I love you, I hate you

I entered University the fall of 1996.
I did not drink, smoke or do drugs.
Boring little chickie, wasn't I?
Some thought it started because of the guy I was dating.
Others thought it was the friends I kept that influenced me.
But the truth of my sin began with a children's play. Truly!
I auditioned for a Japanese children's play (No, you didn't have to be Japanese and no, I don't remember the name!) My professor, Edgardo, asked me to audition and next thing I knew, I was a sea urchin. Now that I think about it, all three of us sea urchins were about the same height. That's probably why he asked me.
There were many, many rehearsals. And I was always stuck in the green room with the chatterbug and the mom who was sweet enough but her toddler must have been Rosemary's baby. I HATED waiting for rehearsals. Finally, I went outside with the smokers and just dealt with the cold weather and the hideous smoke.
I had tried smoking a couple of times before earlier that year and ended up coughing, choking and turning rouge (I'm a brown girl - I don't turn red, I turn rouge.) But it only took a week for these smokers to realize I was not smoking.
"Why are you out here?" one asked.
I couldn't very well tell him that his non-smoker friends bored the hell out of me and I'd rather inhale secondhand smoke than listen to the girl that was trying to convince me (and herself) the benefits of declaring a major in Theatre and if I wasn't sure Speech Comm was for me that, without a doubt, I should change it to Theatre. (Before I get the beat down, I know nothing is wrong with that major. In fact, my dear Sister had that major which made sense because she is an actor. However, you try listening to ANYONE trying to convince you for days on end that the major she chose is the best and can be utilized in any profession.) And I won't even go into how listening to a spoiled child throwing tantrums is enough to make anyone want to stab her eye with a pencil. Plus, all these actors were friends and I think I was the only non-theatre major in this play. I couldn't ruffle any feathers. So what did I do? I lied.
"I don't have a cigarette." I replied.
My fellow urchin and only real friend present said, "Oh, why didn't you tell me? Have one of mine." And even packs the little cig for me, bless her heart.
Since I tried it before, I knew how to light a cigarette without looking like a dork. I just didn't know if I could smoke it without looking like an ass.
Somehow, I did it. And so begun the five year love affair ...

Me from 1997-2002 "I love you, I love you, I love you!"

I don't regret my time with these smokes (excluding any future bouts with cancer.) They carried me through dorm life, excruciating exams and papers, a six month break up, many a rough bar and clubbing nights, and a job from hell. They were sometimes an icebreaker, sometimes a friend maker, often times a stress reliever and always a crutch.
I knew I wasn't addicted (everyone says that, right?) But really, I wasn't because there is only one thing that I thought was addicting to me (an entirely different post altogether.) I knew this cigarette thing was like my ex boyfriend - "it's gotsta go!"
A series of events helped me quit. When my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer, I knew I was being stupid by smoking because I was pretty much begging for lung cancer. Shortly after, I started grad school and, surprisingly, barely any of my friends or classmates smoked so there was none of that fun socializing that I enjoyed with my smoke. And then I started dating The Man who met me as a smoker but really really wanted me to quit. Oh, and then I needed to go on BC and was warned by my doctor that I would be more likely to get cancer if I mixed the two.
Well, son of a biscuit. If those all weren't all not-so-subtle hints smacking me upside the head, I don't know what you would have call them.
So there you have it. I am now one of those "non-smokers" that I used to hate. Why? Because I say "HELL YA!" when it comes to increasing the tax on cigarettes. I could give a hoot if it's $10/pack and all the money goes to hospitals or whatever else that lame ad says. Again, I say "HELL YA!!!!" And I hate, HATE, the smell of cigarette smoke. I will take cigar or pot smoke any day over cigarette. My clothes and hair soak it like a sponge and why should I smell like an ashtray when I didn't even get to enjoy the cigarette myself???? "Get the f*ck away from me, smoker!" Which leads me to "Hell-mutha-f*ckin'-yah you should be at least 20 feet away from the building!" You leave your butts everywhere (EXCEPT for you few courteous smokers who bother to walk around until you find an ashtray or garbage can) and your smoke still goes into any open door, window or vent near you.
Told you. I am the former smoker that present smokers hate. Of course, I don't ever say these things OUTLOUD to smokers (I used to be one, I know how edgy and balls out they can be) but that doesn't mean I'm not thinking it.
Again, I say tax the muthaf*ckin' packs. Maybe then minorities and the low-income population wouldn't be the ones targeted by tobacco companies. But I won't even get started on that.

J to the O to the B

I didn't know what I should write. But I can't be a hypocrite because I hate, HATE, it when y'all don't update your blogs. (You're my entertainment, dam-mit.)

I decided to write about something that I usually stay away from (so as to avoid any outcome similar to Dooce's.) But it is what I do for 9-10 hours of my day - WORK.

What am I?
A staffing manager.

What does that mean?
Marketing, recruitment, and sales of temporary, temporary-to-permanent, and direct hire staffing.

What does that really mean?!
This is the MOST interaction I've had with the greatest amount of people on a daily basis. In all my other jobs, I've always worked with people (unlike, say, a data entry position which I had and only lasted three weeks before I quit.) But it was usually the same people with a handful of new folks that I would meet from time to time. At my job now, between recruits and companies, I meet (or at least, talk with) a large group of people every single work day on top of the colleagues I work with daily.

I love to talk. But the energy it takes to be "on" all the time can thoroughly exhaust a person. And it's not like I can take a break because there are goals I have to obtain daily, weekly and quarterly. For the most part, I've adapted. The job, above all, has taught me to how to maximize the most out of my time (and there still isn't enough hours in a work day!) This job is about goals, money, and tons of interpersonal communication.

Obviously, I'm not shy. I definitely have "bashful tendencies" but I would still describe myself as an outgoing person. After all, I am Miss Comm. Major! But even I am often out of my comfort zone when I'm at work. I truly wonder how anyone shy could do this job when even I feel awkward at times. I came into it having no background in sales but I have been wanting to try sales for a long time. If anything, just for the experience because I think it's necessary in order to be a good business woman.

But, as I mentioned before, I am spent when I get home. I hardly talk to family or friends. I found that the best thing for me to do is sit on the couch with The Man and watch episodes of "24" while I knit. The Man, not being much of a talker himself and also dealing with a great amount of stress at work, has found comfort in our routine. We may sound 50 years old but WE ARE HAPPY.

Does it sound like I don't like my job? That's not the case. It's certainly challenging, though, because it's something brand new to me. And, without sounding like an ass, I'm used to being one of the best. Not necessarily #1 but definitely on fire. And here I am, this rookie, working with colleagues who hit their goals and bring in the dough. Of course, I knew this coming into the job. In fact, it's why I took it.

When I was in college, I realized that the best way to kick ass in my classes was to surround myself with people better than me. Not only were most of them naturally brilliant and had a great work/study ethic but they made me do my best so that we were equal. F*ck that, I wasn't going to be the stupid one in the group. So I adapted the same philosophy when I looked for a new career. I wanted to be part of a group that rocked because I would get better faster.

The problem is that when you have that competitive nature (like me,) even when you just want to be equal and not necessary the best (like me,) you tend to come down on yourself hard when you don't progress as fast as you would like (like me.) Right now, I wish I was doing better. So I've made it a vow to work longer hours, even if it's just an hour more a day and a couple of hours more once a week. Why? Because after talking to a few people who are ranked the best in the company internationally, all of them said being successful can't be done within 8:00 am - 5:00 pm.

"But what about the Work/Life Balance I was promised?" I cried in my head.

Well, I weighed my options. I could do OK and work the standard 8 to 5. Or I could just put in a little more time. Considering that many of my friends who are in Sales have to travel and work weekends, working one more hour a day isn't all that bad. Plus, I already don't want to talk when I get home so what's one more hour at work?

I have a goal to make a certain amount of money by the time I'm 30 years old. And as long as my relationships with my family, boyfriend and friends remain in tact, I'm willing to work myself a little harder to get there. Is it my forever job? I don't know. But I've also made a promise to myself to give it at least two years.

Plus, a gal can still dream of being the traffic reporter in Hawaii.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE MAN

The Man is 29 years old today. This is the fourth birthday of his we've celebrated together.

For some reason, we have made it a tradition of celebrating the day of his birth with a big meaty meal. I'm talking some serious meat. Last year, we were in Washington and my Sister and WGD took us to a BBQ place. This year, we went to Cattlemens and he had a steak bigger than his face.

No, really. It was.

Even though he makes it a point to NOT read my blog (thanks, hon!) I feel that I should honor him because he's such an important part of my life.

This Man has become my best friend. He is so sweet, kind, and very, very funny! I feel privileged because I know most of the world sees him as this quiet, shy and reserved guy. But with me, he's super funny and talks a lot! He is also hot tempered, passionate, and very, very talented. (But he's a bit like Snuffleupagus - people don't believe me when I describe him to be this way, especially his temper! Like it's a figment of my imagination. How he has you all fooled!) 9/2/06 Addendum: I forgot to add that he is extraordinarily handsome AND goofy. I love that about him. He's one of those "late bloomers" so he's this mix of gorgeous and nerd. He probably wouldn't appreciate that description but he knows I'm right. Sure, The Man has some idea that he's attractive. But his first 17 years of dorkiness keeps him grounded. Suave, he is not. And I love that! He is my Clark Kent.

This Man of mine is a genuinely GOOD person. He is generous, caring, and chivalrous. He would do anything for his family and friends. He still opens the car door for me. He insists on going outside with his Samurai sword when he hears something suspicious (don't ask.) There is no such thing as a perfect person but he is perfect for ME. I am so blessed and thankful that he is in my life. I love The Man with all my heart!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Sweet Mary, Mother of Pearl ...

I plum forgot, dear Blogger ...
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!!!
Last month was our one year. Forgive me, I was a complete as$hole. No flowers, no chocolates, not even an e-card.

I've made it a point to never blog about anything too personal. I usually judged that by what would get me in trouble.
Sometimes, I don't use my best judgement.
But overall, I think I've been pretty good.

I adore this little online journal because:
1. I'm able to vent. And most of the time, get some validation.
2. It's easy to keep in touch with Sister and friends. The daily grind and sheer laziness make it hard for me to stay in touch. Thanks to this blog, it's a lot easier. And entertaining!
3. I made new friends. For instance, the Milan sisters! And dear Karaway, wherever you are.
4. I'm still writing. Now that I'm out of school, I hardly ever write anymore. And while this is a far cry from academic writing (not that I'm knocking you, my fair Blogger) it keeps my mind stimulated. And that's always nice.
5. Hours and hours of browsing. It can be a good and bad thing but when it's late at night, and I can't sleep a wink, Blogger is there to keep me company until I was tired enough to "shut down."

So Blogger, thank you. Can you believe a year and one month ago we started with this? Happy Anniversary!

Spreading the word of Lulu

If you know me at all, you know how much I love, love, love this word.
It took six months ...
behold!

VAGANUS

Now, who are the jackasses who gave it a thumbs down?!

They obviously can't handle the truth.

Please give it a thumbs up. And silently give the middle finger to all those perverts that gave vaganus a typical meathead "Beavis and Butthead" definition.

Featherweight ... it's a good thing

In my early 20s, I would slam a shot and then be drunk off my ass.
In my mid 20s, I hated my job so I loved happy hours and drank like a fish on the weekends. I could down seven drinks (shots and frou frou mixes) before I felt goo-ood.
Now I'm in my late 20s. This evening, I met a friend at this trendy little restaurant and ordered one rum & diet coke and sashimi for dinner. Ten minutes later, I was three sheets to the wind and had to order roti prata to soak it up. Because, no lie, I was tanked.
When did I become a featherweight again? Ahh, just as well ... I'm damn near "college student" broke.
Aren't I a little young to be full circle? I'm a cheap date AND poor. All in less than a decade.

Before you ask, yes, I'm still a smidge drunk. Just a smidge.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, POOKIE!

OK, I think I'm on time with this Milan sister ;)

Have a Happy Birthday, my friend! It's been so much fun hanging out with you and getting to know you even better through this little gizmo called "Blogger!"

I look forward to hanging out with you, Tater and the men folk in Disneyland come November. I keep telling The Man that I'm really pulling for you guys to move here. I figure, once Tater gets her duff to the Bay Area, you guys will HAVE to follow.

I know I'm so blessed that my boyfriend's best friend is normal and good guy (not to mention he has a kick ass family) so I'm determined to have you guys close by!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, POOKIEPIE!

I got nothin'

Sorry, I don't have anything. I've been waiting for inspiration.
But I got nothin'.
I was browsing through my old entries and I forgot that I had written most of them! Part of me wishes I had organized them and catalogued them by subject.
But I'm too lazy.
I pretty much know who reads my blog (the peeps who comment ... it's not rocket science.) And I like to read them, too. So my question to you is: "Have you looked back on what you've written and realized that you had completely forgotten that you had written it?"

Happiest place on earth?

+ =
Traffic + Huge Disneyland Crowd = A Peeved Lulu*

OK, so I went to Disneyland this weekend. I've already chatted with my local Disneyland expert, Tater Pie, and she is aware that if I am to go back to Disneyland, I'm going to need the following -

1. A driver. Or a plane ticket. It was an eight hour road trip. Eight hours. (We made a pitstop in Fresno.) Sure, I wasn't driving. But I was trying to keep the Man company because he was so sleepy from a hard week's work and he already drives 2+ hours on his daily commute. We didn't get to our hotel until 2:00am. I woke up at 6:00am. Maybe I need to take a day off so it's a three-day weekend but I don't have the time off so I have to squish it in 2 1/2 days.

2. Less people. I knew I didn't deal well with crowds. This just confirmed my suspicion. It is very very crowded in Mickey's hood and that just isn't my scene. That's why I don't shop during the Christmas rush. Tater assured me that it will be less buck wild in November. I couldn't move freely, there were people everywhere. And, of course, that meant a variety of people with a variety of thoughts regarding personal space. Some need very little. I am not one of those people.

3. Strollers. I'm not hating on families or little folk. But I hate - let me emphasize HATE - the people who charge at me with their strollers, nip my heels with their strollers, or basically use it as a defensive device. I don't want to play football, I just want to walk peacefully, man.

P'tater assured me that my next trip will be a lot of fun. I hope so. Or I might have to push some people down in the happiest place on earth. Just kidding. Maybe. I'm looking forward to going in November. I think it will be really cool to go right before the holiday season. Does anyone know when Disneyland puts up their Christmas decorations?


*Isn't that the cutest angry pup you've ever seen?!

Thank you, Demondoll & Kim ...

... I love me some survey forwards.
I don't really like them.

And now you do, too! I know you don't really, either.

To quote Dave Chapelle who quoted Rick James (with a slight alteration), "I'm Lulu, Bitches - Enjoy yo'self!"
I don't really think you're a bitch, I just like to say it.

Four jobs I have had in my life:
1. ALICE 97.3 Sarah & Vinnie Morning Show Intern
2. Bare Escentuals make up artist/ sales associate
3. Burlington Coat Factory Sales Associate (exactly ten years ago!)
4. ABC7 Television Production Assistant

Four movies I'd watch over and over (or have watched over and over):
1. 50 First Dates
2. My Big Fat Greek Wedding
3. 10 Things I Hate About You
4. Ocean's Eleven

Four places I have lived:
1. San Franciso, CA
2. Hayward, CA
3. Daly City, CA
4. (That's it, there's no 4th! Does Treasure Island count? It's kind of part of SF, kind of not.)

Four TV shows I love to watch:
1. Grey's Anatomy
2. The Office
3. So You Think You Can Dance (Guilty pleasure!)
4. 24 (just got hooked this summer)

Four places I have been on vacation:
1. Oahu
2. Maui
3. Phillippines
4. Germany

Four of my favorite foods:
1. See's milk chocolate truffles
2. Sushi
3. Sashimi
4. Shanghai lumpia

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Santa Cruz
2. Waikiki
3. Bicol
4. Any big Las Vegas hotel spa

Four friends whom I have tagged that I think will respond:
1. Miss Lips
2. Pookie
3.Taters
4. yer mama

How I met the Man

Back in 2001, my old roommate had been dating a boy named Arniel. I ended up getting him a job and we started to hang out after work. He would bring along his roommate/best friend, Lorena. We all partied hard together and had lots of fun.
They both belonged to a service organization and Arniel asked if I would narrate a documentary he made for them. Lorena's parents were having a party to celebrate the money and in-kind donations the organization raised to bring to the Philippines. I was invited because of my participation in the documentary. I had attended another party that same day (it was at Tel and Sassy's!) and I found it hard to tear myself away ... there was wine and cheese, for crap's sake! But I felt like I should go to the other one so I did. I brought my friend, Regina, with the intention of only staying an hour and making my way back to Treasure Island.
I drove us across town to Lake Merced. The party at Lorena's ended up to be an intimate gathering. Dammit, no way to slip out without notice! There were about six people there, sitting around the table. Regina sat down at the table, looking at me, silently begging me to bring her back to the other party. I stood next to Arniel and Lorena's as they introduced me to everyone. I met Lorena's mom and dad, a family friend named Gus and Lorena's other best friend, The Man.
Regina and I snacked a little, watched the documentary, and asked about trip preparations to the Philippines. True to my word, after an hour, I told them we had another party to attend (I left out that it was the same party we just came from) so Regina and I had to leave. We wished them a safe trip and they all said good bye. I was excited to get back to the drinking festivities back on Treasure Island.
As we headed back, Regina asked, "What did you think of the guy next to me?"
"The Man?" I replied. "What about him?"
"Don't you think he's cute? I think he's very cute!" Regina exclaimed. "You should find out about him! You know I'm not particularly attracted to Asian guys but he's cute!"
"I guess so. But I think he's gay." (Yes, I actually said and believe it.)
"What?!" Regina blurted. "I don't think so! Why would you think that?"
"I don't know! He's so handsome he's almost ... pretty. He looks very put-together. No straight guy could care that much about his appearance. Besides, what straight guy wears a snug sweater?" (It's true.)
Regina replied, "I think you're wrong!"
"Fine, I'll call Arniel. He'll tell me." I said.
I dialed his cell. "Hey! Are you still at the party? Good. Are you near The Man? Well, walk away from him then. Hey, is he gay?"

Pause.

"He's not? Are you sure?"

Pause.

"Oh. No, no. I just assumed is all. Thanks!"
"Well, what's the verdict?" Regina asked.
"Mmm, you were right. He's straight. But you have to admit, he was very pretty!"
"Whatever, you should go for him. He's cute." she insisted.
"Mmm-hmm."

It would be three more months before I would run into The Man again.

I received permission from The Man to write this entry. And before anyone thinks I was off my rocker, more (gay and straight) men than women commented about my new boyfriend's good looks. I suspect he may be the pretty one in this relationship!

I know, I've been a very bad girl

I hate it when y'all don't blog. It ticks me off because I'm reading the same stuff. I wonder, "What's going on? No one is too busy to blog! I mean, just a few lines, for crap's sake! Give me something to read! Criminy."
Now I done did it to you!
Well, I'm tired.
It's the week of my 7:30am - 6:00pm shift and I'm pooped.
This past weekend, I attended a bridal shower retreat. My friend is pretty awesome. (She's the one who picked a dress that was under a $100 and a something I can wear again.) Maria decided she didn't want a conventional bridal shower or an expensive spa treat [sidenote: I am A-OK with a spa retreat, believe you me. But since this wedding is in Hawaii, I appreciate not having to spend money.] We went to her mom's cabin in Sonora, drank, swam in a swimming hole (my first time!), drank, swam in a lake, drank, sat in the hot tub, went fishing, drank, and ate a lot of food. And drank.
OK, I actually didn't get drunk. I just sipped a little bit all weekend to sustain a nice buzz. With the heat and the hot tub, it was pretty easy to do. Because now that I'm in my late 20s, it is unacceptable to yak. It's just bad form. I mean, we all need to learn from our early 20s, right?
Now I'm tired and this work week is lasting F-O-R-E-V-E-R. And it's only Tuesday. Hot damn.

Random thoughts while driving to work

Break-ups.
Rest assure, Jon-Jon and I are just dandy. Here, let me quickly give you my train of thought. "What to write about. Exs. No, exs are such a negative subject and, personally, a waste of time. The Man. I'll write about how we met. Oooh, that's good. But wait, what about that time between the ex and The Man? Shoot, I will never forget how much break-ups hurt."
So there you have it. Break-ups.
I remember being the breaker-upper. Sure, I was the one who got to call the shot and sort of prep for the situation. But it still sucks. If you're an overall good person, you don't want to be the asshole. And that's what you are when you're the breaker-upper. Doesn't matter if you didn't cheat. Doesn't matter if it's because you need to focus on something else (and when is it ever really that?) It doesn't matter what wonderful rationale you may have in your pocket. You're still the asshole.
I remember wanting to do it for a while but being chicken. And I remember the moment where I just broke. That's the only word I can think to describe it. He had flaked on meeting me and my friend in the city because he was sick and he had wanted me to end the night with my friend right then and there, go home, and take care of him. I remember not feeling a twinge of sympathy but feeling very frustrated and exasperated. I remember him saying, "Do you want to break up with me or something?" just to be dramatic. But, to his surprise, I answered and said yes.
I also remember being the brokee (you know what I mean.) Well, I was cheated on so "same smell, different taste." I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't breathe. I wish I could say I was exaggerating, that I took it a lot better than most, that I was one bad ass mo'fo. But I would be lying. I was a freakin' wreck. I could not stop crying. What's funny is I wasn't even in love at this point. I just felt betrayed. I think what freaked me out is that I had no control and that person's love seemed like one of the few sure things in my life.
I smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. I would take advantage of happy hours during the week. I went out every weekend because I couldn't stand being by myself. I talked to anyone who would listen about how big of an asshole he was. I was hurt, I was angry. I was scared to death that no one would love me again. At least, as much as he did and he obviously didn't love me as much as we both thought he did.
It took a while. I think it took at last six months before I could sleep through the night. Eventually, I was OK with being home on a Saturday night and just watching TV. I knew when I was no longer sad and bitter that I was OK with being a single woman. That I liked being a single woman. Because it was far better than being with someone who was all wrong for me. And then one day, and I wish I could remember the exact day, I was actually able to say that I am HAPPY. My life is good. I have a marvelous family, fantastic friends and a truly good life. (Sure, I bawled my eyes out watching "In Style: Celebrity Weddings" but who doesn't? I didn't even want to get married!) Despite that, I was a happy young woman. I was in my mid-20s, ready to kick some ass and take some names.
Then, some months later, I met The Man. But that's another entry.

Captain Save-a ...

Bunny.

What did you think it would be?
My Man, Jon-Jon, is THE Man. But you knew that already. He has a heart of gold.
When he was living with two roommates last year, one of them got the bright idea that he would take after his uncle and raise bunnies. For food. Never mind that Mark had never ever raised animals with the end result of making them a meal. Or that he lived in a suburban neighborhood. Or that he just sucks big balls for wanting to mate bunnies to end up slaughtering. Yah, I said it. (And that's not even why I think he sucks. But you'll soon understand.) For whatever reason, Mark wanted to raise two bunnies and turn them into fifty. Or something like that.
Their other roommate, Mario, was indifferent to the whole idea. He is also related to the uncle that raises bunnies (he's Mark's cousin) but didn't give two hoots what Mark did. Anyway, Jon-Jon had no idea that this hairbrain idea was cookin' in Mark's head until, one day, there were two bunnies in their backyard, like so -


"Awwww." Of course, how could I not think that as soon as I saw them? Well, they don't like people. They scurried away as soon as they smelled, heard, or saw you. I admired the bunnies from afar.
They didn't have a cage, they just roamed free like some dog named Sparky. They ate the grass but since Mario wasn't much of a gardener (it's his house,) it was fine. Weeks went by and they just lived in the backyard. Then Jon-Jon would repeatedly tell me that he would come home and see their water bottles empty and no food in their dish. Soon, he was feeding them. Then they ran out of food. Then Jon-Jon was buying their food and treats.
One night, probably after six months went by, we were on the phone and I started laughing, "Baby, you are a bunny owner!"
"No I'm not!" He exlaimed. This is a man who loves dogs and, to this day, tries to convince me that we should own a german shepard because surely I will think they are cuddly. I'm still not convinced.
"My love," I said, "no matter how prissy you may think it sounds, it's true. You are a bunny owner."
Fast forward to the beginning of this month. The bunnies have been there for nearly a year. Jon-Jon moves out. But he still picks up his bills from his old place. And for the past two weeks, he's dropped by and picked up his mail. Out of habit, he checked on the bunnies. They didn't have food or water.
It's been 100+ degrees lately.
I was beside myself when he told me. I wanted to kick Mark in the nuts on behalf of the bunnies. Of course, Jon-Jon filled their water bottles and gave them food. But he can't visit every couple of days and the bunnies need to be fed and given water almost every day. Then last Saturday, he told me that he had to wash his hands clean of the bunnies. He said we can't worry about them anymore b/c we just can't.
I felt like a criminal b/c I knew animal cruelty was happening. Look, you may think I'm twisted but I can't throw stones at anyone that wants to eat bunnies. I eat cow, pig, chicken and fish. But I canNOT deal with starving an animal and letting them die such a horrible slow death. For crap's sake! Not only does that make you a royal prick but everyone knows a starved animal does NOT TASTE GOOD. I know, NOT the point. But still. You have to admit.
I called the Humane Society. Then I realized that if Animal Control came, Mario and Mike would think Jon-Jon, the bunny whisperer, narked and be pissed. So I didn't make a report. But I did ask the operator about a bunny's health and she said that there is no way they would survive in this kind of heat w/o water or food. Right. How could they?
I then begged Jon-Jon to ask Mario (b/c Mark sucks SO BAD he is hardly home and Mario has been the one sort of taking care of them) if we could have the bunnies. "Please! Just lie and say we want them! We'll take them to the SPCA." No tears but after much begging, he relented and called Mario. Mario told him OF COURSE we can have the bunnies. Whooohooo!
The End. A Happily-Ever-After, if you will.
Well, not quite. After work today, Jon-Jon went to Mario's house and helped him catch the semi-wild bunnies. They make no sounds but they scratched up Jon-Jon plenty to show that they do not like to be handled. Once captured, Jon-Jon and Mario regrouped. I don't know what transpired but the bunnies are now on their way to the Uncle's farm. Jon-Jon said they will get fattened up and, um, go to that big crockpot in the sky.
Hey, I tried. And at least on the farm, it's the Uncle's livelihood to raise animals for food so he knows better than to let them run out of food or water. Because that's MEAN. And just bad business for him.
OK, so the story isn't exactly warm and fuzzy or have a happy ending. But Jon-Jon did take them out of a terrible environment. The bunnies are going to be reunited with their brothers and sisters on the farm. And, well, eventually go to bunny heaven.

It's too damn hot to knit

But if I can manage to do so, I'm going to knit accessories that I can rock but won't make me perspire.

With that said, I give you ....

THE PURSE:
This is my first attempt at making a purse, my second time felting (for you non-knitters, "felting" means washing/drying the yarn project so it shrinks and the stitches are no longer visible.)

I like it a lot. I think it's because the handles are pretty bad ass. I also like it because there's no lining. Lulu don't do no sewing.

In case you can't picture it working with an outfit, here you go:

Just because I like this picture ...

Victoria, Canada
2005

A trip down memory lane

Last Friday, The Man and I had dinner with my old roomie, MsLips, and Rog. ML and I were roommates back in 2000. How we were put together was a bit like The Real World ... we were four strangers that were thrown together by our university to live in a townhouse on Treasure Island. ML and I only lived together for five months (she graduated mid-school year) but we ended up friends and are still friends six years later.
Our Significant Others (The Man and Rog) were not our Significant Others six years ago. But we're all connected. Let's see if you can follow:
When ML and I were roommates, we threw a Christmas party. You get a few crashers. Like Neil who was brought by someone who got an invite. ML ended up dating Neil. When ML moved back to Southern California, she made sure Neil and I became friends because 1) I ended up getting him a job and 2) it was a good way for her to keep tabs on him (not in a jealous girlfriend way, more of a smart girlfriend way.) Neil and I started to hang out and party a lot. Neil also partied with his best friend, Lorena. By default, I partied with Lorena. A lot. Lorena had another best friend. It was The Man. I met The Man when we celebrated one of Lorena's birthdays. And that's how it all started for us :)
But what about Rog? OK. I met him back in 1997. He was The Ex's roomie. Also, when I became a single gal, I was footloose and fancy free. I had quite a few party cliques. Rog and his girlfriend at that time were one of them. I used to joke and say they were my new boyfriend and took them everywhere with me. One of those parties I dragged them to was ML's birthday party at a club when she came to the Bay Area for a visit. ML's party was also The Man and my first date.
A good long time after ML's birthday party and after inevitable break ups, ML and Rog started dating. And they have been dating for around three years now.
So did I lose you?
It was nice to see ML and Rog last week. I had so much history with everyone at the table. I met Rog when I was 18 years old. I met ML when I was transitioning from being a college kid with a boyfriend to a single grown woman (cue "Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman.") And I met The Man when it was time for me to meet my true love four years ago. So there you have it!
We were all going down memory lane and, now looking back, it's so funny how good all of us were about editing anything having to do with ex's. See, we were ALL with different people way back when. So we naturally omitted them whenever we reminsced about a good story. Like when Rog and I were first learning how to snowboard and we both got so pissed about how pathetic we were and tired from falling on our duffs, we busted out cigarettes halfway down the mountain and just smoked away our stress. And cursed. A lot.
It was fun to remember our history together. I partied hard with these people :) I bonded with these people. They know me at different stages of my life. ML and I, in those short five months, confided in each other, went through our very last semester in college together, cooked together and took smoke breaks together ;) What's funny is we actually became closer when she moved back to Southern California.
We haven't been so great about keeping in touch the past couple of years. Boyfriends, new jobs, school and life, in general, does that sometimes. So it was really nice to be able to have dinner with old friends and take a trip down memory lane.
Of course, you can only go so far when you realize how memories like being with the wrong people (which is why they are "ex's") make you want to bust a bitch* and be very happy to be in the present!

*I sincerely hope you know that means make a U-turn. B/c that could have been quite a pornographic reference if you thought otherwise.

He's he-ere ...

(To be fair, that bike is mine. But that's it.)

Taco Hell

I enjoyh Taco Bell. My favorite entree is the Nachos Bellgrande with guacamole, hold the beans.

Today, I was a good little coworker and went on a Taco Bell run for my colleagues. This particular po'dunk Taco Bell didn't have a drive thru so I had the pleasure of walking in and soaking up the ambience. It was typical Taco Bell environment - questionable cleanliness. Waited a couple of minutes in line and then finally put in an order. (I would totally shout out the location but there are a bunch on El Camino Real ... so just beware!)

The cashier had a hacking cough. It was pretty bad but he was polite enough to at least cough in his sleeve. But it was pretty bad. A few things were running through my mind. "Well, he's not preparing the food. He just touched my cash and receipt." As well as, "It's not my food." (Horrible, right? I do have a conscience, though. I would have gone somewhere else if he was the preparer.)

After I ordered, I waited off to the side, wondering if anyone would say anything about his really bad cough. No one did, including me, I admit. His coughing grew worse, becoming more frequent and I saw his eyes were watering. Finally, after ringing up a few more people, he motioned for one of the food preparers to take his place and he walked to the back of the employee area.

I shouldn't have watched him but I couldn't help myself.

I get a clear view of him spitting into a big trash can in the back. It was a cross between spitting and vomiting. I wanted to look away but I didn't. He just kept spitting up. Again, I looked around to see if anyone else saw him. No one else saw. He finally finished and he grabbed a papertowel to wipe his mouth and hands. Oops, nope. He wasn't done yet. He spat up some more. I waited to see if he washed his hands. But all I saw was him wiping his mouth and his hands with a papertowel.

Before I could see if he would go back to the register, my coworkers' food was ready. I totally lost my appetite at that point.

OK, so he didn't touch the food. But still. The hacking, the spitting up and then the seeming absence of hand washing.

UGH.

Are you wondering if I told my coworkers? I did. I wasn't as detailed but I told them because I felt obligated. I did stress, though, that he didn't touch their food. Naturally, they were a little grossed out. But they still ate their bean burritos and ultimate chalupa.

Why you shouldn't date a chickenhead

Sassy, please click here for clarification.