Ultimate Purgatory

Being smart enough to know that you could be better, but not smart enough to actually be better.

They Lie

Am I the only one? I can't tell you how many times a vial of pills is supposed to come in an even number, and I swear I take two at a time, and I wind up with three at the bottom after days of whittling. Are they shorting me? Or is it an overage? (Speaking like a true bean counter.) I'll never know.

Can't Twitter Or Facebook 5

I just need a few moments out of my day to be alone with my thoughts, not that they are so great, but so that I remember who I am, not that I am so great. Is that too much to ask?

Can't Twitter Or Facebook 4

I'm hanging on to my last shred of humanity as best I can. How do others do it?

Up

Dr. Terri D. Fisher has been conducting research on "sex on the brain": just how often men and women think about sex during the course of the day, and whether age and gender factor in the frequency.

When rounding up older Americans to complete the project, there weren't enough subjects following through for it to happen. However, more women did respond than men.

Why, you ask?

The men were DEAD.

Snippet 211

V:
If we're going (to the park) we should go now (before it rains). Or would you rather stay put?

RJ:
I'd rather swing on a star and carry moonbeams home in a jar.

Snippet 210

V:
[On her new job after a near-two-year hiatus]
There are worse things: cotton-picking and prostitution.

RJ:
At least you're not a cotton-picking prostitute.

21st

A commercial of the film Tin Tin directed by Scorcese catches my attention. RJ and I have just seen him on an interview as of late. We are both captivated for a moment. Animation has come a long way. This looks promising.

"It's got a bunch of cool cars in it!" Exclaims RJ.

Something kicks in as I scrutinize. "Does it have an empowering female character in it?" I ask. A few seconds go by. "Doesn't look it." I said.

"For the record, I am disappointed as a feminist," I conclude.

Snippet 209

RJ:
Why do [the English] say leftenant instead of lieutenant?

V:
They do? I didn't know. Isn't lieutenant a French word?

RJ:
Sounds French.

V:
Maybe they don't want to use a French word.

RJ:
Lieutenant: is that "l-e-u"?

V:
L-i-e-u. As in, "In lieu of flowers, please send donations to such and such."

RJ:
{Cackles}
How do you know these [adjective] things?

V:
I read obituaries.

Quote 255

Mediocrity is consistent. Genius has a range.

- Mick LaSalle

Flux

Got engaged yesterday. Was proposed to, on a beach, with a ring and everything. I was so giddy with the development I giggled for what seemed like minutes. And there is photographic proof of it.

I've never been engaged before. I've been married, but not engaged, or proposed to with a ring. How that was I couldn't tell ya.

All afternoon I wanted to Tweet to announce to the world I was spoken for. Isn't that a little conventional for supposedly quirky me? A little non-feminist? No, it is human to want to be wanted. And I need not my private life be advertised to strangers.

To further indulge in tradition, I had RJ get a bottle of bubbly to celebrate with a rack of lamb which I'm cooking tonight.

It has now been twenty hours since I wrote my mother with the news. I know, email = impersonal. But i just couldn't bear any awkward silence. Not on this matter. It was a fair assessment she wouldn't know what to say.

My brother, on the other hand, substitutes his go-to response "Copy." with a jolly note, warming my heart.

All afternoon I find myself glancing over to my system tray for new incoming mail notification. That is so like my mother to choke on this.

I kinda have the blues today, a deep drop from the cloud yesterday.

First day back to Standard Time and everything feels a little off. My internal clock has not adjusted.

As it gets dark, i notice for the umpteenth time under an unused desk my duffel bag that used to be my "overnight"* bag at RJ's, still with contents from the old house. This time, i see that it no longer belongs there, under the antique furniture in the corner of the room, out of sight.

I hurried and unpacked the blue devil and put it away in the closet with others bags and purses.

It's done.

The days of packing overnight bags for sleepovers are gone. I am home. Even if my mother doesn't write me back with unequivocal approval.



*A joke since i practically never left.

And You May Quote Me 64

You know you have a dieting issue if, at any given point in time, you own many pairs of jeans, but only one fits.

Snippet 208

V:
[Referring to Alley the German Shepherd]
You know, I'm really starting to resent her surveillance.

RJ:
Just now?

Quote 254

It's like the Loch Ness Monster. There may be something there. There may be not. But it's fun creeping yourself out just thinking about it.*

- Leonard on Sheldon's relationship with Amy, The Big Bang Theory


*I may be misquoting

Lost and Found 2

My relationship with food has changed.

I've been reading this book Food: the Good Girl's Drug by Sunny Sea Gold. As soon as I read an article about it I knew I had to read it. The rest of the title is How to Stop Using Food to Control Your Feelings.

Bottom line: it's about Emotional Eating. It's the most neglected eating disorder in existence. I identify right away.

Food has been a friend and a foe for so long and yet I've never really thought I could do anything about how it affects me. When I go through what I call a phase (I yo-yo but differently than most binge eaters), I just ride, knowing that it won't be forever.

In my adulthood, between my all-time high and all-time low in weight, there is just a hair short of 40 pounds. I've been close to a size 8 and a size 0.

Now, i know, a white woman would be like, "Oh, shut up, you tiny Asian!"

But it is the equivalent of struggling between a size 16 and a size 8. It is not insignificant. Same spectrum.

And all the while I was wearing the same size bra. It's been as loose as floating on me and as snug as flattening with spillage. Now that's denial.

The book has allowed me to see food in a different light. A concept as simple as not labeling food as "good" or "bad" has been a miracle.

Now, i've known i turn to food for comfort since about age 9. That's like a no-brainer. But to address it, and not fearing addressing it. Wow.

It's been a short journey yet, but already i'm hopeful. This morning, for no apparent reason (or so i thought), i was craving dim sum. These days, a craving can turn into anxiety. Should i go get this fix? Where? When? Better start planning NOW! And often one craving generates another and i'm just frazzled and immobilized by a plethora of desires and left with the irony of indecisiveness and powerlessness.

For it's not about the food. It's NEVER about the food.

But not this morning. I asked myself why dim sum. Images popped in my head. Sitting with family around a table. Chili sauce. Good times. I thought of my mother and my brother, neither of whom i see much of given our situation. Dare i say it? I miss them. I felt sad.

As soon as i felt sad, the craving was gone.

My old sarcastic self would've finished with, "Yeah, sadness. That's so much better!"

But really it is better to feel than drown.

The sadness remains. And there is nothing i can do about it. Not in my power. Not without entering a parallel universe. Not that i want to. And it's okay.

Serendipity

I hop on Dictionary.com and the word of the day happens to be:

anomie: a sense of loneliness and anxiety

Touché, Dictionary.com. Touché.

Authentication

I am not the same person I was two years ago.

Even though I'm a far cry from my mother who cannot boil water for her life ("How will i know when it comes to a boil?" She has said. Seriously. My mother is an intelligent woman, graduated top of her class. But one of the most sheltered persons you'll ever meet), I'm realistic - i'm no domestic goddess. I just recently shamelessly confessed to RJ that i don't avoid cleaning the tub out of laziness; i simply don't know how. Cooking is a hobby because it's just a nightmare for someone with OCD - i'm constantly wiping counters down, washing my hands and generally being counter-productive. The idea of entertaining paralyzes me, i don't dream of motherhood. Heck, a few years back i concluded that, even though i considered myself a dog person, i was pretty sure the trouble wasn't worth it.

The most free-spirited thing i ever did was to have walked on grass barefoot in my freshman year in college. I don't think i've done it since. I appreciate nature in a National Geographic way, from a distance. I don't like getting wet and i don't enjoy sweating. I think Amelia may have been on to something when she, in her early days of frustration and ambivalence coping with RJ's relationship with me, once called me his "Taiwanese princess". It's my favorite inside joke with RJ. I'm not Taiwanese. But maybe i'm a little against getting down and dirty.

This afternoon, in my second gardening attempt (my first was Thai basil, possibly my favorite herb of all time. Well, a close tie with cilantro. It's a toughie), i planted three herbs all at once in the new pot that RJ had purchased and prepped with a soil mix for me. I touched the dirt this time while i loosed the roots. I smelled the scent of the earth. I took in the sensations and didn't want to stop until it was all done, patted down, watered. My legs had fallen asleep then. The cockles of my heart were filled with satisfaction.

I thought, Wow, i like playing with dirt. Who knew? AND i've been feeding and walking Alley, picking up after her. Maybe i'm not such a princess after all.

Snippet 207

V:
[Referring to being able to drive on freeways and cook "something real" again, after an approximate 10-month hiatus]
I've got my mojo back!

RJ:
You do! You're back!

V:
Why did i go away?

Stripped 3

You know, the internet has come a long way. And the things you can do with a website these days to capture your audience: graphics, interactive interface, catchy phases and promos... The ideas are endless.

But this has happened to me more than once: i happily hop on a page, eager to learn more. And i'm left with the question:

Where?

Seriously. Location? That's kinda important, don't you think? Oh, yeah, ease of navigation and common sense. Think about it.

Provocation

Just finished reading The Help. When the movie came out, i was intrigued. I knew i had to read the book. I didn't want any imagery laid out for me. My mind makes the best pictures.

The premise of the story resonates with me on several levels. Humanitarianism has been dear to my heart for years. Life is not fair and nobody ever said it was. The only fair thing we can do is to look at a situation from all angles. It's easy to hate. It's quick to hate. But to walk in someone's shoes, to try to understand. To me this enriches the human experience.

Not long ago, a friend on FB updated his status:

Just watched The Help. Now I want to beat up white people.

Man, was he missing the point. Of the entire book.

Then there's the childrearing aspect that rattles me viscerally. The fact that my mother was not my primary caretaker, either. She made the bucks. She provided. But a child remembers the person who tended to her needs when she was hungry; when she was sick. When she needed a maternal figure.

I remember when i was in grade school i used to wish that my father would divorce my mother and marry my Aunt Teresa so we could be a real family.

Now, i have struggled with that very simplified notion. The feminist in me keeps arguing if a woman is not good enough a mother unless she stays at home full-time, outside of the work force. I can't reconcile that.

My Aunt Teresa, under-educated and far from insightful, who happened to also have worked as a maid before she married my schizophrenic uncle she'd been caring for, did nothing inspiring like teach me self-respect or human intrinsic values. But the selflessness and the dedication i witnessed. And remember. And am grateful for.

I know it takes a village, but to this day i wonder what it would be like if all those good qualities could be one embodiment. Does this just mean i'm not very enlightened?

Speaking of feminism, I sure am delighted by the idea of a female character in that era who does not necessarily worry over being single in her early twenties when she is surrounded by friends with babies. Especially when the man she fell in love with does not get the importance of what she's doing, the greatness of it all. He does not get her. NEVER marry someone who does not get you.

While The Help is set in Jackson, Mississippi in the '60's, I am reminded, with disgust and sadness, that the subservient culture is still alive and well today in many parts of Asia (that I know of). Women from the Philippines and Indonesia, among other nations that chronically suffer a shortage in jobs, are exported into more well-to-do parts of the continent to work as live-in maids. College-educated women. Can you imagine the humiliation? And yes they are still expected to act meek, Yes-ma'am this, Yes-sir that. Miles and miles from home, they don't get a lot of days off. Their only family in a strange land are other maids. And the wealthy societies go and mock these women in so-called comedy, reinforcing stereotypes on what these women look and sound like. It's all a joke to them, as if they've chosen this.

Right now i have friends on FB, people i went to school with, who have posted statuses like, "I can't wait till my maid is back from vacation!" Seriously? That's your biggest problem? Makes me cringe.

Heck, i also recall, back in the '90's, when i was still living in the L.A. area and hanging out with Persian "friends". There was this particular family that had done well for themselves. They had this Hispanic woman who came in to help a couple of times a week. They called her Mexican then, cuz, you know, it was L.A. Now i'm not even sure that was her heritage. I will never forget the way she'd look around the house, tiptoeing, speaking softly, if speaking at all, rarely speaking unless spoken to. The family acted civil with her when they had company. But i swear there was fear in her eyes. When i would smile at her, thank her, etc. she could barely look me in the eye. She'd turn away, as if even smiling back would get her accused of slacking or something. I wondered time and again, what might someone have said to her in the past? To have broken her spirit? The last straw was when the matriach was the family would stress, in the presence of company, "We don't treat her like help." Really? From where i sat, that was all they'd ever done. At any rate, if you didn't see someone different than you, is there a need to mention the nonexistence of that difference?

I know the classes and the deep-seated mentality of "we're better than them" are not going away any time soon. I'm just glad, every now and then, someone writes a book to shake us up a little so some of us don't forget how ridiculous we can be and still are.

Scanned

The other day I happened to glance at my grocery receipt that read: "Your cashier today was SELF". I cracked up. Guess i just never paid close attention before.

I've checked myself out at the store many times now. Glad to see that it's becoming a trend. Why not? Less manpower, minimum supervision. Customers prefer the paced control. Everyone is happy.

The way i see it, it's for impatient peeps who are not lazy. And with the 15-items-or-less stipulation, it is *usually* faster. Even when it's not, you don't notice it, cuz it's you. We notice when others are slow.

First World Problem*

I am so tired from Bollywood class. And it was only the second session.

I recently took up Bollywood Dance For Beginners. I've been fascinated watching it on SYTYCD. I've noticed all these Bollywood Cardio classes sprouting up all over. The increasing popularity intrigues me. Plus it looks like fun.

But i didn't want to be taking a workout version at some gym. See, it's always been a problem of mine to be confined while exercising. It needs to be fun, engaging not only the body but the mind also. Exercise for me can't be stationary or repetitive. I get bored.

Now dance i can do. I dig rhythm. I dig grace and precision. I dig looking like i'm in the know.

Just the 10-minute warm-up in the beginning of class kills me. I lack the flexibility and the stamina to hold a position. I've let myself go for too long.

But i give it my all. Once i start moving, sweating, getting my heart pumping, hell, yeah, bring it on!

I'm reminded of when I was 16 when i didn't mind sweating. That seems so long ago. I had just moved to Brooklyn, NY, and, unaccustomed to being bused around and on a curfew compounded with having no friends, all I longed for was to sweat, to get my heart pumping, to be anywhere but inside. When the weather was nice I'd skip the bus and walked from school. It'd take me about 40 minutes. Piece of cake. I'd enjoy every minute of it. Wishing I'd never reach "home".

The beginning of not knowing where home is.

Tonight, in a mirrored studio, after a lesson even more strenuous than the last, i panted, soaked in perspiration, felt my chest heave.

I felt alive. I didn't remember the last time I'd felt that exhilarated.

There's gonna be a public group performance at the end of the quarter. I keep debating whether I should participate. I don't want to look like a fool. But something tells me if i don't, i'll be kicking myself for years to come.

Besides, as of tonight I'd already been selected to be in the front row on stage. So I'd better dance well!

(Later RJ would comment, "So you can't be that bad!")

After class, my paranoid self walked up to the primary instructor to make sure she'd be emailing us a video of tonight's series. Cuz there's no way in hell i'd remember otherwise.

Mariposa*assured me that she would as soon as Serena** the secondary instructor sent it to her.***

Then she smiled and added, "Good work, V."

I looked down at this petite young girl, probably half my age, whose smile had seemed timid just then. I felt like i was towering over her. I wondered if she wondered how old i was, what an Asian woman was doing in her majorly Indian (and neighboring nations? I'm ignorant) congregation. The only Asian there.

I don't know if she felt obliged for an utterance of encouragement, but i felt utterly approved.

When i came home, i felt filthy. My Nike True Dri top was sticking to my skin, not wicking away moisture as advertised. I complained to RJ about how hard it'd been, how i'd never manage to memorize every move, how beat i was.

Then i grinned widely and said, "But... It was fun!"



*A favorite hashtag between RJ and me
**Not her real name
***Oooh i just realized that together they're S&M!

Raw Silk 2

Not too long ago, i sang praises for "Irreplaceable" by Beyoncé.

It came on the radio again the other day. I still enjoyed it tremendously. However, the lyrics didn't sound right anymore.

Telling me how I'll never ever find a man like you...
I could have another you in a minute

No, i wouldn't want another like "you". I want different. Better.

I've advocated in recent years that, if you're doing things right, every new relationship should (hopefully) be an upgrade. With every experience you should have learned something about yourself and what you need which explains what was lacking - the reason you had to move on.

I am reminded of Adele's new hit "Someone Like You". She is trés talented and I am impressed by her second album entirely. Her soulful voice blows me away. I've tweeted, "How does someone so young know so much (about pain)?" Pain, when expressed beautifully, can be highly enjoyable. It pierces your core being and resonates.

But after having listened to the lyrics repeatedly, i don't agree with the sentiment.

Never mind i'll find someone like you

Again, i don't want someone just like an ex. That's why he is an ex!

Epiphany 25

You know what the one thing that bothers me the most about aging is?

It's not slower metabolism

sagging boobs

deteriorating brain cells.

It's the disappearing philtrum.

Snippet 206

AC:
Gugu, are you married yet?

V:
No.

AC:
Why not?

V:
It's not the right time.

AC:
When is the right time?

V:
Do you want Gugu to be married?

AC:
Yeah. When?

Quote 253

You just got to learn to talk to people who aren't like you. It's called empathy, man.

- Galvin*, "Niece", Louis C.K.



*I may be misspoken

Elm Street

I went to a city hall meeting tonight. It wasn't my first. Last time I went, it was for a poli sci assignment. This day was by choice. Mr. Rowan* would be proud.

I rather enjoyed my first city hall meeting experience. All the formality and lingo of "motion" and "second" and aye's. I found it fascinating.

I attended this evening because there is a proposal to erect an 80-ft cell tower on my block, only yards away from my balcony. I needed to know more.

While I was excited to be exercising my citizen rights, I went in pretty detached. After all, we use cell phones everyday. Sure, there are precautions. I use the speaker whenever I can (my bluetooth earpiece sucks) and I am mindful not to keep the device close to my body for prolonged periods of time. Just in case.

I was surprised by the public response at the meeting. An outcry, really. Some came really prepared, with facts and print-outs to argue their point. Most spoke with difficulty and lack of succinctness, but you gotta respect their conviction. I was moved. I started to feel angry with these people. These neighbors of mine whom I'd never met.

I glanced at the engineer making the case for one service career. Who is he to be making these statements that affect us? He's from Jersey. He's not gonna be living with this day after day.

Again, that us-versus-them mentality? It's worked for hundreds of thousands of years. It's what makes war and bloodshed. It's what makes survival. It's what makes us human.

My heart beat faster and faster. Who are these people to tell us this is safe? I must say something.

I was the last one to go up to speak because I debated and I debated. I dread public speaking. But I decided i couldn't live with myself if i didn't make one point that was important that no one had addressed. So i stepped up.

I said "good evening" and "I'll be brief". Then I basically said:

Government guidelines are not hard science. Twenty years ago, margarine was good for us. Today it is not. RF levels of 1% or 2.6%** are not as good as ZERO.

I was shaking the whole time, probably far from appearing attractive. But i saw empathy on the panel's faces. You can't fake sincerity.

I was pleased to be concise and to have spoken my mind. I was proud to have overcome my fear. Okay, i didn't overcome it. But i did not let it stop me.

Unlike in Hollywood movies, at the end of the day, there was no victory. There was compromise. The tower was not to exceed 60 feet tall.

I don't blame the commissioners. It is tough. We love the cell phone technology but no one wants to live near a transmissive pole. Then we complain about poor coverage.

The community was outraged. One of the long-winded guys went up to the podium again (apparently he did not comprehend the rules. Hello, the meeting is over!) and started repeating, "You cannot approve this!" until he was told he was out of order.

Wow, high drama. More than what i'd bargained for. I was reminded of the old days when a town hall meeting could turn into a bawl. "What sayeth thou, brethren?" Then it's uproar and mayhem.

That might have been more cathartic. Instead we get to have the option to see the city clerk in daytime to inquire on a repeal. There may be a fee, I hear.

I may just do that.



*Not his real name
**Figures presented to the audience

Altruism 101

RJ was getting all appreciative of my being kind and considerate when i sprung on him that age-old argument* that there is no such thing as a selfless act. Not when it makes us feel good.

Damn straight. Not until there's evidence Mother Theresa once sported an "I'd rather be fishin'" bumper sticker does anyone qualify to be a saint.


*As old as Phoebe in Friends :-)

Stay

I haven't blogged in a while. I can see why everyone has migrated to FB and Twitter. They're easier. There, if i misspell something, i don't care. Nobody cares.

As expected, when i haven't done any "creative writing" in a while, i lose confidence i can do it again.

Some things you simply can't tweet. Well, you could, it would take 176 tweets to tell your story. And then everybody begs you to stop. Or they unfollow you.

I may have a smaller audience here, and in our share-everything-oh-look-at-me culture, this may make no sense. But, as Eddie tells Louis C.K., "You do it to tell the truth."

RJ and i are in the process of consolidating our lives and belongings. Downsizing is hard. Transitions are hard.

Of all things, i worry about Alley switching from a house to a 5th-floor condominium. The balcony is shit compared to the 1/4-acre (?) backyard. Off-leash time on carpet is not a dream. No more galloping or rolling on green. I picture walking her in the bitter winter cold of Northern California (ha, ha) and i wince.

Yesterday morning, for the first time since spending the night at the condo, RJ slept in. Alley had been restless and whining since 6:30. By 8:30, especially after a nightmare (mornmare?), i decided to walk her.

I was feeling pretty upbeat about it. It actually felt good to rise early. The morning air felt good. The sun felt good. I could see why rumor has it that peeps with pets tend to live longer.

Alley was greeted by friendly neighbors in the elevator singing praises of her fluffiness. They wanted to know her age. All exchanged information was met with approving nods and smiles. I tweeted later that scoring compliments just for being furry was not too shabby.

The internal clock is a funny thing. I had another mornmare today, and decided to walk Alley again.

When we strolled down the hallway, a door creaked open. I pulled Alley closer so as not to startle a neighbor. Not close enough. An older woman dressed in traditional ethnic costume, just emerging from her house, slightly jumped back at the sight of Alley. I smiled and said "good morning" and moved along, not waiting for a response.

As Alley and i were waiting for the elevator, said woman eventually approached with an older man whom i assumed to be her husband. I smiled and looked away.

Just as the elevator arrived, the woman frowned and asked, "Do they allow dogs in lifts?"

I was appalled. Who's "they"?

"Really?" I said. "I'll have to ask." I hadn't exactly read the entire owner's manual from the HOA.

Predictably, Alley and i entered the elevator, and the couple didn't follow suit.

I was furious. This was in stark contrast to the experience yesterday.

Why would an HOA not allow pets in elevators? Seriously? In what world would pet owners be asked nicely to take the stairs? I've lived in a lot of places, mostly apartments, and NEVER have i heard such an absurd suggestion. That's like saying parents with small children shouldn't be allowed on a plane. Which some may argue fervently is not a bad idea. But we can't bar 'em. This gets my blood boiling! Maybe they shouldn't allow dog-haters in elevators!

At the park we ran into the young woman across the hall from us who had always been nice in a meek way. She, too, on this day, was donning a traditional ethnic outfit. I'd never seen her in one before. She looked lovely.

We smiled and said "good morning".

I held Alley close again. She's a people-whore.

Just as neighbor was gonna pass us, Alley pulled on her leash, stopping neighbor on her tracks. Fear and hesitation was displayed.

"Can i go?" She asked timidly.

Holding on to the leash firmly, i replied, "Go ahead!"

Again i was irritated. Given, if i didn't know a dog's temperament, i wouldn't bet on it being well-trained without facts. However, it is true: if a small dog hops to greet you, it's cute and adorable. If a big dog makes a move, it's intimidating. Sounds like size profiling to me.

That's two for two. All of a sudden i understood perfectly why it's easy to consider everybody in a certain group all the same. No! I won't do that.

Long after coming home, i couldn't get over it. I hate when i feel this way. And, knowing me, i have to question why i'm so affected. Was it the disdain i felt as the older woman glared at us? The discrimination? The injustice? The alienation? Come on, wasn't i blowing things out of proportions?

Because I've been reading Sarah's Key? Persecution is everywhere. All the more reason not to judge, especially not by ethnic group.

RJ's Terms of Endearment For Me

Cutie pie.

Baby cakes.

Mofo.

Snippet 205

V:
Both Denisse and Elsie seem to think Alley has gained weight.

RJ:
I think she's gotten stupid.

V:
Well, not mutually exclusive events.

Lunch with Me Myself and I 6

Cold udon in soy ginger sauce. I must be on a chilled noodle kick.

Lunch with Me Myself and I 5

I've been curious about the hiyashi chuka for a long time. Finally got to try this chilled ramen for the first time today. Couldn't have been more perfect on this warm day. This tangy shoyu version (just can't beat the holy trinity of soy, vinegar and oil! ) has mustard on the side plus parsley sprinkled on top. I could've used a lot more of both!

About Town 18

Well Played

The 'rents left last night. Even after years of goodbyes, they are never easy. I felt numb though. I'm sure my subconscious has learned to block out those pesky emotions. It's like, Oh well, we just don't live in the same place, nothing we can do about it. However, there is that sense of loss. Boy, is there a sense of loss.

As I watched them wave goodbye through the glass wall of the restricted area, I couldn't help but wonder if that may be the last time. They're older now. And that's just life.

This morning, as I rose, as predicted, I thought, "OK, I'm up, but what for?" There is no one to run to, there is no reason to hurry and shower. (A job would've helped, I realize.) Incidentally, no RJ last night or today. That quietness takes some getting reacquainted with. I can't say it's not welcome, though.

Of course, too, there's the grocery issue. Where will I be "stationed" from this point on? Can't commit to fresh produce until I know. I feel very displaced and disoriented.

Apparently Elsie and the boys have grown used to and fond of having the grandparents around, too. Everyone is readjusting.

Denisse is going through a tough time. Crossroads, if you will, in a chapter of her love life. (I'm not sure I'm crazy about the expression "love life", but for lack of better terms...) I kinda thought it was a good night for us to have commiserated. She found that she was okay alone. I'm not surprised. I'm not surprised, either, that I still like being alone. That defense mechanism kicks in, man. It's engaged like on auto-pilot. Fuck if i should need anyone. No, siree bob, not this gal.

And i'm not crying either.

There's only one crucial matter at hand:

What's for lunch?

Eatz 12

Duck rolls

Seafood

Pumpkin curry with pork

Sea bass

Porcine 32

About Town 17

Sweet Italian peppers

About Town 16

RJ Makes Dinner 25

Cuban Mojo halibut with mango kiwi salsa

Alter-scape 4

Foot

The last day of June means the last day of displaying my birthday cards. It's a miracle I still get real cards. Two of these 3 I received by mail, no less.

Turning 40 is quite symbolic on several levels. I feel like I care about my looks less, my comfort a lot more. In the past two days I caught myself sporting what I call the classic middle-aged Asian woman look: comfy tee, straight-leg capris and Skechers. I don't know what it is with middle-aged Asian women and Skechers. Perhaps a desperate cling to the remnants of youth. But why this brand in particular??

I went through a wild phase obsessed with said brand during my early 30's. The passion has since been long gone. But, like I said, comfort reigned, and I was not too ashamed to be caught dead in a shoe brand that was no longer glamorous to me.

Today, running one of my last errands in Japan town, I stopped for manju. Personally, I couldn't care less about these mochi-like dessert pieces, but Elsie loves them. Since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I'd delight her with a dozen.

The Japanese ladies at the store couldn't be friendlier. One was probably in her 50's, the other, early 60's. "Gift?" The former asked me. "Yes!" I replied, touched by her thoughtfulness. She proceeded to wrap the box up with rice paper and a pink ribbon tied in a bow.

As we were saying our goodbyes, the latter noticed my red Skechers. "I like your shoes!" She declared.

I thanked her. A conversation on the shoes ensued: where I got them, when I got them, speculation on whether the store still existed today.

Incidentally, Sherry had just complimented me on the shoes after our weekly lunch today.

"I don't really like Skechers per se anymore," I'd told Sherry after having explained my phase.

"I do!" Sherry had said. Sherry happened to be in her 50's.

Of course you all do, ladies. That's why the brand completes what I call the classic middle-aged Asian woman look!

Bunion Regulator

Another first!

Taking after my late grandma, I have reached a point where the pain and discomfort caused by my bunion has prompted me to do something about it. Course, my grandma didn't have any corrective device back then. She could only resort to topical herbal remedies. I don't think those did her much good.

Let's hope this simple design works its magic.

Mezzalunas

Literally "half moons". (Basil pesto filled.) Another first!

Remarkable because Mezzaluna was the name of the cafe RJ and I had our first date at.

RJ's Birthday Lunch

French dip prime rib

The biggest ladle, ever!

The best soft-boiled egg I've ever had, simply the stuff that dreams are made of! (The grilled prawns and pork belly weren't to be downplayed, either.)

'Round the House 3

Vintage 24

A case of buying the bottle for it's a limited edition interpretation of the city I adore.

Porcine 31

Lunch with the Fam 6

Rock cod

A Day at the Farm

The Family That Drink Together, Think Together

Denisse and I haven't done the wine bar scene in a while. Today was the perfect weather for sipping al fresco. Plus she's been having some guy trouble lately, and some girlfriend time was in order.

Lunch with the Fam 5

Cajun fettucine

Lunch with the Fam 4

My 40th Birthday Lunch

Salade d'oreille de cochons (salad with crispy pig ears and capers)

Escargot in Pernod garlic butter

Brasserie skirk steak frites Boudelaise

Rigatoni Printanier with chorizo and wild shrimp