I'm Dating Myself

I really must apologize to any one of my friends or family members who may not already know about my current relationship, but it's about time we made this thing public.  Of course by "we" I mean "me" because I am dating myself.  I've been on-and-off for over 22 years now.  I finally made a sort of commitment about three years ago, when I took myself on my very first real date.  I'll admit I was not my first choice, but when nobody else accepted my invitation to the movies, I settled for me.  I was a bit nervous about what people might think when they saw me with myself, but I ending up being quite proud to stroll into a theater full of middle-aged men with me on my arm.  I saw "Captain America: The First Avenger" and had a really good time.

 After the movie, I couldn't stop raving about how much I loved it.  I opened up quite a bit and told myself all about my fascination with WWII history and American culture of the 1940's.  I even went so far as to tell me that I am hopelessly, indescribably patriotic.  Surprisingly, I was not turned off by my passionate soliloquy about Jazz and super heroes.  In fact, I surprised myself by stopping at Walmart on the way home to buy a Captain America poster for my bedroom wall.  I held my hand for the first time in the juice aisle.  Small things like that are what keep my relationship so strong.

I'd be lying if I said it hasn't been a rocky road.  I've had a few crushes that really jeopardized the stability of my relationship.  I even broke up with myself once or twice to try dating other people, but it never worked out.  I’m just glad I was able to take myself back after what must have seemed like ultimate betrayal.  Me and myself have been exclusive for quite a while now, and my relationship is stronger than ever.

When “Captain America: The Winter Soldier” came to theaters a few weeks ago, I decided it would be the perfect thing to celebrate my first real anniversary since getting back together.  I planned it all in secret, buying the movie tickets the morning of opening day and canceling all of my evening plans.  I then spent the morning getting all spiffed up; I wanted to look nice.  Feeling great in my newest pair of overalls, I picked myself up from work, which was a real surprise. 

When I came out of work and saw my car sitting there waiting, it was all I could do to keep from breaking out my disco ball and channeling my inner Kevin Bacon into a dance of excitement.   It had been a while since I went on a real date.  I had been spending a lot of time in the library and calling it a date, but I knew it was a poor excuse.  I needed to get out and do something fun.  It was like I read my mind.

I took myself to the Wendy’s drive-through.  I know it sounds cheap, but I have a real history with myself at Wendy’s.  The first few times I really opened up to myself were over Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers, and some of my biggest arguments with myself were smoothed over with a famous relationship-mending chocolate Frosty.  This time, however, was all celebration.  I was not holding back and I wanted to let myself know.  I told myself I could order anything I wanted, even if it wasn't from the dollar menu.  I don’t like to spoil myself, but I think splurging occasionally is an important way of letting me know that I really am committed to the relationship.  I smiled at myself and ordered one of the fancy chicken sandwiches that Wendy’s is almost kind of known for.

I don’t know if you could call me superstitious, but I’ll admit that I believe in many things that most people don’t.  Sasquatch, for example, is something I’m convinced is completely real.  I think I saw one coming out of a Yellowstone bathroom once.  If I’m not mistaken, this was the subject of my first real argument with myself that led to sharing my first chocolate Frosty.  Maybe it’s because I’m too imaginative, but I totally believe in almost all things supernatural.  Maybe it’s because I watch a lot of the television show “Supernatural.”  At any rate, it was for this reason I got really nervous when I pulled up to the drive-through window and the cashier repeated my total, “$6.66.”

I thought about canceling the date and taking myself home.  It sounds silly now, but at the time I thought for sure this was a bad omen, and on my anniversary!  My mind was racing with thoughts of everything that could go wrong.  How could I enjoy “Captain America” if my chicken sandwich was somehow infected with a rare disease from the Amazon that rendered me incapable of seeing the color blue?  What if the Sasquatch was angry with me for ratting on him about the Yellowstone bathroom and he showed up at the theater intending to take me prisoner?  My head was spinning with fear and the Wendy’s cashier was getting ready to call for backup when I thought of a plan.  I handed her $6.67 and drove away, happily singing along to my favorite song that just happened to come on the radio.  The date was going to be okay.

I took the meal back to my apartment, where I could eat it in intimate privacy:  my roommates were gone for the night and I knew I could be alone.  I thought about turning on some mood music, but the moment passed when I surprised myself with a gift.  It was totally unexpected, and I felt a little guilty for not thinking to get myself a gift in return.  Regardless, I hastily opened the package.  Again, it was like I read my mind.  Inside was the cutest new swimsuit I had ever seen.  It was like I somehow knew that my old swimsuit was starting to wear out.  I’m just always on the same page as myself, which is how I know this relationship is more than just a fling.  It was the perfect surprise.

I thanked myself and we departed for the movie theater.  I remembered how seeing the first Captain America movie had been a major boost in my confidence about the relationship.  I had seen the first showing of the morning on opening day in a theater in a small suburban town.  The theater at that time was filled with nothing but middle-aged, overweight men that may or may not have quit their jobs to see the movie and most definitely smelled like cheap burritos.  I couldn't help being super proud of the fact that I was the only female there, not to mention my hot date.

The experience of the Captain America sequel was a bit of a different story.  I saw it in the evening on opening day in a college town.  The theater was filled with small groups of freshman girls gawking at Captain America’s perfectly styled hair and young, good-looking couples who were obviously on first dates.  I’ll admit I felt a little bit intimidated by the freshness of all the relationships compared to my long-lasting one.  I had grown increasingly afraid over the previous few weeks that what I had with myself was growing stale.  Just as I took my seat, however, I realized that the stand-alone group of attractive young men was staring at me with jealousy in their eyes.  They were jealous that I was on a date with myself, and I knew it.  I instantly felt confident in the relationship once again.  My date was a hot commodity.

Throughout the movie, I kept making attempts to hold my hand before chickening out.  It shouldn't have been hard, seeing as I had held my hand several times before, but something about the pressure of an anniversary made it difficult.  I was relieved when I was the one who took the initiative to hold my hand instead.  I enjoyed the movie through and through.  It couldn't have been a more perfect date.

            Since then, I've been getting a lot of questions from friends and family as to whether I think this relationship is the real deal.  I can’t say for sure yet, because I've decided to take things slow.  I can’t help but worry, however, that staying in a relationship with myself forever would ultimately make me unhappy.  I’ve forced myself to think through all the possible outcomes.  Not including the ones where the Sasquatch kills me or I go missing after hunting for the perfect chicken nugget, there are three scenarios I think are the most likely.

            The first scenario is that I stay with myself and it works out really well.  I go on to be the writer/producer of a successful television sitcom.  I’m super supportive of my career.  I don’t have any children, but I become good friends with the old Greek lady across the street that collects pictures of Sandra Bullock and clocks that tick backwards.  Eventually I move from television to film and fulfill my lifelong dream of being an editor for the next Steven Spielberg.  I grow old gracefully, and when I leave the film business I become a ranger at Glacier National Park, where I specialize in telling people to stay on the designated trails.

            The second scenario is a bit grimmer.  In this situation, I stay with myself, but things get stale quickly and I become unhappy.  I move into my grandparent's basement.  I live there long after they've sold their house to the successful lawyer/model and his blonde athlete wife.  I bang my broom on the ceiling when their three beautiful children are laughing too cheerfully.  I get hideously old and lose my sense of humor.  I start buying wombats and naming them all Harold.  Eventually, I wind up on the TV show “Hoarders” because I still have every sock I've ever worn.  I die old and alone.  Only Harold(s) come to my funeral.

            In the third scenario, I don’t stay with myself at all.  Some foreign scientist who shares my love for Otter Pops will sweep me off my feet, and we will get married in London after a good solid year of dating.  I’ll stay at home taking care of our children, who are better-looking than the lawyer/model’s and I’ll invent apps in my spare time.  My husband will find a way to put the cure for cancer into a taco and the world will be a better place.

Also, my husband will look like be Tom Hiddleston.

            I can’t know for sure what will happen, but I’m happy with where I’m at right now.  I don’t know whether I'll stay with myself forever or not, but I think it’s important that I’m taking the time to get to know and love myself.  It could really benefit Harold(s) someday.

Blogger's Block

Hey there.

I realize I haven't posted in a while.  That's because I've been working through a really tough thing called "Blogger's Block."  Don't ask any questions, it's a super sensitive topic.

Anyway, the major symptom is feeling like I have nothing to write about.  Another symptom is barfing.  Probably.  I haven't actually experienced that one yet.

I talked to an expert, and she said the best way to cure the block is to post something on my blog, even if I don't feel good about it.  That's why what you are about to read is complete crap.  You know what?  Don't even read it.  You might be the one barfing if you do.

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I see you didn't take my advice.  Very well.  Don't say I didn't warn you.  Or threaten you with severe digestive discomfort.

This had been my life lately:

(I meant to draw attention to the complicated nature of this photo, but now all I'm seeing is the Death Star, which might also be a very accurate representation of my life recently.  I'll let you figure that one out.)

For one thing, I'm getting mixed messages all over the place.  Well, not really, but the juxtaposition of these photos did cause quite the existential crisis:

I emailed the second picture to myself.  The email read, "Don't let this pic fool you.  You are your own best friend."  I've actually been emailing myself a lot since school started.  It feels pretty good.  The following is straight-up copy/pasted from an email two weeks ago:

Heeeeey there.

It's real awkward in this computer lab.  But you rock and you finished this paper like a boss.  Now eat some smelly crackers and print your paper.

Go watch Singin' in the Rain.  You deserve it.

Loves,

Amy

Hmm.  Yes.

I guess it's good that I'm writing this blog post.  I've had a lot of things to say lately, but Twitter is too restrictive and Facebook is too annoying (I keep saying I hate Facebook, but that's a lie based on how much time I spend on the dang thing).  I came this close to posting a few things.  Lucky for you, I didn't.  Even more lucky for you, I'm about to go crazy here, on my personal blog and therapeutic outlet. 

Get your game face on.

1.  Yesterday I deleted/organized my emails.  All 3,851 of them.  Then I had night cereal because I deserved it.

2.  At least 80% of all status updates I've ever seen are about the weather.  It's like Facebook small talk, except with Facebook there isn't a social obligation to say anything.  At all.  Stop it.

3.  I'm hilarious on Twitter.  Not really, but pretty please follow me anyway @AmyLouHilton.

4.  You know the buttons you push at crosswalks to get the walk signal?  I never push them an even number of times because I convinced myself it will cancel out my walking request.

5.  I have a lot of celebrity doppelgangers.  You remember THIS, right?  Well I've started getting a new one:  

Emma Stone

6.  Can you tell I just learned how to put links in my blog?  I'm excited about it, too.  As a matter of fact, I'm about to do it again.  HA.

7.  My cousin read THIS one and told me that he, too, thinks about the names printed on milk jugs.  He always thought they were the names of the cows that gave the milk, but realized that doesn't make sense because boy cows do not make milk.

8.  This post is like one of those episodes of a sitcom where they reminisce about things that happened in other episodes.  Also, I'm obsessed with television.  Good thing I work for a broadcasting company.

9.  I ran out of things to say.

10.  This is the end of the post.

11.  Wait, seriously.  Go home.

12.  Why are you still here?  I was about to take off my pants.

13.  Fine.  You know what?  The pants are coming off whether you like it or not.  I'm tired.

14.  Feeling awkward?  GOOD.  Now maybe you'll leave.

15.  Furreels?

16.  Look, you're not making this easy for me.

17.  Get!  Get outta here, you old dirty stray!  I never wanted you here in the first place!

Kbai Luv you!

Milk Names

Have you ever noticed the names printed on gallons of milk?  I think they’re the names of the employees who check the milk.  Probably.  The quality milk quality checkers.  (I couldn’t decide if ‘quality’ should go before or after ‘milk’ so I put it in both places.)  Don’t worry, I took a photo just in case you have no idea what I’m talking about:

Have you ever wondered about these people’s lives?  Maybe I’m crazy, but I think a lot about these people on a regular basis.  The only problem with this is that I will never ever find out who these people really are.  Instead I invent stories for them.

Eric, for example, is 52 years old and has a wife and two children, both of whom attend college in the state of Colorado.  His wife stayed at home but recently started a jewelry business which she promotes on her blog.  Eric has high cholesterol and enjoys taking care of his raspberry bushes with his Shih Tzu named Tony.  Eric is actually the CEO of Western Family, and happened to inspect this gallon of milk while doing his time on the TV show “Undercover Boss.”  After doing the show, he fired an incompetent delivery guy and gave nobody a raise.  His dog Tony recently got a cataract in his left eye.

David is 16 years old and wants to be an accountant.  He lives with his grandmother, Evelyn, who got him a job inspecting milk because she’s good friends with the manager’s wife, Martha.  He works every day after school except on Tuesdays, when he has oboe lessons.  David skipped the first grade but doesn't tell anyone because he’s a bit short.  His father is a truck driver he only sees on holidays and his mother was killed in a boating accident when David was 4.

Diana is a 20 year old blonde who is originally from Kentucky, but moved to Nevada when her boyfriend, Ron, joined a band and dumped her.  People are always telling her she looks like Hilary Duff, but she just doesn’t see it.  She got a small apartment in a college town and inspects milk to pay the rent.  In her spare time Diana watches Ellen, eats oatmeal, and looks at pictures of Ron on Facebook.

Anyway….It’s been a good day.  If you asked me what I did, I might say that I went to work, did my laundry, and cleaned my room, but I did so much more, too.  I found a dead spider in my suitcase.  I danced to Ke$ha all by myself.  I watched a video of Nick Jonas playing baseball and he fell on his face.  I remembered being clever when I named my aloe vera plant Ali V.  I ate a handful of Skittles and saved the red ones for last.  I thought of some Amy Proverbs (watch for them on Twitter @amylouhilton).  I drank out of my Captain America cup while listening to a song called Captain America, and I didn’t do it on purpose.  I stepped on a pinecone.  I took a selfie of me in my shorteralls:

AND I read an amazing story written by my good friend Wes (http://inscape.byu.edu/2013/06/13/so-close-to-heaven/).  You should read it as well.

Hey! That Was Mine!

One time I had a discussion with some fellow film majors about how, even though regular people die tragically every day, the world would probably be more upset if somebody were to bomb, say, the Oscars.  Who would be in movies?  What kind of people would we obsess over?  I know, it's a sad thought. (There are two thoughts I could be referring to.  Although it would be sad if every actor was killed, it's also sad that the world might care more about that than the people already dying.)  BUT what came out of this discussion was an idea.  What would the world do if all the actors died?

I didn't develop the idea a whole lot, but I did get to the point where I thought it might make an interesting movie in one way or another.

Except then I saw a trailer for a movie called "This Is The End" and now I'm feeling like somebody ripped-off my brain.  Only I could have done it better.  Probably not, but I still get the feeling they're not doing it right:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6z5Wykasdls

don't even watch the link I included just now

It's not like this is the first time this has happened.  I got the same feeling when I first heard "Viva La Vida" by Coldplay, although that may have just been Deja Vu or the fact that they ripped off some other song.

One time I had an idea for a movie where a team goes together into a man's dream, where they go into another dream and another dream, and at the end it's unclear whether they're still in a dream or not.  Also Joseph Gordon-Levitt was there.

I didn't think of that.

One time I had this super hilarious idea that was so incredibly funny, I had to write it down so I would never forget it.  I wrote down "red box ninja" and now I don't know what it means.  I do know, however, that this doesn't have anything to do with my red box theory.  I have this theory that some day in the near future, red boxes are going to sprout arms and legs and machine guns and take over the world.  It wouldn't even be that hard!  I mean, they're EVERYWHERE!!

If anyone steals this idea and makes it into a movie or a short story I will give up on life.  And love.

One time I built a snowman.  His name was Petey, and this doesn't have much to do with stealing ideas, except for that what happened to Petey explains how I feel inside.

 Literally one hour later

Also one time I felt like going to Denny's and then all of a sudden my friend was like, "Let's go to Denny's!"  Needless to say, I got offended and this person is no longer my friend.

I suppose I shouldn't be too bitter.  I've probably inadvertently stolen someone else's idea before.  It's not like being uncomfortably awkward was an original idea.  But here I sit, living someone else's idea.  I wonder if this person feels like Petey.

Anyway, I'm supposed to be writing a research paper about Tina Fey right now.  Which is actually pretty awesome but it's still a research paper.

Here's an incredibly beautiful arrangement of one of my all-time favorite songs by my favorite band Bastille, which was started by Dan Smith who has great hair.

A Midnight Montage of Musical Madness

For the first time ever, I decided to take classes during Spring and Summer.  Turns out that during spring term (since classes are accelerated) they don't give you that two-week-long "get your brains in gear" grace period.  They load you up starting day one.

First day of class.

So it was for this reason I found myself pulling an all-nighter within the first week of school.

If you know me at all, you know that I have a super hard time focusing for long periods of time (if at all) and I get distracted very easily.  You would also know that I procrastinate as much as possible.  You would probably also know that I love TV.  I get hooked on television shows like those people who get addicted to stinging themselves with bees.  Wait.  That was just one lady I saw on an advertisement for a TV show called "My Strange Addiction" which I will never watch.  Anyway, I had recently become infatuated with "Community" and I spent all the time I should have used for homework watching 1200 episodes of it in three days.

Community

As I finished the billionth episode and looked at the clock, I realized it was 4 o'clock in the morning and my project was due in six hours.  I tried working on it, but all that happened were several failed attempts where I ended up in the kitchen questioning my existence. 

I swear on my love for lemon bars that I tried.  I tried so hard to make myself work, but my brain did not want to concentrate.  I know this is something that not everyone will understand...but I was not physically capable of concentrating that night.

I was beyond frustrated with myself, and I didn't want this semester to be a repeat of the last one (where I miraculously squeaked out acceptable grades after slacking off for too long).  I locked myself in the bathroom.  I don't know why I did this, probably for privacy, even though everyone else was asleep.  I sat in the bathroom and cried.  Crying is not something I do very often, but I'm human, too, dangit!  I cried for a long time and then I prayed a little as well.

I made sure to compose myself before coming out of the bathroom.

"THIS IS IT," I thought, and I sat down at my computer.  I clicked "play" on one of my gigantic playlists and let Spotify pick a song at random.

Except it probably wasn't random.

The song that played was "Be Still" by The Killers.  Talk about an inspiring song.  Geez, my life could be a Romantic Comedy infused with dramatic themes but minus the romance. (Dramedy.  I think I mean Dramedy.)  I sang along with some of the lyrics at the top of my whisper-voice,

"DON'T BREAK CHARACTER
YOU'VE GOT A LOT OF HEART!

RISE UP LIKE THE SUN
LABOR TILL THE WORK IS DONE!"

And then I did my project.  All of it.  Thank you, Brandon Flowers.

I went to class and turned it in.  Then, because I had slept for 90 minutes and hadn't showered, I decided to go straight home.  In my rush to avoid further human interaction, I prematurely crossed the street, stopped traffic, and got hit by a bike.  The guy on the bike was some sort of super polite Irish hipster.  (I tried to find a picture, but apparently this particular culture of people are too cool for the internet.)  We were both fine.

When I got home it was past noon.  I ate one pudding cup and called it breakfast.  Then I had another pudding and called it lunch.  Then I had a handful of Raisin Bran and called it justification.

Next thing I know there are two or three maintenance guys in my apartment, and I was trapped in my bedroom with a bit of mud-masky goop on my face and...no pants.  I was just hoping nothing in my room needed to be fixed.  I pretended to be asleep a few times when I thought they might be coming in, but I was ready for anything.  I didn't notice until much later, but I was essentially the mom character that you see in the grocery stores on TV shows:

What am I turning into??

Nothing happened, and they eventually left.  I seized this opportunity to take a nap.

I was so tired I could have slept for days, but I watched another episode of Community first.

Short Stories: Part 1

     I've decided to write a series of short (very short) stories.  This post includes the first installment of these stories.  As it turns out, they're all true and they're all about me.  Woops.  Anyway, we'll see how this goes.


"Why am I getting a notification in this, the darkest hour?" she wondered aloud.  Then she saw it was eight o'clock and she'd been up all night.
-April 2

Her heart became a hummingbird because she had eaten powdered sugar, so she walked around a lot with nothing to do.
-April 6

The thing that excited her most about the upcoming road trip was the opportunity to make mix CD's.  She thought about that instead of her finals.
-April 11

As she told a story about the amount of sleep she was getting, she realized those were the only stories college students ever told, and she was tired of them.
-April 11

As she filled the smoothie machines, she imagined what it would feel like if they all exploded and covered her in slush.  She welcomed the thought.  Instead, her supervisor came and informed her that she'd won a free lunch for cleaning so well.
-April 15

She didn't want to throw the orange peel away because she had removed it in one piece, but she couldn't keep it forever.  She said a little eulogy as she tossed it in the trash.
-April 22

End note:  I illustrated these and intended to include the illustrations....but I'm a horrible artist, so I threw them away instead.

Also, I realize these are incredibly boring.  It's experimental.

This Post Is About Tacos, But Not On Purpose

     I am a woman.  I am a young-looking young woman.  I am a small woman.  Also, I am a woman.  All of these things make me approachable in other people's eyes.  I suppose this is why people think it's acceptable to interrupt my iPod time to hand me things and make a speech about whatever it is they're promoting.  I'm generally a friendly person, but as a rule of thumb:  if I'm walking, I have my ear-buds in, and you are a complete and total stranger, I suggest not trying to talk to me.  Muy emphasis on the stranger part.
     
     Now everyone thinks I'm an extrovertedly rude introvert.  (Is extrovertedly a word?  I thought it was, but there is a wavy red line underneath it that makes me think I invented it.  I am a genius.  It should be a word.  When they add a new word to the dictionary, do they give people credit, like in the back of the dictionary or something?  I'm going to look into that.)  I'm actually a nice person and there actually is a point to all of this nonsensical ranting.  The point is that I have a story about people handing me things on campus.  Nay, I have TWO stories about it.  Buckle up, boys and girls!  (Either do that and keep reading, or realize you're bored and leave this blog.  Go ahead and choose the latter.  Crush a girl's dream.)


Exhibit A

     The date was February 3, 2012.  (Remember that detail!  It will come up again later in the story!)  It was a Friday (Also remember that.), and a gloomy one at that.  Sometime late in the morning, a girl who is almost always happy was walking across campus, and she was not happy.  This girl was me.  I was cold and hungry and tired and lonely and overwhelmed and grumpy for reasons I will not go into.  I decided that the only thing that would comfort me was a taco, which is a conclusion that I come to quite frequently.  Fortunately, whoever's choice it was to put a Taco Bell in the student center had had a vision of me, and they knew that I would one day celebrate my victories and mourn my sorrows whilst snarfing their mainstream beans and cheese.  (Sidenote:  My mom knows me so well, she got me a Taco Bell gift card for Valentine's Day this year.  Best.  Mom.  Ever.  Also, I should think about eating better, but let's not dwell on that.)
     
     Unfortunately, I made the mistake of walking through the main hall of the student center.  This is the dreadful place on campus where horrifying things called organizations set up hideous things called booths and pass out disgusting things called flyers.  I had battled my way through most of the hall unscathed, using a tactic I like to call "Keep Your Head Down," when somebody thrust out their hand and shoved a flyer directly in my face.  I stopped dead in my tracks, kept my hands in my pockets, and slowly raised my head to look this trespasser squarely in the eyes.  The person that stood before me was a huge Polynesian man.  Did this intimidate me?  No.  Did I back down?  No.  

     Instead, I gifted him with one of my notorious frowns:

(This is a very accurate depiction of my real frown.)

     I am not a very intimidating person, but this very large man-full-of-muscles looked absolutely terrified.  He managed to squeak out a, "Hockey?" before I grabbed the flyer and walked away.

     I was about to crumple the demon scrap and throw it away, when a short wave of curiosity spilled into my soul.  I read the flyer.

     That was when I remembered that the universe has a sense of humor, and that it likes when I'm happy.  When I read this, I laughed so loud and so long and so by myself that everyone in the student center thought I'd just lost my marbles.  If anyone had just witnessed the entire exchange, they were thinking that I was a sick person who reaped joy from frowning at others.  But the flyer was incredibly hilarious and it had accomplished it's heaven-sent intent (rhyme, rhyme, rhymity-rhyme) of making me happy once again.  Then, as an added bonus, I went home and posted the picture on Facebook and said something like, "Sorry, hockey team, but Friday is actually the 3rd.  Nice tries, though." and more than two people LIKED my post!  Everyone knows that getting likes on Facebook equates true happiness.

Story #2

     'Twas a good time, the new year.  A new semester had just begun and I was already making new friends and conquering life and feeling good about myself.  I was enjoying a glorious day of classes and decided to celebrate by purchasing myself a (you guessed it) taco.  I was walking through the student center once again when a mystery approached me from afar.  I noticed her long before we came in contact because of the way she was dressed.  She was wearing a plaid pant-suit and a very large, very strange red hat.  She looked a little something like this:

(I swear all I did to find this picture was google "crazy red hat."  The internet loves me.)

     She came up to me and gently placed a paperback novel in my hands.  "Would you like a free novel?" She asked.  "Sure," I said nonchalantly, even though what I was thinking was, "Only an insane person would pass up a free novel."  I thought later that maybe I should be wary about a novel given to me by a stranger in a red hat, but I read it nonetheless.  It was free and it was a book, both of which are weaknesses of mine.  It was called Mind Games and it was actually an entertaining read with a fairly compelling story and it looked like this:

     

     The moral of these stories is that you should never be afraid to accept something that somebody is offering you.


     Unless it's drugs.