A Letter From My Goddaughter

My goddaughter handed me this card before I left for the day, with clear instructions to not open it till I got home. She even tucked it into my purse for me as a special surprise.You should click on the picture and see the letter for yourself because I can't do it justice. It's a combination of her curiosity, randomness, and cuteness all rolled into one. Them eight year olds sure are smart. And listen in to everything you talk about with their parents...
In case you can't read the letter very well, here's what it says:
Dear Auntie (Whatchamacalit),
Sorry for not writing to you for a long time. I am glad you came. Why did you want to get lade off.
Love, (Sweet, curious, eight year old goddaughter)

Little Girls and Basketball

After a six month absence, I was on track to becoming a deadbeat godmother. Yesterday, I finally spent a day with my second family, starting with attending my goddaughter's basketball game around noon.
I used to love watching my younger brother's soccer and basketball games when we were kids. What better than watching a horde of little kids run around in circles, while frustrated adults try to instill concepts of offense and defense to an audience more concerned with what flavor Gatorade juice drink they'll get after the game?
I forgot how intense parents and coaches can get. It was an Asian league, so the parents were relatively subdued compared to the games I grew up watching. However, the coaches were yelling things like "BOX THEM OUT, ladies!" "Find a man! "(to guard presumably... or else we'd have a whole slew of other issues going on.) All I could think was Dude, they're SEVEN. Just chill. I mean the final score was something like 12 to 6 and the basketball was bigger than their heads. One little girl let out an "URGHHHHH!" every time she hurled the basketball into the air to attempt a basket. Actually, I think it helped her because she was the leading scorer for the opposing team.
In the end, my goddaugher's team lost but they did have fantastic snacks. Seaweed wrapped rice with egg and ham in the middle. Japanese snacks sure beat American ones. At the game, I also bonded with my 4 year old godson by playing video games on our IPhones together. That kid can work his dad's phone better than I know how to operate mine.
By the time we got back to their place, it was pathetically group nap time for the adults while the kids played on their own quietly. I remember when it used to be the other way around. Gosh they're growing up fast.

The Never Ending Virus (Beat That You Stinkin Swine Flu!)

Maybe it's because I'm getting older or maybe it's my body's way of going F YOU!!!!!! for putting us through the mental hell of the past year, but it's getting completely out of hand how long it takes for me to recover from any illness. As luck would have it, the second week of my freedom started with aches and fevers, and I'm still suffering the aftermath three months later. Just so I have a documentation of my own and partially to answer the question that everyone keeps asking ("So what is it that you do everyday?"), I've pretty much been sitting on my ass half the time, too achy and tired to do much more than stare at the wall, stare at the ceiling, stare at my computer, or stare at a book.

Week of Mar 3 - I hitch a ride up to SF with a friend moving up to Pixar and spend a week up there visiting friends

Week of Mar 10 - I'm about to begin my fun and exciting life of leisure, starting with hitting up the free museum day at the LA County Museum of Art but I wake up feeling like someone took a sledgehammer to a giant slab of concrete laying on top of me. Sore throat and achiness ensue, culminating with a mildly irritating cough by end of the week. Figuring the cold had run its course, I go on a snowboarding trip to Mammoth that weekend since we had already planned a trip with friends. SO much fun! And yet such a bad idea. I come back with bruises so big, it looks like I am an abused woman. And the coughing turns into full blown hacking.

Week of Mar 17 - Snowboarding trip turned my cold into a nasty upper respiratory infection and I need inhalers and all sorts of medicine to help me breathe and sleep at night. :(

Week of Mar 24 - I am a glutton for punishment. And greedy to live this life of excitement, whimsy, and leisure. I was starting to get better but decided to go on a last minute trip to Belgium. Poor homesick Wavy had been working out there for two months. All I had to pay for was the flight which was dirt cheap. Hotels, most dinners, taxis, etc were comped by her so I couldn't say no, could I? Unfortunately, Belgium and France during late March is quite cold and rainy. "Wow," Wavy gratefully tells me, "I can't believe you came all the way out to visit me even with having something akin to the consumption."

Week of Mar 31 - I come back to LA, almost as sick and tired as I was when I first went to Belgium.

Week of Apr 6 - Starting to get better, weaning myself off all the inhalers and medicine and lo and behold by the end of the week, I notice that my throat is all swollen and tender to the touch. WTF?!!

Week of Apr 13 - I go to the doctor yet again, but my usual physician is on vacation. Her sub sends me for x-rays, ultrasounds, antibiotics, cough syrup with codeine, and muscle relaxers for my swollen thyroid and to kick that cough's ass once and for all. Cough's ass is kicked but thyroid still swollen as ever.

Week of Apr 20 - Back to the doctor to see my usual physician for a follow up and for them to draw blood. Four vials full!!!! Argh. Yup, your thyroid is inflamed, she says. Take some Advil for the achiness and come back in 4 weeks for another blood test to see how it goes.

Week of Apr 27 - Apparently all my blood work indicates that I am healthy as a horse except for slightly high white blood cells and platelets, indicating possible infection. Thyroid is swollen, and my neck and head so achy I decide to chop off some hair on my head to alleviate some of the pressure from my noggin.

Week of May 4 - Nothing has changed at all. I call the doctor again to gripe about the fact that nothing has changed and I'm still in pain. Her nurse calls back telling me that they've prescribed Vicodin and that I can come back this week for another blood test just to see what's going on. Also, I'm getting a referral to the endocrinologist. Too chicken to try the Vicodin or even pick it up from the pharmacy. But I go back for the blood test where they proceed to take yet another four vials of blood! Ack!

Week of May 11 - Fed up with the lack of progress on this swollen thyroid business, I pursue a more aggressive form of treatment. I schedule an appointment for a chiropractor to help with my neck, call the doctor's office everyday until I can squeeze in an earlier appointment with the endocrinologist this week, and decide to try the Vicodin since I'm feeling particularly achy. I'm not quite sure how people get addicted to this stuff, because even though it was as if my body miraculously never felt pain EVER, I am so nauseous that I pass out for two hours and still lose my lunch after the nap. For the next four hours or so, I can only stare at the wall for fear any movement would add to that nausea. Back to the Advil please...
Ironically enough, I notice some improvement the next day and I know by the time I see the chiropractor on Wednesday and the specialist on Friday, they'll tell me nothing is wrong with me. Such is life.

Week of May 18 - As suspected, nothing much is wrong with me. Yes, my back and and neck are very tight and could use a massage everyday. My thyroid is still slightly swollen and achy. I still take an Advil or two each day. The specialist confirmed that it's just thyroiditis. (Kinda like bronchitis, but it's the inflammation of the thyroid versus inflammation of the bronchial tubes.) It can happen after a particularly nasty cold or virus and takes several weeks or even months to fully recover. Probably just in time for me to have to start working again. Oh, what a life of leisure and excitement...

Kids, Artists, and Herding Cats

This week, I had the privilege of visiting my cousin and observing her teach her 3rd grade class. It's been a long time since I've been around a group of kids, and even longer still since I had a taste of teaching eight year olds. While it was tons of fun to relive 3rd grade and see how everything seems so magical and wondrous through their eyes, the visit left me thinking that things don't change too much as adults.

Similarities between managing a bunch of artists and managing a bunch of eight years olds:

1) You have to keep an eye on them. Or else they wander off and do their own thing. Seriously, it's like herding cats. It was always an effort getting more than three artists together for a meeting in one place at the same time.

2) They need a lot of attention. One kid came up to me and proceeded to show me the contents of his backpack, including a disposable plastic poncho and a pen that folds up and lights up. One of the artists once accused me of not paying enough attention to her in terms of producer/artist ratio of time. Wha???

3) They need a lot of validation. The kids continuously came up to my cousin's desk to show her their work in progress and ask repeated questions. And she patiently smiled at each of them and offered up encouraging words of praise. I have to say the same kind of grin shows up on my coworkers' faces when you tell them they're kicking ass and way ahead of the other guy.

4) They try to get away with stuff. Two of the kids tried to hide their math tests and not turn them in. Much like artists who try to lay low and hope that people won't notice that certain things weren't done.

Differences between managing a bunch of artists and managing a bunch of eight years olds:

1) Hopefully, you get paid more to manage the non eight year olds

2) Most of the time, you can outsmart the eight year olds.

3) You're still physically bigger than the eight year olds. I guess if all else fails, you can pick them up and hurl them? Er, transport them elsewhere like the principal's office?

I may need a return visit for research purposes soon!

Swine flu masks and you

Really? Surgical masks preventing you from infectious diseases as fashion statements now? Why not, right? The other day as I drove down Sawtelle for lunch, I spotted two businessmen in suits walking down the street wearing surgical masks. Only one of them had his pulled down a little bit so that he could SMOKE his cigarette. I really really wanted to pull out a camera and take a picture of those two loons but alas, a traffic jam would would have ensued.

On another swine flu related note, this has been my favorite quote so far. I'll be attending a wedding in Mexico later in July and here is a lovely update from the bride-to-be.

"Hi everyone!

I hope this email finds you all excited for Mexico!! Seems like our destination area has been in the news lately, but I have spoken with my wedding coordinator and she says that no one in the area has gotten sick and that the risk is very low. I'm sure you were thinking the same thing but just to reassure you. My dad says everyone in Mexico will either be dead by July or the virus will be gone, so there is nothing to worry about. Spoken like a true doctor."

The Layoff (aka Divorcing the No Good, Lying, Cheating SOB That Was The Company)

In the end, my slow departure from The Company unfolded like a soured marriage.

First, there was the crying. Oh god, the nonstop crying and the self-doubt and the whole thinking that I was slowly going crazy, failing as a human being. (See blogs from Sep-Nov 08) It seemed that no matter what I did, it wasn't good enough. I was sinking under the weight of too much work. I pleaded for outside help, and The Company said we know you're under a lot of pressure, yes, we're trying our best. I asked for a break, and The Company said ok, a day, two days? Try a month...

Then, came the realization. There were new people coming in, but they weren't here to help me. WTF? A review came a week later - we don't think this is working out. You seem stressed and don't appear to enjoy your job, they told me. It was a slap to the face and a big fat It's not us, it's you. We still love you and want you around, but maybe at a different capacity - not necessarily LESSER, just different. In other words, you're still head wife and we appreciate your loyalty and experience, however there will be some mistresses coming in to relieve you of some "ahem" duties.

Like a couple with an imminent divorce, still sharing the same house... Trying to play nice until I could come up with a viable Plan B... With the added humiliation of everyone knowing he had cheated on you, giving you those helpless looks of pity. God forbid anyone would have spoken earlier to warn you. It's easier to be an innocent bystander. But is anyone really innocent when they knowingly watch injustice go down and twiddle their thumbs?

The stubbornness kicked in. The Libra in me struggled for fairness. I thought, I'm not leaving till I damn well want to leave, on my terms. Everyday is another day I get paid. Quitting is just what you wanted so I'm not giving it to you.

Stubbornness wears on you. Watching all the oblivious people fawn over your former love wears on you. Most of all, being in a place where you're not wanted or appreciated anymore REALLY wears on you.

Plan B be damned. When I finally had enough, I knew. I confronted The Company with their shenanigans and asked for what was fair - unemployment and severance. I picked the end date. I left on my own terms. The minute it was decided, the weight lifted and I felt better than I had felt for the last 5 months. Ex-Company friends even threw me a "hooray you're free party!"

It's been over two months now and I haven't stepped foot in that house again. I've already forgiven them because I know that I took much more away from the experience than I lost. I grew up at The Company. Had my heart broken. Fell in love. Made life long friends. Grew a spine. Found my voice. Learned to lead. And discovered what I could and could not bear. It was a shame that it ended the way it did but I realize now that only something so utterly unacceptable would have shaken my sense of practicality and loyalty enough to walk out the door. Not only has this chapter ended, the whole book is done. It's time to start a whole new novel.

You and your muddy paws

One of the longstanding pet peeves I have with the bf is that he grew up in a culture where one doesn't take off his/her shoes at home - instead, tracking in whatever delightful concoction of urban debris of the day from the outside INSIDE. He's gotten better at taking off his stinky shoes when he comes home. I in return have gotten less anal about him taking a step or two into our abode with said stinky shoes. (I just have to vacuum more.) However, it's not until you're around your own brethren again that you realize, hey, it's not just me. I'm not weird!

The other night, the bf and I stopped by my brother's place to pick up some laundry I left there. I asked my brother if I could take a step on the carpet to grab the laundry and he retorted, "What are you, an animal?!" I couldn't stop laughing. And the bf? He responded with "That's why I'm not moving and just standing right here in the doorway!"

2009 - Year of the Crazy, Er Year of Change

I'M STILL ALIVE!!! Blog I've missed you but been otherwise sidetracked with a couple of things.

1) Getting laid off from work. Yippee!
2) Dealing with unemployment, cobra healthcare, and other misc paperwork
3) Running amuck routine-free, sleep deprived, and pulled in a million directions
4) Fleeing and hitching a free ride up to San Francisco the first week out of work
5) Trying to get back into exercising at the Y
6) Catching a nasty cold the second week out of work after a particularly tough cardio class at the Y. Grrrrr. Exercise=evil
7) Exacerbating said cold by going up to Mammoth Mountain for a snowboarding/sledding on butt trip last weekend
8) Battling extra gnarly cold which came back with a vengeance as an upper respiratory infection
9) Becoming big fat lethargic Whatchamacalit all short of breath and chronically tired this past week
10) Making good on my promise to flee to Paris (and Belgium) this year. Leaving next week!

Gonna touch on each subject a little more in separate posts!

Snowboarding Amnesia

Over the break, I managed to squeeze in some non-couch potato/TV surfing activities that tested my creaky ole body.

It had been ten months since I picked up snowboarding again. I didn't know it was possible, but I actually got worse. Is it possible to have body amnesia and physically forget how to do certain things so quickly? Ten months ago, I was happily navigating/falling my way down the mountain, getting the hang of the back edge, just starting to switch to the toe edge. This time, I failed at strapping in my boots, I stood there blankly contemplating how to even stumble toward the lift, and the lift itself seemed a frightening impossibility. I wouldn't call it a freak out, but let's just say the ski lift folks had to shout "Ok, sloooow down the lift!!"

When time came to get off the lift, you might as well have asked me to bungee jump off a bridge. I panicked and instead of pushing off the chair, got lifted up again as it started its turn. So I just fell forward. On my knees. That hurt.

By the time I hobbled along to the top of the hill where folks were strapping their boots back on, I was wiped out. And then all of a sudden, I realized "I don't remember how to stand up! What the hell did I do last time?" I physically could not get up on the board without sliding or falling back down. I imagine babies feel the same frustration learning how to walk, except that they care less and don't know any better.

After the bf helped me physically stand up, we managed to get down ONE run before calling it a day. Pathetic. Just nature's way of slapping me upside the head and reminding me that "Fool, you are not a natural athlete. Who are you kidding?"

Why I'll Never Be an Olympian. Or Rock Star

Misocrazy stopped in town earlier this month so of course, we had to have a Rockband party at Polar Opposite's place. I love me some drums. It doesn't even have to be a song I know. I'll just sit there and live out my dreams of being a rock star drummer until my next life.

Of course that night, the bottom of my shin (or is it the front of my ankle?) was throbbing. As if I had been snowboarding all day. Except that it was only my left foot. Strange. True, we had snowboarded a week before. And gone bike riding the day before. But why just my left foot? Even the weight of my blankets at night aggravated it.

Then it dawned on me. I used only my left foot for the foot pedal in Rock Band. Could it be? Nah... Must have been the residual snowboarding or bike riding... How stupid could that be? Rock Band injury... Pshaw!

When I mentioned it to my fellow rock band friends, they laughed and then one slowly came forward with similar tales. They also mentioned different methods of foot pedaling without straining our weak little ankle joints. How sad is this? I mean I guess many of us did get sore arms playing Wii sports... Next thing you know I'll be straining my thumbs playing Little Big Planet...

New Year's Day

Is it a bad omen for the new year if you start it off crying in bed, fighting with your bf, walking off into the night by yourself in a strange city, and having your first dinner of 2009 by yourself at a restaurant? At least I had a hearty meal and glass of wine at a lovely Italian restaurant down the street. Not to mention a virtual dinner companion via google talk with a friend on my new iphone. See, at least I got an iphone for xmas 2008 and it's definitely good for something, like company at dinner!

This year frightens me more than ever because 1) I plan on giving notice at work this month. 2) I have no idea when and where I'll be working. 3) If we don't kill each other first, the bf and I plan on moving in together sometime this year. Where or when, again I have no idea. 4) I don't when or if I'll get to travel out of the country yet again.

The therapist tells me to only focus on the positive and the best case scenario and it will come. I can see it, especially if I squint really really hard. But deep down, uncertainty scares me the way Freddy Krueger terrorizes people in their sleep. And it's going to take a hell of a lot more than 4 months of therapy to shake that fear.

New Year's Eve

I thought new year's eve of 2007 might have been one of the worst. We were supposed to go to Disneyland. Instead I woke up, didn't hear from the bf until nearly noon, worried sick and wondering what the hell was going on. By the time he had called, I wanted to strangle him because I was so relieved he was ok. Turns out eh, he didn't really want to go and didn't hear his phone because it was on vibrate.

Ah, those were the days. When we were still 2 months in and he didn't understand how truly neurotic I could be. It's a year and two months now and things have gotten slightly better. Now I have new and better reasons to strangle him every week.

For new year's eve 2008, we decided to drive up to Flobelly's place to get away from LA and take in some snowboarding. Except the day before we left, he was DETERMINED to get all new gear. And a new printer/scanner. And an hour before we were supposed to be on the road, it was of utmost importance that he hook up said printer/scanner after picking it up that morning. After running 5 other errands already.

And when I finally said no, there's no more time, this is ridiculous, he pouted. And lashed out. And I cried.

When we got onto the road grudgingly, (both in silence) the freeway had been closed down halfway there and we had a detour that added an extra hour or two to our original three hour drive. Our lunch was Carl's Jr. Dinner, Taco Bell. I wasn't so much ending 2008 with a bang more so than a loud fart.

When we finally got there, he passed out immediately while I managed to have a scrumptious home cooked second dinner with Flobelly, her husband and their neighbors. We barely made it to midnight.

So long 2008, it's been good, it's been bad, it's definitely been tumultuous, and no doubt momentous. Pfffffttttttt.

Crybaby and Doctors

Next year has got to be better. I know it. Or else I'm fleeing to Paris or some remote island.

In this year I've cried more than I ever had in my entire life. Maybe infant stages excluded because I don't remember that and I'm sure it was entirely warranted as a means of communication for basic survival needs. I never used to cry at anything. Steel Magnolias? Nada. Joy Luck Club. Meh. Unless I was in pain or being yelled at by my parents, I rarely cried.

Now, I'm a crybaby. Like those kids that cried at everything. You look at them cross-eyed and they cried. That's me. And it's exhausting and frustrating. I need to fix this.

In other news, part of the exhaustion, aside from the evilness of certain work bosses, has to do with this past week's parade of doctor's visits.

Tuesday - travel to the vortex of hell (Cedar Sinai in West Hollywood) to accompany the bf to the neurologist. Where the doctor keeps us waiting for an hour and tells us that as a precaution, I need to drive the bf around for the foreseeable future until they straighten out his meds. We also need to come back to vortex of hell for his EEG. Sigh.

Wednesday - took the day off to squeeze in 5 appointments. Of course it's pouring rain all day and I need to haul myself out to Pasadena and surrounding areas.
9am - Drop off bf at work
11am - dentist
Squeeze in some lunch and xmas shopping.
1:30 - podiatrist consult for my foot orthotics
2:15 - they can squeeze me in at the orthotics place. Dart over there to get casts of my feet.
3:15 - dermatologist. Where she keeps me waiting for 45 minutes.
4:00 - CRAP. I need to go back to vortex of hell (Cedar Sinai in West Hollywood) to pick up bf's glasses since he absent- mindedly left them there the day before. Need to get there by 4:30-5 before they close.
4:20 - Run out of dermatologist's office with her makeshift map drawn on a giant wadded up piece of tissue paper they use on the beds. Shortcut turns out to be awesome.
5pm - Run into the offices at the vortex of hell just as the assistants are walking out and manage to get bf's glasses. Minus a few years off my life from the drive. I'm gonna glue them to his head. Of course parking charges me four bucks anyway.
6pm - Get groceries, get home, sit down for a bit before I have to pick up the bf from work.

This must be how stay at home moms feel like - running around picking people up, dropping them off, running errands, prepping for dinner... I'm wiped.

Thursday - Work is nuts. All of a sudden, 6pm, my little bro at work, grabs me while clutching his heart and says call an ambulance. I think something's wrong. He's only 25!!! I think it's a panic attack but to be safe, once his heart rate slows back down, work excuses me to take him to the ER. I rush him to Urgent Care, then the ER in Santa Monica (though there is a hospital across the street, gotta schlep over to SM since THAT'S where our HMO allows us to go. Sheesh.) Stay with the poor guy till 9:30 as they run tests and give him an IV drip. All in all, a good bonding experience as we end the night with some dinner after he's discharged as ok. And the fools at work keep thanking me and saying it's so nice of me to do that. Whatever. I would have done it anyway. Like I would ever choose work over friends.

Whoops, the bf is stranded. I'm calling and calling each hour since there's no reception in the ER, and he never picks up or calls back. Great. Now I have to worry and be frantic that the fool decided to walk the 5 miles home along Venice Bl at night. It's one of those things where he better be ok, otherwise I'm gonna strangle him. Finally call his seatmate buddy and the guy chuckles and tells me he gave the bf a ride home - he didn't call you? ARGH!

Anyway, it's 5 more days till Christmas and I have yet to be infused with the holiday spirit. I think I've finished my shopping. Sent out my cards. Going to a party tonight. But man my head is numb. My face hurts from the crying and the dryness of my heater. And I miss my friends and most importantly, my sanity. THAT'S what I want for Christmas. Sanity. and maybe an Iphone.

Hours and Hours of Music Therapy

There's no getting around it. November was a sh*t month. And soon it will be time to do the annual year end reflection on whether or not the year leaned toward sh*t half empty or sh*t half full. Did I mention that my vocabulary has become atrocious this year too?

On a bright note, after yet another gut wrenching argument with the bf, I slunk over to my brother's so that we could catch the KROQ Almost Acoustic Christmas concert at the Gibson Amphitheater at Universal Studios. This is a concert I've been trying on and off for 15 years to get tickets. I've stood in line for hours outside Tower records, called in repeatedly, and jumped on the Ticketmaster website the minute tickets were released for sale. I've never come close.

My brother, however, is blessed by magical concert fairies and managed to get tickets the second year in a row.

We got rained on when we left, but the hours and hours of music, along with some quality time with my brother really salvaged the night and pretty much this week. I had to admit, the first hour during the bands Vampire Weekend and Snow Patrol, I had to rein in some rogue tears every so often when my mind wandered over to sadder matters. But by the time we stepped out for some grub during the not so great Scott Weiland set (he of Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver fame), and returned to a lively Franz Ferdinand set, my brain was succumbing to the infectious ambiance and tunes.

While riding the wave of happy music, all of a sudden the surprise guest showed up. My brother looked up and said, "that sounds like Kanye...OMG it's Kanye West!" The guy was so cool, it didn't even matter that he was playing to a alternative rock crowd. He's probably so confident, he's thinking "hell yeah, hiphop, rap, alternative rock... whatever. Put me in front of a bunch of senior citizen Neil Diamond fans, and watch me work that crowd! I transcend demographics."

Paramour and Death Cab for Cutie were just as enjoyable, but the main act - the one my brother really came for was The Killers. I loved this band the first time I ever heard them on stage at the KROQ Weenie Roast concert more than 7 years ago. Now, they're one of the biggest acts and all their tunes are super catchy. I mean come on, are we human or are we dancer?

My favorite Killers song of all time - to listen to, sing aloud, and play guitar hero/rock band for is When You Were Young. Not only do I personally interpret the song's lyrics to describe one of my own follies - having idealistic sweep-me-off-my-feet notions and then falling flat on my face - the music video is so nicely done that it manages to tell a real emotional story in about five minutes time.

Finally, the band I stayed all the way till the end for, a band I never thought I'd ever hear live singing songs I used to listen to on cassettes - The Cure - opened with Pictures of You and I nearly died and went to heaven. I think that song came out when I was 10. But mainly I got into The Cure during the high school and college angst years, thanks to UBBF and other more musically savvy high school friends. I looked around and figured a good amount of the crowd wasn't even born when the Disintegration album came out and then I felt old. (On a side note, I also felt bitter, jaded, and old when I saw the young couple in front of me smooch, hug and make out all through the concert and I could keep thinking was "oh puhleeze, go get a room!"

Luckily my brother understood my need to see this band and stayed till I was ready to go. He may not have understood why The Cure sounded good to me or anyone else, but he understood that it was something I needed to do. For now, my concert going is complete. I have seen almost everyone I've ever wanted to see. And for now, I'm on a music high which will hopefully carry me through the night until I deal with reality tomorrow.

Things I've Found to Be True

Some are cliches, some are bits of advice from friends, and others are just so.

- Things can only get better once you hit rock bottom
- There is no such thing as loyalty from companies to their employees
- A bad job situation can destroy your self worth if you let it
- Relationships are f***ing hard work
- Boyfriends may come and go, but your friends will always be there for you
- No one can fix you except yourself

What Happened to Normal and Happily Ever After?

Do people sneer at those two things like the Fox and the Sour Grapes - because they're unattainable? Lately, I've never felt further from either of them. Not that I was ever in the vicinity of normal in terms of conforming to a standard. But one definition of normal seems to be "free of mental disorder: sane." And I'm not even sure I conform to that definition anymore.

Is it normal to cry so uncontrollably that you can't quite make it to work in the morning or explain to your bf why you are so worked up? Is it normal to get so depressed and flattened by your boss and your job that you start tying in your self worth as a person to your performance at work? Or is it normal to sometimes have so little faith in people or yourself that you just constantly expect the worse?

I'm so tired. And recovering from yet another cold, which doesn't help the mental anguish. I'm hoping this is rock bottom for now and that all that therapy will help. I'm hoping I won't need drugs to stop the crying. And I'm hoping a car runs over my boss tomorrow. Kidding. Kind of.

Babies and Bunnies

We’re just at that age now, but every time I suddenly hear “I have news!” or something along those lines, another friend has up and gotten themselves preggers. The latest victim, er blessed friend is someone I’ve known since we were twelve. TWELVE! That’s nearly prepubescent times!

I have a harder time containing the shock and strangeness when it’s friends from high school and pre-high school having kids. Maybe because we knew each other when we were kids ourselves. But I guess it’s bound to happen and I have yet to resort to rocking in a corner to comfort myself.

The other day, while at the auto mechanic with the bf, the particularly chatty owner decided to tell us his life story as an immigrant and ended up extolling the virtues of America and having his two daughters. Then he placed his hand on the bf’s arm and said “YOU should have two kids. It’s the best thing.” To which the bf responded with “She’s going to be the mother of my children!” while pointing at me. Odd response. And I didn’t even freak out and run!

That darned clichéd clock is probably ticking but I am in no way ready any time soon. If I’m lucky, I’ll be ready before my body closes up shop on that idea. For now, I’m leaning much more toward giant bunnies than a kid. I mean, how can you not love this?

New Song to Fit the Mood

This week, Wavy kindly pointed out Leona Lewis's follow up song "Better in Time." I couldn't get enough of her first single "Bleeding Love" especially as I was feeling the same kind of frustration with the bf. In this new song, it's like the "everything will be ok" response to her first song (though they did have different songwriters.)

LEONA LEWIS - BETTER IN TIME (VIDEO)
Uploaded by AcerBen

It's like Madonna's "You'll See" sequel to her other song "Take A Bow." I love narratives in song.

Anyway, this song has been on repeat at work and though the melody feels upbeat, and the message is pretty strong and positive, the song actually makes me quite sad. Probably because I'm hoping that life won't imitate art.

A Woman Needs A Man... Like A Fish Needs a Bicycle...

Well I guess I don't really need a man, but I do like him around. And I'm no fish, but I thought it was high time to tackle learning how to ride a bicycle.

It only took me two years to hit this resolution , but yesterday, ride I did. After the bf patiently taught (forced) me to unhook the front tire and load the bike into my car, he watched me ride over and over in circles at the Santa Monica DMV. While moms were warily practicing with their kids, and husbands were teaching their wives to drive, I donned a crash helmet and staked my claim of the empty parking lot, as he nervously yelled for me to stay away from the cars and stop veering too far away from our little section.

Throughout most of my life, this is how I felt about bicycles:What I've discovered is that it's easier and harder than I thought. Easy to just jump on the bike and ride around in circles on a nice smooth flat surface. Hard when there's any kind of incline, precision steering, or obstacles (trees, poles, people, cars, etc) in the way. As soon as I tried to steer around a rocky incline in the front of the DMV, I fell over and steered into a small palm tree. Ah well, practice practice practice...

Right On Schedule

For reasons I'll try to write more about later, I started seeing a therapist. A psychologist actually, because I don't believe the answer is medication in my case.

On our first session, she explained to me that many of the coping mechanisms we learn as a child are ones that we use as an adult through our twenties. And somehow, by the time we reach our thirties, those coping strategies start to fall apart and not work so well anymore.

"In that respect," she told me, "you're right on schedule!"

And I thought, "Thank God, for once I'm on schedule with the rest of the people my age and not a late bloomer when it comes to the whole falling-apart-in-your-early-thirties stage!" Lucky me.