1998-2015

Aristotle: a blogging fetus of a feeble 3 weeks in a sea of seasoned authors who have been blogging for 3+ months.

I'm feeling a little out of my league. 

I'm revealing someone even I don't know, let alone all that stumble upon my blog.

So this is an introduction. 

Here is my virtual handshake to you.

Let's start at the beginning.

1998 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & I'm just happy to be here.

1999 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & I burned my head (I still have a bald spot)

2000 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & messy is my middle name. My sister is my favorite adventure buddy.

2001 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & I want to be a pro bug hunter when I grow up.

2002 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & DISNEYLAND IS THE HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTHHHH (inhales all Dole Whips within a 5 mile radius)

2003 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & I am an actual princess. Ask my dad.

2004 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & selling Girl Scout cookies is tough business, man.

2005 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & Pokemon is liiiiiiife (wanna trade some cards?)

2006 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & I probably annoyed my brother today.

2007 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & a kid at school made fun of me for wearing boy shoes but it's ok because I whooped his trash playing soccer at recess.

2008 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & I wear soccer shorts under my jeans because my mom won't let me wear them to school.

2009 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & I'm a jock... haaaaaahahahahaha

P.S. beach babe status??

2010 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & yes, you should be as concerned for my sanity as I am in this pic 

(I was in a play if that helps) *shivers* These were the Dark Years.

2011 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & I put off a 25 hour project until the night before it was due. 

Still got an A, but I'm pretty sure it was because my teacher felt sorry for me.

2012 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & I cried when I got home after I chopped off all my hair.

2013 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & this... that's it.

2014 - Hi. My name is Aristotle & my double chin game has reached it's peak 

(@benclark @ryleeollerton) and how cute is my dad's cul-de-sac?

Hi. My name is Aristotle.

Right and left specific socks have to be on the correct feet or I can't function.

I can't wash my hands with "grandma soap". You know the stuff. If you don't, picture your grandma, then picture SMELLING like your grandma with 10x more grandma. If all else fails, wash your hands at McDonalds and you'll smell like an assisted living home for dayyyys.

If you ask if I currently have a turf burn, the answer is probably yes.

My favorite smell is my mom's fresh baked bread. Wish I could insert a scratch and sniff, but ya know, blogger isn't that cool yet.

I can only pop my neck to the left.

You'd better believe come December 1st I'm going to have Michael Bublé's

Christmas album blasting higher than the heat in my car. If you plan on driving with me, bring your earplugs and a blanket. I drive with the windows down in all weather conditions.

Goodbyes make me cry every time.

Thank you for letting me be the random kid that transferred into your A2 class. 

Thank you for letting me swear in every post and not say anything about it.

 (My mom would tell you a different story) 

Thank you for being the 3am post that changed my mind.

Thank you for writing so well I want to #steal all of it.

 Please forgive me, but this goodbye tastes bitter on the tip of my tongue

Like I just licked asphalt but I want it to taste like candy.

But I think I'm ready for this

Hi. My name is Aristotle

 Megan Running. It's nice to finally meet you.

Blue's clues

1. Located in the hall notorious for hardcore M.O. seshs. Rated 5/5 stars on Best M.O. Spots at LP by @nastycouples2k15 put out some hot kiss fires!!

2. Ladies, this one is for you... Cough cough metal box that dispenses gifts to battle good ol Mother Nature. 

3.

4. When Nelson's class doesn't quench the creative thirst (hydration is key) 

IN THE HEART OF NELSON'S CLASSROOM:

5. Find your Paris on pg.13

6. Radio waves. Microwaves infrared radiation visible light ultra violet X-RAYS GAMMA RAAYYYYYYS.

7. Desk 31/35.

8. Nowhere but up. 

Scavenger Hunts n Stuff

Hey kids, I'm sending you all on a scavenger hunt! 
No, this is not the 2nd grade 
No, this is not Easter

THIS IS SOMETHING BIGGER
 
Deep, DEEEEEEEEP into our very own Lone Peak High School there are 8 of Aristotle's own fresh mixtapes, but they're not just sitting out in the open. They're hidden, and only I know where they are. 

And now I'll pull a Shamwow commercial on you by saying, "BUT WAIT. THERE'S MORE!!" Not only will you get a mixtape that will off your scalp because it's so tomahawk, but you'll also get a taste of who Aristotle really is (cough cough, you'll get a reveal) WHOOP.
  
Now, I know you can't read my mind, so I'll be letting you in on a few deep-dish clues tomorrow morning on where these bomb mixtapes might be hiding.

Go, run free! Don't forget to check back in tomorrow morning.
For now, bless yourself with a little simmer down Sunday (even though you all have probably heard this song 23095 times because Nelson has some bomb tracks) 

FEEL IT

Brain vs. Heart

Car ride home
beats per minute: 85

He says, "I feel like I'm smothering you"

brain: Tell him the truth. You've waited too long anyway.
heart: You still really care about him. This is a lot harder than you thought it would be.

b:1 h:0

She says, "I don't want to be in a relationship"

b: Good. Tell the truth. It's better that way.
h: The words hurt too much. Can you take them back? You hate when he's sad anyway. Maybe we can still work this out? 

b:2 h:0

Pull into the driveway. Park the car.
bpm: 78

h: The way he talks about you makes me hurt. I'm burning. 
b: I don't know what to say. I mean, I could start with the way he's always trying to make other people happy or how he always knows when something's wron- 
h: OH NO HERE COME THE TEARS.
b: MAYDAY MAYDAY ALL TEAR DUCT THRUSTERS OFF. I REPEAT, OFF. 

b:2 h:1

The tears come anyway. And now she's stuffed her head in his jacket.
bpm: 80

b: Your tears are making rivers in his jacket. I hope he washes it even though I know he will. I hope your tear stains come out. 
h: Why does he talk about me like that when I can't say it back? All I want is for him to be happy but I can't give it to him. I'm sorry it's so painful. I've been down this road and I know how much it hurts. It's worse than hell. 
b: Huh. Now he's talking about the good times. He'd better not leave you for good. That last guy was a bastard. 
h: Memories? I still really need you. and shut up brain, you know he cares about her way more than the idiot that left her ever did. 

b:2 h:2

He leaves. She's alone in her car.
bpm: 60

b: I am numb.
h: I can't just expect you to turn around and comfort me when I need to be comforting you but you did anyway.
b: 
h: I hope you know this hurts me too. 
b: I hope you can't hear me crying. 

b:3 h:2

She stops on the way home to catch her breath at the park.
bpm: 57

The windows streak like the tracks of tears stained on her face. 101.9 whispers Stolen Dance for the one millionth time since 2013. His sticky notes are still in her cup holder and there's a chocolate kiss melted to the carpet in the back.

h: Does he know I care? 
b: Calm down. You need to stop crying. What if mom sees her face? She'll ask questions. 
h: I don't care. Honestly this kills.
b: Be strong for two seconds. Pull yourself together. 
h: He even thought to turn the seat warmer off before he left. 

b:3 h:3

She drives home. Mom confronts her at door.
bpm: 75

"How was the game?"
"Good"

h: Too short of an answer. She knows.
b: Who cares if she knows. My face is red anyway.

"Are you okay?"

b: TRUTH. Please. You're late for curfew for a reason. 
h: She won't understand. 

"I'm so sorry"

b: What can you do...
h: He says that.
b: I know.

As she hit the sixteenth stair, Niagara Falls did too.

b:3 h:4 




Thanks to Steven O. Jordan for this idea. Want to see the work that inspired mine?
Click here

Last November

I can't help but remember how I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned whiter than the lies you'd been living for the past week. 

You said you loved me.

  

Maybe it's the fact that a year ago I was losing sleep writing notes to you, thinking about how you hate your ears and feeling your rocky, almost-there five o'clock shadow graze my cheek. But now I'm here; a mosquito petrified in the amber of fallen leaves. I'm laying in bed with burning eyes just to listen to the silent screaming wind that takes me back to those summer nights, the feel of wet cotton against my face and the overpowering claustrophobic weight of pure darkness.

How to wake up on the wrong side of the bed

I woke up with my phone charger choking my wrist. 

Maroon Five was blasting at what seemed to be something near 140 decibels. (Sorry nobody wants to hear "misery" that early in the morning. Shoulda left that bad boy back in 2010.)

As I leaned over to shut up my bloody alarm clock, I put all of my weight on my creative writing notebook. It was spread wide open to the blank page of a poem I was too inspired not to write. My journal slipped out from under the pressure and my freaking face smashed the bed. Oh and not to mention all of my loose-leafed notes + notebook are now strewn across the ground.

"Ohhhhhhhhh my helllllllllllll" I mumbled to myself as I fumbled for the tiniest button to shut up flipping Adam Levine [luh-veen] noun: the somewhat sexy monster who disturbed my sleep. 

But I pushed the wrong button 4 times and in my frustration, I punched my clock like Muhammad Ali until I'd  either broken it, or by some kind of miracle, found the button that made my world go silent.

So good morning, world. Nice to see the glowing orange letters of my predecessor's consciousness. I don't know how I'll attack today but so far, today's attacked me and I've only been awake for 30 seconds.