hidden cameras

It has been raining again here in Da Berkz aka Berkeley. So far showers have been intermittent and unpredictable in behavior throughout the day. This is kind of annoying because it'll rain for like, 3 minutes. Stop for 10. Rain some more. Stop. Rain. AND REPEAT! I swear as soon as I manage to get my barely usable umbrella open, the rain stops. And of course, as soon as I shake off the few drops of water from my umbrella and place it back in my bag, it starts to drizzle. Just my luck.

Something peculiar I noticed today was that everyone else around me seemed to be in sync with each other when it came down to having their umbrellas out or tucked away. Usually in this kind of weather I'd expect some people to be like me and have bad timing with their umbrellas, and some people to have it out exactly when they need them. But today, I felt like I was the only one who was struggling to predict the pattern of rainfall. (There was no consistent pattern!) At one point I even felt like I was the star of my own show like The Truman Show and everyone had microphones alerting them into their ears exactly when production was going to "make it rain". I kinda peeked around a little at people around me, then chuckled at how ridiculous I was being.

The rain is scheduled to keep on coming, according to weather.com. Bring it on. I got my rain boots in check. Definitely one of the best investments I've made in college.

"don't forget the keys"

Before I left my apartment, I told myself NOT to forget the keys on the table. Although I made a mental reminder that I repeated over and over again in my head, my mind could not escape the countless interruptions of distractions (a.k.a. day dreams). I should have put the keys in my bag as soon as it crossed my mind to do so, but typical of me, I thought I really wouldn't forget this time (as I always do). As soon as I shut the door behind me (locked from the inside) the image of my purple keyring with three keys dangling from it flashed before my eyes. I shrieked and hoped that I might've luckily forgotten to lock my door. Ha, of course I didn't forget to do that. So I panicked a little then called the manager. No answer. Panicked a little more. Called a locksmith service. They said they'd be over in less than 3 minutes. Hooray! I was so impressed by how fast they said they would be here to save me that I quickly hung up without even asking them how much it would cost. BIG MISTAKE. So I waited for the locksmith outside. Almost an hour went by and still no man to rescue me. (Less than three minutes was really too good to be true.) Once the locksmith finally arrived and did his magical thing to my doorknob, he smiled at me as he asked me if I had renter's insurance. I said no and asked him how much I had to pay. When he gave me the receipt, my eyes literally popped out and my mouth let out a desperate gasp. I think I even squealed a little. Don't even ask how much it was... I had no choice at this point but to the pay the man for his 2 minutes of service. While I was writing a check for "X" amount, he made a comment about the cute cow pen I was using. I just looked up at him and smiled cordially. Then he added another unnecessary comment about how he understands that locksmiths are super expensive! Gee, really now!?!?!?! Anyways, as soon as I opened the door, there were my keys sitting just as I had placed them on the table the night before. !$!T@$YH#W%U#%U

erHJ$W%JW@TJ$W@#%@$^@#&$*$@#!@$@^*&@^y5y45yqu
#%&27thesJRSksrJaG3152%25@$5#$yTSEJrGX
RY5qu$JS$j^$SWk^SkS
REHW$%J^W$Uu4REHAq35hQ#y4@

^Sorry about that, I just have some tension to let out. I really should punch myself really hard so I can finally learn my lesson NOT to trust that I'll remember something later on. I ALWAYS seem to forget. I AM AN IDIOT! RYWU@U#$^#%&@@$^EDTJFK

They should just hurry up and develop finger print scanners everywhere. So much more convenient... and economical for me.

delicious dreams

Some people think about white picket fences, big grassy lawns, windows with shutters, or even a view of the ocean from their bedroom, when they imagine their dream homes. All of these things are nice, but what I care about the most is having the perfect kitchen.

Perfect is a heavily loaded word, but I'm willing to sacrifice other parts of the house if it means I can prance around in my magical kitchen wearing a lovely lavender apron. Well, my apron doesn't HAVE to be lavender, but I imagine it would complement the pastel yellow walls (with white accents) very well. On the counter I will showcase my Kitchen Aid mixer, which I cannot afford to own right now as a poor college student. I hope to have a massive island counter, located conveniently in the center, for me to lay out all my ingredients to make fresh pasta dough and homemade baked goods. Big sinks excite me too. I don't really mind doing the dishes, especially since I grew up bonding with my mom while she did them after dinner. Lighting is important as well, because I think it makes food look better, therefore taste better (for the eyes at least). My oven in my old house never worked well, so the idea of having a brilliantly cooperative oven is a luxury I feel I must have in my perfect vision. I could go on and on describing my dream kitchen, but the main requirement is that it be spacious enough for me to dance around in my little apron without having to worry about hitting anything. (No need for bruises.) This is such a fanciful dream, I know, but cooking/baking is my ultimate obsession so it seems only fitting that I've concocted such a romantic vision for myself. It's really an indulgent desire I feel no guilt for having.

elevator girl

I live in an apartment building that is not very tall and composed of four floors. Everyone (ALMOST everyone...) uses the stairs because the elevator takes forever and a day to arrive at your floor. I say "almost everyone" because I belong to the group of "only other ABLE person" that still presses the little white button and waits for the old, shady elevator to come get me. Call me lazy and not very green, but these adjectives don't phase me at all. The only people I do see sometimes use the elevator usually have a lot of belongings to carry or are disabled/injured in some way. I know people judge me when they see me standing in front of the elevator door as it slowly makes its way up or down. In my lame defense, I do actually live on the top floor so it takes me a bit longer to take the stairs. But even so, I will admit that I can probably climb the stairs to the top by the time the elevator finally reaches the ground floor. How sad is it that when I do feel compelled to use the stairway, I feel exhilarated at the end and proud to have burned a couple extra calories? (Pretty sad.) Okay, so maybe those negative adjectives are starting to make me feel more self-conscious about my totally fixable habit.
I think I will start taking the stairs (more often) so I don't have to get mortifying death glares from a guy (I accidentally make eye contact with) who is carrying his unnecessarily big mountain bike up to the second floor. But like I said, I DO inhabit the fourth floor, which is another 40 steps above that guy. Nevertheless, a little extra exercise could do me a whole lotta good. I just hope they don't upgrade the elevator so it plays music. That will make my lazy habit a lot harder to fix.

turning 20

Wait, what? So it appears the finals hours of my teenage glory are coming to an end. For better or for worse, I don't know yet. I like to think growing up is a good thing, but maybe only because it can't be stopped anyway. Secretly, I never want to grow up (unless it's a couple more inches to my height). Responsibilities are so overrated!

I'm not much of an enthusiast for celebrating my own birthday (as much as I love making other people feel fantastic on theirs), but I have to admit something special happens to my taste buds only on this day such that cake just tastes better. It's an inexplicable phenomenon, but marvelous nonetheless. I love eating cake in general, but birthday cake just takes the cake on this particular day. (Haaaaa! I guess I'm taking my corniness with me all the way). Otherwise, I don't care much for my own birthday. If anything I'd just hope it's like any other ordinary day and nothing horrific happens to me. That's all.
Oh wait, a little sunshine would be a nice too!

PS. People should just show me love all the time! Seriously. Okay fine, just kidding.

--EDIT--
I am now officially 20 and the weather was fantastic. Hooray!

cotton in the sky

I cannot wait for the weather to clear up (not just for an erratic 20 minutes in an otherwise gloomy day) so I can finally be reacquainted with my friendly clouds. One of my favorite things to do is gaze upon the wandering clouds from my humble position on earth. It is one of those things that makes me forget all else that is happening in the world and allows me to focus only on the present solitary moment of unregulated bliss. Clouds are so pretty to me, and they're quite entertaining to watch.

When I was a little girl (and even now, to be honest) I could spend hours trying to make shapes and figures out of these clouds, and even tell a story with them. My friends and I would compete with one another to out-do the others' imagination. Luckily, my useless creativity in other domains ruled supreme in this childish game we played. Even though any skin contact with the grass made me itch, I'd still lie down (in the most comfortable patch I could find) and soon pay little attention to this discomfort as the sky cast its usual spell over me. But it was a spell I certainly didn't mind... nor did I ever want it to be broken.

A charming characteristic about clouds is their nomadic nature. I can't help but wish to roam a vast territory like the infinite sky... to be completely free. Sometimes I would wish I could be that turtle-shaped cloud (that also moves at such a pace... but at least it's moving) and travel to wherever the wind directs it. Some people really depend on order and a definite direction in their lives. I'm more of a do-as-you-go and go-as-you-do kinda person. Sometimes it works out fine for me, and sometimes it gets me in trouble. Nonetheless, it's simply the way I am.

The weather needs to stop showing bipolar symptoms and not tease me with sporadic glimpses of clear skies. I'm ready to go back to my cloud-gazing days.

scared-y cat

Truth is, I have an unbelievably low level of courage when confronted by most things. Even things that make me happy often terrify me at the same time. It doesn't make much sense outside my head, but this is an indisputable quality about me I usually don't like to share with others. Lets just say I'm SCARED that someone will take advantage of my inability to be as tough as I like to think I am. (Because I am pretty tough still!)

My cowardliness stems from lots of fears --some I know are ridiculous, but they still overcome me with great terror. This is actually a rather hard thing to admit, (especially to myself) but I'm recognizing how much it diminishes potential joy in my life. When I get scared of something, I just run. I never look back or even think twice about taking on whatever it is that is causing me to tremble in place. The relief I experience after distancing myself from my troubles is perhaps, only a mere illusion of safety that is actually short-lived as well. What I'm running from doesn't vanish and it is in no way impaired from chasing after me again. I tend to run from a lot of things, so I've noticed. It gets tiring though.

This illusion of safety is losing its persuasive grip on me. More and more I can acknowledge how often I run from petty things I could have surely dealt with if only I had a bit more courage. Some of these things are good in nature, but the fact that something so naturally good is happening to me frightens me. It scares me because I'm afraid it will be revealed to be a mere figment of my imagination or a dream I will soon awaken from. This worry drives me to keep my distance from situations that evoke sensations I would hope last forever. But like I said, I'm getting tired from all this nonsensical exercise I get from running away. Not that my pathetic level of courage has gone up for some reason, but I hope to gather more of it (from whatever source) and put it to some good use.

I think I will start by facing my fear of butterflies. DON'T LAUGH. Those creatures look friendly from far away, but up close they're not so pretty. I swear. After this conquering, I think I will be able to face anything... even things that seem too good to be existent in my life. For example, if a friend tells me I'm a good friend to them too, I won't doubt it. I'll be accepting of their words and not let worry take over what should make me feel incredible. But first, gotta deal with the butterflies...

Wish me luck.

unusual

Put all your eggs in one basket... and watch that basket.

Something I've never considered doing... but all of a sudden I got super guts-y. I just hope my gut is right about this.

please don't pick me...

In my 6th grade math class, Mr. Welch would go around the class asking us to state our answers for the homework problems being discussed. I was always insecure about being called on because it seemed that everyone else always said the correct answer. And of course, I would get called on to answer the one difficult problem (that had to be an even number problem so the solution wasn't in the back of the book) that everyone else had trouble with too... but I'd be the who would have to reveal this to the teacher. It would ALWAYS be me.
Sometimes he would have us say our answers out loud in order of our seating. Immediately I would count the heads ahead of me and match what problem I'd have to answer. With my poor luck, I would get stuck with the one problem I had skipped because it was too long or confusing for me. This WOULD happen to me.
So I'm sure Mr. Welch thought I didn't belong in his advanced math class, and sometimes I would doubt myself too. Math and I never got along too well after this class. But whatever, I found love elsewhere... like in the kitchen baking Danish pastries.

This still happens to me though, when I don't have an answer I apparently attract the attention of the teacher asking the question. Even in a big lecture hall, I seem to emit my own personal spotlight as if I'm oozing with desire to be called on. I'll try to use such tactics as lowering my head or avoiding eye contact with the professor, but then I'll get the worst urge to scratch my head or move something off my face. Of course. At a time when I forcibly try to make as little movement as possible, my body itches all over. So I get called on and all eyes and ears are on me, but I have nothing else to say other than "Oh, I was just scratching my head" with a redness on my face not from my blush.
I know it's not that big of a deal; it surely happens to everyone. It just happens to me a lot more frequently than others. Perhaps I'm just unlucky in this way, but I like to think that the luck I'm lacking in this department is transferable to some other aspect of my life so that I'm luckier in that area than most others. This may or may not be true, but hey, a girl can dream a little.