Laguna Beach (Mis)adventure.

Some cool stuff has happend lately, I consider even the "bad" stuff to be cool in a way because it's better than being bored. I just got back from a three-day vacation to Laguna Beach with my parents. It was for their 25th anniversary, but they wanted me to come too because I guess they love me or something :) My boyfriend David stayed at our house while we were gone to keep the dogs company. I wanted to invite him too, but our dogs get depressed when they're alone for too long, and we would've had to get a bigger hotel room and bla bla bla. We stayed in a beautiful place called the Aliso Creek Inn. By the name, you might have gathered that it was near a creek, and you would be right. Our hotel room was just across from the creek which wound through bright green hills. It felt remote even though it was a two minute drive to the busy Pacific Coast Highway.

Our room was more like a cabin.

Laguna Beach was a cool place because the town was crowded along the coastline, and the hills beyond it were mostly preserved in their natural state because it's protected land.

It's about an hour and a half drive from my house, which is not bad in my opinion. But, for reasons which I will explain later, we had to make the roundtrip drive twice in the span of three days.

The first day we went shopping, and didn't buy anything- miracle of miracles!

I thought this was a cool looking building, across from the place where they have the Festival of the Masters (a festival where people build sets and pose to look like famous works or art). On the hill next to it was a tiny light-house looking thing. If anybody thinks they know what the hell that was for, please enlighten me.

This is where we ate lunch on the first day.

On the second day, we ate a delicious breakfast at a place called the Greeter. Then looked at a few shops and went for a short walk on the beach.

These pictures of my parents illustrate how much like a little boy my Dad is. I told my parents to pose and pretend like they love eachother. He hates cheesy shit like that.

I like this picture of a guy walking a pitbull and a Yorkshire terrior. Which one do you think belongs to his girlfriend?

We went to a nature center and hiked through the mountains and along a beautiful lake.

In the last picture, you can see a lot jet-trails scarring the sky. It was a reminder that even though we were in the wild, civilization wasn't far away. Plus you could hear the freeway.

I took these pictures as an old couple passed us on the trail, and my parents kept walking. It was like looking into the future.

In the middle of this pic is a California quail sitting on a post.

It was only 12:00 or 1PM after our hike- sometimes I don't even wake up until that late, but I wasn't tired because we were doing fun stuff. I feel sorry for my Dad, though, because there was some sort of confusion at his work and people kept calling him. He also wanted to play golf and ride his bike, but the course was closed, and when he'd gone out to ride in the morning, it was freezing cold, so he had to cut it short. He was stuck with us. :) My mom and I wanted to go to a modern art museum, and he grudginly came along. It was hillarious because the first thing we saw when we went into the museum was a photo of two guys wrestling, naked. Ah, the arts...

After the museum, we walked along the coast some more.

In the last pic are some girls on the beach taking a picture of a message they wrote in the sand that says "Happy B-day Yutis" (I think that's what it says, I've never heard that name before). I dunno why, but I like the idea of taking picture of people taking a picture, and them not knowing about it. It's the same kind of acceptable spying as Facebook and Myspace. Don't worry, I'm not into actual spying- that's disgusting.

This was a weird sculpture. What do you thnk it looks like? My mom says a flamingo, and David thinks it looks like a fairy-comet falling to the earth.. :)

I was tired when we got back to our hotel, but I resisted the urge to nap and practiced my guitar instead. After that we went to the pool, the water was cold but it felt good. My dad and I played ping-pong by the pool until both balls rolled away under a fence. I read a book called Mexican Whiteboy- I'll explain the significance of that later. We went out to dinner at an Italian restaurant, where the waiter was a muscular, somewhat intimadating man who spoke with an accent. The restaurant had a fireplace in the middle where they baked. We had something I'd never heard of before, I think it was called Timboli, which was pasta and vegetables baked into a flaky crust. It was some of the best Italian food I've ever had. That was another cool thing about Laguna beach- everywhere we ate was good.

This was a creepy building across from the restaurant. I think it's mysterious.

Back at the hotel at about 10:00 PM, my mom and I were reading. She wanted to go to bed soon, but I wasn't feeling that tired. My phone rang, and I figured it was David. I was right, and could tell by his voice that something was wrong. He told me he'd lost his keys at work, and our house-key was on them. Oh shit. He said he'd looked everywhere and asked everyone in the store if they'd seen them, but no luck. Usually my friend Kristin who lives down the street has an extra key, but a few months earlier I'd taken them and not given them back. It was because my parents were asleep in the back bedroom and David and I rang the doorbell and called their cellphones and the house phone, but no answer. I left messages on their cellphones, but not the house phone. My mom said I should have left one on the house phone because she would have heard the answering machine. The reason why I didn't have a house-key was because I didn't bring one because my mom and I had gone out together to see Shutter Island, and I figured we'd come home together, so I wouldn't need it. We met David at the theater, and after the movie I went mini-golfing with him. When my parents didn't answer, we went to Kristin's house to get the key, and I never remembered to give it back. So all this trouble came from one stupid decision not to bring my keys.

My mom and I thought about calling a locksmith to open the door, but we figured they probably wouldn't open it without us there. The dogs had been inside since David left for work at 4:45 PM, and we didn't want them to go to the bathroom in the house- especailly since the girl, Mojo is old. Plus they needed to be fed in the morning. We decided it would be best if we drove home to open the house ourselves. I wasn't that tired anyway. I wasn't that bothered by the situation because I'd had a good day, and lately I've realized that a lot of bad things become funny in time. Bad or good, it's all experience, which makes you a more mature and unique human being.

My mom and I felt really bad for David, though. None of us were mad at him, especially not me, because I've done similar things- like forget the tickets to a concert. It was annoying, but not as bad as it could have been- at least we were somewhere where we could drive home in less than 2 hours. It actually only took an hour and 20 minutes because there wasn't much traffic.

In the morning, we drove back to Laguna because my Dad was still there and we still wanted to spend more time there. But when we got there, it was drizzling and a lot of the shops were closed. I didn't mind because it was beautiful and we ate another awesome breakfast at the Greeter, and I slept on the way home.

Sometimes I dream fables.

It's probably not true, but it felt like I had awaken from my dream. As I felt myself falling back asleep, my heart suddenly surged with blood and started beating like a rabbit's. It felt like a small heart-attack, and I was sure that had I fallen asleep, my heart would have stopped beating completely. But I convinced myself that I was being stupid, my breathing slowed and I closed my eyes. It happened three more times before my tiredness overwhelmed my fear of dying. Then I started to dream- or continued, I'm still not sure if what came before was real or not. I dreamed that I could remember when I was a baby in the womb, when I was a zygote, when I was a soul without a body. I searched for a new body, and as I was born I forgot who I had been.

I dreamed that I was Loki, the Norse god of mischief and curiosity. I found a human body to live in, but people still knew me and hated me. I tried to be good, but my nature always resulted in pain for myself and others.

Drifting between space and time, completely alone, I knew that whatever I did I would always drive away anyone who loved me. The best I could do was to try to forget who I was, at least for a while. I suddenly found myself in a boat. It was so small that it was difficult not to fall out. The water that surrounded me was so blue and bright that it seemed to emit light, rather than reflect it. It was beautiful, but I feared the monsters that I was sure waited for me beneath the waves. Other people in boats sailed by, close enough for me to talk to, but their anwers were always short and they passed quickly. They rowed from all directions toward the same island, almost perfectly round and covered with dense vegetation. Flat land was high above the water level, there was no way to climb up the sides because they were too steep. Other people threw ropes with hooks until they caught on the rocks and they were able to pull themselves up. One person let the hook fall back into the ocean, and it was bitten by a giant fish with spikes all over its body. The fish thrashed around as it was pulled up, but when it reached the top and was unhooked, it turned into a fawn and jumped away. Everyone else did the same when they reached the top, and soon the island was covered with deer and sheep that sprang and bleated happily as if to say "Thank you!" I didn't have a rope, so I called out for help. Nobody would help me because they didn't trust me, so I grabbed on to someone else's rope and fought them until they fell into the ocean and were devoured by a fish. When I got to the top I dropped my hook into the water and pulled out a fish. It didn't turn into a deer when it reached the top, but thrashed and bit and gasped for air. It swiped at me with its spiked tail and fell back into the ocean, taking me with it.

The magic car key is fickle.

Nothing went smoothly last Tuesday. I was supposed to be at school at 11:30 for my environmental science final. My car's been making horrible squealing noises when driving slowly, so I didn't want to risk driving it to school. My mom said I could take her car and she would take my dad's truck (my dad had driven to work in his other car). I was running late, so I grabbed the keys off the table and drove my mom's station wagon to school. After I parked on the street, I realized that I'd parked a bit far from the curb. It was ten minutes to 11:30, but I didn't want to get a ticket, so I got back in the car so I could move it. When I tried to put the keys in again, they didn't fit. I struggled with them for a minute before I looked at them closely. Why does her Saturn key have a Dodge logo on it? I realized that it was the key to my dad's truck! Somehow it had worked to get me to school, but they wouldn't work again. I called my mom on my cellphone and said, "I don't know how I got here- it's a miracle, I'm at school and I used Dad's car key to drive your car." She was as amazed as I was, and pissed off because she had to be at a meeting at 12:30. We figured out a way to swap keys, I left Dad's key under the mat, and left the driver's door unlocked. She called our friend Kristin who lives a block away. Just one week earlier, Kristin had come to the rescue when it was storming like a bitch, I had a meeting with my teacher, and my car wouldn't start. I'm so grateful to her. Anyway, Kristin drove my mom to her meeting and they switched the key under the mat with the correct one. I speed-walked to my class, where the final was supposed to start in five minutes. When I got to my class, out of breath and cramping, I was one of only three people there. Needless to say, we were all confused. One of the guys tried to call the teacher, but he didn't answer. We sat there for an hour, thinking the final might have been rescheduled for the normal class time an hour later. We quizzed each other, but it was hard to focus when we were worrying about what the hell was going on. Sometimes they have finals in different rooms than usual, but I've never experienced that. It seemed unlikely, anyway, because the usual room was clearly available. I talked to the other guys and asked if they were late to class last Thursday. They were, and I must have been too, though I don't remember. If the teacher had made an announcement that the final was rescheduled, it must have been in the first five minutes of class Thursday, because Tuesday, the plans were still the same. So, I went home, and just as I walked in the door, I got a message on my phone from one of the guys who had been in the class. He said that the teacher had changed the final to Thursday. Fucking lame that he hadn't written it on the board or repeated the announcement at the end of class. Oh well, at least I had more time to study.

Is it ok to be a bitch sometimes?

If my boyfriend David's sister hadn't been in the girl's bathroom, I wouldn't have had to use his, and I wouldn't have thrown trash on his floor. Yeah, that sounds crazy, and it is, but I'll explain myself. The fact that I'm posting this and subjecting myself to possible insults, should tell you that I do feel guilty. But I want to know if you think what I did is justifiable under any circumstances.

I was at David's house for band practice with our friend Luke (yes, we're in a band, but we're not that good yet). It wasn't a very productive practice for me because I had a headache before we even started. I wanted to leave early, but I have a policy of working through whatever is blocking your creativity. Maybe I should have left early. It didn't seem like it at the time, but I probably wasn't in the most stable of moods because of what happened yesterday. I'll tell in my next blog what happened.

Anyway, it was a good practice for David and Luke because they both wrote some new stuff. So did I, but I wasn't very satisfied with it. After practice we went into the house (we had been practicing in the garage). I needed to go to the bathroom, but somebody was in the girls' one, so I decided to go in the one next to David's room. His room was in the usual state of chaos, but I ignored it and walked through it. When I opened the bathroom door, the first thing I noticed was the pile of hair sprinkled around the edge of his inadequate trashcan. Either the mountain of trash had caused the hair to roll off onto the floor, or he had just let it fall where it may- as if being in the vicinity of the trashcan was good enough. It disgusted me, but I averted my eyes because I didn't want to get mad- it had never done any good to complain to him about his messes before. Then I noticed a collection of shampoo and body wash bottles on the floor of his shower. Really?, I thought, He needs that much? I picked one up, and not surprisingly, it was empty. A flash of anger was ignited in my chest. Is it really that much of a hassle to throw those bottles in the recycling in the kitchen? I know it's on the other side of the house, but he could throw it away when he's getting something to eat- which I know he does, because he's alive. I tried to suppress my anger, and reached for the toilet paper. As I grabbed it, the whole roll fell into the trashcan. When I picked it up, there were some ants on it who had been eating out of the trash. The level of laziness appalled me- he really thinks it's too much trouble to take the old roll off of the thing and put a new one on? He'd rather rest the new one on top. I noticed a daddy-long-leg spider in the corner, with a pile of dessicated ants on the floor below it. The trashcan was alive with ants. My boyfriend's bathroom has it's own fucking ecosystem.

We've been together for four years, we've talked about moving in together. There's no way I'd put up with even half the level of squalor he creates. It frustrated me that I've told him so many times how much his room disgusts me. He says it bothers him too, but apparently not enough to maintain his bathroom up to the standards of an outhouse. I was tempted to take the trash and throw it on the floor in his room. If the current state it was in didn't bother him, then why should that? I figured it was too mean, so I decided not to. When I opened the door, he was sitting on his bed talking to Luke. I don't know what I expected myself to do, but I picked up the trashcan and asked him, "Do you know what's funny?" An overwhelming impulse made me dump the ant-covered contents of the trashcan onto the floor. "I can't even tell the difference," I said to him. He was shocked and obviously angry. Luke looked sort of uncomfortable, but it's hard to tell with him. David didn't say anything.

After that, I didn't know what to do. I just walked out of the room, said goodbye, and went home. I talked to his mom on the way out the door. He'll probably tell his mom what I did. She'll probably think I'm a bitch, which I am. Today, at least. About a year into our relationship, we told each other what bothered us the most. He told me he hated my outbursts and meanness, and I told him I hated his room. I hardly ever loose my temper like that anymore, but he hasn't made much progress with keeping his room clean. It seems fair to get angry, but I still feel guilty. There must be some way to convince him how important it is to me that he clean up after himself, but I can't think of one at the moment.

My disappearing grandma. This will probably piss you off.

My grandma called my mom yesterday, asking when she was going to come pick her up for dinner. She couldn't remember that she was supposed to eat dinner at the nursing home, or even that she lived in a nursing home. That was the first time she forgot where she lives- where she lives is about the only thing she could still remember; and now that's fading too. A few days before that we had some family over, my grandma among them. I don't think she knew who anybody was. She asked my dad who he was, and couldn't believe that my mom had been married 24 years. At one point, I think she even forgot my mom was her daughter. She couldn't remember what my uncle is- a doctor- something she's never failed to brag about. She can't remember the most important things in her life. I doubt she's happy. How could she be? But maybe her memory-loss is also a good thing for her. She can't remember that she's outlived her siblings, her husband's siblings- and even her husband. I don't know if she remembers my grandpa, she never mentions him anymore.

When someone asks my mom how my grandma is doing, and she says "Not that bad," I have to wonder what her idea of bad is. True, it could be worse. She could not remember how to feed herself, or she could be violent towards people who try to help her. But those seem like feeble things to be thankful for. If anything, I'd say it would be better to be completely out of it, rather than be aware enough to know that you can't remember anything.

It probably makes me a bad person, but I haven't liked my grandma for a long time. She was always forgetful, and seemingly unaware of what effects her actions had on others. She gave backhanded compliments like, "You look good, you used to be so fat before." I don't know if she realized that what she was saying was offensive or not. My friend Ondrea in elementary school used to talk about the fun things she did with her grandparents. I felt cheated because my mom's dad died when I was ten, and my grandma didn't feel like a grandma. I love my dad's parents, but I didn't see them much, and they always seemed a little detached. Especially my grandpa. They seemed to have the attitude that showing affection was embarrassing. When they did show affection, it seemed almost sarcastic; like, "I 'love' you."

Because my grandma (on my mom's side) forgot so much, even when I was little, it was hard to form a relationship with her. When I was a teenager, she couldn't remember anything new about me. She couldn't remember that I played guitar or that I was a vegetarian, so she couldn't remember what was most important to me at that point in my life. It felt like we were no more than casual acquaintances, without a deeper connection. How could I love somebody who I wasn't sure even know I existed?

I know it's fucked up, and it probably makes me sound like a cold-hearted bitch, but I think she'd be better of dead. What is the definition of death anyway? To cease to exist? She barely exists. As far as she knows, she has no past, future, or present. I would rather be dead than exist in such a state and be a burden on my family. I know it's not my grandma's fault, but I hate that my mom has to see her mother go through this. As much as it hurts me to be forgotten, it must hurt her even more.

Castle Dance Umbrella and the pace of Michael Jackson

That was a headline I read on a Finnish website translated by Google. Clearly computer translators have yet to make their human counterparts obsolete. At least it gives you something to think about... Like "What the fuck does that mean?"

Bull Twit(ter)

MySpace used to be the only social networking site that I could stomach- they were the only ones who didn't promote "updates" about your every passing mood, thoughts, and actions. If you want to say something that is only one or two sentances long, it's probably not worth broadcasting to all your friends. I used to like how Myspace's format allowed you to read other people's bulletins- things people deemed worthy enough to announce to all their friends. Sure, a lot of people didn't have good judgement when it came to what was important, but at least you could choose whether or not you were interested in reading it or not. With their new format, Myspace is more like Facebook and Twitter. As soon as you log on- front and center is a prompt saying "What are you doing right now?" Shouldn't the answer be obvious? I'm online- I'm not doing anything. But there is an empty box just waiting for your anwer. Before, you had to make the concious decision to post a bulletin or a blog, but now the computer assumes you have something to say. There is less self-editing and censorship of thoughts, the box is waiting for your answer; Your friends are not. There is a reason why I don't have a Twitter- because I don't CARE! If you have enough time on your hands to post updates on everything you do, then you probably aren't interesting enough to deserve that privilage. People used to worry about Big Brother watching our every move, but now we want the world to know our every move. Ok, I'll admit that's an exaggeration- we still have the choice not to say what we're doing. But with an empty box staring you in the face, with an insatiable hunger for your words- it's hard to deny it.