I guess they don't know what happens...when Keepin' It Real goes wrong.
30 November 2006
Keepin' It Real!
I spotted this banner on the side of Kane Hall on campus today. The sign reads "Keepin' It Real 4 CHRIST! It's not about religion...it's about RELATIONSHIP!"
I guess they don't know what happens...when Keepin' It Real goes wrong.
I guess they don't know what happens...when Keepin' It Real goes wrong.
26 November 2006
Exciting News!
I'm ashamed to say I've been reluctant to come back to the blog after my (significant) time away. "What would be the use?" I thought. "My readers have probably by now all but given up on my never writing another entry again." I thought it might be too late. That I'd shamed my blog and, if I ever desired to write online again, I'd have to start over.
I'm sorry for being horrible to you, blog (and readers). You've been great in allowing me space to adjust to my surroundings.
Being back at UW has really altered my reality. I haven't been able to shake the guilt of writing a blog when I have studying to do...that is, until tonight. In all honesty, I have a paper due on Tuesday that I'm terrified to write, and after spending more than two hours reading columns on salon.com, I decided to confess everything here at my home.
Have you ever applied been anxiously awaiting something that could be life-altering, possibly afraid to bring it up with friends in fear that the something would be "jinxed"? For about three weeks, I'd been contemplating applying to a summer program so exciting I was a bit overwhelmed writing the application essays (yes, there were more than one). It took making an appointment at the Odegaard Writing and Research Center to gain enough confidence for me to attempt penning the essays. Once I sent in the app, I still wanted to keep my mouth shut, in hopes that not talking about it wouldn't spoil anything. I mean, how embarrassing would it be to talk, talk, talk about this program I was planning on participating in, gabbing to my advisor, my therapist, my new aquaintences and lifelong friends and then have to explain that, no, actually it didn't work out?
I got in. So here it is. This summer, I'll be riding my bike from Providence, Rhode Island to Seattle, Washington. I know, it sounds crazy, but as soon as I found out about the organization (Bike & Build), I knew I wanted to do it. I'll probably have to rearrange a few finals at the end of Spring quarter to fly to Providence, but my CHID advisor has assured me that my professors will more than likely be supportive.
Bike & Build has six trips during the summer, each traveling through a different area of the country. Each group of about 30 people aged 18-25 ride across the country and stop at predetermined places along the route to help build affordable housing homes. I chose the Providence to Seattle (P2S) trip; the five other "tours" are Central U.S., Northern U.S., Providence to San Francisco (P2SF), Southern U.S. and North Carolina to San Diego.
I seriously suggest checking out the site. While you're there, check out my bio on the P2S Current Roster. And if you decide to apply, let me know!
I'm sorry for being horrible to you, blog (and readers). You've been great in allowing me space to adjust to my surroundings.
Being back at UW has really altered my reality. I haven't been able to shake the guilt of writing a blog when I have studying to do...that is, until tonight. In all honesty, I have a paper due on Tuesday that I'm terrified to write, and after spending more than two hours reading columns on salon.com, I decided to confess everything here at my home.
Have you ever applied been anxiously awaiting something that could be life-altering, possibly afraid to bring it up with friends in fear that the something would be "jinxed"? For about three weeks, I'd been contemplating applying to a summer program so exciting I was a bit overwhelmed writing the application essays (yes, there were more than one). It took making an appointment at the Odegaard Writing and Research Center to gain enough confidence for me to attempt penning the essays. Once I sent in the app, I still wanted to keep my mouth shut, in hopes that not talking about it wouldn't spoil anything. I mean, how embarrassing would it be to talk, talk, talk about this program I was planning on participating in, gabbing to my advisor, my therapist, my new aquaintences and lifelong friends and then have to explain that, no, actually it didn't work out?
I got in. So here it is. This summer, I'll be riding my bike from Providence, Rhode Island to Seattle, Washington. I know, it sounds crazy, but as soon as I found out about the organization (Bike & Build), I knew I wanted to do it. I'll probably have to rearrange a few finals at the end of Spring quarter to fly to Providence, but my CHID advisor has assured me that my professors will more than likely be supportive.
Bike & Build has six trips during the summer, each traveling through a different area of the country. Each group of about 30 people aged 18-25 ride across the country and stop at predetermined places along the route to help build affordable housing homes. I chose the Providence to Seattle (P2S) trip; the five other "tours" are Central U.S., Northern U.S., Providence to San Francisco (P2SF), Southern U.S. and North Carolina to San Diego.
I seriously suggest checking out the site. While you're there, check out my bio on the P2S Current Roster. And if you decide to apply, let me know!
27 October 2006
And to think, the nebula was actually created in a petri dish
An "Experience" is all I can say about describing the The Fountain, written and directed by Darren Aronofsky (of Pi and Requiem for a Dream) and starring Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz.
I saw a free advanced screening the other night at The Neptune. Amazing. I think I'm actually going to pay to see it again when it is released in theatres (22 November 2006).
Totally worth it, if only for the amazing cinematography. Hugh Jackman blew my socks off.
I saw a free advanced screening the other night at The Neptune. Amazing. I think I'm actually going to pay to see it again when it is released in theatres (22 November 2006).
Totally worth it, if only for the amazing cinematography. Hugh Jackman blew my socks off.
15 October 2006
Recap I
First off, I'd like to apologize for my lack of posts. Once my classes started, I had this incredible guilt thinking of writing a blog instead of writing a paper. Plus, my camera phone wasn't able to send my email any pictures for a couple weeks, so I mainly used that excuse.
So here I am. Week 4 of classes is almost here. Shall we do a quick recap of the highlights?
So here I am. Week 4 of classes is almost here. Shall we do a quick recap of the highlights?
- Trampoline guy is still at it across the street, though thankfully, he's been keeping it limited to maybe an hour or so a day (maybe more if he's being considerate and jumping mostly while I'm at class). Z has already mentioned his idea of going across the street at 3a and cutting a big hole in the trampoline. Mandy (the former OrthoJew II - she's really not bad at all) wants to do something more destructive, like take springs off of it or something...It's not like I want to kill the guy - I just want to kill his trampoline.
- Kevin (from the main floor) and Z went fishing for apples out the empty room's window. I have pictures to prove it.
- And speaking of, a new guy moved into that empty room on my floor. Surprisingly, he's the guy I met who was looking at the house when I came to sign my lease.
- Also, the other empty room in the basement actually belongs to a guy named Ricky. Apparently, he's losing his eyesight or something. He does that blind person thing of not looking directly at someone when he's talking to them, so
I'm not sure where to look when I'm talking to him.
- Tom, one of the three guys in the attic, has been spotted carrying several odd items into the bathroom, namely a big jug of Minute Maid orange juice. I'm not sure I want to know what's going on there.
Crap. I didn't recap any of my classes. More later...I promise.
21 September 2006
"I'm just keeeeeding!"
I've been meaning to post for a couple days now, but I wanted to wait until my phone was working properly enough to send pictures to my email to post. (Rereading that sentence is really confusing me, but I don't really care enough to rewrite it.)
On Tuesday, Z and I drove down to Ikea and shopped for a new mattress. As the absolute hilarity of the event has subsided, I will just have to make due with pictures.
Here's Z, doing his best impression of Fred Armisen as the Venezuelen nightclub comedien Fericito.
(This is the only way we could fit the foam, queen-sized mattress into my Dodge Neon. )
On Tuesday, Z and I drove down to Ikea and shopped for a new mattress. As the absolute hilarity of the event has subsided, I will just have to make due with pictures.
Here's Z, doing his best impression of Fred Armisen as the Venezuelen nightclub comedien Fericito.
(This is the only way we could fit the foam, queen-sized mattress into my Dodge Neon. )
Housemates II
For the past week or so, I've done some "investigative research," yet no one in the house could tell me who resided in the room next to mine.
As I mentioned before, there are four rooms on the second floor: Z, me, an open, empty room and a closed door next to mine. I was starting to worry about the possibility of smelling the horrible stench of death permeate the hallways until, to my amazement, yesterday morning I heard the distinct sound of jangling keys closer the Z's room. My door was open, so (I thought) I had a pretty good view of the open area just beyond my door.
After a bit of confusion and a sudden belief and then disbelief of invisibility among humans, I finally met Vincent, the newest addition (to me, at least) in the house. Vincent has apparently lived here for over a year, but was gone for the past two months to be at home in Hong Kong (?). He's a grad student at UW studying Speech & Hearing Sciences.
It makes me slightly curious as to why no one had a clue as to who lived in that room, since he's only been gone two months, though the housemates that have lived here for awhile did recognise him ("oh yeah, Vincent! I remember him!").
He doesn't seem that unforgettable.
As I mentioned before, there are four rooms on the second floor: Z, me, an open, empty room and a closed door next to mine. I was starting to worry about the possibility of smelling the horrible stench of death permeate the hallways until, to my amazement, yesterday morning I heard the distinct sound of jangling keys closer the Z's room. My door was open, so (I thought) I had a pretty good view of the open area just beyond my door.
After a bit of confusion and a sudden belief and then disbelief of invisibility among humans, I finally met Vincent, the newest addition (to me, at least) in the house. Vincent has apparently lived here for over a year, but was gone for the past two months to be at home in Hong Kong (?). He's a grad student at UW studying Speech & Hearing Sciences.
It makes me slightly curious as to why no one had a clue as to who lived in that room, since he's only been gone two months, though the housemates that have lived here for awhile did recognise him ("oh yeah, Vincent! I remember him!").
He doesn't seem that unforgettable.
18 September 2006
Neighbors
Now that I've posted about my housemates, I'd like to say a few words about my neighbors.
To the lovely boys across the street, if you don't stop jumping on that damn trampoline, I'm going to come over and snap your legs in half. I can tolerate the bouncing noises for 15 minutes or so, but don't you think five hours straight is pushing it a bit? How about this: you get ahold of Richard Branson and the three of us will have a little chat about sending you on a one-way ticket to space. That way you can experience anti-gravity all you want.
And you people across the street: if I wanted to listen to death metal on repeat all morning, I'd have already downloaded all of Slipknot's music collection. I'm not saying classical music would be any better, but really, come on now. When my relatives come up to visit, I don't want them asking me with gaping mouths "you live here?!" Could you turn it down a notch? Why don't you use this handy little idea: see that pretty street divider between our houses? You know, the one with all the pretty trees in it? If you stand there and still can hear your music, do us a favor and turn that shit down.
And to whomever was playing techno music twenty minutes ago: play some Paul Oakenfold or something. Even Strongbad's techno was better than that crap you were playing!
To the lovely boys across the street, if you don't stop jumping on that damn trampoline, I'm going to come over and snap your legs in half. I can tolerate the bouncing noises for 15 minutes or so, but don't you think five hours straight is pushing it a bit? How about this: you get ahold of Richard Branson and the three of us will have a little chat about sending you on a one-way ticket to space. That way you can experience anti-gravity all you want.
And you people across the street: if I wanted to listen to death metal on repeat all morning, I'd have already downloaded all of Slipknot's music collection. I'm not saying classical music would be any better, but really, come on now. When my relatives come up to visit, I don't want them asking me with gaping mouths "you live here?!" Could you turn it down a notch? Why don't you use this handy little idea: see that pretty street divider between our houses? You know, the one with all the pretty trees in it? If you stand there and still can hear your music, do us a favor and turn that shit down.
And to whomever was playing techno music twenty minutes ago: play some Paul Oakenfold or something. Even Strongbad's techno was better than that crap you were playing!
15 September 2006
Housemates
As I mentioned before, my new house has fourteen rooms and at least eight people so far. For my sake (and possibly yours), let's break it down:
Basement (two rooms, I think):
Alex/Sasha: I still haven't met this guy, but I heard he's Russian.
Chris: long haired, scruffy guy who I thought was homeless and was just wandering around. Apparently he works at Bon Appetit, a restaurant inside Nordstrom downtown.
Main floor (five rooms):
Tony: Have seen him once and his girlfriend, Bianca, much more. He's a construction management major at UW and Bianca goes to Western. She told me they fight a lot but "don't feel uncomfortable! We do it all the time!"
OrthoJew II: From what I heard from Z, she isn't very nice and gets really pissy. I tried to make conversation with her, but she just left after telling me her name.
Robert: Older guy. No idea what he does.
Kevin (?): Asian guy who let me use his filtered water pitcher.
Second floor (four rooms):
Z: Hot Tunisian doctor here to study Public Health at UW. He speaks three languages (french, arabic and english) and last year, was with the group of students studying at the American University of Beirut who were forced to evacuate when the bombing started in Lebanon. He has a thick accent and uses the word "retarded" a lot. His blog is in french, but can be translated with Google.
me
Third floor (three rooms):
J: the tall, skinny one I met first, on my way up the stairs on moving day. He likes rap and rock and specialises in stealing guys' girlfriends.
Tom: Older guy. Like in his forties.
R/D: was convinced his name was Tony until last night. Claims he doesn't do anything, job-wise, and pays his rent by being "blessed".
Looks like there's only one other girl so far, other than Bianca. Hmmm.
Basement (two rooms, I think):
Alex/Sasha: I still haven't met this guy, but I heard he's Russian.
Chris: long haired, scruffy guy who I thought was homeless and was just wandering around. Apparently he works at Bon Appetit, a restaurant inside Nordstrom downtown.
Main floor (five rooms):
Tony: Have seen him once and his girlfriend, Bianca, much more. He's a construction management major at UW and Bianca goes to Western. She told me they fight a lot but "don't feel uncomfortable! We do it all the time!"
OrthoJew II: From what I heard from Z, she isn't very nice and gets really pissy. I tried to make conversation with her, but she just left after telling me her name.
Robert: Older guy. No idea what he does.
Kevin (?): Asian guy who let me use his filtered water pitcher.
Second floor (four rooms):
Z: Hot Tunisian doctor here to study Public Health at UW. He speaks three languages (french, arabic and english) and last year, was with the group of students studying at the American University of Beirut who were forced to evacuate when the bombing started in Lebanon. He has a thick accent and uses the word "retarded" a lot. His blog is in french, but can be translated with Google.
me
Third floor (three rooms):
J: the tall, skinny one I met first, on my way up the stairs on moving day. He likes rap and rock and specialises in stealing guys' girlfriends.
Tom: Older guy. Like in his forties.
R/D: was convinced his name was Tony until last night. Claims he doesn't do anything, job-wise, and pays his rent by being "blessed".
Looks like there's only one other girl so far, other than Bianca. Hmmm.
12 September 2006
Movin' in
This weekend I moved to my new room in a lovely house in the U-District! I've gotten everything set up, with only a few boxes still somewhat full. I have this cute ledge around the corner under the two windows, which is big enough to display my pictures and things. It's even big enough to sit on!
I've met a couple of the people who live here. Surprisingly, a couple of them are older men. I'm trying not to get too creeped out by that, as I do have a lock on my door. Oh, and I found out that the house has fourteen rooms, not eight.
I also started my new job yesterday. Alice, age 2 1/2, is very articulate with her words, making her even cuter once she opens her mouth. We had a fun time coloring and playing ball, and her mum let me use the internet after Alice went to bed.
Looks like things will *hopefully* be working out for me; now, the wait until the 27th.
I've met a couple of the people who live here. Surprisingly, a couple of them are older men. I'm trying not to get too creeped out by that, as I do have a lock on my door. Oh, and I found out that the house has fourteen rooms, not eight.
I also started my new job yesterday. Alice, age 2 1/2, is very articulate with her words, making her even cuter once she opens her mouth. We had a fun time coloring and playing ball, and her mum let me use the internet after Alice went to bed.
Looks like things will *hopefully* be working out for me; now, the wait until the 27th.
07 September 2006
I always love free stuff!
Remember the post about me loving free stuff?No? Well, go back and read it.
I'll wait...
From the same company that rewarded my with a year subscription to Budget Travel comes my newest gadget, a digital voice recorder (7500 points). Yeah, I know that the thing costs like $35 at Best Buy and that 75 surveys is a lot to take to get this for free, but I don't have $35 to be spending, k? Plus now I can pretend to be extra important like doctors do!
The last time I had one of these, it had a mini tape and the batteries ended up eroding in the back. I'd never seen anything like it before. I could never get it to work after that...
Much better than any trip to Idaho!
As I mentioned earlier, I got the Labor Day weekend off to attend a "family reunion in Idaho," and on Saturday, headed up to Seattle for a weekend of Bumbershoot! The festival bragged such acts as Kanye West, A Tribe Called Quest and AFI, but what they didn't mention was the lines. Seriously, I thought I had woken up in Disneyland.
At past festival-type shows, A and I have made a detailed plan of action before we even hit the venue and this time was no different. With schedule print-outs and a map of the Seattle Center in hand, we headed out for our first Bumbershoot experience.
We had planned to use our Warped Tour strategy and see whole shows if possible, but at the very least, leave stages early and catch the last of other bands' sets. But oh no. The lines were horrible. We arrived casually late on Saturday (about 2p) and headed over to the Comedy Stage South (Charlotte Martin Theatre) for the 3p Asssscat with Upright Citizens Brigade show. What we found was a line wrapping around the building. A Bumbershoot volunteer told us that the line was now forming for the 4.30p show behind the 3p line.
Discouraged, we decided to leave the line and head over to the other side of the venue to see The Epoxies at 4p. We waited on line for about an hour for a band I'd never heard of, and once the show started, I waited about twenty minutes before telling A that I was going to leave and get in line for the 5.30p north comedy stage. Good thing I left when I did.
The line was already at least a hundred deep when I got there at like 4.30p.
Bumbershoot was awesome, don't get me wrong. I saw my first live comedy show(s) (not including ComedySports in Spokane) and had lots of yummy food. And those reasons alone were worth the price I paid. Especially for buying a ticket for cheap on eBay three days before. But it's almost worth it to buy the "Platinum Pass" just to not wait in lines. Too bad that pass is $200 more than I paid for mine.
At past festival-type shows, A and I have made a detailed plan of action before we even hit the venue and this time was no different. With schedule print-outs and a map of the Seattle Center in hand, we headed out for our first Bumbershoot experience.
We had planned to use our Warped Tour strategy and see whole shows if possible, but at the very least, leave stages early and catch the last of other bands' sets. But oh no. The lines were horrible. We arrived casually late on Saturday (about 2p) and headed over to the Comedy Stage South (Charlotte Martin Theatre) for the 3p Asssscat with Upright Citizens Brigade show. What we found was a line wrapping around the building. A Bumbershoot volunteer told us that the line was now forming for the 4.30p show behind the 3p line.
Discouraged, we decided to leave the line and head over to the other side of the venue to see The Epoxies at 4p. We waited on line for about an hour for a band I'd never heard of, and once the show started, I waited about twenty minutes before telling A that I was going to leave and get in line for the 5.30p north comedy stage. Good thing I left when I did.
The line was already at least a hundred deep when I got there at like 4.30p.
Bumbershoot was awesome, don't get me wrong. I saw my first live comedy show(s) (not including ComedySports in Spokane) and had lots of yummy food. And those reasons alone were worth the price I paid. Especially for buying a ticket for cheap on eBay three days before. But it's almost worth it to buy the "Platinum Pass" just to not wait in lines. Too bad that pass is $200 more than I paid for mine.
Movin' on
Quitting my job has been very anti-climactic. Two weeks ago, I asked for the Labor Day weekend off (Saturday-Monday) to go to a "family reunion in Idaho" and didn't expect to receive the days off. My plan was to come in and pick up my schedule last Tuesday, notice that I was scheduled to work over the weekend, tell them that I had specifically asked for it off and then quit. Because, hello! It's a family reunion! In Idaho! A 7-hour drive!
(Un)fortunately, and quite surprisingly, they scheduled around my shindig. So today is my last day. Since K-12 classes started on Tuesday, our town theatre has reduced the hours of operation and now opens at 3.30p instead of 11.30a. I'll be working by myself for three hours and then will turn in my stuff. Maybe I should shout "I QUIT!" really loudly before I leave and throw my things on the desk. Or, better yet, use a line from Half Baked, turn to my coworkers and point and yell "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you're cool, and fuck you, I'm out!"
Eh. We'll see.
(Un)fortunately, and quite surprisingly, they scheduled around my shindig. So today is my last day. Since K-12 classes started on Tuesday, our town theatre has reduced the hours of operation and now opens at 3.30p instead of 11.30a. I'll be working by myself for three hours and then will turn in my stuff. Maybe I should shout "I QUIT!" really loudly before I leave and throw my things on the desk. Or, better yet, use a line from Half Baked, turn to my coworkers and point and yell "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you're cool, and fuck you, I'm out!"
Eh. We'll see.
28 August 2006
No, I'm sorry, we don't have "the 9/11 movie" at our theatre. We DO have World Trade Center, though.
In honor of the ending of my summer job, I'd like to add one last entry to the plethora of posts dedicated to the stupidity I deal with at work.
When I decide to pay to see a movie at the theatre, I have usually seen enough advertising for the movie to know a bit about the plot, the actors and occasionally the director. With commercials on tv, to reviews in magazines and weekly papers and often a great deal of chatter online, not only do I pick up on the plot and such, I am repeatedly bombared with the name of the film.
What I fail to understand is why people come up to the box office and have no clue what the title is of the movie they want to see. I'm not going to be picky and complain about the people that mispronounce Barnyard (Barn Jard), Poseidon (Poise-i-don, Po-sid-eon) or Talladega Nights (Tadellega) but I am slightly peeved when people have asked for Over the Edge, Invisible or Lady in the Lake/Pool.
What really gets me is the people that come up and basically make us guess which movie they're referring to. Sometimes, we have no clue; other times, we box office folk know which movie the customer is digging for, but act clueless watch them suffer and get frustruated. A couple examples:
The absurdity of the questions people ask us during the course of our shifts continues to baffle me. My co-worker was asked if John Tucker Must Die was a murder mystery. Another customer even referred to it as John Tucker Might Die. When The Devil Wears Prada was in theatres, I remember a set of parents asking if the film was a scary flick.
And, of course, I've already been asked on three different occasions what Snakes on a Plane is about.
Seriously.
I'm ashamed to say I honestly didn't even see that one coming.
When I decide to pay to see a movie at the theatre, I have usually seen enough advertising for the movie to know a bit about the plot, the actors and occasionally the director. With commercials on tv, to reviews in magazines and weekly papers and often a great deal of chatter online, not only do I pick up on the plot and such, I am repeatedly bombared with the name of the film.
What I fail to understand is why people come up to the box office and have no clue what the title is of the movie they want to see. I'm not going to be picky and complain about the people that mispronounce Barnyard (Barn Jard), Poseidon (Poise-i-don, Po-sid-eon) or Talladega Nights (Tadellega) but I am slightly peeved when people have asked for Over the Edge, Invisible or Lady in the Lake/Pool.
What really gets me is the people that come up and basically make us guess which movie they're referring to. Sometimes, we have no clue; other times, we box office folk know which movie the customer is digging for, but act clueless watch them suffer and get frustruated. A couple examples:
- An elderly lady came up and asked for a ticket to the Michael Douglas movie. Had I not already seen You, Me and Dupree, I could have really acted clueless, but she was old so I decided it wasn't worth it.
- Someone asked for a ticket to "the car movie", but didn't specify whether they'd prefer the animated or live action film. Granted, if they had small children, I could safely bet on the former, but really, guessing can be quite tricky.
- Along the same lines as the second example, two senior citizens requested tickets for the Meryl Streep movie. This would've been easy had A Prairie Home Companion and The Devil Wears Prada not been at our theatre at the same time.
The absurdity of the questions people ask us during the course of our shifts continues to baffle me. My co-worker was asked if John Tucker Must Die was a murder mystery. Another customer even referred to it as John Tucker Might Die. When The Devil Wears Prada was in theatres, I remember a set of parents asking if the film was a scary flick.
And, of course, I've already been asked on three different occasions what Snakes on a Plane is about.
Seriously.
I'm ashamed to say I honestly didn't even see that one coming.
23 August 2006
Not much to report
It's been a week, but there's nothing much to report, other than I secured a part-time job as a nanny for the school year.
I kinda feel like there's nothing else for me to do but wait it out until I move (in two weeks). Work is still giving me about 10-13 hours a week, mostly weekends.
Since I've done the going-away-to-school thing before, I already have most of the stuff I'll need. The house has a full supply of cookware, plates and utensils, so I don't really need to bring my hand-me-down kitchenwares. And I already have all the lamps, sheets and decorations I need to make my new room cozy. So what else do I need to do/get to prepare? It's hard to make a check-list of things to pack when pretty much everything is going with me.
My parents bought me a refrigerator for my room and they still owe me a bike, as they gave mine to my sister-in-law (I'm not that heartbroken over it - it's purple and orange and says JAZZ! on it...not something I want to be seen on past the age of 13). I don't want to get a cheap bike, just something that looks like crap so no one will attempt to steal it. This old friend of my brother's moved to Seattle for college, and during his first quarter, bought a $600 mountain bike and promptly had it stolen. I'm not sure if he didn't lock it up properly with a u-lock, but whatever. The point is, this may be the best bike I'll ever be able afford, considering that I'm not paying for it, so I want to get a good one. My parents have been looking at Wal-Mart, Costco and Fred Meyer, but I'm hoping I can tempt them into spending much more than they planned and go to a bike shop to make the purchase.
Granted, I have no idea what I'm really looking for, so any tips would be greatly appreciated!
I kinda feel like there's nothing else for me to do but wait it out until I move (in two weeks). Work is still giving me about 10-13 hours a week, mostly weekends.
Since I've done the going-away-to-school thing before, I already have most of the stuff I'll need. The house has a full supply of cookware, plates and utensils, so I don't really need to bring my hand-me-down kitchenwares. And I already have all the lamps, sheets and decorations I need to make my new room cozy. So what else do I need to do/get to prepare? It's hard to make a check-list of things to pack when pretty much everything is going with me.
My parents bought me a refrigerator for my room and they still owe me a bike, as they gave mine to my sister-in-law (I'm not that heartbroken over it - it's purple and orange and says JAZZ! on it...not something I want to be seen on past the age of 13). I don't want to get a cheap bike, just something that looks like crap so no one will attempt to steal it. This old friend of my brother's moved to Seattle for college, and during his first quarter, bought a $600 mountain bike and promptly had it stolen. I'm not sure if he didn't lock it up properly with a u-lock, but whatever. The point is, this may be the best bike I'll ever be able afford, considering that I'm not paying for it, so I want to get a good one. My parents have been looking at Wal-Mart, Costco and Fred Meyer, but I'm hoping I can tempt them into spending much more than they planned and go to a bike shop to make the purchase.
Granted, I have no idea what I'm really looking for, so any tips would be greatly appreciated!
16 August 2006
University District, 98105
While I was in Seattle yesterday for a doctor's appointment, my dad and I did a preliminary search for a room/apartment near campus. I brought various craigslist ads with me for reference and thought we'd just call some numbers from apartment building signs when we got there.
We finally found a spot on 17th near 50th to park the truck, my dad's Dodge Ram diesel extended cab, longbed pickup, and got ahold of the folks at Husky Place/Husky Court. I'm familiar with their rooms, as A used to live there, but I wanted to see what the "smaller" rooms look like and how much cheaper they are. For like $550, I could get a room the size of a large bathroom, or, for $650, I could snag a room about the size of 10'X15', with a private bathroom. The buildings are a half block from the university, but the electricity, cable and internet would be up to me.
The second place we saw was a room in a cute house just down the street from where we parked. It had a room for rent sign on the lawn. The landlord came to the property and showed us inside. The house has eight rooms I think, five bathrooms, newly painted interior and new wiring to include cable in each room. For only $585, I get the room and all of the utilities paid for. Not just water/sewer/garbage and electricity; it includes cable television and wireless internet. The only drawback is that it's two long blocks from the university.
We looked at one more place (as I said, this was just a preliminary search - we were planning to come back in a couple weeks to look again), the Upstairs/Downstairs Apartments. They offered rooms in 5-6 bedroom apartments for, um, I don't even remember how much. I was so turned off by the smell that I didn't really pay much attention. The apartments she showed me had wood paneling and generally reminded me of the Brady house (and not in a good way).
After my appointment, Dad and I came back to the U-District, met up with A, went for ice cream at The Mix and decided that the second room was just too good of a room to pass up. We called the owner of the house once more and coerced him into coming back to the area so we could apply and hand him a check!
Imagine a window behind the tree...this is my new window!
(The tree isn't there anymore)
The earliest I can move in is 3 September, but the landlord is willing to hold it for five days at his expense, so I don't have to start paying rent until the 8th.
Now I need to find a job, hopefully on or near campus,, and find a bike to take with me (my mum is demanding I return hers).
On another note, I quit my second job today. Back to the 12-hour a week cinema.
14 August 2006
Note to self: let Nursing Assistant certification expire this year
So I haven't posted anything in almost a week. Reason?
I got a job working the graveyard (no pun intended) shift at a local nursing home last Tuesday and started Thursday night. Since that first night, I've been working 12-hours continuously (four hours at the cinema, eight hours at the nursing home) and have gotten by on just about four hours of sleep a day.
The job entails lots of specific unpleasantries* that I won't go into here for the sake of your lunches. When I accepted the job, I figured I'd be making rounds checking on the residents to make sure they weren't dead, as well as restocking gloves, bags and other necessities in the rooms.
What I failed to remember (having been a nursing assistant years ago) is that most residents in care facilities are incontinent, especially at night.** So, not only do I go to each room and replace water cups, I also check to see if the resident has soiled their briefs.*** Eighty-five percent of the time, I will be changing said briefs and repeating the action at least once more during the course of the night.
I won't go into the imagery for you to ponder, as I'm sure if you're willing, you could conjure up a fairly accurate, if simplified, mental picture. Don't forget to include rolling the (really heavy) person back and forth to position the linens and brief and you're pretty close. I'm not even mentioning how the activity smells.
I feel bad about it, but I'm already thinking of quitting. Changing my sleeping schedule so drastically has reduced me to a dizzy narcoleptic. I've even been having trouble focusing on my image when I look in the mirror.
I just don't know how much more I can take.
I was going to post a picture, but I decided that this related Saturday Night Live commercial parody was easier to search for.
*yes, I'm sure I'm making this word up, but I'm exhausted
**of bladder AND bowel
***a fancy word for adult diapers
I got a job working the graveyard (no pun intended) shift at a local nursing home last Tuesday and started Thursday night. Since that first night, I've been working 12-hours continuously (four hours at the cinema, eight hours at the nursing home) and have gotten by on just about four hours of sleep a day.
The job entails lots of specific unpleasantries* that I won't go into here for the sake of your lunches. When I accepted the job, I figured I'd be making rounds checking on the residents to make sure they weren't dead, as well as restocking gloves, bags and other necessities in the rooms.
What I failed to remember (having been a nursing assistant years ago) is that most residents in care facilities are incontinent, especially at night.** So, not only do I go to each room and replace water cups, I also check to see if the resident has soiled their briefs.*** Eighty-five percent of the time, I will be changing said briefs and repeating the action at least once more during the course of the night.
I won't go into the imagery for you to ponder, as I'm sure if you're willing, you could conjure up a fairly accurate, if simplified, mental picture. Don't forget to include rolling the (really heavy) person back and forth to position the linens and brief and you're pretty close. I'm not even mentioning how the activity smells.
I feel bad about it, but I'm already thinking of quitting. Changing my sleeping schedule so drastically has reduced me to a dizzy narcoleptic. I've even been having trouble focusing on my image when I look in the mirror.
I just don't know how much more I can take.
I was going to post a picture, but I decided that this related Saturday Night Live commercial parody was easier to search for.
*yes, I'm sure I'm making this word up, but I'm exhausted
**of bladder AND bowel
***a fancy word for adult diapers
06 August 2006
I AM pretty graceful with The Golfer's Lift though
So I really hurt my back. At least two or three times I week lately, I wake up with an uncomfortable pain in the center of my back, right near my bra strap. The pain will usually last maybe twenty minutes or so and will go away when I fall back asleep or when I finally go get breakfast.
I came to the sad realisation that I have never flipped my queen size bed (the one I've slept on for at least ten years) even though I always sleep on the left side, so I enlisted my dad's help* in the venture while I finished my laundry on Wednesday evening.
Unfortunately, when I woke up Thursday morning, the pain was still there, though it was more tolerable (I think). On Friday, the pain returned and came and went all day, but by yesterday, it seemed to have gone after I exercised.**
Today, I woke up with the pain and it has lasted all day, even through four advils. I used a different, more supportive chair at work (instead of a stool) and stayed sitting in a comfortable position through as much of the day as possible. Sitting upright felt the worst.
I can think of only one reason left as to why I'm in still in pain since I*** flipped my mattress: Operation: Awesome Auntie. How could I have been subject to physical pain from the (seemingly) harmless techniques of brainwashing little children? Because I'm the idiot that never paid attention to safe lifting techniques at work and instead laughed at posters like these.
In trying to be the Best Aunt Ever, I scooped my little neice up in my arms every chance I could get. I even felt the little lightning bolts of pain (as shown here) a time or two.
Other than that, the only things really exciting in the past couple days is that I went to see Barnyard with my mum and Kaitlyn (so not worth it - even Kaitlyn gave it a yucky face), saw Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby with my dad (hilarious! - I pulled a muscle in my rib area from laughing so hard at the end) and I went to the store in my pajamas and bought Lucky Charms this morning.
In review:
I came to the sad realisation that I have never flipped my queen size bed (the one I've slept on for at least ten years) even though I always sleep on the left side, so I enlisted my dad's help* in the venture while I finished my laundry on Wednesday evening.
Unfortunately, when I woke up Thursday morning, the pain was still there, though it was more tolerable (I think). On Friday, the pain returned and came and went all day, but by yesterday, it seemed to have gone after I exercised.**
Today, I woke up with the pain and it has lasted all day, even through four advils. I used a different, more supportive chair at work (instead of a stool) and stayed sitting in a comfortable position through as much of the day as possible. Sitting upright felt the worst.
I can think of only one reason left as to why I'm in still in pain since I*** flipped my mattress: Operation: Awesome Auntie. How could I have been subject to physical pain from the (seemingly) harmless techniques of brainwashing little children? Because I'm the idiot that never paid attention to safe lifting techniques at work and instead laughed at posters like these.
In trying to be the Best Aunt Ever, I scooped my little neice up in my arms every chance I could get. I even felt the little lightning bolts of pain (as shown here) a time or two.
Other than that, the only things really exciting in the past couple days is that I went to see Barnyard with my mum and Kaitlyn (so not worth it - even Kaitlyn gave it a yucky face), saw Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby with my dad (hilarious! - I pulled a muscle in my rib area from laughing so hard at the end) and I went to the store in my pajamas and bought Lucky Charms this morning.
In review:
- Always maintain proper lifting techniques
- Use a pro-active approach to mattress flipping
- Lucky Charms keeps the spirits up.
- Go see Talladega Nights. Shake 'n Bake.
*Actually, he did all the work. I was downstairs.
**for the first time in over a month
***Once again, Dad gets credit for this one.
03 August 2006
Must.Sleep.Now
Y'all better watch out, 'cause I just joined the planet's Most Awesome Auntie award and I'm bringin' it!
Actually, I've been an aunt for almost five years, but due to being out of the loop for most of them, I'm at a disadvantage. Yet what's great is that my neice and nephew are now of the age in which, if I move quickly and stealthily, I can bypass the introductory stages and right into what's known in the inner circles as "Operation: Awesome Auntie".
How it works is beside the point (and full of trade secrets), but the objective is clear: flood the minds of the impressionable young children with messages, often subliminal, of love, compassion and coolness to accelerate my status to the top of the boards. However, I've talked with the higher-ups and they've given me clearance to share a few "insider secrets", if you will.
1. When the n/n (industry jargon for neice/nephew) comes into town, it's utterly imperative to cancel all plans and prepare.* Without this step in place, the visit could prove disasterous.
2a. Debrief everyone within earshot that you will now be referred to as Aunt (insert name here). Decide on a name to be called and stick with it. No changing to nicknames halfway through the game. These little people confuse easily and only setbacks will come from that.
2b. With name in place and n/n in tow, slip your new moniker in as much as possible. Tactics such as referring to yourself in the third person and even subliminal placement is covered in chapters five and six.
3. Get as much rest as you can, provided that you've already fulfilled your obligations of night-time duty (if n/n is an OnG - overnight guest).
And with that, I must heed my own advice and go to sleep. I was awoken around 4a to screaming from the other room and am now drifting into sleep again.
*The handbook goes into more detail in chapter 3, but since we're limited, let me explain: being prepared can be anything from meditating to baking cookies, even opening all of the cabinets in the kitchen. It's all individual, per the n/n's interests. Making an easy-to-use strategic flow sheet or spreadsheet has also proven fruitful.
Actually, I've been an aunt for almost five years, but due to being out of the loop for most of them, I'm at a disadvantage. Yet what's great is that my neice and nephew are now of the age in which, if I move quickly and stealthily, I can bypass the introductory stages and right into what's known in the inner circles as "Operation: Awesome Auntie".
How it works is beside the point (and full of trade secrets), but the objective is clear: flood the minds of the impressionable young children with messages, often subliminal, of love, compassion and coolness to accelerate my status to the top of the boards. However, I've talked with the higher-ups and they've given me clearance to share a few "insider secrets", if you will.
1. When the n/n (industry jargon for neice/nephew) comes into town, it's utterly imperative to cancel all plans and prepare.* Without this step in place, the visit could prove disasterous.
2a. Debrief everyone within earshot that you will now be referred to as Aunt (insert name here). Decide on a name to be called and stick with it. No changing to nicknames halfway through the game. These little people confuse easily and only setbacks will come from that.
2b. With name in place and n/n in tow, slip your new moniker in as much as possible. Tactics such as referring to yourself in the third person and even subliminal placement is covered in chapters five and six.
3. Get as much rest as you can, provided that you've already fulfilled your obligations of night-time duty (if n/n is an OnG - overnight guest).
And with that, I must heed my own advice and go to sleep. I was awoken around 4a to screaming from the other room and am now drifting into sleep again.
*The handbook goes into more detail in chapter 3, but since we're limited, let me explain: being prepared can be anything from meditating to baking cookies, even opening all of the cabinets in the kitchen. It's all individual, per the n/n's interests. Making an easy-to-use strategic flow sheet or spreadsheet has also proven fruitful.
30 July 2006
Smelly Cat: Part Two
"What followed next was wretched. 'Twas not another cat, but a cute little black and white creature. The smell hit seconds later and the creature disappeared into the corn. We had been skunkified."
And now, for the continuation to Smelly Cat:
Realising what had just happened and knowing that I'd never be able to get to the store smelling like a skunk (and believe me when I say that I know how well my car can hold an odor), I kept my cool and walked Daisy over to my house. As soon as we hit the grass, she started to roll, but I managed to get her up to my front door and tie her leash around a post. I hastily entered the house, grabbed the cordless phone and the dog leashes, hooked up the dogs and brought them outside with me to figure out what to do next. I called my parents and asked them to pick up some tomato juice at the store and told them the news.
About 25 minutes later, my parents arrived and Daisy was sequestered in her kennel, but since my dogs had gotten close and sniffed her, I didn't want to take any chances. The three of us (my dogs and I) had waited patiently in the mosquito-filled night for my parents to give us the sniff test.
After smelling Lucky and Chess individually, Dad concluded that only Lucky had small traces of skunk-funk in her hair. Moving on to me, Dad smelled my hair, neck and hands and deemed me safe to return inside. But when I came inside and recanted the story, I couldn't help but smell the horrible aroma follow me. Mum sniffed my legs and said she didn't smell anything, but Dad told me that I should probably stay on the safe side and use the tomato juice.
Now, I'm sure that most of you have never had the joy of bathing yourself in tomato juice, so I will have to be very clear: tomato juice in no way feels or smells erotic, especially when cold. If your significant other ever suggests dousing yourself in a food substance to "spice things up", I urge you to look elseware. Go with the cliched whipped creme and chocolate sauce. Never let him or her douse you with tomato juice, regardless of its temperature. It will only intensify his or her craving for a grilled cheese sandwich. And that will only leave you sexually frustrated.*
Imagine, if you will, taking a cold shower, rubbing shampoo in your hair and soap all over your body. Now, replace the water, shampoo and soap in the scenario with tomato juice. That's right. Recall, if you please, the texture of said juice. Remember, it's not the same light and refreshing liquid as apple juice; it's about as thick as the soup variety. Now, once again, imagine massaging that soup into your hair, down to your scalp. Use the loofah and drench your legs and arms in the sauce. And don't get it in your eyes when you wash your face with it.
Grossed out? Yeah. Me too. That's why my shower lasted a good 40 minutes and ended with me vigorously shampooing my hair with three different shampoos and one extra-pretty smelling conditioner.
As for the dog, we dumped her in the stand-pipe, doused her in tomato juice and rinsed her off. Quick three minute procedure and she was ready to shake.
She still smells, but heck, she's not my dog.
*I can only imagine one scenario in which these circumstances could prove fruitful, but unless you and yours have an unhealthy appetite for tomato juice and are very multitalented, it's best to be avoided.
And now, for the continuation to Smelly Cat:
Realising what had just happened and knowing that I'd never be able to get to the store smelling like a skunk (and believe me when I say that I know how well my car can hold an odor), I kept my cool and walked Daisy over to my house. As soon as we hit the grass, she started to roll, but I managed to get her up to my front door and tie her leash around a post. I hastily entered the house, grabbed the cordless phone and the dog leashes, hooked up the dogs and brought them outside with me to figure out what to do next. I called my parents and asked them to pick up some tomato juice at the store and told them the news.
About 25 minutes later, my parents arrived and Daisy was sequestered in her kennel, but since my dogs had gotten close and sniffed her, I didn't want to take any chances. The three of us (my dogs and I) had waited patiently in the mosquito-filled night for my parents to give us the sniff test.
After smelling Lucky and Chess individually, Dad concluded that only Lucky had small traces of skunk-funk in her hair. Moving on to me, Dad smelled my hair, neck and hands and deemed me safe to return inside. But when I came inside and recanted the story, I couldn't help but smell the horrible aroma follow me. Mum sniffed my legs and said she didn't smell anything, but Dad told me that I should probably stay on the safe side and use the tomato juice.
Now, I'm sure that most of you have never had the joy of bathing yourself in tomato juice, so I will have to be very clear: tomato juice in no way feels or smells erotic, especially when cold. If your significant other ever suggests dousing yourself in a food substance to "spice things up", I urge you to look elseware. Go with the cliched whipped creme and chocolate sauce. Never let him or her douse you with tomato juice, regardless of its temperature. It will only intensify his or her craving for a grilled cheese sandwich. And that will only leave you sexually frustrated.*
Imagine, if you will, taking a cold shower, rubbing shampoo in your hair and soap all over your body. Now, replace the water, shampoo and soap in the scenario with tomato juice. That's right. Recall, if you please, the texture of said juice. Remember, it's not the same light and refreshing liquid as apple juice; it's about as thick as the soup variety. Now, once again, imagine massaging that soup into your hair, down to your scalp. Use the loofah and drench your legs and arms in the sauce. And don't get it in your eyes when you wash your face with it.
Grossed out? Yeah. Me too. That's why my shower lasted a good 40 minutes and ended with me vigorously shampooing my hair with three different shampoos and one extra-pretty smelling conditioner.
As for the dog, we dumped her in the stand-pipe, doused her in tomato juice and rinsed her off. Quick three minute procedure and she was ready to shake.
She still smells, but heck, she's not my dog.
*I can only imagine one scenario in which these circumstances could prove fruitful, but unless you and yours have an unhealthy appetite for tomato juice and are very multitalented, it's best to be avoided.
Smelly Cat: Part One
Yesterday was a classic bad day. Bad enough that I decided to sleep on the day's events and write about it today. In light of events surrounding an old friend and an accident she was in, though, it's not that bad.
This weekend, my neighbour, who happens to be my paternal uncle's sister-in-law, is out of town, so she asked me to feed her plethora of outdoor cats and her small dog. I thought it'd be a good opportunity to let her dog, Daisy, spend more time with my two dogs (meaning sniff time).
Before work yesterday, I wasn't feeling very well when I woke up at 5.15a and couldn't get back to sleep, but I didn't think much of it. I retrieved Daisy from next door and leashed up my dogs and took them for the walk down to the road to get the morning paper. I came back, returned my dogs to our yard, fed Daisy and the fourteen cats (I'm actually not exaggerating that number - I really counted fourteen) and went to work.
When I returned from work, I wasn't feeling well, as I had vomited in my mouth a little earlier, so I took a nap. Around 8p, I went to the neighbour's, fed the cats and thought I'd take Daisy for a walk.
Daisy and I didn't get very far before she tested the boundaries of her leash by jumping in some bushes near the cornfield. Thinking it was a cat, I leaned in to get a closer look and see if it was one of the cats I recognised, or if it was yet another cat. Bad idea.
What followed next was wretched. 'Twas not another cat, but a cute little black and white creature. The smell hit seconds later and the creature disappeared into the corn. We had been skunkified.
This weekend, my neighbour, who happens to be my paternal uncle's sister-in-law, is out of town, so she asked me to feed her plethora of outdoor cats and her small dog. I thought it'd be a good opportunity to let her dog, Daisy, spend more time with my two dogs (meaning sniff time).
Before work yesterday, I wasn't feeling very well when I woke up at 5.15a and couldn't get back to sleep, but I didn't think much of it. I retrieved Daisy from next door and leashed up my dogs and took them for the walk down to the road to get the morning paper. I came back, returned my dogs to our yard, fed Daisy and the fourteen cats (I'm actually not exaggerating that number - I really counted fourteen) and went to work.
When I returned from work, I wasn't feeling well, as I had vomited in my mouth a little earlier, so I took a nap. Around 8p, I went to the neighbour's, fed the cats and thought I'd take Daisy for a walk.
Daisy and I didn't get very far before she tested the boundaries of her leash by jumping in some bushes near the cornfield. Thinking it was a cat, I leaned in to get a closer look and see if it was one of the cats I recognised, or if it was yet another cat. Bad idea.
What followed next was wretched. 'Twas not another cat, but a cute little black and white creature. The smell hit seconds later and the creature disappeared into the corn. We had been skunkified.
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