It's hard to write about what you did for the day when you pretty much slept, went to work all day, and come home. Except, a few things happened in between. For instace, there is a trace of a biological clock being created. I'm waking up at around 730 or so even when I don't have to. But, me being the paranoid worrywart that I am, I awake with my heart pounding through my chest thinking that I'm going to be late for work. My adventure with O G Kev truly tramatized me.
On the bus ride to work, I think of one thing. My friends. I'm almost constatly reminded of them. I'm always craing some of Courtney's, the cooking goddess, food and also Vinh's spaghetti. I almost constantly wear the jacket my dear friend Kelsey made for me, which bears my favorite number, 86, on it. My favorite band (I think...there are so many of them) U2, reminds me of Kim and Jesse, who, to me, are the definition of love. Texting any long conversation with anyone somewhat reminds me of consoling my friend Laura, whom I love dearly. And sometimes I can catch the scent of incense that oddly smells of my friend Amber's house. Ect... But these small reminders of home are comforting, but tie me down somewhat. They anchor me to who I was before this journey and are somewhat of a definition of who I used to be. I almost relied my happiness on friends. I surrounded myself with them constantly so that I wouldn't have to confront the daily problems and wants in my own life. I want so desperatlely to be a part of other's lives that sometimes I sacifice my own. But I don't want to completely forget about them. So I have decided that they are a mobile anchor. Something I can carry with me, that doesn't hinder me but helps and supports me; they give me the oppertunity to stop and slow down, when I choose. I love them all.
Work was fine...Until the end. At the beginning of my shift I go up to someone because, thanks to my expert training,I have no idea where I'm supposed to go or do. They tell me and even draw out on a map specifically where I need to go. Relieved, I go about my work, happy as a clam as I help guests go places and pin trade with all the Disney fanatics that will pounce on you if you're wearing a lanyard with Disney Pins on it. It's funny and a tad rediculous. So at the end of my shift, I finish my trash run in my area rather quickly. So, for about another half an hour, I wander around not knowing what to do since the Custodial trailer is locked and no one is around. Meanwhile, the walkie/radio/phone thingy they gave me, that they never taught me how to use, is beeping incessantly with alerts. What the hell is an alert and what do I do about it? These questions infuriate me to no end.
I finally figure out how to talk on the damn thing after another custodian calls me and asks me to do my trash run. I tell them I already have and they inform me that I need to do it again because some trash cans, clear on the other side of the park, are full. Apperantly I had been doing the wrong section the entire day. So not only do I have to do that trash run, but it hasn't been done all day. So they rush a few people to help me out, because God forbid we be like four minutes over on payroll. The managers come up to me and I inform them of the situation. After they talk to me, I feel kind of like a dumbass, that can't do a simple janitor's job. They told me that this was the second time (yesterdy there was a mix up with the bathrooms. they told me two restrooms I had to take care of and apperantly there were three others I was supposed to be doing as well) that I misread their information and it was important for me to get the right information. So, pretty sure they hate me now, I go home thoroughly bruised.
When I arrive home, I immediately make my mind's medicine...Ramen. I cook it the normal way and then I decide I need to do something with those eggs before the expire in a week. I attempt to hard-boil them with the assistance of my cooking guru Courtney. However, after following her instrutions (I think), I fail. The shells begin to crack so I assume their done. I take them out, and check one to see if it's edible. Apperantly, eggs are not incredible or edible, much to the contrary of their popular commercials. The yolk is a golden gel inside the perfectly fine egg whites. I put them in boiling water longer and check them. No dice, it's the same. Now I'm sure this wasn't Courtney's fault. How could a kid who can barely preform a janitor's duties, possibly follow instructions to boil an egg? In any case, obviously egg's and I were not meant to be on this trip together.
So I go almost instantly to bed. Infuriated...which is not good. For it is said that one should never go to bed angry. If only I had that choice.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Ears Earned? Check.
I had work at 1145. At least I thought I did. No I did. Wait...did I? Yes. I couldn't remember exactly. I was fairly certain. But it was getting late (sad that I was beginning to think 7AM is late... I really am changing), so I decided I had to get up and get on the computer and make sure. The computer takes forever to boot up which upsets me because I can feel myself becoming more and more awake the longer it takes; probably because of my long history of violence and short temper with technology. I fear I may not be able to go back to sleep. So I find that I was right and I work at 1145. Fantastic... so I go back to sleep, by the grace of God, and get some much needed R&R before work.
I do much of my thinking on the bus. Today I was thinking about my reaccuring dream about my alterntive reality of Harry Potter. The way it works, is that I live in the world of Harry Potter. But it exists in everday life. Things translate differently in this world. Like wands are screwdrivers or drumsticks, and the people in my life play the characters of Harry Potter. For instance, when I see someone far away I see the Harry Potter character, and as they come closer to me. Like, I see Ron, but as he walks towards me he becomes Vinh, my best guy friend in real life and I see Molly Weasley but it's really my Aunt Robin. Anyways, I was thinking about how much better my life would be if it were real (in case you can't tell...I'm a huge Harry Potter freak. I think Hogwarts is real...I just didn't get a letter...yeah).
Work was work. It was actually was my first day without a trainer. I've "earned my ears" so that's...good.It was fun to walk around and help guests, but the bathroom proved to still be unglamorous. I actually broke down during my lunch break and bought a piece of pizza. I was really trying to conserve money...but ah well. It was two dollars and it was huge. So I figured I was okay... It was delicous though. I enjoyed it throughly.
When I get home, I snack on crackers and such. I make plans for the raincheck trip to Wendy's with Dayna. She comes by and picks me up and we add Wal-Mart to the itenerary so I can introduce her to Palm Leaves, my Floridian esacape pastry. I don't know how she feels about it yet, but I hope she loves them as I do. We went to Wendy's and had my long awaited Frosty. It wasn't all that amazing, but satisfying enough. We talk for a while. And I go home.
I do much of my thinking on the bus. Today I was thinking about my reaccuring dream about my alterntive reality of Harry Potter. The way it works, is that I live in the world of Harry Potter. But it exists in everday life. Things translate differently in this world. Like wands are screwdrivers or drumsticks, and the people in my life play the characters of Harry Potter. For instance, when I see someone far away I see the Harry Potter character, and as they come closer to me. Like, I see Ron, but as he walks towards me he becomes Vinh, my best guy friend in real life and I see Molly Weasley but it's really my Aunt Robin. Anyways, I was thinking about how much better my life would be if it were real (in case you can't tell...I'm a huge Harry Potter freak. I think Hogwarts is real...I just didn't get a letter...yeah).
Work was work. It was actually was my first day without a trainer. I've "earned my ears" so that's...good.It was fun to walk around and help guests, but the bathroom proved to still be unglamorous. I actually broke down during my lunch break and bought a piece of pizza. I was really trying to conserve money...but ah well. It was two dollars and it was huge. So I figured I was okay... It was delicous though. I enjoyed it throughly.
When I get home, I snack on crackers and such. I make plans for the raincheck trip to Wendy's with Dayna. She comes by and picks me up and we add Wal-Mart to the itenerary so I can introduce her to Palm Leaves, my Floridian esacape pastry. I don't know how she feels about it yet, but I hope she loves them as I do. We went to Wendy's and had my long awaited Frosty. It wasn't all that amazing, but satisfying enough. We talk for a while. And I go home.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Today was...
Today was... Today I had work at 10. Which would hve been really plesant if I didn't have to get up at 630 to pay O G Kev. So I did, and he thanked me and I went back to sleep, which is a miracle in itself because I have rarely been able to do that. So I get up and go to work.
Work may perhaps be a bad environment for me. No, it probably is. It' not that it's a bad job, or I absolutely hate it, but it makes me think; which is the most dangerous thing to do...give me time to think. I overthink things constantly and dwell upon things for too long. But these thoughts at work eventually lead to a series of meltdowns in which I beat myself up and question everything I do. For instance, I start thinking why I ever came down here? And why I'm allowing myself to wake up and be a janitor every day? And why I'm such a loser? And why I'm totally unsocial? I never come up with any answers, but always end up on the verge of tears. But I have to maintain myself in the prescence of the thousands of human beings that surround me my whole shift. But anyways, work ends. It always ends, and I need to keep that in mind for future meltdowns.
So I get home. And My day immediately gets better, because I call the numbr on my pay card. It's my first pay day. I was expecting like twenty dollars from the little work I did my first week. Here I get one-hundered and thirteen dollars. So I'm thinking "bitchin'!" not remebering that next week they take out double rent. So we'll see what my financial future has in store for me. When I get changed, I go out of my bedroom to find my roomies in conversation.
My roomates have to be from another planet. Or perhaps I am the one from another planet and I'm only now realizing that I don't fit in with my own species. Literally, all they do is chase every avaliable, and unavailable, girl around here and when they're not, they're talking to each other. And they try to include me in it and I always reply as awkwardly as possible, unintentionally. When one of them approach me telling me about the new girl they've slept with and I usually reply "yeah...you go...dude?..." I wouldn't have much of an issue with this if they all didn't talk about the girlfriends they're screwing over. One of my roomates has a pattern: he talks about a sex story with his girlfriend and then a sex story about some girl he met only hours before.
All this occurs while I'm cooking, if you can call it that. On my first trip to Wal-Mart, I got a thing of eggs, thinking there was a lot of options for eggs. However, the cookware here can hardly fry an egg properly. I thought the problem might have been no cooking spray so I went and got some. That wasn't it, because I tried again and I got the same egg slog I got the first time. Then I thought of an omlette. So I try and I end up with what seems to be the forgotten love-child of and omlette and scrambled eggs. It was a lump of cooked eggs. So I cook some ramen, not knowing what to do with my orphan eggs. I prepare it the usual way, except I decide the broth is too good to just pour out so I keep some in the bowl. Then I decide to rip up the eggs and mix it in the ramen soup. I add salt and pepper and a dash of garlic powder. I have created the world's oddest, but suprisingly delicious bowl of...stuff.
Afterwards, I make plans to go out for Frosties (from Wendy's) with Dayna, my Potter pal. I've been craving a forsty lately. So I wait, and I wait some more... For a few hours. One of my roomates has a girl over, suprise surprise. So I'm in my bedroom waiting for them to retire to their bedroom. So I start taking a nap. I wake up a few minutes later and Dayna says she's done with what she ways doing now and asks if I'm still up to it. I say yes, and go back to...resting my eyes, thinking she'll be a while. I sleep through her being here. I felt terrible and I apologized to her when I saw the five or so missed calls from her.
Today was average (How's that for suspense?).
Work may perhaps be a bad environment for me. No, it probably is. It' not that it's a bad job, or I absolutely hate it, but it makes me think; which is the most dangerous thing to do...give me time to think. I overthink things constantly and dwell upon things for too long. But these thoughts at work eventually lead to a series of meltdowns in which I beat myself up and question everything I do. For instance, I start thinking why I ever came down here? And why I'm allowing myself to wake up and be a janitor every day? And why I'm such a loser? And why I'm totally unsocial? I never come up with any answers, but always end up on the verge of tears. But I have to maintain myself in the prescence of the thousands of human beings that surround me my whole shift. But anyways, work ends. It always ends, and I need to keep that in mind for future meltdowns.
So I get home. And My day immediately gets better, because I call the numbr on my pay card. It's my first pay day. I was expecting like twenty dollars from the little work I did my first week. Here I get one-hundered and thirteen dollars. So I'm thinking "bitchin'!" not remebering that next week they take out double rent. So we'll see what my financial future has in store for me. When I get changed, I go out of my bedroom to find my roomies in conversation.
My roomates have to be from another planet. Or perhaps I am the one from another planet and I'm only now realizing that I don't fit in with my own species. Literally, all they do is chase every avaliable, and unavailable, girl around here and when they're not, they're talking to each other. And they try to include me in it and I always reply as awkwardly as possible, unintentionally. When one of them approach me telling me about the new girl they've slept with and I usually reply "yeah...you go...dude?..." I wouldn't have much of an issue with this if they all didn't talk about the girlfriends they're screwing over. One of my roomates has a pattern: he talks about a sex story with his girlfriend and then a sex story about some girl he met only hours before.
All this occurs while I'm cooking, if you can call it that. On my first trip to Wal-Mart, I got a thing of eggs, thinking there was a lot of options for eggs. However, the cookware here can hardly fry an egg properly. I thought the problem might have been no cooking spray so I went and got some. That wasn't it, because I tried again and I got the same egg slog I got the first time. Then I thought of an omlette. So I try and I end up with what seems to be the forgotten love-child of and omlette and scrambled eggs. It was a lump of cooked eggs. So I cook some ramen, not knowing what to do with my orphan eggs. I prepare it the usual way, except I decide the broth is too good to just pour out so I keep some in the bowl. Then I decide to rip up the eggs and mix it in the ramen soup. I add salt and pepper and a dash of garlic powder. I have created the world's oddest, but suprisingly delicious bowl of...stuff.
Afterwards, I make plans to go out for Frosties (from Wendy's) with Dayna, my Potter pal. I've been craving a forsty lately. So I wait, and I wait some more... For a few hours. One of my roomates has a girl over, suprise surprise. So I'm in my bedroom waiting for them to retire to their bedroom. So I start taking a nap. I wake up a few minutes later and Dayna says she's done with what she ways doing now and asks if I'm still up to it. I say yes, and go back to...resting my eyes, thinking she'll be a while. I sleep through her being here. I felt terrible and I apologized to her when I saw the five or so missed calls from her.
Today was average (How's that for suspense?).
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The Contemporary Saints of Today: A Cabbie and My Computer Programming Roomate
I had to work at 630AM today. So you already know bad things are coming. I did not get up, as you may have very well guessed. I mean I did wake up...at 610. I was completely frazzled. The sight of me, scurrying around my room with my heart beating a million miles a minute, pulse ringing in my ear, and me encanting profanities and hopeful pleas to God, is truly an amusing thing to behold. So once I race out the door with most of what I needed, I check the bus schedule. There's one that comes at 615 to get me there by 645, but I really don't want to be late and it's already 615 and it's not there yet. In distress, I start...almost running in circles with frantic pacing. I see the cab, well, technically, the minivan with the work taxi magnetized to it. I go to him in deseration, and as Liam, and ask him how fast he can get me to Hollywood Studios. He claims ten minutes. I'm sold. But guess what I don't have. A wallet, and by wallet I mean the beat up, aquamarine blue-bordered Altoids tin holding my cards and money and everything. So I dash back to the apartment. But guess what I don't have...a key. I pound on the door with great fevor several times, the whole while pleading with my roomates to get up and open the door silently to myself. This is at 6 in the morning, mind you. So my saintly roomate, shout out to the unexplicably kind Evan (a computer programmer), opens the door rubbing his eyes. I thank him strongly. "No problem," he says confused and also as if he's going to faint from sleepiness. So I get upstairs and guess what I can't find? My wall-tin. Why? Because it's been in my pocket the whole time. I don't even have the time to be frustrated. I run back out the door.
So I get into the cab-van, and buckle up (good thing). The guy rips out of the place, much to my appreciation. He introduced himself saying that "they" called him O G; odd, because later he reveled his name to be Kevin. O G Kev drove like a madman and almost recked us about three or twelve times, knowing I was in a hurry. I wasn't complaining, in fact I was thanking God for giving me the worst cab driver ever.
We arrive at Hollywood Studios at 630 exactly. Amazed by: a) his timing and b) the fare ($20!), I pull out the tin. Guess what I don't have. Money. Granted, I had eight dollars in it, and I had left some leftover cash back at the apartment. I told him. He was shocked...no, mortified. I asked if I could pay him back some other time...no, pleaded. He took the eight dollars and got my contact inforomation. It was entirely too kind of him to not haul my sorry ass back where it belonged. I was so fortunate. Sorry, God. I meant to thank you for the best cab driver ever. I get out of the vehicle, after apologizing what had to be like a million times, and run off to work.
Now let me tell you about this run. I'm wearing cheapish cardboard dress shoes with sock that go about half way up the bottom of my foot because I picked a pair in a hurry. So as I run, the back of the shoe is tearing at the back of my heel/ankle (but they're Dr. Scholl's so I guess I'm gellin' as the blood trickles down my Achelies Heel). It sucks, but I just pretend it's not happening. Because if I don't act like I feel it, it's not real... I have the naviety of a two year old you'll soon realize. I actually clock in at 634, an amazing feat in my mind.
Work was fine, but a little boring. However, the shoes continue to rub up against the gash in my ankle and bloo seeps through the little amount of sock that is there. We actually sat around a lot of the time in the break room. I spent this time contemplating my humiliation and having a great time beating myself up with the audio of soap operas blaring in the background. I start thinking of the numerous ways in which to punish myself, and there was me again to back me up. "Ugh, we've been through this already. I thought you already discovered me, stupid...I mean...beautiful person... Okay, to reiterate, forgive yourself. Look, you were late and nothing happened. So you in debt to a cabbie. So what? He'll come around, what's he going to do? Refuse your money and punch you in the face? No. Calmarsi, ragazzo pazzo!...Be Te Dub, I love you. Catch ya later."
So work ends, and I get off the bus. I need to go to Wal-mart to get his money. Why? Because Wal-Mart is a magical gift from the Heavens, sent to give me the very air of joy(and heartache, poverty, and pain to small business owners, whom I send my sincerest condolances and apologizes). I text the cabbie to find out what ardous back alley meeting is going to have to go down in order to get this over and done with. He tells me no worries and that he'll be there same time tomorrow. Which, unfortunately, means I have to wake up at 630 to pay him even though I have work at 10 for once. But I guess that's karma. I suppose the world is just.
I wander around the store since I'm there, and I decide to give myself a treat since I've only been dying to have one since I got here. And what better place to get one, then at Wal-Mart. As I cross the bakery section, I see palm leaves and I get one. No, not the leaes from a tree, but a baked good. It's like a heart-shaped (I know, I don't get it either) crossiant with chocolate icing. Due to the name, I figure it's probably a Floridian delicacy. Probably not, but I'm not one to pass up an excuse to get a delicious-looking baked good (It's awesome. It will be a regular staple in my diet. Special trips will be made). My depreived sweet-tooth has been limited to a single roll of sugar cookie dough and put in exile otherwise and I will have no more of it.
After the store, I help a girl take her groceries back to her apartment and then go to Amanda's to chat for a bit with her and her roomates. I was illin' for some Frosty action from Wendy's, but I rememebered I had my palm leaves at home. Pause. I just overheard my roomates talking about how they're not big fans of the TV show Friends, but they love Frasier. I knew there was some deep underlying cause for not connecting with them.
So I've decided that no matter how horribly shitty a day can start, you can always turn it around. Because now I'm in a good mood and ready for tomorrow. Thanks to baked goods, random life blunders, and the everyday saints that God placed on the Earth.
So I get into the cab-van, and buckle up (good thing). The guy rips out of the place, much to my appreciation. He introduced himself saying that "they" called him O G; odd, because later he reveled his name to be Kevin. O G Kev drove like a madman and almost recked us about three or twelve times, knowing I was in a hurry. I wasn't complaining, in fact I was thanking God for giving me the worst cab driver ever.
We arrive at Hollywood Studios at 630 exactly. Amazed by: a) his timing and b) the fare ($20!), I pull out the tin. Guess what I don't have. Money. Granted, I had eight dollars in it, and I had left some leftover cash back at the apartment. I told him. He was shocked...no, mortified. I asked if I could pay him back some other time...no, pleaded. He took the eight dollars and got my contact inforomation. It was entirely too kind of him to not haul my sorry ass back where it belonged. I was so fortunate. Sorry, God. I meant to thank you for the best cab driver ever. I get out of the vehicle, after apologizing what had to be like a million times, and run off to work.
Now let me tell you about this run. I'm wearing cheapish cardboard dress shoes with sock that go about half way up the bottom of my foot because I picked a pair in a hurry. So as I run, the back of the shoe is tearing at the back of my heel/ankle (but they're Dr. Scholl's so I guess I'm gellin' as the blood trickles down my Achelies Heel). It sucks, but I just pretend it's not happening. Because if I don't act like I feel it, it's not real... I have the naviety of a two year old you'll soon realize. I actually clock in at 634, an amazing feat in my mind.
Work was fine, but a little boring. However, the shoes continue to rub up against the gash in my ankle and bloo seeps through the little amount of sock that is there. We actually sat around a lot of the time in the break room. I spent this time contemplating my humiliation and having a great time beating myself up with the audio of soap operas blaring in the background. I start thinking of the numerous ways in which to punish myself, and there was me again to back me up. "Ugh, we've been through this already. I thought you already discovered me, stupid...I mean...beautiful person... Okay, to reiterate, forgive yourself. Look, you were late and nothing happened. So you in debt to a cabbie. So what? He'll come around, what's he going to do? Refuse your money and punch you in the face? No. Calmarsi, ragazzo pazzo!...Be Te Dub, I love you. Catch ya later."
So work ends, and I get off the bus. I need to go to Wal-mart to get his money. Why? Because Wal-Mart is a magical gift from the Heavens, sent to give me the very air of joy(and heartache, poverty, and pain to small business owners, whom I send my sincerest condolances and apologizes). I text the cabbie to find out what ardous back alley meeting is going to have to go down in order to get this over and done with. He tells me no worries and that he'll be there same time tomorrow. Which, unfortunately, means I have to wake up at 630 to pay him even though I have work at 10 for once. But I guess that's karma. I suppose the world is just.
I wander around the store since I'm there, and I decide to give myself a treat since I've only been dying to have one since I got here. And what better place to get one, then at Wal-Mart. As I cross the bakery section, I see palm leaves and I get one. No, not the leaes from a tree, but a baked good. It's like a heart-shaped (I know, I don't get it either) crossiant with chocolate icing. Due to the name, I figure it's probably a Floridian delicacy. Probably not, but I'm not one to pass up an excuse to get a delicious-looking baked good (It's awesome. It will be a regular staple in my diet. Special trips will be made). My depreived sweet-tooth has been limited to a single roll of sugar cookie dough and put in exile otherwise and I will have no more of it.
After the store, I help a girl take her groceries back to her apartment and then go to Amanda's to chat for a bit with her and her roomates. I was illin' for some Frosty action from Wendy's, but I rememebered I had my palm leaves at home. Pause. I just overheard my roomates talking about how they're not big fans of the TV show Friends, but they love Frasier. I knew there was some deep underlying cause for not connecting with them.
So I've decided that no matter how horribly shitty a day can start, you can always turn it around. Because now I'm in a good mood and ready for tomorrow. Thanks to baked goods, random life blunders, and the everyday saints that God placed on the Earth.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Liam, Liz, and Life
I awoke at 635AM to get to work by 8. What awaits me? Cleaning bathrooms for about eight hours straight. I'm not going to respond postively or negatively about this, just state it as a fact. I didnt know what to do. I got to thinking about why I ever did this in the first place, and I was on the verge of breaking down (I'm a total spazz when it comes to my over reactive emotions). But let's fastforward a bit shall we, because this day does have a happy ending.
I get home at a loss of what I'm going to do with myself. During my meltdown, I thought of the serious Ramen that was going to go down once I got home. But I really wanted to go to some resturant that was new and delicious. Problem was, I didn't really have anyone to go with. I mean, I could have asked people to go, but I wasn't in the mood to drag anyone else into my misery, although I hear it does like company. So I decide the hell with it! I'm going alone.
So I did something I've never done before, but have always wanted to. Go to dinner by myself. The problem is...I'm probably the worst person to take to dinner without a plan. So, I take Liz with me. I couldn't fathom what sitting there in silence with nothing to do would have done to my soul and image; you know, because I have such a high reputation to uphold here... Anyways, so I take off, as Liam, with my copy of EAT PRAY LOVE. I head past Downtown (because Downtown is kind of a place where after you go a few times, it gets old real fast, with the exception of Ghirardelli of course), to the next stop the bus takes after. The location is a quaint little plaza with many resturants and shops. I wander up and down looking at my options. I'm horribly indecisive, as all close to me well understand. I actually take the time to walk way down the busy street to discover even more options. I'm in eating options hell.
As I walk, the most amazing thing happens. There's something uniquely...freeing? No...relaxing? Yes, and no...contented, about wandering around a city by yourself. As I walk, I don't know how to describe it, but it was as if I was breathing for the first time in my life. I could feel the air in my lungs fill and exhale. I'm smiling the whole time due to some odd, random giddy senstion of speninding the time to get to know myself, much like being on a first date. I was listening to my zune, and it kept giving me old, classic, feel-good, pump through you classic rock like Kiss, Poison, and Bruce Springsteen, as if comanding me to have a good time. So I'm rockin' out in these empty parking lots I'm crossing through, and I get to the other side of the...city. I look at some of my options and they're rather boring. So I head all the way back to the plaza. The invirgoation of classic rock and walking against traffic at night (on the sidewalk of course, I'm not that cool) sweeps through me as I dance down the busy route.
When I get close to the plaza, a slower song comes on, though oddly enough, classic rock. It's the song "Amazing" by Aerosmith. I start thinking of all the struggles and tripumphs I have while down here and I slowly step onto the plaza. The plaza is line with lots of small little fountains. Now I'm not one to pass up a corny movie montage moment so I kind of start running along with this song down the plaza, pass the fountains. As I come up to the main one, the one that has like a programed show in it, the song builds up to this cresendo and then pauses and starts again. The fountain, perfectly timed, stops and starts again with the music. Beautiful! I feel a sense of self, also a sense of God. And as I listen to the lyrics of this song, it's basically my theme song for this trip. No, it completely and utterly is.
So now I'm totally elatedand ready to eat. There was an Indian cuisine place that I thought would be a perfect backdrop to my reading of Liz's travels through India and I'd love to try something new. I walk in and the place is absolutely empty, tho it smelled (odd to the untrained, non-foodie, not that I've earned my status as a foodie yet, nose) kind of wonderful. A beautiful Indian woman greets me and I ask for a menu and survey it. It's rather costly, and I doubt they give discounts. Also, I'm in the mood for Mexican (particularly chips and salsa, my favorite food) and there's convientantly a resturant right across from it. So after I go there, I realize I had left my book at the Indian place so I travel (it's definitely a trip) back and then back again.
Okay so once I get there, I sit down. Again, my horrible indecisiveness gets the better of me...But hey, it's not my fault...there menu's too big. So I scan over the menu. It takes me forever to decide. Literally...I think the waitress was starting to get a little cheesed off. I was thinking of getting a kid's meal, which I often do and am constantly ridiculed for by my friends. The truth is two-fold. I do so because: a) I'm a jew (partialy literally, and in the racist sense) b) I have a rather small stomach ever since I lost a bunch of weight due to my bulemia, crack, pilates, and self-induced vomitting...I jest... it was diet and excercise. After the waitress comes again, I decide to just pick.
Dinner was scrum-diddily-umptous! First off, the salsa was some kind of black veggie salsa that was sweet and peppery. They're Splenda (how dare you use any other type of artificial sweetner!) was particularly swell as well. Now for dinner, I had Chicken Mole Enchiladas which are filled with garlic, onion, and savory, with salsa chicken covered in melted jack cheeses and the whole thing topped with a chipotle cream sauce. The sides were corn tomatillo that was sweet and spongy, and mouth-watering red rice. Also, there were refried beans, but taken to a whole new level by adding tiny, small crumbles of blue cheese to the top. Seriously, in the words of Julie Powell on braised cucumbers, "a fucking revelation!" (Since when did this become a food critic's blog...I'm so pretencious, and unrightfully so, when it comes to food and I'm not even good at being it).
Now, if you've never gone to dinner by yourself I challange and encourage you to do so. It's incredible, at least for me. I found a serenity within myself even in the noisiest resturant I think I've ever been in. It's also fun (when I took a break from my very enjoyable reading I did so) to people watch, though I was mostly doing this just to be sure I wasn't being humilated. Of course I was, but for some reason I didn't care. I got the random sniggers, and the occasional person informing their table that I, the one they were pointing directly at, was eating alone. But I didn't care. I was in a delightful mood, with good food and a good book, God, and me as company.
I left with another whole meal of leftovers in a take home box, scoring tomorrows dinner. I get on the bus and keep reading in a brooding type manner. When I arrive home I have the sheer satisfaction to get to clean my roomate's huge mess. This isn't a bad thing. I have a cleaning problem. I love doing it. Yesterday at Amanda's, I had the most powerful urge to do her sinkful of dishes. At all my friend's homes, I request or insist I do the dishes because out of the weird easure I get from it. So hopefully this will win over my roomies and I make out with a good time of cleaning while listening to "Dancing in the Dark" by Bruce Springsteen (and yes I left the lights off to add...hey, Shut up! Don't judge...)
It was raining all day too, as I walked around the park cleaning. But thanks to Liam, Liz, and...Life, I made out pretty good. Listen here world...Don't send around a cloud to rain on my parade.
I get home at a loss of what I'm going to do with myself. During my meltdown, I thought of the serious Ramen that was going to go down once I got home. But I really wanted to go to some resturant that was new and delicious. Problem was, I didn't really have anyone to go with. I mean, I could have asked people to go, but I wasn't in the mood to drag anyone else into my misery, although I hear it does like company. So I decide the hell with it! I'm going alone.
So I did something I've never done before, but have always wanted to. Go to dinner by myself. The problem is...I'm probably the worst person to take to dinner without a plan. So, I take Liz with me. I couldn't fathom what sitting there in silence with nothing to do would have done to my soul and image; you know, because I have such a high reputation to uphold here... Anyways, so I take off, as Liam, with my copy of EAT PRAY LOVE. I head past Downtown (because Downtown is kind of a place where after you go a few times, it gets old real fast, with the exception of Ghirardelli of course), to the next stop the bus takes after. The location is a quaint little plaza with many resturants and shops. I wander up and down looking at my options. I'm horribly indecisive, as all close to me well understand. I actually take the time to walk way down the busy street to discover even more options. I'm in eating options hell.
As I walk, the most amazing thing happens. There's something uniquely...freeing? No...relaxing? Yes, and no...contented, about wandering around a city by yourself. As I walk, I don't know how to describe it, but it was as if I was breathing for the first time in my life. I could feel the air in my lungs fill and exhale. I'm smiling the whole time due to some odd, random giddy senstion of speninding the time to get to know myself, much like being on a first date. I was listening to my zune, and it kept giving me old, classic, feel-good, pump through you classic rock like Kiss, Poison, and Bruce Springsteen, as if comanding me to have a good time. So I'm rockin' out in these empty parking lots I'm crossing through, and I get to the other side of the...city. I look at some of my options and they're rather boring. So I head all the way back to the plaza. The invirgoation of classic rock and walking against traffic at night (on the sidewalk of course, I'm not that cool) sweeps through me as I dance down the busy route.
When I get close to the plaza, a slower song comes on, though oddly enough, classic rock. It's the song "Amazing" by Aerosmith. I start thinking of all the struggles and tripumphs I have while down here and I slowly step onto the plaza. The plaza is line with lots of small little fountains. Now I'm not one to pass up a corny movie montage moment so I kind of start running along with this song down the plaza, pass the fountains. As I come up to the main one, the one that has like a programed show in it, the song builds up to this cresendo and then pauses and starts again. The fountain, perfectly timed, stops and starts again with the music. Beautiful! I feel a sense of self, also a sense of God. And as I listen to the lyrics of this song, it's basically my theme song for this trip. No, it completely and utterly is.
So now I'm totally elatedand ready to eat. There was an Indian cuisine place that I thought would be a perfect backdrop to my reading of Liz's travels through India and I'd love to try something new. I walk in and the place is absolutely empty, tho it smelled (odd to the untrained, non-foodie, not that I've earned my status as a foodie yet, nose) kind of wonderful. A beautiful Indian woman greets me and I ask for a menu and survey it. It's rather costly, and I doubt they give discounts. Also, I'm in the mood for Mexican (particularly chips and salsa, my favorite food) and there's convientantly a resturant right across from it. So after I go there, I realize I had left my book at the Indian place so I travel (it's definitely a trip) back and then back again.
Okay so once I get there, I sit down. Again, my horrible indecisiveness gets the better of me...But hey, it's not my fault...there menu's too big. So I scan over the menu. It takes me forever to decide. Literally...I think the waitress was starting to get a little cheesed off. I was thinking of getting a kid's meal, which I often do and am constantly ridiculed for by my friends. The truth is two-fold. I do so because: a) I'm a jew (partialy literally, and in the racist sense) b) I have a rather small stomach ever since I lost a bunch of weight due to my bulemia, crack, pilates, and self-induced vomitting...I jest... it was diet and excercise. After the waitress comes again, I decide to just pick.
Dinner was scrum-diddily-umptous! First off, the salsa was some kind of black veggie salsa that was sweet and peppery. They're Splenda (how dare you use any other type of artificial sweetner!) was particularly swell as well. Now for dinner, I had Chicken Mole Enchiladas which are filled with garlic, onion, and savory, with salsa chicken covered in melted jack cheeses and the whole thing topped with a chipotle cream sauce. The sides were corn tomatillo that was sweet and spongy, and mouth-watering red rice. Also, there were refried beans, but taken to a whole new level by adding tiny, small crumbles of blue cheese to the top. Seriously, in the words of Julie Powell on braised cucumbers, "a fucking revelation!" (Since when did this become a food critic's blog...I'm so pretencious, and unrightfully so, when it comes to food and I'm not even good at being it).
Now, if you've never gone to dinner by yourself I challange and encourage you to do so. It's incredible, at least for me. I found a serenity within myself even in the noisiest resturant I think I've ever been in. It's also fun (when I took a break from my very enjoyable reading I did so) to people watch, though I was mostly doing this just to be sure I wasn't being humilated. Of course I was, but for some reason I didn't care. I got the random sniggers, and the occasional person informing their table that I, the one they were pointing directly at, was eating alone. But I didn't care. I was in a delightful mood, with good food and a good book, God, and me as company.
I left with another whole meal of leftovers in a take home box, scoring tomorrows dinner. I get on the bus and keep reading in a brooding type manner. When I arrive home I have the sheer satisfaction to get to clean my roomate's huge mess. This isn't a bad thing. I have a cleaning problem. I love doing it. Yesterday at Amanda's, I had the most powerful urge to do her sinkful of dishes. At all my friend's homes, I request or insist I do the dishes because out of the weird easure I get from it. So hopefully this will win over my roomies and I make out with a good time of cleaning while listening to "Dancing in the Dark" by Bruce Springsteen (and yes I left the lights off to add...hey, Shut up! Don't judge...)
It was raining all day too, as I walked around the park cleaning. But thanks to Liam, Liz, and...Life, I made out pretty good. Listen here world...Don't send around a cloud to rain on my parade.
Monday, February 1, 2010
If I were Snow White, I'd Bond with Only One Dwarf: Sleepy.
So with a shot of caffine (Diet Dr. Pepper), I muster up the energy to make a post tonight before I head off to bed. I'm so dreadfully tired, and not for any particular reason. Today was...uneventful. I woke up at 830, hoping to get to go to Animal Kingdom today. I've wanted to go for a long time. It's raining, again. Normally, I'd be perfectly okay with this, with my love of Seattle-esque weather (I've always wanted to visit the hazy city) and all, but it's putting a stoper in some of my loosely based plans. So I meander around the apartment for a while as I contemplate on how to spend my day. Amanda invites me to go to Hollywood Studios and I go.
As we walk around the park, I become more and more tired. We ride some fairly fun rides, and have some fun on that part. But after a few hours, we leave. When we get to her apartment with her crazy, delightful, and full of life Puerto Rican roomates. We have Digorno (Just to be clear, it was not delivery, it as Digorno) pizza, which I had not experienced it's sheer awesomeness until a few weeks before I left for here. That pie is delizioso. So we start playing war, the card game. We declared each other winners in the end...we're pretty hardcore. Then we all went downtown. I was so excited for one thing and one thing only...Ghiradelli!
I don't think I can properly xplain to you my relationship ith chocolate. I don't think I've ever loved anything the way I love it. Just the simple, elegant, and sweet aroma of it's captivating awe can draw me away from anything. I go to Ghiradelli each time I venture out to Downtown, and I can solemly swear that it makes my day each and everytime.
As we hop on the bus home, I hear the foreign accents around the bus. I deserately want to raise my children in a different country. A place where they can learn a different language than English, or at least have a more attractive accent. This is impossible in the cultureless melting pot that is the American public. I can hardly stand the idea of my son being just another white boy leading a normal existance without cultural well-roundedness.
It's been breif, but it's been real. I'm extraordinarily tired, and it feels as tho my mind is literally melting inside of my skull. More to come, my bleaders, more to come...(I am such an ellipses whore)... ... ... ...
As we walk around the park, I become more and more tired. We ride some fairly fun rides, and have some fun on that part. But after a few hours, we leave. When we get to her apartment with her crazy, delightful, and full of life Puerto Rican roomates. We have Digorno (Just to be clear, it was not delivery, it as Digorno) pizza, which I had not experienced it's sheer awesomeness until a few weeks before I left for here. That pie is delizioso. So we start playing war, the card game. We declared each other winners in the end...we're pretty hardcore. Then we all went downtown. I was so excited for one thing and one thing only...Ghiradelli!
I don't think I can properly xplain to you my relationship ith chocolate. I don't think I've ever loved anything the way I love it. Just the simple, elegant, and sweet aroma of it's captivating awe can draw me away from anything. I go to Ghiradelli each time I venture out to Downtown, and I can solemly swear that it makes my day each and everytime.
As we hop on the bus home, I hear the foreign accents around the bus. I deserately want to raise my children in a different country. A place where they can learn a different language than English, or at least have a more attractive accent. This is impossible in the cultureless melting pot that is the American public. I can hardly stand the idea of my son being just another white boy leading a normal existance without cultural well-roundedness.
It's been breif, but it's been real. I'm extraordinarily tired, and it feels as tho my mind is literally melting inside of my skull. More to come, my bleaders, more to come...(I am such an ellipses whore)... ... ... ...
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Top Ramen
Today, I got to sleep in! Unbelievably invigorating! I simply can't describe the sense of inner calm I awoke with. Then, I got on facebook. If I'm ever on Facebook for an extended period of time, I get depressed. Don't ask me why, because I haven't the slightest idea myself. Maybe it's because I can feel my life passing by as I sit on the computer, virally communicating with people I rarely share face to face contact with, with people who only superficially care about me. Or perhaps it's the fact I can see everybody else's exciting and social lives as I sit around doing nothing but take a quiz to see what Bill Cosby Show character I'm most like.I absolutely abhor such Facebook games such as Farmville or Cafe World. These are the quintessential tools to ruining your own life. Though now that I'm down here, I have an oppertunity to have a more exhilerating life...but we all know how that's going.
So I spent the first half of the day sitting on the computer facebooking (I love that we live in an age where verbs are continuously being invented each and every day) it up. I participate in "What Celebrity Do I Look Like Week" in which one puts there own picture through a face recognition test to see what celebrity they most resemble and present it as their profile picture. I know that's a mouthfull for some of my older readers but I'm guessing those who do not get it aren't actually on Facebook so they're opinion about it is moot. Anyways, but I sit here typing away into the giant void of this social networking site, and the strong stench of Ramen noodles fills the air. That's because every single one of my roomates was making a batch. It is literally all they eat. I did pick up a few packets at Wal-Mart when I went, but I hadn't even cracked open a bag yet. I guess it's a nice change from the sweet aroma of savory sweets prevading the air. I guess that scent will be home to me here soon enough.
I head off to a bus to get to Hollywood Studios to retrieve my long forsaken key. I go and, as Liam, sweet talk a strong black woman and get my key. Relief overcomes me. I decided to go around the park and watch all the shows which are absolutely amazing! Then some girls sit next to me at Fantasmic and we get to talking, as they are also cast members; as Liam, of course. They totally beieve me and they start interogating me about my origins and my country and I fill them in with my mad improv skills (Except not...I kinda suck at improv. But now when it comes to facts about European countries!).
I leave the park and head back home excited for the meal I'm about to have, for I haven't eaten all day. I make Ramen noodles, to see what all the hubbub is about, and grab the chips and sour creme and some diet Dr. Pepper. Is there a meal any better than that? I dare anyone in the world to create a meal plan that can be as satisfying. They'll fail. As I was eating, it was as if my insides were covered with an electric blanket and the exterior of my body was being massaged by a professional masseuse.
Now I understand. Top ramen is a magical thing. I know comprehend why it's such a huge thing. It's not just that it's a cheap source of nourishment, but it instills a sense of hope and comfort. As the slippery noodles slide down your throat, you get the sense that all of your strife, your poverty, your hardships and sliding away as well; and, for that breif moment in time, your okay...your eating. Your eating the joy of comfort. And that is the most reassuring feeling ever.
PS. Bleaders (Julie Powell's term for Blog-Readers), I've been on this journey for one week. To think of where I started, and where I am now makes me feel...lonely, but accomplished. I started life over. I've been disovering myself, and more importantly God. This journey, after one week, has proven to be one of, if not the most, life definging moves in my life.
So I spent the first half of the day sitting on the computer facebooking (I love that we live in an age where verbs are continuously being invented each and every day) it up. I participate in "What Celebrity Do I Look Like Week" in which one puts there own picture through a face recognition test to see what celebrity they most resemble and present it as their profile picture. I know that's a mouthfull for some of my older readers but I'm guessing those who do not get it aren't actually on Facebook so they're opinion about it is moot. Anyways, but I sit here typing away into the giant void of this social networking site, and the strong stench of Ramen noodles fills the air. That's because every single one of my roomates was making a batch. It is literally all they eat. I did pick up a few packets at Wal-Mart when I went, but I hadn't even cracked open a bag yet. I guess it's a nice change from the sweet aroma of savory sweets prevading the air. I guess that scent will be home to me here soon enough.
I head off to a bus to get to Hollywood Studios to retrieve my long forsaken key. I go and, as Liam, sweet talk a strong black woman and get my key. Relief overcomes me. I decided to go around the park and watch all the shows which are absolutely amazing! Then some girls sit next to me at Fantasmic and we get to talking, as they are also cast members; as Liam, of course. They totally beieve me and they start interogating me about my origins and my country and I fill them in with my mad improv skills (Except not...I kinda suck at improv. But now when it comes to facts about European countries!).
I leave the park and head back home excited for the meal I'm about to have, for I haven't eaten all day. I make Ramen noodles, to see what all the hubbub is about, and grab the chips and sour creme and some diet Dr. Pepper. Is there a meal any better than that? I dare anyone in the world to create a meal plan that can be as satisfying. They'll fail. As I was eating, it was as if my insides were covered with an electric blanket and the exterior of my body was being massaged by a professional masseuse.
Now I understand. Top ramen is a magical thing. I know comprehend why it's such a huge thing. It's not just that it's a cheap source of nourishment, but it instills a sense of hope and comfort. As the slippery noodles slide down your throat, you get the sense that all of your strife, your poverty, your hardships and sliding away as well; and, for that breif moment in time, your okay...your eating. Your eating the joy of comfort. And that is the most reassuring feeling ever.
PS. Bleaders (Julie Powell's term for Blog-Readers), I've been on this journey for one week. To think of where I started, and where I am now makes me feel...lonely, but accomplished. I started life over. I've been disovering myself, and more importantly God. This journey, after one week, has proven to be one of, if not the most, life definging moves in my life.
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