Post #10: Finished I-5 Checklist & Last of the Potty Stories

There were 3 things that I had urges to do after driving I-5 from L.A. to S.F. and back so many times:
1) Eat at Andersen's Pea Soup
2) Eat at Taste of India
3) Stop at the Vista Point and see why it's there.

Today, I checked off the last of those.  I stopped at the Vista Point on the way down.  Honestly, not so spectacular.  There's a little plaque there about the aqueduct, but, as I suspected, you can't see much more than you can see while driving.  I think there's one more on the northbound side.  Maybe I'll try it, too, on the way back.  If you've ever driven I-5, you would understand the interest in both Andersen's and the sketch Indian place.  Both were nothing special.  Andersen's kinda sucked; it smelled like a Port-a-Potty.

I received a great comment in my email today referring to the post "Continue to Fall Apart".  I have to share it:

the worst thing about shitting your pants is you never ever get over it.  for the rest of your life you don't trust a single fart or a relaxation of the sphincter.  it's like... oh damn did i just...? no.. ok, that one was safe, phew.  Post Pantsshitting Stress disorder, i think it should be named.

Hopefully, the following can be the last two disgusting stories for a while.  Maybe it helps that they will involve a dog.  First of all, Angel (our dog) took a poop yesterday and commenced to act really weird and bite at his butt.  When I lifted up  his butt fur and looked back there, he had grassy poop hanging out.  I had to use the plastic bag that I would be cleaning the poop up with to pull it out of his ass.  If this were a regular occurrence, I'd probably give him to the humane society.

A related story.  Annie's birthday is just a few days before Christmas.  Her sister just graduated college, so it turned out that only her father, her, and I were together for her actual birthday.  I tried to make her a layered funfetti cake with glass pie plates (all I could find), and it turned out a mess.  Skip forward a few weeks, and I decided to make fancy funfetti cupcakes with cute frosting and candles.  I arranged them all cutesy on our little dining room table.  It was technically for her roommate's birthday, but it was going to be my way of making up for the shitty birthday cake.  While out for her roommate's birthday dinner (sushi!), Angel hopped up on the table and ate everything!  Every single cupcake, all the wrappers, all the frosting, and all the candles.  When we got home, he was laying on the floor moaning.  He was the fattest I've ever seen him.  We commenced to making him throw up (hydrogen peroxide ingestion) until there were huge piles of cake batter all over our lawn.  It was the best smelling puke I'll ever clean up!

Starting to get phone calls about tutoring jobs in the bay.  I'll return those tomorrow.  Also posted a craigslist ad with a bunch of stuff I'd like to get rid of before returning to the Bay this weekend.  If you're interested:
http://losangeles.craigslist.org/wst/gms/2171654611.html
http://losangeles.craigslist.org/wst/gms/2171665261.html
http://losangeles.craigslist.org/wst/gms/2171674167.html
http://losangeles.craigslist.org/wst/gms/2171679026.html

I managed to make it all the way to L.A. without peeing in a bottle, so let's hope that the potty stories are over for a while.

No promises,
~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

Who's the Boss?

She thinks she's in charge of everything now, just because she's going to be totally supporting me for a few weeks (months?).  She was inspecting my boxers to see which ones were ready to be trashed when she held up my faves, asking why they weren't all fucked up where my balls sit like the rest of the pile.  "They're my sexy boxers, I barely wear them."  Let's be honest, I rarely wear any underwear at all any more.

I made it back to L.A.  Almost missed the I-5 turnoff cuz I was changing CDs.  It's ok.  I whipped over 3 lanes doing 85, so I was cool.  I should probably take a few days off of the 6 hour commutes.

I applied to 7 Craigslist jobs today.  Most of them involved pouring wine, but there was one fun one where I could drive around the bay area and teach kids about physics using Legos.  Sweet.

Had a strange smell on my hands all day.  I thought it was musty or rust from my apartment debacle.  5 hours into the drive I realized I just didn't wash my hands well enough after chopping onions for chilaquiles this morning.  I smell like an old, wooden cutting board, and there's no fixing it.  Awesome.

Only other good story from my tumultuous life today is going to get me killed.  I was DIWMGf.  I stopped in the middle, got up, walked around, and finally found my chapstick.  I put it on my lips and went back to business.  I need chapstick to live.  I need chapstick more than chubby kids need saturated fat.  Don't worry, she wasn't too put off.  She spent most of the time playing tug-of-war and fetch with the dog.  I don't need her attention anyway.

Wow, that's a little much.  I assured you that my brain had no filter, and I really shouldn't allow my fingers to type what I'm thinking.  Hope you enjoy it all anyway.

Fuck it,
~RoB

I'm a Hot Mess

"Those are Gorgeous," says the older, smokey-voiced lady who was walking laps at the rest stop on I-5.  She was referring to my pajama pants.  From afar, they are white with pink and red hearts, with black splotches.  They almost look like I stole my girlfriends pants.  Up close, you realize that the black shapes are silhouettes of naked ladies.  When people comment on them, I always wonder rather or not they actually notice that they are talking about my naked lady pjs.

Today, I woke up on the floor of my living room at 7:45am.  I gave myself just enough time to take a poop before the roach killers showed up to poison my apartment.  I drove the first carload of stuff from L.A. to Oaktown.  I had no clue how scatterbrained the anxiety of having no job or income was going to make me.  I locked my keys in my car the second I stepped out at McDonald's for breakfast.  I was at the In-n-Out stop just north of the Grapevine.  At least I was in a big city... oh wait no.  AAA sent someone nonetheless.

Happy to be done with that, I texted Annie (the gf) 'OTRA' (on the road again) as I was merging back on the freeway.  15 minutes later I was looking on the side of the freeway and realized that I had actually merged onto the wrong freeway.  Going well so far.  I found my way back to the always wonderful I-5.

Just to add a little spice to an already ridiculous drive, I decided that a closed rest stop wouldn't discourage me.  I pee more than a 90-yr-old lady (Annie's convinced I have something wrong with me).  'When you gotta go...'.  I peed in a water bottle while I was driving.  It went rather well.  It be nice to have a ridiculously large penis in those cases, but mine worked well enough.  Heck, it was so fun that I missed the next stop and did the same thing into another bottle.  It turns out that I pee between 9 and 12 oz per each time I pee.  That normal?  Oh well, the things that I-5 teaches you about yourself.

Happy Saturday,
~RoB