Friday, May 27, 2011
I'm just scared that I will sit here and be super tired and write something offensive or embarrassing. Not that either of those things would be weird for me. I feel like I'm always offensive. It makes me feel more tired just thinking about it for some reaseon.
But being offensive can be fun. its why so many tv shows are popular today. If you are offensive you win. Which often means losing in real life. Sad truth
but a truth nonetheless.
And I just got woken up by someone. So I am packing up and going home to take a nap. See ya.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
I was asked to sing at a funeral last Saturday. I did not know the deceased, but I had met one of her children before, who has several children of her own now. I said yes, as I believe in sharing my talents, and because I like to do my part to help bring some happiness to those who mourn.
The funeral was held at St. Johns Episcopal Church in Glasgow VA. Just help you put this into perspective, Glasgow has a population of 1,046 (down 94 people according to the 2000 census). Their only retail store is the Glasgow Wal-Mart (which is actually a Dollar General. But they honestly call it the Glasgow Wal-Mart). The church was across the street from an apartment complex that I am 99% sure was at one time a small elementary school (it even had little covered breezeways. No way it wasn't a school once). In short, it is a tiny, and beautiful place.
The funeral service was lovely. There were hymns sung, prayers said, scriptures read, and remembrances given. And during the one remembrance, I learned about Ms. Reed's funeral planning. There was to be a reception after the funeral. She decided what food would be there, secured the venue, and made sure directions from Glasgow to Lexington were printed. AFTER the funeral I was approached by the husband of Ms. Reed's daughter, and he offered me an envelope with my name on it. I thanked him, but assured him that I needed no payment, because I was glad to do this for the family. He offered it to me again, this time saying, "Oh, this isn't form me. It is from Ms. Reed. She had this all planned out. The money was all set apart from her estate before she passed." I accepted the envelope and thanked him.
Now, I didn't know Ms. Reed, but apparently she knew who I was. And she had even planned me to sing at her funeral (I didn't actually get the call to sing until Monday, the day after she had passed, so someone took her instructions VERY seriously). I decided then and there that I was very sad that I did NOT know Ms. Reed, and that I await meeting her in the future. But I digress.
On the drive home, I thought about how well she had planned this. How she had picked the hymns. She had picked the songs that I was to sing. She had secured her favorite pastor from Northern Virginia to officiate in the service. It was all figured out and letter perfect. And the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do the same thing. So here is the plan for when I die:
First of all, no one is to wear black. Its dreary. Everyone will wear white preferably. It will say such on the invitation. My family will sit in the front near the casket, which will be open so everyone can see my beautiful red hair (which I will still have thank you very much.) The opening prayer will be given by a member of my family. My current bishop will officiate. He will welcome everyone and thank them for coming to celebrate my life. The word "funeral" will not be used at all during the service.
I then want Samuel Barber's Sure on this Shining Night sung by my sister Taerra. For some reason I kept picturing her singing it. Apparently I will die young (No older than 40), naturally of something tragic, and she will most likely be in her vocal prime, so it will be epic. I then want my best friend (TBA, but I think I know who it is now. I do not foresee things diminishing between us, mostly because I am too selfish to let go) to tell two or three stories about me. Nothing touching. Just funny stuff. Then that person will sing the song of their choice. Other people may be included if desired. Something light, but heartfelt. I trust this person. Don't screw it up.
Then a small choir (most likely my family) will sing Homeward Bound by Marta Keen. Then my Bishop will read my personal testimony which will be prepared beforehand. Then a slightly larger choir (probably still my family, lets be honest) will sing Pilgrim's Hymn by Stephen Paulus. Then the Bishop will announce a moment of silence where people can cry and blubber all they wish. This is to get it all out of their system.
To help shock the congregation from their emotional torpor, the choir will then sing Bach's Lobet den Herrn, alle Heiden. It will be accompanied by the Organ and may be sung in English if desired. They should not be afraid to be as loud as they would like. Following the number, any of my siblings who would wish to do so may share a story or two or three about me from childhood. It should be a funny thing. Be nice guys. The bathroom curtain story is off-limits.
Then the bishop will say some final words. It should be about how I am now with Heavenly Father and QUITE happy, thank you very much, so everyone should quit sniffling and get on with their lives. The choir will then sing How lovely is Thy Dwelling Place by Brahms. Then a closing prayer.
Here is where we come to the alternate endings:
Ending #1 - My body is taken to the cemetery for a quick burial. My family just needs to say goodbye and put my body in the ground, cause IMMEDIATELY after the service there will be a reception. With LOTS of good food. I dont really care what. It just has to be yummy. And there needs to be Cheesecake for dessert. Several kinds.
Ending #2 - This is necessary. Because if things go as I REALLY want them, I will actually still be alive at my funeral. Either I will be in the last stages of the terrible disease that, although it has destroyed my body, has still left me with my cheerful and delightful attitude, or the horrible accident that damaged me beyond repair (most likely because I was saving a small baby from some inexplicable horror which then befell me in my heroism) is taking its final toll. SO, after the service which I rather enjoyed, there will be a reception, as outlined above. The only difference is, there will then be a roast. The roast is ONLY ok if I am still alive and there. If I am in a coma, no roast. There will be jokes and laughing. We will then go home and remember the wonderful evening. When I really die people will call each other and let each other know. No Facebook, no email, no texts. Phone calls or personal visits only.
While I was a bit jokey, this is actually how I would like things to go. I think it will be nice and It fits me.
And I planned it so you had BETTER do it.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
#1) THEY LOVE ME! It's true. I'm not sure why, but they just do. Maybe I'm an old soul and they can relate. Maybe they see me and say "Dang that kid is crazy. We better watch after him for his own good." and so they keep close. Whatever the reason, they love being around me. And they are fun, so I love being around them.
#2) They know stuff. They always have something to say that invariably makes my life easier. I think its so cool to hear some of the experiences they have had. They have generally lived through SOMETHING cool, even it is was just the 70's.
#3) They are nice and do awesome things for me! Just last night I was in a concert with some of these "old people" (they really aren't old at all, but again, the whole over 40 thing) and we had a little party afterward. A few of them were asking about my plans for when I graduated and while talking it came up that I needed to get some recordings done, and Dennis (husband of one of the women I sing with) offered to do the recordings. FOR FREE. Because he has the equipment. And then Bill McCorkle, a disgustingly talented man, offered to play for my senior recital (he studied in France with Nadia Boulanger, who studied with Gabriel Faure. Kind of a big deal). What he actually said was, "Well, I shouldn't say this, because I am already overbooked, but I want to play for you. And only because it IS you." Needless to say, I felt special. :)
See the benefits people? Old people kind of rock. Like, a lot. So go a head and poke fun at the fact that I have friends two (and even three) times my age. I'll laugh as I drive away in the nice new car one of them buys me.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Well tonight I went over to my friends' (Kyle and Tricia Nielsen) house to have a housewarming dinner, as they have just moved in. And it was awesome. I made homemade ravioli. Like, from scratch all the way. I took eggs and flour and mixed it all up and then put it through the little machine to help flatten it. After a while I had to make the filling and Kyle took over the machine cranking. It was not an easy job. After seeing what went into making pasta, Tricia vowed never to do it. Ten minutes later she was helping Kyle. Marriage is precious.
The filling was made with chicken, and the following cheeses: ricotta, asiago, parmesean, and romano. Was it brilliant? Yes. Why? Because I served it with a piccata sauce that I made myself and it was AWESOME. Wipe the slobber off of your keyboards now. You might cause some damage.
Now the next bit is something that I happen to love, but Kyle was a weenie about because he apparently hates Garlic. Not garlic with a little "g" but Garlic. It is something universal and incredible. Cultures who don't use it are bound for destruction. Most likely at my hands. I love Garlic. And so this bit of the meal has to have lots. It consists of fresh lemon juice, Garlic, a liiiiittle bit of soy sauce, and enough salt to take the edge off of the lemon juice. Top it off with some olive oil and then you dip fresh veggies in it. It is incredible people! DO IT!!
Then when I was about to leave, I realized that I had some extra ingredients and so I used the leftover ricotta cheese and cream, some sugar, vanilla and a few drops of juice from an orange (not to be confused with orange juice, which comes from a carton, is usually from concentrate, and it GROSS). I whipped it up and then they made brownies and cut strawberries. I left, but I hope they enjoyed it.
The point is, I went home and felt so happy. I made the food all from scratch like a grown up and ate it all like a grown up too. Food just gets better when you are older. Chicken nuggets and ramen noodles are great and all, but things just get so much better than that you know? Anyway. That was my day. It was great. AND I JUST REALIZED THAT THE BREADSTICKS THAT I MEANT TO TAKE OVER THERE FOR DINNER ARE STILL SITTING IN THE FRIDGE! So pardon me. I have a bit of snacking to do. Waist line, say hello again to those lost ten pounds.
Also, don't forget to vote on the right for your favorite type of food. Because food rocks.
Friday, May 6, 2011
-I hate most pop music. But when someone writes something with a unique choir progression and a phrase that is more than just the same four measures over and over, I love it.
-I really like a good movie. but it has to keep me guessing, and it has to have a good message attached. I recently watched a movie with some friends and didn't like it. Yes, the ending was a surprise, but that's not enough. Every other scene I announced an event that would happen soon, and five or ten minutes later it happened. My friend's dad kept asking if I had seen the movie. Nope. It was just so guessable! Be original people!
-People might not know this about me, but I love reading. I'm not the best writer, but I love a good story. And I have such a respect for people who can come up with their own story and make it work. Didn't much like the Eragon series, cause I just thought there were too many similarities to other fiction writers. I actually only read the first book and half of the second. I just couldn't stomach it anymore. But when someone makes a world that is just impossible for me to forget or hard to doubt, I love it.
So, here I want to pay homage to something I consider brilliant. Someone took something well known and transformed it into something else, while also at the same time sticking it to the man (I am secretly very rebellious). My friend Sam Benson showed it to me, as it was his cousin who wrote it. SO worth the read. Enjoy!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Effective Writing: The New Spanish 1
After they both had endured long train rides, they arrived at the same destination. not knowing where they were, they tried to find a place to go. Strangers, waiting, they walked separately up and down the boulevard, their shadows searching desperately for someplace to go in the night. The streetlights above them lit the pair, who were living just to find emotion hiding somewhere in the night. The girl, desperately trying to find a place to sit in anguish, stumbled into a nearby lounge. The boy, having the same urge as the girl, followed close after her.
At a first glance, the lounge was nothing to speak highly of. The boy and the girl, being outsides, seemed a little out of place from the shabby room they had just entered. There was a singer sitting on a stage in the dimly-lit and smoky room. The room, smelling of wine and cheap perfume, had a few people entranced by the singer. Perhaps for a smile, the singer would humor them and share the night with one of the enchanted men.
Another set of businessmen, behind the eager watchers, sat gambling with one another.The boy and girl could tell by the look of the businessmen's suits and loosened ties that they had worked hard to get their fill. The pair could assume that the businessmen had mundane jobs. Not getting any sort of excitement, they just wanted a thrill, paying anything to roll the dice just one more time. Of course with gambling, some will win, and some will lose. However, with some of those businessmen it seemed like winning was not the objective. Not caring if they were the winners, they were born to sing the blues. The misfit small-town and big-city couple felt as if they had just stepped into a movie-- not just any movie, but a small clip on a reel going on and on.
"Don't stop believing," the girl on stage sang wispily,"Hold on to that feeling." Although this was the message that the pair of outsiders needed to hear, it would fall on deaf ears. Wallowing in their own self-pity, they may never go back to the lives they once had had. They were trapped in their own minds, searching for something that could not be found.
If you don't get it:
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Well recently I have started a major editing project. ME. Its not too bad, just some things I want to do better with, and its been pretty fun! I've started getting up early to go play racquetball, as I mentioned in my last post, and just being more physically involved in general. I've been eating healthier as well (and not as late) and have lost 10 lbs. I cleaned out my car. My room is next. I am volunteering at SVU every day from 12:00-4:00. I'm saving up money. And that just feels good. It was just time for some changes and I'm glad to be doing them, you know?
I'm also doing a few changes to the blog. Ive decided to put up a poll that will change every week. Hopefully this will encourage me to get on here more. I'll create a page to show the results of all the past polls.
So, do something new. Get out of a rut. Don't work on breaking an old habit. Rather, just start a good one. The bad ones tend to fade away when you have something better to replace it with. Go change! And have fun!
Monday, May 2, 2011
It was a shock to be honest. I thought that he would never be found (if he was even still alive). But lo and behold President Obama makes an announcement telling us that a team found and killed him.
I first found the news out from Facebook. All sorts of posts were up. Most of them had lots and lots of exclamation points after them. There were some Wahoos! and Git er done!!!'s and lots of All right!!!!!!!!!!!'s and so on. More and more of them were happening. People were getting on just to comment on the news or post a patriotic video or something of the sort. I would guess that at LEAST one half of the stories on my news feed were about his death. Some people even texted me. I had one friend who simply asked if I had heard about it, the rest were straight up celebrating and spreading the joyous news. AND IT MADE ME ANGRY.
Why? Well, this first. Some may have thought that it was indeed joyous news that needed to be spread, but he wasn't the Wicked Witch of the West people. He was a real person. He helped orchestrate a terrible attack on the U.S. that killed many, and he led a group of people bent on inciting fear in multiple countries. That was horrible. He was clearly an angry, hateful, and even a very fearful man. But I do NOT think that these facts make it ok for American's to cheer and dance at the news of his death (which, I might point out, was not unlike the celebration that members of Al Qaeda partook in just after the 9/11 attacks).
I just don't think people see that they are celebrating, even REJOICING in his death. I just cant help but feel a little uncomfortable with that. True, I am not sad he is dead. Its does seem just. Hopefully his death will weaken the resolve of the splinter terrorist groups who have carried things on. But celebrating at his death will only breed anger and contempt. No matter how terrible, a life has been lost. And I feel pity for him. He has a lot to answer for.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
To Elinor and Marianne.
April 5, 2011
A week ago this past Sunday, I burned my hand. Not terribly, just enough to leave two dark red lines on the back of my hand and the back of my thumb. For quite some time the mark remained the same as the day I did it. Then it started getting worse: peeling open, turning raw, generally hurting. But what could I do to help heal it faster? Not much. So I left it alone.
This morning after I finished praying, my eyes flitted across the back of my hand and I noticed the burn was almost healed. Overnight the burn had turned from red and peeling to stretched and pink.
I thought of healing of all kind, of any burden or pain from which we need relief: guilt, grief, worry, loss, fear, loneliness, sadness, anger. I thought of how the best way to heal from our burdens is to give them to God and leave them alone. Maybe we will occasionally consider the pain and think how it isn’t any better than it was the day before. Then one day, after praying, we will notice how the scars have nearly healed and how things are so much better.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
What is emptiness? It is the opposite of full. We all desire to be full. If we don't get enough food, we aren't full. And we all want to be full. Emptiness is a lack of something. It is longing for something that isn't there.
We all have a strange aversion to emptiness. It is a kind of darkness. An abscence of light. We hate it. It is scary. It mean nothingness. Falling endlessly. Not bottom. Frightening. Blank.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Anyway, I am currently sitting in our little cafe on campus (which is over a pool that is filled in) and just looking at people. I think its interesting to look at them and to imagine what they are thinking about. It's surprising to see the different (and rather expressive) faces people will make while going about various tasks. There is a girl in the far right of the room who keeps glancing up to the television (which is showing a sports show), glaring at it as if it deeply offended her sense of propriety, and goes back to her computer screen where she is playing what looks like some kind of MMORPG.
Not too far in front of me is a guy who at first glance is thinking nothing because of the blank kind of stare on his face. But if I look around the arm rest of the chair I can see a ukulele, which he is slowly strumming. That blank stare is (oddly) one of concentration.
Another girl on the left side of the room is reading a book with her headphones in. She occasionally lets out a little giggle, and then goes back to her silent perusal. I wonder if it's the book or whatever is playing on her iPod that she finds amusing.
More people are waling in and out. Some of them look at others and strike up a conversation. Others pass through without acknowledging the rest of the world. It is so FASCINATING to see all these little worlds passing and intersecting with each other, some of them leaving little ripples, and others making huge waves in the ponds and lakes and oceans of others' worlds. The more I watch, the more I realize how easy it is to be caught up in yourself. Even people who mean well get trapped by it. I constantly try to better myself, but in the process I realize that I tend to become very self absorbed. Maybe we could all do a little better with noticing others.
Being a people creeper isn't all that bad. I rather enjoy it. I feel like I connect with the world as a whole when I do. Try it out sometime. There's lots to see, you just gotta look. Or creep. whatever you want to call it.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
According to the highly reputable source Wikipedia, a goblin is a legendary evil or mischievous creature, described as grotesquely evil. They are said to possess various nefarious abilities, and are usually depicted as small, sometimes only a few inches tall. They also often are said to possess various magical abilities. In this case, the fat goblin (a nasty little species, believe me) does indeed have magical abilities.
As you might think, the fat goblins use their magic to make you feel hungry even when you really aren't. The moment food is in front of you, or near your, or even when a picture is nearby that happens to look incredibly delicious, they start their evil magic. You instantly want some of whatever the thing is, and you will want more of it depending on how tasty and delicious the thing may be. You then eat and are overfilled and get fat.
Why might do they do this you may ask? Its quite simple really. They are fatties themselves, but are forced to live in the brain and cant eat, which sucks, so they just make you eat lots and lots because they are unhappy so why shouldn't you be too huh? And besides, the brain is a cramped place and they have to do SOMETHING to have fun.
Many people try to say that they can't exist in the brain because the conditions are not right. But these people are sadly mistaken, and end up unhappy and obese. Everyone knows that creatures such as these live under bridges (3 billy goats gruff. look it up.). Well, they actually live right beneath the Corpus callosum, which is considered to be the bridge between the two lobes of the brain. The corpus callosum rests right over the choroid plexus, which is the part of the brain that produces cerebrospinal fluid. And just below that is the Third Ventricle, quite literally a river of cerebrospinal fluid that is being pumped throughout the brain. Clearly the conditions are more that adequate. And to top it all off, it's pretty dark in there. Goblins LOVE the dark.
In 2007, the obesity rate in America was 26.6%. A shocking number. But what many fail to realize is that they aren't to blame at all. The fat goblins told them to do it. They couldn't help it! And many people also fail to realize that of the 26.6% of these obese Americans, 80% are actually not humans at all, but pigs. This is due to the fact that 20% of Americans are actually blind.
How do you get rid of the fat goblins? Sadly, you don't. Many people have to suffer long years with the fat goblins and their trickery. "Oh, you have to diet and exercise," many people say. But all that does is stave off the effects of the fat goblins' magic, namely fatness. The desire is still there. The best way to counter their magical attacks is to eat things that are healthy. Go ahead and let them tell you to eat. Just eat things with a lower fat content and they won't be able to get at you. Another option for dealing with the fat goblins is to remove one's head. But as this usually ends in extreme discomfort and sometimes death, health professionals discourage this practice.
Well, I hope you have learned something today. Most people have no idea that they have fat goblins living inside them. But hopefully, through the spread of information, we can learn to defeat them. Help those of us who suffer find a cure. Thank you.
Well, I'm off to Wendys! Ciao!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
I have to give you some background information for this to make sense. First of all, this is the second semester of my Junior year and it really is going well. I have been really responsible and have been getting all of my homework and reading done. Be proud. but today I found myself with an interesting dilemma....I had free time. I was caught up on my reading and I had plans to go do an assignment with a friend later, but that moment was beautifully free. I ended up in the library (an odd place to go when you have free time I know) and saw some friends. They wanted to make crepes. I wanted to eat crepes. You can see that life was going well for me.
Until the car ride that is. You see, one off the delightful young ladies who was coming to make crepes was under the delightful delusion that she could drive. She was, to my terror, very sadly mistaken. We got into her car and quickly learned that seat belts were a necessity. Which she NOW says was her point. I think she was just drunk.
Anyway, I peeled myself out of the car at Food Lion and we went inside to get the things required for crepes. We got strawberries and bananas and nutella to top the crepes with and we were about to check out when our lovely driver piped up, "Wait guys....don't we need tortillas?" (as I am writing this she says "I'm from North Carolina! We don't have crepes! We have grapes and mashed potatos. How was I supposed to know? I've only seen a picture. It looks like tortillas!") The driving should make more sense now. And it only got better when she decided to pull out in front of a truck in the parking lot. It was a big truck. We were a little car. I have no idea how we managed to not die.
this next part is only funny if you were there. Just know that on our way back home our driver waved and honked at a complete stranger and he waved back very enthusiastically. That's where the creeper comes in. Moving on.
We got to the house and proceeded to make the crepes. The whole while our driver was finding great pleasure in pinching the back of my arm. Not the little sharp kind of pinch, but the grab lots of skin, pull it as far out as you can, and apply pressure like there's no tomorrow kind of pinch.. So by the time the crepes were coming off of the pan , my arm was a bit sensitive. But I didn't mind, as I was cheerfully smearing nutella all over a crepe. Suddenly, the back of my arm felt a tad warm. Then it became a searing white pain. you see, the frying pan was touching my arm.
It was a total accident, and I hold no hard feelings, but the pan got me RIGHT where I had been so lovingly pinched. It was a tad sensitive. (a side note, as a reaction, my arm jerked forward involuntarily, and I happened to be holding a knife with nutella on it and it may or may not have come close to a friend. To her I apologize. But no harm no foul, right?)
So here I sit. Writing my blog. The point? Life is great. Be a bit impulsive. It makes for a refreshing afternoon. Promise. :)
By the way, BECKY WILSON WAS THERE THE WHOLE TIME. There. I mentioned you. Also, she is very funny.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
So, you know how every once in a while you have one of those moments where you are just plain old terrified? You know the feeling. Its that one when you look at something or hear something and just don't quite understand what is happening and then when you finally do realize what it is you are experiencing the little goblin who lives in the even littler unused organ next to your stomach comes outside and presses the panic button and the bottom of your stomach opens up and all of your innards up to your neck fall out of your body.
At least that's what you feel like is happening.
Then you start to breathe again and you realize that as horrible as whatever the thing is that just happened may have been/be/will continue to be, you aren't dead yet so you have to do something. And you see, I hate those moments. I hate them so much.
I recently had a bad dream. I generally don't remember my dreams, but the scary ones seem to stick. Nightmares have that effect on a person. They can stick for DAYS. So I have recently been in one of these stuck-for-days-thanks-to-a-creepy-dream dazes and ive been recalling fear moments. Here are a few I thought of. They arent actually that bad at all....in fact now I laugh about them. But at the time, I all but soiled my pants.
I have a friend who was diagnosed with thyroid cancer in high school. I hadn't known him very long when he was diagnosed, but I considered him a friend and and naturally worried about him and became almost protective of him. Over the next few years he had radiation and a few surgeries, one of which left a crescent shaped scar on his neck right around the adams apple. It's kind of like his neck is smirking at you because it knows something you don't. Rather rude in my opinion.
So anyway, we went to a scout camp one summer and we were tent mates. He had recently had a radiation treatment, but he ensured me it was all gone now and I would be fine sleeping in the tent with him. The first night was fun, but I don't sleep well in new places and ended up waking up halfway through the night. I started to come to and open my eyes and saw right across from me, RIGHT where his his head had been when we were talking, a faint green glow. It was a thin vertical line of green not too far away. I thought about it for a bit and realized that it was juuuuust about as long as his scar might have been....and it was vertical as if he was laying down. Then it hit me. I lost my innards. I realized at that moment that he was indeed still radioactive, that I was going to grow extra eyes and fingers, and never be able to have children. (not that having extra eyes and fingers would help my chances with the ladies anyway...not to mention any other undesirable side effects) It was terrible. I wanted to cry. But as my eyes began to adjust, I realized that it was just the moonlight hitting the tent. Which was green. And had a vertical rip in it. Innards restored.
Now this story happened just a few weeks ago. I was spending some time with a friend whose wife had to be out of town that night, and he gets HOPELESSLY mopey when she is gone, so I went to go cheer him up. We were just lounging around watching tv and he was surfing Facebook. He ended up going back to some old messages from when he and his wife were just dating and he was talking about how cute they were (*gag* mushy couples get to me sometimes). But he went quiet for a bit and then suddenly said, "Wow. Im such a whore. So, I hooked up with this girl over Christmas..." and I stopped listening. Because I had just lost my innards. The stomach dropped out and I struggled to breathe. Here was my best friend oh-so-calmly mentioning how he had cheated on his wife over Christmas and was laughing about it. I was already forming thoughts in my head."Ok look....I'm your friend and I won't say anything to her, but I will do ANYTHING in my power to get you to confess to her!" and other such thoughts were running through the only organ left functioning in my body. And before I knew it he was laughing at me. I came our of my semi-torpor just in time to hear him say "Nate, that was five years ago." before they were married. He then spent the next ten minutes laughing at me while I lectured him about how he has to give more back story and can't just come out and say things like "so I hooked up with this girl over Christmas" and such. Not cool.
So, here is to all those poor souls with a weak overwhelming fear trigger. You are not alone. It sucks. But you wont die from it.