I'm leaving

I'm going on vacation... I packed my sundress, my hat and my bathing suit.
And I got like 5 different shoes for a four day vacation.
I know it's crazy, but I'm vacationing in style.
Sue me...

And I'm not sorry

It was very liberating.
It was scary but it was, indeed, liberating.

When I click the send button to send an email to my dad.... That email was an explanation of my point of view, which was very much opposing his. Well, basically that email underlined my disagreement with him. And as I clicked the button, that was my point of no return.
And I was in 'in omnia paratus' mode.

I thought to myself, I can be this obedient daughter suppressing my opinions and be agreeable... or I can take a major leap and let my opinion be heard.

I did not send the email to argue back with my dad. I just want him to understand that I have a different opinion. And we can agree to disagree. But oh, man, did he take it the wrong way.
I made a rule for myself not to send an email when I am angry. I can compose it while I was fuming... but I will not send it. And I do play by that rule. But apparently not my dad. And I can tell that his reply would be my very first draft of an angry email.

But strangely... despite all of that, I felt liberated.
I'm not vengeful. I don't feel the need to retaliate.
But most importantly, I don't regret sending the first email.

And I'm not sorry.

And, yes, I love my dad. This is just me outlining my own pathway. And I really mean, my own.

I just told my gossipy boss that I don't want to know any details about my coworkers unless it is related to my work as a team leader.

The office environment has become he-said she-said cross stories left wing, right wing. It's disgusting.
I didn't care about office politics then when I was an oppressed bottom feeder and I don't care about it now, when I'm somewhat not too oppressed anymore.

Okay, enough about the office.
Did I mention that my mom wants to have polonaise dance on my wedding?
Yeah, the corny dance from the last century. Where the couples line up and hold up their hands together, locking fingers with their partners and the couple at the end of the line have to go through under the tunnel of hands to the other side.
And as much as I love classic big band music, gosh, I hate Rod Stewart's Greatest America's Songbooks. He sold his soul (and dignity) for easy money, and of course... my dad has all of his corny songs. And I'm so afraid that he will insist that we have our father daughter dance with one of those horrific songs.

I know I'm bitching and there are hungry people out there without food nor a job who would love to trade place with me and I have to be thankful.
Well, I am.
Just not tonight.

When I told my mom years ago that I am dating this Seventh Day Adventist Christian, my mom said, "But... you guys have different beliefs. You will have a hard time later in life with this."

I said, "Nah, it's going to be okay. We'll work it out."

Today, I sit here with heavy and burdened heart realizing how right she is. No matter how hard we work it out, fundamentally we are screwed. It's like we stand on the different side of the line of fire, while holding hands, it's crazy.


It's frustrating.

And there's nothing I can do. It's a choice I have made, and I am standing by it. Even though my hands are burning.

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.