I'm Weak, It's True . . . 'Cause I'm Afraid To Know The Answer

True - Ryan Cabrera

I don’t know where my head’s at today. Can’t seem to concentrate on anything . . . ADD to the max. Days like these are rare and good thing because I can’t stand myself like this. Phooey.

It’s just short of two hours before quitting time and I’m definitely looking forward to this weekend. Girl time tomorrow with friends from home: the four of us are finally catching the Sex And The City movie, dinner, and much-deserved massages.

It seems getting massages is the estrogen-charged activity of choice for me now. In Vancouver, female bonding for my friends and I always involved either getting facials/manis/pedis [winter/summer] or toasting ourselves on the beach [summer – usually followed by manis/pedis, hehe].

Self-pampering was the perfect way to relax and clear our minds . . .

Anyway, so according to my sign, my negative traits include being suspicious, overly emotional, and obsessive. Not completely untrue, and I’ve spent much of the past three years consciously trying to reform these characteristics. But really, don’t all those things just add up to neuroticism?

There are times when it’s not so bad . . . but sometimes it gets to the point that even I want to smack myself upside the head. What was that phrase from How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days? You know, the one about what being “FINE” actually means? I would spin it as being inquisitive, but sometimes wanting to find meaning in every single little thing is hazardous. And it is during times like these that I appreciate my girl time the most.

When E was visiting last month, I took her to go get foot massages after our marathon shopping sessions. Everything was going along swimmingly until my masseur got to this one pressure point near my big toe and I quite literally yelped in pain. He told me that it was an indication that I was a worrier. Then he told me that I should relax and try not to think about things so much, especially if doing so kept me awake at night.

For all the times that E has said “don’t worry about it,” “it doesn’t matter anymore,” and “who cares” to me . . . she burst out laughing and using her most sarcastic voice said, “Yeah, G. See? I told you! Stop thinking so much. Just stop it!” And for all the things I worried over that turned out to be nothings . . . I just had to laugh at myself.

How Did You Get Here?

Nobody's Supposed To Be Here - Deborah Cox

It's a random thoughts kind of day . . .

On pencil skirts:
They are tight, they are form-fitting . . . and on the right person, they are damn sexy. But ladies, please . . . pay attention to how they look after you’ve walked around for more than ten minutes. Because pencil skirts shift. And if the slit that’s supposed to be back and centre is anywhere close to your kneepit, it just looks sloppy. And for heaven’s sake . . . ixnay on the VPLs.

On sparking up:
No, not the kind that’ll kill you – not unless you let it anyway.
I'm talking about the kind of spark that happens between two people. What happens when you meet someone that you think you click so well with . . . only to have nothing else happen? It’s so Carrie/Berger. You’re left wondering if you’d imagined the whole thing and then the situation get so polarized that the only thing you can do is shield your eyes and ask, “What the !@%& happened?”

What’s in a name:
How much does one’s name define who s/he is? I used to hate my name. I lamented not having one of those girly frou-frou names. But after a while you just have to learn how to own it.
And if you’ve had a bad experience with one person who has a certain name, how does tha –
Oh, screw this section . . .

And yes, I had mentally written this entry during the morning commute.

Be patient, be patient . . .

Am I Coming On Too Strong, Being Passive Takes Too Long

Daydream – The Earthtones

[I doubt anyone would know that song . . . obscure Canadian boy band from the 90s that never really made it big. Though they had this one song that I find so cute, in all its boy-bandy goodness.]

Note to self: Be patient. For @!%*'s sake, be patient.

Anyway, let’s move on to the meat and potatoes of this post, shall we?

I now understand why the apology came when it did. It was done with the intention of having a clean slate to start fresh with. And that . . . I can respect. In a way I think I needed this to happen in order to know for sure that I have managed to come out of this alive.

With that in mind, I couldn’t help but wonder . . . why the hell am I using Carrie Bradshaw’s catchphrase? Err, I digress. But really, I couldn’t help but wonder . . . while I had rebooted by life and had my fresh start last summer, did I really do so with a clean slate?

My mood has changed considerably in recent weeks. A more active social life and getting reacquainted with old friends means that I’m finally starting to get over the “Hong Kong sucks” phase and am slowly moving into my “okay, maybe it’s not soooo bad” phase. But like I was telling a friend of mine the other day, being over “Hong Kong sucks” is NOT the same as being over “I want to go hooooome.” Not that I’m actually whining . . . because life here does have its upside.

People my age in Hong Kong work their fingers to the bone, keeping inhuman hours . . . yes for career advancement but also for one other purpose – to maintain a hedonistic lifestyle. My CBC/ABC/BBC peers here bring a new definition to pleasure-seeking that is unrivalled by any other city [that I have seen, anyway] – including New York, Tokyo and even LA [the jury is still out on Vegas]. Any given Friday could mean going for dinner after work and staying out until 5 or 6 am – essentially making it a 24-hour day. Then everyone goes home, sleeps a few hours, and the entire thing is repeated on Saturday.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

After my first experience with this weekend double feature, I was completely shattered. Wrecked beyond belief. FUBARed, if you will. Here I am, four days after the fact . . . my voice is still a little hoarse and I’m still paying for the lack of sleep. But you know . . . I can honestly say that the fun to be had is definitely worth its price.

And now I’m beginning to wonder if I should have another fresh start – one where a clean slate is exactly that . . . Maybe it should be a reformat and not just be a reboot. Maybe it should have nothing to do whatsoever, with anything that reminds me of the past. And maybe, I really shouldn’t be in such a rush to go home.

We Like To Dedicate This Next Song To The Class of 98

All About The Benjamins [Shot-Caller Rock Remix] - Puff Daddy, Lil' Kim, The Lox, The Notorious B.I.G., The Foo Fighters

On my way to work this morning, I was staring out the window of the bus when the iPod shuffled to Aaliyah’s “Are You That Somebody” and my thoughts drifted back in time. Something about hearing that song in early June . . .

It was 1998. I’d just gone through the most strenuous examination schedule of my life [grr, IB]. Tra and I were studying for Provincial exams at my house . . . with the TV set on BET. I heard the song for the very first time when the video came on. Dirty South, can y’all really feel me.

It was the post-Tupac era when Puff Daddy and the Bad Boy Family dominated our school dances . . . but because it was Juice Productions and Mo was our DJ, the playlist always included Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl” and UB40’s “Red Red Wine.” But it was also the year Usher Made Us Wanna, Next’s Butta Love was Too Close, Boyz II Men had 4 Seasons Of Loneliness, and The Boy Was Brandy’s AND Monica’s. Britney was still an innocent school girl who got hit several times.

It was pre-campus renovation. It was pitching tents on the South Field and camping out on school grounds. It was going to the beach in the middle of the night, shovelling sand into the back of an SUV and creating Bulldog Beach on the front lawn of our school – complete with beach chairs and umbrellas. It was egging [and in some cases, toothpasting] every car visible at DT, Hamber, Magee, and Killarney. It was running through the halls on the last day of school while Blur’s “Song 2” blared through the PA system.

It was multiple formal dances. It was skipping winter formal to go to the Bad Boy concert. It was a parade of cars getting speeding tickets on Oak Street.

It was the summer of weekly karaoke, my first car accident, and countless nights at Hot Shots, Snooker City, Kamikaze, Rush, Jack's Loft, No. 9, Hong Lok Yuen. Oh gawd. It was Alex To confessing that he feels so sorry and asking his girl please don't go.

June 5th was the date of our grad formal. It was skipping class in the afternoon to get ready. It was limos and QE Park. It was Hotel Vancouver.

And on June 6th, we after-partied until the sunrise. It was fun times. Here’s to our 10.

Pretend Like There's No World Outside . . .

Banana Pancakes - Jack Johnson

When I started j-school, a change occurred in one of my weekday habits. Instead of listening to mainstream radio, my car stereo was almost always tuned to one talk radio station or another on the AM dial. And regardless of how much I actually love driving, the rush hour commute inevitably involved my road rage rearing its ugly head once or twice or thrice daily.

In Hong Kong . . . not so much. I don't drive here [oh gawd, I don't even want to think about the catastrophic effects it would have on my blood pressure]. And so the daily commute has actually become of my favourite of the day. My iPod is on the entire time spent going from door to door. And it's only in those precious moments that I can let myself get lost in my own thoughts - and the only sounds to penetrate that world are the voices of the singers whom I allow in. In a way, it's my only time to be alone.