First Time I Liked a Monologue Enough to Blog it

“

I hear the words coming out of my mouth and I want to cry. But I can’t remember the last time I cried.
I make eye contact and not what I’m supposed to. Spewing out platitudes plausible enough to ward off any argument. What I really wanna say to her is

‘Did I mention you set my heart a flutter, and make me feel all funny inside?’

Heaven forbid I go through with it.
I’m the kind of guy who always bets on the wrong horse.

Me

Samuel Salazar at your service.

They say women forget the physical pain of child birth right after the baby is born. That’s how come they can start all over again and have another child.

I guess I’m not like a woman at all because I have a crystal clear memory of every heart- break I’ve suffered from the age of nine.

I was only conversational then.

Still, I can’t help but wonder if this could be a true happy ending.

Or one more false hope.

It’s like a traffic accident.
I know I shouldn’t look but I can’t turn away because in my heart of hearts,
(wherever that is)
I know the answer does not lie within words,

but within her eyes.

The world is made up of a billion little mysteries 
but it’s not words that explain them.

Of this I’m sure…

you are unique.

there are, I’m sure, uncommon things that you are particularly good at.

play to your strong suits.

shine.

don’t concentrate on things that other people have told you, you are no good at.

relish the talents you have.

and always

always surround yourself with people who appreciate you.

”

—	Sam Salazar portrayed by Josh Hartnett in Girl Walks Into a Bar

Who is Samantha Carter you ask? Well let me tell you

Yesterday was my first official day in my new singles ward. All the new people met in one of the classrooms and filled out a sheet with our information. After everything was said and done, we went out to the foyer to turn our papers in to the Bishop. As I'm standing in line, a lot of other members of the ward are passing by in the hall and greeting each other. I had already met a few of the ward members. I became reacquainted with some people I went to high school with, some people that my brother went to high school with and just a few other people I vaguely recognize. 

Here's the golden part of the day though. This guy walks up to me, he's wearing a pinkish tie, a dark plaidish shirt (I won't even guess the color as I am colorblind), a pocket full of pens, a scraggly goatee and big glasses. I haven't been formally introduced to this man yet, but he did catch my eye a few times during our first meeting. I don't know his name but in my mind 

I'm thinking "Okay this is Bro. Schrute."

In a slightly nasally voice (the voice you would expect)

 he asks "What is your name?"

"Mitch Carter" I reply

"Ohhh, How IS Samantha Carter doing?"

I'm thinking he's mistaking someone he thinks I'm related to or something so I say "Well, I don't know a Samantha Carter."

"Oh, I KNEW you wouldn't know her... She's not REAL."

"ummm..okay.. ha.."

"Samantha Carter, Stargate SG-1"

"OHHHHH... HAHA! Awesome"

I almost lost it, 

I'm sure if I really did start laughing hysterically he would've thought I was laughing at his joke. But the thing that I really found funny was that I get this all the time. I mean with the last name 'Carter' you wouldn't expect very many jokes about your name. 

So you get the same ones over and over. 

Like "Hey, how's Jimmy doin?" 

Or people asking if you're related to Nick or Aaron 

and sometimes you'll get 'Lil Wayne. 

But this one was a first and probably my favorite. 

Thankyou Bro. Schrute of the Singles Ward. Atleast you knew she wasn't real. 

butcher the blog

Here I am worldwideweb. I'm putting myself out there. My first blogpost ever.

I realize now that I hate working with raw meat.

At work, the meat slicer is the bane of my existence. 

I gotta be sure the meat is sliced not too thin, not too thick,

but just right.

The meat is always either too frozen
 or too thawed to achieve the desired result.

Pushing and sliding these 20 lb. roasts all day makes
for a tedious and tiring job.

This duty just may end up injuring me. I'll blow my shoulder out and my

baseball career will go with it.

Racing against the clock to have it all done before clock out time is a royal

pain.

get the picture?

I strive for the best work I can do, but realizing that perfection is such a pain

I just go with it.

I produce a half-aced finished product. But that's okay, that's just me. 

I can deal with that. I'm the butcher.

I'm the one with the knife.