4 things that I wish Santa had brought me

Being that we're Chinese and non-religious, my family doesn't celebrate Christmas. Accordingly, there's no gift-exchange, which is just as well because I think I'm rather hard to shop for these days.

For the kind-hearted soul out there who wants to introduce me to the magic of Christmas, here are 4 things that I wish Santa had brought me:

1) Swarovski Philips Heart Beat Flash Drive - because I am a true geek girl. Broadway should take note that the key to my heart comes in 1GB increments.

2) Any number of these alarm clocks - because I need help. I was your annoying, snooze-happy college roommate, and I've gotten worse since school let out. Maybe if my bank account were in jeopardy, just maybe, I would finally get out of bed.

3) F-me-boots - because every girl needs the PERFECT pair. While at the mall the other day, I overheard a girl describe the perfect boots to her friend:

"I want a pointy toe that's not too pointy, and a high pointy heel, but not stiletto. That sounds simple, but I'm having such a hard time finding the right pair."

Amen sistah, I couldn't have put it better myself.
Signed, Bootless and Incomplete.

4) The answer to why my "Blog Archives" navigation is screwed up in IE (7.0). Being a Firefox-only user, I accidentally opened IE today and realized that all IE users see a mess of a navigation bar. After a couple of hours (!!) of CSS template changes, I have finally given up. My only hope now is Santa.

kids are funny like that

My race and ethnicity have never come up on this blog, and in general are not abnormally major factors (benefitting or detracting) in my everyday life. I am who I am, and my background is a part of that. I've never felt the need to highlight it, nor to hide it, and can honestly (and luckily) say that I only recall one time in which I felt my race was addressed inappropriately, but that's another story for another day.

I am Asian, specifically Chinese. Having grown up almost entirely in the US in non-Asian-centered communities, I'm very much middle-class American, much more so than I am Asian or Chinese. Once in a while, though, my ethnic background creeps into my life in unexpected ways .

Over the last couple of months, Broadway and I got into a few arguments because I have a tendency to poke fun at him when we are hanging out with other couples, in nonchalant and careless/carefree ways.

"Yeah, Broadway wouldn't let me go get a drink with my friends the other day", I would say with a flicker of mischief in my eyes.

Or, "Broadway got mad at me last week because I closed his computer browser", and I would give him a flirty pout.

He didn't take the comments as lightheartedly and goodnaturedly as I intended them, accusing me instead of wanting to take revenge out of spite in front of his (our) friends, perhaps because I was still secretly holding a grudge. I knew for sure I wasn't doing it to be spiteful nor malicious, but I also had no answers when he continued grilling me:

"Just WHY do you do this? Why do you make it so uncomfortable for me and for our friends? They don't know how to deal with this!"

I didn't know why I did it. I just thought they were fun couple-y comments. In a way, I saw them as evidence of our having fun little domestic disputes like any ol' couple. That concept was completely unfathomable to Broadway. What would ever possess me to think that disputes are cute and fun, he asked.

I had no answers to that. But now I think those comments came from my innate Chinese upbringing.

Being home, I see my parents interact, and they're constantly poking fun at each other in similar ways in the company of others. They bicker and banter in front of other couples lovingly and easily, as it is a way of communication for them. Chinese soap operas I watch narrate similar couple dynamics between the characters.

I must have picked up the behavior from my parents and my culture while growing up and translated it in my own mind as evidence of a healthy, normal relationship.

I never realized that this form of couple communication is considered unnatural in the mainstream American culture, or so Broadway tells me. Ethnicity and upbringing can be funny like that. They are so innate to me and make all the sense in the world to the point that their influence on my actions are completely imperceivable to me. I think that everyone would understand and interpret my actions the way I would.

Only an outsider like Broadway could point out the disconnect, along with completely misunderstanding it.

On the other hand, while I recognize that this type of couple banter is probably not the American norm, I think my particular interactions with Broadway are further ill-received because of his innate sensitivities and particular preconditioned inclination to reject this type of humor.

As kids, whether we realized it or not, we all picked up ideas and standards of conduct that would subconsciously govern our entire adult lives.

Here's to hoping that most of us picked up the good ones.

I'm really laid-back and easy-going

Being home is high time for filling my daily schedule with brunches and dinners and movies and drinks with people I never see or call except for when I come home during the holidays. The things is, I just haven't felt like it this year, so I've only gotten in touch with one person, well, he got in touch with me. He has some history associated with him, namely being my high school crush for all of 9th and 10th grade. Now he's dating some girl who lives in Taiwan. They met on the internet and call each other every day. But who am I to judge?

Back on point ... we made plans to see a movie together day after Christmas (yesterday). We somewhat settled on No Country for Old Men, but since it wasn't completely finalized, I told him to just pick something playing around 9pm, and that I'd be up for pretty much anything.

So he calls me mid-afternoon, while I'm rummaging through the sales racks at Express:

High School Crush: Hey, how about Aliens and Predator?
Me: wait, are you serious?
HSC: haha, I'm just kidding.
Me: oh okay, because I was gonna veto that one
HSC: haha, I was just kidding. How about National Treasuer?
Me: err ... (silence as I try to figure out a way to get out of this)
HSC: oh wait, did you see the first one?
Me: oh no, I didn't see the first one. yeah, that's probably not a good choice. (phew!)
HSC: What about American Gangster?
Me: hmm ... yeah, I'm not really into that
HSC: okay, I guess that leaves us with No Country for Old Men then.
Me: oh, yeah, that sounds great. wait, are you sure that movie's okay with you?
HSC: yeah, no problem. I'm easy.

See how easygoing and laid-back I am? I'm floored by my own easy-to-please, go-with-the-flow nature.

art appreciation :)

Despite being musically/culturally challenged, this is still pretty cool, and I know enough to appreciate not only the novelty of sleevefaces but also the few artists' names whom I actually recognized :)

Merry Christmas everybody!

not feeling any better

Last night's post was prompted by a fight Broadway and I had right before going to sleep. The gist of it was his saying we have all kinds of communications devices, there's no reason to prolong phone conversations, especially when we've been talking to each other throughout the day on gchat. My perspective was that talking on gchat doesn't do it for me, especially when he's multi-tasking, and I end up drumming my fingers waiting for the "typing..." indication and finally the actual message.

He asked since we have so much communication, why do we need to keep talking over the phone? To which I said I like the phone, and it gives me a sense of intimacy that's impossible over IM. To which he replied that the phone is no better than IM to him; they're all the same, and none of them can replace actual personal interactions.

Fine, I said, but we're not together right now (I'm home for the holidays, he's still up in Boston), so the phone is the best we can do, the closest we can get to personal interactions. He went back to the point that the phone's no better than IM, and we talk all the time over IM. Finally I said since he seems to have a personal limit to how much he can talk to me in one day and with so many IM conversations, he sees the phone as unnecessary, and since the phone and IM are the same to him, I'd prefer that we just talk on the phone.

He claimed that I was making a stressful long-distance situation even more stressful.

I'm not sure how we even got into such a big fight, over communications with each other no less. He thinks that I'm stressed out about being away, and I think that's the most laughable idea. HE's the one who's stressed out, and somehow that's manifesting itself in weird ways like not wanting to talk on the phone.

We finally hung up, but then proceeded to argue more over IM, which is good and bad: because of the lack of intonation, I can't tell when he's angry angry and will just keep on saying things. We left things with my questioning the relationship (because of the same thoughts written here), and him being extremely angry.

The really bad part is that when I woke up this morning, I didn't feel any differently, and usually a night's sleep helps to mellow me out and makes me see all the things that I did wrong. I don't deny that I probably did some wrong in our fight last night, but I also can't help still feeling like that I'm settling.

settling

Today, I felt like I was settling, unquestionably. My relationships have always teetered on that line between settling and loving him with all of his quirks and faults and things that I can't stand. I couldn't pinpoint the exact quirk that irked me today, but I just had a general feeling of dissatisfaction.

Earlier in the day, I thought about Broadway's rejection of everything mainstream, including silly little phrases like "sweet nothings." I thought about it and I accepted it as a part of him. I sighed, accepting that I will never share "sweet nothings" with Broadway because he would never call them that. I accepted it and moved on.

Then I thought about his love of all things electronic, how the only times that you can truly see genuine excitement is when he is talking about electronics. He will go on and on and on explaining them, to the point of excruiating details that no one cares to know, especially not at a cocktail party of 3-line conversations. I get embarassed by him, feeling the squirm of his non-interested audience in those situations who just want to find some way of getting out of listening to him talking. Then I get embarassed with myself that I would reject such a central part of his personality.

I always think that we will make it work, that it's just a quirk we each have: his over-the-top attention to detail in storytelling and my highlighted sensitivity to social norms and insistence on following them.

Today, I also thought about when he dropped me off at the airport Saturday afternoon, how when we said goodbye, I didn't feel the swell of tears in my eyes. I very calmly hugged him, kissed him, and said goodbye. I was sad, but I had to tell myself that I was sad. It wasn't until a little bit later that I felt the slight surge of emotions and some tears welling up that I quickly (and easily) suppressed.

Am I telling myself that I feel strongly about this relationship because I want to feel strongly about this relationship? Does he feel strongly about this relationship for the same reasons? Because he wants to hold on to something that he knows will provide comfort?

Is this feeling of undeniable settling transient? Will I feel the same way tomorrow?

how should i be reacting?

In my last confessions post, I linked to the Gentleman Gigolo blog, one that I had discovered recently and read religiously. Catching up on all my blogs today, I find out that Ethan, the Gentleman Gigolo, is dead. No joke. He ODed at a holiday party, so says a friend who posted on the blog soliciting help from readers in finding Ethan's family contact. (How did the friend have access to his blog?)

I didn't know Ethan, certainly, but the news hit me as if he were someone I knew for real. I certainly didn't regard it as matter-of-factly as I would a complete stranger in the obituaries, but then it feels so weird to react so familially to the death of an anonymous blogger I found on the internet. The situation is made even more awkward by the fact that I masturbated to his words just a couple of days ago. I am confused by the stark contrast of how I looked forward to new posts on his blog to serve as erotic turn-ons just this morning to the hard fact that the author of those words are now forever gone.

Life can be so strange sometimes.

Confession #3: Smut blogs

Is there a genre for them? Smut romances novels have their own genre, or even erotica. Is there a genre for smut in blog-form?

I regularly read these blogs for pleasure. Every once in a while, I go hunting for new blogs of this genre. They're not quite erotica because the stories are real (or my naivete has me believing they are real) experiences of real people who then anonymously blog about their sexpades. It turns me on and sometimes, I even imagine myself doing the same, not so much the blogging, but definitely the sexpades.

Two regular blogs I visit are Gentleman Gigolo and Confessions of a College Callgirl. Confessions has recently taken a different turn, and she doesn't write so much about her stories on the job anymore, but Gentleman is seldom disappointing. They've never shown up on my blogroll because I was always embarassed to admit that they're in my regular browsing list.

Being embarassed on an anonymous blog to people I have never met seems like such a strange concept. As much as I thought I would be unbridled when I started this blog, I guess in the end, unbridled is just not the kind of person I am. I can't even be someone else in anonymity. I guess that means I would make a pretty bad actor. As much as I tell myself to just let all inhibitions go and pour out my real thoughts on this blog, I still feel myself holding back.

So this is a first step toward no holds barred.

Reading these smut blogs gets tricky sometimes because more often than not, I'm reading these at work through my Google Reader window. It gets so frustrating because the words on the screen turn me on so much. I always end up wanting to touch myself so badly to release all of that sexual desire, yet I must control all of it and continue to sit quietly at my desk in an office full of people. It is pure torture, yet I keep inflicting it on myself.

i kinda want my stuff back

Doctor and I broke up in January, but we dragged the breakup much longer than that, and really only quit sleeping over with each other when I drunkenly (irresponsibly) hooked up with Broadway in March. One of the tricks I did to make sure I would keep seeing Doctor during all this pseudo-breakup period--yes, I know, such typical girl madness--was to hold on to some of his stuff. I reasoned that I could always use needing to return his stuff as an excuse to ask to see him (over).

I had forgotten about most of his stuff until I did some major reshuffling to pack away my summer stuff and bring out all of my winter clothes. I discovered quite a few things of his: gloves, scarf, sweat pants, LEATHER JACKET, and some other random things. They're not things that you would just leave at an ex's and chalk it up as the casualties of an ex-relationship. Digging up his stuff also also reminded me that some favorite tshirts of mine are still at his place.

So I've been mulling since mid-November about reaching out to him, calling him, emailing him, something-ing him to offer a 9-months-later stuff swap. It's only logical, right? Except, I can't seem to do it. I just don't want to talk to him, and I want to see him even less.

The mere thought of him makes me gag. Ever since June, I have loathed him. Especially now that things are going quite well (well, stably) with Broadway, the tiniest memory of Doctor completely disgusts me.

But I love those tshirts of mine, and his thick leather jacket is taking up some seriously valuable real estate in my closet. The swap meeting doesn't have to take long ... a two-hand exchange, right? Two seconds, right? I just need to dial his number, right?

Except, I just can't do it.

how to change the world

Recently, I read A Fine Balance, which also happens to be an Oprah's Book Club book (apparently way back in 2001). I'd never been all that interested in India; I'd never even had Indian food until I came to Boston. If not for my book club, I don't think I would have ever picked this book up, especially in its 600+ page monstrous form.

This book put India on the radar for me, but not in a good way. During Thanksgiving dinner, I had a conversation with Broadway's cousin about India because he had recently spent a few days there for business. We both remarked that India was one of those neutral travel destinations for us: it would certainly be interesting to see, but neither one of us have a real driving desire to go out of our ways to visit.

Comparing the paths that India and China have both taken in the latter half of the 20th century, it is very obvious to see the distinct political paths these two third world countries have taken, and equally blaring are the different economic developments these countries have experienced. To think that India was so revered as the success story of a third world country that managed to establish a democratic government, yet it was just as crippled by corruption as any other third world country "trying to make it" out there.

China, not without its own problems, nevertheless drove itself through significant modernization. The current quality of living in cities is not much below that of the west, if at all inferior, and all this was accomplished with an "authoritarian" Communist government. I even heard someone today say that sometimes democracy is seen as the government of the priviledged, that inherantly, it takes a certain level of prosperity in order for democracy to work effectively. That doesn't sound very democratic.

Regardless of the validity of this democratic criticism, I think India is an example of how democracy did not work. More recently, the democratic elections in Iraq are probably further evidence that democracy and individual rights are not the answer to all governmental problems. This makes me sad, for two reasons:

1) I realize that I have become so completely jaded. I cannot ideally regard any situation, have unwavering hope and faith in the good of the world. Democracy is the individualists' ideal, yet it is impossible in its most ideal form, even in a developed world like the US. The realist that I am cannot allow me to even acknowledge the virtues of democracy.

2) I roll at eyes at the ignorance of everyone who proclaims democracy to be the answer in Iraq. I admit that in being disappointed by these people, I do stand on my own educated pedestal and judge all the masses who are singing about the saving graces of democracy and uninformedly claiming that it will cure Iraq.

In the end, what we need is not democracy. We need geunine leaders. Our children need education. I haven't lost hope in the human power to inspire. I haven't lost hope that there are good, corruption-free people who would come to power in India, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, any number of African nations and lead these nations out of their current unstable states.

To that end, though, I am saddened by my own lack of initiative, my own excuses for why I cannot help first hand. It's too hard. It will take too long. There is a process for everything, and we must work through the red tape to get anything done, and that's just impossible when everyone is so corrupt.

Pointing to another recent read, Three Cups of Tea, one person CAN make a difference. So why am I still insisting on simply sitting on my couch?

I don't understand

After the stolen gloves incident, I went around to several outdoors shops around town to buy replacement ones. I wanted black gloves in a wind-blocking fleece material, basically exactly like my last pair. Most stores had the exact gloves that I wanted, for *gulp* ~$20. Okay, whatever, I'll shell out serious cash for serious gloves, especially when there's snow falling out of the sky at today's alarming rates.

The problem was that no store had glvoes in my size. Even as I was prepared to pay for serious gloves, there were no serious gloves to be had. They simply don't ever come in women's size small, seemingly.

Searching through the entire shelf of gloves at all 5 of the stores I went to, there would be plenty of L, XL, quite a few mediums, but never any smalls. Why is that? Are most people buying smalls? Or are smalls so rare that they don't usually stock many? Just how many people need XL gloves?

I just don't get it. None of this helps the whole frustrating experience of getting my gloves stolen in Whole Foods. WTF?

wishing for a "calling"

As cliched as it is to have a "calling", I don't have one, but want one. Spawned partially by the two recent books I read, I want to have something to puruse that I really care about and that doesn't feel pretentiously empty. I am currently working in science, and from childhood I have always thought of science as being noble. Without debating the merits of actually still possessing such a naive outlook, science is just not my calling.

I came up north for a five-year stint, liking the comfort of knowing exactly what I would do for a stable long time (the merits of this decision-making reasoning is also debatable). Now that I am way past the half-way point, I am anxious to set up the next step of my life. The stress comes not from the excitement of option exploration nor from not knowing what to do, but rather that most every career choice I encounter feels empty.

I view most career choices with utter disgust as I imagine the many days of this job I would have to live through before I turn 65 and retire. I don't want a Dilbert cubicle life. I don't really want the high-life of banks and consulting firms, as much as those are tempting. I don't want the life of a minnion lost in the large corporation culture of company mottos and "personnel development", nor that of the government advisor soullessly lobbying for society-damaging entities like Big Oil.

It depresses me that I have no answers to the question of "With everything set aside, with no worries in this world, what can you see yourself doing?" I just know that I feel empty about what I am doing now. I just know that I have a feeling of wanting more, that there has to be something out there to better fill this void ... but what is it?

What is my calling?

things that annoyed me today

1) Someone at Whole Foods stole my gloves. Who the f- does that?? At Whole Foods no less?? Aren't these all supposed to be middle-aged, upper-middle-class-income wives? I left my gloves in my cart, parked in an aisle as I ran around to other aisles to gather things I needed. When I came back to my cart, my gloves were gone. The gloves weren't expensive, but they fit me well. It's just so frustrating that I have to deal with this right now, and that someone would actually steal MY GLOVES.

2) Piercing techno music at a wannabe trendy lounge that just gave me a headache instead. A former colleague was in town tonight and wanted to get together with a couple of us for drinks. My voice was hoarse from trying to hold a conversation over the high-decibel music, and multiple people at multiple times held their hands to their ears with WTF looks on their face directed in the general direction of the DJ. He was bobbing his head, completely oblivious. When did techno come back in style anyway that a mainstream trendy lounge would play it exclusively on a Thursday night?

3) My new, exciting flats pinch my toes, and I can just feel the blisters welling up on my heel, not to mention that they arethe tiniest bit too small. I bought these a couple of nights ago as the perfect flats that I've been searching for. They're cute. They don't have bows on them. They're white (a rather bold color for me). Best of all, they're dressy enough for going out, but plain enough to still wear to work without seeming over the top. I knew something was wrong within 5 minutes of walking in them, but I still kept them on for half a day, in pure denial that my *perfect* flats are in fact, unwearable.

On a happier note, I am pretty set on the decision to take some time off next summer and maybe part of fall. I've been brewing over a possibility that throws all my previous hesitations out the window because I am so excited about it. It would mean a farther distance, and potentially a longer time, away from Broadway, but it's all workable and within reason.

christmas is for everyone

We had our first snowstorm this past weekend, and there is still plenty of ice and cold-weather hazards on the ground. I have long stopped biking around, preferring to just drive everywhere. Driving down a road last night, I noticed a biker up ahead (thank goodness he had lights). He seemed much taller than a normal biker, and his general shape was off.

When I got closer, I realized that he was not only biking on icy roads in sub-freezing temperatures, but that he had a Christmas tree strapped to him. He biked with his right hand on the right handlebar grip, and his left hand raised over his shoulder gripping the trunk of the tree. The tree hung upside down from his left hand, along his back.

I should have stopped and offered him a ride. I hesitated because I was already well past him when I realized he was transporting a tree. I hesitated because I didn't have room in my car for a bike and a tree. I hesitated because I just didn't have the guts to stop, yet I wasn't entirely sure what I was afraid of. In a way, I didn't want to be THAT person who is trying too hard to be the good samaritan. In all this hesitation, I just kept driving.

I think I will remember, and regret, not stopping to offer him a ride for a long time to come.