Such Great Heights

For all the features it hoards and displays
age seems to be without substance at any time

whether morning or evening it is a moment of air
held between the hands like a stunned bird

while I stand remembering light in the trees
of another century on a continent long submerged

with no way of telling whether the leaves at that time
felt memory as they were touching the day

and no knowledge of what happened to the reflections
on the pond’s surface that never were seen again

the bird lies still while the light goes on flying

-Unknown Age, by W. S. Merwin

Shoot 'Em Up

The only set of pictures I ever posted on Flickr were the ones from Paris back in 2005 with B. That's when he had just purchased his digital SLR and was getting all jiggy with it. I put up his stunning images into one folder, along with my crappy ones taken with a tiny point-and-shoot. Then I proceeded to forget all about them.

Until now. I just received an email from Schmap informing me that one of the pictures of St. Sulpice church was chosen to be included in the fourth edition of their Paris guide! There's no monetary compensation, but B gets credit as the photographer. I have to concede that Schmap is implementing some brilliant business tactics. I mean, each touristy locale has a ton of pics culled from regular folks off Flickr, and you can imagine how much traffic is generated from all the excited people blogging or sending out the link to their friends. Not to mention the money the site itself saves from not having to hire photographers or buy stock images.

The shot shows the interior of the church,
and was taken a couple of days before Christmas.

Let Go

When I was 19, I accompanied Trang to a house party in Torrance with a bunch of international students. The guy who invited her was a Vietnamese dude from Belgium, so most of the people in attendance were also French speakers from Europe. We walked in and immediately honed in on Bernard, the hottest guy at the party (check out his underwear shot for proof). I flirted shamelessly, but his disinterest was apparent. Then I found out he was 27 and attending CSULB. Twenty-seven?! I was never one of those aggressive teens who sought out older men; the thought of being with a man nearly thirty was appalling to me. Besides, what the hell was he still doing at Long Beach State at that age?! The guy must've been a total idiot. I left that party with nary an extra thought of him.

Flash forward to three years later, when I turned 22. By then I had had my share of tools who used me. I was pretty jaded at that point. Romance in LA turned out to be a paradox, a chimera, a two-dimensional lie told in cartoons to naive little girls so that they might quickly fall and procreate before disillusionment set in and the human race would dwindle in number. That all changed the day I logged into my Friendster account, since my friend Mike had mentioned he left me a birthday message on it. I hadn't checked Friendster in months ever since I became a Myspace whore. It turned out Bernard had sent me a friendly message the month prior. I couldn't remember him, and looked at his profile skeptically. Good looking guy, but do I even know him? I was about to close the page when I recalled with a jolt who he was. The Belgian from that party three years ago! (The pic of him in the snow is the one I drooled over on his Friendster profile.)

Well, I was just blown away at what I discovered about him. For some reason, the day after that party, his friends were all goading him to do something about the girl who was on his nuts all night (me). The reason he didn't? He had a girlfriend! But after they broke up, he remembered and proceeded to contact me. Man, I had him pegged so incorrectly. Bernard is, to this day, the smartest man I have ever encountered. He was getting his master's in mechanical engineering when we first met; he already had an electrical engineering degree. He speaks four languages, will soon start learning Arabic (or Russian), and at times has the audacity to correct my English. He plays piano, fixes cars and motorcycles, prepares food like a culinary wizard, and holds the title as the most amazing lover ever. Ever. He even loves my feet which are, in a word, disgusting (refer to pic of him gobbling them).

We ended up together, after several dramatic months during which I had a brief relationship with Chris (it lasted two weeks!) and B fucked seven other girls (with my permission; I was trying to abate his attachment to me...it didn't work). Now, nearly three years have passed (we don't have an anniversary date, so who really knows), during which my buried notions of romance were disinterred, nourished, and set in a garden to soak up the colors of a thousand rainbows. The guy cooks my favorite dishes. He buzzed his head for my 23rd birthday because buzzed heads turn me on. He completely cleans and details my car. He's even cleaned my room for me! He always gives me oral when he's too tired to have sex. My friends all adore him. I could not have even imagined a more perfect man, a more content love.

That's all fine and dandy, but what now? Well...now is the part where someone does something to fuck it all up. And that someone is me, and that something is suddenly having doubts and confusions and inner conflicts that I need to handle before I can continue loving this man who loves me so much. So, I've set him free, because I don't want him to have to deal with my shit, as much as he wants to stay and help because he's so wonderful. This could be the biggest mistake of my life; after all, the guy is now at peak bachelor status: handsome, brilliant, witty, kind, considerate, devoted, drives a sleek Jag (I hate that gas guzzler), rides a Suzuki on the side, and is about to buy a house. Who wouldn't try to snag him up? Who the fuck would be dumb enough to drop him?!

Yeah. Me. Because I'm currently all messed up inside, and I need to figure stuff out right now. I know he doesn't see it like this, but I'm trying to do my best to be just (as in fair) in this shitty situation. And I'm so sorry for hurting him. That's what truly anguishes me the most, knowing that I've caused him such sadness. And I wish I could do this with his help, with his support, but I can't. I'm really hoping this decision will result, in the long run, in maximum happiness for us. And if some wonderful woman should come along and enrapture B's heart, while I end up as a crazy old cat lady, each person will get what is deserved. But as of right now, I definitely don't deserve him. Maybe one day I will. I'll work on it.

Just What I Needed

I have to admit that I'm pretty proud of my knack for picking gifts. It's probably because both B and Phil rave about my choices, and they're the two smartest people I know. Okay, okay, stop grumbling; I realize that selecting a good gift has less to do with intellect and more about creativity and/or consideration. Gift cards are the lazy way to go about it. When buying presents for people, I rely on either my memory or my knack of searching all over the world wide web for that really nifty toy.

Anyway, this post is just for what I got B for Christmas. I'll do it in the order I gave it to him. We always give them in order of smallest to nicest. I get him undies every Christmas (though he never remembers that), and in '06 it was a Calvin Klein pair. This time, I got Hugo Boss, and I gave him black ones just so they would last longer. You know how dirty Europeans can be! (And if you don't know...well, they're pretty filthy.) He proudly pronounced them to be the nicest pair in his collection.

Next up was a color changing weather forecaster clock from Radioshack. It used to drive me nuts in the winter time when B would wake up for work and turn on his computer just to check the weather to see if he could take his bike, and then leave the energy-sucker on the entire day. So this clock somehow forecasts the weather and displays it with a certain color (blue for rain, red for sunny, etc.). How does it work? I have no idea. I never bothered reading it. It just sounded cool. He can have a good time figuring out how to set it up, haha. The pic I found makes the clock look all delicate and pastel-like; I think the real colors actually are a lot less fruity.

Then, I gave him a couple items from Armani Exchange. First was a shirt that looks better online, so I'm going to return it. B was debating keeping it, but then decided he has so many shirts that unless it's something he really likes, he might as well refrain from hoarding. But he loved the cream colored sweater, so I'm glad I got something right! (On a side note, I had a horrible experience ordering from A|X, and I won't be going back for a very long time. That's right, I'm a huffy consumer, and I am withholding my purchasing power from this crappy company!)

Finally, I broke out the climactic gift: a Hugo Boss sports coat. Here's the story behind that. I had purchased it earlier in the year, and fretted on and off whether or not it was a nice blazer. Some days I'd look at it and think, "He'll love it!" and then other times I'd sadly wail, "It's awful! He'll hate it!" One time, I left it hanging on my canopy bed and forgot all about it. He actually came and spent the night with it just hanging there. It had the opaque plastic protector on, but still, you could pretty much tell what it was. The next morning, I burst into tears when I realized what I had done, and he had to soothe me and say, "It's ok, baby! I have no idea exactly what it is! I'll still be surprised!" I'm an idiot. But it's okay, because he ended up loving it, and it looks so good on him! He looks like a dashing Belgian prince, haha. (It's not exactly the coat pictured, but it's close in both style and color.)

Last but not least, I had a surprise finale for him. It doesn't top the sports coat, but I saved it for last since he already knew he was getting some sort of jacket/top from Hugo Boss. When we were in Paris back in September, we walked by a watch shop and he totally checked out this Diesel watch. I remember thinking it was ugly, because it had all these unsightly lines across the face. But he thought it was cool, and I kept note of it. Flash forward a couple of months, and I was searching frantically for it on the internet. I ended up settling for the watch pictured, which I wasn't 100% sure was the one he liked, but it was the only watch I could find with lines across the face. But I really like the look of this one, and all that matters is that B loves it too. :)

Constant Craving

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

-XI, by Pablo Neruda

The Story

I just finished The Death of Ivan Ilych by Leo Tolstoy. Before you start bending over and undressing to reward me for my achievement, I must confess it's merely a short story comprised of roughly 60 pages. (I'll be blazing through one of Tolstoy's more epic productions, Anna Karenina, when B gets back from Spain. So save the lube for that occasion.) Besides, I still have three other tales to complete before I truly finish the book. But I wanted to blog about this particular work since Naya told me she loved it, and it's considered one of Tolstoy's masterpieces.

Well, it was very typically Russian, with emotional characters and an overall tone that was depressing as hell. The story pretty much follows the thoughts of Ivan Ilych as he slowly dies an excruciating death from illness. "Gnawing, agonising pain never ceasing for an instant; the hopeless sense of life always ebbing away, but still not yet gone; always swooping down on him that fearful, hated death, which was the only reality, and always the same falsity." Every time I read classic Russian literature, almost every aspect is always so down in the dumps! (I'm basing this off Gogol and Dostoevsky, along with the fact that I now have Russian friends who totally agree that their peoples need to get hyphy.)

Would I recommend this? Definitely. A fascinating read, with a slightly uplifting (slightly, mind you) ending. Plus, you know you're never gonna get through, or even attempt, the 1400 pages of War and Peace, so by reading Ivan Ilych you can still quote from Tolstoy like the big boys!

This Christmas

B and I had our Christmas late (a couple days ago) since he was back in Europe with his family. The guy freakin' pampered me. I don't deserve it, and I definitely don't deserve him, as much as he might argue to the contrary. But enough of that; this entry is specifically to show and tell what he got for my undeserving ass.

1) Key holder. I'm always running late and then frantically searching for my keys. Once this is up on the wall, I have no excuses. Gulp.

2) The "I Don't Know How to Cook" Book. I briefly glanced through it, though, and some recipes seem pretty formidable. Roast turkey? Boiled corned beef and cabbage? Hungarian goulash?! B says I need this so that I won't have to rely on his cooking, and then I could be an independent woman and leave his ass. Is there some underlying message to that statement, you think?

3) Living Language's Ultimate French program. It contains 8 CDs and a textbook. I think this is in response to me always ribbing him about how he never wants to practice or speak French with me. But again, now that I have this, I have no excuse having such a rudimentary grasp of the language of my birthplace.

4) Not one, not two, not three...but FOUR beautiful dresses. I would've been happy with just one, and instead he gets me four. Thanks to the internet and Google Images, I've tracked down pics to post.

a) Gold Hawk embellished silk dress. See how it's all fitted nicely on that model's body? Yeah...no. The XS looks like a large muumuu. But with a wide-waisted belt, this dress looks pretty glamorous. Plus it feels amazing on my skin. (Pic pilfered from asos.com.)

b) Diane Von Furstenberg Angelique starry bubble dress. This dress is so adorable! And again, the silky fabric feels luxurious. The only thing I hate (and B loves) about it is that it's very chest enhancing, and I feel incredibly exposed. (Pic from bluefly.com.)

c) Elie Tahari Peyton crepe dress. B loves the way this one looks on me. It's very classy and elegant, and you can feel the quality in the heavy material. It's hard to tell from the pics, but the buttons that go along the side of the dress are really intricate and cool. (Pics from neimanmarcus.com.)

d) Diane Von Furstenberg Adaline ruffled tank dress. This one is my absolute favorite, and B's least favorite, since it's neither form fitting nor revealing. But I love how simple and mod it looks. And how hot is that model?! See, I would never put pics of myself up in these dresses when I can pull up a gorgeous girl in them for your viewing pleasure. (Pics from neimanmarcus.com.)

I love everything, but it really wasn't necessary, especially when I was the one who was supposed to be spoiling him this year. But B's thrilled with his gifts; he always tells me that I give him the best presents he's ever received in his life (and that's on top of the sex and my company, haha). I still need to post what I gave him, and the stuff I received from his family, but I'm going to go shower and get ready to see Tomo, whom I miss dearly!

Bag Lady

Oh MAN...Rebecca Minkoff is having a sample sale this Sunday--right when I work! It's a blessing in disguise, because I really should not be buying anything, especially when I just bought one. The bag I'm totally coveting is the Morning After Mini (see pic on right), but word on the street is that this sample sale will have mostly the larger versions of that style. So it's ok. I can wait. I gotta work on my willpower anyway, so why not apply it to materialistic urges? As for the bag that I already have, it's the super cute Dream Clutch (see pic on left), that B yelled at me for buying when he snooped and saw the Rebecca Minkoff label inside the bag, lol. But it's such a cute and convenient everyday bag, and it wasn't atrociously priced or anything. And B, if you see this, don't get any ideas. You've already spoiled me enough for Christmas, and I will be pissed if you don't calm it down. And my next post will be all about that, so wait for it.

Building a Mystery

So, I can't sleep, and I've been just moping around all day. And it's freaking freezing! Good thing a warm book is an adequate substitute for a warm body. (Ok, no, it's not, but I'm trying to stay positive here.) I'm proud to announce I just completed my very first Agatha Christie novel, titled The Body in the Library. (I know, I know, I have twenty books that I need to start covering, but this was a Christmas gift I received from B's parents.) It was a surprisingly smooth read that took less than an hour. I suppose I expected more of a challenge from the heralded Ms. Christie, but I'm not displeased with the overall simplicity of diction. I prefer books I can breeze through in one setting. In my experience, most of the literary sagas where I peg away for so long are never fully satisfying enough to be worth the effort (ahem, The Brothers Karamazov). But anyway, considering this was my first Christie book, it was nowhere near daunting. Oh, and one thing that threw me off was that I think this is the first time I've ever seen a reference of the author, by the author, in a work of fiction. It was pretty amusing. A little boy in the novel runs up to a police officer and gushes, "Do you like detective stories? I do. I read them all, and I've got autographs from Dorothy Sayers and Agatha Christie and Dickson Carr and H.C. Bailey." As for the story itself, nothing spectacular: the usual murder, the typical grab bag of suspicious characters, and a tidy resolution. I can't say much about its predictability because I'm not one of those who try to determine what will happen; I like to let the story do its thang. (Except in that movie Oldboy. I totally called the big twist...but that's because I'm a complete pervert.)

Would I recommend this? Sure, why not. It's an easy, entertaining read. It definitely doesn't spur me to go out and buy more of her work or anything. But I'd read 'em if you gave me some. :)

Photobooth

I was unpacking my shoes from my overnight bag from NYE, and found this pic. Dre, Myles and me, all posing in the free instant photo booth. I have to see if Colburn can find the other one, so I can post it too! UPDATED at 8:17PM--Colburn hooked it up!

It's Just Another New Year's Eve

I have to blog now before I make excuses. The pics are up, so BOOM, baby!

For NYE, 07/08, I joined Dre and the boys in San Diego for Soom's brother's wedding. Held on the beautiful property of Le Costa Resort and Spa in Carlsbad, it boasted a sumptuous Indian buffet and an open bar. I had resolved not to drink, as usual, until Myles told me off in one rapid dictum: "I did not drive 130 miles so that you could be sober all night!"

So, I drank. (Refer to pics of alcohol and me, on the left. Else no one would believe me!) I had my first drink, a diluted Kamikaze on the rocks, and felt this cozy, gentle glow. Surely, I thought, I must be building a tolerance for the stuff! So I paced myself, then grabbed another one. All too suddenly, that soothing, vibrant warmth spiraled into a pulsating headache, crimson skin, and wobbly legs.

Despite my inebriated state from 1.5 drinks, I managed to snatch Dre's camera and take plenty of decent shots to immortalize the evening. You can see them all on her Picasa. Occasionally, people managed to take the camera back and get a picture of me, hence the shot of me pitifully trying to fondle Dre's breast and missing. That's my first time ever flubbing a tit-grope, and it better be the last!

Overall, it was a great night, with amazing people. Thanks, Dre, for curling my hair (the last time I can recall doing that was senior year prom, and now I want to go buy a hair curler badly!), and thanks Dre and Drea for taking care of me when I was THISCLOSE to hurling. Thanks to Tim for offering to carry me out on the makeshift stretcher. Thank you Soom, for letting me crash your brother's wedding, thanks to Myles for driving and forcing an innocent girl to drink (although your wicked hangover was karma enough), and Colburn rocks for keeping me warm when it was effin freezing outside!

Read My Mind

I just spent $81.08 on books. That's typically about five to six novels, right? Maybe a couple less if some new hardcovers are in the mix, or maybe a couple more if I got them on some sort of promotion. Well, I happen to have a shipment from B&N that contains twenty paperbacks. ::beam:: That makes each book only slightly more than four bucks!

Every once in a while, B&N has 50% off its classics collection. Last year, I was in the store and bought five. But this year, I caught it online and I went buckwild. Heavy, erudite works delivered up the four flights of stairs to my doorstep with no shipping charges?! Hellz yeeah! Expanding both my brain and my fat ass in one fell swoop? Hot damn, I'm in!

I'm proud of each and every one of my new lovers, and I plan to spend many nights in bed with them. And not necessarily one at a time. ::wink::

The Damn Baby I'm Taking You Home Tonight ones:

The I Wanted You Someday But I Can Have You Now ones:


The You So Cheap How Can I Say No ones:


Finally, the I'm Getting a Double Order So I Can Tag Team ones:

The last two I just bought an extra copy to give to B to read with me. Our first book together was Dostoevsky's The Idiot, so I'm sure we could handle Anna Karenina, and The Woman in White just seems like it'd be a fun read.

Here's a 2008 vow: I will not buy any further books this year until I complete all these new ones. I have a feeling Plato and Thucydides are going to hit me with one of those loooong, numbingly exhausting sessions where I'll have grit my teeth, take it, and fake enjoyment in the end. Or, as I like to call it, my sex life before the vibrator my boyfriend.