cindy's world

The only sensible thing I’d ever heard from “Sex and the City” is this line from Carrie’s narration: “That’s the thing about needs. Once they’re met, you don’t need them anymore.”

If only men knew that as long as they’re willing to meet some need from us, that oftentimes, their willingness is all we really need. Make the offer. Reach out the hand. You’d be surprised how reasonable we (at least the sane ones of us) are, and if it’s a burden to you, we will find an alternative, but you’ll get all the brownie points in the world for offering.

Some men draw some invisible hard line, petrified that if they appear to bend just a little, that their very masculinity will be threatened and a woman will walk all over him. You don’t have to roll the red carpet out in front of a woman, but if you picked a reasonable, loving woman, she will meet your kindness with like kindness, fairness with like fairness. On the other hand, if you “put your foot down” (I hate that phrase, it’s such a laughable attempt at overcompensating and he may as well stamp his foot and insist that he has a large penis) and refuse to work with us just “on principle,” you may find that we’re hurt and will fight back “on principle.”

Real men aren’t the ones who refuse to compromise or even talk about our concerns. Real men don’t say “it’s my way or the highway, I’m the man.” Real men aren’t scared to deal with things face-forward, and they address problems on the problem’s own merit, and dispel issues by resolving them in the real world. Real men understand that sometimes to win the war, you must lose the battle. And that if you lose this battle, we’ll give you the next one, and suddenly, there are a lot less battles to fight.

“…Draw an equal-armed cross over the stones. Set the picture of the person (or their name, if you couldn’t find a picture), on a black plate, cloth, or construction paper. Repeat the above incantation every time you drop one of the small pebbles on top of hte picture. Finish by saying: ‘You are burdened with your own negativity. You can no longer move against me.’ ”
– Solitary Witch: The Ultimate Book of Shadows for the New Generation, Bullies, “Shatter the Shadow Spell”, p. 482.

I stopped reading at this point. “I don’t want to do this one,” I said. “It turns it back on her.”

I turned to the internet for alternative advice angles.

“If you are under psychic attack the best thing to do is try and neutralise the negativity rather than try to retaliate,” the first site I found affirms. “Remember to send the negative energy away from you and yours with love, so as to neutralise any harmful intent.” “To ensure psychic protection during the night , ask your spirit guardians, guides, gatekeepers, angels, and / or loved ones in spirit to watch over you while you sleep. Ask them to deflect any bad energy away from you and send it away with love.” (Rachel Keene, www.rachelkeene.net)

“Love is the greatest healer and your greatest protector against psychic attack. A love of yourself, first. You must love yourself, warts and all. No one’s perfect; none of us ever will be in this human body. Learning to accept yourself for what you are and are not is the first, big step in this process. Eventually, with time, trials and experience, you will understand the term, ‘active compassion’ and be able to apply it to others and groups. It gives you the emotiona detachment necessary. I have found that loving one’s enemy is the finest choice one can make. They might send you destructive energy, but when it meets the energy of love; it completely dissipates it. Hate cannot destroy love; just the opposite.” (Eileen Nauman, http://www.accessnewage.com/ARTICLES/HEALTH/psyack2.htm)

My enemies may one day realize how blessed they are that they chose me to pick on. Now I gotta find some black tourmaline.

My childhood friend Sandy had once told me that she discovered who it was that had it in for her, and it was not whom she expected it to be. I think she was even kinda freaked out about it. My bailiff and my gym trainee both told me today that people are jealous of happy people and they want to shove a stick in your bicycle tire spokes and make you fall. I was hanging out with Navy Girl Vanessa chatting about some spiritual research stuff, and I randomly flipped a book and it opened to a statement that said that the more spiritual you are, the more you get attacked, and all spiritual people have had to deal with some big attack(s) at some point. I don’t know, but with me, it really seems like people started hating me fairly recently, and I hate to say it, but it seems to coincide with the time Mr. W and I got together. Maybe it is just about people feeling discontent with their own lives when they see me happy. But I don’t think I’ve had so many problems with catty women before, ever. The one I found out about today just blew me away, because I really had thought we were cool. But she went so far over the line behind my back that I’m just in shock.

So I’ve got a few people who have designated themselves as my enemies. I really can’t do anything about it, I can’t control what they have going in their own heads to feel what they feel, all I can say is that I have never done anything to any of them, nor will I ever do something negative to these people. I don’t feel a desire or a need to. But along with these brand new enemies =/ , I’ve also made some new close friends who have become very important to me, who came into my life because of, in some way, my relationship w/Mr. W. My gym trainee is one, and Jordan. And of course, Mr. W himself.

I’m at the end of my rope. I called tech support for my internet service, and we figured out it’s not a problem with the internet service or the modem, because internet works when it’s hard-wired to my computer directly without the router. When I plug the router back in, internet sort of flickers but never loads, and the router flickers along with it. Argh! I am so behind in my gmail from not having access to it at work or at home. I called tech support for the router, but apparently, you have to have registered the Netgear router for them to assist you. Stupid company.

Anyone have any ideas? Any techies who can offer his/her 2 cents?

I had JUST commented on Jordan’s blog entry that her day off spent on the phone with various friends and family while sunning by the pool is NOT a waste of time (despite her father’s criticism that she should’ve been more productive), because I feel that “…it’s very important to catch up on your correspondences on your day off. I think in the larger picture, it’s more important than running an errand here and there, because when you lose people, it hurts like it’d never hurt if you skipped an errand. ” After having wrote that, I felt a twinge of guilt for not taking my own advice and catch up with friends I hadn’t touched base with in awhile.

And then I stumbled across my horoscope for today:

You are nothing if not family-oriented. Whether it’s your biological family or a self-made family of friends, you care deeply about your circle. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for them, and they know it. It gives them a real feeling of security to know how much they mean to you. And vice versa. So check in with a couple of your nearest and dearest. Ask them how the heck they are, anyway. You’ll all be glad you had a chance to talk!

My jujitsu instructor loaned me his extra martial arts top since I forgot mine at home yesterday, and I used the class community white belt, which is a size 6 (my own’s a 3), way too long for me. The excess length of belt that hung off the knot kept getting kicked up and would hit me in the face. During one exercise, I did a back roll and the belt flipped up and hit me in the eye. I finished the move, then walked back to the line with the offended eye closed.
Instructor: What’s wrong with you?
Me: The belt hit me in the eye.
Instructor: (pause, then putting his hands on my shoulders, speaks solemnly) I feel your pain.
Me: (pause) I know. I mourn deeply.
Instructor: I should’ve called you. I thought about calling you, but you didn’t call me when SC lost.
Me: I expected you to call me, too. I was surprised you didn’t. I thought about calling you to harass you and I changed my mind.
Instructor: And I thought about that so I didn’t call you to give you a hard time, either.

Some students around us had laughed when we got all dramatic and the instructor told me he felt my pain, but didn’t realize until this point that we were talking about the UCLA loss of the final NCAA game to Florida.

Stupid Greg. I hope you get a papercut with the money you won. He actually called me and IMed me to say, “Boooo, UCLA! Goooo, Florida! I need money! I need new shoes!”

Oh yeah. AND my internet’s not working at home again. I don’t know what’s wrong, my laptop picks up my internet wireless connection with excellent reception, but is unable to connect into it. =P

I’m at home, Vanessa’s here moving stuff in, and my INTERNET *AND* ROUTER IS WORKING!!!! YES!!!!! (Mr. W and I had come by my place at lunch and couldn’t get the router started.)

We’re gonna ditch jujitsu together and hit up a sports bar or something as soon as she’s settled.

I’m just EXCITED I HAVE INTERNET ACCESS AGAIN!!! WOOHOO!!!

Today, as the UCLA Bruins gear up to battle the Florida Gators for the NCAA Men’s Basketball championship title, my morning local radio talk show puts on a 7-year-old boy whose mom called the station to let him sing the UCLA fight song live on the air.
Sing the UCLA fight song? He knows all the words?
His name is Ross and after a brief interview with this boy who sounds adorable, he sings, “Dah dah dah, duh-duh-duh DAH! Dah dah duh, duh-dah! U! C! L! A! Fight, fight! Dah dah dah, duh-dah!” It was way off key, missing some notes, but it was so cute!
The talk show people asked, “Where did you learn that song? Who taught you?”
Ross replied, “I hate USC.”
My jaw dropped.
“Wow, hate. Kind of a strong feeling for a 7-year-old,” one of the radio personalities commented to the other personalities. “But Ross, how do you know the UCLA fight song?”
“Oh, I see it on TV with my dad.”
“Did your dad go to UCLA?”
“Yeah. And those people who are all foo-foo? They suck.”
My jaw dropped again. The radio talk show people said, “I’m more concerned that a 7-year-old knows the work ‘suck.'”
Parents, your kids ARE listening when you talk.

I haven’t blogged in the longest period since…I don’t know when. The reason is because I lost internet connection at home. (I’m currently not home, obviously.) The lesson learned: listen to Diana when she shakes her head and says, “Don’t do it. It’s not worth the trouble.” And there’s so much crap that happened this weekend that just thinking about how behind I am in blogging stuff I want to blog makes me want to crawl into bed and take a nap.

So I’m gonna do that until the urge to spat it all out there in cyberland becomes too overwhelming.

But I’m just checking in to let people know that I’m alive. Diana and I did indeed survive this past weekend together.

P.S. It’s daylight savings again. Turn your clocks 1 hour forward!

2 minutes left of the second half. #2 UCLA leads #1 Memphis by (I think) 8 points. I screamed. “You’re really loud when you’re watching your school play,” Mr. W observed. “It’s the only time I’m loud watching anything on TV, so JUST LET ME BE!” I hollered. My cell phone rang. It was college roommie Diana, at the basketball game in Oakland. “It’s crazy here!” she yelled. “There are so many Bruins here! I’m gonna let you listen to this!” I put my cell phone on speaker and got the stereo effect of the stadium chaos through both the TV and the cell. “We’re 2 minutes away from the Final Four!” I yelled into the phone. “WHAT?! I can’t HEAR YOU!” she yelled back.

I thought back to the last time “Final Four” meant anything to me. It was just 3 months ago, at Christmas with Mr. W in Vegas. We were hanging out at his brother’s house playing “Cranium.” The teams were split girls vs. boys, and Mr. W’s brother’s wife, brother’s daughter, and I were playing against Mr. W, his brother, and the bro’s daughter’s boyfriend. The card we drew for our next question had the clue “college sporting event,” and we had to unscramble a word. “They’re not gonna get this,” Mr. W said confidently as he handed us the card and flipped the hourglass timer. We stared at it. College sporting event? Like football? The letters weren’t right. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard myself scream, “FINAL FOUR!” The boys’ jaws dropped. Uh-huh. And the reason I knew the answer was because of the first time “Final Four” meant anything to me.

1995. I was a college freshman at UCLA. Bruins Basketball was doing very well, and we just got a ton of merchandise into the Student Store commemorating Sweet Sixteen, Elite Eight, and then Final Four. I considered buying some of this merchandise, but thought I’d wait to see how far we go cuz then, the Asian thrift gene reasoned, I could buy the previous elimination category stuff at a discount. I was doing laundry in my freshman year apartment when we won NCAA Championships in 1995. I had been watching the game on and off between doing laundry, and I somehow missed the final few seconds. I was carrying my load from the laundry room back to the apartment, walking across the outdoor quad in the middle of the apartment complex, when all around me, cheers and screams broke out and echoed all the way to the top level and out of the complex. The next day, I went to the Student Union and purchased my navy blue 1995 NCAA Champions cap. But that year was the last time the Bruins made it to the Final Four.

Until now. The final score was 50-45, UCLA. I was sweating and cheering in my chair at Mr. W’s house watching the TV set explode with Bruin excitement, and I had my UCLA roommate and other UCLA alumni and friends screaming and chanting “FI-NAL FOUR! FI-NAL FOUR!” through my cell phone, still on speaker, resting on the armrest. I said to Mr. W with my eyes gleaming I’m sure, “I’m so glad I went to a major university!”