6.10.2009

Quitting is not an option





Let's not beat a dead horse here by saying that I'm broke. Being such, I decided to opt out of cross country this season (to focus on finances). It wasn't a huge sacrifice as my body really was never meant for xc. Being relatively short means tall girls automatically get a few extra inches per stride (which over the course of a 5k turns into feet, yards, etc.). Being muscular means that my body has a heavy load to carry. You really can't power through 3.2 miles. It's a game of efficiency and endurance (the latter, I possess, the former, by default, I am not).

I did the cowardly thing, and called my coach on her office phone (which I know she never answers) instead of her cell to inform her that I need to concentrate on making and saving money this summer and won't be doing cross country. This woman scares me. She's not the type to flip out. Those people are actually way less scary to me than the ice queens/kings of the world. She is ice queen extraordinaire. A simple "hmph" or "oh" from her, and you know exactly where she stands. Her silences are even more uncomfortable, and she will cut you with her looks. It's weird to think that she's less than a decade older than me, but that she installs so much fear. I feel 7 around her! HAHAHAHA!

The day after I left the message with her, I receive a vm from her, telling me to start picking up the tempo on 35 minute runs, and do stairs 2 days this week. Um, what? She knows that I'm not doing xc, right? She further informs me that she'll call next week and tell me what to do. I KNOW she got my message. I think she's choosing to ignore it.

Apparently, quitting is NOT an option. I am on the cross country team, like it or not. It's somehow actually quite endearing.

6.09.2009

Just Trying to flip some burgers



(^^^^am I the only crazy out there or does K-fed actually look kinda cute?)

Thursday was an interesting day. Job "interview" # 4bajillion and 7. Yes, interview gets the illustrious quotation marks, because it was referred to as an interview, but I didn't actually HAVE an interview.

First off, let me preface this by saying that this was the most drawn out application process EVER. First an app, then a resume, then the "personality quiz". I really think that the personality quizzes are incredibly discriminatory. If I had lots of free time and access to beaucoup dinero (okay, just the latter. The former, admittedly, is somewhat true) I would sue the makers of this quiz, and every place of employment that doles them out. I mean, come on, of COURSE people are effin' annoying. People piss me off on a daily basis. Okay, more like an hourly (minutely, perhaps, if that's an actual word, in that context). *Ack my dog is resting her head on my forearm, it's becoming very difficult to type.*

But I digress, it's not how you FEEL, it's what you do with those feelings. And I pride myself on having relatively well developed frontal lobes. While I frequently encounter people I'd like to clock in the head, reason tells me that a)this might bring about charges, and a lawsuit b)they might be able to clock me harder and c)on the job, it would mean that I would get fired. So, duh, I don't do it. I plaster on a smile, and say my rehearsed, polite lines.

I'm very bothered that I am subjected to telling a high volume of lies. (*Okay maybe not, read on).

But I digress, yet again. After all of that, I had to choose what position I'd like to apply for, and take an occupation specific quiz. After all that, I received the call from Soothing Voice Lady requesting a one-on-one interview.

So, we set one up for (last) Thursday. When I got there, I waited in the front lobby forever, only to be called into a different room, to take YET ANOTHER QUIZ. This quiz had culinary chef-level questions. Like they wanted me to know terms like these:

la clé seam on shaped dough, 'key' clay
la couche dusted towel for proofing coosh
la coupe cut,score coop
croquant crisp crow CON
croustillant crisp crew steel YAHN
la croûte crust crewt
la cuiller spoon (not a common spelling) coo YAY
la cuillère spoon coo YAY
cuire to cook queer
la détente rest before shaping day TAHN
diviser to divide, cut to loaf size dee vee SAY
l' eau water oh
l' épeautre spelt ('grand épeautre) eh PAW truh

Are you effin kidding me? Man, I applied to be a cook in an effin' BURGER SHACK. I didn't know that French fluency was a requisite for flipping burgers. Actually, the terms were even more unfamiliar to me than the above ones. I couldn't remember what the had on the test, so I just googled "french baking terms" to give you guys a taste. I figured out some of the terms since a)3 of my siblings and my mother speak a moderate level of French b)I know a very rudimentary amount of French and c)I know a decent amount of Spanish, so just tried to decipher common Latin routes. My other saving grace was that I'm quite competent with remedial math (of which composed many of the other questions).

Nonetheless, I received a 22/40, not enough to score an interview, soothing voice lady informed me. But I think she liked me (or they're just hard up for decent applicants) so she said that she could set up an interview for a different position. I was both annoyed and relieved. Annoyed at all the stupid tests, and the fact that I wasted one of my few interview acceptable outfits (if you know me, you know that most of my wardrobe falls into one of three categories 1)casual 2)weird or 3)casual and weird) for a non-interviewing day. Relieved because I still had a prospect in my future.

*Okay, a little more on the subject of lies. Post interview, I found myself in a funny situation. Waiting for my bus, I started wandering around a little, when I found myself inside a gallery. Since I was in my interview clothes, and really examining the pieces, I guess maybe I stood out against the lost looking skinny-jeaned, vans wearing teenagers who wandered in, and left in a flash. The dealer came up to me and asked which ones I liked. I pointed out which ones I liked. She put in her two cents, then kinda probde to see what I liked about them. When I spotted a collaboration (One piece was listed under a certain artist's name, and I said, "This piece really reminds me of Toulouse-Letrac" her eyes lit up and she exclaimed "good eye" before going on to tell me that the two artists actually collaborated on that series, and how they worked closely together). She seemed very excited. Densely, I thought that it was just the excitement of being able to discuss art with someone who's actually reasonably knowledgeable on the subject.

WRONG.

This lady thought that I was rich.

Next thing I know, she's punching away at a calculator, bringing up figures, to show me what a steal different pieces would be with their anniversary discount. Um, sales are great lady, but you need to move the decimal point about three places to the left if you want ME to be able to afford it. And even then! When you're washing laundry in your tub to save money, buying Dali and Picasso prints are really the last thing on your mind.

Before you lose all respect for me, just know that this is VERY uncharacteristic of me. I played it off like I WAS rich, but being conscientious. "Oh, I'm really not in the market to buy today." When she asked if I was local, I told her that I "reside" in Long Beach. Wtf. Stupid shit just kept pouring out of my mouth. As I was filling out a form with my email address and favorite artists (so she could keep me up to date on upcoming events and sales that I can't afford, very useful) she asked what I did for a living. As I contemplated telling her the truth, I stared intently at the form, as if there was a very important artist at the tip of my tongue (or mind, I guess) that I was trying the squeak out. I decided just to lie. It was nice not getting treated like a pauper for a change.

I know, I know. I'm so wrong for it. But I didn't feel too bad. I was the only person it there, so it wasn't like I was detracting from real potential sales.

I made up an entire occupation, and she started a discussion on that. My face felt hot, and I just wanted to LEAVE, but she kept reeling me in. I must've been in there a good 45 minutes, before finally just pretending that I had somewhere very important to go.

Oh, and if I didn't seem squirrely enough as is, (I'm a terrible, twitchy liar, part of the reason I generally avoid lying. That, and, a little something called ethics) I had this zit right under my lower lip that very closely resembled a cold sore. Ewww. So for the entire 3-4 days this thing took over my face, I gave people my 3/4 profile when speaking, to avoid feeling their eyes drill into it.

Blabbity, blah, blah, BLEEEEEEEEEH! I'm feeling quite antsy. I just had a cup of my infamous ink black, syrupy-thick coffee. It's hard for me to get the right amount of caffeine. The right amount really does make me feel more alert, productive, creative, and energetic. But just a tad too much, and I feel jittery, frazzeled, cracked out, nervous, anxious, and almost even guilty. Not guilty for having too much caffeine, but physiologically, it feels the same as guilt to me. Anyone else experience this? I've read a few blurbs before from theories by different neuroscientists, psychiatrists, etc. who claim that there are only a set number of pure emotions (primary emotions, shall we call them, akin to the primary colors of red, yellow, and blue) and everything else is just a combination of the primary emotions (secondary, tertiary, etc. emotions, if you will). Interesting, and I can totally see it.

Fast forward. Yesterday I interviewed for another job.

And?

I GOT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

I can't wait. Well, there are still some logistics to be accounted for, so I don't want to get too excited in case things fall through. But, I'm too excited anyway...

Fuck absolute brokeness.

Minimum wage semi-brokeness, here I come!

Yay, yay, yay, YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

P.S. A lady at the job interview office had really bad camel toe. She stood in this really weird arms hanging down and forward like a ragdoll type posture, was all hunched over and had this weird expression on her face. I imagined that she was trying to make her camel toe somehow less intense. When I found out that she was one of the main interviewers, I hoped so hard that I wouldn't get her. How uncomfortable and distracting to be interviewed by her! I lucked out and didn't get her. When I saw this image on Glorious Nonsense: I simply knew that I had to post it here, so you guys would have a good idea just what kinda trauma I went through having to view it.

6.05.2009

Scientologists=Crazies Signtologist=Dope


Perusing Common's blog I can across something that took my breath away (cue Sade). Okay, not literally, but the work of Signtologist is astounding. As if his street sign work of common, biggie, Run DMC, etc. weren't enough, he did a Basquiat piece (a la Basquiat/Warhol boxing print).

Well, I'm off to eat some spaSghetti and get grilled at an interview. Actually, I have a good feeling about this one.

Bom dia dearies.

6.04.2009

Booga's Journal of Brokeness (<---see how I switched that up)








I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Oh- that's right- I don't have a bed. Excuse me, I woke up this morning on the wrong side of my mattress pad. My sister woke me up. Then my dog. Then my sister and my dog. Then my sister again. Then a telemarketer.

DLKJAL;KVNLK;FHNAI;ENR;ILENJ;LVNL;KENIANF;AJIND;KLFJAL;J ! ! ! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I need my sleep. 1) I'm an athlete- my body requires more rest. 2)I'm prone to depression. 3)2 out of 2 of my chronic illnesses are exacerbated by sleep deprivation.

BUT, you guys all got saved from my infamous rants. I'm not going there. Not today.

I was really beginning to feel really down on myself. Broke and jobless, and otherwise destitute, it was becoming increasingly easy to hate my life. And while I'm not usually big on comparing myself to others, it was hard not to notice that at a time when I'm broker than ever, many of my friends are graduating from grad schools with fancy degrees, or already established in careers that range from comfortable to lucrative.

I really didn't have anyone to relate to. When the book Mixed came out, I just knew that I had to get it. I had already exhausted the small sections of bi/multi-racial books at my local library, and was hungry for more well-written books on the mixed experience.

But, I digress. Later, when doing a book exchange with a friend (I lend her some of my fav's and vice versa), she lent me her copy of The Broke Diaries also by Angela Nissel. I laughed sooooooooo hard at parts (mostly because I totally related) and was amused the entire time. Fast forward a few years. I found myself in yet another state of brokeness.

When I have to reject invites to "cheap" places (bonafide cheap places have dollar menus! Not gratuity and tips and appetizers and ish) I am met with a)a look of pity b) an offer to spot me or c) both. I hate the pity look. And while it's nice to be treated, it's still kinda stressful. Because in the back of my mind I know that when I finally start making money, in addition to the bills I need to pay, and the things I need to buy, I need to treat a bajillion people to a bajillion things. Sigh.

I wanted someone to commiserate with. I knew exactly what to do. I marched (oh yes, "marched") to the library and checked out the Broke Diaries. And it's been good for me. Unfortunately I already finished. I want more! (and I can't read it yet again, while it's so fresh in my mind, it's not the same). I'm still obviously stressed (to the point where it seeps out places like here, in what was meant to be a light and fun blog entry- (oops!)) It's helped me get back in touch with my inner hustle, that can-do, everything's gonna be alright attitude. Well, to a certain extent.

Reading Nissel's tales of brokeness reminded me of some broke tale's my mom told me. And I was reminded that if you have a bathtub, you can still wash your clothes, even if you don't have laundry money.

Lemme tell you, this shit is laborious. At first it was fun. I cleaned the tub, threw my dirty clothes in, filled with water, tossed in some soap, then stomped around. It felt like I was making wine (grape stomping). But then I had to drain it, stomp more, squeeze, ring, rinse, and refill the tub. More soap, more stomping, and more everything. 3 times I went through that process. I started out naked because I didn't want to get my clothes all wet. But I started getting hella cold. So out came the wetsuit. I broke the zipper last summer and still haven't had it fixed. Tried to go surfing with it a few times, but it tends to fill up like a balloon. Keeps my upper legs and arms warm, but doesn't do much for my torso. Anyway, bad for surfing, good for laundry stomping.

My friend gave me a $2 bill. Me and another friend were his first guests since Tet (The Vietnamese New Year) so he gave us each $2 bills from a red envelope, symbolic of good luck and prosperity for the year to come. Actually my other friend wouldn't take it. He's weird about taking money, even if it's just $2. He should've took it and given it to me. I stashed mine away. But yesterday I finished my portion of the banana's my sister got, then tapped into her portion. So I spent the $2 to buy some bananas. I hope I didn't give away my good luck and prosperity. I could really use some of that.

I have an interview tomorrow. The lady who interviewed me had a really soothing voice. I definitely want to work for her. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. Her voice lifted me right out of my bad mood.

After spending, my $2, I barely have 2 red cents, but I can still blog and put my 2 cents in.

AHAHAHAHA!

God, I'm cheesy. The idea wasn't so cheesy when I took the pictures. But now I have the pictures, so I must use them. It's a rule.

Good day.

6.03.2009

Close Shave










So awhile back, I was at the library browsing the new release (is that what they're called with books, or is that just movie rental lingo?) section when the George Lois photography book caught my eye. The cover featured the infamous March 1965 Esquire shot. George Lois first came up with the concept, then had to find an obliging actress. It wasn't an easy task: "Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield declined. Kim Novak's publicist hung up on him." Let's face it- it's a kinda a scary PR move, especially for back then. So he moved onto renowned Italian actress Virna Lisi (who has starred with the likes of Frank Sinatra and Jack Lemmon).

Fast forward a week later.

After months of haunting, I caved in to the snipping urge. Besides, the split ends just HAD to go. Well, some of them. I stopped midway through what I had intended to be the creation of a short bob. I settled for having it very short in the back, and taking an inch or two off the rest.

So I bagged the hair up (idk why, but it turned out to be a good thing) and tossed it in the trash. The next day I had an idea, I wanted to do some pictures with a beard. Eff the overdone finger 'stache I'm doing a "real" one, and a beard to boot.

So I did a little dumpster diving. Yeah, I know, I'm gross. But not really, because it was just a bunch of wrappers and paper in the trash. It wasn't like rotten eggs, stinking fish, bloody "female hygiene" products, or other such nasty things. So I'm only kinda gross. Give me a break here.

THEN, the Virna Visi image popped in my head- yes I decided to do a series of sorts. The beard. The shaving. The fresh face. Oh yes. It had to be done.

So I did my interpretation. After attempting the shaving pics, I have to give Jessica Simpson credit for her vapid recreation it's not easy. Virna made it look easy, something so taboo (for women), so overtly masculine, so "whaaaat?!" and so "ehhh-ew!", yet she made it appear sexy and playful. She looked natural doing it, though, not campy.

Mine look campy. But I kinda like it that way. I didn't want the bearded one to be a serious gender fuck, but more like it was, just playing around with hair. Besides, the glue (yeah I used elmer's) started making my face all itchy almost as soon as I put it on, so I kinda rushed through it.

When I searching for the original Virna photos, I came across a few interesting blogs. There's apparently quite the (skincare) movement for female face shaving. It automatically exfoliates, which makes the face appear smoother and younger. Some even say that it does something to physically slow the aging process (I don't fully understand their case for this). They claim that shaving is one reason men's face skin ages slower. I can see the exfoliation thing. But, no thanks. I have enough things to shave without throwing my face in the mix. And I'm not willing to turn a little peach fuzz into stubble. No thanks. So, yeah, btw, I didn't really shave. I wasn't THAT committed. I wonder if Virna and/or Jessica did, and if so, if they had stubbly cheeks afterwards. Hmmm.

In other news, my friend is going to grow a crazy mustache for me. We were at the Getty, looking at a civil war era photo (daguerrotype?) featuring a man with one of those thick, long mustache's that are waxed, twirled, and upturned at the ends. I told him that I bet that will be the next big hipster thing. When I went to fashion whore a few months back I saw this guy who had one. He was also wearing a Suicidal Tendencies hat, flipped up Mars- style (She's gotta have it) so I REALLY wanted a photo with him. If I had a few drinks in my system, I would've done it, but, alas, it was track season, and I wasn't drinking, so I was a little timid with such matters.

Anyway, now I can do one better. My friend is growing one of those 'staches. So I'll definitely be doing a series with that, and hopefully posting. Okay.

That is all.

P.S. About the make up. At first I wanted to do my version of Virna's make-up. But then I decided against plucking my brows since it would take too long, and I might not like that shape for my face. So I just penciled some strong Groucho Marx eyebrows in, dunno why. My eyebrows aren't usually like that, don't worry. And my face isn't usually so flakey (in one photo I look like the nasty guy with the flakey skin from that Austin Powers movie. Rest assured, it's just glue. (Um, probably not any better, huh? ) Okay, lemmee just quit while I'm kinda ahead. Out.

6.02.2009

"Pardon My Body"



New York City's Openhouse gallery is displaying an exhibition based on Harlequin covers. In CNN video clip curator Elizabeth Semmelhack elaborates on the show. The covers displayed are from 1949-2009 really catalogue the changing face not only of Harlequin, but of American desire and aspiration. Harlequin originally published a myriad of genres, mostly targeted towards men (hence the above image). As time went on, they shifted their marketing towards women, featuring female doctors on covers before women in the workplace. Most recently I see a theme of women being more in control all around. The old covers were all about getting saved. In some cases, the paradigm has shifted.

5.30.2009

Less of THIS...



(blogging, trolling around the internet, etc.)

More of this: (reading, being retarded, painting, playing with my dog)