cindy's world

Me: I’m gonna do the first annual Disneyland half-marathon in September!
Court reporter: That sounds fun! Do you get to run through the actual Disneyland park?
Me: Yeah! [reading aloud the description of where the run goes through] You guys want to do it?
Court reporter: Maybe! I’ll look up the information online when I get home.
Judge: Whoa. I think I’ll retire by then.
Me: But it’s The Happiest Race on Earth!
Judge: What race would that be?!
Me: … Good point.

But then, the two of them have already done multiple marathons (with really good times!) and the only races I’ve done are 5Ks. I was training for the Huntington Beach Half-Marathon as my first race when I got injured, and never got up that mileage again. Now’s a good time to kick up the dust again.

Last week in jujitsu, the instructor said, “What’s that guy’s name who did the round table for those knights?”
“King Arthur?” one of the students ventured.
“No, the carpenter. What’s his name again? I think he was a knight, too.”
Nobody knew. I briefly thought of Jesus.
“Sir Cumference,” he said. (say it out loud)
***
While hanging out with friends watching the UCLA/Alabama game on Saturday nite, Vicky called me and invited me to join her in the Inaugural Half-Marathon to be hosted at Disneyland in September. I guess Disneyland’s going to close down the park and we’re actually going to run through Disneyland. HOW COOL IS THAT?! We’re just doing a half-marathon, so training up to 14 miles by September is totally do-able. Spots are filling up very quickly, so I told her to sign me up. $85, which is even more expensive than a full marathon in Los Angeles. But, it’s Disneyland, for gosh sakes! And it’s the FIRST run there, ever! I’ll be a part of Disney history! Maybe we can play in the park after we’re done running.
***
Speaking of the Los Angeles Marathon, which took place in downtown Los Angeles yesterday, apparently 2 runners died and one is in critical condition in the hospital. I don’t know anything about the one in the hospital, but the two deaths are both Los Angeles Police Department officers. Ack! One had a heart attack on mile 3 of the 26-mile run, and the other had a heart attack just 2 miles shy of finishing the run. It’s an unfortunate loss to the department and to law enforcement in general, but one of the first things that went thru my mind when I heard about this on the news was that I can just hear the Compton or Los Angeles criminals now: “Okay, so you take this gun and stand by the door and keep watch and I’ll give all the commands to empty the cash register. If you see LAPD, just holler and we’ll run.” “Where do we run to, man?” “It don’t matter, just keep running until the cop has a heart attack and dies. Shouldn’t take long.” And it certainly doesn’t help with the stereotype that cops are out of shape and subsist entirely on free donuts.
***
Later: I did some research on the 2006 Inaugural Disneyland Half-Marathon Weekend. Here’s what it says about the route:

The course for this fantastic event will take runners from Disney’s California Adventureâ„¢ park, celebrating California’s storied past and exciting future, to the Disneyland® park, to explore the fantastic “lands” of nostalgia, color and delight. Then it is on to the scenic streets of Anaheim, past Arrowhead Pond, along the Santa Ana Trail, around Angel Stadium, and finally back through Disney’s California Adventureâ„¢ park for an exciting finish of the Happiest Race on Earth!

I had an IM conversation with Diana last nite about how things will play out if something or someone is meant to be. The conversation reminded me of a particular circumstance. This is how fate or yuan (Mandarin) works in relationships.

My ex was very audible about how he’s a “breast man.” “The bigger the better, I don’t care if they’re fake,” he used to say. Granted, the exes or people he used to like/date that I’ve seen/met are large people so every part of them were big, not just the boobs. But he didn’t seem to mind that as long as they were, like, 44DDs or whatever they were. He’d asked me early on, “Would you ever consider getting a boob job?” I was taken off-guard and had responded with a snappish question — would he get a penis enlargement? And he’d responded that he would if he were asked to. But I was made to feel so inadequate in the breast department in that relationship that I did consider breast augmentation surgery. (I didn’t get one.) Subsequently, after I’d been a few months into dating Mr. W, I brought up the topic of implants. He was avidly against them, cited all the health risks and expense and how they’re not worth the exchange for simple vanity, and added that my breasts are perfect the way they are (I’ll spare you guys the adjectives and descriptions he used in telling me how I’m fine the way I am). I told him I’d briefly considered getting them augmented in the past, and he said that if I had done that, he would not be dating me right now.

So let me review. If I had altered something unnecessarily to please my ex, then I would not have been with this great man who loves me as I am, who values my health above some appearance preference. But because I chose to keep my body parts as they are, that left the door open to be with this new guy. I love the way that works out.

Let me clarify…the issue is not that we don’t like people who have implants. There are justifications for having implants, like maybe someone had a breast removed due to cancer, or someone with actual problems in the breast area and need to even them out for their own self-esteem. But to augment for a GUY (or guys in general) is a different story. It tells you where someone’s priorities lie, and the kind of motivation from whence their major decisions stem.

When I walked into the building last week, one of the security officers said to me, “I can’t believe how good your boys are doing!” I didn’t know what he was talking about at first, and then realized he meant UCLA men’s basketball. “I know!” I said happily. And then watched my first UCLA game last nite. *sheepish*

Diana and Jimmy both came down to LA independently and we all met up, with 9 other people, in Marina Del Ray for dinner last nite. Dinner for 11 was difficult at the small, non-reservation-taking restaurant Killer Shrimp. But first, 6 of us met up at a bar 5 blocks away from the restaurant and watched #2 ranked UCLA’s very tight game at #10 Alabama. I can’t believe it was such a close game, there was no consistent lead, and in the last 5-6 minutes or so, we never led by more then 3-4 points. The bar was alive with UCLA fans’ adrenaline. (By the way, the people we were meeting up with were old UCLA friends, too.) We barely won, which is scary considering the ranking difference. But it was an exciting game. “Now we can relax and eat in peace,” Diana said as we left the bar to begin our trek toward the restaurant. (I emphasize the distance because there was some debate about whether it was 2-3 blocks away from the restaurant or, like I said, more like 5-6 blocks away.)

Killer Shrimp wasn’t able to accomodate a large party like ours until their 2 linkable tables left, and altho I’d given them a heads up that 11 would be coming at 7p, they couldn’t get those tables cleared until almost 9p. Diana popped in and out and gave us updates. “They’re just waiting for these 4 women to leave, and they already paid and everything, but they’ve just been sitting in there FOREVER!” After standing outside in the cold for that long already, I offered to kick these lolly-gagging women’s asses on their way out. Jimmy pointed out that this is where Mr. W’s gun, had he brought it, would’ve come in handy to add some pressure. Mr. W forbade me to take advice from Jimmy in the future. The dinner turned out to be worth the wait. Killer Shrimp is about a dozen large shrimp served in a spicy Louisiana-style broth in a large bowl, and they give you a generous refillable basket of French bread to dip into the broth and to dig the shrimp out to peel-and-eat. You can also get rice in the broth or angel hair pasta in the broth for $2 more ($16.95 or something like that) in addition to the bread basket. Their pecan sweet potato pie was AMAZING, too. And that is the entire menu. It was a lot of fun and I HIGHLY recommend it. The sauce was rich with butter, chili, garlic, basil, rosemary, parsley, and oregano. Large chunks of these herbs. *drool*

Oh. Jimmy took some pictures, so there may be something to post up later.

Mr. W and I were watching TV yesterday and being playful as usual. I did something with my hand, and he retaliated by grabbing my hand and placing it over his chest to stop me from goofing off. With my hand over his chest, I said, “You pledge allegiance…to the flag…” and we laughed. I told him, “I say the Pledge of Allegiance 4 times a week.”
He said, “Really? Your judge wants that as part of a formal opening in court?”
I said, “No, we say it in jujitsu before we start class.”
“So you guys pay tribute to an American flag…in a class that teaches an oriental art…”
“…which is taught by a Latino man,” I added.
He laughed. But that is the beauty of this country. The good ol’ US of A, made by immigrants, for immigrants. (Altho I’m all for legal immigration, I must emphasize, to add unique flavors to our salad bowl country.)

In the same spirit (altho it didn’t occur to me until right now), right before Mr. W and I left his house yesterday afternoon to buy Oolong tea for his coworker from 99 Ranch Market, I put up this AFK message on AIM: “I’m off to a Fobby Supermarket to buy a Fobby Beverage with my non-fobby white boyfriend.” And then I thought about it and changed it a bit, since Mr. W was doing something at a desk next to me so I had a few moments. When I stepped away from my laptop, Mr. W had finished whatever it was he was doing, which he then showed me while announcing, “Who’s NOT fobby NOW?!” He was waving, yes, a completed application for 99 Ranch Market’s VIP frequent shopper program. I said, “I already changed my AFK message; look!” He leaned down and read, “I’m off to a Fobby Supermarket to buy a Fobby Beverage at the behest of my Fobby White Boyfriend” and cracked up.

Only in America.

I am stiff from the bottom of my skull down to my ankles. My wrists and forearms are sore.

Yay, me!

I’m just gonna take it easy on the elliptical trainer for 40 minutes or so at lunch today.

It still amazes me that women in their 40s and 50s can be so petty and so catty and so BORED that they’re going to gossip about someone who’s totally under the radar, and they’re going to say negative things to A SUPERVISOR that they made up on their own, and these people aren’t even FRIENDS with the person they’re talking about so they don’t have the inside information, and furthermore, their information is WRONG so they had to actually PUT IN the effort to LIE about something and someone! These people need to get a life, get laid, and/or get an anvil dropped on them. Why isn’t life more like a cartoon and less like a stupid soap opera? It’s so disheartening when I first came into contact with this crap/phenomenon 6 months ago, because I look up to women in their 40s and 50s because they’re, like, grownups! They’re like my parents’ age! And they act like elementary school kids with the gossip and the lying and the “if you’re friends with her then I’m no longer friends with you” and make people take sides as to who they can talk to?! Oh..my…gawd. It’s sad that cattiness and pettiness isn’t something you outgrow.

But here’s the bright side. The more they talk, the worse they make themselves look, cuz people with brains WILL consider the source. And the more they talk about a particular victim, the better that victim looks, especially when there are lots and lots of victims all of whom have done no wrong and have strong, positive character traits that everyone else knows. And the more they want to talk crap and stay away from me, the less I have to bother staying away from them. So they can make all the effort for all I care. Go ahead. Shoot yourself in the foot. I feel sorry for you losers.

I am frrreakin’ exhausted, man. I just came back from my third workout of the day, 7th of the week. My trainee and I did weights at lunch, then I had jujitsu after work, after which Navy Girl Vanessa and I headed to the gym for a 5K (3.12 mile) run, and then we hit the steam room for 2 cycles. There’s gonna be hell to pay on my body tomorrow. I’m full of fabric burn from the jujitsu grappling today, too. On our way from the treadmill to the locker room, Navy Girl said, “We are bad-ass, man! [giving me a high-five] Two hours of martial arts, then we did a full 5K without a break.” Yeah, I guess that’s pretty good. But then, she’s 4-5 years younger than me, and I’m feelin’ 30. 3 more months to enjoy being in my 20s. *freak*

Jordan, having just discovered the joy of adding sidebar links to her blog, put up this link for a site called “The Sneeze.” The particular posts this links to is this guy experimentally eating really gross stuff he found in a supermarket. His humor is hilarious. I had to duck under my desk a few times so I don’t get disruptive while the judge and attorneys are discussing the new Civil case we just got this morning. He’s sardonic and dry and that barely veils the silly weirdness of the things he’s doing. I LOVE humor like that. My humor is sometimes like that. Like how earlier in the week I observed flatly to Mr. W over the cell phone upon my drive home from jujitsu that I seem to keep forgetting to inhale after I exhale, and that I may have fallen on the back of my head and injured my medulla oblongata. He, for some reason, called me a hypochondriac, not getting that I was saying this tongue-in-cheek.

Yeah, well, you had to be there. =P

I just got word that on March 26 (Sunday), a movie crew’s going to be using our jury room for filming. A few years ago, Ray Romano’s movie Eulogy was shot in our courtroom and I was here, and got his autograph. He’s a very nice and down to earth guy, thanked me for letting them use our courtroom. We chatted a bit about his twins. I think the extra who used my desk dressed in bailiff’s uniform was trying to pick up on me. Anyway, I’d never seen Eulogy, and it seems to have bombed in the theatres. I don’t even know whether our courtroom scene was kept in thru the edit.