Tampon Terrific.

Yesterday I seemed to have been suffering from temporary amnesia and thought that I was Somalian- I laid out in the sun without protection for two hours and am now suffering the consequences. The past couple days I hung out with my best friend Nikki and it was just what the doctor ordered. With all the crap that had been compiling itself proudly on my head she brought so many laughs and smiles to me. We have always been so crazy together and fearless with each other; our energy seems to just feed off from one another. Okay, so I may be half Hawaiian and half Korean, but genetically I must be flawed in some areas...I must have gotten the shit genes because I am naturally pale as an Irishman's ass. Yesterday was my first day getting any sun other than the sun on my left arm from hanging it out the car window while driving. When Nikki and I got to the beach we unpacked our things and laid our towels out in the sand and then went to the bathroom. All of a sudden while I am sitting on the pot I hear "Shit!" Followed by "I got my period!" So we went in search of a tampon and agreed the first aid station was the best bet. Right as we walked in we saw three lifeguard studs and immediately walked out without saying a word. We ended up bursting with laughter and then finally gained composure to go back and ask for the little stick of cotton. I said that I would ask bravely and say it was for me and then ended up laughing and blurting out "She needs a tampon" and pointing at her. The guys blushed and grinned and we heard them chuckling when we left. The period jokes flew all day after that. Okay, okay I apologize for all the gross "bleeding from the vagina" crap, I'm finished, period!

Nikki and I also walked around some shops in Uptown and looked at vintage clothing and antiques. We bought some art supplies and went to my place to paint. I have recently fallen in love with Renoir...Every piece of work is like a whimsical dream. We are trying to plan a road trip to Colorado and then to California- I'm not too sure we would make it there to be truthful. While on our way to the beach Nikki asked me if we were approaching 35W or 610- I told her neither, we were approaching 10. It would be fun nonetheless. All the random stops and crazy encounters... I am really trying to make time for her knowing summer will end and we will go back to different schools in different cities. We have always had this connection and bond from the first day we met in 6th grade. I still remember her brown overalls... No one can make me laugh like her...

Sweet And Sour Sauce- Without The Sweet.

In all truthfulness, I wanted to begin this blog with "Everything sucks" or "The world is collapsing on top of my heart and smashing my right and left ventricle together into mush," but let us skip the dramatic entrance, shall we?... I recently ran into my one avid blog reader and was then informed that I needed to update. It is so ironic how things can change so quickly in life and how our feelings and attitudes can alter along with it. I consider myself an extremely passionate person in the sense that I feel everything multiplied by 10; everything is a big deal to me, it sounds extreme, but there are times when I feel like if I am not personally holding the world up it will fall down and everything will turn to shit- everything is all or nothing! I consider myself a realist more than an optimist, and usually I can say that life is not grand, but surely good. The last two weeks things were not simply good, but exceptionally good- grand. I moved into a new apartment and started a new job. I thrived from the extra freedom and independence- enjoyed shopping for my own groceries, washing my own dishes, etc. I became extremely comfortable at my new job, laughing with my many flamboyantly gay co-workers, assisting some very attractive European men with very attractive European accents touring the states, and meeting new people on a daily basis. I started playing my violin again and bought new sheet music, loving the fact that my fingers had not forgot as much as I thought they would have. I also began painting- I was never good at painting and often felt too impatient. I ended up producing three paintings (Van Gogh style) and loving every stroke along the way. I worked religiously on my book, adding twists and further developing my characters. In those two weeks I also bonded with a close friend of mine. We spent time together painting, having coffee at outdoor cafes, drinking wine (a lot) and talking about the world we live in and the lives that go with it. I was high on life for two straight weeks. I felt on top of the world. Then it all kind of changed...

I came home from a long shift at work yesterday and was greeted with a trashed apartment and my things stolen. My camera, laptop and ipod were all missing. I was of course shocked and upset, but I made myself try and think positively and well, get over it. I realized from the start that these things that were stolen are just things. Let me reiterate that, they are just things. But that laptop had every poem, short story, personal narrative, essay, thesis, fiction, and memoir on it that I have ever written. It had pictures from Europe and other places I cannot replace. It had my book- my love, pride and joy. It had my journal on it, my music, me! I felt so invaded and used in a way. Writing is my craft, my gift, and my first love. I wrote my first (mini) book when I was five years-old having to ask my mom, dad, babysitter, older cousin, neighbor, aunt and uncle how to spell each word. I wrote a (200-300) page story when I was twelve about predjudice, war and death. I realize many writers, journalists, and such may have a drive to write a book and have best sellers, but I think many can agree with me that simply sitting down and actually writing one is an accomplishment in itself. I guess I can look at this as a new beginning for new poems and new stories, etc. My roommates had a fair amount of blame put on me for having a friend stay over the night before and not telling them to lock up- despite the fact that the doors were never once locked during my visit there or any time before for that matter. So tonight after work I packed all of my things into my car and drove home. Now here I sit back where I started.

On a lighter note, I had a great Fourth of July watching fireworks and walking around campus with a friend of mine. We watched them from the Washington Avenue bridge and they looked beautiful next to the city and over the river. This friend had also taken me to this spot on West River road that turned out to be the coolest place I had ever seen in Minneapolis. The great thing about the cities is there's art, culture, theatre, music and sports- but there are also many outdoor places- some easily seen and others hidden away (think small town hide outs.) He took me up onto these railroad tracks over the river- it was dark and foggy and whether I looked at the things in front of me or behind me it looked like the tracks went on forever into the distance. I cannot explain how neat it was or how cool it looked. The fact that we had to walk up this dirt hill and go through trees and look for cops made me feel young and rebellious almost. I walked along the tracks and peered over the edge to see nothing but space- I want to always remember that moment.

Anyways, there are a couple months left of summer and I am going to focus on a new beginning in the sense of new poems, stories, and writing in general. I am going to continue working and putting effort into spending time with my good friends. I am going to work hard at my internship making connections, fact checking and doing a damn good job. I am going to continue playing my violin, painting and reading. And I guess I am going to keep adjusting to the "change" that life throws at me, and of course analyze the shit out of it.