cindy's world

My gym trainee and I were emailing about a phone call I had to handle yesterday with an irrate (and apparently deaf) litigant. After I described that I had done all I could reasonably do and the caller was still being, okay, I’ll say it, a bitch, the email thread turned into something like this:

Gym Trainee: That’s when you pull out your magic wand. See if I had a magic wand my arm would be hurting, I would have waved so much already today. Several toads would be sitting at desk and on the counter.
Me: If I had a magic wand, it would have a star on the tip, just because it’s pretty. And you’ll start seeing LOTS and LOTS of people walking around with star-shaped bruises on their foreheads. That’s what I’d use my magic wand for. WAP! Just imagining that makes me feel better already.
Toads, eh? Hmmm. Maybe you can turn them into chocolate. The world could always use more chocolate.
Gym Trainee: ok, they will be chocolate toads with peanut butter filling. most will have marshmallow for brains. the wand can only transform so much, after that is what exists in the real world.
Me: We’re gonna get fat from eating the real-world toads!
Gym Trainee: I’m not crazy about marshmallow so I won’t be eating the brains cause there will be more marshmallow than peanut butter around.
Me: some will have lots of nuts in the peanut butter, too.
Gym Trainee: True, Hummm I didn’t think about that.
Me: you think some would have glass shards in them, too? That may be hard to swallow.
Gym Trainee: Well I can always wave my wand again and smash them. A thick Harry Potter wand so it won’t be too heavy for me to wave.
Me: maybe we can use a thin wand and use it to stab people. or feed the glass to other toads.
Gym Trainee: nope, if you can’t get it together while you’re a toad, you gotta go. I don’t want to overcrowd the toad population. I like rabbits so I thought about turning some into rabbits but, my rabbit is smart so many wouldn’t live up to his standards. So we’re back to toads.
Me: how about just some rocks? like Jordan almonds or something.
Gym Trainee: No, if I turn anybody into a rock it would be like coal, granite, marble, soapstone.
Me: we’ll turn everyone except ONE into coal, and we’ll leave one last person as a person, and we’ll take the coal and shove it up where the sun don’t shine, and get ourselves some diamonds!
Gym Trainee: [much later] I just finished waving my imaginary wand again. Will it ever end?
Me: it’ll end if you wap them on the heads with it. Some people are less annoying when they’re unconscious.
Gym Trainee: [today] that’s what the back of the wand is for. The front is for major change. I was just informed that [another clerk] is out next week. So on top of me waving my wand on her replacement I’ll be wearing a homemade purple heart from all the knife wounds in my back.

I hope I don’t get in trouble for “advocating violence in the workplace”. But I guess I can’t expect everyone to simply know what context to read things, especially things coming from me. My gym trainee apparently read it right, cuz this afternoon during trial, my courtroom door opened, she poked her head in, then silently and quickly shuffled over to my desk and stealthily plopped something down, and just as quickly she raced out again. It was this:

It’s a butterfly top with rotating flashing multi-colored lights, which would leave a prettier bruise than the star I’d originally had in mind. Is my gym trainee not hilarious?

There I was, driving along the street with half a tank of gas still in my car, innocent, unsuspecting, calm, sleepy even. And then HOLY CRAP! A Chevron station on my left displayed that its premium gasoline is currently being sold at $3.37 a gallon! $3.37! A gallon! 91 grade! Chevron! My last fill-up was $3.49 a gallon at Mobil. I immediately pulled into the left turn lane and waited at the red light to turn into this gas station. I spent $28 on my half-tank and merrily went on my way.

For the next 3 miles as I drove to James’s house (to pick up stuff to mail to Jordan), I kept freaking out looking at other gas stations’ posted prices. “Oh my GAWD!! Arco’s premium gas is $3.35! I just paid more than that when I didn’t even need gas!” (Buyer’s remorse.)
James, who was on the phone with me and kept getting all his sentences interrupted with my exclamations like this, said, “Okay, but do you really want Arco gas?” True. I moved on. He started saying something about work or his car or something, I wasn’t listening, because, “DUDE!!! The Mobil station HERE is $3.25!!! WHAT the HELL!!”
James paused and said, “$3.25? Really? For premium grade?”
I looked again. “Oh, nevermind. It’s 87 gas. Whew! So what’s your gateway entry code again?”
Before James could even tell me, this shot out of my mouth: “The Chevron HERE has premium gas at $3.45! Premium! Chevron!”
James said, with saintlike patience, “But you got it for less than that, didn’t you? Yeah, you paid $3.37, right?”
“Did I? Oh yeah, I did! Oh, okay then.”
*pause*
James said, “You know you’re getting all worked up over 10 cents, right? You only saved like a dime!”

Argh. What has the rip-off gasoline industry DONE to me?!

Today, Vanessa sent out a mass email trying to entice those weaker-minded of us to join her in a misery-loves-company event. A portion of her email reads:

“The second event I just signed up for is Heart Ridge 1/2 Marathon. It’s 13.1 mile course through rolling hills and fire-roads. Date: September 15th
Let me know if you are game! Sign up soon cuz space fills up quickly!”

After I wiped the tears away from laughing so hard, I figured that what must’ve happened, was that in one of her partied-out half-drunk states, someone on a dare convinced her to sign up for the race online. When she sobered up and saw what she’d done after reading the confirmation email the next day at work and screaming for a few minutes, she decided to trick as many of her friends into running with her as possible, so that she could hang onto us during the race as we drag her across the last miles.

Nice try, Vanessa. But I saw the fine print. I wrote back:
” ‘rolling hills’? Ick! I like flat courses.”

She responded:
“Don’t they make is sound so nice though? Rolling hills, not hilss that will make you want to cry for your mommy!”

That looks like an admission of guilt to me! So she DOES know it’s all a bunch of shananigans! I returned:
” ‘Enjoy the natural scenery and soft wind as you gently round those rolling hills.’
Reality: ‘Gasp fruitlessly for air after holding your breath to keep from sucking in cow stench as you hate life running straight uphill in abandoned countrysides.’ ”

All kidding aside, way to go, Vanessa! I’m so proud of you for setting such amazing goals for yourself, and for being strong and recovering so well. *high-five* Hmm. Maybe I oughta think about joining her.

Gym trainee: Do you eat kiwi?
Me: I’m happy to say I have a food allergy to kiwi. I’d always hated it cuz of what it did to my tongue and the back of my throat, and in the past years discovered it’s an allergic reaction. (My parents still swear that the back of your tongue’s “supposed” to get fuzzy and tart and that it “happens to everybody” who eats kiwi.)
Gym trainee: It’s suppose to taste tart.
Me: It’s not tart at the main part of the tongue. It’s tart the way tart would be if you were injected with dots of tartness at the back of your tongue where it joins your gums, and I’ve been known to try to scrape the “fur” off the back of my throat that I swore was growing there after eating some kiwi.
Gym trainee: I know you don’t do fur 🙂 I just hate peeling the darn thing.
Me: You can cut it in half and eat out of it with a spoon. Like I do with avocados. Or you can just bite into it without peeling it if you want to see what it feels like when *I* eat a kiwi.
Gym trainee: I’ll trust you on that and continue to peel and complain about it.
Me: Sounds like a plan.

(via e-mails)

My mom sent this to me today via email. I thought it was going to be one of those “Medical Reasons Why You Need to Pop Out My Grandbaby, NOW,” but instead, it’s this:

Pregnancy, Estrogen and Women
Pregnancy Q &A & More!

Q: Should I have a baby after 35?
A: No, 35 children is enough.

Q: I’m two months pregnant now. When will my baby move?
A: With any luck, right after he finishes college.

Q: What is the most reliable method to determine a baby’s sex?
A: Childbirth.

Q: My wife is five months pregnant and so moody that sometimes she’s
borderline irrational.
A: So what’s your question?

Q: My childbirth instructor says it’s not pain I’ll feel during labor, but
pressure. Is she right?
A: Yes, in the same way that a tornado might be called an air current.

Q: When is the best time to get an epidural?
A: Right after you find out you’re pregnant.

Q: Is there any reason I have to be in the delivery room while my wife is in
labor?
A: Not unless the word “alimony” means anything to you.

Q: Is there anything I should avoid while recovering from childbirth?
A: Yes, pregnancy.

Q: Do I have to have a baby shower?
A: Not if you change the baby’s diaper very quickly.

Q: Our baby was born last week. When will my wife begin to feel and act
normal again?
A: When the kids are in college.

“ESTROGEN ISSUES”
10 WAYS TO KNOW IF YOU HAVE “ESTROGEN ISSUES”

1. Everyone around you has an attitude problem.
2. You’re adding chocolate chips to your cheese omelet.
3. The dryer has shrunk every last pair of your jeans.
4. Your husband is suddenly agreeing to everything you say.
5. You’re using your cellular phone to dial up every bumper sticker that
says: “How’s my driving — call 1- 800-“.
6. Everyone’s head looks like an invitation to batting practice.
7. Everyone seems to have just landed here from “outer space”.
8. You’re not as nice as you used to be and you used to be a bitch.
9. You’re sure that everyone is scheming to drive you crazy.
10. The ibuprofen bottle is empty and you bought it yesterday.

TOP TEN THINGS ONLY WOMEN UNDERSTAND

10. Cats’ facial expressions.
9. The need for the same style of shoes in different colors.
8. Why bean sprouts aren’t just weeds.
7. Fat clothes.
6. Taking a car trip without trying to beat your best time.
5. The difference between beige, ecru, cream, off-white, and eggshell.
4. Cutting your hair to make it grow.
3. Eyelash curlers.
2. The inaccuracy of every bathroom scale ever made.

AND, the Number One thing only women understand :

1. OTHER WOMEN

Mr. W’s birthday is in July, and I was planning to get the windows of his new Prius tinted for that occasion as a surprise. However, Mr. Anxious couldn’t wait and upon the heels of our return from China, he called up some contacts and next thing I knew, he had an appointment for the tint within a few days. That appointment was this past Monday. The tint guy was going to Mr. W’s work to tint the car in the parking lot, so Mr. W wouldn’t even be put out of his way and the car would simply be ready to drive home at the end of the workday.

So Monday before work, I went to the makeshift tint site first, where the tint man was already hard at work. (Mr. W’s work hours start earlier than mine.) I introduced myself, and told him that I wanted to pay for the tint as a birthday present to Mr. W. He looked at me with wide and softened eyes, and said, “Awww, that’s so sweet! But he paid me already.” What?! Does Mr. W not wait for anything? I must’ve looked very crestfallen, as the tint man quickly offered up an alternative. “But I have his check right here, if you want I can void it and give that to you, and take your payment instead.”
“That’d be GREAT! Then I can put the check in a birthday card to him!” I said.
“I’ll keep your secret, I won’t even say I’ve met you,” he said, a glint in his expression. “I love surprises, I just surprised my wife with an SUV for Mother’s Day.” He told me the story as he fished out Mr. W’s payment and I wrote a new check for $275. Nothing but the very best for Mr. W.

I handed Mr. W an early birthday card yesterday. On the front of the envelope, I’d written:
“- OPEN ME –
…but I am an early birthday card, so if you want to wait 2 months until your birthday, I’ll understand.
P.S. I’m from your girlfriend.
P.P.S. Your girlfriend is hot.
P.P.P.S. You’re a lucky guy.”
Inside the card I’d written an explanation of my conspiracy with the tint man, and some birthday well-wishes. I’d tucked his voided check into the tint man’s two-part folded business card and placed that in the card.

I swear, this was Mr. W’s reaction upon opening the card.
*gasp*
*suspiciously* “What did you do?!”
*looking at his check* “What is this?! You voided my check???”
I said, “No, HE did that.”
*looking at his check again* “Why would he void my check? What did you DO?”
I said, “Read the card!”

And then I thought, why’s he reacting this way? What does he THINK I did? All of a sudden, it occurs to me. I could’ve totally stolen the payment check from the tint man, maybe distracted him with some conversation while I did so, and then I could’ve given the stolen payment back to Mr. W as a sort of Bonnie-and-Clyde birthday present! “Here honey! I got you a free tint!” “Wow, you’re amazing! High-five!”

I’m too honest.

Mr. W has been going thru some drama, and he’d told me before that when he’s sick or not happy or mad, that he’d prefer to be left alone. So I’d been leaving him alone. Monday after work, I went to Boot Camp with Vanessa, and yesterday after work, I hung out with Dwaine to give him some China souvenir and we had dinner at Cheesecake Factory. I don’t plan on going over to Mr. W’s place for the remainder of this week, either, as there’s a zoo going on at his house and he’d probably prefer to keep whatever little space he has as quiet as possible. I wondered what would happen if I don’t go over at all on the weekdays anymore. I suppose in the beginning it’d be weird as I’m used to spending a lot more time with him than I am now, but over time would I get used to being by myself and doing my own thing, to the point where a relationship just doesn’t fit into my life anymore? And how long would that take, if ever? What happens if it does, do two people just sorta drift apart and stop dating each other? Hmm. Interesting stuff. I saw Mr. W at the gym at lunch earlier and wanted to run this by him and see what his opinion on this weird phenomenon is. I figured he’d probably not think it’s p0ssible to just unknowingly drift into a breakup situation, then look back and go, “Oh, I guess we broke up. I hadn’t seen my significant other for about a year now, come to think of it.” Haha. But there was a guy on the elliptical trainer right next to Mr. W, and the stranger wasn’t wearing a headset, so I didn’t approach Mr. W.

Later, I saw Mr. W online. So I IMed him. I apparently have communication problems, as you can see below:
me: You know a calzone is good when you eat it 3 days later, cold, and it’s DELICIOUS.
Mr. W: good
me: I was gonna ask you when you were on the elliptical (but that guy was right next to you), would it be possible if we just saw each other less and less and then not at all and we just sort of naturally break up?
Mr. W: This is a Joke …Right?
me: it’s a hypothetical.
maybe I should reword that.
I’m not asking “would it be possible” as in asking for permission.
I’m asking “would it be possible” as in, “do you think two people could…”
[* long-ass pause here *]
Mr. W: you r away from me for 2 days and now u wanna break up.
me: what?
it’s just a musing hypothetical, I’m not SUGGESTING we break up!
[* another long pause *]
Mr. W: u got some spaining to do lucy!
me: I thought I DID explain up there!
[* yet another pause *]
me: this is one of those questions like, “Do you think if we invert a huge glass bowl over my house and yard that the grass and trees that I currently have would provide enough oxygen to sustain me and Dodo?”
I’m not telling you to create a giant bell jar and trap me in a biodome!

That was awhile ago and he hasn’t responded. Hmm… Maybe the time it takes to drift apart and break up is like 20 minutes.

Life is more fun when you have an active imagination. My mom told me that when I was a toddler with her on a public bus in Taiwan, I started crying from being so thirsty. She looked in her bag and realized she’d forgotten to bring the baby bottle of milk. So instead, she said, “Okay, I’ll make you milk,” and went thru the physical motions as she explained what she was pretending to do. “I’m opening the powdered milk container. Now I’m scooping two scoops into your bottle. I’m adding hot water. Stir, stir, stir! Let me shake it up, and test it. It’s perfect. Here you go,” she hands me the handful of air. She said I took it and happily pretended to suck from the non-existent bottle, and was contentedly smiling after that. I was an easy baby. And I’m still like that today, as you can see from these IMs:

Vanessa: Ok
I had to make coffee, too
me: I want coffee.
Vanessa: *Handing over an internet cup of coffee*
best I can do from over here
me: wow, it’s strong!
* sip sip *
AND HOT! YIKES!!
Vanessa: U r too cool!
Luv it!
me: * placing hot coffee cup carefully balanced on Vanessa’s head *
still think I’m cool? hee hee
Vanessa: *doing belly dancing and not dropping the cup*
Now that is cool!

Aren’t we cute? 🙂

I used to think California driving was pretty bad, like they were just GIVING out licenses to anybody now. The way I see it, driving styles are separating themselves into two main categories. Road rage appears to be on the rise, as with ignorance of the drivers. With the first type, defensive driving is pretty much out the window — these drivers expect you to watch out for them and yield to their asshole driving styles. The second type, those who don’t drive aggressively like them drive obliviously and randomly, blocking your way, often gabbing on cell phones. I think this contributes to the aggression and road rage of the first kind of drivers.

I didn’t even realize how awful California drivers were until my vacation in Hawaii last year. When you signal on a freeway, the driver in the lane you want to change to slows down instead of speeds up to block you. They even give a hand gesture, similar to the ones we get in California, except the Hawaiian one uses ALL the fingers. What’s the rush? We’ll all get there soon enough, come on in, brother! their driving style seems to convey.

And then I went to China. I can’t say I was surprised since Taiwan driving is pretty awful as well, but I think Mr. W and his friends were treating it like a novelty. Pedestrians just walked into the street and stood still between two lanes as cars whizzed around them at full speed (yield to pedestrians? What’s that?), and then they moved up another lane and stood still again as more cars whizzed past, inches from their bodies. Thus they make their way, frogger-style, across the street. The driving was utterly unpredictable, as cars turned any direction from any lane, going the wrong way on streets if it was physically possible (and sometimes when it wasn’t), created a lane in between two existing lanes, and basically ignoring traffic lights, bikers and pedestrians. And other cars. Oh yes. Cars pulled out going the wrong way grazing within a inch of our vehicle, and yet they knew exactly what they were doing. Those going the wrong way or making odd turns or creating fake lanes would simply honk to let the relevant drivers know they were there, and the other drivers would move a little to let them make their obscure maneuvers. Needless to say, alert honking filled the air. No one was angry about it, no one was surprised. (Mr. W, me, his friends John and Lidya strolled around cities a few nights at our leisure, and every time we made it across a street, John would let out this big whoop and pick Lidya off the ground in celebration, laughing hysterically, thanking God that they were still alive, and commenting about how he hadn’t gotten such an adrenaline rush in a long time.)

I came back to California and was SO happy that people primarily drove inside of their own lanes and generally stopped when the light turned red, or when pedestrians were crossing the street. But I now have a new annoyance for pedestrians that see you driving by and deliberately step out in front of your car, forcing you to slam your brakes, as they walk slowly and haughtily across the street. “This would NOT be happening in China,” I’d grumbled more than a few times already.

So in honor of California drivers, here is something my coworker sent me a few minutes ago:

HOW TO DRIVE IN LOS ANGELES
1. The morning rush hour is from 5:00 am to noon . The evening rush hour is from noon to 7:00 pm. Friday’s rush hour starts on Thursday morning.
2. The minimum acceptable speed on most freeways is 85 mph. On the 105 or 110, your speed is expected to match the highway number. Anything less is considered “Wussy”.
3. Forget the traffic rules you learned elsewhere. LA has its own version of traffic rules. For example, cars/trucks with the loudest muffler go first at a four-way stop; the trucks with the biggest tires go second. However, in Malibu, SUV-driving, cell phone-talking moms ALWAYS have the right of way.
4. If you actually stop at a yellow light, you will be rear-ended, cussed out, and possibly shot.
5. Never honk at anyone. Ever. Seriously. It’s another offense that can get you shot.
6. Road construction is permanent and continuous in all of LA and Orange Counties. Detour barrels are moved around for your entertainment pleasure during the middle of the night to make the next day’s driving a bit more exciting.
7. Watch carefully for road hazards such as drunks, skunks, dogs, cats, barrels, cones, celebs, rubberneckers, shredded tires, cell phoners, deer and other roadkill, and the coyotes feeding on any of these items.
8. Mapquest does not work here, none of the roads are where they say they are or go where they say they do and all the freeway off- and on-ramps are moved each night.
9. If someone actually has their turn signal on, wave them to the shoulder immediately to let them know it has been “accidentally activated.”
10. If you are in the left lane and only driving 70 in a 55-65 mph zone, you are considered a road hazard and will be “flipped off” accordingly. If you return the flip, you’ll be shot.
11. Do not try to estimate travel time, just leave Monday afternoon for Tuesday appointments, by noon Thursday for Friday and right after church on Sunday for anything on Monday morning.

I sent my dad an email forward earlier today. You know, those entertaining emails you’re forwarded, then forward in turn to people you think are bored at work. My dad responded with:

“DEAR CINDY:

HAD SEEN IT BEFORE, AS YOU KNOW UNCLE TERRY SENT ME ALL KIND OF THINGS FROM E-MAIL. MY G-MAIL BOX ALL WAYS 90% FULL.”

Come to think of it, I do remember my dad saying before that his oldest brother Terry would clog his gmail account with forwards. Gmail has the largest capacity of free online emails I know of, so clogging it is quite a feat. I responded:

“oh. maybe you can “block” him.”

I looked at my line, then figured my dad may misread the statement due to the language barrier, and misunderstand the tone due to the cultural barrier, so I added:

“haha. Just kidding.”

Dad responded:

“You may see my mail addr is not g-mail but the g-mail is for him only. There
are some thing are good and fun only take too many times to read it. He is
retired may have time to kill .”

Translation: As you can see, this email account I’m writing you from is not gmail; I reserve gmail for him only so he can clog up my inbox with forwards. He sends some good stuff, but it takes me too long to read it [what with the language barrier and all]. He’s retired so he probably has a lot of time on his hands.

I replied:

“maybe i’ll send him my laundry to do, then.”

My dad’s immediate response:

“Ha ha you wish.”

I had to recheck the “from” field to make sure this email came from him. If you have immigrant parents, you’d be as shocked as I am. Did he just say the colloquil quip “you wish”? And he got that it was a joke! Maybe I really don’t give my parents enough credit.