you're nobody until you're talked about.: i'd give you today, but it's not mine yet.

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make peace with your past, so it doesn't screw up the present

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I hate surprises. From my experience, surprises never end well. When someone says "I have a surprise for you" it's actually just a more gentle way of saying "Dev, we need to sit down and talk" which usually ends up with them saying something along the lines of "we can't be together anymore, and I'm going to go on a 6 week drug binge, bye".. or "I've become emotionally invested in someone else, bye".. or "Guess what? I'm joining the army, bye." or.. 'I ran over your cat. Three times. It may still be alive, but I doubt it... bye." All I can say is, hope ya don't overdose, hope she breaks your heart, and hope someone doesn't run you over. I can't even say anything about the army thing though because that would make me a huge asshole, and I'm only a little bit of one.

In my opinion, surprises are as terrifying as clowns, small children, dogs larger than me, and cauliflower. I fucking hate cauliflower.. and I hate surprises. Wait. There is one kind of surprise that I don't mind - it's covered in milky chocolate, shaped like an egg.. and has the word "Kinder" on the outside of it.. and even then I usually just eat the chocolate and toss the rest into the nearest garbage.

Last year my friend Ryan called me up and told me he had a surprise for me. He said it needed to happen either early in the morning or late at night and that I'd have to book it off work. In some cases, surprises are acceptable. For example if someone comes up to me and hands me a package of skittles and says "Surprise! I bought this for you because I know you love skittles." In that case, thank you and yes I'm going to eat them.. and yes I'm going to save the mango orange ones for last because they're my favorite. This, however, was not a package of skittles, so naturally I had a tiny anxiety attack and told him to either return it, burn it, cancel it, or tell me what it is. Thankfully, he's a bit more of a reasonable person that I am and decided to give in and tell me that he had booked a hot air balloon ride for us. I felt a little less skeptical and a lot more excited. We've been trying to go since last year but there's only certain days you can actually go on the ride since apparently it's unsafe to float around 10 billion feet up in the air in a flimsy balloon when the wind is too strong or it could potentially rain. He tried booking it again this week and assuming that I survived the ride, I had planned on having some sweet pictures to share from it. Alas, the weatherman predicted rain that never actually happened today and it was cancelled. Oh well, soon enough.

Back to things that I hate.. I hate mixed signals - how the heck are you supposed to decipher them without over thinking and driving yourself crazy. Oh wait, you can't. How much is too much effort? Nobody wants to come across as clingy and needy - at least I sure don't. How much is too little effort? I don't want to come across as I don't care - because I do. I hate guessing, I hate games and I hate trying to figure out what I should and shouldn't be doing when it comes to this sort of thing, but out of all these things that I hate, I still hate cauliflower the most.

I always write my blogs in my head at the strangest times. If you've been keeping up, you'll know it's usually while I'm getting a massage. Sometimes it's while I'm out doing errands - in line at Starbucks, while strolling 'round the grocery store, as I bike in attempt to get into shape for summer. This, is my first blog in a while that I'm not secretly blogging in my head when I should be focusing on, dare I say, more important things.. like whether I want soy in my decaf caramel macchiato, whether I'm going to get green or red peppers (the yellow ones taste kinda strange so they're not an option anyways) and how there's a small dog and a car in the way of me and my bicycle and if I'm going to hit one, which one is going to hurt me less?

I'm laying in my bed blogging. I've been here all day and will presumably stay here until the sun goes down and I finally get the motivation to go downstairs and re-watch The Bachelorette. I'm writing this on the back of an old resume and I'm using the book 'Tommyland' as a hard surface to write on so that my chicken scratch is somewhat legible when I start typing this up in between watching Ali breaking hopeful and hopeless boys hearts on the Bachelorette.

I never did finish reading Tommyland. It's my ex boyfriends and it was one of his favorites so he lent it to me to read. I wanted to like it and I wanted to read it, but for some reason it could never hold my interest past page 92 - at least I can say I gave it a fair shot. The chapters are filled with stories of drugs, booze, giant orgies and all of that rock star shit that if anyone other then Tommy Lee tried, would probably get arrested for.. or just straight up die. He was one of Aarons idols, and I wish I had been smart enough to link the love of the book to my boyfriend after I finished off the first chapter.

Books and relationships are strangely similar. Sometimes you think a books going to be really really amazing, so you read it all the way to the end, even if the begining is filled with bad punctuation and awful sentence structure and corny puns, you have hope that it'll get better the futher on you get into it. Sometimes the book starts off as what you're sure is going to be a best seller, it's filled with the perfect amount of sex and scandal and wit and you're as sure as the sun rises every morning that the ending will be as epic and mind blowing as the rest of the book has been. But it's not. In the end, the main character opens their eyes and realizes the whole thing was a dream. Those endings are the worst, they're such a cop out and disappointment. Then, every once in a while, you'll make it half way through a book and will put it down and never end up finishing it.

I never will finish Tommyland. I will never know whether the rest of the book is life changing or a giant dissapointment - and one day I will wake up and be okay with not knowing how the story ends.

I helped Calvin with a photoshoot about a month or two ago and since I've been a crappy blogger lately, I'm only finally blogging about it now. I did some behind the scenes videography to document the shenanigans that went on and it was nice to switch it up and be behind the camera instead of in front of it, although both are completely satisfying and awesome it totally different ways.The shoot was inspired by the movie on "The Hangover" - basically it involved a whooole lot of blow up pool toys, half a dozen scantally clad girls in bikinis, drinks strong enough to make your heart hurt, and 50 feet of rope. I'm so stoked to see how the photo's turned out. Awesome guys, awesome band. If you haven't heard of them, go check out their music, I had it on repeat after the shoot and usually the Backstreet Boys are the only ones who get the privillage on being on repeat on my computer. Basically what I'm saying is this band rules.

Speaking of bands that rule, the boys of Faber Drive came up the next weekend, so I grabbed a couple of the Flashjam boys, my boys from Faber, and two of my closest girlfriends, and.. well I'll let the pictures tell the rest of what went down.