A Letter From My Goddaughter

My goddaughter handed me this card before I left for the day, with clear instructions to not open it till I got home. She even tucked it into my purse for me as a special surprise.You should click on the picture and see the letter for yourself because I can't do it justice. It's a combination of her curiosity, randomness, and cuteness all rolled into one. Them eight year olds sure are smart. And listen in to everything you talk about with their parents...
In case you can't read the letter very well, here's what it says:
Dear Auntie (Whatchamacalit),
Sorry for not writing to you for a long time. I am glad you came. Why did you want to get lade off.
Love, (Sweet, curious, eight year old goddaughter)

Little Girls and Basketball

After a six month absence, I was on track to becoming a deadbeat godmother. Yesterday, I finally spent a day with my second family, starting with attending my goddaughter's basketball game around noon.
I used to love watching my younger brother's soccer and basketball games when we were kids. What better than watching a horde of little kids run around in circles, while frustrated adults try to instill concepts of offense and defense to an audience more concerned with what flavor Gatorade juice drink they'll get after the game?
I forgot how intense parents and coaches can get. It was an Asian league, so the parents were relatively subdued compared to the games I grew up watching. However, the coaches were yelling things like "BOX THEM OUT, ladies!" "Find a man! "(to guard presumably... or else we'd have a whole slew of other issues going on.) All I could think was Dude, they're SEVEN. Just chill. I mean the final score was something like 12 to 6 and the basketball was bigger than their heads. One little girl let out an "URGHHHHH!" every time she hurled the basketball into the air to attempt a basket. Actually, I think it helped her because she was the leading scorer for the opposing team.
In the end, my goddaugher's team lost but they did have fantastic snacks. Seaweed wrapped rice with egg and ham in the middle. Japanese snacks sure beat American ones. At the game, I also bonded with my 4 year old godson by playing video games on our IPhones together. That kid can work his dad's phone better than I know how to operate mine.
By the time we got back to their place, it was pathetically group nap time for the adults while the kids played on their own quietly. I remember when it used to be the other way around. Gosh they're growing up fast.

The Never Ending Virus (Beat That You Stinkin Swine Flu!)

Maybe it's because I'm getting older or maybe it's my body's way of going F YOU!!!!!! for putting us through the mental hell of the past year, but it's getting completely out of hand how long it takes for me to recover from any illness. As luck would have it, the second week of my freedom started with aches and fevers, and I'm still suffering the aftermath three months later. Just so I have a documentation of my own and partially to answer the question that everyone keeps asking ("So what is it that you do everyday?"), I've pretty much been sitting on my ass half the time, too achy and tired to do much more than stare at the wall, stare at the ceiling, stare at my computer, or stare at a book.

Week of Mar 3 - I hitch a ride up to SF with a friend moving up to Pixar and spend a week up there visiting friends

Week of Mar 10 - I'm about to begin my fun and exciting life of leisure, starting with hitting up the free museum day at the LA County Museum of Art but I wake up feeling like someone took a sledgehammer to a giant slab of concrete laying on top of me. Sore throat and achiness ensue, culminating with a mildly irritating cough by end of the week. Figuring the cold had run its course, I go on a snowboarding trip to Mammoth that weekend since we had already planned a trip with friends. SO much fun! And yet such a bad idea. I come back with bruises so big, it looks like I am an abused woman. And the coughing turns into full blown hacking.

Week of Mar 17 - Snowboarding trip turned my cold into a nasty upper respiratory infection and I need inhalers and all sorts of medicine to help me breathe and sleep at night. :(

Week of Mar 24 - I am a glutton for punishment. And greedy to live this life of excitement, whimsy, and leisure. I was starting to get better but decided to go on a last minute trip to Belgium. Poor homesick Wavy had been working out there for two months. All I had to pay for was the flight which was dirt cheap. Hotels, most dinners, taxis, etc were comped by her so I couldn't say no, could I? Unfortunately, Belgium and France during late March is quite cold and rainy. "Wow," Wavy gratefully tells me, "I can't believe you came all the way out to visit me even with having something akin to the consumption."

Week of Mar 31 - I come back to LA, almost as sick and tired as I was when I first went to Belgium.

Week of Apr 6 - Starting to get better, weaning myself off all the inhalers and medicine and lo and behold by the end of the week, I notice that my throat is all swollen and tender to the touch. WTF?!!

Week of Apr 13 - I go to the doctor yet again, but my usual physician is on vacation. Her sub sends me for x-rays, ultrasounds, antibiotics, cough syrup with codeine, and muscle relaxers for my swollen thyroid and to kick that cough's ass once and for all. Cough's ass is kicked but thyroid still swollen as ever.

Week of Apr 20 - Back to the doctor to see my usual physician for a follow up and for them to draw blood. Four vials full!!!! Argh. Yup, your thyroid is inflamed, she says. Take some Advil for the achiness and come back in 4 weeks for another blood test to see how it goes.

Week of Apr 27 - Apparently all my blood work indicates that I am healthy as a horse except for slightly high white blood cells and platelets, indicating possible infection. Thyroid is swollen, and my neck and head so achy I decide to chop off some hair on my head to alleviate some of the pressure from my noggin.

Week of May 4 - Nothing has changed at all. I call the doctor again to gripe about the fact that nothing has changed and I'm still in pain. Her nurse calls back telling me that they've prescribed Vicodin and that I can come back this week for another blood test just to see what's going on. Also, I'm getting a referral to the endocrinologist. Too chicken to try the Vicodin or even pick it up from the pharmacy. But I go back for the blood test where they proceed to take yet another four vials of blood! Ack!

Week of May 11 - Fed up with the lack of progress on this swollen thyroid business, I pursue a more aggressive form of treatment. I schedule an appointment for a chiropractor to help with my neck, call the doctor's office everyday until I can squeeze in an earlier appointment with the endocrinologist this week, and decide to try the Vicodin since I'm feeling particularly achy. I'm not quite sure how people get addicted to this stuff, because even though it was as if my body miraculously never felt pain EVER, I am so nauseous that I pass out for two hours and still lose my lunch after the nap. For the next four hours or so, I can only stare at the wall for fear any movement would add to that nausea. Back to the Advil please...
Ironically enough, I notice some improvement the next day and I know by the time I see the chiropractor on Wednesday and the specialist on Friday, they'll tell me nothing is wrong with me. Such is life.

Week of May 18 - As suspected, nothing much is wrong with me. Yes, my back and and neck are very tight and could use a massage everyday. My thyroid is still slightly swollen and achy. I still take an Advil or two each day. The specialist confirmed that it's just thyroiditis. (Kinda like bronchitis, but it's the inflammation of the thyroid versus inflammation of the bronchial tubes.) It can happen after a particularly nasty cold or virus and takes several weeks or even months to fully recover. Probably just in time for me to have to start working again. Oh, what a life of leisure and excitement...

Kids, Artists, and Herding Cats

This week, I had the privilege of visiting my cousin and observing her teach her 3rd grade class. It's been a long time since I've been around a group of kids, and even longer still since I had a taste of teaching eight year olds. While it was tons of fun to relive 3rd grade and see how everything seems so magical and wondrous through their eyes, the visit left me thinking that things don't change too much as adults.

Similarities between managing a bunch of artists and managing a bunch of eight years olds:

1) You have to keep an eye on them. Or else they wander off and do their own thing. Seriously, it's like herding cats. It was always an effort getting more than three artists together for a meeting in one place at the same time.

2) They need a lot of attention. One kid came up to me and proceeded to show me the contents of his backpack, including a disposable plastic poncho and a pen that folds up and lights up. One of the artists once accused me of not paying enough attention to her in terms of producer/artist ratio of time. Wha???

3) They need a lot of validation. The kids continuously came up to my cousin's desk to show her their work in progress and ask repeated questions. And she patiently smiled at each of them and offered up encouraging words of praise. I have to say the same kind of grin shows up on my coworkers' faces when you tell them they're kicking ass and way ahead of the other guy.

4) They try to get away with stuff. Two of the kids tried to hide their math tests and not turn them in. Much like artists who try to lay low and hope that people won't notice that certain things weren't done.

Differences between managing a bunch of artists and managing a bunch of eight years olds:

1) Hopefully, you get paid more to manage the non eight year olds

2) Most of the time, you can outsmart the eight year olds.

3) You're still physically bigger than the eight year olds. I guess if all else fails, you can pick them up and hurl them? Er, transport them elsewhere like the principal's office?

I may need a return visit for research purposes soon!

Swine flu masks and you

Really? Surgical masks preventing you from infectious diseases as fashion statements now? Why not, right? The other day as I drove down Sawtelle for lunch, I spotted two businessmen in suits walking down the street wearing surgical masks. Only one of them had his pulled down a little bit so that he could SMOKE his cigarette. I really really wanted to pull out a camera and take a picture of those two loons but alas, a traffic jam would would have ensued.

On another swine flu related note, this has been my favorite quote so far. I'll be attending a wedding in Mexico later in July and here is a lovely update from the bride-to-be.

"Hi everyone!

I hope this email finds you all excited for Mexico!! Seems like our destination area has been in the news lately, but I have spoken with my wedding coordinator and she says that no one in the area has gotten sick and that the risk is very low. I'm sure you were thinking the same thing but just to reassure you. My dad says everyone in Mexico will either be dead by July or the virus will be gone, so there is nothing to worry about. Spoken like a true doctor."

The Layoff (aka Divorcing the No Good, Lying, Cheating SOB That Was The Company)

In the end, my slow departure from The Company unfolded like a soured marriage.

First, there was the crying. Oh god, the nonstop crying and the self-doubt and the whole thinking that I was slowly going crazy, failing as a human being. (See blogs from Sep-Nov 08) It seemed that no matter what I did, it wasn't good enough. I was sinking under the weight of too much work. I pleaded for outside help, and The Company said we know you're under a lot of pressure, yes, we're trying our best. I asked for a break, and The Company said ok, a day, two days? Try a month...

Then, came the realization. There were new people coming in, but they weren't here to help me. WTF? A review came a week later - we don't think this is working out. You seem stressed and don't appear to enjoy your job, they told me. It was a slap to the face and a big fat It's not us, it's you. We still love you and want you around, but maybe at a different capacity - not necessarily LESSER, just different. In other words, you're still head wife and we appreciate your loyalty and experience, however there will be some mistresses coming in to relieve you of some "ahem" duties.

Like a couple with an imminent divorce, still sharing the same house... Trying to play nice until I could come up with a viable Plan B... With the added humiliation of everyone knowing he had cheated on you, giving you those helpless looks of pity. God forbid anyone would have spoken earlier to warn you. It's easier to be an innocent bystander. But is anyone really innocent when they knowingly watch injustice go down and twiddle their thumbs?

The stubbornness kicked in. The Libra in me struggled for fairness. I thought, I'm not leaving till I damn well want to leave, on my terms. Everyday is another day I get paid. Quitting is just what you wanted so I'm not giving it to you.

Stubbornness wears on you. Watching all the oblivious people fawn over your former love wears on you. Most of all, being in a place where you're not wanted or appreciated anymore REALLY wears on you.

Plan B be damned. When I finally had enough, I knew. I confronted The Company with their shenanigans and asked for what was fair - unemployment and severance. I picked the end date. I left on my own terms. The minute it was decided, the weight lifted and I felt better than I had felt for the last 5 months. Ex-Company friends even threw me a "hooray you're free party!"

It's been over two months now and I haven't stepped foot in that house again. I've already forgiven them because I know that I took much more away from the experience than I lost. I grew up at The Company. Had my heart broken. Fell in love. Made life long friends. Grew a spine. Found my voice. Learned to lead. And discovered what I could and could not bear. It was a shame that it ended the way it did but I realize now that only something so utterly unacceptable would have shaken my sense of practicality and loyalty enough to walk out the door. Not only has this chapter ended, the whole book is done. It's time to start a whole new novel.

You and your muddy paws

One of the longstanding pet peeves I have with the bf is that he grew up in a culture where one doesn't take off his/her shoes at home - instead, tracking in whatever delightful concoction of urban debris of the day from the outside INSIDE. He's gotten better at taking off his stinky shoes when he comes home. I in return have gotten less anal about him taking a step or two into our abode with said stinky shoes. (I just have to vacuum more.) However, it's not until you're around your own brethren again that you realize, hey, it's not just me. I'm not weird!

The other night, the bf and I stopped by my brother's place to pick up some laundry I left there. I asked my brother if I could take a step on the carpet to grab the laundry and he retorted, "What are you, an animal?!" I couldn't stop laughing. And the bf? He responded with "That's why I'm not moving and just standing right here in the doorway!"