The Truth About Santa

Okay. I'm going to come right out and say it. Thanksgiving has come and gone, which means the Christmas season is officially upon us. (Yes....I know... the malls think Christmas is directly after Halloween).

If you have ever been labeled as tiny, petite, small, or just plain short pay close attention. Whatever you do, stay awake on December 24. You heard me correctly; this Christmas Eve do not fall asleep. Stock up on pixy-stix, Monster, Red Bull, whatever you can to stay awake. Sleep all day, and avoid any medications that may make you drowsy. Whatever you do, you cannot fall asleep.

They call me Mylo. I'm not sure what my name was before; the big guy up there didn't really give a crap about it. I've been called Mylo most of my life now. At least I think it's been most of my life. I've lost track of time.

And no, "the big guy up there" is not God. "Up there" is the North Pole and "the big guy" is Santa Claus himself. He isn't some big jolly kindhearted man- although his belly does shake like a bowl full of jelly... but he never really laughs- it's more of a cackle.

We've all heard the stories. Santa comes down our chimneys every year with a sack of presents. That's just a bunch of bullcrap.

First off, if Santa comes down the chimney, then that means the kids who don't have a fireplace should get nothing, but that's obviously not true. And if he goes to every house, that means kids should get presents whether they are rich or poor. Then, let's talk about the whole reindeer thing. That one is true... well sort of. Google maps tracks Santa's journey around the world each year, and as far as we know they've been doing an alright job at that. (Of course, I'm not sure about that Dominick the Donkey story. Why would Santa need a donkey to help him get over the hills of Italy when his reindeer freaking FLY?! I mean, they don't have a problem getting over the Swiss Alps or anything....)

So, the sack full of presents is a big phony, but there is a giant red sack. Every year on Christmas Eve, Santa goes from house to house with his sack, and he finds short people. Not children- never children; they haven't stopped growing. He only goes after the full-grown adults or teens. He gives them an injection so they won't wake up when he grabs them and stuffs them into the sack.

I've been in the sack before. All of us up there have. I was one of his first picks for that night I was kidnapped, so I eventually woke up in the sack. I was conscious enough to see what was going on, but I was in no position to fight.

We elves are not some friendly creatures who work from the goodness of our hearts to help make children happy (although we wouldn't be against the idea). We were ordinary people who had the unfortunate curse of being vertically challenged. We were taken away from our lives and enslaved in the middle of nowhere.

I'm the first elf to escape, at least as far as everyone can remember. I figure I'm safe hiding out in this house- he wouldn't be watching it. Even the youngest member in this family is too tall for Santa to really care. I mean, what's he going to do? Steal the cats?

Nobody bothers making the attempt to escape. We're surrounded by miles of ice and snow, and then if you don't freeze to death, you're kinda trapped by the ocean. I stole one of his planes to escape just last week. I've been hiding out in the basement here. It's been a little tiring, but alright. I sneak upstairs at night to grab a little food. I don't eat much- after so many years of such small portions, I can't handle a large meal. (And rest assured, I will be paying them back when I am able).

Santa's workshop is a sweatshop. We slave over whatever meaningless jobs he can think up for us. He often just sits in his chair cackling as he watches us kill ourselves working... holding a beer in one hand and a cigar in the other. Occasionally, he'll put either down to eat a cookie. He sure loves his cookies. Personally, I think he could stand to have a carrot stick or something.

Mrs. Claus did the cooking in the family. Chocolate Chips, Sugar, Peanut Butter, M & Ms, White-chocolate Macadamian Nuts, Molasses, and Gingerbread. Lots of Gingerbread cookies. Only Santa got to eat the cookies. I think out of a 24-hour day, 18 of those hours Mrs. Claus is in the kitchen, even on Christmas Eve. I think she took breaks to get some food, use the restroom, sleep, and see if we were doing our work, but none of us are too sure about that. All those movies and books with pictures of her may be true, but none of us know. None of us living elves have ever seen her.

I don't think our daily meal can be considered "food." I'm not sure what it is, but it's all we have. I think we all tried going as long as possible without eating it, but we eventually gave in out of desperation. We're used to it now, and it's not completely unbearable.

I think someone is waking up, so I must get going. Please. Warn your friends and family members. Post this warning on your Twitter, Facebook, Myspace, AIM...wherever someone will see it.

And if are short, do not sleep on Christmas Eve. You will regret it for the rest of your life.

-Mylo

Thanksgiving

Ok, I'll be honest. I'm feeling a little homesick for Virginia right now. I miss being less than 4 miles from Chik-Fil-A, less than 2 miles from the closest Assemblies of God church, and less than 5 miles from Krispy Kreme. Yes, I know I couldn't wait to get out of there, but let's face it, Jersey is missing out. You haven't lived until you've had one of those hot original glazed donuts...

I always get a bit homesick around Thanksgiving, and I know it's because of a personal tradition I have. That fourth Thursday in November, I turn off Star 99.1 (the local Christian radio station here for those of you who don't know), and I listen to the radio station from Virginia online. Tonight, they start playing their Christmas music; when that happens it's officially time for me to start singing Christmas music and wearing my Santa hat.

I really feel like I need to write a blog entry about what I'm thankful for, but it's tough. Just over the past few months, I think I've really grown. There's just so much for me to be thankful for right now.

I'm no longer letting my fears hold me back, and I never thought that would be possible. I've stepped out of my shell. I've started to sing again (though not on stage... that may come in time). I got up in front of an entire audience and confessed one of my biggest struggles. I'm no longer afraid to find a seat at church, and for the first time it's not a struggle to accept that my personal motto is true. I am beautiful, loved, and worthy.

I've been pushed, and I am so thankful for that. I don't even think there words to describe how amazing it is to have friends who will push me to step out of my comfort zone (as painful as it may be sometime). I have friends who are completely honest with me, and encourage me to change. I've grown a lot because of friends like this; friends who push me, but still give me a shoulder to cry on when I need one.

I'm thankful for walking shoes haha. Let's face it: if I didn't have walking shoes, I'd probably never walk again. That eight mile walk to church would kill me. I'm thankful, however, that I can get to church, even if it's such a challenge at times. It's completely worth it. I have my doubts at times, but in the end I'm glad I can make it.

I'm thankful for my Puerto Rican family. They deserve a special shout-out here. It means so much to me that I'm invited over after church every week (even at the point where I feel like I'm pressured into coming over). You guys are really like a second family to me, and I love you all... (even if I don't understand half of what you say at times.) :-P

I'm thankful for St. Louis. That week in August was probably the most life-changing trip I've been on in my entire life. It's the trip that helped me to take that first step out of my comfort zone. I've made so many awesome friends there, and my only regret is that I let my fear hold me back from getting to know people better. I definitely plan on getting back to St. Louis again sometime. Who's with me?

I'm thankful for realizing how much I love writing... and how I know it's worth something. Just hearing one person say that a single poem out of over 300 made his/her day makes it all worth it. It's a part of who I am, and nothing can take it away.

I'm thankful for my craziness- both good and bad. It makes me who I am. Yes, I need to work on my fear of letting my shy side take over most of the time, and I still struggle with what I call my "bad" craziness... but I know the change will come with time.

I'm thankful that I've finally started to push towards God. For the first time, I've felt what it's like to be free, and nothing can compare to it. It's the most amazing feeling in the world... to feel like that weight has been lifted. The feeling that nothing will hold me back from reaching my dreams. I'm thankful for realizing that this freedom is not just some trick God is playing on me; it's not something in my dreams. This freedom is real.

I'm thankful for the people at Center Point Church in Utah (formerly known as Christ Evangelical Church)... especially those who were part of The Venue (their college group). They really welcomed me into their group, and I would love to come back to Utah just to see them again. I think they're the only reason I was able to handle that month there.

I'm thankful for those stupid jerks. Those people who find satisfaction in bringing me down. I'm thankful because people like them help me see who my real friends are.

I'm thankful for the little things. For being able to run around and play with kids. I'm thankful for those warm summer nights where I just stare at the stars. For a month with beautiful mountain scenery. I'm thankful for hugs and laughter; for catching fireflies and swinging on swings. I'm thankful for the little things I have saved to serve as reminders of how much people care: cards, little notes, photos, etc. I'm thankful for being able to blast worship music in my room and embrace the presence of God.

I'm thankful for Alex P., Vania, Alex Q. Sr., Alex Q. Jr., Maritza, Joannie, Ashley R., Ashley O., Steph U., Tish, Grace Ann, Meghan, Sarah B., Sarah H., Cassie, Chelsea S., Zachy, Avery, Chelsea C., Kayla, Teddy, Nathalie, Becca C., Abby, Courtney, Mariel, Amanda, PDoug, Sam, Pmat, Stacy, Denae, Joe-Joe, Bryce-Lynn, Mackenzie, Gabby, Angela, Jess, Shelvie, Oty, Rachael, Jaclyn, Liz, Adam M., Kamyee, Jen L.... and so many more people. You are all amazing!

Most of all, I'm thankful for God because He has given me all of this. He has brought these people into my life. He has given me the strength to step out of my comfort zone and change. He made the stars and the mountains. He made me to write. He made the inventor of Krispy Kreme. He is the inspiration for those songs.

Thank you.

Happy Thanksgiving!

PS. I'm also thankful that I don't work in a grocery store or in retail... the week leading up to today is one of the worst weeks for grocery store employees, and it's nice knowing that I won't be working tomorrow... good luck for those of you who have to deal with the Black Friday mobs... don't get trampled to death!

Superunknown

When I was in middle school, my favorite band was a local Christian group called "Superunknown." Don't bother looking them up. This band has pretty much vanished off the face of the earth.

When I was younger, I was part of that church group, Missionettes (and no, I will not call it "Mpact.") Back then, I would have to say my two best friends were Olivia (who is a couple months older than I am) and Tish (who is a year older).

Now, Tish and I had a very interesting friendship. Frankly, my mom didn't really approve of us being friends, but that's another story entirely. She was the girl who sang with me in a talent show in middle school (I'll tell that story later), and we both had a love for teddy bears...and Superunknown.

I guess this was the summer between sixth and seventh grade that we went on this retreat in West Virginia. It was the usual district Friends' Retreat, with the featured musical guest: Superunknown. There were five members of this band:

"The Lead Singer": When getting our T-shirts autographed at the retreat, somehow we got into a discussion on hot chocolate. He told us that the best hot chocolate is made with 3 Musketeers bars. I have yet to confirm this is true, but I think I need to try it out soon.

"The Guy Olivia Liked": Our friend Olivia fell in love with his eyes... I don't think I still have my poster (<_>), but I remember that he had some pretty amazing blue eyes.

"Mr. Clean": This was probably one of our favorite members of the band. We're thinking he was the bassist, but we can't be too sure. As you can probably guess, he was bald...and frankly he looked like Mr. Clean. Tish actually had him sign "Mr. Clean" under his name on my t-shirt.

"The Really Cute, but Really Rude Drummer": Okay, this story is probably the funniest story of them all. While in West Virginia, we learned that the drummer really liked Vanilla Coke. So, Tish and I decided to buy him one from the vending machine before dinner (I think...). And we waited...and waited... and waited. It took so long for him to show up, that we realized the soda was getting warm. So, what do crazy 12 and 13 year old fans do? We buy a second can of soda, which we offered him. He rejected it. (But he did sign both soda cans... mine [the first one purchased] eventually burst open after rolling off my desk.)

"The Other Guy": So, this guy was just kind of left over. There are no stories... nothing funny about him. He was just...there.

So, yes, there was a time where I was crazy and obsessed over a band because of its members and not so much about the music. And no, I am not ashamed... well, not completely.... (Hey, compared to some people, that obsession was NOTHING.)

(I am taking my shirt out of the closet so I can figure out the names of these people so I can find them on Facebook... I wonder if they'll remember us...)

Take care!

My Theory on Algebra

I posted this theory during the beginning of my junior year, but since I am sitting in Algebra right now, I'm going to share the story again.

For those of you who don't know already, I hate Algebra. This class isn't making things better. Today, the teacher was explaining to us that our final is on the 21st, and our tlast test is the week before. She couldn't figure out that the class before is on the 14th, not the 18th... (-_-;)

And of course, this is also the class with the teacher who has added these quotes to my collection:

"The set of all solutions is called the 'solution set.'"

"We are going to use coordinates, which are number pairs. Number pairs are called 'coordinates.'"

I'm stuck in this for nearly 3 hours once a week. It's painful.

So, anyway.... I believe that Algebra is really just a secret alien language. If you translate these messages into English, you will learn that the aliens are threatening the human existence. They are set upon exterminating the human race. Ultimately, I believe our end will be due to the Plutonians seeking revenge after we demoted their home planet.

So, how do you feel about knowing that you are passing around messages from creatures from another world?

(-_-)

Okay, so I usually don't do this, but I'm going to give you a sneak peek on my next two blog entries:

Thursday, November 26, 2009: I'll be attempting to start up my annual Thanksgiving blog post again. We'll see how that goes.

Then, hopefully a few days later, I'm going to post a Christmas story I've been working on for a few years now. It's really nothing that great, but I kinda like it anyway.

Have a great day!

I Was Made to Walk on Water

I changed my Facebook status about an hour ago, and immediately I decided to turn it into a blog entry:

This is not just something I do. This is who I am, and NOTHING is going to stop me from following my heart. I'm ready to face my fears- one day, one step at a time. I've spent enough time in the boat; there's an entire ocean to explore now. (XIX; XLV:I) ♥

A couple weeks ago I printed out over 120 pages of original poetry (size 12 font, Times New Roman, blah, blah). That's over 300 poems in my current poetry collection... and it doesn't include most of my poetry from fifth grade, andanything from sixth. I have a few blogs up on the web, which I finally decided to merge into one blog to make my life easier.

I have a few Fanfictions in progress online (and I've written fanfics since I was six) , and I have written quite a number of stories. I'm even considering revisiting some stories we were assigned to write in fifth grade.

Let's face it. I'm a writer.

I have always been a writer at heart. I started recognizing words and reading possibly as young as 2-and-a-half or three-years-old. I spent nap time in Kindergarten reading, and by the time I was in first grade I was obsessed with a chapter book series geared towards children three to six years older than I was at the time.

I had a poem read over the intercom (I believe) when I was in second grade, and when I was in fifth grade I started my poetry collection. Since freshman year, I have filled nearly nine or ten journals.

Heck, last year I was an English Literature major hoping to transfer schools in order to major in English with a concentration in Creative Writing. I decided to switch to a more practical major.

Earlier this month, November 3rd to be exact, I had a weird day with my writing. I wrote a poem for my friend, Vania. She told me that the poem made her day. That same day, Pmat left me a comment on my Facebook wall: "Just read through a ton of your blog posts...you have such a gift for writing...it brightened my day to read your thoughts..."

That day, I was reminded about how much I love writing. For years, I have been writing because it's something I have always done; almost as if it is expected of me. I wrote because it's just part of who I am, not because I love it.

Things are changing now. I want to write more than ever; I want to be pushed and challenged in my writing. The sound of poetry just calms me- even if it makes no sense at times. For me, the words alone are like music. I want to dive deeper into this world of writing I abandoned.

Writing isn't a practical college major, especially when compared to Early Childhood Education. That doesn't mean, however, that I need to live in the security of this boat. Following my heart requires me to walk on water, and trust that God will help me reach my full potential.

I am a writer.

I can't deny that this is part of who I am. It's how I pour out my heart; it's one of the ways I worship.

This is not just a hobby.

It's part of my identity.

And sometimes being myself isn't easy.

But, I was made to walk on water.

Dreams (Unreachable) [Inspired by and Dedicated to Vania Q.] (November 2, 2009)

I want to write. I want to sing.

But more than that, I want to bring

my heart, my soul, to my King.

To reach a dream is always tough.

To step out of the boat when the seas are rough.

Knowing what I have isn't enough.

I love to dream, but I don't know what for

because reaching my goals requires all I have and more.

So,I just look at my dreams through a still-open door.

I hold onto my hopes, onto my dreams.

Maybe they aren't as unreachable as it seems.

Surrender is Like a Tug-of-War (Written: March 29, 2007)

Is it possible to let go, but still hold on? It's not. You cannot fully let go of something, but still be holding on to it. It's impossible.

I cannot let go. Not completely, anyways, and just that bit that I decide to hold on is enough. I don't know why it's so hard though. I mean, I can let go of other things. There have been some problems between me and a girl at school, but I've let go of anything I had against her. I've forgiven a lot of people, even those who haven't apologized, or never will. Why can't I let go of all my past, all my fears, all my hopes, all my dreams as easily?

Because it's not just the good I have trouble giving up. It's the bad too. Especially the bad. It seems like whenever I'm afraid, I try to put on a tough front with God, as stupid as that is seeing that He sees right through it. Last Sunday, when I was praying at Velocity Reborn, I actually told God that "I'll be fine. I can handle this." By then I was already too weak. I couldn't handle it, without Him at least. I just don't understand why I can't let go of both the good and bad.

I want to start a new life, but if I let go of the past completely...my past makes me who I am. Could that be the problem? I feel like I'm in a game of Tug-of-War. I want to surrender, and I know that my life will change for the better, but I'm held back by fear. I know there is nothing to be afraid of though. I want to change, and I can't do that without letting go. I don't want to let go, but I don't want to live in the past.

There has never been such an intense game of Tug-of-War. I fear that the rope will break, and that will be the end of the Tug-of-War. I don't know what side I'm afraid will come out as the winner. Because I know that there will be no ties in this game. If I leave and give up, it is the side that holds on that will win. I don't know if I can let that happen.

Would you like fries wth that?

I have determined that the whole "working at McDonalds" thing is simply a bad scare tactic to get us to do homework. Really. Have you ever been told that if you don't do homework and get into college that you'll spend the rest of your life working at McDonalds taking orders? "Would you like fries with that?"

So, if that were true, imagine if by chance you take a couple college courses later on and get a new job at Applebees:

Waiter: Hi. Welcome to Applebees. Our soups of the day are French Onion, Tomato Basil, and Chilli. Right now we are having our special promotion (opens menu) our 2 for $20. You can pick one of these appetizers and any two of these entrees. Would you like to start off with something to drink?

Customer: I would like a Mountain Dew.

Waiter: Would you like fries with that?

I mean...REALLY?

When was the last time you went to McDonalds and had this happen?

Employee: Welcome to McDonalds, how may I take your order?

Customer: Yes, I would like a bacon ranch salad with grilled chicken and low-fat italian dressing, a small diet coke, and a Chicken McNuggets kids' meal with 1% milk and apple dippers.

Employee: Would you like fries with that?

I don't think I've ever been asked "Would you like fries with that?" It's just crazy nonsense we've been told to scare us.

Now, I'm not saying school isn't important (although I still don't understand why we need to learn most of this stuff they are teaching us). But really... just because you don't do well at school does NOT mean you'll end up working at McDonalds.

Chances are, you'll be working at ShopRite.

"Do you have a Price Plus card?"