Forecast is Foggy

I haven't been into the city around sunset in awhile, as in, deep down into the city around Union Square, etc etc. It's strange to me that I've lived here for five and half years now. California is really my home, but I'm still getting used to it. It always just feels like a place I am crashing at, but am not really meant to be at. I guess that is a sign that I should move elsewhere. If after five years you don't feel comfortable someplace, it's probably time to move on. I'm going to a music festival tomorrow. It's not something I have done in years, maybe even about a decade. So I went out and spent some money on items for a good outfit to wear. I should be saving it for my supposed big move next summer, but June 2013 is still far enough away where I can put enough away from now to then. I sold part of my soul to the yuppie devil and went to Lululemon for yoga pants. I think I will never go there again. That is not by any means, in any terms, a very Kate kind of place. The girl behind the counter suspiciously eyed my tattoo on my hand and then probably remembered she had to act nice and friendly, and began asking me all about my day, blah blah blah. I just wanted to run out of there and not even buy anything, but it was too late. Lululemon is not a very tattoo-friendly place. I should have stopped at one or two big ones, but I just kept on going, like an asshole. I hate them now, I wish I could just scrub them right off forever. Word to the wise: don't get heavily tattooed. So I guess I'm too alternative to shop at chi chi yoga stores, I should probably just order online from now on and save myself the anxiety. Much easier to deal with the UPS guy on your doorstep, anyway. My friend from NJ, old high school friend, has moved to Washington State, Seattle to be exact. We had been talking on and off, and I saw her when I went back to NJ a few weeks ago. It was fun and we had a good time, had some drinks and reminisced. Anyway, now she is in Seattle, and called me last week, then said she'd have to call back. So I texted her but had no response. And then I called her tonight but there was no answer or return call. It's probably not a bad thing, I kind of was getting tired of reconnecting. I dropped out of college partly because of problems related to this person and people I had become friends with through her, and she caused me a lot of drama over the years. So maybe a kind of fading into the sunset isn't so bad. You know what is bad? Crowded coffee houses. It's nice to have space, be on your computer, drink your drink, and do your thing, but not when all of these strangers are all up in your grill and whatnot. I swear, my social anxiety has gotten so bad that I hardly go out anymore. Another five years will go by and I'll be 35 (NOOO!!!) and completely shut in to my apartment. Although, I hope that when I'm 35, I'll be living in a nicer apartment or even a house, having a better job, and that this goddamn laser tattoo removal will have worked. It's not working that well, by the way. The guy who does it has zero personality and hardly says a word, he just looks at me with a blank stare and asks a few questions. A couple times he made comments like, 'it's really working' 'i can see a difference already' and I know he is bullshitting me, and doing it badly. I'll give it another couple of tries, but if this isn't doing anything major by about November, I'm going to stop going to this place. I'm in hell. Yes, I feel like I have died and gone to hell, and am damned forever by a few bad choices I made when I was 22 years old. By a couple asshole people I thought were good friends, and some uncaring relatives. Boo-hoo, right? Well, when it ruins your fucking life you pretty much feel like bawling your eyes out every night before your crawl into your bed/cough in your closet-sized studio apartment. Or every morning since I work nights.

Limbo Land

The past 2 weeks have been somewhat transitory for me, and I've been taking it out on my hair. Petty and unimportant information, yes, but I have nothing else major happening in my life right now. I originally tried to do this ombre thing that didn't happen. It came out orange-ish and one side was higher than the other. I wanted to love this salon I had been going to in the Mission, Pretty Pretty Collective, but the past 2 times were so lackluster and the results were not at all close to what I wanted, so that place is done for me. I think it's hipster element is overshadowing the fact that there are a lot of under-talented people working there or something. I went to another salon and they gave me much better highlights that was much closer to what I had been going for. But the bleach killed part of my hair, and after trying to adopt new ways of styling my hair for about a week, I realized it was better to just cut if off. I'm a little hair-shocked right now, but another 6 months and it will be back to the length I want it at. I'm going to go blonder too, in the next few months. And I found someone cool to do my hair, finally. It's hard to find someone in San Francisco who is non-pretentious and such. In my opinion. I spoke to my sister today, but she sounded so irritated it kind of hurt my feelings. I'm too sensitive sometimes, and I don't think it was me, more likely her job stressing her out. I feel like sometimes she's hoping I move away from California. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. But I can't say I would blame her. She helped me get on my feet out here and has always been there for me if I am in a pickle or need help with some extra money. And she's been very generous with my past few Christmases and birthdays, too. Maybe it would be better to leave and make a clean break. I'm not in love with California, I never have been, really. I find it to be an almost cruel, somewhat vicious place full of a lot of violence and twisted types of people. Let me touch on another topic here. I'm not the prettiest person in the world. Not even close. In fact, if I don't wear makeup and have my hair done, I look pretty fucking ugly. And I have a kind of unique look, maybe. Not like every other girl. That still doesn't make it any easier when I look up and see someone rudely staring at me with this look of question on their face, as if they are witnessing something so ugly they can't believe it, or whatever. I'm not that pretty, but still, don't be a fucking rude asshole, or rude assholes. It happens too much sometimes. I should go back to my anorexic days, at least being too thin detracts from a less than precisely symmetrical beauty. Work is sucking so bad. Sucking the life from my bones!!! I'm starting to hate it. I really hate some of the people I have to talk to, the rude douches, and the awful graveyard shift schedule. That's it for now, I want to go home and rest.

Went to the bank today. Some girl who looked like she is not yet 21 waited on me. So after I leave, I notice on the receipt that part of my deposit was entered massively wrong. I go back in and am given a round of 'we're so sorrys' and 'please wait for a few minutes of the counter' and 'well, we have to recount the cash because we secretly think maybe you're lying'...yada yada yada. This isn't the first time I've had problems with this branch of the Fargo. They fixed that shit up, and rightly so, and I was on my way. But still, how annoying, right? I know you have to account for human error at times, and I've experienced my share of disgruntled and unhappy customers in the land of customer service, so I was nice. I know how it is to be on the other end. But please don't fuck it up next time, Fargo. As of late, I've been trying to save my money in the old savings account that has been collecting dust. It's been working out, so I'm hoping by this time next year I'll have a nice little cushion so that I can move away from the Bay Area. By Summer 2013, I will have been living here for 6 long, sometimes sad, sometimes boring, sometimes peaceful years. Maybe at that point, I will just want to stay and keep doing what I'm doing, but I really miss parts of the East. I think Philadelphia might be a good place to end up. I can take the train up to NYC anytime, maybe on a day off, or for a weekend, instead of a 5 hour plane ride. I could go visit my aunt for the holidays or for a day or two. I could see my other niece occasionally. We'll see. But I'm hoping that I can save at least 7-8 grand by July 2013. To some, that is pathetic and sad. To others, it is their reality. Is my reality. I posted this lovely photo op of a classic hoopty because I'm going to be needing to purchase one soon. Maybe not with the huge rims attached, but I'll need some kind of old car to drive to and from work in. My office is moving out of the city, and most people are kind of annoyed and inconvenienced. I still have yet to take a dress-rehearsal commute over to the new location. I'm hoping I can at least get there via the subway. Working these inhuman hours is a pain in the ass already, without the added grievance of uncertain public transit times. But of course, your employers never really care about any of that. So if I'm really productive I will haul the laundry hamper containing about 50 lbs of laundry down three flights of stairs to the laundromat across the street, then might be bothered by some scary looking dude or dudes, then back home. I'll just save it for tomorrow morning. Today is about relaxation. I did my food shopping and some cleaning yesterday. I'm just going to go home soon, eat lunch, and relax and don't it.

Sunshine Days

I woke up this morning with such purpose...to go shopping and spend more money that I should be saving now that I am 30 years old and officially aging closer to 40. I guess I should just enjoy this year, though, enjoy being simply 30. Not 24, not 36, just 30. 31 might be more of a slap to the face, more of a wake up call, kind of like a huge foghorn in my ear telling me to stop acting like I'm still a teenager and get my shit together! I mean, I have a job. I rent my own (very small) spartment. I pay bills on time, but my credit store is still horrible. Let me say, if anyone thinks that one or two forgotten student loans and a few random unpaid bills forgotten from long ago cannot destroy your credit score almost permanently, then you need to get the memo. It will kill your credit score, and when you're 35 years old and you want to lease a new SUV to fit your expanding family or whatever, and the car dealer says no bueno, then you will figure it out. But I'm single and have no children, no car, not even a bike. They scare me. My life might be a bit easier if I had one, but they're expensive as hell. Like 800 dollars for a brand new, and I don't feel like buying a used bike is smart, either. I don't need a wheel popping off as I'm riding down a busy street. So, purchases. I bought some makeup I don't really need, and some colored pants. I wasn't sure about them at first, but I've come to love brightly colored jeans. And I keep seeing Jessica Alba wearing every color of the rainbow in US Magazine pictures and whatnot, and she's 31, so I guess I'm not looking like a fool. It would help my situation if I was as gorgeous as she is, though, but that will never happen. I've come to peace with being average. Now I'm having very late morning iced coffee at a dingy hipster hangout in the Mission. I'm going to a shoe store to hopefully buy 2 more pairs of moccasins. I have a newfound love for these kind of random shoes. They're not sneakers and therefore a bit more acceptable if you have to go someplace nice. I can't wear dress shoes. Boots and I don't mix. I feel that they're cumbersome and usually add 2 inches which I hate. Dressy flats cut your feet bloody raw, and there's sadly not much need for flip flops or nicer sandals in the Bay Area except for a few days/weeks a year. The weather and sandals don't really mix out here. I'm going to go back home soon and try to do laundry, and clean the bathroom a bit. And then rent a movie or something. That's about all. It's hot out. Warmish. I still don't trust the weather so I wear hoodies constantly.

Sunday Girl

Yeeeeeuhhhh, it's Sunday. Finally. A long week of work is over. My week wasn't that bad, either, just drawn out and kind of stagnant. Last night was pretty much like every other Saturday night/Sunday morning. I always feel so frazzled when I leave work anyway that I have to go home and take a shower, lay down, and recover. I've lost interest in blogging, mainly because I'm sure I'm the only one who reads this, and if by chance someone out there is reading this bunch of blah right now, I'm sorry for this erratic mess you have just read. Today is a day to do things. The weather is warm and the air smells nice. I'm going to try to go home and then come back out to return something at a clothing store and maybe get some sandals. And some fun workout wear for my slow walks around the jogging path close to my home. I like to pretend I'm fitness conscious, but in reality, I still have the same affinity for neon tinged black spandex that I had when I was a chubby 10 year old kid back in the early 90's. All I need is a pair of white leather keds and a really bad oversized t-shirt tied into a knot on the side and I can party like it's 1992 all over again. *shudders* I really don't feel like going back to this yuppie store I went to to buy a coat, but I have to. I'm not going to keep a coat that doesn't fit. Please God send me into the arms of a nice older guy who just wants to hang around and watch good old movies at night. Someone laid back and kind of scary looking, but with a golden heart. Thank you.

Day Off

So today I'm having another round of laser removal done. It's not fun, but whatever. It's not the most horrible thing in the world, either. I bought a new pair of sneakers and am going to do this appointment, then go back home to Oakland and watch TV, and do laundry if I have the energy. It's nice not living in this city anymore.
Work wasn't too bad after the horror of last Tues night/Wed morning. I'm going to try and take a day off in the coming months for a nice little 3 day weekend.

I moved upstairs to #6 and so far, so good. No roaches. However, this morning, I found a very small spider barely able to be seen by the naked eye, as well as some kind of black beetle crawling on the kitchen curtain. NOT FUCKING COOL. Is this building infested? What the fuck? This better not even be a motherfucking bi-weekly occurence, because I will pack up my stuff and move elsewhere. These people need to get it together. Fumigate or exterminate or whatever. I understand that in apartment buildings, especially old ones, there are small bugs that you can't avoid, but come on. I just moved all my things to a new apartment to get away from the cigarette smoke, the noise, and the bugs, and I am still: smelling cigarettes, hearing noise from downstairs, and now have seen more fucking bugs. I think I should start looking for a new place. I don't need this aggravation. It's bogus and the owners of the building need to keep it clean. There's crap all over the back stairs, due to the numerous pigeons outside that I am now hearing all the time, and the building smells musty when you walk in. I guess as long as I don't see anymore bugs, at least for a few months, I'll be ok.

I hope these shoes I bought fit right. I'm standard mens. 8.5 in Onituska Tigers, my favorite sneakers ever. They're the best, comfiest, and fit nice. No surprises. I'm going to go back home and maybe take a walk. It's a very balmy day today, a bit overcast, but warm. People are wearing shorts around.

I'm missing the days of being 21 years old. It seems like you spend so much time waiting for these milestone birthdays, like 16, then 18, then 21, then it's like...hmm.. can I just stay at 21, please? 29 is kind of...not that great. And 30 is a milestone, but if you're alone it's kind of a sad milestone.

I'm really irritated by the bugs. There's more important things to get upset over, but I put all the effort into moving and I AM STILL SEEING BUGS. I don't fucking care if it's one spider or a fucking water beetle or whatever. It's unacceptable.

That's all for now.

Years ago, I used to enjoy writing short fiction and some creative non-fiction stories. It was a big hobby of mine, and a nice way for a shy and awkward teenager to escape to horrible world of the suburbs. Now, years later...I just feel like I can't do it. I can't even write a line or two without getting bored and looking at what I read and seeing a bunch of garbage. I wasted my college years majoring in Literature when I should have majored in Business, Marketing, or Communications. Or Nursing. Or SOMETHING ELSE. I had zero motivation and ambition after my mother died. And after my father died first, I really lost my support system. Dad always said he was my biggest fan, and he really meant it, too. I remember the least concert I sang in at elementary school, in late spring 1994. He was only a few months away from dying, but you never would have known it. He looked healthy and alive.

Anyway, I remember he stood up halfway and waved his arms in the air, and I smiled back and gave him a little wave. He was so geniune and happy, and smiled his big, wonderful smile. I miss him a lot, still, but my memories of him stop at age 12. It's not easy to carry those memories with you into adulthood. They start to fade away and turn into sad recollections.

Wouldn't everyone love to write a book about their fucked up childhoods and adolescence, about all the assholes who wronged them and treated them like shit, and have it published, and turned into a major bestseller? Then all of those same douche mongers could read them and take a metaphorical punch to the solar plexus. I need to push it and create something great, I have a lot of good material, but putting it into a semi-fictional story is tough to do. I'm not good at writing witty dialogue.
It turnes into mish-mash fiddle faddle.

I was going to go into the city today but just couldn't dredge up the energy. I had a slight nightmare last night anyway with too many bugs. I'm sick of it. My landlord never mentioned that there is a slight roach issue in this building. I really want to move, like, now. Out of Oakland, and out of California. Fucking forever, kiss it goodbye for the last time.