I'm so relieved to be going to Hawaii in a few days. Excited isn't the appropriate word because I plan on taking it easy, beaching myself with a drink and taking intoxicated naps. Of course, my friend and I will drive around the island, visit the Polynesian Cultural Center, hike Diamond Head and shop daily at the International Market. But overall, I plan on hanging out on the beach. And by golly, if a drink happens to find itself in my hand ... who am I to question?
This trip is in lieu of celebrating my 27th birthday. Usually, I have dinner with friends and then we go out and I dance my little heart out. But I don't think I'm going to plan anything this year. Not sure why, guess I'm just not in the mood.
I cannot wait to take a whole week off from work. I actually get back next Thursday evening but I took Friday off anyway. How am I spending my time? Going to the doctor's for my annual lady exam. Good stuff. And maybe have lunch or coffee with my friends who do have to work that day. Or just cry softly into my pillow all day, curled in the fetal position, as I cope with my back-to-the-daily-routine depression.
All I know is that I am excited to be off work for an entire week. Whoooohoooooo!!!!
(All together now, "Hi LuLu.")
I ate way too much today. My major weakness? Pumpkin pie.
I love pumpkin bread, pumpkin shrimp bisque, pumpkin pie ... I'm Bubba when it comes to pumpkin.
I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Better yet, a bomb a$$ Thanksgiving. I had a huge lunch with my parents and a few relatives. In the evening, I visited my brother at his home and had dinner there. It was a very nice and easy day for me. I didn't bake but I brought pies. (Big shot out to Nation's and their scrumptious pies. They also make the best grilled cheese sandwiches but that's beside the point.) I had a great holiday. How was yours?
(I wrote this a few months back but never published it. But now, especially with all the food I ate today, I figured, "what the heck?" It doesn't bother me anymore.)All right, perhaps I'm masochistic. Who in her right mind would think, "Hey, I should get my body fat percentage" the week before her period. That's right, that's right, me. *bow* But I was influenced. My coworker, Flo, announces to us that she just took her body percentage and she had lowered. We are both on Weight Watchers. I ask her if she thinks Marge would take my body percentage, too.
I walk over to this personal trainer and ask her to take my body fat percentage. Marge asked me for my height (five feet) and if I exercise regularly. I told her I've been taking a cardio class and power yoga twice a week. So, never doing this before, I step onto the stupid bodyfat contraption and Marge says to me, "You are at 27%. What size are you?" I answer, "Five." Marge replies, "You're five feet, right? You should be a size 1." I look at her in disbelief.
Last time I was a size 1/2, I was 17 years old and had mono. Last time I was a size 3/4 was two years ago. I am currently a 5/6. I'm not happy with that but I'm comforted in the fact that I'm not that far from my goal ... a size 3/4. IT IS NOT POSSIBLE FOR ME TO BE A SIZE ONE AND HEALTHY!!!! I was stunned. Not even depressed, just stunned.
Look, I know women my height can be a size 1/2, or even a size 0. I'm related to a few of them. But with my built, I look best at a 3/4. And it's attainable. Hard as hell, but attainable. I might look good as a 1/2 (look at Nicole Richie) but I've never been a size 1/2 as an adult. What was an ego deflater was my 27% body fat. 27%!!! Dang. I thought yoga, especially POWER yoga, was suppose to tone and cardio (with weights) is supposed to be great for me.
Am I obsessed with my weight? Sometimes. Is it unhealthy? Well, I'm not binging and purging or starving myself. Obviously I power through my concern and manage to eat icecream, rice krisy treats or chocolate.*I told my coworkers about this a few days later. They were pissed. Evidently, Marge sticks her foot in her mouth regularly. And one colleague had a point - she said it was damn lucky I didn't have an eating disorder b/c that could have sent me over the edge. We have coworkers who, unfortunately, do. Marge also has a flabbier stomach than me. (I had to stick that in here.)
Inspired by Tater's recent blog entry ...
Two hillbillies walk into a bar. While having a shot of whiskey, they talk about their moonshine operation. Suddenly, a woman at a nearby table eating her sandwich begins to cough. After a minute or two, it becomes apparent that she is in real distress.
One of the hillbillies looks at her and yells, "Kin ya swallar?"
The woman vigorously shakes her head.
"Kin ya breathe?" asks the hillbilly.
The woman begins to turn blue and shakes her head no.
The hillbilly walks over to the woman, lifts up the back of her dress, yanks down her underwear and quickly gives her right butt cheek a slobbery lick with his tongue. The woman is so shocked that she has a violent spasm and the obstruction flies out of her mouth.
As she begins to breathe again, the hillbilly walks slowly back to his barstool. His partner says, "Ya know, I'd heerd of that there "hind lick maneuver" but I ain't never seen nobody do it!"
Going into my 27th year of creating havoc in this world, there are some things I've learned about myself. I've already told you five and we're just going to mosey into some more ...
6. Mama Lu likes to get her drink on. Granted, the atmosphere is different than a few years ago. Before, I could be found knocking back drinks in a club or bar. I now enjoy my drinks at a dinner party, restaurant, and if I'm lucky, by the pool. (Side note: Yes, it's true! After NOT singing karaoke all my life, I cracked this past weekend. It was the competition of an actual karaoke video game that scored points AND lots of rum & diet pepsi. I think I may be tone deaf.) Not to worry, I am not an alcoholic. My happy hours are few and far between. It's a blessing and a curse that I'm not allowed drink during my lunch hour.
7. LetyCrocker. I prefer to bake rather than cook. I wish I knew how to make filipino pastries but I fear that once I know the ingredients, I'll never put them in my mouth again. (Filipinos aren't known for their lowfat or low cholesterol food.) I like making cookies, muffins, and anything else I can whip up, throw in the oven and check on 20 minutes later. Cooking is too high maintenance for me. However, Pookiepie & P-hubby suggested I buy a crockpot so I might check it out. This baking bug was brought out when I had that marathon 1o- month break. My then roommates were pretty stoked (right, MsLips?) I believe I also baked when I was frustrated from bad dates. And MsLips can vouch that I'm capable of making a mean Puerto Rican eggnog. I know, that's alcohol. But still. Mmm.
8. TeenyBopper Tendencies. That's right, with no apologies. I read People Magazine. I like Veronica Mars (not the O.C. or One Tree Hill...that's too much teen drama.) I find a lot of meetings very boring and, unfortunately, many adults. And dammit, I like me some sparkles and glitter. I sneak them into my make up and clothes when I can. Forever 21 and Charlotte Russe are still my favorites (and will be for as long as I can fit into their anorexic sizing methods) mixed in with my Ann Taylor and Banana Republic pieces. I also like talking to teens which my job calls for sometimes. It's easy for me to sympathize and relate because I can remember clearly how hard it was to be in high school. Of course, I can only take teens in small doses. There's only so much teen angst I can stomach.
9. My inner-senior citizen. Guess these would be my grown up tendencies. When did I start thinking knitting was cool? Whatever, it is! While it does take a long a$$ time for me to complete a project, there's something instantly gratifying when I see my project get bigger and prettier before my eyes.
I prefer nights in with The Man watching comedies rather than us going to huge parties in the city. Don't know when the heck that happened but it did. I like "Girls Night In", slumming it in my sweats and enjoying a mixed beverage at a girlfriend's house over clubhopping and a "Girls Gone Wild" night.
But I haven't changed completely. I still like to go out and shake my thing ('scuse me, "thang") on special occasions. Heck, I'm still the girl who owns the flask with the etching, "Who's Your Daddy?" What's even cooler? One of my girlfriends has the matching flask with the etching, "You are, Big Papa."
10. Eclectic Humor (can I put those two words together?) The most random things make me laugh. I can't explain it. Like the word, snatch. Or The Man's really bad accents including the crack addict from the Chapelle Show. Hearing stories about the crazy parents at a Child Care center (oh yes, people talk), Robin Williams, bad dancing, reactions to bad dancing, King of Queens, little kids bickering, Filipino commercials, Adam Sandler and, by golly, The Golden Girls. It is the original Sex and the City. Blanche could teach Samantha a thing or two. Think about it, it's true.
Speaking of these lovely ladies, which Golden Girl are you? I'll tell you who I wanted to be ... Sofia. The way her face changed when Dorothy said, "Shady Pines, Ma, Shady Pines." Pure comedy.
things you can only say at Thanksgiving:
1. Talk about a huge breast!
2. Tying the legs together keeps the inside moist. 3. It's Cool Whip time!
4. If I don't undo my pants, I'll burst!
5. Whew, that's one terrific spread!
6. I'm in the mood for dark meat.
7. Are you ready for seconds yet?
8. It's a little dry, do you still want to eat it?
9. Just wait your turn, you'll get some.
10. Don't play with your meat.
11. Just spread the legs open and stuff it in.
12. Do you think you'll be able to handle all these people at once?
13. I didn't expect everyone to come at once!
14. You still have a little bit on your chin.
15. How long will it take after you stick it in?
16. You'll know it's ready when it pops up.
17. Wow, I didn't think I could handle all of that!
18. That's the biggest one I've ever seen!
19. How long do I beat it before it's ready? HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
And I don't mind a bit. I love this time of the year. I adore the crisp, cold air and all the holiday decorations. I know, I know, people think Christmas is too commercialized. And yes, Christmas marketing campaigns are launched earlier and earlier each year. (Look at your local Starbucks.) But I honestly don't mind. I dig the Christmas music, decorations and all that holiday cheer. Plus, there's another reason why I love December ...
my 27th birthday is just around the corner :)
Just like New Year's Day,a birthday causes a person to reflect on the past and assess the present. A few things I've figured out:
1. Weight will always be a struggle. But dammit, if I at least attempt to better myself in some way (eating better and/or exercising) I tend to beat myself up a lot less. I'm working on the chocolate addiction.
2. I like working for a non-profit. Definitely not something I was aiming for in college when I was even more stressed out and sleep deprived. Back then, I wanted to make as much money as possible, be a TV reporter and possibly be famous. I wanted to either be Oprah or Lisa Ling. (Oh all right, Suchin Pak! I wanted Suchin's Pak's job. She scored a sweet job as an MTV correspondent. Snatch. OK, OK, nothing is worse than Asian on Asian hate.)
Come to find out, some non-profits pay more than the cheap ass news stations, which isn't saying much. More importantly, I like making a difference in my community. Hot damn, who would of thought?!
3. True friendships become apparent. There are the friendships that occur because of circumstance (school, work, church, etc.) But when it becomes harder to get together, it's like natural selection. The superficial friendships fall to the wasteside. My friends are oh-so-fabulous.
4. I will be officially in my "late twenties." Dang. I don't know how I feel about that one. I'll get back to you on that. I know I'm not old but because I was in school for so long, I feel more like 24 years old than 26. Doesn't seem like a big deal right? Ask my sister. She's the one that pointed out I'm not longer in MTV's demographics :)
5. Praise be, I am much more selective about who I give my heart to than I was a few years ago. I've learned the traits that I like, dislike, what I can deal with and what is a deal breaker. Luckily, I've known for a while that I cannot and will not take a man that is a fixer upper. Nor will I be someone's fixer upper. I am "as is." And, thank heavens, The Man is perfect for me "as is." Can I get an amen?!
I'm sure there will be more reflection as my birthday draws nearer. In the meantime, I will enjoy all that is Christmas. The wreaths, ornaments, greeting cards and Christmas tree smell. Isn't that the best?
I know, people go to Vegas to gamble, kick game, dance, drink, get some action, see some skin and/or to eat at the buffets. (Did I ever tell you that I can eat my money back in bacon? It's true, don't try to challenge me. But that's another entry.) I'm amazed by the millions of dollars poured into Las Vegas to make it what it is and respect the entrepreneurs who are just trying to get theirs. But it's not my kind of town. I like the beaches, laid back attitudes and slow pace of the tropics.
I'm not complaining, this trip was paid for by work. And I figured going with a whole bunch of gung-ho vegas lovers would help me see what they see. Besides, half the time I would be at a conference shmoozing (I hate that word but it best describes the deed,) educating myself about my job and doing everything short of actually handing out my resume.
I wasn't a stick in the mud. The first night, I went out with the work bunch and downed glasses of rum and diet pepsi - no cherry diet pepsi to be found :( Danced to a band called Groove Kitten and apparently, I smacked of "sister girl" attitude because the ladies wanted to dance with me (in a straight, sister girl kinda way) so I shook my groove thing as long as I could. I think I even won over some coworkers that thought I was Miss Goody-Goody. We closed the place at 3:00am. In our drunk haze, my roomie and I forgot to close the curtains all the way so the morning light woke us up at 7:30am. Choice words were said for 15 minutes or so until we knew that we weren't going to get anymore sleep. Dysfunctional doesn't even begin to describe my state of the mind.
My roommie, Kat, is a Vegas lover and was determined to show me its beauty. We roamed around the Venetian, the Excalibur, and MGM Grand. I'm an occasional smoker but I was getting tired of smelling like ashtray. Knowing that I was dying to find out what was so special about Las Vegas spas, Kat lead me to the Grand Spa. Oh me, oh my, my senses were met with the scent of lavender and eucalyptus. Coming from the casinos smelling of cig butt, the spa entrance was like heaven. I must have looked like I was experiencing euphoria because Kat seemed thrilled that I was loving some part of Vegas. Mind you, we were just in the front entrance.
Kat suggested I try a hot stone massage, promising it would be good one. We asked the spa receptionists if there were any openings for early afternoon. Fate on my side, they said yes and would we be interested in checking in now? Shoot, if I was smitten with the entrance, I could only imagine what heavenly goodness was past those doors. Heck ya, check my a$$ in. We walked in an hour and a half before our appointments and were anxious to be pampered.
People, this spa was GORGEOUS. It is what every spa should look like or attempt to be. No longer will I go to a spa that lacks a lounge area. MGM Grand Spa had hot and warm pools, a TV area and a quiet area with comfy cushy chaise longues. Fruit, snacks, water, coffee and tea were also provided. We wrapped ourselves in luxuriously thick robes and dangled our legs in the hot tub. We weren't prepared with our bathing suits so we had to improvise. Ten minutes before our treatments, Kat and I go to the quiet area and relax. I was ready to nap when my massage therapist called my name.
Her name was Marla. I can't nor will I try to explain the wonders of her stone massage. Of all the massages I've ever had, hers was the best. Ever. I was ready to propose to her when she was done and I'm completely in love with The Man. She led me back to the lounge area and gave me a hug goodbye. As I exited this heavenly oasis, I signed my credit card bill with no regrets. Remember, the airfare and hotel were paid for by work. Plus, I didn't gamble, see a show or buy any souvenirs. (You bet your sweet a$$ I will justify this until the cows come home.)
Please, do yourself a favor. If you are ever in Las Vegas and need a little lovin', don't bother grinding at a club, going to a skin show or entertaining a one night stand. Or do. Who am I to tell you how to get your swerve on? :) But you also got to see Marla. She will make you feel like a million bucks. And you won't go home dirty*.
When I got back from my trip, I told The Man about my spa experience but didn't go into much detail. Our conversation went like this- Me: "I went to a spa." The Man: "Didn't you just do that?!" Me: I threw my arms around him, kissed him, and confessed, "It's like crack! I'm addicted!"The Man: "I think crack is cheaper."
I didn't tell him how wondrous it was because I feared he would ask me the cost. Then, because I try very hard not to lie to him, I would have to tell him the truth. Then The Man would have hit the roof and told me that that's ridiculous, don't go anymore and he would give me the treatment himself. I then would have to figure out how to explain the burns the size of softballs all over my body from The Man trying to give me a homemade hot stone massage. That would be all bad.
*(One of D-Doll's favorite lines.) All I'm saying is that you won't need penicillin or a special ointment when Marla's done with you.
Take care, friends! I will be in Vegas for the next few days. But I promise to catch up with your blogs when I get back. Cheers! ;)
I've decided to start keeping track of the stuff that really cracks me up. The following is a "funny moment of the week." (It was actually last week's but The Man reminded me about it and I cracked up twice this week thinking about it.)
The Man and I visited Pookiepie and PookieHubby last weekend and went out for dinner. While waiting for our buzzer to go off (estimated wait time: 25 minutes), the subject of babies came up. Well, to be more precise, the word "vaganus" came up and I had to explain it to PH. Damn straight The Man already knows about my vagina worries. Of course, Pookiepie told me that the pain is all worth it and you forget about it once the baby is here. I replied, "Mmm, I still say that nothing on the body is meant to rip. It's just not right." I think I even likened it to ripping a nostril - I'm known for comparing that. Hey, I know it's probably not at all the same pain but it's the only way a man will LISTEN to me. Of course, Pookiepie can't deny there is pain so she turned to The Man and said, "I'm trying to convince her that pregnancy is wonderful!*" To her credit, she gave it a good try but I'm pretty stubborn**.
Anyhow, Pookiepie started to tell us about a tape she and PH saw during their lamaze class. She then said something like, "Oh yah, it was really something!" and PH has this amazed look on his face so The Man thinks this is a positive thing and said, "You see? It's not that bad!" Pookiepie then replied, "Oh no! The tape was nasty! You saw everything, up close! There was so much vagina, it was like 24 hour Twat TV!"
Maybe I'm no better than a dirty 16-year old boy but dammit, she said, "twat!" I was howling. Of course, I then repeated the word, "twat" loudly and giggled. Oh, and OF COURSE we were having this conversation outside of the restaurant's front entrance, in a very public area. But I didn't care, it was funny. The Man couldn't say anything, he's the one that taught me that word! Good times, good times.
*No, The Man and I aren't trying to have a baby. He just hopes that one day I will be very excited about pregnancy. Humph.
**Don't misunderstand, I WANT to have kids one day. But I'm so afraid of the whole pregnancy process. If I could, I'd lay an egg and sit it on for nine months. But it's not an option so ... vaganus.
hell yah I'm going to vote*!! But I'm mad at myself ... I forgot that I will be in Sin City on election day. Does anyone know if I can still vote? And if so, how? Don't worry, I'm also going to ask at work today but I can't believe that the nine of us going to the conference never bought this up! So I'm asking you guys too. Freakin' Arnold, hoping and expecting a low voting turn out, causing a right-wing swing and his initiatives passing. I'll show you, you big Steriod Freak! What a silly silly man. Did he think he could get away with slamming nurses, teachers, and firefighters? Duh, OBVIOUSLY he thought he could. Shoot, The Man is part of IBEW and it's apparent that ALL unions are against Arnold and his initiatives. Even me, someone who has nothing to do with a union, knows you NEVER cross a union, much less multiple ones! Silly silly man. BTW - no, I'm not a teacher, nurse or a firefighter. But like I wrote, I'm a young, middle class ethnic woman. I believe it is EVERY woman's right to choose, that unions are overall beneficial and that the governor should GIVE BACK THE MONEY HE OWES our schools. As someone who is the product of public schooling, believe me, those schools need all the money they can get. I didn't think I was going to go off like that but you rile up the wrong woman, that's what you get. *Poor Sister. In my early 20s, I nearly gave her uclers when I told her I didn't vote. But then I realized, if I don't vote, I can't bitch about the state of my city, county, state and country. Well, we know that THAT'S not an option :)
I try to go to my yoga class twice a week. It's hard because it's at 7:00am and I have a 1/2 hour commute. Therefore, not only do I have to wake up early but I have to pack my clothes, toiletries, shoes, make up and lunch the night before so I don't have haul ass in the morning.
Unfortunately, I was too beat last night so yes, I hauled ass this morning. Worse, I didn't have my act together and felt compelled to put away my laundry. It made sense in the moment. Until I put away all my laundry, I wouldn't be able to pick out a good outfit for work. This ate up about 15 minutes but I had to do it. Silly, silly, silly. At 6:30am, I knew I had to get the hell-up-outa-here to make it to my class. I threw my clothes (and it was a cute outfit!), shoes, makeup and toiletries in my gym bag, ransacked my fridge to grab my lunch and then ran out the door.
Made it in time and had an awesome class. But after yoga, I had to jam to get ready for a morning meeting. I took a quick shower and went to my locker to get ready. A bit modest, unlike my fellow gym buffs in the buff, I used ninja-like moves to put on mah draws. Then I dug in my bag again. "Hmm, where is ... *hands rustling through my clothes* ...oh, no. Really? Shiiiiiit." I plum forgot my bra.
Now, there are times that call for going commando. Fine, sure, whatever. But I've never gone sans bra. Damn. (Before you even suggest wearing my sports bra, I wore a yoga top with shelf bra so that idea was out the door.) My mind was racing. When does the mall open? Which one of my coworkers is the same size as me? Obviously, I was desperate. OK, I needed to reevalute my situation. My blouse and trousers were black topped off with a shimmery shawl. Would the shawl cover my "lady lumps"? I hastily put on my clothes and threw the shawl over my shoulder, around my front and back over the other shoulder. Maybe, just maybe, I could get away with it. I finished getting ready and went to my office. I let two coworkers in on my little secret. They told me not to worry and they couldn't see a thing. One, in her forties, was impressed that I could even get away with it. Slightly comforting but still.
I felt odd the entire day. The shawl did the trick and no one knew otherwise. Thanks be for it too because the office is always COLD. I checked on my top-half several times throughout the day to make sure I stayed properly covered. I must reinterate that I felt WEIRD. It was like being in jammies ... but not. I even felt vulnerable. I don't recommend going sans bra and it's something that I will try my darndest to avoid in the future. (It's not unprofessional to make one of my desk drawers an emergency undergarments drawer, is it?)
I am now a believer that the brassiere is a gal's best friend. Dare I say a bra may even be called our protective armor?
