On why I'm in bed at 4 pm, ready to sleep

Bueno. Aqui estoy, en San Francisco (which I've heard called San Fran, Frisco, Gay Bay, etc.). I'm exhausted.

Already, I feel like it's been a week.

We'll start with last night, at about eleven p.m. My knee hurt. I just figured I'd been sitting on it weird or something. No big, right?

WRONG.

My lovely friends (who had come over to keep me company and see me off before my trip--and I'll give credit where it's due: Elise, Cris, Mai, Susie, and Deya) and I went to McD's for a late dinner. I get out of Mai's car and... Wtf? My knee's killing me. I limp home. I limp around as I finish my packing (what did I forget, btw? My hair brush. fml. Whatever. No big, I guess. I almost forgot my jeans and THAT would've sucked). I limp into the shower. I limp into my bed. By the time I'm in my bed, I can't straighten it or bend it past a certain angle. It keeps me up for a bit because my usual sleeping position (on my stomach) wasn't comfortable. But it'll be fine by the time I wake up, right?

WRONG.

I wake up at 5:30 a.m. (yep, only about 2 1/2 hours of sleep). I move my leg to see how it is, and it sort twinges, but nothing horrible. I'll warm my leg up and it'll be just a faint memory. Eh, not so much. I go to put my weight on it and have this huge surge of pain in my knee. So... Ok. Got it. No weight on my foot. What? Can't bend it at all? Bueno... This complicates things.

Turns out I couldn't even walk. I sort of hopped on one foot to my mom's (by now, I was near tears because it REALLY hurt) and she wrapped it... Sort of. Using cotton strips and tape. It was... ghetto. Real ghetto. And I KNOW we have the wrap thing somewhere in my house, but because my MOTHER CAN'T REMEMBER WHERE SHE PUTS ANYTHING, we couldn't find it.

But at least that's the worst of it, right?

WRONG.

I'm sitting on my mom's bed as she wraps my knee and start swaying and feeling nauseous. Didn't know why. I figured I just had to eat something or drink water or... idk. Ride it out. So I'm going about my business (and 6:15 a.m. is approaching faster and faster and I'm nowhere near ready) and suddenly things start going black. Very black. I grabbed the corner of my shelf and rested my head. Wobbled with my pathetic limp to my bed. Threw myself on it. My mom says I'd lost all color.

After a five-minute rest, my color had returned. I think I'd gotten up too quickly before. I got up slowly and I felt perfect. Except for my stupid knee.

Fast forward through: getting to the airport with my lame knee, jump the security line because I can't walk, get driven by a golf cart to D49, get on plane. I used a lot of my upper body strength (not that I have much, lol) to hoist myself into and out of chairs and golf carts and such.

Then the flight. I don't remember much about it, truth be told. I was... fuzzy, lol. Took this like SUPER DRAMAMINE pill thing that knocked me right out. I vaguely remember feeling the pull of the plane as we took off. I was in and out for the rest of the trip. Saw the Spaceballs cartoon though, which was hilarious. I didn't even know I had it on my iPod.

So. In San Fran. (Btw, we descended TWICE cuz the pilot didn't like his chances. Which is nerve-wracking. Never had that happen to me before. But this time I was happy off a regular Dramamine and a Zofran, so I was in no mood to argue.)

My mom's high, btw. Off her steroids (for her vertigo). So she's completely not there today. It's super irritating. So I have to drag her to the other end of the airport to catch the BART (subway-like thing). Then we catch the F train or something. Yeah. STUPID. It's a cable car thing that jerks around and me, dragging our huge suitcase and with my ghetto wrap and trying to keep upright while trying NOT to put any unneeded pressure on my knee (which had felt much better by then). And by this point, it's about 3:30 p.m. Miami time and all I've had to eat since I woke up at 5:30 a.m. was three crackers with cheese and half a handful of nuts on the airplane ($4, fyi). I was ready to eat that hobo on the corner.

We ate at the hotel restaurant (after a three block walk to the hotel). My mom and I split a chicken panini with mushrooms. INCREDIBLY good. Crazy good. I inhaled it. Then went to Safeway (which is a cross between Whole Foods and Publix, minus the organic stuff. Note: Cali fruit looks really pretty. Much prettier than Florida fruit. Also, one can smell the flowers as you walk by... Five feet away).

And then here I am. In bed. With my IcyHot and my knee wrap (no ghetto tape) and my Safeway chocolate chip cookies.

That's where I'm at.

This is where I shall stay. At least for the evening. I'm exhausted.

Thanks for reading.

On how I've realized my taste in music has changed...

Yeah. I've gotta go through my files and delete a whole BUNCH of crap. Por que enough's enough. Like... Seriously? What the hell do I have JS on my iPod for? I never realized all the crap I have on my iPod. Y eso que I made a major sweep of it when I lost my music the second time around (for example: I no longer have that stupid R. Kelly song "Step In the Name of Love." Seriously, dude? Stfu. But I do still have the Ignition Remix. And love it. And yes, STILL know all the words, lol. And the dance moves Ginz and I made up waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back when. And "Snake." That was some good ish. I heard "Country Grammar" on my drive home the other day and yeah. I had a total blast). But I've gotta go back through. And suddenly, what, I like Coldplay? I can even stand some House-y, techno stuff (my father will be so proud)?

[I still hate it when those stupid songs last for 8 minutes and have the SAME freaking beat for hours and hours and hours... They're only good when you're rolling or something. Which I never am. So shut up.]

I think it really occurred to me that my tastes have changed (even in just the past year) when one of those Paul Oakenfold mixes came on my shuffle this morning (as I was fighting traffic on US 1 and around 19th ave). For once, didn't change it. And... liked it? Eerie. I know.

[Compare this to my hip-hop/rap years and... well. It's a change. And funny, I think all current hip-hop/rap SUCKS.]

Work. Yeah, started work already. Loving it? (As much as you can love such a job, lol.) I haven't messed up or anything yet, so things are going well (though I TOTALLY ate it off a chair today, right in front of my two bosses [yeah, ok, so my bosses are my cousin Lania and Carlos, who wears Converse to work and is super chill and laid back. And really, actually, just Lania is my boss. It's just horrible. I'm such a clutz. Oh well. Love me for me, or deal? People seem to be my friends anyway, so I guess it's okay]. It was so not very graceful). Now, if only it weren't so DAMN FAR. Ugh. The ONLY thing I like about the distance is that I get two hours a day (well, the days I work) to listen to music. It really chills me out.

Leaving for San Fran Friday. Blah. And early too, more's the pity. The mornig and I don't mix.

I had a very fun little field trip with Elise today. Which involved visiting that French bakery by my house I wanted to visit for the past six months and the newly opened pool (no, I don't know what they did to change it). Amongst other things... Lol. "Waitress" included.

AND LUNCH WITH BETTYYYYYYYY <3

Ah.

Life is good.

:)

I'm gonna be super sad when the summer's over, though not too. I'm excited for fall. And... dare I say it... Missing FIU? A tad, yeah. I drove past Friday and it broke my heart a wee little bit.

Though I'll probably get more sleep during fall semester, since I REFUSE to have morning classes.

I miss sleep...

Speaking of....

On why I'm so glad I'm at FIU

This past week was the last week that the seniors of 2009 had at FCS.

I was looking through the pictures of the people who I still have as friends (I went through back in like October and just weeded people out after I heard people were talking shit about me. Life is just easier that way). And all I see are sad faces and "omg i'm gonna miss this place" and "i'm so sad!" and I just feel like slapping them all upside the head, laughing bitterly in the face, and saying, "No, you really won't. You won't even ever look back. By the way? FCS doesn't teach their students how to really study for a class, and their science department is as weak as your mother's fat ankles, SO if I were you, I'd watch myself that first semester."

I don't, of course. No reason to be a bitch so unnecessarily, especially since I haven't spoken to these people in months. A year. I just sit there and watch. And I know that for some, FCS will shut its doors to them and reject them, and it's okay. The world's sort of better without them anyway. And I love that I can honestly say that I'm happier now and freer and more okay with myself than I've ever been before. Less close-minded. Less hateful. More... thirsty? I think that's a good word. I'm not just okay with sitting here for the rest of my life. I want to do something more (yay for au pairing for dogs in France!! w00t w00t! Lol).

But I groan at just the thought of those little twerps being at FIU next semester. Ugh.

(Clarice, my little angel, just looked at me and did her strange grunt/whine noise. She clearly agrees. Ah, and there she goes to sit on my foot... Thanks, Clari. :\)

Anyway, it's been months since I posted. That's okay. I also started writing again in my diary, trying to recount all that's happened in the past three years (since somehow three years have passed without my writing a single word).

*shrug* I've never been good at writing on a schedule OR a deadline (yes, perhaps I'm going into the wrong profession, lolololol).

I start work on Monday, and even though I'm apprehensive at all the Spanish-speaking I'll have to do, I'm still excited. It's just exactly the sort of sweet little job that I wanted for the summer. And since Daddy dropped the lovely little gift of possibly living in his house after he moves out (for freeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, yayyyyy!) with two of my friends (not for free, but that's their problem, lol), my summer's looking way, way up.

And I think I'll go write some. My poor, poor neglected book. Eh. I'm just not angry/depressed/mopey enough to write anything good, so I don't see the point in bothering? I'll just end up hating it since usually my being in a good mood results in writing happy things and happy things... Bueno, make for a very, very boring story.

If I wanted happy, I'd watch Disney Channel.

(Which reminds me, my cable downstairs is being totally lame-o. There's sound. But no picture. Dumb much?)

Thanks for reading.

On how awful the world really is...

I love how things can be so bright and sparkly one second, and then the next life just sucks all around.

FANTASTIC day with Renata and my girlies (and gentleman, lol, Nadjib. Oh, and Teo! I didn't forget you, love. Oh, and I saw Brian and David, too... Ok. So... Girlies and... Guysies? Whatever. Now that I think about it, I have more guy friends there than girl friends, lol) at UM. I always have a blast. I don't know why. Like, as if it isn't bad enough I'm at FIU so much, now I'm at someone else's school, too? Whatever.

Mom doesn't have cancer. Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

And Khaled Hosseini is a party pooper. A fantastic, orgasmic, kick ass writer. But damn. Way to bring a girl down, K! I mean, seriously. I'd forgotten how abysmal (yet fantabulous) "Kite Runner" was. But "A Thousand Splendid Sun" just has me down in the dumps.

Basically? The story's about two women getting beat up by their old fart of a husband, each having lost their one true love. One her father and the other her childhood sweetheart. Of course, it takes place in Afghanistan. For fuck sake, he might just as well have inserted a special chapter instructing the reader to "please proceed to slice wrists horizontally with a sharp object. Sterility not necessary."

What an awful, joyless life. Awful. Could I even survive? Would I want to? I probably only would if I had children.

Makes one want to tie one's tubes and never form any ties to anyone on this freaking earth. Why? What's the point?

*is going to cry in a corner*

And I have writer's block. Which makes me want to punch a wall in. Or step on baby lizards. Or chew raw tobacco. SOMETHING to express how very irked this makes me.

I'm going to go organize a giant group suicide. Hopefully I'll be cheerier in the morning.

On she who bothers me beyond belief and my obsession with English

Ok. It's been awhile. So let's just jump right into this. First things first:

"You bug me, you push my buttons, you piss me off but boo, you're the best friend a girl could ask for :)"

Three guesses as to who texted that to me night before last. Yes, you've guessed it. Cristy. I love you, too. And yes, I loved your text so much, I actually blogged it. Feel special. Well, you would, if you would freaking read my blog. LIKE THE WAY YOU NEED TO FREAKING READ MY BOOK!

Mmmk. My favorite class this semester is Approaches to Literature with Mr. Peter Hargitai. I love it. We never do what we're supposed to do lol. About as close as we actually get to working is the journal we're supposed to write in everyday till the end of the semester. And, in a very twisted way, I actually enjoy this. This is what I wrote for today:

I am an English major. I love English. I love writing it, speaking it, reading it, proofreading it (yes, I'm that twisted).

But as much as I love English--and I think we can agree that I truly love it--I have some problems with it. (You're about to get some ugly insight into just how nuts I am. You've been forewarned.)

1. "Preached" should be "praught." If "taught" isn't "teached," then the past tense of the verb preach should follow as such. I stand by this.
2. I don't like the word "nervousness." I feel it should be "nervosity." In my opinion, "nervousness" is just a lame, awkward word. Wtf, Webster?
3. I hate that it's grammatically incorrect to begin a sentence with a conjunction (for those who don't know: and, but, or, etc). In fact, I completely disregard this rule. I encourage you to do the same.
4. I hate that the language itself is so damn unoriginal. We've taken words from just about everyone else except ourselves. Our words have French roots, Latin roots, Greek roots, etc. Bro. Stfu. Get your own damn roots! Useless, unimaginative people! (The inventors of English, that is.)
5. The fact it's spoken internationally. How damn, what if I want to speak badly about someone in Italy or Spain or Croatia?! I can't! Because they speak English! And Spanish! And French! GAH! Damned, over-achieving Europeans!!!!

And that, dears, is the end of my rant.

Finally, my phone. The LG Vu. I love it. Love.

Thanks for reading.

And, just fyi, I'm freezing my ass off.

On the fact I actually have a conscience

*sigh*

Ok. Having gone to a private "non-denominational" (real defintion: Baptist) middle- and high school, I know the Bible and its principals better than, I think it's safe to say, most American teenagers.

I think I've also taken it for granted.

I realize this isn't the sort of thing that should be posted on a blog. It's very personal, very private.

I've never really been one for being closed-up about stuff. Which may be a problem. There are only like.... Hmm, two things, that I can think of, that I've never told another soul about me. Everything else has come out eventually.

I almost wish I could blame college, that's it's turned me away from the right path. But it isn't college's fault. I had given up (ok, "given up" isn't the right word. I think perhaps just "set aside" makes a little more sense)--yes, set aside--the whole Christianity thing way back in November. I can't even remember what the chapels of my senior year were about. I remember Spiritual Emphasis Week--liked it. I liked it when that woman in the wheelchair came. But the rest? Pfft. Also, (and I'm sorry, Mr. Valdey, it's nothing personal) I was tired of hearing from the same chaplain since I'd been in seventh grade. Not that college helped any... Back in October, I was starting to think I'd gone a little too crazy. Now I know I'd gone a little too crazy.

But there's no healthy fucking medium!!!!! You're either freaking Virgin Mary incarnate or you're some bad ass.

And I remember that I used to say, "God, I'm sorry that I have no desire to talk to you or to listen to you." But I wasn't sorry. I was having a fucking great time (um.... sans the fucking, lol).

*sigh* I sort of miss high school. You knew what to do in high school. You were either a Good Kid or a Bad Kid. Now everyone's talking shit (ok, maybe just one person) about me behind my back cuz I'm a Bad Kid? The real world isn't so black and white. You knew what to do in high school if you wanted to be a Good Kid--you worshipped in chapel, you prayed, you didn't say bad words, you didn't associate past the bare minimum with the Bad Kids. Hell, they even kept us separate, for the most part. I've basically had the same classmates ever since they split us into honors and regular in 8th grade. But in college? How can you balance it out? People like me more now--and that's the honest truth. I've had it said to my face.

Why can't I find a good place to be? Why's it gotta be one or the other?

Why does the f-word have to be so much friggin' fun to say?

So, for the first real time in a very, very long time: I'm sorry, God. I am.

On why sometimes the simple things in life rock

So. I had an absolute blast with a certain tall chiquita (lol) today. Sort of the thing that makes you realize, "Damn, we need to hang more."

After the events of this afternoon, I'm now in possession of a certain friend's cardigan which I shall be holding hostage until the exchange of a certain purse that she took to my house today. Payment to be received in full, Amanda. ;)

More simple things to love? Reading. Ok, maybe not so simple. It's actually a sort of complicated process that I truly take for granted sometimes. And paper. And ink. I wonder, if I didn't have books, would I be a story teller?? Probably not. What would I do? What would I obsess over? Sometimes I think that the only real thing about me that stands out is my absolute obsession with the written word (and proper grammar. In a somewhat related story, I read a certain conversation today that a certain friend had with a certain guy and found myself giving non-existant points to this fellow based solely on the fact that his words were fluid and graceful and... Well, hot.).

Even more simple? Breathing. I like breathing. I've never been tired or bored of breathing. I don't think I ever shall be. Well, eventually, I guess I will. Hmm. My death. What a somber thing to think about....

OMYGOSHSHOULDIWRITEABLOGABOUTMYDEATH?!?! Is that too macabre?

Probably.

Tough.

I hope I die in an exciting, though preferably not tortured, way. Like, I do NOT want to die by way of a sting ray. [I still mourn Steve Irwin's death, pathetic as it was. God has a true sense of humor.]

Like, I don't know. I guess it'd be pretty exciting to like slip off the roof of a building or something. That's quick. Different. Would that be traumatic for my family?

Eh. Death. I changed my mind, don't want to talk about it.

And so, to end on a lighter note, I was at Dolphin and International today with Renate and we saw Orthodox Jews getting pulled in by one of those vendors in the carts in the middle of the hallways. That may have been the funniest part of today. Perhaps "strangest" is a better word.

Oh. I found today that I need to stop being so angry and bitter. It will make me an old woman much faster than I need to be. I need to learn to forgive a little better, too. And to perhaps not make faces when my parents call me. I know they love me. I just wish they'd lose my number for a little while.

Hopefully I'll find something more substantial to blog about next time? Eh, doesn't matter. No one reads this anyway, lol.