And Just Like That, I'm Single Again

Sometimes things don't work out the way you'd expect them or want them to. Sometimes you end up being the asshole, despite your best effort. Sometimes you can't help but be an asshole, despite yourself. A lot of times people turn out different than you expected them to. Sometimes you turn out to be the different one. Sometimes you find yourself alone, even though you know you're better as half of a pair. Sometimes you realize you're going to have to date again, and you realize you could save yourself a lot of trouble by just kicking yourself in the teeth, instead.

Even More Randoms

-After a month-or-so hiatus, I've decided to resume my drum practice with Professor Dave (aka drum-teacher soul mate) twice a month. When I expressed my concern to Micah about not really having much of a reason to learn drums (despite the fact that I LOVE playing drums, I just don't know if it'll ever have any practical uses in my life), he quoted some song about how all girls should play drums and have a hobby, or something. So yeah, this is officially my "hobby".

-I'm wearing knee-high fishnets today and I'm so worried about getting in trouble for that at work. I work in a really nice office so I have to cover the tattoo on my leg but I'm SO SICK of wearing tights everyday. So. Sick.

-Items I have checked out at the library:

Oren, Michael B.
Six days of war: June 1967 and the making of the of the modern Middle East

McCarthy, Cormac
The Crossing

Hosseini, Khaled
A Thousand Splendid Suns

-Last night, in lieu of catching up on previous seasons of Mad Men and Weeds (which has been my usual weeknight happenings lately), I filled my night with all sorts of lovely people and things.

As soon as I heard Anh's keys turn in the door I ran downstairs and sat on the bottom step . We talked for a bit and when I excitedly suggested we jam (we have my drum kit and a guitar and amp set up in my bedroom), he quickly concurred. He taught me a couple new beats, and then played along on guitar.

We only played for a bit, as I had plans to meet Alie at the mall at 7:30. I didn't have anything to buy at the mall (in fact, I've vowed lately to stay far away from the damn place) but I Alie and I haven't had a chance to hang out much lately, so I followed her around the mall while we talked and solved each other's problems.

I left her as she was searching for a birthday gift for her new boyfriend (what the hell do you get a new boyfriend, anyway?) and headed to Micah's house. After a glass of wine, some yummy tacos from the nearby taco truck, and a couple shared Twix, we got down to cases. Micah set up a little insulated fort in his living room, surrounding myself, a microphone, and his couch (with another glass of wine thrown in for good measure), and recorded a monologue I wrote.

I intend to submit it to a radio show whose title starts with the word "this" and end with the word "life" and has the name of a country thrown in the middle for good measure. Why not, right? It's a play on my original post for This Recording, which you can read here. I added a few things, including an ending based on my mother's response to the post, which was simply, "I resent that you said I was bitter."

We still have some editing to do...and by "we" I mean "Micah", all I did was sit on the floor and criticize him, and make a lot of inappropriate jokes. My voice sounds very uncharacteristically smooth. Not at all like my lispy, everyday voice. Plus I've been listening to that radio show long enough that I know when to throw in those dramatic pauses and self-reflective rhetorical questions. Wish me luck!

I was probably making a joke about farting when this was taken.

Randoms

Would someone please explain to me the appeal of Facebook? I don't really get it. Why would you want to be found so easily? And what is the appeal of everyone you know constantly being updated on who is contacting you and what your friend's friends are up to? And what the hell does it mean to be "poked", and why would you want someone "poking" you in the first place?

I'm extremely trepidacious about joining Facebook, and feel it's a little late in the game for me anyway. It was hard enough deciding to participate with Myspace, and even now I don't really use it for much. I guess I want to be sold on Facebook, so someone please tell me why I should or should not join.

This seems like a stupid thing to be worried about, doesn't it? Other stupid things I worry about:
-Having too many books I need to finish, even though three fourths of them are being read just for fun.
-When I buy a lot of food from the grocery store, I always worry it'll go bad before I have a chance to eat or cook it. I hate throwing away food, in fact I'm one of those annoying people who always takes home whatever they don't finish at a restaurant. Contrary to this, I buy bananas almost every time I go to the store, even though they always get thrown away when they inevitably go bad. I hate bananas.


I leave you with this totally unrelated anecdote:

A few years ago I was working at this big, important job in San Francisco. Late one afternoon someone noticed that a laptop was missing, but no one could figure out what happened to it...it just vanished. A couple suspicious days later building security emailed us this screen shot from their surveillance tape:
Notice the laptop-shaped bulge underneath that man's clothes? I used this photo as my screen saver for a while, because it made me laugh. The fact that this guy walked into an office, six floors up, took a laptop without being noticed, and walked out with it under his clothes...well I think he deserves the damn laptop.

General Weekend Complaining

Welcome to my second-ever, out of 247 total, weekend post.  I've always felt that weekends are off-limits when it comes to blogging, but when you are sick and bored and that tired-but-can't-fall-asleep kind of tired, and you've gotten to the end of the Internet, the only thing left to do is blog.  Ya know?

I'm not sure if I'm just hungover still, 11:30 at night the day after a night of drinking beer until the wee hours of the morning, or if I'm truly sick.  I apologized profusely to Alie, who was nervously intoxicating herself at her group art show, and came home to wallow in my pajamas and complain to my cat.  It would be truly lovely, if it weren't for the kindly mariachi band that is currently being blasted at an ear shattering volume from a PA system a few houses down from mine.  My head aches and the fan is blowing directly at me on high but I'm too lazy to get up and turn it off.  

The stupidest thing is that I'm actually worried that I won't be well enough to clean the house tomorrow...because I actually enjoy cleaning...because I'm a freak.  The first person who brings me a bowl of matzo ball soup gets a hug and a Xanax.  The first person who takes out the mariachi band sniper-style wins my eternal love and devotion and a Xanax.

Jobs That I've Held For the Least Amount of Time

*Two hours into my first day working at a little clothing store in Beverly Hills, I fainted and skinned my knee on the rough concrete floor. This was back in my pre-20's when I often got too excited/nervous and forgot to eat. I'm prone to fainting, and not-eating is the main cause for this. My mom (whom I lived with at the time) had to come pick me up. I still remember lying in bed the rest of the afternoon and my mom taking care of me. I think she made me oatmeal. I never went back to that job after that. I think I was too embarrassed.

*If you don't mind me using an annoying term for a moment; I'm a beauty school drop-out. My main reason for dropping out is directly related to the job I had for three days while in beauty school. I thought I wanted to be a hair stylist, so when I was offered a job as a salon assistant, I quit my boring office job. I spent the next three days washing people's hair, getting yelled at for washing people's hair incorrectly, constantly rolling my eyes to myself by all the stupid shit the stylists said and did, pretending to be friendly and chipper all the fucking time, and realizing I wasn't cut out for this business. During my lunch break on the third day, I sat in my car and cried. I called my boss at the boring office job and she offered me my job back. I took it.

*My unemployment had just run out and my income from waitressing wasn't going to pay the bills without my monthly unemployment check. I was really excited when I got offered the receptionist position at a huge mortgage company, the kind that had ads running on the radio. I was to field all the calls from said radio ads and direct them to the 50-or-so guys that worked as lenders. The idea was that when the guys came in that morning, they wrote their names on a list, and that list would determine what order the calls were distributed. If they missed their call, too bad, they would have to wait for the list to come around again, which sometimes didn't happen if it was a slow day.

This meant that every two minutes or so, a guy who was not unlike the Pete Campbell character from Mad Men would approach my desk and either try to get their name moved up, or tell me that so-and-so said they could take his turn (which wasn't allowed), or yell at me because they [were just out having a cigarette, eating lunch, going to the bathroom, etc] and they had missed their call. This coupled with the fact that the volume of calls necessitated at least three receptionists, not just little old me, as well as the fact that I would be emailed a chart every hour showing how many calls I had missed, caused me to start bawling to the office manager a week into the job. She was a total dick about it, so at lunch, I went home and never looked back.

If there's one character trait I possess that I'm proud of, it's knowing when to cut my losses and move on. Okay, your turn: What's job have you held on for the least amount of time?

Update From Yesterday's (Deleted) Post

As I slipped into my warm, soapy bath last night (my first in my new house), I prepared the post I'd write today. It would be sort of a triumphant monologue of what to do when you've had a traumatizing experience, such as mine from Monday evening, and how to relax after your nerves have been thoroughly rattled. I thought of the title "What To Expect When You're Reflecting", and the post just kinda wrote itself.

I stayed in the bathtub for a long time, and was surprised to find myself laughing, despite my gloomy mood, as the cats amused themselves with my bathwater. Fascinated, they poked and sniffed, taking a few tentative laps every now and then, one loosing his balance and almost tumbling in at one point. Afterward, I tucked into bed with the first season of Weeds on dvd, intent on making up for the lack of sleep from the previous night.

That's when my dad called and frantically told me to take down the post I had written yesterday about "the incident". I said okay and once we hung up, rushed to remove the post, my computer taking painfully slow. Once the post was down, I called my dad back and he explained to me why it was foolish to give out so much information about "the incident" publicly (even though I don't have much information on it to begin with). I was scared, and I called Alie first, hoping she would talk me down. She agreed with my dad though, and after two more phone calls, I finally got the soothing reassurance I was looking for.

That doesn't mean I slept, though. It was one of those "lay on the covers and jump at every noise" kinda nights. If it weren't for Elvis sleeping against my stomach, tucking himself into the curve of my body, I wouldn't have gotten any sleep at all. He's the most easily frightened cat ever, so as long as he was sleeping soundly, I knew everything was okay.

It was a bad night. I'm having a bad week so far, not just emotionally speaking, but I've somehow injured my foot and it's painful to walk. Walking funny is causing my entire leg to hurt, and as for my nerves? Well they're just shot to hell. I did it all without a Xanax, though, I'm proud to report.

Xanax Update

So after my post about wanting and getting a prescription for Xanax following my failed attempt with Klonopin, I received some very good advice in the comments section. I decided to give it a try, despite a couple warnings, and I've taken it twice so far.

I guess I've kinda been waiting for a chance to take it, in order to see if my initial reactions were merely luck or some sort of placebo affect. The first time I took it I was kinda just in a bad mood and maybe let it escalate a little in order to feel justified in taking Xanax. I don't think I needed it though, as it had the affect that Alie later told me was tell-tale of just that: sleepy and silly...almost like you were drunk. It wasn't horrible at the time, as Preston and I were just hanging out at home. We made a big yummy dinner of chili cheese dogs and then hung out on the couch for a bit...it was nice, although I was being a bit silly.

From there, we went to see a friend's band play, which was a mistake on my part. I was tired and would have been happy staying in, but I went to appease Preston, which is a bad reason to go out. I was crabby the entire night.

The second time I took it (both times I only took half of a 25 mg pill) was on Saturday afternoon, before I picked Preston up for a family barbecue/pool party. I don't know why, but I always get nervous before I hang out with my family (extended, in this case) even though it always turns out fun and goes relatively smoothly. I guess I was nervous about him meeting all the aunts and cousins for the first time...nervous for him, mostly. When I get that way, any little thing that happens, stuff that wouldn't usually bother me, just adds to it and makes my anxiousness that much worse.

So after I got off the phone with my mom, who yelled at me for not having left the house yet, I swallowed half a tablet on my way out the door, and hoped for the best. About 20 minutes into our drive, after a bit of an argument, everything was suddenly fine. We didn't even need the This American Life I had downloaded for the long drive, we just drove and talked...and I was fine. The rest of the day was quite lovely, and after the party we spooned on his couch and watched t.v.

I think I need to find a happy in-between when it comes to knowing when to take a pill. Sometimes my anxiety escalates rather quickly, and when you're right in the middle of it, it's hard to realize you're being irrational. My ability to differentiate between the stuff I'm validly upset about, and that which is just my psyche getting the better of me, gets diluted.

Things That Keep Me Occupied At Work

I haven't really felt like being on the computer, or writing anything deep and profound, or funny and insightful (ha! like I ever write anything like that, anyway) lately. I have a boring desk job. It's something I don't talk about often because I like the company a lot, and really, I'm luckily to have this job. It's just hard to manage your free time when there's just SO MUCH of it.

This sounds like I'm bragging, like when I say to my roommate Anh, who has the smaller bedroom, "My bedroom is just so huge! I don't know where to put everything!"...but I'm not bragging, it's a curse, really. You'd think that, having so much time to yourself between the hours of 7:45 am and 5 pm, you would accomplish a lot. Well, maybe you would, but me?...I'm a bit of a procrastinator.

I have been writing a bit, and reading, and planning, and making lists. It's easy to waste time when you know you'll have the same amount the next day...and the day after that...and the day after that, to infinity.

Here are the books that I'm either reading now, or will be reading shortly:

Although I thought it had a slow start, I'm really into this book now. It's one of those books that you look forward to reading, and could happily spend an evening in with. This is the first book that Meghan and I chose for our new book club. She and I are the only members at the moment, and the theme of our book club is to motivate and direct us in writing stories for "young adults".

I bought this book on Amazon for $0.16 (+S&H) after finding a fuzzy colony of mold spores in a neglected Tupperware and thinking to myself, "I wonder if there's a "history of mold" book?". Despite the fact that I'm grossed out by shower walls and have been known to wear sandals in unfamiliar showers (or showers belonging to guys, because, ew), I'm endlessly fascinated with mold. I can't wait to get this book. The first line of the first review on Amazon was this: "If Douglas Adams (The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy) were reincarnated as a mycologist, he would have written this book." Uhhh, fucking perfect for me, much?

I have a huge crush on Sarah Vowell (of This American Life fame) and I'm also a bit of a history buff. She's like the queen of the nerdy history girls (with an adorable voice, to boot!).

The second book in mine and Meghan's book club...cause, ya know, doesn't hurt to add a little knowledge (to the absolutely none I currently have on the subject).

Other things I occupy my day with:

Cracked.com - This website is an endless source of entertaining, thought provoking, or amusing material for those of us who have low-level responsibility jobs. Start with:
5 Scientific Theories That Will Make Your Head Explode, 5 Tiny Mistakes That Led To Huge Catastrophes, 6 People Who Just Fucking Disappeared and their hilarious photoshop contests, such as The 40 Most Inappropriate Children's Book Covers.

Google Reader - After months (months!) of having a gmail account, I've finally devoted like five minutes to fill out my Google Reader queue. It's stupid, really. I've wasted so much freaking time clicking back and forth to check if the bloggers I read regularly have updated. It's almost scary having this much time on my hands now...now that I can just click "reader" and see if anyone has updated (p.s. you guys need to update more).

Here's my list of blogs I've added to my Google Reader. If yours isn't on there, don't worry, I still haven't added everyone (yell at me in the comments if yours didn't make the list).
Adventures of a Book Thief
Amalah
And if you have five seconds to spare... - read this post, it's beautiful
Awkwardly Social
better now
Curiology
Diary of Why
Distractible Jane
Everybody Cares
Fairy Chimneys
Joy Unexpected
Matter vs. Space
Mom-101
Moose in the Kitchen
Nothing But Bonfires
Other People Exist
smitten kitchen
sweet juniper!
The Bloggess - this is possibly my favorite post ever written
The Daily Coyote - and her grandmother's blog Svensto (seriously amazing stuff)
The Hollywood Librarian
two L's please
untangling knots
[witty blog title]

Wow...that was a pain in the ass. No wonder I don't have a blog roll. I also don't have one because I'm terrified of leaving someone off and hurting their feelings. This blog business is stressful! Can I point out that 7 of those are "mom blogs"? WTF?

Random Photos From My Weekend

On Friday night my mom came by to check out my new house. After oohing and aahing about how incredibly charming the place is, I took her to my favorite local restaurant, Pure Luck. Things started off well, with yummy beer and pleasant conversation...

as well as deep fried pickles *drool* and yam fries...

but quickly turned heated when the topic of politics came up. It didn't end very well. Also, I somehow agreed to let her read this blog. I don't know how that happened. Mother's can be very persuasive, I guess.

I had vowed to take a photo of everything I ate over the weekend, so I could finally post a "Every Single Thing I Ate This Weekend" post, which I've been wanting to do for ages, but somewhere around Saturday evening, I forgot. I got as far as breakfast on Friday morning:

That's what I call a "hole in one", as that's what my family has called it all my life. But you may know it as an "egg in the hole", "egg in the basket", or "one eyed jack".

Friday lunch:

(Life cereal)

Saturday breakfast:

There's a fried egg hidden under all that deliciousness. I made it while I was hungover, and it was still awesome.

Saturday lunch:

Fried chicken at the beach. Yes please!

On Sunday I got together with a few friends for a little relaxation by the pool. We made way too much food, and even though I laid out for at least two hours, I barely got a tan. Boo.

Last night I met my very first hairless cat. He was so adorable and sweet.

Want.

Tomorrow: find out why the words "hamburger pie" made me cry once.

A Bit of A Rant

I am so, incredibly tired today. Last week, after a particularly good first experience with half a Xanax graciously given to me by a friend during one of my "I'm so stressed I can't fucking breath" episodes, I paid a visit to my doctor and gave him the "I promise I won't get addicted or over-use it, just please give me a prescription to this miracle drug" speech.

And it's true that I don't think I'd get addicted, I wasn't just saying that. I have a high tolerance when it comes to addictive substances. Even during my heady drug years as a preteen, I quit everything the very day I decided to quit. Just thought to myself "Geez, this is fucking stupid", and was done with it all.*

*Well, all of it save for once or twice a year...but only then, it has to be a special occasion and it isn't anything of the non-flora variety...oh yeah, and also beer. I love beer. And whiskey.

So I was surprised that, after telling him how well a mere 25 milligrams of an over-the-counter drug took me from "I want to hide under my covers for the rest of the week" to "man, this traffic is pretty cool" and "you want to interview me on camera for a television show? [no, seriously] cool, lets do it!", he responded with "Why don't we try Klonopin instead?".

I've never been able to stand up to doctors. All the pushing and prodding and general demanding necessary to get what you want doesn't pop into my head until after I pay my deductible, get whatever prescription they insist on giving me filled (even though I've done plenty of Internet research on the matter at hand, meanwhile they've sat in a tiny room with me for three minutes and barely glanced at my chart) and realize what a mistake listening to a man with a white coat on and a stethoscope slung around his neck was.

The Klonopin v. Xanax instance was no different. First of all, Klonopin is a drug you take on a regular basis, and although I've had a problem with anxiety all my life, it's not a regular thing. It just kinda pops up once or twice a month when I'm having a particularly shitty week. The other problem is, horse tranquilizers?, they've got nothing on Klonopin. It's been three days since I stopped taking it (and I only took a quarter of the recommended dosage a day) and I could still sleep straight through until Sunday morning...with a baby screaming in my ear...on a bed of nails.

Ugh. So my prescription for Xanax is patiently waiting at the Target pharmacy for me after a phone call to my doctor in which I stated the equivalent of snapping my fingers in his face followed by wagging my index finger back and forth and saying "Oh hell naw." It's funny that what I requested Xanax for in the first place (calming me down because shit was getting stressful) has turned into a situation that requires Xanax. Sometimes I wonder if this shit would happen to me if I didn't have a blog to write about it in. I'm glad I do, nonetheless.

Daydreaming

Lately, my mind has been a clutter of thoughts and to-do lists and looming potential problems and reruns of the petty arguments I've been having with someone whom I'd rather be laying on a beach somewhere sunny with than arguing with.

Daydreams have always been my solace, ever since I can remember. I'll be sad about something, then I'll remember that I had been thinking about something happy earlier that day, or the day before, and what was it??? Oh yes, that vacation that Alie and I are going to take to Portland someday, and then I'll think of all the fun we'll have and what we'll wear and eat and who we'll meet, and I'll be happier. Or of when my writing career finally takes off and all the fun I'll have with that, and how wonderful it'll feel to confidently answer "writer" to the question "what do you do for a living?".

Today, after Alie and I had a great meeting for an exciting project that's in the works that I can't talk about just yet, but it involves being on television, my daydream is that of a travel show staring Alie and myself, that I'd like to now pitch to you.

It's called Broads Abroad or Two Broads Abroad or something clever like that. Have you ever hung out with me and Alie together? If you have, I think you can vouch for our ability to play off one another and the hilarity that ensues. The McNuggitini is a good example of that.

So how about we get our own travel show, one that involves us being flown to exotic destinations where we don't speak the language, have no clue about the local traditions and customs, and have to figure it all out using only out-dated tour books, and fueled only by alcoholic beverages served in hollowed out fruit shells, garnished with little umbrellas. I can guarantee you that it would be entertaining and funny. Kind of a mix between that Claire Danes movie Brokedown Palace, and Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations. I'm thinking A&E might be interested. We can incorporate a travel blog into the mix, or perhaps a travel coffee table book.

When I'm staring blankly today, looking bored and far away, that's what I'll be daydreaming about.

Loud & Happy

During the last week, which was the first in my new house, I've been confronted with a sound that - once I heard it - made me realize I hadn't heard it in ten years, since moving from Orange County, where I grew up. Now that I live at the end of a cul-de-sac, which is more conducive to children playing in the street, that's exactly what happens everyday, starting around 3 p.m., until around 9 p.m.

When the windows are open in my house (and even when they're not, sometimes) the sound of mariachi music and screaming children waft into my house, filling it with the sound of people living their lives.

I don't know what it was like where you grew up, but in my little neighborhood, immediately upon arriving home from school, or upon waking up in the summer, we'd head outside to the little parking lot which our townhouses encircled, and resume whatever dramatic game or discussion we had been entranced in the day before.

And it was dramatic. I once punched my next-door neighbor Sanaz (who was like a sister to me from around age 6 until about age 15, whom I've barely spoken to since) in the nose, after she kicked me in the stomach during a heated argument. We'd put on ridiculous plays for our patient parents (most of whom were single, working mothers), or play made-up games in one of our houses on rainy days when all our mothers were at work, and we had the run of the house. Once we drew all over Vanessa's kitchen walls, which seemed perfectly okay since they were being wallpapered over the following weekend. It wasn't okay.

Although there were kids who would waft in and then out of our lives, after moving to the neighborhood for a year or so, only to be whisked away by their parents to some other part of the country, never to be heard from again, there were a few girls who were permanent fixtures in my life throughout my childhood. Those girls (who included my sister) taught me how to ride a bike. We were the masters of our free time, those precious hours between the ending school bell at 2:15 p.m. and going to bed late at night. And with little to no supervision or rules, we'd ride around our small town with nary a helmet or curfew in sight.

When I hear the kids who live in my new neighborhood playing out front, it makes me happy. I had heard neither hide nor hair of such a thing since escaping the suburbs immediately following high school, and I hadn't realized how much I missed it until I heard it for the first time when I moved into my new house. As long as they don't have screaming contests like my friends and I used to, then I'm really happy to be living in such a neighborhood.

Garlic Breath & Beer Underwear

Last night I had my very first Zankou Chicken experience. For those of you who aren't Southern California residents, Zankou is a little Mediterranean chicken/shawarma dive that people are feverish about. Ask anyone and they'll tell you about the little tub of garlic "sauce" that comes with the supposedly fabulous chicken, and how it reeks havoc on your breath, but tastes oh-so good. I'd been dying to go for some time, but the chance never presented itself.

So while we were deciding where to go for dinner, I made Preston give me two options of where to go, since I'm so damn indecisive. He came up with either that little Pho place on Sunset that I tell him is good every time we drive by it, or Zankou. I quickly choose Zankou.

A blurry view from our table

Yum

So the chicken itself was, in fact, really really good. Wrapped in some pita with a little hummus and tomatoes, then the tiniest dab of that garlic "sauce", and yeah, I get why people go bananas for Zankou. We also got a falafel sandwich, but it was bland and mushy. Although, to be fair, once you've been spoiled by Truly Mediterranean's falafel in San Francisco, no falafel will ever be good enough again. I didn't think that garlic sauce was as strong as everyone said while I was eating it...in fact, I think I felt a little hoity about the whole thing, like "people think this is strong??? pshaw!". But later?, you're burping the most putrid smelling burps for the rest of the night. Eesh.

After we ate, Preston graciously succumbed to my pleas of "Can we go to the 99 Cents Only store, pleeeeeaseee?????". Again, for those non-LA natives, the 99 Cents Only store is just what it sounds like: a store that sells everything for 99 cents only. But it's so much more than that. What I love about it, is that every time you go in, you know you're going to find some strange, amazing, or outright freaky thing. They're the queen of discontinued items, and items that for sometimes obvious reasons, didn't sell in mainstream stores. So the 99 Cents Only store graciously takes on that stores surplus items. Check out the 99 Cent Chef for some entertaining finds.

The location on Sunset Blvd. is huge! I was literally skipping towards the door.

The boyfriend finds something he actually needs!

Out of the hour we wandered, and almost $40 we spent last night, three items stood out as "WTF? OMG!" items. One was this amazing roll of wallpaper boarder that had this weird, 1970's-ish design involving camping and bears. I'll take pictures as soon as I put it up in my bedroom.

The second were Miller Lite undies! Rad!

The third item we spent about ten minutes ogling and snapping photos of (although we didn't buy it). You know those tiny gummy hamburgers they sell at the counter in liquor stores? These were like that, but huge, and made out of freaking marshmallow! WTF??? They were hilarious. They even had a french fry version with a little ketchup package that was actually red sour gel, instead of ketchup. Ha!

I had been remarking throughout our shopping experience that "someone probably got fired for that idea" whenever we'd see a large quantity of some item that obviously hadn't sold well in a more high-end store (such as the dozens of boxes of Caramel Pretzel ice cream). But when we saw this marshmallow monstrosity, I remarked that "someone was hanged for this idea".

Did you know the Sunset Blvd. location has a "Gourmet Foods" section? Neither did I. It looks like a 1970's version of "gourmet", though...which is pretty awesome.

You can take the girl out of the 99 Cents Store, but you can't take the 99 Cents Store out of the girl.

Lived-In II

I moved into my cabin room last 4th of July. When I walked into the room on moving day, with my car out front waiting to be unloaded, I could barely contain my excitement. I felt like I was finally starting my life back in Los Angeles, and I couldn't wait to see how things would unfold from there. It's been good since then, but I'm excited to be starting fresh someplace new. I feel like the last year has been one of trial and error for me, and now that I've finally got it right, I'm ready to start fresh in my new house.

I moved over the weekend, exactly one year from the time I stood in the doorway of the cabin, my mind swimming with possibilities. The weekend was hectic, and fraught with little calamities (which you'll be able to read about here), but the knowledge that by Sunday evening I would be unpacking and settling into a townhouse that I fell in love with the moment I walked through the front door, made those little things laughable.

After clearing everything out of my bedroom, with the last batch of boxes stuffed into my car out front, I stood in the doorway of the empty room and took a deep breath of the air that was wafting through the windows. My heart fluttered as I recognized that scent in the air, that I hadn't smelled since my move-in day a year before; it was the smell of excitement, and of summer, and knowing that something happy was waiting behind the door for me. I got into my car, with my wonderful new boyfriend behind the wheel, and my cat mewing frantically on my lap, and we headed to my new home.

Winning Numbers

I just went on the California Lottery website to check the winning numbers for yesterday's Mega Millions drawing. It's so silly, I know, but my heart does flutter a little when I have my ticket in one hand, and am waiting for the numbers to appear on the computer screen. This was the first ticket I had purchased in years, and was probably only around the fifth ticket I've ever bought in my life.



My mother has bought a lottery ticket every week since I was a kid. Every. Week. Same numbers every time, too. Some combination of mine and my brother & sister's birthday, coupled with the number that corresponds with the first initial of our names, or something like that. I had them memorized by the time I was ten.



I used to resent her lottery talk, which always started with "When I win the lottery..." and would end with any number of humble, yet fanciful desires. The whole family going on a cruise is one of them, as is her buying us all big houses with little gardens in the front. She and I going to Paris for decedent spa treatments and shopping. Some fancy car another...probably a Lexus. I would get dragged into it once in a while, despite my best efforts at being a bratty little pessimist, "I hate cruises! Lets go to Italy instead! I don't want a big house, I want a little cottage!", etc.



Last week, after overhearing a coworker talk about a recent office pool lottery win, my imagination got the best of me, and I found myself daydreaming about what I would do if I won the lottery. Trips to foreign destinations...places I would probably never get a chance to see otherwise. A little house to come home to, somewhere in the hills of Los Angeles. A cool old car that, unlike my own 20 year old BMW, I wouldn't have to worry about breaking down at any moment. How amazing it would feel to give my parents and siblings enough money to pursue their own humble desires.



I didn't win, obviously, but I'll probably buy another ticket next week. That, coupled with my new appreciation of having big hair like hers (after years of straightening it into submission), makes me worry that I may be turning into my mother.

What's your lottery story?

Jumping

I finally did it. After weeks, if not months, of having "Big 5" on my to-do list, I finally made the trek last night to Glendale to purchase what I'm planning on making my new work-out contraption: a mini trampoline. I got the big idea for this after jumping on a friends large trampoline at a BBQ for a mere ten minutes, and the wonderful soreness in my legs the following day.

I've never really been one for "working out"...at least not in the typical sense. There was a period of about two years during my adolescence during which I was absolutely batty about running. My mom and I would complete a 5k run about once a month, and were constantly preparing for them by running around the little lake in my neighborhood in the evenings. My foray with rebellion that followed, and the related wedge that it drove between my mother and I, made short work of that, though. There were also a good five years of playing soccer during my childhood, but I suspect that I played the sport more to get out my aggression than because I was actually good at it.*

*remind me to tell you the story of me punching a girl during one "good game" high five.

Moving on...since I moved back to Los Angeles a little over a year ago, I've done pathetically little to maintain my figure, aside from the not-eating depression-bout I dealt with in the first few months back, and about a dozen yoga classes, which I swore I would keep up with...and didn't. I'm not counting the half dozen or so walks around the reservoir I took with Alie, cause I only did those so we'd have a chance to talk shit together, and I barely broke a sweat.

Truthfully, I really don't enjoy running anymore...and walking never makes me feel like I'm actually accomplishing anything. I adore yoga, but I have a hard time making a commitment to go every couple days, and with getting dressed, driving to the yoga studio, parking, paying, and then driving home after class and showering, I end up having used up about two hours.

Which brings us to last night. After almost getting in an accident with a stupid woman in an SUV, followed by her tailing me to the Big 5 parking lot and her and I having heated a argument, then finally buying my precious trampoline, and an unsuccessful H&M excursion, I came home and stood on my trampoline for the first time.

I stood in front of my full length mirror, trepidaciously jumping a couple times to see what this thing was all about. I had only planned on trying it out for a minute or two, as I was scheduled to meet Alie for dinner, but a half hour later I was stripped down and sweaty, doing intricate jumping patterns and moving my arms in wild arches with every leap. Elvis watched me from the bed, eyeing the trampoline reproachfully. With fifty crunches both during and after my jumping session (crunches on the trampoline are soooo much better than on the floor), I felt really great about my new purchase.

My goal is to jump for at least twenty five minutes for the next week, followed by twenty minutes every couple days. Umm, also? If there's anything that will make you want to jump on the trampoline on a regular basis, it's watching yourself jump on a trampoline. Lets just say that every part of my body moved and jiggled with wild abandon except for my boobs, which stayed stubbornly and defiantly still, mocking me with their smallness. But still, that didn't stop me from devouring a breakfast quesadilla with soyrizo and avocado later that night at Brite Spot.

This and That

-I have this brand-new shiny freelance gig. I'm scared of it. I've been avoiding looking it in the eye, in case it's hostile. I've kinda just been poking at it with a long stick from a couple feet away. So far it hasn't made a move.

-After a week or two of being on a roll, I've suddenly stopped working on my short stories. I don't know why that is. I'll get into work in the morning determined to write that day, and before I know it, it's 3 p.m. and I haven't done anything but caught up on other people's blogs and checked my email four dozen times.

-We're still waiting to hear whether or not we got the apartment we wanted. I talked to the owner on Friday and he said he needed to speak with his lawyer, which sounds all intimidatey and professional. My boss just told me he called her today to verify my employment and ask general questions about my behaviours and personality. Luckily, she likes me. I can't wait to move in. Update: The owner just texted me and asked if I had time to talk after work! Eep!
Update 2: After he texted me, I went on Craigslist to peak around and found that he listed the apartment again on Friday! WTF? It's also listed for $50 a month more than what he originally listed it as. Ack!!!

-After working across the street from a well-stocked library for five months, I finally checked out my first book. Why does checking out a book from the library feel so good? This is the book, fyi...I like it so far:

-I had dinner with my mom on Friday evening at a burger joint on Hollywood Blvd. It was very enjoyable, and it makes me laugh that I can say goodbye to my mother like this: "George Bush is a f**king c**ksucker and I hate him! Okay, love you! Bye! *hugs*" Quite an interesting family I've got here.

-Why is it that doing nothing all weekend with someone is so much more fulfilling than doing nothing alone? I had a nice weekend. I hope you did, too.

Crowded

I'm better around people when we're one-on-one than I am in a group or crowd. I've always assumed this is true with a lot of people, but I'm realizing lately that it's not. I've always wished I could be that person who can waltz into a room of people and not nervously fidget with my purse, or need to be holding a drink and sipping it periodically, or holding hands with my boyfriend or linked arms with my girl friend...but I'm just not.

The thing is, though, that if I'm alone and put into that situation, I'll happily approach someone who's similarly solo and looks uncomfortable about it, and strike up a conversation. I'll probably become good friends with them, too. I really am a great conversationalist. I'm funny and sincere, and truly interested in the person I'm talking to and whatever story they have to tell. I love meeting new people, and I love having an unexpected connection with someone, and usually don't feel like my night out has been fulfilling unless I have one of those connections. Introduce me to your parents...I promise they'll love me, but bring me to a work function and I'll hide under a rock...with a strong drink.

My mother is very good with people. When she has to interact socially, she puts on this persona of a confident, well-spoken woman...one you'd want to spend time with. I was never nervous about introducing her to friends, or bringing her to meet teachers or later, a boss. I knew she would shine. I've always admired this about her, and whenever I find myself in a situation in which I find my confidence draining away, I conscientiously conjure my mother.

This usually involves me straightening my shoulders (to this day, she still whispers "shoulders back" to me, when I'm slouching), holding my chin up, and telling myself that I can do this. It usually works. The problem is, she's not good with one-on-one relationships. She has a small handful of female friends whom she's known since childhood, but other than that, she doesn't socially interact with many people on an intimate level other than her boyfriend.

My father is a conundrum, in that he's a little bit of both. He doesn't do well in large crowds. His nervousness is palpable; he fidgets with the ring on his left finger (which I suspect he wears solely for the purpose of having something to fidget with when he's nervous), and his voice is laden with tension. I got that from him. I hate to admit it, but big crowds overwhelm me. Living in San Francisco helped me to get over this a lot, but there's still an underlying layer of fear and trepidation when I'm in a large crowd, and I sink into myself in a way. It isn't so bad that I avoid these places, but it helps if I prepare myself mentally before I'm thrown into the mix.

But then there's the side of my father that is amazingly candid and confident. I've seen him speak in front of crowds and he's really wonderful at it. He's open and personable, and has a real knack for it. I have no fear of public speaking. I may get a little nervous when I'm about to do it, but I actually enjoy it and use it as an opportunity to prove my confidence to myself. He's also great one-on-one for the most part, although I think certain people and situations make him nervous.

So I guess I'm somewhere in between the two of them, although I lean more towards the one-on-one interactions than towards those with a larger amount of people. I'd like to be better at the latter, though. I'd like to flit from conversation to conversation, being charming and entertaining as I go, but I have trouble with what I see as superficial interactions, and (probably wrongly) view them as pointless, although I admire those people who can do that. So I'm asking you, readers; how do you overcome the encounters with people which make you nervous, and which of those encounters makes you more nervous?

Have a lovely weekend!

Gasping

I have a hard time taking a deep breath when I'm stressed out. When I try to take breath, it always stops short, and all I get is a little swallow of air...almost as if I was slowly drowning. It's been that way since I was a little, but it was only recently that I realized that it's caused by stress. As a kid, I thought I had a heart problem. The only way I could take a full, satisfying breath was by yawning. Otherwise, try as I might, I just couldn't take a full, satisfying breath.

I remember the exact moment it hit me that not being able to breath was a result of stress, and not some obscure heart malfunction. I was sitting on a subway, deep under San Francisco, and it was like something clicked in my brain. But even after that, after I knew the culprit to my futile gasps for air, the tightness in my chest, my deep sighs that would come after an attempt at filling my lungs, which would be followed by whoever I was with asking me what was wrong ("nothing's wrong...I'm just signing!"), my stress accomplice was still there. It's almost like an old familiar friend, one that is kind of annoying and gives bad advice, but because you're so familiar with them, their presence is comforting on some level.

Is that a panic attack of sorts? Has that ever happened to you? What reaction do you have to stress? Although mine is annoying, I'm sure there are much worse ways for your body to react to stressors.

Randoms

*Siiiiiiiigh* Oh, hey guys. What's new? Oh right, I'm supposed to tell you what's new with me...that's how this thing works, right? Well actually, nothing is really new, but everything is going well and I'm generally happy all over. Let's see...

I wrote about last weekend's Little Radio Summer Camp for losanjealous.com and thought it was a good piece until they kinda chopped it up a little and took out most of the photos, and now I'm not so fond of it.

There's a photo of me on the LA Times website sitting in the bleachers at Preston's dodgeball game wearing cowboy boots and holding a leetle dog.

In an attempt to get my fracking laptop to not be the slowest thing in the world, I'm taking all my pictures off it and transferring them to flickr. I'm not totally sold on flickr yet, as a longtime Photobucket user, but I'm glad they have a place to go. See the very unorganized and schizophrenic pictures here.

I think Anh and I have found our dream apartment. Now we're just waiting to hear from the landlord so we'll know if we can move-in peacefully, or if we'll have to force our way in the middle of the night and quietly fill the house with our belongings and trick the landlord into thinking we've lived there forever. Read about the apartment of my wildest dreams here.