Adventure #21: I Had a Younger Brother in Kindergarten, even if My Parents Didn’t Know

I have always had an active imagination and have enjoyed creating stories, even in Kindergarten, apparently. Recently, I remembered a conversation in Kindergarten when the French teacher’s aide sat me down to ask what I had drawn and written in my journal:

Me: I said, “I play games with Davíd and my little brother.”

Aide: Is David your older brother?

Me: His name is Davíd.

Aide: Oh, sorry. Is Davíd your older brother?

Me: Yes.

Aide: And you have a younger brother and have lots of fun with him?

Me: (Looking away) …Yes.

Aide: Babies can be so much fun, can’t they?

Me: …Yes.

Aide: How old is he?

Me: …A baby.

Aide: Is he eighteen months?

Me: …Yes.

Aide: Do his diapers stink?

Me: He doesn’t wear diapers, but I wish he did, then I could give him a bottle and change his diaper.

Aide: I think your mommy would change him.

Me: No, I would want to change him.

Aide: …Okay. What kind of games do you like to play with him?

Me: Stuffed animals. Hi-Ho Cheerio. Knockout. Mouse Trap.

Aide: You play all these with your younger brother?

Me: And with Davíd, sometimes.

Aide: …What’s your younger brother’s name?

Me:…Um…Robert.

This continued for a while. Eventually, there was an open house with our parents, and my teacher became so excited to see my parents. They had a conversation like this:

Teacher: Misses Inman, Jonathan’s mother! It’s so good to finally meet you. Where is your baby?

Mom: …My baby?

Sleep Well Little Friend wasn't a Cabbage Patch Kid, but he was similar to this

Teacher: Jonathan writes all the time about the fun he has with his little brother.

Mom: …He does?

Teacher: Yes, so I’m surprised to see him not with you tonight.

Mom: He’s never had a little brother.

Teacher: Really? Are you sure?

Mom: Uh, yeah!

Teacher: Well, of course you would be.

Mom: What kind of things does he do with this “little brother?”

Teacher: Well, they play games together.

Mom: (Laughing) That’s his doll!

Teacher: What?

Mom: He is talking about his doll. He has a little boy doll he’s named Sleep Well Little Friend. He must have been writing his doll as his little brother.

She was right. I always knew that the little boy in the pictures I was drawing was my doll, but I thought I would try to make others believe I had a younger brother, because I wanted one.

Adventure #18: Too Immature for Kindergarten

Once upon an eon ago, school officials thought I'd be too young to start Kindergarten, because my birthday was in mid-summer. They said I was plenty intelligent, even remarkably more intelligent than my older peers, but I just didn't seem as mature as my peers, having little interest in life skills activities, while making uninterpretable drawings and writing in all caps.

WELL, SHOOT! My mom already taught me how to hold scissors; I NEVER liked coloring, not even in the church nursery, and still, to this day, can't color in the lines; and I mostly picked up letter shapes from studying a computer keyboard. I could write in lower case, but the whole testing thing made me nervous, so I reverted to what I thought they might want, because it seemed more official. According to them, I'm probably smart enough for my college degree but still wouldn't be mature enough to join Kindergarten.

My mom still considered my wishes and asked if I wanted to go to Kindergarten. I said yes but didn't tell her it was only because I wanted to ride a school bus.

That Horny Keyboard

A writing prompt from my First Year Writing course in Fall 2009:

Find something to analyze that you wouldn’t normally analyze. A lamp. A boy in the ward. A chicken nugget. What you’re analyzing doesn’t matter as much as going through the process of analyzing. Remember this process from class: break something into its constituent parts and then try and figure out how the parts work together to create a whole.

What I wrote:
This keyboard I am using must be a very horny son-of-a-gun. All it does all day is get felt all over, which must bring great satisfaction for it since it allows it to happen day in and day out. It is not a very monogamous tool. And just like every person has favorite places where they like to be touched, this keyboard must enjoy being hit on the spacebar, since it is hit so often and is large enough to always be touched. Perhaps, its drive for such interaction is insecurity. It must feel fairly confident about its number keys, since they are set off and fondled with rarely. Consequently, it must be most self-conscious about its letter keys since those are begged to be used more commonly. Further evidence of its insecurity is how it protects itself with a plastic cover, hiding its inner workings so no one can witness any deep sensitivities. It really is a very private individual that uses intimacy as a false sense of self-assurance and appraisal.

My professor commented, "This is why censorship was invented =) "

Adventure #16: I'm Like a Barbie--Small, Beautiful, and Easy to Undress

I liked the Toy Story films casually--not as much as every else--but I still liked them. I never chose to watch any of them but typcially didn't mind when other people chose them, because I knew they were good and enjoyed them to an extent. Eventually, they grew old, though, and I felt they were overplayed, but I couldn't figure out why I felt this way. What was it that I didn't like about Toy Story and Toy Story 2? I couldn't find anything that should rub me the wrong way, that turns me off to them while everyone else was loving them.

...I found out with Toy Story 3: There was no character I connected with or that I wanted to identify with. However, I found two characters in Toy Story 3: Barbie and Ken...



Yes, yes, I know it's weird and funny. What's more funny? I can't even tell you why they're the ones I look to, but maybe other people can see me in them. They are my favorites. They make me giggle! Perhaps, they represent parts of me I don't recognize or don't want to recognize, or they are just the characters whose character humor I understand the easiest...who knows?...

Adventure #15: eBay Selling My 5th Grade Crush

In my first year English class three years ago, we had to write a persuasive paper to use as a product description to sell an intrinsic item on eBay. I chose my 5th grade crush and read my paper aloud to the class for feedback. They loved it! My professor laughed throughout and commented that I had the "best.last.line.EVER!"...my item never sold, but the paper is fun to read:

**************************************************************

As a hopeless romantic, my life pretty much sucks, especially as a deep feeling, sissy college boy prone to attachment! Therefore, it would help me a lot if I could shake these romantic feelings I have been carrying for a girl from my fifth grade class. My method consists of ridding myself of a proxy—a broken heart shaped paper (two half hearts) with listings of my romantic feelings for her inside the heart. I do not have the money for therapy to settle this issue, since my collegiate institution requires I pay tuition. Hence, I have fallen into alternative ways to relieve myself of these feelings for a girl whom we shall call Annie.

To be honest, the first time I met Annie I thought she was a boy, because of her strong tomboy image. On the first day of school, my teacher requested the silence of some feminine giggling. I glanced in the direction to which she spoke to behold, what I thought to be, a group of three girls and a boy who was the cause of the girls’ laughter. I thought it rude for my teacher to refer to that boy as a girl. The next day, I saw that same boy enter and leave the girls’ restroom. I was shocked!  However, when I saw my teacher’s casual appearance as she witnessed the same event, I accepted that this boy was really a girl—Annie.

Annie was the first girl I felt strong romantic yearnings for. I had previously had a countless number of crushes on girls, often at the same time. Eventually, I developed strong emotions directed towards Annie. No other girl mattered to me, anymore. None were so precious and special as her. My life brightened just by seeing her everyday in class. Her sparkling blue eyes always calmed me and carried me away into mushy, frolicking fantasies. She was also very funny, and the goofy qualities of our personalities meshed so perfectly. We were a killer comic team when entertaining our classmates.

I still remember the sinking feeling I felt inside when another girl from our class brought up Annie’s boyfriend. I had no idea she had one, and Annie instantly turned red and shied away from the topic as she watched my surprised and hurt reaction. Gradually, I calmed myself, thinking, Annie may not be mine now, but someday we will have each other. Soon, my parents informed me that we were moving to a small town three hours away. When my teacher revealed this news to my class, Annie’s face shared the same expression mine had when I heard of her boyfriend.

The months following my family’s move were mostly spent in loneliness, daydreaming that someone’s house in the neighborhood would go up for sale and then Annie’s family would move in. I tried to escape these ideas by facing reality and recognizing that I probably will never see her again. However, that was too painful, so I maintained my imaginative thoughts. I longed for her uplifting companionship.

Since then, I have been able to gather more crushes, but none develop into the same rushing intensity as with Annie. None have compared to her. Whenever something comes close, my mind remembers and pictures her. I feel guilty for any feelings for anyone I try to explore, as though I am being unfaithful to her.

Currently, I am a student in Provo, Utah, at Brigham Young University—the marriage meat market capital of the world! My feelings for Annie serve no purpose in my life right now. They haunt me! I have no contact with her and have not even been able to find her via Facebook! Our relationship is, basically, hopeless. Besides, as I have considered her ultimate tomboy image, I have come to strongly believe that she very well may be a full-boar lesbian by now. Once again, these feelings have no use to me, but, perhaps, feeling this way for a lesbian-like person may be quite tantalizing for someone else.

I offer these feelings to anyone interested, whether it is because you have not felt such feelings for another, yet, and desire to do so or because you like to gain these same feelings for several people and play them all. I am open to any reason to house these stirrings elsewhere. I really do believe this method will help rid myself of these feelings for her. Your purposes with the sent document are completely up to you. You may even write the name of your ex-lover on them and use them for toilet paper. If you are adventurous, you can reconnect with your mother by sending her one half of the heart and then meeting up to complete it. If you are thrill crazy, you could try this with your mother-in-law.

I remind you that I am only selling the feelings for Annie. I have tried to make her sound vague to protect her identity, since it is not her that I am selling (she is not a slave, and I am not her trader).

Happy bidding!

Adventure #14: “Good [Time of Day]”

Why the heck do we greet each other with, “Good morning?” That’s not even a complete sentence! But maybe I hate it because I’m not a morning person. Whenever it's said to me, I typically don't respond, though I want to say, "Don't talk to me!" or "That's not my name!"

If you think about it, though, “Good morning/afternoon/evening/day” all are seen as appropriately interchangeable for greeting and departing. “Good night,” on the other hand, is only appropriate in departing (or metaphoric departing, like sleeping).

Of course, supposedly, all these greetings are wishings to the receiver, so to exchange, “Bad afternoon” or “Awful night” with someone, even as a reflection of one’s own condition, is seen as strange or rude. However, since “Good night” tends to be a token farewell, it is even angrily said when people are mad at each other…

Adventure #8: Nothin' But Nettie

Story time! About a very special someone! (Not my "special someone," but someone I really love and admire)

My friend Jeannette and I met in a beginning acting class at BYU. We had one of those relationship (that I have often) when I would quietly talk and joke with her, but she ended up being the one that got caught talking. Sometimes she was reprimanded for distracting me from what was happening in class.

This semester, Jeannette took a break from school to nanny in Texas and has even blogged about her nannying experiences. I've missed her a lot and have been meaning to write this post for several months now. I dedicate it to her! Here's to Jeannette and our adventures!

In January 2010, we attended a BYU stage production of They Shoot Horses, Don't They? Afterward, we ate Teriyaki Stix for dinner. She was hesitant but ordered some bowl with fried rice. After two bites, she was sick of it, so I tasted it and found that it tasted like barf. DISGUSTING! So, we threw it away.

Anyway, it was at this meal that we decided we should take another class together and decided we'd take a Doctrine & Covenants (LDS scripture and church history) class. MISTAKE! We took it from a professor whose name we could never pronounce, spelled something like: Schaalje. It was at 10 in the morning. Jeannette only woke up early enough to come to one class meeting, and I kept being late, causing me to miss several quizzes and forget to make sure I signed the roll. Regardless of her attendance history, Jeannette scored higher than me on our first exam, which she also failed...there shan't be more comparison of our scores.

Pregnant Penelope and baby

Also, the other class members were fairly odd, it seems. They had a habit of staring at me. NO JOKE. For instance, one day (that I came late) I took a seat in the front right corner. After progression in the lesson, someone from the front left corner was commenting, so I turned to listen to her. She talked a long time, and I grew tired of looking that direction, so I turned to glance at the back left corner of the room and found about half of my classmates staring at me. Half of the stare-ers corrected themselves and turned away, uneasily, while the other half persisted staring. This was very uncomfortable for me, so I turned to the front of the room to face a blank white board...It was very awkward...There were other similar instances, but soon after our exam failure, Jeannette and I formally Withdrew from the class.

Among other fantastical happenings of that semester were randomly befriending Garrett, a Tuesday night security guard for BYU's fine arts center, and Jeannette's pregnant balloon poodle, Penelope; on a random night, I made the impromptu decision to join her at a BYU dance but was denied entrance, because I was wearing jeans, instead of slacks.

One last highlight of visiting Jeannette was last Fall semester. She had recently moved, so she gave me the numbers to her new address but didn't distinguish the direction of north/south/west/east. I found Mountain View Apartments, which was somewhat in a seeming vicinity of what she told me, so I called her, waking her.

"Hey, I'm at Mountain View Apartments. Is this where you're at? Which one is yours?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah, I think that's it," she replied. "I live across the street from there."

I looked across the street to find Wasatch Mental Health.

"I'm pretty sure you don't live across the street," I laughed, "Unless there's something you haven't told me...Is it alright for me to come over? How long are your visiting hours?...What is your real address?"

Eventually, I found my way over to her apartment building and approached the apartment that was hers. I rang the doorbell. The lights were off inside, and I waited. No one came. I knocked and rang the doorbell more to no answer. I called her, again.

"I'm here," I told her.

"'Kay. Come in."

I tried the door. "I can't. The door is locked."

"Um, it shouldn't be."

"Well, it is."

"Did you ring the doorbell?" she inquired.

"Yeah," I replied.

"I didn't hear it. I don't even see you out my window. Where are you?"

"I'm at the place you told me. I'm ringing the doorbell." I obnoxiously repeatedly pushed the doorbell. "It's ringing. I can hear it."

I heard the door to the apartment next to me open and looked up to see Jeannette standing in its doorway. She didn't say anything but shot me a sassy smile. I walked down and joined her in her apartment.

We played a game of Battle of the Sexes, which I won (Go Men!), and had a lot of fun. On my way home, the windows of my car were rolled down, and I had Madonna's "Give It 2 Me" blasting while I was singing, cruising down Center Street in Provo. I stopped at a light just in time to scream, "GIVE IT TO ME!" and to catch the attention of people on the sidewalk...

These are just a few of my memories with Jeannette, but whenever I am with her, we have so much fun! She is very much like Glozell from Youtube, if you are at all familiar with Glozell. Everything she does is so entertaining. She is someone I can always depend on for a good time and who I can trust will be respectful in personal conversation. I am excited for her to come back to Provo next month and look forward to great more fun with my friend!

Adventure #6: Keepin' It Real

Last Saturday, I had a callback for a play and had some auditions for some student films, so, naturally, I was pretty stressed that day, which can be exhausting, especially since I was already tired from lack of rest. In the evening, I walked to a car with two other boys and a girl in a parking garage underneath some apartments. I was the driver, so I headed to my designated location while the boy who was going to sit behind me asked, "What time is the movie?"

The boy on the other side of the car replied, "Seven-thirty."

The girl opened her door to the passenger seat and asked me a question regarding a friend. I fittingly replied and got in the car, placing the key into the ignition.

Before I could fasten my seat belt, our attentions were called out of the car, so we all exited. When the matter was settled, we headed back to loading the car. These kinds of distractions were expected, but my exhaustion had been creeping up on me. As we headed to the car, the boy behind me asked, again, "What time is the movie?"

I waited for someone to respond but grew impatient and turned to speak directly to him, answering, "Seven-thirty," maintaining composure, though in my mind, I irritatedly thought, "You just asked that, you idiot!"

The girl opened her door and asked me her same question regarding our friend. I expected this from her and just answered as I had before. I sat in my seat, but before I could insert the keys into the ignition, I heard a voice outside the car shout, "Cut!" It was then I remembered I was in a film......

I had forgotten and wasn't focused, hence my agitation at the repetition of the actually unscripted question regarding the movie. Consequently, I forgot to speak up so the boom could catch my reply, and I also directed my answer directly to the asker, who was in a different direction than the boom.

So, here's to keepin' it real and failing to keep a balance between reality and imagination.

Adventure #5: Check It!

So, funny story!

Once upon a day last month, I wrote a check for a large amount of money but told the receiver of the check to wait a week to take it to the bank, because I didn't know how much money was in my checking account and promised I would be sure there was enough money in it. They complied.

I was SOOOO EXCITED!!! I had written my first check! even though I've had a checking account for about a year....or something. I felt like a grown up! HOT HOT HOT! And plus, now I had the chance to go talk to the fun bank tellers! They're always so nice.

However, my sister told me I could transfer funds from my savings to my checking online, so I tried that but couldn't find my checking account.

OFF TO THE BANK!!!!!!

I explained to the teller (a chill, Hispanic young woman with a sweet, sassy attitude I could befriend) that I wanted to transfer funds into my checking account.  She looked it up but only found my savings.

"Are you sure you have a checking?" she asked.

"Um, yeah," I sassed. "I opened one a long time ago. I've already written a check, so I better have one."

"Nuh-uh, really?" she said.

"Yeah, I have a checkbook."

"Are the checks in your name?"

"Yeppers. It's in my car. Do you want me to go get it?"

"Yeah, let's take a look."

I flopped away and brought in the book full of checks with my name and address on them. She searched again and still couldn't find a checking account.

"So, I've been wandering around with checks in my name but with no account?" I confirmed.

"It looks like it," she replied.

"Nice!"

Finally, the problem was solved when one of the bank managers helped me open a checking....again! Apparently, whoever I originally talked to ordered the checks but forgot to set up the account.

So, the moral of the story today, children, is that you don't need a checking account to write and own checks in your name.

Adventure #3: Arrested for BUI

I have always had a knack for blantantly stating things that others would consider inappropriate, particularly relating to bodily functions. I've tried to get better as I grow up, but still, I post things on Facebook or state things to my friends, like, "I had a bowel movement this morning." Honestly, what is there to be said to that? I wouldn't know what to say if I was in a sober mood and someone told me that (but when that has happened, I often celebrate with them). I find this to be known as Being Unnecessarily Inappropriate, or BUI.

Like diarrhea, there are typically no warning signs of BUI.  It just shoots out, often making a splattery mess, depending on your environment. Some people are more accepting of BUI, either casually overlooking it or lightly cleaning it up with a further joke. Others take the time to discipline or correct the offender in the same tone they would correct a puppy who had an accident on the carpet. Therefore, to scold in this manner serves no one, as the offender will simply continue thinking about the bodily functions of that puppy.

Much of the cause of BUI is honesty, though much of it can cross over to the realm of Too Much Information, or TMI. What most people overlook is that BUI can have its benefits. Recently, I told a friend that if she felt like she was becoming robotic in her acting audition, all she will have to do is fart. Farting is a very human behavior. It is a function of life and should therefore make her audition feel more natural and humanistic. It would be honest.

BUI seems to be a lifelong condition. However, there are different degrees in which one can be affected. Some are so far gone that possibility of normal interaction with others seems hopeless, but most are able to overcome and function more appropriately. No one is ever completely cured, though. After all, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

Adventure #2: Yo, Ga...Or How to See God (and Elves) and Be Happy

This semester I had a yoga class that was specialized for actors and covered Alexander Technique. At first, I didn't like the position of prana yama—I hated it, in fact. We started sitting in its position for five minutes, and as the semester progressed, we went for 10 and then 15 minutes. It was a lot like this:



ABSOLUTE TORTURE!!! I had so much trouble sitting still.  I knew that I had reached my limit (which eventually was at seven minutes) when my body would start to shake, particularly my arms. Nearly everytime I prana yama-ed I had the impulse to fall over and roll around on the floor, to which I occasionally complied when the time was up for the position. Further, we were instructed to breathe deep and concentrate our thoughts on breathing. This also proved troublesome as my mind worked as such:

"Think about breath. I am thiiiiiinking about my breath. Breathe deep....like they were teaching in Vocal Techniques. I wonder if this will also help with singing. I like where I sit in that class. I'm so glad there's an elevator in the Tanner Building. I nearly die having to climb up the stairs when leaving Richards. It's so gorgeous outside. BREATH. Yes, thinking about breath. Air coming in, and out. Trees make oxygen. I love trees. They're especially beautiful this time of year. I like their green!..." etc. etc.

Eventually, with lots of practice, I would get so focused on prana yama that Elves would come and do strange things to me while I was in concentration. I set up a camera to catch them in their mischief:

I didn't quite catch them amidst the action, but you can see what kind of silliness they do. I tried another day:

Failed, again, so I reset the camera for another attempt, but the little pests went even further:

Okay, so I never caught them to prove that it really was elves, but obviously something crazy was going on.

Anyway, as I've grown more accustomed to prana yama and other yoga stuff, I have noticed incredible BENEFITS from it. It's not so much an irritant to do, but it actually can be quite fun when I focus on the process, as prescribed by my professor (who was a hoot; he helped prana yama and yoga become more tolerable, especially as he would joke at the beginning of our prana yama time by flashing his hands out at the class, as if he were casting a spell, and proclaim, "Now, see God!!"; our final in the class was juggling two balls with one hand, as juggling also helps with focus and process-orientation).

General benefits that also have crossed over into my acting is a stronger focus on the present and enjoying the process of accomplishing what is happening rather than the finished product. The focus of yoga is spinal health, and from this, I've felt more stable and sure as a physical being. I feel my existence and feel more whole. I am deliberate. Another benefit is the release of physical/emotional tension (which are correlated; you feel emotions in your body, after all; why shouldn't they be connected?). From this, I am more physically free and openly expressive. A felt emotion is more commonly released through expression.

Overall, I feel I can say I've been much happier this semester, as I've learned something that helps me feel more peace and that releases emotional crap that I've gathered from the past or that I feel during my day and choose not to express, whether because it is not fitting the scenario or because I feel the results would be negative or unnecessary (or obviously rude—and therefore, unnecessary and negative). I'm not so much worried about what others think or how they may perceive me. I don't have those worries as much, anyway, as I get older, but even still, those worries have dropped even more. I don't need to worry about whether something is going to make me popular or well-liked or any of those sorts of things. My value can come from within myself, but of course, this is most often benefited from serving others but is not dependent on the praise of people.

I've even found a song I really like by Chantal Kreviazuk called "Weight of World." As I've come to understand its meaning, I've tried to live by it, and life is wonderful. I hope you enjoy it:

Dead-End Courses

If students were filtered into classes based on particular classroom deficits, the following courses would fail on their own accord:

·        Taking Initiative: Volunteering First

·        Taking Initiative: Avoiding Procrastination

·        Taking Initiative: Making the First Move in a Relationship

·        In-Field Survival Experience: Treading in Open Water

·        Resisting Pyromania

·        Waking Incessant Daydreaming

·        Memory Recall for Short-term Memory Loss

·        You Had to Be There: Overcoming Tardiness and Excessive Absence

·        Gang Mediation

·        Taming the Trigger Happy: A Hands-On Experience

First Order of Business

There are some few orders of business to get this blog going.  First of all, (A joke I made when I was six:  Q: What do you call someone who wears underwear on their head?) everything that has order and organization needs a leader.  Therefore, no leader for this blog is necessary, but in attempt to project fanciful excellence, I push for the establishment of a king and propose…......myself for the position.  Now, every king must have a queen, and naturally, I push myself for that position, too.  However, since self-propagation was never taught in the course of my sex education, we shall forego that step and leave the position of queen in negotiation. 

It has come to my attention that blogs tend to follow certain interests and often have specific missions and intentions for what their audience is to gain.  (A: A butthead)  In one sense, I propose we forego that establishment, as well.  I feel safe to say that I have no directional plan (in my life and) for this blog.  As I've thought of what I would want to write about, a variety of subjects have come to mind, mostly inner thoughts often not shared vocally, because of their cheesiness or because of my own uncertainty of their value to others (this sentence is the other sense, as opposed to the previously mentioned "one sense").

All in favor of what has (and has not) been determined, please say/comment, "Arr."  All opposed, don't say anything. 

…….

Thank you!