New experience: shooting guns

I have always felt pretty indifferent when it came to firearms. My father owns 2 guns and I remember using them to shoot at some Coke cans when I was 14 years old at Huntington Lake back in the day, but that was my one and only tangible exposure to the world of guns.

Fast forward 12 years and my interest in guns has slightly changed. With the world pretty much falling apart and the government taking control over more and more liberties with each passing year, I've taken small steps to learn more about self defense and firearms. Fuck them zombies.

Small step number one came about Saturday where Clayton took me to a shooting range and I got to shoot five different hand guns.

To be honest, I was a little nervous ... mostly because of my lack of knowledge and experience with guns, bullets, handling, etc. And naturally, I always built shit up in my head expecting the worst when in reality, nothing is as bad as I make it out to be.

In fact, I had a fucking blast.

People have said shooting off a gun is exhilarating, cathartic and therapeutic. I don't remember feeling any of these emotions when I was 14, so I didn't think I would feel them the second time around either.

Wrong (think Group X voice).

It's not so much the shooting part that is the exhilarating portion either. Not to me at least. It's the learning how to handle a gun that I find much more appealing. Guns are powerful tools and they should be handled with care, and knowing how to handle them makes me feel better than actually shooting them. I mean, don't get me wrong, shooting them was fun as fuck, but I just found walking through the steps of how to load and handle a gun, as intimidating as it was, much more thrilling.

I'm a weirdo, yes I know. Shut it.

So what did I shoot? I shot Rock Island Armory 1911a1, Kahr CW9, Glock 19, Smith and Wesson 910 and a Ruger MKII.

My favorites? The Ruger and the Kahr.

Ruger MKII

Kahr CW9

The Ruger was the first gun I shot, which was a great introduction gun. The Kahr, when it was explained to me, was actually the most intimidating and I almost passed up shooting the little guy, but I'm glad I did because he ended up being my favorite. So much that when I do purchase a firearm, this is the one I want.

I could have also shot a rifle, but I am left-eye dominant and I decided to pass up a gun that requires you to aim with your right eye. It was weird to find out I'm left-eye dominant since I'm right handed in every other aspect of my life ... figures I would be the asshole who complicates things.

I tried shooting with my right eye, but I was much better at hitting the targets with my left, so I stayed with it.

Plus, for whatever reason, my right eye kept on watering like a little bitch.

My awesome fucking shooting skills (sans the ones in the head, those aren't mine).

By the end of the four hours, it was established that I had a pretty good shot. Even Clayton, Mr. Firearms, was impressed! (score!)

And when I told my dad, he naturally took credit for it because that's what he does.

So, who wants to go to Oak Tree with me?

Trying a Tri

I've been running relatively consistently since July 2010 with the goal of running a half marathon and then maybe a full marathon down the line. I've ran four 5K races at the end of 2010 and it's about time to step it up a bit.

So I've decided to do a triathlon.

Clayton, who is an avid cyclist, suggested the June Lake sprint triathlon on July 9. I naturally and without hesitation accepted the challenge because a.) I have an addiction explained in this post, and b.) I have been swimming pretty consistently since January and felt that completing a sprint triathlon wouldn't be too, too hard.

Confident as all hell, I went too Mammoth Lakes this past weekend to run for the first time at an elevation higher than I'm used to.

Castaic elevation: 1,500 feet
Mammoth Lakes elevation: 7,900 feet

I knew it was going to be harder, but when I ran/walked roughly 3.6 miles in Mammoth last Saturday, my heart nearly exploded. The side cramp from hell wasn't any help, either, but I didn't imagine running there would be as tough as it was.

This, naturally, scared me so now I've turned up my training notch to prepare for the tri. I essentially have 10 weeks to train.

FML.

Free shit, thanks to Yelp

I haven't yelped in a long time, but I just went through a week that reminded me why I should return to yelping.

I went to rituals 2 weeks ago to make some appointments to get pampered. When I came in for my facial, the owner comped it since I yelped about them.

She also comped my eyebrow waxing.

I spent that money on the store anyway and bought myself some toner and night cream.

Seriously, right afterward, I headed to Peet's Coffee and Tea to get my dosage of caffeine before going to work and Chris was working.

I had yelped about Peet's mentioning that Chris makes the best cafe mochas there.

He recognized me, asked me if I had yelped about him (in which I responded, "yes") and my coffee and breakfast muffin was on the house.

BAM! 

Time to yelp again.

I have an addiction

I have a problem. A serious problem. An addiction.

I want to do everything.

Well maybe not EVERYTHING. Never had any interest in boxing, for example.

I collect hobbies. And they are getting out of hand. I meet people and they introduce me to a new [insert new thing here]. I instantly am curious about it and want to try it. I end up trying it, enjoying it, and then wanting more.

There isn't enough time in the world to do everything I want to. And this makes me sad.

If I ruled America

I used to look at America as a "land of opportunity," as cliche as that sounds. My parents escaped communism in Poland in the 1980s and made a new life for themselves here.

My parents started their own businesses and raised three children. My mother's dream was to put her three children through college (which came true). The rest was up to us.

Fast forward to today and I don't see American as a land of opportunity anymore. Graduating from college doesn't guarantee anything. There are plenty of talented, skilled, and educated people out there living off of unemployment or working a mindless job in an unrelated field.

Oh the irony. My parents now fear for our futures in America.

My brother and I are looking to buy land in Poland to develop at a future time since land (for the moment) is cheap and it'll be a place for us to have just in case shit really hits the fan in the good ol' US of A. And if that doesn't work out, my aunt  (when she dies) is leaving her apartment us since she has no kids.

The older I get, the more I learn how fucked up this world is. Everything is revolved around money. Capitalism doesn't value people, it values money. And it doesn't matter what happens, people will put money above all else.

Money controls things that it shouldn't control: elections, who can get married, education, etc.

If I was dictator, I would change the following things about America.

1. The use of all fossil fuels (coal, oil, natural gas.)
2. Get rid of the Federal Reserve.
3. Take away personhood from all for-profit corporations (corporations are not people, fuckheads. I still can't believe the Supreme Court passed this shit.)
4. Special-interests, lobbyists, and for-profit corporations control government would be illegal.
5. National internet infrastructure would be available (and free) for all Americans.
6. Eliminate for-profit corporations from all aspects of health care.
7. Let anybody get married to anybody else(sexual orientation is nobody’s business). No benefits of citizenship or law should be related to whether a person is married or not.
8. All religious institutions should be taxed.
9. All elections would be publicly funded (no contributions allowed). And election campaigns would only last a few months.
10. Voting would be mandatory.

Oh it's all just a dream! None of this will ever happen.

Not until we have another American revolution. Which I believe will happen.

I just hope its within my lifetime. I want to be a part of it.

More than meets the eye

My project for my intro to digital media class is called "more than meets the eye."

The world is full of scars left by sometimes mysterious and unexplained events. "To live is to leave traces."

My assignment: Like a detective, seek out these scars, photograph them and try to imagine what event took place to create them.

Are the traces new or old? Was the event constructive, playful or violent? Is the story obvious or ambiguous?

I had to take 25 different photos and print four of them out.

Here are my favorites.

Long overdue

This is long overdue. altSCV has been out for 5 weeks now, but I didn't publish this post I wrote about the launch party because I was waiting for some photos.

Here it is now:

________________________________

In addition to publishing an alternative magazine, another dream of mine recently came true.

I went bowling in prom dress.

Susan and I have been talking about organizing a SCV-Twitter-crew-prom-bowling night for a few months now, and which the launch of an alternative publication, we thought what better way to celebrate than to combine the two?

And thus, the altSCV Launch/SCVTwitter Crew meet up Prom Bowling Night was born.

I've been wanting to go bowling in formal attire since my senior prom in 2003.

I always get nervous about organizing silly events like this becuase I question whether people will actually participate. It's easy to say "I'm down!" but when it comes down to it, people tend to flake.

I shall never doubt my SCV peeps again.

A group of us met at 5 Guys for dinner before bowling, and everyone was dressed up and looking smooth as all hell.

After our delicious meal, we quickly scurried to the bowling alley where four lanes were anxiously waiting for a party of 15 very well dressed people.

There were top hats, gloves and flowing gowns. There were strikes, spares and gutter balls. There were donuts, beer and Jack Daniel's. there was even a SpongeBob Square Pants pinata.

Total #win

Nine months

It's been nine months to the day since I've quit smoking.

I've since smoked a handful of cigarettes, usually while shmammered.

Sometimes I catch myself missing smoking. These moments are rare and they pass by quickly.  In the end, it feels good to not be a slave to an addiction.

Damn good.

Nine months of not buying a pack. Nine months of not smelling like shit. Nine months of happy lungs.

Go me.

Oreos and wine

Proxart hosts monthly mixers for artists to get together and mingle. I've never been to one before, but since altSCV sponsored February's mixer, I figure it would be a good idea to show up.

I'm glad I did. I had a blasty blast.

I only knew a handful of people, mostly Proxart people I've worked with before, but I met a helluva lot of other artistic and talented people.

People from Pasadena and L.A. came, too.

One of my favorite things in the world is to be surrounded with creative minds. There's just something so magical about it. Whether you know a person or not, knowing that he or she has set aside time in this busy thing we like to call life to mingle with others in the name of art makes me happy.

Really happy.

I woke up this morning and I was just stoked. My mother even commented on my unusually perky mood this a.m.

I get stoked when people get together and do something. Something productive. Something  no one has instructed them to do. Something fun and creative.

That's why I've always been a fan of organizations like Proxart. Here is a group of young 20-something-year-olds who banded together to create something. A group. A movement. A voice.

And it isn't a voice that just complains that there isn't anything to do in SCV. They create things to do.

The event was hosted at Romo Studio in Newhall. It was my first time there and as soon as I walked in the door I felt as if I was transported to an artist's loft in downtown L.A. Badass. Paintings hung on the walls, paint brushes skewed all about, photographs, empty frames and even a guitar.

Wine, beer, chips and oreos were served (WIN) and people talked. Talked about art. Talked about altSCV. Talked about Proxart. Talked about Kreativ. Talked about growing up in the SCV.

I was chit-chatting with Nathan Ryan from Proxart and Kreativ and at one point in our conversation, he started to clap. I naturally decided to join and before you knew it, the entire room was clapping. It was a clap-wave. Nathan Ryan and I died laughing.

You can't stage moments like that. Amazing.

The night was a complete success and I can't wait til the next one.

Especially if there will be wine and oreo cookies.

I met a muse. But she wasn't mine

I met a muse. But she wasn't my muse. I told her I admired her and other muses and I often thought that if I could chose to be anything, I would love to be a muse.

She said that I was being stupid.

What a bitch.

She then explained herself. A muse, as rewarding as it might seem to be, is in reality just legalized theft. She is the inspiration to many many people. She is the reason behind people's ideas or actions. She sends people on successful paths. What does she get out of it?

Nothing, she said. Not anymore at least.

In the beginning, this muse said it was flattering. She helped people. People naturally felt inspired around her. She was infectious. Her energy. Her ideas. Her zest for living life to the full potential.

She rubbed off on people and their lives subsequently improved.

In some cases, they improved in unbeleivable ways.

She said she met a boy who had nothing. No high school diploma. No car. No job. No girlfriend. No future. Nothing. Four years after they had met, he got his GE, landed a job, bought a car AND a home, and got married.

She met another guy who abandoned his family at the age of 18 and was living in the living rooms of random houses, doing speed. No degree. No job. No car. No girlfriend. No future. Five years later, the man reconciled with his family, quit doing speed, moved back home, found a job, bought a used car and is dating a nurse.

Her long time friend didn't know what she wanted to do with her life. She started college under a major she thought she would enjoy. A year after meeting her muse, she changed majors, graduated with honors and is working her dream job.

This muse has met countless lost, weak, insecure souls only to turn them around and send them on a more positive path.

She always left people better than when she found them.

How can she not take these things as compliments, I asked? She's changing people's worlds and she didn't have to do much. It's beautiful. I told her she was stupid for complaining.

As she looked around, she leaned in closer and whispered, "As happy as I am for the people I've touched, I can't help but to feel a tinge of jealousy that I haven't met my muse yet."

She continued her rant. She confessed it sucked to see everyone around her succeed and flourish and be happy and she stays the same. It especially sucks these people don't even realize that she's their muse. She gets no credit. She gets swept under the rug and she's forgotten as these people are engulfed in their new life.

I didn't know how to sympathize. I've never had a muse, either ... so I tried and offered her my two cents: Maybe she was more blessed than these lost, weak, insecure souls.  Maybe she doesn't need a muse as much as they did.

I don't know.

She looked at me, sucked it up and smiled. She gave me a hug, and without a word walked away.

I sat there thinking about what she said. I couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for her. She didn't give herself enough credit.

But I guess most people don't.

Onward, ho

I'm in my third week of school. It doesn't seem that long, but that's because things have been going slow. The first month of school is usually the worse since it covers the basics of all basics.

To further my education in graphic design, I'm taking two classes this semester: Intro to digital media and digital imaging.

Either class shouldn't be too difficult, but there is a lot to learn. In the intro class, I'll be using programs I have never used before. And the digital imaging class is basically a photoshop class, which is a program I only know the basics in.

The teachers in my field are simply amazing. Adam teaches the intro class and the guy looks like a vegan who hugs trees in his spare time. I don't think he's hit his 40s yet, but his shoulder-length hair and beard look like they're greying. He gives off a hippie vibe where everything is art. Even silence. I'm not particularly a fan of this type of assessment of art, but maybe I'm just an elitist. Either way, he seems overly nice and I have a feeling a lot of people are going to walk all over him.

Wendy, my digital imaging instructor, is amazing. She reminds me of me. I would have the same teaching style as her if I ever became a teacher. Her common sense, no bullshit type attitude rocks and I wanted to hug her after the first hour of class on the first day.

My first project for this class is a scannogram. We have to compose an image using a scanner. The image had to depict who we are. Or something. Here's mine.

TIMBERLINE BITCHES

Dream come true

Back in college, I once shared a conversation with a group of friends about our future goals and dreams. As literary journalism students (and if you don't know what literary journalism is, look it up), we discussed how awesome it would be to start our own magazine.

As gonzo students (with a variety of other talents), our make-believe magazine would be full of well written, interesting, worth-the-read stories. They wouldn't be capped at 10-15 inches like they are in papers. These stories would be in-depth, creative, witty. What I like to a call a-fan-fucking-tastic-read.

The magazine would be vibrant. We would take photos. We would create beautifully designed layouts. We would incorporate all of our talents into one publication. It would be brilliant.

Too bad we were just undergrads with a vision. No one had the money to launch a magazine from the ground up. And it was unlikely we would get anyone interested to invest in such an idea.

We all eventually graduated and walked down our separate paths. Sadly, all of my friends don't even use their Lit-J degrees. I'm the only one in the field.

Not only do I feel lucky work in the field I invested in during college, but I am proud to write I recently published an alternative magazine in the Santa Clarita Valley.

That dream I had in college came true.

Last Sunday, altSCV finally made its debut. After months of back-and-forth between management, the publication finally made its way into this world and (hopefully) it is here to stay.

The magazine is the SCV's first alternative publication, and it's my fucking baby. I have never worked so hard for anything at The Signal. Writing for the publication is open to anyone interested in submitting material. It just so happens  99% of the people who write for the it are my friends. Or at least people I have met through the Internets and can now call them friends.

As soon as I was named publisher of the thing, I had complete control over pretty much everything. That's when the game changed. As an editor of a publication, I don't have complete power of what I can and cannot run. I have to watch out for red flags and then ask the appropriate people for approval.

Most of my other publication also have rules. They have a specific purpose or a specific audience to cater to.

Not with altSCV. Guess who can do whatever her little heart desires? This bitch.

If another source wants to reprint anything printed in altSCV, guess who it has to ask for permission to republish? This bitch.

If the designer wants to put a dildo in the publication, guess who gives him the go ahead? That's right! This bitch.

(Which we totally did for the upcoming issue coming out this Sunday.)

altSCV is my perfect baby. I have complete control. Of what runs inside. Of what topics to cover. Of what language I can permit. Of how it looks.

This is more than a dream come true. It is an opportunity to expose the type of journalist I internally am. I don't have to follow those silly daily journalism rules. I don't have to worry about pissing off subscribers because there are none! It's a free publication. You don't like it, don't read it.

I am excited to have the opportunity to publish stories and opinions that would be denied in The Signal or my other publications. And as an advocate of the gays, I am the most excited to finally give the LGBT community a voice. It's about damn time.

The goal of altSCV is to provide SCV residents a publication with intelligent content, that is pretty to look at (as pretty as it can be given it is being printed on really old machines) and that readers get a laugh when flipping through the pages.

So far, so good.

I want to thank those who have supported me in putting this together. I appreciate the kind and supportive words throughout the rollercoaster ride. And of course, this publication would be shit without out my brilliant writers (aka friends!) Thank you for being a part of a my dream come true.

Oh and watch out for my gnome, Addyson. He will appear in each issue.

#win

How to piss off a Polack

My really good Australian friend posted a great post today about things that piss her people off.

I decided that I wanted to create one of my one, depicting things that would piss Polish people off.

Here is my ever comprehensive list.

-Anything that prohibits alcohol consumption
-Talking shit about the best pope in history: John Paul II
-Mistaking us for Russians.

That pretty much covers it. :)

Running

It's funny to say that I'm a runner now. Running for what is now my 6th month has definitely been a journey, and my body now craves running. Seriously, my legs start to get sore and they start to hurt if I don't run. It's a great motivator.

Not to mention reminder to get my ass moving.

Yoga has been kicking my ass recently too since my teacher decided to step it up. I couldn't be happier though. Sometimes I feel the intermediate level is too easy.

Anyway.

I set some goals through the Nike+ system, and I've accomplished all of them so far (high five myself). The one I'm most proud of is running faster one. I've always been a slow runner. And by slow, I mean I started out with 12-minute miles.

So I set the goal to run 5 times with a pace of no more than 10 minutes a mile.

And i did it!

And I just ran my first 10K!

Watching my progress, setting goals, and competing with friends on the Nike+ website has been such a great motivator, too, especially with little videos like these:



Who would have thought that running could make be feel so damn accomplished?

I am pumped!

And thank you to everyone for your facebook likes and words of encouragement throughout. It's comforting to know that my friends are so awesome that they even care about silly things like running goals. Much love, much love!

<3