Ugh...

I just feel like ugh today... That's all.

Real Ink vs E-Ink

I was perusing Goodreads today (as I do every day) and came across a particular book: It's a Book by Lane Smith

And excuse me as I climb on top of a brief soap box that many people may or may not agree with. However, to start off, here is a short history of my foray into reading and book-worm goodness:

I've always been a reader. When I was younger, I openly admitted to fellow students that I planned to read every book found in our school's library, starting from authors whose last names begin with an 'A', and moving forward. Whenever I visited the public library with friends, a running joke was that they would randomly select a book (whether they had personally read it themselves or not) and tell me that it was a fantastic read and that I needed to give it a chance. By the time we were finished with our day at the library, I would leave with a nice sized stack of at least five or more books to finish within the next two weeks.

Books have always drawn my attention. I like to walk through book sections of most stores, looking through titles, admiring illustrations, reading summaries, flipping through pages to read excerpts here and there. Even if I never buy anything, I still get some sort of addicted kick out of being around shelves and shelves of books. My friends know better than to take me to a book store if we're on a tight itinerary -- I can easily spend upwards of two to three hours just looking at different book titles and trying to decide what I want to buy and what I don't want to buy. To quote one of the reviewers of the Goodreads' community on the It's a Book page:

I like walking around, basket on my arm, adding to it any item that catches my fancy. I like agonizing over which of my carefully selected books will be going home with me as I weigh my wants against what my meager bank account will allow me to have. I love the feel of books, the smell of books, the covers of books. I love turning pages. I love seeing what others are reading.

-- Amanda from the Goodreads' community

Those words absolutely describe my life as a bookstore lurker for the past ten or more years since the first time I could drive myself to a bookstore and could afford to buy a book for my own personal bookshelf.

I'm a huge fan of books, stories, reading... etc... If I can get a lovely, exciting, fantastic story out of the written word, I'm more than ecstatic.

On a side rant, I'm still fighting a different silent battle against those who don't seem to understand my love for books, for the the delight of leisurely reading, for the ideals of immersing oneself into a fictional paradise presented entirely through words... People don't take me seriously when I tell them about my bookworm tendencies. People don't think I actually mean it when I tell them that I'd rather curl up with a good novel any day rather than going out and partying it up. And when I'm found reading, my attention caught up in the current fictional world I'm reading about, I get disturbed constantly -- Okay, let's make this unmistakably clear: When someone like me is entranced in a good read, for the love of everything that's true, DO NOT DISTURB! You'll either get ignored or you'll elicit an irritated growl from the beast. I'm serious.

The one scenario I've been coming across a lot lately is a particular co-worker who likes to throw this phrase at me whenever I'm reading during our slow time at work: "No time for reading, time for rocking!" And then when I ignore her, she'll do what she can to get my attention in the form of, "Did you hear me? No time for reading, time for rocking!" When she finally gets my attention and I'm all, "Yea, I heard you." She somehow gets around to, "Geez, you're in a bad mood tonight."

No, no. I was in a stellar mood. I'm not angry at anyone, but you just ignored the big ten foot aura that very clearly says "DO NOT POKE THE BEAST". That aside, I know what her stance on reading is anyway-- she's told me before that she doesn't read, that she gets her entertainment from movies. So to her, it's a strange phenomena that I love to read more than I like watching movies. To her, reading is no fun, it's boring, it's not exciting. And so on more than one occasion, she's more than demanded that I try watching certain movies and it frustrates her when I told her I haven't seen some of her favorites. We could say that her love for movies is similar to my love of books.

But to be honest, I live on the motto of: "To each their own." And yet while I never said anything to her about her own personal interests, I've gotten silent scrutiny more often than I would like to receive about my love for reading.

***

But anyway, the above side rant is something for a different day -- it's an ongoing battle that'll sit at stale mate forever because I'm not sure anyone who believes that "books are boring" will ever understand a bookworm's fascination with the written word.

Back to the big ol' E-reader versus Hard copy books debate, shall we?

Where was I even going with this?

Ah, yes. I'm a fan of books. I buy books like some women buy shoes or purses. It's my addiction. My current bookshelf houses 147 paperback and hardback books, some of which are anthologies and some of which are multiple books compiled into volumes. It was a big struggle for me to finally sit down and go through all of my books one day and eliminate about fifteen of them for one reason or another and take them to the Friends of the Public Library as a donation. And yet, after sitting down and making inventory, I still had 147 books in my possession and I still managed to find more books to add to my collection.

But here's the kicker:

I AM a proud owner of a Barnes and Noble Nook Simple Touch. To add insult to injury, I'm also in the midst of considering a Kindle Fire HD.

Why do I bring this up?

From reading a select few reviews of It's a Book, I came to realize something that I've always known: That there are still people who reject the E-reader for the sole reason that they think it'll force the various forms of hard copy books into non-existence.

From just reading the various reviews, it seems that this book points out something quite disturbing: that a person who enjoys the convenience and "nifty" gadgetry of an E-reader is thought of as akin to a jackass who will never understand the pleasures of holding or flipping through the pages of a "real book" on printed paper and bound. There's a very distinct undertone of teasing hostility against those of us who have found and enjoy the benefits of owning an E-reader. It almost sounds like we're being stereotyped into one specific category of un-sophistication -- that the hefty weight of a bound tome is much more good and mighty than an electronic "nifty gadget" of convenience. That a hard copy paper back is a "true" book while the E-reader is the "anti-book".

And frankly, as a self-proclaimed bookworm, I'm a little offended by those implications. I LOVE my E-reader. I love the idea of more of the written word being made available in more convenient forms. I love that sometimes I don't have to carry a particular book around from one place to another in order to make sure I can continue reading from where I left off on that particular copy. I love how convenient it is to carry around a library of 52 books and be able to pick and choose which one I would like to start reading, all within one little thin package of Barnes and Noble Nook. I love that I can access my e-book libraries (yes, count'em, plural) anywhere where there is internet available (so yes, the death of internet will probably mean a total nervous break down for me).  I love that I can set my E-reader down while I eat and read at the same time (because I like multi-tasking), because this is something I've never been able to do with a paperback book.

Most importantly (for a hermit and an introvert like myself), I love that I don't have to leave my home just to go buy a book that I desperately want to own; it especially works out for me as a night owl and 3rd shift worker and there is no bookstore open but you still want to get that new release at 2:00 A.M. and start reading it.

But my love for E-books and E-readers in no way takes away from my love of having a solid, paper printed, bound book in my hand. I still have my shelf of 147 paperback and hard back books. I just added onto that collection less than a month ago. I still find pleasure in seeing each different cover of each book, their illustrations, their colors, their feel and their smell.  I still love going to a bookstore and flipping through pages and glancing at randomly chosen excerpts to assess whether or not I'll enjoy the book based on a paragraph or so of Chapter 17 of such and such book.  Admittedly, this is something you CANNOT do with an e-book since the online community provides you with what excerpts it believes you should see, and sometimes not enough of it.  As I've already mentioned, I can easily spend hours in a bookstore and leave with nothing but a bookmark, just one book, or nothing at all.  And while I'm at it, an e-book doesn't allow you to just show someone the cover of your book when asked the question: "What'cha readin'?" which is an inevitable question by people whether they really care what you're reading or not.

I'll admit that it has been a long time since I visited the library for reasons of "browsing" for a random book or stack of books to take home. I'll admit that I really like the idea of being able to conveniently borrowing e-books from the e-book section of our public library online. Sometimes, some of us just don't have time to take a purposeful trip to the library or the book store to browse for hours (not that I wouldn't still do it, mind you, but priorities take... well, priority, you know). And so I opt to browse the internet for new book releases, random book recommendations, anything that catches my eye, and make a note of them. At a later time, when I have time, I'll check that book out online (all I need is a summary and maybe an excerpt or a sample) and decide whether or not this book might be worth reading (or owning).

In my own personal opinion (which I hope in no way influences anyone else's preferences), my love for books lies more or less with that particular book's reading worth and value: the story line, the writing style, the world it creates, the excitement it can convey... Whether I'm reading a "real" book or an e-book, all of those elements don't change. I love holding a "real" book in my hands and flipping through pages just as much as I love setting my Nook on the table and moving through each page with a quick tap while my hands are preoccupied with other activities. In the end, I still get the same experience from the story I'm reading and to me, it doesn't matter whether I'm reading it as an electronic product or a printed product.

I admit that it would be sad if our future ends up seeing an extinction of printed ink in a bound tome format.  I grew up with printed books and libraries.  I feel like every child should experience having a real book in their hands and being able to flip through the pages and enjoy said experience.  My dream is to own a large personal library with walls and walls of shelves filled with books.  But I also don't think it's wrong to have a "nifty gadget" of convenience for those of us who have found and enjoy the benefits of owning an e-reader, or who have discovered the advantages of an e-book library.

So what if some people feel like an E-reader is a just a trendy gadget following along with the times.  I honestly believe that smart phones and I-Phones are part of that "Hey, look at me and my nifty gadget" group, the same goes with tablets and I-Pads -- I've never held much affection for them.  I think they're neat and pretty awesome from a technological stand point.  I've owned a tablet which was eventually given to my brother who found better ways to put it to good use.  I've spoken to many people who think that a smart phone has too many functions than is really necessary because, to them, they really only need to be able to call and receive calls; even texting is a new luxury they could care less about.  While I appreciate all the quirky apps and cute little internet friendly convenience, how often do people even use a smart phone to it's full potential anyway?  Just as often as people use their e-readers, maybe?

We live in an informational age filled with new technological advances; I feel like the e-reader has done what it set out to do rather than just being a pretty new electronic device for everyone to fawn over: it allows a level of convenience for people who love to read, but don't want to carry around several books to weight down their purses or back backs; especially travelers who can't afford to carry 52 actual real books in their luggage (you know, weight and size restrictions and such on a plane and all...).  This is something I used to do before I got an e-reader -- I would actually carry two or three books with me wherever I went just in case I got bored and I wanted to read something, and for the sake of having at least two books to fall back on if my primary book didn't catch my attention very well.  Now, I need only carry my e-reader and sometimes I even still carry one paperback that I'm interested in.  My moods don't always account for my reading moods.

To a point, it's much like an mp3 player or an IPod, which are also devices created for the sake of convenience -- rather than trying to cram a million CDs into your car for a long road trip and having to switch them out often, rather than selecting specific CDs to listen to on those (now outdated) CD players while you work or hang out, you now have a nifty device that can hold upwards of hundreds and thousands of songs you can choose from in a small "nifty gadget."  For people who love listening to music, these things are convenience utopia... much like for those of us who love to read, e-readers are the epitome of convenience.

I repeat once again: "To each their own."

But it does weigh heavily on me whenever E-book lovers are dismissed as just "jackasses basking in the trendiness of technological gadgetry" because we are assumed to be people who are into these new "nifty gadgets" for the technology alone and just aren't sophisticated enough to enjoy holding a "real" book in our hands and probably don't know what a paper bound tome looks like either.

So... Okay, who's being the pompous jackass now?

Oh, the holiday cheer (or lack thereof)

I've come to the conclusion that the holidays are some of the most depressing times in the entire year. Or I could just be a regularly boring and depressing person. It's hard to say what comes first: my own sense of melancholy or a lonely imitation of holiday highs. Either way, ever since a few years back, I've begun to associate the holidays (subconsciously) with a melancholic loneliness; maybe it was about two or three years ago that I began to acknowledge this fact. When did it actually start that I stopped caring about the holiday season?

Who knows?

Returning to some old journal entries and blog posts for Decembers in the past, I've come to find that my thoughts never stray too far from melodramatic woes. There are some specific common factors that even accompany these low moments, on repeat: 1) angry holiday shopping and shoving and cursing and more shoving; 2) unexplained bipolar tendencies wherein I go from excited about one moment only to follow through almost too quickly with a sudden low that makes my heart hurt; 3) the resentment I hold towards people around me (in general) and also towards my older brother (mainly) for the fact that I've made myself into an outcast; and finally, 4) a strange regret that I can't find any reason to be excited about the holiday seasons anymore, and because of that, I'm sad about it.

Life does amusing things to your head once you start thinking too hard. And then even happy thoughts can lead to hypothetical "What if I disappeared from this world tomorrow? Who would care?" questions. Where do I stand in this life time with all of my friends and all of my family? Where do I stand with myself? What do I want? What DO I want?

What do I want?

A little research into the past didn't quite clear up my curiosities. I wanted to see when it was that I actually stopped caring about the holidays. It turns out that nowhere do I make mention about anything to do with my melancholy during the holidays. I talk about a lot of other things I'm preoccupied with such as books (mainly Harry Potter, apparently), upcoming tests, upcoming holiday vacations and the like. And then there's a lull from 2005 until 2007 when either I just didn't feel motivated to write or I didn't have time. And then, in a private journal entry in 2007, I think I make the connection for the first time that Christmas just doesn't feel like Christmas of my childhood anymore.

What happened in 2007? Where did that revelation come from? Did I already feel this way before then and just didn't realize it? Or was that feeling just never written down on paper because I never had the time for private journal mutterings?

I'm having snippet flash backs of a possible connection to Faith Hill's "Where Are You Christmas?" that might have catalyzed my "holiday emo" era. The song is quite depressing until you get the last verse where it finally picks back up when she "finds Christmas" again. But you're already put into a jaded mood from the beginning of the song. This would put my issues back into high school in the year 2000. So it's not right, because back then (as I am slightly today) I was a big drama queen and overdid EVERYTHING. Maybe there was carry-over and I just didn't realize it.

And then college came around the corner and I didn't have the time to think about Christmas losing its magic for me.

So apparently going back and looking at old histories of "The Life of Ani" doesn't really do squat to help pinpoint my frustrations. Of course, it's not like it would have helped my case anyway; it doesn't help bring back my cheer. Instead, I'm finding that it's just further escalating that sense of boredom accompanied by a very dormant yearning for the holidays to actually MAKE me excited again.

Really... I really DO want to feel happy about the holidays. I don't want to drive by lights and Christmas decorations or listen to holiday music or hear about seasonal celebrations only to come up with one single depressing thought:

"I really wish I could feel excited about life again."

squinty eyed sleepy makes for cranky too

courtesy of urban distortion

Currently I feel like this. I've had about four and a half hours of sleep... so what am I complaining about, right? Well, the plan had been to get five and a half hours of sleep. So I'm a bit distraught that I was awoken before I intended to be awake. Having set my alarm for noon-thirty, I was ungracefully awaken by the sound of my dog barking up a storm an hour earlier. It was like an extremely unpleasant alarm that you couldn't hit snooze on.

Yes. Aggravating.

But it's my fault, really... I'm a workaholic and I chose to have a strange and hectic work schedule. Going from a third shift (10:30 PM to 6:30 AM), coming home to sleep for whatever hours I can grasp and then waking up in time to get to second shift (2:15 PM to 10:45 PM) was my own choice. I don't like that choice, but as I keep telling everyone: "Work is work. The hours don't matter to me, because it's a job."

Well, I can really only say that when I'm NOT still half asleep and feeling like the world is spinning marathons around my brain.

It's also a cold morning too... afternoon?... And so it doesn't help that I really just want to crawl back under my covers.

I think this is the most excitement I've had in real life in a LONG time. Well, at the very least it's the most blog-worthy excitement I've had since September... or earlier, I guess since my last two posts were really just elaborating on history. And to be honest, history is just filler right now.

Sad.

***

In other news, I guess I'd never truly mentioned other exciting things. My parents went to Vancouver for a few days to visit and have a mini-vacation. It was great for them and great for us, if only because they got to have a relaxing trip away from home, and I got to learn the horrifying facts about my own brothers' domestic common sense. Apparently, outside of dropping debris in the trashcan, there is very little else they will do in the manner of house chores. Oh wait... sometimes they don't even do THAT either.

This house is like a hotel to them. They sleep, they shower, they sit around and relax, they work on job related stuff, they play... and that's about it. Sometimes they don't even really present themselves at home long enough for me to see them and then other times they come upstairs long enough to tell me that they aren't staying home for dinner. I guess the latter part of that isn't too bad; it means I don't have to cook anything. But then if I don't, when they wake up in the morning and are scrounging through the fridge, there will be no leftovers for them to try to reheat for sustenance.

I pity the women who have to spend the rest of their lives with any of my brothers. Then again, I'm kind of looking forward to seeing it, because those dorks will find themselves shocking surprised that not every girl in this world will be willing to take on their daily domestic chores.

Then again, with MY luck, when any of them DO finally get married, they might miraculously know how to wash dishes and take out the trash. Then I'll just be sneering because right now, it pains me to have to tell them over and over again that trash goes into the trash can and dishes don't wash themselves. "Please, when you open a package or a box, throw away the trash that comes with it, into the trash can." But no, it gets left sitting on a counter or on the kitchen table and all I can do is stare at it and frown really hard, hoping that somehow it'll entice my brother to come back and deposit his garbage somewhere more appropriate.

And so said trash article sits on the kitchen table until I can't take it anymore or Mom shows up to casually toss it into its haven.

***

In other news, I have been steadfastly reading books and watching my beloved drama, Asian style. It irks me that saying the words "Asian drama" comes with some negative connotations of teeny bopper chick flicks, but I guess I have to forgive the masses for being ignorant. Asian drama series encompass the same excitement and wonder as any television series you see on American television; the only differences are the culture and the structure.

So I've been keeping myself quite occupied with fictional worlds. That may or may not be a good thing. My real world consists of work, work, house chores, work, house chores... and then more house chores. Speaking of which, my laundry has yet to be finished even though I started it sometime yesterday...

Book-wise, I've taken on a new genre, although I've realized that the trendy new dystopian fantasies for young adults has been marketed on too extreme. Having finished reading The Hunger Games trilogy, I found myself picking up similar types of stories. But unfortunately, either my first dystopian novel ruined the rest for me, or the rest really just aren't as good because they dive into the same concepts and same ideals with different characters and different situations. Nonetheless, even with an overused cliche, a good book doesn't make you feel exhausted. I just haven't found a good one yet, I guess, to rival my first experience of Hunger Games.

Although it's not like dystopian novels haven't always been around. I think that for me, Hunger Games pretty much brought the idea into a more popular light. So I'll have to keep looking for more books until I can find one that I like.

On a side note, I've had thoughts about writing an essay-like post on my blog detailing the concepts and ideas of dystopian literature... Even had a whole discussion with my brother about it. But outside of "Dystopian literature is defined as (insert proper definition here)...." I haven't quite figured out what else I could write about it. I'm thinking I should at least read some more books and familiarize myself with the subject before attempting anything.

Maybe a thousand words, maybe not

I was rereading through the blog I used to keep a long time ago. After the first one, I realized that that blog had been kept sometime AFTER I graduated from high school. I guess I can't very well say that I wrote a lot of those entries during my "high school, drama queen, emo years" anymore. Because apparently, up until 2005 while still in college, I still had a very drama queen-esque mind set. I almost can't even remember what life was like for me during those first few years in college; all I can recall is tons of school work, tons of slacking and tons of boredom. Oh yea, and I spent those first two to three years in college not quite knowing what to do with myself.

Anyway, the following is a post I had written as one of my few first blog posts "back in the day". I've edited it just a little bit, but the gist of it all is the same as when I'd written it. Thought I'd share some of my younger thoughts that are somewhat "non-emo" even IF they are extremely exaggerated. I'm just amused at some of the ways I've described things:

On October 18, 2002 at 5:53 P.M. ani wrote:

A Story Can Be a Thousand Words

Ever since I began writing fanfiction, I'd thought that I had found something that I was good at.

My friends all have some sort of fine arts-y type creative talent or skill. A few sing, a few write awesome poetry, one or two have an incredible talent in drawing, sketching, painting... art stuff. They're all just so good and I've always wanted to be able to do something out of the ordinary.

Not solely anything like getting good grades at school. Anybody can do that if they just set their minds to it. No offense to anyone out there, but academically, ANY person is able to get good grades.

But talent, creative talent: singing, dancing, painting... stuff like that... and even sports... All of that... I don't have anything like that.

My voice sounds like a scratched up metal can lodged in a donkey's throat: "Hee haw!" I am NOT coordinated and thus dancing is out of the question. I was once told that I was dyslexic... that means unable to tell left from right... right? I trace... no sketching, no painting, no drawing... I trace... -_- As for sports... refer to the fact that I am not well coordinated and thus, no way will I be able to catch a fly ball. Besides, I'm not in shape enough to even run the length of a basement room without grabbing for an oxygen tank.

All in all -- I've got nothing going for me. At least that's what I'd always thought. In my mind, academic achievement just doesn't outshine anyone at all and it doesn't... well, shine or stand out at all.

I mean, how many people out there are really popular nerds? No offense to anyone at all. Take a poll of all the "popular" kids in your high school. How many of them don't have some sort of extra-curricular activity going for them or some sort of creative talent? I know for a fact that those at my old high school were all in some way related to the football team, the dance team, the cheer squad or the fine arts department. And people like me... well...........

But to the point now: (finally) I discovered my talent two years... actually three years ago. I love to write, which is basically what I'm doing right now, even though this is just a blog. I write stories and stuff.

However, I'm almost afraid that my writing inspirations are beginning to wane and that my writing skills and style are beginning to dissipate. It's scaring me that soon, I probably won't even be able to write another story... or finish the ones I've begun because my skills are beginning to go away.

It was never a natural thing for me. I've always written stories... they were just never good enough. I just like writing, even though I don't have what it takes for a true author to shine.

So does this count as a talent?

Dramatic much? I guess I never really grew up from my high school drama years until A LOT later on in my life. Maybe in the year 2008 when I started this very blog? Or maybe in 2005 when I finally stopped blogging in my old blog? I'm not saying that I'm completely drama-free, but I've stopped exaggerating a lot of things. Then again, my writing style was pretty much in the form of exaggerated detail and LOTS of detail, period. I wouldn't even really be able to tell anyone whether or not my blog posts back then were because I was really that dramatic, or if I had written that way just for the added dramatic effect. I totally loved detail and the more the merrier was my stance on writing.

After all, I wanted my blog (which was read only by myself back then) to sound interesting and loud and well... just more exciting than my truly bland life.

But really now: "a scratched up metal can lodged in a donkey's throat"? How in this life did I even come up with something like that? O.o Of course, while a little exaggerated, some of this stuff was true. But in the present, I don't think I would say that my voice sounds akin to a donkey's. Maybe a haggard old woman? :P

I think I bring up this blog post only because I'm kind of in a similar mindset right now -- about my writing. For a while after finishing up school and starting a new job, I had told myself that I would finally be able to start focusing on my writing. I have tons of stories that need to be worked on. At least seven to eight chapters of four or five different stories have been written. But that's about it.

I'm constantly going back and re-reading them so that I can be motivated to continue them. But no new ideas have been coming to me.

And then, a while back, I pretty much quit going back to them because I haven't really been motivated. I WANT dearly to go back and continue, but I find myself doing other things instead. How does one pick up inspiration and motivation for something like this again?

I wouldn't say that my writing is a talent, really. It's just something I do. I love to write and I express myself the best through writing. Why else would I have an ongoing blog? Three blogs, actually (even IF one of them is on hiatus) where I share my thoughts and opinions openly. I haven't quit writing.

Evidence that I continue to write can be found in my drama zone blog. But writing opinions and thoughts about someone else's fictional story is different from creating and writing my own fictional story. At least, in my opinion, it's quite different.

So here I am at a little standstill. Of course, maybe I can just call this a temporary stall in my story writing arena. I still do a lot of writing, but rather than writing my stories, I write reviews and the like. And I also write very detailed, scene-by-scene, outlined summaries of other new story ideas and old story ideas that I have. But nothing is becoming part of the stories I've yet to finish.

Is my writing really a talent? The question comes back around once again. I really don't feel like my writing is any form a type of talent. My best friend believes that I've got a wonderful skill that just needs to be polished.

Maybe I'm just looking into this too much and I just need to relax and let things come as they will.

This brings me to a little question that I was asked not long ago by some high school kid with rose-colored glasses. He wanted to know what kind of talent I had. After all, he was in the school's choir and loved to sing. And so he asked me: "What do you do?"

Perplexed by this question, I just raised a brow and shook my head.

"What kind of talent do you have? Everyone has a talent!"

I pretty much just scoffed at his question. "I work for a living."

"No. I meant, what skills do you know? Like singing or dancing or art?"

Again, I scoffed. "Look kid, in this day and age, having a talent doesn't put food on the table. I'm not in high school anymore. My talent is going to work and making money. Case closed."

Now that I think about it, was I maybe being too harsh on the little guy? Because I then proceeded to tell him that in the real world, talents don't matter unless they can make you a hefty sum of money. And that once he grew up and became a real adult, he'd understand why having a talent really doesn't mean anything.

Anyway... until I can figure out what to do with my so-called talent, I guess I'll just continue to do what I do best. Procrastinate and use my writing skills to blog about random opinions and the like.

Also, I think after a couple years of being a nerd, I finally decided that being a celebrated nerd wasn't a bad idea after all.

Ten years... and counting... reluctantly

So the inevitable has happened.

A ten year reunion. Messages start to appear and everyone's planning, getting ideas, making arrangements, asking for volunteer helpers.

Ten years.

I now remind myself that I am officially in my late twenties, about to be reminded that I have been out of high school for ten years already. Of course, this isn't as bad (or maybe it is) as the little girl I work with pointing out that I am ten years older than she is. I had grunted and said, "That's not true, there are only nine years between seventeen and twenty-six."

And so let the melancholy begin.

I think I just need to convince myself that being "almost thirty" is really not that big of a deal. At least it's probably not that big of a deal for a lot of people who already have ideal careers, family and have lived.

I have two degrees and two part-time jobs, no boyfriend, and I still live with my entire family I've been living with since I was born.

Really... I think the only thing I've accomplished proudly is getting a brand new car and paying for it myself.

Terrible weather, terrible weekend, terrible me

So I had a long and agonizingly boring weekend. But yes, it was all my own fault. I should have just dismissed all the talk about storms and showers and whatnot and I should have just gone to Kansas City like I had planned. Instead, like a good little girl, I listened to my parents and chose not to make that long three hour drive to visit with my best friend.

I'm a horrible person. I made plans, I got all excited, my best friend got all excited, but as soon as Mom and Dad said, "You should reschedule because of the storm," I unhesitatingly said, "Yea, you guys are probably right."

And then what happened? Wichita was a very nice, peaceful and sunny weekend. Granted, apparently Kansas City was storming up like crazy, I don't think I would have hit any bad weather on my drive.

I'm so stupid that I amaze myself.

And so, out of spite, which no one seemed to pick up, I just moped around and stayed in my room all weekend-- just like an emo high school teenager who just got grounded by her parents.

OH. MY. GOD.

What the heck am I? I'm not a teenager anymore; I'm a grown adult who can make decisions on my own and will suffer the consequences of driving in a storm for three hours to visit my best friend.

What the hell was I thinking anyway?

I feel so embarrassed just thinking about it that I've been berating myself ever since the weekend ended and I realized that we actually had quite good weather. And my parents walked around talking about how business at work had been slow lately, probably because people were going out of town or something.

What the hell?!!

But I did it. It was all my own fault and my own doing. I should have just stuck with the plans and told Mom and Dad that everything would be just fine and I would make it there and back in one piece.

My days have been melancholic as thus.

Because no matter what it is that's going on, I have a feeling that my parents are more against me going out and having fun than they are with my brothers. I've been sitting around at home every evening and my days consist of waiting for work and then waiting for sleep. I try to help out around the house with chores and all, but that really doesn't make my day go by any faster.

And then when I decide to make plans for myself, I suddenly get this weird feeling that neither of my parents are very supportive of my actually having a social life outside of home and work. It's like, they think I shouldn't be out having fun and should be home doing chores like making dinner, doing laundry or cleaning house.

That's how I felt when I told my parents that I was going to Kansas City to visit my best friend for a few days.

"Oh... you're going to Kansas City?"

And that's the last I heard of them saying anything about it and they then kept forgetting that I had made plans to do as much for the weekend. And then when that supposed "storm" was coming into Wichita, they very gleefully told me that I needed to stay home because of the weather, "suggesting" that I reschedule for another weekend. And of course, no one, not even me, considered that the storm was coming into Wichita and not Kansas City and that the drive there would probably be just fine and nice.

I'm stupid. I know. I need to learn how to think things over.

So I disappointed my best friend and disappointed myself. And I even told my boss that I could not work that weekend because I would be out of town.

***

Trudging around the house looking like a lost soul doesn't help my case either. It's really funny how as soon as my brother looks like he's not going out and being bored at home, Mom immediately worries about him and tells me to hang out with him more and blah, blah, blah... But I've been moping around the house for months since my best friend left the city for her new job. But there has been no word about my being bored and lifeless and needing some companionship.

Mom just simply asks: "What's wrong with you?" Or something to that extent in Chinese. And when I shrug my shoulders and say that I have nothing to do, she replies with, "Well, staying home and not going out means that you spend less money."

And our conversation ends there.

And Dad's even more direct with his response to my boredom: "You can help clean house and make dinner and learn how to cook better."

I feel like I've lost my will to live a full and exciting life now. My goal is to survive my family for the rest of my life. How sad is that?

Anyway...

With this ranting gone and done, I still feel no satisfaction, but at least I know why I've been so bored lately. My parents encourage my brothers to go out and make friends. They then turn around and encourage me to stop going out because it would involve spending money.

I guess they've forgotten that, even whenever I go out, I have never spent more money than any of my brothers. I have a savings account and I have a car paid off earlier than planned. And while I ended up not going to Kansas City, I still ended up buying a few games online with a simple click of a PayPal button. I think I spent more money holing myself up at home than I would have had I gone to Kansas City.

PayPal is a very dangerous easy shopper concept...

***

In other news, my motivation to continue writing has come to a halt, but my desire to continue writing is still hanging like a haunting ghost. I've tried what I can to get things rolling, but instead of working on things that are in progress, I'm brainstorming new material for newer plots.

It's a shame I can't just come up with a plot, snap my fingers and get the story to write itself. Not to brag or anything, but I think I'm rather good at coming up with characters and back story and story plots. It's the writing process that's getting me where it hurts the most.

***

Oh yes, and a new blog layout. I thought it was time for a change.

Happy Holidays... or something to that extent...

It's about three hours into Christmas Day and I’m running third shift lab like a zombie. Life is freezing cold and even hot chocolate does not help. So it’s a good thing that I’ve layered up with excess undershirts and whatnot.

Can we remember what it was like in the past when we actually looked forward to the Christmas season? Well, if everyone else can, then obviously I’m of the 5% who doesn't.

I can honestly say that in the past during my teenage years or childhood, there must have been a time when I was always jumping for joy because of the holidays. The idea of a white, snowy Christmas with holiday music, hot chocolate, yummy cookies and cakes, and a nice big scrumptious Christmas dinner consisting of Mom and Dad’s best fixings would always perk up my excitement by multitudes. Christmas was always something to look forward to for reasons that only childhood me could have ever understood.

This year for Christmas, I looked forward to two things: 1) one of my best friends coming back into town and 2) double pay for a worked holiday.

I feel I’ve lost my compassion for the joys of life that eight year old Ani must have enjoyed with all the vigor and energy that she could muster up. The Ani of today has absolutely no energy reserve to even consider getting excited over Christmas candies, cookies, cakes and dinner. Long ago, I lost interest in decorating or sending everyone I knew Christmas cards. If I remember correctly, the last time I even put a Christmas card in someone’s box was back in high school. The last time that I tried to surprise someone with a Christmas gift wrapped up all pretty was sometime in high school as well.

After high school, I got caught up in college and work and simply decided not to go through the trouble of sending cards or wrapping presents. My two closest friends receive gifts of their choosing, unwrapped, I receive gifts from them of my choosing, also unwrapped, we have dinner together and then Christmas is done and over with.

Oh yes, and then there are those work-related parties that I get invited to that I usually don’t attend, as well as the family dinner that sometimes doesn’t happen.

Have I really lost my sense of excitement?

I’ve always been someone who can be easily amused by the little things in life. In fact, I preach the necessity to be able to enjoy simplicity to its fullest, because if you can’t, then the big things that happen just don’t seem as great. But the holidays have become just another chaotic duration of time in which people spend money, eat lots of food and get fairly impatient because everyone else is doing the exact same thing at the exact same time and thus no one is getting immediate service like they think they should be getting.

I swear that around Christmas and Thanksgiving is when I typically see the angriest shoppers in history. People are cutting in line, people are arguing with clerks, and people are shoving each other around. Gifts are bought before Christmas and given away and then two days later everything is returned in the same typical manner as the way they were bought; with lots of shoving and yelling.

Can you see why the holidays may seem a bit depressing from an outsider’s standpoint?

On top of that, holiday bars are the worst to work since everyone’s already spent all their money on gifts and decorations and food and other goodies. And so no one is willing to tip and you leave the bar with a handful of dollars, probably not even enough to pay for the gas that you had to spend getting to work in the first place. Boy am I glad I have a nicer job aside from bartending.

Anyway, for those of you still able to enjoy the lovely Christmas cheer, have a good one and Happy Holidays.

Where do we go from here?

So life has been quite hectic these past few months. Between finishing up school, getting a job and studying all the time, it felt like I had absolutely no time to do anything else. When I wasn't at home, I was at the hospital attending clinical rotations and learning about how a laboratory functioned. When I was at home, I would be sitting at my desk reading textbooks, reviewing notes, answering study guide questions, and trying very hard not to let my mind wander.

But even with such a hectic schedule, I had things to look forward to all the time. I dreaded my next exam; I longed for the day that clinical rotations would come to an end; I bided my time until the Board of Registry exam came around. Each week was a week closer to finishing up my short-term career goal. Each day I looked forward to going home so I could sit and study. Every other Friday, I looked forward to taking my exams and getting them over with so that I had an excuse to relax over the weekend.

But then when school finally finished and work began, it somehow felt like everything slowed to a near stop. Each day is another day for going to work and training for weeks until I will be ready officially begin my position without direct supervision. The end of training and the beginning of my offical position is the next big thing that I am anticipating.

But then what do I look forward to after that?

I'm not saying that I'm not happy with school being over-- in fact, I'm ecstatic that I don't have to worry about studying non-stop every single day. I'm glad that I've accomplished everything necessary to jump start my career. But I'd be lying if I said that I didn't miss being a student and going to classes regularly. After all, I was in school for so long that it feels only natural to be in a classroom.

Call me a nerd: if money weren't an issue, I wouldn't mind going to classes and learning all sorts of different things. (In fact, I may even think about picking up some random recreational classes around town to learn something new.)

But the fact of the matter is, I feel like I've got nothing else to look forward to except for the next day wherein I continue to go to work in the morning and then come home and sit at my computer, looking for something to keep me entertained.

Maybe I'm just suffering from some form of best friend withdrawal since one of my closest friends just recently left home to establish a new life in a different city, far, far away. The feeling isn't too different right now, as I rarely see any of my closest friends anyway; but I'm sure that melancholy is going to catch up to me when one day in the next few weeks, I feel like going out to eat and my usual dinner buddy is in a different state.

Yea... I lead a rather pathetic life. I'm a hermit who never leaves the house. The only times I ever bother going anywhere is if I'm invited out to some sort of get together or if my friend calls and asks if I'd like to have dinner somewhere. Otherwise, I'm not the type to plan anything. Of course, every so often, I might be the one who calls to see what people are doing. But then, otherwise, I just sit at home and spend the evening being lazy.

My other best friend, I never get to see regularly at all. Other close friends have other close friends. Life feels so monotonous suddenly. And I know I shouldn't be complaining; after all, I'm the one who chooses not to get up and go out and do something. I'm the one who chooses to sit at home all evening staring at television series or movies. I'm the one who chooses to have such a small circle of friends that when one leaves, I'm down to fifty percent.

And then, I know that I should really just enjoy the monotony while it lasts. After all, this is a good chance for me to relax until the next big thing. But I think the question is: What IS the next big thing? Do we really need a next big thing?

So, to address the question again: Where do I go from here?

To reminisce... is sometimes a bit depressing...

I haven't written a blog post in forever, it seems. Of course, the last one was only a month ago and I jumped onto a soap box about stuff I probably don't really understand. And that's just how my posts end up going. I hear something, I form an opinion, and then I rant about it. I may or may not know what I'm talking about. Of course, for the last post, I promise that I DID research the entire story before I said anything. I may not have researched the entire issue, but I got enough to create an objective opinion-- at least I hope that I did.

Whenever I blog, I typically have something I really want to share with people. It's not always interesting, and I'm sure a lot of times, people roll their eyes and wonder, "What the heck kind of point is she trying to make?" Well, my answer is not going to be satisfactory-- sometimes there IS no point to make. I just write whatever popped into my head to begin with.

And I'm also guilty of trying too hard to build up an introductory to my intended topic. It's a way of making my blog posts much longer and seeing how long my readers will stay with me. I apologize, cause I know that's a lame way of doing things.

And I admit that these past few paragraphs have done exact that.

Anyway, moving into the actual topic that I had intended to write about in the first place, I advise readers to skip out if you don't want to be bored with my history of drama queen randomness. But before anyone rolls their eyes and think, "Here she goes again with dramatic woe is me stories..." I'd like to clarify that I'm not in a bad mood today, I'm not trying to be dramatic for full sympathetic effect, and I've not been wronged in anyway at all today. I'm actually in a rather neutral to good mood, but I just happened to think back about some things in my past.

Has anyone ever had those moments as well? You're sitting by yourself, listening to music and random thoughts just come to invade your mind. Questions, mind-rambling... reminiscing happens as well. It comes to me a lot cause I'm usually sitting by myself listening to music if I'm not studying or watching television. Or even when you're in the shower and all you hear is the soothing rush of shower water falling down.

Sometimes I'm guilty of thinking too much-- I admit this. Thoughts end up building on thoughts and the next thing you know, you've either built up some sort of fabricated story of how current situations will escalate in the future, or you've recreated a random memory of your own past that you had never intended to think about in the first place. Be it good or bad, it's there nonetheless.

Today, mine was in a flash of a couple of memories that lead to one particular memory that had ended up creating the drama queen I had been in high school and the indifferent prick I am today. I guess "indifferent prick" shouldn't be the word to use, but I have to admit that I'm much more laid back and less compassionate about things than I used to be. And sometimes, when things happen to people around me, my reaction is typically calm and indifferent.

I grew up in a family where we truly endorsed the "Children should be seen and not heard" unofficial rule. I recall spending my time being a talkative brat while I was still going through elemetary school. I even had a nickname, "Baat Mui" that my parents used to call me all the time. Roughly translated, it means "Gossip Girl". The connotation of the the nickname, however, was simply that I loved to talk about everything, no matter what it was, and that I would never shut up. Thinking back, I'm not sure how I felt about that nickname because I was always a stupid kid-- I was slow on picking up whenever people were making fun of me, or whenever people just wanted me to shut up and sit still like a good little girl.

I always talked. But my parents' reactions had always been rather indifferent. I guess I'm overexaggerating when I say that we endosred "Children should be seen and not heard." I was definitely heard; whether or not people wanted to hear me was a different story. But I do know that my opinions were pretty much ignored and I was always told time and time again to be quiet and sit still. I don't recall whether or not my parents bothered to answer all of my curiosity, but a major part of me believes that I was never satisfied in my quest to constantly inquire about things and annoy the heck out of people.

As a contradiciton to the me today, I spent a lot of my childhood being loud and obnoxious. I was shy around strangers when at school, but around home, I was like a parrot. There had never been a time when I didn't tell everyone exactly what I thought when I that young.

But that phase didn't last long.

I think it was a little before I started middle school that I permanently shut my mouth and stopped sharing with everyone what I wanted to say, be it how I was feeling or what piece of news I'd picked up from a relative.

It had slowly sunk in that no one was really listening anyway. And when they WERE listening, they didn't seem to care. It hadn't deterred me. At least it hadn't until one day when we were all together as a family, including my mother's side of the family, celebrating something that I don't remember. Pictures were being taken and there was food, there was laughter... and then somehow, there was a ton of Ani being made fun of. Something had upset me immensely. I think that I might have felt I was being ignored; I think that I might have felt I was being bullied too much. I think that my brothers were teasing me a little too much, or my mom was randomly saying things about me that hurt my feelings. I think I may have gotten scolded for something I didn't understand.

Whatever it was that happened, I ended up breaking down into tears. And I was young then, barely a teenager, maybe a pre-teen. Maybe this was actually during middle school. I don't remember the actual time frame, but I remember that this DID happen and it affected me immensely.

Crying had always been easy to do because it conveyed the strongest feeling I'd have whenver I felt like I was wronged somehow. And so I cried. And instead of being consoled or anything, I was asked to leave the room if I couldn't behave. And now that I think about, there's no telling what had happened. Maybe I was throwing a temper tantrum-- maybe I HAD done something so irritating that it merited me being kicked out of the room and thus out of a multiple number of family photos.

And so I obediently left the upstairs and walked down into the basement where I continued to bawl. The rest of the family happily continued to take their family photos and I sat by myself crying until I heard someone coming down the stairs.

To this day, I will never forget what it was that my grandmother told me when she came to get me. Roughly translated from Cantonese, she told me that crying was never the solution to anything and it will only make things worse. She told me that as a woman in this family, I needed to learn how to bottle up my sadness and move on. "Do you know how many times I've wanted to cry before? But my own mother taught me that I should never be heard showing my sadness." "Nei yiu yuun. Yuun m'dou do yiu yuun." In English, "You have to bear it. Even if you can't bear it, you still have to bear it."

Because in this world, she told me, no one really cares when you feel like you've been wronged. No one likes a crybaby and no one wants to deal with a little girl who cries about everything.

Depressing huh? I think back on it now and I kind of have to laugh about this.

The me today has been conditioned since that moment on to stop sharing my feelings with people and stop opening showing emotion if I can help it. If I have to cry, I go to my room, close the door and pretend to be doing my homework or reading-- I crank up some music and I refuse to let anyone see my show any feelings. Over the years, it has become normal for me to keep thoughts to myself and think about what I'm going to say at least ten times before I say it lest I offend someone. Mentally, I've managed to convince myself that if something goes wrong, it's more than likely my fault and I need to be prepared to apologize. I've even gone as far as to always question whether or not people really care about anything I do or say every minute of the day. I naturally wonder whether or not the people I hang out with sometimes even want me around. I've managed to convince myself that I'm an annoying, boring person who no one wants to be around.

All of those thoughts had propelled me into my high school years of being a drama queen who could think of nothing but negative thoughts about myself. My self-esteem plummeted and I became the invisible student that no one really wanted to care about.

Today's Ani really looks back and laughs at my plight in high school. I was a lot luckier than I had ever thought and I was a lot less lonely than I had always told myself. It embarrasses me to even think about how emo and dark I had been secretly, while always acting like I was a lively, caring, and optimistic person. I dearly wanted attention, but as a conflict, my logic would not allow me to do or say anything that would draw attention if I could help it. Because my grandmother had told me that no likes a crybaby. On the outside, I forced myself to be the goody-two shoes nerd girl who every teacher liked and who never got into confrontations or arguments. I wanted to be the type of person that no one would ever hate. I was secretly always feeling lonely and always feeling like no one really cared.

Now that I think about it, I may have created a monster out of myself, because I was pretty good at manipulating people into feeling sympathy for me as the good girl. I may have been this centuries worst kid ever-- I was that girl from stories and movies that I hate so much. I was the girl who always acted like I was a good person, but who subconsciously found ways of making people feel sorry for me. All because I actually wanted attention.

After all, during my youth, growing up with three brothers who were the pride and joy of my parents and being set aside time and time again simply as the girl who was there to help do housechores when I was needed, I felt embittered. My parents were always proud of my older brother and always pampered my younger brothers. My mother always wanted me to be just like my elder brother and do the same things in high school that he had done. I was encouraged to hang out with my brother more often and with his friends-- my parents loved my elder brother's friends. But they never made an effort to get to know any of my friends-- part of that could be because my elder brother was in a group of other Asian people whereas my closest friends were 100% American.

So lacking the attention I hoped for at home, I chose to find subconscious ways of getting attention at school with friends, classmates and complete strangers. But because my grandmother's words continued to echo in the back of my mind, I didn't dare make too big a spectacle of myself. So it's hard to say whether or not I accomplished my goal.

I'm embarrassed to think that this was how I was in the past. I don't quite like myself that way. It's depressing.

The me today can only think back and wish that I never become an emo, depressing and stupid little girl like that again.

I'd like to think that I've matured a lot from those times back in high school. I'm a lot more laid back in the present and my priorities have gone from wanting attention to wanting to accomplish more important goals in my life. I have my studies and I have my future to think about. I stop thinking about depressing things that'll only make me feel like crap for the rest of the day and I have close, very, very close friends who I can actually allow myself to show emotion in front of. I spent years being a girl who never shows her true feelings in front of people, just like my grandmother told me to do. Crying is anathema to my survival and sharing my thoughts is taboo.

But having close friends who I know I can trust has allowed me to be a little more open about my feelings. I don't admit that I'm a hundred percent comfortable with being open and honest with my closest friends, however. So right here and right now, I apologize if it still seems like I keep things from you guys. I'm still at a point where I have reserves about being completely open with anyone, even if you are one of my closest friends. I'm still at a point where I feel like having my own secrets is necessary and keeping some thoughts to myself is the safest way to life. It's not that I don't trust you guys, I'm just not entirely comfortable with opening up to anyone in such a manner. And I apologize profusely, because I know that I'm cared for and that no matter what is said or done, we'll always be together as friends.

But there's still that small little psychological resistance at the back of my mind that tells me, now that I have true friends who have been with me for so many years and who have been there through all of my happinesses and who I can trust with all of my heart... Well, I just don't want to do or say anything unnecessarily that will ruin this bliss. I don't want to be hated-- and because of this, I realize that I might not be the best friend in the world, no matter how hard I try to be a friend. Given time, I'm sure I'll finally break out of my shell.

LOL

I hadn't intended to get so mushy and depressing. After all, I repeat that I had not been in a bad mood when I started writing this blog post. My state of mind earlier had been mellow and good. I was merely reminiscing, but as my title implies, reminiscing about certain things will undoubtly lead to some depressing moments. I apologize for that.

But sometimes when you get on a roll talking about certain aspects of your life like that, you get carried away and say things you hadn't intended to touch upon. And blogging is my way of allowing others to know what I'm truly thinking. Because I'm no good at physical confrontation and I'm no good at verbalizing my thoughts. I'm abnormally adverse to receiving immediately responses to my thoughts when it comes to heartfelt words such as this. I don't like exchanging moments like this face-to-face.

Maybe this is why I write.

Hopefully today's blog post hasn't repulsed away the few friends that I actually have. I had merely intended to share some of my past with everyone in writing and to let everyone know that I'm not the nice and friendly good person people often think of me as. And if you never thought of me as a good person to begin with, then well, there's your proof.

Ani isn't nice and isn't a good friend. Ani is merely a human being trying to get through life without screwing up. And in this aspect, I'm probably trying way too hard; I know I've screwed lots of things up time and time again already. But this is how I am and the me of today has made a promise to myself to learn how to improve my own personality and be more open and optimistic about myself. Even at this age, I'm sure it'll still take quite a bit of time to accomplish.

At this point, my still constantly reminding myself not to keep silent about anything when I'm with my closest friends. If I feel like I need to say something, I tell myself to say it. I've been trying not to think of the consequences of whether or not I would offend. My closest friends and I have never had an argument with each other, and because of that, it worries me whether or not we would be able to handle such a situation that comes about. Just how badly can I possibly offend my best friends without losing their friendship? I've never been lashed out at before by them and it makes me wonder whether we would recover from such a situation. And then on the other hand, I don't want to see that day come because I don't like confrontation and I don't like to argue with people.

Maybe our friendship is just different from other peoples. We don't need to argue with each other in order to strengthen our friendship like many people do. Maybe, with the type of people that we are, we simply need to know that we'll be there for each other all the time and continue to care about each other.

Thirteen years of being togehter as the closest of friends is no small matter. It takes a lot of effort to maintain a friendship and to be able to still tolerate each other after so many years-- maybe I'm just being too pessimistic about my own ability to maintain a friendship. Because if I've been kept around as a friend for this long, then there must be something about me that is actually likeable.

Anyway, to anyone who has made it this far, thanks for sticking with my depressing memories and my childish ramblings. To be able to write anything, whether it be depressing or fun is just something I feel good doing.

I promise the next post won't be as depressing and I'll find something random to talk about.

Food Handler's and Personal Liability

So I had to renew my food handler's license today by sitting through a two hour class on how to safely handle food that will eventually end up in other people's stomachs. No big deal; it's a two hour sit and I get paid for it... I think. I just need to show up and pay attention.

When given hand-outs about all the necessary precautions and rules and regulations of food safety, I realized that I already knew all of this stuff. Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean that rules are always followed, because in reality, there are usually more pressing matters such as making sure that the customer gets the service he or she is paying for.

When things come down to rules or reality, there just has to be that simple gray area. Functioning in real life can't always be about rules and regulations. Otherwise, as someone had put it, you'd be standing at the sink washing your hands every two seconds and nothing will get done. But for the record, rules are always followed even if mistakes are made occasionally.

But this is all history now. The class is over and we do what we can to make sure everything goes according to what is required.

The subject of personal liability came up however, and even though I had always known this in the back of my head, it wasn't until today that I actually heard those words put into a sentence as a fact: "In this country, there is no personal liability." And I hadn't realized just how deep that one statement goes either. Now I'm not saying that what I had heard today is completely and absolutely true. I don't know the legalities behind the whole ordeal.

And I'm not even sure if the term is used correctly anyway, since, upon looking it up, personal liability has to do with claiming your own debts and being accountable for that and so on.

Liability really has to do with financial issues anyway.

But what we discussed as examples of what she really meant can be best illustrated by the millions of lawsuits filed outrageously against some company for a person's own stupid actions causing that person to become victimized somehow. Famous case that comes to mind is the McDonald's hot coffee case back in 1992 when a woman was burned while trying to open the lid of her coffee cup. Now I know that there are a lot of fine details to that story that may or may not skew an outsider to either consider one side or another. But the question in the end comes down to, "Who is ultimately at fault for the woman being burned by a cup of hot coffee?"

First of all, did McDonalds really serve coffee so hot that it is not consumable upon being bought? Second of all, even if they do, is it really McDonald's fault after selling that cup of coffee, to make sure that clumsy people do not burn themselves? Should all paying customers be treated like idiots and be advised that, yes the hot coffee is indeed hot and that it will burn if your skin touches it immediately? And if I choose to put my steaming, scalding cup of hot coffee between my legs and accidentally knock it over, is that my own foolishness, or is that McDonald's fault for not warning me that I shouldn't put hot coffee between my legs because it could spill and cause burns?

Setting that case aside, there are always millions of issues out there that come down to the unfairness of a lot of legal policies. For instance, when I first became a bartender, one of the first things that I was told was that if a drunken patron requests another beer, I serve it to him, he leaves the building able to blow a 0.35 BAC, but manages to drive onto the road and then gets into an accident, then in the end, I will be the one responsible for the resulting accident and will be sued for negligence.

Now, I can understand if I was the one who put the keys in that drunken patrons hands, led him to his car, and told him to leave. I can understand if I persisted in serving this drunken patron alcohol when I should have been morally, and legally, obligated to cut him off. But if I refused to serve him alcohol because of his beyond inebriated state, he finds a way of getting ahold of an alcoholic beverage anyway despite attempts to cease his actions, and then he insists on driving in his drunken state thus getting into a horrendous accident, why can it still be the bartender's fault?

Apparently, these policies are based around the idea that people do not have to take responsibility for their own stupid actions if they happen to become the victim of their own stupid actions. Today, another example had been, if a person came into a restaurant, ordered his steak rare and bloody, was warned of the fact that consuming raw meat comes at a high risk of contracting food-borne illnesses, but insisted that he be given his bloody, fresh slaughtered cow anyway, and then ends up in the hospital because of E. coli, then the facility who sold him that piece of meat can be sued for negligence or something of the like. Maybe sued for serving a customer a piece of dangerous meat. Because according to the federal code, steaks have to heated to a certain temperature and cooked for a certain amount of time before they can be served.

So whatever happened to personal responsibility? Why would McDonalds have to settled 2.9 million dollars in compensation because they served a cup of hot coffee to a patron who orderd hot coffee? Do we not know that when you spill a cup of hot coffee on your lap, it's going to burn? So if you make your own coffee at home and accidentally spill it in your lap, do you get to sue the person who made that coffee machine? Do you get to sue the manufacturer of the stove you used to heat up your boiling water because it heated up your beverage to a scalding hot temperature that makes your coffee unconsumable?

Where is the line between personal responsibility and third-party responsibiity? Why are people not responsible for their own stupid actions?

While I feel sorry that the woman had gotten burnt, ended up needed skin grafts, and stayed in the hospital for two years for treatment and care, was it really McDonald's fault?

And even still, apparently, disclaimers warning paying customers about the risks of certain actions does not mean that the establishment is no longer responsible. Apparently, those little disclaimers at the bottom of the steak menu is only there for decoration-- even if it tells people about the risks of consuming raw or undercooked meat, if someone insists on ordering a rare steak and gets sick, that person can still come back and sue the establishment.

It's unfortunate that ideals are like that. Because in the end, how do you know what you'll be responsible for and what you're not responsible for, if people don't have to take responsibility for their own actions? I mean, I have always lived under the impression that if I walk into a street full of cars and get hit by one, I'm not going to sue the city for not warning me about the hazards of walking into heavy traffic. If I am allergic to milk and dairy products, I'm not going to sue Hiland for not warning me that drinking their milk is going to make me sick (granted, there probably is a warning on all milk products for those who are lactose intolerant.)

I understand the necessity of how to best service a consumer. But isn't it too much when you have to hold someone's hand and tell them every step of the way what they should and shouldn't do to keep from getting themselves hurt or sick? As adults, is it really okay to keep blaming other people if you don't learn how to watch out for your own well-being and continue to make mistakes that cost your own welfare, even after various warnings?

Isn't that just plain lack of common sense?

What it means to me...

Respect is something that is earned and not given away like flyers. Acting like an jerk is not going to help with the situation and neither are false accusations that accomplish nothing.

My personal opinions, which may not mean anything to many people, set up respect for those people who do their best in life, whether work or social or just general. If you do your share and try your hardest, you've earned my respect. You don't have to be intelligent and you don't have to know everything. In fact, you don't even have to be a martyr so long as it shows how you've at least tried your best.

A leader usually gets my respect automatically because of status. I think to myself, "That person is there for a reason." But that doesn't mean that I know why or that it'll remain true. Because in the end, automatic respect is lost far more easily than earned respect.

I'm not one to start trouble if it's not necessary. I like to keep the peace. If someone treats me wrong, but I've lost nothing in the process except for a small speckle of dignity and my temper, I simply take a deep breath, maybe vent to some of my friends about having had a bad day, and then I move on and get over it. Dwelling on the matter will only make me more stressed about it and it's not worth the stress. If a true problem comes up that could be a deciding factor about a major issue in my life, that's when I might have to finally speak up.

It's not the best way to go about conflict management, but I'm not good at confrontation. If at all possible, I'd love to just ignore and move on.

Unfortunately, other people like to start fires where bridges can be burned. I know for a fact that last night, a certain somebody has completely lost the respect of myself and two others. I will not mention names nor will I give specifics. He may not know who he is, but I'm pretty sure he'll find out in the long run that what he has done has not only failed to establish his authority, but has also lost the trust and respect of others.

Without trying to be immodest, I will honestly admit that I am a very tolerant and very nice person. I don't like arguments, I don't like confrontation, and I don't like anger. It takes a lot for someone to piss me off because I otherwise, normally just ignore their annoyance. But lines are easily crossed and especially if said person has been tip toe-ing that line since the first day we met.

I've lost respect for few people over the years. Because life is too short to spend always wondering who is going to do you wrong the next minute, or who you should make feel miserable, or who you should display false authority to. It would get tiring, wouldn't it? You spend a lot of your time each day already surrounded by necessities and issues such as, "What daily chores do I need to finish today?" "Where do I need to go today?" "Who do I need to call? What do I need to take care of?" "What's for dinner? What's for lunch?" "Do I want to sit and watch television or spend time with the family?" "Do I have homework to do? Studying? Reading?"

There are so many other things that need to be accomplished within the day that it's a wonder to me that people can dwell on other matters as petty as, "Who's going to make my life miserable today and how should I respond to that and who should I defend myself against before they even show any hint of thinking of attacking?" I feel sorry for those people who spend their entire lives thinking that they need to cry wolf every second they get a chance just so someone won't even remotely think of treating you wrong.

When my friend gets accused of doing something she had not even done and gets ambushed with that issue, I feel like we've stepped into past issues of incredulous Salem witch trials. It doesn't matter that she has done her share of work or that she had no intentions whatsoever of being rude or irrational. It doesn't matter that she had done nothing to merit being accused being disrespectful. But the issue going through the accuser's head must have been as simple as, "I need to set authority somehow," or "I need to teach some people a lesson," and so he goes and cries wolf about something that isn't even true. Maybe he was trying to earn respect he doesn't deserve by showing how he isn't being given respect. Maybe he was trying to defend against an impending attack. I don't know what his intentions had been, but there was no need to falsely accuse people.

If he wanted to given more respect, well, I'm sorry, he's burned three bridges. His way of going about things was childish and uncalled for.

I spent the night tossing and turning in bed wondering about the situation. If I had been in her position at the time, what would I have done? I don't have a temper. I don't know how to deal with confrontation and I'm no good at voicing my opinions. What would have happened to me? Would I have said something wrong? Would I have further angered him by saying something accusatory back? Or would I have suddenly developed some form of manipulative skill to turn the tables?

Who knows?

Respect is just so easily lost when someone pulls a stunt as irrational as he had done. Although we must consider that the respect that I had had for this person was teetering on a tight rope already. Because I believe there are certain things that he has no right to bring up and that his respect was not given to him in accordance to his ability to work hard, his work ethics, or even his social personality. This is a person who had been given automatic respect because of his position.

And I apologize. It's all gone now.

So now the main question is, how do I continue to act around him without making trouble for others?

My So Called "Proud" Immune System

There is nothing more annoying than consistently coming down with a cold or some form of sickness when you can't really afford to be sick. Back in high school, I spent four whole years being extremely grateful that I had an immune system worthy of the most nasty colds. The words "I neer get sick" were more true than anything else I'd ever say.

I got summer colds, but never winter colds, and typically, I was struck down with something every summer, but only for a few days and only that one time. It was the same, each summer. And then I'd move on with my life.

Recently, in the past few months, I have been consistently sick more than is normal for me. I guess this is a mark of growing older-- because with age, your immune system starts to play tricks on you. It decides that it wants to go on strike at the most ridiculously absurd times. And it chooses to go on strike irregularly and almost every other week.

For the past year, I think I've been sick at least once every month. It's irritating, because I'm NEVER sick.

Theory has it, from friends, that I've been sick more often lately due to stress. Trying to finish up this Medical Technology program, I've put much more work and effort into completing this task than I've ever done for anything else. I mean, back in high school, sure I worked hard to make things happen for me, but I never had to put too much effort into it-- high school was a cake walk. Throughout the beginning of college, I doubt I put much of my effort into working hard at all-- college was boring until you could figure out what it was you wanted to do with your life. And then when I finally figured it out, Forensic Science courses were extremely easily passed with an 'A'. And now, in Medical Technology, all of my slacking off since I started going to college has caught up with me.

With this program, I feel like I need to put in twice the effort and twice the time and twice the hard work I used to put in for anything I've ever done. And because of this, I skip sleep, I get worked up, and I get nervous over the littlest things. I'm constantly studying and worrying about my grades. Stress level goes up and lack of sleep will probably equal into a temporarily impaired immune system.

And so as my friends are telling me, the only reason I've been getting sick so much more often lately is because I'm stressed out. Once the program is done and over with, I will probably go back to the way I used to be.

Another theory popped up, but not about why I've been getting sick more often, but about why I feel like I'm being crushed by diesel trucks whenever I get sick. I try so hard not to be a baby whenever I catch something, but it just so happens that I feel so much like crap that I can't help it. Whenever I get sick, it just seems to hit full-force, every single time.

And we have attributed this to the fact that, well, I never get sick. If you never get sick, then you never know how to deal with any cold that comes around. Your body goes into panic mode and you have trouble with sickness tolerance. Most people will just simply say, I'm sick, and move one. I'll do that too, but then there's hacking, sneezing, and feeling dizzy all the time. It can't be helped-- because I'm never sick as much as everyone else, my body doesn't know how to handle it when it comes around.

And so all of that pride I've always had in a strong immune system... Well, I can't really take the dumb thing for granted anymore. At least not when I'm currently rushing through another streak of sore throat and congestion.

Rain Rant

I personally love the rainy season. There's something absolutely soothing about the sound of rainfall and the feel of raindrops plopping down onto your skin. It's nice and cool and storms are sometimes really pretty to watch.

Of course, unfortunate things do occur. Bad storms can leave you neighborhood strewn with leaves, branches, and probably your next door neighbor's trash. If the storm is bad enough, it'll pick up an entire trailer park and drop it in your high school's football field (a tornado, that is). And yes, lots of people do not like thunder.

And then there's the never ending cycle of stupid Wichita drivers in the rain. I've been complaining about this for the longest time. Nothing is ever going to be done about it, because as soon as that first drizzle of water hits a windshield, it's like every driver feels the necessity to drop their speed by one half.

Brakes will start showing up on the freeway, people crawl the highway like bugs, and apparently, rainy weather gives everyone the right to drive like a moron.

Today, while heading home from a nice long study session, I noted the car that I drove behind was going about ten miles under the limit. While it had poured a little bit earlier, by the time I was back on the road, it was nothing but a drizzle. I barely needed to put my wipers on. But the entire way down 21st street, I followed this car who was driving about 30 mph and keeping about 20 feet away from the car in front of him. In the other lane, there were cars galore and so passing him was NOT an option.

Now, I sincerely apologize if the person driving in front of me was an older man-- which I believe he was. Driving cautiously is key to some people and I understand that. I remained quite patient.

As soon as we began ascending onto the freeway, however, I swear he put his brakes on every two seconds up until he merged. He then promptly proceeded to switch into the middle lane, gracefully cutting off another driver who's brakes flashed immediately. The slowpoke continued to drive 10 under the limit and I passed him with a bit of relief.

I personally am not a fellow driver. I don't claim to be the best driver out there. I'm cautious and try to avoid as many accidents as possible within reason. I don't drop my speed suddenly without warning, I don't like to cut people off because I don't like to be cut off. I especially do not like to tail-gate because my reaction is sometimes a wee bit slow-- of course, towards the last half of my journey home, I noted a car behind me who was probably three feet up my ass. If I can't see your headlights, you are too close buddy.

I apologize for my old clunker of a car. It only goes so fast and if you don't want to drive slower than you like, then go around me. Simple as that.

Driving doesn't have to be hard.

Backtracking to somewhere in the middle of my drive home on the nifty and busy highway of 135, heading south, a large, made of complete hard metal truck changes lanes to get in front of me. This guy is not the problem; he was far enough in front of me that I could slow down to match his pace.

Unfortunately, a few moments later, he comes to a complete stop in the middle of the freeway while we are in the middle lane. I brace myself, I press down on my brakes, but I'm afraid to just slam on them because the ground is wet after all. I think I managed to stop within just a tiny bit of an inch away from colliding with the truck in front of me. By now, I am too surprised to think clearly until I notice that nothing else is happening. We have come to a dead stop in the middle of the freeway, but the other two lanes to either side are still moving, albeit, a little slower.

Moments later, the truck starts up again, and what do I see but some white SUV pulling out and over onto the shoulder of the freeway and stopping. Some woman had found it necessary to come to a complete stop on the freeway. And this isn't even all. After she pulls over onto the shoulder-- and not even all the way over, she immediately jumps out of her car which opens up directly into oncoming traffic from behind her and circles around to the back of her vehicle to check something.

I watched as two cars swerve towards my lane-- with me still in it-- to avoid running her stupid ass over and then the rest of the cars in that same lane slowing to a stop to keep from slaughtering her or taking her driver's side door out because the b**** doesn't even have the decency to shut her door as she inspects whatever it is she needs to inspect about her car.

Now I don't know what actually happened to cause her to have to first stop traffic in the middle lane while she waited to get out of the middle lane then over onto the shoulder. I don't know what was so important that she needed to burst unexpectedly out of her car into more traffic and thus stopping more traffic. If it was really that important, then maybe I'm in the wrong. But had this been a worst case scenario, I probably would have head-butted the metal-made truck in front of me and my car would have crumbled. Cars behind me would have then proceeded to sandwich me as well.

I'm a little distraught.

Following her little stop, she probably would have been bumped off of the freeway and to wherever had the truck not swerved out of her way when she jumped out of her own vehicle so suddenly. There's an accident that might have been able to have been prevented if she would have just been a little more patient and slowly made her way, all the way over onto the shoulder.

Okay. I'm done. I'm sorry about the newest post being another rant. I was a little shaky and pissed.

But I swear, the correlation concerning stupid drivers and rain is directly proportional. More rain equals stupider drivers.

For happier news, well, I guess I can say that I'm in good spirits about the final I have to take tomorrow. Somehow, I'm a bit calm about that.

And so there it is. A rant and a small bit of good news.

Emo moments come so often when you're a jerk

I'm losing it. And I'm a horrible person. And if you've got better things to do than to hear me rant it out about my selfishness, you might as well just stop here. Seriously, no one needs to see this ugly side of me. But if you wish to continue, just bear with me.

It's very simple. I think I'm beginning to lose my grasp on "giving a damn" about a lot of things and a lot of people. I have no compassion for people, no matter who it is. Sure, I can be a friendly person-- I've spent my entire life being a very pleasantly friendly person. I treat others with respect and I maintain that as long as I don't wrong others, they will not wrong me.

I've spent my entire life being the obedient daughter, a kind sister, a caring friend... But I'm not quite sure where that's leading me.

My friends are great. I will not deny that. They listen, they care, and they don't turn their backs on me. I'm eternally grateful, because without them, I would never be able to escape from everything else.

But at home, things are so much different.

I've spent my childhood being a filial child. Whenever mom and dad say jump, I really do say "how high?" I don't talk back, I do as I'm told, and I try so, so, so, so, so hard to please them on many, many occasions. I do my best in school, try to make good grades, clean house, clean my room, do my laundry, babysit.

But what does all of that mean in the end?

I means that Dad can march right up to me and tell me that I never help out around the house. It means that Dad can come to me and tell me that I need to start thinking about others, mainly my mother, and start helping her with the cooking and cleaning. It means that, in contrast, my brothers can sit around all effing day long, watch movies, play on their computers, and no one ever questions that. It means that my dad would rather not trouble my brothers to mow the lawn or help put together a bookshelf and so he'll do it himself while giving me a disappointed look every so often because I didn't volunteer my help. It means that if I don't initiate help around the house, I'm a horrible daughter, but my brothers don't even have to lift a finger and still be their pride and joys.

That's what it all means.

Every year I'm the one who goes out and buys the Christmas cards, birthday cards, Mother's day, Father's day, and any other fine occasion. It's because I'm thinking of my parents and I want to give them something and yet I don't have the money to buy them anything fancy. A card tells them that I'm thinking about them.

But my brother can come home one time and buy them a 22 inch flat screen television and they're bragging about it all over town. My brother can treat them to dinner just that one time in five years and they're beaming with pride.

I know I have no right to complain. I'm spoiled. I live at home without worries of paying rent or bills. My parents will flaunt the fact that I have a Bachelor's degree to some people. My parents will supply daily necessities for my use. My parents will foot the bill for everything that I need.

I'm ashamed to say that I'm still unsatisfied. Maybe I shouldn't be saying things like that. I'm a spoiled rotten child. I don't live on the streets and I don't have to shop at economy stores for anything.

Maybe I'm just trying to find a reason vent my frustration that I've never been the favorite child. Maybe I'm just trying to make a reason for myself to become angry with someone. Maybe I'm just giving myself a justification for how irrationally incompassionate I am about people.

Because, frankly, when it comes to situations wherein one should show a bit of feeling... I just don't really give a damn.

My dad's been organizing and reorganizing and cleaning the basement all morning. I haven't bothered to lend a helping hand. And on top of that, it's driving me crazy that somehow, he's still managing to find things to do that's making a racket... as if he's telling me, "This is not my job. This is your job. You should be cleaning the house as the only girl in this family. But instead of telling you to your face, I'm just going to make noises and hope that you feel like a bad daughter for not even bothering." Yea... that's what I'm hearing. Am I crazy? Well, let's not answer that question, cause we already know the answer.

The last draw would have been when my brother came to me to tell me that my father has been bitching about household funds to him. Apparentely, my brother (who makes much more money than me regularly) thinks that I should pay back my parents what money I've borrowed for school as soon as I can, while I'm still trying to pay off the rest of my school on my meager servant's salary of $2.35/hour plus gratuities that may or may not amount to about a hundred dollars biweekly per pay check.

He thinks that I should NOT be borrowing money from my parents for school. I didn't want to tell him that I've paid for all of my school on my own except for two thousand dollars of which I really needed to complete last semester's tuition payment. I didn't want to tell him that between me and the rest of my lovely brothers, I probably borrow the least amount of money from mom and dad.

And I didn't want to tell him that Dad's been bitching to me about house hold finances since the first time my brother's credit card debt amount came in to perspective.

It's not all me, kid. If you feel like you need to repay our parents, you go right ahead. I have no money right now. Leave me out of it. When I finally land myself a good job, of which I have all the confidence I will, then I'll start handing over checks to my parents monthly, just like my elder brother does.

I'm not a moocher, even if I am a bitch and asshole. I will do my part.

But do not come to me an demand that I pay back a percentage of what I've borrowed from the parents. Because in which case, let my just go out to that magical little money tree and harvest it for a couple hundred dollars. Right?

I'm done. My apologies to anyone who has made it this far. I'm just done.