Holla,
There are certain events in everyone's life that are so monumental, so hard to believe, so foreign from our everyday experience that they seem to take on a feeling of fantasy. It can often feel like we are recounting a dream when attempting to recreate these experiences within our memory. There seems to be a glossy hue surrounding the exact details, often making the event difficult to describe to others or even to yourself after it has occurred.
These experiences takes on different sizes and shapes for each person that experiences them. It could be a monumental point of your life, such as your wedding day, or the birth of a child, or your first kiss. But it could be something small and simple at the same time, like the first time you saw the ocean, or scored a goal, or tried a dipped cone from Dairy Queen. It's difficult to put the exact emotions from these events into words, and you're often left with a goofy grin on your face as you attempt to do so.
Last week, I experienced a few of these goofy-grin moments while hosting a friend that was in town. The biggest of which was sitting on the edge of a plane's open cabin door, looking at the vista of Southern California 10,000 feet below my dangling feet. There was a brief moment that I sat there, with a large man named Eric strapped to my back, while watching my friend falling below me, that I said to myself, "What the F have you gotten yourself into?"
I had consciously made the decision to skydive weeks earlier. I made reservations, paid the fee, and didn't think much about what was about to transpire, until I was walking along, fully strapped into my jumping gear, toward a small plane on the tarmac.
There had been small outbursts of nervousness and trepidation prior to this moment, but nothing in comparison to the emotions that started to reign down upon me as we left the ground. My friend, myself, and two jump instructors were sitting in a tiny cabin, watching the runway grow smaller below us, while the cabin door was wide open. Less than a foot away from my left foot, I watched San Diego progressively decrease in size.
I attempted to disguise the boiling emotions of my insides from the rest of the passengers. I laughed at the jokes of the jump instructors, attempted to engage in conversations, and think of anything other than certain death, however, these attempts ultimately proved unsuccessful. My friend could clearly see the nerves that my stonewalled face was expressing, and quickly pointed this fact out to everyone else in the plane. Surprisingly, discussing my fears did nothing to quell these emotions, and I quietly contemplated throwing up.
After circling over the coastline and heading back inland, we began preparing to make the jump. Eric, my instructor, told me to get on his lap, so that he could strap himself to me. The effect of sitting on another man's lap, although not something that I would enjoy doing regularly, did provide some amount of distraction from the upcoming events.
Which brings me back to sitting on the edge of the plane again. Soon after getting strapped in, we had shuffled from our corner of the plane toward the open doorway, after watching the other instructor and my friend disappear from the cabin moments earlier.
Thankfully Eric didn't give me much time to think about the situation that I was in. Before I could back out, or request a countdown, or even wet my pants, he said, "Let's go!" and we began falling through the atmosphere.
After tumbling a few times, seeing the plane above me in one of my mind's snapshots, and then the quickly approaching ground in the next, we flattened out to a standard free falling position. Arms extended, I could see the mountains of San Diego to the east, and the ocean extending out to the horizon in the west. I saw my friend in full superman pose well below me, a small speck in the air, set-off from the scene of the Tijuana slums that extended into the south. I heard myself yelling, and involuntarily cussing at the top of my lungs, before realizing that I was doing so. I looked at the brown fields that were spinning below me, and before I could envision death by impact, the man on my back told me to cross my arms, and he pulled the shoot.
We had fallen from 10,000 feet to 4,000 feet in the manner of 45 seconds. A full mile in the air, accomplished in less than a minute. I had experienced a multitude of emotions; fear, exhilaration, joy, certain death, the need to pee myself, among others, in a minimal time period.
I was soon landing on the ground, getting unconnected from Eric, and not knowing exactly what to do next. I ended up running around in a dirty field in a couple of circles and then finding my friend to discuss what had just happened. I knew that it was an amazing experience, but my mind had just been overloaded, and I couldn't fully comprehend the moment at that time.
I still don't think that I can. It still seems like a hazy dream, even after spending an hour writing about it. It is an experience that I will carry with me for the rest of my life, but one that still doesn't seem quite real. Trying to explain the emotions and the experience to my friends and family over the past week was a difficult affair. I don't think that I ever effectively orated everything that was going through my mind while falling through the air. Hopefully, this blog post will provide a little better of an idea of what it was like.
More to come...
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
As Promised
Holla,
I didn't expect it to take this long, but I finally have some photographic evidence from my rendevous to the the Midwest. Enjoy!
Truman
Mr. Party Lion, partying with a well mustached Lampi
Full Tigger outfit, found at a garage sale, and later worn by our starting pitcher for our afternoon games.
A friend, dressed as the Gingerbread Man for the Truman parade. Maybe my favorite picture of the entire trip. He was hit by a truck soon after this picture. Of course, it was only traveling at 5 mph, but it was funny all the same.
Princess Fiona being attacked by Captain Jack Sparrow. She looked so beautiful, I can understand why she would be targeted by such a bloodthirsty pirate.
The emergence of Beltran. So beautiful, yet so dangerous.
Milwaukee
Turning our attention to the union of Pooch and Courtney now, we can see the appearance of Guy Sampson's long lost cousin, the Packer superfan himself, Ronald Sampson!
Ronald Sampson, later making it rain, with a collection of napkins, on the dancefloor.
Beltran's back! With high kicks and a new haircut. Nice dye job, Beltran.
A blurry picture of The Wetsuit. He was quite elusive throughout the night, consumed with avoiding Land Shark attacks and encouraging beer drinking.
A collective group of friends, singing the Ghostbuster's theme song at the post-reception Karoake session.
There are many more pictures that I could post and caption throughout the day, however they would only be amusing to myself. A personal appearance by Beltran or Ronald Sampson could be arranged for a hefty fee. Please post a comment to this post in order to express interest.
-More to come...
I didn't expect it to take this long, but I finally have some photographic evidence from my rendevous to the the Midwest. Enjoy!
Truman
Mr. Party Lion, partying with a well mustached Lampi
Full Tigger outfit, found at a garage sale, and later worn by our starting pitcher for our afternoon games.
A friend, dressed as the Gingerbread Man for the Truman parade. Maybe my favorite picture of the entire trip. He was hit by a truck soon after this picture. Of course, it was only traveling at 5 mph, but it was funny all the same.
Princess Fiona being attacked by Captain Jack Sparrow. She looked so beautiful, I can understand why she would be targeted by such a bloodthirsty pirate.
The emergence of Beltran. So beautiful, yet so dangerous.
Milwaukee
Turning our attention to the union of Pooch and Courtney now, we can see the appearance of Guy Sampson's long lost cousin, the Packer superfan himself, Ronald Sampson!
Ronald Sampson, later making it rain, with a collection of napkins, on the dancefloor.
Beltran's back! With high kicks and a new haircut. Nice dye job, Beltran.
A blurry picture of The Wetsuit. He was quite elusive throughout the night, consumed with avoiding Land Shark attacks and encouraging beer drinking.
A collective group of friends, singing the Ghostbuster's theme song at the post-reception Karoake session.
There are many more pictures that I could post and caption throughout the day, however they would only be amusing to myself. A personal appearance by Beltran or Ronald Sampson could be arranged for a hefty fee. Please post a comment to this post in order to express interest.
-More to come...
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Midwest Love Affair
Holla,
Although I have taken nearly a month off, I am actively returning to the blogging game. I have no excuses. Only a schedule that was somewhat busy, along with some extensive laziness. However, after taking a bit of a vacation, I am throwing myself back into the glamorous, and profitable, world of on-line writing.
Over the past week and a half, I have been touring the upper mid-west, from Minneapolis to Truman to Milwaukee and back again. It was the first time I had been back to the homeland since Christmas vacation, and it sufficiently tugged at my heartstrings. From family to friends to dance parties, I was reminded of what life was like in the mid-west.
Below, I will provide a brief recap of the events that occurred in the short time period that I was traveling throughout God's country:
Truman
Truman is Mecca for my friends and I. It is a small town in southwestern Minnesota, that holds a town fair each summer. There are yard sales, parades, softball games, and a street dance. It encompasses everything that is good, and bad, about small town America. Truman Days inspired me to write a book, provides a venue to reconnect with friends, and allows for me to express myself through ridiculous outfits, all while dancing in the streets of the fair city.
I woke up on Saturday morning on the floor on my friends house, cuddling with a stuffed lion that we had previously retrieved from a street corner in Truman. It is affectionately named "Party Lion" and travels everywhere with us throughout the weekend. Party Lion even has a Facebook page. Seriously.
Party Lion and I, rocking out
After cheering on the 5K runners in the morning, with Party Lion in tow, I threw on my softball uniform to start my day. Several hours, and beers, later, I was wearing a Princess Fiona outfit (from Shrek fame) while walking in the Truman Days parade. To complete my day, I was transformed into a ninja master, known as Beltran, while wearing a karate gi, short red shorts, a wig, and a red mask. Three outfit changes may seem excessive, however, in the heat of Truman Days, this is commonplace. Expected even.
Although I felt like my internal organs were headed to failure by Sunday night, Truman Days provided a wonderful reminder of the potential that a Minnesota summer weekend can possess. Instead of splashing in the waves of the Pacific Ocean, I was sitting on a dusty softball diamond, surrounded by cornfields and heavy midwestern accents. And it was amazing.
Milwaukee
I headed to Milwaukee on Thursday of last week, after spending a couple of days in the confines of my parent's house in Apple Valley. My friends were gathering, yet again, outside of the city to celebrate the union of a couple of our college friends. I had been asked to be the dj/host of the wedding reception and had another outfit change in the works.
After the wedding, we rushed back to the hotel to set up for the reception. I introduced the wedding party to the sweet, sweet music of Jock Jams' "Let's Get Ready to Rumble", and proceeded to drink heavily. At one point in the night, while I was dressed in full "Packer fan formal wear" (green and gold Zubaz, tuxedo shirt with cutoff sleeves, bow tie, drinking glove, green headband, and mullet wig), I looked around the dance floor to fully capture the essence of the evening. Here is a brief list of what I saw:
-The return of master ninja Beltran, as interpreted by another friend.
-The men of the wedding party, removing their tuxedo shirts, and only wearing their vests and bowties.
-A plethora of reception attendees sporting freshly drawn Sharpie mustaches.
-A friend wearing a wetsuit, poring beer over his outfit into the waiting mouths of other party-goers.
-Several people on the floor of the reception hall, either performing a dance known as "The Stanky Leg" or simply slipping on the beer that had missed the mouths of the wetsuit-drinkers.
At the conclusion of the wedding reception, the majority of the crowd entered into the hotel, to find that the bar within was hosting a karaoke night. The other patrons of the bar had no idea what to make of the scene that unfolded. A relaxed karaoke night turned into pure dancing madness. A bride was dancing with a man in a wetsuit, a ninja was singing Elton John, and a collection of 15 guys attacked the stage when the Ghostbuster's theme song was played. By the end of the night, the bartenders had run out of shot glasses, and we had scared the majority of the other attendees out of the bar.
Not yet satisfied, we moved the party into one of our rooms. Drinking games began and Sharpie mustaches continued to be drawn (including a fabulous pirate 'stache on the mother of the groom). After an hour or so, people slowly began to head back to their beds, ending an amazing wedding reception.
However, a select group of warriors continued to press onward. The reception was being held in a hotel at the base of a small ski hill, and there had already been discussion of climbing to the summit earlier in the day. At the end of the afterbar, an expedition to the "mountain" seemed only appropriate.
And so the wetsuit, Beltran, current roommate, former roommate, and myself headed to conquer the daunting peak. We marched through thigh high grass and weeds, encountered thorns and brambles, experienced some levels of doubt and frustration, and made it to the top after approximately twenty minutes. It may have been one of the proudest moments of my life.
After the excursion, we headed to the pool to wash off the dirt from our travels. While in the indoor pool, we crafted a synchronized swimming routine to tell the story of the mountain climb and all of the hardships that we had experienced. While putting the final touches on our water dance, a couple of security guards entered the pool area to inform us that we had to leave. The pool did not open until 6:30 in the morning, and, at 5:20, we were violating the rules. We consented to their request, but not before asking whether we could tell them the story of our night....through expressive dance.
After performing for the security guards, we headed back to our room, showered, and fell asleep, thus concluding the quest we had taken. From church halls to the top of a mountain, we had celebrated the only way we know how.
The two consecutive weekends were packed with the usual madness that accompanies the collective strength of my friends. Each of us attempts to outdo the other with something more ridiculous every time that we are together. It was a wonderful break from the day to day affairs of my life in the unemployment line. I wasn't concerned with work shifts or grocery shopping. All I was worried about was packing as much fun into a two week period as I possibly could.
And to that end, I think I succeeded.
-More to come...
*Editor Note: More pictures will be added as they become available.
Although I have taken nearly a month off, I am actively returning to the blogging game. I have no excuses. Only a schedule that was somewhat busy, along with some extensive laziness. However, after taking a bit of a vacation, I am throwing myself back into the glamorous, and profitable, world of on-line writing.
Over the past week and a half, I have been touring the upper mid-west, from Minneapolis to Truman to Milwaukee and back again. It was the first time I had been back to the homeland since Christmas vacation, and it sufficiently tugged at my heartstrings. From family to friends to dance parties, I was reminded of what life was like in the mid-west.
Below, I will provide a brief recap of the events that occurred in the short time period that I was traveling throughout God's country:
Truman
Truman is Mecca for my friends and I. It is a small town in southwestern Minnesota, that holds a town fair each summer. There are yard sales, parades, softball games, and a street dance. It encompasses everything that is good, and bad, about small town America. Truman Days inspired me to write a book, provides a venue to reconnect with friends, and allows for me to express myself through ridiculous outfits, all while dancing in the streets of the fair city.
I woke up on Saturday morning on the floor on my friends house, cuddling with a stuffed lion that we had previously retrieved from a street corner in Truman. It is affectionately named "Party Lion" and travels everywhere with us throughout the weekend. Party Lion even has a Facebook page. Seriously.
Party Lion and I, rocking out
After cheering on the 5K runners in the morning, with Party Lion in tow, I threw on my softball uniform to start my day. Several hours, and beers, later, I was wearing a Princess Fiona outfit (from Shrek fame) while walking in the Truman Days parade. To complete my day, I was transformed into a ninja master, known as Beltran, while wearing a karate gi, short red shorts, a wig, and a red mask. Three outfit changes may seem excessive, however, in the heat of Truman Days, this is commonplace. Expected even.
Although I felt like my internal organs were headed to failure by Sunday night, Truman Days provided a wonderful reminder of the potential that a Minnesota summer weekend can possess. Instead of splashing in the waves of the Pacific Ocean, I was sitting on a dusty softball diamond, surrounded by cornfields and heavy midwestern accents. And it was amazing.
Milwaukee
I headed to Milwaukee on Thursday of last week, after spending a couple of days in the confines of my parent's house in Apple Valley. My friends were gathering, yet again, outside of the city to celebrate the union of a couple of our college friends. I had been asked to be the dj/host of the wedding reception and had another outfit change in the works.
After the wedding, we rushed back to the hotel to set up for the reception. I introduced the wedding party to the sweet, sweet music of Jock Jams' "Let's Get Ready to Rumble", and proceeded to drink heavily. At one point in the night, while I was dressed in full "Packer fan formal wear" (green and gold Zubaz, tuxedo shirt with cutoff sleeves, bow tie, drinking glove, green headband, and mullet wig), I looked around the dance floor to fully capture the essence of the evening. Here is a brief list of what I saw:
-The return of master ninja Beltran, as interpreted by another friend.
-The men of the wedding party, removing their tuxedo shirts, and only wearing their vests and bowties.
-A plethora of reception attendees sporting freshly drawn Sharpie mustaches.
-A friend wearing a wetsuit, poring beer over his outfit into the waiting mouths of other party-goers.
-Several people on the floor of the reception hall, either performing a dance known as "The Stanky Leg" or simply slipping on the beer that had missed the mouths of the wetsuit-drinkers.
At the conclusion of the wedding reception, the majority of the crowd entered into the hotel, to find that the bar within was hosting a karaoke night. The other patrons of the bar had no idea what to make of the scene that unfolded. A relaxed karaoke night turned into pure dancing madness. A bride was dancing with a man in a wetsuit, a ninja was singing Elton John, and a collection of 15 guys attacked the stage when the Ghostbuster's theme song was played. By the end of the night, the bartenders had run out of shot glasses, and we had scared the majority of the other attendees out of the bar.
Not yet satisfied, we moved the party into one of our rooms. Drinking games began and Sharpie mustaches continued to be drawn (including a fabulous pirate 'stache on the mother of the groom). After an hour or so, people slowly began to head back to their beds, ending an amazing wedding reception.
However, a select group of warriors continued to press onward. The reception was being held in a hotel at the base of a small ski hill, and there had already been discussion of climbing to the summit earlier in the day. At the end of the afterbar, an expedition to the "mountain" seemed only appropriate.
And so the wetsuit, Beltran, current roommate, former roommate, and myself headed to conquer the daunting peak. We marched through thigh high grass and weeds, encountered thorns and brambles, experienced some levels of doubt and frustration, and made it to the top after approximately twenty minutes. It may have been one of the proudest moments of my life.
After the excursion, we headed to the pool to wash off the dirt from our travels. While in the indoor pool, we crafted a synchronized swimming routine to tell the story of the mountain climb and all of the hardships that we had experienced. While putting the final touches on our water dance, a couple of security guards entered the pool area to inform us that we had to leave. The pool did not open until 6:30 in the morning, and, at 5:20, we were violating the rules. We consented to their request, but not before asking whether we could tell them the story of our night....through expressive dance.
After performing for the security guards, we headed back to our room, showered, and fell asleep, thus concluding the quest we had taken. From church halls to the top of a mountain, we had celebrated the only way we know how.
The two consecutive weekends were packed with the usual madness that accompanies the collective strength of my friends. Each of us attempts to outdo the other with something more ridiculous every time that we are together. It was a wonderful break from the day to day affairs of my life in the unemployment line. I wasn't concerned with work shifts or grocery shopping. All I was worried about was packing as much fun into a two week period as I possibly could.
And to that end, I think I succeeded.
-More to come...
*Editor Note: More pictures will be added as they become available.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Complications
Holla,
As I wrote in a previous post, my roommate Nick and I have made the decision to move from the hood to the beach in lovely San Diego. This transition was supposed to take place this week, in order to be fully acclimated for a weekend full of pirate costumes and crawling between bars. However, as the week has progressed, we've experienced a number of issues that are causing the entire moving process to become considerably more complicated.
First and foremost among the complications is the timely disappearance of our new landlord. After dealing with a faceless company over the last few years, Nick and I were looking forward to dealing with a single owner. We thought that it would lead to a more personal touch in apartment management, with small issues being more easily addressed than with our current landlords. If, for instance, a crazy person sprayed a fire extinguisher into one of our bedroom windows, we could turn to a landlord that had more of a vested interest in the issue.
I will refer to our new landlord as Howard, which is, coincidentally, his actual name. We also have taken to calling him "How How" or "The Strauss!" when we have become particularly agitated in the last couple of days. When we initially toured the apartment, Howard was there to show us around the complex. He said that he was planning to do some additional maintenance work in a couple of areas, and that the apartment was open for us any time after the 1st of July.
Nick returned from the glorious state of Minnesota on the 6th, and we quickly made plans to have everything moved in on Friday the 10th. We reserved a moving truck, started packing boxes, and called the cable company for an appointment. We called Howard to let him know about the move, and to set up a time to get the keys and do a final inspection of the apartment.
The first call was on Monday afternoon. On Tuesday evening, I made another call. And again on Wednesday. Nick called on Wednesday as well. Each time, we received a pleasant voicemail from Mrs. Strauss, but could not manage to reach a live person. For the first time, I began to understand my grandmother's annoyance with answering machines. I wanted to start saying things like, "If you're there, pick up the phone... I'll stay on the line.... No? Are you there?!? I know you're there!!!"
By the second call on Wednesday, Nick and I decided to drive by the apartment, just to see if Howard happened to be there. We loaded up our cars with boxes and arrived just as the sun started to dip below the horizon. We didn't find How How, but we did discover that the apartment door was unlocked. There was a copy of the key in one of the kitchen drawers, and we decided to unload our first shipment into the living room.
Ignoring the flea-ridden cat that was darting in and out of the front door (not a great sign, by the way) we finished bringing in the last of the boxes just as the last light of the day disappeared. In the time between agreeing to rent the apartment and Wednesday evening, a period of approximately three weeks, The Strauss!!! had failed to notify the electric company of his upcoming tenants. While the water was functioning, the electricity was not, further increasing the annoyance factor for both Nick and I.
In addition, the improvements that How How had discussed with us while first touring the apartment had not been performed. The broken light and exposed wiring in the kitchen still existed, the quarter's counter had a broken tile that was being held together with Scotch tape, there was a crack in the siding on one of the family room walls, and the beetle that had greeted Nick in his new bedroom was still hanging around. All in all, we were not pleased with was waiting for us, or not waiting for us (in Howard's case), in our new residence.
We woke up on Thursday, called Howard once again, and realized that we were going to have to make some tough decisions. We had a truck reserved to move the rest of our apartment, as well as an appointment with the cable installation company, for mid-morning on Friday. Although we had managed to discover the key a day earlier, life in the apartment was going to be difficult without functioning lights and outlets.
We concluded that switching over the electricity must have been a responsibility bestowed upon us by Howard, even though it had never explicitly been stated. Nick made a call to San Diego Gas & Electric, finding that they would not be able to provide any service until Tuesday of the following week. Even though we were legally entitled to be in the apartment from the 1st of July, due to Howard's disappearance, it would not be livable for 14 days into the month.
The Strauss!!!!!!
Sorry for the moment of frustration. Reading over the situation in print caused me to yell his name out loud, and in the text, concurrently.
Facing an absent landlord, Nick and I were forced to push the moving truck back to next Monday, the electricity for Tuesday, and the cable/internet for Wednesday. Hopefully, by that time, How How will have gotten back to one of us.
I must admit that throughout the week, I've had some fleeting thoughts of being subject to a well executed scam. Maybe Howard was just hanging around the apartment, waiting for some unsuspecting idiots to inquire about its availability. He could have easily created a rental agreement and requested a damage deposit and first month's rent prior to the idiot's move-in date. Then he, and Mrs. Strauss, could have taken our cash down to Old Mexico to live like royalty for a couple of months. I keep telling myself that these are stupid thoughts to have, but with each passing day, they are growing stronger and stronger.
Stranger things have happened since moving to Southern California. That's all I'm saying.
-More to come...
As I wrote in a previous post, my roommate Nick and I have made the decision to move from the hood to the beach in lovely San Diego. This transition was supposed to take place this week, in order to be fully acclimated for a weekend full of pirate costumes and crawling between bars. However, as the week has progressed, we've experienced a number of issues that are causing the entire moving process to become considerably more complicated.
First and foremost among the complications is the timely disappearance of our new landlord. After dealing with a faceless company over the last few years, Nick and I were looking forward to dealing with a single owner. We thought that it would lead to a more personal touch in apartment management, with small issues being more easily addressed than with our current landlords. If, for instance, a crazy person sprayed a fire extinguisher into one of our bedroom windows, we could turn to a landlord that had more of a vested interest in the issue.
I will refer to our new landlord as Howard, which is, coincidentally, his actual name. We also have taken to calling him "How How" or "The Strauss!" when we have become particularly agitated in the last couple of days. When we initially toured the apartment, Howard was there to show us around the complex. He said that he was planning to do some additional maintenance work in a couple of areas, and that the apartment was open for us any time after the 1st of July.
Nick returned from the glorious state of Minnesota on the 6th, and we quickly made plans to have everything moved in on Friday the 10th. We reserved a moving truck, started packing boxes, and called the cable company for an appointment. We called Howard to let him know about the move, and to set up a time to get the keys and do a final inspection of the apartment.
The first call was on Monday afternoon. On Tuesday evening, I made another call. And again on Wednesday. Nick called on Wednesday as well. Each time, we received a pleasant voicemail from Mrs. Strauss, but could not manage to reach a live person. For the first time, I began to understand my grandmother's annoyance with answering machines. I wanted to start saying things like, "If you're there, pick up the phone... I'll stay on the line.... No? Are you there?!? I know you're there!!!"
By the second call on Wednesday, Nick and I decided to drive by the apartment, just to see if Howard happened to be there. We loaded up our cars with boxes and arrived just as the sun started to dip below the horizon. We didn't find How How, but we did discover that the apartment door was unlocked. There was a copy of the key in one of the kitchen drawers, and we decided to unload our first shipment into the living room.
Ignoring the flea-ridden cat that was darting in and out of the front door (not a great sign, by the way) we finished bringing in the last of the boxes just as the last light of the day disappeared. In the time between agreeing to rent the apartment and Wednesday evening, a period of approximately three weeks, The Strauss!!! had failed to notify the electric company of his upcoming tenants. While the water was functioning, the electricity was not, further increasing the annoyance factor for both Nick and I.
In addition, the improvements that How How had discussed with us while first touring the apartment had not been performed. The broken light and exposed wiring in the kitchen still existed, the quarter's counter had a broken tile that was being held together with Scotch tape, there was a crack in the siding on one of the family room walls, and the beetle that had greeted Nick in his new bedroom was still hanging around. All in all, we were not pleased with was waiting for us, or not waiting for us (in Howard's case), in our new residence.
We woke up on Thursday, called Howard once again, and realized that we were going to have to make some tough decisions. We had a truck reserved to move the rest of our apartment, as well as an appointment with the cable installation company, for mid-morning on Friday. Although we had managed to discover the key a day earlier, life in the apartment was going to be difficult without functioning lights and outlets.
We concluded that switching over the electricity must have been a responsibility bestowed upon us by Howard, even though it had never explicitly been stated. Nick made a call to San Diego Gas & Electric, finding that they would not be able to provide any service until Tuesday of the following week. Even though we were legally entitled to be in the apartment from the 1st of July, due to Howard's disappearance, it would not be livable for 14 days into the month.
The Strauss!!!!!!
Sorry for the moment of frustration. Reading over the situation in print caused me to yell his name out loud, and in the text, concurrently.
Facing an absent landlord, Nick and I were forced to push the moving truck back to next Monday, the electricity for Tuesday, and the cable/internet for Wednesday. Hopefully, by that time, How How will have gotten back to one of us.
I must admit that throughout the week, I've had some fleeting thoughts of being subject to a well executed scam. Maybe Howard was just hanging around the apartment, waiting for some unsuspecting idiots to inquire about its availability. He could have easily created a rental agreement and requested a damage deposit and first month's rent prior to the idiot's move-in date. Then he, and Mrs. Strauss, could have taken our cash down to Old Mexico to live like royalty for a couple of months. I keep telling myself that these are stupid thoughts to have, but with each passing day, they are growing stronger and stronger.
Stranger things have happened since moving to Southern California. That's all I'm saying.
-More to come...
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Mysterious Ways
Holla,
During each evening that I have off from work, around 10 pm, I start having visions of Twix bars dancing around my head, softly whispering sweet mentions of caramel and cookie centers. As hard as I try, I am powerless to resist its urges, often leading to late night visits to the local gas station to fulfill my sugar-laden cravings.
Last night, as I rounded the corner of the AM/PM parking lot, I was greeted by a string of profanity-laced insults that were infused with enough anger and venom to make me stop in my tracks. I looked around the filling locations, noticing that all eyes were turned to a black Cadillac that was sitting in front of the gas station entrance. Within the vehicle, a woman was tearing into the person sitting in the passenger seat, who was blocked from my view as I approached the front doors.
Here are a couple of snippets from their constructive conversation (swear words have been abbreviated).
-"I hate looking at your f-ing face! It makes me want to f-ing throw up every time I f-ing see it!"
-"I am wasting my f-ing life with you. You are f-ing worthless!"
-"Don't say a f-ing word! I don't want to hear the f-ing sound of your f-ing voice!"
-"F you. F you. F you. F you, you f-ing piece of sh**"
This last one was shot out of the car windows as I rounded the rear bumper of the car and made my way into the store. Just as I was opening the door, I managed to catch a glimpse of the person on the receiving end of the conversation. He looked defeated, downcast, and was slumping as far as possible in the passenger side seat of the Cadillac. With every obsenity, I could see him cowarding a little further within the confines of his chair.
In the gas staition, I wandered through the candy aisles, keeping a close eye on the confrontation. Even through the glass walls, you could hear most of what was being said, which was decidely one-sided at that point. The woman would yell something at the guy, wait for him to open his mouth, and then cut him off with another string of obsenities.
As I approched the counter, the attendant asked whether I knew what was occurring in the car. I replied that I didn't. He said that he was supposed to put a stop to it, but was too scared to interfere at that point. I told him that I thought that this was a good idea, and we continued to watch their interactions as he rang in my Twix bar.
I eventually decided to leave the building and headed back to my apartment. I walked through the parking lot, hearing the woman continue to tear apart the guy, limb from limb. Just as I was turning into the alleyway, I saw a police car approach the Cadillac. Deciding that I needed to see the conclusion to the story, I stopped to watch the police officers pull each of the culprits out of the car.
The man, completely torn apart at this point, calmly put his hands on the hood of the car while one of the officers patted him down. The woman, on the other hand, was still feeling the coursing adrenaline within her veins. She turned her anger from the defeated man, to the officer that was trying to ask her questions.
"Don't f-ing touch me, you f-ing pig! We didn't do anything wrong! There's no reason for you to be here."
To his credit, the officer managed to calm her down for a bit, and started to ask her questions. I was too far away to hear their interactions and nearly turned to go home at this point. Luckily, I stayed just long enough to see the defeated man being handcuffed by the other officer and lead into the back of the squad car.
I believe that the police officers were just trying to seperate the two people in order to hear both sides of the story, but the frantic woman did not see it this way. She immediately transitioned from her relatively calm state, to the overly aggresive level, that she had held as I first approached the gas station. Only this time, instead of trying to melt the defeated man's face with her words, she became apologetic. She couldn't understand why the officers were taking him away, yelling obsenities in their direction. "F**k" was replaced with repeated "I'm sorry"'s in anything that she said to the man. Again, here are some brief snippits:
To police officers: "That's my husband! He didn't do anything wrong you motherf-ers!"
To the defeated man: "I'm sorry baby! This is all my fault. I'm so sorry!"
The officers managed to calm her down once again, probably explaining why they had put her husband in the back of the car. After watching her sob for a few minutes, I decided to head back to my apartment and attempt to recreate the situation to my roommate and on this blog.
Initially I could only laugh about what I had witnessed, chalking it up to life in the hood and interactions between a couple of crazies. However, as I started to really think about it, it seemed less and less extreme. Everyone that has been involved in a relationship has experienced one or two of these moments of insanity loss. There are times, in the heat of an argument, when things are said that a rationale human being would never let come out of their mouth.
But, in a relationship, both parties are a little bit crazy. Maybe not to the point of the couple that I saw last night, but crazy nonetheless. The smallest issues in a relationship can manifest themselves, over time, into a much larger point of contention between two people. Maybe it's the volume at which your partner watches TV, or the seven varieties of ice cream in the freezer, or how they choose to eat chicken wings.
Regardless of the situation, it can, occasionally, lead to an all-out cussfest. While it may seem rationale and justified to you at the time, to an outside party, these type of arguments are located centrally within crazy town. I think the key to any successful relationship is being able to recognize these insanity landmines and being able to apologize for any variety of names or swear words that you may have said during the madness.
I don't think that any relationship is immune to these moments, however, hopefully for most of us, these moments won't result in a large gathering of spectators and eventual police intervention.
-More to come...
During each evening that I have off from work, around 10 pm, I start having visions of Twix bars dancing around my head, softly whispering sweet mentions of caramel and cookie centers. As hard as I try, I am powerless to resist its urges, often leading to late night visits to the local gas station to fulfill my sugar-laden cravings.
Last night, as I rounded the corner of the AM/PM parking lot, I was greeted by a string of profanity-laced insults that were infused with enough anger and venom to make me stop in my tracks. I looked around the filling locations, noticing that all eyes were turned to a black Cadillac that was sitting in front of the gas station entrance. Within the vehicle, a woman was tearing into the person sitting in the passenger seat, who was blocked from my view as I approached the front doors.
Here are a couple of snippets from their constructive conversation (swear words have been abbreviated).
-"I hate looking at your f-ing face! It makes me want to f-ing throw up every time I f-ing see it!"
-"I am wasting my f-ing life with you. You are f-ing worthless!"
-"Don't say a f-ing word! I don't want to hear the f-ing sound of your f-ing voice!"
-"F you. F you. F you. F you, you f-ing piece of sh**"
This last one was shot out of the car windows as I rounded the rear bumper of the car and made my way into the store. Just as I was opening the door, I managed to catch a glimpse of the person on the receiving end of the conversation. He looked defeated, downcast, and was slumping as far as possible in the passenger side seat of the Cadillac. With every obsenity, I could see him cowarding a little further within the confines of his chair.
In the gas staition, I wandered through the candy aisles, keeping a close eye on the confrontation. Even through the glass walls, you could hear most of what was being said, which was decidely one-sided at that point. The woman would yell something at the guy, wait for him to open his mouth, and then cut him off with another string of obsenities.
As I approched the counter, the attendant asked whether I knew what was occurring in the car. I replied that I didn't. He said that he was supposed to put a stop to it, but was too scared to interfere at that point. I told him that I thought that this was a good idea, and we continued to watch their interactions as he rang in my Twix bar.
I eventually decided to leave the building and headed back to my apartment. I walked through the parking lot, hearing the woman continue to tear apart the guy, limb from limb. Just as I was turning into the alleyway, I saw a police car approach the Cadillac. Deciding that I needed to see the conclusion to the story, I stopped to watch the police officers pull each of the culprits out of the car.
The man, completely torn apart at this point, calmly put his hands on the hood of the car while one of the officers patted him down. The woman, on the other hand, was still feeling the coursing adrenaline within her veins. She turned her anger from the defeated man, to the officer that was trying to ask her questions.
"Don't f-ing touch me, you f-ing pig! We didn't do anything wrong! There's no reason for you to be here."
To his credit, the officer managed to calm her down for a bit, and started to ask her questions. I was too far away to hear their interactions and nearly turned to go home at this point. Luckily, I stayed just long enough to see the defeated man being handcuffed by the other officer and lead into the back of the squad car.
I believe that the police officers were just trying to seperate the two people in order to hear both sides of the story, but the frantic woman did not see it this way. She immediately transitioned from her relatively calm state, to the overly aggresive level, that she had held as I first approached the gas station. Only this time, instead of trying to melt the defeated man's face with her words, she became apologetic. She couldn't understand why the officers were taking him away, yelling obsenities in their direction. "F**k" was replaced with repeated "I'm sorry"'s in anything that she said to the man. Again, here are some brief snippits:
To police officers: "That's my husband! He didn't do anything wrong you motherf-ers!"
To the defeated man: "I'm sorry baby! This is all my fault. I'm so sorry!"
The officers managed to calm her down once again, probably explaining why they had put her husband in the back of the car. After watching her sob for a few minutes, I decided to head back to my apartment and attempt to recreate the situation to my roommate and on this blog.
Initially I could only laugh about what I had witnessed, chalking it up to life in the hood and interactions between a couple of crazies. However, as I started to really think about it, it seemed less and less extreme. Everyone that has been involved in a relationship has experienced one or two of these moments of insanity loss. There are times, in the heat of an argument, when things are said that a rationale human being would never let come out of their mouth.
But, in a relationship, both parties are a little bit crazy. Maybe not to the point of the couple that I saw last night, but crazy nonetheless. The smallest issues in a relationship can manifest themselves, over time, into a much larger point of contention between two people. Maybe it's the volume at which your partner watches TV, or the seven varieties of ice cream in the freezer, or how they choose to eat chicken wings.
Regardless of the situation, it can, occasionally, lead to an all-out cussfest. While it may seem rationale and justified to you at the time, to an outside party, these type of arguments are located centrally within crazy town. I think the key to any successful relationship is being able to recognize these insanity landmines and being able to apologize for any variety of names or swear words that you may have said during the madness.
I don't think that any relationship is immune to these moments, however, hopefully for most of us, these moments won't result in a large gathering of spectators and eventual police intervention.
-More to come...
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Being Impulsive
Holla,
Downtime and relaxation are key to my survival. As my family and friends can attest to, I can become a bit of an angry buddy if there's too much on my schedule. It causes me to do crazy things, like disappearing from phone contact for several weeks at a time or quitting my job to pursue a career in unemployment (it's not as profitable as you may think).
Many may (and have) called this "laziness", but I don't think that this is entirely true. I enjoy getting things done throughout the day, and feel good every time I cross something off of my to-do list. The longer the list, the better I feel when I've accomplished each of these tasks. More than anything, if I can complete things in an expedient fashion, allowing myself to fully take advantage of my relaxation schedule, the more victorious I am. That way, when moms calls me lazy for lounging on the couch, I can point to my to-do list, and shove it in her face. Take that Moms!
In the last couple of months, I've found myself needing to dedicate significant time and energy into making some tough decisions. Searching for an apartment, buying a car, deciding on health care coverage, and making travel plans for the summer all made appearances on my daily schedule throughout the spring and summer. For many people, these situations would require significant research and energy, causing certain amounts of frustration and anguish. By the time they make their final decision, they have exhausted all other possibilities and know that they have made the best choice possible for their particular situation.
I, on the other hand, in the name of efficiency, have been taking each of these decisions head on with extremely impulsive, and often error-laden choices. Instead of taking the extra time to feel confident with the end result, I will say "yes" to the first option that comes my way, allowing me to watch an extra episode of "Weeds".
These recent, quick decisions have not worked out exactly according to my master plan. Here is a quick breakdown:
Health Care: I enlisted in the first plan that I found, at the cheapest rate possible. Within a week, I contracted pink eye from a mystery location (I blame the dirtiness of my hood), and found that my health plan didn't cover the prescription or the office visit. After $150, my pink eye was gone, but my unemployed bank account had taken a beating.
Summer Travel Plans: I spent approximately 10 minutes looking for flights home this summer, quickly purchasing moderately priced tickets. I randomly checked the same flight a week later, only to find that it had dropped by $50. Curse you and your convenience Orbitz!
Apartments: I was ready to move into the first apartment that Nick and I visited. There was nothing special about the place, but it was acceptable in my eyes. Thankfully, Nick, and his ridiculous list of qualifications, prevented this from occurring. Otherwise, we would have been stuck with a small, overpriced place that still had Halloween decorations in its side yard.
Car: The biggest error in all of my impulsive decisions was also the most expensive. The car that I purchased was actually the second one that I looked at, only because the first one was a salvage vehicle. It is a Honda Civic that had been dropped a couple of inches, had an air intake valve installed in the engine, and a bubble muffler that caused it to earn the nickname "Vroom Vroom Pow" from my friends. I was only a few neon lights and a set a spinners away from fully converting into a 17 year old Asian. Thankfully, I've had the muffler replaced recently and I am slowly recovering some of my suburban-ness.
Some might think that a moment of self-reflection would hit me after writing about these errors in impulsiveness. I would start completing extensive amounts of research, studying Consumer Reports, and feeling confident in all of my purchases. That would be the smart move, however, I can guarantee that I've learned nothing. I will continue to live on razors edge of informed shopping, and persist in making excuses for my mistakes.
I guess that relaxation, and above all else, tv programs are that much more important to me. Don't judge me, or I'll shove my to-do list in your face.
-More to come...
Downtime and relaxation are key to my survival. As my family and friends can attest to, I can become a bit of an angry buddy if there's too much on my schedule. It causes me to do crazy things, like disappearing from phone contact for several weeks at a time or quitting my job to pursue a career in unemployment (it's not as profitable as you may think).
Many may (and have) called this "laziness", but I don't think that this is entirely true. I enjoy getting things done throughout the day, and feel good every time I cross something off of my to-do list. The longer the list, the better I feel when I've accomplished each of these tasks. More than anything, if I can complete things in an expedient fashion, allowing myself to fully take advantage of my relaxation schedule, the more victorious I am. That way, when moms calls me lazy for lounging on the couch, I can point to my to-do list, and shove it in her face. Take that Moms!
In the last couple of months, I've found myself needing to dedicate significant time and energy into making some tough decisions. Searching for an apartment, buying a car, deciding on health care coverage, and making travel plans for the summer all made appearances on my daily schedule throughout the spring and summer. For many people, these situations would require significant research and energy, causing certain amounts of frustration and anguish. By the time they make their final decision, they have exhausted all other possibilities and know that they have made the best choice possible for their particular situation.
I, on the other hand, in the name of efficiency, have been taking each of these decisions head on with extremely impulsive, and often error-laden choices. Instead of taking the extra time to feel confident with the end result, I will say "yes" to the first option that comes my way, allowing me to watch an extra episode of "Weeds".
These recent, quick decisions have not worked out exactly according to my master plan. Here is a quick breakdown:
Health Care: I enlisted in the first plan that I found, at the cheapest rate possible. Within a week, I contracted pink eye from a mystery location (I blame the dirtiness of my hood), and found that my health plan didn't cover the prescription or the office visit. After $150, my pink eye was gone, but my unemployed bank account had taken a beating.
Summer Travel Plans: I spent approximately 10 minutes looking for flights home this summer, quickly purchasing moderately priced tickets. I randomly checked the same flight a week later, only to find that it had dropped by $50. Curse you and your convenience Orbitz!
Apartments: I was ready to move into the first apartment that Nick and I visited. There was nothing special about the place, but it was acceptable in my eyes. Thankfully, Nick, and his ridiculous list of qualifications, prevented this from occurring. Otherwise, we would have been stuck with a small, overpriced place that still had Halloween decorations in its side yard.
Car: The biggest error in all of my impulsive decisions was also the most expensive. The car that I purchased was actually the second one that I looked at, only because the first one was a salvage vehicle. It is a Honda Civic that had been dropped a couple of inches, had an air intake valve installed in the engine, and a bubble muffler that caused it to earn the nickname "Vroom Vroom Pow" from my friends. I was only a few neon lights and a set a spinners away from fully converting into a 17 year old Asian. Thankfully, I've had the muffler replaced recently and I am slowly recovering some of my suburban-ness.
Some might think that a moment of self-reflection would hit me after writing about these errors in impulsiveness. I would start completing extensive amounts of research, studying Consumer Reports, and feeling confident in all of my purchases. That would be the smart move, however, I can guarantee that I've learned nothing. I will continue to live on razors edge of informed shopping, and persist in making excuses for my mistakes.
I guess that relaxation, and above all else, tv programs are that much more important to me. Don't judge me, or I'll shove my to-do list in your face.
-More to come...
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Moving On...
Holla,
Over the last several months, I've been crafting a top secret plan to move out of the ghetto. Days spent at the beach, Tuesdays at PB Bar and Grill, and the desire to take up permanent residence in the Silver Fox have all played into my strategy. After planting the idea within Nick's (my roommate) mind grapes since March, I've finally managed to convince him that moving from the hood is a good idea. We put in our 30 day notice at our current residence last week, found a place on Monday, and signed our rental agreement today. The best part of my entire plan; Nick thought he had a choice in the whole matter.
No longer will I be able to rub extremely dirty shoulders with the homeless of North Park. I'm leaving behind robberies, shootings, fire extinguishers, and junkies and entering into the world of cheap tequila shots, beach cruisers, drinking games, and college-aged neighbors. Rather than embracing the eclectic nature of uptown San Diego, I'm moving into the epicenter of doucheness and brosephs, also known as Pacific Beach.
With the offerings of bars, restaurants, and the beach, PB is an extremely attractive option for many San Diego residents, which makes it ideal for ridiculously priced rental properties. Nick and I spent three full days touring various locations, seeing every variety of apartment that you could imagine. There was the converted garage that smelled heavily of hippie perfume. The very nice condo, with functioning fireplace, that was located in the alleyway behind the domestic abuse house. The large apartment on the second level of the building that housed the corporate headquarters of a clothing company called Vicious Enterprises. This company offers "a variety of lingerie, costumes, stockings, rhinestone jewelry, and pet accessories." Mmmm classy...
After our extensive search, we managed to find a place that was described as LG/2 BR/2 BA in its ad. It's within our unemployed (or nearly unemployed) price range, has a secret passageway, a nice courtyard area, and a living room counter that is excellent for drinking games. It's closer to being in the Crown Point neighborhood than PB, but it's within a bike ride of the ocean and bars, and a short walk away from a park on Mission Bay. It's nothing extraordinary, but fairly solid at the same time. The neighborhood is really quiet, and there were no visible signs of bums. No rusted shopping carts or used needles anywhere in sight.
As soon as Nick gets back from the blessed land known as Minnesota, we are going to be loading up the moving trucks, singing the Jefferson's theme song, and saying goodbye to El Cajon Boulevard for the last time.
Fair readers, if you ever find yourself in the San Diego area, come visit us at the beach. There are couches, courtyards, and quarters tables waiting to welcome you.
More to come...
Over the last several months, I've been crafting a top secret plan to move out of the ghetto. Days spent at the beach, Tuesdays at PB Bar and Grill, and the desire to take up permanent residence in the Silver Fox have all played into my strategy. After planting the idea within Nick's (my roommate) mind grapes since March, I've finally managed to convince him that moving from the hood is a good idea. We put in our 30 day notice at our current residence last week, found a place on Monday, and signed our rental agreement today. The best part of my entire plan; Nick thought he had a choice in the whole matter.
No longer will I be able to rub extremely dirty shoulders with the homeless of North Park. I'm leaving behind robberies, shootings, fire extinguishers, and junkies and entering into the world of cheap tequila shots, beach cruisers, drinking games, and college-aged neighbors. Rather than embracing the eclectic nature of uptown San Diego, I'm moving into the epicenter of doucheness and brosephs, also known as Pacific Beach.
With the offerings of bars, restaurants, and the beach, PB is an extremely attractive option for many San Diego residents, which makes it ideal for ridiculously priced rental properties. Nick and I spent three full days touring various locations, seeing every variety of apartment that you could imagine. There was the converted garage that smelled heavily of hippie perfume. The very nice condo, with functioning fireplace, that was located in the alleyway behind the domestic abuse house. The large apartment on the second level of the building that housed the corporate headquarters of a clothing company called Vicious Enterprises. This company offers "a variety of lingerie, costumes, stockings, rhinestone jewelry, and pet accessories." Mmmm classy...
After our extensive search, we managed to find a place that was described as LG/2 BR/2 BA in its ad. It's within our unemployed (or nearly unemployed) price range, has a secret passageway, a nice courtyard area, and a living room counter that is excellent for drinking games. It's closer to being in the Crown Point neighborhood than PB, but it's within a bike ride of the ocean and bars, and a short walk away from a park on Mission Bay. It's nothing extraordinary, but fairly solid at the same time. The neighborhood is really quiet, and there were no visible signs of bums. No rusted shopping carts or used needles anywhere in sight.
As soon as Nick gets back from the blessed land known as Minnesota, we are going to be loading up the moving trucks, singing the Jefferson's theme song, and saying goodbye to El Cajon Boulevard for the last time.
Fair readers, if you ever find yourself in the San Diego area, come visit us at the beach. There are couches, courtyards, and quarters tables waiting to welcome you.
More to come...
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