4 posts tagged “marty”

I'm going cross eyed from all these stupid confusing, disorganized financial aid forms and applications. I've just decided to not look at them until I get to Tokyo. I'm going to enjoy my last three days here. I've finished all my applications FINALLY, except for two that won't let me upload some things, but that should be sorted out by tomorrow.

I got a job! Translating war memoirs for a writer who needs them for his research. Yes yes yes yes YES! I'm looking at this as a sign of things to come. This acceptance should indicate a deluge of acceptance letters in the near future. My friend told me to visualize myself succeeding. So instead of drowning in images of myself failing miserably all over the place, I'm imagining myself getting accepted all over the place.

My mother works so hard. She has two jobs and she stays up late every night and wakes up early every morning and even works on her one day off. But she never made me feel like I was in the way or that I was draining her money, free time, energy, or inconveniencing her in any way. She's actually acting like it's a privilege to have me around. Maybe that's how things are supposed  to be, but that's not how it was with my father and sisters. I shouldn't hold on to my anger, but honestly, I'm going to be upset about how they treated me for a long time.

I know people who grew up never knowing if there'd be food in the house, or whether their parents would come home, or if they'd be kicked out of wherever they were staying. It wasn't that bad for me, but we lived in constant fear of my father's irrational temper though.

I told my friend Marty about everything that went down. I told her that when people are accusing you of being crazy, you can't really defend yourself. She said yes you can. Just hold your head up and live your life (how Oprah is that?), and she is right. That's what I'm doing anyway.

Speaking of holding my head up (haha!), the ghetto club is already stressing me out. The boss told me not to expect steady work or a good salary, then D-girl tells me that they need me back really badly. My best customers never even go in anymore apparently. Excuse me, why should they? They're MY customers, they want ME, they don't want the ghetto club, that's for sure. Well six months ago they wanted me, now they probably can't even remember who I am.

When I get back to Japan:
- I'll figure out those financial aid forms
- I have to put a major plan in place to MAKE a lot of money and SAVE a lot of money. If I think I'm going to grad school, I seriously need cash flow, yo
- I'm taking my favorite aunt and spinster-before-her-time cousin on a vacation to Korea
- I'm sending my mother bath salts, green tea, Japanese sweets, and some books, DVDs and CDs
- But first, I'm going to Australia!

And before any of that, I'm taking a bath right now. I'll read over some of the translation/research material in the tub (because I'm working again!), and enjoy the open space and silence of this mountain California town. Lord knows I won't get much of that in Tokyo.

Oh shit, I'd better email my friend that I blew off too, before I forget.

So I've made it clear to my sister that I think her boyfriend is an idiot. She's made it clear to me that she has no intention of breaking up with him, because "it's not serious," which is the reason she gives for why it's okay that he's an idiot.

Nice logic.

Lord help me from ever going out with a loser again. It really is like slapping the people who love you across the face repeatedly. But it's her life, she has to make her own mistakes, and I guess I have to live with the feeling of being slapped across the face. At least he's not violent. He's just selfish and immature and constantly high.

So that is all I am going to say on the subject. I now put this topic to rest. My heart feels kind of heavy and I feel kind of dirty and uncomfortable about the whole situation, but it's her life.

I will keep my big fat head out of it from now on.

To end things on a brighter note, here are some more avatars of some friends who might be familiar to you.

This is my good friend, the Russian Sabrina the Shopaholic. I bet you thought she was a blonde ; )

And here's good old Baldy. He's still with his bitch face girlfriend, unfortunately. And remember Marty the photographer, who dyed my hair red? Well this looks uncannily like her.

It was weird hanging out with Marty the photographer in NY. We used to hang out together every single day, and I got really used to having my picture taken all the time. And it wasn't just me, she took pictures of EVERYTHING. At first I wasn't into having unflattering super close ups of my face while I busted a gut and stuff like that. But now i think it's kind of cool that the funnest years of my life so far are so well documented.

I found some old photos of us from those fun days in Marty's apartment. "Marty, we were so cute, and we didn't even know it!" was my reaction when I saw a picture of us looking tanned, young and happy. Youth is so wasted on the young.

She had a good time taking pictures of our hair dying disaster. When I woke up with pink and blond stripy hair, Marty started snapping away and laughing hysterically. When I glared at her through my tears/laughter and tried to tell her to cut it out, she looked at me, held back a burst of laughter, and took another picture.

Oh how I missed her.

For photo stories, I've seen her literally sit right next to people and take a close up of their face when they turned around to look at her. "Ahhhhh!" yelled one victim.

I love her. How can you not love someone that makes you laugh all the time?

Remember the 29-year-old Japanese salaryman who kept talking to me on the flight to NY? The one I gave the book to? I forgot that we exchanged business cards, and he just emailed me. He's probably bored as all hell out there. He said that he can only use the internet at work, so he can only email when he thinks nobody's looking at him. How sweet.

Spent the whole day dying my hair! Hung out with my good friend Marty the photographer today. We're good friends from way back when. She's American, but she used to live in Japan down the road from me. We always have fun together.

She lives in Brooklyn now, and works for a huge news agency as a photo editor (go Marty! When did all my friends grow up, anyway?). It's been over five years since we lived near each other, but we must have reverted to our old immature ways, because for some reason we peroxided our hair! But it just turned out terribly! So we went back and forth to some place called Ricky's that sells professional grade hair dyes, trying to fix our heads. I now have red hair. Like the color red. But it's kind of blond and orange in parts. I just can't handle it anymore. I look trashy and punky, when I want to look classy! The mama of the club is going to poo her pants when she sees me. I'm gonna do the same after I dream that my hair's back to its beautiful shiny blackness tonight, then I wake up tomorrow and see what my hair looks like again.

I think I'm going to buy a box of dark red hair dye tomorrow. No more Ricky's stuff. Or maybe I'll just live with this head for awhile. (><)(; ;)(><)(; ;)(><)(; ;)(><)(; ;)(><)(; ;)(><)(; ;)(><)(; ;)(><)(; ;)(><)(; ;)(><)(; ;)(><)(; ;)(><)(; ;)(><)(; ;)