the boomeranger

segundo

2011-03-23T10:02:00.001-04:00

who needs a prince?

primero

2011-03-06T11:42:00.001-05:00

it's about time!

check out my first column here:

sand in my suit

fingertips

2011-03-01T19:28:00.007-05:00

just found out from my editor--i mine as well be saying my boyfriend, for each are equally foreign verbalizations to me--that my work, unfortunately, will not be compensated.

effff.

apparently the "boss man" doesn't have anyone on a regular payroll, besides a few exceptions, so that makes me feel a little better about the disappointing news. i wasn't expecting a six-figure salary here, just some seed money to cover the lattes and homemade granola that i purchase while i'm writing the damn column.

i'm still very pumped for this opportunity to craft my writing skills and be able to see my own words in newspaper ink smudged beneath my fingertips. the plan now is to write kick-ass pieces until i accumulate some leverage for myself. in three months time, its either show me da money or show me the door.

if the shoe fits

2011-02-24T20:04:00.009-05:00

i.have.a.deadline.

monday morning. the most painful-sounding of all deadlines, wouldn't you agree? monday morning...just the sound of it can terrorize all your sunny weekend plans.

before biking to work today, i met with the editor of a local newspaper--who i have been in contact with just shy of two weeks--and by the time i left, i had my deadline. folks, looks like they are allowing me to have my own column! sand in my suit will run bi-monthly and i'm as excited as i am terrified. this is what i have been wanting for myself...this is what i have been waiting for! to go to a coffee shop, plop down on my computer, start typing away, and actually get compensated for what i am writing. i suppose it will make my tea/coffee/muffin intake feel more like a work-related expense rather than an indulgence.

while on the phone last night, my sister made the comment that i am like a young carrie bradshaw from sex and the city. i crinkled my nose and shook my head for there are several reasons why carrie and i differ--the most convincing one at the time being: "but i don't have an obsession with shoes."

"yes you do, an obsession with flip-flops."

"i have one pair!"

"yes, your first pair of havaianas (brazilian-brand flip-flop). when carrie moved to the city, she bought her first pair of manolo blahniks. both in manhattan, just in opposote corners of the country."

huh.

just don't expect no gushy, sexy details about my personal life anytime soon. i cross the line at shoes.

2011-02-22T23:55:00.002-05:00

something very, very exciting happened to me today...but i'm keeping it in the bag. for now. until i know a little bit more.

more than one way to use a latte

2011-02-18T18:50:00.009-05:00

lattes are the perfect hand-warmers, wouldn't you agree? one in each hand--the only time you can double-fist a beverage without your friends taking bets on the hour at which you are going to face plant on the dance floor. i was carrying the hot beverages from jane, a new bakery on fillmore street, back to my sister's apartment in san francisco. i'm in the city for just the weekend, which means only three days of exceptional-don't-mind-shoveling-out-four-bucks-a-pop coffee. i asked the friendly barista with the scruffy chin if they had almond milk. they didn't. not even skim. just whole and 2% (i thought whole milk was 2%). so i had to settle for a fatty latte made with fatty milk that only fatties drink (i know, life is tough). as i stood there in my spongy, bodyglove trucker hat, i thought to myself in true judy garland fashion, "we're not in l.a. anymore". definitely not. ordering a cup of coffee in l.a. would play out more like this, "oh yes, we've got almond milk! or do you prefer soy? goat's? the milk of an endangered giraffe? how about human breast milk? can you spare a few minutes? our wet nurse, shelley, is just returning from her lunch break."

i really milked that comparison.

the reason why

2011-02-16T10:50:00.001-05:00

the paramount reason why i have been so m.i.a. the last few weeks is because i decided that i was going to commit myself to writing and submitting my first essay for a print magazine. the publication i chose to write for provides freelancers with prompts each month as a guide...the prompt for this particular edition was, "what if?" and i had seven sunrises and seven sunsets to get the thing finished by the deadline.

'twas the night before the deadline and i was exactly nineteen words short of the minimum length requirement. felt like i was at the library in college again. choosing those nineteen words turned out to be easier than i thought and in the end i think they actually made my story stronger. it was ready, all 837 words. one "click" and it would virtually be in the magazine editor's hands.

"click".

it felt good. with no guarantee that my story would be looked at--let alone published--i was relieved and proud to have finished what i set out to do.

thing is, less than a day later, the editor of the mag sent me this one-liner: thanks so much, but we don't have a spot for this in our march issue. all i wanted to say in return was, "then why do you encourage writers to contribute their work on your website? thanks for nothing." needless to say, i felt a wee bit deflated after receiving this e-mail, which is why it took me a few days to post the article on my blog (which is also why it took me another few days to actually explain the premise for the article). better late than never, right? i knew a few college professors who would disagree.

2011-02-08T20:12:00.000-05:00

If at first you don’t succeed, fail, fail again.

Self-defeating thoughts can have a field day in your head. When faced with a challenging task, it’s hard not to entertain the possibility of failure. The two seem inseparable. “What if i fail?” you ask yourself. The answer to that question involves a deeper understanding as to what failure means to you and how you define it. If you don’t control it, failure has the power to manifest itself in just about everything.

It’s on the “submit” button to apply for the job of your dreams.
It’s in the gooey center of the under-cooked cupcakes you made for friends.
It’s the spot just outside the line that awarded a point to the other team.

Failure can be found everywhere and in anything, if you choose to see it that way. I’ve been wrestling with what failure means to me ever since I committed myself to beach volleyball, the reason I drove across the country last summer to start a new life in L.A. I flew to where many have flocked before me to pursue a dream. Mine was to become a professional beach volleyball player. Earning professional status means winning professional tournaments--or consistently placing in the top ten--and scoring a sponsor, goals I have yet to reach. Though my friends who played sports in high school and at the college level have all moved on to a livelihood that more or less puts them in a business suit, I’ve chosen to opt for a swimsuit instead. Beach volleyball remains my number one passion in my twenty-three years of living, but that passion has been saturated with doubt. Like a flickering candle, so too was my conviction about pursuing this non-traditional dream. I would describe my first season as a fighter jet spiraling downwards uncontrollably. What I endured was months of feeling like a failure, the word L-O-S-E-R seemingly tattooed on my forehead. And it was all because I internalized everything around me and twisted it into self-defeating mantras that I couldn’t shake.

Though just shy of 5’11’, a gift from mother nature by most standards, failure ripped that gift from my hands. I lost inches. I felt small. And the worst part was that for some time I wanted to be small. If I made myself small, nobody would notice whether I succeeded or not. I shied away from competition, from practice, from playing just for fun. I vividly remember a morning in bed before a scheduled session, hoping that one of the other three girls would cancel so that I could stay under the covers and avoid feeling worse about myself by making mistakes. I was like a dog being pulled by the collar to go sleep outside for the night. Out on the court, I became incapable of seeing the faults in others; I was always the one to blame. Even on the cloudiest days, my sunglasses would stay on to shield the tears in my eyes. I was as broken as an athlete could be. And I put it on myself.

Feeling like a failure forced me to create a new definition of failure and examine what it’s role would be in my life. Over time, I started championing myself. I was “failing” so often that I grew proud of each attempt and rebuilt my confidence one try after another. I realized that failure was taking me out of the game so I started putting up a fight against my negative thoughts and began to see how well I was playing. It was during a morning session in early November when I literally felt the physical and psychological switch turn from “off” to “on”. I was swinging at balls. I wasn’t afraid of my opponents. I was smiling, for God’s sake.

Failure can be scary, yes, but it is present. It is real. And it is here to stay. It is my understanding that you can choose to live in a world in which failure exists and crushes you or a world in which failure exists but does not cause you to turn and run the other way.

Like a boomerang, the question appears again and again: What if i fail? What if i never set foot on center court of a professional championship match? What if, years from now, people remember me as being a good player, but not a great one?

My sister has always reminded me that by not trying I’ve already failed. I filed this advice in the category of trite. Corny. In the same family as, “If you fall off the horse, get back on”. But it’s true. Failure is not trying. So, What if I fail? Do you know what frightens me more? What if I don’t try? That’s not a risk I’m willing to take. Whatever your passion in life, whatever you are pouring your heart into right now, don’t take yourself out of the game. Some people prefer cupcakes that are gooey in the center anyways.

fly back to me

2011-02-02T12:30:00.002-05:00

the word i'm thinking of right now is stale. does this blog seem stale to you?

i totally get it. i'm not the boomeranger who just graduated from college to move back in with her parents. i can re-live the quirky, dysfunctional generational moments with mom and dad but i can no longer experience them firsthand. i don't suffer from nearly as many expectation hangovers as i used to (have yet to hear back from caribou coffee regarding my application) because i've pulled back from expecting that my four-year degree from an excellent university is like being in a celebrity's entourage on the evening of the grand opening of a new restaurant. i have to put my name on the list like everybody else. either i've hardened, become more realistic, or both. fact is, i'm not the same girl that i was when i started this blog, and i think i'm struggling with finding a voice that is the perfect mix of then and now...that explores my new curiosities and adventures without relying on an "ahah!" moment to validate my thoughts.

all i know is that i haven't been doing a good job lately. one of the reasons i've been distant is because i'm actively pursuing other writing outlets. i've also been training more on the beach and working longer hours during the week.

oh boomeranger...where are you? fly back to me.

soft

2011-01-25T20:45:00.003-05:00

note to self:

if a customer wants their omelet to be prepared not well-done, do not type "not well-done" into the computer...your kitchen staff will mentally ignore the "not" part of the message, cook a well-done omelet, and then have to annoyingly cook another omelet.

next time, try using a word that means the opposite of "hard". like "soft". that would've been a wise word to use.

i have my dumb moments. i think waitressing is making me soft.

2011-01-22T12:46:00.002-05:00

oh twelve & highland,

i keep my bar tab open and, like a familiar dream, you pummel me with charges that i don't recollect ever making. haven't the faintest idea. never again. we are not friends.

silly

2011-01-19T17:49:00.009-05:00

WHO AM I !?

and i don't mean in the philosophical sense of the question...i mean, quite bluntly,

who the f am i !?

posing this question following the simple fact that i just traded a sheriffs badge silly band for a batman silly band with a borders bookstore employee. as he was counting the obscene $5.57 i had just dished out for a magazine, i noticed his collection of silly bandz inhabiting both his wrists and pulled up my own sleeve to reveal my three rubbery companions. connection. he showed me spiderman, the joker, and batman. i showed him my money sign, horseshoe, and sheriffs badge (all given by friends). then i said goodbye and left borders only to return two seconds later and propose a trade: my sheriffs badge for his batman. i wanted it, badly. he accepted and, though brief, our exchange of silly bandz was as ceremonious as wedding bands beneath the alter. "now we are friends," i offered, this time leaving borders and not going back.

i never thought that i would wear a silly band in my life, let alone take part in the growing trend of trading them, but it only takes one friend to turn you on to something new. it's such a simple act of tit-for-tat, like two kids trading their halloween candy, but proves that we are never too old to part with something that was once ours in the name of friendship. (or batman).

hanging from a rope

2011-01-18T17:59:00.004-05:00

"can't believe we live here" texted one of my so-cal buddies as i was enjoying a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and a veggie omelet at martha's, a restaurant in hermosa beach where the patio is littered with umbrellas and the ocean close enough to taste. my friend and i were enjoying a much deserved post-workout meal under the comfort of the shade. we had just played six games of gnarly volleyball, meaning long rallies and close scores. the entire morning i was just feeling so blessed to be playing my favorite sport on what felt like a hot-summer's day with three extremely talented and driven athletes. the sweat and sunscreen were coupling effortlessly in the corner of my eyes while my legs were begging for mercy...only my mind was fully aware of how beneficial my "running around chasing a ball half-naked" routine is. the only way to get better is to play with people who are better than you. soooo i didn't win a match. minor details. i held my own, and i'm climbing my own mountain. we finish playing and guess who runs up from the water? nicole-branagh, now partnering with kerri walsh. no big deal. when i got home, i took a picture of my butt showing off my tan lines and sent it to a few friends. the new yorkers haven't responded yet...could be hanging from a rope.

2011-01-13T14:06:00.002-05:00

don't look at the weather report for hermosa beach...you'll just get very, very upset.

e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g

2011-01-09T13:40:00.007-05:00

back in los angeles.

back to "the grind" which, for most out there, means back to grumpy monday mornings followed by four more work days before diving headfirst into the weekend.

for me, it means about three waitressing shifts per week, playing beach volleyball in the mornings, grocery bags dangling from my handle bars, coffee shop visits where i appear as if i'm checking my stocks, and long walks where i attempt to lose myself. i lose everything: my inhibitions, my fears, my calories. i become a daydreamer vulnerable to being pummeled by a car, or at the very least, a pile of dog shit. the lyrics all blend together until all i can hear are the melodies and how they compliment my stride and the leaves beneath my feet. here, i am in flow. here, i am on my knees beside myself after just winning my first major volleyball tournament in front of my family and friends. here, i am flying to san francisco to promote my first book. here, i muster up the courage to grab his hand before he grabs mine.

but since i've returned from my three-week holiday i've been struggling with my emotions. it has always taken me a few extra days to just settle into the change in scenery, people, and obligations following a trip. it's as if "jet-lag" gave birth to a monster and i am its caretaker. my sense of place in this world is jostled, leading me to question everything. e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. what is the meaning of life? why am i investing in a dream that will in all likelihood reap me no monetary return? is it inevitable that for every beautiful wife out there there is a husband who is tired of sleeping with her? i have two and a half men to thank for that one...

as you can imagine, this is about as fun as using the restroom in a guest's house and then realizing that there is no toilet paper. but the questions have begun to subside and i am seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. yesterday, a regular at my restaurant told me that god/jesus/jeramiah knows my calling in life and he will show it to me.

well, thank god/jesus/jeramiah for that!

2011-01-02T10:52:00.011-05:00

"they're right over eastern kansas right now," says my dad.

i try to picture eastern kansas in my head. is kansas next to kentucky? sounds like they could be neighbors. i need to seriously work on my geography.

he was referring to my sister and her boyfriend, who he had dropped off at the airport at around 4:30 this morning for their flight back to san francisco. this is what my dad does. when a family member is en route to where he is (or has just left him) he will track their air travel--connecting flights included--until they safely touchdown at their final destination. for instance, as i flew from los angeles to raleigh for christmas several days ago, i knew with full confidence that my dad knew the terminal and gate number in which i was reading outside magazine while waiting in dulles international for my connecting flight. if he has it his way, my dad will show up early to the airport, park the car on the top deck, and watch as the plane that we are in gets clearance to prepare for landing. his experience serving in the navy, over a decade working for the airlines, several years piloting his own planes, and continued fascination with those magestic flying creatures (say you personally know a member of the blue angels and you'll officially have his heart) are all reasons that compel him to show this behavior flight after flight. it's his way of feeling in control of his loved ones in a situation where has no control. it's also a way, i suspect, that he feels close to us despite being hundreds of miles apart.

this just in: "they're going to be back a few minutes before 11 a.m."

hey, dad? we feel the love too :)

twentyeleven

2011-01-01T10:03:00.007-05:00

two-zero-one-one

not merely a grouping of four numbers, for it's a way to help us conceptualize and compartmentalize our lives, and in one brief second all over the world, what was once this year becomes last year, and what was once next year becomes this year.

i drove across the country and moved to los angeles, last year.

i lost some good friends, last year.

i made some good friends, last year.

my confidence as a volleyball player was seriously shattered, challenged, and then mended, last year.

i decided i wanted to write a book, last year. but this year? i haven't done shit--not the entire year. and neither have you, but watch as all this drastically changes...

happy new year.

2010-12-29T22:59:00.006-05:00

the morning after christmas...view from my:

bedroom window

driveway

mailbox

am i losing you?

2010-12-23T21:17:00.005-05:00

my sister says that if i continue on this course of "blog celibacy" i will lose my readers. is that what i am doing here? has my silence translated into a resentful sense of abandonment on your part? am i losing you?

don't go. i am not lost, and you are not lost, and there should be no feeling of "loss" here on theboomeranger.

you wanna know the truth? i'm happy.

i blow up my mattress once before i go to bed and then a second time at around 3:00 a.m. almost every morning and i'm honestly, actually, despite this, happy. i've been reading a sizable amount of material the past few weeks to try and get my voice back but i think that there's another culprit contributing to my silence: writing when you are happy is hard. seriously. having something to rant about has served as the ignition to my creative and literary engine. reflecting on something that is negative in my life--or at least, something i perceive as being negative in my life at a given time--helps me transform a blank space into, well... a blank space with a lot of words. all that groaning and frustration seems to dissolve into something i can swallow and digest. sorry for the visual, but what comes out at the other end ends up being enlightening.

what i have to learn now is how to be in a state of happiness and still be able to write thoughtfully because part of this treacherous journey through the decade we call our twenties does include laughs, fulfillment, and joy. whodathought!?

2010-12-05T14:02:00.002-05:00

the man of the house and his new houseguest are taking turns hitting the bong as i brew some coffee and defrost the blueberries that will go with my yogurt and crushed pecan morning creation.

"you workin'?" he says nonchalantly, noticing my fingers typing away on the keyboard.

"well, no...not today." pause. "i write, so, i pretend like i am getting paid."

"sure, just because you aren't getting paid doesn't mean that you aren't working."

(so true)

"...and just because you are getting paid doesn't mean you are working!" i offer back as he walks towards his corner of the couch.

nothing like some wisdom on a sunday morning.

golden retriever

2010-12-03T11:16:00.008-05:00

the parents of the kids i was babysitting for are back together. he had been cheating on her since she was six months pregnant and apparently she had had enough and left the house--and him--with her baby girl in tow. that was about two weeks ago. now they are back together, because he is again the man that she met and fell in love with. the phrase "cold turkey" was even used to express his loyalty and devotion...in quotations...in a text message...to me. yah, a real golden retriever that husband is. and now i am being asked for my schedule next week because life goes on and kids still need to be picked up from school, driven to karate, and fed dinner.

well, that's exactly what i intend to do myself: go on. move on.

i had something of theirs that i had to return. a bike. a little red cruiser with a basket. they had kindly lent it to me for a couple weeks. i just had to return that bike. so yesterday i rode over and locked it to a tree outside their house. then i ran, literally ran to the beach and sat there for a while with the sun on my face and the sand in my feet and music in my ears.

as of now, they do not know that i am moving on...that i can't imagine being in that house again and making conversation with him. there is already too much negative energy in this world...why the hell would i invite it into my life? i feel sorry for those kids, i really do. but i have to put myself first. when i have my own family, they will come first. but now? i come first. it just has to be that way.

words

2010-11-29T16:45:00.008-05:00

showing up to work at 6:15 a.m. only to get off and then spend six hours in a toyota camry to surprise my family on thanksgiving was perhaps the most liberating and cool thing i have done thus far in my young adult life. showing up on someones doorstep unannounced is an incredible experience for both parties involved. not only did i successfully surprise my relatives but also a handful of friends who were all in town for the holiday and also our five-year high school reunion. a truly incredible weekend; yet i can't talk about it. not because i'm trying to censor what happened, but simply because i have lost my voice.

fear of sounding like i'm trying too hard

mentally over the whole blog format and searching for a new platform

wondering if i'm just wasting my time and energy, if anyone is benefitting from this

more motivated to focus on writing a book

pure laziness

it is most likely a combination of all of these things/reasons/excuses. call it what you want to call it. fact of the matter is that something is inhibiting the thoughts in my head from coming to life on the keyboard, and that is like a death sentence to a writer.

so, i have resolved to the following solution: if i can't write words, i will read them. lots of them. from glenn beck's common sense to katie crouch's girls in trucks, the stack of words is grinning at me from across the table. "pick me! pick me!" they are chanting. "i will help you get your voice back." i reason that reading the work of other writers will help me develop and fine-tune my own writing style and push me in the direction that i need to be going. if the winningest coach in college sports history, a couple of experts on late bloomers, or a girl with a dragon tattoo can't help me, i don't know what will.

oh yes, and thank you public library.

2010-11-27T20:30:00.000-05:00

5-year high school reunion...here we go!

2010-11-24T11:27:00.004-05:00

dear friends and family,

be thankful for spontaneity. or, more accurately, the thoughtful planning of doing something spontaneous. okay. that's totally a type A person thing to say. i try.

and also, i'm thinking about starting a twitter account. thoughts?

off to volleyball training

more later,

theboomeranger

2010-11-21T18:05:00.003-05:00

upon meeting a writer last night my friend quickly interjected by saying, "she's a writer, too," and all i could do was throw her a "how could you?" glance, blush, and assure him that i wasn't.

"well, i write, but--"

"then you're a writer," he said. "admitting that you are a writer is like admitting that you are an alcoholic. you must believe yourself that you are and even practice saying it out loud."

i'm a writer. i'm a writer. i'm a writer...

starfish

2010-11-13T11:43:00.016-05:00

i now live in an office.

perks?

i get to take the dog on a walk whenever i please. i'm re-united with the all-mighty microwave. one of my new roommates can apparently fashion a halter bra out of a regular bra, which should come in handy one of these days. someone in the house subscribes to people magazine, so there's my celebrity gossip. and the owner just installed HD cable boxes on every television in the house, so the remote might as well be harry potter's magic wand.

downsides?

i have to walk five steps to catch a reflection of myself. whoever it is that made coffee and left half a pot sitting there to die apparently doesn't honor the same brewing code that i am used to. i can't walk around in any of my promiscuous sleepwear. and, my personal favorite: i have to resemble a starfish in order to keep my body elevated off the floor at night. goodbye mattress, hello blown-up mess. on the first morning following my first nights sleep in the house i woke up with my ass on the floor. i felt like i was the lettuce, cheese, and pollo in a soft taco. what ended up saving me was the little switch i found beside the mattress that slowly pumps air back into it. even though i haven't been sleeping well this past week, at least this switch prevents me from turning into a starfish at night.

to summarize: i miss you, mattress on manhattan avenue. why did i leave you for an office a mile away? well, i had no choice in the matter. the owner of the home i have been renting has brought his entire family here for the holidays so i had to vacate temporarily. to my good fortune he arranged for me to stay at a friends place, hence the reason why i now live in the office of a three-bedroom home. sounds like a giant step back but hear this: rent-free. yah baby, best perk of them all.

millionnaire overdose

2010-11-07T23:20:00.004-05:00

i never thought i would be sick and tired of bouncing from one millionaire's home to the next. how can the novelty of a personal servant tossing you volleyballs and bringing you popcorn while you're half-submerged in a grotto be wearing off? when it comes to this exclusive los angeles lifestyle, i'm still brand spanking new...so why do i feel like i've seen all there is to see?

bullocks, right? i'm an idiot. only an idiot would forgo spending a day grazing over a feast of catered food, laying on plush lounge chairs, and, of course, playing beach volleyball. only an idiot would pass up the opportunity to eat, drink, and be merry--all at a strangers' expense. yet that's exactly what i did this afternoon. no guys and gals frolicking around in bathing suits for me.

i just couldn't witness another interaction between the seventy year-old man with a forty year-old's face (hello botox) and an ass-less, lingerie-laden model (who i thought should fight for her right to full financial and emotional repercussions from a hair extension gone terribly bad). although i couldn't conceal the fact that i was curious as to what in the world was making her light up, i also couldn't keep myself from thinking, "this girl has a father. where is he?" now i'm not trying to dump on modeling as a career choice. i am simply baffled at how some girls can put themselves in such tasteless situations to further their careers. i know the kind of faces and curves that make it onto magazine covers, billboards, and into victoria's secret underwear, but these girls ain't it. they're more of the, "i feel like bending over beside this muscle car" type.

enough about the girls. it's not about the girls. it's actually more about the guys. where are their wives? you are clearly fast approaching or already adding prozac to your laundry-list of supplements...where are the leading ladies in your lives? that's what bothers me. i like to see moms and dads and happy monogamous relationships. a.k.a., i grew up watching disney movies. simba would never cheat on nala. this i know. what i don't know is where the families are on these friday/saturday/sunday fundays i've been having recently. it's just a different world. when i'm in it i can appreciate the plush towels and mimosas...but in between a volleyball game and a dip in the pool i think about the people i wish were there to enjoy it with me. i am reminded of what's really important in life and that i can indulge in this world for a day and walk off the property leaving that world behind. it's fun and interesting (and one of the models last night complained of being cold for a good ten minutes before finally putting on a bra (light bulb!) but i'm leaving it at that.

newborn on the beach

2010-11-04T11:16:00.005-04:00

last night was just weird. pathetic-weird. the kind of night that, if we were keeping score, would undoubtedly leave me with negative five-hundred points. maybe a thousand.

it was one of those nights where my main plan fell through (apparently eat, love, pray doesn't come out for another month) and, with that, so did my dignity. i became one with the couch. it started out innocently enough...me watching the latest episode of modern family while munching on healthy things like grapes and raspberries. one would hope that after channel surfing and realizing that absolutely nothing good was on t.v. that person would take that as a sign to turn the tube off and do something...go for a walk, read one of the books i checked out at the library, write a letter, fold clothes...anything! but no. i was suddenly seized with the burning desire to consume chips. i left my apartment and walked a few blocks to a liquor store where, after a brief moment of being blindsided by the aggressive artificial light, remembered that they require a minimum credit card charge of ten dollars. so one bag of chips turned into two bags of chips and the new bazaar. dear god, i should sign up for a program that automatically freezes my accounts when the clock strikes nine on a weekday.

somewhere between finishing the first season of entourage and starting on a season of sex and the city i managed to finish an entire bag of cheddar-enhanced chips and about half a bag of tostitos. i was watching that episode where miranda gives up sex and ends up filling that void with chocolate. one night she decides to bake a cake and keeps going back for seconds, thirds, fourths, because she can't help but indulge herself. after grabbing another chunk of the cake that was now literally in the trash, she realizes that she has reached an all-time low and pours dishwashing liquid all over the remains to prevent her from further tarnishing her dignity. even though it is just her, alone in her apartment, she still cannot escape the shame that befalls on her. i peered at the remaining chips that i had wrapped up and tucked away out of view--but not out of mind--and suddenly felt akin to miranda. so i did something that i have never done before...

i went to my bathroom and retrieved some hair spray so that i could spoil the remains of my own little fat factory...only what oozed out of the container turned out to be some sort of mousse, so i had to grab a back-up weapon: spray-on sunscreen. those chips were protected like a newborn on the beach. and i haven't looked back.

livelihood

2010-10-29T13:49:00.005-04:00

this is the second week in a row that i have been scheduled to work only one shift. it’s the closest feeling to being unemployed i've felt since june, when i was actually unemployed. “our labor costs are exceeding our store revenue,” says the bossman, “and i have to take care of the people who have been here for four, five years…it’s their livelihood.”

reality check: i don’t think that anyone who waits on tables is not doing it for their livelihood. yah…come to think of it, i just enjoy busting my balls in an unflattering cotton t-shirt and $11.99 velcro shoes. i have so many other opportunities to pay the bills, but i'd rather rely on tips instead. and here’s the kicker: the folks who have seniority over me have chosen to stay at this restaurant for nearly half a decade. now that's gotta be more frightening than anything i’m going to run into this halloween weekend.

naturally, my newly acquired work predicament has stirred up a little fear inside my little world, causing me to pick up more babysitting hours and hold on to those twenties a little bit tighter. but this isn't how i should view my situation, according to my polish influence. she’s been trying to tell me that my reduction in hours is just what the universe wants for me. my own self, she continues, is manifesting this outcome and i should be reading the signs: maybe this pinch of fear is just the motivational push i have been craving to pursue something else i’ve been wanting to pursue. like writing my book, perhaps?

universe. manifestation. you have to understand that these are two words that serve as the back bone to my polish influence’s understanding of the world. this is the same girl who taught me to be sensitive to the energy around me—in people, in places, even in food. the same girl who, before giving me her trucker hat that i had been eyeing, had me burn a bundle of sage in her VW bug to rid the hat of her energy so that it could accept mine.

you may be wigged out at this juncture, and i completely understand. i've never been one to invite the spiritual side of life into my life...minerals containing healing powers? my being a gemini actually meaning something? let's face it: burning incense was stepping over the line for me. my point is that my acceptance and knowledge of all things spiritual has come a long way, and all it has taken is exposure and listening. i don't buy into everything that my polish influence believes but i'm open to hearing her out. maybe i'm not just another waitress drone at the mercy of her general manager. maybe, deep down, i don't want to be scheduled to work as often and the reality i want is the reality i am creating...

i think she would be proud if she could hear me right now.

2010-10-26T01:27:00.003-04:00

there are moments when i get slapped by the reality of living and working in tinsel town...

me: "hi, i really like that scarf you are wearing."

customer: "thank you. have you heard of the clothing brand michael stars?"

me: "yes, of course."

customer: "i'm michael."

great. nice to meet you, michael. if you need anything i'll just be standing right over there reading the newspaper everytime my manager retreats into the back room.

2010-10-23T11:33:00.004-04:00

tip-tap, tip-tap

says the rain outside my apartment this morning.

she speaks so softly that i have to open my door and fixate on the hood of the nearest car to see if it's in fact really raining or--as i suspected--she has finished speaking and all i hear are last night's words dripping from the roof onto the ground and foliage beneath. well i was almost right. once i saw what was a steady, thick mist filling up my saturday morning i ducked back inside, headed straight to my cabinet, measured three scoops of blue bottle heaven, and let the coffeemaker finish the job.

i think i'll sit here a little while longer. it's so quiet--everyone in l.a. could be gone and i wouldn't even know it. just me, still a little frustrated with the way last night turned out. i had plans to go to a nearby comedy club and have drinks afterwards with a group but there was a ticket debacle (to no fault of my own) and i missed out on the show. i had dressed up from head to toe for this evening, but my dress and heals were reluctantly taken back home to witness what felt like an entire season of entourage and the consumption of almond butter straight outta the jar. i don't know why almond butter has become a "pity me" snack but i should probably find a replacement.

what are my plans after i peel myself off this cozy couch? the library. i think that's what the rain is telling me to do, or at least that is how i am interpreting her melancholy tone.

crush.problem.goal.

2010-10-19T13:11:00.003-04:00

i have a crush. it should be noted that this is my very first crush since moving to los angeles and, in just one short week since its conception, i have managed to perform the whole “i’ve tried on everything in my closet and have nothing to wear” bid. along with that—like clockwork--my imagination ran. it ran so fucking fast that we were already a couple driving to napa valley vineyards to meet up with my sister and her boyfriend for wine tasting. and, as per usual, none of my fantasies came true…all i have to show for this past weekend is security footage of me eating awful pancakes at denny’s at 3 a.m.

i have a problem. you know the movie liar liar? well, i am jim carrey in that bathroom scene where he literally beats the shit out of himself. he figures that faking assault is the only way he can get out of returning to that courtroom and possibly losing his case. that’s me on the volleyball court—or in my bed thinking about getting on that volleyball court. though i’m not slamming my face beneath a toilet seat, i am verbally beating myself up whether it’s preceeding, during, or following a workout. this self-degrading behavior has been going on for a couple of months believe it or not, shredding my self-esteem and causing me to seriously question if beach volleyball is still my number one passion.

i have a goal. i can literally tell you how many people i have told my goal to: eight (nine if you want to count that stranger at the bar the other week). that’s because it's a lofty goal and as a result i struggle to allow the words to leave my lips. a BHAG, if you will. a whaaa? a BHAG: big hairy audacious goal. i actually came across this term while interviewing for a job at lululemon back in june. i was very pleased and intrigued to discover that goal setting played such a big part of the company’s culture. after pondering what i wanted to accomplish one, five, even ten years down the road, i had abandoned goal setting until my drive was re-ignited at the beginning of this month. now i have a slab of brown wrapping paper stuck to my closet door that reads: write and publish a book. and now i feel naked.

2010-10-15T02:18:00.002-04:00

now this gets me in the october mood...

2010-10-15T02:16:00.001-04:00

as told by the ONE person who responded to my inquiry (who would like to remain anonymous):

Dear facebook,

You have been the most relentless, tumultuous, and degrading relationship I have ever had. So many times I have tried to delete you, but your powers reel me back in time after time. I hate how you update me on random people I haven’t seen or talked to in four years. I hate how I care.

Not to mention, it’s creepy as fuck when you advertise cupcake shops near my house when I have never listed my address. It’s not only creepy, it’s rude…if you knew anything, I’m trying not to eat sweets.

And as for those status updates you provide me? Pu-lease. You think I’m impressed? Think again. I think those people are self-promoting fools who are obviously not as “busy” and “productive” as they claim to be since they are updating their facebook statuses every thirty minutes. Whatever happened to knocking someone for “tooting their own horn.” Apparently humility has gone right out the window along with proper grammar. “Your the best”…really, REALLY? I digress.

Facebook, if you weren’t my connection to the rest of the world and the leader in social networking, I would leave you and never look back. Unfortunately, I’m stuck with you, like a wealthy, verbally abusive boyfriend I just can’t live without. Is this what “keeping in touch with friends” has come to? Can’t I just pick up a phone? No. I can’t. Because if I delete my profile I’ll miss out on all the link sharing, the gossiping, and the photo posting. I’ll have to actually make an effort to reach out to people I want to stay in touch with and let others go. And everyone wants to have lots of “friends,” right? Because that is what you, facebook, are all about, right? Surely you haven’t become a moneymaking scheme to use my personal information to sell me useless goods and services, right? Please get back to me. I seem to have forgotten your purpose.

Sincerely,
anonymous twentysomething

punk out

2010-10-13T17:23:00.004-04:00

eleven. how did i allow that many days to come between my last post and this one? well, i can explain why i let a few days go by...because i was waiting on friends (like you) to reply to the message i had sent out regarding the can't-get-enough-of monster that is facebook and the latest article i posted under my boomeranger links. you see, i have pent-up emotion when it comes to people who feel it is their godsend to promote themselves via their facebook status, but to my disappointment, you people don't seem to care. this was the first time that i decided to send out a mass message inquiring for feedback before writing upon the subject. and what came of it? not one single, lousy response. maybe you didn't have two minutes to spare. maybe you really dislike sharing your feelings. or maybe you just didn't give a flying fuck. whatever the reason, at least i proved the diffusion of responsibility, a social phenomenon that you should've learned in your intro to psychology course. and now i'm too stubborn to share any of my mind-blowing thoughts concerning how your friends on facebook can make you feel like utter shit about your twenty-something existence. you punk out, i punk out.

at least for now.

but that only explains a few days. where have i been? a mansion in beverley hills. the public library. a movie theater. a beach house occupied by a grown man and his mother. all places i would like to expand upon but don't have the time to do so.

at least for now.

2010-10-02T18:16:00.005-04:00

you can't make any decisions because you don't know what you want. and you don't know what you want because you don't know who you are. and you don't know who you are because you're allowed to be anyone you want. how messed up is that?

intrigued? then check out the latest article i posted just to the right over there under my shortlist. or, if you're a lazy bastard, just wait a few days for me to break it down into pieces that you can chew and swallow.

never lost, only transferred

2010-10-01T00:12:00.007-04:00

i know that this next sentiment is going to sound like an echo, but today i really wanted to quit. quit my job, that is (not life). herein lies the irony: when we have no customers i am stressed because all i can think about is the money i am not making and the rent that is going to be harder to pay for this month; yet when we have customers i am stressed because i am running around with orders and bills and lemon wedges and dirty hands. dirty hands that should be washed (under hot water for fifteen seconds) much more frequently than they actually are (sorry to tell it like it is). rarely do we servers enter that “happy medium state” where the pace of the restaurant stays in sync with our own personal pace.

i could feel myself drowning deeper and deeper into that bad place…you know, that place where you return to your parking meter two minutes too late. but i couldn’t do shit about it because i had to work. work work work. so i released my anger the only way i could: by not saving the organic butter. you see, we have these little individually wrapped organic butters which we are not supposed to offer to customers unless they request them because they’re like a whopping thirty-three cents a piece or something like that. but i can respect that, which is why, on an average day, i don’t pimp out the butter and willfully salvage whatever packets are left on the table unused. but today? those fucking butters went down the trash abyss with the rest of the bread crusts and oatmeal and lemon wedges (don’t ask for extra fuckin’ lemon wedges if you aren’t going to use them).

woah, i think this entry has officially earned its “r” rating for profanity.

here’s the cool thing though: all the negative energy i was generating didn’t evaporate into thin air—it actually turned into positive energy for something else in my life: my writing. it fueled my desire to stop being complacent with my blog and turn the writing behind theboomeranger into something special (thanks to any of you who already consider theboomeranger special). what i have to do is pick one direction and run with it…run somewhere far, far away…where nobody can complain that the almond milk they use at home doesn’t make their green tea look this murky.

they take your money

2010-09-23T23:22:00.000-04:00

sometimes you receive advice from the unlikeliest of places…

while shooting the shit with one of my good family friends (andy, we’ll call him), who also happens to be my older brother’s best friend, the conversation turned to volleyball. specifically, i shared with him how challenging the transition from playing on the east coast to playing on the west coast has been. the sheer talent here is just greater than anywhere else. the best of the best flock to southern california and, even though i knew this coming in, competing against the best is different than anticipating competing with the best. why? because they take your money. and sometimes your self-esteem…the heightened competition forces you to look deep within yourself and ask, “how bad do i really want it?” i was winning on one side of the country and here i am losing on the other. the flip-side, of course, is that you get better playing against better people—at least, that’s what’s supposed to happen.

anyhow, i was surprised by how easy it was for andy to relate to my situation, seeing as his love lies in cards. twenty-six and fresh from finishing his service in the army, andy flew to las vegas to play poker. he’s been an avid player for years, building upon his skills and gaining experience mostly through online gaming. after listening to my california woes, he told me that he went through a similar realization during his vegas trip. while on the east coast, he could play cards on yachts and clean house, but going to sin city was a whole different ball game. the best players from all over the world come to vegas to play high stakes poker, which i realized is just as intimidating to him as all the talented beach volleyball players are to me. different game, same concept. and in both, they take your money!

i’ve never considered myself the gambling type. sure, there was that one time in atlantic city when i didn’t return to the hotel until 5 a.m. from playing blackjack, but that was with someone else’s money. big difference. you know, i don’t think you need chips to be a gambler. our lives are like a string of poker games. we are dealt a hand and must place our bet with only the information that is right in front of us: our present. should i take this opportunity? should i go there to be with him? should i quit? forget about six months from now. forget about the cards that the other players are holding. you can only control the hand you’ve been dealt, and it takes knowing yourself--and a little leap of faith--to just make the best call that you can with the information that you have at any given moment in your life. it’s really that simple.

no one can tell you when to call and when to fold besides you. and that’s my lesson for the day.

somebody

2010-09-20T14:52:00.008-04:00

mac.mac.dell.mac.fujitsu.mac.no idea.mac.

that's today's laptop lineup, as seen from my view on the first floor of the coffee bar in san francisco. there they all are...perched like birds on a streetlight wire. what are they working on? who's facebook album are they snooping through to avoid doing work? i can't help but wonder. what if each of them had a thought bubble over their heads that reveled what they did for a living. entrepreneur. gossip columnist. blogger who wishes they were getting paid for their writing. alright kids, what'll it be? would you rather walk on water, posses the gift of flight, or be able to see the thought bubbles over anyone's head? i guess your answer depends on a lot of things. like whether or not you genuinely enjoy getting up in the morning to go do whatever it is that you do to pay the rent. or whether or not you have a fear of heights.

"all my life i've wanted to be somebody, but i see now i should've been more specific."

found this quote (circa the famous playwright jane wagner) in the september issue of oprah magazine and it really made me stop and think. i want to be somebody, but the phrase be somebody is actually a very vague concept. that homeless person i saw riding his bike in manhattan beach--wearing the most amazing duct tape and cardboard helmet ever--is somebody. the chick eating her soup directly across from me is somebody. those alcatraz inmates from back in the day who were known worldwide for their vicious crimes were all somebody. so what exactly do we mean when we tell ourselves that we want to be somebody--to make something of ourselves? is the end result fame? fortune? a colony of followers? a house with a yard? a trophy of some sort? a corner office?

maybe our twenty-somethings is a great time to explore the word "somebody" and discover what it means to you--and you and you and you--personally. your idea may be entirely different from mine, thus making the paths we take in life different. i mean, if i imagine the kind of human being i want to be someday, won't that help me to make the right decisions today that lead me down the right path? maybe. after all, it's not a science.

obviously none of us have a crystal ball, but i think--i hope--that each of us has an idea of the kind of person we want to become, regardless of the line of work we end up choosing for ourselves. so before you tell yourself that you want to be somebody someday, figure out what that entails for you. otherwise, i know a great way to save on a bike helmet.

compass

2010-09-17T00:48:00.000-04:00

flying lax to sfo, beats blaring in my bright purple headphones, and i almost feel like a rock star. i’d be taking a swig of beer right now if i hadn’t foolishly eaten those five slices of bread before i left. i just can’t resist the pure goodness that is bread—and now i am paying for the binge.

so why leave l.a. for the yay (area)? to see my sister. my 5’8’’ compass. i have faith that this trip is going to help clear the haze—haze, as in that cloudy, restless state of mind that makes you feel like it’s maybe time to get glasses (or screw on a new brain, whichever your insurance covers). i’m going to feel rejuvinated, re-focused…and wow, captain says we are on our initial descent. already!? i was just getting the party started. guess i’ll have to continue this train of thought atop the most comfortable mattress in the world: my sisters’.

…signing off…9:10 p.m…

…signing on…12:28 a.m…

it’s even more comfortable than i had imagined, if that’s even possible. blinds are being drawn as we speak (as if by some miracle the sun is going to bless the city of san francisco).

since it’s technically friday, i’ll say that today is a new day. i’m wishing for outlandishly good coffee, a satisfying yoga class, and sisterly bonding capable of fighting crime.

goodnight.

2010-09-16T00:12:00.003-04:00

what's more nauseating: waitressing or babysitting?

in both, you put on a good face while being at someone's beck and call.

lucky for me, i get to live in the best of both worlds.

week one

2010-09-15T01:19:00.003-04:00

this entry, "week one", is taken from a blog i stumbled upon called life without pants.

it's short, simple, and pure...just the kind of thoughts you want circling inside your pretty little head when you roll out of bed to start your day. i like.

24hours ago football fans everywhere were waking up to a sunrise that was that much more beautiful. We stepped out of bed, showered, threw on our favorite jersey, gathered with friends, and prepared to watch our favorite team step onto the field for the first time of the year.
Week one is a beautiful time for football fans and football players everywhere. Despite all of the off-season talk, despite who is ‘supposed’ to win and lose, every fan everywhere possesses one thing…Hope.
We’re hopeful that the pundits and critics are wrong, that this year is “our” year, that our team has the ability to surprise everyone and win it all.
It illustrates a greater point that goes beyond football, or sports in general.
Nothing matters until you actually get out there and play the game.
All the talk, all the doubt and questioning – it means absolutely nothing. The only thing that matters is how you perform.
Every day should be lived like week one of the season. Every day is the moment before you run out of the tunnel and take the field to play the game. With the mentality that you can succeed, regardless of the circumstances and adversity stacked against you.
It may fit into the category of ‘easier said than done’ but honestly, the easiest thing is to just go out there and, metaphorically speaking, ‘play the game’.
What’s ahead of you today? It’s week one, hopes are high, go get the “W”…

cruise

2010-09-10T23:35:00.009-04:00

i gotta say...

not having a car can be a real blessing.

uhhh let me rephrase that:

not having a car--but having a bike--can be a real blessing.

if you hop on that seat and forget about that nagging concept we call "time", bikes are like an extension of your curious side. on foot, you are limited a great deal by how far your legs can take you. behind the wheel, you are prisoner to every traffic sign, every moving object, and you can forget about crossing that solid line. but on a bike? just right. that's right, goldilocks.

it is possibly the only time when i free myself from planning my next move in advance—a very difficult feat for a person who knows what they are having for breakfast the night before (i heart you calender). but there i was, turning left on poinsetta and then right on duncan. when you pedal through the hills of manhattan and hermosa beach you inevitably pass two things: block after block of breathtaking homes and, like flies to a flame, hispanic landscapers.

so take it from a carless los angelite like myself and hang up the keys. go find a bike and explore your city on foot. you may be surprised at what you discover.

shoe shopping

2010-09-10T13:07:00.004-04:00

i hate hate hate my last post.

it was short. it was shallow. i can't imagine that anyone who unfortunately read it could take away anything meaningful from it, and i wish i could give you those thirty seconds of your life back.

it's what i would refer to as a cowardly post...a collection of sentences that contain feelings and thoughts with no attempt at finding a resolution.

so i should "cowboy up", as my good friend says. damnit, face the music!

alright, alright...i'm afraid to fail. are you happy?

social. i pass up invitations to hang out with people because i'm afraid that if i don't have a good time the evening would just be a failure and prevent future hangouts. physical. i can be very reluctant and nervous to play volleyball with certain individuals because if i don't perform than i'm that failure on the court. this has lead me to opt out of competing in recent tournaments on the basis that saving thirty dollars (and an afternoon) is better than the thought of losing. aspirational. i convince myself that i am "too tired" or not in "the right creative mood" to generate ideas relating to this blog and where i aspire to take it because if i pursue an idea that idea could ultimately fail.

(this pretty much makes me the last person on earth who should give a motivational speech right now, doesn't it? just checking.)

aside from the obvious pitfall, that being the inability to take an idea or goal and run with it, the fear of failure basically screws with your sense of motivation. for instance, am i no longer paying a coach for training sessions because they don't serve as much value to me in this point in time or because i don't want to under-perform? are my actions a result of my own fears or are they honest signs that i truly don't want to be pursuing something? my own p.i., as in polish influence--my new friend/older sister figure who just so happens to be polish like me--would say that we are afraid of our own greatness. so forget about failure, maybe it's our potential to be great that we are so afraid of...that i am so afraid of. how does that shoe fit? i'm not sure which i would rather walk in, but i'm guessing that either way i need to find me a new pair of shoes.

do any of these scream "i am limitless" or should i go with something with a little more heel?

coming back

2010-09-09T11:22:00.004-04:00

september 9th, really?

the back-to-school shrines already disheveled and in ruins on market shelves.

the brisk afternoons where warm soup feels like the only thing that can bring the body back to life. or slowly bring it into hibernation mode, as is the case with my life right now.

why do i feel like being under my comforter is the safest place to be?

why do i insist on hiding from the world?

right now i'm sitting on my living room couch, with federer up two sets in his quarter-final match, and all i can think about is returning to this couch after i play volleyball for a few hours. i'm going to the beach to go play volleyball and all i can think about is coming back? this doesn't make sense.

i like people.

i like volleyball.

i'd chose to be outside rather than inside any day.

so why am i behaving like this?

i think i know why.

a is for apple, m is for

2010-08-30T23:55:00.000-04:00

onday is mop day, says my manager to me.

get it? the "m" in "monday" matches the "m" in "mop". alliteration...so damn clever. genius, in fact. alliteration was literally the only poetic device that i had confidence identifying on english tests back when i was a sophomore in high school. since i am almost always scheduled to work the closing shifts, as well as work on mondays, i have come to dread the letter "m" for what it currently stands for in my life...

first all the chairs must be secured onto tabletops and the entire dining room has to be swept free of debris before the mopping can officially commence...pushing the rag-head device forwards and backwards, submerging it into the sanitizing solution which, after just one rinse, already looks soiled, and then finally squeezing the excess liquid from the tip of the broom to initiate the process again. and again. what's not to love?

to my surprise my work week had completely been altered to accommodate others' schedules, leaving me with a completely open monday. what do i do? begin planning, of course. "let's see...i'll wake up relatively early, bike to yoga, hit up whole foods for their $2 monday coffee and a pastry deal, kill a few hours reading and writing, then attend a second yoga class before heading back home." fast forward to 7:30 a.m. today and you have me locking the door to my apartment and releasing the kick stand. about forty minutes later and i'm in my yoga happy place, sipping on this surprisingly good vanilla-hazelnut tea and waiting for vinyasa flow to begin.

this is when i notice that the girl in front of me has one of those fancy water bottles where you can etch your personal goals directly onto the bottle. i become overwhelmed with curiosity. she begins to unwind in child's pose as i begin to inch my way forward until i'm at the tip of my mat, head and neck outstretched, in what could only be called the "nosy child" pose. but i still can't quite make out what she had written. damn her cursive penmanship and barely visible bright pink pen. i just HAD to know what her goals were. maybe we shared a similar one...maybe we were soulmates. having grown increasingly determined now, i slide into an advanced variation of nosy child until i can just begin to decipher her first goal: "meet chip--". that's all i got. meet chip? after reading the word "meet" i'm thinking the rest of the sentence would be "the man of my dreams", but the name "chip" put that possibility to a screeching halt. who the hell is chip and how many people actually know someone named chip? could she be meeting him for a drink? or to finalize the guest list to an upcoming charity event? i just couldn't fathom who this chip character was and what he could possibly want from my goal-setting yoga bff. she's too good for him. i can totally tell by the way she pulled her hair back into an effortless ponytail. frustrated and confused, i had to find out more...but the bottle was rotated in such a way that i could not read the rest of that sentence! though, by shifting my gaze downward, i could see the second goal she had written for herself: "run the los angeles marathon". there we go, that's more like it. now that i can understand. but why was i so satisfied after uncovering one of her personal goals? should i be focusing a little more on setting and reaching my own goals and a little less on those of strangers?

anyhow, i dodged a mopping bullet today by not being scheduled to work. but just for clarification: m is for muffin. there will be no more sunday nights spent in bed thinking, "shiiitt, monday is mop day" but rather "monday is muffin day!" i see many more monday mornings spent biking to yoga and indulging in a plump and fatty muffin in my future. and maybe, just maybe i'll find out more about chip.

raised by wolves

2010-08-28T13:39:00.014-04:00

where did the california sunshine go? i think my parents took it with them to north carolina. isn't it crazy how you can be in the same room with people one night and by the following morning they are on the other side of the country? gets me every time. and speaking honestly, the week-long parents visit could've been condensed to five or even four days.

there were times when i wanted them out. when i wanted to have the couch and remote all to myself. when the disagreements about when and where to eat made me cranky and frustrated. during the five times a day my dad would comment (and moan) about los angeles parking and highway congestion. after getting that thirty-five dollar ticket, i thought he was going to shit a brick. but then again, there were more times when i wanted them in. like when we went to target and they bought me a knife (among other things, but i'm most proud of the knife). like during those three days i had to continually reassure myself that there was no way a spider could possess the strength to free itself from the captivity (red cup) i had bestowed onto him. funny part is that my parents were only gone for about a day during their visit but the spider remained underneath the red cup for three...guess people just aren't that phased by random cups next to toilets these days. the point i am trying to make is that despite the moments where i wanted mom and dad to just go, when they did go, i wanted them to stay. i could come up with some bullshit psychological explanation revolving around attachment theory and possibly my childhood but i think i'll spare you and myself from that...it is the weekend, after all.

truth is, now i have something noteworthy under my belt: the experience of having your mom and dad visit you in your home--at least, the place that you have made your home indefinitely. college is different. you make a commitment to be someplace for four years and that's that. some shifting of the roommates, some new decor, but all within the same zip code. post-college dwelling is a completely different ballgame. for most of us, it's the chapter in our lives where we have to put ourselves somewhere on the map...a roof over our head and some money in our pockets. and so when they come to visit us it is--for the first time--our city and our home that they are visiting. and during this groundbreaking trip it can really feel like the doctor is coming to your house for a personal check-up. are you eating? are you picking up after yourself? do you have friends? do you have clean sheets? what is a typical day like for you? this is just a small sample of the kinds of questions a parent must have circling in their heads when they visit the part of the world their child has chosen to leave them for for the first time in their adult life...until i have a kid myself i remain blind to how extensive the list of questions really is. now the kicker is that most of these questions are never actually asked out loud...they just kind of find a spot somewhere in between the tip of my parents tongue and the tip of my middle finger and marinate there for days. my dad opened my fridge and gave a half-laugh, half-gasp response to the dominance of "space" over actual "substance" present. my mom, post-shower, admitted to using a hand towel to dry herself off (yes, mom, i actually have bath towels. why the hell didn't you ask me!?). both mom and dad were, like, flabbergasted when i brewed a fresh pot of good coffee for them complete with to-go cups, cream, and sugar packets. and i SWEAR they were both proud to call me their daughter when i pointed out the extra rolls of toilet paper underneath the sink. was i raised by wolves?

all in all, our week together was well worth the occasional bickering and hassle that comes with sharing your limited personal space with your parents. and we shared quite a few laughs along the way. you don't realize that you don't have a can opener until you have a can that needs opening...same goes for a bottle of wine.

2010-08-25T13:25:00.002-04:00

no pancakes for breakfast this morning, but i'm still with my parents and i have taken them to a local coffee shop in hermosa beach. dad is starting on his third sports section and mom has just shared with the table details of the traffic jam in china that has reached it's tenth day. los angeles:1, china: zero.

uh-oh, we've hit the hour-mark...meaning that mom has emerged from her seat and is now walking around the coffeehouse. dad and i know that this can only mean one thing: she is getting bored and restless and we'll probably be out of here within ten minutes. which also means that the entry i wanted to write will probably be cut short as wel-

cake for breakfast

2010-08-22T14:32:00.005-04:00

"roll your oats" buttermilk pancakes packed with honey, cinnamon, and (duh) oats, with another stack of "eye opener" pancakes baked with espresso and chocolate chips is the kind of breakfast (at 2 p.m.) that you drive forty-five minutes for when your parents are in town.

but having the rents fly across the country to visit you at your place is not all buttery all the time...i'll explain later, time to hit the beach.

2010-08-19T00:03:00.002-04:00

...my sister's response to "knock, knock"...

knock, knock

2010-08-18T01:01:00.007-04:00

australian shiraz cabernet circa 2008, fresh batch of blackberries, chocolate chips...another romantic night with myself. it's written on the wall,

i need a boy.

and the only way that is going to happen for me is if i drop the excuses:

i have work in the morning.

i have to train tomorrow.

i don't have the money to spend on drinks.

there's only going to be douchebags out.

i don't want to lose my inhibitions and order french fries from the bar at 1 a.m. (like last time).

there's probably something good on t.v.

i don't want to feel "bleh" the next day.

or--my personal favorite--i really could use some alone time.

b-a-c-k the mother-fuckin truck up. "alone time?" this is the best excuse because i spend more than enough time starring in my own me, myself and i sitcom. it's sad when people can't enjoy their own company, but i take it a little too far.

so, in conclusion, i need to drop all the excuses and put myself out there because no one's going to be knockin' on my door. that would just be creepy.

fallen

2010-08-15T23:33:00.002-04:00

9:45 a.m. 8.14.2010 this morning

my bundle of new york times says that it is sunday…honda under state scrutiny…a rare disorder, a rarer debate…who’s teaching our kids? hello, world, nice to see that not much has changed.

but in my little world, much has. on friday, the avp announced that the rest of the season is canceled and that they are uncertain about the tours future in the years to come. that news trickles all the way down the competitive ladder, from the top players in the world who take home sizeable earnings to the married moms who play just a few tournaments for kicks. and then there’s me, a young, inexperienced player acting like a sponge to all the talent and knowledge that surrounds this town.

but what am i supposed to think? the avp—the pinnacle of all aspiring, admiring beach volleyball players and enthusiasts—has fallen. i’m not going to sit here and say that the dream of stamping my footprint on that center court sand hasn’t been the driving force behind my move to california, but i’m also not going to say that i would consider myself a failure if that never happened for me. i would consider it a huge personal success if i advanced to just the second day of a professional tournament—not an easy feat. but now that the future of the sport is so cloudy, i can’t help but see my dreams fill up with clouds themselves. do i begin to alter my dreams and expectations? or have i already been doing this subconsciously? is it time to take myself out for a drink and seriously evaluate how i am going to handle the cards that have been dealt? luckily i have my family to lean on and help me to sort all of this out—they are visiting in just a few days.

for now, i’ll be perfectly at ease with my cup of coffee and "fresh from the pan" cinnamon banana pancake. like the sunday headlines, not much has changed.

2010-08-13T14:14:00.002-04:00

so i guess three months is the time it takes for a girl like me, fresh face in the city of los angeles, to regularly practice yoga poses and send in their first headshot to a casting agency.

who have i become?

details later--there is an apron a mile away that is calling my name...

personal check? check.

2010-08-10T13:15:00.007-04:00

today is a "dear diary" moment because i am licking the envelope containing my very first rent check. now listen, the rent money has been coming out of my pocket this whole time, but always in a screwy manner. i've been either withdrawing the cash from my bank account and handing over the payment like i just sold a couple ounces of weed, or my dad and i will do an elaborate dance with our funds where we end up with a check in his name. those days are in the past because i am a big girl now who has my own personal checks with my name on them. i still had to call my sister to confirm whether or not i had to sign the check, but other than that you wouldn't be able to tell my rookie check from that of a veteran...what with my eloquent cursive writing ending in the "0/100 cents" (thanks grandpa). very nice...i'm all grown up! well, i take that back. turns out i'm still powerless against a spider and look for daddy to save me. and so one more spider lives to see another day; however, i did find out that sitting on the toilet with both feet up is a good abdominal exercise.

"once mature and dry, disengages from the root and tumbles away in the wind"

2010-08-08T18:31:00.010-04:00

because thesaurus.com doesn't turn anything up when i type in "orgasmic", ya'll are just going to have to deal with my analogy: today was an amazingly orgasmic sunday. it began as every day should: waking up to sunlight pouring through the window. still, i let myself stay in bed for another hour just because. then i journeyed two small flights of stairs for a breakfast date with the couple who live above me--coffee, fruit, and the kind of muffins where the "top" overflows the "muffin" (irresistible on your plate, not around a female's mid-section). i quickly learn that they are genuinely nice new yorkers...the conversation so enjoyable i almost ask what's for lunch. but i couldn't stay. i had already made plans for the remainder of my day, which revolved around attending a few classes at the yoga studio i am now a member of. so i hopped on my bike and hit the strand, pedaling amongst petite, lululemon loyal joggers, couples with their starbucks in one hand and leashes in the other, and fellow cyclists either decked out in spandex or toting their small children along for the ride. note: this is a unique sunday morning crowd. anyways, four miles later and i'm a proud owner of my own yoga mat--lime green!--and undergoing a challenging pilates workout. namaste and it's time for some grub, so i decide to treat myself to an over-priced but delicious baja fiesta salad at one of the eateries i have been wanting to try ever since i moved out here. after filling out a customer survey (for which my birthday is stated as being just two weeks from now...shut it, i'm not the only one playing this game), i practically skipped to whole foods where i proceeded to take a leisurely lap sampling various fruits and cheeses. and yes, i'm one of those people who holds no shame in assembling their own cheese-kabob.

and then i started thinking about how my day was so blatantly revolved around, well...me. everything was carefully thought out to please...muah, your highness. the exercise, the meal, the cheese sampling--even the new mad men episode i just finished watching--was all meant to make myself feel good, inside and out. soooo, maybe when all these people tell me that "you're so young" and "this is the time in your life to be doing what you're doing" what they are really saying is, "this is the only time in your life when you can be completely selfish and get away with it". i mean, am i right? no career to tie me down, no significant other to make "we" decisions with, no home to make payments on, no kids to place above everything else, no pets to care for, no car to maintain, no--wait a second, this list depicting my lack of obligations is starting to backfire...i'm suddenly acutely aware of my solitary existence...like i'm looking in the mirror and a tumbleweed is staring back at me.

here i go

2010-08-05T21:04:00.004-04:00

goodbye manhattan, hello hermosa.

goodbye sardine can, hello space.

goodbye floor, hello mattress.

goodbye espn, hello anything i want to watch.

goodbye toilet with a pack of matches, hello just a toilet.

goodbye covered in a towel, hello naked.

goodbye tension, hello fresh air.

goodbye old friends, hello new friends.

goodbye last chapter in my life, hello new chapter.

aqlcb

2010-08-03T14:09:00.009-04:00

alright, the paragraph that i posted yesterday is what we call an "acute quarter-life crisis breakdown". aqlcb. not the best acronym out there, but i challenge anyone to prove me wrong. you see, for us young adults between the ages of twenty and thirty, it is my understanding that 99% of us are stuck on this theme-park ride where "nothing really feels wrong yet nothing really feels right either". the worst part is that you have to go on the ride by yourself and thus constantly feel as if you are the only person being thrust left and right and upside-down. but in reality, you are not alone, for there are thousands upon thousands of young adults out there stuck on this same torturous ride. what happened while i was at starbucks yesterday was that i suddenly receded back to that feeling that i am alone and confused and without a seatbelt in this world. anything can trigger this acute breakdown; in my case, it was words like "square-footage" from a lady who i perceived to "have it all". she was planning her dream home, and i was getting ready to clean up after people's messes. that's how i simplified and compared my life with this complete stranger's life, triggering an army of "who am i?" and "what am i doing?" questions. that was my monday aqlcb.

and then i went to work waiting on tables and cleaning after people's messes. as business got slower, i had more time to get to know one of my co-workers (who also happens to be a beach volleyball player). by the time we had both clocked out, i discovered that she and i were more similar than i could have imagined. i told her i was without a car and she told me that she had been without a car for eight months when she first moved here. she's actually staying at a friends place right now (a.k.a. couch surfing) and living out of her car. and she, like me, doesn't have a career but rather works part-time jobs and continues to pursue her hobbies. my deflated and isolated self was being pumped with positivity and a sense of companionship--like when you go for a walk on the beach and notice all the footprints stamped into the sand from people who have already treaded the path that

you are just getting started on. truth is, this girl has struggled far more in her life than i have...doesn't see her sister often and lost her mother to cancer not five years ago. i had already looked up to her, but after hearing more of her life story, i think she has grown a few extra inches. though a strong, confident woman, even she is not immune to her battle scars that lead to moments of weakness. tears were shed when the pain from losing her mother had no place to go but resurface, and in that instant she only grew more strong in my eyes. i've spent the last five minutes typing and re-typing words to try and explain how this happens, but i can't.

so the next time i have an aqlcb (because please, that is inevitable), i'll let myself indulge in my moment of weakness but come out of it quicker than before because i know that i am not alone. correction, we are not alone.

2010-08-02T14:36:00.003-04:00

i interrupt the babysitting tales to ask myself, "what am i doing with my life?" here i am at starbucks, sitting in between a lady peacefully reading a book on my right and a lady who is going over her house plans with either the builder or architect. man, she is talking about light fixtures. and kitchen sinks. she is building her own home. that is my ultimate dream in life. i saw my parents go through the painful but incredibly rewarding process, and i want that for myself someday...when i have a family to fill the house. far, far away from that picture is me, in manhattan beach, about to be left by three of my closest friends (well, we used to be the closest four-some out there, but things have changed). what the hell am i doing? i am a waitress. i am now a babysitter. i train, but i haven't competed in weeks and that feels like months. it feels horrible. i came here to play. to compete. not to have friendships grow weaker with every sunrise and self-doubt invade my daily thoughts. people come and they say, "oh, you're young! this is the time in your life to be doing this." do what? what is it that i am doing?

tiny tears

2010-08-02T00:06:00.003-04:00

remember when i said to never go to work as a waiter/waitress hungover? well, that scenario has met its match: babysitting while hungover. brutal. on top of making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch and mac n cheese for dinner, i also managed to make the two kids i was watching cry. the first was because i said his drawing of an elephant looked more like a rat--totally my fault, but lesson learned that i have got to be more sensitive around these tikes. his exit from our drawing game was truly fascinating: hides his face, head to the table, takes refuge on a nearby couch while playing with apps on his itouch. remember the days when simply retreating to a corner would suffice a child's hurt ego? now let me paint for you the second tear-jerker: me and little girl literally playing tug-o-war with a frozen, chocolate-covered banana. i had already let her walk all over me with her consumption of the medium-sized frappuccino, a chocolate madeleine, and cocoa shavings (don't ask)...i was NOT going to let her eat that damn banana!

coffee bean is literally closing now...have to continue this tale tomorrow...

5'11'' pet project

2010-07-30T11:39:00.004-04:00

alright, i guess more on that now since i just went to work and realized i showed up for the wrong shift. fucking miserable when this happens because not only does it throw off my entire day but now i know i won't be making money because the closing shift BLOWS. the last two hours turn into me scrubbing murphy's oil soap on some wooden surface and a fight against both boredom and the desire to eat anything and everything in sight, particularly bakery items. food that is free--or that you know is going to become trash--magically holds an unbearable appeal to the eyes and stomach. i hate that. i also hate how it would require me to jump through hoops before i could jump happily into a car and be on my way to what would surely be a mood-enhacing yoga class.

okay...controlling the rage now...maybe because i just expressed my rage to the friendly barista guy and he gave me an ice-blended vanilla latte on the house.

so i mentioned that i hung out with a 7th grader yesterday? that i did. we rode our bikes to hermosa where we shopped, ate, and lounged on the beach. then we headed back towards the manhattan pier where i watched her play volleyball for an hour and a half. it is all part of a new relationship that i have developed with her parents--specifically her father. they happen to live directly across the street from me, making their driveway the stage for which all the magic unfolded. he invented his first product at age nineteen and sold his million-dollar company by his twenty-ninth birthday. he only runs about ten businesses from home--no big deal, i run my own blog from home, which is basically the same thing. he talks a mile a minute and sometimes i struggle just to keep up with his southern californian, highly dense financial lexicon; but i feel so blessed that him and his wife have graciously welcomed me into their lives. i would call it the 5'11'' pet project starring me, the "abandoned, neglected, tormented, deprived of necessary food, water, exposed to heat for cold, or cruelly beaten" pet, and them, the couple who have taken it upon themselves to "help and protect" me. working on a television series as we speak.

2010-07-30T11:11:00.004-04:00

yesterday, i hung out with a 7th grader. and i found myself a mentor.

details on all this and more later, cause someone's gotta go serve people their milk.

you have GOT to be joking

2010-07-28T22:26:00.006-04:00

"on the verge of financial collapse, the AVP is once more hurriedly patching together deals with investors to keep the nation's top professional beach volleyball tour alive for this year...

...for a sport with so many inherent pluses, this news is discouraging for all who can only hope that once more the AVP will be revived."

umm, yeah...no shit.

for the entire article, click me.

two weeks notice

2010-07-26T12:46:00.003-04:00

exactly two more weeks until the lease is up in this apartment and my head will be resting someplace else. i'm pretty sure that everyone i live with is viewing this time as a countdown...something you look forward to...like a 21st birthday, or a vacation, or like the elaborate countdowns i would make in college that outlined the last week of finals. i should've saved my freshman edition...that shit was ridiculous. and very sad, because i was basically counting down every second until i could leave campus and escape from everyone. that was a definite low point for me. it scares me to admit to myself that there are similarities between then and now.

just another chimp

2010-07-24T00:02:00.004-04:00

wheels = power

and by "wheels" i mean having a car. i curse myself now because i should've known after going four years without a car in college that this situation was going to eventually weigh down on me. i am so sick of asking to borrow my roommates cars. i don't go to half the places i'd like to go either because there simply is no car for me to use at the time or i feel like i am putting someone else at an inconvenience just by asking. how i miss my little red focus.

i am beginning to grasp the immense freedom and ultimately power that the "key holders" of the house possess. freedom because that's exactly what you feel when you get behind the wheel, and power because, well, freedom is power people! i've been analyzing my own behavior and the results are sad.

i'll suppress my own emotions in order to secure a ride to the grocery store. i'll let events that really irritate me roll off my shoulders instead because how can i exchange unpleasantries with a roommate one second and then ask to borrow their car the next? doesn't work in theory and doesn't work in practice. it's the worst. thought about seeing a movie tonight (by myself, of course) but couldn't because one owner is out to dinner and the other is a person i can't even stomach to look at right now. if only i could speak completely freely about my living situation...if only you could see through my honest eyes...i should really call it "decomposing" situation rather than "living" because i don't feel like i am alive here. i feel like i am on guard, or on a battlefield, walking on the toes of my feet to avoid the grenades that lay hidden underneath the carpet.

it was in one of my latter college psychology courses that i studied how chimpanzees compete with one another to gain access to resources, may those be in the form of food. or territory. or sex. and you know what? it's the same for us humans. it's that simple. each day marks another attempt to secure the resources that we--and those who depend on us--need for survival, nourishment, and fulfillment. for some, that resource may be higher on the pyramid, like securing that reservation at the new swanky restaurant in town. for those who live a simpler life, that resource may just be being able to take a drive to accomplish something that fills us with joy...which takes me back to where i started: those who have access to resources hold the power, and vice versa.

and in this scenario, i'm without question the weakest, most sex-deprived chimp of the pack.

2010-07-22T19:54:00.004-04:00

i gotta confess: yoga, as i saw it, was always on the same page as almond milk drinking, "love and peace" tattoo wearing kind of people. not for me. not something i would enjoy or benefit from. well well well, four days into a free and unlimited trial week at a yoga studio and i am changing my tune. my attitude has changed to accommodate my behavior (you win again, cognitive dissonance theory). namaste. down, dog!

too strong

2010-07-20T11:45:00.007-04:00

i'm going to try very, very hard to never go to work hungover again. actually pulling yourself out of bed and doing anything the morning after a long night out is mentally and physically exhausting--unless, of course, the place you are going involves you and a beautiful pancake soaking up your alcohol. but my restaurant doesn't even serve pancakes, and all i wanted to do during my eight hour shift (yes, eight fucking hours. you'd think i'd have my own office) was shove a parfait spoon into my eye. and then quit. or be fired because i was blind and bloody, whichever came first.

it is a an extremely dangerous thing to go to work hungover when you are a waitress because every stressor is amplified. every request from a customer that much more annoying. and you end up consuming a lot of bread that you didn't need. on a normal day, i probably wouldn't have been so royally pissed off when the only thing between me and freedom was a broom which was already being used to sweep the entire kitchen. on a normal day, i most likely wouldn't have wanted to slap the co-worker who scolded how i executed possibly the most vital component of any successful enterprise: marrying the jams. if you're unfamiliar with restaurant jargon, "marrying" of anything--usually condiments---just means combining the contents of two (or more) less than full containers to make one full container. i know...heavy stuff.

but i haven't even told you the most dangerous part of being a hungover server: the urge to quit is too strong. too strong because you can't afford to quit and you need this job to survive. your head grows enormous with thoughts like, "i went to college for four years so i could clean up after people's messes?" stop it! STOP IT! you can't quit. everything will be better when you don't feel like a truck ran into your face. everything will be better tomorrow, you'll see...

in case you were wondering, that chick carrying the beverages is me.

g a p s

2010-07-15T11:22:00.009-04:00

i’ve had my fair share of "i can't live like this" moments. a white cube with a refrigerator-sized cut out for storage space isn't exactly "in style" now. neither is a mound of clothes chillin' in the corner, unless that's what's featured in this months edition of graduated and broke (does this publication exist? if so, are they currently taking applications!?).

but then again, is it really "i can't live like this" or "i don't want to live like this"? because i am, in fact, living like this. and the truth of the matter is that it is by choice. nobody forced me to move across the country and bunk with three friends. i guess part of being on your own is figuring out what things are important to you and what things you feel you can live without. i'm figuring out that having a shelf someday is important to me. and maybe a drawer that isn't made of plastic.

to avoid making this entry read like one long, sad complaint, i'm going to view my situation as the case study by which other twenty-somethings undulating between moments of desperation and frustration can learn from and relate to. how admirable of me...

have you asked yourself these questions: how do i want to live? how am i supposed to live? and i am referring to your physical surroundings, which obviously impact your psychological and emotional well-being. most of you reading this blog have--by whatever reason--left the nest with the hardwood floors, the wicker basket full of catalogs, and the cabinet doors that shut oh so quietly. whether you work a nine to five job and can afford a nicer place or work in the service industry like myself, we all cannot match what our parents have...what we have left behind in search of "independence" and all that crap. maybe you even try to mimic the material things that you are used to. if the answer is "yes", don't be ashamed. the comfort that material possessions can provide is no major breakthrough, and as long as it is done within your financial means, i see no major problem with it.

my point is that i believe all us twenty-somethings try to fill in the gaps made by our change in environment and lifestyle. for instance, my brother, twenty-six, just moved out (for the third time) in the last month and was already feeling less than enthused after just a few nights in the new pad. he has an apartment all to himself, but without the whistles and bells. he immediately felt that he needed more "stuff" to fill the place, and after decorating the walls with art and memorabilia, he began to feel a lot better about his situation. one of the ways in which i fill the gaps is through the food that i buy. when the sliding doors at whole foods open up for me, i'm overcome with a sense of comfort, joy, and a little entitlement. nobody knows that i don't have a mattress when i'm sifting through avocados right beside them.

granted i can only afford to fill up half my shopping basket (my purse conveniently taking up the other half), that's enough for now. my wine glass may be stolen from the beverly wilshire hotel, but if i can enjoy a glass of cab and a wedge of cheese from "whole paycheck", i'm doing alright.

tell us, how do YOU fill in the gaps?

dreamgirl

2010-07-13T02:55:00.010-04:00

i ran on the beach today, and lately, i haven't been able to make it past the manhattan pier. shy of just half a mile, the cool, dark presence of the pier signals my body to stop. and so i do. i stand under the shadows just inches from where the waves break while i plan the next segment of my workout.

but today my legs carried me. they were moving--nay, hauling. this time i not only let the cool shadows of the manhattan pier pass over me but i didn't stop until the hermosa pier was behind me either. i was honestly impressed with my stamina and wondered if the banana pancakes i had made for myself for lunch was the real hero.

as i made my way back towards manhattan, a vivid daydream began to form...

i was sitting face-to-face with the beach volleyball trainer who i have worked with only once so far...coffee shop (are you surprised?)...telling her that i was willing to keep chipping away at my savings account...that if she wanted me to be at the beach at 3 a.m., i would bring a flashlight...that she didn't have to be my friend, or even like me...all she had to do was train me. hard. the words came out of my mouth: i want to sell my soul to you. and what would i get in return? no regrets. the feeling that i pushed myself as hard as i could go...the peace of mind that only comes after knowing in your heart that you gave it your all.

(it gets better...)

after listening to my proposition, she says that she wants a representation of my soul. something tangible. (and i'm still running on the beach mind you). i've got it. i'll give her the corona beer cap that i have saved from one of my very first tournaments last summer. it was the tournament that i realized i wanted to be a professional volleyball player. at least, i wanted to try. i'll give her that as a representation of my soul.

see how powerful a workout can be? my point is this: i could be daydreaming about anything. sitting on clouds with nutella in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other...finding a wad of cash hidden beneath a clump of bushes...strutting around in my sleek jcrew get-up in my swanky corporate workplace...yet my number one recurring daydream--above all others--is me playing in big-time beach volleyball tournaments in front of my family and friends. on some level, doesn't this mean that i am doing the right thing?

2010-07-04T12:25:00.002-04:00

i never, EVER care to read my horoscope or take seriously the pseudo-scientific predictions. i see them as space eaters in magazines and even divert my eyes from the newspaper cut-out that my local starbucks posts daily. just not for me. but i can't help it if they deceivingly find their way into an e-mail of mine about career opportunities in the area:

Gemini [May 21 - June 21]
You kind of feel like you are hiding your light right now, waiting for an opportunity to jump out into the spotlight and share your talents with a wider audience. You might have some "leg-work" to do - travel, research and paperwork may frustrate you but it is necessary.

okay, i have to admit. this one is DEAD ON. i was quite surprised by how accurate this two-sentence blurb is to my present life. the good thing is that i am recognizing my need to do the leg-work--figuratively and physically--because in less than an hour i will be attending my very first beach volleyball training session...right after i watch the 2010 annual hot dog eating contest. the perfect way to kick off the fourth of july.

happy birthday america :)

craig, so nice to see you again!

2010-07-02T15:13:00.006-04:00

actually, i'm not happy to see craig again. we ended on a frustrating note back in april and haven't spoken/e-mailed/texted since. so i'm not surprised to find that he and his list have nothing promising to show me right now.

that is, nothing that would crack a hopeful grin on my face. all i want is to live in a nice, clean, and furnished house or apartment with a few other girls who are about my age...who are outgoing, explorative, and independent yet can be found on most nights of the week perfectly content sharing a bottle of wine with me on our comfy living room couch...a place for about 700 a month, including all utilities, cable, and internet...a pad complete with a washer/dryer and a place that does not tolerate toilet paper rolls as living room decor. oh yes, and it must be just steps from the beach. okay, i'll settle for a "short walk" to the beach. is that so hard to ask for? maybe in a dream world. but here on planet reality, it's challenging to find anything shy of $900/month that wouldn't resemble a college freshman dorm room.

i must say, there are some folks offering up some pretty interesting living situations out there...take, for instance, the single-mom who is offering "cheap rent" in exchange for some childcare on the side. i was curious. i clicked. then i decided that i didn't want to babysit a seven year-old every weekend.

craig, we need to talk.

i don't feel like you are listening to my needs.

i need you to be more giving if this relationship is ever going to work.

let's give eachother some space...you'll hear from me on monday.

city of angels

2010-07-01T17:07:00.011-04:00

i have a problem:

i don't know what to tell you.

i have SO much to tell you that i don't know where to start, or where to end, or where to pick up from where we left off.

maybe it's my surroundings...the music they are playing at borders right now makes me want to go into the bathroom and cry. and i'm distracted because i'm worried that the coconut milk i just bought and left in the car is on the pathway to destruction. and it's a bit drafty in here...

no. you know what? these are all excuses. the problem lies with me. all the stuff that is circling through my head is just scary and confusing and i'm being lazy by not sorting through it. so i'm just one scared, confused, and lazy person right now. those qualities do not make for a good combination. i need to be fearless, have a clear mind, and have a zealous swagger. especially considering what i am up against:

come august 9th, four will become one. that is the day that my three compadres will hit route 40 and not look back. i'll be the girl in the driveway, standing there amongst her boxed-up possessions, and giving her best poker face.

as you can see, i have a lot of details to figure out. like who am i going to live with? and where? can i be happy in this part of the country, away from family and some of the closest relationships i have built over the years? can i survive on just a waitressing paycheck in the city of angels? i don't know why they call it that, but i was visited by a few angels just the other day. they happened to be a married couple who i was waiting on at my restaurant, and over the course of their meal, i had revealed to them (in short) my intention to not let this city "chew me and spit me out". along with the bill and tip, they left me this:

a good luck sentiment paper-clipped to a five dollar bill that, for me, holds more value than any five dollar bill i've ever held. when and on what i'll spend it? that i can't tell you, but their gesture made my day, and it reminded me that there are angels in this city. you just have to allow yourself to be touched by one.

2010-06-29T23:24:00.006-04:00

tuesday = fresh new flower.

it was a good day.

i'll tell you about it tomorrow,

eyes are sleepy.

toast, tits, and that's pretty much it

2010-06-28T13:08:00.008-04:00

having a 6'6" male sleeping in your living room/family room/t.v. room has its downsides. i haven't had a toasted anything in over a month now and this morning i just really, really needed my fix--but even doing something as simple as placing my english muffin into the toaster oven turned out to be a major production. everything in that damn kitchen wanted to squeak. or fall. or belt out a loud "beep" when it was good and ready. half-way through this process of trying to tip-toe my way around made me realize how suffocating my living situation can be. if i had attempted to make a smoothie, i think they would've thrown my mattress out the door. oh wait, i don't have a mattress. and isn't it funny how tiny kitchens in over-priced apartments are so noisy but more spacious ones in nice homes are so quiet? go figure.

and another thing...how is it that the farther along in your pregnancy you are in this town, the slimmer, prettier, and more adorable you look? absolutely ridiculous. only in l.a. man. one of my new co-workers just informed me that breastfeeding has the amazing benefit of dramatically reducing the appearance of fat cells in your body. maybe that explains the four year-old boy i saw glued to his mother's breast.

;)

a few things to look out for in the week ahead:

i'm kicking off a major "girls girls girls" campaign today in an effort to make meaningful volleyball connections (even though that sounds like i'm recruiting talent for a girls gone wild video). this means i'll be contacting total strangers in an effort to train or play with them. you miss every shot you don't take, as they say. or, as my brother would say, "you miss every shot at scoring with a girl you don't try to hit on".

i have just two more days of training before i get to fly solo at my new restaurant. this means more money, which means more happiness...because money = happiness, right? yes, food and shelter make me happy. timing is a funny thing because i JUST received this text from my dentist back in north carolina: katrina, you are due for your dental visit. please call ... to set up an appointment. don't hold your breath, doc.

my tuesday

2010-06-22T17:59:00.008-04:00

hit the coffee house for just a house (no fancy concoctions today). luckily, there was one seat left open for me, so i proceeded to nestledown. nestledown, a new term i created, meaning "to arrange ones personal belongings outside of the home much like one would in the privacy of ones own home." or, put less delicately, "the act of arranging and spreading out all of your personal shit in a public area so as to take up as much space as possible while making yourself feel at home". notice the little brown crumbs on that tissue paper? that's just what was leftover from the hunk of dark chocolate i brought with me. with almonds--can't forget those.

then i began to make a list...the things i enjoy doing in one column and the things i don't enjoy doing in the other. try it--it's harder then you think, partly because you catch yourself wanting to censor what you really like or dislike.

next, i headed over to the manhattan beach farmer's market where i have been volunteering my time for the past three weeks. two small boys were pulling leaves down from a nearby tree and us ladies were discussing different ways to make them stop. my suggestion won much acclaim: "hey kids. did you know that santa claus is best friends with mother nature, and everytime you pull a leaf, santa puts one less present under the tree for you?"

at the end of my shift, i bring home one of these:

to put in one of these:

classy, huh? i think so. that was a good bottle of wine, too...no more than four bucks from our trusty friend trader joe.

after taking a short-lived nap, i played volleyball with my roommates for a couple hours and then here i am, post-shower, watching enemy of the state and writing these words. tomorrow is an important day because i start training for my new waitressing job in the early a.m. and then i'm attending a social networking event in the evening. i've already crafted a cheat sheet of all the interesting people who i want to talk with...a culinary artist, nutritionist, screenwriter/producer, and several personal trainers just to name a few. i'm sure they will be equally excited to talk with a...wait for it...waitress! fascinating.

wish me luck :)

2010-06-21T12:53:00.001-04:00

a plunger these days costs about thirteen dollars. i am not expanding on the subject.

happy father's day

2010-06-20T12:48:00.009-04:00

dad, this one's for you...

college is the quintessential time for young people to realize and take advantage of exercising frugality...of finding ways to be extremely, painfully cheap so that they could afford to be more lavish later on. for me, the college years were not the beginning of my training but rather the fine-tuning of it. i have been exposed to the values of saving and scrimping since i was a little tyke, thanks in large part to one person: my dad. so for me, taking hotel toiletries from the maid's cart is as normal as brushing my teeth.

friends, teammates, roommates...they could all attest to my frugal ways. depending on how you look at it, i am either down right cheap or ingeniously resourceful when the situation presents itself. i think it was sometime in high school when i rinsed my first plastic straw after enjoying a homemade smoothie. starting my sophomore year in college, i would rip out all the perfume adds from magazines i could get could my hands on. clinique one night and chanel the next. i never once bought a bottle of perfume. i use paper grocery bags to wrap packages and plastic bags to line bathroom and kitchen trash cans. did you know that empty coke cans make excellent depositories for grease? and if you smash an empty cereal box so that it's flat you save that much more space in your disposable bin?

but how did i get this way? let's go back to dad, the master of this game. dad does not like to waste things. not gas, not water, not energy, not toilet paper. and if you really know him, definitely not to-go cups. when he leaves a coffee shop, he will return home with at least a half-cup refill so that a) he has a "free" cup to enjoy later in the day and b) can rinse the cup when he is finished and store it in his paper cup warehouse. oh yes, the paper cup warehouse. i wish i had a picture, but just imagine a whole shelf filled with stacks of cups from starbucks, caribou, peet's, and several other local "breweries". complete with stir sticks, plastic lids, and sugar to boot. oh, the sugar! we tease my dad every time we leave a cafe because there is a 99% chance that he will have stuffed some sugar packets in his pockets for the road home. he also saves every container possible for later use...i couldn't leave an empty plastic container in the pantry one day without discovering that it was now a storage place for coffee grounds or plant life the next. he'll cook dinner for himself and eat right out of the pan so that he saves the water form having to clean another dish. i once caught him leaving the kitchen after having microwaved his tea and noticed that there were a few seconds left on the timer..."dad, why don't you hit 'clear'?" he wanted to save those seconds for the next item that was to be heated.

growing up, i viewed this as strange. obsessive. embarrassing. but now, i see it as being smart, not only for the environment but for my wallet. i proudly bring my brown paper lunch bags and sandwich bags home for round 2 (and 3 and 4). my dad has taught me how to take something that is "used" and make it useful again. why throw something out that can still serve a purpose? we like to cling to things that are new and shiny, getting into a wasteful routine of using things once and then starting all over the next day. i think it's definitely easier to start these practices when you are in a tight financial situation, but it is actually wise to allow yourself to adopt them even when you feel no pending financial burdens. i'm not a tree-hugger, but i'm not a careless consumer either. without my dad's influence i would've never realize the value of saving and come up with signature moves of my own (i'm wearing giorgio armani). times are tough right now, and when i catch myself doing something conservational (or borderline "are you seriously saving/stealing this!?") i smile and think of him.

happy father's day dad :)

sunday funday

2010-06-20T10:09:00.000-04:00

i.love.sundays.

i love the feel of the thick bundle that is the sunday paper. i love the feel of a hot beverage in my hands, even if all it is is empty calories (140 to be exact--hold the whip!). i love how a sunday morning feels like the first day of the rest of my life. people around me are earnestly enjoying their last carefree morning before the work week begins, and i think everyone is just more patient and thoughtful in general. i am optimistic i am inspired and i am game for love. if you are a stalky, bald, sheepish man out there, i suggest you stop by the starbucks on manhattan ave. because even your worst pick-up line may just just work on me.

anyhow, the news is rich today--as i say--and i feel like every sunday morning at least one article strikes a chord with me. so i think i will start a new habit of making a point to share them with you. the one i found today is a little obscure...it's titled, "the ultimate test kitchen". straight from left field, you may be thinking...but trust me, it's relatable. the guy who is featured, brad metzger, is a restaurant recruiter in santa monica. he built this incredible kitchen in his own home so that top chefs and prospective employers could come together in a professional yet still casual setting. genius. in a time when management positions are being cut, this guy decides to become the much needed middleman. what i admire about him is how he passed up opportunities that others would kill for because he knew what kind of a person he was and what he was after. he passed up the cornell university school of administration to move back to l.a. and wait tables. he closed his first deal while on the phone in the employee restroom of one of his restaurants. i just love reading these types of stories.

2010-06-18T14:32:00.001-04:00

one of the best talks i have ever listened to.

be inspired.

(what i learned about myself after listening to this TED talk was that i still dream big like a child but i don't necessarily think my dreams are still within reach like a child would...maybe you will come up with your own epiphany)

all my single ladies

2010-06-18T13:34:00.004-04:00

before heading out to watch the nba finals last night, i asked my roommate, "do you ever hit a certain age where you stop chugging beers before going to a bar to save money?" "probably not" she replied. case closed.

so we left the apartment in search of a drinking establishment downtown that could accommodate both ourselves and two other girls who we were meeting up with. not smart, seeing as it was game 7 in the city of los angeles...and only ten minutes until tip-off. but we managed to finagle a table in a place that was more swanky (18 dollars for a kobe burger) than sporty. i noticed the abundance of collared shirt and v-neck-wearing men as i surveyed the scene.

anyhow, the reason why i'm bringing up last night has nothing to do with the lakers or the celtics or the fact that i could probably brew and bottle coors light myself because it has zero taste. the reason has to do with my tendency to believe that every time i "go out" could be the night i meet my future husband. i don't know if it's just me--a romantic, single woman in her twenties--or the curse befallen onto all romantic, single women in their twenties, but i truly believe that every night out could be the night where i could meet the one. talk about going to bed disappointed! i totally agree with the saying, "you find what you're looking for when you're not looking for it" (just ask my mom or sister about the infamous prom dress shopping of 2005).

but i can't help myself!

and it's not like i even want to meet the one (or my next serious boyfriend) at a party, bar, or club. i see myself being somewhere like...the grocery store, fondling just about every avocado for just the right one. maybe he catches me already doing work on my bag full of grapes as i continue to shop. or maybe he eyes me as i pour myself a hefty sample of chocolate covered almonds from the candy isle. like i really need to try them. i used to try and conceal this behavior of mine, putting on a little show for the camera like, "ooh, what are these? i better try one before i make a purchase." now i just stare defiantly into the camera like, "come on, i dare you to come out and get me!" of course, all this talk is under the assumption that i haven't yet crossed paths with the man of my dreams. whether we are total strangers or not, i know i won't be changing my ways until there is a ring on my finger.

can anyone relate?

pretty powerful stuff

2010-06-16T00:41:00.006-04:00

big things happened today.

a frantic mother thought that the blue backpack leaning beside the trashcan was suspitous and in need of the los angeles police department's attention. so she asked us, the ladies working the main table at the farmer's market, to call the police. we were much more concerned with stuffing our faces with kettle corn than attending to the drug-laden or bomb-laden blue backpack--so we dialed the number and let her talk to the police dispatcher herself. we'll all look back on this fine day and remember that it was the day we didn't lose our lives at the farmer's market. but a 7th grader did lose his backpack.

i said big things, plural, right? right.

so the other thing that happened today was me realizing that sometimes two great friends should just be that: friends. and nothing more. i've never gone into detail about my love life on this blog and i don't plan on starting now...but i'm just saying...when your heart and mind are in disagreement, listen to your gut. it can not only digest our food, but also our thoughts. pretty powerful stuff.

challenged

2010-06-14T12:38:00.007-04:00

i'm...hired? thank you?

just got off the phone with the hiring manager at that cafe i was telling you about. he had told me last thursday (and again on friday when i called to re-iterate my burning desire to work for him) that he would call on saturday (two days ago). no word. so i held out for sunday. no word. then monday morning rears its ugly head. still nothing. so i decide to be pro-active and follow-up on my own, and what comes of it? i learn that yes, i can go ahead and attend the one hour new employee orientation and yes, i need to come in and fill out the paperwork before doing so. he never offers me the job--as one might expect--but rather casually mentions that i can work there.

seriously, what is up with management in this town?? this guy never called when he said he would...all three managers who interviewed me for that retail job didn't bother to call me back when they said they would...and the first restaurant i applied at never set up a time for an interview. is everyone just living under a different time zone than i am? are everybody's correspondence skills and sense of decency plain horse shit or am i the one with the problem?

at least i have one place in this town where i feel warm and accepted. the coffee bean & tea leaf on manhattan ave. the barista and i know eachother on a first-name basis. he gave me free coffee filters and one of those tiny spoons when i purchased my first pound of grounds. and there is always a seat for me. always. so even though i am broke and could definitely use all the change i can get my hands on for laundry, i dropped those fifty-five cents right in the tip jar. now i'm down four dollars and it isn't even eleven yet. luckily, this thursday marks the start of a new month of living here--which means nothing to you but two hundred dollars for me. you see, each month i receive two hundred dollars ($50/week) from my parents to help cover grocery expenses. and let me tell you, $50 per week couldn't feed a street cat.

okay, i exaggerate. but it's been a long time since i have used coupons. cut them out? yes, that's just plain fun! but actually using them? yah, i'm that girl. i'm also that girl who budgets her food expenses by writing out exactly what she needs in one column and how much that will cost in the other. just covering basic and highly necessary foods (bread, eggs, milk, yogurt, meat, etc.) puts we well at fifty dollars, which means that going out to eat means cutting into my savings, and i can kiss making anything special goodbye. french toast? forget about it...that requires buying a loaf of sourdough. homemade chocolate chip cookies? keep dreaming. that said, if you wish to donate any of the following items:

flour

sugar

baking soda

baking powder

vanilla extract

chocolate chips

wax paper

a coupon for any of the above

please contact me directly.

yours truly,

theboomeranger

you throw it and it comes back

2010-06-11T12:42:00.001-04:00

the number of living, breathing boomerangers walking the streets today is disputed...

northwestern university's "medill report" claims that 33% of millenials (those born in the 80s and early 90s) reside with their parents. monster.com's number is 52%. the market research company, twentysomething inc., puts the number at 65%, and collegegrad.com asserts it's a whopping 80%. i pulled these numbers from an online article entitled mom, dad, i'm baaaaaack! (how appropriate!). not sure which is the most accurate, but it's safe to say that the boomeranger generation is a sizable segment of the population that should not be taken lightly.

in my case, my boomeranger sentencing lasted about one year before i packed my things up and moved out west. this physical separation from the nest has forced me to consider my own identity. i'm not a student, i am not employed, and i am no longer living with my parents. so what am i? a beach bum? one of my friends even questioned whether or not i can call myself a boomeranger any longer. well chris, here's my answer:

yes, i no longer live under my parent's roof, but that doesn't mean i have lost my voice as a member of the boomeranger generation. that doesn't mean i can wave my independence flag just yet. cell phone bill, car insurance and maintenance costs, anything relating to dental or medical costs, a grocery stipend (just a portion of how much i actually spend on food mind you)...these are all things that my parents still pay for. just because i moved out doesn't mean i can all of the sudden act like these financial dependencies do not exist. i am so thankful for their monetary support because i would be a street performer without it. now technically, a boomeranger currently lives with his or her parents, which i am not doing at this time...but i remind you that fundamental characteristic behind a boomerang is that you throw it and it comes back. it comes back. i cannot ignore the possibility that i could--at the closing of this unforgettable summer--move back home for whatever reason. the thought frightens me, but it is a reality. my own brother has moved back home, moved out, moved back home, moved out, moved back home, and is now moving out again. get the picture?

i started this blog as a way to chronicle my lifestyle with honesty and humor and to make connections with others who found themselves in a similar situation. theboomeranger began as a story about a girl living with her parents who had no car, no job, a very damaged sense of self-worth and identity, and a piece of paper that said she had graduated from one of the finest schools in the country. now, a year later, that same girl is trying to realize her dreams away from mommy and daddy. she has new lessons to learn the hard way, new adventures to share, and many new memories to make. i am eager to continue telling my story as i try to make it in life--or, more specifically, the city of los angeles.

turn the pages of my story with me :)

life's tough, get a helmet

2010-06-09T13:13:00.003-04:00

how am i?

i'm not letting the fact that i didn't land that job i really wanted get to me. the managers "really loved me" but needed me to work over the weekends--which would pretty much kill my volleyball career. not a good fit. i was so close to that warm and fuzzy job security feeling, but once again, i find myself printing my resume off and re-writing my driver's license number on applications. but i'm not letting it get to me...last night, after receiving the disappointing news, i cracked open a beer and let myself be distracted by stephen strasburg's exceptional pitching arm. then i completed my dinner with too much kettle corn, the last of my deli-meat, and a couple spoonfuls of stouffer's stuffing that my roommate had prepared (what he doesn't know won't hurt him). i'm thinking that my diet really suffers when i try to not let things get to me...

...but can i just let it get to me for one second?! DAMNIT DAMNIT DAMNIT!!! alright, i'm better now, probably because in my hand is an application for this quaint cafe that is looking to hire. the manager i met with said i could come by tomorrow and drop off my resume. that is a glimmer of hope, my friends, and i have to allow myself to hope for good things to come because lately this lifestyle has been overwhelming. both the volleyball aspect and the financial aspect have not been up to my standards. i just tell myself that this is the time where i have to keep my head up and push through--however painful and hopeless it may seem--because a sunnier forecast is just around the corner. can't drag my feet. can't feel sorry for myself. can't go another day without purchasing a loofa.

where's an older sibling when you need them!?

always always pick it up

2010-06-06T23:39:00.004-04:00

you know what's funny?

when you're broke/strapped for cash/live in a two-person apartment in los angeles with four people, you really know the value of a quarter.

you know exactly what finding a quarter on the street means:

ten more minutes in the parking meter.

five more minutes for your clothes to dry.

1/7 of the way to a tall cup of coffee.

only 1,999 left and i have next month's rent covered.

one n done

2010-06-03T19:04:00.002-04:00

"one n done," as they say in the beach volleyball world.

that is in reference to single elimination tournaments, like the one i played in this morning. all avp qualifiers are held on the thursday proceeding the main draw portion, which consists of all the professional players (who are so sick they no longer need to qualify to play) as well as those who qualify on thursday. so my partner and i lost our second game 26-24 to ultimately lose the match. always tough to lose a close game because you taste victory, it's gone, and then that bitter taste lingers in your mouth. but hey, we played in our very first qualifier and didn't get demolished by any means so i'd call it a good day.

although, i DID pass up the opportunity to shake phil dalhausser's (recipient of 2008 olympic gold medal in beach volleyball) hand because i was too focused on getting a dollar to add to our parking meter. absolutely ridiculous.

2010-06-02T23:50:00.004-04:00

tomorrow. 8am. huntington beach. first avp qualifier match of my career begins.

preeeettyyyyy pumped!

mickey mouse saved my ass

2010-06-02T00:53:00.004-04:00

have you ever sat on a yoga mat during an interview before?

yah, me neither. until 8 o'clock last night.

there i was with hopefully my future boss and two others who were interviewing at the same time. my first group interview for an athletic retail store. i gotta say, it was a fantastic process. she asked questions like, "what is your favorite way to sweat?" and we took turns giving our answers. we shared personal information like where we saw ourselves in five, ten years. i told them about how puking after running the 800 meter race when i was eight years old was one of the most satisfying moments of my life, and also about my more recent efforts to move a little farther from "type A" and a little closer to "type B" on a personality scale. and at the end, i taught them how to draw mickey mouse. apparently i did not receive the e-mail notifying me that i would be teaching the others a skill of mine and should prepare accordingly--mickey mouse saved my ass. it was like no interview i had ever experienced before...and as far as yoga poses go, i'm a lost puppy, so i stuck to sitting indian style all night.

so now i'm like an actress waiting for a callback. and even though i can't afford it, i'll walk over to the stationary store nearby and pick out a breathtaking, letter-pressed thank you card to give to the gal who interviewed me.

please PLEASE let me land this job! i promise i'll work on my yoga poses!!

haves and have nots

2010-06-01T10:25:00.000-04:00

immediately after i wrote the eloquent three sentences in the post below, i closed my computer shut, tossed my ¾ full shitty latte in the trash (in true soap opera style), and stormed out of the coffee shop. i just couldn’t sit there and pretend that i wasn’t royally pissed off and hurt by the fact that my partner and i could not play in the tournament this weekend. so i walked. i walked back towards the apartment until i could feel my vulnerability rising with every step. better to let the ocean see me like this, i thought to myself. so i kicked off my sandals and perched myself against one of many volleyball posts situated on manhattan beach. just my self-pity and the pacific ocean.

if your beach body had walked by me right then you wouldn’t be able to tell that i was crying, but i would be a liar if i said that i didn’t take advantage of the “run to the beach and cry” cliché. what stopped the emotional bleeding was a phone call to my best friend. normal people call their best friends when they are upset, so i thought i would give it a try. i think normal people are on to something…either that or i just picked the right person to call. she told me that i could be upset today but tomorrow i could not. she told me that’s it’s okay that i feel crushed because, as twenty-somethings, it’s hard not to take everything that goes wrong as a personal blow since we are the ones now making the decisions. she said that the uneasiness i feel about not having a paycheck--even after only being here for a week--is a good thing because it shows i have the motivation and drive to make something of myself. she clarified that the people who just live their lives perfectly content being a wet rag are the losers and we are the winners. would you disagree with someone who was calling you a winner?

i’m really glad i called her because as i walked to the beach all i could think about was everything that i didn’t have. i don’t have a tournament to play in this weekend. i don’t have a job. i don’t have a doctor, or a dentist, or any kind of healthcare professional. i don’t have a loofa (you wouldn't be laughing if you knew the scrubbing effort it takes to remove remnants of the beach from your feet). i don’t even have sufficient lighting in my room—alright, let me try to be positive here…i have a burned out light bulb!

okay, my point is that my mind could only process the 'have nots' in my life, not the 'haves'. until i gave myself some time to calm down, i had forgotten about the beautiful beach i was sitting on, the incredible friends i have, the flowers that are sitting in gatorade bottles around the apartment…it's times like these that i turn to this song to remind me of all my 'haves' and shove aside the 'have nots':

...darius rucker, alright...

2010-05-28T12:17:00.002-04:00

in a pretty horrible mood right now. failed to register for an avp qualifier tournament this weekend out of sheer stupidity. this is a big blow.

dirty clothes

2010-05-25T21:38:00.001-04:00

the four of us went for our very first laundromat visit this evening. before leaving the apartment, i "accidentally" dropped three beers and a mixed drink in my laundry basket, which we all enjoyed while our clothes tumbled peacefully in the background. we also played the game apples to apples to help pass the time.

i used to absolutely detest the laundromat-like seeing someone eat spam and enjoy it. but as it turns out, i've just been washing clothes with the wrong people.

being poor can really teach you things.

playdate

2010-05-25T11:06:00.005-04:00

boys 1, girls 0.

that's because the boys set up their very first playdate today while the girls have yet to make any volleyball friends here. we did walk over a mile the other afternoon

searching for girls who were playing on the beach...but no dice. don't lose your faith in us just yet--we have leads, and we have the tenacity to follow up on those leads--we just have had no luck so far. it's frustrating, it really is. all you wanna do is play against some talent but it feels like you are just waiting in line to get into this exclusive club and guess what: your names are not on the list. not to mention, you don't have the funds necessary to flash the bouncer a twenty.

well, more likely a fifty (this is l.a., right?).

so my friends, today the girls will tag along with the boys on their playdate in santa monica. at least that's what i hope will end up happening...

back from hiatus

2010-05-23T12:37:00.006-04:00

i don't know what the motor vehicle equivalent of "jet lag" is called, but whatever it is, i'm well over it and set on pacific coast time. more specifically, manhattan beach, los angeles, time. that is my new place of residence as of last thursday afternoon, may 20th, 2010. the first day of the rest of my life...if you're in a "real life story made into a motion picture" state of mind...

...los angeles. land of palm trees and over-sized sunglasses. it is also the land of ridiculously small yet ridiculously expensive homes. no matter what we happen to live in at a given period in our lives (house, apartment, condo, closet), don't we all just try to make that place our "home"? for the four of us, a stocked kitchen did the trick. and even though our living room/dining room/study/guest room is furnished with folding beach chairs courtesy of our next door neighbors, having a room that is oriented towards a great big television really makes a place feel like home. even if that home doesn't have cable yet. even if our wireless provider is the coffee shop located a few blocks away.

since college, i've always taken two things with me when i moved somewhere for an extensive period of time: white christmas lights and kerri walsh. the calming, romantic, and festive feeling that a string of glistening white lights gives me puts me at ease. and the framed newspaper cut-out of kerri walsh digging a ball in the 2004 olympics keeps me motivated and focused on my goals (kerri is one of the best beach volleyball players in the world by the way). those two items help me get through the tough transitional periods between places of residence. and let me tell you, this may very well be the most drastic transitional period of them all. the difference between my physical environment a week ago and today is like black and white. i traded in my parents and my brother for three of my best friends...the luxurious new home in a gated community for a two-bedroom, one bath apartment...a college town for the pacific ocean. i have left behind the struggles that come with living with your parents but have gained an entirely new set (remembering to not buy food that requires a microwave for one thing).

but as we all sat down the other night in our beach chairs, sipping our bud lights, we couldn't be happier. and i wanted to cry when i walked in and saw this sitting on our "dining room table":

hand-picked by one of the boys.

i have no words.

it's good to be back on the blog :)

i'm on the no plan plan

2010-05-15T19:31:00.003-04:00

i don't know what to say to you besides the fact that tomorrow morning i leave for california. four good friends caravanning in two cars out on the open road. goodbye east coast, hello west coast. goodbye great big house, hello sardine can.

at the beginning of this week i had all these ideas of things i was going to write about...a wonderful summarization of some of the wonderful things (quitting my first full-time job) and some of the not so wonderful things (getting my car towed twice) that have happened to me this past year. but i'm not going to do that. this blog was never meant to have a "final term paper" feel to it. i'm not going to tell you what i will miss about carolina and my life here...i'm going to wait a week and then tell you what i miss.

one thing i will tell you, however, is that i have never been so fearless in my entire life as i am at this very moment. and by "fearless" i mean a total abandonment of wanting and needing a definite plan. i neither know what city i will be in tomorrow night nor where it is i will be sleeping. i don't know where i will apply for a job in los angeles, how i will perform in comparison to all the other athletes this summer, or where i will be when the leaves start to fall off the trees. i always had questions, but now i don't feel the compulsive (and exhausting) need to have my answers. i don't know where all my ducks have run off to, but they are certainly not in a row. and for the first time in my life that's alright for me.

i lied. i will tell you one more thing: i've given this blog a lot of thought these past couple of weeks and i'm happy to report that theboomeranger ain't going no where...at least as far as the world wide web is concerned :) i may be leaving the nest but nothing is for certain. a new phase of my life is ushering in and i want to continue to share my adventures with you. i'll be more specific as to what direction this blog is headed for later, but for the duration of my roadtrip, i'd like to "check out" as they say (sans the use of narcotics). besides one post that i have already prepared and ready to go, you won't be hearing a peep out of me for the next three thousand miles. at least, that's the plan...but we all know that doesn't mean shit anymore.

see you in a week.

marriage

2010-05-12T10:13:00.006-04:00

let me tell you about marriage.

marriage consists of one recurring argument, which consists of dishes. dirty dishes to be exact. it goes something like this...

dinner has been prepared and consumed and all that remains are satisfied stomachs and dirty dishes. wife expects husband to do the dishes since wife made the dinner. husband is willing to do so but is too involved in a television program at the moment to take care of it. dreadfully fearful of "waking up to dirty dishes in the sink", wife resorts to doing them herself, all the while bitching about the fact that she is the one doing them. meanwhile, husband, who's relaxing evening in front of the television is now being disturbed, is equally annoyed that wife is bitching about doing the dishes when he had all the intentions of doing them himself. repeat this scenario about five hundred times and you have a twenty-year marriage. if you're lucky. that's the most important part: you are lucky if this is the revolving argument in the "till death do you part" partnership. that is what i have come to realize. blessed be the couple who argue over the petty, small things (like dishes) because that means that there aren't larger, life-threatening issues to worry about.

and there i am, watching this old record play over and over again because neither will change their ways--my mom will always want the dishes cleaned and put in the dishwasher immediately following a meal and my dad will always prefer to wait a while before doing them by hand (avoiding the dishwasher altogether). in my earlier stages of naiveness i used to think that i could diagnose and fix this problem. "hahahahah" laughed the relationship gods above. i've come to believe that having the same argument again and again can actually be comforting. humans are creatures of habit, and having that one (or ten) fight to fall back on is like the most messed up security blanket in the world.

this is one of the things that boomeranging has taught me. since i am no longer a child (at least by law), my marriage earmuffs have been collecting dust; therefore, i get to witness all the "you're just like your mother/father" comments as i eat my popcorn. live with your parents and you too can earn a front row seat in the r rated film that is your parents relationship. just remember to wash your dishes.

blah blah blog

2010-05-12T10:02:00.002-04:00

even though i've been bogging now for almost a year, sitting down to write is rarely ever easy for me. it's still scary. i wish i had read this advice given by penelope trunk about starting a blog:

4. Post something right now.
Don't tell yourself you'll do it tomorrow. Blogging is about courage to say something. Don't worry about being stupid because trust me, no one is reading your blog. Post anything. You can nix bad posts later. For now just start writing.

i'll have to make my dad read this little blurb as well because he just started a blog to connect with the swimmers that he coaches and let me tell you, it has three things: a title, a picture, and white space.

a year ago today

2010-05-11T22:45:00.002-04:00

i'm leaving for california in five days. five days of mom, dad, brother, friends, and the carolina blue sky. five days of sleeping on a plush mattress and waking up entangled in waves of pottery barn. five days of taking five steps to my own bathroom and fifteen steps to the laundry room. yes, i place a lot of value on these two rooms.

at this very moment in time i am feeling extremely excited for the upcoming move; however, i have had my share of emotional, pessimistic, and fearful moments these past few weeks. some days i just get overwhelmed thinking about how many people i've disclosed my dreams to...overwhelmed with the possibility that i won't have the answers i want by the end of the summer...overwhelmed by the thought of sharing one tiny bathroom with four people. two boys and two girls. i repeat: two boys and two girls.

i'm the kind of person who is really affected by my surroundings, a fact about myself that i realized when i took that trip to florida last fall. i actually thought i was going to move out of my parents house and happily reside in the sunshine state--that is, until the pastel-colored buildings started to make me queasy. and i realized that i much preferred the way that california beaches fuse with the surrounding community. let's just say i made a very smart choice by ending my plan to move there.

so yes, i'm feeling nervous about the whole moving across the country to pursue my passion thing. but i also know that my angst is coupled with the tendency i have to think back to what i was doing exactly a year ago today. a year ago today i was in the atlantic ocean. alright, i was on a cruise ship in the atlantic ocean...headed for bermuda with three of my college roommates. i was dancing my ass off with bob--a man so old he might've been a ghost--and other elderly folk because, unbeknownst to us, we had signed up for a senior citizen cruise. a year ago today i was lying in bed in our cabin, missing my current boyfriend and contemplating how it would feel to graduate from college. what a different place i was in. what a different place all those seniors are in right now. i hope they are cherishing their last days together because you can never go back. you can try and re-live the "glory days" but it will never be the same. when i graduated from high school i knew that the day i became a graduate and walked off campus was also the day i would lose that special sense of ownership with my school. that gym, that track, that quad--they will always be a part of me, but they will never feel the same way as they once did when i ran suicides up and down that gym, ran laps around that track, and self-consciously made my way back and forth across that quad. and the same goes for college.

such is life. i don't know which we should dread more: the nostalgia that comes with a year ago today or the anxiety that comes with today a year from now. pick your poison.

book report

2010-05-06T09:00:00.013-04:00

this is WAY over-due, but i wanted to share my two cents about the books i have collecting dust in my shortlist...first up,

the adventures of johnny bunko: the last career guide you'll ever need

this might be the most non-traditional career advice book you can find out there. as you peel back the cover jacket you are immediately immersed in the art and design that is manga, a

comic format used by the japanese. and, like a comic book, the words are being communicated through thought bubbles rather than long paragraphs that seem to drag on and on. but don't let the book's brevity turn you away because what it lacks in words it makes up for in pure genius. yes, i said genius, because the authors don't bullshit their way through a two-hundred and thirty-two page "self-help" career book like so many others...they break down and simplify our qualms and our worries about where our lives are headed without wasting our time. and they manage to do so with the help of some magic chopsticks...intrigued? you should be. and it's the kind of advice you can use whether you are fifteen or fifty.

gimme!

and secondly,

20 something, 20 everything: a quarter-life woman's guide to balance and direction

christine hassler wastes no time in giving it to you straight. her introduction chapter is titled "welcome to your twenty-something crisis". yah, and you thought only mid-life crisis's existed. wrong! hassler uncovers why our twenties are filled with a shared sense that nothing is really wrong, but nothing really feels right, either. she introduced me to terms like "expectation hangover" and "the comparison game" which totally matched up with the way i was feeling after i had graduated last may. the book is filled with a lot of reflection exercises to help you apply her advice directly to your life (i was too cool for school to do most of these...okay, any of them, but if you like that sort of thing go for it). and she covers topics ranging from finances to relationships so you really get a complete picture of why and how we females feel off balance and lost throughout this fragile decade of our lives. her target audience is obviously women, but that doesn't mean a man can't benefit from her writing.

gimme!

and now you have two excellent works to turn to if you feel pressure or mis-direction in your life. i'm always eager to hear what other titles are out there, so please holler at me if you come across one and i'll check it out for you.

and the winner for the most loaded question goes to...

2010-05-05T23:01:00.005-04:00

"are you going to live here? are you going to fall in love and get married in carolina or meet someone in california!?!"

thanks, mom, thanks. the other day i contemplated marrying a farmer so i really don't think i'm ready to decide who i will marry and in which state we will spend the rest of our lives together at this moment. two years ago i definitely had a plan--a plot if you will--that had me creating my first offspring by my 28th birthday (you know, so that when my daughter turned twenty i would be just forty-eight years old...still young and hip enough to relate to her).

yah, f that. i'm way to selfish right now to be worrying about being "hip" enough to relate to my future twenty-year old terror who, by that time, will probably have a computerized chip installed in her ear so that she won't miss a single tweet. plus, i've realized that there are too many things i want to experience and accomplish by myself and with the future love of my life before you come in and upchuck your gerber applesauce all over my new pottery barn table cloths (which, if you know me at all, will most likely be whitish in hue).

so sorry, mom, but i can't say whether i will nest here in carolina or in some other state. i can tell you that we could probably narrow the possibilities to like twenty five states if that makes you feel better (a life in north dakota? no thank you.). i understand that it's hard having your other daughter on the other side of the country and that you just want to keep your kids close to home. i get that, and i respect that. i just can't make any promises...not in the slightest.

GQ

2010-05-05T20:07:00.000-04:00

my eyes found the following letter on the last page of this month's GQ magazine, and then my heart fell a little in love with it. i've re-typed the letter word for word below and chosen to make my favorite parts bold so you would pay close attention to them, for these parts are humorously--and in a way, painfully--accurate when it comes to the realities that fresh college graduates face...

dear (possibly doomed) class of 2010,

"well, you finally made it. you graduated! you spent four years (or eight, or ten-no judgements!) and eleventy billion dollars of your parents money, and now you're a bunch of learned-ass adults. or maybe you just spent forty-five minutes on the university of pheonix web site, clicked print diploma, and went back downstairs to do a couple of pre-family guy bong rips, because hangin' out on the quad with a bunch of losers doesn't fit into your life-plan right this second. either way: bravo, madams and sirs. (and we're just kidding, university of phoenix! you are totally a prestigious institution. you're both the harvard and the sorbonne of internet colleges. go, fighting, uh, phoenixes!)

sure, you may be leaving college with eight-figure student-loan and credit card balances, a substance-abuse problem that makes tom sizemore look like ian mackaye, opr an un-livedownable nickname like knothole or meat-flaps. that viral video of your mishap on diaper night at the gamma house might still be getting crazy digg hits. but it doesn't mater, because you're leaving. with a degree. you're a bachelor of something, meat-flaps, and nobody can take that away form you.

now for the bad news. you're joining theworkforce in the middle of a jobless recovery, which is basically the o'doul's of economic rallies. it's no picnic out here. or, okay, it's a picnic, but it's a cormac mccarthy the road type of picnic, there's not enough canned peaches in the shopping cart, and everybody's calling dibs on the one bullet. and also there are fire ants. mighty institutions people once took for granted-banks, newspapers, american idol-are crumbling, and while most of them deserve to, the problem with a world without majority institutions is that mighty institutions used to employ a lot of people. you could always get The Man to finance your lifestyle. no more. that unpaid internship you've got your eye on? be prepared to fight somebody for t. possibly your dad.

frankly, we're wondering if you guys are going to be able to handle malaise 2.0. most of you were born in 1988, which means you were 3 years old when nevermind came out (which makes us about 826). you've never know hardship. you've never paid money for a cd, waited for a vhs tape of a batman movie starring val kilmer instead of patrick bateman to rewind, or wondered if the call you needed to make was important enough to risk a case of pay-phone-receiver-borne-ear-herpes. you've also never lived in a world without the internet, which means you've grown up with an exaggerated sense of your own importance. sheltered in stuffed-animal-filled bedrooms by your parents more fearful of your falling prey to pedophiles than their own parents were of the a-bomb, you posted 'response' videos on youtube; poured out your every typeable thought on a glittering, blinking myspace page; exchanged tweets with @aplusk. you had access to all the machinery of self-promotion before you really had a self. you thought of fame as a birthright. and now you've been booted into a world that will lol at your sense of awesome-life-entitlement, then offer to 'hire' you to blog for free.

before you ask: no, we're not hiring. but look on the bright side! since you're fresh out of college, you've got a wealth of transferable life skills that'll help you tackle the harsh realities you're about to face. you know how to harmoniously share an apartment the size of an entenmann's box with six other people and sleep comfortably on a canyoned futon that works days as a couch. you're practically a seasoned recession vet already!

we know how we sound, oh-tenners. we sound old. carson daly old. eddie vedder old. and jealous. we did not, after all, actually graduate form college. we went, and then we went less often, and then we decided we were finished. (it's one of the few things we have in common with kanye west. that and night terrors. and a yen for bionic ladies who kinda look like grace jones). but once we made that decision, we set about starting a life, secure in the knowledge that-because we'd never actually done anything-no one gave a crap about us or our burning conviction that we were too good to make some dudes latte. we advise you to proceed under the same assumption, graduates. having a thousand facebook friends means about as much in 2010 as a personalized-license-plate key chain meant in 1990. we live in a moment when anybody can make a mistake for themselves; the game you're suiting up for is about making that name matter. even if it's meat-flaps."

case of the mondays

2010-05-03T15:10:00.003-04:00

it was written on everybody's face this morning, "i don't want to be here. i want to be in bed."

but you suck it up. you roll silverware. you polish wine glasses. you run to the kitchen for some extra parmesan cheese, and you smile and say "take care" to the table of asian americans who just tipped you very poorly. sorry, it's the truth. political correctness does not exist within the food industry (nor in this blog).

unfortunately for me, i have about thirty minutes before i have to go back and work the dinner shift. you know what's bizarre about serving? we are there to make money--we want to make money--yet we still start off each shift being apprehensive towards our customers. we hate the first table we get and the last table we get. always works out that way, because the first table that gets sat in our section marks the official start of our workday and the last table we are sat marks the bastards who we just want to pay and leave so we can get out of there. very strange, but very true.

word of advice: you don't want to be the last customers who sneak in before the restaurant closes for the night. everyone hates you.