Supafly.com

I just got back from Mass. It’s so cool how so many people come to Mass, and how everyone sings. I feel like I do when I have on headphones, or in the car all by myself. I turn up the music loud, and I become apart of the music. Everyone at St. Tim’s can let go of their insecurities and sing as loud as they want.This week has felt really long, and I’ve loved every dragging moment. For the almost two decades of my life, I walked through weekdays on my way to the weekend. Traveling as much as I do on the weekends, I need the weekdays to rest and gain stability. I guess my week just balances itself out: the adventure of the weekend, and the comfort of the weekdays.

My younger brother called me today on his lunch break. He’s out of the house now, working full time in Athens, at the University of Georgia. It felt so good to talk to him. With him living in a new place—and having a new life, really—we have so more we can talk about. I know that living on his own will help shape him into the man he knows he can become.

We’ve lost most of our fish. Maybe it was the boiling temperatures when our AC was secretly broken. I feel kind of bad because they lost friends, and they don’t seem as happy. Two of the lemon-yellows are no longer with us. Yes, Luke and Jonah have gone to the big fish bowl in the sky.

Someone sent me flowers. Well, not flowers, but a “man plant.” Attached was a note that thanked me for doing what I do for young people. Everyone has been asking me about my new secret girlfriend. Who says it wasn’t an older woman? Or maybe it is a parent on the east coast that I met last month? Whoever sent them to me, she made me feel special.

I wonder now, whom should I send flowers to? To think that every day I hold the opportunity to make someone’s day with flowers and a kind card.

After The Real World, I’ve dealt with a lot of aggressive women. Now that I think about it, it started while we were living in New Orleans. With cameras on us, a nice car, and living in a mansion, it was so easy to meet a hot girl and bring her home.

Still today, in a night around town, I meet too many beautiful women. It takes no effort to get a girl’s attention and keep it. I love the attention, but I don’t do anything with it. My body wants to fool around, but my heart and mind know better.

I met someone last fall when Matt was playing music around town. She walked in, and no guy could keep his eyes off her. She was flirting her way through the crowds…she really owned that room. I ignored her because someone had too. By the end of the night, we both knew I was on The Real World, and she got aggressive with me.

I wanted to play the game with her, but I knew better. Mom and Dad expect great things from me. I talked to her, telling her about what I do with Life Teen, speaking to young people and running lifeteen.com. I asked her about her family and what she’s doing in school. She talked about how she hasn’t been to Mass since she moved here from Chicago. She gave me her phone number so I could call her so she can come to Mass at St. Tim’s. Then she tried to kiss me.

After three weeks, I cooled down and called her. I left her a message, telling her I would pick her up on my way to Mass this Sunday.

To this day, she haunts me. She was so hot. Life would never be boring waking up next to her. But I hurt for her. –how little does she love herself to want to get with somebody just because they were on TV?  What does she feel when she looks; in the mirror? How many times has some guy taken advantage of her. The next morning she wakes up, changed but unchanged.

I still have her phone number tucked in the poster frame above my desk. That number, scribbled on a napkin a year ago, never leaves me alone. That number is a reminder the choices I have, and the decision I have to keep making.

It’s always in the air, and rarely on the ground. But Denison is up near Oklahoma, so we got a good two-hour road trip before I opened my suitcase. It was fun to look out the window and watch the Texas countryside pass by. Fr. John is a fun guy to talk to. He didn’t become a priest until later in life, so he brings an interesting perspective to his vocation.

I spoke at St. Patrick’s, my friend Fr. John’s new parish. The parish has been through some hard times, and he has a lot of pastoring to do. I was honored to help him out in any way. He is a good man.

Denison is small town that I’d never heard of until I penciled it on my calendar. Just because it doesn’t get a dot on national maps doesn’t make it insignificant. This is one of the most rewarding parts of traveling: dipping into the social circles and daily lives of people that I don’t even know. It’s the same routine—pick up, lunch out, speak, dinner out, sleep, drop off—but the people change. Their life experiences are each unique.

Just a few minutes ago, I received an anonymous email from a fan of The Real World. My new friend was explaining to me the struggles he is having in his personal life, and how to reconcile those with his Faith. My heart really went out to him.

I prayed, and began writing him back. I couldn’t wait to point him to some people, an online support group, who understand what he is going through. I typed in the web address to make sure I had it correct, and my monitor was blitzed with pornography. I threw my hands against the screen and I started crying out of anger and frustration.

What the fuck? People need help and I am trying to help them. How many people take that first step to seek help, and are hammered with hell? What kind of people would hijack a site that helped so many people, only to hurt us like that? They should fuck off.

These journals have become more difficult to write. In the beginning, I recounted the events of the day, checked for spelling errors and that was it. Fifteen minutes to wrap up twenty-four hours. A year later, I would reread the journals and be bored. I don’t care who I ate dinner with, but what was I thinking during dinner? What did I learn from our conversation? What did I say? What did I not say? It’s time to rethink what I write about.