cindy's world

I am SO well-rested from yesterday, I’m not even sleepy right now! Oh no, what’ll I do? I guess I’ll lie there until the boredom makes me pass out.

I am gonna bring up today/yesterday the next time my mom or Mr. W criticizes me for having irregular unhealthy sleep patterns.

I was in a general state of poopedness yesterday, immediately upon waking. I didn’t work out at lunch because I’d planned to go to jujitsu after work. That didn’t happen. I ate dinner after work, then fell asleep for almost 6 hours. I laid there awhile and realized I was wide awake and feeling guilty for not having exercised, so I changed and went to the gym. I hit the treadmill at a few minutes past midnight and did 70 minutes of cardio between that and the elliptical trainer. It was my first run since the half-marathon, and I didn’t want to push my healing toes. I got home about 1:30 in the morning and took a shower.

That was a very bachelorette night, very collegiate days, to miss a scheduled class but go to the gym so late. I hadn’t done that in awhile, but as I stood in the shower, I thought about how much I enjoyed that I could do that. I never thought I would be 30 and be this, uh, timeline irresponsible, but then again, I’d always thought I’d be married with kids at 30. For a mom to sneak out and go to the gym in the wee hours of the evening is probably rare. Speaking of this, who does that? Cuz there were more than just a few other people at the gym the same time I was. Some seemed older than me (mostly men), whereas others looked about my age or a bit younger. Are these all unmarried people with no kids, too? Are these college students who don’t sleep at night but don’t get up till noon, like I and my friends were? Are we at the verge of a different time/generation, in which it’s more common to be single longer (i.e. not married right out of high school or college), or divorced, or childless/custody-less, and we therefore have the luxury of living somewhat irresponsibly such as doing our own thing at night instead of sleeping and preparing for work the next day? Is this even a “luxury?” Maybe it’s sour grapes for the fact that we have not achieved the standard dream of home/spouse/2.5 kids/white-picket-fence/dog in the yard…yet.

Dwaine finally posted photos of his and Andrae’s 30th bday party. Looking at the photos, I was like, “Aww, me with long hair.” Haha.

This was the photo taken when Andrae suddenly realized that altho we’ve known each other for 18 years, we do not have a photo together.

If you’re thinking, “Wait a minute, she must’ve had a photo with him before because I’ve seen him before,” you’re thinking of his identical twin brother Dwaine.

HEY! I just realized I never had any of this cake!

The DJ is another high school German pal of ours.

(rest mouse pointer over photos for captions)

I was at Mr. W’s kids’ homecoming football game on Saturday. Since I didn’t know the players and wasn’t interested in football to begin with, I mostly people-watched when I wasn’t watching Mr. W’s daughter cheerlead (she’s in varsity cheer, I write proudly, as if I had anything to do with it). A very attractive young guy (likely senior in HS) caught my attention in the lower part of the bleachers to my right. He was facing his girlfriend, who was sitting to his left, so I could see his face in full but couldn’t see his girlfriend’s. He presumably made eye contact with her because he winked adorably, then puckered his lips and sent a kiss into the air at her. It was a very intimate, private moment. She responded by raising her right hand up toward his left cheek, and I thought, “Aww, she’s gonna caress his cheek! That’s what I do a lot when Mr. W winks at me!” So her right hand approaches his face, but instead of cupping his cheek or playing with his hair, she reaches up and…digs out an eye booger from his left eye. Talk about a mood-killer! I’ve only ever done that to my cat.

Yesterday, I was in Mr. W’s bedroom reading an article in a current celebrity gossip magazine that talked about how Britney Spears is inspired by Mariah Carey’s recent weight loss and is determined to shed her 40 lbs of baby weight now that her 2nd boy is born. It had a photo of Britney’s pre-baby body during a concert, with the caption that this was back in her 500 daily crunches days. That in turn inspired me to go do 5oo crunches, so I set off into the living room, where there’s more room on the floor. 300 crunches in, I started getting sweaty so I came back into the bedroom, shed my t-shirt, chatted with Mr. W a bit while he was on his laptop, then did another 150 crunches. I came in the bedroom again, complained about being sweaty in my bra and shorts, then went back to the living room and finished off the crunches. Then I laid on my stomach and went back into the magazine. A scene flashed in my head about what would happen if Mr. W’s kids came home, but I knew that was unlikely since their mom had already picked them up an hour ago to go back to her place.

So I’m reading the magazine, and I heard the front door open. The front door is located between the living room and the hallway into the bedroom, so there was no way I could get up and run for it without having to pass the front room. I rolled over to my right and looked past the recliner toward the door. It was his teenage son. “Hey,” I said. “Hey,” he said back, without looking too far ahead, as he was taking off his shoes. It’s likely he may not have seen me, at least not enough of me to know I’m in a bra and shorts, so I rolled back on my stomach behind the recliner. I heard the boy go into his dad’s room and ask him some questions. I guess he’d forgotten something. There was nothing I could do but wait it out, hoping he didn’t decide to come into the living room to watch TV or play XBox or something. Then the the front door opened and closed again. I heard his daughter’s voice. That’s okay, she can see me half-naked, we’re both girls, and she’s not shy about body stuff. I can call her and ask her to bring me my shirt. But she walked straight into the bathroom. Son was still talking to Dad, so there was no way I was gonna get up and run past him into Dad’s bedroom. I just hoped Son would go into his bedroom to get whatever it is he left so I can sneak around him and go into Dad’s room. What’s wrong with Dad?! He knows I’m naked, and he’s taking no steps to bring me my shirt! The front door opened and closed again. I heard 10-year-old Half-Brother’s voice. CRAP. NOW this is going to be a problem. Son would be a bit embarrassed to see me in my bra, but he’d play it off. He’s a straight-shooter, isn’t interested in dating yet, so it wouldn’t be anything too gross or traumatic. Half-Brother, however, is already drowning in hormones. Mr. W had caught him on my computer upstairs once, which I didn’t really care about, but then I went thru the internet history and saw that he’d been looking up porn sites. Ew! (Now that computer’s password-protected.) If Half-Brother saw me like that, there’s no way that’d stay quiet. And I wouldn’t blame his mom for being unhappy.

With no signs of the kids leaving, I finally called out his daughter’s name. She answered, “What?” and started walking toward the living room. “Where are you?” she said, then walked up and saw me. “Can you bring me my shirt please? It’s in your dad’s room on the floor.” She said, “Oh, okay,” and walked off, returning a minute later holding up my shirt and said, reading the words in the front, “Crabby?” I said, “Yeah, it’s a Joe’s Crab Shack shirt,” thanked her and put it on. She just went back to doing her own thing like it was totally nothing. I’m sure it wasn’t anything to her.

But I let Mr. W have it when the kids left a few minutes later. His defense was that he didn’t know I was naked. I said, “YOU SAW ME IN JUST MY BRA AND SHORTS! WE HAD TWO CONVERSATIONS WITH ME JUST IN MY BRA AND SHORTS!” This just goes to prove, that when Mr. W is on his computer, I can dance around half naked in just a bra and he wouldn’t notice.

Mr. W and I discovered the coolest restaurant yesterday. S.Pellegrino water was sponsoring a prix-fixe menu with a lot of upscale restaurants, and I made reservations at a chic global fusion place called AIRe Global. It’s located in Costa Mesa, deeply and invisibly embedded in a plaza called The Camp on the corner of Bristol St. and Baker St.. The food is ama-a-a-a-zing. Alcohol is a bit pricey at $15+ per drink, but the food is a steal for the quality and presentation. We had melt-in-your-mouth tataki tacos (3 each of miniature flour hard-shell tacos filled with guacamole mousse and diced raw albacore tuna and ahi tuna) and a refreshing heirloom tomato salad (3 types of tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, lemon olive oil dressing, and some sort of a Japanese greens leaf that’s a cross between basil and mint) as appetizers, followed by entrees of sliced prime angus filet and Chilean seabass, then finished off with a Japanese donut-like dessert and a yogurt dessert. *drool* $35 a person. Unfortunately, yesterday was the last day for their prix-fixe faire, so you’ll have to pay full price. But lemme tell you, if you’re a food connosieur, it’s well worth it.

I fell asleep. During commercial break. I hang my head in shame.

Good thing Dwaine TiVo’ed it, and Andrae not only TiVo’ed it, but promised to put it on VHS tape for me! Yay for good friends!

You guys better be wrapping up your plans tonight and preparing to sit in front of your TV at 10pm to watch the series premiere of the show Shark on CBS. That’s in a little over an hour. Pop quiz tomorrow. Those of you who are in my phonebook, I’m calling you to remind you.

I started the day by hopping in the shower. While I was toweling off my hair, I heard a little “Wah!” coming from outside my bathroom door, which wasn’t pulled all the way closed. A tapping sound followed, the door opened a tiny crack, and then a white paw appeared. Little black paw pads curled around the edge of the door, the furry white back of the paw pulled the door open to a wider crack, and then a furry black and white head, with bright golden round eyes, appeared. “Wow!” Dodo said, running in. “Hi! Hi my little fuzzy wuzzy cootsie wootsie boy! My little black worm! You’re just a big fuzzy black caterpillar, aren’t you? Look at you, you’re so cute! You’re so cute!” I cooed, running my fingers through his furry black body as his tail curled lovingly around my calf. What a way to start a day.

On the drive to work, I saw another Lexus IS 350 (black) pull up behind me. The two of us tag-teamed around other slow vehicles all the way until I had to pull off the main street to work. That was fun.

I thought as I walked from the parking structure to the building, how is it that one of the guys at work who is almost exactly a year older than me to the day, has such a different life? He really admires my car, but can’t afford it for himself. He’s got some kids (different moms, also been thru divorce and is currently remarried) and he has spousal support and child support to pay, so sure, his expenses are higher. It’s strange to think of 2 people about the same age on such different tracks of life. I think the same thing when I see a 28-year-old defendant before us in court facing 25 years in prison. How did I end up in my position with this car? Because, I concluded, I was unfortunate enough to have been screwed over by men in my earlier years. They screwed me over, so we didn’t get married, and now, my reward is that I can afford this car. I guess everything does balance out. “Sorry your exes are jerks. Here’s a Lexus.” “Thanks!”

*Disclaimer: I’m not saying ALL the men I dated were jerks, but the jerks know who they are.

A commonly used phrase in relationships is “pick your battles.” Sometimes fighting is productive; it brings to the table issues that can be worked on and resolved. Not all things are worth a fight, but deciding what’s “worth” it is subjective.

When I was less emotionally experienced, i.e. on my first and second boyfriends, everything seemed worth a fight. If something was thoughtless or offensive, I wasn’t gonna let him get away with it. It led to a lot of arguing and bruised egos, as the other party felt like I was picking on him or unreasonable. Another thing feeding the feeling that everything’s potentially a devastingly big deal is insecurity. Young love is often insecure, because this new feeling of love and relationship is so great that you’re suddenly afraid of losing it, and you’re convinced there will never be a guy who could be as funny, as loving, as affectionate, as clever, or have as much in common with you. (Now I look back and think, HAHA!) So anything that isn’t smooth sailing, you want to stomp out instantly. You’re also more sensitive to being hurt because no one else was ever in the position of being able to hurt you so exquisitely. People associate this state of mind with youth, but I don’t think it’s limited to youth as much as inexperience. People have come to me with stories of 30-somethings going through the kind of anguish and arguments as teenagers, because these 30-somethings are on their first relationship.

I’m not saying this is true across the board and no exceptions exist. There are older people who are always oversensitive and throw immature tantrums when their high demands aren’t met. There are younger people who have rarely been oversensitive even in early relationships. My childhood friend Sandy is my age, and she’s dated a lot more people than me, but even in high school, I was never surprised at the battles she chose to fight. In fact, I was often surprised at the battles she didn’t choose. She’s the person I call when I find myself uncontrollably angry at something that my brain is telling me shouldn’t be that big a deal. I call her and ask to borrow her scale, and to inquire if I’m overreacting. When she tells me I’m not, that’s when the guy’s really in trouble. Mr. W’s teenage daughter is another one that continues to astound me with her ability to forgive and move forward with someone, altho with her I’m not sure that she isn’t caught up in the “I have to make my first love work” mentality.

I read somewhere, or maybe saw on a show, that people fight when they feel there’s something to fight for. That when people stop fighting, it’s because they’ve given up on saving the relationship. This is of course referring to productive fighting (“I feel like when your mother criticizes me, you start accusing me of the same things instead of defending me. If you truly have a problem with these things, can you come to me first, and if you don’t have a problem, please don’t adopt your mother’s problems with me as your own.”), not insulting self-esteem killing fights where someone’s just picking on the other person (“You lazy fat good-for-nothing slob, you’re lucky no hot girls were at the bar or I would’ve cheated on you tonight.”). Sometimes a fight isn’t as much a fight as a struggle to hammer out some common ground for the relationship.

I think a good thing to do, which I had to learn the hard way, is to decide whether something is worth a fight before even stepping in the vinicity of the issue. Sometimes things happen to you that you can’t control and suddenly, you find yourself in a conflict. Like your drunk boyfriend walks in the door and throws a tantrum for your not knowingw here his favorite shirt is. But there are other fights that happen because we don’t leave well enough alone. My classic example is of a girl asking, “Do I look fat in this dress?” If he says yes, she’d be mad, and if he says no, she probably wouldn’t believe him. And when it comes down to it, is the answer to this question so vital to the relationship that it’s worth the fight, especially if he’s still with her because he loves and is attracted to her? This is why I have a huge list of TMI no-nos. I don’t ask if I’m the best lover, best girlfriend, favorite girlfriend, smartest person he knows, funniest person he knows, prettiest person he’s dated. I don’t ask where the most unusual place he had sex was, what his favorite sex act is, what his most romantic date entailed, where his favorite date restaurant is. I don’t want to see his old gifts from other women, old love letters and cards, old photos (he can have them as keepsakes, I sure do, but don’t show me). I don’t want to know, it doesn’t affect our relationship for me to know the details, and in knowing the details, it only gives me visuals that make me bitter, competitive and insecure.

I look at myself sometimes and wonder whether I’m enlightened or jaded. I wonder whether I’m appreciating the right things, and then whether I’m aware enough of the good things to appreciate them. Sometimes when something positive about someone dawns on me I call the person and acknowledge the positive trait. (Today it was that despite knowing I’m not a baseball fan, when he wanted to go to a game, he bought 2 tickets and offered one to me, with the out that if I really don’t want to go, the extra ticket can go to his son. He makes me feel included, never presuming that just because an activity isn’t my usual routine that he’ll leave me out.)

This… *waving at this long post Vanna White style* …this is what happens when I spend 45 minutes chatting with Vanessa after belly dancing.