back off with that baby, beeyatch

it's a well-known fact that my mother is awesome.

sure, when young people at her work started calling her "mom," i bristled a little bit. she's a sweetheart to nearly everyone and so damn loveable. however, they don't have to deal with her high expectations or her bitter disappointment. they don't have to fight against her reluctance to see the doctor when something's wrong or her rigidly low tolerance for ineptitude. and the guilt. don't get me started on the GUILT. they get all her sage advice, listen to her laugh and sample her fabulous cooking, all without fielding one iota of guilt. they get 8 hours a day with her, when all i get at best is a ten-minute phonecall because of our schedules. but i've made my peace with that. i've come to accept that aside from my brother, there are a dozen or so people who lovingly call the woman by our name for her. and it irritates me only slightly.

but this past week, one of those hangers-on crossed the line.

she came to our house and brought her handsome, well-behaved boyfriend, who wanted to ask my mom about India to gear up for his study abroad trip there. he came bringing cake and offering to do the dishes-- obviously well-trained. she also brought her handsome, well-behaved 2-year-old to eat neatly, play with his dumptruck on the kitchen floor quietly and sit in her lap adoringly. which was also fine by me at that point in the story. because i know this girl. she and i were lab partners freshman year of high school. and though our paths split then and went in opposite directions, somehow she's back in my life, calling my mother mom. which is okay, i guess.

what i do take issue with is the fact that she also has the kid calling my mother "grandma."

it's no secret that my mom would gladly trade two legs and a duodenum to have somebody of her very own to call her grandma. and that i've been taught, as oldest and as daughter, that it's my cultural obligation to have given her one like five years ago. but i haven't. because in some twisted form of logic, i believe that one should only produce grandchildren when one has found a suitable partner and only then if both parties are good and ready. but that doesn't stop my mom from hinting at how jealous she is of her friends who have them and it certainly hasn't put a damper on the one-woman babyblanket knitting factory she's running out of the living room.

don't get me wrong, i know what kind of pressure my mother's under. she's got the entire auntie patrol slyly insinuating that there must be something wrong with me, that i may in fact be expired in some way. and that it's such a shame. i'm well aware. and i'm sure she's only allowing this breach of namecalling ethics because she's just that nice. what's she going to say? "no, you can't call me that because my daughter will be jealous and bitter?" i understand that. but why confuse this poor 2-year-old? he's got a perfectly great grandma in his own house.

i know there's nothing i can do about this, save for going out and getting the woman what she wants myself. but that's just not the right thing to do at this time, nor the right reason. i've come to terms with sharing my mother, but i will be DAMNED if i will allow the children who are now just a sparkle in my eye to have to share their grandmother with ANYONE not bound by the law. i am not suffering the torture of guilt for nothing.

fine, then. mark this one half off.

"i don't think i'm hot anymore."

"what? you called me at work for this?"

"i never had this problem before."

"just how DRUNK are you right now?"

"i'm past my prime."

"you're insane. someone is probably going to hit on you later tonight and this conversation will mean nothing."

"sigh. well, it was good while it lasted."

"i give up."

how about some Armistice?

I guess i can't say "Happy Veterans Day," when there have been servicepeople dying in the war every day. So i'll just say thank you and i hope that you come home soon.

November: National GET BUSY month

okay, so i'm participating in this NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month), which was inspired by NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), which also inspired NaKniSweMo (National Knit a Sweater in a Month) and NaSoAlMo (National Solo Album Month).

there's also Naplwrimo (National Playwriting Month) and NaNoMangO (i don't know what it stands for, but it's 30 pages of sequential art.)

and let's not forget National Diabetes Month , National Adoption Month, National Family Caregivers Month, National American Indian Heritage Month and National Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month

all of the above are November. (except NaNoMangO, which is november AND june.) and God knows what else is out there that i haven't stumbled upon.

my question to you is: why november? is it chock full of dead time that could be dedicated to things we always wished we did? is it biologically the best time of the year to be committed to something? if so, why aren't more people engaged or married at this time? are extra projects what is needed to burn off all that extra turkey? because let's face it, you know we're going to put this stuff off till the last minute and be scrambling during thanksgiving anyway.

personally, i think it's because november goes really well with naming things beginning with "Na" and ending with "Mo." but that's just me.

secret tesoro

i love spanish music. that includes music sung in Spanish but not limited to music that comes from Spain. several years ago, i started listening to spanish top-40 radio. there were a few stations to choose from, and i could enjoy the artists i already loved as well as discover new music.

but all that changed when the national radio corporate monster thought it'd be better to turn the stations i liked into all-reggaeton-all-the-time to appeal to a younger, hipper audience. today, the only options are channels that offer thumping and bumping reggaeton or regurgitated dance hiphop with some spanish sampling thrown in, or the more regional stations. (sorry, rancheras aren't really my cup of tea.) don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with a little reggaeton, but after three songs it all starts sounding the same to me. or maybe i'm just getting old.

i was very sad about this because all i had were my old cds and no way to discover new music (i have a dialup connection, so internet radio is out of the question). i guess i could follow the groups i like on the internet and buy their music online, but that requires a lot of keeping track of things, and i can't even remember to feed myself, let along check up on a band.

in true fashion, i forgot all about it. i continued listening to my golden old tracks and didn't think twice. until the day i was out visiting H, and he showed me the magical record store.

they have nearly everything! even more obscure stuff i only heard in Spain. and not just Spanish, but all kinds of crazy music. it was very cool. it definitely beats the selection at Best Buy or Borders and it's not as intimidating as going to the Spanish-only music store where people stare at you and tell you your accent is good. the first time i went there, i discovered that la oreja de van gogh was out with a new cd. the next time we went back, i picked up the latest from julieta venegas and maná. i'm happy and up to date. for now.



p.s. "tesoro" means treasure

maybe peggy sue will show up

in february, i got a letter inviting me to my ten-year high school reunion. it was scheduled for the day after thanksgiving. i've always planned on attending, if anything just to see people with whom i made small talk during class but didn't really see outside of school. plus it's always interesting to see if the so-and-sos have lived up to their potential.

i put the wheels in motion to try and get the day off (read: offered to work on thanksgiving and christmas to have that most coveted friday in november free). but after all that trouble, i got another letter in the mail, saying the reunion was canceled. i guess the agency in charge of planning it, ReunionMakers, went out of business. after they took a whole bunch of money from people.

so it looked like the whole thing was off. most of my friends didn't really care. our tightknit highschool group has managed to survive college, bad relationships, marriages and multiple cross-country moves and is now still moderately tightknit. but i was disappointed. working on turkey day for nothing? uh-uh. i wanted to see some acquaintance-types, dammit. you know, like j.w.. (i heard he gained a lot of weight and lost a lot of hair. but i'm sure his eyes are still crinkly.) i figured, if they already had the venue and the date/time set, why couldn't we cut out the shady middleman and put on the party ourselves?

now if you think i actually tore myself away from dungeon duty to attempt such a thing, you are sadly mistaken. but some girls from our class took up the task because they've got spirit, yes, they do. the cost has come down and it's turned from a formal sitdown dinner to 3 hours of open bar and appetizers. so i'm happy. now i just have to convince more friends. because if the whole thing is lame, we can sit in the corner sipping alcohol and talking smack about people.

C'MON. what else is a high school reunion for anyway?

you know what to do

we all know that the extremists on both sides will be out there, IN LINE, when the polls open, ready and eager to push their extreme agendas.

do we really want them picking the people who can potentially make our lives a living hell?

last march i started feeling guilty about my inconsistent voting record. i studied the candidates and the issues, got up early, stood in line and was late to work just to vote. but when i finally got to the front of the line, my name magically "could not be found" despite the older gentleman's use of some very fancy blackberry-ish voter information-locating equipment. i hustled off to fight traffic, grumbling the whole way, only to hear that three hours later my family members-- who live in the same precinct and have the same name -- got their ticket into the booth, no problem. and the lady had no trouble seeing my earlier invisible voter information right there on the list under theirs. she passed on her apologies, but i still didn't get my say because i was stuck in the dungeon.

maybe if enough people vote, they'll raise the bar for personnel quality at polling places. no offense, they're lovely folks; i just think they should be required to be able to see.

do it for the people who actually care about making a difference. but if you don't, you have no right to bitch.

damn domino effect

it really sucks when so much of a person's life can be dependent on decisions made by people who go about their business every day, completely oblivious of just how much they are leaving that person unable to get a full night's rest.

they should be responsible for the ulcer bills.

without both, you just get half

ever since my friend ri got married to her love in july, they've been cultivating all the things good marriages have, like divided chores, making time for dates, and most importantly, speaking as a unit.

"i'm so crazed with all the things i have to take care of lately that i'm losing my mind!"

"and her keys; before we left to come here, she lost her keys, her phone or both several times. all in the span of five minutes."

"ha ha! yeah, and this afternoon i left them hanging in the mailbox in the lobby! can you imagine? oh man, that was bad."

"especially because you came all the way upstairs without them."

"yeah! and i'm sitting here knocking on the door, thinking my husband would open it for me, but noooo."

"hey, i was in the shower!"

"don't lie, you were standing at the end of the hall, ignoring me!"

"that's not true, i thought you were a neighbor."

"you see, i left the keys in the mailbox downstairs in the lobby and went all the way upstairs. and c was in the shower--"

"and she realized she had no way of getting in. meanwhile, i'm coming out of the shower in a towel and hear a knocking on the door. i figured if it was ri, she'd just use her key, so i ignored it. what! i was in a towel!"

"so i had to go back downstairs, but i didn't want to haul all the mail with me. so i put it under the door."

"i see mail sliding in from under the door, so i figured it was a neighbor who got something of ours by mistake."

"it wasn't one thing! it was a whole pile with newspaper advertisements and everything!"

"yeah, yeah, and then i saw that one envelope had been opened and i said, 'man, the neighbors are going through our mail!' and i figured that's probably why they knocked, to apologize for accidentally opening it."

"but not at first! at first you thought it was a robber."

"right, at first i went for my baseball bat and thought, 'okay guy, let's do this thing.' "

"but it really was just me."

"yeah. ridiculous."

"yeah."

secret stash

"hey, what happened to that pile of leftover halloween candy that was sitting here on the counter? i have a taste for an almond joy right now."

"it should still be there... i don't know where your father hides it."

"geez! i mean, we all know that every year when he buys the candy he gets twice as much and then hoards some for himself. but he wasted NO TIME in snatching up all the leftovers, too! that man needs help."

"tell me about it, i've been dealing with his sweet tooth for 35 years. but there are bad habits that are a lot worse."

"yeah, i guess searching around the house for chocolate is a lot better than frantically trying to find where he's hiding the crack."

multitasking

so i'm sitting here waiting for reports, minding my own business. suddenly i get an e-mail chat from the ex-boyfriend of my good friend, with whom my friend has had some drama as of late. i'm just making small talk with him-- about work, the weather, maybe getting together for coffee sometime. that is unlikely to actually happen considering he a) is no longer dating my friend b) i work in a dungeon at night and c) he's a medical resident on call all the time. plus i'm not comfortable with the idea of hanging out alone with a friend's ex. so i continue along, hoping that my friend does not come up as a topic of discussion because, while i think this guy is sweet, i really don't want to get involved in their personal matters.

as i'm chatting away about superficial nonsense, another window pops up with a boing; it's the friend who i'm trying very hard not to talk about.

so i'm looking at two little windows next to each other, carrying on separate conversation with each and wondering what the odds are that these two (who live in different time zones) would be up so late and both in the mood to talk to me.

it gets more interesting. i tell my friend that the exboyfriend and i are e-mail chatting and ask if they've settled their issues. friend tells me, "we're on the phone. we're okay."

so not only are they talking to me via computer, they're talking to EACH OTHER via telephone, too. until magically, they both feel the need to end their talks with me and go to bed. at the same time.

i'm still trying to wrap my head around this.

typical 2 a.m.

you know, nothing's changed.

i'm still sitting here, in the middle of the night, waiting for reports.

i'm still browsing around the internet, chuckling at what other people have to say about their boyfriends, bad jobs, housebreaking puppies or america's next top model.

i'm still thinking about how fast i can safely get home without getting a ticket or killed to watch lost (even though i'm holding judgement on this season because the ratio of commercials to storyline is becoming more and more equal with each episode)

i'm still dartingly eyeing the corners of the hallway for anyone who may be lurking there to quietly strangle, dismember and stash the pieces that were me in a utility closet on some rarely used floor.

i'm still bleary-eyed because i didn't get enough sleep because i just had to watch the daily show AND the colbert report at 7 a.m.

i'm still craving a grilled cheese sandwich from the cafeteria downstairs, but won't go because the second i leave my office is when they'll bring me the reports.

i'm still feebly fighting off the idea that i traded my life for my television when i agreed to take on this job two years ago.

i'm still sitting here trying to come up with something coherent to post while i wait.

the only difference? now i'm COMMITTED, which generally means any fledgling genius ideas have run for the hills to snuggle up with wads of cotton and leaves and nuts or whatever else hibernating things love to snuggle with. only to return in december. when NaBloPoMo is over.

i'm taking requests

while lurking around last month, i stumbled upon NaBloPoMo, or National Blog Posting Month. in the spirit of National Novel Writing Month-- when some really dedicated writers spin an entire novel out in thirty days-- these people pledge to post every day for the entire month of November.

so i thought i'd give it a whirl, too. i especially liked this part:

"If you don't want to participate as a NaBloPoMo blogger then your mission is simply to delurk and comment on one of the sites below, or another of your favorite blogs, once a day in the month of November as a show of support. This will also prove that you can read and that you think blogging is nice."
-- fussy, of www.fussy.org

so basically, i'm a sure thing daily for the next thirty days. regardless, if you go to the NaBloPoMo site, you'll see an ENORMOUS list of participants, including myself, and maybe you'll find a blog you like enough to follow the whole month through.

wish me luck!

i'll wrap your presents in orange and black

if you want to be born on a holiday, i think Halloween is the perfect choice:

a) no one goes out of town or takes vacation then
b) it's not an "family" holiday
c) it's not an obligatory holiday during which people make you feel guilty
d) people dress up and don't look as much like themselves, so they're more likely to let loose and really have fun
e) people will allow themselves to eat loads of things that are bad for them. i.e. birthday cake
f) it's a day people of all ages can enjoy
g) it's an occasion to be transient, so it's likely they can fit your party into their trick-or-treating/other party schedule
h) it's not a picnic holiday or a turkey holiday, so you can better control the menu
i) there's CANDY everywhere!

i happen to know several halloween babies. a girl from work who took the whole week off to celebrate; pp's boyfriend, k, who pp says is the "male version" of me -- which is probably why we get along so famously; and our very own blogger, jon.

and then there's my very own H, who puts the "H" in halloween and every other day of the year. at least for me. even from 2,000 miles away he makes me laugh and drives me absolutely berserk. he's quirky and smart and adorable. he isn't afraid to call me out on bullshit or sample weird foods at my suggestion. or tell me that the weird thing i suggested is disgusting. every day, i feel more love and support than i ever could have imagined and i'm thankful for all the happy accidents that brought us together. Happy Halloween, darling. i love you.

pumpkin pickin' on the west side

because i will be celebrating the fair holiday of All Hallow's Eve in-- most appropriate of all places-- the dungeon, this past weekend i went out to California to get my hot-apple-cider-and-pumpkin-gut-fix with H.

let me tell you, as a lifelong midwesterner who has seen her share of snow, sleet and even hail on Halloween-- and trick-or-treated anyway-- the idea of milling around a pumpkin patch in jeans, a t-shirt and sandals is absolutely ridiculous. sure, festivities on the west coast have the essentials: loads of pumpkins, dried cornstalks propped up in pillars, random bales of hay, apple cider, mini gourds, awkwardlooking scarecrows, indian corn, wheelbarrows and of course the obligatory hayride pulled by a tractor. but something feels a little off when it's EIGHTY-FIVE degrees outside. what? no sweatshirts? no runny noses? no mittens!? for goodness' sake, there's a reason they sell HOT apple cider and HOT chocolate at the vending stand. and there's no point in riding around on exhaust-spewing farm equipment if you can't at least use the cold as an excuse to snuggle up to someone special. geez.

so as i walked up and down the aisles of the patch, listening intently for a pumpkin to call out for me to scrape out its innards and cut holes in its head, i tried to get past the people wearing shorts. i was cranky and fuming about all the ways Halloween in the heat defies the laws of nature, and not afraid to voice my opinions. but then, as i lifted up a white pumpkin to check out the damage underneath, i spotted some people walking around with their babies dressed up in chicken suits. and all my irritation melted away. because really, Halloween is not about the temperature outside or the color of the leaves. it is a celebration of dressing our children/pets/siblings/selves in horribly embarrassing getups of which others will save photographic evidence to ensure the maximum amount of mortification at just the right moment. like when your date picks you up for The Prom.

besides, this morning when i got off the plane in chicago to find that it was SEVENTY degrees here, i realized that i definitely needed to lighten up. that and learn to hobble around town with my foot in my mouth.

so enjoy, you trick-or-treaters. if you decide not to get dressed up, at least get a little hopped up on the candy. live a little. quit being so cranky. take a moment to stop and smell the baby chickens.

and if you're looking for something a little more on the dark side, check this out. just a warning: it's not for the faint of heart.

enjoy!

she's crafty

"you know, i saw a button near the coat rack this afternoon and picked it up, thinking it's probably one of mine."

"who's is it?"

"sure enough, it's off the shirt i'm wearing."

"ah, well you going to take it home and fix it?"

"yeah, i'll probably have to do it myself."

"you know, every time i try to sew on a button, it seems to only last for only one buttoning."

"yeah, it never works right. i lost one off my coat last week..."

"i hate to interrupt you, gentlemen, but it might be sturdier if you go diagonal with those things."

"like when you're unscrewing the lugnuts on a wheel?"

"uh... yeah. sort of. actually, yeah! same sort of thing-- to make sure it doesn't fall off on you."

"so then, it's cool if i just bring it in for you to take care of, cadiz?"

sliver lining

there are some cases when everything seems to be going wrong, all you can do is worry what exciting NEW thing will go wrong tomorrow, in the off chance that your worry will make that thing turn around and go back from whence it came. but then tomorrow comes and it happens anyway.

that really sucks.

and though you don't really believe them when they say stuff like, "don't worry, it'll all work out," or "just try to stay positive," secretly, it's kind of nice to hear. if only for the tiny sliver of pleasure you get from disregarding it.

all new, three times

i got tagged by ML!

and no, i am not going to repeat what i said last time, because i am bored and i like this stuff.

3 things that scare me
losing hope
being jumped and choking instead of defending myself then having to live with the guilt or be dead because i was a coward
starting over

3 people who make me laugh
my brother
H
highcontrast

3 things I love
a really snuggly nap on a sunny day in the summer
shopping for baby clothes
my dvr

3 things I hate
the smell and taste of liver
the exponentially increasing amount of commercials they play during "Lost"
not knowing where i stand

3 things I don't understand
corporate effing america
forcing others to accept your beliefs
gadgets

3 things on my desk
a sewing machine
a blurry picture of me and my grandma from 1987 in Pomona, CA
a broken anklet with garnet-colored stones in it

3 things I'm doing right now
thinking about what i'm going to watch on tv when i get home
thinking about how early i have to wake up tomorrow
trying not to think about what i'm going to in the not-so-distant future

3 things I want to do before I die
meet phil keoghan at the mat
shed some paranoia
be someone's Dadi

3 things I can do
"cackle"
make round, puffy chapatis (but not rice, go figure)
knit booties

3 ways to describe my personality
sweet
spicy
savory

3 things I can't do
stand it when people hang out in the left lane and drive slowly
seem to want to use my mp3player
resist the chance to get nine more minutes' sleep

3 things I think you should listen to
my mom (in case yours doesn't give good advice)
railroad crossing signals
me, when i'm speaking. or else i will get VERY PISSED

3 things I think you should never listen to
television news (ALWAYS get a second opinion, and there are plenty out there)
telemarketers
teletubbies

3 favorite foods
cheeseburgers
sushi
my mom's recipe for [fill in the blank here, except liver]

3 things I'd like to learn
speedreading
to roll with the punches
my purpose

3 beverages I drink regularly
chai (i'm talking lipton, baby, not that commercialized shi-shi crap)
water
odwalla's green monster juice

3 shows I watched as a kid
duck tales
Cosby
tom & jerry

3 people I tag
highcontrast
becky
yo momma

just monkeying around

here's something H's sister sent to him and i've been playing around with while i wait for reports. i'm sure all you monkey fans out there will be pleased.

enjoy!

strong and sexy

today i get onto the bus about fifteen minutes before it was supposed to leave. i guess the driver was on break and was on the phone, helping her friend or somebody pick out names for a baby. i couldn't help but listen to her end of the conversation.

"how about noel? that can be for a boy OR a girl! noelle is a great name!"
...
"mahan? what the heck kind of name is that?... oh, that's your momma's name? oh okay. well, that's nice, but you said you want her to have a strong, sexy name. i'll think of something. don't you worry."
...
"na na nah, I GOT IT! now get this: India. N, with the little swirly thing, d, y, i, a. India. now that's strong AND sexy! ... nah, N with that thing on top, d, y, i, a. i'm telling you, girl! that's a GREAT name!"

i don't know about you guys, but i sat there on the ride to my office trying to figure that one out. Ndyia. doesn't that look like it'd be pronounced "Nih-dee-ya"? and isn't it grammatically impossible to have a tilde n at the beginning of a word? help me out, you linguists out there.

i'm sure a lot of parents get their babies' names in a moment of clarity, but really, shouldn't people take a little more time to map it all out? that poor kid might end up being strong and sexy, but only because she'll have to be confident enough to correct people about her name all day long and have built up a tolerance for ridicule.

a wrench in the plan

on friday, i was driving along, humming to the newsradio themesong and listening for the weather report when suddenly there came a crunchy thumpthumpthumpthump from the undercarriage. i pulled off the main road and into an empty church parking lot to assess the damage.

after several rounds of kicking and no sign of hissing, i decided the tires were fine. but when i drove in circles in around the parking lot islands the suspicious banging only seemed to get worse. it sounded like something under there was dangling precariously close to dragging on the asphalt and making sparks that would ignite my fuel tank and toast me to a burnt crisp. so i called work to say i wasn't going to make it in and tried to roll back toward home slowly, hoping that if it was going to fall to pieces or blow up, my car would at least have the decency to do so within a populated area so someone would be able to identify me and call my mother.

needless to say, i made it home. i didn't have another way to go the 36 miles to work and back, but that didn't stop me from feeling horrible for the entirety of what would have been my shift. i never was good at playing hooky; the guilt sucks every second of joy i might get from the freedom, so i don't even bother.

however, today was a different story. i got in to see the mechanic and finally felt some relief. i can show the boss my big fat receipt for shiny new stabilizers and a brand-new front axle. if that had completely broken down on me in the middle of the highway, i think guilt would have been the least of my emotions.

show me that smile again

one of the reasons i knew in my heart that pp, my random college roommate, and i were going to get along great was because on October 12 that first year, she turned to me and said, "do you know what today is?"

i have no idea how i remembered this -- probably because someone i knew in jr. high was obsessed with him -- but i replied, "why, it's kirk cameron's birthday!" and that's exactly what she had been thinking.

so happy birthday, kirk. i may not agree with all of your beliefs, but you sure were loveable as mike seaver on growing pains.

we're onto you

one of my favorite people, mr. high contrast, is somebody i have known since freshman year of high school. when you first meet him, you think to yourself, "my, what an intelligent, successful businessman! and he's witty and goodlooking, too!" but what only a few people truly know is that the man is really a prankster at heart who takes sadistic joy in messing with people when they least expect it; like when they're in the bathroom and have left their e-mail account open. behold his handiwork, via an e-mail from my friend kaiya:

_____________

(no subject)

cadiz -
i'm over you.

Kaiya

_____________


i see highcon has been hacking into your email again.
cadiz
_____________


i cant believe that little [expletive] wrote 4 separate distinct emails. i dont know how he was able to craft A different non mass email email to people in FRONT of my own FACE!!!!
kaiya
_____________


HOW does he do this?

but it's so funny; some things just never get old.

hope all is well.
cadiz
_____________


and its funny how s, Kupsaroo and ale, like u, had no question in their mind... that an email straight from me... even if it was their first of a kind.... no question it had to do with highcon.

highcon told Kupsaroo... "can i tickle your pickle?"

_____________

bwahahahahaahahaa.

what did he tell the others?

_____________

"i wanna do you like they do it on the discovery channel."

"i want to run my fingers through your hair. i want to sing a song in my bra and panties."

"I'm over you."

"can i tickle your pickle?"

_____________

good LORD. he's hilarious.

_____________

somehow, this e-mail hijacking game never tires for our fair highcon. the first time there was a lot of confusion over kaiya writing such salacious things. but we caught on quickly and can spot him a mile away. all of these victims have known him for more than 8 years, some as long as 15. all are female. but what should be applauded is that the missives were sent out, unbeknownst to the real sender, in the span of what i can only guess was about 30 seconds.

nice work, hc. but next time, try to get the tone right; this prank was outright transparent.

my home will always smell of curry

this week post secret featured a postcard from an indian girl who secretly wishes she were white because she thinks "it would be easier."

reading that made me incredibly sad.

it's not *easy* for anybody in this world-- we all struggle to fit in. but her note just makes me wonder what the heck must have happened to her/in front of her bad enough to create a secret hope that she were someone else entirely. personally, i think it's all television's fault.

non-surfin' safari

so this past weekend i went out to cali to visit H. nearly every trip out there is an adventure, and this time we went on a google maps-induced goosechase to find this heavenly dumpling restaurant near Pasadena we'd sampled before and have been dreaming about ever since. after about an hour of driving around trying to follow directions that made no sense, we tossed those and found our own way. and despite the additional wait, it was well worth all the trouble.

the next day, we went on a safari-- of sorts. first we took a trip to Long Beach, passing some areas i have only heard of in rap songs. then we hopped on a very big boat and embarked for Santa Catalina Island.

Catalina's got wildlife: we saw dolphins jumping out of the water on the way in and took a submarine tour of Lover's Cove, where we fed fat, greedy and orange fish by "torpedo" and dodged kelp that can grow an inch an hour or 2.5 feet per day, given the right conditions if i heard the tourguy correctly. we also had to step over fish guts on the pier and sunbathers who didn't feel the need to remove their socks and running cleats while lying out on a "beach" virtually the width of a sidewalk. (or is it laying out? i'll never understand people who tan. or their lingo.)

then we took a two-hour rollercoaster ride up the mountain to the airport and back and saw some bison leaving presents along the road. it seems when they were making a movie there in 1924,('the vanishing american,' by zane grey) they hauled out some 1400 head of these huge, shaggy animals and didn't have the energy to round them up afterwards. turns out the beasts didn't even make the cut for the movie. so these hulking animals that look like buffalo but aren't buffalo because buffalo live in asia or africa so buffalo wings, 'buffalo' bill, buffalo soldiers and i guess the buffalo stance should all be named for bison instead. ok, maybe not that last one.

the beasts we really had to watch for zipped along streets and sidewalks, spewing exhaust and tooting their little horns. it seemed everyone and their mamma was driving a golf cart. and later we found out there's an 800-car limit for the whole island and a 14-year waiting list to get a non-golfcart vehicle.

but the best creature we saw on the trip had to be this adorable little girl who was about two years old. she was running circles around the square with her older brother and sister while her father ambled along behind, calling 'valentina, slow down!' she caught sight of me with my waffle cone and H with his twix bar sitting on a bench and stopped still in front of us. she cocked her head and smiled. i waved and H chuckled. then she turned around, put her hands on the ground and stared at us from between her little legs until the blood rushed to her head and she nearly fell over. then she'd run around in circles a few more times looking up at the seagulls gliding around, see us again and stop, flip over and smile. over and over.

looking at strange wildlife never gets old.

smooth talker

"have you talked to your brother today?"

"yeah, he was asking my opinion about whether to go to that florida football game he's been dreaming about for years or something."

"what did you tell him to do?"

"well, it sounded like he really wanted to go, so i said go, but cut back on spending so he doesn't break the bank. he obviously doesn't make much money working 6 hours a week."

"well he called me today, asking me for the money."

"that sneaky little rascal! you know what he said? when i asked if the tickets were really expensive, he said 'money's no object.' i should have known!"

"isn't it amazing how he tells each of us a different story?"

"but, you know, he never actually lies about anything. i didn't think to ask him how the heck he was so confident about the cash. i wish i had learned how to work it like that. he's got us all wrapped around his finger! i don't know where he gets it from."

"probably your father."

your baby with the bathwater

"hey, i'm going to throw all of these out. they're so raggedy."

"fine. but not those-- i can wear them when i'm working in the yard."

"i can't believe you're actually letting me throw something away for once."

"yeah, ha ha, why don't you just throw me out while you're at it?

"sure, someday."

this week in television

so i guess my team got eliminated in the first round of the amazing race.

sigh.

just means that i'm going to have to get off my booty and try to represent my peeps and hope to make it to round two. hey, at least anchal made the cut on america's next top model.

i'm not terribly heartbroken, however, because H and cc convinced me to watch arrested development on netflix. i thought i'd never get into it when i still didn't see the big freaking deal after six episodes, but suddenly the show became laugh-out-loud, freaking HILARIOUS.

i saw the season premiere of grey's anatomy, which i very reluctantly got sucked into even though i think the main character is not interesting enough to warrant all these guys being in love with her. it's soapy, but keeps me coming back for more.

and i finally got around to watching ghostbusters, which is has some pretty dirty references in it. however, i knew a lot of the premise from watching the cartoon the real ghostbusters as a kid. i was waiting for slimer to show up. it took 22 years.

don't worry; i'll still be running home on sunday night to catch TAR.

the flavor of my kind. finally.

ok, i had this big long post all set about how i'm damn excited that my favorite show, The Amazing Race, kicks off tonight and that i cannot wait to get home and watch it and how, since i got a dvr i refuse to watch commercials and i have no idea what kind of contestants they have. until i thought to myself, DUH self, go look it up online.

MY PEOPLE HAVE FINALLY MADE IT TO REALITY TELEVISION!

ok, ok, i know that's not true. they have an all-asian team on Survivor! (oh yeah, but not south asian.) and i think i flipped through and saw some contestant on America's Next Top Model a few years ago who tried to blow off the pain of being cut by saying something ridiculous like she only really wanted to use it to get into the business side of fashion anyway. yeah, sure, she only said that to save face for the Aunties. and from the previews, i think there's someone from my region on the next season of ANTM, too.

the reason that i'm so unbelievably excited is because i feel it is my duty to put my heart and soul behind anyone who bucks the Auntie patrol. Tony Kanal, M. Night Shyamalan, Parminder Nagra, Sarita Choudhury, Naveen Andrews, Russell Peters and a host of others that i'm sure i'm forgetting that are more than worth mentioning. especially because they don't usually list sculptors, or journalists, or architects, or fashion designers, or professional chefs, or makeup artists, or dancers, or trombonists, or all the other non-approved careers on imdb.com.

these people take on the big job of veering off the accepted path that is medicine/law/computerscience/and-of-course engineering. which is why it took nearly a DECADE to get a southasian on the tv show ER. in that entire hospital, there was not one of my people for that long? not a single ultrasound tech or phlebotomist or orderly. wanna know why? because no indian parent's friend in their right mind would allow them to allow their child to pursue something as risky as acting. i know these people want the best for their kids (read: quickest road to grandchildren), but that just leads to grandkids without role models they can identify with who may form skewed ideas of what it means to be beautiful, successful and loved by the world. (i escaped this particular fate because my parents are all about bollywood music videos. my idea of what a beautiful woman means is to have long luscious hair and run about the trees in the rain. which is another issue in itself.)

anyway, thank you Jerry Bruckheimer and the casting people for Amazing Race 10. i see that not only do you have my peeps, but you have another asian team (the other kind) as well as devout muslims and a person leaping through life despite an injury. and of course some cheerleaders and pageant queens. i'm sure more than one of them is a "/model," so you guys aren't straying too far from the protocol.

so, as if i wouldn't be doing so anyhow, i will be running home every sunday night/monday morning to check up on my team. and i pray that my people don't do something like be nasty to each other or cheat or pick fights or get eliminated right away because i want America-- in its infinite openmindedness-- to think all of us are tough competitors who know how to bring it, fight fair, battle it out and KICK SOME ASS! because, you know, we're, like totally, all the same. which is why we have to support each other.

so vipul and arti, this time it'd better be you coming home with a million dollars. my rep is on the line.




************UPDATE*******
Imagine my dismay when, after having programmed the television and triplechecked that it was set to record, i hurried home to find that it most definitely DID NOT!
maybe it was the heavy storm this evening that blocked the satellite dish, but now that i do a search for the show under many different variations, nothing comes up. damn you, DirecTV!

please don't ruin the ending. maybe if i ask really sweetly, someone very wonderful will hook me up with a copy of the episode.

exhausted

i have a project to do. a really big one. it will require tedious attention to detail and a lot of-- what do they call it?-- "get up and go" to complete. very little of which i currently posess these days. and i'm terrified about failing. maybe that is why i have put it off for two months when i should have been about halfway through by today.

this is very upsetting. i spend a lot of time worrying and little actually doing.

never fear, dear readers, i am aware of how deep the vat of doo-doo is that i tread; it's just that for some reason, i cannot seem to muster the motivation to actually begin. perhaps it's a fear of rejection, inability to attain the impossible goals i set for myself or the fact that i tend to view anything short of said impossible goals as an utter failure and may be putting it off to be able to say it sucks so very badly because i had no time -- all classic signs of procrastination. even today, as i sit here at the computer on the one day off this week that i had fully dedicated to taking that tentative first step toward certain doom, all i can do is look back on all the things i HAVE accomplished in an effort to put the crying off a little longer:

checkbook? balanced.

house? dusted, vacuumed, swept up, tidied

grates that go over the flames on the stovetop? soaked, scoured and put back into place

do-it-yourself-home-improvement and myth-disproving shows? watched, sometimes two at the same time

big production dinner? made

dishes? done (that's a biggie)

laundry? currently drying

magazines/newspapers/junkmail? sorted and moved to resting places, final or otherwise

cds? organized

correspondence? caught up on

first half of America's Next Top Model marathon? enjoyed (although i've never really been into that program, when they show them all in a row, i just cannot find the courage to turn off the tv.)

ice cream? eaten

knitting project? more than halfway finished

facial mud mask? applied

toenails? repainted

horoscope? checked

newspaper? read

current issues of rolling stone, paste and salon.com? browsed through

blog post? soon to be posted

and although i've demonstrated a considerable amount of restraint in NOT watching Ghostbusters, which i have never seen but have recorded, i am now in a decent frame of mind to consider possibly getting started.

but i sure could use a nap, first.

page 123

I've been tagged with a book meme, by Lia, as follows:

1. Grab the book closest to you.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Scroll down to the 5th sentence.
4. Post text of next 3 sentences on your blog - name of the book and the author.
5. Then tag 3 people.

"And spineless. He went over it again and it looked the same. There was no way out, he would have to speak to her."

Atonement, Ian McEwan


let me just say that the sentence before this bit was seven --SEVEN-- lines long in a paragraph which didn't break for 21(!)lines. and that pretty much sums up the experience i had with this book, whose author had been so heavily praised to me that i actually went out and bought it. which i never do, because i don't like owning books i won't want to read again.

the story idea was good, but i think mcewan went to such trouble to set it up and drag out the reveal, i wandered away more than several dozen times. and when i finally made it to the big finish, i felt just a little cheated that it had been such a meandering road. rarely does it take two months.

ANYway, i tag:

jon
ale
highcontrast (who claims to have started blogging again. we'll see about that)

before you protest, remember, all you need is the NEAREST book. indulge me.

thanksgiving

so, you're 24.

but you know, to me you'll always be a smartass 3-year-old running around in smurf shorts, secretly recording cartoons over the best parts of of mom's betamax movies and feigning ignorance during the inquiry. and though you'd try to make me the fallguy, those dimples still betray you every time.

come to think of it, stealth has always been your modus operandi. like after you left for school and the alarms you'd secretly set on my cellphone went off 2 hours after i'd finally fallen asleep? yeah, thank the good Lord i couldn't reach through the telephone and yank out every last scraggly hair of your poor excuse for a goatee, pal. and at that ungodly hour, i think i would have ripped out the hair on your head, too.

i make the worst threats of bodily harm to those i love the most, baby brother. you squirmed into my heart to stay, back when dad would ask 'whose baby are you, mommy's or daddy's?' and you'd say 'cadiz's.' growing up, you pestered me to no end but i secretly loved the attention. you do great impressions. you know what i'm thinking when i look over at you during family parties with an eyeroll. and you're probably the only person on earth for whom i would endure the entirety of 'the benchwarmers.' (don't you dare ask me to sit through that ever again.) you gave me the best advice when i had my heart torn apart and you are the only one who can get away with calling me on my bullshit straight out. i don't think i can go more than a few days without a call-- peppered with madeup catchphrases from your crew such as 'latrix'-- telling me just how little is going on.

you've always made me an ally; even at a very young age you demanded i was present. despite the rules against children in the surgical area, you wouldn't let them start iv's without me there holding your hand and always asked for me when you woke up, often before you called for mom and dad. and even when we were fighting bitterly, the second there was outside trouble we worked as a team. you probably don't even remember those things, but they mean a lot to me. i'll always be there for you, no matter how far away you are.

on this day, H and i will be hanging out in your favorite place, wrigley field. don't be salty; it wasn't my idea for you to move all the way across the country for school. and believe me, if you were still in town it'd be the two of you at the game-- i'm only in it for a ballpark hotdog. but i think it's the perfect way to spend your day. because even though everyone's birthday should be marked with something special, each year that i can celebrate yours is truly a blessing.

listening out for a calling

truth is, i just happened onto this dungeon gig. when i was growing up, i thought i wanted to be a doctor. i even volunteered (candystriped dress and all) at a hospital before realizing it's definitely not the life for me. later i thought about art school, but my parents worried that i'd be an artist of the 'starving' kind and got into my head. i went to university and, after studying as little math as possible, found my way here. i like the job, but i'm still hoping to figure out what my *ideal* is so i can start getting there.

the other day i was on the phone with la mariachi. she plays in a band as a hobby, but is getting her teaching certificate. i asked her how she knew she wanted to be a violin teacher. she said it was what she was good at. and what made the violin better than, let's say, the oboe?

"math." she said.

at her grammar school in florida they only offered stringed instruments and if you took orchestra you got to miss math class a couple times a week. damn, if we had that system in my hometown, maybe i'd have actually practiced my cello and given yo yo ma a run for his money.

i still hope that one day i'll be walking down the street and be hit by the revelation of what my life's work ought to be. but i've resigned myself to accept the odds that i may never find it.

anybody want to buy a dusty cello?

that's the breaks

when i was a kid, i was a nailbiter. i'd chew on my fingernails while reading or watching television and sooner or later i'd have to spit out what broke off between my teeth. nasty habit, i know, and i kicked it. but that left me with fingernails that break or tear with very little pressure.

i normally don't care one way or another, but my best friend was getting married so i figured my hands should probably look decent in the event of any cheesy setup 'bridesmaid-y' photos (all the feet in a circle, all the bouquets, etc). so i applied strengthener on my nails and they grew nice and strong.

there were no such photographs, but i was impressed at the results. the talons lasted for a whole month. one morning last week when the alarm rang, i bolted up without noticing i was tangled up in the sheets and fell out of bed, landing on the tops of my fingers. ouch.

sometimes it's not even about will power.

SIX!

when i pulled into a parking spot at work tonight, my little black car with a spoiler fit perfectly in a formation to make two lines of three little black cars (all different makes) with spoilers, all facing each other and divided by yellow lines.

pretty as a picture. just like those sesame street animated shorts that line up the little blocks in a pretty formation for every number to help you learn how to count.

bored

yesterday, my brother went back to school. the medical reaction got better and off he flew to the land of mouthwatering BBQ and no snow. of course he brought his every worldly posession along, smashed into a four-ton suitcase. and let's not forget the golf clubs. as i was trying to maneuver through the throngs of people at o'hare with the golf bag knocking into everything, i thought to myself, why can't this kid have taken up a sport that utilizes smaller equipment, like table tennis?

but coming home to a sleeping house really sort of sucks.

soothing sounds

"i miss hawaii."

"me too. you guys just got back, but it's been 2 years since i was there."

"you know what i loved the most? i loved to hear the sound of the waves crashing on the beach at night. we could hear it from both of the hotels we stayed at during our honeymoon."

"it's very soothing, isn't it?"

"definitely. it's funny, last night when i was getting ready to go to sleep, i thought i could hear it again. i was like how the heck have i not heard lake michigan before today? nah, there's no way we'd hear it from here. then i rolled over and realized it was just C snoring. i guess the way he was breathing right then sounded like the ocean."

"ha ha. well, at least it's a snore that doesn't drive you nuts. you're married to it now, sister."

"yeah. i guess i'll just pretend we're still in hawaii."

what's that, sam?

there are SNAKES in this motherf*cking dungeon!

to all of you at the midnight showing right now, hope it lives up to the hype.

no-complaints gets challenging

my brother was admitted to the hospital today, two days before he was set to move all his stuff 918.30 miles away (that's 1478.463 km, X) and live in alabama for the coming school year.

last saturday his boys threw him a going away party: they rented a limo, went out for steak and got tipsy. i got a latenight phone call and he was most certainly not wasted, just sounding really tired and about to crash at a friend's house.

from sunday on, he had the chills but his forehead felt hot to the touch. "as warm as the pan you use to bake chapatis," according to my mother. however when his temperature was taken, it only registered at 98 degrees F (37.1 C). he also developed a really itchy rash all over that nothing seemed to cure. definitely not just a hangover.

after much arguing, we got him to see the general doctor this morning, who sent him to the emergency room, through which he was admitted to a hospital bed. a CAT scan and chest x-ray revealed no major problems aside from a small fluid buildup near the pacemaker, but we already knew that was an issue, and it wasn't enough to worry about. the dermatologist came by and cut out two pieces of his left arm muscles for biopsies to make sure the infection or whatever it could be hadn't spread there. he got five stitches. the doctor said if you could look past the outer skin, you'd see that the flesh underneath is as though he had a severe sunburn all over his body.

at this point, they suspect it's some kind of bad reaction to either the antibiotic they put him on to reduce the fluid after the pacemaker-checking/fluid-draining procedures or Advil. i'm highly doubting the latter because he's taken it for years. and while he hadn't been drinking alcohol while taking antibiotics, after 20 days of doses, 24 hours may not have been long enough for it to get out of his system.

the doctors have said that he's definitely not going back to school on friday and will need to rest for at least a week. whether that will be in hospital or at home remains to be seen. if they can't figure out what happened and remedy it soon enough, he may have to miss this semester of school and put off chance for graduation YET AGAIN.

the most upsetting factor of this is that like anyone with a medical condition, all the kid wants is some semblance of a normal life. how many other 23-year-old guys who want to throw back a few beers with buddies they won't see again until Christmas -- and are responsible about it (following the usual medical precautions and having a designated driver)-- have to risk potentially messing up six months of their lives?

getting through the day is hard enough as it is.


***UPDATE***
they released him from the hospital today (thursday) and though he's not warm to the touch anymore, he is extremely, severely red. i am not kidding. imagine the worst sunburn you have ever seen, like a purple red. i don't think i've ever seen a brown person turn that color in my life. (i don't know why lightskinned people dare risk it.) the doctor says that there is a chance it could be as bad as a second-degree burn and, as it peels, it could become infected. plus the poor kid is in a whole lot of pain for which they won't give him anything. the why? advil's interaction with caflex, even though he'd been off of the latter, it was still in his system.

poor thing.

no complaining: day 2

i know you're all very concerned about the ginormous undertaking i am embarking on with this no-complaining thing, so i promise to give you continual updates and you can offer feedback.

yesterday as H and i were walking around in the city*, i mentioned this cute little segment i remembered fondly from sesame street (and i'm talking about oldskool, no elmo here) about a cartoon on the side of a glass who lived in a kitchen cupboard named "teeny little superguy". sing along if you remember:

just look at the stars,
just look at the sea,
he's inside of you and me

you can't tell a hero by his size
i'm just a TEENY LITTLE SUPERGUUUUUUUY
ooooohhhh yeaaaaaaaah.

that entertained me for quite some time. i'm not so sure about H, but he's a good sport all around.

so tonight in the dungeon, i looked it up on youtube, but didn't find it.

AHEM, so instead of complaining about it. i have resigned to entertain the stacks of extra xerox paper here on my desk with my own personal rendition.

on repeat.


*disclaimer: now that H is back in his own state, there's a slight possibility that the concrete foundation of the 28-day-no-complaints mission could get a little shaky.


*****UPDATE******
WILLOWTREE IS THE COOLEST!!!!
and i think i had the lyrics wrong, too. "don't look at the sky, don't look in the sea..." follow her link in the comments to see the cartoon...

YAY! willowtree made my dungeon day. hey, maybe this no-complaining thing is really working! thanks, willowtree.

no complaining: day 1

yeah, so i'm finding it difficult to complain today. H flew out to surprise me for my birthday and i managed to get out of going to work tonight.

so far so good! (omar, i've lasted OVER a day, thank you.)

but tomorrow is another day...

new year, new leaf

"dude are you still working?"

"of course. at this point, must you even ask?"

"i never can keep up with your hours. so what's going on in dungeon duty?"

"a whole bag of nothing."

"oh come on, sh-t load of nothing? tell me a story."

"i sleep, i work, i talk on the phone a little. repeat ad nauseam."

"well, do something about it. at this point you can only move forward."

"yawn."

"cadiz. you have to ask for what you want. and sometimes that means just saying 'i want this' or you'll never get it."

"i'm starting to see that in all realms."

"and i don't mean yell, but 'this is what i prefer.' "

"how about, 'i want to go home. NOW.' "

"within reason. i seriously think you should get on my no complaining program for 28 days."

"NO COMPLAINING? do you realize that is my favorite hobby? my only hobby these days?"

"cadiz, i'm sorry, but that makes you a really depressing person."

"um, you're telling me."

"when i've been at a point where people ask 'hey what's up?' and i want to -- and actually respond with-- complaints, i'm like damn i'm such a downer."

"i realize that, but honestly i think having no life is starting to drive me a little insane."

"cadiz, i realized, the way i was brought up, i don't let myself be happy until 'A,' until 'B,' until 'C'... "

"sounds very familiar."

"and it never ends. and then over the weekend i was like, what if i'm just happy BEFORE anything happens? because honestly none of that stuff actually determines who you are. you're just a good person in one or more tricky situations."

"ugh. i feel trapped."

"don't worry about that. just start exercising 'i want this' or 'i need that.' you might not get it, but that's not the point. your voice is out of shape so you have no idea what you think you want. practice, and you'll know. it's going to feel foreign and weird. but anything you do every day for 28 days can become a habit."

"yeah? i have been trying to take vitamins every day on and off for like 12 years, and that's never stuck."

'cadiz. just try it. you'll see a difference. positivity catches on."

"i want to go home."

"you have to work with what you can actually control. and if all you can think to say is negative, then just shut the hell up. just see what happens."

"fine. i'll try your little trick."

"28 days."

"ok, starting monday. because i still have a lot of bitching to get out of my system and now i've gotta make it really count."

trying times

i hate terrorists.

they've created a world where you can't even carry lip gloss and feel safe.

and we're changing our lives to accommodate them. because we have no choice.

bastards.

can't call her cute pregnant lady anymore

a great wake-up call is to hear that a beautiful baby was born healthy and happy, 7 lbs. 10 (or so) oz. her momma didn't need drugs, either, which isn't surprising because six days before the due date, mother-plus-child was shimmying along in a wedding reception conga line.

congratulations!

better than a bug zapper

last summer the dance class that cc and i were in was having a mini recital. the teacher decided to combine all the classes for a couple practices, because the final pieces would tie together and she wanted to make sure we had it together before we went on stage.

so about 40 people were crammed into a tiny studio with slick wood floors that was so humid we could barely see ourselves in the mirror. groups of five or more were passing through each other as we practiced and she kept changing up the choreography to make it work better. this would have been all fine and dandy, but i could hardly concentrate. this gangly redheaded teenager was in the opposite line, right across from me, and i couldn't stop staring at her. it was like a trainwreck, i knew i ought to be watching the mirror to make sure i didn't look like a complete ass, but i was riveted.

you see, she was doing what what my mother would call 'trying to catch flies.' you know the type-- they sit in class/watching tv/waiting for the bus, slackjawed. it's often accompanied by a dead look in their eye, as if they're 15 seconds from slipping into a coma. Corey Haim perfects this look in 'License to Drive'(and most of his other work) and it's masterfully demonstrated by Jon Heder in 'Napoleon Dynamite'). when i see this, i have to fight the urge to slam the offender's jaw up against her skull. that day i pictured this otherwise cute teenybopper with big fat flies zooming into her gaping maw like chickadees at a backyard birdhouse.

disgusting, yet entrancing. i mean, it'd be open for a good fifteen minutes at a time. didn't it dry out? didn't her jaw get sore? didn't her lips crack?

i couldn't look away.

let's give her what she wants

'what's this project mom is making?'

'oh probably another baby blanket. you know she's always into that stuff.'

'you're right; plus her friend just got a granddaughter. mom was all like 'j beat me! i thought i'd have a grandkid first.'

'she needs to stop with that.'

'you're telling ME? i get all the pressure, kid. you're the boy, you have nothing to worry about.'

'yeah, you're probably right about that. you know what we should do?'

'tell her what's up? i've hinted, but i don't think it's going to work.'

'no, we should get her one of those realistic babydolls, you know they make fancy ones that cry and wet and all that stuff. we'll make her carry it around with her all day and night so she has to worry about it like that parenting class in high school.'

'like carrying around that egg thing all day? you know, we never had to do that.'

'we didn't either. but i'm just saying. then i can rig it so that somehow the thing doesn't shut up and just cries and cries.'

'nah, it'll never work. she lives for stuff like taking care of babies. plus, ahem, she's had a lot of experience with nonstop crying. granted, it's because you were having so much trouble breathing, but still. i don't remember her even breaking a sweat.'

'yeah, but you forget one thing: it'd really piss dad off.'

'you're a genius.'

a note

dear new woman who looks like she might come from the same place my parents do,

you might be new to the job or just filling in for someone in that other department, but i think it's downright rude for a person, especially the new kid (no matter what your age) to outrightly gawk at a person just sitting there, minding her own job. yeah, i saw you. i have seen you EVERY time you have walked by and given me a nasty staredown. despite your openmouthed gape, i smiled back at you. and even said hello. did you even bother reciprocating? no. you couldn't even afford to give me a smile back. and worse yet, when we were washing our hands near each other in the bathroom, you just stared and stared. what's your damage, biotch?

i get it. i understand about the cardinal rule* and all that it entails, but DUDE, when you're in a professional work environment, have some class. don't bring that shopping mall nonsense in a place of business. as of this evening, you have used up all the free smiles and hellos i have to offer. and DON'T YOU DARE be fake nice to me after some third party formally introduces us. you are making it very difficult for me to be cordial in the event that we may have to work on something together in the future.

being the bigger person that i am, i will still hold the elevator should i see you, but god help me if you don't say thank you, it will be as though you never existed in my mind.

good day.

cadiz


*the cardinal rule is such that if a person looks like he/she may be from the country of one's own origin, one MUST stare until eyes meet. no smiling is required, only a nonverbal acknowledgement that both parties have taken note that the other is a countryman/paisano/whatever-you-want-to-call-it. this rule is standard anywhere in the public realm, most effectively in shopping areas or other situations with little personal interaction. however, in a place of employment or if the subject is a friend of a friend/parent of a friend/friend of a parent, etc. etiquette requires the extra effort for a hello or a smile. through rigorous research via word of mouth, it has been extrapolated that this practice started long ago when immigrants from the motherland were scarce here, and became solidified after the immigration act of 1965, when increased numbers of asian settlers arrived. the motherland culture leans heavily on honor and protocol and all backstabbing must be done covertly. deviation can result in loss of face. to those not of motherland heritage, this rule may seem archaic and a little inane, but at its inception the cardinal rule was used as a means to help out a fellow struggling immigrant who may have been facing difficulties that come with living in a foreign land, like racism, culture shock and nostalgia. sadly, the rule has taken a turn for the worse in recent years, where it is not about helping out a fellow countryperson, but merely to assess how well one has done for himself as well as the specific state-origin, religion and other heritage in one smile-less glance.

28 days later...

...or 28 day Slater?

where was YouTube when i was in high school?

for sale: slightly used death traps (3 pair, size 37 european)*

this is a pretty long recap, so for those of you who want to cut to the chase, i offer a headline-only preface.

THE GIST:

cadiz still has all her limbs, thanks for asking
friends are now married
maid of honor not assassinated for speech
undersides of feet likened to those of cane-beaten prisoners in bollywood films
H on plane back to cali

THE DETAILS:

after the rehearsal dinner (for which i feel i was overdressed; what's the protocol for that anyhow? people were all over the spectrum) we ate food catered from the place r and c had their first date and where c proposed. afterward, ale, kaiya and i took care of a little last minute shopping, i caught a catnap on kaiya's couch and headed off to pick up H.

hotel for mr. california
the sketchy hotel was just that. the area seemed seedy at 1 a.m., but the place was booked solid and there were actually some non-drugdealer looking people in the lobby. so i was fine. the room was clean, but looked like it hadn't been redecorated since 1984, except the shower, which looked pretty new. it was only lacking a few items: shampoo/conditioner, the door to the freezer part of the minifridge, a towel bar or toilet paper holder and an alarm clock. the tv had knobs, but we didn't think to check if it was color. bottom line, even though i tossed and turned the whole time dreaming i got arrested for mistaken identity in a drug bust, there were no hookers in sight and we didn't get mugged at knifepoint. H drove me to r's house at 7 a.m.

the 'dos
for 7 a.m. on the day of her wedding, r was surprisingly calm. i think the only problem in the hair/makeup session was that r lost the back of her earring down the front of her dress and had to take it off and scour the floor for it. that and i was forced to wear crocs to get starbucks and had to balance 5 coffees and bagels while powerwalking because i didn't want anyone to capture this on film. as we left, everyone looked radiant, especially the bride. but it was 95-plus degrees, humid and beaded satin doesn't breathe well.

before the bubbles
at the ceremony, things went according to plan; there were indian traditions in the mix, too, and it was lovely. as much as i say i wouldn't want hoopla for my own big deal, there is something nice about doing the God part in a house of God. afterward, they were driven off in a rolls royce silver wraith that was actually silver. i had to try not to limp out of the church because, despite my dr. scholl's gel pad inserts, the shoes we chose to go with our dresses were instruments of slow and painful torture cleverly disguised as sexy spindlyheeled silver stunners that we couldn't complain about because we chose them ourselves.

storming the castle
H was kind enough to drive me (my driving foot was throbbing from standing through the ceremony) and two other hobbling bridesmaids all the way to the castle, where we saw peacocks and some type of ostrich/emu fowl parading the premises. the castle was beautiful (you will probably see pictures if you go to ale's in the next couple days). however, the air conditioning in the hall where they were having the reception was not working.

getting toasty
everything was great; the best man and i were trading jabs about preparedness for the speeches we were slated to give. i have to admit, i didn't really want to share what i was planning (which wasn't anything concrete because i hated everything i had come up with in the last few months) because i didn't want him to steal all my ideas and then hand the microphone to me so i could say, 'yeah, what he said. to r and c!' but we figured out the gist so we wouldn't overlap. he started to get nervous and i tried to convince myself of what i was saying to reassure him, too: that he'd be fine, they chose him for a reason, and just to look at them and say what comes to mind and all will be fine if he just enunciates and speaks into the mic.

when we were called, i took my champagne glass (thanks, becky) and joined bestman at the stage. he put his glass on the music stand in front of us and it started to roll off the edge as he started his speech. i caught it and held it while he told the guests about a basketball trading card (kendall gill, rookie sensation), over which he and c didn't speak for years and had it as a prop. it was a very nice touch. people laughed and the bride and groom were touched. so of course i knew the pressure was on.

before the wedding, i had written out a speech, then folded it up and written crib notes during the day as things came to me. but i didn't look at it because as i gripped the mic and the glass, i had no free hand. besides, as the video will later show, even though my mind was pretty calm, the glass-holding hand was shaking so violently that i had to hold it against my body to keep from spilling. thank God they don't fill those things more than halfway.

i looked around and just told the story as i would have done a blog post. how r and i met, things we did together growing up, how we encountered c, how i knew there was something brewing, how she said 'c is going to be my husband' after their very first date, and how they still look at each other the same way they did in the beginning. i wished them the best. the bride got teary, so i felt pretty good about it. i was so glad it was over, i got myself a drink.

after hours
the rest of the night was great. the happy couple sang a duet c wrote for the occasion, there were lots of pictures, hand-shaking, booty-shaking (the band was excellent). even our friend who is due in six days got up for "let's get it on" (her husband turned to me and said, 'yeah, we were listening to this song about nine months ago; i've gotta find her for this one.')

after all was said and done, we piled into cars and went to the hotel to crash. the only thing that was open was mcdonalds. as i rolled down the window and stared at the menu, the freaking sprinklers went on and splashed me in the face. now WHY mickey d's would need to water the tiny speakerbox island at 10 pm, and moreover, point one of the sprinklers right toward a customer's car window, i have no idea. but it reminded me of when i was at cc's beach wedding and there was a light shower right after the wedding and the minister said it was a blessing from above. i'm going to go ahead and take that as a thumbs up from the sprinkler gods for making it through the day. and i rewarded myself with a hot apple pie.



*seriously, if you need these for a wedding party, or any occasion for that matter, they're pretty. but only for walking down the aisle and pictures. if you want to try and dance in them, don't blame me when the balls of your feet swell to the size of golf balls.

according to plan, there will be a hitch

one of my best friends-- known her since fifth grade-- is getting married on saturday. and while my feelings are nothing like those of julia roberts in 'my best friend's wedding,' i have called upon H to help me do my best to troubleshoot.

my plan is for us to get out all the drama karma BEFORE the nuptials (just as a goodluck failsafe):

*Thursday, all day: try to stock up on sleep and do all the stuff i should have done before like haircut, eyebrows and pedicure
*Friday, 4 p.m.: attend rehearsal, dinner
*Friday, after festivities: drive to old-school 1960's hotel, the only one a person can get at reasonable equidistance from airport, bride's house and church for less than $360 a night (so much for priceline[dot]com), check in, try to nap
*Saturday, 1 a.m.: pick up H from the airport
*Saturday, 6 a.m.: get going to bride's house
*Saturday, 10:30-ish a.m.: get picked up by H to go to the church

i was, in a shocking development, running around like a chicken trying to find a decent place to stay (five hours is way too short and way too late to impose), that i failed to realize that the the hotel is actually on the outer edge of a cutesy, trendy neighborhood, a place that most people might qualify as 'sketchy.' for some reason i missed the tipoff of the bullet-proof glass/bankteller slot between me and the guy taking my reservation, as well as the iron FENCE going all around the premises. granted, that was at 1 p.m. before work and there were little kids riding their bikes. i have been reassured by people who live near there that it should be ok, but still, i'll have my pepper spray.

i'm starting to rethink that whole take a nap part, though. i'd rather be tired and have all my limbs than in a permanent state of rest.

so in any case, you may not hear from me for some time, as we will be crossing state lines to attend a wedding in a castle. hopefully i will not botch the 2.5-minute speech i'm supposed to give (and haven't yet been able to write).

but if i'm mugged and dismembered, that'd be a damn shame, because as Ale has said, the bridesmaid dress is really cute.

yeah, and Ross made up 'Got Milk?'

"where are you?"

"i'm at the grocery store, getting some things for the weekend. oh, good thing you reminded me; i'll need a razor."

"i ate way too much at lunch. i feel kind of sick... wait a second, what did i just say to remind you of razors?"

"you didn't, i just passed by them."

"oh. i'm so boooored."

"dude, why don't you come by the blog anymore? what gives?"

"you never post anymore."

"uh, i've posted like three times in the last two days. way to keep up."

"..."

"oh, i have to get travel shampoo, too; ran out last time i was in cali."

"..."

"crap, i can't remember if i have travel-sized lotion. this is not good. my horoscope says i'm going to be in a spending mood, and here i'm putting everything in my basket... uh, hello?"

"uh, excayUSE me, but this 'optimism' post? because I so thought that up YEARS AGO, missy!"

"i don't think so, pal. i CLEARLY REMEMBER coming to that conclusion on my own. i'll give it to you that we discussed it in high school, but i--"

"i. don't. THINK. so. I SO MADE THAT UP!"

"whatever, you didn't. and even if you did, you weren't the first, buddyboy."

"and this is the SECOND TIME you've mentioned it on here!"

"awfully astute for someone who NEVER LOOKS AT THE THING."

"whatever. anyway, i'll call you later."

"sounds good. e-mail me, i'll be in the dungeon."

"okay. have fun at work."

"later."

mssd up splng: th nw genratn

the motorola pr department is at it again:

Motorola set to launch two new mobile phones, siblings to the Razr: Krzr and Rizr.

i don't even know where to begin on pronouncing those.

***UPDATE****

NOW motorola is going to have the Scpl, slimmer than the Razr. is that supposed to be pronounced "scalpel"? wtf, motorola, you're contributing to the spelling delinquency of teens EVERYWHERE.

it's hard out here for a

i'd love to say i'm an optimist, but i'm not. at least to the public, anyway.

what makes it tricky is that people like me actually are optimists deep down inside -- they convince themselves that assuming the worst might "un-jinx" things. besides, there's a tiny comfort in at the very least being right if it doesn't work out. and if it does, well that's the best way to be wrong.

unfortunately that method can backfire. and it ends up being so much more of a letdown than just being a straightup optimist. because straightup optimists don't take too long to see the silver lining.

always reliable

"i just got myself a sandwich at jimmy johns."

"what'd you get?"

"number four, Turkey Tom. the usual, except sometimes i'm in the mood for sprouts and sometimes not. today i said what the heck, yes to the sprouts."

"that's cool."

"but you know, i have to say, the service i got at this place was IMPECCABLE. and you know i don't throw around service-industry compliments lightly."

"i do. what was so great? they were fast?"

"not just fast, but it was like this girl was multitasking tripletime. she was making someone else's sandwich, got my order, got it right, at the same time took two other people's orders, made all the sandwiches correctly and i barely had time to get my drink and it was ready. then she even apologized for the wait. and she was nice too. wow, you NEVER see that kind of thing anymore. i was trying to get her name without being too obvious. because i'm sure no one ever compliments food-service workers when they should be."

"wow, she must have been something."

"yes. i was very impressed. especially because there's usually like five people back there and there were only two. if every restaurant had one worker like that..."

"probably make a difference, eh?"

"yeah... but you know what?"

"what's that?"

"she was probably on speed or something."

"now THERE'S my girl. all this while i had been wondering where my little pessimist had gone."

surgery update

last may my brother had his seventh open-heart surgery to correct a blood-flow issue that had been putting too much stress on his liver. he also had a pacemaker implanted in his abdomen. since then, he had only been using the pacemaker to help him pump blood 13% of the time.

the kid is not a beefy guy, so in the last few months it became quite obvious that the pacemaker was no longer hiding under his ribs but poking out in what i can only describe as if someone was poorly hiding a pack of cigarettes under a shirt. it was like when people get a piercing and the skin gradually grows in such a way that it pushes the piercing farther and farther out until there is no hole anymore and the thing falls off. there were also two gumball-sized bumps on top of the bulge.

turns out the gumballs were pockets of fluid, which was building up all around the device. at yesterday's procedure they were drained for their contents to be tested. they sent the stuff to the lab, and within 48 hours we'll know if it was harmless and he will only have to worry about the leg surgery in the coming weeks, or if it has become infected (with the possibly of infecting the pacemaker and the blood that runs through it). if it is the latter, the whole matter may have to be revisited with a major procedure, which would probably get in the way of him obtaining his college degree anytime soon.

so, while he's doing well and thoroughly entertained me with his post-surgical/drug-induced antics, right now we're just waiting to see what happens.

thank you all for your good vibes and comforting words. i believe that positive energy of any kind can work wonders. and i have a snarky ps2-addicted 23-year-old in my house to prove it.

***UPDATE*****
thank you all for your well wishes; the results came back negative. now we just have to worry about fixing the gusher on his leg and he'll be set to wreak havoc in the Southern U.S. come the end of August.

you know what pisses me off? III

when the heat index is 115 degrees outside, so you decide to wear the lightest-weight dress you own, but forget that you live in 'the windy city.' then you have to spend the entire evening waddling around holding down your skirt, and nasty 12-year-olds in wife-beater shirts honk at you anyway.

he knows just how to handle it

on friday i managed to wrangle my way in on my brother's doctor appointment "with the three-headed monster": his cardiologist, his longtime surgeon and the pacemaker specialist. he absolutely didn't want my mother to go, but i convinced him that he might want to reconsider facing off against those people without some kind of moral support.

yeah, so as soon as we got to the waiting room and partook in the usual pleasantries with the nurses and staff, they called him in. and he told me to park my ass in the waiting room.

so i had trekked all the way to the faraway hospital just to enjoy the likes of 'phil of the future,' 'timon and pumbaa' and seven THOUSAND commercials for the new disney channel movie about some girl whose diary gets her in trouble, in the children's waiting room. sorry Ian McEwan, your flowery, turn-of-the-century turn of phrase doesn't stand a chance with that kind of nonstop pop going on about six feet away. (those cheetah girls have got some moves.) it's a shame we had to go just as 'that's so raven' was starting; i've heard good things about that one.

however, the best entertainment during those three hours was the nonstop parade of little kids. there were chubby ones, hyper ones, sleepy ones, drooly ones. bored big brothers, snotty sissies and, of course, the wanderers. i began to realize how comfortable i have become in those waiting room situations. i grew up frequenting those joints. and i started to see a little bit of me and my brother in each of those kids; you can tell the ones who've been around that block a couple times already. they wait patiently through the paperwork. they'll share turns at the little ship-steering wheel mounted on the wall or bust out their coloring books and crayons. and you can always pick out the patients by their resigned lack of activity and abnormal attachment to a parent. everybody knows the score. they know that resistance just makes the whole thing harder for all.

it's crazy that something like a visit to a cardiac surgeon could become routine, but i think a lot of it has to do with my brother and his attitude toward life. basically, he takes shit as it comes and makes the most of it. he doesn't waste time secondguessing, feeling too guilty or wondering what could have been, because he's going to live his life, dammit, and no one is going to make him do anything he doesn't want to do. i sincerely believe that spirit is what has kept him kicking so long. and i hate to admit it, but if roles were reversed, i probably would have given up and succumbed in round one.

when he came out of the consult room, i carried the white box with the telephone hookup for his pacemaker. with it, he can put the little bracelets on and plug into any phone, anywhere, and they can get a reading on how the thing is working for him. he nonchalantly says that he told them he didn't have time for a chest x-ray, he'd get it later. and most likely there will be two surgeries before he goes back to school in august; one to repair the vessels in his leg and reroute them to bigger ones that can handle the load, and the other to adjust the pacemaker placement, which his body has decided looks better protruding out from his chest in a big bump.

at that news, i started showing the beginning quivers of freaking out. he cut me off at the pass very matter-of-factly with a 'let's get out of here, i'm hungry,' then he took me out to a fabulous sushi lunch.

i'm not sure what the age is when the lines between big sibling vs. little sibling get blurry, but i'm pretty sure we're past it.

no good. terrible.very bad.

monday was such a good day. first off, i didn't have to work. i slept in and watched three movies (even though you were right gg, 'Saturday Night Fever' was depressing). most importantly, i made a cameo at my old dance class with cc -- i hadn't been able to attend in almost a year -- and you know it was that great and i am that out of shape because two days later i'm still hobbling around like someone who's lived for a century.

when i got home, i was so wired from the adrenaline of floorwork that i couldn't sleep until 7:30 in the morning. maybe if i had known then that it was going to be the beginning of what alexander could describe in a few choice adjectives, i wouldn't have gone to sleep at all.

at about 9 a.m. tuesday, my brother (who is home on college break but taking summer classes) was screaming for me to help him. a vein near his left shin had burst and he'd soaked through an entire towel before he could wrangle a bandage on there tight enough to hold it back. of course i was in so deep an exhaustion that i didn't even hear him. finally he limped into my room to tell me to make sure the blood and bleach were completely washed out of the bathtub and went to class.

then, on my way to work, i tuned into newsradio to hear that some sort of terrorist group bombed seven train stops in Mumbai at rush hour. two of which are the stops for some of my relatives. i called my dad, who was trying to get a hold of his people but because there was such chaos he couldn't get through.

after i got to work, i tried calling my mother to ask about the family, and got no answer. however, she called me shortly thereafter from the emergency room, where she had to rush my brother after she got home from work. it seems when she went to check his bandage, the blood started gushing out -- this is actually what she said, as she showed me her pinkie finger to demonstrate the thickness of the stream-- "like a watergun" and she was unable to stop it. my mother is a nurse.

then my father calls to say that his sister had gotten off at the platform in Bandra on the train directly before the one that blew up. if she had been running late, she would have been in the compartment with the bomb. at that point, the death toll was at 160 people and is now at more than 200.

someone comes in the office to say that right here in Chicago, the Blue Line 'L' train derailed, causing a fire and the subway to fill with smoke. after the news from the motherland, people were freaking out. everyone was safe, but shaken up. some 150 taken to hospitals for smoke inhalation. things got way behind at work because everyone was standing around the tv to find out what happened.

on my way home, i had made it about 12 miles onto the highway when the steering wheel and the rest of the vehicle began to shake violently, accompanied by a rubbery, flapping noise that i had never heard before. it became hard to steer, but i made it to the shoulder where i found i had blown a tire. no big deal; i knew how to change a flat even though i had never had to actually do it before. when i got the car years ago, my father walked me through the process. no sweat. however, double semi tractor trailers rattling by at 85 mph make it tricky to concentrate. and because i could barely reach over to fasten the seatbelt without 14 sore muscles whining in protest, one can only imagine how fun it was to empty the trunk and remove the spare tire.

it was 12:30 a.m. there weren't any streetlights where i had stopped. to keep pretenses light, i called H with a preview of the ridiculous story i'd tell at dinner parties of my pathetic attempts to change a flat when i could barely tie my shoes. for good measure i threw in my location and key phone numbers in case the line went dead and my body was found dismembered and buried in a shallow grave in some nameless forest preserve in the suburbs. but i was more scared of getting clipped by a drunk driver or sleepy trucker.

it was all good; i was already practicing how i'd nonchalantly announce to my father, who despite trying to teach me these things doesn't really believe i can do them (secretly hopes i can't) without his assistance. after several minutes i realized the jack was not coming out of its cute little compartment. i didn't have a secret decoder ring, magic key or password. nothing was working. H was trying to explain that there was something to twist, pull, unfasten or unlock, but it just wasn't happening. mostly because i was blocking what little trunk light i had by holding up the carpeting to get to the compartment. it was looking like i'd have to get dear old daddy out of bed after all.

but my pops could sleep. some kindhearted soul must have seen my pathetic ass struggling and didn't want to read about some girl chopped to bits and buried in a forest preserve because they called the highway help guy. he pulled up, changed the flat and said with a nod, 'just be safe' when i asked him if i owed him anything. i also asked him what the secret was to removing my own car jack and he just laughed. i said 'they're supposed to be easy to use.' and he said, 'yeah, if you manage to get them out.'

when i finally got home, my brother was up to make sure i was ok, with his crutches leaning against the couch. he's going to have to have surgery on the leg. he convinced me to watch 'The Longest Yard,' which i didn't find to be terribly entertaining. i was especially disappointed in Chris Rock.

but maybe i was just in a bad mood.

something blue

when you set out to paint a picture
there's an image in your head
you choose those closest to share
their talent and creativity
and add a mark to the masterpiece

after you've handed out the brushes
and loose guidelines
they interpret it their own way
they don't exert the effort you'd hoped
but instead
they surprise you
but not in a good way
they attempt to please you
and end up all wrong
they let you down
more than you'd ever expected
and suddenly your work isn't what you wanted
at all

it's become tainted
foreign, somehow
you do your best to salvage
corral their ideas
there once was a lot of love to draw from
but all that's left is disappointment

you wonder what you were thinking
back when the canvas was blank
you want to give up
quit, start again without their ruin
but things have gone too far
and you only get one shot

gripping expectations so tight
you can't see what's in your own hands
or what's being choked in the process

all you can do now is shake your head
say 'just wait till you go through this'
with a knowing smile
a gentle curse for things to come
just veil your disappointment
dance as the paint dries
but remember how things ran amok
and keep that in your pocket for the future

because things will never be the same

everyone's starry-eyed on the fourth

'whatcha doing?'

'dungeon. you?'

'driving home from my parents'. we had a little barbeque.'

'sounds great.'

'yeah, i had some corn on the cob for you. delicious.'

'mmmm. one of my favorites.'

'geez, there is so much traffic out here tonight.'

'well, it's probably all the people straggling home after fireworks and festivities.'

'yeah.'

'but it's pretty early, no?'

'this is worse than any rushhour traffic i've ever been in. God, just drive, people, drive!'

'what do you think the holdup is?'

'maybe they've got a checkpoint set up or something.'

'well, i guess it'd be a good night to catch drunk drivers and seatbelt offenders.'

'definitely...whoa.'

'what happened?'

'nah, i'm just looking over to my left and i see some ferris wheels, all lit up.'

'that's cool.'

'yeah, but i think i just figured out the reason we're all locked up here. everyone is tripling traffic time JUST TO CHECK OUT A FREAKING FERRIS WHEEL.'

'figures. you past it yet?'

'yep. flyin' by now. i'll be home in 2 minutes.'

too bad they don't sell time in a bottle

several people very dear to me are going through some bad emotional relationship crap, all in the span of about a week. i can't explain it. but i have been there and know how much it royally hurts; it's like having something pointy stuck to your back, but right in the middle where you can't reach it, and the only thing you can do is try to distract yourself with bad habits, talk about it incessantly or fight the urge to throw yourself off a cliff just to make it go away. unfortunately, waiting for it to dry up and fall off is the only thing that actually works.

however it upsets me that i can't do anything to make it go away faster for any of them. except sit here, wait for reports, and hope it gets better. real soon.