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?
So, the J.O.B. is sending me to Las Vegas for a conference next month. My colleagues are soooo excited and really looking forward to it. Me, not so much. My first experience was with an ex's family and we mainly babysat his cousins. The second time was after graduation with a bunch of 20-somethings. That was more fun but I was out of my league. Those kids could PARTY. Now, I can party too (I know, y'all have stories) but not for four days in a row. Plus, we got conned. I don't remember the name of the one club we patroned. What I do remember is this: these really pretty girls were passing out free passes to this club. All the guys in my group flocked around these two girls and flirted a bit. Wink, wink, flirt, flirt, and a hint of boob. The guys ate it up and took the free passes from the girls. The nine or ten of us waited in line for nearly an hour to get into the club. When we got to the front, the bouncer said that these passes were for Wednesdays only (it was Saturday.) We were embarassed and tired of waiting in line. After a short discussion, we each paid the $25 cover. I'm still a bit ticked off. I've been to Las Vegas twice and have yet to be impressed. My friend, Casey, argues that I just haven't been with the right people or at the right places. So let's have it folks. Where does a gal go to have fun and drink pretty yet strong cocktails? Let me be clear, I'd rather not go to strip clubs or any other skanky places- I'm in a relationship but, more importantly, I have to hang with my bosses and I'd like to avoid any postpartying awkward moments with them.Tell me, what's so great about Las Vegas? (and if possible, give directions. I'm staying at the Luxor;)
10 years ago:
My senior year in HS. I was 16 years old and utterly heartbroken that I hadn't been accepted into UCLA. I had my first real high school boyfriend (the relationship lasted three weeks.) It was the first year in high school that I felt like I belonged. I stopped caring what the kids in school thought of me.
5 years ago:
My last semester in college. I lived on Treasure Island and was "dating" for the very first time! MsLips was my roommate and she can attest to the many, too many, Mr. Wrongs that were coming in and out of our door. This also included The Top Mr. Wrong, my ex-boyfriend. (Can anyone beat my 10 month long break up??? I didn't say I was the brightest bulb at this point in my life.)
1 year ago:
How sad is it that I had to refer to my MS Outlook? I was working. Nothing eventful or memorable, which can be a good thing. Oh, and I was definitely a smarter gal. I had been with The Man for 2 1/2 years by this point.
Yesterday:
I had an awesome day! I got a massage, a MAC makeover (which I washed off b/c I looked like a DRAG QUEEN,) went to a luau and saw a gorgeous hula show!
5 snacks I enjoy:
1. Sees chocolate truffles
2. Cookies n cream icecream
3. Original Baked Lays
4. Nonfat plain yogurt with mandarin oranges & raspberries
5. Cheese
5 songs I know the words to:
1. Jamming - Bob Marley
2. Don't know Why - Norah Jones
3. Somewhere Over the Rainbow/ What a Wonderful World - Israel Kamakawiwo'ole
4. Change the World - Eric Clapton
5. Unforgettable - Natalie Cole
5 things I'd do with $100 million:
1. Give my folks $20 million
2. Give my sister and her family $10 million
3. Give my parents $1 million to distribute among family in the Philippines
4. Buy homes in SF, Santa Cruz, Hawaii, PI & San Mateo
5. Start a family foundation so I can give to charities
5 places I'd run away to ... (more like vacation destinations):
1. Hawaii
2. Australia
3. Bahamas
4. Alaska
5. Thailand
5 things I'd never wear (again, in some cases):
1. Permed hair
2. Leggings with stirrups
3. Revlon blackberry lipstick
4. pleated pants
5. anything beadazzled (sequins & glitter are completely different!)
5 biggest joys:
1. My very supportive and loving family
2. Hanging out with my "Hella Cool" friends
3. Going about town with the Man
4. Laughing
5. My faith pulling me through tough spots and helping me appreciate the good stuff in life
5 favorite toys:
1. My car (I argue that it's a "necessity" but I'll call it a toy)
2. Laptop
3. DVD player
4. TV
5. iPod & iPod speakers
What's cool at my place:
My marble and oak foldout bar
In my early 20s, I had many gay men in my life. Of course, I went to school and worked in San Francisco so it's not like I had to search for them. I practically tripped over them. It's been a while since I've had a gay male friend. And I MISS having one. A good gay man is hard to find. And one can't stereotype, they certainly aren't all the same. I tended to attract and be attracted to the delicate Asian ones. You know, barely over five feet tall, slender, and often times, prettier than me :) They weren't queens or bitches but they knew how to be marvelous all day, all the time. These friends of mine were witty, smart, and spunky with a touch of bitch. I often reminisce about my times with these great men. I will share with you my most favorite memory as a tribute to the glorious and wonderful gay men that have touched my life:My senior year, I had a interview methods class and I always sat with my two favorite gay boys, Brian & Reggie. I was a newly single woman and there were a few single straight guys, some even cute, but I didn't care. I made sure that I sat BETWEEN Brian & Reggie in the back of the class so I would hear all the action. These fellas made me forget my troubles and just brightened my day. I loved this class mainly because of them. They were friends so they tended to be downright BITCHY to each other for no reason. Needless to say, I looked forward to their colorful exchanges.
One day, something got them all riled up (I forget the topic) and Brian leaned across me and hissed to Reggie, "You shut the fuck up!" Of course, Reggie shot back, "You shut the fuck up, Bitch." *I knew better than to say anything and bring attention to myself. I gleefully listened and waited for more.* Brian then said, "No, you shut the fuck up, you fucking whore." So Reggie then replied, "You shut the fuck up, you ugly ass bitch." To which Brian then said with his bitchiest voice, "That's not what your dad said when I SAT ON HIS FACE."
I about lost myself when he said this. I laughed, maybe howled out loud and then remembered myself. I was in a lecture class and the professor was, indeed, lecturing. So I stopped as quickly as I started but it was too late. "Lulu, would you care to stop talking and join the class discussion?" DAMmit. He hadn't heard the slander or cursing but I get busted for giggling. Of course. (This wasn't the first or last time something like this happened.) But it was worth it. Sooooooo worth it.I lost touch with these fabulous boys but this memory is as vivid as it was five years ago. Bless their little hearts, I miss them.
I struggled to get to my yoga class today. (When I write "struggle", I really mean it - for almost 20 minutes, I was convincing myself to get my bumm moving to make it to my 7:15am class. Yup, I gotta leave my home by 6:40am!!!) Anyhow, after class was finished, one of my classmates asked me if I was also a yoga instructor. Thinking she was being funny, I laughed and said no. But then she told me she was serious. She thought, because of my flexibility, I was an instructor. Hot damn! What a compliment. I mean, she's smoking crack because I can be stiff as a board. But still, it made my morning. You probably figured it out by now. I'm easy. To flatter. You can tell me, "Hey, those are great shoelaces" or "You sure fold paper pretty." And as long as you're being sincere, I'll be flattered. Kinda sad but true!
"HOW TACKY CAN YOU BE???"
*Names & relationships have been changed to protect the guilty. And me.*
I have a nice relationship with my old professor, Dr. Mahbad. I was her student a few years ago and have known her for almost three years now. While we aren't friends, I have the deepest respect for Dr. Mahbad. She's one of the youngest yet most influential professors at the university. She's witty, professional, intelligent and likeable. She would invite us grad students to her house at the end of each semester for dessert and drinks. I took four classes taught by her so I had been to her house several times. Even after graduating, she still invites us to dinner during the holidays. Dr. Mahbad and I meet for coffee often and she gives me advice and serves as somewhat of a mentor.Last week, after a recent visit with Dr. Mahbad, I noticed that she seemed stressed out. Her recent promotion has added a lot more responsibility and I saw it was taking a toll on her. I decided to buy her a little present - a basket of Bath & Body Works products with a card saying that she's a wonderful professor and to hang in there. I took it to the university on Friday morning and left it with her secretary. A couple of days passed and I didn't hear anything. Oh well, no one's perfect so I didn't think much of it. Today, I was in the city for a conference so I stopped by the university to see if Dr. Mahbad was in better spirits. Before going to her office, I had to pass the secretary's desk. Her secretary wasn't there but I noticed that the basket was still on her desk. Well that explained why I haven't received a thank you. She hasn't received my gift yet! But that's weird, how can you not notice it? I stepped closer and saw a card affixed to it, in Dr. Mahbad's handwriting, that read, "To: Dr. Fwuksi-Happy Belated Boss's Day!" There was also a sticky note to her secretary to drop the basket off at Dr. Fwuski's office today.She regifted my gift.I didn't know how to react. For some reason, I felt embarassed. For her, for me, for the entire situation. I gave that gift because I wanted to cheer her up and let her know that she was appreciated. She went and slapped a card on it and bam! It was now a gift from her to Dr. Fwuksi. The only way I can describe how I felt is like this - my intentions and well wishes were cheapened and stepped on. Don't get me wrong. I mean , c'mon, I've regifted, you've regifted, we've all regifted. But to SEE my gift regifted ... that's just, well, tacky. I left the office without saying hello. I went home and saw that Dr. MahBad e-mailed me a thank you note. Well, at least she remembered to do that. Of course, I had to call one of my friends, Yahn, who's also a former student of Dr. Mahbad's. When I finished my story, Yahn said, "Are you fuckin' kidding me??" And then tried to comfort me. "Well, you can think of it like this: You gift was SO nice that she thought it was good enough for her boss." I probably muttered a cuss word in return. When Yahn figured out that I wasn't pissed or hurt, she said, "If I were you, I wouldn't buy her another GD thing again. She fuckin' sucks at gifts." (This is true. She's terrible at giving gifts, too.) So I won't. She'll get an e-mail greeting or maybe a card but never again a gift. We're not friends but I still respect her and I'll never know when I'm going to need a reference.I don't believe that regifting is bad. But for crap's sake, don't regift in the same environment in which you receive. Not at work, in the same circle of friends or within a family. And more importantly, don't get caught. Like I said, I'm not mad, upset, or even hurt anymore (it passed pretty quickly.) But the whole thing is still pretty moded. And tacky.
It is one of my most FAVORITE things. I love hula. I think it's moving, graceful, romantic, and simply beautiful. So I am sooooo excited about this weekend!
This Saturday, I'm going to Na Lei Hulu's "The Hula Show." The reason why this halau is spectacular is because 1) they have extremely talented and gifted dancers and 2) their Kumu's creativity. They perform all facets of hula: kahiko (ancient), auana (modern) and then the company's trademark style, hula mua. They dance hula to contemporary music like their signature piece performed to Tony Bennett's "I Left My Heart in San Francisco." The Kumu also implements hip-hop, creating a hula to Eminem's music. And there's even a hula to Cyndi Lauper's "True Colors," which is a tribute to the Kumu's gay drag queen Uncle Emile. How can you not love that????
Saturday is going to be gorgeous. My day will start with a light and healthy lunch with Tel. Then we're having one hour massages (oh yes, this is a pampering day, my friends) then we get dolled up and attend the luau before the show (now you know why we had a light lunch.) We will then end the night enjoying a wonderful two hour performance at the Palace of Fine Arts. My ideal girls' night out.
I bought my ticket to this show over two months ago to raise my spirits. I've been a little bummed because this is the first year in four that I will not be going to Hawaii. I know it's nothing tragic but it has become a very nice tradition. Anyway, The Man and I agreed that we should save $ which means no expensive vacations. I don't know about you but my job causes me to need - like Whitney & Bobby need their fix - a required tropical vacation (mandated by my sanity) and this "no Hawaii" has been rough. I visited my friend in Colorado and had a fantastic time in Washington to see Sister but my WORK FUNK prevailed and I need more.
Two weeks ago, my friend Maria presented an idea. She planned on going to Hawaii with her boyfriend for a wedding. She asked me if I would go to keep her company while her bf played with his friends. I declined. Shoot, if The Man and I weren't going, why would I go for some stranger's wedding? But then she said that she would leave a few days earlier if I went. Dang. I really need to save money. But doesn't saving my sanity take precedence?? I told her I would consider it if we could find a great deal on a hotel and car rental.
(Oahu, 2004)
We did. My flight is booked and I will be going to the Aloha State in a month and a half. From now on, I will bring bag lunches to work and drastically cut back on my Starbucks. (On the bright side, this will help me lose the 10 lbs I've been trying to shake off.) I will NOT buy any new clothes, shoes or purses *oh lawdee* I will cook for The Man as an alternative to us eating out *son of a biscuit* This is all worth it to be able to go to Hawaii.
I'm going to Oahu on a shoestring budget. The hotel is crap and the car is crappier. But who cares?? I'm going to explore the island, sunbathe, and drink*. I am so excited! It's a lovely birthday gift to myself.
*If you want to be intoxicated but not consume a lot of empty calories, I recommend Rum & Diet Cherry Pepsi. The Cherry flavoring overpowers the rum and the calories are only from the alcohol (2 oz=130 calories.) Just call it "the SFHulaGirl" :) It's quite delicious and feels fantastic.
"SFHulaGirl" will no longer do. Although I've danced for five years, I haven't gone to a class in five months (I'm currently halau-less but I will find a new one!) and I no longer live or work in the city. It was perfect name a couple years ago and is still fine for all my hula yahoo groups, but not good for this little journal of mine.
My first choice was "Firecracker" because it felt right. Taken. "Spitfire" also seemed fitting but I'll be honest. Having "spit" in my name just wasn't appealing. I'm out of ideas. I don't want something too cutesy, sexy, snatchy or dirty. And although I'm quite fond of the word, vaganus, it falls under the "too dirty" category.
I'm throwing it out there now. Got any ideas? Please be kind, clean and simple. But feel free to be creative! If we can't think of anything, I'm keeping "SFHulaGirl." But at this moment in time, my username seems fraudulent. *I considered "Little Manila" but I might catch some heat for that.
At work, I've somehow obtained the title of "The Girl with the Dirty Mouth." Now wait a minute, I must defend myself!
(Don't worry, I've learned from other people's mistakes, I'm not going to go off about work. In fact, I actually like my job ... most of the time.)
In any case, one of my coworkers today said to another, "Watch out, Lulu has a dirty mouth." And I replied, "C'mon! I can't possibly be worse than Jacky or Maria!" Jacky & Maria talk about everything, from penises to poop, skanks to pricks, and everything in between. Granted, I have said "vagina" in a management meeting but that isn't vulgar.
So why is it a big deal when I say something a little off key? Because it's not expected of me. People look at me and think I'm this harmless, innocent-looking, five-foot nothing little girl (it doesn't help that I do look younger than my age.) I'm also friendly, smile a lot, and generally have a pleasant disposition. Of course, I do let loose when I'm more comfortable around people. But it's really not so bad.
I curse a little but I also use alternative words to convey my feelings. Instead of the b-word, I like to say, "snatch." I know, I know, some people think it's worse but I just like how it sounds. I also like to make up words, like vaganus (vuh-jay-ness.) [I don't care what the urban dictionary says, the true and only real definition of "vaganus" is: "The result of giving birth-when the outer skin of the vagina rips, temporarily leaving the anus & vagina as one hole." I know this really doesn't happen but that's besides the point. I've heard too many birthing stories, which has heightened my already sky-high fear of the whole pregnancy process.] So at work, when I feel like dropping the f-bomb but shouldn't, I blurt out, "vaganus." I find it to be a satisfying substitute for many curse words. But I'm getting off topic.
I have coworkers who say A LOT worse than I do. But I think people expect it from them. When they look at me, they don't think I have that kind of crudeness in me. So when I DO say something a little bit colorful, there's practically a collective *gasp* in the room.Oh c'mon! You already know that I'm feisty, why are you so surprised when I blurt out something? Evidently, when I talk, birds should chirp, Bambi should prance in front of me and butterflies should flutter about.
Well, I can't always be Miss Merry Sunshine and happy-go-lucky. And even when I am in a good mood, why can't I talk the way Joe Shmoe talks? I believe I'm a genuinely nice person but I am no disney character. I'm not always going to be G-rated. Like Britney said, "I'm not that innocent." (Holy crap, is that the codeine cough syrup talking? I can't believe I just quoted the Brit-Brit.)
