| It's a good thing I'm never going to be a housewife April 30th It happens once, and you overlook it as an accident, you know one of those things that just happens. But when it happens, twice (or more), you begin to doubt your abilities. I mean really, how hard is it to do laundry and have the clothes come out of the washer the same color as they went in? I've been doing laundry for probably just under half my life, and you think by now that I would be able to maintain the color of my clothes, but apparently not. Accidently misjudging the number of washing it takes to thoroughly remove all the dye from a pair of dark denim jeans, and managing to tint your white hall sweater an odd shade of blue, it happens. Throwing a few whites in with well worn and oft-washed colors to save time and precious quarters, understandable. Not carefully checking that everything in the laundry basket is ready for color-integrated washing, dumb, very, very dumb. Tonight I realized that my new red cardigan seemed to have found it's way into the laundry basket, and apparently had somehow managed to escape washing, until now. Thus, I find myself in posession of some pink socks and underwear, not to mention that my favorite paper of old, comfy, washed-out jeans now have a pink waistband and a slight pink tone, my white striped towel looks like tie-dye gone wrong, and worst of all, my much-loved sage, v-neck shell from the gap is splotched with dark pink, utterly destroying the wonderful greenness. Where is the justice? And why, why, why pink? When my white sweatshirt became an off-blue shade, I was ok with it, it wasn't that bad. But pink, I don't do pink. I can do yellow, I'm all about blue and green, and occasionally I've done the purple thing, but pink? Pink, is like waking up to find that dream where I'm blonde, holding pom-poms, and use the word like as every other word has become like a reality, like you know what I mean? Argh. I'll be twenty in no time at all, and I have the laundering ability of a six year old. What's the deal? Sitting here talking about laundry, I can't help remembering my dad telling me everyday of my entire life to put my dirty clothes in the hamper, not on my Lazy-Boy chair or the closet floor, a mode of laundry upkeep that I must admit resulted in my having a heck of a time finding my clothes from time to time. But lo and behold, stubborn as I am, somewhere along the line I learned to make sure the dirty clothes got into the hamper, and not just as far as the closet floor. So you would think that having triumphed over the whole to hamper or not to hamper issue, I would be free of laundry debaucles such as this, but no, not even close. Again I ask you, Where is the justice? |
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| Second hand thoughts: same price, less effort |
| March 31, 2002 Revelations from Spring Break (in no particular order) by Me 1. I am completely deficient in skill and talent, as well as devoid of any luck with respect to the game of pool. And thus, have decided to avoid billiards at all costs, in order to spare whatever shreds of dignity I may still possess. 2. The lack of talent, skill, and luck mentioned above, also extends to video games and pin-ball. 3. Going home is a surreal experience. 4. It's been nearly two years since graduation, people change, but I think it's safe to say that I'm still the innocent one, and I probably always will be. 5. My Parents now have Dish Network. 6. Dish Network is a wonderful thing. 7. I'm a small town girl, and not because I'm from a small town. 8. Apparently, a new civic center was more important than one of the most recognizable sites in town, so the city tore down what was an unofficial historical landmark. Bastards! 9. No matter how much you've changed or progressed in your life, there are times when you are surrounded by your friends from high school, where all that disappears, you revert back to old patterns, and, good or bad, you're once again that 16-year-old high school kid you used to be. 10. The Hemet Valley Mall is really, really small. (This was a relearn-er) 11. You don't want to re-live high school. 12. We were very sarcastic and hostile back in the day. 13. All things change, even if somethings stay the same. I know that I've changed, and to be honest, I prefer the person I am now to the person I used to be, I'm happier, but I still treasure my past, it got me here, it brought me to today. I can see too, that my friends from high school are different people than they used to be, or it could just be that I finally saw them for more for who they really are. Either way, I'll still let them be my friends, and I hope that they know that if they need me I'm always here for them. |
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| April 2 The Bored on Boredom Boredom isn�t as fun as it used to be. When I was a kid, I spent most of my time being bored, finding ways to idle away the hours, and basically just wasting massive amounts of time. It was a happy time to say the least. Now, however, no matter how hard I work at it, I can�t manage to enjoy my boredom with the same vigor. My old time wasting activities aren�t as fun as they used to be. I�m no longer able to lose myself in the nothingness of Spider Solitaire, I can�t seem to forget all those things that need to be done in order to thoroughly enjoy my mindless boredom. The ability to waste time with astonishing efficiency is one of my not-so-many gifts, so you can image how frustrating it is no longer be able to take joy from your talents. Always on my mind there are the things I should be doing, the things I need to do, the things that could be done, and dammit it all, it utterly detracts from, or if you will, steals the thunder from my boredom. It�s gotten do bad that sometimes boredom feels like work itself, GASP, but it�s true. It feels like just one more thing I need to do before I can go to sleep, one more item to check of the ol� To Do List. Sick isn�t it? And Now, during this first week of Spring Quarter, when I don�t have any pressing assignments or deadlines, or even books for that matter (as if I read them anyway), where there is really nothing I should be doing, and when my To Do List is nearly blank, I�m going crazy, ok, crazier. So, now I have to ask myself in all honesty, what has become of me? Have I become a work crazed person, who can only breathe easy when I have eight million and a half things to do (only after weeks upon weeks of procrastination, of course)? Or, have I finally reached that time when I have become all growed up, and know, in that irritatingly logical part of my brain, that all the wasting of time, procrastination, and glorious boredom, are merely momentary lapses into previous happiness, and only deferr all that must be done? Damn it sucks to be logical. So I guess I must resign myself to the fact that I can not be professionally bored after all. It�s a cruel world that crushes dreams. But don�t think for a moment that there will be no procrastination. Please, there will always be the glorious boredom, even if there comes a time when it will be devoid of all pleasure (this time will be known as the apocalypse). After all, what do you think the spaces between the items on my To Do List are for? |
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| Do what Abe would do when he's had enough. Go Home. |
| April 6 (Some) PEOPLE SUCK!! I wrote the AIM rant about guys (on the stuff page) awhile ago, and friend Ray was kind enough to send me a lengthy list of guy thoughts, mostly consisting of one three letter word (which should be fairly apparent to you) repeated over and over again, and all I have to say in response is, Thank you Captain Obvious. I know I said I was confused, but my dear friend, I'm not stupid, I appreciate the help, anyway though. Now to the business at hand, in the past my theory about guys has been that they are simple in a complicated way, which through much field work has proven to be fairly accurate. And, through such field work, I have also concluded that people are people, we are all basically the same. Yet, in all my confusion and theorizing, I occasionally run across a, shall we say, specimen, that takes a rather large monkey wrench and smashes my precious little theories all to hell. For the sake of brevity we will bypass previous incidents of theories under attack, and take the bullet train to the impetus for this entry. A few days ago, I took a most ungraceful, anti-fun fall on the Bucklebury steps, which proved to be decidedly traumatic, if not the least bit painful. It primarily shook me up though because from the moment I tripped to the moment I landed, I had eye contact with some guy sitting about 10 feet away on the mini cement wall-thing, and in that whole time, he didn't move, didn't even flinch, he just watched me fall. I've spent a great deal of my life trying to not let other people effect me, attempting not to internalize every little thing, that's my struggle, but the way that guy made me feel was no match for the struggle. It amazes me how some guy who I'll never see again, could, in the span of two minutes, make me feel like nothing. I'm not naive enough to not realize that I'm different from most girls, believe me, I know it more than I know my own name, but I live my life, and I deal with it the best I can. But as I hard as I try, there'll always be someone like that guy, someone who'll manage to make me feel like nothing because I don't fit some "perfect" mold, and I know that'll never change. I know it, yet I can't help asking, "why?" Why was it that I might as well have been invisible to that guy? Why did that look on his face say I didn't deserve his time, let alone his concern? Why can't I forget about it? Why I am even writing about this? I've asked "why" my whole life, "why this", "why that", and there's rarely a clear answer, I guess I just have to accept what I can't explain, and move on. I guess what I'm saying, or maybe asking, is this, try to look deep, try to see people. No one wants to be invisible, no one deserves to feel like they're nothing. |
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| April 18th Frarority Ok, so long time no write I know, and I realize that I've left you hanging for 11 days, which for college students is an eternity, with nothing to read except my previous high drama entry. I sincerely apologize for failing you in your time of need for procrastination. Therefore, this entry will (attempt) to bring back the randomness that until recently has characterized my musings. So wish me luck, here I go. Allright, so I'm sitting here listen to this song that says something about screaming at the top of your lungs, and me in my anal, logical, overly analytical way, rather than enjoy the words and the music, thinks," at the top of your lungs, that's not right, hmm, shouldn't it be more like screaming from the bottom of your lungs, because when you speak or scream loudly the sound comes more from the diaphragm area and deep in the lungs." At this point, you may either shake your head approvingly at my genius, or do the whole smile and nod thing, it's ok, I'm used to it. Ok, but don't overdo it, there is more genius-ness to come. The other day I was talking to Allison about going out to dinner this weekend, and she said her mom was gonna foot the bill, her treat, and then she said something about her mom kicking Bill (who FYI is her boyfriend, Allison's not her mom's, ok back to the show). Now, I never claimed to be extremely quick, but honestly I sat there and was like "huh? uh-huh..... sure". And I forgot about it, then last night when I was washing my face it dawned on me like a rather large boot the head, to keep the analogy going. So foot the bill, kick Bill, you see it? you get it now? (Yes, this is another one of those times when the smile and nod combo is highly appropriate). Danny is pledging a co-ed service fraternity, so I think to myself "It's co-ed, but it's called a fraternity, that's sexist, it should have a name that reflects it's membership, like Frarority, ooh ooh, or Sorternity". Yes, as my Genius task for yesterday I made up not one, but two words, you are allowed to show your admiration (Even though Sadaf claims she's heard Frarority before, um yeah, no). Yeah, so if for some reason you were in ignorance to my obvious genius (um, hello? what rock were you living under?), now you know. And I hope you realized that in all the genius work described above there was thinking to myself, and asking myself. Yes everyone, I have finally learned to do it. Take note there will be no more (ok less) random question asking. (Allison-think Ace Ventura). Ok, who am I kidding. The randomness of Kristen will have no end. You are allowed to show your pleasure. |
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| Archives Sophmore Year March 31st- June 2nd 2002 |
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| May 1 Ok, I know I promised Musings in the plural sense as a band-aid for the whole archive erasure thing, but I'm tapped out, I've got nothing left, I can't go on. My laundry trauma and resulting entry took everything I got. So, I can see that once again I have disappointed you. Dammit. Ok, I'll try. Um yeah, not so much, I had a random Hemet story all typed out, but as I said it was a Hemet story, and one of my Hemet Stories too, so yeah it wasn't that interesting. But for those of you who know, I have two phrases for you, "Darth Vadar Video" and "Hey! I was sick". For the rest of you, you'll just have to wondering, it'll probably be more interesting to you than the story anyway. Ok, so that's it, end of musing. Still need something to do? Then look at this picture of Louis Pastuer and ponder the wonder that is Pastuerization. Can you imagine your life without it? But seriously, why would you want to? Now you may read the musings that came before in eager anticipation of what may follow. Adios. |
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| May 2 Must be some kind of disorder I don't really know what the deal with me is. I'm a mystery, even to myself. Do you have any clue, seriously? I'd really like to know why I have this psuedo split personality thing going on. You've noticed it right? I'm not completely off base (about this anyway), am I? How on this page and over AIM or what not, I manage to articulate fairly well, if not in a slightly entertaining way, and can even, shock of all shocks, carry on a conversation, but for the most part I'm some mix between the village idiot and his deaf-mute cousin when it comes to actual talking. Honestly, I can't figure me out. Why is it I can hold long, if randomly pointless conversations with everyone I know online, but if I run into them walking to class or find myself thrown into some situation where the ability to make conversation could prove useful, I'm a mess, utterly useless. I might as well go stand in the corner and mumble incoherently, in fact that would probably be better than me actually attempting to make conversation. It's strange, sometimes my mind is so clear, and other times, I just can't focus, or my mind goes blank, or worst of all, I turn into some nervous blundering, babbling idiot. It's the strangest feeling to be sitting there, thinking, "I really should have something to say about this...............but no, there's nada, ooh, look a bunny". I don't know what it is. Am I having momentary relapses of that shyness that kept me the quiet girl in the corner in high school, and before? Damn I hope not, that sucked. Do I have some freaky brain tumor that sucks thoughts from my brain and turns me into a conversational cripple? Hmm, perhaps. Though either scenario makes me feel like I've missed the bus to happy town. I wonder if I can get some sort of magic talking pills to turn me into a master of the art of coherent speaking. That would be cool, no strike that, that would be super cool. Then I would be free of those awkward silences and uncomfortable conversations that leave me feeling weirder than someone who collects their belly-button lint. It's a beautiful dream, but I think the pharmacuetical companies are far too busy perfecting better, bouncier silicone to focus on my little dream of articulating aptitude. So I guess I'll just have to soldier on and deal with my conversational ineptitude. Wait, do you think I could get Sally Struthers to do infomercials asking people to adopt me, or perhaps others with a similar affliciton, in order to raise money for research? I could have my own foundation, that would be swell. Or maybe I should go straight to the top and have Jerry Lewis host a star-studded telethon with Mrs. Garrett from "Facts of Life" taking pledges and Tony Danza performing a slew of Tony Bennet hits? YREKA, that's it! |
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| May 13 Train Rides Are Fun So once again, it's been a while since I added anything of interest here, what can I say, I'm lazy, deal with it. Anyway, I did the family thing this weekend, which is always an enlightening experience. I have a million and one things to say about this weekend, but I fear this is neither the time nor the place, I guess it will be fodder for actual journaling. This being the case, I will now recount the tale of my most recent train trip. On Friday afternoon I boarded my train bound for all too familiar places. The train cars are double decker, with a strange midlevel section that extends off either side, giving the car the look of sqaure flat football looking thing. And now the point of this poor description/metaphoric analogy, I traditionally sit in this end area. When I first began riding the train, I sat wherever I damn well pleased, I was unaware of the hierachy and society-ishness of the whole train experience. You see, most train passengers ride the train everyday, and as people are creatures of habit, they sit in the same car, in the same seats, with the same group of people. And they don't particularly take kindly to interlopers, which is something I've come to learn. These groups of "train friends" are soo much like high school cliques it's frighteningly freaky, they have their areas, they only talk to certain people, they're highly exclusive. So imagine finding yourself, engulfed in this society, yet completely excluded, like a rock in a stream with water rushing all around you. It is strange indeed to be physically present in the society, but with my mere presence upsetting the delicate balance of it all. They were never rude, no, but very effective in making one feel uneasy, to say the least, for daring to invade their space. So what if you got on the train at the beginning of the line, and were the only one in that section until the clique arrived at the second stop, it matters not, this is their turf, and you my dear are certainly not where you are supposed to be. I'm not one to be pushed out, or to be forced to do anything, so each time I rode the train I sat where I pleased, clique be damned! But the last few times, it's gotten to the point where I can't stand to sit there. The only thing you can do is listen to them, and just as with the chatter of highschool cliques, or the sounds of a gaggle geese, it's mind-numbing, nearly comparable to chinese water torture, you can handle it at first, no problem, but after a while, it feels like your head will explode. Therefore, I've taken to sitting at the base of the stairs to the top deck, in a seat that faces a wall. And believe you me, nine times out of ten, the wall is much more interesting. This time around, I sat in my wall facing seat, and brought along my headphones, in an attempt to further block out the mind-numbing clatter of the train people, and crocheted to pass the time. Now unless you have complete lack of short term memory, you will remember that I said I had my head phones on, and loud enough to drown out the commotion around me, and thus missed the conductor explaining why the train was now stopped on the tracks ten minutes or so after departure. So there I am, sitting there crochet in hand, MXPX blaring in my ears, and no doubt a puzzled look on my face. A look which didn't last too long after we started going again, but returned once I realized we were again in a state of non-motion. This is how it progressed, we would go, we would stop, the conductor would get out, check something, usually something directly underneath where I was sitting, he'd reboard the train, make a little announcement, and then we'd go...and then we'd stop again. At one point outside Anaheim we were sitting on the tracks, for about 10 minutes or so, which was oh so comforting considering what happened with that metrolink train two weeks ago. At any rate, we got clearance to go, but at only 25 mph. We were crawling through Orange County, and through communication with la madre waiting for me in Riverside, I found out that the ball bearings in the wheels were overheating, and if they got too hot, they would freeze up the wheels of the train, which would be, um yeah, not so good. So, just outside of Orange, we went through the whole thing again, the stopping, the checking, the waiting for clearance, and when we eventually got going again, we were told that when we got to the Orange Station there would be a possibilty that we would switch trains. We limped into Orange, and after all the passengers bound for Orange got off the train, the rest of us sat for a while, before we were told to detrain, go to the other track, and wait for the next train to arrive. So about two hundred people got off the train, two hundred people stood waiting to either take the elevator or the stairs three floors up to the bridge that crosses the tracks. We slowly filed up, across, and over to the other platform, and two hundred people stood waiting. At this point I was about an hour and 20 minutes into my 45-minute train ride, and we hadn't even made it out of Orange County yet. We waited for about 15 or 20 more mintues, spread out along the platform, but all pressed as close to the front as possible, which made it bit nerve wracking when a loooong freight train blew through the station at a speed which we will call fast. Eventually the train arrived, and the few people getting off had to struggle through the mass of people fighting to get on. For all the rushing and struggling, it looked like only a few men were left behind to wait for the next train. So they we were, two hundered people packed into an already full train, settling in for what traditionally is the longest stretch of the ride, the transition from Orange County to Inland Empire. When we finally pulled in to the Riverside-La Sierra Station and I got off the train, it was just over two hours since I boarded the train in Irvine, and began my latest railbound adventure. It was definitely somewhere south of fun, but whatever, it's a story to fill space on this page, and really that's all that matters. Now, Congratulate yourself on making it to the end of this oh so long and boring entry. What the hell, Go out and by yourself something pretty, you've earned it!! |
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| May 19th Regarding Birthdays It's a word I tend to only use after someone sneezes, and that person usually isn't me, but there are times when you can't help but realize how blessed you are. I did today, and it's true, I really am. I have the most amazing friends and family. Thank you so so so very much to anyone who: called; emailed; IMed; acted like a monkey; gave me a hug; plastered my door and wall with brightly colored birthday flyers; planned and adeptly executed a super wonderful, fun birthday gathering; kept me occupied while such planning and preparation took place; learned to play "Happy Birthday" on a borrowed guitar; is a friend who gave me "Friends"; gave me brownies; sang Happy Birthday multiple times; left a message that made me smile; spent my birthday dinner with me (I hope you had fun, I know I'm not the most exciting center of attention) and everyone who kept me from eating my birthday dinner at Pippin; made me breakfast; gave me a flower with a really, really long stem; finger painted me a happy birthday poster; wished me happy birthday; refilled my drink; made me laugh, laughed with me, or laughed at me; gave me a Jack-in-the-box antenna ball; had today marked on their calendar; gave me a cool fan with butterflies; found cupcakes in the bathroom; and most especially everyone who made me realize that am special, loved, and oh so very blessed. You made my birthday so special and I thank you with all my heart. I'm not the best at speaking what I feel, it has always been much easier for me to expose my feelings and heart with pen and paper, or a screen and lettered keys, rather than with spoken word. So I hope you will take these words from where they come, the bottom of my heart, and believe me when I say that there is no way, with word or with pen, that I can ever express just how much it really meant to me, and finally, I hope you realize that....... I LOVE YOU GUYS!!!!!! |
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| June 2 So Very Lost Maybe it's the ritual end of the year weirdness, my obsessive need for clarity, perhaps my compulsive need to tie up loose ends, or maybe just some kind of hormonal imbalance, but lately I've had the need to ask people the strangest, frankest, randomest questions. I can't explain it, I'm not a blunt person, I usually get my information from more subversive means like observation and VERY slow build-ups, but for some bizarre reason I feel that I have to know, that I have to bring resolution and clarity in certain aspects of my life immediately. Honestly, it's got me a bit weirded out (there's no telling how weirded out other people are), this is the sort of thing that people do when they find out they're about to die. Am I about to die? Do I know something I don't know? I know that I tend to hang over the edge of crazy, but maybe I've just gone and jumped head first into the abyss this time. Usually, I'd just sit back and wait, wait for the information or the resolution to come, and if it doesn't, then just take it as a sign that it's not meant to be, I'm not meant to know, but I can't seem to even force myself to do that. For some inexplicable reason, I need to know, I need resolution and clarity. It's weird, lately I feel really lost, like I'm floating around in a strange haze. I have no idea which way is up or which way is out, my head is all cloudy and sluggish. I feel like I'm drowning. Is this new bluntness a sign of my final detachment from sanity, or is it some kind of lifeline for me to pull myself out of this eerie fog? Who knows? Because I sure don't. I would like to know one thing though, why didn't my mind come with an instruction manual, that would have been really helpful. |
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