Spencer Moseley

I ended my phone call with one of my best friends and walked into Pho Thanh Long. I'd felt guilty for placing my online food order during our phone call, but I was still happy with the order: Banh Mi, Thai Tea, Spring rolls.  I noticed someone in the restaurant looked familiar, but I couldn't remember her name. It would only be halfway through fighting a spicy jalapeno that I'd remember I worked with her pretty closely for two years a couple jobs ago. Whoops. "Did you order—?" The cashier with a buzzed head and portly stature got distracted by nothing before returning to his question. "A Vietnamese sandwiiiich and uhh." "Thai tea," I offered. "Yes," he said, curtly, not liking that I'd offered, apparently. He handed me the food wrapped in a Walmart bag (the best food is poorly wrapped) with the signature pinkie wide straw jutting out the side that I'd soon jam through the tea's sealing film. No turtles saved today. I ate t...

A handsome man with jet black hair and jet black stubble spoke with an even more handsome middle eastern accent.  "Can I help you sir?" Why yes you can. Spencer, talk normal.  Cough. Cough. "Yes, could I get—"  I realized I hadn't looked at the menu and fought through the awkward pause I needed to make up my mind.  "Could I get a beef shawarma?" "Yes sir," he said calmly, as if my awkward pause hadn't existed. Another pause ensued where I tried to figure out how to pay. I prefer the credit card tap. But the thingy didn't have a tap thing. So I inserted. "Would you like your receipt?" he asked. "No thank you," I said and sat down. I scrolled to not look like a psycho staring at him. I looked briefly around the restaurant that doubled as backstock: empty cardboard boxes, upside down chairs and step stools smooshed into the far end of the room. "Here you go," he said, offering his first half smile. Not that ...

The thin wooden chopsticks felt light and smooth. They were hard to manage with my unpracticed fingers. I grabbed a spoon to compensate. One of those plastic short spoons with a large, squarish bottomed sipping bowl, and a little lip for my index finger to rest under. I tossed in a handful of bean sprouts, cilantro and basil. Squeezed that quarter lime. Stirred the thin noodles together with the brisket and sockeye steak. Took my first sip. Meh. It was okay. Didn't blow my mind (the brisket kinda blew my mind). But I knew that going into this. That's just how pho is.  Pho is the mother of the food world. Nurturing. But tells it to you straight. "Here's the vegetables you need. You'll feel great while you run on this. But you'll just feel meh while you slurp it down." It's not a McDonald's cheeseburger that'll send your tastebuds to the moon. And then leave you high and dry and ready for a nap. McDonald's is the whore of the food world.  I j...

Gandolf yanked his penis out of Frado with alarming speed for his age. Frado, shot his own load with heavy breaths and drool running down to his hairy feet.  "Gandolf!" Frado pulled the ring from his penis. "Yes, my boy. It's good to see you again." (Gandolf preferred Frado invisible so he could fantasize about Goladriel, too). And Gandolf let out a hearty laugh and gave Frado's butt a whack with his staff.  Som, Marry and Pappin clapped and Boramir groaned as he had nothing left to jerking off to. Aragarn gave his little chuckle reserved for only the funniest of moments. Arwan tugged Aragarn's penis too, just so slightly. But it was enough to get him to a half chub.  "So what's for dinner?" asked Gamli. He wore his dwarven helm and nothing else, hoping Eawyn would glance his way (to no avail).  "Oh I'm sure I'll think of something," said Gandolf, shimmying into his cloak and conjuring a loaf of lembas bread with magic. ...

What's meaningful? What matters? It's kind of weird to think that only I can answer that. Only you can answer that. And our answers will probably be different. And you'll look at my LOTR books and be like wtf. And I'll look at your Taylor Swift collection and be like wtf.  But here we are. Two Worlds, One Family. Trust your heart. Let Faith Decide........nvm. (but for real what a banger song). My whole paradigm has shifted. I grew up thinking something mattered objectively for everyone, everywhere, all at once: God and getting to heaven and living a holy life.  Now I think that, objectively, nothing matters. That tree we both see doesn't matter. It's gonna die. Sure it may provide life to other creatures. Other creatures also bound for the same nothingness we will all sink into. Literally.  But things do matter, subjectively, TO ME. My friends and family matter. Sharing my thoughts and feelings in this blog matters. Nature matters. Singing matters. Things that m...

I think sometimes I look at someone smiling through pain and think "that person is so fake. There's no way they feel like smiling". But maybe how we approach pain is a choice, not a necessity. I can feel depressed or sad or tired or angry and respond with a smile. And that smile, that laugh, can make me feel better and good about my life.  And I think those are moments I look back at with fondness. I can remember certain times someone upset me and I just let it go or smiled back. And that felt wholesome and good. I felt more in control of my mood and of my life in those moments. I am certainly human and have to remember I won't always have it in me to smile. Sometimes my emotions will take the drivers seat. And I certainly don't want to smile as a way of hiding my pain from others.  But I think what I have to ask myself is: In this challenging moment, what do I want? If I want to feel my feelings for a bit and process them, great. But if I want to work on acceptin...

I'm anxious. I'll hear my heart racing over the slightest thing. Is that not okay? No. I want to feel at peace. But what if what being peaceful all the time isn't you? What if being anxious makes you who you are? And what if that's okay to carry with you? What if it's not a problem to solve but a condition of life to embrace? And look at what it gives you. What does it give me? Empathy. You can feel all the threads of emotion in a room. It's a superpower of sensitivity to a room's vibrations that not everyone has. And you can move with it. You can feel those vibrations and still decide on what's best for you, even if you know it'll disturb that peace. Even if you know it'll make people uncomfortable. I don't much like this. Like others seems so peaceful and okay with things. Seem. They're all faking? A lot of them are. Or they're on drugs. How many people do you really know who just don't give a fuck? Not many. And usually they...