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?