cindy's world

I was thinking as I was driving into work this morning, that I’d like to try on a different look and see how that affects strangers’ perceptions of me. I’m not talking about parting my hair differently, I’m talking about stepping into a whole different social persona.

I think society recognizes someone’s social identity based on whether someone’s attire fits into a known stereotype. Not to say that you know everything about a person by appearance alone, but you can probably guess certain common traits within the stereotype. Like if I were in leather pants, white wifebeater, big leather jacket, chains, short punkish hair, tattoos, people would say, “Oh, okay, biker chick.” Warm-up pants, tennis shoes, fitted sports top, pony tail, then it’s “She’s athletic.” I certainly do get greeted differently if I walked into a store after work in my suit — namely, I get a lot more “ma’am”s. =P I think that’s why Halloween is such a big deal with women. We get to depart from the “norm” identity and be entirely appearance-mobile, with a great excuse. “Oh, I’m not NORMALLY a slut/naughty nurse/whorish nun/tomato, it’s just my HALLOWEEN costume.” Hmm. Wonder what it says about me that I’ve been wanting to be an anime character for 2-3 Halloweens now but never got the chance.

Anyway, back to what I was saying. I think people are only truly comfortable wearing only a small section of the many possibilities in the attire spectrum, so I wanna step out one day in, like, leather shorts and a low-cut fitted top with a cabbie cap worn sideways, with big hoop earrings, dark lipstick and eye makeup and vixen nail polish, and see how people treat me differently. Or, I guess there are new looks out there these days that the teens are doing? Like “Emo,” which is like our Goth mixed with some punk, and “Scene,” which is like Goth mixed with Cyndi-Lauper-80s attire. Ooh. Maybe I’ll go Goth for a day. Or maybe I’ll be something you guys suggest.

Any suggestions?

Let’s see…it’s half past noon and I’m here online instead of at the gym. What’s going on?

My gym trainee stopped by before lunch and told me that after a late nite out, she’s too tired to go to the gym today, so she’ll sit this one out. While parking at the gym, I noticed that Mr. W’s car isn’t at its usual spot in the parking lot, which means that he’s not there, either. Motivation is so low at this point that when I saw that the one thing missing from my gymming outfit is a sportsbra, I justified that I can’t work out in my current bra, it’s too unsupportive, and I don’t want to wear a sweaty wet bra back to work, and celebrated internally and left the gym. On my way out I saw Mr. W’s car, he must’ve gotten there late. Oh well. Whatevers. That’s 2 days in a row of skipping (worked thru lunch yesterday individually copying and collating 780 pages of jury instructions), but I’m sleepy and tired.

Besides, I’m self-conscious about my Boot Camp scar/scabs now and don’t wanna be in shorts. “She HAD nice legs,” Mr. W said the other day. And days later, he remarked that the two thick lines of injury are gonna be “pink forever now” when the scabs fall off.
“YOU’RE pink,” I pointed out defensively.
“Yeah, but I’m pink all over. You’re just gonna be pink THERE,” he said. Ptth.

A Mother passing by her son’s bedroom was astonished to see that his bed was nicely made and everything was picked up.

Then she saw an envelope, propped up prominently on the pillow that was addressed to “Mom.” With the worst premonition she opened the envelope with trembling hands and read the letter.

Dear Mom,

It is with great regret and sorrow that I’m writing you. I had to elope with my new girlfriend because I wanted to avoid a scene with Dad and you. I have been finding real passion with Stacy and she is so nice. But I knew you would not approve of her because of all her piercings, tattoos, tight motorcycle clothes and the fact that she is much older than I am. But it’s not only the passion…Mom she’s pregnant. Stacy said that we will be very happy. She owns a trailer in the woods and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter. We share a dream of having many more children.

Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn’t really hurt anyone. We’ll be growing it for ourselves and trading it with the other people that live nearby for cocaine and ecstasy. In the meantime we will pray that science will find a cure for AIDS so Stacy can get better. She deserves it. Don’t worry Mom. I’m 15 and I know how to take care of myself. Someday I’m sure that we will be back to visit so that you can get to know your grandchildren.

Love,
Your Son Jon

P.S. Mom, none of the above is true. I’m over at Tommy’s house. I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than the report card that’s in my center desk drawer.

I love you.

Call me when it’s safe to come home.

This is a post for the fellas, cuz I understand most men don’t want to read about my colposcopy today.

Sunday, Vanessa and I joined my coworker and 14 of her friends for a private burlesque lesson. The first thing the studio did was have us randomly and blindly draw “stripper names” prewritten on nametags, which we wore on ourselves as our alter ego for the hour. Vanessa was “Coco Whispers” and I was “Vixxxen Blue.” Is it just me or does my stripper self sound like she does porn?

The dance was very cute, complete with body rolls, hip rolls, lots of butts stuck in the air, and of course, the omnipresent furry boa.

Since the class cost us $20 apiece, I made sure to write down the choreography as soon as I got home. And being the dork, I went through the moves in my head while I was doing cardio at the gym yesterday after my colposcopy. Maybe that should be our “Blogger Girls’ Dance” that Flat Coke & Flies, Vanessa, Jordan and I have been talking about forever! Hmmm…

You can read Vanessa’s account of the class here.

It actually wasn’t that bad. I was so nervous I think I was kinda shaky in the stirrups. The doctor was great. He came in the room like a big ball of sunshine and explained right away that this is preventative care (like I’d been telling myself), that “we’re not looking for cancer, we’re trying to figure out how to keep this woman from getting cancer in the distant future.” He viewed my innards with his microscope and said, “I can already see right now that this is not anything remotely serious.” Whew! His nurse and I chatted away while the doctor was examining, and it was more nervous chatter on my end and I explained that my brain does this self-sabotaging thing imagining something as way more horrid than it actually is. The doctor said that’s absolutely common and normal and asked if I’d like an anesthetic spray on the spot he’s going to biopsy. Despite the fact that I’d swallowed 3 extra-strength Tylenols half an hour before the procedure (I was advised to by the nurse on the phone) when I normally would have to be writhing and foaming at the mouth on the floor from pain for me to take any over-the-counter medication, I agreed to the spray. “It’s the same stuff the dentist puts on your gums before he gives you the shot,” the doctor said as he sprayed, and told me to expect a little fizzle and maybe a little stinging sensation. I felt nothing. We chatted as he gave the stuff a minute to work, and then went in for the biopsy. “You’re going to feel a little pinch at the most,” he said. I cringed. “Here comes the pinch,” he warned as I felt a little “clip” motion and heard the click. No pinch. He looked up at me. “Or not,” he said. “Here comes another one.” CLICK!
“Nothing!” I said in delight.
I told the doctor and the nurse about Flat Coke’s recent colposcopy where the inept nurse stupidly put both her biopsies in the same cup, making Flat Coke fear she’d have to re-suffer another biopsy to make up for the nurse’s idiocy. My doctor’s nurse lifted up two little purple-lidded containers and I got to see little pink flaps dance in the swirling liquid. “Two cups,” she told me and we laughed.
The doctor stayed behind and answered my questions, and then told me that he doesn’t think I have anything to worry about. He said he’d get the lab results to me in about a week and he’ll tell me one of three things: 1) it’s nothing and should clear itself up, we’ll just schedule for a regular pap smear in 6 months; 2) it’s something non-cancerous but we’ll just keep an eye on it to make sure it clears up, so come back for a pap smear in 6 months; or on the very unlikely small off-chance, 3) it’s pre-cancerous and we want to remove it so come back and we’ll do a procedure that’ll be even less painful than the one you just endured today.
Again, whew!
When I got home, I called my mom like she asked and it turned out that while I was at my appointment, she’d already called my (turned-off) cell phone multiple times in a panic and called my house and was disturbed at the lack of answer, and was about to email me at work, wanting to know how the procedure went.
Oh, and I never really got cramping from it. Just some bleeding (which the doctor told me to expect for 2-3 days, which is incidentally the same amount of time he told me to refrain from sex). I even hit the gym with Mr. W after the procedure.

…for colposcopies, I guess. I’ve never been one to follow trends, tho. *sigh* Mr. W took the day off to come with me in case I’m doubled-over in cramping and blood and can’t drive. The weather is appropriately overcast and rainy. Maybe upon our return it’ll be ripe for candles, hot chocolate and “Buffy.” Wish me luck. Here I go…

Saturday was the Formula D drift racing finals.

Mr. W drove me and my parents to the Irwindale race track for that. Wandering around the booths and stuff beforehand with my parents, I grew concerned that my mom would find the loud music, cigarette smoke, and big crowd uncomfortable. She was a good sport, walking hand-in-hand with my dad, wondering what all the shocks, springs, car parts on display were.

I have concerns about the direction drifting is taking. It seemed to me that there were a lot of gang bangers there — more so than at a Nascar race function. It didn’t help that King Taco was a major sponsor; their publicity probably helped bring in a lot of the Mexican gangs from East LA. It was also unfortunate that they served beer. We had pretty cool seats on the grandstand, 3 rows up right in the center, but people started folding their flyers and advertisements they collected at the booths all day into paper airplanes, and trying to fly them down the stand and into the race track. There was a lot of drunken cheering whenever an airplane would squeeze through the large chain-link fence into the track, and drunken laughter whenever a plane would hit an unaware bystander on the head or neck as people tried to get to their seats. I was afraid to turn around and look into the stands for fear I may get an eye put out. I watched a college-age chick sitting directly in front of me get hit on the head by 4 paper airplanes, a beach ball, and a DVD. Her friend next to her got hit with a big pink inflated condom. I couldn’t believe security weren’t doing anything about that; paper on the tracks of a drift race could be some real hazards. I was even more dismayed when my dad threw an airplane, too. Twice. “It’s a strange disconcerting feeling when you realize you’re more mature than your parents,” I said to Mr. W. He thought it was funny. Childhood friend Vicky’s mom was sitting behind us, and at one point she picked up someone else’s paper airplane and handed it to my dad, saying, “Hey, help me throw this.” My dad eyed it skeptically. “This one isn’t going to fly right,” he said, and proceeded to re-fold it into an aerodynamic, ergodynamically engineered ad about some high-traction race tires. And threw it. And accidentally hit someone. GAH.

Anyway, the drift race itself started off disappointing; a few cars spun out and disqualified themselves, or they had technical problems, like one guy’s clutch went out and they couldn’t fix it in the 5-minute maximum time-out. But when it came down to the last 4 cars doing battle, now THAT was some cool stuff.

Photo Sharing – Video Sharing – Share Photos – Free Video Hosting
My mom did have a headache from the noise and tire smoke and said it was going to be her first and last drift event, but it was very spiffy of her to come out with my dad for the experience.

See my first Formula D event w/photos here.

Chronologically…

Ballet (age 4) – hate it. Meanie teacher is scary as she goes around the room pushing kids down forcing us to go deeper than we’re able to in the splits. Look forward to mama coming to pick me up in her pretty dresses and fabric flower earrings.
Chinese Folk Dancing (age 5) – not too bad. But my brain keeps freezing during the big performances.
Jazz (age 7) – slightly difficult as it is hard to understand the nice teacher’s directions when I know so little English. I feel fat and uncomfortable in my oversized leotard that Mom swears I’d grow into.
Square Dancing (age 9) – wtf is with these Americans? Why are they making us do this in school? Why aren’t we in PE class? Partner up with a BOY? Gross, cooties! Do-si-what?
Modern/Lyrical/Funk (age 15) – at least I’m not in regular PE. And I’m learning lots of French! Pirouette, plie’, porte’ bourre…chaine turns…uh…does spelling count on the final? Whoa, we’re gonna be in the school dance concert? And it’s gonna be televised? COOL!!
Cardio Funk/Hip Hop (age 19) – I’m home! I am FEELING this! I LOVE this music! This is MY dance!
Street Hip Hop (age 20) – You want my body to go from the floor there to WHERE? How? WHAT? Body roll, body roll, body roll, down, kick up, leg goes from behind me on the ground on all fours to in front of me…*pant pant* Wow, this looks SO cool if I could only breathe.
Latin Ballroom (age 22) – …and we’re back to wtf. I can NOT get my hips to move this way. Feet where? I am SO not feeling this. I miss hip hop. And I’m not coming back.
Bellydance (age 30) – Okay, okay, I think I’m getting this… not the workout I wanted, but interesting. I’m starting to like the music. Some of these moves look pretty cool.
Burlesque (age 31) – I will let you guys know after the class on Sunday…

Forwarded from one of my coworkers, from her heart and my heart to yours!

1. DON’T SWEAT THE PETTY THINGS AND DON’T PET THE SWEATY THINGS.
2. ONE TEQUILA, TWO TEQUILA, THREE TEQUILA, FLOOR…
3. ATHEISM IS A NON-PROPHET ORGANIZATION.
4. IF MAN EVOLVED FROM MONKEYS AND APES, WHY DO WE STILL HAVE MONKEYS AND APES?
5. THE MAIN REASON SANTA IS SO JOLLY IS BECAUSE HE KNOWS WHERE ALL THE BAD GIRLS LIVE.
6. I WENT TO A BOOKSTORE AND ASKED THE SALESWOMAN, “WHERE’S THE SELF-HELP SECTION?” SHE SAID IF SHE TOLD ME, IT WOULD DEFEAT THE PURPOSE.
7. WHAT IF THERE WERE NO HYPOTHETICAL QUESTIONS?
8. IF A DEAF PERSON SWEARS, DOES HIS MOTHER WASH HIS HANDS WITH SOAP?
9. IF SOMEONE WITH MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES THREATENS TO KILL HIMSELF, IS IT CONSIDERED A HOSTAGE SITUATION?
10. IS THERE ANOTHER WORD FOR SYNONYM?
11. WHERE DO FOREST RANGERS GO TO “GET AWAY FROM IT ALL?”
12. WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN YOU SEE AN ENDANGERED ANIMAL EATING AN ENDANGERED PLANT?
13. IF A PARSLEY FARMER IS SUED, CAN THEY GARNISH HIS WAGES?
14. WOULD A FLY WITHOUT WINGS BE CALLED A WALK?
15. WHY DO THEY LOCK GAS STATION BATHROOMS? ARE THEY AFRAID SOMEONE WILL CLEAN THEM?
16. IF A TURTLE DOESN’T HAVE A SHELL, IS HE HOMELESS OR NAKED?
17. CAN VEGETARIANS EAT ANIMAL CRACKERS?
18. IF TE POLICE ARREST A MIME, DO THEY TELL HIM HE HAS THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT?
19. WHY DO THEY PUT BRAILLE ON THE DRIVE-THROUGH BANK MACHINES?
20. HOW DO THEY GET DEER TO CROSS THE ROAD ONLY AT THOSE YELLOW ROAD SIGNS?
21. WHAT WAS THE BEST THING BEFORE SLICED BREAD?
22. ONE NICE THING ABOUT EGOTISTS: THEY DONT TALK ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE.
23. DOES THE LITTLE MERMAID WEAR AN ALGEBRA?
24. DO INFANTS ENJOY INFANCY AS MUCH AS ADULTS ENJOY ADULTERY?
25. HOW IS IT POSSIBLE TO HAVE A CIVIL WAR?
26. IF ONE SYNCHRONIZED SWIMMER DROWNS, DO THE REST DROWN TOO?
27. IF YOU ATE BOTH PASTA AND ANTIPASTO, WOULD YOU STILL BE HUNGRY?
28. IF YOU TRY TO FAIL, AND SUCCEED, WHICH HAVE YOU DONE?
29. WHOSE CRUEL IDEA WAS IT FOR THE WORD “LISP” TO HAVE “S” IN IT?
30. WHY ARE HEMORRHOIDS CALLED “HEMORRHOIDS” INSTEAD OF “ASSTEROIDS”?
31. WHY IS IT CALLED TOURIST SEASON IF WE CAN’T SHOOT AT THEM?
32. WHY IS THERE AN EXPIRATION DATE ON SOUR CREAM?
33. IF YOU SPIN AN ORIENTAL MAN IN A CIRCLE THREE TIMES DOES HE BECOME DISORIENTED?
34. CAN AN ATHEIST GET INSURANCE AGAINST ACTS OF GOD?

HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND EVERYONE!!!!

Just when you think it’s over…

This afternoon my supervisor came up to my department and pulled me out of my trial to have a discussion in the back hallway about the trainee. He wanted to know what I was implying on the phone to him yesterday. I told him in detail (minus the part about her email with another clerk about my being “rude”, as that’s hearsay anyway) what transpired between us in the first morning she was in here, but was clear that she more than made up for it in the next day and a half, proving to me that she’ll be fine as Judicial Assistant/Courtroom Clerk. I turned in my training report, he looked it over and noted my backhanded compliments. I told him that I had no problem telling him about our tiff off the record, but that I didn’t want it to come up in our meeting with the trainee on Friday and I don’t want it to negatively impact their assessment of her skills.

A few minutes ago, the trainee popped into my courtroom and handed me a small white envelope with my name on it. I opened it and it was a cute thank-you card that even matched my suit today. She wrote:

Cindy
Thank you for my experience in Dept. E. I really appreciate all you did for me and for the information/handouts you gave me. I know we didn’t start off on the right foot, but I’m glad we worked it out and I got the chance to sit in with you.
[trainee]

Now I feel like a shithead for even writing the backhanded compliments in her evaluation! And I already turned it in! Waaaahhh!!