"Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you would cry..."

Two days and two hours before this year ends and a new one begins.

I was driving today and thinking. I do my best thinking driving or in the shower.

I was thinking about what happened 8 days ago when we were celebrating Rich's birthday at Wolfgang Puck's with my parents and his parents. At the end of the meal my parents took the check and started to pay when his parents said that they wanted to pay and then there was a brief discussion which ended in a decision to split the check between the two parties. There was a talk between my parents in hushed tagalog about making sure everything was even.

A quick background to this is that our families rarely see one another. The only times they met was when I first moved to college, when I graduated college, when we got married and Rich's most recent birthday. I think growing up (in my household) there was a slight unease towards anyone not of Filipino descent. "Other" people were something to be wary of so that their anger or uncomfortable display of emotions were not brought forth.

I'm not sure yet as to what bothered me about this. Could it be the fact that each party does not know one another well and to watch their interactions makes me uncomfortable, the accents make it harder for each to understand the other? Maybe it's just the pre-existing wariness I could sense from my parents towards non-Filipinos? I'll have to ponder this further.

Listing Out


Wow, it's been a busy and stressful few weeks with looking at new condos, hoping everything goes well, debating which place to go with, parents visiting and birthdays, signing papers, and packing and moving for four days, then unpacking and shopping for new furniture, writing and thinking, dreaming and cooking, wrapping and unwrapping, Christmas and singing carols and sleeping on air mattresses! Whew!

So we're living somewhere new, bigger and quieter. The neighbors are much nicer and lots older. Still at the same town but more secluded and upscale. I have a little nook to call my own and my kitchen is more open. The tub is separate so I can take tubbers in peace and I'm starting to feel like home. It was both good and bad to move during the holidays because it feels like a gift to come home to a nice new place but not so much when I need a new mattress and library and the stores are crowded or closed.

We celebrated Christmas last night with prime rib and roasted potatoes and veggies, ziti and cheese (my version of mac and cheese), homemade croissants, chocolate pudding, and orange cookies and an apple. We ended it by watching "It's A Wonderful Life" with me falling asleep at the last part of it. Went to mass this morning and felt goodly.

I'll write about the year for my year end review in a few days. For now, merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!

I'm Just Saying...

I don't think Rihanna can sing, and her voice cracks when she does.

A glue gun can make me look like Martha Stewart.

I hate stacked washer and dryers.

Getting a balcony for my plants makes me feel like "yay!"

80 degrees thirteen days before Christmas is yucky.

Having my parents come down before Christmas means presents earlier and free food! Mmm

There are celebrities that I wouldn't want to meet because whenever I see them on I always think that they have bad breath...

Going around town, into other peoples' homes, to see their decorations is fun and you get to meet all the creepy people that live nearby.

Not having my brother come down for Christmas makes me sad.

Finding out that earth, not water, is my lucky element makes me relieved because now I don't have to carry a heavy-ass bottle around with me everywhere.

If I love wrapping presents so much, why did I buy decorated tins this year?

What is up with the bad music nowadays?

Update On Life

A short time ago I watched a video and I felt that a little part of my innocence died. I still wake up to nightmarish flashes of it and can't seem to shake it. As usual, the world still kept going and I would make dinner, lunch, some meal for whatever time of day it was.

I've been experiencing a nesting feeling of sorts. I spent days cleaning and finally slowed it down today. When I started I had this anxiety that I would clean everything too soon and I wouldn't have anything left to clean (note, this is far from true). I had this desperate plea with myself not to take a toothbrush to the tile and scrub and scrub and scrub. Also, I've been staring at little clothes and cribs. I bought a once-live tree, decorated it, placed presents beneath it and am waiting for something to come along to add to it. I had the urge to buy bath salts and have a "tubber". I haven't had a lay-in-the-tub bath in close to 20 years.

I want a baby.

I've been wanting a baby since forever but now I've gotten weird-jittery about it. I don't know what to do with myself. I want to snatch someone's baby and put my nose up to it and smell baby powder, baby skin and milk (and hand it back). I spend time imagining what the baby would look like. A combination, but what about its hair, complexion and eyes? Light brown, darker brown, not brown at all? My nose? His nose? My chin, his ears? My hands, his personality? I try, coyly and with tears, to make him succumb into giving me a baby. Hasn't worked yet but I see him wavering.

In the meantime our ten-year relationship anniversary has come and gone and Thanksgiving was spent with coconuts. The tree has twinkling and steady lights, our first tree, by ourselves. Not our first Thanksgiving by ourselves and not our first Christmas by ourselves.

Damn mothers, my mother and his, for not giving me the answer I want!

I want!

Just say "Yes".

I have to go make the bed, cook dinner and get into the tub. See y'all on the flip side.

Me.

Update of sorts

Why is it so embarrassing to purchase a pregnancy test at the supermarket? I'm reminded of the days when I bought condoms at CVS. I must adore squirming under the gaze of a mother-like woman who looks at me up and down before and after she scans my item.

Me.

P.S. I am not pregnant! I think...

Julienne!!

I got your letter but stupid me I accidentally threw out the envelope with your new address on it!! Could you text me your new address, yes I still have the same number. I didn't know if yours still works. I'll give it a try.

Sorry!!

Eyes and Windows

The background part 1:
I have a windshield cover for my car because it helps block out that bright-hot Florida sun from infiltrating the inside of my car. It's still blistering when you get in but Rich thinks it helps so I put it up.

The background part 2:
In Florida we have parking rows that are one direction only, so that to enter you pull in and to exit you pull out, and all spaces are diagonal. You don't "pull through" and it's hard to exit if you do.

The story:
The other day, after shopping at the supermarket, I got in the car and backed up, lalalala, "oh good no one's behind me..." then I put the car into drive and drove a little when I realized that I couldn't see where I was going. I had my windshield cover up. What's weird is, I can almost swear I knew exactly where to go and how to drive without seeing, as if I had a sixth sense that was steering me. Almost like those cartoons where the character runs off the cliff and is going fine and dandy until something makes him realizes that there is no more ground beneath him and he plummets.

The end.

It's been rainy here the past few days and the moths have been a-swarming. I'm pretty sure I've counted 50 different varieties of moths. Grey with dark grey stripes, gold with brown stripes, grey with amber stripes, little ones, one big enough to be a sparrow, medium ones, black ones with white markings and whitish ones with black markings. They sit on the stuccoed surface of our hallways, little drab triangles that have been pasted up, and flutter only when the wind gusts or when the lights turn on. They don't make noise or spin webs, just silent observers of my comings and goings.

The streets have become mucky, the leaves have been blown off and night comes on quicker and stays a little longer. The pumpkins and my cat are out and there are strains of melancholic music that float along the air and nestle in one's ear, leaving you longing.

I love the Fall.

Warning! The Following May Contain Material Inappropriate For Children Under 13 and the Male Gender:

I bought a diva cup.
It got stuck.
We used pliers.
It hurt.
A. LOT.
There may have been a few tears.

I will try it again...


Me.

I promised I would have a blog yesterday... oops

Did you ever feel like not wanting to shake hands at church so you go to the least seated section, and all of a sudden, as if there were lights above you blinking "sit next to me! sit next to me!" over your head and everyone troops in, sitting uncomfortably close? No? Me neither...

I usually update what I did for my birthday, not for your benefit but for mine. Have you noticed that I'm getting older? By the time I'm thirty I'll have forgotten my name. It'll be good to have some form of documentation of what I did this or that year. But when the time comes that I'll need to boost my memory, the aliens will have enslaved us and are using our bodies as vessels in which to spawn their species... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

The evening before my actual birthday Rich and I went to the House of Blues, ate appetizers of file (fee-lay) gumbo and brick oven pizza. I had jambalaya and he had a po' boy sandwich. We didn't get dessert because I was too embarrassed to correct our waiter. I couldn't finish my huge bowl of jambalaya so when he came by he said "would you like a box for that?" and I replied "yes" and then as he walked away I said to him "could we also have dessert?" and he came back with the box and a check, no dessert menu. I figured he misheard me and thought I said "we wont be having dessert".

Instead, we made our way in the rain to the Haagen-Dazs store for some delicious ice cream and ate it, huddled outside, overlooking the lake, under a slim awning, trying to avoid the rain. It was very romantic. Rich had some hot fudge sauce on his chin and I had accidentally spilled mint chocolate chip on my shirt.

So that was the eve of my birthday, the next day we had two slices of cake, I blew out the candles, and munched on garlic bread roast beef sandwiches.

Yum!

Hey guys! Please go to this site and vote for my "comicsmix" blog!!! You're so awesome!

Click here to vote!

Will blog tomorrow about my life...

Me

Moral Obligation

Last Sunday I went to mass and went through the motions as usual, somewhat relieved that the priest was a different one from the week before, although, I found out too late that he wasn't any better either. Really the point of this particular blog isn't about priests who speak with affectations or the ones who suffer from obesity and stuffy noses.

This is about that part of the mass where you say 'Lord Hear Our Prayer', I believe it's called "Prayer of the Faithful", this is where the cantor reads a list of things we wish to have and the churchgoers respond with the above phrase. One such example from that list is: "Lord we ask that you look upon those souls who have passed away and to comfort their family (not a true word for word but you get the gist) and then we all say "Lord Hear Our Prayer".. and so on, down that list we go.

There are two parts that I disobediently do not respond to and the first is: Lord we pray that you watch over those unborn children and that you change the minds of the mothers to a pro-life stance.
It's not exactly like this, and I think it's even harsher than this, I almost don't mind asking for this. The dilemma is that I appreciate womens' rights and I don't want someone to tell me that I can or can't have an abortion and yet I wouldn't want people to throw perfectly good babies away... hmm, I'm not wording it correctly, sounding a little too black and white, too silly an argument.

Well, whatever, it's my blog...

The second part where I don't respond is when they say: Lord we ask that there be a Christian outlook throughout this nation and that our leaders also think in this way.
Bah, I wish I brought my tape-recorder... anywho... I would fully put my heart and soul into this prayer if what they meant by it was that everyone be kind, to think of others as brothers and sisters, to follow the teachings of Jesus and by their actions show how good it is to be a Christian and to inspire those qualities in others, but I truly believe that they mean this in a way that segregates non-Christians in this nation and puts them as second-place citizens in a world that only wants their views seen and no one else's. I think they want leaders, not to go around extending their hearts and goodwill to others around this world, but rather to go about voting that abortion be banned, that war is good if done under a Christian cross, that only Creationism be taught in schools...

I dunno, maybe I can pray for the last one, only under the terms of how I want it and specific, like wishes.

Oh one more thing...

here's another link for y'all. And you can also access them through the links on the right.

Click me!

Zelda and Link(s)

Hey all! Happy September!

I love September, not just because it brings a little reprieve from the 'hot hot sun' of August, but mostly because it is my birthmonth. Which means I was conceived around Christmas time of '79.

Here are a few links to my new sites in commemoration of it now being September!
Click here, here and here.

There might be one more coming soon!

See y'all there.

"Oh Oh Oh, Listen To The Music"


For the first time ever I went to an RPM class. That's basically a trademark name for "spinning" or "cycling". It was totally intense. I rode on a stationary bike, increasing or decreasing the resistance, pedaling away, sometimes standing up or sitting forward in "aerodynamic mode".

What I thought was absolutely hilarious is the way the instructors (I also noticed this with my dance aerobics instructors yesterday) love to sing along to the music that they are playing and make comments along with it. Here are some examples...

Today, pedaling to Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy":
"I hope you guys are having the time of your lives!
Ha ha ha! Bless your souls!...
'Cause you're about to go up a hill!! Stand up!!...

I think you're crazy!!
I think you're crazy for going up another hill!! Wooo! Stand up!
No you're not crazy for working out this hard!!

And you guys wont definitely die when you're done!"


An example from yesterday's class was when Timberlake's "SexyBack" played and they both yelled,
"Come on ladies! You gotta bring sexyback! Yeah!!
You're bringing sexyback, and back and back four more steps! Yeah"

All in time with the beat and music. Both classes came with the mantra: "Listen to the music, feel that beat and move to it!"

I thought it was great, and my sore legs can prove it.

This is not a part of the "Hellhole That Is August" series...

I grew up in the Bronx's east side.

Here, maybe this will help a little. See the picture? See the buildings on the right hand side, right over the school bus? Now see the brown building and the little row of pink-ish ones? I lived in the first of the pinkish ones, lowest on the hill, right beside the brown one.

My brother and I would walk to the bottom of the hill, round the corner on Carpenter Ave. and head over to school and back again. Everyday, on the way home from school, we would pass the same street cart, right at the corner of the mechanics shop, across the street from Our Lady of Mercy Hospital.

The smells coming from that vendor's cart were mouthwatering. It was the typical New York street cart with the umbrella casting a shadow over the man, the aluminum cart with wheels and compartments that stored boiled hot dogs and the condiments. But it wasn't the hot dogs we were tempted by. It was the smell of grilling onions and peppers. The cart vendor sold kebabs.

We'd walk by and I'd eye him slyly to see where that smell came from and what it was. I heard someone ask for a "kebab" and saw the vendor pick up a skewer with onions and peppers and meat on it, dripping with juices. Now, we were brought up on a diet of Filipino goodness full of soy sauce and salt and hot rice. We also knew french fries and hamburgers well. We often had mom's style of shish kebab, which was basically, marinated pork cubes, skewered and grilled. But we never had onions and peppers mixed into it, and certainly not beef or whatever that meat was...

So, one day, my brother and I discussed the possibilities of perhaps sampling this cuisine and decided to buy just one, to share, along with two cokes. We pooled our money, walked cautiously toward the vendor, pointed to one of the sticks and the cokes. He extracted a kebab from the pile, rolled it in some foil, handed that and the cans to me.

I can't remember how much it was. But I do remember the disappointment of bland, tough, meat and undercooked onions and peppers.

From then on, we were cured. Never again would we fall for those smells. We did buy an occasional boiled hot dog (I hate boiled hot dogs) and soda. We went back to chips and soda or just whatever was waiting for us at home.

I have, since then, created my own shish kabobs, cubes of marinated steaks, skewered along with peppers, onions and sweet cherry tomatoes. Served on a plate of rice pilaf makes it perfect.

At least the sodas were always cold.

Me.

The Light At The End of the Tunnel Turned Out To Be A Train
a.k.a. The Hellhole That is August (Part One)

So, as some of you know, Rich and I are looking around at potential towns and homes. We've driven hours and hours out of our way just for a piece of good earth where we can set our roots and grow a family. Some areas were actually not too bad and we based this on the scientific evidence known as "checking out the supermarket" and "driving around and seeing how bad the poverty is". Of course we drove past and through a number of trailer homes and mobile homes, some clean and over 55, some were a mess with cars on cinder blocks and people just covered in dirt. Literally.

Lots of people in pick-up trucks with heavy accents, toting the Confederate Flag, not once but twice or more. Of course there were the glimpses, the teases, of rolling hills and lovely, perfect homes, in the distance (literally and figuratively meant). There was poverty and there was opulence, sometimes just two blocks down from one another.

We changed our minds again and again, forgoing the acreage just for a nice little house with a backyard and back again. Nothing compared to a lot of the amenities that our current town offers, i.e. wide sidewalks or any sidewalks at all, proximity to places that we go all the time, and more than one supermarket...

So why not just buy into this town? Because of the crushing expense! To buy a one bedroom condo is already out of our home price range! And there are people here who are just so disgustingly rude, brash, cold, entitled. Yes, I hate to say it, but many are from north Jersey! I know, what a horrible thing to say! When I worked in a hotel, we would dread February because that's when "they" came and it was a month of complaints, of screamings and insistence that they get it YESTERDAY! Thank God Feb. is a short month. Man, you'd think that once they moved down south they'd relax a little. It's not that they are full of it, because that title goes to Texas... where everything is big, even egos, but they are full of s*it.

Yes I'm mad at them, they make my town unlivable and therefore make me want to leave and end up in a place that isn't picturesque, that doesn't invite one to go biking or rollerblading, running or just walking.

In conclusion, we may just rent another year here until we find something more suitable...

haha

It took me an hour to write this post because I got caught up on reading all the sites that hate New Jersey people. And we don't mean you people who live in south jersey. You're basically in PA or Delaware anyway.

Join me for part two, the hellishness of cars and their break systems, as my series on "the hellhole that is august" continues.

Me.

P.S. Countdown to the end of August: 10 days left!

Boogiefever

I love when my windshield wipers or my blinker keeps time to the music I'm playing...

"I still don't have the reason" blink blink
"And you don't have the time" blink blink
"And it really makes me wonder" blink blink...

When I was younger I'd drive with my brother around New York, I'd say, oh this is the kind of neighborhood for this type of music and I'd turn to the hip-hop station or the rock station (gotta keep it p.c.) and raise the bass, lower the windows and sing along or just nod to the beat. It was fun and a little wack-o.

Sometimes, here in Florida, I'd turn to the salsa y reggaeton station, lower the windows, crank up the bass and pretend to shake my booty, like I was Boricua or somethin', joo no?

The other day, I swear I saw A.J. from the Backstreet Boys, driving beside me, in his Suburban, singing to the same song I was singing to. Something by the Plain White T's.

I like to drive around listening to music.
The End.

Me.

Harry Potter's Birthday Is Tomorrow

Did you know that Harry Potter and I are the same age?

My b-day's a month and a half away.

My cat vomitted on the rug. They look like pinkish, orange, wet, turds.

I've had a cold the past few days and my voice sounds heady and stuffy.

I want an RV and go around the country in it.

There is a concentration of apple cider vinegar at the bottom of a stubby glass by my herb pot.

The air conditioner has yet to go on and the room is beginning to feel dizzyingly musty and warm.

I wish there were separate apartments for smokers only.

I want to go out and bike around the campground.

The palmetto bug that lives in the stairwell plots the best way to fly at me and bite me.

The wasp sentry sent a thug to fly by my head and intimidate me. They know that it was I that killed their friend.

I really like my scrambled eggs with scallions and melted cheese.

Titan gods are awesome and scary.

I think I have to go now.

"No Good Deed Goes Unpunished"

That, to me, is such a pessimistic quote but, nonetheless, it ran through my head today when I saw someone who needed help and I had a solution for it. I'm still wondering if I had done the right thing or should I have done my first initial inkling.

Early this morning, I was at the Wal-mart a few miles down the road and just getting back to my car when I heard someone mention my town's name. Looking around, I saw someone who needed directions and was asking someone else for them. The man gave that person general directions and even a specific landmark to look for. That person then stood there and looked around, saw someone else pull in and asked that person for directions.

That was the back story, now here's the dilemma...
Whilst I was heading back home and could easily have told the person to follow me to the general location (initial inkling) I then thought, well maybe I shouldn't because I am a lone female and what if this was just a scheme of some sorts? Then of course it volleyed back and forth, so that I sat in my car and thought awhile on it. I saw that the man (yes it was a man, hence the restraint) had an actual print out of where he was going and seemed to have two children waiting around in the car, but then I thought, what if those children are decoys and are really to help put someone's barriers down? I then saw that after asking two people, who both gave him general but helpful directions he still stood there as though unsure, so I thought, hmm, what's up with that? But then I thought, well, he has out-of-state plates and I would be dubious with such info, especially if I had somewhere important to go to, and maybe he was holding back 'til someone gave him very specific directions. I know people who are terrified of driving without specific, inch-by-inch directions. However, he was wearing very inconspicuous clothing and a baseball cap and sunglasses...

But in the end, my prude-ness/caution won out and I drove away without helping him but left with nagging thoughts about not helping a fellow human being/what would Jesus do?/I should have been more friendly as befitting my town and my general disposition.

What do you think?

I definitely would have helped a woman with kids. Men, you're on your own...

Me.

"And Hell Yeah, I'm The Mothuhf**king Princess"

Ima gonna tell y'all a little storeh.

Picture it... all-girls high school, 1997-1998.

My final year in a school that had grown increasingly inadequate, in other words, it was getting too small, literally and figuratively. I yearned to breathe the fresher air of some other place, to meet other people and no longer have the same 70 girls I've known for four years around me. I was tired of the fug that I breathed day in and day out.

The feeling was mutual. There was a dramatic shift in our final year together. Cliques and best friends no longer spoke to one another and it was a year for outcasts. Many new islands formed at lunch, with girls who were ousted and suddenly found themselves breaking bread with nerds, a rejected 'princess', smellies, cheerleaders... There was also an outbreak of wars between people who had been sewed at the hip to one another the last three years. That year, Ebony and Erin had a screaming match during homeroom. Ebony was seen running down the hallway and was followed by the clatter of a desk as it crashed against the walls. Melissa and Annmarie didn't speak, didn't look at one another, except to glare and whisper some lie or truth about the other. And both sets of twins were out for the other set.

All around me hell had broken loose. It seemed that our tight bonds were succumbing to the pressure of the ever-increasing crush from a school that was shrinking. People wondered if we would make it to graduation day or would we eat eachother alive.

I see now that many of the friendships were made in self-defense. These people would hardly have been best friends in the outside world but forced to do so in such a small environment. Given a glimpse of a freedom our eyes finally saw what we hid from ourselves the past three years. These people sucked! Why did I ever listen to one thing she said? She's just so stupid!

I think back and wonder if maybe it wouldn't have escalated so far if we were a bigger school, a school of hundreds in one graduating class rather than 70.

At this time my friendships had started to pull apart, there were no screaming matches or knives in backs, there were still phone calls and shared lunch tables and gossip. But this was the time I met Rich and so I drew apart, often watching what was going around me in disinterest. It was surreal. I didn't get caught up in all the politics, and a part of me had foreseen this the first days of freshman year, when everyone began to form, and so I wasn't surprised when it did happen. The feeling was almost "didn't I read this somewhere?" or "wasn't there a movie made about this?"

In the end we picked up the broken pieces, trying to hold everything together with some invisible tape but the cracks were showing, the damage was obvious. Some people managed to forgive one another "for the sake of what once was" and the rest of us held together with the attitude of "grin and bear it, it's almost over." So we made it to graduation, without a hitch, but once I said 'goodbye' to everyone, I never looked back.


Fin.

Me.

Oh yeah, my ten year reunion is coming up.

When last we left off, our fearless hero was about to commence with a battle. A battle between bad and good, of millions against one. Would our hero make it out alive?


Yesterday I sprayed "oust" into our rubbish bench, just outside of our door. Before I sprayed I could only describe the smell as heinous. A rancid mixture of decaying vegetables, meats, cat poo, and other things and added to the mix was the heat of the July sun and humidity beating upon it day in and day out. Not a good combination.

So, feeling badly for the people who pick up our mess every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I sprayed away. It was a citrus fragrance that proclaimed that it got rid of odor causing bacteria via death. Like some lab experiment, the smoke rose and billowed in waves, rising from the depths of the trash bag, off the sides of the bench and into the hallway. I imagined millions of odor bacteria swept up in a vapor tide of death, emitting high pitched "noooooo"s before succumbing to the light at the end of the tunnel (so to speak).

Then, after exhausting my trigger finger, and feeling somewhat victorious I started to march back into our place/pad/flat/abode... and then I got a delicate whiff.

It smelled like lemony poo.

Me.

Lost In Translation


I know that relationships have an inner language, like you all don't know what "morsels" or "huddons" or "ellbald" are.

I thought of this the other day and wondered if we were to have kids, I would have to stop some of the talk because I wouldn't want my kids to grow up thinking that those were real, correct terms for things. For example, my mom used made-up words for private parts and so I grew up thinking that those were the actual words for them, until one day I told this word to someone and ended up getting laughed in the face, finding out a little too late that this was not the correct term.

I also don't want to end up like my parents and a lot of other parents who refer to eachother as "mom" and "dad". Ew. Imagine, it's so used in your vocab that one night you look over at your husband or wife and say "mom/dad, let's do it." Blghh!

But I wonder if the inner language can still exist, even with kids, but separately? Or will it vanish slowly or get outgrown and old, along with shoes and clothes and toothbrushes? Or just wont be as sharp, or will be replaced with new words? I'll let you know.

Me.

P.S. Hope your fourth of July was spectacular!

The Space Between

Happy Summer everyone!

Just wanted to relate to you that we live in a strange little complex. We've had nicknames for everyone, basically since the day we moved in.

There's "man-who-sits-in-jeep-talking-on-the-phone-all-day-long". Now mind you, his jeep's one of those without the windows, just clear plastic to protect the back seats and it's been very hot and humid here. I just don't know what he's up to.

Then there's "old-hippie-guy" who lives a few doors down, walks around with really long hair, and seems kinda stoned and once we saw him carrying one of those really long plastic cup things that they put beer in.

There's "the whore" and her sister. We don't know what she does for a living but there's always a new strange guy hanging outside of her apartment, and she's always running into strange cars. The dreaded sister chases us downstairs, literally. And I tremble in fear to hear her coming down. We don't even know if there's a parental figure or if the whore and her sister are really, "the whore and her child" (which would only make sense if the whore had her when she was 8.)

There's man downstairs who has a funky smelling house and likes to abuse his balcony rights. He sits on his balcony talking, and talking and talking (and sometimes arguing) at top volume on his phone, whilst leaving his balcony door open so that the smells from his house waft up and smack us in our nose. At the beginning we considered writing him a note, but then, luckily, the heat turned up, so that we have the a/c on and close the windows.

There's the newlyweds who must live somewhere else half the time. Before man-downstairs-who-has-a-funky-smelling-house-and-likes-to-abuse-his-balcony-rights moved in, his next door neighbor, who just happened to have the same name as moi, would hold nightly chats on her balcony to some unknown on the other line. She would discuss her upcoming marriage, the upcoming marriages of her friends, her honeymoon and life in general. We got to know them (her and her fiancee) pretty intimately. We've always just guessed at who they were since I've only ever seen the back of her head. She no longer talks on her phone on her balcony and I think they must live somewhere else half the time.

There's uber-tanned bleach blond older woman with bad smoker's voice and keeps a younger man. They have three dogs and they yell out their names as they walks them down the street. Not good when you've got a voice like that. We often speculate that maybe that's not her "boyfriend/husband" but rather her son...? I doubt it though, or else her son's quite affectionate. And he's much darker in complexion than she, even with a tan.

There's an assortment of peripheral people that we only know by this or that like
semi-mentally retarded guy who lives down the hall and runs if I happen to be going down the same walkway he's on. Don't know much about him, but it's disturbing to see this streak of a person dash past the columns and around bends. I never know if he's just waiting to ambush me, and there's "business woman" who all I know her from is the clip-clopping of her heels at 8:30 every morning, except weekends. There's countless people who don't know how to parallel park, right below us. Which makes for an amusing few minutes.


Not too bad. I've got a whole world outside my door.

How's your life?

Gotta run!

Me.

My parents came for a visit for the past few days. It was good to see them and as usual I had a good time and enjoyed having them around. I also worry about them much more now because my brother and I no longer live full time with them. Dad's knee surgery has taken a toll on his legs and after a long day of walking around parks there is a noticeable limp and my mom doesn't look as she used to. Everytime I see them I am forced to face the fact that my parents are getting older. They're in their 50's, so there's plenty of time still to see them and enjoy their company. I worry about their health and well-being but they seem more content and at ease with life now that their kids are gone. I really want to have them take a cruise just for the two of them, I know they'd enjoy that.

I wonder if they'll spend time together every day once they retire. I wonder if they'll get a pet, like a dog. I wonder if they'll still retire to the Phils. Mom commented that if she were ever to retire here in the states, she'd like it to be a place where there was land aplenty for her to garden and raise crops. I wouldn't mind too much if they moved to Hawaii, which has similarities to the Philippines but has the safety of being in America.

Well I'll enjoy them for now and see what the future holds for them.

Me.

Look Both Ways

In our town, where yielding to pedestrians on the crosswalk is the law, I like to play a little game of chicken. It's all in my head of course. It goes a little something like this...

When I allow a ped to cross the street, I smile politely to show them that I harbor no ill feelings and give them that quick flick of fingers to indicate that they should and can cross safely. During this time I look them over and either dismiss them or play.

I like the older folks.

I give them a head start and right when they're slightly more than halfway done I inch my car forward. If or when they turn their heads I still have my smile on and maybe give them a half shrug, "oops". Then I watch them scurry quickly out of the way, believing they see something a little sinister in my smile. What they don't see or hear is the command of my game, where the inner referee shouts "kill him!" Except the inner referee has a speech impediment so it comes out more like "till 'im!" (Or maybe inner voice is correct and wants me to "plow them down"?)

And that's basically the game. A nice little secret fantasy that I play.

Until yesterday.

I played this game with this little old man whom I'd categorized under "professor". He carried an umbrella that doubled as a cane, had on a fedora, and small, thin-rimmed glasses, a pair of tweed, pressed trousers into which a linen shirt was tucked and pulling at his collar was a small brightly colored tie.

What sort of unseated me and made me engage into the real play mode was that he was a nervousy fella, I pulled to a stop at the crosswalk and looked at him with my smile and gestured with my fingers. He stared at me for what seemed a long time as if reading my thoughts and hesitated in the safety of his concrete curb. I waved impatiently with my fingers, instantly knowing that this was perfect play material. But he seemed to have read my mind because he stood there still as if he was thinking it over. I could see the gears going, "she wouldn't hit me here, in daylight! But no one else is around, what's to stop her?" But then I flashed him my smile encouraging and endearing, removing all source of hidden intentions and that sealed the deal.

He crossed, but unlike anyone else he kept his gaze locked on mine. Just a step beyond halfway I urged my car forward. His eyes widened in shock and I gave him my little shrug, "oh well". Luckily he mustered a shuffle and hurried across. From there he watched me drive past, still staring, his fedora quaking.

He had seen me mouth "till 'im!"

Beware when crossing the street.

Me.

At Least It Wasn't A Bikini Top

It's always weird to find someone wearing the same outfit that you are wearing, what's weirder is when the person wearing your outfit is a man.

Rich and I were out for his running/my biking outing and lo and behold there in the park sat a man with the exact same top I was wearing.

I did a double take and then continued to bike along. He didn't notice since he was caught up in his reading.

What's worse is that he had matching pants on!

What is this world coming to?

Me.

What Do You Do With A B.A. In English?

Thanks to Wikipedia I know exactly what I'm suffering from. I am in the midst of a QLC. A quarter-life crisis. For those who can't do math, I'm going through a mid-twenties crisis. The symptoms include the following:
* Feeling "not good enough" because one can't find a job that is at his/her academic/intellectual level.
* Insecurity regarding the near future
* Insecurity regarding present accomplishments
* Disappointment with one's job
* Nostalgia for university or college life
* Financially-rooted stress
* Desire to have children
* A sense that everyone is, somehow, doing better than you

But what do I do? I read the article, I know the symptoms, I know that others are suffering this maddening depression as I but what do I do? No one else tells you these things. It's as if, once they've endured and crossed the abyss they forget about what they went through and never speak of it again. So, which path do I choose... stick to my job or indulge in something different?

There's an entire network but no one has seen the light end of the tunnel. Well a few people come back to report that everything is fine in the future, but I tend to dismiss this and tell myself that I'll be better than that person.

My belief is that most people reach the end of this trial and they are lifted into some sort of other worldly craft, brainwashed and set up with a job and a family. They are programmed to like it and to earn enough income to have a stash for retirement and college funds.

Why haven't they come for me yet?

Me.

I am an unapologetic morning person.
I love mornings.
I love the cool semi-darkness before the sun hoists itself up over hills, and trees, and condos before spying in on me. I love the morning noises and smells, of dogs barking and eager to release bladders, of groggy non-morning people shuffling around their shadowy places, stumbling with the routine of making coffee, trying to put the day off as much as possible. I love mornings for its promise of a new day with possibilities, its newness, fresh and unused. A present everyday. I usually wake up at a dead run. I'm up, cognizant, and most likely can win $1,000,000 on one of those shows where that is showcased as the top prize.

Rich is a night person. He sleeps until the morning was no longer. He is up and running once the sun waves goodbye to me and slides under the blanket of night. I know the lure for him is the quiet that night offers. The yappy, distraction of a pretty-brown-girl has been tucked into bed and most likely snoring away. When most people are winding down he's just cranking on, and I believe the solitude is as promising as the idea of millions of people waking up with me thrills me.

Opposites attract, what can I say?

Me.

Shut Yo' Face


Sometimes when I am driving alone in my car I make a face. Not a funny, stick your tongue out, cross your eyes (and dot your t's) and tilt your head at a funny angle face. It's a serious, brooding look, where I purse my lips, squint my eyes slightly, gripped the wheel tightly, and look straight ahead. It's my "leave me alone, I have serious, important! matters on my mind" face. I only do it when I am at a stop light or if I know that there is good visibility on me from oncoming cars, like the days when the sun is shining in my face.

I do it so that I can wonder what the person in the other car may think.

I also do it when I'm at the supermarket but instead of a wheel I grip the handle bar.

Are You There God? It's Me, Michelle

So, I'm in the market for a new church and I've been checking out what my new town has to offer. Church for me, for the most part, has always been a good experience, draws me closer to a sense of equilibrium, closer to God.

I have not been to church in over two years, since moving down here and living up in Massachusetts. Whenever I went home to NY I'd try to catch Sunday masses or if not, then weekday masses. I still pray and when I go walking I see and feel God in everything around me, but only recently have I started walking again and I don't think saying "oh God" in bed constitutes prayer.

So, feeling disconnected and since it's a Sunday I went online and saw the choices I had. I picked four interesting/safe/ooh huh?/hmm churches, from the town website.

First was "The Church On The Edge" which is actually held at the Loop and not in my town, but funny enough, Rich and I stumbled upon the Loop the other day while driving around (is this a sign from God?). They claim to create "F.U.N." people. People who focus, unite, and nurture in God's love and purpose. It actually looks as if they're all older people trying to gear towards the younger gen. and missing it by a few notches. What's interesting is that it seems more like a convention meeting with topics and series rather than what I was used to...

Which is the good ol' Catholic Church, safe, something I'm used to and comfortable with, something that doesn't really change and something cold and aloof and prudish. It's actually held at the high school cafeteria and that's different from all the little chapels and churches I've stepped foot in all my life. I wonder if they'll have holy water beside the double doors of the cafeteria, and will I have to sit on benches or individual seats...

The next one, which is the town's community church, is also held at the high school but a half hour after those prude-y Catholics leave. What's a little daunting is that they claim "you'll be met by the friendliest people in the whole world. You are guaranteed not to make it to your seat before someone introduces themselves and asks you to sit with them ". Ahh. That sort of throws out a few warning signs because I like the anonimity of my Catholic Church, except for that purge in the middle/end where we shake hands with our neighbors. Then I scroll down further and get a little more disappointed because they spelled "plugged" wrong. So instead they write "get pluged in" which sounds like a dirty deed with other congregators. hmm. I hate bad spelling. I pluged it in my ear!!!

The last one, the church worship held at the AMC movie theater, their website looks like a tech site where I buy junk for my ipod and computer. What I like is that I can get their podcasts and watch a sermon video and download free music for a limited time*. Also dress is casual which is kewl, although, I do like to dress up once in a while for church.

What's odd is, are they all going that direction where it's just about Christianity and some other religions thrown in once in a while and no staunch, real sect and denomination? I'm more unstable now than when I began!

Maybe every Sunday I'll try a different church. I'll even attend the Havdalah Shabbat Service next Saturday at Temple. I'll be a progressive theologist. Going to church or temple, mosque or cafeteria every Saturday/Sunday. In a way, I rock this idea (still trying out a new phrase) because by being a part of everything I will know my fellow man and perhaps find the understanding I need to be less judgmental, more forgiving, more Godlike. Who doesn't want to be a god or, goddess, in my case. Or I'll just become so oversaturated that I don't care about anything or anyone. Really it all boils down to the same thing, which is, we're all the same so we're all screwed.

What a good way to start the morning!
Cheers,
Me.

*You cannot download free music for a limited time!!

Meh. One Big Meh

Yesterday, one of my co-workers said to my other deaf co-worker (what a label), "Yeah, those parrots can get loud, can't they?" I will miss these people so much.

I suspect there is something going on with those two because a few days before this she had proclaimed that he was loud. I told him that he should be impressed that even the hearing impaired found him loud.

We moved into our third story condo rental (I will attach that hated word "rental" because for some reason I grew up with a stigma towards condos and I don't know why) on Valentine's Day. It is just like how I imagined it with a few reality checks thrown in. None that were too realistic (so no burst bubbles for those of you who thrive on that sort of thing). The first two days we ate at the diner downtown, which was only one minute walking distance from where we live. The second night we ate there, some man who worked there said to us, "I remember you folks from yesterday," then later he said to me, "Well you come here more often than I have so you know what this comes with" or something to that effect. I kinda rocked that. (I'm trying out a new phrase).

So far so good, even with this cold weather. I don't mind cold weather too much, just that it makes me want to make soup and not go out for my daily walks around the park. Yes, two days does constitute "daily". Today, I will walk around the park and then go to the Farmer's Market held at the downtown square area. I need a few things, or so the excuse goes. Jollygoodtimes holds a Farmers' Market every Sunday. If this is promising then I will be delighted come next Sunday, for I shall be off from work, permanently from my current role and on Monday onto something new.

I'm toying with the idea of going to some sort of religious ceremony the upcoming Sunday, then I can be like the rest of the yuppies, in their Sunday regalia, walking along enjoying the quaintness of my little town and its Farmers' Market, held at the heart of town. I try to sound like I'm not enthralled, but I'm a poser, and secretly I love it.

It's four in the morning and I've been up an hour. My body woke me up at 3 on the dot because it was convinced that it was 5:15, eight hours of sleep. I punished it by turning on a bright light and forcing it to write a blog of its own topic. And now it lazily yawns and wants to go back to bed while my cat howls at the door of the little closet that holds our tiny washer and dryer. It's the only door we've kept closed and she hates not having an open door. She doesn't even do her sweet little "mew"s but rather commands and demands with "MOW!!" "MOW!!" She's pushy but I wont budge from this chair.

Alright, maybe this once...

Night night.

Me.

Birdsong

I saw a dead duck on the path yesterday. It wasn't a duck, it was some kind of water fowl. If pressed to give an answer I'd say it was a cormorant.

It was rather ugly and it lay on the path at an odd angle with its one eye opened, staring blankly up at the blue blue sky, the other must have been pointed at the darkness of the concrete below. It took up the middle of the path, as if to say "look what you've done, you can't ignore this!" Its variegated feathers were darkened and somehow the curved wings were trying to flair out in a mockery of flight.

I admit that when I saw it from afar I thought it was only a crumpled black trash bag left behind, or perhaps a trash bag that had escaped from one of the trash barrels and being caught up by a strong wind, was borne or flown to that spot. Deciding that it preferred the ground to the sky.

It died by human causes. That's what I've been trying to get out this whole while. I didn't see clues to this the first time as I cautiously walked around it, fearing that it was only asleep and would be cranky if woken up. But I took note of the strange angle of neck and staring eye and thought to examine it on the way back. When I returned I still cautioned my movements, and peered carefully at it. Behind me the plants in the pond were pushed about by the wind, which caused them to applaud morbidly at me, at the world. I noticed that there was a nearly invisible taut line appearing from its back and I followed the line to its neck and it disappeared into its face. It appeared to be fishing line and I cast my mind to all the possible ways of death and I saw the bird as it stumbled and flailed and gave one last gasp, one more squawk, a birdsong, before finally dying.

Me.


I try not to apologize for this, but its one of my human qualities. As I walked away I wished I had my camera with me. It's a strange fascination with me and dead things.

Little Town, It's A Quiet Village

I am sitting at my window of my third story condo in the city of Jollygoodtimes, also known as heaven. I can see the waterway and the few happy people strolling along, leisurely, with dogs or significant others in hand. Behind me a sound of something delicious is simmering away on the stove and Mr. Hellegood is chasing some vivid dream, just around the corner. Outside the town is encircled by a light morning fog which further helps me to believe that we have stumbled into an unchanging, unreachable Shambhala.

It's still quiet, that early morning hush that only myself and a few others have experienced. I expect that any moment someone out there in the misty streets will begin singing our morning reveille in some sweet, ancient tongue that brings the sun bursting forth from the horizon line, where it's lain, hidden and waiting for the correct cue in the song. Our day will soon begin.



This hasn't happened yet, not for a few days at least, but I'm there already. I've been there for a few months now and I can't believe it's actually coming to this. My ever optimistic side is rolling around, nude, (if anyone cares to know) with the idea of living here, and maybe naively, thinks nothing can go wrong. However, it is my cynical side that writes better and I truly am mortified at my optimistic behavior, (i just washed those!) and am waiting, two steps back, for some god who dislikes hubris to come bearing a large wooden horse. We'll see who'll win out, I believe in the beginning my optimistic side will win the battle but in the long run, I shall win the war.

Well g'morning to you. If you're looking for me I'll be in the little town diner down the street exchanging gossip with the townsfolk.

Me.

Happy Birthday to Julienne!

Onto the post...

I was fishing around for carrots in my pot roast juices, the carrots bobbing around like flashes of golden koi swimming in murky water, when I thought about my fellow bloggers. Those fellows that I don't personally know except through their sordid ramblings on their public blogs. I missed them and in a way they were my muses, my inspiration that helped me make sense of things that I saw throughout the week, the day, the hours of my life.

So I started on the least familiar of the few of my once favored bloggers. Still had it. I was in awe how he made his daily life seem funny and new and the breadth in which he wrote was amazing. Short, succint and all-emcompassing ...enviable. Then I moved to the second on my list, he, on the other hand, wrote posts that were novelas, but still engrossing and thought-provoking. Then the third on my list? One of my favorites. I read and found that he no longer found use in blogging, that he had lost the spark that caused him to write. Perhaps he was happy? I wish him luck in his travels.

It was like finding someone whom you were close with in some forgotten past had died. And you grapple with the idea that you will no longer have something to look forward to because although you were no longer close friends you still could take comfort in knowing that they were around. Perhaps you'd stumble into one anothers' path somewhere down the line, and now they have ceased and yet you still continue, no lucky chance meetings.

It was very upsetting really. All this imagined turmoil in my life is caused by little things, that add up and make up the drama that keeps me in check, and keeps me writing.

Did y'all notice that my blogs have sucked ass the past few times that I wrote? Can you guess why? I gave you the answer two paragraphs down. I was happy with life, with work, with everything, and now, my blogging abilities have picked up, why? Take a gander.

Me.

Who's Charlie?

So I was thinking the other day what I would choose to be if I was given the chance, or if somehow everyone in my life was taken away from me and I was left with nothing. (I was in the superhero mood.) I don't think that I'd like to be a superhero, but just be kick-ass sweet. They don't make enough of those women, and when they do they never are the total package. For instance, Uma Thurman's character in Kill Bill etc. yes she's awesomely strong and good at what she does, but she never uses her assets, if you know what I mean. Lora Croft is the same, yes? There's always a cold exterior that pushes everyone away. I've never watched Alias so I'm not sure if she does or is she always cold too? I'm not a big fan of Buffy either, because, well she's not that awesome either, kinda weaky looking to me. I think the women who always get away with using their sex and femininity as a weapon are always portrayed as the villains. That's probably why, given the chance I'd be a villain.

I want to be the female version of James Bond. For queen and country, smooth and sophisticated, and never bothered by anything. Strong and sweet and killer. Hahahaha. I'd be an amazon goddess, no man can conquer me!

Yes, lame I know, but I gotta end it somehow.

That's all for now.

Me.

Bad Spellers Of The World, Untie!! *

Today at the fruit market I saw an 80 year old man (an octogenarian) waiting in a car that had a rainbow license plate. He also had rainbow colored lei hanging from his rearview mirror. I looked on in wonderment. "Does he know what that stands for?" I went into the store, purchased the goods and went out. That's when I saw him give a kiss to another older gentleman who had gotten into the colorful car.

Then a thought occurred to me, "that's why they're at the fruit market."

Me.

* This has nothing to do with the post. It just makes me giggle.

Happy New Year All

Ten days later...

So what's new? I guess I have to do a quick year-end review or something of that sort. Well, 2006 was a good year. I was married, yet again. Moved jobs twice, meaning I am at my third position in the same company, unless my previous stint at retail and front desk count for anything then this is in reality my fifth position. This should be under the heading of positions of meaning, because I've also done fast food stints with this company. Eh, whatever. I could have almost added "moved to a new place" in 2006 but we never did so I can't.

How did I celebrate the holidays? I went to work, got paid well, opened presents, got good ones, went to sleep, missed the ball drop but started out the new year pretty well.

I've lost my ability to write, I can now only write mundane, factual, unembellished notes. Sorry that I bored you to tears but I should be up an running soon. Something's there.

Me.