Don't Leave Me Here, Patrick!

I love living downtown. I have the weirdest experiences. This morning I was awoken at 1:30 by some shouting outside. I pulled myself out of a daze quickly enough to poke my head out the window and see what was going on. My eyes came into near-focus as a young woman pulled herself up from the sitting position on the sidewalk. From what my blurry eyes could make out she was pulling her pants up and trying to run. At first I thought maybe I had barely missed seeing this girl getting raped. But as she ran into a parking lot she screamed, "Patrick!! Don't leave me here!" And she was weeping dramatically. "Patrick!!!" She screamed in complete distress. I didn't see Patrick anywhere near by. "Come back!"

Then she started running up the street in her flip flops. "Patrick!" She pulled her cell phone out and I could see from the glowing screen that she was making a phone call or sending a text, mostly likely to Patrick because he had left her there. "Boo hoo hoo" she cried. Then she was gone. I layed back down baffled by what I had just witnessed. Suddenly I heard her coming back. "Hello?" she said, answering a phone call. "Patrick! Come back. Don't leave me here." She resumed weeping melodramatically. Running in the opposite direction her frantic screams for Patrick faded into the night air.

I hope she found Patrick.

Hello, My name is Adrian

Last night I had a particularly awkward experience. My mom convinced me to go with her to the viewing of her Uncle Jess. I met my mom, Grandma, and Aunt Geri at the funeral home on South Temple, which I swear is haunted. While the ladies were taking a quick potty break before viewing the corpse, I took myself on a little tour of the facility. Sure enough, it was about 100 years old, which means it HAS to be haunted. I found a secret dark staircase that went to... I don't know where. The light on my cell phone was not bright enough to light all the way to the bottom of the stairs. A chill ran up me spine, so I turned around.

Well, that's not the awkward part. When we entered the viewing area there weren't more than 20 people, counting the dead body. My mom introduced me to some of her cousins. I have never seen these people in my life, but I pretended to be interested in knowing who each one was. Then one of the cousins came up and my mom introduced me. "This is my son Jon. Jon, this is so-and-so." (I've already forgotten the names.) She said, "Nice to meet you, Adrian." I was like, "What?" She was like, "Your name is Adrian?" I was like, "No, Jon. But close."

Anyway, after a few more similarly awkward experiences I decided it was time to leave. Afterall, you can only sit and stare at a dead body in a casket for so long before it gets kinda creepy. My mom walked me out to my car and while we were outside chatting her cousin pulled up and climbed out of her Expedition wearing a bright blue linen dress and white socks and white sandals. Pretty classy. I had to giggle. This cousin's name was Benet (like Jean Benet). She has a sister named Monet. I think their parents like French-sounding names.

So the moral of the story is that family can be the cause of some of the most awkward experiences in life. I hope when we get to heaven and meet all our dearly-departed that it isn't as awkward as my experience at the funeral home was. I'll just need to make sure my heavenly name tag clearly says "JON" so no one confuses me for Adrian again.

Classic Peg

This is hilarious. You must watch it at least 5 times until you think it is as funny as I do.

Why Do I Feel Bad for Homeless People?

This morning when I was returning home from the gym I was stopped in my drive way by a man. He was homeless, as I found out later. He asked if I could do him a favor. I listened to his tale of misery and wo. He got permission from the "father" of the LDS church down the street to sleep behind the building. Well he left his sleeping bag and blankets there the night before, and when he returned someone had stolen them. So he walked over to the Sacred Heart Church down the street and slept there. A kind woman had given him a quilt to sleep in, but at 2 in the morning the sprinklers came on and drenched him. Poor guy. Well, he was waiting for the alcohol sobriety facility to open, although he was "not an alcoholic." He asked if I could give him some change to go to the Burger King and get some breakfast. Well, there I was standing in my gym bottoms and the only thing I had on me was my gym membership card, my phone, and my keys. I told him I didn't have anything but really wished I could help out.

Now, here's the moral concern of the day. I told him I wished I could help. I really did feel bad that he had to sleep behind the church, that he got his livelihood stolen, and that he got soaked by the early morning sprinklers. But if I really wished that I could help him I could have gone inside and gotten a few dollars from my wallet. Or gone to my car and given him the little sack of change I keep in the glove box for emergencies. But I didn't. And as I soaked myself in a nice warm shower I thought that I should go find the man and give him some change to buy breakfast at Burger King. But I didn't go find him.

Next time I will help. I think.