Red shoe craves:

Bebe Liza Platform pump


$149 at bebe.com

Jessica Simpson Taneala




$89.99 at heels.com

Bebe Bailey


$119 at bebe.com

I have a new blog!

Will Sing For Shoes

my windfall philosophy

I always tell Patrick:

If we win the lottery we have two choices:
live rich, and have to work the rest of our lives or

quit our jobs, live normal, comfortable lives and
never have to work.

how come no one ever told me

that manugang means daughter- or son-in-law?

I've been using it to refer to my in-laws forever!

the correct word is biyenan.

Syet.

foundering again. Just one of those days, I guess. I need sleep. And a compass.

How to Not Cook

I've been having some powerful food cravings lately, which I think are the result of months of subsisting on ready-made food. But since said subsistence also ingrains a powerful need to make do with as little effort as possible, I've found ways to feed my cravings without actually cooking. Here are the results:

Elote

1 can Green Giant Mexicorn, or simply canned corn
fat-free cottage cheese
mayonnaise
ground cayenne pepper
salt
pepper

When I want Mexican-style street corn I drain a can of Mexicorn and add in the remaining ingredients listed above, to taste.

~*~*~*

Gooey Bites

1 Snickers bar
nutella spread

Cut a Snickers bar into four. Coat each piece with nutella spread. Die a sticky, chocolatey death.

~*~*~*

Fake Japanese

cooked rice
1 can tuna, drained
wasabi paste
lite soy sauce

Patrick actually came up with this. You heat the rice then mix in the tuna. In a separate bowl combine wasabi paste and soy sauce to taste. Add to tuna-rice mixture.

I know, I'm semi-homemade- and ghetto-fabulous.

Happy New Year!

I know, I'm late. Even for Chinese New Year.

Been mulling over firing up this old thing again. Also considering dusting off my Tagalog and creating another mirror blog, in the mother tongue this time, with help from Google Translate. They simplify my process, I turn in my edits to improve their translation database, and everyone wins.

I'm 30 now. And I Twitter now. Other than that, nothing new to report, really.

~*~*~*

Would it be tacky to wear these shoes for July 4th? I wanted them for Obama's Inauguration, but thought of it too late.


Pleaser Electra

$53.97 at Summit Fashions, from $90.99

The search for red tartan plaid heels

On Black Friday I glimpsed pointy shoes and bright red plaid, but before I could inquire as to their provenance they vanished in the throng of deal-hungry shoppers. I'm not sure, but they might have been these:



Sugar Fergie Flat
$25.30(53% off - was $54.00) at 6pm.com

And so it is that in the spirit of the Christmas season I find myself looking for red tartan plaid high-heeled shoes that speak to me.

These are my ideal plaid shoe, but I can't find them anywhere:

Sam Edelman Lady Red Plaid Pump with Bow
$34.98 before it was out of stock at SmartBargains.com

~*~*~*


And so I'm stuck with fetish footwear like:







Pleaser red plaid mary jane
$34.99 from $50.74
You Save: $15.75 (31%)
From seller Costume Alibi via Amazon.com

or, God forbid, these numbers




Lucious red plaid and lucite 6" sandals
$53 from $82.15 (35% off)
Pinupshoes.com

~*~*~*

Even though the rugged materials are an incongruous combination with that height of heel, I do rather like the look of these:




KORS MICHAEL KORS Women's Stream
$295.00 With Free Shipping
Shoes.com

I wonder then if I shouldn't throw all regard for style to the winds and get these:




Sugar Women's Rockband Grande
$90.00 With Free Shipping
Shoes.com

living as if

Wasn't that my blog title at one point?

~*~*~*

"The thing is to Live As If. Live As If you were truly free. Live As If you were surrounded by intelligent, capable people. Live As If your decisions mattered in the general scheme of things. Live As If art, literature, music, the cinema really mattered. Live As If other people were just like you. I don’t mean you should tiptoe through the tulips and delude yourself that everything is wonderful. I mean you must resist. I mean you must not let idiots dictate how you live your life. Stupidity is a given; do not hold yourself back because you think you’re surrounded by it. Do not give in to the tyranny of surveys, trends, and conventional wisdom. You are the product of millions of years of evolution. Organisms mutated, survived, adapted over eons, against huge odds, so that you can be what you are now. Honor your species."

Jessica Zafra
Jessica Rules the Universe

The new guy

I hired a new personal trainer. His name is Tim, and my confidence in him was bolstered throughout our first session by the number of his coworkers who told me how great he is, how lucky I am to be working with him, and that I'll reach my fitness goals in no time. I've already lost two pounds and one inch of my waistline, and it's only been a week.

My lifestyle changes include:

a tall glass of water first thing in the morning;
a breakfast of old-fashioned oatmeal sweetened with a half-serving of dried berries (blueberries, cranberries or raisins);
a half a peanut butter sandwich with my morning coffee, instead of the usual Texas-size muffin, frosted cinnamon roll or Hostess cupcakes;
low-sodium v8 and a reduced-fat cheese stick for my second snack;
improved posture, to work my abs and back throughout the day;
Watching portion sizes;

I'm supposed to be avoiding carbs after 6 pm, but as long as I see progress I think I'll continue eating a normal dinner.

Have I mentioned how much I *love* Netflix?

I got this in my Inbox today:

Dear Farah,

It appears that you accidently returned one of your personal DVDs or CDs in a Netflix envelope. Rest assured, we will send your disc right back to you.
If you haven't already sent back the Netflix movie you intended to return, please include it with your next return along with a note including your name and email address so we can match the movie to your account.

-The Netflix Team

I am mortified. Yes, these things do happen. But still.

It never ceases to amaze me that the Netflix service is so prompt, courteous and professional. In the four years that I've been a subscriber, I've found them to be hands-down the best DVD source anywhere: great selection, user-friendly interface, convenience.

Yes, I'm a heavy user whose usage is throttled, and some titles it seems have been on my queue forever. True too that if you don't time your returns just right you'll have to wait a while to get the new releases. But my experiences with the company when it comes to disc problems (delays, damages, missing discs, or my newest one above) have only reinforced my positive opinion of them.

500

So I write. Much as I would like to write beautiful, longhand poetry, my penmanship is so far from legible these days that all my morning pages are simply a waste of time and ink. I cannot reread them.

I should have ordered a burrito. I went crazy with the ordering at Aló yesterday, with Patrick not being there, and completely forgot that Hazel's friend Eric had mentioned wanting a burrito. I write. I hope he had fun; he seems like a cool guy.

At 22, they feel old, not having accomplished all they set out to do. Additionally, they feel it's too soon to even think about getting married or having kids; they want to have accomplished careers first.

And all Patrick and I can do is feel sad and frustrated about our own station: not having careers or kids or even just jobs we really really enjoy and find meaningful.

Today was a bad day in meltdown city.

I asked so many people for help, and no one could or wanted to. And even when I no longer expected assistance, apparently asking that people just stay out of my way is too much to ask.

"You look so tired, haha."

Surprisingly, today was a good workout day. I left the gym refreshed and invigorated, a post-workout feeling I haven't felt in a while. It was my first day back in a week and a half. Since then I've helped out at another store; looked up a friend's concert vid on Youtube; made a Chicagoan(?)-approved Italian beef sandwich, for the first time ever; seen "The Dark Knight"; been offered a travel/service job at $19-an-hour; and been hit on by a strange customer who, upon learning I'm married, replied "Well then, I won't waste any more of your time." and spent the next half-hour helping the brunette Nabisco vendor stock cookies.

Krispy Kreme is making grass flip-flops. I don't know why. I think dSquared's lightning-bolt stilettos are wicked sexy. I'm about the infuse some red into my hair, with the help of L'Oreal Color Pulse in, um, Red Pulse.



Shoe links snagged from Shoewawa.

sunday morning.

Patrick and I are taking a Japanese class. Bukambibig ko 'to lately, probably because we're having so much fun. Instead of learning it all in romaji, we are studying vocabulary as well as the Japanese writing system. It feels odd, having to learn to speak and read and write all over again.

After each class I find myself craving a cheeseburger and fries. Something about the way Japanese rolls off the tongue, I guess. I'm not alone anyway: McDonald's is huge in Japan.

Some tree with dusky pink flowers is in bloom right now, and the heady sticky-sweet fragrance hangs in the air as Cocoa and I walk about the apartment complex. A turkey-size grey tabby stalked us.

We might do brunch today at either the Original Pancake House or The Purple Cow, and afterwards I'd like to check out GameWyze.

Post-independence day summation

The other party paid the $1100 in repairs. I made picadillo this week, for the first time in at least a year. We didn't do anything for July 4th besides bathe Cocoa. I want shoes. And a Blackberry Pearl and red hair and maybe green eyes, but only if they're a watery emerald green. But back to the shoes:

~*~*~*
Fendi satin bow-front pumps
$655 at Neiman Marcus



~*~*~*
Jimmy Choo Metallic T-Strap Heel
$595 at Bergdorf's





Wicked. Fierce.

~*~*~*

Ralph Lauren Collection Satin Slides
$198.03 from $425 at Saks

THE MERCEDES WAS HIT AGAIN !)(@##$%)(*$

WTF.

Some Indian lady let go of her shopping cart as Patrick was parking in the lot of my Wal-Mart. According to her, it's not her fault, it's ours for being parked there, and the cart's for rolling two slots down.

The Mercedes was hit. Yet again.

Somebody hit the front passenger side corner while the car was parked outside Patrick's office.

What are the odds of that happening? Three accidents, two of which while the car was parked. Alanis' "Ironic" comes to mind, however questionable the title. There's just no song that I know of that goes "Get nice things/ People shit all over them/ That just sucks".

~*~*~*

My younger sister-in-law seems to have caught whatever it was that I had. We celebrated Dean's birthday at our usual Chinese buffet this past Friday, and said SIL came up to her hubby and said "Hi, handsome", to which he replied coldly "I'm married." She was so hoarse he didn't recognize her voice, and thought that another guy was hitting on him.

I've been sick since Thursday night.

I called in on Friday morning with a bad case of sore throat, and again today. I have to go back to work tomorrow. I don't know if I'm up to it. I've pretty much done nothing but sleep, blow my nose, and take various sore throat remedies (lozenges, tea, lemonade) these past four days. I got up at 6:30, took a shower and got the mail, and I'm already anxious to climb back into bed.

Sometimes I find myself crying over stupid things, and (half-hoping) wonder if I might be pregnant. I never am. Maybe i'm just imbalanced. It's one of those days again. Nothng particularly earthshaking today, and yet here I am again in the pit where hope never shines, where things will never get better and nothing is ever gonna change and if I weren't so afraid of pain or making a mistake, if all I had to do was agree and get it over with, then I would simply say "Yes".

It's not all that bad, I know. But at times like these i KNOW: it's never gonna get much better.

I wonder why living is so difficult for me. Maybe I'm not meant to. Maybe because as a writer, like it or not, whether or not I do any actual writing, I end up living it all twice or thrice or multiples thereof. Maybe I need religion. Or someone who actually needs me, instead of the adults in my life for whom I might be useful or helpful or amusing but never a life-maker or -saver. Maybe a job that makes a difference. I don't know.

I liked Steve Martin's description of Mirabelle in his novella "Shopgirl", though I cannot remember his exact words...something about selling things no one buys anymore. It reminds me that I'd like a fairytale wedding with opera-length gloves and a Cinderella ballroom gown. And then I begin to think about how Patrick wants a sunset wedding, barefoot at the beach, and I begin to wonder how well we really know each other, if we're suited at all.

I got slapped with "Farah, you need to do some crunches or situps or something." at work today. Not as part of casual banter or even bored conversation. Just a slap-and-run, no hi-hello-how-are-you.

The Body Electric

I was born of the energies that swim this universe, deciding one day that a whirl as a glob of cells, fluids and hormones might provide insight. I arrived at this place a screaming, squirming organism, and promptly forgot my mission.

I am relearning and reconciling myself with what I was. I am a watcher, and observer, I know. Yet I forget I no longer possess infinity -- not right now, anyway. Time has essence, in this place. It is no easy balancing act, living and observing, with this biological clock ticking away at this hot mess of glands and organs, neurochemicals and enzymes, social interactions and emotional responses.

I pass this way but once. I must. not. forget. I am not merely serving time here; reunion will be at the end of a fruitful, meaningful life. I am meant to live. I must not forget.

Metallica fan?

Check out the Bonnaroo Music + Arts Festical gydget I've just added. Include it on your own page and you just might win VIP tickets!

Recently viewed:

Dan in Real Life

I liked the shower scene best.

Tyler Perry's Why Did I Get Married.

This movie touched me so much...when Gavin finally broke through Patricia's denial...when Sheila asked that the sheriff pray with her after their first kiss...when Terry admits that his secretary isn't pregnant with twins...when Sheila describes her emotional journey...

handy girl

This past week I'd grown tired of asking Patrick that we stop by Home Depot for a part to fix the toilet with. Yesterday I bought what apparently is called a flapper, and this morning I installed it. I'm so proud of myself.

~*~*~*

Saw August Rush last night, and -- being a music girl -- wanted to like it more than I actually did. The movie asks you to suspend so much disbelief and the plot twist are so contrived I was squirming in my seat egging the main characters to look around, to figure it out. The ending wasn't so much an uplift as merely a relief.

~*~*~*

Just finished Lipstick Mafia 103. All affairs are the same: Kirby and Nico, Carrie and Big...how quickly they go from steamy to seedy. I hate the harassment twist, and though I'd love to love Brooke Shields as Wendy, she's unbelievably tentative and annoying.

Some days there's just no getting comfortable in your own skin,
no deadline is passing that can simply be slept away,
and there aren't enough chocolates
or roses
or shoes
or teddy bears
to make it all better.

~*~*~*

I've just finished watching "The Breakup".

What happened here? What went on? I don't know, not really. He's being himself, and she was being a girl, trying to put him through loops to guide him to realize the "want to want to change". Who is this guy, who lead such a charmed life that he never has to do anything he doesn't want to do, and everyone loves him? He's a jackass through the 80% or so of the movie. What is his appeal, or her major malfunction (sorry -- Vincent D'Onofrio's in the movie and I couldn't resist) that she is so anxious to get him to appreciate her that she breaks up with him and arranges a slew of dates to make him jealous? And why in the twisted minds of women does this seem like a solution?

I've been watching more movies than might be considered healthy.

At least one a day.

It's Not Such a Wonderful Life: "The Butterfly Effect"
Though the ending to the theatrical version was sweeter, I think the director's cut was more fitting: it tied up all the loose ends, made sense of both the fortune teller's words and the protagonist's effects on his loved ones' lives. Interestingly, the movie became an antithesis to "It's a Wonderful Life".

"No Reservations"
Reactions to this movie have commented on the lack of chemistry amongst the players: the man, the woman, the child... I thought Catherine Zeta-Jones nailed the character of the brilliant perfectionist chef. If she's unemotional it's because she doesn't know how to be, that she found too long ago that the path to success in a man's world necessitated subsuming all else that she might be towards her work. She thawed out of course, in a "Philadelphia Story" kind of way.

"Labyrinth"
Though still a charming kids' movie, I am sad to report that "Labyrinth" does not wear its age well. The Muppeteering and musical numbers that seemed magical in their time are simply dated.

i'm so frustrated right now.

my car's all banged up. The fact that I haven't really been driving it is beside the point.

A few months back we got into a little fender-bender with a lady who ran her red stop sign, had an infant in the back seat, and didn't have current insurance. We never got the bumper and other damage fixed, because we're perennially broke and she skipped town.

Now someone else has backed into the car, and there's damage to the passenger-side door and a different fender. I want to cry. I was watching "Snow Buddies" when I got the call, but even adorable cinematic puppies can only do so much.

An Uncharacteristic Green Note

Check out how long each of these products take to decompose in the environment…

Banana Peel: 3-4 weeks
Paper Bag: 1 month
Cotton Rag: 5 months
Wool Sock : 1 year
Lumber : 10-15 years
Tinned Steel Can: 80-100 years
Aluminum Can : 200-500 years (But if recycled, it can be reused within 6 weeks!)
Disposable Diapers: 500-600 years
Plastic Bags : 1 million years
Glass : Unknown
Styrofoam: Eternity

Knowing this, I was surprised to have a friend point out the friendly little recyclable logo on the bottom of a Styrofoam plate. But recycling centers for polystyrene plastics such as Styrofoam and Thermocol are not common.

The truth is, if you aren't sorting your trash and shipping off your recyclables to recycling centers, then recyclability and the decomposition rates posted above do not apply. Your garbage is going to a landfill somewhere, where biodegradation slows to a snail's pace, if it occurs at all. I'm sure you've heard about the 20-year-old newspapers, excavated from a landfill, that were still legible.

What's the holdup? Well, for one thing safety and economy trump decomposition rates in landfill construction, and for another, the presence of recyclables slows the biodegradation process. National Geographic estimates that U.S. landfills consist of 40% to 50% paper waste, 20% to 30% construction debris, and 1.2% disposable diapers.

So please,

Reduce,
Reuse,
Recycle.

today i

bought myself my Valentine's Day at half-off: Dove chocolates, a pink plush throw, and an impossibly cute red teddy bear hugging a heart-shaped pillow imploring, "Be Mine". There were no Pot of Gold boxes to be had. My new plushie's name is Elvis.

watched and enjoyed "No Reservations" because it had cooking and food and Catherine Zeta-Jones and was vague and pensive and somehow detached, like my mood of late.

Happy Valentine's Day!

I wore my red satin Nicole Millers today, in celebration of the holiday. Here are other red high heels you could have been strutting around in today:

Guess? Arabella
$40 from $79.99



~*~*~*

Jessica Simpson Justine
$88.95 at Nordstrom
























~*~*~*

Vince Camuto Lottie

$119.95 at Nordstrom

~*~*~*

Linea Paolo Babe

~*~*~*

The Highest Heel Hottie

$54.95 at Zappos

Payless Wishlist 020508

One thing I don't do often enough is visit the Payless website. The array of designers and reasonable prices are the attraction, and the quick turnover of styles assures you that everyone and their dog won't be sporting your cute and affordable new kicks.

Abaeté for Payless Bayley d'Orsay Pump

$35 originally, now just $15 on sale.


~*~*~

Abaete for Payless Harlow Pump, $30


~*~*~*

Abaeté for Payless Kaye Pleated Boot
$48 originally, on sale for $24.


~*~*~*

Lindy Patent Peep-Toe Pump
$19.99 originally, on sale for $15.99


~*~*~*

Love Peep-Toe, $39.99


~*~*~*

Patricia Field Sushi Platform Boot
$25 from $55


~*~*~*

Patricia Field for Payless Tempura Platform Sandal
$18 from $40

martian sunset

The sky casts an eerie, alien glow today, red-orange and unfamiliar. The rainstorm seemed violent this morning around 4, fat raindrops drumming on the roof and thunder clashing dramatically. Somewhere in a neighboring county a sleepy father threw aside the comforter and let his terrified sons crawl under the covers.

We saw a faint rainbow on the way from work today, little more than a multicolored vertical slice.

I enjoy the rain, in a vicarious sort of way. It feels like heaven is crying for me.

Miracle

Paramore
Riot!

I've gone for too long living like I'm not alive
So I'm gonna start over tonight, beginning with you and I
When this memory fades
I'm gonna make sure it's replaced
With chances taken, hope embraced
And have I told you...

I'm not going
Cause I've been waiting for a miracle
And I'm not leaving
I won't let you
Let you give up on a miracle
When it might save you

We've learned to run from anything uncomfortable
We've tied our pain below
And no one ever has to know
That inside we're broken
I tried to patch things up again
So count my tears and kill these fears
But have I told you? Have I?

I'm not going
Cause I've been waiting for a miracle
And I'm not leaving
I won't let you
Let you give up on a miracle
Cause it might save you

It's not faith if, if you use your eyes
Oh, I will get it right this time (this time)
Let's leave this all behind
Oh, I will get it right this time
It's not faith if you're using your eyes
Oh, I...

I've gone for too long living like I'm not alive
So I'm gonna start over tonight, beginning with you and I
Don't want to run from anything uncomfortable
I just want
No, I just need this pain to end right here

I'm not going
Cause I've been waiting for a miracle
And I'm not leaving
I won't let you
Let you give up on a miracle
Cause it might save you
Yeah, it might save you
Oh, it might save you

It's not faith if
If you use your eyes
If you use your eyes
If you use your eyes

fingers clawing uselessly at the insides of your skull
self as jailer and prison
fighting panic amid the growing whispers
no one sees or hears or knows
quiet desperation

New Year's Eve, '07

My attempts at Cathedral Windows have yielded a disastrous pink gloop, inspiring Farah's First Law of Holiday Cooking: No recipe shall be prepared for a social occasion without having been tested prior to the day itself.

I'm running on just four hours of sleep. I'm tired and frazzled and not entirely here. My neural connections are misfiring. I said "dived" to a coworker who just might be becoming a friend, one who I would have liked to have think of me as intelligent and articulate and all that jazz but today I blurted that "I dived into the deep end of the pool..." and didn't even realize there was anything wrong with that. Blearrgghhh.

I'm taking a nap.

Real World

Matchbox Twenty
Yourself or Someone Like You

Well I wonder what it's like to be the rainmaker
I wonder what it's like to know that I made the rain
I'd store it in boxes with little yellow tags on everyone
And you can come and see them when I'm...done, when I'm done

I wonder what its like to be a super hero
I wonder where Id go if I could fly around downtown, yeah
From some other planet, I get this funky high on yellow sun
Boy I bet my friends will all be stunned, they re stunned, (yeah, yeah)

Chorus:
Straight up, what did you hope to learn about here
If I were someone else, would this all fall apart
Strange, where were you, when we started this gig,
I wish the real world, would just stop hassling me

And you
And you
And me

I wonder what it's like to be the head honcho
I wonder what I'd do if they all did just what I said
Well I'd shout out an order, I think were out of this man get me some
Boy don't make me wanna change my tone, my tone (yeah, yeah)

(chorus)

Please don't change, please don't break
Well the only thing that seems to work at all is you
Please don't change, at all from me
To you, and you to me (Yeah, yeah)

(chorus)

Well I wonder what it's like to be the rainmaker
I wonder what it's like to know that I made the rain
I'd store it in boxes with little yellow tags on everyone
And you can come and see them when I'm...done, when I'm done

I wonder what its like to be a super hero
I wonder where Id go if I could fly around downtown, yeah
From some other planet, I get this funky high on yellow sun
Boy I bet my friends will all be stunned, they re stunned, (yeah, yeah)

Chorus:
Straight up, what did you hope to learn about here
If I were someone else, would this all fall apart
Strange, where were you, when we started this gig,
I wish the real world, would just stop hassling me

And you
And you
And me

I wonder what it's like to be the head honcho
I wonder what I'd do if they all did just what I said
Well I'd shout out an order, I think were out of this man get me some
Boy don't make me wanna change my tone, my tone (yeah, yeah)

(Chorus)

Please don't change, please don't break
Well the only thing that seems to work at all is you
Please don't change, at all from me
To you, and you to me (Yeah, yeah)

(Chorus)

For some of us, there is a solitary path, assigned at birth. We live our childhood in books, our adolescence in film, and arrive at adulthood by chance, not seasoned or steeped in reality as our contemporaries, merely having reached the age to stand alongside them. We live in dreams.

We will never truly connect to others, not in the usual way. Yet we long to, for we are only human. And so we turn to the canvas, the blank page, the keyboard, the unmolded clay, and begin our work.

dumdum and dumber

A coworker for whom I have no respect called me an idiot today, though I know her IQ is two-thirds or less mine, and maybe even as little as half, the incident still rankles. What the hell am I doing, going on my seventh year as an hourly Wal-Mart associate, having my intelligence questioned by people who never finished high school or learned the proper spelling (never mind management) of the departments they've "managed" for years?

And why, after all these years, did I never learn to debate, to argue, to muster up sassy comebacks?

Above is a picture of a woman named Sarah, who died on one of the happiest days of her life.
Killer Wave Sweeps Away Wife

~*~*~*

If I were truly honest, I would say that most of the time, most days, I feel sad, dejected, depressed. My life, such as it is, is unimportant, forgettable, disposable, deniable. If I were gone tomorrow, people might feel sad in a "She was only 28, she had her whole life ahead of her" sort of way, and a handful who actually knew me might miss me for a while, but they'd get over it.

I am an ant. I have made no difference. If I died tomorrow they'd promote someone else to Department Manager, Patrick would move out and someone else would live in this apartment, Cocoa might mope for a few days, but then she'd be fine. None of it matters. At all.

I'm not trying to hurt myself. But if someone pushed me out the door of a speeding car and into oncoming traffic, and oblivion followed, I wouldn't particularly mind.

It's funny, the nature of fear. I left the church a long time ago, but sometimes I wonder if there is a hell and if I'm going to burn in it. Most days I don't believe it, but with my luck the afterlife will be something like that movie, "Defending Your Life," and I'll be stuck with having to justify a dispensable, indefensible life.

I don't know where I'm going with this. I guess I'm tired of limping along, and no one can or should help with this anyway. Patrick's known for a while that I'm depressed but yesterday in the car I said something that I guess overstepped the line for him. So I'm packing it away again, putting on a big smile and swallowing the bitterness down whole. Most of it is just poor self-care anyway. So I've resolved to eat salads for lunch, sleep 8 hours each night, and work out at least thrice weekly. We'll see how I feel after three weeks of this.

Home sick.

I sit at my cluttered computer desk and munch on what has become my weekend breakfast of choice: orange marmalade generously slathered onto two slices of buttered cinnamon-raisin toast. I'm back to drinking green tea, this time from my black new mug, a capacious ceramic piece that goes for just a buck at any Wal-Mart.

I slept through most of yesterday, missing out on a Six Flags trip and a backyard barbecue. It was just one of those days when I wish I could curl up inside the womb, rocking in the roiling tides, comforted by the beating of my heart.

We finally ventured out just before six, to return library items and check out new ones. I had that strange overly sensitive feeling one gets when feverish: my clothes felt too rough and restrictive, and the lightest breeze gave me chills.

Patrick and I got haircuts, too: him because he needs one, me because he's been telling me for the longest time that I do too. I'm indifferent, for once. He tells me now that it looks the same; I basically just got my layered cut a long-overdue trim. The lady hairdresser told me I'm pretty and Patrick's sooo nice, that I'm lucky that he's neat and that we don't have kids yet, because as they grow problems grow with them.

I'm done dreaming. I don't know what to wish for anymore.

His name is Kyle.

My Music Monkey, that is.

Though I live for Ugly Betty, life cruelly and indifferently goes on. It's all senseless and meaningless, and no one has time anymore, everyone's oh-so-nice and well-meaning, but they're all just so busy. And still someone asked me to smile, because when I smile it means it can't be all that bad. And to think, he's not even a friend.

That's not the first time I've gotten that either. What the hell is wrong with people. Ano ba 'ko - aliw?

Hi-hello-howareyous and i'm-fine-thank-yous, but if I keeled over tomorrow you might be sad for a little while but you'd get over it. Everybody would.

I just want to stay home and nibble at frozen strawberries and watch my Netflix DVDs. I wish the world would just go away.

Currently...

Still depressed.

Watching: Jeff Dunham's Arguing With Myself and Spark of Insanity; Ugly Betty.

Listening to: Sara Bareilles, Josef, Bryan Adams, plus the usual: Nickelback, Daughtry, Matchbox Twenty.

Excited about: (or, as much as you can be when the overriding feeling is still detached, depressed, hopeless)
Elizabeth: The Golden Age; Exile on Mainstream; the next Ugly Betty disk from Netflix.

Wanting:













a Matchbox Twenty USB wristband of their album, even though I don't need it;















a Rob Thomas tee, which I may just get away with wearing at work;

This house, even though it's been ebby.com forever and the price keeps going up;

A limited edition Lagerfeld Steinway grand

~*~*~*

Been asked what's wrong, why I'm not "the usual happy Farah". What the fuck. What makes people think I'm happy? What makes them think they know me at all? They think because they see me every day, and I'm singing, that it's all sunshine and good cheer. I'm short with customers and coworkers both. It's all I can do not to cuss anybody out. I really don't want to be anywhere but at home.

135 lbs, a light weight attributable to lost muscle mass. Haven't been back to the gym since weeks before Inventory. My clothes are just as snug and I'm tired and achy all the time.

I made arroz caldo tonight, the first time in a long time. Yesterday it was Manwiches, which it's true are not like my sloppy joes. Not better or worse, just different. And easier.


On a friend's recommendation I got an adorable iFlops Monkey to replace my speakers at work. I haven't decided on a name yet.













I want new shoes, red ones. None have really grabbed me yet, though. I don't know if I want to dress up for Halloween this year.

I was surfing ToysRus.com and found this pic.

B-Daman Battle Basic Figure: Wing Ninjaby:

Yeah, okay. So my mind is in the gutter. I get that. But really now.

The housewarming went better than I expected.

Most people treated it as a cookout, and there were only a handful of gifts, but everyone did bring food. Though there had been some guest list concerns early on, the final mix turned out just fine.

I got to meet Faith's kids Chad and Diaz for the first time. Imagine if you will a chest-high 3-year-old and a waist-high 2-year-old. Chad is a handful, and little sister Diaz is, as she declared when she approached me, "a princess". Apparently she'd decided I was her throne for the evening, and squatted in my lap to draw and watch people, when she wasn't styling my hair or asking to be flipped or spun.

~*~*~*

We returned Amy the chow chow to her owner last week. Apparently her real name is Onyx, she's 13 years old, and had wandered from housing community across the street and into our apartment complex. I do miss her, even though she was temperamental and didn't get along with Cocoa.

~*~*~*

We picked up the Legendary edition of Halo 3 at Best Buy on Friday even though we don't have an XBox 360. Dean does, and we thought we'd be able to play the much-vaunted 4-plyear co-op. As it turns out, you need 2 XBoxes and Xbox Live or System Link for 4-player Campaign mode. Patrick of course will be Master Chief, Dean I suppose will want to be the arbiter, which gives me a choice between the two new Elites. Around Thanksgiving, when Patrick and I can comfortably afford to buy a 360 of our own. The graphics are amazing though, and the story and gameplay as entertaining as one would expect - if not more so.















Pic snagged from the Bungie forums.

~*~*~*

I swear I can't write English good no more.
Fk.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

It's been a long workweek. Six days and 60-something hours long, with Inventory smack-dab in the middle of all that. And what could be better than a housewarming, a convenient excuse for a casual get-together with coworkers after all that hard work?

Except that we've seen more of each other this week than we're accustomed or inclined to. I'm worried that Faith not might have fun at her own party. At this point, I'm committed to the event and need to start getting ready. I made brownies and chili, and am having Patrick drop me off at Dee's house so she can teach me how to make pancit before we meet up with the group.

Permanently or temporarily, we've adopted another dog.

It's been nice and cool lately, so I decided to open the windows. From my second-floor vantage point I saw a little black chow casually roaming the apartment complex, stopping to sniff a bush here, urinating over there, then continuing on its way. It was on the other I went outside to pet it, and it followed me halfway home. We stopped to ask a neighbor if she knew the dog, or of anyone looking for it. Neither of us had seen this particular chow before.

She's lying on the kitchen floor right now, panting and drooling onto a deep purple towel that was supposed to be Cocoa's next chew toy. They've both been fed and walked and provided with water. They're not getting along. The chow has established her dominance already, even though she's half Cocoa's size (and probably age) and has been here about five minutes. She's friendly towards Patrick and myself, but barks and growls when Cocoa gets too close.

The cat is freaking out. And having to play bouncer during the occasional dominance spats is no tea party.

2 a.m. again

As always, my depression is due in large part to poor self-care: lack of exercise, irregular and inadequate sleep hours, and poor diet choices.

The new Matchbox Twenty album, Exile on Mainstream, is coming out Oct. 2. It's a greatest hits album of sorts, with six new tracks. I don't really care for "How Far We've Come".

I feel heavier than ever, and yet guys circle me now: in cars here at the apartment complex while I'm walking Cocoa, and at work.

I'm badly in need of a vacation. Some days I wish I could just lapse into a coma for a few days. With any luck I'll awaken refreshed with no need to explain myself.

3 a.m. and I'm up making Spam fried rice.

Yesterday Faith, Keldric, Will and I were at Store 880 in Irving, helping out because tomorrow's their post-remodel Re-"Grand Opening". I had fun, though I got dusty and it was a little scary being in a "ghetto" store. Still, I didn't see used needles or crack pipes in the parking lot.

Afterwards we met up with the monthly after-hours group at Mexi-Go. I only had time for one margarita before Patrick arrived but I'd been up since 4 a.m. so it was time for me to leave. I hit the pillows almost as soon as we got home.

Now in the wee hours of the morning I find myself wide awake. I've paid bills, taken out the trash and put away dishes. I think I'll enter contests for another thirty minutes and then try for a nap.

I'm battling depression again.

There's nothing really wrong. These feelings will pass, I know.

Patrick's taken up golf. He's been to the driving range twice this weekend. A friend gave him a set of Wilson clubs, and I bought the matching golf bag from Walmart.com. It should arrive by next weekend.

Thursday's after-hours gathering will be at Mexi-Go. They have excellent margaritas, I am told, but since I'm going to be making some of my own for a cookout tomorrow, I don't know if I want to go.

My sales associate will be away on medical leave during the 2.5 weeks leading up to inventory. I'm starting to panic.

In other news, we didn't win the $330 million lottery jackpot this past Friday, though some lucky Houstonian did. I'm a little more addicted to my contests than usual: resentful of time spent away from the computer, anxious to check my email to see if I've won anything interesting, angry that I still haven't.

When I allow myself to wallow in my darker moods I feel it's all so pointless anyhow, that I'm a waste of time and money and potential, that no one needs me or is dependent on me, that none of it makes a difference.

Some days just feel like killing time.

new shoes!

AK Anne Klein's Maconcave (?),

Cream-colored leather with very Chanel quilting, finished with black piping, ribbon and wedge.

$29.97 plus tax at DSW

The first stanza of Mariah Carey's "Someday"

Fiona Apple's "Criminal"

Just as work begets more work, I've found that socializing begets socializing. And more opportunities to meet, understand and learn to live with people. I used to think you had to be interesting and engaging and, well... talkative to be popular. I've since found that the key to being friendly is listening. Really listening.

I'm still frustrated by my (own perceived) blunders in the social realm. I still don't know people. At my age, I feel I should, even though I really don't have the experience that might have allowed me that knowledge.

Most days I feel like a 28-year-old know-nothing. Only older.

Gravity

Gravity, from Little Voice by Sara Bareilles

just now

I've been overcome with an unexpected wave of exhaustion, doubtless attributable to the twelve hours (6 a.m. to 6 p.m.) I spent in the store today. Being this tired is not a good thing for me. I am indifferent to everything, my life has neither hope nor meaning, and tomorrow will not come. Not that it would make a difference anyway.

I need to shake this off.

vacation recap

All-in-all it's been an eventful vacation. My first audition. My first club experience here in the US. Meeting Eden and Gilbert and Christy and Jen's dad. Getting to know Ferdie and Jen and Frankie and Keldric and Faith and Dee a little more. Going to Kirin Court and Texas Stadium and Chaucer's and Carson's for the first time.

I don't want to go back to work tomorrow.

Carson's

Last night Jen and I met up with a bunch of people from work plus assorted friends of Faith. I had a Malibu and pineapple, a few Coronas, half a vodka and water, and a sip of a chocolate martini. I wore my red satin "pop star" pants and was told by two perfect strangers that I'm beautiful. Well actually, one said I look "beautiful for a 28-year-old" and the other said I look "insanely beautiful" which I think averages out.

We partied till 2 a.m. It was fabulous and fun and next time, we're going line dancing.

hindsight

I still don't know what I did wrong. Not really. A girl in green face paint and witch getup made it through, as did a manly man in a black wig and full makeup. Maybe I should have gone as Wonder Woman.

I realize I wasn't the best singer there. Scores of more talented people were passed up. Still, I'd hoped I'd had some sort of je ne sais quoi that would set me apart. I so thought I had it. Mr. Unknown Judge kept looking at me while I was in line, and nodded with what I thought was approval as I sang. In hindsight it may have been more like "Yes, yes get on with it" so he could dismiss my entire row.

I wish I'd gotten some kind of feedback. But I didn't want to be another one of those Idol rejects: desperate and/or completely oblivious to my lack of talent. Of which I'm neither. There are other avenues, they just involve more time and money.

Linda Septien says that it helps to play opposite the judge: if they seem extroverted, play demure; if they seem shy, be confident. I still believe that if you can figure out your judge and what he/she is looking for then you'll definitely make it through to the next round. I just couldn't read him. He was really quiet, almost whispering directions, and asked one girl in the group before mine not to sing so loudly because he was right in front of her and could hear her just fine. Then he let her start over, and finish her piece. He had one girl from that group stay and sing another song, after which the lady he was with thanked her and told her she had a nice voice, but it was perhaps a little too sweet and not right for the show right now, but that she should definitely try again next year and it might be what they're looking for. Then Ms. Judge Lady left.

And so I stepped up with Mariah's "Someday" and mustered up all the attitude I could in spite of my nervousness. I'd been waiting for hours in the 95-degree heat and I'd be damned if I'd go down without a fight. And then he motioned us all forward, lifted his clipboard and gestured to a note that said "I lost my voice." Thank you but no. Sht.

Still, I forgive you, Mr. Unknown Judge. Not just because you'd lost your voice or because you kept glancing my way (thanks a lot for the false hope, btw) but also because you kinda sorta look like Rob Thomas.

And so the only thing to do is keep on trucking, keep at my music and maybe someday write songs that other Idol wannabes will be singing at the auditions and maybe even on the show.

i didn't make it.

We bought lottery tickets on the way home, in hopes of trading my Idol fantasies for champagne wishes and caviar dreams.

i lost my voice today.

I'd decided on Mariah Carey's "Someday" as my audition piece. This morning in the shower I was working on adding a few grinds and that whistle-register finale. My throat felt only slightly itchy afterwards.

We spent the day with Ferdie, Jen and Frankie; and new friends Eden and Gilbert. Kirin Court is a great Chinese restaurant but regrettably too loud, and after lively lunch conversation I was hoarse.

By 5 p.m. my voice was completely gone. I stuffed my mouth with lozenges to to keep from humming, talking or otherwise straining my voice. I've been mute since 5:23.

A hearty bowl of kare-kare helped soothe my vocal cords, but I'm still worried what I might wake up to in the morning.

2 a.m.

Nerves and activities are killing me. And to think, I'm on vacation.

4 a.m. and I could not sleep.

It's now six. I've showered and dressed for work; taken out the trash; had some leftover Chinese takeout; made some green tea, pot roast and steamed rice. I'm about to feed the pets. I'm bringing sloppy toms for lunch today (joes substituted with ground turkey). I feel woozy.

Dallas Idol auditions are on Monday. I know it's a long shot, and I'm scared as hell, but wouldn't it be frickin' awesome if I made the cut?

Download iTunes 7.2 here!

iTunes 7.3.1 has a glitch. It does not recognize blank DVDs for backing up your library. It will look like it's reading it, initialize burning, then eject the disc and request a blank DVD. Over and over.

Solutions?

A. Back up to CD, or

B. Downgrade to 7.2 until they solve this issue.

1. Uninstall 7.3.1:
Quit iTunes.
On the Start menu, click Control Panel.
In Control Panel, open Add or Remove Programs.
Select iTunes from the list of currently installed programs, then click Remove.
When asked if you would like to remove iTunes, select Yes.

2. Download 7.2 from oldapps.com
Run the download to install, then get happy backing up!

I've resumed recording and uploading my voice.

It's been over a year now. I'm unhappy with my sound. My voice used to be so much clearer.

Today's contribution:
You Don't Know Me (pick a stream and go with it)

I still don't have an audition song.

Currently listening to:
Daughtry - Daughtry
Nickelback - All the Right Reasons
Sara Bareilles - Little Voice

...and kicking myself for even thinking about a career in music, when there are so many others who are better singers, actual songwriters, and all-in-all people with more of a right to put their sounds out there.

Miyoshi

Around 5 p.m. yesterday my older sister-in-law called us up and asked if we had plans for the evening. Nothing, really. "Okay, tonight's Miyoshi's one-year anniversary. There's a $30 buffet, my treat. Let's meet at the restaurant at 9. Don't eat anything else until then." I hadn't eaten since 3.

By 7 I was feeling light-headed, weak and nauseous with hunger but, being the obedient girl that I am, I still didn't eat anything. It was all I could do to go online and try to google what the fuss was all about.

Miyoshi is a Japanese restaurant my sister-in-law, Ate Kristine, frequents biweekly. She mentions it often though Patrick, the in-laws, and I had never gone. Dean's been there a few times now, and always orders nabeyaki udon and a Ramune.

For some reason none of my usual sources had any information on the one-year-old restaurant. No reviews at all. All I could find was contact information via some site called Pegasus News.

I don't know why we were there at 9, except maybe because Ate Kristine had to pick up her boyfriend from the airport and couldn't meet us any sooner. Miyoshi is tucked into a little strip mall, and when was pretty packed when we arrived. Outside, a blackboard stand with multicolored chalk script informed us that the night was reserved for regulars interested in attending Miyoshi's one-year anniversary dinner. Inside, the tables had been pushed together to make four long rows. In addition there were two circular bar-height tables, and a pseudo-tatami corner (a wooden platform with a low table, where customers can dine in traditional Japanese style). Kristine and Mike waved from the bar tables.

Karaoke was in full swing, with video and lyrics projected on the wall above us. Apparently everyone else had been there for a while; having finished with the buffet they were nursing Japanese beers and taking turns at the mic. We started with the usual green tea and miso soup, then checked out the buffet. It consisted of mostly various maki. Nigiri-zushi was limited to salmon, red snapper and eel. No gunkan, which disappointed me because I do like popping the salty bubbles of salmon roe. Other than that there was a simple salad, fried rice, sweet teriyaki beef, and fresh grapes and honeydew for dessert.

I thought the food was just okay, not stellar. It was the ambience that won us over. The lively little place was charming and cozy. Ken the owner is also primary sushi chef, yet still took time to sing one Korean song. His brother-in-law Scott casually played emcee for the night.

I sang "Eternal Flame" and got cheered. The karaoke program had been set to its most forgiving it seems - the lowest score of the night was 89, for a patron who chanted the first two lines of a song then realized he didn't actually know it. Most got 99s. Scott came back to me with the song listing. "You should sing another song. You did a really good job."

My second number was "Hooked on a Feeling", which I don't think I did justice because the arrangement and lyrics were for a male, and I could barely hear the music. But our server Soyung (?) came by later to tell me "You have a nice voice. I was surprised!" She was the second person to tell me that, and in those words. Don't ask, because I really don't know.

There was a table with kids in their late teens, early 20s maybe, who surprised us by singing Journey, Coolio, 4 Non Blondes and Will Smith's "Gettin' Jiggy Wit' It". How could they know these songs? It's been a long time since I've heard "Yes, yes y'all."

Ken went table-to-table towards the end of the evening, thanking everyone for their patronage, taking pictures, and sharing a tall bottle of smooth Zojirushi, which he cradled and declared his new favorite sake. Patrick leaned over and said, "We should come back. Masaya dito."

After two cups of the good stuff I was ready for a grand finale: song 20155, Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive." One of the kids at the other table came by just to sing along and dance beside me. I'm still not sure if he was drunk or just naturally convivial, but he was tremendously encouraging and looked like he thoroughly enjoyed himself. I think I remember him singing "What's Up" earlier in the evening.

We left in good spirits. I got a pearl-pink balloon, Ken kissed Dean, and a wayward drop of soy sauce landed on Ate Kristine's wrist. I survived my first American karaoke experience, and wasn't half-bad.

saying too little.

This week I:

bought Patrick his dream car Wednesday;

attended a 9-day-old's funeral Friday;

and sang karaoke in a public place (restaurant) Saturday.

Hurt

Nine Inch Nails
The Downward Spiral

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything

What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt

I wear this crown of shit
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here

What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end

You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way

Thursday night I did something I thought I'd never do.

I asked to borrow money from my Mom.

It was hard for me to ask, and it was hard for her to say no. We ended the call in tears. I've been crying ever since.

I asked because we need it, because Patrick asked me to, because I kept telling myself I was just asking and that the worst thing she could say is no. But family conversations are never that simple.

If I am honest I might say I resent Patrick for all of this: for not managing the money properly, for putting me in this place, for asking me to call my mom, for insisting I do it the day before the remodel and 20 minutes before I was supposed to be back at work. But all this completely overlooks my own part in all this.

He says he knows that he was asking me for something difficult, but I still don't feel he entirely understands. It is an admission of failure, of weakness. It is the shattering of illusions, the disappointment she always thought I'd been hiding. It is her bailing me out yet again and me still not getting it. It's all of that and none of that yet exactly how it feels.

I told him in the days before that he's making me cut the only thing I have left to stand on. And afterwards I told him I had no more self-respect left.

It's funny, isn't it? It's just money, we say. What happened with it these past six years, you might ask. To be honest, I just don't know. I trusted that he did.

The weekly mishmash/rehash:

Still depressed. Strolling down the aisles looking for God-knows-what and not finding it, of course.

Saw "Transformers" today. Started crying when Bumblebee was being taken away. I look for things like that, little ways of bleeding myself emotionally just to feel the sting, just to know I can still feel, that I must still be alive.

Nothing matters. That's a really bad thing, I know.

Just came from the dentist, where I got my teeth whitened slightly. I've requested the baking soda sandblasting-type treatment as an alternative to regular polishing. Workouts have been alright: I've upped the weights again without any injury or strain on workout day, but these past couple of days my joints do give the odd, occasional twinge.

Currently listening to Bon Jovi's "Have a Nice Day". Am particularly liking "Wildflower", "Last Cigarette", "Dirty Little Secret" and the duet with Jennifer Nettles.

Shoewawa's put an eBay watch on these gorgeous Christian Louboutins:



I want.

i'm sad.

I got into a shouting match at work, with the resident ***(insert your own putdown here)***. That she carried it over into a heated discussion with our manager didn't make me feel any better. Until this afternoon we were almost friends.

These types of incidents tend to remind me that at my age I am still incredibly callow, that I really don't know people at all.

Kody

Matchbox Twenty
Yourself Or Someone Like You

Kody sat down on the avenue
He tapped his feet to the humming of the highway
He watched the light shine down on the broken glass, and thought
Well I don't got no reasons, yet
And there it is and there it was

Now it was clear to all of us
We kept this hat of broken dreams
And we pulled them out when we needed them
Around

So please hand me the bottle,
I think I'm lonely now
(Lonely, you're lonely now)
And please give me direction, I think the hurt set in
And I don't feel nothing, yet

There's a squeak hinge down on the back gate
It lets us know if he comes around
Well, I don't sleep that good anyway,
Now, if you've never heard that silence,
It's a God-awful sound

So please hand me the bottle,
I think I'm lonely now
(Lonely, you're lonely now)
And please give me direction
I think I just caved in
And I don't feel nothing
And I don't feel nothing
And I don't feel nothing
There's nothing to feel good about here

And I don't much get down to the avenue
And I could drive, but it takes so much to get there
Don't get off on all the broken glass, the Cadillac scene,
No, I've seen a lot of good things die and I'm
In an over emotional way

So please hand me the bottle,
I think I'm lonely now
(Lonely, you're lonely now)
And please give me direction
I think the hurt sets in

So please hand me the bottle,
Well I think I'm lonely now
I'm lonely now
I'm lonely now
I'm lonely now
(Lonely, you're lonely now)
And please give me direction
I think I just caved in
And it ain't nothing

yesterday was a good day.

We watched "Ratatouille" with Ferdie, Jen and Frankie. It's a great movie, particularly for foodies, and I highly recommend it though I cried through the last third. Afterwards the trio had their picture taken in front of the display for the upcoming Simpsons movie. Lunch was at our favorite Japanese bufffet, then we headed to Allen Premium Outlets.

Last Call Neiman Marcus is always a special treat for me because I get to try on luxe designer shoes. Apparently American designer brands such as Cole Haan and Stuart Weitzman are true to size for me but I'm more like a 7.5 to an 8.0 in Manolo Blahniks or Christian Louboutins.

Today we had brunch at The Cheesecake Factory, and though I had three cavernous mugs of coffee, the jitters and cold sweaty palms didn't hit until Jen casually mentioned that American Idol's Dallas auditions will be Aug. 6th.

Fk.

lopsided

I've been depressing myself listening to too many better singers, wondering what I was thinking, why on earth I ever thought I stood a chance of going pro. Noticing too that I have far too many bad vocal habits: pizza, chips, spicy foods, cereal and milk, shrieking in surprise and laughing too loud, grunting and gasping during strenuous activity such as workouts, straining to reach notes, continuing to use my voice when I've gone hoarse...

Marc (or is it Mark?), one of the Remodel Supervisors, is Filipino and from California, from whence all things Flipside are more easily procured. He loaned me over a dozen OPM CDs for the weekend, of which only two did not come with track info. I hate Sarah Geronimo for being 18 and so good: she's like a mix of Regine Velasquez and Celine Dion. She's guilty of being breathy and shrieky depending on the song, but mostly I think her biggest problem is that she is such a copycat singer. Then again, she's only eighteen, and has her entire future ahead of her, while here I am ten years older though not that much wiser.

I've been missing my Define workout classes at the gym, and am actually better for it. It's always hard to gauge what level equipment (dumbbells, bands, and bodybars) I need to use, because the trainers change up the routines each time. This past week I did my own training mostly making use of the circuit machines. I can proudly say that I now squat press at 60lbs and donkey calf raise at 100. I still wander into the aerobics room for the abs, though.

I was talking to one of the remodel guys about how I live such a quiet life: work, home, workouts at the gym and dinner with the in-laws. He nodded in understanding and said "I ain't mad at ya."

Excuse me?

I was confused and somewhat indignant, and when someone else came by he told that guy what had been said. As it turns out, it's another way of saying "I understand". WTH. Just say that then.

I was stretching after my Tuesday workout when Patrick called to say he was waiting outside for me, and that he'd promised we'd be at the in-laws' in half and hour. I left the gym floor immediately for the locker room, and mentioned in the car that I felt a little uneven, having only done hamstring stretches on my right leg. Being that Patrick is more than a little obsessive-compulsive, he argued that I could have taken the extra half-minute to do the left leg despite being rushed, and then he hurried us home so I could complete my stretches.

I've been skewed a little depressed, mostly due to poor self-care. This past week I've been forgoing the LAN games in favor of sleep, working out every other day, and eating breakfast, and have been able to steer clear of the pit. For now.

I had a dream last night that we had a male calico cat that was mostly white with some orange. I tried to brush it but not much fur came off.

Lately I've been stuffing my face with Nestle Drumsticks in Cookies and Cream, though what I've been really craving but cannot have are the Mangoes and Cream ones we sell back home, as well as Jollibee's Peach-Mango pies. Dammit. Now I want Jabo spaghetti too.

The remodel is pretty much for over for me. Monday our Market team is coming through to walk off our mods and see the improvements and changes for themselves. I'll have two 7-day old mods, and a couple that are just counting.

The remodel will be over by July 13th. Thank God. I'm tired of people asking me about my shoes. "Do you wear two-inch heels every day?" "How can you work in those?" "Don't your feet hurt?" A couple of the remodel people hope to stay/transfer over when all is said and done. I never really talked to any of them, and I don't think I'll miss anybody except may drummer guy because he's been so encouraging. I'm betting they'll want to keep him, though, because he's sort of the go-to type.

My original dream house is now 5k for expensive, my new one is 100k cheaper, and 2004's much-hyped Zero-Energy Home in Frisco is on the market for only 750k from close to million 3 years ago, which isn't a bad deal esp. considering your utility bills will be next to nothing.

I'm on the lookout for red shoes, because my Rampage D'Orsays are dying.

I really like these:



Jimmy Choo shoes, $750, Jimmy Choo, NYC, 866-524-6687
Via Glamour.com

~*~*~*


Caligarius' Alanda is only $79.99 from $155 at Shoes.com
In 6.0 W and 7.0N

I wonder if I can squeeze into a 7N?

~*~*~*

What I've been looking for but cannot find anywhere is:


Jessica Simpson's LaDonna pump in Scarlet

I know, I know. I should have bought them when I had the chance.

~*~*~*

Red, red, RED!!!


Balenciaga Chad Red, 269 GBP at Daniel Footwear
Via Shoewawa.

~*~*~*

I've kind of also been wanting to get a pretty little Chinese blouse in a solid dark blue or navy, so I can wear it to work. Thing is, I don't know where to get that sort of thing here. The custom tailor next to the Asian mart nearby charges $85 and takes a month to make it, and since I don't really know what I'm ordering and she doesn't speak much English I don't know that I'll be happy with the outcome.

nothing, really.

I'm tired. I clocked in for work at 7:09 a.m., and out at 5:58 p.m. Yesterday was Dean's 11th birthday, which we marked with a black forest cake and his first Percy Jackson book: The Lightning Thief. I expect he'll enjoy it immensely; he's always been a mythology buff.

We've been leaking fuel. After dinner and candle-blowing Patrick worked on the car, after which it was too late for a Dark Crusade LAN game with Dean. We'll be making up for it tonight.

It is by believing in roses that one brings them to bloom."  ~ French proverb

In the mirror at midnight my body is my enemy
As are all women to whom I might compare it
It is a curse and a cruelty, to be woman.

A coworker's wife stopped by the store one time, and a number of ladies crowded around him afterwards, offering congratulations. "You're so lucky." "She's so pretty." "She looks so young!"

Why is attractiveness an achievement for a woman, and a trophy for the man who is her partner? We know nothing else about her: is she faithful, supportive, intelligent, kind?

We do this to ourselves, y'know.

Rain girl

I cannot tell you how I happened upon
a life that feels
hermetically sealed.

What I can tell you is that
I woke to the sound of the pouring rain
and realized
there is no one to invite outside
to come play.

It's been a long time since I've
danced in the rain.

Currently listening to:

Vault: Def Leppard Greatest Hits

In particular, "Love Bites" and "Have You Ever Needed Someone So Bad".

~*~*~*

I've been so busy at work this past week, trying to work through the changes this remodel has wrought on my departments. I built some bridges, introducing a new Filipina lady on the remodel crew to a friend of the in-laws, who might help her get more permanent work. I also met a guy in a thrash (whatever that is) band called Red Jealousy, who tells me that I have a good voice and that if I want to sing I should just go for it, in spite of my fears.

We marked Bianca's birthday with beans and Mexican rice, fajitas and chocolate cake, even though she didn't feel like celebrating. The theme for the month seems to be the passing of women without close family ties. Mary Harris, a grumpy granny lady from the Carrolton store who loved to gamble, passed away recently. I never knew her, but a number of people at my store miss her dearly. Rest in peace.

it seems I'm always playing catchup.

I have a laundry list of things to do, both at home and at work. Running as fast as I can just to stay in place.

I still don't know what I'm doing.

All this busyness, yet none of it feeds the soul.

~*~*~*

Currently listening to:

Lauren Whitener - You Don't Know Me
Reba McEntire - Does He Love You
Martina McBride - Concrete Angel
Def Leppard - Have you Ever Needed Someone So Bad

My latest preoccupation has been homestudy with American Idol Singer's Advantage. My kit arrived over the weekend, and I'm practicing Mariah Carey's "Hero". The project has renewed my interest in vocal study, though the nagging thought is that there is just no way I'm going to be ready for American Idol auditions this fall. It's my first and last chance, I know, but I just don't see how it could happen for me. I've got so far to go.

the buzz

Some coworkers and I headed over the Snuffer's after work: for gossip, an alcoholic buzz, and deliciously off-color jokes so uproarious that David the manager had to walk over and ask oh-so-nicely that we please keep it down.

We had so much fun, we've decided to make it a monthly thing.

i'm not going to lie.

I was heartbroken that Melinda didn't make it into the American Idol finale.

Quite frankly, I don't care who wins now. I watched avidly this whole season, looking forward to the next new performance by the backup singer who'd finally decided to step into the spotlight. I wish you the best of luck, Melinda. Can't wait to get your first album!!!

I lurk on her fansite: Melinda Fans

YouTube Highlights of AI Season Six:

Melinda Doolittle, "I Believe in You and Me"

Jordin Sparks, "A Broken Wing"

Blake Lewis, "You Give Love a Bad Name"

Lakisha Jones, "This Ain't a Love Song"

Gina Glocksen, "Call Me When You're Sober"

Loved her too! Reviewing the video, I found myself wishing she were a better singer. Maybe in time...

muddled

Recently viewed:










8 Mile, starring Eminem.

Everything's starting to meld. Mekhi Phifer = Akon, Eminem = Rob Thomas, and Brian McKnight = Blair Underwood, I don't know why. None of them are anything alike, I think. And neither person in the last pairing was even in the movie.

It's almost halfway through the month and I haven't made any headway with this month's resolutions. There was a dead bird near the dumpster this morning; Cocoa and I saw it during our morning walk. A fly hovered around the body. It's 2:46 p.m. and Patrick's still asleep. I should probably wake him so we can go to the library.

Patrick's taken over the laundreary duties, since I haven't been able to keep on top of things. I still change the linens, though.

Everyone's been so snappish lately, so stressed. I laugh in the face of all the tension: because I'm helpless, because I'm not as overwhelmed, because we knew it was coming and we just have to deal with it. It's draining though, being the only one smiling.

Tasks for the rest of the day include:

vocal exercises
vacuuming
library run
cleaning out the dishwasher
calling up my mom (to wish her a happy Mother's Day, naturally)
cleaning out one Bankers Box

and maybe a strength training workout and a LAN game of Dawn of War: Dark Crusade.

Sweet satin shoes

Via Shoewawa.

I WANT:












Rainbow twirl espadrilles, $138 at Anthropologie
These summery beauties are anything but clunky.

















Manolo Blahnik Lokate, $585 at Bergdorf's

The master shows us how a ballerina flat is done: pretty pink satin in girly pleats.

If You're Gone

If You're Gone lyrics
Matchbox Twenty
Mad Season

I think I've already lost you
I think you're already gone
I think I'm finally scared now
You think I'm weak
I think you're wrong

I think you're already leaving
Feels like your hand is on the door
I thought this place was an empire
Now I'm relaxed
I can't be sure

And I think you're so mean
I think we should try
I think I could need this in my life
And I think I'm just scared
I think too much
I know it's wrong
it's a problem
I'm dealing

If you're gone
Maybe it's time to come home
There's an awful lot of breathing room
But I can hardly move
If you're gone
Baby you need to come home
There's a little bit of something mean
In everything in you

I bet you're hard to get over
I bet the room just won't shine
I bet my hands I can stay here
And I bet you need more than you mind

I think you're so mean
I think we should try
I think I could need this in my life
I think I'm just scared that I know too much
I can't relate and that's a problem I'm feeling

If you're gone maybe it's time to come home
There's an awful lot of breathing room
But I can hardly move
If you're gone
baby you need to come home
There's a little bit of something mean
In everything in you

I think you're so mean
I think we should try
I think I could need this in my life
And I think I'm scared
Do I talk too much
I know this is wrong, it's a problem, I'm dealing

If you're gone
And maybe it's time to go home
There's an awful lot of breathing room
But I can hardly move
If you're gone
Hell, baby you need to come home, come home
There's a little bit of something mean

In everything in you (Something mean)
Everything in (Something mean)
In you

The lady in red

Pix from the fashion show, i.e., Totalmente Latina tour at Dallas

Amateur pictures taken with an unfamiliar picture, hence the regrettable fuzz.













Waiting in the wings...










My turn in the spotlight









Heading for the catwalk










The group's final turn down the ramp










The full cast bids goodbye

i live, after all.

instant feedback:

~much better the second time around

~the most powerful voice of the group

~your voice cracked a couple of times

~parts of that were really good

~when you sang I felt like I was watching Pocahontas or Mulan or something

~great movements, great facial expressions -- you just need to work on your (diaphragmatic) breathing

I set out to accomplish certain goals, and I did:

* I sang in front of an audience
* I remembered all my lyrics
* I didn't make any faces while singing, even when I messed up
* I poured myself into my song (at points, but y'know: baby steps)

I dread seeing the recording, tho. I don't think I did nearly as well as I feel I did.

I'm dead.

I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm dead.

I've been counting the minutes since noon. Two hours till the showcase. I am a nervous wreck. Can't think straight, can't wait for it to be over, hoping it'll never come. I used Patrick's toothbrush by mistake.

I am not going to be able to squeak out a single sound. I will clamber onstage and pass out, unconscious. A heart attack at 28. I cannot do this, I think.