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.

Happy New Year 2012.

It's been awhile since I posted, because I've been kind of numb since my vacation. It wasn't really what I was expecting, and then again, it was exactly how I knew it really would be. Staying in New York was a disappointing and lonely as it was last year, only this time it was warm and humid, which was kind of a pain since I brought a winter coat with me and a bunch of sweaters. My hotel was very cute, which was a win. The first night I got in, I showered, which was a huge relief after the plane ride, then went to McDonald's, got dinner, and watched TV. I felt the East Coast vibe very strong, the autumn, leaves, scents in the air, etc.

I bought my aunt a gift at Bliss Spa for her birthday, and spent most of the next day just doing nothing. Eventually, finally, I took the subway to the West Village, where I met the guy named Steve five years ago. Going back to that locale was very strange. Also, it was hot out and my careful makeup, hair, etc, went to complete hell and I looked bad.

If you're by yourself, New York can be absolute hell in it's lonliness. You feel like the city is a living organism that will swallow you whole if you're not careful. That's how I was feeling, but I made it back to the West Village where I met this man whose name was Steve, 5 years ago. Walking around the neighborhood felt very familiar, and very horrible, too. I felt horrible feelings and the horror of that time: being broke, essentially homeless, sick with decay. I think when I met him I had been wearing the same outfit for 3 days because I had little to no clothes to wear. My hair was growing out from bad homemade cuts and dye jobs, and I remember that I had bobby pinned the sides of it up so it would look longer in the back. I had one green flip flops I bought at a J Crew around the corner from my sister's luxe high right apartment, the one that her and her jerk off husband couldn't really afford. Grifters r' us they were.

I have no sense of direction. It takes a long time for me to learn new places and neighborhoods, so I got somewhat lost, then all of a sudden, ended up on Greenwich Street. I walked down and found Johnny's Bar. It was the strangest moment. Not even surreal, just very, very odd. I felt nervous and hot, so I went to Starbucks, hoping I could find a table, sit, and think. Of course it was packed. I had the old horrible feelings of walking around Manhattan, observing all of the well-dressed people with good jobs, homes, friends, lives. It made me feel like dying. I guess I have come somewhat further than I was at that time.

Eventually, I did go inside, and the place seemed much smaller than I remembered. There was a group of college age people sitting at the end of the table, and a few lonely alcoholics. The place just seemed grungy and sad. I don't drink alcohol anymore, and haven't had any in almost five years. After taking a sip or two of a gin and tonic, I felt the alcohol take small effect, a slight blurring of my vision and a little bit of vertigo. I just ran out of that place and took the subway back to my hotel. New York is a horrible place to me, I'll never go back there. I hope to never go back again. At least I can move on now without the idea of a possibility that is so ridiclous in reality holding me back.

I've still had thoughts of this guy, though. Will they ever go away? Why is it I am still, sometimes, so enamored with a memory of someone I don't know? That sounds horrible because it kind of is. He's a real guy, off someplace, probably in New York, maybe with a family, or kids and an ex-wife, or a girlfriend and no kids, or who knows? I guess you can really fall dangerously in love with strangers. That love at first sight thing is really possible.

Today is just another day, however. A work day, the worst day. Tuesdays are awful. I am coming off of a short weekend, a nice night's sleep, and then I have to languish the day away and rest enough to be sharp for work at 11pm. I get paid Friday though, which is great, and I'm going to get my hair done, maybe get some new glasses or something.

I saw a movie about sex addiction and generally some very fucked up siblings yesterday. It was hard to watch but a good movie. Very kind of like this clinical documentary kind of experience, but when the main character actually felt powerful emotions, you kind of felt them with him or something. I might go see it again.

I've been taking a lot of self-portraits just to be aware of how fully ugly I am. I have some good angles, but mostly am not that attractive. I have messed up teeth. And they're just very prominent, big teeth, too. Crooked and just fucked up. Bad genes from my father's side of the family. My mother had almost perfect teeth, and a perfect face. It's hard as a girl not to feel pretty, or to feel like there's something about me that ruins my looks and should have been fixed but wasn't. Thanks to the asshole bastard orthodintist who put 2 rounds of braces on me and they didn't make a fucking dent. I think when I walked out of his office the last time, they were still fucked up and my overbite hadn't gone anywhere, and the asshole was like, all right, perfect! I looked him up on his website and now he and his son practice together. How cute, right? That man was a mean asshole and my mother took me to him TWICE. THe first time should have been evidence that he wasn't efficient. WHy did she take me to the same guy a second time? I don't think she cared enough. I think she thought, so what. I've raised two kids already. Maybe this kid can stay home with me forever and I won't be alone. Let's leave her ugly so no guy will want to marry her. Or just laziness. Sometimes I think my parents were very irresponsible to have a third child when they knew my father had health problems, and my mother was 40years old. My childhood was not normal and it ruined my chance at a normal adult life. Sometimes I don't understand how I'm even still alive.