cindy's world

I tried to post some photos of vacation, but the image hosting site is again having issues. It seems to upload just fine, but then instead of bringing me to the page with the photos, the page says that the site can’t be found. Going to the site manually doesn’t show the pictures I’d just uploaded. I’ve done the entire process twice. Oh well. I’ll give it some time to fix itself and try again tomorrow.

So today, after working on photos for most of the morning/afternoon, I got to drag Mr. W to my old high school for his first non-cruise Bingo session. He got close to a win a few times, but didn’t win anything major. We both won raffle door prizes. He got a free admission and free sets of Bingo cards for our next visit, and I won some huge wooden jewelry chest thing that I have no use for. But hey, it’s about the experience. Altho it would’ve been nice to win a few hundred bucks. The guy a few seats down from us won Bingo on the powerball, so he got his $250 for the Bingo and $1199 for the powerball. The lady next to Mr. W explained that if the win is over $1200 it’s taxable so they let it peak out at $1199. Pretty thoughtful.

I’m back! Mr. W is, as I type, scanning in the cruise photographers’ photos of us so that we can order multi-sized copies from Costco.com and pick them up in an hour. Much smarter than paying $20 per 8×10 and $7 per 5×7 from the ship. Despite buying only 15% of the professional photos of us, we still spent over $150 on ship photos alone. But I figure, professional photo sessions don’t have you go thru that many changes of clothing, and just the sitting fee alone would be almost $50 w/o any pictures, so it’s still cheaper to buy one copy of poses we like on a cruiseship and have them serve as souvenirs. (The ship has photo ops set up all over the place daily and when you walk by one, they wave you over to take some photos. The photos are printed out the next day and put on display, and you buy what you want, if not they get recycled.)

The cruise was fun, altho I felt like I started running out of things to do after the 2nd or 3rd day at sea. This is mainly because, “due to the port authorities closing the ports, it is not our fault” (captain over the loudspeaker early Monday morning), we did not stop at the Cayman Islands at all. The night’s storm, wind and choppy water conditions made it unsafe for us to stop there. We had prepaid shipwreck snorkeling excursions there, which was refunded, along with port fees of $25 each. Nevertheless, Mr. W was extremely disappointed, as he made sure everyone we came across knew every day thereafter. I personally didn’t care that much because to me, quality time with him is quality time anywhere. But I’m not a big snorkeling fanatic the way he is. We did get our snorkeling in at Ocho Rios, Jamaica, the next day. We paid a private boat to bring us out to a reef and we plopped in and took a bunch of underwater pictures with my camera in a waterproof camera bag. The camera bag came in handy also during our 3-mile innertube ride down the White River rapids in Jamaica. Photos to follow. My favorite thing about the cruise, however, is not the midnight standup comedy, nor the food (altho it was gourmet and delicious, I even had escargot as an appetizer the last nite), nor the excursions, nor the photos (altho the photos are a close 2nd). It was something we totally lucked out on. The ship makes assigned seating for the nightly formal dinners, and the people we were assigned to the same table with are awesome. We had things in common, we laughed, we goofed off, and we had a lot of differences which made for really interesting dinner conversation. Jordan (a Floridian nurse), myself, Nadia (a kindergarten schoolteacher), Nadia’s boyfriend Terry (I’m not sure I ever got what he did) were talking about Nadia’s bout with alcoholism, and at the time of the cruise, she was 5 1/2 years sober, and attended some of the stealthily named “Friends of Bill W” AA meetings onboard with Terry, who chose to stop his recreational alcohol consumption when he met her and decided to be with her a year ago. Jordan, of course, had seen a lot of substance abuse addicts go thru detox in her hospital over the years, and seen some of her coworkers get addicted to the readily accessible painkillers at their workplace. It was an intense, very real, very candid conversation. A very serious conversation during which I turned my attention briefly to Mr. W and Jordan’s boyfriend Jeff’s conversation, as they were not part of our conversation. Jeff’s eyes were blazing with interest and Mr. W was saying excitedly, “And the last Harry Potter movie’s coming out in March, can you believe it?!” Two movie fanatics. And “fanatic” is a euphemism for movie-obsessed geekazoids who own twelve gazillion times more movies than they can possibly watch. I love how everyone has these threads of common interest. Jordan and I bonded over bitching about how the average American man hitting on us over the internet, as my childhood friend Vicky had once put it, “can’t speel to save his lif.” For morning breakfasts in the formal dining room, we are just randomly seated with people who have space on their table, as directed by the dining staff as we walk in. There are a lot of holier-than-thou, snooty, judgmental, whiny, queasy-ab0ut-food people on the ship. I missed our regular dinner group whenever we attend one of these breakfasts. So of course I made sure to exchange email addresses with everyone.

We spent one night at Fort Lauderdale after the cruise returned to Miami so that we could have free time to rent a car, explore Florida and visit the Everglades. It was coincidentally a cold weekend in Florida this past weekend, and the Everglades, which is just wide swampland covered in reeds and overgrown grass, was cold and uncomfortable as we were blasted around up to 70mph by a loud airboat. By loud, I mean they handed out toilet paper as we got seated so that we could wad them up and stuff them in our ears. It didn’t make much of a difference, tho. It was also too cold to see any alligators or crocodiles, who were apparently all hiding out in bushes to stay warm. The Everglades tour did end in a ‘gator farm, and we saw some gators in captivity there. Mr. W later had alligator meat at the local cafe. Take that, stupid alligators, for making us go all the way out and freeze our tails off for nothing.

The flight back from Ft. Lauderdale to Los Angeles the next day was scheduled to depart at 3:46p. We got to the airport early, checked our baggage, and found out that the plane that was scheduled to come had technical problems and never left the previous airport. So they assigned another plane to get us, and that wasn’t expected to arrive until 8:10p. We made the most of it, hailed a taxi out to a beach, goofed off, Mr. W made a sand angel (photos to follow), hailed another taxi back to the airport around 6:45p, only to discover that the 2nd American Airlines plane also had technical problems shortly after departure and turned around. They were now sending a third flight to get us, and that one’s due at 11:20p. This time we stayed at the airport and I was actually really proud of Mr. W for maintaining his cool and rolling with the punches. We were supposed to arrive in LA yesterday evening at about 5:50p, but didn’t end up getting in until 5:30a this morning. Of course we weren’t going to call someone to get us a ride, so we rented a car and drove it back to his place.

Wow. We got done early. The judge let the jury go home early so that he and the attorneys can work on jury instructions and the verdict form. So on Monday, they’ll do closing arguments, jury instructions and the jury will commence their deliberation.

I guess I WON’T miss the flight. Yay! I told Mr. W things will work out! I’m jumping ship now.

Have a great week, guys! I hear that major cruiseships now have computer rooms, so if they do, maybe I’ll toss an entry your way here and there. In either case, I’m gonna be collecting photos of Jamaica, the Cayman Islands, and Florida (hopefully the Everglades) for posting when I get back. I should do a photo of me before and after the tan.

Got this from my cousin Jennifer. Too funny not to post. Besides, I spent yesterday evening vacuuming up cat hairs, cleaning cat vomit up from the living room (he’d gotten into some Christmas ribbon which is of course indigestible, so he had to puke it up, along with his dinner, in 4 or 5 separate piles that I found later), cleaning the cat area, changing the cat litter, so I’m in an animal frame of mind. Happy Friday!

Excerpts From a Dog’s Daily Diary:

8:00 a.m. Oh, boy! Dog food! My favorite!
9:30 a.m. Wow! A car ride! This is a blast!
9:40 a.m. A walk in the park! Ate some crap… Delicious!
10:30 a.m. Getting rubbed and petted! I’m in love!
12:00 p.m. Lunch! Yummy!
1:00 p.m. Playing in the yard! I just love it!
3:00 p.m. Staring adoringly at my masters…they’re the best! I’ll wag my tail in joy.
4:00 p.m. Hooray! The kids are home! I’m bouncing off the walls!
5:00 p.m. Milkbones! Great!
7:00 p.m. Get to play ball! This is too good to be true!
8:00 p.m. Wow! Watching TV with my master! Heavenly!
11:00 p.m. Sleeping at the bottom of my master’s bed! Life is soooooooo great!

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Excerpts From a Cat’s Daily Diary:

Day 683 of My Captivity:

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomited on the floor.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. It demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a ”good little hunter” I am. The audacity!!

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to my power of “allergies.” I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow– but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released–and he seems more than willing to return! He is obviously retarded. The bird has got to be an informant– I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. The captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe — for now.

But I can wait.

Fridays are uncannily bad for me workload-wise, especially on Fridays when I have plans. Well, tonight’s plans include catching a flight on time to Fort Lauderdale, Florida, so that Mr. W and I can board our cruiseship and mosey around the West Carribbean for the next 5 days.

I’m looking at where we are in this courtroom. We’re at the end of a civil jury trial. My jury would likely be deliberating this afternoon. With my luck, they’ll have their verdict in at like 3:50p, and we’d run late into the evening to take the verdict. After the verdict is taken, I have to inventory the exhibits, return them to counsel, straighten out the accounting (the plaintiff’s attorney isn’t current with his trial fees, he’s about 3 days and about $1300 short so I’ll have to bug him and process his payments and notate them in the computer system), close the case, and type in the entire 9-page special verdict form into my minute order. I’m as current as possible with this trial, I have the receipt halfway filled out but I don’t know whether he’s gonna run off again. And after work I need to pack up the last minute stuff like makeup and do a walk-thru with my catsitter and then drive to Mr. W’s. He’s pretty far from the airport and we’ll have to fight traffic going there. California traffic, for those of you not from Southern California, can triple your normal commute time if you’re on the freeway during peak traffic hours (and more and more hours now qualify as “peak”). Lemme put it this way. If I’m going faster than 15 mph on the freeway, I’m happy. But it’d likely be stop-and-go.

I don’t feel any stress yet, but Mr. W’s getting really nervous about the timing.

My childhood friend Vicky forwarded me an advertisement email she got, with her hilarious facetious comment:

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—-Original Message Follows—-
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To: vicky
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Date: Fri, 3 Feb 2006 15:54:20 -0000

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Oh my gosh. I just realized I missed William’s birthday, which was Monday. I remember that last year, a few days past my birthday, I got an email from him wishing me a happy belated birthday and apologizing for the untimeliness. He blamed it on the “Y chromosome, as in Y can’t I remember people’s birthdays on time?” or something to that effect. That’s how I know he’ll understand. So, Mr. Rocky’s Hubby, happy birthday!

Karen has her results from this quiz posted on her site. It tells you what your ideal major should be. I majored in English Literature with a concentration in Creative Writing, because that’s what appealed to me, and that’s what I got good grades in in high school. However, all the personality or career tests we took in high school placed Business in the #1 spot for what I was best suited toward. I think I’m too lazy to run my own business. So out of curiosity, I took the quiz. After I answered a series of questions, it asked me for a tie-breaker. Do I enjoy thinking about what life and the universe has in store for me, or do I find it more important to express myself to others through notes and letters? Argh. I seriously sat there for minutes. They are equally important. Of course this would be the tiebreaker. I am truly tied on these things. But in the end, I clicked on the life thing. No reason. One is what I think a lot right now, the other is how I express what I think. Anyway, the results are:

You scored as Philosophy.

You should be a Philosophy major! Like the Philosopher, you are contemplative and you enjoy thinking about the purpose for humanity’s existence.

Philosophy 100%
Journalism 100%
Mathematics 92%
Psychology 83%
Art 82%
Linguistics 75%
English 67%
Theater 67%
Engineering 67%
Biology 42%
Dance 42%
Anthropology 33%
Sociology 33%
Chemistry 8%

Hmm. Is this why I really wasn’t interested in English Lit while I was majoring in it, and therefore didn’t do all that well in my core classes? The results are a bit surprising. Or maybe it’s just my present mood.

I just looked at my results list again. Haha, I am the Asian parent’s worst nightmare. All non-lucrative things. I should be into chem and bio and engineering and become a doctor or lawyer. And what’s up with that mathematics thing?!

There’s something magical about my jujitsu family. 9 of us went out to Rockin’ Taco, a trendy restaurant/bar, after working out yesterday to celebrate Navy chick’s birthday. When I’m with them, I’m back to my goofy self and people laugh with me and are very warm with me, and I’m happy despite the fact that I (and most of the other girls) got kicked in both boobs repeatedly by idiots who are new to the class and can only have been aiming at them during the kick and retreat drills. (I was pissed at this one guy who was playing stupid and when we switched, I kicked him across the mat back into the wall more firmly than I’d normally kick anyone during just a drill.) Anyway, while we occupied the large table and the drinks started coming around, the camaraderie and conversation had us rolling. For a few hours, any cloud that had been hanging over me completely dissipated. There was no gnawing at the back of my head and in the pits of my stomach. I was even able to eat a little. I found out that Navy chick, when she’s not totally makeupless and natural during jujitsu, is totally into her gothic attire and face paint. I had no idea! I told her that a couple of years ago, I was inspired to go goth for Halloween, but the little black goth dress I had in mind (which was PERFECT, antique-looking corset top, short slightly flare skirt, black lace tie in the back) could not be found. I think my mom tossed it. So Navy chick said, “That’s easy, just go through my closet!” She is the type of goth that is trampy lingerie-on-the-outside, holey patent-leather thigh-high boots, dog collar and chain and long cape goth. How cool is that?

After leaving Rockin’ Taco, I drove to Mr. W’s. I accepted that invitation to go over because there was no packing or trip preparation I could do at that hour anyway. I was still glowing from the fun I had with my fellow classmates, but that faded so fast it surprised both of us. As soon as I was next to him, I felt the clouds descend upon me. The tightness in my chest returned. Reality once again gripped me. I never thought he and I would be like this. I’d thought our chemistry and communication was flawless. The distance I felt last nite between us made me miss him so much. I tried to bridge the gap between us by explaining, ad nauseum (and he WAS so, so irritated with me, especially because of the lateness of the hour), why I felt what I felt about our issue, just trying to get him to step into my head for an instant so he’d understand. He said other things that made me more afraid. But what he was steadfast on throughout, was that our current issue is not a threat to the relationship itself, meaning that he won’t let it break us up. To him, it’s just an obstacle we need to figure out and maybe reach a compromise on, and wait for it to be over. My head was bouncing all over the place, grasping at straws to get it to hurt less, such as making myself more physically unavailable, distancing myself emotionally, finding self-destructive things to maybe make him care about me, it even crossed my mind to occupy my time with people he wouldn’t appreciate I socialize with, just so I’d feel like what he does that bothers me is then deserved as my punishment for the wrong I’ve done so I could accept it better. I know this is all really unhealthy rationale, but they’re just desperate thoughts.

And then the drive home this morning. The setting in of the dull numbness. I don’t want to care anymore. In fact, I find it hard to find a shred of caring internally. I don’t want to deal with this anymore. This whole thing is retarded. I’ve retained my original opinion about the situation, but the emotional connection to it is missing. Actually, this dull apathy and general flat affect is preferable to the previous aggravation, but I don’t know if it’s going to last, or whether I’d relapse. Actually, it first made me wonder whether I’d been overemotional about the whole thing due to hormones (I’m PMSing), or maybe it’s that once you’ve been depressed, you’re more prone to relapse into depression because your mind and body and neurotransmitters have established a pathway into that. But I’m just documenting this because I think it’s an interesting psychological process, probably akin to the brain’s selective forgetting of recurring traumatic events, or the brain’s invention of a separate personality. All of them are the mind’s — for lack of a better description — escapist shut-downs in some way to avoid further psychological pain yet still remain essentially functional.

I’ve told more than one person, most recently college roommie Diana, that she’ll keep mulling over her misery until one day, she just snaps internally and become sick of the whole thing and then she can walk away from it. I don’t think she’s there yet, and her problem certainly began way before mine. Maybe she has more tolerance than me by nature, or maybe, like I said earlier, my tolerance is decreased because of prior experience with these all-too-familiar feelings. But my first bout with crap like this, I fought it miserably for years without my emotions being shut down by my brain override, and that sucked more than this.

There are a lot of sour grapes rationalization going on. There is a panicked search for sense, followed by a mad scrambling to fortify sanity. There’s a lot of bumping into walls and desperate recoils and un-thought-out “solutions”. There are desperate remedies applied that later backfire and are regretted. And finally, there is the sigh of acceptance, but not as much from finding peace with something as from giving up because the mind and the emotions have shut down from frustration and the sickness of impasse. Such is the psychological process during the flailing in the last moments of life. The moment before the perceived death of a valued relationship.