Validity of Singlehood

Yet another sleepless night due to jet-lag for me.

Not having my Mon/Wed classes anymore is seriously screwing yours truly over. So, I’m not lacking in sleep and in fact, I’ve never slept MORE in this unsuccessful effort to get myself onto the right cycle (as if there’s one for college students?!).

I’ll be depending on some real strong black coffee to save my sanity today because I have a full day of classes AND the trio (Kath & Vy) plans on going to see Enchanted tonight. Hope I make it, I’m a big Disney fan. If not through sheer will, the prospect of melting into heaps over Patrick Dempsey's twinkling eyes ought to guarantee it.

In the meantime, let’s talk vacation.

Coming back from break, I feel different—

Sort of like how you don’t see any physical change in yourself because you look into the mirror every day and it’s the same face staring back atcha. Often for me, it’ll take photos from a year or two ago to fully realize how all the minor changes added up…and changed ME.

But this time, I’m not talking about looking but feeling different.

I think this family trip to the other side of the world made me realize that a part of me had been unhappy not just from nursing a broken heart, but also because I wasn’t quite comfortable with being single again.

It’s hard for me to admit that. And, to be completely honest, I can probably only admit it now because I am A-OK with it.

Well, no…as I was “okay” with it these past 7 months or so. It’s more that I’m finally happy for it.

YES, there’s a difference.

Has to be. Because like I said, I feel different and I think it has something to do with this undone knot that had been twisting itself sore in my heart. The realization came from an epiphany that all the bewilderment I’m causing my relatives at being single doesn’t annoy me or embarrass me in the least.

It amuses me!

And if truth be told, I even think I’m some kind of flattered...


1. The first relative to ask about my love life over Thanksgiving break: my dearest grandaunt. The lady’s a hardcore Buddhist and loves me like one of her granddaughters (actually, her decided preference for me makes it hard to be truly close to her real granddaughters, my cousins).

Always a ripe straight-shooter, she pulled me aside one morning to ask, “Do you have a boyfriend yet?”

My sheepish smile turns into an indulgent grin as she gives her head a quick shake and makes a really cute series of clucking disapproval.

“Don’t worry, Ah-Ma,” I call her the Taiwanese version of grandmother because growing up that’s what I heard my cousins calling her and it stuck always felt right to continue to do so, “When I do have a boyfriend, I’ll take him back to see you. For you to see how great he is, okay?”

She responds with some more disapproving clucks before finally giving in to my smiles.

2. The second to ask was my favorite uncle. Even after all these years, I still can’t get over the fact that everyday people of Taiwan will know his name and recognize him on the streets of Taipei.

“Soo, Joanne. Do you have a boyfriend?” It’s a question he always asks every time I see him.

“Nope.” And, it’s the same answer he always gets.

“Now, are you just saying that because your parents are sitting here?”

I laugh at the way he’s grinning at me. “There really isn’t a boyfriend in the picture.”

He proceeds to give me a look saying that he thinks I’m lying before changing the topic.

3. Third (and last, I lucked out because I didn’t get to see my 4th/3rd/2nd aunts this time) were my godmothers. Yes, my sister and I have 2. They are my mom’s college friends and they’re friggin’ hilarious.

“No boyfriend?”

“No.”

“No? Really?!” She exclaims as I chuckle over my bowl of really good Japanese rice.

I nod and offer a half-shrug.

“Or is it because kids these days have different definitions for boyfriends? You might not think so, but it might mean boyfriend to us.”

My mind briefly flashes with an image of my former lover.

At this point, my mom interjects the conversation, “Joanne won’t bring a guy home until it’s time to go to the altar.” She purses her lips while giving me a meaningful look of displeasure, “When she should BEFORE then to let her wiser parents take a look at him. She’s so protective! It’s not like I would chew the boy to shreds.”

Raising an amused right eyebrow, I call her out, “Oh, mom. You know you so would!”

She picks up her chopsticks to continue eating, “Well, only if he deserved it and couldn’t hold his own. If he was a good boy, there isn't anything to worry about, is there?”

I laugh.

She makes a valid point.

GAHHHH.

1. Jet-lag is such a bitch. Couldn’t fall asleep at all Monday night. Made it through classes, an exam, and then crashed at 4 PM. Unsurprisingly, I woke up at 4 AM and had so much friggin’ energy! Cripes, I got myself onto the weirdest cycle.


2. I had an IM waiting from Vy when I opened my laptop: “someone wants to greet you when you wake up:” …hot damn. Incoherent gushing may have occurred.


3. Everyone’s either sleeping or studying, so you know what that means?

Story time.

I got shoes over break!
I chose shiny black pumps!
And suede brown boots!

Okay, so that’s not really a travel story per se (they will come later and eventually) and much more like a series of gushing proclamations.

But for this girl, that’s kind of a BIG deal because (for once!) it’s NOT tennis shoes or super-cute, comfy walking shoes… I mean, as much as I love those.

Growing up, I burned through my tennis shoes every year (think basketball). Literally created holes, the bottom peeling off…wasn’t pretty and it drove my mom nuts: "I thought I was raising a girl?!”

It’s gotten better, though, since I realized that they last longer when I’ve several different pairs to rotate between.

It took much of my later teens to get used to wearing heels (I already felt so tall, you see, and had yet to learn how to be fully comfortable in one's own skin). For the longest time, I just owned a pair of practical strappy 2” black ones. Several years later, I graduated to 3” dark-brown leather ankle boots. Then, somewhere along the way, I started really appreciating my height and began (dare I say it?)… liking heels!

And now?

I love having the options, and it's one less silly self-imposed constraint! Got no problem rocking out in 4” heels, if so desired.

Well, except when a gal forgets that she hasn’t worn a pair of heels in well over 7 months, and so a smarter gal wouldn’t have spent entire days voluntarily vainly choosing to walk around Taipei in her new 3” brown suede boots (mid-calf to knee high, oh but they looked so good!).

Seriously, how do other women manage it?! My feet punished me in spades.

Ah, the price of vanity—a lesson which can’t ever be over re-learned.

I Can Pay For Your Shrink

This morning’s inbox brought in a long email plea for help from my kid sis, who's about to turn 16 in a month (holy crap! she’s reached her sweet 16 already?!).

But I’m only a mere 5 years older than her. I mean, who am I to give her advice on Life when I’m still trying to figure out my own!!!

Oh, boy. I sure hope my advice isn't so off the mark or scarring in the way that causes people to seek therapy to recover later on in life.

___________________________

Keeks,

First, I’m SO glad Todd is coming back safe from overseas! Do you know if it’s for sure? Mom and I took his class over the summer right before he was deployed (you were at Northwestern). HE IS AWESOME. You’ll probably see an increase in people attending the sports dance class. I swear, that man has the cutest tush ever…and the way he shakes it puts ME to blush! I can’t say if you’ll feel the exact same connection (near impossible when everyone’s different), but he’s an excellent teacher, to boot. So don’t worry, you’ll love him and you’ll learn a lot.

Oh, AND he’s drop-dead gorgeous, tall, great smile, very toned…and in sleeveless cut-off shirts, he looks more like some hot basketball player than a professional dancer/teacher. Babe, I’m so freakin’ envious!!!

Okay, enough gushing from me. Back to the serious topic at hand.

You’re right, it’s never too late. Take your old jie for example. You know from last weekend that I’ve only just figured out some things. It was a long time coming—what you don’t know is that it’s been an idea in the back of mind all these years. I let it marinate, patiently waiting for the right opportunity. Or perhaps, I was simply waiting for me to be ready. Because something can be right and not the right timing. Don’t feel rushed. Opportunities come and go, yes…but half of those opportunities come because we made damn sure they would.

You know Katherine? It reminds me of her wise advice in regards to splurge-shopping: don’t buy it right away but if you find yourself constantly thinking about it over the next couple of days, then that means you really want it. My decision took four years (and counting!) to come into being. So take it easy and just ride it out.

You and I both know that when Mom says “it’s too expensive,” it’s only half-true. We both did fencing at the Academy and got sent off to summer camps for how many years? Exactly.

You are definitely old enough to make your own decisions (though that doesn’t change the fact that you are indeed the baby of the family still!). HOWEVER, one of the reasons mom is opposed is because she may feel that this is a passing phase or that it should just remain a hobby.

Do you remember how Mom and I fought it out during middle/high school when I wanted to try out for the girls’ basketball team? Afraid that I’d be doomed to never grow out of my tomboy-ness phase, she had final word in this matter (as you know is usually the case, haha), but dad secretly asked me on the side if I did try-outs just for kicks. Which meant that if I really wanted to and proved my capability, Dad would’ve championed my cause (like when I joined the volleyball team). In that instance, it turned out that Mom happened to be right—basketball is a purely recreational thing once I realized that one of the main reasons I play is because of how much I enjoy the pick-up games with the guys.

You never know what’s in store for you, and as you get older you do garner a better idea of what your preferences and dreams are. But see, even that is subject to change.

My advice?

The next time you decide to hash it out with Mom, be more prepared than a boy scout. Show her that this is something you are willing to handle, that you CAN handle. Follow-up on those options! These are questions you should be asking Meagel, or ask the manager at our health club if they’d be willing to take Meagel on as full-time staff, etc. And even if in the end things doesn’t work out the way you want to, keep in touch with her because who knows? Maybe your senior year, timing will be right again and you can pursue this passion with Mom’s approval. Or, like you said, at college.

Sure, it seems a long ways away and that you’re losing a one-time opportunity, BUT this could also be the experience that shows you that this is a passion you want to keep up.

And for the record, Life definitely gives you second chances…

You only need to look for ‘em.

Much love, jie.

(jie = Chinese for older sister)

Because Stubborn Is As Stubborn Does

Are mothers’ are always right?
Oh, you betcha.
Will I ever learn that they're always right?
Apparently not.

“You need to put in more blonde.”

I frantically...stubbornly shook my head no. Blonde is so NOT me.

Sure, I’ve gradually chosen lighter and lighter shades of red-brown, to the point where my last dye was called “Terracotta Blonde.” But there was no way in hell you’d see me applying straight-up blonde coloring, especially with the sort of name like “Persian Blonde” (!?) to my hair...

[she proceeded to dump half the container of aforementioned Persian blonde henna into the mixing bowl]

...er, voluntarily, that is.

“Aaagh! Mom!”

I immediately dump more "Auburn Mahogany" henna into the bowl in a retaliating effort to salvage what I fearfully imagined to be some sort of blonde disaster just waiting to plague my hair.

After rinsing out the henna (3 hrs later), I saw my reflection peering back at me in the bathroom mirror give way to dawning realization.

“Oh, no.”

The red tones darkened it completely.

Gone were the 7 months of gradually lightened shades of golden reddish-brown. She was so right, I definitely needed more of that blonde to bring the red out. As of right now, in non-sunlight it looks brown, which is a first for me (I actually don't mind such a color, but my roots barely picked up any color...which was the whole point).

So, the next morning, I lamented my trivial woes of having to re-dye to my dad.

To which he responded with, “No, I think it’s better darker."

I raise a skeptical eyebrow at those words, especially when accompanied with that goofy grin of his.

"It looks like some blonde dog hair when it’s too light.”

“Dad, that is NOT true!!!”

It has never looked as such. Really! He just relishes in getting us to exclaim in indignant half-mocked horror.

On a side note, can a person get high off of sniffing henna-dyed strands of hair?

It smelled damned good. Like, intoxicating good.

I wonder if I should be worried about that...

Nice Guys vs. Heartbreakers

“There's something I don't wanna understand
the only way a woman is gonna want a man
the only way you'll ever keep her in you hands
is breaking apart her heart
Can't you see the way she's crying
Well, that's what keeps her trying,
she knew that she could have you,
And he don't give her what she wants...”

Hm.

I had added the new Good Charlotte album to my punk/rock/alternative playlist to see if any songs other than Dance Floor Anthem would grow on me. And so the other day late night in the wee hours of morning while I was cranking out a paper, these lyrics pierced through my working-mode.

Causing me to wonder, if it was possibly true for myself…

Intuitively, I immediately fired back with an empathetic hell no, who do you take me for crazy?!

(uhh, no need to actually answer that ;)

Having my heart so casually used. Feeling a fireball of pain hurled around only to be trapped in the back of my throat. When hurt takes a trigger-shot straight to the tips of my fingers, making them curl in cruel, anguished tingling...

What kind of person seeks such agony?

Oh, right. The Bleeding-Heart Masochist in me last year.

But it’s comforting to know that I can pick myself up. A relief to be able to say that I won’t settle for less than I deserve, knowing it’ll still hold true even in moments of utter hormonal irrationality.

Plus, the idea of long-term pining after a heartbreaker is not very appealing or desirable. In fact, it sounds downright tiring. The Unattainable Crush is one thing, but playing games with my honest emotions is quite the other. Disappointment wears a gal down and crying does horribly puffy things to my eyes for the next day.

And so, they like to say how nice guys always finish last.

Well, I agree they do if "nice" means boring pushovers. I like it when a guy can not only hold his own, but challenge me.

For instance, one of the HUGE soft spots (among other weaknesses) I have is for nerdy guys.

Er, perhaps not this kind of nerdy that Dan once wrote of per se.

But I find it charmingly alluring when a person is really passionate about something (obscure or not), knows what he’s talking about, and isn’t afraid to show it. I like it when he can make me laugh, encourage me to try something new, or persuade me to a new line of thinking.

Call me crazy, but I like it when he’s NOT (insert gasp) tearing my heart to pieces.

So you see, this sort of guy could be a “nice guy,” and he could break my heart.

Once.

When The End Marks The Beginning

Never say never.

When human unpredictability can change everything in an instant, using words of such inflexibility can set the stage for inevitable disappointment. In many ways, I fear it. I think to myself, hey there may only be one path I walk, but it’s my own and who’s to say where it’ll lead?

I like my options. I like knowing I have ‘em.

I asked myself why I always hesitated when generalizing something as absolute, especially when I struggle with a decision. I’m often unable to use finalistic words without feeling the urge to tag it in quotes. It’s the same reason why I left the term “best friends” in the elementary school room. I have close friends and very good friends, but I only have one “best” friend, my kid sis.

Whoops! There I go again, tagging things in quotations. Creature of habit.

I asked this question not really wanting to hear the answer. I asked hoping that was enough to satisfy (but whom? my own self?)…except acknowledgement doesn’t even come close to an honest answer.

And, surely, we deserve all the honesty we can get in a world often obscured with delusional illusions.

I once wrote, “Ultimatums are pointless—I see them as superficial and overtly ambitious in attempting to convert all the complex dynamics between two people into 'option one, option two' kind of thing.”

While I still strongly believe in those words, I also know of the gratifying pleasure in stripping complexities down to bold statements.

So, I ask myself...what changed?

Ironically, since I realized my hesitation in using words with implications of complete finality, I’ve gradually become MORE comfortable with it.

Perhaps it’s a driving need to prove that I do know what I want, why I think this way, how I make decisions and to define with clearer insight…who I am.

Anyhow.

Here’s the latest batch:

Always cover your bases. Always double-check.

This got me a rare compliment of approval from one of my bosses.

Never be afraid to ask questions.

This saved my ass at Judicial last week.

Never assume.

Damn all you shady attorneys!

On Regretting Not

Photography: Broken by FluidG4

In less than a week, my blog will have reached 7 months.

That’s 7 months since I finally realized, to the FULL extent, just how bad my heart was going to ache starting in May.

Even then, suffering that broken heart was worse than I imagined.

Crushes come and go like summer rain. But when I recognize that I’ve started to really like someone, it comes to the point where either I tell the guy...or I’ll burst. It’s hellishly nerve-racking and I’ve only done it twice, once in high school and once last year. Both led to experiences I don’t regret and memories I cherish.

Last Fall, when I realized that I had unexpectedly fallen for a boy, I knew (1) nothing could’ve stopped me from liking him the more I got to know him and (2) we were going to end…even before we began, even while I was falling in over my head.

You see, it’s always easier for me to confess or admit to my feelings than to try to hold back otherwise I’m left feeling awkwardly uncomfortable. Apparently that’s what happens when you wear your heart on your sleeve.

And I don’t know of any other heart.

All too often “what if’s” lead to regret...it means I saw and knew yet didn’t act.

Regret is for when you don’t learn your lesson properly the first time around. It’s for repeating mistakes. See, if you make a mistake and gain something from that experience…then, well, there is nothing for you to regret, is there?

And I refuse to regret the choices I make.

Knowing that I wouldn’t have it any other way gives me confidence to make mistakes, to hit or miss on my own terms.

That’s why taking time to really think before taking any action (be it minor or major) is so valuable to me. It’s why I make sure I’ve more or less formed my own opinion before asking for advice. This does not, by any means at all, make me intolerant of new change or unable consider other possibilities. It simply means that I’ll be able to better differentiate between my Intuition and my Rationale.

So this marks my 118th post, and I don’t regret a single word I’ve published here.

My archives are witness to many lessons learned the hard way.

What My Mother Taught Me About Sex

Let's see...

1. You can become pregnant and get STDs
2. You are not allowed to have it until you are married
3. The handsome Dr. Oz is wrong: sex 200 times a year (3-4x a week) is too much and downright unhealthy

Yeeeah, that pretty much sums it up.

Which is why I've slowly been educating my kid sis (16 yrs-old this December) on this subject because I'm a firm believer in the idiocy of abstinence-only sex education.

I tell her how to use a condom, how girls (and even guys, too) can have multiple orgasms, how 85% of men will lie about their sexual history in order to get into your pants, how sometimes the symptoms of an STD will NOT appear on men (but will on women), how to avoid camel toe, how beautiful our female sexuality is, how to defend against rape and so on.

I'm waiting until she's older with a developmentally more mature mindset (most likely, sometime during her own college years) before we talk specifics, lols, about the pleasures and the spiritual aspect of sex.

Until then, Mom's "no sex until you are married" stands golden.

However, my mom taught us something else...something I wouldn't have been able to learn from textbooks, from researching the internet, from all the thousands of studies done on this topic.

She taught me how to love.

...while giving me the twin gifts of self-confidence and curiosity.

Armed with those two things, I discovered what it means to be lustful, sexual, and sensual...for myself. You see, my parents never talked about sex to me. It's a traditional Asian thing for them. Instead, they showed me what it means (and takes) to be in an intimate relationship just by being themselves.

My basis for friendships comes from my mom and it adds to my ideas of relationships, which comes from my parents.

Because of them, I believe an idealistic relationship is not only unrealistic but also very unfulfilling. It isn't possible to have an ideal relationship where everything’s smooth sailing and constantly hunky-dory; however, that doesn’t imply that in a real relationship, two people shouldn’t strive for the ideal by honestly working together through the bumps. Just as most everybody will agree that while perfection is unattainable (not to mention highly subjective), it still remains necessary and healthy for every person to strive to improve. Towards their own ideal of perfection.

So, then...what do I feel is "ideal" for a real relationship?

Well, besides having the 3 components (friendship love, romantic love, and physical love), for a relationship to be truly rewarding for me, I need to feel that I can be vulnerable and it's okay. It's okay because such openness gives me strength to love MORE instead of feeling like I want to crawl up in the nearest hole and hide away forever and ever.

That person for me will first be a friend before becoming one of my closer friends.

The whole “friends before lovers” idea?

Yeah, it seems I definitely need that.

Actually, I think that may be one of the reasons why Mr. Dozen Lavender Roses missed the mark for me, well, among other considerations (and the fact that he willingly interned at Haliburton).

However, as much as I give myself in my friendships, I know that I can’t help but give something more (due to my feelings of romantic love for this person) and in this, sexual attraction will probably add to the romance of it all.

Then comes a point where my relationship with another will become more important than my relationship with my family...

At this point of vulnerability and trust, I should hope this is with a person I would like to marry. For in that relationship, the number one priority in my life will no longer be for my immediate family (as much as I dearly love them). My parents and sister will become “extended family,” and the first priority will be the family I create with the man I choose for life.

That's what my mother taught me...it's more important than sex.

And sex is pretty important. ;)

The Time Where I Forgot To Follow My Own Advice

I’ve a confession to make.

Then again, it seems I’m always blog-confessing about something or another…

However, this confession is rather embarrassing since just the other day I gave this tip to anyone with an internet connection to read:

“Write for yourself first. Remember that it takes time, effort, patience…and above all, daring.”

But before I make that particular confession, I must confess that I actually have another confession I need to make beforehand (jeez, perhaps I should consider re-titling this post as “The Time Where I Overload Everyone With One Too Many Confessions”?).

Anyhow. The BIG news is that I’m officially one of the bloggers (I think there’s about 10 of us?) for my university’s newspaper, Collegiate Times (CT).

“Officially” meaning that I’m published and “published” meaning that my first blog article for the CT was posted last night.

Yay, me!

It’s interesting how unexpectedly these things result from a random culmination of chance chain-reactions:

1. girl meets boy


2. girl falls for boy


3. boy breaks girl’s heart


4. girl is miserable, decides she needs to find herself again and does so through writing


5. girl chooses blogging because she is inherently lazy when it comes to penning in a paper journal and has a perfectionist tendency to edit everything in sight


6. girl realizes that she actually really likes blogging…a LOT
   


7. girl discovers a deviously humorous blog-sparring partner, ever new communities of blogger-friends, and widgets that were born to be lusted after


8. girl is promptly (and seriously) addicted to blogging


9. girl begins revealing said blog addiction to her close friends


10. one of those friends is an English major who happens to receive a flyer asking for volunteer blog writers for the university's student-run newspaper


11. abovementioned awesome-slash-excellent English major friend forwards flyer to her blog-obsessed friend


12. girl conveniently forgets promise to herself to limit this year's extracurricular activities


13. ...thus, blog-obsessed girl seizes opportunity!

Now before I get too carried away with my story in list-frenzy form and end up exposing my embarrassing confession in the list form as well, I must admit that writing for my university newspaper’s blog feels VERY DIFFERENT from writing for my own blog, even though both are (to varying degrees) the same sort of informal personal writing.

You see, I’m required to stick to one category.

I know…quite the mind-boggling madness of a notion for a niche-free personal blog (aka a rather narcissistic place where I muse about anything and everything that strikes my fancy and how it all relates back to yours truly)!

Therefore, after much maddeningly mind-boggling thinking, I finally chose “Health” as my topic. I have some experience and a fair amount of knowledge, although I am by no means an expert. At the very least, I figured it’d be a broad enough subject to accommodate any impulsive tangent I might wander on to. Practical, huh? ;)

I also figured it'd ensure that I wouldn't drone on about the clichéd topic of "relationships, love and dating" for apparently I do enough of it already, if this is any indication.

So, I decided that my first post would be titled “Why More Men Should Take Yoga” and thought up a really catchy first-liner to introduce the article using a mild sexual reference.

“Why More Men Should Take Yoga

Well, besides the fact that they may feel like they’ve stumbled upon a piece of heaven in a room full of women and…mirrors.”

And that, my dear friends, is where I choked.

Because apparently writing for my peers—and by that I mean the people with whom I attend the same university—turns me into a self-doubting coward.

It was a sentence that I wouldn’t have hesitated to post on The Laidback Buddhist, but when I write for other people I was surprised to feel a need to censor myself out of fear for being considered inappropriate or unacceptable. Needless to say, I didn’t like that writer’s voice because it wasn’t entirely MY OWN. I had encountered something worse than Bloggler's Block and I had a choice to make. See, I adamantly refused to be dull but then was too scared to follow my own tip to be daring. To write for myself first.

And, oh boy, was it seriously hindering my ability to complete the CT blog article...to add to the problem, now I have DEADLINES to make!

So, there you have It.

My embarrassing confession of the time I forgot to follow my own advice.

I’m happy to report that I kept the original intro and finished writing “Why More Men Should Take Yoga” without restraining what I wanted to say by how I wanted to write it. Granted, the style is slightly different (e.g. more organized and a bit less casual) than my preferred writing style used for my personal blog…but I’m content because it’s still my voice behind my words.

I know this because I somehow managed to seamlessly work in “relationships, love, and dating” into the middle of an article for a "Health & Medicine" category.

No joke! To prove it, I shall proceed to…(narcissistically) quote myself:

“Now before a collegiate mass of single guys eagerly rush over to McComas Gym to flex their muscles for the unsuspecting ladies of yoga-hood during group exercise classes, I ought to warn how a person’s natural aptitude for balance might be an obstacle in their quest for, uh, yoga-enlightened love.”

Ha!

I laugh at Life, but it seems like Life always gets the last laugh.

Where The Quality Schtuff (Dsktp Wallpaper) At

I'm a sucker for aesthetically pleasing colors.

Example: if I found an article of clothing I really liked, I'd probably buy it in at least one other color as well. So while I've yet to give Dan my thoughts on his super-secret new test eCommerce site...as a woman, I sure hope it's got pretty colors! ;)

But I'm digressing (not to mention trying to score some hits, er...I mean, improve my blog with a sparring partner).

Anyhow, when Jon tagged me with the Desktop Meme (which I immediately completed as I've been notoriously procrastinating his Celeb Crushes one), I had several people asking me in the comments where I found the wallpaper called Colored Windows. Well, I prefer getting my desktop wallpapers from this site with free high-resolution wallpaper for all screen sizes called InterfaceLIFT.

I should take a moment to thank Vy for introducing me to this site when I had to get a new laptop last Spring because I temporarily plugged in my Ethernet cord across the middle of my bed and across the short gap to my desk...

(that idea sounds as bad as it was)

...so yeah.

My 4 yrs-old lightweight VAIO fell from my desk to the tiled floor, would only work in safe mode where the screen was an amusing-only-for-the-first-5-seconds 2" x 3" rectangle and (confirmed by Vinh when he extracted my hard-drive) pretty much kaputt!

Good news was that I got a laptop with a wider screen and lots of other neat-o abilities (amazing the difference 4 years will do to technology!) and promptly went hi-res wallpaper crazy for awhile.

So, join the frenzy. Spread it.

Why Asian Guys Can't Get White Girls

Sooo...

A friend of mine sent me a hilarious YouTube video a few weeks ago via email and I was ordered by him to say whether or not I agreed with it.

It's long (15 min?), but definitely worth watching.

I would've like to used Revver to upload with instead since Dan has explained why it's better than YouTube, but this vid wasn't on there.

Very well-done, huh?

I love it when humor is used to hash out stereotypes, or any other complex subject for that matter. It's funny because there is some truth to it.

From my own personal standpoint, I've crushed on guys of all races pretty evenly. I've fallen for guys who are VERY different from each other. I don't have a type per se and don't think anyone could (or should) have one. Regardless, I know I'm attracted to guys who've shared certain qualities and characteristics, or I s'pose...a mix that I really liked. That worked for them and for me (obviously!).

Vy thinks I'm going to end up with a non-Asian guy because Asian guys tend to be intimidated by me. That or they become like brothers to me... But I think it's generalizing the situation too much, as it depends on the guy and whether he makes a move I think is worth following-up on.

Or, if I'm intrigued enough to pursue something more on my own.

For example?

Last spring, I was sent a dozen mail-order lavender roses with a typed anonymous note:

"A beautiful lovely lady like yourself deserves roses like these."

As the very first time being given flowers, I was flattered, extremely surprised, grateful, and very, very intrigued, to say the least. And truthfully, I was also a tad intimidated—I mean, $73 is rather hefty chunk of money!

Well, I called up the flower company so they could relay the message to Mr. Anonymous that I'd like to know who he was. And as Vy joked, to see if it was a he. 3 days later, I got my answer through (1) a Facebook message that (2) sent mixed signals. Apparently, he called the 12 long-stemmed roses a "sign of recognition" because I had mentioned the previous weekend that I had hell-week right before Spring Break.

Now, I thought that was a really sweet gesture (despite being somewhat extravagant) and I know it took a lot of courage to reveal himself...

But it put my guard up.

I was willing to give him a chance since it's difficult to judge a person when we were only acquaintances (co-workers in the same area), but the timing was all wrong. He was right in thinking that I'd be interested in seeing Joe Turner's Come and Gone (as my leadership group was working alongside another theater arts project to deal with diversity and stereotype issues). But the poor guy really botched up in asking me (very last minute, via Facebook, and with the same confusing signals). After I wrote back, he apologized and explained—again, through Facebook—that he had written it while "ya, drunk."

Hmmm. Ya, no.

He followed up the next day with a phone call to apologize again, but things were already at the bottom of the hill for me.

I understand that too much, too soon can be bad thing, especially if unwanted or if the other person was not ready for it. However, it came off as insecure, unsure, and frankly somewhat sketch. I admire it a lot when guys have the courage to be more direct (or indirectly consistent), albeit in a respectful, tactful way.

It's also something I appreciate in my friendships, both male and female.

And for myself, I don't mind asking a guy out on a date...and have done so before on occasion.

It's not a good idea to stereotype someone for a just because, and I definitely wouldn't use one as a deal-breaker. Although, I do have to admit Vy is somewhat right...a white guy tends to have more of the qualities that would not only first attract my attention, but also keep it.

Then again, who's to say an Asian guy wouldn't as well?

Either way that's got nothing to do with race, but who that guy is as an individual.

Confessions are Contagious

[To K of our Monosyllabic Trio]

I see you, and I see in your experience...myself.

My past no longer hurts me, but your present makes me feel the exact same hurt all over again.

It pains me like no other to see my friends suffer.

The whole "I don't completely not hate you for not realizing my friend is the best thing that will ever happen to you" sarcastic sparring is all joking fluff, as you well know. I can barely do one push-up, but believe me, my dear, next time I see him...there's no holding back, no giving him the benefit of the doubt for your sake. I'm revving to cut that boy to the bone with glacial stares and sharper words for what he's doing to you.

Did you know? Like you, I'm struggling not to write about the one subject I'd rather not.

I just delay publishing it.
___________________________________________________

[Two Weeks Ago]

Tunnel Vision Syndrome

I’m not a big fan of this self-imposed tunnel vision thing you’ve got going on here, missy.
It is NOT self-imposed if I can’t help it. There’s a reason I’ve got it still.
Yeah, keep tryin’ to tell yourself that.

How do you do it?

Teach me, I need to learn how to emulate this skill of yours. How the hell can you so casually drop the bomb on me like that? It’s happened before, so I oughta be able to handle it right?

But doesn’t mean that I’ll suddenly know how to reply in such a situation.

That I’ll be okay with you asking me if I’m seeing anybody else.

As my friend, you have the right to ask me anything you want about my life. As a former lover, as the guy who gave me up, broke my heart…you’ve lost the right to be in my love life. Yes, this includes asking me about it.

Why put me in the position where I don’t know how to say you can’t ask me this without straining our friendship?

Don’t refer to me, using old nicknames, as your anything. Don’t send me kisses.

No matter how cute, I didn’t want personal family photos sent to me of you holding a baby or sitting on a tiny tricycle with your toddler cousins.

That’s really unfair. Really.

We can joke, talk or whatever just like old times. Because you’re not near me. When I know I can’t see you. Touch and smell you. Because you can’t be here to hold me.

You forget these are new times for us…for me. I thought we already established that?

I’ve realized that it’s a good thing, how you can’t be here for me. I admit I’m still that bit afraid of our past history. That explosive chemistry, that giddy feeling. I don’t want to touch it. Don’t want it to touch me. I want you to stay in the Past because my getting to this Present was hard enough as it is.

I’m ready for you, to stop haunting me.

I can share our memories with friends if it helps them. I can even laugh about the past, good times are good times regardless…

But I’m doing better now. In my comfort zone, I can give back to you from this safe distance of afar. It allows me to safely ride out my Tunnel Vision Syndrome without you further confusing things.

I’m starting a new beginning for myself, and I refuse to let you pull me along, down.

While I do miss your company terribly… isn’t just terrible how glad I am that I won’t be seeing you for a very, very long time.

If even then.

It quite possibly might be the reason we’ve stayed friends.
___________________________________________________

[Today, laughing my pants off at Deet's with the V of our Monosyllabic Trio]

Thanks for the Memories

It’s a really weird feeling.

I saw your ex-girlfriend today. Second time this week now and I’m pretty sure that it’s her.

Granted I’ve only known what she looks like from the pictures you showed me that one time last year. We never ran into her in person, but that’s probably because last year I always had tunnel vision. If we were walking somewhere together, people had to call out my name for me to notice them.

I get the feeling she knows who I am. The feeling’s not very…friendly.

I didn’t realize, or at least it didn’t sink in, that she still went here until you mentioned how you ran into her sometime last spring. I forgot you mentioned how she was staying here an extra year.

It’s weird that I see her now that you’re gone.

I have the urge to write you an email and tell you this…about how weird it is to know sordid details of her relationship with you, and yet not know her. I think you’d appreciate the amusing irony.

But I refuse. Because you finally got the hint this summer that I don’t like to hear about your ex. Ever. No matter how brief the mention, even if it’s all bad things, even when you’re unintentionally comparing how I had much more self-esteem, more independence, more maturity, more fun than her. I feel sorry that her insecurity in herself caused her to be so manipulative, caused her to cheat on you, caused her to say she still has feelings for you even after you guys broke up.

I felt sorry that your baggage with her spilled over into our pseudo-relationship last year, that I had to unknowingly battle all the wariness you had of me because of what she did to you.

And I feel it’s kinda funny how I couldn’t help but compare myself to her today.

Damn straight, it’s a pretty weird feeling.

Oddly, I’m not jealous at all. But I feel like I should be.

You told me recently how you haven’t found someone nearly as cool as me to hang out with, and I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t know what to say because I couldn’t return the same sentiment. I do miss you, but not in that way anymore.

You send me kisses while asking me about my dating life, and I have to wonder about your motivation for doing so. I tactfully evade answering your question about whether I’m meeting any nice guys with a joke about how my really kick-ass water bottle is the one attracting more attention from guys.

You broke my heart…is it any wonder that my heart chose to start in a new direction?

For the first time, it looks like my heart is one step ahead of my mind. Seems like my tunnel vision is totally mental.

Bygones really do become bygones.

Thanks for the memories.

To Be Honest

I will drive you crazy, with all my stubbornness. Don’t think you can easily change my mind. Trust me, there will be times you won’t be able to understand me because there are days when I don’t even understand myself, too.

I will utterly confuse you, all the while understanding you more completely than before. If you look closely, you’ll see how I will overwhelm you…patiently. With unconditional support.

I will surprise you, tease you, and some days just be in plain awe of you. You are my friend and family, my equal and hero.

I will become more introverted the closer, the more...you mean to me. Be bold and refuse to let me pull away. Know I’ll do the same for you.

I will accept you for who you are. Flaws, quirks and all. Tolerance and loyalty, JK Rowling said of friendship.

I will spoil you with my attention because I want to show you how much you mean to me. Share my food, share laughter so generous heads turn…share myself.

I will love without asking for anything in return. Because that’s the only way I know how. I won't love you because I need you.

I will love you because I believe in you. I will believe in you because I know you. And, I'll know you because I will understand to appreciate you, and all you give.

I will frustrate you. Actually, you’ll frustrate me, too. We’ll frustrate each other to the point where some days I’ll be hard-pressed to even like you.

I will walk my own path, alongside yours. If you would hold my hand. It’s going to take time and effort, for me.

To be honest...it’s not going to be easy. I can’t promise you the world, but I can make your wildest dream come true.

Because I’m worth it. So are you.

In Transit

Helplessness

is a transitory condition...

The ability to stand and walk on one's own feet is the permament and common one.

-Erich Fromm-

Self-doubt is a frequent visitor to my life.
Although, not because of a lack of self-esteem. I think it stems more from an acknowledgement for the uncertainty of Life.
Of being only human.
I can and will confidently (or some might call it young bravado or what have you) walk my own path. Yet that doesn't mean I won't stubbornly question each decision every step of the way!
For looking back in regret is something I'd rather not suffer.
I much rather understand (and admit) that even if I could go back...be given the same situation in the same point in my life, I wouldn't have done it any other way. Probably couldn't have, either. I live to experience, and hopefully, I learn. So I strive to improve, and thus, I seek.
Ergo, I end up with some pretty freakin' ridiculously tough questions...and well, as you might imagine, some very unwelcome periods of self-doubt as well.
~~~

"You look different."
"Really?! What do you mean?"
"I saw you walking in front of me, and I thought, 'Is that Joanne? No, that's not her...wait! It is!"
I laugh. "Yoga must've really done something to me, huh? Do you know, I'm down to the same weight I was last Thanksgiving break when I got food poisoning. Remember that?"

[I lost 12 lbs in 3 days, it was NOT fun. Particularly strong in my memory is how I could only watch as my family merrily wolfed down sushi and other Japanese goodies at Narita Airport in Tokyo. Boy, was I sorely tested.]

"Yes, I do. But, wow! Your body shape has changed somewhat...it's different." She's in her fitness-trainer-mode now (meaning she's giving me the head-to-toe inspection), "You look very healthy."
"Well, thanks," I reply before admitting with a chuckle, "I'm also a LOT happier now!"
She nods. "It shows."

~~~
It's true.
Honestly, three months ago? I was only 6 lbs more but was also lugging around this hefty load of invisible baggage. Or, so I thought was invisible. For my more astute friends (and immediate family members, esp. my mom), some things showed despite my putting-up-of a brave front.
Although, it now seems to have been more of avoidance and denial than any thing brave. You know, just like how there are some things you can't run from. That you shouldn't run from. That remain there until you finally work up the gumption to confront it.
At last, I think I can fully understand why every single one of my friends (female and male alike) did not like my former...um, what do I call him when I can't simply say his name (as I do to friends who knew him)? Well, psuedo ex-boyfriend will have to do.
So lately, I've been riding this spurt of re-ignited self-love and renewed appreciation for all it's worth. Besides being in that honeymoon phase where I'm falling in love with my friends all over again after summer separation...for the FIRST time in my life, I really love, love, love my classes.
I know! Doesn't that sound weird?
And, I've got yoga at least twice a week worked conveniently into my schedule. I've been gauging my body's response, paying attention to what I eat because I truly care. I want to continue enjoying that feeling of doing something good for my body...mind and spirit.
Now don't get me wrong. I've still the usual run-of-the-mill worries, and some latent ones, if my dreams are any indication (what? being a pirate king's daughter?!).
But, I'm not as...anxious.
I worked hard to land on my feet. And here I am, finally seeing how I can use them to walk across new possibilities.
It's funny how I realized in yoga class today that hey!...they actually looked quite pretty!
(sometimes, I'm just so weird like that)

What's The Rush

Am I missing something? Why are all my friends getting engaged?!

I thought I had a couple more years before that started happening.

Oh, wait. It has been a couple more years.

Still, it feels surreal. Really, have I already matured to the age where getting a boyfriend can translate into getting a fiancé?

Jeez, Time flies. It seemed like only a short 2 months ago, I finally was able to legally drink.

Oh, wait. That was 2 months ago. So, what's the rush?

I'm mulling over this particular question because today I had the pleasant surprise (read: hour-long detour) of "yapping it up" with Holly.

Now let me digress for a moment—

As I am utterly compelled to express just how much I ADORE this spunky curly-haired sensation. We are so different on paper, but in my hearts of hearts...she is like an older sister. I value her judgement as much as I enjoy making her laugh. When chatting so intensely that we forget our ice cream bars are melting, I am ever more reassured that I have not made certain realizations too late...but, in fact, am making such decisions later in my life at the right time. For me. Whether it's academic, familial, health-wise, or personal. She is that kind of an inspirational friend. She's that supportive. That real.

Well, we finally got around to saying good-bye when Holly suddenly asked me,

"You probably know about Megan, right?"

"Yeah!" Then I pause when I realize haven't had time to catch up with Megan since my summer social-life hiatus, "Wait, what...?"

"She's engaged."

[insert flip-out session of surprised happiness]

After recovering, I exclaimed, "I knew this was going to happen! Only I didn't expect it quite so soon."

"I know, I could tell she really wanted this last year."

I nod. Jim's not only a good man, but really good for Megan. Actually, they're really good for each other. I clearly remember the whole saga of last year, especially crying tears of joy over his sweet letter of confession (finally!) to Megan. I swear, Res Life staff last year should've been part of its own TV drama series.

Anyhow. Apparently people get engaged when I re-initiate my social life the first week back to school. Megan takes the personal tally count to a whopping 3. Which doesn't seem like a lot, but when you've never had a friend (or cousin for that matter since I'm on the older side of that generation spectrum for my family) be engaged, it practically seems like a quantum leap!

I mean it is definitely extremely heartwarming to see several of my good friends find It with someone. I'm not exactly sure how to explain what that is since I've never experienced it myself. However, I've seen it happen to people I care very much about. I'm seeing it happen to one of my friends, even though she doesn't know it herself!

And, I'm lucky enough to see it in my parents' own marriage.

Despite all of my parents' still teenage-angst-like fights (you'd think they'd tone it down a tad after passing fifty...maybe there's something else to be said for college sweethearts). Admittedly, it does make for some high expectations. Though only because I know finding, creating, living that high of love is actually possible. That it's worth the wait, and search.

And, okay! I'll admit that a part of me is a bit envious. It's that kind of good-natured envy I have for all my friends who always knew right off the bat exactly what they wanted to do with their life (career-wise). But of all of Life's lessons, of the most valuable is learning how to accept patience. Developing a yoga mind has helped a LOT with this.

So most people are really surprised to discover I've never had a boyfriend.

And, that until last fall, I had never been kissed.

I mean, even my kid sis—five years younger than yours truly—had her first kiss before me (some poor boy named Billy is on my Protective Older Sister Watch list). Looking back in 20/20 hindsight, it probably has something to do with me being a tomboy who'd punch any boy who tried to peck me at recess and then me being the oblivious bookworm nerd who attracted guys too shy to make a move worth following-up on... Although, it being middle and high school might've helped explain it.

As of right now, I know I'm only just starting to further realize (and accept) the complexities of my own self. So, I'm currently satisfied with—if not a bit apprehensive of—remaining patient until right timing meets opportunity.

So, my lucky friends. I'm all ears...who's wedding cake ought I plan on eating next?

I Want a New Splinter in my Finger

Call me crazy, but don't try to convince me it's a good sign.

By all accounts (don't ask me whose), when a charmingly witty, surprisingly insightful chicklit romance (The Fortune Quilt, Lani Diane Rich) ends in happily-ever-after...and brings me to sniffling tears, don't tell me that's a good sign.

Whoever said it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all is delusional. Voltaire is totally right--optimism is madness. No matter how sweet, such madness can only last so long before breaking, before I need a break.

Because I got a glimpse of it. Because someone managed to come closer than anyone else before. Because I know what it feels like, I seem to miss it all the more.

Um, better to have lost than not at all? Yeeah, crazy.

Remember to slap me upside the head next time.

The single life before my present state of single-after-being-pseudo-not-single is a lot more appealing. Knowledge is power, ignorance is bliss. But why can't there be a cliché that goes something like, I don't know, knowledge is bliss?! You know, do a little harmless substitution to the equation and ba-da-boom...problem solved!

Yeah, yeah. I know that while my self-esteem was shaken after our non-relationship psuedo break-up, I emerged with more confidence in and love for myself (bear with the Unbearable Narcissist in me for it's always gloriously short-lived). That's a good thing, for sure. But jeez, it still really, really sucks.

I'm not an eloquent writer (those days are rare) so am hard put to find a better way to express these feelings of...utter suckiness. The closest analogy seems to be like randomly finding a tiny splinter under the skin of your finger. The irritating prick is hard to get out. You know it's there, see it...feel it. You alternate between trying to coax it out and forcibly squeezing it out. Playing the professional, you take tweezers to try to pull it out, but the splinter is settled too securely in your skin and just out of reach from the surface.

Almost as if taunting you.

Finally, you curse it to hell and try to forget about it. What's the point when it refuses to leave? So, you continue with daily life because no one will know that you've got a splinter plaguing your finger unless you tell them.

Then one day, you wake up and realize, "Hey! That irksome splinter is gone! Whee!"

The finger is all happily healed...

Well, for the time being until you come across another splinter.

Tale of a Shady Character.

All it took was a pervert masturbating in public to ruin my time at the library.

Yesterday afternoon, the family and I made a brief stop at our local library. Keeks needed to check out some books, my parents wanted to catch up on their Chinese newspapers, and I was more than happy to take the time to browse through my favorite magazines.

So, there I was enjoying The New Yorker when I happened to look up as I turned the page. This sad-excuse for a man, judging to be in his thirties, was wearing light but reflective sunglasses and sitting on a footstool facing the wall of newspaper stacks. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except he kept staring at me and when I looked up he jerked his head away abruptly and just stared off to the side in a very still and unnatural manner. A bit weirded out, I went back to my magazine but kept track of him in peripheral vision. Mere seconds later he was back to staring at me. I looked up a second time...and was totally creeped out that to see the tell-tale masturbating movement between his knee-length basketball shorts. With shock and thinly-veiled disgust, I jumped out of my seat and walk a few steps away. My mom who as sitting next to me (not in line of the pervert's sight), asked me what's wrong. In whispered Chinese, I only tell her about the creep staring at me (and I don't disclose the encounter in full until we're all in the car). She leans over and produces such a cold stare (my mom has the most expressive eyes) until he leaves. I go in search for my sister to alert her.

Call me naïve or whatever, but what the hell. This is a popular library, by a small park with a basketball court. Elderly people come here for leisure, little kids for story books, high school students to study.

My sister comes every weekend during the school year.

I'm not an insensible innocent that I don't know that such perverts exist in the world, but this was my first such encounter. And, I hate that it happened in a place that is a bookworm's beloved haven. The slimy bastard.

Actually, I label him more a coward. Not that I'm implying rape is a sign of courage. I have equal contempt for all scumbags.

But I take the self-defense course taught every year by my university's police force, and this experience tempered my hubris.

Definitely a humbling reminder that a female needs to always be on her guard.

Because I Can Write On Other Topics, REALLY!!!

"Optimism is the madness of insisting that all is well when we are miserable." -Voltaire

Then such sweet, sweet madness I am.

Because reinforcing the knowledge that I am not helpless--knowing I can actively tackle WHAT's been causing me misery--gives me joy and a peace of mind. To be more accurate, I ought to say WHO's been...since I'm pointing this finger at a mirror. While finding it easy to cut everyone else slack, I too often give the person who needs it the most (me), the very least. It means that I'm perpetually competing with myself to be not only BETTER, but the BEST I can be this very moment for the very next. A daunting (and as you can imagine, at times annoying and tiresome) task inherent quirk tendency, but in the end--worth every shred of self-satisfaction.

To me, I've found restricting potential leads to a treacherous breeding ground for the wrong sort of regrets. As if there's such a thing as having the right sort of regrets? Or at least, better regrets? Ha, what an amusing paradox.

So anyhow, here's today's much-needed, long overdue (really wish I knew a catalyst to speed up these things up) epiphany for self:

ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN--WHEN YOU LET IT HAPPEN, THAT IS.

By refusing to dwell any longer on how my sentimental heart can’t seem to move on fast enough for the likes of my impatient mind, I am that less miserable. Instead, I am focusing on the fact that I can and have been moving on, albeit with MUCH frustration at the seemingly snail's pace. Whoops, there I go again! Basically, the fact remains: I am moving.

Where will all moving this lead me, I've no idea (hopefully less posts on the same old story of not moving on vs. maybe moving on vs. moving on, definitely been a topic overexhausted). Although, I do garner confidence in knowing that at least I'm traveling to a place better than before. Yippee for optimism! See how this feeds me hope? It pretty much fuels it. By remembering it's all behind me…well then, fear simply becomes this weak reason for my holding back (or, holding on). To remember to keep allowing myself breathing room (memo to self: remember to cut yourself some damn slack now and then!), there's growth...that means change is happening, and that’s...making progress!

Aww, now ain't THAT something? Seems like the Optimistic Diehard in me has resurfaced to light my life again.

Gotta admit it, though. I sure have missed her.

5 Signs of Serious Attraction

Well, at least the 5 tell-tale (physical) signs for me.

Often in (and inclined to be protective of) my own world, I’m a hopeless case at being a flirt…I’m much better (and more at ease) with the aim of making friends and sharing laughter. Shoot, I’m usually the one being teased instead! But IF I start to like a guy after getting to know him a little, well see, something happens...

And this something turns on this flirtatious drive to seduce (and to be seduced).

My body language becomes directed towards and focused indirectly on him. Just him. In a crowd, he’ll stand out and everyone else is a blur. Beyond simply sharing laughter, I want to make him laugh. I become hyper-sensitive to him and any touch of his makes a lasting impression. And so you see, common parts of his body suddenly become of Much Interest to me.

For fun (and for my own future reference), I’ve compiled a list of some tell-tale physical signs my crush is getting some kind of serious.

And, because I’m on a list-making frenzy, apparently.

1. I like his hands.
2. I get caught up in his smell.
3. I think his butt is cute.
4. I like touching his hair.
5. I find his voice sexy.

His Hands

There is just something about male hands which simply slays me. And, I’m not exactly sure why this phenomenon exists.

Something in my female psyche gets hypnotized by how they’re bigger than my own and will always win thumb wars, no matter how many times (and ways, for when war is declared some old-fashioned, good-natured cheating is never beneath me). I like their slight roughness. I like being surprised by their versatility. I like watching them in action, whether it’s dribbling a basketball, wielding a BB gun, holding an umbrella (or me!), fixing things, waving in the air to emphasize a point, preparing food, or just lightly touching my hair.

The list goes on…and will probably never end.

As I become more aware of my self, I’m realizing the extent of this rather primal fascination, especially if it’s with a guy I like. You see, with my former lover, sometimes when we cuddled, watched a movie, or were simply pillow-talking, I’d like to feel his hands, run my fingers over a healed blister. As I say how nice his hands are to me, I’d absently press into his palms in a sort of mini-massage. I liked the sensation of my hands being held by his and of his fingers gently tapping against my bare skin to a tune of his own whim.

Okay, I’m starting to veer off in nostalgia…

Basically, as I become more aware of my self, I’m realizing the extent to which I’m a complete sucker for a guy’s hands.

His Scent

It’s something I recently discovered and really, really cannot deny. Not a strong smell per se, rather it’s something I can’t quite put my finger on…but I know is his personal scent.

Case in point? Kenneth Cole Black smells good, but smells that much better on a guy when it mixes with this basic masculine scent. It’s different and somehow more powerful. I know I really dig a guy when I randomly sniff him. Hah, I must sound like an animal, huh? I will rest my head on his shoulder for the sake of breathing him in. His hugs are special…are memorable…not just for the way his body feels against mine, but because his scent will dominate my sense of reality.

Guys worry about their B.O., especially if I smell nice. But honestly, when a guy is sweaty, that’s the last thing on my mind. Watching a guy work out is hot (as I discovered for the first time last Spring when a friend introduced me to the beauty called the weight-training room…yes, I am behind the times). Hot damn, sweaty skin is sexy as sin.

Hm. I’m making this an addendum to my list: if I want to watch you work out, I am thinking about jumping your bones…and if I’m thinking that, boy I really like you.

His Butt

Really, need I say any more?

Okay, I do.

In jeans (please not hang-low baggy, we're not high school wannabe thugs anymore) and in boxers or briefs. When I'm at the stage where a guy and I are comfortable enough with each other, I'll take that teasing swat at his gluteus maximus. Usually that means I won't mind a playful pat on my own derriere (read: hint, hint). And I'll confess, I've only recently realized this newfound love for holding a guy's behind, particularly if said guy is naked.

When I'm attracted, I love every opportunity to look at his behind. Apparently, I tend to do this thing where I'll sometimes fall back a few steps to just watch him walk. When he turns around, I look up to meet his eyes and smile, letting him know that yes, I was (again) totally checking out that mighty cute butt of his.

*cue Cheshire cat-like grin*

As I said, something seems to get...unleashed.

His Hair

I know it's something else when I have an urge to touch a guy's hair. Preferably while he’s resting in my lap.

I like the slightly gelled hair and cute spikes as much as the next girl, but what I like more is hair I can run my fingers through, over and over again. It’s intimate and relaxing, my guilty pleasure that satisfies some mothering instinct.

His Voice

This is another one of those things I am a complete sucker for. Which is why if I can't stand a guy's voice (it's nasal, high-pitched, sounds whiny, etc), I'm sorry--but the most that he and I can hope to be is friends.

And, once my heart is engaged, I will love how his voice sounds. Whether it's on the phone, first thing in the morning, during an argument, whispering something naughty by my ear, giving me a compliment...saying my name. I will remember all the tones for when he's surprised, pleased, proud, frustrated, tired, sad, hesitant, worried...or, aroused. I will remember exactly how his voice can shoot straight to the heart center, to overwhelmingly stun my senses. And, I will know just how attracted I am to him.

Hit all 5?

Well gotta say that's Some Serious Attraction, indeed.

That Dylan Ratigan...

Takes no bullshit.

My favorite question was when he asked, “By that [risk is being repriced] do you mean the market is riskier?”

Henry 'Hank' Paulson wasn’t a former Goldman Sachs CEO for nothing, and gave a good (and valid) response.

But jeez, this is why I love watching Dylan Ratigan in action.

I don’t watch much television. And during the school year, barely at all. Hell, I don’t even own a TV! When I do watch (which is always more during the summer), it mainly consists of Oprah re-runs and CNBC, the favorites being Closing Bell (Maria Bartiromo), Fast Money, and sometimes Morning Call. With the occasional Food Network, Travel Channel, HGTV, and Good Morning America.

Wow. Just realized I sound like my mother. Who, by the way, is sharp as a whip.

More so, it seems these days. After watching this morning's Whitehouse Summit on CNBC with her, I sighed with satisfaction, “Dylan Ratigan is one of my favorites.”

She surprised me by replying, “I don’t really like him, his face looks too hard.”

So some meaning gets lost in translation. But my guard was up… you see, I remember who else she claimed looked too ‘rough.’

“He must have some German background in him, somewhere.”

Aha, there we go. Guard is now FULLY up and buzzing.

My reaction was a careful, “Oh, really? Huh.”

Not the brightest response per se, but I maintained just enough nonchalance to get the subject dropped. If I got defensive, she’d seize the opportunity to poke me about him, you know who...my Formerly 365. Like the time I got all riled up when she called him less manly for not working while he was studying abroad. His driving ambitions is one of the things that always appealed to me. And, I heatedly pointed out to mom, I don’t work either except for having been a RA and doing volunteer work.

“But he’s male.”

Right, gotta love how modern yet in some ways still very traditional my mom is.

She, whose sixth sense is never far from the mark, has been trying several months now to confirm her suspicions that he is not simply a good friend of mine ("What do you mean he's coming by the house?" and "Why does he need to see you before he leaves for Europe, if it's just friends?").

It is utterly pointless for me to lie to my mom, I just can’t do it. That doesn’t mean, though, that over the years I haven’t learned how to deal with it. I have, and picked up quite a few other things as well.

I can honestly--and thus convincingly say--that we never dated and that he’ll never be my boyfriend. I know when I couldn’t stop laughing because she had said, “...going to an international school, he must’ve played a lot of girls,” allayed some of her worst fears (or maybe worried her more?). Anyhow, that we are just friends (now) is undeniable. It's my gold card that I hide behind, the golden line I use to keep my mom from digging up the past.

But who do you think I learned to pay attention to the small things from?

She noticed, and promptly verbalized, that I seemed to be happier after receiving his postcard. Carefully watching me when she asked if I kept in touch while he was in Europe, and oh, did he send an email? Really? What did he say? Ahh, hm.

Because she understands who I am (sometimes better than myself), she knows and sees all those characteristics I find attractive in him. She’s comfortable with us being friends, but is constantly on the look-out that I haven’t fallen for him.

Because her mother's instinct knows it’d spell disaster for me, the daughter who is like her younger self in many, many ways.

Oh, the irony.