My Two Front Teeth and Other Such Things

Throughout my childhood to my adolescent years I kept a Wish List all year long. It had two versions, the Christmas Edition and the Birthday Edition. It was the same list. It just changed to my Christmas List on the day after my birthday and vice versa. It became a running joke directed at me over the years. My family still brings it up to embarrass me in front of others.

I haven't kept a Wish List for several years because I have grown the hate Christmas and Birthdays. I won't bore you with the details, but I decided to make a new one this year and post it here on my e-journal. So here it is, the list of stuff I would like to get.

Justin's Wish List

CDs
Raising Sand by Robert Plant & Alison Krauss
Way Back Home by The Wreckers
any album by Katie McMahon
The Purple Tape by Lisa Loeb
Transformers: the Score by Steve Jablonsky
Buffy the Vampire Slayer: the Score by Christophe Beck
Monty Python Sings by Monty Python

DVDs (Widescreen versions only! Used copies are okay! Special Editions are preferred!)
Sydney White
The Dark Knight *Already Received!*
Dark City (Director's Cut)
John Adams
Looney Tunes Golden Collection: Volume 3
The Muppet Show: Season 2
Forgetting Sarah Marshall
Hellboy 2: The Golden Army
Evita
Rory O'Shea Was Here
Stomp Out Loud!
Burn the Floor
Prince Caspian
Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog *only available on Amazon.com
Ghostbusters
James and the Giant Peach
The Nightmare Before Christmas

Books
1776 by David McCullough
Soulless by Christopher Golden
Poison Ink by Christopher Golden
The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks
Runaways: Dead End Kids by Joss Whedon
Watchmen by Alan Moore

Other Stuff
Hiking Boots (size 10 1/2)
slippers (size 10 1/2)
Killer Bunnies and the Journey to Jupiter game
Monty Python Fluxx game
electric razor

I may change or add somethings as Christmas draws closer. So check back for any updates.

Gnawing on the English Language

Spelling has always been my strongest subject in school. When I took my SATs, my spelling grade came to more than 90%, well above all the others. I guess this is because it taps into my visual nature. Writing words out is a visual action. You have to see in order to write, and I remember what I see, generally speaking. When speaking, you don't have to spell the words. Unless there is some confusion as to the form of the word being spoken, such as the difference between "fifty" and "fifteen". In such cases you usually just speak more clearly. If that doesn't work, then you resort to spelling it out.

I never would have won any spelling bees in school. Mainly because they throw words at you that are not used in modern society. The reason I am so good at spelling is because I have seen the words before. A few years ago at the National Spelling Bee the winning word was chiaroscurist. I knew that word before they put it up on the screen because I had seen it before. It refers to a technique in art that uses light and shadows to show depth, commonly used by Leonard da Vinci. I learned about it in Art History.

We had a spelling bee in our sixth grade class. I was doing well until I was caught with one word. The word was pendulum. I knew what a pendulum was. My sister had talked about a story she had read or heard about, The Pit and the Pendulum by Edgar Allen Poe, and how it had creeped her out. But I had never actually seen the word. A couple other kids tried unsuccessfully to spell it. I think I spelled it p-e-n-g-i-l-u-m. Naturally, I was eliminated. I knew every other word after that, but I got stumped by the one word I had never seen.

But the kids who compete in the National Spelling Bee study dilligently, learning languages and word origins to help them determine if a certain word is spelled with an f or a ph. I never would have had the discipline to do that.

I had my shining moment in the first grade. Our teacher gave us a spelling quiz. One of the words that she gave us was nod. I didn't spell it n-o-d, but I still spelled it correctly. I spelled it G-N-A-W-E-D. Gnawed. Me, a little first grader, barely six years old, had spelled that. I didn't even think of n-o-d. But I knew what gnawed was. My teacher was so impressed with me that she had me go next door to the second grade class and show it to that teacher. She was also impressed and gave me a huge lollipop as a reward.

I knew that word because I had seen it before. Caralee, around that time, had an assignment for her class, to memorize a poem and recite it to her classmates and teacher. Most of the other pupils went for plain old nursery rhymes. Mary Had a Little Lamb. Roses are Red. Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. But my sister wanted to do something different, more challenging.

We had a book of childrens' stories, nursery rhymes and fairy tales. She chose a particularly long poem called Over in the Meadow. It consists of ten stanzas, each about a mother animal (a turtle, a fish, an owl, etc.) telling her children to do what they do, and the children would gladly obey. Each mother would have one more offspring than the previous one, so the last mother ended up having ten children.

Well, Caralee, in her attempt to impress the teacher and the class, recited that poem to us constantly so she could memorize it. One of the stanzas spoke about a mother rat and her four little rats.

Over in the meadow by the old barn door
Lived an old mother rat and her little ratties four
Gnaw said the mother We gnaw said the four
So they gnawed all day by the old barn door

So I had seen that word before due to Caralee's constant drilling. She likes to take the credit whenever I tell the story of my first grade spelling quiz. She says that if she hadn't memorized the poem, I never would have made that creative spelling.

But she didn't take the quiz. I did. It was my lollipop, and I didn't share it with anyone!

A Letter from Paul

I found this while searching for the"gnawed" spelling quiz. I have never seen it before. I found it quite touching. I actually got a little choked up. Thank you, Paul.

With much love,
Your nephew Justin

O Scary Night

The Two Staircases

I had a dream a couple nights ago that turned out to be quite intense. Have you ever had one of those? One that is so distressing that affects you profoundly, and yet you can't get out of that dream?

I dreamt that I died. Then I found myself standing at the top of two staircases with rock walls on either side. The one stairway on the left was made of polished stone and led straight down. That way led to Heaven. The other stairway was also made of similar stone, but was grimy and not well-kept. It curved downward to the right and out of sight into the darkness below. That way led to Hell.

I had to go down one staircase. There was a sign that told me where I was supposed to go. It pointed to the right. At that moment in my dream, I panicked. I thought I was supposed to go to Heaven, but the sign was telling me otherwise. I stayed at the top of the stairs; I didn't want to got to Hell. But I couldn't take the staircase on the left. I wasn't being allowed into Heaven.

I suddenly found that I was not alone. There was a girl who I work with who had also just arrived. I know her to be a strong Christian. She also had to take the stairway to the right. She started panicking. Then a group of people arrived and they were allowed to take the stairway to the left. Then we were joined by another group of people who had to go to the right. But none of us went that way. We were all too scared. We didn't want to go to Hell.

I was seriously freaking out. Normally when I have a dream this intense I'm able to wake myself up. Not this time. I knew I was dreaming, but it had affected me so profoundly that I couldn't wake up.

This dream had played upon one of my biggest fears. The fear of "What if I got it wrong?" I'm terrified of the moment right after arriving in Hell, of the realization that I would be spending all eternity in damnation. I'm scared of God's White-Out. If someone's name is written in the Book of Life, can it be removed? As a Christian, that's just about the scariest thought there is.

There was no conclusion to the dream. I didn't go down either staircase. Eventually the dream faded, but I woke up the next morning still feeling its effects.

Tidbits 1.0

--Something I would like to try one time is to rent a movie I've never seen before, then watch it with the sound off. Just to see if I can understand what is going on. Or maybe watch it in reverse. Or in another language.
--I kinda would like to take a lesson in knitting. I think it's fascinating to find out how one ball of yarn, one string can fit together to make something like a sweater. Kinda like how you can make a lobster out of one square piece of paper without making any cuts.
--One thing I find interesting is watching the gas prices change at the three gas stations in front of my work. You know, kind of like they're fighting for the lowest price.
--Speaking of gas prices, I hate it when they fit the letters and numbers upside down on their price signs. The larger half of the 3 is supposed to be on the bottom!
--"Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman is playing on my music player right now. I love it because it's one of the few songs that truly evoke not only emotion, but an image, as well. It's an incredibly powerful song where you can feel the plight of the singer. Billy Joel's "Piano Man" is another such song.
--Why the hell would anyone ask for Playstation Games at an arts & crafts store?!
--I need to come up with an idea for a Halloween costume this year.
--Don't you hate it when you have a wet dream about someone you really shouldn't have a wet dream about?
--If I could go back in time, I would go to the time of Jesus. I'd bring a Bible with me and ask for His autograph.

*sigh*

I really need to proofread my entries before I submit them....

The Harem, part 3

Let's continue, shall we?

Abby was great as a girlfriend. She was a lot of fun. I loved hanging out with her. I don't remember much of what we did. After that first night with her, it was all new territory to me. I think I was putting pressure on myself regarding how I should act. After my relationship with Lynnette, I felt that there were certain obligations that I had to fill in order to be a good boyfriend. There were rules that had to be followed in order to keep a girlfriend.

As I said in my previous entry, Lynnette wanted a lot of romance. She wanted an Adonis. But I couldn't give that to her. So it filled me with feelings of inadequacy when it came to my new relationship with Abby. I confided in her about how I felt, that I was incapable of creating a romantic relationship. But she told me repeatedly that I wasn't obliged to do anything.

Unfortunately, Abby didn't graduate. She claims that she was ejected from the school because the Resident Director hated her and because some of the other students had hidden alcohol in her dorm room. Now, I don't know what happened. I've only ever heard her side of the story. I think it was more of a combination of small things that just built up to the incident which led the Dean to decide to release her from school.

At that point, our relationship became long-distance. And Abby didn't have a car. To this day, it's been over ten years since she actually drove a car. I kept telling her that she needed to get one, but she always adamantly refused. That always pissed me off because essentially became a one-way street. If we wanted to see each other, I always had to drive to her place. She only lived an hour away, but it was still a major annoyance to me. Sometimes she would take the bus, but for the most part, it was me who did the driving.

It was a slow burn, but the long-distance thing took its toll on our relationship. Plus, I think we weren't being honest with each other and with ourselves about what we wanted for our relationship. I don't think I actually knew what I wanted. It wasn't going anywhere and I wasn't happy about it. There were other factors involved. I knew she wasn't "the one". I had no plans to marry her. I remained with her for the same reason I let my relationship with Lynnette last as long as it did. I was lonely.

After college, I didn't have any friends left. Not close ones. I no longer had any contact with Stephen or Josue. With Abby living an hour away, there was no one I could hang around with. I liked the people I worked with, but I didn't really want to get to know them outside of work. I'd go to work and come home to a computer and a television. I really was bored with my life, and it affected my relationship with Abby.

Then one day, Carolyn visited me at work. She was a woman I knew from the church youth group as a staff member. She was also a teacher at a local junior high school. She asked me if I wanted to go out on a blind date with a girl named Angela who was a former student of hers. I was completely taken aback . That was the last thing I would've expected Carolyn to ask of me.

At that point, I was still with Abby, although we were on the way out. The reason I said yes to Carolyn was because I was bored with my life and going on a blind date sounded kind of interesting. When it was over, I would be able to say, " Yes, I went on a blind date with someone, too!" I would have a story to tell. I didn't believe that anything would come of it, that I would end up dating this girl. I just wanted the experience of going on a blind date.

I told Abby about it. Maybe it was a dumb move. Not just telling her about, but also the agreeing to the blind date. But I felt that I had to tell her. Needless to say, we broke up. Words were spoken. Painful words. Feelings were hurt. I was upset, but not heartbroken. No tears were shed. I felt mostly anger, but I was all right.

The date with Angela turned out all right. No big drama or freaky occurrences like you see in sitcoms. It turned out to be her nineteenth birthday. (I was twenty-eight.) When I saw her the first thing that popped into my head was that she looked like a combination of Hilary Swank and Neve Campbell. Kinda skinny. Definitely a plus because Lynnette and Abby were both overweight. (Not fat, though). We met at Carolyn's house where we had a spaghetti dinner (her choice) and then went to see The Mummy Returns. After it was done we exchanged phone numbers and went on our merry way. The evening was just pleasant.

We remained friends after that. We'd go out to eat. We'd hang out at her place and watch videos. I even joined her for a Bible study she had with Carolyn every week.

I was flirtatious with Angela in the beginning. Not overly-so. Just to see if there was any kind of spark between us. I'd say, "Hello, cutie!" or "Luv ya, babe!" Occasionally I would say she looked good in a particular shirt. I also did it just to be nice. I've been told that girls like it when someone compliments them on the way they look.

But Angela didn't. She wrote me a letter stating that my flirtations made her uncomfortable and that she didn't think about me "that way." I replied that even though I did, in fact, think she was very pretty, I would stop. Which I did. For the most part. Occasionally I let one slip now and then.

It's weird how you can see someone every day and they're just part of the ordinary. Maybe a co-worker or friend or someone you see in church every Sunday. And then at some random, not-so-special moment, you all of the sudden are in love. It happened to me with Melissa when I saw her in her Halloween costume. Then it happened again with Angela.

We were doing the Bible study at Carolyn's house. She got up to get a drink from out of the refridgerator. Then BOOM!!! I was totally in love with her! I had seen her cross to the fridge a hundred times over. But at that rather mundane moment, as I watched her walk over, it was like a switch had been flipped. For the rest of the night, I could not concentrate. I desperately wanted to be with her. I wanted to be her girlfriend and she my boyfriend.

But alas, it was not to be. I eventually wrote her a letter expressing how I felt about her. She responded that she wasn't interested. I let the matter die, but not before I told her that if her feelings ever changed, that she would let me know. My feelings for her waned even though I still found her physically attractive. I never told her so, which proved to be a costly mistake. But that's not a mistake that you can see coming. I mean, you don't just come out and say to someone that you're not in love with them anymore. That's rude and downright mean.

More on that later.

It wasn't until Ricki Ann showed up that the word "harem" started to become associated with me. Up till then, I had never brought a guy friend in to my house. It was always a girl I would bring home with me. Whether it was Abby or Angela or Susan. So when my mother met Ricki Ann for the first time, she said to me, "Another one? Boy! You're developing quite the harem!"

I'm not entirely sure where Ricki Ann fits in to the timeline of my life. I just know it was somewhere in the year that I wasn't speaking with Abby. If you ask me if it was before or after my crush on Angela, I couldn't tell you. But she was significant in that she was so memorable. She had quite the personality.

We met at work. She was brought in as a department head. She worked in the wedding department on the other side of the store. I hate to say it, but she was fat. Not disgustingly so, but she had a definite weight problem. Even her face was puffy. But she was also a sweetheart. She had a really cute voice and a cute smile.

Now, I'm a flirt by nature. It's just something I do. I often compare myself to Pepe Lepew. We're both interminable flirts, and females find us physically repulsive. Many times when a girls says, "It's hot in here," I respond with a "Thanks! You're not so bad yourself!" Or if I'm walking by one of the floral designers who's working on an arrangement, I'll say, "Very pretty. And the arrangement's not bad, either." Those kinds of comments would always get a chuckle.

So my flirtations are of the friendly variety. Nothing sexual. Just the kind that garner a round of giggles. I'm never looking to develop a relationship with any of the women. Just to put a smile on their face.

Naturally, I flirted with Ricki Ann. At the time, some of my comments in my repertoire of flirtations were "Hey, sexy," and "Hello there, gohgeous!" I have since retired those greetings. If I knew then what I know now, I definitely would have cut back on the comments. But at the time I had no clue about the complexities and the warnings about the female personality, particularly those who have weight and self-esteem issues. Live and learn, I guess.

So yes, I said those things to Ricki Ann and she responded well to them. She started paying extra attention to me as a result. Our friendliness grew to the point when we exchanged phone numbers and started hanging out together outside of work. At that point I found myself physically attracted to her. Even though she had a weight problem, she just had this thing about her. I don't know what it was that made me gravitate toward her. It's like she pressed all the right buttons.

But her personality was a different story. She was insecure to the extreme. I could barely say a word to her that she wouldn't get defensive about. She would be talking to me on the phone, and out of habit I would let out one tiny, polite laugh to let her know that I was listening. Every single time, she would say, "Are you laughing at me?" Every. Single. Time. I would have to reassure her that it was just my way of being polite. Eventually I got so irritated with her that I stopped denying it.

"Are you laughing at me?"

*sigh* "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because of what you said."

"Why are you being mean to me?"

"I dunno."

We would have that same conversation several times during our phone calls. I found it very aggravating.

She was also insecure about her weight. Who wouldn't be? But her insecurity went to the extreme. I remember one time at work when I was in the stockroom working in my aisle and she was up on a ladder in the next aisle. She lost her balance and grabbed the top shelf to steady herself. I looked up and was startled to see the piles of boxes wobbling. I told her that for a second I thought they were going fall down on me. Well, she took great offense at that. She thought that I had just called her fat because she made the boxes wobble. I said nothing of the sort. Those boxes would've wobbled no matter who was up on the ladder. But I couldn't talk to her for two days because she thought that I had called her fat.

In spite of all that, the spark between us grew. Our conversations became quite sexy. Like I said, she just had this thing about her that I found extremely attractive. One day I took her to see the movie Chicago. We ended up making out right there in the theatre. After that we came back to my place for a heavy make out session.

And that was that. I never saw her again after that night. We spoke on the phone several times, trying to coordinate our next visit, but we always had other plans. I had to work, or she was going out with friends, or I had someplace I needed to be. Eventually I stopped calling her and I never heard from her again.

Time to stop. This is turning out to be quite the book, isn't it?

The Harem, pt 2

I know, I ended rather abruptly last time. Mainly because of time. It was well after midnight when I stopped, knowing that I had more to say. You see, when I write a journal entry I do it live, so to speak. I do it directly onto the blogsite. So most of these entries are free-flowing thoughts. I try to keep some structure just so I make some sense. I don't know how well I do.

Continuing where I left off...

I know, I didn't know Melissa that well. My knowledge of her only extended as far as the four walls of the store. My affection for her was based mostly on her looks. Yes, I know, that's probably a very shallow way of thinking. But as I said before and will probably say again in the future, I am a visually-oriented person. And Melissa was beautiful.

I remember one Thanksgiving morning she was scheduled to appear on a show called Living the Life. It's a show that aired after the 700 Club on the Family Channel. She was doing a segment about easy craft ideas for the holidays. It was a promotion for Michael's, the craft store and my store's arch-nemesis where she worked after getting married. She was eight months pregnant at the time and still looked gorgeous. Yes, of course I taped it.

Megan and Melissa were my two main crushes. There were other girls to which I was attracted. Angela, who I will talk about in the future. Rosie from college, who I thought had the most all-around beauty of all the girls on campus. Jess, the roommate of my girlfriend in college. She was incredibly sweet but a lot funnier than me, so I got jealous. Holly from work. Very pretty and intelligent, but way too liberal. I asked her out once, but she wasn't interested.

I was attracted to these girls, but I wasn't that invested in them. When it became apparent that I had not shot with them, I would be okay with it. Then I'd just sit back and admire them from afar.

It wasn't until I was 21 that I got my first girlfriend. My friend Stephen and his girlfriend Pam set me up with her friend named Lynnette. He had never had a relationship, either. So Stephen and Pam conspired to get Lynnette and I together. It was the case of him saying, "You know, Justin, Pam told me that Lynnette said that she was crazy about you." And Pam would say to Lynnette, "You know, Stephen told me that Justin said that he was crazy about you."

I saw right through the ploy. I knew there was no way in hell any girl in her right mind would say that about me. Besides, I had been in similar situations before. I'd be standing in the high school library minding my own business when some girl would come up to me, point to some table and say, "You see that girl over there? She think's you're cute." That actually happened a few times. One time in junior high school, I was sitting in the cafeteria enjoying an ice cream sandwich when a tough headbanger chick called to me from a couple tables over, "I've got something better for you to lick," after which her girlfriends laughed hysterically.

Those and other such situations like a girl asking if I was big taught me to be skeptical of any girl who made an advance on me. So when Stephen told me about Lynnette being crazy about me, I didn't believe it for a second. But I decided to go with it anyway. First of all, we were no longer in high school. Second, he was one of my best friends; I knew I could trust him not to pull any of that shit with me. Even though he was always razzing me about being a virgin, I knew he genuinely wanted me to get a girlfriend. Finally, I was lonely. It sucks being the only single person in a circle of friends. Your loneliness increases proportionately to the number of friends in said circle.

So I decided to go along with it. When the four of us, Stephen, Pam, Lynnette and I, would hang out, I paid extra attention to Lynnette. I would cheer extra hard for her when we went bowling. I'd compliment her on her sweater. Eventually we started hanging out, just the two of us. We took walks in the park. Went rollerskating, which I really hated because I was so bad at it. Before long we were holding hands and then making out in the back seat of her car. Very original, eh?

Her parents didn't like me. Her father was an ex-Marine, so automatically disapproved of some dorky-looking guy with no college experience and who worked at a pizza restaurant. I'm not sure, but I think her mother didn't like me for the same reason.

I was never happy with that relationship. She wanted a lot of romance, the kind that you see in cheesy romantic comedies or read about in books featuring a bare-chested Fabio on the cover. She wanted cards and flowers and moonlit walks on the beach. I am incapable of that level of cliche. I can do it on Valentine's Day, but on the other 364 days of the year, forget it. She also tried to change me. I was a big geek (still am) and wore a lot od comic book-inspired t-shirts. She wanted me to wear nice shirts like the kind you find at the Gap or Abercrombie & Fitch. She would nag me about doing my homework, which I resented. I swear, there were times that she reminded me so much of my mother.

Honestly, I'm not sure what I wanted out of my relationship with Lynnette. She was my first girlfriend, so I was pretty much just seeing what it was like having a girlfriend. I think I was hooked on the physical side of it. Not just the making out, but mostly just being close to someone. I believe I was still lonely, and when I held her, I felt less lonely. That's a powerful feeling and it can be intoxicating for someone who has as low a self-image as I did.

After about six months she broke up with me. I wasn't broken up about it. I was never emotionally attached to her. I was down but not that upset. It was my first break-up, so I was pretty much just seeing what it felt like. I was somewhat expecting to be heart-broken. After all, isn't that how it always happened in the movies and tv? Wasn't I supposed to crying and wailing and trying to come up with ways of winning her back?

I don't even remember our break-up conversation.

Several months later I got a call from her. She was doing a work-study at a college she was going to attend in the fall. She invited me to hang out with her. After a couple visits we were back together. I guess she had tried dating a few guys, but they didn't pan out, so she decided to give me a second chance.

By that time Stephen and my other best friend, Josue, had moved on to college, and I was once again feeling lonely. So I enrolled at her college. By the end of the fall semester we had broken up again. Same reasons. She wanted a romance I was unable to give her. She was trying to change me. I was addicted to the feeling of closeness.

Only difference was that I remember the break-up conversation. A week prior to that, she told me that she was going to meet with some guy friends from high school. During our break-up she revealed to me that that was just a ploy to make me jealous. She wanted me to object to her going to see some guys other than me. I don't consider myself a jealous person. If she wanted to spend time with friends she hadn't seen since high school, I wasn't going to stop her. But I wasn't understanding of the subtle devices women use (I still don't). I was completely oblivious to what her true purpose was, and she took that as a sign that I didn't love her. Hence the break-up.

Once again, I wasn't that upset about it. I tried to be cordial with her afterward. It was a small campus and we shared the same dormitory. It was only natural that we saw each other all the time. I would say hi, but she never responded and never made eye contact. The one time we spoke was when I was telling someone about a parking ticket I had received and she was incredulous about the circumstances.

The following year proved to be very pivotal. During my first year I had never given Abby much consideration. She was a social sciences major, while I was an art major. I knew that she had a reputation for being a drinker. We never had any interaction because she lived in a different dormitory.

During the second year, Abby became roommates with Jess, my on-again-off-again crush. Because I hung around Jess quite a bit, I spent more time with Abby. She tells me that she was walking into the cafeteria one day and saw me sitting there by myself reading a comic book. I guess at that moment I sparked her interest and she decided that she wanted to get to know me better. So she sat down and started talking with me. I don't remember this occurence because I didn't realize its importance.

She started spending more and more time with me. But with me being so clueless about the subtleties of womens' devices, I had no idea she was interested in me.

For the people who live on the street where the college is, Halloween is a major event. It's like their Mardi Gras. The street becomes mobbed with little vampires and princesses and monsters and Power Rangers. Families come from miles around and from surrounding towns because the residents go all out with their celebrations. The pastor of the local church puts on a mini presentation of The Phantom of the Opera every fifteen minutes. One year the students turned one of the dorms into a haunted house that kids could walk through. We went all out with that one. God, I love Halloween!

We didn't have a haunted house during the second year, much to my chagrin. Instead, one of the guys dared me to go trick-or-treating. I was 21 then. Some of the girls and the resident director were taking some children out, so I joined them. When Abby heard that I was going, she tagged along, as well. Despite my age, I was getting into the fun of it and grew impatient with the snail's pace the girls were moving at. So I decided to break off from the group and go on ahead. Abby asked if she could join me, to which I agreed.

At some point she asked me, "What do you look for in a woman?"

I really didn't know what to say. No one had asked me that before. I thought about it for a second and said, "Umm...I guess someone who laughs at my jokes."

"Do I laugh at your jokes?"

Another pause. "Yeah. You do."

The conversation ended there. And a weird one, I thought it was. Yes, I was a moron to not notice what had just happened. It wasn't until I was going to bed that night that it hit me. Wait a minute. Did she ask me out? Was that what she was asking?

The next day Shawna, Abby's friend, came up to me and excitedly asked me if she had asked me out yet. Being an idiot who answers questions based on technicalities, I answered no because Abby didn't actually ask, "Do you want to go out with me?" I asked Shawna if she was supposed to, but she told me to talk to Abby instead. At that point I knew the answer to my question the previous night. I went to Abby and asked point blank if she had, indeed, tried to ask me out. She said yes.

I wasn't sure how to react at first. Before that I had been severely disheartened because no one had ever shown any interest in me. My self-image was dismal. I thought I was ugly and that no one would ever want me. I truly believed that I had no redeeming qualities. Why go for me when you could have the Brad Pitt look-alike standing next to me?

Now along came Abby expressing interest in me. She, of her own free will, considered me pursuable. She thought I was worth it. She had gone for me when she could have gone for Dan or Brian or David. When I realized that, it meant the world to me. Abby had given me hope. Maybe I wasn't worthless.

Abby and I hung around a lot after that. And since Jess had started dating the college cook and staying at his place, we were alone most of the time. And yes, we started making out. And yes, she became my first time.

The day after, I really didn't know what to think. In retrospect, I think I was expecting some life-changing moment. Some big turning point backed up by an orchestral score by John Williams. But there wasn't. I was still me, some schmoe who was going to college. I really didn't feel that different. Even though I knew it was a sin, I didn't really regret it. I now knew what sex felt like. But there was no big change.

Abby pulled me aside and asked me if we were a couple or if it was just a fling. Being the idiot that I am, I said I thought we already were an item. I guess she was confused and a little let down by my answer. Who can blame her, with an answer like mine? But honestly, I didn't know what to think. I was still trying to suss out what had happened and how I felt about it. I was waiting for the life-changing moment.

*Sigh* Running late again. Must stop here. More to come.

The Harem, pt 1

I think I'm going to abandon all pretense of secrecy. I find it confusing to keep using pronouns; and I don't want to start using alternate names. That would only serve to confuse me more. I don't think anyone besides those who already know me will actually read this journal. So I will just resume using people's names. I will, however, do them the courtesy of withholding their last names. If however, you wish me to keep your name secret, drop me a line and I will do so.

My family teases me that I have my own harem. It seems that everytime I have a friend over, it turns out to be a girl. That isn't really the case. I have had guy friends over in the past. But those are mostly my gaming buddies, and we usually head straight downstairs to play our games, and they don't stick around to meet my folks.

I've always gotten along better with girls than with guys. I just feel more comforable around them. So I would end up bringing more girls home with me. Why? You may end up saying that I'm a player. But I believe it stems from my personal insecurities.

In my experience, in a group of guys, there is always a level of competition. It is never spoken of, but it is always felt. It's a competition to determine who is the most masculine. Who is the smartest. The funniest. The strongest. And of course the one with the most sexual prowess or experience. I don't know if this unspoken competition happens in girls' circles, but it definitely is there whenever there is a group of guys.

Many times I feel that I come up short. My chosen event for the contest that occurs at our Game Night is the humor category. And it's a stiff competition because those guys are hysterical. Throughout the evening, you can hear frequent explosions of uproarious laughter. Many nights on the drive home I feel as though I lost because they told funnier jokes than I did. Many times during the night I'll say something that I think is funny, but everyone else looks at me like I'm the stupidest person. One or two guys will politely smile, but that's hardly a consolation prize. Other times I will just not be heard. That's equally humiliating.

It's not that I'm unfunny. I've told some major doozies that have floored the competition. But most of the time the victory goes to someone else, and I am reminded of my inadequacies.

When I'm with a girl or girls, I don't feel the competition. There is no pressure because I am not competing with them. I feel that I can be myself around them. And if they don't like who I am, well then, I'll just go talk to someone else.

The first girl that I can remember that really made me appreciate girls was Wendy. I'm sure my sister will bring up Missy, but it was Wendy who was more influential. We were in first grade together. She sat a couple rows behind me and to the left. She had red hair. (Yes, Charlie Brown, the Little Red Haired Girl.) I remember I had drawn something, and for some reason I turned to her and showed it to her. She said she liked it and then she smiled at me. It was the brightest smile. That smile has stayed with me my entire life. I don't remember having much contact with her during the year, but every once in a while I would turn and show her a drawing I had done or a good grade I received. She would smile at me.

It's hard to tell how I felt at the time, but Wendy left a lasting impression. The kind that influences what I would look for in a girlfriend when the time came that I actually cared about that.

I didn't have many crushes growing up. I remember being a huge fan of Aileen Quinn, the girl who played Annie in the Annie movie. I absolutely adored her and would listen to the LP soundtrack all the time. When Debbie Gibson entered the music scene, I developed a huge crush on her. It was so bad that I would go into newsstands and pharmacies to buy magazines like Tiger Beat and Teen Beat because they were the only ones that had pictures of her. I always felt completely embarrassed and never made eye contact with the clerk.

There were some girls that lived around here, but I was never attracted to any of them. We were playmates and friends, but nothing else. When I went to private school in junior high, there was only one girl who I was attracted to. Her name was Oriana and she was beautiful, but I was never that invested in her. I met her occasionally after junior high when our different youth groups would meet for weekend retreats.

Megan was my first real crush. I say real because she was a real person I knew, not some celebrity I saw in a music video or a magazine clipping. She went to my youth group and later to the same high school. She was the definition of the word "sweet". From her smile to her eyes to her voice to her personality. I just always found myself drawn to her. Many times my head would feel like it was spinning and my heart would be in my throat.

We were really good friends and got to spend a lot of time together because we were both heavily involved in the youth group. But I was always delegated to the "friend territory". Not that I had any clue that that was a bad thing. My strategy was to use patience. Seeing as how I didn't know the first thing about asking a girl out, I decided that I would become really close friends with her. Then after she had gone through several broken relationships with guys who turned out to be assholes, she would decide to go out with me and then we would live happily ever after, or something to that effect. You know, that age-old story.

While I was a senior and she was a junior, we would pass each other in the hallway between classes. As we were passing, she would hand me a hand-written, carefully folded note. She never wrote anything deep. Just stuff like "I'm tired because I didn't get much sleep last night. I'm taking a test next period. My foot is killing me today." Mundane stuff. She never poured her heart out to me. But you know what? I didn't care. I saved each and every one of those notes.

We went to the same prom, but not together. I had already graduated, and it was her senior prom, but not at our own high school. My sister had set me up with her friend's cousin, Amy. Megan was there with another guy from our youth group, someone I found hyperactively annoying. I never went to my own prom. I wound up going to Amy's because I wanted to get some experience with a girl in a romantic setting, but mostly due to pressure from my sister and mother. Poor Amy. I hardly spent any time with her. We danced a few times, but I was a complete lump, for lack of a better term. I had never been in that type of setting before, and I didn't know how to talk to girls. I don't think we really liked each other. There was no animosity, but I would've been fine not to go, and she would've been fine to have gone stag. We never saw each other after that night.

The entire night I was thinking about Megan. I was hoping that I could have a dance with her. I talked to her quite a bit, but never got up the nerve to ask for a dance. Besides, I was already there with a "date". I knew that it would have been a completely stupid thing to do, to dance with someone else, regardless of whether or not there was any attraction between my Amy and me. When the final dance came, I knew I had missed my shot. I knew that the nice thing to do would be to dance with Amy one last time.

I barely saw Megan at all after high school. She ended up dating Simon, a kid who would bully me in Boys Brigade, the church equivalent of the Boy Scouts. She married someone else. I was going to go to her wedding, but I missed it. I though it was at 11am (Aren't they all?). Turned out to be at 10am. As I got to the church, everyone was filing out, so I ended up not going.

I see Megan every once in a while. She comes into the store and says hi. We strike up a casual conversation. Let me tell you, whenever that happens my old crush for her come right back! My head starts spinning and my heart jumps up into my throat.

Megan was a crush. Melissa is the one I would say I fell in love with. We worked together at the store. It started on Halloween of all times. I was wearing my "Floor of a Movie Theatre" costume, and she was wearing some kind of faux-Medeival dress, like a lady of the court. It looked kind of like a Snow White dress. When I saw her in that outfit, that's when I fell. Up till that point I just thought she was kinda pretty, nice to look at with a pleasant personality. But right then and there, she looked absolutely beautiful. It's weird how that happens.

After that I definitely spent more time around her. Struck up more conversations. I would make up excuses just to talk to her. She worked at the front of the store while I worked in the back. I would walk up and tell her that I was going to lunch, or that I was back from lunch. She didn't need to know that and would always give me a quizzical look. But I just wanted to spend a little bit of time with her. And everytime I saw her, she somehow became more and more beautiful.

Even if she wasn't already seeing someone, I probably wouldn't have developed the nerve to ask her out. Up to that point, my confidence was high enough that I was able to ask out two other girls, both of whom said no. But with Melissa, I would have been too nervous.

She ended up leaving the store to get married. And I actually went to her wedding. That's not the sad part. The sad part is that the man that she married shared the same name as me. It was bad enough seeing her up at the altar, but to hear her say her vows was absolute torture.

"I, Melissa, take you, Justin..."

It felt like I had just been shot in the chest.

Pew Sitting

I am extremely grateful to my parents that they brought me up in the church. Christianity has been so deeply ingrained in me that it has become part of who I am. I grew up going to Sunday School and Children's Church and then to youth group. I was taught about Adam & Eve, Noah, Moses, Jonah and Jesus and His disciples from such an early age that I can't remember a time that I didn't believe.

I've lived in the same town all my life. So it's only natural that my family brought me to the same church every Sunday. I remember when it was just a small brick building situated behind the Howard Johnson's hotel next to the highway. I was there when it grew an extension, complete with a great huge sanctuary with comfortable pews and a new parking lot to accomodate all the cars. Back then it was so modern. Now the church seems so small. The equipment outdated and the parking lot old and cracked.

I grew up in that church. It was such an important part of my youth. But I can never go back there again.

Sure, I can walk through the doors. I go to every Easter and Christmas Eve service. But as far as attending, I can't do it. I have a hard time just sitting through one service. I have a hard time pinpointing why I can no longer go there. There seems to be multiple reasons, but I can't decide if one reason outweighs the others.

One reason I don't want to go back is because of the church itself. I don't really like the atmosphere. It isn't very warm and friendly. I'm talking about the congregation. I grew up there, but there're very few people that I actually remember. And I only show up twice a year. You'd think people would come up to me and shake my hand and ask me if this was my first time attending this church. It's only happened once or twice.

I'm also not a fan of the pastor's style of preaching. Don't get me wrong, I've spoken to him on numerous occasions, and he's one of the nicest guys I've ever met. He's someone I would trust. However, I find his sermons completely boring. I find sermons hard to listen to in the first place, but his tend to put me to sleep. (Not really. I'm polite enough to stay awake. Besides, my snoring would cause a problem.) His style totally reminds me of a children's Sunday School class. His speech is very soft. Very.....nice. No passion behind what he's preaching. I don't know about you, but I like some fire in the sermons. I love it when the preacher occasionally yells, when he comes down into the congregation. I want some passion and excitement.

Another reason was due to personal shame. This was the biggest reason for a while, but isn't so much of a problem anymore. I'm thirty-five years old, single and still live at home with my parents. And I work in retail. Whenever I attended a service, I would always dread one question. "Where do you work now?" I cannot decribe the shame I felt when I answered that evil question. It was always a painful reminder that I did not have a career, I did not have a family, and I was not living on my own. When the service was over, I always tried to duck out the door as quickly as possible. It didn't always work.

Thankfully, now I can tell them that I am a manager now, at least.

Several years ago the church organized a Men's Retreat where the men in the church would go and spend a weekend at a nearby Christian center. This was after I had stopped attending that church. But my mother insisted that I go. I didn't have to pay for it. She wanted me to get out of the basement where I usually spent my weekends. Sometimes I think she thought I had turned my back on God, and this was going to help me get back on track. I didn't want to go, but I thought at least they have volleyball games there and a really nice indoor swimming pool. So reluctantly I went with my father.

That was a mistake. When I got there, I really didn't want to be there. Everyone there was older than me and married. Most had kids, some had grandkids. As soon as I got there, my personal barriers came right up. Remember that scene in the movie Wargames when that huge door locked up? That's what I was like the entire weekend. And everyone knew it. I barely spoke to anyone. Every once in a while someone would try to engage me in conversation in an effort to bring me out of my shell. But it never worked. I wasn't using a shell. I had titanium armor. My language skills had degenerated into sentence that consisted of up to two words. The room that I slept in had enough beds for three people. I was by myself in there.

I was completely alone for the entire weekend. At one point I found a phone and called long-distance, at the expense of the center, to my girlfriend. I couldn't get a hold of her. There was no volleyball and no pool games. By the end I felt terribly guilty because it had been a complete waste of money for me to be there. And I could tell that my father was upset and embarrassed because of me. After we got home, I gave him the money for the weekend. He tried to refuse, but I insisted. If it was going to be a waste of money, it was going to be my own. It was my way of apologizing for being such a sourpuss.

Another reason I can never go back to that church is because it's in the past. It is no longer a part of me, so I can't be a part of it. To go back it feels like I would be taking a step back. Like I would be insulting myself.

I used to work at a pizza restaurant that is right next door to the store where I work now. I worked there for over four years. One year when I was working at the store, I decided that it would be a good idea to re-apply at the pizza place. I had plenty of experience so they wouldn't have to do any real training. I could work maybe ten, fifteen hours a week and get a little extra cash for the Christmas season. They probably would've hired me right on the spot.

But the second I picked up that application, I realized I couldn't do it. All the memories of working there came flooding back. Not bad memories, per se. It had to do with what they meant. I knew I would have to wear the black pants and green polo shirt. I would have to come home smelling like pizza sauce. I would have to pull pizzas from the oven and box them up to be delivered. I would have to go out back to the walk-in to get more lettuce for the salads. I couldn't do it. For me to go back to working there again, it would have been the greatest insult I could do to myself.

It's for this same reason that I can't go back to my family's church. I have moved on. It is no longer a part of me.

After high school, my two best friends and I started going to a Pentecostal church right around the corner from where I live. I'd never been in there before. But I was completely blown away by the passion in the pastor's sermons. Here was someone who loved God and wasn't afraid to show it, to let it out. We started attending regularly and ended up meeting some powerful Christians who became very influential in each of our lives. I learned more in that church than I had ever learned in my parents' church.

However, I was never completely comfortable in that church. While I found a spiritual vigor that I had never before experienced, I did not like their worship style. You see, I grew up in a baptist church where the most passion that was ever displayed was the occasional exclamations of "Amen!" or "Hallelujah!" Then to be in the midst of a Pentecostal worship service was a jarring experience, what with all the clapping, moaning, dancing and speaking in tongues. There were times that it got so intense that I had to leave the service altogether. While I will probably never go back to that church (for reasons that will be given at another time), I have great respect for it and for the preaching that went on in there.

Every once in a while I would try other churches around town, just to see what they had to offer. I tried a congregational church just down the road from our house. It was too dull for me. I tried another baptist church about half a mile away. That was interesting. It turned out to be a liberal church, very non-offensive. The reverend was a woman (a first for me) and her sermon was about recycling. My brother brought me to a mega-church about thirty minutes to the south a couple times. During one of the small groups (which wasn't that small), we watched a couple clips from The Truman Show.

There was one baptist church near the town line that I attended for about a month. It was nice. It reminded me of a smaller version of my parents' church. The pastor showed a sense of humor in his sermons. I liked it. Until they started reciting the Lord's Prayer every week. That is a definite turn-off for me. I can't stand it. I've got nothing against the Prayer itself. It came from Jesus Himself. It acts as a guide for how we should pray. It is a very powerful passage of Scripture. But when it is recited in church every week, it sounds extremely monotonous and robotic, and it loses its power.

After leaving for college, I all but stopped attending any churches. There was a congregational church on the corner, one that dated back before the Declaration of Independence. But I had the same problem that I had with the previous congregational church. Too dull. I no longer had any contact with my best friends, so I couldn't lean on them for support.

After college, I rarely attended church. My mother tried to get me back into going to her church, but to no avail. I wanted to go back to church. My spiritual life was in the dumps and I knew I had to get it back on track. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak. I made numerous attempts. I prayed about it. But I no longer cared enough.

It wasn't until one of my best friends returned home after his marriage crumbled that I found the means to return to church. He needed a new church for him and his children to attend in an effort to rebuild their lives. It turned out to be the same baptist church on the town line that I had tried all those years earlier. He invited me to come along, and I readily agreed. It was a different place from when I first attended. There was a new pastor and they no longer ecited the Lord's Prayer. It was old-fashioned, but trying to update itself with new technologies and current worship styles.

I was hesitant at first until I had an epiphany. Over the years of not attending church, I had put up defenses to protect myself from socializing, especially from answering he dreaded question, "Where do you work?" But I realized that I needed to take the next step. A lot of the church members had come up to me, shook my hand and welcomed me, but I was on the defensive. The solution was incredibly simple: Learn people's names. If I was going to attend this church, I was going to have to get to know these people, and it started with learning their names.

I like this church. While I do have some only-wishes, phrases that start with "I only wish", I like the people and the style of worship. Plus, it fits into my work schedule. And as an added bonus, they are planning a missions trip to Morocco, which I am absolutely thrilled about! Last Sunday, I gave my first tithe ever. I got my stimulus check in the mail, and I was so grateful to God for it, that I gave Him ten percent of it.

I'm still undecided if I want to become a full-fledged member of the church, mainly due to the only-wishes I have. But I see myself staying there for a long time.

Komodo Jazz

About "Komodo Jazz"

Every once in a while, when someone sees my screen name, he/she asks me what "Komodo Jazz" means. I usually give them the short version of where I came up with that name.But in order to fully explain it, I'm going to have to start at the beginning.

I'm a visually-oriented person. Always have been. While some people are musically- or intellectually-inclined, I like to look at things. I appreciate things that are visually interesting. Not just beautiful things, but also grotesque or even ugly things. After all, I found the movie Silent Hill to be visually beautiful, even though the imagery was disturbing. One of my favorite places to visit is The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. The fact that I can get in for free helps, too.

I've been drawing as long as I can remember. Sure, every little child draws, but I never stopped. I think the earliest memory of me drawing is of me bringing a crayon round and round in a circle for about a minute. I didn't set out to draw anything specific, but when I was done, it looked like the top view of a bird's nest, and I proudly told my grandmother that was what it was. I started drawing people. I don't really recall drawing objects like houses or cars or the like. But I did draw people quite a bit. They consisted of just a circle with a face, maybe some hair, and a pair of stick legs and arms.

My biggest achievement around that time still hangs on the wall to this day. We were sitting in church one Sunday, and my sister and I were both doing what young children do best during a service, not paying an ounce of attention to what the preacher was saying. Instead, we were drawing. She ended up drawing two little girls, one taller than the other and wearing a wreath of flowers on her head. I think she said they were characters from Little House on the Prairie. I could be wrong; she'll probably correct me later on. It was actually really good, and I'm still impressed by it.

I drew a king. He was wearing a simple crown and a green suit. What's impressive is that he had a full body with arms, legs, hands and feet. I had given him mass. Up till then, I had only been drawing heads with stick arms and legs. Then to do something like that is amazing, especially for a four-year-old. (I think I was four. I could be wrong.) Our mother was so impressed by our drawings that she saved them and hung them on the living room wall.

I remember drawing a lot back then. I would draw dragons that were just creatures with fins on their heads. I created a superhero named Zoom Man. I don't remember what his superpower was, just that he could defeat anything that my brother drew. "Zoom Man can kill your dinosaur!"

Sometime between 1984 and 1987, I stopped drawing. I think it was because I was always hanging out with my friend Kevin. We were obsessed with the movie Red Dawn, and we would always pretend that we were part of the Wolverines and would go around killing Russians. After elementary school I went to a private Christian school and he continued in a public junior high school. We didn't hang around as much. I became a super-religious young teenager (not a good combination) and ended up condemning him for his sinful ways.

In 1987, while in attending junior high school, I rediscovered drawing and tackled it with a vengeance. I drew all the time. Mostly I drew in various themes. I started out drawing dragons. One particular dragon stands out in my memory. I drew it out of anger at my mother. She was the dragon burning the landscape with her fire, and I was a little knight trying to fight her. I still have that drawing. Another theme I used was dragonized versions of actual animals such as turtles, octopi and T-rexes.

My next theme was probably the most important. It happened when Rambo was a big craze. I would make parodies such as Rambo Brite, Bambo and Hambo. They would be decked out in machine guns, grenades, knives and rocket lauchers. Then I drew a dinosaur that similarly equipped. He had helmet sorta like a triceratops, a tattoo of an anchor on his shoulder and a throwing star dangling from his helmet. I named him Dragonfire. I thought he was so cool that I made more like him, all with a different helmet, a different function (arctic, mountain, heavy-weapons, etc.) and bearing a name that started with "Dragon-". Dragonsnow. Dragonstone. Dragonshot. Over the years, Dragonfire has gone through many makeovers. The picture above is what he looks like today.

Before I knew it, I was creating a backstory for these creatures. They were aliens come to Earth two fight an evil army of aliens called SLASH. I had to draw what the villains looked like. They came in different sizes, but mainly the same shape: dragon-like. There was Cicada, R.I.P., Empirian, Gom, Icon and Blade to name a few. But there was one that really stuck out, really struck a chord with me. He was inspired by the book Into the Out Of by Alan Dean Foster. He was a gargoyle-like creature with dark blue skin, a V-shaped head and enormous black spikes on his elbows on his elbows and knees. When I finished drawing him, I needed a name. "Komodo" was the first that came to mind.

I began drawing him as much as I drew Dragonfire. It wasn't until years later that I came to the realization that Dragonfire and Komodo were actually self-portraits. They didn't look anything like me, but they represented two sides of me. Dragonfire was the noble side that strove to fight for good and just wanted to be a good person. Komodo represented all my anger that I felt inside. Not the kind that would kill people; Komodo had actually become a good guy. His was the kind of anger that could lash out at people who were trying to hurt me.

Because he was so cool looking and I liked him so much, I started using him as screen names. Unfortunately, "Komodo" is a pretty common screen name, so I would have to settle for Komodo284. I couldn't do that, so I used his alien birth name, K'Mroda. That became my e-mail address for a long time: kmroda@-------.com. But I was never completely satisfied with that. I wanted to use "Komodo" as a screen name, but I didn't want a number at the end. I needed something original.

My initials are J. A. S. When I was little, I remember wishing that my last name started with a Z because "JAZ" sounds a lot cooler than "JAS". I decided to do something about it. When I restarted my drawing abilities in 1987, I would sign my artwork JAZ '87 (or whatever year it happened to be). My parents started calling me Jaz. It lasted all the way through high school. I stopped using it as much in college. I still use it occasionally, mostly in video games and when carving my signature into rubber stamps. Every once in a while I will hear one of my parents or a friend call me Jaz, but mainly I've let it die down.

But when coming up with my screen name, I decided to use Jaz, another part of my identity. So I tacked it on to the end and gave it that extra z, because Komodo Jaz just looks odd. Komodo Jazz gives it a certain level of coolness.

So that's the story of how I came up with my screen name. I also have others I will sometimes use. Roedt Beist. Stinju. K-Jazz. But generally I stick with Komodo Jazz.

Komodo Jazz

In the Beginning...

I find blogs to be curious things. They seem to be contradictory. They are diaries. Yet the writer wants other people to read them. They want to reavel their innermost thoughts, but they only go so far because there is always something or other that the writer doesn't want the reader to know about him/her. So you never get to know what is really going on in the writer's mind. Not through blogs, anyway. I suppose it also depends on the level of the blogger's honesty. How much he really cares about what people of him.
Why do they call it a blog, anyway? I guess it's short for web log. But blogs are just journals. Or memoirs. Or diaries. Why don't they just call it an on-line journal? A letter sent over the internet is called e-mail. Why don't they call it an e-journal or e-memoir? Maybe because he word diary sounds a little girly. Maybe because journal sounds like a requirement in English class. And a memoir is what a stuffy British author writes. Does blog sound cooler? More hip? I dunno. Whatever.
On that note, I decided to start my own e-journal. Just to see where it takes me. I've tried keeping journals before. Once in book form, once on-line. They didn't last very long. I turn introspective once in a while, and I feel the need to write down my thoughts. Then once I get that out of my system, I no longer feel introspective and stop writing. So we'll see how long this lasts.
But maybe this one will last longer. My sister and a friend of mine from Game Night keep journals through blogspot.com, and they are what inspired me to start my own journal.
However, I have an internal dilemma going on about this because of what I said before in the first paragraph. Because this is an on-line journal, one which many people can freely read, namely my family, I can't reveal everything that is going on in my head. Some of the things that I am thinking can't be posted here due to their immoral nature. And yet, I desperately want to express these thoughts. Therein lies the dilemma and why I find blogs to be strange things.

I don't consider myself to be a very good writer. I don't think I'm bad. Just not that good. I wrote a few short stories in high school and college that earned A grades. But those were short stories. I could never write a novel.
One of my problems is that I'm not very verbose. I don't speak a lot. Neither do I write a lot. And I'm talking about length-wise. Whereas many people I know can monologue for ten minutes about something such as how to talk to your boss, I will say the exact same thing in one minute. I get to the point and say it. It carries over into my writing-style, as well. I read books in which the author goes into all this glorious detail and beautiful dialogue. But when I try to write, it ends up being bone-dry. No meat to make what I write enjoyable to read. Which is why I'm better at writing short stories, not actual novels.
I believe it stems from the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I don't like it when someone talks for more than five minutes. It's terrible in church. After a while I start zoning out. In order to keep from falling asleep I'll start thumbing through the Bible or fiddling with my fingers or doodling in the church bulletin. After about five minutes I start to drift or get bored with the person. I don't ever want to do that to someone else. I don't want to talk for so long that I lose their interest in what I'm saying. So I just get to the point and say what it is I have to say.
I'll admit that I'm not always okay with this. There are times I wish I could talk more. My girlfriends have always been big talkers. They could talk for extended periods of time. And I would just sit there listening patiently, and sometimes inwardly impatiently, occasionally offering one or two sentence contribution to a rather one-sided conversation. And when I finally did have something substantial to add to a subject, she would always interrupt with her thoughts on what I decided to finally speak up about. And I, being the quiet gentleman that I am, would always let her continue with her interruption.
I think a major contributing factor to my short conversational skills comes from my early childhood. Just ask my mother how much of a talker I was. Which was not at all. I hardly ever spoke. In fact, I vehemently refused to utter a word. It didn't get much better as I grew up.
When my sister, four years my elder, was in junior high school, her yearbook named her the Quietest. She hardly ever spoke up in school. But when she was at home it was a different story. She would cut loose and talk our ears off. She was infamous at the dinner table, hardly letting the rest of us get a word in edge-wise.
But you know what? I didn't mind one bit. I never complained. Unless my parents started to, then I would join in just to razz on my sister because that's what little brothers do. I never complained because the more she talked, the less I had to.

I know, I seem to be contradicting myself here. I say that I don't talk a lot or write a lot. And yet this turned out to be a lengthy journal entry. But this always happens. My first entry in all my journals have been long. It happens whenever I become introspective and have a lot on my mind. So future entries will probably be not as long. We'll see.