See ya in 2.

I've said all my goodbyes... and it's finally real now.
I'm about to embark on a stage in my life that I've been anticipating since primary.
THE MISSION.
I'm so excited, that not only can I form a sentence in words about my feelings; I can't even write a sophisticated post about them either. But here's my attempt.

Missions are not easy, everyone says that. Everyone also says, it was the best two years of their lives.
Well... I've had some pretty dang good years. These last 6 months have been amazing, and I'll never forget them. They are definitely going to be hard memories to top, BUT if everyone claims it's the best two... then I want to join this bandwagon.

24 hours from now... I'm going to be set apart as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

48 hours from now... I'll be sitting in the Los Angeles Airport waiting for my connection to Guatemala.

72 hours from now... I'll be staring at the ceiling in the MTC asking myself what I got myself into, and praying that I survive.

I CAN'T WAIT. I've been anxious this whole last week, and it has easily been one of the most spiritual times of my life. Temple run on temple run on temple run. Oh yeah, that's right.

I know I never would've gotten to my point in this life if it wasn't for my family, they've always been there for me. So shoutout to them, and I know that they'll be safe and blessed while I'm gone.

I'd like to give some shoutouts to my best friends. My bros, and my best girls. We all go together like peanut butter on jelly on wheat bread on dairy/gluten free cake. Here they are, the ALLSTARS of allstars, the greatest and bestest on the greatest and bestest.

Dallin. BOOOOOOM. Biggest stud I know. He's always been there for me, and he's going to kill it in Spain. His Christ-like personality is going to convert the entire Catholic church, just wait.

Gabe. the babe. I don't know a sexier and more confident guy than him. Argentina is getting a male model here soon. Although he hated me in 9th grade and thought I was annoying, I'm glad we've become good friends. He's an all-around good guy, and a lady-killer.

Zack. mmmmm whatcha sayyyyyyy..... DOPE. He's a leader and someone I look up to. One of the hardest workers, and is dedicated to what he does. Now drop a beat, and get on the mish dawg.

Grant. or should I say Mark Zuckerburg? Just wait, he'll be famous. Hopefully he remembers me in the future and that one time I rained a screw into his ear. Kill it in El Salvador, remember to wave to me across the border.

Zoie. Such a strong girl, and always looks for the positive. She's adorable, and always has something good to say. If you need someone to teach you how to be amazing, hit up Zo.

Sierra. DANNGGG... the most stunning girl I know. Whoever hitches up with this dime piece is a lucky guy, she's the sweetest and cutest girl I know and definitely going places. If you want lessons on how to be a sweetheart, hit up Sie.

Sarah. Although she hates a lot of things, she's also the most caring girl I know. She always recognizes those in need, and recognizes the good in the bad. Thanks to her I have the best group of friends ever, and I'll never forget that. Thanks for everything. Also, BYU watch out, here she comes.

Kenzie. Such a guppy. I don't know another person funnier than her. She's more outgoing than Kanye West at a singles ward. Let's just say she's the Alpha, and a person you want to be like.

Rachel. Rachie poo. Our sense of humor is the exact same, and she always takes things too far. She's amazing, and I don't know what else to say other than you're the bestest. Humble, sweet, and caring, she's got it all going on. I'm still trying to figure her out though, she's so mysterious it's intriguing.

To all my bros, kill it out there in the field. I'm not worried about any of you because I know how amazing you all are, and that you're taking the right steps in life.

To my bestest girls, good luck with school and all your activities. I suggest you all get on those missions because you all have amazing testimonies, and can change peoples lives. You changed mine.
BUT, if some lucky guy is capable and able to steal one of you girls within the next to years.. well... if he's an RM, worthy priesthood holder, and it's a temple marriage, then you have my approval. Those three attributes are requirements to have my approval though.

I'm so thankful for this opportunity to go serve The Lord in Guatemala. I love this gospel and this church.
Thanks to anyone and everyone who read this blog.
And I love you all.
See ya in 2.

-J.Stamos. (Elder Nathan Walton)

"I can't help you, if you don't let me,

you're here to live, just be, don't forget me."

-Macklemore (The End)

Looked into her eyes I could see myself.

Don't tell me this hurts less than a broken bone...

I've followed all the rules. I kept my mouth shut and opened it when appropriate.

Sometimes my life feels like a poorly reffed soccer game.
I've played clean, and showed good sportsmanship, yet the referee still decided to call a foul and give me a yellow card for no reason.

I had two options.
1. Turn around and keep playing the game. Tighten my laces, adjust my shinguards, and wipe the grass stains off my shorts.
2. Argue with the ref and risk the possibility of receiving a second yellow card for dissent.

Dissent is not the way to go.

Although I play soccer and yes, this is a possible scenario... this is an analogy to my life right now.
I've stayed in-bounds, shared the ball with my teammates, and put away a few goals myself, but life isn't allowing me to win. I imagined myself raising the trophy and having it all to myself. I looked forward to the future when I could call myself a champion. We could share this experience together.

I do play soccer, and yes this is all real. But this is an analogy to my life in general.
We would've been the perfect team.
I'd pass the ball and get the assists, you'd shoot the ball and score the goals.
But right now I'm sitting the bench and you're the all-star.

Maybe I'll get my chance.
Or maybe not.
Who knows.

-J.Stamos.

Monkey.

For those of you who read my blog, I'm going to continue to post until I leave on my mission so stay tuned...


I wish I read and commented on everyone's blogs so they would read mine.
I wish I had the time to read everyone's posts and then read their last one and be surprised by who it was. #realtalk.
I wish that I had a reason to write besides the fact that I want to be heard.

I write to vent, to reveal, and to create.
But that writing isn't meant for others. No one knows I write daily, things that are so creative that I impress myself.
I don't really want to reveal my ideas, thoughts, and opinions with others though.
I don't want their opinion.

I wrote things I was willing to share on this blog.
I wrote... things that come from my second heart, but maybe not my first heart.
First heart is shy.
First heart is quiet, but definitely has an opinion.
Second heart is loud, and isn't scared to tell people what he thinks.

You read my past and you listen to second heart.
I like second heart.
But I love first heart.


MEET FIRST HEART.

umm.... hi.
welcome to my.... house. my home is being built right now, this is my house. there is a difference.
i don't know exactly what to say, and i'm overwhelmed with delight. we may have different definitions of delight though.
my heart is full of letters and pumps words through my veins.
one time i wrote a poem about a monkey on my back.
here.

"I woke up one day and noticed something funny

and different.

There was a monkey on my back.

He didn't say much and was a constant burden.

I didn't want anyone to notice the monkey on my back.

I wore thick sweaters, and hoodies to cover up the monkey.

Go away monkey.

Eventually I became immune to his presence, and warmed up to the little fellow.

He wasn't so bad. He told me his name was John.

I embraced John and welcomed him into my life.

John was the monkey on my back.

One day John disappeared without a departing word.

But he left a note:

I was only on your back because you had a chip on your shoulder.

I liked the flavor of your chip.

Once you befriended me your chip was gone.

-Monkey

I now realize that not only was John a second burden,

but the monkey on my back,

had a monkey on his back."

-J.Stamos. -N.Walton.

J.Stamos. also known as...

I'm not an easy person to read.
I come across as intimidating and mysterious, and I'm not sure why.
If you don't know me I'm sure you think I'm a punk, but obviously you just don't know me.

Those that know me, know that I never shut up.  I always have something to say and a lot of the time I speak before I think.

They know that I am kind, and friendly and always have a smile on my face.
You don't realize that sometimes I just paint a smile on my face like a clown, and put antiperspirant deodorant on my eyes to stop myself from crying.

Everyone knows I have facial hair and assume that I'm super-mature, but they don't realize I choose to be immature because it's more fun like that.

I'm self-conscious about my appearance, but I don't let people realize this.
My self-esteem is usually hovering around average or above, which means I have an arrogant-essence.

I'm not one to sugar-coat around things.  I'm straight-forward and if you don't like my bluntness, then you should probably stop asking my opinion or saying something that makes me express my opinion.

I'm really good at hiding my feelings about other people.  I could have a crush on someone and they'd never know, or I could respect you like none-other and you think I look down on you; irony.  You've always been an example, I just might never tell you this.

I'm a question, and I'm full of answers.
I take nappy-naps on the weekly because night-time is the best time to have fun.

I don't have much more to reveal because I'm tired and didn't get a nappy-nap today.

I'm Nate Walton, and I approve this message.

-J.Stamos.

Sorry not sorry.

I'm sorry I never post pictures on my blog, it just takes to much time.
I'm sorry I'm so insecure about everything, even though you can't see it.
I'm sorry I'm apologizing about things no one really gives a whoot about. Unless you were an owl; I'd just want you to find the center of a tootsie-pop.

I feel bad I can't please everyone. What's worst of all, I can never please myself. I'm not sure if it's my high expectations, or the fact the I put too much weight on my shoulders along with the backpack full of stones.
And each stone has one word written on it, but these words are in another language I can't translate.
It's like giving a baby a violin and telling it to play Beethoven. And yes, I realize he didn't play violin but you get my point.

Sometimes it feels as though the only thing my parents appreciate about me is that I always finish the empty boxes of cereal, even if there's only two bites left.

I'm sorry I can't hang out tonight, but I already made plans with the girl I told I was insecure about my arm-hair to. I just feel more comfortable around her.
The problem is I'm even more comfortable around the girl who I don't tell my insecurities to because I know she doesn't care. She sees me for who I am. She is down-to-earth and just, gets it.

I'm sorry I haven't answered your phone-calls lately, but you've been such a dick to one of my best-friends that I don't want anything to do with you.

I'm sorry my posts are so broad and jumbled and confusing.
I always imagine them as a beautifully dyed Easter egg, but they just end up being brown because I added too many colors.
Brown isn't bad.
You just got to dissect the colors yourself, find the true interpretations and the blueprints are laying around somewhere gathering dust.

I'm sorry not sorry.

-J.Stamos.

Just a thought.

I've watched dozens of people with near-perfect lives complain and complain about small difficulties.

They complain about things like not having enough time to get ready for the day, and a pony-tail is a rough-day.

They complain about things like their younger siblings borrowing their clothes without asking and running out of chocolate milk.

I'm not saying my life is difficult and hard, nor am I saying it's perfect.

I'm not saying I've never complained about something meaningless and stupid either.

But as I watch people who've gone through hell and back act happier than these other people, I'm so confused.

One of the happiest girls I know had the experience of watching her dad ditch her family for another woman.

One of the happiest guys I know got his girlfriend pregnant at age 18 and had to figure out a life he wasn't prepared for.

One of the happiest girls I know lots BOTH her parents to a murder-suicide.

Don't complain about your broken iPhone or your scuffed-up kicks.

If these people who've been through the lowest-lows are still always able to put a smile on their face, so can I, and so can YOU.

Happiness is an essential key to enjoying life.

We just need to focus on the good things.

-J.Stamos.

I remember those times.

I remember when I was playing on the trampoline with my dad and little brother. Jumping like crazy. Maybe too high because before I knew it, I was lying on the black rubber tramp crying. Sprained thumb. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I remember when I was in mid-air heading a soccer ball into the net for a goal. Scoring like crazy. Maybe too much because before I knew it, I was lying on the blue plastic tiles in a cold futsal arena crying. Broken foot. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I remember when my Grandmother died. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I remember when my brother was in the hospital running tests to see whether or not leukemia was his fate. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I remember when I decided to end things and she said screw you. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I now watch my mother's face turn red and eyes swell up any time I mention me leaving for two years. As I hugged her and handed her a rose and said I love you, she began to cry. Last home game. Senior year. I needed to keep composure because kick-off was in ten minutes. And she stood in front of many today bearing testimony to ME. Crying. It's only two years mother. Yes I leave in 37 days, but we can do this together. And I used to think I knew what pain was.

-J.Stamos.

How to steal someone's heart.

And I'm not sure if I'm the best example.
And I'm not sure if these instructions will be helpful.
And I'm not sure whether or not instruction is what you need, but here.

First you must cut one straight line below the left pectoral (or breast), then cut one perpendicular line at each end.
Second you must peel skin to the side. Proceed to the next step by finding some clean pliers.
Third you must break approximately three ribs, and avoid the temptation of grillin' them up along with BBQ sauce.
Fourth you must find a magnifying glass and examine the heart. Is it pure? Is it beating? How fast?
Fifth you must quickly remove heart from body and place in clean bag. Throw bag over shoulder. Start running.

Make sure you never get caught, and you never give it back.
And I'm not sure if I'm the best example.
BUT.
That is how to steal someone's heart.

And I never steal hearts.

-J.Stamos.

Soliloquy.

I'm not sure what bothers me most,
the fact that no one has commented on my last five posts,
or the fact that our friendship can't grow much more due to other friendships.

I talked and spilled truth without realizing why I was even talking in the first place.
It caught me off-guard like a cracked sippy-cup. I didn't realize I was leaking.
Maybe I was just, comfortable.
The more I spoke, the more I wanted her to know.
Maybe if I didn't talk the whole time, she would've opened up too.
I want her to feel comfortable.

I've hung out with her along with other friends plenty of times,
but it's weird to think that us hanging out alone was the most fun I've had in awhile.

And I'm cautious to write more, because maybe I'm the one thinking about and writing about that night.
But I have to write about it.

Although this is a public blog, in my mind it's a broad soliloquy without description of my mind.
No description, because I'm cautious.
Just the general answers and shrug-of-the-shoulders.

And I wear a beanie 'cause I'm Indie, and I wear nike socks 'cause I'm a Jock.
But I always remember my leather belt along with my button-up to remind myself where I stand.
I contradict myself consistently without solving my errors.
And this paragraph might not coincide with the previous, but the beanie is the focus.

And I want to progress our friendship but maybe drive isn't a good idea,
I'll choose neutral and see where the road takes me.

I'm intrigued by the fact that I don't know if this is weird, but also,
who cares. This is a soliloquy, remember?

-J.Stamos.

HE always knows what to say.

They said we're all out of wine.

HE said just bring me some water.

They said he was born blind.

HE asked do you have faith?

They said she's an adulterer.

HE said he who is without sin, cast the first stone.

They said there's no fish.

HE said cast your nets on the other side.

He came back to gives thanks.

HE asked where are the other nine?

She said I already have water.

HE said drink of my water, and you'll never thirst.

They said he was a liar.

HE said nothing.

They laughed.

HE said nothing.

They martyred him.

HE returned to bless those who never doubted.

-J.Stamos.

Boston is in our prayers.

"Other people divided in the pigments of a fragment nation

Im just a voice, A figment of your imagination

It's your choice the difference find your aspiration

Instead of being a fool tricked by Fascination

Training thought getting on track, now we leave the station

Go for 2012, Better conversation

Between nations so they can make reparations

Politicians never lived up to my expectations."

- Tom Pepe (Knowmads) 

As I visit different parts of our country, I see a wall.

This wall is invisible, yet, we all know it's there.

About 100 ft. tall, and an eternity wide.

A country divided.

Why people expect the government to provide for them I can't quite comprehend.

Why people expect the government to fix the economy on their own, I can't quite comprehend.

Our country will never. NEVER. be in complete peaceful bliss. We'll never agree completely with one another.

Poverty, middle-class, wealth.

We can never expect this all to equate to one.

BUT.

When our country, is faced with trials and tribulations. When our country, is attacked. When our country has fear and terror in their eyes. WE DISMANTLE THE WALL, AND BECOME A FORCE.

R.I.P. Boston bombing victims.

If you're reading this, please watch this video.

Boston Bruins hockey game two days after bombing.

It'll change your view of our country, and the wall.

-J.Stamos.

Back in Black.

"It is time for you to learn about trust, Asok."

"America is the definition of non-believer."

-J.Stamos.

Assume.

She was telling me about how her parents argued and fought all the time, but it was okay and that they were carrying on. It's no big deal, she said. As the tension built up inside she just brushed it off like a fly on her shoulder.

The problem with this is not completely the fact that her family life isn't the best, but the fact that I just assumed everything was fine.  It never crossed my mind that she was facing something like this, I was oblivious.  I HATE being oblivious.

I assumed.

I don't know of many worse things to do in life then assume.  I always assume the best in everything, doesn't everybody?  I like to be optimistic.  But I now realize that when I'm assuming, I'm not considering the option that not everyone's lives are perfect, even though we'd like them to be.

It came as a shock to me.

I just assumed.

People say never assume, because to assume is to make an ASS out of U and ME.

I used to think and assume that everyone had a perfect testimony in church, and none of them ever made mistakes.  I thought that when I made a mistake, I was alone.  I assumed everyone had it good but me, and that I was experiencing trials no one else had to go through.  It wasn't until I was 17 when I noticed some other kids meeting with the Bishop often.  My friends discussed the happiness they received from meeting with their Bishop.

I've had to meet with my Bishop.

I used to assume I was the only one, that I was the one kid who is figuring things out for the best, and trying to discover myself.  I assumed I was the only one lost.

But I'm not alone, and it is comforting.

One time I assumed that my teacher would never catch me cheating. So I cheated on a spelling test. Shhh don't tell.

I didn't get caught by my teacher, but I did get caught by my guilt.  Nothing is more embarrassing then telling your teacher you cheated.  Trust me.

I used to assume.

Don't assume.  Make sure you're on the same page with others, you really don't want to make an ass out of yourself. Trust me.

-J.Stamos.

* If anyone asks.. ASS means donkey. Duh.

Where SAD CHAIRS REVEAL THEIR TRUE COLORS happens...

Where NOT EVEN CONSIDERED A CHAIR happens...

~

Where A STORY TO BE JEALOUS OF happens....

~

Where SUPPLYING FOR A FAMILY happens...

~

Where MONDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL happens...

Honesty, but maybe not complete.

I feel like I've been limiting myself on my posts and expressions because I'm aware some peers know who I am. Although anonymous to most, John Stamos has been exposed. I put this upon myself though, so basically I put a noose around my own neck and jumped.

I decided I'm not going to let this affect me any longer; honesty and originality is now going to pour out of me like that bad bean-and-cheese burrito I ate last week.
So let me list off some honest things so after this post, I'll be back in my groove..

Honestly, I think you have one of the most intriguing personalities known to man.. But we are just acquaintances, and it probably won't change.

Honestly, either you're too mature, or I'm too immature, but we definitely have our differences.

Honestly, the people I feel most comfortable around are the ones I'm not trying to impress, and that's why they are my best friends.
Except for that one girl I could say anything too, but she's too cool to hang out with an average Joe like me. Why can't I just be "Front-row Joe" or "GI Joe"..?

Honestly, the more pessimistic you are around me, the more I don't want to be around you. And yes, there is a major difference between that and being realistic, so don't try to call me out.

Honestly, I find it humorous, how you all act like you're so open-minded when in reality you have a mask on so thick it'd make Beyonce's booty jealous.

Honestly, we ALL hate your girlfriend, I even told you last week. Rumor has it she now has a "Pinterest" board dedicated to you. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a shrine of you in her closet too.

Honestly, I don't mind baggin on my some of my bros occasionally because I know they do the same to me. That's just how life is.
And yes I called you a liar to your face, and your facial reaction was just what I'd expect, guilty. Hand in the cookie jar... Hand in the cookie jar. Or maybe salsa dish, that might be more suitable.

Honestly, my attitude and is what defines my thoughts.
"Attitude reflect leadership, Cap'n."

Honestly, these are still things I'm not being COMPLETELY honest on. But I'm sitting in my boxers trying not to spill my chocolate milk. (Good luck figuring out that metaphor).

-J.Stamos.

Sixlets.

God popped his knuckles, BIG BANG.

And then she looked into my eyes.

Don't photograph this special moment PLEASE. 

Raise your glass of bottled water.

Seize the opportunity, ask it questions.

-J.Stamos.

Senioritis

My name is John Stamos and I have senioritis.
I'm going to keep this post short because... Well.... Senioritis.



-J.Stamos.

Smoke Crack?

All growing up my parents constantly warned me of the many dangers in life.

Being a normal child, I never really paid attention to what they said.

When my parents said, "Stop teasing your sibling."  What do you think I did? Slapped my brother across the face with a sock full of lead.

Okay, maybe no lead.

But in reality, doing the opposite of what they say is an unwritten rule during a child's glory days.

I honestly believe you can't go through life without experiencing trials and situations personally.

My dad always told me never to swear, it becomes a bad habit.

It wasn't until I was 16 and made a mistake in the game, my parents right there next to me on the sidelines, "dang."

Obviously it wasn't dang.

I never had felt so stupid, embarrassed, and rebellious simultaneously. I knew at that moment, my dad was right all along.

But if I had never sworn in front of my parents, and if I had never felt that humiliation; I never would've learned for myself.

I don't have to experience EVERYTHING for myself though, I think I'll stick with my parents advice on drugs and alcohol. Only smoke crack, nothing else.

BRAVERY RUNS IN MY FAMILY.*

To be honest I always thought my dad was a pansy, until I saw him dive off a 25 ft. cliff head first into the lake. I could barely gathered up the guts just to jump.

That's when I knew I wanted to inherit the courage that runs through my dad's veins. If a 50 year-old man lives a life with no fear, I want to too.

Two days later, 5 teenagers, 1 cliff. 45 feet to be exact. With my man-card on the line.. let's just say I'll remember to point my toes next time... good thing I'm not "Big-Foot".

I've learned a lot from my parents, and I've learned a lot from myself.

I've learned from my dad, that playing spin-the-bottle at age 15 is never a good idea, especially when you don't know how to kiss. ALSO I've learned from my dad that if you and all your roommates are suspicious of another roommate being gay, don't let the gay massage your hamstring. Just don't.

I've learned personally that if you let your cat sit on your lap, and then you're mean to her, she might try to make sure you don't have children. Umm... claws.

We are meant to experience a lot throughout our lives and smoking crack is definitely not one of them.

Don't do drugs.

-J.Stamos.

* Line taken from the poem "Coward" by A.R. Ammons

**Also I never have actually smoked crack.

that girl, i dread her so much.

Don't expect me to be making money like Bruce Wayne, because I don't expect you to be selling a new hit record every weekend like Taylor Swift.

She has so many expectations and assumes her future and life will be perfect. She wants everything to go the way she wants, and if it doesn't. BOOM! She explodes and isn't happy anymore.

That girl has been picking out her kids names since she was a little girl. Also she wants five kids.

Boy girl boy girl boy. Then her first child happened to be a girl, and so she never loves her daughter completely because, well, she's not a boy.

So she named her first daughter Tyler anyways.

That girl has been planning her dream wedding since she was a little girl. But her father lost his job right before the wedding and couldn't afford all flowers and decorations that she wanted. So he never got to meet his in-laws because she was so stubborn and full of hatred. The dad was trying his best, but it was never good enough.

That girl always wanted a big house full with matching furniture, and a huge pantry with healthy but tasty food for her children. But her husband was never the money-maker she thought he'd be, and so she slept in the guest bedroom and complained to her friends how useless her husband was.

EVEN THOUGH HE WAS WORKING 12 HOUR SHIFTS AND WORKING A SECOND PART-TIME JOB JUST TO PAY FOR HIS WIFE'S SHOPPING SPREES, AND THE BILLS.

A push-over he may be, but a soldier when it comes to his kids and family.

That girl filed for divorce, and abandoned the husband with four kids, along with medical bills still needed to be paid because the last child wasn't physically prepared to enter this harsh world. And the husband took a third job just so he could pay for a nanny.

That girl was the cause that led all her children into the wrong direction. While Tyler was cutting her wrists and trying her best fit in, her "mother" was paying for plastic surgery and hunting for a trophy-husband who would fit the needs she had and accept the lust she presents. That girl completely erased her family from her life.

That girl is what destroys men who are trying their best to provide for their families. That girl dreamed of a perfect life, and was determined to have it. That girl. That girl.

That girl, I dread her so much.

-J.Stamos.

My childhood best-friend had a nightmare.

I didn't have many friends. Something inside me told me to go outside during recess and play basketball. I had never played basketball before, skateboarding was my kind of thing. I walked out to the court anyways and there he was playing basketball by himself; the weird red-head who I knew lived near me but never had talked to before. I asked if I could play, he agreed and not soon after the recess was spent with me kicking the ball as far as possible and him chasing it down.

3rd grade was when we became best friends.

We walked home together after school already knowing we were best friends without having to say it out-loud to each other, because we were young and the fear of being rejected was a foreign language to us.

From that point forward we dreamed together of playing in the NBA. Shot after shot after shot we enjoyed our days as best friends.

Our positions were simple. I was always taller so I was the center, he was short he was the guard.

We played basketball together everyday until the the calluses on our hands started growing calluses, but we still continued on. Our childhood was spent together coated with sticky Popsicle fingers, dirty feet, and a worn-out basketball that was consumed with our dreams.

~

And then we hit puberty. Well, most kids our age hit puberty. He happened to be one of the few "late-bloomers".

And then he watched me make the 7th grade basketball team.

But we told ourselves it's because I was taller and a little stronger. There's always next year, and he accepted and was comfortable with the idea.

And then he watched me make the 8th grade basketball team.

But we told ourselves it's because I was taller and a little stronger and now a little faster. There's always next year, but he wasn't on-board completely with this idea.

We grew apart, but still had a strong friendship. I moved away which added an invisible yet noticeable wall between us. We'd still ball together every now and then but it wasn't the same, and we were older and I was the one with more experience.

And then he watched me make the 9th grade basketball team.

~

Until now I never realized how hard this was for him. Watching me be successful in OUR dreams. I was accomplishing what WE had planned to do together. But we grew older and he now made up excuses that he could convince himself with.

And then he watched me QUIT basketball and pursue other sports. Until now I never realized how HARD this was... I was in Hawaii playing soccer tournaments while he shot hoops alone. And I STILL made the teams without him.

~

I watched him go into depression. I watched him make up excuses and quit. I watched him WATCH ME.

I promise it wasn't as good as we dreamed it up to be. I wish we went through this together. That recess I made a best friend... and then made him watch me do the thing he ALWAYS loved more than me.

I wish I could tell you, you were always a better player then me. I wish I could tell you I'm sorry things didn't work out. I wish I could tell you I don't know why we stopped being friends, but I still consider you a brother. I wish I could tell you how much you taught me.

I KNOW you wanted what I got all through our childhood. But I don't believe YOU KNOW that I thought about you through the whole thing.

I wish I could tell you.... that watching me was not a nightmare, it was a documentary.

LOVE, your childhood best-friend.

-J.Stamos.

Moments

Moments:

i'm so thirsty for moments that i can't consume.

look in my eyes seek but don't assume.

zoom-in on my cornea then reflect back on ponderings.

i leave in search and stop in squanderings.

every-step i take is not backward but forward.

forward.

push-on strive thrive for the new.

i see my potential.

achieving is essential.

i feel the absence of time.

time is all i got.

i respect the past.

but recognize the future.

change is the most terrifying verb.

decisions is the second.

nouns interrupt my verbs and expect acknowledgement.

i have time noun, you just need to remember that.

i'm so thirsty for moments that i can't consume.

i'm even more hungry for instants i plan to monopolize.

J.Stamos.

face the space.

I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but I knew it was necessary. I knew it was going to take awhile to get over, but I didn't know how long. I knew there was now going to be space between us, but I didn't know how much.

For the past 36 hours she's been on my mind. Every time my phone buzzes two-quick vibrations representing a text, I hope for her name.

~

I knocked on the door. Half of me wanting her to answer; the other half not so much. I feared the moment where we would have to make eye-contact for the first time again. I expected there to be space between us, but I didn't know how much.

We were all in a YOLO mood "per se". I drove us all around place-to-place; and shot-gun was empty with space, with me just hoping she'd fill it. Of course not, that would defeat the purpose of what we decided.

I didn't start much conversation between us because I knew every word I spoke, would just remind us of the night before. I didn't need any flashbacks, and she didn't either.

It was getting late and she stated it was time for her to go home.  We arrived back to our destination and she along with everyone else exited my car. That's the moment I faced the SPACE. She went the complete opposite direction around the vehicle to avoid confrontation with me. There is now SPACE.

How much? Someone please go find me a ruler, a tape-measure, a yard-stick; I need to measure this distance. I need to find the end of the space we created so I know what to expect. The more space the more space the more space I see, the more space I regret. We take it upon ourselves to decide how much space we will put between us. I just hope she wants the same amount as me.

~

I know this is what's right. I know space is necessary and what's best for the both of us.

What I didn't anticipate is how much I want this space to evaporate. Evaporate for the both of us. Eventually the space will be gone. Maybe the space will be gone and our lives will be so different we won't even notice. Maybe the space will be gone and that's the first thing we notice.

SPACE and TIME have an insane correlation.

I guess I just need time, and hopefully the space will dissipate.

For now my life is focused on other things, although my mind is focused on you.

Once I get my mind and life on the same track, I'll be able to face the space.

-J.Stamos.

i don't remember this happening

We talked about how scary the future is.

We talked about how our childhood's are gone and history.

We talked about how we don't feel the age we actually are.

I'm glad we talked about this, because now I know I'm not alone.

I don't know what to expect of the future. I love reminiscing back on my childhood. Pick up games with a dirty worn-out basketball and never having to wear deodorant.  Girls were cute, but I never paid much attention to them...  I paid more attention to how many assists Steve Nash got the night before, or if Dirk Nowitski was still going to be on "injury-reserve" (those are basketball players by the way).

I used to look up to the 19 year-olds receiving their mission calls and leaving like they were heros. Man, they were so cool. Just them acknowledging my existence while I walked past them in church would make my day.

Now I'm in their shoes. I don't feel my age. I don't feel like I'm about to graduate. I don't feel like I got accepted to multiple universities. I don't even remember applying. When did I read and re-read the Book of Mormon? When did I work all summer and make minimum wage? I don't remember ever having a crush on you, but you still look at me like our past together was yesterday. STOP.

Is my mission really coming up this fast? Is one of my best-friends really is going to Europe to serve our Lord? When did my testimony of the Gospel grow so big? I never imagined having a testimony this strong.

Three more months and I'm about to take the biggest step in my life. I still haven't completely grasped the concept of my future. It still hasn't fully hit me. Come and HIT ME! Hit me like a bulldozer because I'm scared of the fact that I don't realize how real this is. I don't realize how soon my high school will be over. I go to sleep every night not realizing how quick things are moving.

The more I think and write about this subject, the more I'm scared.

I'm scared of the future.  I'm scared of.... what I'm about to do with my life.

I'm excited for the future because changes are necessary and actually... I'm not that scared. and that's what scares me the most. the absence of my fear.

-J.Stamos.

I stare down death with a smile.

I sit in a congested room. So many people. Smiles everywhere and at least two crying babies.
Why is everyone SO happy? I know why. There is no boundaries or limits in this building. People spill out their thoughts and feelings like a drunk spills his Budweiser while watching the Super Bowl. Anyways, this is REAL happiness. We smile because we know something that most the world can't even grasp the concept of. Life. And death.

The man two rows down to the left of me just lost his beloved wife to cancer. BUT, he's smiling and wiping tears as another peer bears testimony of life. You WILL be with her again.
How can this be? She's dead. You'll never see her again.
Wrong. He smiles because of his knowledge of the plan of salvation. He's a widower on earth but a husband and father in the after-life. Eternity.

I ain't gonna preach to you. But I'll be danged if I don't testify to you.

I couldn't live my life if I didn't have the knowledge I do now. I wouldn't sleep because sleep is the cousin of death. I wouldn't breathe because any second, any minute could be my last, why try? I wouldn't smile because death is just around the corner, always.

Death isn't scary to me. It's only a physical death. My spirit moves on to a world I can't even close to imagine.

There is no beginning. There is no end.

Love God, love man. God be with you til we meet again.

-J.Stamos.

Writers block my shots.

Writers block.  Everyone gets it, so I decided I'm going to address it.

Why do we get writers block?  I'm sure even Shakespeare and Dr. Seuss had their bad-days where they couldn't create anything good (yes I categorize those two together).

I hate Writers Block.  He always comes at the wrong time.  Fashionably late, although never in fashion.

Writers Block is the King Party-Pooper, trust me, he poops.

Writers Block is cousins with Frustration.  Those two are always together.  Sometimes I wonder if they are secretly a couple, which is wrong on so many levels.

Writers Block and Frustration are always hanging out with Confusion who only speaks spanish, which makes him so hard to understand.

Watch out for those three, they like to jump you with their broken pencils and red-ink handguns which shoot blank stares.  They come out when you least expect it.

Writers block is fake.  Writers block is not real.  Writers block does not exist, yet we all claim it here and there.

What kind of block are we talking about?

BLOCK of wood.

Getting BLOCKED by Shaq.

BLOCK in the neighborhood where the Bloods n' Crips chill.

Maybe BLOCKbuster because Redbox took over the nation's media.

Hmm....

Why write? You all already said it.  You all already said it.  I already said that.

You all already said it before me, and better than I ever would have.

Writing is pointless.  I've got no cliches, no metaphors, no similes, no jokes, no.

Writing is for the creative, writing is for the new.  Writing is for those who understand how to complicate then concentrate.  Writing is for you.  Writing is not for me.

Writing..... Writing....  Writers block 101.  Writers block my shots.  Writers block the passing lane.  Writers block the flock from migrating.  Writers are stubborn.  Writers block.

-J.Stamos.

BOO. 'cause it sounds like it's supposed to scare you.

I had moved on so it was time to break up with her.  Was I afraid of the situation I know I had to face? Not really.  Was I somewhat scared? Yes.
After I broke up with her, we hugged.  That was the scariest part.  She hugged me the tightest she ever had, she squeezed me and wouldn't let go.  She was easily one of the worst huggers I've dated because she always gave me inelegant one-arm leaners as if she took them for granted.  Well, SHE TOOK THEM FOR GRANTED, and now I'm afraid.
Am I afraid of commitment?  Probably.  It makes me anxious.
Do I want commitment?  Do I seek that which I'm most terrified of? Yes, which is so frightening if you think about it.

There's an annoying junior in high school who follows me around like I'm a banana and he's a monkey.  He won't leave my side.  Am I afraid of him?  No. I could knock-him-out in 5 seconds and still have time to walk my dog.  Am I afraid of why he follows me around?  Yes. There is the slim possibility he's secretly gay, and he's attracted to me.  *shudder* Gross.

I'm afraid that Mr. Smith the calculus teacher is an arcane serial-killer.  Why?  Because that's the last thing someone would assume about him.  There's something about him and his personality that is just NOT RIGHT.
Now I'm afraid he will read this, and I just put myself next on his "hit-list".

I'm not afraid of much, and no I don't think I'm a tough guy.  Just, not much in this world is meaningful enough to scare me.  Well, I'm afraid of cold feet, but that's a whole different story.

For some reason I come off as an intimidating person.  I don't know why.  People just assume I'm rude I guess.
BOO!
That's about as scary as I get.

I'm afraid of the future.  It's one of my biggest fears.  What if I never become the person I strive to be?  What if I develop a rare cancer and die at the age 40 leaving a wife and 4 kids left with no husband or father?

What if.... What if....
I FEAR "WHAT IF'S"..... because the possibility of crafting these "what if's" is endless..
What if I woke up to a monkey beating me with a rotten banana until I bleed...? Random.  But not impossible.  Especially if the monkey is that junior I mentioned who follows me around.

I'm afraid of addictions.  Addictions have tortured my extended family and friends for generations.
ADDICTIONS.  Something that seems so harmless at first can completely take-over and control your life.
My uncle has told me that he knows he will eventually have to stand before the judgement-seat and tell our Savior, that ALCOHOL was his Master.
I fear that I will succumb to an inanimate object, a worthless noun, an unintelligent verb, and let it destroy me.
I DO HAVE FEARS.  I fight my fears.  I fear my fears.  My fears will never consume me.

"It is the curse of an addict to chase the thing that destroys you..." - Shane Hawley.

-J.Stamos.

Don't tell me I ain't good enough.

If you are of the male species and you claim you never wanted to grow up to be a professional athlete, you're lying.

           WE ALL DID.

Football, basketball, baseball, soccer, tennis (if you're a weirdo), hockey, and the list goes on and on if you're including the Olympic sports.
There is the rare-case of being so dang uncoordinated that you decided to take a knee and called it quits before you got your hopes up (you're most likely an Indie now anyways).  Otherwise, you're in the same boat as me and everyone else full of testosterone.

Basketball was my dream.  I WAS the next Michael Jordan, and if you told me otherwise it would go in through one ear, and out the other.  In reality I sucked, but who's to tell a smelly 10 year-old that he's not good enough?  Who's to tell that chubby brown-boy he's not fast enough? (Actually he's not brown, he's just covered in so much dirt he looks brown).  No one with a conscious dares to crush a little kid's dreams like that, besides Hitler.  He would literally crush their dreams, really, like while they were asleep and dreaming he would crush them, literally. Get it?  Unless your first name is Adolf or Lucifer, you must lie and tell a kid he's good enough.  That's the 11th commandment.

This isn't just about sports.  I know you females all thought you were either the next American Idol, or America's Next Top Model.  Either way you wanted to be an idol, you selfish-snobs.
Who's to tell you that you have the same tone and pitch as a Lion eating Pop-Rocks?  Unless they're a Zookeeper and apart of Mo-Tab, they have no right to say anything.

In our heads we all thought we were going to be famous and it didn't cross our minds that it would never happen.  That's how growing-up works.  Never did we think we weren't good enough, we weren't fast enough, we weren't pretty enough because reality isn't real to children.  Our fantasies were our realities, and our realities were nonexistent.

How old were you when you got some sense knocked into you, and you realized the NBA, NFL, or being the next Beyonce wasn't possible?

I was 12 years-old.

A brand-new deacon who used to dream about signing basketballs and babies foreheads with his autograph, now walks the streets alone at night kicking rocks at puppies while blasting Eminem on his mp3.

I could have been the next Michael Jordan, I know I could have.  Maybe coming to reality is the worst thing that can happen to a kid.  Maybe.

-J.Stamos.

Reminisce, talk some...

Sometimes I think about thinking.
Sometimes I think about pondering about reminiscing about thinking.
Sometimes I just think.

My mind molds and forms the most unique and optimistic situations when thinking about you.
When thinking about you I smile, even though no one is around to see it. I still smile because in my head I'm subliminally proving to myself the truthfulness.

Now, I am not a deep person when it comes to writing.  I find deep-writing fake because it's an easy scapegoat to pretend like you know what you're talking about.
When it comes to thinking though, who REALLY understands it.  Possibly, deep-gooey-lovey writing is what is necessary for "thinking" posts.  Nahhh.
I thought I understood thinking, until "the girl of my dreams" turns out to be girl-zilla and starts ripping Asians heads off and dunking them in basketball hoops.  I now feel bad for the lad who gets hitched to that monster.  What was I thinking at the time?  I wasn't.  My cerebral-cortex must have a glitch or something because that one sure blindsided me like a I was standing between a Catholic Priest and a small boy..... too soon? Sorry.

I'm thinking about you like Mike Taylor thinks about ALL the people ripping-off his poetry format. Also, I watched that slam AT LEAST 30 times before I even signed up for Creative Writing. Call me hipster.

I was just thinking about her.  Who's her?  I'm not exactly sure.  Sometimes when I do that imagining thing I spoke of, the people in my thoughts have no faces.  They have no personality or voice.  I tell them what to do because they're are in my head, MY thoughts.  She's in MY thoughts.  SHE, doesn't know I'm thinking about her.  What if she's thinking about me?  Do I have a face, voice, or personality in her imagination.  Probably not.  That is why my beautifully crafted optimistic situations with hugs and kisses and honesty never go the way expected. Why? Because we don't have faces. Thinking about you never includes the two-way road that is necessary in real life.

Take that in for consideration.

-J.Stamos.

Don't judge.

Don't judge a book by its cover.
Don't judge a Mexican by the quality of his mustache.
Don't judge a movie because Channing Tatum isn't the lead actor.
Don't judge a person by their occupation.
Don't judge a table by the type of wood it's made out of.
Don't judge an Asian by the thickness of their eyes.
Don't judge a politician by the political-party they belong to.
DO judge Nicki Minaj.
Don't judge a person by their past.
Don't judge a religion without studying it.
Don't judge a family by the cleanliness of their house.
Don't judge a restaurant by the smell (for example Beto's).

DON'T JUDGE.  People are judged everyday.  Walking down the street while passing by complete strangers... they judged you, and you probably judged them.  Why?  People judge others for comparison, to see whether or not you are "better" than them.  You don't know them.  7 billion people in the world, and the average amount of people you ACTUALLY know is about 25.  Family, close friends, and secret-crushes that you stalk on every social-network possible.  Just because you wear nicer clothes, have more money, have less zits, and have more friends doesn't make you a better person.  Quit comparing yourselves to people you do OR don't know.  That person you judged at school may be 1 dirty-look away from suicide.  What if you were the one to look at them funny.....?  Serious stuff.

That book might just be the next "Newbury Best-Seller".  That Mexican could be actually be a Guatemalan or Puerto Rican, they all look the same.  That movie could win the next Oscar.  That person might be a mailman because they didn't have the opportunity to get an education and pursue the occupation they wanted.  That table might have been someone's great-great grandpa's that has been passed down from generation to generation.  That Asian might be Yao Ming's brother, which is a big deal.  That politician might be the one who could have saved our country from turmoil.  No one likes Nicki Minaj.  That person has repented of their sins and their past, why should you remind them of it.  That religion could be the true gospel and key to your salvation, but you just think they have lots of moms and wear funny underwear.  That family's uncle may have recently died, so keeping their house clean isn't their top priority.  Beto's smells bad, but is just dang good.

Don't judge, please.

J.Stamos.

Tarzan knows traps.

The first time a girl told me she loved me it was through text, "Love ya, goodnight."
Uhhhh I was a 15 year-old boy with hormones and no knowledge whatsoever of what I was about to get myself into.  Obviously I replied, "Love you too! Night."

Love is a trap.  I understand that I'm about to get my head ripped off by any girl reading this.  Love is a TRAP.  Before you pull out your guillotines and start chanting "Off with your head" like the Queen of Hearts, wait to see what I have to say first.  Love is a trap.  Yes, I literally mean a trap like a bear-trap in Alaska, or a "pickle" in the game of baseball.  There is one way in, and no way out.  Even if you're over it and say, "I no longer love _____", you still gave away something that you can never receive back.  Your emotions, your tears, your favorite necklace (I'm still bitter about that one); your love will not be given back fully in return.  Somewhere along the "trail-of-love" you deposited a down-payment without realizing it.  NO refunds, NO returns.  Unless you're a Great White Shark, don't plan on getting out of the fish-tank without losing an arm, a leg, an eye, or acquire a gimpy-fin like our beloved Nemo.

Now, here's the other meaning behind my statement "Love is a TRAP".  I don't believe I ever said that being in a trap is a bad thing.  Think of the one person you WOULD want to be trapped on an island with, or stuck in an elevator with, do you love them?  I'll take that as a yes.  If I was trapped on an island with my future wife or girlfriend who I absolutely love, I'd be okay with it. Why?  First, because I'd teach myself how to surf.  Second, my wife would make me an unlimited supply of pina colada's.  Third, I'd be able to show-off my manliness by building a house out of bamboo, and wrestling monkeys to the death.  And last-but-not-least, I'd get to spend 24 hours a day with the one I love.  Love is a TRAP.  True love is something you want to be so wrapped-up in, that you're glad you're stuck with them forever.  Where every second of your life you're either with them, or thinking about being with them.

Statistics say 99.9% of marriages end in divorce.  Or maybe it's 50%.  All I know is one pf those is about divorce, and the other may be about hand-sanitizer, I'm not completely sure.  I just hope that my Jane is out there, and I can be her Tarzan.  Purposely trapping ourselves on an island and forever loving each other without end.

J.Stamos.

Obviously, we all have hearts.

Dang, that was some good salsa. (4 hours later...) Dang, that salsa is giving me some outrageous "heart"burn.

I have a heart. I must have a heart. Hopefully a GRANDE heart. (That salsa is kicking in my spanglish tendencies).

Sometimes though, my heart is small and uncaring...

Imagine if the Grinch and Ebenezer Scrooge had a baby, and that baby had a heart, that's mine sometimes.

"How could you be so heartless...?" - Kanye West (Heartless). Yeah you're one to talk Kanye, remember T-Swizzle and how you interrupted and stole her mic? Take your own advice, listen to your own lyrics. BTW, Kardashian is a gold-digger.

Blood-pumping, heart-racing, veins bulging when you see her.

"SHUT UP heart, I can't concentrate when you race like that." - I think silently, although screaming on the inside. Due to my heart's previous carelessness, caution must now be taken when putting my heart on-the-line. Why must this be? Ever since Selena hooked up with a fag like JB, I can't trust my first-impressions.  But seriously though, what did she see in him besides talent, fame, muscles, and his dreamy blue-eyes?  Off-camera I guarantee he's dying inside because of all his fakeness; fake friends, fake smile, fake happiness.  On the more serious side though, I need some killer advice, cause I'm at a lose of words when it comes to girls and their confusing nature.  Maybe I'm the confusing one, just call me a MIME when it comes to saying the right things though, because I'm terrible. Compliments with confidence are translated into insults. Huh?  I wish my heart could speak for me and say, "you're cute, obviously, I like you, obviously, will you be my girl...?" she replys "obviously."  That's how it should work. God must've been confused where the location of the heart goes, cause it should be right below my uvula so it can speak for me.

We all have hearts, many like to show-off how big theirs is, like that kid who says "Bless you" in class BEFORE the person is even finished sneezing. Don't be that guy. That guy is annoying. We all know that guy just wants to be viewed as kind and considerate.  Say "Bless You" once, and least a 1/2 second after the sneeze, please.

Heart-attacks kill. My grandma died of a heart-attack..... actually, it was cancer. Close enough, right?

That was a cruel joke, and I regret my decision of writing it, yet I can't seem to muster the strength to hit backspace. Humans have heart-attacks; blood-clots that decide they are too think-minded to run and function properly anymore.

We rely on our hearts to live, to breathe, to give us that feeling whether or not we should do something.  My heart says to do it, say it, play it, convey it, invent it, present it, she meant it, I mean it - please.  I like to believe that my heart is usually normal size, possibly above average.  We all have hearts, hearts are in humans, humans are alive; hearts keep us alive and give us the strength to push-forward, even when her reply is actually, "obviously..............not".

-J.Stamos.

Bats in the cave.

My biggest fear in life is believing that I'm great at something, but really I'm absolutely terrible, and NO ONE says anything. It's common for us to bend the truth because we're afraid to "hurt someone's feelings." It's like that kid who has a booger hanging, everybody sees it yet no one dares to mention its presence. From this point forward, no sugar-coating anything. I don't want to find out ten years down the road, I'm not actually good at making milkshakes. Seems unimportant in your eyes, but to me, it's more serious than Einstein's focus during a chess-match.

Beading around the bush is the queer of conversations. No one enjoys listening to it. Take the mask off. Get to the point, be honest, and respect will be given. Feelings can, and most likely will be hurt, but its necessary in the entire scheme of things. Imagine if Eve told Adam, "I am who I am, and if you don't like it, deal with it." Girls would've never had to start wearing makeup, correct? My historical knowledge is ridiculously accurate.

When it comes down to it, telling someone the truth, can save a lot of embarrassment. Just picture all the headaches we could've spared Randy Jackson if people simply told their friends auditioning for American Idol isn't a good idea.

Together as the population on this world we should vow to be straight forward with each other; tell people they got some bats in the cave, their milkshakes taste like urine, and in a British accent - That was tremendously horrendous. Stop singing.

-J.Stamos.

Uncle Jesse

John Stamos is a mediocre actor, celebrity, and person. You never hear about him. I don't know why he hasn't done much with his career. He's probably wondering the same thing. Ever since "Full House" ended and he was no longer Uncle Jesse, he dropped off the face-of-the-earth. Anyways. When I leave comments on blogs, I don't want people to think of "John Stamos". I want them to think of the meaning behind his name.

What might the be you ask?

I'm not sure either. I just think Big John kicks butt. His beard is pretty sexy too. It makes me want a beard. Just like Mr. Nelson, except less... hairy.

I love writing, hopefully this first post is intriguing enough to keep you reading future posts. If not, I'm sorry to lose your attention so easily. Maybe you should go read a gossip magazine or watch "Walking dead" or something.

Another awkward situation I'm in... Do I end with a signature, or coined-phrase? I'm not sure. I'll just do it, not because Nike told me to though.

-J.Stamos.