learning to deal

Life brings disappointments. Recently several people cancelled on me at the last moment. Different groups of friends, various situations. "People have people problems," said my friend Jeramie in reference to tattoo appointment cancellations. This can be applied to less formal agreements too, and I get it. I get that people aren't bound by contract to arrangements made with others. Shit happens, things come up. I'm more understanding than some people think I am.

Sometimes I feel as though I take commitments more seriously than most people I know. I prefer my word to mean something. Disappointing people isn't what I like to do, because I know how they feel when they get that call, receive that text, read that e-mail. Now that's not to say I'm not occasionally guilty of the same. When it comes down to it though, a track record of not following through with plans really says a lot about someone.

What upsets me more than these cancellations themselves, however, is when friends wait until they are contacted to let me know they aren't going to make it. It's day of, I check in, and they say they can't make it and give some excuse (honest or fabricated), if I'm even that lucky. Sorry, but one doesn't decide they don't want to do x, y or z upon hearing from me. "I wasn't born yesterday," my mom likes to say.

Perhaps I need to learn to let these things roll off my back. Let myself be unphased. But I've tried it, and it doesn't work. Lower my expectationss for friends and family? Maybe that's the next thing to try.

let my modeling career begin - not.

I received a friend request on Myspace from a guy I barely talked to when I was in high school. He had already graduated. We haven't spoken but a few times here and there at parties (a few years ago), and this is what he writes:

"hey! havent talked to you in a while. may i paint you in a very couture pose? i would really appreciate a chance to :)"

Sorry buddy. No thanks.

back to life, back to reality

This past weekend was a weekend of absurdity. I went camping in Manresa Beach near Santa Cruz with Brittany and her friends Mike and Eden. Thursday night we left San Francisco, car loaded to the hilt with sleeping bags, propane, and enough bagels to last us a lifetime. Driving down Highway 1 in total darkness, two cop cars pull out behind us. Here we are with two missing seatbelts, several forties, and another item I choose to leave nameless. Brittany slows down, but to what MPH? There are no speed limit signs to be found. Two cars in front of us don't seem to notice the cops because they are quite a ways ahead of us, and progressing in distance. We figure the cop is tired of our slow speed because he pulls around us, in between our car and the speeding car in front of us. Then, all of a sudden, both cop cars pull over the two speeding cars, leaving us free to go on our merry way!

It was 9pm by the time we got to our campsite. Pitching a tent in pure darkness save two flashlights wasn't what Brittany and Mike thought possible, but I have faith in my tent pitching abilities. Ten minutes down and one tent up. Here's what our beautiful camp site looked like:


The next morning, though it was entirely too windy, we walked down to the beach and layed out on the sand for a while until a greyhound puppy that looked like a rat came running up to Brittany and licked her face. She's terrified of rats.


I found a sand dollar. I like sand dollars. I wish they weren't so brittle.




Upon returning to the campsite we had a visitor. A cute collie that I guessed to be about six years old came wandering up to me, lost. Brittany started freaking out yet again and Mike could care less, so I knew it was up to me to find its owner. I walked around our site and there was nobody to be found. The little dog didn't have a collar, so being the Detective Olivia Benson that I strive to be, I gathered evidence: (1) its fur was too clean to be a stray, (2) it must be well fed because it didn't eat or drink anything I offered it, (3) it responded well to words beginning with the letter B, and (4) it had partial cataracts in its right eye.

From this I was lead to believe that what had crossed my path was the world's first ever gender queer dog. Needless to say I wasn't in my right frame of mind. Also, I surmised that it should be named something starting with "B" so it would listen to me, which it already did so well. After trying out such names as Bumble and Britches, I settled on Beastie. Much to my chagrin, newly named Beastie then lifted its leg and pissed on a bush. My former gender queer dog now became male and slightly less cool.



Adding to the list of absurdities, I walked out of the bathroom the next morning to find a chain gang of orange jumpsuit-clad prisoners walking past me. I later learned they were day laborers from the Vacaville state prison working for $1 per person, per day. The chainsawing went on until sundown.

roommates

A few days ago I was laying on my bed, deep in thought and thoroughly enjoying life, when I turned my head to the right and found this beast hidden behind a picture frame on my bookshelf. My roommates and I have this running prank of sorts which involves hiding this creature, whatever it may be, in each other's rooms. The point is to be sneaky about it, never letting on that it was you who in fact hid it under their pillow, propped it up on their desk chair, or hid it on their closet shelf. The latter is how I first became aware of this running household joke. I thought it was a present for me, albeit an undesired present, from my roommate who had just gotten back from a trip to Thailand. Luckily my assumption was incorrect, but it sure would have beat being startled by this thing every once in a while.

such is life

Nothing lost, plenty learned. Just the way I like it.

Also, happy birthday Jenna and Dustin!!