cindy's world

I’m all alone right now and there’s no one to call cuz my phone doesn’t work. And no one’s online.

🙁

My cell phone would not make one phone call after work yesterday. Mr. W kept trying to call me on it and said he just got a “service out” automated message. When I dialed, “Connection error” or “Network busy” would appear on my screen. It was pretty frustrating. We went to a Cingular store and the salesperson explained that a couple of the Cingular cell sites went down, and it’d been down since 4pm that afternoon. Today, I tried the phone again in the morning. The message “connection error” still flashed on the screen when I pressed “send.” I used Mr. W’s phone to check my voice mail. My mom had left a stern-sounding message asking where I was at 8:30p last night. I called them at home and left a message on their machine explaining the phone issues and leaving them Mr. W’s cell number. We checked with a Cingular kiosk earlier today, and the girl at the booth told me that Cingular is phasing out AT&T cell sites, so they’re doing major maintenance stuff and switching certain numbers from one source tower to another, so some numbers may be down for a few hours. I explained it’s been over 24 hours. She said sorry, there’s nothing they can do, but service should restore itself on my phone automatically.

It wasn’t until half an hour ago that my mom called Mr. W when we were sitting in his living room watching a DVD of United 93. My dad’s in the hospital. He’d been there since last night. They couldn’t reach me on my cell all day, and she hadn’t been home to get my message until now because she was at the hospital with him all day, and didn’t even leave his side to eat. He hadn’t been feeling well in his stomach for the past 2 weeks, but figured it’d go away. In the middle of the night Thursday night, my dad got up and was instantly having cold sweats, then he felt too weak to stand. But like a typical stubborn Asian person, he still went to work the full day on Friday. That night, he realized it was internal bleeding, and went to the family doctor, who confirmed the internal bleeding and told him to go into the emergency room right away. His blood pressure was 80/70-something. In the hospital, they paged the on-call doctor over and over, starting at 11a, and the guy didn’t wander in until 4p. Anyway, it’s too late to visit him tonight, but I’m going to go in the morning. He has some procedure scheduled for 10a, so I’ll be there to talk to the medical staff in case there’s any language barrier for understanding instructions or situations. I also called the hospital and talked to my dad, who seems to feel that this isn’t a big deal — at least that’s how he’s putting it to me.

My phone STILL isn’t working. My dad better be fine. If this is the last conversation I have with him I’m going to !@#$ sue the ass off Cingular.

This has never happened to me before. I was responding to comments on this blog by commenting back, and upon clicking the button to submit my 2nd comment, I was taken to a blank white screen and this text was at the top:

Sorry, you can only post a new comment once every 15 seconds. Slow down cowboy.

Huh?! I’d never heard THAT rule before! I’m the administrator of this blog, gosh darn it, and I can post as quickly as I want! And I’m a cowGIRL. Yee-ha!

This may be too early to tell, but my day’s been balancing out in my favor.

I woke up later than I expected, and didn’t leave at the 7:15a time I’d planned. 7:15 would’ve gotten me to work at just before 8a, per Mr. W’s estimation (I was leaving from his house to work for the first time). Instead, I got up at 7:17a, and couldn’t leave the house until 7:50a. ACK! The specialized courtroom I’d been assigned to opens its doors at 8:30a, so I oughta be in there before then. In my haste, I also stubbed my toe against my bag in the bedroom. Which toe? Only the one that was already injured from the half-marathon run last month, the 4th toe on my right foot, where the nail has begun to lift off the nailbed. I heard it. It sounded like a plastic flick. Scared, I looked at it and it did indeed lift from the nailbed. But it didn’t rip and I pushed it back down into place.

BUT, traffic was cooperative and I was at work before 8:15. I called my supervisor asking if they got someone else to cover the specialized court because my courtroom was sort of in chaos. He said not yet, they’re still working on it. Within 10 mins, however, he called me back and said to stay in my own court because the clerk who I’m supposed to be covering, who was supposed to be at a medical appointment, actually came in. Huh? Why? Who cares, it’s great! So yay, we’re all set up and ready to go!

*dancing in sparkling good luck dust*

Whoa, I just realized that tomorrow is Friday the 13th. Appropriate, considering my jury deliberation has just taken a turn for the wicked, my judge isn’t here this afternoon to address their issues so we’ve put it over to tomorrow, and tomorrow morning, my reporter has a root canal scheduled and won’t be here if they request readback of testimony, and I’m being assigned out to work that one specialized courtroom again, so I don’t know who’s going to cover my courtroom. Of course it also means the specialized courtroom will have a day from hell and I’ll be working late.

Well, how about this. I hereby sprinkle imaginary protection dust on all who read this today and tomorrow. Except if you’re a bad person, or I don’t like you. Then no protection for you! Save my fairy dust for someone who deserves it. (That last part’s gonna ruin my karma for the day.)

Funniest freaking thing I saw and heard all week.

I was walking back toward the courthouse from the parking structure after the gym. On my right was a small parking lot of reserved parking for privileged people only (supervisors, employee of the quarter, etc). A car blocked the only pathway through it, and a 20-something Hispanic female was standing in the open passenger door, talking to the driver. Finally, she closed the door and walked away from the car. She didn’t get but a few steps away before the entire parking lot and the area in front of the courthouse was permeated with a piercing kid’s wail, “waaaaAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!” I looked toward the car in surprise, as with a bunch of attorneys, jurors, other patrons standing in front of the courthouse and sitting around the large planters. She kept walking. The kid kept screaming. A large black guy sitting on a bench in front of a planter said, “That kid needs a good ass-whoopin’.” The woman walked past him and said something to him, which I couldn’t hear because her back was to me. The man responded, “You don’t gotta do it now, but you OUGHTA do it.” I had to look away to hide my smile.

This was not the wail of an naive infant. This was the tantrum scream of a 4-5 year old boy who has no fear of authority.

I’m still up. I just booked two 90-minute massages for me and childhood friend Sandy. She’s online working and IMing about her stress level, so I suggested we should have a spa evening sometime to catch up and relax. I’ve been needing a massage anyhow. She agreed, and I booked her a Swedish + deep tissue back + scalp, and me a straight Swedish for next Sunday. It’s gonna be her first professional massage! I may get her hooked the way Vicky got me hooked. I’ve never been to the OC Spa & Wellness Center in Huntington Beach, but the prices look good. I don’t think it’s one of those places with a happy ending like Mr. W likes to go to. I’m kidding. Sorta.

Maybe it’s the late hour, but I’m now paranoid that the 22nd would come and go and I’d forget. And they’re already prepaid. I hope I’m not napping at Mr. W’s or something come 5pm that Sunday and then later go, “Hey, I missed 8 calls from Sandy. I wonder what’s going on with her.” I’d better tell her now that if for some reason I don’t make it, she should still go.

She just IMed me, “you’re not gunna forget to go DUDE”
HAHAHAHA! Okay, I need some sleep. I’m getting punchy.

Jordan cursed me yesterday. I called her on my drive home from work, and she asked about my plans for the evening. I told her I was picking up sushi because I want food early enough in me that I’d digest before bellydancing, and that I hadn’t heard from Dwaine regarding the purported wine-buying extravaganza so we’re probably not meeting up and I’m on my own for dinner. She started to say that she doesn’t know where all my energy comes from considering to her it feels late, before she remembered the time difference between California and Florida. It was 5-ish for me, 8-ish for her. So of course immediately following that conversation, my body switched to Florida time.

I only managed to shove a roll (raw salmon over a California roll) and a half (spicy tuna over CA roll) down my throat before I was full enough to throw up. The TV was on, I had a load of laundry in the dryer, and it was 7:15p. I decided it was safe to get a little shut-eye for half an hour. I woke up at 8:30p. ACK! Bellydancing was half-over, and by the time I rush upstairs, wash my face, change and drive over there, it’d be over. I’d flaked on Vanessa! I thought about calling her to let her know I wouldn’t make it, but she’d be in the middle of class and I didn’t want her cell phone to ring. Yes, it’s better to call her after class at 9p, or it would’ve been, except that I promptly fell asleep again until past 2a. I watched, with one eye (as my contacts had dried out in my eyes), some sappy “The Parent ‘Hood” episode about a school play and a giant and the importance of friendship, as my brain tried in vain to get me off the couch with logical reasoning. At 2:30a, I finally got up and pulled my clothes out of the dryer, brought them upstairs and put them away. So now it’s 3:30a and I decided to blog. I figured the only person who’d be up would be Jordan. I think she works today. At 6:30a her time, she’s probably already at work.

7 minutes after I logged on, childhood friend Sandy logged on. “Greetings, fellow insomniac,” I greeted her. Turned out she’s still up working. She’d set her alarm for a half-hour nap and was just starting to get back to work. She’s miserable and tired as hell, and asked why I’m up. “I’m on Florida time,” I explained. She wrote, “ahh…I see.” No further explanation needed. I do feel really rested after 7 hours of sleep, but if I stay up from here on out and head to work, I’d be exhausted. I’ve got a lunchtime workout and afterwork jujitsu session, too. But if I go to sleep now, it’d take forever to fall back asleep AND I’d be exhausted when I wake up again in a few hours. Oh, what to do?

Jordan!!!

This morning, I held my breath and nervously pulled up a pair of size 2 Express Editor pants. They zipped and buttoned perfectly fine. I pulled on a thin pink ribbed 3/4 length knit shirt, an Express small, and that fit, too. Yay, I’m back in my skinny clothes! I mean, they could fit better, but at least they’re don-able. On my way out I grabbed a light leather jacket from the hall closet.

I can’t wear a leather jacket without a line from this guy’s email running through my head. Some years ago, I was doing my own thing and was stopped by a female acquaintance. She asked me whether I was seeing someone, and I told her not at the moment. She said one of her friends was interested in me, and had asked her to find out some stuff about me. So I guess her tactful way of doing it was just coming out and asking me. I was flattered, so that led me to exchange a few emails with this friend of hers. In one email, he complained about having a headache. He further explained that he had a headache because he’d gone to an outdoors concert event the night before, and “was banged around for an hour in a leather jacket.” My mental reaction now is the same as it was the time I read it, i.e. ??? Assuming he did not mean that people tied him up in a leather strait jacket and beat him senseless with a bat for an hour, I guess he wore a leather jacket in a moshing-like environment. But what’s the leather jacket have to do with his headache? Does banging on a leather jacket cause some kind of chemical reaction, like two molecules hitting each other? Maybe the force of the impacts releases some kind of toxic gas that gives people headaches. Maybe the sound created from banging on leather emits such a deep echo that it gives the wearer a headache.

Or maybe, just maybe, he was s t r e t c h i n g to brag about the fact that he owns a leather jacket, shoving that fact into a story that really has no relevance to the fact at all. Which just makes it kinda sad and pathetic. I’ve come to learn that people who do, or people who are, even people who have, don’t need to talk about it. Typically, people who talk are overcompensating for what they don’t or aren’t or haven’t.

MAN, you people! BLOG something! Entertain me!