Not only am I sick, I am 'disagreeable'

90% of the people around me could have told anyone THAT.... Here's a result from a personality test... me, my tea, and my tissues got bored and took one today. Last sentence is funny, considering one of my exes once told me I should get 'no mercy' as my next tattoo..."You generally see others as selfish, devious, and sometimes potentially dangerous. You believe that a certain amount of deception in social relationships is necessary. You are guarded in new relationships and less willing to openly reveal the whole truth about yourself. You will help others if they are in need. If people ask for too much of your time you feel that they are imposing on you. You are not adverse to confrontation and will sometimes even intimidate others to get your own way. You feel superior to those around you and sometimes tend to be seen as arrogant by other people. You are not affected strongly by human suffering, priding yourself on making objective judgments based on reason. You are more concerned with truth and impartial justice than with mercy. "

Signs I'm getting old and boring:

I am doing laundry and making dinner and writing a blog. Multitasking.I went shopping for groceries after work.I drove around nicer neighborhoods comparing housing prices.I balance my checkbook twice a week.I signed up for cooking classes.I am considering eHarmony.I know that thin asparagus tastes better than thick.I returned a shirt from ANN TAYLOR because I thought my boobs showed too much.Instead of drinking on a Thursday night... I am at church.I am contemplating buying a hybrid SUV.I drink tea instead of soda because I worry about the chemicals affecting me down the road.I buy organic dog biscuits.This is pathetic...

Leaving on a jet plane...

I am pedicured, manicured, waxed, and in possession of a severely overstuffed suitcase. I am good to go on my week-long Hawaii escapade. Now everyone do the "Hurricane, stay away" dance with me.

My hawaiian vacation

Ok, it's confession time. I'm going to preface my sum-up of my vacation week with this: I am not a big Hawaii fan. I never have been. It's alright, I suppose, but I dislike the fact that I'm on an island. There are more Japanese tourists that Disneyland. The food always disagrees with me. It is humid, warm, and there are all kinds of suspicious looking Cretaceous-era plants everywhere. The place is crawling with newlyweds. And don't get me started on the flight there. I can't sit still in my own bedroom for more than fifteen minutes, much less wedged into a tiny seat for 5 and a half hours. By the time that plane lands I'm ready to spontaneously combust. But it was a free trip away from my job. So I went. Now, on to the description of the week.~Monday: I am up at 4:00 AM loading suitcases into the back of my car getting ready to go to the airport. I am an extremely angry individual most mornings, and this morning was no exception. I actually screamed when I couldn't get my trunk to open. We get to the airport, we get on a plane to California. We get off the plane, get our bags, put the bags on another plane bound for Honolulu and so begins the BIG flight. And it sucks. We get to Hawaii and take off for the hotel to relax.~Tuesday: Hurricane Flossie is spinning on her heels like a lazy bitch. We have no rain, however we do have wind, which my 117 lb body is no match for. I am thrown across the decks of the USS Missouri in ballet flats and a skirt. However, I do get to climb all over the ship and see some pretty nifty things. By the time we get back to our rental car my hair looks like it's been through a blender. Head down to the beach at night, and walk into the shallows. Trip myself in a deep spot and do a header into the ocean. Decide to say forget it and take a late night swim in my clothes.~Wednesday: It rains, and rains, and rains. We drive up to a cultural center. There are so many hot Polynesian guys there I think I've died and gone to heaven. At one point I am grabbed by one tall, dark and shirtless guy and pressed up against his chest for a photo op for one of the many roaming photographers. I melt. Best. Birthday gift. Ever.~Thursday: I have conned my parents into going on a two-hour horseback ride with me. Yes, I do ride; something most people do not know about me. I also go fishing; something else I prefer to keep quiet-it ruins my high maintenance image, you see. The staff taking us all on the ride asks if any of us are experienced. I raise my hand, and they pull a horse for me and have me mount up. The girl walks beside me as I head out. "This is (insert unpronounceable Hawaiian name here). He's a biter and he's a little stubborn, so we don't give him to new riders." Excellent. I have the sociopath horse. About fifteen minutes in he reaches back to nip me. I grab his headstall and pull his head around to look at me. We have a brief discussion. He gives me no more trouble and we two antisocial mammals get along just fine.~Friday: We relax all day, it's a wonderful change of pace. ~Saturday: Long flight back to California.~Sunday: 3:23 AM I lose my shit completely because I have been awake for over 20 hours and can't sleep. I shove all the useless pillows and blankets off my bed, go into the bathroom and get a towel to wad up under my head. I finally sleep. Wake up four hours later to catch the flight to go home. Get home. Write blog. Upload pictures.

California Dreamin'

I miss San Francisco. I miss Chinatown, I miss Powell Street, I miss buying roasted chestnuts from a street vendor during Christmastime. I miss the two story Williams-Sonoma. I miss the man on the street corner shouting 'Jesus saves', I miss wandering those uneven streets, peering in the windows of art galleries and antique shops. I miss skyscrapers and ocean air and trolleys and wandering the piers laughing at the tourists. I miss taking a bay cruise out under the Golden Gate and looking up into the gray sky above, listening to seabirds scream.Even though this is my second house since northern California, sometimes homesickness will hit me so hard I can't even breathe. I want to go back. I've wanted to go back since the day I left. Is it possible for home to be a place you only lived a short time?

Abercrombie+Hollister=Hell no.

He tapped me on the shoulder after class today. I turned around, and looked up at him. He was a good 6 feet tall, a complete prepster with his blonde hair, blue eyes, tan, and straight, white smile. He was also the same guy I had listened to approximately an hour earlier saying, “Dude, bro, I got so fucked up last night, and I got this blonde chick to come home with me, but then I passed out.” Ah yes, frat boy in the making.He grabbed my forearm and put my hand in his, shaking it hard. I immediately jerked away-anyone who knows me was wincing reading the ‘grabbed my forearm’ part. I have a very simple rule. If I do not know you, do not touch me. I leap onto/tackle/give big hugs to my friends when I see them. Strangers, however, are more likely to get their wrist broken.“Hi, I’m _____. How about we do a little studyin’ sometime?” He winked and grinned at me here.I dodged another attempted grab. “I don’t think so.”“How about a drink sometime?”“I don’t drink.”“Really?”“Yes.”“Well how about we-““No.”“But-““No.”As I walked away I heard, “Dude, bro, what a bitch. She doesn’t drink. Does that mean she’s like, Mormon or something?”I wish I was lying. Someone needs to impose a quality control screening around me for potential dates. Here’s what I’ve had so far since moving back to Arizona:A nineteen year old potential stalker, who finally went away after I ignored his calls, messages, and texts for three weeks.A guy who appeared to be nice, but then proceeded to go over the nuances of blow jobs with me over dinner.A guy who had never smoked a cigarette, done a drug, or broken any law in his life, and was absolutely astounded that I have tattoos. This one refused to call me back for a week, so of course I obsessed over him for the week he didn’t call. But then I realized how damn boring he was on date number two.Three different ex boyfriends who have decided they want to get back together.Slim pickin’s my friends. Slim like Nicole Richie before she got knocked up.

Try, try again.

I have an awful tendency to rescue things. Lizards, birds, humans... the most recent thing was a pair of baby crows. They're just old enough to be losing their baby feathers, so they look like they have mange. When I caught them, I held them with my bare hands, my parents looking on in distaste. "You shouldn't touch them".I put them together in a cheap birdcage with a towel, food, and water in the bottom; the bigger one was well enough to fly today. The smaller made an attempt and crash-landed. I picked him up again, petting his feathers, whispering, 'We'll try again tomorrow'.

Ohhh.... damn.

So I... went on a bit of a book buying binge before my Hawaii trip. I am now in possession of 6 new books and one new magazine. I bought:~"First Person Plural"-an autobiography of living with Multiple Personality Disorder~"Lord John and the Private Matter"-I NEEDED a romance novel. Shut up.~"Keep The River to Your Right"-Some idiot decided to go live with a cannibalistic tribe in the Peruvian jungle and then wrote about it.~"Damage Control"-A series of essays by women on the reasons why they do the different beauty rituals they do, and what those things mean to them.~"Icarus Girl"-Novel about a girl having issues fitting in in America, so she's sent to live with family in Nigeria... supposedly involves a lot of Nigerian mythology.~National Geographic's latest edition. It involves the Maya, therefore I want to read it.~"Barbie Chronicles"-again a series of women's essays, this time on their love/hate/apathetic relationship to Barbie. I've gotten really into essay compilations ever since my ex bought me a copy of "Consider the Lobster" (along with something shiny from Tiffany's) for Christmas back in '05.It's funny; with all my books, with my damn near addiction to them, rarely does a boyfriend or friend buy me books. My ex-fiancee bought me "The Things They Carried", Jeff bought me the book mentioned above, but beyond that, unless it's my parents or my Jennie, no one buys me books.Yesterday there was an exception. My biological father extended an olive branch in the form of a sushi dinner and three large coffee-table books full of glossy photos of San Francisco. Apparently he really does follow my blog. My first time seeing him in about five years, and he brought me picture books of my beloved city... If I did stupid sentimental things like cry, I think I would have yesterday when I opened that package.