MahJongMonkey's Xanga

Remembering Jamba Boy

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 09:42:10 GMT

I had gone to Jamba Juice for a quick pick-me-up breakfast on my way to clean the showroom yesterday morning, and there is always someone I know working there. The boy who rung me up was very nice, but most of all FAMILIAR. I really couldn't put my finger on it, and he flirted while I waited for my smoothie. (A most delicious Pomegranate Paradise, I might add.) When he stopped the blender and started pouring into a cup I started to get up, but then he stopped.

"Hang on a sec, I gotta remake this. It isn't blended all the way."
"Oh, okay," I said, and sat back down.
"We have zero tolerance for unblended smoothies, so..." he added as he poured the slightly lumpy mixture back into the blender. A short spin later, my smoothie was poured smoothly into the foam cup, and I headed towards the counter.
"Looks good," I said to which he added another cute remark.
"Did you go to Shadow?" He asked.
"Yeah, I did. I graduated last year."
"Oh, really? Do you by chance remember a Robbie Callahan?" (name changed =P hehe)
Tilting my head in thought, I said, "Hmm... it sounds familiar..."
I swear to you, for a moment, his brown eyes were smiling so hopeful... but to this he gave me no answer and handed me my smoothie, "Well, there is your Pomegranate Paradise to the best of my ability."
"Thanks," smiling, I bid him a good day then walked brisquely out to the parking lot.

I felt kind of bad, figuring that he is probably the Robbie Callahan, and I didn't remember exactly then who he was. But I knew I recognized him, and the little ordeal was on my mind most of the morning until.... I REMEMBERED! I was in the middle of dusting at the showroom when it finally hit me: he was in my seminary class! I didn't have any classes at school with him, and he came here so near the end of the year I can't believe I remember at all! (That and the fact I wasn't attending Seminary hardly at all, I might have seen him 3 or 4 times.) I even remember him being vegetarian or something like that... o_0 Anyways, I'm very proud I remembered, and I feel really bad that it was a cold shoot down that I didn't remember. The plan is to return next Friday morning (because I'm sure he should be working then) and say HI, I REMEMBER NOW! hahaha It will probably throw him for a loop, and I think it would be very nice to know someone actually remembered you. Anyways, I just had to share that before I forgot. Goonight, for reals...

You Were The King, Now You're Unconscious

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 08:14:58 GMT

It almost seems customary that when new music is purchased, there is a listen-through. It is put in the Bose system, and played all the way through with my brother and whoever else pitched on the couch with intent on hearing every note. Tonight was a night like that. The newest Atreyu CD has been bought by a friend, so we sat and listened. It was nice, the time flew by very quickly. As soon as the one song starts, I want to say it will probably be his favorite, but after a minute he says it himself. The album is pretty optimistic in comparison to Lead Sails Paper Anchor, and I imagine as I try to make out all the lyrics that he and my brother are probably soaking in all of the drumming. Comments are exchanged that I don't comprehend completely, because I simply don't drum. There is an odd gap that I don't know how to explain: how I am sitting right next to them and listening to the same music, but hearing something completely different. It's a very removed feeling, and I think it's the whole purpose of music. No two people will get exactly the same thing out of it, and as far as my interests and knowledge goes, I am not hearing what they are.

The house is dark. We have turned off all the lights in their need for less distraction from listening. The blue ring of light from the television becomes the brightest thing in the house, glowing and revealing blue details that our eyes have adjusted to seeing. His hand comes up occasionally, doing something with his fingers that I don't understand, and can't figure if it goes with the music. When this first happened, I reached up to touch his fingers in question and he jerked away. Somehow this made me feel like a little kid, too curious and being told not to mess with something. I busy myself trying to understand the drums in the music, flexing my feet in the air against imaginary bass pedals as I follow the beat I know I am mixing up. I try to hear the bass, single it out from the rides, toms and snare drum, but it blurs into a general rhythmic sound that confuses my pulsing feet.

I don't feel so well lying on my stomach, but I'm having too much fun focusing on my pretend drumming feet. That and the fact of cramps, but they aren't too bad- just slight enough to make me feel like I'm sick. When I turn my head to the front door and swear I see the quick passing of someone's shadow across the wall, he won't stop analyzing the situation.

"It could be someone in the back yard. Think about it, with the light."

Thinking too much on it is creeping me out and I fight the urge to sit up and gather my feet and legs closer to me, away from the dark mysterious corner of the room. The weight on my eyes wavers as the songs play by. At some point, my awareness lifts. Still, I hate that I fight going to sleep. Why do I feel like I will be missing out if I let my eyes close? There is so much to be done at night, so much to explore while the world around you is asleep. There hasn't been much writing that I've ever done during the day. Even a lot of what I write outside of my blog is done later in the day, or at night, when I go on walks to get out of the house. Home almost seems the source for emotion, and I let a lot of it build up... sometimes it just needs to be written out.

I don't get a hug goodbye. I don't ask for one. I don't care what he thinks or says, it's weird to have to ask for a hug all the time. I rarely do it, and when I do, there is always a slightly odd reaction from him. Whatever. I let him put on the big helmet and try to ignore the hug all together. The door is locked behind him, and I turn off the entry-way light so my brother can stop sheilding his eyes. Even the blue ring from the television has now been covered by a DVD case so the light won't bother him. That doesn't stop me from turning on the lamp in the other room so my eyes aren't burned out by the computer screen. It's so evasive to his darkness that he takes his music and retreats to his bedroom where I think he ought to have been anyways. Want to sleep, go upstairs. It is night, I am tired, I had a long day, but there is so much room for work now without everyone bustling around.

There are bits and pieces of my day that I wish I had the patience to write. Dad's showroom needed desperate cleaning, and I had the job all to myself. The dust was pretty bad, but even moreso was the sawdust coating a whole corner of the place since my dad had to recut several countertops to fit new sinks for display. I kept vacuuming my one good dusting rag in effort to try and keep from putting more dust on everything. Don't use windex or solutions, they could ruin the finish. Don't want to use water- spots are annoying and more work to avoid. That leaves me a dry microfiber rag that eventually makes you see that you're pretty much pushing dust around instead of wiping it up. Vacuuming tile of the floor displays, the maze of carpet that I follow around the sinks, toilets and tubs across the showroom. Sucking up the dry skeletal remnants of spiders, cockroaches and- most of all- crickets at corners and in sinks. There is the occasional webbed death trap full of little white insect carcasses, sucked dry by hidden spiders. By the time I am all done, there are no ugly bug graveyards, no scuffed tiles, no dusty faucets or countertops. I rinse out the mop with fresh water even though it will be used in the warehouse before I get to it again, so there is really no point. Bert (the yellow mop cart) and Ernie (the orange mop) are stored in the dirty warehouse corner, my feet complain as I take careful, tired steps to the showroom half of the building and start gathering all my things: the CDs, the rags, the vacuum, my bag...

What I wouldn't give to have a foot massage right now. Just thinking about the hours and hours I spent on my feet going up and down a small step stool to reach the high faucets, the pacing forward and back with the vacuum cleaner, makes them ache again. But he's gone for tonight. I locked the door behind him after not recieving a hug I didn't bother to awkwardly ask for, and now I am trying to make the most of what night consciousness I have. It has been a good day, a long day, a tiring day, a clean day. My legs are smoothe; I shaved in the hot shower that my feet were too tired to enjoy standing in. I drove on the busy freeway all by myself and did fine... Progress? Maybe I will feel better when my dad sends in the notice for me to be paid for the cleaning the showroom. Maybe I will feel better when my eyes are closed for at least 8 hours. Maybe next time I should ask for a hug because I want one. Maybe lots of things, but we just have to deal with each second, each minute, hour, day, week.... at a time. Goodnight, Starshines.

Oversensitive in Insecurity

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 05:27:58 GMT

I always become significantly upset when someone laughs at me.

My thumb nail had made an unpleasant scratching noise as it grazed the side of my brother's pocket knife clumsily. My fingers overcompensated for a moment to quickly grasp the knife safely and still in my hands before I messed something else up. However, this sound had caused him too look up from his drawing next to me, and he smiled a small cute smile to himself. My eyes must have been a little strained and I held still as if trying to erase my little mishap. I wonder if I was blushing, but not even that. My first reaction is to be plain flustered. I rolled my eyes at him, feeling oddly judged, and put the knife down on the table at the end of my muttering, "WHAT? Why... just... laugh at me."

Before his jaw dropped a little, I already knew I overreacted. My insides recoiled, and my eyebrows pitched up together as I tried to shy away from my self-inflicted embarrassment.

His little millisecond silence was the cherry on top of my humilation sundae. "Insecure much?" He sqeaked in a teasing high voice, looking at me from the corner of his eye since he tilted back toward his drawing.

I could swear my head actually dropped to my chest, and I stared down at the knife a moment before picking it back up to figure out just how I tucked the carabeener back into the side of it. It is embarrassing that I get so embarrassed. I can't stand being laughed at; not because I don't like to be considered funny or cute-or cute because I'm funny- but because I hate seeming idiotic or incompitent or like I simply don't know what I'm doing... I don't know why. I'm so unsure of myself, that I TRY to surround myself with things I know... When I can't do something right the first time, or even the second, I get very angry with myself, very self conscious, very defensive. I hate the idea of being laughed at because I didn't know how to do something right. I try to think about why I am this way and don't know how to explain it... is it just... being shy? Why do I feel like a retard all the time? Why can't I have confidence enough to do something right, or (especially) even do something wrong?

Bottom line... I care so much about what someone thinks of me all the time that I don't let myself try anything new. I don't want to appear stupid, wrong... whatever. I care so much it's unhealthy, and it has been for me for a very long time.

I Can't Joy and Tell.

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 15:37:54 GMT

I like to find a picture to go with each post, and I absolutely love this one... the only problem is, it goes with an emotion I can't show eveyrone on here. I have posted it already with an entry, but you can't see it. I can't let you. I wish I could, so you could understand... but this picture can only depict one feeling of elation that goes with such hidden information. At least I can show you the picture... it makes me smile.

I have to leave for "work." I should write back later.

Isn't it Rich?

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 05:41:43 GMT

I should go to bed right about now, but I feel so lost amidst my nonexistent thoughts. Do you think there is some point at which your "thoughts" are not really thoughts but feelings? It makes it hard to tell people how you are doing or feeling... I think I'm just making my monthly round, getting ready for the big party by riling up my emotions uncontrollably. The rollercoaster has begun, and I can see it; I'm watching it race without the power to do anything about it. Today was an okay day before I crashed.

Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer?
Losing my timing this late in my career.
Send in the clowns...

The evening settled in, tired people came home. I nearly settled down for a nap, letting my eyes close to the waking world and open to my dim depressing sloth, but my sister needed a ride home from school. After that, it felt like I was too awake with nothing to do. It was a downward spiral, and the darker it got outside the darker my mood became. I was suddenly in a very depressed mood in a very short time, feeling cooped up in the house texting anyone to talk to or go and meet.

Melancholy songs are stuck in my head with their melancholy phrases getting in the way of my thoughts. I think about having to go to bed at a certain time so I will have energy tomorrow to watch the boys. Doing it is okay when it comes down to it... thinking about it isn't okay. When I think, I hate whatever obligation it is... Just go and do at the last minute, surprising myself, so that I go through with it. Maybe I'm just tired, and have been tired, and didn't sleep; therefore I am moody. Like a little kid deprived of a full nap, and is up too late.

I have to admit, I was a little better at the fact he dropped by. It helps lead me to my conclusion that I was just simply tired. So, I'm going to cut this short and try to make myself go to bed... on time... sort of. But before I do, let me hit the good points of the first half of the day: wore new shoes, felt VERY clean, went to jamba juice with Huckabee, got to drive, listened to fabulous music almost all day. Goodnight.

Poem... NOT!

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 05:38:15 GMT

Smile, Wonder, Love.
Grab the moment fast in your fist and then throw it away with a flick of your wrist.
Don't think too much on it just keep your head up.
Smile, Wonder, Love.
Keep him in your arms for one second longer,
Picture it still and hung in a frame.
Every expression exchanged makes you wonder.
With each minute that passes, you're no longer the same.
Smile, Wonder, Love.
If you wait too long, the day will be done without anyone left around.
The more people you meet, the more love in your day,
You won't close your eyes at night alone.
Remember the good times next to the bad, counting the bad as mere salt and sand.
Don't write the words just because they sound good...
What was the original intention for writing this?

Driver's Test

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 15:56:17 GMT

Porcupine Tree's sound washes over me in the perfect smooth melancholy that wraps this time of year around me like cellophane. Not that I am necissarily sad, but I love the desolate sound I feel matches the trees that are becoming bare, brittle leaves, and cold harsh wind. The weather has taken a cold turn just in time for Halloween, although I hope the wind doesn't keep for that night. The house is generally clean thanks to my efforts yesterday, but my room is still a small shambles. I have no reason to escape into it since I have the whole house to myself anymore, and without work that I need to tuck myself away to do, there is no drive in keeping it clean and tidy to work in. It is a place to sleep, and my brain isn't too bothered by how it looks while I watch the back of my eyelids. Now, that isn't to say I'm proud of my room. A big reason why it stayed clean before was because I hate it being dirty when other people are in it, and would normally be picking up for the next person to come over. But now that high school is over and everyone is on their own schedule with work and college, there is hardly a steady time frame to expect seeing anyone, so any cleaning done is last minute and spontaneous just like the person's arrival.

But back to the point. The house is clean for the most part. I feel calm and alone in this box with the sound of the wind blowing outside. We didn't bother with Halloween decorations this year, but that's okay. It was just a lot of paper figures with little brass berets for joints. I am wary of the time: do I want to go early, should I be there right on time, what about paperwork? I take my driver's test today, and feel like it's my last chance. Otherwise, I will be out of work for another month and a half. If I don't pass this I will have to make an appointment and they are so "booked" it will be too long. I can't think that way, I WILL pass... I have to pass. Maybe the calm haunting music is beautiful yet chaotic enough to help me feel like I'm not alone today. I can't let this anxiet get to me. Last night I was dreaming about each step of parallel parking, visualizing just what I was going to do. I can do this, and I will, and I must. It shouldn't be too hard... right? I always overthink this stuff... wish me luck.

Checklist of the Week

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 05:05:40 GMT

GOTTA LOVE THAT STATEMENT. This is going to be short and sweet... I think. Let's just make it a sort of list.

-Today was emotional and felt kind of off because of a lot of family drama. Just a weird day. Even a weird weekend too. But I did get to spend some time with my grandparents in which I babbled a lot about cooking which has been my only time-filling endeavor since I have no work. Needless to say, I didn't know I could talk so much, and I simply didn't want to stop.

-I took pictures of my youngest sister and cousin which was a good use of my time. Now I have a TON of pictures to touch up and photoshop (a good list of 37 photos that I chose out of all that I took) which I could be doing right now, but I'm so scared I'll go on a working rampage. I always do that, and I frankly don't want to be up until three in the morning hopelessly glued to my creative work.

-After picture-taking, we came back and spent two hours chopping chocolate and straining fresh raspberry puree to make a DOUBLE batch of ganache for the raspberry truffles. I stood the whole time tapping that dumb strainer, and my feet are killing me. Not only that, but the cream didn't quite melt all the chocolate, so it was lumpy! I am so lucky the raspberry syrup was hot enough to melt it the rest of the way. I would have cried had the whole thing been ruined, all the chocolate and ingredients were like $32.00. Quite a bit for leisurely cooking, in my opinion. But all is well, and along with that will be forming and dipping all the truffles which may take all tomorrow and then some.

-Finally, I am going to be babysitting. Me babysitting. It has been over four years since I even considered, it, but let's call this case: "Sucking-Up-To-Potential-Future-Boss" babysitting. I am that desperate.

Basically my week is cut out for me, and it's the busiest one I've had to look forward to for quite some time. Let's hope I live up to it.

Raspberry Truffles

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 03:26:42 GMT

I finally did it. There was nothing to do and way too much to lose (after the catastrophe with the supposed cinnamon truffle recipe, I was livid), so I finished making my raspberry truffles. According to my brother and dad they are ABSOLUTELY delicious. I tried the ganache a little bit, but I haven't eaten a finished truffle myself; however, I'm very proud of the turnout, and I will definitely be returning to the recipe I used. Yum YUM YUM!

The Recipe:
Ingredients:

1 package (10 oz) frozen raspberries, thawed
1/4 cup powdered sugar
1 lb semisweet or bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped
3/4 cup cream
2 tbsp light corn syrup
1 lb chocolate candy coating, for dipping
1/4 cup red candy coating, for decoration (optional)

Preparation:

1.Place the raspberries in a blender or food processor, and process them until they are liquid. Pour the raspberry puree into a small saucepan through a strainer or cheesecloth to remove the seeds.

2. Add the powdered sugar to the raspberry puree and heat it over medium heat, stirring frequently, until it is thick and syrupy and reduced by about half. Remove the puree from heat and set aside for now.

3. Place the chopped chocolate into a large bowl. Place the cream in a small saucepan until bubbles start to form around the edges, but do not allow it to come to a full boil. Once simmering, pour the hot cream over the chopped chocolate and allow it to sit for a minute or two to soften and melt the chocolate.

4. Whisk the chocolate and cream together gently, until the chocolate is melted and the mixture is smooth and homogenous. This is your “ganache.” Add the corn syrup and raspberry puree to the chocolate mixture, and whisk it all together. Cover the surface of the ganache with cling wrap, and refrigerate until it is thick enough to scoop, at least 3 hours.

5. Cover a baking sheet with foil or waxed paper. Using a candy scoop or teaspoon, scoop the ganache into small balls and place them on the prepared baking sheet. Once all of the ganache is scooped, freeze the balls for 2 hours or until firm.

6. Place the candy coating in a large microwave-safe bowl. Microwave in one-minute increments until melted, stirring after every minute to prevent overheating. Stir until the coating is completely smooth. Allow the coating to cool until it is barely warm. Do not let it start setting up, but let it cool down so that it does not melt the truffle fillings.

7. Using dipping tools or a fork, dip a truffle into the chocolate. Bring it out of the chocolate and allow the excess to drip back into the bowl. Place the dipped truffle back onto the baking sheet and repeat with remaining truffles and chocolate.

8. Place the truffles in the refrigerator to set the candy coating for about 30 minutes. If desired, you can melt red candy coating (or tint white coating with red candy coloring) and drizzle a small amount over the truffles decoratively.

9. Chocolate Raspberry Truffles can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to two weeks.

Reel Me In

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 04:29:37 GMT

Does your imagination ever hit you very literally? (...that sounded weird.) I can't explain what it was.

"Where are you?"
I tell him.
"Head back home."
Sigh. "Okay."

It was utter compliance, like "Compliance"-from-The Navigator compliance. I turned my bike around right there and headed back home. What am I doing? Why am I doing this? What I really wanted to do was have a good angry cry, scream and sing until I couldn't manage a voice anymore. I wasn't sure what was going to happen or that I really wanted to be back there. It was a nice day, and I hadn't been out yet, but I had only gotten so far as to cross the street outside my development before I was reeled back in. Literally reeled. This is where I am talking about my literal imagination.

Everything about me did not want to be in the house anymore, but he says the words, and I go to autopilot. Was I going back to talk things out like a mature person, was I going back because I wanted to see him? There are many little things I could call my reasons, but I think I can honestly combine them all and call it just. It was like this invisible fishing line attached to my center, maybe my sternum, that I was being tugged along by. Picture a voice-controlled automated fishing rod (pretty sweet, if you get tired of just sitting holding it while fishing... if you think about it) where he says the magic words and it starts reeling in. I just happened to be on the end of the line today. It sounds silly, I know, but I felt almost helpless. I was going back home which was the complete opposite of what encompassed my brain only five minutes before. It was a weird feeling, and I made the choice, of course, but was it a powerless one? A heed to a suggested command? (Suggested command? Wow, that doesn't negate itself at all.)

Anyways, that was the highlight of my day aside from sitting around and hating my truffles. The cinnamon ganache is as hard as any normal chocolate: a flop, completely im-moldable. Terrible truffle material. The raspberry ganache at least tastes like raspberry- and is pretty dang delicious- but is very soft. I didn't have all of what I wanted to decorate them to signify their flavor, so I didn't touch them. So I have all of our cookie sheets prepped with a sheet of wax paper sitting on the counter along with the "cinnamon" ganache that is as hard in room temperature as it was refrigerated. BLAH!

In addition to my highlight of the day, my highlight of the night was getting over my anger, him apologizing, me apologizing, and me helping him write a paper. NOW I am going to go sit in bed and read my book until I don't feel like keeping my eyes open anymore. Sounds lovely.

Goodnight.