Stop The Darn Clips

Arrrgggghhh...
This is the fourth time in the past 1.5 hours that I saw the clip on the TV on Saddam Husein before he was executed, with the Noose around his neck.
I completely get it. He was a narcissistic brutal dictator who killed thousands of lives and had rapists sons and as much as I'm not in favor of capital punishment, I guess there are thousands of people cheering this execution to happen.
BUT...
Do the media really have to expose his final moments like it's some cheap clip about Britney /Lindsay partying?
I went to CNN and saw links to different video clips with title like: 'inside the execution chamber', 'Hussein in Hangman Noose', 'Hussein Body Wrapped in Shroud', and many others.
I thought, despite everything, Saddam's final moments should stay private. And mind you, not everybody is in favor of seeing the clips. Like me, my boyfriend's been playing channel hopping eveytime those clips start popping up on TV. Because he knows I don't want to see it.
I think this is just a cheap way of 'some people' to show to the public that 'justice has been served'. Oh please... we are sooo far away from justice if this is the closure.
And, by the way, where is that weapon of mass destruction? Has anyone check Saddam's armpits or bushy beard? Maybe he hid it there.

The Laundry Procrastinator

I know, I should be doing my laundry by last week. But, up until now, not only I didn't do any, I keep on adding pile over pile. I don't remember when the last time I did my laundry, but it seems like yesterday, which is actually impossible, unless you life in my world. But in real world, real calendar, I would say over a month ago.
Now, who says that girls are clean?
No, they are not.
They look clean, but not necessarily do.
I look clean, but I have lots and lots of dirty laundry...
For real. Literally.
And instead of start dragging my butt and do it, I choose to sit here and blog.
I'm the ultimate laundry procrastinator.
Now, you might start to think... how do I manage for my under garments?
The answer is: I have plenty of them, you wouldn't believe.
I however should clarify though, that I don't do side A - side B thing.
Ew.
But back to my laundry issue, I buy new clothes to avoid doing laundry, and the new clothes eventually end up in the laundry pile.
The more I buy, the more I pile.
This is a very vicious cycle.
And I don't know how to breakout from it.
(Unless, for the obvious, of course, that I do the laundry).
Sigh... and I think I have bought more than enough clothes. Since, I can see the laundry piling up, and yet, in my closet, the clean ones never seems to decrease.
Like a doraemon magic front pocket.
I'm amazed.

I got a very nice present from my boyfriend for my birthday.
A big giant picture of miniscule me standing in the middle of the woods after a snow storm.
He gave it to me with a nervous look on his face that I might not like it.
But I love it.
More also because I've been thinking about doing the same thing.
He read my mind.
Ah,.. great minds think alike.

I am ... 30

Okay,...
This is it. Point of no return.
I am officially being yanked out from the 'twenty-something' league.
And in the office, people kept on saying "'welcome to the league!" which, sigh..., honestly I responded with a very wide forced grin.
Anyway, I woke up just now, in the middle in the night, thinking: man, I really am not feeling happy about this.

I got an interesting text message from my sister though: Happy birthday, wish you all the best. You are sleeping, aren't you? Hey, is someone going home to Jakarta? I like that Bath and body lotion, my heels are cracking, give me two bottles, OK? Get me some with very nice fragrance. Thanks.
Heh.. as much as I love my sister, I do wonder why she can't talk about her cracked heels any other day.
But... good that she remembers though. It could've been worse. That's what I told myself.
Now, the text message from my bother is like this: Happy birthday, it's from me and your sis in law. Your nephew will sent his birthday wishes tomorrow, when it's the 22nd over there. He's terrified of wishing you birthday now, coz people told him it might shorten your age.
Made me smile, with a thought, shorten my age? It won't make a difference, I'm going downhill from this point anyway.

However, now that I am thirty, I thought, I have to try to make this positive and cheer myself up or I'll look back when I was 40 and regret the fact that I wasn't having fun.
So, I'm going to spend a day in the old 'hood, downtown that is, and have a nice lunch with my boyfriend.

As much as I hate turning 30, I am thankful though, that I am well, and in a good place in life. Good boyfriend, good career (somewhat, sigh...), good family, good friends, good health, financially independent, a little money in the piggy bank, still have hair, no visible grey ones (yet), still fit in the wedding dress (but we'll see after tomorrow), and having a nephew whose afraid of me having short age which is flattering.

Now I have to go back to bed, claim that beauty sleep, because let's face it, there are eye bags that might appear that no 30-year-old can cover even with the best make up.

I spent the day with my boyfriend.
Two more days ... two more days.

I realized I have some beers in the fridge. My boyfriend has given up drinking, so I might as well just start gulping them all and be merry & happy.
Hiccups... hiccups...
Or!!!
I can throw them away since beer = calories.
And calories = fat.
And getting older = slower metabolism.
In other words, the beers = fat butt.
Nice...

Three more days.
I told my boss I'm taking a day off tomorrow and on my birthday to sulk.
He let me took them.

I spent my day on meetings today. I wonder why my boss likes to talk so much. He really really really likes meetings. I think meetings are just political fantasies. Useless. Especially the long ones.
Although, I must say, today's meeting was very tensed and interesting. A coworker vented out on my boss, It got so tensed I thought he was about to choke him.
Prove that respect has to be earn, and can't be demanded, even if he is your damn boss.

I'm out.
I need my beauty sleep.

Okay...
This is the count down to my 3oth Birthday.
FOUR days to my 30th Birthday.
It is scary being old, but it is scarier if when you start to feel old, you also realize, on top of that, that you haven't done much with your life.
That sucks big time. And that's how I feel right now.
What have I been doing these past 10 years? I don't freaking know.
Also, I do notice the lines on my face that weren't there ten years ago.
And I also realize that I don't know what I want.
I always want something else after I get what I was chasing.
The only two things, I think, that I'm content is:
1. My education, because, you can kill me if you want to, but I'm done with school. If I ever want to go back to school. Just shoot me right in the head.
2. My boyfriend, 'nuf said. If someone can handle my tantrums (not to him,... but just accept the fact that I have tantrums about many things in life, namely: the maniac drivers, stupid boss, crazy co-workers, the weather, etc), then we have a winner!!! Because, let's face it, I'm not the most sane person around.

Today I'm still 'twenty something', but in four days, holy cow, oh my gosh, heeeeep...
Grasp...
I'm thirty.
I think this call for a mourning and some really delicious martinis.
Someone please hold my hand!

Grandmas Inc.

It's been a few times already that I came along with my boyfriend to his church on Saturdays.
Honestly, I am not going for the church. I went because I love my boyfriend and I want to support him. Plus, I have the responsibility to poke him when he falls asleep (just kidding, hunny).
So, one by one, people in the church start picking up my name. And I got to know some really nice people. I don't know what's up with that church, but about 90% of them are old people. And by old, I mean 80-90 something year old.

As I come to know them, I find them such sweethearts. Well, I have a soft spot for sweet old grandmas. I just find them so loveable.
Every week, after church they have potluck and we sometimes join them.
Amongst them, there is this one grandma who can't stop talking. Leaving only little chance for others to talk. Oddly enough, one of her stories is that she was a very shy young girl.
Another grandma is very Elizabeth Taylor-ish. She is a freaking ninety-four year old. She has her health, her matching suit and purse, a lovely well-colored bright red hair complete with the also-matching hat. I thought, now that's what I'm gonna look like when I'm 94. And throw in a Porsche while I'm at it.
But one grandma that I really fell in love is the grandma who came to me and gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek thanking me for coming with a dish for the potluck. A very motherly kiss. Not just a peck, but a big hug and a really hearty kiss. I sat there feeling all warm and touched.

I heart grandmas.

And the best part of it, the grandmas have husbands too. Well, not all of them, but some still do. And I look at them sitting together, eating and they still haven't run out of conversations or jokes. They are still enjoying each other's company. Hard to believe, I know, in this wretched, cruel world, where even someone who had a wife like Jenifer Aniston still cheated on her for another woman then called it 'being inspired'.
I thought, man, that's how I want my old days to be. Wrinkly. But not with just with age lines, but with smiles & jokes. Sitting, breaking bread and sharing a cup of orange juice with my guy, whom I poke once in a while in the church to keep awake. And preferably, I want to keep my teeth, but if I can't, then I hope by then I have a great dental plan.

Ally Is Here!

My dear sweet friend from back home reserved me (upon request) the complete series of Ally McBeal. Yes, all seasons. The DVDs were bought by her, then picked up by my parents, then given to my cousin. Then with her, travelled back half way across world to US. Then being forgotten for a couple of weeks, then finally they were sent to me.
So, I just want to say:
...
Happy happy joy joy, happy happy joy!
(Together!)
Happy happy joy joy, happy happy joy!

I'm thankful for this thanksgiving weekend.
It gave me a chance to catch my breath and recharge, as I'm going back to the Gaza Strip tomorrow (aka 'the office').
All this free time has also gives me the chance to put things into perspective. That life is trip, and it's about the journey - not just the destination. (This applied to my other problem areas in life too, because I'm convoluted and troublesome).
And, Carpe Diem! is my new thing, inspired by Samantha in Sex and the City who's always smiling because 'worry face expressions' will leave wrinkles. Now, it is bad enough that at this age (hahaha... I just said 'at this age' as if I'm one-hundred-and-four) I don't have a beauty regime because I don't have the patient & enough will to do it. But to undo worry expressions, I might be able to pull it off.
So, I'll let you know in a few days.

The Real War Crimes

If you can't click to the clip, click here.

This is a short clip of some US soldiers waving a bottle of water to a bunch of thirsty Iraqi children.

There's a lot of things that I want to say about this. But every time I typed down some sentences and I ended erasing them. This appaling, disgusting and inhumane. What arrogant bastards.
In twenty years or so, they'll going to tell people that they had fought for their country and brag about how much they suffered.
Yeah... right.

A cry from a bottom feeder

My deadline is approaching and I almost die out of stress.
I don't like my workplace anymore. Let alone the project, because it is actually the highlight of my daily routine now, even though I'm not done and as the result I'm doing extra hour work on the weekend and evening.
Lame life.
I know.
A person told me, that with jobs, comes the politics. It is a package and you can't avoid it.
But, I sure want to bitch slap everyone in the office who makes our lives (that're already hard as it is for us, the bottom feeders) even harder.
And I have the philosophy not to bring work to home which I always I try to abide. Now, what I meant is not to refuse doing extra work at home, which is fine, because that is part of the responsibility. But to go home with extra baggage about non-work-related issues that had happened in the office.
That I don't like.
But, I guess there's nothing I can do about things that are out of my control.
To add to that, I know some confidential news from my old boss who's now is up and above in his career ladder which will actually be quite disheartening for some of my coworkers, but will benefit me.
Man.. 2007 will be a hell year, because even if this upcoming event benefits me, I'm sure more politics, issues, bickering, and even more politics will come our way. And as if the s*** that had hit the fan is not enough, I'd imagine that cow dungs will also fall from the sky. Complete with the smell.
Sigh...
Tired...

This morning, as always, my tv went off at 7 and I had set it always on E! Entertainment. A channel full of celebrity gossips, useless information like, where Britney grew up, or the struggle that Tyra had when she was an awkward kid who was as tall as a coconut tree.
But this morning, I was thinking. Let's see what's going on the world!
And switched to NBC's Today Show.
Matt Lauer was babbling about something.
Then I went to the bathroom while still listening to it.
And all of a sudden they are talking about.
Tom Cruise.
Now, I thought Tom Cruise would just stick to E! Entertainment Channel.
But, nooo...
It was reported that this weekend he'll get married with Katie. And yesterday, Katie went to a store and bought 4 lingerie items and 2 boxer shorts.
Four lingerie items!
And two boxer shorts!
I can't believe they reported that on the news.
The world has gone mad.
And I thought the headlines has gone berserk when they put headlines like: "TomKat has touched down in Italy" or, "The dress has arrived in the hotel".
But...
Four lingerie items and two boxers I think tops them all.

Soooo...
My mom's had her 60th birthday last Saturday (on the 11th). I called her in her morning time and chatted with her and wish her well. Dimcorner also talked to her and wished her a happy birthday. Aw... so cute, the two of them communicating.
It is kind of sad not be able to be there for her big six zero, but I guess that's how it would go now, wouldn't it?
So as the compensation, since my whole family was going for some sushi for my mom's birthday, I also went for some sushi here with Dimcorner.
So to sushi place we went!
It was raining hard here and it was chilly. If it was not because of my mom's birthday, I would have cancelled the dinner plan, but we went anyway and we binged.



That's my hands holding a couple of pieces of bonito.

I really admire my mom on her 'getting old' issue. She chose to enjoy it rather than sulking on her age.
Way to go mom!!!
And she makes me have no reason to sulk over my upcoming birthday when I'm going to join the big group of 'thirty something".

Ah,.. what is age? Just a number that anyway you can lie about.
Hah.

GO TEAM BRITNEY!

Usually I don't really blog a lot about celebrity gossip unless it really affects my state of mind (or in other words: it pisses me off or tickles me so). But after a few days of holding my giggles back, I just have to laugh out loud, roll on the floor, peeing my pants... hahaha... Britney Spears is getting a divorce.
Sigh...
Man, I'm not laughing at the painful divorce she's gonna have, knowing that K-Fed (or as the media labels him now as Fed-ex) would try to squeeze every single dime that he might be able to get his hands on and make a fool of himself. And now Britney has said that she would give pictures of his children for free which I bet to prevent Fed-ex to sell the babies pictures.
Anyway, I'm laughing at how BLIND can love be. And how damaging blind love is.
Huh. Because, even I, bluecactus, who's not always can smell losers from afar, can tell that pesky Fed-ex was bad news just from glances at the TV.
But I guess every one of us needs to be a fool in love, at least once in a lifetime. And now, Britney, somehow, has gotten mentally slapped and woken up & smelled the coffee. I wonder what kind of slap it was.
I bet now in LA they'll be starting to sell t-shirts, one that said: TEAM BRITNEY, and the other one is TEAM KEVIN.
In that case then, go team Britney!
Kick his a**.!!

Ain't being an adult grand?

You try your best to be an adult. Think like an adult. Act like an adult. Be responsible like an adult. Voice your opinion like an adult.
Because you are. Demographic wise, a twenty-nine-year-old person is an adult.
You are independent, you work to support yourself, then if possible, try to invest. Start thinking about money management, considering the future, a place to purchase, a car to buy, your job security, how many kids you will want to have.
Then you also think about your family, the ones who used to take care of you. Now, the table has turned and you are taking care of them. Might not be financially, but could be emotionally.
You used to think your parents are all that. That they were the best, that you wanted to be like them when you grow up. Now you see that they are mere mortals. With flaws and actual weaknesses, that, in fact, you start to support.
You know, being an adult is almost like eating the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and bad in Eden. Because, once you eat it then you know. And everything afterwards is about consideration. And making the right decisions.
At this particular moment, that John Mayer lyric chimes in in my head "quarter life crisis".
I think, that's what I'm having but four years too late.
Sigh...
having said that, being an adult is great.
Really. I don't want to exchange this with another 10 years of adolesence, the period of life when I thought that I was the ultimate ugly duckling, just trying to fit in a cruel society.

I think I just need a nap.
A long one.
Heck, make that a hibernation phase for a whole winter.
I'm tired.

Is it bad if I start buying new clothes to avoid doing laundry?

I was driving with my coworkers to a client lunch the other day when a male coworker told me that I drove like a man.
That was after I accelerated and passed the yellow light and after I 'only rolled' passed a stop sign instead of completely fully stopped.
I laughed and and jokingly said: hey,... is that a compliment or an insult?
He said while grinning, he's also impatient and has been driving with the same style too.
Then a female coworker who sat in the back jumped in the conversation and said, hey, it is not good to generalize people like that, you know.
I smiled and thinking ironically about how many gender jokes emails I and my other female coworker have been receiving from her.

Don't we all generalize people up to a certain level? Like, men are all sloppy. That car darted like a maniac, the driver must be a man. Women are all bitches. Women don't know how to fix the plumbing. Or, old Asian ladies don't know how to wait in line. Heee... that one is personal experience from back home. Give me a bunch of aunties lining up for something. I don't think I ever saw it worked. Especially for something enticing and free.

Me, I used to think that all men were bastard. Well, you see, I wasn't really all that lucky in relationships, hence the bitterness.
However, I gradually forgot that I thought that men are all bastards. Mainly because I realized that I knew quite a few of she-bastards too, and I then met nice men with good hearts.

Although,... let me tell you a little experience I have. I hate it when I'm driving on the highway and I bumped into a car that is slow... but on the fastest lane. For crying out loud, why does it have to stayed on the fastest lane?
And when I pass those suckers, most of them (if not all) are women. Or old gramps or grandmas.
I know... generalization.
But I guess there is a reason why women drivers' car insurance cost is different than men.
Which one do you think is higher?
Men.
Hah!
You thought it would be women, didn't you?
Well... considering that women drive like turtles having a leisure walk, statistically, the impact of the accident won't be as bad the the guys, whom I mostly saw have been darting and zigzagging left and right on the highway, 100 mph, like he's actually trying to get killed (and bring some people with him along the way).

And statistically, I think, it might be true that most women might not know how to fix a broken plumbing and most men don't know how to cook, but I bet there are wives who are better in fixing plumbing problem than their husbands. And women who don't cook and have chefs as their husbands.
So, having said that and statistics aside, I started to stop generalizing people, especially the heavy allegations like all men are cheaters (or bastards, or assh***,wait... I meant a**hole or many others accusations). And stick with personal remarks like: Andy is a bastard, because he is. Rather than saying all men are bastards.
Hehehe... fair enough?

My dear nephew just got a cellphone.
Nine year old kid with a cellphone.
And, to my surprise, he's not extraordinary for having a cellphone because the school now allow cellphones, although with a very strict set of rules, like no phone while school's in session (which leave them to... what? 15 minutes recess?)
I remember my days when I was nine. The cordless phone hasn't even been invented yet.
And now, my dear nephew starts on sending me text messages to me from Jakarta, which I love because it's really cute, but it also makes me scared how vast the change of childhood experience that he has compared to mine.

It was mortifying enough that when a few years after my high school years, I saw high school girls with make up. Make-freaking-up.
I remember thinking, those kids, minor kids, plug their eyebrows to get the Krisdayanti effect. They butchered their innocence with their make up. But it was nothing, I guess, compared to nine-year-olds with cellphones.

Now, my sweetheart sends me messages almost daily, without fully knowing the concept of our time difference that it might be 2 am my time when he sent it. And he's busy telling me what he's doing (I'm eating doughnut or I'm going for a swim), and asking me questions like when I'm going home (which I answered, when I'm becoming a bride, on which he answered: wow... a bride, how cool!).
And as weird as it might be, I embrace this phenomenon joyously, may I say, a bit of relief.
I always fear that he'd forget me.
First he'd forget my face, then finally totally forget that he has another aunt.
But now, I'm relieved.
That kiddo hasn't forgot about me.
That I exist in his world.
That I matter.
That he misses me.
And that feeling...
it's priceless. Heartmelting. Joyful. And just plain wonderful.

Finally my buddy left for good. I, being a loner, have almost totally lost all of my hangout friends. One more close friend in downtown, then I'm totally out.
For some reasons, though I was (and am) sad, I didn't shed tears, maybe because I have high hopes for him to have a better & greater future back home. So, though I am sad, I am anxious & excited for him too.
I arrived here with only two persons waiting for me, one was my roommate and the other one was him. And now, his journey here ended with me standing by the gate until he disappeared from the crowd. Funny, both took place at some gates in an airport.
Fate does have its satiric little jokes.
People come, people go.
And life goes on.

It finally snowed...
sigh...

My other dog died.
There. The pet chapter has ended.
No more pets for my poor mom as she said to me earlier, there's just too much emotional attachment.
Since my horsey faced dog died, this other dog, who was the spouse of the horsey-faced had been in a quiet gloomy mood. She barely made a noise, barely fussed about anything anymore. She just sat there quietly in the corner.
I guess that's love.
Ain't it grand?
I'd imagine that in pet heaven they meet again and the conversation would be like this:
Horsey-faced: Hey, yo! Whaddup! What the heck are you doing here, girl?
Chubby-bule: Ow, shut up, where the hell have you been? You know I'm blind and can't see, I've been trying to catch a glimpse of your sound, to no avail, tried to sniff a whiff of your smelly ass, but to no success too. Why did you leave me?
Horsey-faced: Cutie pie, had you heard the rhythm of my heartbeat??? I was amazed I survived that long. Now, how come you are here so fast after me?
Chubby-bule: Because life is empty and worthless without being able to sniff your smelly ass.
Then they lick each other's nose and wag their tails.

Sigh... you know... something like that.

And after that I hope they can look down and see me weep and understand how much I miss them and their stinking asses.

I have forced myself into some Mariah Carey, the happy, cheese songs, to uplift my mood.
I've been in this gloomy, shadowy mood these past days, I feel like lord of the dark. I have enough of 'the drugs don't work anymore', enough George Michael (his suicidal mood album - Older) and I have enough of Prayer for the Dying by Seal.

I know why I'm all depressed and in a constant bad mood, partly because I have this suppressed mourning of my dead 110-year-old horsey faced dog, but I think, it also have something to do with many other factors, namely (now, hear my bitch about my world):
Big project at work that's crushing me to death (I know I'd survive this and become a better developer after this, but, heck... I'd be better but black and blue), hyper / ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) boss, annoying co-workers (also hyper and ADD), lack of communication with boyfriend who is busy with his dad's health and mom's... don't know what, best friend going back home for good, and let me just summarize another source of my depression into 3 words: preparation for wedding. I don't even want to go there.
Not to mention the fact that I am almost 30, and I wonder where the heck did the last 10 years go... oh,.. yeah,... right: went to school till I dropped dead and worked my ass off, also till drop dead.

I knoooooooow i know, the glass-half-full people (I used to be one) would advice me to look at the bright side, blah blah blah... but I feel like bitching.
When I was younger, I thought, I'll grow up, move out and be independent.
Well,... I'm here, all grown up, moved out, and independent.
...
...
...
Now what?

I also thought, then I have no curfew, no one can tell me what to do and when to go home...
Now that I can go to the clubs till I literally intoxicated with alcohol and should be brought to the hospital, I am ready to go to bed by 10 pm. Have no desire to go clubbing to see people rubbing against each other (yuck), drinking apple martinis till the world spins and have the worst hangover the next day and have some drunken guy grope my butt or asked my how I am doin'.
Let's face it, my era has passed. The wildest experience I had lately was going to Denny's and order myself some very large greasy, 'cholestrolful', breakfast. Even then, I can't get over how gross it was for the whole day, I was completely bloated.
Sigh...
Okay,... I'm going to bed.
This Mariah has gone 1 octave too high. I just have to shut her out.

p.s. I shut her out and play some Stan Getz. See how old I've become???

My dog died.


People have different ways of expressing goodbyes. Me, I hate it, but like my good bye to Casimoro, I had to find him before I left.
I made sure I walked my coworker to the elevator on her last day.
I went in to the doctor's office when when we decided to put one of my dogs to sleep and watched the doctor jabbed the needle to his heart.
I cried while holding my nephews and brother before going back here.
They were all painful, well, maybe accept the goodbye to Casimoro, although it was still sad.

This dog of mine is ugly, black, short fur, with long and awkward looking legs. He actually looked like a horse instead of a dog. Really really unattractive.
But like all moms, they always love their children and subjectively think that their kids are the best, the cutest, the prettiest. I do too.

But there was no closure between us. I want to be there when he exhaled his last breath. I bet I would've been crying, wailing, shaking, heartbroken, mourning, hyperventilating while holding his paws... If I hadn't passed out. But I'm big at that. That's how I deal.

And now my dog died.
He'll be cremated then my mom will pick up his ashes and they'll go to the sea and spread his ashes away.
And I'm right here, inside my la la land, untouched, in a sterile, perfect, Brady Bunch environment.
And I've been wanting to cry, to wail, to sob but I can't and I don't know why.
I feel this grieve inside my chest.
My head is pounding.
My throat is choked.
I can't breathe.
My heart is almost physically in pain.
And inside my head, there is this unstoppable movie clips of my dog. playing over and over and over and over and over and over again.
When he was born, and how I thought, man, this one is ugly.
When he did his daily barking to the postman.
The close ups of his horsey face and horsey legs.

And I can't freaking cry even though I feel empty.
And dark.
And in pain.


Listening to: The drugs Don't Work - The Verve
The drugs didn't work anymore, it just made him worse.

How much crap is too much crap?
How much manner is too polite?
What is politically correct anyway?
Don't you love it if you can just blurted out anything you really want to say?
No need to considerate other people's feeling, or the office policy, or if people would question whether your parents taught you well.
Like when a white guy once yelled at me from his car "Go back to Asia." I wished I was fast enough to yell something back like "No, you go back to Europe!"
Besides.... this land was originally belong to the red Indians anyway.
I am really bummed out today, not a good Sunday at all.

Por favor, when someone never makes a remark about your choices in life, your lifestyle, the way you do your hair, or, the color of your toe nails or for Pete's sake, why you are wearing pink tutus today, please be courteous enough not comment on their choices.
It's rude. And below the belt.
There's a reason why I don't make a remark on people's choices, and that's because I don't appreciate people tell me how I should run my life.

Having said that, every time I encounter this kind of things, there two things that I'm always thankful for the event. One is, I'm thankful that I am exposed of such thing that I understand what to expect or not to expect from that person in the future. Second, I'm thankful that I am not that bitter/critical/superficial/mean-hearted or whatever the trait that was being conveyed.

And the later one makes me think... hey,... I'm not too bad at all... I'm actually a nice person.

The Crackhead

I went in.
Inhaled the nicely scented air.
I walked slowly. Examining.
I was in a state of bliss.
All were pleasantly arranged based on type and color.
I touched.
I tried.
I smelled.
I rubbed.
I get excited.
My heart rate increased.
Then...
I bought
YET ANOTHER LOTION from Bath and Body Works.
You see...
I have a disorder.
The Bath and Body Works Disorder.
I know I have lots and lots of lotions and soaps and body wash, and room fragrances and body splashes, in many different sizes, in jars, tubes and bottles. I put my bottles according to color and the purposes in my cabinet. They give me comfort. I keep some in the office, in the bathroom, on my nightstand and once I had a tube of lotion in my car,... until the winter froze it and the consistency was never the same again after it warmed up.
I have the supply of lotions that will last until I give birth to my first child, and mind you, I haven't even set a wedding date yet.
I've got the BBWD.
Bath and Body Works is just like crack.
Like just now, I opened my cabinet and, gasped, I have a full tube of cherry blossom body wash. AND the moonlight path one too. (Whisper) I don't know when I bought them...
I wonder if anyone is experiencing the same thing.

My friend cancelled going back to Indonesia. Yay!
At the last minute, finally someone saw his potential and hired him.
It's about time.
Although... he'll be going to New York and, still, leave me here in the flat Midwest land with no one to have dimsum party with.
But, it's okay, my cellphone covers national plan, we're only 12 hours apart (by car) and an hour different, time zone wise.
Plus, YANKEES Stadium! Here I come!
A friend in times of happiness is easy to find, a friend in sorrow hard hardly ever exists.
He's the second kind.

I wish him well, all I can say is: Dude, don't go to the ghetto by yourself, and find a nice apartment by the subway with extra space for me to crash.
Peace out... we'll be in touch. After helping me out moving my stuff from place to place,... finally, I need to really get myself some professional movers the next time I change address.

I hate goodbyes, but what can I say? I do the goodbye this time with a smile... how can you not? My best friend can now officially sing: I'm an Alien in New York.

The Bro Who Never Says 'I love you'

"... Dad can't never learn that we are all adults now, can't you see that, Cil?
Just like me, the memory I have in my head when I think of you is just when you were little. So when mom was busy with something, she would put you on the sofa and told me to keep an eye on you so you wouldn't roll and tumble down on the floor... hahaha... really. That's the thing I remember when I think of you.
But now you are all grown up,
and getting married.
It feels surreal..."

A chunk of email from my big brother, who always calls me 'Cil' as in short for 'little'.

Funny he remembers me that way, I remember him playing the role of a big evil giant and chasing me and my friends around when we played in the yard. The person who tied the blanket around me neck as a cape and told me to run around being superman. Then he's made me a sword when I told him I want to be a kungfu master.
He's my saviour when it comes to guys. Put senses into my head. Diverted me from being a whiny, prissy little princess I could have been & told me to kick back the six graders who bullied me at school. He was the one who held me and said it's okay to not be the top three in the class, he was in the bottom three in his class and he was doing fine. He said all sort of politically incorrect advice, but without him, I wouldn't be the person I am to day.

He put the reason behind so many decisions in my life.

He's my hero.

The big angry evil giant in the yard.

I was washing my hands in the restroom when I glanced at the mirror and saw the reflection of my hair.
Black hair, black shiny hair
... and I saw a strand of gray hair there.
At least I thought I saw one.
I tried to look closer but couldn't so I decided that I should grab my hair on that spot and run back to my desk and ask my coworker who was sitting right next to me and also my best friend in the office to look into it, find the darn thing and plug it out.
So with one hand up above my head,... grabbing a small group of hair strands up in the air, while the other hand pushed the door open, I walked out of the ladies room when,... of course,
Yes of course,
the DBA of the company came out of the men's room and saw me holding my hair up in the air.
Nice.
Can't get geekier pose than that.
These things seems like, only happen to me.
So I dropped my hair. Smiled. And said: "Hi, Rob".
And he gentlemanlikely smiled back and said "Hi, Bluecactus."
Then ever so coolly I walked away cursing inside.
Stupid gray hair.

Monologue in Supermarkets

Another friend is leaving me. Leaving the country.
I sank myself in my chair by the wide open window facing the dark blue sky.
Michael Franks.
Light breeze.
Half eaten doughnut.
I should feel at ease. Tonight is, after all, a gorgeous night.
Yet, I'm anxious. I start to fear the prospect of living here.
Friends left, one by one.
Loneliness.
I never thought I would ever fear loneliness. I 99.99% of the time always enjoy some solitude.
But I guess, I'm more afraid of the long term effect on it: wandering in the supermarket talking to myself. Like some people do. My roommate and I have concluded that they had lost their mind because they were lonely, and got nobody to talk to, hence, the monologue.
Sad...

Cold feet I'm not.
I'm just questioning of why there are so many negative notes on marriage. So many warnings and bad jokes about it.
Like someone said to me years ago: There's nothing better that you'll find after marriage about your spouse. Everything will go downhill after that.
Or, men, you can never trust them. You have to be careful.
Or, marriage is a lot of work.
Or, Over the years, your husband will break your heart. Over and over again. You'll see.
In four weddings a funeral, the boy didn't marry the girl even though they lived happily ever after.
Juliet died, Romeo took the poison, then darn it! She's back to life.
Seems like the more I see it, the more I feel like there's always the twist at the end.
Whatever happen to sleeping beauty after she got married to her prince?
We'd never know if she'd get along with the in-laws. If she gained a lot of weight and the prince went for someone younger and slimmer.

I don't doubt my boyfriend, in fact I do believe that he is the one. If there is such thing as the one. But then again everybody who set foot in a church or mosque or temple or marriage court or reception building.... wherever they held the ceremony, most likely have the same belief as I do that the person standing (or kneeling) next to them is the one.
Yet,... Tom divorced Nicole, J-Lo dumped Ben and Nelson Mandela is a widower.
I was told by my boyfriend that he read that the highest percentage of divorce reason falls under: financial problem.
I thought: really? I thought it'll be for something more obvious like infidelity,... or STD (which lead to the suspicion to infidelity anyway). Because that would be the most painful heart aching scenario, I would thought. But, maybe then most people would rather got STD than being poor.

Now, why would I still getting married after all this rambling?
Being a sceptical one once myself, I do wonder.
And I don't have an answer.
But I'll be damn if I don't try, jump down, dive and test the water.
Like the rest of the fools in love.
Because for every commotion like J-Lo and Ben, there's a Charles and Camilla.
Even when the rest of the world glare at them, I don't think they care.
And, they live happily ever after.
Then I shall, live up to the possibility that I will too live happily ever after, with better fashion sense, hairdo and without stealing someone else's husband.

Amen...

Today I went to my boyfriend's sister's house for her birthday party.
She is married to an American guy, and she invited her friends, who mainly are married to American guys.
Actually... to be honest, the only women in the party with Asian dates/spouses are: me and my boyfriend's mom, which made the party interesting actually, because most of the American guys don't speak Indonesian and the ladies were talking in mixed language, Indonesian and English.
I sat there amongst them, strangely feeling deeply intrigued.
I observed the language and tried to dissect the sentences, how much the English was used and how much the Indonesian. Then I tried to think if English only was enough to make the sentences make sense to those who don't speak Indonesian.
Interesting. The guys did seem to understand by the nod here and there.

Although, one of the American men actually lived in Jakarta for almost 10 years. That one guy spoke Indonesian, good one, with slang words, saying "Nggak" instead of "tidak".
Then, I don't know who started first, those American guys started talking about their experience in Indonesia.
Some of the guys have actually been to more places than I am, an Indonesian citizen. one has been to basically everywhere in Indonesia, including the island outside of Java.

He was comparing experience with another guy who's been to Ujung Pandang. He mentioned sitting by the sea shore in pure darkness and just consumed by the little lights of fisherman boat. He bought a boat and went to the sea. He talked about the air, the breeze, the street vendors. How he learned about the different sounds of the passing food vendors and guessed what they were selling.
Took a becak ride and felt so bad for the becak guy. The other guy even offered to take turns to pedal the becak (I kid you not).
How he snorkeled in glass clear Bunaken sea.
How he loves Jakarta, every single section offeres something that is totally different.
Indonesia is muggy, hot, humid, but it is much alive.
It is a very lively place.
They laughed, they talked and they were being very passionate, warm hearted with their memories, just like talking about a hometown. How they bought 'ikat' fabric directly from and old lady whose hand were tainted by natural indigo. Then they visited Jepara and were in awe with the wood works. How one of them learned how to love durian (It took several try), and still couldn't stand jengkol.

The more they talked the more I missed home.
And for the gazillion times, I feel sad about all the things I need to sacrifice to be here.
And there, right there, he said, his home is Indonesia, "That's my kampung".
I just smiled, but think "Dude, ... I feel you, man... I totally know what you mean."
And the homesickness crept in.

Wives and Lovers

Get this:

Day after day,
There are girls at the office,
And men will always be men.
Don't send him off
With your hair still in curlers.
You may not see him again.

For wives should always be lovers, too.
Run to his arms the moment he comes home to you.
He's almost here.

That is a chunk of lyric from 'Wives and Lovers'.
1963.
I wonder really, what's up with that lyric. And that part about men will be men, is very discouraging for someone who is getting married, like... me.
If that is a song coming out today, women will beat the heck out of the composer.

And who is the composer, one might ask.
He is the one and only Burt Bacharach.
Ironic, actually, because I love his music so much, he's like demi-God for me. Don't know him? Well I bet you know these:
The Look of Love
Do you know the way to San Jose
Close to You
Walk on By
I say a Little Prayer
Raindrops keep falling on my head
Alfie (yes, also the soundtrack of that movie about that good for nothing playboy)
and the list goes on.

Another question was, how did his wife treat him after the release of that song?
I, myself, might:
A. Put curlers everytime he's around just to annoy him
B. Give him the spare key so he can open his own door.
C. Put on make up and find another guy
D. Find a job and flirt with other men
E. Divorce him and get half of whatever he is worth
F. Pull that 'girls will be girls' stunt (cat-fight his face off)

I greet my boyfriend without make up, let alone a dress and I also demand a hug (sometimes).

So Burt, you're talented and loaded, but if we're living in the same era and I'm some hot shot big somebody that you have a crush on, I'd still going to have to say no way Jose.

Bye bye Greg

Greg Maddux is leaving Chicago.
Now, first of all... what do I know about baseball anyway? Besides all the rambling from my boyfriend about his frustration on his beloved Chicago Cubs.
I don't consider myself to be a baseball fan, and I might not be writing this right, but one thing I know is that I think Chicago Tribune sucks. For a company that owns and runs a major league baseball team, it should run it as a fan. Rooting for it, bet their lives against it, rather than keep on trading people to get... what? A better deal? It's all back to the money, huh?
Chicago tribune doesn't give a damn whether the club loses or not. All they know is that, sucks or not, the Cubs is a well oiled machine. It's a garden beer, might be the only place where you can drink in broad daylight without anyone judging you.
I'm pissed.
I'm very upset.
I don't even know why I'm upset.
Maybe also because Greg Maddux is one of the coolest, most good looking pitcher I've ever seen.
Sigh...
And the curse continues...
Bring in the goat.

Inked Up?

"... Maybe you can stop by and get inked up. Cool?"

An ex-coworker, emailed me and asked if I want to join her tattoo party.

I don't think I will ever want to get 'inked up'. I used to think I want one, but then my boyfriend said, if I get one, he might get one too. Not sure if he's joking or not, but the thought of my boyfriend get 'inked up' is not necessarily thrilling, I like him tattoo-less.
Besides, there's a needle involved in the process. Not a big fan of poking myself unnecessarily.

I once asked a friend whose boyfriend had several tattoo and one of them was a dragon: " Have you ever think that when he gets old, the dragon might shrink into a worm?"
I really think it was a legitimate question, but she laugh out loud thinking it was a joke.

Well, anyway,... another weekend went by and I, the slave, will have to start again tomorrow.
Sigh, the joy of being an adult.

I remember campus.
Not the one in Chicago.
But the one on the other side of the world.
I had long hair, then I cut it short.
I remember sleepless night before presentations.
I was never a public speaker. I knew what to say, but the silence got in the way. Froze my words.
I remember scheduled Saturday calls, with a high school sweetheart. I sent him letters.
He sent me tapes.
I loved him. But then I grew apart. Adulthood crawled in and shoved me questions after questions.
Doubt after doubt.
Then I stopped loving him. I loved someone else.
I cared, but no longer loved.

I remember feeling guilty. I let him still called me once in a while.
Drunken with alcohol and emotion. Called me names, profanity, breaking appliances, then hung up on me.
I bore it, because I crushed him, and hence, I deserved it.
Then I got heartbroken.
Karma came instantly.
I was tired of deception, arguments, anger, tears and courtship.
I remember I swore off men.
And I went away from it all. Started fresh in a tiny empty apartment with a view to a parking lot.

I started with 2 friends. Both picked me up at the airport.
Six luggages.
I sent my parents home and I didn't cry.
Then I have another friend. And old acquaintance.
He called for old time sake. Then we met up.
I remember going to the lakeside. All I talked was my heart and how it scarred.
He's a good listener. Mainly because, he didn't judge. Didn't take side. He just sat and listened.
Then we all start having weekly fun, me, him and another old friend. We were best friends. We still are.

I remembered ended any form of communication from the past.
I was done mourning.
I also remembered noticing one morning that I was no longer angry. No longer in pain. No longer hating.
I read somewhere a long long time ago: The opposite of love is not hate. It's ignorance.
I no longer hated him.
I just didn't care anymore.

Then one boring day, I randomly chatted with someone.
Amazingly we had something in common.
My high school sweetheart.
Then the mystery was revealed. He wasn't faithful anyway.
Parties and girls.
To think about all the blame I bore myself of that breakup, bore his anger by the phone. All the name callings.
I was angry but relieved. Life is weird, I hadn't even been in any chat room in years but that day.
So he deserved being dump after all.

Then I remember enjoying being single.
Single-hood is awesome. I don't get why some people get nervous being single.
Then almost after a year, I remember a first kiss after the third bottle.
Then dates.
Puzzled on why he didn't sway and swoon me with words.
Amazed by how I could still feel he cared.
That was new for me. I couldn't explain.
I remember ice skating, drowning in the city lights. Picnic by the lake shore. Learning guitar.
I remember feeling loved and most importantly, happy.
I think I know why fate let me had all that heartbreaks.
So I get smarter and smarter when choosing for 'the one'. It is tricky. Sometimes we are blinded by the bling bling from outside, mislead and we overlook the inside.
But not anymore.

I have graduated.
I got an A.
A plus.

Chain of Thoughts

So, Okay, last weekend might be one of the weirdest weekend I've ever had, though, alas, I can't really completely reveal why it was so damn surreal but exiting and tense and interesting.
I, for the first time paid attention to that Hummer commercial. Guess what their motto is.
"Restore your Manhood"
Hahaha... I'm sorry, it feels like Hummer actually implies that it is the ultimate panacea of your manhood problem.
Buy it. Then you're a stud.
Funny enough that I once read somewhere that the more you show off about your car, the bigger problem you have inside. Because the big car, is the compensation of what you are lacking of.
Got it?
Wink.
Do you really want to buy a car that implies that you are trying to "restore your manhood"?
Anyway,... I went to a friend's place and weight myself in the bathroom (because I'm too afraid to buy myself one and get obsessive over it).
And Oh... holy cow...
I AM a cow.
I really need to get some exercise and cut down on dim sum. Seriously. I think that's what killing me the most. Chinese food. Oh how I luuuvvv dim sum. And I don't exercise. Bad. Baaaaad.
The mystery of my shrinking pants was revealed. They didn't shrink. I expanded.
Bloody hell...
Someone promised not to touch alcohol again. Ever. EVER. And I have to respect that and drink all the booze by myself. But what is the fun of drinking by myself? I'll find out.
And lastly, I hurt my right arm and wrist playing too much PS2. My wicked boyfriend played halfway and when it got to the difficult part, he went home and asked me to finish it up. Nice. So I played and played, and got butchered, over and over and over again.
Now I think I have carpal tunnel. It's either that, or I am a hypochondriac, because I also think that I am an obsessive compulsive, anemic and have arthritis.

I forgot how complicated the procedure of dressing up can be.
I went to my boyfriend's friend wedding last Saturday & found it very tedious to dress up.
Maybe this year, that was the only time I used foundation and compact powder.
And I underestimated how long it would take me to dress up and when my boyfriend came, I'm not entirely ready. Psst... I got carried away chatting with a couple of girlfriends.
So the commotion went like this:
Shower (duh!)
Pedicured
Filed finger nails
Dried hair: pulled straight... changed mind,... took out curling iron. Got the bigger roll... didn't work as expected. Get the smaller roll. Waited in vain for 15 minutes... then realized: the switch was off. Switched it on.
Continued with pedicure.
Lotion. Lots and lots of lotion.
Looked for foundation. Scrutinized if there is an expiry date. Nope. Good. Shall I take the chance? Hell yes, there's no time to go to dept store now.
Applied foundation.
Brushed powder.
Defined eyebrows. Then realized I haven't plucked my eyebrows. Nice. Plucked eyebrow. Wondered why that my non-existent eyebrows decided to showed up together when I don't need them to show up.
Eyeshadow session.
Applied cheek blush.
Eyeliner. Held breath. Pray that I wouldn't sneeze when applying.
Mascara.
Lipstick.
Now, back to hair.
Curled, section by section. This was maybe the only time I was kinda annoyed I have so much hair.
Hairspray.
Get dressed.
Boyfriend buzzed from downstairs. Buzzed him in.
Looked for purse. Found purse. It's so small, my wallet didn't make it through.
Asked the classic question: How do I look?
Boyfriend gave the classic answer: Fabulous.
Perfume. not too much. I don't want to kill the crowd. Just enough to let people know I don't stink.
All this activities made break into sweat. My face started shining from it.
Re-applied powder.
Decided to bring the whole make-up pouch.
Grab shoes. Grab purse.
Run out from the apartment.
...
Wishing I was a man and thought of what I could have skipped the whole morning.

Maid of Honor

Before continuing this entry, I should just say, that I just scratched out all my closest male friends.
Anybody who are not willing to wear a dress will not be my maid of honor.
Period.
Plus even if they do, I think I don't want them to.

So, one of the important things I need to consider is who will be my maid of honor?
I asked a coworker for what is common and who hers was. She said: her sister.
Well, I can't ask my sister because I don't think she cares, plus my sister is 7 years older, she won't be the kind who would get giddy, be all peachy about this. She might even ask: Does this mean more work for me?
Yeah... she's the tomboy kind, plus with two kids who are constantly running and jumping around and fighting and screaming and sigh... I don't know what else, I really really don't think she's up for it.
Don't get me wrong, I know she loves me, but she is more like a male than female. NO pun intended. That's fact. I don't think her right side of brain is really working.
And so,... that leaves me my friends.
I have a bunch of friends. Well, little bunch because I'm somewhat an antisocial. But I have really close friends that are as good a sisters. Friends who've been through all the periods of my all of my ex boyfriends (till the current one), the singlehood period, the dating period till the engagement period. People who chanted my boyfriend's name hoping that I would subconsciously fell for him. People who cheered when we finally officially dating, and people who think I have a good catch. And of course, people who (with dial-up connections) logged on for emergency chatting sessions. Yes, you know who you are.
And there is also this one person, whose sincere friendship initiated her gesture to offer her place for me to crash for two months before we moved into a bigger place, lied to some people to save my ass (hah! That's all I'm going to reveal), back me out in practically everything, and despite what she always said that she bugged me and my boyfriend on our dates, she never realizes that when she left, we missed her companionship dearly. You know that cricket sound often times played as the back sound in movies to emphasize quietness? Yeah, imagine that with me and my boyfriend sitting in the sofa looking blankly to each other.
If this 'maid' should be an honorable one, then I have plenty of girlfriends. But if I have to pick one, then she is the one.
That senorita is my good old roommate.
I have asked, and she said yes. Yay!
Now,... roomie, one of us should stay sober at the bachelorette party. I'll wear that bachelorette tiara and veil, but should we do rock paper scissor for the booze? Let's have a series of apple martinis (or pina coladas for you) and dance along the old-skool beat.

Yesterday I went to Chinatown to have yummy dimsum with some old friends.
It was raining and I was late so I ran around in the apartment like crazy and bolted out, slammed the door and headed there as soon as I can.
I headed to the highway and manuvered here and there. I know that when my boyfriend read this, he's going to scold me, but whatever... he can't be that mad to me. By experience so far, I got away with almost anything with him.
I am a quite safe driver (wipe that smile out, hunny),... as long as I am not provoked.
So, I was driving fast,... but safe.
But in the middle of the trip, the highway was suddenly packed. It was pretty bad and I spent my time being stuck there thinking what could have had happened. I bet it was an accident. Well, after a while it was pretty obvious that it was indeed an accident.
BUT! It happened on the other side of the fence. On the traffic going to the other side.
Now... my side of traffic, they are just spectators who apparently just slowing down to... yes, you guess it... to watch the accident.

I have a college super best friend, her house is only about 0.2 miles away from my place and we went to school together daily with her car and driver.
Her driver's name is Marno. Marno is a funny character. He was a man with very fewww words. And his thing was that when an accident happened, he would go to the extend of slowing down - almost a full stop - and even open the window to get a better view. I'd imagine that if traffic permitted he might have changed his lane closer to the accident.

So, everybody on the road yesterday was pulling a Marno. And the traffic could've been faster if people would be more ignorant and just pass by. Wait,... did I just say that?
We'll... you know what I mean. I wish it wasn't anything serious and nobody got hurt,... but people... please hit the gas and just accelerate.
Thank you!
I was starving and the thought of dimsum brought warmth in my heart.
Ah,... dimsum has always been the highlight of many of my Sundays.

Soe Hok Gie

I just accidentially found out like last week that I am related to Soe Hok Gie, that Chinese decendent activist in the '60-ies. My mom's dad and his dad were siblings.
What do you know, eh?
Maybe that 6 degrees of seperation theory is right after all.

Anniversary

Today I'm officially dating my boyfriend for 4 years.
Can you believe that if he didn't make a move, I might still be single by now? Because I thought I was done with men. Men just gave me headache.
Today however, we didn't exchange gifts or dress up and go to a fancy dinner or exchange greetings card,... or letter.
He didn't buy me flowers or sing me a song while I also didn't cook him something special or write him a girly, corny poems (ugh... gosh, no.)
And.. uhm,.. I actually almost forgot. So did he. I thought the anniversary was tomorrow.

But so, we remembered, and went to a casual Thai dinner. He wore one of his ordinary shirt and I was with my flip flop.
And as usual, he was late (for an hour), then later made fun of how I drive, and I told him to buzz off.
We bickered about which CD to put on in the car. He won by the way, but that's because I was 'busy' driving.

It's just another day, but we laughed and we held hands.
And this crazy world makes sense again.

He makes me happy. No headache.
And I'm enjoying the joy ride of my life.

My coworkers called my sneezy (as in... Sneezy the infamous dwarf) and for all fairness I took it with light heart.
See, I am allergic to... something. I don't know what yet. And I sneeze daily, sometimes in marathon, series of sneezes, and my coworkers would shout in choir "bless you" and in between the sneezes, when I manage, I'd say thank you, and/or 'xcuse me.
This is very annoying because I love opening my window and be outdoor but I can see the pollen flying around in the air (yes, so besides pooping ducks in the air, I have to deal with the pollen too). Right now, those pollens are my number one suspect of my newly found misery.
Isn't my life weird, just when all my life I lived in one of the most polluted city in the world, and survived, I settled in this new, clean, full of forest preservation city and I developed a freaking allergy.
I took allergy medicine daily for maybe 3 weeks, then I forgot where I put my medicine and thought to myself, the heck with it. And I bravely faced the outside world, medicine free, only to find that I sneeze in longer marathon and harder volume. My sneezes created echos to the wall. And my skin start to be have reaction too.
Now, I am sneezy and scratchy.
I'm going to the doctor tomorrow.
I need to stop being sneezy even if I will be dopey.

I just have to log on and make a post out of this so I have the date mark of 06/06/06.
Happy Birthday, Damien Omen! You creepy kid.

Casimoro

Today was my last day in the office. The whole team is moving to another building 5 miles away and to a new lord/master/tyrant, or in the IT world is also known as: the client.
I don't have any attachment to my office, although I happened to have a corner desk next to a huge window. Office is just an office and actually I have been at war with my PC with its sad capability and tortoise-esque speed. So I'm pretty happy to move to a better environment with PCs with lightning speed.
I however had a hard time saying goodbye to this one little Mexican guy who's always around cleaning the beverage bar, filling up sugar container, making people's coffee.
He knows everybody's name and everyday you see him, he always smiles and be friendly and asks how people's days are.
I came to him in the afternoon and I told him that this is my last day there. He shook my hand with a concerned expression, with broken English he said " It is nice working with you, buenos Suerte... good luck".
He said "People come and people go, that is work. It is very nice knowing you."
I could feel the sincere warmth in his good bye. I wish I can say something else rather than, "like wise" Because I don't know what to say. I'm never gonna see him again. Should I say: "Oh, don't worry, I'll see you again." Or "I'll be around" Or... "Hey, let's exchange email addresses." I don't think he's internet literate. So that was a firm good bye, unless fate has some wicked twist for me, I don't think our paths will ever cross again.
When parting he shook my hand again, and he said something that I thought was another Spanish word, I said "excuse me?"
"Casimoro. That's my name."
"Oh,..." I smiled, " I always know your name."
Then I said bye and walked away.

Oh gosh,... how I hate good byes.

Most people, if not all, with blue collar occupations are invisible. And the rest of us just never bother to greet them, or acknowledge them, or get to know them. The doormen, the cleaning ladies, the bag ladies, the bus boys of the world.
And Casimoro, he persistently offers friendship to people instead of waiting for friendship to come his way. And I'm so so so so so so so glad he did.
I'm pleased to know him.
I'm touched.
I'm humbled.
It's a privilege.

Que Tenga una vida maravillosa, Casimoro.

I have been noticing this for quite a while now that my windows are facing the direction of O'Hare International Airport. The distance between us is actually 20 something miles away and I can't actually see the airport, but everyday that I sit on this chair (aka my throne) where I do my daily interaction with the outside world through the gate of internet, I can see the planes passing by, slowing down, shifting lower and lower. Then I would just stare and guess where it came from?
Is it from Hawaii?
From Tokyo?
From Rio?
From Rome?
From Vegas?

Then a story contemplated in my head. This plane came from Rio. The people inside it just had the vacation of their life. There, it's sunny and beautiful, the sand is white, the ocean can't be any bluer, coconut trees are everywhere. And none of them has coconut fruit (because it can hit your head and that wouldn't be the vacation of your life anymore). The pina colada there is unsurpassed. People wear sarong and sunglasses. The hotels are gorgeous and the clubs are awesome, they have the best apple martinis.
Then the song "Down in Brazil" played mentally in my head "Down in Brazil, it takes a day to walk a mile, time just stand still..."

Then another plane passed by.
Now this one came from Tokyo, They have the best sushi there, I went there once,... and I went to this one beautiful temple and drank water from the well there. Legend has it that if you drink the water, and make a wish, then your wish will come true.
I made a wish there, but I can't, for the life of me, remember what it was.
I want to go there again and make another wish. This time I'll make a note and put it in my wallet.

Sigh... I crave having a vacation.

Finally the heat has died down this evening and the sky granted us some rain.
I opened up my windows and welcomed the winds to blow in. I pressed my nose against the screen to catch a glimpse of Chicago skyline to no avail. The rain blocked my view.
It's till hot and humid, but it's better than yesterday. I think I'm allergic to my own sweat, and I spent the day yesterday scratching my head.
Anyhow, my day was okay. I forgot that my boss was on vacation and spent the first few hours of my morning wondering where he was.
Is that a sign of getting old or stress?
I hope none of the above. I hope it's just the effect of the long memorial day weekend.
Speaking of getting old, I found a strand of grey hair about 3 weeks ago. I plugged it out and took a good look at it before I threw it out. The base was black, then about an inch or two it went totally white, then it's black again.
It's one confused grey hair.
Again, is that a sign of getting old, or stress?
Now, speaking of stress, I shoot some hoops with my boyfriend yesterday at a nearby park. It was pretty de-stressful. Then I found some swings in the playground next to it.
Guess what I did.
You got it.
I rode the swing.
It was even more relaxing than spa.
There was this kind of de ja vu-ish kind of feeling when I rode it. Something that felt so familiar, the tingling feeling in your stomach, the rush of wind combing through your hair. The beat that's skipped from your heart when you swing down from the highest point. It was very juvenile. My heart was pounding with excitement.
Never underestimate the joy of swing.
Getting older, I notice that I'm more afraid of height then when I was a teenager. Especially then my boyfriend pushed me from behind and I swung harder than Tarzan.

Yesterday, I found my forgotten inner child, thank God I haven't lost it.

Yesterday I was looking for some air filter for my car at Walmart and was going through the list to find my type of car & what type the air filter should be, when all of a sudden, I guy ask me in a raspy scratchy voice "Do you need any help finding anything?"
At first I thought he worked for Walmart, but, no worker at Walmart would wear jeans to work and have no name tag, don't you think?
So, the bitch inside of me starting to react and I just said "I'll find it." without even looked at him and just kept on staring at the list.
Then he said okay and left, which then lead to me feeling bad for being 'not nice'.
But after 2-3 minutes later he showed up again and I was still there with the list and he asked again "Are you sure you don't need any help with that?"
Now, okay...
FIRST OF ALL!!! I said I'll find it and that should leave to a conclusion that I don't need any help, even though after minutes later I was still not done with the list.
SECONDLY!!! And this is kind of personal, but, I don't like being asked again and again whether I need help with something because I am not some bimbo who thinks that buffaloes have wings and mistakes tuna for chicken. Do I look stupid or what? It's air filter list, not rocket science.
And If I don't find it then I will ask someone who officially work for Walmart with blue apron with slogan "HOW CAN I HELP YOU?" who's not creepy looking.
So, I looked at him straight in the eyes, paused for a second to make sure that this time he heard it and said... "No."
He smiled and shrugged and tilted his head to the side and said "Okay", like it is natural to go to a store and insist people to take his help.
CREEEEPY!
The eastern culture inside of me said that I have to be nice to people, but sometimes when you are nice to people, the creepy strangers would just work their way into a conversation or something and man, I'm just not up for that.
And I am a nice person, believe it or not. Just don't press my button, that's how my roommate describe it.

Then later on I told my boyfriend about the creep and he said "do you wear this shirt when you went to Walmart?"
"Yes."
He smiled and said only one sentence "Then, that's why he was so into making conversation with you."

I wore a low cut tank top.

Sigh... the different perspectives of male and female.

I am nervous about my wedding. Very very nervous.
Not cold feet about it, but more like, nervous about all the things that I actually need to take care of, and haven't yet.
And as if, one wedding is not enough, I might have two receptions and two different church ceremonies. My mom wants to invite 1000 people and I'm fighting for 500 people.
Still fighting. It ain't over till it's over.
And I don't want the conventional kind of wedding where you stand for hours greeting people that you hardly know and after 3 hours, your feet are sore and your hand smells like grilled mutton.
I want to sit.
And eat.
And listen to the music.
And be able to talk with my groom, and not being under the hot spotlight.
I want a small wedding. The smaller the better. What matters to me is the people I know. And the flowers. And the music, and the food. But not the quantity of how many people I manage to invite.
If it is up to me, then I bet we'd just elope to Vegas, take a lot of pictures as proof, then go straight to the honeymoon.
Then we'll just post an ad in the local newspaper saying:

We did it!
BlueCactus and Dimcorner have eloped!
Don't bother calling us to congratulate, because right now we are sunbathing in the Caribbean.

Ah.... that would be perrrrrfect. Very tempting. Because honestly, I don't care what people think.
But, being a good daughter that I am (wink), I care about my parents' feeling.
And because of that, I have to wake up now and go back to reality and plan the two receptions and the two church ceremonies (which leads to two dresses, and many other twos).

I fell asleep earlier today & woke up in panic when I saw the bedside clock said 8:07, and I thought I missed worked.
But, after consciousness sank in, I realized that it is 8:07 PM. Not AM.
Sigh... yeah, that's what happens when you being a lazy ass on Sunday.
It's funny now that I think about it. The first thing that came to mind was: I need to call in and tell someone that I'm going to be late. Now, what the best excuse for me being late?
Hmmmppfff... excuse... excuse...

But you know, today is not too bad since I went to this pottery painting place. I just have to find a hobby... that's what I thought to myself, before I become challange-less, drive-less, shower-less couch potato.
It turned out that I had so much fun there. I thought I have fulfilled the purpose of Sunday, which is to think nothing of work and throw away money for nothing really important. Like the pottery that I painted, which was a cereal bowl.
And I don't eat cereal.

Speaking of throwing money away, isn't it funny that when you walk in a store determined to buy something, most likely you won't find what you're looking for? And when you just walk to a mall with no expectations, you walk out with something that wasn't in your agenda... like a dark pink strapless dress that's on sale, the last one in the store, and in your size. AND when you tried it on 'just for the heck of it' you stare in the mirror thinking, "this freaking dress was made especially for me." "This dress looks fabulous on me. NO! I look fabulous in this dress" "Crap! Now I have to buy it. Now... let's think... where can I wear this dress to?" "Argh, doesn't matter, ... I'll think of an occasion to wear this dress to".

I guess, each one of us have what they call suppressed memories. The memories that we choose not to remember and bury deep down our subconscious mind.
I think that's what I thought happen to the memory of me putting my dog to sleep. My dog's name was Panda. No, it's not a panda, it's a dog named Panda.
And he grew older we called him grandpa instead.
So, there I was, watching Grey's Anatomy when Grey had to put the dog to sleep. And that dog just looked like Grandpa. And the vet injected it with the drug to stop its heart. Just like my vet did to Grandpa.
I was staring at it and all of a sudden, memories came rushing and flashing before my eyes.
I was crying in the doctor's office. My dad held me. Grandpa was lying with a big fat needle stuck right into his heart. And I could see it moving with the rhythm of his breathing until it finally stopped.
And I carried the body home in a box. And I couldn't stop crying for the rest of the day.
Then, I tried to move on & buried the horrid memory of the visit to the vet, until today.
He was a good dog. Grandpa. He liked mango and stir fry vegetables, believe it or not. He had pink nose and curled up tail. He was handsome, and I think, I should think of him more. Not the sick part, but the happy part.
I hate corny things, but I have to say, that every time my dog died, I grow a hole in my heart, with the shaped of it. And, as time goes by, I found that the pain was just ignored, but never really disappeared. Just like I found out today.
I looked at my blog and thought of how it is so full of memoirs of my dead dogs.
Like a memorial site or something. But they are my darlings. I told my boyfriend just now, that I have decided to not have dogs anymore. For the rest of my life. I don't know if I'm going to stick by it, but I can't go to the vet with a scenario like that again. Ever. And I won't let my boyfriend have the same experience.
And now, I still have two more at home in Jakarta. Two 104-year-old dogs.
If they are human, guess how high their insurance rate is?
Yeah... exactly my thought.

Dave Spritz: The first time I was struck with something, a chicken breast from Kenny Rogers. I was standing next to a garbage pail. I thought it might've been an accident, that they were throwing it out. The second time, it hit me square on the chin, a soft taco. Then, pop. A falafel. McNuggets. Always fast food. Fast food. Shit people would rather throw out than finish. It's easy. It tastes all right, but it doesn't really provide you any nourishment
[pause]

Dave Spritz: I'm fast food.

-The Weather Man-

I found this line very funny. But... should I say that when I am working for a fast food company?

The Constant Gardener

I watched the Constant Gardener last week and to my surprise, it was a very inspiring movie. There was, however, no entertainment value. There is no Hollywood ending whatsoever, it's not a feel good movie, you will feel like crap, depressed and sad altogether afterwards. And if you are Angelina Jolie, maybe you will start adopting more children from Africa.
Every time I watch a movie that arises the issues in Africa, I always feel depressed, and ashamed of all the petty little complaints I have about life. There are just so many things to be done there, and yet, there is no oil, or other kind of beneficial resources for the super power countries worth fighting for and interfering to. Let alone the reason of humanity.
And there I was, sitting in front of my TV. Depressed and sad, and I looked at the clock, oh... 9 PM, Grey's Anatomy will start in no time.
And life goes on.
People see the movie, got the message, feel touched by it, but then... what to do?
So there we are, me and the rest of the world, in our little bubbled world, and the Africans with their poverty, hunger, health and welfare issues, living in parallel and uncrossed paths.

As Urban As You Can Get

Quoting my boyfriend about Naperville, IL: "This is as urban as you can get in the suburb." We went there and spent our evening just walking on the riverside & downtown & taking pictures.

We saw the Budwiser's horse (I don't know why this is such a big deal, but moving on...) and I touched the horse while my boyfriend took a picture. I was smiling but my mind was thinking, please, horsey, please... please don't pee or poop while I'm just inches away from you.

It's a big beautiful horse. I love seeing animals that are well kept & healthy. The horse looked like it has enough food, enough bath, enough tender love and care. It brings warmth to my heart.
I heart animals, with the exception of bugs and reptiles.

Downtown Craving

I don't know why all of a sudden I missed downtown so much. I was walking on the parking lot. It was past 6 PM and all my work was done. Today was a beautiful day, a bit cool, but still in a comfortable range. The sun was still shining, the sky was blue. It was a perfect afternoon.
I got into my car, opened the windows turned on the radio, and I sat there. For a few minutes, just trying to empty my mind and get settled.

Then I thought, how perfect it would be, if I live in downtown. I could go home, wear my gym shoes and just walk a few block to the beach. Not to do some workout (gee, no), but just to get some fresh air and shake off my work stress of my system.
I remember that I and my boyfriend planned to wait for the summer then rent some bikes and bike on the lake shore. But now that I moved here, I don't think we're going to drive for 25 miles, then try to find parking for another 30-60 minutes, walk to Navy pier, then rent a bike. Yeah, ain't going to happen.

My life is funny, when I lived in downtown, I lived in a budget and hence, couldn't get out more and lavishly 'enjoy life'. Classic story of a student/fresh graduate. And now, I have my income, but my form of recreation is going to a forest preserve and take some pictures. Or to the zoo and get really excited to see a lion.
I really really R E A L L Y miss downtown, honestly sometimes it hurts when I drove down there, just passing by the streets that I used to walk along with my friends, the stores that I used to visit or the crappy chinese restaurant which the lady owner was very fond of my roommate.
Having memories can be a bitch sometimes, but then again, this comes from me, a person who doesn't like being all sentimental or, maybe I should say, doesn't like to appear sentimental.

So, a few weeks ago, I went to the pancake house near my old apartment, and guess where we got the parking spot? Right on the side of the apartment building. That apartment is the nicest amongst all of the other apartment I've been in Chicago. Usually, I refused to think much of it, like I said,... it hurts.
But that day, I was just all eyes and ears. I found out that the little french bistro across the street was out of business. Well, I wasn't really 'wow-ed' when eating there, but it was kind of sad to see something that was part of your life start changing. Like you part ways with your closest friends and 5 years later, they already have kids or move to Europe or has become the big shot director of a huge company, and you just wonder, what happened in between? Then you start to wonder how much you guys have missed?
So anyway, I managed to brace my heart and I went into the apartment, I just had to see who's the doorman that day. And there he was, Roland, the big guy with the big smile. He paused for a second when he saw me, then he rushed towards me and gave me a great bear hug.
Roland is a very nice man. It is just impossible dislike him.

I really miss being just one block away from bars and clubs. Not that I went a lot, but the spirit of it, the beat, the honking, the siren, all the noises, made you feel like you were a part of the fiesta.

I really want to go back to the city.
Though I know, that my 'downtown' era has passed. It's really over.
Like the finale of 'Friends' where Monica moved to the suburb. I bet she felt crappy.
Just like I felt.
Sigh...
Enough drama. I need to move on.

Should I join the rally?

I'm not the kind of person who pays attention to the news or politics, but I can't help but feeling intrigue by the Immigrant Rights issue that divide the Nation lately.
I listened to a girl on the radio about a week or two ago, ranting about immigrants.
She said "I'm not racist, but I really don't like it when I go to a certain area all the store signs are in Spanish. I mean, if they want to be in America, well then, speak English."
You see, all my life, I have been an immigrant. Or maybe I should say, the descendant of immigrants. I lived in Indonesia as a Chinese. I was a second class citizen. Then I moved to the US, and I'm still an immigrant. If I move to China, I can't assimilate with the native people anymore. Even there, I bet I will still be considered as an immigrant, I can't speak mandarin. See my problem? Seems like there is no 'home' for me in this world.
So, when I heard that girl on the radio, trying to justify her point of view by prefix-ing her remark the the words: "I'm not a racist" All I can think of was: Big fat liar. If she doesn't care about the race, why should she care about the signs? Why does she so bothered by them? I don't. Signs are just a miniscule problem here.

I saw Carlos Mencia today on TV. I love his stupid jokes. This time he invited an red-Indian guy to the show. And that Red Indian guy said that his colony was here first. Everybody else after them are immigrants.
In his version, everybody in America is a wetback.
I like that point of view. In fact, I've been thinking the same way. All this fuss about immigrants from the people whose anchestors originally were immigrants, it's just funny.
I know, that America does have a problem with illegal immigrants, but there should be a way out rather can prosecuting the diligent, hard-working people, who work for minimum wage, trying to have a better life for himself, his wife and kids.

So, I, the ultimate immigrant, hope that the STUPID bill will never be passed.
There I said it. I choose my side. And those who don't agree, feel free to talk back.

Okay,...
Enough with the short hair.
I'm growing it back. So I can do that good old trick of making a bun using a pencil that almost everybody went ooooh and aaaah about.
It might take me years, though.
And by that time I might already change my mind for the gazillion time about my hairdo.

Man, I'm so bored I even mopped the floor today.

I slept.
I woke up.
I looked out to the window.
I saw how gloomy the day will be.
I decided to go back to bed.

I'm signing off.

This is going to be another wasteful Sunday, I'm sure.

I need a hobby.

Huffing and Puffing

I just talked on the phone to one of my best friends. One topic lead to another, then we talked about smoking and that somebody's aunt died not too long ago of lung cancer. She wasn't a smoker. Ever.
She was a second-hand smoker.
See, here is the thing. I don't care if people smoke. You can smoke all day, huff and puff all you want, I don't care.
And I don't care if the person is a female, or male, or under 21, or old, or cute, or whatever. His/her lung is his/her own business. He can burn it, drown it or donate it for all I care.
But I mind if I have to share air with the smokers while they are polluting it with their cigarettes / cigars.
That's just gross.
For me having to inhale that intoxicating air & risk my lung is unacceptable. My laziness for not working out or watcing out my diet is bad enough without me having to worry about my lungs.

My dad was an ex-smoker, my brother was an ex-smoker, my boyfriend was an ex-smoker, and I'm glad they quit, especially my dad who had been smoking for about 30 years. I bet it was hard as heck for him to quit, but he did. He's a living proof that it can be done. I'm very proud of him.
I never really appreciate his quiting smoking until I was old enough and informed enough how severe the damage can be, not only to him but potentially to the people surrounding him, like my mom or me or God forbid, my precious nephews.
And for that I thank him.
So, rather than buying cigarettes, donate it, or buy some new underwear. Imagine how many underwear you can buy in a year from the fund you allocate to buy cigarettes. You will never have to do underwear laundry ever again. Just toss it out after you wear it.
Oh, I know, buy an air purifier, I bet the smell sticks everywhere.
Bottom line, don't wait till it's too late. That's all I learnt today.
I bet it's hard. But I also bet it worth it.

*Dedicated to someone who is really close to my heart and to some others' hearts, who are also close to my heart*
(Got it?)

Flying poop

Holy Cow.
Today when walking at the parking lot, I saw a couple of duck flying and quacking and one of them just pooped right up in the air. Big poops just flung down to a car and I ran to the side, trying to avoid their path so they didn't pass my head.
Crazy psychopath duck!
With poop that big, it's a crime to fly.
Lesson learnt: Never trust anything flying. Not even a cute harmless-looking duck. Their poop is 10 times bigger than the birds'.
If the italians say it's good luck being pooped by a bird, imagine how lucky you'd be when the duck poop lands on your head.

My Side Job

Brace yourself.
I'm going to reveal my other secret occupations.
I
am
a
Tarot
reader.
...
Don't laugh, I'm freaking serious. I've been doing this for years. My cards was brought from Netherlands, it's a french Tarot.
Am I good at it?
Mmmaaaayybeeee.
Maybe not.
But who cares? Because I'm signing off. I have faith in it. I believe in it and put effort in learning it. My mom is a great fortune teller. She has talent that I will never have, not in a million years. But I don't want to be a Tarot reader anymore.
Because some people just abuse my free time.
I just told my roommate the other day, some friends just take it for granted. All they look forward when meeting me is for sessions over sessions of tarot reading. Honestly, I think, they don't need my cards.
They'll do just fine.
The right man will come, the right job will fall on their path, the right decisions will be made, the business will do well, the year is going to be great. Because the future holds thousands of possibilities. They don't need my cards just to ask if the cute guy they just met is 'da one'.
And if you happen to fall for a jerk. You don't need my card to tell you that you deserve to find someone better. My cards are just the explicit affirmation of their subconsciousness. Something that they already have in the back of their mind. They just need a push to kick the jerk in the ... (you know what), leave him on the curb and start living their lives. (Am I being too hard?)
I try to live with uncertainty. It's hard, when you know that you might find an answer from the 'third drawer from the top' (there's where I keep my cards). Or from your mom, who practically owns a mental crystal ball. I do ask questions, but I barely do. Only in dire emergency.
I was 'fortune-told' too much during my adolescent time. Believe me, knowing less is better than more, especially when we are talking about the future. The element of surprise brings color to your life. Don't you think?
I almost never shuffle for myself. I did. But almost never. Only for problems I can't control, like if my job is in jeopardy, because if yes, then I might want to start hustling for another job or be prepared to go back home.

So, I'll tell them, I'm converting to be a the ultimate solitaire champion.
Or a mud wrestler... nah, just kidding. Obviously, for a potential obsessive-compulsive like me, that's just gross.

Earth day

I bet you know that 'Mercy Mercy Me' by Marvin Gaye is a song about ecology and how mankind abuse it. Well, every time I hear the song, there's a part of it that reminds me of the all the sushi I ate, all the pollution I've sucked in and the land being commercialized for the new, the better, the bigger, the higher highrises.

I'm not the green-peace kind of person, but I do love nature and its habitat.

It is so sad to see the earth is going down being abused by mankind.
So, to honor Earth day, when Scarlett was ever so dirty yesterday, I didn't go to the car wash place & bathe her.
Besides, I've always been trying not to use air conditioning as much as I can, or let the water runs when I brush my teeth. And thanks to my boyfriend, I recycle paper waste now.

I'm kinda a pessimist at times, and i know that my contribution might be meaningless at all compared to all the damage done at the same time. But, heck, that's something I think I can do. And that makes me feel slightly better.

"...
Where did all the blue skies go?
Poison is the wind that blows from the north and south and east
Woo mercy, mercy me, mercy father
Ah things ain't what they used to be, no no
Oil wasted on the ocean and upon our seas, fish full of mercury
Ah oh mercy, mercy me
...
Radiation under ground and in the sky
Animals and birds who live nearby are dying
...
What about this overcrowded land
How much more abuse from man can she stand?
..."

A gal pal is on the search

It hit me today, that I no longer has girlfriend bonding to any females, except for my coworkers (doesn't count) and my mom (also doesn't count).
My roommate moved a year ago back to the other side of the world. I moved out from my 'hood and my friends.
And now, I have no girlfriends.
I mean, I have girlfriends, but not the one that I can physically meet up easily for Sunday brunch or something.
And now, I haven't called my boyfriend since afternoon, I don't know where he is, I think his cellphone is dead and he told me that he's going to be out but I think his business is not done yet.
Then, it dawn to me, that my boyfriend has been bearing the double duty as my galpal.
Although, I don't exactly push him to go into Victoria Secret spent hours there.

And besides, I think sometimes I got the feeling that he doesn't really 'get it' when I talked about some issues, like my bitching out about how my day went, or when I was being PMSy and sensitive and cranky. But he does try to fill that role.
But now I'm wondering if I'm pushing my luck too far.
And if he has too much of me.

I guess I'll never know, because he would say no. And I would always wonder if that's the truth.

Ideally, I should find some girlfriends. And I should run an ad, just like those people in craigslist.org.
And when I manage to stir the courage to do so, I imagine the ad should say something like this:
Looking for a gal pal, who's witty, bitchy, spunky. Doesn't like boy bands. Likes to eat out and doesn't count calories on everything. Non smoker, loves autumn and animals. A good listener, a good debater and opinionated, in a good way.
Only need a liiiiittle time to dress up, take a shower and put on the make up.
Likes watching TV. Have good knowledge on pop culture. Must dislike Bush.
Not a fashion victim, and most importantly can distinguish the stupid chick-flicks and the high quality ones.
P.S. Doesn't have Damsel in distress syndrome. Superwoman syndrome is higly welcomed.

How about that?

Tom Attack Reloaded

Eeeeeeng...
Man!
Apparently, if your life is touched by television, internet, radio and or newspapers, I BETCHA by now you already know that the Tom & Katie's baby was born yesterday.
It was allll over the news. I really can feel the deja vu attack back in the time when they first got together and did the same damage to my couch-potato time.
Sigh... anyway, I'm sticking with home and garden channel for a few days before I dare to move back to E entertainment.
I mean, who cares if Katie is having a 'silent birth'? Or if that very same day at the very same hospital, Brooke Shields (Tom's rivalry when it comes down to anti-depressant drugs) also delivered her baby.
See?
Do you see that?
I don't want to know about this, and yet, sadly, I do.
Why?
Because I've been shoved all this information from everywhere.
Is it really a rating booster?
Does people really want to know what the baby's name means in Hebrew?
Anyway... I need another hobby besides watching TV.
Knitting?
Bingo?
Any ideas?