cindy's world

Last Saturday morning, Mr. W and I were out of the house at 7:30a to go line up for the 9:15a showing of Harry Potter in 3D at the Imax. I didn’t have expectations of the movie going in and I thought the movie was quite good (I like the young man that Harry is growing into, aesthetically speaking), but Mr. W and his female best friend (whom we met up with there along with her girlfriend) are Harry Potter fanatics and loved every minute. Of course they’d already read the books and couldn’t help commenting and revealing plot lines as the story unfolded on the 7-story high-def screen. The 3D effects were good; they did a solid 15 minute segment of a battle scene in 3D. Pretty neat experience.

After the movie, the four of us had lunch at P.F. Chang’s China Bistro, a first for me. I’d heard rave reviews of the place but had always been skeptical because it didn’t seem like it would be “real” Chinese to me. After eating there, my general impression of the place is that it wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be, but the food tended to be over-seasoned (i.e., salty), but that the sea bass was one of the best I’d ever eaten. Plus, I got to use the $30 giftcard to the restaurant that my previous bailiff had given me for Christmas last year. I’ve been burning giftcards left and right after realizing my purse lining was about to explode with them.

Between the movie and lunch, I ran across some upcoming The Simpsons Movie publicity props, and was initiated into the Simpson family. See for yourself:

I’m learning to be like Jordan and whipping out the cameraphone everywhere I go.

Just heard on the Greg Behrendt (author of “He’s Just Not That Into You”) show:

“Sex is important in a relationship because without it, you’re just friends with a growing resentment.”

No wonder I love his book.

After skipping the noon workout on Friday (I went with Mr. W’s coworkers to lunch as they wanted to treat him for his upcoming bday), eating the rare lunch and rich dinner out, having lunch out again today (P.F. Chang’s China Bistro), and making myself a grilled chicken quesadilla for dinner tonite, there are few things more guilt-quenching than feeling rivulets of sweat trickle down my lower back and between my breasts, dissipating into the elastic bands of the bottom of my sports bra and the waistband of my shorts, after a 3+ mile run as I sit here and type this.

And bunnies! I saw lots and lots of white cotton-tailed bunnies bouncing and pouncing and prancing on the rolling hills of the park we ran through! The hills were alive with the movement of bunnies! “Bunnies!” I said delightedly to Mr. W on the run, “What do you think they’re all doing out here?”
He said dully without looking around, “Breeding like rabbits.”
I examined the bunnies that darted off as we ran by, trying to catch some of them in x-rated bunny-style action. No luck. “Bunnies!” I said excitedly again. Aside from the sound of heavy rhythmic breathing, I got nothing back from Mr. W. “You don’t seem as impressed with the bunnies as I am,” I observed.
“I ain’t impressed with shit right now. I’m in pain,” he spat.
Footfalls in the silence. Pitter patter of our feet. “Bunnies,” I said quietly to myself.

College roommie Diana joined the 30S today! Hippo birdie, Diana! You’re in good company! Diana flew down from Northern Cal on business yesterday and joined her high school/college friends Ansen, Sabrina, Sabrina’s fiance Jon (who just HAPPENS to be my friend James’ coworker, and altho James says they sit diagonal cubes from each other, they have never actually seen each other), Mr. W and me for dinner at a new bar/lounge/restaurant in Costa Mesa called Mesa. Now THAT…is a really swanky place and was buzzing even at only 3 weeks old. They’ve had no advertising, no website, not even a sign outside the building to announce its infant arrival, and it was good enough through word-of-mouth alone to draw in Germaine Jackson who was there with his wife celebrating her birthday last nite. The only reason we knew about it was cuz Jon is a partial investor in the restaurant. We all ordered the 4-course prix fixe summer tasting menu, which started with a complimentary basil/cucumber/nut bisque soup to whet the appetite (not normally included but we got special treatment because of Jon), then came course #1, an angel hair pasta in a brown truffle cream sauce over an easy poached egg which, when the waiters brought our bowls out, they shaved whole truffle coins over (I’ve never seen the elusive expensive truffle served in that quantity before). Course #2 was seared halibut (?) cheek topped with veal-stuffed raviolis. Course #3, I actually got a picture of because it was too pretty not to whip out the cameraphone for, except the photo didn’t do it nearly enough justice due to the dark lighting of the place:

This is foie gras and mushroom topped with a puff pastry, on the side of a New York steak topped with beignets of battered fried garlic whips. If you’ve never heard of garlic whips, don’t feel bad because last night was all of our first times, too. It’s apparently a mushroom that looks like an asparagus sprig, that tastes like garlic. Course #4 is dessert, chocolate mousse with a center of whipped peanut creme, topped with chocolate and a crispy peanut butter “brittle” made from carmelized peanut sauce. It was served alongside an espresso-sized cup of chocolate malt shake (it ain’t McDonald’s shake!) decorated with a tiny sugar spiral that looks like a spring sitting across the top of the cup, with a mint leaf caught in the coil. In between the malt cup and mousse was a cluster of brown syrupy sauce which we tasted with the tips of our forks and were all surprised to find it on the salty side. It had what seemed like coarse grains of salt with grated peanuts. After our inquiry, we learned that it is indeed sea salt, but really exclusive expensive sea salt that is made from the misty brine of ocean that floats through the air and collects on the nearby ocean plants and leaves, and then it’s collected, after it’s dried, grain by grain from the leaves by hand. (Doesn’t this sound like a Grimm fairy tale?) It was great to offset the sweetness of the shake and mousse and give the two smooth items some texture.
Overall, regarding the chef, I have never tasted such richness in so many different courses of food collectively at one time in one place. The guy is a culinary genius. Here’s another guy’s review on the place, the only one we could find on the internet, but this guy seems to know his food better than me.
The location was very cool, a former pool hall now completely rebuilt into a restaurant lounge divided into three sections: upon entry past the foyer, the left side of the large square room is an eclectic lounge sitting area with two cushion-surrounded fireplaces and the most amazing thing of all, you look up and see straight into the night sky with the glass ceiling panels folded aside like giant horizontal shutters; the center is the double-sided bar with a cocktail and wine list so varied and unique you’d want to try it all (I ordered a Bourbon & Cherries, made from bourbon, muddled cherries and mint, sweetened with grenadine); and the right side is the split-level restaurant area with two lengths of tables and large semi-circular padded booths along the wall so the patrons eat facing all the action in the room. The restrooms were also something to behold. There’s no “restroom;” instead you walk into a restroom area behind the open lounge area, and are confronted with two rows of four or five doors facing each other, like you’re in a broad hallway of a hotel. Each of these rooms is a restroom with its own sink, mirror, toilet. You know which “room” is free by a strip of light over each door; green is vacant, red is occupied. Music was as eclectic as the different heights of chairs and tables in the bar lounge, going from techno rave to orchestral to old style blues. It may have influenced our dinner table conversation to meander in the diverse way it did going from Transformers and 80s childhood cartoons to socio-political reform to healthcare in various socialist countries to ethics on wedding attendance and vacation spots.

To make myself feel better, I’m gonna say that our night was a microcosm sampling of who we are, people with a broad spectrum of interests, accomplishments, opinions, tastes and friends, all developed painstakingly through our last 30+ years of life.

2 posts ago, Adam left the following comment, which I think deserves its own post that I could read again later for inspiration and not have to hunt down through the comments sections:

“Happy birthday late. Here’s my horoscope for you:

You ever think back to your teens and wish you’d had it more together and how if you could go back you’d do it better because you weren’t awake enough at the time but now you are? Or your (early) 20s?

Your 30s are your power years, if you’re awake. Your you years. Your superhero years. Project ahead to your 50s and imagine what you’ll say then looking back on now, how if you could go back (to now) you’d do it better because you’re more aware.

I say focus not on what you don’t have or what schedule you’re behind on. Wake up early and discover/define your power and hurl it/you into daring enterprises and helping people. I say turn 40 breathless.”

It got me thinking. And my thoughts were in this response:

“I ‘woke up’ senior year in high school, in the sense that I saw and was able to behave accordingly with the Big Picture. Before that I was always disappointed by people and spent much of my time wallowing in that disappointment. As far as doing things better, I kinda wish I hadn’t ditched Cirque du Soleil and gotten in the biggest trouble I’d ever gotten into in high school, but it’s become one of those events that changed me and prevented future stupid decisions, and strengthened my sense of integrity. So, yeah. Not much I would change as far as HS goes.

Now my 20s was kinda scary, in the sense that after college, it was all sort of a blur without midterms and finals and years in college to mark the passing of time. But I think I continued to learn vicariously and develop my sense of self.

One of the essays we had to write in high school German class (in the German language, obviously) had the topic “In 10 years, how would you see yourself now?” I can’t remember what I wrote. But I like your idea of projecting forward and retrospecting back to my 30s to write it how I’d want to remember it later.

Thank you, Adam.

P.S. See, you should comment more often.”

Got this forward from a coworker. With age comes wisdom. Or a form of it.

HOW TO CALL THE POLICE WHEN YOU’RE OLD AND DON’T MOVE FAST ANYMORE.

George Phillips of Meridian, Mississippi was going up to bed when his wife told him that he’d left the light on in the garden shed, which she could see from the bedroom window. George opened the back door to go turn off the light but saw that there were people in the shed stealing things. He phoned the police, who asked “Is someone in your house?” and he said “no”. Then the policeman said that all patrols were busy, and that he should simply lock his door and an officer would be arriving when available. George said, “Okay,” hung up, counted to 30 seconds, and phoned the police again.
“Hello, I just called you a few seconds ago because there were people stealing things from my shed. Well, you don’t have to worry about them now because I’ve just shot them all.” Then, he hung up the phone.
Within five minutes three police cars, an Armed Response Unit, and an ambulance showed up at the Phillips’ residence and caught the burglars red-handed!! One of the policemen said to George, “I thought you said that you’d shot them!” George said, “Well, I thought you said there was nobody available!!”
The moral of the story…. “DON’T MESS WITH OLD PEOPLE!!”

I love this. I want to remind myself of this. Today’s horoscope.

You may be required to execute a task that others will notice, but you might prefer a chance to creatively unveil your deeper feelings in a more private situation. The problem is that you aren’t interested in burying your feelings while you put a positive spin on things. The good news is that you don’t have to deceive anyone if you are working for a higher cause.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007

I wonder if anyone who has ever sought and received advice from me feels this from me — that I point out the silver lining, that I seek to be understood as to my logic, that I try to draw my logic from an ethereal source. And it’s as true as Ben Franklin’s quote to the effect that one needn’t worry about a bad memory if one always sticks to the truth; there’s no evil motive to camouflage and no bloody hands to hide if my reasons, which I do creatively unveil in private to slicken understanding, are pure.

In the afternoon yesterday, I received two emails that informed me of a spontaneous 1pm meeting today (which is during lunch) and on the 25th. Annoyed at the late notice, I decided I wasn’t going to forego my lunchtime workout today for the meeting, so I’m going to hit a 3-mile run before the meeting. But I emailed my gym trainee to let her know I would not be able to go to the gym with her. Today, she returned with a similar forwarded email meeting notice. Her meeting’s tomorrow, with equally late notice. I complained that supervision is trying to keep us from gymming since my meeting’s today, hers is tomorrow, and there’s a special event luncheon on Friday.

Gym Trainee: I thought your meeting was on the 25 of this month.
Me: it’s today AND the 25th.
Trainee: oh that’s crazy. Do you guys have that much to talk about.
Me: I’m just gonna be there as an accessory. People won’t even notice me.
Trainee: that may be a good thing. I won’t be able to do that. Which is why I was told to go.
Me: I’m sure if you ran 3 miles right before the meeting, you could zone out too.
Trainee: Please I have a chair on the beach at club med already reserved for the meeting.
Me: lemme borrow it for today’s meeting and I’ll have it set up for you again for your meeting tomorrow.
Trainee: Ok. It’s the lounge chair with the three long island teas next to it on a tray and a magic wand sitting on in the drink holder in case I need it 🙂
Me: I’ll have to borrow your magic wand at the beach cuz I’m taking mine with me to the meeting.
Trainee: that’s what it’s for while I’m at the meeting. Every time they try to bring me back from club med I’ll just hit them over the head with it.

We’re so into our jobs.

I popped some vitamins on an empty stomach before leaving the house this morning, and I usually have adverse reactions to vitamins taken without food, so I opened a new box of protein bars and unsealed a bar on my drive in to work. It was an “all natural” brand made of “all natural” ingredients like oats and dried fruit, no candy coating. Pushing a bit of the brown cow-poo looking stuff out the top of the package, I took a bite. My mouth was instantly filled with the foul sensation of having put asphalt and black tar on my tongue. I couldn’t bite into the piece, but as I was driving, I couldn’t spit it out, either. I looked at the label. What the hell flavor was this, “Satan’s Ass, Now with Real Dingleberries!”?! It was chocolate raspberry. I sniffed the bar. It seemed fine. I bit into the piece in my mouth carefully. Maybe this bar just tastes like this? As I chewed, I realized that as much as I don’t like the raspberry seeds, it wasn’t THAT bad. I took another bite. It seemed okay. A third bite, and again the nasty tar and black oil smell/taste filled my mouth. At a red light, I looked at the one side of the bar I hadn’t yet examined, the surface in the wrapper that faced away from me. It was covered with white furriness.

Great. Mold. I’m eating mold.

I chugged half a bottle of water that I’d thankfully refilled this morning and put in my workout bag, in the passenger seat. After coming to work, I asked my new bailiff, who’s a mom (and therefore should have above-common-sense knowledge magically infused into her brain), “What would happen to someone for eating moldy bread and stuff like that?”
She said, “Not much. They make penicillin out of bread mold, so it’s not going to hurt you.”
I said, “Oh, so all it’s gonna do is kill the bad bacteria in my body.” I can live with that.

So it’s been 2 hours now and I haven’t had any problems. We’ll see how the rest of the day goes.

My coworker’s mother’s funeral this morning was a very nice Catholic mass service, complete with the counting of the rosary as an opening. Having virtually no Catholic exposure, I was surprised that the rosary went on that long, cuz I’d always thought when priests told sinners to say 3 “Hail Marys” to forgive sins (like in jokes), it was simply “Hail Mary, hail Mary, hail Mary. Yay, I’m forgiven.” Sitting through the very ritualistic practices of mass, I was aware that orthodox Catholics would find it a huge trespass for me to have sinful thoughts or participate in disrespectful behavior, especially while I sat there as a guest in the House of God. And of course, my brain (because it is, after all, MY brain) displayed a most unorthodox image in my head during all the sitting and standing then sitting then standing prayers and responses. When the priest said after a prayer, “You may sit,” and the congregation backed their bodies down onto the wooden bench, I pictured myself sitting on a large phallic protrusion coming out the center of my seat so that it strategically would create a huge sin. As soon as the absurd image entered my mind’s eye, I shoved it out in horror. “What is WRONG with you?!” I chastised my rebellious brain.

After the service was over, I stood with some coworkers and my judge. My judge revealed that as a boy, he’d attended a private Catholic school and the service today took him back to memories of that childhood, when he was always terrified of accidentally having an impure thought while in the church and going straight to hell. So it’s not just me. There’s something about what you’re not allowed to do, that makes human nature just do it. Or at least think about it. Well, if I can’t control my thoughts, at least I can control my actions. I would’ve knocked that phallus away from me, dirty unwanted thing! Yeah.