In an effort to (somewhat regularly) update my blog, I suppose another update is due. Not everything has calmed down yet, but the inevitable march of time is forcing me to slowly tick off my "to do" lists. I just recently finished a computer graphics final (as of 20 minutes ago) and now only officially have two projects left to finish: a feature writing article and a photography project. Hopefully all will go well and that I'll finish my article tonight (or at least early morning on Thursday). I will most definitely probably absolutely need a drink tonight before plunging into the rest of my projects so maybe you'll see me on a bar stool near you. But only for a drink (or two). Then onto other projects.
It seems as if I shouldn't feel so hassled by having three classes at community college, but not only are these laborious classes, my side writing jobs are taking longer than expected to complete. Despite blogging being seemingly formless and "easy" to write, topics aren't always the easiest to come up with. I have been doing my Gridskipping, but have also recently added on SFist. While Gridskipper feels so national and large that I can hide behind its vastness, SFist is so intimate and well-read here in San Francisco that the comments feel more snarky, more sarcastic and I often find myself wrestling over what to include (or not). A recent example is a recap of the Yelp! party I wrote, in which there were some questionable captions placed beneath pictures of a scantily clad woman. Personally, I hate it when writers (bloggers?) personally address any comments left on the site, so I've saved the rebuttals for my personal blog. First off, those captions were courtesy of my editor. They were a bit meaner than I would've liked, but I didn't find them completely distasteful until the dreaded commentary. Nowhere did I (or my editor) state that the woman was a stripper. In fact, she is a burlesque dancer, meaning you see neither tit nor tat. The whole thing was completely blown out of proportion that my editor re-edited the post and changed the header picture to something more neutral.
Other than that, everything's been going great. I did a few posts on Gridskipper that I'm proud of, particularly Dating the Ex and Crappy Bar Crowds. I'm not so self-centered that I like to promote all the crap that I'm writing, but I have to say that I'm proud of these articles; it's been such a tough few weeks that I'm surprised that I actually got these articles going and readable. Not to mention, barely edited (hurrah!) -- meaning that the red pen of my editors was scantly used. Despite the stress, I managed to pull through in a clutch and it turned out pretty well. Awe. Some.
So what else does one do when they're stressed? Work hard, yes. Play harder, hell yes. For those privy to my Facebook/MySpace--yes, I am a member of those atrocities, I weep for myself and others--I'm sure you have seen my brand spanking (if you know what I mean) profile pic courtesy of the Yelp holiday party. Last Friday was another holiday party that I attended and was rocked due to the awesomeness of J.Ma and Lor. Let's just say alcohol was present, lap dances were had (but not given by me), and iPod fondling happened. I also met the awesomest cab driver ever, who knew every address in the city, I shit you not. Once I found out this amazing ability, in my drunkenness I decided to test him on addresses. I give him an address, he gives me the cross street. After giving him two addresses I knew by heart (apartment address, old work address) and he gave me the correct cross streets, I yelled out:
Fuck you! You are the awesomest cab driver ever!!
Le sigh. If only I had taken down his name. I will forever remember him, though.
Rock on, Address-Knowing Cab Driver Guy. Rock on.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Breaking Old Habits, Starting New Ones
Have you ever felt your life spinning out of control, but when trying to figure out why you can't really pinpoint it? The stress really just becoming an amalgamation of deadlines, problems and annoyances that have no start or finish? The usual routine of separating out and troubleshooting every problem becoming near impossible?
That's how it's been lately. It's this feeling that suffering doesn't have to be this total, but I'm making it worse. I had a little retail therapy followed by cleaning therapy, which has helped somewhat. Cleaning in your new black hoodie can do wonders. But now I'm looking for another vent and Blogger was sitting here, and now I'm writing. Give me some time and stress and procrastination will provide a new post.
I've been reaching boiling point and I know the bf feels the same way this week too. Last week was my D-day and I turned in my Berkeley applications for graduate school. Although I thought I was moving towards the deadline at a good pace, writing my essays and preparing letters of recommendation, I still found myself staying up until 4 AM in the morning writing every day the week prior to the due date. Everything I wrote seemed corny, but how else is one supposed to seriously answer questions about what life experiences qualify you for Berkeley? In 700 words or less, how can you sell yourself into being the most viable candidate? Anything short of writing out my essay in blood seemed in order. But I "survived" and now I am looking forward to (ha!) preparing my other applications for the other schools.
So, like a dumb shit, I thought that the weekend after my application was due would be the perfect time to schedule in something fun: scuba diving lessons. Uhh, I don't think so. Imagine a 9 AM - 6 PM class consisting of 3 hours in a classroom and five hours in a pool wearing 6 mm thick wet suits with breathing equipment, ginormous tanks of air and a completely different vocab revolving around breathing underwater? The classroom lessons scaring you enough to have thoughts of "decompression sickness" or "the bends" running through your head as you ascend from the surface to the bottom of the pool we were learning from. Don't descend too fast, don't ascend fast either. Equalize your ears. Keep track of your air. Learn new hand signals. What's the hand signal for being out of air? Hands crossed over your chest, fake wrapped around your throat as you pretend to gag and kick about? No? You want me to "rescue" my 6 foot boyfriend and pull both of us across the pool? Sure. You want to follow that up with a full week of writing deadlines and class deadlines with no room to rest? Why not?
So, beyond the stuff that's going on, what's the old habit I broke? My cell phone. Yes, ladies and gentleman I have broken my cell phone and therefore sent myself on a one-way wagon to Amishville. It's so weird to not have a phone that I swear I'm hearing phantom phone rings while driving my car or when alone in my apartment. My left pants pocket still feels like I have a cell phone sitting in it. I am in fucking withdrawal, people. So much so that I have squirreled away most of my day on the internet checking my Facebook and Gridskipper like a fiend. It's the cell phone oversensitivity that is really making me question the necessity of having a phone in the first place. I'm actually considering getting only a Firefly phone [google it, I'm too lazy to put in a link] for emergency use and nothing else. I have an apartment phone, that should be enough yeah? Le sigh.
As for the new habit? I've re-started smoking. I had occasional cigarettes before, but now I have a complete pack that I am just blowing straight through. When I'm walking, I have a cigarette. Stressed, I have a cigarette. If I need a break, I have a cigarette. Stepping outside for some gum just isn't the same. Augh. I need some healthier habits.
That's how it's been lately. It's this feeling that suffering doesn't have to be this total, but I'm making it worse. I had a little retail therapy followed by cleaning therapy, which has helped somewhat. Cleaning in your new black hoodie can do wonders. But now I'm looking for another vent and Blogger was sitting here, and now I'm writing. Give me some time and stress and procrastination will provide a new post.
I've been reaching boiling point and I know the bf feels the same way this week too. Last week was my D-day and I turned in my Berkeley applications for graduate school. Although I thought I was moving towards the deadline at a good pace, writing my essays and preparing letters of recommendation, I still found myself staying up until 4 AM in the morning writing every day the week prior to the due date. Everything I wrote seemed corny, but how else is one supposed to seriously answer questions about what life experiences qualify you for Berkeley? In 700 words or less, how can you sell yourself into being the most viable candidate? Anything short of writing out my essay in blood seemed in order. But I "survived" and now I am looking forward to (ha!) preparing my other applications for the other schools.
So, like a dumb shit, I thought that the weekend after my application was due would be the perfect time to schedule in something fun: scuba diving lessons. Uhh, I don't think so. Imagine a 9 AM - 6 PM class consisting of 3 hours in a classroom and five hours in a pool wearing 6 mm thick wet suits with breathing equipment, ginormous tanks of air and a completely different vocab revolving around breathing underwater? The classroom lessons scaring you enough to have thoughts of "decompression sickness" or "the bends" running through your head as you ascend from the surface to the bottom of the pool we were learning from. Don't descend too fast, don't ascend fast either. Equalize your ears. Keep track of your air. Learn new hand signals. What's the hand signal for being out of air? Hands crossed over your chest, fake wrapped around your throat as you pretend to gag and kick about? No? You want me to "rescue" my 6 foot boyfriend and pull both of us across the pool? Sure. You want to follow that up with a full week of writing deadlines and class deadlines with no room to rest? Why not?
So, beyond the stuff that's going on, what's the old habit I broke? My cell phone. Yes, ladies and gentleman I have broken my cell phone and therefore sent myself on a one-way wagon to Amishville. It's so weird to not have a phone that I swear I'm hearing phantom phone rings while driving my car or when alone in my apartment. My left pants pocket still feels like I have a cell phone sitting in it. I am in fucking withdrawal, people. So much so that I have squirreled away most of my day on the internet checking my Facebook and Gridskipper like a fiend. It's the cell phone oversensitivity that is really making me question the necessity of having a phone in the first place. I'm actually considering getting only a Firefly phone [google it, I'm too lazy to put in a link] for emergency use and nothing else. I have an apartment phone, that should be enough yeah? Le sigh.
As for the new habit? I've re-started smoking. I had occasional cigarettes before, but now I have a complete pack that I am just blowing straight through. When I'm walking, I have a cigarette. Stressed, I have a cigarette. If I need a break, I have a cigarette. Stepping outside for some gum just isn't the same. Augh. I need some healthier habits.
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