I'm Returning

It's taken me a few days to get back to a routine that now includes being in love. I've been floating on landscapes I'd never seen before in my life. Did you know that some clouds aren't just air and atmosphere? You can actually jump on them, and they get softer with every jump.

I've spent the past few days re-learning how to go out, and I miss her every time, but yesterday was easier than the day before. The day before, I couldn't gauge when we would be home, and we were out all day, and I began to get testy in Wal-Mart because I really missed her. Then yesterday, we became Metro PCS customers, the same phone she has, so it's much easier than the Verizon customers we used to be (We've had so many fights with Verizon over the years, and when she mentioned Metro PCS, with unlimited plans and no annual contract, we looked into it), because then we would be charged. So now that I have text messaging, too, I will still miss her when I'm out during the day, but it won't feel like torture when the day gets later and later. I lasted longer yesterday because I had called her before my family and I left for Burbank for the day, and I only began to get slightly testy at CarMax towards 8 p.m.

This new and oh-so-wonderful experience has affected my family in many ways. They're all incredibly happy for me, but for my mom, it's especially important because she wants to see me do well, to be the man she knows that I have been as I grew up, the one who when he cares, he cares so deeply. The one who has endless patience when his mother and sister have to pop into a restroom while we're out (It turns out that all these years have been excellent training for me). The one who makes sure others are taken care of before he gets to his own needs.

Meridith is excited, because she has a potential new sister. When she was young, she hocked Mom for another kid. "Maybe it'll be a girl this time," she always said. But she was also greatly affected by this, worried that she would lose me. She won't. I'm always available for her, no matter where I am, and the wonderful girl who has taken my entire heart agrees.

I've got books to write, a full-time job to seek, all the things that were in my life before, but now I've also got her, the one I want to do everything for. Every writer needs a muse, but you know what else? She's also a writer! Heaven is indeed a place on Earth.

So I'm here again, and I'll be writing like I always did, whenever an idea pops up. But most importantly, I'm also the happiest I've ever been!

Dancing on Clouds Previously Unimagined

The Writer Currently Known as Rory can't come to the blog right now. He's in love (and hopes to stay that way), but plans to come down soon to write whatever comes to mind (as usual), and then float back up into love.

Please leave a message at the sound of Barbra Streisand singing "Somewhere" (His potential One is a huge fan, just like he is). If it's urgent, sorry, you're out of luck.

"Some daaaayyyyyyy.....somewherreeeee....we'll find a new way of living...."

This Girl

This girl plays Keno and video poker at Aliante in North Las Vegas. I've never been interested in poker.

She told me that her grandmother taught her to play when she was 4.

I'm interested.

This girl was born in North Miami. I was born in Plantation. We each spent a very short amount of time in our birth cities as infants. As native Floridians, we connected immediately.

This girl is obsessed with the Casey Anthony murder trial, from a psychological point of view. What she explained to me about the personality of Anthony was more insightful than anything you could get off of Headline News, CNN, and any other talking heads that are just there for the sensationalism rather than real insight.

This girl is a huge Barbra Streisand fan, as I am. I told her that when Barbra Streisand finally directs another film (It's been too long since The Mirror Has Two Faces), I'm waiting like the Star Wars and Harry Potter fans have waited, sleeping bags and all. She said, "My kind of guy....I'll wait with you."

We flirted a little last night online, and my god, I have never felt breathless from flirting until now. I never imagined you could.

This girl is a voracious reader, like I am, but I love the difference between us. I can go between many books. It's like with Medium Raw. I stopped at page 253 at Target the other day, and I'll finish it when we go back to Target. In the meantime, I finished reading On the Boulevard: The Best of John L. Smith yesterday, and also got three-quarters of the way through The Inner Circle by Brad Meltzer. On a stack on the right-side arm of the couch is The Simpsons: An Uncensored, Unauthorized History by John Ortved, Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain, and Harold: The Boy Who Became Mark Twain by Hal Holbrook, the three books I intend to read next.

She doesn't like to start another book until she's finished what she's reading. She's nearly through Her Name is Barbra, a biography of Barbra Streisand by Randall Riese. I could see haunting used bookstores with her.

She's so much fun. We get into a rhythm in our conversations that feels like we've always known each other.

As I've said before, I'm not in 6th grade anymore. I don't ask out girls I barely know but like right away to the December Dance with me (Annie Librach, and I had asked her in September, not even a few weeks after school started. She turned me down on the same day). I'm a lot more patient now, and I want this to work however it might work.

We've seen photos of each other, and we still have to meet in person (Which will come after my family and I move to Las Vegas), though we agree that our strong intellectual connection will make that easier. But, honestly, I think I'm falling in love with this girl.

A Day Away from Wal-Mart and Target Is Its Own Spiritual Cleanse

I couldn't do it yesterday. On Monday, we'd gone to two Targets, the only two in this valley. On Tuesday, Wal-Mart Supercenter, and since we headed out there after 1 p.m., I realized while we were out that I had forgotten to Tivo Jeopardy!. I'd had enough.

Mom had to go to Wal-Mart yesterday to get a watch she wanted. Yes, the same Wal-Mart.

No. Not again. I'd seen enough of the inside of that place already, plus, they didn't have a copy of Medium Raw by Anthony Bourdain, which I had been reading at both Targets. I don't mind bringing in my own books to read, but it's still a little disheartening to find the differences in demographics and reading preferences between Target and Wal-Mart. Ok, yes, Target does have a bigger space for books, so that must be part of it, but come on, more paperbacks than anything else?

So Mom, Dad and Meridith went out and in celebration of a day away from all of that, I turned on the air conditioning since it was pretty uncomfortable in the house. Yeah, I'm simple when it comes to good times. And I loved it. I read more of Hunger of Memory: The Education of Richard Rodriguez by Richard Rodriguez, which I'll probably finish today (The nice thing about not having a library in the area for a while is that reading becomes a calmer venture. You're not bound by due dates and the risk that you might not be able to renew some books. All the books in my room are available to me, whenever I want, and after this one, do I want to read The Sportswriter by Richard Ford or The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman by Ernest J. Gaines? My choice. No due date), and had yet another fascinating conversation with someone online. All I'll say right now, since I don't want to be presumptuous, is that she's incredibly nice, bright, a lot of fun, and we have so much in common that it's scary, but a good scary, including being native Floridians, having the same favorite tea (Lady Grey), loving old movies, always wary of new movies, equal love of Barbra Streisand, voracious readers, she's a third-generation Days of Our Lives fan (I was a huge fan in 6th grade and a little bit after, and when she caught me up on what had happened with my favorite characters, it was like I had never stopped being one), and whenever we talk, there's always a comfortable rhythm. It just fits. It'll still be some time before we meet in person, since I've still got to move to Las Vegas (she's been there for six months), and I'm just going to take it day by day. I'm not in 6th grade anymore. There's no need to try to rush anything like I used to do. I'm older, and at least a little bit wiser.

Oh yeah, today! My day off from all the errand running was a kind of spiritual cleanse. I truly felt renewed, and I'm ok with going back out to the usual places today. I can get through more of Medium Raw if we go to Target, I can finish Hunger of Memory, and I still have the "Sandwich Issue" of Saveur, and the "Barbecue Nation Issue" came yesterday. And I've got my mp3 player like always, so I'm set. Plus, I could use more spinach, and I'm not sure when Meridith's going to use the baby spinach we got for her masterpiece of a pasta dish that includes chicken breast and sprinkle cheese from Trader Joe's. The way she makes it, no sauce is needed. So whenever she uses it, there'll probably be some left for me, but I want to be sure that I have some when I need it again.

Also, the bananas I have became ripe unusually fast. I'm thinking that maybe it was because I placed so many in that big plastic blue bowl at once, and the pressure of all of it caused it. I don't know, but I'll be more cautious just in case. Nevertheless, I'd like some newer ones because I like them just as the green is about to disappear from the peel, when it's firm and sweet enough without starting to turn mushy.

Today's going to be a nice day.

And a P.S. to whatever forces of fate oversee human matters: Please go easy on me this time. I've been presumptuous before about women, but I've been very cautious this time. I wrote about her now only because she amazes me every day with her personality and what we have in common. That's all. Please, please, please, please, please, please don't take that as a sign to mess with me yet again.

Things Become Clearer

I haven't written anything in the past few days, because I've been mulling over a lot. The pure happiness of soon moving to Henderson has given way to the reality of it. Not that there's a whole lot of difference between the mentally-flying-through-clouds-on-one's-own-power phase and thinking about what has to be done, because this is where we want to be, so it won't be as stressful as the past few times that we've moved. But it's a matter of thinking, "What do I want? This is my future."

I understood more yesterday sitting with Mom and Meridith at the McDonalds inside the Wal-Mart Supercenter on Carl Boyer Drive, right near the Food Center entrance. This was the second day that they were shopping for bras, the previous day spent at two Targets, with me reading Medium Raw by Anthony Bourdain, two different copies. And since I'm up to page 144, and there's 320 pages, I don't feel the need to buy it, so I'll just finish it whenever we get to another Target.

I don't have any concern about what we have to do in order to move. It has to be done, just like the previous times, and so it shall be done. We're good at that already. But what do I want to do? What would make me happy? I've indicated my plans before, but process and preferences also factor into it, what you need to make it work for you as you strive to achieve what you want.

At that McDonald's, Meridith and Mom's lunchtime and my slight snack of 6 McNuggets and a medium fry (I had had lunch before we left the house, but I wasn't going to pass up McNuggets), Mom talked again about our future apartment complex, and I remembered that Mom had told us before about the full-size basketball court. For me, it is like going back to Disney World. Las Vegas is an adult Disney World for me, and when we lived in Casselberry at the time we went to Disney World seemingly all the time, I had a basketball hoop next to the driveway. I'm getting that back, and I'm going to live somewhere that will likely fire my imagination often just like Disney World did for all those years. It fits.

But more than that, as Mom talked about many of her and Dad's experiences driving around Henderson, the restaurants they stopped at, the people they talked to, I figured out the perfect time to send my resumes and cover letters to the nearby schools that I hope will hire me: You see, the charter school in Henderson didn't quite work out. They started with a very lowball offer and not only that, but apparently, the computer tech guy is also privy to this information, as he was cc'd in various e-mails to my Dad, and that doesn't smell right. This should be a matter of privacy between the necessary parties. And when Dad wrote back with his request that the salary should be higher, also factoring in his experience, the reply e-mail was cc'd to people that you wouldn't think should be involved in such a decision-making process. So his resumes and cover letters are also going out to other schools now, schools within the Clark County District, too. And once he hooks into something and it's absolutely confirmed that we're on our way, I'm sending my resumes and cover letters. I want to be certain I can go on job interviews without any issue of distance.

Something else was also confirmed for me. I went back and forth on it for years, thinking that my life felt complete enough with my books and the ones I plan to write, and the ones I'm doing research for right now, but enough. I want someone to be as integral a part of my life as my books are. I want an avid reader, someone who loves old movies and is wary of current output, and just someone who lights me up emotionally and mentally.

Well, at that McDonald's, Mom described the guy at the apartment complex office in better detail than I had previously known. She said he loves old movies, hates the new ones. He used to be heavily into movies, though not as much as I was (For me, it used to be an all-the-time thing), and isn't as much now, preferring books (as I do). A lot of them; like I do.

He hasn't owned a TV in nine months, which I can't do because Jeopardy! doesn't come in a book.

After Meridith heard all this, she turned to me and said, "It's a shame he's not a girl."

I'm on the right track. My sister knows me all too well. I am not only sure of what I want in a potential mate, but I know that I don't want to spend years upon years looking for her. At 27, I'm still young, but I would like to enjoy that person, hopefully for the rest of my life.

"They Call Him Sheldon at Work."

I was standing in line at Chik-fil-A, waiting to get my sister's sweet tea refilled, not knowing that all you had to do was go over to where the orders are laid out and ask there. We don't go to Chik-fil-A that often, so it's not something I considered.

In line in front of me is a heavyset man with a cap on, and his wife. He was wearing a "Bazinga!" t-shirt with a picture of Sheldon above it. I was wearing a t-shirt that had the Klingon version of "Revenge is a dish best served cold," along with the English translation underneath, and Sheldon between both.

The wife noticed my shirt and said, "Hey, look at that!", and her husband and I talked briefly about our love for The Big Bang Theory. Then his wife told me, "They call him Sheldon at work." I then listened to them deciding what to order, and when he told his wife what he wanted, he sounded exactly like Sheldon sounds when he orders something.

I thought, "Only at work?"

The Run of the House is Over

Mom and Dad came home late yesterday afternoon bearing many most-welcome gifts. Two notepads, a napkin and a cup from Bellagio, for one, the napkin and the cup being from Cafe Gelato, where they spent part of their 29th wedding anniversary. Most important to me were the two bags of newspapers brought home, newspapers I intend to read completely. I started last night with The Henderson Press, and by the first article, I already had a favorite reporter in there, and I hope he's still there by the time I become a resident in August. I've also heard that there's a box containing The Henderson Press near the mailboxes at our future apartment complex. I'll be getting that every Thursday when it comes out. I won't let that one sit.

They brought home the Friday and Sunday editions of the Las Vegas Review-Journal, as I asked, as well as the two most recent issues of Las Vegas Weekly, one touting their awards that they give based on voting in different categories (The Pinball Hall of Fame was named "Best Place to Take Your Kids"), and the other about the burlesque scene in Las Vegas. I liked the burlesque cover for obvious reasons, but I'm equally excited about both because here, I just skim through the L.A. Weekly. I don't relate to much in there. I relate to nearly everything in Las Vegas Weekly. Plus, I get to read Josh Bell, my favorite film critic, regularly. I discovered him in 2007 while reading an issue of Las Vegas Weekly while we waited for a table at Burger Bar at Mandalay Bay, before seeing "Mamma Mia!" downstairs at the Mandalay Bay Theater. Unlike many other film critics, Bell isn't looking to become the next Roger Ebert. He loves movies, he knows movies, and that's enough. Plus, he's as bright as the desert he calls home.

Meridith's happy about the new apartment because within the complex, there's a tennis court. I've been told that there's a full-size basketball court, so I'm set. The last time I had a basketball hoop was next to our driveway when I was a kindergartner in Casselberry, Florida. And being that I consider Las Vegas and the surrounding areas my new Disney World, it's fitting that I have the chance to play basketball regularly again. I consider all of this my new Disney World because going to Walt Disney World every weekend and sometimes during the week just for dinner when I was little always fired my imagination, and partly led to me becoming a writer. Vegas does the same to me all the time, and I've always believed that if you're a writer and you can't find anything to write about in Las Vegas, just quit.

Now the process begins. Now it's time for me to ditch a lot of books and DVDs, taking what is only crucial and necessary to my life. Now it's time to open up boxes we haven't seen since we moved to this apartment six years ago and figure out what we're going to take with us, or not. Now is the time for the anticipation to build, to be happy about what's ahead for us, and then to be so excited when we get there and settle, that we'll have no choice but to burst like Mr. Creosote in Monty Python's Meaning of Life. And then we'll put ourselves back together and figure out where to go out to eat. There's a lot more choice there than there ever has been here. And that's the biggest understatement of my entire life.

For once, Mom's not constantly repeating how much she hates this place, because she knows that there's far better living arrangements ahead. She's talked to us excitedly about everything she experienced there and described the apartment to us many times, as well as the new cable system we'll enjoy, which includes a Tivo that can record four things at once, and whatever's on the Tivo can be sent to any room. Plus, the channel lineup is nice, including Boomerang, Nicktoons (I wish they would show Doug), and I have Turner Classic Movies back, as well as a few sports channels I never had, so I can find basketball more often now.

This will be real living. Not just living and waiting and surviving as it has been these many years. Every single day a new experience. This is going to work.