Making Better Choices: Just kidding! It just looks that way.

I have been trying to make better life decisions, so I started eating Greek yogurt. However, I stopped eating real fruits and vegetables. Whatever, there are bits of fruit at the bottom of each Chobani yogurt-thing. The situation is pretty much a solid diet of yogurt, Luna bars, cheese, meat, and pasta. My bowels are like, "seriously?" And in response, I say, "look, I drink enough coffee to make up for all the fiber I am not eating."

Fine, nutrition still needs to be tamed. Despite my poor food choices, I am still exercising! I might not go to the gym as much as I used to, but I am taking a Zumba class once a week with my friend Julian. I did not go this week though... Anyway, Julian and I are going to be Zumba masters one day. I cannot follow along with all the moves, but if I flap my arms and spin around when feeling lost I look Zumbatic enough. While humiliating 40-60% of the time, Zumba is a great deal of fun. Our instructor even plays songs that have the word "zumba" in it; just in case someone forgets why she is there (a lot of old ladies in this class, by the way).

My body is not the only thing getting into awesome shape. My brain is doing okay as well. Olivia and I have been throwing a lot of ratchet parties... Yes, it is true. She and I party almost every single weekend. Sometimes we party during the week. We will often party for hours... like seven. Seven hours of partying sometimes. "What kind of parties?" you ask.

Study Parties!!! Olivia, who is obviously French from the accurate picture above, is a terrific study party buddy. We like to sit across from each other and work. We also like to sit across from each other and eat lunch in between morning work and afternoon work. For extra fun, we like to go to the movies and watch films that you probably have never heard of before because these films do not believe in advertising. Seriously, why don't any of these producers believe in posters? Still, they are usually majorly super nice and magical. I know that if left to my own devices I would only watch romantic comedies and romantic comedies in 3D.

Sometimes we need more than great friends, exercise, study parties, and yogurt. I needed to take care of my "spiritual self". My spiritual self was just screaming for a serious make-over. Just kidding, I really did not know that I had a "spiritual self" until James and I made a pilgrimage seventy blocks south to Radio City where Oprah is kept. Yes, James and I consulted Oprah for some life advice and a self-esteem boost.

Seriously, I went to go see Oprah. She told me that I needed to feed my spiritual self and not just my hungry self. Oprah said a lot of things that day. I know she was speaking English, but I was pretty much lost for all 2.5 hours. Many of these things just ended up jumbling together--"transcendence", "energy", "karma", "meditation", something about the past and the future and how neither is now, "judgement", etc. Regardless of how little I learned about my spiritual self that day, there was one thing I did gain...

Oprah Friendship. Oprah and I are best friends now. She learned how cool I was and wanted to read my autobiography. I didn't have a copy on me that day, so she was all like, "yeah, no worries, maybe I can pick it up from you one day when we go shopping together and do girl stuff together, like facials and whatever. I will put your book on the book club reading list and you will become famous and I will scream your name like, Caaaattthhhhheeeeerrrrrinnnnnnnneeeee!" Yes, I am awesome... Eh, well, not really. Oprah and I are not really friends. I mean, in my heart she is my friend, but that is not a real place because two people cannot sit down inside my heart and have tea. These people would have to kill me first or something, but if I am one of the people then it really is impossible. So, yeah, Oprah is not really my friend. I did not get to hold her hand as depicted in the image above. No one is allowed to touch Oprah anyway. She is made of Phoenix feathers, angel nail clippings, and that warm feeling you get when you step into Saks--mortals cannot handle that kind of tactile experience.

Before I end this post, I have one more thing to share. Here is a fun game...

Guess!

Guess!

Guess!

I might be getting...

My Winter Break: a good time.

My last post was kind of half-assed, yeah? Yeah, I thought so. Anyway, I just got back from my vacation a month ago! I am going to talk about it now. I flew out to California and Boyfriend Josh joined me... this was December. For the first time ever, our kin-worlds collided. I have never had a boyfriend's family meet my family before, mainly because most of my relationships prior to this one ended within the first few months. You are probably wondering: "who would not want to date this piece of awesome? She drools, does not know how to take care of herself, eats garbage, currently rocks a mullet, and everything." (Bow-shaka-bow-wow--sexy music).

While having the worlds collide sounds interesting, it was in actuality like fine-whatever-no-big-deal. I seriously thought there was going to be more drama for me to blog about, but... it was the most normal experience I have ever had in my life. Ever. Geez, talk about killing a potential story.

The most drama happened at Knott's Berry Farm (a Peanuts themed amusement park) with Aaron, Holly, and Daniel. Holly and I got what I think is whiplash while on the "Ghost Riding the Whip" roller-coaster. I have participated in Ghost Riding the Whip for realz back in 2008 with Monique, Peter, and Omnilust... that roller-coaster was certainly not it. First of all, you need a car. Secondly, you need to be in one of La Jolla's slightly sloped residential neighborhoods. Third, you need to be hungry... hungry for adventure! And pizza. Most importantly pizza, because that is what you eat afterwards. Yeah, I got whiplash at Knott's Berry Farm, but it was totally worth the fun we all had that day. I ate something called nachos fries out of a box with a fork.

Anyway, over the break, I realized that being treated like an adult by my parents is completely contingent on Boyfriend Josh's presence. After he left, my mom felt completely free to unleash all the mom-comments she had been holding back:

I guess some things do not change no matter how old you get... did not floss then, not going to floss now. Much like recycling, I only floss when people are watching. 

I returned to school about three or four weeks ago and immediately became swamped with work. Balancing out the work situation is the return of Tuesday Happy Hour at Sligos (and Durty Nelly's once)!

Here is something amazing--no new centipede sightings! Wikipedia and various insect annihilation websites say that centipedes are most plentiful during fall and spring, which makes me believe that I will not see any for awhile. But... where did they all go? The ones that were in my apartment are definitely dead thanks to Josh and my neighbor. Where are the other centipedes? Where are they partying this winter? Probably in that area of my pantry I never go into because it looks disgusting. There is so much yellow insulation goop in there. Does anyone know what asbestos looks like? Oh wait, I just looked it up. Yeah, the goop is not asbestos.

Okay, I really have to go some reading for class now. Bye.

Suck it, finals! Suck it!

In the weeks leading up to winter break I have be way super busy with writing papers and school stuffs.

After I completed my research proposal, I had to write a paper for theory. I considered throwing myself down a flight of stairs.

...But then... today... it happened... I finished! SUCK IT, FINALS! SUCK IT! No better way to start my vacation than by going to the Federal Reserve to make gold angels in the vault.

Eh, whatever.

The past few months have been tumultuous. Things were okay and then they were not okay and then they went back to being sort of okay, followed by a brief bit of not okay, and then okay. Being an adult is super majorly difficult at times but not always though sometimes usually. Eh, at least I have my health, right? But because I am a paranoid person I am getting my annual check up three months early just to make sure that "at least I have my health". Even though when I said "at least I have my health" I knocked on wood to prevent jinxes, I still think a blood test is more assuring. Well, since the last post all this happened:

Yes, a lot of stuff went down. These visual representations might seem confusing, but hopefully you will be able to interpret them correctly:

"Was she stabbed by a centipede-dragon? If she is so scared of centipedes turning on her why would she leave swords around the house?  Is that a turd? Gross. Was her tooth really anthropomorphized? Why is it so sad? Does she have an indifferent phaseolus lunatus with a face and arms? If so, shouldn't that be in a Ripley's museum for the rest of the world to enjoy? Did she throw-up turtle? God, this girl has digestion issues. If she has stomach problems she really shouldn't have gotten that cotton candy machine."

Yes! Yes to all of it! As for the why questions: "Eh."

Despite all of my really awesome and questionable adventures with violent ten feet tall centipedes, turtle vomit, and legumes these past few months, the greatest one of all is probably grad school (shut up, I am not lame). I seriously love graduate school and my new friends. Look, we even go out together now:

Just look at how my face is contorted to express happiness! In addition to all of these wonderful people, I befriended my neighbor. Prior to the big centipede incident all I knew was that she and I both replace real people with TV after work/school. As you can guess, that is not enough material to build a friendship. Real friends have more stuff in common. Real friends watch TV together. Well, one day I had an emergency. I came home to find that a centipede had broken into my apartment. When I heard her keys jangling I threw open my door and screamed for help. My heroic neighbor valiantly marched over with a bottle of bleach and destroyed the monster. At that moment we went from being adjacent TV murmurs to face-to-face people friends. Actually, I have not seen her since the centipede incident but I am sure that if I ever wanted to I can ask her to join me for dinner. I can defrost fish sticks and personal pizzas like nobody's business.

My Charmed New England Life: Too Much Nature. Gross.

New England, the birthplace of witches, lobster, Fall-time trees, and deadly animals. I kind of get to live here! yay... Moving beyond the ghosts and rats that live in my walls, there is way too much nature out here and someone should do something about this problem. Nature is freakin' everywhere and I can't seem to get rid of it--there is only so much of it I can eat. While the rats and ghosts may just be ontologically real, the family of centipedes living in my bathroom sink is materially for-realz-for-realz. Centipedes live in my sink tubes and at night they crawl out, staying in the basin until morning. They scare the crap out of me, so before I go to bed I close the bathroom drain to avoid this:

My campus seems to be filled with the nature as well. The other day a gaggle of geese (gaggle, right? Bevy? Eh) landed in front of the athletics center. I wanted to chase them, but I had to save all of my running energy for the elliptical. Prior to the geese encounter, I saw a HAWK! SQUAWK! It was raining out or something and from the graduate lounge window I saw a beautiful hawk the size of a three-year-old human. It was just chillin' on the lawn like, "eh... no big deal. I'm just a hawk chillin'". I tried to exhort my peers to share the enthusiasm, to absorb the glory of this magnificent bird--no, just kidding, I tried to get them to come outside to watch me chase it. Only one friend followed me out. The hawk was even more enchanting without a glass window dividing us. I felt such a connection to it. It was my spirit animal, my Hedwig.

I debated whether or not to chase it. After all, it was a pretty flippin' large bird with talons and a beak. Before I was able to make up my mind

it kind of flew at me and I grabbed a girl with crutches to use her body as a shield (I learned how to do this in Civil War reenactment games during 7th grade). Yup, I am a terrible person. Thankfully, the hawk decided to land in a tree instead of my face. All was well again in my charmed New England life.
Next time I decide to chase a large bird I am going to chase a turkey because... YES there are wild turkeys that roam free around New England! They are bigger than hawks.

I asked one of my new school friends if it would be possible to have her drive me around town so I can hunt turkeys from the passenger seat. She said no. Well, until I can find a gamely person with a car, I am going to enjoy the taste of New England nature the legal way.

How to Ride a Bus

My double life between Boston and New York has taught me many things about riding a bus successfully... dominantly... strategically. The 4.25-hour trip sounds tremendously long because it is, so I have a few tricks to optimize my chances of a double-front-seater trip. First, I signed up for Bolt Bus rewards, which ensures me Class A boarding status. If the Bolt Bus ticket collector has any sense of order, hierarchy, and justice... he will announce Class A to board first. Recently, a ticket collector announced Class A but then allowed a bunch of lowly Bs and Cs to board anyway, I had to push a C-er into a planter to quickly get my bags in the trunk so I can call dibs on my special seat. Which one is the special seat? and why is it so special? You may ask. Well, the best seats are the ones in the front.

The front seats are great! The benefits are (1) the panoramic view of the freeway! (2) no one reclines on you! (3)  the privilege to get off the bus first when the driver stops at the Burger King (or Roy Rogers, or Arby's)! and (4) extra leg room! However, being Class A does not always guarantee front seating because there may be many other Class A-ers rivaling for the special seats. Now, yes, there are FOUR front seats, but if either pair has an occupant, it is inappropriate to double up before all the other pairs on the bus have single occupants--by this rule, I have to be one of the first Class A-ers to board or one of the first Class C-ers. To increase my chances of reserving one of the four front seats, I shove when it is time to board. I have been told to "chill out", but what does a bus driver know about being on a bus for an extended period of time?

Think all the effort is over after I get one of the four front seats? Guess again. Now, it is time for me to protect the adjacent seat. Yes, I want TWO front seats for maximum comfort. To discourage people from sitting next to me, I put my backpack on the seat and take out all the books and folders, spreading everything all over the place everywhere. Then, I scowl to look dangerous.

Often, this does not work well. I tend to attract young Asian females who take one look at me and think, "oh, we have the Asian-connection, so it must be safe to sit next to her!" Sometimes they hover over me for a second, hoping I will look up and acknowledge them. I don't. Despite my busy demeanor, they dare to interrupt me with stupid questions like: "is anyone sitting here?" No, but my all my school books, notes, syllabi, and other things that appear like important business are; "do you mind if I sit here?" Yes, jerk; and the classic apology followed by an ellipse as they move toward the seat, "sorry..." Awful.

Think taking a bus is simple? You are wrong. It is full of strategic mind games and physical aggression. I am winning.

Boston, you scare me.

Recently, I relocated to Boston to go to school. My studio apartment is located in the North End, a community rich in history (Paul Revere rode through my neighborhood!--not recently or anything), Italian restaurants (why don't any of you take card?!), dumb tourists, uneven/narrow roads, tiny side streets, and notable landmarks that I haven't really checked out yet, but they are definitely there. People tell me there is much to love about this place because it is cute and has that "European"-feel. If "European" means "someone is going to stab you in a dark alley" or "ghosts are going to eat you" or "this street is just quiet because the person who was here before you is now locked in some car's trunk and will soon be harvested for organs" or "this sewer leakage is actually human juice from the funeral home", then yes, North End has a "European"-feel.

My walk home from school involves me crossing a funeral home with business at all hours of the day and a cemetery as old as this country (which is not THAT old, but old enough to look extremely creepy). This is bullshit. What the freak, man?! My quarter-life crisis obsession with and rejection of death did not ask for exposure therapy. I was going to go through the more conventional avenue of cognitive behavioral therapy.

I do not enjoy this. Fortunately, about two hours ago I discovered a new, longer way home to avoid this nonsense.

The first night in my new apartment was, to say the least, horrifying. The building I live in, like all others in the area, is flippin' old. Ancient! Built in the late 1800s, this little brick building has seen some major stuff go down, such as the molasses flood of 1919. My squeaky floors are distorted and slanted. It is like living in a fun house except the fun stops when I realize this is actually where I live. Anyway, the first night--I was startled awake by sporadic scratching sounds. My echolocation told me that the sounds were coming from the closet. Yes, of course, the closet! The source of all nightmares! In my blurry dream-conscious state, I was briefly concern that the scratching noise came from a ghost, or possibly ghosts. This scared the shit out of me for two reasons (1) what if it tries to kill me? (2) I don't believe in ghosts! This is not in line with my beliefs! There is no scientific evidence supporting ghosts! Why am I even considering ghosts as a possibility?!

I oscillated between fear and humility for about three hours throughout the night.

I concluded that the sounds were probably coming from rats, rats living in the walls of my apartment. At three in the morning this made sense. I live in an area with tons of restaurants=rats are living in the walls of my apartment. I was not as scared after concluding that the scratching sounds were produced by rats trying to break through the plaster. I figured that once the rats get into the kitchen they will see that I don't have any food. They will then promptly leave without hurting me. They will only hurt me if they know I am awake and watching them. I will pretend to be asleep, so they can carry on their business and leave me be. I will kill them tomorrow.

In the morning I investigated. With a clear head, I was skeptical about my rat theories and still pissed at myself for truly believing in ghosts haunting the apartment.
Let me get to the ending real quick before my laptop runs out of power.

It was the blinds. The window was open and there was a storm and a crap ton of wind... The sounds came from the blinds. I even reproduced the scratching sounds.