wine is the one thing that would never reject my advances

I had an interview on Friday for a job that didn't exactly relate to my major but was still relevant enough to warrant my applying to it (because, let's be honest now, I'm getting desperate). I was super excited afterward because the interviewer and the potential boss-to-be seemed to like me, but I made a huge blunder while responding to the infamous salary requirement question. Instead of bullshitting my way out of it with a vague response, I threw out a number that was probably much more than they could've given me and now I'm afraid that it's cost me this job. Ugh. I'm THIS close to selling my soul for a regular paycheck.

This is my second post in a row that I'm composing while drunk. Rejection, no matter in what form, is depressing and disheartening. So I felt the need to take full advantage of the remaining half-bottle of wine in my fridge.

Now I'm going to write checks for my dad and hope that I don't fuck up. Though if I can type up a blog post while intoxicated, I think making out a few numbers should be a cakewalk. Might be a sign that I need more wine.

buzzing

I thought I should do at least one post while inebriated, so without further ado I bring you this edition of aesthetic seduction right after a night of getting drunk off my ass! We were celebrating Elise's boyfriend's birthday, so we had dinner at the Old Spaghetti Factory before heading over to another friend's house to drink. I feel obligated to review this place, so I will say that for $15 you can get a pretty decent meal here. Most, if not all, their dishes come with either a soup or salad and ice cream for dessert. Spumoni is pretty awesome but only because it gave me a much-needed chocolate fix :)

Anyway, half the people took shots with the birthday boy at the house and being a lightweight, I was buzzing after three drinks and feeling pretty good. But then everyone decided that King's Cup would be a good idea so I joined in for the hell of it. That didn't work out too well. Somehow I knew I would end up drinking the King's Cup, which is why I pleaded with people beforehand to share it with me in the case that I did end up having to put it down. Except when I drew the last king, everyone goaded me into drinking it by myself and being easily peer-pressured, I chugged the mixture of beer, coconut rum, tropical punch, grenadine, and orange juice. And that brings me to my current state.

It wasn't the grossest concoction that could've come out of that situation, but I've decided that I can't get a good buzz unless I commit to one kind of alcohol. From experience, I've found that vodka or wine works best and I'm going to try my very hardest to stick to my tried-and-true ways.

ETA: I'm almost certain that I was still a little drunk when I woke up this morning, even though I didn't have all that much last night. I was most definitely a little hungover, but the headache passed as the day wore on.

legs, and not the sexy kind

I was absorbed in job applications last night, filling forms out as fast as I could to meet a deadline. As engrossed as I was in my task, I saw fast movement out of the corner of my eye and before my brain had time to process what the hell I was looking at, I screamed bloody murder and rocketed out of my seat in an effort to get as far away from the thing as possible. I stared at the mass of legs that had appeared on the wall above my desk as my mom came rushing in to find out what all the commotion was about. All I could do was point stupidly and hop around helplessly. She kept saying it was a centipede, though at the time I didn't understand what she was telling me. And I had no idea what it was since I had never seen something so huge and hideous in my life that was not confined in a glass tank, but if I had to guess I would've said a centipede. All I could think about was the legs. Oh god, so many legs...!

She ended up smashing it with a sandal and tossing it into the toilet to flush to a watery grave, but before that happened I insisted on taking pictures so I could have a closer look at the monstrous thing. I'm not going to post those pictures because who wants to look at pieces of a squished bug in a toilet bowl? I will, however, leave this for you so you know just how scary this hell-spawn was.

Anyway, my mom is my hero. If I ever get married, I hope my hubby won't be as big of a wuss as I am. Some of the thing's legs are still stuck to my wall, but I can't seem to bring myself to clean them off.

lady problems (it might be a little graphic)

On Monday, I went out to lunch with my parents. It was blazing hot outside, and I had spent the previous night being way too bloated and cramping away, which left me in a foul mood even after I woke up. As bad luck would have it, it was during our wait for a table when Aunt Flo came knocking and despite my best efforts I couldn't keep her at bay. Fortunately for me, we got seated quickly and I made a beeline for the ladies' room.

The moment my ass hit the seat, before I even had time to react to the awful mess Aunt Flo trekked in on the welcome mat, I heard someone trying to open the restroom door. Ignoring it, I went to town trying to scrub out the mess and gave myself a pat on the back for having the forethought to wear black panties. The woman outside tried the knob again, which was slightly alarming because I didn't want a repeat of the beach incident. I muttered a curse and tried to work faster, but only sullied my fingers in my haste.

Again, she was at the knob. I was getting frantic. I imagined the persistent woman going out to ask the manager for a key, unlocking the door from the outside and walking in on me in all my half-naked, bloody-handed glory. How mortifying that would be! In frustration, I finally called out to indicate that the room was indeed occupied. Fishing a pad out of my purse was harder than it should've been as I was slowed by my stained fingers.

After what seemed like forever, I managed to extract my cottony savior and get it in place before the woman was at the door again. I shouted, louder this time, that someone was using the room. After finishing off and washing my hands, I jerked open the door with a scowl on my face, ready to stare down whoever the hell it was who couldn't control herself for three minutes so that I could handle my emergency in peace. It was a 50-something-year-old Asian woman and I caught her just as she finished opening the door to the MEN'S room. She only laughed when she saw me come out and I was only able to stay mildly irritated at her. Ugh.

Public restrooms are such a pain.

what's art anyway?

I'm not sure how anyone can say video games aren't art. Probably because most peoples' idea of art is paintings and sculptures and buildings...things that are tangible and easily romanticized, especially if they've been around for a while. Sure, when I look at pieces that are considered traditional forms of art, I can marvel at them and appreciate the work that went into their creation. But I get that same feeling when I watch or play a game too (I'm talking about RPGs here). So much money and talent go into producing quality games, the kind where it takes anywhere from 10-60 hours to complete, and most people overlook this because they think games are just something to be consumed when that's only one facet of it. Not only do these kinds of games tell a story, but many of them are visually stunning.

Mirror's Edge

It's may be unconventional to call it art, but in my eyes a lot of games these days are really just interactive movies. Seriously, game trailers are looking more and more like movie trailers. And people don't seem to have a problem labeling movies as art.

Here, have this article. It makes an argument for video game development as an art form and delves into it a lot more than I do. Aaand it's written by a female. Wooo!

loko

I still felt a little drunk from last night when I woke up this morning, but I couldn't really tell whether I was or just exhausted and slightly hungover. All I know is, Four Loko gives a bad buzz. It's an alcoholic energy drink that comes in an aluminum can like the ones used for Arizona, which is the equivalent of probably three standard drinks. Leigh thought it would be a good idea to get really fucked up on it so we each put one down before we left to the Broadway Bar to celebrate a friend's birthday and we were giggling uncontrollably like silly little girls by the time we got there.

Ours was 12% alcohol and 88% nasty.

We had the fruit punch flavored one, which everyone thought was better than the lemon flavored but...it was all gross to me. Of course, I chugged it anyway. It must've been the caffeine because that buzz lasted six or seven hours. And that's more than I'm comfortable with for something that's only supposed to last three or four. Everyone else at the party was trashed too so it didn't matter until I got home and had to clumsily tiptoe around the house at 4am to make myself some Mi Goreng. Never again! Caffeine and I can't be friends, at least not when alcohol is involved.

As for the bar itself, it was pretty nice and from what I can remember there wasn't a cover. We got there around 10pm so it wasn't packed but it was definitely full by the time we left around 1am. I can't remember much more than that...I'll add more if anything else comes back to me.

tipsy wednesday (nsfw)

Irene, Leigh, and I went to Islands for dinner last night to have another catch-up/gossip session. Of course, Irene was the only one who went intending to have dinner. Leigh and I had our hearts set on getting drunk. Nevertheless, once our menus were placed before us, I suddenly had a hankering for spinach artichoke dip. Irene ordered onion rings for "dinner" and she couldn't even finish it with our help.

In our defense, most of our stomach space went to the drinks that we all guzzled after realizing that we were making more of a dent in our food than our beverages. Irene and I each had a Lava Flow while Leigh tried the Rusty Anchor. I should've gotten that one for the Kahlua alone, but I was still happy with mine. Islands' drinks are fruitylicious! And for lightweights like us, they really did the trick.

Afterward, we walked around being obnoxiously loud and taking pictures before deciding to leave. Somebody whistled at us in the parking lot and I was nearly overcome by an urge to shout, "Let me show you my penis!"

Now I want to get one of these just so I can oblige when someone takes me up on that offer.

We spent part of the ride home catcalling guys on the street. Not too successful as there weren't many of them walking around on a Wednesday night, but we'll probably be back again soon to do it properly. Bwahahahaha.

dreamworld drama

Weather's getting hot again and you know what that means...weird dreams!

In this particular episode, J basically told me he was going to sleep with someone else. I don't know how I could've said okay to that, but my dream-self seems to be a huge pushover to the point where it's idiotic. Oh, and I let him sleep with me before he left right afterward to do it with her. This would not fly in real life. I had a similar dream months ago, except that time the other woman was blonde. And he actually told me he wanted to practice with me before going to see her (?!?).

I don't normally have recurring dreams, so you'd think that I must have some deep-seated issues revolving around a fear of getting cheated on if I've essentially had the same dream twice already. But I don't. I've never been more secure in a relationship. The only explanation I could come up with is that my subconscious is trying to sabotage my happiness. Is it because I don't think I deserve him? Maybe. But he thinks I deserve him, so that's all that matters.

Not to mention he'd be crazy to cheat on me! ;D

ten hours

Today was a long day that began at 6 in the morning and I only had four hours of sleep from the night before to carry me through, but it was well worth it. Oddly enough, the weather's starting to warm up again. I guess we should be preparing for another heat wave. Oh, joy...

I met up with J and we breakfasted at the Broken Yolk Cafe in Pacific Beach. The place wasn't very busy so our food came fairly quickly. I had Betty's Southern Biscuits and Gravy which was much more than I could handle since I had a snack on the way down but it was still delicious. He finished his Huevos Rancheros and proceeded to pick at my plate afterward. He also kept joking about how much of a lesbian I was because I kept saying how cute our waitress was.

We headed to the nearest AMC to catch Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. AMC is the only theater I know of that gives an early bird special, where tickets for shows before noon are only $6. So our tickets together cost about as much as one regular ticket. I love great deals! The movie itself was very quirky and painfully awkward at first, but once it got going the whole thing was very amusing. And according to J, the fight scenes were pretty well done. I recommend this if you want two hours of fun and mindless entertainment.

The day wouldn't have been complete if it didn't include some time on the silky sand of a San Diego beach. J knocked out but I stayed awake to tell him to flip over periodically so that he wouldn't burn. Then I couldn't help myself and fell asleep at the sacrifice of my left pinky, which came out of the trip mildly burned. Not sure why it was only that finger.

Beautiful blue sky and fluffy white clouds

Gorgeous sunset at day's end

GERD

I always knew I had indigestion problems but I stubbornly refused to get diagnosed until J finally made me do it. Student Health told me it was GERD, which confirmed what I kind of already suspected. They gave me a prescription for ranitidine, which was supposed to make my stomach produce less acid than usual. They also told me to avoid spicy foods, caffeine, alcohol and chocolate (i.e., happiness), among other things. They might as well have killed me on the spot. I was already on a self-imposed diet that excluded any coffee, eggs, greasy foods, and beef. My life was devoid of any palatable excitement for a while, but the meds only worked for two weeks before I became immune to it. So I said screw it and started eating/drinking whatever the hell I wanted again...

And that brings me to last night, which gave me the worst case of acid reflux ever because of my gluttonous consumption of too much BBQ and chocolate cake at Leigh's house. Over the years, I've discovered some tricks to alleviate the pain and even make it go away faster. But last night, no matter what I did, it kept burning and burning even when I tried to escape into dreamland. Lying on my left side, which is usually my last resort when I can't stand the pain anymore, also failed me and I couldn't help but picture a small hole being burned into my poor esophagus.

Sleep finally saved me from my suffering, but my stomach's going to feel sore for a day or two while it recovers from the burns. It's the price I pay for wanting delicious food.

Don't let GERD happen to YOU. Not that you can really prevent it, but you can preempt it on a case-by-case basis by using my left side trick ;D 99% of the time, it works every time.

awkward doesn't even come close to describing this

I spent last night getting hotboxed by BFF and The Asshole, getting hit on by a really-nice-but-not-my-type guy, and drinking much too lightly.

How did The Asshole become part of last night's plans in the first place? Well, I had already guessed BFF would want to hit him up so was prepared to see him. She asked how I felt about it and only called after I said it was fine. He was surprised to see me. We didn't talk much to each other the entire time but I enjoyed calling him fat once or twice. I feel kind of bad for his nickname now because he was pretty nice to me, but meh. I might change it in the future if this behavior is consistent.

BFF also invited a friend X that we didn't know who brought his friend Y along. Y and I were the only ones not smoking while the others puffed away at their cigs so we ended up talking to each other for most of the night. I suspected where the conversation was headed when he asked if I wanted to go inside and leave the smokers in the patio, but I couldn't be sure until he said more. Over the next twenty minutes, he gave me ample opportunity to tell him I had a boyfriend as he kept pressing me for details about how I spent my free time. I should've dropped the boyfriend bomb then but instead told him about job apps, reading, and gaming. He seemed to take a liking to that last detail because his face lit up and I mentally facepalmed after I said it.

My dumbass didn't choose those moments to tell him about J. No, I let the chance pass by and conversation moved on to other things. What happened next is almost too excruciating for me to even type out. When topics were exhausted, I tactlessly blurted out, "I should tell you that I have a boyfriend." But it was even worse than that, much choppier and bungled than I want to recall. And I kid you not, his eyes actually bulged and he looked stunned for a few seconds. I wanted to shoot myself. He recovered after a couple minutes and graciously continued talking to me, even asking about how things with J were going. We had lots of things in common, but I just wasn't feeling it. Not that I'm even looking anyway.

It was a good time overall, but I'm convinced I wouldn't have committed such a blunder had I only put down some more "social lubricant." I've made a mental note of it for next time.

spontaneity

Le BFF is coming home tonight and crashing at my place for a couple of days. We're hoping to go get some drinks tonight and maybe paint the town...Scarlet. Hahaha you saw that one coming.

HAPPY FRIDAY THE 13TH!

Friday the 13th has only ever brought me good things. Don't fail me now!

beach bum

I had an amazing time with the girls yesterday. We went to the beach to soak up some sunshine and took a look at the nearby shops before heading back to Elise's place. We ended up ordering pizza for dinner and watching Rent. Even though I've seen it twice already, I had to try really hard not to cry. I think that's just the effect that musicals have on me...even though I've only seen one other one. Unless Disney movies count, which they should.

Mission Beach in San Diego, May 2010

Huntington Beach, July 2008

A guy walked in on me while I was peeing in the public restroom. Luckily I was already pulling my pants up when it happened. He said he was sorry, but he didn't sound very genuine about it.

roots

Back in high school, I got tired of having straight hair and cultivated a close relationship with my curling iron. It was a beautiful arrangement that granted me the perfectly straight bangs and bouncy curls that were all the rage at the time. So taken was I with my styling tool that I consulted with it almost every other day. I never noticed any decline in my hair's health; having blown it dry after every wash for as long as I could remember, my hair was always on the crispy side.

But then while I was bored in English class one fateful day, I began toying with my hair and inspecting my ends. To my horror, I discovered a mutated split end, the monster of all split ends. The unfortunate strand bore an uncanny resemblance to a feather. Such is the result of copious amounts of heat abuse! After carefully plucking it out by the root, I almost wanted to keep it as my prized abomination. But that seemed kind of gross so I just threw it away.

I stopped curling it so much after that, but I couldn't give up my blowdryer. It didn't seem as villainous and having stick-straight hair with the blowdryer was better than having wavy hair with air-drying (my perfectionism would not allow such a compromise). But a few years ago, I seemed to be shedding a lot every time I washed my hair so I began to covet volume. And because life is ironic, the air-drying method that I so vehemently resisted in my younger days gave me my solution. My hair dries with waves in it this way, which somehow works to give me the illusion of more hair. My vanity and I approve.

I can't brush it or else it'd be pointless, but this falls perfectly in line with my laziness.

Enter my mom. I'm minding my own business, tossing my hair around to hasten the drying process and she tells me to brush it because it's not straight. I tell her that achieving waviness is the whole point. Then she abruptly changes the subject, asking if I dyed my hair, to which I paused in disbelief before saying I dyed it practically a year ago. "Your ends are all brown," she said, in the manner of a halfhearted protest.

"I think it looks nicer that way." Gives my mane some dimension, if you ask me.

She appears to harbor an unfounded fear that I'm going to forget my roots or deny my ethnic identity because I'm supposedly rejecting straight black hair. Silly mother. Is there only one accepted form of beauty? I guess there is for her. Based on the information I've gathered, I can only conclude that she wants me to go goth.

domestication

So it seems that many of my friends from middle school and high school are getting pregnant and/or married. It's strange to think that people I once went to school with have decided to start families already. To be honest, I can't even begin to fathom what that would be like. I have long moved beyond the legal age of consent, but I definitely don't have the mental or emotional maturity to be a parent yet. In fact, I don't think I could ever grow up enough in that regard. I can barely handle my potty-trained 6-year-old cousin for more than fifteen minutes at a time, let alone a wailing baby whose constant needs would be more than I could handle (because they'd have to be put above my own. lol!) I'm still in the midst of an (almost) quarter-life crisis, trying to figure out what I want to achieve in the next five years, and making a mini part-me isn't on the list. Not that starting a family at this age is necessarily a bad thing, but in my case a guaranteed ass-kicking from my parents is a pretty good deterrent.

I don't think J's parents are too keen on having a grandchild on their hands either, but it doesn't seem like that has stopped them from thinking about marriage. (What the hell?) His mom asks me questions that make it sound like she's screening for a future daughter-in-law. They sound really innocuous on the surface, but I just know she's testing me. "Do you cook at home? What kind of dishes do you cook? Have you found a job yet? Can you take J shopping for new clothes? You should tell J to get a haircut, he doesn't listen to me." And when I'm not around, "J, does Scarlet treat you well? Does she know how to clean? If she wants to do the dishes, just let her do them." Don't get me wrong, she's very nice to me whenever I visit. But it gets tiring when I feel like I'm constantly walking on eggshells around someone, you know?

The best scene played out in a car ride with his parents, sister, and grandparents while we were on the way home from dinner. His grandma, this cute little woman with cropped gray hair, turns to me and says, "So Scarlet, are you religious?" I knew my answer could be damaging, but there was no way out of it. "Um, no." I might have tried to salvage the situation by throwing in the fact that my family is sort of religious, but that might have made it worse and an uncomfortable silence followed anyway. Someone said something after that, but I don't remember what because I was having a meltdown inside.

Inexplicably, his family still likes me. I guess I'm just that awesome :3

P.S. Blasting trance and blogging in your underwear when you're home alone is a winning combination.

young dong

Met up with my awesome buddy (he's the only one who follows my blog semi-religiously) M for lunch today. He made me choose the restaurant, which was unfortunate for me because I don't like making executive decisions like that and it always makes me more than a little anxious if people don't like the food I picked but damn it, they'll just have to deal with it as punishment for making the mistake of forcing me to choose. So I voted on a Korean BBQ and tofu house called Young Dong. The name gives J endless ammunition for bad sleazy jokes. He's so juvenile sometimes. But then again, so am I.

Anyway, I think this place is also a small chain because there are locations in San Gabriel and Chino Hills. The menu's not huge but all you should ever need is a plate of bulgogi and/or one of their tofu soups. From experience, the medium-spicy seafood tofu is the best.

They give you a small egg to crack as soon as it arrives! :D

I made the mistake of not ordering this, opting for the beef tofu instead and ended up eyeing M enviously as the smell of his seafood soup wafted over to me. Oh well, now I know. We spent two hours catching up, which mainly consisted of us exchanging stories inappropriate for public ears. But now I've given away all my funny stories and have nothing of interest to keep my sole reader coming back for more. What's a girl to do?

the family bitch

The phone's ringing in the living room, dad's in the adjacent kitchen but his hands are full. Mom's in the sewing room adjacent to that doing goodness knows what.

Dad says, "Phone's ringing."

"What?"

"The phone."

"Scarlet will get it."

"Scarlet's not going to get it, she can't hear it."

Even more annoying than overhearing this exchange is the still-ringing phone, so in defeat I just run out to get it. I pick up and hear the sound of the other person hanging up.

Sigh.

superstitious

My grandma came over today and was chatting with my mom about how my cousin's family is looking for a new house. She mentioned that they found something reasonable close to where my cousin used to go to school, and my mom promptly said, "The most important thing is that the house is clean." By "clean," I knew she actually meant "not haunted."

My mom's solution: "Just have them take the baby inside to play and see if he likes it."

"The baby" is actually my 6-year-old cousin, but for all intents and purposes he is the baby in the family. I guess he's still young enough for the procedure. Apparently, kids and animals can see things that adults can't. Even if this were true, I can't help but feel like it should count as some kind of abuse. My mom tells me that my brother and I were her "cleanliness" meters before we moved into our current house. Fancy that! I'm so glad that my mother would so readily subject us to potentially traumatic experiences at the tender ages of 1 and 4, respectively.

bad taste

My mom and I were talking about my brother and I made a crack about how ugly he is, even though it constituted an inadvertent insult to myself since we look alike (but I don't actually think he's ugly :P). She, of course, came to his defense.

"Your brother's not ugly, he's quite handsome."

Facetiously, I responded, "You're just saying that because you're his mom. He's alriiight."

"No, he's good-looking," she insisted. "In fact, not one of your friends is handsomer than him."

This caught me off guard. I paused briefly, wondering whether she was implying what I thought she was implying with her word "friends." I decided to laugh and answered nonchalantly, "Yeeeah, they're all ugly too."

She chuckled and looked satisfied. I knew what she was going to say before she even said it. "Well no, that one boy you brought home was pretty handsome. He was pale and clean-cut." Oh no, there she goes with the paleness again. She always had a soft spot for The Woman. I wondered if she would feel the same way if she knew him the way I used to and momentarily considered tainting his perfect image in her mind with some careful words but pushed the thought away. I only grimaced at her comments.

"Eh, he was like a woman."

"What, you mean he was gay?"

"No, he just acted like a fussy old lady."

I couldn't tell what she was thinking after that, and I wasn't sure how much more to tell her without revealing the past 8 years of my secret life of dating so we abandoned the subject. I think that's the closest we've ever come to openly talking about my (non-existent up until now) boyfriends. But I don't know, we might still be in denial. I'll let you know.

So um...did she really call me out for having bad taste in men?

If my idea of hot is people like Takeshi Kaneshiro and Dennis O'Neil, I'm kind of hard-pressed to find that outside of the celebrity bubble. Sure, there are plenty of attractive guys that I could potentially meet in the world, but then there's also the issue of being on the same wavelength. It's not easy to find a good combination of physical and emotional chemistry. And I wouldn't be able to stand dating someone hotter than me, so that eliminates a fair chunk of the dating pool.

Sorry, Takeshi, you're too hot for me :(

Yeah, you too, Dennis. Ugh, :9

It doesn't matter anyway. I care more about having someone with whom I can hold a conversation. Besides, love makes everyone beautiful...if it's within reason. LOL.

what do you call this?

I really like the effortless look of this hairstyle, but I don't know how else to describe it except a slick-back without the slickness. Maybe back-swept hair? Google doesn't know what I'm talking about either.

They tell you how to DIY here.

From the If I Were A Boy video

Leigh laughed at me as I fumbled over my words trying to describe it to her. She's an evil one, I tell you.

vindictive

The Dork came up over dinner conversation last night and Elise told me his family doesn't like his girlfriend because she's mean and it would be unlucky to marry someone "with a big forehead." Inwardly, I felt a ripple of satisfaction and gloated a bit in spite of myself. It's irrelevant to my life now since it's been months since I've spoken to her and years since I was in contact with him, but I relished the information anyway. A saint I certainly am not.

The rundown: she was one of my best friends, he was my first love, and we weren't even broken up for two weeks before they were official. Frankly, the last half of that year traumatized me. What is it about high school that makes it such a virile breeding ground for drama and angst?

After all is said and done though, I manage to shove the vindictive bitch in me back into her golden cage because nothing should excuse my malice. The only circumstance under which one might be allowed to overindulge in bitterness is when it takes the form of dark chocolate. Or coffee, if that's your thing.

"3.5 oz of milk chocolate that promises never to lie to you, to be there in the morning*, to never ask your age and to really truly listen to everything you have to say."

*obviously it won't be there for you if you've eaten it all the night before.

i'm a drama queen

The BFF has gotten very friendly with The Asshole in the past three years. And by very friendly, I mean they used to hate each other and now they seek each other out expressly to party together. It shouldn't bother me, but it does.

My guilt-ridden subconscious is not helping matters any either, as my dreams last night transported me back to that period in time where we had just fallen out. It's awful, you just feel so helpless because the problem doesn't lie with you but with another person, and that person is content to just leave things the way they are. But that's all in the past and we're on talking terms now, which should be good enough given the circumstances.

And it's usually good enough, up until I go to post on the BFF's wall and find that they've been chatting about hanging out. I'm afraid that I'll be stuck in this mentality forever, where I can't put things completely behind me because I keep clinging to this idea of him when an idea is all it is anymore. Haha, this doesn't seem very healthy but I also don't have a reference point to which I can compare it, so...I'm not sure what to do about it except sweep it under the rug because it's not relevant to anything going on in my life right now.

the butterfly effect

My sadistic mother, entirely ignoring my 12pm rule, woke me up this morning and, a little more loudly than I would've liked, declared that we should visit the LA County Natural History Museum to see their Pavilion of Wings exhibit. Since I have an irrational fear of butterflies, walking into a small enclosed space with tons of them flying around did not sit well with me. Especially when my impulses were telling me to swat them away once they started hovering too close, but I restrained myself as best I could so as not to incite the wrath of all the butterfly-watchers there and get kicked out of the tent.

Actually, I think this one might be a moth.

I know, being afraid of butterflies is really lame. But I'm afraid of all bugs in general, particularly ones that can fly and/or buzz, almost to the point where it's crippling. Clusters of spheres also freak me out. I'm not saying any of it makes sense.

lazy saturday

I thought sleeping patterns for my generation (or for young adults in general with nothing better to do than poke around the internet) were trending toward sleeping late and waking up late, which is why I also believed there was an unspoken rule in place that barred any phone calls before noon. Not so, apparently! Leigh just came back from her two week stint visiting family and wanted to grab lunch with Elise, so despite being woken up before I had my fill of delicious slumber, I was excited to see them and dragged my sleepy self out of bed.

I suggested that we head to the Kang Kang food court so that they could try some Shanghainese pan-fried bao (生煎包, sheng jian bao), which are small buns filled with pork and soup.

Covered in scallions and black sesame. Yum!

To my immense relief, they seemed to enjoy the food. We intended to go back to Elise's and make dessert, but we ended up lounging around and having girl talk about ex-boyfriends, marriage, tattoos, feminine hygiene, sex, vacation spots, and moving out instead.

Our conversations reaffirmed two things for me: a) getting married at 28 like my 16-year-old self originally planned does not give me enough time to do the things I want before tying myself down and b) even after having at least four months to think about it and potentially change my mind, I still want a tattoo.

I was a little too embarrassed to admit to the girls what image I wanted to permanently replace a patch of my skin with, but here on aesthetic seduction I am utterly unashamed!

Yeah, from a game. But not because it's from a game.

It'll probably have to be in the middle of my back. Somewhere that I don't regularly look at on the off-chance that I do get it and come to regret it. I tend to change my mind a lot.

P.S. My dreams are beginning to give me orgasms that rival the intensity of those reached in my waking hours. As if sleep wasn't appealing enough already.