My parents seriously cramped my decor style and gave the reasoning that someday, when I owned my very own house, I could do whatever I damn well please. Well, that day has certainly come and what I please includes, but is not limited to: painting the walls obnoxious colors, hanging my bike on ceiling joists in the living room, putting tibetan prayer flags up, using a Zags flag as a window treatment, and wallpapering with a world map. I'm 24. I can live in Candyland.
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Oh the Horror.
disclaimer: i am almost embarrassed to relay the account of this below instance. it's pathetic, but it's all real. It happens somewhere, every day. The unimaginable nightmare. You head into the bathroom for a routine draining of bladder. You relieve, and lightheartedly turn around to push the flusher. Just as your fingers are about to graze the edge of the lever, a silhouette catches your eye from the abyss of the bowl. You glance down, and your stomach drops out of your butt.
It's your iphone.
In a split second you gasp, shriek, and thereafter can't speak. Without a thought in your mind, you reach into that cursed bowl, potty water and all, and fetch that blessed gadget out from its yellow drowning. You fingers scramble as you desperately work against the clock to get the liquid off of it, wiping it on your hands, clothes, nearest bathrug. Immediately you run out of the bathroom (nope, didnt wash my hands, I now realize) and announce to the room that you just dropped your iphone in the toilet. If you happen to be at Jake Foster's house in Livermore with a bunch of boys while they help him move, they will all stop and respectfully gasp. and then Aunt Terry will tell you to put your phone in a bag of rice overnight, to draw the liquid out. From then on, it's a wait-and-see game, until the fateful next morning when you garner the balls to turn it on.
In this scenario, dear iphone will loyally turn on and give the illusion of full functionality. But after some testing and pushing, you will discover that it's actually developed a seizure disorder and is now possessed by the spirit of toilet bowl gremlins. It no longer gives sound from all speakers, and it keeps mistakenly performing actions without provoke.
Sigh.
Afterword: Although i lost everything on that phone, including notes from every church service I attended while having it, pictures, and apps, the beautiful people at the Pleasanton, CA Apple store just effortlessly replaced it. I'm sure they pitied me, after I gave them the sob story of being on my way to LA, where I don't know the roads......No, they didn't ask if my phone had ever been immersed in urine. So I didn't offer the information.
Spotted.
fa La La La LA.

Amidst all of this non blogging and playing around, I must address the harsh reality of my employment situation. I'm growing weary of my occupation. I feel like being trapped inside for 12 hours a day is becoming cruel and unusual. Yes, I'm being dramatic, but hey... we're here on my terms.
I'm starting to think about career alternatives and options for my second quarter life crisis.(the first being three years ago when I realized I was fat, of course). I have some thoughts brewing, but sharing those is for later.
In the meantime, I have resolved to appreciate this occupation I chose at the sage age of..... 15, and try to set myself up for success in fun factor assignments.
In lieu of this, I exasperated myself and all of the lovely people who work to get me employed every three months. I was fussy. I refused to consider night shift (it makes me bonkers!) or assignments located in places without a major airport.
that makes for some slim pickins, folks.
I had just about decided to run away with the circus or be a street tambouriner when I was submitted for jobs in LA, Palo Alto, San Diego, and New York, all within 12 hours.
LA called first. I made it through the gut wrenchingly intense interview (kid found drowning in pond. what do you do--GO!), and was offered a contract.
So here I am. Nestled in a hotel room in Hollyweird, waiting for my apartment in Fabulosity, CA (my recruiter promised me this...) to open up.
LA is. sunny. smoggy. crowded. strip mall-y. corny. touristy. foodie. hipster. vast. urban. varying. full of possibilities.
stay tuned, all. beyond the brown clouds there is an air of adventure here, I can feel it.
Love Love Love.
Soooo....

I met this guy. It's a good story; one that I would gladly retell in person, but may be too loaded to share on this ever exposing interweb upon which I write.
So I'll just tell you that we met while both exploring; finding ourselves in a similar predicament.
We had fun; it was rad to meet someone who was seemingly as adventurous as I, that was interesting and easy to talk to. The banter was delicious.
But then you know what's not fun? Being bombarded afterward. Dude, dont hound me. I dont want to hear what you had for lunch, what you think about crop circles, or that you could be on a flight over in an hour. creeper.
where was the slight elusiveness and mystery?! Geez, I know girls complain about players who mess with your mind....but this girl needs you to play the game at least a little. No one likes a guy who has to drag a huge cool card around, but just keep a small one in your wallet?
oh the love game. si difficile. pic source
Overheard.
So I've embarked on my seemingly endless journey home from China last July, when I hear these two American guys discussing the status of their dating lives. To set the stage, we are walking through the terminals at the airport in Guangzhou, to the international terminal. Surrounding these two men is a sea of black hair, almond eyes, and obscenely large luggage. People are yelling and stuffing fruit in their pockets. These two guys obviously assume that no one within earshot understands any english. Begin scene:
american man #1 : "so where are you going the weekend after that?"
american man #2 :" man, i've got to get to shenzhen, and see that girl i told you about before."
american man #1: "that one you nailed in the hotel three weeks ago?"
american man #2: "nah, i havent even talked to her. this new girl, i met her at that immersion event a week ago and she seems pretty cool."
american man #1: "alright, but how sticky is she?"
--my mind interjects : sticky?! gross! what the hell are they talking about?! these guys are d-bags!
american man #2: " i dont know yet, dude but i guess i'm gonna find out."
american man #1: "well she cant be as bad as the last girl i met, she was downright embarrassing."
my mind is reeling.
american man #2: "well dude, i hope she isn't. here's hoping she has her own visa and everything."
ooooooooohhhhhhh. got it.
sticky: adj. describing internationally born women who cling to american men in order to procure a hasty marriage/impregnation in the name of a US green card.
At this point I just have to turn around and put faces to this dialogue. Enter jaw drop. I'd expected Cristiano Ronaldo and David Beckham to be revealed, exchanging details about their torrid affairs as such. Oh boy, what I saw was PeeWee Herman and Screech, skinny ankles and all. So how bout the ol' US of A? Making otherwise self respectable asian women giggle impishly and bat non-existent eyelashes all for the apparent greater good of free speech and unaffordable health care. yowzas.
Can't Not Be Mentioned.
I mentioned it in passing with the bookstore blurb, but I cant just let my Denver trip be summed up with just a few words about some silly book summaries.







I had originally intended to take my dad to Alaska on a fishing trip as my not-working-after-China-bucket-list-item summer trip. He punked out.
So when Sheriann called to say she would be in Denver on business the first week of August, I demanded to crash. My lovely, Nick, lives there with his lovely and I just like it there.
Whoa, do I like it there.
I spent a week in Breckenridge, Denver, Colorado Springs, Boulder, and many surrounding little spots running, walking, hiking, rafting, biking, jumping, and laughing.
You must make this place a must-go.

1. I proclaim my victory over the Flatirons by stealing this here bandana. Such a rebel.
2. Peak train ride to the top of Pike's Peak. 90 minutes of high altitude transport.
3. Garden of the Gods, super rad and the most fun playground for dirt lovers.
4. Rocks losing by a lot. We're real broken up about it.
5. Big pile of rocks on the Flatirons hike.
6. From the top of Pike's Peak
7. A bike and a book. Loverly.
continuing...
again, i find myself dreadfully tardy on the blog front. it's a chronic condition.
here i go, sticking my literary finger down my literary throat.
love love love.
Off to Neverland
*pic from New York Times article "What Is It About 20-Somethings?"Have you read this? It's been atop the NY times most emailed list of articles for several days now, and I can certainly see why.
Stuffy old people are just fascinated with why 20-somethings wont grow up'.
Yeah, I've seen the statistics, I understand the logic. People of youth these days are taking longer to become financially stable, start careers, get married and have children. They take longer to leave home, they go back more frequently even after doing so. We are over-coddled, over-loved, overindulged, and underestimated. True, true, true, most true.
This article chronicles the tales of so many examples of under-developed adults who "seem(s) to have gone off course, as young people remain un tethered to romantic partners or to permanent homes, going back to school for lack of better options, traveling, avoiding commitments, competing ferociously for unpaid internships or temporary (and often grueling)Teach for America jobs, forestalling the beginning of adult life."
Furthermore, the author goes on to spout endless statistics of how often people in their twenties move, how many times they change their jobs, how many romantic relationships they endure, and how old they are when they finally succomb to biology and get knocked up. ooops, I mean, decide to have children. Experts on sociology and psychology illustrate the idea that , in our society, the timeline for becoming an adult has changed. People are less focused on the traditional idea of when that age is appropriate. Then the article goes on to give X. Y, and Z reasons for why we are so stunted, what it will mean for future generations, and the pros and cons of this phenomenon, etc etc.
You, my friend, are going to hear my thoughts on the matter.
This generation was raised by a generation that was pressured to grow up. The baby boomers lived through a time where they were expected, in their early twenties, to take their place, fall in line, choose a career, stick to it, choose a spouse, stick with him/ her, have children, and basically be stuck for the rest of their lives. How sticky.
So how did that work out for everyone? I'm thinking not so hot. Our parents' generation, after all, made divorce acceptable and perhaps even righteous. They coined the term "mid life crisis". Suicide rates are through the roof and substance abuse runs rampant. From my own understandings, I have watched many an "adult" suffer through the choices that they made in their 20s, while telling themselves that they had to "grow up" and commit. So much dissatisfaction and turmoil seen now stems from seemingly iron clad commitments made in their twenties. Hmmmmm.
Well you know what? I'm not interested.
Yes, my generation is completely overconfident and gluttonous. Yes, we can't make adult decisions. Yes, we take longer to settle into what you old people call a "life routine." But it's because we have seen what our previous generation has been through with all of that, and it's not appealing. So who cares if we switch jobs 100 times in a decade? Who cares if we don't get married? Who cares if we don't have kids or a house or a 'stable routine'. Isn't it so awesome that we can spend the first years of our independence thrashing through, making mistakes, using trial and error, and figuring out who we are the kind of lives we really want for ourselves?
We've seen that other, mature, life. It sucks. I will choose adventure and the right to not commit to anything. Of course, I do own a house and all that that entails, but it's always negotiable. I never know when my house might be jettisoned for a beach hut in Australia, or a houseboat in the Maldives. I'm financially stable, but I won't commit to a career, I won't get married unless I can't stand not to, and I won't have children until my ovaries scream for them. I will relish in my lack of leashes and delight in my (no plan) plan. I will find joy all over this world and pray fervently for all of those who succumbed to the pressure of growing up, who jumped into a life they didn't choose, and whom can't remember why they are wearing a tie, are laying next to a person they married before they knew themselves, and are trapped in a cubicle for the sake for their retirement funds.
As my great hero Peter Pan says :
if growing up means it would be,
beneath my dignity to climb a tree,
ill never grow up, never grow up, never grow u-P, not me!
...and if it means I must prepare,
to shoulder burdens with a worried air,
i'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow u-P, so there.
'cause growing up is awfull-er,
than all the awful things that ever were,
i'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow u-P, no sir!
A Little Perk.
I like reading books that I know other people have read. I pay attention to reviews, I watch the best seller list, and I take personal recommendations seriously. That's why I was so tickled when I wandered into the Tattered Cover Bookstore in downtown Denver and came upon stacks and stacks of books with Post-its scattered all over, containing handwritten blurbs and recommendations by the staff. Makes me feel connected to the material, knowing someone else has connected with it. That's special.
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