Star Trek would be nice.

Downstairs to lobby of my grungy apartment building.
Upstairs to office on 6th floor.
Downstairs to Starbucks for an iced coffee, sweetened, room for cream. (Yes,
assholes, STARBUCKS. Not Blue Bottle. Not 4Barrel. Corporate, taking over
the world one corner at a time STARBUCKS. Delicious!)
Upstairs to office on 6th floor.
Downstairs to get lunch.
Upstairs to office on 6th floor.
Downstairs to Walgreens to get miscellaneous item for apartment, but end up
spending $35 on nonsense.
Upstairs to office on 6th floor.
Downstairs to leave work.
Upstairs to apartment.

I potentially, and quite often, ride an elevator 10 times a day. Saves me probably a mile or two of walking a day. Thank you, Elisha Otis, for inventing the elevator (I totally had to wiki that). You have made the lives of many less strenuous; old people won't hesitate to leave home just to avoid those arduous steps; the wheelchair bound will not be required to crawl around or be subjected to the humiliating position of being carried. Thank you kindly.

But a part of me hates you. Because of you, and modern society's general impatience for anything, elevator rides have become absolutely dreadful and with each one, almost always the "longest ride I ever had in my entire life." Cue eye roll and dramatic fingers to the temples.

As I have already pronounced, I think elevators are pretty fucking amazing. I trust that when I enter that little box with no windows and press a button, that I will be TRANSPORTED from one level of a building to another level of a building without walking. Truly amazing.

But it is not what the elevator does for me that I hate. It is what it does to other people that I hate.

7 out of 8 elevator rides in the office building (yes, that is an accurate statistic), some asshole in the elevator will make some "joke" about how there are too many stops before they arrive at their floor. They say stuff about wanting to close the door before someone can get in. They talk about how there should be a sensor that detects when there are 5 people on and that should be the limit. They talk about how there's no room to move. They talk they talk they talk they talk they talk. And you know what, with the lack of music in the elevators, it's not that I don't want them interrupting the peaceful silence. It's the fact that they are ALL TRYING TO BE FUNNY. Pretty sure everyone can agree that an unfunny asshole trying to be funny is the biggest kind of asshole. And perhaps I take their coworker to coworker mindless banter too seriously, but when I've heard it every weekday for every ride up/down the elevator, I am tempted to stab myself in the throat just so everyone can have SOMETHING ELSE TO SAY.

Then after coming home from work, I have my apartment complex elevator to look forward to. I live on the 5th floor, and though I COULD walk up those stairs, there are numerous reasons why I don't:
1. The 3rd, 4th, and 5th floor are occupied by one extended family. There are a bunch of kids who hang out in the lobby area of each floor as if it were their living room. There are toys everywhere. The teenagers sit on the stairs. They look at me like *I've* intruded into their private sanctum and *I* was NOT invited to play.
2. The building generally smells of a mix of beef pho and rancid milk. I have managed to keep that odor out of my apartment, thank god.
3. I iz so tireds sometimes.

So, I take the elevator. Now, usually I ride this elevator alone, so the office elevator annoyances are not relevant. In fact, the office elevator ride seems like a fuckin' cherry pickin' extravaganza in comparison to the apartment elevator ride. Why?

Urine.

Someone pissed in the elevator.

This happened maybe 2 weeks ago? 2 months ago, the geniuses that manage the building decided to strip the elevator floor from the old rug and install SHAG CARPET. It's auburn, fluffy, and honestly for the first day, quite comfortable to stand on. It looked god awful, but the old rug was stained to the point where I couldn't even tell what the original color was. But the moment I saw the shag carpet, I knew it was an awful idea.

And lo and behold, someone decided that he just could not wait to reach his floor and flipped out his dick and excreted in the elevator. As there are no pets allowed, I cannot blame this on an innocent, don't-know-any-better dog. As the stain was a longer tear-drop shaped streak, it certainly was not a woman. It was a man. Who peed. In my elevator.

I don't care if he was drunk. I don't care if he didn't live in the building. But one of the first things you learn as a fuckin' toddler is that you do not PEE just anywhere you want. Ever. Like, never ever.

Managers didn't do a thing for the first week. Just left it there to sit. And recently, someone (maybe the managers? maybe someone equally disgusted as me?) put some pink chemical on top to try to burn the smell out. Yes, please add more offensive smells to this 5' by 5' dungeon.

In the end, I can't help but think of Sims 1 teleporter that just transported you from one floor to the next. Yes, just like in Star Trek! Perhaps if I had that, I wouldn't be dealing with assholes and urine soaked shag carpets. Even if the teleporter malfunctioned while I was in it, at least I would have died gloriously with my particles floating around in unknown universes. Perhaps then I can be happy.

It's like a Blockbuster night, but a lot more fun.

"A wealthy, 66-year-old divorcée has defied her age -- and Mother Nature -- by becoming the oldest woman in Britain ever to get pregnant, setting off a storm of controversy in the medical world." -New York Post, read here

There are over 200 million orphans in the world. A good number of them are probably relatively cute and lovable. We all know orphans need more...more love...more food...more room...more bedding...and most of all: more attention.

There are also a lot of people who like babies and children. A lot of them, though, do not have the resources and time to care for a child, so they put off having children for a while. But just because they CAN'T have one yet, doesn't mean they WANT one any less. I am a prime example.

I am 24, financially responsible, (relatively) emotionally stable, probably fertile. I'm a great candidate to be a mother, despite the rumors flying around that I like to eat babies. Despite those qualifications though, I also live in the Tenderloin. I go to school at night and/or spend a lot of time doing homework. I sometimes forget to turn off the oven and have lots of sharp objects around the house.

But bottom line is: I lurv babies. I want to love them, hug them, tell them how cute they are, feed them, touch their cheeks oh-so-gently, and make them feel like the most special baby in the world. For some unknown reason, people don't want to let me babysit though. None of my close friends and relatives have babies...so here I am. Baby-less.

As I mentioned before, there are LOADS of babies in need to my affeckshuns though. And your affeckshuns. And anyone who has an excess of affeckshuns they wish to bestow upon others! And that is why I propose: THE ORPHAN LIBRARY.

I mentioned on facebook earlier about my ingenious idear. The above link and quote from New York Post have only solidified this scheme in my mind, and I feel like it is my civic duty to make it a reality. I have a dream...

...that one day...

you can go to the orphan library and check out a baby and return him/her when you've had enough.

How will this benefit everyone?
1. The orphan gets the love he/she deserves and is lacking.
2. You get to ooze out some of the love that is practically spilling out of your pores.
3. The orphanage gets more money to make the facilities better and the orphans are happier.

= WIN, WIN, WIN situation.

I don't really imagine it looking like a library with shelves of babies. I haven't worked out all the details yet, but I'm getting on it. But the idear is pretty basic and pretty reasonable. They always say that if you want to invent something, you need to think of what is lacking and what needs to be improved. I have done just that and I feel good about myself.

A lot of people may be appalled by the concept at first. This is because a lot of people are pessimists and believe that people are inherently evil. People will assume that the babies will be abused, murdered, abandoned, etc. But what if we did some crazy background checks? And a baby monitoring system? Like, we implant a camera in the baby so that whatever interactions they have with the renter will be watched at all times?

Okay, perhaps the camera implant may not be the best idear. But like I said, I don't have all the details worked out yet.

Incomplete thoughts are like fortune cookie fortunes.

I have a little bit of time to kill before dinner, so I thought I'd stop in for a quickie.

I have extremely vivid dreams. I am often found whimpering, crying, or laughing in my sleep because of this. This morning, I woke up from a dream and I felt awful...and I'm JUST starting to shake the feeling off. (One time I had a dream that I was being tickled by Marty McFly. Awesome!)

I won't get into the details of the dream, but it will help me understand the little bits of frustrations I am still dealing with with "the breakup" circa a month or so ago. I am not usually so long winded about anything, but I'm going to be 25 this year and I really want to figure some shit out. So here's me doing just that. Or at least here's me trying.

As I angrily mentioned in my last post, I was so sure that I messed up. I was so sure that the reason why we broke up was because I fucked up. The whole first week after, I just kept mourning the fact that I couldn't go back in time to fix things....oh but if I only COULD! Then I'd be happy again! And he'd be happy again!

Heh. No. We wouldn't be. Because as sad as I was to see the relationship come to a close, I knew that it ended for numerous reasons. Reasons that were out of my control. I know my flaws...oh, I do I do. And with our breakup, I held complete responsibility because I was so focused on all the things wrong with me and all the things I did wrong. I forgot that he was just as much involved as I was. I realize now more than ever that no matter who you are, you are a different person depending on who you interact with. I am a different person to my mother as I am to my sister. I am a different person to Pillow as I am to Julie. I was different to this boyfriend as I was to another. And that's what I mean by "fit." While my flaws are my own, certain people bring out certain qualities. The right "fit" of two people SHOULD (but not always do) accentuate the BEST out of both parties. Weaknesses are compensated by the other person's strengths. No matter how much you may adore someone, if they don't fit, they don't fit. You can turn the wheels of time around all you want, but there's a good chance you'll be revisiting the same situations in exactly the same way.

Sad, but true.

Three little pigs

Last time I said I was going to continue this rant after a nap. I did not take a two week long nap.

I won't lie...I kind of don't want to keep writing about this. I found it to be greatly therapeutic when the wound was still fresh, but now I just feel like I'm digging and trying to recall what I felt seemingly years ago. But I feel like someone, somewhere, at some time will benefit from this. Maybe even me. Especially because I haven't even addressed the REAL reason why I started writing about the break up to begin with. And I dare not leave this in such a tattered mess.

..........................................................................................................................................

I cried, though not much. I mean, I know people who CRY-cry. Like, they're trying to exorcise the devil out of them with absurd guttural noises and excessive fluids. I just sat on my bed, hugged a sweater he left behind, and quite literally looked "sadface." At some point though, I caught myself thinking about just how upset I was. I was analyzing MYSELF during this low point in my life, wondering whether or not I'm being logical. I wondered why I was crying. I wondered whether or not I should be crying.

It's funny how easily people set aside logic and reason when they're being overly emotional. Sometimes you'll find yourself crying and you just keep fucking crying because you don't know what else to do. It's like 'Oh hell, my face is already disgusting and god knows I'm not going anywhere any time soon...might as well keep on fucking crying because I am oh-so-sad.' If you really think about it, it's a bit of wasted energy and time. When has crying ever done you any good? ESPECIALLY when you're crying alone?! No one's there to pay attention to your crying. And even if there was someone there, it's not like they can really do a damn thing to help your situation. But for some reason, our bodies are wired to do...THAT...when we're upset. I think it's bullshit.

I wish I could tell you that I stopped crying, but I didn't. I was an on and off faucet for a week. Seemingly everything reminds you of this person. It could be a piece of lint on the ground, and suddenly you're wondering if the lint came from you or is it yet another piece of them that they left behind. Constantly, it was a struggle between wanting that person to just disappear and be forgotten to wanting to hold on to any scrap that can still hold the two of us together. I felt sorry for myself.

But more than anything, I was angry at myself. The end of a relationship can make you question everything, and I mean absolutely EVERYTHING, about the whole thing. And since I couldn't talk to him about it, I was to draw my own conclusions about it. And since no one thing actually broke us up, there wasn't a defined reason (cheating, prison term, incest, etc etc) that I could focus on. Unfortunately, I convinced myself that I only had myself to blame. The relationship died because of me. I single handedly destroyed any and all potential of a beautiful, perfect relat---

OOOOHHHH HEELLLLLLLZZZZ NO. Wait wait...let's take a moment here. I did believe this (more or less). But I can not even DIGNIFY that ridiculous thought anymore by writing more about it. So much so, that I'm gonna go ahead and put this thing on pause...

The second banana.

...So I lied and this took me longer than expected. 'Scooze me.

We broke up for numerous reasons, but if I'm gonna be a smartass (and of course I will be), I can say we broke up for one reason: we just didn't fit. That statement alone is so heavy and so questionable. How is that possible?! How do you fit one day but not another? How come it took this long to figure that out?

He once told me that he knew upon meeting someone whether or not he was going to like them. I fell in that batch. And for some reason, I knew I would like him too. As with any exciting new relationship, we lost hours of sleep every night for probably a month because we were simply too excited to sleep. We'd wake up, peek at the other person, and smile just knowing they were there. Even though we've experienced it before with another person, it always feels like a whole new vacation with a whole new surprise itinerary lined up. Those are the days I clung on to the most. The days of innocence--when the idea of even fighting with this man seemed so absurd and so impossible. And since you already know the ending to this story, I think I can tell you--those days did eventually end.

So...we fit. Then we stopped fitting. Instead of fitting, we fought. Strangely enough, come to think of it, we never really bickered. But we fought. There were few battles, but many wars. At the very end of things, he said "We're like a Mediterranean couple. So passionate." When we were happy, we were giddy and ecstatic. But when we weren't, we were angry, frustrated, and sharpening utensils into shivs. It wasn't really that we disagreed on anything. We just didn't know how to fight. You may ask...how do you fight if you don't disagree then? The fight wouldn't even occur, right? You would think. And so would I. And maybe in a month you can ask me and I'll be able to give you a sufficient answer, but for now, all I can do is say that that just didn't happen with us. We did agree on most things. Yet, we fought.

When we broke up, I tried to replay every fight I had with him in my mind. I recalled the things we both said. The hand gestures and facial expressions. But I could NOT recall the way I felt. I obviously was upset at that time, but I couldn't RECALL that feeling anymore. I'd look back on each fight and wonder, "What was I so upset about?" I could figure it out logically...much like when you're talking to a friend about their relationship issues. But I couldn't feel that same frustration anymore. All I kept thinking was, "I wish that never happened. I wish I could change things now."

Because with each fight we had, we weakened the relationship. The prongs that fit the outlet were getting worn and beaten up. We felt the weight of it all, and as more and more cracks formed, the more fragile and easily irritated both of us became. But we were too stubborn to give up. We remembered the great days and both wanted to achieve those days again. And even though one of those great days may have happened just a week before, it was easily forgotten. Instead, all we could recall were the fights after fights after fights.

And so it ended. Mutually. I knew I had to go home and see all of his things gone. I knew I would have to stay there and know that he wasn't coming back. He wasn't coming home. Of course I cried. I couldn't understand how within hours my life was completely toppled over and I was the only one there to pick up the mess.

I just wanted him back. Please?

...Continued after my nap...

The first piece of pie.

So I've been missing. This blog was put on the back back burner, but for the last few months, I've attempted to write several times. Just couldn't quite put anything worthwhile down. Either things don't really "happen" to me when I'm dating someone, or perhaps I just don't notice as often. I believe I'm a bit more observant of my surroundings when I'm alone though, understandably, so all those delicious little Tenderloin incidents won't usually go unnoticed. Unless I notice, then purposefully try to forget what I saw. Which happens. Often. This place is not for the weak. But I laugh or at least awkwardly chuckle in the face of danger.

But now things are different. I'm back on this thing because--you guessed it--I'm single again. Single. As if I were anything but one singular person. How strange. But after 5 and a half months of unsingleness, it has come to a plummeting end. (It, being an exclusive relationship with another human, if you haven't guessed.) I've realized a few things. And I'm still trying to figure some things out. I'm hoping that by the end of this post, I will have learned yet another thing. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

I will first and foremost say that my ex-boyfriend is a great person. Any anger that I may (or may not, who knows how feisty I feel today?!) express is definitely not directed towards him. I'm not even sure what I'm going to write. But I feel like I should. Not for closure. Not for sympathy. Not for any other term Dr. Phil might encourage me to "feel." I'm writing because I want to. And that's what today's story is all about, boys and girls.

"It" happened last Wednesday, so as you can imagine, this is still a fresh wound that needs licking. And lick I shall. At one of my low points, I actually sat in front of my computer, thought for a moment, and Googled: "how to deal with a broken heart." (This is one of those times that my honesty will inevitably lead to my absolute embarrassment and shamefaceness.) As one (me included) expected, I got nothing. Nothing worthwhile, anyway. What exactly was I looking for anyhow? As if there was something that somebody wrote on the "Internets" will rescue me from the overwhelmingly nauseating roller coaster that shifted me from anger, to pain, to sorrow, to self hatred, to nostalgia, to anxiety, etc etc etc. Almost everyone's experienced a break up before, so I will spare you. But I suppose my desperation in turning to Google for a remedy was because it has been too long since I've felt what I felt. How long is too long? If we're talking actual time, honestly, not that long. But since the LAST break up I had, I thought I had changed. I thought I was immune. I would frequently date someone and if it didn't work out, I often shrugged, laughed, told my friends, and said "ON TO THE NEXT ONE." I found a way to simply not care. It was kinda a game to me. And if you don't care about the game and see it as playing Candyland with a blind kid, even if you lose, it's really not a big deal. (Perhaps that's not the right metaphor...)

This wasn't Candyland though. I don't take the term "boyfriend" very lightly, so this was kind of a big deal to me. This IS a big deal to me. (Buuuut I'm gonna go ahead and keep using the past tense, otherwise I'm just going to get confused.) This was my third real relationship. And with each one I had, there is always the thought of "He could be it. This could be it." Well, now we know it isn't and wasn't.

...Continued tonight...

Nothing special

I'm just so excited about getting back on this thing. It's ridiculous. Nerdtastic.