Mindless Incoherent Ramblings Revolving On Random Stuff

Julie – 1, Ikea – 5

Tue, 2 Sep 2008 14:53:40 -0800

Even though I consider myself a seasoned veteran when it comes to assembling Ikea furniture, I still find that after countless hours of construction, I come out the loser in a battle between me and the 6 drawer dresser that took me most of the afternoon and evening to build.

And while I now have Kaylie’s room furnished, it did not come without a few cuts, scrapes, and plenty of bruises.

It was Kaylie’s first day of school out here, and the other little girls were so welcoming. There were plenty of parents (mostly mothers) crowding around, trying to take photos of all the kids. One lady managed to get Kaylie to smile while standing in line with the other 4^th graders. When I called out, and asked her to turn my way for a photo, she covered her face in embarrassment! Luckily, the other mom said she’d send me a copy.

One of the Boys

Sun, 24 Aug 2008 20:58:25 -0800

When I was younger, it seemed almost a compliment when members of the opposite sex said to me, “you’re just like one of the guys – except in a female’s body!” I think it was a sense of acceptance by boys that made me feel validated somehow. As the years have so quickly gone by, I’ve settled into my own skin, and I am really starting to resent the statement that is so often made.

“Julie, you’re just like one of the boys!” But I am a female; happily and confidently a woman. It was the sex I was genetically assigned at birth, and the gender I’ve identified with throughout my life. Being a member of the fairer sex means I can wear dresses and receive whistles rather than raised brows, paint my fingernails a variety of colors, cry during films, give birth, and a myriad of other things typically reserved for the female population.

The trouble really brews when I start delving into the many interests I have that lie outside the perceived normal boundaries of what can be considered female characteristics. If I happen to take a more honest and open view on sex, or have a fear of commitment, it makes me “one of the boys”. If I like sports and video games, or happen to tell raunchy jokes; again – I’m “one of the boys”. Why do I (and other females) have to be defined by a few traits simply because they’re not “typical”? There’s a book floating around titled The Female Chauvinistic Pig: Women and the rise of raunch culture, which I read for a course last year. Back in December I had the following to say about it:

“[The book] details how feminist values are diminishing, only to be replaced by a new breed of women who follow the motto, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!” Supposedly women believe that if they objectify themselves, it takes the harm out of a man doing it. Examples are made of women who go to strip clubs, or act like “one of the boys.” The argument here is that it is counterproductive to take on male traits in order to “claim” your femininity. I call bullshit though. I mean, I’ve been to strip clubs and I’ve had fun. I love baseball (my money’s on Boston and yours should be too, suckas!) and crude jokes. On the same token, I love painting my nails and going shopping. I carry Kleenex with me to “chick flicks” (and during last night’s Padres game.) I don’t see why I have to so squarely fit into a category...”

Although I’m far from labeling myself a feminist, I think nearly 12 months after reading that book I’m beginning to really absorb the message. I’m not exactly drinking the Kool-Aid, seeing as that I think women can take on traits typically reserved for men for reasons other than just “claiming their femininity through self-objectification”, but I do believe that women are selling themselves short by feeling the need to fit in with “the boys”. We can have our sports and chick flicks too, all while being "one of the girls"!

And you thought Ikea was just for furniture? It’s a smorgasbord of Swedish goodness!

Jog On

Sat, 23 Aug 2008 22:36:58 -0800

I’m certainly, without a doubt, a slacker when it comes to updating my personal memoirs for all the world to read. It’s not that I’m losing my narcissistic edge, but more that I’ve been doing too much to want to sit down at the computer for anything other than a couple hours of gaming a week.

Back in July I had a chance to see my amazing Boston Red Sox play against the Angels up in Anaheim. I bought the tickets back when I was delusional, believing that my wonderful military man would come back from Japan and throw himself happily into my arms upon learning that I bought us both nose bleed seats to the series. Needless to say, I didn’t purchase an additional seat for his new girlfriend that he picked up while away, so he obviously did not accompany me to my ballgame. Luckily for me, I had a friend who was willing to shout “baseball sucks!” will sipping $8 beers with me under the blazing Los Angeles sun. Although the Red Sox lost the game (and the entire series!) my friend Sharon and I shared a sunburn and some good times.

We decided then and there that we would support the Padres (as my National team, of course) and purchased some seats to an early August game right on the first baseline above the dugout. I’ve been to about a half dozen Padres games this season, and they’ve been quite miserable each time, though when my friend and I were there to cheer them on together, they won! It was such a great time, and Sharon was such a sport for watching some baseball, that I happily agreed to attend a Chargers game.

A couple weeks before all that baseball, we began to create what would become our “bucket list”. Though neither of us plan on croaking anytime soon, the summer is short, and we wanted to make the most of it by doing things we always wanted to do, and make an effort to actually do them!

On our list was Disneyland and California Adventure. I’d never been to the latter, and Sharon hadn’t visited either park in the Golden State. So on July 29 & 30 we made our way back up to Anaheim, parked our butts in a Motel 6, and shelled out a couple hundred dollars each for annual Disneyland passes.

Our first attempt at a ride was Pirates of the Caribbean. We didn’t wait too long to board the plastic boat, but once we were on we had a bit of a stall. Before dropping down our first fall, I noticed a little sway in the lanterns strung above. Looking closer, I saw the fake indoor trees start to shake. The boat then stopped, and a lady having lunch began clapping. I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but then Sharon received a call from her mom who is all the way in England. Apparently there had been a 5.6 earthquake pretty close to Disneyland. Of course, we couldn’t feel much because we were afloat (and now stranded!) After about 30 minutes we were “rescued” and forced to climb from boat to boat before finally making it to dry land, where we were forced to eat lunch with hundreds of thousands of other people who were no longer allowed to ride any attractions. Within a few hours most of the rollercoasters were running again, and Sharon and I were gifted with passes that gave us special entry to all the rides through their exits.

Also on our list was the staple of southern California living – surfing! It’s amazing that I’ve lived here for a total of 19 years, and up until a few weeks ago, had never really rode any waves. We paid a reasonable sum of money for a few hours of lessons out in the Pacific. Our teachers were barely legal, but overly adorable. By the end of the first hour I was taking waves to the shore (except for the few times I crashed into my fellow surfers!) I’m seriously considering buying a wetsuit and board since I had such an amazing time!

Last weekend was my 6^th Fan Faire (and 2^nd as an SOE employee!) I adore my job 362 days out of the year, but let me tell you, during Fan Faire it really pays to be player! The event is most definitely centered around those who love our games, and even though I spent the majority of my waking hours working my butt off, to see my fellow gamers gather in Vegas for a weekend with smiles on their faces, makes every last ounce of effort worth it. It was wildly fun, and I’m already anticipating next year’s fun-filled event.

And of course, the fun didn’t stop there. Today I spent some time at the racetrack. Betting like a wild woman, and winning a grand total of $135 (we won’t get in to how much I spent, because then it’ll make my bounty look like chump’s change!)

Monday I’m making my way to Qualcomm stadium to cheer on the San Diego Charger’s in their final pre-season game (I believe). I’m moving later this week, and metaphorically giving birth to a 9 year old daughter on Saturday.

Sometimes I just feel truly blessed to have so many good things going on in my life, from work, to friendships, and a love life that’s not lacking, to family and health and everything else that is important. I guess it only gets better from here!

DMV Bingo!

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 17:38:33 -0800

The screen said B145. The little ticket I held in my sweaty hands had B146 printed on it in vivid green ink. Surely it had to be my turn next. “G029 now being helped at window 18.” I stared at the television monitor in disbelief. What kind of foreign alphabet do the people at the DMV use? G does not come directly after B, and 029 most certainly does not follow 145. Where was my damn B146!? All I needed was B146 to make my way down to window 15 like a winner.

Three hours earlier I was allowed to leave work for the afternoon in order to register my car at the DMV, which I had yet to do, even though my plates expire in less than a week.

I’ve been driving with Illinois plates since I moved to this state nearly three years ago. All the while, the title to my car was held mostly by my mother (she was the co-signer on the loan back when my credit score was 389 – yes, it can go that low).

Finding the DMV was a hassle in itself. I tried to find one between my work and apartment, just in case there wasn’t a line and I could make it back to work only a little late from a lunch break! I ended up driving in circles, literally smashing my head against the steering wheel only to end up lost and the target of unwanted, curious stares from other drivers.

When I finally figured out where the DMV was located, I parked a bazillion miles away and hiked to the office, where I stood in line for 20 minutes before briefly talking to a lady who shoved a clipboard filled with forms in my face and instructed, “Go park your car outside for inspection.” With my tail between my legs, I shuffled out to the parking lot and did 27 laps before finding a space for my car that was marked, “inspection”. In the 90 degree heat I sat, and waited... and waited... and waited some more until my aggravation got the best of me and I charged back inside, stood in line another 20 minutes all the while reminding myself to be calm.

Red faced (from the heat and utter annoyance) I sternly marched back up to the desk and did my best to politely inform the lady that my car had not been inspected. She peered out toward the parking lot from over her glasses, and then glanced back at me. “Did you lift your hood?” she mocked, as if I was retarded for not knowing that I had to have the hood raised. “No...” I almost cried, as she told me there was no way they’d know I needed an inspection unless I had my hood up! So defeated once again, I trudged back to my car, popped the hood and waited for someone to look at my insides.

When the defiling of my dusty and decayed 99’ Grand Am was finished, I crawled back inside the DMV, waited in another line that seemed to have cloned itself and was now twice as long, only to receive that dreaded B146. I should have brought a book, or an entire encyclopedia.

Just shy of closing, my number finally flashed on the screen. All the way in the back, I was stuck with the “by the book” lady who told me that I owed $350 in penalties for driving my car unregistered in California. She pointed with a pencil at the line that says, “Persons must register their vehicle when they become a resident of the state”. I laughed a little, knowing that I most certainly had not been a resident, and the proof was in the $8,000 per semester tuition and fees I was paying at San Diego State University. She snatched the debit card right out of my hands while boldly telling me that the DMV did not care what SDSU considered my residency status, and admitted that I should be thankful she wasn’t charging me fees from as far back as December of 2005. Yes, thank you for making rent this month practically impossible.

The rent I get to pay on my pricey, spider-infested apartment (I killed another yesterday hiding in my DVDs) that appeared to be built on a lake, which is another whiney rant completely.

A few days ago I noticed some wetness on the carpet adjacent to my kitchen. I’ve been very careful and clean since moving in a few months ago, so the idea of a spill caught me off guard. A bit displeased with myself, I shrugged it off and soaked up the mess. A couple days later, the puddle in my carpet was still there, and now had a partner half its size. How the hell was water managing to make its way to m carpet, with no clear trail back to any pipes? So I called the maintenance man who happened to be a huge MMO player and informed me that my company apparently sells “crack” while he took a look at what was going on with my mysterious water.

A crumbled wall and mutilated carpet later, my leak was found and fixed! But I had to spend the weekend with a professional blower drying my carpets, which ended up looking like a desert sand dune in my dining room. They’re finishing up the rest on Wednesday.

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 21:39:08 -0800

Tami forced me to. She verbally threatened me in IMs. I have to agree with her though, this is definitely the best free "make over" program I have come across. Of course, I've only used one other and that was half a decade ago...

Plain Julie:

The many faces of me:

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 20:19:50 -0800

It’s official. I’m a college graduate. My post-consumer recycled paper says so!

Before my SDSU days were officially over, I spent Cinco de Mayo like any other good college student would...studying in the library (I don’t miss those days yet!) On my 30 minute commute home, I picked up some Mexican food and then laid my foot on the pedal so I could make it to Rancho Bernardo before my deliciousness got cold.

I left a long line of cars in the dust as I drove a cool 80 mph west bound on the 8, rocking out to some Portishead on the radio (anything is possible!) I rolled my eyes at the idiots who obeyed the traffic laws as I zoomed past. In my rearview I noticed someone driving so close that their headlights nearly blinded me. Barely out of my musical trance, I hardly had the chance to wonder why they weren’t passing me when I saw the red and blue lights go on. I eventually made my way to the side of the freeway and rolled down my passenger window (I learned from my previous pullover). Officer Miller didn’t even allow me the usual questions of, “Do you know why I pulled you over?” He simply stated that I was speeding and he needed to see my license and registration.

I forked them over and reached for my enchilada while he examined the documents. “Dammit,” I exclaimed upon opening the styrofoam container, “They gave me a tostada instead.”

Officer Miller looked up and asked me, “Where are you coming from?” I quickly replied, “The taco shop.” He then inquired, “Where are you headed?” I rethought my answer, ignoring what he had just asked and responded, “Well, I guess I was actually coming from school. That’s where I was before I stopped to get enchiladas that turned out to be tostadas.”

He stuck his head in the car a bit and with a raised eyebrow he probed, “Have you been drinking?” I was completely caught off guard and laughed, “Do you think I am drunk!?” He looked even more puzzled as he backed away and explained, “Well, it is Cinco de Mayo.” I informed him that it was also final’s week.

He gave me a ticket, which in total, ended up costing me $196. When I asked what it would take to not get pulled over again, he smiled sarcastically, “Don’t speed.” I mentioned that could be a problem, and might benefit from some friendly insider knowledge. He claimed police officers wouldn’t turn on the sirens until someone was doing 70 mph. I called bullshit and he agreed that really, going over 75 definitely put a driver in ticket territory. So it’s now my honest defense. Don’t try and give me a ticket for going 10 over the speed limit. You can take your quarrels up with Officer Miller!

I re-fastened my seatbelt and started my car as the police man cautioned me to pick up speed before re-entering traffic. I grinned as I rolled up my window and stated, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem!”

So in an effort to have the ticket erased from my record, I enrolled in traffic school and spent a few Saturday hours completing a course where I learned a lot.

Sample questions and statements from the test:

Mandatory driver license suspension period to ten months for persons convicted of a first offense of DUI if the individual's blood alcohol concentration level was .20% or greater.
My BAC was .11% on New Years. I lasted approximately 3 minutes after the stroke of midnight and found my way to the nearest bed where I remained face down for hours before someone else drove me home. I think people who drive with .20% should be in jail for ever and ever.

Effective January 1, 2007 CVC 21712 states it is a misdemeanor violation for any driver to knowingly permit a person to ride in the trunk of a vehicle. Additionally, any passenger found guilty of riding in the trunk is guilty of an infraction.
I don’t know about you guys, but if I’m locked in a trunk I think a ticket is the least of my problems.

The DMV has some advice for you: Don’t honk your horn or curse at people who drive like idiots, “This will help prevent collisions and make driving more pleasant.”

Warning to all those who consume alcohol: “You are putting yourself at risk for suicide, simply by drinking.”

Seriously. The bolded selections were really available answers on the test.

There are several things needed to register a vehicle in California. Select the one that DOES NOT fit.

A: Blah.
B: Blah.
C: Blah.

D: Written permission from your spouse to drive the vehicle

Where would you go to get a duplicate of your driver license if you lose it or it is damaged?

A: The DMV.
B: The police station.
C: Your insurance company.
D: The person who makes the best fake ID's.

Which is NOT an alternative to driving to work?

A: Biking
B: Carpooling
C: Public transit

D: Swimming

Warning to all those who consume alcohol: “You are putting yourself at risk for suicide, simply by drinking.”

And for the record, I know have a roommate. Everyone knows it can be really difficult living with others, so I'm not ashamed to admit that I murdered them the first day they put their eight little legs in my apartment.

Tue, 27 May 2008 19:24:46 -0800

So I’m a college graduate, for the second (and probably not final) time. I passed all my classes with at least a B, and it seems my worry was for nothing (as usual).

I’ve spent the last week visiting with family, and accepting cards containing heartfelt congratulations. It felt silly receiving such sentimental notes from people who have surrounded me my entire life. I joked that instead of the traditional sweetness sent in Hallmark cards, they should have given me something that read, “Jesus, who would have thought 10 years ago that you would have ever graduated college?!” I tease, and thank those who have known me and what I have endured, and who help me celebrate this milestone in my life.

I guess now’s the “when I grow up” time, though I’m considering stalling yet again, and heading off to graduate school (not before I read the half-dozen novels I picked up last week – 1 down, 5 to go!) It was such a triumphant feeling, parading into Barnes & Nobel, being able to buy books at my discretion and start reading things that only my imagination would test me on.

I’m thinking that my personal blogging days might be coming to an end, or at least a lengthy break. I haven’t been overly excited with Angelfire for quite some time, and I think my subscription ran out about a month ago. Ranting, swooning, or laughing over drinks with a friend seems more enjoyable than sarcastically recounting my day in Word. And jotting my personal thoughts down in a lined notebook will prove to be much more cost effective (plus, I think my hands will miss all the note taking!)

Thu, 1 May 2008 20:53:26 -0800

It’s been a gruesome few weeks. I have a horrible case of senioritis (wow, that’s a real word?) and the effects could possibly be devastating. I’ve missed more classes than I’m willing to admit online, but it’s difficult to convince myself at 7:00 am that driving an hour in traffic to class is a better decision than staying in bed for another two, tucked in warmly under the covers.

I’ve officially made the move to my new place. Although I’ve been living here for a few weeks, in traditional Julie fashion, I waited until the very last minute to clean out my old apartment. I spent the entire day in La Mesa practicing kung-fu on unsuspecting pieces of unwanted furniture, kicking legs off of tables and tearing apart desks and other unwanted items. My brother and I piled an interesting collection of trash into our two dumpsters (I figured it was only fair, since our trash, sewer and water bill this month exceed $160 – but that’s a rant I’ll save for another day). I’m happy to report that the same utilities in my new place came to a total of eleven dollars and sixteen cents.

The new place is wonderful and I’ve even managed to adopt a little lucky bamboo plant and haven’t managed to kill it yet. I would proudly post some pictures of my Ikea adorned apartment, but there are still unpacked boxes littering the living room.

I happened to be found via MySpace by my husband. Really. We were married in preschool. He asked if this meant that he could receive back pay from all the alimony he forked over to his ex-wife – I don’t think it would hold up in court though. He was probably my first real internet friend, as we officially met for the second time while playing Doom together on a site called H2H. He was a gaming God, and claims that’s why I spent so much time swooning over him as a teenager. He’s probably right. Things might be rekindled if only he could level his Warrior to 70. But alas, he has two jobs and stuff, so I doubt he’ll be raiding of winning my affection any time soon!

Not too long ago I went to a rock show with my best buddy, Chris. He’s such a trooper, and the only one willing to tag along with me at a rock show where we’re likely to be the oldest people there. I got a chance to meet some of the band members, who were casually hanging out by the bar and looked barely old enough to drink. I picked up a couple band t-shirts as always, and probably wear them more than I wash them.

Tomorrow we’re heading out for a delicious (I hope!) steak dinner to celebrate a few birthdays. Tami had hers on Tuesday, and Chris will be enjoying his on Monday.

I doubt I’ll be writing anything else until finals are over. The next time I type to this page I will be boasting my college degree! (Let’s hope that doesn’t mean I won’t be posting until after Summer school is over...)

I am really bad at alcohol.

Sat, 12 Apr 2008 12:21:04 -0800

Not that I was ever good at it, but it seems I’ve been spoiled by house parties with good company and good beer, therefore avoiding excess drinking of hard liquors. Not that I consume a grandiose amount of alcohol, the two drinks I had were definitely in excess of my own personal limit.

There’s a bar very close to my house (within walking distance) that serves up drinks which require you to sip them in shots with your nose plugged. Last night all I really wanted was a frozen strawberry and mango margarita. The bar doesn’t serve those, but they gave me the closest thing! What worried me, was when I walked away from the bar – drink in hand – and a guy of Mexican descent asked me what I was drinking. He looked frighteningly surprised when I told him it was a margarita. That should have been my first warning.

I called an ex again last night. He only answered to remind me that it was 3:49 in the morning for him, and then reiterated his delight in text form: “I don’t hate you, Julie. I just choose not to talk to you; especially at 3:49 am.” He hates it when I call him. Especially when I am drunk, but the first doesn’t happen that often, and lately the second hasn’t either. I’m never mean (unless you count the calling at 4 am his time mean.) I’m never lustful. I’m always just excited by the fact that for some delirious reason, I get it into my head that he’s finally willing to mend old wounds, and will openly accept silly IM’s about my work day, or a random call on the weekend when I’ve drank my way to good intentions.

I don’t even know if that was the low point of the evening! I managed to win every pool game, but gave the table up quite a few times to give others a chance to play. I came home and proved to my friends online that I can type 119 wpm (kjas kawr are both legible words when you are intoxicated!)

Surprisingly I’m not hung-over, though succumbing to alcohol induced sickness would be a good excuse not to pack up the items remaining in my apartment. I am determined to do it today though. I insist on breaking the procrastination by bringing my computer to the new apartment and setting up my craptastic DSL.

On a complete side note: I had a dream I was out running a pyroclastic flow, though the volcano was covered in snow and you’d think realistically blowing its top off would result in a lahar. Either way, the image and feeling of navigating my 00’ Grand Am across the mountainous terrain was oddly exhilarating. If this whole Community Manager thing doesn’t work out, I’m so becoming a vulcanist.

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 16:54:16 -0800

So today marks the fourth year that I’ve been pecking away at the keyboard and posting my bitter banter in online form. I don’t know if this is a celebrated milestone, or if I should really get my head checked for spending ridiculous amounts of time over the years sharing my innermost thoughts with complete strangers who only happen across my delirious monologues because they’re searching for pixel porn.

I’ve often thought about breaking up with my blog, and moving on to greener pastures such as intellectually stimulating political discourse, or possibly even doin’ it old style, with a pen and notebook. What it really comes down to is I like blogging. I don’t have to be as honest as I’d sometimes let myself be when recording my thoughts between two blue lines on recycled paper. I can embellish the silly details of my day to day life, and not worry about killing trees in the process or creating ungodly controversy with my haughty opinions.

It seems that everyday I find myself in an amusing situation that can only be perfectly explored through the use of endless adjectives in an online blog. (Is that redundant?) So much has been going on lately, but I haven’t created the time to sit computer-side and unleash my life into MSWord.

I’ve been preparing myself for graduation (or an endless college career, depending on my grades this semester), playing a lot of video games (and enjoying them), and discovering the wonders of biscuits and cheese.

I spent a weekend evening at an English pub, where I treated myself to Bangers and Mash, along with a cold scotch egg. Over a few white russians (we’re a cultured group!) I reminisced about my old “bloke” of a boyfriend who was from abroad. He wrote me love letters, was devilishly handsome, had an amazing accent, and a wife that I really didn’t know about.

I spent most of the evening parading around asking anyone on a dare if they were English. My luck wasn’t so hot, but this tattooed mystery man was! My friends and I collectively decided he was a gigolo. He was rough, tough, stubbly, and well dressed. It turns out, his story for the night included him being a weapon expert, teaching SWAT teams how to use advanced weapons. My friends rolled their eyes and headed back inside when he began to tell me about how he adopted an injured dog found in the dumpster 8 years ago. If time has taught me anything, it’s that I can’t be left alone with bar boys and be expected to make good decisions, so I followed my friends back to our seats with a sigh.

I’m hoping to be living at the new apartment tomorrow. As eager as I am to get out, I’ve had the new place since April 1^st, but have failed to finally move my bed or computer. All I have left here are those items, and a pile of trash that’s starting to make my brother look like the clean sibling.