Why I feel l'm really on vacation today...

Currently staying in my sister's house. Let me tell you, being away from home in a clean house is in and of itself, a vacation. All I had to do today was get up early to let the contractor's in to work on some construction bits around the house, and the rest of my day morning was dedicated to sloth.

First task of the day...wash laundry. You'd think that would be a chore for me, because it's a chore for everyone else. But, I really like doing laundry. It's a simple mindless task that unfortunately takes lodes of time to do properly. So, I rarely do. Unless I'm on a mini-vacay...which I am...which I'm currently doing. Something about being blanketed by warm fresh clothing makes me feel loved. It's the exact opposite of the feeling of self-loathing and despair I get when I run out of clean clothes and am reduced to wearing ill-fitting back of the closet sample sale mistakes or baptizing myself with gallons of Febreeze before leaving the house.

Other loveliness...I have the house to myself this morning. Not that I don't love my sister or her family, but being alone plopped in a very lady like manner (read: not very lady like at all) manner in front of a huge flatscreen tv, surrounded by warm laundry and no one to fight over the remote with (that person being a four yr old who wants to watch nothing but Go Diego Go which conflicts with my need to watch nothing but Law and Order SVU - Go Stabler, Go.

Fine dining options...I'm what you call a grazer. I eat like a five yr old. I like individual sized snacks and food items partitioned off in compartmentalized melamine trays. Food looks lovely cut up into cubes. This would be lovely everyday, but I have a tendency to forget to run out of time to get groceries, which like doing laundry, should be a simple chore. However, I like dedicating more time than necessary to doing it and if i can, i just won't. This means a lot of eating out with I like and dislike in parts. If I'm dining - sitting to a proper meal with a friend or two, it's great. But, more often, my dining partner is the drive through man or woman at the window and my proper meal has no name but "number + large diet coke." My sister, buys grocery in bulk and never really runs out of things. So, my ability to indulge like a five yr old is catered by her responsible ability to restock the cheese sticks and personal hummus and cracker combos.

In addition to this, she got an ice cream machine and has been indulging in the art of homemade gelatos. I've been taking advantage of this new found art of hers.

Entertainment has consisted no less than three networks playing hours long marathons of mindless programming. Bravo's got America's Next Top Model going back to back. The Sci-Fi Channel has been playing Scariest Places on Earth non stop all morning. Noggin is nothing but repeats of Degrassi The Next Generation. If I bore of any of this, my sister was mysterious gifted box set of True Blood's Season 1. It is safe to say, i will have no brain cells by the end of the day, and that's fine by me.

As I'm a multi-tasker, I will thumbing through a fine library of magazines my sister has yet to go through. My sister subscribes to enough magazines that she's not quite sure what she gets in the mail, but knows that she's never in short supply of materials to read on the can. It's all girl centric ranging from gossip rags to decorating and fashion magazines. And frankly, I'm in hog heaven with my nose in mindless reading material. Which, I will get to as soon as I'm finished typing.

The likelihood that I will get up for anything but bathroom breaks, if that, is slim to none.

-the end-

Last hurrah in Houston.

The idea is that I come down to Houston to have a last summer hurrah before the start of another school year on Monday. So far, that has entailed me running errands as soon as I arrived here and now rounding out my evening watching Thundercats with my four year old niece. Totally rocking it hardcore.

Eh.

Realistically, I could have used a bit of reprieve from all that is Austin, TX at the moment anyway.

Over the last few years, Austin has ranked high on travel lists as the best place to be a single person. I agree with this wholeheartedly. Austin is the best place to be a single person...if you have no wishes to change that status...if you've already proven to be completely dysfunctional at maintaining anything long term or anywhere near remotely healthy for a long period of time...if the thought of commitment thorough scares the shit out of you...if you are me.

Not that any of the above would be different if I lived in Houston or any other major or minor metropolis. I've just found that Austin has delightfully and professionally managed to encourage said tendencies.

However, as of late, I've found a certain need to change some of my habits. I never found those particularities naturally within me. I was just young and dumb and full of....oh well, we'll just censor that little axiom, shall we?...enough to allow myself to be accustomed to it as second skin. Seeing that want for change turning in the synapses, Austin all of a sudden felt a bit claustrophobic. Not everyone is necessarily on board with that. Some people actually prefer the former and not the slowly changing latter. And, I could use some time apart from "some people."

I'll be ready to come home soon enough. Eventually, if I want to make ends meet, I'll have to go back to work. And besides, Austin has more to offer than a singles scene. It has cupcakes. (And people that do love me for my heart.)

-the end-

Scary days in the neighborhood: Why being a single girl living alone sometimes scares the bejeezus out of me.

So, this past week, I had a frightful dream. It kept me up the rest of the night and I never caught up on sleep for the remainder of the next day. The dream was a real doozy, and without getting into too much detail, I had I lot of time to think about it as I spent my waking hours reinforcing the screens to all my windows, asking the guys at Home Depot about the most cost efficient way I could go about keeping life's psychopaths from paying me a visit against my will, and investing in a huge ass "take down a bear and it's pack" sized can of chili-pepper spray. (I've been informed I have to register for a license of some sort to carry the potent amount of attack spray I chose to procure).

Normally, I take the lazy man's belief system that "whatever will happen will happen." But, frankly it was a vivid dream reinforced by the increased amount of reports of sexual assaults around the city by attackers that have yet to be apprehended. Whatever will happen, will most undoubtedly happen. I've just decided that, in my scenario I'll have effectively caused enough physical harm to said attacker in such a way that he (or hell, even she...there are a lot of crazy people out there) will reconsider doing it again. Not that they will have the capability to do so.

Nonetheless, the anxiety does have me a bit on edge as of late. As I finally manage to enforce some amount of healthy sleep, I curl up these days with a completely useless by mildly intimidating appearing guard dog and the extra sharp titanium trek stick my ex left behind at my place.

Hopefully, the worst case scenario will ever be is that I managed to poke my own eye out in a fitful night of sleep.

-the end-

The not so anonymous ramblings of your friendly neighborhood asian.

The not so anonymous ramblings of your friendly neighborhood asian.
I've been subjected to several movies as of late where the protagonist bemoans the fact that, despite having a graduate's degree in journalism from an elite accredited school, he or she has been given the menial task of writing a "slice of life" column. This scenario most assuredly turns the protagonist into a mortal enemy for me and I proceed to stop watching. My natural willingness to suspend my disbelief becomes an active exercise in civil disobedience to listen any further. Said character has been offered a full salary to sit down and write their general musings on life and guaranteed an audience will loyally follow along every insipid word.

It's my dream job and I get to hear Hollywood's version of a person who hardly appreciates how lucky they truly are.

I don't want to be on the frontlines of some civil war going on in some unpronounceable county that I've never heard of. I don't want to be undercover exposing some scandal going on in some industry. I truly just want to write about the things that matter to me the most....like that one time I was eating lunch and how I saved a potato chip from that very day because I was convinced it's likness to the Virgin Mary really got me through the lowest period of my life. Or perhaps, why none of the lack of success in securing a proper relationship has anything to do with my fears of commitment, but more likely due to a grand conspiracy founded by a skull and crossbone society I somehow managed to slight many moons ago because I made some casually harmful remarks about the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes.

The true gems of life...

I'm just saying. Anywho...I suppose I should spend more time practicing for the day when the gods finally decide to shed their light upon me. Posting more often would help.

-the end-

LAzy days and mondays.

If I could comfortably spend the rest of my days in a pair of cotton undies and bra in perfectly air conditioned house watching shitty tv and eating cheetos and get paid to do it all, I think I would be the happiest girl on earth.

The shocking reality that this isn't my fate, came crashing down early this morning. It was 10:30 am. I was balled up in a fetal position crying my heart out knowing that in a few short weeks, that wouldn't be considered casually sleeping in a little late. That would straight up be a firm reprimand to a job I don't care for that like any continual change in the seasons, I would return to because I had no other choice. That's what you do with fate. You go where the little ball and chain allows you to go.

It's now 11:20 and I have the full day ahead of me. I plan to do absolutely nothing and cherish every last moment of it.

-the end-

I have nothing to talk about.

But, it has been requested that I return to my post as MC of the inane, best approached through a blog. So, there. I'm back. Most likely temporarily. Don't get too excited. Don't shift too uncomfortably in you seats. I have lots of errands to run today. I might tell you more about that later. Something hilarious will happen on the way to the bank...trust me. I mean, if you look at my account history, you'd laugh too. But, right now, I have to actually make it out there before anything funny can happen.

-the end-

Lame attempt at a comeback #2

10:30 pm. Have nothing productive to say. Missed tango. Was supposed to run three miles, but successful managed to walk just over one. Craig, my good friend and new landlord is coming over to fumigate my apartment (sadly, the only shocking shocking business that I'm willing to discuss is that I think I caught a brown recluse in my new digs. Aside from deadly arachnids lurking in dark corners of my pad, I have nothing else to complain about. You know, it really comes down to location location location.)Have to feebly clean up around here...moved in a few weeks ago, and my clothes were barely hung up into the closet as of a few days ago. Don't want to leave the impression that the last tenant, my complete mess of an ex-boyfriend, never left.

Have a lot of crazy plans on decorating my place...lots of wonderful fun things to spruce up my plot of land. At the moment, unless a wad of thousands and cocaine induced energy come my way, I'll just have to assume those ideas are sitting on a backburner. It'll get done. Just not anytime soon.

Here's to hoping and wishing. Leaving to pick up a dirty sock or two.

-the end-