202: Weekend Recap

Here's a quick rundown of my fabulous weekend:

Friday night after work,
... I come home. And eat. And then, get this everyone, I go to bed... EARLY.

Saturday,
... I take the 'rents into Manhattan. Meet up with my cousin and feast at Dos Caminos. Go for drinks at the View, the revolving restaurant, in the Marriott Hotel in Time Square.

Sunday,
... I take a tentative step in becoming a potential future home owner. I walk down and up many streets and I take the lifts up and down many apartment buildings in search of a place that calls out my name.

But I wonder... Do I really want to settle in New York?

I think I need to explore what other places can offer me. Like, the West Coast. I've many vacation days and sick days left over this year. I'm almost tempted to buy a beat up car for something less than $500, and go West. And see what it can offer me.

Addendum:
I've just checked craigslist, and no one's selling a fully functional car for $500. It comes as no surprise that God hates me.

201: Ben!

A strange thing happens to me on my way to work. I’m on the 6 Train sitting down, my ears stuffed with what used to be white earphones, the iPod's playing … something I don’t recall, because my focus is on reading Paul Neilman’s “Apathy.” Then, suddenly I feel a tap on my right shoulder. I put the book down, unplug my right ear, and turn to face the agitator of my morning commute.

She’s around my age, I think. With a big grin, she tells me that my Ben Sherman bag is her design. And as to justify her interruption and as to show evidence, she lifts her big, black, Ben Sherman logo etched bag. It’s a pathetic attempt at her proof of her profession. My overprotective New York mentality goes into hyper-drive. Must I suffer another sort of crazy, other than me, on this dreary morn? I ponder. She gushes about how great it is to see her work in people’s hand. Then as the train reaches my stop, I praise her work, saying how much I like the bag, and with an awkward goodbye I walk away.

I don’t generally function well in the morning... Now as I’m writing this, I think, what if she was really the designer of my bag? Why wouldn’t she be? Why would some random stranger lie about who she is? I think I should go into craigslist’s Missed Connection or something, and apologize for my halting display of social ineptitude. Or praise the shit out of her so that she can get in touch with me and send me a sample or two of her new designs.

What say you?

200: ...O, My.

A friend from some southern town comes to the Big Apple. On Friday with him, I break bread on Jane's sumptuous table, and to hit the G Spot, I imbibe on an Appletini. But I miss. For my wandering hand syndrome, I seek counsel at Therapy. On Saturday night, instead of Bread, I opt for a glass of water, which takes forever to come. Poor harried girl. Can a hug help to hurry her up? I wonder. Eventually, even the daisy's thirst gets quenched. The night ends with us cashing out at the Bank some saved up booty shaking. Then we part: he, to his abode, and I, to abide. With a new realization. That the city is more than enough. That I am more than enough.

A gift to a friend from some southern town:

199: Let's See...

...I'm knackered. I hate it when work takes me to New Jersey. It's a punishment.

...I've just read the NYT, and WE WON!!! Virginia, I'm sorry. I take it back. You have made me proud. You are not worthless at all. Hmm, I've never said that you were, did I? Oops.

...Oh, take a look at this:

Ummm... Dayyum... YUM.

People, take note! I know what I want for Christmas.

198: Nail Biting

10:51 PM
I think the House will go Democrat. I think the House will go Democrat. Ask me how I feel?

No, I'll just tell you. Ecstatic! I'm ecstatic.

Now, I'm concerned about how the Senate races are coming along. Virginia is yet again disappointing me. People of Tennessee could have spoken loud and proud, shedding the infamous legacy of the South, by electing a first black Senator from the South since Reconstruction. But are they going to? It seems unlikely now. Total disappointment.

10:58 PM
Let's see the Daily Show's take on this Midterm Midtacular.

11:06 PM
I love the "loser" stamp the show is placing on the pictures of... losers! It's so deliciously sweet when the losers are Republicans. Oh, the show's calling the Senate race in Pennsylvania. Oh, let's see what's happened to Rick Santorum, the biggest ass in the Senate. Oh my God, he has been raptured. He'll be no where near the Senate chamber. Hallelujah.

11:18 PM
ABC News is predicting the control of the House will go to the Democrats. The New York Times indicates 14 seat gain for the Democrats, and we need just one more to take control. We won. We have overcome. We have the House. Now let's see by how big the margin the Democrats will take control, or as I would like to put it, whop the GOP's Elephant ass.

It's a good change. It would be a great change, if the Senate went my way.

197: I Voted, But For What? I Don't Know

I’m a little disappointed with this year’s election. My district will never be a battle ground district. In fact, my state will always be predictably Democrat. Seriously, does my vote count?

Besides the federal races, in New York State, we are voting for a new Governor, Comptroller, and Attorney General, and not to mention for members of the State Assembly. After having a Republican Governor for 12 years, we will go back to a Democrat running this state, Eliot Spitzer. I’m surprised that the GOP did not field anyone strong enough to challenge Spitzer and follow in Pataki’s footstep. Not that I’m complaining. As for the State Comptroller, I don’t know what the Comptroller does, so I don’t really care. Except that the incumbent, a democrat, Alan Hevesi, is mired in some political scandal and there’s a talk of impeachment if he’s re-elected. That’s hot! Also, a good example of how in New York politics runs in the family is by watching the race for the Attorney General seat. The democratic candidate, Andrew, is a son of a former New York Governor, Mario, (and a brother of a certain anchor of a national morning news program, Chris). Can you guess the family name? Finally, as for who is going to represent me in the state Assembly, both the Senate seat and the House seat will go to the Democrats. So, clearly, it’s another year of predictable outcomes. Not that I’m complaining.

I just want my vote to matter, like the Floridians during the 2000 election, or the Ohioans during the 2004 election.

And my Congressional district will return the long standing, the twelfth termed and soon to be thirteenth, and the unopposed gentleman from Flushing, New York, Gary Ackerman, to the U.S. House of Representative. *Yawn!* Seriously, the man has not campaigned here at all for as long as I can remember. Also, the junior Senator, and hopefully the next President of the United States, Hillary will return to her seat in the Senate. But did she come and visit us? I think not!

Because we’re so predictable, no candidates ever visit. We have no worth. My vote does not matter.

I need to move.

196: E-mailing My Post

This is a test. If this works well, then while at work I can pretend to be writing "work" e-mails. And that will be fantastic!

Well, I've made a few minor adjustments to my blog. And now I'm thinking I want a new look. But instead of worrying about a new look, I should, as many of you have repeatedly told me, concentrate on posting more often.

An effort is being made.

But remember, I'm someone who's prone to failure. So, I don't expect much from me, and so you shouldn't either.

YAY!

Self-pitying is sooooooo fun. Not overrated at all.

195: Elector's Dilemma

It's Halloween and I'm already looking towards the future, towards Election Day. I guess it's because I'm watching the Daily Show. And come on, Election Day is only a week away.

It's a day when we make choices, hoping that our choices are the right ones, the winning ones. We can hope and hope, but there will be times you will make wrong choices, and you'll end up feeling like some losing character in Mortal Kombat with the head decapitated with blood gushing up like Old Faithful.

But once a bad decision has been made, is there any saving grace? Can there be a do-over?

I don't know. Probably not.

So, if there isn't any saving grace or a do-over, I guess you have to let the consequences of the bad choice run their course, and come next Election Day you will make the right choice. A choice based on facts, not on suppositions and fear.

So, people, I plead with you. Help us take back the Senate and the House!

194: Unsettled

What do people normally do when they're unsettled?

Before I start silencing my thoughts and emotions by watching TV, I'm going to make a bold statement: I'm afraid. I'm afraid that I might have made a mistake. Or maybe I'm justing running away. No wonder! I'm afraid my insecurity and doubt are gripping me so tight, I have no other choice but flee.

So, tell me, what do people normally do when they're unsettled?

Maybe when I wake up tomorrow morning, the world will be different. But for now, it's time for me to kill any form of cognition I have.

193: And There Was...

And there was a carving of pumpkins. And may I add, considering the last time I craved a pumpkin was when I was nine, it turned out pretty cute. It's a scared yet adorable face with jazz hands. Now I've a strong craving for a pumpkin pie. Anyway the thing is I was supposed to carve it at a party. Well... okay, I did make it to the party, but yours truly, true to his clumsy, inept form, arrived late... correction: beyond late: all the guests had left and the apartment had been cleaned. But it was all good because the host and I spent a couple of hours the next morning, while watching "Nightmare Before Christmas," carving pumpkins. So, yes, there was a carving of pumpkins.

And there was a breaking of a CD player. Shit happens! Yet the host blames me. Really! Totally not my fault. If I can look the other way... Fine, sure, yes, I did spill hot chocolate on his couch. That he can blame me for as much as he wants, because it was my fault. But I will not take the blame for the CD player. So there!

And there was a viewing the throng of runners. A friend of the host was running the Marine Corps Marathon and we went to it to cheer her on. Unfortunately, we did not see the friend. But there was plenty of shivering. Note to self: I think I want to run one in the future. but first, Get. In. Shape.

Hahahahaha... I'm making it sound like a lot of things went wrong this weekend. Maybe. Maybe not.

Oh, there was some unrestful nights, too.

And there was a look of "Oh, he's so nasty" followed with a shrug of "whatever" this morning.

Hmm... maybe a lot of things did go wrong. Or maybe not?

192: Slumming With A Pissant Mop

I power-walked to my office this morning. I didn’t need to wake up at 6:40 to get to work at 9:00. I didn’t need to take the subway, a door-to-door commute of 1 hour. I walked! Because since last night, I’ve become a Manhattanite, but only temporarily: I’m house-sitting for my cousin. (Yes, I am a New Yorker, but I don’t live in Manhattan. Get over it!) I get to live in her fab, two-bedroom apartment for two weeks! Well, actually, more so than house-sitting, I’m dog-sitting her sweet, affectionate, little puppy-dog, Bebe. For the life of me I can’t recall what her breed is called, but I know I’ve seen her kind in a movie before. And during the walk, it hits me: Bebe’s the same breed as the dog from “As Good as It Gets.” Now, I can be like Greg Kinnear, imitating Jack Nicholson: "Verdell. What's wrong? You miss the tough guy? Well, here I am, sweetheart! Happy to see me, you little pissant mop? How 'bout another ride down the chute?”

191: "So I Did Sit and Eat"

The rhythmic rocking of the rail car carries me across to a gilt gates of gentle slumber. With a rude jolt I awake to find an idyllic dream intertwined with reality's confusing Sprawl, now all tethered to the bedrock of Memory. There, they will stay; Here, I take my step.

Camille Paglia in her book, "Break, Blow, Burn," says that religion and sex are intertwined in Renaissance and Baroque art, like in Berlini's Ecstasy of St. Teresa. Inspired by the Holy Bible, Christian theologians interpreted the book of the Song of Songs as "an allegory of the bridegroom Jesus knocking at the door of the female soul." The Song of Songs portrays, if I remember the book correctly, the male lover as the epitome of masculinity, virile and potent. Just imagine Jesus, the hot bod lover, knocking, ready to enter the door of your soul. My mind conjures up an ever so puerile image and I giggle. But I think: if the ecstasy of knowing the Divine is akin to or is better than the ecstasy of sex, should the Church continue to frown on non-procreative sex? What if the soul is masculine?

But let's let these debates wage elsewhere. It's a dream I want to capture. The dream that was prompted by a poem I read just shortly before my eyelids amassed great weights. It's George Herbert's "Love."

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guiltie of dust and sinne.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lack'd any thing.

In my dream, I am at a fancy dinner party, no, I'm sitting a table across from the dinner party, gawking longingly at it, when this beautiful guy gets up from his circle of friends, walks over, and extends his hand to me. "Join us," he says, giving me a smile that can melt ice. I jump up, thrilled, to extend my hand. But I notice that I have on my unfashionable yet comfortable bum clothes, which unfortunately has a funk. Compared to the other party guests, I am inadequate in every way. As his hand touches mine, I feel my hand grow weak and limp. I'm consumed with shame.

A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkinde, ungratefull? Ah my deare,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?

He pulls me up and drags me to the table, he places a seat next to his and leads me to it. He sits and shifts his seat closer to mine. The chinks and clinks of utensils fade, the murmurs of jovial conversations dissipate, and all the people there turn to shadow. We are left alone, me and him. "You are hot," he whispers, and for a brief split second, I believe him. But doubt fuels me and I fall from grace.

Truth Lord, but I have marr'd them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the blame?
My deare, then I will serve.
You must sit downe, sayes Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.

The table is filled up with an array of delectable appetizers. I nibble, peck, and taste everything I can see, hold, and have. With pure abandonment. Without a care in the world, he also nibbles, pecks, and tastes. Then yet when the entrée is served up, the sheer grandiosity of it freezes me. Can I eat it with my hand? Of course not. Do the fork go to my right and the knife to my left? Oh, which fork must I use? What if I don't eat it perfectly? Paralysis. I excuse myself. On my return, the plate is gone (or was it I who took the plate away?). But he takes me by my hand and offers dessert. So, I sit and eat.

So I did sit and eat.

190: "Who Are You Not to Be?"

I came across a quote watching a wonderful, inspiring movie called "Akeelah and the Bee." The quote is by Marianne Williamson. It's a different, yet a familiar, take on why we are here, how we should be, what and who we are. I hear the call of Greatness. BAM! It hits me. I'll remember, remember always...

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
So that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine, as children do.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.

189: Peeved

I'm slightly miffed with this year's Emmys. Not only was Lost, the winner of best drama last year, get ignored, my other favorite-est ABC show, Grey's Anatomy, which had a whole bunch of nominations going into the show, came out with NADA. The injustice of it all!

In other news, I'm losing the battle to gain muscle mass. This morning I weighed myself, and to my contentment, the one which makes one jump up and down, dancing like a foolish maniac, the one which makes people want to hurt you, I weigh less than I did when I wrote up my goals. Sigh. Then I went to the bathroom to do my morning bizniz, the one that requires much time and many abdominal contractions. And when I weighed myself again, I lost more than a pound! The injustice of it all!

Peeved is my middle name.

188: Battle Cry

Stolen from here.

What Is Your Battle Cry?

Zang! Who is that, prowling out of the cliffs! It is Jake, hands clutching a studded crowbar! And with a cruel cry, his voice cometh: "I'm going to fuck you so hard, you will drink poison and piss honey!"

Find out! Enter username: Are you a girl, or a guy ?

created by beatings : powered by monkeys

You know it!

What Is Your Battle Cry?

Stalking out of the wasteland, wielding a thorned whip, cometh Jacob! And he gives a low bellow: "I'm going to defoul you so utterly, Jesus himself will forsake you!!!"

Find out! Enter username: Are you a girl, or a guy ?

created by beatings : powered by monkeys

Need I say more?

187: No, I Can't Get No Rise...

...Not from a Mister Nice.

That, and I might be totally shallow.

Okay, let me channel my 16 year old girl's voice to tell this tale of... of... of something. I need a bubble gum.

So like, a few weeks ago, I sign up for this, like, on-line personals, and like, you know how I love, like, being pro...laxative or whatever, cuz, you know, a gurl needs something to sink her teeth into, right? like, especially when it involves, like, jewels and the man they're attached to, and so like, I'm sitting and waiting, but like brushing my hair, too, cuz, a gurl has to work to get all the jewels she wants, because Heather, who's had all kinds of jewels, said to Heather, who's into long, thick pendants and who then told Heather, who has a thing for pearl necklaces and who then told me, that only hot girls can get as many jewels as they can possibly want, and some girls are born pretty, but even they got to work hard to get, like, hot, and so like, I have to work hard, too, and like I think Heather's soooo right, cuz like, Oh my God, a guy re-spon-si-ated back! Brushing my hair worked! So like, we exchange e-mails, right? and he's like, "you're cute," and I'm like, "hee hee hee," and like, we decide to meet.

Okay, there weren't any Heathers, brushing-the-hair's, you're-cute's, or hee-hee-hee's, but we did decide to meet...

I'm early. I'm fifteen minutes early, so I decide to walk around my favorite temple, the Barnes&Noble at Union Square, and I think, while I wait, I might as well find a potential read to buy. I'm on the fourth floor, leafing through a photo book of Japanese youths in their bizarre anime-inspired fashion get-ups, dreaming like Fantine dreaming a dream in time gone by, when life was worth living. But I have a task at hand. It's almost six, I send a text message telling the guy that I'm on my way down. It's 6:10, and he has yet to respond. "Whatever," I think, and continue on with my other task of finding a book. It's a good thing that I haven't heard back from the guy, because I did find another Augusten Burroughs's book, "Dry." I'm in line and I decide that after paying for the book, I'd just go because it's 6:25 and the fool most likely ditched me. But as soon as the money has exchanged hands, I get a text message. And there, just a few yards away, is the guy.

(Unfiltered and unadulterated) First Impression:
He's tall, around six feet, and... his mid-drift needs some work... Yeah, He's a bit... chubby. FAT!!! But his face picture matches the real face. Cute-ish. He's got a gentle face. He's not a fashion crazed queen, and not a slob either. He seems like a down to earth, regular Joe. That's never a bad thing, right? FAT!!! Okay, fine, he's got a stomach, but it's not like I've a body men and women would drool over. FAT, FAT, FAT, FAT!!! But, but, but... he's got a kind aura about him... (and I hear an echo...) faaaaaaat... (I'm a horrible person.)

To prove to myself that I am not a horrible person, I shall get to know this guy. It's a vow I'll keep even if it means my body ends up chopped up and thrown into the lovely waters of the Hudson, and besides, like I said before, he has a kind aura about him, he seems nice, truly, so my ending up as fish food is highly unlikely. I walk towards him and extend my hand, and he extends me a Sunflower. A sunflower, people! Last time I checked, I didn't have a vagina. What would make any guy think it would be a good idea to give a flower to a guy? But, I admit, it is a sweet gesture.

Since we had agreed beforehand to walk around to find somewhere to imbibe some caffeinated goodness, walk around we do. We head towards... somewhere. I have no preference and I don't think he does either, so we walk aimlessly. I had hoped he'd be more assertive and suggest a place to go. But I guess not. So, while conversing about little things, I veer and steer our way to Bleecker, and I hint at various locales good for drinking coffee. But to no avail, he does not make any suggestions. So I decide we'll walk. Maybe, it'll be good for him to walk and walk and walk. He does need to lose some weight! (God, I'm evil.)

Okay, now, I know, some of you may say that I should have been the one wearing the pants, but remember, I was the one who received the flower. Which to me means that he expected me to be the demure one, defering to the wisdom of the dominant one, him. And besides I'm Asian, so I'm supposed to be passive. (I'm so lame.)

Whilst in the midst of our energic power walk, our conversation's main topic turns to alcoholic beverage and food. I share that I can be a bit fickle when it comes to Japanese food, and he tells me that there's a fusion place he heard about where Japanese food takes on some Brazilian and Peruvian influences, and we both shudder. Then, lo and behold, there we are, standing in front of the very restaurant we were disparaging with glee. At this point, I just need some alcohol (just because it's a Friday and I had a long work week); the idea of coffee has passed and gone ten blocks ago. And here is as good as any place to drink. I suggest we look at their drink menu and see if we want to go in for drinks. I can't find the drink menu, but ask if we should go inside to see. He shrugs. Then, I don't totally recall what I exactly said, but it makes him make the decision for us not only to stay and drink but have a sitdown dinner at the restaurant we thought was... how do I politely say this... oh yeah, shit.

Maybe it's me. I think people have a hard time reading me.

Like, oh my God, I get to eat expensive sushi, which like, I wasn't really in the mood for! Like, yay!

Yet, I do sense a genuine kindness from him; he wants to accommodate my fickle whims. And I want to find out what he thinks of me.

To be continued.

The Essay In Progress

08/02/06

While waiting for the Beef Red Curry (it's either a Malaysian or an Indonesian dish) to arrive, I started jotting down some thoughts and ideas for the AMCAS essay. Here's what I wrote:

What's the purpose? Why am I writing this?
It's to show that I'm an excellent candidate to be a future physician.

How will I show the schools that they should take me on?
I must demonstrate that I have desirable qualities that fit, or at least fit closely, to what an ideal physician should be, writing some of my life experiences that speak to those qualities. I can write about teaching in Japan, interning in Uganda, studying at my grad school, etc. But I think I need specific events... Must dig deeper.

What are those desirable qualities?
Well, I think I'm passionate. I'm passionate about wanting to help people... mainly because helping others is much more fulfilling than helping yourself. Being selfish will only go so far in life, I think, in terms of one's happiness. But saying, "I want to help people" is such a bore!!! A passion for service? For what ends? To say, "I want to be a doctor to be fulfilled and happy," sounds like I'd be asking for trouble. But anyways, it's another "Must dig deeper" situation.

Compassion is another quality. Inquisitiveness is another...

Shit! I hate "selling" myself.

186: Goals

People change; we all change.

Time is like a constant force that shapes and molds us, without any pre-planned expectations of the end result. So it's in the way we use time where we have the most control. Growing into the person who I want to be tomorrow, in a week, a month, a year, or until the day I die, lies with me.

But of course the old serenity prayer still holds true. I'll need to accept the things I can't change, I'll need courage to change the things I can, and most certainly I'll need the wisdom to know the difference.

The wisdom teaches me that action is better than inaction. Failing is better than not trying. Being rejected is better than staying anonymous. Living is better than existing.

So here I stand, without any irony or sarcasm, weary and vulnerable, calling on anyone, from those who might give a damn to those who might be mildly curious, to bear witness in my quest to be someone.

Goals:

1. When I'm in my death bed, I want to look back at my life and pray, "Dear God, thank you for my life's abundant riches." (Monetary riches would be an added bonus, but not required. Those who know me should know that I've never equated my happiness to material gain.)
2. One of my long term goals is for those who've invested their time to me to know me as kind and good, reliable and loyal, generous to a fault, and loving, but strong enough never to take shit or abuse from anyone.
3. As for short term goals, by next year, I want to hold up a medical school acceptance letter to my boss and quit my job.
4. In six months time, I would like to have made two more new friends, not acquaintances but true friends. It sounds cheesy, but I'm no longer ashamed to say, I need to be supported and I need to support. Fuck pride, I need to belong!
5. By the end of October, I'll have submitted at least 15 copies of my resume to prospective employers, and interviewed with at least one, since I do need a contingency plan, should the medical path does not pan out. But I concur, the said numbers are far too low. But I need to be realistic: I'm lazy. But then, I guess you can say one of my long term goals is not to be so damn lazy, or rather is to be diligent.
6. Following in line with the goal to be diligent, I want to gain at least 10 pounds of lean muscle by then, which means going to the gym will have to become a habit. I hate feeling tired and unfocused. My body is seriously craving some good stresses and endorphin rushes.
7. By the end of August, I'll have submitted the AMCAS (the American Medical College Application Service) application.
8. By next week Monday, I'll have an outline of the AMCAS essay I need to write, and perhaps even a paragraph I can post here to be critiqued.
9. And by next week Monday, I'll have gone to the gym at least once! One has to start somehow, even if the start is slow, you know?
10. And also by next week Monday, I need to come out with some sort of exercise and diet regiment that I'll follow, so that I can achieve my goal in gaining at least 10 pounds of lean muscle by the end of October. If any of my readers have suggestions, I'll love to hear them.

I'll routinely amend my goals and post my failures and accomplishments. I'd like to see how I'm growing, and I want you to see my progress. I'm excited!

185: Seen on the Subway

If you'll give up your seat for a pregnant woman...

You are a Mitchum Man.

If you're careful who you assume is pregnant...

You are a "sensitive" Mitchum Man.

Where's my camera when I need it?! Bah.

184: I Totally Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

I *heart* Steven for bringing this wonderful site into my life.

It starts out innocently enough. While Steven and I are IMing, he randomly declares that he might be "possibly mildly depressed" and sends me a URL for this test. I take it, and what joyous news, I am depressed; I'm so depressed, I'm four points away from being "severely depressed!"

Seriously? Seriously?! Seriously!

The wheels in my depressed head start turning: 'I refuse to believe I'm only unipolar!' I declare, 'if I believe there's a yin, then there's a yang. I should be bipolar!'

And lo and behold, I am manic. Well, I have a manic tendency that ranges from mild to moderate. So, I'm slightly more depressed than manic, but I'm bipolar nonetheless.

But I'm still left feeling empty. I should be more fucked up than what this wonderful site is telling me. So, I click and click away, like a man possessed with the urge to pick his nose when he thinks no one's looking.

Anxiety disorders? Maybe... There are several kinds! Agoraphobia? Nope, it's not me. Panic attacks? Never had them. Come on, I should have some sort of anxiety disorder. Social phobia?

"A marked and persistent fear of one or more social or performance situations in which the person is exposed to unfamiliar people or to possible scrutiny by others. The individual fears that he or she will act in a way (or show anxiety symptoms) that will be humiliating or embarrassing."

Oh my God, that's me! I bounce up and down, gleefully clasping my hand. And I suffered worse in the early 90s when I was a mere dental floss instead of a stick.

What else? What else?

Any personality disorders? Let's see... there aren't any tests for them. Okay, it's okay, I'll just read what the symptoms are.

Antisocial? Dependent? Histrionic? Narcissistic? No, no, no, and no. But I will work on them.

Avoidant? (1) Avoids occupational activities. Hmm... There was a trip to a Yankee game that I first said I'd go and then at the last moment had back tracked. (2) Is unwilling to get involved with people unless certain of being like. Wait, people don't normally do this? (3) Shows restraint within intimate relationships because of the fear of being shamed or ridiculed. What? That's not the right thing to do? (4) Is inhibited in new interpersonal situations because of feelings of inadequacy. "Killing me softly with his song!" Totally. (5 & 6) Views self as socially inept, personally unappealing, or inferior to others, and Is unusually reluctant to take personal risks or to engage in any new activities because they may prove embarrassing. A new realization bathes me... Yes, this is so MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

And the icing on the cake is I'm also Borderline.

I'm totally fucked up!

More, more, more... I want more!

ADHD? They've a test for this one. And great news people, I'm... Hold on...

Why are "Homosexuality and Bisexuality," "Adoption,""Irritable Bowel?" "Irritable Bowel" in this Mental Help site?

And you know what? I think I have Irritable Bowel.

What was I talking about before? Oh, no, wait... oh yes, ADHD.

Ooo, there's an Alcohol & Substance Abuse test and Anger Management test... And, and, and, and, and there's also a video of penile pump implant surgery!!!

I've died and now I'm in glorious dysfunctional heaven.

Hallelujah!

***
By the way, I'm totally freaking angry, have a slight ADD, and I don't need the implant, which by the way is great news. But, but, but... I'm not an alcoholic. Me, sad.

183: Debbie Downer, Me? Never!

This summer brings the unbearable 100 degree heat, and the networks aren't doing any better to distract me from thinking, 'Oh my God, I'm melting.' Yes, the prime time line-ups are laden with some atrocious reality shows (except for So You Think You Can Dance, thank you very much) and uninspired reruns (except for Grey's Anatomy). But thank goodness I'm a dork (as my friend has aptly pointed out in her e-mail to me), because I can rely on cable TV for brand new gamut of shows. Yes, tonight, I'm gravitating towards SciFi channel, like how a horned up dog seeks a leg to violate, with unbridled glee, because of him:

Colin Ferguson. Woof!

Colin stars in a new series called Eureka...

It looks promising.

But anyhoo...

***

"Eureka!" exclaimed Archimedes, as he leaped out of his bathtub, and I, too, am exclaiming the same. You think of me as Debbie Downer! But, really, people, I'm an optimist.

Consider my last post. I started the post writing about how I'm addicted to smoking and about my craving for a good, long drag from a fag, which serves only to perpetuate the nasty habit. Then I segued into my addiction to self-pity. But, instead of stating that I crave to dawdle in its misery and continue on the downward spiral of negativity, I stated the opposite.

People, please! Let me quote Hedwig:

(Tear Me Down)

I was born on the other side
Of a town ripped in two
I made it over the great divide
Now I'm coming for you

Enemies and adversaries
They try and tear me down
You want me, baby, I dare you
Try and tear me down

I rose from off of the doctor's slab
Like Lazarus from the pit
Now everyone wants to take a stab
And decorate me
With blood, graffiti and spit

Enemies and adversaries
They try to tear me down
You want me, baby, I dare you
Try and tear me down

On August 13, 1961,
A wall was erected
Down the middle of the city of Berlin
The world was divided by a cold war
And the Berlin Wall
Was the most hated symbol of that divide
Reviled, graffitied, spit upon
We thought the wall would stand forever
And now that it's gone
We don't know who we are anymore

Ladies and gentlemen
Hedwig is like that wall
Standing before you in the divide
Between East and West
Slavery and freedom
Man and woman
Top and bottom
And you can try and tear her down
But before you do
You must remember one thing:

There ain't much of a difference
Between a bridge and a wall
Without me right in the middle, babe
You would be nothing at all

Enemies and adversaries
They try and tear me down
You want me, baby, I dare you
Try and tear me down

While I have Colin to ogle at, there's really nothing that tears me down.

Debbie Downer, me?

Never!

182: Withdrawal

Really, it all started when I was in Japan. It's not that I haven't tried it pre-Japan, but it was while I was there it became a habit. And honestly, it was more of a social thing: you're at a bar with your buddies drinking a few screw driver here and gin & tonic there, and to counteract the alcohol's tendency to depress, you light one up. The smoke flushes down to your lungs, the heat prickling, and the blood races up to your brain, the head rushing. A nicotine fix that's always never enough, soothes, alerts, only for a short moment, but again, it is never enough, and you hunger, you crave, for more, for more, more, more, Dear Lord, just one more drag.

And the thing is, let me just say, I don't have an addictive personality, period.

I don't.

Let's just say that I've been clean for the whole month of July thus far. Then again, I go through days, weeks, or months without smoking, but I'll admit that, yes, I have fallen off the wagon many times before, and there's no guarantee that this time around I won't fall.

And today, this sweltering day, I feel the craving...

This craving has me thinking about what other "things" I am addicted to.

Most of you, if you are reading this, I guarantee, are first time readers. Welcome, and I'm sorry for what's to follow, because you'll be reading a theme I absolutely love to write about, and if this theme were a person, I'd have swung a bat at him over and over again until he lost consciousness, then I'd have thrown a bucket full of ice cold water to revive him only to beat the life out of him.

I think, or rather, I know I am addicted to self-pity.

I'm ugly because I'm born a Korean, and you know what they say about Asian men (...that we're Mongoloids, a term that also can be used to describe people with Down Syndrome; you thought I'd say something else, right?); and I've a body that resembles a chopstick, that's why I'm unattractive. I'm boring because I'm shy; and most times I've nothing to say, that's why I'm dull. I'm lonely because I'm alone; and God hates me, that's why I'm unloved.

I'm an outcast; I always have been and I always will be.

And on and on I go...

But then again... Why do I continue to believe in hurtful lies of my own fabrication; why do I believe that I can't be loved? How is it that I continue to dismiss those who comment and praise this blog; how is it that I believe these people to be delusional for thinking that I've something to contribute to an on-going discourse on life? What kind of twisted ego must I have that I feel self-conscious about what strangers might say when they see me struggling to bench not even a quarter of my body weight; what twisted pride prevents me from going to the gym when I know the end result for hardwork is so much rewarding than the status quo?

Yes, I feel the craving. I crave to ride high in life, seeing the true beauty in me, fostering the joie de vivre (I must still have some and I must be brewing with some charisma, because if I did not, then the friends I have should be no more than a passing scenery one sees on a train, and the friends I have would not be called loyal); I crave to grab life by its balls, to intertwine, to mesh, to belong... I to you, you to me.

Yes, I feel the craving.

181: Can One Become Too Gay?

So...

I think I found one of the many Nurture's contributions to my gayness. Ladies and Faeries, I present to you Allison and Ivan:



Maybe it's just that they were dancing to Annie Lennox, but last night when I saw Allison and Ivan dance, I was moved almost to tears. So, tonight, after the result show, I did a search to find the dance on-line. And thank goodness for Veoh YouTube! Now, I can be moved over and over again.

Okay, I've no punch-line. But to answer my question: if you enjoy and watch So You Think You Can Dance, then yes, one can become too gay.

**
ADDENDUM (7/20/06) - YouTube has also removed the video. Oh, well.

180: We Lost

The Empire (State) is indeed siding with the Dark side.

Maybe the critics are right. If we are granted equal rights, then one day, as one of the most rational critics from FOX News has claimed and reported by the great Mr. Colbert (a rerun episode which aired last night), some Americans will want to do what some Indians do.

So, good for you, Empire, for striking back to progress and basic human rights! I say, BRAVO!

179: Travelogue, "The Rain in Spain Does Not Fall Mainly in the Plain"

*From my journal

5/21/06 4:49 AM

Feliz cumpleaños.

It's my birthday, and I'm in Spain. I'm in Spain!!! To be more specific, I'm in Madrid, back in my room. God, I'm exhausted, but even this tiredness feels good.

I fly out of New York on the 19th, arrive here early afternoon on the 20th, find lodging at a hostal, not a hostel, in Chueca. Chueca is a neighborhood near the main city center, Sol, Km 0; Chueca flows, bustles, and pulsates: cervezas, wines, cocktails, and tapas; fags, dykes, punks, fashionistas, slobs, snobs, and gypsies; energetic, vibrant... (I can still hear people down on the street, shouting, singing, laughing. It's fucking awesome.)

As soon as my backpack is thrown down, I jump into the shower washing away any semblance of fatigue, dress down to a T-shirt and shorts, and fly out onto the narrow Calle de Hortaleza. Without a guidebook and certainly without a camera, but with a cute Ben Sherman bag I bought just for this trip, I wander around feeling the vibe of this foreign yet familiar barrio. For the rest of the late afternoon and for the entire night, I stroll to and fro, I go in and out: boutiques, bars, and bodegas, there are no rocks left unturned. I get lost. I get found.

But even so, I don't know...

Is it the excitement of stepping across the starting line? Or is it the anxiety of encountering, hopefully, an unexpected, great adventure? Maybe it's just the discretely located but blatantly obvious "saunas" that I've passed by. Perhaps I'm Tony from West Side Story singing "Something's Coming."

Sufficiently imbibed and incredibly stuffed—the inhibition wanes—I feel my body craving to bid my 20's adiós with THE DANCE. The Saturday has joined with history. With a flyer I picked up at Mama Inés, a gay owned café, I navigate through wide streets and narrow alley ways to a club called Cool. While there, I learn a valuable lesson in Spanish time: half past 12 is still unfashionably early for a club to be hopping, let alone crawling. I find myself literally at a party of one. The affable hostess informs me to come back a little later. Tony is certainly right: something indeed is coming.

I trudge my way back to the hostal, somewhat discouraged, but unwilling to end the night just yet. I'm supine on the bed for a disco nap, legs elevated, knees close to the chest, prohibiting REM sleep from finishing me off. After a brief respite, a jolting shower, freshly moisturized and coiffed, and a cup of European Joe (or rather, José), I strut my best to make John Travolta proud.

It's a few minutes past 2 at Cool, the hostess smiles me in. I walk up the neon blue lighted corridor to a cool white art deco lounge overlooking the spartan dance floor below; the music is thump-thump-thumping, but it's still too early. I order a gin and tonic at the bar; the husky bartender hands me a tall ice-filled glass with some gin and a bottle of tonic water. I sit down near the balcony, light a cigarette and sip my drink, hoping to regain the buzz from a couple of hours before, and I longingly look at the dance floor for it to fill up.

Men, bois, toys, and hags, slowly but surely stream in. Some glance over to me; I glance over to some. They shake and I bake. Yet with each passing moment, I cannot but think how much the scene here is the same as in New York. Chueca bois are clones (or is it the other way around?) of Chelsea bois: tight fitting t-shirts, wife beaters, jeans, bulging upper body muscles, the latest designer accessories... My enthusiasm cools precipitously and I stumble out the door.

I think: 'You know what? None of these Spanish bois came to chat me up because (1) they don't speak English or they don't think I can speak Spanish or English, (2) they rarely encounter exotic specimen like moi and they were intimidated by my hotness...

'BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA,

'God, I kill me.'

Tony is right: something has come, the expected, the same old same old. Contrary to what people believe, the rain in Spain does not fall mainly in the plain.

Happy birthday, you old dog! Hello, my first night in Spain.

178: Oh, What a Night!

Boy, my feet are hurting.

I've just returned from volunteering at Dance 20, the Gay Pride week's grand finale. Even the wet weekend didn't stop this event from being a success. Actually, the party gods must have smiled on us, because we only got lightly sprinkled on. By the time J. Lo finished performing, the clouds started to dissipate, the black night sky was a great backdrop for the spectacular fireworks that followed. There were definite oohs and aahs.

I can definitely volunteer for this every year. Free access to the thumpa-thumpa and a fabulous diva performance, who can say, "No thanks," hmm? Not to mention the hot men and the pretty boys proudly displaying their strength and beauty.

I'm full. And the two bananas kept my energy up!

Oh, what a night!

177: A Chat

It's a private chat conversation I had with a close friend, a friend I've known since high school. I'm making it public, with her permission.

Please forgive my grammar and spelling mistakes.

Click and Ye shall enlarge.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

176: 100TAM 2.0 (Work In Progress #2)

The list has been updated. Please go here.

175: ...Sigh

I've the utmost unfortunate displeasure and regret to report and inform that fullofhype has returned from his vacation.

The official mourning period, which has started at 1:10 in the afternoon, on the 29th of May, in the year of our Lord 2006, will last as long as when the world was without Light, 'til it was greeted with the glory of Easter. The first day is reserved for the bereaved. The second and the third days are opened to the public. Please convey to the bereaved your heartfelt condolences.



A little j-pop to lighten the graying sky.

174: See You Laters, Alligators!

I'm off!

I shall be travelin', travelin', travelin' through Spain.

I shall also be celebrating this Sunday in Spain my Big "Three-Oh!" Birthday.

So wish me "Bon Voyage" and "Happy Birthday."

I'm off!

173: "If I Lay Here"

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

We'll do it all
Everything
On our own

Ever wonder if you are truly alive?
In times of reflection, I find I've let life pass me by.
Too often. With a shrug. Saying, one day it'll be different.

We don't need
Anything
Or anyone

Living vicariously through movies and TV dramas*,
through books and blogs, always through someone else's life...
I need it to stop. I must stop.

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Do I stay here?
Do I remain the same?
Where's the flash of electricity up my spine?

I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel

Have you ever given up everything?
Pushing on, forward ho! To forget the consequences;
To not look back; to never say sorry.

Those three words
Are said too much
They're not enough

Afraid and alone; complacent and stagnant;
What is there to lose?
What is there to lose?

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Do I stay here?
Do I remain the same?
Where's the sudden hold, the quick gasp of breath?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Have you ever felt free,
Like the common cliché we've all heard before?
Are you flying, soaring, lifted up, up, up and above?

Let's waste time
Chasing cars
Around our heads

Why is it that a junction with many paths
Feels more enslaving
Than a lone, single path?

I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own

I'm ready to burst out,
To make things happen,
To stake out a place of my own.

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Do I stay here?
Do I remain the same?
Where's the rush, the fast beating of the heart?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Have you ever lost yourself,
Forgetting the power that's within you,
Killing the divine within?

All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

I stand, stand tall and proud,
Ready to fight, ready to fly,
'Cause I need to sacrifice all!

I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

I may not know where and I may not know how,
But if losing myself is to find myself,
I shall let myself get lost.

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I won't stay here.
I won't remain the same.
I shall travel far and wide

...for LOVE

* Please note the irony: this post has been inspired by the song and the season finale of Grey's Anatomy.

TAGS: chasing cars snow patrol grey's anatomy lyrics

172: Meat-Free Monday

I'm participating in VUBOQ's Meat-Free Monday. I took this picture with my cellphone. I'm having pasta for lunch. Doesn't it look yummy? In it, there's onions, mushrooms, zucchini, peppers, basil, olives, and garlic. Mmm... Garlic.

TAGS: meat-free monday vuboq pasta

171: 엄마에

To Mom,

...

Happy Mother's Day.

Love,

Your Son

170: David, David, David...

...You crazy jackass!

So after spending a whole week under water inside a giant sphere, breathing through a regulator, feeding and peeing by tubes (hopefully not the same ones), tonight, David Blaine will... wait for it... hold his breath! For NINE minutes!!! Oh, and he'll be chained up and he has to free himself. Within NINE minutes!!!

Yippee!

I can't wait!

If David can't free himself... I want to see the emergency rescue team jump in to save him. I want to see a hot paramedic do a CPR on him. I want to see the pads of the defibrillator touch his chest: the electricity flowing, his body convulsing.

Now, David's holding his breath.
It's been four minutes.
He's starting to free himself.
It's the six minute mark... He's got his second cuff off. Was it his second one?
Soon after the seven minute mark, divers jump in and take him up (7:08).

He has failed!

But he lives.

And he's crying.

He ain't dead.

...

Too bad.

Sunday, around 5PM

TAGS: david blaine drowned

169: It's a Phase

Okay, okay. It's just a phase. It's an obsession. What can I say? But, this is the last one for tonight. You really have to check this one out, yo!



TAGS: immigration youtube native americans pilgrims humour

168: Equal Opportunity

Last time, it was this.

Now, for those of you who've chosen the heterosexual lifestyle, I bring you this:



I *HEART* YouTube.com.

TAGS: safe sex youtube france humour

167: Heart's A-Pumpin'

My God, I so needed it.

I have my arms swinging, my legs flailing. My skin's oozing salt and water, my heart's squeezing blood and air. Inhale, exhale. Huff, puff. I pant, pant, pant. Now, my body throbs with pain and pleasure.

What a great workout!

Tomorrow I may pay for the long overdue workout, and might I add, a strenuous workout. But for now, I lie in the afterglow.

I shall make it a routine in my life.

166: Parade

I like parades.

Like this one that came down my street:





All they want is a chance for a better life. If they are hard-working, if they can contribute to this society for the better, why, then, deny them the chance? Besides, how can I enjoy myself at a Korean restaurant without the Mexican busboys busing dirty dishes? I don't do dirty, and certainly I don't do slow restaurant service.

165: QueerTube

Confession 1: Initially, I've clicked onto QueerClick for the men. (Not work safe)

Confession 2: Um... I still do.

Confession 3: Now, I click on to watch the video. (Totally work safe)

Like this one:

164: To Lust Or Not To Lust

I think I've made the wrong choice in deciding to go to Spain, when in fact I should be heading down under. To him. Forget the art of literacy. Give me the art of lust. Oh, Brodie Holland.

163: "The Smithy Code"

Apparently there's humor in the British justice system, and thank God for it.

In Today's New York Times, there's an article about the recent copyright ruling of the lawsuit filed by two of the three writers of Holy Blood, Holy Grail against Dan Brown, the writer of The Da Vinci Code. The justice, Peter Smith, who is now my new hero, embedded a coded message, a puzzle, as the article reports, in his ruling. Throughout the 71-page ruling, he italicized certain letters. In the first 13 1/2 pages of the text, the first ten of those abberant typefaced letters spell out "Smithy Code." The next thirty are jumbled; and further clues hidden throughout the ruling are needed to crack the mystery. The fact that, as the article reports, "nobody seemed to notice anything unusual about it when it was first released," would have been "probably [a] disappoint[ment] for Justice Smith."

No doubt.

In this day and age of eletronic media, where we see less of allegories and parables, where we're too busy to read between the lines, I think, we've lost the fun in the art of literacy. 'We want clearly spelled out information NOW,' as the unspoken mantra goes. Where's the fun in that? A while back, I read a post in this one blog where the writer purposely chose not to use a certain letter, I don't remember which, but I think it was a vowel. Genius! Clever! I'd like to see more creative writing in blogs.

But then again, what do I know?

162: 100TAM 2.0 (Work In Progress #1)

The list has been updated. Please go here.

161: Appa

Our eyes are glued to the television set.

And the AC hums.

He is on his side, his hand propping up his bald head, his thumb caressing gently the ridges of his ear, him, lying on the tatami mat. Me, I'm sitting. The loose straws tickle my bare calves. I hug in my out-stretched legs, towards my body, as my hands caress the itch away; and I rest my chin on the kneecap, and glance, if for a fleeting moment, at the very first man I have ever loved... and hated, Abeoji, Father.

"You go fuck yourself," he yells. On the TV screen, Sam, Hayden Christensen's character, pleads, no, demands, that he'd not be sent away to his father's place for the summer. "I hate you," he growls.

But inside my Japanese bungalow, the cool air wafts; the AC hums.

The trace aroma of mapo tofu, a meal share between father and son, a meal prepared by the son... (was it a gesture of devotion from the son to his father?) the aroma, a trace of what once was, it seems to linger. Ephemerally. Transiently.

Our eyes are glued to the television set.

As father and son watch a movie about a father and a son, the both of us watching the both of them, fighting to reconnect, fighting to make right, us, we.., I... I think...

...About the man who was never there for me, about the man who made me see my mom's tears flow continents away, about the man who chose this country and his other family over ours. I think about my heart breaking.

Sam again rages at his father, George, played by Kevin Klein, "You are unbelievably stupid!"

I steal a glance. 'Does Abeoji realize the same rage is inside me?' I wonder. 'I hate Japan, I hate my sister, I hate him!'

But the beautifully calligraphed washi paper hanging down from a furin, a wind chime, flutters; the cool air wafts; the AC hums.

George is playing with his baby boy out in the ocean, bouncing up and down with the waves; I am hiding in the attic. The doorbell has rung, and this little boy is ready to surprise. The waves hit them both. Sam embraces George hard, too overjoyed to have his father near; I hear him ask for me. I throw open the trap door and jump. Into his embrace. Too overjoyed to have my Abeoji near.

That moment, George explains, was the happiest he had ever been. That moment, I recall, was my fondest memory of him.

And it's the last time I remember calling him, Appa, Dad. Just plain old Dad.

The furin chimes; the washi flutters; the cool air wafts; the AC hums.

And our eyes are glued to the television set.

160: Weekend Update

Enjoyable. (Stomach grumbling.) Exciting. (Stomach grumbling.) Exhausting. (Stomach grumbling.)

Those words pretty much sum up my weekend here in D.C. Oh, yes, by the way, I'm in my hotel room in D.C. ready to turn in, because, well, I'm exhausted. But before I do, let me give you the highlights.

Yesterday, I arrived in D.C. to an overcast sky, and took the Metro over to my old place. While I was away, a new Korean restaurant with a nice decor and delicious foods, something you'd find in NYC or in LA, had opened up, according to my roommate, and he took me there. What a vast improvement in Maryland's Korean food scene. While we ate our Soondubu Chige, we caught up. He regaled me with a story about his recovery from his recent addiction to on-line gambling; I bored him with a tale about my addiction to a masochistic tendency to take on more work than I should take on.

After my late lunch, I metro-ed back to D.C., through the wind and rain, to have the pleasure to meet a fellow blogger, Steven. We went to Halo for their happy hour, 2 for 1, special. Steven graciously bought my drinks. I had the caramel apple martini, which was very caramel-ly and not very apple-ly, for my first drink; and for my second one, I had the appletini, which was very 'tini-ly and not very apple-ly. Steven's friend, Robert, who is also a blogger joined us. The three of us later moved on to Logan Tavern for a late dinner, where two other friends of Steven, Ray and Joey, joined to make a Party of Five. The food was sumptuous, but I guess the alcohol had taken over too much room in my stomach, I barely finished half the plate. Yes, all in all, it was a sunny rainy night.

On my return home, my other roommate was waiting for me. We hung out for a bit, made a run to a 7-11, hung out a little bit more, and then I crashed.

This morning, my stomach was unhappy. And my drinking a god awful Mocha Latte didn't lessen my stomach's unhappiness. But we had made plans for lunch, so the three old roomies found ourselves at a Japanese restaurant eating raw fish. My uncooperative stomach prevented me from enjoying the goodness that was laid before us. But as is the rule, a good conversation can make any meal absolutely yummy.

After lunch, I trekked my way to the hotel. As soon as I got to my room, the porcelain goddess beckoned and I offered her up a sacrifice. I crashed. Again. Then, I woke up a couple of hours later, only to find my troublesome stomach grumbling for food. So, I went outside and walked around looking for a quick dinner. As I was walking around, I realized I was very near to Halo, Logan Tavern, and the Whole Foods Market! A healthy, light dinner from Whole Foods! Dinner, done.

Now, I must go to sleep. Work awaits tomorrow morn.

159: Breathe Me

(Breathe me by Sia)

Sigh...

I swear my iPod can sense my mood. It's like a mood ring. Hell, my iPod is a moodPod. An evening spent chatting with a friend leaves me from being greatly melancholic to slightly melancholic.

Help,
I have done it again
I have been here many times before,
Hurt myself again today,
And the worst part is there's no-one else to blame.

Why is it that when one part of your life goes well another part falls apart?

Be my friend,
Hold me, wrap me up,
Unfold me.
I am small, I'm needy,
Warm me up,
And breathe me.

Seriously, breathe me. I don't smell bad.

Ouch,
I have lost myself again,
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah, I think that I might break,
Lost myself again and I feel unsafe.

Maybe MyHeritage.com has a point when it says I resemble Asahara. I do suffer from some sort of messianic complex, where I feel I must take a lot more responsibility for events that, even though they're out of my control, somehow affect me, where I become a martyr. Seriously, if I hadn't coughed after I've returned home from a private lesson class I taught at back in Japan and turned on the TV to see the Twin Towers on fire, those towers would still be standing! I'm sorry. I am horrible. It was in bad taste. I take full responsibility for being so stupid. See, even my personality DNA, Part Deux, tells me that I've a high agency, "agency" defined as "how much you believe you determine your own outcomes. High means you believe that you have control over your life. Low means you believe that other factors—such as chance, fate, and powerful others—influence your life."

Be my friend,
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me.
I am small, I'm needy,
Warm me up,
And breathe me.

Seriously, breathe me. I don't smell bad. Well, maybe my breath.

158: My Personality DNA

So, I took a personality test, and at this very moment in time and space, I'm a...

Generous Artist

It's telling me that I ain't confident, that I am shy, and that I'm a stereotypical woman! You know what? This gurl ain't happy. I'm going to take the test again, and get back to you. But you can read My Personal DNA Report in the meantime.

Okay, I took the test again. And I agree with this one. I'm a...

Considerate Creator

And this is what My Personal DNA Report Part 2 says I am. See! I ain't confident and I am shy. But you know what? I'm more stereotypically masculine than before. That's important.

*Sashays away from the computer*
*Looks back*
*Blows a kiss*

157: Meryl Streep and Bob Marley

A few days ago, I was watching GMA as I was getting ready for work, and Diane Sawyer, Charlie Gibson, and company were talking about MyHeritage.com. Then today I see in my friend's Xanga site that she's gone into the site, uploaded her picture, and reported what the site told her she resembled. I've gone and done the same and here's what it reports (the linked names are people I don't know):

Picture #1:

MyHeritage.com tells me I most resemble...

Meryl Streep 61%
Hilary Swank 59%
Antonio Saboto Jr. 58%
Brooke Shields 58%
Madonna 54%
Bae Yong-Joon 54%
Nicolas Tse 54%
Gwyneth Paltrow 53%
Sammi Cheng 53%
Yasmine Bleeth 52%

Yes, yes, I know. The list reads like a line-up of drag persona I can take on, that is, should I ever do drag on Halloween, at Pride, or at work. But, you have to agree, those are some good iconic figures. And who am I to argue when they tell me I look like Antonio, Yonsama (the Korean actor who flamed the Hallyu boom in Japan), and Nicolas.

Picture #2:

My Heritage.com tells me I most resemble...

Bob Marley 68%
Forest Whitaker 63%
Missy Elliott 60%
J. K. Rowling 54%
Shoko Asahara 53%
Margaret Cho 51%
Janica Kostelic 50%
Wu Yi 50%
Matthew Broderick 50%
Ben Affleck 49%

I think I like how this list reads better. it's a good mix: you have those who are hot (Bob) and those who are not (Ben), you have the talented (Rowling) and the talent-less (Ben), you have the fat one (Moran, I love you!), and yes, yes, yes, you have the messianic figure who ordered the deadly sarin gas attack on the Tokyo's underground (Asahara). Isn't that interesting?

156: I Needs Me a Vacation

Today, I booked my flight for a long overdue vacation to the land of Flamenco, the bulls, the tapas, and el Sol.

Can I tell you how excited I am about this?

Now, the extensive planning shall commence. The budget, a loose itinerary with a plenty of room for deviation (because you know, you don't want to be too anal and plan for every second of the trip), what I need to take with me, etc., I need to figure them all out.

Although... just throwing a couple of T-shirts, a swim trunks, and the Lonely Planet in my bag, having nothing really planned out, and just taking off on a jet plane... that, THAT, appeals to me so much more.

But who cares?! I'm going to SPAIN, people! I'm going to SPAIN!

155: Life, the Universe, and Everything

Firstly, I want to thank goblinbox and vuboq/enviroboi for their suggestions. I am currently crafting something to post, something personal. So, stay tuned. To be honest, I've kept myself from posting anything personal; but it became clear to me that if I don't share anything remotely personal, I have nothing, absolutely nothing, to write about. Seriously, blogging is indeed a very narcissistic exercise, and I would not have it any other way!

Secondly, while on a business trip to sunny SoCal, I've had a chance to hang out with an old friend at Downtown Disney. While we both bemoaned the fact that we were so close to the magic that is Disneyland, and were unable to partake in hugging Mickey Mouse due to budgetary and, especially, time constraints, we did, however, manage to share our own unique perspectives on life, the universe, and everything. She bitched about her stressful work life, I questioned my purpose in the universe, and we moped about everything. I tell you, it was somewhat depressing. No, no, no, I kid. It was absolutely depressing. I'm kidding. You know I'm kidding, right? Seriously, it was absolutely fantastic to catch up and hang out. I think it's truly amazing that, even though the number of friends I have, I can count with my two hands and, even though they are scattered in these U.S. of A., I can totally rely on them, and I hope, they, on me. So, here's to good friends!

Thirdly and lastly, I am going on another business trip towards the end of this month to DC. Hopefully, I'll reconnect with my old buddies, and most importantly, I'll get to chill out with a fellow blogger! I'm embolden by this blogger's invitation to meet and greet. So, if any of you, dear readers, in the DC area are inclined to favor and grace me with your presence, you will not find a naysayer in me; rather, you will find someone eager to meet and make new friends. I'll be in town on the 22nd. So, here's to new friends!

154: Tag Me!

Can anyone tag me to do a meme? I'm at a point where I just can't seem to get myself to write. It's not that I don't have anything to write about, but... well, maybe I don't have anything to write about... Dear Lord, I'm letting this blog die a slow death by neglect. That won't do. No, that just won't do. So, tag me, PLEASE!!!

If you don't want to tag me, tell me what I should write about. Don't say, "write anything that is in your mind;" because, isn't it obvious that I have nothing in my mind?

Dear Lord, what is going on here?

Should I worry? Should I care?