Wanderlust Away

Despite social anxiety and a propensity towards a hermit-like lifestyle, I have been very fortunate to be given some choice platonic soul mates.

While they are amazing human beings in their own right, they are also very fond of traveling. As an ex-military-dependent, travel used to be a part of life. You spend a few years in one town/city/state/country, and the military tells you to live somewhere else, so you pack everything you own, and you move.

Needless to say, not a big fan of staying in one place for too long. The longest I’ve ever lived anywhere is nine years in Georgia* (probably the most miserable nine years of my entire existence). While I spent those nine years finishing high-school (shout out to all the miserable bastards that had to move their senior-fucking-year), earning a BA in Communications, and receiving my Masters in Library Sciences, it was really, really miserable.

So after graduating, I found my first job in Iowa, and I’ve been fortunate to do some form of travel at least once a year.

NY, NY; Atlanta, GA; California; Hawaii; Charleston, SC

This year, I’m MEGA excited because I get to go on two trips. Tomorrow, I’m meeting with a friend in Washington DC. We are staying at at hotel in Bethesda and will be relying on the metro to get us all over the place. While it’s not my first time visiting DC, it will be the first time that I will be able to really explore and enjoy my time there (instead of attending conferences and lectures for 80% of my stay). We plan on hitting up Chinatown, the DC Zoo, and–of course–the Smithsonian museums. Any recommendations of (cheap) places for us to check out while we are in the area?

My second trip is much more exotic! My sister and her husband are avid travelers, and they invited me on their trip to Iceland.** While this will be their third time visiting the country, it will be my very first, and I’m just counting the days! Hiking, puffins, foxes, and weird Icelandic food, here I come!!






*Seriously. Don’t even get me started on all the problems with Georgia. Southern hospitality, my ass. Also, the weather is abhorrent. Where the fuck is winter??!


Playing with Fire



Word Count: 816
Fandom: Archie Comics Pairing: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Prompt: Bodyguard AU

Jughead Jones was a pacifist. In general, he wasn’t a big fan of wars, militarization, or violence. Personally, he avoided confrontation (which was easily done since his social group was small and carefully curated through years of hard work and weeding), ignored gossip and petty arguments, and tried to be a decent enough person to get by in daily situations without pissing other people off.

Getting angry and holding grudges? That took more energy than Jughead cared to expend.

So, yes. He was a pacifist (and, arguably, lazy).

Which was a major contribution to his current confusing predicament.

Fingertips resting lightly on the keyboard of his laptop, screen flickering with a stream of updating data points and graphs, Jughead was distinctly aware that he had spent the last ten minutes distracted beyond explanation.

His eyes continuously tracked back and forth between his screen and the individuals conversing quietly on the other side of the room. They weren’t purposely being a distraction. In fact, they were being over considerate–always considerate–since day one of this whole fiasco, taking the least amount of space possible while still remaining fully aware of every change within a five block radius.

The gentleman–Jughead couldn’t seem to remember his name–sat in the love seat, body angled towards the coffee table where his own laptop stood open. It was connected to every CCTV feed in the area, enabling them to track individuals entering and exiting the building. Jughead was the one to install the facial recognition software, automatically populating a spreadsheet with facial descriptions for every person caught and identified on camera.

Dark skinned, suit jacket unbuttoned and tight across his shoulders and arms as he worked, Jughead could objectively recognize that he was a nice looking guy. Clean shaven, a flash of perfect white teeth when he smiled or talked. What most people envisioned a bodyguard to look like.

But Jughead’s attention was riveted on his partner. Petite, elegant, and terrifyingly strong, she stood at the glass door that lead out to a small veranda. The sun cast fiery gold highlights along her hair, cheeks, and graceful neck. Like her partner, she was slightly dressed down. Tailored jacket hanging on a nearby chair, shirt rolled efficiently up to her elbows. The way she stood angled to him, Jughead’s eyes were helpless in tracing the neat lines of her neatly pressed trousers, dark vest, and the worn leather straps that kept her firearm secure to her side.

With each shift of her breath, the sunlight gleamed against the exposed metal of her glock. And, boy, was it getting hot in here or was it just him?

Betty Cooper had been assigned to his bodyguard detail two weeks ago. They rarely talked beyond the standard “good morning/good afternoon” they exchanged on a near daily basis. From what little bit Jughead was able to glean from a quick internet search, she used to be Agent Cooper with the FBI, a highly effective agent with a high success rate in bringing criminals to justice.

There was just a single, short clip of her in action on a local news site. Blond ponytail whipping in a soft arch along her crown as she efficiently disarmed a man nearly twice her size, sweeping his legs from beneath him and pinning him to concrete with a knee in his back.

She didn’t even draw her own gun, which stayed strapped to her person.

Jughead might have that video ripped and saved onto his hard drive.

Betty’s voice brought Jughead back to himself, blue eyes glancing at him just momentarily before he snapped his attention back to his laptop.

His face burned just slightly at the amusement he glimpsed on her face, mentally chastising himself. This was unlike him at all. His best friend was the womanizer, the one who bothered to notice any female near his person.

This was not Jughead.

“Mr. Jones?”

Jughead’s body barely seized as he tried not to physically jump in response to Betty standing by his work station. She smiled down at him, ponytail hanging over her shoulder. “We are sending Mr. Clayton on a coffee run. Is there anything you want to request?”

Her arm reached up to adjust a leather strap, bringing his eyes to the handle of her gun once again, the handle snug against the side of her breast.

Oh god. Her breast.

“You haven’t had anything to eat or drink in the last four hours.”

Jughead’s eyes snapped back up to her face, mortified. “Uh-”

She tilted her head. “A bagel, perhaps?”

He cleared his throat, swallowing his sudden nerves. “Two bagels. And a coffee. Black. Thank you.”

With a smile, Betty nodded at him before walking back to her partner, giving Jughead a perfect view of the holster straps criss crossing her back.

Jughead squeezed his eyes shut, the glint of sunlight on metal burning behind his eyelids.

Prompt found at fanficy-prompts.tumblr.com/
Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13919145/chapters/32035545
Tumblr: https://dormouse-notes.tumblr.com/post/171700078336/playing-with-fire

forgetting the words to your favorite song

Anxiety is the worst.

I think being a first-born daughter with a problematic need to be liked by everyone augments the problem.

My mother is Korean and my father is an Air Force* retiree. Both are Catholic (please read that as strict Catholics who kind of miss the entire point most of the time**), and as of one year ago–and some change–they are divorced.

Being a product of mixed races is interesting. In general, I’m very proud (and relieved) that I can claim a Korean heritage. I have traveled to Kunsan, Korea where my extended family live, eaten a wide variety of Korean foods since the tender age of 3 when kimchi no longer tasted like sour trash, and watched Korean dramas/cartoons before it became cool.

But it also has its problems . . . problems that continue to follow me well into adulthood. In Korean culture, the first-born daughter is bestowed with a lot of responsibility and expectations. Much like in American culture, they mature quickly, help with a majority of the tasks around the home, and have a much closer bond to one or both parents since they have more responsibilities. I was the anxiety-ridden first-born that wanted*** to fix everything.

My parents moved back to the U.S. after they got hitched, and my mother was completely uprooted from her life in Korea. Sure she wanted to come to America, but she was ill prepared for the American way of life . . . and to suddenly become a minority. She struggled to make friends that weren’t other Korean military wives, so she did what many other new-mothers did before her: she made her children her life. I became my mother’s best friend and sole support system. While her husband worked for kin and country, I fell into co-parenting duties as my mom gave birth to my sister, my brother, my other sister, aaaaaand the youngest, another brother.

Parenting is hard enough for grown-ass adults. It is debilitating for a child. But as I grew comfortable in my role as built-in hero and 2nd mother, I became hopelessly entangled into a mess of responsibility, self-doubt, low-self worth (because everyone else had to be cared for first), and hidden immaturity.

I’ll probably go into more things in future posts as I get more comfortable with thinking about what makes me me, and coming to terms with all of that.

But as of right now, I am what society would consider a fully-functional adult. I’m 31 years old. I have a Bachelors in Communications and Information Technology, and a Masters in Library and Information Sciences. I am a faculty librarian with projects and initiatives that I’m in charge of. I have been teaching research methods and served as a full time librarian for about five years now. I have a savings account and a checking account****. I publish academic article and book chapters. I’ve edited academic manuscripts.

I sleep a lot, and don’t wake up early unless I have to. I watch anime. I read fanfiction. I bake fun projects that are hard to pronounce. I’m introverted and socially awkward, but I can hold my own.

I’m asexual*****.

I love shitty movies. I love cheesy romances (but I’m picky). I like sad songs and sad movies and sad stories that make me cry because I don’t do that often enough on my own.

I’m low-key anxious and depressed, and I think people have the worst thoughts about me even though there is no valid reason why they would.

I’m functioning day to day, and trying my hardest to be happy.

Nice to meet you.


* Ugh, the military.

**I’ll skip getting into that can of worms. I have thoughts and feelings about Catholicism and religion as a whole D:<

***Let’s be real. I needed to fix everything.

****Still living paycheck to paycheck but that is part of ADULTING.

*****Kind of??? (honestly don’t fucking know)

give me a run-around

Definitely my 8th attempt at creating a blog in my 31 years of life. I always start one with the hopeful intention that blogging will get me in the habit of writing.

Unfortunately, despite my dreams to be a great writer and all-around interesting person, my usual self doubt convinces me that I’m actually not that great of a writer, and I’m actually a pretty boring individual.

Then, I shove off and rewatch movies/tv shows/anime or read fanfiction.

Then, I’m inspired by the amazing creations published and shared by others. And I try again.

Rinse and repeat. It’s a vicious cycle.

But, when we fail, we should try, try again. Right?