cindy's world

I was walking down the hallway toward the elevator at lunchtime, looking at the package label of a protein bar I’d just purchased. I was shocked to see it had 320 calories in it. That’s a lot for a stupid protein bar! I heard a male voice in front of me. “Hey! It’s my favorite clerk!”
I looked up to see a friendly bailiff walking toward me. “320 calories in this little thing!” I exclaimed, shaking the bar at him. “WHY is this thing so high in calories?!”
He stopped and said, “That’s all you have to say to me? Is calorie talk? I don’t want to talk about excessive calories. We haveta figure out a way to put calories ON you.”
“NO we don’t!”
“Yeah we do, you girls these days are getting too skinny.”
“NO I’m not!”
He started backpaddling as he realized he just called me too skinny in a way that meant too skinny is not attractive. “Well, not gain fat overall, but just in selected places to be curvy.”
“Which places are you saying I need more padding on?!” I demanded.
“Uh, it’s just that…some girls these days don’t have a butt cuz they’re too skinny, they lose their butt–”
“I have a butt!!”
“Yeah, uh, I mean…”

The elevator dinged and for some reason he didn’t get on it with me, turning instead to go into the restroom with a see-ya-later. Something I said?

Found another photo of me with long hair. This is from when Brad and Val visited me at work in August, 2005. It’s not a very flattering picture of me at all, but I like the way my hair looked.

Think I’ll give this short hair one more cut, highlight, and then let it grow out. Or maybe I won’t color it and I’ll let it grow out now until I trim all the old color off and have my natural dark dark color going. It’s been a long time since I’ve had my natural hair color.

Mr. W is still playing Zelda, I’m still fixing photos on my blog. Neither of us work on Monday, it’s, like, President’s Day or something.

I *just* got the vacation schedule!! I’ve been steadily falling in seniority since the day I got here, since everyone they transfer over has high seniority. I think it’s so unfair to pick vacation in order of County seniority; it should be position seniority. Cuz brand new baby clerks who are supposed to be MY relief clerks are picking vacation ahead of me, so that I’m still shackled to my desk while THEY’RE going on vacation, just because they started working for the County as, like, a janitor in 1960! Seriously, #1 on the seniority list started in 1968. And a new clerk who JUST transferred here this month and plopped on #2 in seniority has taken 11 WEEKS of vacation for this coming year. There’s virtually nothing left for the rest of us!

Luckily, I’ve got 2 other clerks who have been kind enough to ask what days I need off for Mike and Christi’s wedding, and they’ve taken it for me, expecting to drop it so that as long as I’m on the wait list, I’m gonna get it. And I’m #1 on the wait list for those weeks! Yay! And the weeks for China just happen to be open, too.

V-day: I went over to Mr. W’s armed with a freshly baked banana creme pie from my favorite bakery. Mr. W worked up a sweat in the kitchen opening containers of BBQ babyback pork ribs and roasted whole chicken from Costco. Oh, and he also made mashed potatoes, and by “made,” I mean he dispensed hot water over potato powder and stirred it up. And he made salad, and by “made,” I mean he opened the Costco container and poured the pre-tossed salad greens into a big serving bowl. Dinner was delish; both teenage kids were home but they opted out on the banana creme pie in favor of Costco rice krispies treats. Kids… Oh, and we went to bed early, like at 9p. No V-day nookie. Mr. W was tired. I’m sure all the slaving away in the kitchen exhausted him. (I’m not complaining — I didn’t cook, either.)

Work: Today we did our first civil harassment hearing. It went okay. The plaintiff got his restraining order granted against a chick who’s stalking him. She didn’t show up. Later on in the day, I was reviewing a future harassment hearing. A woman is requesting a restraining order against another woman. The defendant is accused of following the plaintiff around in her car, calling and cussing her out, threatening her, throwing rocks at her house, breaking her car window and her brother’s car window. Seemed pretty crazy, until I read what the plaintiff put in the question about “How do you know the person you want the restraining order against? Please explain.” The plaintiff wrote, “I dated her husband.” Well, hellO!

Bellydancing: Nothing remarkable. Nothing eventful. I felt clumsy but picked up on the routine as we went. At the end of class, as we stood in a big circle holding hands and spent a minute to give silent thanks for the things we are grateful for this day (this is how we end every class with this instructor), I went thru my usual list of being grateful for my health, for being able to take a dance class, for the health of my family and friends, and added to it gratitude for having Mr. W in my life and for my closeness with my friends, especially my girlfriends, even the ones who live far, far away. And for my car.

Relationship: I had a sit-down with an acquaintance over a quick meal of Daphne’s Greek food. She told me about a guy she’s been dating. Unfortunately for her, “dating” describes the relationship less accurately than “booty call.” The guy calls her up maybe once or twice a month. They don’t socialize outside of each others’ houses. When she invites him to do something with her and her friends, he comes up with some excuse and turns her down. He never invites her to events with his friends. He claims to be busy every weekend with his buddies. They don’t plan dates in advance; he just calls to see if she’s available, like, “right now.” He was nowhere to be found on Valentine’s Day, her birthday, and went MIA November through December (Thanksgiving, xmas, New Year’s). She has to think twice before calling him because she was the last one who called and invited him to do something, so now it was “his turn” so that she doesn’t scare him off by being too forward or pushy. She’s on eggshells when it comes to wondering when she’d next see him again. She has to be careful what she says around him in case he finds she’s getting too attached and backs away from her. She’s floored when he’s nice to her, like kissing her goodnight and being sweet for a whole evening. It’s awful!
I remember when I was in her situation, back when I either didn’t know better and didn’t recognize the signs early enough, or when I didn’t have a high enough self-esteem, or when I had tolerance for lame men. I don’t know what my problem was. It sucked, being nervous and afraid to call, afraid to ask but wondering whether he was seeing someone else, sleeping with other girls, because he sure doesn’t act committed to me. Wanting to welcome him by throwing my arms around his neck but afraid that would scare him off. Wanting to put my hand on his thigh, and after finally finding the courage to do so, feeling him not only not reciprocate, but stiffen under my touch. Always second-guessing, second-guessing. He didn’t call today, did I scare him off? What might I have said or done wrong yesterday to make him back off? Now I have to back off to make it okay for him to come forward. Pretend I don’t care for him as I do. Pretend he’s not important like he is. Altho the 2 guys who made me feel like this (well, mainly just one, the other one wasn’t nearly as bad) both decided they wanted to be with me and in the end it was I who left them, having gotten just exhausted from the stress, I would never again put up with this bullcrap as long as I did before. The way I see it now, I am worth more than that. If you don’t like me enough to do something about it, you’re just gonna have to miss your chance. You can admire my ass as I leave you behind. Both guys learned that the hard way, and they came running, but I was not going to be at someone’s emotional beck and call anymore.
I knew the truth, and didn’t want to tell the girl, but the truth is, he’s only with her when nothing else better comes along for the evening. He won’t even commit an evening in advance to her because just about anything else is a better option to him than her. He’s probably dating and sleeping with other women. He knows she’s that into him, he’s just playing dumb so he won’t feel responsible for breaking her heart. He’s spending all his holidays and his own birthday with people he places more importance on than her. She says they’ve made a little progress in the past year, but if it takes that long for just “a little progress,” he does not and may never like her enough. He has no respect for her and her time because she is always available to him, and she cancels her plans for him, altho he does not reciprocate in kind. She will always be #2.
I called Mr. W after talking with this girl, and dumped a bunch of love in his lap over the phone. I am so glad I am with him. I am so glad he didn’t play stupid games with me, to “keep her on her toes.” I am so glad that whatever affection I feel for him, I can give to him, and he will drink it all up with open arms and give me a kiss in return. There is no second-guessing myself, what I mean to him, how he has taken something I said or did, and no “uh-oh, I may have accidentally crossed the line when I said I like him, he’s suddenly quiet and withdrawn.” There is no substitute for peace. I am most grateful that he saw he has what I needed, and convinced me to try him on for size. I may never take him off.

I have 4 divorce files sitting on my desk bar that the judge has signed and is ready to be processed and finalized by me. As I rolled the date on my file stamp to today’s date, I realize that these people are going to be divorced on Valentine’s Day. Should I not process these things today, and do them tomorrow so that it wouldn’t be finalized on V-day? Or should I give them what they probably want, anyway, which is to be single for V-day?

Here’s a cameraphone photo of my V-day tulips sitting on the bar of my desk next to the divorce files.

I know it hasn’t even been a week since I stopped working out due to ailment, but I looked thicker and mushier in the mirror this morning! 🙁 Stupid virus.

Mr. W forbade me to come to work this morning. He said being up all night coughing means I’m not well enough to work and I should rest up at home. But I already missed one day this week, and I came to work yesterday, so missing another day just looks bad. Our present criminal trial only goes on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays as the defendant has to be at dialysis three times a week, and it looks deliberate if I only miss Monday and Wednesday. Plus, I missed a lunchtime meeting/training last Thursday when I was so sick I just laid in the jury room all lunch burning up with fever and forgot about the meeting, and it was a mandatory training so my supervisor has arranged for a makeup meeting/training at lunchtime today. I can’t miss the makeup! 🙁 Stupid virus.

I can’t wait till Mr. W figures out that I’m not at home recuping. I’m gonna get yelled at, on top of not getting a break all day cuz I have to go to a meeting through lunch. 🙁 Stupid virus.

I hadn’t been at work for 10 minutes when 3 people I passed through observed how bad I looked. In the elevator on the way up, a court reporter who didn’t know I’ve been sick asked me if I was okay. She said my eyes look glassy. When the elevator doors opened, my gym trainee took one look at me from the hallway and said, “Ooh. You’re not going to the gym today, are you?” I told her, “I don’t think I could take it. My lungs would explode.” “You should’ve stayed home another day,” she remarked. Then after I got to my desk, the relief clerk who was in my courtroom in my place yesterday came by to catch me up on what happened in trial yesterday. She said, “Oh. Are you okay? You sound horrible.” And just as I was writing this, the bailiff next door walked through and said, “What’s up, Cindy? You don’t look yourself.” Well, if it’s THAT obvious, maybe I should go home early.

I’m being slightly taken advantage of at work, I think. This girl came by my courtroom and said that she wanted to start going to the gym, and that my gym trainee told her we go at lunchtime and invited her along. That’s fine, since we all invite everyone along that wants to go and try to encourage people to help themselves. The problem is, this girl continued to ask me to train her. She kind of put it on the footing that implied that my gym trainee had made her the offer, but I don’t know if she really did or just simply told her she should come with. Cuz I don’t want to take on a trainee who doesn’t know what she’s doing at the gym. For one, she’s not a friend of mine, I don’t owe her a thing. Second, it’s a liability if she hurts herself or doesn’t listen to me and does something wrong. Third, to train someone from scratch means that I’m not going to be able to work out myself. That sucks. I was willing to do that for my gym trainee way back then because she helped me out a lot (and still does) with family law crap, and she was motivated beyond belief (and still is) to change her lifestyle as she had a real health issue with her weight. And she’s someone cool I hang out with, too. This girl is just going to be purely me sacrificing my own workouts when I need to help myself to stay in shape.

Do I sound selfish? Oh well, I’m not going to the gym for another few days, anyway. I’m too sick today and I have a lunchtime meeting tomorrow.

My coworker Andy once told me that “vent” is the actual term for a parakeet’s butthole. Which is where I’ve been the last few days.

We’ve finally, after 3 days of trying, picked our jury panel yesterday: 12 jurors and 3 alternates. While in the selection process, they actually excused another juror because she was coughing and so they asked her whether she had medical attention yet and whether she’s able to concentrate through the trial given her symptoms. She actually burst out in tears and sobbed something about how she’s sick and her throat’s sore and she’s coughing so she hadn’t slept more than 3 hours a night in the past two nights. So they let her go.

After the jurors were all out of the courtroom on a break, the defense attorney said, “Your honor, I didn’t sleep much last nite, either, may I be excused?” and the judge laughed. My sentiments exactly! I hadn’t slept well since Wednesday night, I doubt I even got 3 hours of collective sleep a night, my throat hurts like a mother (which is much of what keeps me up), I’m at work with fever, skin aches and muscle pains, my joints hurt, the jurors can actually hear me and my voice deteriorate through the day as I call out juror IDs to seat them in the jury box for interview, and I literally left the courtroom every 5 minutes to cough in the back hallway or blow my nose (so as not to disrupt the court reporter), so every time I came back in and they did something out of my presence, I gotta play catch-up. And my bailiff still won’t pick up the phone and he makes me get the phone and walk out into the hall to talk to the jurors (like excuse a particular juror or two when the judge/attys agree) when all other normal bailiffs do all of that.

Okay, I think I’m done bitching. No wait, here’s comes another one. MY THROAT KILLS!!! AARRRGGHHH!!!

I have this problem where I can’t throw stuff away. I remember where every little note or memoir came from, and I sit there and reminisce everytime I try to clean the house. I’m running out of room. I don’t know how one person fills an entire house and 6 closets with crap. This past week, I finally gritted my teeth and threw some stuff away. And then I go visit my parents for the weekend and my mom dumps 4 boxes of crap on me. They’re remodeling their entire house so my mom’s doing massive clearing, and figures I attach enough sentimental value to stuff that I’d want to retain every vocab index card I made in high school, every Chinese School exam paper, all my Chinese workbooks, every doodle of dream outfits I drew in elementary school, every hair doodad I ever had (and I grew up in the 80s, so you know about THOSE hair doodads — most of them plastic, many of them fuschia), every funky eraser and cute writing utensil that I collected since I was alive, makeshift ghetto sticker books, a Halloween mask cut-out book. Believe me, being a packrat is not a trait you just suddenly acquire in mid-life, so the 4 boxes are packed just from the first 10 years of my life. I even uncovered my Slam Book and had a good laugh over the entries written in there.

Now there are boxes and boxes in my car as well as in my house. What do I do?!

P.S. The reason I write about this is because I tried to clear some of the clutter by bringing them to work, and now I’m looking helplessly at my work L-desk covered with stuffed animals, a cat sitting with a fishing pole, 15 or so little gumball machine aliens, photos, and newly added from my Christmas Present Collection ’06, a scented flameless candle from Mr. W’s brother and a hamster running on a wheel powered by my typing speed via USB from Mr. W.
*giggle* The hamster is running his little legs off. The wheel is actually making a whirring sound as he races with my fingers.

Management snuck up behind me earlier in the courtroom to present a Christmas goodie: cute little bag of chocolates with a nice pen that has the court logo engraved on it. That’s the first time they’ve given us anything for the holidays. Scared the crap out of me. I’ve never seen so much management together in one place, and I may have made the error of saying that out loud. I mean, I know I said it out loud but I hope it wasn’t a faux pas.

Last nite I met up with Navy Girl Vanessa for what she called “holiday cheer.” We ate some hot ramen which was great on a cold night (no, not Instant Ramen; the “real” Japanese ramen at a noodle house in Tustin called Ezo Noodles). We tried to go to BJs Pizzeria but it was insanely crowded. We exchanged gifts, and her gift made me laugh. In the prettiest ice blue glitter-and-white-fur bejeweled gift bag were, wrapped in white tissue paper, the very feminine items of an electronic tire pressure gauge and jar opener. “Blogs come in handy!” Vanessa said. The electronic gauge even has programmable memory so that it’ll remember what PSI your tires are supposed to be at. The jar opener looks like a huge handle that you slide into the jar, and some rubber teeth catch the jar, and you just turn the handle to unscrew the jar lid. I can have spaghetti now! As soon as I saw the gifts I knew I had to blog about it.

Vanessa got the ideas for my gifts here and here (where my car almost went up in flames due to an improperly inflated tire) and here (where an un-openable jar of spaghetti sauce nearly cost me my life).

P.S. Just to make James jealous, 2 nites ago I had a holiday dinner with childhood friend Vicky (BEEKY! to him and me) at Cheesecake Factory and I again ordered the seared tuna tataki salad. =P