Struggling

I feel like I am falling, drifting into a seemingly endless void.  Like my motivation and desire usually does, it comes in spurts, moments in time that I never want to end.  The creativity and momentum that I had has seemed to drain out of my fingertips with no recharge station to be found.  I need an adventure.  A mental break, something to stimulate my mind, prick at my neurons and convince me that I am, in fact, still alive.  I had a great weekend, and I don't know what is causing this feeling of helplessness, and I suppose I should be used to these emotional surges by now do to my constant shift in birth control due to problems with the previous.  I can't tell what normal feels like any more, not that I would ever be happy with normal.  I just wish I had one day where I could feel content, satisfied, not feeling like something was missing.

My love life is perfect.  My cats add great joy and frustration, but always bring something new to my day.  The food recently has been equisite.  But I still feel like there is something missing.  Maybe it's Star Island, maybe it's nature, but whatever it is, I need to find it.  If I lose my way with writing again, I worry I'll never be able to get it back.

The shallow dream

Gets me every time

The beauty of a dream

Bodes the heart and begs the crime

And here it is

Lost and alone

The shallow dream

Empty promises

and I let it lie

The Mortal Tragedy

I'm not entirely sure if being mortal is a good or a bad thing yet.  Eventually, like vampires, you would probably lose all humanity, witnessing everyone you once knew and loved dying, disappearing, never to be seen again.  I imagine that it will break anyone, make anyone impervious to death, but isn't the fact that we are mortal make life so unbelievably amazing?

The tragedy in life isn't that we are mortal, it isn't that we will eventually die, it is that we only have so much time.  If you want to learn everything you can, explore everything you can.  You could spend your entire life traveling and still never experience what it's like to live somewhere else, you couldn't take in all the culture, get to know every single person.  So we have to pick and choose, and that's the tragedy.  I chose writing, and have continued to do so.  While pursuing this career path, I am at a job that isn't bad, but it isn't the promised land for me.  And even if I do become a successful author, I still will never experience being a zoologist, a researcher, a marine biologist, rehabilitating lions for reintroduction into the wild, working to save the panda population.  The whole other side of my brain, the one that wants to save the world, has gotten thrown to the side while I march forward, pen and paper in hand, probably destroying the environment more with ink and paper usage than helping it.

So here I sit, looking at a photo I took of an orangutan, and the soft reflection of my forehead appearing in the bottom right corner.  I titled it, "Reflection of a Human."  And it really is human.  Eyes looking up at the sky wondering, nose wrinkled while he chews, all the lines going across his face.  I live vicariously through Animal Planet and other television shows all of the lives I could lead.  I realize I am still young, but even if I do end up getting a degree in Environmental Science, I wouldn't know what to do with it.  If anything, I'm probably safer to spend my time volunteering, especially if I can become a published author.  That way, I can learn on the job, pour my money into some non-profit, and continue writing.

It's the mortal tragedy.

My Spirit's Home

Every year since I was seventeen, I have been going to this magical place in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean called Star Island, part of the Isle of Shoals. Since moving to California, it has been hard to be separated from all of the people that I have known and loved from there, but it is even harder to not be there with them this year. I aged out of YRUU Week last year, and I don't really have the heart to start going to YAC (not to mention that I don't have the vacation time). I'm too attached to my younger brethren at YRUU Week, and though I know a lot of people that attend the Young Adult Conference, it is hard for me to finally admit that this is a goodbye.

But that's what it is. A parting of ways, a growing up, and I still refuse to let go. Some things are too good to forget, and this week that was a part of my life for so long is one of those weeks. This probably explains why the background to this entire blog is Star Island.

I watch from Facebook and see everyone growing up, getting in and out of relationships, I feel like an observer on what used to be a part of my life. I have kept some people close at heart, but it is still hard to long for that sense of community.

Wrote three pages yesterday, not of Anthony's story like I intended, but of Jessica's. I guess I'm in the mood to be a somewhat snotty, self-righteous teenager who is really completely lost and confused.

Kittens, Cats, and Ferals

Cici, the scaredy cat

I have spent my time in Los Angeles getting to know the cats in my life. I think it's funny, and my boyfriend commented on it too, that I can be so positive about cats, kittens, ferals, and be so pessimistic about everything else.

Cici, the scaredy cat, the girl, and the little calico with bright green eyes, has finally gotten used to me. She stops hissing when I tell her to. She waits at the door, looking up through the window until she catches my eye and prays that I will come out and feed her. She's had one kitten in the time that I've known her. I've gotten a trap, to hopefully catch her, and fix her, so that her singular kitten will be the only one.

Lance, or Lancer, her violent brother, is a loud one. He's not fixed either, and yes, you guessed it, the kitten is his as well. They have the same eyes and the same face, so it's possible that they are just distant cousins because their patterns are so vastly different. He's just a tabby, with a huge bulky tail.

Lastly, there are the elusive Dragon and Toothless. Toothless is named after the dragon in How to Train Your Dragon, and honestly, it fits him well. I have seen him twice since moving in. All black, yellow eyes. Dragon is a fluffy grey ball that has the perfect cat mouth. It does the downward triangle: ^ and his face is almost flat, making me think he has some sort of Persian in him. He has yellow eyes and, currently, is suffering from a huge bite on his forehead. Remember how I said Lance was violent? They don't get along, both being males, they fight for territory. Currently, Dragon has been hanging around Cici more, so there might be a cat-drama fest going on with the little hussie.

I am going to try to get Dragon too, so that I can get him a shot of anti-biotics. I only have time on weekends to get them fixed, which means I'll have to drive down to Long Beach and pay 70-80 dollars for each one at the SPCA. I can only do one at a time, and since it's going to cost so much, I'll probably have to spay them weeks apart. But, if I can get Cici first, that would be ideal. I think she is the only female in the area. Of course the males can wander, but she's my priority. I can get to the others in a month or two.

Any and all suggestions on how to spay them all cheaply, on the weekend, would be great.

Then there are my two domestics. My cat, Rusty, I received mostly as a foster. I intentionally did not want to adopt, because, well, it's time and money. Though, the love bug somehow convinced me on keeping him. Maybe it was the way he woke me up in the morning by purring in my face and staring at me and waiting until I fed him. Maybe it was the way he needed help and was sick, but I couldn't just give him up, not without trying.

And my kitten, Munster, newly adopted from one of my friends. It's tragic really, she did a favour for a neighbor, took in one of her "fixed" females, and she ended up having kittens. She's getting them fixed for free, at either the Amanda Foundation, or FixNation. Munster is the typical kitten, though very sickly himself (why do I pick sick cats?). He loves to play, run, attack himself in the mirror, and is a tabby with a twist. His face has the exact markings of a wolf. It's pretty cool, bright white fur around his eyes, his eyes match his coat, but still have a slight dark blue around the outside of them. Absolutely gorgeous kitten. Unfortunately, he probably has feline herpes, though we can't know for sure until he's older. He has tongue ulcers. Antibiotics cleared up everything out (conjunctivitis), but I just noticed that he might still have intestinal parasites last night. So it's off for another vet bill today for him. I love the little guy, but he's cost me about $300 so far, and that appears to just be the beginning.

Old Photos

Going through my old photos on my flickr account.  I realize that most of them - the earlier ones - are crap.  Posted prior to much photo editing, me thinking - stupidly - that my photos could actually look good without any finishing.  The colours are muted, dark and murky, and not in a good, artistic way.

This was one of the few shots I took that I feel is actually any good, actually decent without post-production.  It's amazing how much a slight exposure enhancement will take your photo.

This was taken during my really long walk down Hollywood Blvd.  Spring Break, 2007, March-ish.  I was visiting a friend who happened to be my RA my freshman year, and a co-RA my sophomore year in college.  It was a hot day and I had to buy a really expensive 5 dollar drink on my walk just to stay cool.  Since this day, I have lived in Los Angeles for a year and a half, I have never been back to Hollywood Blvd.  I've passed it, sure, but once you "see the stars" there really is no need to go back.  It's too busy, too crowded, too touristy.  There's traffic, beeping, it's loud.  People have this walk associated with some kind of glamour, and though it was fun to be a tourist, once you are a "local" you really want to avoid it at all costs.

Two Years...

Barcelona, Spain - Two Years Ago

It's strange to think of how much can happen in two years... Even in one. Two years ago, about this time of year, I was still in Europe, probably around Rome, sick as a dog, wandering the streets, eating 10 times my weight in food to just stay awake. Walking with this guy that I knew I would probably never see again, though, at the time, I wanted to.

Since then... brief summary. I lived with my ex-boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend for the first semester of my senior year (and two other people). Somehow, I survived that drama fest. I got back together with on and off again guy from Los Angeles, and took a road trip with the guy I thought I'd never see again (Europe - ah, yes). Though, I didn't feel the same for him anymore, we remained good friends.

Moved to Los Angeles, became so homesick that I almost felt like giving up. My boyfriend couldn't handle me as the over-emotional person I am and gave me the boot. Worst time of my life being trapped in a city, knowing a handful of people that I have since grown apart from, and being completely and utterly... alone.

Graduated, drank entirely too much that week. Finally kissed the guy that I had crushed on for my entire college career - realized he wasn't a great a kisser. And after all that, came back to Los Angeles. Why? I don't know, but I am insanely happy with the move. Moved into a house, got some roommates, adopted a cat, worked at Barnes and Noble for a year, was diagnosed with pre-cancerous skin cells, got those removed, diagnosed with spinal arthritis, and through my meaningless coffee-serving day job, I met my current, and hopefully last (in a good way) beau.

Through the last two years of my life, I have never felt so isolated, I have never partied more, I have never been so scared, and I have never been so unfocused and lost. Was it worth it? Hell yes.

All the mistakes in the world to land me here. A great boyfriend, a supportive group of friends (completely different than those I set foot in LA with), a home away from home, and the strength to get through anything.

I feel pretty darn good since Europe two years ago. Most of it was downturn, but the final, and surprising upturn towards the end, has to be one of the best payoffs that I think anyone could ever ask for.

Private School = The Need for a Third Education

After getting a really expensive undergrad degree at a private college landed me on the opposite side of the country with no idea what I should do, no direction, and absolutely no help from anyone (minus my loving parents, of course), and after working as a barista for a year, a hostess for five months, and working three jobs for two months to barely make my life work, I think I've finally realized what makes me tick.

Beyond writing, which I can do any time at my own leisure, I have this strange desire to save things. Not people - I've never been one for saving people - but animals, trees, and heck - everyone knows, I'm a huge pack rat. That's what I do best, get a lot of things into a very compact space.

So, with my pack rat skills, my desire to save, and a now useless college degree in hand, I've decided to apply to an online school - probably University of Phoenix - for BA in Environmental Studies. If the other Rachel Desilets can live in Vermont and grow an organic farm, I can certainly live in Los Angeles and do ... something to help the environment? Starting with that grey, smog filled sky of ours.

Only one basic math course, one basic chemisty, one basic biology, and then you are on your way to learning specifics. Conservation biology, geology, environmental law, ecology and evolution, risk assessment, and overall: how everyone is messing up the world. Things of that depressing nature.

But the end result, is possibly, and hopefully, to finally land me in a job where I feel positive. Like I am doing something positive for the world.

Why not do an expensive college again? Or maybe, at least, a campus school?

Expensive college is just that - expensive!
And a campus school - when you are working a full time job, it really doesn't bend to your schedule, now does it.
And plus, I hate driving.

Also, I truely believe now that you learn more in the field than studying it in the classroom. Emerson could have taught me the world, but that wouldn't mean anything to perspective employers. "I know everything about everything!" The response, "Great, what experience do you have?" ... Long, awkward silence.

So, a degree, though it is a fancy looking piece of paper signed by fancy people, means little to me anymore. I'd rather get the general knowledge (which, let's be honest, I could by textbooks from 2004 and learn the same amount, but you can't very well go into a job interview and say that you've read textbooks and that's why you are qualified) at a less expensive school that gives me flexible hours and scheduling where I don't feel stressed out. I get my knowledge, my fancy paper, and my hope for a brighter future all wrapped into a simple education.

Yes, I like this plan.

Moving Spaces and Same, Small Places

Sunken City
Originally uploaded by BrokenFallacy

The trip that Colin C. and I took to SoCal's Sunken City in San Pedro was incredible. Down by the sea, where the wind was blowing so fast I almost felt like I could lean into it and drift away. Listening to the waves crash against the ocean and the occasional gull flying by.

It's beautiful, broken, graffitied, and represents urban decay. Or rather, how I like to look at it, nature taking back what it rightfully owns. The Los Angeles Abandoned Zoo is rather like this. Vines growing over everything, wildflowers just starting to bloom, and rusty, old everything entangled amongst it.

The icing on the cake was the fact that there were a bunch of teenagers drinking beer and smoking out in this painted landscape. One even said to us, "Beautiful, isn't it?" Yes.

It made me wonder about my characters. I know the places that I go to make myself feel like a real human being. Star Island in NH is one of them, my spirit's home, if you will. But do my character's feel so strongly about a place - a place that they feel obligated to go back to because they feel such a strong attachment to it? And what happens when something that you thought was beautiful happens in that space, but something in the present corrupts it. Do you go back to the place? Do you still maintain your image of it, or is it now broken like the rest of the world? And what happens when you can't rely on that space anymore?

Anthony, Jessica, and Sophie... Do they have these spaces. I know Sophie's by heart, because she's very much like me. Anthony might not have a safe space. I think he tends to act out too much to want to admit that he has a safe-zone. I know where he runs to that one night, but what happens after he can't run there anymore? He goes elsewhere. I think his space relies more on the company in it. More on the people he is surrounded with and less with his surroundings. And Jessica... her whole journey is about finding a space for herself. Is that enough of a journey?

Photos to come of Sunken City, will be added to my flickr and my photo blog in the scenery section, probably.

Dream: Inside a Museum

We were looking at all these strange, and somewhat beautiful, objects in this three story mall/museum.  Everything was for sale, but most things people just looked at as a weird display.

One of which was a station wagon, made by Saturn (my car), which this RV type feel to it.  The seats in front were relatively normal, but the trunk had been transformed into this make-shift kitchen area.  "Everything you need to go camping," someone said.

We continued rummaging around and I found this beautiful, hand-bound journal.  I've always wanted one with pressed pages, where you can still see the splinters of the unrefined wood.  There is something so natural about it.

Interpertation:
To see a kitchen in your dream, signifies your need for warmth and spiritual nourishment.
To see or drive a station wagon in your dream, refers to your family and issues surrounding your family.
To see books in your dream, indicates calmness. You are moving toward your goals at a slow and steady pace.  Books also symbolize knowledge, intellect, information and wisdom. Consider the type of book for additional clues. The dream may represent your calling into a specific field of work or an area that you need to devote more study to.

Deadly Plants and Curious Cats

It makes me so angry that neither of my vets asked me, "Hey, so you're a new pet owner? Okay, cool - and you just adopted? Sweet, and ever since then, he's been vomiting, which he didn't used to do before? Okay, well, do you have any of these house plants?"

9 Deadly House Plants

Why don't they ask? These plants are insanely common and a lot of people probably have them either in their home or outside in their yard. I didn't know this, and I had cats growing up my whole life. This isn't as common knowledge as it should be, especially when you ask your mother for advice with your cat and all she says is "You shouldn't have adopted someone else's problem" referring to how old my cat is, blaming his sickness on his age. She has even been to my house and seen the stupid house plant I have - the only one I decided to buy.

Frankly, I'm a little enraged by this. I mean, I try to do right by my pet. In the last 6 months or so, he's gone to two vets, had all the blood work done for cancer, changed diets due to recommendations I don't know how many times, about 500 dollars spent on him with just medical bills alone... and no one asked, "Oh, he chews on grass outside? Do you have any plants indoors? Or any of the following anywhere?"

Ugh. I am so glad that FixNation posted this on their twitter. All this time, it could have just been the plant. Maybe it's a mixture of diet and plant eating, but I hope that once I through the sucker out, my cat will be better, once and for all.

Music and Writing

I haven't written anything in a really long time.  Not only is it frustrating, but it's also somewhat disheartening.  I feel like since I can't even write a silly blog, or can't even tweet, or can't even keep up my promise to write three pages of journal entries a day to myself - how am I ever going to finish my novel?  Something I used to do while writing, particularly the story with Anthony, was listen to hardcore music.  Listen to something angry, something angsty... And recently, I just haven't been in the mood to listen to really horrible singers screaming through a microphone while a bass drum is being hit with a dual kicker in the background...

I've been listening to things that make me mellow, things that trip me out.  Things that make me zone.  Which, hey, that would be great if I was working on Jessica's story.  Or that would be great if I was even working on Sophie's - though her music is much more classical and orchestral - but I'm not.  My focus is on Anthony.  And maybe it shouldn't be.  Maybe I'm just not angry enough to write his angsty growing up story anymore.  I mean... I wish I had finished it when I was still having all of those emotions.  Suffering from insurmountable loneliness, home-sickness, and just this deep pit of seemingly endless despair.  But I'm happy now.  Is it possible for me to write emotions while being happy?  Everything that comes out just seems trite and annoying.  Like someone that is trying to connect with their character but just can't.  Is it as simple as listening to hardcore music again?  Would that put me back in touch with my character on a non-superficial level?  I understand his flirtatiousness, I understand his sarcasm - that much I got from myself...  But what about the burning hatred, the frustration over being in love, the insane amount of paranoia that comes with being who he is... And really the egotistical side of him, though I can relate a little bit, I just do not have that fake sense of self-confidence that he convinces everyone, even himself, that he has.

I understand who you are so well, my dear character - but I don't understand what you are feeling anymore.  I don't suffer with you anymore.  How can I write sincerely if I don't feel an emotional connection?

Office Moving, Vet Appt. And a Very Scared Cat

Came to work today with my cat sitting in my lap in the car. He was freaking out the whole time, as cats do, waiting for the moment that he could get out of the car. I can't leave him in the carrier because he attacks the bars of the carrier so violently, I worry that he will hurt himself.

The Vet appointment is at 4:30pm. I should have made it earlier to get out of work sooner, but me being the person that I am - I did the latest appointment possible. I thought that I'd have more work to be done today. But alas, here I am with nothing, absolutely nothing to do.

My cat has taken refuge from the movers (a bunch of people are moving their offices around) under a co-workers desk and refuses to come out.

Before the movers got here, he was calmly curled up on his bed and stared out the 8th story window at everything below.

I wish I could let him know that everything is going to be okay.

Office Cat

The Benefit of the Doubt: As a Hostess

My host job does not just consist of standing at the door and looking pretty. I know some restaurants are like that - but a whole bunch of them actually have a lot of side work to do.

My job, for instance, had this list:
1. Greet customers at the door, and seat
2. Clean the windows every time they get dirty (glass doors, happened a lot)
3. Answer Phones
4. Put together To Go Orders
5. Perform a Restroom Check - if things are dirty, out of stock, fix it!
6. Pre-Bus Tables - take whatever customers are done with and bring it to the dish room
7. Bus Tables - (Especially if there is no busser)
8. Wipe tables and Reset - (Always supposed to be host job, unless the busser helps)
9. Turn on/off heat lamps for customers sitting outside
10. Refill water and help any servers that are behind
11. Run food if you need to

This is in order of priority (mostly). There is a constant list going on in a host's head with what they need to do. When a customer asks a host/hostess or a busser for help - that list gets torn to shreds. We might as well just allow the customer to hack it into little bits with an ax, because now - instead of answering the door, I have to run and grab a refill for you. We have servers for a reason - they are your servers. They are supposed to help with everything you need. Now, if your server is busy, and the restaurant has filled, then you can grab someone. But if there aren't many people, try - try to get ahold of your server.

One day, it was so slow, our busser was sent home. It started to pick up shortly after he left, but nothing I couldn't handle by myself. A mass exodus happened, and suddenly, there was about 7 tables to bus and clean. Slowly, I start to catch up. I bus the three tables outside, the two in the corner, then finally the ones near the front of the restaurant. Now, servers are supposed to help with bussing, but they were caught up doing their own, equally long, to-do list.

I have a tray of dirty dishes in my hands, clearly in a hurry. I get pulled aside by a customer. She asks me a question I don't know the answer to. I tell her politely that she should ask her server, that he should be by shortly to check on them. I bring the dishes to the back, grab a rag to clean down all the tables that I just bussed and mid-wipe, she makes the "ahem" coughing sound that so many people in the service business hate. Just say excuse me, there's no reason to be rude. I know you are trying to get my attention either way.

I look up from the table right next to theirs and say, "Yes?"

She looks at me like I'm the stupidest person that she knows, "Well, did you ask?" I wanted to roll my eyes. It had been less than a minute and obviously, their server hadn't come back. Even though I told her to ask her server, she assumed I was going to find the answer for her. Sorry, I was too busy carrying 15 pounds of dirty dishes above my shoulder.

So, I sigh, probably a little too loudly, and place down my rag, probably a little too forcefully. I walk past her, march up to a server and ask them the simple question. I get back to her table, put a smile on my face, pretend to be in love with the woman and tell her the answer. I ask if there was anything else I could do for her, not in the spitting, angry way, just in a non-committal way.

I start to walk away after she says she's okay, and she stops me again. I have my rag back in my hand and was going back to scrubbing the table. "Are you okay?" She says it in a snotty way, she clearly doesn't care if I'm having the worst day of my life, she just wants to make me feel worse about my day.

"What?"

"Are you okay? Like, is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

I cock an eyebrow. "Ma'am," she has her two kids and husband with her, "I'm just trying to do my job." And I went back to wiping down tables. Her server came and checked on her within the next minute.

Now, I understand, giving her the benefit of the doubt that she probably heard, "I'll go ask your server" instead of what I really said, "You should." So, she probably was expecting an answer, which, after being asked again in a rude way, I gave it to her as nicely as I could at the time.

So why not give me the benefit of the doubt? Instead of rubbing my nose in the fact that I'm clearly not having a great day. Instead of flicking me with your finger one more time, why not just assume that I'll be okay. That maybe you were a little too forceful. Don't be even ruder to make up for a past rudeness.

Now, once as a barista, a co-worker of mine had to walk away from a customer because she was being "awful" to him. When he walked away, she said to me, "I didn't realize that I was being that harsh or forceful... I didn't think I was..." I had to apologize for him, since he was having a bad day. She understood, and I understood how upset she was that someone had walked away from her. She gave him the benefit of the doubt (even though he was always like that - it wasn't just that day, it was always), but she assumed he was a nice guy, she just struck a bad chord.

So, can't we all assume that? Maybe the other person is having an off day. Maybe they are in the same situation you'll find yourself in a few days later.

Just don't treat people like they are idiots for not knowing the answer to a question. Don't treat them worse when they are upset with you.

This series is to be continued with my experience with Sears Customer Service... I'll be on the other side - as a customer, unhappy with the results.

The Benefit of the Doubt: As a Barista

I have always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. Okay, they were a horrible, awful human being that looked down at me... Maybe their cat just died. Maybe some drunk driver ran into their car last night and they had to take a bus ride to get here where the person that sat next to them smelled like old diapers. I don't know, whatever it is, I always try to reason with myself, with their mood and say "Maybe they are just having a horrible day."

But then I stand there and begin to wonder, Does this person know what we are going to say about them as soon as their gone?

I know that some people "just don't care what others think." But do you want to be the person that someone complains about for the rest of the day.

Man, my day was great, but that woman... What a horrible person.

So, what if the barista is already having a bad day? It's a hot, sweaty Saturday during summer vacation. The cafe is packed with tourists, people that don't speak english, teenagers that are hard to please, and grumpy people from standing in such a long line. Now, I understand, waiting for 10 minutes to order coffee sucks, but how do you think the barista feels?

The entire time you are standing in line, they stare at the line, wondering if it will ever stop. Wondering if they have time to go to the bathroom so they won't get another UTI from waiting as long as they did last time. Yes, it happens. Because people lack patience. And I'm guilty of it too. I stand there with my arms cross, looking annoyed. Sighing whenever the person behind the counter messes something up and it takes me longer to get a drink.

But here's the deal: Most of the time, it's not the barista's fault. "Oh, I told them Decaf" No, you didn't. You forgot - why? Probably because you drink decaf coffee. Maybe you should have the caffiene to wake up a little bit.

"I said no whip cream." Well, I'm sorry, that's not what your cup says. But I remain nice, I ask politely if I could just scoop it off the top. "No, remake." Because, well, this person probably only speaks coffee english and nothing else.

So, bad day, long lines, suffering from probably what will become a bladder infection, and this woman comes up to the counter. I'm making drinks and I can hear her being very specific. It's a green tea frappicino, probably the most annoying drink to make at Starbucks. In a tall: first line of whole milk, 2 scoops matcha powder, tall ice, 2 pumps of creme frappicino, 2 pumps of classic. The longest list of ingredients we have, and thus, the longest to make.

So this woman is waiting, getting more visably annoyed as I work on about 5 drinks at once. I put the drink down with whipped cream on top. She says she doesn't want the whip, I ask to take it off, she says no, it's gross, she doesn't want any of it. It's not my fault - maybe not even her fault - but she treats me like an idiot. Her cup said "WC" whipped cream. So, that's what I did. "Also," she adds, "Can I have some extra ice?"

Great. So I go, remake it, extra ice. She gets it, drinks a little and gives me a sour look. I make a few more drinks. She puts the cup down, "There's not enough ice in this."

"Okay, could I re-blend it with more ice then?"

"No, remake it, please." She spits out the please as if she has a rotten taste in her mouth.

Okay, this woman probably just had a really horrible day, right? She is probably just frustrated and wants her green tea frappicino perfect. So I pour another one down the drain. I start to remake it again, adding a ton of extra ice. She stops me, "Excuse me - ma'am -" Now, I'm not a ma'am. I'm a miss. I've never been married, I'm only 23, there is nothing that says it's okay for someone older than me to call me ma'am, as if talking to someone their parent's age.

"Can you add four more ice cubes." I grind my teeth.

The benefit of the doubt, at this point, is off. She pushed too far and too much at this point. I had a line out the door, ten or so drinks that needed to be made, but because she chose to complain, I had to spend my energy on her. Meanwhile, everyone else is getting just as annoyed at her, at me, at the whole staff. I turn around, ready to tell her exactly what I think about her, and my supervisor tells me to go grab a drink of water.

Now that my blood pressure is way too high, I agree with him. Suddenly, water and a bathroom break seem like heaven.

We all have breaking points, things that piss us off. And I just don't see why you would want to take it out on someone that could spit in your drink.

Why don't we get the benefit of the doubt?

Reasons you shouldn't blame your barista:

1. Another member of the team could have heard your drink order incorrectly.
2. We always ask if you want whip cream, if you say yes, it's your own fault.
3. You should watch the sale as it's being rung in. You see "frappicino" and don't question it when you wants a latte over ice - it's your fault.
4. Frappicino and Cappicino sound VERY similar - you try working with tons of tourists with accents that you are unfamiliar with and never get those two mixed up.
5. We try. We don't go to work saying "MWAHAHAH, I'm going to make ALL THEIR DRINKS WRONG! WRONG, I SAY, WRONG!" We go to work, get paid almost minimun wage, almost never get tipped, and you want us to be happy? We will try to get your order right, we will try to make you believe that we are happy - but trust me, earning 200 dollars a week is not something that anyone wants to "be happy" about.
6. Almost no one tips baristas. If you did, we'd be much happier to see you.
7. Becoming a nice regular customer is a good thing. We'll talk to you, treat you nicely, ask about your day. We can be great friends if you let us be - mostly people just want their 10oz. of fuel for the day, but hey, we have lives too.

My suggestion if you are a barista: Try to get a job as a hostess or somewhere in the restuarant business. I made just as much in one weekend hostessing as I did in a week of being a barista. Also, becoming a server, especially in a large city, can make loads of cash.

Once Upon a Time...

The end.

Finding inspiration in Los Angeles is hard. At least, I find it to be the hardest thing. Maybe it's because I don't have as much free time on my hands. In Boston, I took the T every day (subway, what have you). I had about 45 minutes of commute time to do whatever I wanted.

When I was an RA and lived on campus, I had time meeting with people one on one. Asking them about their experiences in college. Getting into the messy little drama of their lives, sometimes, they wouldn't even want to talk to me about anything - but it came pouring out in an overflow of emotions. When you bottle something up, sometimes it comes out to a person you'd never expect. Sometimes you just do it to get sympathy, sometimes you do it for the attention, and sometimes you do it because you really need the help. Whatever it be, it happens.

These experiences, these moments in my life, gave me time to think, to observe, and to imagine. A similar experience happened last night. I allowed my childhood to come to the surface. Instead of opening the lock to my boyfriend's gate, I pretended the combination was some secret, hidden message that I had spent hours decoding. I walked along the sidewalk with hesitation - what if I were to get caught in this top secret place. High security all around.

And then something happened, after I felt pretty silly about the story that was going through my head, I looked up at this tree. It was a windy night, crisp air running through Los Angeles, which is saying something because the city usually has this musty smell to it. The tree was shaking violently in the strong gusts of wind. I watched it, and the light trying to pour through the cracks in the leaves from the overhead street lamp. The patterns it was making, the way the branches gnarled over each other, the way the bark seemed to curl around itself all the way up the tree.

I realized what I had been missing. This childish instinct to explore. To see things, to know things, to wonder and wander. I've stayed so caught up in my life that I forgot to see.

Today, on the way to work, I saw this older woman waiting for her bus. She looked to stoic. I was jealous, almost furious with her that she could wait so calmly while I waded my way through traffic. But then I felt blessed. To have seen that look on that face, to almost know her. She looked sad almost...

Almost like that girl in the waiting room, when she came out to get her boyfriend/husband. The look on her face was solemn. More worried like he wasn't going to stay for her. She glanced up and met his eyes and he stood straight up, walked over to her, and silently grabbed her hand.

Everyone is living so many different lives. Everyone has so many stories to tell. And I've been missing out on all of these opportunities because my blinders have been on.

Creating a Blog

I've had this for quite some time, but I've never actually utilized it before.  I will probably have daily or weekly updates about what is happening with my goals.  Maybe information on my characters and how much they are upsetting me.  Having a bunch of strangers running around inside your head would make some people call you crazy - other's "creative."  Is it simply because I know the difference from myself and the "voices" in my head?  I know they aren't real.

But sometimes, I talk about them like they are very real characters.  "He's really angry because so and so pushed him into a corner and..."  And ...  And he's not real, get over it - right?  Wrong, I can't.  Like most unpublished or unfinished authors, we are plagued with that one voice.  That voice inside our head that isn't ours.  It simple states, "Write my story - the world has a right to know my story."  And you think -- I don't have anything important to say!  But, your character does, and that's all that matters, right?

Something like that.  So this is going to be my struggle, to keep my characters out of my real life, no matter how much I am jealous of them or live vicariously through them, they are characters.  Not my friends, not my reality, but they are a part of my creativity, my imagination.  And honestly, it's about time that they finally come out on paper and stay where they belong - in one book, one small journey, and hopefully one that will have a bigger impact than just making my mother proud.