Publish or Perish

D*mn.

Why didn't anyone tell me to shut up?

Wait. I'll tell myself to shut up.

:)

Seriously. Don't I have anything else to say/complain about other than my parents and how they are affecting me?

I guess not...

You know, I try and try and try and try some more, but sometimes, my d*mn best isn't good enough for some people.

Take my parents (please), it seems that whatever I do isn't good enough for them. Is it because I'm not a doctor? Maybe. Is it because I'm not marrying a filipino? Maybe. Is it because I don't follow a lot of Filipino customs? Maybe. Is it because I'm fiercely independent? Maybe.

Or it could be something totally unrelated that hasn't cross my mind.

You have to understand that my parents and I were brought up in two vastly different cultures. My parents worked very hard for the things they have now. So hard, in fact, that I never lacked in anything. Good and bad, I think. I learned, almost too late, the value of a dollar and of working hard. I understand that my parents grew up in post WWII Philippines, still afraid of the various occupations that occurred there. But I also understand the value of learning to be flexible. To learning to mix the past and the present. One thing my parents said to me when I first told them about Stevie is, "Were we too lax in raising you?" Too lax? I don't know the meaning of the word "lax." On the contrary, they were too strict. There were no ground rules laid out for me, because I was too scared of them! I walked on eggshells trying to please and not upset them. I never rebelled. I've never smoked. Tried drugs. Was promiscuious. Cheated. Stole. Drank to excess. I was the voice of reason among my friends. I was the goody two shoes...should I go on? Coming to college was so life changing to me. I could stay out late without having to call in. I could experiement with almost anything, if I wanted to.

That freedom was dizzying.

So, what did I do?

I retreated. Scared, again.

I'm not sure who knew of my anxiety (now I can put a name to it, because now I know what it is). Not that it would matter now. I'm not anxious anymore. Just tired of trying to please people who seem unable to please.

Stevie says that his parents are not only his parents, but his friends. I envy that relationship. My parents are good parents and good people. But they aren't my friends. They just didn't foster that type of relationship with me. Fear of them, is what they fostered in me. I don't resent them for doing that. I'm just sad about it. That's all. All my problems that I could have told my parents about I poured into a journal, because that's all I really wanted growing up. Someone just to listen to me. My parents tried very hard to solve all my problems. That's fine and I'm sure I'm going to try to solve all my children's problems too, but they never stopped to listen to me. Most of the time, that's all I wanted. I came to my own solutions eventually...

*sigh*

Am I expecting too much? Probably. I tell myself time and time again, I can't change my parents - no matter how hard they try to change me - and I should just accept it. That's hard.

So, here's to trying.

Labels: family

This is the picture I was taking about earlier. Okay, so it's not cue balls, but plates cued up in a triangle. But like I said, I love the colors. 

Labels: pictures

Who was the brilliant genuis who had the season finales of Lost and American Idol be on the same night?

I knew I should have pushed my friends to watch Lost instead of American Idol. I knew it! I knew it! I knew it! But then again, I should have been a brilliant genius and taped it anyway at my house....
*Sigh*

I'm so mad that Carrie Underwood won American Idol. Everytime I see her sing, I don't see any life in her eyes. Here's what ~mark says about the eyes.

Anyway, in other news, my parents (a collective uh-oh arises) called me around lunchtime. They said, that the longer they looked at the original invitation the more they liked it and thought it appropriate.

*chirp chirp*

Yeah, I know. I thought the same thing. But truly, what can you do? I mean, you can't scream and yell, because it'll do you no good. You just smile (painfully) and nod (stiffly) and move on.

Which is what I'm trying to do.

Further on in the conversation, my mother asked me if I was going to wear a watch with my dress. Um, what? In a very rare diplomatic moment I said:

"Well no. But when I come down in June for the weekend, you can show me which watches or bracelets you like and I'll make a decision then." It's very rare for me to be diplomatic or to even think straight when I talk to my parents.

It is so very hard for me (and for others) not to act the teenager or seven year old that my parents till believe (not really) that I am. I know they want to keep me that cherubic girl I was when I was seven or eight, but I'm twenty eight. I'm independent. I have a job, a fiancee and bills to pay.

Yes, yes. I know. I'm complaining, yet again. And I know I've touched (okay slammed) on this subject in many of my entries, but if you haven't figured it out by now, I have issues with my parents.

*sigh*

Other things...

I'm a natural packrat. My father is a packrat and so am I. I like collecting knick knacks (chutchkes - a shout out to the possibly two Jewish readers out there) and since realizing that I would be a writer in some fashion, articles: internet, magazine, or newspaper. Truly, anything that catches my eye. My college roommate, (one of many at Wendover Place - for some reason we couldn't keep ahold of a third) Corinna, knows that I have an ad that I tore out of a magazine (some trashy bad for the self image of young women everywhere) that was of brilliantly colored billard balls on neatly lined up. I don't know what it's about and I don't care. I cared because of the colors. The symetery of the ad. It looked good.

So, when I stumbled upon this article, I thought about printing it out and saving it in my journal. Then I looked at my journal and my journal said to me, please don't do that. You have a blog that you can save this article onto and better yet, you can share it with your friends. So, I said okay.

I've always wanted to do numbers 1, 5, 8, 10 (I do this sometimes already), 15, 29(though I'm way too shy to do that), 31, 33, 40, and 43(I already do this).

Yes, I'm pathetic...so sue me.

I'm giddy because I have tomorrow off!

I'm tired.

Bushed.

Beat.

Exhausted.

Depleted.

Weary.

It's been one of those days of running on the hamster wheel of life. This time though, I can tell that I've gotten things off my desk and shuffled other papers from one pile to another (in this case I'm almost done with some files and I can finally put them away in a file cabinet that's squashed with way too many other files for my own good.)

So, it's not too bad. I see the difference by way of bare desk showing through the files and papers and other miscellany on my desk.

Okay. Time to go.

But the way my life has been going, I'm surprised I'm even writing right now.:)

So, to make up for it, I'll write more today. Really.

Friday....

What the heck did I do Friday besides work? Oh, I went over to my future in-laws, did laundry, addressed invitations, watched CSI and had dinner. Not too exciting. By, the way, I caught her red handed smoking. After she told us (and promised) that she had quit. I'm still debating about whether or not I should rat her out to her husband. Or just be sneaky and take her hiding place of cigarettes. She can't complain about them being missing if she supposedly stopped smoking.

Stevie says just to let it go. He knows that his father knows that his mother still smokes, but it tired of fighting her on this. I, on the other hand, am still thinking about bringing the mighty hand of CeeCee down on my mother-in-law and bring in the guilt trip. ("Don't you want to live to see your grandchildren grow up?" "What about Mitzie's (the long hair daushund) lungs?" "Don't you want to save your money for another cruise?") Hey, I can bring it too.

Saturday? Hmmm, what did I do Saturday? Not much. We went over to Eric's house and played some board games and video games. In the late evening , Stevie had a show and I went to see Eric's (quite possibly last) Susquehanna Hat Company show at the Caberet in Downtown. We were quite annoyed with the first act. She went over her time by 30 minutes. So, really SHC didn't get on stage till about 11 or 11:15. Only an hour show...plus, they were low on time so they had to cut me out of hosting a game.:(

Sunday....Sunday I spent gardening. Susan and I tamed the two smaller bushes in the front yard and started to trim the monster rosh bush. We made some head way, but that thing has never been trimmed so the branches were as thick as my forearm (and if you know me, you know that I'm pretty muscular for a 5'0, 140 girl). I also started preparing my flower garden in the front yard. Meaning? Meaning I was on my hands and knees, pulling up weeds, turf and old roots from a rose of sharon bush. Pretty hard stuff. I'm still feeling the effects of it.

Monday? Monday was work, of course, with the prerequiste (SP???) staff meeting. Followed by drama that I'm hesistate to get into. It's not my drama and it's work related. Email me and I'll tell you. Oh, and I had my fifth wisdom tooth extracted. Yes, my fifth. I'm extra wise. :)

If you haven't seen Revenge of the Sith yet because I'm about wax on it and give away a few spoilers. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I saw it at 12:01 this morning with my boy and four of our friends. From our demographic there were reviews of hating it to loving it. I fell in the middle of it. I love George Lucas and I thank him for making great films....however, he can't write dialogue to save his life. He can't direct actors to save his life (and this is coming from two actors in my group of friends.) On the bright side, he did show how Anakin Skywalker became Darth Vader, he tied up loose ends from the first two films and the action sequences were spectacular.

Now, should young kids see it? It depends on the child. Certainly, not every child should go it if they are easily frightened and don't know what to expect. But my friend's five year old is excited to go see it and he knows there are some scary parts in. Then again, he watches monster movies without batting an eyelash.

So, what didn't I like about it? I still don't agree with the casting choice of Hayden Christen as Anakin Skywalker, but I don't know who would have made a better Anakin. He and Natalie Portman look good together, but once again the dialogue tripped me up.

For instance?

"You're breaking my heart Anakin." - Padme

"Don't worry. C 3PO will protect me." -Padme

Anything said by Hayden Christen.

Am I being harsh? Possibly.

I don't lavish as much praise as say Kevin Smith, but I don't hate on it like Rolling Stone. I do find it funny though, that the Rolling Stone reviewer called Hayden's wooden performance "an affront to puppets everywhere."

There were some really great scenes though. R2 D2 is more kick ass than he was in Episodes IV, V and VI. As my friend Vito said, he was expected R2 D2 to whip out a light saber and start kicking some ass. And speaking of kicking ass Christopher Lee as Darth Dooku (you try typing it without giggling! Remember I'm running on three hours of sleep here people!) and the droid General wielding not one, not two, not three but four light sabers? That rocked.

My favorites (in order):

1. The Return of the Jedi
2. The Empire Strikes Back
3. The Revenge of the Sith
4. A New Hope
5. The Phantom Menace
6. The Attack of the Clones (come on, anything that makes me think clowns instead of clones, should be ridiculed.)

Go out and see it. Let me know what you think.

Labels: geeks

So, my mom calls me this morning - around 7:20 (an hour after I have gotten up, and 10 minutes before I go rushing around) and she says that she doesn't like pearl necklace that I'm wearing for the wedding.

"Mom, it's a chocker. It's supposeed to go around my neck."

"No, it's not. We'll buy you a new one."

Silence. "Okay. Fine."

The pearl choker is a three strand freshwater pearl necklace. I'm borrowing it from my friend Lauren, who is one of my bridesmaids. I picked it and I guess that was my mistake.

Flashforward to 2:30 this afternoon.

"Hi. We're at the mall and we just talked to the lady [I guess the jewelry person at Zales or whatever they have in the mall in Charleston] and she said that it's supposed to lay like that around your neck. So, it's okay to wear that necklace."

Silence.

"Can you hear me?"

"Yes, Mom. I can hear you."

"So, did you have to pay money for that?"

"No, Mom. My bridesmaid is loaning it to me for the wedding."

*sigh*

So, let me get this straight. My parents had a problem with the dress I picked out. My parents had a problem with the reception site. My parents have a problem with the man I'm marrying.

Okay.

I'm not saying...but I'm just saying.

Last night Loki and I went to see Andrew Bird perform at Club Cafe in the South neighborhood of Pittsburgh. Wow. Was that an awesome show.

I can't put into words what he does with his violin. It's magic, mystism and a trick of the ear all rolled into one. I haven't felt this way about a band or singer since I discovered the Beatles during my high school years.

I've thought and thought about my post regarding Andrew Bird. And it's turned into an essay about me and music...

So, in the meantime, here's his website: Andrew Bird.

Labels: concerts, crushes, music

"Do you expect me to speak?"

"No, Mr. Bond I expect you to die."

You must dance! Dance I tell you!

Labels: random

And for no good reason.

I'm addressing my invitations to my wedding in July. And I'm nervous? Why? Because I don't want to mess up addressing my envelopes. Because I don't want to step on my parents socially graceful toes (the inside of a "formal" wedding should read Mr. and Mrs. blah blah).

*sigh*

I wish it were July 17.

My closest and best friends and family would be here. Stevie and I would be married and I would be very glad to have this entire shin-dig behind me.

Perhaps, I should have gone with a wedding planner...

Labels: weddings

But more and more, I seem to get pulled into meetings at work. Or get tangled up with afterwork activities.

I even had things I wanted to write about.

But I guess life got in the way. That happens sometimes...:)

Anyway, last year at work I was pulling together materials for a program that I was doing. I asked my coworker for the flip chart. My coworker said not to use "flip chart" anymore because it was a derogatory term. Before I got the chance to ask her why and to whom it would be derogatory towards the phone rang and our office lives got in the way.

Flash forward to yesterday. A friend of mine, who used to work in corrections found out that the term was derogatory towards Filipinos. Huh? I've never heard it used that way, but then again as you can imagine Pittsburgh, PA isn't a hotbed of Filipino activity. The term might be prevalent on the Coasts. But in Pittsburgh, I've never heard it used towards me or anyone else.

So, my question is this: can a person be offeneded if you don't know it's meant to be offensive? [Here's where I start to drop the offensive terms so be warned. I'm not directing them at anyone, I'm just using them as examples.] I told Stevie about it and posed the same question to him. I also told him that it was like cursing in another langage. If someone calls me a b*tch in Spanish, I really wouldn't care. I didn't grow up speaking Spanish. But call a native Spanish speaker that and then you might have trouble. The same with the term "flip chart." I don't know why that would be an offensive term and I don't really care. Stevie says that he's not reallly offended by the word "kike," though saying that he said if it was meant in a deragorty way then probably he would be. He'd be just as offeneded if someone referred to him as a "poopy head." It's not the words themselves, but the spirit of the words. I would never refer to anyone in offensive terms (and by this, I mean the usual suspect of offensive terms) but can accidentally offend someone if I used a term that wasn't well known to the general public but can still be offensive. (I don't think that made any sense at all.)

Hmm, let me reiterate. If someone called me a banana I would probably rip their eyes out. But I've found that not many people know the term banana as being an offensive term.

Me being offened doesn't happen often.

I'm sorry. It's been a couple of hours since I wrote the top of the post and now, I'm heading into 2:30 in the afternoon and my thoughts have become disjointed.

So, I'll write more later.

Labels: random

Since I'm moving into a brand new/century old house in July, I've been doing research on it. I ran across a website Historic Pittsburgh - Map Collections. I've been searching for pictures of Douglas Street in Squirrel Hill. I found nothing regarding that street, but I did find a lot of fanscinating pictures of Murray Ave., Forbes Ave (Street, as it was called back then), Shady and Beechwood. Neat stuff. There's even a picture of Stevie's old apartment building on Murrary Avenue.

Very cool stuff.

Am I rambling? Yes. But it's good to ramble every once in a while. And hey, I'm not currently b*tching about something. And isn't that a good thing for my blood pressure and sanity?

Labels: random

This is a breakdown of the neighborhoods and whatnot of the lovely city of Pittsburgh. 

Labels: pictures

So, there was the whole invitation debacle. And it's been taken care of.

They came to my work place and I opened them up. They're very beautiful and nice. So, this weekend, I'm aiming to get them put together and sent out.

I'm busy right now, so sorry for the short post. I'll try to post more later.

Labels: random

Thanks for your emails about my crazy s*it on Saturday. I love my parents, but I can't change them.

Okay.

I've been tagged! Mark suggested that I do these "memes" or whatever they are called. I think I like to call them in the realm of "Cosmic Questions." Cosmic Questions is something Stevie introduced me to when I first met him eight years ago (has it been eight years? Impossible! But true...) The cosmic questions story goes like this, three girls (me and my two roommates at the time) where having a picnic on Memorial Day. He was deciding whom he wanted to date, (when in actually, there was only one choice for him - me. And I'm not saying that because I'm marrying him, it just turned out that way.) A way for him to get to know us was to play this game, "Cosmic Questions." It's a fun and silly little game consisting of asking questions - all sorts of questions.

For instance: Who would win in a battle, Superman or Batman? Which came first the chicken or the egg? Who's tougher, my mom or your mom? Questions like that. It's fun and people often go off on tangents depending if there is a story behind their answer.

These memes remind of that.

But to work:

If I could be a chef I would constantly try new and different things to cook. Even if I personally don't eat them on a regular basis I could say to people that yes, I've made tongue. Or cabesa or French food. I'm not a food snob. And thanks to my Pookie, I'm a foodie. (But I still can't bring myself to try tongue. Anything that can taste you back is just icky to me.) Therefore, I would try making the hardest and most difficult things. I wouldn't be too disappointed if it didn't turn out. Trying would be the key. That and having Wheel Deliver's phone number memorized. :)

If I could be a librarian I would be a librarian for the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C. And then I would promptly be fired because I'd never be doing my job. Just wandering around stacks of books, in awe, or reading in a cubby hole. I would make a very good librarian, but the thought amuses me.

If I could be an innkeeper I would have a bed and breakfast sort of like the Morning Glory Inn in the South Side. Okay. Okay. I'll be honest. That's the only bed and breakfast I've been too and coincidentally it's where I'm getting married. But besides that....Or! Or! I'd have a bed and breakfast like the twins in the books The Bachelor Brothers Bed and Breakfast. It's where the reader comes to get away from it all and read the book(s) that they have been meaning to read. I don't know where it's at or even if it exists, but I like to think that it's somewhere in the great Canadian wilderness.

If I could be a writer, oh, wait. I kind of am. Cop out. Yes, I know. But to be more precise, I would sit in my favorite room in Douglas Manor (after fixing it to my specifications) and write all day. It's got a lot of wonderful light, it's airy and the room just makes you feel good. But anyway, topic: writing. I'm not a morning writer or a night writer. I seem to write the most though during the afternoon. Not the most convient of times, let me tell you. Most of my writing professors in college were morning writers. And I mean getting up at the crack of dawn - or earlier - to write. I'm lucky I haven't tripped over my own feet and accidentally hurt myself let alone write. And writing at night? When I'm tired from a full day of work, avoiding speeding cars at crosswalk, catching errant buses? No, thank you. I'm tired and all I want to do is to curl up on the couch with my favorite boy and watch TV or read or watch him play on XBox. Writing is the furthest away from my mind. Though, strangely enough it's when I feel the most guilty about not writing.

*sigh*

I've gone off topic. Again. If I were a writer, I'd write more.

If I were a secret agent I'd be a really good secret agent. Who would ever suspect me? I'm too cute and innocent. (Batting eyelashes) I would know how to defend myself, but never have to use it because I'm good at infiltration. I'm a social chameleon!

All right. So there you go. Some thoughts, stories, wishes, etc. unlock from the basement of my brain.

So, one must ask? What sort of cosmic questions would you ask ~Mark, Corinna, Rachel, etc. etc. etc. You read me, you get asked.) :)

Last thoughts:

If you were a fruit what kind of fruit would you be?
What's your favorite picture?
Who would win in a wrestling match Lenin or Lennon?
Is Pepsi One the new New Coke?
Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

Any questions? Let me know.

Labels: random

Yes! Sunday. The day after Saturday. The day after my parents' visit to Pittsburgh. I'm calmer. My headaches have gone away (all week long I've had a head in some form or another). I'm actually looking forward to the weekend - instead of dreading it.

Please don't misunderstand me. I love my parents, I really do. But I don't know how to communicate with them. I don't know what they want from me. And they never seem to be having a good time. Every time I talk to them, it ends up being a lecture.

Yes, I know to be careful. Yes, I know to lock my windows in the car. To lock my front door. To screen my phone calls. To do my best in everything. To eat right. To try to lose more weight. Wear make up. Be more feminine. Grow my hair longer. Wear skirts. To cook healthy meals. (Oh, you don't want me to get started on my looks. That's been a touchy subject since I've been in junior high school.)

Yes, I know all this.

*Sigh*

I'm b*tching, yes. But, I feel that my parents have never understood me. We're from two different cultures (Filipino versus American) and try as they might, I'm not going to be them. I have to be me. I'm my own person. And that includes finding my own personality and choosing between elements of the two cultures.

That must be very difficult for them to understand. Oh, heck. It must be hard for parents in general to understand that. You spend all your life trying to make it easy for your kids only to have them throw it back in your faces. It must be very trying and difficult. But please, please try to look at it from your children's point of view. We're trying to be our own people. Yes, we will fall flat on our faces from time to time. Yes, we love that you're there to help us, but there also comes the time to just let us be.

No matter what I do or what Steve does, I don't think they will ever like him. Oh, they'll tolerate him, but they won't like him. To them, he's the intruder come to take their precious daughter away from her duties. To me, he's the best damn thing that's ever happened to me. He makes me a better person. He lets me see things in a different point of view. He introuduces me to new things. He lets me be me.

And in return, I let him be him. I love him unconditionally. I'm very sorry if my parents don't see that. But I'm not sorry for loving him.

Labels: family

Several things have been on my mind lately:

• The "runaway bride" in Georgia (?)
• My invitations
• Blogging vs. Live journaling
• My House
• Migraines

There are, of course, a lot of other things that are on my mind, but these topics are dominating my thoughts currently.

So, bear with me.

(deep breath)

I feel really bad about the almost-bride-to-be in Georgia. I admit, I'm not in her shoes or her family's shoes, but do you miss the signs that your daughter/fiancee/friend might be having cold feet? Yes, I know this happens all the time and unfortunately more often with those who have committed suicide but she had to be a very good actress to hide this tremendous amount of stress she felt.

But like I said, I'm not in her shoes. I don't have an audience of 600 watching me get married in July nor do I have 16 attendants.

My friend said she watched the fiancee be interviewed today on TV and she said she got chills up and down her spine. Why? Because she knew in her heart of hearts that when the bride got back to Georgia that she would be beaten within an inch of her life. I can't make a judgment on that, because I didn't watch the interview. She told me that when she looked into his eyes, she knew that he was abusing her.

Okay. That's one interpretation of it.

What does Stevie have to say about it?

He saw the same interview and said that the guy looked totally devoted to her. Stevie said the groom looked like he would do anything she asked him to. Anything.

What do I think about it? I didn't see any interviews with the man. I just saw a picture of him. But from what I've heard, I think its sad. If she didn't want to get married in the first place, why take it that far? I mean, yes, I understand that I don't know the details and probably never will. But marriage is still one of those events that's special.

So...two things. One: Different people see different things. They bring their baggage (no matter what or what kind) with them all the time. My friend who said he was abusing the bride knows of such things. She's seen it happen. With Stevie, he knows of such things. He told me that he's totally devoted to me. (No, I'm not going to have him murder someone...yet.) Two: Leave the poor couple alone! They have enough to talk about without having the media and Harry, Jim and Jim's mother looking over their shoulder.

Next topic.

It involves my invitiations. Okay, fine. I forgot to show them to my parents. Fine. I understand that. But they are spending over $700.00 on invitations when it could have cost them $300. And without a lot less irritation from me.

But I will say, if this is the only time I have a nervous breakdown, then wonderful. It's past. Let's move on. And I will say this, sometimes I need to cry and curl up into a little tiny ball to think and see straight.

Next topic.

Corinna suggested that I try live journaling instead of blogging if I wanted the feedback. I'm looking into it. If I so choose to move to a live journaling site, I'll let y'all know.

Next topic.

*sigh* My house. The contractor ripped off the back porch to find carpenter ants living there quite nicely. The little "addition" was shabbily built, looked like crap and is finally gone. (Thank you Tom M.)

The former owner chose to install this little gem - covering half of the kitchen window, I might add - with timber that was not meant to be placed outside in the elements. It wasn't treated, covered, nothing. Oh, and it wasn't insulated. Oh, and there was no possible way to get outside from it - thus leaving the occupant with only ONE entrance into Douglas Manor. About the only thing that he did do semi-right? The concrete had steel enforcements in it. Oh, sure the steps were almost a foot high and you would probably break your neck if you ever stepped off of it, but they weren't coming in.

Who is they? I don't know. I'm sure he didn't know either.

Next topic.

Oh, yes. My migraines. I will attribute these gems to the stress that I'm generally feeling. At work, with the wedding...just in general. Once the wedding is over, the work stress will subside. How does that work? I like to think that stress builds off another stress. You take one stress away it falls like dominoes. That and we have a nicer bed at Douglas Manor.

Okay, so I haven't been keeping up lately. But I have good reason to. I'll go into that later. But I wanted to write something, just to keep me in the habit of writing.

Even if 99% is crap. :)

Labels: random