cindy's world

(rest mouse over photos for captions)

Saturday was spent at the Renaissance Pleasure Faire with Mr. W, my bailiff and his girlfriend. If you’ve never been to a Renaissance Faire, it is the most bawdy place ever. Gravity-defying cleavage and sexually connotated double entendres thrown shamelessly everywhere a la Billy Shakespeare. During a joust, I even received a coupon that reads in old English calligraphy: This card entitles the bearer to ONE FREE KISS from any willing man, woman or beast. I read this, looked up and inquired, “How does one know if a beast is willing?” If you’re under 17 or you’re related to me and don’t want to read about my participation in this land of sin, stop reading now.

I got dressed up, which made no sense because I’m Asian, so to add to the confusion, Mr. W bought me a pair of fawn horns. Not fawn as in a little deer, but fawn as in woodland mythological beast. He in turn had more obvious twisted longish white horns on. It matched his devilish look and impish smile well, everyone (strangers mostly) kept commenting. One lady selling corsages in a basket (which women wear tucked into the cleavage to decorate the breasts) said to Mr. W, “My good sir, I see you’ve let your horny lady walk around naked and yet you’ve plowed her and left her no garden! ‘Tis shameless! Here are some flowers for her fertile hillside.” He selected a heavenly-scented gardenia which was tucked into a regular florists’ plastic tube of water, and with her instruction, he pried my boobs apart a bit while she pushed the cold tube into my cleavage. “She’s tight, you lucky sire!” she said to him. (I have a really funky tan line on my chest now, by the way.) At an alcohol booth, a young lady filling Mr. W’s drink order saw my gardenia and asked to “smell [my] flower.” I stepped up onto a low step in front of the counter and leaned forward and she stuck her nose into my boobs and inhaled, saying, “Mmmm.”

At one point, Mr. W had gone to the restroom (or “privies”) and my bailiff and his girlfriend had gone to the food court. So I sat alone on a bench in a court, in front of this:

I was doing my usual avoid-all-eye-contact thing on this bench, when out of the corner of my eye, I could see a man walking toward me, in nobility attire (probably one of the RenFaire actors), with a similarly dressed man. He separated from his friend and came too close into my personal space, and stopped, as tho willing me to turn and look up at him. So finally I did.

Him: You have horns on your head.
Me: Yes, I know. I’m “horny.”
Him: You stole my line! I was gonna say that next.
Me: I’ve been hearing it all day. “You’re a horny girl,” “Since you’re horny, you would appreciate a nice piece of wood between your legs.” (Said by a “ride operator” referring to the large wooden rocking horse ride.)
Him: (turning his hip so that the ornate hilt of his sword is exposed and pointing at me from under his cape) Wood? What about steel?
Me: Well, I suppose steel is firmer than wood.
Him: (turning so that it appears to anyone not standing to our side that he’s thrusting his hips toward me from underneath his cape) You wanna touch it? You can touch it.
Me: (eyeing the sword) No, I might be tempted to unsheathe it.
Him: (pulling open the cape and exposing the leather lacing up the side of the sheath) You won’t be able to. It’s peace-laced.
Me: (raising an eyebrow looking at his face) Hmm, it sounds like a challenge now.

His friend had been looking back and forth at first amused, and then shocked, and then impressed. I now looked at his friend who was standing to the side and I waved a hand at him and said, “Eh, we could go on like this all day,” and gave him his friend back and the two walked away.

This politician was walking around smiling into his frame and asking people to vote for him.

When I walked away from this guy, he said, “Now you’re well-hung.” I said, “Hmm. I’ve never been well-hung before.” He said, “Or forcibly mounted, whichever you prefer.” I said, “I definitely prefer the latter.”

The horns made me do it.

Yup, the avocado is still there in its little clear plastic cup of shame. Kind of like how people were punished in the ol’ Medieval days by being shackled and locked head and hands in a wooden stock and people would walk by and laugh at them or throw apples at them.

The tip of the stem has now died and turned brown. It was suggested to me that maybe I was drowning the seed, so I poured out most of the water and just left the bottom part of the avocado sitting in the pool. The crack split open more, and I thought something was happening, but it’d been a few days. People do stop and ask what the hell that is, but I’d forgotten that I’d wanted to say it was the testicle of a cougar, so instead I’d been answering people with “It’s the brain of the last attorney who was in here.” Very few people pursue the question further. The movie props people who were in my courtroom filming a few weekends ago had asked the sheriff who was posted in my courtroom what was in the cup, and I’m not sure what he told them. He did tell me people kept asking about it.

I had been about to dump the seed when I turned it and realized that something between the yellowed color of the seed and a light green had begun to grow in the middle of the crack. It doesn’t appear to be a root, not stringy enough. It resembles the very young sprout of a bamboo or something, about the size and shape of a large sunflower seed shell. So I guess I’m keeping it a bit longer to see what happens.

A few people have told me when Disney’s Lilo and Stitch first came out that I must’ve been like Lilo as a young girl. This now reminds me of the scene in which Lilo’s shaking up a large liquid-filled glass jar that had a few wooden spoons in it and the spoons have faces drawn on the scoop parts and yarn hair glued to the tops. Someone asked her what she’s doing, and she said without looking up, “I’m punishing my friends when they’ve been bad,” or something to that effect.

I’ve gotta watch that movie again.

The things Diana and I had to hit after I picked her up on Thursday nite was

Thursday:
* sushi at Ch0mp on our way back to my house
Friday:
* old-style pancake breakfast
* lunch at Market City Caffe in Brea
* spa appointments in afternoon in Brea
* UCLA for NCAA Final Four gear in the evening
* Monterey Park for late-night Chinese food run on the way back from UCLA
Saturday:
* book my birthday flight up to San Jose online
* take her to the aiport in the late morning

Here’s how it actually went. I picked her up Thursday nite, traffic was hellish and there were always idiots in front of me. But whatever, that’s a commonplace occurrence, altho it was bad enough that Diana noted how I’m always behind the morons no matter what lane I change to. Getting to Chomp, we got a prime parking spot in a very overcrowded parking lot, and then we got out and saw a roped-off line in front of the restaurant by a bouncer. The bouncer told us that Thursday was their all-you-can-eat sushi nite and that’s what the line’s for. WHAT?! The ONE DAY we were there! The wait for the restaurant was hours-long, and we asked the bouncer how long the sushi bar wait was. He nodded at the line and said, “These people have been standing here for…oh…about 45 minutes already.” Jeebus! (I’ve never typed that before.) We were starving, so we got in my car, regretfully vacated our prime spot, and left. Diana then suggested Market City Caffe, which is one of her favorite Italian restaurants near me. We drove there, parked, walked over…it was closed already! It wasn’t that late! We then walked by another restaurant across the street that she was interested in trying, and it was closed, too. We’re 0 for 3. We finally walked to the nearby Taps Brewery and had a great dinner there. I had Chilean Sea Bass. Yum. So now it was totally late on Friday and we came back to my house, full, tried to stay up and watch TV and chat like the good ol’ days, but we must’ve both aged since college cuz we were asleep on the couch within the first 15 minutes of watching my Bewitched DVD.

On Friday morning, which is a holiday for me because it was Caesar Chavez’s birthday, Diana tried to do some work on her laptop but couldn’t because my internet router is secured. I put in what I thought was the password key to allow her access, but it was wrong. (She’d done most of her research the nite before on my laptop.) So I frantically IMed Mr. W, who was at work, and asked him if he recalled the correct password key which he set up when he set up my router. He did not, but suggested I simply push the tiny concealed “reset” button on the back of the router with a paperclip, and then re-set-up the router and make up my own password, allowing Diana access that way. Diana meanwhile was shaking her head, telling us it’s okay, don’t bother, that’s too much trouble. Well…always listen to an engineer who graduated magna cum laude from UCLA, because she was RIGHT. My router crashed. My modem crashed. I could not access the internet thru my laptop, desktop, or by unplugging my router and plugging my modem directly back into the desktop or the laptop. An hour or two of troubleshooting later, we gave up and drove to Knott’s Berry Farm for the big breakfast.
Knott’s was having some “special event” according to the signs, and a sign blocked off the regular entrance into the parking lot for the Knott’s Marketplace, so I unknowingly drove past it. There was nowhere to turn around once I passed that point, so I had to leave Knott’s and go around the block. I somehow did not go around the block as I thought and ended up lost. I hate driving around in circles and/or backtracking, but Diana’s calm nonchalance about the fact that I was now STARVING again while looking for a restaurant did chill me out. We eventually found our way back and I parked, and we walked to Mrs. Knott’s Chicken Dinner Restaurant. I walked in and noted how it looked totally different. She asked if the lobby was not how I remembered it. I said maybe I came in a different entrance before. We circled out and looked around. No, that’s the only entrance. This was weird. And then suddenly, I let out a gasp. This was NOT the restaurant I was thinking about! This was one I’d wanted to try, but never did. I was thinking about Po’Folks about 3 blocks away! Crap. We thought we’d try the restaurant anyway, but because of the late morning time that it now was, they had stopped serving breakfast. So we got back in the car, drove to Po’Folks while I cussed about how we’re perpetually hunting down restaurants fruitlessly, and did end up having a great lunch (it was WAY past breakfast time by now) there. I have no idea how I made that mistake — confused a restaurant I’d never been to with a restaurant I’d been to twice, and as recently as in the last month or so.
So now we were plenty full, not the state you want to be in when going to get massages. But we got to Glen Ivy Day Spa without further incident beyond idiotic drivers blocking me on the road. We did have a great massage, hung out in the jacuzzi and steam room, and then it was off to UCLA.
The drive there was great once we passed some initial clogs on the freeways, and it only took us an hour or so. We parked in Westwood with fairly little difficulty, grabbed some cookie ice cream sandwiches and walked to campus munching, and so far, so good. When we got on campus, happily high on sugar and reminscing, we were stopped dead in our tracks when we saw that an older lady trying to open the door to the Student Store apparently couldn’t. The door was locked! We peeped in. The store’s closed! We looked at the posted hours. It was an HOUR before the posted closing time for the day, and they were freakishly closed! Diana said it must be because it’s Spring Break. WTF! But who would close the store right before the weekend of the Final 4 game?! Do they not want to make money?! Diana suggested we just wander around Westwood to buy UCLA stuff at the smaller retail stores. How could all the stores be closed for Spring Break, right? We roamed Westwood and the few stores that sold UCLA anything either had virtually no selection, or were closed earlier than posted hours. Seriously, WHAT THE HECK?! Diana then remembered that there’s a UCLA Store in Santa Monica on 3rd Street Promenade which, she reasoned, couldn’t possibly be closed because 3rd Street is always bustling with people and activity. I was bummed about our luck, so she looked up the store on Google via her Internet-accessible Blackberry, read the phone number for the Santa Monica location aloud, and I dialed it on my cell phone. We were on a busy street in Westwood, so there were buses passing by, which kept me from hearing what the girl who answered said. It was just a “Blah-blah-blah! How can I help you?”
Me: Hi, I’m wondering what your hours are tonight.
Her: We’re open until 6.
Me: (looking at watch) It’s 6 right now.
Her: Oh! Well, we’ll be here ’till 7.
Me: Okay. I’m just wondering because we’re at UCLA right now trying to buy UCLA merchandise, and the Student Store’s closed, and I wanted to make sure you’d still be open before we drove all the way out to Santa Monica.
Her: Uh, I think you have the wrong number.
Me: What store did I call again?
Her: This isn’t a store. It’s a sex house.
Me: (pause) Oh, I definitely have the wrong number, then. Thank you!
Her: You’re welcome, have a great day.
Me: (to Diana, after hanging up) IT’S NOT A STORE, IT’S A SEX HOUSE! NOT EVEN A SEX STORE, BUT A SEX HOUSE! Isn’t that illegal?!
Diana: (checking her Blackberry for the Google listing again) What number did I give you?
Me: I have a SEX HOUSE on my phone record! This does NOT look good! If Mr. W ever checked my cell phone or phone bill, he’d think I was totally lying about us hanging out all day to do our own thing!
Diana: What number did you call?
Me: (reading number out of my “dialed” list)
Diana: That’s what it says! I DIDN’T read you the wrong number. But see, the address is totally correct. We should just go there, I’m sure they’re gonna be open late.

On the way to Santa Monica, we stopped by a great little Italian restaurant first where we had a delicious dinner, and it was pouring rain while we were inside eating, so we remarked on our great luck that at least we weren’t out walking on 3rd Street Promenade while it was raining that hard.
And then we hit 3rd Street in dry weather. It was POURING the second we stepped out of the parking structure, however. We walked up and down 3rd street, looking for the address, and we stopped and looked into the windows of…a whole different store. The UCLA Store that used to be here doesn’t exist anymore! We checked the posted store directory in case it moved. Nope. Diana re-checked the directory and read all the listings. We walked thru the area anyway in case some other store had UCLA merchandise. No luck whatsoever. “I don’t understand how we could’ve tried SO HARD to buy UCLA stuff and have not been able to. This makes NO SENSE. It’s not like a weekend or a holiday! Places either are freakishly closed early, or they no longer exist, or they’ve been turned into a sex house! What the heck! I mean, what’s the purpose of this in the universe?” Diana said, “Maybe we weren’t meant to buy Final Four stuff because UCLA is going to win tomorrow against LSU and enter the finals. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.” “I hope you’re right,” I grumbled, “Cuz this would make NO sense otherwise.”
Amazingly, she was right. But we wouldn’t find out for another day.
So we left Santa Monica and drove thru massive rain and decided to nix Monterey Park for some Chinese cafes closer to home, so that we wouldn’t get lost in the rain and possibly get stuck in rain traffic. We ended up at a Thai restaurant in Rowland Heights called The Boat and had great food. That was about 11pm, and we didn’t finish eating until midnight.
I wanted to stay up another 3 hours to digest my food, but we again crashed in front of my TV. She wanted to watch The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, but only remembers that it came on and the next thing she knew, she woke up and it was The Cosby Show.

On Saturday, I did get her to the airport in Santa Ana without much ado, and I didn’t get lost going from there to Mr. W’s, and he and I had a great time at Cirque to Soleil watching Quidam. I also go to eat at Chomp’s with him last nite. So I guess all’s well that ends well.

And no, I’m not gonna post the phone number of the sex house on my blog for you pervies.

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!

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.

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

College roommie Diana and I are IMing regarding the 2 people who caused an avalanche outside of Tahoe today, and how it relates to my possible 1st snowboarding experience.

Cindy: they’re missing a lot of people just because of those 2 idiots.
diana: that’s the thing….this is outside of the resort, so there is no avanlache control
diana: so people who go outside, pretty risky
diana: anyway, i hope it turns out ok
Cindy: so far I’m seeing lotsa reasons why I shouldn’t go snowboarding.
diana: if you stay inside , its fine
Cindy: my screaming would probably cause avalanches, and I’d have to deal with THAT guilt.
diana: hahaha
Cindy: so I should just sit inside all day?
diana: no no, i meant inside the ski resort, not inside the lodge
diana: these people went out of bounds
Cindy: oh. I don’t even know the difference.
diana: haha
Cindy: I’ll probably drift out of bounds and then scream for help and bury myself in an avalanche.
diana: trust me, it’s not that easy to go out of bounds
diana: you have to want to and try really hard
Cindy: oh. that’s better, then.
diana: people don’t go out of bounds unless they are looking to
diana: generally people who are quite good and know they can handle the terrain
diana: people do it becaues the snow is un-touched, but w so much snow, it is very dangerous
diana: but some people are stupid
Cindy: you know what another way to get untouched snow is?
Cindy: cause an avalanche!

For those of us who meet more people than we’d like to admit thru the internet, who have ever wondered, “If this works out, what will I tell our kids about how mom and dad met?!”

A little boy goes to his father and asks “Daddy, how was I born?”
The father answers, “Well, son, I guess one day you will need to find out anyway. Your mom and I first got together in a Chat room on Yahoo. Then I set up a date via Email with your mom, and we met at a Cyber-Cafe. We sneaked into a secluded room, where your mother agreed to a Download from my Hard Drive. As soon as I was ready to Upload, we discovered that neither of us had used a Firewall, and since it was too late to hit the Delete button, nine months later a blessed little Pop-Up appeared and said: You’ve Got Male.”

Got this via email from a friend, guess I’m gonna have to change a lot of my language:

Memo: Cussing at work

It has been brought to management’s attention that some
individuals throughout the company have been using foul
language during the normal conversation with their co-workers. Due to
complaints received from some employees who may be easily offended,
this type of language will no longer be tolerated. We do however realize the
critical importance of being able to accurately express your feelings
when communicating with co-workers. Therefore, a list of 18 New and
Innovative “TRY SAYING” phrases has been provided so that proper
exchange of ideas and information can continue in an effective manner.

1) TRY SAYING: I think you could use more training.
INSTEAD OF: You don’t know what the f___ you’re doing.

2) TRY SAYING: She’s an aggressive go-getter.
INSTEAD OF: She’s a ball-busting b__ch.

3) TRY SAYING: Perhaps I can work late.
INSTEAD OF: And when the f___ do you expect me to do t his?

4) TRY SAYING: I’m certain that isn’t feasible.
INSTEAD OF: No f______ way.

5) TRY SAYING: Really?
INSTEAD OF: You’ve got to be sh__ing me!

6) TRY SAYING: Perhaps you should check with…
INSTEAD OF: Tell someone who gives a sh__.

7) TRY SAYING: I wasn’t involved in the project.
INSTEAD OF: It’s not my f______ problem.

8.) TRY SAYING: That’s interesting.
INSTEAD OF: What the f___?

9) TRY SAYING: I’m not sure this can be implemented.
INSTEAD OF: This sh__ won’t work.

10) TRY SAYING: I’ll try to schedule that.
INSTEAD OF: Why the f____ didn’t you tell me sooner?

11) TRY SAYING: He’s not familiar with the issues.
INSTEAD OF: He’s got his head up his a__.

12) TRY SAYING: Excuse me, sir?
INSTEAD OF: Eat sh__ and die.

13) TRY SAYING: So you weren’t happy with it?
INSTEAD OF: Kiss my a__.

14) TRY SAYING: I’m a bit overloaded at the moment.
INSTEAD OF: F___ it, I’m on salary.

15) TRY SAYING: I don’t think you understand.
INSTEAD OF: Shove it up your a__.

16) TRY SAYING: I love a challenge.
INSTEAD OF: This job sucks.

17) TRY SAYING: You want me to take care of that?
INSTEAD OF: Who the h___ died and made you boss?

18 ) TRY SAYING: He’s somewhat insensitive.
INSTEAD OF: He’s a pr_ck.

Thank You,
Human Resources