the start is


the hardest part.

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Monday, Jan. 22, 2007 -- 8:00 p.m.

Currently listening to: "These Days" - Mates of State

A blank canvas is just as intimidating as a blank white square with an order that says, "Write your entry here." Why is it that everything I want to say or everything I find clever to say comes at those fleeting minutes of half-consciousness? There are things that I want to say like thoughtful things and things to make me seem like a better writer but it all comes when I'm somewhere between half asleep and half-awake. Minutes later I'm dead asleep and by morning I don't remember a thing that I had narrated in my head. I'm beginning to think that I would be a lot better writer if I were half asleep.




I spent last week in San Diego with Sameeran again. We went out to a lot of nice places and he even crocheted me a red scarf. The boy can crochet AND cook! Speaking of food, we also did a shitload of constant eating. Eating appears to be the basis of our relationship, but it's okay because we both love food. And who really doesn't like food unless you're one of the emaciated Olsen twins? They look like crack addicts, anyway. I attempted to catch up on my regularly scheduled television shows such as Grey's Anatomy there. This, however, was futile and could not be done in SD because Sameeran would not stop commenting throughout the whole episode. How can I possibly be moved to tears with someone yapping on my left side about their dramatic medical fake-ness? He is not exactly someone to watch TV with.



My mom told him about how she made soup broth, so Sameeran came up with the idea of buying a cooked chicken and use the bones to make soup. So, we bought a crock-pot from Target to slow cook the supposed chicken, which was actually a duck. We went to Ranch 99 where I was forced to use my embarrassingly bad Cantonese with the butchers there to order a chicken (which, again, was actually a duck). And you know, when stripped of their feathers, ducks and chickens kind of look the same to me. The butchers looked at me funny and began speaking in English to me after realizing how horrible my Americanized Cantonese was. They then proceeded to correct me that it was a duck, and not a chicken. And since there were no chickens left, so we bought the duck.

After throwing in random vegetables, water, and our duck bones, (which we tried very hard to beg and swindle people to eat so that we could use their bones), we finally had our soup. The soup was kind of bland but I didn't think it was that disgusting. Sameeran, on the other hand, thought it was repulsive and told me to pour it down the sink, and so I did. Alas, three days of cooking gone to waste. Voila! That was the end of our duck broth.

On Tuesday night, I flew home from San Diego and I worked 18 hours this week since I got back. The reality of coming back to school and work really, really sucks and is just wiggity whack. I'm ready to start counting down to spring break.

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