cindy's world

Ever since we finalized our cruise booking on Saturday morning, Mr. W would, here and there, lean toward me and say something like, “We’re gonna be in Jamaica, baby!” He downloaded a bunch of Bob Marley songs and his XFM was set on a reggae station all weekend. My first cruise. I hope I don’t gain another 15 lbs. But is it any wonder that this song’s stuck in my head?

Kokomo
performed by The Beach Boys

Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take ya
To Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama
Key Largo, Montego, baby why don’t we go
Jamaica

Off the Florida Keys
There’s a place called Kokomo
That’s where you wanna go to get away from it all

Bodies in the sand
Tropical drink melting in your hand
We’ll be falling in love
To the rhythm of a steel drum band
Way down in Kokomo

Refrain:
Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take ya
To Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama
Key Largo, Montego, baby why don’t we go
(Ooh I wanna take you) down to Kokomo
We’ll get there fast
And then we’ll take it slow
That’s where we wanna go
Way down to Kokomo

To martinique, that monserrat mystique

We’ll put out to sea
And we’ll perfect our chemistry
By and by we’ll defy a little bit of gravity

Afternoon delight
Cocktails and moonlit nights
That dreamy look in your eye
Give me a tropical contact high
Way down in Kokomo

Refrain

Port au prince, I wanna catch a glimpse

Everybody knows
A little place like Kokomo
Now if you wanna go
And get away from it all
Go down to Kokomo

Refrain 2x

Ooh I wanna take you down to Kokomo

There really is something to be said about driving to gorgeous San Clemente less than a mile from the ocean to hang out with one of my favorite coworkers and her eclectic family and friends for her youngest son’s post-wedding shindig. We had sheriffs there, courtroom clerks, adults in their 40s, alternative-party people in their early 20s (with whom I was mixing drinks and exchanging bawdy conversation), smokers, tokers, lesbians, conservatives, tattooed body parts, pierced body parts, mohawks, and tiny tots. Okay, I don’t know about the tokers, it just sounded good in there. I’ll just assume everyone at that party who had ever used any kind of recreation drug has now stopped. My point is, I had so much fun! And SO worth the drive, not just for the happy friendly people, but also for the fresh air and beautiful view! I had wondered before how it is my coworker is content to commute such a distance to work daily, but with her great hubbie at home and home by the beach, I understand completely now. Her family is so different from my own family, but I’d always felt so at home around her, her husband, and her kids (who are about my age anyway). There really is more than one way to live and be, and more than one way to be happy.

Flight from Los Angeles to Fort Lauderdale, Florida to go on a 5-day west Carribean cruise on the Carnival Imagination to the Grand Cayman islands, Ocho Rios island, Jamaica, booked for February! Yay!

Of course I requested the latest dinner seating, 8:30p, so that I could hit the onboard gym before dinner each night.

Yay!

I was channel surfing late last nite when I saw that Sweet November was playing on TBS. Never seen it, not sure I’d even heard of it, but hey. Keanu Reeves and Charlize Theron aren’t bad to look at, and even if Keanu’s acting isn’t up to par, Charlize should carry the movie through.

I sobbed my eyes out. I heaved, my breath spasmed, the core of my chest cavity threatened to implode, my lips quaked. This all happened at the bridge scene toward the end. I was okay till then, just a tear here and there, but at that scene, I felt an overwhelming sense of panic and helplessness, and watching Keanu’s body language at that bridge and finally, his eyes when the scarf came off, was just too much.

Keanu Reeves’ acting seems to have relaxed a lot from those earlier Speed days, and Charlize Theron continues to impress me with her range and depth, especially for someone so new to the biz. It’s hard to imagine that this quirky chirpy character is played by the same actress who played the dark and serious (and acrobatic) Aeon Flux. I really want to buy Sweet November, but I’m not sure I can watch it again. I sobbed and cried for probably 15 minutes after the movie ended and I’d turned the TV off.

Just got back from watching Brokeback Mountain with a bunch of coworkers. Oh! Oh! The discussions one could have about the acting, the realism, the psyches, the social issues, the social issues of the 60s and 70s, the list goes on. It was a beautifully portrayed doomed love story. It makes you want to cry for the inability of love to burgeon outside of a vacuum (even one as beautiful as Brokeback Mountain), the social impossibility of amor vincet omnia. I think Heath Ledger’s Ennis truly was the love of Jack’s life, despite Jack’s other sexual escapades, because of the way Jack’s mother treated Ennis toward the end of the movie. Her clear eyes watched him with love, as if acknowledging that this is the man her son loved, and said against the background of her husband’s gruffness toward Ennis, “You will come back and visit us again?” One of our group felt that Ennis treated his relationship with Jack rather discardedly, but I think they were both the centers of each others’ universe and the other stuff was just to occupy time, and one just dealt with it better than the other.

And then the debate… when do you call a relationship quits? My theory was sorta mocked; I find it easier to put everything into a relationship to try to salvage it, instead of ending it prophylactically. Especially when you have some time invested. My instincts definitely are to run before I get too burned, but what ends up happening is I stay and suffer and toil through it, because I don’t want to get to a point where I doubt my decision to leave by all of the what-ifs. Then I’m vulnerable to being sucked back in. If I stay and don’t leave until I’m sure there is no light at the end of the tunnel, leaving is a last resort and it brings me a sort of peace that I’ve done all I can, and there is no going back. Leaving prematurely makes me susceptible to being sucked back into a limbo thing, where I’m unable to resist midnight booty calls and moments of weakness and the like, and the limbo thing may drag out way longer than actually staying an extra 2 months until you’re sure you must and want to leave. I understand this doesn’t work for everyone. I’ve got 2 friends who draw very hard lines at their decisions — when they decide to leave, they leave, and there is no going back. But I’m more emotional than that, and when my emotions are tugged and confused, I make dumb decisions. Better to let it die a bit first and leave when I’m ready, i.e. when I see that I have no other choice. Why leave when there’s still hope? Just cuz you’re mad? That’s retarded.

P.S. Shout-out: Hi Steve!

I don’t think I’ve blogged about this, and if I didn’t, then the proper context was missing from the campfire story. Mr. W doesn’t like “real” fires in his fireplace because he doesn’t want to deal with the soot and the ashes afterwards in his immaculate designer-looking house. I love burning stuff. I love to stare at the phase changes and listen to the crackling and watch things get devoured and moved. When Mr. W started turning on his gas fireplace for me shortly before Christmas, I found little satisfaction in the predictability of gas-powered flames lapping futilely at metal imitation wood. I whined and reasoned and bargained for burning stuff in the fireplace, to no avail. Finally, perhaps having his heartstrings pulled at watching me piteously watching the fake fire devoid of meaning, Mr. W stomped over, grabbed a decorative cinnamon-scented pine cone from a basket by the fireplace, threw it unceremoniously on top of the fake log, and said, “There.” My whole face lit up as bright as the burning cone while Mr. W shook his head at me and called me a pyro as he walked away.

I just returned from my first “camping” trip. Yesterday morning, Mr. W was having breakfast on his balcony when the beauty of the weather and sunlight and the warm prior night compelled him to cancel our weekend plans with other people and go on an impromptu “camping” outing. Once he got that idea in his head, there was no stopping the momentum. Sleeping bags, tent material, various wares and gear were thrown from upstairs over the balustrade to the foyer. I was a bit bewildered, having no experience with camping and therefore having no mental prep, but he knew how to push the buttons. The promise of an outdoors fire where I’d be allowed to burn stuff for real put the grin on my face and with matching glints in our eyes, we set off “camping.”

The reason why “camping” is in quotes, is because I don’t think that having a portable dual-range gas stove, electrical outlets, running hot/cold water public restrooms and showers are really “roughing it.” But according to Mr. W, this is how “everybody who really camp” do it. Well, we could’ve been more spoiled, I thought, as Mr. W plugged an electrical pump into an outlet and inflated the air mattress. We could be in one of those RVs with the generators humming and the satellite dish propped up on the tripod in front of the portable kitchenette. We got back to nature by sleeping in a special-order tent that sets up right over the bed of his truck so that we’re not even touching the ground. We didn’t even have to catch small woodland creatures for skinning and roasting over a bonfire spit. No, we had hot chocolate and Marie Callendar’s canned soup that was simmered over the stove range. Basically, it was like setting up half your kitchen and living room outdoors and claiming you’re “camping” just cuz you’re out of the house. I did manage to keep him from putting a nice tablecloth over the wooden picnic table, however.

Okay, enough of my silly criticism about spoiled “campers.” The experience itself was fun. The stars were beautiful, the company can’t be beat, and I got to burn stuff in an open flame. I think Mr. W thought it was funny that he dumped ice into the fire pit, causing my waning fire to sizzle as we were packing up to leave this morning. That act of cruelty caused me to scurry around like a little squirrel gathering what pine cones I could find to run back to the fire and try to revive it. “Hurry, hurry!” he called after me. “It’s a race against time!” The firepit smoked and smoldered for a long time as the ice surrounding it melted. But later, while Mr. W had disappeared to use the public restroom, I was triumphant. By the time he got back, the flames were licking the ice and I was sitting there with a Napoleonic grin on my face. So of course he had to pour what water was left in the pot directly over the fire as he was putting away our portable kitchen. 🙁

It’s okay…he did what he had to to ensure that he could tear me away from the “camp.”

It really was a great weekend. As it usually is. There were walks in the rain, dashes in the rain, drives in the rain. (No rain here, however, compares to my wet yoga experience in Cancun.) There were candle flickers and friends and games. Sunday, Mr. W and I drove up to my friends Vicky and Peter’s house in Pasadena and had lunch at Big Mama’s Rib Shack for some BBQ and soul food. I had been touting that place for months, so I was really glad that Mr. W enjoyed it. Then we went back to Vicky and Peter’s, let their vizslas trample us (purebred really happy and friendly red-headed doggers), and had game night so fun and intense that we forgot to eat dinner.

I’m really glad we found a couple we can play games with. I was starting to wonder whether I’d spent all that money on games in Vegas for nothing. Ooh! Ooh! I was really proud of myself for correctly answering a question in which I had to employ the Pythagorean Theorem. Vicky was really proud of me, too, because we’ve known each other since the 3rd grade and she knows math is not my forte. I asked her and Peter, “Would you guys have gotten this question?” “Mmm-hmm!” she said in affirmation. I was crestfallen, but only for an instant, because Vicky’s a pharmacist and Peter’s an aerospace engineer for NASA, so it’s no great feat that THEY could figure out the question.

What the hell game is this? you wonder. It’s Mindtrap. The question was something to the effect of, “Sid Shady is staying at a motel and he had too much to drink. In a drunken stupor in the dark, he staggered over to the circular kiddie pool in the center of the motel, went into the pool, crawled due south in the pool 6 meters until he reached the edge. From there, he turned due east and crawled 8 meters until he reached that edge, and crawled out of the kiddie pool. What was this pool’s diameter?” I know, I know, I’m proud of myself for being able to do 8th grade math. I’m pathetic.

Monday, New Year’s Day, we did a Costco run and bought lots of ingredients and I made 1.5 lasagnes for dinner. The reason there other one’s just a half is because there was only enough ingredients for 2 layers on the 2nd pan, and I like to do 3 layers. Mr. W’s daughter called it “our lasagne”, as in, “You’re gonna make lasagne? Our lasagne? The one you made last time? That was good!”, and his son ate quickly, quietly, and had seconds. These kids are supposed to be picky, so I was almost moved to tears. Or maybe they’re not as picky as Mr. W thinks they are, or maybe they just don’t like Mr. W’s cooking. … Oh, who cares! They liked my lasagne!

(And here Wilco is thinking, “Isn’t lasagne spelled l-a-s-a-g-n-A?”)

We watched The Chronicles of Narnia after work yesterday. If you don’t like kids, annoying kids, stupid kids, doomsayer kids, screaming kids, kids in the audience or British kids, I’d say to avoid this movie. I did like the storyline, I enjoyed the parallel with Christ (Mr. W told me the book series were written by a very Christian author), I admired the scenery, but most of all, I liked the big furry lion. I’m sure the rightful King of Narnia, Azlan (sp?), all-powerful and revered fighter/leader/advisor, would not appreciate my describing him as a “big furry lion,” but that’s what he was! Now how do you look at that giant-pawed feline without wanting to bury your face in that thick mane, or wanting to squeeze a rounded fuzzy ear? I bet his ear is warm. =) Falling second in appeal to Azlan is the remarkable face of the oldest human brother, remarkable because of how closely, in my opinion at least, this British boy resembles a young Val Kilmer in the ice blue eyes, the facial features especially the lips, the jawline, and even some regal expressions. I found myself wondering what this boy would look like 10 years from now. As for the rest of the human cast, the youngest child, the little girl, screams and shrieks too much; the younger brother is perplexing in his weakness and idiocy; the older sister needs her gray-clouds-follow-me attitude silenced by perhaps a stapling of her lips. The ice queen was decent. So was Santa Claus. Don’t believe me? Watch the movie.

How’s that for a shallow review?

Really. See it for the lion. Trust me.

Since the blog server’s been down the past few days, I’m gonna do a shortened version of my xmas this year.

Mr. W and I celebrated our personal xmas Thursday evening. I am impressed by how well he had listened to me and remembered small details about my likes and dislikes, as was evidenced in his very thoughtful gifts. I am spoiled sick this year. Sick! Thursday was a wonderful evening, I could not have choreographed a better time. It was low-key and very customized to my taste, with some introductions to new things. I had no idea that hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps is so delicious, it’s like drinking an Andes chocolate mint wafer! I got to mush marshmallows in between my fingers just like I did as a child, and instead of being grossed out, Mr. W handed me the small marshmallows as I went. There were toes warmed by a lit fireplace, Christmas music, candied apples, popcorn, soy eggnog (heavily spiked), and all the “Friends” one could have. Really. All 10 seasons in a wood-cased, boxed set.

Friday after work, I had xmas dinner with my parents and presented my father with his bisected fossil and my mother with her laptop and my parents with their printer/scanner/copier. My parents had gotten me a black leather jacket and a Trader Joe’s giftcard. *Laugh*

Late Friday night, technically 3am Saturday morning, Mr. W and I left for Las Vegas to spend xmas with his parents and extended family. We arrived at approximately 6:45 a.m.. Maybe when I have more time I will blog about the drive. For now, I hope to find more information about what happened on the news. I hope the California Highway Patrol caught the phukker.

Saturday for lunch, Mr. W, his parents and I went to a Chicago pizza joint in Vegas that he’d been raving about for as long as we’d been dating. Apparently this restaurant gets shipments every Monday of authentic Chicago pizza ingredients from their original Chicago restaurant. It was delicious pizza. After lunch, we got back and napped until his relatives started arriving for xmas dinner. I met his two brothers, their families, and his nieces and everybody’s significant others. They’re very warm, nice people, with a passion for debating and great senses of humor. Even off-beat humor, somewhat like mine. But I kept mine under wraps and behaved for the most part. After dinner, we split into teams and played a bunch of Milton Bradley Get-Together games. I was just telling him the other day how I missed board games with old friends who used to play with me. We played Scattergories, DVD Pop Culture Trivial Pursuit, and some other games whose names escape me at the moment. At various times, the laughter became near hyperventillation. And that wasn’t just me. It was so much fun.