Chinatown

There were parts that were kind of dirty.  I thought the "Paradise Lost" sign was very appropriate on this street that smelled very much unlike tropical flowers and sea breezes.  

 There were also parts that were very clean.  Just look at all these brooms!

I felt like a giant white sore thumb in Chinatown.  I didn't want to far into any of the shops because foreign language situations make me very intimidated, though I found some cool jewelry shops that I would like to investigate further one day.  Also, I called my dad while I was there and he was like, "get out of there!  they're going to kidnap you and sell you into white slavery!"  And I was like, "it's twelve-thirty in the afternoon and I don't think that's how things work here."  Silly parents.

Growing Up, Growing Old, and "Other"

Signs that I'm a grownup:

• I totally rock at walking in high heels and getting in and out of cars in pencil skirts.
• I have a job in my field that pays me lots of dollars and requires me to figure out how to pay my own taxes.
• I know how to cook for myself.
• I've nearly mastered the art of knowing when to share my feelings and when to just keep stuff to myself.

Signs that I'm growing old:

• I keep finding grey hairs on my head.  
• Lumbar support has suddenly become a thing that's important to me.*
• I care about fiber content more than I care about calorie content.
• I can't ogle the beefy military guys at the gym without thinking that they're all probably too young for me.

Signs that I still have some more growing to do:

• I can't drive a car.
• I still sleep in a twin bed.
• Even though I know how to cook for myself, my dinnertime activities usually just consist of shoving Macaroni and Cheese into my mouth while sitting on my twin bed and watching "Smallville" reruns.

*On that note, there's a lot of office-switching going on at work right now, so yesterday I was able to get a new chair and it's seriously the best thing that's ever happened to me.  My quadratus lumborum is so happy.

Pardon My (Evil) Appearance

[NOTE/UPDATE:  Apparently if you're not reading too closely it might not be apparent that the thing I drank wasn't really made of coffee!!  I only appeared evil, friends!]

When I'm a supervillain (and let's face it, I'm on that path), I'm going to drink Double Chocolaty Chip Frappucino® Blended Cremes all the time just so people will look at me and be like, "wow, she must be evil!"

Actually, I won't.  They're only somewhat delicious, and that's not delicious enough to be worth the fat and calories.  I had to walk my evil-looking self three miles home today to not feel bad about drinking it.

In that game/poll/conversation-type-thing that Mormons do, the "if you were given a free pass to break one commandment, what commandment would you break?" thing, everyone always picks the Law of Chastity, but not I.*  I would totally pick drinking some delicious blended frozen chocolate coffee thing.**  I think this is why the Blended Creme has always piqued my curiosity whenever I would go into Starbucks--sinful deliciousness without the sin!  I finally ordered it today after feeling "on top of the world" and "devil may care" after buying my bus pass.  Like I said, it was okay, but not life changing.

So maybe that's not the sin I would pick after all, but I can't think of anything else appealing!  I guess I am a goody-two-shoes after all.


*I could go on about the reason for this, but that's a topic for a different discussion, so for the purposes of my talking about frozen coffee-free drinks, let's just say that I guess I'm really just not rebellious enough.
**Or tithing.  Seriously--why would people have premarital sex when they could save 10% of their income every month?

"Branching Out" and Other Endeavors

I've added a new goal to my list of goals toward which I'm striving in an attempt to occupy my non-working hours:  I am going to re-learn German!

I used to be high-school-fluent in German:  I aced all of my quizzes and even did very well in multi-school language competitions, but after I took all of the German classes in high school I never had any opportunity to speak it again.

What good were all of these language courses (I also took one semester of high-school French and two semesters of college Spanish) apart from padding my GPA (and, in the case of Spanish, working in the Chinese food business)?  Sure, I can throw out phrases here and there, whether to lament my Heimweh or exclaim, "Ach! du Grüne!" in exasperation with someone, but I've never needed to communicate much in German.  I think my wanting to re-learn is fueled by my plan/hope/idea to travel through Europe next summer.  This way, when I go to Germany and Austria and the non-French parts of Switzerland, I can speak the native tongue.

I don't want to learn the traditional way, though, because I did that for three years in high school.  To be sure, I need to brush up on grammar, and I have a "German Verbs" book for that, but I'd like to do it through immersion, by reading things in German.  Too bad the Harry Potter books are way more expensive in non-English.  I guess Max und Moritz it is!

Cautioning children everywhere that if you misbehave, you'll get eaten by ducks.

In other branching-out-related-news, I bought a bus pass today!  I did this because I want to branch out and potentially do things after work, and also because my roommate with the car wants to branch out and do things after work.  The Hawaii bus system and I are on speaking terms now, so I'm optimistic that I'll have some pretty interesting adventures this month, or at the very least, some fun trips to the mall.

Pleasant Vices and Annoying Virtues

Since I'm working for the man government, I had to fill out this very, very long survey making a list of everyone I've ever met who could verify that I'm not a terrorist and answering a bunch of questions about whether I've been involved in any criminal activity, sold any drugs, took afternoon tea with any foreign spies, or chained myself to any trees chanting "We Shall Overcome."  As I was checking "No" to every single one of these questions, what I should have been thinking was, gee whiz, am I a brilliantly upstanding American!, but what I was actually thinking was, wow, is my life boring.

I know I'm supposed to "cherish virtue" and all, and I'm glad that I don't live a life riddled with scandal, but what will my kids think when I have no stories about my forays into sex, drugs, and rock and roll?  Just to prove that I'm not the straight-laced, buttoned-up, uptight square that I appear to be, I'm going to talk about my vices!

• I took up secondhand smoking for two weeks one time.  I was staying with this woman who smoked and riding to work with an in-car smoker.  At the end of the two weeks, I was kind of used to it, but it was definitely easy to quit.
• I'm a caffeine drinker.  No espressos or Red Bull or anything, but I do enjoy the sting of a cold Diet Coke traveling down my esophagus.
• Ooh--gluttony!  I know, I know, but Alex, you're so tiny and trim, you're thinking, but if there are brownies, I will eat them at a disproportionately quick rate.
• Hmm...what else?  I kissed a boy and I liked it?
• Sometimes I wear shirts twice before I wash them (but I guess that's water conservation, so...)?

Okay...my list of "vices" is pretty short.  This was the worst attempt to prove anything ever.  I eat my vegetables; I go to bed early; I listen to music at a reasonable volume; I'm probably going to die a virgin; I floss.  I guess I'm not that kind of girl, after all.  

My Debutante Slouch

When I was still living under the rule of my mother (and let's be honest, I kind of still am), she would always look at me standing or walking and command in her very German way, "Posture!"  I try to stand up straight, to do my very best "Top Model" walk in high heels, but sometimes it's just too much of a chore.  I used to worry about this:  was my slouching unattractive in some way?  Fortunately, not long later, I read the Betsy-Tacy books and learned about a thing called the Debutante Slouch.

This is from a 1920's fashion magazine, or so says Google Image Search.

The Debutante Slouch is the languid pose of one who is just too exhausted from being beautiful and sophisticated all the time.  It's usually accompanied by blasé expressions, sighs, anemia, or complaints about prohibition and/or women's suffrage.

I went to a work party this afternoon, and while standing in a group, I thought*, oh no! I should stand up straight, but sometimes "straight" means rigid and awkward and uncomfortable, and let's face it, it's a social gathering so I'm already contributing enough rigid, awkward, and uncomfortable to the situation, so I debutante-slouched.  Hand on the hip, pigeon toes, and all.  I wish I had a picture of myself in this position, but I didn't think of it until just now, the time when I'm already in my pajamas and therefore not feeling very sophisticated at all.  

Perhaps when Laura Taylor (the Tacy to my Betsy) visits me in the spring, we shall have a Debutante Slouch photo shoot, and then eat onion sandwiches and sing Annie Laurie.  

*Because I had plenty of time to think as I wasn't really very active in the conversation.  I'm not great at jumping into conversations in any case, but they were all talking about movies I hadn't seen.

"I Know Your Eyes Are Just for Me, But..."*

One of the downsides to living in a place that's hot all the time is that I sweat a lot.  And when I sweat a lot, my feet start to smell really bad.  It's awful.  I mean, when I was living in temperate climates, I had the occasional pair of shoes that, when worn barefoot, didn't have the best reputation for making my feet smell awesome, but it's starting to become more prevalent and it's a problem.

I was always a stinky-footed toddler.  I think it's because my parents always put me in the little footy pajamas with the nonslip rubber soles that didn't breathe.  But toddlers with stinky feet are expected--even endearing!  When one is in one's late twenties, one's feet are expected to smell better.  Not like flowers; I mean, they're still feet, but just better.

At least I have nobody to whom my feet need to be in close proximity.  Nevertheless, maybe I'd best invest in some Odor Eaters.


*Extra credit to anyone who knows the connection between the post title and the topic.