I made it through the last 3 days.

Now for the real test. Eight days away from here. Can I do it? Can I get through it without a new perspective on what's currently going on in my life?

I can't always have epiphanies and life-changing experiences away from home... and in this case, I'm hoping I don't.

I watched The Pianist on DVD last night.

There was a part of the movie that filled me with so much of so many familiar feelings that I had to take deep breaths throughout the scene to let out my feelings, and made my heart thump hard so it felt like it was resting on top of my chest. I nearly burst.

The part was when Szpilman was in the Warsaw ghetto and played a Chopin Ballade on the piano for the German guy who found him surviving there. I had played that piece during the last years before I stopped playing the piano. The piece was definitely one of my favorite, one that has always deeply touched and affected me. At the time I played it, it embodied all of my intense yet beautiful emotions.

Now I've been inspired to re-learn it.

This bite on my face is twice the size now as it was this morning. I can see it in my peripheral vision.

So my week o' pain continues. This is my week o' physical pain. Last week was my week o' mental pain.

My stress level has gone down significantly. I'm finally looking forward to my vacation, the week with my folks and the week away from Babe, not just looking forward to getting it over with. Hopefully, it'll b a week o' no pain at all. Just rest, relaxation, and refocusing.

I see now that with me it's always the anticipation of pain and the anxiety that comes with the anticipation that is much worse than the pain itself. The pain itself is easy to take. It's the pain that I didn't expect or pain that is worse than expected that gets me. It's become a habit for me to overcompensate and expect more pain and start suffering even before anything happens.

I'm not afraid to be silly every so often.

Day one. I'm alright so far.

The li'l mofos got to me while I was sleeping last night.

I woke up around 1am to a faint buzzing near my left ear. It got louder and I felt something tickling my face. I swatted at it and felt it fly around my hand and head for a second or two, and then no more. It seemed to have gone away.

I wondered if it bit me. Didn't check. Just tried to go back to sleep.

Couldn't sleep.

Heard the buzzing again a few minutes later. Couldn't tell how many there were. I swatted it/them away again and sat up. I was so irritated. I tried to go back to sleep with my face buried under the blanket. It was hard to sleep 'cuz of the heat... and I kept thinking they were all gonna come after me while I'm passed out and eat up my face.

Then this morning I found a pretty big bite on my left cheek. The fuckers...

I just bought some Raid. Will have some fun with it tonite.

Wednesday

9:41pm.
Blogger is down. It's been down all day. Damnit.

There is a spider in my room. I let it drop into the trash can a few mintues ago. I just checked, and it is no longer in the trash can. Where is it??

9:49pm
Crying baby upstairs. Just stopped crying. Had been screaming for 30 minutes straight.

9:51pm
Baby's crying again.

Another bug, not a spider, is making its way across the floor toward me.

Babe isn't here. If he was, he'd kill both the spider and the other bug for me. I can't do it myself.

I just dropped Babe off at the airport. He's visiting the place he called home for the first 20-or-so years of his life. I won't see him until I get back from Alaska.

July 7. Seems like ages and ages away. 12 days = 288 hours = 17280 minutes without him.

10:06pm
I got parts of two of my teeth filled today. It took me a couple of minutes to get composed before my uncle stuck my gums with the needle containing the anesthesia.

I'm so grateful to my uncle, my dentist. I completely trust him. I always barrage him with questions about what he's about to do and how much it will hurt to eliminate the element of surprise which is more disturbing than any pain that I feel. If he tells me I won't feel a thing, I believe him and relax. And I really don't feel a thing.

I suspect my uncle administers a double dose of anesthesia just for me, just in case.

Today confirms that my fear of needles and anxiety over unexpected pain still exists. I don't have a low tolerance for pain. Once I feel the pain, and it's just what I expected, I'm cool and I can take it and it's no big deal at all

Damn bugs are everywhere! Get the hell out!!!

10:30pm
I've been doing work for the last hour. I didn't get any done during the day (of course, 'cuz I worked from home), and I got an email from my manager that sounded like he knew I was doing jack shit. I have to remember that I'm replaceable at any time. I'll work closer to my potential for the next couple of weeks.

11pm
Still working. After tonite, I might not have any work to do for the rest of the week.

11:20pm
Another thing I'm worried about seeing and feeling and hearing about all next week is my brother's unhappiness. I'm afraid he will depress me. Thinking about him gets me down even when I don't see him, or when I see him for a couple of hours on the weekends. It's his inabilty to deal with the world outside of his comfort zone.

I'm dreading the above in addition to watching my parents do and say the silly and pointless things they do and say in the name of God and their religion. It's going to drive me insane, I already know it.

11:45pm
I'm so bored. Already. I'm hungry too. I won't eat. Maybe I should just go to sleep now and figure out what to do with all this time to myself tomorrow. Man, I'm going to bed pretty early.

I know precisely what would melt away all the anxiety I feel right now.

I was very stressed and short on sleep all last week, primarily because of the plumbing disaster at my place and the uncertainties of whether I would be properply reimbursed for my damaged property and where/with whom I'll be living in the near future. My worries over those things snowballed, and by the end of the week, I was stressed about a bunch of other related and unrelated things that probably shouldn't have concerned me or bothered me the way they did. Stressful issues just popped out of somewhere and gathered together in my mind to have a group therapy session... which turned into a riot.

I've wanted a place to call home, that would really feel like my home. Just as I thought I'd found it, here comes a threat to take it away. Behind the frustration of not having a home-sweet-home is the frustration resulting from some loss of order, organization, control, stability, and individuality. And behind that frustration is a big fear of losing the connections that are keeping me well-grounded these days...

Next week, I'm going on a seven-day cruise to Alaska with my parents and brother. I'll be disconnected for more than a week. No internet, no phone, no friends, no Babe. I'm anticipating the ache I will feel from the disconnection. The anticipation itself is already an ache.

And then I realize that I only want one man right now. First reaction: panic. When was the last time I wanted more than one man at at time? I want to and would go into this subject and all the thoughts that stemmed from it, but then it would take me another day or two to write out all that I've analyzed and connected together and sorted out... and I don't feel like elaborating on them right this moment. Let's just say, my thoughts were reeling out of control for a bit, influenced by empathy and anticipation and a whole lotta other shit, including the shit on the hardwood floors.

My place now seems as clean as it was before the disaster. I've always worn slippers around the house, so I'm not as bothered by the possibility of walking on shit-tainted floors. I'd like to live there until the end of the summer, at least. I don't want to be rushed into moving again so soon.

I started to feel pain in my stomach (not guts) on Satuday afternoon. I'd had In 'n Out for brunch, and followed that up with about 5 or 6 pieces of taffy from a candy shop at the Fisherman's wharf in Monterey. The pain lasts for 2 to 5 seconds and recurrs at 30min to 2hr intervals. I should probably add antacids to my list of things to get reimbursed for...

Sex could've helped me de-stress a little, but it was rag-week. I always feel so, so robbed. He didn't have to go without. He never has to go without. And sometimes that really gets to me. That men get it all. Men have it all.

While men are doing the funnest things in life - racing vehicles on tracks and dirt, playing the guitar or drums and making bands, bonding with other guys over sports and babes, jacking off to porn, playing basketball, playing videogames, always playing, playing, playing - what are all the women doing for fun? Knitting, doing their nails, putting on makeup, changing diapers? No really... what are all you women out there doing?

Please don't say they're all at the mall shopping all the time, and that's their #1 favorite thing to do. That's lame. Why aren't more women playing the guitar and forming bands? Why aren't there more women in extreme sports? Why is it that the only girls in these scenes are not much more than decorations in bikini tops and hotpants standing on the sidelines watching all the guys have fun? What's wrong with women? Can't they do more than follow their men around?

Sure, I want a bigger part of this man's world. I'm sick of being one of a few other women joining in... and not just here at work, but in every single thing that I'm interested in or want to get into. I really shouldn't let the absence of women in these activities intimidate me or hold me back. There must be a bigger reason not many women are involved in some of those things than that they simply can't hang w/ the guys. It can't be that lack the ability to do and enjoy the same activities as guys, despite their interest in doing them.

But If that is the case, why should I try? Why should I try to get into something if I'm destined to drop out because I am woman? Because maybe that is what is stopping all the other women! I won't let the lack of female comaraderie stop ME any longer!

I have only one life, and I should do whatever I want to do before it's over, without regard to what the rest of the members of my gender is/isn't doing! Money should to be my only limiter. And I don't need a fucking female role model! I never did. I finally realize that.

I'm going to stop writing now and go live some more of my life.

I think I might have an ulcer.

I don't know that much about the Vietnam War other than that it was extremely atrocious and killed an unbelievable number of people. I watched Platoon last nite. Silly... but I felt anti-Vietnamese for a minute or two after watching it. I always get so caught up...

I found this quote online:

"It is the soldier, not the reporter, Who has given us freedom of the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, Who has given us freedom of speech. It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, Who has given us the freedom to demonstrate. It is the soldier, Who salutes the flag, Who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, Who allows the protester to burn the flag."

The professional cleaners were at our place yesterday. They pinesol'd the rooms and installed a new sink in the bathroom I share with Joe. The smell of sewage is gone... for now. We'll have to wait and see what happens after the pinesol smell dissapates.

I sense my roommates are still interested in moving into a new place. We'll be talking about it more this Sunday.

When we were children, my brother and I had a soft, cute, gray stuffed animal whale. Whalie. My bro loved it so much. It was his favorite stuffed toy at that time. Josh brought it everywhere he went. Then one day while we were playing, Whalie fell onto dirt where there a bunch of slimy slugs. Immediately after that incident, Whalie was no longer loved by my bro. Whalie became Sluggie. Even after he was washed in the washing machine a couple of times, Josh wouldn't touch him, or even come within a foot of him without saying "Ewwww! Get it away!"

That's kinda like how my roommates and I feel about our place. Once something's been shitted on, it's never the same.

Last night I dreamed that it was my wedding day, and I was supposed to marry a guy named Ronald or Roland, or something like that. He was white and thin with dark hair. Before I walked down the aisle, I was in a room with my mom, dad and brother. I was having the jitters about marrying the guy. For some reason, I was marrying him though I didn't know him that well. I'd only seen him a couple of times. I wasn't in love with him. This was all too soon. I wasn't ready. I kept on finding something to fix, like something on my dress or my shoes. My dress was heavy and hideous. I was stalling. My family was stressing me out, trying to get me to hurry up 'cuz everyone was waiting. I cried, and my eye makeup was ruined. Too much time had passed, and I had to walk down then or never. So I walked out of the building. I stood him up.

The reason this dream stood out is that I don't recall ever having dreamt about being a bride until last night.

Do I really want to go out? And if I went out, would I get as much out of it as before?

I mean, if I went out to a club to move and groove to some good music, would I still get something out of anonymously dancing among happy, drunk, entranced, sweaty, horny, touchy-feely strangers? Or would I be bored? Or would I have too much fun? Am I worried about doing something I shouldn't do and/or getting myself into trouble? Am I worried about changing, about being yanked out of the comfortable life I currently enjoy?

Why don't I go out and find out?

So now my roommates and I are considering finding a new place and moving out.

The air purifiers have been removed from our place, but it still smells like shit. Joe has a sensitive nose, and he smells something funny all over his stuff. Elisa (my other roommate) suspects the problem wasn't fixed properly. I think they dried crap water into our hardwood floors.

We're all paranoid. We want the owner to get a hygiene expert to come and check out the place before we start living in there again. As of today, he doesn't want to do that. He's in town this weekend, so we're hoping to give him a tour and a sniff of our damaged place. This is turning into a stressful situation for all of us.

And I was really enjoying living there...

Sometimes, I'm consumed by my thoughts about other people and their situations.

I've always thought about and worried about people more than they've given me regard. And I've decided not to do that anymore. It's a waste of time and energy.

People can take care of themselves. They can figure things out on their own. They can find their own partners, their own jobs, their own lives...

I'll try not to even be curious.

We had major problems with the septic tank at our place on Sunday.

Shit started bubbling up into the tubs and showers and toilets. Joe (my roommate) and I stayed at the house and in the area because the plumbers were supposed to come fix the problem that day, but they didn't show up.

Meanwhile, the backwash from the sewer just kept on coming up, and eventually overflowed into our hallway. The entire house smelled like an outhouse.

The plumbers came by yesterday while we weren't home. After fixing the problem, they threw out all the rugs in our bathrooms and rooms, and brought in three huge air purifiers. They sealed off a section of our place with plastic. The air purifiers will run for seven days.

During those seven days, we can go in and get stuff, but we can't stay there. They told us to wash all of our clothes before we wear them. We will be reimbursed for the cost of cleaning our clothes and replacing the rugs and other damaged items that they trashed. We are getting a new bathroom sink too.

I have a place to stay in the meantime, but I'd been trying to avoid overnight-bagging... I'm going to have to disinfect everything in my room once I'm able to start living at my place again. I feel quite inconvenienced. On the bright side, all the clothes I've been too stingy to dry-clean in the last couple of months will finally see the cleaners, and I will be getting a more expensive, plush rug for my room.

Okay... On my way home from work today, an Asian toll booth guy tried to pick up on me. I guess I deserved it for wondering about toll booth people so much.

Before he asked me for my name and phone number, he asked, "Have I met you before?" Well duh. I probably drove through his toll booth once or twice before, though not recently and not in my immediately accessible memory. 'Course I didn't give him my number, but told him my name, hoping he'd hurry up with my change.

When he said his name is Kenny, I had a flash of deja vu... that instant of recognition. I swear this same guy asked me for my phone number many months back, which leads me to wonder how many hundreds or thousands of Asian women the dude hits on a day.

He probably fantasizes that one of these days, one of these women would actually give him her number or give him a call. Maybe one of these days he'll ask the wrong woman who'll file a complaint. Not this woman.

He insisted on giving me his phone number on a blank piece of toll receipt paper, and I accepted it since he hadn't given my change yet. I quickly looked behind me to make sure there was no one waiting and watching. No cars were in queue.

"Do you speak Chinese?" he asked before I took off. I said no and saw a little bit of disappointment on his face. GOOD. Be discouraged. He wanted to make sure... "Just a little bit?"

"No not at all. Have a nice day."

What I need is music.

I've always known that. I've always say that. But for how very important it is to me, and for as much as I say so, I haven't made the effort to involve myself in it as much as I should. You've noticed that, huh?

Well, I must do it! The need to emote and express through music will continue to nag, nag, nag me until I take care of it.

Nothing can replace music and making music in my life. Playing sports and games, watching TV and movies, eating and drinking well, buying things, and being otherwise entertained may distract and occupy me or temporarily quell boredom, but will never replace music and can't fill the void that is there when it's not a part of my life.

In the past, it was easy to blame any void and boredom on the people in my life, whether they were my parents, my friends, my ex-boyfriends... But I can no longer blame them. I now have a collection of good friends and a better man, who give me enough to smile and laugh and wonder about.

Life doesn't feel boring and blah because I lack stimulating relationships. It feels boring and blah because I don't have an adequate vent for my creativity and passion.

I've got to get back into making music ASAP. No more dilly-dallying.

I'm bored again. Very bored.

The admins I have to work with at Sun are absolutely, gosh-darn, frustratingly shit-for-brains stupid!! They're both mothers of little children too. What a shame...

I always find myself wondering about the toll booth people on my way home from work.

I'd think that they'd all fit some sort of a pattern, that I'd be able to pick out a commonality among them... such as, they're mostly immigrants of certain nations, or they're old, or they look unskilled or destitute and miserable and desperate for any ol' job. But no, there seems to be a wide variety of nationalities, socio-economic backgrounds, statuses, ages, demeanors, and reasons among them. And so, I wonder about each one. What's his/her story? How did he/she come to become a toll booth worker?

How does one get a toll booth job if one wanted one? I figure most of those workers are placed into their jobs, they don't actually choose them. I mean, they probably don't apply for toll booth jobs directly, but apply to be placed into a variety of minimum prociency positions. Maybe they must belong to some sort of company that hires workers for all sorts of crappy jobs, and maybe they rotate crappy jobs quarterly or yearly.

Is it even possible to apply for a toll booth job directly? Have there been any/many cases of people who really, really wanted to work in a toll booth? And tried to get the job, but couldn't? Or got it, and absolutely loved it?

I usually go through the same toll booths, and sometimes I see the same people everyday for days straight. Of course I remember them, but how many of them remember me? How many people do they remember from the many they see everyday? What makes some people going through the toll booth crossing more memorable than others? Often, before I drive off, I say, "have a nice day." Does that give me a better chance of being remembered? Am I just one of a majority of people who tell these poor people in their cramped little booths to have a nice day?

Sometimes it starts to feel awkward seeing the same toll booth worker everyday... when, by then, they either remember you or they've got a memory-related handicap. You and they have done the perfunctory "thanks" and "have a nice day" routine for too long. There's that instant of recognition that is usually followed by an acknowledgement of a connection of sorts. But, of course, you speed away before any sort of acknowledgement because you know that, in this case, there really is no real connection. Just that awkward daily instance of recognition.

I guess it would be like riding the same bus or train at the same time everyday and seeing the same people. You kinda look for them, and notice when they're not there. But there's no real connection. Just a recognition. But with toll booth people, an actual transaction takes place between you and them. You give them something, and sometimes they give you something back. And the exchange makes the interaction more personal. Slightly personal.

I think what I'd hate the most about being a toll booth worker (aside from the low wages) would be just that.. being exposed to such a quantity and variety of people all day (or for however long my shift is), but not being able to communicate or connect with any of them.

I just had fresh lumpia from Goldilocks for my late lunch. I hadn't had any kind of lumpia in a very long time. It was delicious. I can still taste it in my mouth.

Mom loves Goldilocks. It's great how a bunch of these types of stores have popped up in the Bay Area within the last 10 years or so. They bring the Philippines to mom, and bits of her childhood too. Tasty bits!

Going to Goldilocks today made me feel good on the inside. I was reminded of my grandma, and how she used to make a lot of the desserts they sell there in addition to Chinese pastries. She made the best spongecake jelly rolls, sansrival, ensaymadas, flan, siopaos and hopias for us whenever she visited. I haven't seen the likes of those since she passed away.

I feel fortunate to have Philippino culture in my background, adding to the mix of Asian that I am.

It's a good sign when other guys find your guy attractive (though they may begrudgingly admit it). Guy's guys are the best.

A man died last Thursday. A humble, gentle man who whole-heartedly loved people, most especially children, and who was passionate about teaching and helping everyone he met.

He was a long-time friend of our family, whose son was in my HS graduating class at RCS. I met him when I was four or five, and he became one of my first favorite people. He was my very own local Mr. Rogers. I still remember how he smiled and played guitar and sang Christian songs like "Did you ever talk to God above?" for us kids at Christian summer camp, year after year.

Even when I was much older, in these latter days, he never avoided a conversation with me. Never stopped trying to relate to my generation, to find out what I was up to, and to encourage me.

I, and my parents and brother, attended his memorial service last night. As several people gave testimonials, I realized that we all knew and remember him as the same man. He was the same kind, loving, and wonderful man to us all.

Congratulations to three of my girl cousins on my mom's side who have graduated/are graduating from college this Spring!

One's graduating from the University of Washington (undergrad in biology), another's graduating from Boston U (grad in dentistry), and the other one's graduating from Stanford (undergrad in biology).

They're going to become successful doctors and dentists, like their parents and aunts and uncles before them. Maybe they'll also become rich on their own, like their parents and aunts and uncles before them... or they'll manage to marry rich.

Meanwhile, I will be taking over the world.

I don't feel good today. The breakdown and possible/eventual breakdown of other people's relationships is really getting me down. If it hasn't happened to them yet, it should happen soon, or it's about to happen, or will happen sooner or later. I can just feel it...

Weekend in a nutshell...

Fri nite. Birthday dinner & karaoke.
Saturday. Got waxed. Watched 2 Fast 2 Furious.
Sunday. Softball & BBQ.

I got my first Brazilian wax today.

Now my crotch looks a lot like it did when I was ten.

For some reason, I didn't really believe all the things I read and heard about it being super duper painful. I'd had my eyebrows waxed once, and that didn't hurt at all. I'd had my legs waxed once, and it wasn't so bad. This ordeal, however, took about 30 minutes and, well, it was no walk in the park...

But I really love the way it looks and feels. So I'm seriously considering waxing regularly from now on, though this first time hurt like bloody, bloody hell. I hear subsequent waxings get less and less painful, as long as I keep the razor at bay.

The gym's crowded again. Full of young goodlookings. Well, the relatively young and goodlooking among gym society...

Three blonde girls showed up on Tues nite (I think it was) in matching white and blue cheerleader outfits... shirts knotted up in the front to expose their torsos, and super short shorts that showed some buttcheek and lengthened their legs. Ponytails. Obvoiusly high school girls. Obviously there just for as much attention as they could get. It was kinda fun watching each guy in the room look up from his weights, take notice of the girls and stare, or grin and point the girls out out to his workout bud(s)...

I don't go to the gym as often these days, and when I do, though it's god-awfully hot, I don't usually take off my t-shirt to work out in my sport bras or sport tanks because my nipples are rather large and poke when I wear anything that's not padded. I'm always quite self-conscious about that.

But the night the three girls were there was different. All eyes would be on them, and my nipples would get less or no attention at all while they worked the floor. That night, I got to walk around shirtless, chest out, feeling a lot less self-conscious. And it felt really good.

I got four new tires (Yokohama ES100s) today. Hadn't had four good tires all at once on my car in a long time. Sharp turns feel a lot better now.

It's nice having the means to have these seemingly simple little things that make life feel a whole lot better.

If it weren't for weekends, I'd have so few blog entries these days...

Fri nite. I had dinner w/ the parents in Milpitas to celebrate their 31st anniversary. Thirty-one years of marriage, and all my mom wanted was Peking Duck w/ the family!

Over dinner, I talked w/ dad about buying a house. My parents are too quick to dole out advice soaked in their religious beliefs, but they are too slow to give me any financial advice other than "move back home." Neither dad or I had brought up the subject of buying a house before, so I finally brought it up 'cuz I really should know what they're going to do.

My parents have lived and owned the little house in Castro Valley for long enough, and I don't really want to inherit that house. I think dad should buy a place in Fremont while mortgage rates are still low. I honestly think they would live well in Fremont (where there seems to be a Chinese church on every other block). I could chip in for the house when I'm able to, since I'm looking at getting out of cc debt (damn finally!) by the end of this year or early next year. I might want to eventually own the next house my parents buy, and not have it split between my bro and me in the future. Well, I dunno... I have more thinking to do, but at least now I know what's my dad's been thinking.

After dinner, we played poker w/ the usuals.

Saturday. We went rollerblading at Shoreline in the afternoon.

We had dinner at Secret Garden. It bothers me that I must travel all the way down to Santa Clara for good Korean food. New restaurants, shops, and stores just keep on popping up down there (not to mention my friends are buying houses there too), leading me to think that someday I may be compelled to move down into that area. And I don't currently like the though of that.

We saw The Italian Job at Mercado. The plot and dialogue kinda stunk. But suped-up mini coopers are quite cool little things. There is an ultra-overgrown Samoan-looking dude in the movie who says, "Baby, go relax" to his teeny woman every time he needs to discuss business w/ the guys. I thought that was cute. And my man said that there's one scene where Charlize Theron looks kinda-sorta like me (I think he said it's when she's practicing opening a safe in her hotel room, right before Mark Wahlberg's character busts in). That's so, so flattering... that Charlize and I could look alike for even an instant.

Sunday. I finally got the bed. It's hugeass. Fat and phat.

In the afternoon, I washed my car. Twice. I used actual carwash soap this time, and my car looked so much better than I expected it to after the wash. I was really amazed. What a difference the good stuff makes. Up until now, I'd been using dishwashing liquid 'cuz I had to be freakin' cheapo about everything.

Monday. An estimator stopped by my work in the morning to take a look at my rear bumper. Now I have a check from State Farm for $735.

I'd filed a claim a week ago with State Farm (didn't have to take it to a small claims court), and they waived my $500 deductible because I was hit by an uninsured motorist who was at fault. Scherazade never returned their calls.

We had a company party at a bowling alley today. I played two games. Second game, I scored 99. Sad, but that's a high score for me. I didn't get a single strike, kept on bowling nines... and then I thought, that'd be a great name or title for something.

Bowling Nines.

Maybe a song, a movie, a book, a band...