The Tina Chronicles
Oh F***
I got a phone call today. I answered it and it was a lady who sounded very desperate. Oh no, I knew what it was about. It was prom season.
When I was in high school, I couldn't find a dress that I liked and that could fit me. I went to prom twice. Once when my boyfriend at the time was a senior and I was a junior, and the second time when I was a senior. The first time I went to prom, I absolutely hated the dress I got. It was the only thing that could fit me. They don't make a lot of prom dresses for short people who have a tiny waist along with a big pair of hooters and a big rump. Everything was either too long and too big at the waist or was tight at the bust level and rear level. The second time I went to prom, I decided to make my dress. After all, I was going to be attending fashion school when I graduated. I got a few books to help me refine my dressmaking skills along with some supplies. I started two months in advance so I would have plenty of time in case something went wrong. By the time prom came, I had a very nice dress that actually fit me. I didn't tell anyone I made it in case everyone thought it was ugly or badly made. I was pleasantly surprised when people liked it. Even then, I kept it a secret. Only a few close friends knew.
Last year, one of my friend's sisters ended up deciding to go to homecoming and asked me to make her dress because she had liked what I wore to prom. I agreed and swore her to secrecy because I didn't want to get a lot of dress orders since my schoolwork already took enough time. Two months later, one of her friends called me and asked me to do her dress for her quinceanera. I agreed and realized how much easier it was getting for me. After seeing the finished dress, realized I had found my true calling and was relieved that I was taking the right major.
I took a few quarters off because I had some personal problems that I had to deal with and a shit load of school work was not helping. In the mean time, I worked for my family friend's catering business and made dresses. When prom season hit last year I made a total of 25 dresses. It was complete insanity and hard work but I ended up making around $8,500 from the dresses (I charged extra for last minute orders). All of it went towards paying my horrible student loan once I graduated. This year, I decided to take less dress orders since I started school again (and the orders had to be made with time in advance so I wouldn't go completely insane). Ten dresses was my limit for prom season this year and I had already finished the last one about two weeks ago.
When I heard what the lady on the phone was saying to me I didn't know what to do. She told me her two daughters were going to prom (one is a junior, the other a senior) and no one was willing to make their dresses on such short notice. I started to tell her that I was sorry and that I wouldn't be able to do it. The moment she said that at least $1,000 were in it for me I started to reconsider. I figured it wouldn't hurt to have them come over and see what they wanted. I wasn't going to be able to work for at least another week (my arm may not be able to handle the weight of heavy plates yet) and I needed the money (and because I would be taking another week off of school since I wouldn't be able to carry all my supplies).
They came over and told me that their prom was on the 24th. That gave me about two week to make two dresses. What dresses did they want me to make?
The girl who was a junior wanted this dress:
She saw it on a show called America's Prom Queen (what the fuck? right) and she had to have it. Only she didn't want it in aqua (which was the only color it came in), she wanted it in canary yellow. I told them it was too much work (the beading alone would be a lot of work) for two weeks. Their mother explained that no one else would do it and that they were desperate so whatever price I named they would pay. I told her I'd think about it once I saw the next dress.
The second girl wanted this dress:
The moment I saw this I told her no. Making these two dresses in two weeks would be impossible unless I didn't eat or sleep for those two weeks straight. She immediately said she was willing to give me $1,500 for both of them and then I started to take another look. The second girl wanted the green dress in a champaign color. I started thinking about it again. My weekend was completely full already and I had no intention on leaving my prior commitment to my friend and her mother. I told them no again and the two daughters freaked out and nearly started crying. Their mother upped the offer to $1,000 for each dress and by then, the offer was too good to refuse. I told them to buzz off for an hour or two while I thought and sketched out the dresses to see if they were ok with the small changes I made so there would be less beading for me to do.
I started thinking about it started laughing because I couldn't believe it. Were people really willing to spend that much money on prom. Young people were getting ridiculous. It's one night. One night that isn't even all about you. Chances are, that dress will only be worn one time. It's absolutely ridiculous. Then I started laughing because not only was it ridiculous how much they were willing to spend, but it was ridiculous how big of an idiot I was for agreeing to do this.
When they came back, I showed them the sketches and they were happy to see them. I was relieved. I had made them in the right color and they didn't mind that there was less beading. They said the important thing was that it had the essence of the original dress. Essence. It reminded me of perfume.
I took their measurements before they left, and now I'm in my way to the fashion district here in Downtown to go look for fabric.
Let the insanity begin.
When I was in high school, I couldn't find a dress that I liked and that could fit me. I went to prom twice. Once when my boyfriend at the time was a senior and I was a junior, and the second time when I was a senior. The first time I went to prom, I absolutely hated the dress I got. It was the only thing that could fit me. They don't make a lot of prom dresses for short people who have a tiny waist along with a big pair of hooters and a big rump. Everything was either too long and too big at the waist or was tight at the bust level and rear level. The second time I went to prom, I decided to make my dress. After all, I was going to be attending fashion school when I graduated. I got a few books to help me refine my dressmaking skills along with some supplies. I started two months in advance so I would have plenty of time in case something went wrong. By the time prom came, I had a very nice dress that actually fit me. I didn't tell anyone I made it in case everyone thought it was ugly or badly made. I was pleasantly surprised when people liked it. Even then, I kept it a secret. Only a few close friends knew.
Last year, one of my friend's sisters ended up deciding to go to homecoming and asked me to make her dress because she had liked what I wore to prom. I agreed and swore her to secrecy because I didn't want to get a lot of dress orders since my schoolwork already took enough time. Two months later, one of her friends called me and asked me to do her dress for her quinceanera. I agreed and realized how much easier it was getting for me. After seeing the finished dress, realized I had found my true calling and was relieved that I was taking the right major.
I took a few quarters off because I had some personal problems that I had to deal with and a shit load of school work was not helping. In the mean time, I worked for my family friend's catering business and made dresses. When prom season hit last year I made a total of 25 dresses. It was complete insanity and hard work but I ended up making around $8,500 from the dresses (I charged extra for last minute orders). All of it went towards paying my horrible student loan once I graduated. This year, I decided to take less dress orders since I started school again (and the orders had to be made with time in advance so I wouldn't go completely insane). Ten dresses was my limit for prom season this year and I had already finished the last one about two weeks ago.
When I heard what the lady on the phone was saying to me I didn't know what to do. She told me her two daughters were going to prom (one is a junior, the other a senior) and no one was willing to make their dresses on such short notice. I started to tell her that I was sorry and that I wouldn't be able to do it. The moment she said that at least $1,000 were in it for me I started to reconsider. I figured it wouldn't hurt to have them come over and see what they wanted. I wasn't going to be able to work for at least another week (my arm may not be able to handle the weight of heavy plates yet) and I needed the money (and because I would be taking another week off of school since I wouldn't be able to carry all my supplies).
They came over and told me that their prom was on the 24th. That gave me about two week to make two dresses. What dresses did they want me to make?
The girl who was a junior wanted this dress:
She saw it on a show called America's Prom Queen (what the fuck? right) and she had to have it. Only she didn't want it in aqua (which was the only color it came in), she wanted it in canary yellow. I told them it was too much work (the beading alone would be a lot of work) for two weeks. Their mother explained that no one else would do it and that they were desperate so whatever price I named they would pay. I told her I'd think about it once I saw the next dress.
The second girl wanted this dress:
The moment I saw this I told her no. Making these two dresses in two weeks would be impossible unless I didn't eat or sleep for those two weeks straight. She immediately said she was willing to give me $1,500 for both of them and then I started to take another look. The second girl wanted the green dress in a champaign color. I started thinking about it again. My weekend was completely full already and I had no intention on leaving my prior commitment to my friend and her mother. I told them no again and the two daughters freaked out and nearly started crying. Their mother upped the offer to $1,000 for each dress and by then, the offer was too good to refuse. I told them to buzz off for an hour or two while I thought and sketched out the dresses to see if they were ok with the small changes I made so there would be less beading for me to do.
I started thinking about it started laughing because I couldn't believe it. Were people really willing to spend that much money on prom. Young people were getting ridiculous. It's one night. One night that isn't even all about you. Chances are, that dress will only be worn one time. It's absolutely ridiculous. Then I started laughing because not only was it ridiculous how much they were willing to spend, but it was ridiculous how big of an idiot I was for agreeing to do this.
When they came back, I showed them the sketches and they were happy to see them. I was relieved. I had made them in the right color and they didn't mind that there was less beading. They said the important thing was that it had the essence of the original dress. Essence. It reminded me of perfume.
I took their measurements before they left, and now I'm in my way to the fashion district here in Downtown to go look for fabric.
Let the insanity begin.
Run/Walk/Hop For A Cause
Since my mother is not going to be here for Mother's Day, I decided I'm going to spend it with my friend and her mother. About three years, ago my friend Shelly's mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. After much treatment and two surgeries, she is now in remission. She is a survivor and is proud of it.
On Saturday we are all (including Indy because he wants to do something good) going to participate in the 15th annual EIF Revlon Run/Walk (or in my case hop) for Women 5K here in Downtown LA. Of course, when I signed up, it was before my car accident. That's not going to stop me. I made a commitment and I plan to stick to it. This will be my third year participating.
This is the first year her mother will be able to participate in it. Instead of running like we usually do, her family has decided to walk the 5K so that we will all be in one big group. I'm glad because I'm not going to be able to run since I am still healing. I'm going to do my best to walk as much as I can (it's gonna hurt but that won't matter), then Indy has agreed to give me a piggy back ride whenever I need a break (so glad he's in good shape). Shelly's family is also going to bring a wheelchair in case her mother or anyone else gets tiered and needs a break (I'm determined not to use it).
On Sunday, Shelly is going to be using her party planning skills to throw a gigantic surprise Mother's Day party to celebrate her mother's survival. I am excited because I have known them for most of my life, and Shelly's mother has been like a mother to me.
If anyone has a chance to participate in one of these beneficiary runs/walks, I highly recommend doing it because it is a wonderful experience.
On Saturday we are all (including Indy because he wants to do something good) going to participate in the 15th annual EIF Revlon Run/Walk (or in my case hop) for Women 5K here in Downtown LA. Of course, when I signed up, it was before my car accident. That's not going to stop me. I made a commitment and I plan to stick to it. This will be my third year participating.
This is the first year her mother will be able to participate in it. Instead of running like we usually do, her family has decided to walk the 5K so that we will all be in one big group. I'm glad because I'm not going to be able to run since I am still healing. I'm going to do my best to walk as much as I can (it's gonna hurt but that won't matter), then Indy has agreed to give me a piggy back ride whenever I need a break (so glad he's in good shape). Shelly's family is also going to bring a wheelchair in case her mother or anyone else gets tiered and needs a break (I'm determined not to use it).
On Sunday, Shelly is going to be using her party planning skills to throw a gigantic surprise Mother's Day party to celebrate her mother's survival. I am excited because I have known them for most of my life, and Shelly's mother has been like a mother to me.
If anyone has a chance to participate in one of these beneficiary runs/walks, I highly recommend doing it because it is a wonderful experience.
Birthday Bash Madness
I'm proud to announce that I managed to do everything on my birthday to-do list. I had a blast.
My friend rented out an awesome loft for my "surprise" party (apparently it was supposed to be a surprise but I had already known about it for a week since people just don't know how to keep their mouth shut). While I was finishing getting ready, I heard a knock at the door and my friend ran into my room and tackled me (surprisingly, I didn't get more hurt than I already was). In the confusion, Indy blindfolded me and picked me up. I was being kidnapped. It was the only way to catch me of guard and recover some of the element of surprise. They drove me around for half an hour and then I felt the car stop.
Indy picked me up again and went up what felt like a million stairs (good think he's in shape or else that would've been really hard). I heard a door open and then my blindfold came off. Everyone yelled surprise, even though I knew, and I actually was surprised because I didn't expect so many people to be there. I was even more surprised at the amount of people who wore silly birthday hats for me (word had spread quickly about the silly birthday hat thing and I can't believe people actually wore them). Even Indy wore one (success). Two seconds after everyone yelled surprised, someone came up to me and put a tiara on my head (they know me well). I got stabbed in the head in the process because it happened so quick, but it still counts as a success.
After a while, I went up to the DJ and asked him to play the Macarena (another success). He played an insanely long version of it, and everyone actually danced it (the people who were already drunk looked hilarious dancing it). Half way through the Macarena, I noticed my friend was a little tipsy and was trying to out dance me. How dare she try to out dance me. I am the queen of dancing and she knows it. I challenged her to a dance off and told her that the loser would have to do the chicken dance in the middle of the street (I figured I might as well kill two birds with one stones). She agreed and then it was on like Donkey Kong. She lost (she could never out dance me), and then she shamefully went downstairs into the street. Everyone squeezed on to the rooftop so they could see Shelly's chicken dance.
She waited until the light changed and started doing the chicken dance across the street. Every time she reached a corner, she would start laughing uncontrollably (I'm not sure if that was the alcohol or the dancing that was making her laugh). She went around doing the chicken dance every time she crossed the street and made a complete square around the intersection. Many people honked at poor Shelly and we cheered her on from the rooftop (not that she could hear over the sound of the cars).
I couldn't help but notice that Indy disappeared when we were watching Shelly make a fool out of herself. I went inside to look for him and then I realized it was really quiet and everyone was looking at me. Something was up. I started going up to people and tried bribing them with my tiara. It didn't work. No one would tell me what was going on. They had been warned to keep their mouth shut. Had the dance of and chicken dance been part of some master plan? Possibly. They knew about my list and they might've used it in order to plan something.
After a few minutes I noticed that there was a little stand with small box wrapped in gold wrapping paper on it. I started to get close to it and my friends started to panic. I had seen something I wasn't supposed to. Someone yelled something out (I think it was NOW! that was yelled out) and then the lights went out. It was another surprise. One single spotlight shined down on the stand with the box and music started playing. All of a sudden, it hit me. Indy was missing and the Indiana Jones theme song was playing. They had created my very own Indiana Jones adventure.
A guy dressed in a ninja costume came out of nowhere and stole the box from the stand. It was one of my sensei's minions (everyone did a lot of planning for this). All of a sudden, Indy showed up in full Indiana Jones gear and started fighting the ninja. More ninjas came out of nowhere and joined in. One of them came up from behind me and grabbed me. The ninja was supposed to "kidnap" me, but my self defense training kicked in and I defended myself out of instinct (I still kick ass even when I'm injured). Everyone stated laughing and I figured it wasn't fair for Indy to have all the fun. I grabbed one of the ninja's sticks and started showing off some of my skills that sensei had taught me (I tried my best not to do anything that would hurt me more).
When I got to the second to last ninja I realized who it was. My rival. My arch nemesis. Sensei’s favorite nephew. He grabbed one of the sticks and then I knew it was on for real. He was still pist that a short blonde girl could kick his ass and I knew he wasn't going to play around like the others were. Oh shit, I was going to get hurt. Fighting a ninja dude in heels when you're already hurt is not easy (especially since it's been three weeks since I actually did any training with sensei). I defended myself the best I could and Indy came to help me when he finished off the other guy. I fell flat on my ass, but I hit the ninja behind the knee (what ever that part is called) with the sick on the way down. Ha!
Indy picked me up and handed me the box. What was inside? A Premium Annual Disneyland Passport. I can now go to Disneyland whenever I feel like it because parking is free and there are no block out dates (now I can go bug Indy at work). The whole thing was genius. Kudos to Indy, Shelly, and sensei’s minions for doing such a fine job in entertaining me.
We continued dancing and having fun, When I had to pee for what felt like the 50th time, I noticed one of my friends was passed out on a couch by the bathroom. Now was my chance. I got my Shelly's eyeliner and started drawing a cat nose and whiskers on his face. I also dipped his hand in warm water but nothing happened (maybe the water wasn't warm enough).
After that, things start getting fuzzy. I started doing the Bunny Hop and Indy joined (success for the silly dance with Indy) and so did a lot of other drunk people. I kept taking short breaks to call me siblings when it was 3:00 AM for them (they should've called me) and they were really pist off (but it made me thrilled).
The only things on my list was to get completely hammered and do something embarrassing, and to go on a midnight swim.
I did get hammered, and the embarrassing thing... well, I didn’t do anything embarrassing (that I remember). Instead, something embarrassing happened. I had a wardrobe malfunction. My halter dress failed me and I ended up flashing about 150 people, but that's ok because I like my boobs and because I really don't remember much of it. I also managed to go on a midnight swim. Indy had packed my bathing suit because he knows how determined I am. Shelly helped me break into the pool (which was closed) at around 2:00 AM so I could cross that off my list.
After the night was over, I thought Indy was taking us home. He wasn't. He had one last surprise. He took me to the really nice Millennium Biltmore Hotel so I could comfortably sleep off my hang over the next day and because he knew I had done way too much that night (considering I was still pretty injured) so I would probably feel like shit the next day. When we got to our room, there were a bunch of white roses all over the room and my heart completely melted. I loved roses and Indy knew it.
I slept most of the day yesterday. I didn't want to get out of bed. Indy and I ordered a lot of room service and watched a lot of TV. We stayed there last night too (good thinking on Indy's part because I had no intention of getting up early yesterday just to check out).
I think I had a good birthday. It was just like me. Happy and completely crazy (in a good way).
And whoever thought of the Indiana Jones thing was a genius because I wasn't expecting it and it everyone enjoyed it.
Happy Birthday To Me!
A few more hours and I'm off to celebrate. Will having a messed up leg and arm stop me from having fun on my birthday? Not all. I'll be dancing the night away (or hopping the night away) and I'm taking of the sling so I can freely move at the party my friend is throwing me in an awesome loft.
So, I have a few things to accomplish:
First, I call my brother in Boston and my sister in Detroit when it's 12:00 AM here.
Then, I'll call my sister in Chicago when it's 1:00 AM here.
Next, I'll call my brother in Denver when it's 2:00 AM here.
Last, I'll call my sister in Seattle when it's 3:00 AM here.
Will they be mad? Absolutely, but them being annoyed will be my birthday present to myself. Besides, my family has pretty much abandoned me and it'll be nice to hear their voices... even if it's just them yelling at me.
So, I have a few things to accomplish:
- Get Indy to wear a silly birthday hat for me.
- Get my friend to do the chicken dance in the middle of the street.
- Take a midnight swim.
- Wear a tiara.
- Get a lot of people to do the macarena.
- Get Indy to carry to do a silly dance with me.
- Have a dance off with someone.
- Draw on people who are passed out.
- Stick the hands of people who are passed out in arm water because I've always wondered if it worked.
- Get completely hammered and do something embarrassing I won't remember.
First, I call my brother in Boston and my sister in Detroit when it's 12:00 AM here.
Then, I'll call my sister in Chicago when it's 1:00 AM here.
Next, I'll call my brother in Denver when it's 2:00 AM here.
Last, I'll call my sister in Seattle when it's 3:00 AM here.
Will they be mad? Absolutely, but them being annoyed will be my birthday present to myself. Besides, my family has pretty much abandoned me and it'll be nice to hear their voices... even if it's just them yelling at me.
Movin On Up
I did a lot of thinking yesterday with Indy. I couldn’t help but notice that Indy spent more time in my apartment than he did in his own. I joked around and told him that he might as well move in because it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Then, I looked around. There was a little box by my couch that had a bunch of Indy’s stuff in it. The closet in my living room was filled with a bunch of his clothes, including some of his uniforms. I opened the fridge and a bunch of A&W sodas (Indy’s favorite soda, not mine) were in it. Then I realized what I had been doing before I started looking around. I had been folding Indy’s clothes that he had just washed in my laundry room (and this isn‘t easy to do with an arm in a sling).
We were practically living together. It had happened so gradually that I didn’t even notice. Did this freak me out? Surprisingly, no. I felt weird. Normally, I would’ve freaked out at the thought of someone practically moving themselves into my apartment. This didn’t freak me out at all. When my ex used to leave his stuff at my house (even if it was just a CD) I would flip because I felt like my space was being invaded. That, and because I didn’t want his things in my house if we ever broke up.
Were we really living together? I figured I might as well be blunt about it and ask Indy. “Are we living together?” He looked up from behind his book, stared at me, then slowly started tilting his head. He was thinking. “I think we are. I mean, there’s only soda in my fridge now because I always eat here. The only thing I go up there for lately is to get clothes, and those end up getting left here so my closet is getting pretty empty.” He stopped for a minute then continued. “I could move my stuff back upstairs if you want me to if it bothers you. I didn’t mean to. It just kind of happened.” It did just kind of happen.
What I was really confused about was the fact that I wasn’t freaked out or bothered by it. I liked waking up and having coffee waiting for me. I liked that I no longer had to use a step ladder whenever I needed something from the top shelf. I was amazed every time Indy automatically started setting the table when he saw that food was almost ready, and I was even more amazed that he’d help me clean up when we finished eating. I didn’t mind having him around all the time. I like it.
When I found out my parents were moving to New York and that I would be moving downtown, I was a little scared. Downtown LA can be scary. Of course, living in a really nice building takes away some of the oh my god, someone is going to break into my apartment and kill me in the middle of the night feeling. Come to think of it, this place is starting to grow on me. I’m five minutes away from school, and fifteen minutes away from work. The place is absolutely beautiful (even though you can’t throw pennies in the fountain and take a flower from the gardens). If I want to work out, I can go downstairs to the gym. If I feel like relaxing, I can sit by the pool, sit in the jacuzzi, sit in the sauna, lie down in the tanning bed, or get a massage (they have massage tables but I’m not sure if you have to bring someone in to give you a massage). If I feel like going somewhere, I just call the front desk and they make reservations for me (if you‘re ever get a chance, I recommend going to see Wicked because I loved it). If I need cash, there’s a handy dandy ATM machine downstairs. It’s a very nice place to live in, but it’s just really expensive.
I started thinking. I’m paying a little over $2,000 for this small 750 sq ft one bedroom one bathroom apartment. It’s crammed with my things, and my never ending pile of school supplies just keeps getting bigger. It’s just too small. I need a bigger place, but that means it would cost more money. I don’t want to get a place in a really shady area because then I’d have the oh my god, someone is going to break into my apartment and kill me in the middle of the night feeling all the time.
I figured I might as well be blunt with Indy again. “This place is too small. It’s crammed with stuff.” Indy put down his book, stared at me, then slowly started tilting his head (he always reminded me of a cute puppy when he did that). He was thinking again. “I told you I could move my stuff back up, but it’ll probably end up down here in a week or so.” He stopped again, then started tilting his head again. “Or I could bring down the small amount of stuff I have left upstairs and you could put all your school supplies upstairs and use it as a work area.” I couldn’t do that. If my school stuff was upstairs, then I would get lazy and not want to go all the way upstairs to do my work. Not to mention it would be a waste to pay $2,000 for a place to only do my work.
All of a sudden, Indy quickly tilted his head. This mean he had a brilliant idea. “We’re both paying $2,000 for a one bedroom, one bathroom place. Combined that’s almost $4,500. For just one or two hundred dollars more than what we each are paying right now, we could get a two bedroom, two bathroom place upstairs. It would be cheaper for both of us. You could use the second room for your work. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch if you don’t want to share your bed… Just a thought.” A brilliant thought in my opinion.
Indy had been spending about five minutes a day in his apartment, and this past week he hadn’t even gone up there. That’s over $2,000 on an empty apartment. My parents were no where to be found, I was going to be paying for my own apartment anyways. And if you really think about it, we both would have to pay about $800 less that what we’re paying right now if we got a bigger apartment together. It made sense, but was it a bit hasty to officially move in together. Maybe, but what would the difference be. He was always in my apartment, and I got a good look at his apartment a few minutes ago and it was empty. We were wasting money when we could be saving money.
We talked it out, sat down and out it on paper to see if it made sense. It did. I was making about $300 a week at the restaurant because I was only working part time since I had school. With tips, was up to about $500 a week (a smile goes a long way). That’s about $2,000 a month. My rent was currently a little over $2000 a month. All the money I make in a month, plus some from my savings, would go to rent. That means, all my other necessities like food, clothes, things for school, gas, phone, car, insurance, entertainment (all work and no play makes Tina go insane), and any other unforeseen expense would have to get paid with my savings. I don’t know about you, but I want to quickly pay of my $50,000 student loan (which is going to turn into an $80,000 student loan if I decide to go back an extra year for my bachelors).
After a lot of analyzing, I think we should go for it.
We talked to a guy from management and he decided that we could get out of our lease (especially since my name wasn’t on mine) and get the apartment together (I wonder what the Psycho Lady’s reaction will be when she sees me moving my stuff out of my apartment and then put it in the big apartment upstairs).
So, since I still don’t have a camera (unfortunately I need to pay for such things as food so I don't starve to death) and since we left Indy’s camera at a club two weeks ago (I'm glad it wasn't an expensive camera), I’ll just use the pictures from the building's website.
This is the view I have from my apartment now:
And this is the view I’ll be getting in my new apartment with Indy:
A bit of an improvement don’t you think. It’s going to take a few days to get through all the legal things, but we should be in our new apartment by next week. I know it's a bit crazy, but I have a feeling it's all going to work.
We were practically living together. It had happened so gradually that I didn’t even notice. Did this freak me out? Surprisingly, no. I felt weird. Normally, I would’ve freaked out at the thought of someone practically moving themselves into my apartment. This didn’t freak me out at all. When my ex used to leave his stuff at my house (even if it was just a CD) I would flip because I felt like my space was being invaded. That, and because I didn’t want his things in my house if we ever broke up.
Were we really living together? I figured I might as well be blunt about it and ask Indy. “Are we living together?” He looked up from behind his book, stared at me, then slowly started tilting his head. He was thinking. “I think we are. I mean, there’s only soda in my fridge now because I always eat here. The only thing I go up there for lately is to get clothes, and those end up getting left here so my closet is getting pretty empty.” He stopped for a minute then continued. “I could move my stuff back upstairs if you want me to if it bothers you. I didn’t mean to. It just kind of happened.” It did just kind of happen.
What I was really confused about was the fact that I wasn’t freaked out or bothered by it. I liked waking up and having coffee waiting for me. I liked that I no longer had to use a step ladder whenever I needed something from the top shelf. I was amazed every time Indy automatically started setting the table when he saw that food was almost ready, and I was even more amazed that he’d help me clean up when we finished eating. I didn’t mind having him around all the time. I like it.
When I found out my parents were moving to New York and that I would be moving downtown, I was a little scared. Downtown LA can be scary. Of course, living in a really nice building takes away some of the oh my god, someone is going to break into my apartment and kill me in the middle of the night feeling. Come to think of it, this place is starting to grow on me. I’m five minutes away from school, and fifteen minutes away from work. The place is absolutely beautiful (even though you can’t throw pennies in the fountain and take a flower from the gardens). If I want to work out, I can go downstairs to the gym. If I feel like relaxing, I can sit by the pool, sit in the jacuzzi, sit in the sauna, lie down in the tanning bed, or get a massage (they have massage tables but I’m not sure if you have to bring someone in to give you a massage). If I feel like going somewhere, I just call the front desk and they make reservations for me (if you‘re ever get a chance, I recommend going to see Wicked because I loved it). If I need cash, there’s a handy dandy ATM machine downstairs. It’s a very nice place to live in, but it’s just really expensive.
I started thinking. I’m paying a little over $2,000 for this small 750 sq ft one bedroom one bathroom apartment. It’s crammed with my things, and my never ending pile of school supplies just keeps getting bigger. It’s just too small. I need a bigger place, but that means it would cost more money. I don’t want to get a place in a really shady area because then I’d have the oh my god, someone is going to break into my apartment and kill me in the middle of the night feeling all the time.
I figured I might as well be blunt with Indy again. “This place is too small. It’s crammed with stuff.” Indy put down his book, stared at me, then slowly started tilting his head (he always reminded me of a cute puppy when he did that). He was thinking again. “I told you I could move my stuff back up, but it’ll probably end up down here in a week or so.” He stopped again, then started tilting his head again. “Or I could bring down the small amount of stuff I have left upstairs and you could put all your school supplies upstairs and use it as a work area.” I couldn’t do that. If my school stuff was upstairs, then I would get lazy and not want to go all the way upstairs to do my work. Not to mention it would be a waste to pay $2,000 for a place to only do my work.
All of a sudden, Indy quickly tilted his head. This mean he had a brilliant idea. “We’re both paying $2,000 for a one bedroom, one bathroom place. Combined that’s almost $4,500. For just one or two hundred dollars more than what we each are paying right now, we could get a two bedroom, two bathroom place upstairs. It would be cheaper for both of us. You could use the second room for your work. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch if you don’t want to share your bed… Just a thought.” A brilliant thought in my opinion.
Indy had been spending about five minutes a day in his apartment, and this past week he hadn’t even gone up there. That’s over $2,000 on an empty apartment. My parents were no where to be found, I was going to be paying for my own apartment anyways. And if you really think about it, we both would have to pay about $800 less that what we’re paying right now if we got a bigger apartment together. It made sense, but was it a bit hasty to officially move in together. Maybe, but what would the difference be. He was always in my apartment, and I got a good look at his apartment a few minutes ago and it was empty. We were wasting money when we could be saving money.
We talked it out, sat down and out it on paper to see if it made sense. It did. I was making about $300 a week at the restaurant because I was only working part time since I had school. With tips, was up to about $500 a week (a smile goes a long way). That’s about $2,000 a month. My rent was currently a little over $2000 a month. All the money I make in a month, plus some from my savings, would go to rent. That means, all my other necessities like food, clothes, things for school, gas, phone, car, insurance, entertainment (all work and no play makes Tina go insane), and any other unforeseen expense would have to get paid with my savings. I don’t know about you, but I want to quickly pay of my $50,000 student loan (which is going to turn into an $80,000 student loan if I decide to go back an extra year for my bachelors).
After a lot of analyzing, I think we should go for it.
We talked to a guy from management and he decided that we could get out of our lease (especially since my name wasn’t on mine) and get the apartment together (I wonder what the Psycho Lady’s reaction will be when she sees me moving my stuff out of my apartment and then put it in the big apartment upstairs).
So, since I still don’t have a camera (unfortunately I need to pay for such things as food so I don't starve to death) and since we left Indy’s camera at a club two weeks ago (I'm glad it wasn't an expensive camera), I’ll just use the pictures from the building's website.
This is the view I have from my apartment now:
And this is the view I’ll be getting in my new apartment with Indy:
A bit of an improvement don’t you think. It’s going to take a few days to get through all the legal things, but we should be in our new apartment by next week. I know it's a bit crazy, but I have a feeling it's all going to work.
I Did It!
They didn't think I could do it, but I did it!
I went to the doctor on Thursday to see how well I was healing. They told me it would be at least another two weeks until I could start walking without crutches since my leg was weak and it would be too painful. Was my leg really that messes up? I didn't think so. The moment I got home, I told Indy to sit on the couch and to not get up or else I would smack him with one of the crutches. He listened. He knew I was determined.
I stood up and let go of the crutches. It took a few tries, but I slowly tried putting a little weight weight on my left leg. I would hop on my right then put a tiny bit of weight on my left. It hurt at first, but the more I tried, the easier it became. I spent all day yesterday doing the same thing, and I managed to walk almost completely normal today. It still hurts, but no pain, no gain.
So I leave you with my final thought:
Fuck crutches. Fuck physical therapy. And fuck not being able to walk.
That is all.
I went to the doctor on Thursday to see how well I was healing. They told me it would be at least another two weeks until I could start walking without crutches since my leg was weak and it would be too painful. Was my leg really that messes up? I didn't think so. The moment I got home, I told Indy to sit on the couch and to not get up or else I would smack him with one of the crutches. He listened. He knew I was determined.
I stood up and let go of the crutches. It took a few tries, but I slowly tried putting a little weight weight on my left leg. I would hop on my right then put a tiny bit of weight on my left. It hurt at first, but the more I tried, the easier it became. I spent all day yesterday doing the same thing, and I managed to walk almost completely normal today. It still hurts, but no pain, no gain.
So I leave you with my final thought:
Fuck crutches. Fuck physical therapy. And fuck not being able to walk.
That is all.
Who's Laughing Now?
Indy drove me to get food earlier. When I was getting out of the car, the evil psycho lady parked next to us. She got out and started taking some of the things from her trunk. Right as I finished getting out of the cars (and tis wasn't easy because my left arm and leg still aren't cooperating), I saw her get an evil smirk on her face. Was she laughing at me? I watched her for a minute and then I realized my food was going to get cold and she really wasn't worth it.
I walked/hopped away and heard a laugh. One single evil low laugh. That psycho bitch was laughing at me. Oh, it was on. It was on like Donkey Kong.
I told Indy to pick me up because we would get to the elevator quicker if he carried me. Why was I suddenly in such a hurry to get to the elevator? I had a plan. I had seen the psycho lady's trunk and it was filled with bags. There was no way she'd walk up the stairs with all those bags. I've seen her at the gym downstairs, and she always broke out in a sweat and started panting about a minute and a half after she got on the treadmill. She'd have to take the elevator. When we got to my floor, I told Indy to run into my apartment and get the big box empty box that was in my closet. I stayed in the elevator and made sure it stayed open. Indy came out with the box and we placed it half way between the elevator and the hallway so that the doors would keep opening up when they tried to close.
We ran (I hopped) to my apartment and waited. I knew that the guy at the front desk wouldn't come up to see why the elevator wasn't coming down (he refuses to abandon his post), so the psych bitch would have to take the stairs. Indy and I ate on the floor by the door so we wouldn't miss it when the psycho bitch came up.
After twenty minutes, we heard someone down the hallway. We carefully opened the door a little and peeked. The psycho bitch had about six heavy bags in each hand and was out of breath. She slowly dragged herself and the bags down the hallway. When she reached the elevator, she stopped and dropped her bags. I'm pretty sure some eggs or soda exploded because I saw something splatter on her. Then, she screamed. If you've ever seen Mean Girls, then you probably remember the insanely long, ear piercing scream that Rachael McAdams' character let out when she found out that Lindsey Lohan was making her fat. It wasn't exactly that high pitched, but that's what I was reminded of. She looked mad.
The psycho bitch didn't even bother to pick up the bags, she just stomped to her door, opened it, and slammed it behind her. I, of course, laughed my socks off.
I walked/hopped away and heard a laugh. One single evil low laugh. That psycho bitch was laughing at me. Oh, it was on. It was on like Donkey Kong.
I told Indy to pick me up because we would get to the elevator quicker if he carried me. Why was I suddenly in such a hurry to get to the elevator? I had a plan. I had seen the psycho lady's trunk and it was filled with bags. There was no way she'd walk up the stairs with all those bags. I've seen her at the gym downstairs, and she always broke out in a sweat and started panting about a minute and a half after she got on the treadmill. She'd have to take the elevator. When we got to my floor, I told Indy to run into my apartment and get the big box empty box that was in my closet. I stayed in the elevator and made sure it stayed open. Indy came out with the box and we placed it half way between the elevator and the hallway so that the doors would keep opening up when they tried to close.
We ran (I hopped) to my apartment and waited. I knew that the guy at the front desk wouldn't come up to see why the elevator wasn't coming down (he refuses to abandon his post), so the psych bitch would have to take the stairs. Indy and I ate on the floor by the door so we wouldn't miss it when the psycho bitch came up.
After twenty minutes, we heard someone down the hallway. We carefully opened the door a little and peeked. The psycho bitch had about six heavy bags in each hand and was out of breath. She slowly dragged herself and the bags down the hallway. When she reached the elevator, she stopped and dropped her bags. I'm pretty sure some eggs or soda exploded because I saw something splatter on her. Then, she screamed. If you've ever seen Mean Girls, then you probably remember the insanely long, ear piercing scream that Rachael McAdams' character let out when she found out that Lindsey Lohan was making her fat. It wasn't exactly that high pitched, but that's what I was reminded of. She looked mad.
The psycho bitch didn't even bother to pick up the bags, she just stomped to her door, opened it, and slammed it behind her. I, of course, laughed my socks off.
$2,000 Rent
An hour ago, someone from management came to inform me that they've been trying to contact my parents for the past few days to discuss the payment of my $2,000 one bedroom one bathroom 750 sq. ft. apartment they stuck me in as an apology for moving to New York without telling me. I told the guy that I had been trying to contact them and that it was pretty hopeless. I was then informed that if my parents couldn't be contacted, then I would have to pay the damn $2,000 for an apartment I wasn't particularly fond of. What the fuck. I saw this coming the moment my parents told me they were sorry they hadn't told me they were moving and that they were going to get me an apartment and pay for it because it wasn't fair that they were leaving me homeless on such short notice (their words, not mine).
Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with paying my own rent. I just have a problem with my parents sticking me in an apartment I don't like and then disappearing. I told them that they didn't have to pay for my apartment because I would be more than happy to temporarily move in with a friend (who was thrilled at the idea because she would no longer have to cook) until I found another place to live. They came home with the key to this apartment and told me that I might as well move in here because I wouldn't have to worry about paying rent.
So instead of saving me money, my parents have just raised my bills by $2,000 dollars (it's actually a bit more than that). Luckily, I have some money that I saved up for a rainy day so I have enough to pay for it (I'm actually using the money I've been saving up to pay off my $50,000 student loan once I graduate next year so it won't haunt me for a decade or two).
Hooray for ridiculously expensive small apartments with horrible neighbors surrounding it. (Except for Indy. He's the only nice one around.)
Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with paying my own rent. I just have a problem with my parents sticking me in an apartment I don't like and then disappearing. I told them that they didn't have to pay for my apartment because I would be more than happy to temporarily move in with a friend (who was thrilled at the idea because she would no longer have to cook) until I found another place to live. They came home with the key to this apartment and told me that I might as well move in here because I wouldn't have to worry about paying rent.
So instead of saving me money, my parents have just raised my bills by $2,000 dollars (it's actually a bit more than that). Luckily, I have some money that I saved up for a rainy day so I have enough to pay for it (I'm actually using the money I've been saving up to pay off my $50,000 student loan once I graduate next year so it won't haunt me for a decade or two).
Hooray for ridiculously expensive small apartments with horrible neighbors surrounding it. (Except for Indy. He's the only nice one around.)
Crutches
I don't think I'll be able to figure them out. I'm not even sure why they gave them to me. They're too big and I have one of my arms in a sling so it's nearly impossible for me to use them. I look like a hopping idiot who keeps falling over whenever I try to use them.
I haven't given up, but I think I might have to because I'm only hurting myself more every time I fall over.
I haven't given up, but I think I might have to because I'm only hurting myself more every time I fall over.
I'm Back!
I'm home now and I feel like someone who got hit by a bus... which is exactly what happened to me, so I guess it's normal to be feeling like this. A while ago, I wrote a blog about the killer buses here in Downtown LA. I find this very ironic because a bus almost killed me on Friday.
I was merrily driving back from school and I started getting a little worried about the out of service bus on my right. It kept getting too close to me so I decided to slow down a bit and leave room for it to get in front of me if that was what it was trying to do. I avoided getting next to it and this went on for a block or two until it reached the right lane must turn right sign.
Instead of switching lanes in front of me (which it could've easily done because i left plenty of room), it decided to slam on it's brakes and swerve straight into me. I got hit on my passenger side (luckily no one was there), and I was pushed into the next lane where I immediately was hit by a pickup truck. I don't actually remember getting hit my the truck, but I do remember looking over and thinking "oh shit, I just got hit by a bus and now I'm gonna get hit by a truck".
I remember kind of waking up for a second in a lot of pain while I was getting wheeled into the ambulance on the stretcher. I slightly turned my head (which was not easy to do with a brace around my neck so I had to turn my whole upper body) and saw a dog looking up and barking at something. I looked up and saw a cat leap across one building to another. It looked like it was flying. I thought I might've been hallucinating, but I heard one of the paramedics say "that cat looked like it was flying" (I've now made it a goal to find that paramedic to confirm my story because Indy is convinced I was hallucinating).
The next thing I know, I wake up in the hospital and Indy is by my side. How did he get there? Apparently he wanted to know if I wanted food since he knew I was on my way home. He called a few times and one of the paramedics picked up while they were putting me in the ambulance and told Indy what had happened. He immediately got in his car and sped on over to the hospital. He got pulled over and told the officer that he was speeding because I had gotten in an accident. The officer let him go with a warning and Indy came to my side (Indiana Jones gear and all).
At first I didn't realize I had been in an accident, but I quickly remembered when I tried to move my arm and it felt like I was getting stabbed. A piece of glass had been stuck in my left arm and I now had 20 stitches to close up the gash (I'm glad I'm right handed). It had also been trapped so I was having a really hard time moving it (especially since my arm was in a sling). My pain went away and I started laughing when I saw Indy in his Indiana Jones gear. He had called in sick when he found out what had happened but didn't have enough time to change so he was stuck in his work clothes.
After drinking a lot of apple juice, I got up to use the restroom and realized that my left leg was not cooperating because it had been trapped when the truck hit me. Of course, everything was spinning and blurry and I had a major head ache because I had a mind concussion (i hit my head on something). If you read my last blog, I apologize for not making much sense. The moment they put that thing in my IV I started going a little kooky (and I apparently became very amused by horrible tasting jello) and using an iPhone became incredibly difficult.
On Friday night, Indy ended up spending the night with me at the hospital because he fell asleep holding me and I begged the nurse to let him stay because I didn't want to wake him up and because having someone good to look at during the night would make me feel better (unfortunately they didn't let him stay on Saturday and Sunday night).
Now I'm at home and I am so glad because hospital food is disgusting. I saw some pictures of my car and it's a mess. It has giant dents on both sides and it looks like it's going to be impossible to fix (especially since the left side of my engine is squished in). Luckily, because of my insurance (and because the city is going to give me some money because the bus caused it all) I'm getting a brand new car. I'm not exactly sure of all the details, but I was informed that my car was not fixable and that I was getting a new car. That's all I needed to know.
Indy and my best friend are taking turns watching me because I still haven't dominated using crutches and I've fallen over a few times. The room is no longer spinning and I am thrilled because I don't feel like I just got off the tea cup ride at Disneyland anymore. I'm glad I'm in one piece and I'm a quick healer so I expect to be back to normal in no time.
I leave you with one last thought:
BEWARE OF THE KILLER BUSES IN DOWNTOWN LA!!!
I was merrily driving back from school and I started getting a little worried about the out of service bus on my right. It kept getting too close to me so I decided to slow down a bit and leave room for it to get in front of me if that was what it was trying to do. I avoided getting next to it and this went on for a block or two until it reached the right lane must turn right sign.
Instead of switching lanes in front of me (which it could've easily done because i left plenty of room), it decided to slam on it's brakes and swerve straight into me. I got hit on my passenger side (luckily no one was there), and I was pushed into the next lane where I immediately was hit by a pickup truck. I don't actually remember getting hit my the truck, but I do remember looking over and thinking "oh shit, I just got hit by a bus and now I'm gonna get hit by a truck".
I remember kind of waking up for a second in a lot of pain while I was getting wheeled into the ambulance on the stretcher. I slightly turned my head (which was not easy to do with a brace around my neck so I had to turn my whole upper body) and saw a dog looking up and barking at something. I looked up and saw a cat leap across one building to another. It looked like it was flying. I thought I might've been hallucinating, but I heard one of the paramedics say "that cat looked like it was flying" (I've now made it a goal to find that paramedic to confirm my story because Indy is convinced I was hallucinating).
The next thing I know, I wake up in the hospital and Indy is by my side. How did he get there? Apparently he wanted to know if I wanted food since he knew I was on my way home. He called a few times and one of the paramedics picked up while they were putting me in the ambulance and told Indy what had happened. He immediately got in his car and sped on over to the hospital. He got pulled over and told the officer that he was speeding because I had gotten in an accident. The officer let him go with a warning and Indy came to my side (Indiana Jones gear and all).
At first I didn't realize I had been in an accident, but I quickly remembered when I tried to move my arm and it felt like I was getting stabbed. A piece of glass had been stuck in my left arm and I now had 20 stitches to close up the gash (I'm glad I'm right handed). It had also been trapped so I was having a really hard time moving it (especially since my arm was in a sling). My pain went away and I started laughing when I saw Indy in his Indiana Jones gear. He had called in sick when he found out what had happened but didn't have enough time to change so he was stuck in his work clothes.
After drinking a lot of apple juice, I got up to use the restroom and realized that my left leg was not cooperating because it had been trapped when the truck hit me. Of course, everything was spinning and blurry and I had a major head ache because I had a mind concussion (i hit my head on something). If you read my last blog, I apologize for not making much sense. The moment they put that thing in my IV I started going a little kooky (and I apparently became very amused by horrible tasting jello) and using an iPhone became incredibly difficult.
On Friday night, Indy ended up spending the night with me at the hospital because he fell asleep holding me and I begged the nurse to let him stay because I didn't want to wake him up and because having someone good to look at during the night would make me feel better (unfortunately they didn't let him stay on Saturday and Sunday night).
Now I'm at home and I am so glad because hospital food is disgusting. I saw some pictures of my car and it's a mess. It has giant dents on both sides and it looks like it's going to be impossible to fix (especially since the left side of my engine is squished in). Luckily, because of my insurance (and because the city is going to give me some money because the bus caused it all) I'm getting a brand new car. I'm not exactly sure of all the details, but I was informed that my car was not fixable and that I was getting a new car. That's all I needed to know.
Indy and my best friend are taking turns watching me because I still haven't dominated using crutches and I've fallen over a few times. The room is no longer spinning and I am thrilled because I don't feel like I just got off the tea cup ride at Disneyland anymore. I'm glad I'm in one piece and I'm a quick healer so I expect to be back to normal in no time.
I leave you with one last thought:
BEWARE OF THE KILLER BUSES IN DOWNTOWN LA!!!
Guess Where I'm Writing From
If your guess was the hospital, then you're right. I got into a pretty bad car accident today (damn bus could've killed me) so they're keeping me in here for a day or two. I have a mild concusion, a minor limp in my left leg, and my left arm is in a slig. I'm ok for the most part, but I can't say the same for my poor car.
The nurse just yelled at me for using me friend's iPhone to write this.
I'll share details when I don't feel like the whole room is spinning (not sure if that's the concusion or the drugs they just put in my IV so I won't be in a lot of pain). The good thing is that I'm ok and that I have no idea what's going on right now but that's ok because I probably won't remeber writing this anyways because I already forgot that I ate jello an hour ago and i don't remember if it was good or not since I apparently fell asleep half way through eating it so I'm guessing that it wasn't that good because if it was then I probably wouldn't have fallen asleep.
I have Indy (he was here by my side when I woke up) and my best friend with me. My other friend's are getting pist because only two visitors are allowed at a time and their Indy nor my best friend want to leave, so one of them is apparently trying to flirt with the security guard to see if more can come in. That ought to be funny.
I'm going to go now because this thing is harder to use than I thought and I keep poking at the screen and I feel like an idiot becauses I keep poking at the wrong thing.
Oh ya, I saw a dog that flying cat today, but that's a completely different story and I think I might've been delusional but I heard aomeone else comment on it so I probably wasn't.
I'll share soon. Bye
What's In A Name?
I was eating with Indy and he asked me something that he had apparently been wondering about: Is my name really Tina or is it a nickname for Christina or something? Believe it or not, my real name is Tina. It’s not a nickname for Christina. And as far as I know, I’ve never heard of another person who’s name is Tina (and just so you know, Tina Fey’s real name is Elizabeth Stamatina Fey so she doesn’t count).
I remember my first day of preschool when the teacher asked me my name and I said it was Tina and she kept getting mad because she thought I wasn’t using my real name. The same thing happened on my first day of kindergarten and high school. It still happens when I have to sign things. “You have to use your real name when you sign for this. You can’t use your nickname.” When are people going to learn that my mother was still drugged out from the pain meds she had for labor when she named me? No one could talk her out of naming me Tina even though she had been passionate about naming me Christina the whole time she was pregnant with me. It wasn’t until I was ten that she finally admitted she had no recollection about when she decided to name me Tina. Thanks mom, my name is a product of a delusional moment.
Once I explained all this to Indy, I asked him why this had crossed his mind at such a random moment. It was because we had just watched the Rock of Love 2 reunion and when he saw Inna, he started wondering if Tina was just a nickname that I used on a regular basis.
After he left, I started remembering my family and how the nickname they had given me slowly evolved throughout the years. It all stated with “Tina Babe”. My parents started calling me that from the moment they brought me home, and everyone else called me that too. Then, as I started to grow, everyone started noticing something. My beach blonde hair was not getting darker like my siblings’ hair had, and I wasn’t as big as I should’ve been for my age. Just so you get an idea of how small I was when I was little, I’m currently only 4 feet and 9 inches (very tall right).
On my fourth birthday (I remember that day very clearly because it was the first time in my short life that I had felt completely humiliated), my crazy uncle got drunk and couldn’t remember my name. What did he keep calling me that day? Tinker Bell. He had said it, the thing that everyone thought but didn’t have the guts to say it in case my parents got offended. The moment he said it for the first time, the room went quiet. I remember seeing everyone with their mouths open and their eyes practically popping out of their heads. Was it because they were shocked that he was calling me over like a little dog, “come here Tinker Bell”, or was it because they were jealous that they weren’t able to call me that first. Knowing my family, they were jealous.
I stood there with the Barbie I had just unwrapped and looked at my mom because I was confused. The whole room looked at her too. They were waiting for her approval or denial of the nickname. I was hoping my mom would get mad because I wasn’t too fond of Tinker Bell and I didn’t want to be associated with a little pixie fairy who was infatuated with Peter Pan (that guy is ugly as fuck). After a moment of complete awkward silence, my mother bust into laughter and said, “oh my God, she really does look like Tinker Bell”. She had approved.
From then on, everyone started calling me Tinker Bell (especially after my mother thought it would be cute if she dressed me up as Tinker Bell). Everyone, that is, except my siblings. They thought it was stupid and refused to call me that. It wasn’t until I was five that they adopted the name. I went to see my oldest brother in his room and found him with a bag with white powder inside. He tried to hide it the moment I opened the door. When I asked what it was and why he was trying to hide it, his friend said “Tink, it’s fairy dust”. My brother started laughing, but the joke was on him. When they left, I found the “fairy dust” and sprinkled it all over his room so he could have good luck on his finals. After that, my siblings called me Tinker Bell every chance they could so they could laugh their asses off.
As I got older, they started getting very cruel and made me do everything. I had to do all of my chores plus everyone else’s. They bossed me around every chance they could. I think my sister was watching Cinderella one day and though “hey, if I had a bell, I could ring for Tina whenever I needed her to do something”. And ring she did. She even started yelling out “Tinker Bella!!!” (a combination of Tinker Bell and Cinderella) every time I didn’t run to her needs (If you’ve ever watched Cinderella then you’re probably familiar with that horrible, annoying, shouting way her sisters called for her). My siblings thought it was genius and immediately started doing the same. “Tinker Bella!!!” The stupidest name I’ve ever heard, but it still had an effect on me. Luckily, my sibling were the only one’s that called me that.
I remember my first day of preschool when the teacher asked me my name and I said it was Tina and she kept getting mad because she thought I wasn’t using my real name. The same thing happened on my first day of kindergarten and high school. It still happens when I have to sign things. “You have to use your real name when you sign for this. You can’t use your nickname.” When are people going to learn that my mother was still drugged out from the pain meds she had for labor when she named me? No one could talk her out of naming me Tina even though she had been passionate about naming me Christina the whole time she was pregnant with me. It wasn’t until I was ten that she finally admitted she had no recollection about when she decided to name me Tina. Thanks mom, my name is a product of a delusional moment.
Once I explained all this to Indy, I asked him why this had crossed his mind at such a random moment. It was because we had just watched the Rock of Love 2 reunion and when he saw Inna, he started wondering if Tina was just a nickname that I used on a regular basis.
After he left, I started remembering my family and how the nickname they had given me slowly evolved throughout the years. It all stated with “Tina Babe”. My parents started calling me that from the moment they brought me home, and everyone else called me that too. Then, as I started to grow, everyone started noticing something. My beach blonde hair was not getting darker like my siblings’ hair had, and I wasn’t as big as I should’ve been for my age. Just so you get an idea of how small I was when I was little, I’m currently only 4 feet and 9 inches (very tall right).
On my fourth birthday (I remember that day very clearly because it was the first time in my short life that I had felt completely humiliated), my crazy uncle got drunk and couldn’t remember my name. What did he keep calling me that day? Tinker Bell. He had said it, the thing that everyone thought but didn’t have the guts to say it in case my parents got offended. The moment he said it for the first time, the room went quiet. I remember seeing everyone with their mouths open and their eyes practically popping out of their heads. Was it because they were shocked that he was calling me over like a little dog, “come here Tinker Bell”, or was it because they were jealous that they weren’t able to call me that first. Knowing my family, they were jealous.
I stood there with the Barbie I had just unwrapped and looked at my mom because I was confused. The whole room looked at her too. They were waiting for her approval or denial of the nickname. I was hoping my mom would get mad because I wasn’t too fond of Tinker Bell and I didn’t want to be associated with a little pixie fairy who was infatuated with Peter Pan (that guy is ugly as fuck). After a moment of complete awkward silence, my mother bust into laughter and said, “oh my God, she really does look like Tinker Bell”. She had approved.
From then on, everyone started calling me Tinker Bell (especially after my mother thought it would be cute if she dressed me up as Tinker Bell). Everyone, that is, except my siblings. They thought it was stupid and refused to call me that. It wasn’t until I was five that they adopted the name. I went to see my oldest brother in his room and found him with a bag with white powder inside. He tried to hide it the moment I opened the door. When I asked what it was and why he was trying to hide it, his friend said “Tink, it’s fairy dust”. My brother started laughing, but the joke was on him. When they left, I found the “fairy dust” and sprinkled it all over his room so he could have good luck on his finals. After that, my siblings called me Tinker Bell every chance they could so they could laugh their asses off.
As I got older, they started getting very cruel and made me do everything. I had to do all of my chores plus everyone else’s. They bossed me around every chance they could. I think my sister was watching Cinderella one day and though “hey, if I had a bell, I could ring for Tina whenever I needed her to do something”. And ring she did. She even started yelling out “Tinker Bella!!!” (a combination of Tinker Bell and Cinderella) every time I didn’t run to her needs (If you’ve ever watched Cinderella then you’re probably familiar with that horrible, annoying, shouting way her sisters called for her). My siblings thought it was genius and immediately started doing the same. “Tinker Bella!!!” The stupidest name I’ve ever heard, but it still had an effect on me. Luckily, my sibling were the only one’s that called me that.
4th Week Freak Out
I woke up this morning and realized that four Tuesdays ago I dropped off my parents at the air port, and I haven't heard from them since. They didn't even want me to go in with them and wave them goodbye at the window as the plane took off. Well, we're not allowed to do that anymore, but it would've been nice if they had wanted me to wait with them for a little while since they got to the airport six hours before their flight actually left (we could've at least had coffee together). Instead, they told me to just drop them off on the sidewalk and started walking inside before I even had the chance to get out of the car and say goodbye to them. They told me that they were going to call me as soon as they landed to tell me how their flight went. They didn't call.
Since their move to New York was so spontaneous (so spontaneous that they didn't bother telling me until I found them packing about five days before they were leaving), they didn't have all their new home information. So all I have is their cell phone numbers, which they never answer (they only answer their business cell phones and they've never given me the number for them). I'd email them, but I realized I have no idea what their emails are. I don't have their home phone number or address so I can't call or send them a letter. I've tried contacting my siblings but they aren't answering. I love when my family forgets I exist. It makes me feel very loved.
Since their move to New York was so spontaneous (so spontaneous that they didn't bother telling me until I found them packing about five days before they were leaving), they didn't have all their new home information. So all I have is their cell phone numbers, which they never answer (they only answer their business cell phones and they've never given me the number for them). I'd email them, but I realized I have no idea what their emails are. I don't have their home phone number or address so I can't call or send them a letter. I've tried contacting my siblings but they aren't answering. I love when my family forgets I exist. It makes me feel very loved.
People Who Smell
One thing that really bothers me a lot is when people smell. Some people just don't seem to shower enough or even shower at all. In my opinion, it's disgusting. If you have the means to shower, then shower. Not just once a week, but once a day or once every other day if you really can't (but realistically, it only takes a few minutes to shower so there really isn't an excuse). And if you have time and a few buck, go get something that will make you smell nice. It makes all the difference in the world.
Today, I was walking to my car when I got off school and I encountered a strange odor while I was waiting for the light to change at the corner. I turned to my left. A fellow classmate of mine was standing next to me and she smelled like apples. The mysterious odor wasn't coming from her. I turned to my right. One of my teachers was standing there and she smelled like some perfume my friend used to wear. Nope, she wasn't were the funny smell was coming from either. There was only one place left to look. I very slyly dropped a book behind me and turned so I could see where the horrible odor was coming from. Right as I turned, I got a giant whiff of it. Ugh. Disgusting.
So who was the smelly person? A man in a business suit who smelled like he hadn't showered in a month and didn't know what deodorant was used for or even had the slightest clue that it existed. Ugh. It was horrible. He had on a $1600 Armani suit and $500 Dolce & Gabbana loafers and he smelled worse than a dirty diaper. There was no excuse for him to smell that bad. For a guy who was that well dressed, he smelled a hell of a lot worse than the homeless guy I had just given $5 to. I wonder how bad he would've smelled if it was actually hot today like it was last week. Ugh. I get chills just thinking about it.
Today, I was walking to my car when I got off school and I encountered a strange odor while I was waiting for the light to change at the corner. I turned to my left. A fellow classmate of mine was standing next to me and she smelled like apples. The mysterious odor wasn't coming from her. I turned to my right. One of my teachers was standing there and she smelled like some perfume my friend used to wear. Nope, she wasn't were the funny smell was coming from either. There was only one place left to look. I very slyly dropped a book behind me and turned so I could see where the horrible odor was coming from. Right as I turned, I got a giant whiff of it. Ugh. Disgusting.
So who was the smelly person? A man in a business suit who smelled like he hadn't showered in a month and didn't know what deodorant was used for or even had the slightest clue that it existed. Ugh. It was horrible. He had on a $1600 Armani suit and $500 Dolce & Gabbana loafers and he smelled worse than a dirty diaper. There was no excuse for him to smell that bad. For a guy who was that well dressed, he smelled a hell of a lot worse than the homeless guy I had just given $5 to. I wonder how bad he would've smelled if it was actually hot today like it was last week. Ugh. I get chills just thinking about it.
Indiana Jones and the Pycho Lady
I got home from work last night and found Indy outside my door in his full Indiana Jones gear. He had was sitting with his back against the wall and he had his hat pulled over his eyes. I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw him like that because he looked exactly like the real Indiana Jones when he would nap. As I got closer, I noticed his hat was moving. Once I saw that, I literally ran down the rest of the hall to find out what it was. I reached Indy (who was laughing) and started poking at him until he showed me what he was hiding.
What was in his hat?
A bunny. A tiny baby bunny that fit in the his hand. He told me that he had found it when he got off work and walked through the garden of the Disney Hotel after eating something in Downtown Disney. He put it in his hat and carried it around the garden but couldn’t find any other bunnies. On the way home, he stopped by a friend’s house who was a studying to be a vet and asked him about the bunny. He said it was male cottontail rabbit that was about two and a half weeks old.
It was the cutest thing I had ever seen. We took the baby bunny inside sat with it on the floor. I don’t have a camera right now or else I would’ve taken a picture of him when he sat because he sat in the cutest way ever. Just to give you an idea, this is exactly what he looked like (only he wasn’t a cartoon). And for those of you that don’t know who that is (shame on you), it is Thumper from the Disney movie Bambi.
I decided to call him Thumper. It seemed appropriate because he was a tiny gray bunny with a white fluffy tail and a white chest that was found hopping around Disney.
We watched Thumper for a while as he hopped around and explored (he seemed pretty active for a two and a half year old if you ask me). We put him in a giant empty cardboard box (it was way too big for such a little guy) with one of my old shirts, some lettuce, and a little bowl of water. We were going to have to go shopping for some bunny supplies in the morning because nothing was open that late. I went to bed and Indy offered to stay over and keep an eye on Thumper during the night just in case he needed something (I think it might’ve just been an excuse for him not to leave).
When I woke up this morning, Thumper was happily hopping around and Indy had coffee ready for me. After I made breakfast, Indy decided he should probably go upstairs to his apartment so he could get ready and go bunny supply shopping before he had to work. When Indy opened the door, Thumper followed him out. I went into the hallway to receive him since Indy had already picked him up, and then I saw something that made my heart sink.
The Psycho Lady from two door down was also in the hallway and she had an evil smirk on her face. I knew exactly what she was going to do. She quickly pulled out her phone, took a picture of Thumper, and got on the phone with management before I had a chance to hide him. “There’s a strict No Pets Allowed Policy here in the building and you can’t keep that thing here.” I wanted to slap her.
Indy went up to her, grabbed her phone, and hung it up. She was mad and started yelling at him. Indy asked her what her big problem was with a baby bunny rabbit and why she was being such a bitch about it. Indy had called her a bitch. Ah, my hero.
They argued for a few minutes and I stood there watching with Thumper in my hands. At one point I wanted to laugh because Indy was still in his Indiana Jones gear from the night before and I could hear the theme song playing in my head. They kept arguing and then someone from management came. The guy told me that as cute as the bunny was, I couldn’t keep Thumper. I was told to hand over Thumper because he was going to keep him at the front desk while I called someone to pick him up an take him to a new home.
The man took Thumper away and I was left standing in the hallway with Indy and the Psycho Lady. After arguing with her for a few more minutes and calling the Psycho Lady a demented menopausal psycho bitch who had nothing better to do but ruin everyone else’s happiness, Indy took me inside and helped me prepare a little box for Thumper. I called a friend and told her to pick up Thumper and give him to her little sister as a birthday present from me.
We went down to the lobby and waited with Thumper until my friend came. Five minutes before she arrived, the Psycho Lady came down to make sure I was giving Thumper away. To make matters worse, she came up to Thumper and did something atrocious. She pet him and smiled evilly. “It’s soft. Reminds me of a coat I have.” What an evil bitch. Indy got up again and started arguing with her and made me laugh with some of the things he said to her.
My friend came, and I said good-bye to Thumper. I can’t believe they made me give Thumper away… But I am glad Indy called the Psycho Lady a bitch.
What was in his hat?
A bunny. A tiny baby bunny that fit in the his hand. He told me that he had found it when he got off work and walked through the garden of the Disney Hotel after eating something in Downtown Disney. He put it in his hat and carried it around the garden but couldn’t find any other bunnies. On the way home, he stopped by a friend’s house who was a studying to be a vet and asked him about the bunny. He said it was male cottontail rabbit that was about two and a half weeks old.
It was the cutest thing I had ever seen. We took the baby bunny inside sat with it on the floor. I don’t have a camera right now or else I would’ve taken a picture of him when he sat because he sat in the cutest way ever. Just to give you an idea, this is exactly what he looked like (only he wasn’t a cartoon). And for those of you that don’t know who that is (shame on you), it is Thumper from the Disney movie Bambi.
I decided to call him Thumper. It seemed appropriate because he was a tiny gray bunny with a white fluffy tail and a white chest that was found hopping around Disney.We watched Thumper for a while as he hopped around and explored (he seemed pretty active for a two and a half year old if you ask me). We put him in a giant empty cardboard box (it was way too big for such a little guy) with one of my old shirts, some lettuce, and a little bowl of water. We were going to have to go shopping for some bunny supplies in the morning because nothing was open that late. I went to bed and Indy offered to stay over and keep an eye on Thumper during the night just in case he needed something (I think it might’ve just been an excuse for him not to leave).
When I woke up this morning, Thumper was happily hopping around and Indy had coffee ready for me. After I made breakfast, Indy decided he should probably go upstairs to his apartment so he could get ready and go bunny supply shopping before he had to work. When Indy opened the door, Thumper followed him out. I went into the hallway to receive him since Indy had already picked him up, and then I saw something that made my heart sink.
The Psycho Lady from two door down was also in the hallway and she had an evil smirk on her face. I knew exactly what she was going to do. She quickly pulled out her phone, took a picture of Thumper, and got on the phone with management before I had a chance to hide him. “There’s a strict No Pets Allowed Policy here in the building and you can’t keep that thing here.” I wanted to slap her.
Indy went up to her, grabbed her phone, and hung it up. She was mad and started yelling at him. Indy asked her what her big problem was with a baby bunny rabbit and why she was being such a bitch about it. Indy had called her a bitch. Ah, my hero.
They argued for a few minutes and I stood there watching with Thumper in my hands. At one point I wanted to laugh because Indy was still in his Indiana Jones gear from the night before and I could hear the theme song playing in my head. They kept arguing and then someone from management came. The guy told me that as cute as the bunny was, I couldn’t keep Thumper. I was told to hand over Thumper because he was going to keep him at the front desk while I called someone to pick him up an take him to a new home.
The man took Thumper away and I was left standing in the hallway with Indy and the Psycho Lady. After arguing with her for a few more minutes and calling the Psycho Lady a demented menopausal psycho bitch who had nothing better to do but ruin everyone else’s happiness, Indy took me inside and helped me prepare a little box for Thumper. I called a friend and told her to pick up Thumper and give him to her little sister as a birthday present from me.
We went down to the lobby and waited with Thumper until my friend came. Five minutes before she arrived, the Psycho Lady came down to make sure I was giving Thumper away. To make matters worse, she came up to Thumper and did something atrocious. She pet him and smiled evilly. “It’s soft. Reminds me of a coat I have.” What an evil bitch. Indy got up again and started arguing with her and made me laugh with some of the things he said to her.
My friend came, and I said good-bye to Thumper. I can’t believe they made me give Thumper away… But I am glad Indy called the Psycho Lady a bitch.
Shower Dancing
You know what I'm talking about. And don't pretend you've never done it before because you know you have so don't try to deny it.
You get a catchy tune stuck in my head and then all of a sudden you feel yourself shampooing your hair in the rhythm of the music. For some, loud singing (good or bad) might follows. It even may carry on to the after shower drying off and readying process.
Today, I had a really bad case of shower dancing. The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was shower. I was so exhausted from school and work that I knew a shower would be the only thing that would shock me into the reality that I had to go to school and work again. The moment I got in the shower, Gloria Estefan's voice popped into my head. Damn it, the song that never gets out of my head once it gets stuck.
"Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga. I know you can't control yourself any longer."
And so it started. At first it was only my head moving to the beat as I rubbed bubbly soap all over me. The I started shampooing the my hair to the rhythm. By the time it was time for conditioning, I was humming and doing a little dance. But it didn't just stop there. I got out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel and was now full on dancing. Half way through blow drying my hair I started to sing. It started off kind of low, but then it just kept getting louder and louder.
"Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga. I know you can't control yourself any longer. Feel the rhythm of the music getting stronger. Don't you fight it til' tried it, do that conga."
I turned off my blow dryer and heard laughing. Where was it coming from? Indy.
I had completely forgotten he had fallen asleep on my couch while we were watching TV last night. And there he stood, in the doorway of my bathroom laughing. I kicked him out of the bathroom but I could still hear him laughing in my room. After I finished getting ready, I walked out of the bathroom and found Indy half on the bed, half on the floor, laughing so hard that he wasn't making any noise anymore while he laughed. You know that laugh.
You get a catchy tune stuck in my head and then all of a sudden you feel yourself shampooing your hair in the rhythm of the music. For some, loud singing (good or bad) might follows. It even may carry on to the after shower drying off and readying process.
Today, I had a really bad case of shower dancing. The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was shower. I was so exhausted from school and work that I knew a shower would be the only thing that would shock me into the reality that I had to go to school and work again. The moment I got in the shower, Gloria Estefan's voice popped into my head. Damn it, the song that never gets out of my head once it gets stuck.
"Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga. I know you can't control yourself any longer."
And so it started. At first it was only my head moving to the beat as I rubbed bubbly soap all over me. The I started shampooing the my hair to the rhythm. By the time it was time for conditioning, I was humming and doing a little dance. But it didn't just stop there. I got out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel and was now full on dancing. Half way through blow drying my hair I started to sing. It started off kind of low, but then it just kept getting louder and louder.
"Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga. I know you can't control yourself any longer. Feel the rhythm of the music getting stronger. Don't you fight it til' tried it, do that conga."
I turned off my blow dryer and heard laughing. Where was it coming from? Indy.
I had completely forgotten he had fallen asleep on my couch while we were watching TV last night. And there he stood, in the doorway of my bathroom laughing. I kicked him out of the bathroom but I could still hear him laughing in my room. After I finished getting ready, I walked out of the bathroom and found Indy half on the bed, half on the floor, laughing so hard that he wasn't making any noise anymore while he laughed. You know that laugh.
Was That A Penguin?
I went to the store last night because I was in desperate need of much needed groceries (actually it was because I really wanted some Ben & Jerry’s chocolate fudge brownie ice cream and coffee heath bar crunch ice cream). When I was putting everything in my car, I saw something astounding.
Something rubbed up against the back of my leg right as I put m precious ice cream in my trunk. I quickly turned and saw a penguin. It wasn’t a real penguin. It was either a little kid or a little person in a penguin suit, penguin head and all. First of all, my would he/she/it (you never know, it could be an alien or something in disguise) be in a something so warm and black (and in case you didn’t know, black attracts heat) on a boiling day like this. It was at least 80* outside. Second of all, was this person/possible-alien-trying to-be-in-disguise (or maybe it was an actual penguin disguised as a penguin because no one would ever suspect a penguin to disguise itself as a penguin) some kind of genius. It was amazing. Had he/she/it figure out the meaning of life?
It made me want to get in a penguin suit and follow it and it wouldn’t matter where we went. We could be jolly penguins together. I watched it waddle away and finished putting the last of my groceries away. I swear, I wasn’t going to follow it. But then, right as I was reaching up so I could close my trunk (and at 4 feet 9 inches this sometimes requires a little jump) I heard it say, “Pen-guin. Pen-guin.” That was it. The signal for me to follow it and figure out what it was.
I jumped up, closed the trunk, and flew into my car (I didn’t really fly but it felt like it). Right as I was about to back up an old lady started to slowly pass behind me with her walker. No!!! The penguin was going to get away. As she moved in slow motion, a line of cars started to form behind her. Not only was I going to have to wait for her to pass, but now I was going to have to wait for the giant line of cars with angry passengers to pass. When I finally got the chance to back up and leave, the penguin was long gone. I went up and down a few streets to see if I could find it, but I couldn’t.
If any of you see a someone/something that’s about 3 ft tall pass by in a penguin suit and says “Pen-guin, Pen-guin”, I urge you to stop whatever you are doing, tackle it down, and unmask it. This is very important. An alien or penguin invasion might be happening right under our noses.
Something rubbed up against the back of my leg right as I put m precious ice cream in my trunk. I quickly turned and saw a penguin. It wasn’t a real penguin. It was either a little kid or a little person in a penguin suit, penguin head and all. First of all, my would he/she/it (you never know, it could be an alien or something in disguise) be in a something so warm and black (and in case you didn’t know, black attracts heat) on a boiling day like this. It was at least 80* outside. Second of all, was this person/possible-alien-trying to-be-in-disguise (or maybe it was an actual penguin disguised as a penguin because no one would ever suspect a penguin to disguise itself as a penguin) some kind of genius. It was amazing. Had he/she/it figure out the meaning of life?
It made me want to get in a penguin suit and follow it and it wouldn’t matter where we went. We could be jolly penguins together. I watched it waddle away and finished putting the last of my groceries away. I swear, I wasn’t going to follow it. But then, right as I was reaching up so I could close my trunk (and at 4 feet 9 inches this sometimes requires a little jump) I heard it say, “Pen-guin. Pen-guin.” That was it. The signal for me to follow it and figure out what it was.
I jumped up, closed the trunk, and flew into my car (I didn’t really fly but it felt like it). Right as I was about to back up an old lady started to slowly pass behind me with her walker. No!!! The penguin was going to get away. As she moved in slow motion, a line of cars started to form behind her. Not only was I going to have to wait for her to pass, but now I was going to have to wait for the giant line of cars with angry passengers to pass. When I finally got the chance to back up and leave, the penguin was long gone. I went up and down a few streets to see if I could find it, but I couldn’t.
If any of you see a someone/something that’s about 3 ft tall pass by in a penguin suit and says “Pen-guin, Pen-guin”, I urge you to stop whatever you are doing, tackle it down, and unmask it. This is very important. An alien or penguin invasion might be happening right under our noses.
Balls
I bought a Snapple Apple at school today, and I found an interesting fact under the cap.
Real Fact #154:
Americans spend more than $630 million a year on golf balls.
Americans spend more than $630 million a year on golf balls.
Golf balls... Who knew.
HA-YA!
Poor Indy. He thought I was joking when I said I knew how to box. Little did he know that I was trained to fight and that I had learned many different forms of self defense.
When I was in high school, I got followed home by a creep after a football game. I was almost close to home when I noticed he had been following me for almost an hour. It was at that exact moment that I realized I couldn't stop my car because I had no way of defending myself if he decided to some at me or something. I was tiny. How could a 4 foot 9 inch blonde who only weighed 95 pounds supposed to defend herself? I couldn't. Since I was running really low on gas (and because I knew that looking for my house keys was going to take way too long), I call my friend and drove to his house a few blocks away (I didn't want the creep to know where I lived) and honked all the way down his block just in case he didn't already have the garage door open. I quickly turned in to his driveway (I got a flat tire and almost flipped my car from turning so quickly and suddenly and because I went over the curve), almost ran him over, and destroyed half of his father's fishing poles. After I had snapped out of the shock of being punched in the face by the air bag, I came to the conclusion that I needed to learn how to defend myself.
I then started to learn many different fighting techniques. Some boxing from my friend, a bit of jujitsu from my boyfriend at the time, kick boxing from my crazy friend, and kung fu from my awesome Chinese neighbor, and bit of anything else people were willing to teach me. So, here I am three years later still standing at 4 feet 9 inches tall and weighing 98 pounds (for some reason my boobs and bottom decided to get bigger).
I came home from school (thankfully only a three hour class on Fridays) and found Indy waiting by my door with a flower he had bravely stolen from the garden (I was actually very jealous when he told me where it was from because he had managed to do what I couldn’t). We got inside and after I made some lunch I told him about being so frustrated last night that I wanted to challenge the psycho lady from two doors down to a boxing match. He laughed and jokingly mocked me for thinking I could win a boxing match against a lady that was twice my size.
Did he really think I couldn’t? I mean, I love to eat. I love to cook so I always end up eating a lot. And when I’m not cooking, I’m still eating anyways because food is delicious. When I’m watching a movie at home, I can go through a box of donuts, a bag of popcorn, two packs of gummy bears, a caramel apple, and still have room for a giant bowl of ice cream covered in fudge (I’m little, but I love to eat).
And with an appetite like that, how did he think I manage to keep my 24 inch waist? I go to the gym, but I can only stay there for a short time. He knew that running to nowhere on a treadmill, riding a stationary bicycle, and lifting weights over an over again seemed kind of boring to me. And believe me, there’s no better work out that knocking someone down that’s someone twice yours size. It’s entertaining, and it’s fun to watch people’s reactions when they see what such a tiny person can do.
Because I was in the heat of the moment (but mostly because I wanted to see Indy with his shirt off), I challenged him to a boxing match. He laughed and though I was kidding. Then I explained to him that I actually didn’t want to box him because he was to hot to punch, and that we both had the day off and it would be therapeutic if he helped me workout with his shirt off. He agreed, we got ready, then headed to a friend’s gym that had proper boxing equipment.
We got to the punching bags and then he held it in place while I swung at it (I kept picturing the punching bag as the psycho lady but I kept getting distracted by Indy’s muscles). After seeing that I could actually throw some punches, Indy decided that he wanted to see what I could do in the ring. We put on some boxing gloves and got in the ring. He told me he wasn’t going to hit me because he couldn’t hit a girl but that he wanted to see if I could manage to get him since he was good at blocking punches. Right before we started, he took off his shirt and I got completely thrown off. I just stood there like an idiot staring at his six pack. “Tina… Tina?” Damn it, he was talking to me and I couldn’t focus because of his brawniness. This was gonna throw me off.
He stood there ready to block punches. Swing one. He blocked it. Then I started to stare at his muscles again. “Tina… Tina?” Damn it, why was I spacing out like that. It had to be his hotness. Swing two. He blocked again. I caught myself starting to stare and quickly snapped myself out of it. Swing three. Blocked again. I once again started to space out, Indy noticed and said something that quickly snapped me out of it. “What’s the matter Tina? Am I distracting you? When I saw you throwing punches at the bag I though you might actually be able to get me but I guess I was wrong. You’re tiny, and I know how to block punches. So you can’t get me.” He raised an eyebrow, to show he was jokingly trying to provoke me.
I was officially snapped out of it. I sung. He blocked. I swung again. He blocked. I swung two more times. He blocked them both. He really was good at blocking them. I swung a few more times, he kept blocking. And then, it happened. I took a swing towards his stomach with my left arm and when he went to block it I took a swing at his head with my right. Success! I stood there and did a little dance while holding my arms over my head to celebrate my victory. I had done what he said I couldn’t do. Then I turned around and saw Indy sitting on the floor with his hand to his head. Had I really hit him that hard? Actually, I think I had. Oops.
My friend came over and made sure he didn’t have a concussion or something and told him he was going to be fine. I sat on the floor with him in silence. I felt really bad about hitting him but I felt better when he reached over and half tackled me, half hugged me then kissed me. We had been flirting for a few weeks and seeing each other every day for two weeks and I couldn’t believe it took a punch to the head for him to finally kiss me. Until then he had only gave me a kiss on the cheek every time he made his exit.
We got back to our building and he went off to shower an said he’d come see me again in an hour so we could watch something. When he came over, I couldn’t help but laugh at the red bump that was forming on his forehead. He laughed too and then started acting like a baby and saying he was probably going to have brain damage after that.
He fell asleep while we were watching TV, and has taken over my couch. I still feel bad, so I guess I better make something good for dinner. I think I’ll let the quarter Italian part of me come out tonight and make some ravioli from scratch. Yum.
When I was in high school, I got followed home by a creep after a football game. I was almost close to home when I noticed he had been following me for almost an hour. It was at that exact moment that I realized I couldn't stop my car because I had no way of defending myself if he decided to some at me or something. I was tiny. How could a 4 foot 9 inch blonde who only weighed 95 pounds supposed to defend herself? I couldn't. Since I was running really low on gas (and because I knew that looking for my house keys was going to take way too long), I call my friend and drove to his house a few blocks away (I didn't want the creep to know where I lived) and honked all the way down his block just in case he didn't already have the garage door open. I quickly turned in to his driveway (I got a flat tire and almost flipped my car from turning so quickly and suddenly and because I went over the curve), almost ran him over, and destroyed half of his father's fishing poles. After I had snapped out of the shock of being punched in the face by the air bag, I came to the conclusion that I needed to learn how to defend myself.
I then started to learn many different fighting techniques. Some boxing from my friend, a bit of jujitsu from my boyfriend at the time, kick boxing from my crazy friend, and kung fu from my awesome Chinese neighbor, and bit of anything else people were willing to teach me. So, here I am three years later still standing at 4 feet 9 inches tall and weighing 98 pounds (for some reason my boobs and bottom decided to get bigger).
I came home from school (thankfully only a three hour class on Fridays) and found Indy waiting by my door with a flower he had bravely stolen from the garden (I was actually very jealous when he told me where it was from because he had managed to do what I couldn’t). We got inside and after I made some lunch I told him about being so frustrated last night that I wanted to challenge the psycho lady from two doors down to a boxing match. He laughed and jokingly mocked me for thinking I could win a boxing match against a lady that was twice my size.
Did he really think I couldn’t? I mean, I love to eat. I love to cook so I always end up eating a lot. And when I’m not cooking, I’m still eating anyways because food is delicious. When I’m watching a movie at home, I can go through a box of donuts, a bag of popcorn, two packs of gummy bears, a caramel apple, and still have room for a giant bowl of ice cream covered in fudge (I’m little, but I love to eat).
And with an appetite like that, how did he think I manage to keep my 24 inch waist? I go to the gym, but I can only stay there for a short time. He knew that running to nowhere on a treadmill, riding a stationary bicycle, and lifting weights over an over again seemed kind of boring to me. And believe me, there’s no better work out that knocking someone down that’s someone twice yours size. It’s entertaining, and it’s fun to watch people’s reactions when they see what such a tiny person can do.
Because I was in the heat of the moment (but mostly because I wanted to see Indy with his shirt off), I challenged him to a boxing match. He laughed and though I was kidding. Then I explained to him that I actually didn’t want to box him because he was to hot to punch, and that we both had the day off and it would be therapeutic if he helped me workout with his shirt off. He agreed, we got ready, then headed to a friend’s gym that had proper boxing equipment.
We got to the punching bags and then he held it in place while I swung at it (I kept picturing the punching bag as the psycho lady but I kept getting distracted by Indy’s muscles). After seeing that I could actually throw some punches, Indy decided that he wanted to see what I could do in the ring. We put on some boxing gloves and got in the ring. He told me he wasn’t going to hit me because he couldn’t hit a girl but that he wanted to see if I could manage to get him since he was good at blocking punches. Right before we started, he took off his shirt and I got completely thrown off. I just stood there like an idiot staring at his six pack. “Tina… Tina?” Damn it, he was talking to me and I couldn’t focus because of his brawniness. This was gonna throw me off.
He stood there ready to block punches. Swing one. He blocked it. Then I started to stare at his muscles again. “Tina… Tina?” Damn it, why was I spacing out like that. It had to be his hotness. Swing two. He blocked again. I caught myself starting to stare and quickly snapped myself out of it. Swing three. Blocked again. I once again started to space out, Indy noticed and said something that quickly snapped me out of it. “What’s the matter Tina? Am I distracting you? When I saw you throwing punches at the bag I though you might actually be able to get me but I guess I was wrong. You’re tiny, and I know how to block punches. So you can’t get me.” He raised an eyebrow, to show he was jokingly trying to provoke me.
I was officially snapped out of it. I sung. He blocked. I swung again. He blocked. I swung two more times. He blocked them both. He really was good at blocking them. I swung a few more times, he kept blocking. And then, it happened. I took a swing towards his stomach with my left arm and when he went to block it I took a swing at his head with my right. Success! I stood there and did a little dance while holding my arms over my head to celebrate my victory. I had done what he said I couldn’t do. Then I turned around and saw Indy sitting on the floor with his hand to his head. Had I really hit him that hard? Actually, I think I had. Oops.
My friend came over and made sure he didn’t have a concussion or something and told him he was going to be fine. I sat on the floor with him in silence. I felt really bad about hitting him but I felt better when he reached over and half tackled me, half hugged me then kissed me. We had been flirting for a few weeks and seeing each other every day for two weeks and I couldn’t believe it took a punch to the head for him to finally kiss me. Until then he had only gave me a kiss on the cheek every time he made his exit.
We got back to our building and he went off to shower an said he’d come see me again in an hour so we could watch something. When he came over, I couldn’t help but laugh at the red bump that was forming on his forehead. He laughed too and then started acting like a baby and saying he was probably going to have brain damage after that.
He fell asleep while we were watching TV, and has taken over my couch. I still feel bad, so I guess I better make something good for dinner. I think I’ll let the quarter Italian part of me come out tonight and make some ravioli from scratch. Yum.
