magdalene express

Funny

2006-02-21T17:14:00.000-08:00

Afterthought:

Isn't it funny how I've got the most normal bf that I've ever had (this is an incredible statement knowing my history) and everything else is falling high on 'abnormal.' I'm probably the only one who finds this funny.

p.s. the only reason why I'm posting is because I'm actually home which I haven't been in ages. the only time the laptop calls to me. aside from the fact that I have nothing better to do than eat potato chips and watch american 1d0l when I'm here.

I also wanted to mention, decorating is a woman's job. A man should just stay far away when a woman has design ideas...even if it's his house. (hehe?)

2006-02-21T16:57:00.000-08:00

I recently left my job. The rules of disengagement for this accord was rather sticky but it happened and I don't regret it.
It's odd, the entire time I was waking up to go to work, I felt as if each morning were a small encroaching nightmare and mostly what I wanted to do was snuggle closer into my sheets, deeper into my pillow, tighter into the bed but just days into my newfound freedom unemployed, I'm annoyed about not waking up to go to a job I don't particularly enjoy.

I learned the most from this last post in that I no longer value the dollar more than I do the experience. If waking up to go into a place where you don't feel secure about the people you're with, the work you're doing occurs without hope or relief, well, money don't mean a thing.

Right now, right here, I'm more concerned about the right fit than anything else. I'm annoyed with interviews, putting on that thousand watt smile, pulling out the crisp coporate wardrobe, drudging through the blasted cold to get to an office when I am directionally challenged, reporting my progress to the bf afterward, dealing with agents..I'm annoyed by the whole process! But it's gotta be done. It's like shopping for the perfect friggin pair of damn sexy hot jeans. It's friggin ANNOYING.

My dear boyfriend Gino has been nothing but a friggin sweetheart. Even surprising me on Valentines with dinner, flowers, and a card of all things. (The card is what I ended up treasuring the most, not for what it was, but for what it SAID.) Gino is about as clueless as it comes with regards to women so I was quite shocked that he pulled out some romanticism on the V. He had admitted himself that he falls on the extreme side of emotional defunct when it comes to 'men who need to express.' I concur. He needs help on that side of things, some Dr.Ph1l enlightenment, but stoic love is the bane of corean patriarchy so I guess I tolerate it easier.

He's been so supportive and that's shown me more love than I could be happy with.

Pray for me, that I GET A NORMAL JOB, A NORMAL BOSS for a NORMAL COMPANY with GREAT PAY (I couldn't write normal pay, forgive me.) Pray people, pray.

Damn, a girl needs another break. Man!

so long

2006-01-31T17:10:00.000-08:00

Say, repose or what.

The only thing that has really changed since my last post is the fact that I'm in a better salary bracket, to pay my pesky student loans off my dear rabbit.

Mr. wolf just don't freakin let up. Puck.

I did go to the dominican, and that was a nice getaway. But, the water was littered with hurricane debris. Not to complain or anything.

Oh, maybe I didn't mention that I changed jobs. Same industry, new company, new boss. I work for a tyrant but it ain't that bad when I can be just as bad a tyrantress. The sympathetic tolerance comes easier.

The boyfriend remains the same and he's just as good as white bread ever.

For the birthday, he bought me an entire purse. I offered to pay for the straps but he obliged. This here is a joke between us.

I can't wait till summer rolls around.

2005-10-04T18:16:00.000-07:00

First time a boy gave me a piece of jewelry I wept. It was unexpected and I remember how it unfolded. It was my first unbridled love, it was in a movie theatre seconds before the show started. He pulled it out of his pocket and then a mack truck hit me. I bust into a flurry of tears and couldn't understand exactly why. I was virginally touched.

I lost that delicate bracelet at work on the floor doing retail that same summer.

All the times after, I've accepted pieces of jewelry with simple uncomplicated glee or graciousness.

Gino got back. In all that time pundering work overseas, traveling and unraveling the asian mecca of consumerism, he bought one thing. A piece of jewelry.

I wear very little jewelry. The few things that adorn me on a every day basis are simple sentimental trinkets. Things that I hope stay with me a lifetime.

I guess all that to say, I got another bracelet. Looking at the bracelet, I hate to say, I favour the thought more than I do the actual materialized thought. I think he really toiled over it. It must have been sheer and grueling moments of hell trying to find something to bring back for me. Absolute hell spending pre-meditated moments participating in that vomit pastime Gino calls shopping. Anyways, a heart fell out and I wondered if it had any metaphorical significance, being the literary fiend that I am. I left the heart at his house in his old english ash tray where he keeps his keys.

---------
I wrote the above and never published it. Anyways, things have been quite busy. Gino and I have been outed at work. Since then, Gino's taken the liberty to have me escort him to his business functions. You'd think it's fun dining out, downing some good wine and soaking in the ambience of fine conservatism for free, but no, it's pure work. Fist time out I made dinner conversation by talking about a girl I used to work with who went to jail for drug solicitation and how she carried around a card identifying her as a convicted felon. I don't know, I don't think that story flied when my dinner compatriots preferred to talk about light work politics. Slight torture when I'd rather swallow a few merlots, slip off my heels and laugh hysterically about the innocuous life, mistakes and mod culture.

So I've met the parents, I've pounded out some damn good italian meals that might give any granny from Italy a run for her tomatoes, and I've stayed committed. Our relationsip has really leveled off and we're in a real comfortable zone. I was sick with the flu this past week and Gino was more than darling, insisting I stay at his place so he could take care of me. Honey, I'm good.

Work is killing me but we're due for vacation soon so I know I can make it. Unfortunately Mexico's out.

The Gym

2005-09-22T18:52:00.000-07:00

I joined the gym.
We're autumn now and I'm looking at my winter slacks hanging obediently in the closet thinking holy hell-no I ain't fitting into them pants this year. My ass is going to rip through them seams. My crotch is going to be enlightened with them perma-wedges. My thighs are going to choke.

So I'm looking at the schedule of classes after a late day of work.
The hell is accent souplesse?

I drag my mat to the front and wait for the over tt (toned & tanned) gay to enagage us into fitness focus. Not a single guy showed up for the class. All we did was stretch. Point this and stretch and flex that. I cramped by the time we rolled onto our sides to do leg lifts. Some unidentified part of my hip started screwing around with charlie and his horse, and then my toes joined in the fun. Like a retard in nylon, I writhed around on the floor like a worm in heat trying not to be noticed while the makeup geriatrics flowed from one perfect form to the other.

After class some grandma told me to eat half a banana every morning – I need pottasium.

The gay instructor asked me if I was o.k. And told me I need to continue. That's code for 'you're out of shape girlfriend.'

The gay accountant manager in my company freaked out over higher gas prices this morning because c'mon 'gays have designer sunglasses and clothes to buy.' Apparently fuel increases should be waived for the aforementioned gents. I nearly bust out my coffee when I heard him shrieking from his office.

Anyways, I hit the treadmill and aimed for 96 calories burned. Yeah I made it in 12 minutes. O.k.,so I wanted to rush home to catch that dance off show with O'Hurley and that soap opera chick– missed it. Damn central time. Yeah, I'm pretty much a far cry from those teenage hot pink spandex days (with stirrups) when waiting for the toaster to pop meant an opportunity to squeeze in a few reps of leg squats against the counter.

Tomorrow is cardio militaire. God I'm going to die if push ups are involved. Hue-ah!!

Why can't they have, like, le tai -boxing or something normal-ish.

A gazillion things

2005-09-16T15:33:00.000-07:00

As we speak, Gino is on a jet plane to Asia for business.

I saw him off early this morning. It was a tight-lipped kiss (it's always been) on the sidewalk with the taxi waiting and no hug because I was carrying a gazillion things including a plastic bag of tomatoes from his garden. He hopes that the tomatoes won't give me pimples.

On the metro ride home, the hug crossed my mind. As a delayed afterthought, I suddenly wished I had given Gino a warm hug. He wouldn't be back for an extended period of time and he was flying halfway across the world. I'd noticed that he had uncomfortably reached out for one, but I guess I was just carrying too much of 'a gazillion things' and a quick 'have a safe trip' distracted the gesture. Why didn't I drop my bags and prod it, receive it?

I'm googling a tomato sauce recipe. Maybe he'll eat the italian catastrophe when he gets back. Defrosted.

Gino will be visiting Tokyo in transit hoping to take a drive up to Mount Fuji. Most normal men relish the opportune freedom alone, investigate the idea of hitting up the local strip joints, dining on some fine sushi or uncovering the mystere around the geisha. Gino says he'll book a geisha but in absolute jest, I'm sure. I almost want him to be serious...bc that's the common urge of man. I've told Gino on more than one occasion that I find him. Weird.

Gino packed the morning of 4 hours before his flight and the only suggestion I could offer was, 'take some eye drops' and 'wear comfortable pants.' His samsonite bag is one of those fold -out ones and his main concern is how wrinkled his suits will get over the 15 hour flight path in first class. The other suggestion I could offer after that was, 'steam iron your clothes at the hotel.' Just before Gino stepped out of his house, I told him to forgo taking an overcoat. Later, Yer told me that one of the cities he'll be visiting in China is cold. Yer says he'll really need the coat and I said 'oh well, he won't be cold' in between bites of my red bean ice cream. By the time he gets back, the leaves might have turned.

Our relationship has been steady but grey. Not black as in bad and doomed cause' been there, done that - pass. Not red as in passion-inspired; always lived it but volatile and maddening- ok pass , now that I've grown a reasonable brain cell or two. Not white as in bright n' clear as day – c'mon there's no such thing as perfect and if there is, it ain't going to last, it's called DENIAL or NAIVETE or COMBINATION. But rather, grey is some days warm, other days blankly unassuming and neutral. Last night, I chatted him up in bed as he dozed off early. I was feeling slightly emotional and vulnerable. My period had just ended and I wanted to feel close and make love. Only recently did I start referring to the act of intercourse as making love in lieu of having sex. I was also dramatizing goodbyes and forgetmenots for his upcoming trip. He didn't offer any comfort and like a wolf, I eased the disappointment off my shoulder with calculated control. I contemplated going downstairs to flick through cable.

I've been sleeping at his house more than not. I refuse to park a great part of my daily self there. Instead, I inconveniently play each day out by ear and every morning, I pack my bag up with my travelling essentials intending to go back home, to my place. A toothbrush, a bra, a magazine, the odd tube of cucumber body lotion...is in the toss of what gets left behind. In a paper Zara bag pret apporter.

Space is the one thing I like, no love, about Gino's place. I'm cramped at my place. Clothes are out of control and spilling out my closet, out from underneath my bed, out of transparent rubbermaid bins, pushing the limits of my room's seams. Gino's space is definitely spoiling me because I am a bona fide SPACE WHORE. I'm thinking about moving just to be able to place all my clothes in a designated space. I might be getting compulsively obsessive about objects, order and mass amounts of space by the square foot.

Gino's been house hunting these days because the house he currently lives in is much too large for one man. It's been awkward because on and off, he invites me to go with him and asks my opinion (mistake). Nothing I've seen in his desired locations have passed my minimums.

There was one house that needed so much renovation that I said 'you'll have the burn the thing down and rebuild it.' (he's not digging that idea) There was another where the neighbours left and right of the house looked like they were about to croak (grandpa had tubes sticking out of his throat) and my short comment was, 'one peeping tom instance of us having sex and you'll be seeing their names in the obituaries. In fact, we'll probably kill off the whole block.' (Gino reads obituaries in the paper every weekend and usually during the week if he has time.) Another house smelled so old with putrid caucasion quebecoisness (never mind the oddity of the the dwellers who were half our heights and Gino couldn't stand up straight in the basement – did mitigated darwinism occur in this house?), that my retort was 'smells like there's ashes packed into the walls, there's no way you can successfully rid this even with fumigation,' further to that I thought, 'you might as well dig grandpa up and start rolling the rest of the ancestors in here and have a little tea party because that's what home is here.' Most of the time I was thinking 'I'd rather sleep on the street out in front.' But of course, location was what Gino was going for even though his heart wasn't truly in any of those houses he was pushing.

The one house that I felt had potential involved a bridge that Gino was afraid of having to fight with every morning in traffic. The house wasn't built yet.

He made an appointment with the realtor and invited me. He asked me to prepare some questions. That evening, I sat down beside him assuming the stepford kindergarten teacher disposition feeling like we were being interviewed as a couple. Gino ran off his list of 'I needs' and the broker spouted out costs for every additional Gino inquired about like some sort of oral dictation machine. Questions I had prepared for the broker revolved around redesigning the construct of the kitchen and living room (to maximize space distribution), upgrading fixtures and expanding the closet in the master bedroom...stop. How could I be serious about playing suzie homemaker when our relationship is grey on most days? It was awkward. The realtor was more interested in how my halter held my breasts than she was in my inquiries about [the ooglay] crown moulding from the model home anyway.

Often, I step out of my state of engrossment and think about how backward everything is. I want to have a child before 30. I'm looking at houses with an unconfirmed boyfriend. I'm bypassing the equation that includes 'MAN.' The importance of having to invest in HIM, not the relationship, not the ideal circumstances, not the inevitable faith that love will grow, not biological chimes, but in HIM before anything let alone a child should happen.

Is that the key that's stagnating my relationship now?

Our last night together, I appreciated Gino's extension -that he wanted to be with me, no one else. And it was planned. In bed, I had pulled a confirmation out of him. By accident. The fact that both of us are distant. I'd never admitted it and I didn't think that he thought that I was, but it fell from his mouth and I casually responded to it as if I knew. He's closed. I'm closed.

My instinct tells me that Gino will be emotionally distant for a long time to come. A large part of his emotionally distant bravado is because it's in his nature to be that way. These days I'm contemplating whether I want to risk waiting around for that to change, or whether I want to accept that it might be forever. I'm happy enough with it but that's for today.

Me, I've been distant; unable to indulge myself and selflessly give to him. And it's not obvious. I have no real consolation of how he interprets me. I'm unable to express honest affection, unable to really unwind into him. Break myself down. I guess he sensed that and it surprised me. I'm wondering if this prevents him from freely falling in love with me. I know that in the distant past, I've always been strongly pursued and this is what I 've typically responded to so inhibited indifference is a kink in our relationship that I don't know how to handle. I feel unsure. In some ways I hate it. In other ways, I'm relieved.

There's no misconceptions about my distant-oriented ambition. It's clearly a defense mechanism . It's not my nature.

With all said and done, I'm happy with my relationship. In all our closeness, I'm happy that we're stable and I know for certain that there's no threat of misleading each other, and that upstanding our distance is the thoughtfulness and careful respect for each other's space and feelings. The scare is that Gino and I could go on like this for a long time.

One thing's for certain, I will NOT move in with him without it being a post-matrimonial programme and that's a rule that I don't want to break. I've learned from that mistake and good girlfriends have reinforced that.

Sure, I feel like I want to settle down now (it's a combination of growing maturity+biological clock) but if Gino isn't feeling that now, it's o.k. Tomorrow is another day. If our relationship fizzles, it's o.k. Like always, I can enjoy it for what it is. Moving on for me is a process I've mastered. And I do it gladly like a bat out of hell. With my eyes closed even.

Work gave me a laptop so I'm feeling appreciated in a sordid way. I can never take that for granted. I've started flamenco and I'm in serious talks with my pesky collector ric one part of my elusive student loans to finalize my 'plan of action.' Disregard the insult of getting yelled at this morning, on a very tired SATURDAY morning that I'm irresponsible and I NEED TO MAKE A DECISION and the bank is GRANTING ME A FAVOUR that wasn't even an OPTION for me. My collector is 30 YEARS OLD (he shouldn't have mentioned that), get my mother on the phone to tell me that (I'm irresponsible). Yes, the words that were rolling around in my head out my eyes were, 'SCREW YOU!!! Now I ain't paying you a bloody CENT!!! You're YELLING at me!! Is that permissible you JERK!!!'

O.k., so I held the phone away from my ear and let the odd dialogue die. I'll talk to him tomorrow.

I don't know where Gino's really at, but it's o.k. Before he left, he asked me what cutting board I wanted and which store he should go to buy it when he gets back (he's that lost when it comes to shopping, the only store he'll withstand is the grocery store,oh and Golftown). I get confused. Is that his message of commitment ensuing? Right, whatever.

Unfortunately, I've gained near-ridiculous control of my emotions. He can pick his own cutting board. And that, my dear friends, is a fuckingue revelation.

I've a gazillion things to carry on my own.

***
Conversations: Upon news of Labour day in Toronto

Setting: In my kitchen
Yer: (to Gino) What are you going to do?
Gino: Wait for Mira to come back.
Me: Eh, that was romantic. /cute smile/
Yer: Yah. /cute laugh/

Girls.

Note: Not all italians are insanely romantic.

freind freid

2005-08-31T19:20:00.000-07:00

What am I thinking. What kind of imbecile I must be to have mispelled the word friend TWICE in my last entry. Talk about becoming dumber.
Fried.

I went sailing for a weekend on a Hunter and I'm telling you now, it was fun but 3 full nights on a 30 some odd foot boat is the most I can handle before I seriously contemplate kissing the ground I walk on. Sharing one bathroom with 5 others which requires self-pumping in order for safety tampons to securely flush, is, well, not that vundervul. The nights however, docked in the middle of nowhere under a perfect starry night, sleeping atop a boat relishing the last few summer weekends in sane company, is really nice. Seared swordfish niceoise salades are really nice too.

Gino has been looking for a new place around my area. I've been milking the thought of getting an ultra-modern loft-style condo for himself, but of course, who's moving into it? Him or me? Him, of course. And according to him, if we ever live together, I'm to reside in the basement and only come out when he beckons. I'm like, 'but I need to work.' It's takes someone special to fully grasp and appreciate our sense of humour.

He's getting better at taking my punches like a man.

This friday I will be cooking my first sitdown meal for the bf, the next morn I'll be heading to T.O. by bus, where the paternal pinings ease up because a daughter is coming home to say Happy birthday Daddy!

Gino is a traditionalist at heart. What can I say, I've matured a little.

Little by little. Every day.

Prayers for those who've lost dear from the wrath of Katrina.

Step right up Mr...G. .. Bingo!!! We've got a Bingo.

2005-08-15T18:19:00.000-07:00

I spent my whole lunch hour at the passport office waiting to hand in my form. They cut the corner of my old one and that was that. I went back to work to pound the keys a bit and called it a day.

What should I call the new ...thing....in my life.

The new, possibly-expunged in the next week-month-year-5 years boyfriend that I have. I guess (5 minutes of staring at the blinking cursor later) Gino. What the hell else can I call him. He's the generic Italian for crissake who brunches at his mother's house every week.

So Gino. Sounds weird because it's nothing like his real name and I actually know a Gino and he's nothing at all like my current (COUGH) boyfreind. You do realise that each time I've begun to write about a certain boyfreind here, the BIG FAT doomsday follows shortly thereafter. And let's not forget that each time, I was thoroughly convinced that longevity could be had. Gino is really kind, sauf for those daily suggestive remarks he has towards my [adorable] little pot, he really is a NICE guy. He likes to cook and often does for me, he cleans out maggots (still happening) that neighbouring mainland-chinese-girls-here-on-visa-with-smelly-garbage have created in MY trash bin when I freak out without saying a word about my patheticness, he diligently listens to me bitch about work on hour's end and the idiot circumstances I have to deal with (cockamamy system) during our walks, doesn't complain about my underpantless shenanigans and my total cooking talent surmise of nong shim ramen noodles (which of course he argues originated from Italy), keeps track of all the things I like, calls me regularly, makes me laugh with his ludicrously dry and hideous lying, and dances with me every night when chance allows us before leaving me. I say he's o.k. The best part is, our timing is decent.

Right now, work is steadying out. I want to grab another part timer so I can start chipping away at my student loans now that life has finally stabilized to an acceptable level.

Oh, I must mention, the only thing not o.k. about him offhand that needs serious action, are his black reeboks. Like, those have GOT TO GO. We're not that comfortable that I can conveniently lose them. Oh but I wish.

For the record, my driving (GOLF) ain't too shabby for a girl. First time out on a real driving range I actually hit the ball. Past a hundred. Of course, the remark was 'why don't you focus on hitting the ball consistently instead of on swinging so damn hard (or 'yulshimmee' as a corean would say). My comment, 'um, but I am.' I just really like swinging HARD. But that shouldn't be news to anyone.

unpublished find

2005-08-14T12:32:00.000-07:00

There's a dyslexic working in my department.
And we manipulate number and letter combinations all day.

I report to someone who uses the word 'finite' and the phrase 'for good order's sake' way too much.

D and I have drifted apart. Mind you, it was my decision to stop seeing eachother. I tried calling him a few times since my last double talk ultimatum but no answer. I never leave messages so return phone calls are not a requirement. Instead I come home and let the damn survey people ask me questions about biological trees, work equity and how I feel about the social makeup and that federalist I can't be bothered to commit to memory. Well, the soap question sort of equalized the rotundity of the all encompassing survey that tasted better than dinner.

I started seeing someone new but find that it's becoming quite obvious that I lack the ability to read men's signals properly and fudge relationships subconsciously. It's obvious that I sabotage commitment. Is it because I haven't found the one? Is it because previous relationships have made me impervious to raw optimism in love? Is it because I don't trust myself? Is it because I can't give any more than I can receive? I don't know. I've dated really good apples. But feign for the oranges.

I've accumulated quite a few nicknames. Try black widow. Try femme fatale. Try homewrecker. Try mistress. The evil is in knowing my innate power, the lesser is in curbing it. The hurt is in sometimes not being proud of it because of the hurt that grows out of it. But the temporal joy that derives from completely living in the moment has been more than magic. Mayhem magic.

a re-examination

2005-07-11T20:46:00.000-07:00

By and by, as life passes and I experience more, I am writing less. Is it that I am becoming less impressed with life? Most probably. It is that, now, it is rare that occassions hold great value or meaning for me, to come across something special, takes a great amount of awe and power to affect me to words. Or to hold on to in material memory other than that of simply cherishing through nostalgic thought. In all honesty, I have discovered that I am no longer one to drive high in life to gain material wealth, fame and fortune, success. Even to have all this and lose it would have minimal bearing. What I hold precious in life has definitely revealed itself as the relationships I form, the immaterial wealth that arises and grows out of it, and of course the love that binds my my truest meanings complete. I suppose this journey is what I live for. Some people will never understand that.

Despite that para, I have been doing many fun things: laughing, working, splashing, discovering and playing. I just don't feel compelled to writing about the tried and true anymore.

Hi Vince...I'm a hundred eons behind on replies at ..work and home, go figure. If it doesn't say urgent, all's lost in love, war and work. Will keep in touch.
-----------------
Work has become a cache of stress that never lets up. I complain but would rather prefer this than that of boredom. It's a far cry trom those days in admin sales when minutes were spent thinking of ways to squander work from colleagues. I try to keep my spirits in check but hardly come up to breathe from the groundhog hole that swallows me whole from 8:30 to 5.

it's not what i give but what i bring to your life

2005-06-16T17:21:00.000-07:00

shut up already, i'll buy the digicam soon.

my photojournalist friend has been expressing a nagging interest in taking portraits of me. he invites me out at odd times of the day, then attempts to show me his SLR, again. and again. i've been avoiding him since the last random invite on a humid day after a storm. it occurred to me that he's asking to meet up when natural light is optimal for taking some really great surprise shots of a very peeved subject who clues in a little too quickly. i'm just not comfortable enough to be photographed by a professional who happens to be a relatively new friend. i trust no man with a lens, let alone a man. period.

so you heard it once, you'll hear it again. d and i are sort of finito. (but of course this could all spontaneously combust one day and we could be as together as can be) i've started dating another man and my dysfunctions with the new one are no less than it was with the impassioned d. i will volunteer that the new one is as safe and mediocre as it gets. now women will understand me when i say that stability is what 'enraptures' me here and yet, still, this is more than likely another experimental relationship that will self destruct. this man is white bread. he is by far absolutely not my standard norm when it comes to my laws of attraction. and i'm not talking the physical bc i was never that shallow by default. he baffles me with his schedules, his routines, his clockwork predictability, his diet, his neutral loyalty and intellect, his almost deadened but alive personality that breeds blend, not bland, not bling, not bang. but i mean, c'mon, after awhile, you just want to be some place where you know you're always secure. that's his epitomy. his specialty. where you know he will probably love more than you ever could or will.

fuck another phase. here we go.

i'm a nightmare at work masked in angelic asian calm. I exude an air of conformity but jesus, get me started and I'll constructively tear a query apart. i want to action a plan but have to rely on management to make the less than idiotic decisions that they... don't make. i work with morons because that's all the company wants to afford. human idiocy sabotages productivity and effeciency but noone with grey hair who golfs is interested in that. i'm getting paid a penny more, not for my academic qualifications and work experience (forget about sensibilities) but because i freakin beat in someone's ear for it. i've been spending half my days throwing up my hands in furious contempt (in my mind), investigating and rectifying the most bizarre idiot mistakes that my colleague mysteriously makes. i barely take fluff breaks anymore. i barely talk to anyone anymore. i barely surf the internet for god sakes.

in all fairness, i have a new bf, but i tell him we're sort of dating. i can guarantee you that i'm reading his most sincere signals wrong and we will probably break up due to my delusions but mostly bc he's not what i want or need, or because some guy has convinced me that i need to be dating him and have his babies instead.

right now, i still feel ill about not being in a place where i can give as much as i'm given. what am i, and what will i always be much to my horror and delight? see title above.

teflon hands

2005-05-15T10:42:00.000-07:00

I found maggots in the main garbage bin out front this morning, yelped, dropped my two little shopping bags of garbage and ran inside.

The weather is finally worth bragging about. I was out pulling weeds this morning it was that nice.

I've reduced the fettucine alfredo with chicken intake to once a week. I've also restricted McDindins to twice per one 10 week cycle. It's working out pretty well for me.

I've also decided that the five pounds of winter blubber has got to go and started cooking decent meals. Today I'm pround to announce that the pollack oignon in butter with parsley, garlic and lemon with a side of whole beet and chick pea cobbler was a mediocre success.

D is D. Nothing really has improved or worsened there. So it is.

As is work.

Next week I promise I'll look into the flamenco before I make a weekend trip back to T.O. to pick up some summer wardrobe and shoes. God love the shoes.

Not before I call someone to freak out about the maggots. There ain't no way in Magdalene Mayhem that I am going near them squirmy little maggots. They are just too....fresh.

....D!!!!!!!

(when did I become such a whimp.)

bowling, birthdays, marriage and things like that

2005-05-15T08:51:00.000-07:00

I don't think it's a compliment when a member of the opposite sex informs you that you bowl like a maniac. Personally, I think the observation is a little harsh but I will admit to being a bad bowler with little to no procedural style. I've been told that not any parts of my body bend when I 'launch' the ball down the alley like a shotput. I noticed a dent on the overhang in our alley. Kind of like one that a really heavy bowling ball would have made. It wasn't me.

I now sport a conservative single coloured dark bob like the one Aniston made famous. It looks better on days when I just wake up out of bed. It's given me a more mature subdued look (minus how it flops around when I bowl which fashions me into a maniac of course) which suffice it to say is more appropriate for the corporation who might not have appreciated the previously long blonde waves as much. All minor changes to segway me into the career I want. Life has come to blowdrying volume into my hair every other day. Never thought the aforementioned vanity task would have come so early.

After signing the gag offer, I asked for time off before I start my new job. The promotion has me dealing primarily with numbers of all things. I can barely multiply digits above 5. I will try my darndest.
------------

I don't care what anyone says, I stand by the fact that EVERY woman is neurotic. I always tell men that this is a fixed [character] flaw that applies to all women, so men take your pick; the only thing that changes is the level and depth of that neurosis.

As I was saying, neuroses...I mentioned something to the effect of marriage the other day to D and he indirectly replied that I seemed to be mentioning marriage a lot. I think I might have mentioned marriage to him twice in the last six months and one of those times was by chance bc I was passing a comment about bridezillas on TV or relaying my dry office gossip about how whatsherface is getting married soon or something like that.

Having a formal wedding is no longer important to me, but getting married is still something I want to do. Being the neurotic woman that I am, I harbour the desire to be able to call some man (bless his heart) my husband one day. D, having survived one too many serious relationships, wedded or not, isn't keen on the whole cosmos of mr. and mrs. Not wanting to delve into it, his last fleeting comment was that even if we were married, he would not call me his wife. He would prefer to allude to me as a mistress or his lover. O.k., so, everyone has issues right. I'll be sure to call him my husband and try to cook things for him that's he's better off choking/vomitting back up than swallowing but that's not guranteed.

I'm not anxious to get married in the least anytime soon but that short conversation stuck with me. I still have mixed feelings and stilted ideas about the longevity of love relationships. Ours is still fresh and has yet to uncover much about our potential successes. We are based on a love that grew out of passion, and that love is still young and untried in the quotidien sense. A passionlove so to speak, runs shallow but intense. I often muse, Tina Turner said 'what's love got to do with it.' Both of us in our own learned and warped ways consistently think of ways we're too keep our relationship as alive as it has been. As of yet, I am convinced that I will never meet anyone who is as compatible and in tune with all of what I am as a woman and how I want to be handled. I have no doubt that I am the same for him on the inverse.
So this is precisely the reason why I refuse to let D go.

Happy birthday to my bestest boy buddy. He is 27 today. Thank you for being an unfailing ear through all my ups and downs. For teaching me balance; for filling the cracks and yelling at me even when I told you it doesn't work and it doesn't. Luv ya.

Marshal counts as a pun. ;-)

marshal ?

2005-05-09T21:52:00.000-07:00

or martial?

the long awaited offer

2005-05-07T11:00:00.000-07:00

So after putting in 6 months with the corporation, I finally catch wind of the news that there's an offer in process.

My bossinmidlifecrisis calls me into his office and gives me the heads up and then he buckles down and tells me what they're going to offer and I.. wanted to gag. I was appalled. So disgusted in fact that after the initial gag factor, I wanted to cry. One of those spontaneous eruptions into a fit of frustrated tears. That didn't happen. Of course. As usual, I maintained this ridiculously professional level of neutrality and expressed my disagreement.

"o.k., well. I don't agree with the salary. Here are my reasons. ..."

What did I want to say? Try this,
"You F*cker!!!! """
"Pay me what I'm goddam worth!!!!"

But naturally, that wouldn't have flied.

They're going to see if they can get me some more dollars which frankly couldn't make that much of a difference at this point bc the initial offer is beyond bad. However, after [emotionally - cough] rationalizing the circumstances, I do like the corporation and I've put enough time and heart into it not to turn away now. Pension couldn't hurt. I've made strategic progress in politics and like the friends that I've made. This of course knowing full well that any random day, the corporation could hazardously announce they're chopping and screw me where the sun don't shine. Which wouldn't surpise me. Life can be amusingly cruel and unfortunately predictable that way.

Anyway, I bought the bat of my dreams. (For intruder attack purposes) A medium sized black 33" aluminum - a real sleek panther. I came home with my prize bat anxious to show it off to Yer. 'Yer, who needs a man when there's this!!!' D taught me some self defense manouevers so I'm good to go. Mind you, I mentioned I was perfectly fine swinging wildly until I connect. He, mister marshal arts from the momentum school of thought didn't think so. So the lesson went embarassingly fine.

A lot and not a lot of things have happened in the past six months. A lot of ups and downs, and thankfully still in love with the same man.

I've been missing the company of my girlfriends. Miriam recently moved out on her own. She graduated and now, well, she'll probably be getting hitched to her high school sweetheart next. Might I add, I think it's a mistake waiting to happen, but oh yes, please marry him.

Me, happy is as happy does. For now. :-)

living after my divisional goal

2005-04-27T13:57:00.000-07:00

There was a time not too long ago when the complacent circumstances of my life had me obligated to men, obligated to relationships, obligated to life and love.

At 26, I have finally become self reliant.

Last week, I accepted an invitation to have dinner with a photojournalist friend of mine and at 3 in the morning still burning with intellectual philosophical fodder concerning our own self destructive habits, I realized that I was finally free. Here I was in control of my own domain amidst company that I had a 50 in...what empowered me was that I was never ever going to step backwards. The difference was inside, I had finally gripped an inner stronghold and conquered the fear. And he said to me, I noticed that, that you are your own person, indpendent and you're not anywhere close to letting that go. You're right, now I have the vices to say no thank-you, I'm flattered, it's enticing and easy but I'll make amends for myself and do.

Today, I am not committed to anyone. It's been a year that I've been able to say this and in all honesty, I feel really good about it. I don't have to answer to a soul and I'm at liberty to do as I please, accept invites at leisure, manipulate my own oppurtunities as I desire and at my own pace. I go out, I have fun, I explore and challenge, I do as I please on my own terms but not without responsibility. I have grown closer to becoming the woman that I've wanted to be.

So yeah,

It's about damn fine time I say, I'll have my fuckingue space and eat it too.

I am so proud of myself.

Btw, Yer has a boss who takes her under his wing as his surrogate daughter. Me, I have a boss who randomly asks me if I'm still in love with my part time boyfriend. But whatever. What are brunches for than to discuss how lovely it is to work for men in midlife crisis.

Now like the rest of the world, now that I've reached this one giant goal I had for myself, I've got to set up some more short term goals for myself bc Dr.Phreaking Phil says so. Jesus, my career needs serious work.

viva las mi

2005-04-20T17:51:00.000-07:00

I've been busy. Still working for the corporation. Weasling my way into functions, going out, really becoming some kind of independent.

I did not get a dog. I still visit the pet store during breaks to peer at all the non poofy dogs. I'm wondering if it's a maternal tickling that suddenly brought about this urge to purchase a dog, or the need for permanent companionship.. which lacks with the bf du jour. Not that I'm complaining, life simply goes on with me. What wills; what ways.

What have I been doing? Penetrating other life circles, expanding my horizons, really just realizing my 'let live.'

Dammit I really want to get on the flamenco lessons.

commitment issues

2005-03-19T15:15:00.000-08:00

I really want to buy a dog.
I think I have a problem when the decision plays itself out in my head like such.
Here's my thought breakdown:

Can I take care of it on a day to day basis?
Will I be able to keep it should the possibility of relocation present itself?
Can I afford it?
Can I commit to loving it till death do us part?
Will it be an even give and take arrangement?
No no no and no.

Answer:
I can't get involved with this relationship.

Next!!?!!

I obviously have commitment issues.

Friday Feast even though it's really Saturday

2005-03-12T08:38:00.000-08:00

Lifted the Q's off of starkdavingmad.com. Davey's site.

Appetizer - Who is the one person you email more often than anyone else?
My boyfriend.

Soup - So far, which year of your life has been the most enjoyable?
2004. It came in like a lion, and went out like a lion in a cage. The first half was shamelessly bliss though.

Salad - Name someone with whom you have lost touch but would like to reunite.
My best friend from grade school Dawn and then my best friend from junior high Kristy. It would be really nice to see them again, see how they've grown or not grown into women, reunite with their families and then to reminisce about old times, reconnect and remain yaya girls for life. These are girls that hold a hand in having shaped me. I'm really curious to see where they are at in life today, and how they are.

Main Course - What was the tastiest meal you had this past week?
Need you ask? Fettucine Alfredo with chicken at Guido and Angelina's.

Dessert - Using the letters in your favorite color, write three words that describe your personality.
real exotic defiant

the ugly self truth ...i'm getting better at it

2005-03-06T17:46:00.000-08:00

I am so sick of the cold that I actually tried to check the weather network for a month's worth of weather in advance. Yeah, it doesn't exist, so on I go with the fantasy of lopping the groundhog's head off for deceiving me. That little ...or rather oversized rat.

As of late I've been focusing on tolerating the cruelty of job boredom. The promise and goal to achieve job security is what drives me. I've decided that because everything outside of my job is fairly unstable, I best stay monogamous to the corporation and lay low because benefits sounds like a good thing. A plus in my life with relatively minimal emotional complication.

Yes, my relationship is forever tormenting me. I can't even place what it is now. Why do I need to be constantly overanalyzing things, perpetually re-examining every little detail, reiterating every profundity, reasoning logic vs. irrationality...tormeting myself with obvious dysfunction.

Nowadays, I've been inverting a lot of my patterns, figuring I have serious issues. One being infidelity.

good ole abey boy

2005-03-02T15:56:00.000-08:00

"You can't please all the people all of the time. In fact,
you can't please some of the people some of the time.
Your best bet is to please yourself and forget about
what other people think." - Abraham Lincoln

2005-02-23T17:06:00.000-08:00

ok forget about the digital camera. the fettucine alfredo phase is still very much a phase....in heat.

the unconquerable

2005-02-18T11:17:00.000-08:00

how can one choose between 'love' and 'in love.'
how can one force another to choose between the two.

I've encountered this dilemma.
And there were no answers.
Just extreme pain and complication.
What transpired was what my heart ultimately wanted.
Wasn't before but is now.
It's inevitable.
In the end, it was/is selfish bc of the nature of who I am and the people who hurt bc of it.
If I had no real family, no friends, no loved ones, I'd be a truly liberated person free to do as I please within that context.
Life would be relatively happy being me.
But then, when it counts, it'd be a lonely life void of any real purpose.

admission

2005-02-15T15:19:00.000-08:00

So I was a little emotional yesterday..

and while I'm at it, yes, I'm stubborn and yes, I will always presume that I am more than likely right. But really, I'm usually wrong.

C'mon Super 7!! ! Win me some monnaie!
---
Yes, I recover well.

Cupid can go shoot himself with that arrow of his

2005-02-14T18:19:00.000-08:00

Valentine's day can go flush itself down the toilet and while it's down there, it can die too for dramatic effect.

I got an extravagant bouquet of roses for Valentines. I gave it to the first guy I saw out of the elevator.

'Did you get your wife flowers yet?'
'...um, no.'
'Well, here!'
'....are you sure?'
'better served with you than me. From my lips to your hands, your hands straight to her heart John!'
'I'll leave them on my desk and you can pick them up later if you change your mind...'

I never went back for them. He emailed me internally and I told the newlywed, just don't tell her where you got it. ;-) I won't stop the nonsense flirting even when I'm down and digging. IT guys need all they help they can get anyway. Now, he'd better swing by and do those security updates he's been mandated to do. The ones that he had to do two weeks ago bc we all know I need all the help I can get when it comes to computers soft and hard.

I. had. the. worst. valentines. ever. in. 7 years.

I would have been happier ignored.

-----
How do you disown a lover? Tell me how. Yes, I have a problem with the choice of words.
-----
I am misery in the kitchen. I tried to cook an instant microwavable chicken deep dish dinner that wouldn't fit in the microwave. So I dumped it in the oven and when I took it out half cooked and quarter nuked, the aluminum gave in and like cellulite dumpty, dinner humpty went into the oven's belly and not mine. I owe Val a cleaning date with her oven. Frankly, a date with oven-off and Val's oven is more desirable than that with the bf.

I tried to cook a pastry puff in the toaster oven after that and it exploded on me. I've no patience to wait for preheating. I've no patience to wait for it to rise properly.

I cooked an instant rise pizza the next day and almost put the cardboard dish in with it. Had it not been for Val, that would have been catfood.
----

Did I mention that the best thing about today was the hershey hugs I got from Francesca? Bc it didn't ignorantly hurt me and it was genuinely thoughtful. I love chocolate.

I went out to dinner with a friend and it seems all lovers ever talk about nowadays is the politics of their work.
-----

As discussed at dinner, I can't believe I let the white wedding dream go. It slipped away and there's no turning back. I actually spoiled the white wedding dream of girlhood. This is how far I've come as a woman. I don't even want it back. And I'm not even sad about it. What has this world come to?
---

For the love of love, do us a favour Cupid and try shooting yourself with the damned thing. I haaaaaaate you!!!
----
Note: I did not have fettucine alfredo chicken for dinner. I had a nice steak at a haute restaurant that tasted like crap. Annnd, I was able to eat the unpronouncable devlish dessert in one fork lift. That is not dessert. That is an overpriced hershey kiss drenched in another melted hershey kiss. At least the spanish wine was good. Too bad I only had one glass. Could have used, like, 10.

choo choo

2005-02-12T16:26:00.000-08:00

I realise I need to prioritize the fact that I should start saving up to buy that subpar digital camera I've been thinking about but I keep craving fettucine alfredo with chicken after work... Every day.

That's not a real problem perse but now fettucine alfredo means a glass of wine, a soup, a salad, some diet coke with lime, a coffee or espresso and more than likely a dessert depending if I've eaten a chocolate bar that day. Those half starved student days when a slice of pepperoni pizza from the local joint not too far from campus doesn't cut it anymore. On my income, it ain't necessarily within my budget to try fettucine alfredo with chicken at every freaking restaurant within a 10000 mile radius of work. So what I need to do, is curb the desire for fettucine alfredo with chicken and try to limit it to maybe once a week. And no, I don't have problems dining alone. I am that weird.

For reasons that noone needs to know, D and I have been trying to abstain. A week after making that decision, the two of us went out on a friday, had some vodka and marachino cherries, started dancing rather inappropriately (o.k., the innapropriate part is more me) and left the party early. Just when the dirty blonde-streaked lollipop performers from the mainstream band on stage started looking real sweet in their perfect Thriller trenchcoats. We then drove straight back to my place and raped each other. So much for willpower.

Fridays at work are good.

I don't exactly enjoy my position but for now, dry admin is paying the bills. I get teased about being the personal assistant to monsieur blah blah blah. Aside from making hotel reservations and drafting donation letters to higher charity, I also archive. The other day I was archiving. I was transporting boxes across the office via a rolley chair because I did not want to lift and carry these things. I felt like some kind of ghetto courier service in heels. After some quick amusing jeers from the office rats (ex. choo choo!), the saleslady called out, 'but it's courier in style.' I said, 'you better believe it!!' It's logistics wherever you go.

The corporation better do something about this temp position of mine. Friday good, limbo no good.

so it's official

2005-01-30T23:44:00.000-08:00

Is it possible for kimchee to rot? Because it happened to me. I'm telling you, white fuzz. WHITE fuzz. On KIMCHEE people! Kimchee.

Btw, mr.robber who stole my canon digi cam on news years, pls return it to me or make it possible that a replacement lands in my lap because I could really use one now that my simple laptop is in working order. I'd like to reindulge in those ludicrous exercises of vanity and narcissistic self-obsession and expression. Thanx. Plus it couldn't help to shake up the text every now and then.

Verifications

2005-01-29T08:07:00.000-08:00

So I was reading over some of my old entries and noticed how confusing they might be in terms of the 'love front' (front d'amour) as I call it. I've decided to clarify it today. You see how I look out for others (ie. my beloved dear readers of the Mag Express) every now and then? Who said I was entirely selfish and inconsiderate? Who? Who!?

Most of my dedicated readers will be familiar with R.
My exceptional ex-boyfriend of 4 yrs with whom I also lived with (for about 3 yrs)while drumming out the credits in University.
It was a very difficult extended breakup. To say the least. If there was a deadline, I missed it 3 times and then scored an F. No a Y. Really.

Shortly thereafter there was an attempt to make a sensible love viable. True. I let that international e-genesiatic one go. Not surprisingly, long distance was a factor.

Shortly thereafter I was tired and floating around as a casual dater, taking the advice of many to be on my own, to grow void of any intimate complications. To find myself without the manipulative influences of men (bc men are men).

Shortly thereafter I ended up becoming helplessly semi-monogamous with a corean guy friend who became an exclusive boyfriend who became a semi-monogamous friend again 2 minutes later (exaggeration, it was more like 2 weeks) because the reality of our incompatability as a couple was that bleepin' awful and clear. I am still the [best] of symbiotic friends with this corean ex.

All this time, cupid was holding out to shoot a really big fuckingue arrow. And he shot it after the corean ex. (talk about timing)

So now I'm dating the same guy with the big fuckingue arrow sticking out of his Pisano chest and that's the end of that. You'll notice that when I talk about my boyfriend, I am referring to the aforementioned. When I write about D, it is the same boyfriend with whom I am dating now. The man I sincerely, truly hope is the last man I end up dating bc holy fuckingue tabernouche, I am SICK of fleshing out love-related relationships and doing the freakin' courting dance. SICK of it! Pls say there is an end to the dating rituals of a 20 something yr old corcan vixen. For crying out loud, I am closer to 30 than 20 now.

(For those of you who wished me a happy birthday recently, thank you. Your thoughts and words are held dear.)

Hope this helped.

;-)

*Note the tone of this entry may be due to my presently frustrated state of mind/being.

Go Shorty It's my birthday

2005-01-24T14:54:00.000-08:00

I got hired back at my old company.

I wonder when preparation will meet opportunity.

When ambition will finally have had enough and take the bull by the horns.

I'm 26 now.

It was a wonderful birthday.

I need to work on purchasing a new digital camera. The creative angst and practice is starting to creep up on me.

My boyfriend bought me a new pair of lovely parisien style black boots. They're hot damn sexy pretty.

I think I'll try not to walk all over him with them. Sometimes the 'new woman' mentality doesn't go over well and it's not worth it to keep insisting.

Next year, I'm going to ask for my calling to become a reality.

Ringing in the new year downtown style

2005-01-09T21:50:00.000-08:00

When Yer came back from China, she gave me a small silk plum blossom print pouch. Inside was a beaded glass bracelet.

I rang in the New Year with Lel, my baby cousin in Toronto.

She wore my racy lacy black halter which took convincing. 3 homestyle rum n'cokes plus a support group of self-appointed wardrobe consultants later, Lel finally let go of her security bra and went regi with the top - which is the way it's supposed to be worn, uneven breasts et al.

I went conservative in a snug grey long sleeve off-the-shoulder that curved over my hips and finished just under my ass. A splash of turquoise satin, black cowelneck poly, jewelled wrap around assymetry and chocolate flutter outfitted our dark and respectable posse of fox force five that night. All legged out in our ubiquitous sexy black pant and heels, we hit the chic uptown lounge prepaid and riled for a really great night.

Cheers, we coiffed and clinked.

Minutes to the clock, I fished out my cell from the purse I was carrying for both Lel and I and managed to dial the boyfriend's no.

Happy New Year Baby! I screamed through the noise, Wish you were here! I love you!

Hours after the clock and countless free shooters, dance partners and requests to 'look at my face' later, I noticed I had no purse. Too bent on having aggressive noncommittal fun, I suddenly broke a sweat and headed for the washroom. To force instant sobriety. I looked down at the flooded washroom floor and watched my suede knee boots soak up the liquid langour.

The party finally ended. I was still scoping the area, revisiting all the bars asking about a purse.

Lel was visibly upset and disappointed slouched against the wall by another pair of washrooms crying while the last remnants of perfumed acoholic amoureuse swirled.. and laughed and licked around her.

Tipped off by a guy that heard I was looking for something, the bouncer found it.

We found Lel's little black purse. Inside the stall of the men's washroom. Missing from it was my ID, not hers, our loose cash, our flat plastic, our phones, my digital camera...

I vented to the beat-cop outside while empty traffic created chaos with silent flashing sirens and then decided to call an ex to take me home. Pissed, he showed up responsibly.

Get in the fuckingue car!

Refusing to be dependent, having never liked this particular ex, a hysterical Lel pleaded to tip some cash off her girlfriends who were busy riding the night out on a resto porch with a couple of inconspicuous stragglers who weren't busy enough. I looked over at the fox four three. Not tonight. Not us.

Baby girl, one stern look and there was no more to say.

In dark transit, I managed to break a heel and limped the last leg back to the bachelorette. I was on the brink of letting my last nerve and neurosis go.

Finally safe with Lel juicing out the last calories of calm comic relief and amusement, I broke down and cried. It was about D. That he wasn't with me. He wasn't for Christmas and he wasn't that night. /sigh/

I knew it, she said.

Lel pulled out the elastic and clip holding up my new short hair and put my tears to bed. The small fish had come up to land to breathe and the big fish had decided to sink. I sunk.

I would not break down outside, but inside, I let her see it. The refrigerator whirring, I drifted off to sleep on New Year's day with no apparent identification to go back home with.

I had let myself get out of control.

Can't say it wasn't memorable. 2005.

I took the bus back to Montreal a tired wreck to dutifully work off the last holiday week of my contract. I finally found the time to perform the ritual.

Set it in the sun for an hour. And then pray. Let all the bad things go. Wear it on your left hand. Fortune comes in through the left and leaves the right.

I remembered her words and slipped the bracelet on.

I wanted to get you the pink. But then I thought not. Pink is love.

Love comes in through the left and leaves the right.

Yer, you are right. I smiled. I am lucky in love.

I called in to check my messages before suspending my stolen phone.
Happy New Year my love, I heard. I'll see you soon.

It was on the clock.

it's starting to feel a lot like christmas

2004-12-14T14:48:00.000-08:00

I haven't died, it's just that my home computer has died again. I'm good though. Thanx for asking. In advance, merry holidays everyone. Spread the cheer, there's always something to dance about, something to drink to! :-)

sunday calls

2004-11-14T06:17:00.000-08:00

I hate when my mother calls on sundays. Ridiculously early. Naturally.

She begins like this.

She calls to ask me if I've paid off my cell bill. (It's a work in process, those idiots decided to leave my phone in vacation mode and charge me $1/min which escalated my invoice to $2000 plus.)
Me: It's still in discussion and negotiation.

She calls to ask about my job and then insults my integrity.
Me: I have bills to pay. A job's a job, I'm happy enough with it.

She calls to ask me to go back to school and become a 'propessional' (professional).
Me: I've currently an estimated $40,000 student debt combined from federal/provincial/private offices that are so disorganized (more idiots) and always in a state of restructure that I will call and be informed that my file doesn't exist. (like she doesn't already know this) Yes mother, I would like to go back to school too, but that's not a priority right now, you understand!? You undahstand!?

She calls to ask me to go to church [even if I'm tired on sunday.] (!?)
Me: There aren't many suitable corean churches here. But no fear, I am investigating.
Mother: Only when you find a suitable good God-loving/abiding corean boy will you live a blessed and successful life.
Me: (to myself - fuck here we go again) Mmmmhm.

(tension surmounts) and I let her spurt her redundant lineage of pure balogne.

She calls to ask me if I've spoken to Icar.
Me: Yes, and he's fine.

She calls to ask when I'll be coming back home next.
Me: I have to pick btw 2 vacation days. It looks like new years for sehbeh.
Mother: I have to take care of presents myself this year?
Me: (biting my tongue - the audacity of this woman, my MOTHER!) Yes.

She calls to mention nonsensical things.
Mother: I took your anne klein glasses case.
Me: (and this is relevant bc?) O.K.

As an aside, she calls to ask if I've been eating.

I ask how everything is, how the family is, how she is...bear through the trivialities of her responses and hang up feeling helplessly disgruntled.

And then!

She calls back to ask how I answered the phone so quickly.

Me: (in the robotic unamused voice) My roommate has 3 cordless phones.
I hang up the phone and for a few seconds scan the premise for something to throw or scream at.

I find nothing and settle.

Every week! Every week is a variation of the same ridiculousnessesseseesesesssss.

God love my mother. God help my mother. God help me.

Oh please. This is my sunday prayer. More like plea.

i've not enough creativity to think up a proper title

2004-11-13T16:54:00.000-08:00

bc I need a mars bar or something.

atop the floating village in siem reap, cambodia.

being

2004-11-08T22:44:00.000-08:00

Being.

Being in love is always hard. In the beginning, it is bliss.

The new year will mark the first anniversary of my relationship with D.

We've known each other for such a short time, yet mutually feel as though it's been an oddly estranged lifetime of love that has been more impassioned than the both of us have known thus far. It has been a raw and reckless kinetic connection that neither of us succeeded in ignoring...an intensity you almost want to believe is a lie, can not be true.

I admit, some days are hard. Not being able to see him when I want to, talk to him when I feel like it, hang up on him when I'm upset, fuck him, make love to him a phone call away...cry and vent and be as neurotic as I want to be just because I can and I hate my hormones...make him do stupid things just because I want him to, ask him to drive me home because it's cold, tell him to buy me lunch cause I'm broke, none of that. For now.

Lately we've been having disenchanted conversations about our contradictions. He's been accusing me of adapting my own principles and statements to validate my ever changing ways (ummm, yeah, dduh.) We've reached that plateau that marks 'it's all downhill from here baby.' He. Is being pulled in every direction and though I remain to be the quietest meow, he refuses to leave when I want him away from me the most. In the dark I would tell him, 'if I were you, I'd leave now.' Unfinished, he would leave.

And then. The night helping my state of pathetic denial, I would slowly gather my wits, turn up the music and ferociously attack the few dishes I have left in the sink from the sorriest pasta I attempted to make for myself the night before. The midnight lamp from across the street shedding condolences on my vulnerably brave domestic facade. Hiding. Distracting from feeling anything but that.

Later, he would call. Through silence, he would try. 'Hey sexy,' 'gorgeous!' ...grasping at straws.

...'hey my beautiful asian queen,' 'crazy corean girl,' he would write. And I would be reminded of how much he hurts because he loves me too.

Love is fuckingue bliss alright.

Work is work. I've assimilated myself quite nicely to the working environment. Sometimes I take a longer lunch than need be and blow customers off because they call in with redundancies that common sense could easily answer but it's been said, 'you don't get promoted because you work hard.' Really. I balance my day, drink my coffee from the company mug, chit chat and actually make an effort to work smart - politically.

Well, if my immense boyfriend stands for anything, it is to grab each day like it is your last. Without passion and love, life is nothing. The both of us pluck at the fruits of love and passion like the greediest little pigs, you'd be disgusted. Funny, his adam's apple isn't that big. Can't say the same for me - my apples are amply ...there.

Colis, in 5 yrs I'll need a lift.

Sometimes, I really miss you baby, even though the comfort of finally being near is here.

Don't worry. Give me 15 and it'll go away. For real.

have a safe trip R. by the coast in soka.

les nuits d'apres amour - go

2004-10-29T20:22:00.000-07:00

There are instantaneously freeing moments in the day with D despite the indisposed difficulty of our circumstances. It is when we chide. It is when we can absolutely stop thinking for a few seconds to laugh about our common absentmindednesses. It is when we let our charming idios peak through and tease. It is when the glint reappears in the eyes and a soft I love you sneaks away to make hope all it can be. It is when we let the creep of life go and give up on the pressing stresses for a mere kiss on the apples of the cheek that time doesn't want to allow. It is when we blissfully make the act of love torrid, desperate and imaginative then cherish it more later. It is when he claws my knit cargo button top open to reveal a full breast and devours it. It is when he pulls down my sexy underwear and caresses me underneath my corporate skirt. It is when he takes pleasure in life's most natural flavours and tells me he adores me before tearing away down my glassy old world street in his german rogue with my scent still clinging to him, my body still winking. It is when even from a distance, his formidable memory still lingers and warms me in my solitude.

broiling and experiencing in siem reap.

post drunken wet croc cries

2004-10-29T16:45:00.000-07:00

D somehow managed to get a leaf collective happening under his car which heated up enough to catch fire and cause of meltdown of sorts resulting in $4000 of repairs. Only to D, does 'leaves a blazing trail behind him,' apply literally. The joke is that a woman is a second or third wife to a man's car.

I've since acquired a haughty hater at work, no less a princess type or 'queen of the office' you might say. She was out on injury and returned recently. The first day back she confronted me rather indiscreetly and basically demanded in her cunning nationalist elitist tongue that I converse with her preferred clients in french. Having learned that, my bf has been having a blast calling in under different male aliases trying to confuse the heck out of me with expedient french that only a native could understand - makin' me all nervous saying things like, 'pardon!? les elephants? pour quelle vessel monsieur!?'. That prankster.

Well, I make a concerted effort to appease the supervisor and lucky she's a rather robust and good natured woman...hopefully that will cover my ass bc miss queen salene is quite the alumnus nightmare and good friends with my boss.

Last night, I had a nice unplanned farewell dinner with my roommate and her town friends. D dropped by and stole an authentic beijing meal out of her, saw me rolling dumpling dough for the first time and loved me more for those few seconds. I know it. Then it made him want me ..for a few seconds longer. But of course there was tofu to eat and mesh paniers to buy.

I want another job, p/t.

Relationship Classifications

2004-10-23T16:35:00.000-07:00

Got the test from Dave's site - starkdavingmad.com
Funny, I took the test again posing as D (the bf) and I got the same results. I love how they added the condom part - such responsible social philanthropists they are. Now tell me, aren't we a perfect match!?

You are a XPYT--Expressive Practical Physical Taker. This makes you a Player.

You are clever, sexy and sexually oriented. You know what you want and how to get it. You command attention in a room of strangers, as your charisma, your personality and your spending habits are all oriented toward making an impression on your target sex. You pay attention to details.

You reel people in easily, but have a harder time keeping them around since you are just as demanding in a long term relationship as you are on a night out. Combine your demanding nature with the fact that you're hard to keep up with and easily bored, and you get a recipe for problems with fidelity.

In a conflict, you're brutal -- you know how to unleash one cutting remark that turns a normal fight into a brawl or a breakup. Your general attitude is you just don't have time for fighting -- if you feel like your current partner doesn't understand you, you know you can find another one.

You may see yourself in a parent and dislike his/her choices, so you want to avoid them for yourself. You feel confined by social pressures, both to pair up and stay paired. It will (and should) take you years to settle (and for you, it may really feel like you're settling).

Please use a condom.

Of the 139953 people who have taken this quiz, 7.9 % are this type.

Hey, I was cashing a cheque today at Western and I caught a glimpse of the identification notes that the agent had entered into his system. He marked me as being 5'7" with brown hair and brown eyes at 110 pounds. I was flattered but boy was he off. And I was wearing flats too. I promptly headed to the nearest sitdown eatery and ate a pound of chicken breast I was so happy.

I finally saw My Sassy Girl. I am not nearly as abusive to my nondescript boyfriends as the yupki girl but what I lack in physical violence and gall, I make up for in literati. But just barely. I don't know what it is, but I think the korean girl's genetic makeup comprises of a code that causes us to punch, hit, slap, pull, push and 'chuck' as the aforementioned test even recognizes. I will pinch and flick randomly. Every now and then, I toss it up and throw in a hair toss at the face, maybe a wink or two.

After christmas, I think I'll be able to load new pics onto the site and add some more creative ingenuity. Eh Saffron?

Provencal calm

2004-10-17T16:43:00.000-07:00

Finally life is settling down. I've bought a few glass shelves and adorned them with simple and clean sentimental elements, torn down the blinds and put up wall to wall sheer grey and double white-netted lill curtains, added a few key black bachelor pieces here and there, organized the closet into sections...I'm feeling more at home. Atop my new shelves lies a very important elephant made of undisclosed material from Sri Lanka where giant white buddhas kiss the sky and lust winds two necks into one under restless gods of exotic sivan passion.

I am happy.

Though I have a job that requires effort to wake up for, I like that I'm working for an established company that sends their managers on training workshops and provides and unlimited amount of coffee for their disgruntled office rats. I am still the bumbling idiot when confronted by my superior's superior. I've been keeping my eyes peeled for other opportunities. Ideally I'd still like to have that jet set life in the international fashion/apparel industry.

D, my boyfriend is as good as he can be. There are a lot of unforseen changes in his life so now is the time where I have to exercise a great deal of patience and understanding.

Miriam: So you have any hobbies these days?
Me: Not any that I can afford at the moment.
Miraim: Wahahahahahhaahaahhaaaaa.

This, after I ate 4 of her organic buckwheat pancakes smeared with sucre de la creme, butter and sliced pears, squares of homemade pate chinois with beet pure, baked chocolate chip cookies, wine gums, 5 handfuls of nacho bugles, and a bowl of carrot ginger soup with french bread and pepper pate and... camembert cheese.

Interrupting my gorge:
Miriam: You stockin' up for the week?
Me: Yeah.
Miraim: Don't be callin' me on fridays to come over.
Me: Yeah.
Miriam: Want me to clean out the freezer?
Me: Good idea.

I came home with a SAQ bag of akhavan samosas and chutney, apple muffins and a loaf of white bread. Ah manna.

Miriam bakes a lot.

I have the kind of girlfriends who tell me they love me when they leave messages asking me to come over the day of...I have the kind of girlfriends that sprawl out on the bed with me to talk about smelly feet, Bush (boy it's dark down there) and stem cell research. The kind of friends who will singly demonstrate a surefire orgasmic position just to make sure I'm gonna have one the next time I make love. The kind of girlfriends who'll throw lacy boy underwear at me if I've forgotten to bring some when it's a slumber weekend in or out.

Let's see how I feel monday morning.

Wahahahahhaha.

Halloween is near.

Mais la vie, it's good. :-)

last move - I don't promise

2004-10-13T18:26:00.000-07:00

::OCTOBER::

You know, I take a lot of things for granted. I think I've been sheltered and suffice it to say, I admit to a 'gongju' (princess) complex. Yesterday I was drained and whining about the monotonous torture of my daily grind to the boyfriend du jour and he promptly told me that I was spoiled. The same man who convinced me to take the summer off, the same man who pads and preens me like nobody's business. The same man who doesn't have the vocational liberty to indulge in the excessively binding frivolities of little miss pampered
muppet.

Today he surprised me at lunch and showed up in the lobby of the corporate tower. He was redeemed. He ate a giant festive chicken and fruit green salad. I ate some bacon penne and downed a glass of red table wine before hitting the desk of horrors.

'Er, I really need the alcohol.' Figures I dialed the wrong number three times consecutively and with authoratative conviction, blamed switchboard for answering to the wrong company. I swear, the nature of my curves and the semi fanciful wardrobe that robes it will undoubtedly have all colleagues thinking I'm some kind of asian ditz and then some. Can't say I'm not odd bc I am. I never fail to bring a faltering smile to a stranger's face.

Btw, my old eccentric corean hairdresser opened up her second salon downtown and abandoned ship at Sherbrooke. Which means that I got a whack job with the invader just bc I had to have my hair done THAT NIGHT. Oh well, over-curled bangs unwind themselves in time...RIGHT? RIIIIGHT. Roger that. Lesson no. 2.: Never ask for volumized bangs and a crown job from some ajumma that keeps upping her price by the dozen everytime you get more implicit with your directions. It's called crazy-house-I-am-bipolar-hair.

Shit I need a new pair of d'orsay heels. I love you J-O-B! I hate you R-E-N-T!

***

The other day, a male supervisor asked me how I was coming along with the job while I was in the kitchen area printing out reports. I choked. Goes to show how I have indelible issues. It would have been brilliant to respond with, 'GREAT!'

Where do you live? 'GREAT!'

How do you like the job? 'GREAT!'

Why? Oh why.

.....................................

Truth is, I went to Cambodia. Then I came home and moved to Montreal. Within a day I landed employment so it's a 9-5. It can't be more mundane than that. I work. I go home. I eat something. I fiddle, I faddle and sometimes I go out and have fun on a work night. It's been two days at the new job as a temp and I've already hazened the idea of flopping over off my cubicle chair to sleep. Everyone eats, breathes, talks, sleeps the same bleepin' you know what.

...........................

::SEPTEMBER::

A lawyer friend has posted a response to my latest entry: http://muttjute.blogspot.com/

.................................

This past wkd I attended JAMA Canada (Jesus Awakening Movement for America/All Nations). Apparently it only comes by every 4 years and this is the first time it was organized and executed in Toronto, Ontario. I approached the whole idea of JAMA (David Crowder Band inclusive - love the head toss at the mike) with a very hopeful attitude - thinking perhaps I would be 'awakened' out of my corrupted state of being but rest assured, this did not happen. I came out of it feeling more cold than ever. The first day of the 'passion conference', I left unimpressed and uninspired. Not that an emotional and spiritual revival was my intent, but usually, these eventful revivals use inspirational highs as a venue to motivate christians to recommit their lives wholly to the faith. By the final day, a multicultural gathering had amassed into Prayer Palace (mostly blacks and coreans); unified as one to worship God and glorify Jesus. It was a participation in this uprising that the organizers of JAMA were willing with every working cell in their bodies. I looked around me and found the whole thing radically abnormal. What I witnessed was akin to the workings of a pill. While fellow christians were harmoniously raising their hands in praise and prayer, eyes closed and torsos swaying, some falling to the ground on their knees in complete surrender, I was staring at the odd incredulity of induced religion and thinking of how alien I felt there. Why had it come to this? I found it more sensible to be at home, quietly making peace with God, alone, through singular conversation, meditation, study and personal song. It didn't feel right inside and I felt myself an insult to the communal effort altogether. My rambunctious money-grubbing/making baby cousin Lel who smokes more things than anyone needs to know was even compelled to complete confession and change. Afterwards, she implored me to be an example and I was looking at her, 'what, Lel, the best example I can give you is to follow my heart.' I know I disappoint[ed] her, yet she holds me in undeniable esteem still. It was an interesting wkd, spending entire days dedicated to Jesus with my aunt and Lel and then slumber nights crammed into Lel's downtown apartment...the three of us...my aunt who wears crocodile red stilettos, who came down from the countryside to attend the JAMA wkd. Glad to finally be home is all I can say.

I figure (again and again) I'm living a life that the fundamentalists would deem wrongful but that each contended aspect of my life was justifiable to me as some kind of flawed christian. Some would say that I have no right calling myself a christian. I was so confident and convinced that I could destroy Dr. John Kim in one evening - so anything the miraculous cancer, liver disease survivor/celebrated professor had to say to doom me was irrelevant.

"ALL THE WAY," he kept reverberating, "THAT IS COMMITMENT." To life, to marriage, to Christianity. "TO THE END!" And then people would clap and my head would bow and I would nod my head. Yes, I agree with that John...to the miserable end - that is commitment, so I'd better make sure my odds are good before the marred 'I do's' even if it's with someone/something noone agrees with. Understandably so. As long as it's in Christ, no? [!???]

+++

The job front: I've had one, count it, ONE whole interview so far. I've been very particular about the job I want and the industry I'm trying for so opportunities in the employment sector have been few and far between. The job I pounced on would have enabled me to travel to New York and LA as most of the buying for this particular apparel company is done out of these areas. Unfortunately, the HR manager recently learned that the particular buyer I was looking to work with has been trying to hire internally so I've been more or less bumped. However, it was encouraging to hear that they were impressed with me in person so they will investigate other options for me within the company. I have yet to send enough resumes out to the appropriate offices hoping that something will miraculously (praise God!) fall into my lap.

+++

R, I know you've discovered the Mag and after a lot of thought, I've decided to confront the obliviousness. Now that you're able to be open about my [objectionable] solicitations (you contacted me first), I feel I can keep residency here, write as I pls and not be affected by it afterwards. You've moved on and found happiness it seems. I knew you would.

+++

The Lunatic Irrational Front of Amour: I've found perfection in someone - only in the ways that serve me best. I've come to embrace who I am, my non-conservative ways which is wildly immoral/selfish or very 'north american' as some would label it, and wouldn't you know it, I've accepted love from an individual who has everything to do with me and nothing to do with matters of the heart that have been holding and nurturing me since my first cry. His love is unconditional and void of possession. Since he met me, his gargantuan life has gone south. I say, I'm not drawn into the ones that have nothing to lose and get this, love (l-o-v-e dammit), typically, is a great man's ruin - isn't it? (Puck) Can this be God's will? Who the frig knows. I can't believe I gained weight in Cambodia.

Javert, I trod steadily without regret but shakily.

+++

The Technology Front: Bloody computers should all come with a sticker that says, 'I will die on you, I hate you, you don't know how to effectively and safely use me, you moron, stay away, go to [insert model no./make here], he will serve you faithfully without ever failing any of your needed tasks or breaking down - lifetime guarantee AND affordable too for dummies like yourself who don't have the patience for tutorials or bulky user manuals.' Then I'll show you some miramiracles. You know. Freakin hunk of junk - I need to buy a new laptop. No more of these heavy hard drives that I am tired of lugging around due to meltdown. Lucky I have relatives in the Internet Cafe industry (haha). Extended LAN usage ain't pocket change.

Hope you've all been well, it's back to school for some of you, begrudging monotonous mornings to work for most of you. Kum Pai!?

On another note, aren't women's fashions more prettier these past seasons? I think so. Indulgent shopping is a nightmare. Nevermind this rise in equally desirable home decor thingys. Lucky I don't have a home as of yet.

.............

::JULY::

It's already Sept. It's just been really busy. I'm alive. No worries. I think I'll be moving the Mag. I fear there are ghost readers crouching upon me that I need to escape. Thus the lack of quality updates. How and when, I'll let you know.

........................

.....................................

Moving is always stressful. It doesn't help when the people around you are stress soaked people to begin with. Yes, people who don't handle stress the way you'd like them to.

So now that I'm moving to the middle of nowhere, life is great. It's going to require a lot of patience to commute downtown, otherwise I'm basically stranded without access to a car.

I need a vacation. A real one. And then a job. A really real one.

Sincerely,

-Me.

.......................

The panic button. The red reality of it is starting to gain steam on me. It's beginning to glare. Loud. I'm moving out of the main city by the end of the month. The geographical inconvenience of this family move isn't phasing me at all. I've passed the threshold where additional negatives can make things worse. The other day my aunt and uncle gave me a lift to the metro after church. They asked me if I was moving with my parents and I told them that the option of living on my own was not contestable. According to the mother and father, I'm to reside with them until I'm married. Both my cousins and my aunt sort of laughed. 'Lucky I have a sense of humour about this,' I said.

I'm upset over my career. I can't wrap my head around how boxed I am, how in God's name I get into these dependent situations. I'm strong, so what's wrong with me? I see reflections of myself in the all-to-transparent characters of popular corean actresses in modern television dramas and always end up hating them, wondering how they can tolerate such a sad psychopathically feminine state of love-induced chaos...be so innocently whipped around by these men who feign for them. I hate them and yet, here I am, a complete imitation of this very 3 dimensional flat and moving art in the flesh. I absolutely have a clue about how to escape it, but find that this situational life of mine is the very escape I have come to abhor. I fear that I might always be boxed even when I am independent. It must be the way my ankles cross. Yes, I am mad! Virtually and physically mad! What an emotive.

Next month, a great many things will fall into place. I'm not being prophetic - all things work itself out in time.

As for love, it's become apparent that I far value the lunatic illogical and typically unreasonable thing it seems to be...material practicality, status and dreams just won't win anymore. I don't know why, but I feel old because I feel this way. Pls don't say that this is code for 'giving up.'

....................................

It's amazing how being an independent woman equates heavily with having a job. Any job for that matter. Just let me be dammit. I'll make use of my wings. I wasn't made to fall.

..................................

Back at an 'Internet Cafe.' Driving standard isn't a bed of roses. I've been asking my father for a manual to his car bc frankly, as an instructor, there are major communication problems. The car drives on its own once I shift into gear...when it wants. The use of the clutch/brake and clutch/accel and accel/brake/clutch depends on the topographical condition of the road AND the psychotic mood of the car. Mastering the standard takes the intuitive sense that mothers must have when dealing with a tempermental child who might go ballistic at any given time. Yes, I drove into a sidewalk in what I thought was the reverse gear. Yes, I visited my cousin, queen mother of three. What could possibly top off a visit to the family circus? Stepping barefoot on my way out into a mound of unidentified shit. Or baby vomit.

I've been frustrated at nights because I can't write. My computer lies broken still. What's dead? The mighty pen, it seems.

I'm thinking I need to settle and work somewhere I don't really want to work.

..........................

For $2.00, I am squeezing in an entry at a PC bhang (computer gamehouse - corean owned) on a Sunday before rushing off to help my mother finish marinade a fresh bag of bulgogi, after which we will both sit my father through a torture session of riding out lessons on his standard automobile. For the record, I love flamenco. I've the honour of stepping into my instructor's old custom made correa dance shoes which she sold to me for $100. Autographed! Lucky I'm her size and she was willing to sell for I was not about to shell out $200 plus for a new pair. To me, I bang my shoes like I would bang a drum (or um, slap a bf if I could) - it's a woman's rock n' roll intepretative paradise. A welcome release. I'm in transition and fighting the initial feelings of losing the romantic nuances and comforts of a relationship but it's getting too easy. I have no right to complain. Life is good. I can't update or load any pics. My comp finally died. I fear the loss of my own private journal and plusier folders of pics. I need a geek to recover it all. Not having access... sucks.

..........................................

I'm back to the very conservative, very asian... dark brown haired look...with bangs. The best comment thus far besides 'your hair doesn't look so unruly anymore' belongs to Michael. 'You look so Corean!' he said. Often times, I wear it tied back so now my ears are always showing. I think they're nice ears.

My computer is nearly dead. He was coughing hard for wks prior and I neglected to treat him. Now, he's got the blues. Literally. I get a blue screen that says 'system resources are low.' And then he passes out. And what about stack files? What do I know. Why can't you speak dammit.

It looks like there are some significant changes to come. My parents are moving and I've finally jumpstarted a semi-serious job search. I've also signed up for flamenco lessons. There are so many avenues presenting themselves as of late and I'm having trouble deciding on which to take. I'm also learning how to drive standard. By and by, the bf is no more. I've added yet another to the ranks of x's. I don't know why I fight the tide. I should acknowledge my blessings and go with the flow. When it comes to lifestyle, opposites is not the way to go no matter how romeo it is. Somewhere between the bathroom and the bedroom does the dubious left contact lie...all dried up. Yeah, I lost it. I wonder if a dog could sniff it out on command if I had one.

................................

::JUNE::

So I finally find the nerve to call this man my BOYFRIEND, succumb to the equitable pressure of his monogamous principles and he tells me today between his nicotine puffs that he thinks he wants to go to law school. I always seem to land the ones that suddenly combust into a state of life-changing crisis after dating me which prompts the need for a miss. money bags (as opposed to the recently graduated unemployed career defunct). What am I feeding these men!?

We'll see.

I kid you not, my hair is green. The ajummas should have told me that when my coloured hair manicure washes out, the originally blonde parts turn GREEN. All I'm asking for is a warning. Sheesh.

....................

I've been listening to a lot of Jesus music lately.

So these days, I'm learning to swallow my pride. Damn straight. For the first time, I am chartering into a relationship where there is no pre-eminent love. And with a corean guy too. There is care and there is respect. La fin. The shit has finally hit the fan. Lovely days. It's back to giving in to what makes more sense rather than doing the cray-gee love thang. You can not understand how paramount this is for me.

Y will unintentionally push me to becoming that grounded christian charlotte with unselfish goals simply bc he's that alternatively 'colourful' from what I've been born and bred around. Balance. Already I've come clean with my mother. I've kicked my ass off the pedestal my spoiled ass got used to and he's switched to Matinees and counted the estimated net worth of all my shoes. He's good with numbers, yeah. I'm good with letters. I guess it's that time.

Hell yeah, new hair cut. New hair colour. Think bangs. Think deep orange and black. Think less curl. Can I look any more FOB? I will never go back to that hair salon again. You don't mess up a girl's bangs, you know?

.............................

I'm dating almost exclusively now. It was quite the personal charade to reach this point but I'm insisting that there's no label to the pseudo relationship I've allowed myself to delve into. I think I've figured out that I prefer to be in monogamous relationships, but I don't want to be 'committed.' I think it's more out of fear than anything else. A fear that 5 years from now when I'm better and stronger, he won't be what I want anymore and I don't want to cycle the pain of hurting from love all over again. Once, twice, thrice, that's enough. Four times a heartbreak hotel.

His insidious strength of character and his neanderthal corean way of thinking is what attracts and repels me. (Christ!) The comfort I take in his broad embrace. The way his arm sneaks behind me in happenstance socio-politico repetoire...and then how his rugged hand cups my jean-clad hip and slides me closer to him, tucked into his side. How he thinks I want a vuitton purse. (I couldn't give a rats' ass about Louis) His malboro jaw when he won't stand for my stubborn frets and frailties. How he hears. How economical chivarly reigns still despite all my resistances. How he really hears.

I'll say it again, my lucky charms are shaped like men. I've been too lucky with those blue ones.

O.k., so yeah, I need to get a job. Screw Corea. Apparently to my mother, vacations to Corea can wait, jobs can not. Who peed in her naeng myun.

...............................

Now that the weather's warm, the strappy summer sandals are out. My feet are topographical terrains of sores and blisters.

So, I went and got my first professional pedicure bc my toes were bludgeoned from trying to get old nailpolish off. Figures Miriam was plastered when she went at my feet with Wet n' Wild. Who knew there was a hundred coats rotting my toe? Even a guy's swiss army knife couldn't wipe that polish clean.

Notwithstanding, the salon didn't cook my nails enough so when I got home and took my sock off, there was a ripple effect happening on the gold. At least the calf massage was good. Talk about pampered.

I have a couple of weddings to go to this month and my love life is still as complicated as ever. Why wormy why.

I've come up with a viable business endeavour though. Finally. One that I might be passionate enough about with longterm potential.

Lately, I've been passing sleepless nights.

The pill has been gracing me with a chronic period. Those little wenches! I think that's normal. I'll start taking a fit when poundage starts collecting upstairs. It better not. ;-)

I've been thinking I should go work for Amnesty for the summer. Volunteer abroad. Do they do Brussels? Perhaps I'll go to Corea.

........................

Good golly. It's already June.

I got my camera back. By the power of canonscal, I AMmmmm... still the self proclaimed queen of self portraiture. WB Scott. Here's to warm weather and new beginnings, potbel and all.

..............................................................................................................