A new "8th Asian"

I've been reading a great, well-read blog based in the Bay Area called 8 Asians and today in my blog reader I saw a post called, "I Want to be Wasian!" and I'm like, "huh"? What the hell is a Wasian?

I keep reading about the writer's Daughter, The Cheetah Girls, etc... and... wait a minute... JEFF? The writer's name is JEFF?

Click on the bio -- hey, THAT'S MY BROTHER WRITING THERE! He's Asian #8 now!

How cool is that. Go read this article and this blog... and say hi to the Wasian-Wannabe's Dad. :)

I'm so proud!

Bobalu

Lu and Bob are married now, and I just got an email that they are exhausted but safely and finally in France. First 1/3 of the trip in the Loire Valley, the second 1/3 in Provence, the last on a 6-day river barge trip and the last day in Paris. Ooh la la!

It was a beautiful wedding... my participation was mostly behind the scenes. The processional music was a short song David (the best man and who walked Lu down the aisle) wrote when he was around 10 -- Lu heard him play it on the piano one night and she fell in love with it. So he recorded it for me, I transcribed it, then I added a cello and flute. I think it's lovely:

Click to hear: David's Song

David also had an idea for this little video from the beginning when they met -- when Lu was checking to see if she and Bob liked the same things. So over the past few months David took some wacky pictures without telling them what they were doing (fortunately they were game!).

"Bobalu How About You?" -- It was fun to see it on the big screen, but even better to hear Lu and Bob laughing at their video surprise. What a grand night!

"Cock Block"

* Amazing the words and phrases one can still be newly exposed to. Goes right along with previous post, huh?

* Just got back from Kinko's to do some graphic design stuff -- printing DVD covers, .pdf articles. My friend thinks the fact that Kinko's exists is ridiculous -- that if you know you have to do something by a certain time, you shouldn't have to do it at 3:00 in the morning.

I beg to differ -- there are no lines, you can get better deals with the fellow "vampire-like" employees, and I've got energy to burn. So I love Kinko's.

* So wonderfully satisfied by this wedding and my participation in it...

* Some people think LA is exotic. ST. PAUL is pretty exotic to me! Weird.

And that's all I got.

I saw the Mississippi River (sorta)

Wired and tired in St. Paul. Happy to be here for this wedding... more soon.

Am reading "Rebel Without a Crew" by director Robert Rodriguez about when he made El Mariachi... I'm crazy about this journey of his...!

ZZZZZZZZZZzzz... that's a good sign. Need to catch up.

Go Away Little Girl

I will always love Donny Osmond... he's probably a good man in real life, but he'll forever be the one who made me imagine there was a bigger world than where I grew up. (The Osmond concert at the Oakland Coliseum happened to be my first concert ever too.)



I wish I could call myself a Drama Queen, but I consider Mastery part of the title of "queen" so I guess I'm going to have to acquiesce to being a Drama Princess. (Empress sounds more Asian, but it's still too old for how I'm feeling.)

I'm going to have to make some big decisions soon and I swear I can't stop crying. I hate that I'm this "STEAMY" (fire hands, water heartlines) and emotional... I feels like I'm the biggest sensitive non-logical no-back-boned weak-ass wimp around. (Not stupid. I didn't say I thought I was stupid. Or an idiot.)

Does "drama" mean I'm "alive" in my cockeyed brain?!

I am being drawn into the mucky mire of someone else's SHIT... and I have to catch myself and CUT BAIT before I drown. Is their crap really more important than my own? Do I really need that much g.d. attention?!

DONE. Go Away Little Girl.

Mother fucking a--.

Making My Bed

In the last 12 days, I have slept in my own bed for exactly TWO NIGHTS. No, I'm not THAT much of a sl*t -- eight of those days I was up north at my folks' house. But now I've developed this wonderful habit of spending the night at any of my dear friends' places so I don't drive home half-cocked (!?!). I usually wake up by 4:00 or 4:30, then sneak out to enjoy the quiet of the night before dawn strikes.

Kinda weird -- for being someone whose had some major insomniac issues a few years ago (I'm blessed that I can sleep now at all), I still haven't made my home -- specifically my bedroom and my bed -- the "paradise" that everyone says it should be so I can experience real comfort and rest.

I HATE MY BEDROOM.

It's a comfortable bed... but that's it. I might as well be sleeping in an Army cot, I avoid it like the plague. As a matter of fact... I have crappy "sleep hygiene" -- no routine at all -- pretty much don't go to bed til I'm about to pass out, read for about 10 minutes and pass out in the book with the light on. Hm...

Wonder what I'm afraid of?

Natch, I'll think about it tomorrow. I need to take a nap.

Posting

I hate that I haven't been able to keep up my once-a-day-post-for-30-days schedule -- it only shows me how (1) difficult a writing schedule that is (2) difficult a commitment that is and (3) how hard it is to keep a commitment to myself like that is.

Of all the things I'm incredibly busy with -- the fact that I've not put this first priority really bothers me... I feel like "Fuck it, you screwed up, fuck it all to hell!" But I won't. I'm here, aren't I? Yup.

And even though I'm not supposed to worry about who reads this... the deeper I go into feelings and stories... the more I'm hesitant to write. Too many people involved, too many feelings to be hurt, too many secrets to be revealed...

I can't even "fictionalize" stuff because so many people know the real players... argh. Guess I have to be old and gray(er) before I expel any of these tales... suffice it to say, I've got no more tears left this week... I'm plum dried out and too busy. Catch me next week after projects are done and hearts have had time to heal.

Oh, an up-note and in a nutshell: Saw a terrific Korean movie called Oldboy that blew my socks off; and I met Mr. 2009 Philippines USA, Kapono Kobylanski, tonight at launch party for Hey! Magazine (and who definitely is NOT an old boy). Great evening...

Cut hairs

I once read somewhere that you can learn something from everyone you meet -- from the bum on the street to the richest man in universe to the baby in a stroller to an old fart mouthing off in the grocery store.

You learn what you want to keep in your life, and maybe some other stuff you should get IN to your life a little more often.

So what does it mean when you find yourself "accidentally" hanging out with an international male actor/model?

No, not what you think -- all about vanity, narcissism, immaculate grooming, exquisite taste and absolute snobbery and bucks up the ying-yang? (well, not all the time anyway -- ha!) No, not with this down-to-earth North Dakota guy, anyway.

Where we meet as friends has nothing to do with his work -- but by osmosis I'm learning a thing or two about self-confidence in the physical realm that I've never been in contact with before. An athlete since age 9 and a former national wrestling champion has made this guy FRIENDS -- dare I say BEST BUDDIES -- with his own body, and he thinks nothing else of it except to take care of it like anything else in his life: his car, apartment, computer, etc. All matter of fact, nothing special -- and certainly nothing to be ashamed of or hung up over.

What a novel idea: comfort in your own skin.

Hm.

Made me get a haircut today, get rid of the gray and look in the mirror and not barf again -- good, okay! See? Successful learning... I'm Asian and not vomit-inducing. YAY!

I stand a little taller already.

In Fine Form

Went to see two venues today with Mom, had lunch, went shopping at two Nordstrom's (y'all KNOW how much I hate shopping, especially for clothes for ME) -- then to my brother's house for dinner.

What a day.

And my mother was in fine form.

(RING RING Specialty-Sing-Song-RING of my cell phone. I pick it up immediately.)

Me: Hi, there!
Him: What's up?
Me: Actually I'm in the car with Mom but I don't have my headset on. Can we talk later?
Him: Yeah, sure, I'll call you.
Me: Everything okay?
Him: Everything's good. Bye.

(I hang up.)

Mom: Who was that?
Me: Guy.
Mom: Guy -- again? Why is he always calling you?

(Deep breath.)

Me: Mom, HE likes ME.
Mom: Oh. He must not have anyone else to talk to.
Me: Mom! Don't you think anyone could like me?
Mom: Well, I guess Jack liked you. He was always calling you whenever you were here. But he didn't have anyone to talk to either, did he?

I want to die. Is this what my mother really thinks of me? But I don't know how to "die" in front of my mother, I don't know how to tell her how hurtful she's being. So what comes out?

A big cackle. A guffaw. And then a big belly-aching belly laugh as I miss the onramp to Stevens Creek for the second time.

Tears are running down my face because we are laughing so hard.

I finally get it out:

Me: Mother, stop it right now. Not one more word. NOT ONE.
Mom: I guess I'm helping you get lost, huh?
Me: Please, Mother. Be quiet!

I find the Valley Fair Nordstrom's and park the car in silence.

Before we leave the car, the final proclamation (as best as my ability to deal with it anyway):

Me: I can't believe you think that about me, Mom -- and that you said it.

(And for the ultimate revenge):
Me: YOU'RE GONNA SEE THIS IN A PLAY SOMEDAY.

So there.

Behind behind... Ketchup

I'm a day behind in writing posts and it's making me crazy.

But I'm not going to go PERFECTIONISTIC on myself --

So here's the "catch up" one... and I'm moving on.

Little Chinese Babies

On the eve of the Chinese Women's Gymnastics team winning the gold medal, I have to admit something that's been bothering me for last few months:

I've been surrounded by men who are "into" Asian girls.

Now that wouldn't seem like a problem considering I am an Asian gal myself... but I never considered myself thought of myself (1) as attractive or (2) desirable so NATURALLY, I would never think the race that my face and skin are akin to as either of those things.

Ever.

Ideal to me was dark-haired and European -- like Olivia Hussey ("Juliet") or Finola Hughes or Isabella Rossellini.

Not me, not "my" people. We're weird. "Exotic" Less-than. Whore-y. Wrong.

Loaded with stereotypes, none of them admirable -- oh, except maybe "hospitable." (Yeah. LOVE that one. And "No," I'd hiss back: "I've never lived in Subic Bay!")

Less you think it doesn't smart to admit that right now -- it stings like a sunofabitch. But for once, being around these men who have a simple, honest preference for Asian women of different colors, looks, nationalities... I've now come to a kind of curiosity of little Asian faces, little girls' faces like my own -- like I'm an alien seeing them for the first time.

I'm fascinated... and I mourn. The time I've lost in self-hatred and non-acceptance is time I'll never get back!

Oh, one would think I would hate these guys who are only proud to announce their desire for my specific kind -- but I know now it's only a preference, like we all have preferences about everything else in life. No malice in it. And I get to realize, by TRANSITIVE PROPERTY -- that I am desirable too.

The teachers have come -- I guess it's taken this long for this student to be ready. I look into the mirror today and finally do not turn away.

Ache-y but Fine

Today I actually felt the most "ME" I have in a long time in this house -- I had a day like I would in L.A., just up here. And boy did that feel great!

Got up by 10:30 (after only 4.5 hours sleep, what the heck, it felt good anyway), showered, blowdryed my hair (shocking I know), got online and worked.

Had lunch with parents when they got back from mass and their morning, then back to work.

Booked four appointments for four very different rooms and went over some figures with Mom. As of tonight, she wants to throw in the towel ("Too much money!") but we're having lunch on one of the catering directors tomorrow -- who happens to be the one who "booked and cooked" Mom's 80th at another location. And if I now my Mother, she's not gonna pass THAT up, so I guess we're really still on...

Had a lovely dinner while watching the parents' favorite "Teen Jeopardy." Yakked w/ Brad on the phone for a good long while. Got yelled at by Mom for talking too long on the phone: "Who was that? You talked too long."

"Too long for who?" I shot back, then got yelled at by Dad for talkin' smack to my mother.

What? Huh? Did you not just get on Mom yourself today for being too nosey and all up in your business?

UGH. Do parents ever realize how much influence they have on a kid? No matter how old that kid, one lifted eyebrow look can pierce the psyche for days...

Instead, however, of shrinking into a puff ball and blowing away, I lowered my voice and spoke in a calm tone... truth is, I don't know what kind of shit I said but no one yelled anymore and I went and watched the sexy male Olympic gymnasts in the office, away from them. I just didn't want them picking on me and my friends (and the DVD I just produced!) and... jeez, cut it out already! This doesn't make me wanna hang out with you guys more, you know?

They went to bed, then I spoke with Travis for awhile re: the next video shoot, and here I am. Other than being much better fed here (understatement!) than in L.A. -- I had a good day in my own skin. All is well.

(NOTE: Apologies if you are one of the four commenters on yesterday's post -- I can't read them as Haloscan.com isn't letting me get to the site. Will respond as soon as I can!)

Distraction of Olympic Proportions

I don't know what I was thinking when I decided to come up here and spend some time at my parents' home. I always want to come and "relax" -- but as I am always told, and will invariably be told some time during this stay, "This is not a hotel. Make your bed. And go help your mother cook. You are not on vacation." (Never mind I can't cook a lick and my mother is the Queen [and Sentry] of her own kitchen and I am more Nuisance than Assistance...)

False advertising, I say! When I'm away in L.A., my parents want me here with them. "We miss you, honey, come stay with us!" Underneath that of course is the usually unsaid, "You don't have a job anyway yet, so it's cheaper if you live here with us." Today what did get said was, "We can save all the money we spend on you and use it for our 50th Wedding Anniversary Party next year!"

That's basically why I'm here this weekend for them -- to scout out a location for their big bash. Mom is getting a kick out of having these fabulous theme-parties because she has her own Personal Party Theme Designer Daughter Who'll Never Be Able to Pay Us Back So She Should Use That Creativity Thing for Something at her disposal. Forever.


Their 45th was in Honolulu and of course Hawaiian-themed; her 80th birthday was a Project Runway parody, complete with fashion show of her clothes since the 1950s because YES, SHE STILL HAS THEM. And now instead going on a cruise with the family like she originally vowed -- she's putting her finally-graduated-from-college only daughter to work. After all, I have no "permanent job" yet, remember. I guess in Tagalog that means "Our daughter has no life."

What to do this time -- I have no idea yet. What Mom loves is having some event that none of her Filipino friends have seen or done -- and that usually has to do with the fact that there is an overall theme, a program and entertainment, and definite audience participation. Many moons ago at my Dad's retirement party we had a fun sailor theme where everyone one red, white and blue and we handed out sailor hats and had a game of Jeopardy with the guests that was quite successful; last party they all played bingo while the "models" changed.

So one thing I really wanted to do is find a unique venue, something Filipinos in their barkada aren't used to going to -- like a museum or gallery or mansion -- or even a warehouse and turn into a some atmosphere. Cool, huh? Well, apparently all of that is out now because (1) all these folks are in their 70-80s so it better have easy access to beautiful bathrooms, (2) no buffet anymore because she wants them be seated and served (another age thing), and no spending on real estate because "Filipinos don't care about art anyway."

Okay. Guess I'll save that idea for one of my own parties. And I'm resigned to finding another boring hotel banquet room. UGH. And I'll have to re-examine that "Party Planner" tattoo that's stamped in the middle of my forehead again and hopefully get some inspiration...

Of course the one place I love is the boutique hotel W Silicon Valley here in Newark -- less than a mile away and a little secret that's not on the wedding circuit around here. I saw it a few months ago and fell in love with the contemporary space and fabulous, intimate lobby, a "for sure" for me if only my mother could keep it to 120 people! But no, apparently we're up to 200+ right now so onto the Boring Banquet Room Tour I go.

Actually I'm resigned to that now because I told my mother tonight that I wanted her to get out every damn (okay, I didn't say damn) expectation for her party out RIGHT NOW, one year before the thing, so I could address it. I didn't want to hear AFTER THE FACT: "I thought Frances would dance" or "I thought you would sing" or "I was hoping that would've been a better slideshow." AAAAAAAACCCCCKKKKK!

So tonight she said, "I just want something that everyone has fun at and they've never done before. Of course a nice video of all the old times..." and I'm thinking BORING! Unless I start out with a video that starts out with a voice over:

I'm sure you think you're going to have succumb to a video of my parents through their 50 years of marriage... but this is going to be a little different. This is a photo of them now -- and this is picture of them yesterday. Now let's get on with the games: bring in the elephants and the can-can girls!

HAHA I'm just kidding. But I have my work cut out for again, to make an event my ENTIRE FAMILY will be participating in, ages 9-49. Because remember I have no job and no life!

In actuality, I have a hell of a lot to do this August, and it's all creative work for other friends' parties, weddings and public appearances. Trying to bring that work here to do (my career all on a single jump drive!) when I'm on a back-ass sleep schedule and trying to coordinate with my early-rising parents is a nightmare. Why I am I here again?

Oh yeah. Funds.

I'm overwhelmed just typing this. Even the Olympics are no comfort right now.

A few days ago, playwright and prolific blogger Prince Gomilvilas wrote a wonderful essay for Asia Pacific Arts called "The Other Closet" about coming out to his Thai parents AS AN ARTIST. (Go read it here.)

One sentence got me (and I commented on it in his blog):

          I am a child of Asian Americans -- my parents trump all.

Which is truly why I'm here... and why they're still supporting me, no matter what. They threaten to cut me off every month; they scream, "We're on a fixed income, we have no more money!" and they worry who will take care of their single, poor, aging, oldest girl-child when they're gone. But it's a dance we've always done and will continue to do -- until I decide to grow up and cut that proverbial umbilical cord myself.

Call it co-dependent, dysfunctional and all that white people-12-step-psychological terminology you want -- it's the benefit of being my parents' daughter. I'm lucky, I know... but I'm sharpening the scalpel too. I know I'm going to cut bait -- soon. In the meantime, know any sexy hotels in Tri-City area for me to look at?

(BTW, today Dad was reading the Sunday paper's magazine insert and asked me, "Honey, what's a blog?" I told him it was short for web log -- like someone's diary on the Internet -- where people talk about personal things they care about. That seemed to appease him... whew!)

Zoom!

FINALLY.

I'm turning off the computer after this post and a quick Tweet and getting on the highway. Mom and Dad sounded pretty welcoming (as in we aren't going to ream-your-ass-tonight about not having a job) and have a steak marinating and lumpia ready to fry.

I feel better... the old girl is strong. Late night talk radio, here I come!

Edited to add:
Woohoo, I kicked *ss! Left at 12:40 am, got into Newark at 5:55 am -- 5 hr 15 min, a new record for me, 362 miles door to door! Boy I AM AN OWL -- only 3 quick stops, no nap and wide awake now. Did get here on fumes though... gotta plan better in that department.

I'm The Mole (literally)

I've been pretty hard on myself today, for not being able to get out of town. A dear friend Twittered me this morning and asked "Maybe you don't really want to go? And would that be okay?"

I know I'm in a bad place when I can't decipher between what I want and what I should want. And who I'm gonna disappoint... bleech. Still trying to make it "okay" -- and yet how come my parents have called to ask me why I'm not there yet?

Yesterday I never left this tiny apartment. Not one step. Just holed up and yakked all night (yeah, to THEM -- what about it?!?!).

So today I'm antsy to get out, to connect. I go to mid-town L.A. and make a little gas money doing some Photoshop work. I take a break from that and go to Koreatown to interview a potential actress for a friend's next video. I go back to mid-town. I'm yakking on phone (and headset, which I finally found, along with my keys!), enjoying the sunset drive on a warm L.A. night.

I come home and watch the penultimate episode of The Mole on the internet (I think MARK is The Mole, BTW, we'll see!), sing a little more "foolish songs" with Regine on YouTube (boy, I wish I spoke Tagalog!), and I'm wiped.

So this entry sucks... but hey, even The Man Upstairs rested on the seventh day, right? Right.

Hasta mañana.

Long Drive Home

Car's almost packed up and I'm finally getting myself up to the Bay Area. (And if I don't time it right,I might be napping for six hours on the road -- so this is going to be short!) I don't have a working TV in L.A. (I know, shocking), but I need to make sure I'm at my parents and THEIR big-ass TV for the Opening Ceremonies of the 2008 Summer Olympics.

Yes, I'm an Olympics junkie, and have watched almost all of them since the Olga Korbut/Cathy Rigby balance beam years. I'm also the predecessor of what they call nowadays a super-fangirl... yeah, I've met -- even "more" than met... well, anybody I've ever wanted to or admired. That would include a TV thug's cousin, a Mormon, singing twins and Filipino-speaking white guy who cooks.

Right now I'm thinking about my two favorite gold medalists: Ilia Kulik, 1998 Men's Figure Skating Champion; and Greg Louganis, 1984 and 1988 Platform and Springboard Champion. I so love what the Olympians are -- they bring the best they are to table and show us the potential in ourselves. I'm so lucky that I've met both of them, and have even gotten to know Ilia quite well (read here and here to re-live a little of that, yeah, yeah, I'm a broken-record with the Ilia stuff already, but it was an important time in my life!).

AOL put up a slideshow of the 40 most memorable moments in Olympic history that brought all those bigger-than-me feelings back (and of course wishing I was an athlete of some sort).

Until I get back to the computer... enjoy the memories.

Oh, look out, Mike Valentino -- I've never been to N.C. before and even though I don't have the same kind of power Prince James Dean has , I might just might have some leftover United miles... (Just kidding, don't send the mobst-- I mean... I better be quiet.)

Honey

Driving home from CPK tonight I think I was craving something sweet because the only thing on my mind was honey.

"Honey."

"Honey," I said out loud again.

Then in rapid succession: Honey? Honey... how are you, honey?... Can I get you something, honey? Scratch my back, honey... Ooh, there, yes, thanks, honey... You mean the world to me, honey...

Ah, sweet affection!

I miss being called "honey." And even more so the old-fashioned "sweetheart." (Of course I cherish the fact that Mom and Dad call me "honey" all the time, but y'all know it's not the same thing.)

And I miss saying those things even more.

It's been awhile since my long-term relationship ended with Jack (oh, he's all over the early days of this blog), and when we broke up I remember that one of the hardest things to do was to get in the habit of calling him by his first name again and not "honey." That he was simply "Jack" is what made it real -- we were finally over.

But then Brad came a callin' -- "Hi, dollface!" "How are you today, cookie?" And when we were speaking very seriously, he is one of the few people in the world I will let call me by my birth name because he would say it with such tenderness...

Occasionally, I'd let a "honey" to Brad come out... and the walls didn't come crashing! I think he liked it... he didn't balk anyway... but I made sure I didn't make it a habit. WE OURSELVES weren't a habit, so it would've been way too presumptions to keep that up.

Today Brad wrote some beautiful things to me in a MySpace note regarding yesterday's post... I won't share them here, but it did remind me why I liked this big-hearted man so much!

He ended the note with, "I'll call you today, OK? XOXOX B"

But he didn't.

And suddenly I'm Shakespeare's Juliet at the end of the play:

I do remember well where I should be, And there I am.

Without honey.

Whipped

This afternoon I was bemoaning the fact to my friend Lana that I have to make a trip up north and I DON'T GET TO SEE BRAD... which is the whole reason I planned to make this trip in the first place. A week and a half ago I needed to see him -- I was desperate to see him.

Now it happens I have a lot of errands to do up there, and I missed spending any quality time with my parents and family during my last visit. And yes, a couple of fantastic networking possibles are in the works there too... but listen, I WAS GOING THERE TO SEE BRAD. And I think he wanted to see me too.

Dammit.

But I'm stalling. Stalled. And I'm hard-pressed to get into my car and drive the 347 miles (and I even missed my niece's birthday dinner tonight too -- Happy Belated again, S!) -- a trip I hate when I'm alone because I get sleepy every 45 minutes and have to take a nap. Maybe I'll just buy some more Streisand tapes to sing to this time... Yentl, A Star is Born...

In any case, out of my mouth popped:

"I can't believe how pussy-whipped he is."

"Oh, yuck, Madley! I hate that word."

"Fucking guys. They fall for the One Girl and that's it, they can't see straight. It's HER pussy and no one else's!"

"I've always hated that word. It's so crass."

"What -- pussy?"

"Yeah. Gross."

"I know -- in our day it used to be one of the foulest words you could use to describe... I don't think you could even hear it anywhere except in pornos. But everyone uses it now."

"Really?"

"Yup.

"I gotta get out more."

"It's no big, Lana, it just means a guy is a wimp -- a big chicken-shit."

"Yuck. I still don't like to hear it."

"It's said so often it doesn't even mean anything anymore. Like 'bitch.' Everyone says it all the time -- it's not nice and I wouldn't say it front of my parents, but it's common. Pussy, pussy, pussy--"

"Madley!"

"See? Doesn't mean anything! Actually, it kinda makes me laugh--"

"Huh? Because?"

"Well... you know, my friend Travis here in L.A. was coming out of the gym and was crossing the street when suddenly some guy in a car cuts him off and almost runs him down, then screams out the window, "IDIOT!" like it was his fault for walking. Last I heard pedestrians get the right of way here in California, right?

"In any case, Travis sees that this guy is pulling into the Ralph's parking lot... which is where he is headed himself.

"So of course, he's pissed off -- and probably way puffed up -- and goes up to this unsuspecting guy: 'Hey -- did you just call me an idiot?"

"The guy puffed back. 'Yeah.'

"Well, your Mr. Tough Guy when you're in a car like that -- that was really rude back there. Do you want to call me an idiot to my face?'

"Don't forget now, Travis is over six feet tall and JUST GOT OUT OF THE GYM and apparently Car-Guy was just 'normal-size.'

"Car-Guy manages to sputter out, 'No, no, man,' as he tries to back away. 'I don't want no trouble.'

"But Travis was having none of it. 'You owe me an apology.'

"'I'm sorry,' says Car-Guy. 'Sorry.'

"'Good,' says Travis. 'Now say you're a pussy.'

"'What?!' says Car-Guy.

"What?!" says my shocked friend, Lana.

I tell her I'm completely flabbergasted when Travis says he said that, so he explained: "He WAS a pussy, so I made him say it. I said, Say it. Say you're a pussy. And he said it -- he said, 'I'm a pussy.'"

"Oh my god, Travis, I can't believe you made him say that."

"Hell, yeah! And then he started to walk away and I said, "Hey -- you got vaginal secretions dripping out of you!"

"No way, you did not say that!"

"Yeah, I did. Maybe I went too far to make him humiliate himself like that--"

"You think?!"

"... but he's lucky I didn't punch him out right there. That was rude of him. HE REALLY WAS A BIG PUSSY."

"Bleech," Lana says after that closing remark. "I'll never get used to it."

I tell her the word is just the punchline of a joke to me now, and new word for a coward/baby/loser. It doesn't mean anything to me anymore -- um, except when it's used with the word "whipped."

It makes me jealous.

And I'll admit it -- crass is as crass does: someday I hope someone will be that whipped for me.


Edited 8/6/08, 3:09 pm: Changed the pseudonym of "Robert" to the real Travis, who wanted credit for his humorous handiwork. And also to correct "vaginal fluids" to "vaginal secretions." When in doubt go to the source. :)

What Kind of Girl Am I?

[Apologies in advance to songwriters and Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley, in case I completely rip this song apart... I had to read my own rules again because I'm so tempted to just post a YouTube video of Filipina sensation Regine Velasquez singing her signature song... but hey, I'm rushing to make the midnight deadline, so I might as well get this right too. ]

So that was the big question looming over me today, as I finally left the house to run some errands and got behind the wheel. Tom Leykis was on the radio.

Yeah, yeah, before you bust my chops for listening to such a... a radio host... (!) hang on there with me. The Boy/Pup put it on while I was driving once, which is okay, because I actually like it when people play what they want in my car, it introduces me to new things. I was not ready for Tom Leykis, but it sure made me understand The Pup.

Samples of LEYKIS 101:

* Never spend a lot of money impressing her on the first date
* Stop seeing her if you don't get laid by the third date
* Never date single mothers

But the three I remember most:

* Never have a sex with a woman without a condom, no matter what she says because anyone no matter who has sex without birth control wants to get pregnant. And just having an orgasm isn't worth that.

* Some women are crazy... you meet them after one night, you bang 'em and suddenly you're their obsession, they jam up you up with calls and emails and texts and they LOVE you. And if a guy is a pussy, he'll just go along with it: "Um, I love you, too?" Come on guys... it's not worth it!

* Getting married is good for the girl -- shitty for the guy. Don't do it.

UGH.

So why am I bothered by all this? Because... I'm recognizing my own stupid-ass behavior in some of these women. And I feel like a complete retard when it comes this stuff. Sorry, it's not very PC, but you kinda talk slum-y to the slum-y... and that's where I'm at.

I was actually a bit... moved?... this afternoon -- so much so that I almost called that damn radio show to THANK TOM LEYKIS for making me see myself -- and swearing never again to be that icky, needy, plotting, desperate woman that he and his listeners so often fall prey to.

I would've called as one of my many female aliases (oh come on, I know you have aliases too -- I only use the male ones for online stuff where I don't have to use a voice) and I would've been the woman that every other woman HATES, but all the locker room jocks and piggish couch potatoes go, "YEAH! RIGHT ON!"

But I couldn't risk The Pup hearing me and my story after OUR first night... eeee gads. Talk about GOOEY.

Anyway, I'm not using this post to beat myself up... really, don't worry, I'm not! Things are just so malleable in my life right now -- and yeah, I'm missing Brad right now as we speak. The question just begs to be asked today: What Kind of Woman Do I Want to Be?

Why can't I fall in love like any other girl?
Maybe then I'll now what kind of fool I am.

No answers tonight. Just the question.

Clear Desktop, Clear Life

Three weeks ago I got into a rip-roaring discussion with The Boy/Pup that made me so furious that I vowed to not to speak to him or answer his emails or open his MySpace notes for a whole week -- HA! Take THAT, I said to myself (since I didn't say it to him... oh, I didn't mention that? Er...)

And to top it off, I was taking the beautiful 1024 x 768 full screen closeup photo of his tan shirtless godlike body off of my desktop. SO THERE! That'll punish ya! Goodbye dreamy eyes, exquisite obliques, rock-hard -- yikes, get thee out of my head! (No, no... those pictures are not for sale. Yet. ;)

This is how my screen looked for three weeks:

And you know what? That's kinda what my brain looked like too -- clear and vast, open to possibilities. For three weeks my path finally opened again to MYSELF, not to him or the two other aforementioned fellas. Just me and space, me and the ocean, me and the sky...

Of course I talked to him the next day -- and every other day after that (I'm not crazy enough to let that go of THAT after a mere "heated conversation" -- see, I told you I didn't remember things very well!). But my head has been cleared -- like the first 20 minutes after a good rain in L.A. that takes all that gunk out of the sky and you remember that you didn't always grow up breathing this disgusting air... Anyway, I feel like I can touch my brain again.

Today, though, I read a quick article about 9 Simple Ways to De-Stress Your Life that Actually Work -- liked the word "de-stress" and the good overview of everything we already know.

What caught my attention though was the photo the author used to accompany his piece. I knew immediately it belonged on my PC -- not too Thomas Kinkade, a little fantasy, a lot of anonymity and complete calm. Ahh....

By golly, I put that "more-grounded me" on my desktop in a flash! There's no fear or obsession in that picture, nor, today, in me because of my three-week "clear desktop cleanse." But now with the new pic I can remind myself -- I'm ready, I can step back into the world again and it's probably not too bad a place.

Losing It

It's 10:11 pm and my mind has been racing to think of what my sophomore post would be--

Relax. I say to myself. Tell me about your day. Anything "thematic" happen?

Well, yeah -- I've lost all kinds of shit today!

I can't find my house and car keys -- and they're on a big college neckband so I can feel it in my purse or hang it on the key cabinet (yes, I actually bought and painted a key cabinet, just for this purpose).

I can't find my headset to my cell phone, so of course I can't drive and talk at the same time -- one of my favorite things to do.

I can't find a photo album of 1998 photos I'm supposed to scan for a web group's commemorative 10th anniversary newsletter about our favorite Olympian.

Good god, yes... I AM LOSING MY MIND. No, I've already lost it...

Hey, don't be a drama queen... just tell the truth.

All right -- I lost a MAN this week! And I just didn't want to admit it.

Okay. That's better, right?

Yes. (Cue: Ann-Margret singing theme to Bye Bye Birdie)

"Brad" had a big crush on me in high school... I actually played his mom, Mrs. MacAfee to his Randolph in Bye Bye Birdie. He was a freshman to my junior, a scrawny squirt who loved hanging with us band/drama geeks as a respite from an ugly and volatile home life. Brad remembers me as being so nice and sweet, and that I paid a lot attention to him, but I, of course, don't remember any of this. I wanted to continue making out with the senior actor/quarterback playing Conrad Birdie!

One promise Brad always made was that someday he would grow up and be as big as a football player, and then I would want to be with him and kiss him again. Again? Sorry Brad, I don't remember that either (but you all already know I have pretty a selective memory anyhoo).

I saw him once 3-4 years later when he was in the service -- and wow, he did grow up to be 6'1" and 230 pounds big... and we did make out! But I was away living the college dorm life and he was "experiencing" Westpac as a U.S. sailor (and I use that term loosely... ahem). There couldn't have been two more different lives.

Fall 2007 and Brad finds a slew of us on Classmates.com and follows me and my name change on MySpace. How strange to be talking to this man after 30 years, especially when his memory of me is so sharp and affectionate. He was still a shrimpy punk in my head...

But he liked to talk -- and shockingly enough nowadays, on the phone, as he wasn't the typing type. How refreshing that was. He and his wife of 19 years were "having trouble" and Brad, who stayed in town, never met someone like "me" who was so wise, mature and empathetic to his situation.

A few months later there's huge blow-up between the two of them, and by law he has to move out of the house. So we talk... and talk. Every night we talk, like clock work since March. I was just closing in on the last month of my stressful senior recital, as well embarking on a new adventure on the "man" front... which Brad would counsel me on, kindly and gently, as a strong male voice of reason and experience.

We always joked that we were each other's "Number #2" and would flirt endlessly too. And I never felt more "heard" and "cared for" and appreciated because he really knew the essence of me... from high school to today. I LOVED MY DAILY CALLS, while relishing the fact that I didn't really have to commit to a "real relationship" with Brad. You know, that "don't really have him so can't really lose him" syndrome? And he was working on getting back with his wife anyway... as much as she would let him.

But guess what? I unexpectedly "fell" anyway, and fell for him hard. Went up north for a week in June, stayed with my parents but spent any evening time I could with Brad. After months of being so close "in the heart" it was hard to not want to be as close in the flesh! It all culminated one night in a high school-type "makeout session" in a parking lot -- imagine that, two almost 50-year olds! LOL. Thank goodness the Newark P.D. were otherwise detained :)

However, "it didn't feel right" and Brad knew he needed to go back to Sally and figure it all out, at least for the kids. (Yeah, it was nice to be THAT catalyst, huh?)

So I had a few good heavy duty cries and emails and said goodbye, just like Babs did with Nick Nolte. I came back to L.A. thinking it would now all be different.

And it wasn't. It got better... and my heart opened wider! My loving friends were so nervous that I would get hurt by this whole situation, but like Star Trek's Enterprise, I was boldly going where I'd never been before: I told them I'd rather practice being open and work a stronger heart muscle than to keep it closed and not ever care for this man!

It also seemed that his heart was closing when it came to Sally at the same time. He was throwing up his hands, surrendering to it never being good again, to the end being near.

Now if anything I learned from Brad, is that I don't deserve to think of myself the way I used to in high school... a gal with not quite the "most pristine" of reps. He told me how I should be treated because of how wonderful I was ... and for the first time in a long time I KNEW I WAS WANTED and worthy of a good, good life.

Whether or not that would be with Brad, we would see.

"Don't put us in a box, Madley," he'd say. "No one knows what's between us but us... and we don't know the future either. We just gotta tell the truth, NOW. I care for you... a lot. You will always be special to me. Remember that."

"Okay."

"And I know I have to be very careful with you..."

"Uh, okay."

"Now -- so how's your fella today?"

Isn't that weird that we could still talk about our Number #1's so freely?

One month later is this past Saturday. After a half-month of not seeing her, Brad finds out that Sally has broken her leg and is now Absolutely Helpless. And on MySpace his update read: "Going back to rescue the day. Mood: Gallant."

(Ah.)

The Savior Knight can now bring deliverance and he has his old job back. All is copacetic in their world again, roles return intact. And there isn't any room in there for me.

Thursday, after missing him three days on the phone and getting no peep online... I called Brad after a class. I like to think I bowed out graciously. He just sounded... so happy, joyous to be able to go back to his home and "fix it all up" again and take care of "his business"... how could I do anything otherwise?

"I'll understand if we won't be able to see each other next week when I'm there."

"Oh. You're very sweet, Madley." (Ooh. Two steps back and it sounds like a bad movie now.)

"I keep thinking 'grace and dignity' and I can do that. So we're okay, really."

"This open communication thing is hard, isn't it?"

"Yup. But no regrets! 100% eyes wide open, Brad, so I'm all right."

"I wish I had a more than one life to spend with you women!"

"Uh..."

"I love you, Madley. You know I do."

"I know -- I know."

I told him I'd be sad for a bit, and that I would really regret not ever being able to "lie prone" with him to watch a bunch of really cool movies (since he's quite the movie buff for not being here in L.A.)! And that, as they say, was that.

Fortunately, I told myself, if ever he wants me, he knows where to get me -- and then he'll have to jump through the hoops he taught me to put up for myself! (Again... we'll see.)

I cried in the car, driving myself to three faux tacos from Jack-in-the-Box. Bleech. But like I said, I'll live.

"Guy A" is gone (I still have Guy B and Guy C left, but that's another day) and now our relationship will be memorialized here in one August blog post. And a bunch of emails, MySpace conversations and photos. Soon I'll lose the memory of this too...

But maybe now I can find my keys.

Turtle Blast, Here I Come!

I promised myself a small Turtle Blast (all 480 calories worth) from the drive-thru Baskin-Robbins tonight after I finished this post and it closes in 93 minutes so I better get crackin' -- I say, whatever gets the old girl movin'!

Well, something was coming -- and yesterday, it came.

Thanks to my newfound community at Twitter.com and the fact that I'm an absolute newbie there (these people are SMART, kids), an article found me: The One Month Launch by Nick Cernis. Basically -- you can do anything in 30 days with a minimum of Perfectionism attached -- so JUST START.

Intriguing... especially on the last day of a month... but it caught fire in this head. I can do anything for 30 days...right?! (Note to self: post re: Overeaters Anonymous-HOW.)

Of course, I wanted to call my friend Diane, who I am always scheming with to somehow get paid to work for ourselves in our respective fields ("Death to Bosses!") to launch SOMETHING to make me some good old hard cash. Especially since the theater gig ended mid-June -- I've been dry. Really dry. Sahara dry.

But finally, 3-1/2 months after my senior recital -- I had enough clarity to know this isn't about launching another business... it's about being creative again. Or disciplined. Or both... yeah, um... both.

"How" was the next dilemma: which of all my crazy jack-of-all-trades creative outlets should I turn to? Fortunately... only one has been sticking in my head (and that's because there's no money/camera for video, no musical collaborators who probably can stand me right now, and too much drama in my life to isolate that into a play...):

WRITE IN YOUR DAMN BLOG.

Ha! Okay. There it is. Doesn't cost me a dime and I don't have a pencil sharpener to fuss w/ pencils and doodle around with... but it'll get me going. To what, I have no idea, but at least I'm frickin' MOVING! (Which reminds me, I have GOT to get some new walking/running shoes. Mine suck.)

What's the launch? MADLEY THE WRITER.

(Hm. I think I like that. :)

A few guidelines/rules for myself though so it counts (because I sure know how to cheat on myself... bad girl!)

Rule #1. At least ONE POST PER DAY, August 1-30, that's actually dated the day it gets posted -- in other words, not futzing with the post options to postdate or pre-date something. ONE PER 24 HOURS. And better one good, thought-out post than a zillion random thoughts... I'll save those for Tweets...

Rule #2. Posts have to be ORIGINAL CONTENT BY ME, not just a YouTube vid I like, or a list of links of people whose blog I read that day or a lyric that makes me long for The Boy/Pup (no, you don't get a link to him yet, I barely know ye!)... ack, I'm getting distracted again already. Something with THOUGHT, Missy, or it doesn't count.

Rule #3. I am not to worry about selling shit, or who's reading this or what the hell it's for (unless it comes up in a full post I can be proud of). Because then I'm not in mining mode, I'm in distribution Hell... which has always stopped me before. JUST BE DISCIPLINED AND WRITE, DAGNABBIT!

Rule #4. I have to CONGRATULATE MYSELF EACH DAY AS A SUCCESS... and not just wait for the end of the month. Can I be here NOW, please?

===

With that done, I do have to list some folks that have already opened my eyeballs to writing and to life that I've discovered through Twitter. (Did I mention how much I love Twitter?! Oh yeah, I did.) They probably don't even know I read them, and they're all folks I've never met BTW (as I have great writer friends I know in the flesh too) but that's cool, it kinda doesn't matter. The Good Karma bucket goes around anyway :)

I'll start with three for now (otherwise I'm bound to break Rule #2):

Men With Pens - Web Business Tips for Writers, Freelancers and Online Entrepreneurs. Twitter with James Chartrand, and boy, you are CONNECTED!

Rock Your Day - Stay Focused, Work Smarter, and Stop Out Stress, Baby! I love what Dave Navarro (not that one) writes about working in Emergency mode ON PURPOSE.

The Producer's Perspective - A Theatre Producer in NYC gives his opinion on everything Broadway and beyond. My heart lies here folks (musical theater) -- and unfortunately I just missed meeting Broadway and Off-Broadway Ken Davenport when he Twittered he was here at a Hollywood Starbucks. Someday! For now, I get my NYC fix here every day.

===

Let's see... did I do it? Did I launch? Yup, I did. It's 9:11, I have to time to link and proof and that Turtle Blast is a waitin'! (Boy this reward-consequence way thing can get fattening...)

What did you launch today?