If You Belonged Here

Pandora Never Got Her Letter to Hogwarts...

Don't you hate it when you're trying to eat your breakfast and a Nimbus 2000 is dropped by an owl into your cereal?  It's probably the same aggravation people get when they have to remember which direction the staircase is going to be switching for the day.   

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone came out when I was nine-years-old.  By the time the J.K Rowling's books were finally completed, I was the same age as the characters.  To say the least, I grew up with Ron, Hermione and Harry.

When the characters were starting to develop hormones and urges for the opposite sex, so was I.  Oh, how badly I wanted to be snogged in the hallway by the current boy I was pining over.

Plus, have you seen how hot each of them grew up to be?  Daniel Radcliffe has even gone nude on stage!  What my 16 year old self wouldn't have given to see that.  Emma Watson is going to Brown and being all smartsy and whatnot.  Though, I'm not sure what Rupert Grint is up to, he'll always hold a place in my heart as my favorite ginger.    

I stayed up late under my bed sheets with a flashlight for hours just to finish each chapter.  I read the books in class and constantly received criticism from my teachers.  They didn't fully understand that whatever Dumbledore had to say was far more important than who was the 22nd President of the United States.      

When the seventh book was released, I locked myself in my room and did come out for three days. Since I come from such a small town, only about two hundred people use my post office.  I bribed my postmaster with a fifty dollar bill in order for him to relinquish the book a day in advance to me.  Apparently, it was a felony to do so and I was left waiting in front of the post office all morning for it to open.  I informed my parents that I wasn't to be disturbed and that my meals were to be left outside my door.  There was no Facebook, TV, or cellphone.  I was cut off.

I've gone to most all of the midnight showings and was first in line but never dressed up.  You can tell me that I'm not a true fan for that.  However, I don't think you need to wear circular glasses and a painted on scar for that to be so.  It's just enough satisfaction to me to be ahead of the seven-year-old who's completely decked out because I know I've been a fan since before he was alive.     

A part of me died when the book series ended and the movies are what kept me strong.  However, within a year, those will come to an end as well.  I feel as if the last part of my childhood is finally ending and I have to grow up.  No other book series has captivated me for over half of my lifetime.  I just don't want to let go of the magic.  Though, with the new theme park being opened in Orlando I might have it forever.  I've heard rumors that in the Harry Potter recreate world there is a wand at Ollivander's that really chooses you!   

I think the boy that I need in life will be the one who uses the pick up line "Are you using the Confundus charm or are you just that mind blowing?" I will propose to him on the spot.  

So who's with me?  Do you guys all geek out over Harry Potter as much as me?  Am I even allowed to talk in depth about the book?  Do I have to keep my mouth duct tape shut as to not spoil any endings?  Do you really even care?  

I hope, for your sake, it isn't the latter.

I'm still waiting on that acceptance later.  I know all my kookiness and eccentric behaviors point to one thing: witch.    

Chance and other evil doers...BTQ

 If this post makes no sense, is boring, or just ends in the middle of a sentence I apologize.  I am tired, new job, 15 hour days tired.  New job, long days, no sex since bush...tired.  I might be the only guy in America that had one of the first Obama tee-shirts and didn't get laid the night of the election.  Lest you think this is going to be another long post on love, love lost, first love, first kiss, or loving the first bj you would be wrong.  I am pretty fucking crabby today and bookies wonderful post on billy joel lyrics and being single made me want to cry.  It isn't too often I want to cry.  But usually every few years it just feels like I could use a good cry.   If you think this is going to be a post about how great I am because I am in touch with my feelings and can show emotion, you would be wrong.  I am great and I can cry for you if you want me to, but that isn't what I am writing about.

I could write how I am in dire need of love.  Not just bumping uglies, temporary, you-said-your-name-was-what, kind of love.  But love you feel in the membrane walls of each and every cell in your body.  I could write about how I am waiting to be hit by lightning.  How nothing short of 'I would jump off a bridge for you' rapture is going to get my attention.  But I am too crabby to give a shit about writing something so stirring and thought-provoking. 

This started today when I was looking through someone's wedding album.  She was beautiful, with the alabaster skin, and hazel eyes like mine.  I honestly had a thought of how hot our kids would have been if she hadn't gone and married some boner, in a cheap Men's Wear-house tux.  The next feeling I had was pure, evil, envious hate.  Now I don't know them from anyone.  It is just a wedding book left out in the boardroom for clients to look at.  But I was building up quite a dislike for Mr. and Mrs. Jacobson.  They looked really happy in the photos, like they really were in love, and I just wanted to write her a letter telling her I saw him getting a bj from the cheeky maid of honor in the men's locker room that day.  I didn't even work there then but when I am really crabby sometimes my mind does evil doer things.  The lesson for me is when I am crabby, not to look at pictures of happy people.  Makes evil chance beat up good chance.

I told you there was no point in this post didn't I?  So I will come to my question part.  I am really ashamed of myself for feeling that envious and petty.  Even if it was for just a few moments.  I feel like I have to write her an apology letter for even thinking the things I was...well thinking. 

Dear Mrs. Jacobson.  I am sorry I thought about writing you a letter telling you how Mr. Jacobson was getting a pre-wedding bj from your cheeky bridesmaid.  As far as I know he didn't...but I wasn't there.  Yours in another life, Chance.

BTQ...Has there ever been a time when you thought some pretty evil shit?  Something you would'nt want to say out loud because it was so petty and mean that it makes you look like a schmuck.

Take a chance and tell me...I won't judge you...mostly.

 

Alice Gets Jack

(Polly: Surely you all remember the interview series? Well, this is a remnant of that. Alice interview Ramblin' Jack, and this is what happened:)

Alice: Do you still make pancakes with chocolate chips for Mrs. Poppins?

Jack: Yes, but not just chocolate chips. I take requests. I even do animal shapes.

Alice: Can you do dinosaurs? Specifically the T-Rex?

Jack: You bet! I once did an entire diorama of the Cretaceous–Tertiary extinction event. I made the Chicxulub impact crater out of blueberries.

Alice: Why is it that everyone wants to be a designer?

Jack: Because we're rock stars.

Alice: So you do a lot of drugs in your studio then?

Jack: I've given up the lifestyle and settled down. Now I only have the memories of my mis-spent youth, a few scars,  and a lingering infection.

Alice: How did you get the name Ramblin’ Jack? (try not to ramble on)

Jack: It's sort of an alter-ego kind of thing. The carefree, no responsibilities vagabond. The person I could have been had I turned left at the fork instead of right.

Alice: Are you saying that in real life your a Quiet Quincy?

Jack: The only Quincy I know was from a 70s TV series, and I see no parallels between myself and Jack Klugman, other than our names.

Alice: You didn’t really build that teardrop trailer from scratch did you?

Jack: Yes, I did. It's my own design.

Alice: What did Mrs. Poppins do while you were building that?

Jack: Polly helped some, but mostly just gave me space and listened to me blather on about it. Sometimes talking through a problem helps me think. Polly humors me and pretends to listen. She's the best.

Alice: Why teardrop then? Are you sad? Did building it make you cry?

Jack: That's just what they're called. I didn't name them. And no, I'm not sad, nor did I cry building it. Last time I cried was when Ellie died in Up. Absolutely heart-breaking.

Alice: Mac or PC?

Jack: Mac. I got my first Apple computer in '83 before there was such a thing as a Mac.

Alice: I was born in `83. Just sayin.

Jack: Does your mommy know you're using the internet? Just askin.

Alice: You’re reading Foreskin’s Lament by Shalom Auslander, right? I bet you love it so far?

Jack: The cover is quite fetching.

Alice: I'm begging you. Read it.

Jack: I will. We only have one copy and Polly and I read at different speeds, so it's awkward to read the same book at the same time. I'm actually already a fan of his from his bits on NPR/This American Life. Funny stuff.

Alice: Who does Polly like best? Probably me.

Jack: I think we both already know who's first. I'm second. Secret Lulu's third. You can all fight over the remaining slots. Please video tape it.

Alice: So, you can tell the difference between Star Wars and Star Trek, right?

Jack: I find your lack of faith disturbing.

Alice: I think I have a facebook fan page of the same name....

Alice: Do you want to host the next Mojo Party at your house?

Jack: Fine idea. No boas though. Polly hates cleaning house.

Alice: I think boas are non negotiable. AND even if Polly liked to clean house she'd be too busy the next day getting a late brunch with us so we would probably count on you for the clean up. AND you have a housekeeper so Polly can't be your excuse for no boas. How do you feel about ticker tape parades? (Not because we would have one but just because I'm curious).

Jack: Okay, at least get the non-shedding color-fast variety. And I generally feel that ticker-tape parades are frivolous and a waste of taxpayer money, especially if they occur in my house.