10 posts tagged “life”

So far, working at Cold Stone is a lot of fun.  The co-workers are neat, the customers are mostly pleasant, and I'm already comfortable giving my manager shit.  It's working out wonderfully!  Whenever I tell people this, they reply with, "I hope that feeling lasts."  Well, me too.  But let's not think that far in the future.

A few customers have commented on my tattoos.  One obnoxiously blonde girl asked if the tattoo shop I go to has clean needles. I told her no, they don't and that I have hepatitis. Another man gave me an expired coupon and when I pointed out that I can't use it because its... expired, he asked for it back. He said he'd come back tomorrow when my manager was working because he's pretty sure it's illegal to not accept an expired coupon.  UM. WHAT?

Oh, and I accidentally gave a little girl a 4 month old waffle cone.  I AM SO SORRY, LITTLE GIRL.

All in all, CS is sweet.

Now, on to serious matters...

I've been thinking a lot about life.  I think I might be missing out by not going to school in another state.  I'm not experiencing that going away to college thing and I don't know if I'm okay with that.  I was thinking about Portland, but thinking maybe not.  I don't think it's the city for me.

Next on my list of consideration - Denver, CO!

Maybe, maybe.

I just don't know if I can leave this city, my friends, my family. I just don't want to miss out on possible opportunities.

On a super serious note,
My grandma is having her surgery on Wednesday.  I am so scared and nervous and I just feel like falling asleep and waking up to a perfect world.  A perfect world where grandma is happy and healthy. I don't want to lose her.  I hope all turns out to be well.

Not one to go to bed with bad thoughts,
I really want to make my apartment cute.  I have Audrey Kawaski prints that need frames and to be hung on my wall... along with my picture frames of friends.  I also want my apartment filled with fresh flowers. Everyday I walk by Trader Joe's and see all the fresh flowers and want them.  But then I think about bringing them home to my cruddy dark apartment and lose interest.

I want a cute apartment. A cute life.

"These photographs make me want to flee — not flee anything in particular, but simply flee for the pure elation that comes from irresponsibly picking up and leaving. Because what starts as irresponsibility so often turns into opportunity, and sometimes you just need a little nudge to make that leap."

That basically sums up what I've been feeling for the last two years. I'm just waiting for my nudge.

Their story and their pictures make me envious and hopeful.  One day, I will force myself to do something that daring.

Just when I thought I successfully pulled myself out of that depression puddle I got yanked right back in.  I got a letter in the mail today from the manager of my apartments informing me I have 30 days to vacate. It was my second violation for having unauthorized occupants in my apartment. 

I don't know why it didn't occur to me to put Kyle on my lease.  Maybe in the back of my mind I knew he wasn't going to last.  He never tried to get a job, instead spent hours upon hours playing WoW.  I just dropped the ball on that one.

I didn't put my brother on the lease because he's 16 and his stay was temporary. I didn't think I needed to inform my manager that my 16 year old brother was staying with me because my mom was in jail. That sort of thing is personal, embarrassing, and just not something I felt like telling someone I hardly know.

As soon as I got the notice, I called Brooke.  Looking for comfort, I got the opposite. 

"Hate to sound harsh, but this is your fault." 
Hey, thanks!  I'm quite aware. 

"Well, the only thing to do now is start making plans." 
Oh, Brooke.  You and your plans.

I got annoyed and hung up with her.  I don't want to hear about it being my fault, about how I need to do something, about how they aren't my ticket out, or about how bad I'm stressing them out.  Yea, I might be stressing them out - but I'm the one losing my home.

Everything started crashing down on me.  I kept getting more angry and more sad and more crazy by the minute.  I started sending Jeff texts about how bad everything is.

"I seriously give up, I can't fucking do this."
His response, "You can, you have a month to get it together. It's going to get better."
Sorry, Jeff, but you're not winning any awards for talking ME off the ledge.
"I don't have a fucking job! I don't have anywhere to go! I'm in debt as it is.  I can't get a private loan because I don't have a job. Even if I get a job, I'm not going to have enough money to get an apartment. I'm fucked, why can't anyone see that?"
By this time, I'm so angry.  I want to bash something in. I want to shake something, throw it down the stairs, scream at it, spit on it, and then kick it.  I don't care what it is, as long as it's not living.

Then I think about driving off of the Coronado Bridge.

My stomach starts growling.  I take a break from my crazy thoughts and head for the kitchen.  I don't have much, but I do have garlic, red potatoes, and whole wheat bread.  Awesome, I love carbs.  I start chopping my potatoes and I can feel my bad mood slowly lift off my shoulders.  I start cooking the food and suddenly everything is drifting away.  I'm not as angry, sad, or completely defeated. 

By the time I finish eating my garlic red potato sandwich (Yes, I said a garlic red potato sandwich. Fried potatoes between two slices of bread.) I don't feel like I'm going to die from this.  Instead, I think about everything I can do to get out of this.  Though it's not going to happen over night - it will happen.  I will do whatever the parentals want me to do, regardless of how fucking gay I think it is, I'll do it.

Sometimes I feel like the people in my class don't believe that cooking is a passion of mine.  Sometimes I feel like they look down on me because of it.  But after tonight, I know that what they think doesn't make a difference.  I know that cooking really is a passion of mine.  I know it helped me get through tonight.  I've never felt such fast acting relief like I did tonight.  It was incredible.

Tonight was the night everything fell apart.  Tomorrow will be the day I start putting it back together again.

I've been considering moving to Portland or Seattle since the day I realized there's life outside of Fallbrook. I've always loved the rain, the cooler weather, the gray skies - all the things that you rarely see in Sunny San Diego.  Since it was a slow night at work, I starting browsing through Portland and Seattle's CraigsList looking at apartments and jobs.

You hear about California being insanely expensive, but it's something you don't really think about when you live here.  Yea, it sucks that I have to pay $750 for a one bedroom apartment in the ghetto, but it didn't really bother me until I started comparing it to other places. 

In Portland, I can get this apartment for only $765.  It has 39843x more amenities than my apartment now, and it's only about 15-20 minutes outside of the city. 

One of our dancers lives in Portland, so I called her to ask about the city.  She talked it up and offered to let me stay with her if I ever want to visit. She also mentioned that WCI just opened their new location in downtown Portland.  AND! She has a friend that owns an escort agency up there, so if I need a job - I've got one. 

HELLO, where is the catch?!?!

Maybe it's time for a big change, a chance to get away from everything in start fresh.  I'm excited about the possibility.

I've tried and failed horribly at updating this thing.  I try to type something out but it always turns to crap, I lose interest, and I find myself either sleeping or watching Grey's Anatomy on TV-Links.  That has been my life, Grey's Anatomy, for the last week.  I can't complain.  It's a great show.

See, already turning to crap.

That little bit of crap above was written 20 minutes ago.  I got distracted by my camera, AIM, my cats, and then Vice Magazine. Have you ever read Vice?  It's my guilty pleasure.  As much as I would love to read something better, Vice keeps sucking me in with gems like this:

It's still summer in Australia and everyone's dressing like a fat Japanese girl that's sleeping at your house because her dad found her dildo and he is fucking furious but she could give a shit and she's not falling for his tyrannical bullshit anymore."

I've read that a million times and I still laugh out loud.  I don't know what it is, maybe it's the run-on sentence, but Vice?  It's nothing short of magical.

On the topic of magic, the Labyrinth with David Bowie is the best movie ever made. Hands down.  I was going to link you to the movie on TV-Links but it's not working.  That site has been failing me a lot lately.

This Sunday I'm going to visit my friend, Nich, in La Jolla for a tattoo session.  I'm thrilled, excited, stoked, anxious, and even a little ecstatic about getting tattooed.  I'm going to get "Be Good" tattooed on the back of my neck, probably in Times New Roman.  Yes, you read that right. Times New Roman.  Perhaps even in bold.  Scratch that, it doesn't look good bold.

I'm getting "Be Good" because it is something my grandpa would always say to me.  He died almost 4 years ago, I miss him terribly.  My grandma says it to me now.  It's good advice.  Simple words to live by.

I'm also going to get a chest piece of octopi.  (Isn't that the word for more than one octopus?  Spell check is saying no, but this is my Vox, I'll do what I want!)  Why octopi?  Because they're my favorite animal.  And they have eight arms (or legs, however you want to look at it) and I wish I had eight arms.  With them, I'd be able to better manage my life.  And I would be able to drive, text, drink, and eat all at the same time without people yelling at me.  Apparently these actions are unacceptable when you have two arms.  I do it all the time, live a little people.  I don't want to die as much as you do, but life IS short, therefore I need to get all of those things done at once.  Don't ask questions, go with it.  (I'm totally babbling)

OH! And I'm going to get a couple of crabs tattooed down near my hip bones. That way I can pull down my pants and say, "Look! I have crabs!"  (There's another meaning behind it, I just don't feel like talking about meanings anymore.) 

I can't believe it's already June. Where is time going?  My brother turns 16 in 4 days.  He's a cool kid, see:

He will be moving in with me in a couple weeks for a few weeks.  It's a long, lame story - totally not going to get into it.  I'm just excited to have my brother around, I don't see him often enough.  My cousin, Kyle, is also moving in.  Three people in a one bedroom apartment... hm.  Not sure how well it's going to work out, but luckily it's all temporary.  Once Kyle gets a job in town, we'll be able to move into a two bedroom. 

This year is sure bringing in a lot of changes!

Alternative weddings are gay.  If you're over this 'antiquated tradition' why the fuck are you participating in it in the first place?  It's like having a graffiti slipcover over your Bible or doing your homework with a pencil that says, 'Fuck This.'"

My dearest friend Jamie is turning 20 this Saturday.  We're all headed to the casino for a purple and gold bash.  Meaning, she wants us all to dress in purple and gold. She doesn't want us looking cute, though.  She wants something silly, something... FUN.  In Jamie language this means tacky.  Wonderful.

I was dreading the whole idea of looking tacky in purple and gold.  I had such a hard time finding something to wear.  I went to 7 different stores before I got an outfit together.  I'll be wearing a purple dress, a gold belt, purple leg warmers, gold glittery heels, a purple bead necklace, a gold fish necklace, and a gold chain.  All together it looks pretty cute.  I'm thinking twice about whether or not I'm going to wear the gold sparkly mullet wig that I picked up at party city. 

In short, I'm pretty excited about this trip. 

A few posts back I mentioned my mother trying to hook me up with the "perfect boy."  The only thing we had in common was being vegetarians, but even that isn't completely true since I still eat sea creatures.  Anyway, back to my story.  When I met him he was living at my cousin's house... sleeping on their couch.  About a month ago he was kicked off of my cousin's couch and moved to my mother's.  My mom tried to help the poor kid out by getting him a job.  After two days on the job he was too sick to go back and refused to help my mom pay for stuff around the house.  My mom had had enough and kicked him to the curb.  For about a week or two now he's been couch surfing.  A real winner, right?

Well, the other day when I posted my psycho neighbor story in a MySpace bulletine, he responded.  His solution?  Are you ready for this?  He suggested I drive to town to pick him up and.  And!  He'd crash on my couch. 

...

You serious, boy?  Here, let me share with you his actual response.

"If you're actually scared of the guy, come to fallbrook and get me, I'll stay up there and crash on your couch or something, if I even see the guy I'll just kick the shit out of him.

I don't like seeing girls scared, because usually they come to me scared after something bad's already happened so think about it."

My favorite part was the ending.  The whole, "so think about it," thing. 

Honey, I might be scared but not enough to have you sponge off of me.  If I'm going to pay for something to keep me safe, I'll buy a dog or install an alarm. Nice try, kid.  I have to give you credit for having such large balls.

Maybe I'm being a little sensitive, but who says a girl needs a man to feel safe?  I've been living alone for almost three years without any problems.  I haven't been all that scared, either.  The only thing I have to worry about in my situation right now is pissing off that guy again. WHICH I PLAN ON NOT DOING.  I know how to be safe.  I know not to work down dark alleys, how to lock my doors, who to call, and how to react. 

I don't live in the best area, but it doesn't really worry me.  Since I work graveshifts, it's important for me to keep a parking space near my apartments.  The street I live on has doesn't have any street lights.  When I parked the way I did the other morning, I thought it might be a problem but I figured I'd be dealing with a somewhat sane person.  (Really, who gets that angry about the way someone parks?)  But the only reason I parked there was to be safe later, when I'd be leaving my house that night.  Had I known that trying to safe was going to put me in danger, I probably would've parked somewhere else.

Oh well, I kind of lost my train of thought.  Top Chef is on and even though I've already seen this episode, I'm having trouble looking away.  I love everything about food.  (Maybe that's the reason I'm curvilicious.)

This is an e-mail I sent the parentals about an incident that happened an hour ago.  Do you think I'm overreacting?  Because really, from the responses I got from management AND the SDPD, I'm not so sure anymore.

This morning when I got home from work, I parked in one of the visitor spots behind the complex.  There was a van in one of the spots parked all the way into my spot, so I had to park a little into the one next to mine.  I thought there'd be enough room for this other dude to get into his garage so I left it how it was and went to bed.

Around 1:30, the dude that owns the garage comes banging on my door.  Since I'm in my bedroom and the AC is on, his banging doesn't wake me up for awhile.  When I'm finally on my way to the door, I notice that he's turning my nob.  I open the door ask him what he wants and he starts screaming.  He's saying shit like, "Move your fucking car!" And so I just stood there telling him I wasn't going to do anything for someone talking to me the way he was and for turning my goddamn door nob.  He's still screaming, "Move your fucking car! Do you really want to make enemies with me?  You better move that fucking car or else I'll get it towed."

So I'm pissed off and scared because this dude was trying to open my door and was screaming at me.  I call the management company and they pretty much blow me off by saying they'll talk to him but I need to move my car.  I tell them that I don't feel comfortable going outside when the guy was just screaming at me.  I understand that I need to move my car, but I'm AFRAID of this dude.

I get frustrated with them because I don't think they're handling this as seriously as it should be.  I'm obviously upset and scared because the entire conversation with them is with me in tears.  I called Jeff and he told me to call the cops... soo that's what I do. 

Basically, I get the same shit from the cop.  He tells me I need to move my car.  It has already been moved, but I'm afraid I tell.  I give him the whole story of the door nob turning and the screaming and he tells me that the dude was just handling the situation wrong.  He says that some people don't know how to confront other people and this guy was just mad.  He says that the dude was just turning my nob to get my attention, there's nothing he can do.

WHAT?  I'm 20 years old living alone in North Park.  I'm obviously upset but there's nothing they can do?  He was just handling it wrong?  Can you just pass off every angry action as handling it wrong and move on?  I'm sure those kids were handling the situation wrong when they shot up a school, right? Shame on them.

So, is there a part of this that I'm not understanding?  Am I this upset over nothing?  I don't feel safe living with this crazy and no one seems to give a shit.  I'm so frustrated I don't know what to do.

You guys know me.  You know I don't get upset to the point of crying for no reason.  Especially when it's dealing with an asshole.  But I really don't feel safe.  I don't know this guy and I don't know what he's capable of doing... and I really don't want to find out.

Starting January 8th, I'll be attending the Art Institute of California - San Diego.

I'll be going after a bachelors in culinary management.

I'm excited.

Have you ever been so angry and so frustrated that you just started crying?

I hate fights.  Especially fights with people who won't allow you to talk. I hate when people assume something that's totally not something you would normally do.  I hate that no matter what you say, they're not going to believe you. 

I made a mistake. It wasn't anything that can't be fixed in under five minutes.  Not a big deal!

But this person, this insane person, acts like I just lost the company $50,000. (When in reality, I didn't lose the company anything!) She attacks me, doesn't let me defend myself, and assumes that these mistakes mean I don't care about coworkers.  She assumes that I'm suddenly so irresponsible.  Instead of listening to what I have to say, she spends 20 minutes talking over me.  Yelling at me.  Giving me a hard time because I left an hour early on a day I wasn't feeling well.

This woman, she's the same person that comes into work 10-15 minutes late.  Every. Single. Day!  I never give her a hard time about it.  I never say anything. 

It really makes me want to quit my job.  I don't understand how one person can be cool to you one day and treat you like complete shit another. 

Or the lack there of.

I signed the lease and picked up the keys to my new apartment today.  Now back at the old apartment I realize that I have nothing but two boxes packed.  I try to get things done but there's always something that distracts me.  I can't pack, I have to sit on the couch.  I can't pack, I have to update my Vox.  I can't pack, I have to shower.  And so on...

I'm running by the apartment tomorrow morning after I get off of work.  Maybe seeing it will make this more real.  Maybe it'll provide the kick in the ass that I need to get this shit done.  If not, Jeff will kick my ass when he shows up here Saturday morning and sees that I haven't done anything. 

I'm ready for the change, though.  I'm ready to start over.  I can't wait to decorate.  I want to pick up a new couch, a couple bar stools, maybe a dining table and chairs, plants, and a lamp or two.  I picked up "OctoGirls," by Audrey Kawasaki, which I loooove.  I have high hopes for this place.

I'm also hoping to get back into going to the gym, going for walks, eating healthier.  I've gained an insane amount of weight and I'm ready to lose it.  I want to wear my cute clothes again!

Now, it's really time to get back packing.  Or at least trying to.