For the book fiend in me

1. Hardcover or paperback, and why?
Hardcover because they seem sturdier and look pretty when stacked.

2. If I were to own a book shop I would call it...
Pages. And I would include a ridiculous amount of CDs and vinyls from all of my favorite artists as well.

3. My favorite quote from a book (mention the title) is...
Dangerous Angels by Francesca Lia Block: “We’ll see each other again. Meet to dream-rock-slink-slam it-jam in the heart of the world. Like we always do.”

4. The author (alive or deceased) I would love to have lunch with would be...
Oscar Wilde so we can be sarcastic, snippy, and witty with one another.

5. If I was going to a deserted island and could only bring one book, except the SAS survival guide, it would be...
a dictionary and none of that abridged stuff. After I'm rescued, I demand to enter a Scrabbles or Spelling Bee competition.

6. I would love someone to invent a bookish gadget that...
that would turn off the lights after you've fallen asleep from reading.

7. The smell of an old book reminds me of...
walking through the aisles in large libraries with my fingers running across the spines of books and me with the most delightful smile as I thought of all the knowledge pressed between the pages.

8. If I could be the lead character in a book (mention the title), it would be...
a cheeky Nancy Drew with a much more foul tongue or Harry Potter in the Prisoner of Azakaban. It's the only one where he actually gains a new family member instead of losing one. (Unless you count the last chapter in the last book, but that's an epilogue so I don't.)

9. The most overestimated book of all time is...
Romeo and Juliet. Okay, star-crossed lovers and feuding families aside, you've got two kids who killed themselves after knowing one another for at most two days. But props to Romeo for getting Juliet in bed after meeting once. Plus, they were 12 and 14, and so what if general life expectancy was in mid-40s? Maybe the Elizabethan age didn't believe in wooing?

10. I hate it when a book...
ends and leaves you pining for one more chapter. Though that a sign of a good book, eh? Or a terribly ill-concluded book.

"My" car is stupid

My parents sold off my Honda CRV so I've been left with my mom's Benz. Hardy har har, make the rich girl jokes, but I'm poor as fuck, people, and to be honest, I still have no idea how my dad swung that buy. Some people have assumed that my dad knows the Triad or has performed some underhanded deal. I really would not be surprised at either.

So for fifteen minutes, I sat in the car, trying to figure out where the latch, button, or key for the gas tank lid was. FIFTEEN MINUTES: of searching, careful inspection of every single button, slamming my head on the wheel, hiding from white gangsters, telling shady creepy men I had no money to spare, reading every single page in the car manual, and cursing the world for building such a complex machine. Then I called my mom with bowed head and shame pouring from my ears.

That shame turned to steam as she explained that the lid is a flip lid, a la a see-saw, where there was no key required, no button to press, no latch to hold. It's not even spring loaded. My god, this car will kill me. I know it. So on my epitaph, I would like the following words: Screw you, German Autobahns.

Gangstas

I'm beginning to see how vicious Di and I get when we play boardgames as we tackled my boyfriend off the bed and subjected him to torture of the tickling kind because he kept getting all these mother effing random questions right. And I thought I had a ridiculous penchant for knowing random shit.

I also said that I would post pictures from my Vegas trip:

The Bellagio cashing in on my culture

Hugging the love of my life

The aftermath of doublefisting Cristal and a Corona. VIP, bitches!

There weren't enough beds to go around...

Disappointed again

Coachella, I am severely disappointed by what you have to offer me this year. Jack Johnson as the Friday night headliner? You have got to kidding me, Goldenvoice. Perhaps this is all one big elaborate and very early April Fool's joke and tomorrow night they will reveal the true lineup which will include My Bloody Valentine or Muse, hell, even Radiohead will do.

I'm going to drown my sorrow in cream puffs now.

Eden, or something very similiar

3am is the perfect time to start eating pastries that you spent 20 minutes driving all over LA in search of (though you originally began the quest for mango pudding but are quite satisfied with your array of cake slices) and reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows for what could be considered the umpteenth time.

Yea, this is what I do now because I don't have a job or school. Or a life really.

Something like that

I saw Cloverfield yesterday with the Boy. We were both amused and full of questions by the end. I, for one, would still like to know what the fuck that creature was and/or where it came from. Deep blue sea? Maybe. Deep blue sky? Maybe. And what were those spider bugs the size of large dogs doing? And how in the world did that girl run around in Manhattan in three inch heels? I would have thrown them off the moment I started fleeing, then looted a store for comfortable tennis shoes (that should come with miniature cow catchers on each foot). All in all, I'd say it was a decent monster movie with destruction, humor, pretty boys saving pretty girls, and uglier than sin monsters.

Still, questions, questions.

Bad timing

Okay, that was dumb of me to start a posting marathon the day right before I leave for a trip. So whoops on my part. Where did I go? To the land of sin and sun and booze! So not my local liquor store but rather Vegas. Now for highlights of the trip as we won't even consider the low lights.

-Hanging out with Di and Ang, which is always a barrel of fun because Ang is very impressionable while Di and I are schemers.
-The music at the Revolution Lounge. The Mirage touted the place as a throwback to indie rock, dance, and hip hop. I think I knew almost every song that was played which could either mean my musical taste is getting broader or theirs is getting more eclectic.
-Winning money from slot machines! Yay!
-The surprisingly comfortable bathtub in our pent house. Seriously, if Ang was a lot more drunk, I think she would have slept in it.
-Calling Di's sister's boyfriend "Papa Tony." It didn't help that we had a rental van and the couple were sitting in the front seats as the "kids" were being rowdy in the back.

Pictures to come!

Random happy things!

With so much free time on my hands, I'm going to try to post every single day for a week just to see if I can. So to start, I will list off a couple of my favorite things in the world, in no particular order, of course.

1. The scene from Little Miss Sunshine where the entire family gets on stage to dance with Olive. I laugh to the point of tears every time I see it. Maybe it's the pelvic thrusts, their enthusiasm, her father's willingness to tackle the announcer, or the center beauty pagent judge that's smiling at Olive's performance.


2. Listening to a song so intensely in order to hear each instrument, each nuance. This is partly due to my obsession with music but I will listen to a song 20 times just to pinpoint each different instrument and there's such satisfaction when I figure out how many guitars are playing or who's singing.

3. Waterfalls for their majestic and destructive nature. Seriously, erosion much?

4. Memorizing the rap bits in songs. At the moment, I have the beginning of De La Soul's rap from the song Feel Good Inc memorized. Sabotage by the Beastie Boys is my next goal.

5. Food that looks gross or ill-described yet are ridiculously delicious. For instance: the Banh Mi, or the Vietnamese Subs. It's a baguette with pate, different types of pork cold cuts, pickled radishes and carrots, and cilantro. It may seem weird, look weird, but something that I could have for lunch every single day of my life.

The Good that Won't Come Out

I've been nursing a headache since Monday and I'm convinced at this point that it's never going away and I'm never going to get sleep at night because of it. I am in pain of the ridiculous kind that no drugs can cure me. Or at least, none of the aspirin or whatever pills I've been shoving down my throat have done the trick. If I weren't so lazy and if it also weren't for the fact that I enjoy living, I would have reached for a pencil to jab into my temples. Because that would have been much less agonizing. I complain because I don't know what else to do. And if this is a brain tumor, I hope it's the kind of tumor that gives me super powers like solving any math equation in under 10 seconds or something along the veins of psychic abilities.

Someone put me out of my misery. Or at least give me enough sleeping pills to decrease the dark grocery bag sized circles under my eyes.

Holy homelessness, Batman!

According to an LA Times article I just read, there's an estimate of 73,000 homeless individuals living in just the Los Angeles region. By the power of grayskull, that has to be a lie. That's about three times the number of kids who went to my college. It's perplexing to think that such a population could exist and it's becomes even more concrete when I imagine walking down Library Walk on a busy afternoon and thinking that every person I saw in that sea of people would only equal a fraction off those without homes. And then I wonder, where do they sleep at night? And how does Skid Row accommodate that grand of number? And how do they hold jobs, well, for the ones that actually do? I mean, what address do they use and how do they renew their passports or driver's licenses? Thanks LA Times for opening this can of worms for me and causing me to feel like a concerned citizen. Where is my apathy and indifference? Where did you go?