CONFESSIONS OF A RECOVERING NICOTINE ADDICT

I talked to my Dad tonight while sitting at our favorite sushi bar and asked him why he started smoking again after quitting for twelve years. Actually I started out by asking him how much he smoked a day, to which he replied two to three. I was impressed by how he could keep the number so low, and he went on to say that he abstains entirely atleast one day out of the week. So I questionned why he got started again at all. He blamed it on his recent trips to China, citing that peer pressure can be enormous when literally everyone in the most populous country in the world smokes and is constantly whipping out all manner of exotic cigarettes and offering them to you, the former addict.

So I must give snaps to my dad for not letting the smoking get out of hand. It's a little funny, but even in my dreams I struggle with smoking cigarettes. I wish I was smarter and knew I was dreaming so I could have a smoke without feeling guilty about it. That's how I know I'm still terribly addicted, that even an imaginary puff while dreaming can still sent me spiralling out of control. Ten months I havent had a cigarette. I don't have the cravings anymore but I could relapse any moment I think because it would make me feel normal again, the way I used to feel toward life and myself.

The thing is, there are times when I'm all alone and Amelie is crying - and all the shit and stress I try to ignore suddenly wells up to the surface of my being and I think that I would rather be any place and any one but here and myself. And atleast several times I have thought to myself that a six pack, a pack of Camels and a step to sit on would be enough to make it all go away, enough to make me feel comfortable once again in the skin I'm in. Haha, if you still can't believe that I am a mother, my God sometimes neither can I. Being a mother is so natural if you have a kid but I guarantee you, there will be times you won't be able to recognize yourself and you might not even feel like you can relate to the person you were before everything changed.

A six pack, a pack of Camels and a step to sit on. Sounds easy enough, doesn't it? But before I can run with that thought for very long, I have to consider breastfeeding the little one and who's supposed to look after her while I'm sitting on my stoop, and just what sort of influence would my behavior have on this unscarred, perfect little person? Very quickly it's suddenly become the most impossible thing in the world.

Carrie asked me the other day what to appreciate whilst thou art young and untethered by children and I told her, Time for Yourself.

If I may be even more specific now about - What Not to Take for Granted -

It's the chance to Escape, to even dream of Escaping. To stand under the stars and take a moment to pause and think a bit on your own. Don't get me wrong, I love my daughter like mad, she is pride and joy and I would never dare leave her. However there are times when I'd just like to do my job, wipe my hands and declare that I am done and kind of forget about it for the rest of the day. You know, come back in the morning when I feel ready to be a mommy again. So I would say that this is what I took for granted most before becoming a mother.

Honorable mentionables:
1. Wearing pretty bras with straps less than an inch wide.
2. People who can really understand what you are going through.
3. The use of both hands - as opposed to using only your dominant hand to do just about everything while curling a thirteen pound weight in your other.

Should I change the name of my blog? Any suggestions?

"Half a pack a day" doesn't seem nearly appropriate for a mother of a young infant, a mother who hasn't even mustered the courage to have a sip of wine, much less get in touch with her Camel-esque roots. Not to say I haven't been tempted by both prospects... but I know I will always be addicted to that mild flavor so I had better just stay away.

I've snuck away from my baby at the moment. She's sleeping in my bed and she probably thinks i'm still sleeping next to her. Time to myself is so rare these days. I live in fear that any minute she'll open her eyes and see that i'm not there, and that I'll have to spend the next hour consoling her tearful heart and soothe her to sleep. It's happened many times before and hearing her cry triggers the release of all the other stress that I have in my life. As a result I do whatever I can to avoid hearing her cry, which usually means I have to hold her ALL DAY LONG. In a typical day she'll be put down for less than an hour before bedtime - the other nine hours she's in my left arm, as I attempt to perform my daily functions with the use of only my right hand. Sometimes when she does cry I feel overwhelmed and so distant from her, like a terrible mother. Occasionally I'll have a meltdown and start yelling at her for a second, as if she'll understand. Eventually she'll cry herself to sleep in my arms and I'll climb into bed with her in my arms.

It's strange, you'd never think you had to learn how to fall asleep but some babies like mine can't fall asleep on their own. You can't just put them in their bed and expect them to drift off into dreamland. Mine always starts crying before bedtime, as if she needs to scream to block out the rest of the world before she can settle down to sleep. Meanwhile I have to soothe her by holding her, jiggling her, walking back and forth a hundred times before she's good to go to bed. I used to try to put her in her own bed, but now the only way I really get her to sleep well is if I take her to bed with me. I don't mind it at all right now, but it will become a problem later on. Right now it's the sweetest thing to have her fall asleep in my arms. I really recommend it because it creates a really nice bond with the child, but like i said it will cause problems later if they become too attached and you have to spend time weaning them off all that special treatment.

It's so weird. I feel so out of phase with the rest of the world since I've had the baby. It's hard to explain just how on lock-down you will be with a little human to take care of. My whole life revolves around Amelie right now, and admittedly I do miss the freedom I took so much for granted before. Even really simple stuff like eating lunch and going to the bathroom are like acrobatic feats with my little one. But then, it's really hard to explain how worth-it it is to take care of a cute little baby who, for the moment, reveres me practically as God. You can imagine how strong a love is when it is instantaneous, undeniable from the moment you first lay eyes on someone. I still spend hours of my day just staring at her, observing her googly little movements and the making of laughter and smiles at the corners of her mouth.

Hi everyone! Amelie was generous enough to make a cameo on her mom's blog 

Amelie's cheeks are filling out quite nicely 

1 week old Amelie Maribel making her hungry face 

Today my neighbor dropped by and most the most bizarre request. Instead of asking for a cup of flour or sugar, she asked for a cup of my urine. Apparently she needed to take a drug test and figured that in my impregnated state my pee should be as clean as a whistle, and she even brought her own red dixie cup. After collecting my sample, we gabbed a bit as she shared her own pregnancy experience and offered a few snippets of parenting advice.

So in exchange for a few ounces of my pristine urine, I not only learned how to get through labor and be a better mom, but a foolproof method of cheating on a drug test. In my estimation, not such a bad trade-off.

This is also a step-up for me. There was a time when the Red Cross wouldn't even take my blood when I was willing to donate it. Now potheads are coming to my door asking for my pee. Have I cleaned up or what?

Today's u/s. This girl likes to live life on the edge <333 

I am a wreck. I went into the doctor today for an NST and to have my fluid levels checked. She got the results from my ultrasound from Monday and the baby's weight (5lb 3ozs) is only within the 10th-20th percentile of normal babies at 35 weeks. Not only that but my placenta is grade 3, meaning it's old and calcified, and may not be providing the baby with enough nourishment to grow. On top of that, my fluid levels were found to be pretty low.

I'm worried about the baby and about the possibility of having a C-section. I am terrified of operations. Even scarier is the idea that maybe my placenta will shut down without my knowing, and the baby will die before I even notice anything is wrong. I know I shouldn't think that way but just the thought that something should happen to her before I ever had the chance to meet her makes me so sad.

It's really hard for me to know how she's doing because I can't see her but can only feel her move and even then it's hard to interpret the movements. Has she been too still this last hour? or has she been moving so much that there might be something wrong? How will I know in time and not be too late?

Those are the worst case scenarios. More likely is that the baby will have to come out soon, either by induction or C-section within the next two weeks. Please keep her in your thoughts as she gets ready to enter the world.

Sherry's Baby Bash! 9-18-04 Thank you Carrie and Karen for putting this together for me. Don't we look all prim and proper? Amazing what can be done with a few hats and an absurd amount of feather boas =)  

Proud and sleepy parents Abe and Christina Ng! 

Born 6 lbs 8 oz on September 6, 2004 

Kyle Allen Ng 

The Death of Mildred Tuttle
by Sherry Tsai

Mildred Tuttle found herself lying prostrate at the base of her stairs and thought if it were not for the wincing pain that propagated from her right hip, she would be laughing right now. The fall was too fast to recall the sordid details that led to her crash. She had slipped on something small and greasy on the third step from the second story. It was around lunchtime and she was getting ready to fix herself a sandwich and watch her favorite show on Home and Garden Television, Sensibly Chic. She would sit down in her lumpy brown chair, kick her veiny feet up on the matching lumpy brown ottoman and daydream that her lumpy, puke-colored living room were outfitted in country style plates standing on display, white crackle-finished furnishings and Provence-inspired upholstery from floor to ceiling.

Not so today. Mildred was annoyed. She looked around to find her Life-Alert pendant that was given to her by her son and daughter. As a gift. Mildred snorted in disgust when the two of them had presented it to her. Her older daughter Maggie was a dentist working in the city while her son Mathew worked as a bank teller also in the city. Maggie had called in one day and casually informed her mother that the two of them would be dropping by later in the afternoon. She dreaded their arrival.

The last two conversations that had taken place between herself and her children quickly transformed into an endless argument. They wanted Mildred to move to the city, to be closer to the both of them. They had misgivings about her living in New Jersey all by herself in their old home, felt it was unsafe that a woman so old should have to take care of herself and an old house, being as ancient as the both of them were. It was enough to make Mildred sick. Apparently her children had forgotten that she had always taken care of herself and the house, not to mention their ungrateful asses since the time they were born. But what really made her mad, what really got her goat was that neither her son nor her daughter, the little brats she had worked so hard to protect and instill a set of values that were completely fabricated on her part, did not offer to take her in. They did not say it aloud but Mildred knew. They wanted her in a home for old people who could not take care of themselves. She refused flatly without so much as an explanation and for Mildred, that was the end of that.

So the next time her children arrived at her door in person, Mildred knew that again they were up to no good. Her son Mathew sounded sweet and therefore phony over the phone. She wasn’t fooled, Mathew was never a sweet boy. From the tender age of three he tortured ducks and geese roosting in the park, destroyed their eggs whenever he could find them and he enjoyed it immensely. Growing up, he graduated on to happy little squirrels that romped in their backyard, enticing them toward him with food, and then whomping on them with whatever hard and hurtful thing that was in reach. Although he had grown up and displayed a more sensitive side since his childhood, she still saw him for the little bugger that he was and could never fully trust him with anything, much less her own well being.

Her daughter although less sadistic was just as lacking in compassion, Mildred thought. The pendant was certainly Maggie’s idea, just like stuffing Mildred in a convalescent home. Maggie owned her own dental practice, an impressive feat for a woman in a city as saturated with dentists as NYC. Within the last year Maggie had been slapped with a liability suit for performing a root canal on the wrong tooth. Her daughter refused to settle and was caught in the trappings of a highly involved legal dispute. This was Maggie’s way, as she was stubborn and above all a tightwad. Mildred could not help but notice that it was only after Maggie was threatened with the loss of money that she began to take “accidents” very seriously and that this somehow translated to her mother’s health and well being. Mildred shuddered to think what kind of cheap hole in the ghettoes of New York and overcrowded with old people her daughter would try to lock her up in.

Thus it was not more than a month ago that Mildred’s progeny rang the doorbell and entered the house carrying a pamphlet tucked away under their heavy winter coats and a prepared speech well rehearsed between them. Maggie tried to drop it in casually but there was no casual way to discuss a life-saving pendant to her mother. Mildred sunk into her cushy brown couch and prepared to turn off her ears and let her children drivel on. They sat very steadily on the edge of their seats, leaning toward her in preparation for a momentous discussion. Maggie started the topic off so distastefully that Mildred was thrown off guard and could not slip away into the Sensibly Chic oasis tucked neatly in the back of her brain.

“Mother, you know that we love you. Very, very much,” Maggie began. Mildred began to feel nauseous.

“Yeah mom. And the idea that something horrible could happen to you when you’re alone in this house is hard for us to handle,” continued her brother.

He reached into his inside coat pocket, pulled out a pamphlet and slid it onto the coffee table where his mother could see it. Mildred pulled up her reading glasses that dangled heavily around her neck and read the front page.

It read, “Now You Can Live Alone Without Ever Being Alone.”

Oh dear God, Mildred thought as she recognized the slogan. They want to put me on Life Alert. They think I’m going to fall down the stairs like a little old lady, helpless and immobile, doomed to die and not be found for weeks before the neighbor’s dog traces my stench and it is too late. They think I’ll cry Help! Help! I can’t get up, and no one will be able to hear me.

“Mother, this is information about what they call a Life-Alert Pendant.” Maggie spoke in a voice usually reserved for kindergarten class, and used her hands to make quotations in the air around the words Life Alert. “See here? If you’re ever in trouble you can just push this little button and –“

“I know what this is Maggie. And I won’t wear it. Ever. It’s stupid.”

Already a visible exasperation was brewing in her children’s eyes. Mildred thought it betrayed their selfish reasons for being there. Mildred knew they did not want to have to deal with her existence for very much longer, but they also did not want to deal with the guilt of their mother’s dead corpse, alone and uncared for two weeks before anybody got a whiff of her absence.

“Mom it’s not stupid,” protested her stupid son. “Look it’s real easy! If something happens you just press this and tell someone right away that you need help.”

“And just what do you think I’ll need it for? Do you think I’m feeble and will slip down the stairs or something? That I’ll try to stand on my own two feet but the only thing I’ll be able to do is yell ‘Help! I can’t get up?’ I watch TV, I’ve seen the commercials too you know. Your mother is not as old or as helpless as you think she is, and she can see right through the two of you.”

Mildred saw her children squirm and look at each other incredulously, as if they did not know what she was talking about. They pretended they were hurt by her words and Mildred detected a fake tear welling up in Mathew’s right eye. They opened their mouths to say something but Mildred cut them off before they could utter a word.

“Don’t waste your money. I don’t want it, I don’t need it and I sure as hell ain’t gonna’ use it. So if this is all you came for, you may leave now.”

The steely look in Mildred’s eyes told her children that they were defeated and decided it was best that they should argue no further. Mathew and Maggie got up and left while Mildred did not so much as get up and walk them to the door. Mathew left a box on the stairs for her to see and after they left, Mildred walked to it and opened it. It was a Life Alert pendant. She stuffed it back in the box, went back to her chair, sat in it and fumed for a good hour.



Mildred eyed the box sitting on the steps just a few feet out of reach from where she lay. She had never touched the thing since the first time she had opened it, and would only glance at it resentfully from time to time when she passed by. Still Mildred never had the courage to throw it out of her house. She glared at it resentfully now. She was more comfortable not acknowledging it was there at all. She stretched her arm out toward it and noticed how she moaned like a mummy coming out of its crypt and must have resembled one too. She attempted to lurch her body forward to get closer to it but could not gather the momentum from her thin, frail torso to propel her body forward. After a few tries she became exhausted and a little worried. Her right hip hurt a lot and she wondered if she’d ever be able to walk again. She could just see it, her two children showing up at her door with a wheelchair and a pamphlet that headlined, “I Choose Mobility!”

For a moment she thought of her husband when they were young and happy together. She was never afraid to admit to him that she was weak, was never too proud to accept his help whenever he had the kindness to offer it to her. If he had asked her she would have sat in a wheelchair for the rest of her life…

At long last Mildred had contorted herself in such a way that the box was within grasp and she dumped its contents on the floor. She found the plastic pendant with its strong lanyard cord that was meant to be worn across an old person’s neck. She found two AA batteries and clumsily popped them into the device. A little red light went on and it beeped. She found the famous Life Alert button but it would not be depressed unless she had taken care of the safety switch. This was part of a safety mechanism to lower the rate of false alarms. They’ve thought of everything, Mildred murmured.

She undid the safety latch and pressed the button. She didn’t know what to say, whether she should speak first or wait for a dispatch to strike up the conversation. She waited, and a dispatch spoke.

“Hello Life Alert. Are you in trouble?” a young man’s voice asked.
“Yes I suppose I am.”
“What seems to be the problem ma’am?”
Mildred thought for a moment and smiled devilishly. “Young man, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.”

The humor was apparently lost on the dispatch. “Are you Mildred Tuttle? We’ll have an ambulance over as soon as possible. Are you hurt?” The dispatch stayed on with her until the ambulance arrived but by that time exhaustion has overwhelmed Mildred’s throbbing body and she slipped into the deepest of slumbers.

Mildred awoke only once more in a hospital room, her son and daughter sitting solemnly at her feet, tubes and needles running in and our of her arms, chest and throat. She looked distastefully at the hospital gown she wore. Maggie saw her mother’s eyes flicker open first, then nudged her brother. They lit up and they nestled closer to her and cried. The nurse who was in the room called the doctor but by then things had gotten more hazy for Mildred and she knew it was the end. Thoughts of her life floated back on her, washed themselves up gently on the beach of her memory. The man that she had married and had children with. His death and how devastating it was to her. The children that she had bathed and fed and read stories to before bedtime. The adults and strangers her children had become. The happy home they had lived in comfortably. The fixtures and structures that were quickly decaying from decades of disuse and disrepair.

In her last lucid meditation she distilled the thoughts about her life into a single contemplation. She was puzzled with it. It seemed to have no point. “What the fuck was that about?” she wondered. Then Mildred was gone.

These last words were her ticket for deliverance into the boundless where she hob-knobbed with the likes of Mozart, Buddha, Einstein and the greatest thinkers of all time.

The End.

ANOTHER WEIRD DREAM

I dreamt last night that all the little kids from my old church (who must be in college by now) crashed my baby shower (not unlike how they crashed Ph's wedding night). And instead of the Springfield Tea Garden it was held in an musty, old and dark dim-sum house. Since there were so many unexpected guests, the waiter stubbornly refused to serve each guest anything more than a single cup of cold oolong tea and a chicken's foot! Not the good kind of chicken's foot either...

Yeah right Penni! I know you like it.
More eye-candy for the ladies:

HANDS DOWN SOLITARY REASON WHY I LOVE THE OLYMPICS:




BEAUTIFUL ALEKSEI - WHAT A HOTTIE!!! "Only a request by Russia's Aleksei Nemov, whose score on the high bar was protested by the crowd for 10 minutes, was enough to quiet the uproar at Olympic Indoor Hall so Paul Hamm could start his routine."

Dude, you know I'd be in an uproar too. Score? what score? Oh sorry, I was a little less distracted by his legendary athleticism so much as his legendary good looks.

Does anyone want to watch "Garden State"?

My cat seems to know exactly when I open my journal because whenever I do he'll strut into my room, alight onto my bed and proceed to rub his face and body all over its pages. Just when I'm about to give up on writing and devote my utmost attention to him and only him, he'll casually jump off my bed and walk off, leaving just as fast as he had come.

Maybe he knew last night that it was way past my bedtime and I'd been working too hard yesterday. Mojo is, after all, the absolute best when it comes to checking industry at the door. And so while journalling is meditative and therapeutic, and while organizing my house seems to have a cleansing and refreshing effect on my life it is worth remembering that there will always be things to write about and surely no lack of entropy to set back into order.

(And so this would seem an entirely appropriate point to leave off... Goodnight.)

I really hate to mention it, but this is such an unsavory reality of pregnancy that something must be said. Well I found out from reading all these preg-books that my belly button will pop out like an outtie before the term is over. Not too long ago I noticed that my navel was in fact beginning to collapse in upon itself. Sadly, it was only the beginning. What the books didn't describe (and what I've had to discover for myself horrified and standing in front of the mirror) was how it appears during the transition period from inny to outtie. You see, the hole fills out from the side, and then does this little puckering-action until it resembles what I imagine (whispering now) an anus would look like (Gasp!). Mark my words! I have never seen an anus firsthand and this is truly and honestly only a conjecture, but I think we all have a vague idea of what they look like, don't we? ... Something like an asterisk might be an accurate description, wouldn't it? And it's not just my bellybutton mind you. Why, I watch TLC's "A Baby Story" almost every single morning, and all these woman have funky asterisk-looking navels on camera as well. You'll see. When you or your mate are about to have a little one, it will wake you up one morning and you will be compelled to ask, "Is that an anus on my/your belly?"

Second only to my navel in the order of business today is the baby. She's doing well as far as I can tell. She's big, TOO big as a matter of personal opinion, perhaps medical as well. Let's see, my aunt measured my waistline a few days ago to compare it with my sister's. It came out to be a good forty inches around, measuring greater than my sister's waistline by five inches. This might sound alright except that her pregnancy started and shall end an entire month earlier than my own. So you see I have surpassed my older sister's growth by one month and five inches. Another reason to be concerned that the baby is too large is that once again my obstetrician has raised the red flag for GDM (gestational diabetes mellitus). This is maybe the third time the possibility has been entertained that I have the condition, and you would think by now they would definitely know if I had it or not. Apparently the hormones produced during pregnancy have a way of rendering the body's insulin ineffective. It's a temporary condition that goes away after term, however one of the the dangerous results of GDM is that the fetus will grow too large in the womb, upping the chances that I will require a C-section delivery.

Even though I know that C-sections are routine (about 1 in four deliveries in the US are done this way) I am terrified of surgery, especially if I have to be awake for it. Just something about the idea of having my skin cut open so that my internal organs are exposed to the air makes me and probably most people wretch and shudder. So I have to try and keep my diet under control. If that doesn't work, then try pills and if that doesn't work either I'll then try insulin shots.

So the upside to pregnancy is supposed to be that you can eat whatever you'd like, right? No, not for me at least. What I lacked previously and missed terribly in the form of alchohol, bud, cigarettes etc. I was making up for quite nicely in the form of chocolate, ice cream, cookies and the like. I figured ice cream had calcium, cookies had chocolate, and chocolate could never be bad. I guess I was wrong. So somehow I gotta figure out how to get through these last 10 weeks eating papery-tasting, fiber impregnated, "healthy" foods. I'm sure to go crazy by the end of the week.

Speaking of weed, has anyone seen the movie "Harold and Kumar Go to Whitecastle?" I saw it last week with my brother; surprising since the one time I offered him a pot brownie, he looked at me and scoffed, saying that if he was ever going to consume marijuana he would certainly save the occasion to do it with someone cooler than his sister. Brutal! That was the last time I save him a peice. Anyway, for a straight-edge health freak my big brother has a profound appreciation for stoner flicks. HKG2W is an excellent movie replete with strangely familiar moments, guaranteed to give a bellyfull of laughs. And no Carrie, it is NOT a movie about two lion cubs... hahahaha. Oh, and just to show you what a well-rounded individual I am, I went to watch Farhenheit 911 with Carrie and Mat later that night. Everyone says the movie is so biased, but I really don't think it's anymore biased that what we have to hear in the media day after day. And besides, if I wanted to hear the same old crap, I wouldn't have to pay $9.00 at the movie theatre; I could have sat at home and turned on the TV. Michael Moore's challenge to powerful government officials is refreshing because he has absolutely nothing to lose in terms of political power and has the uncanny ability to uncover the tragically human story that underlies this age of terror that we find ourselves living in today.

Harold and Kumar Go to Whitecastle: ****
Farhenheit 911: ****

Multiple near-death experiences in the Fuzhou taxi cabs.

I got into the Fuzhou airport and there was a giant banner greeting me. It read:
"Fuzou: No. One in China."

Everyone probably knows this already but riding in a taxi cab in China is scary. There appears to be no decipherable rules along the road, and yet somehow accidents are few and far between. Or so I thought until one day during a traffic jam I saw a scooter strewn across the street and a lone white helmet lying in the middle lane, 20 feet away from the moped. Intersections had no signals, or if they did they were wholly ignored, as every vehicle dived headlong into the four-way messes, somehow deftly maneuvering among themselves to make it safely to the other side. One day I even saw a car make a left U-turn from the rightmost lane. Bizarre. On more than one occasion I was so sure that the taxicab I was riding in would collide into oncoming traffic that I would audibly yelp from my seat, after which everyone in the car, including the driver, would laugh heartily at me. Silly me, we were only driving on the wrong side of the road at 70 km/hour. Yeah, right.

Two rivers.
 
On my 3rd day in China my uncle drove us out to another bustling city an hour away from Fuzhou where my grandparents were from. We took a few back alley streets to my Grandpa's old home where his brothers and cousins and their kids live to this day. My Grandmother was also from this city.



Anyway, as we were driving back my uncle showed us a small river right outside of town. He explained to us how my Grandmother had gone there to say goodbye to her friends before she moved to Shanghai to be with my Grandpa. She and her girlfriends had gone to that river and cried as they bid their farewells. It's strange to think that my grandparents, as ancient and venerated as they're made out to be, were once people our own age who had lives before they became simply known as the progenitor of a lineage. It also makes me sad that think of where me and my friends will be when we have to say goodbye. Karen may go back to Hong Kong one day, Carrie might follow the LJM to Japan, Janet is already in NZ... and God knows I don't want to be living on Felson for the rest of my life. I already know it's going to happen, it's just a matter of when.

The day after that, we took a 2-hour long boat ride upstream a second, much larger river to the resort site my father acquired outside Fuzhou. I guess my family is in the business of eco-tourism now, and I'm a shareholder. My uncle is the project manager. Here is where the 100-m bungee jump and 50-m cliff dive are going to be:



Sounds a bit sketchy but my dad assures me, "Safety is the No. One Priority"

It's 4am and I am wide awake. Unlike my wiser traveller compatriots, I had neither the stamina to stay up the whole night before I departed from HK, nor to remain awake until a regular hour once I arrived back in LA. Now I am fated to type feverishly, dreaming of a Double-Double, hunched over my computer before sunrise. (I missed it dearly while I was away. Both the sunrises and the Double-Doubles, I mean.)

The last entry I made is funny to read over. I meant to write more enjoyable things, like how I scaled the Great Wall of China or took a ride up a river in a Chinese junk boat. I suppose I was highly irritated after leaving Beijing but honestly I had a pretty amazing trip from start to finish. I first arrived in Fuzhou where my Uncle Sam has lived for 15 years. Even though it's considered a moderately sized city relative to Chinese standards, it was still huge. All of the building were built fairly recently, and would have looked nice except everyone dried their clothes outside their balcony windows, making even the most impressive Wilshire-esque edifices appear straight out of a shanty-town.

Two things I can't understand why Chinese people do not adopt: the Mechanical clothes dryer and the Seated Toilet. In weather as humid as China's, it has to take days to dry your clothes outside on a hanger, and I can't imagine them getting all that fresh when they finally do dry. Secondly, the problem with toilets on the ground is multi-fold. The challenge of squatting and peeing, a coordinated ensemble of events that involves the contraction of some muscles to maintain your floor balance in conjunction with the relaxation of certain other muscles to allow for the the flow of urine, is made doubly impossible with the carriage of 15-lbs of extra weight right above your abdomen. But like I said earlier this is only part of the problem. These bathrooms always carry an acrid smell apparently because people miss the target when they pee, especially women. And who can blame them? Not only do they have to squat over a filthy ground toilet, they need to fiddle around in their purses looking for a little pack of tissue because these "bathrooms" make you bring your own! Seated toilets would take all the guesswork out of peeing in China, if you ask me.

Highlights from my Vacation:
-Multiple near-death experiences in Fuzhou Taxi cabs.
-Two rivers.
-The Great Wall of China and Beijing Muslim Hot-Pot.
-Karen and Sherry reunited at last!
-The Beyond-loaded Asian rapper with the Universal Appeal.
-Shopping, shopping... more Shopping.

And more. I'll try to expound at a more decent hour.

After 10 days in China, this trip is slowly winding down to its end, and I can only say that I saved the best for the very end.

Not to say that going to Fuzhou and Beijing with my Dad wasn't a great time or anything. Every moment in Fuzhou felt like an enormous gamble for life and death, between the taxi-rides, the dodgy food and boat ride up the river. And Beijing was great for some serious sight-seeing, my personal favorite being the Great Wall. But as the days went by the vacation seemed less like a nifty little excursion with my father than some sort of ridiculous romantic getaway for my dad and his girlfriend, with me as the third wheel. I know I'm being a brat, but it's difficult to see your own father fit into a stereotype you once reserved for goons. Trotting around with a northeastern woman, smoking and drinking around in enclosed spaces as if he didn't know better, all the while keeping his behavior under wraps when he's at home...  God it made me so mad. And sure she was nice to me, but you should have seen how she yelled at the waiters and waitresses. She held my hnad and treated me either like an old granny or a little kid, until I got really sick of her and just decided I would stop trying to act so pleased with seeing the two of them together and avoided talking to them altogether.

Yeah I know, I act just like a little kid. I guess the point is to be cool about it, but meeting my dad's girlfriends has never been a comfortable situation for me. Anyways, China's cool. I'm having a nice time. Everything is so big and there are tons of people. I can't think of anywhere I've visited more unfamiliar to me, where the rhythms are so out of sync with my own. Which is strange, because I'm Chnese after all. Finally I'm in HK with Karen where, even if this place is topsy turvy atleast Karen is a familiar site, purple hair and all.

Today I went in to get a manicure. Somehow the ladies at the Nail Spa convinced me I needed the Spa Combo Special for my overgrown cuticles, hand and foot paraffin waxing to fight any signs of early aging and special designs on my toes. I was massaged by my manicurist's delicate hands as all four of my appendages were dipped in scalding, water-melon scented pink wax four times each, then bundled into plastic bags and wrapped under steaming white towel. All this while the automatic spa-chair Shiatsued the hell out of my tender little back. Coming back home, I feel like an oily mess and smell like a stripper, but that's fine. It was splurge at $47, but after reading Karen's blog about her hotel in Phuket I really couldn't help myself.

"June 28: The excitement has waned a little, and you're uncomfortable more often than not. Don't feel guilty -- the pregnancy blahs are normal."

This excerpt from my pregnancy calendar is scarily accurate. It took me months and months to just deal with the fact that I was going to have a baby. Just when I nearly grasped the concept completely the idea seems to be receding from me once more. The excitement is gone, my clear visions of the future have faded, and yet this belly still grows. For anyone who hasn't seen me lately, I look and feel like I'm about to pop. I'm always staring at this load, and just tonight i looked at myself in the mirror and wondered out loud, "Is there really a baby in there?"

Still, I had my third dream about the baby last night, or perhaps the night before. I don't recall the details of the dream (it probably didn't make any sense at all) but I saw her - and she was Chinese! The first two dreams I had about her, she was this chubby Caucasian Gerber baby. This time she had a lot of black hair on her head and was as fat and segmented as I like babies to be. She was big! Long with pink skin and naked, being held in the air by her armpits. She wasn't crying but had that spacey newborn look. Probably in a hospital room or something.

The first dream I had of her was very lucid. She was walking around the house and I picked her up and actually smelled her - she had that scent peculiar only to babies that reminds one of egg yokes mixed with talcum powder. The second dream, she and I relocated to San Francisco after her delivery and subletted a room atop a flight of steep stairs that stood in an angular apartment sitting on top of a steep hill. We lived with a big Samoan dude I did not know. Later I sat on the second tier of a church balcony that progressively tilted steeper and steeper until we slid off the second story.

I've always had dreams where I'm falling falling, sliding off cliffs or waterslides... to my eventual doom? I've even had one where I went over a cliff and landed in a trashcan. Then I wake up and seem to forget everything until a few days later. I find it strange that I do not die when I hit the ground, as I'm scared in the dream that I will or like people say you should. This last one I hardly recognize as a dream. It's like a memory of a scene that I've never witnessed, a snapshot of this funny baby in midair that I somehow know to be my own. Really, who else's baby would I be dreaming of? I only remember waking up and feeling stupid for not knowing the answer to a question, and then realizing once I stopped dreaming that the question really didn't make any sense.

I think I'm sick. Only I would be dumb enough to catch a cold in the middle of June. Either that or my allergies have gotten the best of me. My left nostril is completely clogged. This makes it nearly impossible to do yoga properly, especially when I feel a sudden leak of water springing from the right nostril. I panic. I try to maintain the "ebb and flow" of my breathing but my nose just keeps dripping. I finally give in and reach for a Kleenex. I rejoin Shiva, Britta and Poppy mid-Kegel, then stand up straight for a side-angle stretch when a colossal series of sneezes knock me off balance. I finally realize I am incapable of "fully immersing myself in the present moment" for fear that another sneeze will knock me on my ass again. I therefore suffer through the remainder of my yoga practice.


On a completely separate note, I've just found out why KinderSurprises are not sold in the US: (Personally I think this reason is very stupid. No child could possibly swallow that giant yellow and orange easter egg and even if they could, the pure joy and elation that Kindersurprises would bring to our nation would more than make up for hazards it might potentially pose, don't you agree?)

Why are Kinder Surprise eggs not available in the US?
In an informal conversation in August 1996 between one Kinder collector and a Marketing Manager at Ferrero Canada Limited, the collector was told that the US had two laws that prevented the sale of Kinder Surprise in the States.

The first was to do with the 'small parts regulations' that require the phrase "Not suited for children under three years of age" to appear on the product. The second states that an edible item cannot completely enclose a non-edible object.The Marketing Manager stated that, while the first law could be easily complied with, the fact that the chocolate egg completely surrounds the capsule inside prevented Kinder Surprise from being sold in the States.

He went on to say that Ferrero Canada Limited had been trying to persuade Ferrero to produce an "American" version with two half shells and the capsule.

It is hard to verify this, but Brazilian collectors will tell you that the Kinder Eggs marketed there are sold in two halves, with one half of the egg being a creamy chocolate confection, while the other half contains the toy, so it is possible that there may be other reasons for the non-apearance of Kinder on the American market.

Only after I've made my $36 off eBaye and doled out nearly all of my gmale invitations do I start to have reservations about this whole gig of storage space thing.

"THE AUTO REPLY PROGRAM WROTE THAT, NOT I."

It started out as a conversation with my nerd-friend calvine followed by an insidious article online ( www.gmail-is-too-creepy.com ), and now I can't help but wonder if I'm being watched vigilantly by these creepy little bug-eyed robots programmed to do the govt's bidding. I feel terrible because I've invited all these people who are my deer friends!

(...meaning I've been made a pon without even knowing it as the conspirators behind Gooogle fed off my insatiable greed for more storage space.)

Now all I can do is attempt to throw them off by misspeeling as many key-words as I can in all of my more important/shady correspondences, and plead with all of those that I love who have been tempted by the same poisonous albeit shiny red apple to please, PLEASE do the same. And if the bastards do track you down, simply say: "The auto-reply program wrote that, not I."

Is it just me or was my chiropractor a perv?

Perv-Alert Sign #1:
He gushes over my pregnancy, repeatedly calling it "magic"; tells me I have to be careful because "men just love pregnant women." (He himself has had 5 children)

Perv-Alert Sign #2:
He asks how thrilled I am about all the changes that are happening to my body. I am thrilled, but not as thrilled as he seemed to be...

Perv-Alert Sign #3:
Reminds me that as a pregnant woman it is impossible for me to get pregnant again; then encourages me to go out and have a VERY good time in NY (ewwww!)

Dude, he was a perv, wasn't he? I've never been to a chiropractor before and I don't think I'll go back to that one. That was about as bad as getting a pap smear from my PCP. Wait didn't he, in effect, just tell me to go around and have plenty of sex whilst in NY? Haha, God knows I'd like to get laid, but not like THAT.

Hahaha, no big deal though. Just a bit strange. Anyway I must go feed now - Karen's got me craving Krispy Kreme and anchoves from the Italian Riviera... See you guys when I get back =)

I'm glad to see that my summer is finally shaping up. I was about ready to pull my hair out of extreme boredom. Sitting at home with my cat can become amazingly boring after a while, even if he is the best cat in the whole wide world.

Anyhow, I figured I didn't want to get a job or anything this summer, so I'll volunteer instead. I'm probably going to tutor at the Lakewood Youth Center a couple days a week, and I wanted to get involved with their Therapeutic Recreation program so I can work with autistic kids. I had such a great time working at the Special Olympics that I think I'd really enjoy working with that population more. I'm probably going to volunteer as an intern for an opthalmologist in Long Beach, so I can keep abreast on my long term career plans.

Also I signed up for prenatal yoga!!! I'm so psyched, I can't thank Karen enough for finding this class for me. I start next Tuesday.

I'm taking a few trips this month too. I'm heading off to China with my pops to see his resort site and visit my uncle who's been living in Fuchow (sp?) for maybe 15 years now. Then I'm going with him to Beijing, then to HK for about a week to see my beloved Karen and where I'll hopefully meet up with Carrie and Mat (if you guys can make it). I can just see it - Mat pimpin it with not 3 for 4 girls, including my little one. <333

Okay, gotta go to the chiropractor now. My back's been acting shotty as all hell and I need to meet with hands that heal =)

You regret to tell him one particularly sunny yet pivotal morning that you don't ever want to speak to him again and that you wish you'd never met him. This is true; after all, his total disregard for your feelings is too much to bear. And of course, he ought to be good to somebody so if it wasn't going to be you, it may as well be her.

In effect, you let go of what you never had.

You spend a month missing him and trying to stay strong. This is, ater all, the only way he'll ever want you back. Reality slowly sinks in. He is not here for you. She is not having his baby. He doesn't really love you. He's made the choice not to be with you.

None of this makes sense but you see that none of it really matters anymore.

And then a call. You were afraid to answer but decided to anyway. A call from the man that had dropped you had come. Why? to lift you, or so you thought. You were cautious at first but were quick to let down your guard. After all, why else should he call? You want to hear he has changed his mind, he's seen the error of his way and he has or is willing to make all the preparations so the two of you - no, the three of you - can finally be together.

The heart may be so tragically hopeful.

Instead, he speaks of money and blood tests. As soon as he shows the least bit of interest, you uncoil like a tiger from her cage. You begin with hard questions that begin with "Why?" Then you attempt, through a mixture of tears and yelling how hard life has become without him, that you have missed him and you are scared because you do not know what to do anymore.

You think he could not bear to see you suffer so, and it is true.

Instead of running to you he runs away. Once you realize this, you use the tiny breaths in between sobs to apologize for your behavior and beg him to not go, but he is gone.

It was your chance to change things for the better and you blew it. Life's irony is when you think you're making progress without them, they come back into your life just to remind you how deep those hurts actually run. They don't know they've been the singular preoccupation in your heart. They don't know the lengths you go to avoid selected memories. They can't begin to imagine the worried looks on friends and family's faces when they watch you now, so afraid of life and to be alone.

I feel like I am shrinking.

It was my chance and I blew it. I have two opposing goals. The first is to be strong and make it on my own and the second is to be loved my him. These two are by definitin mutually exclusive, and so you see, our conversation was doomed from the start.

Why does it have to be so hard?

It is impossible to know what to do anymore. All of my choices have been wrong, all of my attempts serve the purpose of biting me in the ass. Anyone who could have seen me a year ago would probably not recognize me and the transformation goes on.

This is no longer a love story. For now, it is a tragedy.

Today I got a check in the mail for $4215.00. I feel vindicated finally. I earned it, seeing as how everyone from the security guard to the courthouse clerk told me that I didn't have a chance. I bet the girl and her lawyer are really sore over the outcome, but I don't feel sorry for them at all. Still I thought I'd be happier than I actually am. I guess I would have liked to be able to press charges as well.

One good thing is now I can keep the pair of Ferragamos I nabbed last week at Nordstroms. They're beautiful ;)

Watched "The Prisoner of Azkaban" tonight with Carrie and my brother. There were many departures from the first two movies. The old Albus Dumbledore was sorely missed, the students were wearing streetclothes while sneaking about the castle late at night and the Hogwarts School of Wizardry is looking all sorts of shabby. On the other hand there are changes that pleased me immensely while watching the movie. Quidditch was left to fry on the backburner and Dobby was left out of the script entirely, showing the producer had the good sense to depart from a play by play account of the novel and ditch the childish rubbish that makes the Harry Potter series a story for adults as much as it is for kids. Finally, Buckbeak is a masterpeice. Never have I fallen in love with a computer generated character so quickly or completely as I did when I laid my eyes on that mythical creature.

Probably the most strange difference had nothing to do with the script, storyline or character changes but with the choice in style and cinematography. I don't think I'm alone when I admit that I don't watch Harry Potter movies for Harry Potter in particular, but for Hogwarts. When I think of Hogwarts, I get lost in vivid images of elaborate feasting, cozy firesides to do your homework by, and perfectly manicured landscaping all crafted by experienced wand waving. I see levitating pumpkins, I taste warm butterbeers and I hear the resident poltergeist making a raucous on Percy's watch. These used to perfectly correspond to my bedtime visions in Potters I and II, but in the third installment Hogwarts is drab and gray. I didn't see one delicious morsel throughout the entire movie.

(What an outrage!)

At any rate, the whole place just seemed less magical and Hermione, Ron and Harry sporting hooded sweatshirts and hip-hugging jeans instead of their school cloaks and scarves just reminded me that I was a mere 20 miles away from Hollywood. At times Harry would be walking on the forested school grounds and I'd be convinced they were filming from scenes in Braveheart, the terrain looked so mountainous, savage and barren. Generally Hogwarts is a place I don't ever want to come back from, but this time I didn't feel too bummed leaving the theatre.

I have been mulling over in my brain just what sort of impression this movie had on me. It was a clear departure from the first two films about Harry Potter, owing most likely to a new producer who wanted the movie to be more "sophisticated." It's appropriate to make this sort of transition since the books only seem to get darker and more involved with each volume. He has no problem remaining faithful to the book but rather was not faithful to the legacy the first two movies had already established among viewers, making the series as a whole less seamless than I hoped.

I went in for my second ultrasound today, and am pleased to share with 75% certainty that I will be having a little girl. I had hoped the procedure would be more conclusive, like my sister's was, but 75% is still a jump from 50%. I really hope I don't go around decorating her room rosy pink and ivy green only to find out later that she is actually a he; otherwise he might end up a fruit bc I was too stubborn to change the color scheme.

I don't want a fruit. I want a beautiful baby girl. Exactly how are you supposed to prepare for the coming of a bambino when you don't even know what the sex is? He'll end up wearing pink silk kimonos my grandmother made and little ruffly dresses Karen brings back from China for the first year of his life. Oh well, it's something I know I can find humor in when he gets older. I'll point and laugh, and embarass the hell out of him in front of all his friends by showing them baby pictures he took with a pink satin bow in his hair. Then I'll encourage him to be a restauranteer.

I suppose the point of the study wasn't to figure out if the baby was a boy or a girl but to see how it was doing, to take all sorts of segment measurements and screen for possible defects. The tech assured me the baby is doing very well! I'm so glad. In fact, it never stopped moving around. It was breathtaking to watch it move its little arms , kick with its miniature pods, and cross its spindly short legs. I saw it suck its thumb and could detect the features of its well formed spinal cord. I guess I always had this image that she/he led a static sort of existence inside of me, apart from the occasional spastic kick to the ribs. After all, I can't imagine there's much to do in there. On the contrary it seemed very active on the screen.

It's a mystery how a person suddenly or gradually becomes aware of itself; the voluntary control we have over our own muscles, the environmental stimuli that starts being translated into sensation in our brains. It is all preprogrammed in our genes and is completely effortless, driven by nothing more than ATP and the relentless pursuit of life wanting nothing more than to continue its own legacy. I am amazed, and this is the very reason why I've always loved biology. The study of life itself is as intricate as the study of the human mind and it naturally challenges us to consider the notion of God versus the power of pure chance, as well as destiny versus the chaotic pendulum that seemingly irons out the kinks of space and time.

Spent a wonderful afternoon in the park with Carrie. It was a beautiful day today and we were inspired to romp on the swings, be mean to the ducks and climb on the rocks. (I won't mention the other activities Carrie felt inspired to do). It felt like I was reaching out for a part of my youth that I just wasn't able to get back to. As you can see from my past few blogs, my mind has been set squarely on one thing and one thing only, and that is the baby. I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. I know that I have so much growing up to do myself still. There are a million things in this world that I still want to see and experience with my own eyes, a million places I want to escape to, another million stuff I still absolutely must do. I hate having to compromise, especially when it seems to come so naturally.

I seem to have puffed up overnight, meaning that my belly is large enough so that it is barely worth the trouble to hide my pregnancy, and someone who I hadn't run into for a long time actually asked me the other day if I was pregnant. It was really uneasy to admit that I was, even more strange to allude to the fact that I was also single. It is hard. But I digress.

This kid is supposed to be six inches long now probably looks a little something like this:



I'm not quite that big yet. For a while I was worried that I wasn't gaining enough weight but it's probably just the way my body works, that it doesn't like to pack on the pounds until later in the pregnancy. This makes me deathly afraid of stretch marks. I'm excited to see it growing, and I love to put my hands on it and feel it move around in me. I cannot help but look at my potbelly adoringly in the morning and say hello to it sometimes, anticipating his/her arrival, wondering what she'll be like, and wondering whether she wonders what I'm like.

I've been trying to take good care of myself but there are just some things, like sashimi, that I simply cannot give up! Still, I've cut drinking and smoking out of my life entirely, and limit my favorite beverage, coffee, to one cup a week. I dread the thought of maternity shopping; jeans with giant panels in front to cradle the womb, giant underwear and giant bras give me the chills. I also dread the fact that after my belly my entire body will inevitably follow suit and blow up with it.

Aside from all that, school is DREADFUL and nothing makes me happier than the thought that I won't be going back for a whole other year. More later...

I don't know if my getting up there in court had as much to do with heart as believing deep down that I was right. But I'll be the first to admit, it is simply a belief and I don't think I'll ever really know exactly who went medieval on my car that night while I slept so soundly.

You know, I can't say she's very smart but I don't hate this Faye lady. (I do hate the fact that I've had to see her ass in court several times, and that she used what I told her in confidence while I was vulnerable against me in my own case. I guess you can't trust anyone, even people you feel sorry for.) I look at her and I see the path I could have gone down, and I simply shudder to think. But then I look at the path I've taken, the path I've been on and again, I shudder.

What does it require to stand at a bench in front of a dozen perfect strangers and relate the first in a long line of sad stories that have changed your life forever? Is it heart? Then yes, I believe I have more heart than Faye... but it cannot be measured in anything as mundane as teaspoons, racquet strokes, fifth sets of tennis much less 5.5 tie-breakers; nor can it be compared with legal victory.

What do you know of heart, SS? Mine comes from being able to see more beauty in a single sunset than you may know in an entire lifetime.

Has Blogger become more dumbed down or is it just me?

I swear I'm not lying but a stork had been visiting my home for the last two weeks on an almost daily basis. It would swoop into my backyard whenever I was home alone, pick off a few goldfish, and fly away again. Now I'm just a little superstitious, so I tried to tie the signs together. We all know what storks bring: babies! which is eerily coincidental, since I'm heavy with child plus I've never seen a stork in my yard ever before. Fish represent good fortune and they were being devoured two at a time by this giant white bird. My mind conjured a bad omen - this baby brings tidings of financial ruin to my family!

Stupid, huh?

I DREAM OF RETINAL DETACHMENT

Last night I dreamt that my right eye’s retina became detached. I saw the flashes and everything! Colorful, bright and bursting like the Fourth of July. I took my eyeball to the nearest optometrist I could find, and he informed me that it might be better if I take my eyeball to someone who knew what they were doing. My poor eyeball.

This is not the first time that I’ve dreamt of retinal detachment. A couple of weeks ago I woke up in horror as I recalled from my dreams a black, buggy parasite burrowing deeper into the vitreous of my eyeball. Floaters are associated with retinal detachment. Until then, I had only recognized the disgusting creature as a harmless, opaque floater.

Since then, I can’t help but experience a chill down my spine whenever a particularly large and ghostly floater glides across my field of view. If I dream of retinal detachment, does that mean that it’s more likely to occur? I can pinpoint the exact floater that’s scaring me, too.

A little voice in the back of my head is nagging me to get a dilated fundus exam at school, but another voice is telling me that I’m simply suffering from the stress and paranoia of being an optometry student. I think I heard somewhere that med students become the same way, self diagnosing themselves with far fetched diseases and syndromes in their otherwise healthy body. Then again, maybe my body is trying to tell me something and that’s why I’m dreaming of retinal detachment! Or could it be that retinal detachment is a twisted metaphor for the more deep-seated problems in my life? But why retinal detachment? And why now?

Signs that you may suffer from RD:
-Bright and unexplainable flashes of light
-Sudden onset of a shower of floaters.
-May be due to trauma or diabetes.

Hi! I thought you might want to know how things went today at the courthouse. Faye showed up with her regular entourage of witnesses (mostly members of her funny-looking family) and her seedy, alcoholic looking attorney while I, as usual, showed up alone. Her attorney makes me very nervous. He's an short, older guy with no hair on the top of his head, and yet an abundance of curly, lush white hair about the rim of his crown. His complexion looks inflamed and his eyes bulge with the severity of someone who may be suffering from a thyroid condition. Lastly, he has a miserable countenance, like an attorney of many dozens of years who has relegated himself to being nothing but a great small-time small claims lawyer while his fellow middle-aged colleagues are out there, also miserable but atleast garnering some real cash.

I don't think we actually proceeded until past two in the afternoon although we were scheduled to arrive at 10 am, convincing me once more that the small claims reputation of "access to a fair and speedy trial" is HIGHLY undeserved. Progress is made at a turtle's pace at best. (This is, btw, my fourth time appearing in court to get this case squared away over a period of 8 months since the incident.) Finally it was our turn - "Tsai vs Tsai - Not a Divorce!!!"

Now this really pissed me off: From the start, this schmuck lawyer of hers tried to throw out all of my evidence on the grounds of heresay. He tried to throw out the police report on the grounds of double heresay! You can imagine my reaction to this was a sincere "WTF???" running in circles through my brain, followed by a few seconds to breathe, regroup and decide not take that kind of preposterous suggestion sitting down. I think right then and there I knew that I had to be a bit more agressive and not let this schmuck's intimidation tactics get the best of me.

I pleaded with the judge, explaining to him I did not understand Latin and I was totally clueless that this would be a "de novo" case! I also explained to the judge that the defendent's family had badgered my witness in the hall outside the courtroom months ago, and that I didn't blame him for not wanting to show up again. I think the judge thought the defendent's attorney was being pretty ridiculous too and responded quite firmly, "Overruled."

To make a long story short, I was a one-man legal team. I cross examined her three witnesses including herself, and did my best to make her family member's testimonials seem biased. I asked her sister something along the lines of, "You care about your sister very much, don't you? And you would never believe that she was capable of doing something like, key a person's car? Now tell me, if you sister did something wrong, say committed a crime, do you think she would tell you? No no, I'm not asking if you think she committed the crime - I'm asking if you thinking she'd tell you if she did. Oh really? Thank you, I have no further questions."

More later...

Above is the ultrasound I took in March at 12 weeks of gestation. I know it's hard to tell what you're seeing up there. The image on the right is more magnified than the one on the left. The baby is this little Skeletor looking thing with a giant, alien-shaped skull and little arm buds sticking out to the side. The sockets of its eyes are eerily hollow, and its body seems diproportionately small at this point. Cute, huh? Soon I'll be finding out the sex of him or her, after which I can decide what name to give. Any suggestions? Here are a few I have in mind:

Girl: Lucy, Amelie, Arwen*
Boy: Ryan, Kevin*, Spencer

BTW I'm going to court again tomorrow. Wish me luck!

Was listening to public radio in the car today when I heard the most amazing news. Apparently an artist in Tahiti designed this public artwork resembling a monolith in the middle of town. Looks like this:



It's the "Spectra-txt" and you can text message it from anywhere in the world with one of six commands that will prompt the 10-meter, 2 ton form to change colors. I haven't tried it yet, but it should be free to send international text messages for most of us (Janet and I text each other from NZ to US occasionally), and the Spectra-txt sends a reply message to say that it's received your command.

Interact with Spectra-txt by texting one of the following commands to this number:

07919 00 00 77

blue
starvibe
xxx
pearl
boro
chromapop

(The text message charge will depend on the sender's phone tariff.)

HAPPY 420 EVERYONE!!!!!!!




In celebration of the second greatest holiday of the year, I wanted to wish a sick-ass 420 to all my dear friends who know what it's like to get high. And in the continued spirit of all good, green and sticky things that are born from nature, Earth Day is here too! So let's try and be good to our dead and dying plants, not flick our cigarettes into the gutter (or at bums), and take a break from the "bling-bling", i.e. leave the Hummers and Escalades at home. That way we can preserve the planet and make it a tolerable place for future generations. Cheers!

I was listening to KROQ today while I was reorganizing my room and was pleasantly surprised at the line-up of artists the DJ was airing over the radio; Blind Melon, Radiohead, Sublime, 311, Oasis, Garbage, just to mention a few. I couldn't believe it! KROQ was good again, like it hadn't been in years! Could it be that the listeners had wisened up and were finally appreciating all the rock that holds a special place in my heart? I happily emptied out my closet, basking in what seemed to be the Enlightenment of modern rock on public radio.

Unfortunately it turned out to be "Flashback Weekend" of 90's rock. Shit! Not only do I have nothing to look forward to but now I feel old. Since when did thinking back to the 90's qualify as a full-fledged flashback?

I saw the most fabulous film two days ago, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and if I had a loudspeaker and a moustache I would go march up and down your street to dictate that you must watch this movie. First, its a screenplay by Charlie Kauffman, the beloved writer that brought us Being John Malkovich and Adaptation, so you know even before you make it to the theatre that you're basically in for a cinematic roller coaster ride, weaving you in and out of the folds and creases of the human psyche. It stars Jim Carrey (a comedian who's humor I could never understand) who, instead of playing your typical funny man, enhances his believability as a character who is cast into the abyss of cosmic sadness (i.e. heartache) and who is desperate for relief. The general premise of the story asks a few striking questions like: What if erasing the most painful memories from your mind was as easy as an overnight procedure? and also, What if the technicians while handling your therapy were simultaneously drunk, high and horny?

In all seriousness, on how many levels would we be better off simply not remembering the people we love, the crippling pain of our pasts and the wishes we simply will not let go? How seductive such a prospect would be! A. Pope inspired the title. "How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!/ The world forgetting by the world forgot./ Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!/Each prayer accepted, and each wish resign'd." It becomes the age old conflict between the two truths, "Ignorance is bliss" versus "It's better to have loved and lost than never to have known love at all." (We've all agreed that that last one is full of crap, haven't we?) Yet at some point the movie makes a compelling argument to resist that seduction; or perhaps it implies the seduction of forgetting can never compare with the seduction of the people we were so irresistably drawn to to begin with.

I guess I should start blogging again. It's therapeutic enough. That of course requires that I'm actually able to makes heads or tails of my so-called-life before the process of articulation can begin. I'm guessing some of you who read this will be able to vaguely follow what I am trying to say as I attempt to convey the state of my life, but if all you feel after reading this paragraph is confused, then you have already ascertained 50% of the point.

(So I know I've been MIA on most, if not all of my friends. If you're reading this and you've been feeling that way, I really apologize. There have been things I've needed to come to terms with recently and if I haven't shared those things with you already I promise you that I will soon. It's a phase I'm just coming out of. --Love, sher)

Since Thursday I got mad-dogged by a black bird while sipping on Pepsi at the park,
Lucked out on my anatomy practical,
Tasted authentic German food for the first time,
Looked at the rings of saturn and the moons of jupiter,
Got drunk,
Had a hotdog while on the Venice boardwalk,
Sat on giant rocks where the tide broke and sent sprays of Pacific to dampen my feet,
Cuddled and sighed in the sand,
Watched the sun go down only to wish it wouldn't.
I read the Da Vinci Cod in less than 24 hours.
It was all an experiment in escapism.

It can never go back, although every step forward is intent on reversing time.
i just wish I could rewind and
Not know the things I know now.

Last night I got tanked, smashed, plastered, all of the above and probably even more. I was too wasted to even remember most of the things that led up to my debauchery -- like the three shots I took before the hard and mighty fall, the look of horror on friends' and strangers' faces as I teetered and tottered to and fro whilst in my own little world of confusion, the buff shoulders that prevented my imminent crash...

I'll admit it's a bit scary to have to wake up and not remember things that happened only hours ago. More lately it seems, and I would rather it never happened again. I'm 23 for goodness sakes, not 19 and the thought of puking into a trashcan in the middle of Beverly Hills on a Friday night is less appealing the more I think about it. It appears that I can no longer gauge the good line referred by most as their "limit." So here is my Chinese New Year's resolution: no more hard alcohol. no more shots or dubiously mixed drinks, and no more fun mixers that come in powder form. I'll just stick to beer and wine, greens that come in a chewie, chocolaty edible form, and the natural stuff that springs from mother earth out of pure necessity.

Frodo has failed.

(It may be trite but as a true nerd I can't help but point out an inaccuracy with this picture. As you all know, the wearer of the one true ring turns invisible when the ring is worn. Bush is not invisible here, but the picture does a good job accenting the parallels btn Bush and Sauron and their respectively evil roles in Earth and Middle Earth.)

contrast and compare love and weakness. currently i find myself feeling both and i wonder if, in my case, they are really any different. weakness prevents me to leave or move on, but what i find myself saying instead is that it is because of love. so anyway, i guess what i've ended up pondering is whether or not love simply translates into weakness, and perhaps maybe this is what love has been all about for me in my entire life. someone who could render me completely helpless, who can reduce me to the size of a legume. isn't a good part of love making ourselves vulnerable to another? if so, where exactly should i have drawn the line? it's as though i missed the last train out of this place called indignation and i'm wondering just how the hell i'm supposed to get back now.

a scrap of poetry i wrote a few weeks ago:

i have trod a beaten path
i am afraid that many follow.
how i came here
I do not know.
it was as if the winds were calling
my name and mine alone.

i have seen the desperate eyes
that stare at me when my lids are closed
searching for the voice that called
the lost boy in disguise. he is gone.
i tried then to retrace my steps
when i heard him hoot beyond the wood
i ran to where he disappeared
but found a woman in his stead.
her hair was long. her skin was fair
she stared at me with eyes long dead
enraged to find another there
i winced as my head turned away for
i knew i shared my fate with hers --
the one who came before.

still i am her and she is me
i took the path that she did beat
there are several trails out
but only one weaves
in between cold cast by shadows of leaves
that pimple the skin
of countless women
where our loss for words will
atone for his sins.

i have seen the determined steps
tracking mud and blood
to hunt the source of my distress.
it is never very far
this forest is small
he perturbs the fabric of time
with infinite ripples carving heinously.
on my trail, on my way
i find another casualty.
i fear she's not so different than me
that before she did fall
she too heard the wind call...
what to do, what to say
to this one who's come after?
ought i shatter the silence
with the sound of my laughter?

Well, I haven't been able to update my blog it what feels like ages because my stupid internet is down at my house, and I have yet to find someone who can come over and cure my ails of wireless internet installation. Sigh. At any rate, New Years was awesome as always... despite the ridiculous lines and inept security at the Bonaventure hotel, Giant was a great party to go to. School started a couple days ago, but will really start picking up next week when we start our consecutive midtems in Ocular anatomy, Optics, Sensory Vision and Anatomy. So I'll do my best to enjoy this week of reprieve for the while.