Mo' money, Mo' Problems

[while watching boxing on HBO with my brother]
Brother: "Boxers make something like 18 million just for getting beaten up."
Me: "Are you serious?"
"Yup. Did you know that Tyson is in debt?"
"What?! Is he buying a zillion cars? Why would anyone need that many? What's he spending all that money on?"
"Ho's."
"Oh."

Love at First Sight

Here's a step by step analysis for why it cannot exist, completely with scientific biological factors as to why the illusion even exists.

Speaking of love, I've decided to toss my entire 'ideal guy' list out the window. Mainly because I've realized that whether I like a guy or not really has nothing to do with his resume of attributes. Its something intangible. But, for practicality reasons, I've decided that a few things are key. Family values. Maturity. Respect for his mother. My mom always said that you can tell a lot about how a guy will treat you based on how he treats his mother. But if this list is anything like my old 'ideal guy' list, it will probably also be irrelevant.

Dream

I had a terrible dream last night.

I dreamed that I was supposed to go on spring break with these people that I don't know in real life... but I knew them in my dream. I was flying Northwest and the first stop was in Kansas where I'd have to transfer flights.
*cut*
I'm in someone's living room watching a rented movie that I'm not really into. I glance at my watch and suddenly realize its 8 pm, and my flight leaves at 8:48 pm. I start screaming at my dad that we have to get to the airport because I'm going to miss my flight.
*cut*
In the car, I suddenly realize that I don' t know what my final destination is, only that I'm stopping in Kansas to change planes. I think about getting my ticket out to look, but decide I can look at it later. Then I realize that I'm not sure if I packed the right clothing since I don't remember where I'm going. I don't remember what I packed actually, whether it was summer or winter clothing. I decide not to check because opening luggage is difficult when you're in the passenger seat of a car, and I figured it was too late to change what I had packed anyways.
*cut*
The train has been moving for about half an hour and I've just settled down with my book. I just barely made it. The train conductor (who was a woman in my dream) was moving down the car collecting tickets. I get this sudden terrible realization that I'm on the wrong train. On the wrong -everything-. I was supposed to take a flight. I was on the same train number as my flight number, but on the wrong mode of transportation. I had a brief moment of confusion as I wondered how my dad could've dropped me off at the train station when he knew I had a flight to take. My dad -never- makes mistakes like those, he's very anal about making sure I'm taken care of and getting me to the right places. The train conductor had gotten to me and was waiting for my ticket. I fumbled around for my plane ticket so I could explain to her what had happened. But I suddenly couldn't find my plane tickets either. She asked me what I was looking for, and she said that she saw them on the floor and picked them up. For some reason, that statement didnt' register with me and I continued digging through my bookbag looking for them, wishing I was more organized. I finally found them (still NorthWest airlines) and showed her. She said she'd ask the train driver what they're supposed to do in this situation, make me pay for a train ticket, put me on a train back, etc. and she'd get back to me. She moved on down the rest of the car to collect tickets. I try on my cell phone (that was low on batteries) to call my friends. But I keep getting voicemails because they're already on the plane and their cell phones are off. I try calling home but I get an answer machine. I decide I'll try home again later, and turn my cell phone off to save the battery.
*cut*
I'm in a car with the people I currently work with. We're playing some game where we're looking for cool trucks with cool billboards painted on the side of them. I have a sense of being on the way home. I realize I never found out where my final destination was for spring break since I'd gotten on the wrong everything. I pulled out my ticket finally, and see that after Kansas, I was supposed to land in Alaska. Interesting. I shrugged and put it away and wondered what I would tell people when everyone came back and asked me how my spring break was. I had a vague feeling of being a fool. Because I'd somehow messed up in ways that were completely preventable.

I woke up in a sweat. From my hot muggy room. And with a slight sense of worry and panic. Partially leftover from my dream, partially because I have morning meetings on Wednesday and I was convinced that my alarm hadn't gone off. I glanced over, expecting to see 10:25 AM, but it said 6:55 AM instead. I was awake earlier than usual. I checked my alarm and realized that I had set it last night, but forgot to turn it on.

I still feel slightly alarmed. And I have this overall sense of worriedness hanging over my head, vestiges from the dream. I don't want to analyze it, for fear of what it might mean. Mainly that perhaps I'm making the wrong choice career-wise.

Is this my subconscious warning me? Or is it a play-out of my insecurities and fears?

If you were a cartoon character, what cartoon character would you be?

I was informed unceremoniously yesterday that my hair was a mess. I knew that. I didn't quite understand -why- it was a mess.... I just knew that it was. I stepped out of the shower, rubbed a towel in my hair, and let it air-dry. And that, apparently, was everything wrong.

My manager (who, by the way, had a perm in his earlier days and is therefore -quite- the expert) told me that you can't towel-rub permed hair. And that you need to put some sort of hair product in it while its wet and scrunch it up. What is all this nonsense? I feel like I've signed up for something that I didn't know about. The point of a body wave was to make my life -easier-, not make my morning routine more complicated. Evidently, my usual straight-hair routine isn't going to work anymore.

Since the perm itself took 3.5 hours from start to finish (I've got a lot of hair), the cut was split off for tomorrow. I'm supposed to learn how to take care of it at that point. Till then, I've been walking around as a virtual bird's nest. The curls only made my already-thick-hair seem thicker, and my grown-out layers are a mess. I feel like I have a triangle-head, like Alice from Dilbert.

	Alice is the only female engineer in Dilbert's department. She's habitually overworked. Her cardiovascular system is basically coffee. She has a quick temper when confronted with the idiocy of her co-workers. She does not handle criticism well.

The Porcelain Throne

Every morning, there's a fight for the bathroom.

Last week, I waited outside for half an hour. Finally, I knocked on the door to ask if I could just sneak in and get my shampoo and such, and shower downstairs. An Asian boy answered the door, with shaving cream all over his face. Good Lord, he's -Asian-. How much facial hair could he possibly have that he would need to spend half an hour in bathroom shaving!

Today, I woke up feeling decidedly nasty. Its impossible to sleep in a hot muggy room without waking up in dire need of a shower. I took two steps out of my room with my towel when I heard a groan coming from the bathroom. Bad sound to hear first thing in the morning. Someone's taking their daily constitutional. I have this rule about people poo'ing in the bathroom. I have to wait 15 minutes until after they're finished before I'll shower. To let the poo molecules in the air waft away. It seems counterproductive to be showering and making yourself clean when the air in the bathroom reeks of poo.

Lives of the Rich and Famous

1) There is a food thief in our house. My bets are on the weed dealer who lives on my floor, or the French econ professor who stares at everyone's boobs. The weed dealer thinks its the goth girl's boyfriend. I moved the minifridge into my already tiny room in an effort to save myself.

2) My third floor room is the equivalent of a sauna since it has no air conditioning. One window means I have to open the door for ventilation. Thief in the house means I have to sleep with the door closed.

3) This morning on my way out for work, I tripped over a homeless man sleeping on our porch. He had an empty bottle of alcohol in one hand, and a bag full of gummy candies in the other.

4) There are drosophila growing in the third floor bathroom. That's the bathroom I have to share with 4 boys. Someone never puts the toilet seat down. Some other boy must be going through his seasonal shedding period. And now someone's throwing their rotten fruit in the trashcan there. Fruit flies for company while you're on the can. Yay!

I'm starting to wonder whether the price of independence is worth all this. I didn't think about what I'd be getting along with my 185-a-month room. Pride, however, dictates that I gaily tell my father that everything is dandy at the house. I hate I-told-you-so's.

When I Grow Up.

i don't want to be discontent.
i don't want to spend my life in a cubicle.
i don't want to settle for less.
i don't want someone who won't treat me the way i deserve to be treated (i learned that lesson early on in life)
i don't want to become bitter.
i don't want to stop reading.
i don't want to stop believing in magic.
i don't want to become bored with life.
i don't want to ever stop questioning.

i want to be well-everything. well-off. well-liked. well-read. well-traveled. well-connected. well-known. well-loved. all the other wells.

i want to drink deeply from the cup of life.
i want to create beautiful things.
i want to build a church. not a religion. but a church as an architectural monument to the hand that created flowers, families, fathers, plants, you, me.

i want to give freely. but that usually requires money. so i want to be rich. rich and philanthropic.
i want to love truly, and be truly loved.
i want to make a difference.
i want to own an island.
i want to buy up acres of the jungle and rainforest, so it can't be spoiled.
i want to buy a rundown mansion in the ghetto and restore it to its original state. by hand.
i want to live.

Curls and Girls.

Well, I've done it. I got a perm yesterday. When the rollers first came out, I had to squelch the squeak of horror that threatened to come out of my mouth. I nodded nicely and tipped very well. No sense taking risks since the same girl is going to be cutting my hair next week. Drunken debauchery ensued last night. Between getting high from the fumes of the perm chemicals and the alcohol intoxication, it made for a very interesting night in which I said -way- too much to people I barely know.

I informed an old friend that I heard he was a good lay.
I regaled a person I just met, with funny sexual escapade stories I'd heard.
And I explained to my housemate's friend (in great detail) a funny idea that my manager had, of providing a wardrobe for the penis (top hats and bow ties for those formal affairs, a ghetto outfit with a mini visor for those occasions when you want to look "cool").

Unfortunately, I'm also cursed with perfect recall of drunken nights. I woke up this morning half-mortified. I'm sure my manager would be mortified as well if he ever found out, which he won't.

So, here I am, a curly-haired girl with no hangover and crystal clear memories of the night before. Awake, at 8:30 AM because her addled brain forgot that today was Saturday and set the alarm. Welcome to the weekend girlfriend.

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end. -Semisonic

My brother graduated from high school today. He's on his way to MIT in the fall. It was odd going back to my old high school for the ceremony. I saw some people from my class there, also with younger siblings who are graduating. I wonder if I look the same to them. They looked the same, so I probably did also. But I -feel- different. I feel like the years between high school and now were longer than just 5 years. I feel like I've done so much growing since then that it -must- show somehow. But I look the same. Perhaps with a few more stress wrinkles and a few more smile wrinkles and a whole lot more experience lines. But most of the changing has been going on internally. Its odd how I view the world with such different eyes now. Sometimes, you need to go back in order to see how far you've come.

In a Hole.

Sometimes life just sticks you into one of those sandy pits where you can -just- see over the edge but the sides are too unstable for you to climb your way out. I'm in one of those pits. I felt churlish and peevish all day today. And to be honest, the day wasn't all that bad. For the past weeks, I haven't gotten home until 9 or 10 pm, and most of those nights are because I was out doing something I enjoy. Today, it was shooting a roll for the black and white photography class I'm taking. I went down to the river with my manager (who's taking the class with me) and took our risks with the Canadian geese. I topped the night off with a hearty 3 dollar burger at 10 pm. Mmmm....

Between photography class and dance (twice a week, if its not raining), I've been incredibly happy. My post-work life is fulfilling and fun. And yet I'm feeling glum through it all... Perhaps because I know it's all likely to end soon. And in light of that knowledge, every piece of enjoyment I get seems to mock me.

"I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking." - Creed

I was harassed all weekend by parents who measure success in units of prestige and dollars. They're pushing me down the prim and proper road lined with golden nuggets, because that's what parents do. Because that's what all parents want for their children, a nice strait-laced road that will keep those wayward kids in line even at the age of 20, or 30, or 40, keep them in line by shunting them into a nice little proper grey cubicle. A nice respectable job with a big household name that they can casually mention to the other parental units. None of this barging into the wilderness to blaze one's own trail. No, none of that sort of bosh nonsense.

They ticked off all the reasons on their fingers:
"It'd be nice to pay off all your student loans wouldn't it?"
"You'd be able to buy that car, you know."
"Its such an amazing opportunity, you might never get anything like it again."
"Just try it, it's only for a year after all."

And of course, the clincher: "Its the -responsible- thing to do."

And so I'm left with all these niggling little doubts in my mind. As much as I hate it, I've begun to wonder. If I barge off, will I end up poor and regretting it? This -is- a free golden ticket. Like the one in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Bars. Too bad I don't like chocolate. But should I really just... throw it away? Should I whore myself out for a hefty paycheck?

Perhaps this is my ticket to freedom. And I have to pay for it with a year of my life. And once I rake in the money, I can frolic off and do what I want. I wish it were that easy, but somehow I get the feeling its not. I think my main problem is that right now, I don't exactly have any other options to choose from. There are no offers besides the current one. In my last mad dash for freedom, I've gone into a frenzy of resume submissions on Monster. I told myself that if Fate meant for me to blaze my own trail successfully, she'll have a new job pop up for me before my start date at the "proper job".

Sitting on the Fence

Sadly, that phrase describes most of my life. I'm a very slow decision maker. Looking at the situation from all angles and vantage points, pondering every motive, considering every possible result and outcome, and gauging my likely reaction to each - this all makes for a long and stressful process. Stressful. I hate making decisions. I try not to analyze things so much but its like nail biting, you don't even realize you're doing it until it's too late. I hate being an engineer. The pressure of making the wrong choice is what keeps me wavering, makes me careful, forces me to analyze everything, over and over again.

I haven't decided yet whether I'd prefer my choices to be taken away by Fate, or whether I'd want to make my own choices. Intellectually, I'd say that I want to make my own choices, create my own destiny, steer my own ship. But are we -really- steering our own ship anyways? Or are we just puppet kings over our kingdom, ruled by snickering little deities behind the throne, or by little people inside our heads like the old show Herman's Head. When Fate only leaves you one path to take, the choice has been taken out of your hands. That in itself has its own version of stress. You're out of control. But you don't have to make any choices. Anything that happens to you is never your own fault. Can Fate be trusted with your life? For that matter, can I be trusted with my life?

My dad said that at this age, every decision seems like a major life-changing affair, but that in the big picture of things, I'll realize that the things that happened when I'm 21 really were nothing. Much like how when you're 14, you think that going to the 8th grade dance with a boy will change your life. I don't even remember the 8th grade dance. I do remember hiding in the bathroom during the last song to avoid a boy who'd corralled me into agreeing to "save the last dance" for him.

The choice that lies before me now is... to take the path laid out before me, or wander off the beaten path into the woods and the wilderness. According to Robert Frost, taking the path least taken should make all the difference. That's great, for Robert Frost. I'm likely to never find my way back. The road laid out before me is not the road I'd like. Its a very proper prim little road, whereas I had been hoping for more of a wilderness trail. Then again, proper prim little roads aren't -that- bad. Most other people want exactly that. Especially since it's lined with little nuggets of gold. Perhaps I can find my wilderness trail a little later, ...down the road. Or maybe I'll get desperately stuck on the proper little thing, like a trolley on its tracks. Risks. Barging off into the wilderness would be chancy. I'd be plowing things down to find a wilderness trail that may not exist. If I do so, will I end regretting everything? Will I kick myself for not taking the opportunity that was laid at my feet? Risks.

Geek Syndrome

Ever since watching Rainman, I've been fascinated with autism. According to an old issue of Wired magazine, autism is more likely to occur in children whose parents are both engineers or scientists. Apparently, a small dash of whatever gene causes this, creates a very intelligent individual, but too much of it results in autism. Or, perhaps, borderline autistic people who otherwise would never have met each other and reproduced, now are because of Silicon Valley (article: The Geek Syndrome). It recently also made the cover of Time magazine (article: The Secrets of Autism). I personally found the article in Wired more fascinating, but it also seems to be based in less science than Time is. Although Time itself isn't exactly the pinnacle of accurate scientific reporting either. The fascinating thing about autism is the fact that the individuals seem to be perpetual dreamers. Dreamers to the point where they cannot function in the real world. Everyone has a bit of dreamer in them, and being permanently immersed in one's own world is a concept that just traps my imagination.

Frigid.

Spent an eventful weekend in New York. I settled the score with my ex. This means we tied up loose ends, not that I set fire to his car. My friend's birthday party was rather eventful as well. The girl to guy ratio was overwhelmingly in favor for the guys. Regardless of the ratio, there's always some guy somewhere who's going to get fresh. It's practically a rule. No lounge/club experience is complete without it. No girl has been spared.

What irks me the most about guys is when they complain about a girl being uptight or frigid. Guys are in no position to complain about anything. Its an old story, told by millions of women. After they've had the sex, after the deed is done, the man frolics away, happy and content, to smoke his cigarette. The girl is left chewing her fingernails the next day, wondering vaguely if she's pregnant, did the condom slip. Girls are the ones who have to deal with the consequences of sex. Guys are the ones who always seem to forget that. Too many friends end up with abortions that shouldn't have been necessary, too many girls get slapped with a sticker label - whore or ice queen, too many people aren't educated enough about their options.

Women, by nature, were made to carry the progeny of the human race. But that's no reason why any woman should ever be made to feel guilty for her choices. Much less by a man.

Do the Wave.

Woman sues over Bin Laden hairstyle.

I've been thinking about getting a perm for the past two years. But I never had the gonads to do it. I've made up my mind though. I'm going to make my appointment for next week and get a body wave. Yes, the body wave, from the 80's. I've had straight hair my entire life. Straight hair that never tangled and never needed a brush. But I need change, a change to reflect the separation of schoolgirl and young professional. If I can even call myself that. Perhaps if the donut is less schoolgirl and more young professional, the jelly filling inside will change accordingly also. Maybe it'll even make me look older.

Maladroit. Malo. Sobre.

Maladroit... Weezer's latest album. A crushing disappointment. But not quite. I had retained hope that maybe their green album was merely a slight dip in their run, perhaps the creative juices had just run dry at that moment. I'd score Maladroit on par with the green album, maybe slightly higher, maybe slightly lower, depending on my mood. The green album was very poppy, very light, pleasing to the ear, but lacking in substance. Maladroit seems to carry a little more weight, but I like the sound a little less. Perhaps it will grow on me. But, to ease my disappointment, I went to the cd store today and bought my official copy of Pinkerton. I stashed away the burned copy that my friend made me. Still love Pinkerton. Even though everyone else hates it.

Ranking
Pinkerton
Blue album
Green album
Maladroit

Last two rankings are subject to alternate.

The Question with No Answer.

Sleep didn't come very easily last night. I kept thinking about Ian and the turn of events. I can't seem to wrap my mind around the concept of it all - what happened and how it happened. And most of all, why. Why, is the question that keeps resounding in my head endlessly, and there are no answers echoing back. Just empty silence. Empty and dark. I keep trying to imagine what it must be like, trying to crawl inside his head and what he must've been thinking at that time. What his motivations were, his reasons, his justifications. I keep trying to imagine what it must be like for his parents, trying to imagine the shock, the despair, the sense of helplessness - what could we have done differently? And it always comes back to... why?

I can't imagine what it must be like, to put so much time and effort into raising a child, cleaning his skinned knees when he's little, making sure that he avoids the major potholes in life, worrying about how he is, only to have it all end like this. I pray and hope that I will never know what that feels like. I can't imagine what it must be like, to find your son hanging.

Hanging... Part of me is sad, and part of me is angry. What a ghoulish way to do it. Could you possibly pick a more traumatic psychological consequence for your family? With all the technology and gadgets and medications of today, why do people insist on choosing such a medieval way to die? What is it about hanging that continues to appeal to so many people? Have you no consideration for the people who will find you?

I'm not sure if I will ever understand. Nor am I sure I want to. My dad said that wasted youth is a tragedy. All that lost potential. The lost future. The lost years of laughter and tears. For everything is an experience to be lived through and learned from. It makes me all the more aware of my own mortality, and it makes me aware of my priorities. It makes me appreciate my friends that much more. It makes me realize that sometimes I stress too much about the trivialities of life. It makes me see that what is truly important is usually what becomes tossed aside in the minutiae of the daily routine. It makes me sad to recognize that a tragedy is what was necessary to make me see all this.

The Death of Youth and Innocence.

A boy in my brother's high school killed himself on Friday. The day after Prom.

Ian... shared first grade with my brother. I was the class's Safety Sitter, since I was in sixth grade. I made sure the kids came in after recess and kept order until the teacher came back from lunch. My brother was horrified that his own sister was the Safety. Ian... was the small boy with blonde curly hair. He was a darling child, and I never had to make him stand in the corner. Ian... came to our house a lot when he and my brother were in middle school. They'd swim in the pool and his blonde curls would turn green from the chlorine. Ian... was the bane of our family when he introduced my brother to peanut butter and fluff sandwiches, and to a slew of cavities accordingly. Ian... and my brother drifted when they got to high school. Ian... worked at the drug store where I picked up my prescription last summer. He remembered me and said hello. He still had the curly blonde hair and an easy smile. Ian hung himself on Friday.

To be, or not to be: that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die; to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep? perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life...

-Shakespeare, Hamlet

::email nine::