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.