Optimism as cultural rebellion.

Awesome.

The dude I met at the bar Saturday night is 19 and really in to house music.

I can’t tell these things when everyone that drinks there is in uniform. Hell, I was in uniform, but I still don’t hide huge secrets like AGE and HORRIBLE TASTE underneath my work slacks and apron. 

Ugh. Same vein. When I was freshly 21 my problem with dudes was that the only ones that spat game my way were in the 28-31 age range. Too old for me then. Now that I am just shy of 24, only 19-21 year old boys hollar at me.

This should be awesome. Should be.

Where’d you go 30 year old boys? I am ready now!

I believed in Santa much longer than most of my friends, you guys.

You see, when Santa came to visit my classroom every year in elementary school, he knew everything about me.

He always remembered my name and asked me how my dog, Jet, was doing. And he NEVER asked what I wanted for Christmas, he always knew what my one great desire was, and promised it’s arrival. And it wasn’t just at school. The Santa I visited at JCPenney where my family worked and managed, also knew my stats.

You guys, it took my years to figure out what my grandpa was up to.

Diabetes be damned, he used his belly for all it was worth.

The Snuggie Corporation is racist against cats.

Yes, because that is where my life is at right now.

If any of you lame-wads want to play some Scrabble…er…”Words with Friends,” hollar at your girl.

NataliHo

Hey. That was an awkward thing to say out loud.

Waiting in the elevator lobby at the Humanities building is a clusterfuck between classes.

A bunch of people are packing in to one, I check in to it, decide I don’t want to be shoved between someone’s armpit and backpack, and wait for the next one to come down.

Guy next to me, says out loud, but not necessarily to me:

“Tall girl. Too tall for the elevator.”

I look at him to respond, can’t think of what I could possibly say back, and instead take the stairs to the 5th floor.

My step-brother is in the ICU.

He got drunk after his last final last night at UCLA, wandered away from his friends, and somehow fell off a roof.

He is going to be fine. Just cracked his pelvis and some ribs and beat up his organs.

I didn’t know that at first, I just got the voicemail that he was in the ICU, and the laundry list of his injuries. It was a while before I got the part about being ok.

So I worried and cried for a bit.

I’ve thought about all the times I had visited my brother in the ICU, and how my grandparents were lucky to die at home.

And I don’t know. I guess I have always believed that having had so many people close to me die already would make all subsequent deaths easier. I was wrong.

I am running out of people I love.