Colored Ink
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miss something? check the archives about me name: n/aaliases: kit (and various iterations thereof) age: 21 location: oakland, ca hobbies: anime, manga, comic books, reading, writing, doodling, video games likes: all of the above, being lazy, mushrooms, animals, food, laughing loudly in public, SUSHI dislikes: nuts, stinging/biting insects, religious fanatics, violence, olives contact: coloredink(at)gmail.com wishlist playstation 2car a good night's sleep money stress-free life trigun long colt keychain hardon-kardon speakers 19" flatscreen monitor world peace realistic wishlist transmetropolitan vol 5-7, 9-10long-term obsessions comicsslash writing music animals life and living current obsession(s) supernaturalhouse m.d. currently reading jonathan strange and mr norrell by susanna clarkecurrently watching smallville (3.4)farscape (1.) stargate: atlantis (1.7) scrubs (2.1) hana yori dango (20) utena (23) witch hunter robin (18) rose of versailles (19) matantei loki ragnarok (15) scrapped princess (14) sailormoon live action (25) supernatural (hiatus) house md (hiatus) |
Monday, June 5, 2006 [link] 08:56 p.m. listening to: "Into the Fire" - Thirteen Senses I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about my abandonment issues. When your mother didn't really want you and the aunt who raised you never really meant to stay and you yearned and fought for your father's approval and he left anyway, you tend to become a little paranoid and acquire a damaged sense of self-worth. I don't consciously think that everyone will leave, but your subconscious can wreak a lot more havoc than you think. The question is, what do you do about this? Do you enter a relationship knowing that the other person is going to leave and just reconcile yourself to that, enjoying what little time you have together? Do you enter a relationship in denial, telling yourself that no, this person surely won't leave you, like all the others have? Or do you just take each day as it comes, living fully in the present, maybe-this-one-will-end-and-maybe-it-won't? Meanwhile, while I've been working through all these issues (and getting over my obsession with academics, because homework is safe and reliable and doesn't leave you), I've turned 21 and still haven't been in a real relationship. I'm terrified of the social dance. I don't know how to act or what to say. Everyone went through this five years ago. Some of my friends are getting married, and I can't even ask a classmate out for a cup of coffee. I feel like a shaking fourteen-year-old boy, trying to get up the courage to ask Sally to the dance. And how can I explain to that person, I'm sorry I'm so awkward and inept, I'm just mildly scarred by my dysfunctional family? I'm trying to get over it, just be patient. Be patient. Sunday, June 4, 2006 [link] 08:20 p.m. listening to: "After Dark" - Blue Oyster Cult I hate cyclists. That's because I am one. I haven't cycled in years, but in high school I used to bike to and from school. I learned a great deal about traffic patterns, reading other drivers, watching for drivers making turns, signalling, looking for signs, etc. In short, it was almost like learning how to drive, only with the added of spice of being actively hated by everyone else on the road. I can see why; there are certainly a lot of bad cyclists out there. They don't wear helmets, they cycle on the wrong side of the street, ignore streelights and stop signs, etc. That doesn't mean all cyclists are scum of the earth, though. Many people cycle for environmental, health, and financial reasons (by which I mean, THEY CANNOT AFFORD A CAR). This is a message to all the drivers out there: STOP TELLING CYCLISTS TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE ROAD. Bicycles are, in many states, considered a vehicle. That means they must be in the street. Riding a bicycle on the sidewalk is legally considered the same as driving your car on the sidewalk. A bicyclist on the sidewalk in California can be ticketed (and if you don't believe me, yes, cyclists and skateboarders have certainly been stopped and warned for riding on the sidewalk, although I don't personally know anyone who's actually been ticketed). Yes, some cyclists cycle in the middle of the street. Some of them are being obnoxious. Some of them are actually being good cyclists. Professional cyclists will tell you not to ride in the gutter. Riding in the gutter makes an accident more possible, as you can be clipped by a passing car's sideview mirror, hit the curb, clip a parked car, etc. Also, if you're actively part of the traffic, checking over your shoulder occasionally to show that, yes, you're aware, it forces drivers to notice you and respect you as part of the traffic. Yes, it sucks to be stuck behind a bicycle going 10 miles per hour. Guess what? It sucks to be a cyclist! A cyclist is sweating, muscles burning, while you're in your air-conditioned vehicle! A cyclist is very aware that if you hit him/her, they will be turned into so much spam while your car sustains a dent! Cyclists are very aware that drivers actively hate them. Cycling to school in the mornings was a terrifying experience for me; I finally gave up and started cycling on the sidewalk just out of a sense of self-preservation. I would have paid the ticket if I didn't have to put up with drivers actively trying to hit me. I will repeat my message: drivers, please, be kind to cyclists. Yes, some of them are obnoxious. I hate them, too. But cyclists are the underdog. They suffer through a lot for very little reward. Remember: you, as the driver, have the advantage. If it's bicycle v. car in an accident, the car is going to win, every time. So while you may be frustrated, the cyclist is just plain terrified. Being dead is a lot scarier than being inconvenienced. And now, a list of tips for cyclists. Do your part! Don't make drivers hate us so much!
You know what I'd really love? Bike lanes. I think bike lanes would make everyone happy. Drivers don't have to worry about bikes on the street, and cyclists don't have to constantly worry about injury and death. I was amazed by the constant presence of bike lanes in Europe. Why is the USA always so behind? Wednesday, May 31, 2006 [link] 01:03 p.m. listening to: "When You Go" - Jonathan Coulton A while ago, my therapist used the word "compartmentalize" in reference to how I think about certain events in my life. It made me uneasy, because compartmentalization is something I associate with sociopaths and people who are otherwise not terribly mentally well-adjusted. She first used this word when I was talking about England. She wanted to know how I felt about it, since she's a therapist and she wants to talk about my feelings, and I shrugged and said I didn't know. We talked about transitions, and somehow arrived at whether or not I felt England was part of a transitioning phase. I was completely confused, since at the time I saw England as a sort of little island. I had to use a metaphor of a line for her, as if my life was a river: England just sort of stuck out of the side of the line. I would go out, and then come back. She thought it was very interesting that I compartmentalize my life in such a manner. When I actually got to England, of course, I realized that there was no way you can live in a foreign country for four months and not have it change you. I was not going to take a little trip out onto a tributary and return to the main course; I was going to end up on another river entirely. How did England change me? Hundreds of little ways, I think. Nothing too major or radical. I have not returned a stranger. I've learned about British culture, journalism, the media, cooking, travelling, and what it's like to starve in other countries. I've learned that vegetarianism is for those who have the luxury of choosing what they want to eat. I've learned that when you've eaten other people's garbage, there are very few other depths to which you will sink. Most of all, though, I've learned what it's really like to be queer. Feelings of isolation and loneliness in LGBT persons is something I knew about in a sort of removed, distant manner. I was aware that it existed and that it shouldn't, but I was fortunate enough to live in the California Bay Area where it's harder to admit that you write fanfiction than that you're queer. Then I went to England, where I was surrounded by 250 straight women. I felt more at home and safe at work than anywhere else. Talking to other people became a nightmare. In phase II of the program, they always asked where you were interning. And what could I say? GAY.COM. And nobody assumes that you're straight when you work for GAY.COM, especially in a program where you have a lot of freedom in determining where you want to work and the choice to reject placements if they don't suit you. I was basically forced to out myself first thing whenever I talked to someone new. Then I would spend the rest of the conversation worrying. Were they judging everything I said and did on my queerness? Was I the first lesbian this person had ever met? Was I now giving the rest of the LGBTQ community a bad name? Or was I not being queer enough? Should I act more queer? Wait, why the hell was I worrying about any of this at all? What the hell does "queer enough" mean, anyway? But these are the kinds of things that enter your mind when you have no idea what the other person thinks of you. Furthermore, the other person often didn't really know how to act, either. They would say "Oh," a little too politely, and then maybe ask me how I liked my work. Or maybe their stiffness was only in my anxious imagination. I don't know. It's creating a problem now that I'm home, of course. My family's perfectly aware that I was doing a journalism internship, and they want to know where I worked. I'm not about to lie, so I tell them "Gay.com." So far none of them have asked, but I can't imagine that I haven't just outed myself here, as well. Maybe they think I'm a straight girl who just happened to end up working for an LGBTQ media company. For all they know, the program assigns internships by drawing out of a hat. There hasn't been a big fuss, anyway, and I'm not about to start any drama. I don't know what it is about being queer that can make you so isolated from your peers. It's not as if I define myself solely by my sexuality, after all. But it's hard, when everyone around you is straight and all they want to talk about is shopping, sex, hot men with sexy British accents, drinking, and whatever else all my peers talked about. Maybe I should have hung out more with the men, but I have a feeling they talked about mainly the same thing, but with an added masculine punch. Ugh. Tuesday, May 30, 2006 [link] 05:31 p.m. listening to: nothing Still trapped into that quandary of cooking. I won't cook anything my relatives will eat, and they won't eat anything I cook. Well, no, that's not quite true; my cousin will eat whatever I cook uncomplainingly, but I can't shake the nagging feeling that she'd rather be eating something else. Something with more meat. Or oyster sauce. I am attempting hamburgers. This is the first time I've ever made burgers. The thing is, of course, is that I don't eat beef, so I have to make the burgers out of turkey. That creates a new problem: how do you make burgers out of turkey that don't taste like Blandy McBland? The answer: very little. I chopped up half an onion and tossed it into the ground turkey, along with some random herbs and spices that were lying around (pepper, sage, marjoram, thyme, fresh-chopped parsley). I formed them into patties and fried one, covered, in a frying pan, just to test. It turned out amazingly delicious. I didn't add any salt, since I'm not that kinda girl, and also I figured that meat has enough natural salt of its own, even turkey. I was afraid that would make it turn out bland, but it hasn't, actually. I'm very pleased with myself. Next up: turkeyloaf! Friday, May 26, 2006 [link] 05:30 p.m. listening to: nothing Home again, home again, jiggity jig. There was a bad moment when I thought my key didn't work. Fortunately, it did; it just required a bit of brute strength, as the lock was sticky or some such. The house was dark and stuffy when I entered. Rachel helped my unload my things, which are currently sitting in a corner of the dining room (meals are usually taken in the kitchen, actually, so I've no idea what to call this room; but it does contain the "formal" dining table). I've opened some windows--I don't know what it is about this house that it just sucks in heat and retains it--but I've yet to turn on any lights. I've gone through the refrigerator and the pantry, to see if there's something I can scrounge up for dinner. There's signs of interrupted life all over the house: a bowl of sliced apples on the kitchen table, browned by the air; a bowl of peanut shells left on the coffee table, probably left by my cousin; my niece's mathematic workbook left open on the dining room table. But I don't feel like an intruder. I feel like these people feel no need to rearrange their lives for me, because I'm family, and you don't have to do that for family. Thursday, May 25, 2006 [link] 11:27 p.m. listening to: nothing Another long, long lapse in blogging. The days go by so quickly, and yet so slowly. It doesn't help, of course, that I haven't had reliable Internet since Seattle; the Vancouver hostel did not have free wireless, and neither did the motel we stayed in on Wednesday night. This hostel, near Yosemite, has free wireless, but only in the lounge, which keeps hours. I miss being able to check my email in bed. This laptop has made me lazy. Very tired. Long, but good day in Yosemite today, made longer by a rockslide barring passage on the 140. We had to make a two and a half hour detour in order to get to our hostel. Rachel gets two gold stars for driving on windy, narrow roads in the dark. Home tomorrow. Not sure how I feel about that. Ordinarily, I'd be bitter and resentful and wishing the entire time that I was staying in the Bay. Now, though, I'm looking forward to sleeping in the same bed for six weeks in a row, going to CostCo and buying new socks and underwear, and experimenting in the kitchen. It's funny how appealing mundanity can be. Sunday, May 21, 2006 [link] 04:19 p.m. listening to: nothing I dislike letting a week go by without blogging. It makes me feel lazy. Unlike previous lapses in blogging, though, this mild drought is not because there's been nothing going on in my life of significance. It's because there's been lots going on! Rachel and I have blasted through Seattle (we probably could have used another day there; alas) and we're just winding up a very lazy three days and four nights in Vancouver. We'll be leaving early tomorrow morning in an attempt to get to Portland the same night. So far, I have not yet learned to drive. The road trip's been fantastic, but I am getting tired of not having a place of my own. It reminds me of the tail-end of my backpacking vacation with Eleanor in Europe last summer. It was a blast, but towards the end we were tired of hostels and living out of backpacks. At this point, sleeping in my niece's bedroom seems fantastic. Sunday, May 14, 2006 [link] 08:00 p.m. listening to: nothing o/` on the road again / we're on the road again o/` We've been two days on the road now. It doesn't feel like it, because we're already almost to Washington. We've stopped in Portland for a few nights; staying in a very nice hostel with a fabulous, fully-stocked kitchen and very posh dorm rooms (I don't know what that says about the hostels I've stayed in before!). It also has free wireless, which Rachel and I are taking full advantage of. And a cat! He's lying on the chair behind me. What a lazy cat. Some of our adventures are being recounted on the LiveJournal, which is becoming more and more a Real Life Journal as of late. I don't like it--I prefer keeping my Real Life and my Fannish Life seperate--but Rachel likes it when I LJ such things and people more easily remember to read the LJ, as they can friend it and such instead of having to remember to go to a completely different website. I suppose I should change the link on the LJ to go to this site instead of my homepage, which is rarely updated anyway. Or I should make an RSS feed or something for this blog, but I kind of like the idea of not knowing how many people--if any--are reading this journal. I retain an illusion of privacy (although of course there's no such thing on the Internet). I'm tired. I can't decide whether or not to attempt some writing or just take a shower, go to bed, and read some more Throne of Jade. Wednesday, May 10, 2006 [link] 07:19 p.m. listening to: nothing I have finally attained a learner's permit! I am no longer a leper! You see, in the United States, if you do not drive, you are a freak. People look down on you much in the same way they look down on the homeless, virgins, and chain-smokers. It's as if there is something wrong with your brain that makes you not drive, if you're physically fit and able to afford it. It drives me bonkers. Don't look down on me because I don't drive, you assholes! Europe was nice because they actually approved of me for not driving, if only because I was bucking the rest of the American trend. In other news, today was a no good very bad day. It began when Rachel and I embarked on a great journey in order to store her belongings in my storage container in Newark, California (near Fremont). We got lost trying to find the 880 freeway, which resulted in a near-collision that Rachel narrowly averted by slamming on her brakes. Unfortunately, this move somehow destroyed her breaks and screwed up her alignment. And we still couldn't find the freeway. When we stopped in an IN-N-OUT later to get milkshakes, her brakes gave out completely and we rolled into the car in front of us. Fortunately, the other driver was incredibly understanding (we'd had an extremely bad day by this point) and let us go. We tried to find somewhere to get the brakes checked, didn't find one, and since the brakes were doing better decided to get to Newark and get the stuff put away before worrying about the car. The brakes started acting up again on the freeway, so when we got to Newark we pulled into a gas station and had them checked out. The guy said it was some-part-or-other that was expensive and needed to be ordered. Rachel decided to call her usual mechanic, Paul, and get a second opinion. We finally got to the storage place, rearranged the storage container and put Rachel's things in, and went home. The drive home was extremely tense, as the brakes were gradually getting worse and worse, and there was a terrifying moment where a truck almost backed up into us. We managed to make it home in one piece, and tomorrow Rachel will be taking in her car. Meanwhile, the road trip to Vancouver is postponed. We were supposed to leave on Saturday, but the car is obviously in bad shape. But we can't go home--as in, to Los Angeles--either because, well, the car's in bad shape! So we've got to get it looked at and go from there. Friday, May 5, 2006 [link] 07:19 p.m. listening to: nothing [this entry has been pre-recorded] 12:55, European time So I'm on the flight. Long-ass flight. I kind of regret sleeping last night. My usual modus operandus in preparation for a long flight is to stay up all night in order to assure some ability to sleep on the flight itself. After a short trip to the Prater Biergarten, however, I went back to the hostel and slept for five hours before getting up to go to the airport. Five hours isn't enough; I'm really tired. Tired enough that I keep falling asleep only to be interrupted by something--the passenger next to me wanting to get up, the flight attendants coming by with drinks and snacks--and those brief naps trick me into wakefulness. Hopefully I'll be tired enough in another hour to get some "proper" sleep. I got on an earlier flight from Berlin to Munich (I showed up waaaay early for check-in and the lady at the desk asked if I wouldn't like to just take the 7:45 flight instead of waiting for the 9:05 one). It was kind of a relief, actually, because I'd been worried about having only forty minutes to get from one flight to the other. This turned out to be a justified worry, because security at German airports is insane. I vaguely remembered Frankfurt being kind of anal about security last time I was there, but at Munich they not only x-rayed all my items and wanded me, they then had to put my bag through twice for some reason or other. Sleepy sleepy sleepy. I'm trying to decide if I should play with the laptop some more or save the battery power for the Los Angeles airport, where I'll be really bored. At least on airplanes they give you some form of entertainment, like magazines and in-flight movies (they're going to be playing "Rumor Has It," which I have no interest in seeing, and the fourth Harry Potter movie, which I could probably tolerate). At airports there's nothing. I'm pretty sure I'll be able to find an outlet to plug in my laptop at LAX, though; American airports have things like outlets. Also, I'm pretty sure I can get Internet at LAX, although I might have to pay out the ass for it. They're supposed to be serving lunch soon. I could eat. My sinuses hate me. I don't know why, but whenever I don't get enough sleep I get these horrible allergy attacks. It ensures that I generally get enough sleep, anyway. I'm going to drain my battery power by watching some Supernatural. 2:10, European time Just finished "Something Wicked." That was awesome. Little Dean! Little Sam! Awwwww. They served lunch. Problem is, where I'm sitting, they get to my row pretty much last, so they run out of the good food. That's okay by me; the "good food" is usually some kind of meat anyway, and I've been strangely sick of meat lately (except for those two bratwursts I wolfed down last night, because you can't leave Germany without having wurst). So I had pasta that seems to be some kind of relative to tortellini. There was also a salad, a roll, and a piece of cake that was probably supposed to be tiramisu. I miss fruit. These things usually come with fruit, don't they? I wanted fruit. I feel like my meal was incomplete. Still bored. Still bored. I wish they were showing something on the screen. They were showing Disney cartoons earlier (I think it was Goof Troop). That was fun. Distracting. I'm thinking of watching Rumor Has It just as a way of killing two hours of my time. Or maybe I should try sleeping. There's a small child in the row across from me. A toddler. He can't be very old, 'cause his mom still feeds him milk, and he's got pacifiers. Argh. Why are there always small children on these flights? He seems fairly well-behaved now, but I'm not looking forward to later, when he's cranky and tired and can't get to sleep. Okay, gonna shut down the laptop now. I need to conserve battery. Ooooo, they're passing out the customs forms. How exciting. That should eat up, oh, ten minutes. 4:16, Pacific Time I hate LAX so, so much. For some reason United/Lufthansa does not deign to check through my luggage, so I have to go through customs, retrieve my duffel bag, and check in again. This means I get to happily hike all the way from terminal 4 to terminal 7. This may not seem like a big deal until you realize that this is LAX, which is the size of a small city. I finally make it to the United check-in counter where supposedly they expedite things by having machines, but what this really means is that if you actually need help, you cannot get any because there is like one actual human being for every four terminals. It took me fifteen minutes to finally get someone's attention. I thought I was going to burst into tears several times. I mean, Jesus, I just finished sixteen hours in transit, I haven't slept in twenty hours, I just want to go home, okay? Give me some love, here. After I finally got everything checked in (and possibly bewildered a few airport employees with my demented gabblings about "sixteen hours" "check luggage" and "Germany"), I managed to get myself through security without any major mishaps and found food at a California Pizza Kitchen Express, where they do not sell any pizza. Not even prepackaged pizza. They do, however, sell massively overpriced sandwiches. You know one thing I really didn't miss about the States? Sales tax. A flight for Oakland is departing, like, right now. I considered asking the check-in people if I could get on this flight before remembering that my checked luggage wouldn't be on this plane, and I'd have to wait at the Oakland airport for several hours until my luggage finally showed up. Looks like I'm stuck here. Oh well. At least I can plug in my laptop. I'm going to watch House and eat the other half of this sandwich. Oh yeah, I keep forgetting to mention that I inflicted House on some of the hostel workers. It went something like this: **"Skin Deep" begins** Andrea: I thought you said this was a medical show. Me: It is! It's just, you know how on the X-Files there was always that first ten minutes that shows something freaky happening? So we're being introduced to the Patient of the Week now. **stuff happens. opening credits** Sam: Ooooo, it's Massive Attack! Me: :D Andrea: Hey, they've got some really good people on this show. Me: Okay, and now we're being introduced to House's lackeys. That's Cameron, and that's Chase-- Sam: OMG, Jesse Spencer! Neighbours! Me: --and that's Foreman. Sam: Hello Foreman. Andrea: Chase is awfully pretty. Me: (Heeheehee Doctor Pritty Hair Chase oh God Eggie what have you done to me) Sam: He was on Neighbours! The Australian soap? Sam and Andrea: **coo over Chase and Foreman for the next twenty minutes before becoming deeply absorbed in the show** **episode ends** Andrea: That was deeply satisfying. Sam: You're going to make me miss my bus for Prague. Me: :D :D :D 5:12, Pacific Time By my calculations--which are, admittedly, probably more than a little off, as I am very, very tired--I have slept about five hours in the previous forty-eight. I have reached that Zen state where one simply grows used to being tired. I am serene. I think Nirvana is close. I could really use some shrooms right now. 5:24, Pacific Time Oh my God, I'm so fucking tired I want to die. Let me board the plane so I can go to sleep. Please. Oh God. |
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