Happy New Day

Sorry to be missing for so long. I’ve been struggling with my law school application and could only spend most of my free time mewing pathetically to the boyfriend about how my life was soooo much harder than everyone else and that he needed to cook me steak for dinner to make it a little better. After a while, it became a Pavlovian response for me in that mewing pathetically while doing nothing equals delicious steak dinner. It’s not hard to see how my boyfriend is out to ruin me. Terrible man that he was, the dinner never came with free backrubs.

Alas, my time spent being a total lazy slob needs to come to an end (for now), so that I can press for free backrubs on the next round of renewed pathetic-ness.

 

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Off to China

In less than 12 hours I will be off to the airport to head to China. I’m a bit under the weather lately. Which means I will be the monkey bringing in our super antibiotic mutant virus over to them. I just loaded my Kindle with a lot of light reading, so I can blindly step over people falling dead before me.

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Blue, Red and Black

You know that feeling you get when you find a doggy bag all tied up with something brown in it, and you’re all like, “Disgusting! Who the hell would leave a bag of poop in the office!?” Then you realize it’s a party favor from your mountaineering club, referencing blue bag jokes that mountaineers never tire of, and then you open the baggie and it has a brownie bite which is still fresh. That just happened. And it was delicious.

I’ve been missing because I’m actively avoiding writing my school application essays and thus writing of any kind. Which means I’ve been reading a LOT. A customer at my restaurant brought me a book by an author he really loves, Christopher Moore. While I turned him to reading Sandman by Neil Gaiman.

I like Moore, but he has a thing for annoying goth girl characters. When he writes from the girls’ point of view it makes you want to stick a pen in your eye, much like the time I found my old diary that I started back in middle school, and got the bright idea to read it. Some memories are not meant to be treasured. I threw the damned thing away, out of shame.

Halloween just came and went. Did you get a dressed up? As with all six years before, Halloween is my sister’s restaurant’s anniversary party, so it what I’ve been doing every year since she opened. Every year that passed, more and more people showed up in costume that gets more elaborate. This year, she decided to do an “Angels + Devils” theme.

The boyfriend’s and my original plan was for him to go as the devil and me as the angel, because that’s what I am. Even if the boyfriend was to say, I’m really more a bitch than an angel, but you know, he’s the devil, so you can’t really take his word for it.

Because I forgot that it’s after Labor Day and also that all white is a color reserved for only the emaciated types, I ordered an all white angel costume. The costume came in the mail and I put it on, only to realize cheap costume material in white = making every part of your body look like fat rolls. Honestly, I have an aggrandized self body image, and even I had to admit that I looked more beached-whaley than sexy-angelly in that costume. I threw that damned thing away, out of shame. If I could find a place to burn it, without having to clean the gross melted polyester mess after, I would have.

In the end, we both went as devils. My sister went as a dark angel. I will never ever go in full body paint again. Not so much because it meant that I was walking around in hardly anything, because you know, I really don’t actually have much shame left, but because I was finding patches of red paint many days and showers later.

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Sneaking Into China

Our travel agent asked my sister and me to submit our expired passport which contains our travel visa for China from 2002. She said that will provide evidence that we have a record of visiting China and not trying to sneak in and never leave. As. If.

My parents survived a war, and lived in refugee camps for years so that we can immigrate to US. Why the fuck would we try to sneak back in China? Especially when every cousin/aunt/uncle fifty times removed has been hounding us to sponsor them to US. Of course it makes perfect sense that my sister and I would rebel by trying to sneak back to China.

A lot of people that adopted children from foreign country feel like they want to take their children back to the country they came from to show them their heritage and give them culture. This sounds better on paper than reality. On the flight for my first China visit, I was giddy with excitement to learn more about my heritage and hang out with “my people”. Then as my sister and I were chased two blocks by a Chinese street peddler who couldn’t take no for an answer, I realized I am an American. This was further affirmed when I was admiring a finely dress China gentleman while on a boat tour and he decides to hock a giant loogey on our very small boat floor mid-sentence. Chinese soulmates, we are not.

I am excited about this upcoming China trip, but more so in the “can’t wait to eat cheap food and get cheap massages” way than “can’t wait to fist bump with my homies” way.

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Passport Fails

They say procrastination spawns from fear of failure, so we put off doing work out of fear that our work sucks. Which goes to explain, I’m not a procrastinator, I’m just a real lazy asshole. My lazy ass has bitten me plenty of times, usually in my wallet. In May of this year, my passport expired, and like my true self, I thought I’ll renew it *tomorrow*. Invites to hangout with friends in Vancouver B.C. came and went with my many replies of, “I can’t, my passport expired, but I’ll renew it tomorrow. So next time for sure.”

At some point, I realized, “tomorrow” will probably mean “next year” when I really need it for my trip to Australia.

My brand of laziness is apparently genetic because I’m actually the least lazy of my family. My sister has been talking about going to China since the beginning of the year, and she just booked her plane tickets for early November. On a whim, my mother, the boyfriend and I decided to join her. So now I really need a passport to get my traveling visa to China.

I made an appointment for me and my sister (surprise!) to have our passports renewed in person yesterday and it was for this morning at 11:30.

This morning at 10:30, I googled the address of the passport building then left the condo to have my passport photos taken before going in. Sure sure, I should have had my pictures taken yesterday, but it’s the lazy gene. Unless there’s a fire right under my ass, I see no reason to move. Keep in mind, though, the passport agency is only ten blocks from my home, and there is Bartell’s right between us, so one hour to grab some photos and drive a few blocks to a place doesn’t seem ill planned. Except there is some Loki of the universe that understands I’m on time crunch and decides this is the perfect comedic setup.

I get to Bartell’s (where I got some passport photos taken for my LSAT just two months ago, so I know they do photos), and they tell me their printer is broken, so I would have to get them elsewhere. I asked if he knew where else I could get them, and he said, UPS across from them. No big deal, it’s a quick run. The guy at UPS sat me on a chair and fiddled with the camera, then said, “You’ll have to have your photos from Bartell’s because someone forgot to recharge the batteries and it’ll be another 30 minutes before these are ready.” Of course. I explained to him that I just came from Bartell, and their printer died. He told me of various other locations a few blocks away, I told him I really needed the photos for my passport appointment in about 45 minutes, and offered to buy them replacement batteries for the camera (they were AA batteries) from Bartell’s. It would be easier than trying to find parking elsewhere in Capitol Hill. He tried to say he’s not allowed to buy batteries, but I told him I would happily pay for them, and it’s really no big deal for me to pay for the batteries, he would be doing me a huge favor in accepting them. It could be the desperation in my eyes, but he agreed and told me he would only charge me for one of my two sets of passport photos. Sweet!

I ran back to Bartell’s an asked guy I spoke to earlier for 4 AA batteries, which came to three something, not a bad trade for one set of photos which usually runs $19. After depositing the batteries into the UPS guy’s hands, I took a seat in the chair again. There were some attempts at clicking on the camera after the batteries were installed and he said, “It’s not working, because one of the batteries is corroded.” Even the batteries are fucking with me. I couldn’t help but laugh at that point, the UPS guys looked worried about me. Two dead-pan expression guys couldn’t possibly cope with a hysterical woman. When I got back to Bartell’s for the 3rd time, I flagged the guy that sold me the batteries and showed him the hazardous looking battery. He apologized profusely, and checked each ends of a new pack and told me it looked safe.

Arriving at UPS for the 3rd time also, I plopped myself onto the chair again and waited. The guy looked concern, so I asked if the camera is even turning on. He told me it seemed to be working. It was really hard to pose with the stupid grin on my face over the whole situation. As everyone knows it is a passport photo requirement to look like your dog just died, a photo that looked like you’re bursting from barely controlled glee is just not acceptable. The first picture he took of me had too much tilt in my head, but the second one came out okay.

I looked at their rack of cards with animals in strange poses while waiting, it was a bit like animal porn. Dirty. The guy went back and forth clicking on the printer and camera with the concerned look yet again. With time not on my side, I asked the guy if everything was okay because he looked very concerned to me. He reply with the same dead-pan expression, “Everything is just fine, this is the just “look” my mother gave me.” His face actually cracked a smirk when I laughed at his words. I’m totally going to steal that line. When they were done, he gave me both sets of photos for free even though I tried to pay him for them. In the end, I thanked him and hurried to my car.

As I approached the passport building, I called my sister to see if she was near, and she said she was a couple blocks away. With almost half an hour to spare, I felt so proud of us for making it to something early-ish and being able to stroll into the building in a leisurely fashion (first time!). Like all government building, soon as I entered the door, I’m greeted by the sight of a metal detector and x-ray belt. Just because it has been that kind of day, I asked the guard if this was the passport building. He replied, “Oh, you didn’t know? They’ve moved.” I couldn’t tell if he was just fucking with me, because hey, even batteries got to take potshots, so why not him?

Me: Um, where did they move to?
Guard: Portland!
Me: Portland!?
Guard: Yeah, Portland.
Me: I’m not going to make it to Portland in 20 minutes. You have to be joking.
Guard: I am joking. Sorta.
Me: Really!?
Guard: Well, they did move, but it’s only 8 blocks away. Here’s a map.
Me: Wow, that’s great lead in!
Guard: It works.
Me: Yes, I actually feel happy about the move now.

It really did work. If I didn’t start with a panic attack about the move to Portland, I would have been annoyed about the 8 blocks move. He’s like Charon, guiding us through the Styx River to our doom, but with a great opener. I called my sister to tell her to meet me at the new location.

Of course this led to my sister and I doing our standard we’re-so-fucking-late-run to our destination. We had to park illegally and pray that we would only get ticketed and not get towed, but thanked god we both drove huge freaking monster vehicles because it would take effort to tow our vehicles.

The passport office, like any other government office, is a place of doom and gloom. It was eerily quiet and the guards look like they’ll throw you out if you do so much as cough. They did have a stern talking to my sister when she checked text messages on her phone. We got in line for appointment check-ins and exchange our passport photos for quick laughs. I cackled at my sister’s photos and asked her how she got her eyes to look all fucked up like that. Keep in mind, when we last had our family photos done at a studio, the photographer tried to surprise her with a puppet to get her to smile like she’s not in pain, or maybe like she actually enjoys standing next her family.

Once we got to guy checking over our documents, he gave my sister a sheet of paper telling her to write why her passport was damaged and sign it. My sister looked confused, so I told her to just write, “My passport is damaged because…” Waited for her to finish. Then suggested, “…because I beat the shit out of everything I own, cellphones, boyfriends, and passports.” She smiled, nodded then wrote it was water damaged. We both laughed at what a crap excuse it was. The guy told us our passport would be ready the next day at 11:00 a.m.

One of these days we’ll get somewhere at a leisurely pace, like maybe when we’re eighty and we have no other pace.

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Fitropolis

A friend of mine has just launched Fitropolis.com, a site that helps people find gyms and yoga studios in Seattle. They’re working on adding Pilates, personal trainers, boot camps – you name it. Take a look and let them know what you think.

Just a bit of background about this friend. A few friends and I were out having dinner with her husband, she was then six months pregnant and not at the dinner gathering, so of course the topic turned to where’s our lovely pregger lady? Her husband said something about her being in Vancouver for some billion miles bike marathon. Our food arrived and we moved on to eating sushi. At some point, her husband explained that she was riding along in a van as support crew for the bike marathon. And one guy’s response, “Oh, when you said she was in a bike marathon, I assumed she was riding in it. And even at six months pregnant, it made perfect sense that she would do that. Why wouldn’t she?” We all nodded in unison.

That’s the type of awesome she is, so you know if she’s helping you find a gym or yoga studio, it’ll be awesome. I don’t know if you’ll be “six months pregnant and still in shape to ride in a bike marathon” awesome, but hey awesome is awesome, just roll with it.

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Getting Shit-Faced, Again and Again

I’ve been coddling my brain cells the days before LSAT, so it goes without saying that immediate after the test, I went on a brain cell murdering rampage. It wasn’t exactly the intended effect, but it’s goes with the territory of getting really really drunk.

I mentioned trying to break in my new heels on Saturday and what a break-in process it was. I wore it out that night for a friend’s birthday party. It’s one of those party where the moment I walked in, someone handed me a Jager-bomb, so you know the really really drunk part kicks in soon after. No one twist my arms much with the drinks because for some reason whenever I take a long test, my back and neck hurts for days after, and as luck would have it, alcohol fixes this for me. It’s magic water!

The even more magical part is after a few drinks my heels stopped hurting. I’m not sure why I haven’t thought about this before, considering my liberal application of alcohol to solve everything, but if I buy any more heels in the future, it should be accompanied by a fifth of vodka.

I’m wading through the woes of law school application, and as luck would have it I have a lawyer friend who used to/maybe still has a crush on my sister that took a personal interest in my law school app. I’m a halfway to decent sister, but I would be lying if I didn’t totally throw my sister under the bus by offering her up as bait by hinting that she might be newly single. Hey! I’m looking out for one of our best interest here! Stop judging me!

I feel silly for admitting this, but it has really helped to have someone else get excited over my application process with me and help me along the way. When I first mentioned this to my boyfriend, he told me he could have done the same for me. Then I told him I would likely smother him with a pillow while he sleeps if he said anything negative about my personal statement, so maybe wait until I take out some insurance on him.

The nicest thing about having someone along for the ride is that he has been keeping me honest. If I procrastinate on the application, someone knows. Someone that is kind enough to invest their own time for me. I’m an asshole in so many ways, but even I have a hard time screwing over someone that is trying to help me.

I didn’t mention my side blog to help me write, and he did warn me to clean it up a bit. “Maybe you shouldn’t use the word shit-faced so much.”

Shit.

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LSAT Two Survived

Today’s LSAT was oddly painful.

Then I got home and I put on my new high heels to help break them in, because at 35, I figured it was time I own some heels that looks courtroom appropriate and not just stripper pole appropriate. After walking around in them for five minutes, I’ve decided the LSAT wasn’t that painful after all.

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Back In A Jiff

I realized it’s time I get serious about drinking and cut out the writing stuff in my life so I can concentrate on doing serious damage to my liver. My sister is going through a bit of a break-up and I’m trying to spend as much time as I can spare with her. The girl is a mess. When I was at her condo a couple days ago, I went to the bathroom and I exclaimed, “Oh wow, you have a beer right next to toilet. Classy.” Then, “Oh gross, it’s warm. And why didn’t you keep a bottle opener next to it? You’re losing it, sister.” If she was in her elements, that beer would have been kept chilled and ready to serve. This is a borderline sign that she needs an intervention.

The boyfriend, my sister and I are learning how to swim together so we can go diving at Great Barrier Reef early next year. We are starting to get the hang of how to sort of tread water, we look like we are actively drowning (which is probably the case), but we can pass the treading water test for diving requirements.

I also realize I have to do a bit of studying between now and October 1st. So, I’ll be back right after the test. I’ll miss you, oh one reader of my blog. Your hair looks fabulous.

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With a Side of Beer

The boyfriend is out of town for work all week, which means I’m getting drunk every night. This is not to say I’m partying till I puke (not with no one around to hold my hair) every night, but I’m certainly not sitting home in a bathrobe while mudmasking either.

On Monday night, I went out to a wine bar with my sister, we drank a bottle and a half of red wine. I discovered a love for deep fried shrimp heads, it could be the brains. I might be part zombie. Also, love Bordeaux and waiters that recommend them. As we were heading toward her condo, we had to run across six lanes to get to the other side of the street, I saw a cab coming so I moved a little quicker across the way. My sister decided to slow waaaaay, way down, to the point where the cab stopped and honked at her, even though there were SIX lanes and it could go around her. The cabbie started shouting “Fuck you!” So I started shouting, “Fuck you!” My sister was shouting, “Fuck you!” And it was a big fuck-you circle to end the night.

Tuesday, I went to happy hour with my sister at French restaurant, we split two bottles of wine then met up with her friend at another French restaurant for more wine. My sister is a fun drunk up to a point, and then she splits into one of her many drunk personalities. This night was Ms. Paranoid. She decided her friend invited us out to pimp us to her work associate and his two friends, like we’re their drink escorts. So before we could say a proper good-bye, my sister wanted to leave in a huffy, and I followed behind without dropping any lame excuses. Some days, it’s just not worth trying.

Yesterday, I wanted a night in with a nice bottle(s) of wine that I didn’t have to share. Then I thought, because I am a refined whine-o, if I’m drinking bottles of wine alone, I shall pair it with some fine cheese.

I got to the grocery store, walked near the cold beer aisle and panicked. It’s the panic of: what if I get home and I needed a cold beer right away (it was only 3pm at the time, I was refined enough to wait till 4 to open the wine) and I have none because the case of beer I have in the car isn’t all that cold yet. So this is what I got to go with my wine:

When the boyfriend gets back, I could be all like, “You totally missed out on holding all this hair,” while laying amidst a pile of empty bottles.

This is the longest we have been apart in over three years (the boyfriend, not the beer, beer and I are always together, don’t you imply that we would spend time away from each other). Having a week apart from someone gives you a glimpse of who you are as a single.

Single me loves: wine, reading and Camembert. The only time I got up to turn on the television was to watch something that the book I was reading recommended. I should just get a cat now. And a good hairclip.

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