It is July 16th as I cruise into Los Angeles as the sun starts to break through the clouds.  The sky has a beautiful flush of orange and red, more so than usual.  I begin to realize this is probably due to the severe pollution.  As the plane taxis it’s way to the gate, I suddenly realize that we are 50 minutes ahead of schedule.  How this is possible, I don’t know.  Needless to say I am disappointed, as I will be waiting ’til 11:30 am for my sister to arrive via San Francisco.  I should also mention it is now 5:30 am.

 

A man named Darren has sat next to me the whole flight, and he informs me his wife works for Delta Airlines, the company which we are both flying with for our journey to Los Angeles from Kahului airport in Maui.  Upon landing, he tells me that he is being picked up by his mother.  Apparently he relocated to Maui from LA years ago.  He also tells me he has 3 sons, 2 of which are my age/ older than me.  This boggles my mind, because this man surely cannot be older than 45.  I later find out his 13 year old son is attempting to get recognition for skateboarding, and that his middle child who is 21, is attempting to become a BMX pro-biker.  I nod at this information as he delivers his second piece of information.  His 21 year old son just had his first child.  He is also married. I find this interesting and asks if that’s his first grandchild.  He says no. I discover he also has a 28 year old son, who also has a child.  He then tells me that he’s 49.  I am perplexed by this young grandfather, and about an hour of conversation about hockey while he waits for his mother, we say goodbye.

8:30 am rolls around, I am TIRED.  3 hours to go.  I have manage to source out some coffee and it tastes like cigarettes and everything that is wrong with America.  I eat a pre-packaged tuna sandwich and contemplate passing out beneath the coffee shop’s cash register.  Instead I pay the overpriced $7.99 to use tmobile’s hotspot for 24 hours.

As I sit against the wall, laptop plugged in so I can take advantage of my waste of money.  Entertainment for the next 3 hours.  Sweet.

My sister finally arrives and we get into a shuttle.  As we drive through the freeway into downtown LA, I can’t help but notice the immense smog as I see ‘HOLLYWOOD’ across the santa monica mountains in the fuzzy distance.

The drive continues as to women yak away on their phones, enough for the minivan to hear.  Apparently one of the women has arranged to go on a tour, and the man arranging the drives has told her that she will arrive by noon.  We are still nowhere near downtown as the clock ticks over to 12:05 pm.  Needless to say, she is not happy and decides to yell into the phone that the driver still has no idea when she will get there.

Upon dropping off one of the passengers, she decides to announce to the woman sitting behind her (whom she was obviously not associated with), that the company will be hearing from her, and states that she is from out of town.  The woman is clearly uncomfortable with the situation and nods along.

As we get out of the shuttle when we reach the hotel, I inform the driver that the man who organized the ride has promised me I may use MasterCard.  He informs me NOW (after this woman has thrown a fit in the vehicle that she is running behind), that it will take him awhile to process my card.  I clumsily shove bills together to avoid the maniac in the car chasing me down with a machete.  He thanks me, and my sister and I enter the hotel.  Upon entering, I realize that I have mistakenly shoved a $10 bill in his hand, believing it was a $1 bill.  Fucking green bills that all look the same. Upon having $60, I realize I now have $6.  I am upset and I haven’t been in downtown LA for more than 10 minutes.

I look up from my wallet and realize I have walked into the 80s.  I can’t explain it.  Maybe it was the brown tiling that oddly resembled my local swimming pool before it got renovated, or perhaps it was the fact that the pillars around the hotel were cement, painted dirty white.  Regardless, I was surprised.

I approach the desk, and tell the front desk agent that I am checking in.  She looks me over once and flicks her eyes back to the computer, asking for my name.  I tell her my name, and she quickly looks it up in the computer, informing me that my check-in date was in fact yesterday, and as a result I have been penalized with the room charge for the room, as well as having lost my reservation.  I tell her that 2 weeks prior (actually 3 weeks, but I was in a dream-like state as a result of exhaustion), that I had modified my reservation upon realizing that I was taking an overnight flight.  She repeats back that I had been charged for the previous night.  This woman is not listening to me and I am becoming quickly frustrated.  Trying not to lose my temper, I inform her that I am aware that my reservation was initially reserved for the previous night, and that I had changed it.  She tells me that there is no note on the reservation, and that I am being charged.  I then ask her to speak to reservations.  She tells me I will have to speak to reservations myself.  She hands me my keys and I head up to the room, seething with exhaustion and rage.

As I get to my room, I realize that it is in a pie slice shape, and that the desk and tv stand are pushed together, leaving minimal room to enter through the small hallway to the door.  The bathroom is on the narrow end of the pie shape, and I realize that if you leave the door to the bathroom half open, you are unable to exit the room.  I am by no means satisfied by the size of my room but my thoughts are interrupted when the telephone rings.

It is the front desk agent again, telling me there is another woman on the line to assist me with my issue.  As she gets off the phone I am speaking to a woman who is potentially less helpful than the last.  As she asks all the same questions and I give her all the same answers, she repeats what the front desk agent is saying.  I then tell her that all I know is that I had previously changed my reservation.  She tells me she is going to do a ‘courtesy’ wave just this once.  I want to tell her that she’s a fucking hero.  I resist.  I tell her ‘thank you’ and hang up the phone.

I immediately want to cry out of exhaustion and stress but instead I keel over and pass out in the bed.  My sister offers to bring me food and I nod in silence as my eyes shut.

carla is so funny!

“so my credit card rejection letter is addressed to MRS. carla trevisi. WHO is the mister? I mean if I’m a MRS., then doesn’t that mean I’d have an additional income?” -Carla

“or, you know..a husband. I like how when you think marriage, the first thing you think of is additional income.” -Me

Public Transit & the youth of today.

I was riding the 99 B-line bus to Broadway Station from UBC the other day, and was slightly unhappier with it than usual.  There are several reasons why I dislike the B-Line.

-It’s always crowded during rush hour.

-on a rainy day, EVERYONE is WET and pressed up against you.  *yes, this is the part where you make a pervy joke.

-it is COVERED IN GERMS..ugh.

-there is ALWAYS someone dirty riding it.

-it’s 40 minutes in rush hour..and 2 hours long if you are going through a snowfall.

okay, so basically that’s why I dislike it.  among the facts that it runs frequently and to get to ubc is considered an “express bus”, it is the spawn of all evil when it comes to public transportation.

but it’s the vancouver youth who ride it that just make me want to pull my hair out.  at approximately 3 PM in the afternoon, as rush hour is dawning upon us, the elderly manage to squish onto the bus.  and here is where my rant begins…:

K SERIOUSLY.  YOU ARE IN YOUR TWENTIES!  YOU ARE NOT DISABLED, I SAW YOU RUNNING TO THE BUS.  Have you SEEN the sign?  These seats are reserved for people who are elderly or disabled at the front of the bus.  RESERVED.  as in, GET OFF YOUR ASS AND OFFER YOUR SEAT.  It pained me to see several elderly people getting pushed alongside the youth of Vancouver, as they gripped the unsteady plastic loops that hung above them.  I was able to offer my seat to an elderly gentleman who seemed to be in his late sixties, as well as pass up a seat so another elderly gentleman standing next to me could take the next vacant seat that I knew he had been eyeing for awhile.  I am disgusted by people who don’t offer their seat..even in the back of the bus.  I mean, you people barely have any luggage.  I managed to bring 3 bags on the bus and still pass up my seat, so I’m sure you could do the same.  It’s not just the first few seats at the front of the bus, it is also the rear.

SO, OFFER YOUR SEAT.  I guarantee the favor will be returned someday in the future when you may be too elderly to drive a car and must rely on public transportation.

KARMA, PEOPLE…KARMA.

A Glance.

For quite some time now, I’ve been somewhat unsatisfied with how far I’ve gotten in life.  As out of left field as this statement seems, I just realize that you can’t worry about what you can’t control.

I am only halfway through my undergraduate degree and I feel like it will actually take me forever to finish.  I mean, in retrospect some might say it’s some sort of achievement that it’s half over..but at the same time, if I choose to back out now I would have virtually nothing to show for my studies.  damn bachelor’s degrees.

In review of last year, I went absolutely nowhere.  Seeing as how I travelled to many a country in high school, I find my post-secondary traveling experiences to be extremely sub-par.

This past semester, living in res taught me to just toughen up and not worry about the small things.  I made unbelievable relationships with several people.  I was forced into a bubble where it was school, and people you could come home to at the end of the day who were not only there to support you when you were going through personal issues, but just knowing how badly school was getting you down.  I thought about my lack of travel constantly.  I felt bound in my UBC and feeling borderline guilty about thinking about taking time off to further set me behind from my expected graduation date.  Thank god for go global letting me not only travel, but study concurrently.  Hitting two birds with one stone couldn’t be better..Canberra, Australia will be my new home next month.

I am leaving in 4 weeks, and realizing how much I’m really going to miss Canada.  Just the familiarity of it.  Knowing where I’m going, knowing the people, the places, the mountains!  OH MY GOODNESS..the mountains!  I will miss shredding Whistler..  I like knowing what cute little cafe to go to on west 4th, or pre-drinking at cafe crepe before going to a bar I probably won’t like.  Nights at the roxy where you get right wasted, or even just quiet nights at home in D-dot.  Cold walks in Stanely Park..missing the summer at Kits beach.

I’m hoping to develop some amazing relationships while I’m in Australia, and I am hoping to get to see as much as I can.  I am hoping to fall in love with the country to keep my homesickness at bay.

‘You can’t always get what you want.’  Mick Jagger said it best.  After ranting with Danielle and Marlie, I’ve decided romantic comedies will be my downfall.  After asking the questions, ‘why isn’t he throwing pebbles at my window?’, and ‘why isn’t he declaring his love for me with a stereo above his head?’..I realized that even just finding that deep connection with the lack of grand gestures is a challenge.  To find someone you connect with better than anyone, and better than expected..oh my, ESPECIALLY in Vancouver, the land of the whack job men, is enlightening, and borderline impossible.  You can’t control how people act.  So one should just say what you feel.  After bottling up feelings of love and resentment of which were months of it driving me absolutely mental, I spilled my heart out as if were my nerves falling out of my back like angel hair pasta spilling out of a pot.  Although he was borderline speechless and probably didn’t understand the depth of the situation and what everything really meant to me, it is irrelevant, as I have lifted the weight off my chest and although the situation itself was completely balls to be honest, I actually don’t feel completely terrible, surprisingly.  I cleaned out my emotional closet to make way for possible new relationships, and took the time to reflect and realize that ‘loving someone don’t make them love you.’  I don’t regret it, and if I carpe-diem’d on a regular basis like that, maybe I would feel like a better person.  Taking advantage of the situation and being ballsy have never always been my personal fortes, but I hope to be more honest not only to myself, but to others in the future.. as moral-y as that sounds.  Although what I should really say is..if I didn’t have the friends I did now, I honestly don’t know how I would get by.

alright I am friggin’ exhausted, it’s almost 5 in the morning, I’m going to bed.

Education

I need to briefly rant about UBC.  Although recognized as one of the top schools in the world, at least within the top 50, I feel like my overall expected university experience has not been met.  At the top of the list, are student fees.  After an assessment of student fees, it currently sits at about $500 for one year.  In the faculty of arts, to take a 3 credit course is roughly $430.  And here I am paying out money to a sexual assault fund, and rec fees alone are nearly $200.  If students are expected to pay nearly $200 for ubcrec..why the hell do we have to pay to participate in everything they have to offer?  I mean tuition is already ridiculous as it is.  Not to mention it’s already increased since last year by roughly $10 a course.  And of course, the SUB renewal fee.  Yeah, I know we had a referendum in March concerning this, but when the Alma Mater Undergraduate Society was like “hey vote YES to renew the SUB!”  They forgot to mention we’d be paying $20 the first year, with a $10 increase each year after that.  So this year I will pay 20, the next 30, the next 40..and within 3 years, there goes an extra $100 for a SUB that I will probably never use.  Rising tuition fees are probably my biggest concern, considering I don’t see how the material could have changed that much in the last year so that I must be paying an extra $10 per course.  Aside from that, affordable living on campus is nowhere in sight outside of UBC’s rent controlled living, also known as Housing and Conferences.  Although you pay for crap for a small space, it’s better than what the other places on campus are charging.  In a world for students, you’d think you’d make it easier for them, considering you’re charging them like crazy to being with.  I mean, what’s it to my residence anyway if all their expenses are, are property expenses, and utilities.  Rez is so limited here for people who actually need it.  Although UBC continues to provide remarkable education in comparison to a good majority of BC’s educational institutions, I find that the extra money I pay to go to UBC isn’t justified.