Author Archives: Toph Beifong

goodness

Holy shit, I’m such a fucking adult right now

I had the inexplicable urge to see The Phantom of the Opera today.  I had such a craving to hear “Think of Me” that I found it on YouTube and played it at my desk at work.  I’m listening to it right now.  What a voice.  Holy shit.

I saw the play when it was at the Ahmanson Theater downtown as a child.  Of course I remember the part where the chandelier goes over the audience, but more vividly I recall when the phantom loses his mask, and the woman he has captured picks it up and offers it to him.  I was struck by her kindness in the face of his… well, obvious lunacy (and, let’s be honest, hideousness).  I recall the moment with perfect clarity; her extending the mask to him with her right hand in a pale, overflowing gown, him crouched on the floor, hiding his face in shame.

It’s playing in Las Vegas.  I might have to make a weekend out of it (if I had a weekend).  MIGHT HAVE TO QUIT KARATE JOB ANOTHER WEEK EARLY MUAHAHAHA.

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goodness

Ukulele case!

My ukulele case arrived!

on our brand new couch/giant chair

It’s so cute and soft, and it does an excellent job of holding my ukulele for me.  It came all the way from Thailand via Etsy!  It has a shoulder strap that I’ll use when I ride my bike to the beach to play my ukulele on the sand, in the sun.  It arrived in a brown paper package tied up with string.  I shit you not.  See?

Maria was right after all

It’s much better than the cardboard box it was delivered in, although I must admit, I will miss it a little.  I even decorated it a little 🙂

look at how pleased armless me is

 

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badness, life

The childhood fear in my backyard

he knows me by sight, and hunts without rest

I’m mostly pleased with my imagination; its power to entertain me when I’m bored could power a small yacht.  Like most kids, I had the occasional super horrifying nightmare.  One has stuck with me, popping into my head occasionally for no good reason.

I’m running away, but have run straight into a very narrow, dark alley.  It’s perfectly clean.  This is one of my very few black and white dreams.  I back against the back wall of the alley, and squat down against the floor, attempting to become as small as possible.  I shut my mouth so they won’t see my teeth, and I want to shut my eyes, but that way I won’t be able to see them coming.  At the open end of the alley, the population walks by purposefully, going to work, going home, running errands.  They are all identical (see picture).  One of them stops and its head snaps toward me, and the panic sets in.  He’s the one who’s been looking for me.  He’s after me in a second and I have nowhere to run.  I start to get up from my crouch, my hands touch the walls behind me, searching for an escape.  I only have seconds, and I know I’m trapped.  I wake up before he can reach me, feeling like a cornered animal.

Today I took La Cienega home, and reached a revelation.  There was construction that forced three lanes down to one, allowing (forcing) me to appreciate the view, and there they were: pumpjacks (oil pumps).

I slow to a stop and gawk.  My mouth hangs open as I stare out the open window of my tiny, shiny car at one of the worst nightmares from my childhood.  My eyes drag across the landscape.  There were more of them, dozens, peppered across the small dry hills I’d driven past hundreds (thousands?) of times.  My dad used to take this exact route to drive my mom to LAX for business trips, and sometimes Sister and I came along for the ride.  What else do children do but stare out the window?  The memory comes back to me with enough force to stop my breath.  I force myself to exhale and examine the rest of them.

we'll be overrun by sunset

They ignore me like they always have (I hope), and keep hard at work, bowing and saying, “Yes, very nice to meet you, thank you very much, yes indeed.”  But for once my imagination is silent, and they say nothing at all.  They are no longer amusing.  I am frozen in my seat when the blue and yellow taxi that’s been tailgating me lets out an unhealthy blast from its horn.  I let off the brake slowly, watching the machines at work, waiting for them to spring to life and finally catch me.

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badness, life

Then I almost beheaded my boyfriend in my sleep

what was I stressing about back then...?

I used to talk in my sleep all the time.  As a kid, I would get up, walk into my parents room and stand over my mother, breathing and staring, eyes wide open, dead asleep.  I once woke her up with an insistent, “MOM. MOM. MOM.”  When she awoke, she said, “What is it?”  I said, “…HI.”  She was creeped out and asked my dad to put me back to bed.

More recently, when I was working at Real Estate job (for two years), I wasn’t happy.  It was a boring job with a bad boss.  I didn’t even have anyone to relate to; it was just me and him in this little real estate consultation company.  I was desperately needed, quietly loathed, totally trapped, and very alone.  This is around the time when Boyfriend and I got together.  He would regale me with tales of my night-talks on a semi-daily basis.

After two years, I realized how unhappy I was and decided to leave.  I finally quit Real Estate Job and started working at Office Job where my coworkers are kind, the work is manageable, and my boss appreciates me and gives me clear instructions when I make a mistake.  I stopped talking in my sleep literally overnight.  Boyfriend and I have come to the realization that I talk in my sleep when I’m stressed out.

When I got too hot, I have always stripped off my pj’s until a comfortable temperature is reached (this happened again just two nights ago).  But talking in my sleep is something that seems to happen only when my mind has been particularly stimulated by a book, or movie, some fascinating conversation, or (most likely) stress.  Last Thursday, Boyfriend and I had a fight about a camera, of all things.  He told me when we first started dating that he would love to do a photo shoot with me.  I thought, “Wow, my handsome, film industry boyfriend wants to use me as a model in a photo shoot.  And it would be so fun to see him in action and create something with him.”  That’ll be a fun couples activity, I thought.  Almost four years later, and we still haven’t done it, regardless of my sporadic hint-dropping and semi-serious nagging.

the culprit

Then he bought a camera, and as we were driving home, he said, “Wanna take some photos with me?”  I said, “Sure, come back in four years, I’ll be happy to.”  This launched a fight about how I thought we were going to create something together, not break in a new toy, that I thought he wanted to take my photo because he loved me and thought I was pretty, not because he needed a warm body in front of a lens.  I could not have been more wrong, apparently.  After some bickering, he said he proposed the original photo shoot because, “…y’know, I knew you’d be… around.”  I said, “So, because I’m convenient.”  He said, “Essentially, yes.  The photos are for me.”

So that kinda broke my heart.  We spent the rest of the day avoiding each other, driving to a movie, fighting in the car, fighting more after the movie on the drive home, then fighting more at home.  I cried a bunch.

That night I did more than talk in my sleep; I almost assaulted him.

Here’s the IM from the next day:

Boyfriend: hewo
Me: ohai
Boyfriend: do u remember what weird thing u did while u were dreaming?
Me: ?
I did a weird thing?
Boyfriend: very.
u grabbed my head
and u thought it was one of your obstacle course blocks [the items I use to build games for the kids at the dojo]
and u told your class to go put it away
Me: um wtf?
that’s fucking creepy
Boyfriend: yes!
and i woke up and said, whaaa
huh?
Me: i’m going to need a demonstration
tonight
Boyfriend: for sure i will
it was kinda scary
Me: then what happened?
Boyfriend: i was vaguely hoping u wouldn’t like rip my head off
i think u said “no more playing, time to put it away”
or something like that
Me: wow
that’s just… fucked up.
Boyfriend: and then u let my head go, thank god.
i would’ve been jolted awake if i wasn’t so tired
the creepiest part is that u sat up
and then grabbed my head
which i was semi-conscious of
Me: yikes
so… sorry?
Boyfriend: haha
i guess it’s ok?
Me: I haven’t done something dynamic like that in my sleep in a while.
Boyfriend: yeah
Me: I think our fight stressed me out.
Boyfriend: i assumed that’s what happened

I haven’t acted out in my sleep like this in months, so for me to treat Boyfriend’s head like it’s filled with plastic stuffing of some kind the night following a particularly painful fight (for which he is 100% to blame, btw) was just too perfect.  We almost never fight, so when we do it’s usually because he’s being a weirdo (according to him, a model has no interest in the photographs she helps to create), or we had a miscommunication (like confusing convenience with love).  I was super stressed about it because we fight so rarely, so naturally, my sleeping-self had something to say.

We get over our fights in record time, though.  We hate being mad at each other, it feels so unnatural.  We spend so much time in direct physical contact (holding hands, curling up next to each other on a couch, a long spontaneous hug) that it feels weird to be apart.  We have whole short conversations while holding each other.  He touches my hands, I scratch his head.  He squeezes my legs, I pet his stomach.  We live so harmoniously the vast majority of the time that when we fight I find it pretty distressing.

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badness, work

Haiku distraction: Crap noir edition

I made a more accurate poster for the play. you’re welcome.

I went to another student production from the theater department at the university where I work at Office Job.  Last year’s production was a total shit show.  This year was better, but not by much.

Today’s musical matinee show was the story of an author writing a screenplay, spliced in with the actual screenplay itself.  The screenplay takes place in Los Angeles cerca 1947, which means everyone chain-smokes and “needs a drink” all the time.  Needless to say, paying rapt attention was out of the question since I value my sanity more than my ability to give a coherent synopsis of some crap musical play.

But just like last year, it was a great source of angry haikus!

Oh my fucking god.
He’s gonna spend the whole play
looking at her “gams.”

The main character detective also annoyingly narrated the whole damn play in a poor imitation of Humphrey Bogart, and could not stop talking about some woman’s physical attributes.  Meanwhile, the audience consisted of mostly women and gay men, so who the hell is this guy appealing to?

Nothing like a missed
musical cue to kill a
shitty production.

The orchestra missed a cue!  They jumped into the middle of a scene and just started playing the next number.  Yikes.

Jesus Christ he can’t
stop talking about “figures”
or smoking to death. 

Apparently living in the 1940’s consisted of leering at women, doing anything for a dollar, and smoking like a chimney.

Here’s an idea:
Do something other than stand
still while you’re singing.

Each character gets their own chance to be more or less alone on stage and sing a little song to tell us their story.  One woman just sat and sang.  Then she stood and sang.  Then she moseyed on over to the edge of the stage and sang some more.  Fade to black.  She had the whole stage to herself, and couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger in the middle of a musical number.  I felt… disappointed, and… confused.

At some point I started keeping track of the number of times the main character demanded that someone “level” with him.  Final count: 6, but I may have missed the first few.

My favorite quote: “They’re closer than Denmark, and a whole lot more rotten.”

Toot toot!  It’s the failtrain!  All aboooooooooooooard!

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goodness, humor

Teacher Roommate made my day

Teacher Roommate can be very… blunt and to the point with herself.  This comes out in little ways like how she writes little reminders to herself in terse little messages on the back of her left hand, or in the titles of the alarms on her iPhone.

Her dad is in town on a visit.  They are the drinkin’est family I have ever heard of (aside from the Australians I encountered when I visited my family in Tasmania).  Naturally, when I get home around 730, they’ve already been out drinking for a while.  We texted back and forth for a bit about the internet debacle (now fixed), and how her dad helped her set it up (thanks dad!).  Then I receive this non-sequitur gem:

her awkwardness is my LOL

And my day has been made.  Thank you Teacher Roommate.

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badness, life, work

No warrior, no war

It’s about a half-mile walk from my office at Office Job to my car at a parking structure a couple of blocks away.  Typically when I walk through any parking lot, I make it a point to keep my eyes up, and stop fussing with my phone, or stick my head in my purse, or otherwise distract myself from… whatever.

paranoid parrot knows what I'm talking about

I’ve come to realize that “whatever” really means imminent attack by some asshole who wants to steal my car/accost me, etc.  I’ve never been attacked by a sober person, so this would be a new experience for me.  Still, I can feel myself tense up a little when I step off the elevator to the third floor of the parking structure.  I’ve finally given in to reading The Hunger Games on my Kindle, but as the doors open, my eyes slip up from the screen, and I step forward, full of caution and confidence, ready for some hidden enemy to pounce.

There have been men working to replace all the lights in the structure every day this week, and yesterday was no exception.  As I walked away from them toward my car, I thought about how I could probably read my book right now instead of keeping an eye out since there are people around.

My mind goes to work.  I calculate how many times I would have to scream for them to realize what they’re hearing, and how long it would take them to arrive to help me.  At least one of them is overweight; he would never arrive in time, and probably wouldn’t be able to do anything useful, so I subtract him from the equation.  Then I calculate how likely these men would be to help a woman being attacked by a man a) with bare fists b) with a knife c) with a gun.  Anything worse than a pocket knife would probably scare them off.  On the other side of the equal sign I’m left with one not-overweight maintenance worker who wouldn’t jump in front of a knife to help me, which means I shouldn’t depend on him at all.  I decide I can probably trust them to ward off any attacker with merely their presence.  “I’m probably safe,” I think as I slip my Kindle in my bag and pull out my keys without breaking stride or dropping my gaze.   My eyes pan across the floor between cars for shadows and feet, then back across the windshields to see if anyone is lying in wait.  I’ve given myself permission to relax,  but I can’t stop preparing for… whatever.

Whenever I teach a women’s self-defense class, I try to calm them down: I say something like, “I just want to point out, and I don’t mean to sound callous or hurt anyone’s feelings, but you are not a special snowflake.  You will probably never get attacked.  I hate to break it to you, but you’re just not that special.  Relax.  You’re here to learn something potentially useful, not to safeguard against the inevitable.”

Where did this hyper-cautious impulse come from?  Did my training make me crave an attack so I can test my skills?  I could’ve sworn I had grown out of that phase.  Or do I worry about an attack because I know all the ways a person can cause injury to another with their bare hands?  Did the two fights I’ve been in make me like this?  They turned out well, what am I worrying about?  I’m no warrior, and there is no war going on.  Why am I like this?  What am I doing?  It feels like such a huge waste of time to be this tense every day… then again, if the alternative is getting blindsided by some asshole in a ski mask, I’d rather miss twenty seconds of whatever novel I’m reading to make it to the car sans violent encounter.

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goodness, nerd

The best part of wakin’ up is Cthulhu in your cup

Who wouldn’t want this mug?  Seriously.  Adorable.  Must be hard to stir in your sugar, though…

Alternative title to this post: In his house at R’coffyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.

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badness, school

Verizon, die in a fire

hey look, it's me

Like most people, any good experience I’ve had with customer service from a huge company like Verizon/ATT/DirecTV has been buried under the mountains of horseshit that make up the majority of my interactions with said behemoth hell-spawn companies.  This past week has consisted of the horseshit variety.

Our modem broke last Tuesday night, so Verizon supposedly sent us a new one, which we never got.  UPS “left it on the doorstep,”  apparently.  So they’re sending us a new one for free (after some negotiating), and it should be here by Friday.  That’ll be ten days without internet at home.  We can’t ask for a refund of the time we’ve gone without internet until we get internet back.  They don’t know what happened to the $80 credit I’m supposed to have already received due to being wrongly signed up for Starz and Games Unlimited.  They don’t know why I haven’t been charged for March’s service.  I have spent (cumulative, over the course of four calls) 106 minutes on the phone with Verizon to discover they are clueless about my account which they control, and inept at fixing the problems they create.  And I am fresh out of surprise.

Imagine if I were already in school, and needed to “go to class” by logging onto the online classroom stuff.  What a hassle this would be.  I think it might actually make me mad.

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badness, goodness, life

Erin go braugh

i want to go to there

I’ve wanted to visit Ireland for about as long as I can remember.  The green hills, the pubs, the castles, the cold, I want to experience it all.  But it’s more than that.  I feel like if I went there, I wouldn’t want to leave.  It seems like the emerald isle could be the home I’ve never seen.  Ireland has been calling to me.

Diminutive Roommate and I were chatting at the breakfast table a few weeks ago about vacations, and how long it’s been since I took one (London with the family in May, 2009).  I said I would love to go to Ireland.  She said, “Let’s go!”  The show she’s on will be ending a bit before I start school, so I’m planning on leaving Karate Job a few weeks before classes start to take a trip with her.

It was a pretty flawless plan, but like most plans, it had, in fact, a flaw.  I IM’d Diminutive Roommate a week after our convo: “I’m getting excited about Ireland,” and got a response: I don’t think I can go with you.  Teacher Roommate had reminded Diminutive Roommate that she had promised to go with her to Ireland years ago.   My heart sank.  I wasn’t even angry, just horribly disappointed.  A couple of weeks passed while we ignored the topic, and I finally sat down while Boyfriend and Diminutive Roommate’s ex-boyfriend and a good friend of mine from college (let’s call him Boardgame Friend since he’s super into boardgames, and even taught a class on table-top gaming for actual credits at an actual school once) played a zombie game on the floor nearby.  I said, “Ok, what’s going on with Ireland?  Tell me what’s on your mind.”  Turns out she won’t be able to keep her promise to Teacher Roommate since her schedule will preclude her from traveling with her while TR is available to travel (August), while DR and I can travel in late May/early June.  This was all truth as of last week.

Yesterday afternoon I was chatting with Teacher Roommate about Diminutive Roommate’s schedule, and she said, “Sounds like they’re pushing the show back, too.”  I thought, No.  No way.  there’s no way Diminutive Roommate wouldn’t tell me that her schedule had changed, thus potentially changing my plans to travel abroad for the first time in three years.  Surely… surely she would tell me.

I texted her asking when her show would be done.  No answer.  When she got home, she broke the news that the show might be ending later than planned, but she wouldn’t know for another week.

Well.  Fine.

note to self: table flipping looks super gratifying. must try.

Now I’m placed in the position of deciding where I should really just consider where I want to travel alone.  Should I do another archaeology expedition instead?  I had such a blast in Belize, but I was surrounded by people my own age there, too.  Should I join a tour so I can experience the country in a group?  Wandering around alone definitely has its appeal, but it does sound a bit… lonely.  Sharing new experiences with someone you love is so fun.  Sure would be nice to have Diminutive Roommate there with me.

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