2006

Going out to the village for a drink or two.

Happy New Year everybody.

I should've had some resolutions all set to go. I might have to make them up tomorrow. But I've got one for now. Have more fun. I'll start on that one tonight.

Escape

One day two weeks ago I worked late. That's not very unusual. At my internship there were many days where I would work late. Nine, 10, 11pm. Once or twice until early in the morning. This particular day I had gotten off at around 4:30am. I was tired and all I wanted to do was go home and forget about having spent my night not in bed, but at the office, while the art directors on the projects had gone home a long time ago. So I left in after work mode. I didn't think of calling a cab. I walked the empty streets to Market Street where I normally catch the train - which has now stopped running. I'm almost at Market Street, halfway down the block when I hear a loud thud and the high pitched tension snap of the steel bus power lines. As I look 40-50 feet behind me I see a big lump that looks like an oversized duffle bag. I couldn't quite make it out (I didn't have my glasses) but in the back of my mind the truth raced. I slowed and stared. No possible way. Seriously, who dropped the duffle bag? A few cabs sped by and almost ran him over. No duffle bag. A man. He jumped or fell or was pushed from the 12+ story building under construction. I couldn't stop thinking about him. But there was no mention of him in the news. No blurb in the papers. I found nothing. Who are you? What happened?

I have to be honest, I have thought about it before. They say everyone has. A solution, an escape, an answered prayer. Flight. A flight to take us away. I remember moments in my past riddled with helplessness and hatred and confusion. I remember wanting it so badly but being too scared. All I could think now is was he helpless and hateful and confused? What was he getting away from?

Home again

I always forget what it's like to come back to my parents' house.
And it's funny because new jersey is not a forgettable place. But it seems that each time I leave (even though I promise myself to not return for too long a period) I come back thinking it won't be so bad. Sure thinking about sitting on my parent's couch, watching free DirecTV, and eating like a pregnant whale (no really, a whale – from the ocean) seems like a good idea. It'll be a nice break, I say. But the anal-retentive control freak in me comes out. Not slowly. Not just a little. But in a walloping explosion of i hate this i hate that blah blah blah. BOOM. Yes, stupid. Yes, selfish. But after not living anywhere near mom and pop for so long, adjusting to those old ways is hard.

I also forget how much my mom likes to feed us. Right now in my house there are so many tempting things to eat. Maybe tempting is the wrong word. It suggests the uncertain outcome of provocation or attraction. Maybe I should say in my house there are so many things I have eaten. Yes, as in they tempted and succeeded and there's no going back. The custard cups, creme-filled donut, cheeses, prosciutto, breads, guacamole, candies, plus all the Christmas leftovers. I've lost all will-power.

Greener. Much greener.

I've always been a person who believes that the grass is always greener. I always think there is better out there than what I've got. And I'm trying to hunt it down. After seven years I'm still roaming because something always seems to try to guide me to this greener grass.

For the past seven years I've been moving an average of twice a year – and I'm not just talking apartment numbers here, sometimes states, sometimes coasts. Thirteen addresses. Yes, I counted and I've had 13 addresses since I was eighteen. Plus all the in-between times I've had to move back to my parent's house, this time being the 4th. Where am I going? And what the hell am I looking for? It's no longer wanderlust. One thing is for certain, I'm getting tired.

This makes me wonder if I'm just too picky. Do most people settle? Settle with their jobs. Settle with life. Do they know something I don't? Like the perfect job doesn't exist, never will – neither will the perfect life. But I'm not even looking for perfect. Just something non-depressing.

...........

I've been sitting here for the past twenty minutes trying to figure out where to go from here. What to write, how to tidily sum up this post. And I have nothing. Maybe this is a cop-out, but I guess I can't make sense of everything until I know what new direction I'm taking. Maybe I'll figure it out from my next address. Who knows, perhaps it will have a backyard with much greener grass.

Thanks for the pigeon

I sent in my petitions to reverse the charges from the fine city of San Francisco Department of Parking and Traffic. You see, I got 3 parking tickets and had my car towed. What did the citations say? Resident complaint: blocked driveway.
Was my car blocking the driveway? No. Some angry bitch decided every time she got in and out of her garage, that my car was too close to her ugly face. She called DPT and had my car towed.

When I spoke with her on the phone she proceeded to lecture me and rambled about how nice she's been about it and how she did everything she could to notify me. Oops, i must have missed the carrier pigeon she sent with a note.

She was able to get in and out of her driveway...she said so. And she still had my car towed. I'm so angry. I'm going to the junkyard, paying $100 for some rusted piece of junk and parking it early in the morning before she heads out for work. I'll show her a blocked driveway.

X3

So they have finally released some pics for the X3 movie. And there's a trailer. And Halle Berry has decided to return to the third installment. Yes, she won an Oscar and is now a legit actress. Yes, she's been bitching about how she didn't want to return to X-Men because her roles in the first two movies weren't big enough. And after such success and of course spectacular acting skills seen in Catwoman it must've been very difficult to return. Welcome back.