I'm not going to put up as flamboyant a post about my new year's resolutions for this year as I did last year.

At this point, I know exactly all that what I want out of life, succinctly to...

1) be as fit and healthy as I can possibly be
2) help underprivileged children
3) make music

I figure these three to-dos cover all that I've ever really wanted out of life.

Of course, to have love would be the cherry on top. But I figure I could obtain love through any or all of the above. At the very least, I'll find love for self, love for human life, love for beauty. And somehow, I believe, love will be reciprocated back to me.

It may not be as wonderfulfilling to find love through looking for it as it is as it is to encounter it while in the process of living one's life the fullest and without expecting it.

Bearing the above in mind, I dohave a few things I'd like to commit to accomplishing this year...

1) Learn to play the guitar - well enough so I can play along with Babe
2) Take a lot more pictures - document my life and cement my memories better
3) Become an absolute health & fitness nut - starting with eating less red meat and more fiber, and getting back into resistance training
4) Become more of a woman - discovering, celebrating, and taking full advantage of the benefits of being woman, whatever that implies, entails, and requires.
5) Do volunteer work to help poor children and homeless people
6) Watch less TV

(I will add to this list throughout the year, as necessary.)

I find amusing (and horrifying) how many women look thin and fine, sometimes even great, clothed... but when they're in the gym locker room, and they shed their outer layers to reveal... bleeeeeeccccccch! Everything just drops to the floor at the moment of release. The rolls of dough burst forth, puckered, and sagging.

Well, now, I am one of those women.

But that is going to change.

I figure, I'm probably going to be obssessed with my body for the rest of my life (or at least the majority of the rest of it), so I might as well become a full-fledged, out-in-the-open, health-and-fitness nut. Might as well accept the obssession, turn it into a life-hobby and life-goal, go all out. Not feel ashamed about devoting as much of my life as is necessary to being in the best physical shape possible.

So what if this pursuit of optimum health, fitness, and the perfect body turns out defining me more than anything else? I don't believe it's an innately bad thing to be so focused on one's own body. In fact, it's being ultra responsible and progressive. The healthier and more fit I am, the happier I will be, and the better able to contribute to society I will be as well.

ONE BODY, ONE LIFE. Don't forget it. Take care of Number One first, and then the world.

I never did finish FFX. I got close to the ending in '02, but I was many hours away from leveling up all of my characters to the max to easily defeat the final enemies. I miss being sucked in by this type of video game. Now that FFX-2 is out, I feel like picking it up. But TiVo robs me of so many precious game-playing hours.

I am playing fantasy NBA again this year. I'm probably not going to come within the top 3 by the end of the season, but at this stage in life, I'm cool with that. I can stand to lose a bunch of guys who actually watch the games and keep up with the players and teams. I'm just in the fantasy league to ruffle some feathers if I can. My first draft pick was Ray Allen. He better start giving me a lotta big numbers now that he's finally back in the game.

I am happy. I wish Christmas was another month away. Right at this moment, I know all that I want out of my life. I feel fat. But I have so much. And I love what I have. These may be the best moments of my life. I want to hold on to what makes me this happy for longer... past Christmas, past another year. That is my Christmas wish. Not for new, not for more, but to be able to keep what I already have now. May I not lose any of it, except for the extra pounds.

Communication has always been far short of par between my parents and between them and us, their children. Basically, it was all just a bunch of Bible and Christianity speak. And still is.

I still don't know what my dad's doing with his money, and how much, if anything, he's put aside for retirement... or if/when he plans to retire. That is important information to me. I just read an email from mom today about laser surgery she had on her eyes last week. Last week! And the email was not just addressed to me, but also my brother, and mom's siblings. I had called her on Friday to see how things were going, and she didn't mention the surgery at that time. That is important information to me as well.

And what is a relationship without good communciation? A frustrated, insufficient, unfulfilling love obligation... or something like that.

I know if communication is to change between me and my parents, I must be the one to facilitate it. My parents act as if they're too old to care about changing for the better. Got this far being who they are; might as well die as they are. Oh, who am I kidding... I can't change them one bit. So I shall leave them be and carry on loving them as ever.

I find it funny when people go on vacation but are online all day while out of the office. I do the internet all damn day at work. Why would I do more of it on my days off?

On Friday night we had a holiday party at George's. For dinner, we had Wayne's Korean BBQ meats, which are always savory. The ribs seemed more marbled with fat this time, and I ate too many. We did a white elephant gift exchange afterwards, and I got a Transformers: The Movie DVD and spray-on hair. Then we had a mini poker tournament, and I went out early because Jason was playing and I tried to play against him. There's just something about the dude that makes me always want to challenge him.

Before going to see Lord of the Rings: Return of the King on IMAX at the Metreon on Saturday, we shopped at Urban Outfitters for some gifts. I like UO more now that I've been watching The OC, and some of the characters on the show wear the clothing that's sold there. We had Burger King for lunch. (I feel you should know how badly I eat while I'm on my "holiday diet.")

I enjoyed the movie until the last 20 minutes or so, after all of the almost-dying was over, when everyone started talking and moving twice as slowly and gazing at each other for twice as long. No one died. Not even Faramir. That and the constantly changing dimensions of the hobbits are the two things that bother me the most about the movie. Everything else about it was spectacular enough for me. Sam is still my favorite character of all three movies. Oh yeah, I kept half-expecting to see the male characters kiss each other during the tear-jerking, moving parts of the movie, when their heads got quite close. That made me a little bit uncomfortable. And at the end when Sam's kids come out of their hobbit house to greet him, I couldn't help musing about Sam and his wife having hobbit sex to produce those kids. I thought I these types of dirty thoughts are unique to me, but now I realize I am wrong about that.

At night, we tried to get some people together to do something. Ended up eating dinner at Frankie, Johnny & Luigi's, and watching Raiders of the Lost Ark at Warren's. Then I remembered that I have seen some, if not all, of at least three of the four Indiana Jones movies.

Sunday was relatively uneventful. We ate at Stacks' (I still don't like the way the apostrophe is after the 's', and not before it or not there at all), and went to Best Buy and REI. We watched Brazil while eating a medium Supreme pizza from Pizza Hut for dinner. I kept feeling like just stopping the DVD and not watching the rest of it. After suffering through the whole thing, I felt depressed. Some movies manage to suck all the well-being out of me. I can't say Brazil is a bad movie. It's just not one that makes me think about or feel anything that I'd ever want to think about or feel. It's like one long nightmare. And goodness knows I have enough of those already without having to watch these types of movies.

Babe was sick all weekend... is still sick. And I have a huge zit on my forehead. It was a small thing on Friday night. Now it's bright red, shiny, and noticeable. Like Rudolph's nose. I haven't had one of these kinds of zits in awhile. I hope it's gone by Friday, when I'm on the east coast.

Shit. Those are the three places I'm going to be during the holidays. Washington DC, New York City, the Bay Area.

Well, if this is it for me, then this is it. All things considered, I've had a good life. And it's been great knowing most of you.

Take care, y'all... and please try to make it to my funeral. It would've meant a lot to me.

It's getting more difficult for me to bear with the traffic on my commutes home. Last night was especially slow on 101, and I nearly lost it. I wanted to take a piss between the lanes just to show people how pissed I was. At one point, I screamed at the top of my lungs for a couple of seconds, and afterward I felt like I had strep throat. While we were at a standstill, I turned on the lights so that the people around me could see me pulling my hair and banging on the steering wheel in a state of extreme frustration and madness.

Must be that time of the year... as if one could experience something like PCS (Pre-Christmas Syndrome).

If you know me pretty well, you know about my humongous sweet tooth. I'd eat desserts before the rest of my meals if you don't stop me. I'd eat desserts in place of meals if I could get away with it.

My dad also has a pretty sizable sweet tooth, and it has gotten more obvious and significant in these last few years. The island in my parents' kitchen is covered with cookies, candies, and other pastries, and the freezer is full of tubs of ice cream and frozen cakes. Dad consumes these desserts like there's no tomorrow. Despite that, he seems healthier than average for his age.

I've found a possible explanation for these sweet teeth that dad and I have. I recently read in an issue of Time, and then online, that there is a link between having a sweet tooth and the genetic risk of alcoholism. I never really suspected that my big sweet want/need might also be genetic, but that seems to make a lot of sense to me now.

Heavy Fluff

Yahoo! Notepad - jenyim

My weekend started on Friday at around 3pm. Our company holiday event was at City Beach this year. I have no idea how much it costs to rent the place, but hopefully it's a big bargain because I don't think the place is all-that. For our company, it's probably the perfect place for an indoor event, since most of most of the people here are casual and unsophisticated, as opposed to hip and fancy-schmancy, are family-centric and don't drink alcohol or eat meat, and love table tennis and volleyball and not much else, it seems. I got stuck entertaining Shruti, who is a handful and a headful, the whole afternoon, and I held back from having any alcohol, though beer and wine were free.

One of these days I may blow up from all the denial of alcohol I've been putting myself through for months and months. Going without alcohol for long periods of time sometimes leaves me feeling uncomfortably dehydrated. We're talking about a girl who was thinking about drunkenness and who was writing silly stories about characters who were attracted to the bottle and unquestioned about it, when she was an 8th-grader. I had no idea, then, that a prevailing interest in alcohol and getting drunk was not just due to The Great Depression that were my collective teenage years. I didn't taste any alcohol until I was in college, but the taste was in me since I was born. It's coded within my genes. If only everyone could use that excuse for becoming an alcoholic.

At night, we went over to a friend's house for a poker tournament. About 19 of us played in the tourney. Crazy 88 (what I call two 8's) saved me twice from an early elimination. I got to the 5th seat, so didn't win anything cash. But I had a lot of fun. I talked loud and laughed loud. Sometimes I feel bad when I swear... 'cuz right after I say 'shit' or 'fuck', I realize that no one else has said 'shit' or 'fuck' during the whole time we've been gathered together, and I imagine they're all cringing on the inside or thinking "what a crass girl this is"... now that they're all in their mid-to-late-20s and are more mature and refined and we-drink-wine-now and shit. Whatever.

Saturday, we went to the Gilroy Premium Outlets to check out the Corningware store. Who shops and buys at these kinds of places and feels good about themselves at the end of the day? I always thought and I still think that outlet stores suck, and I rarely check them out. I simply won't buy out-of-style/season or clearance clothing (though I will do sale clothing), even at regular stores. It does bother me when I buy something full-price, and months later it's still available at the same store, full-price or discounted. I feel insulted when something I own makes the clearance racks. But to me that's a small price in pride to pay compared to the price in pride of wearing ugly outlet clothing.

That night, we went out with some friends to see the movie Stuck on You. I don't think it's as bad as some others might think. It wasn't overly funny, but it wasn't off color either. We had a late night snack at Jujubi's in Milpitas afterwards. I hadn't been there in so long... probably not since I worked at Everyone.nuts. I ate there more than once, but can only really remember the time I was there with Nikki. She was flirting with me, and I was more or less oblivious to it. That girl was Trouble (note the capital T). Sometimes I'm bowled over by how naive I was, even just three years ago.

Sunday, I tried to do my final Christmas shopping online. When I came to a roadblock, and realized I had to get off my comfy chair in front of the computer and get myself into a physical store to get what I needed, I was pretty pissed. I hate shopping. Hate it, hate it, hate it! It's aggravating on so many levels. Whenever I'm in a line watching other people buy things, I wonder if they can really afford to buy all the junk they're buying. It's depressing watching people being inefficient with money. And spending my own money makes me feel poor and extravagant and guilty. I am going to have to learn to like spending money, or else becoming a philanthropic demigod by way of becoming insanely rich would be an insanely stupid idea.

We had dinner at PPQ Dungeness Island on Clement in SF for Wayne T's birthday. I'd never eaten there before. The food, especially the peppercorn crab, was really delicious. Go try it... but only if you're brave enough to deal with the awful, awful parking situation you will inevitably find yourself in. If it weren't for how hellish it is to find parking in these areas of SF, these types of restaurants would become exceedingly and wildly popular, and would be more likely to open up other restaurants outside of the city to accomodate the demand. But I suppose easier access to these restaurants is an advantage of living in SF that is best kept among those living in SF, so that the benefits balance out the inconveniences.

From my past experience living in a busy area in Berkeley, I've found that a better way to find parking sooner in these areas faster is to drive aggressively at regular speed or faster, not slowly. Some people think crawling down the streets will help them spot open spots or increase their chances of nabbing spots opening close to them. However, in my experience, the more streets I drive down, the more spots I pass in a given time period, the greater the chances are of encountering an open one or one about to open up. You gotta stay mobile, and you gotta cover a lot of ground. Plus, you should stay keep on moving and quickly because I hate having to wait behind slowpokers and campers. Yes, I road rage. So much anger, so little time...

I finally saw the whole Wayne's World movie this week.

Some time back, I caught about 5 minutes of the ending on TV. But I guess I'd just about heard the whole thing from all the quips and phrases from the movie that people have been saying over the last 10 years... the effect of which was that the movie itself wasn't nearly as funny to me as it was and is to everyone else. (I kept seeing bits of Austin Powers in Wayne, and that threw me off a bit. And I'd forgotten how high people used to wear their pants, especially the women. I hope that look never, ever, EVER comes back! *shudder*) So I've lost out. At least I never have to say that I haven't seen it again.

Now to watch all those Indiana Jones movies...

Contemplating fame and fortune... I haven't yet made becoming rich one of my top 3 goals, though it's probably among the top 20. But if I ever move it up to one of the top 3 stops, I'm going all the way. All in, baby. I mean, I won't simply aim for plain ol' rich. I will go for utterly, famously, insanely rich.

I figure, if I decide to commit so much of my life to the pursuit of money, I might as well go all out. Put my whole back into it. Die trying. Go for the whole kit 'n caboodle. Elevate completely out of world of ordinary people. No longer need to deal with or understand normality and such things as Wal*mart. Become something of a demigod...

...or, more likely and more nobly, become a major philanthropic icon. Get down and dirty in the unfortunate world of the underprivileged people. First thing I would do, after making sure my immediate family is well taken care of, is set up the Jenhue Foundation, which will be dedicated mainly to the funding of organizations that supply goodwill services to disadvantaged children in third-world countries and the poverty-stricken areas of the USA.

Demigod or philanthropist? Could I be both?

Jennie, Philanthropic Demigod. Has a nice ring to it.

This is the funniest thing I've seen in days. Make your own churros!

Gorgeous.

If I could have any celebrity's face and body, I'd choose either Jessica Alba's or Kate Bosworth's. Both have unique, fresh, young, radiant faces and sexy, lithe bodies. Ultra cute.

I used to want to be beautiful. Now I'd settle for cute.

I was half-awake early this morning when I heard Babe mumble two words. "Moving away."

He talks in his sleep occasionally... maybe frequently, but I'm just not always awake to hear him. This time, I tried to wake him up to tell him he's talking, and ask him what he's dreaming about. I thought he was awake when he responded with, "Ohhhh..." And when I asked him, "What are you dreaming about?," he just said, "Huhhh?" He didn't sound completely awake. I asked him, "Are you dreaming about moving away? Is someone moving away?" And he said, "Nooo..."

I asked him about it just now, and he doesn't remember any dreams from last night. He remembers me trying to tell him something, but he thought I was telling him about a bad dream.

I wonder what was on his mind when he said "moving away." Is what he says in his sleep always related to his conscious thoughts and feelings? Did it have anything to do with reality? Had he been thinking about moving away? Had he been thinking about someone who's moved away or is about to move away? Can people utter things while sleeping that are totally unrelated to what they're dreaming? Was he even dreaming?

Do you ever worry about what your significant other is dreaming?

I had my second laser hair removal treatment this morning. It hurt a lot less this time, or maybe I psyched myself up to take more pain that was doled out.

If I had a sister, or if my best friend lived in the Bay Area, this is what I'd get her for Christmas... a 3-treatment package for her armpit hair. It's been life-changing for me, and I'd recommend laser hair removal for everyone (guys, go get your nose hairs removed permanently), just as fervently as I recommend TiVo for everyone.

The dermatologist assistant who does the treatment for me is, I'm guessing, around 32 or 33. It's hard to tell because she works at a dermatologist clinic and could have had massive amounts of treatments to make her look as great as she looks, and we'd never know. She has lucid light-green eyes, pale, flawless, creamy skin, and just-past-the-shoulder length light- brown hair with blonde highlights. She seems sweet and sympathetic and feminine, and seems like she'd make a cool, laid-back, middle-maintenance girlfriend who'd watch football with her boyfriend, make a good salad and pasta, and look smashing in a designer-brand evening gown.

Looking at her made me feel good on the inside while she made me feel bad on the outside with the lasers. So maybe there was some pain cancellation.

Yeah, I've got a real soft-spot for smiling women, especially the pretty ones.

I've learned the seven basic chords (C A G E D e a) on the guitar. I've been practicing playing those chords for about a half an hour once every couple of days. Not often enough at all.

My practicing has come to a halt since I encountered the barre chords. Those are what prevented me from learning how to play the guitar in college. I couldn't do them then, and I'm still having trouble doing them. But I know in my head it's a matter of time and practice.

My short, stubby fingers will eventually loosen up, won't they?

We watched this week's Average Joe last night. On the episode, Melana said she's 5'2" and 100lbs.

Damn.

I'm 5'2" (though I tell people I'm 5'3"), and I'm almost 20lbs more than the little lady. And she doesn't even appear to be too thin on TV. She's just right, which leads me to just one conclusion... that I'm about 20lbs overweight.

Damn.

I need to be only 100lbs in order to be able to get a bunch of average joes to fall in love with me in just a few days.

No Damn.

I think that a smile from a woman is one of the top 5 most powerful things in this world.

We had Thanksgiving dinner at my parents'. My mom overcooked the turkey. My turkey craving was not satisfied. Mom says she'll make up to us at Christmas. Christmas seems too long to wait for a taste of good turkey, but I will somehow muster the strength to hold out until then.

Mom's kitchen looked dirtier and dustier than usual that night. A lot of things need to be resurfaced or replaced or removed or completely remodeled. My parents have the money, but the thought of using it to significantly better their living quarters never seems to occur to them. All the oldness and clutter and mismatching bothers me from a distance more than it bothers them who live in admist it all. We are where we live. They are becoming one with their junk. I wish it was possible to pick them up out of all the mess and replant them in a new house, with all-new furniture and electronics. Would I then visit them more often? I'd make no promises.

Friday morning, we headed down to LA. Our first stop was the Getty Center. I wasn't as impressed with its architecture as I thought I would be after hearing some reviews. The best thing about it, for me, was the view from its location. Breathtaking. I did notice that the architect deliberately framed a lot of the views for us, and I thought that was most clever thing about the buildings. Overall, the place was too pale and plasticky and bland for my taste.

We stopped by UCLA to grab ice cream sandwiches at Diddy Riese. I got one with a white chocolate macadamia cookie, a chocolate chip with walnuts cookie, and espresso chip ice cream. Not a good choice. Too many different kinds of chocolate chips, nuts, and sweet. I should've gotten vanilla ice cream instead.

The room that we made an online reservation for at the Ramada in Culver City was not good. One and a half stars is being generous. Some old hotels paint over the wear and tear, or remodel themselves so that you don't see how old the rooms are. Some don't even bother hiding their shabbiness. This one gave us our $55/night worth of discomfort. There was no thermostat, and I got cold. Eric got a body rash. We slept fully clothed to avoid any skin contact with the sheets and to stay warm.

On Saturday, we checked out Graumann's Chinese Theatre and the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Why did whoever first made those stars choose to make them pink? I wonder who, if anyone, has been denied a star that tried to buy one or applied for one. Some of the people whose names are on the stars really don't seem to deserve them.

I'll take this opportunity to Britney-bash. She was cute for upwards of one year, but then she started to unravel and fall apart faster than I got into credit card debt 2.5 years ago. The massive amounts of makeup she slathers on her face can't hide her tired looks. The nubility that formerly sprung a thousand sick, old men has since fizzled out. She's neither girl nor woman, and I would say she is something in between gaudy, bawdy, and tawdry, at a similar level of sanity, unsexiness, and disconnectedness from reality and humor as Mariah... the difference, obviously, being that Mariah actually has a good singing voice. Britney's no Madonna. And I'm a former fan, not a hater.

We went to the famous Farmer's Market where we looked in vain for stars and drooled over all the delicious this-and-thats... that we couldn't have 'cuz we'd already planned to have lunch at Roscoe's House of Chicken 'n Waffles. Roscoe's is yummy. Word of advice: get the fried chicken with gravy. When we pulled up to the one on Pico, I was a bit apprehensive. It's in a bad neighborhood, and the air just outside the restaurant smelled bad like cheap perfume or incense made out of dried BO on a stick. There were some people selling bootleg CDs and DVDs, and some ugly fake LV shoes and accessories.

Los Angelean African Americans seem to be distinct from Bay Area African Americans and from East coast African Americans. I sensed the absence of Indian people and Asian people in general in the areas of LA that we visited on this trip. I know the Asians are further east and south. I don't really know why I'm always taking note of demographics.

We were supposed to meet up with a friend that night for dinner and possibly drinks afterwards. But she got stuck in San Diego. We had a late dinner on 3rd Street Promenade. Santa Monica and Venice Beach are the only places I've been to in LA that I really like.

We got suckered into watching a street performer do his thing for about 20+ minutes. Unsurprisingly, he made more money in 20 minutes than I do in an hour. These guys like to tell their audiences that they were former drug addicts who've gone through rehab and are trying to stay clean while struggling to make a living, feeding their babymama's baby, etc. All lies. But we give him a buck because we're on vacation, we're on the beach, we're warm and fed and happy, and he made us smile and laugh... and if we could as easily buy our laughs elsewhere, it'd become a $10/day habit, or something like that. Man cannot live by bread alone, but also by laughter and all the little things. It's all about the little things...

I don't feel like talking about LA anymore. LA seems so blah. It's as if the shroud of smog is a sort of psychosomatic manifestation of the shroud of emptiness and dissatisfaction that is at the core of the inhabitants of the city. This, or something similar, has probably been said many times before. Maybe it's one of those things a Bay Area native can't help noticing. On a good note, despite LA's shortcomings, whatever it was that I was missing, I got back during my weekend there. Maybe it was simply some sleep. Maybe it was the warmth of the sun. Maybe it was an appreciation for where I am in life, geographically.

We left LA Sunday morning, around 10, and didn't hit too much traffic on the way up. It still took us around 7 hours to get home. Being cooped up in a car for that long with someone who I really like and wouldn't mind being with long-term makes a big difference. LA was a make-or-break place for my past two relationships (it basically made one and accelerated the breaking of the other). This time, it was just a much-needed vacation, not about defining a relationship, which is how it should be.

We stopped at a Taco Bell for lunch. I imagine Taco Bell will still be around in 30 years, and I'll still be eating it then. Taco Bell and McDonalds will never die. Take that, FDA! When are we going to start eating synthetic foods coming out of replicators, like they do in Star Trek? If they could make synthetic Mcgriddles with less than half the calories, that'd be AWESOME.

As always, it feels so good to be back to the Bay Area.

When I have my own house, I will be sure to have deciduous trees somewhere on the property. They're worth the mess the leaves will leave for me to clean up come fall when they fall. I must have the reds, the oranges, the golds, the yellows. So beautiful.

I was asked this morning if I just colored my hair. It occurred to me that if deciduous referred to the changing color of leaves, and not also the shedding of the leaves from the trees, I could describe my hair as deciduous. It's gone from magenta to a mahogany in three weeks, changing colors daily... losing more and more red, turning brown and orange. And in the spring, I will probably get it lightened even more.

Deciduous hair.

"...for what it is worth, the composite of the ideal woman, is a flirtatious, thrill-seeker with an average build, long, light brown hair and a college degree, who doesn't smoke, drinks socially and enjoys public displays of affection." (excerpt from here)

I think I need to be more flirtatious.

I'm quite the opposite. Anti-flirtatious. Mainly because I try too hard not to lead any guys on. I hold myself back, act like a plain jane, speak curtly so as not to give them any reasons to start liking me that way. (Babe says the reason is simply that I'm Asian). I think I overdo it and come across as surly. I might be doing more damage to myself than I'm trying to prevent.

I'm not at all the type of girl who can flip her hair and wink and shrug her shoulders and/or feel flattered when a ton of guys are hopelessly crushing on or falling in love with her. I mean, those types of scenarios cause too much trouble for me and bring me down. They make me want to go home and hide out in my room. I can't deal with the pressure. I can't handle the attention. I'm too sympathetic. I hate hurting and losing "friends" who've found some reason to like me.

Some girls are totally nice to everyone without discretion, and they don't care if that leads to giving guys the wrong idea and not having any truly platonic guy friends who don't secretly want to be more than friends. I guess they realize the extra fans couldn't hurt and could only help increase their confidence and appeal. I'm not one of those girls. (And maybe all my guy "friends" really do want to bone me.)

Maybe I should be more like those girls... to improve my overall reputation and image, and so that more people would consider me good company. I'd have more friends. I think guys subsconsiously or deliberately prefer to have girl friends who are flirtatious, even if they remain just friends. I mean, when is flirting ever not fun?

Alright. I'm going to try to be more flirtatious. With everyone. See where it takes me. It's part of the whole loving-being-a-woman thing I've been trying to accomplish. I think women flirt to feel better about themselves and to max out on the benefits of the advantages of being female. Have-it-flaunt-it type of mentality. I never really did have that mentality, but now I will give it a try.

Let's see what I've got.