Zzyzx Road

I impulsively quit my job today. Now I'm rolling down the road to Las Vegas trying to emulate the look Sun wears on Lost when pretty much anything happens. It's pretty hard to look dramatically pensive, but its a whole other ballgame trying to look Korean. I'm also listening to Miley songs to reassure myself that it's the climb. She seems pretty positive that it is. So the money hunt starts Monday.

My dad is driving and we just had a flat tire scare. Luckily the sound of air escaping was actually coming from the can of hair spray that he was storing in his back pocket. (He accidentally got the same haircut as Hitler so easy access to the antidote is a must.) It has been solemnly dispensing a steady stream of Extra Hold down his "bermuda shorts" ever since he sat on it an hour ago. We're all quite pleased with our good fortune.

So as for my post-grad plan...
1. I have an internship at Vagrant Records in LA.

2. I'm moving into a house in Silverlake for the summer with seven guys and a fabulous girl named Carly.

3. I use the term "moving" lightly because I'm underratedly in summer school 2 days a week back at Loma. Plus I can't remember the last time my mom didn't wake me up with the phrase "I made french toast.". So I'll be back and forth all summer.

I'm livin la vida broke-a, yet broke is the new black. I'm going to do Extreme Blog Makeover soon so tune in with reckless abandon.
Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®

out with old news

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School ended and I didn’t even die. I am now an independent blogger. I am presently neither funded nor endorsed by The Man and have the option of acting accordingly. I’m too embarrassed to use the F word on here in case my grandma googles me, though, and that’s the only form of rebellion I can actually think of.

EXCEPT STEALING.

I’ve been waiting a long time to get this off my chest...

THE INCIDENT:

A few weeks before the end of school I was in the campus store. I was hungry and I had five dollars. I wanted chili. That’s all I ever want. It was only 2.99 but I was so overcome by embarrassment that I couldn’t bring myself to be spotted at the checkout with it. This was partially because I was carrying a fake Chanel bag at the time and I knew proximity to a Hormel can would cut its believability by at least half. So I stole it. I crammed it into my Chanel and bought an apple to throw Mariela off my tracks. This is how I envisioned that going:

Mariela’s Inner Voice: “That girl probably just stole a can of chili.”

Mariela’s More Rational Yet Sassy Inner Voice : “Real talk girl, that’s impossible because now she is buying an apple. A) the kinds of girls who eat apples for aFtErNoOn sNaCk don’t eat chili B) the kinds of girls who eat chili don’t even go to this school.”

It worked. I walked home, shoulders slumped and head hung low, and when I got there I popped it in the mircrowave and ate it in front of chat roulette. I had gotten over the majority of the guilt after a few days… and then something happened that can only be described as Retribution. Three days after The Incident I stumbled upon a mysterious screen shot saved on my desktop… and I don’t even know how to do screen shots. I really shouldn’t be showing you this:

I had to blur my face for the same reason you can’t look into the eyes of the snake on Indiana Jones. Anyway, the whole ordeal left me with a similar feeling to that which a girl gets when she’s using a toilet seat cover to smudge surplus Neosporin off her beard burn in the TJ Maxx bathroom. (You know what you did.) (I’m talking to myself.)

I’m lying alone in a hostel bed in LA Fashion District eating an abandoned microwave burrito that I found in the freezer. I’m listening peacefully to someone throw up in the communal bathroom. I’m sorry for his loss. I’ll tell you how I got here later, but now that I’ve sufficiently Tiger Woods-ed myself, I think I’ll gracefully bow out. I’ll return shortly with the previously scheduled sparkles and sunshine. I’m looking forward to these infinite tomorrows... because I think my future might actually be bright.

xx

The End of the Beginning

There are approximately four days left to burn before graduation darkens my doorway. I don’t like the imagery of all my dearest friends dressed up as dementors wearing high heels. Oh well, I'll just Live Strong. I heard Aretha Franklin’s “I Will Survive” on the radio this morning and for the first time since 9^th grade band camp, it brought about a strong emotional response. “BUT WILL I, ARETHA?!?” Blah blah, I’m not even technically graduating… sUmMeR sChOoL rOx! Anyway, peep this:

So I’m at Panera studying for finals and I don’t have enough money to buy anything, so I took an empty soup bowl off of someone else’s table and put it on my own. Worked like a charm. I feel like I belong.

Actually that brings me to a point… I am not an adult. A true adult takes any opportunity to "grab a latte." There is not enough evidence to convict.

1. 30 - 45% of the time I walk to the passenger door of my car even if I’m by myself. And holding my personal car keys. And wearing a power suit. Who died and gave me a driver's license.
2. I bi-monthly pop in a VHS of one of the Mary-Kate and Ashley Go To Europe and Meet Boys 'films,' and as the credits roll I feel optimistic that someday soon the son of the British Prime Minister will fall in love with me and then I, too, will have a fake sword fight with baguettes. Their glamorous excesses are perpetually on my horizon. They were thirteen. I am twenty two. How did I get here.
3. I sleep with a stuffed bull dog named Whiskey. (See above: A "prank" I didn't find funny)

I keep waiting for a “you’re adopted” style sit down with my parents where they yell “SURPRISE! You were born in 1997.” Yet despite all of this, I have decided to carry my half-assed stabs at blogging into my adult life with a Whole New Blog once my tenure as Loma Blogger ends. It will feature essays on such mature topics as “What it feels like to know a stockbroker” and “Me and my equity” and “What the blitzen a 401K is.” (No though seriously what is it) Once I dream up an adequately pretentious name for said endeavor, I will link it here. Watch this space.

Please excuse me while I go listen to either Smithsonian Folkways' "Anthology of American Folk Music" or Green Day's "Time of Your Life." I'm confused. I have to go.

P.S. Here's a video I made from when we snuck into Coachella. It's incredibly brief because the trip was incredibly ill-documented:

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Point Loma Fashion Week Day 2010

Today's Fashion News: The number of people who told me that my shirt was see-through today is so high that I think it might count as a sin. Going to pick up my solar panel paycheck...Coworker: "Kristen... you wore a see through shirt to the office." So what if I did, Brad. Anyway, the second most notable bit of fashion news is that I fell asleep on a sequined pillow earlier (not as glam as it sounds, but still notably glam) and woke to find my face so deeply and exquisitely dotted that I had to miss class. We're talking like maybe a nine on a scale of one to Na'vi Princess.

Without further ado,

THE FASHION SHOW

For those of you just tuning in: I'm a fashion merchandising major, so for me Point Loma's annual fashion show is akin to Easter for Jesus. This year they held it on top of the library and "it was sick." -my dad

In a bizarre twist of fate and productivity, I ended up making enough clothes to avoid shattering the moral codes of 9 whole models. Dresses and skirts and little hats for all - a Marxist utopia for the Forever 21 set. It was such a great night and even though we weren't necessarily batting 100 in the area of remaining vertical on the runway (I'm not naming Kelsey Ogdens, I mean names), I wouldn't have changed one thing. There was an art show, a DJ, a chocolate strawberry fountain, and a French guy saying things like "Don't wear a fedora to church" over the loudspeaker... best night ever.

Photo credit: Tracy Le

Au revoir!

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I normally pride myself on my knack for waking up on the living room couch at 1:30pm, peacefully pleased that not only did I miss all of my classes, but all 3 of my roommates managed to get up and out the door without waking me before the chimney sweeps initiated me into their secret book club which meets every other Wednesday beneath the Vatican. I’m a very vocal supporter of full REM cycles. Not a day goes by that I don’t lecture at least one uninterested person on why they must only sleep if they can do it in multiples of 4. Anyway, the point that I was vaguely making up there was: that was then. Right now I’m busy for once. I like it… I find myself whispering “life in the fast lane” under my breath and putting product in my hair to make it look like I’ve been running.

Reasons Why I Bought An Alarm Clock
1. The Point Loma Fashion Show is this Friday! This year I’ve made eight outfits (two in the flesh, six in the sketchbook [insert Call to Prayer] ) and I’ve recruited The Great Tracy Le to do the backstage photography. Expect a Cor-Ken-style post soon.

2. I got 2 jobs. One as a security guard (the receptionist at PLNU Public Safety), and the other as a traveling Solar Panel Sales Representative. I met a guy in a suit at Starbucks, chatted in line, and next thing I know I’m jumping out at married couples shouting “WANT TO SAVE MONEY AND GO GREEN?!?!!!!!!” I’m coming soon to a Landscaping/Home Improvement Showcase near you.

3. I’m going to London next Thursday. We have a $200 budget for 11 days. Put your eyebrows back down, we’re bringing Ramen. It’s fine.

4. “Class.”

5. Not to mention bEiNg a SoCiALiTe iS a FuLL tImE jOb… dUhHhHh.

***calm down, it's a lollipop i just finished

Sup. This will not be a very involved post... I took Anonymous's advice (in a comment on my last post) and applied for the STA World Traveler Internship. Watch my application video here and vote for me if you don't have arthritis or an urgent Blockbuster return (no late fees my b*tt). At present I have 3 votes and they are all me on 3 different web browsers. I LOVE YOU. -- a tribute to Valentine's Day. Okay and I don't do these very often so make sure not to blink:

< 3

phew... glad that's over. you're welcome. here's the vid:

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indie, uh...

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Well well well...

We went beach camping last weekend and I BROKE ANOTHER CAMERA. Anyway, I realized yesterday that I forgot to sell my plasma when I had mono. I could have been rich but instead I'm just healthy. I disgust myself. Sorry for all the sCoRn N' mOuRn... I'm done.

As I wait for camping facebook albums to be uploaded so I can swipe the pics, I've resolved to catch up on my travel logging. Without further ado, INDIA...

I'll open with a quote from one of my favorite people, and in my opinion one of the most intelligent women of today: “India is such an intriguing mix of tatty glamour and raw sewage that you don’t know whether to A. buy a bejewelled turban and join that naked baby pulling a camel by a rope or B. somehow figure out a way to bomb it.” – Kristen Refermat, as excerpted from her journal

Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid. We walked off the boat without a plan, somehow got a last minute flight to Delhi, and at dawn the next day rode the winds to the Indian capital. Jade, Alexis, and I stepped out into the smog, completely clueless, and then blindly followed one ‘Dolce and Dabbana’-sporting Indian gentleman after another until we finally found ourselves in the home office of Shabir, who gave us chai and turned on the air conditioner in our honor. He hooked us up with his friend Dinesh who we would come to know and love as our driver and friend on the best road trip of our lives: 4 days bumping along through Northern India in a heavily tassled tan sedan, jamming to the same Bollywood tape and probing into Dinesh’s personal life. Lanky and fabulous, his favorite color is red. Blue-loving Gulshan (a future friend) would go on to say that red was ‘for the ladies’ but Dinesh doesn’t care. He loves it. And another great thing about him is that whenever we’d get out of the car to do anything, we would return to find he had subtly altered his outfit. Loafers became sandals. Sudden appearance of belt. Blue dress shirt gets untucked/unbuttoned for a more casual look.

Highlights from the Road: We befriended two old Indian hoteliers who took us on a midnight tour of Agra in their red SUV and tried to sneak us into the Taj Mahal to see it under the full moon. Rescheduled for sunrise when this backfired. One night we slept at the palace of an old Maharaja. We spent most evenings cross-legged on cushions eating curry and naan on rooftops lit by the stars as the day's dust settled. Men played exotic instruments, women twirled with bells on their ankles.

We rode elephants where cars couldn't pass and we blazed trails through the miles of winding bazaars, bleeding rupees. Somewhere in the alleys of Jaipur we found the quilt maker who exports his quilts to Urban Outfitters and he asked me if I was Hilary Duff. In my dreams, I said. Gulshan's best friend was opening a restaurant... he let us in the night before the grand opening and prepared almost the whole menu for us for free, begging us to bless the restaurant and bring them good fortune. They dubbed us the Three Goddesses of Rose Palace and took our picture and hung it on the wall. My favorite times were spent half-asleep in Dinesh's backseat, watching the mass of humanity/absurdity flick past me in a technicolor whirl. My favorite thing: on a deserted road with nothing for miles in either direction we passed a dusty 12 piece marching band, fully decked out in royal blue and gold with feathers in their hats... just sitting on the ground looking bored. One minute later we narrowly escaped a head on collision with a camel-drawn hay cart. It even freaked Dinesh out: "My heart beat quick quick. No hurry, no worry, no chicken curry." C'est la vie.

And with that, I give you....

Someone else's comtemplative face.

Mantis out.

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