Kill All Humans Part II

People covered in oil. Lucky them, they can take their clothes off.

OK, seriously? Another oil spill? You know, fuck it. We'll never learn.

I guess it's a good thing shit like this happens where people vacation, because if it was out in the middle of nowhere, where people weren't affected, the spill and the damage it causes to wildlife would go unnoticed by the rest of us. Companies have to own up to their enormous mistakes because people will get all pissed at them, maybe sue, and will definitely have a negative opinion, which in turn will affect stocks. And fucking stock makes the world go round.

Oiled muskrat.

Though this spill is nowhere near as massive or damaging as the one in the Gulf, it's still the most destructive thing that could happen to the area. And what really makes no sense is how the company, Enbridge, can ignore warnings about safety violations. This spill happened because a pipe corroded. Corrosion takes a while, and Enbridge obviously wasn't keeping an eye on it or paying any attention to the warnings from the Pipeline and Hazardous Materials Safety Administration. With all the attention on the Gulf and BPs safety mistakes, wouldn't you start making sure you're not going to come under the same bad press? Wouldn't you make sure you didn't get lumped in with big bad BP by replacing your damn pipes? Now 35 miles of Kalamazoo river are tarnished, 35 miles of dead fish, dead frogs, oil-coated birds and muskrat, and a river bank that will be unsuitable for life for years.

Really didn't think I'd be using the "oil spill" tag again this year.

In Which I Am A Hypocrite

Google image search "single."

This week marks one full year of singledom! If you've read even somewhat consistently, you know that before last July I had been in one of two rather serious relationships, for 7 cumulative years, both ending either because I didn't want to marry him or he didn't want to marry me. So this year was a learning experience.

One thing I learned is that when you're pretty sure you're going to be with the person you're already with (especially when that person is the only one you've slept with) it's easy to make bold statements about what you'll never do because you don't think the opportunity will ever come up. But when that relationship died, so did the idea that I had to live by the standards I set for myself way back before adulthood. The question "why?" suddenly became "why not?"

So, there was a neighbor, a roommate, a friend, a coworker, and a couple of category repeats who I got to one base or another with, despite all of them being on the "List of People I'd Never ______." But none of those situations were spur of the moment, at least on my end. Before getting into those situations I'd already made up my mind about what I was comfortable doing; if I wasn't comfortable with something it didn't happen.

And that's how I avoid regret.

I love Google image search.

There were also some situations that never happened (which was for the best, even though part of me really wanted them to), and others that could have been more, but I wasn't comfortable enough at the time.

The point of all this is to ultimately figure out what I'm looking for. I've already written about things I've learned from the long-term boyfriends I've had, and this year was an entirely different kind of learning. Now I have a better sense of who I am as well as who I want to be and what kind of person I want to be with.

No idea why this showed up in Google image search for "single."

Every guy I kissed had some fatal flaw (ranging from incredibly hot but crazy to just plain far away), which is why this has been the Year of the Single Lady. But also, when I look back on my past I realize how dangerous it was to jump from one serious relationship to the next. I was still in love with my first boyfriend when I started dating the next one (who, to be fair, was still in love with his ex-girlfriend) and those feelings didn't subside for months. I know so many people who've hopped from one love to the next and, despite having fallen out of love rather quickly, I knew being 100% over it would take some time (after all, it was close to 6 years).

So, in which I am a hypocrite, the guy I'm kinda being courted by has his own fatal flaw: smoking. It's yet to be decided the severity of this disgusting habit and it may well flop before it gets anywhere, but at least that's a flaw that can change (and let's be honest, it'll probably have to).

Kill All Humans

Bender really does have it right. Humans are the most destructive force on the planet. And some are just downright stupid.

Take Elle Macpherson. Actress, model, designer, producer. Speaks 4 languages, lives in the UK, 2 kids, fucking rich. And she eats rhinoceros horn.

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! What the fuck is an quasi-educated white woman doing buying BLACK MARKET ENDANGERED ANIMAL KERATIN? Thanks to you, Elle, rhinos are still endangered. They're still being killed for compressed hair. That's right, hair. Save the stray hairs from your brush until you've got a nice handful, then grate them on your salad. Or use your fingernail clippings. I'm sure for a lot less than $100 grand you can go to a nail salon and ask them to save their clippings for you.

What is it she thinks she gets out of rhino horn that she's willing to pay out the ass for it? She's nearing 50... maybe rhino horn is the fountain of youth? What gets me even more is she's the producer for Britain's Next Top Model, which means all those aspiring young models, who might look up to her, might see that she takes rhino horn and might want to take it, too. Seriously guys, not only is it ridiculously silly, it's illegal. She should have some sort of repercussion for admitting it (and then lying about it: "Oh, it's bad? I mean, I didn't know it was rhino horn, I just thought I was paying thousands for a vial of Chinese herb powder that helps me... um, I dunno, be pretty.") Fucking dumb. She should die like this poor girl:

See that, Elle? She had a 9 month old baby. And you killed her.

That rhino was the last female in Krugersdorp Park in South Africa. Her baby watched the killing and was then moved to an area with other rhino orphans. There are at best 18,000 rhinos in all of Africa right now. Most of them are Southern White rhinos, like 4 are Northern White, and a few thousand are Black rhinos. Rhinos are most protected on reserves, but guess what? This picture was taken on a reserve. Not very protected. This pisses me off so fucking much. It's 100% pointless. I can almost understand ignorant families relying on ancient remedies because they have no other option. But Elle Macpherson has no excuse and this makes her a horrible person.

I have to give a shout out of thanks to Us Weekly. It was in their magazine I learned of Elle Macpherson and her horrific actions. I have a newfound respect for the gossip magazine and am glad they've exposed a model, knowing how many people read it. Thanks, Us Weekly.

*EDIT: Here's another source.

God Hates Comics

Apparently.

At least, that's what the Westboro Baptist Church would have you believe. They came all the way to my city (which, don't know if you know, happens to be America's Finest) to hold up signs that said, "God hates fags."

Follow the logic? Me either.

Ignore for a moment that anything the WBC does makes the opposite of sense. Focus instead on them only sending 2 protesters who, in order to get their point across, each held up like 4 signs. Focus also on the genius of my community and the nerd community in holding up counter protest signs, like "God loves gay robin" (who I met at sushi last week), "Is this thing on?", "Superman died for people's sins," and "Kill all humans." That last one was from Bender.

The WBC hides their activities behind freedom of speech and freedom of religion. However, many of the things they do is pure and simple terrorism (protesting fallen soldier's funerals, for example). It baffles me that they get away with it right here on our own land. At what point do freedom of speech and freedom of religion stop being rights and start being an infringement on other people's rights? When does it become terrorism? The WBC has long since crossed that border, and in my opinion they need to be taken down. I only wish I had been there to see them; I'd have sent my own message with water balloons.

On the other hand, I guess it does kind of make sense. The WBC is full of zombies, and so is Comic Con. Ba-dum-pah!

Speaking of which, I headed downtown last night for some people watching and was not disappointed. Along with several zombies, I saw pirates, Super Woman, Cat Woman, some sort of Frankenstein-esque woman, a guy walking around with a Yoda doll, Sailor Moon, plain old dominatrixes, and a female Avatar (my phone camera sucks so I couldn't get a picture, but she wore a bikini top, thong and high heels and was covered in blue and purple paint). Plus, my friend decided to get in on the action by holding 3 straws and being Wolverine. I rocked my longcat shirt and it was totally recognized.

I love San Diego.

Death Of A Friend

Rest in peace.

Death is unfair, painful and scary. It doesn't matter if it's just a little sparrow or squirrel or a friend or family member. Death sucks.

A friend of mine learned a classmate from high school died recently, and he didn't expect it to affect him as significantly as it did. Another friend accidently killed a squirrel while driving, and, again, he didn't expect it to affect him as significantly as it did. An owl ambassador died, deeply affecting many of my friends and former coworkers. That owl's death also affected me more than I thought: though I didn't know him I had met him; he was the last animal ambassador I saw before I left the Park.

Then today was my first day volunteering for Project Wildlife. While feeding my last cage of baby birds one just wasn't interested in eating. I notified a manager, handed over the tiny guy, and she said she had to euthanize him. He and his cagemates had conjunctivitis, which is pink eye in humans but in birds is a virus that might never go away. Acute cases are euthanized. A minute later another bird started sneezing so again I called over the manager. He wasn't even opening his eyes, so she took him away too. Then she saw the eyes of the other 2 birds in the cage and made the decision to euthanize them all. I'd just been feeding them for 5 minutes and was already attached enough to be sad at their deaths. I knew it was for the best- no reason to prolong suffering and waste our resources on animals that won't survive anyway, and keeping them alive was putting nearby cages at risk. But I was still sad for their tiny lives. It made me think how much we are affected by loss of life- if these little song birds made me sad, how sad are my friends who lost their owl, and how sad to know you killed another animal, and how sad to lose a person.

Maybe we're all selfish and want whoever died to remain in our lives to fulfill whatever role is now empty. Or maybe we know we await the same end and being reminded is just too scary. Or maybe we think it's unfair that the deceased didn't get to live longer. Whatever psychology you choose, death is not easy to handle.

One Week

It's like my life: it makes no sense.

Well that week came out of nowhere.

Last Wednesday my job was to take about 30 foreign students to this western "club" for $2 drinks and line dancing. The place was packed, despite the $8 cover and line dancing. One coworker had been with the students dancing and was going to be taken home early, so he comes over to my van, thinking I'm the one driving him home, starts to push me off my seat and says, "Don't worry, I'll drive." I turn around and he realizes I'm not who he thought I was and starts apologizing like crazy. Then, "Ok, well give me a hug, cause I'm drunk." They leave in the other van and I head to Del Taco to pee. On my way out some foreign looking boys are on their way in, and I can't tell if they're my students or not, so I smile. Turns out they aren't, but I've already smiled and made eye contact so one comes over and ends up kissing my cheek.

Thursday I found out one of the students has blood cancer and might not live more than a couple of months. He just got here, was planning on staying at least a year, and is here with his sister, who he doesn't plan to tell. My response? "Are you messing with me?" But then I realize he isn't even looking me in the eyes. And I feel like an ass. He shows me his leg and his veins are black. Fucking scary. After that I meet up with a friend for sushi and wait outside with Quail Man and Robin. (No joke. Wish I'd gotten a picture.) After that my coworker gets off early and wants me to meet him at one of my favorite bars, which I discover is a 3 minute walk from my apartment. Somehow we end up talking with his friends about AIDS and herpes for like 20 minutes and they leave saying, "Always wear a condom." Good advice.

Porkchop couldn't make it.

Friday afternoon (when I finally wake up) I go for a run. Across the street from my apartment there's a coffee shop and food mart, and on my way back I see a double decker bus sitting outside with a ton of Asians. Some of them were taking Asian glamor shots with their coffees and here I am running by all sweaty and gross. That night, I was rear ended by a taxi while I had students in the van. I pull over and the taxi stays where he is, blocking the lane. There isn't much damage, but my bumper is very bent. The taxi driver looks at it and says, "Oh, that was there before. I didn't do that." Since I was 100% not at fault, as I was stopped at a light, I tell him he's in no position to tell me what damage was and was not there before he hit me. He refuses to give me his information and suggests I call the cops. So I write down his plate number and call. While I'm giving the dispatcher what information I can, another cop drives by and tells the taxi to get out of the middle of the road. He pulls to the side, then comes over and says, "So you want my information or not?" WTF, dude. Finally he gives me his information (no idea why he made me call the cops...) and I can take the students home. Later that night we leave downtown at 130 AM when my boss calls me to come back for people left behind. They aren't even at the pick up place, so I have to go out of my way to get them. Grrr.

Saturday is Pride, but I have to work during the day so I miss the parade. I go to Baja Betty's with my lady while we wait for the boys to show up, but they end up going to another place, so we walk to meet them. And it is a sausage fest! There is only a small handful of chicks at this place, and we're there with straight guys. Obviously I have a great time. We get some drinks, meet some vibrant and fun looking gay guys and dance. My friends are grabbed and hit on, my lady is motorboated and I end up with half my drink on the floor. Then my Scottish friend tells me he wants to take me on a "proper American date." How can I say no to that? (I tell him to ask me when he's not drunk, so I get a text at 3am saying he's not drunk anymore; I've long since passed out.)

Sunday I'm called in early (and by early I mean 1130) and get a little bit of overtime. I was having a great day: the sun was out, I took kids to the beach, I was not hungover, and I felt fancy in a skirt. After work I have dinner with my lady, then go home to shower and wait for shift #2 to start. At 130 AM I'm back on campus waiting for a busload of students to show up. They finally do around 230, and I load 8 Taiwanese students and their luggage into my van to take them to their house families. First one I drop off I can't pronounce the name, so I show it to the girl who thinks it's her house and she says yes, that's her. When the woman answers the door she says she was expecting a boy. Since the girl confirmed that was her name there was nothing I could do and we assumed there was some error that could be figured out in the morning. Then I get to house #3 on my list and realize there's a boy in the very back who says his name is the first name I called. Well fuck. So I knock on the door and am told the students are expected to share a room, so since we can't have a boy and girl sharing a room I tell them there was a mistake and I'll bring them the other girl. So I continue with my drop offs and around 4am get back to the first house, do the switch, and drop off my van at 430. I'm home at 5, so I watch some TV and 45 minutes later get back out of bed.

Monday I'm at my lady's house at 630 AM with breakfast and lunch all packed. I've promised to go in to her class on her last day to see all her autistic preschoolers and help out. She buys me coffee, but I start to slow waaaaaay down at 9 AM. Luckily, they got an hour of swim time and that perked me up for the rest of the day. The kids were cute (except for the screaming ones) and I thoroughly enjoyed watching Miss K sing "I am a pizza" and "We love peanut butter." When the day is done I go home to nap. My alarm goes off at 530 PM and I have no idea what's going on. I don't recognize my alarm, don't understand why the street outside my window is so busy (thinking it's 530 AM), don't know where I am or what I'm supposed to be doing. I have a vague feeling I'm late for work, but don't know where or why... Finally I come to and understand what's going on. And an hour later I'm back on campus. My boss had asked me to extend my shift until 2 AM and I tell him I did not sleep the night before, but if I have to I will. There's some big party in Mission Beach that all the students were supposed to go to, but it turns out no one did. I start thinking I'll be off early. But when we get back to campus there's a group of 20 Italians who were told about a party and want to go, and we have to take them. But when we get to Mission Beach the party is over. We drop them off to go get drunk somewhere else and do the last of our pickups. We finally get out of there around 1 AM and my coworker and I stay on the phone to keep each other awake while we drive, talking mostly about this giant tarantula we saw. One of the best feelings in the whole world is getting into your bed when you're that exhausted. I slept hard.

Tuesday I force myself awake and go for a run. My foot kept bugging me, like I hadn't loosened up enough before running, and when I get back I notice a giant lump between my heel and second ankle. Weird. I'm not doing things to get random cuts and bruises anymore, so I figure it'll go away just like it came. After work I meet with friends for birthday tacos (and have the tamest taco tuesday experience ever while I get made fun of for wearing a dinosaur shirt) then go see "The Girl Who Played With Fire." I'm amazed how well they do these movies- they stay so close to the books and the actors are so real. Plus, I discovered Paolo Roberto is a real boxer, and he plays himself in the movie. Freaking cool. We'd gotten some frozen yogurt from Pink Berry to sneak into the theatre. Turns out it's ridiculously expensive and not even that good. I end up getting chocolate yogurt all over my hands and all over the inside of my purse (phone, book and chapstick included). Hooray. Way to end one hell of a week. But I discovered that my dinosaur shirt glows in the dark, so that's awesome.

Here's to hoping for a tamer and more restful week.

In Which I Am A Porn Star

You read that right.

This week 3 different friends mentioned they not only read this little blog of mine but actually look forward to new posts. Yay! Then I get a random e-mail from The Ex letting me know of some exposure I've been getting, including Reddit and an Indonesian porn site.

I was wondering how on Earth my blog was associated with porn, seeing how I don't even write about it, so I did some googling. Turns out Lindsay Marie is a platinum blonde porn star, and she posed with some of her Indonesian coworkers.

So, Lindsay Marie is an up and coming porn star. (Also, me, the snarky writer, but I don't turn up when you google my name...) Her biography says, "you could call me the multi-talented model" because she can cook and sew, and walk and chew gum at the same time. She also likes to call herself a nude model, rather than porn star, maybe because I didn't find any videos of her. She was an extra in some short non-porn film some years ago, but her popularity is down 27% on IMDB...

Gotta say, though, she looks pretty good in a pair of jeans. Here you go, boys, and I even included a link to her website so don't say I never did anything for you.

I'm not much for bottle blondes, but she's not too shabby.

Thanks for reading!

I Am Neurotic

And a little obsessive compulsive. And slightly germophobic. And I'm living in an apartment that's making me realize new levels of dirty.

I think I don't like this show because it's me, minus cool detective talents.

Because the person I share the apartment with (who is also the building manager) hardly ever uses anything beyond the door of his room, I have no idea how the kitchen got to be as gross as it is. Someone, somewhere along the line, made a sticky mess and no one cleaned it up. Until me.

Meeting this guy and seeing the room was really awkward (he's not much of a people person, from what I gather...) and I didn't scope out the kitchen much. And I left myself almost no time to really search for places, plus this apartment came so cheaply for such a great area that I figured I'd just deal with whatever weird issues. I already spent the better part of one day off cleaning, disinfecting and lining the shelves in the kitchen, fully grossing myself out, so I'm not exactly stoked to jump in there and do it again, even if it means finishing the job. Who knows who used the kitchen in the past, or what they did in it, or how long the stickiness has been festering. I certainly don't want to think about it, but when I go to pull out a drawer and my hand comes back with food particles on it I have to suppress my gag reflex.

What I'm trying hardest to understand is how my roommate can watch me clean the kitchen for 5+ hours and ask, "Is it that bad?" Well, yeah, it is, but you wouldn't know because you never use it. (Plus side is there's practically an entire kitchen for pretty much my use only... I just have to clean it first.) He did offer to try to help keep it clean, but I'm afraid we have very different ideas on what, exactly, "clean" is. I believe something must go through scrubbing to get all food particles off and then scrubbed again with soap and warm (preferably hot) water in order to be considered clean. I think his version of clean is rinsed and food particles mostly not on the eating surface. I even disinfected the trash can lid with wipes and the next day there were traces of something scraped off. I don't think it's that much to ask that a grown man clean up after himself, but I feel really weird asking him to, and even weirder that I actually have to. Shouldn't cleaning up after yourself be something you learn by your thirties?

I do realize I have an abnormally low tolerance for uncleanliness, but I don't think I'm being unreasonable. I want to bring up the subject but I feel like an intruder... I've not been home or cooked almost any night since I moved in and I can't always go to a friend's house or buy a sandwich somewhere. It would be nice to not have to wash my hands after touching something in the kitchen but I'm not about to eat with sticky fingers.

Something tells me I'll continue with my absurd amount of moving. Good thing I didn't sign a lease.

Bad Combination

This is a perfect description of my life right now.

Hindsight is great for realizing when certain things are bad combos. Like Sublime said, it does not pay to be drunk and horny.

Luckily for me, I have this thing called foresight. I happen to know quite well how alcohol affects me, and because I happen to be pinning for a certain boy, I know I should not be drinking. But unfortunately I happen to know equally well how boredom affects me, and right now I have 6 hours before I have to be anywhere and a very silent cell phone with Said Boy's phone number sitting right there, taunting me. Now, Said Boy does not have my phone number anymore so I have finally stopped getting that butterfly feeling when I get a text message, thinking beyond hope he's contacted me. Sad, but that's a step in the right direction.

I realize some people might want to slap me for saying this, but at 24 this is the first time I've been left. I was the one to do the leaving in my 2 relationships and because it took me for-freaking-ever to come to the decision both times, when I actually did it I was already kind of over it. So I have to say I feel a little heartbroken this time. Just when I'm starting to get some significantly strong feelings for Said Boy it's over. Which makes me sad all day. Plus, because I quit my job, now I don't even have the ridiculously young but ridiculously good looking boys to look at anymore. Sigh.

Hence, bored and missing Said Boy makes for an awkward post.

Stop

At my job as shuttle driver for international students, the #1 question I'm asked about driving is, "Why do you have to stop at stop signs if there aren't any other cars around?" My answer is simply, "It's the law and cops might be hiding and waiting to catch you if you don't obey the law."

And now I know how right I am.

Coming back from Sea World kind of late recently, I'm at a stop sign a few blocks from home. This intersection doesn't require all ways to stop and is partially a blind curve, so I always stop long enough to make sure no other cars/pedestrians are around before deciding it's safe to continue. Plus, the back of my mind is always on cop alert (Crown Victoria's are all too easy to spot, and I'll even get antsy when an occupied taxi is behind me). So I continue on, satisfied that no other vehicles were around.

Imagine my confusion when all of a sudden some very angry lights and sirens come up behind me. Earlier that day, while working, a cop had come up very quickly with all lights on while I was doing 68ish in the fast lane. I got in the #2 lane, very confused, hoping it wasn't because the French students in the van were making faces or something, but the cop sped on past me, scaring and confusing the cars in front of me. This time, unfortunately, the cop was indeed targeting me.

The guy sits with his searingly bright search lights trained on my little car for a few seconds before turning them off and getting out. Little unnecessary, I thought.

Me: Hi...?

Cop: I pulled you over for running that stop sign. License, insurance and registration, please.

Me: What? I stopped. *Get wallet, fish through glove box*

Cop: This is a AAA card.

Me: Oh... here. *Get insurance card*

Cop: *Writes down some stuff, takes my license and leaves.*

Me: *Annoyed.*

Cop: *Comes back with a ticket* You were going 10 MPH through the stop sign. I saw 3 cars ahead of you come to a complete stop. I look for the tires to stop moving. Yours didn't.

Me: Well that's not true.

Cop: You were going 5 MPH, maybe even as fast as 10 MPH. Sign here. It doesn't mean you admit guilt, just that you'll take care of it.

Me: *Grumble. Sign the damn thing.*

Cop: You're free to go. *Turns on his heel with an angry face.*

If the cop was visible, like they're supposed to be when running traps, I would have seen him, with his yellow lights on, and would have made sure to wait at the stop sign for a few seconds just to be safe. But I looked around and saw no one. Plus, when I drove by there later I didn't see anywhere he could have been that was visible, where he could see my tires, and still where I wouldn't have seen him (assuming his lights were on... if they weren't I obviously would have missed him).

I'm just glad I had someone in the car with me to share in my experience. Awesome. Turns out cops are targeting my neighborhood. My friend saw another cop pulling someone else over as he left, and the next morning I saw a motorcycle cop lying in wait on a sidewalk trying to catch people, and then I saw 2 more cops in the area later. Are they systematically going through San Diego neighborhoods with traps? Is it because Pride is coming up? Are they getting a jump start on their quotas? Are their a bunch of new recruits out there eager to slap around the public? Are they trying to help California's deficit with tickets? Whatever the reason, seeing an influx of cops around doesn't ease my fears, it makes me think I'm doing something wrong, even if I'm not. Are they going to get me for going 66 MPH? Has the duct tape on my tail light come off? Could he see me change the music station and get me for distracted driving? I'm a safe person and a very safe driver- having cops around only makes me more anxious.

Good luck to all you drivers out there!

3 Steps To Happiness

Feels like it's been a while since I was happy. I was the happiest I've ever been last summer with my job, my home, and my situation in life. I was unhappy in my relationship, but that was easy enough to end, and then I was super happy. So what's changed to make me unhappy?

(1) Had to leave my studio because I couldn't afford it, (2) had to leave my job because there wasn't enough work for them to keep me, (3) and I miss having a someone. These changes weren't all bad, though: I got to live with a friend for 6 months, and he was the best roommate I've ever had, I got to stay at the Wild Animal Park in a different department, and I got to have a... something... with... a someone for a little while.

Step 1:

Since I still can't afford another studio I have no choice but to have a roommate. Unfortunately, my friend and I couldn't live together anymore because we both really wanted to live in different places. But that means I got to move back to Hillcrest for cheap. And if you see the previous post, you'll learn that being able to go running in Balboa Park is my happy place. I love Hillcrest. This is my neighborhood. I'd love to be able to buy a condo here. The atmosphere is so chill- people just do their own thing, there's always groups of people out and about, so many restaurants and bars and places to have fun, lots of dogs, and easy access to other cool areas. Plus, I was able to set up my room to be a (very) miniature studio: I fit my couch and coffee table in my room, have a TV (with cable!), and a large bay window that the kitty loves to look out of. I filled the sill with scented candles to give it kind of a romantic setting and I have my own bathroom so I can be neurotic as I want with it. Only downside to this move is the new roommate: he kind of hid that he's a smoker until I moved in (he smokes outside but it still wafts into the kitchen) and the kitchen needs cleaning and disinfecting like crazy. Still, not a whole lot of downside, so it was a happy move.

Step 2:

Last September I cried on the steps to my building because I wasn't going to be considered for a job at the Park that I really wanted. My friend tried his best to console me by telling me I would get another job I had applied for. I sobbed that I knew I would, but I didn't want it. I got it and it had it's very cool perks, but I never loved it. I loved that I was still at the Park, and my coworkers were the cool, but that was it, and it wasn't enough. So when I finally realized how miserable I was I left. Jimmy said it best: "Never thought I'd walk away from you. I did, but it's a false sense of accomplishment." It broke my heart to leave the place I once felt so happy. I have no idea what I'm going to do now, but at least I can get a full night of rest without waking up every hour freaking out that I'm late for work, I don't have to live with a pit in my stomach, I don't have to analyze everything I do to figure out how to best avoid getting in trouble, and I don't have to be taken advantage of anymore.

Step 3:

I had started to develop some strong feelings for a guy I was seeing but not really dating. We don't live in the same city and I didn't want to have a long distance relationship (been there, done that, it sucks), so we just saw each other when we could and texted. Naturally, I develop feelings, and I knew he was, too. But not long ago I was dishonest about another encounter and he got rightfully hurt and stopped seeing and talking to me. Naturally, I'm pretty bummed. But when I start to get a little more over it he'll drunk text he misses me and the process starts all over again. I was the one to end my past relationships (yup, all 2 of them), so not having control over it is a new experience, and one I'm not particularly liking. Part of me wants to remove all reminders (which are kind of a lot... funny how you don't realize that until it starts to hurt you) and just move on, but another part knows we'll still talk in the future, so doing something dramatic isn't smart. The last step to happiness is to accept the way things are and move on with my own life. Love will come in time.

I Was Runnang!

Ridiculously happy.

Now, I'm not a long distance runner, a sprinter, I didn't do track and field in high school (but I did a pathetic year in 5th grade), and I'm not training for a marathon or have any real desire to actually do a marathon (26 miles? Why?). But boy did I miss running.

Right before Easter I twisted my ankle. I figured it wasn't a big deal and the pain would go away in a day or two. Three months later I was still wrapping it and taking it easy (probably should have actually seen someone about it, but I is broke). I also had zero motivation to go running because there was nowhere awesome to go... just some crappy little grass square that had a bunch of signs saying it was for the sole use of the tenants of the condo complexes surrounding it. Lame.

But then I moved back to Hillcrest, and oh my goodness I have Balboa Park. I went for my first run in over 3 months a week ago and it felt FANTASTIC. Like the world was a happy place. Like I was a happy person. Like everything was going right. Like I just had amazing sex. So. Good. And believe me, I would have come straight to the computer and written to you all about how fantastic it was to not only go running again, but to go running in the most beautiful of city parks in my favorite neighborhood in America's Finest City, but, alas, I did not have the Internet (see previous post).

For the last week I've run every other day and it feels wonderful. I've even incorporated this beautiful old foot bridge into my run and I go by a cafe/sandwich shop I want to spend insane amounts of money in. I'm back with all these other runners, walkers, dog owners, yoga masters, and bocce ball players, and I feel like I belong.

I Heart The Internet

The Internet is a series of tubes.

A friend of mine says I'm addicted to my computer. And I guess he's right, but really I'm only addicted to my computer when it's connected to the Internet. I think the worst thing about moving is not having the Internet for a few days. No Facebook, Fark, Netflix, or, worst of all, Blogger. The new roommate has a laptop but doesn't use wireless Internet, so it's on me to figure out how to make the old roommate's router work (still doesn't, BTW). Luckily, a couple of neighbors have unprotected routers, so I do have enough of a signal to access previously mentioned websites, even though not usually for enough time to get through an episode of Californication uninterrupted.

Point being, now I at least have some useful Internet and can feel connected to the world again. I can write, I can post those pictures to Facebook that I kept meaning to do, I can make fun of idiots around the world, and I can watch at least some Netflix. So get ready for an influx of posts I've wanted to write for at least 2 weeks but couldn't until now.

Hooray!