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

Graffiti with Punctuation*

Apparently, it was movie day today.  I had never heard of it, but Annie wanted to go see Contagion.  She gets off on dystopia-related fiction.  I like movies, so I was down.  We headed over to the Grand Lake to catch a matinee, so we only had to pay midwest ticket prices.  ($7, as opposed to $15 L.A. prices.)

My opinion:  meh.  There was nothing that made me particularly interested in the story.  I mean, I felt for Matt Damon.  Losing your wife and step-son, only to find out that your wife was a cheating whore would be pretty rough.  Trying to keep your last close relative safe was the only good story line.  That and the chick that would eventually get a Nobel prize for risking her life by testing her vaccine on herself.

Should've used Wahlberg. They're the same person, but Mark is better looking.

Diseased slut.

Other than that, there were just too many unresolved things.  Was the vlogger really batshit, or was he right all along?  Did that chick in China have Stockholm syndrome?  Do I really touch my face 3-5 times every waking minute?  Are blogs really just "graffiti with punctuation"?  (Regardless, it was a great quote, and I feel like it's a fair representation of my blog, if not all of them.)  *Does Demetri Martin really think that he can pull of the brilliant scientist/biologist role?  Not with that bowl cut.

Crazy or not?

Stockholm?

"Don't be attached to anything that you can't walk out on in 30 seconds flat when you spot the Heat coming around the corner."  That was my second movie.  I'm sitting here blogging while I watch Heat, from 1995.  I've never seen it, but I know it is highly regarded.  It's pretty good.  It's making up for the movie earlier.  Both have crazy casts, but young Natalie Portman in Heat is probably the best surprise.

*Updated:  I had no clue that Heat was 2 hours and 45 minutes long.  It kept me up way past my bedtime.  It was so good, though.  Why can't Hollywood make good movies any more?  They're too busy trying to turn shit like Toddlers and Tiaras into a movie.  Pacino shaking hands with De Niro as he was dying:  classic movie gold.  So was young Portman's suicide attempt.  As if Pacino didn't have enough shit to deal with.

It was obvious that the movie was going to be good.  Hell, there's a Jim Gaffigan skit about how hits hard to talk about good movies long after they've come out.  I think Dane Cook drops some beats about being in a heist, referencing Heat as well.  Since that whole scenario has already been dissected with comedy, I have nothing else to do here.

~RoB

Jealousy

I'm not a jealous boyfriend.  I've never been that kind of a guy.  However, I am growing jealous of a couple of goals that my close friends have accomplished lately.

A guy that I graduated undergrad with at Michigan just finished his PhD at Florida.  It's the most mixed my feelings about grad school have been lately.  I'm really happy for him, and I'm excited that he made it.  Simultaneously, I'm pissed off that he's completely done, yet I gave up just months ago.  I did just as well as him in undergrad, so why do I suck?  I know a few more peeps that are struggling to be done with their PhDs by the end of the next school year.  I feel like each one that finishes will deserve a night of well-deserved alcoholism on my part, with or without their company.

I've long wanted to write a book, also.  I've started several of them, and I weekly come up with another short story idea that I should jot down.  I even had these dreams of publishing a book to help support living in L.A. so I could worry less about money and more about school.  The fruit of all of this interest in writing?  This blog.  It was my only way to vent, and I hope that it helps hone in on my point of view and writing style.  (Yet it still feels chaotic and point-less each time I'm writing a post.)

Combine those together, and I have to admit how furiously jealous I am of Aimee Hubble.  (Yes, that's the first full name [other than myself] that I've used on this blog.  I prefer the victims of my stories remain relatively anonymous in the large scope of the interwebz.)  While being a graduate student at Michigan (she was a year behind me, but is due to be Dr. Aimee in the next year or so), she managed to publish a book: The Last High Priest.

I can't attest to the quality of it, but I'm excited to read it.  I just ordered my copy, and you can find out how to get your copies at her blog.  It looks right up my alley, and I'm happy to watch her make her first million off of it.  You should snag a copy, so I can live vicariously through her.

Cheers, Aimee!!  Damn you.
~RoB

Return to Tailspin

It turns out that I may not be going to NY any more.  It also turns out that I have way more emotional problems than was once thought.  Why?  Given the opportunity, I've reverted immediately back to 'What the fuck am I doing with my life?'-mode.

For those of you that have been reading since the beginning, you have some idea of the chaos that was my life at the beginning of this year.  (Quitting school, peeing in bottles while driving, pooping myself, constant angst [go back to January and enjoy those posts]).  On Wednesday, Annie got a call that was supposed to solidify our plans in moving back east.  The call didn't go so well, and now it doesn't make sense for Annie to leave her current job.  So, she's likely staying in the Bay Area.

I am trying to settle on the fact that I no longer want to not be with Annie and Angel, so I'm planning on giving up the job I was offered in Schenectady.  It is not going to be easy, since it may complicate (or outright impede) any future attempts of getting a security clearance.  Also, I signed something, though I can't find it, so I can't wait to hear what the stipulations are for backing out.  Career search starts over, and now I return to the constant feeling of impending doom (at least I have a small income right now).

Why is being a real person so difficult and depressing?  (Real person means not-a-student, though grad school in L.A. was certainly difficult and depressing.)  I should just go back to UCLA and stick it out.

I can't go back to UCLA...

O.M.G.
~RoB

Carcinogens

Your cell phone causes brain cancer when you talk on it.  It also increases gonad (men: man basket, women: egg basket) cancer when carried in your pocket all day, every day.  It also increases arthritis in joints from intense electromagnetic radiation over long periods of texting.  So, are you gonna give it up?

First of all, that first paragraph was absolutely hypothetical.  (It is, however, current news, though the debate has raged for a decade.)  [A physics professor once walked into a discussion and asked "Who here believes cell phones will kill you?"  Nobody raised their hand.  "Nobody would have raised their hand for cigarettes in the '50s, either."  It was a great example of how we think about things differently with hindsight.]

Secondly, I hate smokers.  I really, truly don't understand them.  I want to be able to breath and eat and dance and bowl without you making health choices for me by polluting my air.  This morning, on my way to work, I had my regular, 40-minute, ~RoB-thinks-to-himself time.  It was the first time that I was ever able to empathize with smokers.

It's 2011.  You absolutely know that smoking is bad for you.  It's not cool, and everybody hates you.  Yet you still smoke.  Why?

In my brain I flipped it to: your cell phone is bad for you.  Everyone's sick of you always being on it.  You're never in the moment.  If you do it while you drive you're going to slam into freeway divider, and your brain is going to explode across your cracked windshield.  Let's say we could confidently state it causes cancer.  Yet you still carry your cell phone around with you everywhere.  Why?

I'm one of those people who have become completely dependent on smart phones.  I honestly don't know how easily I could give them up.  It's not about being cool anymore (though it kinda is).  It's about being so used to it and fearing to return to the way things were.  Seriously, wtf is Mapquest?  Land-line?  Wait, wait, wait... you expect me to remember your 7 digits without putting them into my phone immediately?

I've heard people talk about their anxiety when they forget their cell phone at home.  I've heard (and was glad cuz it totally happens to me) of 'phantom rings' when muscles in your leg go off and imitate your phone on vibrate... causing you to answer your phone though nobody is calling.  I've seen, first hand, how awful people are when they are so addicted to their smartphones that they've lost all social skills.  (Hello, L.A.)  However, for some reason, they're still worth it to me.  I can't explain why.  I'm addicted...
...So are cigarette smokers.

If cell phones become cigarettes, socially, then consider me French (or Asian, wtf is up with that?),
~RoB

My Two Regrets

I've gone through life thoroughly considering decisions and accepting whatever choices I've made.  Consciously deciding that you are going to stick to your decisions, no matter how they turn out, is one of my suggestions for staying sane.  Too many 'what if..'s add complications to your life that are unnecessary.  That being said, there are two big regrets I have so far, and I think one will surprise you.

1. Not attending U-Wisconsin for graduate school.
I interviewed at U-W, and I had an absolutely amazing time.  The research was interesting, and the grad students were both active and social.  It was spring break when I visited, and I got quite drunk with a big group of them.  The guy whom I immediately wanted to be my best friend was a big Chicago Bears fan, and he went to a few games a year at Soldier Field.  They showed me the desk they had waiting for me, and they were confident that I would succeed there.  I've seen several of them at national conferences, so I'm more than aware of their department's productivity.  Instead of going to another school in the BigTen, and having to root for a team that I rooted so boisterously against, I accepted a research position at UCLA.

UCLA was a chance to do something drastically different from Michigan, and it was in the same time zone as the amazing job offer Annie had accepted.  Originally, the plan was to go to UC-Berkeley, but a strong argument with one of the interviewing professors both turned me off to the department and turned them off from me.  I burned that bridge, making it impossible for Annie and I to live together with her new career, so I figured UCLA would be the next-best option.  Plus, who doesn't want to live in L.A. for a few years just to say you did?

I made amazing friends down in L.A., and strengthened some old friendships, but I just never really felt comfortable with the students or lifestyle or traffic or cost of living.  I didn't really fit in at UCLA, and my lab ended up being a big hoax.  It was the worst grad student experience I can imagine.  I remember regularly waking up and thinking, "Had I just gone to Wisconsin, my life would be dramatically better."  Maybe it was this regret that held me back from fulling involving myself in my research or in the student life at UCLA, but I really think that it was just an honest realization.

2. Quitting high school football.
I love football.  I'm intelligent.  I have huge shoulders and a fair amount of weight to throw around.  I think it is fair to say that I was a good offensive guard leading into high school, and I had all the qualities to be great in high school.  I was in the starting line throughout 8th grade, and later in my high school career, the freshman football coach (who doubled [though clearly not his strong suit] as a U.S. History teacher) told me that I was in line to be moved up to J.V. by the end of summer practice.  That would have made me one of about 5 kids (2 of which got moved to Varsity for our State Championship run that ended with a 1-yd fumble in the semi-finals).

However, I let two things get to me, and I quit before school started.  First of all, my shoulders were much wider than they were thick.  So, pads fit me awkwardly, and if I was in any position other than standing, they would rotate back and start choking me.  I had to wear a 'toilet seat' to keep them in place.  This was continuously frustrating.  Secondly, one guy was a complete ass to me.  I dyed my hair throughout middle school.  It was all types of colors and patterns, from Ronald McDonald's red hair to a calico cat.  (Hey, I was a Chicago Bulls fan in the Dennis Rodman era, and I guess it left an impression!)  Anyway, I had dyed my hair red again before football practices began.  While sweating through the first week of practices, the hair dye ended up running into my helmet and down my shirt.  I looked a hot mess.  I pretty much put a ginger curse on myself.

One guy went out of his way to make fun of it.  He was a year older, and redneck neanderthals tend to do things like that.  I can't remember names or anything, the only thing that I haven't repressed was one break where he was punting balls in my direction.  Retrospectively, I should have just fought him.  Win or lose, it would have put me higher on the pecking order for all things, including play time on the team.  Instead, I let him get to me, and I walked off one day.  At that point, I was too embarrassed to ever return.  I truly believe that football would have changed my lifestyle if I had kept up with it.  Instead of being scared of weight rooms and being completely uninformed about nutrition (both things that I still continue to struggle with), I would have continued working out as I had done coming into high school.

Yep, this was our uniform.

Every other decision I've made, good or bad, doesn't haunt me nearly as much as those two do.  That's the thing with regrets, I guess.  I suppose I should be happy in that these are the only mistakes that haunt me.

Happy with 99.9% of where life has taken me,
~RoB

Holy Crapcakes!

I just came up with Holy Crapcakes, and I think it's brilliant.  I originally had shitcakes, but that doesn't really give the mental image of rows of delicious, colorful, miniature decorated cakes that I'm aiming for.  Yesterday was the SF Cupcake Challenge, hosted by Drink:Eat:Play.  I went to the one in L.A. last year, so I was disappointed to miss it this year, yet really excited to find out they were having one here.  For a long time, nobody was going to accompany me (I'm totally comfortable with solo gluttony), but Annie decided to come back early from Tahoe to join me.  However, she was going to be running late for the event, since she had a soccer match that morning.  I refused to wait for her, and headed over to the city by myself.

I got to the front door 20 minutes early and the bouncers turned me away.  (Yeah, it was a club that employed their bouncers for this event since alcohol was being served and it was 21+... but I kept picturing how amazing it would be for some fatty to lose control and require the bouncers to drag the swollen body out while they kicked and screamed and shoved cupcakes in their face.)  Anyway, I was like 12th person in line, and I started in immediately.  I eat as I walk, whereas most people save theirs in tupperware for later.  Hoarding is out of control in this country.

40 minutes into it, and I've destroyed all the cupcakes!  Nobody else came close.

Still smiling as Annie captures my last bites.

Blurry, sweaty, puke-faced & finished.

In total, there were 28 mini cupcakes at the competition.  2 of them were peanut butter, which I strongly dislike [a future post], so I skipped them.  2 of them were coconut, which I also dislike, but I still tried them (to be fair in judging).  So, I ate 26 mini cupcakes (I usually shove the whole thing in my mouth, but they're probably 2 bites for most humans).  Unless you've eaten that much sugar and fat in a short period of time before, you have no clue how intense it can be.  Annie showed up about 35 minutes after the doors opened.  I had 4 cupcakes left to eat.  I'm pretty much a sugar consuming machine.  I was only a little shaky, a little sweaty, and a little ready to dance around in a sugar-high rampage.  I (speedily) dragged her around the place pointing out my favorites as she quickly snagged up her own collection, while I threw back my final bites.

There are 2 categories in the competition, Traditional and Original, and you also vote for your overall winner.

I had 3 favorites, and they were all Originals, so it was tough to submit my ballot:

• Sea Salt Caramel from James & the Giant Cupcake [I voted for Best Original. They liked me so much that they gave me a T-shirt.]
• Chocolate Toffee Crunch from Sweet Petite [I voted for Best Overall].
• Basil Lemon Blueberry from Kingdom Cake [It would have won most unique, and I loved it, but it didn't beat the other two.]

Since I had to choose a Traditional, I chose:

• Gentelemen Prefer Reds from That Takes the Cake [They had the best frostings, the ladies there were super nice, and that's a solid name for a red velvet cupcake.]

My trip to 'Disneyland' came and went faster than you can say 'food coma'.  I had wonderful highs and lows for the rest of the day.

Before heading to cupcake-palooza, I think god sent me a message regarding what my life may look like in 20 years if I continue my lifestyle.  I ignored the message.  It was easy to ignore, since I don't believe in god any more than I do Zeus [another post I'm working on].  Anyway, the obese guy in front of us at Costco was purchasing 4 6-pack boxes of enemas.  I couldn't help myself and had to snap a picture.  (Later, when telling Annie about it, she admitted to not knowing what an enema was.  Poor, sheltered mountain-girl.)

Beyond Annie's pop and my peroxide, the green boxes are 6-packs of enemas.

We also went to Beach Blanket Babylon after the cupcake fest, which I enjoyed way more than I thought I would.  Every single person on stage was a great singer and superbly entertaining.  I'll let Annie fill in the details on her blog.  She's in charge of the mundane things, and I have to keep prodding her to write posts.

Such a good boyfriend,
~RoB

The Handshake

For those ethnically-challenged readers of mine (white suburbanites), you'll agree that we regularly feel out of place when dealing with people from 'downtown'.  [Fuck you, Annie, I'm from a suburb.]  For the rest of you, picture that alienated white town just down the road from Detroit.  They are two worlds apart.  They never give those white kids handshake lessons, and it continues to make my life awkward.

Let us look at an example.  One time, I ran into my Nicaraguan friend at CVS.  I don't use names, so let's just call him 'Mexican'.  (That's how I was raised, after all.)  Here's (sorta) how the incident went:

            “Hey, Mexican!”

            “Rob, what are you doing on this side of town?”  Valid question.  I lived pretty close to downtown L.A..  Mexican had the pleasure of living pretty close to the beach.  “You’d have to pass 5 CVS's to get here.”

            “Oh, I’m heading over to my best friend's [she'll remain nameless] to get some sun.  Thought I’d pick up some snacks.”

            “Cool.  I’m heading over there later.  I’ll see you there!”  Then Mexican stuck out his hand in the standard ‘let’s shake hands’ gesture.  It looked harmless enough.  The only problem: hand shakes were for meeting someone.  This one was for departing.  It’s gonna be one of those handshakes.  What ethnicity was Mexican, again?  Well, he's not from any 'hood, so this could be harmless.  Just go for it.

            I stuck out my hand.  Hands slapped together, it started as expected.  Quickly, Mexican started slipping just his fingers back, while maintaining firm contact.  I knew this one.  Slide back a little, rotate upward slightly, close fingers into a strong C-shape.  Our interlocked fingers locked and pulled back tightly.  Over?  Nope.  Christ, what is this, Cat's Cradle?  Mexican pulled me in for the shoulder bump.  Time had already become painfully slow for me.  Should I throw my other hand around his back for a pat, or is this just a bump?  With my hand awkwardly outstretched in his peripheral blindspot, I could quickly make either move.  It was just a bump.  Whew.  It’s over.  I dropped my hand down to his side.

            Then, I saw it.  Mexican had his hand outstretched in front of him in a firm, sideways fist.  I missed the pound.  We both realized I missed the pound.  Quickly, I pulled out a fist and lightly tapped it a split second before he pulled back.  Why am I such a loser?

            Simultaneously, we said, “Later,” and walked off our separate ways.

            ‘Why do I have to see him later?  Why isn’t there an instruction manual for things like this?’ I thought.  ‘I’m so awkward.’

            “You’re so awkward!”  Oh yeah, Annie was there, and she had just witnessed the whole thing.  “Get in the car.”

Wishes this was the only time this had ever happened to me (and that Annie wasn't there),

~RoB

"A Day in L.A." - Craziest Day of My Life

I posted this on facebook June 25th, 2009, but it fits as a great blog post.  Enjoy the craziest day of my life:

I woke up knowing that my only real commitment was a Red Cross presentation in Beverly Hills. I did the regular morning routine. I had to drive to the Red Cross to pick up a projector and a laptop, then I paid to park for the day at UCLA.

Farah Fawcett died. Not really a big deal, but it gave me something to Tweet about. Life stayed pretty uneventful until about 1pm, when I headed to Beverly Hills. Just before leaving I made sure to check the Sprinkles Facebook page to see if they had a 'word of the day'. They did (some French word, calubear?, for the chocolate they use).

I was giving a Disaster Preparedness Presentation for low-income seniors in Beverly Hills. I had to call the service coordinator to let me in to the building (their building is over a Whole Foods). I was starving and hoping I could set up quickly and grab a snack before starting. Out comes this HOT girl (apparently the coordinator is a 25?-year-old, Beverly Hills hottie). They provided ice cream sundaes to the people who showed up, so at least I got to eat something. The laptop was password protected, so it took me 4 phone calls and discussions with a few people to actually get my presentation running (I was sweating-- a little worried that it wasn't going to work). The presentation was actually for twenty or so old ladies, which some of you know is a perfect audience for me. It couldn't have gone more perfect (except for the argument that broke out between two old ladies: "Don't you tell me. I survived World War II!" As I was wrapping up, the coordinator told me that Michael Jackson had died and was rushed to UCLA.

I had to return to UCLA, but I thought I would swing by Sprinkles and see if there was a line. Nope. I parked, walked in, got a 4-pack, and asked if I was in time to say "Cal-ah-bow". The girl laughed. I raped the pronunciation, but apparently was early enough in the day to get a free cupcake. A FREE Sprinkles Cupcake! As I was getting back in my car, I got a text asking if UCLA was a mess. I hadn't thought of that. I was on my way there, but this was the first time that I was worried it was going to be a zoo.

UCLA was a zoo. There were a half dozen helicopters over the campus. News vans lined Westwood. Traffic was moving slow enough on Westwood Blvd that we probably could have stepped out of our cars. People (mostly students) packed around the hospital. I managed to get my exact same parking spot (so the pass I bought earlier was still good). I got to tell my Chinese office-mate about MJ's death, and he asked me to come with him down to see the craziness. We did. I soon realized that it was going to be impossible to get anything done. So, I got an idea.

It was 5pm. Rush tickets for Dirty Dancing at the Pantages start selling at 6pm. I have my car on campus... there's a chance. So I got in my car and headed over there. Between getting back off campus (I took back streets through the fancy neighborhood east of campus), and getting through traffic, I got to SMB & Vine around 6:30. I had to pee so bad that I thought I was going to have to pee in a water bottle before getting out of my car. Just after Sunset & Vine, I saw an empty street spot as I was cruising by. I hit my brakes (got honked at) and backed into it. Shit, no change. I used 2 quarters to park at Sprinkles. I found 1 in my book bag. It got me 8 minutes. Can't help it, gotta make it happen. I had to pee, and I had to run to Pantages (only a block or so away). As I rushed out of the car, I saw news vans across the street and 2 cop cars parked around me. Oh well, no time to see who it is.

I ran to the Pantages. They had tickets, so I got a ticket in the Center Orchestra for $25. Awesome! As I walked away from the ticket line, I grabbed for my keys in my pocket. Nope. I must have pulled them out with my wallet at the counter. Turn around. Nope. Shit, did I drop them? Retrace my steps back to my car. Did I mention I have to pee pretty bad by now? Nope. Keys are in my ignition. Everything is locked. I guess I can go see if the cops can help. Guess what? MJ's star in Hollywood is at 1555 Vine. That's what all the commotion was about (incense and dramatic people stopping foot traffic and singing MJ songs). I asked one of the entertained cops if they could help. They offered to call AAA. No thanks, I can do that.

So, I call AAA. They respond "No problem. It's been a crazy day everywhere, especially over at UCLA." News reporters and crazy MJ fans having a party across the street (literally) from me, locked out of my car, doing the potty-dance. AAA shows up in a Yaris, jimmies my lock open in 30 seconds, and takes off. I figured things were finally going to calm down.

I drove to the Pantages parking lot, paid $10 for the rest of the night. I knew my best chance to pee and eat for cheap was at the McDonalds south of Sunset on Vine. So, I took a road parallel to Vine (to avoid the MJ party). I was a block south of the parking lot. Around the corner I saw a crazy accident. A taxi had hit an SUV so hard that it had rolled over on its side. It was the craziest accident I had ever seen, yet there was nobody around. Where are the ambulances and tow trucks? My eyes were huge and were clearly giving away how impressed I was with the caliber of the collision. I saw a guy in a security outfit looking at me. I figured he was there to protect my car in the lot next door. Then I realized it was a New York City Taxi. Holy shit. This is a movie set. Sweet! I kept walking knowing that I just happened upon my first Hollywood set blocking off a road.

On my way to McDonalds, there was a 3rd Eye Blind concert on the next block. It's funny when that's the least interesting thing to happen in a day. A guy out front was looking for tickets... in a Michigan Jersey. I threw out a "Go Blue" and continued to McDonalds. Upon returning from Mickey D's, I asked one of the bored-looking security guards what the set was for. Apparently, it was for the Heroes Season 3 Premiere. As we were talking, a Universal Studios Truck pulled out of the street and drove away.

Dirty Dancing was quite disappointing by Broadway Musical standards. I would have left before the curtain call if I had an aisle seat (hell, I went outside to walk around during intermission and almost left then). More than anything, the dancing (since it was mostly ballroom and they had a big name choreographer) should have been more precise. I found myself annoyed with just about all the characters (except Penny, who was hot and a great dancer). I don't think they had one amazing singer. Driving home lacked any events, and I finally passed out.

Beverly Hills hottie. Old lady presentation. Free Sprinkles Cupcake. UCLA a zoo for MJ. Managed to get Rush tickets without peeing myself or getting a parking ticket. Hollywood a zoo for MJ at his star, while I locked myself out of my car across the street. Stumble across a set for Heroes. Dirty Dancing was lackluster. That's a day in L.A.

Hope you enjoyed that little novella,
~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

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

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

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

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

Bacon-Wrapped & Blog Goggles

Too soon?  I don't really know the rules for how many times I can post in one day.  I'm kinda excited for this blog thing, though.  Technically, it's a new day anyway.

I drank a fair bit at Bigfoot West tonight.  Happy Birthday, Melinda!  Then I drove home.  Bad habit... eat me... they teach us bad things in the Midwest.  Anyway, in between I had 3 servings of the wonderful Venice Blvd creations that are: bacon-wrapped hot dogs.  An older Mexican lady stands in front of the carcineria (?) b/w S&S and Bigfoot selling her delicious wieners.  I get 'em with everything: grilled onions, ketchup, mustard, relish, mayo, and a grilled jalapeno.  I know, right?  $3 each.  Awesome.

So, blogger.com should have something similar to google's gmail goggles, where I have to do math riddles in order to post after midnight on weekend-nights.  I'd call it blog goggles.  It might help to avoid times like this when I might not be capable of  being witty.

Finally, I tried not to tell a single friend about my current predicament.  Sorry.  I have big problems personally asking for help, and I really didn't want to ruin Melinda's night.  Anyway, I came home after Xmas break to a flooded, moldy, and mildewy room.  Considering that it was the second time this has happened in the shithole apartment I live in, and the fact that I've been considering leaving UCLA for years, it just seemed like a good sign for me to flee La La Land.  I have to get up in 6 hours to let in the roach killers, cuz my apartment is awesome.  These were just the final straws that convinced me to go flop on my girlfriend's couch for the next few months as I figure out where I can get a job.  Let's hope this goes easier than it probably will.  What?  Whatever.

Go Blue.
~RoB

Real Life Starts Now

Today, I broke my lease to my apartment in Los Angeles.  Immediately afterward, I emailed my faculty advisor at UCLA, and notified him that I was dropping out of school.  This blog is going to help me keep track of my experiences as I learn what it is to be a real person.  I've been a student continuously since kindergarten.

I have plenty of things to complain about, and I probably have some good stories to tell.  I expect that I'll cross the line every now and then.  If you know me, you know that's how I usually roll anyway.  For years my digital signature has been '~RoB'.

From now on, stepping over that awkward social boundary will be RoB-ing the Line.  Tell your friends.  Enjoy.
robbingtheline.blogspot.com

~RoB