I'm actually done with my cold, and I'm digging the new services from google: Chrome, and Wave.

Google Chrome, for a lack of a better comparison, gives it a shaved feeling down there.  My internet browser is so much bigger without any of the extra stuff (the taskbar) impeding my view.

As for wave, I finally got to know what it is because I was invited.  Yay interns.

Speaking of which, I often give myself reminders to not visit the CIA page on facebook until I got my legit start date.  It's because I don't want to jinx myself or anything.  (I'm superstitious - Stevie Wonder, anyone?)

I am not Michael Jordan.

I've been under the impression that I'm living the day Michael Jordan scored sixty on the Utah Jazz to claim one of his many titles as a Chicago Bull.

I would proudly like to say that I am, considering that my week has been MJ-like prior to being sick.

Well, kind of.

For those who don't know, I'm a Garde-Manger at Manhattan Country Club.  Away from the kitchen, the heat.  I'm not dissing it, it's just reality.  But I'm telling you that fact to tell you this next one.

Being away from heat, I open packages near my prep area, or inside the fridge: particularly bread with those zip-top twisty things and whatnot.  Also, I get to serve club sandwiches with toothpicks attached to them, and the ingredients that I use are straight out of cans, etc.

I am going to admit right now that I have served salads with foreign objects on it.  Ziptops and olive pits, and toothpicks.  I'm very fortunate that the runner has got them off before serving them, and I'm very fortunate that my boss has a huge patience for my seemingly dumb ass.

Again, I'm putting my mise-en-place of facts as everything adds up later....

Today, I came in to work, fresh out of the misery that is sickness.

Everything was going well, I made sure everything was in check, everything in my station labeled, extras prepared just in case I run out of stuff.

Life goes on until a rubber band is found on a salad.

I take responsibility for it, since it's my station, and I really am not the type of person or asshole that throws people under the bus.  Know that fact, and you can use it to your advantage one of these days.

To be very honest, I was pissed for a good half hour because I knew that if I prep my stuff these days, nothing would be in it.  I'm not saying I never made mistakes before, because as mentioned above (and yes, I'll probably get canned for it - crossing my fingers) I've made these mistakes in the kitchen, and I've never made the same mistake twice (definitely a lie for most situations). 

Like Kevin, I'm just upset for being upset because this is just a lapse (another partial lie - club might get sued because of this), but it drives me nuts to be skeptical of my own ability.  I hate that.

Again, I'll just let this go and learn from it.  It's the only sensible thing to do.

Love like... Toothpaste?

I remember watching Bruce Almighty and seeing the scene where Jim Carrey's character said to Jennifer Aniston's character:

Love me, love me.

She didn't.

If anyone has actually seen this movie, you get it.  If you don't let me toss you a spoiler:  Carrey's character is given all the power in the world, except the power to make someone love you.  After all, there are some skeptics of religion out there.

Love is like a toothpaste tube:  even though you squeeze everything out of it, there's always that ounce that's stuck around the corner that you can't get to.  And even if you did, what kind of drastic measure would you do to get it?

Analogy aside, I can't get all the toothpaste in the damn tube.  Even if I did cut the tube in half to scrape the rest off, there would still be toothpaste stuck on that tube.  You can't get all of it, even if you want to.

Point is that, there's a lot of toothpaste out there, and if you're only focusing on that one ounce of toothpaste that you're trying to get, then you're missing out.

Limit Break

There is an expression called "Running out of luck".

I feel like I've been having too much luck lately, and mine's about to run out.  Again, who knows?

It seems like that everytime something good happens to me, I have to think about what's next.  It's as if a road ended and I have to start another one.  But I really don't want to put it that way.

Or maybe I'm just tired.

If anything, I'll just remember the advice that I gave to Aubrey earlier:  Do everything I'm supposed to do and everything would fall perfectly.

Placebo Effect

I could not be happier for myself this thanksgiving weekend as I actually had three parties that I planned on going to.

Now, that's college life.  Partially kidding.

While it's very superficial to say that college life is all about parties, and not academics (see, Van Wilder), It's very false.  If you don't go to school, you fail, and if you fail, then you are expelled or out from the campus.  So basically, I'd give it a 60:40 ratio, Academics-Party.  That's if you do care.  And if you have a greater Academics-Party Ratio, then more power to you.

While the common theme in parties is fun, there is another common theme that exists in these places that could either be very lucid to the naked eye, or the opposite if you're too oblivious to see if you're having too much fun:

Shyness.

Yup.  Shyness is a detriment to any social event, especially if you don't know the people there, or only know one or two of them.  I would be lying, and not headed for life success if I didn't say that I was a shy person, because I am.  Again, why do you think I've never been in a relationship in my life after 19 years of living?

But this one's different.  It's so different that you could actually differentiate it when you're given two samples of it, kind of like blue.  There's navy blue, there's baby blue.  It's easy to spot.

The navy blue kind of shyness is social, as in you're shy in meeting new people because you don't share the same interests as them.  People should have different personalities, because as much as I love myself, I wouldn't want a billion of myself around.  One, it's too boring, two, the world would be grumpy, and three it's definitely a gay population (because it's all males).

The baby blue kind of shyness is more of a puppy love one.  For instance, you're crushing on someone, you want to tell them, sing them the corniest song that comes first to your mind, but you can't because...

1. No balls to do it
2. A ton of excuses to provide
(Thanks to Hassan Abdulla for this list)

The solution to this is basically the term "taking the plunge" - As in, just doing it without having a care in the world and having fun.  I don't know, be like a drunk Tucker Max - all happy and stuff, just don't drink off his CamelBak, or else.

I personally believe that this concept of the plunge is much easier to take in a friend-making scenario, because you really have nothing to lose except another person to talk to.  On the other hand, if you do, do (yes doo-doo, name your joke) take the plunge romantically, the possibility of losing a friendship is there,or actually strengthening it, because you actually had the balls to say it -> Eminem rhyme.  (Sue me.) 

A placebo is described as a fake medication.  Researchers use it to see how people react to the medicine.  Sometimes, people get better because they think the medicine did it. 

Shyness is just like a placebo effect, except the opposite.  It is the power of the mind that drives us this way, and sometimes it's the possible negative thoughts of people that drive us this way. 

Basically, let me sum it up with my own version of a Tucker Max quote:

If you don't like me, then... you know the rest.

Decisions, squared.

Before I start, today's math class was ridiculous.  In my Intermediate Algebra class, my professor taught about the 30-60-90 and the 45-45-90 triangles and what radicals belong to them.  He just made it more complicated, and thank God I have my trig notebook lying around somewhere for those pieces of information.

But during that time, I was asking myself as to whether or not I should go to Westchester's Academic Night.  One of my solutions into making this decision was to flip a coin.  Heads, I go and vice versa.  The other one was more of a self reassuring quote, but failed to no avail.  And the third idea, was to get a facebook poll, and by popular vote, I went, and needless to say it was worth my time catching up with my people even though it was only for a couple of minutes.

I decided to do these ridiculous methods of decision making, because I'm really bad at it. Flipping a coin is a fair method of doing it, despite facts learned from statistics class that it isn't really a fifty fifty chance.  There's no bias involved in a coin flip, and I was willing to do what the coin told me to. 

On the other hand, the quote that I wrote in my notebook was "Don't let anyone become a priority if they saw you as an option".  While I believe that I will rarely, if never be a priority to my friends, I'm pretty sure that those words will hurt them because while without sounding narcissistic or egotistical, there's a speck within them that cares about me, and others as well (but they have their own specks.)

In the end, I decided to go and watch, since I went through all the trouble of getting the car for the night, and it would totally be worthless if my efforts went to waste.  I gave everyone my congratulations and a hug, and caught up with my friends, and a couple of my friends' parents and a teacher. 

It was time well spent, and as always, a lesson learned.

Always trust your instincts.

There was once upon a time where I liked playing chess, and I didn't care if I sucked at it.  Not that I did, but I felt like I was adequate at it.

The concept of Chess is to get the king into a checkmate.  To do so, one has to scheme and plan each piece (pieces have a different purpose and move in various ways) so that it can do so.

Irony is, I love predicting the future, but there are so many things that could possibly happen, and while it is true that some of my hunches might be right, the chances of them happening are slim to none, since there might be that other scenario that I just never thought about, which totally changes the game.

For some reason unknown, I always think about the future or the past rather than the present.

A good example for this is that when I talk to most of my friends, I could not help but rehash old memories, because I have nothing else to think or talk about.  It makes me feel like I'm a bad friend because I'm only sticking to the past, and not looking to build up something new.  My basic thought on this is that I hope it doesn't take a jigsaw (referring to Saw, the fourth one?) game where my past has to be burnt, or something.

As for the future, I'm always concerned on the "what would", how could, and anything else that can fall between those lines.  For example, I'm thinking about the possibility of me getting behind at Camp Roberts because Mario forgot about me, or something else in general.

I think that if I had a chance for three wishes, one of them would be removing my habit of thinking too much.

Mash-up

Why is it that people believe in prayer if nothing ever goes right for them? Do people believe that it's their saving grace? I mean, even atheists or other religions do it (and sometimes to the wrong god.)

I always had this faith that everything would fall in place if I did everying right, especially when it counted. As of now, I'm very concerned about my ride to camp roberts for this friday. It seems like a long time coming, but for me it isn't, as time is ticking down and I can only wait until a certain time to wait for my next move.

It's wack.

Speaking of wack, a friend has jokingly (so I hope) speculating on my sexuality, thinking that I'm gay.

What.

I have nothing against gays. In fact, I support the fact that they are just as free as straights. But that's another issue.

While I'm a guy that has a tv schedule half suited for chicks (top model, greek, glee), I'm just the unfortunate victim of social awkwardness and low self esteem, and perhaps trauma. (Ask me about the last part, if you wish)

So really, In quoting young mc, I'm a straight man who doesn't want to hang myself on a celibate rope, nor do I want to become a monk abd leave the situation.

Tuesday tomorrow, and that could only mean a massive prep day for me tomorrow.

Gotta love tuesdays.

Regret and Rebirth

BOB I is coming up, and I just can't help but have this thought of me taking things for granted.

I knew last year was my last with my delegation.  I knew that was it, and after that there was no turning back.  BOB I went by, BOB 2 went by, Sacramento came by, and when it came to the friendship service, I gave two speeches - one I partially rehearsed and wrote so many versions of while chairing sessions, and a second one that came from the heart.

The bad thing is that though it had genuine intentions, none of them felt that way. 

I left the room with no tears in my eyes.  I wasn't crying.  In fact, I was smiling and saying "I'll see you later", "I'll miss you", and all these other things, and I knew it was genuine then, but looking back now, it seems that it wasn't.

I don't know, maybe it's a trail of tears, whether it be from joy or sadness that binds people together, some bind of emotion that links between them... some chain of genuine emotion and passion that I never got to experience because I was too macho to let it out, and a possible belief that I look ugly when I cry.

When I look at Scott's photos now for the lack of a better metaphor, it's like watching porn and I'm trying to hide it from people, and I don't ever want them to find out that I miss the experience, the people, because I was once there, and I'm just simply wondering if they're having the time of their lives their as they should, considering that they're paying a thousand plus dollars for it.

Then, I did the Intern Program on a whim, as it miraculously fit my schedule, and kept me busy.  Selfish as I may sound, I genuinely wanted to do this from the beginning because I knew what was expected, and what was going to happen (very partially.)

If this really is my second family, then I see this as my second chance.  No what-ifs, no regrets. 

It's like senior year all over again.

A commercial hit me square in my thoughts, as it said:

"If you have the passion, why not dream?"

Good things happen when my facebook page is unavailable:  I sleep earlier, I do my homework, and I google search too many things.

One of my google searches today was the Culinary Institute of America.  Yup, it's the most wonderful time of the year.  I sent in my application on Friday and it's about to be processed and I'm pretty stoked.  Because of that, I decided to go to the site and just read up.

Bad Idea.

Reading up on these articles or visiting the site itself drives me nuts.  I know that I earned my keep, I know that I'll get it, but it drives me crazy how far it is before I get there: I start to think about how many more quizzes, days in El Camino I have left, and I'm starting to visualize how I'm going to leave.

I really don't want to look too far ahead, but it excites me.  And because of any excitement or anxiety of sort, I have the propensity to run a controlled chaos in my station:  I get the order, I get some right, and some I purely screw up and throw in the trash.  Totally against my morals, but I have to do what I need to do...

For now, I'll follow Pratt's advice and smell the coffee, take my time and enjoy life as it goes.

I will always remember that day when Mario told me in his own way to "get a life".  Slowly but surely, I'm integrating myself into this new one while keeping some old friendships intact.

I feel like these days, my life has been so routine that it's like my mise-en-place, that I know where I put everything, what to do in case I "get in the weeds".

I don't even know how to describe this feeling.  Maybe, if I had to put it into words or comparison, that I would say that I would be a tennis player who's making a Federer-esque comeback to beat Roddick after five sets (yes, it still drives me crazy and bitter to say that).  I'm hitting my stride to the point that rarely some things frazzle me despite a lack of sleep, I know what I'm doing and I'm confident that I'm doing all the right things.

Funny how I'm writing this blog near midnight with work tomorrow on an early shift after taking my mom to the airport for her mission trip that will last for a week.  Should be interesting tomorrow considering the fact that I've been lacking in sleep, or sleeping late these days that I should sleep super early tomorrow as well on Thursday to compensate for it.

That's what the gym's for.  I'm starting to feel fat, and it's not a good feeling at all.

One of the nicknames that Hassan gave me in high school was starting to finally make sense.

I remember being called "Toast" in high school because I was often wrong when I had a point to say, and apparently my peers are better than me in certain things.

But the context of "toast" with my current state of condition is that I'm tired, I'm burnt, and possibly stale.

I started work at seven thirty and besides a breakfast of a chocolate chip cookie, cheese bread and water, I literally moved from point to point non-stop for four hours (partially lying here, but I was in motion all day long). 

I was so tired at that point that I was still behind on my prep - two or three tasks behind, and I was resorted to eating in a very rapid pace where I prep where I was told to eat at the dining room, and enjoy myself, or so said my boss.

I really couldn't enjoy the meal despite its' appeal to my rumbling stomach.  But really, I just had to rock it out, I suppose.

My continuous movement continued as there were tickets all day long, at least for a good hour and a half.  I'm loving it really, but I hate it when I get tickets wrong especially if I have five more to make after that, and then the ticket machine just keeps cranking out more.  Not my routine, but I ironically like it for some wack reason...

My whole point is ever since I started "applying" to the CIA, I've been reduced to the equivalent of my twitching friend who has over loaded on caffiene where  my hands haven't stopped moving from chopping, slicing and consistently losing on Madden (I swear, the Chiefs have a bad offensive line and quarterback, and I'll figure out their offense one way or the other) along my eyes are twitching back and forth to check my account whether or not El Camino took my money yet or when my mom's three hundred dollars would come through so I could see how fiscally crippled I am at this hopefully temporary moment of time.

If chefs aren't allowed to have a bad day in the kitchen, then why are they allowed to have a bad day in their lives? 

I'm just asking.

Wednesday is officially my favorite day... that's tentative of course.

The feeling of this specific Wednesday was not an average day.  In fact, I felt so confident that after watching Glee, I felt like it was the zenith of my life where I could do everything, except belting out ridiculous notes (reality gave me a check on that one).

I'm starting to like Wednesdays because of the perfect balance of a brain rotting opportunity while getting my supposedly sufficient amount of education, as I have class for at least five hours, and then an amazing TV lineup, at least to my standards, of Jeopardy, America's Next Top Model, and Glee.

Also, for some reason, this TV lineup makes me very maudlin.

For instance, I feel very smart playing Jeopardy, I'm overly excited when Brittany wins elimination challenges, I feel like singing "Alone" (which I love, by the way), and a mixture of those emotions (sans singing) when watching Top Chef.

Overall, as much as I hate to begin my shifts at 7 in the morning with four hours of prep (four! too much!), it's definitely a great way to end a day knowing that my eyes are about to sink faster than the Titanic, and yes once again, that odd confidence that I can belt out "Alone" to that one girl.

Ahem, ahem.

Usually, holy shit moments are life changing and all that.  Some, however are like hidden gems, except it's of the opposite effect where you say Holy Shit because something holyshitty bad just happened to you. 

A perfect example of a good "Holy Shit" moment is when Ashley Merriman, Top Chef competitor is cooking for Joel Robuchon.  I don't blame her for it since the man is the Chef of the Century after all, and that he's eating her food.

On the other hand, my holy shit moments are nothing equivalent to meeting Robuchon, or even close to a Top Chef competitor.  For instance, I just realized that the hundred dollars haven't gone yet from my bank account for my Intern payment.  This HS moment now puts me in a very unbalanced position between sleepy, motivated to do homework, cranky, worried and all of those other emotions in between.

It's only 10 in the evening, and I'm freaking tired from everything, then all of a sudden one of my friends tells me that she should be studying for her math midterm and "toodles".  Reminds me of my first math test this friday to which I still have to finish the homework for, but have no motivation for it - Great, another holy shit moment.

Anyways, I'm going to end this blog on this note and follow Phil Hellmuth's new poker game advice:  Go with my gut instinct, and go for everything hard.  Sleeping would be a paradoxical way to do it, but it should get me more buzzed than the energizer bunny by tomorrow.

Why do hotdogs come in packages of ten, while hotdog buns come in packages of eight?

This question comes to mind when it comes to today/tonight.

Today, I had my birthday bonfire and I started the day off by waking up at 7:35 in the morning, getting ready.  I woke up, took a shower and when I started packing up stuff in the truck, I slipped in fell in the nasty gunk that was on the stairs from the day before.  My ass hurt, put the first stuff in the truck, and punched my bag in pure frustration.  I solved my problem by getting the gate remote off my mom's car and that solved the problem.

After packing up, my cousin/brother and I went to Carls Jr.  Shades of Youth and Government trips are here when I'd go  to Carl's Jr. and get my usual: Chicken Sandwich, Curly Fries and Onion rings, plus a breakfast sandwich for him.  We stuffed ourselves and on the way to Dockweiler, I had no umbrella.  But when we got there, a guy was selling umbrellas and I gladly took one despite it's flimsiness during the windy period for a least three hours where I had to barricade it with firewood, cooler and a 24-case of water.

For at least six hours, I managed to finish Kitchen Confidential (a book I'm reading for English class for "Pleasure reading" - as my professor says) and get food in return for a few packets of salt.  I guess that a few acts of kindness goes a long way, and it's one of the many reasons why I want to be in the industry, but then that's another blog and another different story.

Some people then came, we talked, had a great time, and another party of too many to count came over, whose father asked if I could share a pit with them in return for firewood (which I needed, because I was foolish enough to think that I would last the whole night with only three bags of wood).  I accepted, and once again I got something back for this random act of kindness:  My successor (D-Man Jr., as I now call him) finally experienced the thrill of setting marshmallows for the first time over an open flame, and to see his culinary boner form was just a sight to behold (Again, no homo.).  Another reward I, or we got for this was dinner theatre:  a seemingly schizophrenic chick who refuses to drink water because she claims that her mother will pick her up and she'll find out that this schizo chick is drunk and that she'll never get to college.  Also in this dinner theatre was another drunk chick who you would say to "You should have seen yourself last night" for plopping on the floor after a simple nudge, and hanging on to people by hugging them so that she wouldn't fall in the sand repeatedly.  As for the final piece of this theatre, there was this one girl who I don't know whether she was drunk or not, but she walked around with her bra on.  To be completely honest as a human being, I would have loved to see someone strip the bra off of her to give the dinner theatre more value than it should.  After all, getting wood wasn't good enough.  It just wasn't.

Two more people came at the near end of the night, and the hour just passed by too quickly as we swapped stories about Westchester and the trash that happened around it, and the scum that stayed there.  Needless to say, as much as I enjoyed their company, I enjoyed their gifts as well.  Though I have yet to remind myself to find about a book about aphrodisiacs.  I guess that's as close to an erotic chef's book as you can get.

The classic answer to the hotdog question above is that "No matter what happens, you always get a hotdog".  Think about it, Ladies and Gents.  I would rather much eat a hotdog rather than a hotdog bun since it is more savory, and I'll be damned if a bum ever preferred to eat a hotdog bun rather than a hotdog.  My point of this message is that I'm thankful for the people who came and made this a good, if not a great night and thatI'm fine with my friends who couldn't go because of certain reasons, which I totally understand.  I have nothing against these people, and I am assuring you, dear reader, that our friendship is still in tact and you're still on the VIP list for Eversoul one of these days. 

And just for a note about hotdogs: Always get Hebrew National.  They didn't pay me to endorse them, but I trust these Hebrew National people despite Hassan telling me to not trust the Jews, that their hotdogs are 100 percent kosher beef.  Put it in a skewer over a fire, on a bun and some good Dijon mustard (I mean, some quality brand Dijon mustard) and some relish and have a meal that should satisfy you for two, if not four hours.

To end this whole thing, note to self: Put Hotdogs on Fridge.

I always felt that there's nothing secure in life.

It feels great to acquire something that's great - in my case, fifty thousand dollars to go to New York in the best, and I emphasize once again, THE BEST culinary school out there.  However, since it is of great value, the cost of its protection or maintenance is really high as well, as I can't screw up in school (3.0 or higher), and deal with an internship here.

As much as I hate to admit it, I've always lived the life of an athlete -  fine, I'm a big guy who's played three sports and somewhat adept at them that I have the ability to name some, if not all teams in any sport of your choice. (minus rugby, soccer, or "football").  I also have the ability to coach in these sports, and play at least three or four of them if I was given the position that I desired.

I've always read these stories of how they became great success stories where some came out of poverty, overcoming adversity, resilience, and for overcoming that kind of struggle, they were rewarded greatly for hard work, perspiration and passion.

But there's always another side to the story:  There are athletes who are out there and take their talent for granted, and it goes to waste, because they don't have what those "success stories" had.  There is some speculation that the people in these side are those rich folks where daddy taught them basketball and sent them to basketball camps and suddenly became great. 

To be completely honest, being a non-believer in a solid reason has hindered me from doing things that I really want to do.

For instance, to be really honest, I really couldn't find any words to say when the CIA essay asked me for what got me in the food industry.  If I said that I watched Top Chef's series premiere on a bored night as an underachieving high school sophomore, it doesn't put off a great impression as these people in the CIA would kill for those who are more passionate than I am.

It's as if that day, I was questioning who I really am and what I could have done now.  My friends are gone to UC's, out of state colleges, struggling in physics or paying for bullshit classes or seminars like Oceanology, and reality's starting to hit me only in this moment (since I know this feeling would be gone after I purge everything out).

At the end of the day, I really don't want my life to change.  I've met good people along the way, and as much as I don't have the Anthony Bourdain material (which I happen to love reading) for the CIA to read, there's a rhyme for every reason.  At the end of the day, as far as my friends are ahead of their college expereinces, I'll catch up to them.

"Describing Degrassi"

I love imagining how things would happen.

I remember blogging about imagining myself on of my dream nights, just eating cheetos and drinking coke while enjoying the ocean breeze until 10 at Dockweiler, since that's when the party ends, I suppose.

This recent thought will be somewhere along the lines of "describing Degrassi" according to Brandon.  Definitely not my intention to piss him off, but it's just a good, if not perfect way to describe it.

I always think about me and the person I like just walking down a straight line, whether it be a forest trail, down by the beach, a grass knoll, or somewhere silent and beautiful that we can talk in a whisper and it still would sound as if we were talking on our normal speaking voice (Youth and Governmentish much?).

I'm imagining that this person and I are just walking and having a good conversation around this silent and beautiful place, and suddenly, I just tell her that I like her, hoping it doesn't turn awkward. 

I don't really know how this thought of an episode ends as to whether or not it goes in the right direction.  There's three ways I could see this ending:  One, she feels the same way about me and we feel good about it.  Two, I feel good about telling her, but she doesn't feel the same way, but I still feel good for knowing it, or three, it goes sour to the point where the friendship rips apart and everything else is gone out into thin air and out of nowhere.  And if there was anything else, then I wouldn't be surprised by it either.

These past few days have been emotionally draining for me.

Yesterday was probably my worst service yet. 

There were super weird tickets, where the runner (who's slowly gradually becoming a good buddy of mine) reads a ticket wrong, a waiter goes in my station, and the lack of communication.  The lack of communication part really frustrates me, since I've already accepted the fact that most of them speak Spanish and I'm very inept at it.  Although I am very frustrated about it, I don't really care if you have a problem and disguise it with something else, but if it concerns me and my station, I don't want asking anyone for a translation of what just happened.  That ruins me, and if I really don't know what's going on then my progress is either stunted or will start going on a downward trend.

I also had thoughts that day that I was God's laughingstock and the reason of him keeping me alive after my accident three days before was that he didn't want people to live my example: An underachiever who almost died getting steamed buns from Carson.

I probably blame my only food intake then either being overstuffed by two wraps and a plate of fries, or the three cookies while I had during service....

This is probably why I wanted to go to the gym in the first place:  I felt good then, and whenever I went back to work, I felt like I could do anything.  Well, almost anything.

I guess this is what happens when I'm waiting for sheets to get done, I start to rant and then everything else doesn't piece together well...

But yes, USC lost today and UCLA won, woohoo!

I am not myself lately, and I think I know why.

I was in an accident yesterday, and I still can't get over it.  It's as if every car moves to the right, I can't help but cringe, brake slowly and go way below the speed limit.

It's almost as if my confidence was shattered in half, and I don't even know if I'm going to get it back.

There's so many thoughts on my head right now from that one day, from the point of impact to my drive home on a car with really bad wheel alignment and screeching wheels from Long Beach to Gardena.

I don't even know to where to start, but I'll fire away.

1.  I've "complained" about a routine life, and I needed something to spice it up.  This was not the way I wanted to do it, especially with my birthday coming up, and all.

2.  My mom keeps reitirating the point that God saved my life.  My aunt died the same way, except I didn't get hit while spinning two lanes into a hazard lane into the grass.

3.  This whole ordeal is affecting me.  My shoulders are always up, I don't know why, but I feel stiff and icy.  I'm still comfortable driving, but again my confidence is just shattered, and I'm still livid from that bastard who bumped me in the side.  As much as I hate to say it, this is how I really feel and nothing can change that, even though my parents have easily forgiven me for it.

4.  I need to rethink life.  It's as if I've been doing it wrong, and there's some really weird and twisted message in this.  I don't know how to redo it, but for starters, I should just appreciate my so called routine life for now, get a PASS in my english class, and get an A in my math class, then head out for New York, start a whole new life over there.

Despite this whole accident, I am in one piece, blogging late once again, as I've been almost falling asleep in work and my legs are getting more tired by the minute, per hour. 

Also, something that greatly balances this out is that I've been accepted as a Youth and Government intern.  I'm really psyched about it, and I'm glad that I'm not the only Westchesterian (not really from Westchester, but my name badge says so) that's interning.

Besides all that emotion, now I have to ask my boss for a dayoff on the sixteenth of October, and knowing that it will fly, Sarah and I are driving to Ontario.  Not sure if it's only her or me, but it's going to be fun either way.

Anyways, time to sleep because I have to work.  One more day, and it's my birthday and a paycheck!

My life seems to be very routine lately.  I blog about my math and english classes, what happens at work everyday and how things are at home.

I have my driving privileges.  I have money (well, I technically don't - I have to hold out for my birthday bonfire on friday), so why shouldn't I do something with my life to spice it up?

Any ideas?