Enjoying This Day and Age and More Summer Movies!

It took months, but Princess and I finally finished watching West Side Story for the first time Friday night. It was entertaining, though long, and I don't know why I never watched it as a child. I've certainly seen The Sound of Music no less than twenty times. We were both surprised that the song "Somewhere" was actually from this movie and not Barbra Streisand. We were also quite entertained by the dark pancake makeup they used to make the actors look Puerto Rican. Being raised here in LA as a second generation kid, sometimes I forget how dating outside your race is intolerable and taboo for the older generation and perhaps still in several parts of the world. It just seems so silly to me when you look at the big picture now.

On Saturday, I met Ballet Dancer at the Arclight Theaters. It was my first time there and despite the pain of actually getting through the traffic to Hollywood and the insane parking lot, I would definitely go there again. It's what a movie experience should be - reserved seating, cleanliness, attentive staff who introduce each movie and personally request people to turn off phones and refrain from talking, AND stand in the wings throughout the whole movie to make sure temperature, sound, EVERYTHING runs smoothly. Not to mention a very nice theater with comfy stadium seating, crisp screens and sound buffering from the typical action movie next door.

We watched Becoming Jane, which is right up our alley. However, I'm usually one for happy endings. Though I knew in the back of my mind that Miss Jane Austen died young as a spinster, although a successful novelist, I couldn't help but hope that the movie would give her a happy ending with her true love. Because I'm just a sap that way. I was a bit sad afterwards for her, and again marveled at how horrible it was for people, especially women back then, when money and property meant everything to a good marriage. Again, I take that for granted in this day and age but I also do wonder if I'll end up like her and whether that's so bad?

Finally, on Sunday, after an early morning (ack!) adventurous yoga session with Jigaho and brunch with our friends, a bunch of us caught The Bourne Ultimatum. I've always loved Matt Damon despite the whole dumping of his girfriend on national television (talk about not handling a breakup smoothly) and I loved the Jason Bourne series. The movies are always intelligent, fast paced, intriguing, and fun to watch. This third one in the series is no exception. In fact, I think it's better than the second one because it has more of an emotional hook to it, without losing any of the pacing. Definitely recommended! I hope they make more!

Oh I also caught the movie Sunshine a week ago, a small sci-fi thriller from Danny Boyle- he of Trainspotting and 28 Days Later fame. I was drawn in by the crazy improbable premise, a bunch of astronauts traveling to the sun to deliver a nuclear bomb to the core and reignite the star before it dies out, and by its diverse international cast. Of course, I can't give an accurrate review of it as I saw the last thirty minutes hunched in the corner of my seat with my hands over my face. Erm, I'm a bit of a scaredy cat and though this isn't a horror flick, it's quite tense and some crazy stuff happens as the movie concludes. Still, I would objectively say it's a good movie and if you like that sort of stuff, definitely go support it.

How I Know I Have A Bad Pattern

Me telling UBBF about the 5 Minute Crush , went something like this.

UBBF: So do you see him all the time?

Me: No, he lives too far away.

U: Oh, do you chat with him?

M: Nope, no IMing.

U: Well, do you guys chat at work?

M: No, we don't work together.

U: Oh, well I guess that makes things a little harder. What about lunches?

M: Uh, he doesn't work here.

U: Wait, he doesn't work at your company?

M: Haha, no. Novel isn't it?

U: Ohhhhhhhh.......

The 5 Minute Crush

After spending a whole day with him, I was slightly smitten. He was nice, normal, socially functional... after all this time, I hardly know what to do with a guy, much less a nice normal one. So it was just refreshing to have met him in the first place.

He was a classmate/friend of a friend, so I at least knew he wasn't a serial killer. At a series of parties, we ran into each other. There were sporadic emails. And finally, since I was in his neighborhood last weekend, we met for lunch and I invited him along to a friend's housewarming party.

Throughout the whole day, we chatted. We talked about our families, our jobs, long distance relationships, music, games... Did I mention that he's the only Frenchman I've met that doesn't tolerate smoking, pays for lunch, has wine handy for housewarming gifts, and also plays the piano and played some songs for me? He also managed to make conversation with tons of strangers and enjoy himself at the party. Something I'm not so sure I could do with ease. I was thoroughly impressed.

The first two days afterwards, you kind of hold your breath and wonder, "will he write, will he call?" And then with each passing day, as you see the lack of email from the email address you want, it starts waning. The old me would have conjured up excuses. "He's probably busy with work. Maybe I should write? Maybe it's my turn again?" Maybe he's shy? Maybe he's in the hospital with some horrible illness!" Now, it's more like "OK. Well then I guess we're done here." No use pining. If he was interested enough, he'd make the effort. And really that's all there is to it.

Must Be a Martyr Complex

UBBF recently sent me this article on women who fall for jerks. As entertaining and logical as it was, it got me thinking. Yes, I do fall in some of those patterns, yes I like taking care of people, and yes even if there's a glimpse of hope for salvation, I'll hold onto it like a mouse to cheese. I think I'm getting better at recognizing this and shaking it, but it often led to tough love from other friends.

Such as the time Wavy bought this book for me as a joke Christmas gift, in the waning days of the great Boy depression of 2005. Unfortunately it was too soon and when I unwrapped the gift, I gasped and maybe squeaked, not unlike the sound my old dog would make when one of us accidentally stepped on his paw when he tried to run in between our legs.

I never read the book -it was just too painful - but lent it to several other friends for perusal. It kind of leers at me from the bookshelf, in it's bright obnoxious pink cover. It taunts me and dares me to read it but I'm not sure anymore if it's just a reminder of a bad time in my life or if I'm past being lectured to by some stand-up comedian about common sense. Until I decide what to do with this book and whether I'll ever read it, I moved it to another bookshelf away from my frequent line of sight. And put some cute little toys in front of it.

No Good TV = Much More Reading

Other than last weekend's marathon that was Harry Potter, my appetite for books has been voracious of late, more likely due to the elimination of TV distraction. Since I seem to have ADD sometimes, I'm in the middle of quite a few books, not to mention whatever magazines capture my fancy at the bookstores or grocery checkout lines...

Blankets is a graphic novel I actually finished in one night while babysitting/housesitting two Fridays ago. I can't get enough of Craig Thompson's work. His very personal stories and illustrations are simply amazing. I read Goodbye, Chunky Rice over Christmas and can't wait for his next book. I almost feel like a groupie in that I want to go up to Portland and meet him, so that I can tell him in person how great his stuff is.

One of my favorite authors is Karen Brichoux. I guess her books would qualify as chick lit, but I think her stories and writing style elevate her books from the usual lighter and fluffier fare. I recently finished her latest one, Falling Into The World, which deals with a girl putting her life on hold to take care of her invalid father. The premise doesn't sound light at all, but her thoughts and the reappearance of her "wild " runaway sister shakes up her life a bit. I'm just extremely fond of the mood Brichoux creates and the way the language flows in her books.

I started but haven't finished two different compilations. One is The May Queen, which I bought last year. I always forget about it because it's tucked underneath by bedside table. Based on Misocrazy's recommendation, I also started Good Luck Life, a book that provides more of the background on those crazy fun things we do in our culture for holidays, superstitions, and traditions. I lent it to my brother last weekend and he said it was pretty much a lot of common sense things we already knew but never questioned.

Finally, I started another compilation with a hilarious title. The Bigger the Better, The Tighter the Sweater. It contains personal essays and stories dealing with all the body issues women grow up with, told from the point of view of twenty-one different women. One of my dear friends contributed a story to the book, so I attended her book reading and had her autograph my copy.

Lots of good stuff to read, and still more unread books sitting in my shelf as always. At least I have until fall when the new TV season starts...

The Sacrifices of A Girl

At lunch the other day, I mentioned the great sacrifice of 2007. Cutting off cable TV. All the guys at the table didn't understand why.

"It was too expensive," I told them. "I'm only paying forty-four dollars a month for my thirteen channels and cable modem connection now."

"No HD?" one asked.

"No shark week on discovery channel?" another pondered.

"It's only a hundred and ten dollars a month, including internet, " the third one said.

"Listen, I gotta buy shoes, people," I explained.

"I only buy a pair of new shoes once a year," one confessed.

"I'm a girl," I reminded them. "I love shoes."

"Oh right. Well, you do always have the nicest shoes," the other admitted.

"Then it's all worth," I silently smiled to myself.

The Walls Are Still Too Thin

My wannabe dancer/singer/actor neighbor had been AWOL for a couple months. And I didn't even realize it (or care) until our other neighbor asked if I had seen her in awhile. I just assumed that 1) she had a new boyfriend and was staying there all the time or 2) maybe got a gig somewhere out of town? Either way, I figured she wasn't dead in her apartment. I was enjoying the peace and quiet.

Well she's back. At 2am a couple of weeks ago, I heard the familiar slam of her front door, and the incessant talking in the bathroom to her cats or on the phone has started up again. And I believe there's a new boyfriend. And a whole lot of screaming tonight. Sigh.

Mind (and Appetite) of a Child

I have the appetite of an eight year old but stuck with the metabolism of a thirty-one year old. It's all pretty unfortunate. At our work, we have free catered lunches every other Friday and I remember suggesting a kid's themed lunch for one of the Fridays. You know, hot dogs, corn dogs, JELLO, chicken nuggets, fruit punch... that kinda stuff. The office manager looked at me as if I were criminally insane.

Like the gazillions of other kids and adults around the globe, I embarked on the ten hour marathon of reading the last Harry Potter book this past weekend. (LOVED IT!) Nutrition went out the window as I scrambled for whatever was in the fridge. Two hot dogs with buns equaled dinner. Dryer's Dibs equaled dessert. Oops dropped one on the floor. Three second rule, picked it back up, we're good!

Being Old and Young at the Same Time

Finally, I found more people to play tennis with, more people to help me conserve my energy so that I don't have to go one on one with my French tennis buddy (who I swear is part Tasmanian devil. On speed.). Singles equals my chest nearly exploding every 15 minutes as I try to run down every ball and cover the whole side of the court. Doubles equals more hitting, less lateral running, less chances to twist my ankles. I think one friend called me the laziest tennis player ever.

My Tasmanian Devil friend and I, we like to run and just hit the ball as hard as we can, getting all that pent up crazy energy out on the courts. (Except for me, maybe half the energy exertion). So when our two new tennis buddies asked if we wanted to play an actual game Thursday night, we just looked at them as if they were speaking Martian, then turned to each other and said the same thing.

"Not really. We just to like run around and hit the ball."

Screw rules and regulations. Screw waiting around for serves, love this, deuce that. This is pure kid rules. Where there's no rules except you try to hit the ball back no matter how many bounces there are or how far it lands outside the lines. Lines? What lines?

By the time we tired out our new friends enough for them to call it quits, I was all boundless happiness.

"I feel great! I usually want to die after 15 minutes of playing Tasmanian Devil! But right now, I'm not tired at all!!!"

Until I got home. And every muscle, fiber, tendon, skin and bone ached from the inside out. For two days. It hurt to move. Darn it. Guess I'm not a kid after all.

A Wedding

This is the first year in many years that I didn't have to attend any weddings. No close friends getting married. No Macy's registries to search. No guilt-laden wedding invitations requesting replies. Except for one. From The Boy who was the One, marrying the girl who is his One. Way out in the boonies, clear across the continent, joined in holy matrimony today.

There is no sadness for me, just nostalgia for what seemed like a lifetime ago. Was it only a few years ago when Miss FlipFlops and I, single and carefree, venturing to NYC for New Years, mooned over our Could Be's? When I scared Miss Flops out of the bathroom because I started screaming in the apartment for joy when I got a voicemail from the Boy, "just calling to see how the vacation was going and wishing me a good time and Happy holidays?" Was it only two years ago when I sat on the floor of my living room, crying nearly every night for a week, sporadically for a month, because my chest physically hurt so much, too immersed in sadness to even call a friend for comfort because I didn't want to scare them at the lowest times?

I don't feel connected to that person anymore. That person, meaning the freshly broken me. That person, also meaning the boy who so selfishly toyed with my affections and friendship. I'm sure I'll still hear from him from time to time, mass email updates, news from our mutual friends, big event type stuff like when they buy their house and get settled in BF Nowhere, have the first of their many kids, or come back in town to visit.

I came across a book the other day that I wanted to lend him, knowing that he'd enjoy it. But I flashed back to the present and realized that physically and mentally, he's not here anymore. So I put the thought away and continued my book in peace.

Oh Brother, Part 5

There is this wonderful McDonald's commercial from the 1980's called "Little Sister" which I cannot find though I scoured the internet for it. It pretty much sums up why I've always longed for an older brother, the idea of someone other than your dad watching out for you and protecting you throughout your childhood and then some. As much as I can't imagine life without my younger brother, I had always yearned for a big brother. So much so that when my parents asked me at age three, what I'd prefer from her pregnant belly, I requested an older brother.

As a shy, small kid who got picked on a lot, I pinned my hopes on finding a big brother to take care of me. Hey, it was better than a superhero right? At least my dreams were halfway realistic.

Anyway, 3 decades later, I've learned to somewhat take care of myself, or at least surround myself with a whole bunch of caring and tough friends. And the closest thing I have to a big brother is one of my old bosses from the mouse-eared company, who to this day seems to be able to read my thoughts and every facial twitch I make. Scary.

Instead of the foresight I could have had with men by observing a big brother's advice and dating habits, I have 20/20 hindsight from watching my younger brother's foibles and sometimes questionable rationale. When he got to junior high and I was in high school, I saw him and thought "Ah, now I get it! Why did I even bother liking boys?" When he got to high school, and I graduated on to college, it struck me in the head again. "Oh my god, they were still that immature at that age?! Sheesh. Why do I still bother liking boys?" Post college, post twenties, post heartbreak... I still look at him and wonder the same thing. If anything, I feel slightly better and encouraged. Maybe one day, it'll all catch up. Maybe one day, the hindsight will become foresight as I watch him grow up and become the awesome person I know he'll be.

Oh Brother, Part 4

Because he left for Asia for 3 weeks, straight from his friend's wedding, I didn't get to hear what went down until this past week. Apparently, not much.

"Did she go to the wedding?"

"Yeah."

"Did you talk to her?"

"No."

"Did her friends talk to you?"

"Heh. No. I guess it's too soon."

So, no he hasn't told her. Or his LA friends. In fact, he didn't tell our parents either. Until this week. And only because he had to.

"Did you tell Mom and Dad yet?

"No."

"When are you going to tell them?"

"Wednesday."

"Oh. Why Wednesday?"

"Because I'm going to Chicago for the weekend on Thursday. By the way, can I stay over at your place Wednesday night and can you take me to the airport Thursday morning and maybe pick me up Monday morning?"

When I related this whole story to my Ballet Dancer friend, she scrunched up her nose at me.

"He sounds like the guys you've dated."

Huh. Well, I guess I have no rebuttal to that. Must be some kind of cosmic balance. And I seem to have the short end of the stick.

Oh Brother, Part 3

"You have to tell her yourself." I told him. It was the only thing as his sister, as a fellow girl, that I could offer to his ex. Straightforward honesty. The courtesy and respect of finding out firsthand that her ex was already dating someone new, instead of hearing it second or third hand, especially so soon after the break-up. It would kill all hope of reconciliation - being cruel to be kind.

I believe in him strongly enough that he wouldn't cheat on his girlfriend, but I swear the boy was probably single for what? A day? A week? So much for having both their adult children still single. Yes Mom and Dad, it's still just me.

Anyway, my brother looked at me incredulously as we finished off our frozen custard on my last day there in Chicago.

"Why?!"

"Because it would suck to hear it from someone else. "

"I don't care if she hears it from someone else."

"It's like that game telephone. The story might get mangled. She might think you were cheating on her. She needs to hear it straight from you. Out of respect for your eight year relationship."

"Then I just won't tell any of my LA friends."

"Yeeeeeah, that's a plan. Is she going to your friend's wedding?"

"God, I hope not."

"What if she does? She's their friend too. You guys were together when you were both invited."

"Then I won't go!"

"You can't do that! You're in the wedding!"

Oh Brother, Part 2

I felt like a chump. After every single one of my friends knowingly said to me, "he met someone else, " I had staunchly defended my brother's honor by telling everyone "NO. He told me he didn't. AND I believe him." When he confessed otherwise, my first question wasn't "who is she?" it was a plaintive, "why did you lie to me?"

"I wasn't ready to tell anybody. I wanted to keep it separate from the breakup," he explained. "It's like you said. She wasn't the reason, just the catalyst. I had been thinking about this before business school."

Now I felt like a manipulated chump.

"I didn't want you to have a bad impression of her."

Silence.

"You have a bad impression already, don't you."

"I don't know! I'm still digesting."

"You do! You have a bad impression now!"

"Dude, I don't even know her! I'm going to sleep and digesting overnight!"

Oh Brother, Part 1

It took me awhile to digest all the new information from my brother. It's been awhile since my visit to Chicago, when on the second night, lying in the darkness, slowly drifting off to slumber, he asked me this question.

"Why is it that everyone's second question is always 'did you meet someone else?'"

"Well," I conjured, searching for the right words with the part of the brain still running its hamster wheel, "I think it's because that happens all the time. Human nature is inherently selfish, and most people don't want to be alone. I don't think they ever plan on something like that, but usually people need some sort of catalyst to end their relationships. Whether they end up with the new person or not, most people need a catalyst to help them realize that they want something else, or something more. If there's nothing majorly wrong in their current relationships, people find it hard to let go of that person in case there's nothing better out there. I've seen it happen so many times, to quite a few of my friends."

"Oh, OK, " he answered pensively, satisfied with my lengthy and wise sisterly explanation.
I let myself drift again, toward happy heavenly sleep, when five minutes later, he broke through the silence.

"Everything you just said. You're right. I met someone else."

Convertibles + bald men = Painful Sunburn

As I drove around town all weekend, I noticed that many middle aged men, especially the follicly-challenged ones, drive convertibles. I don't blame them for wanting to drive around sunny LA with the top down, cruising through the city. That's exactly what this city is for. And it's their middle-aged rights to do so, after slaving away for their hard-earned cash as youths. But I wonder if they remember to rub sunblock on the tops of their shiny heads.

Being Asian, I probably don't burn as easily as Caucasians do. And with sunblock, I'm good for hours. But even I burn if I'm out in the sun for 10-15 minutes without sunblock. Sunburns are never fun. That is precisely why I have a steady supply of aloe vera gel. I wonder if these guys have to run aloe vera on their shiny heads if they do burn. That probably wouldn't be very sexy either. They really should just wear hats. With chin straps so they don't fly off. I'm kinda feeling sorry for guys now.

Now We Know Why Homer Is So Fat. Doh!

I finally made it inside the Kwik-E-Mart yesterday but all they had left were squishees and brightly colored pink donuts. Frosting upon frosting - ingenius. I bought twenty of them to share with my coworkers for breakfast. And we promptly all went into sugar shock. Thank goodness I only had half of one.

On the Lack of Hate

On the show, Big Brother, a reality show which I've actually never watched, people are cooped up in a house until they're voted out one by one (or maybe until they can't stand it anymore and run screaming out the door?) Winner is the last person standing in the house. Apparently on this latest season, the twist is that each person is stuck in there with their respective enemies.

As SC Homey explained this premise to Polar Opposite and me last week, we wondered aloud who our own enemies were, and whether we each had such a nemesis we'd hate to be stuck with in a house for months. In the end, we all realized that none of us were diligent enough to have any active hating going on - but there were sure tons of people who would annoy the hell out of us if trapped in a house for months.

There are a couple of people I no longer want to see because of a sense of betrayal or lying but I can barely remember the last time I really hated a person. There was a boy I hated for years purely because he called me ugly in junior high and it was mean and hurtful. I'm sure he's a perfectly decent person now (well, maybe... I heard he was still a bit of a dick in college.) There were three bosses from the mouse-eared company who made my life absolutely miserable, people who lacked a soul and people I never understood - why they worked in the lovely industry of animation is still beyond me. A few of us still have a good cackle when we hear bad things about them. Shameful, yes, but oh so satisfying.

There were fleeting moments of hate with all the past hurtful boys, but it was always too much energy to maintain hate. Indifference is so much more energy conscious.

As for annoying, my silly fluff of a boss, with his constant puns, rude interruptions, and habit of talking over people loudly to take over a conversation would be up there on the list. But I realize if we were on equal footing, I'd just ignore him and all would be fine. Same with the tactless and crass owner's wife. She scares me but I'd much prefer to ignore and avoid her more than anything else. I wonder if hate fades away as we grow older and hopefully wiser. Or is it tiredness and wariness that tells us to save such a passionate emotion for something better?

A Cautionary Comedy

Work had another Friday night party - this time to celebrate all the new blood who had joined the company in the past month - so per usual I bolted as quickly as I could. Instead, I cheaped out and ate in, shared some of my junk food with Sly, and caught the movie Knocked Up with Sly, Polar Opposite, and his friend.

Shock value is what comes to mind when R-rated comedies are involved. This one (by the same folks who brought you Forty Year Old Virgin) was no different. Let's just say if you're on the fence about having kids, this one might just hurl you over to the other side. (In case you're wondering, that would be the side that disappoints your parents by not propagating the human species.) I think it's also a grand example for pushing oral contraceptives on young women. Seriously.

There were tons of hilarious moments in the movie and it was a perfect Friday night, end of the work week, no brainer type movie. My only beef is that much like Forty Year Old Virgin, the movie is definitely a man's point of view. The female characters are fleshed out slightly better than Virgin, but there are still some oddities we noticed, like why does the female protagonist have no friends of her own?!

Anyway, when we stepped out of the theater, Polar Opposite asked us girls "So would you guys have kept the baby?" And he was met with a resounding and simultaneous "HELL NO!"

Thank You, Come Again!

I've passed by this 7-11 transformed Kwik-E-Mart everyday to work and finally remembered to take a picture of it. Tomorrow I might try to actually go in it and buy some Springfield goodies too. I love it when make-believe comes to life. Sometimes I need more of that in my life.