compass

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

"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.