California Loving

So, I moved to Oakland, California about a week and a half ago. Guess what?

It's sunny.

California is exactly like the brochure- Perfect blue sky, 70 degree weather, ripe lemons dangling from the tree boughs, slim, attractive people jogging about without any indication of sweat. It's perfect.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to live here for the rest of my life. Unless of course, I marry the prince of Estonia and am forced to live in a castle where I sing to raccoons and brush my hair three hundred strokes before bedtime.

Rinse Repeat Rinse Repeat

Never Again!
He says
waving his fist
without a second crowd
coming.

How to tell
twins apart
especially when one
looks so much like
the other.
So much like one
another.
like one,
but no other.

Like me, but
my brother.

Brother, we are
in this thing together.
No telling where
or how,
that path to
SOMEWHERE.
I guess I'll
just
have to
See you there,
Sucker.

2 for 10 Plus 5

I have been holed up on my couch for the past two months, give or take, studying for the California Subject Examination for Teachers. I need to pass the godforsaken thing before I start brainwashing children into loving one another and eating vegetables. The test is intense yadda yadda but I've got the craps under wraps- Hence all the studying. IE Gaseous Planets: Jessica Sucks Ugly Nerd Penis- Jupiter Saturn Uranus Neptune Pluto...

In between the times I have not been studying, quietly, alone in the comfort of my couch (butt dent included), I have been out, drunken, loud and terribly terribly un-alone. It's been a whirlwind, but I suppose there is a kind of equilibrium to my bookworm good girl days and my wild, insufferably drunken bad girl nights, Thus proving, once again, the Law of Conservation of Energy. Potential Energy and Kinetic Energy: These are the equations of my life.

Today was like any other test prep weekday. Study, eat, Study, Study, eat, Bad Movie on Net Flicks (Surfer, Dude Why? WHY??), Study, Study, Eat, Train cat for Russian Circus, Sleep. Only today, in between Surfer, Dude and Study I went to Walgreens to buy Number 2 pencils for the test. Yes, it is a BYOP affair. I pay $270 to take a test at 7:15 in the morning all the way on 111th St- which is basically Indiana- and NO FREE NO 2 PENCILS! Outrage.

N E WAYZ- It was amazing. Walgreens is a truly wonderful place. It was actually the first job I ever had. I was fifteen, liked to steal and needed money to buy jugs of vodka for the weekend. It was perfect, I would sit outside during my break smoking P-funks and eating Cooler-Ranch Doritos in my extra large teal vest and wonder if I could live like this forever. Of course, I was held up by gunpoint before forever came and quit shortly thereafter. I'm pretty sure the perp used the old finger gun in pocket routine, but I WAS NOT going to take one for the walgreens.

I digress.

Walgreens is filled with all sorts of things. Automatic Pet Nail Filers (DOES NOT WORK), a multitude of dieting kits, lipsticks, shoe polishes, tampons... I wandered aimlessly after I found my pencils and was completely at ease. "In my element," you could say. I breezed through an In Touch, checked out the candy aisle - RED HOT JOLLY RANCHERS!!! WOW - picked through the flip-flop and plain t-shirt display and pondered whether or not I should invest in a Turkey flavored Lunchable.

I only had $10 so I went against my better frivolity and picked up the only real food they sell instead: eggs, and continued my meander. Somehow I found myself in the bouncy ball aisle and discovered several cases of these "Giant High Bouncing Glitter Balls!" and spent the next 20 minutes individually bouncing each color, until i decided on pink. It's like a bouncy rubber snow glob twirling with glorious Pink Fairy Dust: Very magical. I spent another 10 minutes deciding whether or not I should forget the pencils, F the test and get the 2 for 10 deal, so I could get the Pink and Green ball. The green was also REALLY cool.

No. I HAD to get the pencils. Every trip to Walgreens has a mission and I couldn't just chuck it all for some shiny green fortune telling glitter ball that can bounce up to two times my height now, could I???

I left with a pack of NO 2 pencils, a carton of eggs, and a pink "Giant High-Bouncing Glitter Ball." I've never been happier. And on my way home- I found a 5 dollar bill on the ground. And it's all because of Walgreens.*SIGH* Walgreens. Where dreams come true.

Assume the Condition

This morning I awoke in my boyfriend's bed after a long night of semi-erotic nightmares only to hear the twinkling voice of a female person, followed by the monotone voice of a male person that would not stop talking. This, I knew, was one of my man's roommates, let's call him- Banana Rama. Naturally when I heard Banana Rama blathering on about gkw (God Knows What), I ASSUMED the female listener was his girlfriend, let's call her- Peanut. Peanut is a friend of mine, and I was surprised that she was over at 9:30 in the morning since she teaches high school, which starts at the ungodly hour of 7:15. I also noted to myself that Peanut has been playing hooky quite a bit lately and I thought, "Man, Peanut's really pushing it. I didn't know she was such a Ferris Bueller"

I sat and listened intently to the female voice, which had become less of a voice and more of a validating squeak to Banana Rama's morning soliloquy. Hmm. Peanut is more of a squawker than a squeaker and this, this was quite odd. My boyf- lets call him- Mister E.- had left and I was alone with my suspicions. Who the hell was out there if not Peanut? Did Banana Rama have a strange high-pitched girl come over at 9:30 am for a quick one-sided convo over coffee and facebook? Who would want to do that? It's a Wednesday! Did Banana Rama have a friend from out of town staying over? An early-rising college pal, passing through? Catching Up? Moving On? OR WAS BANANA RAMA A SHAMELESS CHATTEROX SCUM MAGGOT CHEAT??!??!!!

I had to pee.

I left the room and yes, my friends, yes, it was as my imagination imagined. No Peanut. Not one pad thai inkling of a Peanut. Just the Squeaker- Let's call her- Cookie Two Shoes- listening squeakily to Banana Rama banana ramble on about dinosaurs. I had never seen Cookie Two Shoes before in my life. Who was this minx? This home-wrecker? This bar-hopping Banana Rama lovin' tartlette?

I muffled a fast Hi. to Cookie Two, who cheerfully Good Morning'ed me back, and shuffled nervously to the bathroom. Pondering my deep moral dilemma as I peed, I noted with paranoia that Banana Rama had not looked me in the eye, had not said hello, and in fact, did not introduce me to his fair concubine. This was big, bad, and shit: That scum maggot cheat!!!!

On my way back to the bedroom, I passed the happy hanky-pankers without a word and immediately texted Mister E.


Me: Who is this Cookie Two Shoes?

Mister E.: Banana Rama's Fuck Buddy.

Me: *&^%*%$$%@#!!!!!

Mister E.: J/K. Cookie Two is (Mister E.'s other roommate- Let's call him- Duncan D.) Duncan D.'s lovey dove.

Me: Oh. Ha. I assumed Cookie Two was Banana Rama's newest side of scum maggot slaw. Ha. My bad.

Mister E.: I knew you would.


Thankfully, I had this text exchange with Mister E. before I could hop on the 'ol g chat and ruin Peanut's day with graphic Cookie Two Shoes Banana Rama Split with extra whip cream and hot fudge cherry on top imagery. Crisis averted. Case closed.

I learned a valuable lesson today, One that the wise and best selling author Don Miguel Ruiz has thoroughly divulged in his self-helper- The 4 Agreements:

The Big Number 3: DON'T MAKE ASSUMPTIONS.

DO NOT MAKE ASSUMPTIONS. Hmmph. Fine. Good plan. Good Solid Plan. I'm on it like frosting on a cupcake. Although, Poo: That doesn't sound very fun. And wait, does this mean I have to stop living my life like I'm going to win the lottery in 2012 and consequentially end world hunger? Crap.

FIND CHEWY!

My boyf's friends just lost their precious Chewy in an horrible rest stop nightmare. If you see Chewy, grab her. But don't touch her headband.

Mortal Flesh

In the past weeks I have suffered from the following ailments:

1.) Tennis Elbow
2.) Huge Juicy heel Blisters (*&%#!! cute shoes!)
3.) Broken Cat scratched skin
4.) 1st degree hand burns from boiling hot Italian Wedding Soup
5.) A purple to blue to green to yellow bruise the size of a Ritz cracker on my thigh
6.) Mild Dehydration
7.) 1st degree arm burns from a toaster oven
8.) Menstration
9.) Vodka/Tequila housewarming hangover from hell
10.) Voracious Hunger

All evidence that I am mortal. While humbling, this, indeed, is no way to live. My hand is Swamp thing right now. And I'm pretty sure I won't be able to fall asleep for a while tonight because I'll be too overstimulated by staring at the computer all day.

It's times like these I wish I was a cat. But then again, I'd have to wait for my asshole owner to feed me, take a shower with my tongue, and not be able to force my boyfriend to massage my elbow while cruising ebay for a decent set of printed bedsheets that are not toile, flower related, sports fannery, or "ethnic."

Life. "What a doozy."

My Grandma Was A Hipster

My grandma recently passed away and left behind a trail of hipster goods. Jewelry being the main source: Little pins with painted birds, all kinds of animal broaches, gold chains, 70's pendants...a bunch a stuff. This could mean several things:

A.) My Grandma was a hipster.
B.) All old people are hipsters.
C.) My Grandma was friends with a hipster who liked to give her gifts- A Giftster.
D.) I'm a hipster.
E.) The word hipster is a controversial and somewhat derogatory term that should not be thrown around lightly.
F.) Walter Meownez is #1.

I'd like to think that all of these with the exception of D is true. I took a test in the Hipster handbook once in college and did not qualify into hipsterdom. It was because I answered yes to a question that was something like, "Do you like to drink beer in the back of trucks." Therefore putting me into the hick category. I scored high on Hick. Then my friend Nick and I decided hipsters were racist, and classist so we drank a liter of Gin and chased it with water. Then I threw up all over this Glaswegian club named the Art School, called one of the employees with a massive unibrow "Frida," and had to be dragged home by my legwarmers. Go Figure.