So, I return from the depths of the abyss with three new items:
Until next time.
The picture above is the newest member of our growing household. Can you believe I got it for free?
Seriously! That chair would have cost probably something like $100 in the store, and it was just sitting there next to the dumpster waiting to be taken. Sure, it may only have one out of five wheels, and it may wobble a bit more than is safe for frequent use, but it is one comfy chair!
Oh, yes. I also got a cat. His name is Koopa (like the turtles from Mario) and he is adorable—annoyingly so.
Me: (pointing to a necklace with a couple gold rings on it) So, are those, like, from the Lord of the Rings or something?
My Co-worker: Actually, my parents died when I was a baby, and these are their wedding rings.
Me: ...
...and...
Me: Did you know that 25% of the particulates in Los Angeles are from China?
Different Co-worker: Oh? Damn immigrants.
Me: ...
...and another...
Guy on Street: Hey, who are you supposed to be?
Me: I am Captain Organic, I deliver pizza for Galactic Pizza.
Guy on Street: I could go for a slice.
Me: Oh, sorry! I do not have any pizza on me.
Guy on Street: I was talking about you.
Me: ...
...they just keep coming...
Me: Here is your pizza.
Deliveree: Thanks... so I guess it is pretty cold out today?
Me: Yeah! It sure is. [I get in the gizmo and start going back to home base]
Me: (realizing that you can see my nipples through the spandex) ...
Less than twenty-four hours remain in our illustrious voyage to a faraway land, so that now, sitting in bed after a somewhat unsatisfactory breakfast (for the bagels and English muffins and toast they had all varieties of jam, jelly, and preserves: razz berry, apricot, grape, strawberry, etc.; however, they were limited to one very bland and sad choice of peanut butter: creamy; how odd!), I once again find my thoughts turning to life-pertinent things, like rent, bills, work, and just what the heck everybody has been up to for the past week and a half!
Here, in my particular fashion, is what I have been doing: took a bus to Los Angeles from Oceanside in order to catch a bus going further up the coast to San Luis Opisbo, unfortunately, because we were not privy to the "line" situation, we stood in the wrong section, and when our bus arrived, we were complained out of our slightly illegitimate spot in line, which resulted in the bus leaving (full) without us aboard; we ended up being required to wait five hours for another bus going to the same place, but, luckily, our money was refunded (actually, $2 extra was refunded per ticket, but they did not seem to care when I informed them) and we were given a free meal ticket for the station's food court (which, similar to the meal I had this morning, was rather bland and not-good), so I do not consider the wait a complete loss; the previously mentioned sister's boyfriend's aunt allowed us to sleep in her domicile for a couple nights, while we visited Hearst Castle (eerily reminiscent of Citizen Kane I might add) and wandered around a few of the local beaches; for the last leg of our trip, a friend of my sister's, John, decided to drive us up the coast along highway one, which turned out to be a spectacular ride with all the views and waterfalls and attempted campings considered; we made it to Santa Cruz and camped for a couple more days, enjoying the beaches and boardwalks of the decidedly tourist-filled town, before continuing our journey to San Francisco, where we are now.
As Jennifer predicted, we were very nearly unable to depart from her friend's company (and his incessant, horrid taste in music and propensity for speaking constantly about nothing?/everything?/anything!), for, as she so succinctly put it: "We could not get rid of [him] if we tried,"—which we did!—until we were safely outside our hostel in the city. Although it was a trying trip, we survived, perhaps a bit better for it.
As promised, here are some pictures of our trip (click for the full version)!
Not that I was ever interested in moving here, but, I certainly know that I will be comfortable not doing so after this trip; that is to say, California is still worth a cursory visit; or, if you have a bit more time, a summer at an aunt's house (free of charge, with a car, no dogs, and a queen sized waterbed) like my sister's friend, with whom we are currently staying, has been doing; I simply wish to point out that Los Angeles is not all its cracked up to be; with its hour-long car rides to end up four miles away at a skate shop that does not sell the right kind of skate boards; or, the not-entirely unfounded feeling that the company that owns your condo and the health inspector must be working in tandem to prevent your obvious infestation of German cockroaches from allowing you to break your year-long lease, forcing you to relocate, while still paying the insanely over-inflated rent (however, if you end up moving into the guest house of your uncle who makes loads of money from voice-over work, enough that he lives a few houses down from Paris Hilton and has a view of the city that would make a blind person weep, perhaps it is not all bad, after all).
Here is a quick re-hash of the past few days: read three of the five books I brought along, and purchased another in order to extend the fun; spent about twelve hours total on public transportation, which would not be so bad if it were not filled with needlessly ornery bus drivers and scuffles about which clamps need to go on a wheelchair, thus extending what would be a fifteen minute ride into an hour of bus-riding fun; stayed with a friend of mine (at the previously mentioned gorgeous hilltop home) and visited Venice Beach (though after dark, without all the supposed people-watching and shopping that would have been possible before dusk), LACMA (Los Angeles County Museum of Art), and The Grove (the first outdoor mall in the world/country/state); spent a good deal of time—where else?—on the beach; and, finally, I have sufficiently submersed myself in the mindset of vacation-hood, so that I do not know what day or time it is a good chunk of my wakened being.
So, after visiting a few friends and temporarily parting ways with the other member of our voyage, we will soon be making our way back up the coast to stay with the aunt of the high school ex-boyfriend of my sister, who apparently Jenn has not seen in something akin to three voyages of our lonely planet around the sun (when the aunt-in-question made her prom dress, I hear). After that we will be road-tripping further up to Monterey and Santa Cruz, camping for a few days, and ending up in San Francisco to catch our flight (which leaves right after midnight one week from today) back home. Sounds lovely, does it not?
Next time I shall share some pictures, but for the moment my sister sent back the memory card we were using, so I have none to post: sad times.
Buh-bye!
One of the stewardesses suggested that I be on the advertisement for their particular airline due to the fact that I ate five of the English muffins with egg and sausage (sans sausage); a new record, I am told. This strikes me as rather funny, I mean, what is it about eating a good deal more than is probably healthy for my bowels that makes me uniquely qualified for their commercials? Additionally, what does eating five persons' shares of the complimentary "breakfast" have to do with selling the brand?
On our airline, you can gorge yourself silly, like you deserve to be able to do.
Cramming your orifices full of mediocre "food" is just one of the ways that our airline shows you how much we care (also, we have funny in-flight emergency instructions).
The pilot encourages you to eat the left-over food, in that he will not land the plane until all the pre-packaged sandwiches are eaten. Now.
Prevent terrorism, eat more.
My [older-younger] sister, her friend, and I, have now arrived at our bungalow, which will serve as our basis of operations for the first leg of our trip. Here in sunny Sunset Beach, we are just a stone's throw from the ocean, a surf board rental shop, and about three tattoo places, I know we will be in for a good few days of beaching, surfing, and tattooing (probably some other things too).
I brought a camera this time, so I shall do my best to pass along some photographs of our adventures in the land of golden tans and string bikinis. I know you all wait eagerly for their arrival, and I hope you enjoy living vicariously through me. I know I do!
A: A few nights ago I cried while watching an episode of Grey's Anatomy. It was the first time I have cried in nearly two years. I am not afraid to admit about when I do, but I hardly ever cry ever since I graduated high school. This is probably because I have no feelings.
2: I am always happy when I come home after a hard day's work and add my tips to my slowly growing wad of cash. Then I realize that all that cash will soon be going toward my freakishly expensive credit card bill, and I die a little inside.
3.141: Pumpkin and French Silk are the only pies I will consume, for they are the best and tastiest. No contest. If you disagree, I will make you die a little inside.
IV: I think that the first trilogy (though second universe-chronologically speaking) of the Star Wars universe were decent movies. However, George Lucas has now gone crazy with his vision, and it would have been better for everyone involved if he had just not made Episodes I to III. Except for Natalie Portman, she rules.
.....: If anyone else is as entertained by my choice of bullets for this inane post, then perhaps the world should re-think its breeding policies. If there are more than one of us out there... it does not bode well for the survival of the human race.
Sextuplets: Whoever decided to make the mathematical term for six of something to be prefixed by "sex" was really not considering a middle school geometry class in their calculations. Although I now can say "sextet" without giggling [much], I cannot count the times that our whole class would bring up six-sided shapes just to hear the teacher say its name, "sextagon"! ... Oh, wait, is it not "hexagon"? ... Crap, our teacher was a pervert!
Evensay: Erhapspay eatingay ourfay Arstay Unchescray orfay innderday isay otnay ethay ealthiesthay ayway ofay ivinglay. Iay ouldshay ethinkray ymay ethodsmay ofay ocerygray oppingshay.
9: Hast du meinen Affen geseign? Ich bein schlagsagen.
The Square Root Of One Hundred: Mathematics is truly my favorite subject in all of the world. It makes me a thousand times more sad when I cannot solve a simple equation (involving change for instance) versus when I cannot remember what my close friends' names are, for instance. Is that bad?
ll: I use any opportunity I have to make a wish. Whether it be touching the clock when the minutes equal the hour (though it only truly counts when it is on a twenty-four hour clock or in the double digits [for hours] on a regular one), blowing away an eyelash, seeing a shooting star, or saying "peanut butter" when you go over railroad tracks.
6+6: What do I wish for? If I told you it would not come true.
Lucky Number: Oh fine, I wish for a pony.
Today's Date: Nothing exciting happened today, but that is because yesterday was Friday the 13th. I told everyone to whom I delivered pizzas that I almost died about thirteen times going to their house, which was a lie. I did this about thirteen times before I realized it was not as funny as I had hoped. I then really did almost die thirteen times on a way to one guy's house, but I did not tell him, thinking he would not believe me because I had been telling everyone the same story. It did not occur to me that he did not know that.
One Five: If I were going to remake all the numbers, I know what the first one to go would be. The teens. Without rhyme or reason, they do not follow the same pattern as the ones before them, and the twenties and on after. Who wrote this language, and why were they so illogical?
Sweet: Some of you may complain that "the teens" is not one, specific number, as I alluded to immediately before exposing the proposed reconstruction of number-hood. All I have to say to you is this. Six, sixteen, twenty-six, thirty-six... etc. Even though it sounds horrible to us now, it could have easily been teen-six, or tensix, or something far less dumb and confusing then it is.
The Age I Got My Driver's License: I got in an accident while I was pulling away from the DMV after passing my test. Sorry about that Poppy!
Adulthood: I do not think a majority of people, when they hit a certain age, suddenly become competent enough to decide for themselves whether they should smoke, join the army, vote, or any number of things. That being said, I do not think many so-called "adults" really deserve these privileges either, so I guess it would not help if we delayed it.
Dix-Neuf: Despite the fact that it does not happen until the late "teens", the French actually put ten in front. I applaud their half-assed effort.
You Thought I May Not End: If someone can explain the reasoning behind each and every bullet point, and what it has to do with the content that follows, that person would be me... and then they would be too sexy for their shirt.
