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

Jury Dutes: How I Fulfilled My Civic Duty

I had managed to avoid my civic duty for the last four years by making the excuse that I was in school, or out of the country, but as soon as I got back, I received my jury summons. I know that my mom always gets out of jury duty because she pretends she "can't to speak the English very well". People have also told me that I can get kicked out of the jury pool by expressing incredibly extremist beliefs. I couldn't do either of these things so I was pretty certain I was doomed for sure.  My day went a little something like this:

12:30 pm
I was about to leave the house wearing a plaid shirt, some shorts and a pair of flip flops, and I walk out of my room, and my mom's like "You can't wear that. You have to wear pants. And shoes." I was thinking like...man...adulthood is hard. I tried to think back to the last time I had to wear shoes. Clubbing?

1:00 pm
Arrive at the court-house and go through security. I follow some people up to the second floor and there's this huge waiting room full of people. I check in and the lady in the window asks me who I work for. This totally throws me and I give her this goofy look and say "...nobody..."
I find one of the empty seats and sit down next to this nurse lady who keeps sighing. I felt kinda bad cuz she actually had somewhere to be. The fact that everyone else in the room was acting so serious made me want to giggle, but I knew it'd be like one of those instances where if I started giggling, I wouldn't be able to stop so I'd end up creating this huge awkward scene.

1:15 pm
A boring instructional video came on, and all these jurors started talking about how serving on the jury changed their lives and they came to respect the system and what not. An overwhelming wave of 170 tiredness washes over me and my eyes start feeling super heavy. The room feels so comfortably warm...I wonder if "I might fall asleep during the trial" or "I have a really short attention span" is a good enough excuse. Yeah, I'm a terrible citizen...

1:30 pm
We were informed of the location of the bathrooms, and a little room where there were snack machines and free cups of water, but we could only eat/drink in the boundary of that room. I walked in and there was this woman with such an angry look on her face that my heart seized for a moment and I had to look away immediately. I had to gather up the courage to look her in the eye and she glared at me. After that I was too scared and avoided looking back in her direction. In the course of my time in the little snack room, I had 1 bag of Cheez-its, 1 bag of Funyuns, 1 bag of Sour Cream Ruffles and 2 cups of water.

2:37 pm
A judge came out and made an announcement that a lot of times the defendents don't actually think that thier case is going to trial so they put off taking the plea bargain. In this particular case, the defendent who was on trial decided to plead guilty, and was sentenced to 30 years. Which meant that this case no longer needed to go to trial, (and it was going to be a week long trial) that we were free to go, and would not be called upon again for 12 months. Everyone started cheering and getting up...I think I was about 5th in line...when the lady at the window basically said "PSYCH! There are two other trials that need jurors so you are not free to go." And then the judge was like "Ooops, I was told you was all mine...MAH BAD." I wonder if reality is actually a lot less funny than the way I imagine it...

4:15 pm
I'm sitting out in the waiting room spacing out and watching Paula Deen. A bunch of people have made jury duty friends and are chatting it up and hanging out on the sofas or outside in the hall. I'm mesmerized by the sour cream muffins...Suddenly, one of the ladies behind the window comes out and turns off the TV and someone in the back yells "TORTURE!!". There's an announcement that some of us are free to go, and they start to annouce the names. They get to about the S's and then say that everyone is free to go and we're free for the next 12 months! Hoooray!

And so concludes my first post-grad interaction with adulthood.
<G

Operation: Joker Rims

After purchasing the whip last week, I couldn't wait to start all the projects and fix-ups.  I began with the rims.  The previous owner...decided to put red rims on the hatch.  After rescuing her, I decided to embark on said project.  Little did I know, that painting simply didn't require spray painting the rims while they were still on the car.  Oh, simple minded Crystal.

I woke up at the crack of dawn because I was so excited, 5am actually.  My homeboy and I began by jacking up the car and removing the lugnuts, and then removing the tires from the car.  Tires are actually pretty heavy.  In essence, the process involves giving the tires a good wash down, sanding the parts to be spraypainted, priming, shielding, taping what I don't want to be spraypainted, clear-coating, rotating the tires and then finally putting the tires back on.  This sounds like a quick process, however, from 5am to 10pm, I still wasn't done.  I still have yet to clear-coat the rims, but that'll be saved for another day after my legs and back have healed.  I guess the weight-lifting techniques I learned from the gym came in handy...because what I did all day was deadlifts and squats picking up and moving the tires from one place to another.  Oh fun.  It's been about 3 days, and I am still sore.  There are also oil/grease stains that I can't quite get off my legs.  Oh well, I don't mind the strange stares.
 

 Look how clean the inside of the rim SHOULD be. The one on the right took half an hour to scrub out.

 Laying the clean tires out to dry.  Waiting time takes time!

 Using 3x5 index cards to shield the tire so they don't receive extra color.


Will post pics of the rims when the project is done, hopefully in about a week.

Crystal

Change of Scene

My current state of mind is in some beach town, a suburb of the larger Los Angeles metropolitan area where the beach is a short bike ride away. And, get this, beach cruisers are legitimately used here. There isn't some naive tiny Asian girl dreaming of a fantastic sequence of events that can happen while on her buttercup yellow bike...in the bay area hills. No, everyone who owns a beach cruiser not only uses it for the retro aesthetics, it fits the terrain of the land. This whole imagery of a Colbie Caillat music video totally has something to do with real life--or at least my version of it anyway.

Within the last three days I have been in Southern California, it has rained, become incredibly humid, and changed into an evening that required a few drinks at the bar so you can bear the sudden breeze from the ocean. Maybe this doesn't apply to all of the LA area (excuse: don't know I don't live here), but the ocean-side views and warm breeze make me want to slip into shorts and a floppy hat, play a Jason Mraz number on my banjo, and bike my beach cruiser down to the water. Keep in mind, this is all happening simultaneously and I will definitely be on some high. "Natural" happiness.

All of a sudden, while envisioning this scene as I bit into my Spinkles' red velvet cupcake that my dear friend bought to greet me, I realized I actually thought of living somewhere else other than the bay. Sure, I thought how New York would be, but all that place is is a romanticized version of Annie, Home Alone, and 30 Rock. Tina Fey and I would do musical numbers and play tricks on goofy criminals, while eating cupcakes from Magnolia's. Cupcakes are always a huge part of my fantasies. Anyway, with that being besides the point, the warm weather of SoCal didn't seem so bad in relation to the dreary bay, which I adore with every fiber of my being. See I think rain is good. For emo-ing out. And stalking. And definitely singing. Also, the rain allows for a type of self-assessment: am I an idiot for wearing flip-flops today? It teaches you lessons in bettering yourself. Be the best that you can be! There can only be one you! Love yourself for you are loved! HUG.

Stupid tangents. Continue less inane train of thought: Thinking of how SoCal could potentially be a home to my 18 chinchillas and myself, I had to think in terms of an adu--a rational adult. Who makes money at a job. And uses that money to pay bills. And buys big ticket items, like a car to commute to the city. Where these jobs are located. They all began to click in my head. The synapses are firing; message comprehend!

My goodness. If the nightlife were something to be envied, LEAVE ME HERE. So, Friday night, we attended a party in Hollywood at the House of Blues. Okay, first clubbing experience in that area should not include a crowd that was at least 18. I should have learned my lesson when Crystal, Garkay, and I went to Blake's (a bar/restaurant type place in Berkeley) when they had some form of college night. Drinks were being spilled left and right (some ended on us), dance floor was far too packed, and little boys were far too rowdy and grabby.

Same DEAL that night in Hollywood. No no, it was a lot more crowded, smelly, and sketchy. After creeping down a hill and walking 2 blocks with my 5" pumps, I was ready to have fun. Go inside, there is absolutely no room. You were practically dancing with everyone since everybody was touching. Even people who squeezed pass managed to cop a feel intentionally...I think. You know what I did? The safe thing. Danced against a column with my girls on either side. Safest bet in the house (keep this in mind) especially when underaged kids pull out a bottle of Jack, swig it for swag, and offer it to you. I'm really into my column at this time and don't notice it. The column had this vintage wallpaper that was ripped off at certain sections and I don't know if its intentional or from age but aesthetically it worked for the venue. Sadly, my musings were interrupted when more kids were trying to break into our circle, offering their hands and tiny man arms for dancing support. But but my column is so great! No offense, I just love structural feats and MY GOODNESS is this REAL OAK? 

A hand reaches into the group and is offered to the friend on my left. Mercedes, she replies using the alias she had just come up with 10 minutes prior after we escaped the mosh pit of hell. OH NO, I'm next in line. Oh, I say. Bob. He moves in closer to see if he heard correctly, What? I simply repeatedd, Bob. Needless to say and fortunately, boys don't really want to dance or grope girls named Bob. We were finally left to our devices. 

Okay, I shouldn't use that night to base my entire 21+ LA experience off of--especially with Disneyland the next night to cancel out the sticky horror of rubbing against hundreds of other strangers. I should give moving down south another chance. However, I just realized, if it is just based on my proximity to Disneyland, I might not be mature enough anyway to figure all of this out. I need more time.

<3 Malee Bob-Loblaw 

My New Whip

Hello fellow aliens and humans alike, Crystal here, to engage you in the mediocrities of my life.  Ahh, the time has come when we all must leave the coop.  But in this case, I didn't leave the coop, I just added a member into the family.  And when I say member, I mean, new whip!  She's a beaut'! However, the reason of this post is not to brag about how unique this vehicular device is, but rather--to shout to the heavens how frustrated and crazy I was today.

Ye whip, thoust manual.  (I learned to drive stick 2 days ago at 11pm, go figure).  So when I tried to drive my chariot up the driveway, I stalled. I cursed and waved my arms frantically.  I started the vehicle again, and once more tried to maneuver up the steep driveway.  STALLED again.  I restarted and stalled my engine so many times, I started to smell something burning.  I then decided I would wash my car in it's current position...halfway in my driveway and halfway out the street.  I walked out of the car and sadly looked at my strange parking job.  Who in their right mind would wash their car when it was half out of the street?  I then proceeded to throw a small fit.  I jumped up and down in circles and yelled "WHY ME?!"  The neighborhood squirrel just rolled its eyes at me.  I then gathered my car washing materials (sponge, bucket and dish soap) and lifted the hose ready to pre-rinse my vehicle.  At this moment, my mom called me and asked if I could drive her to the BART the next morning.  I then proceeded to tell her, how can I drive her?...when I couldn't even drive up our own driveway.  I heard her shake her head and cackle as I hung up the phone.  Then, something within my heart sparked--a burning desire to accomplish this seed of frustration and doubt.  I jumped back in my vehicle, pressed on the clutch, rev'd the engine and released the e-brake! I drove perfectly into my driveway, with the front wheel just millimeters away from the garden hose! just kidding.  I stalled 3 more times, but I finally got up the driveway, running over my sponge.  I had to reverse, relocate the sponge and try it again.  Four hours later, I washed, vacuumed and clorox-wiped every inch of that car imaginable.  I still need to polish the spare though.  And the final result, is my whip.  I'm in the process of giving her a name.  I want something fierce and womanly.  I mean, what kind of girl drives such a beast?

<3C