"... no matter how you roll it up in rice and make it into sushi."
Where did that come from?
Hailey is reading through her old journals and she just reminded me that I went through an incognito phase in high school. My uniform: huge sunglasses, a scarf wrapped around my head (sometimes covering my mouth), and a sweatshirt with the hood up. I don't remember what inspired this bit o' fashion innovation, but I'm thinking of bringing it back.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Seattle, WA
I actually think I could move here.
The weather is strange and rainforest-esque; warm but damp during the day, with clouds billowing through the sky, alternating between hiding and exposing the sun. Hailey and I walked home at 4am this morning, and I was comfortable in a skirt.
We went to see Tilly and the Wall last night. I have now developed a bitter crush on the bassist for Birdwatchers United, one of my many new loves in Seattle. I don't know why I develop crushes so easily; it's an actual character flaw.
The weather is strange and rainforest-esque; warm but damp during the day, with clouds billowing through the sky, alternating between hiding and exposing the sun. Hailey and I walked home at 4am this morning, and I was comfortable in a skirt.
We went to see Tilly and the Wall last night. I have now developed a bitter crush on the bassist for Birdwatchers United, one of my many new loves in Seattle. I don't know why I develop crushes so easily; it's an actual character flaw.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Where the hell is Pinole, CA?
I would never have been able to answer that question before 3:30pm today.
As a claustrophobic, I very much fear situations in which I am stuck. I am terrified of airplanes, elevators, too-small rings, and shoes that are too tight for my toes to wiggle. It turns out, I get anxious when I'm large-scale stuck also.
On the drive back to San Francisco, my car overheated and broke down. I sat on the side of the road in Rodeo (which is apparently not pronounced like the place where cowboys congregate) for an hour before my car was cool enough to drive to a gas station. Two quarts of motor oil, a gallon of water, and two miles of driving later, I am sitting in a Peet's Coffee in Pinole, CA, scared to continue driving, but also fearing my inertia.
After a flat tire on Christmas Eve, and overheating on the 4th of July, one could conclude that I have bad holiday driving luck.
To change topic, I found out that I don't need a Visa to get into Berlin. All I need to do is renew my passport before I leave, then apply for a residence permit when I arrive. I leave at 10:45am on the 10th of August. I was kind of banking on some sort of Visa trouble to prevent me from leaving, but apparently it's really happening.
In some ways, I think I've never been more ready to pick up and start over.
After more than a year in one place, I get too antsy to stick around. However, I feel like once I get to Germany, I'll never come back. That may just be because of current circumstances; right now I'm going through this series of issues that I really can't discuss with anyone. It feels so exhibitionist to write something like that online, but what is a blog if not exhibitionism?
As a claustrophobic, I very much fear situations in which I am stuck. I am terrified of airplanes, elevators, too-small rings, and shoes that are too tight for my toes to wiggle. It turns out, I get anxious when I'm large-scale stuck also.
On the drive back to San Francisco, my car overheated and broke down. I sat on the side of the road in Rodeo (which is apparently not pronounced like the place where cowboys congregate) for an hour before my car was cool enough to drive to a gas station. Two quarts of motor oil, a gallon of water, and two miles of driving later, I am sitting in a Peet's Coffee in Pinole, CA, scared to continue driving, but also fearing my inertia.
After a flat tire on Christmas Eve, and overheating on the 4th of July, one could conclude that I have bad holiday driving luck.
To change topic, I found out that I don't need a Visa to get into Berlin. All I need to do is renew my passport before I leave, then apply for a residence permit when I arrive. I leave at 10:45am on the 10th of August. I was kind of banking on some sort of Visa trouble to prevent me from leaving, but apparently it's really happening.
In some ways, I think I've never been more ready to pick up and start over.
After more than a year in one place, I get too antsy to stick around. However, I feel like once I get to Germany, I'll never come back. That may just be because of current circumstances; right now I'm going through this series of issues that I really can't discuss with anyone. It feels so exhibitionist to write something like that online, but what is a blog if not exhibitionism?
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
California's capitol.
As we drove into Sacramento, Ayumi and I noticed a distinct orangey-gray haze in the sky, threatening to overcome us. Was it just our respective imaginations? The delusion of our reluctance to leave San Francisco? No, just the smoke from a thousand* forest fires, all intent on ruining the city and its inhabitant's lungs.
So now I'm here. There is ash in the air, baking in the 90 degree weather. I have a sore throat. Not only that, but I trapped a junebug last night, between a piece of pottery and an Arrested Development DVD case, and who knew a baby junebug could escape from that? So now I'm hot, in pain, and creeped out. Seriously, bugs should not be able to bench press that much.
*the amount of forest fires is courtesy of Brenda, Deniz, and Joe's know-it-all neighbor Sean.
So now I'm here. There is ash in the air, baking in the 90 degree weather. I have a sore throat. Not only that, but I trapped a junebug last night, between a piece of pottery and an Arrested Development DVD case, and who knew a baby junebug could escape from that? So now I'm hot, in pain, and creeped out. Seriously, bugs should not be able to bench press that much.
*the amount of forest fires is courtesy of Brenda, Deniz, and Joe's know-it-all neighbor Sean.
What we do.
We start out riding bikes around, around, around the panhandle as we try to decide what to do with the night, one of us always yelling over our shoulder at the other, barely able to hear each other. After brief mention of the beach (it's something I always suggest), we decide fuck the bikes, throw them in the back of my truck, head to Twin Peaks. You drive -- I get performance anxiety driving with other people in the car, plus I want to see what you look like driving stick shift. Halfway up, we're both scared because the fog is too thick to see, and actually it's my dad's car so we turn around and say let's go to the beach after all. Might as well take advantage of a warmish night? Armed with a six pack, you humor me and ride to the beach like I suggested in the first place, lock up, carry the bottles to the wake, shoes off, pants rolled up. I hate getting my rolled up pants wet, but I hide my discomfort because it seems so excitingly carefree not to mind. I could go for a tall can, I think, and some cigarettes, so we walk back to Safeway and stop to make out somewhere on the way. Not the sickeningly romantic beach, but somewhere lame, like the Safeway parking lot or the windmill where guys blow each other as soon as the sun sets. I make a stupid joke and you laugh and tell me you think I'm pretty. I say, of course it's always nice to hear that and now do I have to admit I'm just a romantic at heart?
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