I visited a state that wasn't Nevada.

I wanted to experience the full, exaggerated, Fred Armisen's portrayal of Portland. 

So when we were looking through Airbnb and "Unicorn-ucopia" popped up, I couldn't believe my luck. 

Title: 

Unicorn-ucopia

Main Photo:

Accommodation description:

It exceeded my expectations -- which I built solely on Youtube clips of Portlandia.

Come on. It was written for "visiting unicorns." How could we say no? (Plus, it was the cheapest option for our 4-day trip.) What could go wrong with a place named "Unicorn-ucopia?" I thought, 'Abso-f'ing-lutely nothing.' 

But of course, I'm frequently wrong.

If you haven't booked through Airbnb before, be cautious. Even if they say it has a private entrance, it may not really be private. It's just a separate entrance that you share with your host and opens straight into the kitchen (where she and her dogs will be chilling). If you failed to select the "entire place" option, or could not afford it and had to resort to a "private room," you will most likely be placed smack dab in the middle of the house. The host will be so light on her feet that you're never sure if she's in her bedroom, the kitchen, the mystery room filled with birds, or right outside your door.

The place wasn't even unicorn-ed out.

Unicorn-ucopia my butt.

It looks pretty in pictures, but don't be fooled. It's just my awesome iPhone camera.

After seeing our accommodation, my friends and I decided that we will stay out until we have to sleep. It forced us to be more adventurous and see more things, instead of enabling our tendency to lounge around with the TV on. So I guess it was a good thing in the end.

Ground Kontrol was our first destination for the night. Pinball is great. If life were more like pinball. It gives you so many chances to play again and you only pay a quarter to start. 'Awww.. I lost the ball! But wait, I get another one?! Well thank you Addams Family Pinball machine! I WILL have another crack at it!' Also, I've never played DDR, but I had always believed I would be amazing at it. (Never mind that I have terrible hand-eye-coordination; foot-eye-coordination is a totally different thing.) I think it may have been the fact that we were on the Easy setting, which is so slow that it's actually quite difficult! Trust me. But yeah, it wasn't a pretty sight. I can't wait until I go to another state with an arcade-bar, so I can try the Medium setting without fear of running into someone I know. Or just liquor me up and take me to Dave & Busters. 

Those people are not my friends. 

Pinball got too intense for me.

...resume writing 5/3/2015 (a month after the trip.. I've been busy):

The funny little stories I saved in my brain throughout the trip are now gone. I wish I could at least say they've all been replaced by pharmacy knowledge. But I can't. I saturated my brain with facts about inhalers and whatever else was on my drug delivery midterm, and then proceeded to wring it out for my next test this Wednesday. 

It's how my brain works now. Retention is rare. I miss the days when my brain was fresh and my neurons were firing rapidly, forming connections and storing shit into long-term memory without me even trying. 

Example: When I was little, I watched the Discovery Channel, the History Channel, and a hell of a lot of PBS. I also had subscriptions to children's magazines like "Cricket." (You know those magazines you only came across in your orthodontist's office? Yeah.. I got those delivered to my house.) I guess during those years of staying indoors, away from UV rays and friends, I came across a show or story about the different species of wild cats. And whatever I learned apparently got stored away in my brain to be revealed twenty-some years later. One day, Nina and I were exchanging photos of baby animals and "AWWWWW's" online, as usual, and she sent me the following picture. 

AWWWWWWW

Something clicked in my brain and I asked, "Is this a baby OCELOT?" Yes. Indeed this is a baby ocelot. Maybe every one of you reading this blog post knows this and is thinking, "DURRR JASMINE. Everyone and their MOMS know what baby ocelots look like." But in that moment, I was so impressed with my own brain. 'Woah! Good job! OCELOT? How long has it been since you came across that word? I guess you're not as dried up and useless as I thought you were! Now if only I could have such aha moments during my pharm chem test...." 

Back to Portland: Okay, so by going through my pictures, it seems that we went to a Japanese garden, took pictures of a bunch of camellias, ate lots of donuts, shopped, looked at tulips, and took pictures in front of a waterfall. Oh! We went to Seattle real quick at the beginning of the trip too. Ahhh.. the memories are flooding back. They're a bit fuzzy sadly, but I'm sure they'll become more clear when I get to hash over the trip with my friends. 

I'll leave you with a few pictures without my friends' faces in them. Gotta respect their privacy and stuff. 

My love of panos unleashed at the Japanese zen garden

I took like 20 pictures of different kinds of camellias..... why.

I don't know if I would sit through that much traffic to go into a field of tulips again.

Maybe only if my future kids freaking LOVED tulips and I wanted to make them happy.

...

I bet I found this to be hilarious in the moment.

A seedy looking market named, "Street Meat."

It probably made me think back to that one Brooklyn Nine Nine episode in which Captain Holt tries "street meat" with Santiago, and I most likely proceeded to chuckle by myself.

My hatred of Koi fish will never die.

The Multnomah Falls. 

It was pretty cool. 

Back to studying I go! Bye!

So maybe I did enjoy the tulip fields a little more than I remember.

Here's to the last of Jasmine's Low-budget But Still Exciting And Not Too Overwhelming Monday Adventures

Spring Break.
If I think back to all of my spring breaks, none have ever gotten close to the standards set by MTV. (Yeah, I had cable until the 7th grade. I know what goes on in Ft. Lauderdale.) My first spring break in college, I drove up to the bay with a group of other do-gooders to volunteer and learn about the "justices": environmental justice, food justice, social justice, and the list goes on. It didn't change my life (as you can tell, I'm not dedicating my twenties working for a non-profit), but it was still interesting. I think we started a community garden behind a charter school and removed invasive species from some piece of conserved land. It's as though the need to impress admissions counselors was engrained in my bones. You got in already; just stop.

I had to dig deep through the Facebook trove for these.

Aw, look at 19-year-old Jasmine.

So eager to change the world, one weed at a time.

While all my friends are now leading real adult lives, in which spring breaks do not exist, I am again facing the question, "What should I do with this one random week that will do little to refresh my work ethic and only leave me disgruntled that I got a taste of freedom only to have it snatched away?"

I set aside Monday for my final adventure, Friday I will be leaving for Portland, and the rest of the days I'll be stuck in the back of a Walgreens trying not to get in the techs' ways as a bajillion customers demand their prescriptions.

Eagle Point Labyrinth was on on the thrillist, "Secret things in SF you didn't know about," that inspired most of my Monday adventures. I had planned on visiting this place sooner, but the hike looked pretty daunting every time I google mapped it. Today I finally put on my Nikes, filled up my water bottle, and headed out.

The 18 drops you off at the Legion of Honor. (Probably the coolest name for a museum.)

I'll be back for you Legion of Honor.

Don't let the golf course fool you. Just keep walking along the greens and you'll get to the start of the trail. If you swing a right at the fork, you'll reach the labyrinth. A left will take you all the way to Sutro Baths ruins. I hit up the labyrinth first.

The walk to the labyrinth exceeds my descriptive abilities.

I think I had this huge silly grin on my face during the entire trek to the labyrinth, repeatedly exclaiming, "대~박!" (translation: holy smokes/awesome/woah/omg). I couldn't believe how beautiful Land's End trail is!  I talked to this lady for a portion of the hike, and she told me that she comes to the trail at least three times a week with her dog. What a life! That's what I want. A life that gives me time to go hiking in beautiful, peaceful places with my adorable russell terrier.

I didn't do much documenting at the labyrinth since a group of kids basically hogged the entire thing with their selfie sticks. Plus, it's a bunch of rocks arranged in a circle. Pretty self-explanatory.

It was okay. A lot smaller than I envisioned.

I thought I'd wait for a picture in the center.

But after 10 minutes of watching this couple attempt jumping shots, I gave up. 

I took a bunch of awesome panos.

If you need a new cover photo, let me know.

Next up was the Sutro Baths! To be honest, I wasn't planning on going there. But when I got back to the fork in the road, I thought about my upcoming quarter. Unless I become a changed person who time-manages like a boss, I probably won't be making it back to Land's End anytime soon. Might as well!

I met a cute chihuhua named Apple on the trail to Sutro Baths. No picture. Just fyi.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sutro_Baths

Panos for days

Hi! Wish you were here!

I wish I had more to say about the Sutro Baths. But it was just effin' awesome. I can't wait to go back. With my russell terrier. 

I walked a lot today. 

I felt no guilt as I ate a dinner-for-3 as my lunch.

It wasn't a great quarter. Time flew by. Not in the "I'm having so much fun" way, but in the "Oh shit, what was all that? How do I retain all of this?" way. I struggled with some personal stuff as I tried to make sense of relationships, friendships, and "networks." I had been nestled in this comfortable bubble, surrounded by people who loved me because they had to (by blood or 10+ years of friendship) for 3 good years. The coping mechanisms that I had leaned on were no longer relevant and I stumbled every now and then trying to devise new ones to deal with the stress. I still don't have it down and get worried when I think of all the upcoming changes that I'm not prepared for. 

But I think I'm fairly resilient. I've gotten through shit in the past, and I'm sure I can make it through shit in the present. There will just be a lot of melodramatic complaining along the way. Sorry (and thank you) family and friends. 

At the beginning of the year, one professor gave a lecture on how we should all try to be a "rainbow." (Optimists who can see the silver lining in all situations -- I didn't think they existed, but they do! I've met a couple, and they amaze me.) I can't promise Rainbow Jasmine by the next time you see me, but I'll definitely try to adopt more of this rainbow philosophy in my life. Because everyone hates Negative Nancy. Like, we'll all take her shit for a little while. But eventually, you're just like, "Shut up, Nancy." 

Wind always gettin' in the way of my selfies.

But I persist. With the help of Camera 360.

Spontaneity at its craziest

I had a mental/emotional breakdown last Thursday night.
(I like to be dramatic.)

It was more like a mini-breakdown, a brief lapse in logical decision-making, that led to driving down to So Cal at 4 A.M. The trigger was a combination of pent-up frustration (about school and relationships) and snapchat. Seeing people go out on a Thursday night while I sat and stared at a course reader in a booth that smelled of stale coffee and what I suspect to be hobo-urine? Who wouldn't snap?

I initially just gave up on studying, shoved everything into my backpack, and drove home. But when I pulled up to my driveway and thought of having to move my roommate's car and climb the stairs on tip toes so I don't wake the downstairs neighbors, a small voice in my head said, "You know, if you start driving now, you'll be home sweet home in 7 hours! Just in time for brunch." I decided that this small voice knew its shit, shifted into reverse, and backed up and onto the freeway. (More like: backed up, went to the cheapest gas station in the city -- Divisadero and Fell, fyi -- then drove 10 more minutes to the freeway.)

Three hours in, I had overplayed my limited iTunes playlist and started to wonder if I was making a huge mistake. 'Finals start Monday. Should I really be driving 7 hours while all of my classmates are mastering their cranial nerves?' I looked around, saw that I was in cow country with no U-turns, and squashed those doubts. Having left in such a hurry, I didn't bother packing anything for the road, let alone clothes/makeup for my weekend home. In my backpacks, I only had a small bag of fruit snacks and my half-full water bottle, which I rationed during the trip (one fruit snack every hour). I made one stop on the drive down, at a gas station off the 210, in order to fill up just enough to make it home and empty my about-to-burst bladder.

I called my mom as I pulled into my driveway.
"Hi Mom! Open the garage!"
(in the midst of brushing her teeth): "Why? Are you here?" .... (garage opens) .... "Oh my god. You're here."
"I quit school!"

That's enough about the trip down.
I want to talk about the realizations I had during this spontaneous mental-vacation.

(Shit's about to get serious. So stop reading if you don't have time to sit through the incoherent jumble of thoughts that is my brain).

I didn't arrive at these by myself.
Instead they came from two very different sources, one of whom was quite unexpected.

Realization number one was that I need to say "no" more.

I find humor in a lot of the odd situations in which I find myself, but I've unknowingly been frustrated and stressed out by most. I clearly have a people-pleaser tendency and my go-to response to most requests is, "Sure!" I think I'm usually happy about being able to help out, but there have been more times that I find myself asking, "Why in the world am I doing this?" I put myself in situations where I feel taken advantage of, but can't say anything since I voluntarily placed myself there. Solution? Take a stinking second to think before responding.

Second realization: "People come in and out of your life, and you'll find that some just don't fit. And that's okay."

Prejudices come from mankind's penchant for categorizing others. Perhaps that is why I struggle with being PC so much. I need categories for everything. When someone or something doesn't seem to fit into the equations that I've devised over my years of overcoming social awkwardness, I obsess. What can be fixed? How can I change? How can I prepare so the next encounter is better? (I've admitted this to most of my friends by now, but I used to create lists of talking points before hanging out with people, because I couldn't carry on a normal conversation for the life of me. This habit is probably why my conversations with you are so disjointed. I've developed this bad habit of jumping to a completely unrelated topic when I sense that the previous has run its course.) Instead of changing myself so I can hold onto a puzzle piece that won't ever fit, just learn to let it go.

I tried really hard to find a meme that would lighten the mood a bit. I thought Kevin Hart's "Do you, boo boo" meme might work since the lesson learned is how I need to grow some balls and just be myself. But I actually did some research and watched his bit, and didn't think it applied very well. Soooo yeah. The end.

What it's like to have cute friends

Back in January, I was having a bout of homesickness.
In the midst of a conversation about watches vs. purses (which is the more worthy investment?) and creating a fan club for her cute coworker (total membership: 2), Livia tells me she will be taking advantage of the Jet Blue sale to visit me in March. By the end of the day, she had set a date and recruited kbui and M&M.

(I'm using code names to protect your identities. You know, since I have so many readers and all.)

Friday night started off bumpy.
The original plan was to leave the banquet 30 minutes early so I can pull into SFO just as the girls got off their flight. However, the banquet ran late. I had underestimated the time it would take for group photos. It's never just one shot of everyone smiling. I forgot to consider the additional serious pose, cute pose, and goofy pose, all of which have to be repeated for every DSLR in the room.

After the final pictures were taken, I ran out of the banquet and through six blocks of Fisherman's Wharf as best as I could in my stilettos and gunned it to the airport. We then hurriedly got ready and uber'ed over to Polk Street.

Now, I always knew my friends were attractive. I brag about it a lot. New friends, any guy I've dated, and all of my coworkers have been forced to sit there as I flip through my facebook and point out each one. (There has never been a logical transition into this. Either I change the topic abruptly or I break the silence with, "Wanna see my friends?" I can't recall their responses, because I start logging in before they have the time to reply.)

Polk Street confirmed that I am not just blinded by my love for them.

It started off with a guy asking for a picture of the girls so that he can keep it on his phone. (He didn't get one). We then got whisked up to the section that was roped off (I'm guessing for the ladies who prefer not to be groped in the sausage fest that is Playland's dance floor). Until this point, I just thought "Man, I guess this bar is where all the extra-creepy guys hang out," and "Oh wow, the security guards here are really thoughtful.'

By the time we got to our 3rd or 4th stop, I noticed that the faces around us were starting to become more and more familiar. I realized that at each new bar, my friends had unknowingly recruited a group of guys that would continuously follow them to the next destination. At one point, I sat back on a bar stool to watch as one guy and his two wingmen tried to guess our age while two more groups patiently hovered nearby, waiting for the chance to squeeze in and say, "Oh what?? We run into each other again? It's like you're stalking us!" (None were particularly witty.)

Thank you girls for a memorable weekend full of good food and fun. I don't know who else would patiently go along as I drag them around the city for food (dim sum in Inner Richmond, donuts in the Marina, egg tarts in Chinatown, San Tung in Inner Sunset, and finally banana cream pie in Berkeley - all in one day).

I waited in line for this dan tat for 1 hour.

Passive aggressive nice girl language

"It's the thought that counts."

This statement is typically used in a good way, to reassure someone who couldn't give you/someone else the perfect gift. It's the kindness of the act that matters... right?

Not when this phrase is part of an exchange between two passive aggressive nice girls.

Girl A's birthday is today.
Girl B isn't TOO close with her but feels obligated to get her a present since they've hung out on more than one occasion. Plus, she's been invited to the birthday party, but can't make it... because she doesn't want to. She goes to Target and puts a small package together: a couple of brand name chocolates, some gummies, one of those cute hand sanitizers with those cartoon germs drawn on it, and two bottles of nail polish in complementing colors. It's not much, but it's wrapped nicely in a gold-polka-dot gift bag with matching tissue paper. Total cost: around the same as, if not a bit more than, the amount Girl A spent during Girl B's birthday dinner.

Girl A, upon receiving the present: "Awwwww! You shouldn't have!"
Girl B: "Oh! It's really not much! I don't even know if you'll like it."
Girl A then opens her present: "Aw, it's the thought that counts."

... beezy hates her gift!

Now, for those of you who aren't well-versed in passive aggressive nice girl language (so... my 2 male readers), you may be thinking, "How did you jump to that conclusion?" This could seem like an appropriate response, perhaps even a kind-hearted one.
NOPE.
In this world, even if you hate a gift, it's a gift. Say you love it, or at least muster a "awwww, I like it!" If you're willing to break this unspoken rule, you might as well cringe noticeably and ask, "Wtf is this?"

So, you wanna know, "When IS it appropriate to use this phrase?"

Girl B and Girl C are buying presents for Girl A.
Girl C has no idea what to get her and resorts to a gift card.
Girl C may complain, "I have no idea what to get her! She's probably going to hate my gift."
Girl B can then say, "No she won't. Plus, it's the thought that counts."
(If Girl B then adds a small white lie about how her present is also whatever, even better.)

I miss my friends of 12 years and our (relatively) straightforward interactions:
Birthday presents? We use elfster. Stick to the list and there will be no complaints.
Birthday celebrations? Dinner at a nice restaurant. Everyone pays for his/her own meal.
Can't make dinner? You better have a good excuse and post it on the group wall.
<3 <3

Donuts? Donuts.

It's not Monday. It's Sunday.
But I have to tell you something.
It has to do with donuts.

I have set aside next weekend completely for the girls (you have no idea how happy I am to see you guys!). Meaning, this weekend, I study.

But, I have the attention span of a five-year-old, so I have to reward myself here and there to keep going. Saturday, I ventured to SoMa's StrEat Food Park to try a new food truck (lomo saltado from anywhere other than Mario's? never again...) and picked up a Mocha Tesora from Philz to help me power through. (And power through I did! Til 5AM!)

As I drove home this morning from the study hall, I started brainstorming for how I could treat myself to work just as hard today. And that's when it hit me. It was finally time to try Dynamo Donuts.

Sunday, 11AM, I pull onto Yacht Rd. and park.
From far away, I see that the sign is out and start running to the window.

"Make it a bacon donut day!"

This lady took the last chocolate star anise. 

It's okay, I took the last passion fruit milk chocolate.

On the menu were: caffeinated crunch, meyer lemon huckleberry, passion fruit milk chocolate, cornmeal rosemary cherry, lemon thyme, maple glazed bacon apple (THIS! MUST GET THIS!), I'm not a gluten donut, chocolate star anise, Simpson's D'oh Nuts...

I purchased: caffeinated crunch, passionfruit milk chocolate, maple glazed bacon apple, and Simpson's D'oh Nut. (clockwise below)

                                                                       

I'm not good at describing food, so I will just stick to "Yes," "No," and "Only if you want to try something interesting."

Caffeinated crunch: No. Don't ask questions. Just don't get it. You're spending $3 on a donut here. We don't have time for this nonsense.
Passionfruit milk chocolate: Only if you want to try something interesting. It's sweet and it's tarty. It's interesting.
Maple glazed bacon apple: YES. The donut is soft, the maple glaze is sweet, the bacon bits are crunchy, and it's overall heavenly. What about the apple? I don't know. It was MIA on my tastebuds.
Simpson's D'Oh Nut: Yep. It's a solid donut. Homer would approve.

Satisfaction.

After a triumphant morning/afternoon, I headed straight to the study hall and cracked down. I faltered once (due to only getting 4 hours of sleep) and took a quick nap in an empty conference room. It was a sad sight. Had the security guard entered the room during his patrol instead of watching Youtube videos downstairs, he probably would have been convinced that a homeless woman had snuck into the building and crafted a surprisingly sturdy makeshift bed out of roll-y chairs.

Hello diabetes.

from bad to good to sorta bad

Car troubles have a way of getting to me that nothing else can.

I'm used to bouncing back from hiccups along the road, but not quite when we're talking about being on the actual road. Laptop crashes before my computer-based midterm? Get scolded by associate dean, find another computer, take the test, and go cram for the next. (It was a grand way to start off my midterm week.) But if my car's tire pressure warning comes on unexpectedly? Park car on side of the road, panic, and cry out of sheer helplessness. If someone is in the car with me, I try to hold it together to keep up my tough, independent-woman reputation, but then I let the tears flow once I've dropped them off. 

What is it about my car that makes me feel as though the world has turned against me? I don't know, but I don't want to explore the psychology behind it. 

This weekend, I realized I had been driving with the tire pressure warning on for god-knows-how-long. I wasn't able to notice it because I usually keep my minion figurine in front of the screen that tells me useful things such as if I'm out of gas, if I should go get my engine checked, and other stuff like that. (Kevin has now been banished to the side cup holder.) 

if you've ever been in my car, remember Kevin?

On Saturday, I ventured to the gas station off 19th to try to add air to my tires, Crystal in tow (poor Crystal had no idea what headache she was getting into...). I dusted off the old tire pressure gauge thingy that my sister's father-in-law gave me when I got my first car and figured out that my right rear tire was low. (If the tires are supposed to be at 33psi, it was at something like 15psi. Car people, is this bad?) We struggled for ten minutes trying to figure out how to get the air/water machine started until the attendant took pity on us and came over to help. While filling up the back tire, he casually notes that the nail in my tire is probably what's causing the leak. 

In my head: "A NAIL? In my tire? What the? When did that get there??? Has it been there since LAST NOVEMBER when I ran over the huge chunk of metal-whatever that was hiding in a pothole on Park Presidio?" 

Out loud: "Oh, yeah I bet it's the nail. Oh man, I wonder how long that's been there." 

(You tell me, Crystal. Was I as convincing at feigning nonchalance as I thought I was?)

the cause of my distress

Today, as soon as I woke up, I sat on my bed with my cell phone in my lap, waiting for 8:01am. (Paul's Tires opens at 8:00am, and I figure it takes Paul at least a minute to settle in.) Thankfully, Mike -- not Paul -- answers and tells me to come on in. 

The day took an upturn from there. My tire was fixed for a reasonable price - I think - and my frat initiation ceremony ended well. 

It's 1:44am now. I got home about an hour ago to an email with this attachment from my dad. This is where my day takes a downturn to "sorta bad." 

it's my ticket for $238. 

I made an illegal left turn by mistake a few weeks ago.

how did I handle this bump in the road at the time? freakout level: mental breakdown

What makes this "sorta bad" and not a "super super shitty" downturn is the content of my ridiculous dad's ridiculous email. Subject line: So proud to have a daughter graduate from the same school as me ... 

My dad really likes ellipses... like A LOT
He also includes translations for me to ensure the complete delivery of his jokes

for my non-Korean friends: 

Daughter ...

At last your ticket has arrived ...

I am sending it as Attached File ...

If you have no time and feel it is a headache, just pay the fine and take traffic school ...

Anyways, at last our household delivers a daughter who graduates from the same school as dad (Traffic School) .....

Congrats!!! to be my alumni (Alumni) .... ㅋㅋㅋ (korean version of lol)

Dad

Thanks Dad for making me chuckle about something that would have normally led to me shaking my fists at the sky crying, "WHY WHY WHYYYY!!" This isn't really helping my terrible case of homesickness though. Damn, I miss So Cal. 

No donuts for Jasmine

I woke up this morning with one thing on my mind.

Dynamo Donuts!

I knew that it was Monday-adventure-worthy when I came upon it in an article titled something like, "Donuts you must try before you die."

There are two locations: one in the Mission (full of tourists and no parking? no thank you) and one in the Marina (I can just cut across the Presidio? awesome). 

I also added The Wave Organ (http://www.exploratorium.edu/visit/wave-organ) to the agenda, since I didn't know how to make a morning dedicated to donuts sound interesting enough for a blog post. (But now that I think about it, anyone reading this blog is my friend, and my friends all love donuts as much as I do... so a post with just pictures of donuts may have been good enough.) 

The drive through the Presidio was peaceful. The view of red-roofed houses among the tall trees (eucalyptus, cypress, and pine, according to the presidio website) was a nice break from the oddly-colored rowhouses in the city. I found parking with relative ease and parallel-parked like a pro (I got lucky, tbh).

I get a little antsy whenever things are going too smoothly, because I'm used to running into bumps in the road constantly. I think it's impossible for me to have a REALLY good day. Something always goes wrong. So when I got to the Yacht Rd. without running into traffic and with all of my belongings accounted for, I thought, "Crap.... This day is going too smoothly. I bet Dynamo's closed or something."

Yup... I was right. 

Was I bummed? Extremely.
To the point of abandoning my Monday adventure completely? ... Almost.
I was so annoyed at having to complete the last half of my adventure without maple bacon donuts in my hand as I had envisioned that I even walked back to my car to reconsider my plans for the day. 'Do I ditch the Wave Organ and go look for donuts elsewhere? Ugh, that means I have to think of something else to ramble on about for this blog post. Wave Organ it is.' Luckily I also found the emergency banana I had packed in the morning to ward off the hangry monster and trudged onward.

The Wave Organ is at the end of Yacht Rd. where you get to see the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, and the city in one sweep (as I have tried to capture in this pano.)

The organ itself is... underwhelming. According to the plaque, "The full range of music is best heard by holding your ear close to the listening ports."

That's me up against one of the "listening ports." 

If you can't tell from my facial expression, I didn't hear so much as a gurgle.

Also on the plaque was, "The organ is active acoustically during higher tides and sounds best during a full moon." I am curious about what it sounds like at its acoustic peak, but we'll see if I can find a friend who is into doing odd things at night and is willing to accompany me to the end of Yacht Rd. during a full moon. (Highly unlikely.)

 

For those of you not interested in visiting this place yourself, 

here is a video of the Wave Organ (sorry it's not in landscape).

One of the tourists stared at me strangely when he saw me snickering and taking pictures of a random step. When I finally stepped away, he glanced over, saw what I had been documenting, chuckled and gave me a nod of approval.  

Here's my favorite part of the Wave Organ.

The rest of the day was spent eating, napping, studying (a bit) for my last midterm, and planning my upcoming trip to Portland. Now it's 1am and I need to get up in 4 hours so I can make it to the shuttle in time. Hooray.

Noosa helped ease the disappointment from the Dynamo incident.

See you next Monday!

I fear no spider

I was hanging out with this guy I liked, some time ago.
We were in that "getting to know each other" phase, during which I was trying to figure out how to be myself but also be "cool, cute, funny, and interesting."

I put way too much thought into most situations, including the following.
We were putting on our shoes in the hallway and getting ready to leave when he suddenly put his hand on my arm and said, "Hold on. Don't turn around."
Here is the list of things I thought could possibly be behind me: ghost, burglar/murderer, his parents.
"What? What is it??"
"There's a big spider to the left of you."
... Oh.

Spiders don't freak me out.
If one were to jump out at me, I would be a bit surprised, but then I would:
1) calmly walk over to the nearest box of kleenex/stack of papers; 2) pick up enough to serve as a barrier and increase the surface area of contact; 3) smash and smush; 4) throw away the tissue+spider guts; 5) go on with the day.
However, in the millisecond that I had to respond, I questioned whether I should act differently.
The fact that he stopped me indicated that he expected me to be afraid of spiders.

So I played along.
"Oh! Omahgad... get rid of it..."
I wonder how convincing my delivery was.
(I won't be doing this again. I am now mature -- or dgaf -- enough to not care about what someone may think of my ruthless arachnicide.)

My roommate has been dependent on my killer instincts since we first lived together freshman year.
I can recall one evening in our small dorm room, when I had to use a combination of Febreze and a roll of toilet paper to battle a particularly large spider that had found its way into a corner near her bed. I recently decided, however, that she needs to develop her own spider-killing skills if she is to live on her own next year. (And frankly, I am just tired of frequently being woken up at 11pm to kill spiders that are 1/1000th her size.)

When she again barged into my room today declaring that a spider was preventing her from sleeping in her room, I refused to move. After a 15-minute exchange of pleas/threats and terse no's, I offered her a bargain.
"Send me a text as written proof that I will never have to kill another spider for you again, and I will go take care of it."

She was reluctant at first, but she was also desperate.

How I feel about my successful negotiation: Yonce-rrific.

The cafe story

After climbing down the Moraga steps, I made my way over to Golden Bear to take advantage of its speedy wifi. How speedy is this wifi? It's gamer-approved. This one kid comes in several evenings a week, sets up his gaming laptop, and proceeds to play Starcraft (or WOW/League of Legends.. I can't tell) while yelling loudly in Chinese at his friends on Skype.

I set up my own laptop, turned on a podcast, and got to work with my piping hot cup of chamomile tea. Now, when I had first entered the cafe, I made eye contact with an old lady who was sitting at a table with a pile of papers in front of her. I don't remember smiling in acknowledgement. I just looked straight past at the menu and debated getting a late-night croissant. But, I guess in that fleeting interaction, I had given off the impression that I was extremely approachable, with plenty of free time. Perhaps it was my choice of chamomile tea. People with deadlines don't drink chamomile tea. They drink hard, black coffee.

Not even five minutes had passed when I felt a presence at my side. I slowly look over and sure enough, it's the old lady. She was standing there, one hand on her hip, and a stack of papers in the other. She was looking at me with her eyebrows furrowed, with a "what's taking so long" attitude. Thoroughly confused and a bit worried with what she wanted from me, I took out my earbuds and smiled, "Oh, hello..... can I help you with something?" (terrible move on my part)

"Do you speak English?"
"... Yes...."
"Fluent? Were you born here?"
"Well.. I wasn't born here, but I'm fluent... I think." (maybe if I sound unsure, she'll leave me alone)
"Okay, then you can help me with my paper?"

[This question is interestingly phrased. It's not really asking for assistance in the way that "Can you help me...?" does. It's a way of confirming something that has been promised/is physically possible.
For example: 'You promised me you would clean the bathroom in five minutes? Okay, then you can do it now?' or 'You have two functioning legs? Okay, then you can walk across the room?']

"I can??? Um... What paper?"
(Shoves pile of papers into my lap) "I have to read this story for my class and write 200 words."

[At this point, I started looking around, hoping that the cafe owner would come whisk away the old lady apologetically, "Oh, don't mind my senile mother. She thinks she is still in school. Go back to cramming for your very important midterm." But nope. The cafe owner was too busy peeking over the shoulder of the Starcraft kid, entranced by the action on the screen.]

"... Oh so you want me to help you? I don't think I know this story."
"It's okay. Read it. It's about a man and a poor boy that he abuses .. blah blah blah." (Her English is a bit broken, so I'm having trouble understanding her. I am able to gather that a man is abusive to a boy that is not his son, the boy becomes fed up with the abuse, and the boy kills the man.)

In my head, I was imagining myself handing the papers back to her and saying, "I'm sorry Ma'am. I really have no time for this, because I have a huge test in two days!" In reality, I sighed and tried to skim through the poorly printed 4-page story and then her even-harder-to-read penmanship.

I'm not trying to slyly brag about how nice I am here. Because we all know I'm not very nice. My inability to say no in this situation is the result of my upbringing that has instilled in me an unquestioning submission to my elders, no matter how unreasonable they may be. If grandma wants you to read her papers, you read her papers.

I bet you're thinking, "Awwww... the old lady is just trying to improve her English. Can't you just spare a few minutes and commend her effort to keep her mind sharp as she ages?" Yeah yeah yeah. I tried that. But after repeatedly having ridiculous encounters with COMPLETE strangers, one starts to lose patience.

On a more serious note, I especially struggle with how I should act with individuals who are clearly mentally ill. I've had a man follow me around a bus stop while calling out -- almost rhythmically -- what sounded like "ba-TA-ni." Literally AROUND the bus stop. I didn't want to be the asshole that jumped away from the man who is obviously not well. So I slowly sidled over, inch by inch. I gradually made my way around the entire bench, and the man was still right next to me, "ba-TA-ni." The scariest parts were when he would pause. My quick-to-panic mind starts ringing all the alarms, 'Why did he pause? What does ba-TA-ni MEAN?? WHAT IS HE TRYING TO TELL ME?' Just when you start hoping that he will stop and leave you alone, it starts again, "ba-TA-ni."

And then there was the man (who I thought was just drunk) that began recommending things for me to do in SF. It began with the July 4th fireworks over Pier 39 that I could not miss. But by the time he got to the annual jazz festival, I noticed that he was grabbing at his genitals. Maybe he was just shamelessly readjusting himself, but I was extremely uncomfortable and started scanning the street for people who would serve as witnesses if anything were to happen.

Sorry. That took a dark turn fast, huh.
I'm writing this at midnight after a long, gloomy day.
I bet if I read over this entry another day, I will decide to delete it on account of its being a rambling description of my paranoia.

Also, don't worry.
I am looking into buying pepper spray off of Amazon Prime, and I've begun practicing my RBF.
If you walk by me on the street these days, you probably won't even recognize me cuz I look so damn tough.

JUST made it

A few nights ago, I am walking across Geary and the crosswalk is a bit crowded, so I'm forced to walk on the left edge next to all the cars. I guess the kid behind me finds my pace too slow, for he tries to step around me, into oncoming traffic. At the same time, a car comes to a late stop. Not one of those tire-screeching stops, but the driver definitely responded a couple seconds late (probably because he was peeking at his phone or something). The point is, it was kinda scary.

Now, my reflex kicks in and I step back to get away from the approaching car. Yet, instead of seeing a safe distance being created between me and the careless driver, I feel a nudge -- more like a hard shove -- and myself lunging forward.

THE KID USED ME AS A HUMAN SHIELD.

Yes, I'm alive and nothing bad happened, but REALLY NOW?
I hope he is ashamed of his cowardly instincts. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

Today's adventure began a bit late. I was already en route to the Moraga steps when I checked my phone. 5pm. 18 minutes before the sun set in SF, according to Google. I doubted that I would make it in time, especially after getting off a stop late and seeing that a big ass hill stood between me and the steps. For a split second, I considered just googling an image of the the damn steps and crediting the source for my blog post.

But I made it you guys, JUST in time. There was just enough light for the Camera+ filter to do its magic.

And then I climbed it. 

It wasn't as bad as the Thousand Steps beach in Laguna. 

A lot less cursing between heaving breaths and much fewer breaks required.

I can't decide. Either I am a diva and over-dramatize all my encounters with people in this city OR this city is truly full of ... interesting... people, who for some reason seem to find me super approachable.

For instance, I went to a cafe to study afterwards and .... I'm tired. I stayed up til 3am finishing Gone Girl, which left me feeling super disturbed. I also have to bake croissants and cinnamon rolls (with the help of Pillsbury doughboy) at 5am tomorrow for a bake sale. I'll tell you the cafe story next time. I've been keeping track of all the ridiculous interactions I've had with fellow muni riders and other "interesting" people in my journal. The ones that haven't already been used as a Facebook status will be shared in a future blog post as well.

The weak ass cliffhanger wasn't intentional. My brain is really just pooped.

Who wants to come visit and see this face in person?

Feeling kinda homesick. =/

Naps. I appreciate naps.

Opening the front door at 7am and seeing my own breath as I mutter, "Why. F'ing. Cold," does not instill any desire in me to make my 30 minute trek to school. But I'm pretty sure that they will kick me out if I don't show up for the 4-hour exam, so I push on.

There was no adventure planned for today, for school had already called dibs on most of the day with tests and meetings, leaving only the shitty chunks like 1-2pm and 4-5pm. So when I walked out of my test too early (I'm pretty sure I "sleep-took" the test -- it's like sleepwalking, but instead of walking, you take a 245-question-computer-based exam), I was forced to be spontaneous. And for me, spontaneity usually means I "spontaneously" decide to take naps. Lots of naps. 

Now, there are a few nooks in which I like to nap around school. 1) The brown leather couches in the cozy study room on the 3rd floor of the library. 2) The brown leather couches in the sunlit lobby of the library 3rd floor. 3) The brown leather couch in the dimly lit corner of the nursing building 3rd floor. Those are some damn fine couches that UCSF has invested in. 

However, my level of exhaustion required more comfort than what those couches could offer. I am okay with curling up like an armadillo for a quick 15 to 30 minute snooze, but I just sleep-took a test. I needed to catch some serious Z's. Thus I headed back home. 

I took the long route back, hitting up Sun Stream Coffee for an acai bowl and an esfiha de frango (description below)...

(You know I had fun with this menu. "I would like an esfEEEha dey frahngoooo, please.") 

...watched some Youtube gurus talk about their 2014 favorites...

 

...and of course, slept like a baby. (no picture available) 

Ideally, my day would have ended here. How nice that would have been! But nope. I had to go back to school for a case study, in which I got to play the role of the super cool pharmacist who contributes with my knowledge of over-the-counter constipation medication. (Glycerin suppositories. They're not pretty, but they get the job done.) 

Next week, maybe I can check out one of these places! 

http://www.thrillist.com/entertainment/san-francisco/sf-secrets-you-didn-t-know-existed

Or maybe I'll take you on my own tour titled "UCSF napping nooks you didn't know existed," in which I rate each location based on comfort, lighting, seclusion, and distance from class. 

"Git in ma bellayyyyy."

Here we go!

Getting up in the morning is gonna take some getting used to. Waking up was fine, but actually getting myself to push off my comforter was painful. I spent an hour in bed, catching up on Instagram and beating the daily challenge on Tsum Tsum, before I could will myself to begin the day.

While walking up Parnassus, I decided what my first Monday adventure would be: crossing the Golden Gate Bridge by foot. I couldn't quite remember who had recommended this to me -- Dyang? Kbui? Jon? -- but it sounded like a great way to kick off my "Let's spend my free Mondays doing more than groceries!" project.

My research on the 38 to and from Trader Joe's informed me that walking the entire bridge would take about one hour (two hours round trip). Visitors should plan carefully, since the bridge also closes to pedestrians at 5:30pm. The same google search also yielded reviews written by both people who loved the experience and those who swore never to repeat it again (after realizing they had always had a fear of heights mid-bridge). The latter accounts didn't dissuade me, despite my own fear of heights, for I had already told 10 people of my grand plans by this time -- and promised that I would be writing a blog post about my experience (with pictures!).

Not being the most thorough of planners, I of course ran into a couple of hiccups.

First hitch. By the time I arrived back home and squeezed into as many layers as I could manage, it was already 2:30pm. Do I want to cut it close and walk the entire bridge? I decided, no. I would just walk halfway and come back, leaving the rest for another day. Brilliant compromise, Jasmine. Now I had plenty of time to quickly whip up my first meal of the day, a salmon bagel (amidst all the exciting planning, I had forgotten to eat...). Isn't it so pretty?

Flub number two. I'm sitting at the bus stop on Park Presidio with 10 minutes until the 28 arrives. I confidently open my book and start reading when I suddenly feel the need to go over the contents of my backpack. Cell phone, clipper card, school ID, half of salmon bagel wrapped in tinfoil, water... damn it, I forgot my wallet. With only 7 minutes left, there is no time to run back home. The annoyance starts to creep in, but instead of taking this as a bad omen as I usually do, I chose to brush it off. 'Don't need it. I've got my clipper card to take me back home. Plus, if someone decides to rob me, I can honestly tell them I've got nothing! I guess they would still profit from taking my new phone...'

Fast forward. The Golden Gate Bridge! The sidewalk is actually quite narrow to be shared by both cyclists and pedestrians. Thank goodness I didn't try this on a weekend. Trying to soak up the view and dodging bicycles without running into amateur photographers was hard enough on a Monday. (It took all my self-control to resist photobombing random tourist photos. The guy walking in front of me who was capturing a video of his adventure with a selfie stick was practically begging me to join in.) I can't really judge, though. I was Snapping my way across the bridge with the best of 'em.

Once I reached a safe spot that was relatively less windy, I did it all. Selfies, Snaps, videos, and even a pano. (Keeping that arrow on the line is REALLY hard.)

I even took several pictures for a nice tourist who was cycling across the bridge by himself. Our interaction began with his shoving the camera in my face while smiling and asking, "Would you?" I tend to opt out of taking pictures for tourists, usually handing it over to a friend who has steadier hands. (I think it's because I feel overwhelmed with the self-induced pressure to capture the perfect picture: one that will make it into these people's photo journals/blogs/Facebooks/Instagrams. If I think logically though, they can -- and probably do -- ask someone else if mine turns out hideous, but I feel anxious nonetheless.)

My first Monday of doing-more-than-groceries was a success! Next Monday, I will be taking a four-hour PCOA exam at school, so I can only squeeze in a trip to Tartine at best. However, my adventures will pick up again the following week. I need to take advantage of my free Mondays while I have them until March.

Until next NEXT week~