On Being A Hater and An Outsider

The work friends are catching on. After nearly three years of working alongside some of them, they know that beneath the smiley, friendly, calm facade, I'm truly a hater. One of them picked up an Oscar the Grouch t-shirt for me at Comicon last weekend. "For those days when you want people to leave you alone at work," he said. "It'll go right along with your Happy Bunny 'Not Listening' t-shirt."

Since I'm up to 5, possibly 6 projects right now, I went into work yesterday to catch up on reports, emails, schedules... all those tedious things I can sit down and do while listening to my Ipod without someone coming up to me every 15-20 minutes. One of the supervisors shuffled over, all happy that I was there working on his project and updating his ridiculous powerpoint book. I told him time and time again, that powerpoint was not a production friendly shot tracking system, but he insisted on using it.

"Are you guys going to actually use this?" I warily asked.
"Oh yeah, we're definitely going to! I'm going to print the whole thing out" he answered.
"You better use it, or else I'm going to use it to throw at people." I grumbled.

Besides feeling like I'm slowly going crazy from not being able to sleep the past few weeks due to the obnoxious heat, work is cranking my grumpiness levels to an all time high, while my productivity level and brain activity is pretty darn low. Last night was also the second annual farewell party for my old boss and her husband. Though he'd continue to work offsite for our company, they were moving to Texas, where they could actually afford to buy a freestanding home.

I was pretty burned out from large groups of people in general, much less more work people. But I hitched a ride to the house party and settled into a nice lawn chair in the backyard for the rest of the night. As I watched crowds of people swirl about, I felt like we were back in high school. The popular kids were all sitting at the picnic table - beautiful blond mememe talkers and the boys who loved them. The smokers stood off to the right chuckling about manly things, whereas I sat with the few quiet loners in the middle, leaning back in our lawn chairs, occasionally making conversation with passerbys, observing all the quaint interaction.

I also realized that I was the only Asian at this shindig. Not a big deal, but it felt like a rare first since the days of going to elementary school in Phoenix. Most of the time I don't think of race - I even forget that I'm Asian. Not in the whole I'm totally whitewashed kinda way, but more in the it's no big deal manner. I take it for granted that most of my closest friend are Asian-American and that in Los Angeles, I blend.

I'm more American than most of the company since we have people from all over the world working there. The last few guys I've dated or have been interested in have all been non-Asians. But it's the little things that remind me from time to time that I look different from everyone else. The innocent questions regarding my background and my culture. We have a handful of Asians from other countries at the company, but I'm truly the only Asian-American there. It seems to amuse them.

By midnight, many people were calling it a night. I hitched a ride back to work with my favorite loner and could feel the curious and the gossipy high schoolers raising their eyebrows as we walked out together. Just another typical night being around the work peeps.

Eyes

Since I was down to my last two pairs of contact lenses, I was forced to endure the yearly eye exam today before they would let me buy any more. Every time I go, they've come up with a new test. Glaucoma-puff-of-air-in-your-eye test, measure your peripheral vision test, measure your retina test, and the blinding flash of light in your eye to take a picture of your cornea test. The good news is my prescription hasn't really changed in the last few years. The bad news is I'm still nearly blind.

"Have you considered Lasik eye surgery?" asked the doctor and the technicians.
"You guys ask me this every year," I replied. "I'm too chicken."
"Ah, well it's ok to be chicken," affirmed the very young girl technician.

"You have some ingrown eyelashes that are sticking into your eye," the doctor informed me.
Ahhh, the curse of being Asian and having stick straight lashes that poke into your eyeball.
"I can remove them for you, if you like," she offered.
Why not, I thought. It hurts like hell when I try to do it.
"Is this a common problem?" I inquired.
"Well... with kids," she replied.
Sigh...
"Your contact lenses are protecting your cornea from being scratched by your lashes. Maybe you might not want Lasik after all," she said.
"Of course, if you do opt for the surgery, there's also a really good doctor on that staff that can do the eyefold surgery for you and pull up those lashes," she added.
"EEK! That's way more surgery than I'd ever want. No thank you!" said Chicken Girl.

I wonder if we'll go through this whole drill again next year. I've only been going to this place since I was oh... sixteen!

Things That Made Me Sad Today

Seeing the Ford Freestyle Commercial on NBC tonight. A family plays at the beach, hangs out together all day, then at the end of the day, the Dad steps out of the Ford Freestyle and thanks the Mom for inviting him along to hang out with the kids. He hugs the kids and says "See ya next weekend." An example of a healthy divorce, but when is divorce (with kids) ever not sad?

Reading this quote by Sheryl Crow in Us Weekly. "In many ways, it's like having part of your life amputated and you still have that phantom itch... I'll see something and I'll think, Oh, I gotta make sure Lance is hip to this band... Oh wait, that's not my life [anymore]." On being single after breaking up with fiance Lance Armstrong. Good metaphor. That's how I feel about people I've lost in my life.

Oh Brother

One of my brother's favorite things to do when he calls me at work is to yell "YOU'RE FIRED!!! LEAVE THE OFFICE IMMEDIATELY!" Then he starts cracking up at how funny he is while I sit there in silence, knowing that it's him. Seeing that it's been a year since he's left LA for school and not working or living near me anymore, I forgot how much I miss those little stupid things when he's back and up to his old tricks.

I was lucky enough to be his default plan tonight since he had to work late at his summer internship and miss his bschool function. After ten years of not picking up a racket, he decided to try tennis again this week. He was so confident he could beat me after playing for the first time on Sunday, we decided to head for the courts tonight. I am by no means a natural athlete, but tennis I can do.

The courts were crowded as usual and several others eyed us warily as we all waited for the first court to open up. Tennis court etiquette is a bit odd. Some people believe that you should take your best guess and choose a court that you think will free up first. Then you wait. But for just THAT court. Others (people who are nice and believe in fairness) think the person waiting the longest should get the first court that opens up. First come, first serve. My usual tennis buddy has gotten in shouting matches with people who either wouldn't leave after playing for more than an hour or those who try to poach our courts.

Tonight, after we had waited half an hour, a group of Chinese girls tried to poach our court after showing up just 2 minutes before the first court opened up. They claimed I could only wait for one court and that I was standing closer to the other ones. I would have stood my ground, but I didn't have to. My tall, imposing, stubborn as all hell of a brother walked over to the people leaving and to those girls, declaring that the court was ours. We were there first.

He turned to me and said "I'm not worried about this. The court is ours. I will sit on the floor of this court and throw tennis balls at them if I have to. I'm not leaving." Of course, we won. And I marveled that not only did I not have to stand up for my little brother a long time ago, he can stand up for me now.

When we started warming up, he confessed "Yeah, bullying a bunch of Asian girls off the court was easy. I don't know if I could have stood up to a bunch of big guys." Heh heh...

We were quite the sight on the court. Me hobbling around on my sore ankle, not able to chase down any balls, and him with no backhand swing to speak of. Kicked his ass 6-2. We drove down to pick up some sandwiches to eat at my place and looked at the family portraits I just picked up. We promised to play again next week. I look forward to it!

Sassy or Just Plain Crazy?

Sly was kind enough to host me@co, dd, and me for dinner and a movie last night. Though the house she's renting has more than its fair share of ginormous plants, we enjoyed a lovely dinner, dessert, and fun conversation. On a side note, unless someone is serving me a meal consisting solely of beans, I will never refuse a homecooked meal from friends.

For after dinner entertainment, Sly whipped out a popular Korean movie that none of us had seen. My Sassy Girl. Apparently, it broke records in Korea and Hong Kong back in 2001 for being so fresh, funny, and unconventional as a romantic comedy. And even more refreshing, it's based on an autobiographical blog of the writer's courtship with his nutty girlfriend.

I wouldn't say the girl is so much "sassy" as she is certifiably insane and abusive. In fact, while web researching, I discovered that an alternate title to this is "My Bizarre Girl," which is much more accurate. I don't want to ruin the movie with specifics, but the guy's an idiot for putting up with the abuse, and the girl needs some therapy. (I do, however, covet her perfectly beautiful long hair.) It's one of those movies that rambles all over the place in the middle but actually wraps everything up quite nicely. Dreamworks bought the rights to an American remake for a 2007 release, so I guess the movie has hit the big time.

I realized that I probably would have enjoyed this movie much more a few years back. When I was younger, less jaded, and willing to suspend disbelief for even the smallest speck of romantic possibility in any story.

Muggy Skies

Awful weather but beautiful skies at dusk. I've had a raging headache today from not being able to sleep. Everything is too hot, including the sheets, the pillow, the sofa, my clothes... The fan count in my room is up to 3 tonight. I looked outside, and most of my neighbors are still awake at this hour with their doors wide open like me, desperate to entice any type of cool breeze into the house.

The debate each night is whether I should have all the windows open or just walk around sans clothing. And then it always devolves into "eh, not much cars around after 10 and if I keep all the lights off, no one can see me." Of course, if I hear anyone walk by, I dive for the floor and duck. Just in case.

It Was Just One of Those Days...

Sometimes, when you're a kid growing up and struggling to make it in this world, there's just not enough simple adjectives to describe a day when everything seems to be going against you. This was one of my favorite childhood books and I still think of this description when I'm having a bad day.

Friday was one of those days. It was not one for the record books by any means, but from the minute I stepped out the door, everything was a bit off. First I slipped down the stairs of my front door, the first in over four years that I've lived here, turning my ankle into a bloody mess and pretty much preventing my plans of lounging in the pool this weekend. It's been 3 days and my ankle still hurts!

When I got into work, I managed to spill half of my morning iced tea down the trash to start the work day. I did entertain and mesmerize a couple of coworkers as they watched me clean my ankle wound in the kitchen. "Oh man, were you skateboarding? Did you fall off your bike? What were you doing?" Uh no, just clumsily fell down the stairs people, no need to gawk.

The rest of the day was spent managing extra projects that my boss (out on vacation Fri and Mon) had left me. His supposedly "easy" project that I started for him and now have to deliver Monday proved to have a bit more high maintenance clients than he thought. I ended up having to check in with the artists and clients all weekend - while in Phoenix for my friend's bridal spa weekend.

One of my kind, well-meaning coworker friends (the depressed one) insisted on driving me to the airport despite being swamped with work and despite the fact I had someone else lined up to take me. I feel like a heel even bringing this up but when I got in the car, he realized the car needed gas. I also forgot that his poor manual transmission car is on its last legs, has issues going over 40 mph and lurches to and fro, rendering me nauseous before I even got on the plane. Needless to say, I stressed all the way to the airport wondering if I'd make my flight on time.

At the airport, about thirty minutes before boarding, the Southwest rep announced on the PA system "Folks, look around you. See who's standing in front and in back of you in line. Now be nice and move over to gate 10." We all scrambled twenty feet away and I ended up standing in front of an Indian family with a two-year old kid who would be the bane of my existence for the next 2 hours.

In line, he insisted on having water to drink. He drank too much and spit out half of it on the floor, on my foot, and on my bag. On the plane, they ended up sitting across the aisle from me. When the kid wasn't running back and forth and yelping with joy, he CRIED, WAILED, and SCREAMED at the injustice of being held down by his parents throughout the entire extremely turbulent flight until landing. When I had my Ipod on, it was somewhat bearable. But for those last 30 minutes of descending when you're forced to turn off all electrical items, longer than usual since we circled around and around in the air until dust storms subsided, I wanted to hurl that kid out the window. I settled for plugging my fingers in my ears and glaring at the parents, like most of the miserable passengers on the plane.

After sprinting off that plane, Miss Flip Flops came to my rescue, bearing gifts of delicious Chick-fil-a nuggets in the car. A block from her house, we got pulled over by the cops. "I'm bad luck!!" I exclaimed. "I'm dragging you down with me!" I hysterically cried. Luckily, her good luck seemed to overcome my bad karma with cops (me and cops, that's a whole other long entertaining story for another time). She got off with a warning for rolling stops at two stop signs.

We chugged along that last block to her house. As I walked in, I was greeted enthusiastically by her 13 week old half Akita/half wolf puppy. She was so excited to meet me, she peed on my foot.

I finally managed to settle down for the night and decided to take advantage of the fact that I had the office as my room. I checked all my email accounts once more and wrote for the next hour about my day. When I went to hit spell check and then save my post, the whole thing disappeared. This is my second time writing about it.

Random Emails from My Work

Some junk email forwarded from coworkers (both male) to everyone at the studio yesterday:

Subject: The Worlds Shortest Fairytale:

Once upon a time, a girl asked a guy, "Will you marry me?"
The guy said "No," and the girl lived happily ever after and went
shopping, drank martinis, always had a clean house, never had to
cook, stayed skinny, and was never farted on.

The end.
_________________________________

Subject: Looking out for the ladies...

http://www.dontdatehimgirl.com

_________________________________

Both hilarious! Thought I'd complain about work again, didn't ya?

Is This Normal?

Have you seen those commercials on TV for some new depression study? Or maybe it's a new drug... Anyway, it asks "where does depression hurt?" And without waiting for the answer, I answered "Everywhere." the first time I heard it. That ended up being the correct answer.

Depression fascinates me because it's like a secret club. You don't want to reveal it to just anybody - they might not understand it. They might become scared of you or uncomfortable around you. But once you find people who have been affected by it, you want to inundate them with questions.

My mom's favorite brother committed suicide at this age. 30. For most of my life, we were told that he died of cancer. As the years went by, more information came out. He suffered from depression. He was depressed over a girl. He couldn't cope.

And then the pattern came out. My grandfather was an alcoholic. He was depressed from losing all his money in the stock market. He couldn't cope. Eventually he died from liver cancer.

I scare myself and my closest friends when I get in my moods, which seem to have worsened in the past few years, thanks to a couple of bad experiences. Right now, I feel fine. I can't even imagine being that sad ever, even though I spent most of last year wallowing in the pit of despair and recently visited the pit only 2 months ago.

But when it hits, it's like the flu. I'm down, and I'm down hard. I can't imagine ever being hopeful or truly happy again. I feel purposeless and shut down. If it's bad, I reach out to my closest friends to talk. If it's really bad, I can't even bear to talk to or see anyone for days because even I'm sick of myself and the whole spontaneously breaking into tears thing.

If I'm feeling particularly lucid in my wallowing, I'll ask close friends to help me gauge "is this normal?" "I opened up a gift from a friend trying to cheer me up and I broke into tears. Is this normal?" "So-and-so snapped at me when I asked him a question, and I wanted to leave work and cry? Is THAT normal?"

I've met people who had to take depression medication, although for a limited amount of time. I'm pretty sure I don't need it at this point because bad as it gets, in the back of my mind, I know eventually I will be ok - purely because I seem to have gotten out of it before. Even if I'm feeling hopeless, there is a blind faith in that light at the end of the tunnel even if it takes months or a year. Until I physically can't snap out of it, I just have to suck it up and get tougher.

Recently, a coworker friend of mine revealed that he's been on depression/anxiety medication for about a decade now. I was shocked. He's always been the most pleasant, happy, and calm person I know at work. It throws my world upside down to know that he relies on those drugs to help him stay that way.

The flipside is that now that I know, he has no qualms telling me about his new medication or constantly checking to see if I'm ok. (Do depressed people sniff out other depression inclined people?) He knows my calm facade is just that - a facade. And now it makes me uncomfortable. And slightly scared to be around him too much for fear that he'll want to keep talking about it. Man, I suck. Is THAT normal?

New Peeps and Old Peeps

Last week, I managed to meet new people and hang out with some old peeps from the Bruin family. On Friday, I stepped out of my insular world and met my old friend Sketchy and his new coworkers for lunch. Usually, I don't like new people and would pass on the invite unless it was just me and Sketchy catching up on our lives. But I figured, hey why not, maybe he has some charming new coworkers and I'll make some job contacts to boot.

Well, let's just say computer geeks at one workplace are not so much different from computer geeks at another place. They don't talk much, or if they do, it's about their trade. Ah so, at least I tried.

Thursday night, I had the pleasure of hosting 4 of my girlfriends from college at my cozy little place. We ordered Thai food and ate out back in the patio by candlelight (almost like a dinner party for real grownups). Then we huddled in my oh so small living room to watch Dave Chappelle's Block Party (which I highly recommend!).

The beauty of it all - there were no cell phone interruptions, no one talked through the movie, no one had to get up and check in with anybody, and everybody hung out and watched the whole thing including all the extras. I was sublimely happy. THIS is what I need more of in my life. Cool low maintenance girl friends to chill with. Most days, I yearn for that more than some cute guy to date.

Work Schmork

A day full of long meetings, disgruntled supervisors, picky clients, and questions on "what went wrong, why is the project behind schedule, and why are you guys doing things THAT way?" Well, let's see, because you expect us to build a schedule and a team with only half the resources we need, other projects that are delivering earlier keep robbing people from our team since those fires need to be put out first, and the way you pose such questions automatically puts artists on the defensive.

Though I do prefer the directness of working with men, sometimes it's all a bit harsh. There's being too obviously slick, like my boss, who tries to play both sides and always spinning things positively even if the building were on fire. Then there's the big kahuna of the company, who prides himself on peppering his sentences with expletives, strutting around barefoot in t-shirts and shorts, playing the alpha male to all his testosterone filled employees. It's the ultimate boys club.

Surprisingly, I didn't feel like reacting at our meetings. I didn't feel defensive, nor did I feel my temperature rising. I believe I even spoke in a very even-keeled, quiet but confident voice explaining the situation and answering all the questions, coming to my team's defense without being defensive. I've learned.

It's not like I was caught off guard. I had been expecting this conversation for months. Neither the supervisors nor I were surprised. We even predicted it months ago. My boss shouldn't have been surprised, he just stayed neutral and echoed all the sentiments of the big kahuna in a more... positive way.

Sometimes, I think I've lost the ability to react or just lose it. My mom and my jobs have beat it out of me. I don't lose my temper anymore, I seethe slowly underneath. I don't break down if I'm sad and hear bad news, I store it away and then crack at a more private time usually about 2 days later. People at work call me a "calming presence." I think I've managed to build a thicker wall of defense.

The Zoo is My Workplace

It's going to be a busy summer at work. Three big projects that I'm associate producing (managing on my own) for my executive producer boss, who has nary a clue to the day to day workings and needs of our crew. He's focused on the high profile projects he's producing solely on his own, preferring to swoop in at the end when our other projects are close to delivery next month and September.

Most days, I get into work and feel like "here we go again..." Sometimes, music plays in my head as I drive into work in the mornings, or as I wind down a Sunday night driving back from my parents' house to my apartment. It's usually "Pop Goes the Weasel" or the theme to the circus.

Shopping and Symmetry

Though I didn't hit Nordstrom at 7 am on the first day of the Anniversary Sale like my brother's girlfriend, I managed to pry myself out of bed at a somewhat decent time and brave the crowds Saturday. Oh boy, much money was spent on things to wear in which 99% of the world will never see. Heh heh...

I also succumbed to the latest trend of sunglasses and snatched up a pair of oversized round shades. I kinda feel like Nicole Ritchie which is neither a good nor bad thing.

I tried on pair after pair until one fit somewhat snugly. "It's not you," said the savvy saleslady. "Someone with a big head must have tried them on and warped them."

Unfortunately, being Asian, the bridge of my nose is not quite high enough for these glasses. So they rest on my cheekbones. "You have high cheekbones," said the same saleslady whom I would happily give my money to. "The round frames look cute on your face."

Researchers say a calibration for beauty is symmetry in the face. Most of the women considered to be universally appealing tend to have the most symmetry in their features. Though I've learned from supermodels Cindy Crawford and Heidi Klum to not point out my own flaws to most people, to my dismay, I think one of my ears is higher up than the other. I can tell because one side of the glasses sits on my ear snugly, while the other side floats slightly above my other ear. So I have these cool new sunglasses that are sitting crooked on my cheekbones on my wonderfully lopsided head. Sometimes, you really just gotta love shopping.

Another Scary Thing

I've acquired a new fear. It's always been there in the back of my mind. It's always made me squeamish. Unlike plants, the fear is much more justified though not in my face all the time.

Tentacles.

As in I don't eat calimari and soft shell crab tentacles, octopi and squid freak me out tentacles, and pretty much anything with more than two hands and two legs (or 4 paws) is strangely unnatural to me type tentacles. Things with that many limbs are just up to no good.

The uncomfortableness with such things became a full-fledged fear on Friday when I watched Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. I winced, curled up in a ball, and closed my eyes for a good quarter of the movie. Tentacles abound in full HD widescreen glory. They come in all sizes, they squirm and they flop, they strangle and destroy, and if it were Smell-o-vision, I bet the theater would reek too.

Plants

My cute little eggling plants, amazingly alive and flourishing! Well, except maybe that little one to the left which only has one leaf thingy. It's supposed to be a petunia or some kind of flower or another. The other two are basil and thyme. Thyme is getting a bit out of hand. Thank goodness it's small.

Plants and I usually don't coexist well. Partly because I'm scared of them and partly because they tend to lose their will to live and just wilt away in my care. I've been asked many times "what is the deal with you and plants?" Let me clear it up once and for all.

Most green leafy plants bigger than these egglings scare me. Flowers that look like they can eat you, like a sunflower or an orchid, scare me. Long vines that snake around buildings and large inanimate objects scare me. As do overgrown houseplants that overwhelm a corner of the room or loom over your chair or desk.

This is not something that overtakes my life or prevents me from carrying on my day. I can usually avoid scary plants subtlely, like choosing to sit in spots not adjacent to a plant or walking around them. Or if I don't think about it too much, I can sometimes ignore them.

The fear began slowly ages ago. It might have been too many sci-fi/fantasy movies or cartoons with man eating plants that did it, but I truly thought they existed for a long time. (No, I haven't seen Little Shop of Horrors, and no, I don't ever plan on watching it.) It didn't help that when I asked my dad to confirm their existence, he replied "Possibly in the jungles or somewhere remote like Mongolia." Note to parents or future parents - don't be like the dad in Calvin and Hobbes and make up crap if you don't know the answer or have a gullible kid that will be easily traumatized.

Then in junior high, on one slow afternoon of waiting for my mom to pick me up from the library after school, I wandered into the sci-fi section. I literally had read everything in the teen section of the local library already, and needed something new to past the time. Unfortunately, I picked up some horror story on plants taking over the world, where each person's human veins became green vinelike veins and they ALL TURNED INTO PLANTS. Nightmares ensued. Wariness of plants increased tenfold.

The thought that these inanimate objects without eyes, ears, nose, or mouth, are technically alive - living, breathing organisms not at a microscopic level - freaks me out. I know things can mutate. I've watched way too many movies and read enough to know.

I lucked out at work with my deskmate. She wanted to bring in oodles of office plants. I explained my fear. Without judgment, she agreed to leave her side of the table plantless. In return, she asked me to refrain from decorating my desk space with any dolls, toy figurines or large stuffed animals (like 90% of the other artists at work) She's terrified of them. We had a deal.

Finally, My Favorite Neighborhood Billboard

Cracks me up everytime. And yes, I took this picture while driving precariously back home.

Introversion Part Two

What happens when you mix an extreme introvert and an extreme extrovert together and they become close friends? You get one frustrated extrovert and one chronically fatigued introvert.

It took me a full day to recover from my friend's bridal shower/bachelorette party/bootcamp weekend. Sunday night through Monday I was completely shellshocked, lying prone on my sofa, staring at the ceiling for a bit, and trying to regain whatever lifeforce had been sucked away from the nonstop weekend of having to be "on" and around people 24/7.

Until I reread the article on Introverts, even I was baffled why I was so exhausted the whole weekend. We didn't do anything too strenuous - piddling around the pool at the spa, lounging in the sun, driving all over town... Yet, both nights I could barely keep my eyes open and defog my brain enough to make coherent conversations and participate in the requisite late night girly talks. I konked out big time at my spa massage, on the hotel bed, on my friend's sofa, and to top it off had nightmares.

It wasn't so much that it was a miserable experience - all the girls were perfectly nice and entertaining, I had been to that particular spa in Napa before, we had great food all weekend, and there was lovely weather. However, there were no less than 4 people around at all times, a dozen most of the time and all were 1) married, 2) engaged and comparing their gigantic rocks, or 3) in serious relationships likely to be engaged any second. Then there was me and one other misfit looking like "what the hell am I doing here? I have nothing to contribute to these conversations about wedding planning and the number and names of my nonexistent future children. Can I be excused?"

However, there was an itinerary for the weekend, activities day and night, and no time to go off on my own and decompress for a few hours. No doubt I wanted to be there for my friend, but knowing that I was required to be there triggered the I'm-trapped mentality. Above all, I felt sad knowing that I was growing apart or at least differently from my friend's next phase of life. I'm learning that my needs to be selfish and alone from time to time are just as important as her needs to be selfish and have everyone she loves around her for 3 days straight. Yes, this was a one time deal, but it's another life lesson for the next thing that comes around. I'm slowly learning how to say no.

Sweets

They opened a Beard Papa's near my parents' house and now down the street from my apartment!!! Must go and visit the cream puffs tonight.

Now if they'd only open up a Tea Station/Ten Ren Tea near my apartment, life would be complete. I'd be happy as a pig wallowing in mud. Probably as fat as one too.

More Silly Tests

In case anyone's bored, I can take these silly personality tests ALL day and have all my time sucked into a vortex of nonproductivity.

Introversion Part One

Though this article, "Caring For Your Introvert," came out a couple of years ago, I recently reread it and felt compelled to share it again. It fits me to a T. And it reminds me that there's nothing wrong with my quiet personality - grumpiness and all.

People exhaust me and that's the way it's always been. Unless it's a group of friends I'm intimately acquainted with, groups of 4 or more are daunting. I blend into the wallpaper at parties. I seek out the loners and solicit their stories. Laying low and not being yelled at are two of my prime goals in life. "Shy," "quiet," and "late bloomer" are frequent terms associated with me.

This is a more recent article on "Introverts In An Extrovert's World." that also includes biological reasoning.

"Extroverts gain energy by being out and about. Being with people takes energy from introverts, and they need to get away to restore that energy."

"They (Introverts) don't move their bodies as much, they keep their faces straight, they don't show as much emotion, in general. Out in public, they tend to be more contained in appearance, and their energy feels that way, too."

"They (Introverts) frequently are gifted in math, science, music or art and enjoy working alone. They're late bloomers, often marrying late in life, and while they have fewer close relationships, they're strong ones."

Thank God, I'm not as big a freak as I thought I was.

I Hear You

I can hear your voice.
I try to drown you out with music, but I can hear you talk.
I look away but I can hear you smiling with other people.
I concentrate on my reading, but I can hear you being friendly and normal to everyone else.
I wonder if you'll ever be kind to me again, because I can still hear the warmth and laughter in your voice towards everyone but me.

Musing

I was just thinking lately, it's almost refreshing to NOT have any romantic prospects on the horizon at all. A vacation from romantic angst. I'm fine with that.

Que Sera, Sera...

As a little girl, I was already a stress case. My pediatrician diagnosed my frequent stomachaches as anxiety. My mom worried correctly that I took after my father's side and would suffer from ulcers. If it wasn't school causing my stomach to tie into knots, it was piano recitals, mean kids, or always something or another.

When my mom wasn't contributing to my stress, she tried hard to calm me down by singing old songs to me. The Beatles' "Let It Be" and Doris Day's "Que Sera, Que Sera" were her ways of conveying to me "chill out, you can't control everything, go with the flow..." She didn't quite say it that way, but cradling my head in her lap and rubbing my disgruntled tummy, she would sing:

"When I was just a little girl,
I asked my mother, what will I be?
Will I be pretty, will I be rich?
Here's what she said to me.
Que sera, sera...
Whatever will be, will be.
The future's not ours to see.
Que sera, sera..."

Few things have changed. I'm still a stress case though I hide it slightly better. I still get ulcers every few years. And I still want to know what will happen in the future. I'm a sucker for online tests and anything that claims to predict the future.

An old roommate of mine was a whiz at math and financial planning, plotting out his whole life on one of those money programs. Based on the level of his pay, inflation, his savings plan and investments, he somehow managed to calculate that he would be a millionaire by the time he's 40. I excitedly asked, "Oooh, do mine, do mine!" He grimly told me I'd be a millionaire when I'm 80.

That leads to a big problem since the death forecaster test tells me I'm dying at age 80. However the real age test tells me I'm actually 2 years younger than my biological age. Does that mean I'll get to enjoy my million for 2 years before I croak?

By the way, I remember taking this silly love test as a teenager. All the answers still hold true. And it's absolutely correct.

A Sport Obviously Invented By a Guy

I kid you not. It is what it sounds like. Chessboxing. I couldn't even get through the whole article. I got too bored.

Toeing the Line

I'm trying to figure out when it's right to take the high road - be tactfully silent, refrain from confrontation and not stoop to anyone's imbecilic levels for a conflict, and when to speak up and make my feelings heard, even if it may cause awkwardness, tension, or worse yet, make me disliked.

For each situation I encounter, I like to ask "What would Audrey Hepburn or Jackie O do?" Not only were they remembered for their effortless style, they are held up as the epitome of grace and poise. All my life, I've longed to be graceful and poised. But then I realize neither of these two women enjoyed simple happy lives. Both suffered difficult marriages and experienced much grief, and neither struck me as particularly joyful women.

So I wonder, is it worth it to tell someone they're being an inconsiderate, bad friend? Or let people know they're being rude or out of line? I'm not talking about the one incident here or there. It's the continuous pattern of bad behavior. At this age, would it make a difference to let them know if they didn't realize already? Or do I write them off and spare myself the frustration and heartache?

It seems the mature thing to do is avoid confrontation, delicately extricate yourself from the situation, and behave as well as you can, without compromising your integrity. But at what point does taking the high road blur into being a doormat and conveying to others that you condone bad behavior and being treated like crap?

Not Learning the Moral of the Story

While I'm on the subject of movies tonight, I realize I'm still hopelessly stunted. I watched a silly movie recently - The Perfect Man with Heather Locklear and Hilary Duff. Heather plays the mom who is desperately seeking a man, so much so that she compromises everything. When each relationship inevitably ends disastrously, she picks up her family and moves to another town to start over. The lesson of course, is that both mother and daughter learn it's tougher and more rewarding to stick it out, face your fears, all that jazz...

I on the other hand, watched it amusedly and thought, "Genius! Running away and starting over sounds like a brilliant plan! Maybe I can do that!" Why torture yourself and stick around in a place where it's all bad memories and people you don't want to see?

Anyway, a better example is Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. It took me awhile to get around to watching it. The first time I watched it was with a boy I wanted to forget for a long time. The second time, with close girl friends. Every time I watch it, or parts of it, I love it even more. Every time I watch it, I think "I would like to do that. Erase the unhappy parts of my brain. That would be wonderful. I don't even care if I'm doomed to repeat the same mistakes. I just don't want to hurt or remember anymore."

Apparently, this is kinda why survivors of eating disorders don't disclose the methods they used when sharing their survival stories for inspiration. Instead of learning the lessons, people who are still sick will think "Aha! I never thought to use that method before!"

I Heart Keanu - Ode to a Teenage Crush

I had this poster up in my room throughout college. :)

Flash back 18 years ago. I joined the masses of fellow teenybopper girls and bought my first two celebrity posters to put up in my room. (Except I was a little embarrassed and actually put one up behind the bedroom door, and the other one on the wall behind the bedroom door.) Keanu Reeves and Christian Slater.

Christian Slater has since gone INSANE and become quite sleazy looking. Sometimes I hold out hope for him that he's just one comeback film away to prove that he's still the next Jack Nicholson, instead of a poor man's imitation.

Keanu, however, has steadily held my loyalty and faith. From Midsummer Night's Dream and Point Break, to Johnny Mnemonic and Matrix, my love for this beautiful man has never wavered. Lately, he's in public a lot more because of his latest film The Lake House. I finally got around to watching it tonight and YES, it was every bit the romantic, wondrous movie I thought it would be. Total chick flick, great mellow music, a bit of a tearjerker, and sometimes humorous.

I may not try to argue everyone down when they criticize his acting skills (I think he's earnest!) but I will never criticize him. He's managed to stay aloof, yet extremely grounded and normal despite his fame. There has never been a bit of bad press on him (I should know, I've followed stories on him since I was 12.) And after I read this recent article, I knew... he's still the only 41 year old man I'D marry.

Arty Moody British Rockers

I felt a bit like a fraud, attending the Radiohead concert Thursday night. Tickets sold out in seconds and fans paid hundreds of dollars to ticket brokers and scalpers to see them. Though I wasn't a huge fan, I've heard countless stories of how amazing Radiohead shows are - life changing experience was a phrase my cousin used.

Of course, I wasn't lucky enough to get tickets the conventional way. I scored them through a friend of a friend with a connection to ticketmaster. And our seats (Nay, benches. The last 4 rows weren't worthy of actual seats, only rows of benches) were humbly in the second to the last row of the Greek theater.

I recognized all of one song. I was prepared for that. I knew Radiohead were such "ar-teests" that they often refused to play any of their popular hits. I did recognize that they were great performers and musicians. All in all, an enjoyable evening, though I hate to think I swiped a precious seat from a more deserving fan.

More Bizarre Billboards

I saw two more of those random billboards. Painted all in red, with one sentence at the top left corner. I have yet to catch a picture.

"I pooted."
"I am an excellent toe picker."

"My boogers itch," however, is still my favorite. Whatever the campaign's for, it's working. I'm constantly on the lookout for the next one and dying to know what they're selling. It better be something great.

On a side note, I'm such a nerd, I had to look up the meaning of "pooted" in urbandictionary.com.