A lil' sumptin'

Viola had this problem where she always wanted what she couldn’t have. Her mother called it the “Viola complex”. When she was seven years old she wanted a Dalmatian puppy so badly. She asked her mother every day if she could just pretty please have one. Of course the answer was no because no six year old needs a puppy because it wouldn’t be the six year olds puppy but the parents puppy. It turned into an obsession. Viola would only watch 100 Dalmatians. Her closet was fully of 100 Dalmatians attire. She had an imaginary friend named Dina the Dalmatian, although she was a mixed breed of human and Dalmatian. It got to a point where her mother sat her down a year later and said, “Sweet Viola, I know you think the best thing in the world would be a Dalmatian puppy, but you know what they don’t show you in the movies? Poop. Dogs poop in real life. Dogs also don’t talk in real life. They bark, a lot. You know that part when the dogs are barking to each other to communicate? That’s not real, they just bark for pretty much no reason,” she pet Viola’s head and smiled, “I know a Dalmatian seems like the best thing in the world but there are a lot of things that aren’t that great about them, but you aren’t thinking about those things are you?”


This happened a few times throughout her childhood and now into her teenage years. Viola would paint a picture in her mind about how wonderful something would be, but the reality of things were, that they aren’t as good as she imagined them. It’s like the moment when Viola saw this beautiful head of hair in front of her on the bus; she could see a tidbit of his ear and cheek. In her head he was exceptional looking. He had beautiful green eyes and a smile that could drain the blood from your heart into your cheeks. The problem with this was this was all in her head. When he turned around, he was a great disappointment. He turned out to be quite ugly except for the gorgeous hair. This was how she was about most things and that’s why it was called the “Viola Complex”.

Fate, you lousy son of a gun, that is if you exist. It's easier to blame fate then to realize your life is the actual pits, yes you are living in a smelly hairy pit of man who hasn't showered in years, it takes all your guts not to vomit out your breakfast everyday (and breakfast is the MOST IMPORTANT MEAL).
I've decided I must be a little phsycic or as my 7th grade algebra teacher would say, I'M PSYCHO, because he got the two words mixed up every single time it was a ball of laughter under our breathes that should've hinted to him that he was saying it wrong but he didn't even seem to notice (maybe it was his high pants that were blocking his ear drums). Is it my fault that I had a dream about a bull shark eating my sister and I didn't warn her and then the next day she broke her leg after a BULL dozer crashed into her car? I thought it was strange that I kept thinking in my subconscience mind of sleep it's a BULL shark that's trying to eat my sister. Specifically a bull shark, strange, I guess I know why now. I should've warned my sister about anything that had to do with the word bull. So now I have all this preasure to pick apart all my dreams and warn anyone that gets hurt. That is a lot to put on a human being.
Another instance. I was listening to the good old song Singing in the Rains by beautiful dead Gene Kelly, such a shame they haven't invented a rebirth syrum to make him alive again, then I thought of the good old sentence: when it rains it pours, last heard from the tv show 30 rock. And then as I was walking out of work the other day I feel rain drops on my forehead, but the clouds that it should've come from were not present. Then I realize someone just threw up off the building onto my head. I should've known.
Most people would look at these instances and say, GIRL YOU ARE CRAZY THEY HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH EACHOTHER.

November 5th and 6th

With every running step little splashes of last night's rain hit the back of her calves. She couldn't help but to imagine someone watching her and thinking to themselves "That girl is kicking ass." She was up to 10 miles a morning and it was a tough terrain. Her heels touched the ground with every beat of her music. It was still dark because she was all about the early morning run, seeing her own breath and feeling a little tense, it was her favorite. By the time she reached her halfway point the sun was usually rising, there was nothing more beautiful and more dreamy than the sun rise after a run.
Distracted by the weird tree that looked like something innapropriate suddenly she crashed, her face crashed into the asphalt. The right side of her face was numb. She rolled over on her back staring at the starry sky. Warm wetness dripped down her face. Grateful for the shock protecting her from the pain that she knew would be coming shortly as she wiped her face that was dripping with hot blood.
"Great," she moaned as she tried to sit up without mixing her brains and fainting. Taking a deep breath she rolled on her stomach and pushed herself up onto her knees. Droplets of blood fell into the puddle in between her knees.
A groan came from a mouth that wasn't her own. She glanced behind her. A limp soaked body lay behind her. She was sure it was a murder victim and then she remembered it made a noise. Murder victim, not yet! She crawled next to the lump of human that looked to be a male kind.
"Oh my god, are you dead? Please don't be dead."
She hovered her hand above his mouth. She felt his warm breath on her hand. For a moment she felt a little creepy noticing his oddly long eyelashes and wondered what color his eyes were underneath the lids. Wishful thinking leads to definite happenings. His eyelids open to reveal a blue and green eye.
"Alive!"
The male lump of human turned into a very strong man and shoved her away with a great force.She landed hard on her bottom. She was sure her tail bone was broken, another numbnessshe'd have to deal with later.
"Hey!" she crawled next to him not so close for the fear of being shoved across the street again,"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm like five times smaller then you!"
"Where am I?"
"On the side of the road. Up Big Creek Canyon. Why are you up here? What happened?"
He started breathing hard and looked around frantically. He grabbed her shirt that was soaked with sweat, rain, and now blood.
"I don't know, help me."

Nov. 3rd (ode to halloween okay?) and 4th

When I saw her strangely white but still very much human skin I almost remembered what it was like to breath, breathing that was uncontrolable. Not like myself now. The purpose to breath is to smell for blood, mostly for sport. Because I can survive years off of one tiny little human.
She reminded me of my human self, although the memory is slipping away like a puff of smoke disinigrating into the atmosphere, an almost ghostly appearance as if she was made to be something supernatural. She had a small heart shaped face with big brown eyes that had so much life in them. Her hair was thick with tiny white blonde curls. It seemed that Rondolfo had a type, for all of us had this look about us. All 27 of his what he named "followers" but the girl would refer to us as his victims as she cried out for mercy. But she was asleep, somehow peaceful although could tell nighmares were running across her eyelids. She didn't understand how it was yet. But she would. She hadn't seen Rondolfo. The most beautiful creature to exist on this planet.  He had the skin of a stone statue, magnificent beauty beyond a belief. In his presence you feel like you are the luckiest person to have lived...once. His eyes, although a  haunting red, they were dazzeling.  The only things I ever think about is thirst and him. It was a common feeling umong us "followers". I call myself his partner. I find myself being the most important out of the 27. All of them were wishing it was them who were turned last. But it was me and I was the last and I was the longest of the last. He hadn't turned anyone for 58 years, the longest he had gone. The difference between Olive and I was only 10 years.
Rondolfo told me that he saw her and he knew she needed to be his. I hadn't been alive for quite some time but I had a feeling deep inside me, so forgotten that I didn't know what to call it. But then I saw her and it was worse. I was once in her position. There was a time when Rondolfo saw me and told Olive to go fetch me like I did with the girl who called herself Lottie. I knew I was feeling what I once called jealousy.
The girl called Lottie opened her brown eyes that would soon turn into red. I didn't say anything to her just stared. I knew I had to tell him she was awake. I had to take a moment to realize I was no longer the last one.
"Don't you know he's trancing you all? You all think you're in love with him but he's only trancing you. Please don't let this happen! You were once alive like me," she grabbed the hem of my dress. Her warm fingers gave off an extreme heat, "I am supposed to be getting married in just a day. Please!"
I felt a twinge of pity for her.
"How long has she been awake for? Why didn't you tell me?" Roldolfo's presence filled the room. I can't help but to freeze. I've been with him for 58 years but he still has the same effect on me.
The girl stood, without saying a word and walked towards Rondolfo. She seemed to be floating her hair flew behind her as each step was taken. Rondolfo brushed her face and the girl called Lottie closed her eyes and kissed his hands and then his neck. For a moment the girl's veins began to pump in my brain all I wanted was to destroy her and then it was gone.
It all happened faster then a breath. Rondolfo was there and then he was nothing but a pile of dust on the floor. Lottie's body was shaking as she held a wooden cross in her hand the end sharpened. Rondolfo was dust, just dust and nothing more to me. A moment passed and I had forgotten all about him. I looked at Lottie but her vulnerability did not suit my thirst. It was too easy.
I was released.
I gaver her a smile, letting my teeth gleam, something I wasn't allowed to do with Rondolfo.
"How kind of you," I smirked.
It was my turn.

Red.

I believe in the color red. It’s the color of my ukulele, my favorite Betsey Johnson coat, and my glasses. For some unexplainable reason I have never admitted it, it’s my favorite color. It’s the name of the Weezer album that includes my favorite Weezer song. It’s the color of Standford, my very crappy car whose windows don’t roll up and you can’t get out of the passenger’s side. Red is the color I am constantly dying my hair when I’m bored and too afraid for the cut. Red lips can tell you I am sexy, even if I’m dancing like a nerd by myself. You can add a little white with red and a different, innocent pink effect is the result. I turn to it when I want a pop in my outfit, but it’s a color I’ve chosen to take granted for until now. Red is the longest wavelength seen by the human eye. It’s one of the primary colors. Red is important. If I could choose to act like any color, I would be red.


Red is the color of blood, the color of life. Open me up and I’m red, open you up and you’re the same. It’s the color that connects us. No matter how different we appear on the outside we all bleed red blood. Red blood is what makes my cheeks blush when a romantic boy tells me I mean something to him. Red means love. When someone hands you a red rose you don’t assume they want to be your friend. Red blood pumps in your fluttering heart as you get nervous to tell someone you love them. Red is the color of lust, which in all rightful terms is what creates life.

Red is the color of southern Utah the place I grew up in every summer weekend. It’s what I know. The red earth of southern Utah can be the most beautiful sight one can ever see. Picture a gorgeous canyon, you’re standing at the top of this natural made phenomenon, it has just finished a light rain and the sun is about to set. The fiery sky reflects on the surface of the red earth, and there is nothing you can say because no words can explain the feeling, and you think this “is this is what feels like to be in complete awe.”

How can a person believe in a color? It already exists; we can see it with our two eyes. For me, it means me much more than a color. Red runs deep in me. Red is the most human color.

(Picture taken by my pa aka William Bruce Reeder (somebody should convince this guy to do a booth at the arts fest yes?))

Middle Seat

All Diana wanted wast to sit by the window on the plane. She begged her dad to to please get her a window seat. All she wanted was to day dream about the clouds, dancing in them, jumping in them, do the things you are supposed to do when day dreaming in the clouds. But he wouldn't do it. It only cost 10 more dollars to be in group A so she could board first, but no, she was in group C. When she boarded the plane every single window seat was taken, in fact the only seats that were left were middle seats.
Wretched middle seats why were you even invented?
There were three choices. One between a fancy looking proper boy and a scary looking man woman (couldn't be too sure about which gender it was (not that there was anything wrong The last was between a very old man with a surprisingly full head of hair and a middle aged business man. Third choice was the best choice. At least she would feel the cleanest afterwards.
She stood smiling at the business man glued to his blackberry, waiting for him to notice her presence, waiting for him to move. She cleared her throat. The really old man gently shook his arm. He looked up at her and smiled.
"Sorry little miss, I always just payin' too much attention to this thing," he stood and let her sit.
Diana didn't want to talk. She wasn't the type of person who sat on planes and shared fun little facts about herself with strangers on planes. Never.
"Going home?" the middle aged business man asked her. Diana was disgusted she was pretty sure that his tie cost more than her entire outfit, including her most expensive shoes she ever purchased in her life (60$).
"No, going to school."
"You look like a California girl."
Diana wasn't sure if it was a compliment or a creepy compliment.
"Oh yeah? I am a native Wisconsiner, but thanks," she tried to make the sentence into a conversation ender but it didn't quite work.
"What are you going to school for? Don't tell me let me guess," he smiled, "Home economics."
She frowned.
Who does this guy think he is?
"No. Never."
The flight attendant began to speak but this didn't quiet the man he kept on yacking on.
"You going to one of those cosmotology schools? Doing hair all pretty and things?"
Diana was offended. This guy was a sexist.
"Uh nope."
The man laughed.
Diana rolled her eyes.
She could just imagine what mister sexist was like when he was younger. He was probably one of those guys who loved the football and the cheerleaders and would take them under the bleachers and take advantage of then and whisper sweet nothings in there ears until they gave it up to him. The next day he would tell all his football loving friends that she was a skank who would do anything. Then when he finished high school it was off to run his father's business. That out of pure luck it blasts off into success. Oh dear, then comes the shot gun wedding after accidentally impregnating the prettiest girl in town. Her life was instantly ruined but he didn't care, he trapped her. Someone he didn't deserve. The first baby they'd name something like Lori or Donna. He'd never see her grow up but knock up his wife probably three or four more times. But she'd keep fit and cook him dinner because that's what she was told to do by this husband of hers. This fake story burrying itself in her head and made her hate the guy.
It's fake. You made up the story.
Then (she though) she'd grow up and realize she was the prettiest girl and she needed no man and divorce his fat ass. That's why he was on this plane, because he was taking a moment to think about his terrible aweful life.
"You aren't much of a talker are you? I bet you got a line up of young men begging for your attention."
"Sorry I guess I'm not used to sharing tid bits about myself to strangers is all," she tried to sound polite as possible, but it didn't work and she sounded as bitchy as she felt.
The man laughed again and plugged his ears with head phones and he went back to attending his blackberry even thought the flight attendent made the announcement to shut off electronic devices just moments before. Diana would blame this man if she died in a plane crash.
"What an asshole," the older of the old men said to himself. Diana was taken back but the swears coming out of the pompadoured haired man who had to be at least seventy (she wasn't too good at telling age after the age of fifty) her grandparents scoweled at dirty words. She actually thought it was very refreshing that an oldy pie agreed with her.
It was weird, she thought about it sometimes, that old people were young once. It was so long ago. They don't even look the same. They become an uglier depressing version of themselves.
This really old guy used to be the coolest guy around once, most likely. He has a pompadour and tattoos.
He was the rebel without a cause type, she could tell. He had a motorcycle when it was REAL cool to have one. He would ride up on his bike with a ciggerette in mouth and a pair of aviators on his face and make all the poodle skirted girls melt. His name was most likely Jonny, it fit him well. At one point he had dark hair in the same style. He would wear leather jackets and the rolled up jeans with a pair of converse. He used to play the harmonica in the bleechers during PE because he hated running, and also during the drive in movies to bug the squares. Then one day... a girl arrived in his life. She was as beautiful as all the pin up girls combined, even more so. She wouldn't give him a glance though, because she knew his type. But little did SHE know that he was a romantic. He would say hi to her every day even though she wouldn't say it back and even though it made him look like an idiot, he would do it every day. He even wrote a song about her (because he also played the guitar). Then one day he rescued her from a boy, a square, that was also an asshole. She rode on the back of his motorcycle, holding onto him real tight. Then from there they lived and loved. They traveled the world together, spreading his loves songs for her all over the place. Jonny was actually going home to her. He was playing his last show ever in California and his wife would meet him there the next day because she was babysitting the grandbabies.
If only Diana's story was true, then she'd be sitting by someone famous.
The plane landed and she looked at the old man.
"Very nice meeting you!" she smiled and he looked at her very oddly. No words we exchanged between them.
"You need to be grateful for your wife mister and stop talking to young girls about chasing boys okay?" she said to the business man who took out his head phones and stared at her blankly.
"I'm not married."
Diana ignored it and grabbed her bag from the overhead bin. She didn't get to dance with the clouds but maybe in someone elses head she was someone radically cool or possibly a bitch, but then again she had a strange sort of mind that invented stories about other people and she wasn't too sure that someone shared the same hobby. Not likely, but maybe.

The Dick.

You’ll never fit in anywhere unless you go somewhere.


A phrase constantly said into Goldie’s bedroom door by her mother (who was prom queen all the years she went to high school). It was boomeranging through her brain still four years after high school. It was what she was thinking when she the house party she promised to attend with her friend Nicole. Even before she walked in the house the boomerang phrase came weaseling back into her frontal lobes. She had told herself that parties were for people with no goals who wanted to die early, but she didn’t really know, she was a college party virgin.

“I can tell you aren’t enjoying this already,” Nicole yelled over the music.

It was a common effect Goldie had, a face that looked like she just took a bite out of an apple to find half of a worm. She was no good at hiding her discomfort.

“No, this seems like so much fun,” she choked out.

She paid no attention to whatever Nicole was trying to shout over the ridiculously loud and tacky music that was bombarding her ear drums. She saw him. His name was Richard Baird; he was her biggest crush in high school. He was always looking so cool and not to mention good looking, mostly good looking; she didn’t know him at all so she just assumed he was cool not knowing if it were true. He was one of the bad boys who played in a band and had long gross hair that somehow was ridiculously sexy.

For the second time ever in the history of Goldie, he looked at her. She looked around herself to make sure it wasn’t a mistake but he smiled and waved at her and again she looked around to find it was her that he was waving at. She felt like she was back in sophomore year when he opened the door for her (this was the first time in history he made serious eye contact with her). But she forgot to look at her friend Nicole, who he was actually waving to. Goldie had no choice to first feel absolutely ridiculous for being excited that someone waved at her and secondly to get herself together for the first interaction with him in pretty much ever. Nicole wasn’t one to ignore an attractive boy. Goldie followed shortly behind her.

He grabbed Nicole in a bear hug as Goldie stood awkwardly by.

“This is my friend Goldie,” Nicole said hardly paying any attention to her at all keeping her eyes on the good looking man in front of her, “This is-“

“Richard,” she covered her mouth and felt creepy that she would know such a thing when he didn’t even slightly recognize her, “We went to the same high school,” she grabbed the nearest drink and chugged it.

He glanced over at her and broke his embrace with Nicole, “We did?”

“Yeah, You were friends with Natalie and my friend Jared and her were good friends.”

“Oh yeah I know Jared! You’re his friend?”

“Yes, I am.”

“He’s hilarious.”

“Yes he is.”

Nicole walked away unenthused and ready to find someone who would give her their full attention. When Goldie noticed she had a ball of nerves in her throat that wouldn’t go away no matter how much she tried to swallow it down. She grabbed another drink.

“So you still in that band you were in in high school?” she asked nervously wishing Nicole would come back and rescue her from her embarrassment she was sure to havoc on herself.

“Uh, ha, no. You remember that?”

“Sort of I guess,” she shrugged feeling a bit dizzy, “I had the biggest crush on you,” her eyes almost fell right out of her head right after the words left her mouth.

“Oh did you?”

Her eyebrows raised, “Yeah…”

“You want come with me somewhere?”

Goldie wasn’t the type of girl who went somewhere and did things with people she didn’t know. But a little make out session never hurt anyone. Most of the time it actually made people feel great! It was going to be the pay back for high school. She never liked high school and it crept up on her every once in a blue moon. It would be the releasing the dove of high school, or something like that. He grabbed her hand and took her outside.

“Is this what you always wanted in high school?”

“Hmm? Well it wasn’t the top of my priorities obviously, or else I probably would’ve talked to you before this moment.”

“Want to make your high school dreams reality?”

“Well I wouldn’t go so far to say it was my drea….” She trailed off when she noticed a stupid on his face and him giving her a drunken seductive face pointing at his crotch.

“I’ll go put on my prom king crown if it will help with the fantasy.”

“Wow. Really?” she said sarcastically, Richard didn’t quite catch on.

“Yeah I still have it.”

“Oh my god, you do?”

He grinned and nodded his head vigorously.

“You know, I am just dying to help you out with your little situation in your pants, but,” she paused, “I just can’t.”

“Oh so you have a boyfriend?”

She couldn’t hold in the laugher and it just busted out of her, “No, no I don’t. But I’ve just realized I have so much more appealing things to attend to, like eating a live bird for instance.”

“Wait what?”

“I am super into guys with no future who are counting on getting famous for their crappy music and good looks, who drink every night to the point of blacking out and think popping pills a competitive sport.”

“What is your problem?”

“My problem? I don’t have one. You’re the one who has a serious problem. You’re the type of person whose highest point in life was high school and you’re scared to move on so you travel on the same road and it gets you nowhere. You aren’t going to be young and gorgeous forever bucko and all the drinking and drugs is going to catch up to you. And then you’ll be ugly, then what are you going to do?”

“Wow, I like you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I like you.”

“Ugh, get a job,” she started to walk away and he followed.

“Marry me.”

“Goodbye.”

High school ended four years back, and returning was a seriously bad idea. It’s like following a tornado, it seems dangerous and interesting, but no good would come from it. Just be grateful that you survived and leave it behind you. Only return upon the tenth year reunion to laugh at all the pretty girls who got fat. Before that leave it alone, pretend it didn’t happen.