Make light out of crisis...

WARNING: There may be slight - only slight - dramatization ahead.

I come to you today to grieve the loss of a beautiful friend pair of jeans.
This happened within the hour and my only comprehendible way to get through this is to bless all of you with the humor of it all.

We met in the Citizen's section of Nordstrom's jeans. The year was 2009 - about 9 months ago. I was casually passing by, enjoying the eye candy of jean nature and BAM. This gorgeous, deep color of jean hit me with the force of great beauty. I reached a hand out toward the pair of 27s, just my size, waiting to give me the most perfect hug. Trying to calm myself, I repeat in my head that they most likely won't fit, don't get too attached, not to mention they're the price of a paycheck (for a part time worker & college student, that is). I retreat to the dressing room with the gold held tightly in my arms for fear of someone snagging them away before I have the chance to forge a bond with the lovelies. In the comfort of my dressing room, I pulled the jeans and hoped. As I caught my reflection, a smile spread across my awating face and my heart raced. They hugged me like no jeans ever had before. They loved me as I loved them, I could just tell. I had to have them, I know knew thought that Citizens were a great investment, that they would last until I outgrew them just like every pair I had ever owned. I ran this through my mind to get me through the pain of the swipe of my debit card.

I am remembering all of the amazing times I have had with my lovely, my jeans. 


And then today -- the first day that good ole' Auntie Flow decided to grace me with her horrendous presence leaving me an emotional, unstable being, teetering on reality at all times --  it happened. At about 12:30 p.m. I decided to do my laundry. Too lazy to drag my suitcase to the back of the house to  empty my dirty clothes into the washer, I grabbed as much as I could from the suitcase, arms exploding with cloth, and happily walked back to the washer and loaded it up as my old friend hugged me comfortably, perfectly. I realized the washer was only half full and sprinted to the front of the house to grab the rest of my clothes before the wash started (I realize that the washer does not actually start until the lid is closed, but I have this insane OCD about closing the lid before the water finishes filling up the washer). With seconds left I hiked up my jeans and squatted with my arms reaching out toward my dirty laundry. I heard a sharp snap and paused mid squat - my mind racing, rushing to figure out what that horrendous sound could have been and in the same split second I let out an earsplitting scream in shock. Then, sudden realization of what had just happened hit. The pressure of my sudden squat and my giant butt was too much for the strong, cloth, barely worn -- so it snapped in two.

I collapsed to the ground and bawled like a baby unable to explain the horrors that it feels while simultaneously laughing like a madwoman.

Below is a picture of the babes post trauma. It may be too much for  you. It rips my heart every time I see the picture. I advise you skip straight over the picture and head to the comment section to tell me all about how skinny and perfect I am and that this is a freak accident and not a result of my giant, horrendous ass causing such a great pressure upon my completely not worn jeans that they split straight in two, as I know you wanted to do as soon as you read this, even though most all of you have never seen me.

I realize that Nordstrom's will patch these right up but the horror of the event will never leave me. I will forever remain scarred by the splitting of my dear, dear friend. My lovelies will never be the same. 

Offensive old grannies & stupid boys (well really, boy)

Hello again blog world. I’m sorry it has been so awfully long, for I have thought many times to myself that I have nothing funny to tell you. Today however, changed everything. I don’t have any clever antics to tell you, but two great annoyances in my life have occurred very recently and I would like to vent. Don’t worry – I’m back and I have a couple goodins’ for ya! So here goes:

Annoyance 1:

So the other day I was on the roof soaking up the sun, wearing cute jean shorts and a tank top because it was a beautiful day with my friend J. After a couple fabulous hours of girl talk and happiness we climb down the fire escape and go back to the elevator on the 9^th floor of our building to go home. J gets off on the 8^th floor  (for that is where she lives, obvs) and two very old women who I will soon find out are incredibly opinionated get on the elevator. When they first get on, I smile at them because they look all cute and old and I expect them to buy me ice cream and tell me stories of when they were my age. HOWEVER, this is not the case. I soon find out they’re evil demons out to upset me with their words. So the elevator starts taking off (yes I know it’s not a rocket ship but it has more flair than ‘descending’ don’t ya think?) and the two demons women continue their conversation. As I’m minding my own business and start to reach for my phone to check for a text from the boyfriend and busy myself so as not to seem nosey, they begin to exclaim how texting is one of the greatest evils and how all of the “young” are doing it entirely too much. I quickly halt my reach for the cellular and play it off as a quick, spastic stretch – they’re old hopefully they didn’t catch it. Now, I start to think – I disagree, but that’s cool for you to have your own opinion oldies, and I continue to hope for our ice cream cones and imagine this.

This hope quickly shatters to pieces as old lady number one decides to discuss how ALL the “young” people have absolutely no social skills due to constant texting. I keep my cool and convince myself that I must not be a “young” person that they are discussing for they are expressing these views mere feet from me. I, in fact, have beautiful social skills, and of course they experienced that when I smiled hello to them on the 9^th floor – they love me. As I am thinking this, the elevator clicks to the second floor and old lady number two begins to agree with old lady number one and proceeds to say some awful, awful things about the youth of our country. As she finishes up and the elevator comes to a stop in the lobby, I decide that I do not take offense to this because I am a woman in college and quite frankly, I rock. As old lady number two says her last few words walks out of the elevator she turns back to me and says, “no offense” and walks off. Silence. Followed by and extreme burning desire to shout, “well let me tell you something, lady, OFFENSE TAKEN!” However, I refrained because my social skills are impeccable, ignore the comment, and walk to my building next-door and go home. The irony in the statement “no offense” is so strong. It almost always ends in offense taken.

Annoyance 2: 

As this annoyance is currently going on I will not digress into extreme detail for I am so heated at the mere mention of it that I could probably chew your ear off for hours on the topic just because you’re willing to listen. So I’m sitting on Facebook, pondering what eloquent, breathtaking essay I am about to write for English and an ignorant boy pops up on my news feed commenting on my sorority sister’s status. Now, not only is it my sorority sister, it’s my Big, so OF COURSE I’ve got her back. Her status is something along the lines of us needing to reallocate funding to education and includes statistics and what not and mentions the high wage of sports players. So this guy - we’ll call him Poorly Educated Boy Speaking of Things He Knows Nothing of (PEBSTHKN for short) – goes off on her claiming that if the school system is in such debt we should just CHARGE students for attending public school. UHHH okay. I’ll give you a moment to steam up your own anger to this over-privileged PEBSTHKN that knows nothing. So I come back with the fact that I was accepted to private high schools and not able to attend due to a lack of financial aid so if it weren’t for free public schooling I would not have graduated high school, much less attended. I also point out that I would like to attend summer school and give up MY summer to dedicate to the books but can not due to the lack of financial aid in California State Schools. He ignores this comment for a while until I tell him to address it and he comes back with this “Alex, If I can afford financial aid, you can. My family is probably way worse off then you are.” Okay PEBSTHKN, 1. My name is not Alex and you have no right to call me Alex. It is Alexis. 2. It’s than, not then. If you’re going to have an argument about education at least appear educated. 3. Don’t go around assuming that I have more money than you especially when that’s not even close to the point. You don’t know me. And 4. I just TOLD you that I couldn’t and can’t get financial aid, and you’re going to try and tell me that I can? Show me the money PEBSTHKN, because I would love to see it! After much debate (very poor on his part) between my big, PEBSTHKN and I, he decides to say that students that don’t pass the exit exam in high school shouldn’t be in school. Now I don’t know what you think, readers, but I feel as though not passing an EXIT exam is precisely the reason you should remain in school. Long story short, we kicked his little uneducated booty and he has yet to respond because he’s shocked with our wit, beauty, grace, intelligence, and charm. 

Anyways, how was YOUR week?

Old Asian Ladies

I do not know what it is about the San Francisco Muni but single time I get on that bus I end up getting yelled at. Not by a mean old bus driver hating his monotonous life (sorry for the rather bold assumption bus drivers, I'm sure some routes are rather thrilling... really) and no I don't get yelled at by some wanna be gangsta G 13 year old taking the bus home from middle school. Every time I step through those glass doors and up the gum and grime laden steps and take my seat on a used swine flu infested plastic seat (if I'm lucky enough to snag one) a little old Asian lady finds a reason to yell at me. It never fails. Now most of the time I am not quick enough to pick up on why exactly they are raising their voice toward me, for I can rarely understand what they are saying. However, today I was able to understand through a series of violent gestures.

Let me give you a slight background: today was a downpour in the city. In the six minutes and twenty-three seconds that it took to walk to the bus stop from my apartment the wind inverted my umbrella twice and I was soaked. Now I don't know when the last time you were out in a downpour but when you end up soaked you tend to drip water wherever you go. Anyhow, so I get on the bus and accidentally drip water on the seat next to me. Now since it is pouring rain, not that many people are out and about so the bus is pretty empty. We take off and then screech to a halt at the next stop. A very old Asian lady steps on the bus and takes a look at the seat next to me then looks me in the eye with a stare that makes me feel as though she just walked out of the gates of hell just to come give me a piece of her mind. I shiver in my Sperrys (not because of her but because it's absolutely freezing and I have lost my body fat due to the recovery). I do however, look away and sigh because I know that the much expected old Asian lady fight is about to exhaust me once more. Through a serious of fast paced sentences being spat at me and large gestures from the seat to me I sit through her yell and lecture at me. The whole time all I can think is this, if the water is that much of a problem A. what on EARTH are you doing out of the house in the pouring rain and B. SIT IN ONE OF THE OTHER TWENTY AVAILABLE SEATS ON THE BUS! I continue to ignore her and she plops down on the seat next to the one with five drops of water on it and continues to occasionally look at me, huff, lock eyes with an old Asian man on the bus, and shake her head.


Okay old Asian ladies who ride the San Francisco Muni, I understand that you all seem to ooze anger the second I walk onto the bus but if I am such a demon seed to you all JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!!

To demonstrate my point I leave you with this hysterical youtube video. Please make sure you watch the video in it's entirety or it will lose it's awesomeness.








Disclaimer: I have nothing against old Asian ladies and by no means have the intention of stereotyping all the muni-riding oldies in San Francisco. I would just prefer if 90% didn't absolutely hate me.

Ichat and snail mail will get me through...

Distance from Boston to San Francisco: 3,000 miles
Time left until spring break: 66 days

Boyfriend left to go back to Boston tonight. Two months & counting until we get to see each other again. The last couple of weeks have done nothing but bring us closer together and make me fear this day more and more. After having a semester of experience with this long distance stuff it only makes me more weary of the semester to come. It’s hard. Sometimes when all you can think about is the negative in things and how hard something can be, you need to force yourself to look through the cloud of despair. The long distance only makes the time together more worth it. And who could be more worth it to me than boyfriend? No one.
People ask us advice on staying together through college and if long distance relationships are worth it. All I can say is for us, it’s more than worth it. It’s something we have to do, at this point we can’t not be together. The thing is, if you don’t try to make it work you’ll always wonder what would have happened. If the other person means that much to you, how could you possibly break up not because you two don’t work together, but because you’re not willing to put in the hard work? Since when is love supposed to be easy?

Haiti

Collected Dead: 50,000
Estimated Dead: 200,000

I almost feel weird writing about the disaster there because I feel as though no matter what words I put together to express my remorse, they will never do it justice. Therefore, I was hesitant to write anything in my blog about it but I went to a family friend's house today and I was inspired. Their daughter put together a bake sale with her friends to help in the relief efforts towards Haiti, and just their small effort raised almost a grand. This was just enough force to put me into motion. Oliviadahd and I are going to do a bake sale next Sunday to raise money. We're setting up camp in the same place as the girl I spoke to but we're bringing in the bad boys. We're going to have chocolate covered strawberry after chocolate covered strawberry lined up. My world famous (I wish) Chocolate Chip Cookies ("Lexi's favorite" courtesy of Martha Stewart... really you should try the, the recipe is to die for) and chocolate covered blueberries will be making an appearance as well. I say all this because like I was inspired, I hope some of you stumble across this and hope it puts some positive energy into your outlook toward Haiti.

Roraborealis

Meet Rori. Love her.

Rori is in fact a girl and from this moment on I expect all of you to remember that dandy little detail. And yes, I did name Rori after my ever so favorite TV show, Gilmore Girls. Nothing beats their wit and charm, if I do say so myself and Rori, the dog, has a very smart attitude about her that pairs nicely with her famous counterpart.

Rori is adorably energetic, not to mention a closet genius. Boyfriend happens to be in love with her and has this “trick” if you could call it that, where he picks her up and holds her a few inches off the ground then throws her tennis ball (she collects tennis balls at the park and will for days follow you around with pride showing off her new tennis ball until she feels you have fully acknowledged her accomplishment). After a few tortured seconds he lets go and she takes off running as if her nimble little limbs have been spastically working while in the air. It’s really quite amazing. As SOON as she is let go of; she’s off and running. Rori is so loveable that even Oliviadahd, who is notorious for humorously harboring a hatred for the furry animals (except, just dogs) secretly loves Rori. You can walk around the corner and catch an unexpected Oliviadahd cuddling the creature; and as soon as spots you throws the pup off with a quick “ew, get off” … but you know. It is very clear, her love for the little fur ball.

Anyways, Rori has a fascination with the before mentioned muklucks. My wonderful luscious muklucks that cause me to feel like I’ve entered the soft fluffy gates of heaven as the pillowing clouds of righteousness engulf my feet with every beautiful step I make.

Long story short, I thought I should introduce you to Rori before I walk into a room one day to find said muklucks torn to shreds and partly ingested. When that day comes there just might not be a quirky, fun gremlin of a little pup running around anymore.
Just sayin’.

Sometimes you just don't need a theme park.

It's amazing how some days can top nearly any other day and you're doing nothing special.

Today was day nine of my recovery. Excruciating pain has yet to let up but today I suppose I decided to accept it and stop trying to pause life until the day that I feel better. I watched about eight episodes of Scrubs with the Boyfriend and played Mario Tennis high on painkillers. I would say that I much rather would have been eating every delicious meal in the world and running about at Disneyland but I don't need to. Some days can be just as fabulous as the most bloated day of fun you can imagine without actually having any plans. Being around Boyfriend was good enough.

On the board for tomorrow: Scrabble. Suck it Disneyland.