Novice Runner... I Mean, Jogger.

The past month has been super duper boring at work.
And I'm still at the same place. Static and bored. I'm thankful for my job though. It could be worse.
But you know what, I signed up for a 5k run and I ran on Thanksgiving morning with my husband and my best friend, Kim.
It was a cold and gloomy morning, about 35 F - 40 F and I came with layered clothing (a long sleeves shirt, a hoodie sweater, a wind breaker jacket). And I put on a hat with ear flaps (thanks Roomie for that hat you gave my husband like 8 years ago.), and I had 2 layered pants.
When I got there I saw a bald guy with shorts, sleeveless shirt and no hat.
I was like... what the hhh...???
And he's not the only one.
There were about 4 thousands people joining this 5 k run. Young kids, moms with strollers, serious runners, teenagers people with their pets and newbies (like me!).
Let me tell you something. I am nowhere to be called a runner. According to my husband, I did not run, I 'jog' (rolling eyes).
I am not fast enough to claim that I 'run'. I finished the 5 k in 43 minutes and 26 seconds. I was person number 2500 something from the 4000 people. And I think the rest of them weren't even trying, while I huffed and puffed to the finish line.
Let me tell you a sort of different kind of participants who passed me by: Teenager girls whom I had been trying to pass for 10 minutes. They ran passed me by, giggly and effortlessly, when they saw a free donuts stand ahead. People with their pets. Eight to nine year old kids. A mom with a twin stroller (I kid you not).
But it was fun, and actually addicting. I think I like this running (jogging) thing.
It's too cold and slippery to run in the snow, but who knows... maybe one day, I will actually run a marathon.
Hm,.. maybe in 2020.

Rant

Today, I learned that a coworker who was just joined the team last year, whom I interviewed, got a raise.
On his yearly performance review a few weeks ago, my back boneless boss told him that there are no raises this year for anyone.
Ever since, the performance review, he nagged the heck out of my boss.
And so today, he got a raise.
I didn't know that nagging works. And I didn't know that raises is based on the level of nagging that you need to do to your boss. I thought it was based on your freaking performance.
Silly me.

Silly BlueCactus.

I went home feeling disgusted by my boss. Michael from 'The Office' might be comical, but having a boss like that in real life makes you hate yourself for hanging around and do nothing about your career.

I really feel like s***. And I am furious that I am letting this happen.
No, not the raise that my coworker got. That I don't care. But that I'm letting a crappy job holds the advancement my career. That I'm not fighting for my rights. That I hold on to this job which should have paid me thousands more bucks per year.

Basically for losing the gumption that I once had in life.

So I went home, put on my running shoes and I ran. I ran outside, in the dark, alone, in the cold.
I'm seriously considering running for the marathon.
I'm done sitting around being a couch potato watching Grey's Anatomy reruns.
Stupid TV.
It's just a hindrance and distraction from greater and better things in life.

I know finding a job is tough nowadays, but I'm gonna give it a try. This means I need to study, because in this IT world, an interview means a hard-core session of pop-quiz.
And I'm going to nail it.
Damn it.

Pardon my rant today, guys.

I need an outlet.

Uh Oh...

Today I just agreed to my husband to train for the marathon.
I don't know what I was thinking and if I can do it.
But, I think I'm going to give it a shot.
If Sarah Palin or Oprah or P Diddy or George Bush can do it, chances are... I can too.

Mrs?

BTW, As I was playing around with my blog settings and stuff, I suddenly realized that I put myself as Ms. Blue Cactus, a looongg time ago.
I guess, now that I am a missus and I have to change it.
Huh... the little things in married life that caught my attention...

Wrinkle Cream

In less than 2 months, I will be 34 years old.
Yes, I am approaching my mid thirty era. I found myself feeling disappointed when in some survey I have to choose my age bracket as: between '32 - 40'. And I found myself feeling light and joyful answering a survey where my age bracket is between '26 - 34'.

My mom, she's sixty something. She has all these excruciatingly expensive cream jars lining up on her dresser. Night cream, day cream eye cream, toner, serum, wrinkle cream and many many more.
When I called her last week and the subject of expensive cream came up, I told her that I don't wear any cream. Except one. A $7.00 cream jar that I bought from the drug store. It works for me and so I'm sticking with it.
There was a split second silence followed by an exclaim "Astaga...", which if translated freely in English would basically mean: "Holy cow..."
She has hundreds of dollars worth of cream.
She said, she's using a $650 cream. One tiny jar of cream.
Wow.
She said, buy something more expensive. I said, why? The $7 one works.

I don't wear powder or foundation. My skin is bare except of that transparent cream.

Is using $7 cream considered being cheap?
But also, is using $650 cream considered vain? Maybe I don't understand it just yet. I should wait a few more years and revisit this post. See if I jump and call my mom asking the name of that cream.

I have been watching my eyelids lately. They are the wrinkliest than have ever been. I once told myself, when the time comes, I want to grow old gracefully.
This means no Botox. No collagen injection. No plastic surgery. No nip tuck.
I'm wondering what the category of a $650 jar of cream would be. In the same bucket as Botox & nip tuck?

There has got to be something 'magical' in that little jar. I wonder what. And I guess I will have to buy it to find out.
Or... maybe... not.

Anti-kids? Am I?

I freaked out last week at my husband's church when a little girl, about 5 year old, came out of nowhere and strangled my leg and asked me, "Do you have a baby?"
I guessed she meant do I have any kids.
She completely hung tight to my legs and she leaned on my tummy.

And I just freaked out with this foreign object, uhm, I meant kid, attached to me.
I tried to loosen up her kung fu grip while answering "Uh, no.... no I don't."

She looked at me, puzzled. I guess that's because no one has ever tried to get away from her hug.
While, I thought, well, there's always the first time for everything.
Then I got away.

I hope God does not punish me and make me barren.
I sincerely, humbly, hope.
I just don't know what to do when kids cling to me, expecting me to 'mommy' them. Actually, there's this rejection inside me when they do that.
A female coworker calmed me down when I told her this story. She said that the little girl was a stranger to me, hence my reaction. But if she were my own kid, I would have welcomed her.
Thanks, Irene (my coworker). She would never read this blog, because she doesn't know this blog exists. But that really calmed me down.

It means that I'm not anti-kids.

I'm just not the motherly type of female. Maybe one day, when I have kids, things will change.
But for now, I'm okay and I can live with the label of she-who-freak-out-around-kids. :)

New England Trip

I just had a vacation from New England with my husband and my maid of honor.
Two of my very few best friends in the world.
We flew to Boston then drove around for 6 days visiting a Forest park, National park, mountain, sea shores, peninsula, the Atlantic Ocean, a gay town, modern city, quaint towns and... last but not least: an outlet mall.

We drove the top of the mountain to star gaze, then again to see the sunrise, then we dipped our feet in the Atlantic Ocean, walked to a different island on foot during low tide, I ate seafood (which is rare!), cruised to see the whales, dined outdoor, contemplated on seeing a gay nude show (but decided not to), and... last but not least buying t shirts in almost every place we went just like a true tourist would do.

I love traveling. I have been the traveling energizer bunny this year, I went on three vacations and finally my husband said that he thought we have had enough vacation for this year.

Some interesting things to share on my latest vacation:

I love Boston.

If ever I have the chance to chose between living in Chicago or Boston, I think I would pick Boston. And that says a LOT, considering I love my Chi-town. But Boston was just wonderful and I love the smell of the sea.



The locals in New England have a different accent. The 'R's just seem to disappear. Like saying Baa Ha Ba for Bar Harbor and Hahvahd for Harvard.
It's cute.

We went to this vegetarian restaurant near Harvard and I just love my dish. They have bacon tempeh. It made me re-think about my whole career path because I have always wanted to have my own business. Maybe I should open a restaurant?
Food for thought. No pun intended, hehe....

We also went to Acadia National Park. At night we went up to the top of the mountain. Having always been living in big cities, I have never seen the sky so dark that all the stars shone sooo brightlly. Made me feel so small and appreciative of the beauty of the universe.
My cheeky husband kept on talking about the possibility of a Blair Witch jumping from behind the pine trees on the drive up to the top of the mountain, trying to scare us girls. The pitch dark route was quite creepy without him even saying anything. But looking back, it was drive quite thrilling and fun.
We went up there again in the wee hours in the morning, wanting to catch the sunrise. They say the people who sees the sunrise from that top of the mountain are the the first people who sees the sun in the US, since that Acadia is on the on the very east of US. We went there thinking that we would be the only three people there.
Not.
About 50 more people are already there, ready with their camera and tripods. A bunch of Asian tourists too, going to the very front and block people's view. Heh heh....


Then we went to Provincetown in Cape Cod and went on a cruise to see the whales.
Provincetown is a gay town. The rainbow flags were everywhere. Handsome handsome men walking around, but I think even if I walk buck naked there, no one would even notice.
Or they would and say: Honey, you need to workout and get rid of that 'muffin top'.
I love the town though, I really enjoyed my short time there.
I want to go back there one day, and maybe do another whale watching cruise.
There in Provincetown, I had the best fish dish ever in my life! It was their today special, grilled blue fish.
Oooh.. the fish just melted in your mouth, it was excellent.
Sigh...

Some things I brought back from my vacation were some sea shells, and 4 pounds of fat.
My bag's smelly from the seashells, and my pants are tight.
But it was all worth it.

The Maid Enigma in Jakarta

It is kind of weird that I miss being in Jakarta during the Idl Fitr holiday since I'm not celebrating it. I miss the food especially. I guess that's why. And even though I no longer eat meat, I still reminisce how wonderful the food is during the holiday.

I called my mom last week and found out that her maids were going back to their villages for the holiday and my mom was telling me how hard it is not having not a single maid in the house.
She had to hire another temporary maid for Rp. 100,000/day for two weeks.
Huh, that's quite expensive.
I also saw a lot of Facebook postings by my friends about how they will have to bust their butt off while the maids are not around and how tired they are, bla bla bla.

Well... I don't have a maid here. I cook, clean up, do the laundry, walk the dog, and have a full time job.
My husband helps a great deal, though, so we divide the work pretty evenly, but the point is, I have no maid for the whole year. Period.
And my house chores are not bad. My American friends with kids and full time jobs have even a worse time than me and they are surviving. Yes, it is tough, but they are okay.

I see it's really questionable how much dependency the Jakarta residence has when it comes to maids (and nannies for those who have kids). Think about this: The maid recess period only lasts about 14 - 30 days of the 365 days/year, as oppose, like me, I got no maid for the whole 365 days.

I know how convenient it is having some help around the house. I lived in Jakarta for 23 years and I was very dependent to maids too. I threw my jeans on the floor, the next day it is back in my closet. Clean. I speaketh " I want some oxtail soup," then in a few hours, it's ready.
But here, when I cook, I have to chop my own vegetable, when I stain my white dress, I have to clean it up and wash it up myself. After my dinner, I wash the plates that I used. I clean my own bathroom. In fact, when I went home to Jakarta, I found that it was very uncomfortable for me to ask my mom's maid for something, hahaha... I even tipped them for their trouble before going back here.

Having said that, I have got to mention something funny though. About three weeks ago, on my Facebook wall, I posted that I was excited that my maid of honor is coming to town and that my husband was picking her up.
My cousin in Oregon, misread it and thought that I was excited that my maid is coming and my husband was picking her up.
So, after a long time of absence in communication, she called me, left me an urgent message to call her back. And when I called her back, she so curiously asked how did I manage to have a maid sent here to the US to work for me. She was interested to get one too.

Uhm,... awkward...

It was my maid of honor.... you know... like... hum.. how do you call it,.. bridesmaid when I got married. My best friend. Not a maid.
Then she broke into laughter.

This shows that leaving here does not mean that you are maid resistance.
Some people just love them to death and need them like crack.

Who's that kid?

My dad sent me an email, he said my mom had a dream. She saw a little child, it is not a boy.
And then my dad asked the question: Who is that child.

Oh... I raised my eyebrows when I read it.
When the last time my mom saw a child in a dream my-sister-in-law got knocked up.
Another time,... my sister.
Coincidence? Maybe...
Superstitious? My dad? Most Definitely. (We are talking about a guy who enjoys palmistry)

But I KNOW, that I'm not expecting anything (except some DVDs in the mail). And I am not ready yet, to add a new member to my family (although, this is subject to God's will).
So, I replied back to my dad, I said:
Well, I don't know who that little rascal could be. Not mine. Maybe my sister's? Heh heh heh... just kidding.

Then my dad replied back saying... oh,... a little child can also mean good luck.

Ha.
How smooth he maneuver this topic.

So, I replied: Oh, wonderful then.

Case closed.

What's in A Name?

I thought I knew what I wanted.
I wanted to change my name once I got married.
I always thought that having my husband name is like the combining ourselves together into one family. I even practiced to sign my name with his last name and tried to figure out how I wanted to sign it.
I also knew that changing my last name is a hassle. But I knew that I would want to do it.

My name here in the United States is my first name and my middle name as my last name.
Long story short, that's because of how my full name appears in my birth certificate. So, when I applied for my passport, the doofus who handled my application put my very feminine-obviously-a-girl's-middle-name as the last name. And so when I applied for my US visa, I had to put my middle name as the last name. Just like in the passport.

So, actually right now, I'm without a last name. My last name is my middle name.

My dad once asked if after I got married I'm going to change my name to my last name combined with my husband's last name. You know, just like Hillary Rodham Clinton.
And although I never want to go that route, I didn't tell him. I just said I'm still thinking about it.
But I actually lied.
At that time I was angry at my dad for his blatant attempt to make me do a prenup (failed, by the way). All I wanted to do was to be on my own. Definitely, keeping his last name was not on the top ten my list. Or top two hundreds at that time.

When a coworker asked me a similar question to my dad's, I said, no, I'm going to completely take my future husband's name.
He said, "So, then, you are not a feminist."
I said, "I never was a feminist."

There's this romanticism in my head when I thought about changing my name to my husband's last name. The very long engagement, for four and a half years along with the immigration drama, the wedding dress that was sitting there in my closet, mocking me, made me really long to be a part of him. To be called Mrs. ChicagoDimCorner.
How nice it would sound.

Now, that I am married to him, there's no stopping me. I can change my name. But I no longer feel the compelling need to do so.
If I change my name, people will think that I am a Manadonese.
But... I am a Betawi. I am a proud Betawi. Yes, I am Chinese descendant, but I am a Betawi.
My dad's ancestors landed on East Java then my grandparents moved to Betawi. My mom's ancestors actually landed directly on Betawi land.
My mom and dad lived in Menteng when they dated. One of my grandmas wore the Chinese kebaya outfit on daily basis when she was still alive.
They were true Betawi. They spoke the accent and lingo too.

There's something about adopting my husband's name that makes me think that as if I am turning my back on myself and my family's history.

I still want to be a part of my husband. Very much.
I honestly don't really care much about being a part of his big Menadonese family, as sweet as they can be.
This might sound silly, but adopting my husband's name is more like choosing to be a part of his big family, choosing have the same name as his mom, his dad, his cousins.
But abandoning my parents' name, my brother's name, my nephews' name.

So, I'm standing at this intersection of names: his last name, my last name, combined last name or my feminine middle name as a last name.
And I actually like my middle name as my last name.
It represent me. Just me. Two very feminine names combined into my name. The name that I have been using for the last 9 years.

And that doofus who messed up my passport,... I'm starting to forgive him.
I might even consider stopping calling him a doofus.
Maybe...

I Cut It

I cut my hair finally.
Nine inches of it. Gone.
I'm sending my hair to a foundation who makes wigs for sick people.

I feel liberated...

And content.

It's over

I have to say, I am glad that my wedding reception is over.
And hopefully, sooner than later, strangers would stop asking to see my ring. Or to see my wedding pictures. Or to ask how it is being married. Because, I'm not like most brides after they got married, blushing with happiness glowing through every pore of their skin.
I don't secretly wish that people would ask how it was, so I can tell every details of it and share my pictures, and show them my ring.
I am very territorial about my personal life.

But that was nothing, though... the most dreadful thing is (and somehow, I always get this more from people from back home) that they hope and pray that I would have babies soon. I saw a lot of people wished that on my dad's Facebook. That got me pissed.
To be clear, I do not hate kids. But, there's something unsettling about strangers deciding how soon I will have kids.

My wedding was nice. It could have been great, if I plan it just the way I want it to be. But it was a collaborative, joined, event between two big families in two different cultures (believe me when I said two different cultures, even though both families are Indonesian). So, I just have to humbly thank God that there was no blood bath.

And, again, don't get me wrong, marrying my, now, husband, was great.
The greatest part of the whole day was, of course, when I did my wedding vow and shared that moment with my family and closest dearest friends.
Until I unexpectedly cried.
I hate that crying part. I HATE crying in public. I have some pictures with my ugly crying face that might never see the light of day.
But saying my vow is the whole point of the day for me.
It is big. That promise binds the rest of my future and life. It will affect all of my decisions from now on. Because I promised to love, share and honor someone throughout everything, basically. Stick by him through thick and thin.
Even if he becomes fat (thick) and bald (thin) and grow the eleventh toe. Gross, but yep, if he cannot bend to put any kind of ointment on that growing toe, I will have to do it for him.
...
Let's hope that it won't ever happen.
But, if it does... then I'll be there with the ointment jar.

Uhm,... anyway... the rest of the day was fine.
The governor came. He and my dad apparently were buddies in high school. I was annoyed that my dad invited him and made such a big deal about it (security, RSVP, pictures... sigh). I have pictures of him much more than I care to see. A lot of them. Nothing against the governor, but I never want my wedding day to be a show-off arena for my dad. Oh,.. and he invited the ambassador of Argentine too, whom actually he doesn't know very well and only met for a couple of times.
Yeah, another big shot with whom I have to endure special photo session.
After the wedding people asked my husband (and me) if my dad is also a big shot because he knows 'people'. And I have set the record straight with brutal truth to whoever asked me: Nope, he's just a ordinary person with some acquaintances who apparently got nothing else to do on that day.

But, hey, if I continue all of my complaints, this post should be a book with chapters and footnotes.

So I will stop right here.

I am now married ,with a five diamond ring that is slightly loose. Because your fingers apparently are bigger over there then here. Keep that in mind, people.

And I am GLAD the wedding is done and over with. So I can continue with my life quietly, peacefully and privately.
Wilson, if you read this, my perfect day also include very less meaningless conversation, and less... very less... or maybe no people/social interaction.
Quiet cool summer day, soft bossa music, a hammock, long nap under the shades of the tree in my backyard.
Maybe I will do that this weekend.

Sigh... it's so nice to be back home.

Chapter 2: Good Day - Astrologically

I know... I know...
In Indonesia, they are big with this 'good' day calculation and it is a common thing to do.
Superstition is a big part of our culture.
In fact, if you have an outdoor party, a shaman specialized in taming the rain would be included in the package.... so I heard from a friend. But, I didn't double-check, so I don't know if it is true or not.
Anyway, my dad is big into this kind of thing. Somehow, he thought that he has found the formula for this calculation, based on my chinese zodiac and his chinese zodiac (yes, I kid you not). And he has a list of days that I can choose when would be a good day.
First day that he picked was April 29th.
That's a Thursday.

And at first I thought, they could not find a hotel with vacant weekend, hence the weekday selection.
So, when I realized that this is based on his calculation, I was very annoyed.
Well, he also sent me the calculation but I did not open it.

My problem with picking a day based on the calculation is this: My brother got married on a day that was calculated and picked out 'carefully'.
It did not stop the fact that he was not happy in the marriage.
Another example: My cousin's husband's family picked the day of their wedding based on their astrology. They are also not happy in their marriage.
He has a mistress now, and my cousin is living in hell.

No offense to people who has chosen this path. I am just talking for myself. And keep in mind that my dad is not an actual shaman. He's just a guy with a hobby. And, I cannot sue him for malpractice if he miscalculated.

Most of all , I'm annoyed because: Uhm, hello... please let me and ChicagoDimCorner pick our own wedding day, do you mind? We are both capable of that, you see. There's no need for a third person to make this decision.

So I told my dad, I think it doesn't matter what day I got married, I think it matters to whom I got married.
He was not happy when I said that, but,... there. Take it or leave it.

And so... we are getting married on April 25.
Just, because it is a weekend.
And because that's the date that is still available.
And for me, that would be just perfect.

P.S. I did review the spreadsheet AFTER we picked the date. April 25 2010 is the day of Tiger... whatever that means...

Chapter 1: The Wedding Cake

I don't know if everyone in Indonesia know that the big wedding cake that the bride and groom cut is fake.
Was I the only person who didn't know this?
You see, there were times in the past that I thought that the cake is real. Somehow, in the back of my head, I thought that the cake was constructed, or whatever to make it stand 5, 7, 9 or even 11 tiers without the bottom layers to be mushed down by the upper layers.
Until, a friend of mine, Edi, told me his experience: Noooo, the cake guy will tell you: Potongnya yg sebelah sini aja ya... soalnya yg daerah sisanya itu gabus. Or in translation: Only cut this part because the rest of the cake is made of styrofoam.
What?!
So I told my mom I want the real cake. It's kinda humiliating cutting a syrofoam cake. It's fake.
But my mom said, okay, but it is going to cost us more.
Really?
To have a real cake?
I mean... I don't want it to be made of gold. Just some flour, butter and eggs.

But, yes. It cost us much more.

So, I thought, okay, let's do the fake one.

Then I looked at some of the pictures.
Man.. those cake are huge.
And I mean HUGE.
I wish I have some time to google the cake. You can fit 3 Marilyn Monroe in there, complete with their boas and equipments ready to jump out any time singing whatever you want them to sing.
I also saw a picture of my friend, again, Edi... when he cut it, he cut the cake with a sword.
Yes. A Samurai.
If only my friend Edi wore yellow outfit, he would've been Uma Thurman in Kill Bill.
When my mom mentioned to the banquet people that I don't want huge cake they said: But madame, with our ballroom's high ceiling, the cake would look very very disproportioned.
Okay, fine... let still make it big, but at least let me cut with a knife.

So I informed this to my Wedding Organizer, copying my dad in the email.

Then I got an email back from my dad, how he thinks that it would not look nice if the cake is not big enough.

DARN IT!
First of all, I compromised not having a REAL CAKE for my wedding. The real one will be in the kitchen. Looking small and sad.
Secondly It's made of Styrofoam. I have to cut it on the exact spot because if I cut it from a different angle I will have to cut it with a chainsaw.
Third, it is going to be big. Who are we fooling anyway (except me, in the past) that it is not real? I mean look at the size. No cake can be this big. There's no oven in this world that can bake a thing that BIG. Everyone knows it's fake.
At leasssstttt, eventhough it is big and fake, let it be big in such a way that I can still cut it with a knife.
A knife.
That's all I want.
And my dad had a say in it.
So that was when I replied back to him saying: Dad, let me cut it with a knife. Butt off. (In a different words, of course, but same meaning).

So, on my wedding day, help me Lord if I see the cake as humongous as an elephant. Someone will have hell to pay.

About the Wedding

Wilson posted a comment on my facebook about my spidery-webbed blog the other day. :)
That made me realized that I have not been in here for... 3 months.
Well, I have been crazy busy, stressed out, depressed, angry, stressed out, angry again, frustrated about the wedding preparation.
I seriously almost called it off. Not the marriage, just the wedding reception. The guy, I still want to marry, but the reception preparation made me just want to spite everything and let an Elvis marries us in Vegas.
But, that didn't happened. I marched through it, facing all the obstacles with agony, complain, tears and drama but the bottom line is: I'm facing it.

I found out a lot of eye openers throughout my wedding preparation. And I am going to bare it all.
And I mean ALL. I'm planning to post all of my gripes topic by topic and although I think all of this only apply to me no other single being can 'learn' from my experience, but I am a firm believer that tragedy + time = comedy.
If at least someone can laugh at this... then why not.
So let the chapters begin.