a coal-less xmas

This year was one of the better holiday seasons, although I did have a huge fight over something trivial with my youngest sister that involved arm tugging, a lot of yelling, and door slamming. But it wouldn't be Christmas without some tears and threats. But the good completely outweighed the bad as I sat shotgun in a madcap adventure with Di. Christmas Eve and we're off watching Juno, braving the cold and ridiculous 50 mph winds to buy cds in Hollywood (you think I jest but we had to find shelter from the weather in some doorway like vagabonds), and building gingerbread house while praying that it does not collapse onto itself.

Christmas Day was celebrated with much Asian flair as the family and friends gathered for a seafood hot pot, spring rolls, outrageous fruit flan cakes, gambling, and more food. I think our house was leaking MSG by the end of the night.

And even though the main reason for seeing The Boy yesterday was to help him move his furniture out of my apartment and all the way down three flights of stairs (why are there no elevators?!), I'm glad there was still time for ballroom dancing to Beirut, exchanging gifts, and nonsensical conversations--I still think Qualudes are word and that it's reference to a drug of some type.

So ends my year, sort of. One last throw down with the college gang in San Francisco and we bid our adieus to 2007.

Meet you at the statue in an hour?

I've forgotten how much I love Belle & Sebastian until I heard "Piazza, New York Catcher" play during the movie Juno. I was singing along before I realized it. Oh, Stuart Murdoch, how you've captured my heart in a blink. I've always love how songs will bring up certain memories. "Piazza" and "Brand New Colony" will take me back to freshman year of college and sitting in Di's car as we drive back from everywhere. And the songs that continue to make me cry no matter how long it's been since acquainted.

Christmas is in four days, I think. I'm also moving ship in about two days and I've got nothing done. I really don't want to buy gifts because I think it's dumb. If I wanted to buy you a gift, I'd do that any day of the year and you can do the same. It just irks me so much that some folks don't understand why I want to let it pass like another day. It's enough to provoke a rant from me. So keep your holidays and expectations, I'll keep my tongue.

Goodbye, San Diego, I don't think I'll miss you. You were a grand escape for four years but now it's back to the lion's den. Though I will love what this place has been: one wonderful voyage into uncharted territories of social relationships and self-criticism that the maps will be neatly tucked away until the time to reminisce comes along. So thanks, Whale's Vagina, you stay classy.

Expectations, simplicity, and ghosts.

I think it's the expectations that really kills. Is there some cosmic plan written in the stars for everyone to follow, like an unseen ten commandments that you have to abide by? That's the feeling I get now that I've graduated college. I'm "supposed to" find some ridiculously grand career. I'm "supposed to" work a nine to five job. I'm "supposed to" this and that. But why? And what for? I could be very happy working some job that pays crap and doing menial things in order to pay the bills and pay for all my newfound obsessions. I mean, what do you want me to do? Change the world? I want to, and I maybe still will. But I shouldn't because I'm "supposed to."

I think I'm moving again in less than a month. Funny thing is, I'm not even sure where I'm going. Maybe backwards because it's seems impossible to move forward at this point. I just don't have the financial means to plant myself somewhere new. So I'll wither here, in this wasteland of a city, the Enron by the Sea, as I've come to dub it. And it's here that I've realized that I have few friends and even fewer that share the same interests with me that I've become a bored skeleton. No one does the talk, or care for the walk. Worst yet is the impending fake cheer of the holidays. I abhor Christmas with malicious spite that I'm only counting down the days to Xmas because then I'll be satisfied knowing I won't have to deal with it for another 364 days. So combine my hatred for the holidays, my complete boredom with this vapid city, and my insecure thoughts on very blurred future plans, and I'm some walking fuming mess that's angry at what is and what can't be.

Nothing's ever simple, is it?

You can't just pack some of your favorite items in a bag, close your eyes, and disappear, can you? No magic words to utter. No sweet slumber to last a thousand years until the commotion brews over.

Because that would just be too easy.

I'm thinking of buying a guitar so that I'd be able to find solace in something real. This thought was prompt by a cover of Tegan and Sara's Walking with a Ghost that I'd heard a bit ago. There were no vocals. Just a drum and a guitar. And of course it would be paid for by my menial job, but playing it would make me happy, and isn't that all that matters?

The Randoms

I have no idea what it does, but I kinda want one of these mushroom hello kitties.

So I finally found a temporary job (read: office slave) and with my new source of income, I'm really tempted to just throw money down the fun toilet in the following form:

-a new jacket
-Hello Kitty t-shirts
-the shits and giggles over at threadless.com, giant robot, Ben Sherman
-comics
-a permanent seat at my favorite restaurants
-the Bossy Bear book, which is my life story in Bear and Illustration form.

Christ alive, I could really go for some Korean food right now. If only I were actually in Korea, because then there's 24 hour access. I think. Kimchi, ahoy! Someone save my wretched stomach from devouring my other organs.

I'm still dreaming of the same thing, the same old hopes, the same desire to disappear into an unforgivable town that will swallow me whole with no reservations.

Oh, how we will lie awake and lie for fun.

Wildfire 07! Oh noes!

I'm alive. And well. And about a hundred miles away from the fire that's plaguing San Diego. Wow. It's deja vu all over again because four years ago, some part of LA was burning while SD wasn't doing any better. History just repeats itself all the time, huh?

So basically, for the non-Californian folks, there's about four fires in the SD area. One fire has been contained. And the other three are creating fodder for the news and giving one journalist somewhere a promotion. Cynicism at a time like this? Why not? I'm worried but it's a helpless situation of man versus nature. Nature is going to whoop man's ass that I bid all of the firefighters and official good luck with this battle because they're going to need it. And that's an actual sincere statement.

Go here for updates: http://www.signonsandiego.com/firemap/

Oh, and the fire that's threatening my area is called the Witch Fire. I'm sorry but that's too Salem Witch Trials for me to take it seriously. I mean, the actual fire, yes. Name of fire, not so much.

But honestly, I just want to go home.

Why bother?

It's another blitz of job searching for this one. Why isn't the job hunt process easier? Like there could be a central control for all jobs in the world that you can submit your resume to and they could spit out a list of jobs that you're qualiified for? It's almost Big Brother, most likely completely government controlled, but it would make my life easier instead of this mindnumbing wait for call backs. Or lack thereof as one place decided to hire someone else and not give me a courtesy Dear John letter. I've come to realize that I would be happy working in three places:

1. A record shop
2. A health clinic
3. The entertainment industry

But alas, I got a BA in sociology and I'm still wondering what I'm going to do with it.

And now we know

In retrospect, perhaps playing around with my mom's birth control all those years ago was not a good idea. Then again, I was of a wee age and thought they were Pez candy. Hmmm. Retro-justification? I'll take it. The thought just occurred to me though as I was surfing health organization, in hopes of finding job vacancies.

I saw Across the Universe Sunday afternoon and left in awe. Not of the character development or story plot line (all of which was severely lacking), but at the visual and audio acid trip that movie took you on. I had high expectations for the film, which weren't met, because seriously, who comes back from a war so well-adjusted? I may not be an expect on the facts and figures of war veterans but I would have to say that those who aren't traumatized in some form are far and few between. Nonetheless, I had no idea that Joe Anderson was British until I read his biography. So kudos to his accent coach. The movie was filled to the brim with hit or miss covers, the good ones were really good and the bad ones felt shoved in with the excuse that it's a Beatles film. All in all, Jim Sturgess, I love you but you're not Ewan McGregor from Moulin Rouge. And Evan Rachael Woods, stop giving me those stupid tortured looks with your piercing eyes. I get it, Rich Girl with a Conscience.

That said, I've had different Beatles songs running through my head all day long and most likely for the next few days.

Running pattern or god's gag on me

I hate bad days. Obviously. But it's always insult to injury on those terrible, no good, very bad days because as I'm getting ready for bed and changing into jammies, I make a slap-to-the-forehead realization. I had spent the day wearing my underwear inside out. There might not be anything wrong with that, or I've yet to realize if there is. I mean, it's almost a laundry saving technique. Almost. And gross. I've also just noticed now that it's a very SAT type of situation: The whole inside out underwear equals bad day type of thing. As in one of those "If all snuggles are puzzles but not all puzzles are snuggles" questions. Days I spend wearing the wrong side of my underwear always tend to be crappy days yet it doesn't always work the other way around. Why?

Oh, and here's a totally unrelated picture to this post. But I felt it worthy. It's me and some random person in a bear suit, who was strolling around on campus. Completely worthy of a camera phone shot.

A rice cooker has just entered my top five list of Most Expensive Things I Own. How does such a thing happen? Easy, my mom assumes I'm underfed when not under her watchful eyes so she set out to find me adequate cookware. Only it cost a little over a hundred.

Other than that, I want to marry Logan Echolls.

Wicked Heat of the West

That morbid portion of me is jonesing for some of Hurricane Whatever it's Name to stroll by San Diego and give us a downpour instead of lambasting the coastline with HUMIDITY. I can only imagine what the inland area feels like and choose to only imagine. Ugh. I might as well sleep in my underwear or in a bathtub with ice cubes.

In two and a half weeks, I might be unemployed for the first time in three years. It's kinda scary. And kind of thrilling because then I'll be able to watch my brand spanking new Veronica Mars dvds without interruption. Showers be damned, I'll have no one to impress. Five food groups a day be damned, popcorn has to account for at least two food groups.

Roughing it

1. Finding employment is a lot harder than I thought.

2. I just came back from a weekend jaunt in Yosemite with Ed and David, then came back to the homestead for a birthday bbq for my dad. He's half a century old now. Holy crap, he's getting on ancient.

2a. I'm glad I'm one of 15 percent of Americans who use the word "jaunt."

3. I SAW A BEAR! That in itself makes up for the sheer lousiness of point number 1. Black bear cubs are as cuddly looking as you expect, and probably twice as dangerous.

4. Four is the number of freedom. You can figure that out for yourself.

Public Declaration: For Di and Jo

I miss you guys. A lot.

I'm glad we're friends/comrades in arms (viva the motherland!)/not enemies. I'm kind of saddened that we haven't had a hilarious hijink in so long. I can't believe you're miles upon miles away from me, even a freaking ocean! Di Lam, you know I can't swim nor able to afford a plane ticket to see you. And thanks Jo for putting me as your number one, you should know I plan to lord that over you for the rest of your existence.

P.S. Come back to me. Baby, I can change! I can change!
P.P.S. Steps of Rome's Nicola, hanging Jimmy, watching really bad movies, gelato, drunk dials, "You're going to have to snap it from the front!", 2 against 1, breakfast with Stacy's mom, Kool-Aide hair-dye, fruitful lands, tinfoil, waterguns to the crotch, mallrats, freshman year poker nights, "Look ma, no wheel!", passenger seat steering, Garden Cafe, and oh so much more.

Typed by Candlelight

Rolling Stone fucks with me like no other. I can't believe how mad I am that they awarded that many stars to the Interpol album. But then again, when did I ever take Rolling Stone's word? Maybe if this were a decade or two ago. Maybe.

Rilo Kiley's new album is almost out and about. I kind of like the first single, The Moneymaker. Cute Jenny turned into Sneering Jenny. And there's almost no way this band could go wrong. They sit on the pedestal of the indie world with a plaque reading: Beloved Darlings. If Jenny Lewis puked into a pump shoe, I'm pretty sure people would applause and acclaim her for bringing back the decadence of the 80s in such a chic fashion.

That's my two cents of being an elitist music whore. Onward to other things?

Sure.

I've developed a new chocolate vice. Ritter Sport Bars. I'm glad something good came out of Germany after all this time. I feel like I should stock up on them when I head over to Europe this winter. Cam across the pond? At last. I just have no itinerary right now or even an idea of where to start. But it's okay. I should probably figure out my living and employment situation here in San Diego first. Both items are still on To Do list and kind of not moving forward with either.

And after all these years, seeing the music video for California by Phantom Planet still makes me smile ever so wistfully. I'm really glad that's one of the things that hasn't changed in my life.

Our Love to Admire

The new Interpol album, Our Love to Admire, reminded me of what disappointment felt like. After sampling the first five seconds of each song, I was convinced my friend sent me Antics instead. There was absolute conviction that I heard the intro "The Heinrich Maneuver" on a past cd and this copy was a false leak. Confusion lead to research lead to hope lead to dismay lead to disgust. This album is far from "expressive" as the band members want me to believe. Okay, I give into the addition of a few wind instruments but Paul Banks is still singing in the same note on every song. I let that pass on Antics, but now, forgiveness will not be granted.

I'm so disappointed in you, Interpol, you were supposed to offer me something new, not this sloppy third helping of cheap dark and dank sex in an alley shit. Your debut was gorgeous and reminded me of Joy Division so much that I thought Ian Curtis was alive again. Find yourself another (music) whore because I'm not putting out for you.

Initial D and the Big C

The Boy taught me have to drive stick this afternoon, which could have been a recipe for disaster but everyone had their seat belt out and the engine didn't burst into flames. Win-win for all. Driving stick is a lot harder than I thought. I mean, don't you just hit the clutch when you change gear and call it a day? Apparently not. It's almost an art form of its own. So onward to Lesson Two tomorrow, where I'll still be working on first gear.

I also soooooooo geeked out at Comic Con last Saturday. I was elated to be within the same ten square feet as Joss Whedon. Although a certain part of me regrets not bum-rushing him just to declare my adoration. Oh well. Next time. And then squealing in excitement when I saw one of my favorite Korean comic distributors. Oh, hearing Ray Bradbury speak? Dream of my fourteen year self come true. I spent my early teens reading his works that I dreamt of tattooed men and merry go round that played procession marches. I also fell asleep during his lecture, but I think that's just an instinctive reaction from UCSD. Such a fan girl at heart.

July, July!

I've been frittering away the last month, doing what I normally do: say hello and goodbye to visiting friends, hold down two jobs, geek out, throw parties in the name of France, and mainly contemplating the next chapter in my life. I've also discovered that I enjoy cooking although my only attempts so far have been making enchiladas and yellow curry. Success so far. So far.

Despite my detest of the Korean language, only because it sounds horrid like Vietnamese, I want to live in Seoul. I was there for a day or two way back when, yet it was enough to pique my longing for a place to call home far from the States. Well, there or I could live like a rock star in Vietnam a la Di right now. Still, the idea of life as an expat, not too enticing.

Comic Con's this weekend. I plan to kill Sylar and shake hands with Joss Whedon. Not necessarily in that order, but we'll see what the itinerary is when I get a lay of the land.

Now to brood on some things..
..Korean or Vietnamese, which do I dislike hearing more?
..Joss Whedon or Conor Oberst, who would I save in a fire?
..do you really need a blow torch to make Creme Brulee?
..is my flan firm and eatable now?
..how much of the Internet is really porn? At least 80 percent?

Death of my childhood

Holy crap, Alvin's going to pop a cap in your ass. Part of me is dead inside. Thanks Hollywood, you wretch of a town.

And Jason Lee! You are no longer on my "People I Want to Marry" list. I don't have any words. Just "oh my god" and cursed "whys". In another time and place, perhaps you and I, Mister CGI, we could have been friends. But that time nor place is not now.

In the red and black

Shades of half and half, really. Also, yes, that is me holding the chopped off portion of my head. Now to mail it! Change is nice for once.

Chop chop

I am going to donate my hair to Locks of Love in ten hours. I feel like a good person already. Someone give me a medal. Or not. I really hope I have hair long enough. I'm sick of how much shampoo I'm using and how long it takes to dry even in the summer. Bah. Good riddance hair, I hope you find a new head to sit upon.

Pirates 3 can suck it. Three hours of my life, gone. Stupid ending. I go to the movies to escape from reality and when it comes to Disney, I expect a sappy-happy ending instead of that poorly put together one. I was gypped of my ten dollars. And that is a serious WTF. Ten years ago, and this is a sad fact to admit, tickets were only 5 bucks. Not to mention gasoline was a buck something.

Stupid war. Stupid economy. You drive up everything up while driving us down.

Someday's dreamer

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. Some a whisper, some unspoken. Bittersweet nonetheless. Some said in denial, some said in tears. It'll happen anyways. Sometimes it feels like I'm lying when I say I'll see them later. I do want to live up to these promises made in such haste, but who knows? Who knows which countries we'll end up in, which state, or which city? I almost wish we could all spend just a little bit more time in this insulated world we call college and then just say goodbye with a bang instead of the slow moving train it's been.

See you soon? I really hope so.

Backwards

Who thinks in Japanese in the middle of their Portuguese oral exam? Apparently, I do. But then again, I used to think in Spanish while learning Japanese. So this shouldn't be new. However, what a blow to my final grade.

I've been homesick for a place I've never called home. Today, I sighed longingly for a rainy day in Saigon more times than I should have. The sound of rain on tin or plastic roofs amidst the so-called terrible humidity. It's a throwback to simplicity.

I have a paper due in two days that basically makes or breaks my college career. Due to that, I've almost forgotten how to eat and sleep correctly. Christ alive.

shit shit shit.

Nothing's constant. Or easy.

High Towers

I want to spend the next five years of my life wandering from one country to the next, one continent to the next, one odd job to the next. Let's start with Japan where I'll teach English to rich, arrogant kids; and maybe I'll hop over to Vietnam and work with the blind. I'll be a cigarette vendor in Germany and become nocturnal so that you will always know me as the little Asian girl outside Club Guten Tag. During all this time, I will live off ramen but learn to create incredibly amazing meals with them. I suppose at this point, it's off to a Scandinavian country where I'll work for a contraceptive company because the Swedes are apparently so much more open about youth sexuality. I'll open up a ramen hut while at it. "Delicacies of the Far East" is what we'll scribble on the menu and we'll play Japanese pop songs that I've amassed from my year there. Portugal, next? So I can practice my one college year worth of Portuguese. Six months there, then off to Mozambique to be an interpreter.

Sweet endeavors indeed. Even wild. And just a tad optimistic and over the top. Better yet, won't you come live with me in some town we'll learn to curse and we will smoke cigarettes on our fire escape/balcony while making fun of day time television? The secured life has always frightened me and my temporary roots.

12 hours in LA

Left San Diego around 3 and arrived about 3 hours later. That meant Di, Ryan, and I had too many hours to kill in Hollywood so of course, we ventured to Amoeba where we all walked away with armloads of CDs. I don't care what anyone says; I'm damn proud that I bought the Guns 'n' Roses CD. Along with Elliott Smith's New Moon.

Met up with the friend's boyfriend, went to a hamburger joint where they played Dancing Queen in the restroom and your check came in a scary 4-inch pump. Oh West Hollywood. The only thing that I could take away from yesterday is that never again will I ever listen to Sound Team. I have seen bad sets before, but this took the cake. In fact, Sound Team took the fucking cake, ran away with it and had some sort of food fight with the cake. The opening band for Minus the Bear gave me a heart attack every time the singer sang in his grating, garage band shouting voice but there was something endearing about that band. Sound Team brought forth the urge to induce physical harm to the band members, like chucking hard fruit. I think I was musically offended after their set. It was too bad, too, because it really took away from the headliner, Voxtrot. Their lead singer carried the entire show but that's what lead singers do.

In other random news, somehow Camels has my UCSD mailing address and has been sending me odd stuff. First was a postcard that I ignored. But then they send me a purple rhinestone lighter today along with gift certificates and a guidebook. Um, did I get confused with Elton John?

Sungod

It came and went. Di did a great job and I was surprised whenever she took on the bitch persona and started kicking folks out of the VIP section. Hardcore. Concert was fun. I was happy. I wasn't happy being trapped in the constant surges of the crowd as they attempted to rush the barricades. Not cool at all. I think at one point, I wondered if I just did a tiny little hop as they rushed forward, would I just be carried along with the tide of legs and arms? Pinned between shoulders and back, I probably wouldn't even need to stand. But my sensibility kicked in and that idea was kicked out. Third Eye Blind played. Hello, Middle School, how wonderful of you to visit. Nostalgia, indeed.

The day itself was okay. Class and work while my roommates were getting obliterated. My French roommate walked around with the word "Penis" on her arm for about half the day. The Japanese one trampled around the grounds with her lovely Asian glow. The Irish/Chilean one stormed the campus with pen and notepad in hand as she was kicking ass and taking names of the drunk ones. And I awaited for my friends to show up, and I didn't expect to let one pass out on my bed, but hey, Sungod is the harbinger of surprises and vomit. Luckily, the latter did not happen so all was right in the world.

Though the most wonderful and terrible part of the weekend was seeing old friends that graduated the year prior. Great to see them. Terrible to know that after graduation, you're by yourself with no safety net to fall back on. Friendships don't come as easily in the working world, especially when your co-workers are a decade older than you. And then some.

1 month to go. It's time to milk this bitch dry for all the stories to tell in future times before I find myself swimming the vast sea of unemployment without land in sight or a buoy to cling to. Times like this, I wish I were more of a gold digger so that I can ambitiously clamour for that walking dollar sign instead of feeling guilty.

Yet I'm so over everything this place has to over. Let's just be vagabonds and roam the world as ocean pirates. International waters and all the shark fin soup you can have. It'll be fun. I promise.

Paris Hilton is a douche

I've never heard of a person more ridiculous than her that it sounds like a myth and I scorn her existence for making stupidity and flagrant excess so obvious. I mean, yes, there could be a handful of other millionaire individuals who spend their days at the spa, shopping or golfing but there's just something about this troll that makes me despise her. Currently, she's been awaiting a jail sentence for 45 days and is fighting tooth and nail to avoid it by blaming her publicist for false information regarding her suspended license and now she's actually starting a petition to our Governor for a pardon. In the petition, she says that pardoning her would just be like Gerald Ford pardoning Richard Nixon. Holy shit.

Also, college kids should NOT play Red Rover. This was a game meant for 5 year olds because they don't clothe line each other or taking running head starts to build up momentum for their 100-250 lbs frames. I almost lost my left arm playing that game today.

I'm going to Vietnam this summer, maybe I'll never come back.

This is desperation. I know, because I actually considered the idea of being an offshore welder on an oil rig somewhere in the South China Sea. I kid you not, I stared at the Help Wanted page for a while before clicking back. It also doesn't help that I don't know how to swim.

Dreamers can't find jobs, we just empathize.

And today's bachelor degree is the high school degree of yesteryear. Fucken A.

Cassadaga disappointed me. I guess you become jaded after a while in a city like that. I'd be, that's for sure.

Middle of the week nonsense

I'm hoping that today will be a good day, it's already started with me putting on my underwear correctly so that must be a good sign.

And interestingly enough....

You Are a Pinky

You are fiercely independent, and possibly downright weird. A great communicator, you can get along with almost anyone. You are kind and sympathetic. You support all your friends - and love them for who they are. You get along well with: The Ring Finger Stay away from: The Thumb

What Finger Are You?

Lip my stocking

I had a Babel moment today. Not in the miscommunication way, but in the reliving one of the scenes way. It was the scene where the deaf girl licks her dentist in the middle of her appointment. Differences between my moment and her? I'm not deaf. It wasn't a dentist. And I certainly didn't lick him. It was a trip to the optometrist for me today and as he was peering into my eyes with his flashlight wand, I realized, "Wow, you really are close enough to lick." I didn't act on it, because I'm not THAT starved for touch or attention. Nonetheless, the thought did cross my mind. Why am I telling this story? Because it's the only thing of slight interest that's happened this past week. Oh, there was that revelation that smokers and drinkers never quit those vices. They just stop.

I saw this card off the postsecret website. Last week? This week? Frank N'Furter would just tell us that time is fleeting.


Instant connection for the first time in some while that I've been visiting that website. I'm just craving stability.

Drifter

Someday I'd like to let go of it, the past: that huge and heavy thing that weighs us down without us ever realizing it, until we can't move. And I'd look at it, squarely and firmly. And I'd push off from it, a ship from shore. Sailing away and away, but knowing that if I ever wanted to, I could still return to it, a ship to shore.

Bad, Chiquita, bad!

It's my love for music and Latin American history coming together! The Chiquita banana company pulled a Rolling Stone move by hiring the Hell's Angels of Colombia, but on a much more worse scale, for protection in some of Colombia's hostile farming area. Okay, so maybe the AUC aren't really like the Hell's Angels seeing as how they're a terrorist group and infamous for all those ransom-kidnappings and massacres. And the Hell Angels are more of a biker gang. That's not important, what is is that I was able to make a music history analogy. Go me.

In another lifetime and in another place, specifically the slums of Rio de Janiero or Colombia, I think I would be an errand boy for Scarface. Carry that kilo to the helicopter port? Done. Clean up the palace by sweeping away old bullet shells? Done. My justification? Lula de Silva and Evo Morales had to start somewhere and you can always say you grew up and beyond the drug life. Plus, as President, you get a sash. That's reason enough to hold a coup. The only other winner of any election I've ever seen who got to wear a sash is a beauty queen.

Snaking up the coast

Spring break marks my return to San Francisco for the first time four years and I'm looking forward to it. For one thing, finals will be over; for another, I might get to see a few folks I haven't seen in oh-so long. Plus, it's a whole week of me pestering the Boyfriend Guy. Awesome. I'm just wondering what we're going to do there, because SF isn't a city I'm familiar with but hey, maybe we'll just wander 'round the town and amuse ourselves like that.

The last time I was in SF, it was for a debate tournament, and oddly enough, the one distinct thing I remember is Steps of Rome. Oh, and the gay waiters. In retrospect, they weren't *that* Italian. Other fonds memories--or not so fond--included Pier 39 where a seagull attacked me, the introduction of Choco, and the lynching of Jimmy.

You also shouldn't be surprised that I've been composing a soundtrack for the drive up the coast and I'm tossing in as many loud and lush songs as possible. Because what else will distract us from the wasteland that lies between Los Angeles and San Francisco? And no, playing the "Let's see how many people are picking their nose in their car" game does not count as a distraction because after a while, it's just gross.

this is love

This is how I end my phone conversations with my sister: "I hate you , goodbye."

This is how I end conversations with the Boy Wonder: "You're such a jerk, bye."

This is how I end conversations with Jo or Di: "You're such a bitch. Bye."

When it's all over, I hope we're still standing. Side by side.

Be safe

I was going to send all of my friends who weren't in San Diego a condom or two in honor of today. I didn't. Mainly because I forgot.

Next year, buddies, for sure next year.

Residue

I don't think the smell of latex can ever bring up any memory but me holding little plastic jars of urine and waiting for three minutes to pass by to see if there's one line or two lines on that little white strip. I've been volunteering at a health clinic in my attempts to reach that job with the World Health Organization and so far my job's consisted of filing medical charts and making bags with condoms in it. Lately though, I've been in the lab room doing pregnancy tests and strictly that. Soon enough, I'll be the one giving results. I hear all the situations, the condom broke, I missed a pill, it was my first time, and so on and so on. But there's almost nothing striking as seeing the waiting room full of 6 middle schoolers with their backpacks and their uniforms. 3 asked for condoms. 1 asked for a pregnancy test. And then you make the judgement, "You're 14. I know because you're giggling with your friends over stickers that you've put on your face. Why are you even here?" I lead her to bathroom, explain what to do but I want to tell her to go home, be jaded, sing those pop songs, follow those pop idols, but forget about this sex stuff. I think the entire staff breathed a collective sigh when I told them it was a negative. And the 14 year old became a 14 year old girl when we told her the same news. She shrunk into her chair, fidgeted, and had the doe eye look.

It makes me sad. It makes me hate our biology. It makes me wish for change, the way any sociologist would, in structural and cultural barriers. (Though I will say that there is nothing in the world like reaching into a bin completely filled with condoms and pulling a handful out.)

Label me

If you had a radio show (and played stuff along the lines of Belle and Sebastian, The Faint, Blonde Redhead, Elliot Smith, Bright Eyes, Fugazi, and Neutral Milk Hotel) what would you call your show? If I were truly vindictive, I'd call mine: Panic! Can Suck it.

But really, what would you call yours?

and the boys who love you, they just come and go, don't they?

Persuasion

Reasons to go to all three days of Coachella this year:
Decemberists, Interpol, Arcade Fire, Travis, Fountains of Wayne, Bjork, !!!, Blonde Redhead, Tokyo Police Club, Jose Gonzales, Of Montreal, Peaches, Damien Rice, Tilly and the Wall, We are Scientist.

I wish they would shove all of those bands onto one day so that I can only pay 100 bucks and not triple that amount. But then I could check out what's the hype on the following bands: Placebo, The Arctic Monkeys, Andrew Bird, Sonic Youth, Hot Chip, The Good The Bad and The Queen, Jarvis Cocker, Kaiser Chiefs, Kings Of Leon, Willie Nelson (I know!!!!!! How odd!!), Tape 'n Tapes.

If only Smashing Pumpkins, Saosin, Mars Volta, Jets to Brazil, and Phantom Planet were added to that list. I would be sitting here, frozen in excitement that I might program my brain for shut down until April 27.

So come to Coachella with me, I'll be in the dance tent.

Bitch-slapped bank account

Somewhere in La Jolla, California, there is the sound of a crying wallet and a rumbling stomach. Meanwhile, Ben Sherman is laughing his Union Jack ass off. It's been nearly a month but I'm still recuperating from my New York trip, to think that three and a half days in one city could take such a financial chunk from me. I might as well have said, "Here, this is my right arm, it may not be as valuable as my left, but it's been good to me these last twenty-odd years." Then watch Manhattan take a cleaver to my body. So now I'm hungry and I want some gyros and perhaps a Greek salad but it's too cold for me to leave my apartment. (50 degrees? That's near hypothermia to me.) I'm also too lazy to drive. But it doesn't matter, because I've been telling myself that I shouldn't buy anything until I get Coachella squared out of the way. That's 300-400 dollars, wham bam, out of my hands and into Goldenvoice's. So no more off-campus food. The terrible thing is, I'm now left with only cafeteria food and I've come to loath that stuff. It doesn't count as food. It's stuff. Stuff you might find on the floor, or in between the couch cushions. I might as well resort to ramen for the next month in this insane attempt to save money for Coachella.

Starvation? Is it really key to my happiness? Perhaps, if it could afford me a PlayStation/wii, an external hard drive, noise-cancelling headphones, a DVD burner, a new camera, coachella tickets, and a box of See's Nuts and Chews thrown in for kicks. (What a tech geek's wet dream list.)

Mental Preparation

On my desk is a copy of Chungking Express, Snakes on a Plane, and the Devil Wears Prada. I've been able to watch the last two movies without any hesitation--well, a bit on the Prada one--because they're mindless movies to me. I sat through them with little expectations because they seemed like acceptable B-movies to me. But Chungking Express? I fear even touching the DVD cover because I have no idea what the movie has in store for me and I don't know if I will be able to walk away from that movie feeling complete. I've read reviews and critiques, so it's all mental preparation to accept what might be a wonderfully bittersweet movie. This will be a week of Wong Kar-Wai films (In the Mood for Love, 2046) and I'm actually praying that my psyche will be intact come next Monday.

Tony Leung, this movie is riding on you and your pineapple eating skills. You are also the only Asian man I'm willing to pounce (aside from Eiji Wentz and Jun Matsumoto, but that's a whole different fan girl story.) Chungking Express, please don't break my heart.

86 the 06

Goodbye 2006, how I will always recall the solstice party, end of the world party, venturing into the world of monogamy dating, saying goodbye to dear roommates of male and female genders, trip around the US, and the endless sleep deprived nights spent contemplating my future amongst many other wonderful moments. May more arise in the coming year.

I have no resolutions for the year because I don't need any. Instead, I will leave you with a cover of Wonderwall by Cat Powers and a chirpy Age of Consent by New Order. And yes, that is the song played over the Marie Antoinette trailer.