Category Archives: life
For when I get philosophical about my apartment, job, boyfriend, etc. Big picture stuff.
Sound advice
Hey, fuck you! Oh, wait… yeah ok, you’re right, maybe I’ll just do that.
if you say so
I am a Professional Citizen
Yesterday I had adventures!
i like to think Steve Jobs would be proud
I had to drive all the way across town from where I’m now living with Boyfriend in Silverlake to my old place in Marina del Rey to give my apartment keys to Teacher Roommate, so she could hand them in today. When I got in the elevator, I discovered a piece of gray luggage, unzipped, so I took a peek inside and found men’s clothing, some fancy cowboy boots, and an iPad. An iPad?! Why yes, an iPad. I waited in the elevator for about five minutes waiting for the owner to come back and breathlessly exclaim, “Whew, it’s still here, I almost forgot my bag!” But no. So I took it into the apartment with me to keep it safe, at which point I got a phone call from Teacher Roommate. “Heyyyyyy, can you help me with somethiiiiiiiiing?” She had found herself in a typical sitom scenario after accidentally dropping her keys into the dumpster.
gross, smelly success!
I took the elevator back downstairs to the garage, found an old towel to drape over the edge of the dumpster, laid a recycling bin on its side, and watched the hilarity ensue (and took pictures, of course). Back upstairs, we spackled up some holes, I grabbed whatever I had left there, plus the mysterious luggage, and drove away. I reached the freeway before I realized that I had forgotten to pass of my keys to Teacher Roommate.
After pulling U-boat and correcting my lapse in memory, I jumped on the freeway and managed to make it all the way downtown before encountering my next adventure: a car stopped in the right lane on the interchange between the 110-N and the 101-N. I pulled over, followed by a bright green Jeep. A guy in his early/mid-twenties got out of the Jeep and said he saw someone slumped over the wheel. “Woah! Is he dead?” I asked, pointlessly. We went over to investigate, and with a few loud, EXCUSE-ME-SIR’s, managed to rouse him. The old car was still running with this old man literally asleep at the wheel. I walked over to the driver’s side, mindful of the oncoming cars, and told the guy to put it in park, which he did (with some difficulty). I had just told him to scoot over when floodlights lit us up from behind: the cops had arrived!
i’m gonna pretend they looked like Erik Estrada from CHiPs
They unceremoniously told me to get out of the road (and rightfully so), which I did. They got the guy out of his car and pulled the car onto the shoulder. I told the man to step back from the road, and sit down, which he did, like a drunk. I gave one cop my contact info and a quick rundown of what happened (not much) while the other cop chatted with the old man. The cop (who was CHP I think, given the khaki uniform, right?) thanked me for pulling over, and wished me a good night.
I do stuff like this all the time. If I see a broken down car, I push it. If someone looks lost walking around, I stop and try to help them. When I see a kitten, bleeding to death in the road, I rescue it and nurse it back to health. Helping people (and kittens, apparently, but that’s new), makes me feel awesome. It makes the day worth while, no matter what else has happened.
And THAT is why I am a Professional Citizen 🙂
UPDATE: I found the owner of the iPad’s phone number in his email signature when I attempted to email myself from the iPad so I could contact him somehow. I left him a message last night before going to bed, and got a call back today! He said thanks, and we’re still figuring out when he can come by to pick up his bag of stuff.
And just for the record, this is still going to happen.
No rest for the awesome
I haven’t had time to write a new post recently due to too much awesome shit happening to/around me. Let me just put down some quick updates on every relevant topic.
so cute, i’m so proud of her
Old Home, New Owner
Diminutive Roommate has received a sideways-promotion to Diminutive Friend, due to her purchase of a house in the valley. She moved in and started tearing up some truly hideous shag carpet and disco linoleum to show some beautiful wood floors underneath, and has plans to install central air (because it’s the valley, duh). She’s excited, but was worried about living alone (since I won’t be able to move in with her after all). But it turns out our other friend is moving in with her because of lame roommate problems. Let’s call her Busy/Genius Friend depending on the situation, because she’s wicked smart, but cannot arrive anywhere on time, nor make solid plans due to keeping way too busy. She’s also a really hard worker and very resourceful, so she’ll help Diminutive Friend improve the house like crazy, which is awesome. I’m gonna help out too, if I ever get my life back. We’re all pretty excited for her, can’t wait to harass her over there with board games and sleepovers 🙂
our tea collection is unrivaled
Moving in With a Handsome Man
I’m moving in with Boyfriend! He’s been living in his grandfather’s house (now that his grandfather has passed away) for the past two years or so rent-free. His family is allowing me to move in for $600 rent since I’m a student (which is very generous of them, knowing I’ve been paying $850 at my old place). I’ve basically been staying at the house for the last month to get used to the idea of living here with permanence so it’s not a system shock to either of us (so far so good; Boyfriend keeps saying stuff like, “This is fun! It’s fun having you here all the time. This is gonna be great.“). All the heavy lifting has been done by Boyfriend and dad (hutch to my folks’ place, refrigerator to rental garage near Highland, bookcase and bed and white bookshelf at the house). We finished taking just about everything this past weekend. Moving is awesome because it’s a great way to purge myself of crap I haven’t used in a while. I long for a simple life, but I can’t seem to get rid of a lot of stuff because they all come with memories I can’t bear to part with, or they’re things I’ll be proud to show off to my future friends/kids, or I need those damn clothes for work, etc.
i made this
Graduate School (or Why I Have No Life)
My first semester of graduate school is winding down (just two weeks left) and winding up (three papers and a video due within two weeks). I haven’t been able to fall asleep without lying awake for two hours first. My mind won’t slow down. I can’t seem to calm myself down about school. I have so much reading to do on top of the assignments, I seem to spend all my time trying to get them done before class that I’m worried I won’t have time to write papers or make time for friends. I’m always wishing I had gotten more done. I’ve started reminding myself while I lie awake that I’m doing my best (which is true, I’m going to beat the shit out of this grad school program), and because of that, I am allowed to sleep. It doesn’t seem to be helping much, but I’ll keep trying.
“i fell.”
Zombie Kitten
I picked up the kitten I rescued from the vet on July 25th, and he’s been living at Boyfriend’s house ever since. He’s HILARIOUS. We both wish we could keep him, but Boyfriend’s family says we can’t have a pet here at the house 😦 Boyfriend and I are super sad about it. We’re pretty attached to him, he’s so funny. He loves falling asleep on our laps, purrs super loud (he purred in my lap for a solid hour today), and chases after a laser pointer like his life depends on it. He’s also really chatty, which can get annoying, especially during class when he circles my chair and whines about not being on my lap, then attempts to jump onto my lap but can’t quite make it, so he digs his razor-sharp claws into my legs (I’m still healing from the last four attempts). That’s not so much fun. Otherwise he’s awesome, and we’re sad to have to get rid of him. The good news is that I found a nice person to take him 🙂 Now all we have to do is make friends with this person so we can come visit Zobo all the time, hahaha.
Get Shorty
he looked a little bit like this, pretty disoriented
On my walk to work today, I saw what looked like a plastic bag in the street. Then I realized the part in the air was a tail. It was a light gray kitten, and his head was resting in a small pool of blood. I thought, “How sad,” and kept walking. Then I heard it meow. Not a normal meow, but a loud, kinda of skreeching-howling meow. I thought, “O god,” and kept walking, trying to figure out what to do. I would be late to work if I helped it. I had to go to work, right? It was probably next to death and would die soon anyway, right? Its injuries were probably severe, so it would die any second, so I should just go to work, right?
I couldn’t say what stopped me. I just realized it wasn’t in line with my priorities to let a kitten die in the street when I hadn’t even checked to see if it was save-able. I turned around and walked back, searching on my phone for emergency veterinarians in the area. I knelt down to have a look at the kitten, which was still breathing, and struggle to open its eyes to look at me. The only damage I could see was to the part of its face that was on the ground. The rest of him looked ok. Fine, I thought, I’ll try to get him some help. I stood up next to the kitten as some cars approached to make sure he didn’t get hit. A mail drop-off at the base of my parking structure was open, so I walked over and asked around for a cardboard box. The guy who found me one said, “Is it for that cat? Is it still alive?” I nodded. [it only just now occurs to me that he may have hit it] He came out with me and held my Kindle while I scooped up the kitten as gently as I could and placed him in the box. I wiped some blood off my hand onto the box and thanked the man as I stood to leave. He called me back as I walked away and told me that there was an animal hospital not far from us. I booked it to the car and drove east.
The place I found wasn’t a vet, but was definitely cat friendly (there were young cats playing, sleeping, sitting all over the place. One slept on a pile of mail in an in-box, another dozed on a computer tower). She printed out an address for an animal rescue that could help. I sped west, keeping an eye on the kitten to make sure I could still see it breathing. Once I found the place, a blonde woman waiting for service inside took one look at the box and knew it meant trouble. I told her the details, and she thanked me for being a good person. “Hey,” she said to the woman behind the counter. “We’ve got a trauma case here.” They said they weren’t taking trauma cases right now, and that I should go to the shelter a few blocks away. The blonde woman next to me wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Is the doctor in? Yeah, we need to see her. We can’t leave this kitten like this.”
Turns out her name is Mary K, and she owns a shelter in Las Vegas called All the Same Wild and Tame. She drives to LA once per week to pick up animals that would otherwise be euthanized. Her “bestest friend” was also there. She gave me some pamphlets and info on their organization once I was done crying. She took charge of the situation, and for that, I was very grateful. I called work to let them know I’d be late.
looks accurate
We went back with the nurse (doctor?) to get the kitten checked out. She had a look at him, wiped some of the blood off his face, pulled his eyelids open one at a time, and had a look inside his mouth. Then she picked him up and felt along his body and legs to see if anything else was damaged. He tried to run away, but they wrapped him back up in the towel Mary K had brought in from her truck for me. She left to check on getting me an estimate, and a few minutes later, another nurse (doctor?) came in to let me know that they wanted to do x-rays to see if there was damage to the bones in his face in particular, and to put him on fluids and antibiotics, and keep him over for a couple of days. Total: $200. I said yes to everything.
I went outside and paid. Mary K gave me a hug and thanked me for being a good person again (at which point I almost cried again), and I drove to work. My coworkers wanted to know how the kitten was, and how I was. I gave the shelter a call a couple hours ago; they said the kitten’s x-rays were clear, and that he was fine. They’re still going to keep him for a couple of days, just to make sure he’s ok.
Now I just need to figure out how to convince Boyfriend to let me keep him (if I move in with him, STILL WAITING TO HEAR BACK ABOUT THAT PART OF MY FUTURE, GAH). I already told him all about it when he called me about an hour ago. He could not stop laughing and saying, “Adorable.” I don’t think he thought I was serious about keeping the kitten. But I think I’d like to. I think I’d really like to. And kinda not. I don’t know. Pretty torn. He’s so cute. They needed a name when I paid the bill. I wrote down “Shorty.” The nurse said he probably wasn’t gray, but white and filthy. A white cat named Shorty. Pretty cute.
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.
Technicolor childhood crap
K-pop at its late-90’s finest
I grew up in Koreatown in Los Angeles. All my elementary school crushes were on Korean boys, my middle school friends got me into a Korean boy band called H.O.T. (which stands for High-five Of Teenagers… yikes), my friends in high school taught me how to read (and haltingly write) Korean. I can tell a Korean person with my eyes closed (it’s that familiar smell). With so much Asian influence, I was pressured into the drama that surrounds comparing who had the biggest collection of glitter-ink pens, offered in a seemingly endless number of colors, stickers of Badtz-Maru and Kero Kero Keroppi, and the ultimate staple of a grade school girl’s desk accessories: the pencil case. How many hidden pop-out compartments does yours have? Oh, just two? How sad for you.
trust me, the feeling’s mutual
I wasn’t Korean, however, and that bothered me because it meant that I was an outsider. Somehow I got over it, but not before I discovered Lisa Frank. Lisa Frank was the non-Asian kids’ version of Sanrio. You could get Lisa Frank back packs, trapper keepers, pencils, pencil cases, erasers, coin purses… the list goes on. You name it, Lisa Frank probably shit a rainbow all over it. Finally I could keep up with my Korean friends; I had access to the ugly shit that resulted when rainbows vomited up cheerful animals, and got slapped on a binder. Finally.
I definitely had something with these very bunnies on them. I remember staring that them, trying to decide which one I wanted to be. Bunny with the blue outfit won, of course. Who the fuck would want to dress like those other freaks?
I wonder why my parents let me buy this crap. I remember visiting Thrifty (now known as CVS) to get school supplies, and picking up a folder with golden retriever puppies on it. By the end of the year, I had added scars, fangs dripping blood, black eyes, Frankenstein-inspired neck bolts, and all other kinds of horrors to these adorable puppies. And yet somehow, even after defacing the most lovable of animals, I felt compelled to pick up something like this, and say, “Mom, I want this one.” More startlingly, my mom looked at said cheerful monstrosities and said, “Yes.” Then mommy’s eyes started bleeding (I would imagine).
I’m trying to picture Lisa Frank’s art teachers’ response to her work.
“Wow, Lisa, that’s… interesting. What is this?”
“It’s a unicorn. It was force-fed skittles, and now it has rainbow-colored hair. And diabetes.”
Later, in Pretentious Fucking Art Academy (PFAA):
“Lisa, don’t you want to try expressing yourself with other color palettes? How about a still life?”
“…No.”
“…You’re expelled.”
I’m trying to picture a young woman with a strong vision facing discouragement and harsh criticism at every turn, and triumphantly fighting through it all to finally achieve success, only to discover that the only demographic with eyes sharp enough to catch all the horrifying detail of her creations, but brains dull enough to withstand the onslaught of tastelessness and technicolor animal abuse: grade schoolers, the portion of our population whose acceptable social activities include eating their own boogers, and throwing tantrums until they pass out.
Bravo, Lisa Frank. Bravo.
I think this is an illustration of where art goes to die
In case you just can’t get enough Lisa Frank, you can visit this blog post about her by a similarly impressed female blogger, which I found while scouring the interwebz for the free laser surgery service more commonly known as Lisa Frank.
When juggling becomes literal
stay in school, kids
I just got back from a bar with friends. I’m not a big drinker, and I’m a total lightweight (the two are related), so after one beer I’m pretty much done with drinking, and the rest of the night is spent socializing and sobering up, which is actually pretty fun.
Tonight we went to a bar that has a large outdoor area in the back. They have turtle races, beer pong, and a beanbag toss. I think tossing a beanbag into a hole twenty feet away is pointless and stupid, so I picked up three of them and started juggling instead. Boardgame Friend came over and joined me (he can juggle too), and we decided to challenge ourselves. He tossed me one while I waited with one in each hand, then used that one to start the rhythm. Then I’d throw him one and he would start juggling with that one. It’s actually pretty challenging, especially buzzed. But we spent a solid hour or more on this little venture, on and off, throughout the night. It was actually really fun, I almost worked up a sweat (we both spent a good amount of time chasing after wildly thrown beanbags).
Now we have to get some of our own so we can practice and get good at this! I’ll have to find a toy store or something where I can get them for cheap.
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.
Little heroines
Kids dressing like superheroes is adorable and fantastic. No wonder there’s a website dedicated to them.
I don’t think I dressed up like a superhero, but I ran countless scenarios in my head about how I could save the day, and the superpowers I would use to do so. I was amazing. There were lots of cheesy one-liners and awesome poses, after which I would disappear while the adoring public wondered where I was, and reporters wrote articles giving me cool nicknames.
Not sure why I’m writing in the past tense.
Be Random, Be Clear 