I am not quite sure about my current registrar, but my domain is now back!

For some reason or another, I never received notification about jennism.com expiring on…Christmas. When I logged into my control panel, it showed that my domain still had the same status as last year—transfer in progress. There wasn’t even an indication to show when the domain expires.

Hopefully from here on out, things will be more stable and responsible…

Escapism? Surely. That’s why for the last few days I have immersed myself full of blu-ray movies, tv shows…and my latest favorite game, Little Big Planet. Granted, I have horrible hand-eye coordination and rhythm timing. But because I could get through the game depending on other players (namely Chris), it really wasn’t that bad after all.

Chris being foolish and me trying to pull him along

A quicksnapshot right before we begin a level

It’s not because I could customize my character to my heart’s content or the funny narrator’s voice. Or the stories…shallow, but sufficient enough to carry the gameplay. Or that there were really two controls to move my sackboy (or sackgirl). Or that I really loved the music.

It was that I could get to the end. One of the few games…I think that I have completed all levels even if it was dependent on other people’s cooperation and them dragging me along as I died and died again.

So if I had to create levels…a story/theme could be:

Yesterday afternoon, I giddily got my keys to find treasures in my mailbox.

Then I realized that there was a man in a sleeping bag underneath my mailbox. My neighbors watched me as I attempted unsuccessfully to get around the man.

“We have a No Trespassing sign for one more month,” my neighbor pointed to the barely noticeable sign in the window of the first floor. “He had been pooping all over.”

I sullenly said in acceptance because it surely wasn’t a nonviolent act, “Well I guess people have a right to sleep wherever they want.”

A few months ago, I complained to my landlord to check our lights because there were always random people drinking from paper bags on my steps. The light was supposed to shoo away people at night. Usually I did find the stairs clear and unfortunately sometimes I couldn’t tell if they were neighbors or random strangers.

I uncomfortably tried to get to my mail, trying not to straddle the sleeping man as I shimmied to get my mail. No treasures, unfortunately.

This afternoon, the man was still there. Chris saw my anxiety and knew that I was too chicken to call the police. Recalling an episode from season 5 of the wire, he called the cops reporting that there was a man who hadn’t moved for 24 hours and he was afraid of talking to him.

A fire ambulance arrived in 1 minute 38 seconds and the man woke up reluctantly. He cursed loudly while I hid behind the blinds of my second floor apartment. The emergency crews gave him a pamphlet of nearby homeless shelters.

There is a truck parked in a red zone in front of my apartment when the emergency vehicle arrived. I wonder if the truck got a parking ticket.

It was raining outside. Carefully, I teetered in my black boots with a heel down the long stairs down Van Ness station. People rushed down past me to my right.

I felt like Mr. Glass as I walked down and I wondered what would happen if I did tumble.

In the station, my feet ached from my boots. Unlike my sister, I couldn’t do the heels. I saw a row of four blue seats. Clean. I dusted off the last one and sat down with my black garbage bag.

An Asian man with a fisherman’s hat glanced at me. He was my dad’s age. Probably older. Wrinkled. Slightly tall. He crouched slightly as he stood seven feet from me. As I sat, he glanced at me observed the garbage bag I had dragged and the layers I had put on to save me from the cold rain.

I noticed. In turn, I glanced back studying his old man’s sweater and face. It was uncomfortable, but I looked back…

As an immediate response, he looked away. But I tried not to waver. I nodded in respect. Good day, sir. Isn’t it such a rainy day?

He kept staring at me. I stared back, willing his eyes to look away. When I turned my face to see the incoming train, he immediately turned to stare. I stared back.

When the train finally arrived, I got in the first car deliberately even though it was far from where I sat. There was an overhead announcement—a guy with a Giants jacket had jumped the gates. The train paused while the guy with the Giants jacket sulkily headed back upstairs.

Two weeks ago, I finally uploaded my digital photos to print at riteaid.com There was a 50 free print coupon. I couldn’t find 50 good ones and uploaded 41. I chose the Rite Aid downtown and was happy.

Last week because I didn’t have a printer, I wrote down the confirmation number on a slip and went downtown.

The Rite Aid Photo lady said in her accented English, “You need receipt. How can I tell if it’s yours?”

Stupidly, I didn’t argue that if she looked inside the photos she was holding that she would see many photos of me from multiple angels. Instead, I sullenly went home and planned for my next step.

Today, I stumbled down to Rite Aid during my lunch break. The photo area was EMPTY. I saw some people in the back room, but was afraid they would kick me out of the store if I went behind the counter to knock at the door.

I let out a soft squeak as I continued stomping around passive aggressively, “Excuse me?!”

Eventually, I went to the cashiers upfront where 10 people were in line and told the cashier in my passive, congested voice, “Um…there doesn’t seem to be anybody at the photo counter…”

She looked at me and said, “There’s always someone there.”

“There isn’t now,” I said with a rising anger.

She picked up a phone to announce to the store, “Customer service requested in photos please.”

A few minutes earlier, I noted that someone requested customer service at the ice cream counter, but the counter was still empty.

I stomped back to the photo counter where it was still empty. A few customers had been waiting to pay for the copies they made from the copier. After waiting for another five minutes, they walked out.

Eventually, I started waving to the one-way window that was part of the back room. A panicked wave. Finally someone noticed me…and came out.

She looked at my crumpled printout and said, “Where’s your coupon?”

Exasperated, I said and pointed, “I entered the coupon online. See the receipt says $0.00.”

She took a coupon she had on her register and showed it to me. “A coupon has a bar code.”

“You see, I entered the coupon online. If I had to pay, I would have paid online. But it didn’t charge me because I entered the coupon.”

There was no way I was going to be sent away again because I didn’t bring a coupon. And to my knowledge, I don’t recall even seeing a coupon. I remember only entering a coupon code: 50FREEPRINTS

“There is no coupon with a print-out. The receipt already says my total otherwise I would pay what it says to paid. But I would have paid that online! With a credit card! I shouldn’t have to pay anything at the store.”

Finally she called another photo lady who recognized me from my first visit. “How am I supposed to charge her?” the employee asked.

How are you supposed to charge me something that doesn’t have a price on the receipt? I thought in annoyance.

The photo lady finally just handed my packet photos. “Well she doesn’t owe anything.”

I stomped angrily out of the store, vowing not to print my photos at Rite Aid again.

A few moments later, I opened the packet of photos as I was crossing the street. I dropped the cover receipt which had my name and phone number. A few steps later, I saw it in the middle of the street and quickly rushed back to pick it up.

Good thing I am now in the financial district.

My sister called me. She had just parked. I waved her to from the deck from Hari’s apartment. To my drunken Korean friend, I said, “My sister is finally here!”

I gossiped a bit more with my Korean friend when suddenly my phone rang again, detailing her troubles.

She had walked into another building thinking it was attached to the building where I was waving from. It was odd at first. Quiet, very unlike the house party she saw from the street. Suddenly, two small dogs charged her. Angry. Then an old man came out from deep inside the apartment and she stuttered, “Is Hari…here?”

“NO! GET OUT!” he yelled and she raced out back into the street in fear.

I did find her where she was shaking slightly from the terrifying man. Leading her upstairs, I showed her the spiked punch, the hot appetizers and drinks.

We had 20 minutes before the movie started, so he went to the bathroom. He spotted the restrooms and rushed inside, heading directly to an open stall. The toilet seat was dirty—ah yes, a guys’ bathroom, he thought. Closing the door behind him, he began his business.

Suddenly he heard voices coming into the restroom. Not the dark, deep voices he was used to in these private rooms. They were light and high-pitched, piercing the air and causing an immediate twist in his head. They gossiped about makeup, the movie, the people they knew. One said aloud how great it was to finally pee.

He panicked inside his stall and stood there quietly, hoping they would leave. But they didn’t.

“Is this door stuck?” someone said aloud, trying to push his door.

He kept quiet and just flushed. He stood there silently, hoping nobody would peek under the door. He flushed again as they left, signaling that there was someone there.

The restroom was finally empty. He poked his head out of the stall. Cautiously, he walked to the door. As he opened the door, he ran into a girl waiting to go inside. She gave him a weird look and he bolted back into the theater in panic.

Sitting next to me, he put his hands over his face. Embarrassed. Afraid that the cops will show up and accuse him of being a pervert. He curled in a ball and asked me to make sure the girl was nowhere.

I walked into a guys’ restroom before, but I didn’t get very far noticing the urinals and backing away fast. I ran into a friend as I was backing out. Laughing I said, “Whoops, wrong one.”

But I think it’s different when it’s male.

Outside on the deck overlooking San Francisco downtown at a rowdy house crawl party, I was making fun of my drunken Korean friend. Do you understand the words that are coming out my mouth? I asked in a shrill voice imitating Chris Tucker.

He laughed and asked whether there were any Korean girls around. I pointed to a faroff light in the downtown…there sir there is someone waiting for you! just move north a bit…

Suddenly another friend—a female—jumped in and started veering the conversation toward an unsavory topic. I backed away in disinterest (and disgust). But I stopped when she mentioned she asked the same question of someone I knew. That someone had fled when the question was asked.

In a sudden sobering moment of curiosity, I asked “Has he dated anyone in the last year?”

The conversation turned serious. She and I agreed that he didn’t try hard enough. He could have. We both said, “Yeah, he’s a good guy.”

My drunken Korean friend got bored because I wasn’t playing anymore and left us standing in the balcony. I told her about how he had tried almost 3 years ago, but I didn’t want to stay because it was too slow.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“I am Jenn,” I said wondering if the name sparked a stream of gossip.

So we let the conversation flow a bit more. I turned to go back inside where more people were mixing drinks and talking. I ran into the person of discussion standing near the table covered with vodka, oranges, and drinks. He stood next to me and gave me a light playful shove.

“Hey, how are you doing?” I said and smiled.

Of a week that I thought that was going to be lifeless and full of despair, but it was full of a few expected events and many more unexpected:

Hearing of a shakeup at a former place I used to hold dearly