I came back with my key my grandpa had already finished his business.
I think I have figured out why grandpa does these things. For a long time I didn't know, but now I do. What am I going to say to him? What is anyone going to say? "Grandpa you need to put on pants." and then grandpa would say, "you need to shut your mouth and realize that I reared your mother the best women you ever have known." or I could state "grandpa you need to use wait until we get to the restroom." then he would state, "you need to wait until you have gone through the invasion of Okinawa, raised seven children, and been a bishop and patriarch before telling me what to do." What can I say? honestly this guy has done more with his life then I ever will. All I can do is allow him to live the few years of his life without the burden of pants or bathrooms.  

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Monday's at the choclate

Greetings from Provo Utah. Where the most common end to an introduction you will here is the relationship of another status. There is no place in the world like Provo. At least I hope that there is no place in the world like Provo. The frustration that is intrinsic to a life of celibacy drives even the most sane of people to madness. The thought of shedding the monk like vow of chastity we take on ourselves is almost maddening. one would believe that a religiously driven society that teaches abstinence before marriage would be less inclined to an obsession with the opposite sex, yet as Provo proves it is the exact opposite.
Indeed I myself am a victim to this rampant and consistent obsession with the opposite sex. Dating seems to rule the rest of ones life. It seems to outweigh, school, friends, and even Facebook. In nearly every facet of society people talk about the progression of ones dating life. It sickens me.
Almost paradoxically the only time that one can evade the constant barrage of questions regarding the opposite sex is when one finds himself on a date. Thus dating becomes an outlet to avoid the very topic that he is currently doing, which is dating. It is an addicting experience and it is easy for that to be that way. It feels good for an individual to agree to go on a date with you. It feels splendid to recieve affirmation from individuals. However, as of recent times I have become completely dependent upon the opinions of those who I date. My self affirmation is thus destroyed and in its stead is the affirmation of the women you date, which is never as satisfactory as those words which you sincerely give yourself. This is a very complex blog.
I have come to praise those who do not search for such an outlet. My friend Ian is a prime example. He has not gone on a date in an extended period of time. this is not out of an inability to date but rather it is out of an inability to find any substantial and worthwhile girl in Redlands, which for those of us who  have lived in Redlands understand how difficult it is to find someone of the opposite sex who is worthwhile. despite of the proverbial desert that Ian finds himself in he is managing to do things of far more value than I myself am doing at the present moment. He is coaching a swim team. He is reading books of philosophy. He has started a successful band. Indeed he is grooming himself to be a renaissance man. In contrast to that I am grooming myself to only be a groom. After this I will not understand what I need to do.
I see a psychologist every once in a while. We had a discussion about exactly this. She told me that I needed to expand my life. I agreed. Thus for the past month that is what I have been doing. I have been focusing on dating myself. It has been a great experience. I will tell you that. there is nothing more enjoyable than coming to the realization that you like youself.
For instance I have recently heard rumors about one date from my past that went ari. It was a hard pill for me to swallow. I thought the date went well and I thought that I treated my date with civility and curtasy but I guess that I was sorely mistaken. The girl reported that I was a jerk and a completely conceeded individual. While I am quite certain that this is simply sour grapes from not being asked out on a second date, the words cast by this individual are as sharp as ever. I have a profound amount of respect for her and who she is and to here that her feelings towards me are not mutual is something that really hurts. It was at this moment that I needed to step back and ask myself. Will I allow myself to be torn down by the opinion of someone else or will I decide to step back and examine the situation myself. I have tried to do the latter and I believe that it is working. No man can be completely certain however.
  I had a conversation with my friend from the Choclate regarding this very issue. She is currently going through the same experience that I am but in a far more intense situation. She is the victim of a bitter divorce and is experiencing the feelings that would be associated with going through a divorce. When such a thing transpires it is easy to feel worthless. It is simple to cave in and come to the conclusion that what is stated about you from others is valid. However, this woman is a complete inspiration to me. She remains steadfast. She is learning how to step outside her natural self. It is wonderful and splendid to see. I am very proud of her and will attempt to emulate the things that she does.
Well that is my little soapbox for the day. Goodnight. 

Sunday, July 10, 2011

The Sad Story of Someone

Dear Family,
                Greetings from Provo Utah, “Home of the largest Glenn Beck fan club in America.” I think in twenty to forty years Mr. Beck and his followers might break of and form their own church. I could see it sweeping like an epidemic. I see people making their pilgramidges to Provo Utah where Glenn Beck was instructed by the Angel Ronald Reagan to form his own religion. I suppose the Beckonians would call it the Dome of the Reagan.  I could then see a religious outbreak occurring in the nearby city of Salt Lake between the Mormons and Beckonians. Both would make claims to being the rightful heirs to the city due to the fact that it was where Glenn Beck wrote his first memoirs that later would  become scripture. I can see this all occurring.
                Forgive me for my blatnt sarcasm. I suppose I have been associating with the cynics of Provo, Utah for too long now. I suppose that I am becoming one. It is within my nature to be a cynic, but it is not within my spirit to do so. I despise the fact that I now look at individuals and dwell upon their faults.  Not so long ago I completely rid myself of such childish and egocentric things. It has no place in my life. There is no value to my cynicism. While I am talented at tearing others down I am better at building people up. I am seeking to be better and I hope that I might be able to do so. I will do better.
                Today my attention is to be drawn towards a certain inidiudal and friend who I have known for a while. I had a recent experience with her that I would like to share with you. When I was nineteen years of age I met a young, talented, increadibly bright, African American women by the name of Francis Lars.  For sometime my relationship with her could only be deemed as a Sunday aquintance. Occassionally I would say hello to Ms. Lars and she would respond back in an equally respectable but trivial way. Eventually, however, the two of us were invited to go on a day trip to Los Angeles with our mutual friend David Smith. As I have stated in previous letters, that trip saved my life. I was in a depressing time in my life without many friends and it was at that point that I realized that I could have fun in my life. Needless to say Francis was a large contributor to the fact of me once again obtaining happiness I will forever be indebted to her for that.
                From that point on Francis and I began to have a close friendship strengthened by the fact that we were both individuals who enjoyed a good conversation. As time progressed I began to enjoy Francis’ friendship more and more. She was smart, talented, witty, and funny. However, as time progressed I also viewed some of Francis’ less appealing attributes. While she was all of those things the girl was also a hot mess. Here this women was with all of the talent in the world and she was working a dead end job. I believed and still believe that she was the worlds most intelligent receptionist. She had all the brilliance in the world but for some strange reason she was not in school.
                Eventually time progressed and so to did the lives of myself and Francis I was preparing to serve a mission and she was headed off to Boston to do some humanitarian aid project or another noble interesting thing like that. She was always doing interesting things.
Francis left and we stayed in contact until I headed out to Philadelphia for my mission. As time progressed I lost contact with her, but I always wondered how she was doing. After coming home from my mission and speaking with her I was excited to see that she wrote me on facebook. We met up once while I was in Provo and talked for a little while only to say goodbye. Yet I am now up here and now have been wondering for a while how Ms. Lars has been doing. I missed her and our friendship. I missed her joy for life and joy for the gospel. 
Yesterday I texted Francis to see what she was up to. Surprisingly Francis responded to my text and we planned to meet up. It was about ten oclock when I reached her house. I was excited to see my old friend.  We exchanged our hugs and greetings and began to talk. Within a few minutes of our conversation Francis headed over to the countertop and asked if I would like a drink. I replied in the affirmative and she then asked if I would like coke. I felt as though I was living on the edge and responded that I would like to drink a little bit of liquid sin. She poured me a glass of coke and I began to drink. I then looked over to her who was wrestling through the cupburds frantically looking for something. I did not know or understand what she was looking for but I was in no hurry and would wait for her. I finally asked if I could help find what she was looking for and a split second later she replied, “o there it is.” She pulled out a glass bottle filled with a liquid that was yellowish hue. Now prior to my mission I would have believed that this bottle was simply some fancy grape juice not much different to that which my father had had in his study, but the fact was that I had gone on a mission. I was proud of that fact and my ignorance had been swept away by the countless numbers of bottles containing a liquid with a yellowish hue (although I may say that Francis' bottle did not have a King Cobra on it and it was a tad bit more fancy than those who I knew previously). Nonetheless, my heart sunk with despair. The following moments were akward at best. It is impossible to describe unless one has had such an experience themselves. However, I was at Francis' house and she lived by her rules and I did not want to boss her around. I think one of the most akward things that a mormon can experience in life is seeing another person who you thought was still a good mormon pour a glass of alcohol. You attempt to remain cool and open minded. You try maintain eye contact with them and not look down at their bottle, but the shock is just too much. It is impossible not to do so. Both you and the Mormon drinking the alcohol  know that things are akward but still you do your best to ignore the fact that it is akward.
The result of such a shock is not damning to a conversation, however, it simply impedes for a small time its progression. Eventually the two of us overcame the awkwardness of the conversation. We began  to talk about the present and our futures. I found that Francis was not only attending school but progressing very well. She is now one of the top ranked undergrad writers in regard to the field of African American inequality or something along those lines. It was exciting to here that. She has even published a couple papers. With further questions I found that my dear friend will be headed to Harvard, Princeton, or Columbia in the coming year to study law. I was thrilled that she could be living out her dream and using her talents. It appeared that all was going right for Ms. Francis and I was indeed happy for her.
The conversation continued to evolve and became even more interesting. Francis asked if I would like to go outside with her as she smoked a cigarette. For some reason I replied with a yes. As she began to light up her Camel Crushes (a menthol tobacco hybrid which proves the fact that she is half black as well as half white) the conversation began to change. I asked how she was doing. I thought I that I had done that previously but I asked how she was feeling about life. Her demeanor began to change quite rapidly. While everything appeared to be going right for this women things were indeed wrong. I asked about her standing in the church and how she felt about it. She responded with a tragic story. Ever since she has been back in Provo she has felt a social pressure that has led her to believe that racism and bigotry against her is strong. She has felt as though the competitive life of Mormonism has been to great of a burden for her to handle. She feels judged and so she has left the church. A darkness came about my friend. A depression came about her. She was completely estranged from the church.  With a few further questions I found that not only was she estranged from the church but she was completely sad and alone.  Eventually our conversation ended and I left the house. As the day has passed I have reflected time and time again on the what has happened to my friend. Here is a women who is beautiful, talented, and successful. Here is a women who is achieving whatever dream she has had. Here is a women whose future on the surface appears to be bright, but she is alone. She is bitter. She holds hate in her heart. She resents a society who she has assumed has judged her based upon her beauty. She has allowed the trials that are intrinsic with everyday existence to become unsurmountable problems that she will never be able to over come. Currently she is depressed. Currently she is downtrodden. Currently she is a tragedy.
Family I am so grateful for the gospel and the power it has brought into my life. I am thankful for the knowledge that Jesus is the Savior. I am grateful for the hope and happiness that it has brought into my life.  I thank God everyday for that. I am so thankful for you. I am so grateful for the things I have been taught and for what I am and have been experiencing. Allow me to shed the wretched cloak of cynicism and glory in the successes of my fellow man. Allow me to be happy and joyuss about the future instead of miserable about my present circumstances. I thank you all and hope that you have enjoyed this letter.
Yours always
Romney Evans.