Category Archives: badness

badness, goodness, life, manfolk

A sudden change of scenery

Diminutive Roommate has been looking for a house for the past year and a half or so.  She made an offer on a house Wednesday, and heard back Thursday that her offer had been accepted.  I felt a stab of panic on Thursday.  Today is Friday.  I”m waiting for the stab of panic to fade anytime now.

within my price range (DM’s is a little higher)

In all seriousness, I’m pretty excited for Diminutive Roommate.  We got to chat about the house for the first time tonight, and she’s (obviously) feeling overwhelmed, and worried that we’ll stop hanging out (note to self: harass Diminutive Roommate endlessly for the next three months, or until she gets sick of me).  I let her know that she would have my weekends for a while to help her get situated, and at the very least get the place in order so it can feel like a home and not just a new space to store herself.

Meanwhile, this is the perfect time to move out of our apartment for me.  I have good credit, but apparently it wasn’t good enough for me to not need a guarantor when we moved in here.  I was furious and embarrassed.  My dad signed on with much grumbling.  He and Mom didn’t seem to understand how angry and ashamed I was to have to ask for that kind of help at age 27 until they were delivering yet another lecture about how they didn’t like having to do this kind of thing at my age, and they hoped I understood the implications of blahblahblah, and I burst into tears and went on a tirade about how much effort I had put into being fiscally responsible and how mortified I was to have to do this in front of my friends, in front of my family.

Fast-forward ten months later, and Diminutive Roommate’s sudden escrow looks like an escape route for my parents who are financially on the hook until this lease ends with finality.  Plus, boyfriend and I have been talking about moving in together, but that’s all contingent on the approval of his family, who owns the house he’s been staying in rent-free for almost two years.  Plus the logistics of where my stuff would go in a house where they have expressly forbidden Boyfriend from doing anything as extreme as moving the furniture around (how would they ever fix such a permanent change?!).  So where would my stuff go?  How much rent would I be expected to pay?  How long would I be safely housed there until we got booted out because they suddenly decided to sell the place?

Then there’s the possibility that they’ll just say no outright.  Where would I go?  Would I stay here?  Would my parents take me in?  They let Sister live there for a while before she couldn’t stand it for another second (that was explosive exit).

I’m expecting the panic to subside anytime now.  Yep, aaaaaanytime.

Side note: It’s Saturday now, and I’ll be going to see Diminutive Roommate’s house this afternoon.  I’m pretty excited.  She said there are two cats that come with the place, lol.  I wonder what she’ll do with them (adopt, obviously).  More as this story unfolds.  Back to you in the studio.

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badness, goodness, manfolk

There will always be a spider

looks legit

I am not a fan of bugs.  I think they’re amazing in a cold, scientific way, but if they could all die without adverse effects on the planet and its flora and fauna, I would be happy.  Once, when Boyfriend and I first started dating, I saw a spider on the ceiling of his bedroom and squeaked, “Onoes boyfwend a buggie-bug!”  Bear in mind I’ve sparred with men more than twice my weight with two feet of height on me.  Boyfriend was delighted to see a clearly very vulnerable killing machine of a girlfriend, and came to my rescue armed with a tissue.  Thank you, Boyfriend.

Here are two emails I sent him on May 29th at 1130pm when he was out of town for a couple of weeks:

BOYFRIEND THERE’S A SPIDER!  It’s on the table, and it’s coming over here gaaaaaaaaaaaah!!
I blew on it.  It went away.  I think it’s on the floor.
Crap I can’t find it.  BOYFRIEND THERE’S A SPIDER.

15 minutes later:

Calico found it, she’s attacking it.  She stopped.  She keeps smelling it and watching it walk away.  JUST EAT IT GAH it’s under my chair!  WHY ISN’T IT DEAD YET.
Wait, did she just eat it?  Haha yeah, she ate it.  Good kitty.

I have recently come to a horrifying realization: There will always be a spider.  So I either have to always have to have a spider-killer around (Teacher Roommate fills that role when Boyfriend isn’t around), or I’ll have to get brave enough to face my fear of crawling things.

Boyfriend it is.

Side note: DO NOT Google “huge spider” if you want to sleep this week.

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badness, goodness

Don’t be sad

her drawings are hilarious

Hyperbole and a Half might be the funniest blog on the internet, which is why I’m worried.  There’s a huge gap in the time between the most recent post and the one before it.  Plus, the most recent post was about depression, and it was posted in October of last year (that’s eight months now).  I sure hope she’s doing ok.

If you know someone who has problems with depression, show them this post.  They’ll be able to relate to it, and it will make them (and you) laugh.

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badness, goodness

I am the worst

sonofabitch

I lost my iPhone tonight.  Again.

I lost my last one over Thanksgiving.  I got drunk with the cousins (had a ton of fun), left it in the bathroom, and walked away.  Half an hour later I remembered, went back, and it was gone.  I tracked it with MobileMe the next day, and set off to find it.  I heard the alarm go off once before whomever stole it turned it off or removed the SIM card.  So infuriating.  I can’t believe there are people who exist who wouldn’t return a phone.

So tonight, Ballerina Friend was picking me up near her new place (she moved in with Treehouse Friend in a place they bought together.  How crazy is that?!).  I was sitting on the curb behind my car, just playing my ukulele to pass the time with my phone sitting under my uke case.  She pulled up, I grabbed my uke case, stepped into her car, and drove away.  I saw the new place (super cool!), walked back to the car (from the wrong direction to see the phone if it was still there), and drove home, at which point I realized what I had done.  I immediately tore through my purse, raced downstairs, did a quick search for my phone in the car, drove back to the curb, and then the panic set in.

I came home to do the desperate MobileMe dance, and drove to where it said my phone had been kidnapped.  No dice: I couldn’t get a wireless signal to set off the phone’s alarm, so I couldn’t figure out where it was.

he drove a crown victoria instead of the new charger (not enough trunk space, apparently), like my dad’s old car, which I loved

But there’s a police station not a block away from where my poor phone was being held hostage (imagine how frightened it was), so I popped in with my laptop, explained the situation to a cute Asian LAPD officer (I’m a sucker for uniforms), and was handed off to a very nice white cop who said he would get his car ready, and we would go.  After about twenty minutes, he came back and we came up with a game plan.  We would go to a nearby Starbucks to get free wifi so I could update the location of the phone in case it had moved, then go after it.  Of course, we forgot that it was past 11pm and the Starbucks would be closed, but luckily a nearby business unknowingly obliged, and we discovered that the phone had stopped updating, which could only mean that they had turned it off, or removed the SIM card.  In short, they had no intention of returning it.

My heart sank.  I showed the cop the last known location on the Google map.  He said he would check it out, and meet me back at the station.

I drove back to the station slowly and sat on the short blue bench, waiting for the cop to return empty-handed.  Ten minutes passed.  I saw movement through the glass doors.  I looked up to see the cop, and in his hand was my phone, still in its case.

My eyes popped out of my head while I smiled and blurted out, “NO. WAY.”  I couldn’t believe it.  He said the person who gave it to him said that his kid had found it and removed the SIM card (yeah, right).  What an asshole.  But seriously, who cares.  The expensive part is back in my hand, so I can’t complain too much.

May the Flying Spaghetti Monster reach down and touch that police station with his noodly appendage.  Seriously.  All those shining stars bless the LAPD.  Just sitting in that lobby, listening to the calls the cute Asian cop was getting was exhausting and depressing.  I can’t imagine dealing with that night after night, year after year, when I could be cultivating friendships, making love with my deamboat Boyfriend, spending time on the beach eating watermelon and playing ukulele with friends and getting a light sunburn (guess what I did on Memorial Day).  All you shining stars, bless those cops.

What crazy about this is I haven’t felt this good, this excited about something in a really, really long time.  I went to Disneyland with Boyfriend, and felt next to nothing, which scared me.  I’ve been numb for a while now, and I can’t figure out why.  It’s not to say I don’t enjoy myself.  I had a great time at the beach yesterday, I love play ukulele, I have great sex with boyfriend.  But this was… a sense of how a little luck can just make my day.  I put work in, good things come out, this standard (and good, but I’ve grown too used to it I think).  Here was a small-ish problem in the greater scheme of things that would have tainted my trip abroad (I leave day after tomorrow), and it turned out so much better than I dared hope that I feel rebooted.  I’m too comfortable with my beautiful life.  A change of perspective is in order.

Unrelated side-story:
While I was at the station, three generations of the same family came in (boy, father, grandfather) to report that the 19 (?) year old boy had been hugged and kissed against his will by the grandfather’s caregiver.  The father gave the report, while the boy kept saying stuff like, “I feel like I’ve lost my manhood.  I told him what he did was wrong, and that he had to leave.”  The whole thing had sort of a smell to it.  The grandfather had a very obvious toupee.  At age 91, I hope I don’t care so much about my appearance that I feel the need to wear something silly.  I haven’t had that tendency yet, so I think I’ll dodge that compulsion with any luck

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badness, life

Everyone play nice

I feel like this sometimes.

There’s some strange force field covering the concept of religion that does not extend to people, which is insane.  If we treated people as well as we are forced to treat religion, we would all be eligible for sainthood.  Talking plainly about religion as a theory is considered offensive by most religious people, which means a calm, logical conversation with religious people about religion is impossible.

Our court system is something I bring up whenever attempting to have a conversation like that.  I don’t understand how we can all agree to use a court system that relies upon scientifically substantiated evidence to determine guilt or innocence, while at the same time refusing to believe that science is a reliable resource for producing plausible theories for the origin of our universe, our planet, our humanity.  Everyone agrees that forensic evidence is admissible, while visions from god are not.  I can’t imagine the family of a murder victim choosing to allow the murderer to be judged by god instead of by a jury of his peers.

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badness, goodness, life, manfolk

My heart is fond enough, thank you very much

Yesterday was Sister’s graduation party, and today she graduated from law school.  We’re all so proud of her, and it’s pretty amazing she did so well considering that law school is hell, plus she hates reading and writing, and that’s all there is in law school.  The party was fun, lots of old family friends whom we haven’t seen in a long while.  They all came in just to congratulate our family on Sister’s success.  So sweet.

Boyfriend couldn’t make it (again); he left for a job in Spain, which will allow him to be around for my trip to Ireland and Scotland.  It was a pretty heart-wrenching parting.  I always cry a little when he leaves for a work trip, but this time was tough.  Recently we’ve been talking about how happy we are together.  Boyfriend said he’s more in love with me than ever.  We were sitting on the bed between his preparations for his trip, just chatting, and it struck me how lonely I’ll be without him.  My face must have crumpled like a piece of paper, and I couldn’t hold it in.  Boyfriend did what he always does: he said, “Don’t cry, girlfriend!  Soon we’ll be in Dublin together and everything’ll be great!”  He started listing all the fun stuff we’ll do abroad, but it didn’t seem to help.  I love him so much.  He’s my best friend.  I still look forward to seeing him every day, even after more than four years.  I’m proud of him for getting so much work recently, and excited that it’s allowing him to go abroad, but I miss him something fierce every time.

He said that if I cried, he would cry, and after a while, he did (a little).  At the very least it’s nice to know that he misses me as much as I miss him.

At the graduation party last night, I was sitting and chatting with my cousins, and I randomly thought about how nice it would be to see Boyfriend later that night.  Then I remembered that he was probably already on the plane, and I cried a little (again).  I can’t remember being so effected by one of his trips since the first one.  I should be excited to see him in Dublin, but I’m so lonely without him.

He said that we wouldn’t be apart very long, not even for as long as the trips he usually takes to visit his family on the east coast.  He said the distance didn’t matter.  I corrected him; it does matter, and he’s so far away.

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badness, life, work

Homeless and dependable

I walk under the freeway to get to Office Job from my parking structure four days a week.  Half the time there’s a homeless man who has taken up residence on a street corner that I frequent on my jaunt to work.  When it rains he goes under the freeway to stay dry, takes out the big sheet of semi-transparent plastic he keeps his stuff under, and hides under it himself.  I’m not sure if he does this to make sure he doesn’t get wet (despite the fact that the freeway does a stellar job of this already), or to stay warm.

I pay special attention to homeless people, having spent every Friday for six years (middle school and high school) serving at a soup kitchen.  I’ve become somewhat fascinated with the homeless people I see on a regular basis, most of whom have some kind of mental defect.  I watch them, hoping to figure out the oddly logical justification for their strange behavior.  This man in particular seems very organized.  I have never seen him so much as make eye contact with anyone, let alone ask for money (or even speak for that matter).  He never stands completely erect, and is very much in his own mind, which is  in and of itself, kind of fascinating.  I wonder what he thinks about.  I wonder why he seeks refuge under that thick sheet of plastic while the freeway keeps him dry.

Today it rained.  Per usual, he was under the freeway and wrapped in plastic.  Per usual, the visual he creates freaked me out a little.

amorphous blob incoming

To the untrained eye, he looks like a trashcan whose bag has been blown out of the can by heavy winds.

wait... is it... moving?

But those of us who take this route during the cold season know better; it is alive, and it is a man.

does he... see me?

I’m never really sure if he sees the people who walk past him, if he’s paying attention to them, or if he’s focusing on something else.

omg there really is a person under there

The first time I saw him under there, I didn’t know it was a person.  It wasn’t until I was dangerously close that I figured out he was under there and by then it was too late.

oh jesus what if he's not friendly

I had no choice but to keep moving.  All evidence demonstrated that he was harmless.  A few people had already walked past him with no effect.  I figured I was safe, but kept an eye on him regardless.

I wonder what he's doing under there

Now when he kinda scares me by hiding under there, I take photos of him to put in my blog.  I find it therapeutic.

 

 

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badness, goodness, nerd, school

Too hot to handle

glyph I saw on a stela at La Milpa, Belize

I woke up yesterday feeling good.  I got an email a couple weeks ago from a friend and professor at UCLA, asking if I could lead his class through the ancient Maya exhibit at LACMA.  Of course I accepted, and it went great.  I was nervous the day before, but I pulled the class in front of a stela, and my mouth just started moving and I was awesome.  So much fun!  Once again (just like when I landed Karate Job), it was a small dream come true: I got to teach a group of college students about the ancient Maya.

I got home to dote on Diminutive Roommate, who is recovering from some minor surgery.  Her mom came into town for it, and she’s the best.  DR is healing quickly, and being a real champ about it.  I think it really helps that her mom is here to be doctorly and motherly.  She’s pretty great.  We played Epic Spell Wars: Duel at Mount Skullzfyre, and had a little caramel Bailey’s.  I can’t imagine my mom rolling with that kind of plan.  She’s so full of judgement.  Plus, we’d have to get her out of the house first.

Anyway, Diminutive Roommate has been sick for a couple of weeks, and I’ve been keeping my distance whenever I could to make sure I didn’t catch anything (although the kids at the dojo have been pretty nose-picky lately).  I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.  My throat started hurting around 8pm.  Within an hour I was sore everywhere and exhausted.  I woke up this morning with a fever of 100.1.  Crap.  I emailed both jobs and said I wouldn’t be coming in.  I’d just be arriving at Karate Job right now if I’d been healthy today.

Sister shared a memory with my family a little while ago that once, when I was sick with a fever, she covered me with blankets just like my folks told her to when they left for work.  When they came back, I had a fever of 105 or something, and they got mad at her for putting all those blankets on me.  We were just kids, she didn’t know any better.  Still, she was next to tears when told us about that.  I don’t remember that at all.  She obviously still feels responsible.  Poor Sister.

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badness

Healthy and horrified

basically a weekly visitation from this guy

When I spent a month in the jungles of Belize doing archaeology, digging an ancient Maya ballcourt, I had to get all kinds of vaccines and take malaria medication once per week for a few weeks before and after, and every week during my stay there.  When the doctor told me of the side effects (dizziness, upset stomach, etc.) he neglected the one that would have caught my attention: nightmares.  It also happens to be the most common side effect, so common, in fact, that almost every other member of the archaeology team who was on this medication experienced them.

These nightmares were exceptionally graphic, bloody and violent, and everyone had them.  Once we realized what was happening, we instinctively made little support groups.  The people who took their malaria pills on Tuesdays would wake up on Wednesday morning and huddle together at breakfast comparing horrors, and so on throughout the week.  I can only remember two, and they both include my family doing horrible things.

Kitchen knives
My mother and sister have me cornered in the kitchen in the house I grew up in (near the toaster).  Whenever I try to slip out of the corner, they calmly slash at me to keep me there.  They’re smiling and laughing at my futile escape attempts.

Pool of Parts
I’m in a swimming pool that has been dyed red with the blood of freshly hacked-up body parts that have been put there (or maybe they’re swimmers who got chopped up before they could escape).  I’m attempting to get out of the pool, but my mom, sister and dad keep pushing me back in with long wooden poles.

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badness, goodness, life

Oh, Imaginary Thing, please protect me from this other Imaginary Thing

faith's all, CHILL, I GOT THIS

What I love (read: despise) about religion is that it claims to be the only cure for a problem it creates.  That’s like stealing everyone’s light bulbs, then “helpfully” selling them flashlights.

Leave it to the Flemish painters of the 16th century to illustrate this idea perfectly.  Check out this drawing by Maarten van Heemskerck, entitled “Man Protected By the Shield of Faith.”

As if the devil (whose penis is a forked tongue, and knees are capped with beast heads, because being the devil isn’t enough, apparently you really have to illustrate it with messed up genitalia and patellas) isn’t a fabrication of the very faith that claims to protect man from him.  Without religion, faith and the devil disappear, and this illustration becomes a drawing of a man playing a game of “If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands.”

But then, without  the talent of Flemish artists to freak us out, and religion to freak them out, we wouldn’t have paintings like this one by Joos van Cleve, where Jesus is totally ripped and wearing a Superman cape while squashing some poor fat putti (tiny pudgy angel kids).  I recall from my art history classes (which I loved) that Jesus is often depicted as physically fit when placed in a Last Judgement scene, which this is.  Still hilarious, though.  “He died for your sins, then went to Gold’s gym to pump iron and check out the ladies on the treadmills.”

meanwhile, everyone in the foreground is all, WTF WHY DID WE BRING OUR BED SHEETS TO THE APOCALYPSE FML

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