Overthinking is bad with a capital B

I am so behind on posting funny interesting stuff that makes you guys laugh, I know.

Everything's moving so fast. Deadlines are coming up for everything - financial aid applications for college, yearbook, josten's design contest, the spanish newspaper, my Anna Karenina essay - I barely have time to sit down for a breather and think about making a To-Do list and realize that list will be so large and tedious that making it requires a slot of its own. Sometimes I completely forget to look at my National Singles Awesomeness month calendar for the daily theme. I'm behind on my favorite TV shows, haven't even started Othello (which we were supposed to finish reading for English by friday, I think), and I haven't had a Milky Way in over a week. A week!! But that's partly due to the insane amount of food the yearbook room has generously been feeding us with lately.

With everything so hectic, some things are being overlooked. Like, um, school. Somehow I managed to get a 97% on my spanish inclass essay - thank heavens for those naturally gifted brain lobes of mine - and a 90 on the psych Quest that I studied for in the 5 minutes after school meeting.

Other things are being looked at too much. There are two people who are not concretely defined in my life, and for the sake of order and sanity, I don't want to "go with the flow" and see where it leads me. So far, it has led me knee-deep into doodie. All I wanted was a friendship in each case; now I have to accept less than that from one and more from the other. What I really want is to prioritize better, like get a job. Which I am so in the process of (more on this soon).

I just want some balance!
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Oh summer, how I miss thy overconfidence

I was recently going through a journal I kept this summer while I was in Russia/Turkmenistan. Things I write in journals somehow always seem to amuse me. They're different from the things I type, even if it's just into a word document no one looks at but me. On paper I seem so much more vulnerable, naive, and sure of myself. Also, a page is something tangible - it is so much easier to acknowledge that it's history, that the tantrum of feelings has passed and my views have matured. Still, every now and then I come across something so gold I can't let it collect dust with the many forgotten notebooks resting on my bookshelf.

This was written on July 25, 2008:

In the seventeen years of our existence, have we figured out what we need? It seems everyone is running around hooking up, breaking up, making up, and in general obsessing over the complex infrastructure of the opposite sex. And for what? You’d think that out of selfcenteredness, the majority of us would pull stage four [talking about our psychological stages of development, stage 4 being our attempt to figure out who we are, stage 5 focusing on our significant other] out for as long as possible. But it’s having the opposite effect. In your case, stage five is the last legal type of slavery left on earth and, hell, girls are a whining sobbing nagging nerve-wrecking machine of commitment that are good for screwing and maybe making dinner. On the offhand that chick is “cool” – gets wasted in the daytime, regular cop trouble, all that jazz that makes your friends laugh and applaud – she might get an invitation to smoke at Jack’s. Yes, the infamous Friday afternoons at Jack’s. I’m not even sure Jack’s a real person, probably just a code name for a blunt.

Then there’s me. where do I fit in your UrbanDictionary of life? Search term: Masha. Results: doesn’t smoke, drinks rarely on occasion (like New Years with my mother), refuses to listen to hardcore rap, can’t cook to save her life, and says more words per minute than all your pothead friends put together have in their vocabulary. But you loved me and said you'll never stop. I didn’t buy that last Tuck-Everlasting bit then, nor do I buy it now, but I think you naively believed what you were saying.

Then what do we mean to each other? Underneath our cynical responses, our steel masks made to conceal – jealousy? pain? – our egocentric “luv ya”s and “baby, suck my dick”, our words thrown at each other like stones wrapped in fuzzy socks (dirty socks, in your case, that you leave in my room and I have to hide in my CD opener), underneath our smirks, our sarcasm, our vodka, your weed, are two people. Without an armor for our tender bodies and without any defense mechanisms. Yes, there are people that care about me more than you do, but it’s your love I want. And underneath your mad fits of jealousy, I think you need it just as much as I do. In the sappy stage four of our imperfect lives.

I’m almost seventeen years old; it’s time to find a balance.

It's funny how things are completely different now, yet somehow they're the same. We're the same old egocentric cynical self-serving creatures, we just grew up a bit.

And you know what? Between us, I wouldn't have it any other way.
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Clinically depressed with a side of stupid

I was originally going to write this post about a conversation I had today with a few friends about the happiest memories of our lives, a specific moment which we wouldn't mind being stuck in for the rest of ever, but that kind of writing just reeks of sappiness and optimism. I'm more of a sarcastic bitch that shoots spitballs at googly-eyed couples in grocery stores and makes illegal U-turns. A lot of people have tried to convince me that I won't reach a more permanent level of happy with all these inborn feelings of irony at the world, and maybe that's true, but I really don't think I can change who I am. Nor do I want to. So screw it.

At the same time, there is a part of me I want to change. I have a tendency to personally sabotage situations that I'm afraid will take a bad turn. It's sort of like shooting myself in the foot, only much worse - it's almost like I want to exacerbate the problem for dramatic effect, and then afterwards chew my nails and sit on my couch thinking how in hell things ended up like this.

In conversations, I drive us into the same rut of having absolutely nothing to say to make it better. No apologies, no secret confessions, no light sarcastic comment - nothing to save the day. The first time this happened, I fully blamed the other person. The second time, because the people were so different, I started wondering if it had something to do with me. The third time put me over the top. And you'd think, what in the world did I have to say and do to close every possible door of reconciliation? Well, it's a fucking talent.

After the waves of adrenaline from the scripted lines and the loud empty words die down, I'm left alone on the couch. Sometimes I'm on the floor, but chances are I'll be inside the apartment. And then all I have left is memories of the fight and all my feelings of resentment within these four walls because my mother's never home and dammit it's lonely. I always say that having regrets means not letting go of the past, but how can I not regret some of the terrible, life-altering things I've done? How can I not hate myself?

To all reading this post who understand what I'm talking about, I'm so sorry. I've said it a bajillion times but it fails to make things better, and I suppose it shouldn't anyway. But I will try my hardest to be accepting and let go of what can't be reversed. The next step is to get rid of this self-destructive talent; a lot of people tell me they wish they had at least some of the excitement of my movie-like life, but guess what, sweetcakes? Real life is not a movie. It's boring and anticlimactic and sometimes safe, but that sure as hell beats having people tell you "Oh my God you should totally write a book about your crazy experiences and I'll be the first to read it". I'm exhausted. I want safe.

When I began writing this, I didn't know how honest I would be with myself. It turned into one of the most personal things I've ever written. I really want to go hide under my blankie hugging Foofie, my huge white stuffed bear from 5th grade (and the only one that made it through the years), and swear that I was intoxicated while writing this, but the post wrote itself. And if it can't help anything I've already messed up, maybe it'll be a small aid in preventing this from ever happening again. Continue reading >>

List of the Week

As stated in previous post, this is an excerpt from the book "11,002 things to be miserable about".

1. Death
2. Life
3. Hitler
4. Erectile dysfunction
5. Blind dates with ugly people
6. Monday mornings
7. Broken condoms
8. Dead puppies
9. Models
10. The orchestra that played as the Titanic went down
11. Michael Jackson's sexual proclivities
12. The Third World
13. Driver's license photos
14. Calculus
15. Butt acne
16. Gas station bathrooms
17. Asparagus
18. Having to hear about other people's babies
19. Memoirs by people who are boring
20. Memoirs by people who are more interesting than you
21. The Hilton sisters
22. Chlamydia
23. Oedipus
24. Men who pose for pictures with their cars
25. Standardized tests
26. The fall of Rome
27. Children decapitated by roller coaster malfunctions
28. Planned phone dates to catch up with friends
29. Fat camp
30. Armed rebels in Nigeria
31. The Vietcong
32. Bad kissers
33. Dogs that lick you after drinking out of the toilet
34. Morning sickness
35. Forgotten children wandering the aisles of grocery stores
36. Cell phone bills
37. Insults prefaced by "No offense, but"
38. Accidentally being touched somewhere inappropriate
39. Being touched somewhere inappropriate on purpose
40. Musicals about the Holocaust

This is definitely not the last time this book will make it onto the blog. The stuff's just too funny to pass up.
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Life's pleasures are illegal, immoral, and fattening

I recently bought a book that's called "11,002 things to be miserable about" from the humor section at Borders. It was apparently inspired by a bunnies-and-rainbows book called "14,000 Things to Be Happy About", a comprehensive list of life's small joys. While I find its dark opposite way more hilarious, I'm saving that list for tomorrow's List of the Week. As for tonight - in honor of my (rare) happy mood - here's a small insight on little things that make me happy.

Waking up to the smell of bagels and Philadelphia cream cheese
A good, make that awesome, hair day
A Milkyway bar
Making a real dinner and not burning it
Finding a song that is sing-alongable
Getting daisies
Driving without parents
Text messages
Wednesdays
Cracking open a brand new book and burying my nose in it
SNL skits that are actually funny
"Hairspray"
Drooling over sexy British men
Really bad "that's what she said" jokes
Laughing at your terrible, terrible voice as you sing along to Ne-Yo's "Mad" but joining in anyway, when we're in my car gulping down Tapioca drinks and speeding down El Camino


Just to reiterate a point in an earlier post, don't leave those you love! You never know what kind of crap life will think up next and when you'll ever see them again. Honestly, this is a very rare mood for me, so I'm going to get this out there while I'm still on an emotional high:

Take too many bad pictures, laugh like you're a psychotic poodle, and throw yourself out there like you've never been hurt. Because every 60 seconds you spend angry or upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back.

<3

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The seaweed is always greener

I know, I rant about Disney and then spent an hour doing this. I'm a hypocrite.

I can't believe it's her, of all people. You're ridiculous.

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"How painful, my darling, how strange,
With my roots interweaved in the ground –
How painful, my darling, how strange
To be split apart under a saw.
The wound in my heart won’t change,
But swell up with tears and drown,
The wound in my heart won’t change –
But dry up and turn into straw."

"As long as I’m living, I’m yours –
Can’t separate blood from the soul,
As long as I’m living, I’m yours –
Death’s partner will always be love.
You’ll carry it through every hole,
You’ll carry through darkness and wars,
You’ll carry through darkness and wars
Your genuine home, my beloved."

"But what if I can’t find a cover
From pity, incurable shame,
But what if I can’t find a cover
To shield me from cold and the dark?"
"We’ll soon meet again, you’ll discover,
Remember me one and the same,
We’ll soon meet again, you’ll discover,
At a place where we’ll both disembark."


"And what if I still disappear –
Just a short ray of light in the sun –
And what if I still disappear
In the Milky Way smoke of the stars?"
"Then I’ll never stop praying, my dear,
That you find the route you’ve begun,
Then I’ll never stop praying, my dear,
That you return without a scar."

He sat in the chill dusty train,
Became homeless, quiet, and content,
He sat in the chill dusty train,
Half-crying, half-trying to relax,
When the steel on the slippery lane
Roared a terrible echo and bent,
When the steel on the slippery lane
Tore the wheels away from the tracks.

An inhuman merciless force,
Destroying it all with one knock,
An inhuman merciless force
Took part of the earth to the stars.
And no one was spared in the course
By the promised reunion talk,
And no one was spared in the course
By the hand reaching out from afar.

Don’t leave those you love for endeavors,
Don’t leave those you love for endeavors,
Don’t leave those you love for endeavors
That even your heart won’t permit.
Say goodbye like you’re leaving forever,
Say goodbye like you’re leaving forever,
Say goodbye like you’re leaving forever,
Even when you’ll be back in a bit.






© Me
(rough translation of a Russian poem by A. Kotchekov)
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There are reasons we don't say "just adulting"

In honor of it being Crank boys-are-stupid music really loudly day, here is my Boys are stupid playlist from an old iPod:

1. Don't Tell Me - Avril Lavigne
2. Everything I'm Not - the Veronicas
3. F You Right Back - Frankee
4. Us Against The World - Play (old iPod. Promise.)
5. Irreplaceable - Beyonce
6. It's OK - Atomic Kitten
7. Leave (Get Out) - JoJo
8. Show Stopper - Danity Kane (this is actually a song about cars)
9. Since U Been Gone - Kelly Clarkson
10. Remember To Forget - Play (okay I have no idea how these get in here, I swear)
11. Walk Away - Kelly Clarkson (but I must admit, Play's got mad voicing skills)
12. Don't Cha - Pussycat Dolls
13. Single - Natasha Beddingfield
14. L.O.V.E. - Ashlee Simpson (and here I thought it was Nat King Cole's Parent Trap version)
15. Alone - Avril Lavigne
16. Losing Grip - Avril Lavigne (she's got a theme going on)
17. Survivor - Destiny's Child

Despite being every obnoxious pea-size-brained tween girl's dream playlist, these songs from my good immature years really did make me feel better. Who am I kidding? - I'd pick up a hairbrush and rock out to "It's us against the world" any day I'm alone with the windows locked shut and the blinds flipped closed. There are times to man up and take responsibility like a 17-year-old should do, but then there are times to just be a girl. A girl with a scrunchie in her unruly ponytail and ankle socks thick enough for a December night in Tahoe and 99 cent lipgloss from Wallgreens that tastes like blueberry. And as we grow older, opportunities for those times only grew fewer. I would like to see my roommate's face if I turn on "I Must Not Chase the Boys" (yes, still by the infamous Play) and start humming nonchalantly.

So here's to celebrating not only being single, but still being able to call myself a kid. And yet here we are, trying so hard to grow up.

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Meet Lisa

Aim: To experience cognitive dissonance, where I'd feel uncomfortable because my actions don't match my beliefs, by breaking a social norm.

Specific objective: Pull up a chair next to a stranger in a cafe, invade their privacy, and strike up a conversation. To make it harder, I decided that that stranger would be a guy.

Process: I walked into a fairly busy Starbucks. 9 PM on the dot. Step one was to scout out my experiment monkeys, step two was to buy a drink.

Potential contestant in the outside patio. Cute, probably an undergrad, with a serious expression on his face. He immediately looked up as soon as I saw him, and his eyes followed me inside. I couldn't hide a smile. Yep, actions matched beliefs so far.

As I stood in line for my grande Caramel Macchiato, I suddenly realized I didn't have a speech prepared. What could I possibly say that won't make me look and feel like a stalking creeper? I suppose that would prove the point of the experiment in the end, but I had to start with something moderate. Hey, mind if I sit here? So he'll reply with no, go ahead. Then what? I suddenly felt a bit weak in the knees as I imagined the completely awkward scenario of me staring into this random guy's slightly annoyed face. Did I just say weak in the knees? This rarely happens to me. I would be interrupting his reading. So what, I told myself. With that slight push of confidence, I advanced my place in line.

But what if he says no, I'd like to be alone? That would be the worst case scenario. I could see myself turning bright red, making an apologetic fake smile, grabbing my keys and running like my life depended on it. Complete rejection. I felt I couldn't deal with it, not at that moment. Like a magnet, my legs pulled me out of the line to the Starbucks mugs on the shelf. Oh my god, what am I doing? I looked outside again. He was looking at me. Holy crap. Damn, he was cute. Okay, I'll walk right up to him, and then...

What if, instead of answering, he'll just look at me like I'm a complete freak? I racked my brain for something to say in case that happened. I'm just waiting for my friends, and there's nowhere else to sit. No, that's a pathetic joke of an excuse and I would forever call myself a chicken. I just don't like sitting by myself. A lie, but at least I'd come off as confident.

I ordered my drink and stood shaking at the pickup counter. He's listening to his headphones and studying something on his laptop; I would be interrupting something very important. He may have a midterm tomorrow. And the place really was packed - everyone on the outside patio would witness my little act of bravery. How would they react? How would they react if I got rejected? I can't do it. No, I must. The paper's due tomorrow (it was actually due today, but I didn't go to school) and I'll probably never see him again.

Clutching the latte in hand, I walked up to the door and froze. Literally, I froze. It was 9:30, I had already missed the new Scrubs, and I was a chicken. Slowly, the chairs began to clear out. Now I couldn't use the excuse that there was nowhere else to sit. Wait, that wasn't my excuse in the first place... What the hell was going on? My legs felt like butter. I stood there for another 15 (!) minutes before finally, finally sitting at a table next to the poor guy.

And what does he do? Completely ignore me. Everything I wanted to say flew out the window. I just sat there gawking for a while, stared at him, got my purse and left. And that was that.

Once in the car, I beat my forehead against the wheel a few times. I was alone in a pitch-black parking lot so no one heard, or at least paid attention to, the successive train of honks. I honestly could not believe that 1) I chickened out on saying Hi to someone I would never see again, and 2) I wasted almost an hour of time I could have spent watching one of my favorite shows. With absolutely no energy or willpower left, I drove to another Starbucks to try the experiment again, but this time with girls.

I wasted $2 buying another drink. A tall Americano, tasted like crap even with the milk and sugar. Two girls, also probably college-aged, sat in two chairs with a third facing them. Perfect. All I had to do was walk up, make light conversation, and be on my way... But as I forcefully pushed my legs to the empty chair, something in my brain flipped a switch. I lightened my pace, threw my head slightly back, and deepened my voice.

"Hey, mind if I sit here for a bit?" I didn't wait for an answer, plopping down on the stool with a friendly smile.

"Sure, no problem! We're just talking about relationships, so if you have anything to say, feel free to jump in." The girl to my right seemed genuinely sweet; the one across from me didn't even look in my direction.

"Oh, well, I've been in an off-and-on relationship for the past two years, but now I've shown him the door. Us girls have to take control of the situation, you know? I'm Lisa, by the way," I nonchalantly sipped my Americano.

"That is so true. What about when a guy is with you, but doesn't want to be called a boyfriend?" The one on my right inquired. Wow, they were really buying this crap.

"Pfft - one reason. He wants to stay on the market." I leaned back and threw a quick glance around the room, to add some weight to my tone of argument.

"Really... that's very interesting," the one on the right titled her head. We spent the next 20 minutes talking about her "boyfriend" Hugh, their Valentine's date, my own scumbag of an ex-boyfriend, and whether the movie He's Just Not That Into You makes a legitimate point. I told them I was a sophomore at Berkeley and that I liked my classes very much. "It only gets hard around midterms," I added, hoping I got the correct word. I told them about my classes, my major of Political Science, my favorite professor, my trip to New York over winter break, and how my uncle actually teaches at Stanford University. I found out the nice one on my right just finished undergrad and was now applying to grad school with a major of neuroscience. The other bitchy one still goes to UCSF and can't spell molecular. When they started questioning me with genuine curiosity about the campus, I grabbed my keys and ran for the door. 10:30 on the clock. Not too shabby.

Results: Not only could I not complete my original objective, that was one of the hardest things I've had to do in my entire life. On top of that, I felt so ridiculous and wrong doing this experiment as myself, I had to create a different persona for whom it may actually be a regular thing to sit next to total strangers as if I had no friends of my own.

Conclusion: 1) Bawk. Bawk baawk. 2) I never imagined it would be this difficult to break a simple social norm. Nevertheless, this inspired an idea: purely for blogging purposes, I'll try to break a different social norm every month for a year, building up more courage each time to try something outrageous. Hopefully by the end of this, I would have enough balls to do what I had planned originally.

That guy really was ridiculously cute. Pity.

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Move over, Carrie

I did my breaking-a-social-norm thing for psych today, but too tired to post about it now. The result really was quite shocking and unexpected, so it's post-worthy. For now all I have energy for is to say this:

In honor of Buy shoes with heels day, I bought the most beautiful shoes in the entire world. I usually don't care much for fashion, but it's nothing to do with fashion. When I put them on, I feel like I'm stepping out of a Sex and the City episode (and those usually leave me feeling poor, boring, lonely, and terribly dressed).

Don't ask how much they cost. Damn you, Confessions of a Shopaholic. Since I use a credit card, the next step would be to snag a dress from Betsey Johnson and a necklace to match from Nordstrom. Oh wait, I already bought a matching $50 necklace. It was sterling silver!!! And it was on sale. 

No, actually it wasn't. I'm a terrible person who deserves to rot in shopaholics anonymous.

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List of the week

Masha and Tina's list of things that are eternal:

1. Love
2. Taxes
3. Scandalous photographs that never leave the internet
4. Greasy hair
5. "Titanic"
6. Death
7. That one sock that never has a match
8. Hugh Laurie
9. Men's tendency to wear socks + sandals
10. Wrinkles on dress shirts
11. collegeboard.com

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Teaching terrible morals to little kids since 1923

There are few things in life that make me angrier than teaching children bad manners. Among those things are fake people, pathological liars, unfair college selection, stubborn adults, idiots who don't see crap in front of their nose, and tucking my feet into a blanket on the couch with a full dinner in front of me and realizing I left the remote on the kitchen table. But that's another post; tonight is dedicated to a rant about a movie so debased, so lewd and twisted, a movie that wears the children's cape of hope and opportunity but reveals to be a warped monstrosity concocted from the vile mind of Walt Disney.

Yes, I'm talking about this movie right here:

As I was babysitting Leeza('s sister) tonight, we decided to pop in our childhood favorite VHS. Little Natalie lay back on a pillow with a fuzzy blanket around her body, looking like the innocent uncorrupted four-year-old she was. So imagine my horror when this movie, which I haven't seen for at least ten years, starts things off with this guy:

Governor Radcliffe, the established villain of the storyline. There are so many things wrong with this image, I don't even know where to begin. First off, what is it with the bowties? Did they decide that pulling out two random strands of hair and tying them in the end with red ribbons alluded to wealth and power? Not only is that 'do inconceivable in real life (as hair will not stay put in that position for longer than ten minutes), the fact that he's a villain tells little boys that it's wrong to adorn their locks with bowties. What if they want to wear bowties? What if their own father wears a cute little red bowtie?? Not only does this promote sexist gender inequalities that criticize all "girly" nuances in a man, it can scar children for life.

Let's move on to the nose. Have you ever noticed that nearly all of Disney's male villains have an inhumanly crooked nose? Did Mr. Walt have a problem with Jewish people? Ah, yes, in fact he did - an article that runs in several newspapers called the Straight Dope talks about some of Disney's anti-semitic shorts, where "... the Big Bad Wolf comes to the door dressed as a stereotypical Jewish peddler. Disney changed the scene after complaints from Jewish groups. They didn't catch them all, though. In the short "The Opry House" Mickey Mouse is seen dressed and dancing as a Hasidic Jew." So yes, kids, people with an eagle beak nose will gladly shoot a comrade and secretly plot to take all of your gold. Next.

I suspect this is the reason people do this to their dogs:

But hold your poodles, it gets worse. Pocahontas does a jump from a cliff that has her in the air for a good ten seconds before submersing splash-lessly right next to her canoe, and then she river rafts off a waterfall. Yes, because if you sail around the riverbend into the great unknown that is the bottom of a waterfall, you won't die. Honest to blog.

Of course, that would be only one of the many stupid decisions you'll make if you take advice from a talking tree. In fact, if only you'll listen to your heart, you can learn a language you've never heard before in an instant. If you dream about something strange like a spinning arrow, well doggoneit it means something. And you must figure out the meaning of that dream if you ever wish to have any chance at realizing your path in life of all that the present and future can hope to hold.

All things considered, I didn't mind this movie too much when I first watched it. In fact, I was so mesmerized that I immediately rented the second one. And after watching such a touching story about the daughter of an Indian chief who saved the white man that she loved, what do we get? - Pocahontas ditches the tribal wear for England's finest and finds no further need for John Smith, her blond hunk, and therefore easily replaces him with John Rolfe. Okay, her English wasn't great and she may have confused the two Johns, but they had different freaking hair colors! On top of that, she criticizes poor Smith for something that wasn't even his fault.

Now, as a five year old, I was enraged at this ridiculous turn of events. What happened to true-love-conquers-all? Then I grew up and found the biggest atrocity this movie has made: historically, it's a bunch of bullcrap. John Smith was just as abrasive and self-promoting as the rest of the English mercenaries, and it is very likely that he lied and embellished the tale about his heroic sacrifice. This is from the real, legit Powhatan Tribe website: 

"The true Pocahontas story has a sad ending. In 1612, at the age of 17, Pocahontas was treacherously taken prisoner by the English while she was on a social visit, and was held hostage at Jamestown for over a year. During her captivity, a 28-year-old widower named John Rolfe took a "special interest" in the attractive young prisoner. As a condition of her release, she agreed to marry Rolfe [...] Two years later on the spring of 1616, Rolfe took her to England where the Virginia Company of London used her in their propaganda campaign to support the colony. She was wined and dined and taken to theaters. It was recorded that on one occasion when she encountered John Smith (who was also in London at the time), she was so furious with him that she turned her back to him, hid her face, and went off by herself for several hours. Later, in a second encounter, she called him a liar and showed him the door." You can read more here.

Disney, Disney, Disney. I guess the songs are the only good things to ever come from his highly corrupted motion pictures. But hey, that's just my late-night opinion.

All stills used above were taken with permission from here.

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The best themed holiday since sliced bread

In honor of it finally being love-joy-and-cuddly-bunnies-happiness day, I'll write a bit about how I'm spending February aka National Singles Awareness month (I like to substitute the A for Awesomeness). For every day of the month, I've designated a special holiday to help me balance out my hate for the fourteenth. I hate Valentine's day, single or not - it's nothing but a consumer company Christmas morning as hundreds of giddly men empty their wallets for diamonds and dinner reservations like they're not supposed to be sweet to their women all the time.

Okay, so I mentioned that I made reservations as well. But that doesn't count because it's a casual friends-only dinner. And that's actually what I wanted to mention - this month of celebrating has been absolutely wonderful. Let's recap:

~ February 5: Fuzzy Socks and Granny Panties day

Went out to dinner with my mom to La Strada, stuffed myself to the maximum with pasta, salad, coffee, and chocolate souffle. Small portions, but great quality. Too lazy/unwilling to do homework when I came home at 8, I pulled on my blue fuzzy socks and enjoyed a carefree, irresponsible evening of Scrubs.

~ February 6: Girls' Night Out day

Didn't work out so well with Jessica's boyfriend there, defeating the purpose of reaping in the benefits of singledom, but it showed me something I suspected before. As I watched Jess and Stevo argue about random things - nothing consequential, but long enough to notice Stevo's exasperated face - I saw the very reason why being unattached can rock your socks. No need to worry about the other person's feelings, no need to check in with where you are and what you're doing, no need to consider their opinion when making plans. Of course, there's a time for relationships, but everyone needs a time for this, too.

~ February 7: Buy yourself flowers day

Many people chuckled when I told them about the theme of this day, but it makes perfect sense to me. It's not about pretending you're not pathetic enough to pick out a bouquet and think someone cares about you; it's like going out and buying diamond earrings for yourself because you can, because you deserve it, and because spending money on pretty crap gives you a warm feeling in your tummy. And in my defense, flowers won't bankrupt my wallet.

~ February 8: Hit on someone twice your age day

Well, my mom's friend did take me out to Los Gatos to practice for my driving test, but this theme was more of a joke. Something to laugh at. Ha ha.

~ February 9: I'm not sharing anything day (& spa with Leeza)

This is also Friend's birthday, and, honestly, his best birthday I've ever had. Priya stopped by in the afternoon, and the three of us finished the spinach bolani and watched a few rounds of Sex and the City - very fitting, as Carrie was just becoming friends with Big. At 5 Leeza and I gave up our spa certificates and met two friendly masseuses, who rubbed oil on our backs for 45 minutes. Destress galore. I spent the night at Jess' house reminiscing about the past four years and making plans for the future.

~ February 10: Dinner out by yourself and eat as obnoxiously as you want day

Somewhere in the middle of that dinner (a Classic Italian Quiznos sub, ridiculously delicious), a decision was made that may very well change the course of the rest of the month. The evening ended at Culture Frozen Yogurt, with a two-hour conversation with Friend about what's happened and where do we go from here. We go left, we decided. And although the outcome of that decision is still pending, I hope that was the right way to go.

~ February 11: I am so much hotter than his new girlfriend day

Considering that none of my ex-boyfriends that I still keep in touch with actually have new girlfriends, this was also a joke theme, although I enjoyed coming up with the idea.

~ February 12: Boycott everything red, pink, and heartshaped day

A nice day at home in my PJs, made a mexican casserole that is already halfway eaten (mostly by me). Take that, mother. "You can't cook." Psh.

~ February 13: Drive out by yourself & buy something expensive day

Got my license, which was what the theme was betting on. Unfortunately, mom had the car all day at work, so the shopping trip was postponed until today. If you want to know the events of yesterday, possibly the best day of the month so far, read the post below.

And so this brings us to today, proudly named - are you ready for this? - Thank god I didn't catch your crabs day! As much of a joke as this theme is, I came up with it for all the single ladies (now put your hands up) out there who, on this fine consumer holiday, will remember their last failed relationshp, scrunch their nose and say, "thank god I didn't settle for that."

Oh, and Isla Fisher and Sacha Baron Cohen's daughter is named Olive. Go figure.

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Why I love my friends

In honor of getting my license, Sanaz rushed over with a chocolate cake that boldly spelled out Congratulations Mooshoo (until a third of it was eaten).



Jess and Marina stopped by for a reunion we haven't had since last year. We talked, laughed, cried (ahem Marina), and complained about the people that make things difficult. Then Marmar drove us to Peet's coffee, where an elderly black woman complimented mine and Jess' rendition of the Laguna Biotch theme song.

I made reservations in Pasta Pomodoro for tomorrow night. If everything goes by the plan, I'll take my newly acquired license over to Santana Row and enjoy the much-overdue dinner with a friend. A new old friend.

Talking about pasta and reservations made Sanaz hungry. She picked me and Leeza up for an impromptu 9 PM dinner at a Mediterranean restaurant on University Avenue, where we bitched some more about people who make life difficult. A falafel, three kabobs, and two and a half baklavas later, we were on our way to spend the evening at her house.

What an evening that was! As if molesting her cat Sedrick wasn't enough, we made fun of Jennifer... not sure how she relates to the family. From what I got, she's a 40 year old who stays over at their house and drinks all their wine. We spent the rest of the night hanging out with S's older brother and his friend, who had enough drunk and road rage stories to make Leeza make a few bathroom runs.

Bleh. I'm so tired I can barely type. Basically, this was just the kind of friday I was looking for this month. Because when I feel like being alone is a bad idea, there's people that remind me it doesn't have to be that way. 

This is why I love my friends.

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Rain, testosterone, and a really cold steel bench

My February 11 started out on my couch watching Sex and the Citywith Priya and ended with me stranded at the Mountain View train station for at least an hour. Long story short, everyone was busy with their busy lives and barely had time to drop me off to a Caltrain. The train that was supposed to come at 6:23 didn't show up, I was afraid that the subsequent ones were limited-stop, so I found a bench and sat myself down for what turned into the rainiest evening Mountain View had seen this year.

The first thing I noticed was that there were barely any women around, anywhere. I was surrounded by middle-aged men, some in their twenties, some nearing retirement. A few watched me for a few seconds before glancing at their watch in utter impatience. I don't mind waiting anymore, not after sitting at ____ for over three hours before being called in by tired asian ladies in white stained coats, but this changes when my nose is going numb and I can't unclench my fingers from my purse strap. I wondered why there were no women. I was on the San Francisco-bound side; maybe the men were returning home from work? You'd think if they lived in SF, they would work there as well. Maybe it was all the single men who didn't yet have a family or car or house, and were rushing back to their subsidized apartments carrying a stern expression and expensive-looking briefcases. Who can tell?

The second thing I noticed was that to make their impatience clear, these men would purposely step over the forbidden yellow line and stretch their heads to see the deep end of the train tracks, although they could perfectly see from the benches that there was no train in sight. Some decided to walk on the very tip of the curb that falls into the tracks and bitch into their cellphones. People are funny that way. 

After a while I got bored watching them do idiotic things, and leaned against a wire fence and waited.

Another train whizzed by. Limited stops, they told me. No way to find out if California avenue is one of them. As I stood there watching these tired angry impatient men hoard themselves into the closing doors, and was running out of ideas for thoughts to drive away the boredom, I started thinking about timing. Was it really everything, as they say? On countless occasions, good timing has accidentally saved me from an eternity of problems. Then again, some things were timed just right to create the biggest problem I've ever faced.

Shows have different things to say about timing. Sex and the City suggests that things are different the second time around. If that was a universal rule, life would be just dandy. Then again, different doesn't always mean better. And in any case, I always feel like I fall into the same rut no matter how I try to change my approach. Time, shmime. The only thing it has shown me is that people don't change.

What was the point of me standing under the increasingly pouring rain at 7 PM surrounded my a bunch of idiots with death wishes? Maybe if my ride left the house earlier, we wouldn't be in such a rush and I would be dropped off at home to my comforting couch. If I bothered to get off that couch and get a permit when I was 15, I wouldn't even be needing to catch the train. And if we had only waited, waited until after December and January when the whole mess would be over, maybe it would have worked out.

And with those thoughts, my 7:04 train made a full stop.

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Bucket list

Couldn't sleep. Found this saved on my old laptop from at least 2 years ago:

Before I die, I want to max out all my credit cards. Before I die I want to stop someone on the street and ask them if they will have sex with me. Before I die I want to speed really fast down a highway at four in the morning singing at the top of my lungs. Before I die I want to flip off a movie star. Before I die, I want to be curbstomped by an elephant. But if I can't, I want to sit on a beach with a cigarette in one hand and yours in the other with your head on my shoulder watching the sunset. If that happened, I think I could die right there and it would be okay.

- Anonymous

I did a Google search, but couldn't find the source. I guess it doesn't matter that much - the fact that it's anonymous makes it more universal. What would you want to do before you die? I would want to get a tattoo, not something tasteless and overdone but weird and unconventional. I'd also want to witness a hurricane. I'd want to act in a movie, publish a book, work in retail for a day, meet an eskimo, star in a cop chase, and run naked through a busy business area. Yep, that's pretty much what I can come up with at 1 in the morning. Getting my license wouldn't be a bad idea either.

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List of the week

Some of the best decisions I've ever made:

1. Search "how to _______" on Google and come across a blog by an amazing writer that I still read daily
2. Not purposely fail the entrance exam at Harker
3. Join yearbook
4. Buy a little something that's pink and shiny
5. Not follow Juno's advice
6. Take Pandich's AP U.S. history class

Some of the worst decisions I've ever made:

1. Take AP Spanish Literature
2. Slack off first semester senior year
3. Watch an episode of "The Secret Life of the American Teenager"
4. Every decision I made on Tuesday, December 30th, 2008 (with the possible exception of taking Marina's keys to re-park her car while she was in Tahoe so her dad wouldn't notice she went driving at night)
5. Stay home alone last Thanksgiving break
6. Think that I could make any rational decision while I was hormonally overdosed

Decisions whose outcome, good or bad, is still pending:

1. Stay up until 4:30 writing my Anna Karenina essay
2. Start talking again

That last one pertains to today.

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On the other side

This phrase may have been said a hundred times. In the end, you start thinking about the beginning. Or, at least I say it often. The ironic part is that nothing is really the end - every episode in life smoothly flows into the next one, there's no stop and go like when you finish a book or turn off a movie. Every time I think it's the end, the story continues. Whether it brings in new people or finds a way to prolong itself with the old ones, the sequence of life never stops for a breather. So I won't say it this time. It's not the end.

It is, however, the end of a cycle. February 9, 2008, exactly one year ago yesterday. So I guess when you make a full round, it's hard not to think about where you were at its beginning. Where was I? - in the parking lot by his car, having just given a white teddy bear and a Visa gift card.

"I don't deserve it," he said. Sure as hell he didn't. But there was no use bringing up the obvious, the cliched, the stale, the exposed, especially on his birthday. Mentally, I was in a completely different place as well. I wrote a poem at the end of 10th grade that started out with

The chick flicks and the cookie dough,

We swung around on swings;

Were were naive - we didn't know

What sophomore year would bring.

I thought that by then, I was completely past the innocent stage of naivety. All time had to do was slap me in the face and show me the meaning of experience, because that's what decides where you are on the maturity spectrum regardless of your age. As sophomore year drew to a close, I thought I had all the experience my uninhibited fifteen-year-old brain could hold. Yeah, I was a smartass. Now, although I can officially say I've tackled (as close as a minor can get to) real-life problems, I still have maybe a tenth of the experience I need to be making generalizations about life. So I'll refrain from that.

All I can say is that it's been a year, and it's both funny and sad to look at myself back then. Hell, it's sad to look at myself now - I've changed, but has it really been for the better? I like to believe so. I never think about what would have happened if I did something differently because I don't like to progress backwards - if it weren't for my bad decisions, I wouldn't know the things I know now.

Another phrase I like is that time erases all the bad things. I don't know if it's actually true, but there will always be things I can't forget. Not everyone gets a blank slate. Because, as they very correctly pointed out, some people don't deserve it.

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