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.