About A Girl.

I've moved!

2006-11-08T16:56:00.000-05:00

To a new, private, women-only blog. (Sorry men, I just need a little estrogen time.)

If you'd like access, just email me or leave a comment here and I will invite you. It'd be wonderful to have you.

Ciao!
Leslie

I'm thinking about

2006-11-03T16:20:00.000-05:00

leaving this and starting a new blog for the same reason Miss Em is. My life is so chaotic, so dramatic, and oftentimes ridiculous...I need a blog where I can be intensely personal under the security of those who I know will love me and not judge me.

I wonder if you can set up a blog where you have to be invited to view it? Perhaps if you, my dear friend, want to continue to read up on my life, just let me know and I'll email you the link.

Love, Les.

Has it really been that long?

2006-10-20T10:02:00.000-04:00

For my own sanity, I will not write about my struggles over the past few weeks. I will be brave.

Today, my bestfriend from college, Mark, is driving from Chicago to spend the weekend with me. He has graduated from training and is now a full-fledged helicopter pilot for the army. In May, he will be shipped to Iraq to fight a war that has been far from me until now.

I am nervous; it's been a year and a half since we've seen each other. A lot has happened in a year and a half. We've both changed. I wonder if we'll be able to adjust.

But I'm going to be brave. When I go home, I'm going to say hello to Maxi as usual and tidy up the place. Then when he comes I'm going to hug him so tightly, it would make any military man nervous.

Because great friends are hard to come by. And I want him to know that I know. And that makes me brave.

The things geeks do.

2006-10-09T12:24:00.000-04:00

Saturday I traveled to the Ohio Renaissance Festival with Jason and my friend Josh. If you've ever been to a ren fest, you know that its unofficial title is 'Where geeks, nerds, and dorks' come out to play. Scores of people, from teens to elderly, dressed in costumes that cost hundreds and hundreds of dollars. Robes, bustles, capes, mail, boots, swords, axes, and corsets. Men in tight tights and women with bulging, bouncing breasts. Knights, queens, peasants, and jesters. Poor English accents, cheesy jokes, and staged acting. With my Aeropostale jacket, Josh's popped collar, and Jason's 'Beer all you can beer' T-shirt, it wasn't long before we realized that we were the outcasts.

We enjoyed every minute of it.

At one point we were watching the jousting and, being as vertically challenged as I am, was hopping like a fish out of water to catch the action. Jason and Josh took turns hoisting me on their shoulders. It was a little weird being the tall one of the crowd and looking down. But the best part was all the curioius 'Aren't you a little big to be doing that?' looks I got from little kids who were also on their parent's shoulders.

I gave them a look that said, 'You're never too big to sit on a man...or his shoulders.'

Fighting back.

2006-10-09T11:09:00.000-04:00

Friday night, I broke down. I fought it for a long time, but the tears I had been swallowing for 2 months could no longer be repressed. My head boss had told me earlier that morning that if I didn't like the way she talked to me, that I should "suck it up" and that I had failed as a copywriter. I received no apology from her for the angst she had caused me, yet in a cruel twist of fate, spent the rest of the day trying to apologize to her.

That was the last straw, the last crashing tidal wave against a rock now split in two. After being cut down by my landlord, my roommate, and now my boss...after the deterioration of my new car and a $1100 bill...after continually weathering the sorrows of two men in love against my own lost, heavy soul...I was finished. I felt nothing but tears and emptiness.

But in the end, love still saved me. Just as I gave up, my sister called. I told her everything. She was shocked, but not at my situation. At me.

"What do you MEAN you don't know who you are, anymore?" she bellowed. "I know who you are. You're Leslie. You're my sister. And no sister of mine is going to sissy out like this!"

She continued on like that for a while...until I started talking, until I stopped crying, until I got angry, and until I rose to the challenge.

And now I'm on the other side of the line...the line of assholes, arrogant bitches, and people who will always tear me down. At one time I was facing them and letting them cut me down until I was nothing. Slowly but surely, I am walking to the other side, where I am angry, where I no longer care, where I walk proudly and leave them behind me.

I am loving, I am compassionate, and I am determined to be better.
I am justified in who I am.
And you will not stop me.
I will never treat people like you have treated me.
And you will not stop me.
I will become a greatly respected writer and pioneer in advertising.
Those who work for me will not respect me out of fear,
but out of admiration and appreciation.
And you will not stop me.
No matter what my position or how much I make,
I will always respect and engage even the smallest person.
And you will not stop me.
I will persevere and become exactly who I desire to be.
And you will never, ever stop me.

It can't rain all the time.

2006-10-06T09:25:00.000-04:00

After a month of tears, screams, wasted money, and sacrificial gallons of ice cream, I'm back.

And I'm doing much better.

I finally picked up my car from the dealership last night. The car had started breaking down 2 days after I bought it one month ago, and it had been 2 weeks since I had even sat in it. I had to figure out all the buttons all over it again. The drive home was so smooth that I couldn't believe that it was the same car that had threatened an addiction to a lifetime of Rogaine for women.

And you know what? I decided not to call the seller. Yeah, he sold me a car that needed a grand in repairs. Yeah, he caused me one month of ridiculous strife. But once I was in the car last night and felt that peace wash over me, I realized that there are some things that are more important than money. Like my mental and emotional health. And if paying $1000 means I can attain peace one day earlier, then it's worth it. As my mother always says, "It's only money, Leslie."

Work is loosening its grip as well. The hell project that I was working on is almost coming to a close. The shit that I got from my head boss for a week straight has stopped, and I'm meeting with her today to diplomatically discuss what went wrong with our communication and how to help each other do better the next time.

Life still isn't exactly where I want it to be yet, but the ball has hit the bottom of the well and is bouncing up. So a hug and kiss to all of you who have kept me in your thoughts and stayed beside me through my storm. The sun is coming out, thanks to you.

Hump Thoughts

2006-10-04T12:28:00.000-04:00

Every day is a day to make mistakes, learn and grow. In the past few days, I have learned that...

Disabled people are not just disabled physically. Our society disables their ability to live like everyone else. Now that my sciatica inhibits me from standing or walking for longer than half an hour, I've now discovered that there aren't enough ramps in stores, enough motorized carts in groceries, or enough respect for the hurting. I'm blessed to have people who love me regardless and push me around (literally) when I need it. But not everyone is so lucky.
You can't make yourself love someone and you can't make someone love you. Additionally, the reason for such is often illogical, unexplainable, or does not exist at all.
We were wrong about love. Love does not suck. It is not mysterious. It is not a bitch. It is not complicated. Love, in fact, is quite simple. Love is not a verb, it just is...without rhyme or reason. By turning it into a verb, and thus an action, we are the ones who fuck it up. We misunderstand it. We confuse it. We complicate it. Love does not ask for or need respect. It is given to us whether or not we ask, and it is up to us as to what we do with it.
Overeating sucks. Dieting sucks more. Overeating it is!

Kettle chips for the soul

2006-10-03T09:37:00.000-04:00

It's 9:30 a.m. on a Tuesday morning and I have finished off half of a large bag of kettle potato chips. Prior to that, I was popping cherry tomatoes. I washed it all down with Watermelon Gatorade.

Hm. I thought I might have more to say than that, but I don't. Just a belly full of tomatoes, potato chips, and Gatorade.

I wish it wasn't raining today.

2006-09-28T12:28:00.000-04:00

I wish I hadn't found a large, dead moth underneath my papers before I left work last night. I wish its legs weren't ripped off and scattered over my work.

I wish I hadn't seen the large spider crawling down my shower curtain as I showered last night.

I wish I wasn't such a sissy.

I wish I wasn't on my period. I wish there as no such thing as cramps.

I wish the service department at the VW dealership hadn't been closed last night.

I wish I had set the alarm clock correctly. I wish I hadn't woken up at 8:07 a.m. when I should have been out the door 10 minutes earlier.

I wish it hadn't been raining this morning. I wish there hadn't been an accident on every highway in the city.

I wish I wouldn't torture myself with songs that remind me of memories and feelings I'm not ready to deal with. I wish they didn't make my heart fit to burst.

I wish someone would have chosen to love the man who shot that girl in Colorado and then took his own life. I wish he didn't feel that death was his only way out.

I wish my canker sores weren't eating away my lip. I wish I could smile, eat, and laugh like usual.

I wish my boss would be nicer to me. I wish my other boss was back from vacation.

I wish I didn't have to wait by the phone to hear what the damage is on my car.

I wish I didn't have to call the seller to tell him he sold me a lemon.

I wish I wasn't so afraid.

and while I'm wishing...

I wish I could let myself cry.

What I Want.

2006-09-27T10:13:00.000-04:00

Ever since my whole emotional angst, started months ago, everyone has asked me the same question: What do you want, Leslie? You need to do what YOU want to do, Leslie. So tell us, WHAT do YOU want?!

This question frustrated the fucking hell out of me for two reasons:

I didn't know what I wanted.
Even if I did, I didn't know how to stand up for it. It was just too damn hard.

So I kept saying 'yes' to everything and everyone and, with every minute, I was losing my sense of self.

But last week, I kept hitting low point after low point. I was sinking with no way out. And someone said it one last time: Leslie, what do YOU want?! FUCK everyone else. WHAT DO YOU WANT?

And for the first time, I answered. Meekly at first, but still, an answer: I want to go home and not go anywhere. I want to feed Maxi, clean my room, and organize my closet from summer to winter. I want to watch the movies I've been meaning to watch for months, but haven't because I keep saying 'yes' everytime someone asks me to go out.

It was a small and pretty nerdy answer. But it was MY answer. And for the first time in a long time, I did what I wanted to do.

That was last weekend. And since then, I've been building up steam to learn what it is I want and how to follow through with it. I still cave and say 'yes' sometimes without thinking, but I'm getting better. I'm starting with the little things and maybe in time, I'll learn how to handle the big things.

And the hits just keep on comin'.

2006-09-27T09:47:00.000-04:00

Monday night, I came home to Maxi's cage pushed up against my room door, a huge hole in the wall, rust stains on my bathroom rug, and no note or explanation. My condescending bastard landlord had finally fixed our broken shower...and ruined my rugs in the process.

That same night, my bitch roommate told me that if I was to use the other shower, I was not allowed to touch any of her 6 shampoos nor any of her 4 face washes. She also told me that I couldn't borrow her books because I hold books open and that creases the spine...which according to her, is inhumane.

I called up my friend Christopher and said, "I'm going to throw up."

Yesterday I went back and forth between my dentist and my old insurance provider. Several months ago, I had a biopsy done on the floor of my mouth. Possibly oral cancer. Unfortunately, my dentist sent it to a lab that was out of network. After several months of phone calls, I was finally told that I was lucky to not have oral cancer and that I should just swallow the $280.

I had a plan last night. I was going to go home. I was going to finally relax.

My co-worker dropped me off in the driveway and before I got out of her car, I searched for my keys.

Keys.

Where are my keys?

I'd left my house keys at work.

Angie, my other co-worker, was still at work, and was gracious enough to meet me at Target to give me my keys.

An hour later I was finally home, a bag of new bath rugs in one arm and a bag of 'My life is shitting on me' new clothes.

Tonight I'm taking the car to the dealership. They will tell me just how bankrupt I'm going to be.

Oh yes. The hits just keep on comin'.

The sky is blue.

2006-09-25T14:37:00.000-04:00

The sky is blue today. Light blue, with puffy white pastries sprinkled about. Blue - like last week never happened. Like I didn't work until my lids drooped every day. Like I didn't accidentally give Christopher a concussion, shake him and beg him to wake up, and hold his hand until the EMT's arrived. Like I didn't almost lose Jason, my bestfriend, to my mistakes and the point in which our pain met. Like my car, just one-month purchased, wasn't breaking down and won't cost me $2k that I don't have.

It's so blue today. And I attribute its shine to the short, plump, sweet woman who cleaned my teeth today. I showed her the angry ulcer that was eating away my upper lip and she coo'd and showered me with goodnatured, grandmother advice. She called me 'good girl' and made me feel like holding my lips open for her was some kind of grand achievement. She asked me if I flossed, and before I could admit that I rarely do, she clucked and said, "Oh I know, you're afraid of hurting your gums and getting more ulcers aren't you? You poor thing, I don't blame you". I felt like a little girl again who got away with something she didn't think she would. She sent me home with a new, vibrating flosser she had bought from Big Lots. And before I left, she smiled happily and said, "I knew I was going to give that to someone special. You're that special person today!" If it weren't for my ulcer, I would have smiled wider.

And then Mark IM'd me. My Mark. One of only two friends I took with me from school to home, from fancy New York to humble Ohio. Mark, the prototype ROTC cadet, the boy stuck in a man's body, who spent every moment at the gym to forget his pain. Mark, who told me he couldn't hug me because he was afraid of himself. Mark of the big chest tattoo. Mark of one coffee per hour slept. Mark of the invisible Achilles heel. Mark of all the women and no woman at all. Mark, who would punch me in the arm if he saw this and then deny deny deny.

It took me a while to tell him I loved him. I thought it would scare him. But I finally did last Christmas. I hid it away at the end of a letter. After that, I'd sneak it in when he least expected it. Embedded in an email. Tossed in at the end of a phone call. Always followed by the name "brother", "buddy", or anything else non-threatening. I just wanted him to know. I wanted to say 'Hey, the world thinks you're tough, but I know better. I love you and it isn't overwhelming and it isn't conditional. It just is."

Since we've graduated, he has been the one keeping tabs on me. Despite his hectic army training, he calls. He writes. And just now, he IM'd me. I must have said something funny because that's when he said it.

"Love you." Just like that. Like it was so easy for him. Like it'd never been a struggle. Like he'd been telling me every day for the last 3 years.

"Love you." Simple. Not overwhelming. Not conditional. It just was.

And that's when I looked out the window and noticed.

The sky is so blue.

Aged love is the best love.

2006-09-21T09:58:00.000-04:00

I didn't grow up with parents who loved each other. I didn't have a pair of grandparents, either. Mom's dad died young; without his calm , cooling nature to complement her, grandma turned into a dominating matriach who only gave a rat's ass for the one grandson born of one of her sons. Dad's dad divorced my grandmother after she bore his last child, leaving her to wither away with her birds in a one-bedroom apartment, surrounded by folks who speak a language she can't understand. Only for a small period of time did I have grandparents - when my grandfather remarried. But he died just 4 years after, and it was everything we could do to keep my step-grandmother from drowning in her tears.

So when I walked out into a parking lot and saw two elderly people kissing and caressing each other, well...I had to blink a couple times before I realized what I was seeing.

Maybe if it was two teenagers going at it, then I could scoff, shrug it off, and chaulk it up to hormones.

But they were at least 60. I was 50 feet away, but I could still make out their silhouettes. His thinning hair and her silver curls. His button down shirt and her cardigan. His back was against the car and she leaned against him. Her arms were around him and his hands were on her face. They were kissing and holding and hugging and it wasn't gross or over the top, but just right...like after all these years of bumbling and stumbling, they finally knew what love was.

I couldn't stop staring. I couldn't stop smiling. I felt my heart go mute.

Maybe I wanted to be them, I don't know. I guess since I'm just beginning to learn what love is and isn't, it was so wonderful to see two people who had gone before me and still turned out okay. Right now it seems like I'll never figure love out, let alone what to do with it. But seeing those two...I don't know...just for one moment, I felt like everything was going to be okay.

Seasonal denial.

2006-09-21T09:40:00.000-04:00

Perhaps it's not actually the winter, but it might as well be.

I have not accepted the fact that summer is leaving, let alone gone. Since I only see the world in two seasons - summer or winter - the loss of summer means winter. And I don't like that.

I'm not sure why I'm so averse to winter. I guess I just got so much of it seeped into my bones at Syracuse that I feel I'd be better off if I never felt it again. Four years of collecting your frozen limbs in a place that gets 172 inches of snow per year will do that to you.

I'm in denial. I still sleep naked. I walk around downtown without a jacket. I've been fighting a cold for weeks.

I might just give in this weekend though, and make the summer clothes v. winter clothes switch. And maybe it won't be so bad. I do have a lot of cute winter clothes...

Zinzinnati's Oktoberfest

2006-09-18T10:56:00.000-04:00

Are Germans really beefy people? I mean really, how could they possibly be skinny with all the starch they eat?

Last night I walked through Oktoberfest. It was fun for the experience, but wow, they don't deviate much from the starch when it comes to food, do they? Their drink (beer) is starch. Their vegetable (corn) is the starchiest of all vegetables. Their dessert (cream puffs, cream cheesecake)...well okay that's just fatty.

I settled for roasted sweet corn, a handful of sauerkraut, and some apple streusel. Had a major gas attack afterward, but it was totally worth it.

I think my favorite part was when a homeless man got up and started dancing to an accordian.

Fun on four wheels

2006-09-18T10:31:00.000-04:00

Saturday I went with my family to King's Island in honor of P&G Dividend Day. (In other words, a weekend where Dilbert lovers like my dad can put on their short shorts and pull up their socks to release their pent up white collar frustrations on the coasters.) I hadn't been there for 4 years, and frankly, wasn't sure how well I would handle it. I used to be a coaster junkie, but my body had taken a serious dive in health. I could barely stand for half an hour, let alone a whole day.

Sure enough, just one hour into the day, I was close to throwing up from the pain. That's when I spotted it. A glorious little side station with this sign: Wheelchair rental.

Best 12 bucks I've ever spent.

I spent the rest of the day in that wheelchair, during which I made several observations:

People don't approve of people who aren't visibly disabled to be in wheelchairs. If you're drooling, have tubes coming out of you, and have lost control in at least one of your limbs, that's okay. But if you're a pretty girl smiling, laughing, and occasionally getting up to go to the bathroom, you're cheating.
Everyone's much taller than you when you're in a wheelchair. (This is a 'duh', I know, but I hadn't been that low to the ground in 15 years.)
There are no coaster entrances specifically for wheelchair bound folks. Your entrance is the exit. Not exactly the most dignified way to get to a roller coaster when you're being pushed against the grain.
Skipping a long line to get to a coaster is nice.
Not having any of my diseases would be nicer.
Sitting down while everyone else is standing is nice.
Being able to stand without pain like everyone else would be nicer.
The Disability Booklet is so cool. You go straight to the coaster, and if the line is too long, they pen in a time you can go on. In the mean time, you can leave and goof off until that time.

Anyway, we spent the entire day running through a revolving door of nausea: go on coaster, get really nauseous, go to bathroom and drink Coke to quell nausea, go on next coaster, start over. We topped the day off with two funnel cakes. Mmmmm funnel cake.

What's your favorite amusement park ride, if any?

Cirque Du Soleil

2006-09-18T10:16:00.000-04:00

Friday night, I treated my sister to Cirque Du Soleil's Quidam tour as a belated birthday gift. Neither of us had been to Cirque and didn't know what to expect.

It was absolutely marvevlous. It was like watching your fantasies unfold before you except the magic isn't on film or in a dream - it's right before your very eyes. The little circus tent even smelled magical. They pushed, then crossed, the boundaries of human thought, imagination, and limitations. It left us breathless and wanting more.

Hm...I thought I'd have more to say on this, but really, it's something you have to experience for yourself if you've never gone. It brings you back to a place you thought you once lost and when it finally ends, you're not sad. You're just happy you got to go back if for just one moment in time.

Supa Powa!

2006-09-11T12:11:00.000-04:00

My friend Christopher asked me this question yesterday: If you could have any superpower, what would it be?

Since he grew up on comic books (and by 'grow up on' I mean that is ALL he ever read as a child) he had his answer all ready: Wolverine's power to heal, his immortality, and his near-dauntless strength.

Frankly, the idea of accidentally stabbing someone when I shake hands, watching my loved ones die, and being around for the stupidity of man to endure...scares the shit out of me.

So I thought and I thought...I weighed all the pros and cons...I thought of every comic and superhero I knew...then made up my own quirky superpowers (i.e. the ability to eat whatever I want and never get fat, the ability to have a fatal fart)...

Nothing. I couldn't come up with anything at all. Because honestly, even if I had the most insignificant power ever, I would still be geeked out enough to think it was the coolest.

Maybe I'd want the ability to make you pee your pants.

What do you think? What would you want as your super power?

I had a lot of theories...

2006-09-11T10:30:00.000-04:00

about love, relationships, lust, and the inbetween that got blasted out of the water this weekend. Some I got right. Others - dead wrong.

And I'm glad I was wrong. Better yet, I'm glad I'm learning. Because you don't know until you try it for yourself. And sometimes being wrong is a pleasant surprise.

No details here, but I will say this: The stuff they show you in the magazines and on film? Fake fake fake. Error error error. It doesn't happen that way, people aren't really like that (the ones you want to be with, anyway), and the euphoria doesn't last.

Any Hollywood marriage could tell you that.

I Do...n't think so.

2006-09-07T12:04:00.000-04:00

Why is everyone getting married? Why? Is it the no-guilt sex? Is it the tax savings? Is it the save in commute gas? What?

21. That's how old I was when everyone around me starting getting engaged. It was like a trend, except trends come and go. Marriage is here to stay (unless you get divorced, which I hear is a bitch.) By the time I graduated, several of my friends had already gotten married. Now just 2 years out of school, almost EVERYONE'S online profile pictures are of them on their wedding day. And many of them are younger than I am.

What's happening here? Why are we in such a hurry to grow up?

I look at all the wedding photos and a small part of me is jealous. They look so happy and peaceful...like in a dream. But then I wake up. I realize that I'm 23, I'm at the peak of my life, and I'm having such a good time! If marriage is for 50+ years, can you not sacrifice just a few of those years to enjoy singlehood?

Don't be offended if you got married early. Some people are just ready early, I guess. Me? Naw. I have lots of new things to try, people to meet, and men to torture before I settle down.

Marriage? I don't think so.

Privacy for Privates

2006-09-06T15:13:00.000-04:00

I hate public restrooms. I have nothing against the restroom part. The toilet and I are good friends. If my butt is having frequent outings with the toilet, that's the sign of a solid friendship.

It's the public part I can't stand. I can't have conversations with the toilet when someone else is sitting right beside me having the same conversation. How did restroom designers think that a metal semi-wall would make me feel more comfortable? Does that somehow shorten the distance between my dropped panties and hers?

When someone walks into the stall right next to mine, I freeze. I squeeze my systems to a shutdown, close my eyes, and pretend I'm invisible. Then it happens. My mind floods with an overwhelming rush of thoughts. Is she having the same conversation as I am? Am I going to faint from her part of the conversation? Is she looking at my shoes like I'm looking at hers?

And then I start listening to clues. A rip means tampon. A nervous shuffle means poop. A clearing of the throat means pee. (You know you have the same decoding system, don't lie.)

Finally, I start sending her strong 'go away' vibes. Go away, I say. This is an A-B conversation, so C yourself out.

Do I hear an Amen?

You must love the sushi!

2006-09-06T10:15:00.001-04:00

Okay, who dun it? Who put 'YUCK' under my 'Sushi is good'? Come forth, you silly swaggert. I just know it's one of you ladies from the midwest. Admit it or receive your due judgement!

...teehee...

Leslie? On-time? I don't think so.

2006-09-06T10:08:00.000-04:00

Am I the only one who runs on Asian time? I don't think I could be punctual to save my life.

For all your crazy on-time people, how do you do it? What in your brain tells you that it's better to leave early than to sleep in for just 10 more minutes?

Can you implant that gene into my brain too?

Leslie: On Love

2006-09-05T12:23:00.000-04:00

I know you all are wondering. I've saved this topic for last because it's the most complicated, the hardest to understand, the most painful for me to explain, and the reason why I haven't written you all in so long.

Some of you may already know this (or have guessed it from my writing), but prior to college graduation, life was pretty sheltered and bleak. Childhood is not something I care to remember. College was definitely a breakthrough for me, but my soul was still a bud. It hadn't bloomed.

Then I graduated and almost immediately met Jason. I'd never had a serious relationship before, but the chemistry was there. We had extreme ups and downs and fought the ourselves as well as each other. But I never questioned who I was supposed to be with or who I was.

Up until a few months ago. I'm not sure what happened. Something in me snapped or maybe a switch turned on. But suddenly I looked at myself - young, beautiful, at the peak of her life, finally blossoming - and realized I simply wasn't ready to be in a serious, committed relationship. I fought the feeling for a long time. After all, I loved Jason. He was/is a good man. The best. No one knew me or loved me like he did. That's still the case.

But after a while, I got tired of fighting. It just wasn't fair to Jason...to be with him because I wanted to protect him, because I was scared of letting go, all the while hating myself for feeling this way in the first place.

It's been a very emotional couple months, but I've finally gotten to the place where I'm ready to let go...not for lack of love, but because of it. And for my own sake also...to dip a toe into the unknown, to discover this new me, to meet new people and to settle my mind at peace.

So now here I am...whoever I am. I guess I'll find out, won't I.

Out of deference for Jason, I won't be sharing much more on this topic publicly. However, feel free to email me in private. Your support is so welcome, as always.

Leslie: On Shaking Your Tailfeather

2006-09-05T12:02:00.000-04:00

I recently discovered something I never knew about myself: I love to dance! No, not the fancy dance stuff like ballet or ballroom. My back would never allow me to do that. Nope, I'm just talkin' about the good ol' fashioned dirty grind on the club floor.

Hahahaha...I'm laughing as I tell you this; I just can't believe I'm saying it. Moi? Into hip-hop? And clubbing? Never ever! But ever since my first clubbing night one month ago, I've been feeling the bump in my hump and a little high in my grind. There's just something about the rawness of it...the sweat...the heat...letting everything go with no cares beyond the hips shaking in front of you. And now my car is full to hip hop, my wrists are on the steering wheel, and my hips are gyrating into my seat.

Oh my, where did my innocence go? :P

Leslie: On Advertising

2006-09-05T10:26:00.000-04:00

My first radio commercial came out a week ago and I heard it for the first time in my car this past Thursday. It was the coolest feeling ever. I wrote the script, picked my voice talent, and directed them in the studio. And now it's on the air.

Sweet mother, I love my job.

Leslie: On Cars

2006-09-05T10:08:00.000-04:00

After 1 month of procrastination, I finally bought a car. And not another Toyota Camry, either. (Was tempted to add a SIXTH camry to the family, but why conform?) No, I dared to be different. I went with the Germans and bought a Volkswagen!

Yes, a beautiful blue 2000 Volkswagen Passat, replete with a V6 engine, 6-cd changer, fog lights, heated seats, heated windows, keyless entry, and a power sunroof.

Honestly I've never driven anything so nice...or so fast! The first time I drove it, I was in it for 5 seconds before I realized I was driving at 75 mph. Oops! Other than the V6 engine, my favorite aspect are the butt warmers. It's getting cold and nothing feels better than a warm pad under your bum on a chilly day.

Conclusion: Cars are a pain in the ass, but SO much fun when they're not! If you see a little Chinese girl whipping around in a blue German car, say hello!

Leslie: On Sports

2006-09-05T09:51:00.000-04:00

Well I did it. I went to my first Bengals game last Monday. Everyone else screamed in jealousy when they found out I was going, so I figured it was something I had to experience at least once.

It was...well...okay why sugarcoat it? It was stupid. $30 for parking. $4 for a soda. $8 for a hamburger. 70,000 people dressed in orange and black tiger stripes, boozed out of their mind, high-fiving strangers every time we moved along the yard line. (Am I getting that right? Yard lines are in football, yes?) I kept thinking, "Do ANY of these people know how dorky they look?" Plus, football has so little action. It's a bunch of meatheads doing short sprints and running headlong into other meatheads. Where's the fun in that?

Conclusion: Baseball and tennis are WAY more exciting to witness. Phrases that can be heard from me while watching either sport - "Woo hoo HOO!" and "Oh WOW!" and "Oh OH OH! That was SO good!"

Keeping the magic alive.

2006-08-03T10:05:00.000-04:00

Hey lovelies! I have some exciting news. I've created a new blog and I think it's something you all will really enjoy.

It's a blog of fun stories and poems for adults. The premise: adults are too damn serious; they have forgotten the innocence and magic of being a kid. The mission: to bring out the kid in every adult through stories.

If you enjoy writing or reading (and I'm assuming that if you're on blogger, you do) then I think you'll love this. Just imagine: a place where adults can go to be a kid again, if only for a moment. A place where writers of all levels can get exposure to all kinds of audiences. A place where readers can find stories of all genres, stories that push the boundaries of thought and imagination.

The blog is at kids-at-heart.blogspot.com. I would absolutely love if YOU contributed to the site. To contribute a fun story or poem, just email it to me at storymagic@gmail.com.

I am SO SO excited about the potential of this site. So dig through your files and find your favorite short stories and poems. Or better yet, write a new one! I would love to see what treasures you dig up.

Much love,

Leslie

Lightening Crashes.

2006-07-27T14:46:00.000-04:00

Yesterday morning, I discovered something I couldn’t have known until that point.

My airbags work.

One minute I was driving down the interstate, looking behind me at the left lane to see if I could switch lanes. The next minute, I was watching helplessly as my car smashed into the van in front of me and bounced backwards.

I don’t remember being so close to the van. I only remember the way the back of it looked as I careened towards it and the smell of smoke that filled my nostrils. By the time I realized what had happened, the air bags were already deflated and my car had come to a stop on the highway. My car, as evidenced by the sagging front bumper and the crookedly erect front hood, was totaled.

I started to cry.

I called work first, then Jason, then my family. It all just happened so fast.

The police were on the scene immediately, as well as the CVS Samaritan, followed by the tow truck. My mom left work to pick me up. As I walked to her car, I noticed something gold glinting on the ground. It was my gold Toyota symbol. I tucked it in my purse – the last symbol of my first car.

My mom took me home to take IBUProfen and lay down. By then, whiplash had set in and my left side was stiffening up. Luckily, I was not hurt elsewhere. No cuts, no bruises, not even burn marks. The only evidence that I’d even been at the accident was a light red slash on my arm where the airbag had popped out and a lipstick stain on the airbag – a kiss goodbye.

Mom took me to the doctor that afternoon. He was surprised I wasn’t hurt much worse than I was. He gave me several prescriptions, including one for Vicodin, and told me to prepare myself for a bad day tomorrow.

I spent the next several hours answering phone calls from insurance and concerned friends. When I finally got the official estimate from the claims office, I wasn’t surprised: $7,400 in damage. In their words, it was a “total loss”. Time to visit the tower and pick up my stuff.

Mom and dad took me out for Chinese. Aside from a brief “I keep telling you to keep your distance, but noooo…” lecture from dad, they weren’t mad, just relieved I was alive. Mom then took me grocery shopping at the Chinese grocer, and then to Walgreens to pick up all my pills. Just to show you how NOT big picture oriented I am, I was more excited to find red bean ice cream than I was in figuring out how I was going to live without a car.

I returned home late, fed Maxi, and thought about my life. At 1:00 in the morning, my roommate woke me up screaming about a cockroach crawling outside my door. It scurried, we screamed, it scurried faster, we screamed louder. After 10 minutes of high pitched screaming, jumping, and shoe throwing, she finally killed it with my skateboard.

I fell back onto my bed and laughed.

Life still goes on.

No more bugs, thank the Lord.

2006-07-19T16:28:00.000-04:00

After the undeniably bizarre bug-in-ear incident, life has calmed down to its usual swell and upheaval. (Thank goodness, too. Can you imagine something worse than a bug stuck in your ear canal, stinging you to death?)

Work has been incredibly slow this week. Fortunately I’m prepared for 95% of all crises and brought a book. Boy’s Life by Robert R. McCammon. Picked it up for free, never heard of the author, totally love it. If you love adventure, mystery, and the smell of carefree days, you will love this.

I also am the main writer for FashionCincy, an online magazine about the fashion scene in Cincinnati. (Go read some articles so you can get a taste of my style. Oh, and can you figure our which pseudonym is mine?) It’s time to write next month’s articles, so beginning tomorrow I will be interviewing owners of upscale retail stores. Is it ironic that a girl who buys dresses for $5 on consignment should be the main writer of a fashion magazine? Ironic or not, this is fun!

In other news, Maxi my chinchilla is totally NOT the shy little rodent I predicted her to be. On the contrary, she’s gotten to be quite agile, daring, and smart, with a side of crazy. She can jump a foot in the air. She scales the outer walls of her cage – her cage is 4 ft. tall. She climbs up my arm and onto my shoulder. She sits on my lap and runs down my leg. She even figured out that if you’re in a plastic ball and you need to go uphill (like, say, from hardwood to carpet), you should get a fast head start from afar. Smart smart smart. Oh, and she poops like none other. I’m thinking of nicknaming her “The Shitter”.

My roommates and I are throwing our first house party this Saturday. Come to think of it, this will be my first house party of my life. I never was the party kind in school. Too messy, too boozy, too not interesting enough to rob me of precious sleep. This party, however, will have all the fun and perks of a good party, without the craziness of obnoxious people. I will be hot, I will play Scrabble, I will win at least one game of FlipCup.

Jason finally learned that words are the fastest way to my heart. I left him sleeping on my bed Monday morning and when I returned, the bed was made and a note was sitting on it: I would have liked to see you off this morning. A goodbye kiss or something. I love you. I will call you tonight. Jason.

You mean after 500 days of the same “WHY CAN’T YOU WRITE ME A NICE NOTE OR CARD FOR ONCE” rant, you actually listened?!

Aw, honey. And to think this whole time I thought all you heard was “Blah blah blah, blah blah blah SEX, blah blah blah, blah blah blah naked.”

Eh, what the hell.

2006-07-14T17:17:00.000-04:00

Thanks, Angel, for the tag!

3 things that scare me
Gory horror flicks
The thought of losing my loved ones prematurely
Bugs in my ear (see previous post)

3 people that make me laugh
My no-fail funny friends are: Jimmy, Elliott, Pat,
Most Ben Stiller/Owen Wilson/Vince Vaughn movies
And yeah, I agree with Angel: Carlos Mencia is damn funny

3 things I love
FOOD. Give me food NOW.
A new haircut.
A personal letter in the mail.

3 things that I hate
Constipation
Feeling fat or bloated
Drivers who cut me off

3 things I don't understand
All politics and most history
Why boys can be SO dense sometimes
How could everyone else be so healthy and I have an ailment or a new disease every month

3 things on my desk
Picture of Jason and I in a kiss
Inflatable bozo the clown
A 2 ft. yellow vase

3 things I'm doing right now
Talking to my friend online
Looking at the clock…is it 5:00 yet?
Thinking dirty thoughts

3 things I want to do before I die
Get into a fight with an asshole and kick ass
Perform an act of complete selflessness
Conceive from the man I love

3 things I can do
Pull off a very convincing southern accent
Write. Well.
Wear granny panties and not be ashamed.

3 ways to describe my personality
Outrageously funny
Blatantly honest
Hopelessly hopeful

3 things I can't do
Shoot a layup in basketball
Cast a fishing rod
Believe in science

3 things I think you should listen to
Country music
God/Jesus
Your bestfriend

3 things you should never listen to
The devil
Tabloids (good call, Angel)
Your drunk boyfriend

3 absolute favorite foods
Greek
Indian
Japanese

3 things I'd like to learn
Play guitar
Speak Russian and American Sign
How to apply makeup perfectly

3 beverages I drink regularly
Cold water
Cold Tazo or sweet tea
Hot chai

3 shows I watched as a kid
Carebears
Smurfs
Sesame Street

3 people I am tagging
Emerald
Daphne
Kimananda
And everyone else who reads this. That's YOU.

Buzz buzz I hate you.

2006-07-14T15:16:00.000-04:00

Some people hear voices in their head. If you're me, you hear bugs. That's right, I said it. Bugs.

At some point on Wednesday evening I spotted a huge ass bug that looked like a wasp buzzing over my ceiling. I swatted at it. I must have missed, but I couldn't tell. I couldn't find the body.

At 1:00am, I woke up. I felt a buzzing in my ear. No, a fluttering. Something that sounded like water rolling around from my ear to the inside of my head. It felt like Swimmer's Ear, but how could I have Swimmer's Ear at 1 0'clock in the frickin' morning?!

At first I tried Q-tips and jumping up and down. Nothing. I hopped online, but I didn't fit the bill for an ear infection or Swimmer's Ear. Just in case, I popped some Benadryl (in case this was a weird allergy reaction) and Tylenol (for the pain). In the back of my mind, I couldn't push away the thought that maybe the bug from earlier that evening had crawled into my ear for revenge. An absurd thought? Maybe. But nothing else explained it.

By this time, it was 2am. I called Jason. He dismissed it as irregular ear pain and advised me to sleep on it.

As soon as I hung up the phone, something jabbed me in the ear. I felt like one hundred knives were stabbing me. I grabbed my ear and squeezed my eyes, falling onto my bed. If my roommates weren't sleeping, I would have had them rush me to the ER. I thought my head was going to explode.

In one last desperate attempt, I hopped online again and found a few sites that recommended dropping warm olive oil into my ear. I didn't have a dropper or olive oil. But I did have vegetable oil and a spoon. As I stared at our big vat of oil and the spoon in my hand, I began to question my sanity. But pain will do strange things to people. Into my ear it went.

Within seconds, the pain melted away. All was quiet. Had I not been so exhausted, I would have cried. I passed out almost immediately.

This afternoon I went to the doctor to talk about a few things. I mentioned my ear mishap, so he took a look into my ear.

Can you guess what he found?

Yep. A bug. A big, black, nasty bug. No doubt the same bug I'd swatted at.

It took him 3 tweezers and 10 minutes to extract the bug from my ear. (By the way, it hurt like hell.) I shuddered when I saw the carcass inside the bloody tissue. And no, the blood was not from the tweezers. It was from my ear - apparently, the excruciating pain I'd felt on Wednesday night had come from the bug's stinger...it was stinging me in my ear canal.

I shudder at the thought that I carried a bug's carcass around in my ear for 48 hours.

A bug. In my ear. What are the odds?!

So to all you folks that swear up and down that your room is shrinking or your pets talk to you or bugs are buzzing inside your ear...I believe you. Yes, I do.

Whatta crocka BEEEEEP

2006-07-12T16:48:00.000-04:00

If you aren't familiar with a movie, you don't care how edited it is as long as you enjoy it. You're not a fan. You don't know any better and you don't care.

But when you know a movie...and I mean know it like you know the moles on your face...know it like you know when your kid or SO is lying...that's when you care. If someone edits or, god forbid, takes a scene out, you're outraged. (I knew LOTR so well that when the extended versions came out, I could tell you where they composed the music differently.) That movie is a piece of art! Don't you dare touch it!

That's why I had to laugh as I watched Matrix I on TBS last night. It was the scene near the beginning where Morpheus is trying to coax Neo to run away from Mr. Smith by going out the window. He couldn't do it, so the Matrix dudes took him away. Trinity, who was watching the entire thing from the rear view mirror of her motorcycle, says "Shit" and drives away.

Except last night she didn't say "Shit."

She said "Shucks."

Not "Shoot", not "Shitake mushrooms", not "Oh my balls, they just kidnapped my future lover."

Shucks.

SHUCKS?!

Zion's savior, Morpheus' last hope for his people and YOUR hunk of burning love, just got nabbed by the evil Matrix dudes and all you can say is "Shucks"?!

I know that the cable network probably does it because heaven forbid little Johnny hear the word "shit" and go tattling to his mommy. But COME ON. SHUCKS?! Even little Johnny would protest that one.

A new roommate, muscles, and pirates. YARR!

2006-07-10T10:17:00.000-04:00

I bought my first pet this weekend!

Sunday, Jason and I went to the petstore. Since I was on a mission, I wasted no time in buying a baby Chinchilla and walked around the store, picking out her accessories, as she sat on my shoulder.

Once we got home, Jason set to work on her 4-floor cage while Heather and I tried to teach the little thing how to roll around in a ball. Poor thing was a little timid and shy, and who can blame her? If I was shipped from box to box and suddenly found myself rolling around in a neon green plastic ball, I'd freak out too. Needless to say, she passed out pretty soon after we put her in her cage.

I decided to name her Maxi or "Miss Max". I'm not sure why I named her that, except to say that I kept thinking it every time I saw her. So "Miss Max" it is. Pictures to come soon!

After a long, long hiatus of sitting on my ass while everyone else left for the gym, I'm happy to announce that I've found a workout that I actually enjoy.

BOXING!

Course, I should have seen this coming. After all, "kicking ass" is high on my list of "to do's before I die". Still, I'd never been exposed to a punching bag or gloves before this weekend, and had no idea the pleasure it could bring.

Saturday night, Jason was working out with his buddies in their homemade barn gym. Normally I make fun of Jason to pass the time, but this time, I decided to punch on the punching bag. After the first punch, I punched it again. And again. And again.

I started hopping around and whopping it. Randy handed me his old boxing gloves and I started wailing at it. Bam BAM BAM! I didn't want to stop.

The next day, Jason and I went to Dick's and I bought my own gloves and a boxing ball (not the standing kind nor the teardrop, but the ball that suspends and comes back at you). Unfortunately the ball has to be blown up, but Jason will do it at his house and bring it back this weekend. I cannot wait!

Last night we went to go see Pirates 2. It was pretty much everything we expected: funnier, longer, louder. Everything a sequel is supposed to be. The ending...well, let's just say I totally called it. At any rate, it was a good time, and I look forward to the next time we can buy an overpriced cherry Icee and choke on a tray of buffalo wings.

YARRR me matey!

Mercy.

2006-07-07T14:03:00.000-04:00

Mercy.

What does it look like?

Like this.

I couldn't stop looking at the faces. I couldn’t stop reading their stories. I couldn’t stop wondering – could I show mercy like that? Could I have faith like theirs to hold out for mercy?

Mercy.

It looks like this.

R.I.P. Ball

2006-07-06T13:24:00.000-04:00

Moles moles moles. Jason has a million of them and after months of useless threats, he’s finally gone to the dermatologist to get the bigger ones taken off.

Today was his second appointment and also a very important one, as one of the killer moles lived on his inner thigh…for a man, dangerously close to his most valuable possession.

I asked Jason to let me know how the appointment went. This is the text I just received:

“Everything went well…except the doctor slipped and cut off one of my balls. Now I only have two.”

Piss, moan, and fish.

2006-07-06T09:58:00.000-04:00

I had today’s post all planned out.

I was going to lead with the stunning declaration that Michael Jackson called me last night. Then, in the second paragraph, I would declare triumphantly how he was so impressed by the fan letter I’d sent him (written in Chinese, no less), that he’d decided to call me. We had a nice chat about his recent move; he read the letter back to me (in Chinese), which impressed me so much that I wondered what other languages he was fluent in.

I was so ready to tell you this that I could literally see the words forming on my blog.

Then I woke up. I realized it was all a dream. No Michael Jackson phone call. I don’t think he can speak Chinese, and I’m not even sure I’m a fan.

Damn it. Damn it all to hell.

So I have nothing to tell you. Nothing except that last night I realized and accepted for the first time that even I, fearless Leslie of the earth, am susceptible to menstrual hormones.

Last night, everything Jason said made me unhappy. He was skeptical about my super plan to make us money, he laughed at my brilliant idea to improve our communication, and he still would not allow me to buy a kitten or a caged pet of any kind. Even when I asked him, “Do you think you’ll ever stop loving me?” he answered, “I don’t know. I can’t tell the future.”

Claaang goes the bad answer gong! Leslie unhappy.

Finally he ceded and assured me that he planned to love me forever, and that fish could be a fun starter pet. “We’ll go buy fish this weekend,” he said. “Promise.”

Fish, huh? Well…okay.

Better be some damn good fish.

Independence Day

2006-07-05T10:20:00.000-04:00

Did you have a great 4th of July? Did you watch fireworks? Did you create your own?

Apparently it was time for our monthly fight, because Jason and I spent our evening fighting while my friends left to go see fireworks. (It was just as well, since Jason said he finds fireworks as mundane as I find golf video games. My reply: How could anyone find fireworks to be THAT boring?)

He said I was manipulative and controlling. I said he was insensitive and dense. It was quite the classic male v. female fight. It lasted most of the evening and I’m not sure we got anywhere. However, Jason always says that, despite our fighting, the difference between us and other couples is that we always make up.

I guess he’s right. We were angry at each other for the entire evening, but as soon as I laid my head onto the pillow to sleep, he propped his head up on his hand and looked at me in the dark. I squeezed his nose, he squeezed mine, and it was over.

Maybe that’s what Independence Day is all about – the freedom to choose to be dependant on someone else.

Wilbur circa 2006

2006-07-03T15:50:00.000-04:00

On Saturday I drove to my first pig roast at Joe’s (Jason’s bestfriend). It was intended only for family, but as Joe’s mother loves me more than she loves Joe, I was invited months ago.

Having never been to a pig roast before, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But there it was, an immense blackened carcass slowly turning over a hot spit. I admired the grandeur of this pathetic creature, post-Wilbur and pre-dinner. It wasn’t until they took it off the spit and started pulling at its meat and innards that I thought perhaps the vegetarians were on to something. I stuck to pasta and dessert for the rest of the night.

As they had a pool and Saturday was quite a hot day, I spent most of the day in and out of the pool, teasing and playing with all of Joe’s little cousins. Like Jason, Joe lives outside of Cincinnati in a blue collar little town, but other than one rude lady and another man asking me if I was American, I was left to my own devices.

After dinner I slipped out to itch my shopping bug bite. I don’t shop frequently nor am I expensive ($25 for jeans is too much), but as a professional Creative, I am as colorful and tasteful in my appearance as I am in my writing. I also inherited my dad’s cheapness and my mom’s flair for bargains. Add on my pension for sticking it to the man, and you get consignment shops.

In one 2-hour dose, I bought 4 skirts, 1 runway-worthy dress, 4 pairs of shoes, and 2 DVD’s…for $100.

Damn, I am good.

Go Reds go!

2006-07-03T14:53:00.000-04:00

Friday night, my roommates, Heather and Chenney, joined my friend Nate and I at a sellout Red’s game of Reds v. Indians. It was my first game of the season, and I came prepared. Reds ball cap, Reds tee shirt, and red suede shoes. (No red pants, still working on that.)

I wasn’t brought up on sports so I often have a hard time grasping the magnitude and significance of it, but I’ve enjoyed the few games I’ve been to. There’s something special about crowding into a stadium of 30,000 people and paying $10 for a coke and hotdog. You feel like you’re a part of a grand tradition of your forefathers and your forefathers’ forefathers.

On Friday night, the 4 of us felt like we were part of a grand tradition of losers. Right off the bat, the Indians scored 5 runs. One inning after another, we didn’t score. We watched helplessly as 0 after 0 blipped onto the screen next to our home team. At the end of the 7th inning, we still hadn’t scored, and the Indians were up by 6. It was hopeless. People started leaving and you could hear them mutter “suck” under their breath.

Then it happened. We scored. Bases loaded and we hit a home run. Then we scored again. It was 7-5. At least we could lose with dignity.

Last inning. Indians scored. 8-5. Our turn. One strike. Two strike. It’s our last chance, and Adam Dunn was batting. Bases were loaded. Miracle of miracles, he bats a home run. We win 8-9!

AHHHHHH the crowd goes balls wild! We’re jumping, we’re dancing, we’re praising the land of overpriced hotdogs.

We didn’t stay for the fireworks, but as I drove through downtown to go home, the fireworks lit up the sky, reflected into a million firelights in window panes.

It was a good time to be a Cincinnatian.

Dating - fun or fearsome?

2006-06-30T12:13:00.000-04:00

How red can a girl turn?

Pretty red – especially when the girl is a redhead, is sun burnt, and is sitting three tables away from the man she just started seeing (and slept with the night before).

Last night a group of us went out to a pub for drinks and laughs. All of a sudden Angela started shrinking in her seat. When we asked her what was wrong, she covered her face and nodded in a vague direction. It didn’t take us long to squeeze the info out of her. Eric and I, the rowdiest of the group, wasted no time in teasing her and playing all sorts of antics on her, pretending to get the boy’s attention in all sorts of ridiculous ways.

But what DO you do when the man you just started seeing is enjoying himself three tables away from you? Do you walk over and talk to him? Do you ignore him? Do you call him? Text him? Spit paper wads at him?

And then how do you act if you DO talk to him? Do you touch him? Do you act standoffish? Do you flirt? Do you pretend last night DIDN’T happen?

After what seemed like hours of merciless teasing, Arlene wisely advised Angela to ask the waitress to send him a drink of her behalf. Ah…we sat back and reveled in this amazing advice. So cool. So classy. So Sex-In-the-City suave.

The dating gods must have been with her because as it turned out, our waitress was dating the waiter of the other table. It took 3 seconds to figure out his drink of choice and within 10 minutes the boy was at our table introducing himself.

A dating game well played.

As I sat there watching this circus unravel before me, I thanked my lucky stars that I no longer had to swim the treacherous waters of dating politics. Applying makeup meticulously, worrying about the perfect outfit, staring at the phone, rehearsing your most flirtatious line…all that takes energy. Granted, it can be a lot of fun, and sometimes I miss those days. But as I am low maintenance and horribly lazy, I am grateful that I can come home to Jason with no makeup, fart under the sheets, laugh when he farts back, and still know that I am beautiful without condition in his eyes.

Friends Forever?

2006-06-29T14:07:00.000-04:00

Is it possible for a non-single or married person to maintain a friendship with someone of the opposite sex?

Growing up, I had A LOT of male friends. It wasn’t on purpose; I simply got along much better with the boys. But you attract people who are like you and I attracted the ones who were simple, funny, and brutally honest. In short, I was always friends with boys. I didn’t care for maneuvering the red tape of adolescent girls.

Before long it was common for me to be the only girl in the room. I was one of the boys. (It wasn’t until college that it became a problem: my longtime crush started thinking of me more as a guy pal than a possible girlfriend, thus crushing my fantasy and forcing me to rethink my identity.)

It was that way my whole life. I didn’t have to try – I was naturally more attracted to boys for friends. It wasn’t until we “grew up” that I began to question the stamina of our friendships. One by one they found their true love. Some of them got married. And slowly but surely, we began to lose touch.

But it was more than distance. If I ever got to talk to them again, the spark of our friendship was gone. No more coarse sex jokes. No more brooding about love. No more spontaneous a.m. trips. We went from talking about everything to talking about nothing.

Where did my friends go?

So I’m wondering…is this just a part of life that I have to accept? Does this mean they have matured (ew)? Does this mean we were never really friends in the first place? Is it only possible to be close to a guy while he’s single?

Editor’s note: Oddly enough, I attract only women on my blog, despite the opposite in real life. Is this weird? (Not that I’m complaining, gals. Ya’ll are awesome.)

I Can Kiss Ass, Too.

2006-06-28T09:27:00.000-04:00

Apparently being an outlier sucks. And, as I understand it, not being recognized for being an outlier sucks even more.

So...

Emerald, being an outlier is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, outliers are always studied more because they reveal more insight. In short, you are special. Not special in a short bus kind of way, but special like red carpet special. Special like...like the question mark jelly belly special. So don't cry. Not when there are question mark jelly bellies to be had.

And Becky...dear Becky...please accept my apology for not recognizing your genius suggestion of both buying a Powerbook and getting a kitten for free. Looking in the classifieds for a free kitten? Bloody brilliant. Totally surpasses e=mc2 brilliant and is up there with sliced bread brilliant. So don't cry. Us stupider people are just trying to catch up with you.

As for Angel and Nikky, my other outliers,...well you guys seem to be okay and moving on with life fairly well. Good. I can conserve my kiss-ass energy for relocating my dignity...

Teehee.

I need more money.

2006-06-27T14:41:00.000-04:00

If the last post were an experiment, then Scientist Leslie would have concluded that decisions are dependant on the gender of the decision-maker. All of the men I asked said “Buy the Powerbook.” All of the women said “Buy the kitten.” I might as well have been deciding between a Phillips box of tools and a Celine Dion concert. (As with all studies, I had two outliers, with Emerald and Angel vouching for the Powerbook and Nikky decreeing the Foosball table. Poor foosball table…only one vote.)

Jason, who ALWAYS manages to throw a wrench into my decisions just when I have things figured out, suggested – nay, vehemently insisted – on option D.) Save my money.

This – coming from the man who doesn’t value the dollar sign unless it has at least two zeros behind it.

His reasons? Because. Because because because. That’s it. (Why not foosball table? Because. Why not Powerbook? Because. Why not kitten? Because.)

When I kept pressing, he replied “Fine, get the Powerbook.” That’s when I decided for the kitten. (See? Girl = kitten, Boy = Powerbook.)

He protested that one too, listing a slew of reasons, with the cutest one being “Besides, if you get a cat, you’ll have to spend time taking care of it and then you won’t have time to come see me.”

That was enough to delay me for a while, and after a pause, he said, “So…my toenails are still pink.” **

What, I replied innocently. I just wanted us to match.

**I painted Jason's toenails a pinkish orange while he slept the night before last. Teehee...must do again!

Decision-making 911!

2006-06-26T16:23:00.000-04:00

Pretend you are me. You’re don’t have a lot to spend, but you have just enough to buy ONE cool thing for the rest of 2006. The problem is, you want THREE things. What do you do?

Do you…

A.) Buy a foosball table. It’s a Tornado Cyclone II, the Jedi Master of all foosball tables. It’d be SO much fun for all the guests to enjoy in your spacious apartment. It normally sells for $1300, but a guy in town will sell his new, still-in-box one to you for $750. You’re pretty sure you can talk him down, but even so, you’re looking at $500 minimum.

B.) Buy an Apple Powerbook. You’ve never owned a laptop, and now that you’re working in the creative industry, you want to learn graphic design. Sure you work on one 40 hours a week, but you never know when you'll want it for the rest of those hours! (Plus, after the last two failed attempts to secure one, you want one more than ever.) A used one will be about $1400. You’ll have to wait until at least the end of the summer to buy this one.

C.) Buy a kitten or a chinchilla. The landlord wants $400 extra in security deposit for a pet. Then you’ll need money to buy the pet and buy all of its toys, food, and supplies. Not only are you looking at about $600 spent right off the bat, you will need to take care of the little tyke for the rest of its furry days. Still, you’ve never owned a pet before, and how fun would it be to have a little companion at home?

What do I do, guys? I need help!

5 Thinker Questions

2006-06-26T11:06:00.000-04:00

Queen Kimananda of Memes sent me 5 personalized questions to answer. If you'd like me to ask you 5 questions, just say 'interview me' in the comments. =)

1. It is clear from the things you write that your faith is very important to you. Have you always felt the same sense of religious conviction, or if not, then how has your religiousness changed over time?

Yes, Christianity is important to me, but it’s more accurate to say that I am very important to God. I say that because, despite my many wanderings over the years, I am always drawn back again and again to a constant, loving God. I feel this pull whether I want to or not. In this way, I have always believed in God, but now that I am more grown, I more clearly see His mercy in light of my ever-wandering heart.

2. You can plan exactly where you will be in 10 years, in only one area of your life (e.g. career, home life, creative life, etc.). Please say which area you are choosing, and give some details of where you will be in 10 years in that area.

I will take home life for 500, Alex.

10 years. That would make me 33. At age 33, I plan to be well established in my own home. It will be a small but tasteful 2-story house with large windows to let in the sun. Each room will be decorated with bold but classy colors, filled with all kinds of knick knacks that I found on the cheap. I will be married to a affectionate, goofy, and stubborn man (Jason, think BIG diamond, please). By then we will have at least one child – a boy. The boy will need someone to beat up, so we’ll be working on our second child – a girl. Every day my husband and I will wake up to each other’s bed hair, dragon breath, and laughter.

3. You are given a week-long all-expenses paid holiday, of any type that you choose (such as adventure, romantic, big-city, etc.). What type of holiday would you choose and why?

Travel questions have always been the hardest for me to answer 1) Because geography is my worst subject and 2) Because I’m a domestic homemaker at heart. However, I will do my best.

Well, I know what I don’t like. No beaches. No big cities. No carnies. And NO mosquitoes.

So…take me to Austria in the spring, please. The Sound of Music is one of my favorite movies/musicals and I would count myself an angel in heaven if I could lay my eyes on the green grass and rolling hills of Austria.

Oh, and please hire a personal masseuse. The hills are alive with the sound of “Ahhhhhhh…”!

4. You clearly love food, but is there one food you truly love above all others? If so, tell us about it. If not, why not?

FOOD FOOD GIMME MORE FOOD! You know, last week, I was hungry and I sliced my finger open on the aluminum foil cutter. But since I was hungry, I just held my finger up so I could finish preparing my supper. Only when I was full did I pay attention to my finger and stop the bleeding.

Anyway…

Yes, food. For the entrée, give me Indian. No one makes meat or cream sauce like Indians. I now buy frozen Indian entrees so I can eat it all the time.

Dessert? Greek, please. Gyros are good in themselves, but baklava? Ooooo…that is love in a pastry.

5. What has been the best part of your past so far, and what made that time in your life special? Please note: of course the present is always the best, but please focus on the past.

Um, I would say the best part of my immediate past was when I painted Jason’s toenails while he was sleeping last night…

As for my past-past, the best part of my young life was the 2 weeks I spent at a camp at Purdue University every summer for 4 summers. Life was VERY hard and painful at that time, and for 2 weeks every year, I could forget the pain and live the life I always wanted. For 2 weeks, I was beautiful, wanted, and popular. For 2 weeks, I had wonderful friends. For 2 weeks I was happy and free. I’ll never forget those times.

Blood sucking bastards.

2006-06-23T16:47:00.000-04:00

No one loves summer more than I do, but the one thing I dread more than anything else (and that includes sand up my butt, sticky skin on a humid day, and chlorine water up my nose) is mosquitoes.

I'm allergic, and I hate the damn things.

They, on the other hand, love me. I've had skeeters follow me into my car and attack me in my sleep.

Now I have red golf ball-size bumps all over me. I can't stop itching...the little bastards.

So other than me clawing myself to death day and night, I am well. I've all moved in, I'm far far away from my dickless old landlords, and I still swing between lasagna or indian food for lunch. Mmmm...

How is your summer going?

I'm 23 and home!

2006-06-19T12:09:00.000-04:00

Funny how hour upon hours of lifting, loading, unloading, and unpacking will make the weekend fly by. I nearly forgot it was my birthday!

But thanks to you all, I have remembered. I am 23 and it feels good.

The new apartment is starting to come together. I loved placing items in their own respective nook and cranny. I don’t care how nerdy that is. I can finally call a place home.

Last night Jason kept hopping on my bed, chanting “I know something you don’t know, I know something you don’t know!” I figured it out hours later, when Chenney and Heather walked into my room with a little chocolate cake and lit candles, singing “Happy Birthday”. I don’t need a lot to make me happy, and that was all I needed for a truly happy birthday.

After we sang and dug into the cake with forks, I asked Jason, “So was that what you knew that I didn’t?”

He said, “Yes. But I still know a lot of things that you don’t know.”

What a smartass.

On the road again!

2006-06-16T15:59:00.000-04:00

You’ll hear me say I’m a real Susie Homemaker a lot, and it’s true. For example, I’d like to stay in the same place, dig my roots in, and grow old on a rocking chair until my boobs sag to the ground.

That’s why it’s ironic that I’ve never stayed in the same place for very long- ever. Before college, I moved to 3 different houses and 6 different schools. Once college started, I’d leave for 9 months, come back for 3, then leave – to another place on campus. Then I graduated, moved back home for 6 months, and moved somewhere else in the city. One year later, I’m moving again. How many moves is that? 6? 9? 25? I’ve lost count. Frankly, if I’m not moving out of a place after a year’s stay, something’s wrong.

(I know you want to know why, and the answer is…so do I. We always had a reason, and every time, the reason seemed legitimate.)

So here I go again! As High Queen Domestic Planner, I started packing around Mother’s Day. Then when Kevin the Coward, my bastard landlord, pulled that bullshit stunt on me, I started packing even more diligently – my way of sticking it to the man.

Now it’s countdown time and I could not be more excited. My walls and drawers are stripped bare, so that my room resembles more of a warehouse than it does a bedroom. We’ve already started to move boxes into the new place. Yesterday I helped Chenney move her bed up two flights of stairs. Our faces were smashed against walls, pushing and pulling and huffing and puffing; we collapsed onto the floor in hysterics.

I may not be online until next week. Not only do I have to move, I have about 10 private sellers I must visit across the city to pick up various pieces of furniture. But when I do get back, it’ll be from my new, 2 floor, 4 bedroom apartment! Whoppee!

Pic-chaz!

2006-06-13T18:26:00.000-04:00

I've a few new pictures on my Flickr, for any of ya'll who care.

(If you look closely, you can see the hickey he intentionally planted several days ago...)

Life after X.

2006-06-12T10:39:00.000-04:00

I was 14 when I met Steve.

Steve. My first date. My first kiss. My first boyfriend. My first high school memories.
Steve. My first betrayal. My first heartache. My first tangible loss.

With Steve went my friends, my confidence, and my strength to climb out of the mud hole I was quickly slipping into. Even after I won my battle many years later, Steve would still wriggle his way into my memory through the story of my life. And every time I retold my story, his name would appear.

Eventually time healed the wound that could not heal itself. Yet every now and then, I’d imagine what it would be like to see him again. My imagination started out with beating the shit out of him, but as I grew up, so did my thoughts, and after a while I simply wanted to know where he was, what he was doing, and if I’d recognize him on the street.

I know the answer now. When I passed him in the hallways of my church yesterday, I recognized him almost immediately. He recognized me too, squinting his eyes, tilting his head, and asked, “Leslie?”

Steve?

Yes, it was. It had been 9 years, and with the exception of his sun bleached, wavy hair, he looked the exact same.

We exchanged quick life stories so as not to allow room for awkward pauses. He told me he and his entire family had moved to South Carolina (that explained the hair), and he, his family, and his fiancé, were in town for his grandparents’ 50th anniversary. I introduced Jason, and my past and my future shook hands. We chatted for a few minutes before parting on well wishes, knowing we would never see each other again.

As we walked away, I told Jason who that was.

“Want me to beat him up?” he asked, slamming his fist into his open palm.

I laughed, not at the absurdity of his suggestion, but out of surprise that I didn’t think of it first. Still, I shook my head, and took his hand.

No, I’m good, I smiled.

And we walked out, hand in hand, without looking back.

I'm hungry, damn it.

2006-06-09T14:09:00.000-04:00

Online conversation with Jason, 3:00 in the afternoon yesterday. We keep each other balanced.

I’m hungry. I’m going to the mall to get chicken nuggets.
No. Stay where you are.
Why?
It’s 3:00 in the afternoon. You’re supposed to be working, not going to the mall for nuggets.
I’m hungry.
You can wait.
No I can’t. I will keel over.
You’ll be fine.
I am going to faint from hunger.
You’ll survive.
Here I go…I’m passing out…
I don’t believe you.
I’m going to kick the bucket, all on account of nuggets.
No you won’t.
You don’t know me.
Yes I do.
I want nuggets!
No.
Hmmph.
Are you mad?
No. I’m hungry.

hel-LOOOOO NURSE!

2006-06-07T10:26:00.000-04:00

Cat calls. Whistles. The perverse “I’m undressing you in my head” grin.

I don’t like it. And I’m pretty sure I’ll never get used to it.

This morning I walked the 4 blocks from my car to my building in the heart of downtown, as usual. First it was the cabbie whose shameless grin unnerved me. Then it was the truck driver who shouted, “he-LLO!” and raised his eyebrow. Then the group of businessmen in the car, all turning to ogle me through the windows. And finally the group of construction guys standing outside my building, who turned around, one by one, to scan me with elevator eyes.

Sure, this has happened before. But I already said it – I’ll never get used to it. In fact, after the cabbie bore invisible holes through my breasts, I stopped to check myself out in the building. When someone looks at me like that, I always think one thing and one thing only.

There must be a gimungous booger hanging from my nose.

So I checked. But no booger. No ‘I’m with stupid’ stamp on my forehead. No breast prematurely sagging to my knees.

Maybe if my cleavage was hanging out, my midriff was showing, and my bare bottom was flagging down cars, I could understand that I was asking for it. But c’mon, I don’t dress like that when I’m at bars, let alone to work.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy attention or compliments. I’m a woman. I want to feel beautiful just like any other gal. But can’t a guy smile at me warmly? Can’t he nod at me and say ‘good morning’? But no. It’s always the “I wonder what you look like naked” stare with a side of drool.

Yuck, I say. Yuckity yuck.

Okay okay, I'm back!

2006-06-05T10:53:00.000-04:00

Real friends kick me in the ass when I disappear.

You guys are real friends. (Seriously. So much for a quiet hiatus.)

I apologize for not updating sooner. Last week was a bit of a drama, and dramas are always long and hard to explain. Hence the hiatus.

Last Monday, I put up a few notices around the house, complaining of the awful conditions. The next day, as I was sleeping in my room, my male landlord barged into my room TWICE, barking at me and cussing me out. The second time, he raged beside my bed (mind you, I was still trying to wake up to figure out what the hell was going on), crumpled up my notices in his fist, threw them at my head, and told me to ‘get the fuck out’.

Needless to say, the rest of the night was no less dramatic. My bestfriend and his friend rushed over to be with me, as I was quite shaken. Jason, who was working an hour away, fled out of work, rushed home, grabbed a gun, and was at my front doorstep in record time.

In the mean time, my landlord managed to sneak out of the house to avoid confrontation. A cowardly beast. That was 6 days ago, and he hasn’t been home since (he and the other landlord live in the mansion with me, along with 5 other tenants).

The next day, my future housemate’s dad tried to disown her if she tried to move out. (We’re scheduled to move out on the 17th.) The other housemate and I rushed to be by her side, trying to console her and support her as much as possible. The possibility of all our future house plans falling apart loomed ahead.

The day after, I was verbally attacked online by a group of drunk college boys. Don’t ask, it’s a long story, and it was my fault for not leaving the conversation…but they said some pretty vile things, and I was pretty distraught.

Coming right on the heels of that conversation, my roommate chewed me out for half an hour. I had tried to share Jesus with one of the college boys a few weeks before, and apparently he had relayed that conversation to Rachel, because she came storming into my room, rallying about “what a shitty thing” I did by mentioning Jesus to a Jew. I could not believe she was attacking me on a conversation that was never even meant for her, let alone my good intentions. But she continued to tear me apart, conjuring up a whole history of Jewish oppression and Jewish rights.

Oy vey. By the time the week was over, I was emotionally drained. I spent the weekend with Jason - sleeping, eating, and sleeping some more.

I’m sure you’re wondering what became of all that, so here’s the update:

My landlord, as I said, is a coward and hasn’t been home since the incident. He knows he violated a ton of my rights. What he doesn’t know is that I am fully aware that he is guilty of 12 years of tax evasion…enough to throw his ass in jail. I don’t care to ever see him again, but if he tries anything funny, the only thing he’ll ever see is bars.

My housemate is still going to move out, despite her bastard father. She’s decided to try counseling to resolve her deep-seated family issues, and I offered my own counselor.

I am totally over everything those boys said to me. One of them tried to AIM me the next morning. That box was X’d.

Rachel and I are still friends. I have my own reservations towards her, but I recognize a good friend when I see one.

Move-out day is still scheduled for June 17. That day cannot come soon enough. In the mean time, I have begun to pack and look for furniture. It’s my small way of sticking it to the man.

And yes, dear emerald, my birthday is coming up on the 18th. Wanna party? =)

Now and then.

2006-05-23T09:43:00.000-04:00

Lately I’ve been killing time by looking up people from my past life on Facebook. If you don’t know what Facebook is, it’s simply a site for college students and grads to post profiles about themselves. For some, it’s a way to show off a pretty picture and their popularity. For others (like me), it’s a way to keep connected to people that I otherwise would have forgotten.

Anyway, you don’t need to know what Facebook is to understand how intriguing and amusing it can be to revisit people that you haven’t seen for years. It’s the same feeling you get when you attend a school reunion, except a little safer since this is online.

I’ve been so taken aback at one seemingly obvious but still surprising factor: people change. And wow, do they! It’s not only that people grew up. I mean, the popular jock got fat. The nerdy girl who hid behind her hair and glasses is now a beautiful, gorgeous model. The shortest guy became the tallest. The girl who always had a boyfriend is now single. The lonely girl is married. The bully became an evangelist.

On and on it goes. It makes me shake me head in wonder and awe. Few people turned out the way I thought they would. I mean, when we were in junior high, didn’t we think that the popular kids would be popular forever? We envied them, we hated them, we wanted to be them. Now they’re working B class jobs, looking exactly the same, hanging in the exact same group of friends as the day you left them.

I scour myself for my own changes. I was the loner, the girl who straddled the fence – too nerdy for the popular kids and too down-to-earth for the nerdy kids. I was slightly overweight, and compensated by wearing nonsensical clothing. I was drowning in my depression, hoping for someone to throw me a lifeline. Life was grey and there were days when I begged for death.

Oh how I’ve changed. I look at my life now and I smile. I have loyal, loving friends who would as soon kick my ass into gear as they would soothe all my wounds. I have a handsome man who adores me, whose kisses are endless, and who wants to one day make me his wife. I have the career that I’ve always dreamed of.

Then I look at my face – the face that was ridiculed and ignored all those years – the same face that is now respected, loved, and admired.

I wonder what those kids – the kids that shunned me – would say if they saw me now?

And now I wonder, dear friends, what were you like growing up? Have you defied any expectations? How have you changed? Let’s hear it – I want to know!

10 Work Observations

2006-05-19T09:42:00.000-04:00

My on-the-job observations thus far:

10. Having to wear sunglasses in your office because the sunlight is pouring onto you is awesome.
9. Being able to decorate your office with an inflatable Bozo the clown, Christmas lights, and a 2 ft. vase/glassware thingy and getting away with it is double-awesome.
8. Downloading a naked Stewie from Family Guy for my desktop background. Gawd, I get away with everything.
7. Free color copies. Thank you.
6. Getting along with your co-workers truly makes or breaks your job experience.
5. Working right across from the mall is dangerous, yet sooo great.
4. Being able to cash in your check because your bank is in your building, and then go to the mall is even more dangerous, and even greater.
3. High heels. Never again.
2. Smiling cheesily at the intern until he does everything for you…I have no shame.

And my last, and most important observation:

1. Hearing your boss poop and fart in the stall next to you makes a great bribe (not to mention diminishes the intimidation factor). If she ever gets on my case, I’ll get say, “Whatever, I heard you fart! And it was the sputtering kind, too!”

Graphically speaking...

2006-05-17T16:11:00.000-04:00

So the graphic design intern and I got a little bored...

Whaddya think?

When technology goes too far...

2006-05-16T20:35:00.000-04:00

Is this a luxury? Or a serious violation?

I just had to share this. It was a streaming ad running across my email account, and I couldn't not click on it.

However you feel about it, you have to admit that it's a pretty genius domain name. *giggle*

P.S. Don't leave without checking out the video demonstration. It's a doozie.

1st day down!

2006-05-15T19:20:00.000-04:00

Despite the cold, rainy weather we've been having, I had a great first day of work...probably because I hardly did any work at all. =)

Either they didn't have any work for me or they let me have it easy, because all I did today was sign papers, eat, and talk. I don't know about signing papers, but I could eat and talk all day. And I did.

Everyone is so genuinely nice...not fake like my last employer. My office cubicle is a sunny yellow and faces a large window with a gorgeous view of downtown, 20 floors above ground. I share it with the art design intern, whom I get along with famously.

I lugged about 40 lbs of stuff over there, so now my office has books, Pringles, gum, photos, and a inflatable Bozo the clown. You know, the essentials.

I love my job already. =)

Hi-Ho! Hi-Ho!

2006-05-14T20:40:00.000-04:00

It's off to work I go tomorrow!

It has almost been 6 months since I have sat behind a desk. I am not looking forward to getting up early, lack of afternoon naps, or holding in my gas. However, I think it is a fair trade for good company, a great job, and a steady paycheck.

I feel like I'm getting ready for my first day of school. This past week I went "school shopping" and bought new clothes, new heels, lunch food, a lunch tote, and new make-up. I have already packed my lunch, laid out my outfit, and packed a huge bag to the brim with stuff to decorate my cubicle.

Everyone keeps asking if I'm excited. Honestly, I'm feeling a bit apprehensive, if anything. You know, that feeling you get when you get back onto the yellow schoolbus after summer vacation? I'm sure I'll feel better once I get acquainted with my co-workers, my job, and most importantly, the location of the kitchen.

Wish me luck!

This post brought to you by the letter 'J'

2006-05-12T20:30:00.000-04:00

Thanks to Kimananda for her always uber-fun posts and graciously passing the baton to me by bestowing upon me the letter 'J'. I absolutely love this letter. So without further ado, here are 10 words that start with the letter 'J' and what it means to me. (If you want to also play, comment on this post and ask for a letter!)

Jesus. My Savior. The one who died for me so that I could have hope of eternal life. My healer, my comforter, my unconditional lover. You make me worthy.
Jason. 1 year and 2 months, but who's counting? :) Your unsurpassing love for me is a new gift to me every day.
John. The book in the Bible that Jason and I are currently reading through together. We read a chapter each night, discuss it, and pray while holding hands. This is a new ritual for us, and it is bringing our relationship to a new level.
Journal. On paper or online, in my head or in a conversation...I believe that life should be recorded and preserved, held closely to our bosom in fond memory and shared with the ones we love. I have been writing in journals since I was 10. I have never traveled anywhere without a journal. I now have about 17 paper journals and I just love writing on this lovely blog.
Joy. What is life if it doesn't have joy? I recently attended a women's faith conference with my mom, and the theme was Contagious Joy. If anyone had contagious joy, it was those women, singing and dancing and laughing no matter what the circumstances of their lives. People these days walk around with no joy. Is it so hard to smile? C'mon, people, let's laugh, let's dance, let's sing for joy because God is good, all the time.
Jellyfish. I looove a jellyfish cold dish. The crunch, the vinegar, the sweet revenge of eating what stung me when I was 8 years old. Oh sweet, sweet revenge!
Jurassic Park. I've probably seen this movie more times than any other. I can tell because now I can't watch it without saying the lines before they are said. I still remember watching it for the first time in the theatre...and crawling under my seat.
Jade. Being Chinese, I have respect for the cool, mysteriously green jade stone. Jade is the prized stone of the Chinese people, and every one of them has jewelry made out of jade. I don't wear Jade (nothing personal, it's just not readily available in the U.S.), but every time I see it, I think of my people.
John-Jacob-Jingleheimer-Smith. One of the many songs I used to croon as a kid. Being a kid was so much fun, and every now and again I remember the title of a show or song I used to be obsessed with, and I scold myself for ever forgetting it in the first place.
Jeezal-peez. Probably one of the first repetitive sayings I ever developed, and I doubt it'll ever leave me. It's right up there with "Lord have mercy!" and "I know, right?"

Can you feel me now?

2006-05-12T17:37:00.000-04:00

Numbness is a really weird sensation. The shot of anethesia sucks, but then the tingliness sets in and you start poking yourself, all the while totally amused that you can't feel what you're touching.

I went to the dentist today. I had to get a filling replaced and get a biopsy done on this odd growth beneath my tongue. Two operations means twice the anesthesia, and when the doctor asked me, "Can you feel your lip tingling?", I said, Uh, I don't feel anything.

They said the numbness would wear off after about 2 hours, but 2 hours later I still can't feel the entire right side of my face and my jaw is getting sore from holding itself at weird angles without knowing it.

Like I said, the sensation of numbness can be cool. I've poked my chin, tugged on my ear, and scratched my tongue, just to see if I could feel anything. (I can't.) But now the amusement has worn off, and I'm hungry.

If you know me at all, you'd know that nothing short of death could stop me from eating. (Don't ever ask me to choose between food and you, because, well...I'd hesitate.) So I was eating a huge bowl of cereal, when I realized that I was chewing something that I didn't remember pouring into the bowl.

It took me 5 seconds to realize I'm chewing my lip. It took me 5 more seconds to realize that I might be chomping more than chewing. And 5 seconds after that, I looked into the mirror and discovered the bloody pulp I'd turned my lip into.

Nice.

So now I have 2 weeks of cancer sores to look forward to. But hey, at least I can't feel it right now!

(And to answer your question, Yes. I finished the cereal.)

And they lived happily ever after.

2006-05-10T11:11:00.000-04:00

My dear friends,

The response to this chapter in my life has been overwhelming and humbling. If I have not emailed you back by now, it is either because 1) Your email is not listed (MotherSong? Dawnamarie?) or 2) I am a douchebag. So if you haven't received your email, leave a comment to say which of the two options applies to you, and I will respond promptly!

Jason and I are happy beyond words, enjoying our newfound relationship that is ever brighter and more I-want-to-vomit loving than when we first met. Truly, we were in a desert, and now we have arrived at our oasis. We have resolved our differences and we have both changed so much that every day is a beautiful, new day.

Thank you, my angels, for loving me through all this. Surely this will not be the only bump in the road ahead, but I am comforted that I have you to hook arms with me along the way. If there's anything I can ever do for you, do not hesitate to let me know.

Your little short-haired girl,

Leslie

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow!

2006-05-09T14:23:00.000-04:00

So? How do you like it? The lady cut about 7 inches off. It looked like a shaggy dog had been slaughtered at my feet.

Anyway, I love it! I would post more pictures, but blogger is being a butt and won't let me, so I'll try again later.

Tata!

*UPDATED* More photos are here!

Angels Unaware.

2006-05-03T23:57:00.000-04:00

I have been amazed these past few days about how truly blessed I am. If a woman's wealth could be summed by the quality of her friends, I am a wealthy woman indeed.

Thank you, all you angels, who continue to email me and send me notes of empathy and love. Even more so, thank you for making yourselves available to me, even offering your phone numbers - many of you are mothers, and I can't believe you'd make extra time to listen to me!

Don't feel bad if I haven't responded to you yet. Frankly I haven't responded to anyone, not because I don't want to talk to you, but because I can't seem to get it out. It's all stuck in my head. Maybe I'm afraid it'll overwhelm you. More to the point, maybe I'm afraid it'll overwhelm me. In the mean time, I've been writing you all mental letters, and it hasn't been until now that I realize that you can't hear me. =)

I promise I will write you all personally soon. It may not be until this weekend. Jason and I are getting together on Friday to talk, and I must prepare myself for that. Besides, my haircut is Friday morning, and maybe my mind will be better prepared to talk after it's been lightened by half a ton of hair.

I thank God for you, my angels. What would I do without you?

A drama-free intermission

2006-05-03T12:49:00.000-04:00

*We now interrupt this programming with some live updates.*

I have eaten chocolate cake for breakfast for two days straight. This is what my body wanted and this is what I gave it. Speaking of good decisions,...

I have decided to cut my hair. You all were right; it'll grow back. Besides, I'm sick of being confused with lollipop-lickin' 17 year olds. I'm thinkin' 6 inches off, at least. My appointment is on Friday. It'll be great. A biblical symbol of change, because...

I got the job! Oh yes, I nabbed it last Thursday and accepted it yesterday. I asked for time off to relax, so I start in 2 weeks. As of May 15th, I will be a Junior Copywriter for a burgeoning advertising agency in downtown Cincinnati. The pay's not about to qualify me for early retirement, but I love the people, I love their work, and they're going to let me freelance on the side so I can make extra $$ and keep my clients. This couldn't come at a better time, since...

I'm still $1400 in the hole. BUT, Jason called the boy's father yesterday, and it turns out that he never cashed in the check. The guy said that he's going to mail the check back to me this week! The good news is that even if he never does, I can still sign a few papers and get my money back within 10 days. Thank the Lord, praise Jesus! Speaking of Him,...

They say that when you can't pray, praise. As I drove around running errands yesterday, the first car I drove behind had a license that said 'PRYZ HIM'. If that isn't a divine message, I don't know what is. So I did. I put on my best worship CD and sang the whole ride through.

And because God is so good, I can now move out of my current mansion that smells of cat pee and curtain dust and into a 3-bedroom house with my new friends, Chenney and Heather. We have been looking at places for a month now, and we're so close. We will probably decide by next week, so look for all the '!!!!' in a week because this Suzie Homemaker cannot WAIT until she starts buying furniture and decorating. My sister is buying my a kitten for my birthday that is coming up, so Little Buffalo, here I come!

*We now return to your regular programming*

Rhythm.

2006-05-02T00:48:00.000-04:00

Chase me,
Find no one
Chase God,
Find me

Let's drink from the cup
that overfloweth with tears
Here's to living
Here's to learning
Here's to joy neverending

Somewhere,
Over the rainbow
I hope I find you.

Rescue me.

2006-05-01T20:35:00.002-04:00

This is the first time I have ever gone through something like this, but I suspect it never gets any easier, does it ladies.

Last night Rachel's (my roommate) secret lover, Sam, came over and, together, formed a tag-team to replace my emotion with logic, my ache with laughter, and my loneliness with comfort. Sam even held my hand and forced me to snuggle with him. Yet all I could think of was, It just isn't Jason.

So this morning I delayed getting up for several hours. When I finally did get up, I read your emails, and took a shower, all the while thinking of how to respond to you all. How can I tell you, my bosom friends, what I am going through? How can I turn my tears into words?

By the time I got out of the shower, I was so dizzy with emotion that I laid back on my bed, my wet hair dripping onto my pillow, and my bathrobe splayed underneath me. I so badly wanted to forget it all, to jump into my car and drive myself straight into Jason's arms. Afraid of my own thoughts and what I might do, I slept...and slept until Rachel knocked on my door at 6:15 p.m.

She sat on my bed, cocked her head to the side, evaluating my half-dried hair and my wrinkled bathrobe. I suppose she saw a little bit of herself in that moment, because she said, "We're going out. I don't care where. You better put on some clothes because I'll be back to check on you. Now hurry."

So in a semi-symbolic gesture, I unwrapped a shirt that I'd never worn from its tissue paper, pulled on my skinny jeans, and headed out with Rachel.

We walked the streets of uptown Cincinnati, drifting among outrageous price tags and sipping smoothies. I even tried on a very expensive, very lovely dress, and everyone ooohed and ahhed. I curtsied, felt oh-so-very princessy, and for one fleeting moment, forgot about Jason.

In due girly fashion, we each bought a slice of very rich chocolate mouse cake, and came home to watch 24. (Well, she is watching 24, anyway.)

And now I'm thinking about him again, crying a little, and trying to remain strong.

To my lovelies who emailed me, I will write you very, very soon. *hugs*

Time will heal all.

2006-04-30T21:30:00.000-04:00

To all my beautiful people, I just want you to know that I may be gone for a few days. Or maybe I will inundate this blog with an overflow of words. I don't know yet, but time will tell.

Jason and I separated today. Please don't be too sad for me; I'm the one who initiated it. I know this probably comes as a huge shock to you all, but I assure you this was not a spontaneous decision on my part, and I am going to take some time alone to evaluate the situation and figure out what to do next.

Out of respect for Jason, I will not be posting details here online. But feel free to email me personally, and I would love to chat.

Thank you for your continuous support, and I will be missing you until my return.

Love,

Your little Leslie

Who wants to see drunk pictures of Leslie? Eh?!

2006-04-30T01:12:00.000-04:00

Hey, I'm still your innocent Leslie angel. Just imagine that this angel got corrupted by little devils for one night. That's all. Just one night.

Happy 27th Birthday, Jason!

2006-04-25T01:06:00.000-04:00

Dearest Jasonface,

Today you turn 27. I know you don't want to celebrate it because you think you're old, and the very fact that I've now published it to the world is probably making you nauseous. However, I don't think you're old, and I doubt that anyone who reads this would think so either. In fact, I think some of them would be insulted that you asked your grandmother if her doctor would give her a "buy one, get one free" deal on her knee replacement so that you could get in on the deal. You're 27, darling. You're hardly withering away.

I also know that you think that, after 21, birthdays are no longer special, but that is, again, untrue. Birthdays are meant to celebrate the day that you, a person like no other, were born. And I can prove it too; that is, that there's no one else like you.

So for your birthday (and because your gift hasn't arrived in the mail yet), here are 27 things that make you, for better or worse, you.

Most of your little toes are crooked after being broken one-two-many times on a refridgerator or chair corner, stumbling in the dark.
You pluralize words. (i.e., I loves you, You got many hairs, I hurt my feets)
You wear 20-30 pairs of pants and one pair of shoes.
The difference between your Explorer and your trash can is barely perceptible.
You love guns, you love to shoot guns, you love to buy guns, you love to sell guns, and you keep your guns cleaner than you keep your belly button.
Speaking of belly button, I always thought the term 'belly lint' was an expression until I met your belly.
You are truly an ass, always putting your foot in your mouth, acting too cool for school with all your friends. Which makes it even funnier that...
You are incredibly sensitive, prone to spontaneous crying when the moment hits you and...
You are a snuggler. In fact, you put the SnuggleSoft bear to shame. You cannot sleep without holding or being held, and you insist on holding hands wherever we go.
You think country music is of the devil. (God forgives you for this. I do not.)
Sometimes you are so dense, I want to kill you. However, if someone tries to hurt me, you will kill them. I think this is a fair trade.
You like to watch The Discovery Channel, The History Channel, and Fraggle Rock.
You pluck the hairs on your shoulder, but you grow out the hair on your head and face like a weed.
You still don't believe that women poop or fart, despite the many times I have (literally) blown that theory out of the water.
You want to name our firstborn son 'Paste'. I do not think this is funny, and I hope you are already collecting funds for his therapy.
You hate Chrysler, Motorola, and Dr. Phil.
Despite being anti-Canadian, Crown Royal is your favorite liquor.
You hate people and rules, so you continue to work at a drive-thru to be able to tell off your customers, beat up your co-workers, and still have a job in the morning.
Anything that isn't to your liking is immediately labeled 'hippie' or 'gay', whether that is actually correct or not.
You don't believe in open-toed shoes outside of the house.
You often sleep with your shoes on.
You are NOT turned on by breasts.
You are so stubborn, even stubborn men say you are stubborn. Fortunately, you are also stubbornly loyal, so even if you piss me off, I am the only woman you will ever piss off. (Lucky me.)
You talk like a jester, hug like a prince, and kiss like a king.
You are an incredible cook and not one for grace, so rarely will anyone cook something that can't be critiqued by you.
You proclaim yourself to be clinically insane and also a topline genius.
Finally, you are incapable of loving more than one person at a time. For as long as you love one, she will have you until the day that love dies, if ever. That is why, despite our many differences, we are still together. Because we share this one trait. (That, and our love for food. All the time. Everywhere.)

Happy Birthday, Jason. Loves you.

1, 2, 3...10 shots of Jager!

2006-04-24T17:18:00.000-04:00

I don't drink. Okay, I do drink. I drink water, juice, and tea. I don't drink alcohol...much to Jason's chagrin and everyone else's surprise.

Before I was 21, it was purely out of disinterest. After I was 21, it was because my body just couldn't handle it. After 2 sips, my face would swell to a splotchy red, I'd lose all ability to hold my head up, and I'd develop what soon became known as "The Leslie Drunk Face". Not to mention I'd get really bloated. So what fun is that? Who wants to party with a red-faced farter?

So why I took 10 shots of Peach Shnapps and Jagermeister on Saturday night is totally beyond me. (But boy oh boy, was it fun!)

That Saturday afternoon, my mom, me, my housemate Rachel, and my future housemate, Heather, took a little girlie roadtrip down to Louisville, KY to witness the spectacular, 17th annual Thunder Over Louisville event. If you aren't familiar with this event, it is the opening day festival of the Kentucky Derby - an entire day of air stunts capped off with grand pyrotechnic fireworks at night. Basically, a glorified day of rednecks, hillbillies, and free-flowing alcohol! My mother's client, Terri, had bought her a hotel suite and invited her, along with all his friends, to enjoy two rooms of free catered food, desserts, and drinks.

So after us girls went down to the streets to enjoy the festival, bought funnel cake (mmm, funnel cake!), and witnessed a rebel teen get ass-laid down on the concrete and arrested by a cop, we headed back up to the hotel to eat more food and, unbeknownst to me, get plastered.

I'm not sure why I did it. Maybe it was the great company. Maybe it was the pretty little shot glasses. Actually, I think I saw the colored tubes and thought, "Oooo, colored tubes! Whatever comes out of colored tubes can't hurt you, right? Here I go!"

4 shots later, my face was red, my temperature was through the roof, and Cathy, Terri's wife, was grabbing my ass.

6 shots later, I was the entire party's favorite little gal, was wearing the "Leslie's Drunk Face" like it was the only expression I knew, and some random old guy told me he thought my mom was hot and asked to take pictures with me.

8 shots later, I was crawling on the floor, drunk dialed Jason, and told him "I looooooove you" about 5 times.

10 shots later, everyone was calling me "sweetie", Tylenol was my best friend, and people were taking bets on how long it would take until I threw up.

I will have you know that not only did I NOT throw up, but we woke up at 6:30 the next morning, and since my mom lost her license, I drove all of us back home. In one piece.

Sources now tell me that they diluted my drinks to slow me down, but I say, "To hell with that. Even if 10 diluted drinks equal 5 power drinks, that's still a lot!" Your little Asian held her own!

Since Heather took all the pictures, I am waiting for her to burn me a CD so I can show you all the pictures of fireworks, hot girls (that would be me and my friends) and my drunk face. In the mean time, enjoy the following picture that my sister took:

Sometimes I could smack him.

2006-04-21T00:30:00.000-04:00

Jason? Are you tired?
"No, I'm playing Battlefield 2 right now."
Glad to know I have your attention.
"Oh now now, you have most of my attention."
Jason?
"Mmm?"
How do you know you want to marry me?
"*sounds of computer game playing in the background*"
Do you ever wish you were with someone else?
"*sounds stop* Every day."
You suck.
"Love you."
What did you say?!
"Love you."
Ugh. Love you too.
"Goodnight"
Uh huh, bye.

Should I Cut My Hair?

2006-04-18T15:40:00.000-04:00

Lately every time I look in the mirror, I see the potential for some fun change with my hair. But change is tough, especially when I've had long hair for most of my life. The last time my hair wasn't at my boobs was 4 years ago. Plus, long hair makes slims down my round face.

But still! It's summer, it's hot out, and I'm starting a new job. Maybe it's time for a new look. So what do you think? Here's my hair now (these pics are 5 months old, so my hair is even longer now):

Here's my idea of how to cut my hair, somewhere around my shoulders:

It'd mean 6-7 inches off. So whaddya think? Should I cut it?

24 little hours.

2006-04-13T22:06:00.000-04:00

"One day can make your life. One day can ruin your life. All life is is four or five days that change everything."
~ Beverly Donofrio, Riding In Cars With Boys

I've been thinking along those lines all day. I totally believe it, too, that life merely consists of several days that changes your life, and the intervals are just down-time until the next life-altering day. There are days that changed my life - days I'll never forget...

The day I had my first slow dance. It was summer. I was at camp. We were 11. And I was becoming a young woman with each slow, steady sway.
The night of my first kiss. I was 14. It was on the front step. I ran into the house and checked my lips in the mirror to see if they were still there. With lips burning, I wrote it all down in my diary.
The night the same boy broke up with me. I weeped for two hours on the phone to my new friend, Christopher, thus sealing a friendship that remains to this day.
The night I found out that all 6 of the young women I'd shared the gospel with in Panama City Beach on a mission trip...died in a car crash just days later.
The last day of a summer long mission trip in New Jersey. 63 people. Hundreds of friendships formed. Countless tears as we gripped each other. The sight of my best friend weeping into her small hands, asking me between sobs why it was so hard to leave.
The night my mother found out I'd lost my virginity. Between sobs, she wailed "How could you do this to ME?!" and told me I would have to grovel for forgiveness. Our relationship died that night, and so did a piece of me.
The first time Jason told me he loved me. We'd kissed just a week before and everything was going so fast. I wanted to tell him...but I couldn't...so he turned me to him and reassured me that he was probably thinking the same thing. So I said, "I think I could love you for a long time." And without skipping a beat, he replied, "I love you too." And that's how I found out Jason loved me.
The day my mother and I forgave each other unexpectedly while doing taxes. She told me she was proud of me. And I left, holding back tears.
This past Sunday afternoon, laying face-to-face with Jason in bed. I was testing the dialation of his pupils according to the distance between our faces, and without warning he smiled the smile that only I know...the quiet, soft smile that every so often reveals his heart, despite himself...and tears began to run down his cheeks. He pulled me closer, closed his eyes, and said, "I'm a lucky guy." I think I renewed my love for him that day.

Those are the days that come the quickest to memory. So what about you, dear friend? What day, for better or for worse, changed your life?

Little Buffalo, here I come!

2006-04-13T16:00:00.000-04:00

Thank you, everyone, for your prayers, well wishes, and encouraging thoughts. And special thanks to Kim for crossing all her body parts on my behalf.

Guess what? I GOT THE JOB!

Okay now I dunnit. I lied. I didn't get it. Yet.

But I aced the interview, they loved what they saw, and the hiring director strongly hinted that I'd be getting a phone call very soon with an offer an tow. So what I SHOULD be saying is...

I *THINK* I GOT THE JOB!

So I am giving myself a preliminary WOO HOO and pat on the back. Oh what the hell, a pat on the ass.

Little Buffalo, here I come!

As of tomorrow, my life might change!

2006-04-12T14:27:00.000-04:00

Can you do a favor for me? Pray. Send me good luck energy vibes. Cross your legs, your arms, your eyes, and mess up your hair so that you cross your hairs too. Tomorrow is a big day for me. It's my interview at my dream agency!

Okay, I interviewed with them 5 months ago. And then I never heard from them again. But after stalking them for a while, I found out that they really liked me, and just wanted to see some changes in my portfolio. So many a lost braincell later, they are giving me a second chance. And I really really want this job!

It'd mean stability. It'd mean the beginning of a great career. It'd mean the money I need to pay for bills. It'd mean the money that I need to move out of the place I'm in and into a cozy little apartment with my friends. It'd mean the money to buy a kitten that I will name Little Buffalo. Don't you want me to have a kitten named Little Buffalo? Well don't you?!

So tomorrow morning at 9:30 eastern time, think of me! Happy thoughts, people, happy thoughts!

Boys and girls, it's time for today's story.

2006-04-11T13:29:00.000-04:00

Although I can't speak for my sister, Jen, I can pretty well assume that, when it comes to our memories of bedtime stories, the memories have little to do with our parents, and much more to do with each other.

When we were growing up, I used to tell all kinds of bedtime stories. Nighttime would come and Jen would demand that I tell a new story or continue the story from the night before. I would tell all kinds of stories - romantic ones with heroes and damsels in distress, scary ones with murders and monsters made of twinkies, corny ones with people named Mr.Butt who farted all the time, and so on. Jen would sit there in the dark, totally transfixed.

Once in a while, I'd get tired and insist that Jen tell a story. However, her imagination was a little, well...limited. She'd get started and, within a few seconds, get stuck and kill everyone in the story: "Once upon a time, there was a girl. And she fell in love with a boy. But...um...then one day they ate poisonous mushrooms and died. The end." She killed so many characters that way that it soon became an inside joke that no one in her stories would live for more than 3 seconds.

Despite her pension for fictional murder, she managed to write a few stories that at least allowed her characters to get a word in edge-wise. A long time ago she dug up a few of those stories and I cracked up. She is unintentionally hysterical. Here's a story that she wrote when she was 12. Enjoy!

CHICKEN PHOBIA!

Sally and Molly were walking home from school one day. Sally was new in town, and Sally and Molly were getting to be really good friends. As they separated at the corner where Molly turned left and Sally turned right, Sally called out,

"Hey, Molly, ya wanna come over to my house and have dinner tonight? My mom cooks real good."

"Well, yeah, sure, just one thing."

"Yeah?"

"Your mom can't cook chicken.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm afraid of it."

" Well, we're having a surprise for dinner today, but I don't know if it will be chicken because my mom rarely ever cooks chicken."

"Okay then, I'll see you tonight!"

"See ya!"

Later that day, Molly walked to Sally's house for the surprise dinner. She couldn't wait to find out what they were going to eat. Little did Molly know what was she was in for.

Sally and Molly were seated at the dining room table, waiting for the main course.

Suddenly her mom swished in and before them was a big, silver, platter. Since Sally's home was very old fashioned, the father did all the cutting and handing out. And he gave Molly a big piece of chicken!!!

"NO!" she cried out. "It's chicken! I can't stand chicken!"

"Oh, shut up," said the mother. "Children must be seen and not heard."

So the father forced her down to eat the chicken. And she had to.

"Ok, but you'll be sorry."

She took a small piece of chicken and all at once she began shaking and trembling. Than she started getting coppered spots on her. Then she had feathers and huge, beady, black eyes and a sharp beak! And far worse, it was growing 10 times the size of itself every minute!

"Run! Run for your lives!" shouted the father.

But it was too late. Molly the Chicken, which by the way was a giant chicken by now, and Sally, ate up Sally's whole family except Sally.

Sally and Molly the Chicken were never seen again, but it is heard that they were last seen in a chicken shop, getting rid of all the chickens.

The end.

This is why we have a middle finger.

2006-04-08T12:43:00.000-04:00

*on the phone, reliving the painful past of my 2-year imprisonment from that horrible doctor*

Me: "[blah blah blah]...oh my goodness, he made me into a freak of nature."
Jason: "Oh honey, that's not true. You were a freak of nature way before you met that doctor."

Let the past be past, right?

2006-04-07T20:38:00.000-04:00

Think of the most painful example of injustice in your own life. Just for a moment. Picture it in your head. It could be personal...Your boyfriend leaving you, your parent abandoning you, your girlfriend betraying you, your child hating you. It could be institutional...your co-worker blindsiding you, your boss favoring someone else, your doctor misdiagnosing you, your police department ignoring you. Do you see it?

What if you had the chance to "get back"? What if justice could be served? And even then, would it be worth revisiting painful memories that you worked so hard to put behind you?

I watched my most painful example of injustice on CNN today. Remember me telling you that they asked to interview me on camera and I declined? Well, today the segment aired under the "Eye Opener" section on the Paula Zahn show.

They showed everything...all of it...on national television. The brace I'd wore, the nutritional supplements I was forced to take, the office I visited so many times with my parents, the exercise video I was told to follow every day...all of it. And worst of all, they showed his face - the doctor's face who conned over $40,000 from my parents, stole 2 years of my life, and left me full of holes and regrets. I just sat there, frozen, reliving the horror I'd worked so hard to put behind me.

But you know, when someone hurts you...when someone takes advantage of you...no amount of "revenge" is ever enough, you know? I can't have that time back. I can't get that money back to my parents. Plus, I know something about bitterness and anger. It makes your insides ugly. And I don't want that for myself. Not ever.

So after the segment was over, I sat there quietly and breathed a deep sigh. In and out. In and out. Time to move on, Leslie. Time to move on.

Wow, you guys are as nerdy as I am.

2006-04-05T17:21:00.000-04:00

Apparently my little post about the whole "sequential numbered date" thing unleashed the little nerd in ya'll, because several of you responded by correcting the numbers in some fashion. Do you know what that tells me? That (1) you guys have way too much time on your hands and (2) I love you for that and (3) from now on I am going to be much truer to my nerdy self and will be interspersing my coolness with obnoxiously nerdy posts.

So thank you to all you nerds out there, especially...

Kimananda, who said, "except in Europe, where we'll have to wait until May 4th". True that, Kim. I'm sorry, but us Americans are really egocentric and even when say we're thinking about the globe, we're really just thinking about the U.S. and possibly Canada.

Jeremy, who said, " Actually, it will happen nine times before 3006. It won't happen again before 2106." Sigh. Jeremy, you will forever be the most unique, eccentric individual I will ever hope to know. Did you actually count that or did you know automatically? Either way, you scare me.

Jeremy again, who came back to me and added, "Tonight--or to be more accurate--after midnight at 2 minutes and 3 seconds past 1am, the official time and date will be-- 01:02:03, 04/05/06. This numerical sequence will not occur again for approximately 1,000 years...Actually, it will be exactly 100 years before it will occur again, which will be April 5, 21O6." See my last comments.

Ben, who said, " i'm still waiting for eleven past eleven and 11 seconds on november eleventh, 2011 when it will be 11/11/11 11:11:11." You would, Ben, you would.

Rowan, who said, " Still, It only works if you leave off the 20-- part of 2006." You're one of those people who start every other sentence with, "Technically speaking...", aren't you babe? :) It's okay, I have a theory that women who are intentionally difficult are better looking. (Why do you think I'm giving you such a hard time?)

I think Daphne was the only one who responded the way I did, which was, " I think that is pretty cool!" Thank you, Daphne. I think you're pretty cool too, for being as nonchalant about this as I am.

By the way, I DID get a cookie. A big fat, chocolate cookie with big chocolate chips and nuts in it from the Panera Bread bakery. I ate it until I was sick and satisfied. Mmmm...sick and satisfied...

The Sun Come Out, Today!

2006-04-04T16:51:00.000-04:00

The sun's out and it's warm, which means it is OFFICIALLY spring. Actually, I'd like to think of it as the official precursor to summer. I walked out this morning wearing longsleeves, a sweatshirt, and a coat. (I know, but I'm afraid of the cold.) I ditched the layers as the day went on, and by the afternoon, I'd rolled up my longsleeves and went cruising outside wearing my too-cool-for-school sunglasses with the window down. Ahhh...

I'd like to thank the special women (and man) who helped pull me through last weekend. You know who you are. Thank you thank you thank you. Here's a free coupon to clean your worst room and bake you cookies. (As long as I get a cookie. Okay, two cookies.)

And now, here are some things that I wanted to tell you before I got preoccupied with the eBay nightmare...

I turned down an on-camera interview with CNN. Yes, that CNN. (Specifically, the Paula Zahn Show.) And yes, I'm serious. Most of you know that I had/have Scoliosis (among other things), but I don't think I've talked about some of the hell I went through because of it. Well to make a REALLY long story short, my family and I signed up for a very painful, very tedious, very expensive Scoliosis regimen that claimed it could correct my curvature. After two years of throwing my life away for this program, I quit. The man in charge turned out to be a con man and was arrested on 171 counts of insurance fraud. On top of his criminal charges, he also conned a lot of good people out of their money, time, and emotional health.
Anyway, some producers at CNN were looking for a good story and found the con man's name on the Internet. Through networking, they found MY name. At first the producer interviewed me on the phone, but a week later she asked for an on-camera interview. It was REALLY tough to say no (it's CNN, for Pete's sake), but Jason and my mother both agreed that going on national television as a victim would not be positive for my reputation as a whole. Plus, you never know what bad people the guy could be connected to. So alas, I turned down my 5 seconds of fame.
Remember this story? Well, I do. Way back then, I filed a report against Dr. David Greenfield for denying to see me and treating me SO poorly. The Medical Board probably has to turn away reports all the time, but guess what? Today I got a letter from them, telling me that they will send a letter of investigation to the doc, asking him to explain himself for his behavior. All I have to do is sign a release that will allow them to use my name. Sure, why the hell not? I'm not doing this for revenge, I'm doing this because I believe he's a bad doctor and I don't want him to hurt anyone else.
Remember this story? Well, I have sad news to report. After that whole fiasco happened, Jeff forgave Alice and Alice promised never to see that guy again. For a while, things seemed normal again. I would see them cuddling on the couch and, while cuddling isn't the same thing as fidelity, well, I just thought...you know. Well, she started cheating again and they are now officially separated and awaiting the right time to get a divorce. It makes me so sad. How can you look into the eyes of your children and do that to them? Jason and I are more concerned for the little girls, who have been flitting back and forth from one grandparents' house to another, sleeping on couches. They're too young to know the difference, but Kahlan, who's 3, is incredibly smart, and it'll be no time and all before she'll start asking questions. For now, everyone's just trying to give them as much stability as possible.

Whew. I could use a good cookie right now. I'll be back...

I know. Who really cares, right?

2006-04-04T16:44:00.000-04:00

On Wednesday, at two minutes and three seconds after 1:00
in the morning, the time and date will be 01:02:03 04/05/06.

That won't ever happen again (until the year 3006).

Everyone say "ooooooooooo"...

:D

Just keep swimming...

2006-04-03T14:52:00.000-04:00

My most heartfelt thanks to everyone who has kept up with me and prayed for me through this very bizarre weekend. I mean that. You guys helped pull me through.

After yesterday morning’s fiasco, I went home and wrote to you all. Then I IM’d my best friend of 10 years and, within an hour, I was knocking on his door and he was holding me tight. Ah…thank the Lord for good friends.

Chris sat me on his lap and I ranted and raved about my shitty weekend to him and his roommate, Todd. Oy, that felt good.

We ordered pizza (that ranch pizza is good) and watched an MSNBC segment on homeless youth (random, I know). Somewhere in between, Jason and I started a series of emails which ended with a very loud, very long, but very necessary phone call. I’ve never felt so empowered and so passionate in my life. I deserve to be treated well, damn it.

Todd and Chris started to dance, God luv ‘em, and as they are both computer geeks, you can imagine how hard it was not to laugh while Jason was talking on the other end of the line. In the end, we at least broached the subject of his jealousy and fears and I think we both realized that neither of us was willing to give up the other, despite ourselves.

So here I am, still in one piece, and Jason and I are still trekking along. (You’re right, Daph, it’s not like me to give up, so I haven’t, thank you.) Let’s hope that I will be refunded my money. And when I get my THIRD Powerbook (and I will get it, come hell or high water), I will coddle that thing like my next of kin.

If it's not one thing, it's another

2006-04-02T13:52:00.000-04:00

After what seemed like endless months of snow, ice, and wind chill, spring is finally here. And yet, going outside is the last thing I want to do. Figures.

Jason and I are on the fritz. I don't know what happened. When the whole eBay thing happened I was obviously pretty upset, and he said some things that really really stung. I don't know if it was just miscommunication or what, but I was SO hurt and distraught by the whole deal that I told him I didn't want to see him this weekend. Which was the truth. Well he emailed me the next morning and apologized for making me upset. Even though he didn't apologize for his behavior, I took it as such, and agreed to see him this morning at church.

I'm not one to stay angry long, so I was ready to smile and move on. But when I got there, he barely looked me in the eye, never touched me, and took out his hurt on the kids that we minister to. That last part especially got me angry, but some people can't separate their feelings, I guess. We had driven separately, but I assumed that we'd go hang out at my place after I ran an errand at the mall. But when we finally stood at the parking lot, he looked at me and pursed his lips like he was about to cry. I gave him an open invitation to come with me as I did my errand, but he excused himself, saying that he wasn't good company when shopping and that he felt sick. With nothing else to say, we simply parted ways.

I'll be honest and say that I secretly hoped that he would be parked in front of my place when I got back, but I knew he wouldn't be there. If I know him right, he's either gone home to take a nap or play video games, or better yet, gone to a bar to drown his sorrows. But I don't know, I was secretly hoping that he'd want me enough to come get me, even if it meant chasing me down, you know? I guess that's just not who he is.

And now I'm eyeing my email out of the corner of my eye, hoping that he'll email me and this will all be a bad dream. But who knows, maybe I'm just wishing that because I'm afraid of change like everyone else in this world. Maybe we really are too different after all, and maybe I should just find someone who's more like me.

I don't know. I feel tired.

Moving on.

2006-04-02T00:37:00.000-05:00

I know what you're thinking. What now? I wish I knew. On Monday morning, my mother will fax over all the documents from the eBay transaction, proving that I am who I am and that I did pay the man $1400. And on Monday morning, I will be praying the most selfish prayer of my life: that a grieving father would be able to blink back his tears long enough to refund me my money.

For a whole week, all I wanted was to know what happened to the young man who sold me the laptop. I just wanted an answer. But now that I have it, I feel as unsettled as I did before. It's true that every day is a new day; this morning I woke up feeling much more renewed that I thought I would be. But for the rest of my life, I will never forget this.

Today as I went about living my life out as I do every day, I wondered why this young man's death was affecting me so deeply. More to the point, why am I grieving over a stranger when just two weeks ago I spoke poignantly at my grandfather's memorial service without shedding a tear? Here's my best answer:

I know something about this world. I may be young, but I'm no stranger. This world is painful, it's dark, and full of lies. The only thing that saves us is Jesus, of course, but he chose people to shine His light through. Good people. People who make the worst days brighter. People who make us laugh, who give generously to the poor, who show compassion to those who don't deserve it. The world needs more of those people. You know this. I know this.

That young man was one of those people. I didn't have to be close to him to know that. I'm somewhat of a people person, and I can usually see into the nature of a person's character. I read the guy's profile. We emailed each other. I read his resume. I spoke to his father and his former colleague. This was a good man.

My grandfather was 94 when he died, and only 1 of his 4 children showed up at his memorial service. None of the other attendants even knew my grandfather; they were friends of my parents. This young man was 25 when he died, and over 1,000 people will flock from all over the North England area tomorrow to attend his funeral. Does that tell you something?

"I'm burying my son on Sunday." *sigh* What is that quote by King Theoden in Lord of the Rings II? No parent should ever have to bury their child. Yes, that's it.

Life is short, isn't it.

ARRGGGHH

2006-03-31T17:10:00.000-05:00

Why? Why does weird, awkward shit happen to me all the time? Why can't life just allow me to live like a normal person with normal decisions and normal consequences? WHY AM I THE POSTER CHILD FOR MELODRAMA?!

I'm so frustrated, I can hardly type. I wish there existed someone who represented the WHY of life. I'd shake his or her shoulders and scream, All I want is a little place to call my own with a warm kitchen and a litten kitten to keep me cozy. So WHY?! Why can't you make this easy for me?!

About a month ago I was having a bad night and, in a crazy whirlwind, made a bad decision. I bought my first purchase on eBay. A $1400 Mac Powerbook laptop. My first eBay purchase, my first Mac, and my first laptop. A good purchase? Sure. But in my delusion and naivete, I somehow got it into my head that this would be the ONLY Powerbook available for some time and so, I bought it immediately without doing ANY research or comparison. Only after I paid did I realize my mistake. So...

A week later I received the laptop. Beautiful. Expensive. Totally not what I would have chosen had I done any research. However, luck was on my side, and within two days, I was able to sell it to a local for just a little less than what I'd paid for it. *phew*

Before you could blink, I was back on eBay, this time ready to research and compare until my eyeballs fell out. I took notes, I printed out my favorites, I spent oodles and oodles of hours online until FINALLY - FINALLY - I decided on the perfect laptop. The same Powerbook, but this time, fully loaded with software, still within warranty, and MUCH more valuable than my first purchase. I bid. I won. But...

Jason scolded me for using PayPal for my first purchase and warned me against using PayPal again for this second laptop. He sent me to an anti-PayPal site overflowing with horror stories of fraud and scams. Overcome with fear, I quickly closed my PayPal account and told the seller I'd pay with a cashier's check. The guy said sure. A week later...

He received my check. But he emailed me to let me know that his grandmother had fallen ill and he had to make an emergency trip to Baltimore to be by her side. Although he wouldn't be able to mail the laptop for several more days, he assured me that he'd put in more money to make the shipping go faster. Days went by...

And I never heard from him. He had been so gracious and so on top of things before, but suddenly, it was like he didn't exist. No more emails. Nothing. I watched my email and my front door like a vigilant hawk, hoping for either a package or an email from him with an explanation. I sent a courteous email. No answer. I sent an urgent email. No answer. I called him. He didn't pick up. By this time,...

I was frantic. I don't have much money. I'm not in a steady job. I'm completely on my own. And I had $1400 on the line! Where was this guy?!

As luck would have it, the guy had posted his resume online. I tracked down his employer's number and called them. The secretary heard the urgency in my voice and finally told me the horrible news: The guy had passed away suddenly just a few days before.

WHAT?! What the...how the...WHAT?! I pressed her for more information. She even transferred me to her boss. But no one could give me any more information. He had simply passed away in his sleep.

I thought I was going to throw up. I would almost have preferred to be robbed than to have to hunt down a dead man's grieving family for money. Oh God, I'm going to throw up...

So I called his city's newspaper. Nothing in the obituaries. I scoured the Internet and tried everything in my power to find more information. Nothing. Finally, I remembered the sick grandmother in Baltimore. I looked up his last name in the white pages of Baltimore...

Four families showed up. Should I call them? What the hell was I going to say? "Hello, are you related to this guy? Um, if you are, can you give me my money back?" I took a deep breath and dialed with my heart as heavy as stone...

The first call led me to a sweet elderly lady who called me "dear" and "love". The last name was just her family name, so I chuckled a little bit and thanked her for her time. The second call was disconnected. On the third call, a man answered. This was our conversation:

"Hello?"
Hi, um, my name is Leslie, and I was just wondering...do you know anyone by the name of -------?
"Yes."
Oh great. Do you know how I can get a hold of him?
"He's dead."
Oh...oh God, I'm so sorry. Um, do you know how I can get a hold of his immediate family?
"I AM his immediate family. I'm his step-father."
Oh! Oh my goodness, uh, I'm SO sorry, I didn't know...you have my every condolence, really, you do. Um, listen...I really hate to bother you with this, but your son sold me a laptop, and I paid for it, and then I didn't hear from him so I got worried, and...
"Listen. Just stop right there, okay? Just STOP. Here's my name. Here's my fax number. Fax me all the documents next Monday when I'm back at the office."
Oh, okay. Is it okay if I fax it tomorrow? (Thinking that I'd be at my mother's office tomorrow and I could fax it then.)
"NO. I'm burying my SON on Sunday. Do you hear what I'm saying?"
Oh...yes I do, I'm so sorry...I, um, thank you so much...goodbye...
"Goodbye."

I started to cry. I couldn't stop. His curtness stung, but I wasn't mad at him. I was mad at myself. I felt like the worst person in the world. I felt like a cruel tax collector. And his words...I'm burying my son...It's real, isn't it? People really do bury their children all the time, don't they. I just couldn't stop crying.

I called my mom and she told me that I'd been insensitive, which I didn't think was fair, but I understood what she was saying. They were burying their son. Give them time.

Afterwards, I got a call from a person that I had called earlier in the midst of my search for the man's family information. We talked in a low whisper...I guess that's just the natural tone people take when it's about death. He told me that the guy had only been 25. That he was a great guy...so great that literally over a thousand people were flocking to his funeral on Sunday. Even his former employer was sending 4 busloads of people to from New York to Baltimore in order to attend the funeral. And then he asked me how I knew the guy...

I sighed. I wanted to lie. I'm an ex, I'm his doorman, I'm his pizza dude, I'm a stripper at his club, ANYTHING but the truth. But I told him. I know him through eBay, I said slowly. I bought a laptop from him. I'd never felt more like a joke in my life.

He told me not to feel bad and reassured me that finances are an unfortunate must when someone dies. I thanked him and we hung up.

Now I'm still crying, but my mind's in a hundred different directions. I have to ask a man who just buried his son for money next week...Thousands of people? Will thousands of people show up at my funeral?...Maybe I'm not meant to have a laptop...Am I overreacting?...Burying my son...Burying my son...He was 25...Everyone loved him...

I want to throw up.

Honey, I'm Home!

2006-03-30T18:10:00.000-05:00

I've never had a home. Not in the poetic sense, anyway. I've never had what a home connotes: familiarity, belonging, time, recognition. When I was at college, I was jealous of all the silly freshmen who cried because they missed home. I wished I had something to miss. Growing up, I was transferred through six different schools, hugging friends goodbye as fast as I made them. Home life was turbulent and painful. Consequently, my room was the only thing that was ever my own. My very own space and time that never changed and I always recognized. That's probably why to this day, I do 90% of my indoor activities inside my bedroom, and the first thing I look at when renting a place is the spaciousness of the bedroom. That's MY own place. It's where I know I belong.

Life after I graduated was and is NOTHING like I expected, and a big part of my surprise has to do with where I am. If I was living the life I'd thrown together my senior year, I'd be waitressing right now in Nashville, Tennessee, living on bread and the country soul. After living an entire life of non-existence in Cincinnati, I swore it off. Anything but Cincinnati. No Cincinnati. Not ever, ever again. But here I am. I'm here, down in the humble, no-nonsense city of Cincinnati, and I have no plans to leave any time soon.

What happened? How could the city I hated all my life turn into the city that would hold my life in its hands as it flourished? Did it change or did I?

I really don't know. I really don't care. All I know is that life changes, and within a month of moving back home, I met some new friends. So I stayed.

Then I figured out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. So I stayed.

Then I met Jason. So I stayed.

Then I got my first job. So I stayed.

Then I moved out and into my first "hey I'm all on my own now!" apartment and bought my first car. So I stayed.

Then I got sick, sicker, and sicker-est. So I had to stay.

Then suddenly the ball dropped, and it was 2006. The storm of my life had cleared but had left me unemployed and slightly clueless. So I prayed (a little) and pounded the pavement (a lot). I got one client here, one client there, and then in one week in March, I got 4 new clients all at once. Suddenly the little girl in pigtails needed a business suit, 'cuz HELLO WORLD, she's a professional!

And now here I am. Jason and I are officially an "old couple" with one year under our belt. I'm no longer sick. My parents and I are no longer trying to assassinate each other. I'm getting more clients all the time. Because of my new involvement in the community, I constantly meet eager young professionals working in all kinds of cool places that will one day take over this city. Once in a while, I even meet someone pretty important. And in my downtime, I'm reading the magazines that I used to see on the floor of my parents' study rooms and gag. You know, those boring magazines that need more flair on their covers and talk about business and local happenings? Yeah, I'm actually reading those. And liking it. *shudder*

And so, without even meaning to, I did the exact opposite of what I had planned and still came out with a better outcome. A home. A real home that I miss when I'm away. A place where people recognize me, where I have my favorite restaurants, where I'm proud - proud to live and be a part of.

It only took me 23 years to find a home. And it feels great.

Yes, I'm alive.

2006-03-30T11:44:00.000-05:00

Just wanted to let you all know that I'm alive. I really am.

So much is happening. Is life always like this? Always unpredictable? Bursting with dreams that have yet to materialize? A perpetual waiting game? A test of faith?

Or is it just because I'm young and it's a phase I have to go through?

I'm okay with either answer.

I have so much to tell you all, but my mind won't let me yet. There is so much...so much...and it's all blocking my pathway from my mind to my fingers. But don't worry, I am thinking of you all every minute. Yes, you. And you. And you too. You are all special to me.

In the mean time, I leave you with a picture of my friend at a Halloween party. Needless to say, he won the contest for best costume.

First Death, First Life: Part II

2006-03-18T16:00:00.000-05:00

Dear Jason,

Today is our Anniversary. Our one-year, "holy cow has it really been that long stick a fork in us are we done yet" Anniversary.

In some ways it feels just like yesterday I met you, but in other ways, the cliche doesn't apply to us at all. Okay, let's just compromise by saying that I remember everything about the day I met you.

It was a Monday morning. I didn't want to get up, but you said you were from "out of town", whatever that meant, and that you were going to be driving through Cincinnati after dropping a friend off at the airport. Eight o'clock on a Monday morning is a helluva early time to meet a stranger, but your picture in your profile was really handsome and...well...I guess I could make an exception.

Just like me, I was late. Just like you, you were early. The first of a thousand differences that we would eventually discover. I walked into the restaurant and there you were, sitting in the first booth next to the door, your nose stuck in a textbook that didn't look as interesting as you might have hoped. I sat down and I was immediately struck by how handsome you were, despite your solemn expression.

I immediately started chatting away about who-knows-what with my infamous air of confidence with a hint of intimidation. You looked so serious that I tried extra hard to make you laugh. You only cracked a smile twice, but for those few precious seconds, your entire countenance changed. I wanted to see you smile all the time; I wondered why you didn't.

In the meantime, you filled me in on the broad strokes of your life. You told me you used to be a waiter and you showed me a baby picture of your eldest niece. You made such a big deal about good customer service from waiters that I was little put off. And then when the bill finally came, you tipped the waiter so much that I thought you had a lot of money.

I had mentioned in passing about the opening of an art gallery, simply for conversation. Yet before we left, you said, "So I'll see you in 2 weeks? For the art gallery?" I guess you paid more attention than I thought. You complimented me on my long black boots. I hugged you, and your surprise amused me.

We hung out casually over the next month. Nothing serious, just fun. I was confused by your mystery, your random bouts of silence, and vague attempts to hint your true interest. At the same time, I was drawn to your spontaneity, your stories of wild young nights, and your carefree nature. I jaywalked; you waited for the green light. I printed out directions and scribbed in landmarks on the map; you just wanted to know which state I wanted to be in. I was elated that you didn't care whether we turned left or right, let alone what we did next.

In the meantime I was hanging out with several other new friends. I even started to get involved with another man. I didn't know what to do about you - I even asked a friend which man I should choose. The other man made so much logical sense. In my head, he was a fairytale romance. But he didn't have my heart. That part of me was wandering off elsewhere...to you.

After weeks of agonizing deliberation, I decided to go with my heart. Frankly, being with you made no logical sense at all. But I couldn't ignore the spark and the invisible connections that were beginning to tie us together - It is that same intangible connection that kept me coming back to you when things got rough and keeps me by your side even now.

I never planned to act on my decision. But then things never happen the way we plan it, do they? One month after we met, I drove to your house for the first time to watch a movie. Two hours later, I demanded you kiss me. 24 hours later, we were in love.

Since then, life has been a happy-sad-maddening-murderous-forgiving-loving rollercoaster. You and I have seen each other through some major life transitions; our relationship has had more than its fair share of bumps and bruises too. Many times I have questioned whether I made the correct decision. Should I find someone more like me?

But every time I think about leaving, I realize that being with someone else would mean not being with you. And THAT is something I would never consider. As painful as it is to be with you sometimes, it is even more painful to be without you.

I know your soft spots. I know how to make you smile. I know the smell of you skin and the taste of your kiss. Those are my soft spots. That's my smile. That's my skin and my kiss. You are mine and I am yours.

I love you, Jason. The things we disagree on, our baggage and our flaws...we can be taught how to work through those things. As far as love goes, we have that down pat, yet it's something that can't be taught. I'd say we're doing pretty well thus far, wouldn't you?

Here's to another year, baby.

Your loving girlfriend,

Leslie

First Death, First Life: Part I

2006-03-18T15:32:00.000-05:00

Dear Grandpa,

Today was your memorial service. My very first one. The day carried on like a normal day. I got up early, took a shower, put on my new black suit, and slipped into my little black heels. When Jason and I arrived at the memorial home, I walked inside and greeted all the old faces...the faces of my parents' friends who, for over 20 years now, have watched me grow up. They all gasped and exclaimed at how much weight I had lost and they smiled at me - me, all grown up and pretty. I blushed a little and ran up to the front of the room where my mother greeted me and smiled when she saw me in my new outfit.

I admired the amazing arrangements of flowers. I wondered how difficult it must be to arrange flowers in such lovely shapes. Even the sight of your blossom urn and your picture did not phase me. Then I decided that I wanted to say something too. Mom and Dad were giving a eulogy, but I wanted you to know that I cared.

We sang and listened to the Pastor speak. Dad got up and gave a moving account of your life. Then it was my turn. (Mom said that I should speak before her since I carry your last name and she doesn't.) So I stood up behind the microphone, without any notes at all, and began to speak. At first my voice was even. I looked everyone in the eyes; those who were sleeping woke up to listen to me and those who were awake smiled back at me. In the middle of my talk I looked back at your urn in reference to you, and it was then that it hit me that this was really happening. You were really gone. My voice began to quaver and I stopped looking everyone in the eye. I ended my talk by telling everyone that I loved them and I sat down.

We ended the procession by sealing your urn into the walls - a permanent place for us to pay our respects for the rest of our lives. Everyone else was chatting, but Shiao Yi was alone and silent, staring at the space in which you'd rest forever. I wrapped my arms around her and said, "Don't worry Grandma, this isn't goodbye. You'll see him again." But she was beyond consolation. Her eyes filled with grief and tears and she whispered, "He is gone from my sight."

Oh how that broke my heart. She loves you so much, Grandpa. I'm just a baby trying to live as an adult. It is so hard for me to grasp the depth of the kind of love like the one Shiao Yi has for you. With a love like that, you will never be far from us.

So you're gone now. I have no grandpa's left. In that sense I am sad. Maybe we never spoke much. Maybe we weren't a big part of each other's lives. But your presence filled a part of my life, and even the smallest gap can seem like the largest.

Anyway, I want you to know that Dad is doing just fine. He's had a lot of time for reflection and he's coming to terms with your passing. Jen and I are also getting along just fine. It is just Shiao Yi we are all worried about. I don't blame her. How do you keep on living if a part of you has died? I suppose you just thank God for the part you have left and move on with what you have. And she will, with time. She will.

Keep a few seats warm for us in Heaven, Grandpa. The mahjong tables up there must be frickin' sweet.

Your loving grand-daughter,

Ting Ting

How much would you pay Jesus?

2006-03-17T10:21:00.000-05:00

A conversation I overhead in Starbucks between a police officer and a homeless man:

Homeless man: Do you read the Bible?
Police officer: Nope. But I do have money.
Homeless man: Then what are you going to say to Jesus when you get to Heaven?
Police officer: Eh, I'll just give him 20 bucks.

Bribing Jesus. Nice.

My First Meme!

2006-03-14T16:21:00.000-05:00

What's a meme? I don't know. All I know is that Kimananda posted this...post...and called it a meme and challenged me to answer the questions. So I will.

1) Why and how did you start your blog?
I started this blog because I can type much faster than I can write. This wouldn't be such a problem if I didn't have so much to say all the time. So despite my loyalty to beautiful paper journals (I started at the age of 10 and I now have 19 paper journals), I started a blog. On Xanga. That failed because, as a creative both professionally and personally, the format of it sucked. The blinking ads were tacky and what the hell is the point of eProps? Then I followed a former crush to Melodramatic where I posted a second blog. That failed too. It was a little TOO melodramatic. After a long drought, I decided that I really needed an online blog and, since I love Google, I naturally signed up for blogger.

I will never leave.

2) If you have a special 'nom de blog', how did you choose it?
My first "nom" was The Raw World. Frankly I did that just to fill space. I had no idea that was going to be the official name of my blog, but by the time I realized it, it was too late. All of my new blog friends had already tagged my blog with that title. However, some time later I decided to completely redo the design of my blog and thought a change in name wouldn't hurt either. After 5 seconds of excruciating thinking I came up with the boring name of About A Girl. Because, well, it is.

3) How did you come up with the name for your blog?
See above.

4) What things do you tend to blog about the most, and why?
Jason comes up a lot in my posts. 'Cuz lets face it, we all pretty much blog about what makes us feel an emotion. What makes me mad? What makes me sad? What makes me happy? What makes me laugh? The answer? Jason. Jason. Jason. Judge Judy. (And Jason.)

Since I am an optimist and live my life on laughter, I try to post funny anecdotes. Laughter cures all. However, if something is REALLY bothering me, I'm not afraid to post a little reality either.

5) Are there subjects you'd like to blog about, but don't, and if so, what is stopping you?
Ah, a GREAT question. The answer? Sex.

No seriously. There are so many times I want to blog about sex and sexuality but I don't. I guess I'm afraid that I'm going to offend someone or it'll turn my cute PG blog into an X-rated one. That's not to say I'm always thinking dirty thoughts or want to write erotica. Not at all. But sex is a real part of our lives, and a lot of times I'd like to share my experiences and thoughts. My confusion, my frustrations, my triumphs, my guilt, my pleasure...all of it.

6) How do you organize your blogroll/links?
Erm, as far as my links go, I fiddled around with the template until it looked good enough. I'm a design stupeedo and that frustrates me. As soon as I receive my Mac in the mail I'm going to buy the Adobe Creative Premium Suite 2 and start walking the path to design guruness!

7) How do you feel about the design of your blog? Are there any changes you'd like to make to it?
Well it's much better looking than it was. It's colorful yet clean, just like me. However, it's not as seamless as I would like. I want it to be contemporary yet fluid. Sigh. I'll get there.

8) How often do you post new entries on your blog? Would you like to post more (or less) often?
Sometimes I struggle to post twice a week, and other times like today, I post 3 times a day. It depends more on what I have to say and less on how much time I have.

9) How often do you read and/or comment on other blogs? How do you find new blogs to read?
I'm not going to lie, I don't comment nearly as much as I used to. I still read people's blogs, I just don't always comment.

I no longer find new blogs (unless they find me first) anymore because I have enough blogs to pay attention to as it is, but when I first got here and had no friends, I'd hit that lovely NEXT button and VOILA! New friends!

10) Have you done anything special to get others to read and/or comment on your blog?
Since they don't have a way for me to virtually flash someone, no.

However, I usually comment on someone's blog so they will comment on mine. It's only fair.

And You Wonder Why I'm Cheap.

2006-03-14T11:52:00.000-05:00

I'm not obsessive about coupons, but for all my favorite spots and purchases, I know how to get a better deal. There's always a coupon in the local newspaper for my favorite Indian restaurant. Whenever I shop at Bigg's I always go back into the store to take advantage of the "FREE coupon" deal they give me at the checkout. For pizza coupons, I keep the national Reach magazine (which also always has a coupon to my favorite Italian restaurant.) I'm signed up on the New York & Co. mailing list so I can print out their coupons when I shop there.

Just the other day at dinner, my dad boasted that he went online to print out a $1 coupon for the chinese buffet he took my aunt to. And the buffet costs $8.

Sigh.

How I Know I Have No Shame Left

2006-03-14T11:44:00.000-05:00

While shopping at DSW with my mom, I was asking her advice about the shoes I was trying on when I decided to squat down. No sooner had I squatted did I let out a very short but very audible fart. The lady shopper next to me smiled and was visibly trying not to laugh. My mother and I walked out the store, her trying to suppress her laughter and my guffaw booming off the walls.

Let's play ketchup

2006-03-13T12:46:00.000-05:00

Let's see, a few things...

My family decided to have Grandpa cremated. We're having a memorial service next Saturday - ironically, on the same day as my one-year Anniversary with Jason. The first life, the first death...on the same day. Hm.

In other news, my parents actually LIKE Jason now. MY PARENTS LIKE JASON! If you knew the extent of their hatred toward him and our relationship in the beginning, you'd be blown away too. My dad had forbid him from the house. My mom wouldn't look him in the eye. Neither would acknowledge his existence, let alone mention him in conversation. But now, one insufferable year later, my dad engages him in conversation. My mom invites him to dinner. They both behave comfortably around him. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT, SOMEONE PINCH ME.

What made the difference? I can't say for sure, but I think it had a lot to do with Jason helping my mother around the office by setting up her new furniture. He also accompanied me on two visits to see my grandpa, and I think his quiet, steady presence by my side spoke loudly to my parents. BUT WHO CARES?! THEY LIKE HIM!

In other news, not only did I make my FIRST eBay purchase last weekend, but I also bought my FIRST Mac and my FIRST laptop. A used 15" Mac Powerbook. I am so excited. When I realized I'd won the bid, I freaked out because it meant spending a lot of money that I REALLY NEED! But it's an investment, and in one fell PayPal swoop, I sealed the deal. Now I await my laptop in the mail. Mac lovers, welcome me into your world! Bye bye PC, hello APPLE! (Jason is a little miffed, btw. He's a PC lover and says he doesn't know if he can live in the same household. Tough luck, buddy.)

In the meantime, my bank account is still slowly depleting. Money's a life breaker and taker, and I'm trying my best to remain faithful to God...trusting him to bring me more clients for my freelance work, trusting him to keep me afloat, trusting him to help me pay my bills. I know that a year from now I'll look back and realize it was all worth it, but golly, it's hard until then, you know?

Phone Conversations: The Double Standard

2006-03-10T12:17:00.000-05:00

Jason: Looks like I'll be able to hang out with you until Tuesday this weekend.
Leslie: Better be better than last weekend. Last weekend was poo.
J: Yeah...
L: POO, do you hear me?!
J: Speaking of poo...*FLUSH*
L: Ew! You were pooping while we were talking?
J: Well YEAH. I was pooping at work but Shane was rushing me so I had to cut it off.
L: I distinctly remember telling you that Angela used to pee and poop while we were on the phone and YOU SAID that was disgusting. And now you're doing the same thing?
J: That's different. I'm a guy.
L: Excuse me?
J: Guys are supposed to be gross. Girls are dainty and clean. Girls don't pee or poop.
L: Then I must be a huge disappointment.
J: Basically.

Bye, Grandpa.

2006-03-09T19:38:00.000-05:00

Dear Grandpa,

Today you died. Mom called me tonight and I could tell by the tone of her voice.

I'm not going to lie, Grandpa. I'm not crying and I don't feel too upset. I just feel...weird. I've never dealt with death before. I've never gone to a funeral. One time Jason brought me to his friend's mother's viewing and I crept up to her coffin like a curious kitten to a ball of yarn. I wasn't sure what I was going to see.

Poor Shiao Yi. Mom said that when she woke up by your bedside and found you gone, she went into hysterics. They almost had to take her to the hospital. They gave her some Tylenol; she was sleeping in the house when Mom called. She's going to stay with Mom and Dad a few days.

I don't know that death is easy on anyone. I mean, there's Dad, who was the only one who cried at your bedside other than Shiao Yi. There's Uncle George - the stoic, casual, eldest son - who knows what he's thinking, he never approached your bedside. There's Aunt Jane, who took care of you with the dedication of a nun, but I don't know what she's thinking either. There's your wife who is beyond consolation. And then there's Mom who's stuck in the middle of all the grief, trying to hold a house together while working extremely late nights at work.

So what happens next? I really don't know. I guess I need to go out and buy some nice black clothes.

I miss you already, Grandpa. I remember being mad at you my whole life and now I can't remember what that felt like. I just think about you not being there when we're playing Mahjong and I get sad.

But you know, I'm so glad you got to meet Jason before you left. I don't feel like I contributed a lot to your life, but I hope you left knowing that I have a good man in my life. Granted, a good man that drives me up the wall and makes me consider murder, but a good man who can melt my heart and make me forgive him against my will with a simple apology and kiss. Your life will live on in us, Grandpa.

We love you.

Your loving grand-daughter,

Ting Ting

Because I Can't Figure Out How To Put The HTML Code Into My Sidebar

2006-03-05T23:15:00.000-05:00

Check out my Flickr photos, you guys. I worked hard on them.

C'mon, GO NOW!