Trembling Hands

So I write stories sometimes.

And I figured it'd be cool to post some of them on here. (Also, Jon just gave me an extremely recent inspiration boost)

This one has yet to have a title.
Enjoy.
Or don't.
But try to.

I’m looking down at my feet as the double doors open. I’ve never been this nervous. Maybe anxious is the right word. Whatever it is, my heart is about to burst through my chest.

There she is, her dark hair hanging by her shoulders. She couldn’t decide how to do it. First it was supposed to be pulled back in a bun, now it’s down and curly. I like it better this way, but honestly, I could care less what her hair looks like right now. All that matters is the next few moments. Her dress is gorgeous. I haven’t seen it on her before today. Of course I pried and pried, trying to get a glimpse of her in it these last few weeks, but she held her ground. I’m glad though. It wouldn’t have been as breathtaking.

As she walks up the steps to me, my body shakes a little. Not like epilepsy, I don’t get seizures, but that excited shake you get when you can’t wait for something. I remember when I was little, my family would go to Disneyland and every time I was in line for Indiana Jones, I’d get this excited shaking. The line was always too long and I felt like I’d die if I couldn’t quell the shakes.

That’s how it is now.

She stops at the top, right next to me, and grabs my hand.

“Hi,” she whispers.

And just like that. With that “hi,” I remember why I proposed. I remember the strength and confidence she would always exude when she walked into a room. When she met my friends for the first time, they were kind of surprised.

“Nobody has ever owned it as much as she did,” they would say after she left. What that meant exactly, I never knew, but she definitely made an impression on them, ultimately becoming their “favorite” out of the few girls I had dated.

When we would hold hands she’d sometimes rub the back of my thumb with her thumb. When we’d watch movies, she’d get as close to me as she could, as if she was holding on for dear life, as if I was the only safe thing around. I loved it.

“Hi,” I whisper back.

The pastor starts doing his thing, and I’m listening, but not really. I’m getting lost in her eyes. Those blue, ever-changing oceans. Some days there would be more white in them, like the tide was coming in, and the waves were closer than before. Somehow I say my vows. Speaking is difficult.

All I want to do is kiss her.

She says her vows, and the pastor says some more things I can’t make out because I’m getting lost again.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” says the pastor. “You may now kiss the bride.”

I rush in before he finishes his sentence and we connect. Our friends and families clap and cheer. We turn and face them, both beaming, happier than we could ever possibly be…

And just like that, I’m back in the coffee shop. Back to my comfortable chair, my warm drink, and my try-too-hard outfit.

I was doing it again.

Daydreaming. Obsessing over this girl that I don’t even know. All she did was smile in my direction. Was it even at me? Hopefully it was because now I’m actually thinking about our future together. I don’t even know this girl, but I feel like I know her. Does that mean anything? Is this love at first sight?

I’d never really experienced love at first sight. In movies there would always be that one scene where the girl walks in and the guy looks up at her, completely blown away. She would be totally hot, he’d be kind of a loser, but at the end they would always get together and the movie would end with some sort of slow motion make out session as the camera pulled back and the hipster music played in the background.

I’d always imagined love like that. Some big, theatrical moment where I knew for certain this person was the person I would marry. So is this the person? Is this the slow motion moment?

Maybe.

Or maybe it’s just my over-thinking, overeager mind being utterly destroyed by the beauty of this girl. Does every guy in this room feel the same way I do? I feel myself looking around, glaring at every person with a Y-chromosome. They all look over at me, pulling out various weapons, and they charge. I rush to meet them and we fight violently. Appendages twist and snap, faces are bruised and bloodied, and at the end of it all I stand victorious at the top of the pile of vicious men. My dream woman hurries over to me and holds me close, explaining that all she’s wanted her entire life is someone to save her from the hordes of atrocious evil that followed her everywhere. I would pick her up and carry her out of the coffee shop (Because that’s always the heroic thing to do) and we continued to live happily ever after.

Yikes.

This is a little extreme, even for me. There’s no way that would ever happen. One, I could never fight off a bunch of armed guys with just my bare hands, and two, she would never want to be with me anyway. I might as well just get out of here; I can’t subject myself to the craziness of my own mind right now.

As I stand up to leave, I see her glance up from her book and we connect, and I’m back at the church, holding her hand, walking out the door and into our car. The driver pulls away and starts us on our way to the reception. She puts her head on my shoulder and lets out a deep breath.

“I love you,” she sighs.

Shit.

Stop it. You have to stop thinking about her.

I listen to myself and instantly break eye contact. I can’t be here anymore. I can’t let myself drown in this newfound adoration.

But what if she’s “The One?” What if I leave and I never find that person for me? I’ll forever be haunted by this missed opportunity.

I’m taking this chance.

As I walk toward her, my body shakes a little, but it stops almost as immediately as it starts. I have to keep myself together. I have to make the best impression possible.

“Excuse me,” I say quietly.

She looks up at me, a little surprised, but she doesn’t say anything. I expected words to come out, but there’s only silence.

She hates me. I know it.

“Hi. Umm… I saw you from over there and I was just wondering…” I’m nervous. Not nervous like I was at the alter back in my dream world. It’s more like a strong, murderous fear. Like she won’t understand that we’re meant to be together. “I was just wondering if maybe you’d want to go out. Hang out. Maybe later tonight?”

She just looks at me. Face blank. Her blue eyes seem more gray now than they did before. Was I not clear? If only she’d know what she meant to me. A small smile comes across her lips and she looks around, almost like she’s embarrassed.

Embarrassed? What did I say?

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t think so.”

Her voice doesn’t sound like I thought it would. It’s not angelic and peaceful. It’s hoarse and deep. What was I thinking? This was a mistake.

“Okay. Well… no problem. See you around.” The words force their way out of my mouth. I had no intention of taking no for an answer, but this sudden shock—this rejection—is too much to handle right now. I turn around and head for the door, too crushed to look back and try again.

I head towards my car outside and fumble with my keys. That was stupid. I should’ve listened to myself. Why would she feel the same? It was ridiculous of me to think that I could have a relationship with that girl. Some girl I didn’t even know. Some beautiful, terrible angel who just ripped my dreams apart.

As I get to my car, the car next to me opens and a woman steps out. She stands up straight, brushing the dark hair from her face, and glances in my direction.

And we connect.

Gimmeakiss

BOOM!!!

I'm back on this ish.

It's been way too long. I feel like I had a semi-serious relationship with this blog.
We'd hang out sometimes.
Be serious.
Do some crazy things (to each other).

But then I got sick of it.
I bailed.
My blog was left crying and alone, probably hooking up with other people to try to get over me.
It couldn't.
So now I'm back.
Maybe we'll hook up for a while. I'm not looking for anything serious, but it's me we're talking about here, so I'll fall in love all over again and be forever committed.
Maybe have some children...........
Then bail.
Just kidding (?)

Anyway.
A lot has happened since my departure.
It's summer just in case you had no idea.
I have a Twitter ( twitter.com/nicksidari ) that I'm obsessed with.
My hair is cool and different.
And I paint........
Schools.

Yup. I work 40 hour weeks painting the crap out of every school in the district. It's not so bad, actually. I kinda like it. But then my friends are like, "Hey let's do crazy stuff and stay up all night!!" and then I'm all like, "Yeah, I'm in bed by 10....."

Suffice it to say that I have little to no life.
Yay summer!

But it's been a pretty cool experience, I guess. I know what "cutting in" is now and throw it around in conversation on a daily basis to try and sound cool

Totally works.

Oh!
Also.
I'm looking into getting an internship next summer at Marvel Studios.
Because how SICK would that be?
Pretty sick.
If you don't think so, you're wrong.






Okay. This has been fun.
I'll call you....







Maybe I'll call you.

Sunset Soon Forgotten

I don't know what it is.

This utter need to be loved. This desperation for reciprocated feelings that I've been working towards for most of my life. And I don't know why.

I mean.
For as long as I can remember, all I've wanted is love. And who doesn't, really? Everyone wants to feel love in their lives. It's what drives people.
But for me, it's been this thing that's been slightly out of reach, making me want it even more.

I'm a huge romantic.
Stuff I write and think and do would probably make most men shudder with fear.
I'm always down for commitment.

You like me?
Well I like you.
Let's date for years.
Let's talk about stuff. Who needs the whole, "Well...I'm just gonna hide my true feelings and maybe you'll eventually get the hint" crap?
Eff that. Just talk to me. Wade through all of the bullshit that you want to shovel my way and just say it.

And that scares people. Being real and honestly talking about stuff scares the hell out of people, and I've never understood it. Why would you want to start confusion? Why would you want to send mixed signals? Cause it's easier than hurting someone? I would rather be told it wasn't working out than to continue to put time and effort into a lost cause.

I'm a big boy.
I'll get over it.

And all of this.
All of this risk in taking chances and actually going for it but instead sitting by the sidelines trying not to get hurt is ridiculous. I realize people have had tough experiences in the past and they're afraid of getting hurt again, but come on. You're never gonna get passed that fear if you're letting it make your choices for you.

I don't know.
Love is exciting.
It's dangerous and uncertain and thrilling and unrealistic and something that I probably look forward to way too much.
Real, honest, "let's sit around and do nothing but still have the best time" love.

And it's sappy.
I'm sappy.
But I wouldn't have it any other way.

Rereading this, I'm realizing how jumbled it all is. No real order, and I'll be honest, this is mostly word vomit because it's the only real way I know how to cope.

Your Hand in Mine

Lately I've been thinking a lot about what inspires people.



Last night I had the privilege to see Olafur Arnalds in LA.
It was beyond phenomenal.
What is it with Icelandic people and their ridiculous talent?
Jonsi and Olafur should just combine forces and rule the world with their amazingness.

But anyways.
What gives Olafur, or any musician for that matter, the inspiration to write these crazy ballads that blow people away? What makes a writer rush to their computer to write something that's been building for days?

I could go on and on with all different types of artists, but I think you get the point.

Is it the big ideas?
Like the vastness of the universe.
Or creation.
Or love.

I like to think that the small moments are the ones that are memorable and inspirational.

The look on their face when you see them for the first time in weeks.
The clouds swirling around during a sunset .
 Finishing the last page of a book.

This is the stuff that matters. Of course creation, and the universe, and love, they all matter tremendously.
But the small things.
The details.
Those are what's gonna matter to you in the end. When you fall in love you don't just remember that you fell in love, you remember how you fell in love. The small moments that made you glad you asked them out in the first place.

And maybe this is all crap.
Maybe it's just me wanting to see the romantic side of life.
But it's how I like to live.
I look at the details. Maybe sometimes too much because I'm constantly over-thinking and over-analyzing everything, which can get me into trouble, but that's just what I do. I can't really change that, and I don't even know if I would, given the chance.

Inspiration can come in so many forms.

It happens when you discover that this song is your new favorite.
Or when the ending of the movie blows your mind.
It's when you hold their hand for the first time.
It's in the shy glances.
It's surprising.

I like it.

All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands

It's weird thinking about what the future holds.

I'm not really sure why, but over the last few weeks, everyone seems to be asking me what I'll be doing with my life after college. The truth is, I really have no idea. I'm an unofficial history major and a critical studies minor, but that really doesn't mean anything. I mean, yeah I like history and movies, but who knows what's in store when I finally graduate.

I'd love to live in New York for a little bit.
But living in New York requires a source of income.
Which requires a job.
Which requires knowing what you want to do.
I mean.
I guess I can have a job without knowing what I want to do, but I'd prefer to be doing something with a purpose.

I tell everyone that I want to do something with movies, like production or "film research," a position I'm not even sure exists. Well, that's not entirely true. It does exist, it's just not what I thought it was. And don't get me wrong, I'd love to work in the film industry, but how realistic is that really?

I'm not even sure what kind of degree I need to even do that kind of stuff.

Lately though, I've been thinking about teaching and how that would be. My history teachers in high school are the reason I like history so much and are the reason I'm focusing four years of my life studying it. To know that I could have that impact, and set an example for younger people excites me, but at the same time it's not something I'm set on.

Teaching has always been in the back of my mind. Something that I've always thought about doing, but never really thought would become a reality. It's always been something that I'm hesitant to commit to, and I'm not really sure why.

I know I have a couple years to figure everything out, but I can't help thinking about this stuff on a daily basis.


And who knows?
Maybe I'll end up being some business man at some huge corporation.



^Whoops.
Jokes are funny.

Tornado

Okay.

So I'm taking a screenwriting class this semester and it's incredibly awesome. I mean, we talk about movies for three hours, so how can there possibly be a downside?

We just had a pitch assignment where we had to write down three pitches for future movie scripts, and I was excited because I have a few cool ideas that I'm starting to work on.
I get to writing them and realize that one of them is terrible/unoriginal/whoops.

It goes a little like this:

A guy realizes that he has a lot of regret, so he goes back in time to fix his mistakes, only to realize that his mistakes make him who he is and decides to leave them in place.


If it sounds familiar, it's because it's kind of a combo of Back to the Future and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Both great films, but I would prefer to do something that doesn't have someone go, "This is exactly like such and such."

So I scrapped that idea and was trying to think of something new, when this awesome idea popped into my head. I honestly don't know what got me thinking about it, but I was so stoked about it, so I wrote my pitch for it and anxiously waited for class to start so I could talk to someone about it.

I'm not going to say what it is though. Not that producers scour the internet searching for blogs to get script ideas so they can steal them from helpless college students, but it could happen.
Maybe.
Probably not, but I really like this idea and would prefer it if someone didn't go all Social Network on it.

So after sitting through about an hour of class, it was time for us to read our favorite pitch, so I read mine. I'm not sure if I've ever been more confident about anything in my entire life than I was about this idea, so I read it, trying to sound all intense and into it so everyone would be amazed by it. Thirty seconds later I look up at my professor and he goes:

"Have you read ___ _____ ____ _____? It sounds just like it."


BURN.


I think my face exploded at that point just out of sheer embarrassment/anger/death.

It's like someone never seeing/hearing/knowing about Star Wars (God help them) and writing a treatment for a space saga about a Jedi and his evil father. Then someone tells them that George Lucas already made billions off that idea, so eff off.




So yeah.
That was my Tuesday night.
Thanks Screenwriting.

Colors In Array

Okay.

I'm finally writing one of these things again.

I'm not really sure why I haven't been keeping up with it.
Well.
Okay, that's a lie.
Honestly, I haven't had much inspiration/drive/desire to even write, which kind of sucks because I left you faithful readers with a huge cliffhanger.

I said I was gonna be more honest and then bam, I'm gone.
I'm like your favorite TV show that promises the goods and then the finale episode was a complete letdown.
Stupid television.

Well now it's premiere time.
Which is funny because school is about to start so that kind of makes sense.

A couple things before I get into this.

1. Go see Scott Pilgrim vs. the World if you haven't already. It's incredibly fresh and original.
2. I now have sandwich cutters in the shape of a Tie-fighter and the Millennium Falcon. If you don't know what either of those are...shame on you.

Okay so I'm in love with comic books.
I've been hearing about this awesome book called Blankets for a while but haven't found it in any store.

Cut to the other day when I walk into Barnes and Noble and find it in the graphic novel section.
It was also $30.00 (Whoops).
But.
It was well worth it.
I don't think I've been that emotionally moved by a comic ever.
It's 600 pages of amazingness and if you ever have the chance to read it...please do.

It's a story about growing up/relationships/love/heartbreak/lost faith and it has stuck with me ever since I finished the last page, and I'm not sure if that's what is giving me the inspiration to write this, or it's other stupid occurrences that these last few days have brought, but I'm loving it.

I took a break from this whole blogging thing because it was becoming kind of stagnant. I wrote a bunch, but it didn't really mean anything. Some of it did, but a lot of it was me talking just to talk, and I hate that. I wanted to write about stuff that I felt passionate about, and I think I'm finding out what that is finally.

During high school, the "adults" would always ask you what you had a passion for.
Some people knew.
I never did.
They'd go around the room and answers like ministry and politics would be said without hesitation, but when it came to me, I always hesitated. I mean...I liked missions trips and capital hill as much as the next person, but they were never passions of mine. I wouldn't even come up with an answer. I just didn't know. That usually came with some weird look from the teacher, but can most teachers say that they really have a passion for teaching and putting up with annoying teenagers all day?

Boom. Roasted.

Now, if I were have that question asked again at this very moment I wouldn't hesitate at all.
I'm in love with film.
I adore comic books.
And I'm passionate about love and finding great relationships.


So...ya...take that high school.
No one likes you anyway.