cindy's world

I’m here! In San Jose! Yes, I know it’s 1:20 in the morning. My flight got in perfectly punctually at 8:40pm. You know what I’ve never seen before upon entering an airplane? The first passenger I saw rounding the corner from the entry into the cabin, a corpulent woman in the first row on my right, sitting in the aisle seat, was breast feeding her infant. Now, this is Southwest Airlines, which means that there is no assigned seating. You get in and sit wherever you want. This woman apparently chose to sit front and center, knowing she was boarding very early on and that 90 passengers are going to board after her and walk past her, and popped out her left breast and stuck it into her baby. It was like a hidden camera show, and I bet every passenger looked twice, thinking, “She can’t be doing what I think she’s doing,” and then upon realizing she is indeed doing what we think she’s doing, we all tried to look away nonchalantly, as tho we’d never seen what she’s doing. I don’t have an opinion about women breast feeding in public, but if you’re going to make 90 strangers walk past you, can’t you use a breast pump and bottle feed the baby during the 45 minute flight?! Or at least wait until everyone’s seated so we don’t all have to file past you and avert our eyes. How inconsiderate. Yeah, yeah, I know it’s natural and beautiful, but if I had a boob exposed without a baby to justify its protrusion, I’d be arrested for indecent exposure.

Wow. I did not expect to rant that long about that, or to even rant about it at all. Must be the mojito. I had my first mint mojito ever today. Brad picked me up at the airport and we met up with Diana at The Melting Pot for dinner. While on the plane, I was reading about mojitos and I wondered why I’d never had one. It looks so refreshing! And indeed it was. The fondue was delish, too. The three of us shared a 2-people multi-course meal, and that was more than enough food. It started with an appetizer of breads, celery, cauliflower, to dip into a cheese and beer fondue. Then the main course, lobster, filet mignon, chicken, shrimp, pork, broccoli, potato, zucchini, mushroom, to dip into a broth fondue and then into various sauces. Finally, dessert: chocolate, marshmallow and oreo cookie fondue with flaming (blue flamed) Bacardi 151 rum, to dip with cheesecake, brownie squares, cookie-coated marshmallows, graham crackers, bananas, strawberries, pineapple. I’m sure I’m forgetting some stuff. The table, when we got there, was decorated with red rose petals (real) and a card with my name on it. The restaurant wrote me a birthday card! Thanks for my birthday dinner, Diana!

Today, I wish for…

easy longevity…

…restfulness and peace…

…enlightenment…

…and a beautiful journey.

As always, captions are obtained by resting your mouse pointer on the photo. And yes, these are more photos from Lake Shrine.

A couple of attorneys who came in for a hearing this morning complimented the flowers. People always assume Mr. W gave me the flowers, but don’t worry, Vanessa, I set them straight.

My reporter can be seen walking by and sniffing the roses and eucalyptus.

(sorry for the bad photo quality and glare; I only have my cameraphone)

“Hi, remember me? I’m the avocado seed. People said I wouldn’t make it, but how you like me now?! They used to call me ‘weed,’ but now they call me ‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’ I’m real popular at Cindy’s work. People stop by and marvel at me. I’m gonna be worth hundreds of bucks when I grow up a little bit more and move into my own pot.”

“Here’s a view of my root system:”

(sorry for the bad photo quality and glare; Cindy only has a cameraphone)

This evening, as I continue my day-long search to find where I belong, what puzzle my odd shape fits into to make a picture that would finally make sense to me, I wish for…

…friendship…

…different perspectives…

…personal growth…

…and a faithful partnership.

Tonight, as I chase after my fleeting sanity, I wish for

tenderness…

…strength…

…self-love and acceptance of the imperfect self…

…and a sense of one-ness and belonging.

Friday night, Mr. W took me to the Stella Adler Theatre in Hollywood to watch “The Body and Soul of a Chinese Woman,” the latest play by C.Y. Lee, the same guy who wrote the hugely famous “Flower Drum Song,” which was later made into a Rodgers & Hammerstein Broadway musical. Here is the synopsis according to theatremania.com:

The Body and Soul of a Chinese Woman follows a young, traditional folk dancer from China as she deals with inner conflicts and struggles to free herself from her cultural binding so that she may live the life that she craves. Her body and her soul are clashing all of the time and her soul constantly provokes and encourages her into discovering herself as a woman by exploring her sensuality and liberating her intellectual being. Her ultimate search for happiness and for true, deep emotional love and freedom is told with humor, sadness, tenderness and pain.

Altho Mr. W felt the play was lacking on depth, I found the play absolutely delightful. And the main character’s living room, I immediately noticed, could’ve been my parents’ living room, or my friends Vicky & Karens’ parents’ living room, or college roommie Diana’s parents’ living room. “All parents’ living rooms, and not the kids,” Mr. W noted. You got that right. Here’s a photo of the set:

We got to Hollywood in the early afternoon and walked all around l0oking at the sights (Mann’s Chinese Theatre, the stars on the Walk of Fame?, most of which names I didn’t even recognize), watching street performers, checking out the many whore outfitter stores (I was SO tempted to buy stuff, but those cheap costumes were hideously overpriced for the quality), had a great Shabu Shabu dinner at Koji’s.

This guy walked up to Mr. W as we were walking and asked if I was his girlfriend. Mr. W actually entertained this guy in conversation as I refused to even make eye contact. He asked Mr. W what his haircolor is, accused him of being old so how did he get a young girl like me?, asked if I had a sister, said I’m pretty, then asked if I was Korean. I found all his questions really offensive. The guy followed us chattering for like 2 blocks. After that, Mr. W for the remainder of our Hollywood trip made sure I walked on the inside of the sidewalks with him on the outside. Oh, in response to the guy’s question about how he got a “young girl” like me, Mr. W had said, “Because men age like fine wine, we only get better with time. Don’t worry, you’ll get there.” I’d rolled my eyes.

Vanessa took me to Lake Shrine in Santa Monica on Thursday, which is a meditation garden and lake honoring every religion through spirituality and nature.

I snapped away with my camera cuz the grounds are just too beautiful not to try to capture it in some small way and take with me. Rest mouse over photos for captions.



Altho ripples on the water catching gleams of sunlight were attractive enhancements, I couldn’t help but wonder what was causing all that bubbling in the middle of the lake. There were several spots like this. Natural springs, I hope?

One of many pretty pathways:

This was a trip: Mahatma Ghandi is actually there. Well, a piece of him, anyway. They built this shrine around the aforementioned piece:

An across-the-lake view of the Ghandi shrine:

Visions of heaven on earth…


No kidding, eh?

My old friend Vicky (hugging the bunny [me] below) turns 30 today!

In 3rd grade, I came home from school one day and told my mom that there’s a new girl in my class who’s Chinese and she has a younger sister who’s in kindergarten (Karen, left in the above photo). My mom strangely became very interested and started asking all sorts of questions like where they live and whether her mom works. It was strange. But nevertheless, I went to school and relayed the message to Vicky that my mom would like to meet her mom. We kids were very excited to become family friends. And that’s how the business deal was struck. My mom would wake me up way early in the morning and drop me off at Vicky’s house before school on her way to work, and I’d hang out there until Vicky and Karen were up and ready to go to school, then we’d get dropped off by either their mom or dad. As the weather got nicer, we’d walk to school. And after school, we’d walk back to her house, where I’d hang out, cause trouble, do my homework, until my mom came by to pick me up at 5:30p or so.

For awhile there, my mom called Vicky’s mom her best friend. Vicky and I declared ourselves mortal enemies. Decades later, I was sitting with Vicky in her mom’s kitchen before going off to play Bingo at our alma mater high school, and her mom said how she hadn’t seen me in so long and how I’m always welcome in her house because she watched me grow up and I’m like her “second daughter.” There was an small silence, broken by Vicky: “But mom, you already have a second daughter.” Now the silence was awkward. “Oh!” gasped her mom, “I forgot about Karen!”

Happy 30th to Vicky, my long-time friend since 3rd grade, with whom I fought like sisters and still ended up being her bridesmaid at her wedding, just like a sister. (Her actual sister was maid of honor.) I’ll see you on Friday!

(Sorry for the bad quality in photos…all I have is my cameraphone cuz the digital camera was even worse!)

(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.