cindy's world

Yesterday evening, maid-of-honor Vicky (yes, I’ve decided recently she’s my maid-of-honor; she’s more than earned it. Didja read all my past Las Tunas and Chinatown trauma she guided me through?) came by with her boyfriend Glenn and the three of us went out to a local sushi joint for dinner. After returning to my house, Glenn proceeded to take apart my living room’s vertical blinds to see if he could replace the broken clip on one panel. He soon discovered that the system was made in the late 70s and the parts I’ve purchased don’t fit in the old system. GAH! He was a good sport and reassembled everything, put it back up in the window, and advised me to buy a new blind system. After checking the blinds upstairs in the bedrooms, he found they were the same old system, so those will all have to be replaced, too. While upstairs, he said my ceiling damage from the leaks actually aren’t that bad and that they can be repatched very inexpensively, so I don’t have to hire an expensive ceiling repair guy or put a claim into my homeowner’s insurance. Great! With his prior experience managing multiple apartment homes, he recommended some products and even offered to come help patch the ceilings once my external roof is replaced. Looks like Vicky’s dating life has finally paid off for me. Haha!

(Today I told Mr. W about Glenn’s blind discoveries and Mr. W said he already knew that the pieces were not compatible cuz he’d already looked at it. Well, why didn’t he tell me?!)

Afterward the free inspection, we hung out and chatted in the living room, when something someone said sparked the memory that I have video tape footage of Vicky when we were in 8th grade. I busted it out, popped it in the VCR, and I watched Glenn’s amused smile looking at his whiny girlfriend more than 15 years back in time. Bridesmaid Sandy is in our 8th grade graduation video, too! I threatened to play it at my wedding. One thing we all noticed is how incredibly tan we were as pre-teens. Of course there was the daily P.E. class and playing outdoors and swimming, but man, adult office life has done nothing for our tans.

Now I need to find some embarrassing video footage of bridemaid Diana from the late 80s. Heh heh heh!

What sucks is to be starving and not be able to eat the food that’s right in front of you. I had insisted on going to the gym today because I’d missed all my lunchtime workouts this week as our trial keeps running late, but after our workout today my gym trainee and I ran across the street to Tropical Smoothie Cafe where I grabbed a buffalo chicken wrap. Sooo good! Unfortunately, as I expected, when I walked in the courtroom the judge was already on the bench having a hearing, despite the fact that I wasn’t late. So now the wrap sits on my desk, getting cold, as I drool.

I’ve always thought it a form of torture, too, when I’m starving to death and have to drive to pick up a pizza. My parents were always too frugal to pay or tip for delivery so after waiting what felt like forever until the estimated time the pizza would be ready for pick-up, they’d take me along to the pizza place, and of course I wasn’t allowed to eat before dinnertime for fear of ruining my appetite. So we’d pick up our pizza, I’m starving while the cheese and meat aromas circulate around the car, and as a final tease, my job was to hold the hot box on my lap. There was rarely a longer drive than the one back home. As tormenting as these drives were, when I lived on my own I would also occasionally opt to pick up my own pizza rather than have it delivered. I think it’s the Asian thrift gene passed on, but I did make one modification: no later than when I get in the car, I would open the box and grab a slice of pizza, happily proceeding to burn the roof of my mouth off with molten cheese on my drive back home.

*looking at wrap*

MAN I wanna eat. I think I’ll take my wrap out into the back hallway and eat in secret.

I’ve been wanting to post this every Valentine’s Day for years but I never remembered in time. I wrote this poem 2-14-94, my senior year in high school. (That’s important for the irony you’ll see.) It was published later on that year in a school publication.
Each time a reference to Valentine’s Day is written, the font is in a creepy horror-movie-title font, like with blood drippage coming off the letters.

V-DAY
The kid down the street
Sits up in bed at six
Alarmed as his alarm alarms him.

And in this state of panic
His feet hammer out something drastic
Just as his young heart mimicks his alarm.

Having forgotten it was Valentine’s
He frantically cuts flowers fresh off the vine
And in so doing, draws blood the color of the maroon petals.

In school, the boy greets Little Suzie,
Presents her with his flowers, still a little woozy
From his tremendous outpour of blood.

Suzie’s lush lips stretch into a smile
As she eyes the beautiful red pile
Of flowers, and blushingly accepts the gift.

She giggles and wiggles and squirms all day
Looking so forward to her luncheon date
With the little, young twelfth grade boy.

Amongst all this hustle and bustle
Of young, immature kids
Whose clanging, clamoring hearts still believe in Valentine’s Day

I sit, and observe
And occasionally laugh
At all the silly, unrealisitic lovesick fools

And wish that one time more
I could be a part
Of all this fuss over nothing on Valentine’s Day.

Dude. I can’t sleeeeep! You know what ridiculous thing is going thru my mind?

In Physics my senior year of high school, we had a project to design and build a small bridge using ONLY flat wooden toothpicks and Elmer’s white glue. For every Physics project, our teacher ran a contest for extra credit points. The bridge’s contest is to see which bridge could hold the most weight in proportion to the bridge’s own weight. I remember Vicky (who had Physics in another period) and I ditched a class or two to leave school early the day before the due date to finish (i.e., start on) our bridges. I even remember that before I met up with Vicky at my house, I’d stopped by The Wherehouse to buy the cassette single US3’s one-hit-wonder “Flip Fantasia” for Vicky cuz she thought it was a cute song. Hence, I was late getting to my house and she’d beat me. Random details. Oh, and I remember Vicky had bought those expensive strong “Diamond” brand toothpicks in the blue and white box and I bought the cheap flimsy Thrifty store-brand toothpicks, and that I’d bought my toothpicks some days earlier when I watched Schindler’s List with Sandy since she got extra credit for watching it, and I had to walk out of the theatre during one of the more violent scenes, so I walked to Thrifty. (I’ve known these two bridesmaids forevah!)

Vicky’s bridge design was this intricate assembly of boxes with a diagonal toothpick inside each wall of the frames for extra support, and she even cut all her toothpick tips at 45-degree angles so that all the edges would match perfectly together and make flush corners. When she put her bridge on the table, it made a solid “thwack” sound. That bridge had substance and presence.

My bridge design was less design than just gluing toothpicks together, keeping in mind that the strongest geometric shapes are arcs and triangles, and then bringing those glued sticks closer and closer until they connected on top. The arc of the bridge turned out surprisingly high, I don’t even think the structure stood solidly on the table but was a tad wobbly the way an uneven kitchen table would be, and it looked flimsy compared to Vicky’s. I noted that the support was a bit thin between where the legs connected to the upper surface of the bridge, but was too tired to reinforce it because cutting and gluing toothpicks together took surprisingly long. It was very late that night when we’d finished. We prayed that the white glue had enough time overnight to dry before our bridges would be tested the next day in our respective Physics classes.

Vicky’s Physics period was before mine and her bridge ended up being the second-best in her period, taking a lot of pounds of weight before it broke. When my period came, the teacher put each person’s bridge on the counter/table at the front of the class, and one by one, carefully put small bags of weight on it until it broke, and then recorded the results as the class watched. When it came to my bridge, he put a weight on it, and my bridge did not budge. Surprised, he took the weight off, put a small bucket on my bridge, and then dumped sand into the bucket. I watched my bridge’s legs start to spread as he kept adding weight in the bucket. Running out of sand, the teacher took a metal dumbbell ring and put it inside the bucket. The class was awed, and whispers of “Daaaaang…” echoed throughout the students. Finally, the bridge broke in the EXACT PLACE I knew needed reinforcement! I could kick myself, cuz I could’ve done something about it, but was too tired to. My bridge held the most weight in proportion to its own weight in the class, so I got the extra credit points, but Vicky’s bridge was able to hold more weight. Her downfall, why she only got #2 in her class, was that altho her bridge held more, it also weighed more. I think both our bridges (mine for sure) were displayed in the glass case in the Science Building’s hallway for a few months until the next project.

This is what’s keeping me awake… why didn’t I build an “m”-shaped bridge instead of an arc bridge? The middle leg in the “m” would’ve totally supported the sag. Was it part of the rules that it had to be an arc bridge? Somehow I don’t think so, I think the only rules were in the materials we were allowed to use. But even if it were written that the bridge could only stand on 2 legs, I could’ve designed an “m” with the middle leg NOT touching the ground, but when the two outside legs separated as the bridge sagged, the middle leg would then get low enough to touch the ground and support the sagging weight so the bridge legs wouldn’t break. Of course it would’ve made the bridge slightly heavier, but I think I could use minimal toothpicks to make the small increase of weight well worth its increased strength.

I wanna call Vicky and ask if she remembers the rules to the bridge project.

Jordan’s recent post complaining about her body mass index (BMI) inspired me to start digging through my desk drawer in search of my BMI chart. I didn’t find it, but instead got lost in a flood of emails I’d printed out and retained.

Through a particularly tortured period of my life, I’d printed out email conversations between my friends and I that were inspiring or comforting, because I want the wise words for future reference and I want never to forget the time and love gifted to me. The following is an excerpt from a 6-pager:

Me: What I really want, and what I’ve always wanted, is to know that if I’m tired, like I am right now, when I can’t think straight and I can’t deal, that I can just lean my head on someone’s lap and trust him to take care of me while I took a break. To trust that if I let go, he would not let the sky collapse on me. That when I’m ready to deal with things again, I can awake refreshed, be greeted by his smile, and I’d know that things are okay. Why is that so impossible to find?
Friend: I think that this is what most people are seeking. They want someone that they can trust, that they can go back to at the end of the day, they want someone who they can let their guard down and not be afraid of being taken advantage of. For me, I think that this is a large part of what love is all about.
And why is it so impossible to find? I tell people (and myself) that the thing about love is that you only really have to get it right once in your life. And once you get it right, you’re set for life. It’s the beauty about of love is that once you do get it right, you don’t ever have to worry about it again. This kind of love may be hard to find, but I think it’s well worth the wait. I know that I want to love someone so completely and have that love returned that I’m not willing to compromise when it comes to people I date. Now, this might make me a little lonely and a lot single for a long time, but the way I see it is, I don’t think that I would be happy any other way.

The email was from June 16, 2005. And I have since then found that person I was writing about wanting to find. And my friend who wrote me the words of encouragement has not only found his person now, but married her. Neither of us at the time were dating these people we are with now, but we would be within months unbeknownst to us then.

I feel compelled to note that I don’t think what my friend meant in the above exerpt was that once you find the right person for you, everything will be honky dory with no effort from you and you can just be a lazy slob and take no responsibility for the relationship. But I think with the right person, your efforts aren’t wasted; they, along with your love, are reciprocated and nurtured.

Thanks, Mike/’Wilco’! (Bet he thought I wasn’t going to give him credit. Or maybe he doesn’t even remember writing that.)

Mr. W’s foggy memory paired with my elephant one is gonna cause endless frustrations, I can tell. I’m already saddened that he doesn’t remember anything about asking me out 2 years before we first started dating, nor does he remember much about our first weekend together and much of our momentous first times.

Yesterday evening (Saturday), childhood friend Vicky and I, with a very patient and game-faced Mr. W in accompaniment, did one of our ritual 5-hour, 15-game Bingo sessions at our old high school. It used to be a monthly thing before she and I hooked up with the men we are with now, and we hadn’t done it together in years. (Yes, the venue is fraught with little old ladies on oxygen tanks cussing, and yes, I have won before; $250 a pop!) Not that our stopping was the fault of either of our men; we just couldn’t get our schedules to mesh and then gave up for awhile.
So at Bingo, the topic of the “Transformers” movie came up. Vicky said she’s never seen it, which I was shocked by, cuz this is the girl I grew up watching all the 80s cartoons with! We loved He-Man, She-Rah, GI Joe, the short-lived Rainbow Brite and Cabbage Patch Kids, and I think even The Care Bears before I decided I hated them cuz despite all their promised rescues of sad little boys and girls on the cartoon, they never came and rescued ME when I was blue. Vicky asked what we thought of the “Transformers” movie. Mr. W jumped right in and said he thought it was great, he liked it, and thought it was funny. This confused me because I distinctly remember that as we were walking out of the movie, we were in the long hallway immediately exiting the theatre room and he was on my right, I had said, “Huh. That was actually better the second time around” (since I thought it was pretty disappointing the first time I watched it with Vanessa and James when they took me for my birthday, despite what EVERYONE ELSE thought of the movie, which was give it blockbusting rave reviews). And Mr. W had said that he didn’t think it was great, either, and that like my first time, he had trouble staying awake. He’d thought the movie was confusing, didn’t know who the good guys and bad guys were, and generally didn’t think it was as clever or funny as all my friends had said. I’d said I didn’t catch a lot of the supposed funny lines, either, and he’d said that it was because the characters said a lot of stuff in passing under their breaths so if you weren’t really paying attention to the dialogue you’d miss it. So now at Bingo, I objected, “That’s not what you said when you came out of the movie! You said you didn’t like it.”
Mr. W argued, “No, I DID like it and I said that it was good.”
I said, “You said it was confusing and you had trouble following it.”
He said, “No I didn’t, I wasn’t confused, which I thought was good considering I had never even seen one episode of the original Transformers show. It was one of your other friends who didn’t like it.”
“EVERYBODY else loved the movie,” I said, which was the bond that he and shared over NOT being impressed by the movie, which bond I felt when he and I walked out of the theatre holding hands griping about the disappointment of movies being overhyped and underacted. I think he may have even said back then that the characters were superficial and underdeveloped and you don’t feel attached to them because of the way the plot moved, but that may have also been a comment made by someone else.
Well, we lost THAT bond now, I thought as Mr. W and Vicky went into, “YOU’VE NEVER SEEN TRANSFORMERS?” and Mr. W explained that he was way into adulthood by the time those shows rolled around and he wasn’t watching Saturday Morning Cartoons or after-school 3pm cartoons anymore.

After we came home, we watched another episode of Buffy and Angel on DVD and Mr. W went to bed. I couldn’t fall asleep as the above stupid, inconsequential, all-in-all meaningless discrepancy ripped out chunks of my brain and tossed them at me. I finally got out of bed and came to Mr. W’s laptop and did a search for the Transformers movie on my blog, and found where I’d written back in July that Mr. W had confessed his trouble staying awake during the movie. It wasn’t everything I wanted, but it was SOMETHING confirmed. I went back to bed, which motion woke Mr. W up and he looked at me and asked what was wrong. I didn’t want to talk about this at 4 in the morning, but since he ASKED, I said, “What makes you think something is wrong?” He said because I’m clearly wide awake. Since he was looking at me with his eyelids propped up, I went into a whole “You said blah blah blah blah blah! And I remembered that it was really blah blah blah! And I looked it up in my blog just now and it WAS blah blah blah!”
In the most anticlimatic way, he said “Hmm” twice, as if thoughtfully, and rolled over and went to sleep. I curled up around him feeling better and slept soundly, too.

Jordan was up in Florida this morning listening to her iPod when I came online early (not so early for her, as Florida’s 3 hours ahead). She didn’t know what song she was listening to, as her teenage daughter had put it in Jordan’s iPod for her.

Jordan: snoop and dre is what is what it says
Cindy: I wonder if it’s an old song.
Jordan: I have no idea but it says mother fucker a lot
Cindy: I would never put a song on around my parents that had cussing in it.
Jordan: yeah but it’s not 1970 anymore…
Cindy: My mom wouldn’t buy me the Color Me Badd CD.
Cindy: me in 9th grade. Mom says “I’m going to Target! Want anything?”
Cindy: I said, “Yeah, I want the Color Me Badd CD! Grace has it and I listened to it and it’s sooooo good!”
Cindy: She goes, “Okay.”
Cindy: And then she comes back from Target empty-handed and says we need to talk.
Cindy: she says seriously, “Cindy, I didn’t get you the CD.”
Cindy: “WHY??????”
Jordan: .LOL about the color me badd /target/mom!!…….my kids are allowed to say things like “that pissed me off” but they are not allowed to say other things
Cindy: “Because it’s not a good CD. I turned it over and looked at the songs, and one of them was called ‘I Wanna Sex You Up’.”
Cindy: it’s a very cute song.
Jordan: oh yeah… i like that one
Cindy: And now it’s playing in my head.
Cindy: their entire album is very upbeat, very cute
Cindy: like “All for Love,” I LOVE.
Jordan: well do you own it NOW?
Cindy: no.
Cindy: 🙁
Cindy: my mommy won’t let me.
Cindy: I just have porn DVDs. HAHAHA
Jordan: hide it in an inconspicuous case, like you do with your porn
Jordan: JINX
Cindy: :X
…
Cindy: you should come down and meet my mom.
Cindy: since we’re sisters and all.
Jordan: I need to. Since she’s mine also.
Jordan: jinx again,.. stop that
Cindy: “Hi mom. This is Jordan. Your other daughter.”
Cindy: “What, you don’t remember?”
Jordan: like the other white meat
Cindy: HAHAH
Cindy: yeah, the first white meat being my ass.
Jordan: true dat ( i assume )
Jordan: take YO word fo it
Cindy: I look like I’m put together from the body parts of a Carribean girl and a Polish girl.
Jordan: did billy idol do a song called china girl?
Cindy: someone did.
Jordan: we could revise it
Cindy: “My little china girl…”
Jordan: My little striped color coded china girl
Cindy: HAHAHAHAHA
Jordan: hehe
Jordan: maybe that wasn’t billy idol
Cindy: I have no idea who it is.
Jordan: who had two different colored eyes?
Cindy: david bowie
Jordan: oh yeah
Jordan: it was him
Cindy: oh.
Jordan: billy idol.. david bowie.. same thang
…
and then a bonus:

Cindy: are you off today?
Jordan: no I’m in a delivery right now… baby is crowning
Jordan: of course I’m off.. they don’t let me chat
Cindy: how do I know you don’t have a later shift? geesh.
Jordan: i can respond to emails.. that’s about it
Cindy: you CAN?
Jordan: yeah
Cindy: now I’m gonna be mad if I don’ t get instant responses. hmmph.
Jordan: well… when you have 30 babies born in ONE day.. it’s kind of hard
Cindy: i’ll bug you all day long. “What’s happening NOW? What about NOW? How many babies NOW? How come you’re not replying NOW?”
Jordan: well then you’ll get the ifcindyemailsmemorethan10timestoday response
Cindy: what would THAT be?
Jordan: “take your meds and CALM the f down”
Cindy: *hyperventillating*
Jordan: blow
Cindy: aWHOO! aWHOO!
Jordan: put yo head between yo legs
Cindy: if I could do that I’d be too busy to hyperventillate

Yup. Mom would be proud.
But at least I’m in a better mood now!

I woke up this morning from a disturbing dream in which college roommie and I were talking and she revealed she’d been in email contact for quite some time with a guy from my high school past. In the dream I was surprised and somewhat disappointed that he’d bothered to stay in touch with her but not with me. I told Dream Roommie, “Back then, he would make or break my entire summer on a daily basis.” And that was true.

Since waking way too early from that dream and being unable to fall back asleep, I’d been in this sticky web of emotional nostalgia, and not in a good way. It’s dark and murky, what I feel. Secrecy and real trouble surround this guy, and yet he always sneaks into my dreams just often enough for me to keep looking for him, to make sure he’s still alive. I’d house-cleaned him a hundred times, he’d disappointed me at least that often, but every time he emerges in a dream I return to the same disturbed state.

I sought for old contact from him on Friendster. He’d found me in 2003 on that site, left a vague email about wondering how I’d greet him after all these years, with a hug? With a slap? He wrote that he’d been to hell and didn’t think he had actually ever come back. Said now that he’s finally found me, he hopes I haven’t forgotten him. I wrote back that sometimes people I care about have to take the walk to hell for their own reasons and altho I recognize that, it doesn’t make watching it any easier. I let him know my hand is outstretched to help and whether he takes it or not is a matter of choice. Some disturbing response from him about how he’s been shot at, bribed, arrested, homeless, and that he’s learned in his adventures walking the world and getting into adventures, like Cain (from “Kung Fu”), that life is cold and uncaring, that all people have ulterior selfish motives for any kind acts they do, and that self-serving unjustness rules the world. He said even his contacting me is selfish although sincere — he is lost and wishes to be found; he hopes to rekindle a friendship that was regrettably neglected. I wrote back that I have the same phone numbers he’d last had. Without hearing more from him, he promptly and mysteriously disappeared again.

I contacted him through the same means some 2 years after this (after another disturbing dream that I’d traveled up north to find him, and I could not, and he wasn’t where he said he’d be, he never picked up his phone, and no matter what I tried I came to dead ends) he responded 20 days later apologizing for losing contact, said that he’d been trying to sort out issues for some time and haven’t kept in touch with many people. Said I have always been “too good” to him and therefore apologizes for not keeping in touch with me. Wrote that he trusts I’m doing well except for my overthinking which he’s sure I’m still doing; that I’m too smart for my own good and that ignorance is bliss. Ended on “hope to hear from you soon.” And disappeared again. That was 2 year ago.

He is and had always been vaporous to me, elusive to grab but simultaneously everywhere in a cold thin veil of mist. You could never feel secure around him. You could never really penetrate his vibes, get a good read on what and why he does or says what he did or said to me. At least, I couldn’t.

I think his recent appearance in my dream wasn’t about him, it was about what he represented. Yesterday, I ran into someone who I thought I was worth more to than how he was treating me. It bothered me to the point where it bothered me how much it bothered me, that I was treated like any common acquaintance from the street, as if we didn’t once share a closeness that permitted (no, embraced) the rare entry by a non-significant-other into our most private fears and thoughts. Yesterday, I felt as insignificant to this person as I had felt a hundred times with the guy from my past. Like, I had given you so much of me and you drank it all because you needed me, and you could not be bothered to stand by me on my most important day when I needed you in return, and you didn’t come, and you didn’t call, and I didn’t matter, and I don’t know why.

The entire time I’ve been writing this post, this has been playing in the background of my mind:
You used to captivate me
By your resonating light
Now I’m bound by the life you left behind
Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away
All the sanity in me

So I thought I’d look up the rest of the lyrics. And it was me, ages 17, 18, 19, 20, 21.

“My Immortal” – Evanescence

I’m so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
‘Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won’t leave me alone

These wounds won’t seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There’s just too much that time cannot erase

[Chorus:]
When you cried I’d wipe away all of your tears
When you’d screamed I’d fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me

You used to captivate me
By your resonating light
Now I’m bound by the life you left behind
Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away
All the sanity in me

These wounds won’t seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There’s just too much that time cannot erase

[Chorus]

I’ve tried so hard to tell myself that you’re gone
But though you’re still with me
I’ve been alone all along

[Chorus]

Life improved after I got into work this morning. Mr. W’s coworker was trying to unload two concert tickets for next Wednesday and she’s having trouble finding a buyer. Mr. W told me of her woes sympathetically, and I asked, just making conversation, whose concert it was.
“Boyz II Men and, um, Brian McKnight or something?”
I almost fell out of my chair. “Really???”
“Yeah,” he seemed surprised. “Why, you wanna go?”
The venue is an outdoors concert hall in a city right next to the city that I work in. It’s perfect for a Wednesday night concert!
“But aren’t they has-beens?” Mr. W asked. “They’re not BOYZ anymore, they’re more like MEN now, aren’t they? ha ha.”
Ha, ha. Boyz II Men andBrian McKnight defined my generation’s high school R&B music. I bought every music single by Boyz II Men as they were released, rather than wait for the entire album to be released. I played Brian McKnight’s “One Last Cry” so often that rather than playing then rewinding then playing then rewinding the cassette tape single every 5 minutes, I recorded it back-to-back on a second cassette tape many times over so that I could pop the 2nd tape in, press “play”, and have that song played back for 45 minutes straight. I have a letter on which my (male) friend quoted a segment of Boyz II Men’s “I’ll Make Love to You” on the top margin. My girlfriends and I cried to “It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye (to Yesterday)” at the Class of 93’s graduation. My friend Lily gave the single “End of the Road” to a boy she liked in high school who was about to move away. My friend Vicky had a card written to her by some boy who quoted his own variation of “Down on Bended Knee”. A friend who was asking me to stop being mad at him on the phone one night quoted the speaking part of a Boyz II Men song, “Baby, I’m sorry. Please forgive me for all the wrong I’ve done…” in exactly the same deep baritone voice and inflections as in the song, and made me laugh and get over whatever I was upset about. I blasted Brian McKnight’s “You Should Be Mine” indignantly in my car when I was getting over some guy, and crooned to his “Back at One” when I dreamt of my future perfect boyfriend. I could go on, but this post is already getting long.

I’M GONNA GO SEE BOYZ II MEN AND BRIAN MCKNIGHT IN CONCERT NEXT WEDNESDAY!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!! It’s gonna be my first pop music concert EVER! (I’ve only been to Jim Brickman before this, and it was an excellent, funny, and very entertaining concert, but it was piano music with the occasional saxophone.)

“I hate Sandra Bullock. I’m not watching any of her movies.” (early90s)
“I hate rap.” (junior high, late 80s)
“I’ll probably be marrying my first or second boyfriend because I’m so picky that by the time I agree to be in a relationship, he’d have to be perfect.” (1st year of college, mid 90s)
“I hate computers. When I grow up I’m never touching another one.” (elementary school through 7th grade, 80s)