telescopic poems

Why I Am Here.

2009-04-16T17:22:00.000-07:00

I am not going to lie, I am a blog hopper. I hopped from Xanga to other Xanga to Blogger to Other Blogger to Wordpress and back and forth again.

Point is, I am here to follow other people's blogs, which hopefully will just be emailed to me because honestly, I haven't been on here in almost a year.

If you want to find me, come to pompandceremony.wordpress.com.

Wordpress is a bitch to navigate, but alas, there is no one there that reads anything write so therefore, it's all candy. (gravy?)

And that's all really.

there was inevitably a lot i wanted to say.

2008-07-01T23:09:00.000-07:00

i gave up on capitols for now, i think it was intimidating me into writing something more serious than i know i ought.

since my week in washington i've come to the conclusion that not only have i become a horrible flyer, but i have the motion-sickness tolerance of a 58 year old woman. to add to that, eating and drinking in efforts to pass out during the flight has drawn nothing but blanks and i enjoy looking at overpriced jewelry in airport shops.

in other news, listening to music on the plane is my only cure but that leads me into worrisome thoughts like, "if i made a mix tape and it was the last proof of my life, which songs would i pick?" followed by, "well, how many minutes can the cd be?" it also leads my brain into horribly tragic thoughts. i think i'm still waiting for something to change, knowing full well that i am the only one that can rightfully change things. i am deathly afraid of change you know, that has always and will always be the truth.

in worse news, we found out in washington that stephen cannot come to japan with me. i think more than being terribly sad, i am incredibly worried of what i will become without him. being alone has always been productive for me, but i often lose hope and burrow myself in that feeling. by that i mean that i have to abandon all hope. knowing that he will not be with me there, i must abandon hope for a quasi-normal life or relationship. being cross-continental, i will have to do the unthinkable and adapt to a lightly intertwined life, intermittent contact, and separate lives. being so caught up as we are now... this will be an ultimate test.

sometimes i can only listen to copeland, because even though they were only great in 2005, often it is just the thing i need.

there cannot be a close second.

always a bang, never a whimper.

2008-06-16T00:05:00.000-07:00

sometimes i am so fucking irritated with the way that the world works. the people inside of it are so worried about presenting themselves to others that they forget what they're really talking about and who they really are.

i read what people write and i'm really just angry. angry that people read it, and angry that most writers are the most two-faced of all.

fuck the internet.

To Remember I Always Write For Myself.

2008-06-09T23:55:00.000-07:00

I haven't been inclined to post lately for a number of reasons. I haven't had anything to say to myself, about myself, or about things changing. Moving out of my apartment was seriously more difficult than I thought; mold infestation, feisty Berkeley landlords and absent roommates brandish a whole set of unexpected problems. I am proud of myself though because I got an A- on my Eliot thesis, which was probably the only grade I ever cared about in my college career. But I have really been at a loss for words. I've been doing dorky things, like reading ridiculously addicting pre-teen/adolescent book series about vampires/werewolves/love-saga, you know, the Twilight Series. I think I wish I were a vampire. Or that a vampire was in love with me. (eternity? what?)

I am very happy. Sometimes I think that material things make up a home, which is why I have a panoply of dishware and glasses, but I am just very much at home. I think I am very nervous to go to LA, which is why I have been putting it off a bit. More so I have found that I am really just scared to leave my life in the Bay. I have developed a strong and stubborn love for it, for the people and for the lifestyle. Playing pool at dives, tagging along into the spoken word crowd, talking about nothing meaning everything, and late night bonfires, sleeping on floors. Sometimes I think that I am so particular about making friends that it's a bad habit I have to break. A salesgirl at my favorite store asked me to play board games with her and her boyfriend and for some reason a part of me froze up, wondering if I would let her down, never call her, or flake at the last minute. What is it about the friends that you already have. Getting to know the new people who could be your friends becomes irrelevant and miscellaneous when you find yourself bound to something you already know and love. This doesn't sound like me, but it's a bond that is hard to break.

I also worry, very much so, about my roots. I worry that there will not be enough time, enough pieces of pie for everyone to have a slice. Time is so much of the essence, especially now, and I do not want to disappoint anyone, especially my family.

I am supposed to leave at 5 am. I have not packed or slept. I'm in a haze, and I feel addicted to my own life.

Fundamentals.

2008-05-21T18:05:00.000-07:00

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.
- T.S.E.

I can't seem to break him down, this man of many masks. I know I live and breathe modernist culture, theory at that, but I think some part of me revolts against this idea of impersonality as well. While Eliot sheds the complications of personal and emotional topics, his analytical and allusive poetic figuration just lead me around in circles.

He claims that metaphysical poets do just what he does in "Tradition and the Individual Talent," but his poetry is so interlaced and threaded with emotional, sexual language. All of this just drips with desire and emptiness, but this lack of fulfillment... isn't this just proof that he is in the utmost personal?!

I have only a few hours and stack of empty pages...

A bracelet of bright hair about the bone...

-S.

A Sick and Slow Torture.

2008-05-16T16:03:00.001-07:00

2 down.
1 tonight.

Tonight's Post Final schedule:
-clean for entire family arrival
-study for Monday Milton-Death final
-sleep?

Saturday schedule:
-pick up female family at airport
-go wedding shopping all day for sister
-eat very expensive steak dinner
-study? sometime?

Sunday schedule:
-prepare for family scrutiny
-appear presentable, fix half bitten nails, shave my legs? what?
-graduate college
-prepare for large dinner party
-try not to worry about impending Milton final
-say goodbye

Monday schedule:
-drive female family back to airport very early
-Milton final of death and failure
-go to Office Hours for my senior thesis
-work
-die

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday
Work, Work, Work

Fit in 20 page paper somewhere

Thursday schedule:
-type with a fury to finish
-finally and completely done with college.

Pack and move out of apartment within a week.

QED.

It Has Come Down to This Very Moment.

2008-05-14T01:52:00.000-07:00

The culmination of four years of overpriced higher education is finally coming down to the last threads. Of course I am here, up late, trying to start on my Milton paper- the class I have put off until the very last possible semester. It's strange to know that kids that are 19 years old have better grades than me, but I guess being 22 and working at a restaurant doesn't really make me on higher ground. I feel like the end of college, the graduation and celebration part are so anticlimactic and overrated. And this I have come to realize today, when I skipped out on going to Commencement Convocation (the ceremony in which all graduating seniors can walk, instead of a smaller, departmental ceremony) so I could work at my $14/hr job, instead of doing homework and instead of doing graduatory obligatory things. Things like finals and work and papers and deadlines are getting in the way and I guess I have come to face the fact that this is how life really is. Or is going to be. The living life part takes over the things-to-mark-life-is-passing part and wearing a gown and tassle is really meant to make myself feel accomplished for procrastinating on 80% of my university work thus far. I guess I am just wallowing in this pool called "The End" and I'm slowly wading towards shore- which constitutes a 9-5, low pay, hard work kind of job.

To a point, I don't think I want to go to law school or get my masters or a phD when I can't even get around to tying the knots of regular, four year college. I would love a nicely wrapped box of chocolates that read every future fortune, but I have instead a bag of mixed nuts that aren't even de-shelled. My professor was talking about how English majors are screwed but also have it good because there is no right and no wrong; we live in this debatable space called analysis-based-criticism. Here, we thrive upon the grey matter and inevitably aren't forced to make the choices that people with real jobs must make. I guess... it would be nice to have a predictable theorum. It would be so nice to just say motherfucking QED. I guess I'm just griping about the fact that real life impends, doom descends.

In terms of this Milton paper, it really is my fault I'm so screwed because every semester I choose 2 classes (out of the 4) that I really love. The others however get thrown out with the daily junkmail and this is one of those I-haven't-checked-the-mail-for-13-weeks kind of thing. I guess you can't just read 2,000 pages of this 17th century bullshit in a matter of hours. Ohhhhh hell.

Anyway, I'll probably end up falling asleep in a few minutes. But this was fun.

Over the rainbow,
S.

Post script:
I realized I say "I guess..." almost constantly. What in the world.

I Guess Much Hasn't Changed.

2008-05-05T01:35:00.000-07:00

Except that I re-instated Firefox as my default browser and it feels like 2005 again!

I am still here, procrastinating my paper that is due tomorrow and I still feel like that young girl with so much to learn. It's coming down to my last week of college and I really thought I would feel differently about it.

Perhaps get teary or applaud with false fascination on the last day of lecture, you know, the kind that makes you feel priviledged for learning the professor. I guess, I know I cheated myself. And perhaps it's something I will regret, or maybe not. It's a win-debated loss sort of situation.

Anyways, I cut my hair off. I have been trying to grow it out again (since 2005 coincidentally) and after all my (im)patient yearning, I cut it off again. Aaaand, I look like a 10 year old girl. Congrats me.

By the by, I just watched Juno for the first time and have tons to say on it. I cried more than I laughed and... maybe Juno is every girls' hero.

Back to chaos theory in Tom Stoppard...

-S.

I Guess I've Just Been Riding On a Wind

2008-05-01T23:06:00.000-07:00

I've been floating back and forth but have found enough words to write between the spaces.

I'm trying out a new hipster website- muxtape.com. Even though I completely oppose the invisibility of the online music sharing, muxtape is laid out in a cool, analog, cassette tape kind of way that brings me back to the 90's and MC Hammer. I haven't uploaded anything on mine yet, http://stringbean.muxtape.com/, but I hope to start making mixes somehow and sending the link to people.

My thesis has been coming along more, ever since my sincere involvement with Lyndall Gordon (whom I sort of have a zealous admiration for, being as she is a woman and all). Even still I'm pretty sure my argument will be a stretch since you can always project certain themes into poetry, once you know you're looking for them. Eliot is the ghostliest figure of them all and I often feel like I am running around in circles.

On a different wind, I am going to try "Bikram Yoga" tomorrow with Crystal. It's a type of hot-box yoga, in other words yoga in a 100-degree heated room. I've been worried more about (not my weight but) my health lately. I have been losing circulation in my hands on a few nights, leaving everything feeling tingly and numb. Sometimes I shake so much that I drop everything I'm working with. It sounds worse than it feels but I know it must be coming from somewhere bad. Anyway, I'm hoping that exercise and less carbohydrates will be a start. Along the same lines of taking-advantage-of-my-resources-in-the-Bay, I've started running along Frontage Road. Frontage Rd is (in my opinion) the most beautiful road in all of the Bay Area; it runs along the water facing San Francisco, the closest you can get to the water and the view of the city. Anyway, I really hope the Bikram Yoga catches on with me.

I've spent the entire day reading on Eliot and .... I want to lounge around with some wine and watch girly tv shows. Ha!

-S.

Ps.
Happy May.

World's F'ing Largest Library

2008-04-30T12:27:00.001-07:00

Considering I go to Berkeley (I guess I do feel some sort of snotty pride in the name) and my time is running out, I guess I'm starting to feel some sort of guilt for not taking advantage of the 10 billion resources at my school. It's harder to maneuver through the depths of winding stacks in the library when Berkeley has one of the largest (and most fucking complicated) annexed underground systems of all time. Sure, you can chat with a librarian online, but when one can't even find the circulation desk--- I am swimming in a shit ton of books with no direction and no way out! Help! I'm in a booked nutshell!

So all of this comes about because I'm finally starting research for my senior thesis. It's getting too stressful, winding down to May, so I have resolved to work 15 hour days at the restaurant instead of being a knowledgable, library-navigating UC Berkeley student. Plus, it really does grind my gears when other snooty academics are bragging about their full ride to Harvard Law and explain the dewey decimal system. Fuck, man.

I've also resolved (in the last 45 minutes) to write on the irony and fission of T.S. Eliot the Critic and his theory of impersonality. That all sounds like jib but I'm trying to check out six books on the aesthetics of something or other (alright, The Aesthetics of Impersonality; Eliot and the Philosophy of Criticism; Eliot and Prejudice; Eliot as Editor; Eliot: A Voice Decanting; Eliot's New Life-solely for the fact that Lyndall Gordon wrote it.) I'm just really hoping the library doesn't have some sort of 3 books only rule, like when you're trying on clothes at Forever 21and there are 10 bajillion girls, you're sweating, and you have five too many hangers. Something like that.

I think I'm going to explain more about my thesis on this blog, for the mere sake of not losing my sanity and because I hope my other English nerds (ie: Dani Ray) can give me guiding pointers when I start to lose my self come page nineteen. I'm not sure I've successfully written a paper of such length (20pgs) and I fear that if I already lose my head come page six, I'm in a heap of editing trouble. I should really start believing in the whole marinate-your-paper-and-it-tastes-better rule. Humbug. (Note to self: Try not to bullshit. T.S. Eliot is your one true love.)

Reference:

Sexy- needless to say.

Anyways, now that I have wasted precious time clicking away in this silence, I'm getting stared down by the other asian kids. Over and away, off to the mystery circulation desk...

Hope.

2008-04-25T11:57:00.000-07:00

It is so nice to have you here.

You know, hope is solely based on choice. And I think that makes it so much more meaningful.

I'm in the process of running around and getting FBI checks, IRS forms, etc, etc, in order to move to Japan. This is all so complicated and I really feel like a significant human being. I will be put into AFIS (I'm just guessing that's how it's spelled since I watch so much CSI) and the IRS will more significantly track me down if I commit tax fraud. Anyway, I'm starting to develop spring allergies, a plague I have skillfully and genetically escaped for the past twenty-odd years, but the spring blooms have tracked me down and I am one of those snuffy nosed cartoons from allergen commercials.

In other news, my sister is officially planning her wedding at Westlake Inn and I am dying, halfway from jealousy halfway from fear that I will be the worst maid of honor everrr. Not only does the female instinct escape me, but I have never so much as been to an Americanized wedding, nor been a part of one. (Even though I was the most sought out 5-year-old flower girl)

I've decided to start reading more Bret Easton Ellis; of course everyone knows he wrote American Psycho, but his other works are supposedly much more complex. I've taken up The Informers, solely for the fact that it revolves around the superficiality of Los Angeles, a topic which will intrigue my player-hating heart forever.

Also, I've become thoroughly engrossed in White Teeth by Zadie Smith, a book that has evoked such rare emotion me, a feeling I haven't felt since reading A Heartbreaking Work. Needless to say, I've found the second milestone of writerly admiration. Meaning, if I could ever write, this is exactly what I would write.

This happens to be all over the place, but the other day I finally broke another technological rule that I have set for myself. Asides from buying music online, which I broke earlier this year (see: circa November 2007), but I broke down and bought a ringtone for my cell phone. You would think for $2.49, they let you have a 2 second glimpse of what you're buying. Regardless of that logical thought, I think that is partly their way of ripping you off. So I decided since I am a novice at this internet-phone-music shit to keep it safe and buy a song that is unmistakably good, one that you can't even ruin with technology. Naturally, I chose Wilco, but they didn't have any Wilco (which I refuse to believe). So I seconded for "Strange Times" by the Black Keys, since they are the first great rock band to come out of our day and age. I can't believe I'm saying this, but yes- AT&T has fucked up the Black Keys. I'm not so sure how they did, but ...I wasted $2.49 (and some internet surcharges) for a ringtone that literally SCARES me. ... I wish they still had "Spooky." You know which ring tone I'm talking about.

Off to run to the city and then to school and then to work and then to sleep.
My life in a nutshell.
How did I get into this nutshell?
Austin Powers 1 is still the best, I don't care what you say.

-S.

Forget it.

2008-04-20T01:36:00.000-07:00

I was going to go on about how I am essentially afraid of becoming my mother, in terms of marriage.

I guess the only things that you can rely on is hope.

And that the best thing you can do is try.

And that answers, or the search of, will never do it justice.

Sort of like blind faith.

I just want to be sure, that's all.

Google Is Too Smart For Me.

2008-04-12T01:51:00.000-07:00

I edited a bunch of old-skittish posts from back in December, thinking that because I edited them now (5 months later) they would appear at the top of the screen.

Silly me, Google is going to take over Life.

I'm waiting for the day when i google myself, it'll show me watching me from a birds-eye point of view...

Scatter brains.

2008-04-09T11:39:00.000-07:00

It's probably actually "scatter brained," but non-whites don't really know if it's:
a.) scatter-brained
b.) scatterbrained
c.) scatter brained

These are the small things that count.

I remembered today, in all my collective reminiscing, that I have three blogs. I used to be ashamed of what I wrote. It's true, ashamed. Mainly because, who is used to the idea of shouting out the things that are meant to be whispered? I suppose I am just aware that the things I write/wrote/thought/felt were of the most absolute selfish, fleeting and childish of things. (ie: boys, love, cry, cry, cry, self pity, et cetera) Maybe I've grown out of it, but not quite yet. I stuck in this circle of "I write for myself" slash "Everyone else fuck off" mentality, but who really gives a shit anyway. Blogging itself is a big fat joke. (trying to avoid I-hate-hipster-scum tangent) I pretend like I don't care, but I'm the one running off and privating everything in life. Anyway, I want to combine these 3 blogs, but I am confronted by three large problems.

1.) The first blog I ever had was started in 2003. That was five years ago. And herein lies a fork in the road. Not only are there literally thousands of ridiculous high school angst posts, but the name of the blog is absolutely cringe-worthy. yes, shannapalooza1. In attempts to defend my honor, let me just throw out that this was before the whole "PALOOZA" trend caught on, and yes, my friends used to call me that. We used to have "palooza" parties, in which to devirginize people that had never drank alcohol before. I know, it sounds fratty and horrific, but it was nice and heartfelt at the time. No daterape, no barfing. Anyway, it would be ideal to just... keep blogging there. But there are countless skeletons in the closet, as well as proof of shallow immaturity. Can't we all just edit that stuff out.

2.) Then there's the secret-secret blog. Which I started in 2005, initially to get away from the familiarity of my readers. I really never updated there, but when I did, something had most definitely gone awry. Embarassing attempts at self-inferior poetry, a stab at more mature musing on relationships. All failures indeed. In fact, I don't even want to reveal the link. It is even more embarrassing than the first.

3.) Then there is this. For all I know, I only know one soul who might look at this once in a while. And I don't know what to make of all these fragmented histories. I just don't know. Maybe I will keep updating individually. I really don't know.

I think I may keep a dream journal. I vigorously say that every few years, but I'm in one of those cycles again of having the most obscure dreams. (amazon river, indiana jones, zombies?) In other news, recipe book is also at the top of my list. And baking chef also. I do, indeed, want to become a dough ho.

Anyway, I'm trying not to lose wind.

Post Script:
It is really difficult to maintain a super cool blog without being grossly knowledgeable on HTML and super cool fonts. F in the A. I really just need to pay someone to make me appear cooler than I really am.

It Always Feels Like Forever.

2008-03-30T01:38:00.001-07:00

It's been a long while and time has been creeping slowly.

Leaving college is starting to give me the goosebumps but I suppose I'm throwing myself into building a new home. I even spent a hundred or so dollars at Williams-Sonoma, a totally white-ish store I would usually never buy from (save the 50% off sale...) Ugh, sale buying often makes me nauseous with self-guilt.

In random news, I often let myself indulge in my sadness. I don't know when it happens, but all of a sudden I find myself giving up on cleaning and sitting here in my green and pink striped apron. I am worried. I am always thinking [...]

Contrary to my Northern California self, today was the first time I went to "Great America." It was actually much better than everyone says it is; Top Gun from the front row is pretty much the most satisfying thing. I'm quite a roller coaster addict, but lately I've become strangely addicted to those $3 for 1 play type of games that awards you with strange stuffed animals you never want to throw away. Today I won a small teddy bear wearing a Warriors jersey with a headband and he actually resembles Stephen Jackson (my other man) in a weird, cute kind of way.

If I could send a letter, I'm not sure I would know what to say.
Worse, I think it would only make me feel incredibly lonely, and right now I only want to run from the feeling.
If I had an ounce of courage, I would.

Love is a fast song.

It's Not Enough.

2008-03-03T12:47:00.000-08:00

I am worrying about my Japan results. I am not the type to worry like this, but April seems but weeks away (Although everything could be weeks away). I should be more worried about my surgery. I have FINALLY scheduled my tonsillectomy, after coming down with tonsillitis about 5 times a year. It really came down to feeling smarter than the doctor, who often poorly swabbed my pussing tonsils and telling me that the strep throat culture came back "negative," calling me back 3 days later and apologizing. Something about Kaiser is always unsettling in that respect.

This, however, is not supposed to be any sort of complicated surgery but the word itself is truly unsettling. The first and last surgery I had was for my knee and Lord knows, the recovery for that surgery was probably the most painful and unrelenting process I have ever endured. I don't fare well with anesthetics and the post-wake-up throw up is not the best way to say "Oh look, I survived!" Hm.

In other news, my roommate Crystal knows me so well. Living with her has been such a growing process and I really love her dearly. We are naked poop machines and I don't care who knows it. I think the separation between college roommates will be a definite challenge, but not in the way normal people think about it. We were never normal to begin with and our circumstances have always defined our lives, but there is something so much more than on the surface. It would be a shame not to keep up with her jet-setting future life. But to the point, she got me personalized stationary from Papyrus, in green cursive print on thick creme stock paper. My affair with type, paper, print, stationary, ink and the Postal Service grows more scandalous by the day. I have even invested in a wax seal stamp. It's a shame that regular mail is disregarded nowadays. It is a real loss for the corresponding aspect of our past.

Anyways this is merely postponing going to class. Until next time.

I Guess I Missed the Que.

2008-02-25T13:34:00.000-08:00

So it has turned to 2008 and I have yet to post something of substance. I have been having a series of ridiculous dreams again. There are certain, seemingly random, phases in my life when I dream constantly, vividly, and it is so tiresome. It is really tedious actually, some people tell me they wish they could remember their dreams, but in actuality- I am suffocated in a trance-like sleep that supresses every part of my body.

I say this now because every dream I've had in the last week has been odious to say the least. It's not that they are nightmares, but there is something lurking that never surfaces. I'm not one to make much of this feeling, but it leaves me robbed of any sense of security. The feeling of waking up to this has leaked into the rest of my day, and today I carry it with me, heavily.

----------------------

I also admit that something has been tugging at me lately. Deja vu or something of the sort. I will (in a cliche) openly admit that there are only a few people in my life that I truly treasure. Or treasured. Sacrifice always gets in the way. My dad always told me that you can be good at a lot of things. But you want to be the best at one. You can't have it all. In retrospect, I realize now that I never wanted to give those people up, but I was faced with the truest form of sacrifice. You lose some to win some. You can't have both. Sometimes I think of the memory of them as if they were never to exist in the present. This is the single instance of the sharpest and deepest regret that I feel. If I had felt it then, things might be different. This is what I tell myself anyway.

I find myself now on a ferris wheel. And there are only two seats. The person next to you never wants a big party, when all they want to do is hold hands.

Anyway this is all just from purgatory.

Slow Jams Torment Me.

2007-12-30T02:09:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I embarrassingly listen to slow jams. It kind of makes me feel better about my life, in a sick, twisted, I-must-be-out-of-my-mind kind of way. I think it brings me back to a time in my life when I was 11 years old, idolizing my cousin John, listening to Notorious BIG, and watching baseball all day long.

I am feeling very empty lately. Lonely? Both. I know this feeling will end, but it has been so intense lately. I'm packing up my things and don't even feel like I've been home long enough to get that settling feeling. It's not that I miss my friends too terribly, I have realized that my family comes first, but it is something else. Sometimes I fear that my friends, that live so far from me, will leave me in a whirlwind of new lives and new loves and fantastic six figure salaries and dress suits. I know this must come off as entirely too needy or insecure, but it is my reality. I think that is what happens in LA. I'm not too sure (I've started to label things as "LA" and this disturbs me as well), but it scares me nonetheless and makes me listen to slow jams on repeat into late hours of the night, waiting for laundry to dry.

There is a time and a place where picking up phone calls becomes inconvenient, sending cards is too troublesome, an email is even insufficient, where do we all lose ourselves? My best friend Matt and I emailed each other for 8 years. Since the seventh grade, despite the fact that we saw each other at school every day and every weekend. After 10 years, I haven't found the time to see him on trips home. I haven't been able to keep up with the emailing. It's not just him. I fear this how we may get, after girlfriends and boyfriends become fiancees. When jobs become careers. And goals become realities. It's not that we live down the street anymore or see each other at the same spots on the weekends... it is that we all have separate lives. Separate friends. I always seem to have these pitfalls and moments of crises when I think that everything I know is crumbling around me, leaving me behind alone. I can admit that this is completely coming from the fact that my family is falling further and further apart and I have no idea what to do or how to feel about it. The feeling of being unable to talk to anyone about it, on a relatable level, torments me with pains I thought my parents could never inflict. I am just so unbearably inept and ill-equipped to deal with the situation. Wide-eyed and frothy at the mouth.

When my parents go to court and they subpoena me to stand trial, what am I going to say? That I love being able to talk to my father, but my mother is the one that did things right? That my sister is fair in hating my dad, but that she doesn't understand his code language for I-do-this-to-show-you-I-care? That my father's sister sends me money, but not my sister? That I actually know nothing about anything except that this is my family and they are tearing at each other for a few nickels and dimes and I-told-you-so's? And this is precisely why I work 45 hour weeks, on top of school, on top of another job, so that I have no part in anything. I won't throw another stick on this burning pile of shit.

I really fucking hate being the youngest. Because in all honesty, you really are everyone's baby.

Anyway, I'm packing and have no idea where to put anything.

"Just when I thought that my vista was golden in hue, 1,000 umbrellas opened to spoil the view..."

I'm Filing an Official Complaint.

2007-12-18T00:06:00.000-08:00

I found this edit-of-a-post from back in December and I found it pretty funny:

In the month of December, I have had TWO DAYS off of work. My body is failing me.

In my initial attempts to distract myself, I have found that I am utterly lonely.

I have no desire or energy to pursue anything else. And I really just want someone warm to fall asleep with.

On a sidenote, not only am I lonely but I fear I'm falling into moody, irregular patterns.

If I evolve into a man-eating, she-devil succubus, just remember that this was my official cry for help.

_________________________________________

Thank God that is over. !!!! Five exclamations for that. I think I'm going to post the others from the Rejected Collection.

Wrinkled Sheets in an Empty Bed.

2007-12-14T00:40:00.000-08:00

Despite my desperate need to, I can't seem to fall asleep.

I lay down and my mind is a canvas of colorful, cluttered thoughts and memories. I imagine miniature fingers of children playing cat's cradle. Hands that smell of garlic and vinaigrette. A brush on the neck that is the closest human contact you've had in weeks. A little black book hidden in an old box of pictures and paperclips you never used. At 1 am, these should be the last things on my mind...

Taut
... the strings from miniature fingers
Intersecting and overlapping, neon
Fading colors from a spool of yarn.

The carefree days of the same taut
That nests in your lower back,
Heavy with the memories of round and oval shapes
Stacked in the appropriate corners of your mind.

Or could it be?
Taught
Like the heavy books you failed to catch
In the showers that flooded your town
That swept away every friend you used to know.

Cat's cradle was never meant to be a children's game.

I am praying to God that everything works out next semester.
It gives me more stress thinking about it, than doing something about it.

I am an insane person.

2007-12-12T23:44:00.000-08:00

Here's another from December. There might be a trend forming here. It's funny now, but I guess losing-your-shit-over-everything tends to be kind of aggravating:

______________________________________

The really fucked thing about working for a corporation that doesn't give a shit about the people is that I am getting royally screwed out of overtime.

I am working a 50 hours week- for 9 days straight- and feel like a completely insane person.

Not only am I in the middle of Finals Week, but I am pretty much losing my shit over everything.

______________________________________

(post script: maybe I should publish these somehow, like how Pixar makes short films. putting that in my genius box.)

I Can't Believe Someone Will Judge Me By This.

2007-12-01T11:38:00.000-08:00

The funny thing about graduating from a university is that people expect you to have found all the answers. The intermittent four years of college, while personally challenging and introspective, is meant to guide the rest of your life and eventually your career. But after these tenuous four years, I can honestly admit that my curiosity has yet to be satisfied.
In my experience, the starkest moments of personal growth come from those of shock, whether it is culture shock or the throes of complete independence. Although it was just up the state, moving to Berkeley, California instigated my curiosity and desire to throw myself at the mercy of these pivotal experiences. Getting purposely lost on side streets and reading the incomprehensible bus maps, though often frustrating, filled me with a deep sense of accomplishment after I conquered the town. I have found that the beauty of this experience is both rewarding in visible and invisible ways and it seems that I am now in search of my next challenge.
Before I had heard of JET, I grew a deep respect and fascination for Japanese culture and art. A culture rooted in very old traditions, yet also the vanguard of modern technology, this fusion of the old and new is a world that I desperately want to explore. After finding JET, I realized the opportunity to combine my life experience with that of Japan was a once in a lifetime chance. Being an ALT, I would very effectively be able to connect my experience in UC Berkeley’s Project S.M.I.LE. with the ALT experience in the classroom. Project S.M.I.L.E. (Spreading Multiculturalism and Inspiring Leadership in Education ☺) allowed me to mentor a middle school student on a very personal level. Not only did we meet bi-weekly in a classroom setting, but I was also able to tutor my mentee in different school subjects, as well as build on a role model relationship. By incorporating fun group events (such as community service projects and going to basketball games), my mentee, Celeste, and I were able to interact with a larger group of students, while emphasizing the value of future education. Additionally, many of these students in the S.M.I.L.E. program were of different ethnic backgrounds and this contact allowed all the mentors and mentees to learn from each other’s experiences. In this sense, my close involvement with Project S.M.I.L.E. will be very rewarding as an ALT.
On the other hand, my work experience outside of the classroom also yields many traits that are relevant to being an ALT. Working as a restaurant server-trainer and manager, the realm of customer service and employee training has taught me the importance of patience, humor and humility. While training employees and managers, I realized that training techniques differ with each person, depending on how they learn and memorize. Laughter proved to be the glue for success and optimism aided in flexibility for learning growth. Attitude and humility have proved to be important tools in training my employees and by being able to shift and be receptive to different learning methods and teaching techniques, I believe these skills will effectively help me connect with the students in Japan.
With high hopes for the next year, I aspire to encounter Japan with an open and eager mind. The process of moving to a foreign country is equally daunting as it is exciting, and I am confident that the process of living and interacting with the Japanese will endow me with a new sense of culture and tradition. While I hope to learn from them, my laughter and bright sense of optimism is a mark I hope to leave on the students. In addition, my American background and study of America media are both a part of my past and present that I am eager to share with the Japanese community. While I myself am a second-generation Asian, I hope to surprise a few people at how prevalent American culture has been in life and how I aspire to gain a broader view and sense of Eastern culture.

Post Script.

2007-11-27T01:41:00.000-08:00

It is painfully hard to admit that there are many things in the Bay that make me uncomfortable with who I am.

It's just that... when you grow up in the Bay, do you compare everything else to it?

Oakland is so desperately interesting.
I say that with both spite and truth.

I spend many sleepless nights on the Internet searching for the answers.
Most times, I realize that it makes me hate what I know I like.

Like mash ups and music that makes me dance.

It's like art school. Everyone is trying to be so fucking cool, except when you know you are cool, you begin to hate yourself for selling out.

What the fuck.
This is like talking about high school like it only hypothetically happened.

What Happens After.

2007-11-27T01:03:00.000-08:00

I have become oversaturated with my life in the Bay.
My life is excess.

So I took a twelve day vacation. It was beautiful. Arizona in the winter. There are certain things about southern california that I have begun to love long after I have left it. Even I have surprised myself.

Already, I have fallen back into my bad habits. (staying up too late doing unproductive things, ie: this) I fear that when I burrow into one place for too long, I cannot escape myself and the life I have built. I am starting to feel that wear in my current life and my goals are falling further and further away from myself.

I had to sit in the middle seat on the plane today. I never sit in the middle. There is something so uncomforting about brushing shoulders with someone for longer than a few seconds. I had to eventually place my head on the tray table and you know that is dirtier than a hotel bed. The girl on my left was studying a treatment packet from Kaiser, my guess is that she wants to become one of those nurse practitioners. The larger lady on my right was reading a case briefing that had large chunks of courtroom dialogue about car valves or something equally as dense. I wondered what could possess me to have drive again. I lack any drive. I am starting to do things out of pure necessity and that is scary.

I hope that when he returns, I can focus, instead of looking 800 miles off.

And to cheer...

Paper Money.

2007-11-13T13:39:00.000-08:00

I am stubborn. But to be honesy, since October, my mind has been a total mess. I am not one to worry or stress, but my mind and focus has been sprawling all over the place. A lot of it has to do with finances (or lackthereof) and the fact that the finances are just not cutting it lately. The pressure of a million things is weighing me down; I need something to happen to lighten this load.

I've been working (considerably) more, spending (considerably) less, but still find myself fallen in a deep dark hole. My heart hangs heavy in the face of debt and work and stress and school and the future and I am starting to feel like I have to change something. Dad always said that you have to sacrifice something in order to gain something else. I never really believed that because I always thought I could handle everything, all the time. Isn't that the life in the fast lane. Whatever, no one liked the Eagles anyway.

I often daydream about having rich parents; college would be so carefree and I could focus on the important things at this time. My dad always says that I can ask him for money, but when you come from an immigrant family where independence and financial stability are proofs of success, you never want to give in to the fact that you need help. Call it stubborn, but it is what I need to prove to myself.

Even now, my mind is so scattered that I can't focus on one sentence. I am worrying about applying to Japan, deadlines, flying to Phoenix, taking 2 weeks off work, paying the bills, Christmas gifts, time for friends, money spent with friends, next school semester, graduation, letters of recommendation, Japan visa, managing at work, my next missed paycheck, finals...

I feel have nothing left to rely on.
Right now, I am not enough.

My body has scars to show the pains my hands (and feet) have wrought.
I am feeling weaker than ever.
Somehow religion is the first thing to pop into my mind.

Ballin'

2007-11-09T11:40:00.000-08:00

Can the NBA be the reason I fail school?

Please?

Utilities.

2007-11-08T00:27:00.000-08:00

Got this feeling that today doesn't like me
Or the air tastes like flowers and paint
There's a sink full of bottles and cutlery
And the car has got a list of complaints.

I just wish I were a toothbrush or a solder gun
Make me something somebody can use.

We can wish on the pop of a lightbulb
Or those photos lying yellow and curled loose in boxes
Near abandoned electronics
In the corners of the basements of the world

Guess our wishes don't do dishes
Or brake repairs
Make them something somebody could use

Got a face full of ominous weather
Smirking smile
Of a high pressure ridge
Got more faults than the state of California
And the heart is a badly built bridge...

Seems the most I have to offer
Doesn't offer much
Make it something somebody could use
Make this something somebody could use...

-The Weakerthans.

Frivolous.

2007-11-02T00:44:00.000-07:00

Take a mountain, make it into a mole.

"The friendship between a man and a woman which does not lead to marriage or desire for marriage may be a life long experience of the greatest value to themselves and to all their circle of acquaintance and of activity; but for this type of friendship both a rare man and a rare woman are needed. Perhaps it should be added that either the man or the woman thus deeply bound in lifelong friendship who seeks marriage must find a still rarer man or woman to wed, to make such a three cornered comradeship a permanent success."

If I Rode a Bicycle...

2007-10-17T16:50:00.000-07:00

The funny thing about being a Lit major is the fact that I am grossly attracted to portly men (with scraggly facial hair), who smoke cigarettes and look distressed. For the most part, older-looking men who look emotionally distraught, dress poorly, and carry little notepads in their back pockets make me laugh. Men who neither smile gratuitously or keep good personal hygiene for some reason intrigue me into thinking about the attraction in text and the mystery in poetry. It's not that you are attracted to this person, but the idea that you could be. What!

On that note, I will be frank. It is pretty funny dating a poet. I never thought I would fall into the "artist" category because of my self-destructive insecurity, but I am proud to admit that I think I have outgrown that shell. !!!! Patting myself on the back. Either that, or he is so g-d good at loving me that I am wild and free and naked. (Haha.) However, the thing about dating a poet is that you never really know what to say or what not to say. I will-precariously- go out on a limb and claim that I would prefer for him to write nothing and zero about our relationship, or me for that matter. But my inner-feminine, of course, admits that I want to read something beautiful and subtle that revolves around me. The trap with that, though, is that it totally taints and weighs you down... Yes, something utterly beautiful has been created in the memory or presence of you, but the thing is that it is there forever. That one moment, of whatever meticulously crawled out onto the page is there forever and stuck to your name, in his past and present. It's this fictional mark.

Although I am pretty sure I will marry him, I still worry about that. Besides, like on camera, some people are just not cut out to be the star. Anyway, I say all this now, but it's funny that the best material comes from the memory of your ex-lover. I try not to attach anything to it, except for the rhetoric and textuality of it all. In that sense, I liken myself to the intellectual. (Scoff) In fact, this is what I love about him. That it does not bother me in the least. I think he is brilliant and beautiful, and the characters of which he writes are just that. Characters.

I have moments of faultering, is it jealousy? But I am not lover, I am reader. I love this multi-dimension. He is fascinating.

On a totally unrelated note, I decided that my moments of clarity (and by clarity, I mean "The Things I Want to Write About") come to me only when I am either walking or driving. Imagine if I rode a bicycle. That would be dangerously exciting.

I've been thinking about my family. I think the divorce needs to finalize soon. I am shifting between being anxious or angry about the Holidays approaching. It will be the first year. I know I resent my mother-for resenting me-for loving my father. But ,he is a good father to me. And I couldn't ask for more. The trick is finding someone who will love you, despite it all. I wish they knew that 26 years ago. They are hopeless, I am hopeful. I feel like a scavenger, benefiting upon the fall of my loved ones.

...

In the Face of Perpetual Neglect.

2007-10-11T01:57:00.000-07:00

I am hoping this will help me. I have been struggling with this Middle English paper for a good week now, and I have gotten nowhere. Not only am I completely lost, but the class is formatted to prevent any form of aid or admission of unintellectual thought. Not only do I lack biblical and Medieval knowledge, but the professor is a complete elitist - who picks her favorites and degrades students who are "wrong." This would perhaps be the only class I would have ever dropped in my college career. I am praying for a miracle, but something tells me I will graze by with a C or C-. Shit.

The new Radiohead album confuses me. Yes, confuses me. I think all Radiohead confuses me. Musically and figuratively. Radiohead sounds like what I imagine my body on drugs to be like, fused with rock and roll, and swimming in a pool all at once. Drugs and rock and roll together sound promising, but for some reason Radiohead ends up sounding like a bunch of mixed nonsense to me. Additionally, I think his voice is unsettling. It is scratchy and too high and what I imagine the Chinese Man on Sproul to be playing every day (that weird Chinese string scratcher). Perhaps the beauty is in the noncoherence, but I don't understand what the big fuss is all about. I'm hoping I'll find one song I like on "In Rainbows."

Sometimes I wish I could write nonsensical and unimportant newspaper clips for the rest of my life.

Stephen scared me the other day by bringing up the fact that I haven't committed to anything in the looming future, sans the Japan plan. He is right, I haven't. But I guess I don't see what is so wrong in that, yet. If I don't get into Japan, I will get an internship at a Publishing House, work for one year, then apply for Grad school. Where and for what? I have no clue, but I do not feel aply prepared to make such a decision at this point. I feel satisfied with a rough draft, but I know it's not enough when I'm bringing my heart and Stephen in tow.

I would enjoy going to the movies, sitting in the dark, sharing popcorn and holding hands.
I would also enjoy falling asleep next to the one I love and sleeping in the dark.
It is all so far.

I think if I ever wanted to smoke cigarettes, these last 2 weeks would have put me over the edge.
Thank God my boyfriend smokes for me.

The End As We Know It.

2007-10-03T20:12:00.000-07:00

Today, I reluctantly signed up to buy songs in iTunes.

I've been boycotting the electronic sale of music for some time now. There is something so lacking and unhuman, unartful about it all.

Today I bought my first .99 cent song.

I've convinced myself that it is only to buy remixes and eps that are generally unreleased on LP. I'm sure this decision will come back and bite me ass somehow.

Speaking of, I haven't moved my car off Derby St. for 3 days. I should really check if it's still there, with everything in tact.

Hmm.

I'm Late For Work.

2007-09-30T15:53:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure I could write my senior thesis on this.

Post 2 AM All Cleverness Leaves the Mind

2007-09-25T02:34:00.000-07:00

I have decided that reading other people's blogs only makes me feel worse about myself, as a result, I will resort to more self-gratification.

I went on a random drive to LA so that I could escape my empty bed and empty heart. I have nothing else to say, but that I thought about playlists/mixtapes for a good 5 hours and I have nothing to show for it. Sometimes I wonder if I should drive around talking into a tape recorder and wearing a long, khaki trenchcoat. But then I realized I would be John Cusack in pretty much any movie ever made. And he never wins the girl and only ends up looking like used up 80s emo leftovers. I've also been a ridiculous electronic kick lately, and that only makes me feel more like a piece of hipster scum.

Have I mentioned how I despise the eliticism of hipster scum and hipster music and swank ass shit?

Swank ass shit would be the perfect word to describe the following:
-LA bars/clubs
-Tight, skinny pants
-Electronic music
-DJ anybodies
-If you're really tatted up
-Anything that glows, probably neon

By calling it swank ass shit, that doesn't mean I particularly dislike it. But it does, in effect, make me feel like hipster scum. Which apparently is the new trend and my latest point of cynicism.

Haha, I do, in fact, laugh when I read these later. Just for clarification purposes. Especially after a long weekend and 12 hours of driving, and blogging at 3 am. QUA?

Anyway, songs that make me dance, super sexual:
-The Rapture, "Whoo! Alright-Yeah ... Uh Huh"
-MSTRKRFT, "Monster" remix - Metric
-Justice, "D.A.N.C.E. Justice Remix"
-Goldfrapp, "Ooh La La" and pretty much anything else
-Tiga, "You Gonna Want Me"
-Any song with a synth and clapping probably

I'm drained out. But I told myself I would do this more. We'll see how that goes with the next 5,000 days of work in a row. Oh and midterms. How do people remember to have hobbies in this world? I don't know. It boggles me.

Immunity.

2007-09-18T23:55:00.000-07:00

The last of this tragic collection of self-hate:

__________________________
I lack an immune system and it seems that my malnutritioned, overworked lifestyle is to blame. I calculated that I worked 12 days straight, with 3 doubles, and a full load of school. I thought my Asian work ethic would prevail, but apparently one lacks said "immune system." Lame. When you become sick for more than 10% of each month, people start thinking that you're faking in order to avoid them and their Chilean festive holidays. Not so, not so.

___________________________

End of spiral backwards.

Upon Finding Him Looking Back.

2007-09-07T00:39:00.000-07:00

My eyes look forward.
I have bore out the ones in the back.

I am desperately hopeful.

Life: When You Work Too Much and Have Become a Flaming Racist

2007-09-06T00:23:00.000-07:00

Serving tables six days a week doesn't really bother me, except for the fact that it is essentially prostitution (as well as sexually degrading) and I realize how blatantly racist I have become. Being smushed between West Oakland and South Berkeley doesn't help much either, but at least I get to see many a half white-half asian babies running around. It lifts my soul and gives me a dimes worth of hope in life that either a.) my kids will be that cute b.) my husband has a slight chance of being a goodlooking older man (nonexistant in Asian culture) or c.) they will not order 4 waters and 4 frutti di mares. And then tell me to keep the change. The whole twenty five cents.

Of course while I have the chance to make $33/hr, I am so touchy-bitchy about people degrading waitressing as an easy job. I mean, while I love The Office (esp. Dwight), he says, "Why should I tip someone for a job I could easily do?" You know, it really pisses me off when people think serving is so g-damn easy.

Things People Should Remember While Dining Out:
1.) READ the menu. When the salad comes with CHEESE and you send it back because you're lactose intolerant, I'm really thinking, wowwww if you knew how to read English, this wouldn't be a problem. Then you'll leave me a 10% tip because you had to wait 6 minutes before you could eat your salad with the rest of the table. You probably asked for dressing on the side too, because you're trying to develop an eating disorder.

2.) While there is such a thing as having a "good server," there is also the existance of a "good table." When you walk into the restaurant pre-pissed off because you didn't want to go out to dinner with the boring fucks that you're with, don't take it out on me when I prance over there with my smile and my tits. It's really not my fault, they're hereditary. Besides, you could always order more wine and try to get inconspiciously drunk like a smart person would do.

3.) The world does not stop to revolve around you. When I ask you "Do you need a few more minutes with the menu?" and you say no, that generally means that you will spit out what you want or at least point at it within the next ten seconds. Instead of making me stare at your indecisive face while you bite your nails and say "ummmm" for 5 minutes. In my head I'm really thinking of the 15 other things I should be doing and looking at the impatience faces around you. That is probably what pisses me off the most.

4.) People that pack their food to-go generally piss me off as a whole.

5.) As do, people that drink like camels. I want to really just pour a pitcher over your head and call it a night.

6.) Servers have other jobs too, like bringing plates from the back and refilling the ice and even scraping the gum off tables that you so politely left there. Get over the fact that you think it's easy. Try carrying 20 lbs. of plates from the back every twenty minutes, while walking 6.2 miles per shift. You tell me how your body feels after a night like that. Kind of how a hot prostitute should feel after a busy night in Oakland. BBC. Yeah, I said it.

7.) Just because you're a poor college student doesn't mean that I'm not a poor college student.

8.) When you're needy, it's not nice to raise your hand like you're in school. The teacher will call upon you when she's freaking ready.

9.) If we're out of something, do not demand that I go back into the kitchen and cook it for you. If I was going to, I would speak to you in hablo espanol and my name would be Humberto.

10.) Verbal tips are less than and unequal to monetary tips. Remember it well.

I should've written this 2 years ago. But I am successfully avoiding reading more of Ovid's Metamorpheses. Even though I am thoroughly enjoying it. I'm sure there will be a Part-Dos of I-Hate-My-Job after a night when I'm really feeling it from the fiery depths of my soul.

See you then.

There Are No Bright Lights to Enchant Me.

2007-08-29T02:01:00.000-07:00

I'm back at 2635 and wondering how it is I'll live my new life. I'm serious, this time.

I hadn't made a meaningful playlist for years and found myself with this random compilation of songs that are perfect for a post-shower, half-way nude sloth session. Really, in no particular order and with mostly the same group of artists, which is ironical for a quote-unquote meaningful playlist: [this also dates back pretty far into the past and into my random 50g of music]

1. Jesus, Etc. - Wilco
2. The Nearness of You - Norah Jones
3. Claire de Lune
4. My Girlfriend's Boyfriend - Her Space Holiday
5. Mushaboom - Feist
6. Pot Kettle Black - Wilco
7. From California - The New Amsterdams
8. In Time - Zero 7
9. I'm The Man Who Loves You - Wilco
10. California - Phantom Planet
11. Stupidity Tries- Elliott Smith
12. California Stars - Billy Bragg & Wilco
13. Paper Bag - Fiona Apple
14. Hummingbird - Wilco
15. Tech Romance - Her Space Holiday
16. Destiny - Zero 7
17. There Cannot Be A Close Second - Copeland
18. Pink Moon - Nick Drake
19. Hurley - Pinback
20. Tears In Heaven - Eric Clapton
21. Coffee - Copeland
22. To Your Love - Fiona Apple
23. Theologians - Wilco
24. Worse for the Wear - The New Amsterdams
25. I Want To Be The Boy - The White Stripes

I haven't been able to keep up with my music for the past few years, which has really been bringing me down lately. Ever since I packed up my computer in Emeryville and married a few pieces of furniture and household appliances, it has been a denial that I've neglected until now. I would mostly sacrifice food in exchange for compact discs. So much for that.

...

It's funny when odd numbers are avoided, except for by the quarter.

Have I lost my way?

2007-08-13T17:18:00.000-07:00

Packing is slowly becoming very, very difficult for me.

I am pulling away and the strings are sticking and draping across the things I am leaving behind. My heart is quickly dripping and I told myself I would not think about this, let alone here.

The things we have built together are being shifted, and there is an empty space in the corner of the room, where my personal things belong and have buried themselves. Now there are stains on the carpet of where I have so fastidiously built a half-life, with nothing but a suitcase and a stack of books.

I dread what may come, mostly that I am not strong enough to walk it alone.

Considering it's been a while...

2007-08-10T13:23:00.000-07:00

I find myself dropping into the slump of doing nothing all day and being infested with all that is melancholy. I must have had a lot to say in the past, but let it all go because some part of me never wanted to share in the first place.

I'm leaving Phoenix on Wednesday. I'm torn between knowing that I'll be terribly sad. Or realizing how stupid I am for feeling sad. I guess we'll see. As for now, I can't help but think that everything surrounding Phoenix, apart from Stephen, is what I will actually miss. As for now, I'll scratch my terrible ant bites, watch more HBO, eat more leftovers and generally lurk in the house trying to avoid all that is about to happen.

Fall is coming and school will start again; that basically means an autumn zest of freshly sharpened pencils and new notebooks will overcome me, up until about week 3 when I realize that the instruction is basically self-explanatory and my peers are nothing but self-aggrandizing fools. Either I am too much of a cynic, or I have become worn away by the non-conformist degrading hippies of Berkeley. Despite my love for all that is the Bay Area, a part of me has become so tired in knowing that I will always be looked at for being quote unquote normal. Because I don't have full sleeve tattoos, I don't wear side-slung hemp bags, and I do not hang out with a group of people that look exactly like me. Either way, the older I get, the more pessimistic I become.

My dad used to tell me that I've lost my passion.
I just think I've invested it elsewhere.

Right now, I'm living my life, waiting for another time and place. That's all new to me, but I guess that's where I'm stuck.

The Godfather: Answer to All Questions

2007-07-13T08:49:00.000-07:00

I really, and I mean really, love this scene from You've Got Mail where they talk about The Godfather completely out of context. I guess the The Godfather, widely regarded as "the best movie of ALL time," has all the answers in life.

Joe Fox: "The Godfather is the I Ching. The Godfather is the sum of all wisdom. The Godfather is the answer to any question. What should I take on my vacation? Leave the gun, take the cannoli. What day is it? Maunday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday. The answer to your problem is Go to the mattresses..."

Anyway, I finally saw The Godfather per Stephen's recommendation that it is the best movie ever made. And considering there was 21 years of hype behind this movie, it really delivered as one of the best gangster movies to date. Marlon Brando is fantastic in it and I don't think I've liked Al Pacino more. It's crazy to see how young Diane Keaton is in the movie, but she does however, deliver a typical Diane Keaton performance: whiney, needy, weak but somehow adorable. Damn that Diane Keaton. I do secretly love her, mostly for that random 90's movie The First Wives Club. Why? I don't understand either.

Although I prefer gangster movies with over-the-top shooting, it was tasteful, gripping and completely heartwrenching. Shocking for a gangster movie.

It's really unlike me to write about this kind of stuff, but I guess my strep throat/tonsilitis double combo is getting to me. Anyway, I have finally crossed off a classic movie on my to-watch list. And I can't wait to see The Godfather, Part II (even sans Marlon Brando), even though Blockbuster rented it out to someone else and only has a single copy of THE best movie of all time times two (apparently The Godfather, Part II is even better than Part I if that is possible)

Viola.

i think i have an overactive bladder.

2007-07-05T11:02:00.001-07:00

well i can't be pregnant, so what other options does that leave me with?

i've peed about ~~five~~ six times in the last hour, which i think is physically impossible if you compare liquid consumed versus fluid ounces of pee. shrug.

today i woke up at 4:45 am and went for a 2 mile jog. some people might consider that "light running" but when you haven't felt your blood move for four years, while simultaneously drinking too much and eating fried mayonnaise balls, 2 miles can see like the road to Hell. surprisingly, the first mile was a total breeze and the last mile was tougher (especially with those creepy mexican construction workers) but my legs didn't feel like they'd fall off and my broken knee did not stab me with the 12" dagger it hides behind my kneecap. briliiance. so i get back and it's still so gdamn early that i don't know what to do with myself. for some ironic reason, i am totally energized and start cleaning the whole house. bathroom, bedroom, vaccuuming, swiffering and all. i am such a great housewife.

so shoot me, sometimes i shall blow my own horn. stephen's brother just got a ballin' job and it's crazy how things in the corporate world work, i'm not sure if i could have the guts or capacity to handle it. all the bullshit you have to put up with, it's almost like someone is fucking you- and you don't even like it - but you're getting paid. prostitution much?

anyway i suppose that's what i have in store for me in the next 10 years.

gordon biersch to celebrate; i love my arizona life.

On how I love my father more than my mother.

2007-07-03T10:23:00.000-07:00

And how can I say that with such conviction?

Well, I can. And this topic is so touchy, that proper capitalization is in order.

In my first years of leaving home, I once wrote this about my cold and handicapped relationship with my mother: (please forgive the horribly cliche tone)

"i've lost a certain degree of eloquence.
i regret my relationship with my mother.
i crumble at the thought that somewhere on the path between adolescence and womanhood, i lost her to the grudge in my heart that was high school. i lost her to the friday nights spent at home and the abnormal teenage years. i lost her to North Ranch Photo, Westlake Studio & Lab, and microwave Costco dinners.
i lost her for always being right. and teaching me the right things the hardest way she could. i lost her to my selfishness and her stubbornness. for all the lessons she thinks she can still teach me, and the lessons she still thinks she needs to teach herself. i hated that her courage was too strong for her own good and sometimes it's okay to be weak and even show it. and i regret that among all of this, i can't reach out my hand and tell her these things because i knew what she will say. and i'm not willing to hear them again.
and i lost her because she nor i will change.
and i am too much like my father to give myself up.
and there's a lump in my throat.
for giving up the one love that i desire so badly to encompass.
a mother's love.
unconditional and unexpecting.
because i know what she expects of me,
...i could never deliver.
i hope i don't lose her before i can admit this to her.
and myself. "

Looking back on that today, I realize how I didn't understand much of anything (minus the microwave Costco dinner part). Reading that, it all sounds so petty. But now, I think about how age creeps up, death is looming, marriage approaching; and our relationship somehow took a turn for the serious. Where piercings, tattoos, going out on Fridays proved to be SO shallow, and what I am truly concerned with is tenderness and happiness.

I know how much I've hurt her. She knows how much she's hurt me. Is there happiness in ignorance? I delivered what she asked of me, but she sold me out to her typical reaction.

She can only cut me down so many times; I'll have to leave it alone sooner or later. But no one ever wants to admit that.

I am my father's daughter. And my mother's heartache.

Oh, and she thinks I'm a total whore.

too much wine and bible talk.

2007-07-02T13:36:00.001-07:00

so considering i have personally deemed wilco's new "sky blue sky" album to be one of the top-five-modern-flawless-albums-of-all-time, i've been listening to this album non-stop since its release back in may. it kind of got me thinking how i could even create this list of all-time flawless albums. of course it would be multitiered by genre and time in history, but it is undeniable that such a list must be created.

i lack the effort or will power to do it now, considering i drank so much wine last night and sufficiently blacked myself out, but it's on the back of my mind. not like i don't have loads of free time on my hands, but i find myself reading the news (the desert climate is changing me) and trying to send these cool arizona postcards i bought at walgreens the other day. i'm reading house of leaves (by mark z. danielewski) per stephen's recommendation, and i am really enjoying it. this book, however, may change that fact that i said: "Oh, i loove footnotes!" i have immediately retracted my utter excitement for those bastardly annoyances.

on another meaningless sidenote, it is perhaps wise to keep all religious debates for sober and mediated times. i feel like such as ass and the worse part is that i don't quite remember everything i zealously said. besides the fact that i probably pissed off my boyfriend, it is never a good feeling to wake up wondering how you successfully got naked and climbed in bed. it's 1:49 pm, stephen's not home yet, hence it is still a mystery to me.

going to church again is.. a shock? i thought that i had given up belief in structured religion; mostly to blame would have been my own as a kid. except that last night, i was drunkenly spouting out all this crap about how-you-need-religion-for-fellowship-otherwise-faith-is-meaningless or something, i don't really remember. and i don't even think i believe that anymore! or is it that i really do think so but i choose not to participate for god-knows what reasons? either way, i guess i am unsure of what i believe when it comes to religion. God/faith/belief: i do know what i believe in that box, but structured/labeled religion: goes into the box of "things that make me go hhmmm"

anyway, am i in trouble? i guess we'll see.

i'm not sure what i'm looking for.

2007-06-30T10:57:00.000-07:00

i didn't think i would be attracted to so-called "blogging" again. it's been not only disastrous, but also emotionally unhealthy in the past. i feel like i've shedded my teenage angst of xanga and my inhibitions about livejournal and its users disallow my allegiance to either. i suppose in the last month and a half i've had minutes (often hours) to myself, and i had forgotten what life without obligation is like. also i can't deal with the fact that i've become far too self-conscious about my writing, when more than ever, i've realized that i write for myself. and there should no measure of success or failure in that dominion.

it's ironic; i don't want to write about my day-to-day activities, i definitely don't want to write about relationships or my feelings, i am totally uncool and cannot post cool links or tidbits about recent news or bands. i guess i just want to start documenting fragments of myself (like i used to), despite how tragic, uneventful, or tediousy boring it may be.

it's funny how living in the desert is a totally different lifestyle. water bottles cost $.50 because if they weren't so cheap, everyone would literally dehydrate and die. a trip to costco involves your butt getting scorched twice, 2 water bottles, and more deodorant than a pro athlete. the great part about it is the ultimate satisfaction of coming home to a ceiling fan and a dog.

i'm a time bomb, and that's all i have to say about that.