The worst feeling in the world can't possibly be childbirth. And heartache definitely doesn't even come close. (I would know.)
It's realizing (after a defeated, shameful, and useless attempt) that you don't even come close to fitting into your high school jeans anymore.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
mundane tuesdays
It's been a slow 7 1/2 hours since I've last posted. It's a lethargic day at work, so I thought I'd fill you in on the miscellaneous, but interesting, events that have occurred during my absence.
First off, I hope you're not one of those "can I borrow" people. Have you ever known or been known to be the "can I borrow your *blank*" person? Everyone's known someone similar to this in grade school. Surely you have. You'd think, though, that people would grow out of it. But, no. They absolutely do not. As you may already know, I grow rather fond of people fairly quickly. This does not exclude inanimate objects. In my past, I've been known to be a bit obsessive compulsive about certain things. I just like particular things a certain way. In any case, this does not excuse people from "borrowing" my things and not returning them. I'm talking about my superior. He was visiting from our Santa Monica office, and he walks over to my desk where I have a bountiful supply of writing utensils. He sees I am busily writing in my blog from earlier today and asks, "Would you happen to have a pen I can borrow?" As mentioned, he is my superior, and here is my simple little innocent black ballpoint Bic pen sitting quietly next to my left arm not bothering a single soul. I glance quickly at the pen, and before I could think of anything else to say, I mechanically respond, "Sure, you can use mine." Again, he is my superior. He is smarter, more experienced, and richer than me, so I reason to myself, "Of course he'll bring back my pen. What a silly thing to think he wouldn't. After all, he can probably afford a pen made out of diamonds! What would he want my stupid little pen for?"
Now, you're probably wondering what's so great about my pen. In all honesty, absolutely nothing. It really is just a standard black ink pen that you can buy in a 24 pack at Walmart for $1.99. But, it's my pen! I've grown accustomed to it, and I feel like my hand's imprinted its groove into it. Yes, call me crazy. Or OCD. Or territorial. But it doesn't change the fact that it's my pen!
He left back to Santa Monica today on the American Airlines 7:40pm flight. Along with my pen. Of course. Dammit.
To make matters worse, I find a pen on his desk from the hotel that he was staying at. That martha focker had one the whole time! He left it there, possibly on purpose, as if to tease me saying, "Ha ha, I now have absolutely everything you wish you had." So yeah, I'm now pen-less, penniless, and bitter.
On a brighter note, I've been completely and utterly addicted to freerice.com. It's a website that challenges your verbal skills by asking you to choose the correct definition of a word. With every word you get right, the sponsors will donate 20 grains of rice to the United Nations World Hunger Program. I was like, "Sweet! I can be a philanthropist at my very own desk!" I start to muse about becoming the world's most intelligent humanitarian and wondering if I would be featured on the cover of TIMES or given some sort of honor like the Nobel. After answering correctly, you move up a level, and the levels go up to 60. If you get it wrong, you drop a level. I'm stuck at 41 (without cheating, thank you very much). As if I weren't bored enough, I researched and calculated how many grains of rice there are in a serving. FYI - 48 grains = 1 gram, and it takes 400 grams to feed one person for one day. Therefore, 19,200 grains of rice must be consumed, which means you'd have to get 960 words correct.
In the span of 3 work days, I've achieved 30,620 grains of rice. In three days, I've fed one and a half people. Not to mention, my IQ has probably jumped up a notch. I've discovered that most of my vocabulary stems from the media, like Harry Potter books and Family Guy (basilisk = legendary serpent, quahog = clam). My new favorite word: haberdashery. Although, that's probably tied with hemisemidemiquaver.
As if challenging my verbal skills wasn't enough, I was playing today and noticed they changed the layout of the site. AND, they added new subjects!! Chemistry, world capitals, French, FAMOUS PAINTINGS!! Dude. Game over. It's on.
Alright, it's 5:01pm. And just as I'm about to wrap things up, I kid you not, the new guy in my department just came by and asked, "Hey Janice, do you mind if I steal your stapler for just a second?"
Goodbye, stapler. Hello, insanity.
First off, I hope you're not one of those "can I borrow" people. Have you ever known or been known to be the "can I borrow your *blank*" person? Everyone's known someone similar to this in grade school. Surely you have. You'd think, though, that people would grow out of it. But, no. They absolutely do not. As you may already know, I grow rather fond of people fairly quickly. This does not exclude inanimate objects. In my past, I've been known to be a bit obsessive compulsive about certain things. I just like particular things a certain way. In any case, this does not excuse people from "borrowing" my things and not returning them. I'm talking about my superior. He was visiting from our Santa Monica office, and he walks over to my desk where I have a bountiful supply of writing utensils. He sees I am busily writing in my blog from earlier today and asks, "Would you happen to have a pen I can borrow?" As mentioned, he is my superior, and here is my simple little innocent black ballpoint Bic pen sitting quietly next to my left arm not bothering a single soul. I glance quickly at the pen, and before I could think of anything else to say, I mechanically respond, "Sure, you can use mine." Again, he is my superior. He is smarter, more experienced, and richer than me, so I reason to myself, "Of course he'll bring back my pen. What a silly thing to think he wouldn't. After all, he can probably afford a pen made out of diamonds! What would he want my stupid little pen for?"
Now, you're probably wondering what's so great about my pen. In all honesty, absolutely nothing. It really is just a standard black ink pen that you can buy in a 24 pack at Walmart for $1.99. But, it's my pen! I've grown accustomed to it, and I feel like my hand's imprinted its groove into it. Yes, call me crazy. Or OCD. Or territorial. But it doesn't change the fact that it's my pen!
He left back to Santa Monica today on the American Airlines 7:40pm flight. Along with my pen. Of course. Dammit.
To make matters worse, I find a pen on his desk from the hotel that he was staying at. That martha focker had one the whole time! He left it there, possibly on purpose, as if to tease me saying, "Ha ha, I now have absolutely everything you wish you had." So yeah, I'm now pen-less, penniless, and bitter.
On a brighter note, I've been completely and utterly addicted to freerice.com. It's a website that challenges your verbal skills by asking you to choose the correct definition of a word. With every word you get right, the sponsors will donate 20 grains of rice to the United Nations World Hunger Program. I was like, "Sweet! I can be a philanthropist at my very own desk!" I start to muse about becoming the world's most intelligent humanitarian and wondering if I would be featured on the cover of TIMES or given some sort of honor like the Nobel. After answering correctly, you move up a level, and the levels go up to 60. If you get it wrong, you drop a level. I'm stuck at 41 (without cheating, thank you very much). As if I weren't bored enough, I researched and calculated how many grains of rice there are in a serving. FYI - 48 grains = 1 gram, and it takes 400 grams to feed one person for one day. Therefore, 19,200 grains of rice must be consumed, which means you'd have to get 960 words correct.
In the span of 3 work days, I've achieved 30,620 grains of rice. In three days, I've fed one and a half people. Not to mention, my IQ has probably jumped up a notch. I've discovered that most of my vocabulary stems from the media, like Harry Potter books and Family Guy (basilisk = legendary serpent, quahog = clam). My new favorite word: haberdashery. Although, that's probably tied with hemisemidemiquaver.
As if challenging my verbal skills wasn't enough, I was playing today and noticed they changed the layout of the site. AND, they added new subjects!! Chemistry, world capitals, French, FAMOUS PAINTINGS!! Dude. Game over. It's on.
Alright, it's 5:01pm. And just as I'm about to wrap things up, I kid you not, the new guy in my department just came by and asked, "Hey Janice, do you mind if I steal your stapler for just a second?"
Goodbye, stapler. Hello, insanity.
shaped and molded
Life has strange ways of reminding us that our time here on earth is precious and extremely short. Death is obviously the ultimate reminder. Birthdays are another. Our lives are wrapped up so intensely around our everyday problems that we really don't take enough time to live in the moment. Why is it so hard to simply be happy? Are our human minds so inept that we can't grasp and hold onto the fact that one day nothing in the world will matter except for our loved ones? How is it so difficult to be satisfied and content with what we have? As much as I'd like to live this way, I'm a hypocrite. I'm always searching for and wanting more. It's never enough. Has society permanently ingrained into my head that success is everything? Define success. Our culture, allow me to rephrase that, our American culture has defined success in terms of financial and statistical achievement. This goes hand in hand with happiness. "Money doesn't buy happiness" has always been the aphorism, but this isn't necessarily untrue. What about "mo' money, mo' problems?" I've witnessed many people happy when they encounter money, and I've seen many people weep over their loss of it. But true happiness? Who's to define that?
Again, I'm a hypocrite. I like nice things. This is no fault, and it isn't a lie. I enjoy living comfortably, and I want my family to as well. I don't need to, but I like to. Making sure my loved ones are safe and can live comfortably in a country that demands money is a goal. Not only is money a luxury, it's also become a necessity. So where's the line? When does one stop becoming greedy and say, "This is enough." Never. The only person in my life who I've ever heard say, "This is enough," is my grandfather. He's said he doesn't need anything else in his life. He's not a rich man, and he's not a poor man. He raised and took care of ten children. Nine are still alive. Maybe it was the one who passed that convinced him it was enough. Maybe it was the one who convinced all of us that being together was enough.
I wish I could be like my grandfather and be happy with my life. He's acheived everything he's ever wanted. He's learned everything he could, he raised a good family, he has a loving wife, and he's gone everywhere he's wanted to go. He's had enough, and he's ready to simply live and watch his family grow old together. We are greedy beings, aren't we? Us humans. We're always striving for more. But then again, if we didn't, what would we live for?
So I ask, what's important to you? What are the things you take pleasure in? What do you want? What do you need? Who can't you live a day without?
Oftentimes, it's when you can't get what you want that hurts the most. Maybe that's why many of us are so miserable most of the time. We are a species that always wants more. You always want what you can't have - obviously, that's why you want it. But, if we focus on what we do have, then maybe this whole life thing would be a little more bearable. Maybe.
But what do I know? I'm just a simple girl sitting at work, typing on her standard computer, staring out through her plain window, and wishing and dreaming for the same thing as everyone else. When will I become the iconoclast?
Again, I'm a hypocrite. I like nice things. This is no fault, and it isn't a lie. I enjoy living comfortably, and I want my family to as well. I don't need to, but I like to. Making sure my loved ones are safe and can live comfortably in a country that demands money is a goal. Not only is money a luxury, it's also become a necessity. So where's the line? When does one stop becoming greedy and say, "This is enough." Never. The only person in my life who I've ever heard say, "This is enough," is my grandfather. He's said he doesn't need anything else in his life. He's not a rich man, and he's not a poor man. He raised and took care of ten children. Nine are still alive. Maybe it was the one who passed that convinced him it was enough. Maybe it was the one who convinced all of us that being together was enough.
I wish I could be like my grandfather and be happy with my life. He's acheived everything he's ever wanted. He's learned everything he could, he raised a good family, he has a loving wife, and he's gone everywhere he's wanted to go. He's had enough, and he's ready to simply live and watch his family grow old together. We are greedy beings, aren't we? Us humans. We're always striving for more. But then again, if we didn't, what would we live for?
So I ask, what's important to you? What are the things you take pleasure in? What do you want? What do you need? Who can't you live a day without?
Oftentimes, it's when you can't get what you want that hurts the most. Maybe that's why many of us are so miserable most of the time. We are a species that always wants more. You always want what you can't have - obviously, that's why you want it. But, if we focus on what we do have, then maybe this whole life thing would be a little more bearable. Maybe.
But what do I know? I'm just a simple girl sitting at work, typing on her standard computer, staring out through her plain window, and wishing and dreaming for the same thing as everyone else. When will I become the iconoclast?
Monday, August 25, 2008
three stories tall
This past week and a half has been a very challenging one. I was busy with the transition of apartments, hosting my little sister in town, and adjusting to a new roomie. Not only that, but I went through an emotional epiphany. Epiphany or breakdown. You decide.
The great thing about moving is that it's always a fresh, clean start. You're forced to throw out things either because you've realized you didn't need that 3 month old tub of yogurt anymore or because you just don't feel like carrying it to your new place. Whatever the reason, you find excuses to dump out the unnecessary clutter, which is always nice. The bad thing about moving is the obvious. During the last two weeks, I had been on a mission to move six years worth of crap into a 1,165 sq ft apartment. It sounds big, right? Well, it's not. I mean, it's a great apartment, but it's not big enough for me to store all my stuff. I even had to sell my entertainment center because it wouldn't fit in my room. Time to put my tetris skills into good use.
School is starting soon. I really miss that. I love office/school supplies. I love the beginning of a new school year. I wish I was going back, too. I never thought I'd ever say that. But in any case, the thought of school beginning is really motivating me to start studying again. I mean, really studying. Like, it-was-nice-knowing-you-Janice studying. I will probably be MIA for a while, so please excuse my absence, friends. It's nothing personal. It's just time for me to get moving again. New apartment. New routine. New goals.
I've been getting a lot of dreams with him in it recently. I think it's because last August was when we moved out. Last August was the beginning of the end. Or was it the end of the beginning? Nevertheless, we were physically separated. We were done with a long time before then, but we were physically forced apart this time last year. Maybe that's the reason for all the dreams. The dreams usually consist of very little or no contact with him. I just see him from a distance, and I wonder if he recognizes or even remembers me. When I wake, I'm a little sad, but it's not so bad. Not nearly as bad as before. Is this progress? I hope so.
I was talking about anime with my sister this past weekend. She was visiting me before school started. I always have a fun time with her. She makes me very merry happy. Anyway, she was talking to me about animes and how she hates fillers, and I realized that my life is an anime. My personal life, that is. I had this great story going, and then all of a sudden, the writers of my life go on strike, and I'm stuck with all these fillers. All these guys that I keep thinking will make a great story with me just end up disappointing and making my life worse.
But, stories are stories. I've always been a storyteller. I moved from a second story apartment to a third story one. Maybe the stories will keep getting better from here.
Housewarming party coming soon...
The great thing about moving is that it's always a fresh, clean start. You're forced to throw out things either because you've realized you didn't need that 3 month old tub of yogurt anymore or because you just don't feel like carrying it to your new place. Whatever the reason, you find excuses to dump out the unnecessary clutter, which is always nice. The bad thing about moving is the obvious. During the last two weeks, I had been on a mission to move six years worth of crap into a 1,165 sq ft apartment. It sounds big, right? Well, it's not. I mean, it's a great apartment, but it's not big enough for me to store all my stuff. I even had to sell my entertainment center because it wouldn't fit in my room. Time to put my tetris skills into good use.
School is starting soon. I really miss that. I love office/school supplies. I love the beginning of a new school year. I wish I was going back, too. I never thought I'd ever say that. But in any case, the thought of school beginning is really motivating me to start studying again. I mean, really studying. Like, it-was-nice-knowing-you-Janice studying. I will probably be MIA for a while, so please excuse my absence, friends. It's nothing personal. It's just time for me to get moving again. New apartment. New routine. New goals.
I've been getting a lot of dreams with him in it recently. I think it's because last August was when we moved out. Last August was the beginning of the end. Or was it the end of the beginning? Nevertheless, we were physically separated. We were done with a long time before then, but we were physically forced apart this time last year. Maybe that's the reason for all the dreams. The dreams usually consist of very little or no contact with him. I just see him from a distance, and I wonder if he recognizes or even remembers me. When I wake, I'm a little sad, but it's not so bad. Not nearly as bad as before. Is this progress? I hope so.
I was talking about anime with my sister this past weekend. She was visiting me before school started. I always have a fun time with her. She makes me very merry happy. Anyway, she was talking to me about animes and how she hates fillers, and I realized that my life is an anime. My personal life, that is. I had this great story going, and then all of a sudden, the writers of my life go on strike, and I'm stuck with all these fillers. All these guys that I keep thinking will make a great story with me just end up disappointing and making my life worse.
But, stories are stories. I've always been a storyteller. I moved from a second story apartment to a third story one. Maybe the stories will keep getting better from here.
Housewarming party coming soon...
Thursday, August 14, 2008
numbness eases the pain
I never wanted to be this way. I liked my old self. My fairytale-love-everybody-happy-all-the-time self. This person – this person I don’t know. I was trying to describe to someone this morning that it’s kind of like an out-of-body experience. I’m not used to feeling this way. Like, I know in my mind this is the kind of film I’d love, and I know that usually this is the part when I’d cry, but I just can’t bring myself to feel any of it. I’m usually really good at sympathizing with characters no matter how badly the actors are and overlooking the film's poor directional decisions, but I simply have not been able to muster these skills recently. I don’t really like this - who I’m becoming.
I think I've gotten to a stage where I'm just alright. I'm alright, and I'm alright with being alright. Alright? I want to be happy, but if I lose this "alright" feeling, I risk being sad, too. And that is something I can't handle right now. I can choose to fly, but if I lose my wings, I may drown. So right now, I'm just going to float on my back and be carried along the waves. And we'll all float on okay.
This doesn't make me sad in any way. It's just different. My reactions and my uncontrollable thoughts are just different. When watching a tragic scene in a movie, instead of thinking, "This is so romantic," like I usually would, I think, "It was bound to happen anyway."
Call it cynicism or anything else. I don't like the way this is making me feel. My coworker says she loves to see me like this because she feels I'm coming to closer grips with reality. Bullshit. She has just seen me happy for too long that she wants me to be miserable with everyone else. Of course, this is coming from a person who is in a serious relationship with a man who just bought a house in one of the nicest areas in Austin. Like I could believe her when she says, "It'll come when you least expect it." Or, "I used to feel like I'd never find happiness again, too." Or, "Don't worry, everything happens for a reason." Ugh. So, what's the reason for my suffering, if you don't mind me asking? I suppose it was inhumane to be as happy as I once was, and someone is now punishing me. Maybe that's why I'm scared to feel anything else. I'm terrified that if I ever am that happy again, it will only be taken away from me again in the blink of an eye. This is my mind's only form of control. It's gone into autopilot. Either I let myself be happy and get sorely disappointed later, or I let myself fall through depression and accept that life is just one big cruel joke. It's a catch-22.
What it all comes down to is I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of the pain and disappointment, and so my mind has subconciously blocked any sort of emotion or feeling that might potentially lead up to that. It's a reflex now. Maybe even instinct. I only started noticing this when I realized I can't cry anymore. Me!! The queen of tears! Not one tear has been shed for over a month. Believe me, that's a record. I watched this movie where these star-crossed Romeo and Juliet-like lovers find each other, get married, expect a child, and then one of them dies. My roommate was crying her head off. Me? I stared at her blankly, turned my head back to the tv, and thought, "And this is why you shouldn't do drugs."
What happened to me? What happened to my sympathetic, empathetic, pathetic self? I miss that part of me where I become so easily emotionally attached to people/characters. I can't even enjoy a simple, girl-power infused film anymore. Something just isn't right, and it's scaring me.
I went to Whole Foods today for lunch and made myself a nice salad. I walked past the dessert bar and saw a platter of White Chocoloate Blueberry Bread Pudding. Without time for hesitation, I thought of my sleepless friend in New York. She bought this the last time she was here, and we ate it together while overlooking the Austin skyline on Mount Bonnell. I don't even really like bread pudding. I bought a scoop anyway and enjoyed it by myself in my lonely cubicle at work. I sat there taking in every tart burst of blueberry and sweet smoothness of melted white chocolate remembering better days of wrong-way turns, spontaneous spa days, and lemonberry slushes.
It's unbelievable how believable dreams can be.
I think I've gotten to a stage where I'm just alright. I'm alright, and I'm alright with being alright. Alright? I want to be happy, but if I lose this "alright" feeling, I risk being sad, too. And that is something I can't handle right now. I can choose to fly, but if I lose my wings, I may drown. So right now, I'm just going to float on my back and be carried along the waves. And we'll all float on okay.
This doesn't make me sad in any way. It's just different. My reactions and my uncontrollable thoughts are just different. When watching a tragic scene in a movie, instead of thinking, "This is so romantic," like I usually would, I think, "It was bound to happen anyway."
Call it cynicism or anything else. I don't like the way this is making me feel. My coworker says she loves to see me like this because she feels I'm coming to closer grips with reality. Bullshit. She has just seen me happy for too long that she wants me to be miserable with everyone else. Of course, this is coming from a person who is in a serious relationship with a man who just bought a house in one of the nicest areas in Austin. Like I could believe her when she says, "It'll come when you least expect it." Or, "I used to feel like I'd never find happiness again, too." Or, "Don't worry, everything happens for a reason." Ugh. So, what's the reason for my suffering, if you don't mind me asking? I suppose it was inhumane to be as happy as I once was, and someone is now punishing me. Maybe that's why I'm scared to feel anything else. I'm terrified that if I ever am that happy again, it will only be taken away from me again in the blink of an eye. This is my mind's only form of control. It's gone into autopilot. Either I let myself be happy and get sorely disappointed later, or I let myself fall through depression and accept that life is just one big cruel joke. It's a catch-22.
What it all comes down to is I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of the pain and disappointment, and so my mind has subconciously blocked any sort of emotion or feeling that might potentially lead up to that. It's a reflex now. Maybe even instinct. I only started noticing this when I realized I can't cry anymore. Me!! The queen of tears! Not one tear has been shed for over a month. Believe me, that's a record. I watched this movie where these star-crossed Romeo and Juliet-like lovers find each other, get married, expect a child, and then one of them dies. My roommate was crying her head off. Me? I stared at her blankly, turned my head back to the tv, and thought, "And this is why you shouldn't do drugs."
What happened to me? What happened to my sympathetic, empathetic, pathetic self? I miss that part of me where I become so easily emotionally attached to people/characters. I can't even enjoy a simple, girl-power infused film anymore. Something just isn't right, and it's scaring me.
I went to Whole Foods today for lunch and made myself a nice salad. I walked past the dessert bar and saw a platter of White Chocoloate Blueberry Bread Pudding. Without time for hesitation, I thought of my sleepless friend in New York. She bought this the last time she was here, and we ate it together while overlooking the Austin skyline on Mount Bonnell. I don't even really like bread pudding. I bought a scoop anyway and enjoyed it by myself in my lonely cubicle at work. I sat there taking in every tart burst of blueberry and sweet smoothness of melted white chocolate remembering better days of wrong-way turns, spontaneous spa days, and lemonberry slushes.
It's unbelievable how believable dreams can be.
Monday, August 11, 2008
crazy asians aka crasians and bridezilla
What a weekend! Congratulations to my cousin who has finally made it through college! It's such a relief to see my friends and family slowly getting their lives settled. I'm so happy for her.
After her graduation (which was thankfully very short and painless), we all headed to this Chinese/Vietnamese restaurant for the celebratory dinner. When my cousin made the reservation, she was told that there would be another event going on at the same time but that they would probably be on their way out as we were making our way in. I was the first one at the restaurant, and when I walked in, it was as if the music stopped and everyone in the restaurant turned around to look at me.
I paused and before I could say anything, a tiny Asian lady came up to me holding a few menus and fingers and asked, "Table for 4? 5?" I shook my head and said, "No, more like table for 50?" Her eyes lit up in acknowledgement and said, "Ohhh oh yes. Table in back. Go to back to table."
I turn the corner and lo and behold! The place was packed with Asian people in suits and nice dresses. I was thinking, "Wow, this is some event for such a small venue." But I didn't really think too much of it because the food is really good there, so it didn't seem like such a surprise. And then, I realized what was going on. The restaurant double booked us. Our graduation party just turned into a wedding crasher party. Standing in the middle of the restaurant was a shocked-looking bride and her nervous husband.
The awkwardness I already felt walking into the restaurant was immediately quadrupled when I saw her glaring at me wondering, "Who the hell is this girl walking through my party?" I kept my eyes on the floor and walked back to where the 5 tables of 10 were reserved for us. When I got there, only 3 of the 5 were open. The other two were occupied with people still eating their meals. "Uh oh," I thought, "This can't be good."
I grabbed the first worker I saw and demanded, "Do we have enough tables? The rest of my family is going to be here in 5 minutes, and we only have 30 spaces open."
"No problem no problem," the lady said, "They almost done. We clean for you." She smiled assuringly to me and hurriedly made her way to the kitchen calling out something in Vietnamese. She came back with someone else with to-go boxes and checks for the tables. As soon as the people left, the tables were bussed, and the plates were quickly set.
In addition to the chaos, my family started arriving, and with looks of confusion on their faces, they hesitantly made their way through the restaurant as I motioned for them to come towards the back. I saw my aunts bowing down and apologizing to random upset people as they zigzagged their way through tables. Midway through their journey, a group of men wearing black slacks and royal blue buttoned-down shirts jumped onto a stage and starting rocking out some Vietnamese folk music. It startled and confused me and my friends who were sitting conveniently right next to the speakers.
As everyone started to settle into their seats, the food started to come out pretty quickly. We had pre-ordered the 8-meal course, so the wait was not long at all. I allowed myself to relax a little and get comfortable when I noticed there were a few other tables close to us that didn't look like they were part of the wedding reception. One table had balloons strung to the back of their chairs, and the other tables were full of Caucasions wearing jeans and tshirts. The Sesame Street song, "One of these things is not like the other..." was playing in my head.
I looked over at the bride in centerstage, and she looked furious. She didn't look like the blushing bride at all. Instead, I was the one blushing from embarrassment. I can't believe we just crashed through her wedding. The poor girl. If I was her, I would've stormed on stage, grabbed the mic, and yelled, "This is MY day! All you people need to get the f*** out of here!!" As I envisioned that in my head, I imagined my cousin running over and stealing the mic from her hands saying, "No, it's my day! Do you know how long it's taken me to graduate?" Then the whole crowd would start yelling and we'd all start chanting her name to instigate a throwdown.
My thoughts were interrupted when the band started up again, but strangely, instead of Pachelbel's Canon in D or an Asian rendition of "The Electric Slide," they started to sing "Happy Birthday." Everyone at my table looked around at each other in slight confusion, and then we looked towards the wedding party thinking (and hoping) maybe it's the bride's birthday, too?
Our eyes shifted to the table next to us with the balloons. They were cheering and holding up a small child, and we realized it was the child's first birthday. Someone in their party had the nerve to go up to this wedding's band and requested a birthday song!
Wow, this poor bride. Not only was her wedding interrupted by our graduation party but also some kid's birthday party!! Her thunder was not just stolen. It was cleared out with rainbows.
Later during the course of our dinner, she walked passed us holding up her white dress towards the bathrooms. I tried not to make eye contact, but I couldn't help it. She looked horrified, and I wondered if the restaurant even informed her about the other parties. Probably not. Asian people who own businesses will do anything they can to get your money. They can be so inconsiderate sometimes. I mean, how do you book a wedding/graduation/birthday party all in one night? So many times that evening I thought to myself, "This can't possibly be happening. Is this for real?" I can't imagine what must have been going on in her head. Probably a string of profanities.
On the brightside, the food was good, and the company of my friends and family was even better. We had a delicious berry cake, and we ended the night saying goodbye to everyone. It was a great time.
In SATC, Charlotte had a theory of the worse the wedding, the longer the marriage. I have a feeling this lady's marriage is going to last a lifetime.
After her graduation (which was thankfully very short and painless), we all headed to this Chinese/Vietnamese restaurant for the celebratory dinner. When my cousin made the reservation, she was told that there would be another event going on at the same time but that they would probably be on their way out as we were making our way in. I was the first one at the restaurant, and when I walked in, it was as if the music stopped and everyone in the restaurant turned around to look at me.
I paused and before I could say anything, a tiny Asian lady came up to me holding a few menus and fingers and asked, "Table for 4? 5?" I shook my head and said, "No, more like table for 50?" Her eyes lit up in acknowledgement and said, "Ohhh oh yes. Table in back. Go to back to table."
I turn the corner and lo and behold! The place was packed with Asian people in suits and nice dresses. I was thinking, "Wow, this is some event for such a small venue." But I didn't really think too much of it because the food is really good there, so it didn't seem like such a surprise. And then, I realized what was going on. The restaurant double booked us. Our graduation party just turned into a wedding crasher party. Standing in the middle of the restaurant was a shocked-looking bride and her nervous husband.
The awkwardness I already felt walking into the restaurant was immediately quadrupled when I saw her glaring at me wondering, "Who the hell is this girl walking through my party?" I kept my eyes on the floor and walked back to where the 5 tables of 10 were reserved for us. When I got there, only 3 of the 5 were open. The other two were occupied with people still eating their meals. "Uh oh," I thought, "This can't be good."
I grabbed the first worker I saw and demanded, "Do we have enough tables? The rest of my family is going to be here in 5 minutes, and we only have 30 spaces open."
"No problem no problem," the lady said, "They almost done. We clean for you." She smiled assuringly to me and hurriedly made her way to the kitchen calling out something in Vietnamese. She came back with someone else with to-go boxes and checks for the tables. As soon as the people left, the tables were bussed, and the plates were quickly set.
In addition to the chaos, my family started arriving, and with looks of confusion on their faces, they hesitantly made their way through the restaurant as I motioned for them to come towards the back. I saw my aunts bowing down and apologizing to random upset people as they zigzagged their way through tables. Midway through their journey, a group of men wearing black slacks and royal blue buttoned-down shirts jumped onto a stage and starting rocking out some Vietnamese folk music. It startled and confused me and my friends who were sitting conveniently right next to the speakers.
As everyone started to settle into their seats, the food started to come out pretty quickly. We had pre-ordered the 8-meal course, so the wait was not long at all. I allowed myself to relax a little and get comfortable when I noticed there were a few other tables close to us that didn't look like they were part of the wedding reception. One table had balloons strung to the back of their chairs, and the other tables were full of Caucasions wearing jeans and tshirts. The Sesame Street song, "One of these things is not like the other..." was playing in my head.
I looked over at the bride in centerstage, and she looked furious. She didn't look like the blushing bride at all. Instead, I was the one blushing from embarrassment. I can't believe we just crashed through her wedding. The poor girl. If I was her, I would've stormed on stage, grabbed the mic, and yelled, "This is MY day! All you people need to get the f*** out of here!!" As I envisioned that in my head, I imagined my cousin running over and stealing the mic from her hands saying, "No, it's my day! Do you know how long it's taken me to graduate?" Then the whole crowd would start yelling and we'd all start chanting her name to instigate a throwdown.
My thoughts were interrupted when the band started up again, but strangely, instead of Pachelbel's Canon in D or an Asian rendition of "The Electric Slide," they started to sing "Happy Birthday." Everyone at my table looked around at each other in slight confusion, and then we looked towards the wedding party thinking (and hoping) maybe it's the bride's birthday, too?
Our eyes shifted to the table next to us with the balloons. They were cheering and holding up a small child, and we realized it was the child's first birthday. Someone in their party had the nerve to go up to this wedding's band and requested a birthday song!
Wow, this poor bride. Not only was her wedding interrupted by our graduation party but also some kid's birthday party!! Her thunder was not just stolen. It was cleared out with rainbows.
Later during the course of our dinner, she walked passed us holding up her white dress towards the bathrooms. I tried not to make eye contact, but I couldn't help it. She looked horrified, and I wondered if the restaurant even informed her about the other parties. Probably not. Asian people who own businesses will do anything they can to get your money. They can be so inconsiderate sometimes. I mean, how do you book a wedding/graduation/birthday party all in one night? So many times that evening I thought to myself, "This can't possibly be happening. Is this for real?" I can't imagine what must have been going on in her head. Probably a string of profanities.
On the brightside, the food was good, and the company of my friends and family was even better. We had a delicious berry cake, and we ended the night saying goodbye to everyone. It was a great time.
In SATC, Charlotte had a theory of the worse the wedding, the longer the marriage. I have a feeling this lady's marriage is going to last a lifetime.
Friday, August 8, 2008
lucky 888
I went to Hobby Lobby to return a canvas I bought yesterday. It was too big, so since there is one near my workplace, I decided I'd make a quick trip during lunch, stop by the bank to make a small deposit, and then swing by Target to pick up something. All three places form a trifecta in this shopping center just down the highway from me.
This shopping location is usually pretty barren. Plus, I went 30 min before noon to beat the Friday lunch rush. I spotted someone pulling out of the first parking spot right in front of the store. I'm thinking, "Wow! Lucky me!" I love close parking spots. I'll drive around the Walmart parking lot for 10 minutes just for a good spot.
So, I'm waiting with my yellow blinker turned on indicating that I'm about to take this lady's space. I'm not sure if she notices me or not, but she must have been on a very important phone call with the President or something to just be sitting there and not going anywhere. Frustrated, I decide to just park 3 spaces down in a spot between a beated blue truck and black suburban.
I rush through the lot and was greeted by the cool breeze of the store's A/C. I saw the "Returns/Exchanges" sign hovering over checkout counter numbers 1 and 2 and wind my way around to get in line. This little old lady just barely cuts in front of me, and I sigh thinking, "Why aren't you going to counter 3 or 4?! Can't you see this is for returns and exchanges?!??"
Nevertheless, I keep my cool. You should always respect your elders. I stand there waiting and quietly tapping my foot. I look behind me and see a woman holding a box with her receipt in hand. Next to her was a brunette, bright-eyed child hugging onto a brown teddy bear. I thought, "Good idea. Get my receipt out to save some time digging for it." I find my receipt and continue standing there wondering what was taking so long.
The man behind the counter is an old man, probably in his late 60s. He has liverspots all over his arms and his bifocals hang down close to the tip of his nose. Slowly and mechanically, he scans each item from this tiny woman's cart making little remarks like, "Oh, these pop-up Christmas decorations are on sale. I think these are all on sale actually." Her eyes light up and she replies, "Yes, they should be! I found them all in the Christmas section. I figured I might as well get my Christmas shopping out of the way." And I thought I was festive with my year-round mistletoe hung in my doorway.
Time ticks away and I'm shouting in my head, "Is there no one else that works here!?!!!"
Finally, he scans the last item, "This one's not on sale. Is that ok?" She says, "That's fine." (Thank God!).
"Your total is $46.39."
She looks into her canvas purse for her wallet and pulls out, of course, a checkbook.
Good God almighty. Why me? I can feel my blood pressure rising. I'm wasting half of my lunch break standing here. Usually I'm a patient person, but I didn't eat breakfast, it was hot outside, and I had two other places I still had to hit. I wanted to get out of there. The little girl behind me is tucking on her mother's shirt saying she wanted to go. "You and me both," I thought.
After the lady is done writing her check of "Fooorty-six... dollars... aaaand... thirty-(how much again? oh right)thirty-nine centssss," the cashier takes her check and asks to see her driver's license so that he could take another thirty-nine minutes to copy it down. Freaking ridiculous.
Done. Finally! It's my turn. He turns to me and says, "Hello, how are you?" I give him a curt smile, and the woman behind me cuts into my time and rudely says, "I'm sorry, sir. There's no tag on my box. Do I need to go get one with a tag in order to return this item?"
I turn to her with an appalled expression. With my mouth slightly open, I'm sending her brainwaves of, "Are you serious? You know how long this man is taking to do everything, and you're cutting in on my time? You wanna do this lady?"
As soon as she says this, a young, little blonde bounces over to register #1 right next to us and says, "I can help the next person in line!"
I hate when you know you're being screwed over by the universe. Here comes this perky college student who could probably do a checkout in about 2 minutes, and of course, she comes 5 minutes too late. Where was she 5 minutes ago? Why didn't I leave work 5 minutes later?
I hear the mother in the background saying, "I don't have a price tag for this." The college student, "Oh, no problem! It's no big deal."
I look up to see my guy still holding up my canvas and either admiring or examining it. Sigh.
After a series of scans (he went to make a copy of my receipt!), punching in numbers, and writing down stuff, he calls into his microphone, "I have a return at checkout 2." (This was called into the blonde's mic 10 minutes ago.) The manager comes over, hits a code on the register, and walks away. I finally get my cash back, walk out the store, only to be absorbed back into the Austin heat. I let the steam from inside my car out and notice I just wasted my lunch time. Sadly, I turn my car back to work.
Moral of the story: park anywhere and just walk. murphy's law is a biatch.
Today is the start of the Olympics! I read somewhere that more Americans tune into American Idol more so than they do the Olympics. How tragic.
This shopping location is usually pretty barren. Plus, I went 30 min before noon to beat the Friday lunch rush. I spotted someone pulling out of the first parking spot right in front of the store. I'm thinking, "Wow! Lucky me!" I love close parking spots. I'll drive around the Walmart parking lot for 10 minutes just for a good spot.
So, I'm waiting with my yellow blinker turned on indicating that I'm about to take this lady's space. I'm not sure if she notices me or not, but she must have been on a very important phone call with the President or something to just be sitting there and not going anywhere. Frustrated, I decide to just park 3 spaces down in a spot between a beated blue truck and black suburban.
I rush through the lot and was greeted by the cool breeze of the store's A/C. I saw the "Returns/Exchanges" sign hovering over checkout counter numbers 1 and 2 and wind my way around to get in line. This little old lady just barely cuts in front of me, and I sigh thinking, "Why aren't you going to counter 3 or 4?! Can't you see this is for returns and exchanges?!??"
Nevertheless, I keep my cool. You should always respect your elders. I stand there waiting and quietly tapping my foot. I look behind me and see a woman holding a box with her receipt in hand. Next to her was a brunette, bright-eyed child hugging onto a brown teddy bear. I thought, "Good idea. Get my receipt out to save some time digging for it." I find my receipt and continue standing there wondering what was taking so long.
The man behind the counter is an old man, probably in his late 60s. He has liverspots all over his arms and his bifocals hang down close to the tip of his nose. Slowly and mechanically, he scans each item from this tiny woman's cart making little remarks like, "Oh, these pop-up Christmas decorations are on sale. I think these are all on sale actually." Her eyes light up and she replies, "Yes, they should be! I found them all in the Christmas section. I figured I might as well get my Christmas shopping out of the way." And I thought I was festive with my year-round mistletoe hung in my doorway.
Time ticks away and I'm shouting in my head, "Is there no one else that works here!?!!!"
Finally, he scans the last item, "This one's not on sale. Is that ok?" She says, "That's fine." (Thank God!).
"Your total is $46.39."
She looks into her canvas purse for her wallet and pulls out, of course, a checkbook.
Good God almighty. Why me? I can feel my blood pressure rising. I'm wasting half of my lunch break standing here. Usually I'm a patient person, but I didn't eat breakfast, it was hot outside, and I had two other places I still had to hit. I wanted to get out of there. The little girl behind me is tucking on her mother's shirt saying she wanted to go. "You and me both," I thought.
After the lady is done writing her check of "Fooorty-six... dollars... aaaand... thirty-(how much again? oh right)thirty-nine centssss," the cashier takes her check and asks to see her driver's license so that he could take another thirty-nine minutes to copy it down. Freaking ridiculous.
Done. Finally! It's my turn. He turns to me and says, "Hello, how are you?" I give him a curt smile, and the woman behind me cuts into my time and rudely says, "I'm sorry, sir. There's no tag on my box. Do I need to go get one with a tag in order to return this item?"
I turn to her with an appalled expression. With my mouth slightly open, I'm sending her brainwaves of, "Are you serious? You know how long this man is taking to do everything, and you're cutting in on my time? You wanna do this lady?"
As soon as she says this, a young, little blonde bounces over to register #1 right next to us and says, "I can help the next person in line!"
I hate when you know you're being screwed over by the universe. Here comes this perky college student who could probably do a checkout in about 2 minutes, and of course, she comes 5 minutes too late. Where was she 5 minutes ago? Why didn't I leave work 5 minutes later?
I hear the mother in the background saying, "I don't have a price tag for this." The college student, "Oh, no problem! It's no big deal."
I look up to see my guy still holding up my canvas and either admiring or examining it. Sigh.
After a series of scans (he went to make a copy of my receipt!), punching in numbers, and writing down stuff, he calls into his microphone, "I have a return at checkout 2." (This was called into the blonde's mic 10 minutes ago.) The manager comes over, hits a code on the register, and walks away. I finally get my cash back, walk out the store, only to be absorbed back into the Austin heat. I let the steam from inside my car out and notice I just wasted my lunch time. Sadly, I turn my car back to work.
Moral of the story: park anywhere and just walk. murphy's law is a biatch.
Today is the start of the Olympics! I read somewhere that more Americans tune into American Idol more so than they do the Olympics. How tragic.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
when you're gone, colors seem to fade
Yesterday I got lost in the circus
Feeling like such a mess
Now I'm down I'm just hanging on the corner
I can't help but reminisce
When you're gone all the colors fade
When you're gone no New Year's Day parade
You're gone
Colors seem to fade
Your mama called she said that you're downstairs crying
Feeling like such a mess
Yeah I hear you you're in the background bawling
What happened to your sweet summertime dress
I know we all, we all got our faults
We get locked in our vaults and we stay
But when you're gone all the colors fade
When you're gone no New Year's Day parade
You're gone
Colors seem to fade
Colors seem to fade
Feeling like such a mess
Now I'm down I'm just hanging on the corner
I can't help but reminisce
When you're gone all the colors fade
When you're gone no New Year's Day parade
You're gone
Colors seem to fade
Your mama called she said that you're downstairs crying
Feeling like such a mess
Yeah I hear you you're in the background bawling
What happened to your sweet summertime dress
I know we all, we all got our faults
We get locked in our vaults and we stay
But when you're gone all the colors fade
When you're gone no New Year's Day parade
You're gone
Colors seem to fade
Colors seem to fade
to douchebag mcdumbass
My friend was screwed over pretty badly in the ass by an asshole (hopefully not literally). He's a complete loser and moron. I've felt pretty helpless over the situation, and I've been anxiously waiting for an opportunity to say what I've been holding back. I finally got a hold of his email address (a secret email address he has in order to communicate with my friend because his current fling will get upset if she finds out he's still talking to her. That sneaky little bastard!).
Friend, I hope you're not mad at me, but I just couldn't resist. You know I love you with the fullness of my own broken heart.
This is what I came up with for that jerk:
(For the sake of my dear friend, this douchebag shall remain anonymous),
Years and years ago, you used to call me in the middle of the night upset about a fight you and *blank* got into. I sympathized with you, and many times, I stood up for you. I actually believed in you. I truly felt you loved and cared for her. I wanted so bad for things to work out, and it made me sad to hear one of you upset.
But now, I see that you've fooled me, too. You've hurt my bestfriend in a way that I never thought a human was ever capable of doing. You should be ashamed of yourself. I'm very disappointed in the person you have become. In fact, I curse the day you even met her. You've poisoned her, and as if it weren't good enough that you left her broken, depressed, and tortured, you continue to string her along with your useless phone calls and your disingenuous sense of caring. What right do you have over her now? You have nothing for her. You have nothing to give her except more lies and the thousands of dollars you still owe her for saving your sorry ass.
All that money you're spending on your new little fling better be worth it. She's an absolute idiot for being involved with the likes of you. I've met some pretty awful, deceitful people in my past, but congratulations, you win first place. You've far surpassed my conception of how low, cruel, and conniving the human mind is capable of being. I couldn't have fathomed a more evil person.
Despite all this, I hope that you have found the happiness you don't deserve only because if you have, then you would have no need to contact her anymore.
I've never asked you for anything. I've never called you for help on the phone or ever asked you for a favor. Until now. In fact, this really isn't a request.
I want you to stay away from her. For once, stop being selfish. Stop calling her. Stop texting her. Stop emailing her. Stop any sort of communication at all with her. Stop even thinking about her. If you ever cared for her at all, you would do this.
She doesn't care about you anymore like she used to. Get over it and get over yourself and let her go. You're drowning her, and you don't even care. You're too stupidly blind and selfish to see all this. I know everything that happened. I know all her faults, and I know all yours. I'm not going to sit back quietly anymore to listen to her cry over you every day. I'm not going to just watch her break down and fade into the darkness. She's too full of light, love, and spirit, and it'd be a waste for her to throw that all away for someone like you. She's already wasted years and years of her life. She's always been too good for you, but I stood by her because I love her even though she foolishly chose you. But now that it's over, you need to go away. I bet your mistress has no idea you're even still talking to her. You're such a fucking coward.
So leave her alone. You have no reason to bother her. Like I said, you have nothing for her anymore. You've had nothing for her for a long time. If you need to contact her for financial reasons, you can contact me. I hope whatever it is you have with this other girl was worth it because you are never getting *blank* back as long as I live.
From the depths of my soul, I have never despised anyone as much as I do you. I hope to God, and for your sake, I never see your pathetic face ever again.
___________________________________________________
Pretty good, right? Anger is a strange emotion. I don't think I experience it often enough.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
jerry seinfeld
I was talking to my coworker about dating, and she asked me, "What do you look for in a guy?" Aahh.. I dread that question. How does one go about answering that? It's not high school anymore where you can just list a number of good qualities and hope to find someone that remotely matches them. I'm done listing the attributes of "the perfect guy."
My answer to her was, "He just doesn't have to suck." (That's what she said.)
Anyway, it's not that my standards have dropped. In fact, I think my standards have become higher over the years, and therefore, my options seem to be more limited. Knowing this, I've forced myself to broaden my dating spectrum to counter my opinions and to try to keep those options more open.
It's kind of like grocery shopping. I love Whole Foods. The quality of their products is generally much better than the normal grocery store, but their selection is limited due to the requirements of organic products. Plus, their prices can be somewhat outrageous. Still, that's not going to stop me from shopping there. If I had the means to, I'd do all my shopping there. But even so, you'll still find me wandering down the aisles of HEB every now and then. Basically what I'm saying is, even though I know exactly what I want, I still find the need to keep my options open.
The problem is, however, that opening up the market to different "customers" also makes room for more disappointment. You let in the bad with the good, I suppose. And you know, it's totally my fault. I really do let it happen.
The thing is, these guys that I've dated aren't bad at all. I've come to accept that I'm just completely neurotic. I really am! My coworker was asking, "What happened to this guy? And what about that guy?" My answers? I don't even want to say. The most ridiculous one, though, was, "He wears those white cotton socks that aren't quite the no-show kind or the soccer kind, but they come right up between the ankle and mid-shin." Then, to ease the "are-you-serious" look on her face, I throw in, "AND they kind of scrunch up at the bottom" as if that would make her understand.
She just stared at me in amazement, shook her head, and said, "You are Jerry Seinfeld. Remember the Man Hands episode?" It was when Jerry was dating this great looking woman, but the attraction was immediately turned off as soon as he noticed her "man hands." After that, he wants to be "just friends." Of course, she gets upset and never speaks to him again.
Overall, Jerry is known for ending his relationships over "stupid reasons." It's in Wikipedia, so it has to be official. I'm Jerry Seinfeld. It can't be further from the truth. In fact, he and I have the same initials! The point is, I'm open to dating just about any guy I'm attracted to, and I always start off by looking at them through rose-colored lenses. But then, it just takes one thing. One tiny, minuscule, trivial, little thing to offset everything else. 1.) Is it my want to control everything? 2.) Maybe this is the repercussion of a bad breakup? 3.) Maybe I'm just clinically neurotic?
Geez! Look at those hands! I couldn't do it either. I don't blame the guy. For some psychotic reason, I'm hoping my inability to stay with a guy is a result of explanation #3 because then I could just take partial blame. The rest of the fault can go to my alter ego.
Oh, and by the way, I'm still reading "Breaking Dawn." It's incredible so far, but I'm taking my time to prolong this last novel of the series. I'm going to be really sad once it ends. Coming back full circle to the question "What do you look for in a guy?" My one and only answer: Edward Cullen.
My answer to her was, "He just doesn't have to suck." (That's what she said.)
Anyway, it's not that my standards have dropped. In fact, I think my standards have become higher over the years, and therefore, my options seem to be more limited. Knowing this, I've forced myself to broaden my dating spectrum to counter my opinions and to try to keep those options more open.
It's kind of like grocery shopping. I love Whole Foods. The quality of their products is generally much better than the normal grocery store, but their selection is limited due to the requirements of organic products. Plus, their prices can be somewhat outrageous. Still, that's not going to stop me from shopping there. If I had the means to, I'd do all my shopping there. But even so, you'll still find me wandering down the aisles of HEB every now and then. Basically what I'm saying is, even though I know exactly what I want, I still find the need to keep my options open.
The problem is, however, that opening up the market to different "customers" also makes room for more disappointment. You let in the bad with the good, I suppose. And you know, it's totally my fault. I really do let it happen.
The thing is, these guys that I've dated aren't bad at all. I've come to accept that I'm just completely neurotic. I really am! My coworker was asking, "What happened to this guy? And what about that guy?" My answers? I don't even want to say. The most ridiculous one, though, was, "He wears those white cotton socks that aren't quite the no-show kind or the soccer kind, but they come right up between the ankle and mid-shin." Then, to ease the "are-you-serious" look on her face, I throw in, "AND they kind of scrunch up at the bottom" as if that would make her understand.
She just stared at me in amazement, shook her head, and said, "You are Jerry Seinfeld. Remember the Man Hands episode?" It was when Jerry was dating this great looking woman, but the attraction was immediately turned off as soon as he noticed her "man hands." After that, he wants to be "just friends." Of course, she gets upset and never speaks to him again.
Overall, Jerry is known for ending his relationships over "stupid reasons." It's in Wikipedia, so it has to be official. I'm Jerry Seinfeld. It can't be further from the truth. In fact, he and I have the same initials! The point is, I'm open to dating just about any guy I'm attracted to, and I always start off by looking at them through rose-colored lenses. But then, it just takes one thing. One tiny, minuscule, trivial, little thing to offset everything else. 1.) Is it my want to control everything? 2.) Maybe this is the repercussion of a bad breakup? 3.) Maybe I'm just clinically neurotic?
Geez! Look at those hands! I couldn't do it either. I don't blame the guy. For some psychotic reason, I'm hoping my inability to stay with a guy is a result of explanation #3 because then I could just take partial blame. The rest of the fault can go to my alter ego.Oh, and by the way, I'm still reading "Breaking Dawn." It's incredible so far, but I'm taking my time to prolong this last novel of the series. I'm going to be really sad once it ends. Coming back full circle to the question "What do you look for in a guy?" My one and only answer: Edward Cullen.
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