Monday, February 28

mail time

dear old korean man,
Why would you push me out of the way when I was clearly holding the bus door open so other people could get off first? I mean, it was raining. Not kind. Not kind at all. Take note. Old men are supposed to be gentlemen.

dear kinkos lady with pink streaks in your hair,
Although I thoroughly detest the business you work for but am forced to frequent it, you made my unfortunate trip much better by recognizing my honesty and not charging me for the paper upgrade. Thanks for saving me four dollars.

dear boy on the bus yesterday afternoon,
Trim your nails. Gross.

dear roomie,
Thanks for texting me last week to get my girl scout cookie order in advance. I am now in thin mint bliss.

dear evil condescending research professor,
You need a boyfriend. Or a puppy. Maybe a plant to nurture. Although I'm sure you'd end up making them all miserable. Much like you make my Tuesday evenings from six to nine.

dear upstairs neighbor,
Thank you for providing hours of entertainment with your drunkenness last Friday. I am still laughing.

dear space heater,
I love you.

dear homeless man,
If you were really hungry like you said you were then you would've taken the crackers I offered. Right?

dear big tissue paper flower balls hanging from my ceiling,
You make every day party day.

dear Christian the hot window washer,
The windows at work have water spots from all this rain. Please come wash them. Please. Preferably during a customer draught.

dear living room rug,
It would be lovely if you would vacuum yourself. Thanks.

dear people in general,
chill out.

dear fish I got for my birthday,
I'm trying my best to make your living situation comfortable. Please don't die on me.

dear self,
THIS is not helping you get your paper written. Stop. Stop now. Funny how you can think of lots to blog about when you shouldn't be blogging....

homework has its upsides

Like discovering super cool design websites.

Check it.

By the way, one of my classes has a blog on here that we had to upload our research assignment to last week. Unfortunately, it just so happens to be on the same dashboard as this blog, and I almost posted this blog's stuff on that blog. Whoopsey daisies!

Close one.

music for your Monday


I always sing in stores with stuffed animals atop my head. Don't you?

Right now I'm avoiding writing a paper. So I'm watching Blogotheque, drinking hot chocolate and painting my nails hot pink. And now every time I glance down at my nails I think they're bleeding. My fingernails just aren't used to nail polish darker than ballet slippers.

Monday, February 21

je veux

Fresh flowers. In a vase. In my apartment. Immediately.

Today I was walking home from a study session in a creperie (bad idea for someone who is easily distracted) when I saw (okay, I heard it first) a guy with a ukelele singing oh oo bee doo, I wanna be like you-oo-oo, I wanna walk like you, talk like you, too-oo-oo.

And on top of the sheer awesomeness of hearing Jungle Book on a uke? A super adorable couple dancing to it.

Quite possible one of my favorite seen and heard moments living in the city.

image taken in Paris, 2008.

music for your Monday

Amazing album. If you don't have it, get it. Now.

It's made many a bus ride more bearable.

In particular last Saturday when the bus driver missed the 19th Avenue freeway exit and it took an extra twenty minutes to get home.

Thursday, February 17

My favorite month.

February is my favorite
moonth becus it is my
Borthbay on February 17.
And I git presits and
cake. Ya to day is my
Bothday. Yoo Yoo Yoo Yoo
Ya Ya.

Nicely said, first grade Courtney. Nicely said.

Yoo yoo yoo yoo ya ya.

Monday, February 14

never have I been so happy to be at school

If yesterday was any indication of what today would be like, then it is most likely crazy busy at work right now. Because apparently getting cupcakes for your other is the thing to do. As of last night? Our little cupcake shop had forty six deliveries lined up for today, the dreaded V-day.

Now don't get me wrong, I don't dread it for the singledomness I seem to be doomed to (by the way, I have 3 days left to find a husband*). I've disliked Valentines day for the past eight years because unfortunately, I also happen to be doomed to work in the service industry. You know, I'm really looking forward to the day when Valentines Day isn't the craziest day of the year. That would be kinda nice, I'd welcome it openly, commercialism and all. I would never turn down flowers.

Well, maybe carnations.
Not a fan.

What am I saying? I'd still take 'em.

I haven't heard from my valentine yet... Dad. I guess mom gets priority.

mom and dad, before mom had to share her valentine

I did, however, see the boy that I would like to be my valentine in the bookstore about an hour ago. But seeing as I am wearing the same shirt as yesterday and I have major bags under my eyes from late night homework sessions, I did the "oh please don't see me please don't see me" scream in my head.

It worked.

Happy Valentines Day everybody! May it be filled with lovely mushy sentiments.

*I think that deserves a whole post.

Monday, February 7

music for your Monday

How about a little Sam for your Monday?

If you can't handle all of the soulful backstory in the beginning, then go ahead and cheat, the song really picks up at 2:45.

Sunday, February 6

and I am now officially the apartment creeper

When I stepped off the bus after my Friday shift there was a beautiful sunset with this amazing light beautifying spots that normally look hideous. So naturally I run to my apartment to grab my camera.

I kinda got the shot I was looking for and decided to head to the rooftop of my apartment to take some more photos of the gorgeous light. I climbed up the fire escape, past my upstairs neighbors' bedroom and hallway windows, to the roof where I proceeded to get some decent shots.

This is where things begin to get awkward.

So I'm climbing back down the ladder, and I notice two of the guy's bedroom windows that hug the fire escape have their lights on. I think to myself oh geez, I so do not want to be the apartment creeper, let's take this nice and easy and not make any noise.

Easy enough, right?

No. Not easy enough.

In my attempt to be quiet, I accidentally kick over the barbeque grill that they have strategically placed on the fire escape (obviously to catch creepers with). A not so quiet noise springs forth.

I pause to make sure no one heard me, only to look in Jason's bedroom window to see him looking at me with this look of what the hell are you doing. A legitimate look to have plastered on his face.

Because I'm sure I looked totally normal standing in their fire escape surrounded by all of their windows with a fatty camera slung around my neck.

And as I begin to explain that I was up on the roof taking photos of the sunset, Ryder walks by the hallway window, does a double take, then opens the window to ask me what the hell are you doing? With a camera? By our windows? Thankfully it is said with laughter following it.

I try explaining. Again.


Then Andrew walks by the hallway window (Andrew who I've kissed on a few occasions), with his supposedly EX-GIRLFRIEND (that likes to visit it seems at least once a month, hmm... EX-girlfriend seems a little less ex and a little more girlfriend) and the whole vicious awkward cycle begins again.

So take note, my friends. If you plan to take photos on your roof, then you should plan to conceal your camera on the way back down the fire escape, plan to step wisely off of that last rung on the ladder, and plan to not eternalize yourself as the apartment creeper.

On another note, later that night I face planted on someone's lawn because I was in such a hurry to catch the last bus of the night that I completely failed to notice the concrete curb.

And then tonight I got yelled at by the bus driver for bringing my open can of Red Stripe on the bus.

This has been a very classy last thirty-some-odd hours.

Wednesday, February 2


I had a lovely little awkward conversation with my dad this past weekend.

He was joking about this younger guy at work whose daughter just had a baby and about how he likes to go around the office calling this younger guy "grandpa."

To this I reply
well you don't have to worry about being called that anytime soon. Or maybe ever.

Insert my awkward laugh.
And my dad's raised eyebrows.
Which means I need to explain further.

So I tell him that I used the bob and weave move on the last two guys that tried to kiss me (usage of the words last two guys in front of kiss made the eyebrows go even further from the brow bone).

You see. My dad and I don't talk about these things. Boys. Kissing. Mainly because there's never been much to say before. There's not much to say now. But enough for me to realize (a bit too late) that this is not something I would like to discuss with my father. Ever again.

Unfortunately, I kept going.

I told him details.
What. Was. I. Thinking.

About how one of them was a friend of a friend at a New Years Party. About how when he leaned in I freaked out and ducked.

About how I thought the other one was funny and reminded me of my brother, so that's why I kept talking to him. About how I didn't realize me sticking around and talking to him made it seem like I was interested in anything more than a conversation. About how I bobbed and weaved. Twice. Because he didn't figure it out the first time.

I did, however, conveniently leave out the fact that I was at a bar, he was the bartender, and he was a little scary for a few seconds when he kept asking why I wouldn't kiss him. I told him it was because I like to move slow. But in all honestly, who wants to kiss a smoker who looks and acts just like her brother?! (I later admitted to him that he reminded me of my brother and kissing him would just be wrong. He accepted that answer much better than the first, saying well I wouldn't want to kiss someone that reminded me of my brother either, that would just be wrong!)

So I left out the good stuff but I gave enough details to make me regret bringing it up.

And after all this do you know what my dad told me?
Well you're never going to get a boyfriend if you keep bobbing and weaving.

Thanks Dad. Thanks.