Buffy the Chihuahua

I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye. You were the dog that I never had.

Rest in peace, Buffy.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

"As she read, at peace with the world and happy as only a little girl could be with a fine book and a little bowl of candy, and all alone in the house, the leaf shadows shifted and the afternoon passed."

where does the time go?

The title refers to a lot of things. How did I get to this point, a little more than 1 year of being out of college? How did I last this long at LJB? How does the weekend pass by so quickly every single time? How is it freaking almost the end of summer and I barely recognized it?

But the title mostly refers to what Sophie said this weekend. We were a taxi coming back from FAO Schwartz and I was holding a dripping Gatorade bottle in such a way that it was getting all over her leg. I didn't notice until she said, so politely, "Soyu-unnie, how about you not drip your drink all over me?" and pushed my hand away from her.

I almost peed myself from laughing and shock. Where did this sarcasm come from? She's only 2.5 years old. I remember when she couldn't support herself walking and I had to hold her all the time. I remember when she would bang on the computer and piano keyboard without knowing what she was doing. And now she runs and plays the big keys at FAO Schwartz and asks random boys "Can I play?" before she settles down at the pyramid station. And she's only been alive for 2 and a half years.

Where does the time go?

"hey, it's the foreigner!!"

I have about 10 other posts that I finished or didn't finish and didn't post. Perhaps someday I will.

I have mixed feelings about blogging, but I've come to the conclusion that blogging is good for memory's sake. Because I can't write as fast as I type, and I don't always carry my leather book with me.

I went to the beach today and it ended well, with dinner at Joe's Ginger with some new friends. Had a chill night at home, doing laundry. The towels never dry completely so I ran the dryer again, and on the way down to pick them up, the elevator stopped on the 4th floor. I'm in red Haverford basketball shorts and a blue tanktop, with messy hair and glasses. I look hawt. Loud ruckus outside, think to myself, "damn." Dude holds the elevator for the rest of the drunkards and they all pack in, with me in the corner.

Douchebag comes into the middle of the elevator group, lights up when he sees me, holds up his hand for a high-five and yells, "Hey, it's the foreigner!!" So happy to see that I add some diversity to this group of Murray Hill lameasses. I'm ashamed to make myself remember that I was so shocked, I automatically gave him a high five. He then asked me what I was doing, getting laundry? yup. What floor do you live on? ..what? What floor? 7th. The dude next to me asked if I know Chrissy, trying to be nice. No, no I don't. Poor guy, he was trying to make up for his douchebag compatriot but the damage was done and I wasn't in any mood to oblige.

They leave, the douchebag comes back to hold the elevator door open. "I'm sorry." What? I'm sorry for being rude. That's fine, have a good night. You too.

Obviously he regretted saying it, or his friends made him come back. The air palpably stiffened during our conversation. I hope he wakes up tomorrow with a sick hangover remembering what he said. Or his friends bring it up next time they're out and warn him not to be an asshole.

Maybe I'm being prejudiced (I am). Maybe they're not from Murray Hill. They might be from Chelsea.

Being a minority in race and sex is difficult. Not that females are a minority in number, but rather in social standing. Some kid in black shorts and a yellow tshirt grabbed my ass running at full speed at KOP 2 weekends ago. I was so shocked I just stood there, watching him run away from me, his friend laughing and running next to him. He was either really eager or just a really fast runner that it was more of a slap than a grab, but I nevertheless felt so fucking violated. I tried to get my mind off it by getting a new toner from Sephora, but the sales woman was such a dumbass that I got more mad. "Why me?" The friend I was with is so much cuter than me, which in some sick twisted way made me think that she'd be more of a target for that than I.

I don't usually go about thinking about the world and my standing in it through the lens of 'damn, this sucks' or 'this is wrong.' I mean to say that while I definitely do have opinions, it doesn't rule my perspective, ie: feminists. But when things like that happen it's a cold slap in the face, or butt, about reality. I wish I had the BMC rugby team with me to chase that kid down, and some BM women to bite that American's head off. I think I miss BM.

I sound so angry. Maybe it's New York getting to me; I've noticed that I've become incredibly bitchier since living up here. I have next to no tolerance for annoyance. The worse part is that I take action against it when unnecessary and shut down when I should act. I hope to work on that.

On another note, my arms tanned in such a way today that as per S., they look grey, not brown.

cinco de mayo and reality tv

LJB: Do you know what Cinco de Mayo celebrates?

SJG (from his office, way out of the loop) : the BURRITO!!!


I always thought I'd never be caught dead watching shows like American Idol and Dancing with the Stars. I scoffed especially at the latter, and when I first moved in with Scarlett, I thought it was pathetic that she followed the show. Somehow I eventually got sucked into the world of prime time reality television this season and it's now my faaaavorite. Those two shows, along with The Hills, Real Housewives of NYC, The City, take up the bulk of my weekday nights. My other favorite is MTV's From G's to Gents; Mito and Blue, I am SO proud of you!

sigh. sad.

I don't know why I'm writing this, but so I can remember my idiocity later on and hopefully laugh at how funny I used to be... I actually signed up online and used all 5 votes for Shawn Johnson and Mark Ballas. And.. I signed up under Scarlett's email so I can sign up 5 more times.


And with that, I've officially entered young-adult lamedom.

cowabunga dude!

Last night I went to the Tribeca Drive-In for the 25th anniversary of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I heard about it from someone I met last weekend, and it was one of those random things that I always want to do but end up not doing. But, I got the word out and Minna invited some of her friends to it. It was in the courtyard/pavilion at the World Trade Center (or something..) and I'd never been there before. I don't like the idea of finance, mostly because it's so foreign to me and there's not much about it to like from what I know. There's a sense of coldness and sterility about the field of finance, but I can't argue against its sense of power. And looking around the waterfront pavilion last night, the edifices of that power were so .. grand. I couldn't help but just stand at the corner of this one glass-slated building and stare up. Although I don't really like the concept of design so much (it's gone a little far; oftentimes too conceptual to be practical), it's so freaking effective in that area. I had mixed feelings about it: as nice and important as those buildings are, there are people who suffer in them. Granted, there are people who suffer in every building, but the current state of the economy and the fragility of financial jobs adds an interesting flavor.

And amid all these buildings, next to the water (prime prime prime real estate, OMG-status), probably between 1,000 and 2,000 people came with their kids to watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. There was free popcorn, face-painting, turtle masks, costumes, Snapple, and Starbucks all over the place. White outdoor chairs were set up for people to sit, and there was a fenced-off fake grass section for kids to sit in the front. It was cold (~40?) and the wind came in hard at times from the water, but we stayed and watched the pizza-eating num-chucking human-sized turtles til the end. We also sat next to a group of overly-zealous TMNT teenage fans who kept cheering and hollering at every 'cowabunga' and 'duuuude' -- it was 'awwwsomee.'

Such behavior or events aren't characteristic of finance. And yet it all happened in the heart of the financial district. interesting. Last night's event is one of the best uses of public space I've seen personally. It was held in an area that people would otherwise rarely visit and transformed a space that was built for one thing into another entirely. I love this crap; I don't get how others aren't really interested or couldn't give a Splinter's ass (heh..) I want to go to planning school, but is this more a hobby than a career calling? meh.

why not?

I'm the kind of "blogger" who thinks of topics that she would like to blog, not for her audience, but for the sake of thoroughly investigating an idea. For a better understanding of what she really thinks; for catharsis.

But I'm mad lazy and not good with words when it comes down to it. The concepts are easy to come by, but to physically commit words to physical or virtual page proves to be so difficult. I also tend to overthink, which isn't conducive to "spitting it out."

But I'll spit this out. I keep finding myself thinking of things I want to do, and the options are vast. On one hand, the world is mine for the taking; I have no legal commitments that hold me back from picking up and moving to New Zealand or quitting everything and just honing my cello "skill." But there are people in my life I can't just leave, there are other opportunities that I want to look into. So as freeing as it is to have options, it's debilitating. I've been stuck in this rut between obligation and desire, and I can't really decide what fits where. But the words "why not" keep coming to mind.

But I keep thinking of random things that I think I really would like to do or look into. Maybe I can keep this as a list of accountability, and the virtual world of blogspot can be my witness. (It's weird that I'm pretty sure no one at all I know sees this anymore, but it's completely open for anyone to come on and see what I write. Weird.)

So here's the first draft of my list. A few I have already accomplished, which is guhreat:

• Plant and maintain my own garden. Both my grandmothers did it while they were alive, on eastern Pennsylvania soil, and their produce was amazing. It's possible, but I'll have to wait until I have my own plot to plant in.
• Wait tables.
• Sail a boat.
• Slap someone.
• Be a bridesmaid.
• Jump off a waterfall.
• Chop off my hair (think Natalie Portman).
• Go skinny dipping.
• Get lifeguard and CPR certified.
• Fry an egg perfectly.
• And a short-term goal (but quite unrealistic): before the month of April is gone, wake up early and go to the gym ONCE before work.

Eh. I like simple things.

i am so dissatisfied and unhappy.

turn your eyes

I'm not happy with where I am in my life at this moment. But I can't complain. I have a job, in NYC (woo. hoo.), live in a 'sweet apartment' in a great neighborhood, and have no other ties or strings holding me down.  This is ironic because I didn't want to be in this city, don't really like my living arrangement (in that I wanted to be on my own and more independent), the apartment is only 'sweet' because my roommate cousin is anal about keeping things presentable, and there are a lot of situations that I was glad to commit to. I have nothing to do or say with my current situation, besides being the main character of every scene. 

I don't like feeling unappreciative. I can't stand when people feel and/or show nothing in response to the outpour of support they receive, especially when they wouldn't be anywhere without it. But that's exactly how I am right now. Not so much that I don't appreciate it and know that I wouldn't be 'okay' with it, but I didn't want it to begin with. And above it all, I don't feel appreciative of God. That's where everything I know and believe in stems from. I know He's put me where I am right now, but I don't like it. I don't like that I don't like it.

But I know I'm being seasoned for something. But I still don't like it. 

There's so much to worry about. There's so much to fear. Sometimes it's abstract and other times it's so real you can touch it, but you pray to God that you don't. It's terrifying. 

But today was a good day. It was quiet; we've been housing guests for the past 2 weeks and the apartment now houses only 2 people again, and I did some bookstore browsing. I took a nap, went to church, got food, and am back at the apartment. It was one of those days where you're totally aware of God in the little things that you do and are done to you.  

I helped an elderly woman with her heavy suitcase down two broken escalators in the subway. I sat next to a couple in service, during which the husband wrote on the wife's pamphlet. He wrote "me!" I was like 'wtheck?' Then later he wrote "+ you! and drew a huge heart around his writing and pierced it with a double-pointed arrow. The wife read it and smiled and did the "i would hug you but i can't right now so i'll put my head on your shoulder" move. The couple is 50+. I was happy for them.  And we sang the hymn that tells us to "Turn your eyes upon Jesus, Look full on his wonderful face, And the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of his glory and grace."

Today has been a good day. 

Annoyed.

i miss you.

Palin-tics

I'm not an expert on politics and I definitely don't have much background to have anything significant to say about the elections, but Sarah Palin makes me laugh. The kind of laugh that you do when you see a stupid person, showing her stupidity but covers it up with "witty" comments and an "endearing" attitude. I can see how the American viewer may get distracted from the fact that she doesn't know anything about anything by her constant reinforcement of taglines. But really, listening to her is like listening to a college freshman paper being read out loud. You know, the paper with a vague thesis, but you earn points for structure and reinforcing the point, which you can't really substantiate with anything else besides the common concluding sentence in every section.

So people say they like her for a number of reasons: she's real, she's strong, she's a pitt-bull, she embodies the American spirit, she can relate to working mothers and even growing young women, etc. Others hate her because she's a farce, because she IS a woman, because she's just a face, because she has no experience or brains and they're afraid is McCain passes, the US will be in the hands of a stupid hockey mom. I don't like her because she is just a face, but she's not even a smart face. She's been trained in what to say, and she delivers her lines well. But those lines suck, the fact that she has to deliver them shows her incompetence, and I see right through them. Half of America sees through them-- no wonder SNL does those spoofs. And they're freaking hilarious.

I'm not writing any of this with any solid background in politics or whatever. But as a woman, I'm embarassed. Palin's a historical figure now that she's the first woman to be a candidate, but she only got there as a political ploy. She's not as qualified as any other male candidate. She got there because she's a woman. And other women are proud of that; they think she deserves it. But she's a prop that can't really contribute much other than witty one-liners that aren't really that witty. That's embarassing.

"hun"

I don't like unnecessary nicknames. Like "babe" when it's said in that terse, trying-too-hard way. That's the real reason why I hate "babe." These nicknames are annoying. And the un-necessity of them makes them stupid. I don't think un-necessity is even a word.

I'm in Panera hoping to get a job application done. The girl at the counter is probably under 20. She looks pretty young. And the first thing she says is "Hey hun! How are you? I'll be right here whenever you're ready." Yea, she's doing her job by being friendly. But she totally ruined it with the "hun."

I don't want to be called "hun" by you, HUN. If you were obviously older than me, I wouldn't mind you calling me "hun." It'd even be nice, maybe. But if you're obviously my peer or even younger, and you're not my friend, I'm not your hun. And the woman who ordered after me is not your hun either. She's got a 5 year-old daughter with her, and I saw the way she reacted when you called her "hun." She didn't like it either.

I've become such a hater. Maybe I am a hun, but more of the scary, destructive Asian variety that you learn about in World History. Sorry girl, I didn't like it. I don't hate you. But I'm annoyed.

geez.
I need Jesus.

B.A.

My study abroad organization had facebooks for each group of abroad students, complete with a picture and basic information about each student. When I saw my information, I sort of regretted my major. And as if on cue, I heard a dude in the back of the bus say, "What the hell is 'Growth and Structure of Cities'?"

I'm in a rough spot with little to no realistic possibilities. At least it feels that way. And it doesn't feel so great.

Let's do this.

I'm not ready anyway.



Jeesh, how the hell are you guys?

blind

Last summer we took Amtrak from 30th Street Station to D. C. for a mini-vacation. The man in front of us in line stared at us, long and hard, squinting his eyes before he motioned for us to come closer. I don't remember his name, but he was deaf, mute, and almost blind, and he was headed to D.C. for a national Deaf/Blind conference. He drew us a picture showing how excited he was to be riding the "bullet-train" and made the "whooosh!" noise as he did the train-motion with his hand. I felt like crying and wanted to hug him and offer him to join us on the bullet-train. But he couldn't hear me when he turned around.

A few nights ago on the 6 subway uptown there was a blind man in front of me to my left and a homeless man to my right. When I first spotted the white cane I panicked like I always do, looking around to make sure no one gets in his way. There were people rushing in while the automated voice requested "Stand clear of the closing doors, please," and a few bumped into the blind man. I got mad at those idiots who weren't more careful, and sad because there wasn't anything I could do. Then I felt bad because of course these people didn't shove him on purpose. They just really wanted to get on the train to head home from a long day's work.

This especial concern for the blind bothers me. Is it pity or compassion? I dislike pity, a lot. I might even say that I despise it. But compassion is different. I'd like to think of myself as a compassionate person, but who's to say, really? And what do I do with this compassion?

Not much point to this post, but I liked the memory of the bullet-train man. I forget his name, but his face was priceless. Though he was scrunching his face and standing a bit close for comfort, he just wanted to discern who he was sharing the amazing bullet-train experience with. So open with his joy. It was encouraging and humbling.

over and over and over again

oops i fell.

I've reverted back to the melodramatic mood swings of high school. How lame. I blame it on being at home, where I don't really do anything besides go to church on the weekend, shop a lot, watch t.v., and do a million family activities. Not that it's bad, it just causes my mindset to become static. And once I'm feeling static, I think too much and it's pretty ridiculous what I can come up with. Maybe it's PMS. Sorry was that gross?

A really terrible thing about this weird restless mood is that I'm getting mad at people about nothing. Literally- nothing. And I don't tell them. Well there's nothing to say if there's nothing to be mad at. I also feel pretty unhappy- even though I'm not. How can you feel an emotion when you're really not? Maybe I'm bored. I'm just in a pissy mood. Horrible. I really think and hope this is PMS, even though it's no real justification for being stupid and pissy.

I went to New York yesterday and finally got back to reading "The Screwtape Letters" by C.S. Lewis on the train ride back home. It's written as a series of letters sent by an official of hell, Screwtape, addressed to his nephew Wormwood of how to fight the 'Enemy' in attaining the souls of people on Earth. This chapter was .. good. Here are some chunks:

'My dear Wormwood,
...
Men are not angered by mere misfortune but by misfortune conceived as injury. And the sense of injury depends on the feeling that a legitimate claim has been denied. The more claims on life, therefore, that your patient can be induced to make, the more often he will feel injured and, as a result, ill-tempered. Now you will have noticed that nothing throws him into a passion so easily as to find a tract of time which he reckoned on having at his own disposal unexpectedly taken from him. It is the unexpected visitor (when he looked forward to a quiet evening), or the friend's talkative wife (turning up when he looked forward to a tete-a-tete with the friend), that throw him out of gear. Now he is not yet so uncharitable or slothful that these small demands on his courtesy are in themselves too much for it. They anger him because he regards his time as his own and feels that it is being stolen. You must therefore zealously guard in his mind the curious assumption 'My time is my own'. Let him have the feeling that he starts each day as the lawful possessor of twenty-four hours... But what he must never be permitted to doubt is that the total from which these deductions have been made was, in some mysterious sense, his own personal birthright.

You have here a delicate task. The assumption which you want him to go on making is so absurd that, if once it is questioned, even we cannot find a shred of argument in tis defence. The man can neither make, nor retain, one moment of time; it all comes to him by pure gift; he might as well regard the sun and moon as his chattels. He is also, in theory, committed to a total service of the Enemy; and if the Enemy appeared to him in bodily form and demanded that total service for even a day, he would not refuse. He would be greatly relieved if that one day involved nothing harder than listening to the conversation of a foolish woman; and he would be relieved almost to the pitch of disappointment if for one half-hour in that day the Enemy said 'Now you may go and amuse yourself'. Now if he thinks about his assumption for a moment, even he is bound to realise that he is actually in this situation every day. When I speak of preserving this assumption in his mind, therefore, the last thing I mean you to do is furnish him with arguments in its defence. There aren't any. Your task is purely negative. Don't let his thoughts come anywhere near it. Wrap a darkness about it, and in the center of that darkness let his sense of ownership-in-Time lie silent, uninspected, and operative.'

What I desire to do and be are so vastly different from what I do and am now. I can't wait to get things rolling. But I don't know what those things are. Wow I'm really emotional. It must be PMS.

if you could do it over..

.. would you?

I entered senior year with the intent of making the best of everything. To serve my family group to my fullest. To spend crucial time with my friends. To visit Sophie any free moment. To study ahead of time. To work out and eat healthier. To go head-first into my thesis. Ah. My thesis.

When I entered as a freshman, the thesis seemed like such a daunting task. I think it was freshman year, or maybe sophomore year, when I was alone in the computer lab with one other girl who started crying hysterically when she finally printed out her thesis. It freaked me out- but then again I thought I understood why she would feel that way. I blogged about it on my xanga, and I remember saying that she must've been overwhelmed with all these different emotions.

And now I'm a senior, finishing up my own thesis. Well, more like creating-in-the-last-minute. It's Saturday night/Sunday morning, and the paper that is to be the culmination of my four years of academics at Bryn Mawr College is due on Tuesday.

Procrastination is a bitch. Not so much that I'm overly stressed out and pressured to get it done-- that hasn't set in quite yet. But this is obviously not going to be up to par with what I had originally expected from myself. Yea, it's only a paper. But I came into the year actually excited to write it. It started out much more personal than just a paper. But over the course of the semester it turned into the bane of my existence.

I'm tired of procrastinating- in everything. After next week I have only one more semester to make the best of things. That's so weird. I still feel like I'm 17, and I look it too, but in fact I'm turning 22 on Monday and in a week I'll be half done with my last year of my undergraduate studies.

But there's a lot to look forward to after this. I got one more semester with my family group, my friends, to take advantage of the short carride to see Sophie, to do my work. I'm not so sure about working out, but maybe the coming-Jamaica trip will get me to the gym. Maybe I'll better some relationships. Maybe I'll write a children's book. maybe.

I'll probably look at this post when I'm not delirious or sonicflood and think, "wtf." oops. It's 5am.

i witnessed the unthinkable today.

Driving back from Penn, I pulled up onto North Merion Avenue and approached Wyndham to park. There was a white BMW X5 coming towards me, and a golden lab was sticking his head out the window. The car was going slow, thank God, but somehow the dog fell out of the car. He jutted his upper body too far out the window, I guess, and gravity took over and he fell out, hitting his back on a street sign pole and rolling onto the ground.

And I watched the whole thing happen. I braked to a stop and just watched it happen in horror.

The weird thing is, when I saw the dog with his body out the window, I seriously thought, "dude. I hope it doesn't fall out." And it did. It totally fell out of the car.

The lady didn't realize what had happened until she saw my face, I think. Cuz she was madd delayed in her response. She stopped the car and jetted out of her car to make sure the dog was okay. It was kinda sad to watch. but I stayed there in the middle of the street, with two other cars behind me. When I finally felt like it was safe to move up I made eye-contact with the driver and she looked so guilty. Like she knew we were judging her for letting her dog fall out of the car.

The funny part is, the dog was just confused and seemed like it was playing it off. Like a person who falls on his face as he's walking and just gets up and acts nonchalantly like nothing happened. Except it was a dog.

and it's December. crazy.

what?

It's Halloween and only the capies and capie-like girls are dressed up going to class. I just wore my Dr. Seuss tshirt, gapkids zipup, jeans, and a Villanova cap to class. And I stayed awake for ALL of ecology- which was pretty amazing, considering that I haven't been conscious for all of class for about 2 weeks or so.



---



Okay. I just deleted the rest of this post. It was ... frustrating. Just a ranting along the lines of "What is wrong with this world. I look at the news and all I feel is upset and sad." :(

Senior year is not pleasant. High school senior year was a call to paaaarrrttayyyyy!!!! But this is different. Academically, you're wrapping up all of the things you learned- or whatever- through a thesis. And trying to finish up your graduation requirements. Life-ly, you're looking for jobs. Your friends are sad because the job hunt is hard and no one wants a girl from a liberal arts school in the suburbs if they can have someone from say, Wharton, which is 20 minutes away. freakin Wharton. Some friends that are older begin getting married, having kids. Other friends the same age are already engaged or finding that guy or girl that makes their world complete (haha ew). And you're not dating or engaged or married. or jubilantly pregnant. You're nearing the ultimate end of childhood-- even though you're legally an adult at 18 and completely totally independent by 21, you're still liable to be under the financial and responsible care of your parents until you graduate. But once out of school, you have to work. Or get married.

With all that said, it's not terrible. It's pretty intense and scary. I don't feel prepared at all for the world. I did not pick up any practical skills useful for the workplace while at Bryn Mawr. I suck at Excel, don't know how to make something into a PDF, suck at economics, can't solve equations. The most impressive thing on my resume is my stint at EXPLO- indicating that I like teaching and beat out a lot of other applicants for that position two summers ago. But not everyone knows what EXPLO is.

But I'm okay. Maybe because the biggest source of stress is my thesis- it's just a paper ultimately. I'm goin to continue to freak out about it, but I won't die because of it. I say that now but in 2 weeks it'll be a different story. ..

Don't really know what this post is about. But I will end with this:

My hair's grown out a lot.