talking: underrated!

Well, my sore throat is GONE, thanks to homeopathic remedies and a week of rest!  However, my voice is also pretty much gone, due to the sore throat, the coughing, and the bit of talking I had to do the past week.  I’ve officially taken my first week “off” since starting freelancing.  I didn’t go out, I didn’t go to kung fu, I didn’t work out at all, and I barely worked.   I watched Oprah, that’s what I did, and boy, was it sweet!

So, while no longer sick and basically functional, I can’t really speak, not even like Marge.  It’s so frustrating.  I didn’t realize how much I liked talking.  I’m going to spend the next two days sucking on lemons, hoping that will clear me up.

In the meantime, summer has arrived via full force heat wave.  When I walk outside to let Gogo out I’m like, omg, it’s HOT (part of my apartment is in a basement, so it’s nice and cool)!  I dug out a canvas bag labeled “summer clothes” and actually put on sunscreen.  Lovely.  I love this weather, even sweltering like this.  Maybe that’s genetic; in the Philippines, the heat is this twice over and humid.

I guess the weekend is going to be all quiet lounging and sipping on lemonade.  I have a mind to get my nails done and rent chick flicks (even though I will also be starting my latest editing job and practicing knife counters).

club med(ical)

It’s Day 2 of my self-imposed, calendar-cleared rest at home. I’m still reviewing papers, but intermittently with tea, reading, and TV breaks.

Rather than slave over rational-sounding prose, I’m just going to do a mini-meme of stuff I’ve been doing, etc. Then I’m taking a nap.

Watching:

Yes, Dancing with the Stars. On the to-watch list: LOST. Also, in theaters: Redbelt and Sex & the City: the Movie! For those who are into it–Ironman rocked!

Reading:

The Potent Self and Awareness Through Movement, both by Moshe Feldenkrais. Also, student papers and two other editing jobs. My kung fu flashcards.

Eating and drinking:

Tea, Emergen-C, OJ. When I’m sick I want comfort food: challah with butter (YUM, I mustered enough energy to get a fresh loaf from a bakery by my house–then I collapsed), roasted chicken (courtesy of DLlo who sweetly brought me some on Sunday), and popsicles (mango). Ricola cough drops. Lots of water.

Listening:

Not too much, just the radio when I feel like it. Also, Gogo barking. Poor thing has been holed up in the house with me and her German Shepherd instincts are fully kicked in. Every little noise seems to be setting her into Guard Dog Mode.

Oh, and let’s not forget–the sounds of me hacking and sputtering. Hurry, recovery, hurry…!

sick, again

I woke up Friday morning feeling slightly off. Foolishly, I started to go about life as normal through Saturday night, and now I have some sore throat/laryngitis-y type condition, and sound just like Marge Simpson. I had to cancel my day, sustain myself on tea and Emergen-C, and am definitely not going to kung fu. Ugh!

This is what happens when I push myself a little too hard (both with work and social commitments).

That said, I had a fun day Saturday and found cute summer shorts and a killer outfit to wear to my friend’s graduation this weekend. Yes, that same friend who minces no words when it comes to a garment’s powers of attraction. It was only $28 at a consignment store, but you know, like I really have money for even thrift store joys. I almost didn’t get it. Yesterday in an email, my friend said,

ps. seriously that dress was so worth it you looked killer

seriously please never regret that purchase

its gon get you some sex i swear!

Again, she just gets right to the point. (And apparently so does this dress.) Well, dammit, little black fitted cocktail number, don’t make me any promises you can’t keep!

Good to know I have it in my closet, because right now I look and feel like a hot mess and will probably be that way until Wednesday.

tip for working at home

(At least, this works for me.)

Work in the kitchen.  The table has enough space, the light is good, you’re close to the food, and moreover, your bed isn’t anywhere in sight.

I sat at my little blue table and got so much work done this morning.

Special thanks to the Craft of Creative Non-fiction folks, again, who got me flowers which made the workspace that much more cheerful.

This also reminded me a lot of being in school as a kid; I’d do my homework late at night in the kitchen with an occasional cup of coffee (yes, I drank it even in middle school! Horrible).

Fyi, sitting in bed with the laptop does NOT work…well, only for writing or blogging or watching TV online.  Laptop in bed + work type of work = sudden urge to sleep.

my own words

Today was the last day of the Craft of Creative Non-fiction class.  Our prof had students put up art installations about their lives, preceded by a potluck.  It was so wonderful and inspiring, a perfectly fitting way to end a class about memoir.

The class also super-surprised me with a gift and a bottle of wine.  I didn’t make a very good speech, just said thank you about twelve times and admitted I hadn’t finished all the books.  It was lovely and touching and I felt all warm and fuzzy.  Being around the MFA program again was, in so many ways, a great thing.  The students in class were all kickass amazing, their writing and discussions jarred my brain back into a life it had missed.  For that, most of all, I have to thank them!

This week is full and everything in the world is due–nay, overdue.  I had to forgo sparring to get this bid out to a potential client (SO excited!).  And I have a magazine article to draft right now, but needed a sort of palate-cleansing of sorts by blogging.  Note: I’m imposing a curfew of 12:30 a.m. on myself except in the case of dire circumstances.  I need to sleep!  If anything I’ll get up early and work but no more late nights like last week.

After the final class gathering I was moved to look up old work.  I picked up an autobiography I had to write for one of my first classes my first semester of grad school, in Fall 2003–almost 5 years ago.  I’d gotten the idea, from either a moment of brilliance or laziness, to write it in the form of a letter to myself.  You know, it wasn’t bad at all; in fact, I laughed out loud at some of it.  It was nice to feel assured by my own words.

One thing I mentioned was how I decided to get my MFA after a mini-epiphany resulting from a job layoff; I’d been working for an internet company that had gone Chapter 11.  How funny that after all that, I’d go back to corporate-ish life right after graduation, only to realize another two years later, I’d had it right the first time.

(Often I know what’s right and rationalize myself out of it.  Some days I can’t get it through my thick head that I’m much wiser than I give myself credit for.)

I’m back now, here, with books and writing and stories and bodywork and kung fu and all that stuff that’s good for me.  I’m feeling very blessed.

too much TV

Watching “Dancing with the Stars” has affected my kung fu. Today I practiced punch counter #9 and kept doing this one thing like it was an under-the arm-ballroom turn.

“This is not a WALTZ!” Sihing D yelled at me. Okay, okay! Damn if I didn’t envision myself in sequins and feathers and Sihing in a tux with tails. (Actually, I didn’t, but apparently I was moving like it.)

I eventually got it right. In the meantime, I got to punch Sihing really hard in the stomach, which for some reason I found immensely satisfying.

ps. Just for the record, I think Sihing would be great at the quick step, the fox trot, and any of the Latin dances, as well as anything involving throwing or lifting me, since he’s already done that several times in class.

at the diner with DLlo

The beauty of freelance life is, sometimes, when your friend has called in sick and asks if you’re available for lunch, you can say, hells yeah. And you can even have your dog in the car with you and you both can walk her around the lake before heading over to Lake Merritt Bakery.

We had burgers. SOOOOO goooood. DLlo was slightly hungover sick under the weather, but after a shot of protein we both perked up. One might even say we were slightly giddy.

We started talking about something that involved men in finance who are loaded. “Girl, they are rrrrrrrich!” she said. They were so rich she revved up her “r,” pulled her head back a bit and jutted her chin out right at the end of the “r” train. It was awesome. I totally got how rich they were. Stinking filthy moneybags, rrrrrrich.

Then we started laughing hysterically. “Words you can intensify without the use of an adverb” became the topic at hand. These, for the moment, also include “sexxxxxy” and “hhhhhhhot.” Why use “very” when you don’t have to? DLlo added the tried-and-true “shhhhiiiit” (emphasis on the “sh” and the short “i”); in that same vein, there’s also “fuck” (a.k.a. “fuccckkkkkk!”).

Anyway, I think we both started tearing up and made the older gentleman at the counter ponder our sanity. They probably also found us entertaining. I mean, no one told us to shut up or threatened to kick us out. (Not that any of my girlfriends and I have ever become annoyingly loud in public.)

“Girl, they are rrrrrrrich!” Just say it a few times. (”Put your back into it,” advises DLlo.) It’s so liberating.

the bad tapes

It must’ve been Day 2 of that Mariah Carey song; the radio stations were playing it roughly 8 or 9 times an hour: touch my body, throw me on the floor, etc. Um, what?  Of course, it’s catchy, it’s Mariah, and by the middle of Day 2 of the song even existing in my universe, I find myself singing the words in the car. (How did I even learn the lyrics?  Because I’m hearing it about 100 times a day.)

That said, it’s no wonder I can’t undo a lot of the internal tapes in my head, running on a loop things like, don’t look like an idiot/clearly it’s your fault/you are so stupid!/you can’t do that/you can’t do that/you can’t do that.

It’s no wonder.  First you hear it from other people and then you start saying it to yourself.

I have to re-brainwash (un-brainwash?) myself to think the opposite.

I hate that I have to do that. It’s a constant fight, and I hate it.

more reasons not to stay up too late

On 4 hours sleep, my brain feels like it’s eating itself. Yuck!

I want to eat more to stay awake (not so good for the grocery budget!).

My spelling and typing kind of turn to crap until I get some ZZZs.

I tend to have bad dreams. (Really! I forgot what I dreamt last night, but it was something unsettling, like someone was attacking me or something.)

I’ve had a few of those, lately, actually; that might have to do with kung fu and learning new techniques these past few weeks–I’m acting them out in my subconscious! It might also be a reflection of general struggle.

I did sleep almost 8 hours last night, so I’m mostly recovered.  Still, I’m enforcing a day off on Friday.

hierarchy of hotness

I love that I’m of the age where I can tell people, some relatives even, euphemistic summaries to questions like, “So are you seeing anyone?” My answer has been, “Nothing serious.” And no one gasps and/or calls me a slut! That is definitely a plus.

While I will be the first to announce I am not Girlfriend Material at this point in time, I will also readily admit I’m such a dumbass when it comes to men. Even (especially?) when I think I’ve got it together, that I know exactly what I’m doing…I totally don’t. Friends have told me to embrace this time of potential non-committal sex, but truthfully I’m too emotional. I’ll get cute and stupid in a minute. Or I’ll end up obligating myself to a complete idiot, or someone who just isn’t right for me, or wants to be with me for the wrong reasons (I am not your girlfriend, stop calling me that, and no, you can’t use my address to get mail!!!).

Historically, this still fairly new post-break-up time is one of vulnerability. It’s dangerous. I’m open and optimistic and wide-eyed. Metaphorically virginal and literally kind of stupid. I have trust issues.

Recently I mentioned to someone that I’d just broken up with a boyfriend of seven years.

“Oh my god! Were you crushed?” she asked. No, I’d said, I’d already been crushed long before the break-up. That’s why we broke, I should’ve added. It was long overdue.

I am persistent. I tried to make it work, to ignore things that would never change. That’s my problem. I’ll set my sights on something, and it will take a lot to shake me out of enchantment. I get enamored, and that is it. I suppose I put myself under my own spells. Love–in its many incarnations–will do that. “He would never do that to me!” I’ll insist, right in the middle of the very doings. I’ll see it happen and brush it away.

I’d blogged earlier that dating is dumb. Even pseudo-dating is pretty insane. There’s always an element of rejection, of “what’s wrong with ME?” Although I did think of it this way: there have been times I’ve met perfectly nice guys whom I just wasn’t attracted to enough, for whatever reason, to pursue. For the men I’ve met, whom I did want, who didn’t want me–can I fault them for the same thing? I’m learning to understand my place on the Hierarchy of Hotness. If he essentially thinks I’m a 6.5 but he can get an 8, who am I to judge?

I’ve joked that one of the reasons I didn’t want to spar was because I couldn’t afford to get hit in the head, that my brain was my biggest asset; I don’t have any money and I’m not that cute, so my brain is IT. (Note: I’m learning to block!) But that’s not even self-deprecating. I am not a model. I understand the parameters of my cuteness: I’m nice, I’m reasonably charming, I clean up well. If you’re looking for a tall and/or curvy sweetheart who makes good arm candy, who is gorgeous and NOT prone to severe moments of goofiness, keep walking.

Scrutiny is difficult; self-scrutiny the worst of all. It doesn’t even take that long, either; on average for me, about 3 seconds. My friend H uses this hypothetical: “If you were a guy in a bar, who would you pick, her or you?” Argh. Recently I looked at another woman, and knew instantly: her.

THAT is a heart breaker, a hand-me-a-shot-and-make-it-a-double-kind of realization. Yet, it’s reality and these days, I’ve time for nothing else.

Off to edit. It’s getting late and evidently, I’ve already missed out on a shitload of beauty sleep.*

*Use of phrases such as “shitload of beauty sleep” are probably another thing detracting from my ranking on the Hotness Meter, but are really bumping up my numbers on the Jaded Woman Scale. Woo hoo, way to go, Mel!

ps. I know, it’s ok to not be a beauty queen. I think I’m a fair balance of smart and hot, and that’s all right by me.