Deutschland!!! 2010!

Don't be fooled, I'm not actually going to Germany next year, although I would love to during June to watch the World Cup along side the German folks. Then we'll all cheer and hug each other when they win the Cup. Like they should have in 2006 against Italy. Four years later, I'm still fuming over that game. HOW??? WHY??? Mainly, how did Italy score those two goals in overtime? Within five minutes of each other? My heart sank and I felt it break into a million tiny pieces, while my mom cheered and shouted "Goal!!!!" In her defense, she shouts that every time a team scores.

FIFA had the group draw a few nights ago and I've been charting my proposed winners. The first two countries listed are the ones that will advance.

Group A: France, Mexico, South Africa, Uruguay,
Group B: Argentina, Greece, Nigeria, South Korea,
Group C: England, United States, Algeria, Slovenia
Group D: Germany, Ghana, Australia, Serbia,
Group E: Netherlands, Cameroon, Denmark, Japan
Group F: Italy, Paraguay, Slovakia, New Zealand,
Group G: Brazil, Ivory Coast, Portugal, North Korea
Group H: Spain, Chile, Switzerland, Honduras

So Cammie's prediction:
France will easily sweep Group A but the real game to watch for is SA v Mexico. It's hometown advantage for a ranked 118th team vs 15th rank team with some instability in their last few qualifying matches. I hope South Africa comes as the winning underdog in this round, or at least in the opening game.

Argentina is the favored team for Group B with Greece following up. I say Greece because I've heard good things about their defense boys. Now here's hoping that they live up to the hype.

Oh Group C, you will have an interesting match for me. Everyone in the freaking world will be the England v US as it's got a storyline fit for a telenovela. Previous teammates that have to battle it out on worldwide circuit? Holy soccer balls. Donovan, Becks, show me whatcha got!

I know that Germany will lead this group but it's a toss up for who could also qualify. Ghana's strong but we'll see what happens on June 23 when they play each other. But Australia, oh Australia, you seem like a wild card.

Netherlands will be the top qualifier but it'll have to earn that spot in its match against Denmark and Cameroon. Cameroon's my dark horse for this group as they're normally a solid team but the Dutch might say otherwise. Japan is my complete dark horse. They won't come out as qualifiers but they might shake things up for Denmark and Cameroon.

Group F is straightforward. Italy will be top qualifier and I don't care too much about the other 3 teams. So it'll be a battle between Paraguay and Slovakia. New Zealand, I have no idea how they even qualified for the World Cup.

Group G is the Group of Death this year. Blood will be shed on the field between Brazil, Ivory Coast and Portugal that I honestly don't know who will qualify. I do know North Korea shouldn't bother coming to South Africa for these matches. Just give those other countries their automatic 3 points.

Finally Group H. La Roja is the top ranked team right now so I will be very surprised if Spain doesn't qualify. Switzerland and Honduras are pretty weak teams so Chile got lucky in the group draw. What happens after this group, I can't say but I don't see them advancing any further.

So, we've done the round robin matches. Let's move onto the Round of 16, alright? Then single elimination! Just kidding. I would need to draw an actual chart but I'll say right now, if the US clears Group C, I will have a heart attack in the Round 16 as they will then play Germany. I wouldn't know who to cheer for! My home country (Donovan, Dempsey, Howard, Team USA!) or my beloved Deutschland (Ballack, Klose, , don't let me down!) Ahhhhhhh, I'm going to have a breakdown now as I figure this out.

God, and the sad thing is, the World Cup isn't happening until June. I've got 186 days till then. And I also bet you didn't know I loved football this much.

Under covers

It's starting again. That dull ache that whirls in the pit of my stomach that I can feel it fester. It's a parasite and I want it out. I want this longing to be gone because I want to close my eyes and not picture neon lights.

The post-travel high is the worst. Because the nostalgia sets in and that sense of freedom from all responsibilities. For a week, I was a tourist, a stranger, a traveler in some new-found land. And it was beautiful, the way you stumble upon the perfect night with your best friends. Those nights just happen and you wake up with acceptance that it was a chance of a lifetime. So now, I lay to waste in awful memories.

This happened last year after Europe. Each night, I saw spires. Now I see neon lights and there's an anguished grip on my heart. Or it could the nicotine withdrawal. And knowing my body and it's lack of poetic license, it is probably the latter. Oh, Tokyo, take me back.

Sad reality knows that I can go back, but what would I do there? Honestly speaking, I'd be a poor sack of bones in Japan. All the responsibilities that I've shirked at home will catch up, or just pile upon me in the new city.

Tough luck, eh?

But it's ok. The ache will pass until I'm left with a scar and it will be replaced by something, some place else. Belize, 2011. I'm looking at you, kid.

Back to the right side of the Pacific

I bought a leather bracelet while in Japan and am sure that it will make me happier any ring ever will. Now I worry what will happen to it when I shower. Please, don't break.

Japan was everything I expected it be and so much more. The heated toilet, the neon lights that flash epileptic messages, cute cartoon figures everywhere, and insane politeness. I thought my head was going to nod off by the end or I was going to rip out my ear drums so I wouldn't hear another sales clerk's welcoming.

And the fooooooood, I ate so much but my brother mentioned how much skinnier I seemed. I blame walking for 13 hours on our first full day in Tokyo. That's not including sitting for meals or rest time. I have never done so much walking where my feet are cracked and sore. That's actually a disgusting image but that's how weary my feet are.

Now to deal with my jetlag. Accidental nap in the afternoon and paying for it with wide awake eyes at 3 am. Oh well, now to catch up on emails, music news, and US news while eating green tea kitkats.

Silly Rabbit

Wedged between my Harry Potter books, His Dark Materials series, and other young independent reader novel is a copy of "Paradise Lost" by Milton. And at the bottom of the stack of children novels is "Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs" by Chuck Klosterman.

This is my life: trapped between wondrous curiosity and bleak realization.

Damnit.

Skeleton Girl

I spread myself way too thin that I'm slipping through the cracks. I should really pick a hobby and stick with it, but once I latch onto something, it's hard to let go: photography, guitar, music, writing. All hobbies that I wish I could expand and explore. Instead of this dabbling shit. It's annoying actually, to feel like such a novice. But that's what I am. Oh well, cheers to hard work and time-consuming wants. How they drain my wallet.

At last, it's been decided. Assuming my vacation request goes through, I'm going to Japan in November. I'm not sure how the initial plan earlier this spring has brought my feet from Cairo to Tokyo. So I wouldn't be surprised if I announce next week that I'm going to Sweden. Oh November, come soon. A week in a city where the language eludes me, where my meals will be based on me pointing to the pictures in menus, and where (hopefully) I will tower as a giant among their women. And they sell beer in vending machines. God, what a wondrous culture. Any and all travel recommendations will be greatly appreciated.

I'll be flying back to the US on the 21st of November and am thinking about catching the Friendly Fires and the xx later that night.
My shoulder angel says: Don't go. Your jetlag will bog down the show.
My shoulder devil says: Do it. You're in love with the guitarist.
I say: I'm going to mother-effing Japan!!!!!!! Wahooooooooo!

Twice as low

I'm pretty sure I would be a lot happier if I weren't so chicken shit all the time. That and if I didn't have such an addiction to Starbucks double shots. And quite possibly if I could focus all my obsessive energy from bands/guitarists into something more productive and concrete. Like life.

Ha.

But really. I'm tired of my idle hands, so useless and a waste of flesh and bones.

Rough Landing

I was about five different ways of being f'ed up this weekend that I'm still trying to wake up, even though it's Monday night. So was it a bad weekend or a good one? The jury's still out on the verdict, though I will say it was uneventful despite my current state. Let's put the blame on Starbuck Doubleshots as they're becoming a breakfast replacement. So good and so terrible for you.

I saw a bunch of my favorite/current infatuated bands play this past weekend. It reinforced my love for live music as there's nothing like your heart crumpling onto itself at the sound of the vocalist's first note and then to have your heart swell and explode when the song is reaching its climax. There's pure adoration when I see a band play live.

Sunset Junction, till we meet again next year and hopefully, I'll have more time to spin on death wheels and traverse down fifty foot slides.

I'm a music whore

Stars and Songs. Okay, here's my attempt at just posting songs I like and ranting about terrible albums that I question how many ears heard it without anyone questioning the musical merits of it. I will try very hard not to pull a Pitchfork review in my entries because I hate their inclusive style of writing, as if one has to have a wide musical knowledge to understand the name dropping and references. If only I had started that blog years ago so I could shit talk Rilo Kiley's last album and the last two Interpol albums. (Don't lie, your ears gave you a WTF moment after hearing those albums, too.) I stick to my earlier review of 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.

So for more tirades in such fashion, I'll be hobbling on that other space of the interwebs.

In other news, I find myself quoting Robert Frost these days. I feel cultured yet am perplexed in my doing so. At least I'm not quoting Shakespeare. That's loony bin time. Or awesome time. Obviously, it's still up for debate.

Rock, meet hard place

I want to start a music blog but then I get lazy and don't feel like writing the first post or trying to personalize a webpage. Even though I've written about a hundred posts in my head to justify how fun it would be to expose other people to random awesome songs. But then I don't know how many times I'll be able to preface each song with "awesome" before people question my ability to write and to use synonyms. It would be easier to compile a list of quality songs but that would be the complete lazy gal's way out. So tempting. I've got no expectations to reach Brooklyn Vegan status or have the desire to write off putting reviews like Pitchfork, but music is so incredibly fascinating.

I tried to explain it once to someone that music is amazing as it's never repeated. You have these same sets of notes and chords but rearranged to create something unique. And then I also wonder, why bother when I know only Carol would read. Hmph.

FML, but not really

I am eating a pizza sandwich, which is really just two huge slices of pizza squished together. For this very reason, I'm glad I'm skinny/have a fast metabolism/consider this my only meal of the day.

Huzzah!

PS I imagine this is how the makers of Hotpockets, the pepperoni version, came up with that product.

PPS I really have regret shoving all that food into my mouth.

West Coast travels

I'm in San Francisco and have discovered that work conferences makes a person suicidal or craves sleeping pills really bad. No wonder all those celebrities od'ed in their hotel rooms, there's absolutely nothing else to do but drink or, if you have the access, drug binges. Both of which I would gladly do at the moment if to just pass the time.

I'm Seattle bound tomorrow and looking forward to it like nothing else. Joanne will be trapped at work for some of the hours that I'm there but just hand me a map of the city and I'm good to entertain myself.

I spent this weekend at SD pride and lost the title of Gay Icon but did receive he holy title of Religious Icon. I now wonder if Brazil will erect a towering monument of me now, except I won't have my arms stretched out. I'd rather be in a Kung fu pose.

Ok. This conference has officially set me into delirium.

My laptop bit the big one Thursday night. I've lost all my pictures from 2009 and whatever music I've received over the last four months. Which was A LOT. I'm glad I backed up my harddrive in February but it still doesn't alleviate the pain.

In the meanwhile, it's back to the old pen and pad of paper.

Yes/No

Thumbs up:
Believing in the "anywhere but here" motto. Doing activities in one sitting. Marathon reading. Drunk dancing. Soft blankets. Plum eyeliner. Gay boyfriends. Paychecks. The smell of "green" and vanilla. Spontaneous acts of recklessness. Nighttime Skylines. Conor Oberst. Motorbikes. Takeoffs and landings. My dead poet lovers: Ian Curtis. Kurt Cobain. Elliott Smith. Making lists. Academia. Red nail polish. Free wifi. Giant coffee mugs. Tiptoe kisses. Making short term brilliant/long term piss poor decisions. Languages. Jewish musicians. New York City. Street vendors. Farmer markets. Arm in arm walks. Gael Garcia Bernal. Coke. Black motorcycle jackets.

Thumbs down:
Pop music. Sarah Palin. Beer breath. Long distance. Traffic. Laundry. Taxes. Short battery life. Delays. Telemarketers. Idiots. Sarah Palin, who's worth a second mention. Confederate states with people who people it's still 1863. Red eye flights. Soggy shoes. Diaper duty. Dry skin. Epilogues. Breaking concert etiquette. Chick lit.

Greenbacks, payback

Madoff, you silly fuck. You screwed my organization out of millions of dollars. There goes my pay raise. I hope you get shanked in the showers.

I'm developing a workshop/program for the LGBTQ community and last week my boss told me, "No pressure, but we have a lot of grants riding on your program. But no pressure, ok?" Insert deranged laughter here. Grants = a few thousand to hundred of thousands of dollars. So no pressure indeed.

And current travel plans? Egypt and Greece. Sweet! Knowing me, this will change in a week's time. Oh, my fickle, fickle tendencies.

P.S. I really hope someone pees on your bed, Madoff. I really do.

Do it

I am going to make a short film this summer.
But first, I will write the script for it before even trying to get that ship to sail.

I am going to be an somewhat-okay-but-still-needs-to-work-at-it amateur photographer. (I do not think I included enough hyphens in that sentence.)
But first, I will take a thousand pictures on each setting I have so I can figure out what the hell my camera is good for, then upgrade to something more expensive!

I am going to visit my friends wherever they are this year. First stop, Seattle. Next will be Chicago or Monterey. We'll see.

Those are my three goals for 2009. I don't make New Years resolutions because I suck at them. Instead, I'll try to get my ambition to work out for me because I really miss making short films and haven't done so in quite a long while. Biggest problem that's stopping me isn't writer's block, it's having a damn camera to film with. God, materialism does make the world go round.

Across the universe

It's been a shit-tastic couple of weeks but I'm already edging on the "been there, done that" part and moving on. Summer is about to start and I'm getting my plans in action. I'm trying to narrow down my choices of travel spots. If David pulls through, I think I'm going to Africa. But the prospect of stepping on a landmine while I'm in Morocco is not appeasing. I really had my heart set on Belize but it's windy weather in the October and if I'm going to Belize, I am not going to be bundle up in long sleeves and jackets. So, Barcelona and Berlin could be another option in the fall. Or Japan, Korea, Hong Kong, Brazil, etc etc etc. Odd how I don't have Italy, London, or Paris on my list of places to go. Western civilization be damned, I suppose.

I've been bitten by the travel bug so bad that it's developing into a constant itch. No matter how much I want to get it out of my system, I'm stuck with the ever wanting desire to be somewhere new, trying something new.

It's awful. I dream of airports. That's how bad it is. Le sigh.

Blue light special

Raul shouldn't have taught me how to work the ISO function, I played with it for the rest of the night while my friends danced around the living room in a drunken frenzy. Another Sunday night as usual, huh?


I'm learning how to use the shutter speed and aperture function on my camera. Shutter, I'm getting better at. Aperture still confuses me. Oh well, more experimenting to come!

Golden Slumbers

The break up was inevitable. To say that I saw it coming is nothing but wistful hindsight because when it did happened, I still stared moronically in frozen confusion. I had to go from the We mentality to the just Me mentality after years of Us. Contemplative sadness, silent regret that I should have been more careful. But five years, five years of abuse, of rock n roll tumbling, of one-sided wants that my iPod would eventually give out.

Sleep tight, Pretty Baby. You were my first iPod and now I leave you to Apple heaven. A little part of me died the day you showed me that electronic iPod with the unhappy face, like the Microsoft blue screen of death, you stilled my heart. A moment of silence please, then crank up the volume to 11 as I host an all night dance party in lieu of your wake.

Rawr!

So that pretty much sums up my weekend: birthday parties with moon bounces, bar hopping, sitting and talking to a random guy on a roof of a party my friends and I crashed, faux-Weezer show at the Knitting Factory, the demented streets of Hollywood and how I would take a piss on Jimmy Kimmel for blocking off Hollywood Blvd, Factory Record night at the Echo, eating pints of frozen yogurt with Carlitos, losing my favorite lighter (it had a daisy print!) to a gutter, cementing my fag hag status, arguing with my mom that I am not a lesbian and that Phuong and I are not running away to NYC together, crying to Bon Iver because I'm an emotional wreck, and dancing to Joy Division because I got over being an emotional wreck.

One of the busiest weekends in a while. Normally, I'd just sleep 40 hours straight. But in the end, it was also a weekend of lessons. For instance:


Which I find a whole lot better than those "Employees, wash your hands before returning to work" signs.

Mid-week Pondering

"Cammie! I need your opinion! During my emo stage yesterday, I realized that you were going to be my friend forever, so I need you to pay attention to me!"

Best words ever.

Strike that, best words ever would be: "Hi, I'm Alex Kapranos/Conor Oberst/one of the other musicians I've had a fan girl crush on since I was 16, and think you're gorgeous. Will you be my muse and come with me on a world tour?"

Those would be the best words ever. Ah, wait, more best words include: "Hi, I'm Hugo Chavez, Venezuela is yours. That was an amazing coup, by the way."

I keep telling myself to do something fun with this blog, so I won't sprawl on my bed all day long reading comics and the news. Both of which has me highly versed in obscure topics, but hardly a conversation starter. I know all the current presidents/dictators of South America. Uh, so what? Thus, I am leaning in two directions.

1. To start a music blog and share one of my favorite songs a day. That would take dedication, which I lack. My friend Carol has a daily blog, TodayontheInterwebs.blogspot.com, and she's told me how time consuming it can be, not to be mention, the dearth of new items to post.

2. Gonzo photojournalism. My life is amazing in the minute ways. With Carlos and Phuong at my side in LA and a camera in hand, I am sure there will be millions of random moments and bizarre events to capture. Plus sides include working on my photography skills, which are nil at the moment so all the more reason to play around with the functions on my point-and-shoot; hanging out with Phuong and Carlos more; and having photographic evidence of my adventures in LA. Downsides include all the above as I would have to leave my house to have said adventures, and do I really want evidence of such events?

So I can always do both but I would berate myself later for a lack of focus. I think I'll mull over these options for some more and maybe by the year 2025, I'll finally come to an answer. If not, here's to years of compulsive whining about it!

World News

The world is crazy place and South East Asia is a crackpot capital for crazy regimes. I've been moved to pieces by what human nature can do. Anyone recall the march of the monks in Tibet? Or the floods in Thailand and the government's refusal for aid? Well, the Fijians are the next in line for regimes that deserve awards for stupidity. In short, the Man has shut down all manner of relaying political news to the people. In return, the media has done the following:

The television news bulletin was canceled and the next day the Fiji Times appeared with blank columns with "This story could not be published due to government restrictions" written across them.

The rival Fiji Post tried a satirical approach, reporting on what staff had eaten for breakfast on the front page.

Oh, Dictator Voreqe Bainimarama, you silly rabbit with your silly lock downs. And what's with this swine flu business? I'm beginning to think vegans are exacting their revenge on the world by attacking commonly consumed meat. First the avian flu, now swine? What animal is left? Fish? I'd say beef, but we've got Mad Cow Disease for that. The funny thing about this new epidemic is my newly fueled enthusiasm to join the World Health Org or the CDC. So far, mild cases have been noted in all affected countries but Mexico, where's it been most fatal. I feel like I could Nancy Drew the situation and find out it was Colonel Mustard in the Conservatory with the lead pipe. Or at least pull a "Eureka!" when I discover the polluted water supply producing tainted food for the pigs. Which Colonel Mustard could have had a hand in because we all the Romans went a little crazy (and dead) from know lead pipes.

In conclusion, I had no idea that Colonel Mustard was alive during the Roman Empire until two sentences ago. Why am I not pursuing a doctorate in history? I'd be an awesome professor!

Babe, I've got you

God bless the new stalker tendencies of Facebook. I just discovered that my friend of a friend is expecting his first kid. And our mutual friend? He's going to be a Dad in a few months as well. I'm not a big fan of my current stage in life as people keep getting knocked up (outside of my workplace, that is) or getting married. A person truly enters their mid 20 when wedding invitations are followed by baby shower invitations. It's really scary. And pessimistic.

It's almost inspiration for me to settle down--HA!--but then I remember how much I don't like children, marriage, or first dates. All of which I would need to do if I want to play wifey. Sometimes, I feel left behind in this rat race: find the one, tie the knot, buy the house, have the kids, etc. I'm huffing and puffing as I try to accomplish the first leg of the race while others are strolling towards the finish line. Is that fair? No. But I never assumed it would be. And I understand that completely. Perspective. I'm a big fan of it. I'm sure my married/soon to be married friends will tell me that life is just as difficult for them and I'd agree. Different priorities, different responsibilities.

At the brittle age of 24, I've decided that I don't want to get married or have kids, which kinda knocks me off of the True Blue stage. I think if I also said I was gay, I would totally go against the grain of all things "expected." (But that's a whole different subject for another day.) Children are an obstacle to impromptu vacations and keeping odd sleeping hours. And those happen to be two things I value in life. Again with the perspective, okay? As for marriage, I channel Debbie Downer. It's a legal facade for two people as the only good thing I see from "marriage" is the tax break. Good-bye single filing, hello joint filing and bigger tax refunds. It's all so pomp and circumstance with the ceremony, reception, planning, and outfits. Ideally, I'd find the One and we'll leave it at that. The End.

5 Things I would use my kid for and/or 5 Reasons I wouldn't be a good parent:
1. Panhandling to help out their unemployed/lazy mom
2. Loaning my kid to my single, desperate friends who need help picking up girls
3. Human sacrifice, in case kittens just won't sate the Great Demon Lord
4. An organ bank for when my own organs start to break down
5. Coasters, because someone has to keep those coffee tables stain-free.

Recap

Five things I've forgotten about Coachella until I was at the festival:
1. Obviously, the heat. The overwhelming, must find shade or I will die, oh God is this what the pits of hell must feel like heat.
2. Wandering into a random tent will lead you to finding your favorite new band.
3. Everyone is SO nice. Probably because they're on a lot of drugs.
4. Looking for your car among thousands of other cars at 1am is the worst game of Marco Polo ever. Hooray for the panic button on my car remote!
5. No matter how skimpy you think you're dressed, there will always be someone with a little less clothing than you. Re: Man in the Speedo.

Four unexpected things that happened this past weekend:
1. Missing Conor and nearly all of Franz Ferdinand because it took two hours to travel 2 bloody miles and getting mad at the disastrous parking situation to the point where I was crying. Good times. Not.
2. Having a mild heatstroke, twice! Goodbye vision and hello nice damp ground.
3. Listening to Leonard Cohen's "I'm Your man" in one ear while Morrissey is singing "This Charming Man" in the other. It was a Twilight Zone for the audio senses.
4. Meeting David Hasselhoff!

Three of my favorite sets:
1. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs
2. Fleet Foxes
3. Late of the Pier
4. By default, Franz Ferdinand would be on this list even though I didn't see them because I know they would have put on a good set.

Two Moments that will define Coachella 09 for me:
1. Leonard Cohen's performance of Hallelujah and the mesmerized crowd.
2. Paul McCartney tearing up at the dedication of My Love to his late wife.

One thing that will never change:
The stupid Coachella Conor Curse. It's 3 for 3 years now. So I suppose the world can survive another day as he and I won't spawn children of the apocalypse. Kudos, Fate, you've screwed me over again.

So, Coachella 2010, anyone?

The Coachella Gods are dead.

Mother of god!!!! Third year that I'm being screwed over to see Conor Oberst at Coachella. It's ridiculous to the point where I think the world is against me and Conor ever locking eyes and falling madly in love for fear that our children will usher in the Apocalypse, or at least write terrible pop songs that no person should ever be subjected to. Let's see what previous (and soon to be previous) years have forced me to choose between:

2004, Conor versus Air/Muse.
2005, Conor versus me having a ride home because he was the last act of the night.
2009, Conor versus Franz Ferdinand.

I mean, COME ON! It's Franz FREAKING Ferdinand! They're the love of my dancefloor life! The odds are constantly stacked against me each year that it doesn't make sense anymore. I'm going to sulk underneath my desk at work now.

God save the queen!

Okay, I suck at this blogging thing. Strike that, I really, really, really suck at this blogging thing because I'm no longer an angst-ridding 16 year old girl who believes the world hates me and I'm condemned to a life of misunderstandings by anyone over the age of 30, therefore I have to spend 15 minutes every day writing about the terrible and at times gasp-inducing moments of my life. Instead, I grew up to be a 24 year old girl with bad sleeping and eating habits and who has a freaking good concept of "perspective." I also grew up to be a girl with a run-on sentence problem, but that's neither here nor there. Rather, it's a "I suck at grammar forever" issue. So my consolation to myself is to keep a weekly list of things and see where things go from there. Here's this week list, and in no particular order:

My Top 4 Biblical Moments
1. When Michael fought Lucifer, which gave rise to the concept of good and evil, archangels, fallen angels, and epic tattoos.
2. Noah and his ark, which must of had some secret compartment to Narnia or how did he fit two of every dinosaur? Have you not seen a T-Rex? They're huge!
3. Adam and Eve chilling in Eden with polar bears, lions, and alligators like it was an every day occurrence, which it actually was for them.
4. Cain and Abel, the first recorded tale of sibling rivalry and source of my favorite biblical quote, "Am I my brother's keeper?"
5. The Rapture, it just sounds cool and a constant reminder of people's paranoia.

I like the Bible, which I even capitalized to show how much I like it. Only I'm a fan of it from a very non-religious stance. Broken down in base terms, I think it's a very good book with very interesting plots. Taken out of Christian theology, the bible is filled with epic stories. For instance, the destruction of a city? Parents using their children as sacrifices? Lion dens, murder, a whole lot of this "begetting" issue, and a civil war in heaven instigated by a former angel? If you were to fictionalize that last one, you would have a really keen tale of two ex-friends (Michael and Lucifer) at war with each other to keep their sides from fall apart, a ruler who stands on the edge of events and watches it unfold, and a war with sword fights and crossbows. There's probably a lot more to that but I haven't read that verse in detail.

I'm not even going to explain myself any further because that would probably lead to a lot of people getting angry at me or not willing to see things from where I stand. Hey, remember the 24 year old girl with the good sense of "perspective?" She's backing away right now and just wants all to know that she's currently reading Paradise Lost, so that list stems from 2am reading of prose.

Till the next week, now to ponder what list I'll write up then. (I'm also noting the odd factor of this list being posted on Easter Sunday.)

Down the rabbit hole

I vasovagal-ed today. That has never happened to me before, it was a weird feeling to be the one on the exam table while my co-workers hovered beside me to make sure I wasn't going to lose consciousness. Then my chest tightened and I wish I had my inhaler. Today is one of those stupid days, where all signs pointed to Rome, or in my case, the doctor's office. Screw 2009 being the year of the Ox, it's the year of health care bills. I'm about 700 down. How did that happen? That's a new laptop right there--before shipping, handling, and taxes, that is. Still, NEW computer!

Be kind, rewind

Working in a health care profession is too tempting to call in your own prescriptions for happy drugs. Although, I found out today that my friend had to fire someone from her clinic for doing such a thing. But that's because the person was stupid. You don't do orders for 40 vicodin tablets because most insurances will only pay for a 30 quantity supply fill. Well, that's your after school special from me this week: How to Manipulate the System for Drugs.

But yeah! Drugs, please! My mouth is a bit sore from the dentist. The trip wasn't all that bad, considering I'm no longer eight years old and require three medical assistants to hold me down and a bite guard to prevent me from chomping off the dentist's fingers. The diagnosis was not awe-inspiring at all. Instead, I have multiple follow up visits that will result in numbing parts of my face/mouth. Oh, and I need to get some wisdom teeth pulled. Mothereffer. I really hope I get some vicodin.

On another close but separate tangent, I would make a really bad drug addict.

So the other half of this horrible, no good, terrible week's recap involves my launch into the past on Sunday. I was catapulted about 15 good years into my past at the engagement party. Met the bride who was my BFF when I was five, because Barbies are friendship builders and she had quite a few. Met the guy after my dad reintroduced us for five seconds, then met him again after his tipsy dad re-reintroduced us. To commemorate the encounter, we had an awkward conversation and our picture taken. At the party, my family ran into the husband of my pre-kindergarten days babysitter. I was the flower girl for their wedding and spent many nights asleep at her place. So of course, we hightailed it to his house for a 15 year reunion. Seeing her teenage kids was an odd experience, especially when I told them that I knew their mom and dad before they were married.

That marks my foray into a time period I'd never think to revisit. Oh, and t-minus 15 minutes until I turn 24. Hooray???

Some time travel please

I'm not looking forward to the following week. Sunday has me at an engagement party where my parents want me polished up so they can start on my own engagement. They've got high hopes for an old world hook-up between me and a friend of the family's son. I wonder if a dowry will be included and how many horses I'm worth. Please say ten.

Thursday is a trip to the dentist, who I abhor. I have nothing against the person, just their profession. My fear of going to the dentist is so bad that I will let you push me down a flight of stairs. I will let you slug me across the face or even gently hit me with a car.

Then my birthday on Saturday. Granted, I'm going to Disneyland, but still, I hate my birthday and hate the fact I'm turning 24. 23 was such a good number, not so much a good year, but a good number. When I hit 30, I think I might cry. Strike that and reverse it, 23 was a good year. I got a job, reconciled with an old friend and made a new one, and went to Europe.

Somebody just hit me with a bat right now and let me sleep till Saturday. Just wake me up so I can strap myself on at Space Mountain.

Comatose Joy

I love my friend Carlos who drags me from one random LA event to the next and if it weren't for him, I would probably become a recluse. Thursday night as I'm driving home, he calls me to go out for a drink, unwind, and just shake off the work day stress. But hanging out with him means I don't leave until after 10 and with the rain that day, I really didn't feel like it. "Come on, there'll be some cool DJs and just stay for one drink. I RSVP'd and can bring in two people for free, you and Phuong." Ugh ugh ugh. Guilt. "Ohhhhhh-kay. I'm just staying for a bit."

Hours later and we don't leave until 2am.

I hate you Diplo.

And by that, I mean, I love you so much I want to kidnap you so you can spin for me on the drop of a hat. Diplo is a DJ god and people can write off spinning as slipping one record on after another but that just means they've never been privy to such a good set. How good? I was ready to blow the place around 1am, jacket on, bag slung over one shoulder when that sweet note of a song came and I stayed rooted and dance till lights out. Then woke up for work 3 hour later. Hate you Diplo that I would do it all over again.

Oh, bought the Coachella tickets. Desert dance party is officially on now. Countdown, please. In the meanwhile, I'm applying for a semi-new job, very convinced that Fleet Foxes is this year's Bon Iver, and speed reading at a book a night. So far, I'm 3 for 4 nights. Not too shabby.

Desert dance party

I should have gone the last three years but didn't for whatever lame reason. This year, finances be damned. Foreign trips abroad be damned. And heat exhaustion be damned. Now to work the overtime to pay for this April's bite in my wallet.

So won't you come hang out with me in the dance tents and cry along to Leonard Cohen and Conor Oberst?

Wanderlust

I want to live in the following cities for however long they hold my fancy: NYC, Tokyo, Saigon, Seoul, and Vienna. I've been to all sans for Tokyo but that can be easily remedied with the emptying of my bank account. They're all metropolis cities and I know that my life won't change even if the location will. Movies, meals, and concerts will most likely hold a reservation of one even across the globe. I'll still thread through crowds like a needle waiting to reach the fabric's end. I've got the travel bug bad that I dream of skyscrapers and walking down dusty roads cramped with houses and buildings. It's also self-satisfaction, really. Where is home and when will I find it?

I want to think that it's just more than a travel bug, that it's the universe telling me that I need to leave LA. That I am going to have major epic adventures in some foreign city and meet some of the most absolutely amazing people ever (even though I think I've met a good fair share already). But days like today where it's 82 degrees in January and girls are walking around in sun dresses and flip flop, I question the guidance of the universe. It so happens that aside from Saigon, those above listed cities are home to snowy days, which with my tiny physique and large mouth for complaints might equal to a lot of day huddled in mountain-thick blankets. Win some, lose some, my ass. And still, the Queen Mab of travel beckons me with her wayward whispers.

To the end!

RIP Red shoes, we hardly knew ye. It was only your second outing in this world but you were no match for the cold streets of San Francisco on New Year's Eve. May your alcohol-soaked soles rest in shoe heaven.

And then some

This weekend has been a blur of excess, waking up in foreign beds, champagne straight from the bottle, dancing till my feet hurt, vinyl records, ex-boyfriends, hangovers, sleep deprivation, New York boys, random run-ins, pathetic heartache from 3000 miles away despite not a single word exchanged, and dreams that I don't want to decipher. So, it has been a good weekend, although I don't know if I want to repeat it. Strike that, this Saturday will probably be a round two, and hopefully sans the bad boy karma. Now how do I pick up good boy karma? One handbook, please.

It was a mutual decision between the friends who partook in the previously mentioned activities that you really need to spend your 20s getting shitfaced so you can spend your 30s sobering up while waiting in your 40s for a liver transplant. Thus, I say HOORAY to my short term brilliant/long term piss-poor decisions.

And oddly, at the end of the day, no matter how tired, how hungover, how [insert delicate emotion here], a helping of McDonald french fries is a good cure. Amazing.

See ya later, 2008!

She said

The Japanese Fan Girl says: What the hell, Clamp? You are a mindfuck and need to stop these crossover in xxxHolic and Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle! And these new revelations that so-and-so character is actually a clone are making me angry. Kill a character and keep 'em dead!

The Psuedo-Fashionista says: Is anyone else not impressed by the new Alexander McQueen line? This is heartbreak.

The 14 year old in me says: I just bought season one and two of Dawson's Creek for ten bucks each, and I'm not ashamed to admit so. In fact, there is pride.

The recluse says: I just bent down to pick something off the ground and heard the inevitable RIIIIPPPPPPPP! sound that comes after wearing a part of PJs for one year too long. Good bye plaid pink pants, hello nudity.

The sleep deprived girl asks: Why do you marathon shows in one sitting? Okay, it might have only been a 13 episode series at 20 minutes a piece, but why did you start at 10pm and then stayed up a few more hours watching interviews on youtube?

I've been trying to be more focused in these posting, as in sticking to a single subject and soapboxing my heart on the topic. But lately, it's been a no-go. Which means a few things: a) I really don't care about blogging; b) my life is not that interesting; c) my life, actually, is interesting but by the time I sit to write about it, I don't care anymore; or d) Writing (publicly) is not fun anymore.

Writing is my way of coping with the world. I keep diaries, dream journals, and notepads full of random thoughts, which are all very private things. And the blogosphere is a not-so private place that I've been having trouble treading about lately. For when I blog, it seems to be at my most-for lack of a better term-passionate moment. When I'm most angry, excited, annoyed, you pick the emotion I'll peak at. Naturally, I had my fair share of such emotional standpoints these past few months that back in my high school days would have me racing for my keyboard. Except that now, I'm not in high school and I can't really point fingers at people that have broken my heart, disappointed me, or made me reach for that shotgun under my bed out of anger because chances are, they might be reading. So I've reached that existentialist impasse most blogger reach but would never coin the phrase as such: Why blog at all?

To be a blogger, you have to be egoistic at some level. Why write for the world to read, to post pictures for the world to see, upload songs for---you get the picture. For human connection, to derive an emotion out of someone else? Uh, sure. I've yet to reach an answer, nor reach a state of self-confidence to admit I'm pretty fucking egoistic. So again, why do the blog thing? Because it's a form of virtual hedonism and you all are Internet voyeurs for peeking behind web browsers to read my silly words. So let's continue the way of instant gratification as I'll still stand on the soapbox and perhaps the new year will see a better me. And by that, I mean, a better blogger me as I already know 2009 will be a continuation of fuck-ups, fuck you's, and fuck me's.

Harvard's loss

Me: Ok, if we go to Souplantation, you're going to have to eat, too.
Sister: That's fine, I like soups. And plants.
Me: From the plantations? Do you even know what a plantation is?
Sister: (long pause)
Me: It's a field, mainly where the slaves had to work.
Sister: I knew that, I just needed a reminder.
Me: I worry about you in college. For instance, who's Karl Marx?
Sister: He's that black guy.

The end.

Really? No.

Cashier with my ID in hand: Cammie, that's a pretty name.
Me: Thanks, so's Miles. I once dated a Miles, but he wasn't as cute as you.
Cashier: Really?
Me: No, but that would have been a great pick-up line, huh?

All's fair in love and war, and small talk with your cashier as you're waiting for your credit card to be processed.

Thank you for playing

Day 2 and a-HAHAHAHAHAH.

Nice attempt on my part, maybe next time, kiddo.

Story time

Person with a bunch of health and possibly mental issues: Well, I've gained a lot of weight over the last year.
Doctor: How much?
Person: Like a hundred.
Doctor: You've gained about a hundred pounds?
Person: Yea.
Doctor: So last year, you only weighed 54 pounds?

There were more stories but they needed to be in context. My workplace is full of stories, some to make you laugh, some to make you disgusted, some to make you feel intellectually superior, and some to make you cry because unfortunate things can happen to good people who don't deserve them.

Today is day one of my self-inflicted no smoking resolution. So far, I hate Di Lam who is a taunting she-devil and a reminder that I can't succumb, even though I'm about 85 percent sure that this Friday will be my downfall. Oh well, we'll just mark these days as a reprieve for my lovely organs. Like the LA smog hasn't done its damage already.

To the birthplace of the summer

Some mornings I wake up with the strangest desires, though most have to do with food cravings. This morning was the want to see the California coast line along the 5 freeway. It reminds me of Sunday afternoons where I'm driving from home back to college and the sun rays that pierce through loose forming clouds, glittering upon ocean waves. The small stretch of ocean that I get to see always brings a quiet smile to my face, and I miss it.

It's lazy Sundays like today that make me want to act on nostalgia and just drive straight on down down down to see the coast, then past the border gates, and right into the heart of Baja Mexico. Instead, I'm blissfully spending the day reading in a hammock in midday sun.

Pinky up, please!

I wonder what do people expect when they ask you "How have you been?" Is there supposed to be a correct answer to that or should the universal "I'm good" suffice? The questions seeps a little further down my brain when I think of old friends meeting up after long stretches of time. Granted they're meeting up to reacquaint themselves with each other but how concise of an answer should surface? Variables do include the time elapsed and the state of the friendship, so I wonder in what right situation I'd be able to say:

"Well, I was madly in love with this boy who played guitar for some dinky band. But he left me for New York City in order to pursue his career, promises of faithfulness were exchanged. So one weekend, I surprised him by showing up at his place only to walk in to see his treacherous lips on some girl's. Romance aside, I got into a huge fight with my co-worker who's also a really good friend of mine. It wouldn't be so bad if he and I weren't the only two out of three people working at the clinic. Awkward hostility has been commonplace for us. I also think I might have a drinking problem but aside from all of that, I'm good. And you?"

I'm guessing, very few situations would be proper enough to illicit such an answer from me. But one can always dream, can't they?

Bend to Sqaures

After heavily drowning my sorrows in chili cheese fries from the somewhat passing of Proposition 8, I researched universities in Boston. I'm pretty much convinced at this point that I want to go to grad school in Boston or NYC, or anywhere in the New England states, really. I blame my romanticism of the city, where I'll spend nights walking home from bars (or the library, because this is grad school and apparently, they do heavy duty reading) along the quiet slumber of streets awashed in snow. Like I said, it's a very romanticized version of the hell I'm unleashing onto myself come fall of 2010. Assuming I get into grad school, that is.

And of all things to get me started on this wondrous academic trek: a boy. I bought my first GREs book this past weekend so when I'm studying at the local library, nice Library Boy will not think I'm 17. Proud of the fact that it took a random boy I haven't even met to get me studying? Hardly. But one has to start somewhere, so if I get into Boston U, I will send Library Boy a singing telegram, a happy gift card, or whatever passes for gratitude these days.

Looping back to my earlier sorrows, I'm disheartened by the conservative nature of so many Californians. I take that back, I'm stymied by their selfishness, that they would dare keep two people from marriage. I can marry a jerk of a man but never wed some lovely girl? Why should it really matter so much when the only difference is biological? If we were all born asexual, this wouldn't be such a big deal. It's frustrating, utterly so but tears can only get you so far before it's time to join the social revolution. So away with the crying, because everything will be okay in the end, they always are.

To the center of the city

Saturday night proved to be another reason why I need to move to NYC: taxi cabs and all night dance parties. In honor of John Peel's death-iversary, there was some art show/dance party in LA that me and the gay boyfriends attended, complete with a taxi ride there and phone-a-friend ride home. I'm pretty sure I did a number on my liver and lungs that night but when Belle and Sebastian are blasting from turntable speakers, a girl has to flashdance her way through the night. Twee pop had my dance card filled to the margin and I'm not sorry to say so.

So a move to NYC or San Francisco is in order because I'm tired of driving home during the witching hours. Cheap taxis and adequate public transportation, please. Granted it's all the more reason to stumble home drunk but at least, I'll be doing it safely. I've hurt myself with parked vehicles, think of me in a moving vehicle. Danger to society, much?

On a more global scale, perhaps a move to a foreign European country is on order. They've got public transportation down to the wire and drinking is a national pastime. Now to just find a job there or smuggle myself across borders, same diff.

Love from Wien!

Drunk in Vienna right now, loving the city and had my first meal in a restaurant in 48 hours. So far, the roll call has been Dublin, Budapest. The second was more of an accident as there was fog where our flight should have landed in Bratislava, where I sat by the most horrid family. Grown sons that may have never heard of a "shower" and parents who were hacking up a lung complete with phlem. Lovely. So we took a train from Budapest to Vienna instead. Next stop, Prague.

Debauchery at its finest

I've been waiting a few years to be able to say it, but now my time has come. If someone were to ask me, "Hey, Cam, what are you doing this weekend?" I can finally say, and ever so nonchalantly, "Oh, Europe."

Sweet satisfaction.

Excited? Kinda, waiting for the plane to take off before I realized how real the trip is. I was more excited about finding a new brand of cigarettes today: Camel Crush. I keep a strange balance of priorities. But I'm going to quit (read: stop for a while) smoking after Europe. Okay, I take that back. After Halloween. I promise. Sort of.

Carne Asada is not a crime

Long live the taco trucks!

Just stand there and look pretty

Sarah Palin is dumber than a sack of quarters. There, I've said it. Ugh, I have such frustration aimed at her that I want to buy a plane ticket to Wasilla, Alaska and kick a moose in the nuts. But how insulting towards the moose, so maybe I'll just throw a pageant sash inscribed with "Go Home Beauty Queen" at her house. Because that's how she acted at the VP debate, if you can even call it that. Biden answered questions and presented positions he stood behind. Palin offered cliches. Mothereffing cliches. "Enough playing the blame game." "Maverick of reform." And what reforms did she speak about? Not any that I can recall. Nor can I recall her answering any questions, aside from gay marriages being a state thing. She never told us how different the McCain administration would be from Bush, despite simply saying that the administrations are different. No exit plan for Iraq was mentioned either, even though strategies have been talked about. What strategies? I scoff at the notion that McCain's a man who "knows how to win a war, he's been there." What war are we talking about? The Vietnam one that lasted about 75 years and lead to the evacuation of Saigon as US troops pulled out? Palin sounded as vapid as a high school football coach before the big game in that sense. Her notions of "we will win the war" strikes me as a Bush administration saying, as I wonder what are we trying to "win" in Iraq? Democracy in that country? Freedom? Prevention of a modern day Domino Effect? Keep Iraq from being a terrorist state and hopefully the nearby countries will do that same? Yes, because that idea worked so wonderfully well in Vietnam.

The pundits are saying that she held her own. I guess you can call being able to speak in complete sentences as holding your own, but if that's the case, give me a soapbox and I'll be the man with the megaphone. If anything, I adore Biden for telling the American public how Obama plans to change the current unsightly state of the US versus Palin who must have pulled a time wrap and slipped into her beauty pageant mood with her smiles and winks. So thanks, Sarah Palin, for pulling a Miss South Carolina but in a more eloquent way.

It's a Radiohead-OK Computer day

It's gloomy. And humid. Initial thoughts: Holy fuck, I'm in Asia. Followed up with a semi-deep longing for rainy days in Vietnam where I'm on the back of a motorbike on a dirt road, knowing that when I get off the bike, there will be splatters of mud on my leg like a rough draft of a Jackson Pollack painting. There were the walks for ice cream despite the slight drizzle. The sways on hammocks upon concrete miniature islands as we fished for our food. I'm feeling nostalgia at it's best right now and I'm looking forward to mad dashes on cobblestone roads in surprising rain.

I am a big fan of lists. Five Songs that Seem Too Close for Comfort to my Life Lyrically

1. Starry Configurations by Jets to Brazil
2. Been a Son by Nirvana
3. Nothing Gets Crossed Out by Bright Eyes
4. Love Will Tear Us Apart by Joy Division
5. Lua* by Bright Eyes

*by Lua, I kinda mean the entire I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning album but I went for most accurate song.

8 Possible Election-Year 'October Surprises'

1. Sarah Palin wins debate using knowledge from Snapple Cap Facts.

2. Bill Clinton endorses Obama.

3. In an effort to appear younger and more hip, John McCain releases a sex ''talkie.''

4. Oak leaves suspend color-turning campaign until financial crisis is resolved. Urge maple leaves to do the same.

5. Sarah Palin turns out to have an embarrassing Ivy League-educated, immensely qualified sibling.

6. Lindsay Lohan goes back to dudes.

7. Osama bin Laden walks into Wasilla, Alaska police station to turn self in. Says, ''I would have been here sooner if you had a decent bridge.''

8. October admits it’s actually January. Election starts all over again.

(Taken from the Colbert Report, I'm in favor of number 5 and 1. Hi-lay-lay.)

All things considered

Random things on my mind as of late:
-Crack is truly the poor man's drug. My boss knows you can get it for about 2 dollars at Lafayette park. I would probably go the yuppie way and do cocaine.
-If I want to marry a man with good fashion sense, he'll probably have to be gay or a Japanese pop idol. I never thought I would use "refreshing" as a term to describe someone's fashion, but did when I saw a music video for my favorite J-pop boy band.
-Chile might not be working out for me after all as I might do a four year master's program in conjunction with the Peace Corps. Um, other yet to be known third world country, here I come?
-Oh yea, I should really start studying for the GREs and you know, apply to schools.
-I should be excited about my upcoming first European trip but I think I'll worry two night beforehand when my mom makes me pack for the trip. If not for her nagging, I would just pack the night before. Plus, my flight doesn't leave till 4pm, I've got all of the morning to do laundry and buy travel size toothpaste.
-I am two degrees of separation away from Sid Vicious and Johnny Rotten. AMAZING! Oh, and I'm probably still seven degrees of separation away from Kevin Bacon.
-Ian Curtis is still the love of my life.
-Zack Morris is definitely in line at number two for that title.
-Eating corn on the cob leads to insomniac nights.

Political Smackdown

I'm so excited for the vice presidential debates that I think I'm giddy. Thrice Chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee vs some person whose Fox News believe is qualified on foreign policy because her state is near Russia? Six term senator vs a governor whose barely completing her second year? I feel like the Republican team isn't even trying at this point with her nomination. Sarah Palin better have a major ace up her sleeve and it better not be the fact that she's a woman. I wonder if she's been cramming information for the debates like a college kid right before finals? This will be fun.

Also, has it come to the point where anyone can run for state governor and win? It doesn't even seem like a position of much status. California bit it in the ass when Arnold got elected, after Gary Coleman and some porn star tried for it. Jerry Springer attempted Ohio, and lovely Minnesota had the honor of Jesse Ventura.

We might as well throw all of our names into a giant top hat and pick from there. It'd the same outcome. And if you're lucky, you might even get picked by the Republican party to be VP, or maybe one of those unknown Secretaries, like Labor or Agriculture.

On second thought...

...my roommate from freshman year of college was a bit kooky. I mean, she never sexed me out because the idea of sex would have rendered her into saying fifty Hail Mary's or left her used underwear in my hamper because she was a bit of a neat-freak, but she was a bit...off. I don't know why I'm recollecting this memory but I am. So deal. I remember coming home one day to an empty room, and thought nothing of it until two hours later when I notice her computer monitor on the floor by her bed. Then came the sound of quiet keyboard typing. FROM UNDER HER BED.

No Joke.

So glad I didn't take a shower that day and decided to just toss my towel off when I returned to my room. So. Glad.

And is mouthwash supposed to burn so much after gargling or am I just dirty?

Vietnam is the new black

Apparently, Vietnam is the new Russia, in regards to the "mail order brides" aspect. Can it be considered a greater good thing, or incredibly high-priced, long term call girl scenario? For some Vietnamese women, they received their Pretty Woman ending, except sans the diamond necklace and more of the good bye rice paddies. But what a gamble to take, that I'm glad I haven't been promised off to some random son of some old friend of the family. Yet.

Danger Will Robinson!

Same patterns are starting to emerge, not good. I'm so ready to hop, skip, and be a long jump away from the proverbial pedestal. Hit the ground running, here I go.

On the drive home from an outing last night: "Holy fuck, it's daylight."

I don't remember ever saying those words except when pulling an all nighter and praying to every god possible that I'd get my term paper due by the a.m. deadline. I'm good with not repeating those words again. Unless JK Rowling decided to write a sequel to Harry Potter and I, naturally, read the book in one sitting.

Flight to Europe bought yesterday, the wallet sobbed when I pressed "Confirm" to buy the ticket. Is it October yet? Here's hoping Dublin, Prague, and Vienna don't hypnotize me to the point where I somehow "lose" my passport and am forced to spend the rest of my life in one of the aforementioned havens.

Love is a place

I like life and currently enjoy all the things that make my world go topsy-turvy. Friends, family, boy(s), and being a faghag. Instant realization of that last one today while making dinner. Final acceptance as well. Still, wonderment exist of which one I am: Grace to their Will or Karen to their Jack?

Could this good vibration be the result of the earthquake today, ala Ghost of the Future/Scrooge type of deal? Could be, but I still feel miserly and would probably hit anyone crossing my path in the knee with my cane.

Seriously, life is good.

EPIC!

If I were a gay icon, I'd so make "epic" the next "fierce." I think we should start a campaign on it. Why? Because it'd be so epic. Or how about: that dress is epic.

Amazing!

Farewell my salad days

I'm looking for a certain truth, one that can confirm for me that there is forever. And if not forever, then at least an epic end worthy of its crash and burn demise. Not some slow fade. I don't know if it's because I'm a protege of the MTV generation or because I've been listening to way too much Nirvana and reading too many quotes by dead poets who remind me to burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars. Whatever it is that's prompting me, I am searching for that girl who will stand tall, whose voice won't waver, and who can walk away because it's time. I want to be her with the shaking knees and the numb fingers as the words scrap scratch claw her throat for release and the tears are silently waterfalling. In all her misery, she'll move forward. She'll remember to breath. She'll remember to take that first step. And the misery will only last for so long before she gets bored of it. So if you see this girl, let me know. I want to tell her thanks for being here and standing brightly by without holding my hand but still whispering all the right encouraging words.

Legitimate Vampire

I started learning how to draw blood this past Monday and by learning, I mean, actually drawing blood. It's as easy AND as hard as I thought it would be. Easy in the sense that the needle goes in the vein and out comes blood into the collection tube. It's harder than I thought because of all the smaller details you have to recall. So far, so good. I mean, nobody's passed out on me yet.

San Diego Pride is this weekend and I'm ridiculously excited about going and I'm not even sure why. It might have do with hanging out with some of my favorite people, some of whom I haven't seen in six months. It could be the fact that I'm just glad to see people because I don't have friends in LA anymore and have resorted to hanging out with myself the last couple of weeks. The third idea could be my excitement to wear a dress I bought last Friday. Oh, the blender of ideas and how it's all coming together. Everything's coming up Milhouse.

Wait, is that a good thing or a bad thing?

First page among others

My new found auntdom has brought me into uncharted territory that I don't care to ever map. My sister and her fiance can be the cartographers for this adventure. All my niece does is eat, sleep, and poo. Not a very hard life. It'll be one we'll all be accustomed to in half a century. So Jenna, meet the Internet. Internet, this is Jenna, aka Jenna Bean and Jen-jen.

As obvious, I must be an aunt in name only (see image to the right). But this aunt will sing you Weezer songs instead of lullabies and tell you Greek myths stories instead of fairy tales. I also do Asian folklore, if you're asking.

What amazes me, is how much I'll be able to tell her when she's older. Such as how her dad freaked out in the delivery room, how her grandma was a cross hair away from craziness during the pregnancy, how I suggested a colorful array of rejected names. These events have stemmed from only the last few months and this kid has years to grow and million more stories to relive. They say a woman becomes a mother when she's pregnant and a father realizes he's one when he hold his child for the first time. So what about me, Aunt Cam? That was my epiphany: becoming a ledger for her history that she can open at any time.

Nature of the Experiment

The following things have been bothering me as of late:

1. How does one measure self-worth? Or rather, how is it measured at all by anyone's account? Thoughts of "you deserve better" or "i don't deserve you" or even the "you're worth so much more than that" makes me wonder. It has me bothered, perturbed, disturbed. Most of all, I'm annoyed that some set of scales and balance has to be attributed to my own wants based on someone else opinion. It's ridiculous in some heartbreaking way.

2. Where will the next step in my life take me? Planes, trains, and an ocean away prompts the big picture. I'm still working on the smaller details but I'm afraid that I'll find some new place to call my own and then never look back. Because I wouldn't be surprised at all if I never came back to LA after tasting some foreign forbidden fruit. It's the idea of the leap from one skipping stone to the next that have frozen my jump mid-crouch like some ache in my leg that won't pass. How I wish I could just take that step without guilt or worry.

3. Ticketmaster can also suck the big one. It can also do a lot of things that could be described as "expletive" because I would just write a string of dirty things. I can't believe they now charge five dollars for an "order processing" fee in addition to the other inane fees. And that they can get away with it. If Ticketmaster had a human shape, I'd drop kick it in the face among other things.

And my things to do list that isn't a bother but still need to be crossed off:
-sign up for either a Portuguese, Spanish, or Japanese class
-check to see if any one of those languages are UN/WHO needed
-find someone to go the Faint concert with me
-make sure that person will not stand around with arms folded but will dance like a proper marionette to the music
-buy tickets to Prague/Berlin/Dublin/I still need to figure out which city I'm flying into
-buy new jeans
-figure out where I'm going to be for July 4th? SD or LA?
-suppress the urge to travel north to see my best friends and crawl into their beds and sleep for an eon until the smell of cupcakes wake up me and then we'll watch bad movies like the Covenant or How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days (but not Princess Diaries 2 because that would be the same as torture)

Preggo Eggo and other modern-day metaphors

So the last few months, my life has been like the movie Juno sans the cool soundtrack (but I don't think I would want Sonic Youth soundtracking my life because, honestly, their albums was just a bunch of noise). But the "witty" dialogue was there and so were the "characters." My mom went batshit crazy around the end of February and tried to convince my pregnant sister to go to Vietnam to have the baby so that no one in the community would know. When that fell through, she tried to convince me and my sister to rent a house for the two weeks before and after the due date. Basically, we were supposed to hide out. My dad went into overdrive paternal mode and built an additional wing to the house so that the construction would mask the disappointment. And by wing, I just mean another bedroom and joint bathroom. My youngest sister Winnie (the nonpregnant one) went into hyperdrive aunt mode and was ready to leap oceans for her new niece.

Five hours ago, my sister gave birth. And new life has appeared. My first words to the baby? "Holy shit, you're real." My next few words? "You are so small, and the world is so large but everything will be okay." My mom's reaction was a mix of cyncism and confusion: "What are you talking about? The baby isn't small, she's 8 pounds." And things will be okay, they always turn up fine in the end after the chaos, unexpected twists, and overbearing hills are passed.

Goodbye, frightful anticipation for what unknown outcome will appear and, hello, eager anxiety for all the great things that will arise.

Oh, and that girl is going to be a heartbreaker. She's only five or six hours old, but I can feel it in my bones already.

Holy crap, I'm an aunt.

A relapse into US History

If you were not the first ten presidents of the United States or the last ten, I don't see a point in remembering who you are. I'm currently at work and with no patients to scamper after, I decided to take a quiz. So the following people can suck it:

James Madison, Martin Van Buren, William Henry Harrison, John Tyler, Zachary Taylor, Millard Fillmore, Franklin Pierce, James Buchanan, Rutherford B. Hayes, Grover Cleveland, Benjamin Harrison, William McKinley, Warren Harding, Herbert Hoover, Lyndon Johnson.

But I was able to name 27 out of 42 presidents. That's pretty good, right? RIGHT? (Also, screw you Joanne.)

Stuck in the rabbit's hole

Loneliness comes in such a revolting form. The Boy has moved two hours away and the best buddy might move many hours north. And I sit here in constant wait for what I plan to do next but time has me on standstill, saying that there is more ticking of the hour before I can stop forward. Tick tock indeed. I know that I can easily throw myself into work for financial preparation, but for what? What meaning am I trying to derive from this back break? What satisfaction am I trying to achieve? I say "Public Health" and I'm really hoping that I'm spewing honesty and not some sacrificial lamb crap to appease strangers and their judgmental glares.

And oh my, nothing else could have been done
She made her life a lie so
She might never have to know anyone
Made her life the lie, you know

You know, you know, oh, how you know. Oh, Elliott, how you still ring true in my ears after so many years. And you're still waiting for happiness for me and you, aren't you? I'm striving for that change in me that will bring about the change in all because Gandhi wasn't just a dreamer, he was living inspiration. So let's circle back to my original thought: Loneliness comes in such a revolting form because I'm kept company by words of the great late dead.

What I used to be will pass away and then you'll see
That all I want now is happiness
For you and me

...of Old Men and Movies

My list of the week is as followed (and I know it can't really be considered a list "of the week" considering that I don't post weekly enough but let's just roll with the euphemism here):

Bands that I've rediscovered how much I miss and love within the last 24 hours
1. Iron & Wine
2. Rilo Kiley
3. Elliott Smith (just the song Georgia, Georgia)

I spent some time at my mom's shop today and had to entertain George, the old dude who stops by the shop when waiting for his wife next door at the hair salon. I can't gauge how old he really is but he has grandchildren my age, so I'm just going to assume that "old" is a good number. After talking to him for 15 minutes or rather, me just nodding and affirming his ideas for 15 minutes, he has reinforced my opinion in how cool old people are. George speaks 7 languages, which he was happy to rattle off in, was drafted to Japan for a war, married his high school sweetheart, and is your typical geezer who would hit on any dame that crossed his path. And yet, I find all of that interesting. I really hope that when I'm his age, I can hit on young boys, talk about my experiences overseas and god knows what. Seriously, a lifetime of tales is what I aim for.

I just finished watching the first Narnia film and all I can really say about that film is: Jesus reference! That and how much would it suck to rule a country for 10 odd years and then return to your teenage body? I would be a little piss because who wants to go through puberty twice. And the reason why I rented Narnia was to be able to understand what happens in Prince Caspian, which I plan to see because there was a girl wielding a bow and arrow. Woman with weapons? SOLD! This is the summer of movies for me. It began with Forgetting Sarah Marshall, continued with Iron Man and Speed Racer. I was going to write up mini-reviews for those movies but never got around to it so here are hopefully non-spoilers ones.
A) The flashbacks and mini-sequences were funnier than the plot.
B) Drunken superheroes seem to be the rage this summer so let's start off the season with a billionaire, genius, womanizer drunkard. In his spare time, he builds weapons in caves.
C) Eye-candy galore! Complete with cars, fight sequences, and hot chicks. Oddly enough, it walked away with a PG rating.

I'll write more blurbs with the movies to come, which will be Prince Caspian, Indy 4, Dark Knight, The Incredible Hulk, Get Smart, Pineapple Express among other titles that most people will cringe at but I will wholeheartedly throw a ten dollar bill at. Ugh, when did movies become so expensive?

Outrage in technicolor

Why, Myanmar? Why? I don't understand why you won't distribute the 38 ton of emergency food and aid flown over by the UN that could help 95,000 people. It's sitting on the freaking airport tar mat! Xenophobia I can understand but the fact that your embassy in Thailand is taking today off due to a national holiday (amidst the growing death toll of your people) so that the very people who could help your sick can't get visas, I'm befuddled by. Also, you're also more concerned about the national election than directing those funds towards-I don't know-getting body bags for the corpses floating in your rivers. Screw malaria, screw the hunger, the broken bones, the newly orphaned children, the damaged homes, and screw the Burmese people because your junta are megalomaniacs.

Seriously, prove me wrong, Myanmar. Please, prove me wrong.

Also, I've watched the first seven minutes of Speed Racer and am looking forward to the sober acid trip that this film will take me on. Acting-wise, I've got low expectations for, but hey, I'm going to be watching what will be a live-action version of Mario Kart's Rainbow Road in an IMAX theater this Saturday so screw expectations. There's going be some wire-fu, cars, and a color scheme similar to Skittles! I'm set!

Rob Gordon Lives on in Me

Top 4 Dead Artists I Would Screw Up the Time-Space Continuum for:
1. Elliott Smith
2. Kurt Cobain
3. Ian Curtis
4. John Lennon

Top 5 European Cities I Would like to be Drunk in:
1. Prague
2. London (but not the dodgy end)
3. Berlin
4. Dublin
5. Stockholm

Top 5 Pop 80s Songs that I wish I were the keytar player for:
1. Tainted Love by Soft Cell
2. I Ran (So Far Away) by A Flock of Seagulls
3. Turning Japanese by the Vapors
4. Rock me Amadeus by Falco
5. Wake Me Up Before You Go Go by Wham!

Top 3 Wars that I would become a historian just to be interviewed on NOVA/PBS for:
1. World War II (seriously, what a worldwide, all encompassing war)
2. Mexican Revolution (Actually, I just thoroughly enjoy saying Emiliano Zapata's name.)
3. World War I (for it lead to WWII)

Top 3 Porn Star Names I'd be Proud to go By:
1. Shaft
2. Missy Shocks
3. Bella Trix

Top 3 Presidents I'd Take a Bullet for:
1. Andrew Jackson (he attacked his assassin with his cane and had to be held back by his presidential aide, if that doesn't scream kickass, I don't know what does)
2. Jed Bartlett (He was president for 2 terms according to Aaron Sorkin, works for me.)
3. Teddy Roosevelt (I'll be honest, it's the mustache)

Top 3 Things I'd Say if I were a 100-foot robot:
1. Grrr! Arrrrgh! Destroy!
2. IGNORE ME! (explanation found here)
3. Wow. They really do look like ants from this height.

Top 5 Reasons Supervillian are Awesome time infinity PLUS one:
1. Henchmen. It's practically having 24 hour room service no matter where you are.
2. That smirk they get when they believe they're going to win/just had an ingenious and diabolical thought or plan.
3. The sheer amount of money that gets wasted on schemes.
4. Scheming is your day job.
5. It's okay to be mean. (A life long goal that I wish to sate.)

The times are a'changing

I should have just squandered the rest of my funds on a ticket to the tropics and then sit side by side with you as we drink to the setting sun. Yes, that should have been the bombass thing to do. But now we dwell on 2 vacation weeks a year and things feel peculiarly smaller. Won't you still take walks with me on an all night avenue? And we could stare at all the neons signs begging for our patronage? Because I don't want to be caught helplessly in a life I've become bored of.

I think I can I think I can I think I will...

Cammie doesn't live here anymore

What ever happened to the me that could stay awake until sunrise? What ever happened to the me that would wake up around noon to eat breakfast? She got a full-time job and puts in too much overtime. Granted, I love what I do. (Sort of.) But I meet the dumbest and most peculiar people working for Planned Parenthood. (Yes, I work for an organization that gives birth control to anyone eligible and over the age of 12. It's the same organization known for performing abortions though I have very little involvement in the procedures aside from clerical duties. But let it also be known PP advises safe sex, STD prevention, and provides sexual health education/counseling because we know you all are screwing like rabbits so you might as well be prepared and informed.)

But some of the time, and these are rare cases, I wonder what the hell is happening to our society that so many people can be misinformed. Case in point? Informing a patient that s/he has chlamydia and their oh-so nonchalant response is: "Oh. Well, doesn't everybody get that at some point?" NO. I don't have chlamydia nor do I hope it happens to me at any point in my life. And if it ever does happen (GOD FORBID!!!), I will be the first in line and demanding I get the earliest appointment to get treatment. Unlike some other individuals who have made same day appointments and don't show up despite me telling them that they can come in any time of the day so long as they just show up.

If only there was a comprehensive sexual ed class provided for students. You know, one where the teacher doesn't tell her students that if you're gay, then you're going to hell. (True story.) Or a class where the instructor doesn't play videos about avalanches on days when he's absent. How that even relates to sexual education, I will never understand. And since I'm ranting, let's get a little parent involvement in this. It would probably be nice if you didn't tell your daughters that their periods are a sign of sin because this is not the 1970s and you are not the mother of Carrie. It would also be nice if you didn't call to yell at me because your daughter has birth control pills. So not my fault your kid's caving into her carnal desires. But this isn't an ideal world because the government's still run by religion despite the existence of a constitutional amendment against that. But what do I know? I'm just some girl with a 9-5 job who doesn't mark the sunrise as time for bed anymore.

Spring awakening

"and the wildflowers that grow beside the tracks
wobble wildly on their little stems,
then gradually grow still and stand
motherless and vertical in the middle of everything."

Ground me.

With all the time that has passed, I've been doing what everyone else has: living. I've been moving forward with progression and I'm trying to be okay with all the changes in my life. I've been doing what you all have been doing: making mistakes, growing up into an "adult," and realizing that everything is just perspective. A patient brought me flowers yesterday: a dozen yellow roses. All I did for her shouldn't have amounted to such compliments: I told her that she would be okay, that shit happens, etc etc etc. But perspective, right? Maybe she found some comfort in those words.

I've been tired of these changes too and it's worse when they're happening physically as I can watch the metamorphosis. Good or bad? Into a butterfly or a creature of Kafka's imagination? I don't know.

Unsettling, full of doubt, and restless.

So put me back in to the ground and let me sleep until after spring. April showers. May flowers. June gloom. Wake me up then so I can see where the earth has transformed and let me accept everything after that happens.

Til then...

Dear B,
We're waiting for you with some excitement, some fright, some anxiety, and some preparedness. And when you come, just know that we were waiting in sheer anticipation for what you will bring to our lives. And we'll be okay, I know it, because you will be the change for us. Good or bad? It's all up to you, kiddo.
See you soon and love always,
C

O Demise!

There's something wrong with my laptop and now I can't access the internet (but I do when I'm at work, and hence this post). My lappy lap was plague by THEBLUESCREENOFDEATH. And yes, it hurt so much that it's one word to me. Oh lappy, how I miss your internet abilities.

The difference in the shades

I was one cracked out kid growing up. Most people had imaginary best friends growing up. I had an imaginary mortal enemy. Her name was Tiffany Cool and to this, I still consider her my nemesis. Wow. I guess paranoia stems from the womb, or it did so in my case.

Space Oddity?

I had a very odd dream last night that included a newspaper stating false rumors about me and a friend (supposedly we were dating?), a school that didn't allow my friend Justin to draw, my mutiny against said school, destruction of a super computer by me, magic a la Harry Potter (we all had wands!), and a class that thought I was dumb until I told them I was doing my residency. It was very odd, very complicated, and very detailed. To say the least.

Clothes make the man

I bought hospital scrubs for my job today. I feel important. But I think my sisters are tired of me running around the house shouting, "Nurse! Where is my scapel?"

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?