Photo: My boss was the mastermind.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Me & Misses Jones
Emotional Exhibitionist, please make your way to the stage…
It’s probable that my love affair with Bridget Jones (and her diary) is derived by the eerie (and feminine) commonalities reflected between her character and myself. No, I’m not blond and pudgy; but I am (or can be) a bit: neurotic, obsessive, emotional, weak, strong, and purveyor of cinematic romance (or at least the prospect of having one). But unlike Miss Jones, I’m equipped with something she never had during her stint as a single woman: content-ness.
Bridget was always waiting, dreaming, and longing even ~ for the next big thing. She wanted a better job. She wanted Daniel Cleaver. Then she wanted Mark Darcy. When they finally coupled, she waited and waited for him to propose his hand in marriage! You see, she was always waiting for the next big thing! All the while afraid that it would never come.
And how am I different? Because on average, I acknowledge at least 10 moments a day that I consider being perfect. I don’t need to wait for the next big thing to feel as though my life is worth more than can be appraised.
Albeit that the milestone’s in her life were quite grandiose… but for me, milestones come in the form of a first kiss, a warm embrace, handwritten letters, a bid I won on e-bay, the purchase of form fitting jeans under $30, extra long hand shakes, and a therapeutic ice cream sundae…
I’m still on the lookout for the next big thing… but I’m elated along the way…
It’s probable that my love affair with Bridget Jones (and her diary) is derived by the eerie (and feminine) commonalities reflected between her character and myself. No, I’m not blond and pudgy; but I am (or can be) a bit: neurotic, obsessive, emotional, weak, strong, and purveyor of cinematic romance (or at least the prospect of having one). But unlike Miss Jones, I’m equipped with something she never had during her stint as a single woman: content-ness.
Bridget was always waiting, dreaming, and longing even ~ for the next big thing. She wanted a better job. She wanted Daniel Cleaver. Then she wanted Mark Darcy. When they finally coupled, she waited and waited for him to propose his hand in marriage! You see, she was always waiting for the next big thing! All the while afraid that it would never come.
And how am I different? Because on average, I acknowledge at least 10 moments a day that I consider being perfect. I don’t need to wait for the next big thing to feel as though my life is worth more than can be appraised.
Albeit that the milestone’s in her life were quite grandiose… but for me, milestones come in the form of a first kiss, a warm embrace, handwritten letters, a bid I won on e-bay, the purchase of form fitting jeans under $30, extra long hand shakes, and a therapeutic ice cream sundae…
I’m still on the lookout for the next big thing… but I’m elated along the way…
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
The Office
Photo: Welcome to my Cubiquarium.
If there's one thing we're damn good at, it's playing practical jokes on one another at work. When Eva (and Janice, or Ja-mean) left for corporate headquarters, she came back to find that her cube had been turned upside down...
Phase 1: Oblivious
Phase 2: You just got punked! Let's zoom in, shall we?
I love it. You can see teeth, tongue, and every daaamn thang.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Jesus Take The Wheel
I've been feeling incomplete the past couple of months. I often entertained this debt by thinking it could be fixed if I just "found someone to love" or "bought my Mercedes" or what have you. But I finally admitted that what I was longing for most, was to work on my relationship with Christ.
The Lord has been good because he's given me friends who serve as channels to get back onto the right path. I can't express how grateful I am for these people. Traco, Lamar, Mommy.
So mom and I went to a "new" church for the first time on Sunday, and I'm proud to say that I've found a new home. From the moment I stepped out of my car, I took in a breath of fresh air. Everything about the church felt so right: the seats were comfortable, the lighting was perfect, the center stage was eye catching, the congregation was beaming, everyone was clapping and grasping their individual copies of the Holy Bible. I felt as though the sermon spoke directly to me; addressing issues I've been struggling with in my own life. It felt so good to be attending a service that spoke of the very thing that I am strongly passionate about: Christ, with no fluff.
This isn't something that happened over the course of one night... it's not something someone pressured me into... not something I was influenced into doing... or forced to do by my parents. This has been on my mind for months now. Especially now that I am grown, I can decide for myself what church to attend, or what belief system I want to guide my life with. People are always surprised when they come to learn that I have a strong passion for Christ ~ especially since I haven't been the most pious of Catholics... but I've always believed in his sacrifice and his love - ALL of my life; and I do try hard to be a good person.
I've been longing for a strong support system in terms of my Christian faith, and I think I've finally found it. I want to get as involved as possible with this church... hopefully through one of its many ministries. It will allow me to grow as a person and improve on my relationship with God. And as much as I adore my friends, my job, and have great times with my coworkers, this will allow me to get away from all of that ~ it's something new, something different, something to provide an escape... on top of aiding in my role as a Christian.
Needless to say, I've found a new home. A new calling. As if I've been... born again.
The Lord has been good because he's given me friends who serve as channels to get back onto the right path. I can't express how grateful I am for these people. Traco, Lamar, Mommy.
So mom and I went to a "new" church for the first time on Sunday, and I'm proud to say that I've found a new home. From the moment I stepped out of my car, I took in a breath of fresh air. Everything about the church felt so right: the seats were comfortable, the lighting was perfect, the center stage was eye catching, the congregation was beaming, everyone was clapping and grasping their individual copies of the Holy Bible. I felt as though the sermon spoke directly to me; addressing issues I've been struggling with in my own life. It felt so good to be attending a service that spoke of the very thing that I am strongly passionate about: Christ, with no fluff.
This isn't something that happened over the course of one night... it's not something someone pressured me into... not something I was influenced into doing... or forced to do by my parents. This has been on my mind for months now. Especially now that I am grown, I can decide for myself what church to attend, or what belief system I want to guide my life with. People are always surprised when they come to learn that I have a strong passion for Christ ~ especially since I haven't been the most pious of Catholics... but I've always believed in his sacrifice and his love - ALL of my life; and I do try hard to be a good person.
I've been longing for a strong support system in terms of my Christian faith, and I think I've finally found it. I want to get as involved as possible with this church... hopefully through one of its many ministries. It will allow me to grow as a person and improve on my relationship with God. And as much as I adore my friends, my job, and have great times with my coworkers, this will allow me to get away from all of that ~ it's something new, something different, something to provide an escape... on top of aiding in my role as a Christian.
Needless to say, I've found a new home. A new calling. As if I've been... born again.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Starbucks
Written on my venti no whip cafe mocha...
The Way I See It #78
My inspiration for writing comes from
the mundane details of my day.
I hear a song in the hum of the
New York subway, in the drops of rain
on the city street,
in the buzz of overheard
conversations in a crowded park.
The aim of my songwriting is to
translate these ordinary,
everyday moments into something
transcendental and universally inspiring.
John Legend
Funny how an empty cup can fill me up so much on the inside.
The Way I See It #78
My inspiration for writing comes from
the mundane details of my day.
I hear a song in the hum of the
New York subway, in the drops of rain
on the city street,
in the buzz of overheard
conversations in a crowded park.
The aim of my songwriting is to
translate these ordinary,
everyday moments into something
transcendental and universally inspiring.
John Legend
Funny how an empty cup can fill me up so much on the inside.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Pacific Life Open
http://www.pacificlifeopen.com/
We voyaged out into Indian Wells last Wed. to watch Sharapova rock Groenefeld's world, after a friend's friend scored us six tickets for the big night. As most men would agree, Sharapova was hot like fire! We watched the Blake v. Haas game too.. but had to make a quiet exit because it was past 10pm, we had a 1 hour and 10 minute drive ahead of us, there were still talks of having dinner (we were hongry!), and I had to be awake at 5:20am the next morning for work.. oh the life of a grown woman.
All picture credits go to Catherine and her one helluva Canon.
Photos: Groenefeld v. Sharapova (latter pics are of James Blake)
We voyaged out into Indian Wells last Wed. to watch Sharapova rock Groenefeld's world, after a friend's friend scored us six tickets for the big night. As most men would agree, Sharapova was hot like fire! We watched the Blake v. Haas game too.. but had to make a quiet exit because it was past 10pm, we had a 1 hour and 10 minute drive ahead of us, there were still talks of having dinner (we were hongry!), and I had to be awake at 5:20am the next morning for work.. oh the life of a grown woman.
All picture credits go to Catherine and her one helluva Canon.
Photos: Groenefeld v. Sharapova (latter pics are of James Blake)
Saturday, March 18, 2006
V for Vendetta
I took a 4.5 hour power nap after work to make certain that I’d be alert throughout the entire 11:15pm showing of V for Vendetta ~ and now it's 3am & I can’t fall asleep! Well worth it, however, because the movie was frickin' awesome. It’s funny to go back and read reviews about the movie.. because the bad ones (which make up about 30% of the reviews) are all written very poorly ~ one went as far as to describe the movie as “gay” – which, pardon me for cracking up, isn’t very professional or cohesive at all. Not at all to say that those who didn't like it don't have true respect for the arts ~ because it is, afterall, a matter of preference.. but for me personally (and 70% of the critics), I was able to appreciate all that the movie had to offer: a plot which was both different and actually good (finally!), a twist, good acting, visual complexities, and of course, Natalie.
I can now cross this movie off of my 'to-do' list.
I can now cross this movie off of my 'to-do' list.
Monday, March 13, 2006
If You Could Relive One Hour of Your Past
VERSION 1
Message: What time are you going to be there?
Reply: I’m here now.
Less than 10 minutes later, she saw him walk in. She noticed immediately that he had changed out of the shirt and jeans of earlier that evening, and into the gray blazer she often preferred him in. “Something more appropriate for the night,” she thought. He looked amazing. He held up his hand to signal “one minute” into her direction, as he was obligated to pause and converse with some acquaintances who had stopped him on the way in.
She wasn’t very fond of those acquaintances. Actually, she wasn’t very fond of one woman in particular, who had been vying for his attention during the past few days. She saw him pointing in her direction and was immediately perplexed, “Why are they all looking over here?” she mumbled under her breath. Her friends had been sitting beside her, trying to decipher body language and lip movement. And in an attempt to stop herself from watching him.. staring at him.. she got up gracefully and walked over to the bar.
“One Guinness please.”
“Hey Ro, what are you getting?” It was him.
He stood so close to her that she could feel her hair rise, as each individual goose bump began to form on her arm. He mimicked her posture as he folded his hands together and placed his elbows firmly onto the bar. So close that their shoulders touched, and by turning her head slightly to the right, their eyes tunnel visioned at point blank range.
“A Guinness,” she said with a smile.
As he told her how hungry he was, the bartender handed her a pint ~ to which she mentally chanted “Do not spill do not spill,” over and over again in her head.
"I'll see you back at the table," she whispered, as she took her hand and made a conscious maneuver to brush it down his arm. She could tell by his smile, that he had been charmed.
Her friends were eager for her return, as they sat dying to tell her that the woman at the other table stormed out of the bar after watching him stand beside her. Her friends learned that the reason for the “pointing” and “looking” that took place just ten minutes before, was because he was telling the woman, “I’m having dinner at that table with her tonight.”
He returned.
He took off his blazer… and she couldn’t help but stare at his arms, hands, face. “You looked like a lovesick puppy,” her friend told her later that night, “you both just kept staring into one another’s eyes, and the rest of us wanted to leave.”
She had to go now.
“I’ll call you when I’m done here,” he said with a look of anxiety on his face. He had to stay. He had to entertain new friends that just walked in. He did not want to.
“Okay,” she said, as she turned to walk away. She turned to catch one last glance at him and was shocked to find him already looking into her direction. “Nice,” she softly whispered, “nice.”
Later that night: She checked her phone… one missed call?
“I wish I could’ve gone with you tonight,” she listened as she stood outside the double doors of her place. She was biting her bottom lip, but her mind was doing cartwheels.
Message: What time are you going to be there?
Reply: I’m here now.
Less than 10 minutes later, she saw him walk in. She noticed immediately that he had changed out of the shirt and jeans of earlier that evening, and into the gray blazer she often preferred him in. “Something more appropriate for the night,” she thought. He looked amazing. He held up his hand to signal “one minute” into her direction, as he was obligated to pause and converse with some acquaintances who had stopped him on the way in.
She wasn’t very fond of those acquaintances. Actually, she wasn’t very fond of one woman in particular, who had been vying for his attention during the past few days. She saw him pointing in her direction and was immediately perplexed, “Why are they all looking over here?” she mumbled under her breath. Her friends had been sitting beside her, trying to decipher body language and lip movement. And in an attempt to stop herself from watching him.. staring at him.. she got up gracefully and walked over to the bar.
“One Guinness please.”
“Hey Ro, what are you getting?” It was him.
He stood so close to her that she could feel her hair rise, as each individual goose bump began to form on her arm. He mimicked her posture as he folded his hands together and placed his elbows firmly onto the bar. So close that their shoulders touched, and by turning her head slightly to the right, their eyes tunnel visioned at point blank range.
“A Guinness,” she said with a smile.
As he told her how hungry he was, the bartender handed her a pint ~ to which she mentally chanted “Do not spill do not spill,” over and over again in her head.
"I'll see you back at the table," she whispered, as she took her hand and made a conscious maneuver to brush it down his arm. She could tell by his smile, that he had been charmed.
Her friends were eager for her return, as they sat dying to tell her that the woman at the other table stormed out of the bar after watching him stand beside her. Her friends learned that the reason for the “pointing” and “looking” that took place just ten minutes before, was because he was telling the woman, “I’m having dinner at that table with her tonight.”
He returned.
He took off his blazer… and she couldn’t help but stare at his arms, hands, face. “You looked like a lovesick puppy,” her friend told her later that night, “you both just kept staring into one another’s eyes, and the rest of us wanted to leave.”
She had to go now.
“I’ll call you when I’m done here,” he said with a look of anxiety on his face. He had to stay. He had to entertain new friends that just walked in. He did not want to.
“Okay,” she said, as she turned to walk away. She turned to catch one last glance at him and was shocked to find him already looking into her direction. “Nice,” she softly whispered, “nice.”
Later that night: She checked her phone… one missed call?
“I wish I could’ve gone with you tonight,” she listened as she stood outside the double doors of her place. She was biting her bottom lip, but her mind was doing cartwheels.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
I'm Older Than I Look
As the timeless saying goes, “Age is only a number.”
Up until now, I’ve never been compelled to prove my maturity to anyone about anything. While my attitude has always been “take me as I am,” I can’t help but question my actions that affirm and echo a morbidly painful song which screams, “I’m not a girl. Not yet a woman.”
Is it possible to remain the ideal blend of both ~ considering it’s impossible to find a fit in just one?
At family gatherings I am 12 again. It doesn’t help that my aunts still refer to my cousins and I as “mga bata,” or “the children,” even if we’re all grown men and women. I am 12 when we sit at the dinner table and rehash the funniest moments to develop from the times we used to camp at Yosemite. I am 12 when someone breaks my heart, and all I want to is scream, cry, and ask the universe, “why me?!”
I am 12 when I tackle my dog and tickle his paws; 12 when I sing Whitney Houston in the shower; when I rest my head on my mother’s lap; when I tell my father 'daddy I love you'; when I tell lame jokes to others & end up being the only one in hysterical laughter.
When I wake up for work on Monday mornings, I am 22 again. Sitting in a business meeting with professionals who are significantly older than myself, I am 30. When I pay bills, manage my money, sip my 3rd cup of coffee, purchase a cocktail dress, articulate my thoughts into graceful words, decide what new vehicle to purchase, or choose what furniture to place in a room ~ there is no sign of a 12 year old girl.
12 in the way I develop a crush, 22 in the way that I love, 30 in the way that I kiss.
Not too young to know when it’s time to be serious. Not too old to have fun – even if ‘fun’ meant that my actions were a bit juvenile in the eyes of someone else.
Up until now, I’ve never been compelled to prove my maturity to anyone about anything. While my attitude has always been “take me as I am,” I can’t help but question my actions that affirm and echo a morbidly painful song which screams, “I’m not a girl. Not yet a woman.”
Is it possible to remain the ideal blend of both ~ considering it’s impossible to find a fit in just one?
At family gatherings I am 12 again. It doesn’t help that my aunts still refer to my cousins and I as “mga bata,” or “the children,” even if we’re all grown men and women. I am 12 when we sit at the dinner table and rehash the funniest moments to develop from the times we used to camp at Yosemite. I am 12 when someone breaks my heart, and all I want to is scream, cry, and ask the universe, “why me?!”
I am 12 when I tackle my dog and tickle his paws; 12 when I sing Whitney Houston in the shower; when I rest my head on my mother’s lap; when I tell my father 'daddy I love you'; when I tell lame jokes to others & end up being the only one in hysterical laughter.
When I wake up for work on Monday mornings, I am 22 again. Sitting in a business meeting with professionals who are significantly older than myself, I am 30. When I pay bills, manage my money, sip my 3rd cup of coffee, purchase a cocktail dress, articulate my thoughts into graceful words, decide what new vehicle to purchase, or choose what furniture to place in a room ~ there is no sign of a 12 year old girl.
12 in the way I develop a crush, 22 in the way that I love, 30 in the way that I kiss.
Not too young to know when it’s time to be serious. Not too old to have fun – even if ‘fun’ meant that my actions were a bit juvenile in the eyes of someone else.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Best Part of Today
"arithmetical" [air-ith-metic-ull]
Yvonne: uh-rith-muh-tickle?
Why I found that so funny? I do not know. But it made me smile. Even as I sit here now... I chuckle. Note: the only way to alleviate the tension in a business meeting is to get up and do the wave (even if there's only 7 of you).
Yvonne: uh-rith-muh-tickle?
Why I found that so funny? I do not know. But it made me smile. Even as I sit here now... I chuckle. Note: the only way to alleviate the tension in a business meeting is to get up and do the wave (even if there's only 7 of you).
Wednesday, March 1, 2006
Paris Blues
Good friends are like a good pair of jeans. When you find a pair that fits you just right, you form a loyalty with it. For the first few months, those jeans stand out amongst the rest of your wardrobe. You wear them to special occasions: dates, parties, or casual Friday. You watch your step to make sure that the edges don’t fray, and wash them often to break them in. And then, like the effect time has on most things, you begin to set those jeans aside. You buy new clothes: capris, mini-skirts, gaucho pants. When getting ready for work, you look past those jeans and head directly for the pair of pinstripe slacks. When there’s a shift in season, you would much rather wear a summer dress. But at the end of the day, when you’re in a rush to head out the door and have no clue what to wear… you reach for those jeans because they’re reliable. You know you’ll feel comfortable wearing them no matter what. And when you look down to see that a small tear is beginning to form in the pocket, you begin realize that you have to take better care of them. You sew up the tear and begin to wash them in the gentle cycle. They’ve become a lot more fragile than they were in the beginning. But even then, you know that they’re still reliable. And no matter how many times you’ve jumped from one outfit to the next, those jeans are the pair that you reach for at the end of the day... because no matter what the weather is outside, it's those jeans that make your ass look great.
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