Are you spanking a ton of men and other relatable offenses

This past weekend, while in Vegas, it occurred to me as my face was pressed to the cold glass of the window staring into the Heart Attack Grill, that me and the betrothed will never be on the same page when it comes to food, physical activity, and music. While he was busy studying the zip line above Fremont St., I channeled EVERY PHOTOGRAPHER THAT EVER LIVED and took pictures of total strangers enjoying their 100% pure butterfat shakes as if my life depended on it.  

Hi people. I see you. Hey, don't call me creepy.

So me and Nate are really different - and that’s ok - because diversity is good in the workplace (hey, don’t tell me that marriage isn’t work). I provide a fresh perspective on all matters related to napping and deliciousness, and he likes to share his knowledge and experience in the areas of working out and avoiding “bad carbs” (blasphemy). We couldn’t be more different in this regard, but we do always manage to meet somewhere in the middle between “That donut isn’t good for you” and “Are you crazy? Don’t tell me what to do.” 

It’s like a clash of the titans!

We’ve been together for quite some time though, so something’s working.

Anyway, we were on a planned trip to Vegas visiting family, which happened to fall on the same weekend as our 20-year high school reunion. I was so sad to miss this event, especially since high school played such a huge part in our life/love story. It’s where it all began. Man, how is it that 20 years have gone by though? How am I two short steps away from 40 when grade school seems like just yesterday? Oh, time – you tricky bitch.

Must one go to school to become a latte artiste?

Looking back, it’s hard to believe I was once a girl who was SO afraid to eat an In-N-Out double-double in front of him that I threw that piece of heaven in the trash on our first outing.  What a crock of doo-doo. I don’t even remember when all that dainty-like stuff stopped and my true self emerged, but I’ve gone on to consume thousands of burgers in his presence since then, and he’s never once said that this isn’t what he signed up for.  Likewise, I still accept him even though I had no way of knowing that a burning flame of love for pure Mexican music  would grow and become the playlist for every road trip we'd ever go on. With a solid defense of “Would you rather drive?” whenever I try changing the station, I am kept in my place.   Yet, for all of our differences, we work. For all the times I've made him drive us home from hours away just so I could relieve myself in the comfort and privacy of my own bathroom, or forced him to take the fall for an inopportune fart, he’s stood by my side.

He sure loves these guys. No offense, but I prefer a little Motownphilly myself, thank you very much

Nate’s asked me on a few occasions if I have any regrets about us, or if I would go back and change anything along the way. I don’t like this line of questioning because the universe does not allow such a luxury. It’s torturous with our circumstances. OF COURSE there are things I wish I could change – I’d give anything, do anything, say anything to have Ligaya here alive and well and eating burgers with us. I would trade places if I could. But since death remains immutable, I would not change the course of our river – not one moment in the history of us - because each and every experience at their precise times along our walk together led us to the point of her creation, existence, and now memory.

My most favorite picture of us

 

So, sure, we're different, but we do work.  It’s often messy, but that's us. What's cool is that I can even read his mind and say what he’s thinking at the exact time he’s saying it out loud! Ok, not really, but I like to pretend just to freak him out. It’s an easy trick - I just mumble and make up words at the same time he’s talking:

Nate: I was in this meeting today and we were discussing the financial impact of...

Me: …meeting today discus throwing finances impassse dog

Nate: Are you speaking in tongues again?

Me: Are you spanking a ton of men?

Nate: Stop it. That’s really...

Me: awesome?

See, we complete each other. Ok, so maybe we don’t finish each other’s sentences, exactly,  but there was this one time in the car, during a blessed moment of radio silence,  when we suddenly burst out singing the same line of the same song that was silently playing in our heads. Just like that. I honestly can’t remember what song it was, but I remember the moment, and I wouldn’t change that for anything.

 Viva la Mexico!

I'm 38 and 13 all at the same time. But who's counting?

38. What in the hell? It feels like just yesterday that I was crying into a cupcake (or five) after the clock struck midnight and ding-dong ditched a flaming bag of caca on the doorstep of my 20’s.

 

Welcome to 30, Sucka!!! It stinks!

 

This past decade has gone by so fast. Remember how, back in the olden days, the school year seemed to drag on and on until summer vacation decided to finally roll up like a lazy pimp? Man, two months of blessed relief from homework, no more drama of the “Oh my God, am I wearing the right socks today?!  KILL ME NOW they’re not navy blue” variety (I miss you, SJB), and a brief hiatus from destroying the ozone layer with multiple cans of Aquanet.  

Holes in the ozone layer, oh no.

 

I miss those days. Long road trips across the good ol’ US of A with my family, seeing lightning strike throughout the rolling plains the way the hand of God should across a Kardashian’s face (hang on, this was pre-Kardashian, but you know what I mean),  fighting in the backseat with my brothers over who stunk more, memorizing every  Beatles song along the way, coming home to watch a crapload of TV, having my biggest decision be which book to read for the day, and establishing pro-level skills at Sonic the Hedgehog.

In this game, I WAS the lord of the rings



 

Sweet freedom and innocence!  A much different world than I know now. Why’d I have to become a grown-up? Where did the time go?  Can I get a redo? How about a refund?

Time. I really haven't been a good keeper of it since losing Ligaya on October 14, 2012. “Calendar” is just a word now, a moving target, a thing on my iPhone I can’t figure out since updating to the latest iOS. Please don’t ask me what the date is or even the day, because chances are, it will take me awhile  to calculate where we are based on when the last holiday or National Anthem appearance was.

 

Friday, August 8, 2014 - Anthem for the Angels vs. Red Sox game

I’ve said this before, but in those first few days after losing Ligaya, all I wanted to do was move as far away from that pain as possible. It hurt so much. So damn much. It still does, but in different ways. People ask if I still have bad days – absolutely! But the “ok” days do outnumber the bad ones, and the focus has shifted from reliving the trauma of the experience over and over again in my mind, to now wondering what she would be like at almost 2 years old had she made it. This blog would probably be about the many ways a toddler can enrich your life and have you looking like a budding alopecia patient instead of just being a rush of words tumbling from a mind addled with weight loss promises and bursts of anger against my fellow man (not just Nate). 

 

Though she is always with me in spirit, these days I feel Ligaya’s absence most when I see her face in every baby or small child I come across. This is the change - the difference and degree in levels of pain just depends on the moment.

And that’s what life has become - a continuous, crooked line of moments, movement, and decision making. Moments of sadness, joy, hope, despair, stillness, silence, activity, reflection, denial, and acceptance. Moving forward, but not on, for I could never leave her behind. Decisions on when to start again, if we should start again, if we should just pack up and become wanderers of the land like that Ralph Lauren designer who lives out of a bus and surfs all day (come on now though, how much money do you already need to have to attempt something that? Incidentally, Nate would love this plan if he wasn’t so obsessed with paying bills and being responsible all the time).

 

I could totally live here! Goodbye, everyone!

 

38. In the week leading up to my birthday, we had a very important decision to make and it made us realize how far we’ve come in the healing process, how far we have yet to go, and what we truly want. I called upon my daughter’s light to help guide our way, and as usual, she gave us a sign that we made the right choice in the end.

A hummingbird at the LA Public Library

 

Our Little Bird has left us many gifts, one of which is clarity and the ability to make tough life decisions with forgiveness and without regret (life decisions – not food decisions, mind you). For a long time after the loss, it was about self-preservation, but I have reached an understanding that some decisions are much bigger than just taking into account my “self”.

I feel a change coming. A good one.  It’s in the air and my intuition is usually spot-on. In the past two years I have learned to trust my gut.  I have learned to tell the difference between being crippled by fear and simply pausing to listen to the inner voice that steers me away from harm.  I know I am far from wise, but our loss has taught me more about life than I had ever hoped to know.

Hello, treinta y ocho. Vamanos.

 

 Love, Light, and Ligaya - CS

 

Chicken wing mania and a walking hypocrisy

Last night, as I lay in bed with a belly full of trapped air and a five-alarm fire burning in my chest, I contemplated the folly of my all-you-can-eat-chicken-wings- excursion and decided to make a confession to the little monk that lives in the Italian monastery located at the back left corner of my brain. He took a vow of silence, so I don’t have to worry about him getting all preachy on me.

The unburdening of my soul went something like this:

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been….um…let’s see…25  years since my last confession. Yes, I know that’s a long time, but I don’t sin. Ok, I just lied right there. I guess that’s a sin. I try not to, though! I don’t tell whoppers, I eat them - hahaha….ha…ah….ok, I hide my true feelings behind lame attempts at humor, don’t judge me!

Anyway.

I JUST wrote a blog post about how I was going to do right by my fatty liver by eating clean and exercising like a mofo, only to follow it up with a Facebook picture of me at a Hooters establishment grinning like I’d just won the Powerball, SuperLotto, and Megabucks all at the same time. Oh, and I kinda judged the girls who worked there….because boobs.

I have inflicted damage upon myself while being fully cognizant of the fact I was inflicting damage upon myself, and for this, I would like to be forgiven. 

Oh yeah, and I also constantly wish that Justin Bieber and the Kardashians would get swallowed up by the largest creature to have ever lived, the blue whale. I shouldn’t wish such misfortune upon a poor, defenseless animal. That is all. Thank you and goodnight.”

A smile as bright as a thousand desert suns

UGH. I love food. Too much. Too damn much. I don’t claim to be an expert on nutrition (OBVIOUSLY - says you). But I’m pretty sure that eating a plate and a half of fried chicken wings is not beneficial to an already taxed system (DUH – says you again).  

I could've been a contender, but that probably would not have been wise

So I started fresh again today, as I do every day. I sure hope I don’t wear out the reset button on this body because I will be plenty mad if I die in my sleep without ever having tried a real cronut from the Dominique Ansel Bakery in New York.

 

The real deal - actually, it's pretty expensive, so it's not a deal

 

This journey is hard, and honestly, it sucks. Sure, I can blame things on the fact that I have the metabolism of a middle aged South American sloth, but the truth is – I just have no control (or shame).  Ah well, time to pick myself back up again and keep on marching along.

Isn't he just so cute though?

 

Anyway, I plan on doing some weight training this evening using Nate’s elaborate gym set up in the garage. This always used to scare me because after watching a certain disgusting weightlifting video on Failblog.org, I now have an intense fear of crapping myself mid-lift. Plus, I’m pretty sure that my calves can break a grown man’s neck in three different places, so I really don’t want to bulk that area up any further. However, Nate has assured me that I’m crazy and that both of those fears will not materialize. I trust him because...

I love that face

Anyway, I will make a good effort tonight...just like the tiny ant I found bench pressing a grain of rice in the kitchen last week.  If he’s down, then so am I.

 "We can not start over, but we can begin now, and make a new ending" - Zig Ziglar

 

 

 

 

My liver be like...NO

A few weeks ago my doctor asked me how much alcohol I consumed on a daily basis. The answer is none. I’ve never been able to drink much because I’m one of those Asians that turns fire-engine red and has trouble breathing after only a few sips. Alcohol intolerance – now THAT is a kill before the buzz can even start. I don’t mind, though. At least I don’t have to worry about breaking my piggy or calorie bank in that area like I do with all of my other questionable habits.

Nope. The reason the doctor asked is because my liver is in a state of unrest.  It has staged a revolution in response to my lifetime “Let me eat cake” decree.  Never one for the laissez-faire approach, I rule with an iron double fist helping of sweet and salty nomness, all day, errrrday. Tous les jours. Oh, liver. It's in the process of quitting my ass. It’s fat and it’s angry and it wants to do away with my body wreckonomics policy.

à bientôt, Sucka!

Now I know I haven’t been kind to this temple over the many years we’ve been together, but that’s because my mind is always talking, talking, talking.

Me: I think you need a donut.

Me: Yes, I think so.

Me:  God, you're easy.

Me: Nate would tend to disagree.

Me:  Get an extra one for later.

Me: You silver tongued serpent. I shall do that forthwith.

Viva la French cruller!

Replace the word “donut” with any other edible item aside from a vegetable, and you have my daily life in a chocolate ganache covered nutshell. I was born hungry! No, that’s simply untrue. I eat even when I’m not hungry, but now is not the time to peel back the seven layers of that particular burrito.

Viva la Taco Bell!

Actually, I've been pretty good lately because I’ve rediscovered the reason why I wanted to get healthy in the first place. No, not the wedding. A baby.  And even though my past transgressions have caught up to me, the doctor says I can still put the brakes on the damage if I continue to eat better and exercise.

So I started doing this:

 

Pre-run: all smiles and shit

....which started out great!

Lap 1: ok, I got this –oooh, "Counting Stars”.  I love One Republic! Am I too old for One Republic? Lately I’ve been, I’ve been counting sheep, dreaming about the things that I can eat (doesn’t that defeat the purpose though?). Oh, look at that slow person right there. How sad – you got this! Good job! Wow, I'm like a mentor or something.

Lap 2: I think I hate this. Because I’m crappy…crap along if you feel like you’re a house without a roof...because I'm crappy...

Lap 3: Why is it so hot? Should I stop? Should I just stop right now? OMG am I crying?

Lap 4: OMG, I'm crying.

Post-run: zero smiles left to give

It wasn’t always this way. One of my proudest achievements was beating a bunch of big kids in a foot race when I was six years old. To this day, I love telling Nate in great dramatic flair how I became known as “fast girl” (not to be confused with “fat girl” as previously discussed in another post).   Although his responses are always suspicious in nature  – “I don’t believe you.”  “Are you lying again?” “Why can’t you do that now?” – I still revel in the memory of once being able to run a mile in less than 18 minutes. Yes, 18 minutes.  That's how long it took last week.

Honestly though, I don’t hate exercise as much as my mind is always trying to lead me to believe. I really like Zumba, swimming, and self-defense classes (because you never know when you need to go on the attack). I just HATE running.  Unfortunately, it's one of the only things that works for me. When I'd go 3-4 times a week during triathlon training, there was a noticeable change in my body and energy level.  Even my brain felt happy!

So that’s why I’m at it again. Sure, I’m slow.  Geez, I think my grandma could’ve beaten my time, and she was paralyzed on one side of her body. In 1995, she competed in - AND WON -  St. Edna's annual wheelchair race. She even made the front page of the Orange County Register. So what’s my excuse, really?

My goal is not to try and beat Nate’s time of just under six minutes (5:56!). Um, NO. That would be crazy and impossible. For now I'd be happy with just getting myself to run more than once a week. Then we’ll see about getting that time down.

I guess that's what playlists are for. 90's hip hop, here I come.

 Running theme song for July (because I've got the power!)

Who's the boss? Not me

I have this huge whiteboard at home and every 7.5 months or so I’m hit with a Usain bolt of inspiration to fill it up with all kinds of crazy ass ideas on how to lose weight (fruit water! No bagel bombs!) and make/save money (stop buying stupid stuff like bagel bombs! Sing more!). I love that thing. It makes me feel all official-like because:

1. When Nate calls to ask what I’m doing, I can tell him I’m busy working in the “home office”.

2. I can pretend I’m a Harvard astrophysicist who’s about to teleconference with Stephen Hawking regarding the new solution I came up with for the space-flex-continuum-time-capacitor conundrum.

3. When Nate calls back again to ask what I’ve been doing all day, I can tell him I’m about to teleconference with Stephen Freaking Hawking and can he please stop disturbing me already.

Anyway, when I’m not busy being Russell NO in my own misinterpretation of  “A Beautiful Mind”, I use it for what it’s intended  - a place to draw pictures that make no discernible sense, but are funny in a way that only I find funny.

 

No, no, no.

I get out the markers and come up with THE PLAN. The plan of all plans that encompasses how to save money, how to make money, how to plan a wedding, how to lose weight.

Now isn't this better than cake? Oh, the lies we tell ourselves.

 

Do you know how many plans I’ve made? So, so many. Do you know what a plan without action – actually, make that - thoughtful - action is? A waste of words, marker ink, and time - a dream that will never come true unless you’re damn lucky.  Or worse – action without thought is a bad haircut going into 6^th grade that lasts the whole school year.

One summer I decided to show Alyssa Milano who the boss was once and for all. With limited resources at my disposal (scissors I found in the kitchen/Bop magazine),  as well as an overabundance of impatience and WTF-ness (my mom was still at work and I needed a haircut RIGHT THEN AND THERE), I decided to cut my hair myself. The thing is – I have curly hair – really curly hair, and these curls? They ain’t right. One does not simply cut thick, curly, coarse hair using only kitchen shears and blind confidence.  I really was blind – I couldn’t see the back of my head so I did it by feels alone. Vidal Assoon, what can I say.

I guess you showed me. Well played, Milano. Well played.

Needless to say, it didn’t work out so well and when my mom came home she was not so happy.  After multiple corrective attempts at various salons the rest of the summer, I ended up sporting a boy cut with a ducktail for bangs.  

Alyssa Milano - I think not. Try a mini Asian version of this guy from Grease. 

I had a plan – I just failed at the thinking it through part. Did I learn my lesson from that experience? Well, most of the time I think before I act, but a lot of the time I think so much that I don’t act. When will I win already?!?

Anyway, back to the whiteboard.  Since trying on this new positive attitude, which fits rather uncomfortably at times due to an ongoing battle with anxiety, I’m proud to say that I make small leaps of progress on my current goal list every day. Bunny hops. I’ve come up with this little guide:

·   Identify the things you’re good at

·   Think about what you really want

·  Develop some type of road/life map that will get you to where you want to be

·  Think it through, but don’t fall into the trap of analysis paralysis

·   Take action that makes sense

·   Be open to help from others

·   Keep your head and your heart lifted

·   Keep at it until you get there

Oh, and…

·  Take a damn seat before cutting your own hair unless you have some kind of clue. Let my hair homage to the guy from "Grease" act as a cautionary fail.

The concept is easy, but bringing dreams to fruition is definitely hard work on a level 500 scale. Unless you’ve figured out how to apply the Nintendo cheat code for eternal life to real life, you better get moving though, because this one is passing you by.  You can’t wait for things to fall into your lap, because you know what?  While you’re busy sitting your hopes and dreams on your elbows staring out the window of what-if waiting for that lucky break that’s just around the corner,  there may be a car about to run a red light when it’s your green. Or you might find a lump. Or a spot on an x-ray. Or an unmovable iceberg. There are an unlimited number of ill-fated occurrences that would make it even harder to do the things you need to do to get to where you want to be.

But hey....

STAY POSITIVE, RIGHT?

 

I really should follow my own advice. It all just seems too big to tackle at times. But I guess we should keep in mind the old saying....

How do you eat an elephant? Answer: One bite at a time

 

OMG please don’t eat an elephant though

 

 

Do it, get through it the best that you can

As the famous Greek Nike said in 50000 B.C., “Just do it.” No, not the one? Well, just do it anyway.

                                     http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nike_(mythology)

I’ve signed up with multiple focus group companies – market research agencies that pay you to test out a new product or ask your opinion on anything from a proposed movie trailer for an upcoming blockbuster (was Godzilla a blockbuster?) or what your feelings are on a new idea for a slushie drink at Taco Bell (Starburst flavored = gross). This is a great way to make an easy buck, providing you pass the pre-screening questionnaire when they first call you up.

Screener: Married or single?

 

Me: Smarried

Screener: Ok...what was that again?

Me: We've been together for like forever and we're having a wedding, so basically, I’m married. Married.

Screener: What’s your yearly combined household income?

Me: Um….this much xxxx, but it used to be this much xxxxxx. Sometimes it’s this much xxxxx.

Screener: When is the last time you participated in a paid market research study?

Me: Hmm…let’s see…. 5, 6, 7, 8 months ago? No, a year ago. Maybe two years ago. (LAST WEEK)

Screener: Are you the person who sets up all of the technology in the house? Smart TV’s, cable, computer, DVD player, wi-fi, etc?

Me: Nnnyes. Why, yes, that's me (Good God, no. We call Nate’s brothers for that shit. And besides, my TV is not smart – it takes 4 remote controls to operate and sometimes there’s no sound)

Screener: Ok, congratulations, we will be able to use you!  You will be paid $150 to participate in this 1 hour study taking place on....

That particular study took over an hour and a half because I’m basically a liar and had quite an unnerving experience trying to set up a smart TV, an Apple TV and Google TV while comparing and contrasting the differences in  all kinds of things I had no understanding of.  

Most of the time I’m in and out of these events within an hour, or even less if it’s at Taco Bell Headquarters - my pocket full of cash and my belly full of Cantina Bowls and weird drinks.

I feel strange things inside my chest when I see this picture. The light, the beauty, the wow!

I do think the gig is up at TB headquarters though. The last time I was there, the facilitator kept giving me a non-covert side-eye. Keeping my face partially hidden behind my hand and mumbling with a fake accent doesn’t seem to work anymore. It probably doesn’t help that I’ve been there 3 times in the last 2 months seeing the same facilitator every single damn time. Yeah, I know you see me, bro, but we don't all look the same.

 

 Anyway, the trick is to just do  it - take the opportunities that are presented to you and go for it. Get through it the best that you can. Did my bowels feel loose staring at the back of a TV and plugging the cables into every which hole except the correct one? Yes, so loose. Did I break into a sweat when the facilitator said there were people behind the glass watching and recording my session?  I was already sweating before I even got into the room. But I got through it. Using trial and an excessive amount of error, along with an embarrassingly time consuming process of elimination , I was able to get through the technology study and earn $150.

Just gotta take those opportunities and jump in.

Sometimes when I’m faced with a big baking job that I know will take the better part of 48 hours straight, I’ll lie in bed and cry. Then before I know it, I’m up and about in the kitchen making and weighing the dough, overworking my oven, and finally assembling the product. Because at some point, it just clicks that staying in bed all day thinking about all the stuff that has to get done is not the same as…well, actually getting things done. Yeah, it’s hard. Yeah, my whole body hurts from standing for almost two days straight. Yeah, I'd rather be on Pinterest looking at wedding stuff. But until I am able to produce 400 cookies from thin air using only the power of my own mind, the fact of the matter is that I gotta get up.

 

Now -  for the sake of sanity and efficiency (one temperamental home oven that's missing a rack is NOT THE WAY), I’ve decided to make the transition to a commercial kitchen. This concept has been on my mind a lot the past few months. While I love having a permit that allows me to work from home, I’m truly limited in how much I can do. I’ve sat on this idea for a while because of cost and the millions of what if’s that continue to take up residence in my scrambled eggs brain. What if I can’t get into a Farmers Market? What if I can’t get into the OC Swap Meet? What if no coffee shop wants to pick up my cookies?

My life is a conglomeration of befores, afters, and what if’s. BUT!!! what if I change my thinking to add “what could be”? Or how about “what will be”? –  what if I dared to think positive and expect good things rather than the worst all the time? How different could my life be…will my life be if I allowed the light of hope to come through? I don’t really know, to be honest.

But…

• I applied to a commercial kitchen and they’ve approved my application.

• I’ve got emails out to different farmers markets. Most are full right now, but I’ll keep throwing myself out there.

AND

• I’ll check out some small local coffee shops and ask if they’re looking for new vendors. What’s the worst that can happen – they’ll say no? Ha – if that were to be the worst thing that could happen in my life at this point, I’d gladly take it.  I’m surviving the worst. Every day. Working through the setbacks.

I’ve got a new song I sing on repeat when I first wake up in the morning: Think positive. Expect good things to come. Be excited. Take a breath before flipping out (and flipping someone the bird). Think positive. Expect good things to come. Be excited. Take a breath. Think positive. Expect good things to come. Be excited. Take a breath.

Just do it and get through it the best that you can.

 

 

Starbucks, the sads, and the science

I am not an experienced coffee drinker as evidenced by the fact that I habitually get my order mixed up at Starbucks and hold up the line while I try to make sense of the situation.

“Um….I’ll take a caramel coffee iced venti. Make that a coffee iced venti caramel. Nope. Iced coffee caramel venti. Not that either. One more time. Grande caramel iced coffee – vento, extra caramel, please.”

And on and on it goes until the collective sigh behind me and the foot tapping start to take on a more ominous tone. When the eye shanking threatens to give way to some next level realness, I know it’s time to take a seat.

“Iced tea, black, unsweetened. Big. Thanks.”

Man, I am always up for a Bloodsport style rumble in the concrete jungle, but not when it’s against people who haven’t had their morning coffee fix. People are crazy for them beans. I get it (see previous post regarding my unholy relationship with devil dog cake).

Life was simpler (not really) when I was much more cavalier about my spending habits and the words “iced caramel macchiato” and “spinach feta wrap” rolled off my tongue like the lyrics to the National Anthem.  

If the whole iced coffee order would just work out at least once, it would indicate that I'm a reformed spender, especially since my new breakfast of choice is air and it's pretty much free. Not that I needed to pick up any more bad habits with the whole coffee attempt anyway, but sometimes I just need  a little boost (yeah, yeah I know – “Try exercise!”, you say. “Your face”, says me). 

I’ve been so out of it lately that twice in the last few weeks I’ve gotten lost on the way to places I frequent on a ridiculous basis. Places that I would marry if I could.

So my 2 mile road trip…after pointing my vehicle in the direction of the North Star, I eventually found the mothership and walked in with a mental checklist – apples, chewy bars, pads, water, apples, chewy bars, pads, water, apples, chewy bars, pads, water – and left with apples, chewy bars, pads, water, Pringles, flip flops, computer paper, candle warmer wax thingies, hummus, and more wedding magazines. Sonofabitch! Damn you, memory - I forgot to remember that I was a reformed spender. Shady Pines, here I come.  

                       Thank you for being a friend.

No. The thing is…I’ve been sad. And this sadness...in that particular space at the back of my heart where it always resides - sometimes it’s quiet and sometimes it’s not. Sometimes I can control it. Sometimes I cannot. I have my coping mechanisms, my defenses, my ways of working through it, my best laid plans… I was never so foolish as to believe that a wedding would take that sadness away, but I did almost trick myself into thinking I would be too distracted with planning to focus on anything else.  

I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting the past few days.

• “When I had my old job I could buy all of the things in the whole world” (and I must have because…damn, my savings tho)

• “When I had my old job I could spend $25 on lunch without my ass breaking out into a cold, cold sweat” (Really? Really I spent this much on lunch for myself?!?)

•  “When I had my old job I never researched how much money I could make donating my body for various scientific trials” (Ok, maybe this one isn’t completely true. I once read an article about someone having their big toe cut off and reattached for $10,000. $10,000! I have two big toes. Let’s do this! )

• “When I had my old job I could travel all over the world on a moment’s notice” (and boy, did we ever. Nate and I once did London in 72 hours)

and then there's this...

• “When I had my old job I still had her” (ah, this is the one that kills me).

And suddenly all of that stuff about having money and taking time off whenever I wanted and trekking all across the globe becomes trivial.

Because I still had her and the idea of her and her future and the possibilities…and everything. Just everything.

It’s strange always having one foot stuck in the before and one in the after – two crooked halves of a life gone completely off the rails in just a moment’s notice…a life that I’m still doing my best to live in her honor. Before, after. Before, after. One foot in front of the other.

It’s taken some time, but I’ve learned it’s ok to have these bad days, to not feel guilty if I have a fleeting bad thought about someone else’s success or good fortune, to stomp my feet and say “IT’S. NOT. FAIR!” (because it isn’t, really. It just isn’t). I’m only human. And I don’t stay long in that place anyway because it’s dark and it’s ugly, and it’s mean, and that’s not who I am  or who I want to be.

But I allow myself to feel what I’m feeling in that very moment and I don’t judge myself too harshly for it anymore.

Because the occasional coffee? It could be a lot worse... I could be addicted to selling my body for a quick buck (FOR SCIENCE, people, for science only). 

Hmm…ten fingers and ten toes, you say? That's a lot of thousands. 

Love, Light, and Ligaya - CS