The Sequel.

So if you're wondering how a bad day can get worse, wonder no more.

Apparently I've forgotten that Mango is not the kind of person one goes to to be comforted because I went over to his place last night. This is the first conversation we had:

Me: It's been a crappy day.

Mango: Aww, is it because they canceled your class?

Me: No, it's becau--

Mango: Yes it is.

Me: What? No it's not.

Mango: Yes, I know it is.

Me: No, I could not care less about that class.

Mango: Yes you could.

This is the second conversation we had:

Mango: Remember that time I blocked you on AIM?

Me: Uhm, no...

Mango: Yeah it was an accident but I totally forgot about you until a few months later when I was like "hey Carolyn hasn't been online in a while" and I checked and you were blocked and I unblocked you and you were there.

Me: Great.

This is the third conversation we had:

Mango: Where's Laycon?

Me: At my place. (The rest of) my apartment invited him over for dinner.

Mango: Why don't they ever invite us?

Granted that was a valid question but a really shitty pep talk. And then after that he got into bed and promptly fell asleep and it was just all so depressing that I wanted to kill myself. But instead I went home and got in bed because I heard that sleep is like temporary death and I figured it would be a safe reprieve when one does not have the proper drugs is not yet ready for the real thing. And that was around 8 o'clock which would explain why I'm up at seven.

And you know how they say things look better in the morning? That is incorrect. And to make things weirder I woke up with these mystery scratches all over myself so either a cat snuck into my bed or I rolled over a razor blade while I was sleeping. I guess that's the problem with temporary death -- when you wake up you still have to face the scratches.

My Day Has Been as Confusing and Bad as this Blog Post.

When I woke up this morning and couldn't move, I should've known it was going to be a shitty day. I sometimes mess up my neck and have to spend a few days trying really hard not to make sudden movements with my head, which severely dampens my reaction time so if you see me this week please don't throw anything at my head because I won't be able to dodge it and let's be honest, you don't really have the money to pay for the reconstructive surgery, do you? That's what I thought.

So I had the spend the entire day turning my whole body if someone was addressing me, which you probably don't think is that weird but wait until you have to do it yourself.

So that's one.

Two?

My fantasy team is killing me. Not literally but it's getting close. Like if I drop one more place I will probably get an ulcer and in an attempt to cure it I'll probably drink a lot and then I'll get liver disease and die, and IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT CHAUNCEY BILLUPS?

My conversation with my friend Tard didn't improve my mood --

Me: my team's killing me

Tard: yes they are

Tard: I knew this was going to happen eventually

Tard: your team was doing too well

Me: I swear I'm this close to killing someone

Me: it could be you, tard

Me: it could be you

Tard: I didn't know you cared so much

Me: oh you'll find out how much I care

Me: with a knife in your kidney

Tard: wow ok

So in addition to the ulcer I may be facing jailtime. Not sure.

So that's two.

Three: the contents of my refrigerator?

Two bags of dumplings and one bag of wontons that the Y was kind enough to buy for me yesterday. Other than that, there's my flask of Svedka, a jug of water and some string cheese that, frankly, I'm a little scared to eat. Does prepackaged cheese go bad? I seriously need to get a car so that when I have a day like this one instead of writing a rage-filled blog post that doesn't even mention Taiwan or Korea (at least until now) I can just go buy some ice cream and maybe a cat because let's face it, I'm going to end up as one of those people who owns a cat and eats cookies and cream for dinner on Tuesday nights. Why is this, you ask? This is because of

Number four: I make the worst decisions a girl in my situation can conceivably make. Like if you got a puppy and put my life choices in front of it in form of those little bone-shaped biscuits I can guarantee you 98% of the time it will make a better choice than I would. And I am armed with facts and experience. Which apparently counts for nothing here.

It's times like this when I look back on my admittedly not-too-long life and muse, "how did I screw things up this badly?"

Now, I may be being a little dramatic. It's not like I have a heroin addiction and am carrying the child of a 50 year old married man whose company has just put my parents' out of business and so my whole family is depending on the income I generate as a stripper which will soon end because of the aforementioned pregnancy. So it's not as bad as that.

But I haven't exactly made some stellar choices either. Like when I look at my peers (is that a douchey word to use? I feel like it is) and some girl is graduating at the top of her class in her very competitive major and already has an internship with the biggest publishing house on the west coast that will turn into a full-time job after she's done with school and she's engaged to her boyfriend who knows how to tie his own ties and always picks her up when he says he will then I'm like hm. Maybe could've done things a little differently. Me, not her. Clearly. I bet she doesn't even like ice cream.

Like I'm always saying I want to meet some new people and do something different with my life but this is exactly the reason I don't like to actually go out and socialize or anything like that. When you meet someone for the first time, there is no warning signal that goes off and says "stay away from this person, you will become close friends and you'll give him the key to your apartment for emergencies but one day you'll wake up to find him sitting at the foot of your bed and smiling while he hums the theme from Titanic."

Something like that. Or maybe something less drastic, like this guy who sits down next to you in class one day is going to write you love songs and take you on picnics to the beach and ridicule tweens with you and eventually end up breaking your heart. Or it might even be good, like that waitress at your favorite restaurant is going to become your best friend and be the maid-of-honor at your wedding and bring you a cinnamon pretzel to keep you from fleeing the altar. BUT YOU DON'T KNOW, DO YOU?

And that just leaves you seven months later thinking back to that ill-fated first text message or first phone call or first drink sent across the bar and you're like, wow. Did I pick the wrong choice on that one or what. Should never have called her/slept with him/gotten that tattoo of her face/kidnapped his dog, etc.

But no matter how much you rethink your choices, I guess that's just life. Like as much as I may have just bitched, I don't regret things. It's like a policy of mine. I suspect most of it stems from a strong dislike of admitting I'm wrong, but no matter how you stack it, everything's considered life experience, right? Unless you keep making the same mistakes over and over again. This is why I don't re-date boys. But my point is that people are terrible and scary and probably often crazy but you're going to have to deal with them anyway. And I guess it's okay to believe the best of them even though once in a while it'll come back to bite you really hard and you'll have days like the one I just had. But now that you are armed with my wise interpretation of it, you'll be able to deal with it better, right? And a last word of advice: always sleep with a stuffed animal that has a can of pepper spray hidden in it so that if you pull the tail the pepper spray will spray out of its mouth. You're welcome.

Jet Lag, Customer Service, and A Potential Cry for Help.

To quote Iz, upon arriving at SFO international airport: "oh thank GOD for American men!"

And that about sums up my winter vacation.

Haha no I'm just kidding. Actually a ton of shiz happened that will probably span several posts, many of which probably won't end up being actually written. But just to keep myself accountable:

1. Korea. It's cold.

2. My grandparents' story.

3. The wrong restaurant.

4. Babies: sometimes they're kinda ugly.

5. Stanford. Four years later, nothing has changed.

6. Photoshop photoshoot.

7. Uncle Paddington and his countryside abode.

8. Shopping, shopping, and did I mention shopping? Plus mah hair.

9. My drunken uncles.

10. Chinese-style parking lot money-shoving fight.

There, that makes it seem a lot easier. So I got back yesterday around noon. After lunch I collapsed into my memory foam (the first time I've had a bed to myself in two weeks -- it was heavenly, I don't know how I'll ever stand being married) and knocked out for the rest of the year. I know, I'm a party animal.

Anyway, today I was much better thanks in part to the sixteen total hours of sleep I got the day before and in another part to a McDonald's iced coffee (diet commences when I return to school, I swear). So Iz and I went to the mall because I hadn't recklessly spent American money in a while finished my Secret Santa shopping yet. And that is where Iz Got Hit On By a Slightly Creepy Older Gentleman.

This is how it happened.

Iz and I were at one of those carts that they have in the middle of the mall, those mini-store things. We wanted to buy some of this $50 face-wash system thing but the guy was nowhere to be found. While we were waiting, this one guy from the cell phone stand next to it (like three feet away) came over and joked, "It's all free today!" While we were considering just taking the products and leaving $2 and a note ("we weren't sure how much it cost -- hope this covers it") when he added, "Nah, I think the guy stepped away for a second to use the restroom."

So we waited another few minutes. And then a few minutes more. Pretty soon it was coming up on fifteen minutes (Iz whispered, "This guy is taking a fat poop") when another one of the cell phone guys came over. He started making small talk in that way guys do when they're working up to a way to ask for a girl's number and these situations make me nervous so I wandered off under the guise of looking for a trash can in which to throw this little piece of paper I had on me. I know, I'm a terrible wingwoman/big sister.

Anyway, when I came back he was asking her what she does, and when she told him she was a comm major at UCSD he looked kind of surprised. Then he told her he had a journalism degree from University of Oklahoma (? some state like that) and that he spent six years working with the Air Force and that this mall job was just temporary while he was adjusting to his recent move to the Bay. Then he asked her for her number.

Oh my god that was the reason I avoid situations like that. It was so awkward while she just stood there going "mmm hmmm rmmm ehhh eeeh" until finally I totally butted in and was like "uhmm well she has a boyfriend" and then the guy just smiled real big and was like "well who said we have to go on a date? can't I just get your number?" And then it was more awkward and no one spoke until I said loudly, "Hmm, I wonder where the toy store is?" which was supposed to be a hint for Iz to be like, "oh, I know!" and lead us away but I don't think she got it because she just kept smiling politely and the guy kept waiting expectantly and I kind of blocked out the rest but I know we eventually left and the guy did not have a number to show for his efforts.

And then after we left Iz and I had the following conversation:

Me: Eek.

Iz: That was weird.

Me: Yeah, he's way too old for you.

Iz: Really? How old do you think he was?
Me: Well he graduated from college, right? And then he worked for the Air Force for six years? And then he moved back here? So he's probably like 30. And you look and act like you're 12.

Iz: He worked for the Air Force for six years?

Me: Uh, yeah. He mentioned that like twice.

Iz: Oh. I wasn't listening.

Me: Oh my god.

Iz: I feel bad. Maybe I should've given him my number.

So if anyone is looking for a pity date..

Anyway, that's that. Tomorrow I'm flying off to Los Angeles (the third plane I'll have been on in as many days) and luckily Maaron is picking me up from the airport so I won't have to drag my four pieces of luggage the mile between the Flyaway stop and my apartment. This marks the first time in four years that I've been picked up from LAX. I need more friends with cars am certainly very independent.

Independence occasionally has a drawback, however. Like tomorrow I am getting back to Los Angeles before any of my roommates or friends and I am slightly worried that a serial killer has been holed up in our empty apartment all break and I'll be the first one to discover him in three weeks and oh god he's going to cut my ears off. I am so serious about this that I am honestly considering asking Maaron to come up and check for monsters when he drops me off. But after that I'll deadbolt the door and I'll be fine, right? Right? Killers can't climb three stories onto a balcony and then break through the glass of double French doors and then track down the only occupant in the apartment in mere seconds by following her singing to the shower, right? RIGHT?

Okay, just making sure. I'm actually thinking it won't be that bad. The first day I moved into my apartment I was also unexpectedly left alone at night and I totally survived it and this was before the internet or cable was hooked up. Still, if you don't hear from me in a few days...