Incubus

Adrian of Atlanta, Georgia will not come out and play. Perhaps she is a depressive, like myself.

(I'd like to think Adrian is a she.)

Interesting parallel on saw's blog. I wonder what she means. Probably not literal. Probably nothing is.

This has proven to be a difficult week. Depression was so all-encompassing and oppressive, i wanted to write a poem about it. Only i couldn't. Cuz i was depressed. I could hardly breathe.

But if i could, it would've gone something like...

Engulfed in a fog
of
Shit

To make matters worse, for four nights in a row i could not stomach any alcohol. I either went without, or took a few sips and had to head to bed, it so didn't agree with me. Tough times.

Having read saw's recent postings tonight, i wonder if mine were sympathy symptoms. How cute would that be.

There is so much more to depression than just being sad and feeling blah. For me there's a lot of angst, for starters. Quite an irony for someone who claims to yearn for human connection to resent when someone reaches out to touch. And i'm starting to see it does not have to do with bitterness or fear of rejection. Sometimes the solitude orientation just... is.

And it's impossible, futile, dare i say, to attempt to explain this, to skim the nature of this demon that rides on my back and fucks me from behind, until i bleed and bleed some more, but never bleeds me dry, so the next day it can start all over again.

Arid

I came home this evening to extremely low water pressure. Next to zero.

I was frazzled. All i wanted was to wash the grime off my face so i could relax already. I made a few phone calls just to see whom i should bug about this. Turned out it was a broken pipe within the building and maintenance was on top of it.

As soon as i heard the toilet tank start to fill, i rushed over to the sink and washed down in a jiffy. And sure enough, the supply died in no time. I thought, "There, now i couldn't care less."

But it's never that simple. I got hungry, and wound up with saucy dishes. Sure, I could let them sit all night, but knowing they were there just didn't sit well with me. And of course, i started to panick about running out of ice.

I'm a simple woman. All i ask for is electricity, water, and cable. The bare necessities. It hasn't been that long since another was out of the equation.

Desperate, even though the faucet was only dripping, i turned the filter on and stuck an ice tray beneath. You'd be surprised how fast droplets make rivers... Or ice cubes anyway.

A few minutes later i suddenly heard the hush of running water - it's back on! But who knows for how long?! I ran over to fill a second tray, and a third. Thank Thee, O Lord Thou art my shepherd.

And then i did the dishes like there was no tomorrow. Oh, the lush life!

Gazers

Today i was served a mysterious soup with the lunch special. Soup with seaweed and... tiny shrimps. Not just any ol' tiny shrimps. Tiny shrimps with eyes.

Translucent and ghostly, they're like drowned victims staring back at you. They seem... undead.

Now, the Chinese are notorious for calling the most outlandish things delicacies. And i've tried many a dish shy of cat (i don't even like live cats). So i've definitely had baby marine life. But this, this is the showstopper, bar none.

Quote 43

I'm trying to put this thing to bed...
There isn't many memories
I'm comfortable to keep...

Keep expecting you to send for me
The invitation never comes...

I'm struggling to cater for the
Space I'm meant to fill

And distance doesn't care

... Each time I turn around
There's nothing there at all

... Maybe I can't see
Maybe it's just me

- "False Alarm", Eye to the Telescope, KT Tunstall

Epiphany 8

It suddenly hit me that i could die without anyone knowing the real me. I became crippled with fear.

Even on here, where i vow to be honest and truthful, i can always downplay certain aspects. For example, is it cooler to quote KT Tunstall than Kelly Clarkson? (Of course it is, but you catch my drift.)

All of us are multifaceted and complex as hell. Arguably, who really knows us, all of us, in our entirety?

I used to facetiously lament with JD, "Why doesn't anyone love me?"

And i grew ashamed of wanting to be loved. All in the name of being strong. You know what? I have been strong. I am strong.

And still i want to be loved. These things are not mutually exclusive.

Quote 42

He's as damned as he seems...

A tragedy with
More damage than a soul should see

... I'm longing for love and the logical...
I'm searching for some kind of miracle

He's soft to the touch
But frayed at the ends
He breaks
He's never enough and
still he's more than i can take

- "Beautiful Disaster (Live)", Breakaway, Kelly Clarkson

Whine On Wine

During one of my visits at Matt's, he offered me wine. I couldn't decide, so he led me to his cellar. Well, more like the rack near the laundry room.

It was quite a collection. There was vintage from 3 decades back. 99% was red.

I still couldn't decide.

"What do you usually drink?" Asked Matt.

"These days," i replied. "Reisling."

With slight but distinct disdain, Matt stated, "So you're a white drinker."

This is what i should've said: No... Last time i checked, still Asian.

(LOL!)

Synergy

Red table wine reminds me of Matt. (It doesn't matter what kind. I'm not real big on red.) Just as Pinot Grigio reminds me of JD still. Or any dry white variety.

When i regard certain memories as pesky, i consider Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, one of my all time favorites. All experiences makes us who we are today, good or bad (if they can be classified as such). Ridding your mind of any would be like tearing yourself apart, leaving gaping chasms.

I once told Maverick, "Only if you like who you are today."

That is tricky. You have to embrace yourself first.

Proud Americans

I am so psyched i went to the Pride Parade out in Frisco today. I had reservations about various things: From the BART Sunday schedule to excessive UV exposure to feelings of displacement. But eventually i came to my senses: I may be exhausted and cranky at the end, but who cares? Life is short!

I've always contended that exposure to other cultures/communities opens your eyes and mind. Today the exhilarating event more than proved me right.

A long line of bikers kicked off the show. It was uplifting to see everyone so happy to be there. Cool bikes, cool garb, cool folks. At one point, an older woman riding with a motorist held up this sign above her head that read: "'Proud' Mom". I was so choked up i had to bite on my lip for over a minute.

The vibe just really got to me. I totally got into the spirit, screaming and waving and grinning like an idiot. I spotted this one sign with the word "Tolerance" crossed out, replaced beneath by "Acceptance". I was totally blown away. It truly hit me like a ton of bricks.

That's it right there. It's all about loving, accepting yourself and each other, and about expression. Young kids and fluffy animals came along. New parents push their strollers all the way. Couples who have been together for a lifetime ride by. All with proud signs on display (56 years and counting - I guess it's not a phase!). It was just so precious to see so many friends and families come out along with free-thinking organizations/congregations and equality-minded employers to send a message. Today, age, gender, orientation and race were non-issues.

A cynic will detect the presence of ulterior, self-serving motives. After all, there were politicians in a motorcade to get your vote.

Gavin Newsom did not ride. He walked alongside his staff. His supporters shouted in unison, "Not long now! We're so close!" (Or something of the sort.) That touched me beyond belief. I screamed and bellowed, "Yea-ah!!!"

The romantic in me saw overflowing open support and elbowed the cynic out of the way. I see hope. I see it's okay to believe. And it's wonderful.

There was good humor, high spirits, awesome costumes, and OMG, so many hot bods!!!

I caught a lollipop tossed at me, and Denisse and i both scored free beads. Thank you, San Francisco!!!!!!! America, i love you!

Quote 41

Nothing you confess
Could make me love you less

- "I'll Stand By You", Last of the Independents, The Pretenders

Black Birds Have Spoken 3

OMG no egg tastes betta than those done on the lard that seeps out of brown sugar & honey sausages*!!!!!!!


*sausage with maple syrup will do, too : )

Where Have All the Geragau Gone?

Eggplant sautéed in belacan sauce, one of my favorite Malaysian dishes. I'll basically eat anything in belacan. The condiment is made from a specific species of tiny shrimp. And i mean tiny - think the crescent of your pinky nail. Maybe smaller. (Can you find them in this pic?) The little babies need to be fermented before they're fried.

It's fermentation by burial. Months later they're dug up.

Sometimes, late at night, i can still hear them scream. (Yes, i am blatantly borrowing from The Silence of the Lambs.)

The term "belacan" is thought to have derived from the Portuguese word "balcão", which means "covered porch". Porch? Sounds more akin to "balcony" to me.

Makes you wonder what an Asian crustacean mush has to do with Western European architecture with an 18th century origin. I imagine the historic aspect involves a beautiful story reminiscent of Pocahontas. Sadly, that is where my interest wanes.

Sage

The company i work for plays the kookiest (mandatory) tracks. Today, "Downtown" by Petula Clark came on, which made me want to strangle someone. Until i listened.

How can you lose? You'll find
your place for sure
Forget all your cares and go
Downtown
... Some little places to go to
where they never close
And you may find...
Someone who is just like you and
needs a gentle hand to guide them along
Go
Downtown
Don't wait a minute more

If this is not about oral sex and a hand job i don't know what is. It should be featured in porn!

Eh, it probably has already been done before. There's no such thing as an original thought. Which has certainly been said before. Which proves the truism.

Quote 40

When you smile with
Those eyes
Baby it's like you place
a finger on my heart
and your lips next to mine
Make me think that
Maybe heaven's where you are

God don't send to me your angels

- "Forever Love (Digame)", Wreck of the Day, Anna Nalick

Risky Business

I love that many food items don't have expiration dates any more. Instead they have "best by" dates.

It's as if the corporations are saying, "This serves as a guideline only. Proceed with caution!"

Or, "If you forget to read the imprint, or if you're a Chinese cheapskate daredevil who won't stop unless something is ungodlily rancid, it's your own damned fault. Don't sue our ass!"

Claw Clause

NSNM envies that my nails can grow naturally. (I hafta think up a name soon for the acronym is simply too long!)

I've had the same philosophy since my teens: I just leave them be. Some will break and some will get to grow. If they turn out all uneven, then so be it. Many women frown upon this practice, considering it poor grooming. I figure this is the way God intended. Oh and Darwin would approve too: Survival of the fittest.

JD once felt my longer nails with his fingertips and proclaimed, "These are not nails! They're daggers!"

Yes, i have seriously injured some backs with laceration... But I'm no dragon lady. I have beautiful hands - i can get away with questionable etiquette.

K Jones

Some mornings i must have orange juice - I need it in my veins. Probably my body's instinctive effort to replenish the electrolytes it's lost to inebriation.

When that happens, i drive over to Mickey Dee's on the way to work for my fix, with vodka from the previous night still on my breath.

Voilà! Instant screwdriver!

One Moment In Time

So i'm sitting here way past bedtime and NSNM has said i have lovely hands. My pen-pal Maverick* just sent the most adorable email - funny and undisguised - the very reason i love her. Then Denisse, who i didn't expect to be up at this hour since she's had Arizonan company since last Friday, sent me her latest album. The first two thumbnails were her pal Megan's** ankles, sexy, modelling heels. I smiled and you couldn't wipe that smile off my face.

All the while Elisa's playing and i couldn't be happier. If i was to die right now i'd be perfectly content.


*Not her real name AND private joke - if she remembers sober in the morning
** Not her real name

More Than Meets the Eye

In the bibliographical film Ray, legendary musician Ray Charles who lost his eyesight to glaucoma at age nine gauges how attractive a woman he meets is by feeling her wrist.

Here's mine. I think i would've done fine by him.

Quote 39*

Would you be my shoulder
When i'm gray and older
Promise me tomorrow starts with you

- "High", Back To Bedlam, James Blunt


*An homage to my three pen-pals who are happily coupled

The Family That Drink Together, Think Together

Over the weekend my brother W had soju for the first time. What a late bloomer! : ) I learned a thing or two on Korean eatz & drinks from hanging out with my friends down in Korea Town during my L.A days.

W picked up the frosted glass bottle to read it. "40 proof," he announced.

I wasn't sure if i heard him right, and asked him to repeat.

"40 proof," he said, waiting for a reaction. I had already started nodding in acknowledgment when he added, "20% alcohol."

I rolled my eyes. "I can do the math," i told him. He smiled wryly.

I glanced at the description. I read it out loud, "Potato neutral filtered..."

"Potatoes?!" Exclaimed W in disbelief.

"Much like vodka," i concluded.

W mulled it over for a second. Then he nodded in concession.

Now that's bonding.

Just What Are You Implying?

saw wrote a thought-provoking comment to a recent entry. She proposes there is a hidden meaning to my text.

There is? This takes me back to one of my religious studies classes where we had a heated discussion on whether there's such a thing as Absolute Truth. My professor suggested that truth is always subject to interpretation, and reality always to perception.

I still chew on that.

Deep Thoughts (Not By Jack Handey) 9

Often times when i reply during an email tag i take out chunks of previous, extraneous exchange to avoid taking up too much hard disk space. In place of deleted text i type "edited" in brackets.

Sometimes my fingers slip and/or my mind isn't all there and i type "idioted" instead.

"Idioted" should be a word. As in, "I've been idioted by a man yet again recently. I am so done with men, sista!"

: )

Für Elise

I've recently fallen in love with Elisa, the Italian songstress who's fluent in English and performs in it. Self-taught, no less.

I can't get enough of "Dancing". Such a haunting sound. Such uninhibited emotion - such unapologetic vulnerability. Possibly the most beautiful song ever written since the dawn of womankind. If there is a heaven this is how they sing.

I will not quote it, for words alone will not give your soul a full taste. You've got to listen.

"I write songs to evolve," Elisa says.

An old soul. And an enlightened one at that. Gotta love her.

Manueuvering the Labyrinth

I've said it before and i'll say it again. The internet is an amazing thing.

In the past two days alone, my blog has been read in Colombia, The Netherlands, Morocco, and Barcelona, Spain (in chronological order, cuz, you know, i'm a nerd).

That is frigging tremendous! I mean i don't know how long they actually stay, but still, THIS IS FRIGGING TREMENDOUS!!!

And so has someone in Atlanta, Georgia. And they've become a regular, it appears. It always piques my curiosity when someone returns. Cuz, you know, low self-esteem. I assume it's the same person, as it's always the same IP address. (But i thought IP addresses are supposed to be randomly selected at connection unless you specifically request otherwise... But what do i know? I may be relatively computer savvy but i'm no techie.)

It could just be a rerouting glitch. But perhaps if i call them a traffic-monitoring machine like i did saw, they'll come out, come out, wherever they are.

Y'see even though i lament the woes of human connection i thirst for it. I wither without it. No denial there.

Adrian, come out and play.*


*A Jewel reference

36 Years & 3 Days

Had andouille sausage for the first time today. I'm afraid i've grown very comfortable with solitude.

I've always preferred it. But haven't always been comfortable with it. If that makes sense.

Then i had me some garlic prawns from last weekend (frozen in the interim so don't you worry) so my pee is gonna have a garlic-infused aroma for the rest of this beautiful day that is Sunday.

While doing the dishes, I have the final round of The U.S. Golf Open Championship on in the background. It's the perfect white noise to chores. A little remnant from my JD days.

(BTW is it me or does "doing the dishes" sound naughty?)

I don't mean i was cooped up all weekend. (I drove all the way out to Burlingame to lunch with my less favorite cousin so damn it i'm not a loser! LOL.) I had plenty of people time for 30 hours. And i do mean plenty.

Called my parents for Father's Day yesterday cuz they're one day ahead. They (mostly my Mom) started asking all sorts of questions on where i was at career-wise. Unbelievable. Have i had a raise? A promotion? Is my title befitting my degree? OMG! My degree doesn't mean shit, Ma. She lives in la-la land when it comes to her immediate family, those related by blood. Keyword being "blood", which explains her unrelenting animosity toward my father.

And then she asked how come i hardly show up at my bro's for their weekly online conference any more.

Uh, geez, i don't know, Ma. Perhaps because YOU GRILL ME AND MAKE ME FEEL INADEQUATE?

I don't know if isolation begets isolation, but it's certainly begotten somewhere.

Phenomenal

Last night, in lieu of a birthday bash, my brother took me out and fed me what felt like 5 lb. of sushi (well, no one pointed a gun to my head). I awoke at 4:45 a.m. and still felt the weight in my belly. This is the closest to carrying a fetus i'll know.

At 8:45 i was no better. If i could just expel it all! When my brother and i were kids, our father used to warn us of the dire consequences of constipation (probably in an attempt to urge us to eat vegetables, but i don't remember). "You could get fecal poisoning," he'd say. "Too many days go by, and poo will come out of your mouth!"

There may be some truth in that statement after all. I feel like i'm gonna implode.

If i had a harakiri accident right now, my apartment would be a duotone Pollock painting.

Just now i couldn't recall the English term for 腹切り, and kamikaze came to mind. Six decades later, kamikaze is such a household word that no referencing page is necessary. (Oh and the namesake cocktail ain't bad either.)

I'll bet the concept was shocking at first. Nothing short of mind-boggling, i'm sure. But men all around the globe have been doing it for centuries, and methodology matters not:

Men leave women and children behind, so that more men will leave behind women and children.

Madness? Nah, we're all just being human. This is what we do.

Quote 38

... when she breaks down and
makes a sound you
Never hear her
...
And when she says
She wants someone to love - I hope you know
She doesn't mean you

- "She Says", Stop All the World Now, Howie Day

Jolly

Sipping on Reisling right now to celebrate a very happy birthday today. Far better than i would've hoped.

Peeps at work playfully and genuinely wished me a happy birthday all day, starting with a loud one over the PA first thing in the morning, addressing me as "birthday girl" while announcing a call in the day, and repeating the message yet again on my way out. I see the smiles and i can't help but grin in return.

The old store sang "happy birthday" over the phone. Even district ladies whom i've met only a handful of times wished me well, and i could hear the smiles, if you know what i mean. The girl at our Sunnyvale branch sent a fax with drawings of balloons. Got a card from my boss signed with a smiley. I hadn't thought of her as the smiley type. Sweeeet.

Over the past few days, i have received 7 "real" cards, 9 ecards, and 15 emails to extend well wishes. Some from old friends who lead busy lives who certainly don't even have enough time to themselves. Oh and 1 present. And 2 text messages today.

An ecard from my mother! (Several birthdays have gone by in recent years without hearing from her.) And my brother wrote. My brother, who doesn't believe in the tradition of celebrating anything on the calendar.

I truly was touched. I had not expected any of that attention. After all, i have come to expect so little of people in general.

Then the mutha of surprises: JD wrote. JD remembered?!?

I couldn't help but tease him in my reply as he is surely not known for his steel trap of a mind. ("And don't call me Shirley!") (He may not read this, but fond memories are always there.)

When i saw the subject of the email i thought it must've been the result of an MS Outlook reminder or something of the sort. But no. Just plain old human memory. Wow.

As i told JD, if this many people took time out of their lives to reach out to me, i can't be that bad a person.

And perhaps more significantly, people are good-natured after all. As hard to believe as that may be at times.

I'm blissed out. I vow to remember this day. This day will serve as armor to weather suicidal thoughts should they return.

Curious

What's with this word verification thing before having your comment published on Blogger? Is it a sobriety test? : ) Yes, i can type azynbf9. Pretty please let me conncect with another human being. Roger.

Epiphany 7

Today was truly the happiest day since i met my XH in Oct 1989. Honest.

Cuz ever since then my happiness has always ridden on being liked by a man. Even during the hiatus between my divorce and stumbling across JD, there was numbness. I had turned something off. I mean there were pleasurable moments, like when i was playing catch with TC the dog. But never overwhelming joy.

Tonight i experience it. Just cuz i'm alive and human and not cuz someone's in my life.

I started the day tired. Cuz, you know, one too many shots of Pig Nose. : )

But as i was driving on the De Anza/85 overpass on the way to work, the sunlight hit me. And it occurred to me: Other folks who relate to me are starting their day too. And the morning seemed blindingly glorious.

All i need is one trigger. One.

And i was on a high. I reached out. I went out of my way, asking coworkers how their day was going, all the while grinning like an idiot. From their nervous laugh i surmised they were not used to that kind of attention.

Now, i realize the high was not rational. Hey, they didn't diagnose me bipolar for no reason.

But i embrace it. I embrace it all.

I look in the mirror and see a spaghetti-strap heather grey bodice, and think "Hot", instead of "5 lb. overweight"; haphazardly pinned up hair: "Sexy", instead of "disheveled/still needs to grow out".

So You Think You Can Dance curbed my drinking tonight. Nothing has slowed me down in a while. Not sex, not love. The show was so captivating, i didn't wanna miss a thing.

It's nice to know something makes drunkenness obsolete.

OK, "obsolete" is a strong word. But it's a triumphant start.

Let me rephrase. It's nice to know something thwarts drunkenness.

I don't know. The show is mesmerizing, even more so than AI, if possible. It's just great to see people go at where their passion lies. And boy do they look good on stage. And i guess i have that much more appreciation for what they do since i have taken lessons and know how damned hard that all is. My heart goes out to that aching, that aching to be good.

Besides, as icing on the cake, Not-So-Normal-Mom left the best compliment ever. OMG who can ask for more? I haven't had that kind of feedback since my creative writing class.

Before bed i found myself humming Tiffany's "Could've Been". And for the first time since i was, i don't know, 16, i enjoyed my singing voice. It and all its imperfections (at one point i went, "Every time i take my clothes off, they always seem to fall"). I just gave it my best and i didn't care.

It's curious why the song popped in my head. As it is indisputably a sad song. But i assure you: I was not sad. The moment was as divine as i had imagined it whilst imprisoned: I was unbound, and that was all i needed: Me.

Quote 37

The memories don't
answer
When i
call your name

- "Last Cigarette", Have a Nice Day, Bon Jovi

Phantom Writer

I came on to edit one of my recent entries cuz my writing just has to be perfect. I noticed that i wrote Revelation 24 last.

"That's funny," i thought to myself. "I don't remember writing a revelation." You see, revelations on my blog are unhappy pieces.

So i read it, and i was like, "I was listening to Brian McKnight last night?"

Probably not a good thing. : )

Revelation 24

I'm listening to Brian McKnight's "One Last Cry" from 1992, arguably his best track, ever.

I remember vaguely telling W & Elsie how good this song was. And they didn't respond.

The song was just perfect. And i related to every verse. Even though i was in a steady relationship back then. Foreboding, one might say.

I saw you
holding hands
Standing close to
someone else
Now i sit all alone
Wishing all my feeling was gone
I give my best to you
Nothing for me to do

Fast forward to Spring Break 2005. JD was driving us home from Reno. In pouring rain. And Acceptence's "Different" came on.

I tell myself
On the ride home...
... Count me out
When it's clear
that i
Find it hard to say
And you
Find it hard to care

Months later i would realize he hadn't even heard that song. Probably cuz he was attempting hard to steer while hydroplaning at 35 MPH.

So there you have it. I was alone in every relationship there was. They weren't even there.

Talk Like an Angel 2

Last night, knowing that i was lovelorn with the Matt ordeal, Denisse casually asked if i was having drinks.

I finally asked how come it didn't bother her that i seemed to drink more than "normal" people.

Her response (and i quote)*:

honestly i never thought of u as a big drinker...nothing wrong with having a few drinks here and there... if u were getting nasty drunk every night then i would be concerned....

Well, define "nasty drunk" : )


*Thank goodness for Ctrl C & Ctrl V : D

From Kerhonkson, With Love

Gotta love the convenience of internet shopping. Today, the Bon Jovi CD Have a Nice Day arrived from Kerhonkson, New York 12446. It didn't take long at all!

(Course, i wouldn't know exactly how long it's been since i ordered it, as i always have a buzz goin' when i place an order online.)

Goodie! I can't wait to listen to it. I love the title track cuz it's a lil angry & a lil sarcastic - just my cup of tea. And i loved Melinda Doolittle's rendition on AI as well.

And Jon Bon Jovi has been recording for more than twenty years and still hot as ever!!!

It's always a happy occassion to get a package in the mail, isn't it?

This time, the Amazon Marketplace seller included a handwritten note that read:

Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy the CD

Call me lunatic, but i was so touched. You just don't get handwritten notes any more in this day and age. Not from friends and family. And certainly not from a stranger you've never met. Whom you paid a measly $5.98 (i'm approximating.)

At times it takes little to make me content with the human condition.

Revelation 23

'Twas a miserable day.

I went in to work sleep-deprived. I think i couldn't sleep past 5 cuz i was subconsciously worried about having to call my supervisor about a problem last Friday which had district-wide repercussions.

I put off the call until i'd had two mugs of coffee. I wouldn't know what i was talking about otherwise.

It went surprisingly well. As it always does. Cuz i always imagine the worst.

Juggling several things, i felt some stress. And the Friday thing out of my hands and still unresolved.

Then Matt walked in. A blast from the past.

On a call, i waved and smiled.

Great, i couldn't have looked worse. Greasy, ungroomed hair, weary eyes, chapped lips à la Linda Blair in The Exorcist... And i'd put on a few pounds since he last saw me.

After i got off the phone, we hugged, and small talk ensued.

His unannounced visit rattled me. I wished him gone quickly.

"So..." i said. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the area," replied Matt. "And i needed to use your fax machine."

I've always appreciated brutal honesty. "Well, thank you for stopping by," i said. "To use my fax machine."

Before long it was time to go to lunch. I dreaded to have to locate him to say goodbye. It would be rude if i didn't. Luckily he was right next door. Au revoir was brief. I scampered out.

Just as i was about to get in my car, Matt was exiting too. With a hot blonde. Young, voluptuous, slim in all the right places. The works.

He had his hand on her waist. They were practically snuggling. He was basking in the radiance that was her presence. They looked soooo happy.

I don't think i ever saw him that happy.

It was only for a second. But it played like a slo-mo scene in a movie.

You know, when I hadn't heard from Matt in a while, i'd pretty much accepted the fact it wasn't gonna turn into anything. And i was fine. But seeing him with his type hurt a lot more than i would've expected.

Did he have to parade in front of me so heartlessly? Course, it hadn't crossed his mind. He hadn't even noticed me in the lot. It was like i didn't even exist.

And there lies the problem. I need someone to like me for me to feel like i exist.

It's not even about Matt. It's about me and my insecurities.

I texted Denisse like crazy. Thank goodness for Denisse. Without her i'd collapse. All we need is that one person to ask you how your day was. So it's kinda weird at this point that it's Denisse. But for now she needs me as much as i need her.

In the afternoon i felt like a wreck. I wanted to go home already. I had the shakes, and i didn't know if it was from over-caffeinating, having a nervous breakdown, or alcoholism.

"I will not cry, i will not cry," i repeated in my head.

And you know what, i haven't.

It's a cliché, but it's true. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

His Name Was Erik 2

I can never tell in any version of The Phantom Of the Opera i've seen whether Christine clandestinely feels a tinge of desire every time The Phantom casts those burning stares her way.

He'll always be there, singing songs in my head.

I'd like to think her crevices expand and moisten imagining how badly he wants to ravish her. (I don't read erotic novels. Really.)

Yes, I'd like to think Christine has some feelings for the opera ghost. Y'see, i side with him. I rooted for him to get the girl. Why i identify with a creature who lives in the shadows hiding from the world, i'll never know.

In the 2004 version, The Phantom signs one of his meticulously composed notes with "O.G.". You know, short for "opera ghost".

Boy did that crack me up. Yo yo yo, O.G., my man, what up?

His Name Was Erik

I just opened The Phantom Of the Opera, a DVD JD gave me for my birthday, i think. It does not matter now, does it?

And so i watched this beloved story of mine for the first time since i caught the theatrical release in 2004. I've gone to a live performance in L.A. - as a musical virgin. It was simply breathtaking.

I even enjoyed the 1989 horror version starring Freddy Krueger. Umm, i mean Robert Englund.

The tragedy captivates me. Such wistful yearning, feelings of unworthiness; such anguish and self-sacrifice... Since i first experienced it i thought it was one of the most beautiful love stories ever written.

Tonight it strikes me: The Phantom must've been one of the first pervs to utilize a two-way mirror to stalk. It must've been exquisite to watch Christine unlace and remove her corset late at night.

Look at your face in the mirror. I am there inside.

The Phantom transports Christine on a gondola to his secret lair. Where are they, the 19th century French sewage system? Inquisitive minds want to know!

When Christine faints, he who calls himself a monster who dreams of beauty gently lays her down in a soft satiny bed. And walks away.

What?!?!! You've got to be kidding me. Surely The Phantom had every intention of making the soprano his love slave. Have you seen the lacy gartered flowing gown she's sporting? Who wouldn't want to fill each orifice while she makes sounds like an angel??

I guess i have outgrown my romantic side, ay? Perhaps I should consult the original Leroux version...

Talk Like an Angel

After i emailed Denisse at 7 this morning reporting how hungover i was, she replied (and i quote):

....pretty impressive u got up early today after a night of drinkin! u are too cool....

And when she thought i had drunk-chatted up the myspace guy, she wrote:

hehe....u r the best!

So when i thought she wouldn't speak of my ailment due to shame, drinking was actually a non-issue with this girl, something not worth mentioning?

Could this be true? Denisse is - *gasp*- what they call in the field an "enabler"?!?

DND

I was just about to make a drink when my brother W called. I hate the phone. Cuz i'm always awkward on it. But i picked up anyway.

My timing is always wrong when it comes to having phone conversations. Today was no exception. We'd simultaneously start a sentence, i'd abruptly shut up, then not know what to say.

"You sound drunk," commented W half-jokingly.

"No," i replied. "I haven't started yet."

I tend to wait till late afternoon to start drinking. Just foolin' myself: If i don't drink all day you can't call me a drunk.

Flavonoids Jones 2

Whaddaya know, grape juice is better than Bayer's, as implied in a CNN archive. I guess my body knows what it wants!

Flavonoids Jones

I wake up achy, hungover, and jonesing for grape juice.

I have a bottle in my fridge that's probably been there since Christmas that i've been afraid to sniff (the cap says "best if used by 02/17/07"). But God forbid i should have to walk in daylight half a block & across the street to 7-Eleven!

So i sniff. Not reminiscent of Merlot or Cab. Goodie! Thank Gracious for preservatives!!!

Earlier, while lying in bed, it hit me that i'd responded to a stranger online last night. I vaguely remembered having trouble typing, hitting all the wrong keys, unable to keep both eyes open (i picked right).

"Oh, no!" I thought. "I hope it wasn't someone on one of the legit sites!" Cuz i recalled checking my inboxes on both.

So i sprung out of bed to turn on the puter. Had to know. (What did i say? Couldn't remember... Probably something generic.) But before logging on anything, it all came back to me. It was just some random guy, "new to the area", on myspace.

Yeah, the pre-birthday celebration probably went a wee bit overboard. More grape juice, please.

Peregrination

When i cook, i always take Before & After pictures. The transformation fascinates me.

There are two sets of Before & After's with every relationship - when you enter one, and upon ending it.

You may argue, "Not when a relationship doesn't end." Every relationship ends, trust me. Even if it's death that tears you apart. (Literally or figuratively.)

A scene toward the end of Cast Away comes to mind:

Chuck Noland, Tom Hanks' character, is at crossroads. In all four directions, there is desolation as far as the eye can see. Noland gets out of his vehicle and consults the map in the sun.

It's futile. You see, it's not that he's lost his way. He doesn't have a destination.

Just then, a beautiful stranger pulls over and seductively offers guidance.

(BTW how often does that happen in real life?)

Nothing like a senseless act of kindness to reassure the audience there's life after Kelly.

No Caption Necessary... Almost 2

After breakfast, I sautéed the above. Neither item on the brunch menu was perfect. But in my defense, both lobster and asparagus were my first experiment. And it was the first time i cooked without having a drop of any intoxicating agent. That's an achievement in itself.

Don't worry. I shall celebrate later. : ) After all, this is my birthday feast weekend!

After all was devoured and all the pots and pans washed, it was only 11:38 a.m. I felt self-indulgent. And it felt strange.

Aragosta a Colazione

That's "lobster for breakfast" - paying tribute to the 1979 Italian/French film.

Kiss Me, I'm a Foodie 2

Slightly browned Brussels sprouts à la my fave Pasta Pomodoro appetizer. Didn't think i could replicate that effect. Thank goodness for the internet! Any recipe you can fathom, there it is, within reach. No more paying $3.99 per serving. Ha!

I thought there was brown sugar involved. Turns out it's just caramelization with butter. Who knew?!?

As i watched the brick of bovine fat melt, i thought, "Blood clot in a frying pan!"

But god did my Brussels sprouts turn out divine! (My presentation may not be top-notch. But who cares? Yum...)

Yet another subconscious effort to prove that i'm gonna be okay on my own, mind you. JD loved the Pasta Pomodoro version. His Mom used to make them, he said.

Now my entire apartment - all 437 sq. ft. of it - smells like Land 'O Lakes sweet creamy salted butter. The lingering scent is kinda making me sick. But i'm sure passers-by in the hallway are drooling!

I spent $50 on groceries today. Totally in chef mode. I probably bought 5 days worth of food. So gonna cook my ass off this weekend! It's a hormonal imbalance, i'm sure. And, needless to say, i'm overcompensating.

Can't Hardly Stand It!

It just occurred to me that Morgan Freeman has played God twice now. (Typecasting?)

So we've officially had a Black God twice in four years. Congrats, America, you are finally, truly, liberated.

Oh, wait, but we haven't had a Black president. Or would it be more of a statement to have a woman as Commander in Chief?!? Oh, such radical thoughts!!!

Over the Rainbow

Some guy wrote me through a portal i signed up with. He seemed charming, funny, and sincerely fascinated by what i had to say.

"I just got an email on [the site]," i wrote Denisse. "From Grandpa."

Seriously, the guy looked 69. (He was 49.)

I know this is totally superficial. If he dyed his hair i'd probably feel differently. He is weathered. Tayler Hicks this is not. (Taylor Hicks i'd do everyday, and twice on Sunday.)

I elaborated on my guilt with Denisse. "He's old, dammit," she wrote back. With a "hehe" to follow. Denisse is 27.

Matt is turning 50 next month. Matt doesn't look a day past 41.

You can't help how you feel. Until you read a book, the cover's all you've got to judge it by.

On the other end of the spectrum, you can get all caught up with the cover and not even care to flip the pages. I've been on both ends. So i guess i won't judge. All is fair in love and war, ay?

Someday i'll be grey and turkey-ish, and look back on this day, and sigh.

Love In a Cup

This is my Valentine's mug from earlier this year. Only $5.95 with a purchase of 3 Hallmark cards or more (or something like that. LOL.)

I've always had clear liquid with it. Today i have chai for a change, and voilà! The full visual effect is before us.

How cute! Good to see simple things still make me happy, however brief that sentiment may be.

One anticlimactic note: I'm left-handed when it comes to sipping. Which means the heart is always inverted. Kinda wrong. Second only to a crucifix.

Lycopene Jones

Yesterday i had my first glass of Clamato. What is Clamato, you ask? Why, it's tomato juice allegedly with a hint of clams. Sounds gross, but i'd wanted to try it since Third Rock went off the air and guy-who-played-Harry did a series of commercials for the then-new product Clamato.

"Innovative!" I said. And many moons later, i finally got a taste. I couldn't quite discern any clammy flavor in there. And it's got a funny - i'd say "base note" if it were a fragrance - to it. Kinda like that in a can of Chef Boyardee Italian sausage ravioli. I believe the secret ingredient is called preservatives.

I've had the bottle of Clamato for at least 8 weeks now, and it doesn't expire till Christmas. Go figure.

And i should've known better. Don't reach for tomato juice when what i really want is a Bloody Mary. Lesson learned.

Lunar

Tonight, out of (again) boredom and desperation, i chatted with the alcoholic i met online. By now he deserves a name, don't you concede? Let's call him Marvin.

Marvin claims to have had only one beer this afternoon, and now is considering having another. It is 9:17 p.m. on a Saturday, and the dude's pondering if he should have seconds. Maybe he's not an alcoholic after all.

He still maintains that i'm "nice" (the most hateful word, ever!) and "funny", and still wants to meet me. I'm like, "Dude, i'm an alcoholic! What is wrong with you?" He's like, "I have some alcoholic friends and they're fun to hang out with."

"Alcoholics are dealing with a lot of sadness," i wrote. "Possibly anger too. The fun persona is just a façade to hide behind."

For about five minutes we actually had an enjoyable conversation. He laughed at some of my comments, and i found him funny on two occassions. I used the word "preemptor" and was proud of myself.

I found myself thinking, maybe i should meet this guy. Then he turned stoic on me. All his responses became one-liners. He didn't get my jokes and was unresponsive to playfulness and compliments.

The new line i've recently added to my profile is (and i'm paraphrasing): A good conversation is like a tennis match well played - no one hogs the ball, and the ball is always in the air.

Well the convo tonight was certainly NOT a tennis match well played. I found myself sore from holding the racquet, wondering in frustration, "Where is the fucking ball?!?"

It dawns on me it is unrealistic to expect the kind of conversations JD and i used to have. In the beginning i'd be glued to the puter for hours, hell with sleep. Even after our coupledom ended and we graduated to using the phone, it was always, but always, a seamless exchange at the Wimbledon.

I'm suddenly reminded of an Australian girl i used to chat with in the mid 90's. As a matter of fact i have thought about her on and off in the past years when the topic of kindred spirits crosses my mind.

This was when i'd first discovered chatrooms. We all remember those days. When i met Alice*, we were each married. Apparently i was lonely in mine or i wouldn't be hanging around chatrooms. I wasn't looking for love, just a remote hint of being connected to a better, alternative world.

Alice and i clicked right away. We laughed and totally got each other. I felt totally comfortable with her, and she told me everything in her life, never holding back. She had a few extra pounds on her, and this wonderful vulnerable, genuine quality about her. And she had the most adorable, beautiful little girl called Edith. I even liked the husband. He was cool. Had a sense of humor. I fantasized about traveling Down Under to meet her. Them.

"If you were a guy i'd be falling in love right now," i wrote to Alice.

I promised to make her a crystal necklace (i was quite a jeweler then) but i got a job and it all fell through the cracks. Before long, she got divorced, lost internet access, and we lost touch.

This was, of course, long before JD. To this day i wonder how Alice is doing; what Edith looks like today.

Before Alice and JD, there were a handful of friends i could totally spill my guts with, but not necessarily felt that complete click with. And since Alice and JD, there've been people i can laugh with, carry a decently entertaining convo with. But in the end, i see true compatibility and connection comes only once in a blue moon.

And you know what? The "blue moon" expression is deceptive. For a blue moon is the second of two full moons occurring in the same month. Astronomically, that's rare. But still, not as rare as when i met Alice and JD, respectively.


*Not her real name

Solace

Just when i think i know all there is to know about the crying game (*chuckle*), i come upon an interesting article on depression by Susan Freinkel.

There are way more women diagnosed with depression than men. But some argue the gender gap may not be real. Men, plagued with macho idealism, are less likely to report sadness. Hell, they're less likely to act sad. Instead they mask dispair with rage, which makes for incorrect diagnoses. As opposed to women who have themselves a sobfest.

But the fact that male suicides outnumber females four to one should tell you something.

Men are also more inclined than women to turn to substance abuse. I vividly remember JD telling me 105 times (as if it was only yesterday), "You take away the alcohol, and only depression is left."

As Freinkel writes, in communities that prohibit alchocol - Amish and Orthodox Jews - male and female rates of depression are comparable.

I'm not surprised. If i were an Amish man or a male Orthodox Jew, i'd be depressed too.

Lullaby

I stayed in bed this morning for as long as i could - until my muscles were stiff and sore. Just didn't see a point in getting up. I guess sleeping in excess beats eating or drinking in excess. At least it's calorie-free and free of charge.

Years ago i read somewhere that studies showed people who consistently oversleep tend to have a shorter life. If's as if you can only let your brain rest so much, then it rests forever.

So in essence, each time you go to sleep, you're that much closer to death.

The French were wrong! It's sleep that is the true petit mort.

Even though... we're all dying a little with each second that ticks by anyway.