cindy's world

My male friend just wrote me this email:

A 78-year-old woman in Atlanta has been indicted for shooting to death her 85-year-old boyfriend in an old folks home because he was seeing another woman.

You can never trust a woman, no matter how old she gets. Never.

My body was sore from overdoing a workout Tuesday, so yesterday, I made an impromptu massage appointment at Glen Ivy Day Spa in Brea for 7:30pm. Man, that place is popular. On a Wednesday nite, the only slots they had left were 20 mins at 5:30 and 20 mins at 7:30. I wanted an 80-minute but oh well, guess I’ll have to save my money for something else.

I got there an hour early to enjoy the facility. The first place I went to is the empty Garden Tea Room to fill out my waiver and consent form. That room is amazing! It’s got quaint little conversation areas set up all over, plus a large blazing fireplace on the far wall with cozy seating and lounging areas around it. There were ample stone tables to do work, and low soothing music was playing. I could see myself there with a spot of tea working on my (soon-to-be-purchased) laptop, organizing my notes and writing my book. Next, after putting my stuff away in the locker room, which has windows into garden-looking enclosed areas, I sunk into the kidney-shaped whirlpool. There was only one other person in it, and it was large enough that sitting at a certain angle I couldn’t even see her. Instead I faced the large glass wall that opened into another garden-like area. Then I laid for 15 minutes in the sauna. The temperature of the sauna and the whirlpool were perfect. Most of these places tend to have the water/steam too hot, and I have to get used to it while feeling like cannibal dinner. Cold wet towels on ice were provided in a large brass bowl by the sauna door. All the sinks were large round brass bowls. It all looked very neo-Roman. 10 minutes before my massage appointment time, I got into the robe and spread out in the women’s lounge with complimentary cup of their Serendipi-tea. They had sliced cucumbers on ice in the lounge, too, for our puffy eyes. I didn’t use any as I did not want to risk pouring hot tea down my chest.

The massage therapist, Carla, was wonderful. It was probably the best massage I’d ever had. She had a unique way of applying pressure, and she explained that she was trying to distribute the lactic acid buildup in my muscles so that the soreness would go away faster. At the conclusion, she agreed with me that yes, I did need a longer massage as all my muscles are tight. (Maybe I’m not stressed and they’re just tight because I work out. HAHA, right.) I was in this fuzzy sedated heaven state when I teetered out of the massage area back thru the lounge into the women’s area, and I jumped into their shower. Oh! Shower bliss, too! A large overhead cylinder dispensed rainfall-like hot water onto my head. A regular showerhead on the left wall gave me the diagonal blast for my upper back. The right shower wall had a lower, more focused showerhead that gave me pressurized water onto my lower abdomen or lower back, depending on which way I turn. And of course, complimentary Red Mineral Clay shampoo, conditioner, shower gel. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it home last nite.

Seriously, the drive home, I felt drunk. Or high. It felt like my body and spirit were padded in a cozy soft envelopment, and nothing could touch me, physically or mentally. I finished off my night at home with yoga and fresh grapes.

This was written by an 83-year-old woman to her friend. I’d like to think I’m living like this now. I have a dinner planned with my 3 other female cousins in California, who I didn’t always bother to keep up with, but now that we’re all adults, I think we can enjoy each other more. One of these cousins and I are gonna take a cooking class (“Extreme Chocolate”) in September. My oldest girl friend (we met age 6) and I are planning a 3-day cruise in September. We’ve never been on one, and would like to see what all the hype’s about. And of course, the college roommate and I have our week-long Cancun trip in the works for the end of September. I’m also tired of my saved perfume going bad, expensive products expiring, good food molding, pretty candles melting.

Dear Bertha,

I’m reading more and dusting less. I’m sitting in the yard and admiring the
view without fussing about the weeds in the garden. I’m spending more time
with my family and friends and less time working.

Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experiences to savor, not to
endure. I’m trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them.

I’m not “saving” anything; we use our good china and crystal for every
special event such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, or the
first Amaryllis blossom.

I wear my good blazer to the market. My theory is if I look prosperous, I
can shell out $28.49 for one small bag of groceries. I’m not saving my good
perfume for special parties, but wearing it for clerks in the hardware store
and tellers at the bank.

“Someday” and “one of these days” are losing their grip on my vocabulary. If
it’s worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now.

I’m not sure what others would’ve done had they known they wouldn’t be here
for the tomorrow that we all take for granted. I think they would have
called family members and a few close friends. They might have called a few
former friends to apologize and mend fences for past squabbles. I like to
think they would have gone out for a Chinese dinner or for whatever their
favorite food was.

I’m guessing; I’ll never know.

It’s those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew my
hours were limited. Angry because I hadn’t written certain letters that I
intended to write one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn’t tell my
husband and parents often enough how much I truly love them. I’m trying very
hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter and
luster to our lives. And every morning when I open my eyes, tell myself that
it is special.

Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift from God.

Boys are funny. They play these games. They want to pursue you, and the moment you decide, “Okay fine, let’s give this a try,” and you reciprocate their interest, they totally turn on you. They don’t return your calls, they’re too busy for you, they’re aloof. So then you say, “All right then, if you’re that hard to get, then you’re just not gonna get gotten,” and you lose interest and do your own thing, and suddenly they want to know what you’re doing, who you’re doing, whether you want to go out, and they call you all the time.

Where’re all the men at?

One of the bloggers who I read frequently wrote a rather empowered post displaying smug satisfaction at having put herself first and done what she needed/wanted to do this past weekend while her boyfriend sat on the sidelines. Which got me thinking about my own behavior with and without a boyfriend.

I posted the comment on her post:
Prioritizing myself above the significant other…*sigh* still working on that one. Sometimes I think the only reason I’m so happy single is because I’m #1 by default. I don’t know that when a new man enters my life that I won’t be a doormat again. This is sad.

Sometimes it’s just fun to look unusually hot for work for no reason at all. We are currently trying a pain-in-the-arse Civil trial on 2 cases simultaneously because consolidation was not successful. All the arbitrarily introduced exhibits are creating a paper nightmare. The judge is very cranky with the hurky-jerky progression of the trial. So today turned out to be a good day to look pretty.

Sleek black boots; short A-line red, black and white skirt; thin red (and very fitted) 3/4 length sleeve sweater; all my regular makeup plus blush and lipstick. I rubbed Victoria’s Secret “Love Spell” body cream on, and layered it with a fine dusting of VS’s body shimmer in the same scent, just to highlight my collarbones.

It’s a funny thing about lipstick. It was the first makeup item my mom ever let me wear, and she bought me my first lipstick when I was in 6th grade. It was my one staple for years. And then I started having boyfriends and the lip color waned to tinted lip gloss to nothing. One of my girls (I can’t remember who, but I remember the conversation) said a couple of weeks ago, “You can start wearing lipstick again!” The thought hit me for the first time and I said, “Oh! You’re right! I CAN!” Lipstick makes such a difference on a woman’s face, especially if she has pretty lips. It just makes her look alive.

Jimmy asked me tonite, “What do you think are the keys to being a good couple?”
I thought a bit and responded, “I think keys are similar ethics, mutual respect, mutual dedication to address and resolve arising problems, integrity.”

It’s one of those things I don’t really think about until I’m challenged to analyze my perspective. These days I don’t think much about relationships at all in relation to myself. It makes me feel tired, and if I’m forced to delve deeper into a topic about my relationships or thoughts thereon, I become agitated and angry as I touch old wounds. But now that I have created a list, I thought I’d document it to compare it to a list I may have in the future.

Another list w/my current state of mind: No-Exception Dealbreakers
1.) cigarette smoking
2.) substance abuse (including excessive alcohol)
3.) compulsive lying
4.) cheating
5.) frequent/regular contact with exes
6.) someone who never wants to get married
7.) someone who never wants kids
8.) someone who currently has kids
9.) no integrity
10.) moral turpitude issues

Woke up right before 6am. There was some light visible thru the curtains, and I was feeling normal. I had complete recall of everything, including my dream that I had already woken up and gone out w/everyone for breakfast. I came upstairs thru the iron spiral staircase, looked out the window, and found myself staring at the ocean. It was a bit overcast, but the water was glittering and blue, and the sand was white. I had no idea we were that close to the beach. I would’ve burst into song if I could think of a song to sing. What a great house! What a great location! What a great morning! I needed to get to my car, grab my omnipresent workout bag, change to workout clothes and go jog on the beach! I started to leave, but decided to come back and leave them a note just in case they woke up to check on me and think I freaked out and ran out. Before I could write the note, Boyfriend came out of his bedroom (he did tell me the nite before that he gets up at 6a), marveled at how awake, spry, and not hung over I was, and insisted on coming with me to my car. I was grateful, as the place looked totally, wonderfully different in daylight. I practically skipped to my car. We decided to drive my car back toward his house to find closer parking, and we managed to park half a block away from his beachside property. By the time we came in, my girl friend had grudgingly gotten up and we made a plan for the day.

The three of us took a morning stroll beachside (the houses along the sand are simply amazing. I don’t know how many times I carped about not having my camera on hand.), wandered by some stores in Downtown Manhattan Beach, stopped by Starbucks where Boyfriend got coffee and a muffin, walked up and down the famous Manhattan Beach Pier…

…where some runners were warming up for a Pier to Pier race at 7:15 am, then walked back to his place. My girl friend and I then drove to Vons and bought breakfast groceries. We made eggs, hash browns, bacon, 2 kinds of sausage, buttermilk biscuits, and mimosa. I felt like I was on vacation. We were waiting for the cloud layer to burn off so we could go for a swim in the ocean. I didn’t have a swimsuit, so the three of us took a walk to Downtown Manhattan Beach where, uncharacteristically and on a whim, I purchased a $90+ red very sexy little bikini. Then back to the beach house, where the two of them took a nap (at least that’s what they said they were gonna do, altho it sounded from downstairs like a very “active” nap) and I took my morning shower.

When we set up at the beach, we laid out for a couple of hours conversing of the ramifications of cross-generational ignorance upon global environment, society, history, pathology, until some other friends of Boyfriend’s joined us, then the three of us (I, reluctantly) walked to the water. I had no intention of going in past my ankles, as the last time I was in ocean water farther than that was when I was a hairline away from drowning myself, but the Boyfriend ran up to me and grabbed me and threw me in. When I came back up, I said, “You didn’t even ask if I could swim!” He looked horrified, and apologized for traumatizing me for the rest of the day (I can swim). Completely uncharacteristically of me, I was in the water chin-deep, playing with the waves, and it was wonderful. The ocean was warm, and Boyfriend played with a bobbing jellyfish. “It’s the kind that doesn’t sting,” he insisted. They got out of the water too quickly for my taste, but I followed and we laid out on the beach discussing movie plots and shortcomings for the next few hours. I noted how different these people’s frames of reference are. They were joking about celebrity deaths, which is common guy talk, except the references were to various planes, their external structure, inner operation, etc. Apparently these flashy-careered (screenwriter; something Sony Pictures related; TV commercial producer) people all have pilots licenses. They were discussing celebrities’ drunk flying in the same casual mainstream way the people I’m normally around discuss celebrity drunk driving. Boyfriend, in making fun of my Chinese girl friend and I, alluded to the Thursday Wall Street Journal article about 2nd generation Chinese American spies in the engineering fields. Of course we hadn’t read it. When his friends got there, he made the same allusion in mocking us and they all knew what he was talking about as if it were the over-media’ed Michael Jackson trial. But I digress.

We soon separated to clean up. I got a nice hot shower rinse in Boyfriend’s patio outdoor shower (!!) and as my girl friend and I cleaned ourselves up, Boyfriend and the band went off to rehearse somewhere. My girl friend and I caught up on each other’s lives, watched TV, walked to the store and bought junk food, Tecate beer, Absolut vodka and Bacardi Vanil rum, then Boyfriend got back with groceries and made dinner for us (BBQ pork ribs, BBQ beans, seasoned almond rice, BBQed asparagus, BBQed corn-on-the-cob, chocolate sorbet, Vanil rum-n-Diet-Coke). Great dinner conversation goofing off with some extreme low-brow humor, great stimulating and thought-provoking after-dinner conversation, and despite their urging that I stay another nite and have breakfast with them before I leave, I left.

8 drinks this weekend. That is really uncharacteristic of me. Absolute appreciation for life, its beautiful details and friends, hopefully becoming more characteristic of me.

OMG, fking amazing weekend. Not that the weekend’s over; it’s only Saturday nite/Sunday morning. And I just got home from going out Friday nite.

Work was uneventful for the first time in awhile. After work, I went to Outback Steakhouse with coworkers and had an eagerly anticipated drink. Thought I’d try something new. Since martinis are my new thing, I picked an Aussie Purple Passion martini. Uncharacteristically, I downed it before the appetizers even got to the table. Also uncharacteristically, I ordered a second drink. My tried-and-true caramel apple martini. Downed that drink before dinner got to the table. Had a nice fish and steamed veggies dinner. I came home exhausted at 7:30p and got ready for an early nite as I took out my contacts, washed my face, and changed to jammies.

One received phone call and an hour later, I was driving to Manhattan Beach in a ghetto-casual getup, hair done, makeup done, contacts back in, to hang out with my girl friend and her new boyfriend and his band members. Yes, my girl friend is dating someone whose job-away-from-job is playing in a rock band. On the way down I dismissed the fancy that maybe I’ll meet some interesting people thru her tonite, and brought myself back down to earth thinking, “They’re probably a bunch of old folgies, I’d likely be disappointed.” Which has been the case with her boyfriends’ friends in the past. As I was getting close to the restaurant they were all hanging at, I was on the phone with one of the guys who was giving me directions, so when I got to a certain point my friend and the guy came out to help me find a parking spot and guide me to the restaurant. It was dark and I didn’t even see them, but I stopped the car at their direction as they saw me. My friend opened the passenger door and popped in the back seat of my coupe. She pulled the front seat down and directed the guy friend to take shotgun and give me directions. This friend dropped down to get into my car and I did a stunned gawk. This guy, who turns out to be the drummer in their band, is easily one of the hottest men I have seen in a long, long time. Dirty blonde hair, beautiful eyes, great smile, dimples, and from what I could tell, he sees the gym plenty.

Anyway, I got to the upstairs patio seating portion of this restaurant, met everybody else, and then they paid the tab and we all walked across the street to go hang out at a pub type bar playing loud rock music. The drinks there were strong, and I was ordered (yes, passive voice) two apple martinis. Those drinks tasted like apple-scented vodka. I felt a tad dizzy for a few minutes, and that’s saying a lot for me because I don’t ever get any other alcohol-induced symptoms (such as the typical Asian rosin). The amazing thing at this bar is, even tho I was with my hot hot girl friend, male eyes were on me instead of her. They may have been able to tell that she was with her man. One man across the way stared so intently and for so long that my girl friend noticed and said something to me about him. But she and her man also hinted for me to flirt with Drummer Boy, who apparently, according to both of them, was interested in me. I made some minimal effort to chat w/him, but it was too loud in there to carry on a decent conversation. We soon left to hit bar #2.

Bar #2 required about a mile of driving and some knowledge of the local streets to find parking. So my girl friend and her man suggested loudly that Drummer Boy come with me to help me out. We found parking pretty readily and went in the bar. Things got a bit friendlier, and as the minutes ticked by, Drummer Boy said, “I don’t think they’re coming.” I said that there’s no way my girl friend would do that to me. They did show up soon enough, and we had another round of drinks. Drummer Boy got me my old usual, a Redheaded Slut, but I had to lean into the bar and tell the bartender how to make it. A bit past midnight and some racy conversations later, my girl friend and her boyfriend tried to get everyone back to the boyfriend’s house to hang out, but Drummer Boy allegedly did the “polite” thing and hailed a taxi home, after firmly telling me that I am not driving home tonight after 5 drinks. I thought that was a bizarre end, but I learned later that Drummer Boy is really not a player and altho he can get girls, he doesn’t do the fling thing. Not that I’m a big promoter of the fling thing, but am I supposed to feel offended here? Anyway, I never saw him again.

Turned out Boyfriend’s house is walking distance from this bar, so we walked back. He has a very very nice place on the beach, well-decorated, full of whimsical artifacts from the 50’s. I slept on a big comfy couch downstairs after being warned that, as I’d never been drunk before, I will be hung over in the morning, and I may freak out not knowing where I am when I woke up. I said I’m not drunk, and I’ll be fine. My girl friend agrees that altho she’s never seen me drink that much (and strong stuff), that I don’t appear to be drunk altho I seem to be buzzing, which she finds to be unusual enough for me.

I miss someone.

I’m not being deliberately vague; I don’t know much more than what I stated above. I am missing someone badly and I can’t see his face, I don’t know who it is. I don’t know whether I’ve already met him or whether he’s someone I’m meant to be with waiting right around the corner. It feels like someone protective and warm, a tad older (I’m feeling 4 years), he’s got dark coloring, quite a bit taller than me (yeah, who isn’t?), athletic and healthy and open to new things and wholesome activities (read: NOT drinking and partying). What keeps hitting me is the feeling I have when I lean my head against his collar bone and his arms go around me. I feel like he figuratively turns me so that he’s against the wind, the rain, the burning sun, and I would be bathed in just the soft breezes and moonlight and filtered sunshine. He likes putting his hand behind my head to stroke my hair as I press my cheek into his chest. He also likes to pick me up — wait — I just got a highly disturbing image/thought.

…oh, gawd.

…Yeah, I’m going to bed.