Day to Day

TGIF's was the kind of sad you feel when you realize this is what's called maturity. Hanging out at brea, with the kids I hung around brea with four years ago, was unsettling. Laurie is now living the life of an interior designer, in an apartment in downtown los angeles with a crazy 30 yr old korean girl (sounds fuckin rad). Sherwin's well on his way to graduating pharm school, perhaps doing rotations in SD next year, where we'll finally live that will & grace life we've dreamed of. Paola is fucking dope and on her way to being a succesful RN, and is in a relationship I seriously respect (I know it weirds you out whenever I say this, but it's so true). Gibu's gunna be a doctor soon enough, start traveling the world with his romantic counterpart next summer. Jt's doing the new york, europe, back to get married route with his already preset job. Julia's words put it best "2008 is the year". The year we're going to start figuring things out.





Where am I? My dreams of being a journalist or going into advertising are by far the most insecure relative to my friends'. Money, I don't even want to get into since I just paid another $300 ticket. New friends? I mean they're there, but it's not like what I've found in San Diego is something that's going to profoundly affect me the rest of my life. I've seem to relive highschool through college, and not all successfully. Sure, I'm a VP for Kaibigang Pilipino, but I could do more. I will do more.

"ba ba...ba ba..this is the sound of settling"

Hanging around with the former SGJC was sobering as well. We've grown up, and we're still the same. There's a level of comfort that will never disappear with this quartet, but it's not a level any of us will compromise our new lives for. Oh, but the adventures. They'll happen again someday, hopefully before we all settle down..in what, 5 years?

I've been to brea mall 3 times within the last 2 days. WTF.

the rain is gone.

and all of a sudden it becomes clear to me why I've lived the nomadic life I have. Thoroughly frustrated with a clinically bipolar mother makes you adapt to every which situation with as much ease as possible. My ability to get up, leave, and cut people off, was of necessity when nobody could be trusted. One moment my mom would be joking about marijuana, the next she'll go ballistic on me about an infomercial, attacking the very core of my existence in the process. How do you avoid psychological trauma in a child growing up around that. You don't, they just kind of grow up differently. They learn to write, or draw (in my sister's case), and appreciate things that oft go unnoticed by the less jaded.

The instant I reacquainted myself with any form of family, the more likely they were to break my heart. And they always did/do.

Same with friends, boyfriends, sisters, "sisters", besties, whatever..humans are humans are flawed.

That's why I love you so, blog. You are my greatest inanimate lover, and the only thing that seems to make sense anymore. I want to take a week and just live by myself and for myself. I'm positive I'll get lonely, but I'm starting to think it's a good color on me.

It was nice having my cousins here for a little from Virginia. My uncle is a spitting image of the father I lost a lifetime ago. I miss him so, but maybe I miss the concept of family more. I definitely don't expect greatness to come of a leave it to beaver lifestyle, it's just something that's appealing from the outside looking in. My sister was talking to my cousin Aileen who was complaining about the strictness of her father. The thing that broke my heart, was my sister replied "appreciate it while you have it". For someone at that age to be so aware is something worth noticing. Okay, off to another life. Don't know where this car will take me, but it should be somethi worth writing about.

Palahniuk Devolution

What a trip,
Choke is turning into a movie
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1024715/
As is invisible monsters

When are people going to get, that as soon as something cult turns mainstream, something new has to fill it's inherently "cool-because-it's-esoteric" place. Say goodbye to terse self destructive contemporary fiction America. Perhaps (God forbid) a revival of Dickens is underway.

Single-Serving-Friends 1 (Purely Fiction)

Today I just met, what i'm sure will go down in the books, as my greatest single serving friend. Let's set it up

Train station after Christmas day. Quite a contrast to the wholesome family fun from preceding days, the train station after Christmas is a haven for nomadic and disparaging souls of the upper orange county. Participants flock towards this emotionally barren area symbolizing all things fleeting and ephemeral. With holidays come and gone, everyone's unattainable past realized, all were approaching reality at 65 miles per hour. Too many cigarette butts in too small a space, you sense the settling apprehension the second you enter. I'm racing towards my life, in coach class, with an overzealous announcer to ease (any more oomph and it's cease) the transition.

I like to ponder on everyone's destination. Take Mr. Rolex for example. With his $50 haircut and mocha colored manpurse, he's off to rule the world, no doubt. The latest edition of crate & barrel in hand, foot tapping cheetah speed, could he really be that one dimensional? There must be an undiscovered forte, he must collect bad art or have an affinity for bagpipes, or something. First stop: One bedroom bachelor pad, gaslamp district, comes with your expansive Sweedish CD collection and Warhol prints.

What of the begger. Impassioned at the sight of freight trains, she finds intellectual stimulation in her equally impoverished man-friend on the basis of cheese. Generic or brand they quip, carefully crafted string or efficient sliced and individually wrapped they quarrel. The disagreement climaxes at the aesthetics of pepper jack, and it's all gravy from there. Their matching primary colored beanies, and hoover esque pseudo mitts make for quite the predictable picture. First stop: last dinner at that soup kitchen closing down at the methodist church in PB due to fiscally proficient douchebags. Second stop: dolce and gabbana to change out of their dirt ridden clothing, initially worn for a social experiment. Give me dimension baby!

And who am I to judge?

Having disappointed my boss for probably the 3rd time in my three week trail, I was certain unemployment would be waiting at the end of this trip. I had not only sworn on all things rock and roll, that I would pick up a shift this evening in exchange for this weekend's liberty, but I had also left on the heater for a good three days straight.

"I'll be missing this evening's shift superboss, did I mention I love your band's new myspace! New designer or something? you learning html you bad boy you". Click on the receiving end. Grade A failure stamped on my ass, I trudged towards the loading section. And there she was.

Her irritatingly positive demeanor attacked the core of my self indulged angst. There are moments where this enthusiasm would only mirror my outgoing hyperactivity, but silly smiling girl with your hand out, as I pathetically dote on upcoming unemployment is not one of them. See the downcast glance? Notice the lack of any enjoyment in my eyes? Guess not, seeing as how your outstretched hand continues to awkwardly linger. Fine, I'll tango, says my very overpowered, but still existant, inner philanthropist. I grab her hand and mouth Christina, behind clenched teeth...

Purely Fiction 1

Enter Penelope. First year in college, intimidated by large groups of overzealous ethnic pride advocates. Misdirected, alone, losing ties with an old friend, but fairly willing to take the independence high road. Alas! there is no reason, for charlie stumbles to the stage with a sweeping sense of security. Why try, when the road's already paved, says she. And she runs with it. Two years of running with it. Building bonds, burning bridges, everything expected of a liberated college debutante. Hand in hand with her new friend charlie, she was able to explore and conquer the unchartered depths of collegiate isolation. For all know college is the transition from social security, to unforgiving chaos.

Granted, she never was the greatest friend. Yes, she played the most evil of games with the poor schizophrenic's already twisted mind. Fooled him into adoring trickery, playing manipulation. She did nothing characteristic of "good friend" on normal standards. The terms normal nor standards fell outside her radar, and her one sided musings provided entertainment for hours on end.

But a cruel storm dawned on the dynamic duo, a storm by the name of time. Inevitable and destructive in every sense, it was a disaster so tragically natural they could only look on as detached bystanders. Observing every thread of their former friendship brutally picked to shreds, she could only smile and crack a joke. Perhaps in the next life, we could do coffee?

Coffee did and undone (and with coffee comes the inside jokes, the meeting of parents, the sex, the inebriated adventures, naturally), the aftermath was humorous at best. Both discovered dry shelter relatively unscathed. Minus a best friend (which is worst than a limb), plus a pinch of embittered cynicism, all in all, it equated to your very standard postmodern cheese. Something blasted from the top 90's pop song playlist, or depicted on screen with awkward lighting and a putrid script directed by hollywood nobody #43.

and they linger. Not in hopes of a revival, but because time can only progress at such speeds. Never counting the lightning rods, or measuring the decibels the thunder produced, the technicalities from the past were never fully analyzed. The storm became yesterday's paper. Something to wipe away the paint from todays certifiably insane artistic endeavors.

End scene. Take a bow, baby. You've just been violated by my vanity.

Daily Happenings

Someone described chuck palahniuk's work today as second rate vonnegut. I could not have put it better myself.

Made it a point to start/finish choke today, and i can't say I'm more underwhelmed. Another friend of mine put it best, reading palahniuk couldn't make me any more self destructive. Which brings me back to highschool. Sonya told me I could write better than him, which I agreed to knowing full well I had never read any of his stuff. I was big on saving face back then.

Ever come across something shockingly familiar? I found one of my past selves today. Or maybe in a past life I worshipped this woman. Simone de beauvoir is the name, and perfection is the way her life mimics mine. Kristian told me I'd appreciate her, to which I gave some meaningless fact about her and Sartre's twisted relationship. He was surprised at my vast esoteric knowledge, to which I replied with some banter on never understimating my mystique. I was big on saving face back then.

Anyways, the woman died the year before I was born. Before writing the second sex she never considered herself a feminist. Though my latest trivial blog criticizing female sexual empowerment pales in grotesque comparison to one of the greatest literary feminist movements, I feel her. She was bisexual on today's standards, but impartial in her head. Her close knit "family" of cohorts were predominantly male and her natural affinity to philosophy and mathematics is uncanny. I don't believe in God, something greater, or egotism, but I think

I try too hard at the internship that doesn't appreciate me, and slack the fuck off at the work place that pays for my monthly diet of ramen and chocolate milk. Story of my life.

On feminism.

There's this rockabilly blues band in the room adjacent that has discovered the wonder of amps and has redefined the term loud for me. Definitely not helping with my arresting hangover, and has put a temporary hiatus on my travels into the world of Dave Duchavney's showtime series-californication.

I watched half the first season today alone and can't wrap my mind around how I find the most applicable pieces of media at all times. Beethoven ain't got nothing on the synchronizing of my media and me.

The show is pretty much incredible. Enter Harry Moody, hypersexual cynic prowling the morally defunct streets of hollywood. He's a writer, and typically I don't appreciate books like that (For a writer to write about writing, they've really got to be that vain, or at least prove they're deserving. And if the "writer" character is coming out with grocery novel crap, there really is no better one way ticket mediacracy). But this is some good shit

Premise is deeply rooted in sex, and I'm sure that's at least half my fascination. His restless travels from one woman's sheets to the next's makes for dry humor, but questionably so.

I pondered about a bumper sticker I came across the other day reading "Female sexuality is empowerment". I never really considered myself a feminist by all means (there are some battles in the feminist movement that I don't agree with), though I do appreciate those who can immerse themselves in an issue. But fuck, that sticker pissed me off. Probably because I see it in so many aspects of society, cue opening credits for Tila Tequila's Shot of love, or 105.3 the Mikey Show (and the list goes on). All I'm saying is how many more times do you see women vs. men using the career choice of sex idol as a claim to fame.

Yes it's shitty, and yes, there are volumes full of historical reasonings (and yes i've had my share of the societal constructs, male hegemony, biblical passages, etc) , but it still sucks, and I'm still justifiably pissed.

What's funny is I asked my male flat-mate if he'd rather be an epically hot, successful girl, or his mediocre self (much love andy, you're rad). To which he replied himself, because he would rather be taken seriously. It's' completely legit too, and it makes sense why he'd think that. Thinking like society, that is. But I'm sure that's what you have to do to get by. I mean can you say thinking like society is even thought? Call it conformity, mock-thought, reiteration, or my particular favorite, douchebag-ness, everyone does it. So it's okay, right?

At this point i'll employ a paraphrased quote from Brent's profile. Something like, only the ones who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, just might.

Anyway, californication really is a great show. While it made me question the very core of gender dynamics, it doesn't take much to make me rant these days (could be too much instant noodle, or not enough sunlight, since sun sets at like 4 now). I encourage all you bored winter break kids to tune in to the online blog posted somewhere if you're broke like me and can't afford anything but basic cable (it's on showtime).