On Strangers


Here, in America, two common phrases we teach our children are “Stranger Danger” and “Don’t Talk to Strangers.” The phrases are simply meant to dissuade children from talking to people they don’t know.

Why do we fear strangers? Strangers represent the unknown to us. And we fear the unknown and what we don’t understand.

But as for me, I fear what I know. Because people I have let close to me have hurt me far greater than any stranger.

We allow ourselves to be hurt by others and we put value on words and actions from those individuals we allow to be close to us.

There is risk in never knowing a stranger.

There is also risk in trusting no one and finding ourselves alone, forever, without any friends.


Dedicated to the one and only Charly Priest. There are really no words that can truly describe him. He’s quite the character. If you aren’t following his CrazyLife, I’d encourage you to do so.



Lean and mean

Most fun guy

The pretty ladies

Say they have ever seen.


Served his country

Spanish pride

Definitely the apple

Of his mother’s eye.


Always good for a laugh

Want to know where’s the party

Follow this guy

He knows where it’s at.


Living the life

He wants it to be

For him

A CrazyLife is what it seems.


Dedicated to Carissa and Amanda and others who still believe, even if you aren’t sure what you believe in anymore.


She still believed

Even if there was nothing to believe

And no one believed in her

She still would proceed

Even if all paths

Led to nowhere

And hurdles could not

Be overcome

She’d still try

Knowing that sometimes

We have to leave behind

The dissenters

Who always will leave

The fruit on the vine to die.


Because a little humor (and a friend) never hurt anyone..


You Know Nothing of the World


She laughed and told me I knew nothing of the world.

“You’re too young. You’ve got a lot to learn. White wine is all the rage cause it fills you up and is served with a chill. Little chickadees drink it up cause they think it gives them a thrill.”

She tossed her brown hair back and continued, “As for me, I drink red wine. It soothes the soul and makes me lose control. It makes me feel dangerous.”

She pulled me by the arm towards her.

“You look like the type of guy that knows how to make a girl feel pretty,” she laughed.

I pondered her words for a brief second as she kissed my forehead and sauntered away. Her hips swayed from side to side with each step – a sight always so mesmerizing.

”Pretty is a state of mind and built upon the false bravado of those ads in Teen Magazine. Your green eyes never deceive and speak in volumes of what pretty means. Your confidence is alluring and when you walk you own the streets,” I told her.

The words struck a chord and she cut a sudden smile like something had connected. She bit her lip and slightly stuck her tongue out. She always does this when she is pleased or amused.

“I see,” she said matter-of-factly while turning away.

“And what is that you see, my dear,” I retorted.

She turned with a wry smile breaking across her face – lighting the entire room up before my very eyes.

“Perhaps you are ready to even skip a grade,” she said demonstrating to me how “throw pillows” got their name.