So my dog trainer emailed this picture of her 6 dogs as a Christmas card...they were waiting by the front door for Santa.




I thought if she can do it with 6 dogs, then I can try with our 5....
As you can see the Chordas dogs are not as "refined"






It was impossible to get them to all look at the camera at the same time...so I stuck with 3 dogs versus 5

It's hard to believe how busy and fast time goes. I have had one and a half weeks off and managed to not look at my thesis edits nor turn my resume into a CV. Somehow I keep incredibly busy doing everything but school or work related stuff. I wash dishes, bake cookies, play with dogs, do holiday prep. For the first time in my life I feel like a housewife of sorts and I like it. I am enjoying avoiding the rest of life and look forward to the holiday fun tomorrow.

Time flies in every aspect of my life but one: the holidays are taking forever to get here...as a housewife it feels like you are continuously prepping for the celebration. At least by the time it comes you are good and ready and excited.
The dogs are even ready:

I never never thought I would say this...

but I think I am ready for my first mac computer.
It has been a long battle: mac or pc, pc or mac...and I kept going with windows because that is what I have always used and I am comfortable with it. Anytime I sat down to use a mac I would become highly irritable and flip out because my mouse wouldn't right click or I can't just click the X to exit a program. I've worked with this though and am now used to all the mac shortcuts. Since September I have only been using a mac at work on campus (they have choices but I forced myself to try the mac). I also watched and read hours of tutorials of switching from a PC to a mac. All of my family members own macbooks. I'm the last one who has been holding on strong to my PC roots. I've talked to people about switching. People who can't stand macs are the ones who don't switch. People who do switch tell me they don't even think about PCs anymore.
After this long computer therapy I now find myself highly irritated at my dell pc. It is five years old and is having major issues, but I think there are things I have picked up using on a mac that I now miss when using my PC. I also hate the virus thing. My PC had 60 viruses on it. I blame my students and all their emailed attachments. My computer is just so slow though. The other day I wanted to throw it out the window...instead I walked into an apply store and found my next computer:
It is the new macbook that is the most environmental computer out there. It is light like a feather and the keyboard clicks softly under my fingers. I dream of this computer...but then I think how expensive it is. I don't understand why I can get a Dell for $500 and this computer costs double if not more: $1218.00.
Why are macs so expensive?
For Christmas I don't really want any gifts. I would like some funds to go into my macbook savings. Perhaps I can combine xmas and graduation gifts and buy me a new macbook in May.
My dell better not crap-out before then...I've got a thesis to write.

I am officially done with this quarter. I finished grading a big stack of finals today and yesterday I had my last creative writing workshop. After workshop Yiyun Li took us out to a bar and bought us all drinks. It was epic. This is the professor who told us we are in grad school not to party. Somehow it was a good ending to hard working writing quarter.

Plus after yesterdays workshop I feel like I am never going to be good enough to be a published writer. I go through phases and I guess I am in the discouraged phase at the moment. Maybe I should be a teacher. I really did like teaching this quarter. But then I think- no my heart isn't in teaching, its in giving advice and being there for the students. I like talking to people and I like talking plans. Regardless. Plans about studying for the final, plans about future classes, plans about traveling? You name it. Perhaps my life goal is professional planner of all marvelous things. I can make my own business card.

This was my last week working at the Davis Humanities institute. Everyone there surprised me with a pizza party and delicious cake. I felt really appreciated and loved. It made me sad leaving. There are some amazing people working there that really have been a HUGE part in making grad school survivable. These next two qrts. it will be tough without their daily guidance and support.

Tomorrow I drive to pick-up Palina and bring her back home. I was looking up directions on google maps and forgot to type in the city and state. Somehow the directions landed me in Japan. So I was curious and wondered how google maps would tell you to get to Japan. I wondered to myself before scrolling down the page and imagined directions to the air port and directions to board a plane. But oh no- google maps tells me to: "Kayak across the Pacific Ocean, Entering Japan 3,879 miles"

Perhaps this is a coded meaningful message to me: about my future life. But how the heck would someone kayak over 3000 miles...is this even possible?

So this week is finals week and I have been grading and grading and grading. The professor assigned my students this silly reflection paper. They had to pretty much write what was meaningful for them this quarter and why. I disagree with the assignment, especially for a huge lecture english lit. class. And grading them is a nightmare- how can you put a grade on a reflection????? This paper might make more sense for a small small writing class or workshop class, but not for a lecture class. I mean all you are going to get is a bunch of BS papers were students don't care and are just sugar-coating things that they think the professor wants to hear. This is exactly what happened. Except for one paper. This is part of the paper that I actually appreciated:

"As for my prose, I am an arrogant child, who, just out of puberty, is finally learning how to shave. I use too much fluff. Frankly, I just enjoyed reading my own writing. I also enjoyed looking at myself in shiny objects. I maybe exaggerating. The point is, I really noticed improvement from my first essay to my second, and I think I owe a lot of that to the discussion section. My TA was instrumental in gently suggesting that I stop bullshitting as much as I did (I do), especially when it mattered. Great Advice.
As to this reflective essay: it was cathartic, after writing seriously for a quarter. I am not sure what you expected to get out of college students when presented with a purely opinion-based essay, but I tried to give, as candidly as I very possibly could, my answers to your questions."

So I guess my first quarter teaching (TA'ing for two discussion sections) is complete. I enjoyed my students and liked helping them, even it all I taught them was when is the right time to bullshit.

The Thanksgiving holiday sped by. I had all these plans to write my syllabus for next qrt., work on my thesis, work on my CV for job applications. Really I needed the time to relax and spend time with family, who doesn't? I didn't want to feel completely slacker like so I did do the syllabus, well most of it. But everything else was left unattended. It was so much fun to see Palina. This has been the longest I have gone without seeing her so we hung out pretty much everyday. We watched movies, drank, played video games, ate tons of sushi, and went shopping. Palina was extremely sick this weekend, in her own words- "This is the worst sickness I have had for years." We didn't let it get in the way of our fun though and now I pay the price. These last two days I have had the worst sickness I have had for years. My body aches and my collarbones too. It sucks. Especially since this is the last week of the quarter. I had my last discussion section last night and I had to drag myself to teach. It was terrible. And on top of it all my students had to write evaluations of me- while I sat there dying and being a very unresponsive teacher.





This weekend I also spent tons of time letting Jaime and Sam run wild in nature. On Sunday Jaime busted his leg open on something- glass, barb-wire, who knows. I have been treating it these last few days but it isn't healing and was still bleeding today. Thoughts of infection and him loosing his leg scared me so I took him to the vet. $100 dollars later he now has four stitches, no infection, and a cone head:

So...this last week Jaime has been acting up. Aggressively. Today he was at my parents house and I guess he started his aggressive streak that includes stalking and growling Kuma the akita. My mom puts Jaime in his place, flips him over and yells at him. He is so scared by her dominance that he pees. Right after she disciplines him he follows her around and respects her to no end.

I go to pick him up in the afternoon and he only has eyes for my mom, I guess he likes control. I go into the front yard with him. My mom gets in her car to go back to work and I go to get my bike to bike home. Jaime freaks out that he can't go with my mom in her car. She backs up and leaves the drive-way. I figure he will stay with me, like he always does. But no. Now that we have established my mom as the boss he turns and chases her car. She doesn't hear me screaming after him (he doesnt hear me either) nor does she see him chasing her car. She turns onto 8th street and starts driving. Jaime is running, glued to her bumper, at close to 30 mph. I get on my bike and chase the two of them. Cars pass and stare and point...there is a dog in the right lane running the speed of a car. There is a car behind him, leaving him room, just like any car would. He continues to run for a few blocks in the lane, at the speed of the other cars. Sam who is sitting in the back of my mom's car stares out the window and watches Jaime the whole time. My mom realizes he is staring and looks out her window to see what he is staring at- a blur of fur. She pulls over and sure enough Jaime tries to jump in her car with a huge smile on his face.

The pound lied. My dog is no Australian Shepard mix. He is some sort of Greyhound.

I've been bad about posting. For multiple reasons. First off...this quarter my thesis adviser told me to write a story/ten pages a week until November 8th. I found that blogging was a great way to get into the "writing" mode and it was a good form of procrastination. So as you can see I almost posted weekly during the time I was supposed to be writing a story. I did complete the ten pages-a story a week- for five weeks straight. I was so tired and never in my life would have thought I could have written that much. I have written 60 pages in 6 weeks. That's a lot. I want to keep writing, but it seems without the deadlines it is hard to do. Also- my other course work has been piling up. I have been grading student papers up the wazoo. Every time I grade a bunch I get a huge headache. I really do like my students though. It makes me happy to see a student improve (this is essay #2) based on the feedback I gave them. It makes me happy to be able to get them to talk in discussion section when they won't say a peep for the first ten or so minutes. Once I drop an exercise/activity on them they turn it into a productive and insightful conversation. Yesterday it was about immigration and literature. One of my favorite topics.
This last weekend I went to a really fun party/open mic. I didn't read of course, but it was fun to bond with the first year creative writing graduate students. So life is moving along, but is busy.

I am sooo ready for the holidays.

Here are some pictures from my Birthday trip to Chico:






This one was a birthday wish come true.

I've been holding off writing, because I knew it would be just an angry ranting post.
Actually- I typed a response to the election a few times and deleted it. It was liberating to just watch the words disappear while holding down the backspace button.

Don't get me wrong. I was overjoyed and extremely happy that Obama was elected president. I almost can't believe it is all over and this educated, young, motivated, democrat is our president.

Although my obama high was killed the next morning when I found out California decided to rape same sex couples of their legal civil rights. Pretty much the words that ran through my head in my disappointed state were: "WHAT THE HELL?" "HYPOCRITES" and "CALIFORNIA? Come,on."

But I have sat on it for over 24 hours and even though I still think those things I also think optimistic thoughts. Such as change being an incredibly slow thing. I mean good things happen, eventually. It is crazy to think segregation of african americans happened in our parents and grandparents lifetime. You just have to be patient, but it is sometimes so hard for me to wrap my head around the idea of equality being an issue. I still don't understand how same-sex marriage will affect a marriage between a man and a woman. Or how we should prevent same-sex marriage because it will be taught in schools. Since when was marriage ever taught in schools?

It is just so silly and hard for me to try and imagine the other side. Passing proposition eight is not preventing homosexual relationships or families. They're still gonna happen. People are going to continue to love whomever they want- regardless or sex, race, religion. A state's vote isn't going to stop anyone from sharing love and even a life with children, shared bank accounts, and a house together (all these things that married hetrosexual couples have and share, but with the legal rights).

Its all so ridiculous.

Really.

I mean who cares if your same-sex neighbors have a marriage license to their name? A marriage license that you will never see, nor will it ever affect you?

It doesn't matter. And it shouldn't be an issue. It's just not fair. Think about all those people that are affected. People that are just like the rest of us. People that might bag your groceries for you, teach your child at school, live next door to you, and even be a part of your own family. All these people are now second-class citizens in the State of California.

I'll think positive though. I'll end positive: Obama. I'm proud of you. You've got quite a mess of a country on your hands, but I can already perceive positive outcomes.

I promise you...these pictures were not a "set-up".
I put two pumpkins on the ground, ready to carve...and this is what happens (It was hilariously too funny to pass up a photo-opt)

Last night there was a bad accident in front of my apartment. They blocked the street-both ways for almost 40-45 minutes. I was emailing my friend and listening to music with headphones in, but I still heard the accident- even with the music in my ears. There were screeching brakes and then screaming to slow down. The panic of an emergency is felt throughout the area even if there is a separation through walls, an apartment. There's a cross walk on the street from my apartment complex to the market place (stores, jamba juice, petco, etc.). It seems like a group of people were walking across the cross walk and a car ran into them. They probably were not even thinking they were in danger- walking. Yet it was bad. A girl lay in the middle of the road- motionless. The ER crews arrived and they worked on her for almost thirty minutes before loading her into am ambulance. Another person lay against the sidewalk. He was responsive but also was taken away in the ambulance. A group of students stood across the street, clustered at the bus stop, waiting to go to class or the library. They were witness to it all. The driver's car was jammed into the sidewalk, fishtailed from the road, trying to stop. The cops were interviewing people. Other's came out of their apartments in pajamas wondering what was going on. Clusters formed. The curiosity of human nature is beyond me. I am at fault. Part of me is curious and wants to know what happened, I feel sorrow, I feel guilty for looking, I feel shaken up by the images. Why are people so drawn to see something like this? Is it the uncertainty of death?
Jaime was curious about the whole thing. He couldn't sleep all night. Restless he grunted and growled. He barked at the door. I took him outside thinking he would need to pee, but he stood facing the cross walk and barked at nothing with his hackles up. Dogs know. They have instincts. I am convinced Jaime knew something was going on there. He could smell the washed blood from the road. The soap suds collecting in the gutter. I worry. I worry about the family. I worry about the people that were hit. I worry about the driver who has to live with this.
I searched the news but find nothing. Just as the incident was witness to so many people it disappears. The multiple people and dogs that are now part of the experience, may never know the people or learn what happened, are shaken-stuck-question human nature.

My last day of being 24 and I am exhausted. The last week I have been at the Tomales Bay Writers Conference. There was no time for anything but reading and writing. All my work has been pushed aside, my sleep has been compromised, and now I am "catching up". All my students are emailing asking me when their midterms will be graded. I have not even started on the pile. Sigh.

It is odd to sit here and think this is the only time in my lifetime I will ever be 24 years old. Some author at some point once said something like this.... You can never stand in the same water in your life. He, I remember it being a he (perhaps one of those existentialists), was referring to a creek or river. The water is constantly moving due to the current so when you stand in it, the current rushes by, and within a split second the water will be different-never the same again. Somehow on my last day of being 24 I think of this metaphor. I reflect on life being like a creek or river, the water being time- every living second or moment.

Tomorrow when I wake up I will be 25. There is no stopping time no returning to the past. I'm all ok with this though. You see on Saturday night I had this vivid dream. In my dream I was five months pregnant and I felt the baby kicking for the first time. I could swear to anyone that I can tell you exactly how a baby kicking feels. The dream was probably one of the most vivid experiences I have ever had without ever experiencing the act of pregnancy myself. I woke up and thought I was pregnant, was excited, then realized this is not a possibility since it was time to change my tampon. Then I thought about my dream and about getting older. I had a moment of yearning, a moment of being sad that I am not pregnant. I thought how I am turing 25 and how I am still not published, still not pregnant (my mom was my age when she had me), and still have the whole world to explore.

Then I thought about the river or the creek and the water. I thought how there really isn't anything sad about turning 25. Life moves on. These things that I have not accomplished yet should not be compared to my age. Even if you get older and there are still things you are waiting for, wanting, you need to focus on the current water you are standing in because that moment will never be the same thing again. I might not have a book in my hand, I might not have a baby in my belly, but I have things and have accomplished things that brought me to this moment in the creek. A moment I will never experience again but will add to all the moments that become the river of my life.

So in reflecting back to all the things that happened to me in the 24th year of my life- here are my moments I will remember, the moments that have passed but will allow me to experience the new moments in life- the new currents, the new water that only comes because of what has sped past:

-Mushroom Hunting was a high light of turning 24. I hunted my very first mushrooms on my 24th birthday when I was able to wake up in my favorite place in the whole world: Mendocino. Then later in the year many more successful mushroom hunts followed. Mushroom hunting became one of my favorite hobbies- something that connected me to my cultural heritage, my family, and a place I love.

- I started graduate school and completed a very intense first year. I felt tired all the time but more accomplished than ever in my life. I realized writing is something that makes me feel better than anything else in life. I love every moment of school and am learning more than I ever thought I was capable of learning.

-This last week when I worked with Dorothy Allison, author of Bastard out of Carolina, she told me... Writing is the BEST poverty there is because of the feeling that comes along with it. She then proceeded to tell me that my story was "A Fine Mother Fucking Piece of Work." It confirmed to me that writing is what I am meant to do.

- I celebrated a wonderful holiday time with my family filled with drinking, happiness, jokes, and love

- I went to Napa for the first time in my life and experienced the joys and pitfalls (hangover) of wine tasting.

- I spent some of the best time with my best friend that I have known from childhood. I experienced her lovely and perfect wedding and was able to share so many moments that only reaffirmed to me how perfect our friendship was and has come to

- I went to a wonderful writers conference in Mendocino and met an agent that gave me hope that one day I just might have the material that could become published

- I went to costa rica and had a journey of a lifetime

-I also did two very hard things this year: I learned how difficult it was to say goodbye to members of your family: Pablo's sudden death and then making the decision to put Brown Boy to sleep.

I have had the year of my life. 24 was good. 24 was a year I think I have matured more than ever. I am excited for 25 and I am ready to see what the current has in store for me this year.

As much as I love school it has started to cross my mind that in June I need to have something lined up to do. Unless I stop writing my thesis and fail on an attempt to stay in school longer.

As much as I love class, writing, and school work...I don't think I can do the whole Phd thing. But I also hate working in an office job.

Here are my top job choices:

Unrealistically I would love to travel the world, everything paid of course, and write food reviews and books.

That is dream job #1

Dream job #2 is living in the forest/mendocino and writing all day long- everything paid of course.

Since both of those jobs are probably not going to happen...here are two choices that seem somewhat attainable and perhaps a possibility...(well really probably not possibilities, but they would be awesome places to work for)

College of the Redwoods- in Fort Bragg- is hiring a Creative Writing professor. This is rare. Most city colleges only hire english professors for comp. lit. I only meet some requirements though...I will have my masters....but I also need something published. Perhaps I can bypass this or get something published.

Second job...well...there are no open positions, but this really really is a lovely publishing house that I would kill to work at. Probably the only job I would agree to sit in an office for. It's called Ten-Speed Press. They have a children's book division called Tricycle Press. This is where i would want to be. http://www.tenspeed.com/?zenid=fac29086a9c8428ebb7319791e6f3d36
Plus. It's in Berkeley.

It's official.

Next quarter I am scheduled to teach my own class. Tuesdays and Thursdays 4:10-6pm. It has it's own crn number, is in the schedule of classes, and everything. Chordas, M. is the listed instructor. I am so excited and nervous all in one. This weekend I need to choose two text books I will assign my students then I need to work on the syllabus. I need a book that is more instructional on the craft of fiction and then a anthology of short stories. I am choosing 30/30- 30 short stories from the last 30 years for the short story collection...but I need to look at a few more craft books before I make my decision. I like Bird by Bird by Anne Lammott...but I want to make sure there isn't anything else out there.
How Exciting!

I used to say at a certain point of the evening I was done with school- no more- I shut down and couldn't produce anything worth it. Now it is different. Now I count the hours of non-sleeping and strategically try to pack it with alternating subjects- writing, reading, teaching, grading, planning.

Grad school is the most time consuming thing I have ever done. Not only is it eating all my time, but here are some other things I have developed along with school 24/7:

- I have acne worse than ever in my life- completely stress related- and there is no product that will make it go away.

- I got my first gray hair (how is it fair to have gray hair and acne at the same time?!?)

- I now drink almost daily. Alcohol. It calms my stress levels

- I don't have time for much of anything- I use my "free" time to write.

The good thing about grad school is that I am completely happy. I have never written so much in my life. This is such a good thing. I'm writing on average twelve pages a week. This is huge. I used to write twelve pages in a month, at the most. Writing makes me feel good and I realize there is no other time in my life I will be able to have this time and money to just write.

Teaching is going ok. I am more confident every time I teach and I realize I am pretty good at thinking on my toes when standing in front of the classroom. It is crazy to look at my students and realize most of them were not even alive in the 1980s. I guess grad school makes you feel older.

Even though I make sacrifices- I still try to have some down time where I can relax. This weekend I had to give up going to SLO to visit Palina, because of grading and a faculty reading where I had to introduce. Yep. I stood in front of a whole lot of people, including the chair of the english dept. and spoke into a microphone. I think I am getting better at it, because today I received an email saying I did such a good job they want me to introduce an author at the Tomales Bay Writers Conference next week. I'm going to get nervous all over again, but the more I do it, the better? Right?

Well I took care of my responsibilities and then was able to watch one of Philippe's water polo games. I was so happy to go. I feel guilty that I have never seen one of his games until now and we went to the same college. They are very fun to watch and I can't wait to see more.

Here is a little of some other story I have been writing. The last one I posted...well the last I wrote about the kid that runaway, he made it to Costa Rica thanks to a ride from Junior and he robbed a family. That was that story. Here is the new one (it takes place in Lebanon) and is just a teaser.

Human Tradition

Nim pulled her head scarf snug against her face, opened the door of her family’s single bedroom flat, and walked out into the market to fall in love.
She expected her mother to call her back into the flat from the window with rusty bars, she thought her father would rush outside and walk sternly by her side. Instead Nim was swept into the market’s crowd of forbidden Lebanese customers who were shopping for weekly vegetables, kibbeh, figs, and tobacco. Leaving her home was not acceptable but Nim was tired of watching the market and wanted to breath in the kicked up dust, smell the heat of the people walking closely to each other, and feel the sense of power that came along with walking on her own.
“Ahalan was sahalan” welcome and welcome vendors would call out to her as she slipped past familiar stalls her family often purchased oranges, lemons, or minced lamb from. She didn’t realize it would be this easy and couldn’t imagine when she would return. After turning two street corners and down an alley she spotted the small table arranged under the crooked sunflower printed umbrella. Bashir stood under the umbrella dunking a ladle into the clear bowl filled with purple liquid, pouring it into paper cups, and handing it to thirsty shoppers.
“Out on your own?” he asked Nim who slid behind the table next to Bashir. His breath smelled like milk and cloves. It was unbearably hot. Nim felt like the market stalls and narrow streets were closing in on her.
“Can I have some jallab?” Nim nodded her head towards the bowl containing the cold liquid. Bashir always made more money than his father selling jallab. Nim’s parents were convinced it was because he still looked like a boy and all the fathers with young daughters were interested in introducing themselves. Even though he was nineteen he still did not have a speck of dark hair on his chin and his face was pale and smooth like a shell found on the shores of the Mediterranean. His slanted blue eyes were a contrast to Nim’s deep jade colored ones. Nim was two years younger and had a face that was dark olive and rough. It wasn’t a secret that Nim and Bashir would be married once Nim became a woman. Nim was thin, petite, and half of her mother’s friends were convinced she was cursed because she hadn’t started yet. Nim didn’t tell her mother that each night, nervous to discover her fate was near; she peeled away the layers of her silk garments and praised Allah to find clean white panties. Bashir was like a brother to her and the thought of marrying him made her nauseous. She would try today though. She would try to look at him differently, with excitement, and forget that they were once children together.
Bashir grunted and pushed a cup filled with the purple liquid towards Nim without even looking at her. Sticky liquid rushed over the side of the cup. Leaning against the stone building that the table backed-up into, Nim gulped the grape molasses and rose water in three sips. “Are you going to drink like that when we’re married?” Bashir crossed his arms and lifted a nostril.
“Are you going to let me walk the market on my own?” Nim crumpled the paper cup in her hand and threw it at Bashir’s chest. Laughing she ran from behind the table and back into the welcoming throb of the market-goers where she crashed into someone’s back.
A cloud of dust rose as Nim hit the ground, chin first. Her crooked bottom row of teeth hit her top row as her stomach lay still against the dirt alley floor. After a pause, the crowd continued to walk around Nim. Husbands hurrying their wives, wives wiping the snot of their children’s faces, teenagers walking loyally behind their families, barley hitting the top of Nim’s head with a basket full of oranges. She could hear Bashir laugh with a grunt and then the fast constant pour of liquid into cups. Jolted, Nim lifted her head, meeting two unfamiliar rows of perfectly white manicured toes that stood before her.

Fall has arrived. The cool weather is bringing anticipation and excitement for mushroom hunting. We booked a place for New Years in Mendocino. I can't wait. School has swept in and is keeping me busy. Workshop is critical, detailing, yet inspiring. I have been teaching two discussion sections which are going well. Sometimes it is hard to get the students to talk, but I find that I can think on my toes and make connections with our texts faster when I am standing up in front of a class. Improve is how I like to see it. All of my extra time goes to writing my thesis. I have to turn in 10 pages EVERY week. It has been a challenge, but it is good for me: forcing me to write.

Last week at the Davis Humanities Institute (where I work ten hours a week) we had a fall reception. Of course I was assigned the job as the bartender:


Jaime is enjoying the cooler weather in my parents backyard with Sam:




This past Saturday I went with Lisa to San Francisco to relax. We had delicious Indian food for lunch, watched the LoveFest Parade, listened to some music at the festival, ran into Palina, and did some shopping:

Last night I was watching Saturday Night Live and I couldn't stop laughing...
This is the best political skit ever

Today was the first day back to school. I had this major realization that in less than a year I will have a book written, have taught my own class, and have a masters degree to my name. It was a scary thought. A moment when I worry and think I don't know what to do next.

I had my fiction workshop this afternoon. The professor is the newly hired Yiyun Li from Mills College. I had no idea what to expect and was nervous because last spring I requested her to be on my thesis committee without even taking a class with her. It was a risky move, but I love her stories and figured I would go for it.

Today I am so happy I made that decision. I can tell Yiyun will be an excellent mentor and instructor- she is anxious, funny, and knowledgable. In just three hours with her I was inspired to come home and write something new- no deadline, no assignment, just blank page. That has never happened before. I have not written all summer. But here is a start...to something new...not sure where or what it will turn into...but it is a start.....

The night I left, I snuck into my mother’s room while she was sleeping in bed with her boyfriend. He had one hairy leg that hung off the bed and out of the covers that melted into his upper thigh. His leg hair was curly and darker higher up on his leg. My cheeks turned red with anger and embarrassment under my sweatshirt hood. I knew he was naked, but didn’t look away. My mother’s room smelled stale like a pond unwilling to dry up at the end of a hot summer. I ran my thumb across the letter I wrote earlier and meant to leave on her night table next to the Tiffany necklace she always wore. She was capable of lying. She told me her boyfriend wasn’t serious and the necklace wasn’t from him. I picked up the heavy necklace and stuffed it into the sweatshirt pocket with my letter. I never kissed my mother on the cheek or looked at her one last time before I disappeared.
I’m sure there’s been a lot of speculation about what happened to me, but that’s the least of my worries. I sold the necklace, bought a pistol, and made it across the border. Sometimes I worry that only a fence divides me from my mother, that the land is really the same thing. When I crossed the border the sand didn’t change color, the dried yellow bushes were the same, and the freeway was even the same. Adelita tells me the further south I go the greener it will be. Adelita works at the food stands down the road from her house. Everyday after lunch I sit on her patio and watch as she heads down the highway on foot with her baskets filled with eggs and flour. I usually just sit on the porch, listen to the radio, and polish my gun with a dirt covered rag dipped in lard.
Five years ago, when I was ten, I remember my dad coming home from gassing up the jeep. I was ready and waiting. I had his M70 out and was rolling the bullets out of their new box, counting out twenty rounds. The bullets reminded me of the rolly-pollies I used to capture under the wet broken tree branches in our yard.
“Ready kiddo?” he said to me, walking up to our front porch of the house in San Diego. “I gotta pee; put the stuff in the car. Did your mom make us some sandwiches to take?” He didn’t even wait for an answer as he walked passed me and into the house.
I stuffed the gun, bullets, and a jacket into the back of his jeep. Even though I wanted to sit in the driver’s seat and test the steering wheel out like old times, I waited in the passenger seat. Dad came back outside wearing his hunting vest and holding a brown sandwich bag in his hand. Mother stood on the porch, watching us. She was a pale woman, blond hair cut short to frame her face, with a jade colored brooch hooked unto her pink sweater. The expression on her face was a mixture of hurt and confusion. Before she could say a word, dad turned on the engine and roared out of the driveway. I wonder if mom met her boyfriend back then, or what she ever really did when we were hunting.
When Adelita came home from the food stands she smelled like flour and burnt bread. She always had her black hair pulled back into a bun and complained how tourists in bikinis would buy a tortilla from her only to take a bite and throw it to the street dogs. We would sit on her tile floor and look at old catalogues. She was very fussy about getting my hair cut and insisted that if I was going to runaway I needed a new look. I didn’t get how a boy could change his look when his hair was already pretty short. Adelita told me she once knew a boy who ran away from Nicaragua. He had to dye his hair red and cut bangs. Adelita liked to talk about a lot of things, like drug trafficking, new hotels opening up, and who must have made it north across the border. She never asked me why I ran away or who I was running from. Adelita wasn’t worried that I had a gun and no passport. “It’s your decision, but south? Why south?” She would ask me in Spanish.
“I just want to have some fun,” I would respond, silently thanking my mother for sending me to Spanish immersion even when I resisted. I pulled at my sun burnt ear and stared at Adelita’s catalogues with the turned in pages.

This last weekend I was able to share one of the most amazing days with two people I care about so much. On Thursday I drove up to Redding to help Katie prepare, decorate for her wedding on Saturday. Even though I was extremely nervous about giving a speech it was so much fun decorating and spending time with Katie and her family. It was like old times and made me miss spending time with the Tower's family. I just feel so comfortable with them and it is always happy times.

The wedding on Saturday was the most beautiful wedding I have ever experienced- it was perfect. Katie and Paul are so perfect for each other. Their vows- amazing...they both wrote practically the same vow without knowing it and it just shows how they are meant to be. There was lots of good food, dinner, friends, family, and laughter. I met some of Paul's friends who were amazing and great people too. My speech went well...and I was happy I was able to say it to Paul and Katie in front of all their family and friends. Taking pictures through downtown Redding was especially fun and getting ready. It was great to get a manicure with Katie and just relax they day before. It was fun cutting out many oak leaf table placement tags, hanging strips of fabric in the orchard trees, and painting wooden wedding signs. The whole wedding was just the way every little girl should dream their wedding as being.

The only not so fun part is that I got sick. Not too much partying sick- but a flu. I feel so icky and achy and not fun. At least the sickness waited till after the wedding but now I have to start school and it is not so much fun. I have orientations all week and today was a struggle. I just want to get better :(

The weekends fly by way too fast. I have alot to do and it is impossible to finish it all in a weekend, so then I stress. Last night I couldn't sleep from 2:30a-4:30a because I had way to much on my mind:

+rewriting a story to turn in before Thursday to be workshopped at Tomales Bay
+Paying my school fees (still crossing my fingers the refund goes through this week so I do have money to pay)
+Finalizing speech for Katie and Paul's wedding for this weekend and the gift
+Having minor freak out episodes of reading something I wrote out-loud at the wedding in front of many people
+Having minor freak out episodes of being able to TA and write a thesis starting next week

So after laying awake worrying for an hour I lost an hour in Juhmpa Lahiri's new short story collection. I admire her so much. I seriously can't think of a writer that can write a better short story. You just finish her stories and smile because her craft is AMAZING.

This weekend I did have fun which probably added to me not finishing alot of things which lead to no sleeping. Palina came home so we watched movies, played video games, went shopping, had tasty drinks, and ate the most delish sushi buffet lunch ever. We decided not to eat anything until lunch so we were starving and truely got our money's worth. I ate 16 peices of sushi on top of tempura. We had to unbutton our pants after that lunch.

Along with worrying I dreamt of things...
I really want this backpack (I've had the same backpack for 6 years- the zipper is broken and it is so worn down my back aches after wearing it) I do need a new one, but of course the one I love is not cheap:

I've been spending alot of time at my parents house- helping with the puppy. Jaime loves it, because his favorite place in the world is my parents house and now he gets to go on a daily basis.
Here are pictures my Pop took over the weekend:

Stumbled upon this picture today. Thought it was hilarious. The republican party makes me mad. I could rant for hours about many things, but I think this picture says it all: why keep it hidden? Good for Palin for drinking red wine and embracing her sexuality. Don't be a hypocrite about it and try to deny pictures like these. Also check out the McCain site and his new little video clip where he shines as a star through the summer of love. It is terrible.

I am also quite frustrated with the UC Regents. They could be just as bad as the Republican party. Like always they decided to raise tuition this year- I didn't think anything of it because since I started grad school last fall they covered all my costs. I get an email from my counselor telling me I need to pay my bill by the end of next week. I go what bill? I have not paid one bill to the regents since I started grad school. Only to find out that my grant only pays the amount they offered when I entered school last fall, so if the tution goes up that means I pay the difference. GRRRR....somehow I don't remember this in the small print.

Also....they are making me go through so much red tape just to get a reimbursement for the mendocino writers conference they were supposed to pay for. I submitted all the paperwork and receipts but now they say I have to do some mytravel crap online. I go online to log on and they wont let me because I am not authorized. So I call mytravel and they tell me to call the computer guys so I call them last Friday. They said I have two accounts: student and staff and the computer is freaking out because they don't know who I am. So I clear it up and they tell me they will merge my accounts so I can log on to complete the refund stuff. They tell me I will be able to log on Tuesday. It is now Thursday and I still can't log on. So I still can't get my money from the regents that will just be returned to them. Can't we just call it even and then I don't have to waste time to get money to pay them back with? GRRRRRRRRRRRR