Monday, October 10, 2011

Time Machines

In all my dreams, I'd always seen
worlds far away, countless stars in between.
Galaxies of shining gold,
entire suns burning cold
ships and aliens running round
teleporting to the ground

Captains logs, and death stars
androids, Klingons, life on Mars
A pantheon of alien life
sometimes hostile, sometimes nice

But space soon, was not enough
an emptiness amongst this stuff
until a box, blue and grand
made it's way onto my land

A lanky man, with floppy hair
came sauntering out without a care
"I'm The Doctor", he turned and said
"I'm alive now, I was just dead.  "

I"'ve changed my face a dozen times
I've loved and lived and paid the price.
But alone too long I've been around
Come along and I'll return you safe and sound."

 "Why would I come with you, strange man?"
"I'll take you away to far away lands.
I'll show you all of time and space
no limits, no boundaries for me's the case"

"This blue box of mine, is not just that
it's got engines, seats, and a cricket bat!"

"Engines inside a big blue box?
Now I know your off your rocks."

A coy look and smirk he gave
and snapped his fingers, the doors gave way
and inside that big blue shell
you wouldn't believe it for all of hell

Bigger on the inside with space to boot!
A pool, library, and a woman's boot.

Had company? I asked with a smile
proud that I had the guile.

His faced turned sad, and really cold.
His eyes drooped down and he grabbed a hold
of a lever on his left and pulled it
"a friend of mine, before my last life ended."


Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Murderous Tiempos or Time to Kill [at work]

Well, I've got some time to kill befor I'm off of work. This new policy that forces teachers to stay the 45 minutes after the bell that are lawfully allowed. It's really just a way of getting teachers to do tutorials for free when EOC comes around but for the meanwhile it's just another pointless procedure in the wonderful oh-so-sensical *sarcasm noted* world of education.  So, I'd figure I'd write a little something since I feel off the writing wagon a few weeks (see: months) back.  So here are just some random tid-bits about my life and me essentially just ranting.

First of, I hate being ignored. By girls, especially. I absolutely fucking despise it. I prefer being kicked in the nuts and told to fuck off for (xReason) than to be just plain out utterly ignored. It happened to me recently and if you're a friend of mine that's even relatively close, then you've heard about it. See, thing is that it was out of nowhere.  Everything seemed great and then BAM nothing. Sure, it was only a couple of days that we actually even had any sort of communication outside of facebook, but I thought we enjoyed each others company. I guess it's just the fact that it leaves me wonderng "wtf did I do?"
-Did I fuck up?
- Text too much?
- Not enough?
- Too pushy?
- not pushy enough?
- met someone else?

all of these are totally okay cause, like I said, I barely know this girl, so it's (almost) whatever.  Thing is that it seemed like we were cool--at the very least I thought I'd end up in the friend zone. But then...nothing? Double you tee eff, mate.  So, if anyone knows any information....please, feel free to share it and if you don't and don't even know who/what I'm talking about "Nobody reads this Luis!"  shut it! "Talking to yourself, they say thats' the first sign..."    Of, genius? yes I know. Anywho, keep me posted!!

- This staying til 4:15 is so utterly pointless it makes wearing crocs seem prudent.  *shivers* 
- I really wish I could wrestle those fuckin' LWA shows. They'll have an awesome crowd...and no one to entertain them.
- Training being led by Spartan today. WATCH OUT NOW!
- Since I'm not doing the Mr. Laredo show, I really really really want Chic-fil-a. :D
- I always spell it Chic (like fashion sheek) instead of Chik....
- Also, I have this student in my class that looks like one of my ex-girlfriend. My most recent one at that (see: not recent at all 2+ years).   Still, it's kind of trippy looking at a teenager that looks like the last person you were ga-ga for.  She's lucky. I'm sure I'll subconciously treat her nicer than other kids lol She's a good kid to begin with. NO. Don't even start with the jailbait jokes. That shit is nothing to laugh at--it's a felony and I'd lose my job.  "What about the morality of it"   ...the moral is I'd lose my job? What more do you want from me!? kidding...pedophilia is wrong!  I'm looking at you Ashley Blumenshine!  Heh, Blumenshine...I bet she blumenshined his ...I'll stop now...
-Also, I'm totally biting the style of writer. It's a tribute to you GW! Only because I don't feel like being original and frankly, I find it hillarious.

Well, I'm putting in four minutes overtime! I'm deucing....and not in the I'm on the toilet sense, Polo! Nastay...


Thursday, August 4, 2011

Angels Pt III

I took a big gulp.  The thought hadn't even occurred to me. The paper, the writing , the ink was at least 50 years old. There was no doubt about it.  Eons before the internet or e-mail was invented we had someone write about it on paper. It had to be a farce, right? 

I looked at Mrs. Botello wearily. 
"Let's check your e-mail." I said meekly.


We slowly walked over to her desk, cluttered with assignments and books and trays that held letters and post-it's and referral forms and turned on the computer monitor.  Botello grabbed the black mouse and double-clicked on internet explorer it opened up to the e-mail homepage. She typed in her user name and password.  "vbotello, ********"  *click* 

We waited.

One new message.

From:  Gongora 
Subject:  Read Carefully.

Both Botello and I glanced at the name and looked back at each other. The same name as my teacher and her friend.  The date stamp said today, one minute ago. This thing was just sent.  Botello navigated the mouse cursor to the subject link and clicked.  The browser rapidly open a message. There were a few attachments.

The e-mail read:

"Guess, what, Rosey, Vero? I'm not dead!"

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Too Good To Be True

There's too much on my mind to write. I'll keep up with it tomorrow, ya'll. Sorry!

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Angels ptII


The bell startles me outta my seat. I look around and everyone's just moving on to their first block.  I sat there silently as every one rushed passed me eager to get into the halls.  I had to think about what I had just read. Mr. Gongora did have a knack for playing tricks but this felt different. It didn't feel like one of his tricks--mostly because his tricks usually involved the whole class seeing and he wasn't a creeper like Coach Saenz. *Shiver* Yuck, Coach Saenz.   But Gongora was always a sweet heart. He had never had a girlfriend, he would just date and he would treat his students like he would little sisters. "You girls are trouble" he'd always say "it'd be easier to just teach boys, at least I can just scream at them. You lot, you're smarter, you I have to be nice to." he'd continue with a smile and a wink. 

I carefully glanced at the picture again. The statue was now facing the camera. It's arms spread out at its sides in the manner that catholic saints are portrayed, palms up and open.  The face was blank, the eyes had no pupils, and the curly hair engraved in stone was split down the middle and was short going only slightly past the ears.  The angel was depicted as wearing a simple robe garment with a belt around the middle.  The faces blank stare seemed to mesmerize me.  I suddenly felt ill. I was intrigued and disgusted at the same time yet I couldn't pull myself away. The blank pupil-less eyes were drawing my attention and the more I tried to look at another part of the photo the more the eyes called me back.


I snapped back into reality.

"Urm, huh, yeah, what? Hi." I tried to fake a smile. 

"Mrs. Botello is calling you, you're gonna be..."


"Late." Sandra finished ,"Come on, let's get going."

"Hey Sandra, are Botello and Gongora friends" I inquired.

"Um..yeah, I guess, I've seen them talk a few times, they share stuff. Why do you care?"

I briefly thought about telling Sandra about the letter, the picture, the statue. Everything. But I decided that she'd think I'm a nut job so I decided it'd be best to keep it to myself. "I'll just tell Dan" I decided "he's a weird dude, he'll appreciate this."  So I settled there. Only Dan and myself would know.

I grabbed the letter, the picture and my make-up and stuffed it all quickly into my backpack and scurried over across the hall to Mrs. Botello's room.  From there, class was normal like usual. Short journal, short assignment, distract Botello by asking her stories about her life, turn in said short assignment, talk and wait for the bell. The usual. Oh and throw in some screaming and yelling in there too.   When the bell was about to ring for the next block I asked Botello if I could stay behind. 

With a strange look she wearily agreed.

When the bell rang, I stayed behind. 

"What's going on Rose Mary?" she asked.

"Well, you see, umm, well, Mr. Gongora..."

"Is missing, I know" she interrupted. "His car's here, he clocked in, his lunch is here, but we can't for the life of him figure anything out." 

My eyes widened and I got a sudden lump in my throat. Slowly, my eyes started to water.

"Oh sweetie! No, no, don't cry! I'm sure there's a good explanation..."

All I could do was muster the composure to hand her the letter.

She grabbed the envelope and stopped mid-sentence.  "Where did you get this!?" she asked with a sudden change of tone in her voice. The sweet and caring voice was gone and now a worried voice took it's place.
She slowly walked over and picked up something on her desk.  It was a note written in blue ink--Gongora's ONLY choice in ink color and in his unmistakeable almost illegible print.  All the note read was "wait for the letter. Then check your e-mail. - EGong" 

"This was in my box this morning" Botello explained "I didn't understand it but..well, here's the letter. Is he up to one of his little pranks or projects?"

I simply nodded no.

"I didn't think so, this paper is at least 50 years old. It looks like the love letters I kept from my youth, only...older still."

I glanced at her quizzically.

"The paper wasn't what bothered me, sweetie."

"Then what did?" I asked

She paused for a moment. Pursed her lips together in thought and took her reading glasses off. She sat at the edge of her desk and gulped visibly.

"My husband collects antiques, you see. Old war items, mostly. Money, guns, coins, hats, clothes, and letters. So I've learned a few things..."

"Mrs. Botello, no offense, but could you get to the point? What bothered you if it wasn't the old paper?" I interrupted.

She took another visible gulp and cautiously said "It's the ink. The ink bothers me."

"Why? It's old and faded like the letter, so?" I asked.

"So if it's as old as the paper, and as old as that letter, which is what it appears to be..." Botello started

*BeepBop* The e-mail alert rang.

"Then how did whomever wrote it know about e-mail?" She said as she cocked one eyebrow.

Saturday, July 30, 2011


It started out like any other day. I got up, had my cereal, washed my face, waited for the bus and did my make up in homeroom. Nothing strange really. But that day would change the scope of my life forever. That day would scar me and scare me to my wits end like I had never been scared before. This was the day of the weeping angels.


It started out normal, like I said.  I woke up at 7:45 am--running late like always--grabbed a bowl of honey bunches of oats and hot tailed it to the bus stop.  I ate the cereal while we waited and while on the bus and threw the disposable cup I had my cereal in away when we got to school. We had Mr. Gongora for homeroom. He was a young guy, probably in his mid twenties, started teaching a few years ago and still didn't take his job too seriously. He was by self-admission an insomniac so the 30minute homeroom hour consisted of him talking to us while drinking a monster energy drink or a protein shake. Occassionaly, we'd have some standardize test questions--probably because they forced him to give it to us. But for the most part, homeroom was left to us for waking up, eating breakfast, doing our make up, or just shooting the shit with Mr. Gongora.   Today, however, Gongora was absent.

There was no sub. No assignments. No notes or news and I could have sworn I saw his car out in the parking lot when we drove in. Now, Mr. Gongora was a cool cat, but he wasn't the type to let us have free time either if he wasn't there. "I was in your shoes once, I remember how terrible we were with substitutes" he would reminisce, "I am NOT giving you the opportunity to do the same."   Smart man. But today, nothing. Not even a single marking on the board that would indicate he was out. 

It took a good 25minutes before a teacher walked in to ask about him and realized that he was out. I had first block--the class right after homeroom--with Gongora so I stayed in the room while the others fled to their rooms.  I opened my book to see where we left off and in there there was an envelope. It looked old. Older than anything in the room at that time. "Rose Mary Sanchez" --my name--was drawn across the front of the envelope.    

I was too curious not to open it so I opened it and found two things: an old letter, antique looking almost and a black and white picture of the school gymnasium's basement, in the corner, circled in red ink, appeared a figure of what looked like a statue with wings, but it was hard to make out.

I examined the picture closely. It defnitely was not a fake and it was as old as the envelope and it had a date stamp: "7-30-1943".  

The summer of 1943 was the one when they shut the school down. They said the "structure was unsafe" for anyone to be in and it was revamped and reopened one school year later.   I took a close look at the letter. It was neatly folded with two folds. I carefully opened the letter up, and began to read it's contents.

"Rose Mary,

You have to get out of the school. You, Erika, Steve, everyone get everyone out. Pull the fire alarm, call in bomb threats, punch the principal something! You have to get out of the school.   This is Mr. Gongora speaking. You were the most level headed student in my class, I thought you should get this.  There's something in that school. It's hard to explain. I was there this morning...but now I'm, well, now I'm dead.  I've left you more letters around the school. I need you to find them. They'll be in your classes and in my teacher-friends' classrooms.  You need to find them.

The picture you ask, well, it's of what got me. It's what killed me. Well, sort of killed me. It sent me back in time--I know, you think this is a lie or a trick--but it can happen. I'm in the basement of the gym trying to get some dodgeballs and then all of a sudden I wake up and it's 1943.  I'm 25 and it's 1943. I'll be dead by the time you read this in 2011.  

There's a statue in that picture, you saw it but you couldn't distinguish what it was. That's because it's got a natural perception filter on it, but now that you know what to look for. Look at the picture again. Try to find a stone angel. "

Weirded out, i grabbed the picture and looked at it one more time. I glanced closely at the corner of the photo and the faint image of a human now was a fully developed Angel figure. It was looking away, it's face in its hands as if it was crying.  I was shocked at the sight! I looked back at the letter and back at the photo. The angel's head was a bit different now. It was titled slightly backward as if trying to peak over it's own shoulder--at me.

I turned to the letter and back to the photo and the angel's arms weren't at it's face anymore.  

"I must be going outside my mind!" I thought to myself. 

I kept reading the letter.  

"I can't really write more in this parcticular letter. Find the rest. Start off in your classes, your teacher. There'll be clues after." the letter \read.

"And one more thing, don't blink! These things are fast. If you see a statue, and it sees you, don't turn away, don't turn your back, and don't even blink. You're life depends on it. Don't blink, don't ever blink.  Find the notes. It's yours--and your schools only shot. You're only shot to survive The Weeping Angels.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Oil Rush pt III

I guess I owe you a bit of an explanation.

This isn't the start of some awesome 70s porn where the boss's daughter takes me away to Europe.  After that first time we met out in the desert, we ran into each other a couple of more times Usually at company soirees. Her and I were the only two around our age so we naturally gravitated towards each other. Now, we never really dated or anything, I was a low-level grunt and she was the owner's daughter--it wasn't happening. But she did have a sort of affection towards me. It might have been because I was the only one who wasn't a middle-aged drunk man who was hitting on her at every local that had alcohol. I was the 20 some year old who wanted to hit on her but never did. Yeah, that guy. After I got the promotion to shop manager, I also inherited the responsibilities of an ailing operations manager at a raise in salary. Now, I didn't handle all the operations. There was financial things that I wasn't allowed to touch yet, but was being groomed to take over.  I had proved worthy enough to handle transportation issues so that duty was delegated to me--at no extra pay mind you.   This is why she needed me to sign off on the plane.  It would fly from Laredo to Houston, Houston to North Carolina and from N. C. to London's Gatwick airport.  She was accompanied by the usual slew of lackies and I guess she thought I was worthy company.   Maybe this trip would be my chance!

"Saldivar, bring the books and your company laptop. We have things to go over during our flight." she said as her tone turned cold suddenly.

"Yes, ma'am" I dutifully responded.

Oh, right. What I meant to tell you also is that she's being groomed to be the next CEO of this company. She was out of college already and was serving as interim VP of fiscal operations. Her pops decided that she needed to know the ins and outs of the companies fortune and where it went in order to make the decisions as the CEO whenever the time came for the old man to retire--which at his age wasn't going to be too far down the line.   Unfortunately for her gallivanting dad, she took to the job like a fish to water and swam magnificently in the role. This brought up the question as to the allocation of some company funds for "business excursions"--the London trip.

"Meet me at the airport in one hour. Have the jet be fueled, primed and ready to go. I'm already packed. Go get your necessities and hurry up. I do not like to be kept waiting." she yelled at me as she got back into her car.

"And Saldivar" she continued.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Wear a decent shirt for Christ's sake" she said with a wink.

"I gave a smirk and continued to pack up the books and laptop."

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Spartan Talking: Promo against Octane

Writing my monologue for this weekends event. *Spoilers* Don't read if you're a fan! :-P

I heard we had a strong crowd going on today, but the only thing strong about this crowd is their body odor! Seriously, someone light a match it's starting to smell like chorizo in here. A few weeks ago at LWA's Independence, this little cheerleader of a wrestler named Octane wrestled for the LWA Championship. He--of course--lost that match to our own Nikon.  But thanks to the absolutely GENIUS booking from our management,  he had an opportunity to regain the number one contender spot during a battle royal. I guess that's what happens when you're a veteran. Big deal, you can't go to college so you become a grunt and all of a sudden you get a title shot, big effin deal! At that battle royal, Little yellleader Octane by a shear stroke of luck eliminated me..the last man in that ring from that rumble and all of a sudden, he thinks that he's better than Team Nikon. Lemme break it down for you, son! You ain't a damn thing in this league! You ain't better than Nikon--as we showed you in Zapata, you ain't better than Vampiro, and you damn sure are not better than Trinidad "The Spartan" Ramirez.   Face it Octane, you're a one trick pony. You run around the ring hopping and bouncing and spinning I'm starting to think that you haven't taken your ADHD meds in a while! But tonight, here, at Collateral Damage, I'm going to prove to you exactly why I am a better athlete, a better performer, and a better wrestler than you and prove to these idiots sitting here staring at me just why you don't deserve another shot at the title and prove to everyone in this sweat-house why I am wrestling personified!  After tonight's match,Octane, I promise you, the only high-flying you're gonna be doing is going to come from the pain killers your gonna have to be on after I'm done with you! Now, hit my music!

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Oil rush. pt II

     It had been a couple of month since I signed up to be a fracker and a couple of months since I'd seen Casey J.   Luckily, I had survived long enough for someone to retire in the offices and seeing as how I was one of the few with a college degree--and that could manage a computer without causing a power outage--I got a job as a supervisor at the shop. I over saw schedules, e-mails, notifications, billings, etc etc all the usual boring stuff that requires you do use excel and outlook and word--but never power-point, which, let's face it, is the only fun one in the Microsoft Office Suite, am I right?   

I worked at a warehouse off of mines road and I dispatched people left and right to Edinburg, Cotulla, Oilton and sometimes even to the valley and I was out by five most of the time so I had plenty of time do follow my own hobbies and interests. Sadly, I had no real hobbies or interests other than the occasional visit to a gym that I had been a member of for a little over 4 years and had visited probably about four times. I was in decent shape considering I never went. All that fracking must have done me a fracking lot of good. I know, I know I said no fracking jokes, but this is more of a pun, really.    I always  stayed around the warehouse a little after I would clock out to talk to Julio, Hernandez and Pug, who ironically didn't look anything like a pug.  We'd pop open the company fridge and pull out some mofles--tallies for the English exclusive club out there-- and drink out days and worries away.   Not that I had much to worry about, I was single, well payed, and was single. These other guys on the other hand had at least two kids each, a rocky marriage, and mortages, insurance, hospital bills ,debtors calling at odd hours, the works , I tell you. You name it, they had to deal with it. So I stuck around and offered myself as the butt of their jokes and they seemed to get off on making fun of me seeing as how I was the youngest one there. I didn't mind too much. I know that's how guys get along. The more they make fun of you and the more you make fun of them, the closer you get--that is if you have that rapport with that guy. It's a tricky thing to establish. I almost fired Ricky the other day for making an inappropriate joke about my mother. That's the thing about jokes, and life for that matter, that it's all about timing.  The timing, at the moment, just so happened to be perfect for drinking beer. So that's what we did.

It must have been around 8 o'clock, long after our shifts were over when there was as sudden crash at the gates. They rattled and crashed together and finally squeaked as they started to move open.  We saw the lights of an automoblie shine through the top windows of the warehouse aluminum door and fade away as the car presumabely parked.   We heard the door open and shut and we all stood in silence beer in our hands waiting for the drivers next move.  The door handle to our office giggled and when it wouldn't open the person gave it a hard push to no avail. 

There was silence after that.  Silence for all of 20 seconds, 20 seconds that seemed like an eternity in silence that echoed like an explosion in our mind.

Then, we hear metal clanging. A quick pop. and the metal door started to move slowly up.  The incandescent blue light from the moonlight outside started creeping in under the slowly rising door.  There, basking in the moonlight, stood a silhouette slowly being revealed from foot to head.   Then, I noticed something.  Something that caught my eye above anything else in the shop, before the light, before the huge wheels on the car behind the person, before the tallies of Coors Light I was drinking I saw something that was so distinct and so vivid in my head that it made me forget the company I was with and what I had been doing for the last couple of months.

Shining through the light on the top of a white, plastic toe shoe, read "Casey J."

My eyes lit up, I dropped my beer, "fixed" my hair, and popped a tic-tac in my mouth and stood up. 
"Whatcha doin', Saldeevar?!" exclaimed Pug in his strange accent a mix of southern twang and Mexican.

I stood in front of the silhouette and the dust rising from the floor as the door cleared her face.
I smirked "Must we always meet through a cloud a dust and in front of your car?"

Her face finally revealed, Casey, smirked at back and said "Well, if it wasn't for the dust we wouldn't have met in the first place."

"How can I help you, Ms. Jameson?" I asked
"You can start by telling me where my father has gone and run off too"
"well,  I don't..." I started
"Don't even give me that 'I don't keep tabs on him bullshit, I know you run the books and schedules and you know very damn well where my father has run off to using the company money, Saldivar." 

Ouch. Just a last name. She means business.

"Okay, Okay. He's off in London right now meeting with the Branson's . They're flying out of Heathrow to Dubai in two days. After taking in the usual spots of London,of course."  I dutifully answered.

"Ugh. Just like him. Goes to Europe without as much as an invite. What about you, cowboy, finally got some new pants I see. How about you pack your bags and ring up the company jet. I need to find my father."

"Whoa, wait, why do you need me to come?" 
"Need you? I don't need you for anything. Other than to sign the jet over, but you're kind of witty, in a TV romantic-comedy kind of way. Plus, I need someone to be a barrier between me and my father when I get to London. " she said with a wink.

"Well, ladies" I jested as  I grabbed the tallie and chugged it, "looks like Saldeevar is headin' aut tu Lunden!" 

Friday, July 22, 2011

Oil Rush pt. I

We came here because of the oil rush back in 2011. The economy was in the shitter and oil jobs were as good as it was going to get. I was gonna be fracking. No, there will be no "fracking" jokes. It was supposed to be a temporary thing. I was straight out of college and my dreams of being a career student abrubtly ended after I found out I wasn't eligible for anymore financial aid. Apparently, the government doesn't take too kinldy to people who take 8years to finish a bachelor's degree. Go figure. I figure they'd like people to be more educated! After a few months of applying for jobs I gave in and applied at the oil fields.  There was an oil rush in rural south Texas so I was hired instantly. Essentially, if you had the balls--or stupidity--to go out and do what the job required you were hired. I fortunately, had the latter.  So, there I stood 25 years old, fresh out of college my mind full of ambitions and dreams that were pushed aside by the harsh realization of a recessive economy.  I now stood in an office waiting to sign on as a roughneck. "Eight years!" I thought to myself, "Eight freaking years to get my degree and I'm going to be doing something that I could have done straight out of high school--or the guy next to me, better not stare too long."   I was up next in line to sign my papers and get my uniform, there in the shoddy lit office with wooden panel walls and second hand Wal-Mart desks. You'd figure they're in the oil business they could afford more than a portable office and banged up desks. "Saldivar, Roberto. You're up next."  I stepped up. "What size are you son?" the man with the short-sleeved white button up asked.  "I'm a medium, sir".   He looked up at me through his thick framed glasses resting on a chubby round nose, smirked and said "here's a large, get a belt. Sign the paper, put it in the box on your way out. NEXT!". Jesus, this guy. He was running this thing like if we were enlisting for war.  I took the oversized, overalls and tucked them under my arm.  Let me tell you, those things smelled like they had been worn by at least 12 other grunts without a wash before me. New gear my ass.  I signed my letter of intent and walked outside.  The south Texas heat was in full force. It was 112 degrees.  New York had issued out a warning for temperatures that might go over one hundred, or as we called it in south Texas, a cold front.  The heat really didn't bother me so much any more though. I grew up in Laredo. I liked being outside. The only thing that really bugged me about being out there on that porch to a mobile home in Cotulla, Texas was the damn dust storms that would sneak up on you. The wind could be as calm as a monk on prozac and then all of a sudden raging winds would pick up, hit you with dust, and leave just as fast as it came in.  I thought about heading back in to avoid the imminent dust that was coming but I decided that dust in my teeth was better than having to sit through the damn recruiters routine again and see that sly smirk under that irritating bulbous nose. I'm getting worked up just thinking about it--and not in the sexy way either.

   I decided instead to take a seat on the steps that led to the door and wait for my ride to get there. My mom had decided to go to the Mexican Restaurant a few miles down with my sister while I took care of all the particulars with the job. I told her I was essentially going to be a meter maid and just read numbers so she wouldn't get worked up.  We expected this kind of thing would take longer so I was going to be waiting a while. Sure, I could have called her cellphone but I decided that I need some time for me and my thoughts.  I put on my Ipod and hit shuffle and drifted away into the confined solitude of Led Zeppelin.

I was zoned out for a good 20minutes when  I heard the loud sound of an engine blaring over a soft part of song. I decided it was worth a look, noise of that caliber must come from something worth looking at. I couldn't have been more right. I glanced at the horizon as the sound kept getting louder and louder. Suddenly, in a flash, a red Bugatti Veyron appeared.  I'm not much of a car person, but I watch TopGear enough to know that this car is a marvel of modern mechanics and engineering.  It slowed down and pulled up sharply in front of the building. A cloud of dust sprang up from the ground as if to announce it's arrival and gritted against my face. Dust: like I said, inevitable. The bellowing engine silenced and the dark tinted window moved slightly as the driver opened the door. I regretted wearing the ill-fitting jeans and 6year old graphic tee immediately.

You know those moments in movies and TV shows when the girl of the protagonists dreams gets out of a car, or a swimming pool, and everything around them seems to slow down and seems to be only in existence to compliment her perfection? You know you always think, I wish I had one of those moments, well, this was absolutely nothing like it.

The girl got out of her car just a bit too soon and dust got in her mouth and hair and into her car as she tried to keep her composure. Her arms flailed in the arid air trying to get her hair out of her face and she made a raspberry noise with her mouth as she tried to spit out the tiny particles of dust.  She was a beautiful girl--it was easy to spot even through the awkwardness and dust--but not exactly the most gracious entrance I've ever seen.  I giggled to myself and stood up. Behind me there was a water cooler, the type you see in offices with little cones to drink from. I filled one up, took off my head phones and offered it to her. "Here you go, this might help---oorrr make mud in your mouth. Your call." I smiled, pleased at my attempt at wit. 

She flipped her hair out of her face, grabbed the cup and gave a polite, albeit frustrated, thank you. 

"You're very welcome." I replied.

Now that she wasn't flailing all over the place I could see the girl clearer. She had long, full, hair shampoo commercial worthy auburn hair and a fair complexion. Her lips were odd, but in a good way, the top lip was a bit thin and the bottom one a bit full and her mouth tilted slightly down. Her hazel eyes were hidden behind huge sunglasses and I was only able to get a glance at them as she took off her shades to clean them. The perfectly shaped eyebrows accented her almond eyes perfectly and her nose while slightly wide compliment the rest of her features brilliantly.  She was wearing a simple green 7-up t-shirt--one of those vintage ones that you see at Forever 21 or A&F. Her blue jeans were form fitting and torn just above the knee exposing a bit of her left thigh. She was wearing chucks with laces that matched her shirt and on the shell tip of the shoe in black ink was the name "Casey J". 

"Hi, I'm.."
"Casey J?" I interrupted
"hah, you notice things quick, don't you?" she retorted.
"I've been known to have an eye for things, yeah. Saldivar. Andrew Saldivar. Nice to meet you, Casey."
"Nice to meet you too. So, why in heavens are you sitting outside in the heat, with dust in your face when you could be inside with A/C?" she asked.
I glanced towards the trailer, grimaced and turned around opening my mouth in a prolonged attempt to find the words
"It's Gunter, isn't it?" she interrupted
"heh, well, that's just what I call him. His real name is Alonzo, but he doesn't seem like a Alonzo..he seems like a Gunter. So that's what my sis and I call him."
"Oh, so you know him well, then?" I pried.
"hmm, no not too well. We just see him a lot cause he hangs around the house kissing up to daddy."
"And you're daddy is...."
"Your boss from the looks of that hideous blue thing you have tucked under your arm."
"Casey Jameson..of Jameson Corp. Wow. Right...I wish I had worn a decent shirt."
"The shirts the least of your problems cowboy, those pants have got to go, but hey..I like your shoes" she jested with a wink as she walked away and inside.
I looked down at my chucks and giggled. Sometimes dirt in the face isn't too bad after all.


Thursday, July 21, 2011

Expectations: My shot at poetry 2


You expect so much from one human being
From someone who’s achieved perfection it seems
But expectations so grand are surely to falter
Your dreams and your hopes left in shards hereafter

But yet, you try it again, you expect so much more
Try to make life even your score
Realization that will never come
 Frustration has you coming undone.

These expectations so grand, so much for one being
Rolled up into one impossible as it be!
An act, an idea, a kiss or a touch,
Has such a doubter believing so much .

But if you expectations rise so high and so tall
Then you’re in for the biggest fall of them all.
A plunge towards peril you’re destined towards surely
You wonder why you didn’t cut if of early.

On this odyssey now you’re trapped
No coins or no prayers can take you back.
Through the River  Styx slowly you wade
Wallowing in the sorrow you gave.
Then suddenly a light, unexpected , unseen
A light shining deep from someone within
It heals you
It helps you
It makes your forget
The life you left behind filled with regret

You restart the cycle
Put it all in on the line
Trying to do it all just one more time.

You expect so much from one human being
You’ve found perfection at last it may seem,
But if expectations so grand are surely to falter,
Where do you go, now and here after?

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Creative Writing Prompt or 5am rambling!

Write for 10minutes using the starter "I used to think..." 


I used to think that everything was black and white. That everything has an absolute opposite. A black to a white, a yes to a no, a write to a wrong. However, the more I go throughout life I realize that there are no real absolutes--now this isn't a recent discovery by anymeans, nor do I imply that this is a soley exclusive discovery of mine.  This was a subject of discussion brought up between my friend Vanessa and I. She recently made this realization that life has no black and white, no absolute right no absolute wrong. We live in a world of gray. Life, existence, is but a matter of perspective.  You're antagonist is someone elses antagonist.  Your moral codes, your traditions, your everyday nuances and normalities--things that are good and normal to you don't apply to everyone. Hell, it probably doesn't even really apply to your neighbor.  The thing with realizing that there is no one good and one bad, not one answer to the equation of life shouldn't be a grim one. Rather, it should be a realization that one must find balance within the grayscale. One must strive to achieve a personal best, a personal good and a bad.   Whether, that's dictated by religion, or books, or tv--WWTDD (What would The Doctor Do?) Wise man...for a fictional being--one must find your right, your wrong and equally as important one must learn to accept that your black and your white isn't the same as everyone elses. Now, that being said, murder and other such acts are governed by law and whether you believe it justifiable or not has consequences.  Which leads me to my next point, consequences. If you are to adhere to your own moral code, then one must learn to deal with the consequences. To deal with the majority of people that follow the status quo. People that never question their morals. People that blindly follow religion and law and never question why something is the way it is. These people are the majority, and these people are your strongest critics. Don't get me wrong, religion or spirituality (or lack of) has it's place in everyone's life, but I don't believe that it should be blindly followed, nothing should be ever blindly followed.   These people will shun you, will mock you, will ridicule you, call you things if you go against what they believe, but if it feels right to you, then that's what should be done.  I used to think that I was going to live a "normal" life.  I used to think that there was a simple plan for me. But now, I realize that there's more, I'm destined for more, because I control my destiny, I control my path, I chose to be more than normal. I choose to be unrealistic. I used to think life was simple, now I realize simplicity is simply not enough.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Back again! It's Monday! Creative Writing Exercise

Write about my first toy (200 words).

My first toy.

My first toy has a lot of meaning to me. It's something that I hold very dear to my heart and my soul and something that will always remind me of my dad--a man I wish I could have known as an adult.    My first toy unfortunately sits in my closet, carefully tucked away with blankets and boxes gathering dust--not because it's forgot but because it's for it's own good.    The 12in plush likeness of a Baby Mickey Mouse in his baby blue onesie, perpetually smiling, reminiscing of a time when he slept in my arms, his eyes not faded, his bib not torn.  He sits in my closet not because I've grown too old and not because I'd feel silly sleeping with a plush animal--I'm 25 I can do as I please, but rather because I don't mind having him on my bed, I'm not ashamed to say it. I'm not exactly going to cuddle with him, he's frail. But because of that frailty I put him away, locked away in a closet like the memories that he evokes. Memories of a father that was absent not because he chose to but because he passed away due to sickness. A lot of times I find it harder and harder to remember what he was like or what he sounded like, smelled like, walked like but then there's times and instances--specific memories that stick out above the rest mostly good (some not so good) that shine brighter than many of my recent memories. Times that remind me how much of a magnificent man he was. I mean, he fought a lady at a Kay Bee Toys in San Antonio during Christmas Eve to get me a Ghostbusters toy, if that doesn't make him the most lovingly fantastic dad ever, I don't know what does. My first toy, a plush Baby Mickey mouse, with a baby blue onsei and a tattered bib and faded eyes keeps a perpetual smile on his face, and thus on mine, because it reminds me of you, dad, and there he sits in my closet, facing my bed, watching over me, like you have for years. 

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Internet Exercise again!

Take a poem you like, get the last line and use it as the first line of a poem of your own

Poem used is Robert Blakes "A Little Boy Lost"

Read it HERE

Are such things done on Albion's shore?
tragedy and misery
weeping parents, boys and girls
and nothing more?

Black and whites, now shades of grey
confuse us all, confuse night from day

no longer are the lines as clear
as they were in yesteryear,
but rather now they are a blur
Do you oppose these things, good sir?

If you do, stand up and fight!
Shout out it out with all your might!
Do the thing you think is right
if it fills you with delight!

But nay you say,
I can't, I won't!
Consequences far too grim
I'll be battered and alone.

Are such things done on Albion's shore?
A man's respect, his self-worth
put down, his horror someone's mirth

Quiet he stays, quiet he'll remain
he'll sit and watch and nothing more,
Are such things done on Albion's shore?


Friday, July 15, 2011

Too Tired for one from a book so, internet creative writing exercise!

I was gonna do a creative writing exercise today, but I'm too damn tired and I wanna wake up at a respectable hour tomorrow so let's just write something quick. 


Exercise write about an old photo (#14 of an old album)

I had to dig through myspace for this shit!

There's nothing too deep or too remotely interesting to write about this photograph. It's us playing beer pong. But, still it makes me remember a time when life was simpler and a lot more fun than it is now. It was a time when everyone was in college, everyone was in town, everyone was a drunk. The drunken nights that we spent together aren't memorable because they were drunken nights, but rather they were memorable because we were a group of friends, that for better or for worse, were with each other. We went to school with each other, ate together, drank together, puked together, we cried together. The picture reminds me of a time when there was drama around us from ex girlfriends and current crushes and future flings and yet there were relationships blossoming within the midst of the chaos. It was during this time period that two couples met (who are now married by the way), it was during this time that my friendship with one of my best friends now was solidified through copious alcohol consumption, it was during this time that I drank way more than I ever should have, dated more than I should have, stuck around more than I should have. But, it was also a time when things were on the cusp of changing. At the time this particular picture was taken we were at the height of our flip-cup days. Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity flip cup champions of TAMIU. Unstoppable. But with the suspension looming over our heads and no active chapter to keep us together the brothers drifted away and only a few of us remained. Some pictured here. This picture portrays a point in time before I decided "to hell with you I need to get out of this fuckin' city, no state, no country!" and went to England. It was a point in time before I met a girl that, whether she knows it or not, changed my life in more ways than she can imagine. She changed my views on not only what a girl should be--or what I wanted a girl to be--but on what a person should be. Her free spirited nature and devil may care attitude blended with just the right amount of stressaholic in the right places proved to be blend that my heart has yet to match. She changed my outlook on life and love and really made me the person who I am now--or at least, released that side of me. My family said that she was like a girl me, I always took that as a compliment. She was the perfect girl at the perfect time but it was not a perfect match. I believe that people meet other people in their lives for a reason. Every person in your life plays a role in your life and a lot of times that role is over and life goes on. The players play their parts and exeunt stage left with only a memory remaining. This picture not only embodies and amazing time with amazing people but to me embodies a time before a pivotal turning point in my life. For better and for worse it was a simpler time.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Creative Writing Exercise #2: The 3AM Epiphany

Pick it up. Don't put it there, that's not where it goes. Open the cabinets and put it there. Of course it fits, that's where it always goes. Stop making excuses! Just move things around so it'll fit. No, leave the blue one there, that one needs to be there. Get all the little ones out of there.  Those are the mediums, move the small ones.  just leave it on the counter. Go play.  Stop standing there. Go play. Don't cry. Stop it! Please, stop it. Give me a hug. Okay, pick up your toys and go play. Now, come eat.  Come eat now, it's getting cold!  I don't care if you're chatting with your friends online, you are coming to eat with everyone!  No, don't get up, Dan, he'll listen.  Stephanie, set the table.  Steve go get your brother. Unplug the computer if you have too  and the X-box and take away his phone.   Thank you for joining us, grow out of your teenage years already--I've had enough angst with the other two I don't need yours also..and don't eyeball me.   We're having a Chinese dinner so I'm going to teach you all how to use chop sticks! Steph, your mouth, shut it, I don't need your smart remarks, young lady. You will learn how to use these never know when they're useful.  Grab the first one like you're grabbing a pencil. Now, place the second one in between your thumb and forefing....Johnny get the doorbell.  Tell him we're not home...

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Creative Writing Excercise #1

Okay so I promised myself I'd start writing so here i go!   

I'm getting these exercises from a book, aptly named, "The 3AM Epiphany" 

And here we gooo....

Exercise #1

Adrenaline is flowing. Heart beats are slowly increasing as  the music comes to a close.   The crowd is cheering and booing, laughing, and yelling. The entrance way is set the lights are flashing, strobes are going on and off and the smoke machine is bellowing out plumes of artificial fog out from behind a curtain waiting for a body to  "Spartan, get ready!" someone yells.   Suddenly, it all disappears. None of it matters. There is no longer any crowd noise, the lights seem like but a flicker, the plume of smoke bellowing out now a mere obstacle to cut through on the way to glory. The music hits: an orchestra's string section playing in epic proportions, suddenly the percussion kicks and the chorus sings.  'Next Stop Everything" is what it's called and that's just what is waiting in the squared circle. Excitement, joy, pain, agony, thrills, nerves, all only a couple of hundred feet away. The curtain parts and there are the masses.  People young and old crowd the pavilion. Some boo, some cheer, some chant.  Posters and signs and t-shirts for their favorite warrior run rampant in the venue, but none of that matters. Through the smoke, under the arch and the beaming lights, slowly across the strobe I enter the arena and make way to the ring. There an opponent waits, lingers, prowls, no stalks and sizes up the competition all for the adulation of the crowd, like roman gladiators two men square of in a ring for the sheer thumbs up or thumbs down. There is no prize, there is no money, there is no fame but there is plenty of glory.  In the ring the gladiators square up *DING DING DING * The match starts. They jockey for position. Slams, bodies, elbows, kicks, and chairs all fly across the ring all with malicious intentions. 10 minutes later and a 1-2-3 and it's all over. The crowd cheers, the crowd boos: The warriors are both satisfied. In a world where both boos and cheers are signs of a job well done the warriors know that they have succeeded, the win a hollow one, as the true victory came for both men. They make their way to the back. Back to the now dim entrance, to whisps of smoke where there once was a wall, through the curtain into the dressing area and get set to do it all again.  

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Writing Starts Now: Great detail writing.

So, I decided I need to find my love for writing again so everyday I'll be writing something on this blog. For now I'll stick to creative writing excercises and spare you my ramblings. Maybe ya'll can try them too! Enjoy! 


Writing prompt #1:  
Think of something in your room. Look at it. Now close your eyes and remember as many details as you can for three minutes. Now describe in as greatest detail as you can.  Go!

The Starship enterprise. It sits a top of my television set.  It's a holder for a disc but it reminds me of so much more. It's a symbol for the hopes and dreams and aspiration of humankind. The never ending journey into the unknown.  The shape is familiar to most.  From left to right you start of with the saucer section. A disk like part of the ship that houses crew quarters, the main bridge and other unbeknownst sections of the ship. It's a light grey color and in the middle of the saucer there lies a smaller circle, a bump if you will that sticks out from the hull. This is the main bridge. It's sleek circular shape is emblazoned with the designation "USS Enterprise NCC-1701" the sleek design is accented with Starfleet insignia--red and gold arrows on the sides of it. The subtle lined and plated texture gives the ship a feel like it was put together in a ship yard and not from a mold. A couple of black dots on the ship represent the phaser banks that are used for defense.  At the end and bottom of this plate you find a neck.  It's angular and connects the saucer section from the main hull--an oblong section that houses the engineering section and to which the warp nacelles are attached.  Directly under the saucer section and the neck while still connected you have the main deflector dish. This dish is a brilliant blue color and it sinks in like a crater on the moon. The crater itself has indentations in it that gives it a striated appearance.  The lower hull is also emblazoned with the Starfleet insignia across its sides and a red stripe goes across it. The warp nacelles are cylindrical and are attached to either side of the hull towards the back.  They too have blue tips and are indented.  This ship--this magnificent ship that went from the mind of Gene Roddenberry to the silver screen to the hearts of millions around the world now represents what it's name means: Enterprise. The enterprising spirit of the human race--the race into space--and to be cliche--to boldly go where no one has gone before.  *cue theme song*


That was terrible! But I'm sleepy and I was determined to write something, anything. I'll see ya'll tomorrow! Give it a shot! 

Monday, June 6, 2011


No one understands the bodybuilder. No one understands why a seemingly sane person would put themselves through weeks, sometimes months of intense training and dieting. Training and dieting that pushes the person to the limits, drives them to the edge of sanity. No one one will ever understand why we revel in workouts that drive our body to failure, that leaves us grasping our legs in pain, with tears and sweat running down your face, pain shooting through the muscle fibers, blood dripping from old scabs--no, battle scars--blood dripping from old battle scars. No one understands why we eat the same thing day in and day out. Why we constantly mix powders, pop pills, drink liquids. Pre, post, intra, are all just prefixes to the outside world. Catabolic and anabolic are equally as estranged.

No one one will ever understand the lows you hit while carb depleting and doing two or three a days. Nobody. No one one will get why you eat a chicken breast and brown rice while everyone else is having pizza.

"One slice won't kill you" They'll say.
"One beer won't matter" they'll say
"You can work it off tomorrow" they'll say.

But you remain strong and turn it away and no one understands.

No one understands.

No one understands except your brothers at arms. A brotherhood forged not by friendships or allegiances--hell, you might not even like these guys. But you understand, and you respect them.

Because they understand.

They understand the long weeks and months of training. They--or should I say we--understand the training. The hours that turn to days, the days that turn to weeks, that weeks that turn to months  the months that turn into a lifestyle.   There are no off days for a bodybuilder, and even a cheat meal is bitter sweet as you wonder about what your competition is eating.

We understand the insanity it takes to compete in a sport of myths and legends. Mortals with Herculean physiques crafted--not given--with painstaking dedication and toil. 

We understand that every muscle fiber we feel tear is a microscopic advance in our war to grow or get defined. Every drop of sweat and blood a wink from your body telling you you're doing something right.  The scars on our legs and the callous on our hands aren't deformations or something we want to fix. They're a badge of honor and integrity a memento of the work we've put in and will put in.

The liquids, pills and powders aren't cheats they're the foundation. Pre-, Intra-, and Post- aren't prefixes they're the key, the tools that help us carve our physique.  The catalyst, fuel, and cure for our plight, our disease.

We understand the lows of carb depletion and water deprivation.
We understand the highs of victory!
The smell of protan isn't disgusting. It's the smell of victory. Whether you place or not, your presence on that stage after months of work is your victory.

But oh, what a feeling to hold up that trophy after your names been called and what a feeling it is when your name isn't called. A constant tug of war of emotions culminating on a stage in front of hundreds, yet so very alone with yourself.

"One slice won't kill you? One beer won't hurt? You'll work it off tomorrow"
The words of someone who's an outsider.
They think "no difference"
but you know better.
Your competition knows better.
The pizza can wait.

The outside world doesn't understand.
Hell, sometimes, we don't understand.
But we understand the passion, the desire, the work and dedication it takes.
We understand.

When no one else does.
We do.

Train hard.
Get big.
Have a great 2011 Season.