cindy's world

I’d been dying to chop my hair, but held off until after the half-marathon because I needed it long enough to be tied up in a ponytail. So yesterday after work, I went and got it chopped. I showed the lady the picture on my college ID (age 21), she said, “That’s cute! Okay.” and went to work. 15 minutes and 9 inches later, it was done, and I was happy. How refreshing it is to feel the way I did at age 21 again! Here’s a cameraphone pic of me at work today (after a little bit of a large-barreled curling iron):

Is it just me or do I still look tired from my run?

(as always, rest your mouse pointer over my photos for captions)

Shortly before 7:00 a.m. on Sunday, Mr. W was awakened when his cell phone received the livetracking automatically generated text message that indicated I had just passed the 5K point in the Disneyland Half-Marathon. He got up, jumped in the shower, checked the course map to see where the 5K marker was, then decided to drive out to Angel Stadium (which is Mile 10) to take photos of us. He didn’t expect to see me because he had no idea where I was by the time he got to the stadium, but figured he could take photos of the runners by the stadium and photoshop me in later. Turned out, he didn’t have to because I ran right up to him. He didn’t even know it was me until I waved in his face. I’d thought he had it so perfectly planned; turned out it was just chance.

At the completion of the 13.1 mile race, finishers were given this gawdy huge gold commemorative Inaugural Disneyland Half-Marathon medal, which on our tired bodies felt like 3 pounds. But it was really only 2 pounds. Haha.

An exhausted Vicky right after she finished:

Thanks to Mr. W for the photos, and for making me feel like walking the half-marathon is not an option. And for driving me around the next day and waiting on me hand and foot because I was in too much pain (whilst calling me an emperor penguin for my hobbling). “It’s my job,” he’d said when I thanked him on Sunday. “It’s not your job to chauffeur me around,” I’d said. “It’s my job to take care of you,” he told me with a kiss.

Yesterday was the first “Los Angeles” Angels vs. Chicago White Socks game in the series. Because the game was on Sept. 11, the stadium paused for a minute of silence for our people in memoriam, as the advertising banners turned off. The screens flashed the American flag with the words “We will never forget.” Orange County Sheriff’s Dept.’s bugle squad performed in the beginning, and some uniformed military men marched out on the pitcher’s mound and were honored. In front of me was a navy officer in uniform, complete with the little white cap. Mr. W’s brother said, “It’d just be perfect if he started eating a box of Cracker Jacks.” They were indeed selling Cracker Jacks. I was shaking my head at how disrespectful that comment was, until Mr. W said, “Yeah, and a little dog ran up to him,” and I had to burst out laughing. The guy got so much free stuff for being there in uniform. People came by to take photos of him with his little girl on his lap, to shake his hand, to give his little girl souvenir baseballs and other little doodads. “I never learned to milk the uniform like that,” Mr. W, who was a Marine, observed. I don’t think he was milking the uniform as much as honoring the country on Sept. 11 by going to the great American pastime in uniform. BTW, there were a couple of people there with a large handmade sign that read, “AUSTRALIA REMEMBERS AMERICA’S HEROES OF 9-11-01.” That’s really nice. I don’t know that the average American would go to Australia and hold a sign for them in the same respect.

I think it was really cool and fun and funny to hang out with the people we went to the game with. But as far as the game itself went, I still don’t think baseball is a great spectator sport for me, and that’s not just because we lost (unless you’re a Chicago fan, in which case you won), or because there were only 5 runs scored total in the game, or because the first run was scored in the 4th inning and before that (and after, actually), we couldn’t keep a man on base. I found myself people-watching more than ball-watching. The loud tattooed guys to my left kept whooping at some blond girls whenever the girls would stand up and cheer. The large young lady in front and to my right kept eating throughout the game and dropping food on her stomach, sandwiches, nachos, pretzels, cheese drowning everything. (I had to take a cameraphone pic of her and send it to college roommie Diana, who received it ironically while she was at the gym.) The uniformed officer in front of me with his little girl on his lap with the identical profiles, gray eyes and sandy brown haircolor, made me wonder whether his Asian wife had any genetic input at all. I guess I could’ve eaten junk food and drank beer, which was what everyone around me was doing, but my response whenever someone would ask if I wanted something was “Bikini…2 months…can’t.”

Driving home after the game, I touched base with James who said he was on his way to the gym in Brea. I seriously considered going to work out, too, but changed my mind because it was almost 10:30p, I already hit the gym at lunch yesterday, I have 3 hours of jujitsu after work today, and I can’t afford to be sore for my half marathon run on Sunday. *biting fingernails*

Last year at this time:

This photo is the large background wallpaper of my work computer, so I have to stare at it every day and kick myself for not looking that way now. I have to be in a bikini in Hawaii in 2 months, man.

Every morning when I walk from the parking structure toward the courthouse, the sun is behind me and I see my shadow in front of me. I always admire that shadow. I’m hot stretched out! So all I have to do now to look that good is to grow another 4 feet in height. *sigh*

For now, more workouts at the gym. Did 40 mins of elliptical hill at the gym today at lunch.

Yesterday I was engaged in a long conversation with an old friend (who JUST emailed me right now, how weird!) on the drive home from work, and the conversation continued as I plopped sideways onto my chenille La-Z-Boy recliner, which ended all hopes of making it to jujitsu last nite for me. I decided to at least go for a run and try to prepare somewhat for the Disneyland half-marathon coming up in a couple of months, and I changed into my running clothes. Before I even got off the phone with the first friend, Dwaine called me. Turned out he had a hard month at work and was looking for a drinking buddy. So off came the workout clothes, on came the casual going-out clothes, Dwaine stopped by to pick me up in his new ’68 restored Camaro, and we were off.

Actually, it didn’t work like that. After first showing off his car, Dwaine came inside where I showed off my chair. He’d heard about it, but never seen it. True to its reputation, the La-Z-Boy sucked in the bachelor and it took some time and convincing to get Dwaine out of that chair so we could go out. He really enjoyed the motors.

Anyway, Dwaine felt like Italian food so we attempted to go to Market City Caffe in Brea, but it was just closing at 9pm. So we skidaddled over to the Cheesecake Factory near the Brea Mall. The food was wonderful, Dwaine introduced me to a refreshing drink made with Absolut Citron, tonic water, and a slice of lemon, but I ordered a yummy mojito. When the bread came, we found that the foil-wrapped pats of butter were cold, which made them unspreadable. We lamented on this simultaneously and each warmed a pat of butter in our hands. Here’s where Dwaine gets mega brownie points… We were just sitting there, laughing and munching, and I reached for another piece of bread. I scooped up the sliver of butter I had left on my foil and spread it on the bread, which wasn’t nearly enough, but before I could reach for another packet of butter, Dwaine tossed a pre-warmed pat in front of me on the table. He had stopped eating bread long ago. I looked up at him in surprise. “I saw that you were running out of butter and I thought, ‘She’s gonna need more butter!’, so I already warmed this up for you.” How considerate, observant, and gentlemanly! We joked about how a slick a guy would be if he carried around foil packs of butter in his wallet, how one day when it’d come in handy, it’d be more effective than condoms stored in a wallet on winning a girl’s affection, and if you get stuck in a doorway, you can grease yourself out of the situation. I dunno, it made sense when we were drinking. BTW, Dwaine titled this blog post.

He also took the following shot with my camera WHILE driving, with his arm out the window pointing the camera at us. “One of the few benefits to having long arms,” he demonstrated. I was just relieved he didn’t drop my camera on the street, or have a passing car take his arm out.

Of course on the way back on Sunday we had to stop by Solvang.

Early Saturday morning were our tours at Hearst Castle. The weekend was in the 60s, overcast, misty, foggy. It made the tours very comfortable and it was a nice escape from the recent heat wave, but it didn’t do much for our photos. The indoor shots also didn’t come out, as we weren’t allowed to use flash. Here are a few salvageable photos; you can read the captions by resting the mouse pointer on the photos. Hearst Castle in the mist…

The Buildings on the Property (I’d identify them, but I wasn’t listening to the tour guide. Again. Some villa, a main house, I guess.):

Statues were scattered in abundance around the property:

Fruit trees and lush vegetation can also be found on the property:

And of course, the famed outdoor Neptune Pool:

In case that’s not enough water for swimmers, there’s the 22 karat gold plated indoor Roman Pool:

Mr. W and I drove up to San Simeon with no hotel accomodations made ahead of time. This is the first time I’ve traveled like that, but we got lucky. The San Simeon Pines Resort, which happens to be a place my judge recommended, had one room left, but for that night only. The front desk lady said because it’s a resort with its private beach, woods, golf course, pool, clubhouse, shuffleboard, etc., people book the place up months in advance for their vacations. Minutes after we snatched that room up (for less than $100! lodge-style rooms with private fireplaces were like $104. What a steal.), the front desk had to reject room requests over the phone and she lit up the “no” on the “vacancy” sign.

I was recently informed by 2 friends who don’t use Internet Explorer as their web browser that my captions don’t pop up when they rest their mouse pointer over my photos. If you’re running Netscape or Foxfire, you can right-click on the photo and drag down to “see alternate text” or something like that.

The Golf Course:

On the Private Beach:

We went to every show, every ride, saw lots of exhibits, and got soaked in various attractions (wettest to damp order: Shipwreck Rapids ride, soak zones, Journey to Atlantis ride, R.L. Stine’s Haunted Lighthouse 4-D movie), got out just before 11pm, and were pooped! We weren’t the only ones:

(Rest mouse pointer over photos for captions)

Pink Flamingo exhibit. Can you spot the egg and the baby flamingo?

The Sea Lion and Otter Show: “Clyde and Seamore’s Risky Rescue” :

Cirque de la Mer:

Pets Rule! show:

One of the aquariums had catfish:

The Dolphin Discovery Show:

My favorite show was the nighttime Sea Lion & Otter Show, which is a Saturday Night Live-ish spoof of all the other shows in the Park:

The Wild Arctic exhibit:

When I used to play Nintendo’s Super Mario Bros. game (or was it Bubble Bobble?), there was a white whale villain named “Baluba.” I never knew it was the breed of an actual whale.