cindy's world

I’d been recommended to watch Fast Food Nation by a few different people now, and these are people I trust who are close to me. So this weekend, Mr. W and I did just that. I thought it’d be similar to Supersize Me, a documentary about one man’s health deterioration as he put himself through a month-long McDonald’s-only diet experiment. Instead, it’s a mock documentary about a hypothetical fast-food chain called “Mickey’s”, has characters played by real actors like Ethan Hawke and Bruce Willis, and seems more like a socio-political commentary on illegal immigration and big industries. I thought it like a modern-day version of Upton Sinclair’s “The Jungle“, down to the details of the ankle-deep blood swept across the floors of the slaughterhouse. The plot opens with a marketing executive of Mickey’s being sent to investigate a Colorado meat processing plant, to figure out why some meat patties of their burgers are contaminated with manure. The movie audience is stripped of their American naivete along with the executive on his eye-opening journey.

At the gym today, I spent a good hour at the end of my weight-lifting training by watching the news as I pedaled away on the elliptical trainer. Coincidentally (or not), there is a current recall on ground beef that was packaged between a certain recent time frame, due to e.coli contamination. My mind went back to the movie, how the big meat-packing industry has untrained illegal immigrants from Mexico working as cheap labor on their meat processing line, and how these workers don’t understand the instructions given to them, and don’t work fast enough to keep up with the conveyor belt of meat, how they sometimes don’t pull out the intestines as completely or cleanly as they should when the meat glides by them, how intestines burst and drop manure all over the meat. How, in the movie, the executive was told that this happens “every day.” I’m glad I haven’t had ground beef for months, and haven’t had fast food in years. It’s enough to turn a girl vegetarian.

uncrowded Disneyland
spontaneous attendance with Mr. W
free entry (with annual passes)
exploring caves, crawling in stone crevices, fake-spelunking
giant turkey leg
eating with fingers like a caveman
Thrifty’s mint chip ice cream cone
finding ultra-comfortable microfiber thongs that are also affordable (Costco)
falling asleep reading What Dreams May Come

me: I wanna go to Disneyland after work!
They changed Tom Sawyer’s Island into Pirates Island!!
[My bailiff] brought back a treasure map. He was there yesterday.
Mr. W: oh
me: oh?
Mr. W: k?
me: eh?
Mr. W: Oh-K
me: YAY!!

~ * ~

Vanessa (via e-mail): Just a reminder…boot camp tonight! Hope to see you there!
Me: I think I might go to Disneyland instead. They changed Tom Sawyer’s Island to a Pirates of the Carribean island, totally interactive, with pirates in character (including Captain Sparrow) roaming the island!!
Vanessa: The happiest place on earth??? Well.. I think that will be more enjoyable then boot camp. HAHAHAHA! Ok… if you change your mind, just head on down!

Tough choice. Haha!

Vanessa came by Saturday morning to drop off some delectations that will soon be on their way to Flat Coke’s residence. The three of us (plus Mr. W) donned our teeny weeny swimsuits and trekked to the pool and whirlpools. Mr. W took a flying dive into the pool as I was running up to him to push him in, but since I didn’t get to push him, Vanessa said I could push her. So I did. She popped out of the water clinging onto her arms with teeth chattering as she claimed the water was not that cold. Whatever. I decided to ease in from the shallow end, taking one little step at a time. I was up to my upper thighs when Mr. W, this evil grin on his face, walked to me from the deep end of the pool and as I whimpered, he threw his arms around my waist and slowly (slow for him, too fast for me) walked back to the deep end. I got about rib-deep, mock-crying over his shoulder, when Vanessa finally said that it was indeed too cold and that she was going to go in the jacuzzi. That saved me as I was released and I leapt out of the pool and ran for the jacuzzi as well. Ahhh, hot bubbling water!

After getting enough heat, the three of us laid out on the poolside lounge chairs to air dry. Then I decided I wanted to rinse the chlorine off, so I went to the pool showers. Vanessa joined me in a few minutes offering soap. So we showered together (enjoy that image, guys) while she told me about how she lost her “Sexy Challenge” bet to a coworker who claimed to have spent 90 hours at the gym in May, to her 78. We agreed he must be lying. (I told Diana about this on Saturday evening, and she thought he was lying, too.) 90 hours at the gym means 3 hours a day with no days off, plus full-time work, and Vanessa said he used to be a couch potato before that. How is this possible that you can work out for 3 hours and not be burnt out, especially when your body’s not used to that much activity? Plus, who gets a perfectly round number like 90? Of course, I calculated my average gym time and I sheepishly note that in May, I clocked approximately 10 hours to Vanessa’s 78. I can usually get in more than 30 mins at lunch, but since we’d been in trial the last 3 weeks, the judge has been running late into lunch but starting on time, so I had to either go late or not go at all. This weekend, however, Mr. W and I hit the gym both Saturday and Sunday, I did some pretty hardcore exercises that left me sore today, so I more than made up for not going last Thursday and Friday.

A note: here’s how spoiled I am. I called my parents Sunday after the gym, and asked if they’d had dinner yet. They had not. I said we were on our way over there, and to not eat until we got there cuz I was starving. I was thinking I could take my parents and Mr. W to dinner, but my mom instead cooked a nice 5-course homemade meal which was waiting for us on the dinner table when we got there, despite my parents not being hungry enough from their late lunch to eat yet. So Mr. W and I ravaged the food while my parents watched some teapot Chinese soap opera in the living room.

Oh yeah. Forgot to mention. After lounging by the pool, we introduced Vanessa to the Curry House and she really liked it, and also enjoyed the tofu cheesecake we got in the end. Yum.

College roommie Diana is in town for a week on business-related matters, and we’d planned to hit up Sushi Wasabi for a super duper yummirific expensive meal, but when I called to make reservations on Friday, I got a pre-recorded message that said they were under construction or something like that until June 14. “Oh yeah!” James said when I cried to him via IM, “I remember seeing that notice posted when I took Vanessa there. He’s on vacation in Japan.” So instead, I drove up to LA, collected my former college roommate, then we headed to Killer Shrimp in Marina Del Ray. I made sure to work out really hard before going because I knew I was going to suck up a lo-hot of buttery Cajun sauce on French bread with the big shrimp. And I did. Every available drop. Afterwards, at the recommendation of the hostess, we drove a few miles away to a local hoppin’ street and dropped in on a few bars and clubs. We didn’t actually go clubbing, but she and I were simply walking down the sidewalk when the corporeal bouncer waved us over and offered us free entry all night. It was hip hop night, so we figured we may as well get stamped just in case. It was a small club but very cool, with exotic burgundy chiffon swags draped in dramatic Middle Eastern decor. Think “Arabian Nights.” I believe this club is called “Mor”? We got to catch up over a few drinks at another bar that had an outdoor patio lounge area with light-lined trees, a separate indoor-patio stone wall, walk and fireplace section where we sat, and a swanky long indoor bar area. I think this place was called “World” something. (I’m sure Diana would have the information on her blog post.) The unlimited-entry stamps on our wrists for the club came in handy before we left for home, as we breezed through the club to use their restroom. While in there, Diana noted a publicity poster advertising a new book that’s somehow related to Greg Behrendt’s best-selling self-help book, He’s Just Not That Into You, and a blonde stranger in the restroom suddenly turned to us and insisted she “had to” tell us a story about that book. Apparently, her husband came back one day and gave that book to her. She has no idea to this day what he meant by that gesture, but they’re divorced now.

3 – drinks consumed between the two of us at the nice “World” bar
325 – pounds on the woman sitting behind Diana who was loud and drunk and dropped her drink, shattering the glass
11:48 – pm turning to go onto the freeway to return Diana to her hotel
3 – number of lanes on the section of freeway we were on
1 – number of lanes available, as the two RIGHT lanes were coned off for “construction” that we never saw, such that we could not even exit the freeway
0-1 – mph of the entire length of freeway before we were able to get off 4 exits down and 50 minutes later
3 – number of car accidents on the freeway we were on contributing to the Sig Alert caused by invisible construction
1:10 – am arrival time at Diana’s hotel
16 – miles traveled between 11:48p and 1:10a
5 – hours spent hanging out
2 – hours of which were in my car
2 – am arrival time back to Mr. W’s
100 – percent chance we’d do it again and enjoy it all

I was approached today with an offer to join a pole dancing class. As in stripper pole, not as in Polish polkas. The friend who invited me found an instructor whose studio has 6 poles set up for 6 students in a class, and the instructor has agreed to close up the class and make it a private session if my friend could bring 5 other friends along to fill up the class. I’ve heard it’s great exercise and all, and I’ve always loved poles (I was a little monkey when I was a kid), I can climb them, manuever around them, spin from them, had spent hours of recess and lunch times in junior high flipping around on them with my friends. So it should be fun.

Well, here are the cons. I don’t like following trends, and I’m well aware that “pole dancing” is some stupid Hollywood trend thing now where stars like Terri Hatcher rave about its results on her body and psyche. I don’t like strippers, so do I want to do what they do? I don’t have a stripper pole myself, so where would I practice or use any of this, short of onstage at questionable local clubs during Amateur Night? And do I really want to spend $200 for a 10-week class that won’t amount to anything productive when I finish, i.e. I can’t be at a house party going, “Hey, put this song on, I’m gonna POLE DANCE! Right up against this rain gutter pipe!” At least with belly dancing, I can use the moves without needing major hardware.

James came by after work yesterday to return my bag o’ schtuff which was apparently burning a hole in his car trunk. I in turn threw some China souvenirs in his general direction. He was also craving Mexican food, so I suggested a nearby hole-in-the-wall restaurant called Taco Shack.

Dwaine had introduced me to Taco Shack some years ago and I always remember it, when I step in, as the place where Dwaine and his buddy engaged in a tipping war and the tips got so high that the waitresses developed an instant crush on Dwaine, so he had bragworthy service until he made the mistake of bringing me there one day, incurring the jealousy and wrath of the catty waitresses who from that moment on gave him the cold shoulder.

But they have good authentic food, so off James and I went. On the drive there, I disclosed my nervousness about our late dinner. “Why?” he asked. “Because I really don’t eat Mexican food anymore. It’s so heavy and made with lard.” He offered to eat some other genre of food, but I said we always go where I had cravings so now we’ll go where he has cravings, and I’ll try to be careful about my portions or selections.

I had a true dilemma behind the menu. While listening to the pompous bragging behind me of a guy “complaining” about all the women in his life who initially agree to keep things simple but end up begging him to take their relationship to a higher level as a brainless-sounding girl giggled her gullibility(I also remember Taco Shack as the restaurant where Dwaine once said to me, “Just once I’d like to overhear a conversation that’s half as interesting as ours.”), I felt my head fight my heart. I really wanted, craved for, the chicken mole, but it’s a full dinner that comes with tortillas, rice and beans, which I can do without but which I know I will ingest because I don’t like wasting food. (It was awful in China admitting defeat at each meal, thinking about the cliched starving children in China, paranoid of actually seeing them through the restaurant window.) But my head said to ignore the heart’s desire and go for the healthier choice, small soft tacos a la carte.

James hit on a thread of truth that I will regret the heavier meal as satisfying as it may be at the time I am shoveling it into my mouth. He recommended the soft tacos. I reluctantly consented and ordered 3 soft tacos a la carte, and thereby freed up the caloric guilt to eat the smothered cheese and chips given to us as an appetizer.

The 3 tacos were immensely and surprisingly satisfying. Plus, no guilt! My body must be craving something, however, because this morning I had a dream that I was sitting at a large round table by myself and eating chocolate and almond cookies and cakes and pastries while ignoring the little anorexic voice screaming, “Nooo! You have to stop!! What are you doing to yourself?! You’ll never be able to work this off! Never!!!”

Consistent with yesterday, my gym trainee and I are skipping the gym today as I touched base with her via email earlier and in her own words, “Every part of my body hurt. I left my purse at [a coworker’s] desk because putting it on my shoulder hurt. I couldn’t have done anything last night if the man of my dreams were to offer (who ever that is?). I think we deserve a lite lunch? If I can still walk by lunch time.” The right side of my lower back hurts from when I slept slumped over to the right sideways on my recliner all night. So we’re gonna speed-walk to a restaurant at lunch.

I had a very decent weekend, and was satisfied with it when I returned to work this morning, except for one little point.
“Am I gonna see you at the gym?” my gym trainee asked when I ran into her by the elevator this morning.
“Yes,” I sighed, “I gained 3 pounds this weekend.”
“Three pounds! Doing what?”
“Nothing!!” Yup, that’s exactly it. I had a lazy long weekend and am paying for it in weight. It turned out Mr. W had wanted to go to the gym every morning this weekend, but fought the urge back because he was “trying not to be obsessive about working out.” To my detriment, unfortunately, because I’m currently lacking the motivation to go on my own.

Each morning of the weekend started at Mr. W’s pool. We spent about 40 minutes in the mornings going from hot jacuzzi to cool pool to hot jacuzzi to drying off laying on the poolside loungers. The result of this is that I am now a nice toasty brown (Asian genes) and Mr. W is nice cooked-lobster red (German-Polish genes). I went up 2 shades in makeup foundation and am back to my college color, from the days I’d walked 20 minutes in the sun to my first class at UCLA.

Saturday in the late afternoon, Mr. W and I went to my parents’ house to give them a CD of the Best Of photos we took in China. We had plans to go play Bingo with Vicky and her boyfriend that evening, but Vicky’s boyfriend flaked, and then we flaked. (Sorry, Vicky! Raincheck.) My aunt and her Persian-Italian buddy dropped by my parents’ house and said they were on their way to a Persian restaurant, asked us to come along. The invitation was nearly impossible to resist as I hadn’t seen my aunt for awhile, plus Mr. W and I have a hard time eating Persian food without someone who knows what he’s doing order for us. We had amazing chicken and steak kabobs, fish, and green rice at a Persian restaurant in Anaheim. The food was so good that it completely changed Mr. W’s prior impression of any Middle Eastern food, and he set the location on his navigation system so that we could return.

Sunday, we had the Persian leftovers for lunch along with some ridiculously expensive Emperor green tea that I’d purchased in China, then hit up some liquor stores for Absolut Citron, tonic, lemons, and jello shots. This we took over to Mr. W’s female best friend’s house. Best friend fired up the grill and cooked us delicious fresh sockeye salmon on a cedar plank as best friend’s girlfriend made yummy garlic broccoli, roasted bell pepper rice and salad, and I made alcholic drinks aplenty. After dinner we watched one of my favorite movies, What Dreams May Come. I warned everyone that I’ve always cried though the movie, and they braved it anyway saying they have Kleenex. I think I understand this movie now better than the first 7 times I’ve seen it, because of my now less-innocent psychological outlook on life and relationships. Everyone got a bit misty and my personal mist blended together molecularly to create larger droplets. Okay, I cried through the movie again. But it was a great time. Especially the chocolate cream pie we had with coffee in the middle of the movie, and the personal stories of people’s pasts I got to hear for the first time.

Monday, Mr. W and I were called over to his male best friend’s house for an impromptu barbecue. The weather was great as it had been all weekend, and we feasted on pork ribs, barbecued chicken drumsticks, potato salad, and corn on the cob out in the beautifully landscaped backyard patio. We also brought over our leftover jello shots and Citron & tonic ingredients. I had never drank so much in a weekend before. After the meal I nearly fell asleep relaxing on the large hammock strung up in Best Friend & Wife’s backyard, swaying in the breeze, smelling spring flowers, listening to the splashing of their outdoors rocky waterfall. And then I was bumped by a cold wet nose. Buddy! To my utter surprise, the 90-some pound golden retriever clambored onto the swinging hammock with me and laid next to my legs, front paws hooked over the edge of the hammock rope. We swung there in the breeze together, me lazily scratching his back. Swing, swing. Scritch scratch. He got up at some point and turned himself around, on the ropes of the swaying hammock, and plunked back down facing me, nose by my arm. Pat, pat. I wished I had a camera. After dinner the four of us drove down to Laguna Beach and had a nice after-dinner walk on the cliffs as Best Friend and Wife scouted out potential areas to host an upcoming weekend memorial. A sad task, but I think we all enjoyed ourselves in the beautiful weather.

And now it’s back to business as usual, back in our ongoing trial. Thank goodness it’s a short week!

Mr. W wanted to have a weekend or at least a day of zero plans in order to get over the stress and jet lag of traveling, so that’s what this past Saturday was supposed to be. Except that Mr. W made breakfast plans with his male best bud for 8am on Saturday morning, so I was up, showered, and out of my house to meet Mr. W earlier than when I normally leave for work. My efforts were immediately redeemed when Mr. W and I walked up to the outdoors seating patio of the restaurant to see a very excited 3 year old golden retriever wagging his tail off at us, pulling on his leash and squeezing through the metal bars to jump on my shoulders to give me a hello kiss on my chin. “Hi, Buddy!” I laughed. When I walked around the gate to hug Buddy’s owner, Mr. W’s friend, Buddy growled. “You hear him growling?” Buddy’s dad asked. “He’s jealous.” I bent and hugged the dog, who again left salivary claim wherever his big happy tongue could reach. “I hugged you FIRST!” I told his bright golden head and floppy ears. I hadn’t seen Buddy in a few months, do dogs remember you? I usually run up to him and hug him, then play catch and tag and tug-of-war with him in his back yard until he slops up his entire water bowl and then drops into an exhausted and content nap. His parents say he gets really excited to see me, and I’d said that he’s just a happy dog and is excited to see everyone, and they’d said, “No, not like THIS,” but maybe they’re just being nice?

Anyway (man, it’s hard not to get off on a tangent when I’m talking about animals), Saturday was spent napping with a brief stepping out to lounge in Mr. W’s neighborhood jacuzzi. A new neighbor of Mr. W’s joined us with his 8-month-old little girl, who was the happiest tiny thing ever. She just loved the water, and kept trying to stick her tongue in it. And then she’d splash it with her teeny hand and burst into delighted squeals and giggles. She’d look at us with big blue eyes with her mouth wide open in a huge smile, as if to say, “Hot water is the greatest thing EVER! How can you NOT be excited?!” The little girl and her family just moved to Orange County, CA from Oklahoma when her dad was offered a great transfer opportunity as an athletic director for a local Christian private school. “How can anyone afford to live here?!” the dad exclaimed, describing his first thoughts upon moving to Orange County. After the visit to the jacuzzi, Mr. W and I took his teenage daughter to the movies and we watched Spider-Man 3. I think the black Spider-Man suit was more becoming on whatever stunt-double played Spider-Man than the suddenly-sissy blue and red suit. And someone had said that there were too many villains in this movie and too many sub-plots, but I enjoyed them all.

Sunday, Mr. W and I ran off to San Diego for a champagne brunch at Tom Ham’s Lighthouse, a great seafood restaurant that childhood friend Vicky and her boyfriend introduced us to, and then to Sea World. My bailiff had told me that Sea World, in partnership with Anheuser-Busch, had a beer tasting/beer pairing section. We found it. I had never drank so much beer in my life, and I don’t like beer, but I did find one that I do like. It’s a new product from Anheuser-Busch called “Peel,” and it’s juice-flavored beer, made with real juice. Surprisingly, it contains 1% more alcohol than regular beer, bringing it to 6%, but you don’t taste the alcohol. It’s more like a wine cooler. The flavor I sampled was blueberry-pomegranate. YUM. The beer introducer warned me that it had more calories and carbohydrates than all the other beers, and I pouted. Typical. But then he explained it’s higher by like 3 calories a serving, so I felt better. At the end of the beer tasting, he asked what my favorite was, and I said it was the Peel, and he said that Peel’s target audience is women between ages 21 and 40. Typical, again. I’m right there in the middle. I didn’t know I was so stereotypical. Oh, well. On the drive back, Mr. W and I discovered a delicious Italian restaurant by the water and I had a great if significantly oversized calzone. Half of it is going to be another meal. Or two. I had so much fun that day that I can’t remember the last time I had such a great time on an outing.

I saw so many animals this weekend that last nite, I actually DREAMT I was having a threesome with one. I can’t recall what kind of animal it was, but it was thankfully not a marine animal. (Like that makes beastiality any more redeeming.)

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.