The Absence of Sanity

These last few weeks have been crazy. I’ve been working on getting a new job, finding a place to live, and organizing expenses. It’s been a trying week. Progress has been made, but in the interest of not over-sharing/jinxing it, I will remain mum on these developments until I actually have something to tell.

Currently, I am trying to figure out how to finish up my movie while also working on filming my new vlog about Heroes! I’m super excited. My dear sister has made some pretty fantastic improvements in her life and it’s inspiring. I’ve been attempting to better myself as well, though my strides are fewer and far between. Nevertheless, I’m moving forward.

My dad recently started watching a show called “The Men who Built America” and it’s riveting. It’s about businessmen and their epic tales and how they shaped America. It’s been inspiring me to push for my dreams: to own my company. I have dreams and goals that cannot be accomplished under the shadow of another, otherwise it would have been done already. I need training, both physical and mental. I’m terrified of accumulating debt, but at the same time I feel schooling will push me in ways I’ve never imagined.

I’m also a little nuts. Tired. And optimistic. I will speak more of this later, when I am of a more sober mind.

Thank you, loyal readers, for staying with me on this journey. I can’t wait to show you what we can do.

Much love. Remember, if you’re going to dream, dream big!

The Hour is Nigh

As I approach the date I will be willingly removed from my current residence, many questions present themselves:

  • How will I afford rent, phone, gas, insurance, food, utilities, and personal projects?
  • Where will I be living?
  • Who will I be living with? (hopefully solved)
  • How will these changes affect my dreams and aspirations?
  • Where (else) will I be working?
  • How do I make sure that what I’m doing the right thing?

These questions are stressful enough as it is. Despite my efforts, I haven’t had any luck in answering these questions. Today (or yesterday) I finally figured out why: I’m not trying hard enough.

My sister enlightened me with a paraphrased quote:

“If you want to be successful, you have to do the things that scare you the most.”

I have decided to make a decision that many would view as foolish. I am planning on turning in my two weeks notice at my current job. Why? Why would I give up something stable; something that is helping cover my costs right now? Why would I throw away what I have when the hour is nigh?! Simply put, desperation makes us do things we wouldn’t normally do. And I don’t feel desperate. I feel complacent. And I know a simple attitude shift should be able to help, but it’s not enough for me. I need to feel it. I need to do more than want it. I need to need it.

“You’re a dork,” you say, using polite language instead the other horrible (but true) things you could say. My rebuttal is a simple “um… yeah. Have you not been reading my blog?” I know I’m crazy. I know I’m dumb. I know I’m not using a very safe mentality, but there’s no such thing as an easy way forward. That’s not possible. Not in my life. Everything I’ve experienced that has been the most helpful has come from the most dramatic moments you can imagine; a horrible break-up, a fight with depression, a hike into a perilous mountain, a 50 mile bike ride in a single day, losing a pet of more than a decade of friendship, losing grandparents, etc. All of these things gave me experience and was for my own good.

I would not be who I am today without these experiences and my parents, my wonderful, loving parents, know that. They know I will remain here, unmoved. A lot of people came to my defense when I told them the news or when they read my blog. I felt very loved and supported and I appreciated it. Unfortunately, I think their love for me has blindsided them, or given them “forgiveness filters” so that they don’t think about or judge me for my stupidity and my laziness. My parents are not trying to get rid of me, they are not trying to hurt me. What they do, they do because they love me. And before you guys say “typical. You’re defending them because they’re your family,” let me clarify: yes. I’m defending them because they are my family. They’ve known me since birth. I was fortunate to have my parents remain together for 24+ years and to nurture me through this time. They weren’t perfect, but they did the best they could and now we’ve all realized they’ve done their job, they’ve done all that they can do. It’s my turn.

The Hour is nigh! I am an adult and should act like one. I shouldn’t feel like the universe owes me anything. It doesn’t. What I have is what I’ve been blessed with. Even this, this opportunity to leave, is a blessing. The time has come to spread my wings and crash and burn. It won’t be easy, but it will be worth it. I am excited to see what the future holds, excited to take the road less traveled, excited to explore the destinies I have access to. I can… no. I will make this year amazing. I will make this year different. I will grow and mature more in this year than I have in the last 4, perhaps in my whole life. I will do it. And I am so excited to get to share that all with you.

Stay tuned! The next post is about my heroes and how they have influenced my decisions, my goals, my dreams, and much more.

I love you all, you marvelous people, you. Remember: if you’re going to dream, dream big!


Romance is hard. Or at the very least, finding it is hard. I’ve tried many-a-thing; online dating, blind dates, dating exes (not recommended unless you like repeats), asking out friends, flirting at bars, etc. etc. etc. So far, I’ve had some luck, but it normally doesn’t last. I’ve had lots of fun, lots of adventures, etc. etc. ETC.!!!!

I’ve resorted to witchcraft.

Not really, but there is some magic involved. I thought, “Hey. What will bring those that I wish to date to the premises?” That’s when I tried the milkshake. A banana, an ice cream cone, two scoops of vanilla ice cream, and a half-cup of milk. It was delicious. I waited, slurped, and waited some more. Slurped. Waited. Slurped again. Slurped even more. Choked. Coughed. Slurped. Waited. Nothing. I’m disappointed. Ah well….

My Milkshakes DON'T bring boys to my yard.
My Milkshakes DON’T bring boys to my yard.

Chin up, my lovelies. We’re going to find our soulmates, or whatever. Believe in yourselves! And remember that you are worth all the love in the world. Love ya!

Sleep well and dream big!

Dear Yak in the Crack (AKA, Rant of the Year)

To Whom It May Concern (and it should concern you),

I am a lowly man, poor of wallet and of nourishment. Nevertheless, I am blessed with opportunity to live in a country where I have the freedom to choose where I spend my last* 7 dollars for the week. For whatever reason, I chose to dine with you. Perhaps it was because you are across the street from my current residence, or perhaps it because my options are limited at this late our. Whatever the reason was, it is no longer relevant. I suppose I could have been more conservative with my ordering of cheese-slathered food, but not wanting to look like a pansy in front of my friend, I decided to order some of your cheesiest, spiciest food. Because #YOLO. Your meal also came with fries, a drink, and two tacos.

One bite of your cheesy, spicy burger-esque garbage ball and I knew that I was going to throw up if I continued, so I ate the fries instead. After finishing those I moved on to the tacos. Let me clarify something: what you served me was hardly a taco. Strips of lettuce, hot sauce, some yellowish liquid-abomination I can only assume was supposed to be artificial cheese, and some “meat” slapped between the folds of a thin crystal grease disk does not count as a taco. That meat felt and tasted like sand, dirt, and meat seasonings. Not that I could really tell over the abundant neon mucus flowing from within the bowls of this soggy, yet crunchy vagina you call a taco shell. The smell should have clued me in, but with the thought of all those starving, ebola-infected children in Africa, I reasoned that gorging on this repurposed poop was the honorable and American thing to do. #MURICA

It was after my second taco that I began to realize something was horribly wrong. My insides were already plotting revolution. After all, food only takes seven seconds to hit the stomach from the time it slides forcibly down my gullet. When I was pulling up to my home, I knew I had mere seconds before the inner walls of my stomach were torn open to reveal the Spanish Inquisition. I got to my piddly diddly department and “released the kraken“, as it were.

I accept that this is entirely my fault, as I am the one who willingly consumed your painted mush and bowel-destroying doom dish. That being said, I feel the FDA should shut down the branch of your establishment that pretends it knows the difference between Mexican Food and the grim beneath a dumpster that can be sprayed brown and be called beans. I will not return to your eatery until such a time when you no longer have these dangerous bioterrorist weapons on your menu.

Thank you kindly for your reading of this letter.

May your “tacos” burn in hell.


The Man You Just Poisoned

*My friend actually paid for the meal (bless his heart), I just wanted them to feel even worse.

So Far, So Good

New Years Eve was spent party-hoping, dating, and eating dozens of appetizers and heaps of snack food. Lighting tiny fireworks, seeing old high school friends, and making out with attractive people may or may not have also been involved. Midnight came around with cheers and celebrations. It was a great night.

On New Years Day, two very big things happened. First, I hung out with an old friend, Steve. Last time he saw me, I was jobless, car-less, and wore the same old crappy t-shirts from high school. Three years later, I’m employed, driving my own car (crappy though it is), and wearing fancy clothes (faux leather jacket included). It was great to see him again. We spent the evening driving and laughing and trying food from various places. It was jolly. Even though my car nearly failed to get me home (alternator died at the last possible second), it was a great evening and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

And then I came home…

For those of you who don’t know, my home life is pretty standard. I’m the first of four children (two boys and two girls). My parents are still together and both are working (one from home and one out of home). I pay rent (occasionally). I pay for my own phone, gas, and food (when I can afford to do so). I work a part-time minimum wage retail job and have been for over a year now. My life was lacking the flair I’ve been craving for a while now. I want to travel, I want to make YouTube videos. I want to make movies, write books, and be creative in general. And I want to get paid doing it. I want to follow my heart, live the dream, etc. etc. etc. I want to be financially independent, have my very own place, a better car, and money! Not because I want to live in the lap of luxury or because I want fame and fortune to knock on my door, but because I’m tired of leaning on the support of others to get things done. I’m working on destroying my ego, so your patience is appreciated. Anyway, all of these things were swirling in my head that night when Dad decides to sit me down.

“You have until March 1st to find a new place to live,” he said. This isn’t the first time this has happened either. When I was 19 it was either go serve a mission for my church, or move out. I moved out. More on that later. After living in two places, courtesy of very dear friends, I realized I was too poor, too stupid, and too insane to do this whole “adult” thing. I wound up back home where my family and I rekindled our relationship and repaired the damage done. News Years Day, 2015, however, was a very different conversation. I had been dreaming of having my own place for a long time now and I had complained about it (but never actually done anything about it).

My dad and I are wired almost the same way. He said “I know that when things get comfortable, we get complacent. And you can’t afford to be complacent anymore.” Spoken like the Mouth of Truth itself. The words didn’t impact me in any special way that night. I had been thinking the same thing for weeks. I wasn’t angry, I wasn’t hurt, I wasn’t annoyed. I was excited. I need motivation to do things; to do anything. And it’s true, I was complacent. Comfortable. I wanted this. I wanted to be out of my parents safety net. I wanted to be free.

Free. What a word. We can do a word examination on that later. But right now, I feel it. I feel free. I could pack up and go anywhere. I could leave the city, the state, the country. I could travel the world or settle in the slums. I am no longer bound by the rules of someone else’s house. I can move out! Guys and gals, I can move out! I have never been so excited to move before. I hate moving. But considering almost all of my stuff is already packed, it wouldn’t be that hard.

I need another job (or a replacement) to help cover the costs of living on my own. I need to remember my passions and not let myself get swallowed up by the struggle of establishing myself as an individual in society. It’s my first real step into adulthood and I couldn’t be more excited. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished and I know this year is going to be full of milestones. I’m going to change my world and I am so excited that I get to share it with you. Stay tuned for updates as I job hunt, home hunt, and man hunt. Wink wink.

What are some things on your plate this year? What does the foreseeable future hold? Comment, follow, subscribe, yadda yadda!

I love you all. Remember: if you’re going to dream, dream BIG!

PS. Listen to Steve’s music! It’s pretty swell!