My avatar

On Yahoo.com a user gets to create her own avatar. This is the avatar I sort of created for myself:


Okay I wish I was this cartoonish cute in real life. The face type was the closest thing to Asian-looking I could find. My hair is sort of like the style and I'd probably wear it in a loose pony-tail like that. Cute, huh?

I'm spun right round

Just wanted to point out that the "Big Hits Of The 80s" station on Yahoo's LaunchCast is awesome. Very nolstalgic. It makes me want to wear ripped jeans with red jelly shoes and my hair crimped in a side pony tail.

The secret

The sound of a fist hitting someone's face is nothing like the sound in movies. It is not raucous, loud and raw. The actual sound is surprisingly soft and muted; it is barely a dull slap.

Yet the sound of a fist hitting one's face is different from the inside. That sound, the rattling of your head, the knuckle hitting cheekbone, is like the sound in the movies; it is like the pain underneath the bone -- raucous, loud and raw.

One doesn't see the first. One doesn't see the hitting. But there is an elbow rising up and down methodically and a head turned downward, intent. One loses count after a while. And the noise, that dull noise, begins to fade into a soft tap. Then it sounds like it's not happening anymore. It doesn't exist. It becomes a perfect silence, sweet and pure, like a secret no one will ever tell.

The Swedish Fish

They beckoned me from their small opened box atop the edge of a secretary's cubicle. Green, red, yellow and orange, they lay against each other, still and hopeful. A crude sign bore the words "HELP YOURSELF!" in scrawled black marker. I looked at them. They looked at me.

"No," I said to them.

"Please. We are so delicious. You deserve a break."

"No," I repeated sternly.

Each time I walked by their lair, they called out to me, coaxed me, yelled at me. "Just one," they said in unison. "Just one!"

"If I take one, then I will have to take one of each color," I reasoned. "So no."

Other onlookers could not resist their siren songs and grabbed them and popped them into their mouths, savoring the yummy sweetness. But where others failed, I will succeed. They're still there now, calling out to me. But I will resist them.

I will resist.

Blogging at your own risk

One of the great things about having a blog is being able to post about anything or anyone you want. It's liberating. It's cathartic. It's fun. Yet a steady blogger will always run the risk of being "discovered."

I know I rant quite a bit about certain events and certain people. What if one of those people just happened to discover this blog? What if Online Guy #1 happened to link to here? Or the Guy? Or worse yet, my mom? The ramifications would be long-reaching, life-altering, and traumatizing.

Okay maybe not that bad. It's not like I'm posting lies. (Just slanted, egregiously biased opinions.) And everyone is entitled to their opinions and feelings.

Yet once in a while, I wonder if one of these people will stumble upon my blog. Even sitemeter won't help you then, as once the discovery is made, knowing what ISP they use or what time they visited your page will do little to alleviate the mortification.

I suppose all of this is a risk that all bloggers must accept. It's worth it...isn't it?

Irony

Someone did a search on msn.com for "japanese horny gal" and clicked onto my blog.

Ironic how my rants come up in the search results for the very things I rant about.

On the wrong team

I was walking down the street the other day when I beheld two guys walking towards my direction. They were handsome. They were athletically built. They were well-dressed.

They were holding hands.

I feel like if I were a gay man, I would be dating a higher caliber of men than I would as a straight woman. Just a thought.

Two out of three ain't bad

So this past weekend, I may have lost a guy but I got a new apartment. I was quick with signing the lease (i.e. I signed it within minutes of viewing the apartment). Twice before I had viewed an apartment I liked, decided to think about it, and came back to sign the lease literally thirty minutes after viewing it ... only to discover the person who saw it right after me signed the lease. This happened with TWO different apartments. So the apartment I saw this weekend may have been a bit pricey, but instead of waiting for the next person to snatch it, I just signed on.

So I got the job, got the apartment, but don't got the man. And I think I'm fine with that.

The End (The long version)

What do you call the straw after the straw that broke the camel's back? Or the nail after the final nail in the coffin? I do not know, but if I did, I'd affix that idiom to the Guy's behavior last night.

The Guy and I had plans to meet at 8 PM last night. We were going to grab dinner, maybe a drink, and then see a comedy show at 10:30 (for which I purchased the tickets). I get dressed up, ready to go, my jacket on and look at the clock. It's 8 PM. I wait. It's 8:10. Then 8:20. 8:30. I'm thinking, Holy shit, am I getting stood up? I start laughing, yes laughing to myself, because I'm wondering, could this get any worse?

(Note to self: Never ask, "Could this get any worse?" because chances are, they can.)

I call the Guy on his cell. He doesn't pick up. I leave a terse message, "Hi, it's me, just wondering where you are. It's about 8:30 and I believe we were supposed to meet at 8. Call me."

At 8:40 PM (forty minutes after we were supposed to meet up), my phone rings. It's the Guy. He says, "Hey, I'm still home. Um, I'm playing my game online and I'm in a tournament, and there are only six people left and I just want to play until I finish. So I don't think I'll make it to dinner, but hopefully I'll make it before the show starts." My jaw drops. I literally have no response. None.

He continues, "And whatever money I win, I'll use it to by you drinks."

Still in shock, I blabber some ineffective responses and we hang up. Not only was he blowing me off for an online game, but he didn't even feel the need to let me know in advance. He was just going to let me wait there until he finished, wait until I call him, wait until he has to return my voicemail message.

Then I start calling my cast of friends, Person A, The Naysayer, friend from school, The Ex. My friend from school is flabbergasted. She tells me, "Tell him don't bother coming down. I'll go with you to the show. And I'd dump him right now."

"What if I get his voicemail?"

"Break up with him over voicemail. That jerk deserves it."

"No I can't dump someone over voicemail. If I get the voicemail, I'll just break plans tonight & tell him to call me back. If he never calls me back, my job's done. If he does, then I'll break up then."

"Whatever you feel comfortable doing."

I call the Guy. He doesn't pick up. I leave my message saying "Forget about tonight. I'll deal with the tickets myself. You have fun playing your game online, and call me when you get a chance. Take care."

He calls me later on. When I pick up, he says "I'm on my way!" I respond, "You know what, don't bother. Forget about it."

He says, "Are you sure? You don't want to go anymore?"

"Yeah, just forget it."

"Oh okay. Well just so you know, I won $700 tonight," he says proudly.

"Okay."

"All right--" he says, using his about-to-get-off-the-phone voice.

"You know what," I say, "I don't think this is working."

"Yeah," he says and as I expected, he continues, "I was thinking the same thing."

"Well that's great we're on the same wavelength," I feign. "That's good we agree."

"I was actually going to talk to you about it tonight but if you want to do it over the phone, okay."

"Oh, was there anything else you wanted to say?"

"No, not really. What about you?"

"No, I think I said what I had to say," I reply.

"Well, okay then, it was fun while it lasted!" he chirps.

"Yeah. It was nice meeting you and hanging out with you. Take care."

"Yeah you too. Maybe I'll see you at a bar some time," he adds.

"Yeah," I fake laugh, "Okay bye."

"Bye."

And that was it. I start making my round of calls again, updating everyone on the story.

Then a strange thing happened: I started crying. Now, why the heck was I crying? First, he was a bad guy that needed to be dumped. Second, I dumped him. Third, I was liberated from the confines of my insecurity and uncertainty! I suppose two months of my life dedicated to one guy may have led me to become emotionally attached, despite his being a jackass. And I suppose it just hurt to be treated so meanly.

Another thing I wonder about that I KNOW is totally moot right now is if he really was going to have "the talk" with me that night, or if he was just saying that. Maybe he was going to dump me. The signs were certainly there. But if he had something on his mind, why didn't he just say it rather than conveying it through passive-aggressive behavior?

Perhaps he's one of those guys who has to act like a total jackass to force the girl to dump him rather than going through the pain of breaking up with the girl (for the lawyers out there, that would be "constructively dumping" me).

Maybe he's utterly clueless. He has no idea he was being a jackass and this is his idea of acceptable normal behavior.

At any rate, the explanations don't justify his behavior. There is the saying, "To understand is to forgive," and I geuinely want to understand. I just can't believe a rational human being can treat another human being that way. It boggles my mind. I suppose there is no point in trying to figure the Guy out at this point.

So that's the end of the Guy. I'll get over it.

Next.

A night out

Incidentally, I did have drinks with the married guy I mentioned in a previous post. We met at a bar, had good conversation & joked around a lot. I was taking pictures of his hand on my cell phone (not his face because he purported to be unphotogenic) so that whenever he called, his picture would show up.

Then he asked if I wanted to grab dinner, and I felt comfortable, so I said sure. The weather that evening was very nice and we end up walking to an Italian restaurant he liked. We had a pretty good dinner with exquisite red wine and good conversation. Nothing sketchy. I did not get any weird/icky vibe from him or anything. He did however mention that his wife was out of town that evening, but made no suggestions related to that fact. When the bill came, I reached for it and he insisted on paying. I said I'd pay for half and he refused to take my money and just put it on his card. He then said I could pay for the cab ride home, which I did.

So in the cab ride, I told him I had a good time and it was fun, and he agreed. Then I was dropped off at my apartment without incident.

Maybe twenty minutes later, my cell phone rings. I look at the phone. I see the picture of his hand. I pick it up, very amused. "Did my sexy hand show up when I called?" he asked. I laughed and said yes. And we chatted a bit as he complained about being hungover already and I said I was still drunk. After a while, we both got tired and ended the conversation.

And that was it. I told another guy friend about this (the toxic guy friend) and he told me the dude was being totally sketchy. I insisted that nothing happened, I didn't feel like I was getting hit on or anything; but my friend insisted it was sketchy.

Perhaps it is ambiguous behavior. But as long as I know in my mind we're nothing more than friends, then I don't foresee any danger.

I am so hot part 2

Perhaps the only thing hotter than having a huge honking zit growing out of one's head is walking around all day oblivious to the fact that a rice crispie is stuck to one's upper lip, a crispie that is not entirely unlike another huge honking zit. None of my coworkers brought this to my attention probably because they mistook it for my third head. Then I happened to visit the restroom and looked in the mirror. Again, I flinched at my reflection.

Being hot is a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it.

(Soon to be) The End

After careful consideration and discussion with a guy friend last night, I've decided to end things with the Guy. We already had plans for tonight, and if it feels right, maybe I'll do it at the end of the date. But I'll probably call him early next week to do it.

It's been about two months, and at this point, I should not be feeling insecure and inadequate. We should be all over each other, not playing mind games or guessing games. My guy friend last night told me that the Guy was being passive-aggressive, playing mind games and is a "loser." Clearly not long-term material. He advised that I dump the Guy ASAP.

I of course tried to rationalize his behavior, saying "Oh he's young" or "Oh he's learning" or "Oh relationships are about compromise and adjusting to each other." He rebutted that indeed, compromise and change are necessary elements in a developing relationship; but everything he had heard thus far indicated that the relationship was driving me crazy and not in a good way. If he's the kind of guy who resorts to passive aggression to solve his relationship problems, who can't be bothered to return a call until several days later ("If a guy likes you, he will drop everything to call you back, not play this 'Oh I'll wait five days before I call her back even' BS after dating you for two months"), who plays internet games while his girl is on the couch, then there are fundamental problems that simply do not align with what I ultimately want in a relationship. Maybe he doesn't like me that much. Maybe I'm being too picky in wanting a guy who wants me. Either way, it ain't working.

After sleeping on it, I woke up this morning feeling as if all of my anxieties were lifted, and I felt so liberated knowing that this thing was ending, that I wouldn't have to worry anymore.

It feels so much better to be single and free than attached and imprisoned.

The only yellow gal

I recently learned that Margaret Cho will be coming to town in several months, and I honestly can't think of one friend who would actually enjoy going to her show with me. This may be due to the facts that I have virtually no Asian friends in town and that the friends I do have aren't raunchy liberals like I am.

Dangit.

Sunday morning

She had woken up an hour ago, but she stayed in bed. It was very warm here. She inched her face forward until it touched an arm and rested her cheek against it. The skin was smooth and soft and warm. Her eyes followed the curve of the arm along the slope of the shoulder up to his face. The eyes were closed, the lips slightly ajar, the breathing barely audible.

She saw his hand resting at his side with the palm side up and fingers curled open, inviting. She reached with her hand and slowly interlaced her fingers with his. This was their most intimate moment, this feigned display of affection. She closed her eyes and imagined they were on the street and he was holding her hand, unashamed, proud, adoring. She'd look up at his face and beam and he'd smile back at her and tell her he loved her.

But here in her room she was enclosed and concealed. It was he. And it was she. There was no "they." "They" did not exist.

Her friends told her he was bad and wrong, that she deserved better. She knew this but she couldn't help it. He was a sweet pain in the back of her throat, a wonderful throbbing ache inside her chest.

Yes there were unreturned phone calls, last minute plans and uncertainty. But all of it became worth it the moment he called her with his smiling voice, that voice that wove explanations and sweet apologies; she welcomed all his lies. And all her frantic phone calls to friends and fears that he would abandon her forever were laid to rest the moment she saw him standing outside her door. Everything became perfect again.

The arm beneath her cheek shifted. The hand uncurled. His breathing changed and she looked up at him expectantly.

"What time is it?" he mumbled. His eyes were still closed.

"Almost eleven," she whispered.

He sat up. "Shit, I've gotta go."

She held onto his hand. "It's Sunday."

"I've gotta go," he repeated. He shook his hand free and got out of bed. "Where are my pants?"

"On the chair I think," she said sitting up, hugging the sheet to herself.

He walked to the chair and started dressing.

She tossed her hair a few times and cleared her throat. "Um, so maybe I'll see you later this week then?" she asked.

"Huh," he said.

"Okay," she murmured. She watched him finish buttoning his shirt and then put on his shoes. First the left foot. Then the right. That's how he always did it.

"All right." He slipped on his jacket. "Bye."

"Bye," she said to his back as he left the room.

She heard the front door open for a second and then shut. And then silence. She remained sitting up, blinking, hoping that maybe he had forgotten his watch or a cufflink like he did occasionally. She waited for the soft knock on her door, the adorable smirk, the kiss on her lips that would never come.

She flopped back into bed. The pillow was cool now. She looked where he had just lain. The sheets still had the hollow of his shape. She slipped into his space, wrapped herself beneath the sheet and closed her eyes.

It was still warm.

Defense mechanisms

Freud delineated several defense mechanisms humans invoke to deal with bad stuff. The most popular is denial or perhaps repression. My defense mechanism of choice is rationalization. I sometimes rationalize things, whether they be good or bad.

Example: Someone gives me props for a job well done.
Me: "Oh no, I hardly did anything. If it weren't for Jane and pure luck, I wouldn't have been able to get this done."

Another example: I get a bad grade on an exam because I suck at the subject.
Me: "I was feeling sick that day, the professor hates me and I didn't even study that much."

Now in the dating context, rationalization is very versatile. Combined with an active imagination, it can do wonders to keep the ego in check or assuage the ego when traumatized.

Example: A guy likes me.
Me: "He is on crack." / "He is drunk." / "He is on crack and is drunk."

Another example: A guy hasn't called me for fifteen days and counting.
Me: "His [insert family member] probably died." / "He is really really busy with work." / "His cell phone is broken or stolen." / "A car hit him on his way to work and he is bleeding on the side of the road with no one to help him." / "He is dead."

Indeed, defense mechanisms are useful things. Unfortunately they can only last for so long. Then we're forced to confront the very thing the mechanism was protecting us from. All of a sudden the amusing one-liners and improbable explanations dissipate; and in their wake they leave behind nothing but pain, pure and raw and unbearable.

I am so hot

I have a huge zit on my face. Not just huge, but enormous. It looks like I have another head growing out of my face. A girl can have the perfect hair day (like I am) and wear a semi-cute outfit (again like I am), but it all becomes negated by a single clogged pore. I didn't realize how heinous this little abomination of nature was until I looked in the mirror after work. I literally flinched at my reflection. Walking down the street, I wonder if people think I am a two-headed girl or if I have two noses. It is seriously that bad.

Yep. I am so hot.

Happy

The skin was thick, she reminded herself. It enclosed both her and an invisible searing pain that boiled just beneath the topmost layer. Most of the time she could ignore it and pretend her skin wasn't a shell. But every so often, the pain would agitate and rise to the surface. She refused to release it. No words, no tears, no frowns. It remained inside of her. She decided to channel it and focus it on her work. It fueled her work ethic like no other chemical stimulant. Sometimes she feared the pain would seep through her lips or eyes, but she kept it all in check. She just had to remind herself, her skin was thick. Very thick.

Stupid

Am completely bummed now because of (I'm embarrassed to say) ... him. How can one other person completely bum out a girl's entire day? I think back to a quote from the show, Sex & the City:

"[T]hey say you're always looking for a job, a boyfriend or an apartment. So let’s say you have two out of three and they’re fabulous. Why do we let the one thing we don’t have affect how we feel about all the things we do have?"

I understand that I'm completely spoiled, that there are people dying in other countries, being abducted as children and/or working as slaves. I understand how stupid I'm being, yet it doesn't make me any more rational. In my self-contained microcosm, I am in a state of utter bummed-out-ness.

Bleh.

Where's the button

I grapple with blogging about every neurotic musing that enters my head. On the one hand, it releases my mind from its burden. It's cathartic to write one's anxiety-inducing thoughts. On the other hand, it is acknowledging the neurotic thought, giving it substance and therefore power. That means the neurosis wins!

So about the Guy. It appears that lately, he is very "lax" about returning calls and making plans in advance. In other words, he hasn't returned my calls for several days, when previously, he always returned my calls and we always made plans for the weekend. Yes it was Easter Sunday so he probably had plans; yet in the past, he always informed me if he was busy that weekend. So part of me worries that Day 4 of him not returning my call is just Day 4 of his descent to the Island of Lost Men. That'll be Ego Blow #892,493,103 (yes I do number them). Another part of me says shut up, get a grip and if it doesn't work out, oh well that was fun while it lasted.

If only I had a button that could control my thoughts and feelings. I suppose if I did, I wouldn't be tragically human.

The uncategorized

One of the perpetual ambiguities of life involves the question "Does he like me just as a friend or more?"

I have male friends. I have female friends. Some male friends I treat like female friends. Some male friends I treat like male friends. And some male friends, I treat like friends who may have ulterior motives. With respect to the last category, I know that some guys maintain friendships with girls with the vain hope that the girl will one day like him back. Similarly, girls maintain friendships with guys with the hope he will like her back.

The last category can sometimes include newer acquaintances, guys who are very friendly but you just can't tell if they're genuinely looking to make new friends, female or male, or if they actually want something more. Of course, I don't want to be one of those girls who flatter themselves, who thinks that any guy who looks her way automatically wants to get into her pants. Sometimes when a guy asks, "Is this seat taken?" he genuinely wants to know if the seat is taken. Nothing more.

A while ago, I met a guy at a networking event. We really clicked and chatted a bit that night. I gave him my card. Towards the end of the night, he wanted to give me a ride home in cab, and after he insisted, I relented. We chatted in the cab ride and he dropped me off without incident. The next day, he emailed me some information about the event. I replied back, and after we emailed back and forth several times, I felt like we were sort of e-flirting.

But maybe I was reading too much into his banter. Maybe he's just a friendly guy. Guys can be friendly, right?

At any rate, I stopped emailing him because I began feeling slightly weirded out, for reasons to be disclosed later.

Two months go by and then he emailed me again out of the blue about some event he thought I might be interested in. I replied back, thanking him, and asked how he was doing. He replied in his friendly manner, and then suggested that we should get a drink or dinner some time. I said sure, why not.

Then I began to wonder about him. Like I said, he could just be a friendly guy. Someone looking to network. Someone looking to make new friends.

The thing that weirds me out is ... he's married. Is it weird to have dinner or drinks with a married man? I really can't articulate a solid reason why not if it's just dinner or drinks. It just seems a bit odd. Is his wife cool with him having drinks or dinner with a single girl? At any rate, I plan on having drinks with him next week. I don't think he's going to try anything.

At least I hope not.

Imperfecting

I confess I am prone to overreacting, whether it be to something slightly good or slightly bad. This of course applies to the dating context, where my tendency to overreact is compounded by my insecurity & neurosis. (Example, my entry from last Friday.) At any rate, I re-realized that at the beginning of every courtship, each individual must adjust and adapt to each other's idiosyncrasies. My last long-term relationship might have ended in 2003, but it began in 2000. So it's been six years since I've been in the beginning of a courtship. I forgot how as the months progress, each person learns the quirks of the other, whether they be endearing or annoying. Some quirks must be accepted as they are; others can be changed.

I don't want to be The Nag, but there are a few things about the Guy that bother me, and I suspect they are a function of his age. For example, we rented a movie the other day. As soon as we sit down on the couch to watch it, he gets up, logs onto his computer, and starts playing internet games. I asked, "Aren't you going to watch the movie with me?" He replied, "I can watch the movie and play the game at the same time." It struck me as odd that he would invite someone over his place, rent a movie, and then leave his guest on the couch to watch the movie alone while he sat at his desk to play internet games. Instead of nagging, I decided to be more diplomatic. I sat on his lap, reverently held his hand, leaned into him and said "I'm kidnapping you to the couch. I want you all to myself," to which he complied.

The Guy's behavior also leads me to believe that he hasn't been in a serious long-term relationship before (I haven't asked yet). There are just some things you learn about women only through experience, real experience, not just fleeting encounters or month-long relationships.

Certainly, I know I have issues of my own (as outlined in the first paragraph). I know I need to get a grip sometimes, avoid overanalyzing trivial things, and stop being so spoiled & bratty, to name a few.

We all have our quirks. After all, nobody's perfect. I suppose relationships are about making sure each of our imperfections line up with the other's imperfections ... perfectly.

Babying the baby

I was sitting on the train after work when in front of me, I beheld a small child straddling his mother's right knee. He was wriggling uncomfortably and wailing intermittently. Then out of nowhere he began bawling and screeching.

I had my usual thoughts of "If only they invented a sound neutralizer" or "Man, I am so not ready to have kids yet." Then I wondered, what would it be like if your sole method of communicating anything to the outside world was crying? You couldn't speak, you couldn't write, and you couldn't understand anything anyone was saying. All you could do to communicate "I'm hungry" or "Change my diaper" was to cry. Otherwise, you'd starve or sit on your soil.

After musing over that sequence of thoughts, I felt more sympathetic for the child, despite the ear-rattling screaming. As babied as they are, babies have it tough.

The wonderfully opaque mind

Ever since I was a little girl, I have often wondered what it would be like if we could read each other's minds. We wouldn't be able to lie anymore. "No you don't look fat in that" would contradict the mind signal indicating "You look like a cow in spandex."

I wonder how this would affect our romantic relationships. Would we still play these mind games? I'm guessing no. Most of the games we play are facades as to what we really feel and what we really want to do. And if we could really read each other's minds, saying "I'll call later this week maybe" would translate to "I really want to call you tomorrow, tonight if I can, because I like you."

But instead of acting in sync with our feelings, we (and that "we" includes me) lie with our actions. Pretend to be only mildly interested. Resist calling two days in a row. Appear to be unavailable.

The Guy just called me back. Today. Friday. The only day I could have hung out with him. How lame is that? Calling a girl to hang out on Friday ... ON FRIDAY. He sounded uneasy on the phone, and I asked what was wrong. He then said he "felt bad" for not returning my call until today and apologized. I asked what happened. He told me he came in late on Wednesday (the day I called) and Thursday he just lounged around doing nothing. (Incidentally guys, "lounging around doing nothing" is the PERFECT excuse for not calling a girl back sooner.) Instead of giving him more shit, I said "Okay. Apology accepted."

Then he asked me what I was doing tonight. I told him I had plans with a girlfriend. I confess I relented to my neediness a bit because then I added "Oh but she flakes out a lot, so if she flakes out, maybe I'll give you a call?" And he gave me this weird-ass response along the lines of sure-but-only-if-you-want-to.

What the F? I know it's probably stupid of me to try to apply reason and logic to every human action. I don't get why he didn't call me until now. I don't get why he thinks he can just call me on Friday and ask me what I'm doing Friday night. I understand he feels "bad" about it. But why do it in the first place? Lame.

At any rate, I kind of hope my girlfriend does NOT flake out so I can demonstrate what happens if you play these stupid mind games.

Slow song syndrome

Feeling semi-dejected (and semi-rejected), I listened to some semi-sad slow songs last night. I told the Naysayer this and he immediately said, "What's with girls getting depressed and playing slow songs?!" The songs included "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac, "With or Without You" by U2, "Alone" by Heart, "All By Myself" by Eric Carmen, "My Favorite Mistake" by Sheryl Crow, you get the idea. As I listed the songs for him, even I started laughing at how ridiculously cliche it all was. I neglected to mention that I had lit a couple candles and was sipping on red wine at the time.

He told me that he has noticed the prevalence of girls playing slow depressing songs when they're bummed out. It didn't make sense to him as to why a girl would subject herself to an even more depressed mood by playing a depressing song. Are girls masochistic?

I thought about it and really couldn't articulate a reason. I guess there's sort of a bittersweet feeling when you're bummed and you're listening to a sad song. It's a welcomed ache. Maybe girls like to share their feelings and it feels good knowing that she isn't the only one feeling the way she does, that knowing someone else--i.e. the singer--feels and understands exactly what she's going through?

He didn't get it. But apparently it's a thing that girls do.

Blogger dream

Last night I had a peculiar dream. I dreamt I met fellow blogger, Cat. How bizarre is that?? We had a sleepover at her place in Canada and her room looked uncannily like the old bedroom I grew up in. She didn't look like the picture on her blog and instead looked like a different cute Asian girl. Then we went to some literary circle where a bunch of people literally sat in a circle on the floor and exchanged pieces of our writing in hopes of selecting a few to publish in a literary magazine. Mine was eliminated because it was "too depressing." Then the dream turned into another dream about an ex.

How weird is that? Okay I guess I have vividly weird dreams. I suppose the literary circle thing stems from our mutual interest in writing.

It also made me wonder how many people actually do meet up through blogger. I'm sure it must happen. I typically think of people meeting up through chatrooms, message boards, or online dating, not blogs. But I suppose in this day and age with the proliferation of blogs, even blogs can add to our virtual connectedness even more.

Neurotic rambling #23,481

Of course the moment I realize I might actually like someone, I start getting insecure and neurotic. So the last time I saw the Guy (Tuesday), I asked him if he wanted to do something later this week. He said sure, call him.

The Naysayer advised that calling the Guy the next day (Wednesday) wouldn't be clingy because we've been in a "thing" for several weeks now (I won't call it a relationship yet). So I call the Guy on Wednesday, get his voicemail and so leave a message to call me back.

He hasn't. It's Thursday evening now. And my cell phone is sitting on my lap, displaying the time instead of the caller ID bearing his name.

I'm pretty sure he likes me. And he is very blunt, so if he had a problem, he would say so. I began extrapolating scenarios as to what might have happened--maybe he didn't get my voicemail, maybe his phone broke, maybe something happened to him. (Yes I know there's a fine line between deeply concerned and deeply disturbed.)

To torture myself more, I went to AskMen.com to peruse articles on what men are supposed to do when courting a gal. The self-named "Doc Love" tells guys to be a "Challenge" to women.

One guy asked Doc Love how to deal with this chick he had been dating for several weeks. At one point, the girl had called him and left a message. He "stayed cool and didn't call her back." And after FOUR days of him not returning her voicemail message, she called him again.

Dude--why would a guy wait at least FOUR days before returning a girl's call after already dating for several weeks? Doc Love says that "You've got to learn to become more mysterious and less available.... In love, you do not get what you deserve, but what you negotiate." And at the end of his response, Doc Love adds his coy one-liner: "Remember, guys, you gotta keep 'em guessing."

That is, play games. Be elusive. Torture the girl.

That's just great. I love games, especially as they pertain to my ego and heart. Well I can take solace in the fact that if I never hear from the Guy ever again, at least I wasn't that attached. (Right.)

Like like

Okay, so I think I might actually like the Guy (in case this was news to anyone).

The things that used to annoy me about him are starting to become endearing. I stopped wracking my brain as to whether there's long-term potential and am allowing myself to enjoy the present. I feel comfortable when I'm with him. And I'm beginning to trust him. It's also promising that he's introduced me to a couple of his brothers and that he mentioned me to his college friends.

And not to sound totally corny, but I hear those slow songs on the radio, and the words are starting to make sense to me.

(Okay I'm embarrassed I just typed that.)

Anyways, I really think I might like him. And I will not let the cynical side of me get the best of me.

Not a metaphor

I get a little weird when it comes to my apartment. I never let anyone in. Boys, girls, friends, boyfriends, no matter the city, no matter the apartment. I suppose it's because I'm not the neatest person, and I don't invest in nice furniture because I always know I'm going to move. So to avoid judgment and ridicule, I never invite anyone to my apartment unless I'm very very comfortable with them.

The Guy and I had been dating for several weeks and I had yet to invite him up to my place. By no means was this out of coyness or propriety, as I've been over his place a number of times. I was simply self-conscious of my modest abode. So it became a running joke with the Guy as to what I was hiding in my apartment, how many dead bodies were in my closet, etc. Yesterday, after settling our plans for our date, the Guy said "And afterwards, we're stopping by your place." Instead of arguing, I tacitly acquiesced. I suppose I was ready.

After our date that night, we started walking over to my place. I began warning him how old my building was, how small my place was, how I had no real furniture, how I cooked earlier so it might smell, and so on. He seemed to take it in stride. We walked into my building, into the hallway, up to my apartment door. As we stood outside my door, I inserted the key into my lock but then hesitated.

"Can't you just wait out here?" I asked nonsensically.

"What?" he said.

"Nevermind."

With that, I unlocked the lock, opened the door and let the Guy into my apartment.

He entered and looked around. I watched him nervously and said "This is it."

He turned to me. "What the heck were you worried about?"

"Well it's small and barely furnished and--"

"It's fine," he said.

"Really?"

"Seriously, I have no idea what you're so embarrassed about. You have everything you need right here."

"Oh," I said. I stood there searching his face for signs of him thinking otherwise. There were none.

"It's fine," he repeated. "It's fine just as it is."

Weekend of movies

This weekend I went to the Wisconsin Film Festival where I watched four different "films." I put "films" in quotes because one of the films, "Asian American Screen Test," comprised of short films. It's amazing how similar one Asian American's experience can be to that of others. It's an indescribable feeling knowing you're not the only one thinking these thoughts. Misery loves company I suppose.

One of the shorts I liked, "My German Boyfriend," was told from the point of view of a gay Chinese Canadian who invented these fantasies about having the perfect German boyfriend. Then he travels to Germany and goes on dates with a few different guys. It turns out that the German men not only failed to fulfill his fantasies, but each had their fantasies of the perfect Asian boyfriend. Comedy, drama & romance ensues.

Another film, "3 Meals," depicted a Singaporean single woman who goes on dates with an Asian guy and then a white guy. Of course both characters were caricatures in their own ways. On one date, the Asian guy talked about himself the whole time, ate his food very loudly, bragged nonstop about how much money he made and how much more he was going to make. On the other date, the white guy tentatively poked at the meal the girl cooked for him, asked what it was, picked up a piece of fish with his chopsticks and barely ate a fiber of it as if fearing it would kill him. They end up ordering pizza. I honestly can say I've been on nearly identical dates with both of these characters.

The other films, in the "Asian American Screen Test" and in the film festival, were great overall. I often wonder why quality films that become labeled "independent films" never get the publicity they so deserve, while these big-budget low-quality films get all the hype. I suppose as long as good movies continue to be made, I'll be good to go.

Attention: The Man

I do hope, with all due respect and honor, that you underestimate me. After all, I am the petite Asian girl who looks so foreign and strange in the pin-striped suit instead of my traditional kimono. You see me in a conference room, so small in the black leather chair, my black hair tied back in a neat bun and wonder how thick my oriental accent will be when I open my lips, if I dare open my lips in front of men. I will bow my head, giggle softly beneath my right hand at all the jokes that I will not understand. You think anything you try to pull will go unnoticed, because I shall not question your righteousness or superiority. If I dare speak up, I will cower at your response and apologize profusely while bowing on my knees at your Prada loafers. Look at me in that room triumphantly. Believe that I am weak. Believe that I don't belong. Believe that you will win.

Please underestimate me. I desire it. For the moment you do, I will place my cup of green tea down on the marble table, walk up to you, bow slightly and then numb your chucks with my numchucks. And when you're on the floor doubled over in pain wondering what just hit you, I will sit back in my black leather chair and resume delicately sipping my green tea.