Archive for the ‘oddly profound’ Category

Last Days

August 23, 2008

They’re finally here. My last few days in Moraga. I’ve been waiting for these days for so long, and now that they’ve arrived, I’m not sure I’m ready.

It’s fucked up, isn’t it? Yeah. It is.

I had a god-awful time in high school. I’m not going to lie, I hated just about every second of it. I felt like I was being forced to fit some mold that was just entirely the wrong shape to begin with. Like I was a puzzle piece from one of those 3-piece dinosaur floor puzzles for unintelligent children being forced into a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle of star formations or something you would want to throw at a wall after five unsuccessful hours of assembly. Take this class. Do this. Do this too. Make sure you do this so that you’ll get in to a Good Collegeā„¢. But I didn’t want any of that. It didn’t feel right. What was the most logical solution for me? Spend four miserable years doing it all anyway. Because I’m dumb, and I didn’t know any better.

Now I know better. This summer, I’ve come to realize a lot about myself and how I need to live my life. I need to do what makes me happy. I’ve done that this summer. I’ve found a lot of what I’m looking for in life during the past few months. And for the first time in years, I’m honestly happy.

And now I’m leaving. Whoops.

Okay, okay. Leaving is the wrong word. The people that belong in my life will be in my life, no matter where I am. Wherever I end up, I’ll always have myself. And if I am honest about who I am, I know I’ll be happy. So, maybe I am ready to go after all.

All I need to do is be happy, and do the things that make me happy. Nothing more. I’ll make my own choices and live the way I want to live. It’s going to be great.

Goodbye Moraga, maybe I’ll see you again someday.

To my friends, I will stalk you all on Facebook until you un-friend me and file multiple restraining orders. Because I care.

That said, I’m ready to go. I’ve got at least 16 new pairs of underwear in my suitcase, 30-something mismatched socks, and my waffle iron. Oberlin, here I come.

Okay, this entry got a little bit sentimental. Let’s balance it out with some bitching, yes?


Dearest vanilla extract,

Fuck you for costing six dollars. And for smelling so good, yet tasting so bad.

I wonder if the bad taste is the fault of the 35% alcohol concentration. Seems likely.

Still. UNCOOL.

With love and resentment,



Greg and I made a fruit tart yesterday. It changed my life in more than one way. I’d need a thesaurus to adequately describe it’s deliciousness, but I am too lazy to leave my bedroom.

It tasted good. REALLY GOOD. There.

Our parents played Rock Band while we baked. And they sucked. Horribly. It was possibly even worse than the time when my dad came home at one in the morning, completely hammered, with a insatiable urge to play DDR. That was hilarious, actually, and is probably one of my fondest memories of him.

Okay. I’m going to go pack before my mother comes home and shits a brick when she realizes I’ve done nothing.


Music Is Fantastic. That Is All.

August 19, 2008

Just kidding, that’s not all.

For the last three summers, I’ve participated in this little charity music group called LAMA, or Lamorinda Musical Artists. It’s run by a cool guy I used to go to school with, and it’s always small enough that we are able to rehearse in his living room. Which is awesome.

This summer, it was super small. Like, TINY. Maybe 10 people in the band? And that was only the day before the concert. For the weeks leading up to it, we had 5 people max, and three of them were flutes. So it was a little odd, ensemble-wise. I wasn’t sure what the status of the band would be come concert day, so Greg and I started working on a duet as did Emily and Lynn.

The flute duet I gave Emily and Lynn to play was called Allegro by Vivaldi. It was the duet that MengRuo and I have been playing together since we were sophomores. Seeing them outside practicing and laughing together totally brought me back to all the Thursday afternoons MengRuo and I spent in JM practice rooms, practicing that duet and cracking up over our mistakes. That made me smile.

So, when the concert day rolled around, we were all kind of dreading it. We didn’t think the band would do too well, and we were all kind of nervous. Looking back on it, I don’t know why I didn’t have more faith in us. Oh well. Concert time. Emily and Lynn played first. They told me they messed up, but I didn’t notice, because I was too busy smiling like an idiot. Seeing them up there performing, simply for the fun of doing it…it was awesome. And, talking to them afterwards, they were happy. I believe the gist of the conversation was:

“It’s so fun being able to play music when you aren’t afraid of messing up, when you just get to have fun and know that people like it anyway. School band concerts are never like that, Benstein is scary.”

(It’s true. I had fun at Campolindo band concerts sometimes, but only when I played flawlessly. Other times, I’d be in tears afterward. Way too much pressure.)

The wind band pieces went fabulously, in my opinion. I thought it was great, I was smiling the whole time. The notes may not have been all perfect, but damn, I was loving every second of it.

Afterward, I was talking to Emily, Lynn, and Leanne:

“So, did you guys have fun?”

“Yes, it was so much fun.”

“Want to do LAMA next year?”


That made my night.

Then we got frozen yogurt from Papamingos, a total Pinkberry knock-off. I broke my frozen yogurt pact. Fuck. Mmm, FroYo for dinner (and dessert). Then, we went back to my house and played Rock Band. We had a blast.

While I was driving Lynn home, we blasted The Stars and Stripes Forever and sang at the top of our lungs. Fuck, that song means so much to me. I can’t even explain it.

I basically realized then that you don’t have to be perfect all the time to make a difference in someone’s life. Seeing them singing Stars and Stripes and playing that duet…I don’t know, it felt like I had left a little bit of myself with them. Like a legacy. I don’t have to play all the right notes or do all the right things, I can just be myself. Those girls have certainly inspired me, as well. It makes me so happy.

Every once in a while, I get sudden reminders of why I love music so much in the first place. This is definitely one of those.

Music is fantastic…and THAT is all.

This was not a complaint. Hot damn.

Almost Time

July 26, 2008

I leave for college a month from today. It’s so weird to think about…I’ll be leaving my house for good. I’ve flown to Ohio before, but this time, it’s a one-way ticket. How odd. I’m so excited, occasionally frightened, but mostly just psyched. I’m sure I’ll get homesick, but for my home, not my house. My home is going to be in fragments as well, but I have no doubt that those who matter are going to remain in my life because, well, it’s where they’re supposed to be. I can’t ever see myself calling the house if I feel homesick. It wouldn’t make any sense to me. But I’m not worried about that right now, I’m just psyched to get there and bake a Snickers cake for my hallmates. It’s really all I want to think about, for now. That and packing my winter clothes. Brr.

Oh, a lot of that was pretty confusing to read. Oh well, I don’t really have anything to complain about!


When I went to, it had two sections: a sign-up and a log-in box that said “Already hip?” That’s dumb. Oh, you don’t need to sign up for a blog, because you’re hip, so you already have one? You blogged before blogging was cool? Hip. Log-in here. Sorry, but that’s just stupid. Really. Blogging doesn’t make you hip. It makes me THINK I’m hip, but unless I’m wearing an H&M dress and leggings, I know it’s not true.

(Just kidding, H&M. I love your bras. I apologize for the slander.)

This entry is fucked up. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t blog unless I’m pissed, but I’m working tomorrow, so something should come up.

HGTV is wrong.

July 19, 2008

I have an irrational hatred for HGTV. Mostly just the design shows. My mom watches them almost nonstop, so I’ve seen my fair share. They’re all the same. They’ve all got the couple, mid-thirties, looking for that perfect home to complete their perfect life together. They’ve all got the designers, trying so hard to out-funny all the other designers by monkeying around in front of the camera. They’ve all got the same fake reaction in the end:

1. Mouth gaping; look around.

2. Hands over mouth.


But this isn’t my problem with design shows. My problem is the content. I watch people so desperately trying to create the perfect space for themselves- no, they aren’t even doing the creating. They’re desperate to have the perfect space created for them. Why? All I see when I watch these shows are people unhappy with their lives who try to fix it with furniture. I can see what’s going on in these people’s heads. “If I find the perfect chair to match my living room, it will make the room beautiful, which will subsequently fill my life with unrelenting joy and happiness.”

A new coat of paint won’t fix a broken household, a broken family, or a broken life. The perfect chair will not bring you happiness, because eventually, the chair will become dirty and you’ll cease to see the beauty in it. Then you’ll need another perfect chair to replace your shitty old perfect chair. Or, weeks into perfect chair ownership, you’ll realize that your chair isn’t the perfect chair, because the REAL perfect chair is sitting on display in the Pier 1 across town.

Isn’t a beautiful, happy life what everyone really wants? Do they think finding the perfect window treatment is going to make their home beautiful? I believe that people bring beauty to the home; it’s the way you live, the experiences, the memories. I don’t remember the texture of the couch I sat on during a heart-to-heart with my best friend. I don’t remember the color or material of the counter tops on which I sliced onions while cooking for my boyfriend at midnight. And I don’t give a shit. I could have been cutting onions on the ugliest rubber ducky-patterned Formica, and it wouldn’t have changed a thing.

My point is, I suppose, that a house with perfect furniture and the perfect design is still just a house. Stellar design doesn’t make it a home- you do. I think it’s important for a home to reflect the way you live, but you can’t see the beauty unless you actually live it.

HGTV doesn’t care about my opinions. They shouldn’t. They’re making good money selling crap to people, and I applaud that. But I still have the unrelenting desire to shove my opinions down their throats.

Since that’s hard to do, I’ll just shove my opinion down YOUR throat. I feel better already.

God, I love the internet.