Rockin Out With the Old Folks

Back in March, I forked out an obscene amount of money for the first and only show for the Police reunion tour in LA, at Dodgers stadium. It was so expensive, it physically hurt but I thought "hey, once in a lifetime opportunity!"

Everyone told me to sell the tickets on Ebay, use the profit to finance my trip to Africa. I waffled and weeks later, they added two more arena dates in LA. By the time I decided I could live without seeing the Police play live and tried selling the tickets for face value, it was too late. People were selling below cost! Luckily, my good ole college roommate, the singer, agreed to go, making it so appropriate since I had also seen Sting in concert twice with her years ago.

The concert was scheduled to start on Saturday at 6:30. We figured we could miss part of the first opening band and just watch Foo Fighters and Police. I left home at 5:30 to meet up with her and leave one of our cars. At 6:30, I managed to crawl through about 17 miles of traffic to meet her in Los Feliz. Leaving a little before 7, we inched forward to the stadium, a mere 5 miles away, at 2 miles an hour.

By the time we were at the base of the hill, I had to go to the bathroom so badly, I was near tears. Guys were leaping out of their respective cars and running up the hill to pee in the bushes or behind trees as traffic came to a near standstill trying to get into the parking lot. I briefly contemplated running up the hill too but realized it could only end with me falling on my ass and rolling down the hill with my pants down. Not something I wanted to chance.

When I couldn't stand it any longer, I handed singer her ticket, jumped out of the car and ran up the hill all the way to the stadium, begging security to let me in for the bathroom. Of course there was a line. And it was close to 8:30 already. I squinted down at the stage and realized that Foo Fighters was nearly done with their set. ARGH!

By the time, singer and I met up at our awesome seats on the field, Foo Fighters wrapped up their last song, and we were left standing next to a whole lot of old smelly people, frazzled and astounded at how painful it had been to get in. I took the opportunity to take a picture of how close we were to the stage with my cell (my tiny cellphone camera has no zoom), but it doesn't do it justice. Took this 5 seconds before the lights went out and the show started.


When the band finally came on, I was brought back to my high school and college days, when I listened to their greatest hits CD so much that I broke the first one and had to buy another. Not only was it refreshing to be one of the younger folks in the crowds, it was amazing to see how great these guys were. The Police now, could blow any of the popular younger bands I've seen out of the water.

Stewart Copeland hit the drums with so much vigor and smiles, I wanted to make him my new drumming idol. Right up there with Dave Grohl, Larry Mullen Jr, and Taylor Hawkins. Andy Summers had some minor technical difficulties with his guitar so he had a perpetual scowl on his face, but Sting's beautiful voice singing and playing songs I never thought I'd get to hear live in my lifetime eased away most of the pre-concert trauma.

Going Back to Basics

My six months of free HBO and Showtime ran out last month and after eyeing the nearly $100 dollar statement that showed up yesterday I called up Time Warner cable to downgrade. At first I was only planning to cancel the premium service, but then I noticed something. For ten bucks, I could have the broadcast basic service, which means I basically pay them to have clear reception of what I remember we had free as kids - channels one through thirteen.

Paying ten bucks for basic service isn't the issue. I was already doing that for years with Comcast. The issue is that when Time Warner bought out Comcast about six months ago, and forced digital cable on me, their brochures said they were getting rid of the broadcast basic service. When I called to complain, instead of telling me that THEY WERE LYING, they apologized and offered a bunch of discounts and free six month premium service. It was still twenty dollars more a month but I really really did not want to resort to bunny ears.

Now that this option was back, or perhaps had always been there and I had just been hoodwinked, I decided to go cold turkey and give it all back. Go ahead and take back that fancy digital receiver. So long On Demand! Bye Bye Cartoon Network!

"You know, you'll only get channels two through thirty," the rep cautiously warned me, as if I were renouncing all modern technology and joining the Amish.
"Yup," I answered. "That's what I had before Time Warner came along. I'll be fine!"

The Art of Not Telling the Truth

Lying. It kills friendships, destroys trust, and breaks hearts. It's one thing to tell a little white lie "no you don't look fat today!", but another thing to flat out lie when asked a serious direct question. I understand avoidance and not divulging everything when not prompted. I understand poker. I understand protecting a loved one. But I don't understand looking someone in the eye and giving a false answer when asked. Maybe because I'm just not wired that way. My brain might short-circuit or severe twitching could occur.

I have a friend who constantly and not so subtlety changes the subject when he doesn't feel like answering a question. At first, I thought it was a cultural or language thing, perhaps a Swedish thing? Some days it's annoying, some days charming in a kooky kinda way. I finally realized he does that because he's a bad liar like me. Changing the subject and just avoiding the question altogether is his only defense. Of course he needs to work on those conversation segues a bit more so that he's not glaringly drawing more attention to the truth. Or nontruth.

I ended a friendship once, abruptly and without remorse, because lies were told and my sympathy manipulated. That was over ten years ago and I'm not sure I've forgiven. Or more accurately, I don't know if I care enough to even ponder forgiveness, it's that inconsequential now. All I knew is that I no longer wanted this person in my life, effective immediately.

My brother lied to me about his breakup. And tried to manipulate my feelings. Obviously I can't cut him out of my life, I adore him. And I almost understand what's he trying to do. But I'm quietly disappointed that he flat out lied to me when I asked him a direct question. It almost would have been better if he just pretended not to hear me or changed the subject to something temporarily distracting and entirely ridiculous, like baby penguins.

Why I'd Be A Poor Candidate For Grad School

My dad always wanted me to get an MBA. Not that I had any aptitude in business. He just felt like an MBA degree equated financial and job security for me. My parents finally gave up the harassment after 3 straight years of nagging. I can be quite stubborn to say the least.

Luckily my brother accomplished that dream. And several of my friends. Graduations have been my thing lately. Two in one week. Some people crash weddings. I attend graduations. And promptly ignore all the long-winded speeches by daydreaming and doodling because I have the attention span of a six year old.

Here's what I did at Wavy's graduation last week. The kid on the right didn't think much of the keynote speaker's speech either. He plugged his fingers in his ears the whole time.Ran out of blank space on the program and resorted to sketching these kids in my little notebook that I carry around everywhere. It was nice to sketch again, even if prompted by the strangest time and place to do so.

Movies of Conflict

Rarely am I ever in the mood to watch war films or movies depicting the atrocities of humanity or civil unrest. I much prefer happy escapism. Why bother with movies depicting real life when I already think real life and growing up two highly overrated things one must endure? Anyway, occasionally I'll stumble upon these movies when they fall into my lap.

While I was in Chicago, my brother happened to have a DVD of The Last King of Scotland. I heard great things but nothing about it interested me. But hey, since he had it around, why not? From the first 15 minutes, I was intrigued. I can't quite explain why it was so mesmerizing. It could be the phenomenally charismatic portrayal of Idi Amin by Forrest Whitaker. Or maybe the charm of newcomer James MacAvoy. Mainly it could be the story itself, about the fictionalized friendship between the dictator and his personal physician, seen through the young idealistic physician's eyes. Whatever the reason, the movie was riveting despite the subject matter.

Another movie I happened to watch on cable this weekend, was Courage Under Fire. It's over ten years old, but I remember I was somewhat interested in it when it first came out, probably because it had Meg Ryan and Denzel Washington in it. Now that it happened to be on at the right time, I couldn't stop watching it through dinner, Father's Day or not, much to the amusement of my parents. It's a little slow, but the mystery that slowly unfolds is worth it. Great acting on everyone's part, including a very young and skinny Matt Damon and a tough-guy Lou Diamond Phillips of La Bamba Fame.

If I Only Had Wings...

I hate flying. I hate the act of traveling. It tires me out either from the glut of people or the lack of oxygen on the plane. Then there's the layovers and the delays, like the 7 hours my family and I spent at the Chicago Midway airport just last weekend because of bad weather on the east coast. Yet, I'm always restless to hop on the next flight for another trip. I like going to new places and being temporarily away from my normal routine.

Unfortunately, short of sprouting wings, there's no other quick way to get to all the places I want to go. I wish I could apparate into a new place, ala Harry Potter but it sounds difficult. Then there's floo powder for beginning wizards but you need a fireplace. Finally, I could hope for beaming technology like Star Trek. But I'm a little frightened of what could go wrong. What if I'm reassembled with my arm on top of my head or worse, inside out as in Galaxy Quest? Not pretty...

Until something quicker and better comes along, I do have two free flights to go anywhere I want in the continental US, courtesy of all the frequent flier miles I've accumulated. Hoorah! The choices are endless... another trip to San Francisco to see the pregnant best friend before she explodes? New York city again for a birthday indulgence? Seattle to visit Princess while she's up there on a project for the summer? Or maybe Austin to see my old boss, purely because I've never been to Texas and it would check off another state in my quest to see all 50 states one day. Or if I was feeling especially masochistic I could fly to Vermont for the Boy's wedding since I did receive that dreaded invitation. Ha! I'd rather chance beaming technology and be turned inside out.

Obscuring English Words

My brother finally told the parents about the break up, saving me from uncomfortable explanations of why I changed our accommodations in Chicago from a one bedroom suite for the three of us to a swanky hotel for them and an air mattress for me at my brother's apartment. Thank goodness because I'm a terrible liar. I manage to hide things well, but faced with a direct question from a person, short of running away, I usually just blurt out the truth so that my head won't explode.

Within a few hours of my brother's revelation, my parents called me last weekend and the conversation went something like this:
Dad: Hi! Are you coming home to visit this weekend? Did your brother and his girlfriend break up?
Me: Yes I'm coming over for lunch and uh... did you talk to him?
Dad: Yes, he told us they broke up.
Me: Well... then I guess they did!
Dad: Ok, hold on, Mom has some questions for you.
Mom: Hi honey, did you know? When did you find out? What happened?
Me: Hi mom, I have no idea. He hasn't returned my calls. You know about as much as I do.
Mom: Well, he explained to me what happened, but it was all in English and I don't understand him very well. It was "something something personal something something..."
Me: Hahaha
Mom: That's ok, we'll be able to ask him in person next weekend!

I'm sure my brother can't wait for the family inquisition tonight. I recounted the conversation to him and we had a good laugh. He told me "when I tell things to Mom, I try to obscure the English words to her."

Grass Greener, Etc, Etc... Redux

These rose-colored glasses, they're stuck on with crazy glue! There are days when I look at Mr. DD at work and I think "oh holy mother of God, what was I thinking?" And then there are those days when I get so angry at myself, so pissed at my stupid ole brain for still being the slightest bit attracted to him. The days when he speaks so patiently and intelligently to other newer artists, the way he hasn't changed his hair in months ever since I told him it looks good at that length, or when he smiles carefreely in some very rare occasions. I'm sure it all means nothing and rationally, I know it's just because I have no space from him.

Unfortunately for me, the space is about to get smaller. I have a huge project coming up in which I'll be working closely with Mr. DD from August till the end of the year. However, work has been slow and I know I've been coasting along pleasantly while my colleague is unfairly overwhelmed. Insert foot in mouth to boss and offer to help out. Voila. Beginning next week, I'll take over one of her projects in which I'll start working closely with Mr. DD next week, as soon as I come back from Chicago. Next week until the end of the year. Until 2008. It's going to be an interesting second half of the year.

Tongue-Tied

There is eye candy at work. A tall dark haired, blue-eyed, beautiful cheek-boned Irish looking man freelancing upstairs in our other department. I met him before last year but I don't think he remembers me. I hardly think we have anything to talk about nor would I ever dream of dating someone that uncomfortably good-looking. But he is quite some eye candy.

As I walked upstairs to the copy room, wondering if I'd see him that day, thinking that I was having a pretty good hair/outfit day, I ran smack into him coming out of the room. He smiled and I attempted to saying something that resembled hi. Instead, I think it came out like "Hielphhllphh..." Graceful, yet eloquent.

Milking The Premium Channels For All They're Worth

Have I mentioned how much I hate the Time Warner Cable Service and their monopolies on television? I used to pay ten dollars a month just to get basic service for my local 13 channels. As if that wasn't highway robbery enough, once Time Warner bought out Comcast and Adelphia, they forced everyone to upgrade to basic cable for forty-five dollars a month or suffer the fate of bunny ear antennas and fuzzy reception. What happened to the days of free and clear TV of yore?

Because I could not bear to deprive my Tivo of its glorious recording capabilities and brand spanking new TV of its hi-resolution potential, I sucked it up and continued to pay. I stay on hold for over an hour with customer service to log my complaints and get refunds when the service goes down. I send them emails complaining of their crappy services and policies. And the lovely thing is, they sometimes set it right by crediting my money back or in my case giving me six months free of premium channels.

I think that's how they get you. It's like drugs. Now that I have HBO, Showtime, and TMC, I don't know if I want to give it up. This whole On demand thing is brilliant. And the shows they're airing on cable these days far surpass many network shows and feature films at the theater.

My six months free is nearly up, so as I teeter on the fence of practicality and thriftiness versus indulgence and lunacy, I've been recording every movie I can get my hands on, every movie I ever remotely wanted to rent or watch if it happened to be free and landed squarely on my lap as I sat there bored with nothing else in the world to do.

Last night, I watched half of The Lake House, which I already saw a while back and made me weep yet again. I followed that up with She's The Man, a modern remake of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. Now I am a SUCKER for any modern remake of classics. Clueless. Loved It. Ten Things I Hate About You. One of my favorites. She's All That. Pygmalion story never grows old. I actually laughed so hard and so loudly at She's The Man, that any person who happened to pass by my apartment at that time must have thought a crazy retarded person lived there. It was that funny and cute. I may need to watch that one again.

Finally, I watched Just My Luck, in which Lindsay Lohan actually reminds me that she's a cute adorable girl who can act and oozes charisma. The whole luck thing was very appropriate for my recent entry and I love the idea of karma and balance in the world.

There's ten more movies beckoning to me in the next week or so. The farewell to premium channels never felt so sweet.

My Book Club of One

One day, I'd like to be in a book club. It would force me to be disciplined enough to read consistently, discuss things other than celebrity gossip, friend gossip, or movies, and provide quality social time with other like-minded friends.

I recently finished a hilarious book one of my old college roommates (the cute little quiet one who also loves books) lent me last year. Jennifer Weiner's "Goodnight Nobody." One of our other roommates called her "Sweets" - though Sweets certainly possesses a wicked (sometimes dirty) sense of humor also found often in her choice of books.

This book is probably classified as chick lit since the main character still angsts over her first love, but it has a murder mystery thrown in it, along with a well crafted and thoughtful look at being a grown up. And by grown-up I mean, getting married, having kids, moving to suburbia, mourning the loss of a career and juggling a meaningful relationship with your single friends.

Jennifer Weiner is a funny and intelligent writer. Even though I can't relate to her other books about having kids, marriage crises, and the like, I will probably seek out some of her other books for a read.

My favorite part of the book? The protagonist's best friend tries to get the guy who broke her friend's heart deported. Ah, a story point and best friend clearly after my own heart.

When Sweets moves back to LA, we may have to start our own book club, though she'll probably read circles around me and pick up more meaningful intelligent scifi/fantasy novels. I used to read that stuff before my attention span got whittled down to the size of a goldfish's brain. Maybe we'll have to alternate the scifi/fantasy/grown up stuff with my graphic novels, children's books, and chick lit. It'll be one awesome book club.

Easy Listening Music

Last night, SC Homey scored some free center orchestra seats at the Walt Disney Hall for songwriter Burt Bacharach. AND since Acura was sponsoring the event, those whose drove Acuras could park free. Wheeeeee! Did I mention the good folks at Acura also provided free desserts from Patina afterwards? Not bad for a plain ole Tuesday night.

We were by far some of the youngest people in the crowd of gray hairs. Though I wasn't familiar with Mr. Bacharach, I love going to the Disney hall for its beautiful acoustics and architecture. I can't pass up a live concert at such a wonderful venue.

OK, I have to admit, I slept through two of the slower more unfamiliar songs but my catnaps left me quite refreshed. To my pleasant surprise, I also recognized about half the songs which threw me down memory lane.

"Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head" is one of the first songs I can remember as a kid, when I used to carry around a yellow windup music box toy with rotating ducks and a plastic handle. My mom sang that song for me though after the phrase "raindrops keep falling on my head" we were out.

There was also "Say A Little Prayer," "What The World Needs Now Is Love," "That's What Friends Are For," "What's Up Pussy Cat?" and "Arthur's Theme," that song about being caught between the moon and New York City. (huh???) Of course, I don't remember hearing any of these songs when they first came out. In fact, I think I heard the Pussy Cat song with a cartoon, "What The World Needs Now Is Love" during Forrest Gump, and the "Say A Little Prayer Song" in the romantic comedy My Best Friend's Wedding. I'm guessing his music, though charming and slightly sappy, will continue to entertain future generations - and they will have their own memories of when they first heard those songs. I'm wondering if anything I'm listening to these days on KROQ will become classics like Mr. Bacharach's songs. Hmmmmm....

Anyway, my first thought was "wow, I can't wait to tell my parents about the concert and make them jealous!" But then it was followed immediately by "this would be an awesome birthday or Christmas or Father's Day/Mother's Day gift for them next year!"

Grass Greener, Etc, Etc...

Since the painful days of high school, UBBF and I were firmly convinced that we were bestowed fairy godmothers with a warped sense of humor. It's hard to complain about because in a way, we're both pretty fortunate. We were good students, had caring parents, silly siblings and every necessity a girl should possess. And strangely enough, I always had decent luck. Most of the time, if I wished for something, I got it, though usually in a bizarre way.

UBBF suffered a similar fate. For example, there was the time when she wished for a sensitive guy. The deluge of uber sensitive, not too ashamed to cry, can't get enough of pouring out their souls type guys that came forth for the next year is only something we can laugh about years later.

Apparently, we're still plagued by those persistent and irritating godmothers. The Boy, whom in my mind, I had already said goodbye to, won't leave me alone. He IM's me at work and bugs me for lunch even though I've made myself invisible to him on IM. "Egad! How does he know?!" I keep thinking. I even had Wavy test out this invisibility thing. Immature, I know, but people, I'm trying to achieve some closure here. I would have longed for this kind of attention from this boy ages ago if only he wasn't engaged and didn't tell me he doesn't like me "in that way."

On the other hand, I could drop dead and Mr. DD wouldn't notice. However, we're persistently thrown together, on projects, on lunches together with coworkers, at parties with mutual friends. When we oh so briefly dated, he had no time because he was swamped with work. Now we seem to have all the time in the world together. Yay.

My married friends covet my single lifestyle (or at least that's what they tell me). I, of course, would like to stop searching, or at least stop going through the motions of it anyway. And yet we both know grass greener, etc, etc...

Work Void

As I've mentioned before, ever since I got back from the trip, there's been nonstop change to adapt to. I've mentioned the best friend being 6 months pregnant, the brother dumping his long time girlfriend, the departure of The Boy... and then there's the mass exodus of several work friends. Ten people in one month to be exact.

I was shocked and then sad. But what I didn't expect was this consistent void and feeling of disconnect the past week. Not to mention the grumpiness and indifference. My work load itself has been a breeze of late. I can't complain. Only two projects, boss too busy to bug me, clients behaving, artists behaving, long lunches, early departures. Yet I walk in every morning and think "God, I hate everybody and I want to go home." It's best not to talk to me before 11am, before I've come to my senses.

Half our company is filled with new people. Many fresh out of school, eager, unfamiliar with all the stories and histories of those who left and those who have been left behind. New people who unfortunately have met me at the wrong time and the wrong place, when I'm no longer eager to befriend them and help them out with everything they could possibly need - finding an apartment, suggestions on where to eat, places to shop for furniture, must-sees in this city... I've done that already, multiple times like Groundhogs day.

I miss certain friends, looking forward to having lunch with them each day, coffee runs, and getting the random IM's or chat breaks that helped a gal get through the day. Instead, I go home to eat alone half the time, no one to vent to about work (people who would actually know what I'm going through and the people I deal with) and I'm not sure what to look forward to at work each day anymore. I know I'll eventually get out of this funk and life will go on as usual. But for now, I'm in mourning. And yes, I'm hating the changes.

How To Ruin A Hard Rocking Song

I've come to really like Nine Inch Nails since their last album, With Teeth, but unlike many of the artists I work with, I'm definitely not one of those hard core fans who live and breathe their music.



Me: Is this Nine Inch Nails' latest single? Is he saying "I push the button?"
Coworker friend: Yeah, I think so.
Me: You know what that reminds me of? Plucky Duck from Tiny Toons! When he's the baby version in the elevator and going "I want to push da buttons!"
Coworker friend: Haha, I don't think that was the effect he was going for. Oh god! Now I can't ever take this song seriously!

(It's actually a very political song that's likely a commentary on our president.)



Only a tiny glimpse into what goes on in that silly childish brain of mine...

Movies Appropriate for A Goodbye

For the Memorial Day weekend, not only did I visit tons of friends and shop up a storm, I also went and supported the movie box office by watching not one, but THREE movies at the theater. First there was Pirates of the Caribbean - At World's End, the last of the Pirate trilogy with the ever charming JohnnyDepp and the beautiful, Boy (who was the One)-resembling Orlando Bloom. Unnecessarily long at nearly three hours and headachingly confusing with triple crossing and quadruple crossing protagonists, the movie was fun though not completely satisfying.

To make up for supporting the big budget, somewhat soulless studio film, I paid to see two independent, made on a shoestring type films. The first one was Waitress, starring Keri Russell (she of the heartwrenching heroine Felicity fame). The movie's most known fact, however, was the unfortunate murder of the writer/director/actress Adrienne Shelly last year. All of the actresses were great. And boy did I crave pie. You'll have to watch it and see what I mean. They market the movie as a light romantic comedy but don't be fooled. It's a tiny bit dark and sad even if it is cute overall.

The last movie I saw yesterday was the Irish "modern day musical" film Once . The director and the lead actor were in the band The Frames and all the beautiful music was written and performed by the two lead actors. It's not a musical in the traditional sense of singing and dancing and random breaking out into song. The music's presence actually makes sense as these are two musicians falling in love, getting to know each other, performing and recording their songs.

I enjoyed all the movies for entertainment value, but also because I saw a common theme that I liked. They weren't so much about the "happily ever after" but more about showing how love - being in love or being loved - inspires you to do big things with your life. (You may think it's a stretch but if you watch all of them, see if you'll agree with me.) That is encouraging. It makes me think "I want that. I want to be in love. I want to be inspired." If only I could have just the good parts, the giddy, lost all sanity, think I can fly parts. And not the inspired to run so hard, the physical pain is better than the emotional pain parts. If only.

Hello and Goodbye

Yesterday, I said good bye to The Boy (formerly thought of as the One) in my own way. Tacitly and without any fanfare, without even using the words Good bye. Nearly four years ago, he came into my life and turned it upside down.UBBF calls him a giant pigeon. Someone who flew in, made a giant mess, and then swooped away. If four years could be calling a swooping.

I know I'll still see him once or twice at going away parties and lunches before he actually drives off to the other side of the country with his One. But yesterday was the last moment we'd spend together, just ourselves, taking an afternoon stroll for some coffee and Pinkberry, chatting about everything except what was better left unsaid. How we may never talk to each other or see each other again once he leaves, why I won't stay in touch, won't ask how he's doing, if he's happy with the life he chose, if he's scared or nervous. Most of all, we didn't talk about how much he had meant to me, how he broke me and I had to put myself back together again even though the reassembled pieces have turned out a bit askew.

Later that afternoon, he asked me for my mailing address and I asked if he was going to send me maple syrup or a fuzzy woodland critter from his hometown as my new pet. He replied "yes, I'm sending you a real live groundhog." I gave it to him anyway for lack of credible excuse, wondering if I'll be receiving a wedding invitation soon, or better yet a wedding announcement after the fact. Then I thought to myself, even if I've been dying to visit his hometown, even if it were one of my top places to visit before I actually died, I cannot imagine a worse idea for a trip to take this summer. Luckily, all I'll have to do is check the "regretfully unable to attend" box, wish him good luck, and bid him goodbye. Be careful what you wish for, because you might actually get it. He's sadly, happily, unfortunately, and finally out of my life.

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."