Sunday, June 29, 2014

Why I Wear Hats

People often ask me why I always wear that Pokemon hat, or hats in general. If they ask in a polite way or are just generally inquisitive, I feign ignorance and say something snarky like, "What hat?? I've never worn a hat in my life!" (If you saw how much I make myself laugh from saying that, you'd hate me.) If they're being a flappy butthole about it and griping at me for wearing a hat (because apparently me wearing a hat angers some people? I don't know), then I'm usually a butthole back and say something passive-aggressively bitchy, like, "I think it's more important what I do or say rather than what I put on my head." You know, something that I can pretend is profound, like Abraham Lincoln might say (who was also a fan of hats, I gather).

A larger version from my Instagram.
The real reason I wear hats is pretty boring and basically just circles around to me being lazy.

I mentioned in a previous post that I buzz my head because I'm too lazy to fix my hair. My hair is naturally curly and unmanageable and blah blah blah I never did figure out how to do anything with it. I had an afro in junior high. I don't want to talk about it. Then I straightened my hair for years and years, which was just way more effort than I was willing to keep up. But the thing about having a buzzed head is, my head gets really fucking cold.

Like, even in the summer I can get the shivers from having a bare head. My body is so tiny it has no heat to spare. I'm basically a chihuahua. Someone even called me a rat-dog in a comment once, so I think the comparison is appropriate. So I put on a cap or a beanie to prevent my body heat from escaping. (At night I like to wear a hoodie to reduce a chilly head.)

That's the main reason, but there are others. Like aesthetics. I have a really tiny, pea-sized head. It doesn't look great buzzed but, once again, I'm just too lazy with my physical appearance for that to stop me. A cap helps my head appear closer to normal-sized. And I generally stick with the Pokemon cap because it's made for children, so it fits my small head. (I like it so much I have multiples for backup purposes at this point.) I also just sort of got used to it being part of my persona and enjoy it being a recognizable constant. Lots of people have signature items they wear, so I never understood why so many people asked about it or made it seem like a big deal.

I've tried other caps, but most of them are so large on me they practically cover my eyes, or else sit so low they mess with my glasses. I did, however, recently find a few smaller caps on ebay that fit how I like (see photo) so maybe I'll branch out. Maybe I won't. I'm getting older and am on the verge of being set in my ways.

As an added bonus, I'll probably start going bald in my early or mid-thirties (according to genetics), so maybe if I'm still wearing hats people will never know, even though I honestly don't care if they do. I'm hoping by then I'll have put on a little weight and won't have chilly head problems so I can flaunt my fabulous baldness like Captain Picard.

Things I forgot to blog about:
I recently went to Baker Beach, the Legion of Honor museum, and have gone on more Japantown shopping sprees during which I've purchased more things I don't need, including a kitchen timer shaped like a strawberry. (I don't cook. Also I'm pretty sure cell phones have timers, so that makes it double useless.) And I took photos of it all, which you can find on my Flickr. (There's at least one photo of a marble butt and at least two marble penises in the museum album. It was a good day.)
I was going to make a strawberry pun but thought
that would be berry annoying. (Sorry.)

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

I'll Take a Number Six with Half an Order of Eyebrow

I had several adventures this past weekend, but work's been hectic so I'm only just sitting down to write about them. Although instead of tackling all of them and overwhelming this entry, I'll focus on just one. Here is my mega-fascinating recount of a trip to the barber shop and then accidentally shaving off half my eyebrows.

I think I've only had my hair cut professionally maybe once in my life. Possibly twice. My mother gave me my haircuts as a child, and then I started cutting my own hair when I got older. When I tell people this, they're either shocked and freaked out, or else they totally relate and remain unfazed, but the reaction is rarely between those two extremes. The shocked people treat me like I just crash-landed my saucer in their backyard and they want to know everything about my species. And the other people either cut their own hair, too, or else know someone who does.

Maybe I'm wrong, but I think it's actually a pretty common thing with people who have short hair. Like, it's not rocket science, especially now that I just buzz it. If you mess up short hair, it fixes itself in about a week. My hair is also unruly and curly and I remember those one or two times I got it professionally cut, the stylist had no idea how to manage it and I hated the end result. Oh, and I'm also just cheap.

Anyway, since I don't have a private bathroom here or any of my hair-buzzing tools, I had to go to a barber shop this weekend for my monthly buzzing. So I did some googling and picked a cheap place close to my apartment.

When I stepped through the door, it was exactly like stepping back in time. (That sentence sounds so cliché and has probably been written a million times in a million crappy novels, but this is a crappy blog and you're getting what you pay for.) There were guys in chairs lining the walls, reading bro-type magazines and wearing scruffy clothes. There was a barber's pole by the door. Two barbers were snipping hair in silence, only occasionally acknowledging a regular customer. I sat at the very back of the shop so I could take it all in, and I noticed that even the world outside the front window seemed like it had gone through a time warp. Across the street, there was an old Italian restaurant with a discolored red, white, and green awning that made me feel like I was inside a fading photograph, and there were a couple of Don Draper-dressed people lingering outside that enhanced the effect.

While I waited, I tried to carefully observe everything happening inside so I knew what to expect when it was my turn. Each haircut only took about 20-30 minutes and then the barber would shout "Next!" and the next person would sit down. But that's where I got lost.

The first guy sat down and requested something having to do with a "number six." Another guy sat down and said he wanted a "two on the sides, and a three on top." It was like they were ordering at a McDonald's drive-thru, and I half expected the barber to ask if they wanted fries with that. I tried looking around for a sign that explained this barber shop lingo, but I couldn't locate one. (I finally looked it up online while re-reading this entry, and I guess the numbers refer to the different clipper attachments. So I guess that mystery is solved.)

When it was my turn, I told the guy I wanted my head buzzed and the back of my neck evened out. "How short?" he asked.

"The shortest you got." (This is probably where I should've said a number.)

"You want shade?"

It should've occurred to me that "shade" simply refers to a very short buzz. I guess it's called that because the hair is so short it just looks like there's a shade on your head? Maybe he meant "shadow"? But the Internet and the youths have ruined the word "shade" for me, and it made me think of "throwing shade," so I thought he was asking if I wanted to be talked bad about in a roundabout manner. And I definitely didn't want that. But I was also confused as to why he'd be asking that, because you don't usually ask people before you throw shade at them. So between his barber lingo and the modern slang in my own head, there was clearly a language barrier.

After I while, I realized I'd been thinking about his question way too long and it was starting to get awkward. My brain was telling me he couldn't mean the modern-day Urban Dictionary-esque definition of "shade" that I was thinking of, so I just said, "Um....sure." And then the buzzers started buzzing and the hair started flying.

I gotta say, it was quite relaxing. The buzzing was fast, and then he used one of those fancy straight razors to do my neck and sideburns. And then he put some weird, steam punk-looking bracelet attachment on his arm and just when I thought he was about to tell me he was a robot or a Borg (from Star Trek) he turned it on, the contraption started vibrating, and he used it to give me a neck and shoulder massage. And then I paid and left.

However, almost immediately after walking out I noticed my head was a bit chillier than normal and apparently a "shade" is a lot shorter of a buzz than I'd normally give myself, but I figure that just means I don't have to go back for a while. For $13 (plus tip), it was an interesting experience.

In other hair-related news (What a fun topic. Are you having fun?), I accidentally shaved off about half of my eyebrows. (By that, I mean half of each one, not a full one of the pair.) I should explain that, too, because I tweeted about it.

My eyebrows are very low-maintenance. I don't get them waxed or plucked or anything, but I do use a tiny razor and touch them up in a couple places every week or so, because they tend to get this weird hump on top and extend a little farther outwards than I'd like.

The tip of my finger is almost about
where my eyebrow normally extends to.
But not anymore, as you can see.
So I was doing my normal touch-up yesterday morning, and I guess I was more tired than usual and I looked in the mirror and about half of my right eyebrow was missing. And when hair is missing, it's not like when the dog is missing, or the TV remote is missing. Missing hair can't be recovered (aside from wigs). You don't post up signs around the neighborhood that read: "Missing Hair / Answers to the name of 'Bob.'" (Get it? Because a bob is a type of hairstyle? Like I said, you're getting what you pay for here.) Missing hair is just gone.

Saying my eyebrow is half gone might be exaggerating slightly, but I took off at least 40% of it. (There will be a photo for reference somewhere in this entry.) Then, of course, I had to try to make the left one look similar, so I ended up lopping off part of it as well. So now my small eyebrows make me look like I'm perpetually worried, and I'm hoping people at work will think that's the case so they'll stop giving me more work. Life's all about the silver linings.

-joe

Friday, June 20, 2014

The Package Said It Was A Good Idea

Now that I've lived in this new place for a full work week, there's no doubt about it: the commute from here to work sucks balls. It's been taking about an hour and 15 minutes on a good day, and sometimes 15 or 20 minutes more than that if something goes wrong. The buses seem to run more often in this part of town, though, so that's good. Also, I think I previously mentioned I now transfer buses in Japantown, which is the best thing in the world. Except actually it might be the worst thing that's ever happened to me because I've gone shopping there so many times this week that if I don't stop soon, I'm gonna become the most kawaii homeless person you've ever seen.

I made an album on my Flickr with photos of some of my purchases from this week (click to see), but here's also a list. Most things were purchased at Daiso because it's the cheapest:
14033129042858
It even says "GOOD IDEA" right there
on the package! I had to get it.
  • 2 packages of jelly-filled Hello Kitty marshmallows. I got strawberry the first time and they were amazing so obviously I had to get pineapple as well. Also amazing.
  • A pink and flowery card and money holder that says "Sweet Flower Message" on it.
  • A charcoal peel-off face mask. I used to have to order this stuff on eBay so you can't blame me for getting overexcited now that I can buy it in an actual store. (Also, the sticker on the tube looks very disturbingly like somebody doing blackface.)
  • An "illuminated ear pick." Used for scraping wax out of your ears and it lights up bright green so you can see inside. I bought it because A~chan (from Perfume) talked about being obsessed with illuminated ear picks on a show once, and celebrity endorsements obviously work well on me. Because why the fuck else would I buy an ear pick.
  • Long lash mascara. Pretty damn good for dollar store mascara, actually. I mostly just thought the package was cute.
  • A pair of white chopsticks with little strawberries all over them in a case that says "Strawberry Candy." I don't even use chopsticks.
  • 6 sheet masks (3 collagen and 3 coenzyme Q10). I may be broke soon, but I can still be beautiful (subjectively, at least).
  • More of that Marukawa gum from my Japantown haul video. It's great for blowing bubbles and I like that because blowing bubbles makes me feel sassy and carefree.
  • A yellow plaid pencil pouch with a pink bunny on it that says things like "Sugar!" and "I like Whipped Cream" and "Sweenimal Friends." WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?
  • 2 headphone cord wrap thingies that are shaped like donuts. The photo on Flickr doesn't do them justice. They're adorable and a lifesaver when dealing with tangled-up headphone cords. I've had a cord wrap for a long time that's shaped like a fish, but these are much cuter.
  • Shamefully large quantities of maple wheat rolls. But they're so soft and sweet and a boy's gotta eat.
  • Some microwavable ramen bowls, which are nothing special because you can get them in other supermarkets, but I'm putting them on this list anyway because buying them in Japantown makes them feel somehow more authentic.
    Little donuts to keep your
    headphones in check.
  • Chocolate Sando Biscuits, which are individually wrapped biscuits with chocolate inside and make me feel fancy at work.
  • A pair of "acupuncture sandals" that I'm using as house shoes. They have little bumps on the soles that massage your feet when you walk. It's actually kinda painful but they're cute.
  • A strawberry drink.
  • A reusable tote bag. The cashier asked if I wanted to pay for a regular bag or spend a little extra for a reusable bag. I asked her what the reusable bags looked like and she pointed to this glorious huge pink tote bag with blue polka dots and purple handles and I had this vision of how amazing I'd look walking down the street with that so I was like "FUCK YES."
  • Some things I didn't purchase but still took photos of: Hello Kitty mouthwash. I just couldn't justify it at the time. (Even though I could somehow justify an illuminated ear pick.) And more Kyary Pamyu Pamyu merchandise that was sadly overpriced.
A photo from my Instagram of some of the things.
To be honest, all of those purchases weren't really that expensive since I was mainly shopping at the dollar-fifty store. But it's eventually gonna start adding up if I keep at this pace. I'm just thinking that if I leave here, I'll probably never be near a Japantown again and all these amazing things, so I want to spend as much time there as possible. But maybe I should take this next week off, at least.

Stray bits: I purchased a ticket to a screening of The Garden of Words at the Japanese Film Festival next week. My BFF should be visiting me next month and we're taking a day trip to Monterey Bay. I updated the "About Me" page on this site. The old "About Me" page was too long and formal. In this week's podcast episode, me and Sam previewed a new song we just finished called "Midnight Moonlight." And you can also now subscribe via email to my blog (which will send you updates if there are new posts. You won't get any other spam-type stuff). This was actually previously available, but I worked out some kinks in the system.

-joe

Saturday, June 14, 2014

"You Can't Be Sad Here."

I had to move to a different part of town today. I'd only booked that place in Bernal Heights for my first month here so I could get on my feet. I'm still not really on my feet (and am not sure I'll ever be, but more on that later). This second temporary location is in the Richmond area (at Geary and 25th Avenue, for those who are familiar with the place).

China Beach description
The monument thing at the top
of China Beach.
I was sad to leave my little room in Bernal Heights. The area was a bit too quiet and a lot too hilly, but I'd really settled in during my month there. A month is a long time to stay somewhere. You start to unpack and get into routines, see the same people on the buses every morning, get to know the workers in the stores you frequent.

Richmond seems to be a bit more of a happening area, even though it's still slightly removed from downtown. Not that Bernal didn't have things to do, but it felt more like I was in a little town rather than a big city. Geary Boulevard around here is packed with people and shops and restaurants. It reminds me a little of certain areas in NYC, although with much nicer weather. (It's also not far from Japantown, which is a very, very good thing. But bad for my wallet.)

On the way up here this morning, my Uber driver told me I'd be a short walk from a couple different beaches. It hadn't even crossed my mind that I'd be closer to the ocean. I'd just been really desperate for another place to stay when I got this one and barely looked at where it was on the map. Plus, Bernal wasn't near walking distance to any beaches, so I'd gotten used to living in a seaside city and never seeing the ocean. It took me three weeks of living in San Francisco before I even saw the ocean or the bridge, and that's only because a friend finally drove me there.

After I'd settled in and rested a bit, I looked at a map and decided to walk down to China Beach. It was about a twenty minute walk, which would've been annoying in hilly Bernal, but the terrain in this area seems to be much flatter, so it was fine. The walk took me past some impressive churches, small shops, tidy houses, and, as I got closer to the ocean, through a few richer neighborhoods, past mansions with Mercedes parked outside. I wondered where those people get their money and how they make their livings. Even a studio apartment here is out of my price range, so I can't imagine where one gets the money for a multi-million dollar mansion.

China Beach

China Beach was gorgeous, but I also didn't have any built-up expectations. I hadn't looked at photos of it before I went. Actually, before today, I didn't even know it existed. It never even occured to me the Golden Gate Bridge would be visible in the background, but there it was. Kids were swimming and adults were tanning and a few people were fishing from some rocks by the cliffs where the mansions clung. I stood for a while by the water, but then walked partway up the cliff and sat on a bench that overlooked the whole scene.

After I'd been sitting there a while, a woman walked up the path and stopped for a moment, standing beside my bench. She looked to be in her mid-forties, and was dressed as though she'd been hiking--khaki shorts, a jacket, and those ugly-but-probably-very-functional sunglasses that active people wear.

China Beach "It looks like the tide's coming in," she said after a few moments. There was no one else around, so it was clear she was addressing me.

"Oh," I said, shifting my gaze in the direction she was looking, "yeah." Living landlocked my whole life, I know nothing about tides and currents. The ocean just looked like the ocean to me.

"Have you been here long?" she asked.

When people at work ask me that question, they want to know long I've been in town, because they know I'm not from around here. But this woman was obviously asking how long I'd been on the bench. It struck me she thought I looked like I belong here when I feel so out of place. She was addressing me as a local.

"Just about ten minutes," I replied.

"Yeah, it definitely looks like it's getting rougher out there," she continued.

"The weather sure is great, though." I tried to shift the conversation away from things I know nothing about. Even though I consider small talk about weather to be one of the laziest topics, I didn't want to give away my naiveté.

"It really is," she said, still looking out at the ocean. "We're really lucky to be here. You can't be sad here."

She said it without much expression, and I couldn't tell if she really meant it or if maybe she was trying to convince herself it was true. I mumbled an agreement, even though I'm very much sure it isn't true. But I'm not the type to get into deep conversations with strangers about life and happiness. That's not what she wanted to hear, anyway.

"Well, have a good day," she said, before continuing up the path.

I sat about five more minutes before I finally got up and started heading back to my temporary apartment. Back past the mansions and Mercedes and then the tidy houses and small shops and impressive churches. And I wondered how often--if ever--other people here have to remind themselves they can't be sad in San Francisco.

-joe

China Beach
The view from the bench.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Yes And No

Back when I was in college (the third time around. Having to specify that tells me I've been way too many times), I received a prompt from one of my writing professors that I've been thinking about for the past year and a half. I can't recall specifically how it was worded, but it went something like this:
It's been said that "Yes" and "No" uttered a handful of times before you turn 25 will change the course of your life.
We were asked to write about what we thought those instances might've been in our own lives so far.

I immediately started panicking, because the prompt was given to us just weeks before my 25th birthday, and it was horrifying to think my life had already been irreversibly determined by a handful of words. Heaven knows I wasn't mature enough to be making serious decisions before turning 25. (You don't have to see many of my videos to recognize that.) And, so far, I still don't feel mature enough to be making serious decisions on the other side of 25. But if I could rewrite that prompt, I'd say the important "yes" or "no" decisions continue popping up throughout your entire twenties (from what I've seen/heard), and possibly much longer after that (but I have no frame of reference past 26 so far). Maybe they never end.

Back when I received the prompt, I immediately thought about when I said "yes" to moving to Philly back at the end of 2008. I only stayed for two years, but it changed me in ways I'm still recognizing. For most of the time I was there, I almost exclusively said "yes." At first I was saying "yes" because I felt I had to. I thought I was trapped. It wasn't until I started saying "yes" for myself that things started working out.

I said "no" to my first go-around at university (which I consider a hasty but necessary decision). Later, I said "yes" to another university (which I consider a mistake). And then I eventually went back and said "yes" to that first university I left (which I consider a great decision).

In other instances, I've said "yes" but have received a "no" in return. There was a relationship I didn't want to end, but now I'm thankful and glad the other person gave me a "no."

There have been opportunities I've walked away from, which I guess is a sort of "no." In my mind, some of them would've potentially gotten me places and made me some money, but would've also required me doing many things I'm not comfortable with. I'm still waiting to see how those play out.

Today, I had to make another "yes" or "no" decision I'd consider to be a big one. Or at least "big" in terms of my life. All of these decisions are very, very tiny in the grand scheme of the universe and history and all that mess. Today's decision had to do with staying or going, career direction, and general life path crap. Very Pocahontas-type stuff in a just-around-the-riverbend sort of way. (But that may just be me over-romanticizing the situation because Pocahontas is my favorite Disney movie and I regularly like to make poor comparisons between that cartoon and my life. If only I had a sassy talking tree to help me with these things...) I've spent hours on the phone with my family and my BFF the past couple weeks, pouring over possibilities and outcomes, all leading up to making this decision. With neither party, of course, telling me what to do, but helping just by lending their ears. My BFF tried to reassure me that my answer didn't necessarily have to be permanent, and that I still have time, but I think I know in my mind that it's pretty definite.

And I said "no."

In the next few weeks, months, years, I'll be experiencing the domino effect of this decision. But my mom recently told me there's no use in looking for that domino effect. And that wondering what might have been rarely helps propel you towards future decisions, and definitely doesn't help your present state of mind. (Perhaps I do have my own version of Grandmother Willow after all.)

While searching online for the exact wording of that initial writing prompt (which I never could find), I came across a Mahatma Gandhi quote. (At least I hope it's a real quote. I couldn't find the exact source. But it's a nice one nonetheless.)
“A 'No' uttered from the deepest conviction is better than a 'Yes' merely uttered to please, or worse, to avoid trouble.”
I just wish my "no" had a little more conviction.

-joe

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

It Really Is The Little Things

I was casually looking at my Google Analytics today, and I noticed lately I was getting a lot of traffic from that YouTube gossip forum that I mentioned a few posts ago. I guess someone on the forum is linking to my post or site. I'm not sure, and I don't really want to check.

So I installed a code on my blog that redirects all incoming traffic from that site to this old video I made back in 2008 that was posted on my not-so-secret-but-used-to-be-secret YouTube channel:


And then I sat laughing for a good ten minutes while imagining people clicking a link to my blog from that gossip forum and getting redirected to that video instead. Obviously, they can still just type in my blog URL manually and get here, but I'm hoping most will get redirected a time or two from clicking the link before figuring that out. (I'm hoping the code works in all browsers, too.)

It's been a rough day and maybe it's a dick move, but it's harmless and I needed this laugh. It's been a while since I've laughed this hard. I spent all evening sitting on the bathroom floor looking at temporary apartment rentals because my other two backups fell through.

So I'm sorry. I'm sorry if you were trying to get here from that gossip forum and got that video instead. But I'm mostly sorry you were on a gossip forum in the first place.

Sigh. It really is the little things.

-joe

Monday, June 2, 2014

Maps And Muni

I don't really get sad unless I look at a map, and then I realize just how far from home I am. Without a visual representation, my brain is tricked into thinking it's just a few cities over. My mind has converted all the airports to bus stations. All the plane rides to bus trips. All the layovers to gas station stops. Technology makes the world seem a lot smaller.

Speaking of maps and buses, last night I made the mistake of looking at a map, and today over two-thirds of the buses were on strike. Today was also the first time I've cried since moving. I think I teared up saying goodbye to my parents before the plane, and maybe a little when I've gotten off the phone with family or my BFF, but I hadn't actually cried until today. I'm just not really a crier about irl things, yet a fictional character in a book can make me sob for a week. But this entry isn't going to analyze my apparent heart of stone.

I have an app on my phone that lets me know when the next few buses are arriving. I never look at it in the mornings because I know they come every ten minutes or so. But for some strange reason I decided to check it today, and it notified me the next bus was arriving in eight minutes, and then there wouldn't be another for an hour. I grabbed my things, rushed out the door and--whilst googling and running at the same time--I found out about the bus strike. And thus began a very long trip.

Public transportation problems aren't really new to me. In Philly, I lived through at least two strikes, as well as a subway fire and someone flinging themselves onto the tracks. I've been stranded in weird places and had to fight my way onto emergency buses that rioters were trying to tip over and once a lady even told me, "Sweetie, we aren't in Kansas anymore." (Maybe she picked up on my Southern accent. I like to think I looked like Judy Garland that day.) So with all those experiences behind me, I knew I'd be fine. But I also knew I'd probably be exhausted and late for work.

Because there were fewer buses running, they were packed even tighter than usual. And that's saying a lot because normally in the mornings I don't even have to hold onto the railing because I'm smashed up against other people on all sides. When I got off my first bus to transfer, the second bus didn't even stop to let people on because it was so full. It was kinda like being on the Titanic and watching a lifeboat float away. My phone let me know there wouldn't be another bus for about an hour. And I didn't really even know if that one would stop either.

My parents looking stunning in 1973
and still looking stunning just a few days ago.
I was already sort of lamely wallowing in self-pity and still thinking about the goddamn map I looked at last night and I was frustrated that I was already worn out and hadn't even been to work yet. So to distract myself, I decided to text my parents and wish them a happy anniversary. (Today is their 41st.) And that was clearly a mistake because this is where I fall apart.

My dad texted back a "Love you, too!" and my mom replied with an "I love and miss you. I am extremely proud of you." And that's when I started crying at the bus stop. I'd like to think it was a pretty sort of crying, like how Judy Garland cries when she's locked in the Wicked Witch's tower in The Wizard of Oz, softly sobbing with tears gently rolling down my cheeks. But I know it wasn't. It was ugly crying. And sniffing. And snorting. I probably looked like a maniac. Or at least like Kim Kardashian when she cries.

I don't think it was any one thing. Just the culmination of pent-up emotions and distance and apartment-hunting stress and a bad morning, and I think there's also something really heart-tugging in the phrase, "I am extremely proud of you" that just made me start wondering what the hell I was doing in this dirty city being sardined into tiny cans with wheels every morning and evening and eating noodles out of plastic and foam every night and using the toilet lid as a desk and also there was a crazy man yelling and cursing at the bus stop and I just wanted someone to kick him into the middle of traffic because all that yelling and cursing wasn't going to make the bus come any faster. Kinda like how my crying wasn't going to fix any of my problems, either. I'd need some ruby slippers for that.

But it all passed, and after a few moments I was fine again and ready for life. The second bus came after an hour. I got to work. I made it home. Life isn't so bad. There are bigger problems in the world, like wars and famine and oppressive governments, and some people never even get to talk to their family. I did almost fall off a moving bus on the way home. But I didn't. And so I shall live to ride like a sardine for another day.

-joe

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Of Butts And Things

I've finally noticed them. Muscles in my legs. It only took two weeks of constantly walking up and down hills and stairs for them to arrive. I think that's a testament to the steepness of the hills here. Granted, the muscles are small and my legs are still practically toothpicks, but the muscles are definitely there. I caught sight of them while getting out of the shower a couple days ago and I noticed one of my legs was lumpier than usual. Of course, I immediately assumed it was a tumor, until I realized I could flex it and there was an identical one on my other leg. And my skinny jeans are finally starting to fit like actual skinny jeans. (My legs are normally so thin that even the tightest of jeans are a little baggy on my legs.)

A couple other times in my life I've had freakishly powerful leg muscles compared to the rest of my twiggy body. One time was when I played tennis from about 10th grade to my first or second year of college. I did pilates at the same time and, dayum, my legs were fine.

Then when I lived in Philly for those two years, I refused to take the elevator to any floor ten stories or lower. And, of course, one semester every single one of my classes was on the tenth floor. After a whole semester of constantly going up and down stairs, I was really putting the "ass" in "going to class." In fact, that might've been the only time in my entire life I've actually had an ass.

Since then, my leg muscles have been atrophying in Arkansas. But my ass might be making a comeback if I stay here. Pretty soon I'll be putting the "can" in "San Francisco." (After writing that sentence it occurred to me that "can" is nowhere in "San Francisco." Also, "can" probably refers more to boobs rather than ass. But it's late and I'm too tired to work out another pun.)

Now that I'm thinking about butts (as if I ever stopped thinking about them), I've noticed that most people here have really nice ones. (You should probably start reading this in Tina's voice from Bob's Burgers.) It must be all the hills. And I just wanna give those hills a nice little squeeze and slap. Am I talking about the actual hills now or butts again? Who can even be sure?

Today, I missed a friend's wedding back in Arkansas. We've been friends since we were two or three. It says a lot that, as much as I generally dislike weddings, I really wish I could've gone and witnessed her happy day. Also, my dad performed the ceremony and my BFF was a bridesmaid. So many of my favorite people together without me.
(*´д`)=3

But San Francisco is starting to feel homier. Here's a list of reasons why I think that is:

  • I put some photos on my desk at work
  • I did laundry here for the first time
  • I've had to fill a prescription here
  • The lady at the grocery store remembers me as a regular

Now if only I could make some friends. Making friends as an adult is so damn difficult. I also have to find a new place to live in a couple weeks. But I'm not even gonna get started on that headache right now.

-joe