cindy's world

Oh, look. It’s before 1pm and Cindy’s blogging. What’s she doing in front of a computer instead of behind some gym equipment?, you may be wondering. A coworker I passed coming into the building earlier asked me that, too.

The fact is that I did go to the gym. After the judge ran late into lunch, after he didn’t get off the bench until past noon, I had to have him approve and sign a Restraining Order for a case earlier this morning (which I couldn’t do until after he got off the bench since he went right into our trial and ran late), then make copies and explain to the person waiting what to do with the copies. And then driving to the gym, I got stuck behind a car trying to make a left into a building from the left lane (not a left TURN lane, but the left lane), and I couldn’t change lanes to the right lane because of all the cars going by on the lane to my right. FINALLY, he turned and of course by then I missed all the lights. So I waited and waited, and when the light finally turned green, I couldn’t go because half a block away two ambulances were wailing their way over to cross my path. So I had to wait for them instead of turn. And when I finally make it to the gym, I got in the locker room, got undressed, put on my sport bra, my tanktop, and then dug around in my workout bag for…nothing. I didn’t bring workout pants or shorts. DAMN it. So I got redressed and decided to go salvage my lunchtime by grabbing something to eat. I checked my wallet. I have one dollar. So here I am, having a protein cookie that I had stashed away in the file cabinet, drinking water, and blogging.

If I’m really, really good, I’ll go to the gym tonight after I do my and my parents’ taxes.

YIKES!! What happened to Monday’s blog post??? Did I not post one?! How unlike me.

Yesterday after work I finally utilized my annual pass and went to Disneyland. It was insanely crowded. In line for the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, I wailed, “Why are there so many people here? It’s a freaking weekday!” A father holding the hand of his 8 year old son turned and said, “It’s spring break right now for a lot of schools.” “Really? This early?” He complained also, “That’s why I’m here! It’s MY idea, no one else is supposed to have the same idea!” I said, “I know! That’s how I feel!”

So not only were there a ton of people and my favorite — kids — we lined up for Space Mountain, and 40 minutes in, the ride broke and we ditched the line and reached the outside of the building just as it came back up and functioning (so we forfeited the ride); we then lined up for The Matterhorn Bobsleds and actually did get to ride that; next we lined up for my favorite ride, the Indiana Jones Adventure, and 20 minutes into that line, that ride malfunctioned and we left at that announcement; and lastly we lined up for Big Thunder Mountain Railroad and rode that. 50% success rate. I wonder why I don’t go to Disneyland more often.

I have a whole new living room! I took my parents’ leather couch and loveseat and rearranged my living room to accomodate them. Then we dropped off my old couch at Goodwill where I picked up a tax deduction. I really like my house now. It feels new and fresh and has great new seating areas.

Mom: I like your haircut. It’s a good look for you.
Me: This haircut cost me fourteen dollars.
Mom: *thoughtful pause as she studies me* It’s worth it.

Haha, Asian moms.

Oh yeah. I thought about hiding the pornos before the ‘rents came in. But I figured, eh, they’re on the DVD tower thingie along with a ton of other DVDs. (That’s part of the beauty of being a bachelor[ette]. Porn on display with all the other wares.) What’re the chances they’re gonna look, anyway? It’s behind the front door when I leave it open, and we’re gonna be busy moving furniture. Go figure, I’m in the foyer vacuuming and then I hear from the living room my mom’s voice: “Ooh, Cindy has lots of movies! I didn’t know she has so many movies! We can borrow some from her.” She must’ve spent like 10 minutes looking through the titles as I panicked internally in my own head. I made irrelevant comments to try to deter her from the movies, but alas, she could not be distracted. I hoped that she wouldn’t figure out how to rotate the DVDs as the porn section was on the lower part that’s against the wall. All I know is that she never said anything, but did abruptly stop looking and then walked away without another comment about borrowing movies or anything relating to her movie hunt. =/

Today, after a hard workout and a pow-wow in the steam room, I weighed myself on the sliding weights scale AND at home on my digital bodyfat scale after a Black Angus prime rib dinner, and I’m STILL in the 120s! Yay! That means that after I debloat, I’ll be in the low 120s, and then I’m back on track to before I gained weight due to my inability to work out those 2 weeks I was deathly ill.

People have been reminding me to turn my clock forward an hour at 2am Sunday morning, which is in a few hours. I always rely on other people telling me to know when to spring forward and fall back, so it was news to me that it’s actually 2 weeks early this year. Really? Why change it? Cuz now we’re not gonna match up right internationally, since everyone globally is expecting us to maintain this time standard for another couple weeks. I’m glad I don’t work in a job where I have to deal with the technical problems this will cause on the computers and international stock trade.

I had a really nice surprise when I came back from my lunch workout today. The loveliest bouquet of yellow and sunset roses were sitting on my desk in a pretty brass-colored jar-like container. They were from Vanessa, as a thank-you for being there for her. Awww, thank you for the flowers, Vanessa! Being the good friend that I am, I know what she really wants. So I’m posting a photo of my hair under the guise of taking a photo of me with her flowers. Please keep in mind that I’m bloated from PMS, and not just bloated, but especially bloated cuz my monthly visitor is running late. So I’m not at my best.

I just got back from my forced march to see the movie 300. The only thing I’m gonna say about it is that it’s Gladiator meets Lord of the Rings meets Kill Bill. I like to go to the movies to relax and have a feel-good air when I walk out. Instead, this is what I looked like coming out of the movie.

Vanessa’s on her date watching this movie tonite. I wonder if she’ll wear the same expression. She’ll probably enjoy it, though. Altho, I did learn one thing from the movie. I do not have elongated nipples. Sorry, Jordan.

I forgot to add another thing that I was grateful for yesterday, aside from good friends and having hair that a salon could screw up. I’m happy that I found my old jazz shoes before bellydancing yesterday, because we did so many chaine (pronounced shuh-NAY) turns that it would’ve been impossible barefoot. I would’ve been screeching haltingly on the wood floors, or flying across them uncontrollably if I were in socks. Who knew that bellydancers did chaine turns? I was also grateful for my prior dance experience.

Here’s a normal-ish photo. These photos make me want to post some old really good photo to redeem myself. But this isn’t my laptop. 🙁

Tonite at the end of bellydancing I added a new item to my gratitude list (which we give thanks for in our heads during a 1-minute silence as we stand holding hands in a big class circle). I am grateful for having hair to be screwed up.

Walking out to my car, I discovered another one. I didn’t have a coughing fit the entire day! I mean, I had the scattered coughs, but I didn’t double over in uncontrollable waves of heaves and hacks to the point of gagging. Sleeping with Vanessa’s humidifier on the past few nights may have done some magic. Yay for healing lungs and good friends’ caretaking.

I had a semi-productive evening yesterday. I loaned Diana an ear for her current laments, then got my hair cut. (“Did you get a hair cut?” “No, I got ’em all cut.”) I meant to just go for a 1-2 inch trim, but the lady suggested relayering but keeping the length. I shrugged and told her to go to town. I mean, she’s a trained professional. And hair grows back, so whatever. It was really cute when she was done (when it was still wet), layered from my high cheekbone area down to the tips. “This is a low-maintenance cut, you don’t even need to style it. And I left the front long enough that you can pin it back when you work out so it’s not in your face.” I nodded contentedly. “And I cut it so that it’ll have a little flip outward. You may want to put some dry wax on the tips so that it’d separate on the flips, though.” Wait. WHAT? I hate outward flips. That’s the reason I want the length cut. It’s touching my shoulders and flipping outward. Sure enough, when the hair dried, it flipped every which way. Ugh. I couldn’t help but note the contrast between the image reflected in the mirror and the femme fatale hotness on the 2 shows I watched last nite on TV, “America’s Next Top Model” and “The Next Pussycat Doll.”

While watching those shows, I did manage to do a load of laundry and vacuum half of downstairs. (I was vacuuming during commercial breaks only and then I fell asleep and the vacuum is currently in the middle of my living room, still plugged in.) I also washed the duvet cover for my big heavy fobby Chinese cotton comforter. Man, putting the thick cotton pad back into that duvet cover was awful. I put it in the wrong way the first time so that it was perpendicular to the way it was supposed to go in, so of course I had excess duvet fabric on the top and bottom and not enough on the sides. Turning it inside the cover proved impossible (I felt like I was turning a breached fetus within the mother), so I took it out, turn it 90-degrees, and reinserted it, then had to shake out the stuff to smooth the wrinkles out and make the stuff fit evenly. When I was done, it was 3:30 a.m., I was sweaty, and my room looked like it snowed little round balls of raw cotton.

The SUV in front of me this morning had a license plate frame that said, in a stylistic font reminscent of Old World Celtic wisdom:

ABOVE ALL ELSE
PROTECT YOUR HEART

It reminded me of a poem I’d written in high school, in which the speaker is a mother advising her daughter about life, and it ends with something like “But no matter what, remember to keep a portion of your heart sovereign, or you’ll have nothing left to rebuild yourself with, when he hurts you.” Of course I justified the pessimistic angle by entitling it “From a Cancer Mother to her Daughter”, cuz everyone knows that Cancers have a shell to protect their soft, loving but vulnerable insides. (I’m a Cancer, as is my mother.)

The SUV in front of me did not have the cartoony white stickfigures representing each member of the driver’s family that adorns so many SUVs around here. And it was a BMW. The driver was alone. I don’t know that she’s single, but if she were, could the driver’s motto be the reason that she’s by herself? If she didn’t get married and have 3 kids, she could afford a BMW SUV, right? And what’s that say about me that I’m 30, single, no kids, in a Lexus? Are the two paths in life either fulfillment with family life OR fulfillment with materialism? Are the two typically mutually exclusive? Then where do I fit in? I’m not a particularly materialistic person, but the reason I have the Lexus is because in one emotional weekend, I decided to blow my wedding fund. So for me, I suppose on some level the Lexus is a (poor) compensation for what I really want.

I was reading Wilco and fiance Christi’s wedding blog in which they talk about their last marriage prep session as required by the Catholic church. One of the questions asked the couples present was how much money they expect to spend on clothing/wardrobe a year. Christi’s account was that the men and women differ quite dramatically in their answers, with the women in the higher numbers ($2500) and men in the lower ($500). Before I read Wilco and Christi’s reponse to the question, I thought about how I would answer it. I figure I spend about $200 a year. I add to my wardrobe slowly, I don’t do closet overhauls with the fleetings of fashion, I don’t do designer bags or shoes. Pretty much the only time I buy something or even go clothes or shoe shopping is if something I own broke and I NEED it replaced, like a pair of brown closed-toed high heel shoes, which I still haven’t been able to find. I don’t shop for the sheer joy of shopping. I hate shopping.

That reminds me, last week I walked toward the entrance of the courthouse on my way to work, behind a woman wearing tight 7ForAllMankind jeans. My first thought was, “She’s probably on her way in for a fee waiver.” That’s how jaded I am. But given the demographic area this courthouse serves, given the sheer quantity of people who request and are granted fee waivers, given how I know women to be, I’d say I predicted her purpose in the Courts with 85% accuracy. Because if she were an attorney, she wouldn’t be in jeans. If she were here as moral support to a family member on trial, she wouldn’t be alone. If she were a attorney messenger service runner, she would be carrying more papers. If she were here to file a divorce or harrassment case, well, then she’d be requesting a fee waiver so she could get those things for free. Claiming that she doesn’t have the financial means to pay the filing fees, because she’d spent $200 on wrapping her ass in denim.

So anyway, Wilco’s estimate was more than 12 times my estimate, and more than double his fiance Christi’s estimate (altho to be fair, I believe they were estimating their expected expenditure on wardrobe as a couple, and I was just thinking of myself). That made me really examine my attire priorities. Maybe I need a pair of fresh eyes to help me throw out my clothes. My old rule of thumb was:
KEEPERS – if it fits, and if it’s not too badly damaged; sometimes if it fits BUT it’s damaged, I keep it for “possible beach wear” or “possible painting wear”
DONATE – if it’s too small, tight AND I don’t expect to lose enough weight to get back into it someday, or if it’s ripped beyond repair

Go ahead and laugh. I know these guidelines don’t take into consideration things like whether something’s still in style, whether something is ever worn, whether I can truly see myself wearing the item again. That’s why I have oversized fuschia sweaters from the 80s, a Debbie Gibson concert T-shirt, holey tops that I have to wear a tanktop under, embroidered rhinestone-embedded denim shirts, jeans with house paint splattered over the front, granny underwear, navy with pink pin-striped baggy trousers with suspenders, multi-colored slouch socks, my junior high Physical Education (PE) sweatshirt and shorts. Damn it that I grew up in the 80s, and everything then was oversized. Everything still fits! I’ve had things so long that fashion has come full circle and my clothes are actually back in style. 😛

I need help.

Mr. W’s boy is getting his college acceptances in now. It makes me think back to my senior year. UCLA (University of California, Los Angeles) was my dream school. UCI (University of California, Irvine) was the backup. UCR (University of California, Riverside) was the backup to the backup. And then I applied to Cal (University of California, Berkeley) because my mom just wanted to know. Those were the only colleges I applied to.

Choosing to go to UCLA was a big step for me; most of my close friends either went to UCI or UCBerkeley, or stayed at home and attended a local Cal State University or junior college and transferred into a UC. But I always knew where I belonged. It was tough because as a teenager, you want to follow your friends. You get separation anxiety. You don’t want to look like a “loner,” cuz “loners” are “losers.” I gritted my teeth and told myself I’d make new friends. With that new thick(er) skin, college was also the first time I was able to eat alone. It just seems that the caliber of most people on a university campus are less concerned about how they look to strangers than how they work food into their day on their way to their next class, on their way to a degree, on their way to a better life. It was inspiring and admirable. I thought, “I don’t look at these people grabbing a bite doing work at the table and studying as loners or losers. They look like they’re just going along their day. I probably don’t look like a loser to other people, either, so they’ll just assume I’m alone because I choose to be.” I saved a lot of time multi-tasking lunch with studying, catching up on reading for an upcoming class, homework, reviewing notes for an imminent midterm.

I told Mr. W that I’m glad I didn’t have a boyfriend in high school, because I’m the type of girlfriend who would put her man’s happiness above her own. If I were accepted to UCLA and he wasn’t, and he was attending UCI and wanted me around, I’d be at UCI. I may have never found my independence. I’d be an Anteater, not a Bruin. I would’ve never met Diana, whom chance threw into my dorm room during summer orientation. Without Diana, I would’ve never met Wilco, whose server runs this blog, and I may not even be blogging. Even if I somehow still ended up at where I am in life right now and I met Mr. W who convinced me to go on a cruise last February, and I still met Jordan at the dinner table, I wouldn’t have the blog to keep in touch with her. Our friendship grew after meeting each other because we got in each others’ cyber lives, or rather, she came into mine, created her own after liking what she saw, and then I invaded hers. It is terrifying to think that so many things that I’m thankful for today wouldn’t be around if I had simply chosen a different school.

But then, maybe there’s an alternative me who DID attend UCI instead, who’s thankful right now that she didn’t go to UCLA or she would’ve never met her husband and had her baby who’s just learning to roll over from tummy onto back. :/