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.