update.

I miss writing.  I've hit one of those spells where my words sound hollow.  It's not so much as writer's block, because I hardly feel as though I ever suffer from that since I am forced to write daily for my job, but it's more of an emotion block.  My words feel empty.  They lack heart.  It's probably because I'm happy, and when I'm happy, I'm more likely to live and less likely to write about living.

Anyhow.  I have an obsessive personality.  I obsess over things for a small period of time, until I get what I want.  I'm fairly sure this trait of mine has enabled me to be "successful," because I can't stop thinking about things until I have them, until they're mine mine mine.  Right now, I'm obsessing over buying a house.  I was thinking about how much I like our one-bedroom apartment, especially since we spent the weekend cleaning and organizing it, but still, I want a large space that I can actually decorate without concern that I'll have to change everything back to white later on. 

Daniel says people have to save for yearssssss for a house and that I'm crazy for wanting one so soon.  He says I need to adjust my expectations and prepare for a lengthy wait.  I tell him he doesn't know me at all.

Digital Perm - First Time

I thought I'd write about my experience getting a digital perm since my internet research thus far on this topic has brought up such scant results.  Actually, this is my very first perm - ever - so I don't even know what the difference is between a traditional perm and a digital perm.  My best guess is that a digital perm has the capability to heat up the rollers due to the metal rod that is in the middle of each roller.  But as for the actual chemicals used and yada yada yada - I have no idea. 

I went to a local Korean salon and my stylist - Vicky - spoke enough English to communicate with me, but not enough for us to talk about the particulars.  Since I have super-straight and fine hair that, traditionally, can't hold a curl for longer than an hour or so, I was skeptical about any perm having the capability to give me the wavy tresses I've long desired.  Rather than spending a lot of money at the more expensive salons, I opted to try Vicky out.  The digital perm was $120, plus she gave me a bottle of oil (a relaxer, perhaps?) at the end.

I brought some pictures in with me to show Vicky what I wanted, but something tells me that no matter what I showed her, she was going to give me the same old digital perm she gives everyone else.  I suppose that's the problem with going to a more mom and pop type salon -- they lack a degree of polish and customer attentiveness that I'm accustomed to.  But, I didn't really care too much.  I didn't really have high expectations; rather, I was just praying that I wouldn't leave with a frizzy, pubic-looking, mess on my head.  Wish granted.  :)

I don't really recall the exact steps Vicky took, but I do remember being shuffled back and forth between the chair and the room with glowing red lights. . . I presume that room contained heat that would activate the chemicals in my hair.  Vicky seemed to use the same sized rollers across my head, but perhaps that was because my hair is only one length with no layers.  After she was done putting my hair in rollers, she pulled this archaic and somewhat alienesque-looking machine with a bunch of cords attached to it - each cord, of course, attached to a roller on my head.  The next thing I knew, I looked like this, felt heat, and saw steam coming from my head.  Scary!

And then I just did a whole lot of sitting.  The whole process probably took between 2-3 hours, and I wasn't attached to the digital machine for very long at all.  After my hair was washed, the only thing Vicky did was show me how to blow-dry it: twist small strands in my hands as I blow dry and always scrunch the tips of my strands in a ball, pushing them upwards, to keep the curls bouncy.

You can compare the final result with my super-straight hair, shown here:

It has only been a few days, which means I don't know how this will look in a week or two.   But as of right now, I like it just fine.  I don't love it because it wasn't quite what I wanted, but I'm okay with the results.  My one piece of advice is that for anyone who has heavily color-treated hair, or bleached hair, to not bother with a digital perm.  I have three panels in my hair that were previously bleached and those turned out horribly!  They didn't curl, were tangled, brittle, and mostly resembled crumpled hay.  Vicky ended up thinning out those sections of my hair considerably because they looked so hideous.

As for upkeep - because I do my best to be low maintenance (aka I am super lazy) - all I've done thus far is purchase some shampoo and conditioner designed for curly and/or permed hair, and a mousse with leave-in conditioner.  I wash my hair, rub the oil Vicky gave me, blow dry in her recommended manner, and then run the mousse throughout my hair.  All of my products came from Target and I bought the cheapest products I could find because most fancy beauty products I've purchased in the past have all sucked.   Now my hair always looks slightly messy,  but hopefully not unruly, and even though there's product in my hair - it is still soft, bouncy, and never crispy looking, feeling, or sounding.  Amen to that.

Here's to having curly hair!  At least for a month or two.  :)

P.S.  Photos taken with the iPad 2, which has a crappy camera.  Apple could've done better, I know it, but they probably intentionally made it crappy.  Grr.

a change.

I quit my job.  Whoa.  :)

So I think I'm gonna go travel for a bit and y'know, blow dry my hair in the middle of the  night in a hostel's kitchen again.  'Cause I'm not really sure how often I'll have the privilege to live like that.  Let's see where the future takes me.

p.s. I'm not really THAT yellow.  Bad lighting from a phone camera.

lightweight luggage.

Anyone have suggestions for lightweight carry-on luggage (approximately 20") that is 7 lbs or under?  The only one I've found thus far that I actually like is Tumi's Voyageur, which costs $495.  Pretty sure I don't want to spend that much. 

This Orla Kiely one is also adorable and slightly less exorbitant at $315, but it's not really classic enough for my taste.  Help!

the top.

My phone rings and I see his number.  I answer only to hear his groggy voice on the line.  He called to ask if he could bring me anything, coffee, sugar, anything, because it's almost 2 am and I am still at work.  "Just go to bed," I say, "I don't need anything."  He hesitates.  "But I feel guilty sleeping while you're still working."  "You shouldn't," I reply before adding "and you should start getting used to this - this is my life."

I will admit that sometimes I indulge in the maxim of "misery loves company".   It's comforting at times to know that I am not alone in being miserable, that there's another being who might be able to commiserate with my solemn mood.  Yet, somehow, when it comes to late nights at the office, I never wish this on anyone.  I never find any solace in knowing that there are others like me, all of us sitting in our uncomfortable chairs, staring at our bright monitors.  In truth, I feel terribly sad for us all.  I wish I were the only one subject to this life. 

So I wonder why I do it.  What drives me.  What motivates me.  It's not the money -- that just provides stability, not the motivation to remain perpetually sleep-deprived.  As I ponder, I draw a blank.  And as I continue to draw a blank, I notice that with every passing second, my being unable to answer this seemingly basic question infuriates and incenses me.  This isn't a difficult question.  If I can't answer it, then why do I do it?  And then it dawns on me that I am bitter because I believe that the practice of law can be better, that I can do better, make it better.  I suppose that I am simply fighting for the chance to prove this to myself.

Since there's only one way to go from here - up - I'll see y'all at the top.  I'm not sure what I'll find when I get there, or what I might be sitting atop once I'm actually there, but I'll be damned if I don't at least get the opportunity to say that I've been there, done that.

too many thoughts.

It used to be that I could only write whenever I was sad or emotional.  When my feelings were heightened, my creativity would be, too.  But over the past few weeks -- I've written too many entries.  Way too many to even sort through.  This time though, it's because I've been much too happy, excited, grateful for every bad and good thing that has happened recently. 

I don't know what to do with all of these thoughts.  This is new to me.  At times it feels as though I am on the cusp of becoming a different type of writer.  It's riveting, yet unfamiliar.  Either way, I am incredibly excited for 2011.  A little birdie tells me it's going to be a life-changing year.  I hope I will be able to find the time and strength to document it all, but perhaps the memories I anticipate making will be the type that will not need the protection of words in order to become memorialized.  Perhaps they will be the type that will become naturally ingrained within me, that I will carry around with me daily without even realizing it.  Perhaps. 

The possibilities are endless.

call of duty.

Lately I have been playing a lot of Call of Duty - Black Ops with the mister.  I honestly have never been a video game person, having played maybe a few games of that helicopter-shooting game (y'all know what I'm talking about?) waaaaaaay back in the day.   But he kept asking me to give it a try and I finally agreed in order for us to spend time together doing an activity he enjoys.   I'm still a newbie and not very good, but I'm a lot better than I thought I'd be!  And it's also a lot more fun than I thought it would be.

On occasion I will sit next to him and just watch him play.  I notice how calm he remains, how his remote control stays in one spot in his hands, the way his fingers nimbly maneuver the keys, how he barely makes any noise unless he makes a mistake.  I, on the other hand, am a raging hot mess.  My body, hands, head, arms -- everything -- moves in relation to where I want my avatar to move, my fingers jab jab jab unrelentingly at the buttons in a crazy manner when I'm stuck in a difficult spot, and I shamefully squeal and scream whenever zombies attack me unexpectedly.  Sometimes I will also play with his friends and him and in those moments, I am reminded of my eighteen year-old self, the one who used to date another boy who was in love with video games (StarCraft was the poison of choice back in the day).  

I remember being extremely bored back then while watching the boys play, often times waiting for hours as a spectator.  I tried to annoy my then-boyfriend in order to get him to quit playing and would do things for attention, like play sappy love songs in the background or call him lovey-dovey nicknames loudly enough to ensure that all of his pals heard, too.  I tried to embarrass him in front of his boys when he wouldn't give up his games for me.  It was always a battle back then for his time and I always wanted him to choose me above everything else.  Which meant that we frequently argued because he only sometimes chose me.  It's a good thing that almost a decade has  passed since then.


For one -- the ex never once offered to teach me how to play while the mister was the one who implored me to give COD a try, continually trying to convince me to give it a go even when I snobbishly told him that I'd prefer to read books and get smarter in my spare time than shoot virtual people.  For another --  today I am perfectly accepting of the mister having interests that I do not share.  Even when I feel ignored, I'm fully confident that if I simply ask for his time instead of making a childish commotion, in ten minutes there will be Letters to Juliet playing in the background as we bake brownies together.  I finally trust that making me happy makes him happy.  


So, COD ain't so bad.  Besides, it's kind of sexy when I die and the mister has to come revive me, blasting his way all the way to me, expertly navigating the obstacles in order to save me before it's too late.  I've always wanted a man who knows how to resuscitate me, and even if for now it's only virtually, I'm sure if I ever needed it in real life - he'd still always show up just in time.

a perfect night at home.

Would be spent like this:



. . . plus the mister and some dessert.

happy [belated] birthday to me.

A year ago, I was on a plane heading back from my sister's wedding in the Caribbeans and I wrote the following about my goal to understand myself a little more thoroughly:

"Why?  Well, too many reasons to count, but if I had to distill it down to just one - it would be the age-old purpose (problem?) of finding one's self.  I am not suffering from a crisis.  I am not depressed.  I am not looking for any major revelations.  I am just, however, curious as to how this girl I see every morning has come to be.  I do not think I have paid her enough attention over the years.  I think I owe her a bit more of my time, of my understanding."

Overall, I think 2010 was a rousing success, at least in that department, although not quite as much in other aspects of my life.  I'm feeling better about myself, more content in who I am, where I am headed, than I have felt in a long time.  I now have a stronger sense of self and it's truly a lovely feeling.  There's no drama in my life; I can't remember the last time I had a moment of real self-loathing; I'm constantly grateful to be alive and am with a man who shows me how to actually live.  2010 is headed towards a fabulous close and on the horizon is an even better start to 2011. 

This birthday passed by with very little fanfare, but it was still quite great.  Best wishes and love were sent my way from my nearest and dearests.  There was a spectacular dinner and an excessive amount of desserts.  Plenty of laughs.  But best of all were the amazing conversations with the mister about life, love, and the whole affair of things.  Oh, and somewhere in there was an iPad that I'm considering keeping though right now it's not looking likely because my fingertips feel as though they've been burnt!  <3 

P.S. More exercise is needed, sigh, as I'm unlikely to sacrifice the sweeter (and decadent) things in life.  I mean -- just LOOK at that phenomenal chocolate molten lava cake!  Irresistible.

los angeles traffic.

It's 11:00 pm and I am practically parked on the 405, crawling home at the riveting speed of 2 miles per hour.  Yes, I realize that Los Angeles has a well-deserved reputation for being a bastion for traffic nightmares, and that this moment certainly is not assisting in eliminating that (admittedly accurate) perception, but somehow, I don't mind.

I don't mind because I have very intentionally and strategically structured my life to avoid having a commute.  Most days, I am not bothered by the stop-and-go, by brakes and squeals, by distressed, maniacal, and questionable drivers.  So on the few occasions where the night is calm, where I am not running late, where I have my iPod blasting my favorite jams - this traffic thing ain't so bad.  Besides, it's the perfect excuse to ignore the incessantly blinking red light that seems to beacon unremittingly from my Blackberry.  I can ignore it without feeling guilty, and that brings me much joy.

In these moments, the only thing I allow myself to do is think.  Become introspective.  Probe.  Question.  Ponder.  Stare at the sea of lights in front of me and wonder about the world, about my past choices, about my future.   And tonight I think I'm doing okay -- on my way towards where I want to be, but secretly hoping I'll never fully get there, wherever there is.

bedtime hours.

Lately I have been going to bed at atrocious hours, somewhere between 1-3 am when normally I would prefer to be knocked out cold by 12 am on a work night.  Part of that has been due to several weeks' worth of equally atrocious work demands, but mostly, I have been heading to bed so late because I've been trying to keep the mister's sleeping hours.   But trying to keep up with him has been a bad idea for many reasons.  I'm not a student; he is.  I can't function on less than 8 hours; he's fine with 5.  I don't want to age prematurely; I'm not sure that's a real concern of his.  

On the weekends where I don't have to work, the lack of sleep catches up to me and I find myself waking up in the afternoon.  While I will defend my right to sleep like a hibernating polar bear until death, the truth is, sleeping in like that only feels good for the first day or two.  Thereafter, I just feel like a bum.  On most days by the time 1 pm rolls around I will have completed what feels like a million tasks; but on my lazy days, I can't even find the desire to crawl out from underneath my blanket.  I transform from being a motivated professional to a complete sloth, and I do not enjoy those slovenly feelings at all.

It has occurred to me that somewhere, somehow, along the way I've grown out of being that hippie college student I've known (and loved) for so many years.  This surprises me.  This unnerves me.  She has been such an important part of my life; I'm not sure I like this change or if I'm ready for it.  Also disconcerting is that I'm not sure if I know how to bring her back, and even if I could, if I would.  A real quandary.