day 11590: torn

For those of you who know me, you know that my dog is my life. I love that little ball of white fluff more than anything else in this world and I can honestly say that there have been times where she was the only thing I loved in this world.

She's a fantastic puppy and if I could clone her without her heart condition, I would do it a million times over. She's been the best thing that's ever happened to me and I know that I'm a better person (and a different person) from having her in my life.

It was really hard to hear that our time is limited and that she only has a few years to go. I have a lot of difficulty accepting it and don't like thinking about it or talking about it. I know I'll have to deal with it eventually, but I'm putting it off until another time.

For years, I've wanted to get her a friend. Another puppy that she can relate with and bond with. Something else of her kind for me to baby so that they two of them can sleep intertwined on my bed. But for years, I've listened to everyone else around me telling me how much of a princess she is and how much of an "only-child" she is etc etc. And for years, they were right. We weren't ready to grow our little family.

I've been rethinking things for the past half a year - constantly going over the what-ifs and why-nots in my mind. What if they don't like each other, what if Toot gets too tired playing with the puppy... and while still racked with guilt over the possible negative why-nots, I've come to a conclusion - to be frank, I can't deal with an empty house when Toot goes. The emptiness will kill me.

So guess what, boys and girls... the Toot and I are getting a puppy.

day 11587: my own kitchen nightmare

I dreamt last night that I was competing on Iron Chef in a cook-off against some seasoned pros. Gordon Ramsey was one of the judges and went on and on about amateur chefs and started harshly criticizing my technique when it came to pan frying a piece of fish that refused to cook through. It was just fish, for god’s sake!

Frustrated, I stormed out of Kitchen Stadium and came back a few minutes later with my trump card and his comeuppance… a half melted chocolate popsicle rolled in deep fried pulverized fish skin. Yum.

day11583: double standards

I find myself doing a double take every time I see a middle-aged asian woman standing outside smoking. It looks really out of place to me and I’m not sure why… well, maybe because all my asian chick ancestors are paragons of virtue and have no vices whatsoever. Or maybe they’re just really good at hiding whatever it is that they do.

Just like I do.

day 11581 11582: randomania

1. Apathy vs. Empathy

Darn this whole ESL business. Who knew that two little words would make such a big difference. Ok, I’m not really ESL and I didn’t actually use the words incorrectly, but to those who are and have, there’s a whole lot of difference between being apathetic and empathetic. i.e. You should be empathetic that I am apathetic as I no longer give a shit about anything anymore.

2. Attention Deficit Dis… huh?

I did a whole bunch of tests that all ended up saying that it’s highly probably that I have ADD… which explains a hell of a lot of the idiocy that is my life, the craziness that surrounds me, my extreme BOREDOM of all that lies around me, and why I can’t keep a straight thought going in my head for more than 5 minutes.

NOTE: these weren’t silly little online tests either… they were highly in-depth, detailed, multiple questioned tests that I actually had to sit and pay attention to. But given the way through which I zoomed through the two 120-130 questioned tests, I really wonder if I actually have ADD. Then again, it did take me about 4 months worth of procrastinating to get through them, and I actually forgot about the second test until I went back and tried to retake the first test to get a better score.

3. Cure-All-For-Boredomness

I need a new hobby. I need a new love interest. Hell, I just need something to do that will put a little excitement back into my life. That whole cake making thing... yeah, what of it? I came, I saw, I did, I rocked it out. But now it’s over and I’m fat from eating all that cake. I don’t even like cake. Well, I didn’t before. Now I like it a bit too much. There’s something wrong with that picture. Wait, I don’t even want to see that picture.

Oh yeah… and for all you with hobby suggestions, I need a suggestion OTHER THAN going to the bar. Cuz I’ve been doing a little too much of that as well. Let’s go for hobby suggestions other than something that involves putting thngs in my mouth. Crap, I suppose I can’t have a new love interest either then. Shit. Just joking. Right.

4. Growing up sucks

Ok, vet bills and automatic number formatting suck more. But seriously, growing up and having a mortgage and having to force myself to save money for retirement AND not winning the lottery really, really, really sucks. Now instead of going traipsing around Egypt and Dubai for a few weeks, I can only afford to fly to San Fran on points and prostrate myself in front of Sista and the NEWBRO begging for mercy accommodations and a piece of floor upon which I can lay my head. But, hey, who’s complaining… not me!!! Lucky duck Sista and NEWBRO have a killer, killer view of the ocean. Maybe we can hit up French Laundry… hint hint hint…

5. Irony

For someone who hates weddings as much as I do, I kind of picked a really funny side-business to involve myself in. Not that I’m complaining about either cake or weddings or wedding cake… I’m just making a strange observation about myself…

6. I'm asian and can't do math...

Miscounted my days again... sigh...

day 11580: echoes from the past

“What a waste…”

… of time… of money… it didn’t really matter. Five ex-students and only one remained minorly involved with music. The rest of us left our burgeoning musical careers far behind us in the dust of dreams and innocence. We waited for inspiration, but there wasn't any. There was only the requirement of accomplishment and the obligatory drive for success.

So sad. I suppose I should take it up again... on the flip side, teaching myself how to play the guitar has been pretty easy so far...

day 11579: chasing the dream… the token Olympics post

I’ve always wanted to be in the Olympics. Never mind that there isn’t a particular sport that I excel at (or am even half decent at, for that matter), I still want to live the dream. I want to walk amongst my fellow country(wo)men waving enthusiastically at hundreds of thousands of eye-blinding camera flashes.

I know I’m just north of thirty, but it’s not too late. There’s a fifty-something year old fencer, a couple of thirty-something swimmers, and then there’s 61year old Ian Millar who just won a medal by sitting well on a horse… ok, there’s more to the sport than that. But what I’m getting at is that there’s a whole slew of things I can try and get really, really good at within the next 3-4 years so I can make the next set of Olympic games. And then if not, there’s always curling and the winter games to aim for. Sweet.

But I gotta say one thing… what the hell is with the Canada flag on Ian Millar’s helmet? It makes him look like he’s wearing a pair of panties on his head.


(pic from the associated press)

day 11578: take a pair of earplugs and a valium... and don't call me in the morning

There's nothing quite as disconcerting as a large group of pre-teens simultaneously shrieking, "OH MY GOD, THAT'S THE CUTEST DOG EVER!" just as you walk by.

day 11572: why yes, i do suffer from colossal fingers in mouth disease!

Text to Posie while standing in line waiting to pick up my now-fixed-formerly-possessed cellphone:
"I'm standing in the slowest line in the world at the Rogers store..."

20 minutes pass by...

Said the Rogers guy to me, "Um, do you want to finish sending your text?"

Darn... oops... forgot to hit delete. How's that for instant feedback, dude?

day 11565: what i've been doing instead of blogging

day 11545: the stupid things we do because our brains are a little less overstimilated than usual

IM to the coworker with the broken thumb:

"Heyyyyyyyyyyyyy... we're doing a cross Canada hitchhiking competition... wanna be on our team?"

day 11543: where are you?

I know you're there and I hear your call. But I didn't answer years back when you beckoned to me from England and I refuse to listen now that you tempting me from the misty green fields of Ireland.

You devil. Why don't you just come here?

Seriously.

The signs are there. I'm not listening, but I feel it in my gut that I shouldn't be where I am now.

day 11515: you know, cuz I don’t have a crapload of other things to think about

Dear Ma,

I know that Sista’s wedding is coming up, and that’s the ONLY thing on your mind… but you know, I have a life too and I have other things to think about.

So, when I call you to tell you that the cardiologist told me this morning that my darling Tootsie-pop’s prognosis was not good and that that she is only a year or two away from congestive heart disease, the last thing on my mind is anything related to Sista’s wedding.

No offense, but when someone’s heart is breaking, a dress fitting really is the last thing on their mind.

Your timing is impeccable. Hell, at this moment, the way I’m feeling, I’m just going to duct tape the hem if I have to. Screw that.

Your other daughter,

Schmassion.

day 11497: now i know what my parents went through

My darling Princess Poop-a-lot, aka Tootsie-pop, aka Tootsie-loo has a heart murmur. That frickin sucks. She's not as invincible as we though and now who knows what will happen.

Luckily, we caught it early so rounds of testing and treatment to be done asap. Maybe I should have sprung for the pet insurance when I had a chance... dammit.

I wish I understood more about myself...

I can’t tell you why I cry. Only that they aren’t always tears of joy or tears of happiness. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. I can’t. I don’t know why I cry. I don’t know why I feel the way I do. I don’t even know what it is that I feel; just an overwhelming urge to melt into a blubbering pool of wrinkled silk and snotty tissues. Some girls cry pretty tears. I cry a deluge of muddy rainwater and puff up like the day after a binge on wine and salt.

Wedding season has started. One down. Five to go.

The one yesterday left me emotionally destroyed and had me sobbing like a babe the entire drive home and late into the night. A day later and random tears still threaten to fall without a moments notice. It really is very much of an inconvenience. The inside corner of my right eye is raw from trying to wipe the tears away surreptitiously without people knowing that I’m crying. Because then they think I’m an emotional fool and I don’t want anyone thinking that, even though they might be right.

I don’t have wedding anxiety. Wedding anxiety is for the bride. I have attendance anxiety. Somewhere along the line, I began to dread weddings, and now it’s to the point where my emotional state is being threatened and it takes me days to recover. My chest tightens at the thought of weddings. It shouldn’t. Perhaps I’m making a much bigger deal out of this than I should. Perhaps I should do as everyone says and be an adult and suck it up. But I can’t and it scares me. Yesterday, as I drove to the ceremony and later again as I drove to the reception, I had thoughts of crashing my car into the concrete barriers so that I would have a legitimate excuse not to go. Death over attendance. I’m terrified of my own thoughts.

It wasn’t always so. Early on, the random tears feel at the appropriate sappy moments – the moment the groom’s voice breaks during the vow, the father-daughter dance, the speech where the parents welcome the new child into the family. I giggled at the slideshow, laughed at the raunchy games and groaned with the rest of the guests at the corny jokes the best man would make about how the groom didn’t deserve such a great woman. And then everything changed and the tears stopped being pretty.

Weddings suddenly became cookie cutter affairs. A thirty minute ceremony, pose for pictures with the bride and groom, followed by a night of awkward eating and drinking. Weddings aren’t as great a place for meeting up as people think they are – especially the Chinese 20 course banquets where food flows continuously for 4 hours along with the entertainment and speeches. Change the couple and repeat two weeks later – same food, same entertainment, same people. The only thing different – weddings were no longer happy occasions, they were occasions for the tears and the fear. Nothing is changing except for me and my “negativity”.

The feelings are intensifying with each occasion. The fear, the loneliness, the dread, the anxiety, the disappointment, the resentment, the knowledge that my father won’t be there for the father-daughter dance, the belly clenching moment where I know that I’m losing control of myself… they’re all growing. I don’t want to be this way. It’s not acceptable to me that I am this way. I hate how I feel, but I hate more that I can’t control the way I feel. I hate even more that I don’t understand why I feel this way. And I hate even more that if I don't get this under control, my family and the people I am closest to will reject me for something they don't understand because I don't understand.

Don’t get me wrong. I beg this of you. I am over the moon and around the corner happy for anyone getting married. Why I can’t be happy in person is something I do not understand. I am I trying to. I am trying to fight this every step of the way. But it has become overwhelming and the darkness is winning. I’m sorry I can’t be a better person. I’m sorry if it seems like I can’t be what I should be. I really want to be. I am trying really hard to be.

day 11451: beauty ballet school drop-out

A couple of months ago, in a vow to shake things up a bit and step outside of our all-consuming self-confining boxes, TAB (former QWW) and I signed up for seven weeks of ballet classes. We were going to be the epitomes of Audrey Hepburn-esque grace, elegance and beauty. While she is addicted to Dancing With the Stars, this was going to be MY life changing experience...

Except that I forgot to consider my elephant-stomping gait, my extreme tendency to be a klutz and the fact that the classes are on Friday nights, and I've got better things to do on a Friday night then hang around in a class full of girls. (I'm kidding... kind of...)

Six classes later, three of which I've missed, I've been forced to come to terms with the fact that no one will ever use the words "grace", "elegance" or "beauty" when referring to me, and that I will indeed flunk out of Ballet for the Uncordinated and will not be graduating to Ballet 101 with the rest of the co-ordinated class.

I will admit, however, that I stubbornly clung to the my self-aggrandizing illusion that I was an undiscovered dance prodigy - that is, of course, until the second time I hit the floor mid-pirouette.

day 11449: bored

bored. bored. bore.d bored. bored. bored. bored. bored. bored. bored. bore.d bore.d bored. bored. bored. bored. bored. bored. bored. bored. bored. bored. bpored. bored. bored. bored. bored bore. borel.d bptre. bored. bored. bored. bored. bored. bored. bore.d bored. bored. bored. bore.d bored. bored. bored. bored. bored.

day 11437: and now, the time is near

I've waited anxiously for the past few months for this day to come, and now that it's finally here, I'm not really ready to step out and make the little hole in the sky my home.

I'm not packed. My little condo doesn't look like it's from the pages of a design magazine, and my kitchen-to-be is not even half the size of my current bakeshop in the basement.

Soon... the house warming party is soon...

day 11430: sometimes even I wonder what the heck I've been smoking

I supposed I shouldn't have gorged myself at China Buffet King, but then again, it could have been the drugs I took before my nap that made me a little hallucinagenic... but, hey, I'm sicccckkkk and drugs are my best friend... BUT SUDDENLY, out of the wild blue yonder, I'm dreaming in technicolour and in music. I dreamt an entire musical starring Will Farrell, his privates (in a wierd painted puppetry of the wee-wee kind of way) and some relatively unknown actors.

The musical was about two students and darn it if it wasn't pretty good - they're studying late into the night and overhear a chemistry professor talking to someone else about taking over the world and how he's got his students working on different parts of his evil nefarious plan... but that's not the weird part. The weird part was the wierd painted puppetry of the wee-wee thing. There was a lot of body paint involved and they did a whole Sleepless in Seattle flying across the country bit with one guy painted like the USA and Will's wee-wee being painted like a plane.

Wait... it get's worse... at one point, Will bent over, stuck out his fingers and somehow, there was the American bald eagle symbol painted on his ass and his fingers were the talons.

Things are a little hazy, but I think you get my point... I'm certifiably looney and I blame the drugs. I need help...

day 11419: wishing on a star that i could still be far, far away

day 11410: man oh man, i lead a hard life

Off to surf Costa Rica. Back in a few.