Bruises, Cuts, Scars...Oh my!

The title says it all.  There are times you go clubbing, partying or to inconspicuous* concerts where you somehow end up with a bruise or cut, that you have no idea where it came from.  You didn't get into a fight, or just merely stand next to one. occurring right next to you..so how did that strange dark bruise get there in the first place?  I think I will start documenting all the bruises and cuts I get from clubbing. 

 I don't recall getting kicked in the knees twice at the same time...

 I neither recall someone trying to punch me in my elbow, but missing? hahaha

And sometimes, your cuts from Vegas heal and remind you to go back because you had such a great time.

Love,

Crazy Crystal

Strangers on the Brain

I remember one of the first few times I have stopped at Martinez, CA, en route to Stockton, and quickly took a picture of the Amtrak station, noting the beautiful trusses and strangers I had encountered. I updated my Tumblr and mentioned one of these fleeting moments; how unique and wondrous it is to be absorbed in a stranger's tale or in a familiar place with a different you. Most of my stories begin on public transportation--seeing Berkeley for the first time as I arrived on the train under an overpass on 3rd Street, taking the F line to Emeryville to buy that Ikea table that currently sits in a Warring Street apartment--the only physical remnant of myself in Berkeley, or those Bart rides to a memorable night with some of the best people in the world. Maybe it's just the romantic in me wanting to find the perfect encounter with the perfect stranger. Wouldn't that be great, though? To have these little anecdotes to share with people. For what it's worth, you might be the story of someone's day. However, these brief recollections are of a few weeks in November when I creeped around the bay doing some backroom temporary job thing for an agency. (Sorries, I have this affinity for increasing sketch factor through very poorly chosen words.)

Temporary job: I worked for two weeks right after the World Series at the Giants store and met some people from all walks of life. Although the time came and went without me talking much, I would observe them from afar...like a rapist would, I suppose. This is turning into a bad story. No, I did not rape anyone—since size and strength would also be my demise--I simply admired them. There was a marriage counselor who gave hysterical retorts to anyone teasing her, an older Filipino women who had just arrived in the U.S. searching for a “better” life, a sassy mom who rubbed my back telling me times were going to get better, and a tall black guy who, after sensoring hats with me, decided to give me the nickname of “AutoCAD”. Quickly, the jobs ended, people parted ways without really saying goodbyes (inconsistent work schedules), so I never had the opportunity to assign back nicknames or have longer conversations with these people. They were kind and helpful—planning a time they’ll phone their sister who works as an architect to see if anyone is hiring (I never had the chance to pass on my number), joining me for aimless walks in one direction to finally settle on some surprising lunch spot, passing on astonishing words of encouragement, and leaving me inspired for my next little journey in life.

I finally thought of a name for tall guy. “Maserati”. Okay, I only know what a Maserati is because I’m sort of obsessed with Lil Wayne (A Milli?!). And plus! His name almost sounded like the car…I think. NO, I did not name a black guy after a car in a black rapper’s…rap. I think. I remember his quiet “belief” in me, that with every highly paid sports person that passed by the backroom where we worked hanging clothes, he said to me, That's going to be you, AutoCAD. You're going to be doing big things.

And without knowing, his words became my story of the month.

Truthfully, I started this post a couple months back. Never finished it because…I can’t really blame it on being busy. Maybe I was distracted. I am still distracted. I’ve kept little notes on my phone to keep tab of what happened as I was flitting back and forth between the bay and home.

On the Muni (post World Series): a hardcore Giants fan noticed the amount of haterade coming off my t-shirt for the LA Dodgers. (The store gave me the t-shirt for free to wear while I worked.) He asked to trade for it---and I kind of don’t think too much about it, like, OH maybe he’s just making conversation. No, this person started digging into his bags and bags of paraphernalia to look for something to trade. I later leave the Muni with a new baseball cap I intended for my dad (which turned out to be too small for his head) and had, for the first time in my life, undressed on public transportation underneath a sweatshirt. Wait, was that man a perv?

At the Amtrak in Richmond, CA: I missed my 7 AM train. I don’t understand how my brain could have possible considered an hour that was 4 hours before my wake-up time, to run 5 blocks (with duffel and bags upon bags in tow) to BART, wait for BART, get to Richmond, and catch the train to go home that morning. I got to Richmond 10 minutes after the train had departed the station. So, three hours wait for the next train, which would be nothing right? WRONG? I was starving and could not summon the strength to lug my bags around again in search for food. An hour in, a man approached me asking for the BART. I motioned over the tracks to the other side of the fence to tell him he was on the wrong platform. I realized my mistake as the man started to find a way across the tracks to reach BART. Fortunately, our eyes meet again and he headed downstairs, avoiding a catastrophic accident and “murder guilt” on my conscience. Within the last hour, a man, who was poorly dressed and holding nothing but a bag of—wait, is that prescription meds—came up to me. I smiled at him, even encouraging him to solicit me for money. But he didn’t. Instead he approached me and asked me to point in the direction of Sacramento. I almost hug him. I tell him the train usually head north but, You should go downstairs—there is a Kiosk. It should have the times for when the next train is coming. Do you have a credi—

He interrupted me and gazed into the direction of Sacramento, I just got out of jail…

I’m heading to the bay again this week. To play, to look for jobs, to propel myself in that direction again almost indefinitely. Hopefully, there will be more stories to share and anecdotes worthy of remembering! In the meantime, we started a new blog of our daily fails…in the adult world. No, not the ADULT XXX WORLD. It really is just a copy/transcription of our rejection e-mails/calls/letters to people who just don’t want us to work for them. 

CAT is my friend.

No no, not this cat. Computer Adaptive Testing, hithertoforth (I think I made that word up) referred to as the CAT, the scary ass mother**cker used by the GRE. The CAT is this belligerent little creature that lives inside the computer crafting the GRE as you go along. When you answer correctly, the material gets harder, and when you answer incorrectly the test gets easier but your scores will drop. Here is an example of what one of the questions might look like:

Like a good little student, I arrive at Fresno State fifteen minutes early and proceed to whip out a 8.5x11 color map of the campus to make my way to the testing venue. Walking through the campus reminds me of our college days...has it really been that long?
I get sidetracked for a moment and start following the smell of food, but I pull out the map again, and it turns out the testing room is in the other direction. I manage to find my way there and proceed to scarf down this strawberry cream cheese muffin outside the room. Mid-chew, a girl walks towards me and asks if I'm taking the GRE. I swallow and say I am, I am just finishing this muffin. She gives me a weird look and walks inside.

When I get inside I proceed to make an even bigger fool of myself. The lady behind the desk lets me know that I can put my stuff in the lockers in the room down the hall to the right, on the right hand side. Ever since I was little I've had trouble discerning left and right...unfortunately, in my nearly 23 years of life I still haven't got it right. So I wandered towards the nearest room, look inside and see some cupboards and a microwave, peep my head back out to the desk, and throw a sheepish glance at the lady and she tells me "No, on your right." So I step out of the room and head towards the other room, and she says "No no, the other room" and I turn...possibly to the left, not sure which direction to go while trying to figure out which of my hands is the right one, and she finally says, "Okay let me just show you. " Turns out I had the correct room the first time but the lockers were on the right and I didn't see them. Honestly...you can't even play off this level of disaster...but anyway, I put down my stuff, enter the testing room, sit down, put in earplugs...and the next 3 1/2 hours are kind of a blur. The computer shows me the verbal and quantitative scores right after the test but I have to wait for the essay scores to be scored sometime in the near future. I am, for the most part, happy with my scores, and hope that barring disaster I never have to take this test again.

My mom takes me to get dimsum after, which is wonderful because I am starving. I felt kind of bad for the other kids testing in there, cuz I was that annoying person that kept coughing and my stomach kept growling. And in that quiet room, it sounded like there was a monster in my abdomen. Doesn't matter. Bygones. I'm already starting to forget as these spare ribs hit my tastebuds. After eating until I reach food baby status, I crack open the fortune cookie.

I laugh and show it to my mom and she goes "That can be your next goal!"

<3G

Is this okay?

So, I was looking for an umbrella since my two large specimens have gone missing since the move from Berkeley.  And look what I've found on my search...

I give you...the flask umbrella...

Is that OKAY?! hahahahaha. So...what you're saying, is that there WAS a way we could have upped our Berkeley experience...even more!? Could such absolute happiness be attainable?

I kid, drinking 3 days a week and graduating on time was amazing enough for me. Yeah...we're kind of amazing <3

Crystal

Sailorween & Vegas for a day

Hello loves! I'd like to recap on Halloween from my perspective.  From what I can tell from the pictures, it was a pretty good night.  I started the night off in the room at the Wynn, fell into this b/tch on 10, jk (refer to DJ Chuckie).  We actually started off the night with a nice bottle of, you guessed it, Goose <3

 

That ain't no 750ml, that's a 1.5L baby. Yeah, we fcuks wid it.  Divided between 5 ladies n a fireman, we got a pretty GOOD headstart from our counterparts in the other vehicular device.  We arrive at Infusion in SF...with an empty bottle, so some Scouts decide to order some AMFs.  You should know what the acronym stands for...you not standing at the end of the night. LOL, they look like a beautiful blue poison. Check it out.

 

Tasty, but Sailor Neptune definitely did not have one, for she knew that another drink would have her head spinning faster than all the momentum of the planets combined, all while hugging porcelain at the end of the night.  She definitely controlled herself on this occasion =).  The night went extra well, as always.  We had the privilege of outer scouts traveling from distant locations such as Central Cali n Stockton to unite as one with the mob once more.  The Sailor Scouts stayed dancing on stage, with some more drinks, losing half the group the whole time and then reuniting, and having photo-shoots throughout the night.  As always, there was no drama.  Life is good with my ladies, we def stay sucka free.

And that was the end of that night.  24 hours later, Sailor Neptune was to embark on a journey all on her own: Operation Vegas.  She was to be sent on a mission to represent the Sailor Scouts and meet up with her own Tuxedo Mask and fight evil! (umm...evil= no fun? iono. lol).  This would be her first solo journey flying in a plane all alone.  At the airport waiting for her 10:30am flight, she received an automated call that stated her plane would be delayed until 11:30am. WHAT?! -she thought in her head.  She immediately teleported to her gate and kindly asked the Southwest associate if there was any way she could catch an earlier plane.  The kind sir graciously granted her wish, and she was soon on her way to Vegas an hour earlier than planned! (FCUK YEAHHH MANN! =) i'm always down for an extra hour in Vegas!) Neptune landed in Vegas around noon and soon met up with her disguised Tuxedo Mask and they rendezvoused the strip and met with other disguised superheros.   After an exhausting day, Neptune took a nap, but alas! It was soon ready for her transformation! (lol, lemme google what she says for her transformation. brb).

Sailor Neptune Planet Power! lol, n voila! okay, maybe it took an hour more than the actual Sailor Neptune would take, but all in all, she was ready to get her classy on.  

                             

The group hit up TAO n wandered for days to other bars n locations.  They ended up back at one their friends hotel rooms n partied some more.  Someone thought it was a good idea to give Neptune a nice big shot of 151, and since Neptune ain't a quitter, she accepted the challenge.  She immediately took a nap, and when awoken, wandered barefoot back to her hotel, with assistance of course. lol.  It was def the best one day trip ever.  However, she is pretty frightened at how she will have to top this with the next one day trip/ ohhh lordy =)

Love love love,

Crystal

Organic Stairmaster: Sometimes I just combine random words.

My friend recently moved to Berkeley to do volunteer work. I was going up to visit her, and of course, revisit the ‘ol alma mater. So she called me in the afternoon and asked where she should meet me. I told her not to worry, that I would be able to find my way…after all, after the 4 years I spent here, I know Berkeley better than a homeless man knows People’s Park. She was like “Are you sure??? It will be dark.” I thought it was super cute that she was worried, because I thought of all the times I wandered around with you guys in Berkeley at night, sometimes very late at night, and almost all of the time, drunk. “Don’t worrrryyy.” I told her.
“I got this.”

So when the train gets in, it is, in fact, dark. I have my Berkeley weather gear on: Thick jacket, scarf, socks. However, tonight is uncharacteristically warm. I decide to for-go the bus. She lives on the street above Foothill, and I don’t exactly know how the bus system works on Northside, so I start walking up that hill. I get all these mixed feelings as I pass by all the familiar places. Man I remember that time we saw a UFO walking through campus after that houseparty on Spruce. I swear that light just disappeared. Oh man, GPB, I know a dude who got mugged there one night [AVOID]. Gooooodness it’s Top Dog, remember that summer we tried all their flavors?

Math problem: I come to the crosswalk walking at the same pace as a guy walking perpendicular to me. He slows his pace so I can pass, but I also slow my pace so that he can get by me. Result? We are both awkwardly stopped and waiting for each other to pass. MAH PEOPLE! I’ve missed you.

I get to her place and she makes me some tea and popcorn. She takes a whole stick of butter out of the fridge. “The whole stick of butter goes in that popcorn…” I ask. “That’s why it tastes good.” I proceed to have the most delicious popcorn in my life, topped with sea salt, vegan nutritional yeast and a stick of butter. Gotta get me some of that yeast…

So my friend introduces me to her roommate who is a middle aged woman. You guys know how I have that fear of adults. We shake hands, everything is cordial but the woman goes to sleep really early, so by the time we’re done with the tea and popcorn, she’s already turned off all the lights.

 I have some trouble falling asleep because it feels quite early and tonight my eyes haven’t been properly lulled to sleep by the eye fatigue caused by hours on my laptop. I also have the top bunk and there aren’t any guardrails. A combination of the height of the bed coupled with the positioning of lamps, bedside tables and chairs directly in my path of destruction if I did end up taking a slumbering tumble made me a little nervous. Here's a diagram of what I like to call "The Danger Zone".

My friend has to get up early for work the next morning, and I assume that her roommate leaves at the same time, but she does not. So my friend gets ready and everything, grabs her purse and leaves, but this woman is still on the bed sleeping. Don’t leave me alone with this woman! I haven’t been properly briefed! What is the appropriate protocol?!?

The campanile chimes eight times in the distance and I hear her get up and go on her laptop so I do as well. Then she starts doing morning stretches and things old people do, which isn’t that weird or anything it’s just that it’s unusual to me, so I take note. Before she leaves for work, she tells me there’s a school here and there are lots of student cafes and things that I can hang out at during the day. I thank her and tell her I went to school here so I’ll be able to find my way around.

I think Berkeley is a really great place to live and I have a lot of good memories here, but without the people who made it great, it sort of feels like any another place. But that’s okay, because when I look toward the future, I see Taylor Swift karaoke nights, food parties, and happy hours after work, the legitimate benefits and vacation type.

Final Note: As we whipped our hair back and forth nearly a year ago, I see our antics are just as relevant now as they were back then

<3G

I Run To Be

I'm alive. My venture into the world of athletics, where drinking Gatorade has a legitimate purpose and doesn't make me feel like a complete douche, started and ended yesterday. I'm alive, but I might never walk again. It's not because I can't (the "walk" is now a "limp") since I'm not completely immobilized. I would prefer not to. Status is indefinite.

The Nike Women's Marathon was a whirlwind of emotions for me. You might attribute that to my inability to stop assessing everything with my heart or the wide range of "things" unfit me will feel while doing a half marathon. Let's start at the beginning--and alas, this story won't have much of a picture essay-esque feeling to it because someone's fingers were too cold and legs too gummy to stop and document.

After arriving in Berkeley (lovelove Eddie for housing me), eating a horrible pasta meal, and falling asleep at 2 AM due to my surmounting excitement for the next day, I managed to drive myself to San Francisco at 4:30 AM in a car I borrowed from my friend. I cannot thank and love him enough. (However, later I find out gas, toll, parking garage will cost more than a taxi. Again, life takes a shot at me. DING.) I get to San Francisco and it takes me 5 tries to enter a parking garage. I still don't understand this sequence of events or my sense of directions or my apparent illiteracy since I can't read maps. I missed the entrance three times, had to re-circle, got caught behind a muni, blocked off by a taxi, swore on by a hobo, and frowned upon by God. I just don't understand. When I'm finally parked, I run downstairs towards Union Square, not because I'm late for the race--it doesn't start until 7--but because I did not have up my runner's packet. Pick-up was required in the 3-day expo prior to race day. If you're wondering WHY MALEE, you're wasting your time. I won't be able to explain a lot of things that happened on this run. I honestly thought everyone would arrive that morning and get their bib number within an hour and everything would be perfect. I also thought a unicorn would greet me halfway at a cheering station. Okay, the unicorn thing might have happened for real due to my hallucinations.

I finally get situated. Timer tag on shoe, bib pinned askew on my shirt, legitimate cup of Gatorade in hand. Ahhhh, feeling good. Life is great! Adrienne is calling me to meet up with the girls. I know people here! People who know people who know a number to reach my parents in case I fall off a cliff. My checklist is almost complete. Now I just have one tiny thing to do--the 13.1 miles.


Adrienne, Katy, and Natalie are waiting near Macy's and we slowly make our way up to the START line since we're behind a massive crowd. We spot a few people with Snuggies and make a note to one day buy animal printed ones, meet up at a race, and be some sort of herd galloping down the street. Sadly though, these Snuggies are later seen strewn on the side of the street as people are stripping off layers due to increasing body temperatures. I had to Google this--I don't know what I'm talking about. The girls and I officially start the race at 7:20. I'm running and my body is feeling amazing. There is this rush--you feel like you're part of this enormous organism filling up the streets of San Francisco with your fluid, joyful, determined limbs and spirit. It is all-encompassing--this feeling. It reaches out to strangers and you share a brief but knowing smile as you try to make it up a hill. A man tells you you're doing great and gives you a high-five. Another girl is hunched over with her head between her legs and you can't help but want the best for her. It feels like everyone is in on this secret and you can't believe you're part of it, too.

Immediately, the girls and I go our separate ways. I'm running along and after a couple miles, am struck by this horrible need to pee. Okay, in anticipation for GREAT MOMENTS, I might have developed the tendency to unnecessarily drink way too much. Hmm, anyone know where this habit might have taken root? I wait almost 15 minutes for my turn and am startled as I try to exit and see "liquid" running out of the porta-potty. Whatever. I open the door to leave and JUDGEMENT. Well, I'm sure from my fellow runners in line, but more from God 'cause you know with 10 more miles it was the equivalent of Judgement Day for me! Go pseudo-Christian analogies!

I encounter my first hill as Embarcadero starts to curve. I think it's a piece of cake and Lil Wayne is going, Now tell me how you love it and I'm loving it. I feel the burn. A stranger comes into view and we make eye contact and he's clapping. And I'm like, This is SWELL. I'm singing to Lil Wayne and I momentarily have a cheering squad. You know you at the top when only heaven's right above it. Me, mostly to hill, CUZ IT'S YOUNG MONEY MOTHERFUCKER. AND IF YOU AIN'T RUNNING WITH IT, RUN FROM IT MOTHERFUCKER ALRIGHT?

I make it past all the restaurants on the pier, the Safeway, the homes with large windows and beautiful children in them waving to you. My breath catches in my throat from all the encouragement and the kindess of strangers. It is an easy jog to the Golden Gate Bridge. However, this is when things started wobbling. It felt like a real ninja kicked my shins. After climbing Mount Doom, I stop my jog and walk slowly in order to regain control of my legs. My goodness, it is unsettling to feel muscles involuntarily spasming. Muscles I didn't even know I had! It's like--I don't know. It's like puberty. I HAVE THIS. WHAT IT HURTS. UGH. STOP THROBBING. SHOULD I TOUCH IT? OMG, WHEN I RUB IT, IT FEELS BETTER. Yea, I went there.

So, I'm doing this weird salute by now. My arms are turning dark red and reaching and stretching them helps with the circulation. BUT, the strangeness does not stop there. I have also developed a march. Same for the legs--I had to keep moving but stretch out my muscles at the same time. If I had stopped, I would not have wanted to continue. Trust. The leg lifts from the march help relieve some of the pain in my butt and the front of my calves. I am almost a high-ranking Nazi. I'm passing mile 7 and it's beginning to get better. Or maybe it's worse. The elevation jumps to 300 feet in that mile alone. However, as I'm going on to mile 8, it starts moving downhill. This is such a TRICK. You're going to be climbing up again and I don't appreciate this easy descension because I know I'll be paying for it later. As I have guessed, the elevation goes back to 300 as we're finishing mile 10. I look down and see the beach, busses, another cheering station, and the ENTRANCE TO GOLDEN GATE PARK. The last 2-3 miles are here and I'm thinking, This is doable. If the terrain remains flat.

The park is not as bad as the mountains along the coast, but I'm  trying so hard to walk as fast I can. My legs are giving out. I could no longer feel the rain or cold on them, but there was no time to stop and ponder my imminent death. I need to keep believing SINCE IT'S ALL MENTAL RIGHT? I just need to cross the finish line. However, this is not before another cruel elevation change that gradually builds up so I am never rid of it. But there is chocolate on mile 12. I can't open mine! AHHH, my fingers are weird. WERE THEY ALWAYS BENT LIKE THIS? I open up my fanny pack and place my piece of chocolate inside to blow on my hands. They're almost claw-like and won't conform to my face. This is what I would like to call my velociraptor phase. I'm in the wooded Golden Gate Park, with a limp built into my walk, side steps that are haphazardly thrown in there to stretch out my legs, and my arms pushed to the side of my body for maximum warmth while my claw hands extend out in front of me. I'm a human velociraptor and I start giggling because it's one of my dreams almost realized.

I'm out of energy by now. There is probably 1.5 miles left and I'm thinking the finish line is not real. I'll never get to see that last stretch of crowd cheering me on because, yes, I'm going to nap right there. As I'm musing this thought I swerve on the path like some drunk driver and realize that I need to eat something. The Luna bars we were given are inside my fanny pack and I have to bite the wrapper off since my fingers aren't working. Inhale food. Start walking. Okay, I'm not dying. This is working!

I finally round the last corner and see people! I SEE CROWDS OF PEOPLE! ALL WARM AND TOASTY. IT'S THE LAST MILE. The time is ticking on this pink arch with the word FINISH on it. I drool a bit and start limping down this semi-carpeted stretch that has crowds cheering on both sides. I want to go to there. I have this sudden urge to start jogging again. I do it for 10 seconds. Ehhh legs aren't working. Okay, again! Try to propel myself to move faster, but my fantasy of a slow-mo fierce run, sprinkled with fist pumping is more of a exaggerated limp-walk. I just end up galloping until the last 10 feet and velocirapter-ed into the finishing line. I wobble near the front realizing my legs can finally stop moving. Thaaanks, I shrilly replied to someone as they thrust a Tiffany's box in front of me. I automatically drop it into a puddle. Slowly pick it up. Walk. Heat blanket. Walk. Aisle of food/drinks. How did this bagel get into my hand? I think about throwing it into the bag they just handed me, but that's kind of weird. I should eat it. Get my t-shirt. They're trying to mark my bib to signal that I've picked up my finishing gifts, but my body is drenched from the rain. I hear someone call my name and Adrienne, Katy, and Natalie are standing there beaming at me. And it feels so good to finish.

For our little own Nike statements, we had to finished the tagline: I run to be... I put LOST. This inspiration might have stemmed from a period where I was engrossed with the show Lost--trying to catch up with the entire series, in my last month of school, when I signed up for this half marathon. However, it totally applies. I totally lost my mind, some control of my legs, feelings in some parts of my body, and myself at that event. The last part is not in that awful sense of an identity crisis. It is a feeling of being so in the moment--enveloped in everything you feel that you almost explode from it alone. I lost myself in a crowd of wonderful people all fighting for the same thing. Be it a promise they made to themselves, to someone they lost, to a best friend, or to an organization, it was amazing to witness so much strength within that 13.1 mile stretch of space, which is quite small compared to the outpour of love, support, and sheer human will-power it was trying to contain. I sincerely appreciate all the encouragement and unconditional praise from my family and friends, especially from two of my biggest supporters right here on this blog.

Love,
Malee