Truth Be Told

This morning, while at a red light, I had the great pleasure of watching a woman stick her head out the driver side window of her car, and vomit.
Luckily she finished by the time i drove passed her.
I dont know if I should be amused or disgusted, or maybe a little of both.

In other news, i'm officially a part of the medical research team at the veterans hospital. If the processing/screening hadnt been so painful maybe i'd be happier, it just takes entirely too long to get approved by the government. I even had to stand in front of the flag, raise my right hand and swear that i would be loyal to the country and all that just to be a volunteer. i mean if i'm going uphold the constitutional values of country who's president is george bush you'd think they'd at least pay me.

01. Reply with your name and I will write something about you.
02. I will then tell what reminds me of you.
03. If I were to apply an o'clock to you, it would be...
04. I will try to name a single word that best describes you.
05. I'll tell you the most memorable moment I've had with you.
06. I'll then tell you something that I've always wondered about you.
07. Put this in your journal

The four of us were seated out on the patio outside, in back of the speech classroom. There was me, the actress -- who would be really pretty if she stopped wearing her brother's clothes, the mom -- who loved to talk about her out of control daughter and lastly there was the girl i dubbed "curly" because of the ringlets in her hair. I really dont know much else about them, just these vague descriptions of complex people i dont really know. We were wasting time. Waiting for the rest of the class to finish the terribly easy test we had already aced, we sat in the santa monica sun and chatted about nothing. Four almost strangers, talking as if we already knew each other outside of the classroom, everything was so light and easygoing. I kept thinking about sipping lemonade on an undiscovered beach, it would have been perfectly pleasant. Conversations with people I dont know tend to be intriguing, its like I'm a blank canvas and I get to paint a new picture of myself for them to see. There was a man next to the vending machines, I remember him because I thought he looked like a berkeley resident very far away from his corner near telegraph avenue. He wore all blue denim. Hair askew and stringy, but not dirty. He smiled and i noticed he had two khaki rubberbands on his right calf, almost as if they were holding up his jeans. I looked away continuing to paint my own portrait to the group, and then i saw four tiny purple flowers fall on the table in front of us.

"For four angels" the man said,

"thank you" was all we could say back. I was all smiles internally, the way you feel when the most unexpected thing brightens your day.

And then he peddled away on an old blue bicycle through the parking lot and maybe, back to telegraph and bancroft

so i know its from an adidas commercial, but i actually find this rather inspiring:

Whenever you think something is "impossible" remember what impossible means:
Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in a world they've been given than to explore the power they have to change it.
Impossible is not a Fact...it's an Opinion.
Impossible is not a Declaration...it's a Dare.
Impossible is Potential.
Impossible is Temporary....

IMPOSSIBLE IS NOTHING.

Everyone should have three loves.
Mine were given to me at birth so i didn't get to choose them, but the way things have turned out i don't think i'd want it any other way.

"Love Love Beloved" is my name (well its a rough translation using three different languages), and i guess you could say that i have been loved and have loved many people. And maybe all this love in my life is why i am so damn emotional all the time (or maybe thats the estrogen).

On a side note, I may supposedly be filled with the love and happiness that this name has given me, but most of the time i find that i'm just full of shit.

"How are you doing with your drink sweetie?" asked the scantily clad waitress in the tube top and daisy dukes.

I was sheepishly looking down into my glass of sprite, the cheapest drink at the bar. I managed to stutter "oh..I'm fine" and hastily lowered my eyes back to my drink. I wouldn't have even been drinking anything, but the required two drink minimum had me sipping my sprite out of the skinny black straw. I was so thankful for that drink though, because without it I would have had to survey the going on's of the place. It was surprisingly dark and hard to see anything in this room, which I thought was strange since I had figured the point of coming to a bar like this was to be able to see as much as you could. It was mostly the reflection off the stage and the metal pole positioned dead center in the room that glistened and caught your eye, in fact, it was easier to see the pole and the dance floor than it was to see the scantily clad girls dancing on them. Yes, I was at a topless bar. Naive as I am I had thought that at a topless BAR the bartenders would have been topless, but really it was just a strip club called a topless bar to attract what my friends called the "classier" group of men. I have never been fond of the idea of women taking off their clothing for money from men who think the prospect of hooting at a woman in a g-string and throwing money at her just to be left alone at the end of the evening is better than striking up a conversation with a woman who is fully clothed, but hey thats just me. Despite my preconceived notions of strip clubs I wanted to see what it really was like to be there, so when my boyfriend and his accomplice, we'll call him "Rock" wanted to introduce me to the scene I decided to tag along.

I was surprised that all the girls in the establishment left us alone the entire time we were there. I was told that if females come to the bars the girls who work there are more likely to come and chat it up, but not a single one of them came up to us. I probably looked way too uncomfortable to be approachable. So instead of talking with the strippers, Rock told me all about how he selects which girls he talks to in a strip club. Apparently he only wants to talk with the ones who appear to be students working to get money to keep themselves in school. I don't know, I didn't really buy it, I think he just has a thing for the naughty young schoolgirl type. But anyway, after about 30 minutes of sitting there surveying the audience members as the women did their dancing, my people decided it was time to leave, and I gladly sipped the last of my sprite and walked out into the cold night air.