GIRLS

So, if you've not seen the series "Girls" on HBO then you're seriously missing out. It's the every-girl show, meaning, there's a character in there for all of us. There's the hot girl, the prissy virginal girl, the gawky sarcastic girl, and the fashionable monotone girl who doesn't give much of a shit. There are also awesome male characters that draw you in, not necessarily with their looks, but with their personalities, which is also why I love this show. Yes, some of the female characters will make you wish you were them, but then others, like Hannah, make you feel like she's your best friend. She's overweight, but only slightly, eats cupcakes in the bathroom, has sex with a jerk, is out of the job, and makes witty comments like no other. I love this show. I really really love it and I think it's good for girls to watch it- to see a show revolving around real-life situations and that ranges in its female characters so that we don't all feel like we're never good enough compared to our model-esque idols. Also, the fashion is pretty inspiring and most of it seems doable on any budget. ;)

Colored Goal

Because I like repetition, I'm eating healthy again this week and hopefully until I leave for San Francisco. I want a pair of colored jeans that fit like a glove. I want to wear the outfit shown above and feel really good in it. I want to go to work and flit around without inhibitions, and pack up my things that will be size "small". I want it to be an even competition between me and my very petite roommate and I want to take up as little space as possible. I'm using this to keep myself on track for the first week, starting with the peanut butter/honey toast and an orange. I plan to make a trip to Trader Joes and I plan to stick to this for the week. I'm not going to plan on pounds lost, I'm just going to focus on sticking to this plan. Sticking to it and getting myself healthy. I plan on substituting the snack for a glass of Trader Joes' "Green Juice" and drinking lots of water. I want a pair of colored jeans. I want a pair of mint green, and I want a pair of pink.

Buttons

I don't look at the days anymore. Wtf? It's already the 29th!? I miss the numbers in a good way as if all my days are stringing together, leading up to something big. My nights are smokey with card games and sitcoms, while my days are busy and go quickly . I was tipped $1 on a $200 check last night by teenagers. It was the third time i've nearly cried at work, meaning it's rare that i ever get that upset. And so, we mellowed out and talked about all things and i kicked his ass at Gin Rummey. The Aces were on my side. I feel safe and soundly content in that place and wait impatiently for more. I am an excited being and i worry constantly. I wouldn't be me if i could button up a shirt right the first time. B

Baker by Trade

If you could do one thing in your life without the worry of money, family, or priority and solely based on passion, hobby or skill...what would it be?
There's nothing I love more than baking and honestly, it's the only thing that I understand 100%. You add this to that, whisk in two parts of this, fold in, and you get this. I'm pretty sure I'd rather be complimented on my delicious blueberry muffins  than being told I'm beautiful or whatever. I'd rather make someone smile with a pecan bar than with a good joke. It's this way:
When I'm in the kitchen with my ingredients it's either I'm going to make something great or I'll fuck it up and I can just whip up another batch. There's no maybe or I don't know..... it's just this way or that and I've fallen in love with the art. I've just finished baking twenty-four blueberry muffins and have swabbed the edge of the doughy bowl with my finger leaving nothing behind. My black jeans are powder white and my forearms are crusted with dried flower and egg mixtures. I think maybe I've been studying the wrong thing in school and trying to seek out a lucrative escape to this depressed country, when what I should be doing is pursuing what I'm good at, as should you. If you're good at it then chances are the best outcomes will eventually come to you right? The Anthropological field is booming, but competitive, the magazine journalism world is full of yuppies looking for their big break, and the baking world is full of talented, competitive yuppies looking to rake in the dough with their cupcake ATMS, T.V. shows and mom& pop shops. I just want to fucking bake. I want to bake simple things, complicated things, share them ,eat them, get fat on them , sell them, and market them to everyone because I love it. I think what's most intimidating is putting your hobby on your sleeve to find out that there are people wayyyy better than you...but that's with everything really. You gotta jump in and say fuck it I'm doing this for me and maybe, eventually, for someone else.
I want a bakery someday. I want a small bakery that my friends and I work in and sell fresh cinnamon rolls, sticky buns, pies, cupcakes, macaroons, muffins, brownies, take-home diy crusts that people can take home and fill with their fillings of choice, breads, and cookies. I want kids to beg their parents to go to my bakery after dinner or for a snack. I want a delivery service that goes out locally and online, which will send over your favorite pastry in thirty minutes or less - fresh and hot. I want people to go on first dates there, I want Yelp! to praise it and people to "like" us on Facebook. I want to be a baker. Do what you're good at/ what you love and make everything else a hobby. 

How Are You?

I'll be starting a new blog once I move to document life in the city ( as if there aren't enough of those already), but for now, I have been, and will continue to document life here.
Lately I feel different. Different how? Well, different in that things seem like puzzle pieces. Some of them fit together and when they don't I squirt them with water and mush them together so that they will fit. I want things to fit- work out, run-together, and flow smoothly. I want to love my new roommate like a sister, something that is happening slowly yet surely. I want my mom's move to Santa Barbara to run smoothly, because she deserves it and I'm happy that she's beginning to find herself at 48.
It seems that my first kiss has set me ablaze inside and now I want to be noticed by guys all the time and I want them to kiss me too. I want to go on dates, meet new people, and spend all my money. I want it to be summer, I want to play in the city streets  and drink until I'm dizzy. I want to smoke so that I can relax and I want to kiss more guys on the beach after city curfew. There are a lot of things making me feel older and more worried. I worry about being fired from my job all the time now and I guess that has something to do with our manager hiring several new people who, by the way, are nowhere near as cool as we are. ;) I worry about relationships, how do I look, clothes, food, eating, working, playing, money, pets, family, gas, foot pain, breaking out, breaking up, and everything else that comes with being a worry wart. I'm in a desperate mood to go to a concert (ANY CONCERT) where I can get sweaty and sway to words I may or may not know. I'm eagerly awaiting the next album from "Local Natives" and learning how to wear my hair in a tiny ponytail. I'm learning to drive when I'm high and how to push away from the closeness of others and sometimes how to embrace it. I'm learning that I don't like other people's tongues in my mouth and that a broken down washing machine is a terrible inconvenienve, but not something that will keep me from wearing whatever clothes I want (dirty or not).
I've been being accepted by a lot of people who have no inclination or obligation to do so, but here we are.
I've been pretending a lot lately too. I pretend to like things that I don't so I can be relatable, because something I've discovered about myself is that I'm not really all that relatable at all. This is your city! she said, remarking at my next to nothing knowledge of where things are in SC. I just recently had Pedro's Tacos for the first time, drank beer, watched "Office Space", played card games, and made out. All of these wonderful things I've been missing out on or holding off on, I don't know, but I think I'm becoming better and worse at the same time. I  miss people who I haven't seen (yes, that's you) and miss people who I have. I feel like I'm constantly grasping at the edge of sleep while my legs sprint ahead of me. I asked a guy with kind eyes out at Starbucks by putting my number on a dollar bill (turns out he has a gf). I'm sporatic and loney, silly, and uncomfortable. I want it all.

Sucked In

Where was Florence when I needed "Cosmic Love" to start playing in the background?
Where was Michelle Williams' confidence and Molly Ringwald's modest charm when things began to escalate? The touch of our hands alone frightened me and suddenly my bones were of rigid steel pipe and my heart had suddenly been pumped of every ounce of my blood. I wasn't excited, I'm a fortune teller with certain things: I knew it was coming, I knew it was why he had asked me to walk to the beach with him, and I knew it was inevitable. Suddenly we were there, he was kissing me eagerly and almost roughly with a smack and smooch that's only heard in cartoons. My eyes were wired shut until I felt it should have stopped and then they opened to the overcast sky. I waited as he pushed me against a thin, cold railing, the small of my back arched and my front shaping like an "S" up his body. I felt nothing. I felt awkward and weird, but where was my princess-diaries-foot-popping-fireworks-exploding- spark? The walk home wasn't bad, but as we stood in the cold in the driveway where our friends could see us, I was sucked into the wetness of his kiss and the rough scratch of his scruff. I wanted to stop and to crawl into the backseat of my car alone and to just stop everything except for my out-of-sync breathing.
They knew, and with smirks made snide comments about how strong the wind must have been to tousle my hair in such a way. A concern furrowed across her brow, all joking aside, and she instructed me to drink water to cleanse out the alcohol. They went to bed and the feeling was like watching mom drive away in the mini-van on your first day of elementary school.
WAIT! YOU'RE NOT STAYING!?? NO! WAHHHHH!!! THIS ISN'T REAL. HE'S A STRANGER! MOTHER! MOM! MOM!
like that. (this was all said within my head)
We sat in silence as I tinkered with my wood beaded bracelets and his eyes pierced my skull with such intensity that I thought I'd disappear. It felt unreal as the room swirled and meshed with all the wrong things. He stared and said nothing as if willing my bra to  fall off.
Suddenly, he was on top of me and that Smooch! SMACK!SMOP! SMOOSH! SMACK!SLURP! SMOOOOUUUCH! was happening again and I was wondering if I'd ever get free.
A hand found its way up my skirt and under my tight boxer shorts (I'm sexy and I know it) and grasped me around my hip. I was hyper-sensitive to it all, I could hear, feel, taste, touch, smell, everything and i prayed for Florence's brilliant melody to suddenly sweep me up. It did not.
I used the excuse of being tired (which I REALLY was) to get him to calm himself and go to bed. He slurped on my face once more before going to his room and leaving me to myself in the bathroom where I quickly locked the door. Creeping back to the couch, he showed up again and asked if I'd like to sleep with him and my answer was no. i felt nothing except the gas building, twisting, and maiming my insides and making puke seem like my greatest ally. I will leave it here and resume with the morning after in the morning. There is much to be discussed still.

Welcome to the Jungle

The thing is:
I don't realize that strangers walking into our humble abode will be irritated stressed out, and overwhelmed with the amount of animals we have and the high pitched squawks made by our many parrots that pierce the eardrums. Mostly the people who come over have been warned and so you can imagine my embarrassment when the plumber and his gorgeous son (who I had no idea was coming) walked into the door and the animal kingdom went wild. I made a point to explain that these are my mom's birds and that I'm moving away asap. That way, perhaps, the noise would seem out of my control and thus, it would be unfair for them to judge our lifestyle for it. Where's this going?
Well, because of this small incident, I've decided that when I move to our  new place in SF, it will be a place of serenity, drunk nights, and a comfort zone for anyone who is welcomed. There won't be the high-pitched wails of our blind and hideously mean African Grey, there won't be seeds strewn across dirty tile, dog hair cemented to everything, and a cat that wriggles and thrashes in my arms as I answer the door. (Although I do love my cat, she was not a good prop to answer the door with). The first thing the plumber said as they walked in was "Woah, you have a lot of stuff" which basically means holy shit, you should call the producers of "Hoarders" to come out here. 
So that's the other thing: our new place will be one of cleanliness and organization, a place where the shoes are put back and the coats are hung up. A place where dishes are washed and shelves are dusted (I say all this now).
I'm learning to change my environment based on my current environment. I'm not hating on my lifestyle, although, I could have done without the several parrots. I'm learning to shape myself around past/current experiences. I've looked at hundreds of pictures of home decor, small space decorating, and wall art to get an idea of how our city space will look.
Besides, I'm sure the plumber's son already has a girlfriend anyway. Next time I'll go to the door without a cat.

Five Hour Class

Tonight was something special.

I spent time being led into the near future by the people who will show up just there. We basically did nothing for five hours except enjoy each other's company, cheap wine, and milk chocolate. There was nothing unsatisfying about it: I could see the family picture being formulated before me and it made me want to jump into tomorrow with all the willingness I could bear to carry with me. I've decided that fears become more menacing when they become conquerable. It's better to believe that they're the things of which we shall not speak and so that way there is no reasonable way to acknowledge them. I feel braver, but with knocking knees that teeter and bend at gravity's will. I teetered myself as we went to pick up hot bowls of vegetarian phu and a movie from Redbox ("What's Your Number?"- cute enough). I was open to everything and realized that sometime awkward does win over a heart or at least a tipsy heart. I laughed whole-heartedly and watched her presentation time and time again in hopes that it would help to conquer the fear of public speaking. She was vulnerable and nervous, but we helped one another and I think her presentation will go swimmingly tomorrow. I felt free to use the bathroom even though I knew everyone could hear me piss through the thin walls and I felt lucky to be young without the thought of getting old. I felt classy and tan and happy and alive to be alive. :) Yes, alive to be alive.
I met our third addition to a SF apartment whose name is R. (for privacy reasons) and he seems like all the man we need to keep us safe in the big city. I felt happy to make eye contact and unwary of other eyes on me when I wasn't looking. Chocolate has never tasted so good and a drive home has never been so nerve-wrecking. I think I'll be okay- I think we're all going to be okay as long as we soak up the good company we keep and steal some good bits and pieces from the people around us...just to borrow. Just to know that we can be a little bit of everyone's happy.

Kite High

I'm beginning to see myself and that means I'm over thinking things. I got paranoid thinking that the two of us are putting on happy faced masks to get what we want no matter the cost. It's like watching a mother yell at her child- not in the act of yelling, but in that feeling of watching. You feel like you shouldn't be there witnessing it...like the mother should pull her child aside to scold him. Somehow you either:

1. Can't look away

2. Don't know where to look.

I'm more of the number two. It's something to get used to and something that I'll have to wait until I have it myself so that I'll understand it better. Sometimes it's like looking through the looking glass- like I'm a viewer, not a participant, not a member, but not necessarily in a bad way. I go a hot numb. Meanwhile, I'm wondering all these things like : holy shit I'm going to be 100% responsible for myself...can I do it?

What the hell am I going to do without my car? Can I sit there every night and do what number two says?Do I want to? Is this okay? weird? sustainable? I can see it flare up in small moments and that worries me for a couple of reasons. I can see it goes away and then I see it come back. I know too much and have said even more. Little things rack up and big things don't seem to exist. I don't need a reason for everything, but I do need to fill the silence sometimes. I'm breaking out with all this stress. My forehead is like a throw-back to early high school years when acne moved into the pubescent suburbia. I just got home from tea, political talk, and getting up high. I feel tired and I feel worried about life. I feel odd for making this decision and yet I feel the excitement that slightly overrides it. I feel exposed, inexperienced, and nervous. I feel apprehensive, jealous, needy, and overly stimulated. Please let it be fine. 

Adieu.

Squished, Sleep, Sticky

In my dream we were smooshed in the back of a small car. It had those seats that had to be pushed forwards in order to get into the back (inconveniencing everyone.) His roommate got into the center seating with me and put his muscular arm around my shoulder (his arm isn't that muscular in real life). I felt safe, comfortable, and proud that this arm was around me. More people got into the car and we had to readjust to fit everyone and suddenly I was very self-conscious about my movements. I didn't want to move- my body, I felt as if it were too big and heavy for the small space I was in. 
I woke up at 4am to a text from an old best friend telling me she had just got in from a date with her new 17-year-old flame. (she's 19 and he just turned 17) They had gone to dinner and made out by a lake that was left unnamed. 
After waking up, I was inexplicably inclined to check Instagram, my email , and Facebook. Yesterday was good. I had pie that blew my mind sockets out and a panini that I'm pretty sure altered my taste buds in such a way that no sandwich will ever compare. EVER. Call me a slave to commercialism, but boxed water does actually taste better- or maybe that's just because I was thirsty and the box told me it would taste amazing. 
I watched "The Darjeeling Limited" this morning, but missed all the important parts as sleep took me under more than a few times during the film. I fell asleep when all was well between brothers and woke up to one of them carrying a bloodied and dead Indian child. WHAT HAPPENED? The ending was nice, but the movie was very long and for that, I will give in a stamp of GENERAL APPRECIATION.   
With Easter tomorrow, I feel like I have too much to do again. 
1. get/make mom a gift
2. make cookies for work
3. get English homework done (wtf was the assignment?)
4. do some laundry (which I haven't done in awhile)
That doesn't seem like a lot now that I've written it out, but let's also add to the equation the fact that I work 3-11pm tonight and tomorrow and the fact that the time before work is used for #4 only and sleeping. I've been sleeping a lot lately and I attribute that to the never-ending effort of my body to catch up to itself. 
Currently, my head is covered in coconut oil and honey and is wrapped in plastic wrap. (actually "Glad Press & Seal") It's supposed to make for some surreal shiny hair and if my hair comes out looking like that chick's in the picture, well then, this sticky mess will be well worth it. 
Happy Easter to all and stay out of the death trap that is traffic (the 5 freeway) if possible, otherwise just be safe and smart!
Adieu.