cindy's world

I had an amazing weekend! Because my gym trainee was coming over to my house (for the first time) to help me clean out my closets, I was embarrassed to have her see my house as the mess it was, so I spent all Saturday morning before she got there cleaning, scrubbing, vacuuming (never could spell that word), Windexing, disinfecting, sorting, disposing, decluttering. My house is SO spic and span right now that I loved being in it all weekend. We spent 3 hours digging through four closets, and I’m donating 3 large trash bags full of clothes, plus one packing box full of undergarments. Man. I can’t believe what an ugly fashion period the 80s and early 90s were. There were some things I had no problems parting with, but there were many more that I had to look to her. “This still fits. What do you think?”
“That is OUT. I don’t see you wearing that now.”
“Really? Is it the box cut [with drawsting on the bottom], or is it the flannel plaid pattern?”
“It’s BOTH!!”
“Oh.”
All the oversized t-shirts, sweatshirts and sweaters caused her to exclaim over and over again, “I don’t understand. Who were you buying clothes FOR back then?! Some fat…man? If a guy today fit in that shirt, I wouldn’t date him!”
This made me examine my old wardrobe thoughtfully. “I wonder why my parents let me buy all this masculine, oversized stuff when I was in high school. They’re all really unflattering.”
“They were probably just happy cuz the less feminine you looked, the less they had to worry about.”
Funny thing is that I told my parents today about all the closet cleaning, and they even brought up that my clothes back 10 years ago were big and menswear, and my dad reminded me accusingly of the flannel shirts and sweatshirts I’d taken from him. Oops.

(as usual, rest mouse pointer over photos for captions)

After my gym trainee left, I took off to Dwaine’s house. We went to buy lasagne ingredients at the grocery store, and then went back to his place to cook it. He was an avid student, very hands-on, wanting to do a bit of most things himself so that he’d know how to do it again later on without me. The lasagne turned out very well, except that he was so exhausted by then from the earlier San Diego mud run catching up with him that I had a really hard time getting him to slunk from the couch over to the kitchen to take out and cut the lasagne. (The reason why he had to do this instead of me, was because he wanted photos of him doing the impossible — cooking and pulling homemade food that he’d made out of the oven.) As we ate dinner we watched puppet sex on a Comedy Central show “Team America: World Police”, by the creators of “South Park.” Its antics were laugh-out-loud funny in their ludicrousness. And lewdness. It was a fun night. I even got a surprise phone call from Mr. W in Vegas, at a bar with his brothers while waiting to see the topless show “Bite.” It was a surprise cuz Mr. W doesn’t typically think to call me when he’s on a trip. He called me once the entire 2 weeks he was in Alaska last year. I was so glad to hear they were getting some good quality brother time in, and also that they were seeing “Bite”, as I know Mr. W had been wanting to see it every time we’d gone to Vegas recently, but the timing never worked out. Plus, I wasn’t particularly interested in the show so in a selfish way, it worked out for me. Hee hee. Altho I don’t think one of the brother’s wives was too pleased that they had gone to a topless revue when she found out about it afterwards.

Sunday (today), guilt from having eaten like a pig but not worked out at the gym since Wednesday roused me from slumber, and I got up and hit the gym for 2.5 hours. I did about 1.5 hrs of warmups and weight-training, and a full hour of cardio. I would’ve done less on cardio because the boredom always kills me, but “American Pie” was playing on one of the TVs. That easily killed the hour. I’d forgotten how funny the first movie in the series was. Strangely, it turned out my weight’s lower than it had been in a long time, at 125 (rattlesnakes be damned!) and my fat percentage dropped 2% as well. After the gym, I showered up and went to my parents’ house, picked them up, and we went to get fitted for shoes at A Snail’s Pace. I got reconfirmed that I overpronate, my dad was diagnosed as an overpronator as well, and my mom’s gait was neutral. “HAHA!” she laughed at us. “I’m neutral!”
“That doesn’t mean anything!” I told her.
“I’m normal,” she insisted.
My mom got nice Asics, my dad got a newly engineered pair of Sauconys, and I got a brand I’d never heard of until now, Brooks. My parents were excited to go on their hilly neighborhood walk tonight to try out their new shoes. It’s so cute, they never acknowledged the importance of really good shoes so my dad was stunned walking around in his corrective, supportive stability shoes. “It’s like walking on air! So light!” he exclaimed. My mom was a bit perturbed at the orange-colored accents on her shoes because she’s the fashion queen, and kept migrating toward the “cute” or sale shoes that aren’t even neutral and being disappointed that they felt funny on her feet. I left them with their new birthday (mom) and Father’s Day presents after dinner.

After spending more quality time with the DodoCat, I took Mr. W up on his invitation to hang out with him at his house. And that’s where I am right now! Blogging to my readers instead of catching up with the newly returned Mr. W. Oh well. 😀

I got today off (yeah, it was a huge shocker to me, too) so that I could attend Mr. W’s son’s graduation. It was a historical moment — Mr. W’s kids attend a new school, only 3 years old, and this graduating class is the school’s first ever, as the school opened up accepting only freshmen and sophomores.

To the graduation, I wore this outfit that had an unusual back, as so:

The graduation being outdoors from 3p-4p, I ended up this interesting tanline despite the sunblock I’d slathered on (you can also see my bikini string tanline toward the bottom of the photo; I got that when I hung out with Vanessa):

Speaking of Vanessa, thanks to her Boot Camp workout, I still have these mosquito bite war wounds:

Meet my boy Dwaine. (Actually, if you’re a regular reader of this blog, you’ve “met” Dwaine already, several times.)

Dwaine is a high-powered executive in the finance and mortgaging biz. He’s smart, witty, sophisticated, and has his suits and shirts custom-made by clothing designers and tailors. He manages multi-million dollar accounts and hires and fires people older than him. People he trains inevitably and quickly become major money producers.

Yesterday evening, Dwaine and I had the following phone conversation.
Dwaine: You’re really living the life, Cindy. I wanna take all those vacations.
Me: Let’s go to Jamaica! You can show us around to where your family goes.
Dwaine: I’ve been back so much lately that I’m really kind of burned out on Jamaica. Let’s plan something for Brazil or Australia, those are two places I really want to go.
Me: You know, Brazil is supposed to have some of the most beautiful women in the world. But Australia has koala bears.
Dwaine: Aren’t koala bears the cutest darn things in the world? I don’t mean to sound gay, but they’re just so cute! They’re a lot cuter than most other animals.
Me: Yeah, let’s go to Australia so I can go hug a koala bear. I probably couldn’t bring one home, tho. Customs wouldn’t allow it. But I wanna have one hug me like they hug a tree. It can just hang onto my middle.
Dwaine: *pause* Now I wanna hug a koala bear.
Me: *laughing at his wishful statement*
Dwaine: They really are the only animals that automatically hug you just to hug you.
Me: Well, monkeys, but they’re kinda creepy to me.
Dwaine: Yeah, I don’t care for monkeys. I don’t want something that’ll hug me and then try to pick my pockets at the same time. Koala bears hug you just to hug you, cuz they hug trees, there’s no ulterior motive. Like dogs, when they hug you, they’re trying to hump your leg. Koalas just hug you.
*silence on both ends. We’re both thinking the same thing.*
Dwaine: I wanna go hug a koala bear.
Me: You know I’m gonna blog this.
Dwaine: You can title it “I Wanna Hug a Koala Bear.” But you better not make me sound gay!
Me: Okay, I’ll title it “Dwaine wants to hug a koala bear.” And then the body of the post will say, “He told me so last night.” That’s it.
Dwaine: No, you better qualify that statement if you’re gonna write that! You have to explain what we were talking about!

Okay, so I gave it some context, but does it really make him look any less sissy?

I love my friends.

(Go ahead, try to say the title out loud without cracking a smile.)

In Beijing, our tourguide gave us an interesting summary of what gifts/offerings made a man a desirable bachelor through the years, due to the changes in society in the pre-Communism, Communism, and current hybrid Communism-Capitalism eras.

Before 1911: China is big and transportation was expensive if not unavailable. When a woman married into her husband’s family, she was hubby property and moved into his household, away from her own family. She’d rarely be able to make the trek back to her parents’ home, and could visit only every few years. Her parents (or mother, really) gave her a jadeite bracelet for her wedding which she would wear daily as an indicator of whether she was happy in her marriage. See my post on this here. Her husband gave her a handkerchief as his gift. Why? To wipe away her tears of longing for her own parents.

1960s: After what China calls “The Liberation” (change of government over into Communism), the 3 most desirable assets a man could have were a watch (“He’s so groovy! He always know what time it is! Watch, ask him!”), a bicycle (“He actually rides to work! He doesn’t have to walk! And I can sit on the handlebars and he rides me around and drops me off at work! I’m so proud when I sit on his bike.”), and a sewing machine (“We can make our own clothes, whenever we want! As many as we can afford fabric for!”).

1980s: This’ll sound familiar to you if you’re a child of the 80s like I am. A man is bitchin if he has a color television set (the newest technology and entertainment for leisure time), a refrigerator (“We actually have excess food that we can keep for a prolonged amount of time, we’re so privileged!”), and a washing machine (“What a good life I’ll have as his wife, I don’t have to scrub my hands raw doing laundry with a bar of soap against a scrubbing board!”).

1990s: The 2 most desirable things a man could possess are a computer (“My man’s technosavvy, and he makes more money than your man. Now that wages are no longer standardized equally by the government.”), and a college or technical degree (same reason: increased earning capacity).

2000s: Can you just smell the materialism increasing over there, catching up to the rest of the capitalistic world? Now the 2 most desirable assets in a man are a car (no explanation needed, I’m sure you understand) and credit card (the goverment actually has a program where if you make a lot of money, they’ll pay your wages directly into an interest-earning account, and give you a credit card linked to that account, similar to our debit cards. So having one of these cards means you have a high-earning job, AND have credit, AND outside earnings from interest. Pretty cool stuff.).

The changes in valued assets in China indicate a change in priorities, which in turn point to a change in its political system and how it affects the people’s lifestyle through the years. In the last 20 years or so, the people have expressed much contentment with the increase in “freedom”, as the oppressive style of communism depicted in novels and movies of the 40s and 50s gradually gave way to priorities and luxuries that almost meet those of socialist, if not quite capitalistic, government ruled countries. There are still reminders that they’re different, though. The inability to show public dissent against the government; the quantity of government jobs and government-owned property; and on a more personal level, the wistfulness of their people when they express their wishes for having more than one child, or to travel outside of their country.

Technologically advanced, cell phones are a huge thing over there.

In Beijing, the tour group went to visit an emperor Ming’s tomb. We didn’t go underground into the actual tombs as my mother had when she went on her China tour years ago, because the government no longer allows visits down there. Too many eery things happened to visitors. They’d get sick, they’d get into car accidents on their way back, people were seemingly possessed by evil spirits. One such thing happened to my parents’ friend’s wife. Within steps into the Ming tomb, she gagged and passed out. Her face was purple by the time they brought her out of there. For years after that, her health was failing to the point where doctors who could not figure out what was wrong with her told them to prepare for her death. She’d get freakishly cold sometimes sitting in a room and cower from chilled drafts that no one else felt, and she’d sometimes feel like she were being smothered and gasp for air. They finally had a Chinese spiritual doctor come visit her. After the examination, he said she is the reincarnation of a powerful general in Emperor Ming’s army, and the land-bound souls of about 1000 soldiers who’d died with the emperor or were buried as a sacrifice there recognized their general and followed her home, and he had to exorsize her. I’m not sure I believe that, but I do think there is a possibility that in a past life, she was sacrificed there at the tombs, especially if she was a famous powerful general, because it would have been an honor to follow your emperor into the next world. And maybe she was reliving the point of death. Anyway, she was healed perfectly after the Chinese spiritual doctor did his thing.

I’m glad I wasn’t told this story until this weekend when I visited my parents, cuz I would’ve been freaked out by what happened to me at the tombs. Like I said, we didn’t go underground into the tombs, but even then, the tourguide warned us that once we step onto tomb property, we were not to refer to her by her real name, we were to call her 007. Why? Because the restless spirits that reside there, once they could identify you by name, would come to you that night and give you horrid nightmares. I didn’t necessarily believe this superstition, but I turned to Mr. W and asked, “If you screw up and say my name, can I say yours?” He said, “Sure.” I said, “See you in my nightmares.” He told his friends John and Lidya, “You don’t wanna be a part of CINDY’S nightmares, she has some FREAKY dreams.” “So don’t say my name,” I cautioned as I walked up the steps into the holy place.

The grounds were pretty, and at one place, I asked John and Lidya (without using their names) if they’d like me to take their picture coming down some picturesque steps. They handed me and Mr. W their cameras, and we snapped away, after which John said, “Thanks [Mr. W]! Thanks Ci–” and I cut him off with “DON’T SAY IT!” Realizing what he’d done, John gasped and apologized, but it was too late.
“Thanks a lot, JOHN!” Mr. W laughed.
Our tourguide didn’t realize that Mr. W’s real name was said aloud and thought I’d stopped John on time, so she laughed and said to Mr. W, “You gotta thank Cindy! You should thank Cindy! He almost said your name!”
I pointed at her. “YOU just said my name TWICE!”
She froze. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

Things got a little better after that. On the way out of the tombs, we stopped by some people selling wares and jewelry on blankets on the ground. One of the guys selling thought I was married because I was wearing the traditional jadeite bracelet (see previous post), and asked why I didn’t teach my husband Chinese. I said in Chinese, “If I taught him the language I couldn’t talk about him behind his back.” They laughed. Then he asked whether another older Asian couple in our tourgroup were my parents. I told him no. He said, “Really? Because you and his wife look a lot alike!” I didn’t know what to respond to that, so I just smiled. The woman’s husband, however, said, “Thank you!” I was flattered.

I’m happy to report, no one had nightmares that night.

On the way to the carved jade factory in Beijing, the tour guide showed us her jade bangle bracelet and explained that it was a gift from her mother when she (the tour guide) got married. Those bangles are traditional because as the story goes, back in the day, when a woman married into the man’s family, she moved away from her parents and rarely was able to travel the distance to visit them. The best quality jade, called jadeite, is referred to as a “living stone” because happiness causes us to secrete a certain hormone or natural skin oils that over time absorb into the jadeite and makes the stone shinier and more translucent. The mother would need only a glance at her daughter’s jadeite bracelet once every few years to see whether she’d been happy in her husband’s household. If the daughter’s bracelet remains cloudy and opaque, the mother could smack her son-in-law upside the head. That’s the story, I didn’t do research on the properties of this stone.

I found the story irresistable. So at the jade factory, I bargained on a fine piece of jadeite. It was a bangle, the type I’d never wanted to wear before because I thought it made a loud statement about me to the effect of “Hi, I’m fresh off the boat!” But there was just something about this piece — the surface had a silvery ripply sheen underneath that reminded me of fish scales, and the colors faded from light green to milky white to a rare pastel purple. It was amazing, it was jadeite, and it was A quality jadeite. Jadeite, we were told, ranged from AAA (best) to A, B, then C. B quality may be artificially enhanced by injection to remove some of the internal cracks; C quality may be dyed. The A range is natural, rare, and harder than standard jade. The opening ticket was $900 US dollars. I got it down to $650, and then $600.

I was happy, until I got to Shanghai toward the end of the trip and met up with my dad’s friends, and my mom’s grandma’s friend. Dad’s friends said I overpaid and it was worth less than $100; that I was the victim of a tourist “scam.” I explained I bought the piece in a government store and that it was guaranteed to be real, whereas on the streets, altho I could get it cheaper, I did not know my jade well enough to know I wasn’t being ripped off with a piece of glass. They said crooks reside both in and outside of the “official” stores. Oh well. The bracelet is supposed to appraise for $1100 in the States, so maybe I’ll check that out. They also laughed when I said it’s supposed to get more translucent over time. They said it’s impossible; a stone’s a stone, and the more translucent it is upon purchase, the more valuable, and mine was cloudy. But some of these guys were restaurant owners, and they didn’t even look closer at my bracelet than across a large round dinner table. I felt worse, though, when my grandmother’s friend, who owns a jewelry business, said I overpaid by about 15 times what I could’ve gotten it for if I were a local. My parents, however, comforted me saying it really was a beautiful piece with rare color variations, and even tho the cost was high, these people who said I was scammed wouldn’t necessarily be able to find me a piece like that, and since it’s cheaper than what I’d pay for it if it were purchased here, then as long as I’m happy and enjoy my purchase, it was all good. My mom also confirmed that it was absolutely true jadeite grows more translucent with daily wear. And I’d thought my parents would yell at me, too. They said they, like all tourists, were tricked into overpaying for everything also when they went on their China tours. “Why didn’t you warn me?!” I wailed. My mom said, “I DID warn you! I told you, ‘Don’t buy anything!’ ” Oh, like that told me anything.

Lidya bought a better quality (more expensive) jadeite bangle than me, and the day after climbing the Great Wall she woke up in the morning to see that there was a crack in the bracelet. She was upset about that, but wore the bracelet anyway. The last few days of the trip, she mistepped in a restaurant and went down hard on her right knee, cracking her knee cap on the hard floor. A x-ray in Shanghai revealed a fracture in her kneecap. She was out of commission for the next 2 days until we came home, casted from hip to ankle. Her perspective on that incident was, “Isn’t jade supposed to protect you?” Yes it is. You’re supposed to wear it on your left wrist because it’s closer to your heart that way, and purifies the blood that flows through your veins on its way back to the heart. It’s also supposed to protect you from harm. “Maybe the bracelet cracked because it gave its life early to protect me, maybe I’m supposed to have a compound fracture, or break my leg or something worse, and the jadeite broke in order to take some of the damage so that all I had happen was a kneecap fracture,” she mused. This woman is inspiring. I love that romantic, optimistic concept.

I guess if I’m going to write about random experiences in China, I should start at the beginning. Our flight there left really late Friday night, at 1:30a.m., which was really Saturday morning. I worked a full day on Friday, and all day I had a resigned-to-die feeling. I couldn’t picture myself in China, which made me think that maybe I wouldn’t make it. “If your plane’s gonna crash, see if you can get it crash on the way back so you’d still get to experience China,” a coworker joked. I told myself that I couldn’t see myself in China because I did so little research about modern China that I had no mental picture of it to place myself in, that this was always really Mr. W’s dream trip, and not mine, and I wasn’t looking forward to it the way he was.

As plane reading material, I brought along a book Grace had sent me a long time ago. Another book I’d been meaning to read but hadn’t gotten around to. Her Post-It note on the book said, “Hi Cindy — This is a recent book I’ve read. Quite a quick read. Interesting…enjoy. –G” It is Elizabeth Berg’s What We Keep. I cracked the book open soon into the flight. In the first few pages, a ticket stub emerged. “New Orleans Saints vs San Francisco 49ers. Louisiana Superdome. Sunday, October 20, 2002, 12:00 pm.” I know she’d visited New Orleans, she must’ve cheered for her 49ers there. Her 4 years attending UC Berkeley made her a fan. I imagined her using the ticket stub as a bookmark. I was using a wallet-sized photo of myself, which I had plenty of and a stack was within grabbing distance as I left for the airport. I’d always place the photo face-down near me when I read the book; I couldn’t explain away the appearance of vanity if anyone were to question me about it.

A few more blank and dedication pages down, and in shock, I read:

China
Decorates our table
Funny how the cracks don’t
Seem to show

You’re right next to me
But I need an airplane
I can feel the distance
Getting close
— from “China,” by Tori Amos

Yes, I realize the song, which I’d never heard before, is referring to chinaware, and not China, the country. But here indeed I was on an airplane, with Mr. W next to me, flying to China, so on a literal level, it applied to me precisely. I showed it to Mr. W. “She’s telling you she knows where you are and that everything will be all right,” he said. I liked that.

Here is how the book opened, the first chapter:
“Outside the airplane window the clouds are thick and rippled, unbroken as acres of land. They are suffused with peach-c0lored, early morning sun, gilded at the edges…”
2nd paragraph:
“Whenever I see a sight like these clouds, I think maybe everyone is wrong; maybe you can walk on air. Maybe we should just try. Everything could have changed without our noticing. Laws of Physics, I mean. Why not? I want it to be true that such miracles occur…” I went on to read in amazement a narrator who is so much like me, I wondered if Grace had thought so, too. I’d told Mr. W that the book was getting really interesting, and the character, when reminiscing about her childhood, keeps having thoughts that I’d had as a child, and that it was like reading about myself if I had lived some of Jordan‘s life. (The main character is almost exactly 10 yrs older than me, so that’d put her around Jordan’s childhood era. Especially the narrator’s insistance that she would not do to her kids what she felt was wrongfully done to her and her sister by their mother.)

I was kept too busy in China to read much more of the book, but I read it on the flight back, and dove into it voraciously in Las Vegas Thursday and Friday nights, until I finished devouring it at 3:30a.m. early Saturday morning. “Wow,” I thought, closing the book. I wanted to hug my mom. I wanted to re-read the book with the new perspective I’d gained at the end. And then, the inevitable — I wanted to talk to Grace and discuss the book with her.

The Tori Amos song was right about something else that I didn’t see coming. In the last night of the trip, the petty bickerings between me and Mr. W got so bad that it made me reel a little. I didn’t sleep well that night, and woke up the next morning feeling sick and stressed, which I’d told him about. Do we just not get along? Do we just naturally rub each other the wrong way? If something small became so big the night before, do we want to deal with that forever once the young love/lust is gone? Cuz that’s what we’re left with, right? He didn’t have anything to say about it, just got up and started packing without looking at me again. I sat sadly on my bed (we had separate beds the whole trip), watching him. Silence but for the sounds of zippers, boxes closing, clotheshangers clacking against each other. You’re right next to me, but I need an airplane, I can feel the distance, getting close… Finally, he asked, “Do you need this bag for anything?”, holding out a plastic bag. “No,” I said in a small voice, “But I could use a hug.” He crossed over the room and we held each other, my face smushed into his chest. He held my head to him with one hand, and said, “Whatever it is you’re feeling right now, I love you. You know that. And I think we can get through it.” I couldn’t talk as tears drained out of my eyes in surges. He took my silence as a negative thing and said, “You don’t think we can, huh?” I sniffled a little bit, trying to get myself under control, and then I pulled away, said, “I feel better now,” wiped my face, and got packed. Just like that, the clouds were gone. I didn’t feel alone anymore. He didn’t need an airplane to bridge our distance, only to get back home.

I’m back from the land of my ancestors, China! (This means that James, you can give me my bag o’ schtuff back. Sorry, you can’t keep it for your personal use. Unless you DID already use them, in which case, you can keep them.) There is so much to tell, that I don’t know where to begin. I guess I’ll do some preview photos and blog about current stuff since my return and then let the trip details come out anecdotally when the muse strikes.

I’m not back home yet, although I am back in the ‘States. My flight touched down at 5:25pm yesterday evening after being in the air 12 hours. Mr. W and I hailed a taxi to go back to my house, and when we were on the freeway, I received a call from my parents saying they were AT the airport waiting for us. I felt SOOOO bad. The taxi cost us $91 including tip, too. My parents are wonderful. Too wonderful. =) After my house, I drove us to my parents’ house, where we’d left Mr. W’s car when my parents dropped us off at the airport to go to China, we hung out with my parents, we gave them some souvenirs from China (expensive Emperor green tea and agate bracelet), and Mr. W and I up and drove to his parents’ house in Las Vegas, where I am now, to spend a few days with them for Mother’s Day. We figured we’d be jet-lagged anyway. We got here about 2:30am, and will be returning home on Saturday around noon to spend Mother’s Day weekend with my parents.

Here are some photo previews/evidence that I was indeed in China. (Rest mouse pointer over photos for captions.)

Day 1. This is on the tour bus shortly after arriving in Beijing. It’s a horrible photo of me, but in my defense, I wasn’t aware that I was being photographed. I’m not naturally pretty, ya know. Lidya and John (Mr. W’s friends who came with us on the trip) look really good, tho.

Day 2. The world-famous Tiennamen(sp?) Square. After the student protest incident with the tanks, I performed an interpretative dance routine about the issue at International Festival in high school, and never thought then I’d actually be standing there. Frowning.

Day 2. In the Imperial Palace, Beijing. I’m tugging on the giant door jamb that bars the ancient thousands-years-old doors closed.

Day 2. Outside a temple in Beijing. We were busy every day on this trip!

Day 2: Yes, I climbed the Great Wall. Twice. More on that later, if I remember. We also took a photo of a full moon at one of the Great Wall guard towers. How is that possible when it’s clearly daylight out, you ask? Well. More on that later, too. And if you’re lucky, I’ll post that photo.

Day 2: The 2008 Olympics will be held in Beijing, China. These are the 5 mascot characters, “The Friendlies,” for the 2008 Olympic Games. Each character takes on a color of the 5 Olympic Rings, and the 5 names are Beibei, Jingjing, Huanhuan, Yingying and Nini, which are repeated sounds in typical Chinese cutsie fashion. Altogether, the phrase in Mandarin “Beijing huan ying ni” translates to “Beijing welcomes you.” I thought it was ingenious marketing. You have to collect ’em all for the phrase to make sense. These little characters’ paraphernalia were sold everywhere.

Last night in Shanghai, which is also the last night in China. Beautiful skyline. The building with the balls is the TV Tower.

Thanks for commenting on my blog when I was away. It was great to see when I got back. I was thinking it’d be so sad that I posted these time-bombed entries and then I come back and see that no one has read them or visited my blog when I was gone.

I…

…am in CHINA…

…and YOU’RE NOT, nyah, nyanny nyah, nyah! 😀 Well, unless you’re a lurker Chinese person viewing my blog FROM China.

You guys miss me yet? I bet I miss you. I probably don’t even have internet access over there. I’ll be home soon-ish. (As you can tell, this post was written before I left.) Man, the lengths I go to, to entertain my reading public!

Being in the wrong court at the wrong time (Friday) nearly ruined my weekend. Courtroom hours are typically till 4pm, and they shut down after 4 to give the staff a chance to finish their work, do whatever running around they need, so they can get out of there by 5. The judge in Santa Monica on Friday stayed in trial on the record until 4:50p, after which he thanked the court reporter for “staying late” and didn’t even look in my direction, and got off the bench. Hello! The court reporter lives nearby and that’s her regularly assigned courthouse, whereas *I* had a 3-hour drive ahead of me now due to rush hour traffic! So instead of driving home and sitting in traffic, I called up childhood friend Karen (grew up with her since she was in kindergarten and I was in 3rd grade), who lives in nearby West Los Angeles, and we had a nice boat sushi dinner followed by Pinkberry frozen yogurt. It’s fun to catch up with someone whom I see, like, once every other year. Altho I did see her last summer when she treated me to dinner for my birthday. She’s always got tons of stuff going on and I live vicariously through her for a couple of hours until I’m dizzy. Ah, to be young and energetic.
me and Karen almost exactly 2 yrs ago:

Saturday, Mr. W and I went to the Irvine Farmer’s Market, an outdoor “swap meet” style setup with fresh produce, organic groceries and baked goods, and hand-made crafts and clothing. We bought a package of whole wheat pita bread, two types of flavored hummus (spicy red pepper and kalamata olive), dolmas (finger-sized appetizers of seasoned rice wrapped in grape leaves), then went to his place, packed everything up with beverages and an avocado, and we headed off to Irvine Park to have a picnic. After eating our fill of fresh healthy Greek food, we fell asleep on a blanket over grass and under trees. After awakening, we took a nice long walk around the large park and its equestrian, pond, and picnic areas, then went back to his house to watch Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift while eating homemade pizzas made out of toasting the leftover pita bread and ingredients around his house. Now THAT drifting in the movie is cool. We watched the making of the film, and drifting appears to be more complicated than I thought. Yeah, uh, I’m not gonna be doing it with my car. I also can’t afford to go through 3 sets of tires a day. But I do think I’m at least a drifting fan now.

Sunday, Mr. W and I spent lots of quality time together in the morning, then hit the gym. In the early afternoon, Vanessa came over and she and I headed out to our massage appointments at Glen Ivy Day Spa in Brea. This was her induction into a full-facility day spa that had steam rooms, whirlpool, rainfall showers, complimentary sugar scrubs, tea and apples. I hadn’t seen her smile that big in a long time. We both booked 80-minute full body massages, it was much needed, especially after my Friday the 13th. After we split up after the appointments, I visited my parents, pigged out at their house, and then decided that since it was early, I was going back to Mr. W’s. We watched Pursuit of Happyness starring Will Smith featuring his real-life 5-yr old son, which is a pretty good movie. Will Smith’s son Jaden did a phenomenal job. Nothing he said sounded rehearsed, it was all sincere and convincing, even his tantrum. After the movie, I realized, “Hey, if this movie is set in 1981, and the little boy Christopher was 5 in this movie, that means he’s MY age!” And then suddenly this movie seemed to tell a story from so long ago, and I suddenly felt old. So I went to sleep right away like an old person.