short

i'm not dead afterall.

i've been without internet at my apartment. pretty soon i'll be able to write regularly.

il tandre neu recorded for the first time since christmas. it's sounds great. we have a few things to work out, but its such fun.

time to start living.

short

i'm not dead afterall.

i've been without internet at my apartment. pretty soon i'll be able to write regularly.

il tandre neu recorded for the first time since christmas. it's sounds great. we have a few things to work out, but its such fun.

time to start living.

it's a warzone out there.

like the lines of a parabola, our love rises to new highs, and plummets to the lowest lows.

sometimes it's so hard to talk to you.



on an unrelated subject, our apartment has flies. where are they comming from? i thought it might be the air conditioner. maybe it's so powerful that it sucks them right out of the air outside, and shoots them into our place. iono?

so i cut up a screen and taped it to the duct. [ that will be taken out of out deposit.. oh well, well worth it.]

i hung a tally sheet on the refrid. it's pretty gross, but i find myself hooting and hollering as if i'm playing hockey or watching wrestling, everytime i swat and kill one. the goffer game at chuckie cheese must be the closest feeling to describe how i feel. [so far 34 flies.] feeling triumphant, i went to bed... smiling.

i woke up, and walked into the kitchen..............

IMMEDIATELY as if i had stepped into a warzone, flies were everywhere. circling my head, diving at my face, getting WAY to close to me. All i could think was:
WHAT THE FUCK. what the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. what the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. what the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. what the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. what the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. what the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. what the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK.WHAT THE FUCK. what the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. what the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK.

i examined the screen i had so carefully taped to the air conditioner the night before, and it was still intact, no holes.

are they just appearing out of thin air?

i began to question myself.

"am i seeing things?"

right away, instinctively, i grabed the nearest credit card offer sent via postal mail. [chad harrison] and swatted until i was almost late for work. [the tally is now at 46.] it seems far fetched, i could hardly believe it myself. all throughout work, i made schemes, and plans for how i would rid my apartment of these fucking flies.

vinnegar and water.
fly tape. [thsi is last resort, because its pretty gross]
vaccumn.
venus fly trap.
honey.
bug spray.

how? HOW? god damn.

when i got home from work, i got back into sport right as i walked through the door. [tally is at 54.]

i examined the windows. there is a space between the pane and the wood in the kitchen. and i've noticed that the flies like to hang out on the window sill, so two and two makes four, right.
all i'd have to do is close the outside glass window, and this problem would be solved.

well, i've noticed that nothing is that easy. especially for me.

a month or two back, when we painted our apartment, a few of the guys painted the kitchen trim. they also they painted the windows shut on accident. so until i get the window open, i can't shut the outter glass window either.

which means that i'll have to deal with fly swatting for longer than i'd like.

it's a warzone.

i'm annoyed.
but i'm hopeful. i'll get that bitch shut if it's the last thing i do.

over it

sometimes i don't know who i am anymore.

can anyone else tell me?



mario's
nordstrom's
sushi wabi


you're so transparent.

upon deaf ears.

it seems i've abandoned this online rant and rave of my life, but i've been lazy. i've been quite down lately. could be the weather today, or maybe i'm thinking too much.

here's my rant:
you used to run you hand up and down my back so i could sleep.
you used to call me.
you didn't even make me a card for my birthday.
you told me that you were going to do something, and you haven't.
you never do boyfriend type stuff with me, so to compensate, i have other people do them with me:
jon and aaron ride bikes with me, and they go to garage sales with me.
luke takes me to museums and the shead aquarium.
dave takes me to art shows
marita and krista take me out.
laurie listens to me when i'm in need.
we haven't moved out yet, becuase you don't want to save. instead you spend whatever money you have on alcohol, food, cigarettes, coffee, and gas.
you don't hold me when i cry, you yell at me and tell me to stop.
you get mad when i go out with my friends late: refer to No.3.
i don't even remember the last time it was just you and i doing something together.
you tell me i'm crazy instead of listening to what i'm upset about.
you get jealous when i visit friends.
you'd rather sleep then spend time with me.
we see each other for two hours a day, and we are both sleeping.
you allow you ex girlfriend to call you.... and when we fight, you call her.

i feel like the family dog that everyone grew tired of.

when you asked if i was crying, i said no, because i was afraid you'd tell me to stop, and honestly, i just want you to understand that i miss you.

but the truth is: i was crying.



when i look at you, i can't see your eyes anymore.
you used to tell me i was beautiful, but now you've stopped.
you tell me that this is temporary, but it feels like forever.

i'm trying to be patient, but i don't know how long it will last if we stay like this.

right now, you are worse than he was.


shame on you for making me believe you will change.
shame on me for wanting you to change.

that is all.

while i collect myself, i hear something draining. from somewhere in the west.

a few aspects of this month to point out:

the best is when you catch someone staring at themselves in the mirror while dancing. with out a smile, as if he were in love. it's hillarious.

the worst is when someone disrespects a loved one. there's a way of speaking your mind in a mature and tactful manor. and then there's a way of being pretensious, rude, overly dramatic, and tacky. how dare you make him feel as if he were two inches tall.

he is such a wonderful person, and now you won't know that.


however, i do like you. i think you are funny, and you are nice to me. it's just not the way i would have stated it.


my boss gave me $100. bonus. great. i like susan and angela.





my ankle hurts from a recent slip. sandra vs. the ice.


the ice won.



larry got into a brawl with a bunch of lame ass 77 punk kids. he had a black eye [which i find sexy.] [i don't know why.] [i don't know why i said that] [it's over sandra] [anyways]

the other kid was bleeding and bawling. stupid fuck. if you are going to start fights for no reason, at least be able to win them. you should be able to win them especially if you have 20 of your gang members with you too.


and note to the 77 punks: you gay.


p.s. mice pants.
p.p.s. nice hair.


p.p.p.s. you gay, hell.




i got larry a few things this christmas:

2 track jackets.
2 pins
guitar strings
2 mugs with granola bars.
a pair of j. crew jersey pajama bottoms.
a brown and orange scarf.
brown and orange nikes.
an ornament.



he got me these awesome boots for work.



i'm going back to school soon.


that is all.
my life is boring.

entry

i drempt last night of jumping over the mole hill. you know, the one that became a mountain. and your gums had turned black, and the innocence that i saw in you, turned into a lack of mutual respect, swollen gums, and sweat.

you were sweating. you was sweating. you are sweating.

but i was smiling, and i recongnized the fact that i was dreaming, or being dillusional. however which way it is to be put,

my feet,

one

after

another

landed with the grace of a mocking bird, and the strength of a million men.



some form of a metaphor in which i have a grasp of what the underlying meaning means, yet cannot quite word it correctly. it's not what you think.

october 27th. i'm lazy, so i'm stealing this from my live journal. enjoy cindy smuth.

this "journal" is uninteresting as of late. im too consistant with too many other aspects in my life, there fore rendering this, and any online "to do's" second best.

although it is a rarity, i went out this weekend.

friday, larry, aaron and i hungout at jons apartment, wtih alex and casey. oh and jon too..

why does everyone think im drunk anytime i'm giggles? can't a sober woman giggle? i think i'm a bit ecentric, so that might have something to do with it.

anyhow, we went to skylarks. i like this bar. they paly good music most of the time, and it's dark. but while i was there, the worst thing ever happened to me.
"what's the worst thing ever?" you ask? oh im gonna fucking tell you.

so i was standing in line to the restroom [i didn't even have to go, i just wanted to wash my hands, and check makeup] and the girl in front of me was a total wierdo. like hippy wierdo. anyhow, she goes in, and is in there for what seems like a century. then she comes out, smiles at me, and i walk in.

while i'm washing my hands, for whatever, reason i glance at the toilet. and i NOTICE!!!!!NOTICE notice NOTICE!!!!!! SHIT in the toilet. WHAT A FUCKING PIG. seriously. we are ladies, can you just fucking flush. im embarassed for her hippie fucking ass. so i use my foot to flush it, i mean if she can't even flush the god dam toilet, then i garuntee she didn't wash her hands either.

i go back to the mirror and try to concentrate on my hair, but im pretty annoyed, and all together grossed out now. FOR WHATEVER REASON,,,,, i glance at the toilet again...........






and there it is. staring at me taunting me, "haha everyones gonna thing you put me here! ha hahah ahha everyones gonna point and laugh"

im compemplating taking a HUGE wad of toilet paper and dropping it over the toilet, but i can't im mortified now.

WHAT A FUCKING PIG.

there's someone waiting for the restroom outside, and i'm embarassed, but now it's for me, not that FUCKING PIG in front of me.

so i do what any sane human being does. i exited, made no eye contact, and went back to my table. now i have a choice at this point to take this moment with me to the grave, or spill the beans.... WHAT TO DO.. what to do.

if anyone knows me, they know the answer to this already.

I FUCKING TOLD AARON, JON AND LARRY. I guess in my logic, if i tell them, then i'm in the clear, because i'm making it apparent that I, sandra yau, asian girl with braces. cute face, slim waste and a big behind, told everyone that she discovered something that was extra creepo, and pointed out the pig who may have done it.

the worst thing is not done yet.


so we're having a beer, talking, and the girl who went into the restroom after me is sitting in the booth next to us, and she looks at me as if i'm a pig.

thats the worst thing ever. i didn't do it you whore. im a well mannored human being.

i wanted to go to her table, grab her by the neck and say, "i aint no mother fucking poop stuck in the toilet sort of bitch. it was a fucking hippie ass girl before me. "

i think the book i'm currently reading is making me rather agressive. "a million little pieces." james frey. soooooper good.

anyhow, larry and i took pictures in the photo booth, and we went home after that.


Saturday i bartended at j.lo's underwear party. although im not in tip top shape to be in my undergarments, i did it anyway. because i'm gangster. i had a good time, until my headache came on full force. felt like there was a mariachi band in my head. no dice. i barely danced, and then left after the beer ran out. bea didn't show up. i don't think there's going to be any excuse though. i think she went to the brite tiger event. i don't care. i miss her though. i got to see robin for the first time since fancy pack and the penninsula. [and if you don't know, it ain't none yo bidness.]

so good to see her. BLONDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! with a little brown.

more hang outs please.

sunday, i hung out with larry, then worked. im tired of working. anyone want to give me cheddar?

avoid blinking

with every drag, exhale, all the worries rush out with the smoke and dissolve into the night. some where external. somewhere, someone is breathing my anxiety. im staring at a dumpster [pinacle waste services # 708.683.1650] funny, othe dumpster looks like an ordinary dumpster. a d.i.r.t.y ass dumpster. with a name like, "pinacle waste services," i don't know..... i start to visualize something of thee BEST quality. Something above average. nope.

a dirty ass dumpster.

tonight i watched a bum dumpster dive, only the strange thing was that he had a cell phone. i could see a blue light hanging from someplace on his hip. it is 2005, i guess you have to expect that bums are on the ups as well.

in my five minutes in the alley behind wabi, i also caught the owner, or someome of high status, of vivo pick his nose. it's funny watching a grown man pick his nose, see you, and then skuddle back into the resturaunt. those are private moments. anyone that says they have never picked their nose, a weggie, their ears, scratched X body part, is a liar.
his private moment, the bum and sir picks a lot..


i stole them.

i have a spit contest with myself, and think of how nice it is in the alley. this alley in particular would be great for photos. the shadows play a nice character, and the environment is calm.

a rat runs across the sheet wood placed on the ground as a pathway. rats are fucking gross. i don't know why.

i quit my job. i should feel bad, but i don't. okay.............i do. i wasn't being the best employee. give and take. more take then give. i maybe a bad person. but then i do what i shouldn't. i compare myself. to murderers, car theifs, other types of criminals.

i'm not so bad. i do believe in karma to a certain extent. i need to do some good things now. to even it up a bit.


i'm on the floor now at sushi wabi.
mon-off
tues-4.30-10 togo.
wed-off
thur-10.30-2.30 lunch serving 4.30-10 togo
fri-3.30-10 host
sat-4.30-10
sun-4.30-10

i'm happy with this job.
april, my aveda rep. came into the store, and i met her boyfriend aaron. he's nice. there was talk about me working with his company. 555 soul. talk though. lets see if things happen

taken from my livejournal.

animal planet is my favorite television show. for whatever reason, i could watch it all day.

12:15pm grampa will be here soon to let the dogs out, and to play with them. bailey, you cute little fucker.

aaahhh yes... this takes me back to all the hamster burials and fishy farwells.
everyone had a hamster, my first hamster was obese. whether or not this was a strange phemnomena, or that i may or may not have over fed/under excersized her.... i don't know.
she was a white, long hair dwarf. i think that would be her classification. i named her cinerelli. as far as ai could tell, she was a fat ass hamster with a mean habit for sugared peanuts. she was a mean little thing, but so nice to me. she died a year or so after i got her. she was a shared pet between my sister smantha and i. she must have died or anxiety or something.
i cried fora long while when she died. and we definately had a burial. i even made a head stone out of a paper plate. at the time i had no idea what r.i.p. stood for, but you're damn right that i wrote that on the plate.


R.I.P. cinderelli. best hamster ever.


many burials followed.

R.I.P. snowflake. best hamster ever.
R.I.P. henry. best hamster ever.

after a while, i gave it up on the name.

R.I.P. best hamster ever.
R.I.P. great hamster.
R.I.P. good pet.
r.i.p. pet.
rip. no. 832534226265261/2

the first couple of times, we buried the pets 12 imches deep, but that proved to be a horrible idea, since they were gone in the morning, and there were holes in the yard.

2 feet. that worked.


fish went down the hole. it always reminds me of the episode of "the cosby show," when rudy's fish die, and they take it to the toilet. poor rudy. poor me.