Just some thoughts

****HB-2 was not a perfect piece of legislation. But the reaction to it was illuminating. The Charlotte Observer's editorial board proclaimed, "Yes, the thought of male genitalia in girls' locker rooms—and vice versa—might be distressing to some. But the battle for equality has always been in part about overcoming discomfort .  .  . "

Which brings us to the final bit of confusion in the transgender project. At the heart of the bathroom issue is a simple question: Is there a valid reason for separate facilities for men and women? Is there any rational justification for having separate bathrooms, or locker rooms, or changing rooms, for men and boys on the one hand, and women and girls on the other?

The trans argument, per the Charlotte Observer, is essentially "no." By their logic, if women just need to get over their discomfort at seeing naked men next to them, then there's no reasonable explanation for why women could want their own facilities.

Except that this would mean there is no reasonable explanation for why someone who is transgender should prefer one set of facilities over another. If biologically born women need to "overcome discomfort" about having naked men around them, why shouldn't a biological man who identifies as a woman not similarly have to overcome his discomfort at being around other naked men?

The logical paradox of the transgender bathroom war is that it insists that the type of gender and genitalia in a public facility is completely irrelevant—except to the transgendered, for whom it is of supreme importance.

At the end of the day, if you're not in favor of unisex facilities for all—one bathroom for everyone to use—then the transgender case falls apart. Because the transgender project tacitly admits that there are reasons of privacy, modesty, and prudence for segregating the sexes. It merely wishes to trump these concerns from the vast majority for the special pleading of a small, powerful, and illiberal group.

It is the very definition of the tyranny of the minority.***

Totally saw this and needed to blog it. I am so glad to have found something precise to express how I feel about the transgender bathroom issue. And basically any issue that is shoving itself down my through they way this one is.

Creative Non Fiction

We Climb in Bed

There is a cold room in this two story house─bottom floor, northeast corner. It is pink with painted green concrete. The wall without a door grips the exterior house with a single bolt. The wall sways when the wind blows. It is too cold to go outside.

 Inside the room is a radiator heater. It is the only small source of heat this early in the morning. I sit beside it in front of my computer. The baby monitor flashes red. My daughter is awake upstairs and laughing. It’s warm up there in her room─top floor, southwest corner. I wear sweat pants, long socks, an oversized hoodie, a beanie and gloves. I bring her downstairs along with the heater from her room. The TV is turned on and she is placed on the sofa wrapped in a large blanket. The room isn’t warm yet, but there are now two heaters in here. The Netflix home screen waits for a selection and she wants Blue’s Clues.

I move the smaller heater behind the radiator and turn up the fan. It will warm up now. The rest of the house is cold. Upstairs, I make breakfast with gloves on. Cracking eggs is difficult. I am downstairs now, letting her eat on the coffee table. The blanket is off and back on the couch. The room is warming up. I remove my gloves.

“Can I have a drink?” My daughter asks.

“Okay. Just a second.” I answer. I put my internet messaging on hold. With my gloves back on, I go back to the cold kitchen and make strawberry milk in her red cup. I see my breath as I stir the powder in. The sun is shining through the blinds and it is still cold.

A door separates the green room from the house. I open it fast. I take off my beanie, gloves and hoodie. It’s warmer now. This house has central heating ducts in every room and two heating units on the roof. They don’t work.

“Here.” I give her the drink.

“Thanks, mom.” She turns back to Blue’s Clues.

It’s warm in the room when my husband gets home. He’s wearing a large snow coat with the initials T.S.A embroidered on the back. He is given a uniform allotment every year. Last year’s share was spent on his coat. It is for inside the house and outside.

“Can you bring down some food after you change?” I ask. It is mid-afternoon and I haven’t eaten. It is too cold to go upstairs again.

“I’m cold. I’ll bring down some chips and the apples.” He says.

This room is warm. We eat and watch TV. I take a heater back upstairs to warm up my daughter’s room before bed. It will take an hour. Her room gets the winter sun in the afternoons. It doesn’t warm it up.

It is only January. Winter lasts for three months here. There is one more month of moving the heaters when we move.

I turn off the TV and push the radiator into my room. It is cold enough to see frost on the windows. We climb in bed with our winter clothes on. It’s warming up in here.

Poison in the Water

So, this was written for my Imaginative Writing Class. I just wanted to see if anyone else would like to read it. Feel free to flatter me in the comments, lmao.

___________________________________________

The stench inside the medical tent was overpowering. Wil kept his eyes closed as he lay on the thin pallet, his ration of blankets barely enough to keep the cold at bay, let alone the smell. Every time he woke, it was to a different odor at the forefront of the misery. Hitting the back of his naval cavity, straight down his throat and into his cramped and empty stomach. Occasionally, he would remember hunger and not the aching void there, remember when fire was used to cook delicious roasts and not cauterize the bloody stumps of the injured. He feels overwhelmed with shame and disgust when his stomach reacts to the burning smell filling the tents, knowing that he is inhaling the scent of human flesh cooking, but he is malnourished and starving.

            Beyond the smell, there are sounds. Demons in his dreams, to demons he hears when he wakes. It isn’t screams that chill his spine, it is the choking noise when they can no longer get breath in their lungs, the rattling of the bunks when the seizures hit, the silent sobs of the young ones, calling for mother, for nurse, for mercy, anything. Wil tries to block out the screams from the surgical tent next door, for that is where the doctors cut the limbs of men. Those that have been trampled by the cavalry, or when sleeping in the trenches causes infection in the smallest of insect bites. Scratching the fleas draws blood, then the rains bring the rotten filth into every crevice and soon there is oozing pus and searing pain when the surgeon brings out his bone saw. Was he lucky that he hadn’t had that or unlucky he could hear the aftermath?

            Opening his eyes in the dim light was another gut-wrenching struggle. It was easier at night when most patients were dosed within an inch of their life to force a healing sleep. Although with the unclean conditions and lack of medical help, how healing could their dreams be? When morning was there to shed light on the blood soaked bandages and blackened limbs, Wil lessened his vision, convincing himself that there were no fluids dripping onto the dying grass beneath the bunks. He dimmed his view and refused to catch the eyes of the suffering, couldn’t take the blame and hysteria behind their eyes. They demanded his help, his ‘magic’, his medic skills and when he moved on from them, the begging turned to despair, gouging what little was left of his soul.

“Up, apprentice.” A sharp voice was followed by a sharp shaking of his shoulder, and Wil opened his eyes to see Vance’s accusing gaze. “Report to your master, and be not a waste of space and rations.” With a disgusted huff, the doctor left him.

            Wil pushed his threadbare blankets to the next bed, covering the shaking of his fellow apprentice whose name he hadn’t bothered to learn. He’d had a different bunkmate three times already, two having burned out, mind’s broken beyond recognition while the third succumbed to the first wave of infection. Wil hadn’t understood how he lived, but each morning simply wondered if he was lucky to still be alive, or damned to suffer through the entire travesty. The shaking lessoned and Wil kept his eyes to the far opening and away from the patients crammed into what was supposed to be a tent dedicated to the cleansing of wounds. But with the last big push from the enemy, their forces had been overrun and the wounded were so numerous, not even the commanders were free from sharing.

            Making his way out of the tent and into the harsh first light of dawn, the weary apprentice shivered at the cold, but quickly made his way towards his master’s area. Movement was the only cure for freezing. All available clothing was rationed out by the quartermasters and a meager apprentice did not warrant an overcoat. Wil tried to ignore the piles of bodies stacked unceremoniously to the sides of the tents awaiting removal. There were crews dedicated to the disposal of the dead, something they were behind on. If there were too many left to rot, it would poison the ground water in the future, making this already cursed land even more uninhabitable. Grabbing a slightly burnt roll from the serving area that would serve as his breakfast, the apprentice stumbled past the current commander’s tent and onward to his master’s surgical tent.

              “There you are, you worthless cur.” The voice was rage filled and Wil managed to avoid the cuff that would have rattled his head and fogged what was left of his concentration. His master was more heavy-handed than most. “Hold down this dog. If he thrashes and messes my cut, there’ll be half rations for you!” Thankful that he’d finished his meager breakfast already, Wil was thrown forward and he held in the bile rising in his throat. It wouldn’t do to lose what food he was barely given.

            Halfway strapped to the table was a man. Or the remains of a man. His flesh along one side of his face and down his torso was blackened with rot, the smell hitting the young man before his could block his nostrils. It was blackrot, the reason for over half of the deaths in camp. Wil shuddered, nauseated by the amount this man was covered in. He wondered why his master was going to perform surgery when it was obvious to even his untrained eye that the man would hardly last through whatever cleaving the doctor would perform. Along with the blackrot, the man was clearly feverish, his mutterings a dull sound in the echoing of the surgical tent.

            Wil turned fearful eyes to his master. “Where am I supposed to hold him?” In truth, he wanted to run as fast as he could, hide from these horrors, escape to the other side and beg mercy. Surely they would accept the surrender of a meager apprentice, he would even accept the yoke of slavery to be taken from this rotting hell. And yet, within his heart where his cowardly side sought to reign, there was the empathetic side, the side that had him giving his inheritance as an apprentice fee to become a physician. He felt the call of the sick and suffering; felt the call to fix, to mend, to heal, to empower those afflicted. It was that side that moved forward at the grunt and motion of his master to hold the man’s unaffected side.

            Gulping down the vomit rising from the heavy smell of death coming from the man, Wil braced his feet shoulder width apart and put his focus into locking down the man’s good side. The tables in this surgery were lower than the dining tables in order to give leverage for the surgeons. There were no masks or coverings to protect the medics anymore, all having gone the way of bandages and blankets. Sterilizing was a luxury that they no longer possessed, instead Wil saw his master take the bone saw to one set of lanterns and run the blade through the flames. A primitive way to rid it of infection, but one that may just save what was left of the man. As if he knew what was about to happen, the soldier suddenly thrashed with more strength than Wil thought possible.

            “Hold him, you fool!”

            “Yes, master.” Again, Wil strove to contain the struggling man, who was now shouting.

            “It was sent! Don’t you see?! Can’t you see what they have done?! We must escape! It will leave nothing living!”

            His voice was surprisingly strong and coherent, educated and confident. Who was this man? Did he really speak in truth or was the fever causing hallucinations?

            “In the water! Oh dear gods, the water!”

            “Silence him, you idiot! We don’t want a panic!” Before Wil could understand what was happening, his master whirled around and stuffed a rag into the man’s mouth, effectively silencing the shouting and probably constricting the airflow as well.

            “Useless apprentice. Will bring down the whole bloody encampment.” Mumbling now, the doctor was fiddling with the lights, trying to focus a reflective amount onto the table so that he could see as he cut.

            Still not sure what was happening, Wil secured the man again and noticed the cold blue of his eyes twitching and searching the room. When the man focused on Wil, his mumblings behind the gag became more fervent, almost desperate. He was trying to tell him something; something important. Was he a scout or a spy? Did he have secret information? It wasn’t uncommon to get spies all the way to this surgical unit, but Wil did think it odd that his master would be operating when the man clearly didn’t have long to live. And what did all this have to do with what he was shouting earlier? What about the water?

            The next hour passed in a predictable fashion and Wil relished the moment when he finally wrapped the still smoldering stump of the man’s arm into a bandage. They’d cut away the blackrot from his body and removed the affected limb. If he managed to wake up from the sleep forced on him, then he may have a chance. Wil snorted. Maybe they’d all have a chance if supplies would arrive, or a treaty could be reached, or the enemy withdrew. Nothing seemed possible.

            He wiped his master’s instruments, ignoring the breathing of the man still semi-strapped to the table. Only a few minutes more and then maybe he could sneak back to his bunk and catch what sleep his dreams would let him.

            “It’s in the water….in the water…..in…water….”

            Jumping slightly at the sudden speech, Wil quickly ran to the man’s side, amazed that he was coherent this quickly.

            “Can you hear me?” He asked gently, remembering his training and trying not to startle a suffering man.

            Bony fingers gripped Wil’s wrist, jagged fingernails digging into his flesh and he gasped at the bloodshot eyes. Wil was frozen with fear and uncertainty.

            “In the water, boy. The sickness. They’ve sent their sickness to us. In the water. The water!” With his arm still gripped and bruised in the man’s hand, Wil was unable to pull away as the violent seizures shot through the man, eyes bugging and spine convulsing. Soon, the gasping of the damned and dying filled the small space and Wil looked on helplessly as the man’s eyes widened before suddenly emptying of life.

            In a panic, Wil dug into the dead man’s hand still clasping his wrist, wiggling and starting to hyperventilate as he tried to get away only to stumble back when he was free. Wil wiped the nervous sweat from his upper lip and tried to make sense of what he’d heard. Wanting nothing more than to blame the ramblings of a man in the throes of a fever and pain, the apprentice couldn’t help the fear that grew as he pieced his thoughts together.

            Could it be true? Had the enemy somehow poisoned their water supply? An act almost unheard of in the recent battles, as most commanders turned their noses up at such underhanded tactics. But…could there be such an enemy as to destroy the land in which they sought to conquer in their haste to annihilate their enemies?

Flashes of recent memories chilled Wil to the bone. Cattle dying for unknown reasons and the men eagerly slaughtering them to feast, grass and vegetation dying, the harvest being brought in early to supply the army, crows and vultures avoiding the dead, the lack of game in the forest…

“Heaven help us…” Whirling around, the apprentice fled.

The Value of Silence

Wow, can you believe it's been so long since I have posted anything on here? I'm actually not that surprised as nothing has really been going. And the stuff that has been going on, is mainly posted on that wonderful stalking website known as Facebook. I am fully aware that I am too obsessed with following peoples lives on there and not bothering to stay connected any other way, but I can still be creeped out by my stalkerish tendencies.

On that note, I'll just share a bit about living in Billings these past 9 months. It's been really hard to assimilate to another way of life. Mainly one where I live with my in-laws and am surrounded by them all for the first time in my marriage. In no way is that a bad thing; it is just different. Chris' parents are absolutely wonderful and have put up with a lot from us living here. Mainly: Aubry. She is both a blessing and a two year old terror rolled into one. I can't tell you how many walls she's written on, or messes she's made on their nice carpet. And finally, the potty training catastrophes. And through it all, they have been really awesome about it.

As I live in a completely different area with people I've never met, I've really come to learn more about myself. I think, mainly, I've come to realize that I am not really a social person anymore. Before Aubry, things were definitely different and I was way more willing to go out in public, meet new people and friends and let my life have that focus. But now....I have to say that I am becoming a real grump to regular people! And by far the worst of it is I can't seem to stand people making small talk at me!

How bad is that? When the lovely person behind the bank counter tries to engage in a conversation while she's getting me money, I'm completely silent and more than likely, impatient with her. It's actually very embarrassing when I finally realized what I was doing. It's probably why it has taken almost six months to get a calling in church, and why they have never asked us to speak:) Sort of a boon when I think about it.

I've thought about it a lot and as annoyed as I get when there is someone constantly filling the silence with some inane chattering, I think that I have a reason to be annoyed. Silence is not in any way evil or rude or any of those other things. I find that silence lets me focus my thoughts so that when I do finally speak, I am not filling the air with pointless words. I am actually contributing to a /conversation/. You can never unsay something, but you can say something with meaning if you give yourself half a chance.

I've been guilty of this many times in the past and I know that some of you will recognize this. I call it, The Narrator Syndrome. It's when you, or someone in your general area, has a constant running commentary on their every move.

"I'm gonna go grab that thing."

"In a minute, I'm going to do, such and such."

"I heard that song again on the radio and it's stuck in my head."

"And then I laughed, like, really hard." After laughing really hard....

And my eternal favorite, "I'm gonna run to the bathroom."

Now, sometimes these phrases serve a purpose. But more often than not, they are an unnecessary silence filler. I hate it when I find myself doing this, mainly because I can almost hear everyone else's thoughts in the room going, "Why is she telling us this?"

I am of the opinion that if someone really wants to know what you are doing at that exact moment, they will certainly ask you. And then you are free to fill the void with conversation. Don't forget that people are observant creatures. They are probably noticing what you are doing when you actually do it. Don't be afraid to do something without telling someone you are about to do it. It is an interesting experiment, and often times I find myself having much more meaningful conversations with someone when I am not trying to fill the silence with my constant yammering:)

I'm hoping to use this space to vent a little, rather than venting on Facebook. I swear, that site is home of the biggest whiners on the planet, using their social feed as a way to justify their annoyances and validate their lives. And yes, I am one of those guilty people and I fully realize that I am using this blog to serve that same purpose. However, this will not appear on my friends walls, and only those who wish to read it, will. And if no one does? I'm actually okay with that too:)

Part One

Okay, this is part one, set immediately after the Prologue. This is a short story, and if you are confused, then ask me any question. I had to splice it a bit, cause it was originally a fan fiction, so sorry if there are confusing parts. Let me know.

Part One

David's POV

Sighing, I slammed my chemistry book closed on my desk. "Done!" I said out loud, even though there was nobody around who could hear me, or that would even care. There hadn't been anyone in a long time around here. After spending nearly nine years in a group home for kids, I was back living on my own in that house that I'd lived in with my mother. It was a small brick building at the end of a street that I'd played on up until I was nine. The memories were sketchy at best, but they were slowly coming back to me the longer I stayed here.

One memory in particular had slammed me hard when I first moved back in. The memory of a tall man handing me a folded flag with my mom's medals and ribbons on top of it. It hadn't been a good day. I learned that while on patrol with her unit, they'd been caught in a mudslide. My mom, the unit's medic, had been killed along with three of the others. I glanced over to the pictures on the wall, and I was finally able to look at her picture without flinching.

She'd promised me that she'd come back. Well, that hadn't happened and I'd been swept into the system before I could pack my bags and deposited in a group home for orphaned or abandoned boys. I'd met my best friend, Robert, there. He was what we referred to as a 'Nobody'. Someone they had no clue or records on, but had been abandoned when he was eight. He'd been there a month or so when I showed up and we'd hit it off surprisingly well. I was nine at the time, and we'd bonded over a pack of gum and a smuggled comic. I sighed and wondered how he was doing.

I'd turned 18 the previous month, and been given my marching papers. I was free to go and live my own life apparently. College was paid for by the government, being a Veteran's legacy and what not. Plus, I now owned the house that I'd shared with my mother as a child and since the school was only a 5 minute walk away, I figured the smart thing to do would be to live there, go to school, and see where my life could take me from there.

My friend Robert, had left a month or so before I had. For someone as independent as himself, he'd settled down surprisingly quick. One of the older boys who'd been at the group home, had apparently come back for him and offered him a job, and a place to stay.

I stood up and stretched, popping the vertebrae in my back, and deciding I needed a walk to clear my head of the memories that this house was saturated in. Grabbing my jacket, I locked the door and turned to the quiet neighborhood street. It was all so vaguely familiar, and it sent shivers down my spine. How could I have forgotten so much about this place? I remembered old Mrs. Peters and how she would come over and watch me when my mom was deployed. I wonder if she was still around....

"Hey! Who are you?" I sharp voice snapped me out of my daydreams, and I came to a stop a few feet from my house in the middle of the sidewalk. A tall blonde haired guy was walking towards me. He looked familiar and extremely intimidating. I hid my immediate reaction to him however, and scowled at how he snapped at me. He didn't even know me.

"None of your business! I don't even know you." With those words, I saw his jaw clench and his eyes narrowed. Did I know him from somewhere?

"Do you live there? What happened to the previous owner?" He asked quietly, and more politely I might add. Sighing, and rolling my eyes, I could see that he was probably going to interrogate and harass me until I just answered his questions.

"I'm the previous owner. David Allen, and you're almost trespassing. So shove off." I tried to spin around and stomp off, but he had surged forward, eyes bright and caught my arm in his hand. Glaring down at the offending appendage, I tried pulling free. Dangit, his grip was like iron. I snapped my eyes up to his face, and was floored by the change in his appearance. His eyes were wide, and his face was shocked, like I'd hit him in the face with a brick.

"David? Crap, it is you." Before I knew it, I was pulled into a tight hug and was getting the stuffing squeezed out of me.

"Hey! Hey, what are you doing? Who are you?" I struggled, but in his tight grip, I didn't really have a chance. Finally, I just submitted and stayed still.

"Wow, you have such a crappy memory, Chickenwuss." The grip on me loosened and I jumped away from him, to stare at his face. Oh my gosh...

"Sam?" I whispered. He looked so different. Gone was the boy who had been my best friend before I moved. In his place, a totally different person. The scar on his face was new, and so was the scowl. But his voice, while older and deeper, it still sounded the same when calling me a chickenwuss.

"What are you doing here?" I asked quietly. I hadn't seen or spoken to him in almost nine years. The group home was on the other side of the city, and no one from my old neighborhood had ever made any contact with me. I'd been crushed when my best friend had seemed to have forgotten about me, but in the face of so many changes as a kid, you forget and move on. I had forgotten a lot of things apparently.

He scowled at my question. "I live here. That house across the street. Don't you remember anything?" Pointing at the light blue house, the paint had faded a little, he nodded when I showed some recognition. "Yeah, same house. I'm going to school at the university and I figured it would be easier to stay at home, than to fight for dorm space. I have to say that I'm surprised to see you here at all." He voice got quieter, and I wondered what he was thinking. He better not be one of those people who figured that I was sensitive and overly prone to crying, just because I'd lost my mom when I was a kid.

I snorted. "Why are you surprised? I mean, I am the owner and what not. That means I can live there if I want." I admit, I wasn't really being all that friendly. And I didn't really understand why. Maybe it was because, of all the people from before, I had missed him the most. And I wasn't all that sure that he had missed me...which hurt and made me a little defensive.

His eyes widened at my tone. But he didn't say anything about it. "I figured you weren't ever going to come back." Sam looked away, and I tried to imagine what kinds of things he had been up to since I'd moved. "I thought...." He paused and ran a hand over his face.

"When I saw you walking out of the house, I didn't recognize you...I thought that you'd finally sold the house and weren't coming back..." He trailed off again and shuffled his feet, looking away.

He was acting weird. It was freaking me out a little. "Um, no. I didn't sell it. I am going to the university as well and this house is pretty close to it. So, why the heck not?" I forced a chuckle out and shrugged my shoulders. This was becoming too awkward. Time to go.

"Well, it was nice running into you, um, see you around?" I ignored the hurt look on his face and turned on my heel to head back inside. I fumbled with the keys a little, feeling Sam's eyes on my back as I fought to open my front door. "Crap." I snapped as I dropped my keys again. I didn't hear him climb the porch behind me, but I jumped when I felt his hands grab the keys from me and open the door. Ignoring him, I pushed open the front door and went inside. He followed me and I couldn't make myself get upset at him. It was obvious he still wanted to talk.

Sighing, I turned to face him, watching as his eyes swept the room, and he walked over to the wall to look at the pictures hanging there. "This place is just like I remember it..." He whispered, leaning forward to look at the portrait of my mother in uniform, taken a month before her death. "I remember your mom. I thought she was the coolest adult I knew. Do you remember how we used to dress up in her old uniforms and play like we were soldiers?" I closed my eyes, remembering. The camouflage. To this day I still loved wearing it.

Glancing down, I looked at my camo print converse, and I realized that I always managed to wear at least one camo printed item in my outfit every day. I knew why I wore it everyday. It was the small little bit of my mom that I carried around with me. The shrink that the group home sent me to, had tried helping me come to terms with everything, talk about my feelings and all manner of bullcrap. I didn't want to 'fix' my need to wear camo. I wore it because I wanted to. There wasn't some hidden meaning, or secret imbalance in my head. I just liked it; it reminded me of my mother, who was gone, and there wasn't anything wrong with that.

"Yeah." I grimaced. My voice was way too weak. Sam turned to look at me again, he eyes sweeping over my body, and I cringed.

"I'm sorry. I can not talk about it if you want." His voice was quiet and understanding. I didn't really want that. I remembered Sam being tough; I'd looked up to him.

"No. It's fine." I sighed. It seems like I had a house guest for the next little bit. I went to the couch and moved my textbooks. I was done with my homework, except for sociology, which I could do later. That book was annoying and heavy. I slammed it closed and shoved it onto the coffee table.

"Hey, I have that book. What class are you taking?" Sam asked as he slumped on one end of the sofa, while I sat on the other end.

"Umm, Sociology 103, Environment and Development. Section 3." It was a pretty interesting subject, however, there was always that one idiot jock and his cronies in every class and he'd already made a fool out of himself. Of course, he thought he was hilarious...

"Hey! I'm taking that class too...Section 2. I must have it right before you...what else are you taking?" Sam sounded interested, and I felt a small glimmer of camaraderie in the other teen.

"Well, I'm taking Chemistry, which sucks, English 101, and History 102. What about you?" I tried not to stare at him when he stretched and settled back into the couch.

"I'm taking an English tutoring course, where I tutor clueless freshman, you're welcome to come by." I scowled at him, as he laughed, "And I've got a math course and Criminal Justice 102." The conversation ground to a halt as his phone rang.

"Hello?" He scowled at the number.

"No, I don't want to." Sam rolled his eyes at whoever was on the other line, then reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Listen, stop calling me. I don't want to, and I never will." He slammed his phone closed and slumped back onto the sofa, breathing out in exasperation and annoyance. I wanted to ask, but I couldn't. It was none of my business, and if he wanted to talk about it, I was right here. Lowering my eyes, I faced forward. What the heck was I doing? I didn't want him here, making me remember him, how much I'd missed him, how angry I'd been at him forgetting about me. And it turned out that he hadn't forgotten about me, but he hadn't exactly tried to make contact before now.

"Hey, sorry about that. It was this girl that keeps throwing herself at me. And she just wouldn't take the hint. I'm not normally that much of an jerk." His voice was apologetic and I smiled a little.

"So, normally, your a jerk, just not that big of one?" I grinned and looked up and he was scowling playfully at me.

"Watch it, lamer. I can still whup your butt at everything." And with that our friendship seemed to pick back up, ignoring the years we'd been a part.

Review if you have a mind too......also, if you would just like the whole story emailed to you, let me know. It's done:D

Short Prologue

Read and tell me what you think.....

It happened on a quiet afternoon with the sun shining brightly. Kids were out playing in the street, enjoying the cool weather before the summer. Unfortunately, their play was interrupted by the army regulation jeep that came to a stop in front of the small brick house at the end of the road. The kids stopped and watched as a stern looking man stepped from the vehicle. Parents who had been watching their kids, turned to meet the eyes of the neighboring adults with worry. A small sandy haired boy lived in that house. A rambunctious young boy, full of mischief and fun. He was all alone in that house, save for an elderly neighbor woman who was staying with him while his mother was away.

The stern looking man shuffled in his car before removing an item that had the whole street gasping in shock. A blonde haired boy less small than the one whose house the stern looking man was stopping in front of, watched this event with sharp blue eyes. He knew the sandy haired boy. He played with him. He understood that when that stern looking man delivered that item, he wouldn't see his best friend again. For the first time in his short young life, he felt hate. He hated the stern looking man, and his regulation jeep. Hated that he stopped in front of the small brick house at the end of the road. Hated that he knocked on the door and saluted his small sandy haired best friend.

But most of all, the less small blonde haired boy hated that the stern looking man delivered a folded up flag, with medals and ribbons laying on top of it, to the small sandy haired boy who lived in the small brick house at the end of the road.

I'm being brave here people.....I don't like it when people I know read my stuff. This is just a short prologue to a short story I am doing called, My Mom Wears Combat Boots.

My Poor Neglected Blog

*pat pat* Poor thing. Sitting here all defenseless and lonely. I'm sorry Blog. I'll be better some day, I promise.

I know!! I'll share some fun stories and some fun pictures with you so you don't get lonely sitting here on the internet all day. First off, I have to tell you about my new friend Nas. Nas lives in France. Yup, alllll the way over the Atlantic Ocean. It's a long ways away. She's an artist and an author who I've seen lurking on the same websites as me. So one day, I read a story and I commented on it. It was really good!! So anyways, I send off this review, and next thing I know, I get a reply! So, I thinks to myself, perhaps she would like some more feedback. So I sent another reply and next thing I know, I've been emailing her for a week and each email is getting longer and longer. So long, in fact, that the simple Private messaging thingy, isn't working. Thinking that perhaps, I should just give her my real email account, she asked to read something of mine! Imagine my surprise! So, I tried emailing it to her. That didn't go so well. For some reason it didn't work. After much yelling at my computer and cursing my email, we finally managed to both log into MSN Messenger at the same time, and added each other.

Which was so awesome!! Cause then I got to talk to her in real time! And we learned that France and Nevada are 9 hours apart. So it was very interesting to learn that when it's 3 o'clock in the afternoon here, it's midnight there. We've learned to adjust:D

That's not the most exciting part, in my opinion. Well, like I said, Nas had written a story that I commented on. And because of my comment, she decided to write another story, which was really awesome too. And we got to talking about it, and one thing led to another, and she asked if I wanted to write something with her. *spaz dance* And thus was born a collaboration which is sucking up most of my time at the moment. No, it won't be published any time soon, as it's a fan fiction*, but it sure is fun to write with another person. Another cool thing, is that Nas is writing an original story and she is running her ideas past me and I am giving her input. I remember having those kinds of conversations with my aunt when she was writing her book, and it was so amazing. I really enjoyed talked to an author and giving feedback. It makes me feel like I am helping a bit for a good story I guess.

So these next couple of weeks will be spent working and writing some stories. I don't see myself ever writing my own book or anything, however, perhaps I will write short stories as a way to pass the time and exercise my brain during long boring days. Not that Aubry lets me have long boring days, but still, when she is ignoring me, I get bored.

Here are the most recent shots of Aubry. I usually wear a beanie in the mornings because it is pretty cold here in my house, and she grabbed it off of my head and proceeded to put it on her head, and dance around. Enjoy these silly little Aubry shots.

I had another really good one, but it was tilted sideways, and I couldn't figure it out, so I will work on it. Later.

Holy Crap!

Holy Crap!! Amber's posting something!! Yeah for the New Year!! I've decided that I can do better than last year. It's been rough, but we've pulled through. Money troubles are better, we're smarter, and Aubry is bigger. So far in 2011, I've got a few new piano students, we are still taking guitar lessons and we're still trying to expand the family a bit.

First off, I have been working on my writing skills these past couple of months. Not for any particular reason, but because it challenges me and helps me fill long hours stuck at home. I am proud to say that my piano lessons are still going strong. I have a few wonderful kids and I'm really proud of the work they have accomplished. I was hoping to get back in school this semester, but money was super tight this past year, and I've put it off again. I will finish my education at some point, but not just yet it seems.

Chris has been doing great with commuting to Vegas for work. I feel really bad he has too, but rent is cheap here. The great thing is, he doesn't have to work on Sundays so we are able to go to church together.

Aubry is still a little stinker. She is having a hard time learning to talk. Or she is just stubborn. She understands so much, but she never wants to mimic me when I speak to her. However, sometimes we will hear her jabber a lot and use 'no'. So it's not totally hopeless:)

That's about it from last year. Hopefully this year will prove to be a little more fruitful. Have a Happy New Year!!

So addicted.....

To so many things. Lately, it's been fan fiction and my Zune. I know, I'm a freak=) But I have always been one to enjoy a good read, and when it involves characters that I have grown to love, I will read just about anything. And since I don't want Aubry just watching movies all day when it's too cold to go outside, or we are just stuck at home, I play my music for her. She seems to really like New Found Glory (who doesn't?), Coheed and Cambria, and Bowling for Soup. Or maybe it's just cause that's what I like to listen to??

That's all we have been up to lately. Although, Krysta came down for a visit, and somehow I didn't take one darn picture!! I even have an awesome video camera and nothing!! In case you were wondering why I seem to be jumping around on topics, it's cause it is late and I feel an overwhelming need to post something on my blog.

I think, though, that I will have a Halloween post. Remind me to take pictures, cause Aubry will be Red Riding Hood, I will be (hopefully!) Reno from Final Fantasy 7 and I think Chris will be something with a brown cloak, perhaps a Jedi or something. So cross your fingers that we don't look like freaks!!

P.S. I really am gonna try and update more. I'm tired of being a lamer.......

The Piano

So we are renting this house from a nice couple who left us some awesome things that they couldn't take with them. They left us the washer and dryer (awesome) and their very old piano. I was really excited about the piano specifically because one of my callings is to play in Sacrament meeting and for the Spanish Branch. And lets face it, I ain't that great to begin with and need all the practice that I can get. So I had the tuner guy come out and give it a once over. He repaired the broken pedal and tuned the heck out it. For which I was really grateful. It's bad enough making my own mistakes, but if I can't tell what is my mistake and what is the horrible sound coming from the instrument, there are problems.

I enjoyed the piano for a couple of weeks, and then I had an epiphany. A source of INCOME!!! It sits so silently in my living room, taking up so little space, and providing entertainment to my and Aubry so why not others!!

So I advertise. I ask around, I beg. I got some wonderful students. Very dedicated. I am actually learning while I am teaching as well. Trying to figure out the best ways to teach kids, when I remember being the most obnoxious student. So bad in fact, I had more teachers then all my sisters combined. So, I try and remember what it was about the teachers that I actually liked.

It's a process, but I think I have hit my stride=) I still have some openings, and I have to say, that all ages can learn. Adults may think it's too late to learn, but they are SO WRONG!! I have a few adult students and they learn no faster or slower than my young students. You just have to PRACTICE!!

So I just wanted to brag about my awesome piano and advertise for some more students to share it with. And, also, share this cute picture of Aubry. She insists on playing a little every day!!!