If You Have Time to Kill...

This brought me great joy and maybe it can also do the same for you.

The Underdoge

I wish I could write a post about bricks, or make up some super amazing metaphor about bricks or take a picture of a brick, but all I've been able to come up with is this:

So I am going to be completely honest and say that I disappoint myself when I do my blog. I know it shouldn't be that way, but it is, and I think it's because I am comparing it to everyone else's. My background is of clean, white hexagons. That is me. I'm not a poet, I'm not indie, and I haven't really loved anyone, I'm just a comedian. An OCD one. I could put my background as a nice field or an antique radio or a girl covering her eyes, but I won't because I'm a boy and plus none of those things matter to me.

I know my blog isn't the greatest. It's because I'm a procrastinator.
I know that's an excuse, but I'm more than willing to use it, because it's a true excuse.

I love looking at YOUR blog! It's so good!
And I might comment on it if I like it a lot (and FYI I like all of them a lot)
But I will probably comment on the blogs that don't have any comments, because I root for the underdoge.
(Also don't think I comment out of pity, because I don't. I will search and search and search until I find something I truly like about it and that will be my comment.)

My mom always says:

And so I do. Sometimes I don't, but sometimes I do.
You may not know what I'm saying, and neither do I.
So look at this and imagine me saying "WOWE! GO U UNDERdoGe!" and be satisfied by what I am.

My First Kiss

I knew I was going to do it during the whole date. She was going to college, so this was my last chance. I parked up at Squaw Peak.
Cliche.
We sat out in the cold for 45 minutes cuddling because I was too scared to make the move, even though I'm pretty sure she knew it was coming. It's like she was holding out on me for fun.
Two cars of teenagers pulled up and asked me to take their picture. It was a good picture for how dark it was outside.
She sneaked back to the car. I got in, turned it on, and thought the moment was gone.
Then that romantic corner of my mind that is severely underused took charge and I heard myself say:
"I really want to kiss you."
"Okay."
I think I blacked out.
Boy it was good.
"That wasn't good, lets do it again."
Okay, maybe it wasn't as good as I'd thought, but I didn't argue with her.

The Slippery Slope

I have a problem with closings and maybe that's why I wrote "break up" on my checklist.
Insensitive. Ya, I know. It was practical.
I'm not very versed in the language of love
But I'm pretty good at French.

I like love.
You could say that I like like love.
It makes me tingle. 
(That sounded weird)
In fact, I was thinking over the weekend and I'd be such a good boyfriend.

One day.
One day.
One day. 

(that was dramatic, which I wouldn't be if I was ur husband)

It appears that this is now a plea for marriage.
I am so sorry this is what happened.
It started off so good! I knew where it was going! I had dreams and plans for this.
But that's like love isnt it?
It starts off so good, you know where it's headed and all of the sudden it takes a weird and dramatic turn and then what the heck you're married and staring at each other in your honeymoon hotel room.
This is the end now.

Ya... I have a problem with closings.
But look how good I am with openings!

Love,
    philo

Blurry

When I take off my glasses:

lights turn into artistic, flickering splotches

people turn into indistinguishable outlines

words turn into monochrome lines

and the E looks like an F 

and the T looks like an I 

and the G looks like an O

and the W and the U and the V and the M all look the same

and hate looks like love

details blend into backgrounds, faces blend into crowds, colors blend into each other

then my mind is set free and I get to see whatever I want to see.

I get to be the architect, the artist, the creator.

When I take off my glasses, the world is a little blurry, but I'm not blind. 

a human experience

my dog was shaking for some reason
he was probably cold
but i always worry that he's going to die
i always worry that im going to die, too
he was laying on me while i watched tv
because procrastination is a better alternative than
                  homework
                         packing
                                making decisions
he thought he heard the doorbell
and he always freaks out when it rings
like i always freak out when
                  a cute girl talks to me
                          theres hair on the soap in the shower
                                  i get defensive
he shot off of me
and the front door never saw him coming
he scratched my stomach because
i dont clip his claws nearly enough
because there are "more important things to do"
                 go to work
                         socialize
                                watch tv
and he stopped shaking
but i started bleeding

Banterings about the Muffin Man

Do you know the muffin man?
Well what's his address?
He lives on Drury Lane. Why do you care?
Is he the one with the blue Ford?
No. He drives a red Camaro.
Business must be good.
Stocks in muffins are way up.
I've never liked muffins. I'm more of a porridge guy. 
Gross.
You remember Little Miss Muffet?
Ya.
She was SUPER afraid of spiders.

We Don't Have to Be 50 Shades of Office Cubicle Grey

I don't know if this is supposed to be about how we have all lost our imaginations, or about how we are afraid to act young, or about crayons, but let's just say that it's about all those things and let's just say it's about a little more. Because we are told to think outside of the box, but when we do we get punished, penalized, and persuaded that we were supposed to do it this way and we shouldn't have done it that way. 

We are told that we shouldn't have used cerulean where black could have sufficed. We were taught that angle A was perpendicular to angle D and we were asked to prove it and we couldn't say "because that's the way it is" because there was only 1 right answer, and that wasn't it.

We were taught to stay inside the lines and you wonder why we can't think outside the box? We're told that everyone is gold, and then they average us out, define us by letters and numbers and slide us through the machine and hope that we don't ALL come out a murky brown or an office cubicle grey. 
We think that all we can do is hope that we aren't the ones shading in a monotone world, but sometimes we are, and that's because of the news, and the government, and  the pessimists who drain the color out of our faces and then splash it back in politically correct terms of white, black, yellow, and make us think that the world isn't worth the time we spend outlining and color coordinating,
BUT
IT
IS.
Some of us still appreciate the pinks and oranges of a sunset.
Some of us still love the reds of lips, and the blues of eyes.

Some of us still have rainbows swirling around in our heads waiting to be chosen from a box where the people we let borrow our crayons only replaced the blacks and the whites.
But when we remember that we can still color with the atomic tangerines and the razzle dazzle roses and the screamin greens we rediscover ideas and opinions and facts that we forgot were even there. And our imaginations are a little rusty because we left them out in the rain for a couple years, but we can sand them off and do a little tweaking and look at that, it's just like new.

Then we see the color of the world, and surprisingly it's not just 50 shades of grey.

Because we all get to be the color WE want to be.

-PF