Good Grief Pt 2

The changes. They keep on coming. Yesterday, my beloved brother told me he broke up with his girlfriend of the past EIGHT years. A few weeks ago. AFTER I had emailed her about dropping by this past weekend and giving her some gifts from my trip. AFTER I had even told him I was going to do that. Argh!

Though she and I were never close, I was still puzzled by why she kept insisting that it was ok, I didn't have to drop by, we could wait until the next time we saw each other, which was supposedly when my brother would come home. So when I casually joked to him that "hey your girlfriend seems to be scared of me," and recounted the incident he responded with "oh, we broke up. A couple of weeks ago."

"WHAT?!!!! Why didn't you tell me?!"
"Because I knew you'd freak out. You don't like change."

Sigh. Either I am certifiably nuts and much too fragile for human consumption or the people around me are much too protective. I think with BF, it's more the latter. With my brother, he just thinks I'm a huge hassle to deal with.

When I asked him more about it, he said "You're too nosy. And pushy."
"I'm your sister. You're supposed to tell me these things." Deal with it. I was the one who stood up for him when our mom said he was too young at 19 to date this girl seriously. I was the one who didn't take sides when our mom stopped speaking to him for weeks because he lied about going away for a weekend trip for their first anniversary. I believe I was also the one who told our mom she was being completely ridiculous when she started nitpicking about this girl's height and ethnicity.

I have been bracing myself for them to get engaged within the year once he comes back home. "Well now, you can unbrace yourself." he tells me.
I asked him what changed? And he says "I've grown and realizing more of what I want in someone."
I tell him, "I just want to know what that is, because I'm curious. I've always admired how well you balanced your relationship with everything else."
"Flattery will get you everywhere," he replies.
"You nitwit, I'm not trying to flatter you. I was being sincere."

Brothers. AUGHHHH! I said I'd call him but he decided to go play poker with his buddies instead and wouldn't pick up my call, nor call me back. I wonder how the rest of the family will cope because I'm sure not saying anything. I wonder how she's coping, because so like a guy, he actually thinks she's fine by now. He had been thinking about it for awhile but when I asked if he had discussed his thoughts with her earlier or if he just sprung it on her, he said "uh, more the latter." When I told him that it would likely take her over a year to get over this, he replied "wow, that's a long time." Duh.

So with that, another person out of our lives. I've decided to send her the gifts anyway and not mention the breakup or my lame-ass brother. I've decided that even though I'm disappointed in him in how he handled the breakup, I'm not going to tell him that. And I've also decided that I'm gonna have to figure out some mad coping skills before everyone is afraid to tell me anything. Either that, or I'm going to learn to at least fake it and feign the rock solid exterior of Queen Elizabeth.

Rainbows Make Me Happy

One of my favorite photos from the trip. This is only the second full rainbow I've ever seen. First one is from Kona, Hawaii on the side of this blog. This second one is from Cape Town, South Africa, on our way for brunch on the last day.

Good Grief

As I mentioned before, my best friend is 6 months pregnant. She neglected to tell me this until she was... 6 months pregnant. Partly because she didn't want to tell anyone in her first trimester. Partly because she didn't want to freak me out, since we had been discussing how marriage and kids have caused so many friendships to drift apart.

When I saw her right before I left on my trip, she didn't want to say anything for fear of "ruining my trip." And when she finally told me the week after I got back, she started with the line, "dude, I have some bad news..."

I'm really touched that she's so concerned with my well-being, but I was also stunned and a little sad that she has to worry about not being able to tell me things. Important life changing things.

When I told my mom the news, she of course knew just the right thing to say. "Oh, did she not want to tell you because she was afraid to make you feel bad? Since you're still not dating and you don't have a boyfriend?" And for good measure, she had to repeat it out loud for my dad when he asked why BF had been afraid to tell me. "Oh, she didn't want to say anything because she was afraid to make Whatchamacalit feel bad. Because she's not dating and has no boyfriend." Yup. Mothers. They always know just the right thing to say.

The First Step Is the Hardest Step

1 day since I finally started running (walking) again at the track with Jigaho and Polar Opposite
1 week since I woke up to the sound of chainsaws in the yard (Landlord decided to have some trees cut down at the crack of dawn. Not a pleasant sound to wake up to)
1 week since my best friend reluctantly confessed that she's 6 months pregnant. Life as we know it will never be the same
1 month since my last post. The longest I've gone without writing. It's been so hard to start back up again
1 month since I've seen Wavy, before we took off for our respective trips
1 year since anyone has captured my eye or stirred any butterflies in my stomach
1 year since I started this blog as an outlet for my sadness and frustrations after dating debacle
1 year since I went to Chicago to visit my brother.
1 more day before another dear work friend packs up and leaves the company. I'm running out of coffee buddies
1 more day before I get to meet up with Wavy and Princess for dinner so we can catch up
1 more week before Boy Who Was the One disappears forever back to the east coast to marry his One, settle down and has a gazillion kids
1 more week till a lovely 3 day weekend. Our first work holiday of the year
1 more month till I go to Chicago again to see my brother graduate
1 more month before my brother comes home to LA for good (I hope)
1 more year before 3 dear friends will celebrate their first mother's day
1 more year before I hopefully can go on my next big trip again

Friday the 13th...

Not all Friday the 13th's are bad. I didn't get affected by the giant power outage across LA and it's the eve of my big trip! After an exhausting week of work, prepping for my trip, and endless errands, I managed to deliver two projects this week, finish almost all my packing, and even had time for a massage and hanging with Wavy today when she visited my work for our bi-monthly friends and family lunch.

Of course, physically I am a mess. Exhausted from stress and lack of sleep, pale and unhealthy, and scatter-brained. This must be the worst I've ever been in terms of not returning calls and emails. If you don't hear from me for awhile, hopefully it's not because I've been gored by a rhino. I'm leaving Sat evening for Africa and France. Not sure how the internet will be out on safari or whether I'll have time to blog here, but hopefully I will be reading all three of my books, writing in my journal and seeing lots of amazing things. Till Cinco de Mayo...

On Cutting Your Losses or Being a Quitter

My Polar Opposite Friend, being the polar opposite of me that he is, rejoined the online dating world after things didn't work out with his last girlfriend he met on Match. I applauded him for jumping in again so quickly, especially since I still stubbornly refuse to dip my toe in that community. Like many others, he seems to approach it as a numbers game - the more people you meet, the better chance you have of finding the right one.

He met a few of these women on casual dates but no one seemed to be jumping out at him. Until he met a certain lawyer chick from the south bay - someone who was mellow and intelligent, with a lovely voice and pretty face. And then he didn't care about meeting anyone else. He just wanted to see her again. He couldn't wait more than two days to call her and accidentally woke her up one night. He called again the next night and left a message, waiting to hear back. She didn't call back that night or the next night or the night after that. He emailed her and she didn't reply. So that was that. Time to suck it up and move on. No harm, no foul.

"But she's a lawyer. Maybe she's been buried under paperwork and had deadlines," I told him after the first night. "Maybe she's out of town. Or never got your voicemail. Technology isn't so reliable," I kept saying.

Then I realized that Polar Opposite didn't need to hear this from me. He's already over it and moving on. Not much you can do when someone you're interested in doesn't share the same feeling. My shabby attempts at comfort are things I would tell myself or want to hear so I can keep up the delusions of hope. This is how I hold on for a year too long, pining and hoping, making excuses until I'm up against a wall, facing the cold harsh truth.

Since internet dating is something that Polar Opposite masterfully navigates, easily brushing off setbacks, I'm going to go out on a limb here and figure it's something that I will suck at. With each bad connection and unrequited interest (even at an emailing level), it'll just render me more jaded and untrusting, more disappointed in guys. OR, I could just stop caring and become a cold cynical ho who starts sleeping around. Both outcomes - not so good.

Hedonism

Ah the single girl life with nary a care in the world. SC Homey has been trying to help me get my finances in order, more in line with what an independent gal of her thirties should be like, and all she does is shake her head at me. I have money saved but it's probably not doing much. I could also be saving more but I like buying things. And eating out.

For the first time in my life, I've been able to make enough to not live paycheck to paycheck, to actually splurge on things that make me happy without stressing about it for a month. In the last couple of years, I've gotten more massages, gone on more trips, bought more shoes, put more in a 401K, bestowed more gifts for loved ones, and eaten more expensive meals without choking on my drink when I see the bill. And I'm really enjoying it.

I take every married friend's advice to be selfish and enjoy buying things without having to worry about consulting someone else or using too much of the home improvement money. I visit with my friends who are new parents and relish in being able to stay up till two watching bad movies, sleep in till noon, and go on trips during the off season without dipping into my kid's future college fund.

According to SC Homey, the next step after I finally organize some of my finances is to start thinking of some goals. It could be big goals like owning a house. Or small goals like... um, I don't know. And then I realized, I HAVE NO GOALS. I don't want to be tied down by a mortgage and not be able to eat out or travel whenever I have the vacation days. I have no grand plans of starting my own charitable organization nor adopting third world orphans. I can't even think farther ahead than a month or two at a time. And that's only because work forces me to. Ah, the life of a single girl who refuses to be a grown-up...

Books

Recently, my brother cleaned out some of his bookshelves and gave me two shopping bags full of books. When I first asked him if he had any books he could donate, he said "NO, I LIKE my books." Typical response from my brother. When I explained that it was for my librarian friend who worked in a juvenile detention center, where kids await trial as adults for very bad unspeakable crimes they committed, where they have no library and hardback books are forbidden in case they're used as weapons, where reading is sometimes the only thing that keeps them stimulated and encouraged, he reconsidered.

One afternoon, he disappeared for a couple of hours, and came back with all the books. He had been quietly sorting all the books that he could part with, and rereading some of his favorites. I looked through all of them too and had a flashback to when we were kids. I used to buy him books all the time, hoping that I could singlehandedly shape him to be a reader like me, to enjoy the same types of books I did. Every time I went to the mall with my friends, I always remembered to bring him back a book I thought he might enjoy. When my fourth grade teacher read James Howes' Bunnicula to the class, I started buying my five year old brother all the vampire bunny books the next couple of years. When I fell in love with Roald Dahl's The Twits in sixth grade, I started him on a collection of Roald Dahl books.

To this day, I still like buying him books, though he often favors books about business, finances, and self-improvement mumbo jumbo. Sometimes he'll surprise me by raving about popular novels like Da Vinci Code and convince me to read them, or he'll whimsically decide to jump on the trend of reading Harry Potter years after I blubbered on and on about the books to him.

When I looked in the bags at all those books I bought him, I got a little sad. (I also took back one of the books to keep, something I had read at least twenty times. One Hundred and One Dalmatians by Dodie Smith.) Then my brother confessed "that was hard. I had to reread a lot of them one last time. I'm also keeping all the Roald Dahl books." After that I felt better. And ready to pass the books onto a new generation of readers.

Juvenile Humor

I've accomplished nothing this weekend nor the past week in terms of prepping for my trip. So now I'm having stress dreams about packing and prepping. Sigh. Instead, I watched plenty of silly movies this weekend, hung out with friends, had dinner, and played the Wii.

On Friday night, I joined Jigaho, Polar Opposite, and Wavy to see Blades of Glory, a silly Will Ferrell movie spoofing the ice skating world. Not my usual cuppa tea but something about it made me laugh. Though it briefly crossed my mind that "Wow, I just spent 11 bucks to see this silly movie," it was worth it to hang out with my friends.

Twelve hours later, I headed for a free screening of Meet the Robinsons with a coworker friend. I never read the book and haven't been super impressed with the Mouse-eared company's latest films. Fortunately, I was pleasantly surprised by the story, the characters and the look of the film, even tearing up at the end. It's kind of like a quirkier, kiddie version of Back to the Future. I loved it so much, I can't wait to buy the film. It has replaced Flushed Away as my new favorite animated film.

Today, I attended another free screening with Polar Opposite. TMNT. Yup, that's right. Turtles. Of the Teenage Mutant Ninja sort. I never liked the cartoon as a kid nor read the graphic novels but something about this CG film appealed to me. Again, I was pleasantly surprised by this film. It wasn't heartwarming or beautifully rendered like Meet the Robinsons, but it was definitely an entertaining action film that kept me engaged the whole time. I would see it again. Maybe even pick up the graphic novel just to check it out and learn more of the back story.

To cap off the weekend, I met up with an old friend, his wife and their 4 month old baby daughter for sushi. We tenuously set out to a local sushi joint, praying that the baby would just fall asleep or sit very very still and stay very very quiet. No such luck. And she demonstrates her hate for me but screaming so loudly, I can see her tonsils, whenever I try to hold her for more than two seconds. She in fact scrunches up her face, opens her mouth and screams silently for about two seconds herself before the volume catches up to her and she bellows as I quickly pass her back to her parents like a game of hot potato. At least the restaurant staff was nice about it and gave us mochi ice cream for dessert on the house.

So three movies - all entertaining and I only paid for one. Screaming baby - but great sushi and free dessert. I'd say it was a winning weekend overall.

A Good Week

You know it's going to be an interesting week when a visit to the doctor and a shot in the arm actually starts off your Monday well. I woke up Monday morning still tired from the week before, with a feeling of "wow, I have absolutely nothing to look forward to today."

You see, almost everyday I try to find something small to look forward to, to give me a reason to actually leave the comfort of my bed and make my way outside my home. It can be as small as knowing that I'm going to have a good lunch at a specific place, the prospect of meeting up with a friend after work, knowing my boss will be busy or out of the office, or even as trivial as a good TV show that night. But on Monday, nada.

I showed up at a nearby travel clinic in Santa Monica to get my one remaining recommended vaccine for the trip. Apparently, regular doctors and health plans don't cover for 19th century type illnesses like typhoid. To my pleasant surprise, the doctor and nurse were extremely attentive and informative about my trip and health care needs, booking only one patient every half hour to an hour to make sure patients get all the time they deserve - something completely unheard of in this day and age of HMO's and overworked doctors. Of course, I had to pay all the out of pocket costs but wow, it made my day. Nice people. Not bogged down by the system.

I love my own doctors but the system dictates that they only spend about 5-10 minutes on me. This doctor sat me down about every scenario and treatment I would possibly need, personally administered the shot herself, told me about her recent trip to Burma, and then assured me that she had actually never even heard of a case where travelers to South Africa got sick yet.

Anyway, though my left arm was pretty much useless the rest of the day, it started me off on a good note. Even with the arrival of a new coworker sitting next to me who needs to be trained, even with Mr. DD coming back to work after his 5 week sabbatical, and even with the mountains upon mountains of stuff piled in my to do list in these next two weeks. And look, I made it to Friday already and I didn't even have to mow anyone down or punch them in the nose. A good week indeed.

Stressed Out Evil Basketcase

= Me. The last two weeks I've been so stressed, I got a cyst in my eye, rendering it all red and inflamed, had stomachaches every morning the minute I walked through the door at work, and overall wanted to punch people in the nose more than usual. There seems to be so much to do, so much to wrap up at work and at home before I leave the country in 2 1/2 weeks. This feeling of being continually overwhelmed has stomped out any remnants of the "nice" me and replaced it with a more selfish deranged version of myself.

On Saturday at dinner, The Boy Who Was the One, showed up an hour late, steaming mad and sans fiancee. Apparently, they just had a huge fight and she was still sitting in the car. Everyone didn't know what to say so I asked "aren't you afraid she'll drive off with your car?" Because if it were me, that would be a huge concern and by the way I would so drive off with the car. Luckily he had the keys. He didn't stay for long. He decided, wisely, to drive her back home and meet up with us at the art show later.

What I neglected to mention earlier was that at this dinner, there were supposed to be 6 couples and me. We were seated at a large square table, 3 on each side, perfect for 12. Except I was number 13. So the waiters scrambled to squeeze in a chair on one side so that I had 4 people on my side. Talk about insult to injury. So when The Boy showed up in his predicament and left without staying for dinner, we all had more room. And because I am evil, part of me was filled with glee and I ate quite well afterwards.

After I abruptly bolted at the end of night outside the bar, I felt a teensy bit bad. On Monday, just to make sure I hadn't offended my Vegas friends, I apologized for leaving so quickly without saying goodbye, explaining that I was tired, cold, and worn down by the week. Both were understanding and cool with it marveling at how fast I had disappeared, though she said, "you are more set in your ways than anyone I know." I decided to not take that in a bad way, knowing that yes, I can be stubborn as a mule when it comes to certain things.

What I realized most was that this new impatient evil me? It's a backlash to the person I was. The chump who spent most of her life being too nice and accommodating to everyone, making sure everyone else was happy and comfortable about everything, forsaking my own comfort and happiness in the process. Kind of like sacrificing the welfare of the individual to provide for the greater good of the group. It's me rebelling against me.

I'm sure the pendulum will eventually land somewhere in the middle again when I'm done making it up to my inner id after years of suppression, but for the meantime, I am THAT girl. The one who feels good when people I don't like (or ones who have hurt me) are suffering and miserable. The one who doesn't politely wait for everyone to be finished and ready to go before I leave them behind. The one who has no qualms about staying silent when a person is needed to step up and help out. Nope, as much as I believe in karma, I think I've more than filled my quota for at least this next decade. So watch out people! I WILL mow you down if I have to.

Work Hard, Play Hard

In the past week, I broke my rule of not working past 8pm every night. And to make up for the extra work and stress, I went out and socialized even more than usual, running the gamut from a rock concert to the ballet, to loud bars and an art show. I am exhausted.

Monday: Since Wavy is soon leaving SoCal, we decided she had to eat at Mulberry Street Pizza, hands down the best New York style pizza out here. When given the choice between Pinkberry and the Gelato shop for dessert, we stood in the middle of the street debating. I caved in to the more fattening gelato.

Tuesday: I was all dressed in my running gear, ready to meet up with Jigaho at the track, when Polar Opposite friend called. "It's raining. Let's just all have dinner instead." So instead of exercising, we headed to Tofu-Ya where I scarfed down a hearty meal of Soon Tofu and Bulgogi, washing it down with a Pinkberry frozen yogurt. I was the only one to eat EVERYTHING. I am like a goldfish that doesn't know how to stop eating what's in front of me.

Wednesday: Hit the Troubadour with Sly and another friend to see The Bravery. I only knew this song below and their latest single "Time Won't Let Me Go" but heard they were great live.


The lead singer is a little funny looking but his voice is a cross between Robert Smith of The Cure and a little bit of Morissey. I hung back at the bar where I could sit down and be the old lady that I am but I still enjoyed the energy of the band and its rabid fans packed together up front.

Thursday: I had friends in town this weekend, one of whom was the couple from Vegas. Since I was traditionally the "stunt double" who took the wife out to the ballet, we carried on the tradition and left the boys to fend for themselves (I think they went to watch turtle races at some local bar. Go figure.) Luckily the Joffrey Ballet was in town this same weekend and we caught Program A, the more classical of the two programs with music from actual Russian composers like Stravinsky. None of that modern dance stuff with people plopping around barefoot.

Friday: Another friend in town. This town, I met up with the college crew in Little Tokyo where we ate at a place that left us as hungry as we started. Izakaya Haru Ulala is a traditional Japanese tapas place, serving different food in tiny little dishes. Unfortunately, each dish took about 10 minutes to come out at a time.

We cut our losses about an hour later, making our way to Broadway Bar to meet up with more friends. (On a completely unrelated note, they were holding "So You Think You Can Dance" auditions next door at the Orpheum theater and I really really wanted to sneak in and watch instead of hanging out at a bar.) After straining my voice for about half an hour trying to talk over the loud music, we hopped to the next bar. Golden Gopher was more crowded and since some of us were still starving, drinking wasn't a great idea either. At least there were more interesting people to look at.

Sometimes, especially on weekends like this, I feel like I've lost any last bits of socializing skills I ever had. I never know what to do with bars. I rarely drink at bars because I know I'll have to drive myself somewhere else. I have a hard time talking loudly over the usual decibel level. I hate small talk. And, well, if you just sit there not drinking and not talking at a bar, really what's the point?

Anyway, we ended the night at a King Taco in downtown, a place I've managed to never notice or hear of the whole time I've lived in LA, probably because I've never liked Mexican food. Fortunately, this place was authentic and delicious. They had good meat and horchatas! Success.

Saturday: I promised the whole day to the Vegas couple. So I had brunch with them and another couple friend, followed them around for some shopping, had dinner at Typhoon (an Asian-fusion place that actually serves insects as part of their menu.) and attended his Art Show opening with an assortment of coworkers and former coworkers. Yay.

We went across the street to a bar called Good Hurt, where the bartenders dress like naughty nurses and a couple of very loud and not so good bands played on stage. Seeing that I had just endured loud bars the night before, I stuck in some ear plugs and sat down for awhile. (Yes I bring ear plugs with me everywhere in case I go to impromptu concerts.) As an added bonus a trio of bad burlesque dancers came on stage to do two numbers. After that, I was ready to go.

When another awful band started warming up, I stood up and said "I'M LEAVING." Surprisingly enough, the whole group followed me out. But as they loitered around outside of the bar chatting and saying their goodbyes, the cranky old lady in me snapped and in my head I thought "Ok, I'm done here" and I walked off. Just like that. The exhaustion, the cold, and the smoke swirling around me finally did me in. The week was done. And I was in bed soon after midnight.

Loudness

One of my biggest goals in life is not to be yelled at. I kid you not. Perhaps I should aspire to bigger and different goals, but this one is pretty important to me. I HATE loud noise. Especially when it's coming out of someone's mouth and directed in my general direction.

There's never a need to raise one's voice and talk over me - it's like squashing a bug with your shoe. I am a quiet talker. My voice refuses to project. I can yell at the top of my lungs and you likely won't hear me even if you're only like 50 feet away. If I have to sing nonstop for 15 minutes or conduct a conversation in a noisy bar, I will be guaranteed to lose my voice that night. Apparently, I got me some weak lungs and vocal chords.

Ironically, I come from a family of loud talkers and yellers. I have plenty of great friends who can project their voices with the best of them. So if and when I ever need it, I have tons of great people like Miss FlipFlops who can literally speak up for me. And plenty of great friends who have never yelled at me or made me cry.

Now that I'm older, I realized I don't have to take it. I'm not that child my mom can yell at anymore. In fact, as traumatizing as the whole situation was, 2 years ago (the last time my mom ever yelled at me) I decided to walk right out the door and leave the house when my mom wouldn't stop yelling. It took a long time to heal for the both of us but it was an adult milestone that probably frightened her and liberated me.

Walking away is probably the most frustrating thing you can do to a yeller. With work, I can't always do that. Nor can I humor my urge to just punch them in the nose. So I respond in the best way I can - with silence until they're done with their rant. I won't even tolerate someone raising their voice to me. I immediately shut down to silent but deadly mode because I know there's no point in raising my voice back at them. I'll lose. And losing I hate almost as much as I hate loud noise.

Men Are From Mars, Women Are From the Land of Neuroticism

Jigaho mentioned this hilarious essay to me a couple of weeks ago and I haven't been able to shake it from my mind since. I keep relaying it to all my friends so I might as well post it.

It is amazing how much women can over think everything while men have this expanse of fluffy clouds in their heads. Not all of course, but generally speaking, this feels so true and explains so much. Jigaho said she has now decided to treat all men as if they possessed the short term memory of a goldfish and not expect too much.

Two Diaries.

HER DIARY:

Saturday night I thought he was acting weird. We had made plans to meet at a bar to have a drink. I was shopping with my friends all day long, so I thought he was upset at the fact that I was a bit late, but he made no comment. Conversation wasn't flowing so I suggested that we go somewhere quiet so we could talk. He agreed but he kept quiet and absent. I asked him what was wrong he said nothing. I asked him if it was my fault that he was upset. He said it had nothing to do with me and not to worry. On the way home I told him that I loved him, he simply smiled and kept driving. I can't explain his behaviour; I don't know why he didn't say I love you too. When we got home I felt as if had lost him, as if he wanted nothing to do with me anymore. He just sat there and watched TV. He seemed distant and absent. Finally I decided to go to bed. About 10 minutes later he came to bed and to my surprise he responded to my caress and we made love, but I still felt that he was distracted and his thoughts where somewhere else. I decided that I could not take it anymore so I decided to confront him with the situation but he had fallen asleep. I started crying and cried until I too fell asleep. I don't know what to do. I'm almost sure that his thoughts are with someone else. My life is a disaster.

HIS DIARY:
The Lakers lost again! At least I got laid.

False Pretense of Security

I'm old school. I like writing letters. And though I haven't actually handwritten anything but cards in the past half year, I love the idea of writing my friends, writing in my journal, and writing pretend letters that I will never send, just to get certain emotions and thoughts off my chest.

A while ago, in my very depressed state, I wrote a couple of extremely personal faux letters to certain special folks and saved them on my computer. Aha, but clever me, I locked them with special passwords - separate special passwords for each separate special letter. And of course, I haven't been able to unlock them since.

Last year, I casually mentioned to a coworker how I locked myself out of my own documents - I'm that lame - and he said "OMG, you just have to go our IT guy! He can unlock anything. I locked myself out of some documents and he ran this password hacking program and unlocked it in less than 5 minutes! Just bring your computer in. He'll do it for you." I shuddered at the thought of our IT guy reading these letters and said "that's ok. It's probably for the best that I can't get back into them." So much for security. It only saves me from myself.

Zoo

Or 300 depending on how you look at it. I watched this epitome of the guy movie Friday night with some friends and rather enjoyed it. You get what you pay for and it's pretty much what you'd expect from watching the trailers. Very stylized look with a lovely monochromatic sepia tone, visually stimulating film bathed in CG geeky goodness, oodles of buff half nekkid men running around in capes, knee high boots and underwear (I gave up asking why. I just accept it.) and tons of testosterone filled battles and blood. (UBBF, you'd probably hate this film but you'll probably be dragged to it anyway by your counterpart.)

Jigaho and I, a minority in the group of young cheering fanboys, had some good laughs. We actually laughed out loud during a couple of inopportune moments. She was one of the people who thought this movie was titled "Zoo" for the longest time; so when they brought out rhinos and elephants during one of the battles, she leaned over to me and whispered "here's where the 'zoo' portion of the movie starts!"

Spelling It Out for the World To See

While driving along the 10 Freeway today I saw "Wo Heartbre k" spelled across an overpass bridge. The first couple of thoughts that crossed my mind:
1) People need to learn how to spell
2) Ah, looks like some letters fell off
3) Why in the world would someone tack up individual letters along the bridge instead of spray painting it across the concrete like any other self-respecting tagger in LA?
4) Ah, I guess heartbreak really does possess people to do irrational things....

Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs

This was a children's book I loved as a kid - a perfectly whimsical and odd title that often describes my mood forecast. Good and bad and weird all combined together. It started off as a decently good day. Then it launched into weird when my fellow coworker and I suddenly started venting about our control-mongering boss and went out for a nice lunch outdoors at a lovely cafe. She tended to be closer to him since they worked together long before I was thrown under his wings after my former boss fled the company in not-so-good circumstances. So it feels even better to know that even she is angry and frustrated with his used car salesman ways.

The bad happened late in the afternoon, suddenly and surprisingly. One of the guys IMed me out of the blue to tell me that Mr. DD was going snowboarding. Rage surfaced from I don't know where and I wanted to yell "Why the hell are you telling me? I HATE HIM. I don't want to know what he's doing on his 'sabbatical' nor hear about him having fun." And of course, I couldn't and didn't say anything except "Hope he doesn't break anything."

Wow, nearly a year later, I can still rage for no good reason at all, stunning even myself. I really didn't and don't think I hate him at all. It put me in an uncomfortable and foul mood the rest of the evening knowing that I'm still affected and nothing seemed to make me feel better at home. Nothing looked good to watch on TV. Most foods made me feel nauseous. So I had some steamed dumplings and bubbly juice, hoping it's not that flu/virus going around work that's making me feel ill. Maybe I just not to sleep. A lot. And the distraction of choice? The Wire Season Two DVDs. Who knew that this show about Baltimore cops, drug dealers, and smugglers would be the perfect enjoyable escape. Here we go again...

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.