4.30.07

Yesterday, my life diverged from its normal monotony…I spent time outside. Yes, I actually made arrangements to spend an extended period of time outdoors. I like air conditioning. I like carpet. I like electricity. I like anything that is safely contained within walls. So you can imagine my surprise when I found myself in the backyard, stretched in a hammock, reading Gatsby, and enjoying all nature has to offer. I witnessed some diligently devoted doves tending to the nest they built on top of our outdoor speakers. I witnessed a high speed chase between two squirrels, taking place in the tree limbs above me. I listened to “The Birds and The Breeze”, the hot new single by the up-and-coming artist, Mother Nature. My sprawling limbs jumped at the opportunity to soak up some sun rays. Such a meeting has not happened, in California anyways, since the field trips of youth. In the Islands, I spend most of the day riding the waves, counting how many waves are necessary to sink my feet into the liquid-y sand of the shore, setting my schedule by high and low tide. Conduct on the Mainland is different, apparently from the lack of a near-by ocean. Time spent outside is an accident, a casualty of commute. Nature and I are completely different entities, results are best when not mixed.

But we are water and light and that is all. This is why the dawn of spring moves us so. Flowers are nothing but water and light. Our food is solely water and light, granted you don’t eat processed food in shiny and noisy packages. We even rock the same chemical happenings in us as a banana. According to the human genome, everyone on this planet is 99.9% identical. Only the slightest variation in our genes makes us appear different. You are light. I am light. I hate to admit it, but Lynette is light. Ha, ha. This is starting to sound like transcendentalist propaganda. I am not a transcendentalist, thus, I will stop. But I will leave you with an amazing passage from an amazing writer. It will amaze you. Or maybe not.

"Life is but a dream. There are no rules, only loves and fears. No one knows just why we are here and what the point is but we have figured out so far that it’s based on having experiences. We all get to have a wonderful time, even if it is limited, to dance and play out here on the surface on the earth, on the side of the rock, and thankfully we’re not sliding down to some bottom or being flung off the side of it as it spins and do-si-do’s around the galaxy. When was the last time you sat and thanked gravity for the rain or skydiving? The wonderful time is obviously introduced in so many different ways across the plains. Our parents and theirs before them set into motion where you would dance and how you might do it. From early on we became conditioned beings."

4.21.07

I return to this blog like it’s a cold toilet seat. You have to sit right down, dive right in. As familiar as the seat may be, you know the look is different than the feel. There’s no easing onto it. The same goes when entering the pool in this new season of pretend warmth. We get hot days, but lo and behold, below the surface those water molecules are clinging to the richness of winter still. The chill in our bones makes like a pre show to the goose bumps doing the wave across your body. You go into that pool one toe at a time. At waist level you curl your arms up like you’re a Tyrannosaurus trying to defy the laws of water physics. Mouth wide open in delight, a perfect companion to your body language, it looks as though you want to type something in the air, were two typewriters suspended above your shoulders about where the Y is to your M C A. In this case, the anticipation isn’t always best. Just go under already.

My fingers have been dyed a toasty, silver nitrate brown. And the tendons in my hand literally hurt. Could this be from the 17-ish paragraphs I wrote on Tuesday? Maybe. Or it could be from playing too much Guitar Hero II in Statistics. Or it could be from trying to catch Poage’s football passes by clapping my two hands together, miraculously hoping for that ball to land between them. Then, he had the audacity to give me tips on how to play football. I mean, honestly, who does he think he is, a varsity football player? Jerk.

So, today I learned that my 19, yes that’s NINETEEN, year old friend is five months pregnant. I assure you, I am not making a story more dramatic so that it’s better reading. Well, maybe I should explain the lead up, so that it’s just as shocking to you as it was to me. Although I kind of just told you the climax, but anyways. This morning, I wake up at 7:30, roll out of bed, shower, jump in the car, and start my tour of Northern Cali. First, I go pick up someone at Walnut and Marconi. Ok. Not too bad, about 10 minutes away. Then we drive out to Antelope, to pick up soon-to-be-mother. To get to the freeway, she takes me through North Highlands. This was literally the most frightening 10 minute (it felt like a half hour) drive of my life. They have a store called “Gold Teeth” whose storefront was, I am not joking you, a grill. I seriously pushed the speed limit through that entire neighborhood. Then we drive to Downtown Sac. Does anyone else hate driving Downtown as much as I do? Freakin’ one way streets. So us three, in the mini-van, are going to meet another three at Tower Café, next door to Tower Theater. They have the best French toast I’ve ever eaten, for anyone who likes French toast. And I consider myself a connoisseur of French toast. So, we’re talking and eating and laughing, and Tyra goes “So, Jenny, when are you thinking about moving?” The rest of us are like, “What? Why’re you moving?” Jenny, “Well, I’m pregnant.” and SHRUGS. SHRUGS. Now, perhaps I should’ve prefaced this with saying I like Jenny as much as I can like a fellow human being. But COME ON. You’re 19. She’s five months pregnant; her baby girl is due August 22nd. Thanks, gynecologist Kyla. You’re welcome, curious blog reader. She and her boyfriend, read BOYFRIEND, have been together 15 months. I’ve had crappy mascara in the bottom of my make up bag for longer than that. I was talking to her about it on the drive home, and she was like, “Well we were talking, and we were both just like, we’re kinda stuck with each other, aren’t we?” YOU’RE NINETEEN. YOU’RE NOT STUCK WITH ANYONE. Aren’t you still kind of deciding what you want to do with your life at NINETEEN? “I know everything about him; I helped him fill out his Java City application, so I know his social security number, his extra curriculars, and his full name!” THE MERE FACT THAT YOU THINK THAT DEFINES A RELATIONSHIP TELLS ME YOU’RE NOT READY. A picture of the two on her Myspace has the caption of: My Baby’s Daddy! THE FACT THAT THAT IS YOUR CAPTION TELLS ME YOU’RE NOT READY. Oh, well, I know his full name, so…it’s only the natural next step that we have a kid together, right? Now, I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not true. This girl is SMART. She is the sweetest person I’ve ever met. Well, Christy Cunningham might give her a run for her money.

I can’t even picture myself with a real, in-living-Technicolor boyfriend at 19. Heck, I can’t even imagine what I’ll look like at 19. Actually, I lied, I can. I’ll probably just look more like Aly. I CERTAINLY can’t imagine myself PREGGERS at 19. I can’t imagine myself pregnant…ever. When Seibel was talking about how giving birth changes you, blah blah blah, I thought to myself, “What’s the point?” Now, please understand the disclaimer to this entry: THESE ARE MY THOUGHTS OF RIGHT NOW. THIS IS NOT SET IN STONE. I really don’t want to have children, ever. It’s not just because of the video I was forced to watch about childbirth. But what’s the point? The earth is populated enough. Kids are expensive – yes, this is my frugal Asian facet showing itself. I teach hula to little girls. By the end of an hour and a half, my veins are so engorged with rage that I balloon up like that girl in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Veruca Salt? Was that her name? If I get annoyed after 1.5 hours, what’s that compared to the rest of my life? There’s the not wanting to die alone thing, and I’ll admit, that’s something to think about. But kids are a crap shoot. If technology has advanced enough that I can custom order my child, GATTACA style, perhaps I shall reconsider. But for now, I will uphold that I don’t want kids. However, I do want many, many cats. Ha. Joking. No I’m not.

4.14.07

Is everyone ready for a rant? Good, because that’s what this is going to be.

Tonight, something clicked. I only have a small handful of friends who will truly listen to me. Let me share some information with you.

I’m a private person. The closest people in my life don’t know half of what goes on in my life. I am not, I repeat, NOT a dramatic person. I don’t feel the need to share everything with everyone, after I make it uber-melodramatic, naturally. I think this mostly stems from not liking to talk about myself. I know it isn’t, but when I spend time talking about myself, I feel selfish. But then again, what is this blog? Anyways, in addition, I think my life is…boring. Why do people need to know every boring detail? They don’t. But even big things, like when we had to put our cat down or my grandpa died, I think I told two or three people. Point of this glimpse into my mind: if I tell you something personal, it’s a rare, big freaking deal.

So tonight I was sharing my most current, interesting news. Which, mind you, is still not that exciting. This is my conversation:

Kyla: blah blah blah
Friend: Oh my god, this is just like my situation with so-and-so! Like after we had blah blah blah….
Kyla: Oh, really? Yeah, so what should I do?
Friend: But then afterwards, so-and-so and I were like blah blah blah blah

…Friend did not even answer my question with her recount of a story that wasn’t even pertinent! (well, to be fair, I couldn’t see how it related) What the hell? I’m asking for five minutes of your time to talk about ME and MY situation. Not how my situation reminds you of YOUR situation.

How long have I spent listening to her and all her various situations and mini dramas? 10 minutes? And 7 months? And 3 years?

And what angers me the most, is how OFTEN this happens. I ask friends for MERE MINUTES to talk about me. Am I being selfish? Yes, if this happened every single day and I never let them talk about them. But honestly, sometimes I just need five minutes of uninterrupted “let’s talk about kyla” time. And this doesn’t just happen with “Friend”! It has happened OH SO MANY times in the past. What about me screams “just talk to me about everything on your mind, and I won’t ever ask to talk about myself in return, because you’re the only important person that matters. Oh, and did I mention you’re the center of everyone’s universe?? Because you are!!” And I realize I could be labeled with being passive aggressive, but in my defense, I didn’t realize how badly it annoyed me until tonight.

If I actually talked about how angry I am with one of my “it’s all about me” friends, this is what they’d say. “Oh, it’s because you’re such a good listener. I know I can talk to you about anything and you’ll have advice for me.” Bullshit! You just want to talk about yourself and know I won’t stop you!

I would like to take this time to genuinely thank the 4 people who read this blog. Because you let my have my much needed, uninterrupted, “let’s talk about kyla” time.

So, thank you.

4.10.07

Dear Trevor,

You won’t ever read this. I won’t print it out and mail it to you, as I’ve already erased your address from my address book. Which, perhaps, is for the best, since it was such a hassle for you to tell me your address when I wanted to send you a card for your eighteenth birthday. I won’t call and read it in a voicemail, seeing as how I promptly deleted your number out of my phonebook when you signed off. I won’t email it to you, I won’t post it as a comment, and I won’t instant message you. It’s not worth my time, broadband, minutes, or postage.

Can you believe it’s been a year since the inception of the debacle that was our “relationship”? A whole year. That’s a year’s worth of thoughts and emotions. A year more than you deserved. I spent a year on your back-burner, minding, but not saying anything, the times when you would put your car before me. I wasn’t a demanding girlfriend. All I asked was that you genuinely returned the same respect, concern, and compassion. What did I say when you forgot my birthday? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say when you told me, two days before, that you didn’t want to go to my homecoming after all? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say when you said you didn’t want to spend Valentine’s Day with me? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say to hurt you after you told me you had been in jail for the past two months? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say when you said, “you live too far away, it’s not worth the gas”? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say when you said, “I was just staying in town for you, and now that I don’t want you, why would I stay?”? Nothing? Oh, ok. You wonder how I became the “pathetic, no self confidence” girl I am today, not realizing that every hurtful comment you said to me cut deeper into wounds that were still healing.

Your words replay in my head. Words you don’t even remember saying. Words I’d reread at night and pretend you meant them. Take your words back.

I hate you for making me cry, again. I hate myself for settling for so much less than I deserve. I hate myself for drinking in all the bullshit you spoon fed me. But I hate you more. But I loved you more.

I did my share of staying on the bench. I did my share of forgiving. I did my share of compromising. You did your share of silent treatment. You did your share of guilt tripping. You did your share of ignoring.

I’ve rehearsed rejecting your apologies I know aren’t coming. You’ve rehearsed “I’ve never been this comfortable with anyone else” on other girls.

You came and went. I was always there when you needed me. And all the other hours of the day, every day of the week, every week of the month, every month of the year. Not that you ever noticed.

I want my words back. I want my time back. I want my texts back. I want my voicemails back. All I wanted was to be loved back.

This is it. No more. Goodbye.

4.9.07

BJ Novak.


Jason Mraz. (not smaller on purpose, I'm just too lazy to resize).

This will be like one of those "can you find the differences?" puzzles, like in the Sunday paper. (Which, for the record, I can never figure out.)

Do I have a type?

I'll let America decide.

...at a later date, I will hand you a photocopied Venn Diagram of their similarities and differences.

4.6.07

As I sit here, clicking my retainer on and off my teeth, I wonder: is there anything more attractive to a man than dental gear? Here’s how I see things happening in the future:

Man: Hey, Kyla, that was really average
Kyla: Thanks, I’m glad we had that moment of mediocre mattress mambo
Man: Whatcha doing there?
Kyla: You know, just popping in my retainer. *click* Wouldn’t want the hundreds of dollars my parents spent on orthodontics in my adolescence to go to waste!

(Orthodontics sparked something in my mind. Ready to see how I can relate anything to a TV show? The moth joke on Scrubs. I will now try my hardest to transcribe the joke, and hopefully not butcher it.

Hey, I heard a great joke. A guy walks into a dentist's office and says, “I think I'm a moth.” And the dentist says, “Well, if you think you're a moth, why are you at a dentist's office?” (Oh no, I forgot the punchline, stall!) ...So the moth says, “That's a good question. What kind of dentist are you?” And the dentist says, “Well, I'm a general dentist, but I do dabble in orthodontry…braces and such.” And the moth says, “Orthodontry? I hear there's great money in that.” (oh, because the light was on!) “But! To answer your original question, which was, if I think I'm a moth, why am I in a dentist's office? The answer is, Because the light was on!”

Oh, Scrubs. How I love thee.)

How disappointing is it that I’m only mediocre in my own scenarios? This feels rather blog worthy. Perhaps I will abandon my quest to find what dental gear is sexy. Tonight, I was on the Victoria’s Secret website, and I came to the only conclusion possible: VS models were sent here to make us normal females want to give up. In a world of Gisele’s and Heidi’s and Adriana’s, where do we rate? I was told, by two people who I think know me best, that I had self confidence issues. Which, somewhat ironically, made me feel even worse about myself. No, I do not parade around, fishing for compliments. Yes, I am my own biggest critic. No one knows my flaws better than me. I can alphabetize them, even recite them backwards (from purple to one…teen girl squad reference, hey-oh!), but I’m not hiding in corners thinking “if only I could blend into this taupe paint!” I think I’m a pretty shy, quiet person. I’m a firm believer of many things: FOIL-ing, not talking with your mouth full, and most pertinent to this discussion – not talking unless you have something interesting to say. Why fill the air with word garbage? Does my silence translate to lack of self confidence? I didn’t think so, but apparently…

So, let’s make this interactive: What are you most self conscious about?

But! To answer your (erm, my) original question, one day, I will find a man who will appreciate my mediocre mattress mambo skills. And we will have matching his and her retainer cases and be mutually glad that our parents didn’t waste their money. One day, I will find my own Mraz. Or BJ Novak. Hey, where’d that come from?

4.5.06

Fun Fact: Tonight, the Merrie Monarch Festival takes place on the big island of Hawaii. Arguably the most important competition in the hula world.

I’m impressed by the amount of mini-drama’s that occur in a week. Not for me, obviously, because the only drama I have is with my cat. Don’t underestimate that statement. When he smells another cat on me, things get intense. Tears, unreturned phone calls, the works. But enough about my relationship with Kini. In Stats, I sit next to Miss Pruitt, and around GALA time, all the Chatty Cathy’s in the class would come over to discuss GALA plans. In a period of oh, about 30 minutes, one visitor said, “I am just so over all the drama”… twelve times. Yes, I counted. That’s once every 2.5 minutes. Each time I heard it, my blood pressure rose just a little. I think all the dramatic high school TV shows are to blame. Laguna Beach, The (late) OC, One Tree Hill…if you friend isn’t pregnant, on drugs, cheating, or in a major fight, MAN do you have a boring life. Only boring….isn’t so boring. I think of it as uncomplicated. But as we all know, some people just can’t handle this. My question is this: why do people make unnecessary drama?

Hannah alluded to the impending train wreck that is sure to rattle our serene utopia. Oh, and I hope everyone understands that we’re making an analogy. The train tracks over by Cal Expo have seen enough drama for this season, I think. And I don’t even know where any other train tracks are, ha. So don’t go rushing to your local news station, or train station for that matter, to report an impending tragedy.

Riddle me this: if you had attempted a relationship with someone, and it had failed multiple, multiple, MULTIPLE times in the past, would you attempt to rekindle that relationship? CORRECT ANSWER: NO!!!! (Note the four !’s; I mean business) Personally, I like to keep my ex’s where they belong: in the past. In my fate governed universe, I think everything happens for a reason. Even if you don’t exactly know why your relationship imploded into a flaming black hole, pretend that made sense, it happened for a reason. But here’s where I become a hypocrite. In some cases, we shouldn’t let fate take the steering wheel. Like, for example, when you have a history of failure behind you. “Well,” you think, “we didn’t work out in September, October, or December of 2005, and add that to January, March, June, October, and December of 2006…but hey, why not give it a shot in April of 2007?” Oh, I don’t know, because that’s the worst idea since the Holocaust? (I apologize to any Jewish people I’ve just offended for comparing their genocide to a bad relationship) Maybe I just don’t understand what it’s like to be so inexplicably drawn to someone. Maybe I’ve morphed into a big ball of cynicism, dooming things before they even happen. Or maybe I’m just looking at this clinically, realizing that it’s a horrible idea and your chances of survival are zip to nilch.

“How does this relate to your first paragraph?” one might ask. Because all this relationship is doing is creating unnecessary drama!! (Only two !’s, I’m calming down) Drama, which attracts self-proclaimed drama queens and closeted drama kings like a fly strip. But then you get caught in the sticky-ness, and your ultimate demise was caused by this oh-so-attractive drama.

Well that’s enough for me. I’m going to sleep. I’m just so over all this drama.

4.4.07

I’ve been doing some reflecting, and I feel it is my obligation, nay, calling in life, to blog about it. But first, I need to collect my thoughts into coherent sentences. Because if I tried to write about it at this moment, it would be various four letter words with some nouns and possibly adjectives intermingled. So instead I will chronicle my Spring Break, thus far. Since I know the three people who read this are totally interested.

Friday of:

1st period – turned in JRP, spent the rest of the period freaking out about chemistry test. Ignored the video.

2nd period – also spent freaking about the chemistry test. Took half hearted Guerra notes, rejoiced when there wasn’t a quiz. Oh, a replacement Cometa! Adorable. Thanks, Lautaro!

3rd period – spent studying chem, was generally annoyed by all the people in Stats. Katie wasn’t there, thus making the hour 67x worse

4th period – counted 12 students present out of our 30+ student class, scored a 3/50 on aforementioned test, momentarily lost concentration when one of those stupid stinkbugs landed on my test.

5th period – was generally annoyed by the discussion in class. Somehow, we left English, went to the counseling office, and “Honors English 3” because “(insert last name here) family hour”. Most of the time, these students who just want to hear themselves speak about their problems at least TRY to weave in a pertinent point to our discussion. But Friday’s was a chorus of “well, my situation is…” and “in my case…” Maybe this is what Seibel was going for, but I was sitting there refraining from rolling my eyes at almost every case. Does this make me a horrible, insensitive person? I dunno, maybe. Or maybe it just makes me someone who doesn’t want to hear about how your parents pushed you to cheat. Because they didn’t.

6th period – watched the seconds tick by. Was embarrassed when Paul looked over and saw my drawing on my forearm with my pencil. And was even more embarrassed when I had to erase it to his snickers.

Saturday:

Finally!! Spring Break had come. And yet, I ended up waking up at like, 8. Drove to Julie’s Doughnuts and then to the library to get “Bel Canto”, as per Katie’s suggestion. Fast forward to the airport, where I was standing in line to board, this idiot couple was being…stupid and idiotic. I made the mistake of taking off my ipod and heard them talking to the woman behind me, who was only prodding their idiotic-ness. Highlight of the conversation: “Well, we’ll be getting off before you do”. Some of you might be wondering what this provocative, albeit retarded, resulted in. Let me tell you. Wait, not like that. Anyways, I see the stupid guy get out of his seat and go to the bathroom stall, then walk back and wink and smile to his wife? Fiancée? Girlfriend? And then I threw up all over the seatback pocket. And then the flight attendant said, excuse me ma’am, that’s what those little white bags are for, and I said, I know, but I’m sorry I couldn’t control it, you see that disgusting couple over there is trying to join the mile high club, and then she was like, well are you going to clean that up? And I was like no, and she started getting angry, but then we landed and I skeddadled.

Saturday – Tuesday: was generally annoyed by so much family time spent together, but it was nice to have Aly there, and the shopping, oh the shopping. So fantastic. Almost a reason to live in Palm Springs. Almost.

Wednesday: cracked my knuckles, in front of the bo-puter, in an effort to get ready to blog, but then realized all my thoughts were everywhere. Like that game “Canal Control” on my cell phone, I need to arrange the pipes before letting the water flow. So I will now complete an “all about me” survey before I go take a shower and think. Enjoy.

My name is: Kyla. Fun Fact: my parents thought I was going to be a boy, so they picked “Kyle” and then when I surprised them, they changed the “e” to “a”
My birthday is: September 23rd
My ipod is: blue, mini, and biased when on “shuffle”
My crush is: Mraz
My attitude is: sarcastic and critical
My music is: anything involving a man and one of the following: a guitar, drums, or a piano
My TV show is: Arrested Development, The Office, Futurama. Guilty Pleasures? Friday Night Lights, Best Week Ever, What Not To Wear, ANTM
My hair is: uncooperative
My handwriting is: varied. I capitalize random letter when I feel like it
My favorite lunch meat is: cracked pepper turkey!
My kids are: aborted
My journal is: lost. Actually, I guess this blog kinda took its place
My cereal is: Quaker oatmeal squares.
My ice cream is: Thrifty’s insanely cheap ice cream
My current song is: Makes Me Wonder by Maroon 5
My best feature is: physically? Probably my smile. I find smiling gets me pretty far. Not physically? I’d say I’m a pretty good friend.
My life is: privileged.