I sat alone on my little balcony, atop all that is the second floor of my apartment complex. Views as far as the eye can see. And frankly, all I see is the pool and courtyard enclosed within the rectangular layout of the buildings. The morning is slightly crisp, but tolerable in one's pajamas and flip flops, with the burly help of my boyfriend's heavy winter jacket. Still, my feet are freezing and lacking blood flow. It's been a thing.
After distractedly glancing through a few pages of my book, I sheepishly placed my bookmark between pages 10 and 11 and stared at the bird shit on the cement floor of my small outdoor oasis. My mother would be pleased. It was common superstition among the Chinese culture that bird droppings are a sign of wealth and fortune to come. Being raised with superstitions is a form of brainwashing. No matter how much I deny its function and validity in my world, I always seem to live by them. My unit number doesn't add up to 4. The kitchen sink and stove don't face each other, as to have you swiveling back and forth when cooking. Our unit isn't at the end of a hallway and our front door doesn't face west. Despite the recent trends of adorning a bedroom wall with a large mirror, we've left that out altogether as to avoid having a mirror face our bed. And of course, thanks to my upbringing, clouded by the dos and don'ts of questionable things, I find myself slightly optimistic when I come across bird shit on my car windshield or, in this case, my balcony floor.
The whoosh of traffic from the 65 highway is nonstop, but distant enough to qualify itself as unofficial white noise. I don't mind it. I say "highway" nowadays instead of "freeway", hoping to open myself up to the idea of making Nashville more of a home now that I'm no longer in Southern California. But secretly, like any woman adjusting to a new relationship, I cannot help but compare.
Nashville's residential bubble bursted recently, shortly after I moved here less than a year ago. At its peak, the poor small town city took in roughly 125 transplants a day. Gentrification and Instagram-ready culture took to the streets. Fast food franchises have no room to live downtown. In with tapas dining, breweries with Facebook events, and whatever it is that white people do with food belonging to other cultures. Occasionally, one might stumble across an authentic gem sandwiched between hair salons and tax businesses. Everyone is new in town, starry-eyed and hopeful to make friends, find love, and do something with their lives. I came here reluctantly.
I slip my feet out from the flip flops and tuck them under me in my chair. It was sprinkling. I didn't notice at first because it came so timidly - soft, tiny droplets all perfectly spaced apart and melting into the ground upon impact. Great timing. Just as I thought I was being too much of a basic bitch curled up on a Sunday morning. Eventually, the big honchos follow the light rain to announce their arrival. I am thunder, hear me roar.
My phone lights up. "I heard there was a shooting at the Waffle House in Tennessee. Hope you're not near there and everything's okay." I take a moment to appreciate my friend before replying.
Showing posts with label sunday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sunday. Show all posts
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Monday, June 10, 2013
THIS WONKY SCHEDULE
 |
| On set working in art department for our production designer. |
Throughout the shoot, I worked on an assignment for Thursday's class. I thank George for taking fifteen minutes to award my MacBook Pro with a free, legitimate version of Final Draft 8. I'm quite the program hog. I'm spoiled. Not like a rotten egg or anything. More like a girl's future when her parents decide to buy her a stupid T-shirt that reads "Spoiled" in glittery cursive. And you ask yourselves why your daughter thought stripping was the only way to earn money to blow on blow...
Well, that escalated quickly. I just kind of took a penny and threw it down the hole to see how deep it is. The penny never hit rock bottom.
Two more classes to go and roughly two more months of this wonky work schedule. These commutes to LA will usually end with horrendous traffic. If you think you can escape its piercing, finely-manicured nails by waiting it out until late at night, you're wrong. One word, two hours: construction.
It's 2 a.m. right now and I was supposed to get up in about 6 hours. But I'm not called in for production tomorrow so I get to do what most girls do on their days off and buy me a set of tires for my car. And so ends my night.
Monday, February 4, 2013
SLEEP, FOOD, AND MOVIES
I am inexplicably indifferent at this moment. I think the educational system has taught me to inadvertently hate Mondays. And I'm pretty sure graduating to a job with "office hours" has also renewed my lifelong sense of disdain for such an unintentionally hated day. Someone had to start the week, and God knows that Sundays are for brunches, dreading Mondays, and...well, God.
My weekend consisted of Riverside. I spent the entire weekend there, hiding from the world with sleep, food, and movies. I didn't do shit, and those were my intentions. I don't even think I made it a point to pretend to be interested in the Super Bowl. What time did it air? I didn't even know who won or lost until I saw a Facebook status update from one of the 9ers, a gentleman who graduated from high school the same year as me. And to that effect, I'm bracing myself for all the sports themed memes and smart aleck statements made in reference to the game that I won't get (nor will I try).
But I digress.
George and I went to eat dinner that Saturday evening. It was an impulsive decision that we both made, sitting in his car in the dead center of the lot near the university. A Denny's loomed behind us. A Del Taco stood feebly next to it, forgotten but still hopeful. A Fat Burger, a Flame Broiler. A pho restaurant. A pizza joint. Various cutesy boba places scattered in between the larger chains. "Where do you want to eat?" I asked, as we both simultaneous turned our heads in completely different directions, searching.
"Uhhhh," he trailed off and continues to peer over my shoulder as I did the same to him, still looking for a place to dine. "There's Marines. But I know you don't like Marines."
My head turned to follow the direction of his gaze behind me. In plain sight, I saw a closed business with nothing but the illuminated sign that read "Marines." We both bursted into laughter as I lightly shoved him. "Oh, Jesus."
My ex-boyfriend used to be a Marine.
We ended up walking into Sushiya. You know, some derivative form of a sushi restaurant. A greater portion of the menu turned out to be half off. In between bites of cut rolls and hand rolls, we both started talking about this strange recurring idea I've had in my mind for quite some time now. I remember mentioning it to my friend, Roberto, but in between our stages of intoxication. He wouldn't recall. It was just had something to do with an alternate reality, but a bit more complex and specific. I worry sometimes that I will believe it to be true, and eventually go crazy.
If I haven't already.
I watched Wall-E later that night and fell asleep on George's shoulder during the fact. I thought I played it off pretty well, because I responded in my normal voice when he checked to see if I was awake. While all the fat people were hovering through a community-wide transit area and Wall-E knocked a fat man named John from his hover seat, I dozed off once more. I woke up right when the ending credits started up, only to calmly ask George, "Don't you just like the credits? I like how they showed the advancement of mankind...while the people gradually lose weight, the style of art changes progressively." He agreed and I smiled to myself, extremely proud for sleeping through it without being caught.
But I guess he already knew I was asleep. He told me this as he escorted me down from my proud moment. Dang it.
The next morning, I watched 2001: A Space Odyssey for the first time ever. As the first scene began, I mentally groaned at sight of the apes, sitting there and picking frivolously at scattered plants in the ground. This is the whole movie, isn't it? Please prove me wrong, movie. I sat up and covered myself in a red blanket, hoping for a change of pace.
The pace didn't exactly change.
I did, however, find it cryptic and thought-provoking. "Will you tell me what the fuck happened, starting from when he landed on Jupiter?"
"Well...I'll try," George answered. I knew what kind of film it was as soon as he told me he'll "try".
I liked it. Although I probably missed both the philosophical and allegorical interpretations because I was too busy trying to figure out what the movie was about, I did pull a few things from it. I immediately went to look up and see what exactly Stanley Kubrick had in mind when he was making this film, only to discover (to my delight) that he encouraged an open interpretation of the film, and didn't completely offer a complete explanation of the meaning behind it. So, this leads me to three options: (1) watch the movie again, (2) read the book that Sir Arthur C. Clarke had written in conjunction with the film during its creation, or (3) have an open discussion with people who have seen it. I don't intend on finding an "answer", but it was kind of adorable finding the different homages that Wall-E made in honor of the film. In 2001: A Space Odyssey, the space crew worked with EVA probes, while in Wall-E, the Extraterrestrial Vegetation Evaluator ("EVE") had her name mispronounced by Wall-E, who innocently annunciates it as "EVA". Because Wall-E is a Pixar film, and Pixar rarely creates without purpose, I would like to say that this was tribute was fit into the movie so well. And although 2001: A Space Odyssey and Wall-E have different points to prove, they both have a deeper messages to uncover. I think I would still like to listen to other interpretations of it before I begin to formulate my own.
It's strange to see what I have to say about things nowadays. I used to have a Dalmatians diary when I was younger, equipped with a set of rainbow colored washable markers. I'd write things like, "Today was a good day. I ate a sandwich and Mommy told me I had to sleep early but I don't want to." I was OCD, so I'd alternate colors in rainbow order. As difficult as it was to read, I still utilized the yellow marker regardless. It was so hard filling a page up back then. As you flip through the pages, you'll notice that I began to grow lazier, with my handwriting in a rushed slant as I noted, "Today was okay. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Well, bye!"
I think that's my weekend and thoughts in a very large nutshell. Like, if it were actually in a nutshell, it'd be big enough to fit me and a blanket in. I know I don't make much sense.
Well, bye.
My weekend consisted of Riverside. I spent the entire weekend there, hiding from the world with sleep, food, and movies. I didn't do shit, and those were my intentions. I don't even think I made it a point to pretend to be interested in the Super Bowl. What time did it air? I didn't even know who won or lost until I saw a Facebook status update from one of the 9ers, a gentleman who graduated from high school the same year as me. And to that effect, I'm bracing myself for all the sports themed memes and smart aleck statements made in reference to the game that I won't get (nor will I try).
But I digress.
George and I went to eat dinner that Saturday evening. It was an impulsive decision that we both made, sitting in his car in the dead center of the lot near the university. A Denny's loomed behind us. A Del Taco stood feebly next to it, forgotten but still hopeful. A Fat Burger, a Flame Broiler. A pho restaurant. A pizza joint. Various cutesy boba places scattered in between the larger chains. "Where do you want to eat?" I asked, as we both simultaneous turned our heads in completely different directions, searching.
"Uhhhh," he trailed off and continues to peer over my shoulder as I did the same to him, still looking for a place to dine. "There's Marines. But I know you don't like Marines."
My head turned to follow the direction of his gaze behind me. In plain sight, I saw a closed business with nothing but the illuminated sign that read "Marines." We both bursted into laughter as I lightly shoved him. "Oh, Jesus."
My ex-boyfriend used to be a Marine.
We ended up walking into Sushiya. You know, some derivative form of a sushi restaurant. A greater portion of the menu turned out to be half off. In between bites of cut rolls and hand rolls, we both started talking about this strange recurring idea I've had in my mind for quite some time now. I remember mentioning it to my friend, Roberto, but in between our stages of intoxication. He wouldn't recall. It was just had something to do with an alternate reality, but a bit more complex and specific. I worry sometimes that I will believe it to be true, and eventually go crazy.
If I haven't already.
I watched Wall-E later that night and fell asleep on George's shoulder during the fact. I thought I played it off pretty well, because I responded in my normal voice when he checked to see if I was awake. While all the fat people were hovering through a community-wide transit area and Wall-E knocked a fat man named John from his hover seat, I dozed off once more. I woke up right when the ending credits started up, only to calmly ask George, "Don't you just like the credits? I like how they showed the advancement of mankind...while the people gradually lose weight, the style of art changes progressively." He agreed and I smiled to myself, extremely proud for sleeping through it without being caught.
But I guess he already knew I was asleep. He told me this as he escorted me down from my proud moment. Dang it.
The next morning, I watched 2001: A Space Odyssey for the first time ever. As the first scene began, I mentally groaned at sight of the apes, sitting there and picking frivolously at scattered plants in the ground. This is the whole movie, isn't it? Please prove me wrong, movie. I sat up and covered myself in a red blanket, hoping for a change of pace.
The pace didn't exactly change.
I did, however, find it cryptic and thought-provoking. "Will you tell me what the fuck happened, starting from when he landed on Jupiter?"
"Well...I'll try," George answered. I knew what kind of film it was as soon as he told me he'll "try".
I liked it. Although I probably missed both the philosophical and allegorical interpretations because I was too busy trying to figure out what the movie was about, I did pull a few things from it. I immediately went to look up and see what exactly Stanley Kubrick had in mind when he was making this film, only to discover (to my delight) that he encouraged an open interpretation of the film, and didn't completely offer a complete explanation of the meaning behind it. So, this leads me to three options: (1) watch the movie again, (2) read the book that Sir Arthur C. Clarke had written in conjunction with the film during its creation, or (3) have an open discussion with people who have seen it. I don't intend on finding an "answer", but it was kind of adorable finding the different homages that Wall-E made in honor of the film. In 2001: A Space Odyssey, the space crew worked with EVA probes, while in Wall-E, the Extraterrestrial Vegetation Evaluator ("EVE") had her name mispronounced by Wall-E, who innocently annunciates it as "EVA". Because Wall-E is a Pixar film, and Pixar rarely creates without purpose, I would like to say that this was tribute was fit into the movie so well. And although 2001: A Space Odyssey and Wall-E have different points to prove, they both have a deeper messages to uncover. I think I would still like to listen to other interpretations of it before I begin to formulate my own.
It's strange to see what I have to say about things nowadays. I used to have a Dalmatians diary when I was younger, equipped with a set of rainbow colored washable markers. I'd write things like, "Today was a good day. I ate a sandwich and Mommy told me I had to sleep early but I don't want to." I was OCD, so I'd alternate colors in rainbow order. As difficult as it was to read, I still utilized the yellow marker regardless. It was so hard filling a page up back then. As you flip through the pages, you'll notice that I began to grow lazier, with my handwriting in a rushed slant as I noted, "Today was okay. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Well, bye!"
I think that's my weekend and thoughts in a very large nutshell. Like, if it were actually in a nutshell, it'd be big enough to fit me and a blanket in. I know I don't make much sense.
Well, bye.
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