Nicholas Cage as Everyone Ever

I have to share this with you because it's tremendously hilarious. That is all for now (you're welcome).

Recap

This weekend was busy, and good, and aggravating and all those things that days tend to be when you look at them all mushed up together instead of on an individual basis. I had some folks come look at the apartment and while I don't want to jinx anything, I believe I've found a roommate. He won't be moving in until "late August," but he said he's willing to start paying rent July 1st. This is great, if it happens. Two months of living by myself? Whee! I envision lots of cooking, baking, and talking to my cat as though he were an actual human being and further, interpreting his actions and mews as real responses.

Anyway, the guy is the same age as me and is in college. He seems relatively laid back and said he listens to "90s industrial music," and he seemed genuinely shocked that I know who Thievery Corporation is. Hello, born in nainteen-eightah-twoh here. I've had a lot of time to develop musical tastes, too. He likes old NIN and stuff, so we'll probably get along musically. I wonder if I should drop the bombshell that I know who Front 242 is? I mean, these days I listen to shit like Death Cab for Cutie and Yael Naim and stuff, laid back and relaxed, but when I was an angst-ridden teenager I loved angry music. I haven't forgotten those days.

I had friends visit from San Antonio this weekend and we had a relatively good time, despite struggling to find something to do the third day they were here. We went to Somerville Lake (Lake Somerville? I don't know, whatever) and had a really good time. We hit up Northgate for some drinks and I made them suffer through the Dixie Chicken because it's a tradition, even though I fucking hate the chicken. We had steaks at Texas Roadhouse and then hippy food with hippy beers at The Village Cafe. There was live music. We spent way more time at Half-Price Books than I would have preferred, but my friends are nerds, what can I say? I took them to the little anime/comicbook/tabletop gaming store that is actually in an old house. It's a unique experience. They have a HUGE anime selection, though, so we rented Death Note. I had heard from multiple sources that Death Note was a "great" show and also "really good" and "you should see it." But I think it sucked. I was bored. We watched four entire episodes and it didn't hook me in. That's pretty fail if you ask me. Jes & Andrew thought it was okay, but not that great.

So my apartment totally sucks for guests right now because not only do I not have a dining table, but I don't have a guest bed anymore. As far as "things you can be horizontal on", I have a lazyboy, a love seat, and my bed. That's all. So I feel bad because one friend slept on a couch that was way too small for him and the other slept on the floor all weekend. Soy un perdedor. Anyway, maybe I can craigslist my way into a dining room table, and the new roommate should be bringing along a big couch or two. At Half Price Books, I found a large picture book which was a poem by Maya Angelou, with drawings done by Jean-Michel Basquiat. I bought it (for $1) and I think I'll try to make some kind of collage out of it for one of the walls, or perhaps down the hallway to the bedrooms. I think that could be neat. I just want my boring white walls to have some colour.

Next weekend I am going to San Antonio for the 4th of July, some family is visiting, yadda yadda and etcetera. I have been super-busy lately with summer classes. They move so quickly and it's difficult to keep up, especially working full-time with one job and then telecommuting some contracting work (mostly editing and data entry) for another job, but I am staying on top of things so far. Wish me luck.

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(I started writing this post yesterday, but as you're about to read, I got a bit sidetracked.)

So, you may already know (if you know me or if I've mentioned it in the blog or if you're just exceptionally keen) that my "roommate" is actually my recently-ex'd boyfriend. Three weeks or so ago we broke up and although things ended poorly, I can't afford the full rent, so I told him that he could stay in the other room if he didn't want to move. I am emotionally mature enough that I can do this (read: basically pretend he doesn't exist). It's not difficult for me. But no, he said he would be moving to Austin instead, and that he'd be out by the 22nd. You may notice that it is past the 22nd of June. He is still here. He needs to not be here. I had initially not even wanted to show the apartment until he was gone. This would give me sufficient time to clean everything up to my standards (you know, normal people standards, not slobs).

So yesterday (the 23rd), he actually started packing up. He managed to go from zero to packed in about four hours, and I might add he was doing this all solo (aside from a bit of help separating out what was mine from his). He moved all of his stuff solo. Bed, recliner, etc. Why should I help? This is his fault and therefore his problem. Besides, I have to move all my my stuff (which had been populating our 'guest bedroom') into the master bedroom and then clean the entire fucking apartment from top to bottom. I mean, I already cleaned the main bathroom and the kitchen, but I have to clean the middle bedroom, the 1/2 bath, the kitchen needs to be refreshed and I have to clear all of my stuff out of the living room. I had some stuff on a desk in there, but a desk doesn't really belong in the dining room.

I have to say, I've got all my stuff in the master bedroom and I really like it. It's the largest room I've ever lived in, and there's plenty of space. I've got my bed, my dresser and my desk(s) -- it's two desks but one is stacked on the other to create a sort of 'hutch' effect -- and room leftover to spare. Waking up this morning in a clean, roomy bedroom was quite delightful. I also have two large windows overlooking our apartment's courtyard. Plenty of sunlight comes in through those windows (maybe even too much. I may have to invest in some curtains).

So tonight at 6 pm I have someone coming to look at the place which means that between 5pm when I get home and then I have to SERIOUSLY MOVE SOME SHIT because, fuck, there is a lot to do and only an hour to do it in. It's going to be a mad scramble. Then tomorrow at 5:30 I have another person coming to look, and finally on Sunday I've scheduled someone for 3 o'clock to come look it over. There was another girl who had expressed interest, but she's backed out, and there was a guy who said he was interested but I haven't heard back from him yet. Whoever shows up, I've gotta pick someone and quick.

Anyway, I'm a bit stressed out right now because work is crazier than normal, the classes I'm taking this summer are becoming overwhelming, I have friends coming to stay at my place this weekend and now no guest bedroom to put them in (well, the bedroom is there, but there's no bed), and I have three people coming to look at my apartment. I have GOT to get someone in there by July, paying the July rent solo, while feasible, would hurt me financially.

Wish me luck!

This here newfangled gadget...

I'm gonna talk about video games here for a moment and I'd like to pretend that everyone else in the entire world is 27 years old and is on the same page as me. You remember, right? Arcade-style games took the scene first, then the Commodore line (I barely remember that); you had your Atari then your Nintendo. Mario Brothers. Not Super Mario Brothers, the ORIGINAL fucking Mario Brothers. You remember up up down down left right left right B A start. You do! The controller was integral to the game. Remember joysticks? I mean who the fuck uses joysticks anymore? The hardware was your portal to the game itself. You could cradle it in your hands and through it, like some prophet spouting the word of god, you could command the creatures on the screen to obey your orders. It was almost spiritual.

Then the Wii came out. I hate the Wii. The Wii is not fun to me and further, it doesn't make any sense. Sure, the hardware is still there, but now I have to fight with this console comprehending my movements in an appropriate way. And if it doesn't? Then I have to tailor my movements to it. No siree, I don't like the Wii.

Now this monster. No controller required? What the fucking fuck? This isn't fucking virtual reality, which is where games were supposed to go -- where you could be completely immersed in a 3-D holographic environment and move within it. This is NOT that. This is fucking morons jumping at their goddamn TV (we still use TVs, right?). This is not real. I couldn't play this. It's bizarre, a twisted contortion of a madman's dreams. I refuse to entertain the idea that a console game can be played without a fucking controller. Get this shit out of my world.

And so now I'm like, great. I'm old. I'm fucking old. Right? Like you kids and your gameboys and your cellular telephones and your central heating. Why back in my day we threw rocks at each other for fun and two cans and a string were good enough for us to communicate and when it got cold, we burned minorities to generate heat. Like this is me now. I don't understand the new technologies coming out and I don't like them!

Now if I could just find my cane and dentures...

I know I joke around a lot here, but I want to take a moment to be serious. I think it's wrong of network television to take advantage of people with poor mental faculties, just to make a cheap buck by showcasing them on tv. It's not okay to make fun of retarded people, okay?

Here's how it is, parents...

Congratulations, parents! You've managed to reproduce, a rare feat that is only accomplished perhaps once by a small percentage of the population! You're special. You're unique. You deserve a parking space closer to the entrance to stores because you're just so fucking great and head-and-shoulders above everyone else!

Wait, everything I just said is bullshit! Reproduction is neither rare nor unique nor even fucking difficult! Neither you, nor your crotchspawn are a beautiful and unique fucking snowflake, ok? And the only way your child is a "miracle" of any sort is if, perhaps, the doctor said that it would be physically impossible for you to reproduce. If you think reproduction is so fucking special, then every cell in your body deserves a fucking medal, ok?

You had a kid (and fairly inefficiently, at that). Even cats are more efficient at it becuase they have litters of kids, all in one go (most from different fathers - beat that!). Human reproduction is actually quite inefficient compared to other species, yet at the same time we're still astoundingly good at it.

The point I'm trying to make -the point- is that sperm reaching the egg is not a rare feat by any measure, and in fact it's so frequent that we've actually developed ways to prevent it! That's like being proud for getting a fucking sunburn. "Well hey, I didn't wear sunblock and now I'm red! I'm AWESOME!" Yes, that's you. You chose not to use protection (for whatever reason, maybe you wanted a kid, that's peaches, whatever) and you GOT PREGNANT. Congratulations. You're not a corpse!

I don't care that you're a parent, and I don't care that your life is infinitely more difficult than you perceive mine to be because you chose to have a child. Did it not remotely occur to you that your life might be a teensy bit different after the birth of your kid? Did it never, oh I don't know, cross the vast empty spaces in your mind that kids might be expensive, and messy, and time-consuming? Sure, they can also be delightful, and interesting, and fun (so I hear), but that's a side-effect of having a kid, whereas the primary effect is expense and stress.

Futher, I don't care how fucking adorable your teensy little humanoid is. I really, seriously, honestly, don't care. I don't want to see pictures. I don't want to hear stories (oh God, the stories!). YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON WHO THINKS YOUR BABY'S SHIT IS INTERESTING AND/OR ADORABLE. Shut the fuck up. I don't care if he's getting potty trained and oh gosh it's so cute because he sings the entire time he's taking a shit and when he's done he runs around going "poo poo! poo poo! mommy, I made poo poo!" isn't that just precious? NO! It's disgusting! I don't want to hear about it! A basic rule would be that stories revolving around bowel movements aren't generally interesting or worthy of repeating.

I just... I don't know. So little Kaitelynne got a medal in gymnastics, and Presstonne just got his yellow belt in karate, and they are just such awesome little kids and your life is so enriched because of it. That's great, but I don't have kids - for a reason - and I certainly don't give a damn about your kids, so please just bugger off.

And put a fucking leash on those little fuckers.

Fútbol

And just to get this out of the way:
I didn't care about soccer before the world cup.
I don't care about soccer during the world cup.

I will not care about soccer after the world cup.

Most people around here didn't even know what the goddamn world cup was now it's all I hear about.

I was going to talk just about my productive day, but you know how it goes.

I have had a seriously productive weekend. Not only did I do all that house-decorating shit yesterday, but today I completed my LIT essay (from scratch), did laundry, fixed my broken desk (which is a story all its own), cleaned out my car, cleaned the bathroom from top to bottom and learned how to pick a padlock. Well, I've always wanted to learn! And now I know how to. I'm pretty proud of myself.

So the desk thing is a point of irritation. I bought this desk off craigslist for über cheap. It's solid wood and good craftsmanship. I mean, it's got a couple of dings and what-not but it's sturdy and looks good and serves its purpose. I did something stupid while moving it, though, and broke off two of the legs. It was totally my fault. I won't even admit to what happened because it was SERIOUSLY dumb and to this day I still can't believe I even tried it. I'll give you a hint, though: desks aren't meant to roll. Anyway, that's what I get for trying to move the desk myself.

So, I broke the legs off this desk and I was so disappointed because it was such a bargain and I really liked it and wahhhhhhhh, I want my mommy, etc. I thought maybe I could get Brent to fix it. He's still living here for now and I thought, he's got a penis, surely he knows how to fix broken things. I bought some metal braces and some screws, wondering the whole time how this would work. I mean, like, I don't own a drill. Okay? I have a small toolset from Ikea that my dad bought me when I moved out, and its QUITE useful, but I don't own any power-tools. Brent said he would do it. This was about two weeks ago. You can guess where this is going. It didn't happen. I asked him again yesterday but he said he was too hungover to do it.

He's supposed to be out of here by the 22nd, so I'm thinking this shit's not going to get done. I break out the tools and work on it. I start by hammering a nail just barely into the wood where I want the screw to go. I remove the nail and now have a starting point for the screw. I got all four braces onto the desk in appropriate places as to keep the legs attached. I want to point out here that each brace has 6 screws, so that's a total of 24 fucking screws. It was a monumental achievement, believe me. Three-fourths of the way through the process, Brent wakes up and walking past notices what I'm doing. He actually asked if I needed any help. No, motherfucker, I needed help two weeks ago. I needed help yesterday. I don't need any goddamn help now. I was almost fucking done anyway.

The bathroom, too. I asked him to clean the fucking bathroom. Do you know what he did? No? Well, neither do I. It looked exactly the same when he was done as it did when he started, so I have no fucking clue what he did. Me? I scoured and scrubbed the tub, tile, toilet and sink. I used a broom and a mop on the floor. I just now realised I forgot to clean the mirror and I'm irritated just thinking about it. I moved all the shit off the counter and the back of the toilet and cleaned that. I sprayed everything down with bleach water when I was done. The bathroom is now CLEAN.

I have done all the cleaning pretty much since we moved in together. So, if he's wondering why I'm not all butthurt and heartbroken that our relationship didn't go anywhere, maybe it's the fact that I was putting in a larger percentage than he was. It wasn't just the cleaning, mind you, but that fucking boy has to have his hand held to get anything done. Oh, you're swimming up to your eyeballs in credit card debt, so you just quit making payments? I'll call Chase and talk to them for you (they put him on a VERY reasonable payment plan). You can't find a job (you're not looking, I know this), so I will help you find a job by searching craigslist and making your ass get up on a Tuesday morning to pick up, fill out, and turn in applications (he got a job the FOLLOWING DAY). The entire time we've lived here I've done all the cleaning. I mean sure, he might load and unload the dishwasher, take out the trash, and I insisted that we take turns with the litterbox (seeing as how we both own a cat) -- but the deep cleaning? The vacuuming, sweeping, scrubbing the stove and kitchen sink, wiping down counters, scrubbing toilets, cleaning the tub? I did it. All of it. Every time.

And so eventually I just quit doing that shit because fuck it, you know? I mean, the man didn't just not clean, but he's a total slob, too. I would spend an hour cleaning the damn kitchen and he would destroy it in one meal. Look, LOOK. If you spill shit on the stove while you're cooking, wipe it off right then and there. It's so easy you could probably just use a plain ole paper towel to do it. But nooo, no, you have to fucking let this shit pile up until it's months old and then I have to break out the Spray'n'Shine, scrubby pad and elbow grease. So it was like, why bother? So I quit doing it and things got even worse and worse. Now that he's got 2-3 days being here I figure I can start cleaning for real and get shit reasonable for when I start showing the apartment to potential roommates.

Okay. So I got a bit off the mark. Sorry about that. I haven't really vented about all this yet. I have a laundry list of problems with my ex and while I wasn't too upset about us breaking up I'm just now sort of realising that I might actually be happy about it. I actually feel free. The things I've done that I didn't want to do and the things I didn't do that I wanted to, the way I regarded his feelings and his plans every time before my own (which is my fault, it's not like he made me, but still), I am free from that. I can do whatever I want whenever I want with whoever I want and not have to consider anyone else in any way, shape, or form. I can decorate my apartment and not wonder about whether it'll fit his tastes. I can clean and not be concerned that he'll destroy it. In a way, I'm not just happy, I'm relieved.

The whole point of this post, actually, was that I felt empowered today. I felt like "RAWR", especially after fixing that desk. Learning how to pick a lock was pretty fucking cool, too. I am beyond exhausted. I have work bright and early tomorrow, so I am going to get some rest, if I can.

It's not Father's Day, it's Shoot-Yourself-in-the-Foot Day!

So not only did I leave all the data I'd spent hours collecting for my essay (which is due today) at work, but when I went to the coffee shop to get some work done, I forgot the charger for my laptop.

Decorative!

I am not an artist. I am probably the farthest away from being an artist that a person could be without being clinically dead. I can't draw. I can't paint. I can't sculpt. I can't even sing, for Christ's sake. I have tried hobbies - jewelry-making, knitting, drawing, painting. I suck at all of them. My true talent lies in criticizing others and being misanthropic. They say to stick with what you know. But I'm also excruciatingly chintzy. I want to say I'm frugal, but that's not true. I will spend an unreasonable amount of money on alcohol, food, and other things of completely no consequence. But when it comes to things I need, I'm like "SIX DOLLARS FOR A TUBE OF TOOTHPASTE OH MY GOD!" So, I spend a lot of time at the dollar store, and such.

But now things are changing a bit and I've got to find a new roommate. I've been here six months and the place isn't really decorated. I don't know, I suppose I just wasn't sure how long I was going to be here, and now I know I'm here for at least another year (probably more like two), I'm ready to start decorating. I scoured the internet for wall art -- way too overpriced. I looked on craigslist. Nothing worth putting actual money into. But then I had an idea.

I've got this old sushi cookbook that I got on sale at Borders for like $12. It was like a sushi-making kit; including a bamboo sushi roller, a wooden rice spoon, and the book. I wanted to learn to make sushi, so I got it, and hey it was dirt cheap. I've since become a MASTER sushi chef (well, not a master but I CAN make sushi now), and haven't given the book a second glance in years. This is the book:

I stole this image from Google image search because my camera sucks.

Inside the book are pictures and recipes and how-to's on how to make sushi. The pictures are quite nice and so I thought it'd be a neat idea to pull out some of the pictures (yes, destroy the book) and either frame them in separate frames -- I was thinking 3 separate images and 3 frames -- or put them in a collage-style frame and put them on a wall somewhere. I went to hobby lobby and got a silver-edged collage frame for $4.00, and removed the insert image:

These are the kinds of people that would never hang out with me.

So anyway, I gutted the book, I gutted the frame and using my elite folding-and-taping ninja skills, got the pictures down to size and into the frame. Voila:

Awh lawdy, I'm inspahred!

So I'm feeling real artsy-fartsy right now and I was so inspired at Hobby Lobby, I decided to take on another AMAZING PROJECT. I bought a bowl (it's technically a dinner bowl, but it's ugly enough that it lands more in the "decorative" column in my book than the "utility" column):

This bowl cost $1.80

I also bought some "decorative rocks" (not to be mistaken for regular rocks, mind you):

These cost almost twice as much as the bowl

So put the rocks in the bowl, put a tealight in the rocks, instant ambiance (except not instant because I had to go to the store and buy the rocks and drive home and unwrap everything and find the tealights, but you know, it was still kind of fast):

I am practically Martha fucking Stewart except without the prison record.

So yeah, I am kinda proud of myself even though these are very basic, simple things, I think they turned out well and will help make my apartment more a "home" (and by "home" I mean like "a home" as in for "crazy persons").

You are the only one who thinks they're not.

I've spent a goodly portion of today (more than I'm willing to admit) clicking "next blog" and let me tell you... There needs to be a limit to how many "family blogs" blogspot can fucking have because I'm sick and tired of looking at your ugly kids.

Does Not Exist Well with Others

Note to self: Do not go to the grocery store (or really, any public place) when you're already pissy.

The fucking neanderthals in the parking lot don't know how to fucking drive or park or exist without getting the fuck in my way. People inside the store are even worse, because it's the same cart-to-aisle ratio as it is car-to-aisle ratio, except there's not the end result of thousands of dollars of auto-repairs if you're a moron with a grocery cart inside the store.

Hmmmmmmm. Which pancake mix do I want? Do I want the blueberry or the plain? Oh, they have cinnamon-spice mix! Maybe I should get that. But what if I get maple syrup instead of Butterworth's? Will the flavours compliment each other? What if little Billy doesn't want pancakes for breakfast, what if the --

I DON'T KNOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE AISLE YOU STUPID COW. IT SHOULD NOT TAKE LONGER THAN FIFTEEN SECONDS TO PICK OUT A GODDAMN PANCAKE BATTER.

I will die of a heart attack when I'm 30, Christ.

So, when it came down to picking an aisle to check-out at (after dodging and weaving my way between retards like an expert boxer to get the whopping $21 worth of things I absolutely required), it was my turn to be the asshole. I had, maybe, 15 items. The 10 items-or-less slot was wiiiiide open, and not another customer was in sight. So, I took it. The clerk gave me the absolutely dirtiest look ever, and seemed to be mentally counting each individual item as I hurriedly tossed them onto the conveyer belt.

No one got in line behind me. Not a single person had to wait for those extra 5 items. But he still gave me the stink-eye.

DON'T JUDGE ME!

Summer School, the NHK and Wheezing

(Note, as of this post I'm no longer importing from my previous blog, so the dates will now be accurate)

Lately I have been swinging back and forth on a pendulum between WILDLY AND INSANELY BUSY and BORED OUT OF MY FUCKING MIND. It's really kind of unnerving. I, like most creatures who seek sanity, enjoy a certain equilibrium in my life. And even during the spring semester at A&M, when everything was new and difficult and I had to get into a new schedule and a new town and a new school, I fell into things rather easily and sort of went along at a dogged but consistent pace. And that's how I make the awesome grades, folks (also by dropping ECON, fuck you professor Thompson [name changed to protect, well, me]). Uh, anyway.

So now the spring semester is over and I got out with a 3.5 GPA (booyah, bitches!) and that's peaches and all, but I thought to myself, "Self, wouldn't it be great to graduate 1 semester ahead of schedule?" So I sat down with my advisor and plotted out a means to do this which is completely un-fucking-reasonable, but the only way it could work. It reads something like this:

Summer 2010 - 6 hours

Fall 2010 - 12 hours

Spring 2011 - 18 hours (this is necessary for a very convoluted reason, but suffice it to say it's the only way this will work)

Maymester - 3 hours

Summer 2011 - 6 hours

Fall 2011 - 15 hours

Spring 2012 - GRADUATE FUCK YES I AM EXHAUSTED.

Now, keep in mind that this is assuming that I pass all of my classes and do not drop any classes for the remainder of my baccalaureate career (holy shit I spelled baccalaureate right on the first try!). This is probably going to be impossible because my collegiate career has so far gone something like this: "Psssh.. I don't want to take a science class. I'll take Art Appreciation instead!" and "Pssssh... I can take my math classes later, I want to take Advanced Juggling." and "Why should I take a stats class now? I would rather take Underwater Dancing." ad nauseam until I get out of community college and into university and now have all these really hard classes to take.

But, I am continuing with this plan AS IF IT'S ACTUALLY FEASIBLE! Hah! Reality be damned, I am forging ahead like a... well, like an optimist, I guess. I know what you're thinking. That schedule is demanding at times, but for a full-time student, it can totally be done! Right. And if I didn't have to work while going to school, that wouldn't really be a problem. If I could devote all of my time and mental faculties to my studies (instead of, say, teaching my coworkers how to use Facebook [true story] and teach the secretary how to use Excel [also true]), I would likely be able to maintain a decent GPA and get all of this shit done simultaneously. But, I work hard for my money. So hard for my money. I work hard for my money so you better treat me right.

Or something.

This whole thing started because I wanted to tell you about my summer classes. I am only taking 2 classes right now (6 hours) because that's the max they allow you to take per session (thank god someone regulates this shit). The first course is ECON, and it's an 8-week course. You heard me. Two months for Microeconomics. The second class is American Lit and it's only a 4-week course. So I am trying to cram 2 classes which normally encompass an entire semester into 8 and 4 weeks, one overlapping the other.

I thought I was doing really well, too, and keeping up with things. I would log on once or twice a day, do an assignment/quiz/essay or two and go on my merry way. But these classes move so quickly that even missing a day or god forbid TWO days can pile work so high you can't even see over it. In the last 24 hours I have completed:

6 quizzes in ECON

2 quizzes in LIT

1 practice test in ECON

4 Discussion board posts on our readings in LIT

1 extremely comprehensive post in ECON where I actually posted my own supply/demand chart

and 2 comments on other people's posts in LIT

And I did most of that today. And I have a huge essay due on the 19th. And I have an ECON comprehensive exam tomorrow that has to be proctored because I'm doing distance education. And did I mention I'm working 40 hours a week?

So I try to get a lot of this done at work and normally, it's really not that big a thing. I do what I need to do efficiently and often have time leftover, but TODAY was a total clusterfuck. We had people from the goddamn NHK (that's like PBS only for Japan) here to interview someone in the office, and it was a new student conference, so we had parents and kids floating around amongst the Japanese camera men and me trying to sort of like, communicate and not break the expensive camera equipment they were having me tiptoe around and take pictures of the whole thing with someone else's expensive camerawhile I'm nervously trying to remember my Japanese and probably saying things like "duck fish penis" or something absurd because I fail at life.

I was so nervous I would drop the camera, or trip over the lights set-up or the video recorder or god forbid break some delicate, thousand-dollar (yen?) instrument and be cast out with condemnation to wallow with the whores and lepers. And on top of that was so nervous about my Japanese and now I'm embarrassed to even think about how it must've seemed to those camera men (who were perfectly fine and totally nice guys).

I'm insane. I should be tired right now but I got it into my head that I should go for a run tonight. I'm quite out of shape and so, you know, let's hit the streets. I used to do some jogging about a year ago until a sprained ankle put me out of commission. And well, basically, my lungs haven't gotten a lick of work since. So instead of going "jogging" i went "wheezing" and it fucking hurt and I got dizzy and couldn't breathe but then a really great jogging song would come on my ipod (like Telephone by Lady Gaga or The Distance by Cake) and I'd beinspired to run some more even though I can't breathe, heart attack be damned!

So I only ended up going about a mile, and out of that I probably run 1/4th of it. Maybe a tad bit more. But fuck me, when I got home I was shaky and wobbly and wanted to collapse on the floor in the living room but somehow managed to make it to my bedroom where I stripped naked and collapsed in a sweaty heap on my bed. I wanted so badly to drink some water (my dumbass didn't take any with me when I went "wheezing") and I even had a glass in arm's length, but I know that ice cold water on super-heated innards equals horrible. So I waited, and I breathed and I tried to regain some semblance of a normal heart rate. Then I took one big mouthful of water and actually held it in my mouth until it reached an equivalent temperature (took me 3 times to spell temperature, but I can one-off baccalaureate? What the fuck?) before actually drinking it.

So that was horrible and awful but the worst part is, in those first moments of "wheezing" (you know, before the wheezing), it actually feels really good to be out and be active. So good, in fact, that now I'm just WIRED with energy even though it's bed time. I used to really enjoy jogging but deep down I know I'm so out of shape I need to start smaller. Maybe not less distance, but less huff'n'puff for sure, so I can build up my cardio or aerobic-whatever-the-fuck, etcetera. But I have these moments in the evening where I'm bored and I end up watching old episodes of Animaniacs or Invader Zim (I'm a trendwhore, clearly), and being bored perpetually sucks. I think if I would just get out and do something active instead of being bored, I'd feel better.

You know, after the wheezing.

Neighbours (July 5, 2010)

I don't own a phone. Neither a home nor cell phone. Well, technically I own a month-to-month phone, but I don't use it. I tell people it was a social experiment. I say, you know, cell phones are so prevalent in our society that EVERYONE has one, even small children have cell phones. I wonder how people would react if I didn't have one? Because that sounds a lot better than "I'm sick and tired of sinking $80 a month into having a phone." But really, that's the case. I had an iPhone, and it was really nice, but $80 a month is a lot of money. That's $960 a year! Do you know how much alcohol I can buy with $960?!

Anyway, I don't have a phone. Recently, I signed up for Skype. I have an iPod and 99% of the time I'm within range of decent wifi (at home, school, and work), so I can use Skype anywhere. It's $8.95 for three months. It's just the basic voice plan for the United States, but that's all I need. For less than $3 a month, it doesn't need fancy features (although you can add them). I'm not trying to advertise for Skype, and for a lot of people it probably wouldn't work. I use it in conjunction with GoogleVoice (which is free). People call my GVoice number if they want to get ahold of me. I get an e-mail saying I've missed a call, and then I can call that person back on Skype. It works well for me and literally saves me hundreds of dollars a year.

So basically, while I don't have a "phone", I have a phone.

Now, we'll pretend that I've got a really good segue here to start talking about neighbours. I don't like neighbours. Well, I suppose that's unfair. I am apathetic towards neighbours. My preference is that we all just pretend that we don't exist. Some people think that neighbors can be a great support system, but I'm against that. That's what friends and family are for. I chose my friends and I already have to interact with my family whether I like it or not (I just happen to like it). Co-workers, too! I don't get to pick them but I have to interact with them. Why would I want to insert another group of people that I don't have the option of choosing into my life? I want nothing to do with them. The old suburban style where you borrow your neighbour's saw, and they borrow a cup of sugar, and you borrow a screwdriver, etc., it's simply not for me. I don't want to borrow anything from you. I'll be cordial, wave hello if we bump into each other in the hallway, drop off erroneously delivered mail, etc... But I don't feel I should be responsible for these people's problems. And unfortunately, they all seem to have problems.

I'm sitting at home relaxing one afternoon when there's a knock on the door. It's a neighbor. One I've never had a single conversation with. I think I might've seen her once or twice coming and going, but we've never said a word to each other (perhaps a polite nod, but nothing more). She wants to know if she can use my phone. At this point in time, I'm between pay-as-you-go and Skype. I hadn't paid for my Cricket phone that month, but I had yet to set up Skype. So I literally didn't have a telephone available. And I told her, I'm sorry, I don't have a phone right now. "It's month-to-month." I said, "I didn't pay it this month."

And really, really... I don't think she believed me. Oh sure, it's perfectly rational that YOU wouldn't have a phone, but when I say I don't have a phone, I must be a filthy liar. Well you can go rightly fuck yourself, thank-you-very-much. It's so great that she thinks I'm a liar. And even if I DID have a phone, I'm under no obligation to allow her or anyone else to use it. It would be MY phone that I pay for. If she wants a phone, she can pay for a phone. Or hey, how about using a pay phone? They're a bit harder to find these days, but you know, I don't have a phone and I found a solution that works for me. So now I'm being judged as a liar by this useless nobody that I happen to live next door to. Do you see why I don't like neighbours?

"But, but, but!" you say... "I have some wonderful neighbours! Why once I needed a cup of sugar and not only did she loan me that, but the next week when I found out I had acute renal failure, she donated a kidney!"

Well, that's just peachy for you. You must live on a different side of town. The last apartment I lived at I played the same way - basic cordiality, no in-depth conversation or interaction with my neighbours. There was one woman I think I'd talked to maybe twice, for like 30 seconds each time, who one day came a-knockin' at my door. I answered, and she promptly asked me if she could "borrow" five dollars. No one "borrows" five dollars. It's such a minuscule amount of money that it would be a breeze to justify not paying it back. Besides, if you're so hard up that you need to borrow FIVE DOLLARS, I'm not anticipating extra income in your future with which to pay me back. And to think, normally I have to go to a street corner to get panhandled! Now I can have the convenience of panhandling right here at home! Luckily, I almost never carry cash so I could very honestly reply that I didn't have $5 on me at the time.

The other neighbour who lived above us I had the displeasure of calling the police on repeatedly over domestic violence noise. You know them: yelling, screaming, unusual bumps against the wall, etc. Oftentimes it would spill out into the stairwell. Can't you people at least keep your domestic violence domestic? Why must it spill over into common areas. It doesn't help that I really don't understand the abuser/abusee relationship. I understand that people change, and that abusive people are generally very sweet at the start of relationship but over time grow to be very manipulative. I have read and heard that they use their manipulative skills to persuade the abusee that no one else will care about them, and that they're worthless. I know they often cut the abusee off from family and friends, and once the abusee is completely cut-off, the violence often escalates. I realise it's a mind-fuck and it's a horrible thing.

But we don't live in some third-world country where spouse abuse is not only accepted, but expected. This is a country where almost anyone can get help for almost any reason, and almost ALWAYS free. Even alcoholics and drug-addicts (truly, a self-inflicted illness, but very real nonetheless) have access to rehabilitation services and therapy and often for free or very low-cost. People who are involved in abusive relationships have access to counseling, to shelters that will help take care of them and any children they have. There are social groups who have hundreds of thousands of dollars funneled into them from the government and philanthropists for JUST THIS REASON. Take advantage of that shit! And if you don't, then I'm sorry... What can I say? Enjoy your busted-capillary life, I guess. BUT AT LEAST KEEP IT DOWN FOR CHRIST'S SAKE. Some of us are trying to sleep/relax/enjoy life.

So now you know. I'm a total miser.

Disjointed (May 5, 2010)

It is early May. The heat is just beginning to rise in this oven called South Texas. I sat, waiting for my bus, feeling very much as if the gigantic star we orbit was not billions of miles away but perhaps instead parked just above the earth's surface, casting hot, cancer-death-rays down onto us little tiny ants.

You'd think it's hyperbole, but that's what it felt like.

The heat, however, was a minor distraction in the realm of my personal discomfort. Let's rewind about 2 minutes prior, when I was walking down the sidewalk, listening to Sam & Ruby, idly bobbing my head to their soothing tones, when all the sudden I was hurtling forward at speeds which confound the laws of gravity, my face headed squarely and immediately towards the asphalt in front of me. I dropped forward and miraculously landed on one knee, but the propulsion of my fall was still pushing me forward and downward, so somehow my backpack ended up flipping over me, landing in front of my head and yet still attached to my torso. My forehead miraculously stopped millimeters before the pavement. I scrambled to re-compose myself (quite a difficult task) and noticed that luckily only one other person had witnessed my spill. I thought about killing him to remove all living evidence of what had transpired but then he asked if I was okay, so I felt bad about contemplating his demise.

I assessed the damage.

Head: Okay

Hands: Okay

Knees: One okay, the other, "OWWWWW!"

Ankles: One okay, the other, "FUCCCCCK!"

I limped to the bus stop to wait for my ride. The bus takes me to my car, which I might add is a standard transmission. My clutch-ankle, now mangled and bruised, certainly wasn't tremendously keen about being called into service so soon after an injury in the line of duty. Yet, somehow I managed to get home without barreling through traffic, avoiding stop lights and signs (to avoid applying the clutch, of course).

So now I'm at home nursing my wounded pride with ice cold beer and my wounded ankle with, well, ice cold ice.

I just want to take this moment to note that the motherfucker who is using some loud, gas-powered, WHIRRING machine of NOISE downstairs can kindly go die in a fire. Thank you, that is all.

Ahem, anyway... I believe my ankle is sprained and if that is the case, it'll be the third time in the past 2 years that this particular ankle has been sprained, and the fourth time overall. You'd think I was doing it on purpose, but let me just put that thought to rest because I am NOT that much of a masochist, thank-you-very-much. The great thing about a sprained ankle is that there is practically nothing that modern medicine can do about it. We can filter toxins out of your blood, we can bombard you with radiation to kill cancer, hell, we can even keep someone with HIV alive and healthy for decades ("Magic" is an appropriate name for you, Mr. Johnson!), but one thing we JUST CAN'T FIX is a sprained ankle. I'm on my own. Don't get me wrong, the miracles of modern medicine are great and the medical problems aforementioned are quite a bit more important than a sprained ankle, but c'mon... It's also the least complicated thing on the list.

So, I will probably get my ankle wrapped and return home with some ibuprofin (dammit, I never get the good drugs!) and a prescription for ice and elevation. Whee.

The best part is I have no idea why or how I fell. The best I can guess is that I somehow thought the sidewalk had a handicap accessible ramp in that particular spot (which, if I keep spraining this damn ankle, I may actually NEED at some point in the future), but that ramp was a little further down. So perhaps my foot came down expecting a far drop, and when there wasn't one, it was SHOCKED into propelling me off the sidewalk instead of simply fucking LANDING on the GROUND like it's supposed to. I think my ankle doth conspire against me.

At any rate, the boyfriend is at work, so I'm flying solo. Trying to cook lunch and nurse a wounded ankle are not fun. I opted for frozen pizza (thin crust, though the crust just about never comes out quite right) and copious amounts of beer. What? It's five o'clock somewhere!

Bad Blogger! (August 27, 2009)

Yeah, so it has been a while, huh? I'm a bad blogger. I'll sit in the corner for a few minutes and contemplate my penance.

It is often hard to blog when one's life is so... I don't want to say uninteresting but I suppose it is, and repetitive. And if and when there are interesting bits, they are easy to convey quickly. For example:

I GOT TICKETS TO SEE VIENNA TENG in November!

See how quick and easy that was to convey? However, I am super-duper excited about it. So much so that despite my birthday being in November (gaining another year is never easy, is it?) I want November to be here oh, I don't know, like RIGHT NOW. She is playing at Stubb's Barbecue on November 12th in Austin, Tx. As long as I have been a fan, she has never had a show in Texas. I'm not sure that she's ever been here at all. But she's coming! To both Austin and Houston (but seriously? Fuck Houston). I mean, I'm sure that people think Houston is a very nice city and they enjoy living there and raising their families, etc. but I hate Houston. In fact, as far as Texas goes, I don't do well outside of Austin or San Antonio. Can you be xenophobic about things within your own state?

Anyway... Jessica is going with me to the concert, whether she likes it or not. Actually she wants to go, but even if she didn't I would still make her. What's the point of being a Texan if you can't hog-tie people?

On a different note, school started again on Monday and I am enjoying the diversion. I have spent the summer playing video games, drinking and twiddling my thumbs and although that might sound like a great way to pass the time, it's really not. I am being a total slacker this semester and only taking two classes, but that's because that's all I need to finish out my Associate's degree. Actually, I am going to clep out of one of the classes (a basic comp sci class? I think I'm familiar with computers, kthxbai) and instead I am taking Conversational Japanese. The other course is what is lovingly referred to as "liberal arts math" as in, "math for people who suck at math and therefore become lib art majors to avoid interaction with higher level biology, math, and chemistry classes". My last math teacher basically implied that it wasn't real math and it was for students who should be on the short bus. He was a bit of a bastard, though.

I am a bit concerned about taking the math class online because though I have taken classes online before, I've never taken a math class online and I tend to be an extremely needy student. However, the content looks pretty comprehensive, including video lectures, self-study, homework and quizzes to track progress. Plus, if I'm truly stuck on something I have a lot of options to get help. On-campus we have a lab where you can go without appointment to get help from volunteers. Or you can schedule a 30-minute session with a volunteer that is strictly one-on-one. Or you can actually go to the professor, of course. There's no reason to be floundering around in the dark, really. Even though I suck at math, I should be able to do this.

The conversational Japanese course is turning out to be quite a bit more basic than I was expecting. Sensei told me that it was a basic class and that it would be too easy for me, but I thought she was just being polite. On the first day of class we studied useful expressions (good morning, my name is _____, pleased to meet you, etc.) and began studying hiragana with the first 15 characters. I know all this stuff so it's a breeze for me, but maybe I can help the other students or something.

I have a difficult time telling how my mastery of Japanese is going. I know a lot. I know about sentence structure, I know basic conversational skills, but I have some major shortcomings in my development which really hinder me. First of all, I can't read Kanji for shit. Kanji is the alphabet that has over 5,000 characters, over 2,000 of which are commonly used, and has its roots in the Chinese alphabet. Kanji is used everywhere for everything all the time. It's very frustrating because when I see a Japanese newspaper I can read like 70% of the characters, but since I can't read the Kanji, I have no idea what it's saying. The Kanji establishes the noun or even the verb so the only thing left for me to read is the copulas and particles. Imagine just being able to read "______ ran to the ______." out of "Jack ran to the store." Totally frustrating. On top of that, my verbal skills aren't very quick and when I hear Japanese, it's often spoken so quickly that I can't understand it. And my vocabulary is severely lacking as well.

And yet I could tell you that I want something, or ask where something is or for directions. I could tell you what I wanted to do in many instances, or how I was feeling. It's weird, most people can understand a language better than they can speak it. I'm the opposite. Maybe that's the difference between immersion learning and just basic studying. Perhaps when I get to Japan, my studying will blend with immersion learning and I will be able to become fluent. I hope.

Hah, 14 paragraphs later... And here I thought I had nothing to write about!

Fashion Fascism (August 11, 2009)

It could never be said that I am fashion-conscious. I choose my clothing based on very few criteria: comfort, cleanliness, lack-of-wrinkles. In that particular order. And on a day off? Forget wrinkle-free, I don't give a shit. You fuckers are lucky I'm wearing any clothes at all. I realise that not everyone is like me. Some people actually choose their daily wear based on things like "style" and "color" and this concept called "matching" that I'm not entirely clear on. I don't have to worry about matching, though, because most of what I buy is black or dark-colored. I'm not some emo fag, I'm just a total klutz and it's easier to get coffee stains out of dark-colored clothing than white.

Shoes. I have a serious shoe problem. I know I have a shoe problem, and they say the first step is admitting you have a problem. I do not have any kind of fashion sense especially when it comes to shoes. Do they fit? Are they (relatively) clean? Do I look less homeless in them than an actual homeless person? Perfect. Because of my lack of shoe-awareness, I probably look fairly ridiculous on any given day. The fact is, I only own 3 pairs of shoes and I don't have ENOUGH shoes to match every style of clothes I wear (and by style, I mean "business casual", "casual" and "vagrant").

But again, I don't really give a shit. I understand that fashion may be your cup of tea, and you actually know the whole "never wear ____ before/after federal holiday" thing, and maybe you even follow the rule. Perhaps when you shop, it actually brings you joy to mix and match shoes with belts with pants with blouses (or jackets/ties, shirts whatever). Maybe that is totally YOUR THING and blowing a few thousand dollars at the Nordstroms is a real treat. It is not the case for me. Clothes are a necessity and I treat them like every other necessity in my life. When I go buy food, I don't base my decisions on what is popular at the moment. I pick what I like and what works, with very few criteria. And no, I don't buy ALL ORGANIC because I hate mother earth and I truly intend to get cancer from all the awful, non-organic, pesticide-laden food that we've been eating for over a hundred fucking years and are now living twice as long as we did a hundred fucking years ago.

Boy, I got a little carried away there, didn't I?

I have worked with or gone to school with people who feel very strongly about clothing, fashion and appearance. I don't really hold it against you, though I do think it's a total waste of time and money. Name-brand schname-brand. Your Dolce & Gabbana was made in ITALY, wow! Those Italians are sure better at making BASIC CLOTHING than we are! I'm so glad I paid sixteen times more for this DOLCE & GABBANA handbag because THE QUALITY IS SO MUCH HIGHER! It is clear to myself and everyone around me that I am a person of high caliber, and am generally much better than everyone else!

Go fuck yo'self, seriously.

Poly Problems (July 28, 2009)

I think that we can all identify with experiencing that wounded animal kind of pain; the kind that makes a person want to lash out against everyone around them, often in an attempt to inflict pain on others. Who hasn't suffered a broken heart, who hasn't felt the sting of betrayal and embarrassment? It's the latter that I believe truly drives a lust for vengeance. We've all been wronged, but it's when we're embarrassed, when we've suffered a slight that everyone witnessed, when we were cheated on by our significant other and everyone knew about it -- that is when we truly long for the soothing relief we believe revenge will bring.

Revenge can take many forms. On a good day, it might simply be deciding to do better than them. Fine, you left me. I can deal with that, I'll just get with someone more attractive/better off/well-liked than you were! I can do better! But, on a bad day (and we all have them), revenge can truly warp into some twisted behaviour. The problem is that we don't realise at the time just how bizarre and - quite frankly - shitty we're acting.

Last Sunday I went to a party at a club with Jes. I knew quite a few people there and among them were Mark, Cassie and Hailey. I'll try to summarize: basically Mark and Cassie were dating for several years when they met Hailey. They decided to bring her into their relationship and try the polyamory thing. This is a concept that seems simple enough but has an understandably high fail rate. Generally, what happens is that people start out in a non-poly relationship, then bring in a 3rd, making it a triad, and then after a shit-load of drama and awful circumstances, end up back in a non-poly relationship. The metaphor I use is that you're in your car, and you're going from point A to point B, but you want to get in as many car accidents as possible along the way. You end up at the same place but not after a lot of pain in-between. That is polyamory in my mind. People are more than welcome to give it a whirl if they'd like to, but I haven't seen any poly relationships last -- and I've known of quite a few.

So Mark and Cassie bring in Hailey and they're all three of them having a great time until something goes wrong (it always does), and from what I hear, Cassie starts acting like a huge insecure bitch to both Mark and Hailey. Relationship gets shitty, and Mark & Hailey drop Cassie like a bag of bricks. Into an ocean. Of piranhas. Cassie is, understandably upset. In a non-poly relationship, Cassie would be dealing with two things: 1) Losing Mark and 2) Losing Mark to Hailey. But, because it was poly, she's also dealing with 3) Losing Hailey and 4) Losing Hailey to Mark. You can see how it's a complex situation, yes?

I hadn't seen Cassie all night but I knew she was there. Mark and Hailey were doing what people in relationships do, I.E. PDAs. I left the party early, however (work in the morning and what-not) but on the way out I ran into Cassie. I was polite (although I am not taking sides), but she was nothing sort of venomous. Not towards me, mind you, but it was a kind of unrestrained rage that hit anyone in range. There was not a single word or phrase that came out of her mouth that wasn't laced with bitter acidity. Her very countenance had changed from the cheery-faced girl that I'd known. There seemed to be a darkness about her, and I could now understand why everyone in the club was avoiding her. She was just a shitty person to be around. There were no other topics of conversation aside from 1) Mark's a dick, 2) Hailey's a slut, and 3) she needed to get laid. She said the latter several times, even going so far as to state that she was going to "find someone to fuck" her. But no one would go near that kind of attitude. In addition to that, it seemed she was harassing the two of them, up to the point of creating a fake MySpace for Hailey and putting her real phone number on it (Hailey has since changed her number). I think what Cassie wanted was for everyone to see what Mark and Hailey's behaviour had done to her but - and I'm sorry, but - she's doing it to herself.

I think what really affected me was seeing someone in the same position I was not one year ago (sans the polyamory). I was that bitter, acrid person. But I was not vengeful, I had simply taken my own advice and decided that the person who hurt me was now effectively dead. He is just no longer alive. There is no reason for me to attempt to associate, nor negotiate some kind of friendship with him. It is over, said and done with. It wasn't the easiest decision to make because hell, it's hard to let go of someone you truly care(d) about -- but it is the best thing that you can do for yourself when the only emotion you can conjure up to their face is sheer rage and pain.

You have to let go. You have to move forward. Love is such a volatile emotion because it is carries just as much passion as hate does and when love goes wrong, that passion all transfers to hate. It is easy to fall into that pattern, to lust after vengeance and to continue to let that passion burn but it is so self-destructive. You have to let it go.

Health-food Hijinks (July 24, 2009)

I have a long, illustrious history of eating poorly. In fact, just last night I bought a half-gallon of key lime pie ice cream (I said I bought it, not ate it all, -- even my eating habits aren't that bad). It's made by Bluebell and has key lime flavoured ice cream and graham cracker bits, then they swirled in whipped topping. Delicious. Sitting just to my left, next to the computer, is an almond Snickers bar. It's feeling lonely because the dark chocolate peanut M&Ms are already gone.

But aren't we all going for a little self-improvement? I decided I'd start packing healthy, low-calorie lunches to work. You know, a Lean Cuisine, a couple of snacks, maybe some yogurt and fruit. Yeah! It'd be great! I could snack throughout the day on healthy things and have a low-cal lunch and be good to go! I went to the grocery store and stocked up on the necessary items: soymilk, low-fat vanilla yogurt, vanilla chai protein shake mix and frozen fruit (these popped in a blender = breakfast), the Lean Cuisines, some fruit, snack-able veggies (carrots, cucumbers, etc.) and arrived home with a newfound sense of satisfaction.

I packed my lunch for the following day: 1 Lean Cuisine microwaveable dinner, 1 package of Snack Wells cookies, 1 package of low-calorie Cheez Nips, and half a cucumber, sliced into stalks with a side of 1 tablespoon low fat, low-calorie italian dressing (what? You don't expect me to eat plain vegetables, do you?)

Naturally, everything got eaten except for the cucumber slices. I packed up my bag to go home (laptop: check, mouse: check, mousepad: check, power adapter: check, leftover cucumber slices: check), and when I got home, I pulled out only the power adapter and my laptop from the bag. And then promptly forgot about the food.

Now, I've had a cold this week and my nose and sinuses have been so clogged up I was seriously considering calling a plumber. However, I took a day off yesterday and just kind of relaxed, rested up and such, trying to recover. I'm still not 100%, but by this morning I was able to utilise a bit of my sense of smell. This was unfortunate, see, because cucumbers really like refrigeration and as it turns out, once they're sliced up if you don't refrigerate them, they mutate into horrible, terrible things which emit the most foul-smelling odor I think I've ever had the chance to inhale. I think a decaying corpse might smell just half as bad. The worst part was that it was inside my backpack. With my mousepad and mouse. So now, I have to throw the mousepad out (you just can't get the smell out of something that absorbent) and I had to wipe down the mouse thoroughly with rubbing alcohol AND I'm going to have to completely empty out my bag and run it through the washing machine.

Yech. If this is what I get for trying to eat right, I'll take more ice cream, please.

Social Stigma (July 23, 2009)

I have this indelible fear of social situations. It's not so bad that I can't deal, or refuse to go out or anything, but it's most definitely there.

You see, I never was popular as a child. I didn't really have a lot of friends. I was the "weird kid" and most people avoided me. I know, I know what you're thinking -- "You?? No way! You're awesome!" Well, I know that now. But then, things weren't so easy. At least once I got to high school I did finally make some friends (2), but on the whole I was a complete outcast. In my adult life, however, I have found it easy to make friends -- sometimes too easy, in fact. Because of the difficulties I had in my childhood with people, I am extremely finicky when it comes to who I choose to associate with. I have a few very close, good friends and that is about it. I don't have an extended list of people I'd call friends or an outersphere of acquaintances, and that is exactly the way I like it.

When it comes to meeting new people, you can't really say that I'm shy. I'm boisterous, I make jokes, it's not difficult for me to talk to people I don't know. The difficult part is that at the beginning of a new relationship with someone (and we all have "relationships" with each other, just different types), I am extremely sensitive and ever-vigilant of types of behaviour that I don't deem becoming as a friend. It is a difficult time because it's easy for me to perceive many small things as a slight, or take things personally that I probably shouldn't.

Regardless, last Thursday my friend Jes dragged me out of my cave to a bar called The Bermuda Triangle. It was there that we bumped into Toni (someone I met years ago and run into at similar social occasions) and her friend, Rachel. The bar was kind of quiet (it was Thursday, after all) so Toni, Jes, Rachel and I kind of grouped up. Rachel is a bubbly, beautiful girl who is very sweet and has a great sense of humour. Jes and I were invited to her birthday party, which would be the following Wednesday (yesterday). We ended the night saying, "See you Wednesday!"

However, Jes had work on Wednesday. This left me going to a birthday party for someone I hardly know all by myself. Warning! Warning! Danger Will Robinson! So, I called Toni and asked if I could bring a friend, and dragged Andrew's ass out with me. The party was a Dinner'n Drinks kind of thing, which started at a Chinese/Sushi place in the suburbs and ended at the Triangle. There was probably about 15 people at dinner and here I was only knowing Toni, Rae, and Andrew. And sitting on the far end of the table (because I got there later), out of conversation range of both Toni and Rae.

I was, once again, thrust into unfamiliar social territory. Most of the people there were gay (either lesbians or boys), and at our end of the table there was an older, single lesbian woman, an older lesbian couple (probably in their 40's, I'd guess), myself, Andrew, a couple of guys and a couple of girls. The only names I recall are Dom (the 4'9" spunky, hilarious girl) and Stephanie (the slim, somewhat boyish girl with piercings sitting between Dom and I). Opposite the table from me was a cluster of 3 people who already knew each other and centered most of their conversation within their little group. They weren't rude, they just weren't reaching out to other parts of the table (and why would they talk to complete strangers instead of their friends).

I gave Rae a bottle of Shiraz and a Hello Kitty birthday card (IT HAD STICKERS!) and ordered a hot sake for Andrew and I to share. After two of those and a Kirin Ichiban, I was starting to loosen up and get more comfortable with my surroundings. I could hear the conversations people were having, the jokes (some lewd, some intelligent, some outright ridiculous), and I started to converse more with those around me. Stephanie, it turns out, is absolutely hilarious. At one point she had been talking to Dom, and Dom was joking about watching Mexicans on the Discovery channel, as though they were some indigenous tribe. This was funny all its own, but the joke really hit home when Stephanie realised that she'd gotten some mayonnaise from the sushi on the back of Dom's shirt somehow. She pointed it out and said, "It's my responsibility to clean it up, it's my mess!" and then grabbed a piece of damp, crisp lettuce off one of the (now-empty) sushi plates, and proceeded to wipe the back of Dom's shirt with a piece of wet lettuce. Meanwhile, Dom is cracking up and saying, "The indigenous peoples of Mexico use a sheet of wet lettuce to clean their clothing..." and going on with it in this great "narrator" voice.

After everyone ate and we got our to-go boxes, we noticed that somehow Stephanie had managed to stuff 2 ramekins and 2 sake cups into her tiny to-go box -- along with her food! I joked and, picking up my unusually shaped beer glass, said "Ok, get this in there!" Fast-forward twenty minutes later, we're all leaving, and Stephanie comes up to me at my car and hands me the beer glass. Turns out, she was holding the glass behind her back and as she was leaving, she just kept bowing to the staff and thanking them for the meal to hide it from them. I'm sure the staff was thinking, "Stupid Americans, thinking we bow for everything!" Still... She got me a new beer glass!

We all met up at the Triangle for karaoke night and all-in-all, I had a really great time. All of Stephanie's friends were funny and nice and great to hang out with. Phone numbers and MySpaces were exchanged, so I'm looking forward to more fun in the future!

Oh yeah, and happy birthday, Rae!

Manual Madness (July 21st, 2009)

Most of you (all of you) don't know that I was in a car accident a little over a week ago. It was a 4-car pileup and it was probably the best car accident I have been in yet. Hey, they say if you should do something, you should do it right. I can tell you honestly that I did everything right in this car wreck, from slamming on the brakes only seconds too late, to careening on screeching tires into the truck in front of me, to actively trying to avoid staying on the scene because of that one speeding ticket I haven't paid for yet. ("Here's my insurance card and I'm calling you from my cell right now so you have my number. Let's talk soon!")

I am an expert.

Anyway, the car was totaled and so I was forced to shop for a replacement. After much perusal of Professional Car Sites (read: craigslist), I found one out in north Austin that seemed to fit my lifestyle (read: poor). It has relatively low mileage, is a bright and cheery beige (just as exciting as I am) and is, unfortunately, a manual transmission (just as difficult as I am).

With little to no training in driving a stick shift, and a burgeoning sense of adventure, I bought the car. Before even having a proper lesson in driving the thing. Because, seriously, I am not a car dealer but if someone came to me and said, "I do not know how to drive stick, but I would like to learn in this car before I buy it.", I would tell them to go fuck themselves with a stick shift. Yes.

Anyway. Today is day 3 of manual madness and I have to say that I am totally proud of my progress. I didn't kill the car on the way to work today, or on the way home from work yesterday! I was getting so comfortable with the car that I would start to feel really cool driving it, you know... grab the stick, hit the clutch, and thrust that bad boy into position. Oh yeah! So, you know, I got the windows down and the radio up, and I'm all "Vroom vroom! Vroooooom!" thinking I am just the coolest thing since the Backstreet Boys.

I slap it into neutral and roll up to a stop light, then brake and put 'er into first gear. The light turns green. And I am so pimp, yo. I ease off the clutch and hit the gas, my head bobbing cooly to the music, except, shit, too much pressure! And the car rumbles and groans and curses my name before sputtering to a dead. stop. I don't even know if anyone aside from the person behind me is aware, but it literally feels to me as though every single car within line of sight of me has stopped, rolled down the window, and are staring at me with this, "Jesus Christ, that girl doesn't know how to drive stick! How utterly ridiculous!"

My head drops shamefully, and I put it in neutral and am once more the very tiny, loserly person that doesn't even know how to drive stick as I gun up the engine once more, and then so very tenderly ease off the clutch and into the gas. There is a cloud of shame over me for the remainder of the drive.

I am seriously considering buying a bumper sticker that says, "STUDENT DRIVER: MANUAL TRANSMISSION" or at least put a sign up in the back of the car so that people will at least understand when I kill it, or hopefully won't ride up on my ass at stop signs/lights on steep inclines. Which actually causes me to panic when the light DOES turn green because I'm terrified I will roll right back into the car behind me. So, what do I do? What every person panicking who has never driven stick before does: I gun it and kill the flippin' car.

Madness I tell you, madness!

Imported

Oh yes, all the best things in life are imported. Why drink Miller Lite when you can have a delicious Belgian or German hefeweizen? Why settle for Hershey's when you can lust after Swiss chocolates? Would you really even attempt to drink American-made saké? Please say no. There is no other answer but no.

I am a blogwhore. No, not really. But I've had my fair share of Livejournals, Deadjournals, Blogspot and MySpaces. It's time to grow up, to settle down and maybe start a blog-family. Be responsible for once. And this place is my new home. In light of that, I'm going to be importing some of my better blogs with their appropriate dates, in chronological order. This gives you, dear reader, the opportunity to get to know me without me having to re-state my reality.

And also, it's imported, so it's got to be better, right?