cindy's world

That’s me. I wrote something on the Disneyland Half-Marathon run entry about running next to a guy in a banana costume, and the next day, the same guy commented on that entry to explain the costume. That’s SO COOL. Let’s see whom else I can get to talk to me!

I think it would be so cool to be friends with Jennifer Aniston.
I think Antonio Sabato, Jr. is really hot and my friend Vicky bought me his workout book as a drool-inducer many years ago, but it had actually changed and improved the way I work out. Great advice, Antonio!
My great-uncle Miao Tien is a movie actor in Taiwan who’d passed away recently, and he told me in ’98 that he was friends with Jackie Chan before Jackie became the megastar he is now. They used to drink tea together. I think it’d be neat if Jackie Chan gave me a shout-out.
I’m a bit concerned about Danny Bonaduce. I haven’t heard anything about him since his reality TV show, which documented his family life, showed him getting back into drugs and his marriage falling apart. Because I was a huge fan of his when he was on a morning radio talkshow, I know he tends to overdramatize for the TV cameras, so I hope he’s okay and his marriage is intact. It’d be neat if he could let me know how he’s doing.

*sitting back and waiting*

Mr. W: Who is that? Is that a good guy? …I can hit him. Oh, I can become him. Who am I? I’m a bounty hunter?
Me: Do you always think out loud when you play video games, or are you doing that for my benefit?
Mr. W: …

I think it was in the early months of 1996. I was a junior in college. Childhood friend Sandy and I were hanging out in another family friend’s living room during one of our multi-family get-togethers that our parents used to have with their fishing buddies. She was admiring a pearl ring I wore on my right ring finger. It was a one-month anniversary present from my first boyfriend, whom I’d gotten together with shortly after Christmas. Pearl is my birthstone (although I much prefer my alternate semi-precious birthstone of Alexandrite), and a white one was set in four yellow gold petals. Two tiny diamonds connected the petals to the band. Sandy was saying, “Wow, he must really like you. My mom says you can marry someone with a bad temper, or marry someone poor, or marry someone boring, but you should never marry someone cheap. Someone who’s cheap to you will make your life really, really bitter.” This was back in the day when Sandy started really taking to heart old Chinese proverbial advice from her mother about whom she should date because, at the ripe age of 20, anyone we dated seriously at that point is a potential husband. The irony, of course, is that 10 years later now, neither of us are married. And we’ve both swept through strings of men. Heck, we learned a lot about ourselves in the process of dating wrong people, though.

The fun part of this memory is what follows. I had to go pee, so I got off the couch and went to the restroom behind the living room. I closed the door behind me, then walked the length of the long restroom and sat on the toilet. The door was to my left. Suddenly, there was a bang as the door swung violently open and Sandy flew through the door into the restroom with an “Oof!”, stumbling. Then she paused, laughed, and ran out the door, slamming it behind her. I just sat there and looked down the length of the bathroom. What the heck just happened? When I left the restroom, I walked out to see her laughing hysterically on the couch. “Do you need the restroom?” I asked her.
“No!” she gasped in between gales.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I was just — *gasp* I was just — messing around *laugh laugh* — I was gonna pound on the door and say, ‘LET ME IN! LET ME IN!’ and mess around like you locked me out, but the door wasn’t closed and I fell in!”
HAHAHAHA!!!! Talk about a stupid practical joke/stunt backfiring and making you look stupid! I can just picture her sitting on the couch having this brilliant idea to be stupid, then walking around to the bathroom raising both fists to pound on the door, and then one pound and the door gives way and she falls in. HAHAHAHA!

Okay, you had to be there.

I secretly feel bad that my life has stabilized to the point that there is no drama to entertain people with on this blog. But I don’t feel bad enough to hope for drama just to keep my readership up. I also secretly feel bad that what little drama I deal with can’t be posted on here for privacy reasons regarding the people I would be bitching about. But that just gives my friends a reason to call me and see what’s new that I can’t write about on this very open, very public, surprisingly searchable site. I don’t like censorship. I also secretly wish people out there know enough “inside” stuff to get how boundary-flirtatious some of these posts truly are, but I’m not gonna spell things out. They just have to read between the lines or be on the inside path.

As a single-digit-age kid, I loved flipping through those thick Best department store color catalogs. Those things were like phone books! Best doesn’t exist anymore, but in the 80s it was a mega department store that had unbelievable inventories of jewelry, household appliances, bedding, knick-knacks, tools, and my favorite: toys!! When I was 6, I would turn to the jewelry section and “randomly” put initials by rings and such to designate a “random,” “fair” divi-ing up of loot between me and my 2 favorite playmates, my cousins Diana and Jennifer. And then I’d show them the book. And they’d realize that altho the assignments seemed random, I appeared to always have the prettiest rings designated to me. “No fair!” my cousin Diana had once said, throwing the book into the air. I had to later ask my mom what “no fair” meant. Hey, I was 6 and didn’t speak the language, okay? But darn it, at ages 7 and 4, my cousins were on to me and my youthful double-edged stealth.

My point is, at that age, I’d flip right by the bedding and appliance “grownup” sections in a catalog, and I’d wonder, “Who looks at this?! It’s so boring!” And here I am, blogging about INSURANCE. My inner child is screaming and rocking.

Today, a little cat got into the building and went into the employee restroom behind my department. He lit up a cigarette and smoked a little bit while he was in there, while he sat in his litter box. He may have put out his cigarette in his litter box, too.

I know this because this is what the restroom smelled like when I walked in there earlier, as I held my breath and fought the gag reflex.

Mr. W and I went to a Japanese curry house for dinner last nite, and I ordered chicken curry udon. I brought the leftover half for lunch today, and I’m eating it right now. It is so good. I don’t know whether it’s good cuz 2nd day curry’s good, or because I’m starving after my noon workout today. I should eat lunch more often. Altho, on days when I skip the workout to have lunch, food doesn’t taste this good.

I got stopped twice on my walk from the courthouse out to lunch by people who wanted to praise me about my car. I seem to have shot up in popularity points just because I dished out for a Lexus. If I had believed that this is how popularity worked, I would’ve bought my way to homecoming queen in high school. But instead, I’d believed in being who you are and having faith that your inner beauty will find worthy fans. *guffaw* For the past few weeks, anytime I talk to people (especially men), it’s because they want to ask questions about the car. “I heard you got a new car! How fast does that thing go?” “Is that your Lexus down there in the structure? The blue one with the beige interior? It’s beautiful!” “I saw your car yesterday! I’m not worthy!” *kotowing* One bailiff came into my courtroom at 9am the first day he was back from a 2-week vacation and said, “I heard you got a new Lexus!” I guess people are buzzing in the building about the car.

I have to say, I am really happy that I have the only IS 350 in the structure. I’ll enjoy that while it lasts. My bailiff said that I’m likely the only clerk in the county to have that car. I ran into my old bailiff in the building earlier, who also brought up having heard about my new car, and said, “How could you afford that? You’re a clerk!” like it’s a bad word. I ticked off my fingers. “I’m single. I’m not divorced. I’m not married. I have no kids.” “Say no more, please!” his clerk begged.

As an off-handed thing, when my cat greeted me with his meows this morning at the door, I patted his fuzzy little head and said, “Hello, my little kitten caboodle.” And then I thought, “That’d be a GREAT name for a cat! Caboodle!” Cuz then you can say, “This is my kitten, Caboodle.” Especially if the kitten’s the only thing you have in your life, as is my case with my Dodo. He’s my entire kit n’ caboodle. He’s my kitten Caboodle. I wonder if it’s too late to change his name.

Just when I figured now that I’m a grownup I can spell most common words, I am humbled by the Los Angeles Mission.

I’m writing out a check to the cause to sponsor a table for their annual Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless, and in the memo line of my check, I wrote:

Memo: donation to Thanksgiving capagne
______________________________

Memo: donation to Thanksgiving campagne
_________________________^____

Memo: donation to Thanksgiving campagne Campaigne .
_________________________^____

How pathetic. I never knew I couldn’t spell “campaign.” My check looks retarded.

Last night, Dwaine called me to enlist my help in composing an e-vite for his upcoming 30th bday shabang.

Dwaine: I’m also thinking of reserving the poolhouse from my association so it can be a joint house party pool party, since I’m sure it’s gonna be hot that day, too.
Me: Aw man, you’re gonna make me lose weight by your birthday?!
Dwaine: You look fine!
Me: That’s cuz you haven’t seen me naked!
Dwaine: …
[huge long pause, during which I thought “Uh-oh, I’ve grossed him out.” I’m expecting some response about TMI since we practically grew up together so I guess it is kinda gross, but I didn’t mean it that way; it’s usually my retort when people say I look fine that they only THINK I look fine because they don’t know how hideous the blobs of fat really are cloaked within dark fabrics.]
Dwaine: … I just had this bottleneck effect happen to me! All these comments came up in my head and they were all going, “Ooh, ooh, pick me, pick me!” and I didn’t know which one to say cuz there were so many good ones! I’m gonna confer with all the comments and voices in my head and I’ll get back to you in one h0ur with a good response, like “This is the comeback we’ve decided on in response to your comment one hour earlier.”

I never heard from him again.

Yesterday evening, I went to A Snail’s Pace and returned my running shoes. No hassle, they made the return very easy. I’m undecided as to buying new running shoes before the Disneyland half-marathon next month, or to just suck it up and run in my old shoes. I’m not sure if I can break in new shoes (assuming I can find a good fit that doesn’t hurt me when I run) in 2 weeks, anyhow.

Speaking of the half-marathon, I went to the 24 Hour Fitness near A Snail’s Pace after I returned my shoes and did a 45 minute run (w/2 minute cool-down afterwards) on the treadmill. It was so incredibly painful. My stomach hurt, I got a pain in my right side mid-run, and my breathing wasn’t comfortable. True, the last run I did was last Saturday, but come on, it was only a 4.3 mile run. I am actually pretty worried about running 14 miles in a couple of weeks now. A treadmill, come on! It doesn’t get easier than that. Except on a treadmill with a built-in fan. That 24 Hour Fitness didn’t have those.

Speaking of that 24 Hour Fitness, James had wanted to meet my new car, and he works out at that 24 Hour Fitness, and since I was gonna be in the area, we compromised and I went to that gym to work out and he went there earlier than he normally works out to meet up with me. I walked in the door at 7p, and geez, there was not one treadmill open! And I believe all the elliptical trainers were taken up. I know he’d explained that he hits the gym at 11p to avoid the crowd, but I had no idea that by crowd, he meant the entire population of Brea, Fullerton and Yorba Linda panting and sweating together in 1500 square feet. James showed up at a little past 8p, after my run, and I apologized for making him come to the gym this early. I hadn’t seen him since ’99, and I’m glad he recognized me, cuz I wouldn’t have recognized him.

In typical Cindy fashion, I threw a bunch of ab and leg exercises at him to throw off his normal abs/leg day routine and to fine-tune his results, and he was game to trying out the new stuff. It was fun working out with James. My coworker gym trainee, altho she’s doing very well and she’s incredibly motivated, is a beginning gymmer so I’ve slacked off a lot on my own stuff when I train her. With James, we got to hit a bit more of the hard-core stuff and I worked up a really good sweat. We left the gym at almost 9:30p. Wow, at the gym from 7-9:30. It’s like the old me back.

After our workout, I gave him a ride in my new car back to his car, and he was jealous of my back-up camera. Heh, heh. It’s not like there’s a lot of stuff for him to be jealous of, considering I dropped him off by his silver Mercedes AMG roadster that was so shiny it blinded me in the dark night. “Zaino,” he explained. Yeah, I’m gonna need to get me some of that.

Oh yeah. After I left the gym I went home and decided to make some spaghetti with organic vodka sauce. I was feeling really good about the work-out and happy with the fact that I’d just run, AND I’d just recently dropped back down into the previous 10s in my weight. So my bad-ass self was gonna have some carbs to balance my long-ass workout. Except I could not get the sauce jar open. I turned turning the cap with one hand, then the other, then I sat on the ground, held the jar between my knees, struggled with the lid with both hands, then held the jar between my feet so I could apply pressure a different way as I tried to turn the lid. No luck. Don’t think the irony was lost on me that I am, in reality, still just a weak little girl. I had to pass on the vodka sauce and I had my spaghetti with a marinara instead. Next thing you know I’ll be looking for a man to trap a spider for me. =P

Belly dancing got sexy tonite! She started the class with the usual technique-intensive, fast-paced stuff, but ended the class with a routine of lots of slow gyrations, sweeping arm movements, “snake arms,” “tulip hands,” body undulations, “alligator jaws.” I’m gonna try to remember the routine and do it right now in front of my wall mirrors. There are no mirrors in class, and I wonder if I look as good as the instructor did doing these movements. BRB…

Okay. Why do I look like Tai Chi when I’m doing this?! I gotta do this sometime in a tight tanktop and an Indian skirt instead of in the fitted black T and black dance pants that I’m in right now.