It's been awhile.

Quit a terrible job, got a new President.

These November 5th newspaper headlines get me all emotional.

The leaves are turning, and I've been cooking up a storm... basil/tomato/garlic pizza, banana bread, cinnamon applesauce, spaghetti carbonara (always a staple), and something involving squash tonight. I never thought I would enjoy cooking this much, but having my own space and excellent cooking tools has inspired me.

More and more often now, I end emails with "things are good and I am happy." I can't really ask for or say much more.

More politics

It deeply saddens me that the Republican Party, which was formed as an opposition to slavery (Abraham Lincoln was the first Republican President), has come to this.

I feel like as Baby Boomers die out, so will the Republican Party. It has become an embarrassment for so many of its members and supporters, rife with religious and racial intolerance.

But, maybe I shouldn't be worrying about this. The election has already been stolen according to Greg Palast and RFK, Jr.

Unlucky

Apparently 24, despite being highly divisible (which I always find attractive in integers), is extremely unlucky for me (and my car).

The day after my birthday: Car towed for no good reason. Everything was soon resolved, as I took part in a confrontation of the man who called it in, and also went to my apartment manager, who quickly paid for the towing fee and gave me a $75 visa gift card for my troubles.

This morning at approximately 3 AM: someone slashed into my soft top convertible, opened the door from the inside, and swiped my Blackberry and iPod. Yes, I know I shouldn't have had them there in the first place. Yes, I probably should have parked in the secure garage. I'm glad the alarm went off, as they were likely scared off and didn't take anything irreplaceable (like my checkbook). I'm not glad that insurance isn't covering the damage to my car, at all. I suppose duct tape will be my friend for awhile.

The only casualty of this debacle that matters to me is my privacy. This person had access to my email, my photo account (where a lovely pornographic photo uploaded), my mobile banking account, social networking accounts, and damn near all other business I conduct online. I changed all the passwords, of course, and no damage seems to have been done, but just knowing that losing my Blackberry could rock my world to this degree makes me ill. No more connecting important accounts to my cell phone, ever again.

I would say things can only go up from here, but I recall saying that after my car disappeared from the garage after I parked in a space I didn't know wasn't mine.

I'm really looking forward to an Obama victory, so that things will get better for all of us financially (especially poor college students). It's what's keeping me going on crap days like these.

Google Proves Why They Rule, Once Again

No on Prop 8. I can't think of a company that's done more consistently right things for their employees.

And to the fucktards who are feebly attempting to boycott Google, best of luck to you.

Thoughts.

Yesterday was a really great day. Lobster, Weeds, and the best companion.

Now that said companion along with three best friends are en route to Southern California, I'm at a loss for what to do with my time. I always say I like being alone the best, but now with two days of being alone ahead of me, I am dreading it. Maybe I've been wrong all this time. I love doing solo activities, but I also love knowing that other people are under the same roof.

So I'm going to take care of things I've been meaning to do, but are more mundane than spending time with others/lovers. This includes: hang pictures, sew/alter clothes, vacuum, read Armed Madhouse (which was so good it warranted thievery by CG), find a couch, fill out financial aid forms, and obsess over political blogs and news sites after the debate tonight. Yay?

The presidential election is screwed.

...And I'm not sure if there is anything anyone can do about it. After reading an interview with the man who wrote this book and watching Recount, I felt angrier and more hopeless about the modern democratic process than I had in a long time. What the hell can the common man do to stop vote caging? How can we prevent Ohio from being this election's version of Florida? Why won't the mainstream media picked up on this, at all (the same reason they don't pick up on anything substantial, maybe)?

I suppose until everyone agrees that the National Popular Vote is a good idea, the only thing I can do is donate more money to Obama, watch more movies, and thank god that Jennifer Brunner is not Katherine Harris.

It speaks for itself.

Moving Day Is Over.

Maybe one day I will write again.

For now, I am focusing on
-Moving
-Cleaning
-Getting rid of the old couch
-Getting a new couch
-Getting an internet connection at new place
-Getting ready for my job interview tomorrow
-Maybe getting a bedframe?
-Unpacking
-Changing my address for all credit cards, bank accounts, vehicles, etc.
-Maybe sleeping sometime next century

But I so prefer being busy and excited for new things over being listless. It's great.

Craigslist is full of FLAKES and SCAMS

Selling things on Craigslist is extremely convenient, but I haven't had a good experience yet. I have two people interested in buying my bed, one that has called me several times, asking inane questions in broken English such as "does your bed fit in a Lexus 300?" How the hell is any reasonable person supposed to know the dimensions of a random Lexus? She's flaked twice, scoffed at my price, tried to talk me down several times (I haven't budged), and claims to be coming this afternoon. We shall see.

This was my second response:


Hello
I appreciate your response to my inquiry. Am interested in buying
it from you. I would love to come and check it myself but I just got
married and am presently on an honeymoon trip to Hawaii with my wife.
I would love a surprise change of furniture,electronics in my home on our return.
Please do withdraw the advert from craigslist as i don't mind adding $50
for you to do that, so i can be rest assured that the item is held for
me. I should believe it is in good condition as stated. I will be
making the payment via a Certified Check, which my secretary will
mail across to you. I'll be picking the item from you with the aid of
my mover. My Mover will be coming to pick it from you once the
Certified Check has been cashed. Please I will need both your full name
and physical address along with you phone number to issue out the
payment.
I await your urgent response.
thanks

Racy.

I would love to see the pornography Franz Kafka enjoyed.

Fascinating and well done.

http://www.rythospital.com/

http://www.martinlutherking.org/ is a website owned by Stormfront. Ugh.

The places library courses will take you, I swear.

Frustration

If I could sell my entire reproductive system I would, just so I'd never have to worry about money again.

I'm thankful

-AB had her baby a week ago and everyone is healthy, despite the fact that the new child is a month early. I am really excited to meet her. Who would have thought that the girl I walked around Healdsburg with while eating Cow Tales and Pop Rocks daring each other to talk to boys would be a mother less than a decade later?

-I got to see Dave, who I've missed very much. He's an amazing cook and we ate tons of grilled vegetables and pineapple and salad with lemon vinaigrette while exchanging music trivia (did you know this was originally a Specials song? [Oops. It's actually Toots and the Maytals] Did YOU know that this samples a Clash song in the intro? ...et al.). I'm hoping my move next door to BART will facilitate many more masturbatory musical trivia conversations.

-I attended a barbecue that mostly consisted of people I had never met and I didn't feel nervous at all, even though I showed up alone and only knew two people. I had a good time and people laughed at my jokes at least twice. Maybe I'll be able to defeat social anxiety after all?

-I learned how to play Backgammon today, and also learned that Israelis take their Backgammon very seriously.

Thrift store day

I hate to be terribly materialistic after what I wrote last night, but I just purchased a pair of new Citizens of Humanity jeans for $8.80 at Salvation Army. Sucka! They retail for about $190.

A really nice Mexican lady turned me into her personal fashion consultant while I was at The Thrift Center (stop #2 on the thrift store tour), apparently she liked what I was wearing and kept asking me to pick out blouses for her. I wish I had understood what she was saying more, looks like it's time to study Spanish via telenovelas.

I wish for more sleep and less reflection

http://www.dayswithmyfather.com/

It's almost as if Phillip Toledano tore out the heart of any of us that's had a relative with dementia. I can't get through it without losing my shit, in fact the furthest I've come without breaking down is #18 -- "I want to think seriously about what I can accomplish with what's left of my life."

I remember so well the first time my grandmother turned to me and said "Where's B.?" and I knew she wasn't referring to my father. How does one answer that? Honestly, Half-honestly, humorously? "I miss him," she replied after I simply told her he was gone. "I hope I'll see him soon."

Months later I remember braiding her hair, which had grown out longer than I'd ever seen it and was as soft as a baby's. It was the only way I knew how to show her I loved her -- at least that she'd have evidence of after I'd left the room. I hoped she'd know that she was cared for, that she wasn't alone in the nightmare of the unraveling of her very brilliant mind. I remember putting her to bed and turning the light out, standing over her with my family in the dark. I felt I'd never see her again (I wouldn't) and I started to cry. In a stroke of brilliance she opened her eyes and said "What are y'all standing around for?" in her perfect, proper Southern accent.

When I need a push in the right direction I'll replay that in my head... What are you standing around for? Do something. Do it now. What are you going to accomplish with what's left of your life?

New hobby

I am extremely excited for the possibility of a new way to beat others in thumb wrestling.

http://www.monochrom.at/daumen/index-eng.htm

Mean Drivers

When I am overcome with emotion I write missed connections on Craigslist. This is the one I wrote today:

http://sfbay.craigslist.org/pen/mis/767564669.html

Strangely enough this is not the first time this has happened to me, and I think if it happens again I just... may... crack.

Parkour?

If I ever become an established Parkour instructor, my class will be titled "Parkour: The Course."

I'd really like to know if this is funny/punny just to ME though. This also made a lot more sense in my head when I mistakenly thought the sport (is it a sport?) was called "parfour." Ah well.

RIP Helms

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=igvJ1Mew6Go

Sadly, Bill Hicks' predictions have yet to come to fruition.

The reference to Barbara Bush's labia is too much to handle. Far, far too much.

Despondence?

Today I drove by a flattened pigeon in the middle of the road with one wing flapping up and down in the wind, like it was waving goodbye. Someone should film it American Beauty-style. Not me though, that would be too pretentious.

In other news, I had 3 red vines and a glass of Chardonnay for dinner. I continue to love adulthood.

You can have this heart to break.

I currently consider Billy Joel to be the most depressed musician on the planet. "And So it Goes" is killing me but is likely the best attitude to have about relationships.

"So I would choose to be with you
That's if the choice were mine to make
But you can make decisions too
And you can have this heart to break"

Wow.

"Last week, a rider lost control of a Segway PT at the 24th Street BART station in San Francisco, sending the two-wheeled scooter onto the train tracks. The scooter was struck by a BART train, which halted train service for more than half an hour, causing passengers to miss their flights at San Francisco International Airport, according to BART spokesman Linton Johnson."

http://www.examiner.com/a-1457718~Segways_booted_from_BART.html

I hate Segways so hard. Why can't these people just get scooters or, better yet, bicycles? Would it kill them to get a little goddamn exercise? Riding your Segway to BART, then riding it to work. Unbelievable.

Exorcising demons

Making serious progress on this front and feel better than I have in a loooong time. I love that I have the ability to make myself feel so great, just by thinking and doing and having conversations with people I care about.

I almost feel sad that I didn't realize it earlier. I was always looking for external sources of happiness: from drugs, from booze, from men. Turn off the brain and force myself to forget, force myself to be happy on false pretenses. Now that I have naturally begun to feel happiness without these things (for literally the first time since I was a child) I am seeing how easy it is to keep it up and stop being scared. Stop the self-medicating and start the healing process (yes I am turning into a new-age hippie).

So here is the plan. Stop being scared of honest conversation, or of going to a party without drinking, or of what people think or say about me. It's all inconsequential in the end. I think what matters most is the people you hurt and the people you love. It is so obvious and cliche but I never learned. I am the great master of avoidance -- avoiding confrontation, difficult conversations, my own thoughts. I'm ready to apologize to those I've hurt, forgive everyone that's hurt me and love the people I love with my whole mushy and bruised heart. Sounds like I'm ready to graduate AA.

Forvik

Hmmm, sounds like Sealand v.2 to me.

http://shetlandconversation.squarespace.com/forvik/

Caffeine

Sometimes I want to legally change my last name to Lea to prevent confusion, since roughly 48% of friends and acquaintances know me as "Amandalea" anyway. Then I think about the fact that I will have to spell my last name for the rest of my life. Then I think about changing my last name to Lee. Then I think about the fact that my (Irish) coworker's last name is Lee and she may wonder if I am secretly in love with her and am getting ready to propose that we (legally!) get married. But, all of this would be offset by the fact that I will have a great last name that may or may not create small amounts of racial confusion and broaden others' horizons. Who knows?

I feel like riding my scooter really fast (which means 45 mph) and listening to Guitar Wolf in skintight black jeans. I need to befriend more delinquents and make this happen.

I had the best day yesterday.

Thank you, weather gods.

Still in love with Obama

"Obama has a plan to immediately begin withdrawing our troops engaged in combat operations at a pace of one or two brigades every month, to be completed by the end of next year. He would call for a new constitutional convention in Iraq, convened with the United Nations, which would not adjourn until Iraq's leaders reach a new accord on reconciliation. He would use presidential leadership to surge our diplomacy with all of the nations of the region on behalf of a new regional security compact. And he would take immediate steps to confront the ongoing humanitarian disaster in Iraq."

Anyone who is in the military, or anyone who knows anyone in the military, should be disgusted with themselves if they do not vote for this man. Do it for your third cousins, your high school acquaintances, the kids who "just wanted money for college" or a way to support their families. Do it for the career military men who want to retire in one piece or the punk kid who chose the military over a jail sentence. No one deserves what is happening right now. I'm doing it for a cousin from Texas I never knew. He was 21.

I know I just poisoned the well there, but goddamn is it justified. This atheist is on the verge of praying for our collective futures.

Done with finals.

The immense sense of satisfaction I feel today after completing (and maybe even passing?) five classes while working 30-45 hours/week may signify the end of my slacker ways. I'm far more likely to finish what I start now, but my procrastination? I fear that will never be broken. I feel really, really good about my place in the world right now, even if I am just a worker bee on the Avenue still going for my BA.

Also, if anyone would like the complete histories of San Francisco San Mateo County, I currently have them jammed into my tiny skull. Let me know before night falls, because I plan on having a vodka martini right after work and reading for pleasure, allll night long.

Flowershop Confessions

...And so it begins. It was a lazy Wednesday at work. I was talking to a nice lady about something forgettable, enjoying the weather and without a care in the world. Out of nowhere, a loud, unhinged, likely hopped up on one Mother's-little-helper or another broad comes barging in talking about how she needs a plant RIGHT NOW. It was as if she were having a brash maximum-volume conversation with herself all the way down the street, happened upon my shop and thought aloud, PLANTS. THAT IS WHAT I NEED. I stop talking, stunned into silence by her lack of tact and social mores. I look her up and down for an explanation: not swaying back and forth, eyes aren't bloodshot, hands aren't shaking, average mid-to-late thirties desperate housewife. Huh.

She turns to both of us and says, "Hey, I just saw both of you in the bathroom at the Mexican food place!" to which I respond "Uh, no, that wasn't me." and quickly realize I am dealing with, at the very least, a chemically imbalanced woman whose personal space bubble is nonexistent (mine is at least three feet on all sides). I go over the emergency procedure in my head and remind myself not to stare her in the eye or provoke her in any way, similar to Fossey's mountain gorillas. I stare over her shoulder, pretending to be interested in something going on in the distance.

"Fine. Nothing amuses you, does it? Now. I need a plant. Maybe a tuberose, that corresponds with my astrological sign."

I literally laugh in her face at this point. I couldn't hold it in, and my mocking her neurotic astrology speech probably didn't help her delicate mental state. Other Lady had booked it out of my shop as quickly as humanly possible at this point, giving me a may-God-have-mercy-on-your-soul glance of pity on the way out. I hope she feels guilty for leaving me alone with her. Crazy spends the next couple minutes looking around, commenting loudly on which plants ward off evil spirits and other such bullshit. I ignore her. She seems to be fading away, losing interest, almost out the door, yet when I think I'm home free she half-jogs back up to the counter saying, "Why aren't you helping me? Suggest something! I need something! It's very important."

I point at an attractive hydrangea. "How about this?"

"No! I can get that at Walgreens. Besides, it'll grow slime and peat moss." (Huh?)

"How about this? ...Or these? Or..." And it went on. And on. I point something out, she feigns offense or disgust.

"Booooring! No! I need something that signifies healing. New growth. Inspire me!"

Fuck that nonsense. I gave up and just looked at her, smiling, hoping she'd think I was the crazy one. No deal. When she noticed I gave up on selling anything to her, she said again, "Nothing amuses you, does it?"

"No, nothing amuses me right now."

"Well that's too bad. I'll take this." She chooses a jasmine plant that is dropping flowers and crunchy from our designated plant cemetery, and I charge her $30 for it. While I am ringing her up and she is torturing me with a full explanation of her astrological profile and why she can only have black or white pots for her plants, her phone rings and she starts yelling, "Shit! Shit! I'm late! Hurry the hell up!!"

...To which I look her up and down and smile again, still hoping she thinks I'm just a little slow, when the reality is I am physically biting my tongue. She yells at the poor Comcast man on the other end of her phone who is apparently waiting at her house, telling him if he stays another five minutes she'll give him a big tip, which I doubt ever materialized (I'm fairly certain he sensed the crazy and didn't wait, though). As her attention was diverted elsewhere, I ran her credit card she had thrown onto the counter, printed out her receipt, set it down next to her three Louis Vuitton wallets that were linked together with a chain (wtf), and walked away.

As she ran out of my store, she thanked me for wasting her time and making her late for the cable guy. All I could really do was smile and shake my head. By that point there were people peeking their heads in wondering what sort of demonic banshee was causing such a racket.

The end.

Little surprises me anymore, so I really have to give big ups to the craziest Crazy yet. Just when I thought I had seen it all and was starting to become jaded, I witness the human psyche dipping into depressingly new lows. Stunning.

...And yet, saddening at the same time. I wonder what happened to that lady to make her the vehemently illogical, yelling, spitting fire-and-brimstone-and-Astrology creature that graced my presence today, because I still have enough faith in nature to know that her crazy couldn't have occurred without serious coaxing.

George Takai on Marriage Equality

Mr. Sulu from Star Trek is getting married to his partner of over 20 years. God bless California. His post regarding gay marriage/the hardships he specifically has gone through in his life made me all emotional.

http://www.georgetakei.com/news.asp

the FBI are geniuses

I've heard those vegan potlucks are a hotbed for terrorist activity:

http://articles.citypages.com/2008-05-21/news/moles-wanted/

Almost as incredible as the gay bomb. Almost.

Another Dream

I looked in the mirror and my face was, inexplicably covered in patchy stubble. I was like a female Hemingway.

If you are a woman and you dream of growing a beard, signifies your masculine aspect of your personality. You want to be more assertive and wield more power.

Dream dictionaries clearly don't value proper grammar, but I'm sure those crazies have bigger fish to fry.

Speaking of fish, I went to an asian market last night and made Thai Tea with tapioca (that I didn't cook properly but still used) and condensed milk and it was amazing. I want some right now.

Hairdresser neighbor worries about me

P (very vocal New Yorker): "So you're all alone here for hours every day?"

Me: "Yep."

P: "God. I'd go crazy. I need to talk to someone, all the time."

Me: "We're different people, P."

Yes, yes we are.

He laughed at me for a long time. I stick out like a sore thumb in these parts because I'm not forthcoming with everything going on in my head. I wouldn't have it any other way. So there.

Yesterday was a day filled with huge amounts of squishy, gooey love.



I got a really great package in the mail (I LOVE MAIL) from Kerry (as pictured above in Italy, 2005), music from CG, made some delicious pomegranate cardamom cocktails with Peter and his roommates, and got to sit around with Amy (as pictured below on the same trip) at night and watch teevee.

I am seriously so happy and the stress I should be feeling at the moment as mounds of studying and work are piling up is pleasantly absent.

She's Only Seventeen...

This has been bothering me for the past few years. Why are there so many songs about seventeen-year-olds? Just off the top of my head, I can recall...

The Cars - Let's Go
The Stray Cats - Sexy 'n Seventeen
The Beatles - I Saw Her Standing There
Stevie Nicks (I think it was her solo stuff) - Edge of Seventeen
Winger - Seventeen (a CLASSIC)
Ladytron - Seventeen (I enjoyed having this played for me on my 21st birthday)

This is just from my iPod... except for the Beatles, I had the displeasure of hearing this song multiple times over the years. The Beatles are probably the only "inspiration" type of band (those that inspired tons of impostors and blindly faithful fans over the years) that exists that makes me like every band that came after them more. Even bands like the Exploding Hearts and the Star Spangles probably got some sort of inspiration from The Beatles. They are the original "The" band anyway, right? I blame them for people refusing to be creative with band names for the past 50 years.

The band that's been bothering me the most lately with their blatant plagiarism is Rilo Kiley. They used to be so good, up to their bullshit excuse for an album they released a couple months ago. UGH. Stop hanging out with Stevie Nicks, Jenny Lewis. Keep doing what I liked, keep it simple and poppy and at least 25% depressing. If I'm assaulted with the song "Silver Lining" one more time I will self-immolate (you know what I'm talking about, Tiny).

The funny thing is I'm not superstitious.

This is the second time I've dreamed about owls and had someone in my family die within 24 hours. My grandfather is very sick and in the hospital and I don't want to sleep at all, ever again, to prevent the possibility of dreams.

Owl To hear the solemn, unearthly sound of the muffled voice of the owl, warns dreamers that death creeps closely in the wake of health and joy. Precaution should be taken that life is not ruthlessly exposed to his unyielding grasp. Bad tidings of the absent will surely follow this dream. To see a dead owl, denotes a narrow escape from desperate illness or death. To see an owl, foretells that you will be secretly maligned and be in danger from enemies.

Dream

There's a huge, abandoned mansion somewhere near my house -- possibly in Hillsborough. Every detail has been meticulously recreated into its authentic 19th century beauty... libraries filled with old books, rooms filled with antique beds perfectly made, beautiful antique claw-footed bathtubs and chandeliers all over the house. For reasons unknown it has been abandoned, though... it looked like it used to be a museum or a tourist spot. It reminded me of the Carolands mansion.

I'd been going there for a while to be alone, as I will do with strange spots I think only I know about. It was easy to break into and for some reason I didn't believe the rumors that it was haunted. One day I walk in and feel like I'm not alone. I walk into a room that's emitting noise and my brother is laying on the bed watching television. I have no idea how a TV got into this old house, but I don't question it. We talk for awhile and watch TV like it's a completely mundane day.

The cops come. They accuse us of destroying the place (apparently the mansion had been stricken by vandals/thieves recently) and try to arrest us. I tell them it's impossible that we had done it, because we hadn't been upstairs where the damage existed. THEN, for some bizarre and unknown reason, I start moving things with my mind, like Stephen King's Carrie. The entire mansion, top to bottom, is restored to its pristine condition.

THEN... I start screaming at the top of my lungs, for a long, long time. As I am screaming, every book in the house is rearranged into its corresponding color group. I tell my brother, who is standing next to me, to help. Apparently the gene that allows me to scream like a banshee and move things with my mind has been given to him, as well. The cops are impressed and let us go.

Fin.

I cannot even begin to decipher what this is all about. Not only did I not take any hallucinogens the night before, there is nothing in this dream that relates to anything I did yesterday.

(picture is from here)

Is it so wrong...

that when I receive e-mails that weren't meant for me, I rarely correct the sender? I find it hilarious how often I'm mistaken for someone else because of my somewhat common username on gmail.

Right now someone thinks I'm a bridesmaid in their wedding. I've been invited to their bachelorette party in Vegas the weekend of October 17-18.

A few months ago, someone thought I was their daughter and continually sent e-mails asking for my grades because they were paying her rent while she was in community college. As their e-mails grew increasingly urgent, I corrected them... and let them know that I was willing to send them my grades in exchange for a few hundred dollars a month. They sent one back saying "We would, but we're not Bob Gates! Ha ha!" People from the Midwest are great.

I guess I enjoy the sense of voyeurism in all of it. Maybe this is why I love memoirs so much... the gritty details, the glimpses into someone else's personal life one isn't usually afforded.

Today was a good day.

The best part about any of this is the ghostly reflection of Jeff in the kitchen.

I love where I live

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/04/02/george-w-bush-sewage-pla_n_94601.html

I also can't wait for the Olympic torch to make its way to San Francisco. I really wanted to go and witness the chaos, but unfortunately cannot get out of work.

http://www.sfbg.com/blogs/politics/2008/04/to_china_with_tough_love.html

My aunt is in China right now, I wonder what it's like there at the moment, with all the frenetic energy circling around the Olympics (good luck rehabilitating your image, guys) and the Tibetans protesting. Pretty classy that they published propaganda blaming the Dalai Lama for inciting riots.

Dream

"To dream that your hair is white or turns white, indicates that something important has just been made aware to you. It is a symbol of wisdom and insight. The dream may also be a metaphor suggesting that you are feeling 'light-headed'."

I don't really see this as true, but it's a nice change from the usual teeth-falling-out dream I attribute to grinding my teeth in my sleep.

New spot.

Starting over.