Granny's Eulogy

If you haven't heard, Granny passed away this past week.  I can't say I was surprised, after seeing her about 3 weeks ago (for her 70th birthday) and understanding the frequency of hospital visits over the past 3 years.  Everyone said she was in such a great mood when she went to bed.  She didn't make it to morning.

I was asked to give the eulogy.  Y'all should know that I'm very un-emotional, or at least, I hide them.  This was the big chance to see what I was made of.  Could I keep myself together and deliver a good speech?  Apparently not.  This is what I wrote.  What actually came out was a shaky, emotional mess.

Granny is the short one in the middle.

"I’m pretty sure that I’ve yet to spend more time with any other person on this Earth compared to the amount of time that I spent with my Grandmother, or as everyone knows her, “Granny”. She certainly had her faults and her addictions, but she almost single-handedly molded me into the person I am today.

She washed every dish I ate off until I was 18. No automatic dishwasher, just her hands.

She washed every piece of clothing I wore. That made my first week of college awkward, when a girl from down the hall found me searching for the lint trap on the washing machine. For those who are currently spoiled like I was, the lint trap is actually on the dryer.

She picked out this very jacket, which is so comically over-sized and out of style that I had to wear it one last time for her.

She was the lady that sliced every single grape in half when I complained about there being seeds in them. She cooked me a grilled cheese for almost every meal I can remember growing up, regardless of what she actually made for dinner.

She left seeds of herself in every aspect of my life. I ended up choosing to play the trumpet after her stories of playing one in the Salvation Army Band with her siblings.

She couldn’t help with my homework, but she made me sit down and finish every homework assignment before I could go outside. She forced me to do as well as I could in school, knowing how bright a future I had in front of me.

She taught me how to read people. She could look out her window and tell you exactly what everyone in town was doing.

She taught me not to count anybody out, regardless of their size or how smart I think they are or how much money they have. One scratch-off could change everything.

Granny,
You always talked about how you wanted to see and know everything that I was doing, from the slopes at Lake Tahoe to the lights of Times Square. Well, now you’ll have the best seat in the house, for you will be with me everywhere I go, for the rest of my life. And in 70 years or so, we’ll meet up & talk about it.

I’m sure I speak for the whole family in thanking you all for coming to celebrate Granny’s life and wish her well on her new journey. Every person gathered here today has many stories to share about her, from driving around on her riding mower to partying 'til the wee hours. Hold those happy moments close when the times get difficult.

She always loved surrounding herself with Angels. Now she can become one. Up there raising hell with Uncle Rusty."

No amount of college education can prepare you for a speech like that.  You also can never really feel like you have enough time to write one.

Thank you all for your support over this past week.  She raised me almost all by herself, so her death will definitely have a lasting impact.  If you want to help, the best thing you can do for me is leave your favorite story about her below or on my Facebook wall.  It could be one that happened to you, or just one that you remember from me.

Sandra "Granny" Holdiman
1942-2012

~RoB

My First Tattoo

I grew up in a family full of bikers.  No, not granola-eating road cyclists.  Real bikers.  My aunt could kick your dad's ass.  I've seen her kick many.  Hell, my cousin (a girl) could kick your dad's ass.  My grandma could drink you under the table (at least she could until recent medical complications).  Everyone had a 'get drunk and fight' attitude.  Everyone had tattoos.

I was always morally opposed to tattoos.  Somewhere in my childhood I decided I wanted to be nothing like my family (when I gave up drinking and smoking and turned toward the books).  But something strange happened a year or two ago.  I came across a symbol that so thoroughly described me that I suddenly had the urge to get a tattoo of it.  This was that symbol:

This was a symbol that was trademarked for Michigan's hosting of the annual American Nuclear Society Student Conference.  Everything about it appeals to me: the block M, the nuclear aspect, and Michigan being the center of the universe.

When I returned to L.A., I was still infatuated with it.  On June 22nd, 2010, I applied to be on L.A. Ink.  I wanted to get it done on a reality show.  I thought that the story of a thoroughly educated nuclear engineer getting his first tattoo was unique enough that they might be interested.  How many people have master's degrees in engineering and tattoos?  I had stolen the symbol from the conference website, and I had updated it to make it even cooler (to me).

I never got casted.  I never got it done.  It got put on the back burner, but I never completely disregarded it.  Something lately got me really interested in it again.  I made a new friend at a Michigan bar a few weeks ago, and she even recommended one of the tattoo parlours in Ann Arbor for getting my tattoo.  I think that was the last thing that set me.  I was heading to Michigan for over a week.  I would get my damn tattoo.

And I did.  On October 1st, 2011 by Finn at Lucky Monkey Tattoo in Ann Arbor, Michigan, after we shut out Minnesota.

It wasn't too painful.  I guess I had planned for it to be bad.  I went in knowing that I'd sit through it regardless of how bad it was.  Don't get me wrong, there's a person carving into your leg.  However, your body gets used to it after a few minutes.  At no point was it completely painless (the bottom right corner of the tattoo was the worst part), but at no point was it painful enough that I was wincing or uncontrollably pulling away.  The sound of the needle got in my head more than the pain got to my nerves.  I found myself tilting my head to minimize the sound of the needle(s).

It was over really quickly, much faster than I expected.  And it looked awesome.  It cost me a little over $100, which is 1/3 of what I was expecting to pay (compared to L.A.).  I finally accomplished my first item on my 30 by 30 list.  I thought it would be bloody (I drank a fair bit that morning, and I have high blood pressure).  He kept dabbing it while he was drilling, and I assumed it was the blood, but that's apparently how they apply the ink.  Not bloody at all.  I feel like I want to watch how it is done now.  I took off the bandage after two hours, and it looked awesome for the first few days.

For the first couple of days, you're supposed to wash it with light soap and water 3 times a day.  That was easy.  It felt a little like road rash at the beginning, and it felt more like a bruise after a few days.  After that, you're supposed to put lotion on it 3 times a day.  By now the scab is forming, and the tattoo has a scaly texture.  I used some fancy fragrance free face lotion that Annie had, but ink started to come out of the tattoo after a few days.  It was turning everything down there blue, and I was worried that the maize lines around the M would never show up again.  I didn't know if this was strange or not.  I freaked out a little (or a lot), went and bought different hand lotion, and things seemed to have calmed down.

My family kept asking me why I wasn't using A&D ointment.  That's what they all used.  I told them that the artist/parlour said I didn't need to.  I was hell-bent on sticking to the directions given to me by one of the best tattoo parlours in Michigan, as opposed to advice from people who drunkenly got their tattoos in a kitchen from a high friend of theirs.

At one point a mosquito landed on my tattoo and started feasting.  I squashed it, and blood stained the upper left corner of the block M.  Much like the blue that's smeared everywhere, I expect it to disappear after a week or so, and I'll be left with a perfect design.  It's not really that itchy any more, so I'm guessing we're rounding the end of the whole healing stage.  Now, I just have to hope that the scabs don't fall off early and leave dull patches in the coloring.  By this weekend, I suspect it'll feel like the rest of my leg, and I'll be officially tattoo'd for the rest of my life.

Your turn to get some ink, Annie,
~RoB

Michael & the M-word

I remember sitting on my couch watching the movie Michael, with John Travolta, as a young adolescent.  The word 'adolescent' is the only word I can think that foreshadows this story, since to me, that word means unfortunate-kid-going-through-puberty.

Anybody remember this movie?

I know that I watched this movie.  I can vividly picture the layout of my living room, where I was laying across the couch that was butted up against the long wall.  Pops was in his recliner, and that sums up our living room furniture (as well as the total square footage of 50% of my house back then).  This movie was clearly playing on our TV.  I can remember a few pictures, but the whole story is lost to me.  Traumatic amnesia?  I think so.

I have NO clue what prompted this conversation.  I have NO clue at what point in the movie it happened.  All I know is, one moment I'm into some sappy movie about an archangel, and the next minute I'm getting the M-word speech.

Masturbation.

"It's OK to masturbate.  I used to do it all the time.  I've heard you in the bathroom flipping through pages, early in the morning."  I believe that is all he had to say, yet it feels like I was held down on the couch for days being tortured by awful masturbation conversation.  It was true.  He did have dirty mags in the bathroom, which I took it upon myself to explore.  I also had found a porno tape, which was my first real introduction to 'what everyone was talking about'.  I also have a sneaking suspicion that he caught me workin' it once, but that's never been confirmed.

Regardless, as comfortable as I am with masturbation (as well as everyone else should be), I can't help but feel a little scarred when I think back on this scene.  It certainly hasn't affected my performance as I get older, but it may have something to do with my crippling fear of awkward moments on TV and movies.

This story is trumped only be Granny's crabs story, the bottle of Viagra in our medicine cabinet in the bathroom, Pops' penile medical problems that he drew on a notepad for me, being walked in on Granny while 'watching a movie' with a girl, and seeing my mom and her then-husband doing it doggy-style (standing up, which is damn impressive, Mom) in the middle of the night on the way to the bathroom.

So, yeah, talk to your kids about sex..?
~RoB

Poison Ivy (DIETY)

I have a few bug bites that I've been scratching lately.  When things itch, I have a bad habit of just scratching them off, until they bleed, and then I'm happy... enough.  It's simultaneously satisfying and masochistic.  I cannot stand something that itches.  It prompted me to post a Facebook status of "I'd rather bleed than itch".  Subsequent conversation reminded me of my worst poison ivy story.  Enjoy.

DIETY...
...about the summer before I got my driver's license.  It's easy to remember, because I distinctly remember taking a driving lesson in a pair of loose sweatpants.  It was the summer of sweatpants/sweatshorts/mesh.  It was the summer of poison ivy on my penis.

It started on a warm, humid afternoon that I spent most of the day helping Granny garden.  Throughout the day, I sporadically ran inside to pee, since that's what humans do.  I'm a regular hand washer, but my hand-washing program concentrates mostly on a post-peeing regiment.  I probably peed 4-5 times throughout the day, but who really keeps track.

Later that day, I may, or may not, have played with it a little.  It's happened too many times in my life to try and think back to that specific day and weigh rather or not it happened.  Anyway, the rest of the day was uneventful.

In the middle of the night, I woke up with a strange burning/itchy sensation down there, specifically along the ridge of the head.  Best idea I had?  Cup cold water in my hand and dip it in.  I definitely had visions of dipping it in other fluids, as well as covering it in anti-itch cream.  I figured a shower in the morning would fix everything, and I managed to go back to sleep.

The next morning, Granny pointed out a rash on the side of my face.  A rash on my face?  What could that be.  I ran into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.  I immediately put everything together, and I almost started crying.
♪ BUM...Bum...bummmmmm...... ♪

The best description I've came up with over the years to describe the end of my penis is... a portabello mushroom.  That's what it turned into as it started to swell, a reaction to the poison ivy and maybe even all the stuff I put on it to try and cure it.

Why didn't I wear gloves?

It seemed like months of awkward appointments at the public health center (confirming rather or not I was circumcised via hand motions/drawings in the air by an old Filipino woman), shots in my ass, cremes, baths with all kinds of salts/additives, calamine, no workin' it, and fearing it may never return to the size of an average penis... that I'd never be able to use it again.  Hell, maybe all that swelling helped make it bigger...

I have this really vivid memory of taking a bath and looking down at my poor, blushing, portabello mushroom inflatable-toy as it bounced in the water.  It was so sad, yet extremely entertaining to me now.

So... yeah.... no gloves, no love...
~RoB

Happy 69th Birthday, Granny

For those readers who have followed along since the beginning (I thank you), you are well aware that Granny has had a rough year.  She's been the inspiration of most of my best true stories, so I'm glad she pulled through.  She landed in the hospital on Xmas Day with a leg infection, which led to lung cancer diagnoses, which led to a bad incident at home when she was released, which dragged her back to the hospital, which led to a stroke, which led to possible lung cancer diagnosis on the other lung (ended up being negative), which led to living in a rehab facility, which finally led to her being home after 3 months of rotating in and out of hospitals and facilities.

For a while, she was a little difficult to talk to on the phone.  These days she sounds amazing.  For the first time since I've known her, she isn't drinking or smoking.  She says she's eating more than she's ever remembered, and she's slowly gaining back all the weight she lost.  She still has to use a walker, and steps are extremely difficult, but she's still around and doing better and better, and we're happy to celebrate the big 69!

In keeping this post all warm and cozy, I thought I would brag about the Mothers' Day Brunch Menu that cooked yesterday for Annie's mom, grandfather, and her grandfather's lady-friend:

Lemon Brioche French Toast & Minted Raspberries

Veggie Eggs Benedict w/ Tomatoes & Avocados

Strawberry Shortcake w/ Homemade Whipped Cream

You need to try the recipe for the lemon french toast casserole.  Quite easy, and it was really, really good.  I used challah.  The hollandaise sauce was made fresh from Julia Child's cookbook.  (The first batch curdled when I was trying to keep it warm since the guests were running late).  The challah, sourdough english muffins, and the sponge cups in the shortcake were the only things that weren't made from scratch.  The shortcake cups were the only things that weren't spectacular.  Big secret: splash of balsamic vinegar in the strawberries!

Enjoy eating and your family, and count this as the good karma post to make up for most of my others,
~RoB

Neighborly Dinner Invites

I spent all of Sunday out on my lawn cutting, screwing, pounding, and painting PVC and plywood creations.
I know.  You're getting excited to find out what I'm working on, but you'll have to wait until Easter, when they are due.

Anyway, a neighbor invited us over for Cioppino, which they had apparently made too much of.  This is cool because I always say 'hi' to all of my neighbors, and I try to make it feel welcoming (my biggest complaint about California).  Annie and I were never really sure about the relationship status of the couple that invited us, so we were happy to be able to clear up a bunch of things.  Plus, this would be good practice for making friends.

Ten brief minutes later, while I was wrapping things up, I heard an explosion at the house next door.  It sounded like a propane cylinder exploded.  (A sound I had heard once before when Granny lit the grill with the top shut, throwing her against the house and singeing her eyebrows.)  I asked if everything was OK.  A 30-something woman came stumbling out (seemingly drunk but claiming to just have woken up from a nap).  She thanked me for caring and invited me over for steaks.  Apparently, the sound I thought I heard was indeed the sound of someone inappropriately igniting a grill.

We chose Cioppino, and I was surprised to see that another person from my apartment building had been invited to dinner (with his girlfriend).

So, I got to know 1/2 of my apartment building, and I got invited to 2 dinners.  There's hope for this place!

I should hang out in front of my apartment building more often,
~RoB

P.S. Granny was fine.

Michael Scott & Granny

If the title of this post gave you a mental image of Michael Scott nailing Granny, like the boss and his coffee mug from Office Space, then you are fucked up, and you should leave now.

Gets your juices flowing, eh?

Instead, the title is a reference to the fact that I work with someone who is so much like Michael Scott, that it literally isn't even funny.  He's a middle-aged engineer with a productivity level of a special needs child.  He walks from office to office (there are 4 offices in my trailer, not including his) sparking up random convos and stories.  I heard him giving the full synopsis to The Social Network to the poor girl next to me who hadn't seen it, and I wanted to blow up the whole trailer, as a martyr.  Today he rolled into my office, because he heard me talking to one of the cooler cats about tequila.  He wanted to let me know that he knew a few things about tequila... like how to mispronounce Reposado and Anejo.  He also pointed out, since I talked about wine with other people, that the famed Franzia is boxed in the town where he lives.  Wow, if he were any cooler, they'd put an ad on our website of him riding his mountain bike around by himself.  Oh shit, they did!

Granny just got back out of the hospital today.  On Tuesday, Mom called me hysterical because they had to rush Granny back into the hospital.  That makes time #3 since Xmas Day, and she's spent less time at home than in the hospital since this all hit the fan.  Apparently, on Tuesday she fell and Mom couldn't help her back up.  She was having some of the same problems that she had around Xmas, and an ambulance was called.  While in the hospital this time, they found cancer in her other (right) lung, and gave her a full-body PET scan.  Nobody knows the results yet, but she still sounds like she has stroke-face.  She said she was so happy to take a nap today without anybody "poking her to wake her up and take a blood sample".  I'm not ready to deal with that, but everyone is pushing me to go back and visit her.  I know it would lighten her day, but it'd suck for me, and I'm selfish.

So, I guess I'm torn between hanging with Michael Scott or Granny,
~RoB

Not an Angel

Angel's been a little out of control.  Lately he's been tearing through the garbage or breaking into his food or eating shit off the counters/tables while we're gone.  He even ate a whole batch of cupcakes off the table (wrapper, candles, and all)!

A few nights ago was the worst.  We put him in his kennel (3' tall), and that was apparently not an obstacle for him.  We came home, and he had eaten 2 CLIF Builder Bars (mint chocolate), several CLIF Bars (oatmeal raisin & blueberry crisp), a few yams, chewed up a wine cork, and who knows what else.  For those without dogs, chocolate and raisins are bad for them.  That much fiber and protein won't do great things to them either.  We decided that for the first time, we weren't going to force him to throw it all up (hydrogen peroxide does wonders).  It was time for him to finally pay for his compulsions!

The gas that emitted from him seemed ludicrous.  Quietly we tried to lay around a few times, but he kept squeaking them out.  You could hear them as he was walking around.  Just like Granny, he tooted with each step.  Speaking of Granny, she's finally home from the rehabilitation center.  I talked to her this morning after she got settled.  She sounds way better.  I'm a little worried she might have stroke face, though.  Lord knows I can't handle being that distracted when I'm talking to somebody.

UPDATE
We came home today to Angel laying on our bed, wiggling away.  Problem?  When we left, he was comfortably in his kennel.  We had placed a blanket over the top of his kennel, in order to deter him from trying to jump out.  Instead, he brilliantly found his way out, tore into some Advil Cold & Sinus, and ate one of Annie's headbands.  I can't bitch too much the headband, it was hideous.  That's one point for Angel, but things are still about to get real!

Uh oh, pups, look up.  Daddy rigged up your kennel.  Try and get out now!

Naming a dog Angel: the opposite of self-fulfilling prophecy,
~RoB

Life Update (and a package of bacon)

I finally hooked up my computer, and I seem to be over the cold that had me all fucked up this weekend, so expect more of this... at least until I get a job.

Haven't heard much more about granny.  She's currently in a rehab center, which is a step up from the hospital.  She had a small stroke.  Add that to the lung cancer, and now a diagnosis of severe diabetes, and she's surprisingly alive.  Since the last time she went home, she ended up back in ICU, the doctors thought it would be best to have her in a supervised facility before sending her home to rest up for cancer treatment.  My mom is staying there, so it didn't seem logistical to fly there and plug up the house.

One of my favorite people of all time happened to be in town this weekend.  We went out to dinner at Waterbar on Saturday night.  It was so fun to see him and meet his fiance!!  He said they've planned the wedding in Omaha, Nebraska, so I totally want to make it there over Labor Day.  I didn't hear how traveling back to Chicago went, considering the Snowpocalypse, but I hope he's ok!!

I'm pretty much finished cleaning and decorating Annie's apartment.  It's pretty snazzy.  The bathroom, though less functional, is probably my favorite room.  I've also been cooking like crazy: blueberry muffins, monte cristos, vegetarian chili, burgers (2 kinds), and bananas foster were all things that I made from scratch last week (not counting everything else that I cooked that wasn't entirely 'from scratch').  Annie and I polished off a whole package of bacon between Bacon Blue Cheeseburgers and Monte Cristos on Sunday, which I don't even feel guilty about, though it definitely lowered our life expectancies.  I'm planning on making a sweet potato cake tonight, as soon as I grab some eggs from the store.

I emailed out my official counter-offer today, and I didn't get my new, fake ACT scores back yet.

I'll bring the funny later,
~RoB

Goodbye L.A. & DIETY

I'm fully moved out of my apartment in L.A.  From now on, when I'm there, it's a vacation.  The weekend was spent partying with all my favorite SoCal peeps.  Friday night took us to a grilling/drinking party in Redondo Beach.  The food was (is always) amazing, and the whiskey was flowing.  Annie and I had to sleep there.  Saturday took us to the U.S. Men's Soccer game at the Home Depot Center vs. Chile.  (Their song is still stuck in my head; America needs soccer songs!  "Vamos! Vamos Chillenos!")  We then drove to Pasadena for a birthday party at a really swanky bowling alley.  The homemade devil's food cupcakes with mint frosting were amazing!!

Some chick yelled at me for putting garbage on the curb when I was cleaning my apartment.  She accused me of trashing the neighborhood.  Really?  The homeless people that hang out, dragging loud carts around, trading goods, and fighting over alcohol probably drag down the property values a little lower.  How about the 2 pot dispensaries?  Eat me lady.

Now I need to find a quick way to make $$.

Did I Ever Tell You...
Granny once tried to drive a riding lawnmower up the wall of our garage.  You see, we fastened a wooden block on the brake so that she could reach it.  She regularly drove the lawnmower around the neighborhood.  She lost her license for drinking and driving 4 decades ago, and never got it back.  Apparently, after returning from a rather inspiring party at a friend's house, she hit the brake and knocked the wooden block off.  So, as she was pulling it into our garage, she just kept going.  There were some small boxes against the wall, that she managed to use as a ramp, as she drove it up the wall, and over onto herself.  A cop drove by and saw a smoking lawnmower, flipped over, with a flailing, old lady trapped underneath.  She claims that she saw her life flash in front of her eyes.

Keep your license, it may save your life,
~RoB

Pee & Ugly People

I've apparently started a bad habit.  I promise to stop once I bring this last load up from L.A. Sunday night.  The worst part was Annie got off in about 15 minutes.  She apparently doesn't check her text messages while driving.  Geez, people.  We have this technology to use!  By the way, Bay Area traffic is almost as frustrating as L.A. traffic.  I also memorized that some kid was abducted in a Silver Toyota Corolla license plate 6BHW445; it was all over the freeway during my ridiculous amount of driving today.

Back to pee, whenever I do it in my car, I feel so redneck.  It reminds me when I drove to Chicago with a friend in high school, borrowing my grandpa's truck.  We found a jug of pee in the door.  Upon returning, he explained that when he's driving to work and throwing back a few brewskies (yes, simultaneously), he prefers to pee in a jug as opposed to stopping to pee somewhere.  Awesome.  No big surprise for a guy who has a big detergent tub in our garage for peeing into.  I'm so white trash!  Guess this gets put into the same category as peeing in the shower: weird urinating habits.  Maybe I do have some sort of problem...

On another note, I forgot how funny looking the people were in the bay area.  You get so spoiled in L.A.  Everyone is so hot!  I mean, at least people in the bay are skinny (skinny, not in good shape) unlike the herds of buffalo you find in the Midwest.  They're just funny looking.  I know that I'm plain ugly, and that I'm certainly not sporting a six-pack, but it is us ugly people that end up being the shallowest, since we learn quite young how much physical attractiveness factors into the ease of daily life.

Applied to 8 more jobs today, totaling 31 so far.  Heard back from 3 tutoring places, but I haven't made any commitments.  I'm driving to L.A. tomorrow, so I have some time off from the job search.  We have tickets to the U.S. soccer match, and I'm dying to go to Scarpetta before leaving L.A. permanently.  I'm considering flying back to MI to visit granny (and my cuz) who are both in the hospital now.  I think that's it for my life today.

Funny looking,
~RoB

Edwin & Eloise

Meet Edwin & Eloise.

It's a tradition in Annie's family that all the girls take off the day after Christmas and spend the day shopping.  They go around trying to take advantage of 50% off all the crap that's left after the holiday shopping season.  Two years ago, Annie's mom walked back in with Edwin & Eloise, the evil, possessed, stuffed deer that spend the nights walking around and whispering cruel things in my ear.

This year, Annie's house was so packed with people that we had to spend a few nights on her living room floor next to Edwin & Eloise.  I kept covering them with clothes so that they wouldn't be hovering over me while I slept.  Several times, the clothes were removed before the next morning.  This was the first solid proof that I had that these screwed up stuffed dolls were alive.  Nobody believed me.

Finally, a few days ago, I returned by myself to find them doing the nasty.  So, I snapped a few pics on my iPhone in hopes of once, and for all, proving to the world that these demon deer should be destroyed!

Other than that, my life remains a whirlwind, though Tahoe was a nice break.  I've applied to 17 jobs so far, and I have at least 6 more to apply to today.  I've spoken on the phone to a lab that plans on giving me an offer before the end of the week.  I am also meeting with a tutoring company tomorrow.  So, things are moving on that front.

Granny ended up back in the hospital, ICU specifically.  Today she was moved out of ICU, but things don't sound well.  I'm considering flying back home next week to spend some time.  Maybe seeing me will help her along, cuz I am her favorite person in the world.  My cousin (my age) just ended up in the same hospital for thyroid problems.  What's going on people???

I took a skating (type of skiing) lesson up at Tahoe, and it's something that I'd like to try a few more times.  I regularly stride when I'm cross-country skiing up there, but learning the faster and more modern style could be fun.  I'm considering doing the Great Ski Race in March, which is a 30k race.  We'll see if I'm in good enough shape by then.  I'm playing tennis with an old friend today, so that's a start.

That's enough for today.  It's hard to blog in Tahoe, but I should have a few consistent days of it this week before I return to L.A. to get the last of my stuff!

Still scared to fart,
~RoB

It's Official

I'm officially not a registered student at UCLA, though I think they want $2000 from me for withdrawing.  Don't see that happening anytime soon.  I departed UCLA yesterday with my shiny new diploma (master of science) in hand.  Keys are turned in and office is clear.

Granny also came home from the hospital last night.  I haven't been able to reach her for the past few days (things must still be a whirlwind there), but I'm trying again in 20 minutes.  Nobody has told me anything as far as prognosis (that the right word?), so I have no clue how she's actually doing.  It's ok, I haven't really told them anything of my situation for most of the same reasons, so we'll just keep movin' on.  By the way, thank you, seriously, to all who ignored my request and offered your sympathies for her anyway.  It meant just a little bit more that you cared so much that you didn't care rather or not I wanted to hear it.

I drove another carload of stuff up yesterday.  On the way I had 4 big realizations:
- I can list all the big landmarks of I-5 from L.A. to Livermore, and they're pathetic.
- I think I'm technically a transient now.
- The guy that I could see in my rear view mirror looked really awkward while he was picking his nose.  I should probably stop picking my nose when I drive.
- A long time ago, I spoke with a friend about how he wanted to get each level of college degree at different universities; bachelor's, master's, and doctorate at 3 different schools.  If I return to college somewhere and get a PhD in the future, I will have done that, without really trying.  I'll probably also pick up an extra 2 master's degrees along the way.  Crazy.

I have no clue where all of my stuff is going to go.  Annie's apartment is nice, and cute, but in no way can her room handle 2 people's stuff.  I'm swinging by IKEA today to see what magic they can do.  Today, I also have to call and start canceling everything and changing my address.  It's also time to start emailing people and notify them that I've officially left Los Angeles.  I hate emails like that.  I'm so awkward.

Tuesday, my apt was so busy.  2 insurance adjustors showed up to take pictures and talk with me.  A lady showed up to turn off our gas.  Apparently, it never got switched over to my name.  I gave her $40 and she just left.  She was the most unprofessional person I've dealt with in a long time: "I don't give a shit," she says.  The last knock on the door was the most surprising.

I opened the door and my 2 closest L.A. friends were standing there.  They had taken off work to come and make sure I was ok.  They had heard a little from my blog, but they wanted me to tell them to their faces.  It was heartwarming knowing that there were a few people in L.A. that cared that much for me.  They offered their houses, $, help, and had the courtesy to not yell at me, even though they might not agree with me giving up on my dream of being Dr. Rob, for now.  They took me out to go see The Fighter, which was amazing.  We also went to Ugo's Wine Bar in Culver City, which was also really fun.

They also made me swore that I wouldn't blog about it.  Come on.  I blogged about DIWMGf.  It's not like anybody reads this anyway.  I just wanted to show how nice my closest friends are, maybe to help defend why I only have a few close friends.

Don't get pissed,
~RoB

What Doesn't Kill You...

... will probably come back and get you next time.  Granny, who was rushed to the hospital on Christmas Day was diagnosed with lung cancer this morning.  One of her lungs collapsed during the biopsy.  Sounds like things are a big mess.  Please don't send your sympathies to me.  I appreciate it, but keep it to yourself.  I'm not a very emotional being, and it makes things awkward.  I'll just assume that you all send well wishes.

I'm far from macho, but I rarely show any emotion other than happiness.  I cried when I was 16 while being a pall bearer for a close friend.  I don't think I've cried since then, and it'll take something at least as bad as that to get a big stir out of me.  I don't ask for help.  Annie hates that I hide all emotion with humor.  It's the most guy thing I do.  Maybe one day I'll be mature enough to sob like Urban Meyer or John Boehner, since they are such respectable people...

I filled out the paperwork to take a Leave of Absence from UCLA today.  That was a hassle (still not done).  I have absolutely no intention of ever returning to L.A., but Annie demanded I have a backup plan.  I have no clue how much $$ I'm going to have to pay UCLA, but it doesn't sound like they'll let me off easy.  Let's make sure that those grad students don't leave without overwhelming debt, after all!  I also spent 59 infuriating minutes on hold trying to change my jury duty.

I packed up my office at school.  It's sad that roughly 1/6 of my possessions are text-/notebooks for college classes.  Today was the first big wave of "what the fuck am I doing?"  My whole life has been pretty easy.  Big decisions have usually been between two things I'm good at, and most big moves were lined up so that I could dance through life without much stress.  Considering where I've come from, I've been more than successful.  However, in just a week or two, my credit cards will be maxed out, my checking/savings accounts will be zero, and I will not have a job.  That's really scary.  It also makes me fear that my ever-interesting life is going to become mundane and boring like everyone else's.  I know having an interesting life (like I feel I have had for years) is mostly what you make of it, but I have had a lot of experiences to work-with/choose-from throughout the past decade.

I decided to watch True Grit in Westwood Village to kill time until my office would be empty.  I really enjoy good Westerns!  I invited some friends.  When I showed up, the theater was a TV show set.  Oh L.A., you never fail me when I'm worried about being boring.  I was disappointed that I couldn't see the movie, until I asked the theater across the street (where The Tourist is playing) what was being filmed, and they slipped in that they took True Grit for the day.  I went to the 5:10 show and was the only one in there, cuz everyone was too busy gawking outside to find the movie.  Tourists.

The TV Set, an abstraction from my crappy iPhone camera

Working with AAA insurance to replace some of my damaged stuff, and I'm loading my car up again for another trip to the Bay.  My next departure depends entirely on other people doing their jobs quickly.  I sliced my finger on the sharp edge on the box for cutting reynolds wrap.  Apparently, I shouldn't scoff at all the ridiculously stupid labels that dumb people require on everything.

No job offers yet,
~RoB