Disappointment in dreams.

October 31, 2010

I just had the most amazing, the most fantastic dream ever and it isn’t fair that it was only a dream.

In the beginning of the dream, I was pissed off at my father for reasons unknown. All I know was that I was angry at him for something and he went to Vegas without telling me or something. Well he had an old friend from the Philippines who lived in Vegas and he was visiting said friend with my two friends, Clay and Sean. Said old friend from the Philippines then offered him a job. Later that night, Clay called me and told me that something crazy and insane happened — that my father had been offered a job worth $65 million. At first I didn’t believe him. I just thought Clay was drunk. Then later Sean called me to tell me the same thing. I was beginning to believe him when my dad called me himself to tell me this news, but he told me he wouldn’t take the job if I didn’t want him to and he didn’t want me to be angry with him anymore.

Well how the hell could I be angry with him after he was offered a job worth $65 million? So we made up or something and my mother, who was in Vegas with him, also told me the news and got really excited.

So after that, I called up all my friends and told them that we were going to go out celebrating because I was soon to be the daughter of a really rich guy. We went out celebrating and I told Katie and Ryan the good news. I think Victor and Jonathan were out of town or something like that, otherwise they would have been with me and I would have told them as well.

After that night, my father flew me out to Vegas so I could look at the house he was building for us. It was only halfway done, but it was HUGE, and the workers were beginning to put up the cement. After I got to see around the inside of my house and got familiarized with what was going to be my room, my dad took me to show me his work. One job included clearing out trees on the side of the road and another included teaching a room full of college students. I watched as my father taught and at the end of the class he had a little competition for the students. I think the group that was the most enthusiastic got an A or something, or the group that I liked the most got a monetary prize. I don’t quite remember. All I know was that there were a disproportionate amount KU fans, so automatically all the KU fans lost.

Then the dream shifted to our old place, where my mother was doing laundry before the big move. She was washing all of our clothes and my father couldn’t get the remote control to work because one of the batteries was missing. It was kind of a weird remote, now that I think about it; It had one place for a AA battery, but it also required a AAA battery. Well I found the AAA under the dusty bed in the master bedroom and gave it to him and low and behold, the remote worked.

That’s when I woke up. And I so wish that I hadn’t.


Well I didn’t find a tiger in the bathroom…

October 30, 2010

It’s common knowledge that college students drink. A lot.

There are a select few that abstain until legality or the really admirable few that abstain altogether, but for the most part college students drink like there’s no tomorrow. Literally. We drink ourselves into stomach churning submission with absolutely no concept of the hangover the next morning because all that matters when you’re drunk is the present. It’s the right now. Sure, I’ll have another cup of jungle juice. Sure, it’s probably not advisable, but why the hell not? I feel good now.

Well, right now, it’s the morning after and let me tell you, I don’t feel so good.

My friends and I decided to throw a Halloween party last night, since it was going to be our only chance to celebrate Halloween. And like many other subcultures, Halloween has an entirely different meaning in college. In college, it’s the opportunity for women to dress like sluts without fear of social reprimand and for everyone else to drink until the wee hours of the next morning. So we decided to throw one of these ragers last night.

So what happened last night? Well, I played a game of mixed-drink pong (not advisable, but I do it every single time), I drank three cups of Katie’s non-FDA approved jungle juice, took a shot of rum, two Jell-O shots and two (and a half…? My memory gets fuzzy at this point) Smirnoff Ices. (Judge me if you want, but there’s more alcohol in a Smirnoff Ice than there is in a can of Bud Light. Just sayin.) I kept drinking and drinking and drinking.

BUT WHY? Why do we do this to ourselves? I mean really, what is the point?

Alcohol tastes horrible. It fucks with your judgment. It makes you pee and it makes you throw up and it makes the the next day hell. And for the really hardcore drinkers, you wake up in a strange bed with a strange person sleeping next to you and usually you’re naked. And if you do this often enough, you can face all sorts of problems later in life, like liver disease, kidney failure and the deterioration of healthy relationships.

WHAT IS THE APPEAL? I mean hell, I drink and I STILL DON’T GET IT.

This might just be the hangover talking, but the concept of alcohol just doesn’t make sense to me right now.

If anyone can explain it to me logically, I would appreciate it.

Friday(ish) Three

October 29, 2010

One of my favorite authors keeps a blog. Every Friday she talks about five rando things. They can be anything from what happened during the week, what’s going to happen next week or something she just wants to talk about. She calls it the Friday five.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the patience for five. I’m also not interesting enough for five so I’m going to stick with three.

1. Sources that live in the middle of nowhere

I’m a reporter for one of the city newspapers and I’m working on a feature about foster care in the state of Missouri. The issue gets longer and complicated the more I talk to my sources, but I guess that’s the great thing about this being my advanced reporting project. I can take a good amount of time on this story, to give it the justice it deserves.

Anyway, I’ve talked to two foster families so far and they live out kind of in the middle of nowhere. The first family lived north of town and my GPS took me down this really freaky, narrow and unpaved road. It wasn’t the family’s fault — after all, they didn’t live on that narrow unpaved road, Kate (my GPS) just took me down it. In fact, they lived in a nice neighborhood with paved roads. No, but seriously, that was the kind of road that I would not want to be stuck on at night. No lights whatsoever. And it was really narrow. I’m talking one wrong turn and you’d end up in the ditch.

The second foster family lived way south of town. It was easier to navigate my way to their house, but once again with the unpaved roads. There’s only so much abuse my tires can take. Not to mention, Suzi’s an old gal and she’s been pretty angry with me lately. I think I’m gonna have to take it easy next week.

2. My iPhone may or may not have saved my life

No, but really.

There was this crazed gunman that went on a rampage and shot his family people in the county right next to ours. They were rushed to the hospital close to the college campus in town and since the gunman was still at large, the hospital underwent a security lock down. Just the hospital.

Well somehow that information spun completely and totally out of control and people started texting one another these crazy rumors. Right in the middle of my Social Problems class, a girl raised her hand and said, “Um, I hate to interrupt class, but my friend just told me that there’s a gunman on campus. He shot four people in Virginia Avenue and the campus is on lockdown.”

Which of course incited immediate panic.

Being the skeptical journalist, I pulled out my newly acquired iPhone and started checking all the channels of information I knew of. First I checked my newspaper’s website to see if they had anything. They had a news burst at the top of the page talking about the shootings in the county next door and a little blurb about the hospital being under lockdown. Then I checked my Twitter timeline searching for any validation of the rumor. Instead I found more tweets about the hospital and none about four dead anywhere near Virginia Avenue. I checked the campus police website, I checked my e-mail and all my alerts and there was nothing to suggest any sort of danger on campus.

So while everyone else started freaking out about a possible gunman, I just put my stuff away and walked out of the classroom to go home so I could take a nap.

3. Talking about race in a room full of white people

We got into a discussion during my advanced reporting class about reporting on race. Mind you, everyone in my class is white except for me. I’m the only non-white student in the room.

I am SO SICK of talking about racism. Seriously. I will be happy if I never have to hear about it ever again.

What bugs me about conversations like that is they only serve to reinforce the idea of a minority. They only remind me that I’m a minority. And seriously, I never thought of myself as a minority until I got to college. I hardly even thought about it when I was younger, but suddenly when I got to college, every single Asian group on campus asked me to join their club and everyone started asking my opinion as a non-white student.


I swear, I was never a minority until I got to college. I was never a minority until people made me a minority.

There you have it. The Friday three.

Stay tuned for tomorrow, when I blog about college and Halloween.