cindy's world

I had a really nice surprise when I came back from my lunch workout today. The loveliest bouquet of yellow and sunset roses were sitting on my desk in a pretty brass-colored jar-like container. They were from Vanessa, as a thank-you for being there for her. Awww, thank you for the flowers, Vanessa! Being the good friend that I am, I know what she really wants. So I’m posting a photo of my hair under the guise of taking a photo of me with her flowers. Please keep in mind that I’m bloated from PMS, and not just bloated, but especially bloated cuz my monthly visitor is running late. So I’m not at my best.

I just got back from my forced march to see the movie 300. The only thing I’m gonna say about it is that it’s Gladiator meets Lord of the Rings meets Kill Bill. I like to go to the movies to relax and have a feel-good air when I walk out. Instead, this is what I looked like coming out of the movie.

Vanessa’s on her date watching this movie tonite. I wonder if she’ll wear the same expression. She’ll probably enjoy it, though. Altho, I did learn one thing from the movie. I do not have elongated nipples. Sorry, Jordan.

I forgot to add another thing that I was grateful for yesterday, aside from good friends and having hair that a salon could screw up. I’m happy that I found my old jazz shoes before bellydancing yesterday, because we did so many chaine (pronounced shuh-NAY) turns that it would’ve been impossible barefoot. I would’ve been screeching haltingly on the wood floors, or flying across them uncontrollably if I were in socks. Who knew that bellydancers did chaine turns? I was also grateful for my prior dance experience.

Here’s a normal-ish photo. These photos make me want to post some old really good photo to redeem myself. But this isn’t my laptop. 🙁

Tonite at the end of bellydancing I added a new item to my gratitude list (which we give thanks for in our heads during a 1-minute silence as we stand holding hands in a big class circle). I am grateful for having hair to be screwed up.

Walking out to my car, I discovered another one. I didn’t have a coughing fit the entire day! I mean, I had the scattered coughs, but I didn’t double over in uncontrollable waves of heaves and hacks to the point of gagging. Sleeping with Vanessa’s humidifier on the past few nights may have done some magic. Yay for healing lungs and good friends’ caretaking.

I had a semi-productive evening yesterday. I loaned Diana an ear for her current laments, then got my hair cut. (“Did you get a hair cut?” “No, I got ’em all cut.”) I meant to just go for a 1-2 inch trim, but the lady suggested relayering but keeping the length. I shrugged and told her to go to town. I mean, she’s a trained professional. And hair grows back, so whatever. It was really cute when she was done (when it was still wet), layered from my high cheekbone area down to the tips. “This is a low-maintenance cut, you don’t even need to style it. And I left the front long enough that you can pin it back when you work out so it’s not in your face.” I nodded contentedly. “And I cut it so that it’ll have a little flip outward. You may want to put some dry wax on the tips so that it’d separate on the flips, though.” Wait. WHAT? I hate outward flips. That’s the reason I want the length cut. It’s touching my shoulders and flipping outward. Sure enough, when the hair dried, it flipped every which way. Ugh. I couldn’t help but note the contrast between the image reflected in the mirror and the femme fatale hotness on the 2 shows I watched last nite on TV, “America’s Next Top Model” and “The Next Pussycat Doll.”

While watching those shows, I did manage to do a load of laundry and vacuum half of downstairs. (I was vacuuming during commercial breaks only and then I fell asleep and the vacuum is currently in the middle of my living room, still plugged in.) I also washed the duvet cover for my big heavy fobby Chinese cotton comforter. Man, putting the thick cotton pad back into that duvet cover was awful. I put it in the wrong way the first time so that it was perpendicular to the way it was supposed to go in, so of course I had excess duvet fabric on the top and bottom and not enough on the sides. Turning it inside the cover proved impossible (I felt like I was turning a breached fetus within the mother), so I took it out, turn it 90-degrees, and reinserted it, then had to shake out the stuff to smooth the wrinkles out and make the stuff fit evenly. When I was done, it was 3:30 a.m., I was sweaty, and my room looked like it snowed little round balls of raw cotton.

The SUV in front of me this morning had a license plate frame that said, in a stylistic font reminscent of Old World Celtic wisdom:

ABOVE ALL ELSE
PROTECT YOUR HEART

It reminded me of a poem I’d written in high school, in which the speaker is a mother advising her daughter about life, and it ends with something like “But no matter what, remember to keep a portion of your heart sovereign, or you’ll have nothing left to rebuild yourself with, when he hurts you.” Of course I justified the pessimistic angle by entitling it “From a Cancer Mother to her Daughter”, cuz everyone knows that Cancers have a shell to protect their soft, loving but vulnerable insides. (I’m a Cancer, as is my mother.)

The SUV in front of me did not have the cartoony white stickfigures representing each member of the driver’s family that adorns so many SUVs around here. And it was a BMW. The driver was alone. I don’t know that she’s single, but if she were, could the driver’s motto be the reason that she’s by herself? If she didn’t get married and have 3 kids, she could afford a BMW SUV, right? And what’s that say about me that I’m 30, single, no kids, in a Lexus? Are the two paths in life either fulfillment with family life OR fulfillment with materialism? Are the two typically mutually exclusive? Then where do I fit in? I’m not a particularly materialistic person, but the reason I have the Lexus is because in one emotional weekend, I decided to blow my wedding fund. So for me, I suppose on some level the Lexus is a (poor) compensation for what I really want.

I was reading Wilco and fiance Christi’s wedding blog in which they talk about their last marriage prep session as required by the Catholic church. One of the questions asked the couples present was how much money they expect to spend on clothing/wardrobe a year. Christi’s account was that the men and women differ quite dramatically in their answers, with the women in the higher numbers ($2500) and men in the lower ($500). Before I read Wilco and Christi’s reponse to the question, I thought about how I would answer it. I figure I spend about $200 a year. I add to my wardrobe slowly, I don’t do closet overhauls with the fleetings of fashion, I don’t do designer bags or shoes. Pretty much the only time I buy something or even go clothes or shoe shopping is if something I own broke and I NEED it replaced, like a pair of brown closed-toed high heel shoes, which I still haven’t been able to find. I don’t shop for the sheer joy of shopping. I hate shopping.

That reminds me, last week I walked toward the entrance of the courthouse on my way to work, behind a woman wearing tight 7ForAllMankind jeans. My first thought was, “She’s probably on her way in for a fee waiver.” That’s how jaded I am. But given the demographic area this courthouse serves, given the sheer quantity of people who request and are granted fee waivers, given how I know women to be, I’d say I predicted her purpose in the Courts with 85% accuracy. Because if she were an attorney, she wouldn’t be in jeans. If she were here as moral support to a family member on trial, she wouldn’t be alone. If she were a attorney messenger service runner, she would be carrying more papers. If she were here to file a divorce or harrassment case, well, then she’d be requesting a fee waiver so she could get those things for free. Claiming that she doesn’t have the financial means to pay the filing fees, because she’d spent $200 on wrapping her ass in denim.

So anyway, Wilco’s estimate was more than 12 times my estimate, and more than double his fiance Christi’s estimate (altho to be fair, I believe they were estimating their expected expenditure on wardrobe as a couple, and I was just thinking of myself). That made me really examine my attire priorities. Maybe I need a pair of fresh eyes to help me throw out my clothes. My old rule of thumb was:
KEEPERS – if it fits, and if it’s not too badly damaged; sometimes if it fits BUT it’s damaged, I keep it for “possible beach wear” or “possible painting wear”
DONATE – if it’s too small, tight AND I don’t expect to lose enough weight to get back into it someday, or if it’s ripped beyond repair

Go ahead and laugh. I know these guidelines don’t take into consideration things like whether something’s still in style, whether something is ever worn, whether I can truly see myself wearing the item again. That’s why I have oversized fuschia sweaters from the 80s, a Debbie Gibson concert T-shirt, holey tops that I have to wear a tanktop under, embroidered rhinestone-embedded denim shirts, jeans with house paint splattered over the front, granny underwear, navy with pink pin-striped baggy trousers with suspenders, multi-colored slouch socks, my junior high Physical Education (PE) sweatshirt and shorts. Damn it that I grew up in the 80s, and everything then was oversized. Everything still fits! I’ve had things so long that fashion has come full circle and my clothes are actually back in style. 😛

I need help.

Mr. W’s boy is getting his college acceptances in now. It makes me think back to my senior year. UCLA (University of California, Los Angeles) was my dream school. UCI (University of California, Irvine) was the backup. UCR (University of California, Riverside) was the backup to the backup. And then I applied to Cal (University of California, Berkeley) because my mom just wanted to know. Those were the only colleges I applied to.

Choosing to go to UCLA was a big step for me; most of my close friends either went to UCI or UCBerkeley, or stayed at home and attended a local Cal State University or junior college and transferred into a UC. But I always knew where I belonged. It was tough because as a teenager, you want to follow your friends. You get separation anxiety. You don’t want to look like a “loner,” cuz “loners” are “losers.” I gritted my teeth and told myself I’d make new friends. With that new thick(er) skin, college was also the first time I was able to eat alone. It just seems that the caliber of most people on a university campus are less concerned about how they look to strangers than how they work food into their day on their way to their next class, on their way to a degree, on their way to a better life. It was inspiring and admirable. I thought, “I don’t look at these people grabbing a bite doing work at the table and studying as loners or losers. They look like they’re just going along their day. I probably don’t look like a loser to other people, either, so they’ll just assume I’m alone because I choose to be.” I saved a lot of time multi-tasking lunch with studying, catching up on reading for an upcoming class, homework, reviewing notes for an imminent midterm.

I told Mr. W that I’m glad I didn’t have a boyfriend in high school, because I’m the type of girlfriend who would put her man’s happiness above her own. If I were accepted to UCLA and he wasn’t, and he was attending UCI and wanted me around, I’d be at UCI. I may have never found my independence. I’d be an Anteater, not a Bruin. I would’ve never met Diana, whom chance threw into my dorm room during summer orientation. Without Diana, I would’ve never met Wilco, whose server runs this blog, and I may not even be blogging. Even if I somehow still ended up at where I am in life right now and I met Mr. W who convinced me to go on a cruise last February, and I still met Jordan at the dinner table, I wouldn’t have the blog to keep in touch with her. Our friendship grew after meeting each other because we got in each others’ cyber lives, or rather, she came into mine, created her own after liking what she saw, and then I invaded hers. It is terrifying to think that so many things that I’m thankful for today wouldn’t be around if I had simply chosen a different school.

But then, maybe there’s an alternative me who DID attend UCI instead, who’s thankful right now that she didn’t go to UCLA or she would’ve never met her husband and had her baby who’s just learning to roll over from tummy onto back. :/

Four jobs I have had in my life:
1. Private tutor (for kids)
2. Kumon English instructor
3. Instructor/Course designer for private prep corporation (SAT English, SAT II English, Vocab course)
4. copywriter (for Associated Students UCLA and a scuba diving equipment manufacturer)

Four movies I have watched over and over:
1. Phenomenon
2. What Dreams May Come
3. Charlie’s Angels (I and II)
4. 50 First Dates

Four places I have lived:
1. Taipei, Taiwan ROC
2. Hacienda Heights, California
3. Walnut, California
4. Diamond Bar, California

Four TV shows I love to watch:
1. Friends (yes, even if it’s all reruns)
2. What I Like About You (love Amanda Bynes)
3. Cheaters (makes me appreciate my man)
4. home improvement shows like “Trading Spaces”

Four places I’ve been on vacation:
1. Quebec/Ontario/Niagara Peninsula, Canada
2. Cancun, Mexico
3. Florida/Jamaica on cruise
4. Oahu, Hawaii

Four of my favorite foods:
1. cold, sweet, seedless watermelon
2. mint chip ice cream
3. steamed juicy dumplings (xiao long bao, “little dragon buns”)
4. raw salmon (sushi, sashimi, I don’t care)

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. hangin’ with Jordan in Florida
2. hangin’ with Diana, Wilco, Brad, Jen, Jim, Mel, etc. in Northern Cal doing something wholesome (like BBQing at the beach, hiking or biking thru Sonoma Valley)
3. hangin’ with the Do-boy in my living room, reading a book or watching TV with a lit fireplace and scented candles
4. on Mr. W’s lap hanging out anywhere

Now it’s your turn! Post this with your answers on your blog (or in my comments if you’re a good sport and want to participate but don’t have a blog).

We figured we’d keep our options for the show open and simply see what’s available Saturday night at a discount ticket events counter near the MGM casino. Mr. W’s brother had purchased and fixed up a new SUV, so he efficiently punched in a search for MGM in the satellite navigation system that he installed himself, and off we went with the two brothers, me, and the parents. It wasn’t until we were almost out of the neighborhood until I questioned, “Why does it say that the destination is 368 miles away and it’ll take us 4.5 hours to get there?” The brothers at the front seat looked at the nav. “It does say that,” the brother said thoughtfully. He punched a few more buttons. The address came up. In California. West Los Angeles. “You selected MGM Studios!” I realized. “Well I’m glad you noticed so we didn’t keep following its directions!” the guys laughed. Yeah. Been there, done that.

After getting to MGM Grand hotel & casino in Las Vegas, Nevada, Mr. W’s brother whipped out his cell phone and called their other brother, who works security at MGM. “Can you see us by the statue? We’re next to your big lion in the lobby.” I tried to make eye contact with the security camera, but didn’t know which of the 15 black domes suspended from the ceiling to look at. Mr. W’s brother then asked, “You guys wanna see the security room?” “Yeah!” I said. And off we went. The security “room” was more a cluster of rooms each with their own purpose. In one were aisles of shelves of VCRs recording for each camera in the building. Another one housed shelves of recorded video tapes. The room I found of most interest was where the guys sit at a low long table, watching a wall of TVs that showed players’ card hands, slot machines, people walking by the stores, the cash register inside a souvenir shop, dealers looking bored waiting for people to place their bets. Computers lined the low table, allowing for control of each camera and keeping records on blacklisted people and slot machines that hit a jackpot. I love behind-the-scenes stuff. I feel so privileged. I even get stories, like about the time when Robin Williams called security and asked them to focus on Camera 17. So they did, and they see Robin Williams licking his lips provocatively, winking at the camera, rubbing his nipples through his shirt, making a gesture like he’s holding a phone to his face and mouthing the words, “Call me!” The security had a huge laugh with that one. They watched as Robin took photos with everyone who walked up to him and asked, and he also took photos of people. Really nice guy, I hear.

So anyway, the show that was available with decent seats that night was the musical Mama Mia! at 10p. So we got 6 tickets and triple-dated. The show was a lot better than I expected it to be. I mean, I didn’t know 90% of the Abba songs as they were before my time (and by that I mean before the time that I spoke English), but I did recognize a lot of the 80s dance moves the goofy characters/actors did onstage. Cabbage patch, kid-n-play, snake, Reebok. Because all the publicity posters showed a dark-haired girl in a wedding dress (think “Muriel’s Wedding”) and the title of the musical is what it is, I thought it’d be a Latin-esque story. But no, it was set in the Greek Isles, a place I really want to see one day, and the storyline was really interesting. I think everyone enjoyed themselves, but not as much as the 4 drunk girls a few rows down from us waving their beers in the air and dancing in their seats.

I had a really fun time this weekend, even tho we’d driven back home already by early afternoon Sunday. And by home, I mean my parents’ home, where we stopped by to help them wax and buff their new wood floors and my mom made a multi-course dinner (with a tiny bit of prep help from me).

Hellos from sunny and windy Las Vegas! We’re here after driving much of the night to celebrate Mr. W’s mother’s birthday.

So far, I woke up, showered, had breakfast, and we’re trying to decide what show to go to tonite (to treat the birthday girl). Mama Mia? Forever Plaid? Some topless revue with boas and feathers? Speaking of which, we drove by “Cheetah” on the freeway and I’d never noticed it before Bat and Flat Coke suggested we meet up there one day. I guess now I know where it is. If I ever get a strip tease routine down, I’ll let you guys know.

And speaking of that and Christina Aguilera, she’s here this weekend for a performance. What a koinkidink. We were just talking about her on my blog and here she is.

Friday evening, Mr. W and I met up with Vanessa and another girl friend for Korean tofu (soon tofu). Food was good, I had raw crab for the first time, we had fun chatting about donkey punches and felching and safe words (I said “Armageddon” would be problematic as a safe word cuz it’s hard to say with your mouth full), and then one of the restaurant workers came to our table to kick us out, saying there were customers waiting! What the heck, how rude? It wasn’t like we were at one of 2 available tables, everyone waits, we’ve always waited, and those people there had only been there for like 2 minutes. I don’t think I’m going back to that restaurant; there are other soon tofu to be had.

I was driving to work this morning and listening to a coworker’s MP3 CD in my car. He put all his cassette singles into MP3 format and burned it onto a CD-Rom, and burned me a copy. I was reliving some past life again, old memories prompted by the music. And then I had this crazy idea.

We’re always talking about a blogger event. We’ve harrassed Jordan to come back to Cali for a visit. I’ve just about pushed Vanessa over the edge in becoming a blogger. Both Vanessa and Jordan were cheerleaders for like 7 years. We should have the blogger girls choreograph a little cheer (one better than the one Jordan and I created in the comments on Bat’s blog post) or dance routine and videotape it and feature it on our blogs! Vanessa and Jordan have the experience, Diana and Mel have the outfits (but a slinky skimpy Halloween version), and I have, uh, the idea. Everyone else (like Flat Coke) has the bodies! Who’s in?!

* crickets chirping *
* someone far away coughs *
* the sound of a tree falling in the forest is heard, altho no one is there to hear it *

Uh, and then we can all go out for sushi afterwards?