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."

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.

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...

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.

Distraction

I got a Nintendo Wii. Precious little is getting done. Except boxing with my Polar Opposite Friend and shooting plungers at rabid rabbits with Wavy.

My arms are so sore I can barely lift them from this game. But boy am I going to have some toned arms in a couple of weeks. I justify my Wii purchase in the name of exercise. Also in the name of getting out some aggression, especially after I make Mii's of people from work so that I can punch them in the face in the boxing game. No, I kid. Kind of.


This game just cracks me up. Lots of little tasks and games but my favorite so far is shooting plungers at these crazy rabbits. I love rabbits, crazy or not. Rabbits = love. Monkeys and plants and things with tentacles = not love.

Irreverent Art

While we searched for a place to eat before our movie, Ballet Dancer, her friend, and I wandered the Farmer's Market/The Grove and stumbled into the Jack Art Gallery, featuring Todd Goldman's silly artwork. Long ago, I owned one of his t-shirts, the one featuring this slogan:


It shrunk to the size of an 8 year old's tee just in time for me to stop wearing it anymore when it got banned on the list of bad things for little girls to wear to school. Parents were complaining it spread anti-boy messages and lowered their precious sons' self-esteem. I think I'll stop right there before I launch into a long-winded tirade.

Anyway, Mr. Goldman has tons more gems where that one came from. Here are a few of my favorites:



Hilarious to look at but I don't know if I'd like a giant painting of any of them hanging in my home. Maybe some postcard size ones. Maybe to hang in the bathroom. Seems fitting.

Music is to Looks as Lyrics is to Personality

With a smile plastered to my face the whole time, I finally watched the movie Music and Lyrics. And I enjoyed every moment of it! From the silly music video to the cheesy songs to Hugh Grant trying to dance. It was the perfect romantic comedy for a Saturday night with friends.

One of my favorite metaphors from the movie comes from Drew Barrymore's character Sophie. She explains to Hugh Grant that the music is like a person's looks. It might catch your attention at first and hook you in. But the lyrics are the personality - it's what you learn to really love about the song once you get to know it and understand its words and meaning. That is exactly how I feel about songs.

On another note, while driving to the theater to meet my ballet dancer friend, my newly revived Ipod (thanks to the awesome ITrip docking station for the car) pulled up a song I hadn't heard in awhile. Annie Lennox's rendition of the song "Waiting In Vain" from the Serendipity soundtrack.


This was the song I sent to the "soulmate" to tell him how I felt. I even spelled it out for him by sending him the lyrics (you know, just in case he was too stupid to hear it through the song). I had watched too many romance movies. Didn't it always work out at the end with a song? Apparently not.

While we were in a store, the original Bob Marley version of the song came on and I turned to Ballet Dancer to reminisce about the song and the movie. Before our movie started I told her about Mr. DD's breakdown. She made a face and said "Thank God you didn't end up with him!" There's nothing quite like hindsight and the perspective of a loyal friend to help you cope and enjoy a lovely romantic comedy completely angst-free!

Mortification, Violence, and Gluttony

Last night, I dodged out of work before 7 and met up with friends to see Get Mortified. It's a show where people are invited to read their journals, letters, random poetry, etc from junior high and high school to a live paying public. Thus, the mortification.

It was a last minute decision to drag myself all the way to Hollywood, but I had been feeling kind of bummy and figured going out and being around friends was the way to go. Oh and laughing at other people's pain from 20 years ago. That's always fun. It puts everything into perspective - my silly diaries from the first one at age 8 all the way to the current one. All fourteen of them filled with questions, angst, complaints, hopes, and fears. Some more melodramatic than others. But all equally mortifying and eye opening as a chart for emotional growth.

Tonight, though I'm starting to feel tired and achy, I left early once again to watch a hockey game. My Spelling Bee friend offered me free Kings game tickets from her firm. Since I love watching live hockey games and I especially love free seats close enough to smell the ice, I continued the going out trend of keeping busy and being around friends.

I took the biggest hockey fan friend I knew, and we crawled through traffic to Staples Center, missing the entire first period but still enjoying a huge part of the exhilarating game. I love their brawls, the players flying across the ice, the sound of the players getting smacked into the plexiglass... and the beauty of it all is they just get up right away and keep going. No whining or flopping on the ground hoping to get a foul call from the referee. It's nonstop action and the perfect sport for people with ADD.

Being at the Staples Center, I also indulged the moody, achy me with some McDonald's. Something I've rarely had in the past couple of years, but still really love. However, I went a bit overboard. Quarter pounder with cheese, fries AND a hot fudge sundae (because I need to dip my fries in something!). OH it was a sinfully delicious and enjoyable meal but I'm going to pay dearly for it tomorrow I'm sure. To compensate, I came home and ate a whole orange and chased it with some Tylenol. That should make it all better, right?

TV Talk

Discussing one of my favorite shows with my brother:

Me: Oooh, Grey's Anatomy is on tonight. Think they'll kill off Meredith?
Brother: Yes. I hope so. Then they can call it George's Anatomy.

Out of Sight, Out of Mind

How do you stop caring or worrying about someone who doesn't want you or need you? It's completely ludicrous.

Beat down from the physical and mental exhaustion of work over the past year, Mr. DD finally broke down. He's been sick for over a week and couldn't summon the will to work anymore. So he's taking a four week break effectively immediately. To recuperate and do absolutely nothing. Which is great and all but something that could have been prevented if he had taken better damn care of himself and pushed back on taking too much work.

Watching him day in day out get the life sucked out of him is not a fun thing. Even if we're not dating. Even if we're barely friends. Even if he's given me absolutely no reason to waste my time caring or worrying at all. And yet, there was still a pang of worry, a smidgen of missing his presence, and the realization that I'm still not there yet - the point where I won't bat an eye if he left forever.

My only consolation is that this will be the longest amount of time that I won't have to see him. And then, after he comes back for a couple of weeks, I will be off for 3 weeks for my own vacation. The best kind of therapy - pure absence.

New Addiction

Thanks to Wavy, not only is the song "Pop, Goes My Heart!" still stuck in my head, I'm also addicted to Pinkberry, the latest frozen yogurt craze here in LA. Supposedly, it's healthier at only 20 calories each and I AM eating it with fruit. The first time I had it, I hated it. It was too tart for my humongous sweet tooth. Now, I want it EVERYDAY. It's all part of my grand "diet." Hmmm, maybe the diet thing isn't so bad...

Pop!

Wavy is addicted to watching this fake music video from the movie Music and Lyrics. The song is actually quite catchy and now is stuck in my head. I haven't seen this movie yet but we're now on a mission to learn those awesome dance moves. God bless the 80's.

Nonscary Flowers

Tulips from SC Homey's house on V-Day. The camera flash didn't do these justice but they were gorgeous. One of the few kinds of flowers that don't freak me out.

V-Day

Got into a bit of a baking frenzy for V-Day. Chocolate cupcakes for my friends, and a bundt cake for the coworkers.



Icing cupcakes and adding the sprinkles is the best part. I had leftovers so I gave some of them to people I like at work. Ah, the joy of playing favorites... Guess who didn't get one?

Statute of Limitations

Some days I still grieve about the same things. Long after what most people would consider the normal grieving/obsessing period. Long after the period people still talk about it out loud. And even long after the period most people would still lament about them to their closest friends.

And because I know even I would be sick of me and my same old complaints and angst, I learn to keep it quiet after the socially accepted period. Smushing it down inside, or writing it down in the private journal, keeping busy so that I don't have to think or dwell, waiting it out until the bad moment passes by.

On that note, this is my all time favorite song. At times it sounds melancholy, other times uplifting and hopeful. Most of the time, it comforts me. And though I'm not particularly sad lately, I've been going back to this song a lot in the past few weeks.



The band once explained that after so many years together, they were on the verge of breaking up from creative differences. The creation of this song brought them back together, which also explains why it represents hope and sadness to me - perfectly encapsulating this strange mood and sensibility that's been accompanying me so far in 2007.

Status Quo, Or Lack Thereof

In the past month, I've heard from many old friends, most of them with the lead in line of "we have some news..." And of course, we know what that means.

Four different friends are pregnant, another one's engaged, and one of my younger brother's best friends? He and his wife just had a daughter.

I used to hate change, with the passion of a child who's lollipop was being taken away. I'm a teeny bit better with it now, but it still stresses me out. Of course, when I was chatting with my brother, lamenting that I felt old with all these huge life milestones surrounding me, he just wisely answered, "Bound to happen."

And We Are Live Once More...

Huzzah! We are with internet again! And when I say "we" I mean me and the cat because I know besides sleeping in my bed, she also surfs the web while I'm gone. I've been feeling like I live in the middle ages, but did manage to keep busy with all sorts of arts and culture while being disconnected from the world.

1) Last Friday, after a terrible day at work, I had a terrible time in traffic stumbling towards my alma mater to see Bloom, a series of modern dance performances set to Rufus Wainwright's music. A friend had comp tickets and since I'm all over the "free" I made my way out there, running up the steps and making it into the auditorium 15 minutes after the scheduled start time, just as the lights were dimming.

Some of the dances were beautiful but some were a bit too interpretive for my tastes. Like the one where they writhed on the floor for quite a while. Is it dancing if they don't get up on their feet?

2) On Tuesday night, after over a year of not drawing, I joined my polar opposite friend for a night of life drawing. I swear my pencils shuddered a little when I brought them into the light, having not been used since late 2005.

There were, however, a couple of strange things about this class.
- It runs from 10pm-2am
- It's in a dark sketchy looking industrial part of downtown LA, about a block away from the American Apparel factory
- It's not listed anywhere. Everyone heard about it from a friend of a friend of a friend...
- There is a bar
- There is a DJ
- There is a pool table in the corner
- People are smoking in there
- There's nearly 100 people in there. Half the people are sitting around the podium sketching and painting where the model(s) are posed but the other half are just milling about, socializing, smoking, and not drawing. That creeps me out.

I loved the music and unique ambiance, but I lasted only about an hour before the smell of cigarette and marijuana smoke nearly choked me to death. I'm not sure if and when I'm going back.

3) Last night, I once again trekked up to the alma mater to watch the Animation Show. I had planned on actually buying tickets, but one of the organizers sent me 20 comp tickets for the company. It was a big stress case to organize the group of coworkers and make sure they knew where to go, what to do... Basically doing my job outside of work. To the point where I wasn't enjoying myself as much as I should. I was so frazzled that I actually forgot my Polar Opposite Friend and left him behind at home. Something I've never done and something I felt so awful about, it plagued me for the rest of the night when he decided not to come to the show.

I liked over half the shorts but was exhausted by the end. Most of the people I invited showed up for dinner and the show but a few of them, the usual few, flaked. Though organizing large groups for these outings are stressful, I've also learned to let it go and not be too sad or disappointed when people bail at the last minute. Today, when one of those fools, aka The One, started in on his excuses of why he bailed, I just nodded, looked at him and said "You can't disappoint me anymore." I baffled him with my statement so elaborated a little more. "My expectations of you have been too lowered. There's not much you can do that will disappoint me now." It didn't play out as dramatic as it sounds - he kind of laughed it off and I gladly let him. But inside, knowing it was true, it felt great.

Paper Trail

It's been a rough couple of days at work and at home. My internet connection at home has lost its will to live since last Wednesday and because Time Warner sucks ass, they kept me on hold for two hours, until nearly midnight, before telling me they'd send someone Thursday to take a look.

"Oh tomorrow?" I asked hopefully.
"Oh, is it not Thursday yet for you? We meant next Thursday." the snide customer service rep replied.

So, I have lugged my beloved ibook to a cafe, subjected to the cafe's endless ABBA CD, to catch up on my personal emails, blog to my heart's content, and catch up on all my own blog reading. For the past few days, lost and bewildered on what to do without an internet connection at home, I've managed to:
1) clear out the 2 foot pile of statements on my kitchen table into their respective binders. My first step to organizing my finances for the year!
2) given up hope on sewing and thrown out all socks with holes in it
3) clean my apartment once again
4) shower at my neighbor's place - yeah that has nothing to do with the internet itself. However, in an effort of solidarity with the internet, the bathtub declined to drain too, and my landlord thought calling a plumber out late at night or the weekend didn't warrant the extra costs for my comfort
5) sorted and threw out a giant bag of receipts, some dating as far back as 1998.

Did I mention I'm a pack rat? And a nostalgic sappy fool? Everything reminds me of something. The reason I saved all my receipts is because back in the day, I once managed to balance my checkbook every month, and had high hopes to itemize every single thing I ever bought diligently.

Nearly ten years later, I have a paper trail of expenditures and memories - receipts from:
- Lake Tahoe in 1998, the first time I went snowboarding
- Coffee Bean, tons of them from 1998 - 2002 indicating the days when I could eat a muffin and an ice blended coffee for lunch several days of the week without batting an eye or worrying about weight
- Storyopolis, 2003 - a children's book store with artwork from famous illustrators, the time when I took the boy who broke my heart to share in one of my favorite places
- San Francisco, 2002 - a roadtrip with a dear friend from my childhood who for reasons unknown to me no longer reciprocates my friendship
- Beastie Boys concert 2004, when I took a random assortment of friends with me, including my favorite surly tattooed boy that no one would ever guess I'd date
- My sofa, "Oscar the Couch", and Ibook, "Christopher aka Ashton", from 2005, my first big purchases ever, items that weren't hand me downs from my parents
- Target, 2002-2003 - dozens and dozens of cans of cat and dog food from when my sweet geezer cats were still alive and the dog hadn't disappeared

I threw away a bag full of receipts, knowing that pieces of paper like these didn't mean anything to my memories. And boy did it feel freeing. (OK, I kept some. The ones where I might need for warranties and the ones that had REALLY significant memories tied to them. I'm not THAT strong.) I can't wait to rid my place of more junk. But I'm still pissed at Time Warner.

Something Light and Funny For A Change...

TOO funny! Just a straightforward homage to the gems that come out of her boyfriend's mouth. It actually reminds me of a couple different people, my brother included.

Bye Bye Love...

I never thought it would happen, but I've fallen out of love. It took me awhile to understand why this last visit felt different but then I realized I'm no longer infatuated with the city of San Francisco.

It was a long affair that lasted over a decade. From the time I was 19, I've migrated up north at least once a year, always visiting friends and trying to see something new in the city every time. I had pipe dreams of uprooting myself to live in the city and work for Pixar or ILM. My closest friends from nearly every stage of life lived up there and I would take turns staying with different ones on each visit.

I've helped various friends move up there in a UHaul, helped them move back years later, taken a certain redheaded boy up there for the first time and walked across the Golden Gate Bridge together, realized months later none of it meant a thing, watched the seals at Pier 39 half a dozen times, got dressed up to go dancing with friends, cried in Marin County when a friend scolded me, snapped foggy panoramic pictures of the whole city from Alcatraz (still taped together on my wall today), screamed in the city streets when Turtle finally waved her engagement ring in my face, went to a spa for the first time with girl friends, enjoyed Napa Valley many times, met many friends' boyfriends, only half of which became their future husbands, and finally endured each friend, one by one, moving out of the city and into the suburbs as they got married, bought homes, had kids and said goodbye to the past.

San Francisco makes me sad now, like watching Peter Pan trying to coax a maturing Wendy back to Neverland. I guess I missed the boat in living up there in my twenties. I can't go back to those fun days - it's actually an endeavor to drive into the city from any of their homes - and I feel childish and resentful that I'm too old to play and enjoy the city like I used to. Yet, I feel too young to settle down like everyone else. So instead, I blame the city for my anguish and associate the hazy nostalgic memories with a place. I've lost the never ending urge to see and be with the city and wonder how long I'll manage the avoidance. Good bye San Francisco, at least for now. We had some great times and I sure will miss you. But until I make peace with myself, it's definitely not you, it's me.

Vegas, Baby, Vegas

This is the only picture I took in Vegas this weekend, sunset outside the Primm outlet mall, as the cars from Los Angeles crossed the Nevada border.

It was a low key, yet interesting trip to visit a couple friend of mine. The husband was a trusted work friend, my daily coffee buddy and work confidante. His wife was a cool girl friend I could watch chick flicks with. We barely had anything in common with completely opposite upbringings and personalities, but we complemented each other and shared the same sense of loyalty and stubborn dislike of injustices, being Libras and all. She was the one that would try to get me drunk every time, but also the one that would always keep an eye on me, keep me safe, ward off any strange men, and make sure I had a good time without getting too sick by the time they dropped me off at home.

They lived a block away and often invited me over for dinner and a movie. He called me his stunt double when I'd go out with his wife to attend all the free ballets she scored from work. It was almost what you'd call a perfect relationship amongst the three of us. So when they broke the news to me last year that they were moving to Vegas for her job, she asked "Are you mad at us? Will you ever talk to us again?"

The first thing they hit me with after flying in Friday night was "we have something to tell you." For the past few years whenever anyone says that to me, my first response is always "You're engaged." or "You're pregnant." Because really, what other big news in our age group warrants such an anticipatory announcement? But then she threw me off and stood up, as if she were going to walk off and fetch something to show me. So I said nothing. Then she unbuttoned her jeans and showed me her flat little tummy. Still I said nothing. (Trust me, you don't want to err on these assumptions.)

I looked back at her, thinking "well, my unpregnant stomach looks a hell of a lot bigger than her allegedly pregnant one. This sucks." I looked at the smiling couple again and said "No. No way." They kept beaming. And I was floored. Only a few months ago, she had confided that she was fairly confident they weren't going to have kids. And she responded "well, it was always going to be zero or two."

After luxuriously sleeping in till 11 the next morning (though waking up in the middle of the night anyway), we hit the outlet mall to buy her some new clothes. How surreal is it to help your friend buy tops that could work as regular tops and maternity wear? Especially when you're wearing those same types of tops because they're in style AND they hide that extra ice cream sundae or burger you've been eating. Another humbling moment.

Shopping wiped us out. And the way the desert that is Las Vegas saps every ounce of moisture from your body is unnerving. We were constantly drinking water and going to the bathroom every hour. We managed to see a very Vegas like musical comedy show Saturday night - Gordy Brown at the Venetian hotel. (Yay, it was free!) And we squeezed in the movie Pan's Labyrinth this afternoon. (What a beautiful, unique, creepy, and sad movie all in one! A must see.)

The best part of the weekend was knowing that these two are the only people who will give me no pressure to wake up by a certain time on the weekend nor stick to a strict schedule. We lounged, they cooked delicious meals for me like the good old days, and we sipped lattes from their fancy schmancy espresso machine that puts Starbucks and Coffee Bean to shame.

The bad part? Seeing how I was bigger than the pregnant woman, hungering every two hours like the pregnant woman, running to the bathroom and waking up during the night as much as the pregnant woman and often tired in between going out like the pregnant woman. Sympathy symptoms?

This trip will always be exciting and fun - going to Vegas and not spending the whole time on the strip for the first time, being one of the first few friends to know their secret and having to keep quiet to our mutual friends about it for another 6-8 weeks. BUT it's also the trip that marks the beginning of my first ever diet. A sad resignation to age and slowing metabolism, cutting back on my great love of SUGAR.

To put it into perspective of how difficult this is going to be, as a child, a relative once told me (incorrectly) that if I kept eating so much sugary things, I'd get diabetes and never be able to eat sugar again. And I stubbornly responded "I will die without sugar. I guess I'll just have to die then." Ironically, the fear isn't so much of death. It's the fear of being alive but constantly unhappy with myself that's going to drive me.

The Trouble With Dreams

Annoying buggers, they wake me up at night like a bad neighbor practicing the drums or saxophone. At least once a night, usually twice. I can't remember the last time I slept 8 hours straight. Everyday I wake up tired.

Most of the time, the dreams evaporate as quickly as I wake up and fall back asleep. Other times I remember the culprits that wake me up.

Last week, I dreamt I was driving, just about to rear-end the car in front of me. At the sound of the nerve wracking crunch of impact, I woke up to the sound of my neighbor slamming her front door, coming home at 3 in the morning. Freaky.

A couple of hours later, I woke up again - after a rousing and ineffectual game of tennis, with a large loofah sponge as a racket. The realization of using the completely wrong tool for the game (duh!) woke me up. Puzzling.

The worst kinds of dream? The ones that leave me feeling sad or upset, lingering for the rest of the day like a bad perfume. Like the one earlier this week when I dreamt that Mr. DD was dating someone new. I didn't even think it would bother me as much in real life as it did in the dream life. Frustrating.

I miss a good night's sleep and wonder when it will come back to me. For now, I continue playing the part of Zombie Whatchamacalit. Yawn.....

It's Like Crack...

First it was The Wire. Then it was Foster's. Now, I can't stop watching Heroes. Since Sunday to now, I've managed to watch all 13 episodes, with everything else falling to the way side. Sleep, work, TV. Sleep work TV. SleepworkTV. I need help.

Things To Watch

At the beginning of the new year, a friend lent me season 1 of The Wire, a look at the lives of Baltimore drug dealers from every level, and the cops that bust them. It's not my usual fare of choice, but by episode 3, I was hooked. When I only had 4 episodes left for the season, I only slept 4 hours because I NEEDED to finish it. I have season 2 in my hands but I need to recuperate before diving in again. I was also worried that I'd start swearing a lot more from the bad influence of this show.

On the complete opposite side of the spectrum, thanks to UBBF, my fellow coworkers and the new upgraded (legit) cable, I'm addicted to watching EVERY episode of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends. I laugh out loud watching this. Craig McCracken is a genius. (He also created Powerpuff Girls!) Eduardo and Coco are my favorites.














I also finally managed to watch Children of Men with SLY last night. It was a chilly night in Westwood, but SLY and I got out of work early enough to find free parking, smuggle in a sandwich, soup, and some tea for dinner, and made it into the theater barely before the movie started, munching silently in the dark. The movie was bleak but an intriguing concept of the future. If mankind became infertile, I agree that humanity would cave in on itself and most of us would shed our morals. The movie just kind of ends with tons of unanswered questions, but we just decided to make up our own back story for the hell of it.

I realize that I loved watching all of these because there is nothing in them that I can really relate to - nothing that makes me angst or reminds me of anyone or any time way back when. Just pure escapist entertainment.

Songs That Make Me Laugh

Heard this one on KROQ quite a while ago. It doesn't quite get as much air play anymore but every time I hear it, I cackle in delight at this band's eloquent words.

Hate is a strong word
But I really really really don't like you



This other song makes me laugh purely because it's so melodramatic. I actually really like James Blunt's first song, You're Beautiful, overplayed as much as it was. It reminds me of when I was in Scandinavia and it played on the music stations every night. His second single however, begs to be sung at the top of your lungs preferably to a friend who finds it equally humorous, like Wavy.

Firsts' of the Year

Last night, I went to my first concert of the year and it was a good one. After some good ole chicken pot pie from Marie Callendar's to warm us up, SLY and I hit the Troubadour again to see Rhett Miller. I'd never heard his music but boy was I pleasantly surprised.

The pretty boy can sing. And he has the charm of Elvis with his hip swinging, knee shaking, circular guitar strumming nonstop energy. He played for 2 hours and came back for three encores. My favorites included "Four Eyed Girl" and his band Old 97's song “Rollerskate Skinny,” where he sings “I believe in love, but it don't believe in me.” I'm definitely a fan now and plan to attend more of his shows! I loved every song and couldn't stop smiling!

Here's SLY's favorite.


His opening band Western States Motel, wasn't bad either. Plus they had the charm of looking like engineers as their day jobs.

Today, I finally dragged my slow, lazy self to the courts to play tennis with my old tennis buddy from work. That was not pretty. I haven't run or really exerted myself since early December and it shows. Though the cold air didn't help, my chest was screaming in pain after running around the court and missing several shots. Apparently getting a new racket doesn't miraculously improve your game. Or enable you to hustle after the ball faster.

On a better note, I did finish reading my first book of the year. A librarian friend introduced me to graphic novels. Not the comic book superhero anime type stuff, but well crafted stories using artwork to convey some of the emotions or serious subjects, like war, loneliness, family, dual cultures... I highly recommend both "Persepolis 2" and "Goodbye Chunky Rice."

Well, it's mid January already so we'll how much more will be accomplished by the end of the month...

Conversations With My Brother

Bro: Why is he a "Lord?"
Me: You mean Voldemort?
Bro: Yeah, why is he "Lord Voldemort?" He wasn't born a Lord.
Me: Um. I don't know. Maybe because if you're mean and powerful enough, you can demand people to call you anything you want.
Bro: Well then I want to be King.
Me: You can't be King. You have to be King of some country. You'd have better luck buying a title like "Duke."
Bro: I don't want to be a Duke. I want to be King. I'm going to make people call me King.
Me: Whatever dude.

Some days, I feel like our roles have reversed as we've gotten older. He's become the older sibling that I can go to for practical advice, the person who may not know everything about me now, but will always know the true me that will never change. Freckles and all.

And then there are conversations like this, reminding me he's still my silly younger brother who used to annoyingly follow me everywhere, whom I adore till the end of the world.

Of course if I ever told him that, he would just say "You're a big dork."

Where To Go... Where To Go...

Last week, I reminded my boss once again "I'm taking a vacation in spring!" No less than 3 weeks. It's the minimum to feel like you really shook off the work dust. Of course last time I traveled for 3 weeks, I gave a year's notice and reminded him every month - he still gave me flack about it when I got back.

Anyway, two different travel opportunities have been presented to me and I am torn where I want to go. One of them is a 9 day hike to Machu Pichu, leaving early April. The link is a sample itinerary but I'm guessing it approximates the amount of hiking and roughing it this trip will entail. Though you spend half the time in nice hotels and the other half in "full service camping" type haciendas, my idea of a vacation usually does not involve "5-6 hours of daily strenuous hiking." This trip would be with some friends from my running group (very appropriate) and the idea of possibly losing weight on such an active vacation is somewhat enticing. On the same masochistic level of running. Did I mention we might get a discount from a friend of a friend?

On the other hand, my Bourgeoisy friend is planning a Caribbean cruise for May. This would be the polar opposite of the Machu Pichu trek. 9 days of wining and dining, sleeping and relaxing, reading, writing, shuffleboarding, gambling, snorkeling, and whatever other hedonistic things cruise goers do on the giant ship. Normally all of this would sound pretty nice but I'm wondering if I'll get bored. And claustrophobic. And above all, very very fat. But did I mention there is also a family and friend's discount on this one too?

Machu Pichu was one of the places on my list of places to go. But my idea of a vacation is still a mix of relaxing and eating while also walking around a city and exploring all day. I'm still keen on Spain and Portugal, dropping by Paris again. Or braving it to South Africa before the friends I met from there years ago forget me and I feel too inconsiderate to ask to stay with them.

Both trips are only 9 days long which means I have 12 extra days to go somewhere else before or after those trips, or split up the vacation days to go on a separate trip in the fall. My dilemma also lies in going on trips that aren't my first choices but with companions. Or going to places I really want to go and when I want to go but by myself. I haven't traveled with anyone in years. I miss having people to share those experiences with but wonder if I've gotten too independent. Either way, I'll have to decide soon!

My Favorite San Francisco Day

As much as I love my attentive friend in SF, my favorite time during the holiday visit was the morning they left me to wander the city alone for a few hours. Nothing feels more like a vacation than wandering around a city center, visiting museums and snapping pictures. They dropped me off at the San Francisco Shopping Center (above picture) before heading to church. I walked through the Yerba Buena Gardens where I saw this funny sculpture of a downed boat.


With the hour and a half I had before meeting up with another friend for lunch, I hit the MOMA the way I always do. I took the elevator to the top floor, starting with the feature exhibit of Anselm Kiefer and, and slowly made my way down. I passed through the Edward Weston and Tina Modotti photography exhibit, finishing down in the modern collections from the early 1900's. Sprinklings of Picasso, Matisse, Pollack and others I haven't heard of wrapped up the 2nd floor.


My only complaint - blank canvases passing as contemporary art. I may not understand all contemporary art, but I'd like to think I'm more openminded than most. I often get bored at art films in museums, but I understand what the artists aspire to convey. However, when an artist just paints a canvas all white, all blue, all whatever color they choose, that's just plain lazy. Anything that requires paragraphs of explanation and interpretation from the curator is trying too hard. I've seen various blank canvases in contemporary museums around the world and every time, I think "they've gotten so lazy or egotistical they think 'yup, this is enough.'" At least paint a circle in the middle of it. Or add some stripes. Anything.

This is the entrance to Macy's. To me, this is a cooler piece of art than any blank canvas.

Parallel Dimension

My sleeping schedule is all messed up. Yesterday, I didn't get out of my PJs till 7pm and finally went out at 10 to pick up my friend from the airport and get some dessert. With the whole cable service merger, I temporarily have oodles of movie channels and on demand, which means I watched countless movies, such as The Man In The Moon, a movie that I've wanted to see since it came out in 1991. It's the sweet film debut for Reese Witherspoon and let's just say, it makes me glad not to have a sister.

I stayed up late again but unfortunately had to wake up early to drive across town for my goddaughter's birthday party. They have these warehouses filled with jump houses, slides, various other activities, and a food room for kids parties, booked by the hour. The one we went to, Hullabaloo's Playhouse was far away, filled with 25 of my goddaughter's closest kiddie friends, all under 6, most of them around 3.

Other than my godson's elderly nanny, I was the only childless/unmarried person there. It felt like a parallel dimension where I didn't belong. Other than the 2 other friends I knew there, none of the parents talked to me. To be fair, I was still groggy and delirious for most of the party, stupefied that I was even there.

For most of my life, up to my mid-twenties, I was so good with kids. I'd be the one on the floor playing with all the children and pets while the rest of the adults talked. They trusted me, followed me around, and saw that I was still a child like them. It's what inspired me to go into children's book writing.

Somehow, a few years back, I started losing that ability to relate. Of course, the inspiration to write children's stories evaporated soon after. Now, I look at kids and I see exhaustion. I see more than 6 kids and I think how did I ever manage to teach a class of them for a summer? I love my godchildren but worry I won't be able to relate or do enough for them. Every time I spend more than 2 hours with them, I want to nap.

The ironic thing is my friends chose me to be the godmother of their kids years ago because I was the youngest one amongst our friends, the most childish one, the one who loved my goddaughter the most, and the one likeliest to not have my own kids. Someone who could continue to love their kids the most.

The Change of Plans... For The Better

On Thursday night, I had planned to leave work early enough to watch the movie Children of Men with friends and also to avoid boy with foreign girlfriend so that I wouldn't have to decline drinks. Of course, I ended up working late, missing the movie, and bumping into him. Drink invitations were extended, but not having eaten any dinner yet made it much easier to decline drinks on an empty stomach.

Instead, I went over to SLY's where she heated up a homecooked meal for me and we decided to go watch The Painted Veil. It was a beautiful movie in every way - the 1920's period clothes, the settings in London and China, and most importantly, Edward Norton and Naomi Watt's acting which blew me away. Definitely a better alternative than getting drinks.

Lazy Saturday Afternoon

It's a beautiful sunny day outside but I am still in my favorite flannel pajamas watching cartoons, all the backlogs of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends that I've Tivoed. Finally, after weeks of fitful sleep, I slumbered from 3am to nearly 2pm, putting away the alarms and the phones. I amaze even myself with how much I can sleep.

I plan to drink vanilla green tea, watch cartoons and movies, read, munch on bon bons, and stay in my pajamas as long as possible. I'm going to pretend I'm still on Christmas vacation. Unfortunately a friend called and needed a ride from the airport late this evening so eventually I'll have to change and leave the house.

Dust Settling

It's 3 days into the new year and the dust is still settling. Work is ramping up again and I still really don't care. The only thing the holiday break did for me was to make me want a longer vacation and SOON. It's amazing that my shoulders and back immediately started aching the first day back at work.

My brother is headed back for his final 6 months of business school tomorrow morning. The next time I see him, he'll be graduating with an MBA. An MBA that my dad had also hoped for me long long ago.

They all drove up tonight for dinner at Curry House and dessert at Beard Papas, and of course they had to comment on how small and cluttered my place was, how fat I was getting, etc. However, after telling me to "stop eating so much," Dad promptly asked "where's my cream puffs?" There's nothing sweeter than laughing at your parents with a sibling.

Yesterday, the boy in town with foreign girlfriend, had mentioned having a group of us meet for drinks Thursday night. I'm still on the fence about that. On one hand, would it look rude and blowing-them-off kinda thing or would it not matter since there's a group of people who were his usual friends that will be there? I haven't "met up for drinks" at a local bar since he moved away. It was never my thing, and never my friends though they were always friendly to me. Back then, I went along with him because I didn't mind being there nor being someone else for awhile. Now, it would feel out of place and odd to go revisit the past in a sense.

Finally, on another note, every December I look back on the year and go "oh my God, what have I done this year?!" Usually in the tone of "another year down the drain and what have I to show for it?" My pragmatic friend, the polar opposite, laughed when I told him that and said "Funny, but I ask myself the same thing every year end too! But more like Wow! What have I done this year?" In the tone of "look at all my accomplishments this year!" Inflection can be so powerful.

In the spirit of both our attitudes, I'm doing one more list. The list of goods and bads for 2006.

The Bad:
1) Continued boy angst, such as Mr. Dating Debacle
2) Burnt out from work
3) Straining an old dear friendship
4) Didn't get to travel out of the country
5) Random bouts of depression and weeping
6) Getting used to being 30 and knowing that I'm nowhere near being a together person
7) Spending a lot of money

The Good:
1) Surviving all the boy angst and possibly getting tougher (only time will tell)
2) Traveling nearly every month within the US
3) Starting this blog and writing a lot more
4) Getting a nice raise and not getting fired from work, despite my complaints
5) The friendships that did stick and the friends who were there for me
6) The realization that I'm actually learning from my experiences and a tad wiser
7) Spending a lot of money (or being able to spend a lot of money on nice things)

Eep!!!

That was the sound my brain made today when the universe decided to knock me on my ass and say "nope, not so fast, my friend. You ain't closing any books and moving on quite yet." The past week and a half has been a parade of boys from Christmas past, nearly all the ones I've dated or liked in the past few years, all coming out of the woodwork to shake my world up a bit. You wonder why I've been so reflective? This is why.

To be fair, I see two of them all the time. They are my crosses to bear for wading in the workplace dating pool. But about a week and a half ago, I saw the brother of the first boy I ever dated. The boy who told me that one of the reasons he liked being with me so much and didn't want to let go (though he was in the middle of a possible reconciliation with his ex unbeknownst to me) was because I was so innocent and optimistic at the time. Unscarred and unscathed from any real heartache, thinking the worst of people never even crossed my mind then. He found it "refreshing."

Then there was the boy from whom I fled. Not a proud moment by any means, but I think less contact meant less ruminating.

Today, there were two incidents. One, a voicemail from an old crush who may or may not have liked me back. Distance and job uncertainty proved to be a downfall but today I got a voicemail saying "it's nice to hear your voice again. Hope you had a good new years in SF and we'll have to catch up soon." Harmless, fun, and not too agonizing.

The second, literally walked up to my face. A boy whom I dated after "The One" had crushed me to tiny bits the first time around (there were a couple of rounds). Someone whom I knew wasn't right for me nor in it for the long term, but hey why not? He was nice to me, I genuinely liked him, and found him fascinating in the you're-nothing-like-me-at-all-and-I-could-never-introduce-you-to-my-family kind of way. I believed people described him as "surly." At least he wasn't a wimpy nice guy who hemmed and hawed so that I never knew exactly where I stood.

We dated for a summer until he moved out of the country in the fall and I thought I'd never see him again. Unfortunately I still heard about him sporadically from mutual friends who had no idea, telling me about his exploits and girls, right up until half a year later when he came back for a visit for our company party and I was drunk out of my mind from depression. I thought "OK, NOW I'll never see him again."

Surprise! He's back in town visiting with overseas girlfriend in town, all grown up, less lost and hopefully no longer searching for himself like I claimed he was when he first told me about his plans to leave the country. I must sadly admit that I tried to flee and hide again, thinking "Really what is the point? I prefer most boys from the past to stay in the past and drop off the face of the earth." It really is much easier that way.

Interestingly enough, he was the more mature one and came by to chat, give me a hug, introduce me to his sweet girlfriend, and bring by his dog I had loved so much. And then, at the oddest of times, I felt some hope for all those hapless boys out there. I was sincerely happy for him, pleased that he made the effort to stop by, closure beaming out like the rays of the sun. Even though it's not with me, (and it does seem that they seem to get their act together AFTER me. go figure.), at least some of them do grow up and get better. I can only hope I'm the lucky beneficiary of some other poor woman's heartaching finished product. The other circle of life.

And Now, Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Programming...

Happy New Year!

For the past few days, I've committed the written equivalent of vomiting more than enough personal angst and sappy drama for a year. I've gotten it out of my system for all the world to read so that I can finally forge ahead for 2007. Or at least that's the plan anyway.

Until last year, I was never one for new year's resolutions. I preferred to make them in June, March, or whenever the fancy struck. It's such a boring grown-up thing to do. Plus I'll just break them anyway. Well, now I'm rebelling against my own rebellion and throwing them out there anyway.

Old resolutions to continue:
1) read a book a month
2) write consistently
3) exercise consistently
4) keep work and personal life as separate as possible (ha!)
5) write more letters and emails back to friends
6) plan my next big trip out of the country
7) pick up drawing again

New resolutions to try:
1) curb that monster appetite of mine to normal portions
2) be nicer and more patient with the parents, especially mom
3) get a better handle on my finances
4) clear off all that junk on my kitchen table and put it all away once and for all
5) update my resume and MAYBE send it out somewhere just for the hell of it
6) volunteer or mentor a student at my college alma mater

Alright, 13 is a nice odd number to end it on.

I'm not looking forward to leaving SF and going back to work tomorrow. Here, I've managed to write every night, watch a movie every night, eat well, bake cakes, play entertaining games, and nap in the car every time my friend and her husband drive me to and from the city. Strangely enough, I still haven't slept well, though it could be that all the tea and naps throughout the day may have exacerbated and jolted the swirls of thoughts in my brain into overdrive.

It's 2 hours into 2007 and all I see is a gigantic blank canvas for the marking. Let's just say I'm cautiously optimistic.

Soulmates, The Ones, and Other Minor Infatuations Pt 2

To wrap up the silly boy business within 3 hours...

Last year saw a depression so great and palpable, that friends all around noticed the difference and worried that The Boy (the "one") had destroyed my spirit for good. It didn't help that he wouldn't let me go, wouldn't stop being my friend no matter how hard I tried to avoid him and cut myself off.

"You're one of my best friends out here in LA," he told me. "It's so much easier to talk to girls about stuff than guys. I don't want to lose your friendship." Selfish or sweet?

I pulled myself off of Yahoo messenger, made myself invisible or blocked him on other instant messaging formats so that I was less accessible, put away all the notes and cute drawings he gave me, and stopped initiating any contact. It helped for a bit but I had to relearn how to live life differently with him around. Soon The Boy met his "one" online and got engaged within 7 months of meeting the girl, and for all intents and purposes, I could at least put this chapter of life away. He no longer needed me as the girlfriend substitute.

As I mentioned earlier, I was starting to feel good again early this year, when out of the blue, Mr. DD happened. He was a friend who convinced me to take a chance again, and got me at just the right time and mindset. It was great for a brief shining optimistic moment until he panicked and blunderingly called it off.

You can't really break what's already broken. I wasn't so much devastated as I was extremely disappointed and at a loss of what was up, down, right, or wrong anymore. The hardest part of moving on as you can tell, is that there hasn't been anyone else worth making an effort for, and I see him EVERYDAY. I'm certainly mature enough not to smack him on the head when I get the urge, but the daily minute damage is hard to measure. Some days are fine. Other days, he's a reminder of failure. And dammit, it is extremely annoying when thoughts of him creep into my head at the most inopportune times.

I explained to Wavy that the only way to move on was 1) meet someone new, 2) distance or 3) time. Unfortunately, time is the default method of choice and it is the MOST excruciatingly slow and inefficient way to go about it.

I talk a tough game and can play flippant and normal to the average persons. (The Boy and Mr. DD will never know how much they dented my flimsy armor.) While I pretend to be over it and walk forward, my head is actually turned looking back the whole time, hoping for some kind of sign. I guess the good thing with this is that eventually, I'll walk far enough ahead that I won't be able to see what's behind me anymore.

Like a snail's pace, the recovery is getting there because really, what other choice do I have? The new year feels like a good time to stake a fresh start.

Soulmates, The Ones, and Other Minor Infatuations

Seeing that it is the end of the year and I'm in SUCH a pondering type of mood, I will continue to touch upon another thorn-at-my-side type issue I'd love to resolve. The Counterpart. Obviously, there are no delusions to resolve this within the next oh... 22 hours, but I also strive to make some sense or peace of it all.

I've met "a soulmate," I've met "a one" and like many girls out there I've had many heartachingly frustrating infatuations. I preface these people with an "a" because I have to believe that there is more than one out there. Or I could also admit that I was stupendously wrong and only thought I had met a soulmate and the one (two different people, strangely enough.)

I'll start by saying that in a tremendously low moment the other day, I actually fled the scene when I bumped into the boy I once believed to be a soulmate. He didn't see me, and it had been years since we'd talked or seen each other, but I felt blah and unfit for any human contact other than perfect strangers. At one point we were dear to each other and I truly thought he was a kindred spirit who also knew how to push my buttons for better and worse. It all sounds so silly now, but at the time, I took a chance on this friend and told him how I felt. Sadly it was not a storybook ending and the friendship deteriorated quickly after that. That was the first and last time I ever took a chance to tell someone I liked them.

"The one" on the other hand was a beautifully torturous life lesson. Full of denial, hope, massive weeping, more hope, heartache, unfailing faith that it would somehow work out in the end - so much so that I swore to UBBF that if ever I ended up with someone else, she alone would know he was number two, and finally painful acceptance that a person I cared for so much and would leave everything for, just didn't feel the same way about me. Not even a fraction of that. Despite all the time we spent together - the meals he cooked for me, picking each other up at airports, Xmas shopping together, attending dinners and parties together, and for a blissfully long time, knowing that we were the last person the other one spoke to before nodding off for bed. None of it meant a thing.

It was a reaffirmation that my so called gut instinct, continued to have shit for brains. (The same gut instinct that's told me it's fine to fall for the wrong people, and also had me initially disliking every single person that ended up being one of my closest friends.) It also taught the lesson that just because I had never felt that way about anyone before and felt so 100% confident that we'd end up together, red flags be damned, that Feeling can also mean nothing will come to fruition. No matter how hard you will it so.

Clearly it was a shellacking designed to make me stronger and wiser, to learn how to cut my losses earlier and recognize disinterest right off the bat. And it did in a way.

Unfortunately, the day after I triumphantly confessed to Turtle that after two years, I finally felt good again and optimistic about meeting someone new, in waltzed Mr. DD early this year to set me back a couple of steps.

To be continued and concluded...

Reflections In My Flannel Pajamas Pt 2

There's little over a day left in 2006 and I feel somewhat at peace about my friendships. The most important thing I've learned about friendships in the past year and a half, is learning to let go for my own peace of mind.

For most of my life, I operated under the notion that every friend I met was absolutely a friend for life. And I stayed in touch through decades and tried to be the best friend I could be with everyone, short of them shooing me away with a broom. It was exhausting and unnecessary.

It's sad to let go of people who are part of your history, who had a hand in shaping you and hold a piece of you with them at all times, whether they know it or not. They are irreplaceable. As old friends fall away, less and less people know the real you - the reasons behind the quirks, the because's behind all the why's, the original unjaded, noncynical and unbroken you.

But I know now that it's beyond any person's control why some friends stick and why others don't. Why some are nostalgic and loyal while others forge ahead alone or with a brand new crew. No guilt, no regret, and no more sadness for friends of yore. That is resolution number one for the new year.

Reflections In My Flannel Pajamas

It feels so decadent to pad around in flannel PJ's for several waking hours at a time. Here at my dear friend, "Turtle's" place, where she and her husband bend over backwards to make sure I'm not too cold, not too hot, not too hungry, nor ever in want of anything, the only time they leave me alone is late at night when they fall asleep. They say that you should always have a place you can escape to, and this is my place to recoup.

We joked about the title of "best friend" the other day - what it means, what it signifies, and the curse of bestowing that title on a person. I distinctly remember one afternoon about 2 decades ago, sitting in the car with my mother, driving home from a piano lesson, and asking her "when will I have a best friend?" She told me that not everyone has a "best friend." You might have several good friends and that should suffice.

I've been fortunate enough to have several great friends. And also blessed to have a best friend from junior high, one from high school, another from college and even one for after college. Each one critically important to me at that time in my life and then some. The first three are all up here in the bay area, and strangely enough, married to men who all share the same first name. The fourth one is migrating back up here next year, and perhaps that's why I'm so drawn to San Francisco and have fantasies of uprooting myself to live here for awhile.

Sadly, some of these friendships have naturally drifted apart as we grew in different directions and time and distance set in. Turtle is from high school, and somehow, in 17 years of friendship, we've only had one fight. Not even so much a fight, as in a period of just not hanging out together. Then, it passed.

She asked me why girls place such an emphasis on the title of best friend. It seems to have caused more petty squabbles and heartache amongst childhood friends than you'd think. Is it possession, a responsibility, or knowing that next to a spouse, you are the most important person and dearest to their heart?

I find it oddly parallel to searching for "the one." You may never find it. It may not even exist for certain people. Or for some, there are several "ones" out there or "one" for a certain time period in your life. All I know is that if I'm as blessed in finding "the one(s)" as I had in finding great friends, the future will indeed be bright.

Detox

Since the creation of Dreams In Blue, this is the longest I've gone without writing. I'm here and I am alive. I miss writing but I'm exhausted as we wrap up 2006. From the last busy week of work before Christmas vacation to staying at my parents' house for 5 straight days, to fleeing up to San Francisco less than 12 hours ago to hide out at a friend's house till the new year, there's been swirls of activity and much to reflect on before I succumb to the alluring waves of sleep every night.

I hope to sleep, read, write and unwind as much as possible now that I'm up here. It's been a week since I stepped foot in the workplace and only now are the work dreams starting to subside, the work people fading from my brain. The stress of what I should be doing versus what I want to be doing no longer looms at the forefront and strangles all enjoyment of life and living in the present out of me.

The morning I arrived at my parents' home, I cracked and wept for an hour. All because my family was inconsiderate enough to not wait for me for lunch. Again. For the third time in the past month. That was the first sign that I was not well. As I cried uncontrollably in my room and the despair of everything that was wrong with my life gripped me, the sadness felt so inconsolable. All I could do was nap it off, and spare myself the embarrassment of having to explain to my parents, my brother, and his girlfriend that sometimes, I just get sad for no reason and there's nothing they can do about it. It was better to let them think I was being childish and petulant, mad that they simply didn't wait for me.

It still scares me that despair can strike at the strangest times. I can go for months feeling great about life, baffled at how I could ever feel so low and without hope. Then a minor catalyst can set it off and I have to go about fixing myself in any way possible, whether it means sleeping, running, writing or simply reaching out to a good friend who will listen and console me, assuring me of the intactness of my sanity.

It's a tall order, but I hope to be at peace with myself by the end of the year. I have three more days to try.

Twas the Week Before Christmas...

And Whatchamacalit is all stressed out...
There are cards to write
and unwrapped presents strewn about.

Dinners were planned for the rest of the week
Dear friends to see and year end goals to meet!

---------------------------------------------------------

It's been busy. A good busy. But I do miss writing (thus the silly poem) and exercise and the routines of the rest of the year. December is special. The whole month is about the holidays and how many friends and loved ones you can cram in to see and gift before the year ends. Did I mention it's also about gluttony? Gluttony with food and money and gifts. It's almost shameful.

Work has become an annoyance, something that gets in the way of my holiday month. I want to smack my boss upside the head when he wastes my time with inane questions because he doesn't read emails clearly or think before speaking.

I want to sit at home, wrap gifts, sip tea, and watch movies. I want to sleep in, brunch with friends, catch up on years worth of letters, emails, and books. Most of all, I want to be with my family, stuff gifts under the Christmas tree, and sit around in flannel pajamas staring at the lights of the tree until I fall asleep.

Holiday Movies

When I was at the mouse-eared company, two other coworkers and I decided to form our own movie club. A movie club devoted to watching sappy romantic chick flicks so that we wouldn't have to drag unsuspecting victims, like boyfriends, to movies such as The Notebook or Save the Last Dance (our inaugural movie choice).

We don't get to meet up once a month anymore since some of us have moved on to different companies and have different hours. However, we'll still try to meet up for dinner monthly and pick a good movie to watch together at least once a year. Last weekend, it was The Holiday.

I knew it was a romantic comedy about two women swapping homes in England and LA to get away from the heartache of their their failed relationships but Wavy had given me a bit more of an in depth heads up. Apparently, when she watched the opening and listened to Kate Winslet's narration, she went "Whatchamacalit?! Is that you?"

Still, I was unprepared for just how much the writers got it. And how well Kate Winslet conveyed it. Without giving away too much of the movie, let's just say the pit of my stomach dropped out a couple of times and I wept throughout the movie. It was a swift kick to the gut in the best way possible. I wasn't so much crying from the sadness, it was more of the relief that someone else, and possibly many someone elses actually felt that way one time or another. My heart physically ached for her character and ached at the past experiences which made me feel like a sopping mess.

One of the girls I was with stifled a laugh and shook her head at me when the movie started. She too, had gone through the same experience with me years ago. We all loved the movie and had a wonderful time, but the best part was being able to cry and laugh about it with friends who understood why.

Last Concerts of the Year

Since we enjoyed the Hotel cafe tour so much, SLY and I decided to go to the Troubadour to see Brett Dennen on Friday and Josh Radin on Monday. I'm getting old and for mellow music like theirs, I prefer to sit. Instead of standing around in the main area, we sat in the back of the bar at the same table both times. The Troubadour is a tiny venue that feels like it's been around for decades, grunginess and all. So when we spotted Zach Braff and Donald Faison from the cast of Scrubs on Monday, right in front of us in the will call line, I had a feeling we'd spot them again.

Sure enough, Sarah Chalke from the show Scrubs also showed up, standing right in front of us, chatting up the other musicians like Priscilla Ahn and Cary Brothers. Zach Braff came over and bought a couple of beers for his group while SLY and I tried not to stare at the whole group 5 feet in front of us.

They were both great concerts, especially Josh Radin's on Monday when he invited his fellow musicians up on stage for various duets. Good music, celebrity sightings, it was a great way to cap off the last concert of the year. To celebrate, I'm buying tickets for another indie singer songwriter, Rhett Miller, at the Troubadour in January.

Like Sands Through the Hourglass...

In college, my roommates and I had too much time on our hands. One roommate was a big fan of the soap opera General Hospital while another one got hooked on Days of Our Lives with me when we met the cast for a question and answer session at school. Being the nerds that we are, we took it upon ourselves to chart out all the past and present relationships between the characters to keep them straight.

So when I recently found myself in an odd little scenario straight out of the soaps, my first instinct was to chart it out.



For one night, all in the same room for the same event and no one got hurt, no tears were shed, and smiles all around. Sometimes art does imitate life more than life imitates art.

Creepy Tunnel

Here's the creepy tunnel we ran through on Mile 13. It only took my phone 2 days to send it to my email account. Ain't technology grand?

All's Fair In Love and Parking

I wish I were meaner. Because if I were, I would have run over the girl's foot, which was unjustly in the way of my parking spot.

Wavy ran into the pizza place to order some dinner for me while I looked for a place to park. There was a prime spot right in front of the restaurant and a diminuitive college student standing in the prime spot, obviously holding the space for one of her friends. I started backing into the space and she waved her tiny hands at me, as if that would stop me. I glared at her, mouthed "no, you can't do that." and continued backing the car in. She kept smiling at me and waving her hands, refusing to budge. Another boy ran into the spot to support her, also smiling and waving his hands at me.

Fantastic. I can run over his feet too.

There was a standoff for a good two to three minutes, as I yelled at them and tried to keep reversing. We were causing a scene. People from the restaurant stared at us. For once, I longed for a cop to come by and do something good for a change, like yell at these kids for me. I debated about how close I could nick them with my car before it was considered a crime. Their punk friends finally showed up and drove straight into the spot, adding to my rage.

I realized that 1) I would have tried to save a parking spot for a friend by standing in it but 2) I would have chickened out and moved out of the way if someone tried to take the spot and yelled at me 3) I'm not mean enough to key someone's car or run over their foot but 4) I really wish I could. Maybe life would be a little bit better if my id ran loose every so often and people feared me as the "unhinged" one. I can only dream.

The Aftermath

Stumbled home after brunch, showered and fell asleep. The alarm clock went off at 4:30 again. Very much like 12 hours before, but this time the sun was still out. What a strange day. I went out briefly to visit some friends and their newborn, got some dinner, came home and slept some more. Today, I woke up briefly at 8am to email work and tell them I was too achy to go in, and continued to sleep until 10.

When I woke up, I called the friends with the newborn, offering to bring them lunch. And they replied "Oh my God, you sound as if you just woke up after partying all night and now you're hungover and just coming to."

The Final Run

The alarm clock went off at 4:30am. I had laid out everything I needed, knowing I would be half delirious. Somehow I managed to toast a PB & J sandwich, and stumble out the door by 5, feeling as if I was living some surreal dream. It was pitch black, no cars on the freeway, and all the skyscrapers of downtown were still lit up as I drove toward them. The clock said 5:05 but it could have been am or pm. I felt like I had gone mad.

I found the parking lot where we were meeting, and slowly the others trickled in after me. We all agreed it was a bit surreal, and the nine of us made our way toward the meeting point up the hill. It was still pitch black outside and a chilly 30 degrees. With wind.

We found the last two members of our group, and lined up for the shuttles that would take us to the starting point. It was still only 6am. Another hour and a half to go. I think I saw an old boss from my last job, but I really didn't care.

They unloaded us at the Travel Town Museum in Griffith Park, but we didn't want to get off the bus. It was only 6:30 and it was FREEZING outside. They booted us off anyway so we joined throngs of people milling about waiting for the start of the race. WHY DID WE NEED TO GET HERE AN HOUR EARLY? There was no shelter so we huddled together in a small circle to stay warm, kind of like the penguins in the documentary March of the Penguins.

Pre-race entertainment included chanting by a group of Native American performers, seeing how many guys ditched the porta potty lines to climb up the hillside to relieve themselves, and watching fellow racers in various fashion schemes (men in short shorts should never bend over and trash bags make for handy windbreakers). By the time the race was ready to start, we had been awake at least 3 hours and lost all feeling in our legs.

A Mile By Mile Breakdown of the Race:

Mile 1 - Feeling good! Still no feeling in my legs but I'm almost tempted to continue running even after our first walk cycle. I have never seen so many guys randomly peeing in the bushes along the path. And WHY is the woman mooning everybody? Gross.

Mile 2 - Ack, only one mile done?!!

Mile 4 - All right, we're heading outside of the park. Still feeling good and running too fast. I keep losing my group.

Mile 5 - Hmmm, I'm too far ahead of the group. I can't hear them yelling "Run!" or "Walk!" I can't believe I'm doing so well.

Mile 6 - CRAMP! We're running along the freeway now and the sun's out. Still a ways to go.

Mile 7 - Holy Mother of God, I'M IN PAIN.

Mile 8 - We're only a little over half way. I'm never going to make it. Every time we run, my stomach feels like it's going to explode.

Mile 9 - Half the group has caught up and ahead of me. Resorting to prayer and bargaining now to finish the race.

Mile 10 - I can't run anymore. It physically feels impossible. My knee is throbbing, my foot aches, and the cramps still come and go. Four people from the group run ahead and one of them stays with me to walk. Thank god for her. We seem to have lost three of them in the back. We're now without timer people. No one to tell us when to run and walk at our 2 minute/1 minute intervals. But no matter. If I run, I will fall over and die at this point.

Mile 11 - Bless all these wonderful kids and adult volunteers handing out drinks and cheering along the way. I taste Gatorade for the first time. I love sugar. My buddy convinces me to run for the downhill stretch of this mile when my cramps subside.

Mile 12 - Eureka! We're finally in downtown. We're almost done. I can't believe it. Will I have to keep all the promises I made when begging all the powers of above to help me finsh? My buddy is already calling her boyfriend to let her know we're almost done. I wonder if my parents will show up at the finish line.

Mile 13 - Walking through a creepy tunnel. Straight out of some sci-fi flick. Two more peeps from our group catch up with us since we've been walking much of the time. One of the members from our running group who lost us at mile 1 is done and coming back toward us to head home. "It's so close you can taste it!" he yells.

Mile 13.1 - The four of us decide to run toward the finish line, so that we at least look less pathetic for straggling in so late. Amazingly, we finished within 3 hours! And my parents are so cute! They are there too, taking pictures, giving me a Capri-sun, as if they were cheering me on as a little kid in little league (which we never did).

I can't believe we finished. That was one of the hardest things I've ever done and one of the most physically excruciating. I've gotta find more constructive and less painful ways to cope with frustration and sadness or else I'll be in a wheelchair by the time I'm 40.

One of the runners in our group said there are two types of people who do these things. One says "I will never do this again" and the other asks "when's the next one?" There is talk of the San Diego marathon in June and the 5K/10K Firecracker run in Chinatown in February. Good God, I just want to be able to walk normally again. And sleep in on Sundays. MAYBE the 10K in February. If something else is pissing me off next year.

Eve of the Big Run

Good lord, we have to meet at 5:15 tomorrow. That means even if I sleep right now at 10pm and wake up around 4, that's only 6 hours of sleep. That bites. I haven't slept at 10pm since I was eight years old. And waking up when it's still dark and cold out? Inhumane.

Spotted on the Freeway

A strange Oldsmobile tilted up at a 25 degree angle, the back wheels so close to the ground, I expected sparks to fly if the car hit a bump. Etched on the back of the car, the classy quote "Too low for you big hoes."