Dead Battery

          Writing these blogs reminds me of recording messages for my phone. I like them to give people a general idea of who I am and what you can expect if you talked to me in person. I actually used to record a new message every day for my phone. I was one of those pricks who would never pick up the phone but instead let it go to voice mail every time.

When someone was sent to my voice mail they would be treated to one of those messages that say, “What’s that? I can’t hear you, talk louder!”  I would record a new one of these each day with different variations of me talking just so people could keep falling for the prank. I grew bored of this cliché phone prank and started going into more depth to get a laugh at angering others.

 I would actually try to have an entire conversation with the person I was pranking. Saying hello when the voice mail picked up, leaving a space of time between then me asking how they were doing and finally pretending to get into a car accident by screaming and honking my car horn while throwing my phone to simulate crashing sounds. Another one of my favorites was pretending I accidentally hit the receive button instead of ignoring the call. I would then have a conversation with a fake person saying how that I hated the person who just tried calling me and just general insults.

I stopped that and started recording songs and other things, sung by me personally, some of them I just made up off the top of my head. Some of these comprised of “Waffle Time” sung by J.D on Scrubs, Lou Bega’s “Baby keep smiling” and “This is Halloween” from Tim Burton’s Nightmare before Christmas.

Now-a-days I don’t have a personal message for my voice mail, it’s some robotic woman saying my phone number and stating I’m unavailable. I, in fact, have always hated talking on the phone. I like fucking with people via voice mail and texting, that’s pretty much it.

Deathly Shallow

            It’s a story about 2 young men and a girl. They set off on an adventure, one where nothing was quite what it seemed. Turns out it wasn’t Gryffindor playing Ravenclaw in Quidditch but rather the Utes playing SDSU. The barmaid wasn’t a busty woman but a short Latino man with a faux-hawk. It wasn’t Butter Beer I was drinking, instead it was something called The Devastator Double Bock. Luckily our houses team one and there was much celebration in the great hall, or the bar, whatever. At the end of the night I talked to my portrait of Dumbledore, and by that I mean Emily since she has pneumonia and couldn’t sleep anyway.

           

Pricetag

            You buy a brand new shirt. It’s a nice fit for your physique, maybe you’ve toned up a bit since the last time you went clothes shopping and needed something that would fit properly. Everyone compliments you and your new shirt, the style of it and how you look in it. It has no holes in it, stains or any other ware about it; you love your new piece of clothing.

            Keep wearing the shirt and washing it excessively and the color comes out a bit and finally a thread comes loose. The thread bothers you so you pick at it and pull out a stitching, making a tiny hole in it. The shine is gone from it and you start wearing older shirts in the closet again.

            The new shirt becomes just one of your other shirts. No more do you see why you liked the shirt, realizing that it was just because it was new and you were sick of everything else in your wardrobe. It lingers in your closet, only used for days you do laundry on and you have nothing else to wear.

            You grow back into your old shirts and lose the tone look your body had when you went shopping last time. They feel comfortable and even though they are less desirable to be seen in, you are happy that they still fit. A feeling of remorse comes over you when seeing the old-new shirt in the back of your closet and you think of how nice you used to look, especially while wearing it.

            Eventually you fold it up and put it into a container. You’ll either give it away to someone else or just let it sit in a part of your basement. It will sit there, all the slight imperfections and very little color left in it, useless to all.

Scrubs

            I like to finish off things in one fell swoop. I’ll even go out of my way to make sure the task I’m working on finishes cleanly with no strings attached. As much as I try though, there is one chore of mine that proves to be impossible to do with, laundry. I have planned this out, even with paper in pencil, to find a way to have all my clothes finished, dried and done without it causing any problems or leaving any leftover.

Typically taking 3 loads, I do the first 2, and then take a shower. Leaving whatever I was wearing while doing laundry dirty. I thought that if did the first 2, start the third, take all my clothes off at the washer and run to the bathroom, I would be able to be done completely. This was met with truly judgmental expressions from those living with me and I was still left with my wet towel I’d use in the shower.  After this failed I decided to shower first, and then do the laundry. This quickly proved to be a bad idea since all I had clean to wear were these goofy clothes from when I was 10 while I washed my limited wardrobe, leaving me unable to do anything else all day.

Naked sprints from my bathroom after the shower to drop the towel off was next. This would have worked except for my wet feet causing me to slide and smack my head on the kitchens linoleum floor, still naked but now unconscious.

I finally gave up on trying to finish all my dirty clothes off at one time without leaving any in the hamper. I just throw whatever I have on before the shower in my hamper and wait till next week to wash that. Whenever I do this, I always spend 10 minutes rifling through my closet looking for those clothes and damning the whole world when I realize they were the ones I didn’t wash that week.

Drunk Dial

This blog is brought to you by Emily, who woke me up long enough to remember I hadn’t posted anything today. My mind is not on writing creative stuff right now, so why not actually tell a story; this blog is after all called the Tales of the Utah Warrior. I have asked four friends of mine to write this blog for me. I've asked them to write a joint story, individual haiku's and a statement to all of earth.

            It was a cold and dreary day in the middle of January. The grass was wet from the melted white winter. I decided to take my rocket ship to Mars to fight aliens. I load my Colt .45 with hate and despair, ready to ruin the dreams of many. I step out of my rocket ship onto an old heartless planet to see only the destruction of a hopeless generation. The robbed souls of many corpses lay at my feet as I walk through the desolate land. The brittle earth crumbles underneath the hopes of many and I plunge into a dark and seemingly bottomless abyss. I rise back to the surface in a bunch of hot air balloons. When I reach the top of the abyss I stumble onto a mysterious corpse. Low on ammunition and provisions I search the body. Finding only useless materials, the planet blows up and I float to Pluto. The body was a bomb and the planet blew. I am cutting my hair off and suddenly have the urge to go to the bathroom. We have to break into poetry now.

Viper:

I’m really hungry

So I went to McDonalds

And bought a Big Mac

           

Slayer:

The Darkness grew fast

Seemingly lost in the world

Hope is just a lie

Hunter:

There’s no way out

The bad news ruins me now

I want him to die

Karate:

Hope is just a dream

I will never succeed in life

But I will survive

To finish the story now, he got killed by a one-eyed ogre on Pluto.

Now if they all had one thing to say to everyone on earth

Enjoy the little things – Slayer

You guys honestly blew it – Hunter

Live and let live, b*tches – Viper

I really don’t have anything to say – Karate

Bad Reception

 I am colorblind. Thinking I am able to see the world more accurately than any of you is foolish. My view is unique but wrong. You people who see color, correct me when my eyes lie to me. If I am lucky I will go blind soon so no one can ask me what color something looks to me. I really do hate that game.

Sweet Tooth

It’s pretty much like staring at a large rack of candy, lots of pretty colors and labels that make you hungry but unsure what you’re in the mood for. With so many choices as a consumer, it can take you much longer to pick what will satisfy your craving. Even picking an old favorite can pale in comparison when imagining how good the others you haven’t tried yet might be.

You have the bright colored bulk fruit flavored that come in packs. I never really liked these kinds; usually I single out a favorite amongst them and never really care for the others after. Plus, if you continue to get these just to have that single flavor you’re going to get bored of the taste eventually. It can become very wasteful, time and money wise, to keep buying these just to enjoy a few.        

In the same vein are the treats that are too sugary. They are great for all of about three seconds when they first hit your tongue, and then you don’t want to have them for another month. If you struggle through and keep eating these you’ll eventually feel a bit sick, especially if you eat them in excess. One who constantly ingests these types is often jittery, constantly crashing from the sugar rush.                                                                     

Then there are the sweet and salty chocolate candies. They bring the best of both worlds to you, making it very easy to get addicted to them. Often packaged singularly, they also provide just enough to satiate your craving. The only problem with this candy is because they’re so good and get bought so much that people put weird shit in them. You have something good and then they’ll start putting almonds or pretzels in them, completely throwing off the balance it once had.                 

Some people would just turn away from the rack at this point and get a soda or something. They realize they’re wasting time trying to find something that will never really satisfy their hunger completely. It’s just fattening processed sugar most of the time anyway, very little nutritional value to them. The joy is sucked out of them before they have even tried a piece.

Personally, I think candy should be eaten sparingly or it just loses the magic of itself. Picking a piece is half the fun since you have no idea what it’s really going to be like. You can laugh with your friends about how crappy it tastes or insist they try your new sugar coated god. The whole point of it is to make your life a little bit sweeter anyway, as long as you keep that mentality you can’t really go wrong with whatever you pick.

My Dream Girl Don't Exist

    It’s how a voice can be high-pitched but soft at the same time. When I stare into eyes, rather than nervous, are happy to meet my own. A smile letting me know that I am most preferred over others. The way they are primped and preened to look clean and perfect. Their style of illusions, advantages and emphasizing. Skin so soft and smooth it is impossible to imagine until felt. How they brush off their hips and smooth out their clothing. The electric jolt that passes through my body when they accidentally bump into me. Alluring smells that intoxicate my brain and make it impossible to think coherently. The curves of their bodies made all that more inciting being veiled by clinging clothing. I love women.

    It's the fact that high pitched voices are what younger, more fertile women have. When staring into shaking eyes I see a mate that will not procreate strong, confident males to keep my genetic line going. A slight change caused in the face and behavior brought on by their ovulation cycles looking for confident males. The attention to hygiene showing the ability to remain clean and prevent themselves from falling ill. Their choice in clothing to accentuate the symmetry of their shoulder-to-waist shape and waist-to-hip ratios. How women that touch more sensitive parts of their body while in a man's company are trying to draw attention to them, especially when tightening clothes to reveal their body shape. The adrenaline dumped into my blood stream when a woman touches me. Alluring pheromones which allow my body's receptors to pick up on their genetic makeup and determining if our genetic makeups together would create symmetry. It's that smoother, curved bodies often promise better weight distribution, very important in fertility, and that a woman with a more pronounced chest or waist has the desired hourglass symmetry. I know all of this yet I am still a romantic. Rather just then being attracted to women for these reasons, I wish to love these things about them. I am a human and as such I will not be totally dominated by what my animalistic side determines as the right person for me.

Running on Empty

    I get a lot of joy out of simple things in my life. A lot of these joys are things only men can really appreciate. I have always liked m&ms, when i turned vegan I could no longer eat them, so i was very excited when they started making them in dark chocolate. I dislike eating them straight out of the pack sometimes though, especially when I'm trying to enjoy them and you can't help but take a fistful when tipping the bag. If the mood strikes me to enjoy a more distinguished snack, I'll throw the m&ms into a bowl and zap fry them in my microwave for ten seconds. As a bachelor, this makes me feel like I'm eating some sort of fancy treat. The middles are melted and it makes it a lot more satisfying to bite into it. That's really all I have to say about that.