Showing posts with label daily life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label daily life. Show all posts

Monday, January 11, 2010

Passing Moment Gone

Dear No One in Particular,

First of all, I know I've neglected this space. I don't have a good reason. Honestly, I'm a little disappointed; if I had a legitimate reason drenched in awesomesauce for failing to write on a regular basis, I would totally feel like less of a loser. So while, no, I haven't been climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro, and no, I didn't punch a shark in the nose while collecting coral samples, I have been busy trying to figure out this "grown-up" nonsense. And let me tell you, it's been no picnic.

The start of a new year often necessitates a lot of selfish introspection; the start of a new decade, doubly so. Forgive me while I introspect selfishly? This is a blog, after all.

2009 was a beast of a year, for a lot of people. Almost everyone I know rang in the new year with a resounding "Thank God that's over with".
It wasn't that the year was particularly unkind -- at least, not to me -- it's that it was so fraught with drama, a hurdle to surmount every 5 paces, that it often felt that the end would never come. While it didn't come peacefully, the end is here. Thank God it's over with.

And now, a quick trip down memory lane. Visual aids when applicable, because words often fall short:

I graduated from 8th grade in 2000. There was so much pride and hope instilled in that fact: to be embarking on something so momentous and new on the cusp of a new millennium! It was almost poetic; in fact, I'm sure I have some rather awful poetry on this topic, just waiting to embarrass me.*
Equally poetic was my graduation in 2009. Two graduations bookended the decade; so much promise, so much uncertainty.

Fuck. Yes.

I can not begin to explain how freaking stressful it is to graduate from university. And yet, that last year, filled to the brim with tears and screams and hair torn from the roots, was easily the best in my academic career. I've never been so challenged by professors, nor had so much fun. I learned how to identify the gender and age of human skeletons, wrote an epic paper on the mind-boggling fluctuations of women's rights in Iran, decomposed logical arguments, and learned how to play the to'ere.

Mid-2009, following my graduation (insert fist-pump here), I moved from an isolated, technicolour island in the middle of the Pacific to a chilly city on the edge of California known for its bridges and foggy summer days.

While I consider both Honolulu and San Francisco home, I do not recommend this move. To anyone. Ever.

In 2009 I watched as my family shattered apart and came together again, drawing on a deep collective strength to create a new, fragile formation.
I also re-kindled a pathetically dormant relationship with my heart-sister. Moving back home after a long absence will do that to you.

The most fabulous redemptor and herald you'll ever see.

If 2009 was a year of difficulties, then let 2010 be the year of relieved sighs.

It was a long, difficult slog through the mud, all the while hoping that the pinpoint of light dancing ever so unattainably on the horizon would bring good tidings and most importantly, a sense of release.

It's a new year, a new decade; it's a new start.

A toast to you, my lovely darlings: thank you for stopping by, commenting, for sending gorgeous gifts, for reaching out through the series of pipes and connecting with me. Here's to you, doll; I hope this year shines as brightly as you.

Kiss kiss

Now bring me that horizon.

--amanda




___________________
*There are no photographs documenting my elementary school graduation because there's only so much humiliation I can endure.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

No Worries

Dear No One in Particular,

I'm returning to the blogosphere bearing a Bachelor of Arts degree in Anthropology. I'm a college graduate. You have no idea how wonderfully bizarre it feels to type those words. In fact, I don't think it's fully sunken in yet; I've been so preoccupied with my trans-Pacific move that I haven't had time to really absorb the fact that I no longer have to do homework! My nights are free! I can read for pleasure! ...at least until grad school, which is still a rather nebulous option.


I was going to write up my thoughts on the whole graduation process and what it feels like to be a new graduate, especially a new graduate in such a rough economy, but I've decided against it. The whole thing would be so mentally- and emotionally-masturbatory and consist me gazing at my navel, which is fun for no one. Instead, I'm making the conscious decision to change the course of my life. (This is not to say that the following post won't involve some navel-gazing. I'll try to keep it to a minimum.)

I live entirely in my head. I'm rather introverted and enjoy mostly solitary activities. I tend to space out a lot, daydreaming of alternative futures or working over past events. I live in a world of words and thoughts, rather than a world of action, and for the most part, I've been pretty happy with this. However, I've grown increasingly tired of working things out in my head. Every sentence, every decision is a complex puzzle to be solved -- which often leaves me in the dust of opportunities that have flown by while I pondered every possible outcome.
I've decided I'm going to follow my intuition more; I'm going to stop over-thinking every little thing and just start doing. I've been told time and again that my gut instinct is my best option, and it's high time I start utilizing it.


A couple of months ago, my wanderlust kicked into high gear. My parents are big on travelling, so I feel that the itch in my feet comes from them. My mother is especially bad when it comes to impromptu travels: she moved to America 30 years ago just because she wanted a change.
Anyway, I woke up one morning yearning for a change of pace, but without a particular goal in mind. I tumbled countries and cities around in my mind, but couldn't really commit to one place to visit. I'm not a huge fan of "hopping" when I travel; I like to stay in one place and really get into the feel and rhythm of the culture. After a few weeks of hemming and hawing (Peru? Puerto Rico? Prague? Turkey?), a word/a name/ a country flashed into my mind.


Australia.

I'd never had any inclination to visit the country before. I mean, I wouldn't have turned down a vacation if it were offered, but there were so many other places I had on my top ten list ... so why Australia all of a sudden?
A couple of days later, I was reading a blog when Australia popped up. The original post had nothing to do with the country, but someone in the comments mentioned that their time in Australia was just incredible, and they longed to revisit. I thought nothing of it.
A couple of weeks after that, I purchased a magazine only to find an 8 page spread on the Australian outback.
A couple of days after that, a long-awaited book arrived. A chapter in, the author mentioned going to grad school in Australia, and how it was the best 2 years of her life.
A week later, a news program mentions Australia.

It seems the universe was trying to tell me something.


Going on a dream vacation after graduating is something of a tradition in my family, and I've been so lucky and so grateful that this has been possible. My mother and I talked briefly about what my grand graduation present would be this time around. She was planning on sending me to South America, but had forgotten all of her brochures and travel information. Sensing an in, I mentioned the country that had been appearing in my dreams. Apparently, a good chunk of my extended family has immigrated to Australia and have recently purchased homes in Melbourne. Here's where it gets freaky, folks: I really, really want to visit Melbourne -- not Sydney (though I'm sure it's lovely), but Melbourne.


I've spent too long thinking about what this could all mean, but I've decided to stop worrying over it like a string of prayer beads or a rabbit's foot. I'm grabbing my life by the reins and steering it toward Australia. The universe has put a hand at my back and is pushing me down under. I don't know why, but I do know that I need to go. Something is waiting for me there. I'm scared as all hell as to what it could be, but so excited to see what it is.


Ok, enough about me.
I've kept up with blogs as best as I can, but what's going on in your lives? Good news, bad news, weird news -- I'd love to hear it!

Also: I think I've finalized what's going to go into my care packages for my lovely readers. Things are finally starting to fall into place on my end, meaning that I suddenly have time for things like visiting the beach! And reading! And, of course, sending out little packages of my affection and aloha for the people who make me feel like I'm saying something worth listening to. Watch this space, dolls -- I'll be asking for your addresses soon.

--amanda

[all photos: mine; Honolulu, HI, May 2009]

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Bad Blogger

Dear No One in Particular,

I know, I'm a bad blogger. I'm sorry for disappearing, but I'm dealing with a ton and a half of stressful mess right now and it doesn't look like it's going to let up soon.
I graduate on Saturday (!!!! Oh God, I need a paper bag to breathe into) but have two humongous finals to deal with before I get to don my green cap and gown* and parade about in front of a thousand of my classmates and all of their friends and families. On top of that, my parents (and the Boy's parents, natch) are coming over not only to watch the ceremony, but to "help" us pack up our apartment. We're tenatively slated to leave Hawaii (and ne'er to return ... maybe) by 6 June, which is right around the corner and creeping closer every time I look around our place and see piles of stuff to be sold off and walls to be painted and I can hear the arguments already Oh Christ's Holy Pita Pocket I'M DONE ALREADY.

So yeah, my personal life is a bit of stress-riddled mess right now, allowing for very little blogging time. I have posts all lined up, but no time to finish them. Hopefully I'll catch a break and find a quiet moment to slap something up here, but until then, who knows.

I do have some news that directly affects the wonderful people who read and comment on this drivel! I'm planning a giveaway -- a true giveaway in the sense that there's no contest, just me sending a care package. I'm working out some of the kinks, but it boils down to the fact that my readership is tiny, yet incredibly thoughtful. You have no idea how excited I get when I see someone out there feels so compelled to read and comment on what I've written. So, as a demonstration of my gratitude, I'll send you a little giftbox filled with some of my favourite things from Hawaii.
Details to come soon, I promise!

xoxo,
amanda



______________________
*Yes, we have to wear green graduation robes. Effing GREEN. What university requires coloured robes? I thought black was de rigueur? Oh, added bonus: throw my honour cords and stoles over the forest-coloured polyester and voila! Amanda-Christmas tree.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

What's in a Name?

Dear No One in Particular,

Last night, the Boy and I stayed up until 2:30 am talking about baby names.

Hold on -- let me be perfectly clear, in case someone I know finds this: I am not pregnant. I am so far from having children, I am not joking. I don't think I can handle a dog right now, much less a miniature human.

Ok, moving on. Back to the story.

So, for whatever reason, we were talking about what we would name our totally hypothetical future children. I love the Boy, but he's not allowed to name anything. He came up with some really awful options* but my favourite was far and away "Christian" for a boy.

The Boy's last name has very strong ties to the Roman Coliseum. Normally, this is just a neat little factoid about his family history. Yet with the first name "Christian" tacked onto it, it becomes a slightly different story: it is believed that many early Christians were executed in the Coliseum, oddly making it a holy, yet gruesome, place for modern Christians.

The hypothetical name is totally hilarious when taken as a whole, considering the Boy's surname and its connotations to the Coliseum's bloody history. Naturally, the Boy was delighted by the history lesson our hypothetical son's name would bear, especially since this apparently isn't common knowledge? So while most would think nothing of it, a handful would consider us to be either totally insensitive or big fans of gallows humour. I agreed so long as his middle name would be Leo.

Now I can't help but think that if our names shape who we are, what kind of person would a son saddled with such a name be like?

--amanda



____________________
*One of the suggestions? Wyatt. Totally serious. Yes, that would be a perfect name, especially if we have another boy named Jethro. They can play dueling banjos and and run around in overalls with no shirts on.

Monday, November 24, 2008

T-Day minus 4 Days

Dear No One in Particular,

Thanksgiving is bearing down upon us and I couldn't be more excited. Which is weird for me, since I normally hate this particular holiday. I've come to realise that I'm super-juiced about Thanksgiving this year because it's all mine -- no cooking for people I don't like, no cooking foods I won't eat. I'm calling the shots this year, and damn it feels good.

I'm also really looking forward to the cooking itself. I love to cook, but I've been so busy recently I haven't had much time to really experiment with new dishes. I'm looking at Thursday not just as another food-laden holiday, but as a chance to get back in my element and whip up some tasty eats. I have a ton of work bearing down on me right now, and I'm trying desperately to finish the majority of it before the holiday, but all I can think of is brined poultry and mulled wine. Obviously, this train of thought does not translate well when writing about Fatimeh and Ali Shariati.

The Boy and I finally put together a finished menu for our Thanksgiving dinner, and we're going grocery shopping tonight. Normally, I hate grocery shopping, especially here in Hawaii. It's pretty depressing, really -- everything has to be shipped from either Asia or the mainland, so what we get is usually half-rotted/beaten to hell and expensive. Milk is $8 a gallon! Lemons are $1.50 EACH. It's ridiculous.
But! Whole Foods has arrived! And it is glorious. Yes, it's expensive, but it's quality organic food -- something Honolulu is severely lacking. Something about wandering the aisles of a Whole Foods is soothing to me, knowing that there is no ingredient I won't be able to find. Having such a store is invaluable, and it seriously eases the tedium of grocery shopping.

Anyhow, here's the final menu for our Thanksgiving dinner:

Starter:
  • Spinach salad with cranberries and goat cheese
  • Mulled wine
Entree and Sides:
  • Chicken, roasted and brined
  • Bourbon-glazed sweet potatoes
  • Rosemary and sage stuffing
  • Spiced cranberry relish
Desserts:
  • Pumpkin gooey butter cakes
  • Maple apple crisp with vanilla ice cream
Good Lord I'm excited. How about you? Any fabulous Thanksgiving plans? Or perhaps you would just like to talk food. Let's chat!

--amanda

Monday, October 27, 2008

T-Day minus One Month

Dear No One in Particular,

I am sitting on my couch watching Paula Deen make fudge with Max Brenner, and I can't bring myself to think about anything other than cooking. Specifically, cooking Thanksgiving dinner.

I love cooking, baking especially. I bake to reduce stress, which means that there's almost always cupcakes or brownies in my fridge. As much as I love my Boy, he can't cook. Like, at all. I once caught him trying to boil sausages in a frying pan. Natch, I do pretty much all the cooking for the both of us.

We're both stuck in Hawaii for Thanksgiving this year, which isn't a big deal so far as I'm concerned. I really don't like Thanksgiving -- I know, there are people out there ready to shoot me for such an admission. Honestly, I hate most traditional Thanksgiving foods: turkey repulses me, cranberry jelly with the can ring-imprints terrify me, and I HATE pumpkin pie. That leaves a handful of side dishes for me to munch on, so I don't really get that food-coma that most of my family self-induces. And don't get me started on the Pilgrim-Indian nonsense.
I've slowly started to come to terms with Thanksgiving. I've realised that this is a holiday that most people really, truly enjoy and look forward to; in order for me to enjoy it as well, I had better take the reins, culinarily speaking.

That said, I'm getting more and more excited about this Thanksgiving. While I know the Boy is disappointed that there won't be any turkey or pumpkin pie, he trusts that I can pull together a great meal for the two of us.
I've created a preliminary menu; it looks like a ton of food, and well, it is. Especially considering that I'm cooking for just two. But! I believe that if we're going to have Thanksgiving dinner, we may as well have the 3-weeks worth of leftovers, too.

Amanda and the Boy's Thanksgiving dinner (so far):
--mulled wine
--roasted chicken with sage and herbes de Provence
--cornbread stuffing
--bourbon sweet potatoes
--spiced cranberry sauce with pear
--brussels sprouts au gratin/green bean casserole*
--maple apple crisp a la mode
--pumpkin gooey butter cake**

So, internets, what are YOU having for Thanksgiving?

--amanda


-------------------
*I haven't decided which one to make yet.
**Just because I don't like pumpkin pie doesn't mean I don't like pumpkin -- quite the opposite! And we need a pumpkin dessert.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Love is All You Need

Dear Body,

I know we've had some issues in the past, and I haven't treated you as well as I should have. So today, in honour of National Love Your Body day, I'd like to apologise for all the cruel things I've done over the years.

I'm sorry for all the Chinatown haircuts, and that it took me so long to actually get a real, flattering hairstyle.
I'm also sorry for getting bangs in the 5th grade. That was a really bad idea.

I'm sorry for all the In-N-Out burgers and Jack in the Box fried mac-n-cheese bites. (But they were totally worth it, amirite? Fuggedaboudit!)

I'm sorry for all the times I ate a Cliff bar and called it a meal.

I'm sorry for the days when I just ate a cup of pasta, but spent hours at the gym, burning calories I didn't have to spare.
I'm sorry for forcing you to drop 3 dress sizes in a month -- you looked bangin', but you felt shitty. I'm sorry for making you feel shitty.

I genuinely apologise for all the yo-yo diets. I want to eat healthy, for once.

I'm sorry for not having my wisdom teeth extracted yet. I promise I'm going to take care of that this winter.

I'm sorry for moving to Hawaii, and for staying here. I know you're unhappy here -- I have the skin issues to prove it. We're going back to calmer climes soon!

I'm sorry for not sticking with the physical therapy.
For that matter, I'm sorry for causing all the back problems. I don't remember what I did to cause them, but I'm sorry all the same.

I'm sorry for wearing flip-flops for so long, and I'm sorry I haven't put insoles in my shoes to correct the damage.

I'm sorry for not wearing my glasses.

I'm sorry for that pedicure -- you know the one where the woman slashed open the top of my big toe? Yeah, that one.

I'm sorry for carrying around gigantic purses loaded down with tons of books and crap. I'm also sorry to tell you that it's not going to stop any time soon. What can I say? I have a lot of junk, and it needs to get hauled around.

I'm sorry I don't like vegetables, and that I keep forgetting to take my vitamins.

I'm sorry for all the times I stuffed my size-10 hips into a size-7 skirt.

I'm sorry it took me so long to get a decent bra.

I'm sorry for cutting, for pinching, for scratching, for twisting the skin off my hands and arms. And I'm truly sorry for not getting help sooner.

I'm sorry for not telling you "you are beautiful" every single day.
We are beautiful.

Love with all my heart,
amanda

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Call Me Baby

Dear No One in Particular,

I'm one of those people who names just about everything: my computer (Betty), my iPod (BrickLove*), my car (Lokelani). I'm also the special kind of crazy that names things that don't exist quite yet, like my future dogs (2, named Benito and Gunther) and, well, my possible future children. Yep. I'm one of THOSE girls.

I seriously believe that our names affect who we grow up to be. A shitty name -- or nickname, for that matter -- can scar a psyche for life. Personally, I HATED being called Mandy. It really doesn't suit me, and I resent the fact that the name is linked forever with that Barry Manilow song. However, Amanda was -- is? -- a very popular name, and just about every class I've been in has at least one other "Amanda".
As a result, I want to name my kids something more unique, so they'll never be saddled with being "Ava 1" or "Jacob 4".

But on the other hand, there are parents who look at naming their children like a personal challenge. The couple that creates the most bizarre name, wins. What the prize is, other than years of therapy is beyond me. Here is a repository of those horrible baby names, with biting commentary to boot. Just about every entry made me giggle out loud, so unless you are made of stone, don't read the website unless you're prepared to laugh.

--amanda

ETA: This is a great article about the seemingly ridiculous-sounding African American baby names. Wonderfully written food for thought.

-----------
*It pairs nicely with my iTune library, "Feck Off, Cup!" Points if you can name that reference.

Friday, September 5, 2008

Turn it On (Again)

A conversation between me and the Boy, held last night.

Me: Wanna hear about something freaky I found on the internets?

Boy: Uh. Sure. I think.

Me: Michael Phelps SWITCHPLATES.

Boy: (looks excited) Really?!

Me: What. Why are you so happy about this? You're scaring me.

Boy: Dude, that's bitchin! (makes a stabbing motion) Bam! You just got stabbed -- by Michael Phelps, bitch!

Me: (laughing) Oh my God, no, I said switchplates, not switchblades!

Boy: (disappointed) Aw, damn. That would've been awesome. (makes stabbing motion again) I just stabbed you AND I won eight gold medals! (thinks quietly for a moment) So ... switchplates?

Me: Yeah, like for light switches. I looked through them and was thinking that they totally missed out on some hilarious places to put the switches.

Boy: Like putting the dual switches on his arms, so when he's swimming, his arms flip up and down.

Transcribing this is convincing me that someone really needs to do this. I might consider buying one just for the novelty value of being able to flip Michael's "arms".

Monday, September 1, 2008

Pillow Fight

Dear No One in Particular,

The Boy and I have been together so long that we're essentially an old married couple. We rarely converse, we bicker. We argue constantly, yet we can't live without each other. It's sweet sometimes, but mostly it's infuriating, since we don't argue about anything of importance. No, we fight about minor, everyday things, like what kind of milk we should buy. I admit, I have a short temper, but it's mostly his fault, since he provokes me.

This morning, we fought about pillows.
Yes, pillows.

He was doing the laundry (which is nice, I admit), and I noticed that the pillows were stained. Really stained. Like, I can't remember what colour these were originally, they're covered in orange-y blobs stained. Naturally, I was grossed out and told the Boy that we needed to buy new ones stat. He looked at them and decided, no. No, we didn't. The orange pillows were just fine, and besides, we're moving soon anyway so what's the point in buying pillows that are only going to be tossed out?

I stared agog. Seriously? Could he not see the vast amounts of gross? The gross that we sleep on every night? Our faces, our beautiful faces lay on these filth-laden pillows for upwards of 8 hours. They were being thrown out tonight, and we were buying new pillows.

He threw a conniption fit, saying that buying new pillows is a total waste of money. I pointed out that we're not moving for another year, and I refuse to sleep on a Petri dish for that long. He argued that we have extra pillows hiding in a closet, which he pulled out for me to examine. These "perfectly good" replacements have been stored in a dusty, unused linen closet for the past 2 years and are covered in stains of their own. Additionally, they're curiously both flat and lumpy. I tossed them back at him and told him that they're rejected science experiments, and I now have hepatitis from handling them.

He looked more closely at them, and began to laugh, asking why we still have them then. I blew a gasket. I started shouting about how he is a miniature version of his father, and can't throw anything away because -- God forbid -- he might have to spend money to replace something that is absolutely horrifying (can you tell this is a recurring argument?). He laughed some more, while STEAM CAME OUT OF MY EARS. He then attempted to compromise, saying that I can buy a new pillow, while he continued to sleep on the stained ones. I told him if and when his face falls off, he can't borrow my pillow.

The Boy then began to examine our current pillows, saying that maybe we should get new pillows. I picked one up off the bed, shoved it towards his face, pointed at a particularly nasty looking stain and shouted "DIS-GUS-TING."

His reaction? "Ew. Yeah."

And then I fell over dead.

I nearly took pictures of the pillows just to show you what I have to live with, but I have some semblance of self-preservation left. Suffice it to say, any sane person would have looked at them and immediately headed to Macy's. Instead, I had a 30 minute screaming match about why stained pillows are unacceptable DO YOU SEE WHY I WILL DIE YOUNG.

The upside? The Boy conceded, somehow squeezed 4 pillows into a plastic bag making an uber-pillow, and tossed them in the dumpster. That's one small victory for reason, and 4 years off of my life.

--amanda

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Beauty Misadventures

Dear No One in Particular,

Have you ever had one of those mornings when it's not so much that everything goes wrong, so much as it's the fact that the little things get screwy? Like a simple, everyday makeup routine results in panda eyes and Tammy Faye Bakker lashes? Yeah, I had one of those days yesterday.
I, like every other woman, am on the quest to find the Holy Grail of mascaras. I should admit here and now, I do not want natural-looking lashes. I want my lashes to be dramatically lush and long, like false lashes. My God-given eyelashes are actually really long and curly, but I don't think they're thick enough, and they're certainly not going to be mistaken for falsies any time soon.

Given my fondness for user-generated review sites, I frequent MakeupAlley.com for tips on buying my next tube. I had heard good things about my most recent purchase, Max Factor Volume Couture. It had a high rating, and after reading a couple of reviews, I figured it'd be worth a spin.

So. I put on some simple eye makeup and began to apply. First, the brush and handle are ridonkulously unwieldy. I've used Lash Blast without issue, but for some reason, I was not able to apply this mascara without getting black all over my eye. I looked like a five year old playing with Mommy's makeup. I'll forgive a lot for results, so I was willing to overlook the fact that it got more mascara on my eye than on my lashes if it gave me full lashes.
No forgiveness for Max, though. I must admit, I don't like rubber bristle brushes. I know they separate like nothing else, but this mascara gave me fat spider leg lashes. About 5 spider leg lashes per eye, to be exact, which I guess is better than the usual arachnoid, but worse for the human eye.

Normally, that would be the end of my beauty issues, but it didn't stop there. Apparently, like stank perfume and bad exes, bad mascara holds on long after you've washed your hands of it. I couldn't get this crud off. When mixed with some water, the spider legs decided to bond together, forming 2 huge spikes instead of 5 legs. Wonderous. On top of this, what mascara I was able to rub off had melted all around my eye and was spilling onto my cheeks. I looked like someone who just lost their shit and forgot they weren't wearing waterproof that day.

Frantic (because I was running late for school at this point), I spied a Prescriptives makeup remover sample hiding on my shelf, and smeared some it on my lashes. Holy hell, it felt like I just doused my eyes in battery acid. Whimpering like a beaten greyhound, I quickly washed off the carbolic acid that was burning holes in my face. Luckily, the makeup remover worked on the insidious mascara, and I was able to get most of the sludge off.
I realised a little too late that the bottle of calendula oil I have sitting on my vanity also works as a makeup remover. On the upside, I was able to use this to remove the traces of sad panda that the Prescriptives left behind.

Moral of the story: never test a new mascara while running late. Unless you like the Tammy Faye Panda look.

(Also, I am back on the hunt for the Holy Grail of mascaras. Should you chance on this site and have knowledge of one, please send word and let me know it exists.)

--amanda

Monday, July 7, 2008

Here I Am Lord.....

Dear No One in Particular,

If the slightly cryptic Tweets are any indication, I'm home! Back in the Bay, and so glad to be here. This being said, I'll probably have too much time on my hands, so that means more blog posts! I know you, my invisible audience, is all a-twitter with excitement, but really? I'm so ready to flex my creative writing muscles, and Lord knows I have far too much pent-up aggression. Also, I just finished another rather great book by Jen Lancaster, so you could say that I'm inspired. (For the record, her books aren't immediately heart-warming, particularly the first. You really need time to fall in love with her, since it takes quite a bit of effort to get past all the narcissistic posturing and conjure sympathy for her by the time she hits bottom. The second book really capitalises on the relationship you, the reader, has already established with her not as an author, but as a human being. Her writing, for the record? Hi-larious. I love the snarky footnotes, mostly because that's how my mind works: constantly jetting off on slightly related tangents.)

Ok, now that I've gotten my incredibly parenthetical book review out of the way, I need to change out of my pajammers and go to Target! I'm more excited about running errands than I should be, but hey. Spending 5 months approximately 3,000 miles away from Target tends to make one antsy.

--amanda

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Dear No One in Particular,

A few admissions for you:

I truly enjoy writing, and in the past few years, have put that love on the back burner. As a result, my ability to write anything other than an academic paper has rusted over, like a beloved jalopy too old and too expensive to repair. (See what I mean?) I plan on using this blog as a bottle of WD-40 to help me transform my writing ability into mad skillz.

I have quite a few blog entry-ideas a-percolatin', and with them, hopefully, a more solid direction for the blog. I simply need a bit more time to actually write the damn things!
I have high hopes, for me and this blog.

My breath is bated -- how's yours?

--amanda

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Bad Magic

Dear No One in Particular,

I have a feeling that this day has been cursed. I've never had so many strange, bad things happen in a single 24-hour time slot. My problems, let me tell you them:

  • I didn't get to sleep until past 2 am. This is kinda my fault, but I'd rather chalk it up to ...
  • My terrible Guitar-Hero playing neighbour(s). I live in a high-rise apartment building, and one of the assholes who lives in a 2 apartment-radius of my bedroom is a video-game-playing vampire. Seriously, I only hear them playing after 11:30 pm, as though they were confused about what, exactly, "quiet hours" constitutes. Last night, they didn't start until 1:00 am.
  • The Boy woke up with a migraine. I felt terrible, but he's the worst patient ever. I know I complain a lot, but he really takes the cake.
  • I, uh, nearly passed out while practicing rescue breathing. I know I shouldn't be advertising that, but I think it's funny enough to warrant a mention. Of course, it wasn't so funny when it happened ... I blame the strange kneeling position crushing my diaphragm on my poor breathing technique.
  • As I was driving out of the university's parking structure, the oncoming traffic was turning too close into my lane (a really, really common occurrence. I can't tell if the lanes are that narrow, or the drivers that blind), so I cut the corner too short and scraped the hell out of my "rims". It sounded like I had just put my car into a compacter, scaring the living bejeezus out of me.
  • Approximately 10 minutes later, I was rear-ended. Really, I was love-tapped. There was super-minor damage to my car, so it wasn't a big deal. I should clarify: I was driving to Safeway when I was rear-ended. This is important because ...
  • Approximately 5 minutes after I got into Safeway, the power went out. ONLY Safeway's power went out, too, which was the spooky part. I told the Boy we had better go, since it appeared we were cursed.
We did make it home okay, but I have one major problem: mosquito bites.
I'm crazy allergic to insect bites -- when and where ever I get bitten, I have a mad allergic reaction. I once got a bite on my forearm that caused everything below the elbow to swell to double in size. When the swelling went down, a very attractive pus bubble appeared at the bite source. Allergies = helping to bring sexy back.

Yesterday, I famously decided to ignore the Boy when he warned me that the little insect buzzing around was in fact, a mosquito. The bastard apparently confused me with a free buffet and bit my feet a total of 4 times. Naturally, my body LOVED this like I LOVE reality TV, and I now can barely walk. The crowning glory: the bite on the arch of my foot, which makes it look like I've implanted an egg just under the skin. A large, red, itchy, burning, limp-inducing egg.

Sigh. I'm now doped up on Benadryl and really annoyed that my feet are so swollen and furious with me for not taking care of them, I can't get my gym shoes on.

Cursed, I tell you!

--amanda

P.S. Did you catch the premiere of MTV's Legally Blonde audition-show? Natch, I did. It's like a shriller, WASP-ier version of You're The One That I Want.

Friday, May 9, 2008

Crazy Train

Dear No One in Particular,

Finals week is creeping ever closer, so blogging will be more and more infrequent. Not that it had any sort of schedule in the first place.

I've been taking the past couple of nights off, just to give my mind some rest. I've finished 2 finals, and have 4 to go, so every spare moment is treasured. I have a couple of reviews and rants at the ready, but no time to actually write up a post! Sadly, I probably won't have that time for a while, since after finals, I'm going on a mini-vacation (ok, not the sad part), only to go right back to school (sad part).

To hold my place here in the blogosphere:

-- Meiji Gummy Choco. These are made of crack, ya'll. I wish I could write a more eloquent review of these delicious candies, but I'm too busy freebasing entire tubes of them. I've tried the Strawberry version of them, and today picked up the mixed variety. While not all the flavours are winners, they're painfully addictive. I've had chocolate-covered gummis before, but those were incredibly -- and inedible-y -- disappointing. The Candy Blog has a wonderful review of these bite-size wonders -- it's far better written than anything I could write.

-- I've blogged about my love for Step It Up and Dance before, but I think it bears repeating. I have this terrible relationship with reality TV, and man, talent shows are something else. I'm still not completely in love with the show -- it hasn't stolen my heart from So You Think You Can Dance. Recently, I've become OBSESSED with lindy hop videos. I'm thinking of proposing soon, granted they drop the restraining order. NOTHING CAN STOP OUR LOVE, LINDY HOP.



--amanda

Monday, April 28, 2008

Terrorising my soul like Bin Laden

Dear No One in Particular,

Things are gearing up for FINALS WEEK (always in caps-lock, to mimic the terrified sound people make when speaking of finals), so I'm freaking out a bit. I've been doing really well so far, and there aren't many super-scary classes this semestre, so I'm not really too-too worried about the tests. It's the lack of time that's really killing me.

Quite a few interesting events have transpired here at the Casa de Amanda y the Boy:

-- The Boy's birthday was on Friday, and boy, was it a doozy. He wasn't feeling well, and we had to go to school, so he wasn't too happy about that. We did get to see Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, which was pretty darn funny, even though it didn't stand up to the original. We had a nice dinner, and he had a delicious cheesecake as his birthday dessert, so those were also nice. The bad part? None of his friends called. NONE. I was so livid, I sent an angry letter to one of his friends, demanding that he give the Boy an explanation. He's still a little pissy , but he's getting over it.

-- On a happier note that I had meant to mention earlier: do you know about Mario Badescu's sample program? All you do is fill out the questionnaire I've linked to, and a couple of days later, they shoot off an email, asking if you would like samples of your recommended products. A few days after that, free samples appear in your mailbox! I usually believe that nothing's free, but man if that isn't the greatest marketing ploy ever. They sent me about 10 products to try; I've yet to test any of them, since my current skin care regimen is working so well. I am planning on giving my skin a breather soon, and slowly integrating the Mario Badescu products.

-- Also: my shoes came today! They're wonderful, and a tiny bit tight. They definitely need to be broken in -- they're the only shoes I've ever needed to use a shoehorn with. Regardless, they look great, and there's a nice walkable heel. I can't wait to put together a million outfits to wear them with.

-- I feel as though I'm about 4 years late to the party, but I finally understand the glory of Ebay. This may sound completely ridiculous, but I've purposefully avoided Ebay auctions. I may or may not have a shopping addiction that would only be exacerbated by something as exciting as Ebay. Also, I'm a very high strung lap dog, and if I were to lose an auction, I'd probably whimper until I won something else. That said, the Boy and I bought season 3 of The Greatest Show Ever aka Las Vegas. He taught me how to watch the last minute of the auction like a freakin' hawk so we were sure to win that precious box set for a measly $15. Fabulous.

-- Finally, my vision is getting worse as I get older. I can't even watch TV without wearing glasses anymore. I predict that if this continues, I'll be wearing bifocals by the time I turn 25. Which is in 3 years. Holy jumping Jesus.



--amanda

Monday, April 21, 2008

To hell with academic tone!

Dear No One in Particular,

I really want to name my paper "Clash of the Titanic Egos: Religion and Resistance in Colonial Literature" but don't think that my teacher would totally appreciate it. Yet, the more I read it, the funnier I think it is and the more I become convinced I should just do it.

In related news, does anyone know where I can find this thing called "boundaries"? I hear they're helpful in defining levels of appropriateness.

--amanda

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Brainfart

Dear No One in Particular,

I'm having one of those weekends. I think it's because of school; the semester is almost over, and the stress of taking 18 units is finally getting to me. It's kinda like senioritis, but I'm not graduating. I'm terrified to see what'll happen to my work ethic then. No, I'm just not with it today ... I'm making stupid mistakes because I can't be arsed to focus at all. I should be writing an analytical paper for my Mesoamerican History class, but instead, I'm piddling around the internet. I think I've written more in this blog entry than for the paper.

I've been trying my damnedest to avoid writing. I have to keep fighting back the thought that, since I have almost 100% in the class, I could maybe afford to not write the paper? That's terrible, though, and not at all a valid excuse.

So far, I've taken the longest shower in history, test driving a new hair care system (more on that later), failed at making blondies (but made something pretty tasty, anyway) and bought shoes. These shoes:



They toe the border between pretty and ugly and I love them. I stalked them online a bit before I went to the store to pick them up, but oddly, the local Forever 21 is renovating and maybe closing? No one could tell me if they were going to be closed, or for how long. Sadly, they only had one pair of these fabulous oxford heels in black (they had a ton in the ghastly multi-cream), but they were a size 5. They look ... decent, for a pair of Forever 21 heels. I really wanted something interesting-looking that could stand in for my beloved Bandolino wedge-heel boots (which are disturbingly grody-looking recently), and the oxfords are just too menswear-cool for me not to covet. I was also looking at these (black, natch. Who comes up with some of these colour combinations?!) but, again, they didn't have them in my size at the store. Oddly enough, the Boy LOVED them, but I ended up convincing myself I have no use for them. I have 1 -- maybe 2? -- dresses/outfits I can wear them with, but that's not reason enough for me to buy them.

I really need to write this paper. Why am I writing up a blog entry when I have a major deadline looming?, you may ask. It is, after all, the last major paper of the semester. I have this theory: once I clear my head of all the crap that's slushing around in my brain, I'll have no choice but to focus on my analysis of Mesoamerican Christian proselyting literature. That, and the lack of Top Model marathons should give me impetus to finish the damn thing. Here's hoping.

So, I shall leave you with this news bit: Harry Potter Fan Weeps on Stand During Rowling Suit. Made me simultaneously feel better about myself and scared me into getting on with my life.

--amanda

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Rrrrrrroomba! (parte dos)

This just in: the Roomba is AMAZING.

It's currently cleaning ... um, the entire apartment. I keep expecting it to quit, shouting "YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING. I'm a robot-vacuum, not a miracle-worker!" as it roombas its way out the door, leaving us in our dusty filth.

It's pretty damn hilarious, though, watching the Roomba explore and bump around the place. It misses huge chunks of a room (hello, living room!), but I learned that if I confine it to a single area, it cleans like nobody's business. My bathroom has never been cleaner.

Also, like I mentioned, my birthday is coming up, so if any silent reader out there in the vast blogosphere feels seriously altruistic, this would make a pretty sweet gift.

--amanda

Sick day

Dear No One in Particular,

I think I pulled a muscle in my back, and it huuurts.
I feel a bit better than yesterday -- yesterday, I was in screaming pain, totally unable to find a comfortable position. I fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning, whimpering, after spending an hour with a heating pad on my back.

It hurt just as badly this morning, too. I was in tears as I left for school, the pain of walking to my car was so great.

Right now, I'm lying on my couch, watching reruns of "The Golden Girls" and "Yo Gabba Gabba!"*
I do feel better, but I'm hopped up on expired prescription-strength ibuprofen, so that might be part of the reason.

This sucks.

--amanda

*The GREATEST children's show ever. It helps to press the fast-forward button when it gets annoying.