porn - oh well

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

to hug your own child

(i'm writing this on my parent's home computer and it translates everything into korean and i accidentally flagged myself as a bad blogger as i was randomly clicking on buttons to start a new post).
*****
i had dinner with clients on thursday night in san diego (JRDN.com - it's a really cool restaurant, right on the water, in PB). i had to take a cab home since my high school honda civic is long gone and i didn't want to rent a car.

i should have known the second i approached the car that the cabbie was a little off his rocker. he didn't unlock the door despite my incessent knocking on the window. when his brain synapses finally equated that "knocking on the window signals door is locked ergo unlock the door, moron" he started talking and did not stop until 25 minutes later.

i don't even know what he was talking about. he was speaking in clicks and clacks and the occasional hiccup. bc i didn't want to encourage him, the only words i ever said in response to his chatter was, "ARE YOU ON DRUGS?" and i was being 100% serious. i was fully prepared to do what i have rehearsed in my mind many many times before in various other situations with weird cabbies: the roll out of a speeding car onto a freeway curled up into a small ball in hopes of bouncing along to safety.

but instead, i just closed my eyes and tried to wait it out.

my parents live in the north part of san diego in a part that is currently being developed off the 56. tho i love my house, it's one of those houses that is made to look old even tho it's brand spanking new. the area itself is quiet, relaxed, has horses and no street lights. NO STREET LIGHTS.

this was a big problem for the driver. as we were driving up a winding hill, he kept on screaming "THIS IS SCARY THIS IS SCARY". He was craning his head to look at me while simultaneously looking at the road so all i could see were the whites of his eye. i think actually his eyes were pointed in opposite directions. i don't know. but i was really freaked out.

i didn't want him to know where i lived, just in case he was truly nuts so i asked him to drop me off in front of the gate where my parents live. i pressed the secret code and the big gates opened and i was just walking down our driveway with my samsonite darth vadar rollie bag. i was a little scared bc it was dark and my heels were echoing but it was so dewy and eucalyptus-y smelling and warm, so my panic was muted.

as i was nearing my house, my mom must have heard me and she came out to greet me. "Ireeeeeeeeeeeen?" she sounded little. she came out in her nightgown and cardigan, so tiny and sleepy looking. the olive trees are lit by little lamps and they cast a little baby halo around her head.

and i felt like crying or laughing. i ended up hugging her and laughing and thought to myself "this is what it must feel like to hug your own child."

observations from a plane

i'm on a plane to california right now. i have a question for the 3 ppl who read this blog:

what do seats 1a, 1b, 3d, 4c, 4d, the guy next to me and 6d all have in common? THEY ALL ORDERED TOMATO JUICE. what is it about planes that makes tomato juice, ice, and a plastic cup so palatable? i really don't think i have ever been in another situation where over FIFTY percent of the ppl around me vocalize a hankering for TOMATO JUICE. in fact, i can't remember the last time anyone ordered tomato juice sans a little absolut and a celery stalk.

this really puzzles me. isn't a plane basically the same thing as sitting on a bus? the last thing...the LAST thing, other than a sharp stick in the eye, is a cup of canned V8.

i don't get it. it's so weird.

i was smarter when i was 9 years old

when i was a kid, i had a black, spiral bound notebook, that i carried with me everywhere. i found it recently and in it were lots of ideas and drawings. mostly of dresses (1950's style, of course) and ideas (like the great idea of having a contraption that you put on the end of a tube of toothpaste so that it would flatten the tube as you pushed it up). yeah, i know it exists. but i was the first one to think of it. i just didn't have the ability to execute.

on the front of it, i wrote in sparkly gold marker "make your life extraordinary" and then put stars all over it. i remember looking at it and thinking "wait. i don't want my life to be EXTRA ordinary." (as in, really REALLY ordinary). so then i underlined the "extra" part of the word twice. i remember feeling horrified that in my attempt to negate the "Extra" part of "extraordinary", i had only called further attention to it perhaps making it somehow prophetic.

i look at my life now and wonder if i did myself in when i was only 9 years old. that somehow i had chisled in stone the fact that my life will be not only ordinary but super duper ordinary.

how depressing. i wish i were 9 again. i knew everything about everything i needed to know. tiger fish, sea anemones, how to spell "auxiliary", the capital of norway. i knew enough to know that when i was an"adult" that i would be extraordinary. now, 2 decades later, i am too dumb to execute.

2:30 am

so it's 2:30 am and i am wide awake. i don't remember the last time this happened to me, especially since starting my severely sleep deprived life on wall street 2 yrs ago.

i was actually dreaming of work when i suddenly awoke. wide awake. then i closed my eyes. then saw big gigantic snails in my minds eye. so then this time i voluntarily awoke because who wants to see that?

and now i'm unable to go back asleep and slightly bitter but more than slightly intrigued at how energized i feel after only 2 hours of sleep. hmm. weird.

i guess i'll go back to bed now and continue to be unable to sleep until right about when i need to wake up. at that point, i will probably be in the middle of the most crucial REM cycle. in the middle of the most amazing dream. in the middle of the height of cell reconstruction.

so if you see me tomorrow and i'm showing signs of lethargy, drowsiness, insaneability (made up word), and inability to operate heavy machinery, this is why.

i think i broke through my Rachel Ray addiction

it's bad for me.
it kills brain cells.
i do it in secret.
i continue to do it even tho i can feel myself growing dumber.
when ppl find out that i do it, they looked at me like i am a bad person.

by definition, c/o wikipedia (another addiction of mine) my rachel ray addiction was indeed an "engagement of behaviors despite clear evidence to the user of consequent morbidity and/or other harmful effects."

god.

i'm not even sure what it is about her show "30 minute meals" that drew me in. it started at the gym...for some reason, it was always on when i got to the gym after work. 30 minute meals fit perfectly into my 30 minute workout. there was something really weird about watching someone cook up a pot of macaroni and cheese while you were purging calories and sweat.

then, rachel creeped into my non-workout hours. maybe it's her raspy voice (female raspy voices have always been a facination of mine), my deep desire to make her over (why does she only wear primary colored shirts? they are way too tight. and her jeans are too tight. this leads to an unfortunate bulge that is reminiscent of that wrinkle in the back of a bald man's head.) or maybe it was trying to figure out what the HELL she meant by "EVOO" ("Extra Virgin Olive Oil). maybe it was her oft used thumbs up sign with her man hands that subconsiously validated deep seeded insecurities...as if rachel thinks that i'm alright. or maybe it's the way she describes mushrooms as "beefy".

i just don't know. but today i was channel surfing. and i felt the all too familiar excitement when i stumbled across rachel ray on the food network. endorphins filled my brain, reinforcing that what i was doing was a good thing.

but immediately, i got a counter feeling. my throat felt like it was closing in. my chest felt tight. i felt like i needed to sigh. i guess i finally did it. i OD'ed on rachel ray.

the last time i OD'ed on something it was Cheezits. i mindlessly ate the entire box then threw up neon orange goo 10 minutes later. i never ate another Cheezit again.

let's see if this works with ... ooh...a DVR-ed episode of The Hills...

be right back.