The Struggling Hypnotist (Creative Loafing #1)

“Clear your mind. Think of absolutely nothing. Relax every bone in your body. Listen to my voice,” Dominique Folston told all of his clients. Dominique, or Dom as his friends called him, was a highly regarded hypnotist. He would be called upon to cure sleep disorders, smoking habits, depression, anxiety, and stress ; others simply called on Dom for entertainment purposes. Regardless of the occasion, he could woo an audience like Houdini and fuck with people’s emotions like Benny Hinn. He truly loved hypnotizing people. Sometimes, he would just walk down the streets and ask people if they wanted to be hypnotized, and most times they would because it was fuckin’ Dominique Folston, the best hypnotist in all the land. (He always tried to hypnotize black people on the street. Black people had the best reactions. White people were boring).

The thing Dom had that trumped every other hypnotist was his mind. Nothing ever fazed him. No matter what obstacle was thrown his way, he would overcome it and hypnotize the shit out of people. Literally, there was a guy that was struggling with constipation, so he had Dom hypnotize him so that he would be healed. By the end of that session, dude’s pants were filled with shit.

Dom’s status reached such a level that he landed an interview with Diane Sawyer on 20/20. Out of his plethora of accomplishments, this one took the cake. I mean, he was asked to be interviewed by the same person who interviewed Caitlyn Jenner, or Bruce, depending on where you stand on the topic.

“Mr. Folston, Diane will be here in a few minutes. She’s running a little bit late. She’s finishing up an interview with Mel Gibson,” Diane’s assistant told Dom as he patiently waited in the green room. “Mel Gibson? Hasn’t he been out of the limelight for like 10 years now?” Dom curiously asked. “Yeah, but he had another meltdown. This time, it was the Muslims.” “Jesus,” Dom said, disgusted.

Diane was ready for Dom. As Dom walked into the well-lit room, he had an uneasy feeling. He sidled towards Dianne and sat down in the chair across from her. His palms were sweaty, knees were weak, arms were heavy; there was vomit on his sweater from his mom’s spaghetti (Eminem. 2002. Lose Yourself. 8 Mile Soundtrack. Location: 8 Mile?).

“Diane,” she said, extending her hand toward Dom. “I’m well-aware,” Dom said timidly. “So, I’m just going to ask you some questions about your childhood, how you became a hypnotist, then I’ll have you hypnotize me, then I’ll ask how you hypnotize people, why you hypnotize people, then we can wrap up about what you plan on doing in the future. Deal?”  Dom was puzzled, “Hypnotize you? On national television? I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Of course it is! You are the great Dominique Folston aren't you?” Diane Sawyer’s persuasion skills were on fleek. There was no denying that, then the cameras started rolling.

The interview was going pretty smoothly, then came the part where Dom had to spontaneously hypnotize Diane Sawyer.

Diane: Well, I would like to be hypnotized. (laughter) Would you be able to do that?

Dom: (nervous laughter) I mean, I don’t know. This may not be the right setting.

Diane: Sure it is!

“No, it’s not bitch!” Dom thought, but did not have the stones to say.

Dom: Alright, let’s do it. In order to hypnotize someone, it is your job as the hypnotist to get the person being hypnotized to clear their mind, think of nothing, and relax every bone in their body. If you can’t do that, then you can’t be hypnotized. So, if you would...

(Diane follows his instructions)

Dom: (soothing but neurotic tone) Listen to my voice. Follow my finger. You can feel yourself start to become fatigued. Keep following my finger. Now go to sleep.

At this point in the hypnosis, all of Dom’s clients fall asleep, but Diane was wide awake.

Dom paused, sweating profusely. He put his hand over his mic and whispered, “Diane, could you please…just…fall asleep? This looks really bad.” Diane covers her mic and whispers back, “Yeah, but if I fall asleep now, it’ll look worse.” “Diane, please!” Dom whispers back with desperation. “No!” Diane whispers back with intensity. Dom storms out of the interview.

“You know there’s no such thing as bad publicity,” Dom’s manager said. “Oh yes there is. This is bad publicity. Nobody is going to want me to help them stop smoking, overeating, nobody is going to want me to hypnotize the shit out of them!” Dom said frantically. “Easy Dom. Don’t panic. I’ll just tell the producer not to air this interview.”

Dom’s manager did so, and the producers granted them their wish- but at a price. The interview didn’t air, but Dom was still bothered. Why couldn’t he hypnotize Diane Sawyer? This caused many sleepless nights for Dom.

“I don’t think Diane wanted to be hypnotized. She was suuuuch a bitch,” Dom told his friends. He convinced himself it was Diane’s fault. He shook it off and started doing his hypnosis as usual, but couldn’t hypnotize a soul. This brought Dom to a panic.

The, a light bulb went off for Dom. He needed to get back to the basics. Maybe he needed to learn how to be hypnotized in order to hypnotize other people. See, in all the years of Dom hypnotizing people, he had never been hypnotized himself. Maybe he had just been getting lucky these past years, and now it was time for him to perfect his craft through personal experience.

Dom called a local and private, highly-regarded hypnotist, James Fairfield, to schedule an appointment. Heading into the appointment, Dom had the mindset of “Imma get hypnotized real quick and get the hell out of there.”

Dom was playing on Tinder as he waited in the office of Mr. Fairfield. He hurried and exited out of Tinder as Mr. Fairfield walked into the room.

Mr. Fairfield: You must be Dominique?

Dom: Yes sir. You can call Dom though, James.

Mr. Fairfield: Please, call me Mr. Fairfield.

(They both laughed.)

Mr. Fairfield: But seriously Dominique, please call me Mr. Fairfield. I feel respected when I’m called Mr. Fairfield.

Dom: Oh. Well, okay. If we’re doing that would you mind calling me Dom? It’s just that my mom would always call me-

Mr. Fairfield: Look Dominique, I’ve been watching footage of your previous hypnotic performances and it seems you’ve hit somewhat of a dry spell, which is normal for a hypnotist.

Dom: How long was your dry spell?

Mr. Fairfield: I said “normal.” I have yet to hit a dry spell, and probably never will.

Dom: Oh, well, that’s great.

Mr. Fairfield: Look, the key to hypnotizing someone is to guide your client to clearing their mind. Thinking about nothing, a blank space if you will. Once you’ve accomplished that, their mind is pretty much yours.

Dom: I know this.

Mr. Fairfield: But do you?

(Mr. Fairfield dims the lights.)

Mr. Fairfield: Alright then. Clear your mind and think of nothing.

(30 minutes later)

Mr. Fairfield: Have you cleared your mind yet? (getting impatient)

Dom: Wait for it…nope. Dammit! This is impossible! (Panicking, sweating) It’s like nothing is something. Nothing is something’s imaginary friend, but it’s still something to something you know what I mean?

Mr. Fairfield: Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to go home and work on clearing your mind and thinking about nothing. When you believe you have done so, I want you to come back here, then we can start working on your hypnotic skills.

Dom went home, subdued. He cleared out an entire room, turned the lights out, and tried clearing his mind. It didn’t work. He then tried to watch something boring on television like C-SPAN or that one station with the nun that prays in the church the whole time. But that didn’t work either. Finally, Dom said, “Fuck it,” and went out into the wilderness to find a peace of mind, but sadly he was deathly scared of the wildlife out there and came right back home after 2 and a half hours. Every avenue he went down was a dead end. This lasted for months. Dom had given up.

Since Dom couldn’t hypnotize anymore, he searched for new jobs. It’s tough to land a job when the only thing you have to put on the resume is “Professional Hypnotist,” but he convinced some suckers to offer him a job selling technology equipment to local schools from a call center. His co-workers wanted to talk to him about his past as a hypnotist, but Dom always tried to change the subject. Even though he had settled down and found a job, it still bothered him that he couldn’t do what he knew he was supposed to be doing.

Dom was at a coffee shop with one of his friends when in came this beautiful girl that immediately grabbed Dom’s attention. It had always been difficult for Dom to find love. Actually, he had never found love. Things usually went like this:

Girl: What do you do?

Dom: I’m a professional hypnotist.

Girl: (laughs) But seriously, what do you do?

Dom: Bitch, I told you what I do (but still maintaining a soothing voice).

Sure, this would get him a one-night stand, but never love. Dom had always longed for love, but knew that, in his line of business, it was going to be difficult. But now, Dom had a new job and a new life. He approached her, made some small talk, and just like that, got her phone number and a date. Dom walked away from the coffee shop with a little pep in his step.

Dom would stay up night after night with this girl, Cathy was her name, talking about anything and everything. Some nights they would stay up not talking if you know what I mean? (You get it? Because of sex.) She didn’t know who Dom was or anything about Dom, which oddly made him more attracted to her. Once he told her, she was genuinely curious about what he used to do, and she could still see that this job still meant a lot to him.

For their 4 month anniversary, Dom took her to a delicate restaurant. A restaurant where you might find Jay Z and the Queen Bee. Dom kept commenting on how radiant Cathy looked. He would use the word “radiant” too. This was also another reason why Dom couldn’t find love. Cathy broke the infatuated environment they had both created with a serious question, “If there was one thing you could change about your life, what would it be?” 

Dom put his hand over his mouth and acted like he had to ponder her question deeply even though he knew the answer right away, “I still miss being a hypnotist. I loved seeing the joy people had when I would help them or just flat out entertain them. I itch for it still. I would still love to be a hypnotist, but if I can’t clear my own mind, how am I supposed to clear someone else’s? To me, it just seems impossible to think about nothing.” 

She nods her head, empathizing with him, “How about me? What would you change about me?” Dom sat still with a confused look on his face as he stared down at his napkin. Then he had a sense of fulfillment overtake him as he looked back up at her with a smile. For the first time, Dom thought about nothing.

Sick on a Plane

Rob was about to get on a flight to head back home from his business trip. He was a very successful business man, and he knew it. 

Though he seemed like a man with zero insecurities, Rob’s had an undying fear: getting sick on a plane. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to miss work, or get his wife sick, or he had some event to attend; he just had a fear of getting sick on a plane. Whether it be a head cold, nausea, motion sickness, it didn’t matter. 

Rob gets on the flight and tries to find his seat, C17. This was a spur-of-the-moment business trip, so first class was unavailable. Adding insult to injury, he had to sit in the middle aisle of the plane. Not only the middle aisle, but the middle seat of the middle aisle. As long as the people next to him aren’t fat he thought. Fat people are the worst according to Rob. All they do is consume, not produce. They’re what’s killing America. All the fat people.

Rob was relieved to see that both people sitting next to him were average-size people. When the plane started to taxi, the girl to the left of him started to cough. Heavily. Like you could tell it was one of those coughs that produces phlegm, and then you wonder if they’re just going to man up and swallow it or just leave it in their mouth for awhile until they can find a sink or something to spit it out in. Anyways, the cough was horrific. Since Rob was so worried about sitting in the middle of fat people, he completely forgot about his phobia of getting sick on a plane. There’s no turning back either, the plane had already started moving. 

The sick woman politely approached Rob, “Hi I’m Lynette,” as she held her hand out for a handshake. Rob gripped his fist, “Let’s fist bump,” learning every move from his idol Howie Mandel. “Oookaay,” Lynette said in an uncomfortable tone as she timidly gave Rob the fist bump.

Lynette: Are you headed home now?

Rob: (Annoyed) Yes

Lynette: I’m sorry if you can barely understand me. I just got came down with a head cold.

Rob: Well, as long as you don’t snee-

(Lynette sneezes and some of the snot mists in his face causing Rob to flinch)

Rob: (Breathing in) Aaaaand you did it. You definitely did. Oh my God.

Lynette: I’m so sorry.

Rob started to breath in the barf bag. Lynette was very confused as to what was going on. “How can I help?” Lynette asks Rob as her hand was on his back to offer support. “For starters, you can get your hand off my back, and you can stop breathing your sick air into my direction.”

One of the flight attendants moved Rob to the back since his attitude was becoming aggressive. He had a whole row to himself. At this point, Rob didn’t care where he sat as long as he didn’t get sick on this plane.

The plane landed, and Rob waited as the plane was making its way to the correct terminal. When the seat belt sign flashed off, Rob fought little children, old ladies, the handicapped, to be first in line to get off that plane. Rob got off the plane without any signs of sickness. Rob raced down to ground transportation to call a cab. As he was waiting for a cab, he sneezed. “At least I’m not on a plane,” Rob said with a smile.

The Virgin Barry

Barry was just your average cynic. When everyone would get excited around him, he always found a way to bring them back down to reality. He was very successful at his job as a sports marketer; he took his job very seriously. He only had a couple of friends, but Barry was content with his life, even though he, sometimes, made it sound otherwise.

But then, Barry met a girl, Mindy. Mindy had long, blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, and a face that makes you look twice. She headed up the local community’s Humane Society. She was a church-going gal full of love, laughter, and high-positive energy.

Barry always thought that “more beautiful on the inside than out” was bullshit, until he met Mindy. Barry told his friends that this was the one. They were happy for him.

Barry and Mindy had been dating for 4 months. They would laugh together, cry together (mostly Mindy, not Barry), encourage one another, like each other’s Instagrams, so on and so forth. Things were going great until:

Mindy asked Barry to attend church with her the upcoming weekend.

Barry had never been to church before. Not even on Easter or Christmas! He had been invited to youth groups, church camps, etc. since he was in high school, but he never wanted to go. His parents never went to church, so he never really felt a conviction or obligation to attend or else he would be smitten by the good Lord to the pit where there would be weeping and gnashing of teeth. He didn’t hate God. He just thought of God like Santa. Of course he didn’t hate Santa; he just didn’t believe that he would be coming down his chimney anytime soon. 

Barry’s infatuation with Mindy took over him, so when she invited him, he had no choice but to say yes. This was a relief to Mindy because her family religiously attended church, so she knew that this would mean a lot to them.

As Barry entered through the double doors, he was greeted by a man with jeans, a La Tigre polo, and Reef flip-flops. “What the hell?” Barry said under his breath as he immediately felt overdressed with his Calvin Klein suit on. Everyone was really nice to him. He was almost uncomfortable with how nice people were treating him, but he was with Mindy and that’s all that mattered. He just wanted to go in, sing a couple of songs, hear a guy say some words that were spoken thousands of years ago, and get the hell out of there.

Her family had seats saved for them: front and center row. Since this was his first time, Barry was not thrilled about sitting front and center, but he swallowed his pride, met her parents who seemed like lovely people but also your typical “church-going” couple. 

There was a crazy light show and a fog machine on stage. Barry thought that maybe Mindy surprised him by taking him to a U2 concert. A man walked on stage with an electric guitar, then the light shined on him: not Bono. “Hello, I’m Chad. Is everyone ready to worship our King and Savior Jesus Christ today?” The crowd roared. Clapped. Cheered. One redneck a couple rows back even said, “Hell yeah!” Barry had no idea where he was. Church was seeming more and more ridiculous to him. “Everyone stand on your feet and let’s worship.” Barry did not like being told what to do, but he stood out of respect for Mindy and her family.

After the 2nd song ended, there was an interlude. Just the acoustic guitar was being picked with a light piano in the background as Chad spoke to the audience, “Everyone lift your hands to heaven.” Barry had enough of this guy telling people what to do. Everyone stood with their hands lifted high. Except Barry. Except the guy who was sitting front and center. This did not sit well with Chad. Chad’s bothered, but smiling, then steps away from the mic and addresses Barry.

Chad: Hey brother. You think you could lift those hands up for me? I mean for our Lord and savior Jesus Christ?

Barry: Nah I’m good. 

Mindy: (Whispering) Barry!

(Room gets uncomfortable. People around Barry start to pray for him)

Barry: (Addressing Chad) I’m not proclaiming myself to be the Antichrist or anything. I’m just not in the mood to lift my hands you know what I mean? And besides how many hands do you want to be lifted? I mean, how many hands does our Lord and savior Jesus Christ want to be lifted?

Chad: (Sensing his sarcasm, he backs up to the mic, apologetically) Ok.

Mindy’s family wasn’t pleased, therefore, Mindy wasn’t pleased. Barry hated this. He didn’t want to go to church in the first place. He only went to please Mindy. Maybe he should have raised his hands for Mindy. This idea dawned on Barry, but it was too late. The sermon was now over. 

After church, Barry and Mindy were on their way to get lunch with her parents. There was no dialogue in the car ride there. Finally, Barry spoke up.

Barry: So, church was good.

Mindy: Yeah.

Barry: Look, I’m sorry, but what did you want me to do?

Mindy: Just raise your hands. It’s not that hard.

Barry: Obviously, I wasn’t keeping my hands down because of the difficulty. It’s the principle.

Mindy: Oh geez…

Barry: So, you wanted me to lift my hands regardless of how I felt?

Mindy: Yes.

They walked into the restaurant, where Mindy’s parents were at the table waiting for them. The conversation was actually going better than what he expected. Her dad talked to him about sports, and her mom was even being a little flirty with him, not too much but like that soon-to-be-mother-in-law type of flirty. After they were done eating, Mindy’s dad said, “Barry, I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t uh raise your hands when everybody else did.” Barry became terrified that he was about to slip into his cynical nature, and so was Mindy. Barry didn’t want to hurt Mindy. He didn’t know what to say. Should he lie? He can’t do that either. Mindy wouldn’t want him to do that. Or would she? She did ask him to raise his hands no matter how he felt. “The truth is I hurt my shoulder yesterday doing yard work. I’m still in a lot of pain.” “You couldn’t lift one of your hands?” her dad replied. “Both shoulders. I hurt both shoulders,”  Barry said as he lifted his hand for the check. 

Blind Date Night...WITH A GIRL

Personally, I don’t prefer blind dates. I have nothing against them. I just don't want to be reading the menu to them, telling them to watch their step, walking them around everywhere, etc. I’m joking. For real though, blind dates have always terrified me. Anybody who knows me, knows that I do not talk when I eat, and I expect you not to talk to me while I eat. (EATING IS A BEAUTIFUL THING PLEASE DON’T RUIN IT WITH WORDS. UGH.) However, if I’m on a blind date, I can’t live by this principle that I have believed in my entire life because I come across as a “dick” or something. And I know what you’re thinking, “So, it’s cool if you’re a dick on dates that aren’t blind dates?” And the answer to this pretentious question is YES. Look, if I ask a girl out that I’ve already built a friendship with, I’m basically free to be myself, but when I’m on a blind date, the last thing that I’m going to be is myself. Everybody knows that the key to a great beginning of a relationship starts with lies and deceit. The truth hurts, and that’s why I’m a firm believer that you should stay away from it. This advice is free kids.

I say all of that to say that I went on a blind date a few weeks ago. My first ever blind date, actually. There have been many attempts to set me up on blind dates in which I never took seriously. I don’t know why I decided to ask her out. Well, I do know why. My aunt is the one that set this up, and she said that this girl likes to write and travel. I told her, “So does 95% of women in their 20’s.” I’m not saying I full out Facebook stalked her, but I Facebook stalked her enough to see that she was beautiful, and we had a few things in common that I was interested in, so I thought, “What the hell. I’ll ask her out.” So, I did. Over Facebook messenger. Which was a mistake. It took her a month to respond to me. I, immediately, started thinking, “Maybe she saw pictures of me when I grew out my hair last year and thought, ‘Nah I’m good’” Or maybe she thought my Spotify playlists were too dull. I hate you Facebook. She claims that since we weren’t friends on the Facebook that my message got sent to her deleted messages. The amount of times I pressed “refresh” in that month period is astounding. But lo and behold, she said yes. 

I know manly pride should stop me from saying this, but I was nervous before the date. Hell, I did shot of Brandy before just to calm my nerves. OF BRANDY. I didn’t really know what we were going to do that night until that night.

I took her to St. Joseph’s Brewery, which is this old catholic church that was converted to a brewery in downtown Indianapolis. If you’re in Indy and like craft beer, I would highly recommend it. Anyways, I thought things were going well, so I asked if she wanted to take a walk on the canal, in which she said yes.  Little did I know that I was about to enter into the most bizarre, frightening, strangest moments of my life.

The canal in Indianapolis, to me, is known as Indy’s quiet place, but I guess I’ve never been there past midnight on a Saturday. At the beginning of our walk, we saw two clocks that were winding backwards at a rapid pace, which I thought was a bad omen. Like, that has to be a bad omen right? Regardless, I threw up a prayer to the almighty God and his son Jesus Christ to keep a hedge of protection over us. Anyways, we walked/light jogged the whole canal which is about a mile and a half one way. Why did I just say light jogged? Well, a little bit about me. When I’m into something, whether it be a conversation, a place, a person, etc., I tend to walk at a much faster pace. Side story: when I was in Tokyo, I actually lost my friend when we were walking to the Tokyo Tower. As I saw him round the corner to meet me, I, to this date, have yet to see a man perspire like that, which is saying something because I shop at Walmart on the reg (it’s funny because a lot of overweight people shop at the Walmart you what nevermind). Anyways, since I could clearly tell that she was a bit winded trying to keep up with me, I found a spot where we could sit down and talk without her having to go home to grab her inhaler real quick.

We sat and talked about life, what we wanted to do, what our interests were, how I dated a lesbian once, how much I love Kanye, how much she hates Kanye, you know, your normal first date conversations. During our conversation, we heard a loud noise, which I thought was a gunshot, but I played it cool and told her that it was probably a “firecracker or something,” as I frantically looked around, in which she replied, “Are you sure? Should I be worried?” She definitely had a right to be worried because I still wonder if I had a near death experience at that time. We had been talking for a couple hours, then a raindrop hits both of our heads at the same time. I, specifically, picked this night to be our first date because I saw no rain in the forecast. I made the comment, “This actually feels nice” because it was kind of humid out, but then the torrential downpour took place. We got soaked and ran under the nearest bridge.

Now, I started a new paragraph to talk about our experience under the bridge because it truly is a story in itself. As we stood under the bridge, I couldn’t help but stop and stare at the characters around me. To the right of me was a couple that you would typically find at your local county fair: girl with lip ring, ass hanging out of dem jeans, lower back tattoo (assumption), and arguing with her man, who happened to be wearing a wife beater tank, jorts with boots, and smoking a cig directly into his gir's face. To the left of me was, what I perceived to be, a gang. Across the canal, a guy had his boo pinned up against the wall, going hard in the paint (just making out; no sex), then there were 2 cyclists just riding through the bridge which is weird considering that it’s 1am at this point. I’m honestly speechless for about 3 to 4 minutes as I look at all the characters around me, then it gets weirder. I shit you not, in the distance, I hear people singing. Not just singing, but singing well. Like classical music. It starts to become louder, then, I see a group of 4 people, 2 girls and 2 guys, walking towards us singing a cappella in the pouring rain. They were just walking at a normal pace (slow to me), singing without missing a beat. They didn’t even stop when they got under the bridge, they just kept singing and walked into the rain on the other side into the distance, where they disappeared. I know you’re expecting me to wake up at any time, but I swear I couldn’t even dream this.

As we’re waiting under the bridge, the rainstorm turned into a thunderstorm. The lightning in this storm made U2 concerts look like…Michael Bolton concerts. This storm was just absolutely insane. Lightning bolts are occurring just about every 3 seconds, which inevitably, is followed by a roaring thunder (“It’s coming. The thunder.” That’s an inside joke. Don’t laugh at it.) One lightning bolt shot down and struck the canal right next to the bridge that we were under, which was followed by possibly the loudest noise that has ever entered my ears. I’m not saying that I urinated myself, but I’m also not saying that I didn’t. It was tough to tell, since my pants were soaked from the rain.

We finally mustered up the courage to run out in the downpour even though my car was a solid mile away. We didn’t have an umbrella, rain jacket, poncho, rain boots, nothing. We ran through the streets of downtown Indianapolis extremely ill-prepared and no sense of direction because we forgot where I parked. As we were waiting for the light to turn green, so that we could cross the street, a car drove over a puddle and showered me with water. To make it worse, some jackass stopped at the light to the right of me yelled, “You should have been further away from the road.” “Thank you,” I sarcastically replied.

After about 30 minutes of intensely searching that would put Liam Neeson to shame, we finally found my car in all her beauty. As we’re driving to her house around 2am, we pass an empty parking lot except for this one car. The car was under this street light in the middle of the parking lot. There was a long-haired man leaned up against the car with his head down, hands on the hood, letting the rain pour over him. This is one of the more terrifying images that still haunts my dreams to this very day. Again, I was soaked from the rain, so it’s inconclusive whether urine was involved or not. 

How did the date end? Did I kiss her? Did she kiss me? Did I give her the ol’ “We should do this again sometime”? Well, let me talk strictly to the girls now. So girls, I gave her a hug, told her that I had a blast in which she agreed. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, told her how beautiful she looked, got on my white horse, and rode off into the rain. Now, let’s talk to the guys. Yeah bros, we made out; we made out all night long, then I was all like, “Shiiii, I gotta go home” and she was all like “No, stay” and I was all like “Nah, I’m tired. Got another date tomorrow night” and she was like, “Fine (sad face).” I joke. The ending was about the only normal thing that happened on the date. Goodbye hug, tell each other you had fun, text each other when you get home to reiterate that you had fun, then go to bed. 

To recap, if you want some advice on first dates, I’d say go to a brewery because drinking on the first date is ALWAYS a great idea, then you should probably go on a walk in an area that requires you to wear a bulletproof vest, and last but not least, make sure you pick a night that has awful weather resulting in a tornado warning. These are all necessities. Oh and IF YOU CAN, MAYBE find a date that is much smarter, funnier, and prettier than you. And by "find," I mean have your aunt find one. Again kids, this is free advice.

Josh

Goodbye, Lynchburg

After 7 years of friendships, failed relationships, laughter, tears, bliss, and frustration, I have moved from Lynchburg, Virginia to Indiana (living in my parents’ basement). Yes, I’m 25 and living with my parents. Imma loser. But am I? Because Kimye lived with Kris in their first year of marriage. So, maybe I’m one of the few that’s KUWTK.

When I was 18, I was either going to attend University of Arizona or Liberty University. I chose Liberty and am very grateful that I did. Not saying it wouldn't have worked out if I went to Arizona, but it's sure hard to imagine what life would be like without the friends I made in Lynchburg.

It’s a weird feeling leaving a place that you’ve spent a significant amount of time in, but then again, I hate goodbyes. Like a lot. I’ll give you an example, when I was 10, I sobbed at the series finale of Boy Meets World. My dad asked me what was wrong and I told him that I was going to miss my older brother when he went off to college, but in reality, I was just really going to miss Corey and Shawn’s epic friendship, Eric’s sense of humor, Mr. Feeny’s infinite wisdom, and Topanga, who in my mind, is in the top 3 most beautiful lead actresses, in a television show, of all time; I will fight a man, or woman if you’re in to that sort of thing, that says otherwise. So yeah, goodbyes aren't particularly my favorite. 

I woke up the last 3 mornings in Lynchburg with that feeling you get when you’re in a relationship that you know is coming to an end. I would just be architecting what the last day would look like. I would go hike up my favorite mountain, eat at my favorite restaurant, I would cry when saying goodbye to my friends, my friends would cry when saying goodbye to me, and the girl of my dreams would confess her love for me. Well, none of that happened. Actually, some chick did say that I looked cute in this picture that was posted on the Facebook my last day. Now, was this chick my grandmother? Yeah, but that’s not the point. I got recognition, which is EVERYTHING. 

The last week I was there I always dropped the fact that I was about to move to Indy to see if I could get a free drink, meal, dessert, etc. It never worked. In fact, I went to my favorite coffee shop as I was heading out of Lynchburg, and I told them that I was heading to Indy. Not only did they not hook me up with a free coffee, but they talked me into getting a breakfast smoothie with my coffee. Touché Joe Beans. Never change.

The morning of my last day, I went to get my haircut by my barber, who I’ve been going to for about the past 4 years. I didn’t really need a haircut, but I thought it would be a kind gesture to say goodbye. I got my hair cut, said goodbye to my barber, and as I walked outside to my car, I teared up. I only saw my barber about once every 2 months, so I could only imagine what it was going to be like saying goodbye to my friends that night.

When my friends came over, all of my emotions that I had earlier went away. We just laughed, drank beer, played cards, and shared memories. I wanted to cry to show them that I cared because I did, but I guess I was in somewhat of a drought. So, to the guys who were over my last night, just because I teared up when I said goodbye to my barber and not to you guys, that doesn’t mean anything. My heart wanted to cry, but my mind, and pride, were not having it.

So, I’m in Indiana now starting a new chapter in my life. Or maybe I’m just picking up where I left off when I was 18 living with my parents. At any rate, I do want to thank all of my friends in Lynchburg. You all are the reason why I stayed there for 7 years, and you all are the reason why I was reluctant to leave after 7 years. I love you tremendously. Thanks for all the memories. I’m truly #blessed by your friendships.

Clear Eyes, Full Hearts.

Ladder 49

If you're here because of my social media posts, and you're expecting to read about a gay experience, you might want to look somewhere else for that. I mean, don't do that. Read my blog. For the love of God, read my blog.

So, here’s the thing. I was going to write 5 blogs for each of the 5 states I saw, but after reflecting on my time in Arizona, Utah, and Idaho, I realized how uneventful my time was. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t enjoy it because I did, but I don’t think you would enjoy it. So here’s a brief synopsis of my time there.

In Arizona, I was sick pretty much the whole time, so I didn’t really get to see Phoenix at all. However, I did get to drive up to the Grand Canyon, which is incredible. Yeah, some people say it’s just a big hole, but The Great Wall is just a long wall and the pyramids are just some 3 dimensional triangles made of stone. It doesn’t mean that it’s not incredible. 

In Utah, I went to Zion National Park and Salt Lake City. Zion National Park is mind-blowing. Out of the 5 national parks that I’ve been to, I would say that Zion and Yosemite are neck and neck for my favorite. Zion is full of mountains made of desert stone and you can see some wildlife there. When I was done at Zion, I drove to Salt Lake City. Salt Lake City is really cool, really friendly, and really Mormon.

I drove up to Idaho for a half-day trip to see the Shoshone Waterfalls. They’re neat.

In Colorado, I finally met up with one of my friends, Trav. If you’ve been reading my blogs, I’ve mentioned him in a couple before. But finally, I had friends. I will say, it’s really not so bad to travel by yourself, but it is much better to be with people, for obvious reasons. However, I do recommend going somewhere by yourself. It’s nice and necessary to have solitude. It doesn’t have to be extravagant, but just do something by yourself.

Anyways, I met up with Trav, then we met up with his lifelong friends…which were CHICKS. Yeah sure, one of the chicks was married and the other had a serious boyfriend, making both of them about as unavailable as possible, but that’s not the point. They were chicks and we looked cool when we went places. 

One night, we went to a bar/saloon/place where you line danced in Colorado Springs called Cowboys. This was my first line dancing experience. I thought that it would be like a club just with a cowboy vibe. Like there would be more songs with Alan Jackson, but you still go where the music takes you. Oh how wrong I was. A song would come on, a crew of about 15 or 20 would form, and an organized dance would take place. I didn’t hate it; I just felt left out. At least give me a day or 2, so I can join. My advice: either practice for about a week before you go line dancing or just drink a lot before to give yourself the false perception that you know how to line dance.

We did go skiing one day at Keystone Resort. To be completely honest, I’m not much into extreme sports, and you probably know that because I called extreme sports, extreme sports. I mean I know the basic terms, “shredding the gnar,” “yard sale,” “bruuuuuhhhhh,” etc. I was pretty nervous, since I hadn’t skied in a couple of years. Even at that, I’ve only skied a couple of times before going to one of the best ski resorts in the United States. Since we went on a Tuesday, I was hoping there wouldn’t be any kids there because nothing is more humiliating than when you “yard sale” and a little 7 year old girl passes you with a smile on her face. To my dismay, there were quite a bit of kids there. All of the kids that passed me on the slopes, I had to kindly remind them that it’s not a race.

From Keystone, Trav and I went to Fort Collins to meet up with one of my friends from high school. We used an Airbnb up there; one that I will never forget. Just to give you some background, Trav had been obsessing over fireplaces while we were there. Wherever we went, he always asked if there was going to be a fireplace. It was strange, but we found that pyromaniac a fireplace pretty much every night that we were in Colorado to keep him satisfied. When I booked the room in Fort Collins, I got a text from the owner, Dave, right away that said, “Excited to have you guys here. I’ll get the fire started.” I immediately started to pray that this wasn’t some sort of metaphor; that there was an actual fireplace. Once we got there he showed us to our room, which was like a guest house in this guy’s backyard. He opened the door to our room, and thank Jesus, there was a fireplace right next to our bed, and not only that. there was a fire going. My mind was at ease. Trav, on the other hand, was in heaven. 

Dave was trying to figure out Trav and I. We WERE just 2 guys traveling Colorado. I think his way of trying to figure us out was by saying things like, “So here’s your bed, but we, also, have an air mattress under the bed you guys could use…” There was a brief silence as he awaited our response. We were clueless as to what he was trying to do, so we both said, “Nah man, the bed will be just fine.” We probably just solidified every suspicion that he had.

Dave explained to us, and by us I mean Trav, how to get the fire going again once it burnt out. I was actually showering while all of this happened. So, we went to dinner, and when we got back, the fire was out, just as expected. Trav, immediately, put logs in the fireplace and tried to start it up again. I told Trav that he needs lighter fluid or newspapers, or something else to get the fire started. We saw that there was an egg carton there, and each of the 12 slots were soaked in lighter fluid. One of them had already been used to get the initial fire started. Just ONE of them. Trav threw in all of the logs in the basket and one slot of lighter fluid in the fireplace. He became impatient, and threw in 3 more. He was determined to get this fire going, as I was determined to sleep. I woke up about 2 hours into my sleep, drenched in sweat, to a blazing fire going out of control. I looked over at the fireplace and saw Trav, with this terrified look on his face trying to tame the fire, say to me, “I’m not going out like this man.” Meanwhile, I’m assuming Dave was looking creepily through the peep hole in our room saying, “Oh my God what is he going to do next?” I had gone to bed in a flannel and sweatpants and woke up in just my boxers. I do recommend this place, however, I don’t recommend having Travis Shirkman being your fireman.

P.S. I’ve had people ask me about doing more short fictional stories. And no, not just my parents. My sister has been begging me to write more. Ugh. But anyways, I’m going to work on those more and send those out soon :)

New Mehico

As most of you know, I have had quite a bit of free time on my hands. I say, “most of you” because, sadly, most of you that read this either gave birth to me or just happen to be there whenever I need you to be. This hasn’t gone viral…yet. But my mom says, any day now I will be writing for the New York Times. So yeah. Anyways, with all of this free time, I wanted to get out and travel. With me having an absurd amount of airline points and gas being so cheap, I thought it would be a good idea to travel the west. To clear up any confusion, I don’t consider the west coast a part of the west. The west consists of Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah. Since I had already been to Montana and Wyoming (See MANtana blog post), I thought I would fly out, rent a car, and drive to the remaining 5 states. I stayed with friends’ families and Airbnb. If you haven’t used Airbnb, I highly suggest doing so. Airbnb is to hotels as Uber is to taxis. I had multiple Airbnb coupons, so I used those while I was out there. I’m going to break this trip into 5 different blogs for each of the 5 states I visited. Here we go.

Albuquerque, New Mexico was my first stop. Before I go on, let me include that I flew into Denver and drove straight from there to Albuquerque. Let me also include that I was at, what I thought to be, the peak of my sickness that was bestowed upon me. After 7 hours of flight time, I was praying that this drive would pass by as soon as possible. I guess my specific prayer was for a cinder block to be dropped on my right foot. I was weaving in and out of traffic like woah. Btw, if you just watched that whole clip, we need to be better friends than what we are. Anyways, truth be told, the only traffic in my way was the tumbleweeds that were flying in front of my car, but that’s not the point. I had been driving for about 4 hours with no signs of humanity until I see the red and blue lights in my rear view mirror. I guess I was so excited about the speed limit being 75 that I thought there is no way I could possibly get a speeding ticket. Well, I proved myself, and others, wrong, which is one of my best qualities. However, I was pretty upset. Not necessarily at the speeding ticket, but at the fact that I believe the cop was there to stop me from setting some sort of record. I’m actually thankful the cop just gave me a speeding ticket. In a weird way, I feel indebted to the officer, which reminds me, I still need to pay that damn speeding ticket. 

I finally made it to my Airbnb destination in Albuquerque. I stayed at a place that rented out the a room in their house, not the entire home. The couple’s names that I stayed with were Tom and Norma. They’re retired entrepreneurs, and by the looks of their place, successful ones at that. I suggest staying with Tom and Norma if you want to make your way down to Albuquerque. Norma was a chef back in the day and Tom brews his own beer now. Here was the first conversation I had with Tom when I first stepped foot out of my car:

Tom: (Hand-shake offer) Tom

Me: (Accept offer) Josh.

Tom: How long have you been driving?

Me: 6 hours. All the way from Denver.

Tom: Well you like beer?

I had killed 3 beers before I saw the room I was staying in. Tom was very generous. During the third beer, I feared that Tom was almost too generous. I wasn’t looking to get weird with Tom and Norma, but one more of Tom’s brews could have got me there. I declined his offer to the fourth beer, however I needed food stat. I ordered a pizza, actually scratch that; Tom ordered a pizza for me. He asked me what I wanted and I said, “A small meat lovers pizza.” He said, “No let’s get a medium, I’ll have a piece.” I agreed, assuming he was going to pay for this pizza. The pizza guy shows up, and no signs of Tom. I paid for the pizza, then Tom finally showed up, as did Norma. Tom had TWO pieces and Norma had one. You might have thought that I was upset, but no, I do this ALL OF THE TIME. For years, my reply to “Hey you want to get a pizza?” has been “Nah but I’ll definitely take a slice if you get one.” Tom, you son of a gun. You beat me at my own game.

Anyways, there’s not much to do in New Mexico. For all of you Breaking Bad lovers, I did see Walt’s house in Albuquerque, which you can see on my Instagram. If you check out the picture and you’re not following me, please give me a follow. I’m dying to get to 200. Anyways, I saw the owner come out of the house. I asked her if I could throw my leftover pizza on her roof (only Breaking Bad fans will get this), but she said, “No.” Some people man. After being in New Mexico for about 12 hours, I get why someone made a show about a large community of people abusing meth. I know I just made New Mexico sound like a drag to visit, but it’s really not. If you’re looking for touristy things to do, then no, stay away from New Mexico. Actually, if that’s what you’re looking for, you might as well stay away from the west, except for Colorado. That’s what the west is about, and it is possibly my favorite feature America has.

Ke$ha Goes to Rehab

“I shouldn’t be here,” Ke$ha tells herself before she enters the gymnasium doors. As she started to turn around to head back to her car, the door opened, “Ke$ha?” Mr. Murray excitingly asks. With her back turned to Mr. Murray, she tilted her head towards the ceiling, looked towards the florescent light and gave an embarrassing sigh. She puts on a fake smile and says, “That’s me” and heads into the gymnasium.

Ke$ha sits in the first open seat she sees in the circle of metal fold up chairs. “Welcome to drug rehab,” Mr. Murray says full of excitement mainly because a Hollywood star is attending his course. “I would like to introduce a new member to our group tonight. Everybody welcome Ke$ha.” The group wasn’t thrilled about having a person with her stature. I mean, it’s bad enough having normal people judge you, but now having a person with such fame, the judgment will be unbearable because after all famous people don’t struggle, and if they do, they’re so graceful about it.

There are 12 people that have been meeting with Mr. Murray for as long as 8 years every Tuesday night. Among the group of 12, there have been 3 members that have been with the group for its entire duration: Gary, Lucy, and Michael. When they heard Ke$ha was joining their rehab group, all 3 of them threatened to stop attending the group until they realized that, legally, they couldn’t do that.

Mr. Murray usually starts off with a prayer addressing the Jewish God, Jesus Christ, and Allah, so that he can cover all his bases, but this time was different. See, Mr. Murray did his research on Ke$ha and found out that she was a flaming Satanist.

Mr. Murray quiets down the room, “Let us pray.” Everyone in the room bows their head and closes their eyes. “Dear Jewish God, Jesus Christ, Allah, and Lucifer…” Gary lifts his head, opens his eyes, and whispers in complete confusion, “The hell?” Mr. Murray continued his prayer as it was just another prayer. The people were not pleased with Mr. Murray. I mean, Lucifer!? He’s the reason why they’re in this hellhole! Ke$ha’s presence was becoming more and more distasteful.

Michael: Soooo what was all that Lucifer talk about boss?

Mr. Murray: Well I thought I should include him in the prayer, just in case anybody worships him (winking at Ke$ha).

Ke$ha: Wait me? Where did you get this information?

Mr. Murray: (quietly) Wikipedia

Ke$ha: (annoyed) Well, I’m not a Satanist.

Gary: (angry) Then what are you?

Ke$ha: A Buddhist.

(deep sigh from everyone in the room)

Gary: The fat guy? You’re meaning to tell me that the fat guy died on the cross for our sins?

Ke$ha: Not every religion believes that their God died on the cross for our sins.

Gary: Well, you just know everything.

Whatever Ke$ha had to say, the group didn’t want to hear it. They believed that Ke$ha was here to destroy the chemistry they’ve built for years now, but Mr. Murray thought that if they all shared their struggles, maybe they’ll see how alike they are.

“Alright everybody, let’s go around the room and explain what brought us here,” Mr. Murray suggested. Fear struck Ke$ha like never before. She was not ready for this. She was afraid people wouldn’t get her drug addiction. She performed at umpteen concerts in front of thousands of people, but she never experienced anxiety quite like this.

Mr. Murray: Let’s start with you Gary.

Gary: (annoyed) Blow

Mr. Murray: You’re not even going to tell us your name?

Gary: Fine. My name is Gary, even though all but one of you already knew that, and I was addicted to blow (not even giving the group a chance to say, “Hi Gary”)

Mr. Murray: Please refrain from using the street name. It sounds like you’re still using.

Gary: Cocaine! I used to snort cocaine in ma’bloodstream. There.

Mr. Murray: Oook. Lucy…

Lucy: Hi I’m Lucy

Group: Hiii Lucy

Lucy: Yeah and I used heroine, crack, crystal meth, you name it, I did it.

Mr. Murray: Wow. Well, Ke$ha…

Ke$ha: Hi I’m Ke$ha

Group: (under their breath) Hiii Ke$ha

(about 12.5 seconds of silence)

Mr. Murray: Ke$ha, no need to be scared. Just let it all out. What brought you here?

(about 7.3 seconds of silence)

Ke$ha: Love

(yet again another deep sigh fills the room)

Gary: (fuming) Ohhh I get it!

Michael: Love is your drug huh?

Lucy: Is this some kind of joke to you?

Ke$ha: (emotional)

(room is silent)

Ke$ha: I long for love like you long for cocaine Gary or like you long for heroine, meth, or whatever the hell you do Lucy.

Lucy: I do ‘em all.

Ke$ha: Every time a boyfriend, parent, friend, or whoever gives me a taste of love, I constantly want more. When I feel loved, my heart races, I feel invincible. I feel as though I can conquer what I’ve set out to conquer. But when it’s taken from me, I’m depressed, lonely, and scared. Look, I may have fame and fortune, but, at the end of the day, I would rather have love than live.

(silence)

Ke$ha gained the respect of her peers that day. Lucy even bought her CD at Target, and Gary, well, Gary downloaded her music on a highly illegal website. Ke$ha went home feeling relieved. She continued to attend the group for 6 years. With time, she realized that love wasn’t the problem; it was the people in her life. The group she met with every Tuesday night saw Ke$ha for who she is and continued to have her back. This group showed her what love really is. Once Ke$ha figured out that love is not a drug but a beautiful thing, she stopped attending and went on to being a successful Pop star. On June 14^th, 2021, Ke$ha did, ironically, overdose on LSD. She was only 34.