david's declassified halloween survival guide*

I dont exactly remember when my friend Madelaine's obsession with the game Candyland began, but for as long as I could remember, she had always wanted to be the fictional character, Princess Lolly. In fact, a few months prior to Halloween she had even convinced one of the neighborhood kid's to be one of her many accessories, as the Gingerbread Man. So it came to no surprise, when last month, Madelaine asked me to be Lord Licorice.

ME: No, let's just do Archie and Veronica. It's way easier and so much cooler.
MADELAINE: David. I've been known to don a pencil skirt and fake eyelashes in my everyday wear. I'm just gonna look like myself. No one will get that I'm Veronica.
ME: Oh, and like people will get that I'm Lord Licorice? He's not as iconic as Archie.
MADELAINE: Think about it. How many people played the game compared to how many people read the comic book? My guess is more people played the game.
ME: My guess is you're wrong. I just dont wanna be like Ross from Friends in that one Halloween episode where he went as "Spud-nik" and everyone thought he was Doody.
MADELAINE: Trust me, you wont be Doody. You'll be pimp.

And trust I did, as I ventured into several costume shops looking for my costume. Because Lord Licorice isnt exactly a marketed costume, I had to improvise using both my creativity and a pre-packed Vampire of Blood Castle costume. And it was after I bought my costume that I came up with the rules for a good halloween.

Rule number one: buy your costume early. It happened last Sunday morning during Sunday brunch with my family, when Madelaine called to ask me if I could return my costume. Her reason? She couldnt find her costume. Who knew how hard it would be to find a yellow summer dress in the autumn months? But I couldnt return my costume. With the Halloween weekend just around the corner, I knew that would be one task that even my strong powers of persuassion would be defenseless againt and have absolutely no effect on. However, I did use those very same powers on Madelaine and told her I was not trick or treating as Candyland's very own pedophile-looking local, by myself. If I had to be Lord Licorice, then she had to be a character from Candyland as well, whether it be Queen Frostine or, even worse, Grandma Nutt.

Two days later, Madelaine found her dress. It wasnt the right color, but with a little imagination and the right fabric dye, my friend was rockin' a pretty hot lollipop princess look. Maybe Madelaine's Candyland idea wouldnt be so bad after all. They say that fun and happy times come out of the most unusual places, and maybe, just maybe, this would be one of those times.

Saturday afternoon I was still finishing the final touches to my costume by gluing countless red licorice to a gold pimp cane. The glue was still drying as Madelaine and I left and made the party rounds. The first stop was at Madelaine's uncle's house where we learned rule number two: make sure that your costume and accessories are animal retardant. Because we were characters from the fantasy land of candy, our costumes and accessories reflected our fictional origins, which was most appealing, both in sight and in scent. At least that's what the dogs thought as they spent most of their time trying to gnaw off our sweet and colorful creations.

Our next stop was at Madelaine's friend, Daphne's house, where I realized that the Candyland idea was actually well worth the effort. Cruella De Vil, Dorothy Gale, and one of the Mario Brothers were in awe as Madelaine and I made a lap around the house, all agreeing that we both were indeed the best dressed couple of the paarty. The compliments continued well into the night, even after we picked up our friend Bella and headed straight to the north side of town, where we learned rule number three: accept treats only in the doorway - never go inside a house.

The house of horrors we were invited to, turned out to be a house of whores. My boss Alice and Madelaine's new boss Becky, both invited us to the same house with the promise of a good party and an unlimited night of fun, so we had to make an appearence. But by the time we got there, the party had begun to die down. Thankfully though, the drama had not. We were welcomed at the door by the sight of drunken thirty-year old's passed out across the living room floor and throwing up as if they were re-living their high school glory days. My boss Alice was one of them. With drool on her chin and her short black bob wig off-center, Alice tried to look sexy and seductive in her vinyl dominatrix ball gown. Instead she just came off as sick and constapated.

As Alice headed off into the bathroom for a third time, Wendi the Witch graced us with her witchy pressence. Wasnt she supposed to be strapped to a bed in some far away asylum with 3000 units of thorazine swimming in her system? Luckily though, at the stroke of midnight she pulled a Cinderella and totally disappeared. Outta sight and outta mind. Unfortunately though, she was the only one at the party who could perform such a feat, which was a shame since there were some drunken party-goers who should have pulled a Cinderella too, instead of performing the gruesome and horrifying acts of sex on the couch. And so we left.

When you're a kid, you know that a well planned trick-or-treat route is a well way to ensure a good bountiful of fun and candy. Who knew the same rules applied to when you're grown up and old enough to party? Rule number four: plan your entire route beforehand and make sure your family and friends knows what it is. Throughout the night, Madelaine felt as if though not enough people got to see our costumes, because we spent so much time in the car driving from one party to the next. True, had we actually formed a well planned schedule of our night, we probably would have been seen by more people. But that's not the point of Halloween. The point of Halloween is to bump and grind next to George W. Bush and Snow White in El Charro at two in the morning. And to have a contest to see who can down the most medicine-tasting, grape jell-o shots before throwing up. And to eat as much candy as possible, because really, how often do you get to have a hangover with a major sugar high? So I guess, the most important rule of Halloween is just to have fun. Oh and to be safe. But you already knew that...

*RESULTS MAY VARY

needy people

The world is filled with unlikely friendships. How do they begin? With one person desperately in need. And another willing to lend a helping hand. Much like my willingness, early Saturday morning.

I was in the middle of a really good dream, when the annoying door bell rang. And rang. And rang. Where was everybody? Since I couldnt fully go back to sleep without a full glass of warm milk and Excedrin P.M., I got up and answered the door only to find Mrs. Leia Thompson, my mother's friend, and her four-month old baby, Tate, my mother's last minute babysitting gig. But because she and everyone else in my family was away doing Saturday morning errands, I was stuck with this big 20-inch, 20-25 lb. baby.

After Mrs. Thompson left, it was just me and Tate, all alone, with only one thing on our minds: to venture into the unknown and make it out alive. Well, at least that's what was on my mind. Tate just sat there in his car seat, not crying or laughing or doing anything, really. Just looking up at me with his big blue eyes, waiting for me to entertain him for the next few hours. He was the most-well behaved child I had ever met with an overwhelming sense of confidence and assurance, that almost made me feel as if he didnt really need me.

But he did need me. He needed me to help him get out of his car seat. He needed me to make him his bottle. And he needed me to help him turn over, otherwise he would just lay down head first into his blanket because he was still too young to maneuver his own body. If only all children were more like this, instead of drippy snot-nosed brats who want nothing but candy and McDonald's Happy Meals. In fact, if even adults were more like Tate. Like my ex-coworker Wendi.

Wendi had called me later that day, and somehow, convinced me to go Halloween costume shopping with her. Before I knew it, I was in hell. Or as it was more commonly known, Wendi's car, with the strong cigarette smoke and smouldering heat. A few hours and many, many costumes later, I had finally found my costume and was ready to go home and end my improptu shopping date with Wendi. But Wendi wasnt as anxious. After she dropped me off home, Wendi drove around town, killing time by calling old friends and drinking at random dingy bars, when at one in the morning she called me. I was already asleep and clicked IGNORE on my cell, hoping Wendi would get the hint. She didnt. Because a twenty-three minutes later, she text me saying:

Hey bro...j/k, r u still awake?

Why wouldnt she leave me alone?! The next morning during Sunday brunch with my family, Wendi called, asking me why I didnt answer her call. I should've just told her the truth, that I was tired, but I didnt. Instead I made up some story that I was at a party and couldnt hear my phone over the loud music.

WENDI: Oh, uh huh, is that what happened?
ME: Yeah, it was just crazy loud.
WENDI: Oh, uh huh, uh huh, so what time did you get home?
ME: I dont know, like...five, six this morning. I was so drunk.
WENDI: Oh, uh huh, uh huh, because, I went to your house last night to see if you were still awake and I saw you asleep in your bed.

She saw me asleep in my bed? What kind of person was I dealing with? Wendi's surprising answer made me that more determined to prove her wrong with another lie and to make her see she was indeed certifiably psycho. Which I did. But the result lasted for about a second, because Wendi then forgot about the whole thing and asked me what I was doing later that day. I, of course, was "busy", as I was the next day, but desperate Wendi was still persistant with her annoying calls and texts, including the one she left me, Monday afternoon.

"Hello-oooo...Daaaa-vid...where are yoooou? I need to talk to yoooou... I have a surprise for yoooou...call me baaaack...bye!"

When kindness is offered, we are finally able to see the worth of those we have previously written off. And before we know it, a bond has formed. Regardless of whether others can understand it. Unlikely friendships start up everyday. No one understands this more then the lonely. In fact, it's what they count on. But if the lonely are in fact desperate for friendship, is there anyway to make a clean break, while recommending a good mental institution?

the misers club

Turning 21 has it's perks. Most notably is the privillege to walk into a restaurant and/or bar and order an alcoholic beverage that bears a funny name and the ability to make you feel funny all over. Except my mother had different plans.

When I brought home my first bottle of wine, a birthday gift from a dear friend, my religious-fanatic and holier-than-thou mother had a fit. Her house was a Godly house, and "smuggling" a bottle of wine through the threshold was committing a mortal sin. Which was odd, since she had a bottle of merlot displayed in the wine rack in our kitchen, that was given to our family as a house-warming gift from our dearly departed neighbor, Barbara. Why was it ok to have Barbara's wine in our home, but not mine? Was it because Barbara had passed away and throwing away a gift from the deceased was just bad luck? Or was it something else?

I would have investigated into the matter further, but was stopped abruptly when I discovered my mother threw away my bottle of wine and a bottle of malt liquor that I had been saving for over a year and a half to drink after I turned 21. Her reasoning?

"Alcohol, in any shape or form, is a sin against God and indulging in it, is a sure fire way to get yourself kicked out of heaven."

It was pretty out there, and though the quote would qualify any human being as being borderline insane, I could totally respect my mother's wishes to not drink in her home. But the fact that I never got a chance to defend my helpless bottles of bubbly and that my mother took matters into her own hands, made me very upset. I tried using every argument point I could think of, such as Jesus' first miracle was to get the party started and Ben Franklin once said, “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy,” to no avail. My mother wouldnt budge on her firm decision. Not even after I lied and told her the malt liquor was from Bianca, hoping to use the deceased factor in my advantage. So I did the next best thing I could think of...the silent treatment.

A whole week passed by, and not once did I acknowledge my mother's pressence or even so much as make a sound when around her. Until early Friday morning when she said, "David. Your friend is gone and so is your alcohol. Stop crying about it because you're never gonna see them again."

It was the final straw. I realized, I would not get anywhere with my mother. I tried having an adult conversation before the silent treatment, but in my mother's eyes, I would never be an actual adult. I would never find the steps to walk off the high pedestal she had built for me. And no matter how many times I would try to get my point across, I knew we would never see eye to eye on the whole alcohol issue. So I decided to end the fight.

ME: You know what, mom? I'm through fighting with you. I dont wanna keep being mad.

At least that's what I wanted to say. Instead a weird air bubble got caught in my throat, ending my proposed sentence at the word, "through", which my mother took as an opportunity to state her own opinion.

MOM: I'm through with you too. You can leave my house if you want to. I dont care.

It was the sentence heard 'round the house, as I felt a million and one poison-tipped arrows shoot through my body, causing it to numb to a state of lonliness, forming an ugly knot that twisted inside my stomach for what seemed an eternity. What the hell happened? Wasnt I supposed to be the victim in all this? How had I turned into the bad person?

A dark cloud settled over my head, as I headed off to work, with my mother's words still stinging the fresh wound. After I got to work, I realized everyone else had their own dark clouds, hovering above their heads. Some darker than others, but nonetheless, still there. Ashley, who replaced Wendi, who replaced Ashley after the school semester started in August, was having issues with her recently divorced parents. Each parent was fighting for her love, trying to up the other, putting Ashley in the middle of an unfair battle. And Alice, was battling her own issues with her husband, Azten, who had not come home since last night, leaving Alice to believe something horrible had happened.

There was only one thing to do. Go out for lunch at Cafe Poca Cosa, and get stinkin' drunk.

When the lunch hour arrived, we remembered Ashley was still two years away from the legal age, and so Alice and I promised her we'd drink in her misery as well. We toasted to the fact that love sucks and drank several margarita's when Alice's phone rang. It was Azten. Immeadiately, Alice walked outside, and through the window, I could tell from her facial expressions that a very heated argument would ensue later that afternoon.

When she came back in, she took a long, hard drink and explained that Azten's partying had somehow landed him in Phoenix and had added another strain onto their stressful marriage. One lunch and a highly caloric mousse for dessert later, Alice was feeling much better and oddly enough, so was Ashley. Her mother had called to apologize for her immature behavior, and soon everyone's dark clouds began to fade away. Everyone but mine.

white trash wish

My friend Bella emailed me a joke the other day: a fat, black man found a lamp. He rubbed it and out popped a genie who granted the man three wishes. "I want to be white, skinny, and surrounded by pussy!" said the man and so the genie granted his wishes and turned him into a tampon. The lesson found in that particular joke is, be careful for what you wish for...it may come true. But how often do wishes come true and what factors help make it come true?

It all started three weeks ago, when my boss Alice invited me and my co-worker, Wendi with an I, to a fundraiser event, held by one of our most prestige floral clients. Wendi had offered me a ride to the event, but when the time came to pick me up, Wendi was no where to be found. She claimed she had gone to Vail on a family emergency and left her phone behind in Tucson. And then, in an odd and unexplainable state of events, had to go pick up her phone, in Vail, the following day.

Either way, Wendi's no call, no show left me with no ride to the fundraiser, and so, I stayed home on a lonely Saturday night. It was upsetting that Wendi was so inconsiderate, and as I put away my pale, rose-colored Sean John shirt, I wished ill will towards my co worker.

My wish partially came true the following weekend, when Wendi went out to a local bar with Alice and a group of Alice's friends. Everyone liked Wendi, but there was something about her that made her...unique. Nobody, could pin-point what it was, until, Alice's brother-in-law, Jack, jokingly said that Wendi had moved from Ghettoville Hills and settled into a dingy neighborhood, right smack in the middle of White Trash Trailer Park. I'll admit the off-color comment was a little rude, but it did expalin Wendi's odd behavior.

It explained why she bought 99¢, discount bin, Calgon perfume. It explained why she saved the free makeup samples found in the inserts of beauty magazines. It explained why Wendi thought a pair of olive green denim jeans, purchased at a discount dollar store, was nothing short of a shopping miracle. And it explained why Wendi didnt show up to work last Tuesday. Apparently, a night of cheap beer and pot have a tendency to make one sleep until mid-afternoon.

Alice warned Wendi that if she ever missed work again, without calling in, she would presume it as a sign of voluntary termination, which wasnt at all surprising. But what was surprising was how after the incident happened, Alice gave in her two-cents to the whole White-Trash-Wendi "fun". As a boss, wasnt it Alice's job to maintain a professional manner about the whole ordeal? Wasnt it her job to define the line between personal and professional business?

As the week went by, Alice was quick to point out Wendi's quirky traits as nothing more than white-trash behavior, and like two bitchy school girls, gossiping behind the schoolyard slide, Alice and I made fun of Wendi behind her back. We chuckled at the numerous key chains and pins she hung from the inside of the roof of her car. We giggled at her hemp sandals and metallic blue, toenail polish. And we guffawed at the alarming resemblense she shared with the Bride in Tim Burton's The Corpse Bride. Wendi had unofficially become the laughing stock of our little shop of brutal horrors.

But then yesterday, all fun and games came to a complete halt. Wendi had once again failed to show up for work and failed to let anyone know her whereabouts. It was Boss Apprieciation Day, and because Alice was overwhelmed with the amount of orders, I filled in for Wendi, while Alice waited, by the phone, for Wendi's call. Wendi didnt call Alice until later that evening, after we had closed the shop and after she verbally abused her grandmother for letting her oversleep. Through big, ugly, bloody murder cries, Wendi tried to explaine that she had overslept due to a series of unfortunate partying and pleaded with Alice for her job back. But Alice stood firm with her decision, leaving Wendi to mourn alone in her room, and leaving me with the harsh realization that my wish had come true. Except, this was a wish, I wish I could take back.

Orignially, this post was going to be a post asking for suggestions on how one should deal when working with someone whose odd behavior made her a laughing stock. But now, after recent events, and a bizarre Texas Chainsaw Massacre-esque crying voice mail left by Wendi, I wonder if I should still maintain a polite and cordial relationship with Wendi? But then again, is it ever safe to maintain a relationship with someone after you discover that they had previously been diagnosed with a bi-polar disease that left them with major depression and suicidal thoughts and it was because of said relationship that kept them from going over the deep edge?

a tale of two birthdays

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. No, this wasnt a tale of two cities. This was actually a tale of my two-day weekend birthday.

It all started on the eve of my birthday. I was still undecided as to how I should and would celebrate my special day. Some believed a nice three course dinner at the Star Pass Marriot Resort was a nice idea. Some believed in the grand tradition of bar hopping around town. While others held a drunken strip club idea in the highest regards.

It wasnt until the day of my birthday that I had finally formulated a plan that would allow me to spend my special day with all my friends and family. Unfortunately, since I had taken so long, everyone assumed I just wasnt in the mood to celebrate. Some opted to babysit the children of old family friends. Some chose to go see their other friends perform in concerts. And some, like my good friend Maria, chose to go on a date with the new Colorado Rockies ball player.

His name was Rocky. They had seen each other around the U of A campus, but never really spoke to each other, until one fine day, when Rocky walked through the glass doors at Maria's job and asked her out. Of course, Maria would have to set the entire date up, since Rocky was staying at the Clarion Suite and had no car or the vaguest idea of what Tucson had to offer when it came to first dates. And so since I hadnt any real birthday plans of my own, Maria was much obliged to have a Friday dinner date for her own.

No plans, no friends, I knew my birthday would be just like any other day with no real signifcance and October 6 would soon fade away. That's when my friend Rose called. She was tired of waiting for an answer and planned an entire night of bar hopping with our friends. It was the nicest thing Rose had ever done for me...until she ruined the moment, when she asked to borrow my last twenty, promising to pay me back double later. But I didnt care because before I knew it, I was stumbling around drunk in the living room of our mutual friend Pamela, waiting for the rest of my birthday entourage to arrive.

And in a hotel room across town, Maria had arrived to begin her date with Rocky. Unfortunately, Rocky wasnt as ready as Maria, as she saw that he answered the door wearing only a pair of dirty denim jeans. Ironically enough, it was his roommate's birthday and Rocky felt bad for leaving his birthday friend all alone, and asked Maria if she minded just staying in for the night. It was enough to make Maria feel so bad and so guilty, she made an immeadiate mental note to triple my birthday gift and never cancel a date for a date ever again.

After everyone arrived, I left with Rose and her new boyfriend Jon, ready to paint the town red. Unfortunately, the only thing that was getting red was Rose's face when Jon complained to me that he hadnt been getting any. Sex, that is. No matter how hard he begged or promised, Rose just wasnt in the mood to have sex with Jon, which of course made her mad when he tried feeling her up in the car with me in the backseat. A heated argument ensued, forcing Rose to step out of the car, hoping Jon would put a pause to the unwanted sexual advances. Instead, he high tailed it out of there, leaving Rose in a dark neighborhood, and me with my slow-processing thoughts and a bottle of Chambord. I tried to convince Jon to go back and get my deserted friend, but that only angered him more, and I realized I was in the backseat of a car, being driven by a complete and total, unstable stranger. So, I asked to get out and with my bottle of Chambord by my side, I proceeded to find Rose, only to discover she left her phone in Jon's car.

The evening had turned into a royal mess. I was lost in a dark neighborhood on the corner of Broken Beer Bottle and Prostitute, with only a Visa and BlackBerry as my means for survival. Of course, in a neighborhood like this, a Visa and BlackBerry were also means for getting shot down and left to die behind the tall, yellow grass. My sexually harrassed friend was no where to be found and because I had just gotten my new phone, I didn't have the numbers to the rest of my entourage, and my parents would kill me if they knew where I was. There was just one person left to call.

Even though she was in the middle of dinner with another friend and the drummer and lead singer of a local rock band, Madelaine came to my rescue. When all seemed lost and I thought I would be an unfortunate story on the 10 o'clock news, Madelaine was there on the phone to guide me and lead me to a bus depot that would eventually take me into downtown, where Madelaine and her friend Bella would be waiting for me. I spent the rest of my night with Madelaine and Bella eating Taco Bell and learning how to ballroom dance before I eventually crashed out on Madelaine's bed and ended my birthday with a snore.

Meanwhile, in an empty hotel parking lot, across town, Maria was ending her date with Rocky. Though it wasnt like most "get-to-know-you" first dates, it was still fun. Rocky made Maria laugh and loved it when she confessed she barely knew anything at all about baseball. Minus the It was the perfect first date, that was forced to come to an end when Maria saw it was close to one. Her golden carriage was about to turn back into a pumpkin, when Robert asked Maria if she would dance with him. And right there, under the moonlight, in the deserted parking lot, they slow danced to bachata music, a popular Dominican Republic export, played from Rocky's cell phone.

A little while later, I awoke because I couldn't sleep and spent the rest of the night trying to recall the events of my birthday night wondering if Rose was alright, if I had actually just spent my night the way I did, and whether or not 2 tacos + 2 more late night mixed drinks would = an unpleasant sick brought up-4th from my stomach.

The next day after Madelaine took me home I decided to just stay in and sleep and wait another day to use my I.D. I had the entire house to myself since my dad decided to accompany my mother with her babysitting gig and my brothers were attending the 18th birthday party of a friend. But not for long. Feeling horribly horrible, Rose called the Friday entourage and after many apologies threw an outrageous party at my house.

The alcohol flowed freely and all were merry, and for a mere moment all was right within my kingdom. That is until early next morning, when I realized my family were expecting to come home to a sober and no alcohol zoning area. Never before in my life did I clean so fast or so hard and with Rose's help, windows were washed, carpets were cleaned, and my birthday weekend came to a smooth landing. Next year, I'm totally hiring a party planner.

the dearly un-departed

My high school photography teacher once said that pictures not only captured memories, but immortality. Youth and beauty would forever remain in the confinements of glossy squares, and the subject would continue to live on forever.

Of course, at the time, I took those words with the proverbial grain of salt, not fully understanding how powerful they were. And without giving it a second thought, I photographed an entire roll of film, using my high school crush, Bianca Moreno, as my subject.

After we graduated from high school, Bianca was diagnosed with a tumor in her leg, that transformed into cancer. She had been battling with the disease for the past three years, losing her hair, but not her spirit. It was strange seeing my friend with a colorful Pucci scarf over her head, where her long hair should have been, but what wasn't strange was how optimistic we all were about Bianca making it through. Sadly though, she didnt, and late, last Thursday night, Bianca passed away.

When Madelaine called me to tell me the bad news of our dear friend, I almost thought she was playing a really cruel joke. Bianca couldn't be dead. She just turned 21. She still had her whole life to live. No. She couldnt be gone. She just couldnt. But despite my denial, she was.

We released white balloons that Friday night at Tucson High School's homecoming football game, in Bianca's honor. And once I finally started to slowly accept the fact that maybe Bianca was truly gone, she paid me a visit. Well, sorta.

That night, I had three dreams. In the first dream, I was at our old high school, waiting in the deserted quad, for Bianca. But she never showed. In the second dream, I was at an open deserted mall, waiting to meet up with Bianca so we could continue our shopping excursion. She sent a text to my BlackBerry phone, saying she would only be a few more minutes, but in the end, she never showed. In the third and final dream, outside a small French cafe, I waited for Bianca. She made a phone call, promising to show, but before I could catch a glimpse of my dearly departed friend, I awoke.

I didnt know what to make of my strange dreams. Everyone around me was convinced the reason Bianca couldnt visit me, was because she was having too much fun in heaven and though that should've been reason enough for bygones to be bygones, it wasnt.

Even when I saw Bianca laying in her immaculate satin-lined coffin, I kept expecting her to jump up and apologize to her family, her friends, and our entire graduating class, for playing such a cruel joke. I couldnt fully grasp the concept that she was really gone. She looked exactly the same in the photographs I had taken, just a little paler, a little tired, and a little sad.

This wasnt supposed to happen. I wasnt supposed to see my old high school classmates for another eight more years, when it was our 10-year reunion. But one classmate I was happy to see was my old friend Kelly...or would've been, had I actually gotten the chance to talk to her, before she left. As the funeral began to slowly dwindle down, I left, leaving the photographs I took of Bianca with her mom, and just a little more acceptance and understanding that she was really gone.

That night, before I went to sleep, I started to talk to both God and Bianca. It was a confusing sorta talk, as I was already half-asleep, and half-drunk, but somehow I managed to have a full conversation. Which came to an abrupt end when I asked Bianca for a sign to let me know she was really ok. I, of course, changed my mind and ixnay-ed my strange request, because I rememebered I get spooked real easily by spooks, and ended the spiritual conversation with a snore.

The next morning, I got my sign. There it was, on my French Colony desk, a year-old post-it with Kelly's number, that I thought I had lost, long ago. I had cleaned out the contents of my entire desk a week ago, unearthing both a giant scatter of forgotten papers, and the very unlikely, but very possible, resting place of the post-it. The very fact that I discovered Kelly's number, only a few hours after I asked Bianca for a sign, unnerved me. Was it possible, my mortal friend had become immortal and visited me in the night? Or was my dream and post-it sign just a matter of odd coincidences?

They say that hearts and clocks slow down as they approach the speed of light, the point in which matter is converted into energy. Bianca's heart approached that speed last Thursday, converting her matter into energy. Into pure white light. Though Bianca was no longer with us, was it at all possible that she was still around us?

its not my party, can i cry if i want to?

Eleven years ago, a man saw a small, vague, formless object hiding in the desert bush, on the outskirts of his ranch in Three Points. The pale moonlight cast dark shadows, making it difficult to unmask the strange moving creature. It was too big to be an animal, yet too small to be a threat to his land. But like any frontier, wilderness man, the man had to protect his wife and children, and went out into the night to investigate. What he found, was a small 11-year old boy, sleeping in the cool desert sand with only a handful of clothes to keep him warm. The boy was an illegal immigrant from Mexico, who had been working on the next ranch over. The man could see that the boy was tired and hungry and out of the kindness of his heart, he took him into his home.

The man discovered that the boy left Mexico, after it became clear that his mother's new boyfriend wanted him dead, rather than to be a part of the family. Every night, the boyfriend beat the boy, demanding he go out and work, and every night, his mother stood there and watched, taking sides with the man she believed would give her a future. The boy ran away from home, in hopes of a better life, and a chance to stay alive. After ariving in Arizona and working for weeks underneath the unforgiving, hot desert sun, the boy soon found hope. That man, who found him sleeping in the desert was my Uncle Miguel. And, unofficially, the boy became my step-cousin Juan.

Though he wasnt a blood relative, Juan became part of the family and was included in every birthday, graduation and Christmas gathering. With the help of my uncle and my Aunt Tracy, he learned English, and went to school, graduating with honors in his class. He got a job with my grandfather and uncle's drywall company, bought a truck and was living the above-average version of the American dream. Unfortunately, Juan's dream turned into a nightmare.

Three years ago, Tracy found out her father had been having a highly intense affair with her aunt, and the people she once thought were her cousins, were actually her half-brothers and half-sisters. It was a devastating and crushing blow to Tracy, that caused a major rift in her family, and divided them. Refusing to take sides, Tracy and her family were cast as black sheeps and were sent to live in exile and oblivion. Petty rivalry soon turned into bloodthirsty revenge, when it was discovered that a few weeks ago, Tracy forgave her father for his adulturous past. Outraged, Tracy's mother used the one blackmail card she had on her daughter: Juan.

Tracy's mother knew Juan was living illegally in Arizona, under the loving and caring eye of her daughter's family, making her daughter and her son-in-law criminals, for harboring a fugitive. Several times the border patrol came, and each time, Tracy and her Miguel sent them away, claiming to not know the whereabouts of their "son" Juan, when in reality he was just a few miles away at a friends house, in hiding.

For the next couple of weeks, Miguel, Tracy and their family remained strong. That is, until yesterday, when my family had gone over to help them move into their new house and I asked Tracy where her family was. And it was right there, in her newly refurbished kitchen, that Tracy broke down and cried out every one of her fears. She wondered why her own side of the family had turned against her and wasnt there for support when she needed them the most. She wondered if God had truly forsaken her. But most of all, she wondered what Juan thought of her and her family, and wondered if he saw them as just another family he would eventually have to run away from again.

To reaffirm the faith, that her family would never stop loving Juan, Tracy wanted to do something special for Juan's 22nd birthday, which happenes to fall on October 7, the day after mine. And it was right there, in the newly refurbished dining room, that Tracy, my mother, and the rest of my aunts decided to throw Juan a surprise birthday. In front of me, they discussed possible menus. In front of them, I wondered to myself, if they had forgotten my birthday. In front of me, they talkled about themes and decorations. And in front of them, I wondered to myself, if I was being selfish for wanting a birthday celebration like Juan.