As I sent my parents back home in the airport a few days ago at the airport, I thought to myself, why couldn't they bring their nail clipper on-board? Were the officials afraid that someone will be clipped to death?

And what was the reason that people can't bring their toiletries? Instead, I think they should let the passengers bring their hygienic items. Trust me who has been there and done that.
Yes. I have sat next to a stinky breather, who slept with his mouth open. Wide open. Snoring, blowing air from where no man has gone before. It was a thirteen hours flight.
Yup.

As always, I hated airports. Especially when I have to say good bye. And in this case, it was to my parents, who, after 5 weeks of lots of shopping sprees and dining out and inches of snow, were ready to embrace the warmth of Jakarta once more.
So, there.
That's why I had thoughts about the nail clippers and toothpaste, to keep my mind busy from thinking about how old my parents look, and that it would be, at the minimum, another year till I see them again, and so on.

So we said our goodbyes, they went in, and I smiled, hugged and kissed, trying not to get emotional. Then, after a few minutes still waiting at the gate, I saw that it's my mom & dad's turn to take off their shoes, belts and jackets to be scanned. I thought to myself, Okay, this is it, they'll be out of sight right after this. Savor this moment, and sight as I exhale heavily.

Then, my dad turned to me with his shoes in his hands and all of a sudden,...

He pretended like he was about to throw the shoes at me like that Iraqi reporter did Bush.

I laughed.
He grinned.
We waved at each other.

Then they were out of sight.

I stood there and I could feel the coldness of the airport creeping in like the shadow of a dark cloud.

I hate airports.

But maybe, it's not the airport. It's just me and my hollowness.

Conversing with Bandit

I remember a long time ago my boyfriend asked me, how come I talked to my dogs.
They don't understand any language.
Didn't you feel silly doing that?
Did you ask questions?
Why would you? Did you expect an answer?

And now that we have a dog, he talks, scolds, commands, and... guess what,... asks questions too.
Hah.

Bandit! Did you pee here?
Oh... no you did not. Good boy. Come here. Good boy.

Well, another surprising big Bandit lover is ChicagoDimCorner's mom.
The person who at first did not like her hands to be licked by dogs, or basically, just don't really care about pets.
She who asked: Where does he sleep? In the koi? With you? (Koi = bed in Menado).
Yes, auntie.
Oh, no, don't let him sleep there, put him downstairs.
Nope, that's fine, I have shared my bed with dogs practically all my life.

But then she warmed up bit by bit. She started asking where Bandit is if ChicagoDimCorner comes to their condo. They even rode together in one car and Bandit stepped all over her lap.

And the other day, I knew Bandit has won when I heard this: Come here you Bandit, come to Oma (and I thought: Huh? Oma?), let me give you some baked Salmon. Oh, you don't like it cold, do you, let me heat it up a bit. BlueCactus, can I give him some chicken?
Sure.
And of the Oma went to the kitchen.

Apparently No Biggie

The anticipated / awaited mom and dad finally arrived a couple of weeks ago and I was joyfully embraced them to my house.

Every time I see them, they always look like they age too fast. But I guess that is because I don't see them for a long time, so the next time I see them, it's like... whoa! Wait a second.

No really, wait a second and stop aging.

I'm not saying they look bad, it's just that they age.

So, after I got them to the house, and calmed the mortified Bandit, my first news was,... okay mom and dad, (inhale), I've been living with ChicagoDimcorner.
No,... not like that.
We do share expenses, but I know you concerns and everything that would make this conversation be very uncomfortable, but... I have my own room and so does he.
We have 3 bedrooms here. I'm thirty-one. He's a good handyman. Everything works out for the best.
It's just like Will And Grace. Except Will is not gay, and once he gets his green card, we'll get married.
But, I assure you, you won't have to worry about anything. I will not be the daughter who disgraces you.
Ever.

Then my dad looked at me and said: Oh... I know that. He paid for the house too, I think it's only natural if he lives here.

Whoa, I was the one who apparently ended up in silence at the end of the conversation.
That's it? Really? No struggle? No discussion? No threats?

Hm,... this might be the very few advantages of being a thirty- something. Your parents start to let you be what ever the heck it is you want to be, where you want to be, whatever.

Sweet.

I think I choose my being thirty-one with sagging skin problem than a confused seventeen year old who can't even drive and had not-so-wise boyfriend choices.

Finally Lead

In the end...
I am still the team lead.
Even though I tried to dug it out as best as I could.
I did. I tried hard because I guess a big part of me wants me to still just kick back and relax.
Enjoy the ride. Especially when you have a boss that 'wonderful'.

But finally ChicagoDimCorner (by the way, can we just call him CDC from now on?) talked me into it.
He told me to take the responsibility so that I can learn more, and even build a stronger resume... blah blah blah.

So I slept on it for a few days, and though I hate it when he is right.
He is right.

So,... there.

I'm a team lead.

On that note, the other day I talked to my co-worker about being enforcing difficult decision or demand to the team. I told him, if a male forces his opinion on something, people say he has a strong character.
If a female forces her opinion on something, people say that she's a bitch.

Well, I'll try my best not to be a bitch, but chances are, soon enough, I'll be a Hitler sans mustache, because, well, now that my head will be the first head the client will be behead if something is wrong, I will have to make sure that my head is safe and intact.

Sigh,... I just want to have a little bit of fund to buy food for Bandit and buy some suede leather shoes. That's all actually...

I have a few weaknesses... suede shoes apparently is one of them...

Friday

I'm tired, I'm sick, I hate my job and my boss, but I'm happy...
because, I have entered Friday....

Matchbox

Last week my shoe box of an office (which I shared with like a hundred other people) got flooded because the soda pop machine in the kitchen, right next door, practically exploded.
So, the carpet and even the wall dividing my desk and the kitchen were all wet, and they had to move me out of the area to an even smaller room, which, still, I have to share with 3 other people.
So now, I sit in a room which is less big than the restroom on my floor, with 3 other people and they are all Indians who just freely talk and chat in Hindi. Loudly. Regardless if I have a phone call with the users, or if I was just plainly thinking, trying to debug some codes.

I just hope one day that soda machine finally dies. Forever. And people will have to start drinking water.
How's that?

Anyway, not only that I had to move, from a shoe box to a matchbox and share it with screaming foreigners shouting foreign language, it is ironically much closer to my boss cubicle. And we all know how much I 'love' my boss.
Words can't express.
And it took him only a few hours to finally find me, then he stuck his head into the matchbox and said, "Oh, there you are, I've been looking for you" with his signature idiotic smile.
And since he's closer, I can hear him, all day, when he does his stupid, ass kissing laugh. I want to throw a stapler to his head and let him slip to a coma.

And talking about slipping to a coma, I do wonder if I am going to slip into a coma due to the lack of oxygen in the room. Too much nostrils and not enough O2. And I also wonder what would a fire marshal say if he is to inspect the room. I bet this violates about 100 fire safety regulation. Although, believe me, once I hear a fire alarm, I'll knock everyone out of my way to the exit.

So, then lunch time arrived, and people started heating up their food and start eating, and mind you that I came from a country which was being invaded for 3 and a half centuries because of our spices. But, oh boooy there was a lot of smell during lunch time.
If I don't slip to a coma due to lack of oxygen, I might slip to a coma because of spice overdose.

Then the next day, when I arrived, a girl was using my phone, which I was cool about, but when I started to sit at my desk, she did not move. She was inches away from me and I could feel her body heat. She might be fine with the barely none distance between us, but I wasn't. So, the first chance I got, I grabbed the phone and put it far away to the next desk, while she said, oh oh, that's okay, I can still just use the phone over here. So, ever so nicely, I smiled to her and said: I move it so I have more room.

Was I being rude? But I did it with a smile.

Well, anyway, they are changing the carpet, and inspecting the mold in the wall. So I'll be there for another precious week.

Ah, office life is just peachy.

Naked Cat

I got this from bitchphd.blogspot.com.
That porno cat made my day.
It's hilarious.
Disgusting,...
But hilarious.

key people

As my coworker said today, maybe only in this company that none of us want to be the 'key people'.
As they all paid their condolences to me because, I, as one of the key people, will have to join the upper management and clients for a very fancy dinner sometime next week. Started with cocktail and dinner following.
Mind you, I am a very ambitious person, and I have this OCD which makes me painfully try to always do things perfectly. Some kind of ailment, like chasing the end of the rainbow. Think of me at work like Monica in Friends trying to out-do herself making the Thanksgiving dinner.

But, I for once, don't wanna be one of the key people in the company. I just hate the fact that my boss is an idiot who needs me to go to difficult meetings in fear that he cannot answer the clients' questions by himself. Who said that I am great but then asked me to figure out the menu for the next team lunch (bluecactus the secretary).
And that idiot got the praises from the big bosses while he plays hooky almost daily and when got caught sneaking out with his lunch box at 2 in the afternoon, made stupid excuses like, uh,... I just need to put this in the car. But then we did not see him for the rest of the day.
Where did he park anyway? Ohio?

And so, I also hate the upper management for their blatant ignorance of the mental welfare of the bottom feeders, like me and the team, and for keeping a jack ass like my boss around because he's so good in ass kissing.

But, anyway, when the boss of your boss sent the invitation, it is an order that you come, even though it was masked in words like, let me know if you can make it.

So I will.
Cursing at heart, but I will.

A Buddhist in Disguise

An interesting comment someone made about me made me ponder about a lot of things.
She said: You could be a very good Christian, the way you carry your attitude shows like you are a very good Christian.
It blew me off rather unexpectedly.
Because I am not one.

Religion.

Something somewhat like a taboo topic I barely ever want to convey in a conversation. I would slyly change the subject, talk about something else lighter, like, the weather, my dog, gas price, food. Anything.
I would, with the best of my ability, twist the topic around.

The thing is, my boyfriend and I, even though we share a lot of similar interests, we are totally different fundamentally, on religion. He is, of all Christians, he's a Seventh Day Adventist. He doesn't eat pork, shrimp, calamari, eel. He worships on Saturdays. He doesn't even watch TV on Saturdays.

And me...
I am a Buddhist.
Well, actually and officially, I am a Catholic, because I was baptized when I was a baby and spent 16 years of my education life in a private Catholic school. But, really, after I was done with high school, I didn't feel even the most remorse calling to, with my own most sincere conscience, pursue being a good Catholic. Go to church and do all that penitence thing.

Anyway, an Adventist and a Buddhist couple might not exist in this segmented world, except us. I even think that it is virtually impossible and I won't even go to the details.

Yet, we are surviving. And we work hard to make it work.
I totally support him and his calling and I go to church with him. Not to worship, but to support him.
I join the church's potluck, every week, to support him.
I bare with his pastor who always tries to coax me to have bible study.
I joined his church activities, like going a softball game, and got hit by the ball, knocked my ankle with the bat, chased balls, ran to bases, burnt by the sun and became unwillingly tan, to support him. And let's not even start with wally ball (yes, wally, not volley) and ping pong.
Went to the retirement homes to entertain. Mind you, I sang, clapped hands, hugged the elderly, handed out flowers, smiled, be cheerful for hours. For him.
Well... for this particular one, actually because I have a soft spot for old grandmas and grandpas too.

I struggle right now on how to articulate what was bothering me when that person from my boyfriend's church said that I could be a good Christian.

I guess because that happened right after I said: I'm not a Seventh Day Adventist. I'm a Buddhist.
Then she was perplexed, not because she did not expect a Buddhist to be in a Christian church potluck. But apparently, because I would have made a good Christian, and she was surprise that I was,... well, something else.

She asked too if I am going to be an Adventist. It was really awkward. Because I just said one word. No. Then looked her straight in the eyes and smile.

Has it occurred to anyone, that everything I did, I did because I am a GOOD Buddhist? Is it true that only Christians are able to do good things?
I tolerate and I don't impose. I love all kinds of people and I really wish for world peace (no pun intended to Miss Congeniality). That the hugs I gave to the elderly were the sincere compassion of a Buddhist.

It sadden me that people cannot see through their own bubble. Because in this case, I will always be on outside the bubble.
An outcast.
An outsider.

But if that is what it takes, then I guess that will have to be.
I am accepting the fact that I'll always be on the outside.
And I feel fine and at peace where I am now.

Missing umbrella

So, my mom and dad went on a 15-days vacation to Russia and the Scandinavian countries. A few days ago, they were in Stockholm when my sister got a text message from my mom saying that my dad drove him crazy.
I know it's not new news, they drive each other crazy once in a while.
But still, we, the kids were kinda concerned, since they should be having fun, eating caviar and go on cruises.
In the light to console my mom and also to give some peace of mind to bro and sis, I called my mom at her hotel, and chit chatted a bit, only to find out that the quarrel was about some missing umbrella which my dad lost, and which was found again later on.

Oh, mom...

So, here is how the passing of information went:
My mom texted my sister from Stockholm to Jakarta. My sister text my brother then my brother told me (in Bolingbrook, Illinois) when we chatted on Yahoo.
And then, I called my mom to Stockholm using Skype.
Then, after finding out that it was over a missing umbrella, I texted my sister in Jakarta, to let her know, then I emailed my brother in Jakarta about it too.

So, to recap:
Stockholm - Jakarta - Jakarta - Bolingbrook - Stockholm - Jakarta - Jakarta.

Isn't the internet era swell?

All for a missing umbrella.

Somewhere, the CEO of Skype, the CEO of my phone provider, the CEO of my sister's and my brother's cell phone providers are having a big grin about this.

Yeti

I can't believe how long ago I have been abandoning my blog. It's dusty and spider-webby (if that's even a word).
Anyway, a conversation came up when I drove in the car with my boyfriend yesterday about how many times Bandit has managed to wiggle his head out of the lease, or actually wiggle his body out of the slightly opened door.

One wintery day, full of snow, I was was walking out from the front door when I saw a big bare foot prints on the snow. So, I yelled at my boyfriend:
"Hunny, look! Foot prints. Huge ones. Who on earth would walk barefoot on the snow in a temperature like this???"
Then I gasped and said, "Yeti! It has gotta be yeti. What else would it be???"

Then my boyfriend said, "Uhm,... they're mine."

Silent....
(held back giggles).

"Yours? Why?"

"Uhm,... Bandit ran out of the door when Tony came by and so, since I thought you're going to kill me if something happened to him, I ran outside, barefoot to chase him."

...

"Oh,... okay,... "

Silent...

(Giggle giggle...)

"I should take a picture of it, so I can put it in the blog".

But then, I forgot, and it melt. Too bad, it would have been a very interesting picture.

Happy Father's Day

Looking back on my past, I have accepted the fact that before I came here to the States, my life back home was pretty much a very protected, pristine, immaculate one.

I blame the fact that I am the youngest one. And physically a bit tiny. And I got sick quite a lot as a baby, compared to my sister who is taller and has a stronger built than me, who virtually never got sick, who was the high school volleyball captain. And, get this: who would have the power to physically smack anyone trying to offend her. She's the total opposite of me. There's an infamous rumor of her smacking my brother's head with my mom's high heels when they're kids because my brother pulled a trick on her. Ouch.

My dad... oh, where do I start...

My dad spoiled me rotten and protected me from everything that is even remotely potentially harmful. He thought and still thinks that I am all that. That I am the precious one. No one was good enough for me. He disliked all of my previous boyfriends. Until they became an ex-boyfriend. He hated them all. Only ChicagoDimcorner passed the hatred phase. Finally.

I remember the first year that I was in Chicago and my dad got sick and was admitted to a hospital in Jakarta. No one told me.
No one told me until a few days later when he got better and was released from the hospital. He told everyone to keep it quiet from me, fearing that I would worry and feel sad.
What?

I mean, WHAT?

He also taught me how to drive, but then hired a driver to drive me around, because I am a bad driver.

He gives unsolicited advise. Starting from career choices, boyfriend choices, my dilemmas in life. Everything.
All the time.

He protected me too much that he took care everything for me without thinking that he might want to let me do things my own way so I can learn from my mistakes.
Or so that I can form my own opinion.
Or so that I can be independent and not being spoon fed all the time.
I didn't even know how to pay my bills when I first got here.

So today, a few days after father's day, I need to get this off my chest:
Look dad, I'm a good driver now. Well, at least I am an okay driver, except when I'm mad because someone just ruthlessly cut my lane. Or when I'm in downtown Chicago, because they are all crazy there. It's not my fault. I am the only sane driver.
I know how to pay my bills since then. How to write a check. Manage my accounts. All that financial, grown up crap.
I'm strong enough to hear alarming news, like if someone got sick and admitted to the hospital. Or that someone's blood test wasn't all that great. That's would explain all the sugar-free food I sent you last week. Got it?
I'm happy that now you embrace ChicagoDimCorner like your own son. Although I hope that since he's like a son now, you won't start giving unsolicited advice too So, keep your cool, Dad. He likes you.
And if I need an advise, I'll ask you, but if not, that means that I know what to do.

And since I was away from home, I went to the bars, clubs, drank, got drunk, got a bad hang-over the day after, got home at 3 AM, all the things you really never want me to do. But I kept an eye on my drinks so no one slipped anything in it. I know my liquor limit, I didn't engage conversation with strangers. I kept an eye on my back when walking home at night. I have tear gas on my key chain, just in case I need to use it.
I made my mistakes, so I can learn from it.
I'm surviving.
I'm doing fine.

I know you are damn proud of me though.
And I know you keep a picture of me and ChicagoDimCorner in your wallet and you show it off to whoever wants to see it. As embarrassing as it is (not the picture, but the showing-off part), I'm letting you to do it.

And I know you love me.
And that's why you did all the annoying things you did... or still do.
And of all people in the world, I guess you're one of the very few people who has the prerogative right to do all that anyway.
Because you're my dad, who drove my to school for 14 years. And some more. You stayed up all night when I got measles. Did everything you could to make sure I have food on the table, went to a good school, read all the books I want. You carried me to my room when I fell asleep on the couch.
Who will walk me down the aisle someday and of course, give unsolicited advice on my kids' names later in the future. And I bet, names will not the only advise you will solicit.
I know it all, and I'm bracing myself for all that. For a hundred more years to come.
So, happy father's day, Dad.

I love you too.

Never leave home without it

I learned the hard way, never ever leave home without bag to pick up after you dog.
Poop happens.
And you just don't know when.
Even if you think, since it already happened twice today, it won't happen again.

Enough said....

:)

Tiny big hole

So,... when I made the previous blog, I was happy to declare that my only problem was the allergy, right?
Right?
Yea, ok... not really anymore. Because on my next visit, when they zoomed into my retina, my doctor found a hole. On the edge of my right retina.
Yes. Retina.
The part where the eyes received the light from outside and translates it to a vision.

Well, not that I was going blind or something.
But I might.
If I let it be.
So, in short, a small chance, I might. But if I'm lucky, I won't.
When I first heard the news from my doctor, it took me a few seconds to digest the news, then I said to her: Well, Doc, now I feel that it is a good thing that I have this allergy, because then you checked my eyes out and found out about this hole.

So I chose to fix this tiny hole, just to prevent, you know, the possibility of my retina being detached and I lose my eyesight.
Yea, I know,... sounds kinda scary. Though, bear in mind, it's a very tiny hole. And so, it might not even happen. Ever.
But, c'mon, by show of hands, if this happen to you, who would just do nothing and see what 's going to happen in the future?
Anyone?
Nope?

It is alright now, though. No worry, the doctor lasered it. And the hole is closed.

But throughout the whole experience, I looked back and realized some things:

1. I'm not as healthy as can be. See, I woke up every morning, thinking I was. I barely ever got really sick. I barely have to go to a doctor, knock on wood. And of all things I have, vision is one of the things I thought I had near perfection.
When I went to this eye doctor and they tested my vision with the letter reading game (you know, you read the letters while it gets smaller and smaller) I aced the test. Hands down. I almost high-fived the nurse. But I guess, even though I have good eye lenses, they are of no use if I got screwed up retina, eh?
Tragic.
So, after this news sank in. I saw the fact. The fact that I'm not invincible. I'm prone to health issues too, just like other people, and accepting that fact wasn't easy at all. I was out of my element, I became cranky in the inside, and I wonder, what else could've gone wrong by now without anyone checking them.
Having said that, my defense mechanism made me put up a damn good wall on the outside. Because I told this news to people with straight-nonchalant face, like I was telling them that I had a zit and the doctor will squeeze its life the heck out of my face.
Pride, maybe, made me do that. I guess I don't want people to pity me, or feel sorry for me. I guess... I don't know why I acted that way. I remember, at work, I would go to the restroom and just locked myself in. Put off my smiley-calm-professional face, and just sat there with my cranky face. No, not crying, but still, I think I was under a lot of stress and I just needed some time-out from people.
So, now, I know how I would react when I have serious fears in life. Yup, I hide my real emotion and fake it real good. Pretend that all is peachy and fine.

2. I need to be careful on how I deliver news to my parents. I almost never regret anything that I did in the past. Because I think, whatever I did in the past, at that very moment when I made a decision, I already thought that it was the best way. The result might prove otherwise, but I don't linger on a second of regret over something. It was done and over with.
But, this time, I have to say, I could've done better when breaking the news. Because I just laid the news out there, flat-out brutal truth on the phone to my mom. And I guess, I could've told her first that it wasn't a big deal, blah blah blah, the laser wouldn't even hurt, and it would be only like 2-3 seconds. And the chance of me having a retinal detachment is small because the hole is tiny,... blah blah blah.
Apparently, I made her cry. I realized that after a long paused on her side and her voice was all nasally. Need to keep in mind that since I am an adult now (wow, did I just say that?) I need to put more thoughts and sensitivity into these kind of things. It should never happen that way again.

My eyes are okay now.
Still the fear is there. Not necessarily about my eyes, but just in general, I feel vulnerable.
And when I have fear, guess what I do?
Yes, I mask it well. Just like I'm doing in this post. Telling the story like my problem is just a tiny zit.

I'm seeing double

I went to an eye doctor on Friday to check on my compulsively itchy eyes. It had been going on for almost a week and I begin to worry. So off I went and get them checked. I knew that the doctor would say that it's allergy. But, I did not know that she'd inspect every single nano-inch of my eyes, including the back of my eyes. In the spirit of checking everything, they gave me some drops to dilate my pupils to check my corneas. But little did I know, for the rest of the day, I couldn't freaking see. Everything was so freaking bright. And blurry. Well, I can see, but I can't.

If you know what I mean.

Having said that, I drove home by myself. And I high-fived myself when I got home in one piece.
I can't read, I can't cook, well I still did, but really, the whole thing was just a 'guesstimate'.

Anyway, then I asked my boyfriend to drive me to the pharmacy for my eye drops. Guess what, the pharmacy lady told me that one tiny bottle, 5 ml bottle, cost me 50 bucks. And even, if I didn't have insurance, I would have had to pay 98 bucks.

I don't understand, how come drugs are so freaking expensive here, in the US. The country that's supposed to be well-developed and rich. Someone, tell me, where the heck does all that money go?!! To some CEO of the drug company to purchase his/her third beach house? Is it possible that medicine is cheaper in Indonesia? It's outrageous.

Well, anyway, the whole reason why I made this blog is to tell you this. I was nowhere near blind. I was just being a sissy. I still could see things in overall. But after a few hours, I got frustrated and went to bed. I was really frustrated, I couldn't surf the net, didn't know how much salt I've put in my cooking, can't even sign for my credit card charges in the pharmacy. Can't dial the numbers to call my mom. Can't even text her to tell her that I went to an eye doctor.
I mean, man, I can't imagine being blind. Can't, can't, can't imagine how HARD it must be.
I'm just thankful for my health.
That's all I want to say.
I'm thankful that my biggest eye issue right now is just allergy. And that's it.

I tried to not (again) post something about my work, although that might be one of the things I love to rant about.
So, right now, again, I failed not to complain.
How can I not, when my boss last week said that he wanted to make me a team lead? Shoving me more responsibilities.
Me?
A team lead?
So, I asked him, does this mean that y'all are gonna hike up my paycheck because I will have to do more crap?
So the boss said: wait, let me get back to you, I needed to ask for the big boss's permission.

So he came back to me yesterday.
Nope.
Because I just got a raise a couple of months ago. So, we'll provide you with just more bonus in a few months, then, we'll see how you perform then we'll rise up your paycheck.

Ok... first of all, I did not ask to be a team lead.
Don't shove me more responsibilities without any incentive. Don't shove me responsibilities, new title without me asking for it, then want to 'evaluate' me on this.
I'm not a social worker who voluntarily work my ass off unpaid to make the world a better place to live. I work so that I can go sky diving this summer, buy food for Bandit, and buy some friggin' bling bling whenever I feel like it.

Also, then I asked if they are going to expedite my green card process.
Nope, they are going with the slow process, which is a much sure bet, but take, like, forever to get done.

So, today, I said to my boss: Dude, thanks, but no thanks.

Then he somewhat beg me to take the position with all the praises of how the clients just love me and the coworkers think that I am great.

Talk is cheap.
And it won't help buying me those expensive non-meat turkey and baby back ribs.

Gosh, I better stop this post and update my resume.

A buddy of mine from work and I finally formed a blog.
About our boss.
So that we can gripe, whine, complain, bitch out.
http://thestupidboss.blogspot.com/
Because, c'mon, seriously, We were asked last week to go to the main office and pretend to work there because a bigwig client is coming to town and going to visit the office and it's a big but empty office.
So, instead of telling the client: Yeah, the office is empty because 90% of us works at the client site, they have chosen to send us there, so we can fill in the cubicles and pretend for two hours that we actually sit there on daily basis.

By the way, I said no and I didn't go.

I'm late to work, but ...
Whatever.
A friend inspired me to sky-dive.
I'm thinking about it, pondering whether I will actually do it. And if they need push me out of the plane because I won't muster enough strength to jump on my own.
Whether I'll pee in my pants. Literally.
Will I pass out?
Or, will I remember to pray to God, since, I'll be 5 thousand feet closer to Him at that time.

Interesting... just considering it makes me feel like I need to write a will.

Yes, I have it

Week after week I have been thinking about so many 'why's lately.
So many 'why's that I feel so tired.
I do think that quarter life crisis exists.
I have it.
It's either I have it or I am hypochondriac.
Won't I be a hypochondriac if I genuinely think that I am hypochondriac?
OK. I won't confuse you more.

So, this is what it is like to be an adult. Fully independent. Working your ass off, totally responsible of your own health, what you eat, what you buy, who should do your tax, service your car, make sure you don't miss a nephew's birthday, call your mom, and actually listen to your mom's issue (and not the other way around). Go to church, go to work, go to the grocery store, do your laundry, iron your work shirts, email to your dad, cook for yourself (who else would?), vacuum the whole house from all the dog hair, look at dust and think 'Hm,... dust is the by product of dust mites, so if I see dust, it's as good as an indication that the mites exist, should I Clorox everything to kill it? Dilemma between cleaning some more or just drop the whole thing and have some rest. I've seen pictures of dust mites. So I know what those suckers look like, except in my head they're as big as a cat. Water the plant, pray for my fish, Munchy, who is sick and at the moment is swimming sideways so that God will give it another chance. Pay bills on time, pay mortgage on time. Remember when to change the oil, check my mails, add my windshield water, change my raggedy window wiper.
What else do I miss?

Now, my whys.
Why the heck does someone stays in the fastest lane but only driving 60 miles an hour.
Why do my hair so puffy on some days? I look like Tina.
Turner that is.
Why can't everybody just be quiet? I can't hear myself think.
Why do I life here? Here in the US like there's no other country where I can settle down and move on with my life.
Why aren't I interested to go clubbing again? Have I gone old and moldy.
Talking about old, I think I have more wrinkles then ever. And eye bags as big as Santa's belly.
Why can't I have a night of sleep without dreams.
Why are my dreams are all fill with stressful and weary emotions?
Why do I feel like happiness is just a virtual concept?

I feel so restless.

There...
I thought I won't bitch about life, but I guess today I do. And it doesn't even make me feel better.
I don't know what to do.

The other day was so cold that I thought to myself, why don't I just move to Alaska if I want this kind of weather. It is so freaking cold, it hurt to breathe.
So, out of curiosity, I googled "weather in Alaska", only to find out that, it was warmer over there than here. By 16 degrees.
The world is coming to an end.
Nuff said...

Having been slaving my ass off, my boss and my boss' boss informed me today that I got a raise, and a bonus too.
Goody.
So I called my mom about my raise, right.
And I thought that I would get a oh-congratulation-sweetie kinda respond but instead, the respond was a minuscule "oh" and followed by unenthusiastic "how much bump is it per paycheck" and "oh, they could've done better than that".
Yep, she burst my bubble with a saber, totally wreck the sense of achievement that I had going before calling her.
Party-pooped my evening.
My boyfriend asked, whether I lost the happiness I had when I went home today bringing the news.
I said, I felt like I accomplished something. It feels good to know that the director of the Demand Planning Group said to the President of the client's company that he would want only me as his single point of contact on issues or questions and not even need to talk to my boss. So it wasn't like I was just happy for the raise, but I feel accomplished.
And after the phone call, I felt disappointed.

I think, I might have been Americanized. Not really in a good way. Because Americans have this tendency to be big in sugar coated praises like, oh honey, good for you! or I'm so proud of you. Oh, wonderful. Excellent. Perfect. Way to go!
And my mom is the mother of all practicality, let me get the calculator first and break down the number.

Well, anyway, I got a raise!
So, there.
Whatever....

Quote of the day: "Bandit! Don't eat yellow snow!"

The comments on my previous posting made me smile. Now I know I have girlfriends who'll be there when I get married, have kids, (if ever) get a divorce (knock on wood), menopause, sag, get a face lift, sag again, get all over lift, form a Golden Girls Club and die.

The Wedding Gown

Moment of truth: Having being engaged for almost three years and never have the chance to actually wear my dress is kind of wearing me out. I don't want to sound like whiny ditsy girl whose goal of life is to have a 'magical' fantastic extravagant wedding day with my prince charming riding in a chariots pulled by white sparkling horses with a party that is the talk of the century, but being engaged for so long is really is not normal.
But, oh well, since we have some issues moving on to the 'W' day, we are still engaged.
Not yet married.
And not yet have a date (just in case anyone asks. Seems like it is the most asked question there is about our relationship. And I'm not being bitchy, just informational).

We are postponing because we are waiting for my boyfriend's greencard, which apparently costs us three years of our non-wed lives already.
I bought my dress ages ago, before knowing that we'll have to wait. There was a sale going on, so I just bought it. Only to find, two days later, in the lawyer's office, that my boyfriend has to stay single until he gets his greencard.

Then the wedding gown store had another sale. Then another sale then another sale. Then another sale.

And once in a while I took a peek at my dress. Making sure that the color is still white and that there's no brown spots whatsoever. And I'm thanking my taste for picking a classic kind of dress, not the trendy looking ones which style might only last a few months, or maybe a year. Top. I made sure that everything is still intact, keeping the mental image of how I looked in it and how I really liked it. Man, I really don't know when the big day is and if the wedding gown can make it. And in what state will it be by then. Darn it.

Sometimes sadness came rushing in, but I never the kind who sulks at corner of my room wondering why life is hard. Because hardship makes one's soul more sustainable. It is just part of life. Just like Virginia Woolfs, hardship brings mental strength, if not inspirations. Although I don't want to have bipolar disorder and then drown myself.

My sweet boyfriend said sorry once in a while when he sees me looking a bit down. On which I smile at him and said, that it's okay and that it's not no one's fault.

Then the other day, I saw, yet another commercial on TV. The store is having... guess what... yet another sale. So I told my boyfriend, "Do you know what I'm gonna do with my wedding gown after the wedding day?"
"What?"
"I'm going to sell it back home. And give you back the money, after all you bought my that dress" (Note: it is old custom. Long story. We were keeping the parents happy. Well, mine, actually).
"What? Oh... yeah... that's right, we have a wedding gown already for you. You know, you don't have to wear that one. Once we are moving on and actually getting married, we'll get another one. Don't worry about the old one, Hunny".
Then he gave me a peck on the cheek and a hug.

I stood there. In the middle of the kitchen. Tears welled up and throat was closing in. Simply because, I have been hanging on that dress with my dear life, with my prayers. Because he bought that dress. Not his parents. He bought me the dress. Damn it! And, maybe without knowing, he released my burden.
And I thought, hardship also proves one's true character. And I'm winning a lottery with this one.

Sunday Afternoon Nap

Look what surprise my boyfriend sent me about 10 minutes ago.

It's a Sunday afternoon. What else can one do?

People are giving us free dog food. Pedigree did, Petco gave us coupons of free food.
My boyfriend's church member gave us a humongous bag of dog food.
I guess now I'm in the circle of the fellowship of adopting pet parents.

By the way, I was driving out of my house complex to work this morning and I put on Michael Franks' Down in Brazil. Though the trees are bald and I'm wearing a wool coat and a sweater underneath. For three and a half minute, I felt like it's summer and I was walking by a beach.
Sigh,... that song is a masterpiece.
I'm going to Brazil one day, and I'm going to see if it actually takes a day to walk a mile.

The Dog

Having spent the last month barely blog or even give news to anyone, here I am.
Full of dog hair, sitting in front of my notebook.
My sweet boyfriend almost 'gave' me a dog for my birthday, and I said, no way, I'm gonna purchase it with our credit card, so that this dog will surely be 'ours' (instead of mine) and he will have to also take care of it.
So, I did. I adopted a dog. A sad looking dog from the Humane society. I picked the one that no one wanted, the one that has been in the pound for quite a while, the one that's older (since the puppies are hot sale). And I adopted instead of buying from a pet store because the price that we paid was actually a donation to the humane society, so that they can keep saving and taking care of neglected animals. So,... shame on you who bought pets from a pet store. For your information, more than 4 millions animals were euthanized each year in the US. (In this case, also, shame on Paris Hilton. She bought hers from a store).
Anyway, on a lighter note, the dog is a riot. He likes car ride and walking a lot.
I seriously think he's mental. He barks on school buses and the garbage trucks. He has breath issue that we need to take care. Seriously.
We need to take him to the vet to get his teeth cleaned, because, boy, the breath is a killer.
I don't think he had a good past, since he is very timid at times. But I think sooner than later he would understand, that I don't hit.
So he doesn't have to close his eyes in terrors when I raise my hands. Or be jumpy all the time and not let anyone touch his tail.
It's a hassle really. Having a dog. And it's a mess. And it's costly.
But I guess, having no family here makes one feels kinda lonely at times.
Although my boyfriend is almost always around, but he's busy sometimes.
I just realize that Bandit, the dog, does fill the hole I feel of having no company.
Because he would come to me when I'm alone. And the he would stand on his two feet. Then I'd pick him up.
And he'd lick my face. And I would say how stinky his mouth is, and threaten to take him to the doctor.
Then he would lick me again.
Then this time, I'd just hold my breath and bear with it.
Then he would put his cheek on my cheek.
And I would start slowly moving, doing a little tip toe dance.
And start singing silly songs about dogs (Like "Bandit, gug guk guk, kemari, guk guk guk...")
And he would cling still, enjoying being held.
And I would do a slow dance and hum in the middle of my big empty bedroom enjoying holding him while we are sealing each other's loneliness.