BlueCactus Lost Temper... In The Office

As I try to be a non-nazi team leader, I find it really difficult at times to not yell at some of my team members.
I know... that I am not the most patient person. Patience is certainly a virtue, but not mine.

But, believe it or not, I am very patient in the office.
Very patient....
Darn patient, actually.
And that's because I do believe in positive reinforcement.
Besides, I don't yell. That is just unprofessional.
I believe that any issue can be dealt and addressed in a calm supportive discussion.
Criticism can be thrown out. Constructively.
People do make mistake and it is not the end of the world, as long as it is not swiped under the carpet and a week later I smell something funny.
I have to believe in any of my team member equally. Although, in reality some members excel much more than the others, I have to give the same trust and opportunity to all. I have to believe that each one of them is fully capable to be given any tasks.
I have to give opportunities equally.
Push them equally with the thought of 'I-know-you-have-it-somewhere-in-there' kind of attitude.
Knowledge is to be shared. There's no holding back.
I want to know what each member wants, what they are passionate about, give them a chance to grow. Learn. Sometimes fail, in order to learn some more.

That's my Bluecactus-ism in the office.

But today, I really lost my temper.
Not proud of it.

Because, even though I rant a lot outside the office. In this blog. To CDC, or to my mom.
At work, it's off limit.

I slammed the desk, and I said: Darn it, [a team member name here]!!! when I caught that we have this problem.

There was a silence, my best friend jumped to my desk and held my hands trying to calm me down, and my peer, another team leader was just sit there with raised eyebrows looking at me like I grew fangs.

The person I was so ready to eat alive has gone for the day, but still, I do regret what I did.

I have been thinking about it for the whole evening of how I could have handled things better and not burst into a Hulkette in mere seconds.
And no... I was not PMS-ing.
I have tolerance for mistakes. I do not, however, have tolerance for repeated mistakes,... the same kind of mistake on a very plain, simple and straightforward assignment one has been assigned,.... not for the first time, but maybe for the 100th time.
Now, this I consider as negligence.

I might have 1000 different ways to push someone, to motivate someone. But someone who's not willing to be motivated or grow will be a lost cause of my effort. Because it is not up to me to make someone better if the willingness does not come from within.

I grow to love my team. And I want to be proud of them. But frankly it's easier to be proud to some than to others.

CDC is the total opposite of me. When faced with a problem, he would sleep on it.
I would hesitate and finish it off. Hot headed.
Today, I'm going to adapt his approach and sleep on it.

Tomorrow is a different ball game. I hope,... or I demand to be sedated.

Serial Killer, am I?

For the longest time I have always known that I am a loner. I like to be by myself, I have no problem, for example, having lunch down at the cafeteria and sit by myself while other people from the office were at the next tables. I never have the urge to ask if I can sit with them, or even feel uncomfortable sitting alone. Once the boss of my boss even stopped by and asked me to have lunch at his table with some other people. That's was so nice of him, but I politely declined.

At times, I went out for lunch by myself too. I enjoyed the quietness. Not having to make conversation with anyone is at times a bliss.

I don't like talking on the phone. My philosophy is, state your purpose, then say your good byes.

Also, I would love to have a day at work where I'm not interrupted every 10 minutes and just focus on what I need to do. I have a long list of tasks that I want to accomplish before the end of the day and it would be sweet if at least I can nail, like 90% of it. If only I'm not interrupted all the time.

I don't like small talk, especially with strangers, I pray to God every time I board a plane that my neighbors are either sedated, or too wasted talk, or just plain rude or stuck up, so he/she doesn't feel the need to socialize. Most of the time God answers my prayers, but well, let's face it, he's busy too.

So, one day, my boyfriend forwarded me this link. A link about the introverts, and though I know very well that I am somewhat introvert, I did not know how much I fit into the profile of the right column ( the introvert column).

I think of some people to be boisterous. Nice, but very exhausting to deal with. Now I know that it's just how an introvert perceives an extrovert, according to that article.

But look at what the extroverts think of the introverts:
"One of those who like to read. Moody loners. Be careful not to tick them off; some of them are serial killers."

What?!!
Gosh darn it.

I think of them as boisterous, they think of me as a serial killer.

But well, the good thing about it is that maybe, just maybe, they'll stay away.

One can only hope.

Becaust It's Red

My boyfriend asked, sooo... who are you rooting for the Superbowl tonight.
So I said, what colors are their uniforms?
Well, the Cardinals, red, the Steelers, yellow.
What kind of red? The kind like the sweater I am wearing?
Hee hee... I don't know... he took a glimpse (he was driving).... yeah, I guess.
And what about the yellow, is it like that yellow, that road sign over there?
Yup, I guess so.
Hm,... okay, I'll take the red team. It's a nice color.

And that's, ladies and gentlemen, how I lost. Because I like the color red, and now I owe him a half hour head massage.

Flossing Etiquette

There's a guy in my office who sits about 8-9 feet away from me who flosses his teeth every day in the office.
No. Not in front of the restroom sink in the office.
But at his desk.

Yes. Sitting, or at times actually standing, flossing his teeth.

Even sometimes, walking around. Flossing, while stopping once in a while to chat with people, with his floss rolled around his index finger, touching things, other people's report, blackberry, and stuff. Then without washing his hands, go straight back to his desk, put the floss aside on his desk (for later use), and start typing.

Can you imagine the amount of germs invested on his keyboard? Sometimes he makes this tight high-pitch string-picked noises when pulling his gunk out. It's like playing guitar with his teeth. Totally gross. Think of all of the particles being flicked out from this floss of his.

We joked about his habit behind his back, but over the time it has become more gross than funny. Up to a point that I think it is just a matter of us pulling the straws and the one who gets the shortest straw will have to sit with him and tell him how gross it is to floss in public.
It's unsanitary, it's mannerless, it's rude, it's inhumane, it's disgusting and it's... did I say gross already?

So my friends and I got into this discussion about how weird it is that if someone is being rude, the society tends to let that person be. Because, most of the time, if we, for example, stand up and say something to the person that he's being mannerless or rude, that person will get offended.
I mean, how can that person be offended when we are the one who are trying to say in the first place that we are offended by him? The world has gone mad.

Oh, you know what, he also chews his gum and when he needs to talk to someone, he would take out his gum, stick it on top of his notebook for the longest period of time, and for later consumption.

Yup... you can only find this kind of bizarre behavior in my office.

The Angel of Dogs

On the day of my birthday, nine to ten days ago, on which I turned 32, my dad gave me a figurine of an angel.

It was an angel holding some flowers.

Then he said: I actually wanted to give you the angel holding a dog. You were with mom in that quaint little store in Long Grove picking up bracelets and I had to sneak past you to tell the lady owner which one I wanted. Then they scurried here and there discreetly and shoved me this box, and I did not check the inside.
So I ended up with the angel with the flower instead.
I wanted to give you the dog one because the pose is exactly just how you always hold Bandit. And the dog's tail hanging down just like Bandit's too. It's such a good representation of you and Bandit. You are so good with animals you are like their guardian angel. That figurine is perfect for you.

So, when you have the chance later on, go there and exchange this with the angel holding the dog.
Except,... you really like this one holding some flowers.

So I said, sure, Dad. I'll go there and exchange them.
Thanks, Dad.

To do that, then, last week, I went to Long Grove with CDC (ChicagoDimCorner, that is...) and went to that quaint store again. And I explained to the Lady owner who was very nice, by the way.
I looked for the figurine which he explained to me, the angel carries a dog with a pose just how I carry Bandit, on my right arm with him facing my right or sometimes back. And I found it.
"There it is!" I said to CDC.
I picked it right up, we stared at it in silence.
"But..." I said.

"It's a CAT."

Then CDC started to laugh.

"Are you sure?" He said.

"Yeah, I know what a cat looks like... don't you?"
"And," I said, "Also, she carried the cat on her left side... unlike how I carry Bandit. On the right. Maybe my dad didn't wear his glasses at that time and thought that it's a dog."

CDC said, "Now what? Are you still going to take it?"

"I guess so,... we can pretend that it's a dog. I can draw a black spot on its back to make it looks more like Bandit, " I said.

"Okay...."
"Okay."

So, I exchanged it.

Then we left.

Only to find, this morning, that on the official website of those angel figurines, they do have an angel carrying a dog.
With the exact pose as mine and Bandit.

I looked at it in disbelief.
Cursing inside.
It's ME who needs glasses. I missed that one over there in the store.

I guess I'm going back to Long Grove again, which is a forty freaking miles drive, one way, so that I can have an angel figurine, that my dad wants me to have, and I want to have because my dad wants me to have.

Me,...
The angel of dogs, who, because of some mix-up, currently is the angel of cats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then they were out of sight.

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

I hate airports.

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

Conversing with Bandit

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently No Biggie

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

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

No really, wait a second and stop aging.

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

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

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

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

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

Sweet.

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

Finally Lead

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

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

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

So,... there.

I'm a team lead.

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

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

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

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

Friday

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

Matchbox

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, office life is just peachy.

Naked Cat

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

key people

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

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

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

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

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

A Buddhist in Disguise

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

Religion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Missing umbrella

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

Oh, mom...

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

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

Isn't the internet era swell?

All for a missing umbrella.

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

Yeti

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

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

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

Silent....
(held back giggles).

"Yours? Why?"

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

...

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

Silent...

(Giggle giggle...)

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

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

Happy Father's Day

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

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

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

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

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

I mean, WHAT?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you too.

Never leave home without it

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

Enough said....

:)

Tiny big hole

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm seeing double

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

If you know what I mean.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, I have it

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

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

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

I feel so restless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Wedding Gown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday Afternoon Nap

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

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

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

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

The Dog

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

Oh Holy cow,
I think I'm going to adopt a dog.

The Reasons Why

It is a known fact to people who had stumbled upon my blog before, that I have an air-head boss. Oh, who, by the way, will go on vacation almost for the whole month of December.
Joy, joy.

Why do I hate him so? Well,... when he talks and tries to finish a sentence, most of the time he would get distracted and talk about something else, hence forgot to finish the first sentence.
Meaning, then, forgot why he wanted to talk to you in the first place.
So, a five minute discussion would most likely end up in 20 minutes without valid points, then along the way, other thoughts usually spring and he would remember tasks that he had forgotten to do and assigned you to 'help him with this or that because you're the best person to do it'. Because you're awesome and great.

So, I hate him, basically because of this:
I'm a bottom-line kind of girl. Finish your sentences and be done with the discussion in 5 minutes. I don't want to waste the other 15 minutes of my time listening to him blabbers. The kind of people that talks without a point really gets to me.
Secondly, I'm not his freaking maid. I'm an IT consultant for Nicole Kidman's sake.
Let's talk about what I can do. Technology wise, Oracle wise, PL/SQL wise, Unix wise, how to prevent the issue that we had yesterday, or whatever. But not about how he's swamped with his work, and doesn't have the time to create an organization chart for his administrative /
management meeting and since I'm good at PowerPoint assigns me secretary jobs.
Thirdly, I hate it when he does point number two, there will be lines like: Because you're really good at excel spreadsheet, or, you did wonderfully on that power point for the organization chart. I can't stand manipulative people.

So basically,... that's why. In a nutshell.

Based on the above, the other day, when it was 3 minutes before 5 pm, when we were suppose to go home, he called my next cubicle coworker (who had gone for the day).
I checked the caller id while putting on my coat and my other coworker asked:
"Who's that?"
(Grinning) "The boss"
(Coworker grinned too) "Oh,... aren't you gonna answer that?"
"Of course not. Do you wanna?"
"Oh,.. nooo"
"Let's just go" (Giggle giggle).
She was also leaving, but then she stopped.
"Oh,... wait a minute, what if he can't get a hold of anyone and then call the on-call blackberry? I have the on-call blackberry this week."
"Oh, crap,... quick, forward all your call."
"But to who???"
(Silent...)
"To himself! So when he calls he'll get another call on his call from himself."
(Laugh giggle giggle).
"Is that possible?"
"No silly, let's go, he won't call you. He might already have forgotten why he calls in the first place by now anyway..."
So with that, we went home.

And that is why I need a new job, even though to drag yourself to really look for one is really, really tough.

Thanksgiving Ponder

To eat turkey or not, that's the question.
Having never been really took fancy in turkey anyway, I think I'm going to skip it this year.
My boyfriend with his vegetarian spirits has also sent me a link: 10 reasons not to eat chicken, with links in the web page itself to other articles such as: 10 reasons not to eat pigs, 10 reasons not to eat cows, 10 reasons not to eat tuna, 10 reasons not to eat turkeys and so on.

You got the message.

To tell you the truth, I've been reducing almost like 90% of my meat consumption anyway, after a coworker just violated my ignorance bubble and shoved me a PETA magazine full of horror stories and pictures of how badly they treat the animals. Since then, I'm somewhat vegetarian,... most of the time.
Except for dimsum and when I go to Olive Garden & have some Zuppa Toscana (everyone has their weaknesses, you know).

So, I'm not eating turkey this year. Although, come to think of it, I'm not pardoning a turkey. My boyfriend's family still bought a turkey anyway, and will roast it. There will only be more leftovers this year. A turkey still died (get murdered) for the occasion.
And even if his family did not bought a turkey, a turkey carcass would have still been there. Frozen, in the grocery's freezer. Dead.
But, mentally I will feel better, that I don't partake in that, thanks to the article which has successfully emotionally blackmailed me. See what it said about Turkeys:
"Turkeys are “smart animals with personality and character, and keen awareness of their surroundings, ... are social, playful birds who enjoy the company of others... relish having their feathers stroked and like to chirp, cluck, and gobble along to their favorite tunes."
Shit.
They make a turkey sounds like a human.
Now I can't see turkey the same way again.
Ever.
And I'll have to eat Tofurkey forever.


Everybody knows a turkey some tofu and some mistletoe
Help to make the season bright
Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow
Will find it hard to sleep tonight - The Christmas Song

Nice weather, friend or foe?

The tree at the back of the house has finally gone completely bald. And so does the maple tree by the driveway.
Fall is here.
And it is true what my boyfriend said, which was that the sunlight is different when it's fall or spring. the angle is never really straight down, like when it's summer.
I noticed that today, when I escaped from work during lunch and had a quiet lunch in a Chinese restaurant. The host set me a table by the window (Table for one, I said, holding my breath, because the last time I went there by myself, it seems like it was they were in total confusion how one would want to dine by herself. But today, he just nodded quietly and took me to a nice quiet corner by the window).
It was about noon, but the shadows of the yellow-leafed trees were long, and it was surreal because it's noon, but still nice. I felt like pulling out my laptop and start writing a book, while sipping my Chinese tea. But of course, I don't have my laptop with me and I only have like an hour lunch break and my air-headed boss would soon enough wonder where I am because he needs to assign me more things, his things that he doesn't know how to do. Plus I don't drink tea.
So, I just sat there, waiting for my order to arrive and I saw a squirrel crossing the street and I remember thinking, oh, stupid squirrel, this is why I see many of you, flatten out in the middle of the road. Hurry. Hurry. Blast, you stressed me out in the middle of my zen-like lunch. I held my breath. But then he got to the other side safely (exhale).
Come to think of my nice getaway, I don't know if I should thank God for a nice day, or be concerned that for a mid November we still have a high of 60 Fahrenheit. My boyfriend's sister told us that her shedding tree has a few tiny flowers. Even the trees are confused.
The earth is dying,... or to come for better words, it is having a fever.
I just hope there's a way out of this. I read an article in a newspaper about how to go green. And it is to choose the right leaders. Because, although you use efficient energy, drive a hybrid and recycle, it would make more impact if you have a leader that cares about the environment, since that person can enforce, in a much bigger scale, bills and decisions that would have changed a country.
You know what this means, right?
That until Santa joins the presidential race, you better start building your boat, just in case the Arctic ice melts some more that it has already been.

It has become so apparent that I have no respect left for the knuckle head boss that it is so hard for me to even focus on what he's saying.
My eyes wonder and I'm in autopilot with my noddings and "uh huh".

And what's even more ridiculous, is that either he's so self-centered that he only cares about his own voice anyway or that he's so air headed that he doesn't realize that people don't like him or pay attention to him at all.

Ah,... the things I'm gonna say on the day that I resign....

The Art of Going Back Home

Surreal.
My trip to home has always been like that.
Surreal.
Like in the movies when someone stands still in a crowded place and everyone else is moving, walking so fast like they are all in fast-forward mode.
It's like that. Like I'm watching everything in lightning speed and all of a sudden, it's time for me to go back here.
I promised to visit a friend's grave but failed to do so. I didn't even got the chance to meet Scal.
Sorry, Bro, you'll be on my top list next time. Promise. Scout's honor.
I learned a few things when I got back this time.
One is to tell my mom not to cook. Not to be unappreciative, but there's only such room in my tummy. And I have to tell her BEFORE I even landed... because by then, it'll be too late.
Two, never try to pay attention to the traffic. And Never make sense out of it. Just close your eyes and hope we'll be there in one piece.
Three, the ladies don't wait in line. Not when waiting for a fitting room, not in the ladies room, not when paying in a department store... nowhere. It's a constant battle.
Four, roaches are everywhere. And I mean everywhere. They visit all kind of places, including your own room through the slit between your door and the floor. Bring weapon to kill everywhere you go. I had my dad's big sandal around the house. It worked. I got the job done 90% of the time. Not bad.
Five, The street food. They're really really good. But never watch how the seller prepare it. With bare hands.
Six, Spend time with the nephews, even though that means playing board games (Jumanji & Monopoly) for hours. Spend time with your brother and sister, even though it means visiting her house in a far far away land, and eating porridge in strange places with your brother, just to see how happy they are that you're around.
Seven, Hug them a lot. You don't get to do that after you're back here, sitting in front of your laptop, writing about all this, even though deep down your heart is wrenching and you question your every decision to be so far apart from them. My brother said, everyone has their own fate, and it's my fate to have a better life elsewhere.
I'm just thinking what is a better life anyway if I only get to see the people that matter most to me once every two years, in a three weeks period maximum?

The question remains... yet to be answered.

I'm going home

I have been away from this blog for so long, my laptop didn't even store the web address anymore.
Well,... it is kind of weird for me to be up and about this early on Saturday, but, I have to because,...
I'm going back home to Jakarta.
I'm saying bye-bye to the suckers at work for three weeks and going to sunbathe under the sun on a beach somewhere there.
Not Ancol though, mind you...

I honestly did not feel much excitement, since, I hate flying and the 21 hours in the air is going to be too much for me.
But I'm out of Indonesian spices stock, and my family there has been bursting with joy with the thoughts of being able to spend time with me for three weeks, so I gave in.

I was told the whole family is going to pick me up. Yup,... 12 people will pick me up at the airport. I really really don't see the need for them to do so, but saying "don't bother" might sound kind of unappreciative.
So,... sigh... here I go, bracing myself for the first round of torture, 12 hours and 55 minutes from here to Tokyo.
Oy,...
I just remember, I need to find those sleeping pills.

I know,.. I know... I've got issues.

Later, y'all.

Old Habit Dies Hard

Guess what I found in the ladies room in the Indonesian Consulate in Chicago.
I don't even know what the English word is for this red thing. But, as a person thinking that we are living & soaking in a western culture, this brought a big smile. Like when the first time I found tempe in whole foods market.

P.S. Ah, according to a website I found from Google, this is a...
(drum roll)....
...
...
A dipper.
There we go. A dipper in a dry bathroom full of toilet tissues.

A topic came up about me being home alone without my boyfriend around and the what-ifs on burglars and friends breaking an entry to my house.

Later that day, he came back to the house with a big baseball bat for me to hide under the sofa. I find it funny, yet, serious. If you know what I mean.

So, I practiced beating up an imaginary person with it while he's laughing at me though I don't care.
It was pretty liberating actually.
And now we know, if, knock on wood, some stupid burglar decides to break in, I'll be ready to beat him up to pulp.

Although never really explicitly expressed, I really really appreciate my boyfriend, who knows that I hate doing dishes and has been taking the tasks practically of the time.

And that I hate chopping onions and always offer to help.

And always takes care of the garbage.

Ah, the simple things in life that strangely can make me sure that despite all the money, I have a better life than Britney Spears.

Three Men & Jewelry Headache

Three is the total number of men I've dated.
I remember when I was much much younger, my mom told me to not really be attached to the guy dated. It happened on a palmistry session with an old Chinese man with lots of wrinkle while he was pointing at my palm with a toothpick (mind you, it was a clean one, I made sure of that). He predicted a lot, which I can't recall anymore. However, one of the things I do recall he said is that I am the kind of person who would really devote her feelings to guy she's dating.
And my mom nodded with this expression, as if I shouldn't do that. Like, I shouldn't put all my eggs in one basket. And that I should date more.

But, I find it hard to do. I don't really get easily impressed with men, so I passed on many of them. Also, I don't want to purposely date multiple guys in the same time frame. And I also don't want to date one guy over another just like they are diapers. Wear and toss kind of attitude.
It is funny because she herself didn't date much when she was young. And she's the most faithful person on earth to my dad. Shouldn't she know that I inherited this from herself?

Anyway.

In the spirit of devotion, I just realized something the other day when I was in the office restroom, washing my hands and staring at myself.
I was wearing a pair of earrings that I got from an ex.
I remembered putting it on one morning when my mind was still dormant and I was just auto-piloting through my morning routine.
Now,...

Believe me when I say that I don't have sentimental memories by keeping the exes' gifts / jewelry. And I did ask myself, why on earth still I keep them?
I think I keep them just because they have real monetary value.
I did not even really think of it, until I asked myself, would I want my boyfriend to be wearing a gift from an ex. And immediately realized, I just had to get rid of them.

But, what should I do with them?
Toss them in the garbage?

I'm back

It's really been a while since the last time I blogged.
Oh, how the world...
... stays the same.
I wish I'm bungee jumping somewhere exotic or sailing on some foreign place and enjoying the sun.
But, instead, I'm furniture hunting.
It does give me a bit of satisfaction, when I find a good deal on a dining table from Crate and Barrel, or find a bunch of lucky bamboos with the perfect height for that square vase I bought last week (yes, that would pretty much excites me), but, if in the future someone asks me, "what did you do last summer?" Then, I might have to make something up.

BTW, I haven't been blogging simply because I didn't have a workstation to really sit and waste my time thinking about the meaning of life (i.e. post an entry on my blog). And also, then Harry Potter & the Deathly Hollows got in the way.
But I finished it last night.
And also, I finally bought a desk to put in my bedroom, by the window, overlooking some tree.
So I should be able to blog again. Writing about nothing.
Like now...

Anyway, last week, my boyfriend and I went to this decorating class (courtesy of Pottery Barn). I tricked him, well, at first it was innocent, but later on, I started to wonder if he's gonna be the only male there.
Thank goodness, there were also two other male victims amongst us. And by us, I meant me and, like, 30 other females.
So, he's the third male.
And he survived the class.
And even almost at the end of the class, I thought I saw some movement next to me where he was and...
By gosh,... he raised his hand and asked a question.
I thought I was seeing things. I held my breath.
But, really, I should be applauding him, since, apparently, the question was SUPER important, which was:
"I have a lot of remote controls. Where should I keep my remotes so the table doesn't look cluttered?"
Ah,... the ultimate mind boggling question in every household. The relationship of men and his remotes.
And I said that because all the thirty ladies giggles in full understanding and the two other men grinned and the teacher said "That is a very good question!"

I wonder now, if he would be interested to join the next class next month.

I have a tree on my backyard which apparently hosts lots of fireflies. Thus, at night when I sit on my balcony, I'd see lights twinkling, blinking, coming out from the tree.
It is a wonderful sight.
People say that the feeling of having your first house is indescribable. I don't feel that high.
Not that I don't love having a 'somewhat' permanent place to live, but, indescribable feeling is, for me, when I hug my mom after two years of half the world separation. Or when my boyfriend put his arms around my shoulder and sniff my hair, or a simple smile & 'hey' greeting from him after a rotten day at work.
Having a house... is an accomplishment. I don't feel that high, because I don't get it for free.

I waited for that high feeling when I moved in. It hasn't kicked in yet. What comes instead is the constant lengthy calculation in my head, and the disturbance of those boxes, screaming to be unpacked.

I don't feel the 'high'.

But I do feel at home. And I'm happy with this place. I feel like I made the right decision. That I'm going to the right direction.
I feel good about this. And the fireflies confirm it. At nights, it's just us. The fireflies and me, they keep me company.

The other day, I killed a spider. It's bigger than the ones I usually see. With longer legs (hence bigger steps, hence faster speed).
Oh well,... the life in the suburb.
I'm not keen to animals with lots of legs, to say the least, but I guess I didn't have the time to be a sissy. I needed to kill it before it ran and hide inside.
I remember thinking cynically, soon enough after this, I'll get over my cockroach phobia and conquer the world.

I have a deck and a balcony overlooking to some trees and a golf course, balanced with a loan with Citi mortgage.

Man,...
I have a house.

Oh, I better double check that I have scheduled the next mortgage payment online, due on August 1st.

Watching a good friend going through a divorce is tough. I can't imagine being her. And being a non expert of the subject, I resorted to the most obvious thing a girlfriend can do to help lessen the pain.

I took her to the mall for a shopping spree.

And by gosh... it worked. Well,... of course not entirely, but it worked. And I guess, deeper than that, as we roamed in the mall, we talked, and the combination of those two yielded a very good result.
Sometimes the dry joke of life is dryer than Sahara. As I just bought a house with my boyfriend, she's selling her house and splitting it with her soon-to-be-ex-husband.
But she marches through, and I'll be holding her hand till the end.

OH HOLY COW,... I'm so in the wrong city!
I don't belong in Bolingbrook, IL. According to this, I belong in London.

You Belong in London

A little old fashioned, and a little modern. A little traditional, and a little bit punk rock. A unique soul like you needs a city that offers everything. No wonder you and London will get along so well.

What City Do You Belong In?

Happily Broke

We're gonna do the home closing this Wednesday.
After we sign it. We'll be a homeowner.
Sigh...

To think that I came here and lived in a 350 sqr foot apartment where I sleep, study, watch TV, cook, eat in one room, it is overwhelming to think that I am gonna own a house. It's been a long way, you see.

And I know I bitch a lot, because life is not always a joy ride.
But I am thankful. And I am overjoyed.
Broke.
But happy.

And I'm bringing my cactus there, which by the way, now I have the total of three.

Meet Hairy and William. Guess which one is which.

Why Blond?

What is it about being blond?
No, no... I'm not being discontent when I asked that.
I'm just wondering.
There was an article that I read about 7 years ago in National Geographic. My dad subscribed National Geographic and made me realize that beauty magazines are really not 'all that'. Every month, the magazine came and I got the kind of thrill that no beauty magazine could ever provide me.
There was an article, 'Enigma of Beauty', which discussed the plethora of angles about beauty. It was a very interesting, strong article, to say the least. It made me realize why some girls can be the 'mean girls' in high-school. And some can just be some mean bully. Period. And why I had a friend in high school who had a nose job when she was 16.
I think my own beauty rituals too. My eyebrows have to be perfectly arched. My pedicure routine, my blush, my mascara, to name a view. I do limit myself though. believe it or not. I don't want the make up or fashion or trend to wear me. I have to be the one who wear them.

I was in Bali Ngurah Rai airport waiting for our chartered car to arrive, when my 4 year-old nephew staring far across the long hall and he said, amazed and in awe "Daddy, there's a girl over there with yellow hair. Isn't she pretty?" He said innocently.
I and my brother turned our heads and there she was, a little white girl about my nephew's age, with long hair flowing touched by the wind standing there with her family, holding hands with her mom. I could almost hear a Bossa song playing and people moves in slow motion. I guess that little girl gave the illusion of an goddess or something of the sort.
Made me think of a particular part of the article although I'm sure that the little girl's hair color is real:
" Hair-care product companies estimate that in the U.S. 40 percent of women who color their hair choose blond, a choice women also made in ancient Greece."

My nephew likes blond.

Like most men in modern world.

I was watching American Idol finale just now and Bette Middler was singing 'Wind Beneath my Wings'. Her hair has inspired me to finally write about this blond phenomenon. Her hair was so blond, she looked like she hasn't aged (well, I have to admit, maybe other enhancements took place too). Her hair shades reminded me of Marilyn Monroe's hair color. And talking about Marilyn, I can't can't can't imagine her as a brunette. Like that article said, maybe only the hairdresser knew the real hair color for sure.

I just asked my boyfriend when he called me if I should color my hair blond.
He said, uhm,... up to you.
But do you like me being blond?
Uhm,... it's up to you, I don't mind either way.
But, in general, do you prefer blonds?
Uhm, Actually, I like dark haired women. Short dark hair.

I smiled and thought: Well well well. What are the odds? I have a man in the minority pie. Men who prefer dark hair.
This works.
Because I like my hair black. Just the way it is. I'm thinking, if many people are coloring their hair blond, I will actually stand out in the crowd.

We got an email today that some creep was in the women's restroom in the next building. Then he got arrested and charged with disorderly conduct. I wonder what he was doing there. Because, if he got into the wrong restroom, he should have just simply gone back out.

Of course, the world is full with creeps. But this raises an alarm for the girls, because the building management now suggests that the ladies go to the restroom in groups. I mean... not colossally, but with a friend.
Imagine, now you can't even pee and make it your own privacy.
Darn those creeps!

It has been about more than a week ago that my best friend at work told me that she's separating with her husband. Do you know that you have to be separated for at least 6 month before you can actually file for a divorce?

She told me that she has gotten a full load of advise left and right. One girlfriend told her: You and your silly perception of how marriage works! Of course that you should not spend much time with your husband. You are supposed to get out there and have your own fun and not be with him all the time. You'll drive him crazy.
My girlfriend told me: I thought that's the reason why someone would get married. To be with each other. To bond. To be like a set of Siamese twin and finish each other's sentences.

This makes me think of my boyfriend and how he always welcome some time of solitude and I start to think that he might actually see too much of me. Which is funny because in the old days when we're not dating yet, he always tried to come by, and at that time I was 40 miles away in downtown. Now, it is only 9 miles away and I don't see any intensity of him coming to my place.

I don't know much about marriage because I'm not in one. Yet. But, since I'm heading that way, and all most of the people I know in marriages are in agony, I'm pretty discouraged. Well, shouldn't I be? And this theory about not being around your husband or you'll drive him away, I think is a load of crap.
I think I just don't see how that is considered a marriage. You might as well be single.

I think though, despite all that, marriage is about taking risk anyway.
I know someone who's been cheating on his wife even to the point that he was in bed with someone else when the wife gave labor.
I know someone who's into his secretary rather than his wife.
I know a girl who celebrated her bachelorette night with an ex-boyfriend.
I know a wife who gave birth to a son, who's not her husband's.
I know someone who ran away with some other woman, leaving the wife 3 months pregnant.
I know all sort of horror stories, real people. People that I know. Real lives.
And yet, I'm still hopeful that mine will work.

Stupid and naive?
I guess.
Because, if I don't give it a try, I'll wonder forever of the possibility that I pass on a happy life.
And that... that'll drive me crazy.

We're buying a house

I think I'm coming down with something. And I think I'm coming down with something because I'm all stressed out.

I & my boyfriend are buying a FREAKING HOUSE. I think all the tension has finally affected my immune system. I have been on the phone the whole day with my boyfriend, my mortgage broker, my lawyer, my Realtor, my mom, my dad, my house inspector,.... all in the office, balancing with the usual manic Monday.

Never in my life I can really feel my immune system starts failing on me by the hour. I need some sleep.

But on the lighter note,...
I am buying a freaking house.
I have a house.
With a fireplace.
And big kitchen.
With a balcony facing a golf course.
Oh how I love balconies.

This stress is totally worth it.

Party of One. Yes, One.

I went for Dim Sum by myself today. Shrimp dumpling, chicken feet, chives dumpling,... hm,...
So I took a shower, I drove & entered the restaurant.
The host asked: "How many?" Asking me, how many people will it be in my party.
I said: "One!"
Then she said: "Sorry?"
I said: "Just one."
Then she said: "I'm sorry, I don't understand that."

Uhm,..
So, I pointed my index finger up in front of her and tried again "One person only."
"Oh,..." (a very brief pause) " Please follow me" She said nicely.

Then I was escorted to a table and the waitress hurried up to my table and asked the hostess "How many?"
Then the hostess said "Just one."
"Just one?"
Man,... don't people go to eat just by themselves lately?
I do wonder if they really find it that odd? Because I couldn't care less. It is as simple as this: I had some craving for dim sum and my dim sum buddies are all gone, and my boyfriend doesn't eat pork or seafood. So,... party of one it is.
Just fabolous me.
But if it is easier for them to see, I will bring my ducky stuffed animal next time to sit next to me and claim party of two instead.

All of you who are the youngest in the family, raise you hand!
I betcha that you have felt the syndrome of the-baby-in-the-family treatment from your parents.
Isn't it crazy that even when you are fully capable, fully independent, fully grown they still try to make the decisions for you?
My dear old dad still needs reminder that he should kick back and relax and let me do my own thing. Last week, he just did something that realllly realllly tested my nerves. Like, approaching my boyfriend's extended families and formed a plan (or I should say, threw some ideas up in the air) on behalf of me and my boyfriend.
Yup, without consulting me.
And yup, without consulting my boyfriend.
I don't think he ever approached my sister-in-law or brother-in-law's directly like that.

Dear dad has this tendency to take care of me, since, forever. In the past, before I went here, to the US, I was driven around by him or whoever that has the time, and at a certain period of times had a designated driver to drive me around. Meanwhile my sister was jumping in and out of busses like a pro. I never wrote a check, never knew how to write it, never pay a bill, didn't know how to pay it anyway. So, when I got here, it was kind of embarrassing to consult someone on how to actually write a check.

So, I was mad, obviously, when he took matters to his own hand. MY matter. Although I know, dear dad... he's at the age when most men would start having this post-power syndrome, or whatever it is called, and this might be part of that doggone thing.
So, I talked to him letting him know, in a very nice way, that he needs to get through me for any brilliant ideas that he has, and let me talk to my boyfriend, and let my boyfriend talked it out with his family. But, that didn't work.
Well, dad,... you asked for it. So,... I talked to my mom and let her tell him. Mom is great. She gets the work done.

How mad can you be to your dad, though? Though you most definitely have your downs and disappointments and disagreement. I hated his guts at times. I hated the fact that he hated most of my boyfriends and gave them such a hard time. Hated that he never really have enough faith in me and my driving the car. Hated his paranoia when I went out with friends and hadn't been back past 10 freaking pm. Hated the fact that he was very short temper, and that I inherit it from him. I hate it that he never really taught me what it is that he is doing in the office.

But, these past years, every time I saw him, his aging process was very visible. Every time I saw him, he looked much more older than the last time I saw him.
And it broke my heart.
The bad-quality pictures that he sent still showed his gray hair, gray mustache, wrinkles and wattle.
I remember he said when I was like, 13 or 14, "Cil, find a guy that loves you. The one who loves you so much that he would give up everything for you." I remember thinking, ah,... piece of cake. And apparently, it wasn't a piece of cake.
I also remember he said when using knife for self-defense, stab hard....
And, another good one, don't let a guy buy you off with jewelry. Especially if you don't even like the guy.
Be a lady. Don't swear.
Or some of his fantabulous ideas like: "Do you want to learn how to golf? It might be useful one day when you are an adult and need to lobby some big shot VP". Yeah,... but I was only 16 or 17.

Dearest dad. I think I'm not mad at him anymore.
I actually kinda miss him.

I want my money... now, B****!

It went bankrupt

In the event of finding a better job, I searched for all the companies I can remember that had interviewed me in 2004 and turned me down because of my lack of experience. Hey, who knows that now they found me appealing enough to join the group.
I remember my first, ever, interview in the US to a company in the Chicago loop area. I was sooo nervous and I was desperately hopeful (finding a job when you are jobless and only given a limited amount of time to find it is no fun ride, you know). And they turned me down.

Hm,... which is fine coz at least I get a feel of what an interview is like and learn what I have missed & haven't nailed.

So, I search the website for that company and found out... just now... that they have gone bankrupt.

Thinking of that movie, sliding doors, and where I would be today if they had accepted me to the company and then they went bankrupt and ditch my ass to the curb.
Maybe I should feel lucky right now.

Warty no more

I need to scratch Warty out since it is brought to my attention that Warty also an ,.. uhm.. not so interesting Indonesian names (sorry for people named Warti, nothing personal).

So... let's the contest begin. Let's name her, so I can re-do the birth certificate.

Meet Warty - my new cactus plant

I bought a cactus plant in Ikea today. She's a red head with 3 warts.
I guess it's a good little distraction for me to take care of plant.
Uhm,.. maybe talk to it.
Like a friend, or shrink.
Just like Tom Hanks to that volleyball, Wilson.
(Wink)
I saw a spoof of the 'Cast Away' and the dude was talking to a basketball named 'Spalding' instead. I found it really funny.

Anyway... I guess, I have procrastinated enough. I desperately need to do my taxes.
Off I go.

Send In The Clowns

I got friends emailed or texted me left and right after my last blog entry,... which was really nice. I think there the compelling need from my side to say thanks. So, thank you.
Although, I didn't mean to make it sounded like a high octave drama when I madly typed it. So, so sorry if you guys think I was about to gulp down a glass of clorox or something stupid like that.

I guess, life is about ups and downs. Not that I don't know that, but I just have to prepare myself for more downs after some downs. I was mad. And, btw, I still am. And I don't know if it is more of the mad side or, actually, the frustrated side. Anyhow, I just read that meaning of the title 'Send in the clowns' the infamous sad suicidal song (Barb Streisand) was to refer to the fact that in the circus, traditionally, clowns are summoned to distract the audience attention, when disaster strikes.
That would be, the best song for me at the moment, although, the actual song seems to have something to do with a one sided love, which is not my case.

This past week, I've gone through the break down phase, then, mad phase, then now, the withdrawal phase. I guess?
I don't know anymore, but I know that I am mad. To fate.
I know. Dangerous huh? To be mad at fate, for all you know before I finish up this entry, I might have already been struck down by lightning or something, regardless the fact that I am indoor.
Karma comes instantly, right, Nad?
In the effort to bring me to see this from a better angle, my roommate presented me with the logic that if I am mad with fate, then since my fate is in my own hands, then it means that I'm mad at myself.
Then the bitter me answer that this is not something that I can hustle with my own hands, because it's not a fair game and I'm not in control of what I can do about it If it is something I can hustle, then I would and I'd deal with it.
I was pretty much determined to be bitter. But aside from the bitterness, when I am mad, I tend challenge back whatever it is that made me mad. So, my madness has gotten me saying to my fate that I refuse to be broken down like this. So,...
Bring it.
Bring it on.
Whatever that I need to go through, bring it.
And I'll survive it.
Let it pour since it is already raining anyway.
I'll be soaking wet, but I'll survive this. One way or another.

So, right now, my set of clowns are working hard out there with the bicycles, umbrella, balls, throwing pins up in the air. I think they're gonna have to be out there for quite a while. I'm even preparing my second shift of clowns.
So send in the clowns. Shift after shift after shift.

Disaster will end sooner or later. And full of bruises I might be by then, but I'll survive this.