You know it's going to be an interesting week when a visit to the doctor and a shot in the arm actually starts off your Monday well. I woke up Monday morning still tired from the week before, with a feeling of "wow, I have absolutely nothing to look forward to today."
You see, almost everyday I try to find something small to look forward to, to give me a reason to actually leave the comfort of my bed and make my way outside my home. It can be as small as knowing that I'm going to have a good lunch at a specific place, the prospect of meeting up with a friend after work, knowing my boss will be busy or out of the office, or even as trivial as a good TV show that night. But on Monday, nada.
I showed up at a nearby travel clinic in Santa Monica to get my one remaining recommended vaccine for the trip. Apparently, regular doctors and health plans don't cover for 19th century type illnesses like typhoid. To my pleasant surprise, the doctor and nurse were extremely attentive and informative about my trip and health care needs, booking only one patient every half hour to an hour to make sure patients get all the time they deserve - something completely unheard of in this day and age of HMO's and overworked doctors. Of course, I had to pay all the out of pocket costs but wow, it made my day. Nice people. Not bogged down by the system.
I love my own doctors but the system dictates that they only spend about 5-10 minutes on me. This doctor sat me down about every scenario and treatment I would possibly need, personally administered the shot herself, told me about her recent trip to Burma, and then assured me that she had actually never even heard of a case where travelers to South Africa got sick yet.
Anyway, though my left arm was pretty much useless the rest of the day, it started me off on a good note. Even with the arrival of a new coworker sitting next to me who needs to be trained, even with Mr. DD coming back to work after his 5 week sabbatical, and even with the mountains upon mountains of stuff piled in my to do list in these next two weeks. And look, I made it to Friday already and I didn't even have to mow anyone down or punch them in the nose. A good week indeed.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Stressed Out Evil Basketcase
= Me. The last two weeks I've been so stressed, I got a cyst in my eye, rendering it all red and inflamed, had stomachaches every morning the minute I walked through the door at work, and overall wanted to punch people in the nose more than usual. There seems to be so much to do, so much to wrap up at work and at home before I leave the country in 2 1/2 weeks. This feeling of being continually overwhelmed has stomped out any remnants of the "nice" me and replaced it with a more selfish deranged version of myself.
On Saturday at dinner, The Boy Who Was the One, showed up an hour late, steaming mad and sans fiancee. Apparently, they just had a huge fight and she was still sitting in the car. Everyone didn't know what to say so I asked "aren't you afraid she'll drive off with your car?" Because if it were me, that would be a huge concern and by the way I would so drive off with the car. Luckily he had the keys. He didn't stay for long. He decided, wisely, to drive her back home and meet up with us at the art show later.
What I neglected to mention earlier was that at this dinner, there were supposed to be 6 couples and me. We were seated at a large square table, 3 on each side, perfect for 12. Except I was number 13. So the waiters scrambled to squeeze in a chair on one side so that I had 4 people on my side. Talk about insult to injury. So when The Boy showed up in his predicament and left without staying for dinner, we all had more room. And because I am evil, part of me was filled with glee and I ate quite well afterwards.
After I abruptly bolted at the end of night outside the bar, I felt a teensy bit bad. On Monday, just to make sure I hadn't offended my Vegas friends, I apologized for leaving so quickly without saying goodbye, explaining that I was tired, cold, and worn down by the week. Both were understanding and cool with it marveling at how fast I had disappeared, though she said, "you are more set in your ways than anyone I know." I decided to not take that in a bad way, knowing that yes, I can be stubborn as a mule when it comes to certain things.
What I realized most was that this new impatient evil me? It's a backlash to the person I was. The chump who spent most of her life being too nice and accommodating to everyone, making sure everyone else was happy and comfortable about everything, forsaking my own comfort and happiness in the process. Kind of like sacrificing the welfare of the individual to provide for the greater good of the group. It's me rebelling against me.
I'm sure the pendulum will eventually land somewhere in the middle again when I'm done making it up to my inner id after years of suppression, but for the meantime, I am THAT girl. The one who feels good when people I don't like (or ones who have hurt me) are suffering and miserable. The one who doesn't politely wait for everyone to be finished and ready to go before I leave them behind. The one who has no qualms about staying silent when a person is needed to step up and help out. Nope, as much as I believe in karma, I think I've more than filled my quota for at least this next decade. So watch out people! I WILL mow you down if I have to.
On Saturday at dinner, The Boy Who Was the One, showed up an hour late, steaming mad and sans fiancee. Apparently, they just had a huge fight and she was still sitting in the car. Everyone didn't know what to say so I asked "aren't you afraid she'll drive off with your car?" Because if it were me, that would be a huge concern and by the way I would so drive off with the car. Luckily he had the keys. He didn't stay for long. He decided, wisely, to drive her back home and meet up with us at the art show later.
What I neglected to mention earlier was that at this dinner, there were supposed to be 6 couples and me. We were seated at a large square table, 3 on each side, perfect for 12. Except I was number 13. So the waiters scrambled to squeeze in a chair on one side so that I had 4 people on my side. Talk about insult to injury. So when The Boy showed up in his predicament and left without staying for dinner, we all had more room. And because I am evil, part of me was filled with glee and I ate quite well afterwards.
After I abruptly bolted at the end of night outside the bar, I felt a teensy bit bad. On Monday, just to make sure I hadn't offended my Vegas friends, I apologized for leaving so quickly without saying goodbye, explaining that I was tired, cold, and worn down by the week. Both were understanding and cool with it marveling at how fast I had disappeared, though she said, "you are more set in your ways than anyone I know." I decided to not take that in a bad way, knowing that yes, I can be stubborn as a mule when it comes to certain things.
What I realized most was that this new impatient evil me? It's a backlash to the person I was. The chump who spent most of her life being too nice and accommodating to everyone, making sure everyone else was happy and comfortable about everything, forsaking my own comfort and happiness in the process. Kind of like sacrificing the welfare of the individual to provide for the greater good of the group. It's me rebelling against me.
I'm sure the pendulum will eventually land somewhere in the middle again when I'm done making it up to my inner id after years of suppression, but for the meantime, I am THAT girl. The one who feels good when people I don't like (or ones who have hurt me) are suffering and miserable. The one who doesn't politely wait for everyone to be finished and ready to go before I leave them behind. The one who has no qualms about staying silent when a person is needed to step up and help out. Nope, as much as I believe in karma, I think I've more than filled my quota for at least this next decade. So watch out people! I WILL mow you down if I have to.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Work Hard, Play Hard
In the past week, I broke my rule of not working past 8pm every night. And to make up for the extra work and stress, I went out and socialized even more than usual, running the gamut from a rock concert to the ballet, to loud bars and an art show. I am exhausted.
Monday: Since Wavy is soon leaving SoCal, we decided she had to eat at Mulberry Street Pizza, hands down the best New York style pizza out here. When given the choice between Pinkberry and the Gelato shop for dessert, we stood in the middle of the street debating. I caved in to the more fattening gelato.
Tuesday: I was all dressed in my running gear, ready to meet up with Jigaho at the track, when Polar Opposite friend called. "It's raining. Let's just all have dinner instead." So instead of exercising, we headed to Tofu-Ya where I scarfed down a hearty meal of Soon Tofu and Bulgogi, washing it down with a Pinkberry frozen yogurt. I was the only one to eat EVERYTHING. I am like a goldfish that doesn't know how to stop eating what's in front of me.
Wednesday: Hit the Troubadour with Sly and another friend to see The Bravery. I only knew this song below and their latest single "Time Won't Let Me Go" but heard they were great live.
The lead singer is a little funny looking but his voice is a cross between Robert Smith of The Cure and a little bit of Morissey. I hung back at the bar where I could sit down and be the old lady that I am but I still enjoyed the energy of the band and its rabid fans packed together up front.
Thursday: I had friends in town this weekend, one of whom was the couple from Vegas. Since I was traditionally the "stunt double" who took the wife out to the ballet, we carried on the tradition and left the boys to fend for themselves (I think they went to watch turtle races at some local bar. Go figure.) Luckily the Joffrey Ballet was in town this same weekend and we caught Program A, the more classical of the two programs with music from actual Russian composers like Stravinsky. None of that modern dance stuff with people plopping around barefoot.
Friday: Another friend in town. This town, I met up with the college crew in Little Tokyo where we ate at a place that left us as hungry as we started. Izakaya Haru Ulala is a traditional Japanese tapas place, serving different food in tiny little dishes. Unfortunately, each dish took about 10 minutes to come out at a time.
We cut our losses about an hour later, making our way to Broadway Bar to meet up with more friends. (On a completely unrelated note, they were holding "So You Think You Can Dance" auditions next door at the Orpheum theater and I really really wanted to sneak in and watch instead of hanging out at a bar.) After straining my voice for about half an hour trying to talk over the loud music, we hopped to the next bar. Golden Gopher was more crowded and since some of us were still starving, drinking wasn't a great idea either. At least there were more interesting people to look at.
Sometimes, especially on weekends like this, I feel like I've lost any last bits of socializing skills I ever had. I never know what to do with bars. I rarely drink at bars because I know I'll have to drive myself somewhere else. I have a hard time talking loudly over the usual decibel level. I hate small talk. And, well, if you just sit there not drinking and not talking at a bar, really what's the point?
Anyway, we ended the night at a King Taco in downtown, a place I've managed to never notice or hear of the whole time I've lived in LA, probably because I've never liked Mexican food. Fortunately, this place was authentic and delicious. They had good meat and horchatas! Success.
Saturday: I promised the whole day to the Vegas couple. So I had brunch with them and another couple friend, followed them around for some shopping, had dinner at Typhoon (an Asian-fusion place that actually serves insects as part of their menu.) and attended his Art Show opening with an assortment of coworkers and former coworkers. Yay.
We went across the street to a bar called Good Hurt, where the bartenders dress like naughty nurses and a couple of very loud and not so good bands played on stage. Seeing that I had just endured loud bars the night before, I stuck in some ear plugs and sat down for awhile. (Yes I bring ear plugs with me everywhere in case I go to impromptu concerts.) As an added bonus a trio of bad burlesque dancers came on stage to do two numbers. After that, I was ready to go.
When another awful band started warming up, I stood up and said "I'M LEAVING." Surprisingly enough, the whole group followed me out. But as they loitered around outside of the bar chatting and saying their goodbyes, the cranky old lady in me snapped and in my head I thought "Ok, I'm done here" and I walked off. Just like that. The exhaustion, the cold, and the smoke swirling around me finally did me in. The week was done. And I was in bed soon after midnight.
Monday: Since Wavy is soon leaving SoCal, we decided she had to eat at Mulberry Street Pizza, hands down the best New York style pizza out here. When given the choice between Pinkberry and the Gelato shop for dessert, we stood in the middle of the street debating. I caved in to the more fattening gelato.
Tuesday: I was all dressed in my running gear, ready to meet up with Jigaho at the track, when Polar Opposite friend called. "It's raining. Let's just all have dinner instead." So instead of exercising, we headed to Tofu-Ya where I scarfed down a hearty meal of Soon Tofu and Bulgogi, washing it down with a Pinkberry frozen yogurt. I was the only one to eat EVERYTHING. I am like a goldfish that doesn't know how to stop eating what's in front of me.
Wednesday: Hit the Troubadour with Sly and another friend to see The Bravery. I only knew this song below and their latest single "Time Won't Let Me Go" but heard they were great live.
The lead singer is a little funny looking but his voice is a cross between Robert Smith of The Cure and a little bit of Morissey. I hung back at the bar where I could sit down and be the old lady that I am but I still enjoyed the energy of the band and its rabid fans packed together up front.
Thursday: I had friends in town this weekend, one of whom was the couple from Vegas. Since I was traditionally the "stunt double" who took the wife out to the ballet, we carried on the tradition and left the boys to fend for themselves (I think they went to watch turtle races at some local bar. Go figure.) Luckily the Joffrey Ballet was in town this same weekend and we caught Program A, the more classical of the two programs with music from actual Russian composers like Stravinsky. None of that modern dance stuff with people plopping around barefoot.
Friday: Another friend in town. This town, I met up with the college crew in Little Tokyo where we ate at a place that left us as hungry as we started. Izakaya Haru Ulala is a traditional Japanese tapas place, serving different food in tiny little dishes. Unfortunately, each dish took about 10 minutes to come out at a time.
We cut our losses about an hour later, making our way to Broadway Bar to meet up with more friends. (On a completely unrelated note, they were holding "So You Think You Can Dance" auditions next door at the Orpheum theater and I really really wanted to sneak in and watch instead of hanging out at a bar.) After straining my voice for about half an hour trying to talk over the loud music, we hopped to the next bar. Golden Gopher was more crowded and since some of us were still starving, drinking wasn't a great idea either. At least there were more interesting people to look at.
Sometimes, especially on weekends like this, I feel like I've lost any last bits of socializing skills I ever had. I never know what to do with bars. I rarely drink at bars because I know I'll have to drive myself somewhere else. I have a hard time talking loudly over the usual decibel level. I hate small talk. And, well, if you just sit there not drinking and not talking at a bar, really what's the point?
Anyway, we ended the night at a King Taco in downtown, a place I've managed to never notice or hear of the whole time I've lived in LA, probably because I've never liked Mexican food. Fortunately, this place was authentic and delicious. They had good meat and horchatas! Success.
Saturday: I promised the whole day to the Vegas couple. So I had brunch with them and another couple friend, followed them around for some shopping, had dinner at Typhoon (an Asian-fusion place that actually serves insects as part of their menu.) and attended his Art Show opening with an assortment of coworkers and former coworkers. Yay.
We went across the street to a bar called Good Hurt, where the bartenders dress like naughty nurses and a couple of very loud and not so good bands played on stage. Seeing that I had just endured loud bars the night before, I stuck in some ear plugs and sat down for awhile. (Yes I bring ear plugs with me everywhere in case I go to impromptu concerts.) As an added bonus a trio of bad burlesque dancers came on stage to do two numbers. After that, I was ready to go.
When another awful band started warming up, I stood up and said "I'M LEAVING." Surprisingly enough, the whole group followed me out. But as they loitered around outside of the bar chatting and saying their goodbyes, the cranky old lady in me snapped and in my head I thought "Ok, I'm done here" and I walked off. Just like that. The exhaustion, the cold, and the smoke swirling around me finally did me in. The week was done. And I was in bed soon after midnight.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Loudness
One of my biggest goals in life is not to be yelled at. I kid you not. Perhaps I should aspire to bigger and different goals, but this one is pretty important to me. I HATE loud noise. Especially when it's coming out of someone's mouth and directed in my general direction.
There's never a need to raise one's voice and talk over me - it's like squashing a bug with your shoe. I am a quiet talker. My voice refuses to project. I can yell at the top of my lungs and you likely won't hear me even if you're only like 50 feet away. If I have to sing nonstop for 15 minutes or conduct a conversation in a noisy bar, I will be guaranteed to lose my voice that night. Apparently, I got me some weak lungs and vocal chords.
Ironically, I come from a family of loud talkers and yellers. I have plenty of great friends who can project their voices with the best of them. So if and when I ever need it, I have tons of great people like Miss FlipFlops who can literally speak up for me. And plenty of great friends who have never yelled at me or made me cry.
Now that I'm older, I realized I don't have to take it. I'm not that child my mom can yell at anymore. In fact, as traumatizing as the whole situation was, 2 years ago (the last time my mom ever yelled at me) I decided to walk right out the door and leave the house when my mom wouldn't stop yelling. It took a long time to heal for the both of us but it was an adult milestone that probably frightened her and liberated me.
Walking away is probably the most frustrating thing you can do to a yeller. With work, I can't always do that. Nor can I humor my urge to just punch them in the nose. So I respond in the best way I can - with silence until they're done with their rant. I won't even tolerate someone raising their voice to me. I immediately shut down to silent but deadly mode because I know there's no point in raising my voice back at them. I'll lose. And losing I hate almost as much as I hate loud noise.
There's never a need to raise one's voice and talk over me - it's like squashing a bug with your shoe. I am a quiet talker. My voice refuses to project. I can yell at the top of my lungs and you likely won't hear me even if you're only like 50 feet away. If I have to sing nonstop for 15 minutes or conduct a conversation in a noisy bar, I will be guaranteed to lose my voice that night. Apparently, I got me some weak lungs and vocal chords.
Ironically, I come from a family of loud talkers and yellers. I have plenty of great friends who can project their voices with the best of them. So if and when I ever need it, I have tons of great people like Miss FlipFlops who can literally speak up for me. And plenty of great friends who have never yelled at me or made me cry.
Now that I'm older, I realized I don't have to take it. I'm not that child my mom can yell at anymore. In fact, as traumatizing as the whole situation was, 2 years ago (the last time my mom ever yelled at me) I decided to walk right out the door and leave the house when my mom wouldn't stop yelling. It took a long time to heal for the both of us but it was an adult milestone that probably frightened her and liberated me.
Walking away is probably the most frustrating thing you can do to a yeller. With work, I can't always do that. Nor can I humor my urge to just punch them in the nose. So I respond in the best way I can - with silence until they're done with their rant. I won't even tolerate someone raising their voice to me. I immediately shut down to silent but deadly mode because I know there's no point in raising my voice back at them. I'll lose. And losing I hate almost as much as I hate loud noise.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Men Are From Mars, Women Are From the Land of Neuroticism
Jigaho mentioned this hilarious essay to me a couple of weeks ago and I haven't been able to shake it from my mind since. I keep relaying it to all my friends so I might as well post it.
It is amazing how much women can over think everything while men have this expanse of fluffy clouds in their heads. Not all of course, but generally speaking, this feels so true and explains so much. Jigaho said she has now decided to treat all men as if they possessed the short term memory of a goldfish and not expect too much.
Two Diaries.
HER DIARY:
Saturday night I thought he was acting weird. We had made plans to meet at a bar to have a drink. I was shopping with my friends all day long, so I thought he was upset at the fact that I was a bit late, but he made no comment. Conversation wasn't flowing so I suggested that we go somewhere quiet so we could talk. He agreed but he kept quiet and absent. I asked him what was wrong he said nothing. I asked him if it was my fault that he was upset. He said it had nothing to do with me and not to worry. On the way home I told him that I loved him, he simply smiled and kept driving. I can't explain his behaviour; I don't know why he didn't say I love you too. When we got home I felt as if had lost him, as if he wanted nothing to do with me anymore. He just sat there and watched TV. He seemed distant and absent. Finally I decided to go to bed. About 10 minutes later he came to bed and to my surprise he responded to my caress and we made love, but I still felt that he was distracted and his thoughts where somewhere else. I decided that I could not take it anymore so I decided to confront him with the situation but he had fallen asleep. I started crying and cried until I too fell asleep. I don't know what to do. I'm almost sure that his thoughts are with someone else. My life is a disaster.
HIS DIARY:
The Lakers lost again! At least I got laid.
It is amazing how much women can over think everything while men have this expanse of fluffy clouds in their heads. Not all of course, but generally speaking, this feels so true and explains so much. Jigaho said she has now decided to treat all men as if they possessed the short term memory of a goldfish and not expect too much.
Two Diaries.
HER DIARY:
Saturday night I thought he was acting weird. We had made plans to meet at a bar to have a drink. I was shopping with my friends all day long, so I thought he was upset at the fact that I was a bit late, but he made no comment. Conversation wasn't flowing so I suggested that we go somewhere quiet so we could talk. He agreed but he kept quiet and absent. I asked him what was wrong he said nothing. I asked him if it was my fault that he was upset. He said it had nothing to do with me and not to worry. On the way home I told him that I loved him, he simply smiled and kept driving. I can't explain his behaviour; I don't know why he didn't say I love you too. When we got home I felt as if had lost him, as if he wanted nothing to do with me anymore. He just sat there and watched TV. He seemed distant and absent. Finally I decided to go to bed. About 10 minutes later he came to bed and to my surprise he responded to my caress and we made love, but I still felt that he was distracted and his thoughts where somewhere else. I decided that I could not take it anymore so I decided to confront him with the situation but he had fallen asleep. I started crying and cried until I too fell asleep. I don't know what to do. I'm almost sure that his thoughts are with someone else. My life is a disaster.
HIS DIARY:
The Lakers lost again! At least I got laid.
Friday, March 16, 2007
False Pretense of Security
I'm old school. I like writing letters. And though I haven't actually handwritten anything but cards in the past half year, I love the idea of writing my friends, writing in my journal, and writing pretend letters that I will never send, just to get certain emotions and thoughts off my chest.
A while ago, in my very depressed state, I wrote a couple of extremely personal faux letters to certain special folks and saved them on my computer. Aha, but clever me, I locked them with special passwords - separate special passwords for each separate special letter. And of course, I haven't been able to unlock them since.
Last year, I casually mentioned to a coworker how I locked myself out of my own documents - I'm that lame - and he said "OMG, you just have to go our IT guy! He can unlock anything. I locked myself out of some documents and he ran this password hacking program and unlocked it in less than 5 minutes! Just bring your computer in. He'll do it for you." I shuddered at the thought of our IT guy reading these letters and said "that's ok. It's probably for the best that I can't get back into them." So much for security. It only saves me from myself.
A while ago, in my very depressed state, I wrote a couple of extremely personal faux letters to certain special folks and saved them on my computer. Aha, but clever me, I locked them with special passwords - separate special passwords for each separate special letter. And of course, I haven't been able to unlock them since.
Last year, I casually mentioned to a coworker how I locked myself out of my own documents - I'm that lame - and he said "OMG, you just have to go our IT guy! He can unlock anything. I locked myself out of some documents and he ran this password hacking program and unlocked it in less than 5 minutes! Just bring your computer in. He'll do it for you." I shuddered at the thought of our IT guy reading these letters and said "that's ok. It's probably for the best that I can't get back into them." So much for security. It only saves me from myself.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Zoo
Or 300 depending on how you look at it. I watched this epitome of the guy movie Friday night with some friends and rather enjoyed it. You get what you pay for and it's pretty much what you'd expect from watching the trailers. Very stylized look with a lovely monochromatic sepia tone, visually stimulating film bathed in CG geeky goodness, oodles of buff half nekkid men running around in capes, knee high boots and underwear (I gave up asking why. I just accept it.) and tons of testosterone filled battles and blood. (UBBF, you'd probably hate this film but you'll probably be dragged to it anyway by your counterpart.)
Jigaho and I, a minority in the group of young cheering fanboys, had some good laughs. We actually laughed out loud during a couple of inopportune moments. She was one of the people who thought this movie was titled "Zoo" for the longest time; so when they brought out rhinos and elephants during one of the battles, she leaned over to me and whispered "here's where the 'zoo' portion of the movie starts!"
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Spelling It Out for the World To See
While driving along the 10 Freeway today I saw "Wo Heartbre k" spelled across an overpass bridge. The first couple of thoughts that crossed my mind:
1) People need to learn how to spell
2) Ah, looks like some letters fell off
3) Why in the world would someone tack up individual letters along the bridge instead of spray painting it across the concrete like any other self-respecting tagger in LA?
4) Ah, I guess heartbreak really does possess people to do irrational things....
1) People need to learn how to spell
2) Ah, looks like some letters fell off
3) Why in the world would someone tack up individual letters along the bridge instead of spray painting it across the concrete like any other self-respecting tagger in LA?
4) Ah, I guess heartbreak really does possess people to do irrational things....
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs
This was a children's book I loved as a kid - a perfectly whimsical and odd title that often describes my mood forecast. Good and bad and weird all combined together. It started off as a decently good day. Then it launched into weird when my fellow coworker and I suddenly started venting about our control-mongering boss and went out for a nice lunch outdoors at a lovely cafe. She tended to be closer to him since they worked together long before I was thrown under his wings after my former boss fled the company in not-so-good circumstances. So it feels even better to know that even she is angry and frustrated with his used car salesman ways.
The bad happened late in the afternoon, suddenly and surprisingly. One of the guys IMed me out of the blue to tell me that Mr. DD was going snowboarding. Rage surfaced from I don't know where and I wanted to yell "Why the hell are you telling me? I HATE HIM. I don't want to know what he's doing on his 'sabbatical' nor hear about him having fun." And of course, I couldn't and didn't say anything except "Hope he doesn't break anything."
Wow, nearly a year later, I can still rage for no good reason at all, stunning even myself. I really didn't and don't think I hate him at all. It put me in an uncomfortable and foul mood the rest of the evening knowing that I'm still affected and nothing seemed to make me feel better at home. Nothing looked good to watch on TV. Most foods made me feel nauseous. So I had some steamed dumplings and bubbly juice, hoping it's not that flu/virus going around work that's making me feel ill. Maybe I just not to sleep. A lot. And the distraction of choice? The Wire Season Two DVDs. Who knew that this show about Baltimore cops, drug dealers, and smugglers would be the perfect enjoyable escape. Here we go again...
The bad happened late in the afternoon, suddenly and surprisingly. One of the guys IMed me out of the blue to tell me that Mr. DD was going snowboarding. Rage surfaced from I don't know where and I wanted to yell "Why the hell are you telling me? I HATE HIM. I don't want to know what he's doing on his 'sabbatical' nor hear about him having fun." And of course, I couldn't and didn't say anything except "Hope he doesn't break anything."
Wow, nearly a year later, I can still rage for no good reason at all, stunning even myself. I really didn't and don't think I hate him at all. It put me in an uncomfortable and foul mood the rest of the evening knowing that I'm still affected and nothing seemed to make me feel better at home. Nothing looked good to watch on TV. Most foods made me feel nauseous. So I had some steamed dumplings and bubbly juice, hoping it's not that flu/virus going around work that's making me feel ill. Maybe I just not to sleep. A lot. And the distraction of choice? The Wire Season Two DVDs. Who knew that this show about Baltimore cops, drug dealers, and smugglers would be the perfect enjoyable escape. Here we go again...
Repercussions of a Grand Leap
I love the idea that everyone starts off with a blank slate. No pain, no prejudices, no preconceived notions. And it's the journeys along the way that leave their imprints on you, for better for worse. Sometimes you don't know which it is until some time passes.
For the most part, I've suffered less than most, and also didn't experience any huge trials until much later in life, thanks to my very overprotective parents and my own naivete and late bloomerness. I try to maintain a positive attitude about things, even the really crappy ones, and regard them as life lessons (well, after much bellyaching and weeping).
Unfortunately, there are still long term repercussions to being hurt, deceived, let down, or unfairly stomped on. You wisen up. You parcel out trust sparingly. You lose that certain laissez-faire attitude toward people. That is the worst part of having your heart broken coupled with the nonstop disappointment in boys the last couple of years.
I think it was Wavy who remarked that this wariness I've developed is what saddens/angers her the most about all these silly boys. When I meet new people, I wrinkle my nose and think "Eh..." When friends ask me about any new dating prospects, I scrunch up my face and respond "Bleh..." In the most polite ladylike way possible, of course.
I thought this opening clip from one of my current favorite sitcoms, The Class, sums up my attitude quite well sometimes.
Kat's response to Ethan trying to console her about her ex.
"I'm never listening to you again. 'Don’t be afraid. Open your heart!' Yeah. This baby is getting locked in a box. Inside a safe. Surrounded by sharks. With guns."
For the most part, I've suffered less than most, and also didn't experience any huge trials until much later in life, thanks to my very overprotective parents and my own naivete and late bloomerness. I try to maintain a positive attitude about things, even the really crappy ones, and regard them as life lessons (well, after much bellyaching and weeping).
Unfortunately, there are still long term repercussions to being hurt, deceived, let down, or unfairly stomped on. You wisen up. You parcel out trust sparingly. You lose that certain laissez-faire attitude toward people. That is the worst part of having your heart broken coupled with the nonstop disappointment in boys the last couple of years.
I think it was Wavy who remarked that this wariness I've developed is what saddens/angers her the most about all these silly boys. When I meet new people, I wrinkle my nose and think "Eh..." When friends ask me about any new dating prospects, I scrunch up my face and respond "Bleh..." In the most polite ladylike way possible, of course.
I thought this opening clip from one of my current favorite sitcoms, The Class, sums up my attitude quite well sometimes.
Kat's response to Ethan trying to console her about her ex.
"I'm never listening to you again. 'Don’t be afraid. Open your heart!' Yeah. This baby is getting locked in a box. Inside a safe. Surrounded by sharks. With guns."
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
An Anniversary of Sorts
A ten year anniversary - since I got my first adult passport and started traveling on my own! Dingbat me, I just realized yesterday that my passport expired last month, a day after I bought my trip tickets for April. Thank goodness they can expedite those suckers in 2 weeks, though for double the price.
Ten years ago, I saw Paris for the first time with my best friend. Ten years later, I'll be going again alone, after I hit South Africa with my new friend, Clancy, one of my more inspirational friends who motivated me to run the half marathon. I can't wait. Maybe I'll even climb the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe again just for old times sake.
Ten years ago, I saw Paris for the first time with my best friend. Ten years later, I'll be going again alone, after I hit South Africa with my new friend, Clancy, one of my more inspirational friends who motivated me to run the half marathon. I can't wait. Maybe I'll even climb the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe again just for old times sake.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
The Fuzziness of Having Work Friends
Most Friday nights, my coworkers have a beer or two or ten and kick back in our lounge, shooting pool, playing scintillating games such as beer pong or quarters, and engaging in conversations that only someone equally drunk or high would enjoy. And 99% of the time, though they always ask me to join in and ask me why I don't, I bolt out of the office like a gazelle being hunted by hyenas the second I'm done with my work and I've checked in with the people on my projects.
By Friday, I usually hate everybody. By Friday, all I want to do is sit at home, watch TV, take a bubble bath, eat Pinkberry, anything but making efforts to socialize with people I work with. Don't get me wrong. I obviously do meet some good friends from work, sometimes stupidly more. But for the most part, the rest of the people who fall in the middle - the people who are nice enough and pleasant enough to work with, chat with, laugh with, but still not people I would consider friends if we were ever to stop working together - I don't know what to do with them. Especially when there's a large group of them and I have varying degrees of trust in each of them.
I never understood the point of getting plastered and acting like a prize idiot in front of people you work with. People you have to command respect from. People you have to face the next day in a semi-professional setting. Wavy proposed that it's perhaps a bonding ritual? A "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" kind of thing? How can you guarantee that people won't talk or that they won't judge you later? Or that somehow a subconscious thought won't affect their decision making when it comes to something work-related? It's all kind of fuzzy and I know there's no clear answer for everybody. Just another venting session...
By Friday, I usually hate everybody. By Friday, all I want to do is sit at home, watch TV, take a bubble bath, eat Pinkberry, anything but making efforts to socialize with people I work with. Don't get me wrong. I obviously do meet some good friends from work, sometimes stupidly more. But for the most part, the rest of the people who fall in the middle - the people who are nice enough and pleasant enough to work with, chat with, laugh with, but still not people I would consider friends if we were ever to stop working together - I don't know what to do with them. Especially when there's a large group of them and I have varying degrees of trust in each of them.
I never understood the point of getting plastered and acting like a prize idiot in front of people you work with. People you have to command respect from. People you have to face the next day in a semi-professional setting. Wavy proposed that it's perhaps a bonding ritual? A "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" kind of thing? How can you guarantee that people won't talk or that they won't judge you later? Or that somehow a subconscious thought won't affect their decision making when it comes to something work-related? It's all kind of fuzzy and I know there's no clear answer for everybody. Just another venting session...
Sunday, March 04, 2007
A Break From Wii-ing
Other than playing Wii Sports and Rayman with different friends every night this week, tis the season for work to start pissing me off again. It actually works out nicely that I'm taking out my aggressions on something physical like a game.
Also, after 3 months of not running a single step, I finally walked/jogged/ran at the university track tonight with friends. Only a mile and a half but it's a start. I've been having trouble motivating myself to run or do any kind of exercise again, puzzled by the life I had last year (not so long ago) when I actually woke up at the crack of dawn to run before work. I can barely get up at 9:30 in time to roll in to work around 10. I took it as a good sign that I wasn't angry or particularly unhappy enough to want that grueling physical pain anymore. I guess work frustration and running companions are good motivators to start up again.
I'm not looking forward to work tomorrow, facing he-who-drones-on-and-on-and-on-and-on... and just when you think it's almost done, it continues on-and-on-and-on-and-on. Until counting the number of bricks on the wall or singing nursery rhymes in my head backwards is the only thing that prevents my brain from atrophying on the spot. I think I can repeat his stories verbatim at this point. At least others share my pain. At least some don't abuse their power and hold their people captive in meetings that last over 2 hours when all can be covered in 20 minutes. And at least I will always have the running.
Also, after 3 months of not running a single step, I finally walked/jogged/ran at the university track tonight with friends. Only a mile and a half but it's a start. I've been having trouble motivating myself to run or do any kind of exercise again, puzzled by the life I had last year (not so long ago) when I actually woke up at the crack of dawn to run before work. I can barely get up at 9:30 in time to roll in to work around 10. I took it as a good sign that I wasn't angry or particularly unhappy enough to want that grueling physical pain anymore. I guess work frustration and running companions are good motivators to start up again.
I'm not looking forward to work tomorrow, facing he-who-drones-on-and-on-and-on-and-on... and just when you think it's almost done, it continues on-and-on-and-on-and-on. Until counting the number of bricks on the wall or singing nursery rhymes in my head backwards is the only thing that prevents my brain from atrophying on the spot. I think I can repeat his stories verbatim at this point. At least others share my pain. At least some don't abuse their power and hold their people captive in meetings that last over 2 hours when all can be covered in 20 minutes. And at least I will always have the running.
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