Boy, do I have some Tales to Tell...
Today, I went to go see
Avenue Q with the "not really in-laws since it isn't legalized". Had a fun time. My partner's family is so loving and accepting of their children and their children's significant others. Two sons. One gay. Both have families. Both are treated with the same respect. It's really special. It's really nice. It's also really quite surreal since my family has a hard time with my homosexuality. It's known. It's not discussed. It's really avoided.
I think about how different our backgrounds are. How different our familes are. Liberals and Conservatives. One family who has shunned religion. The other who are devout Catholics. I still love my parents. I still love my sister. We still talk often. They occasionally ask about Mike. They have met him. They like him. He likes them. They've even mentioned how much they enjoyed vacationing with him in Hawaii. My Mom and sister even took a day trip with him. We had dinner together everyday. They just can't seem to take the next step. Even my supposedly liberal sister does things that surprise me. Things that prove to me that she really is not comfortable with my sexual preference.
I'm not sad. I'm not mad. It's not that I don't care. I've spent too much emotion and energy trying to get myself out of the closet. Trying to get myself to accept who I am. I don't feel like I need to spend any energy on trying to get others to accept me. Even if they are my immediate family. I went down that road for me. Not for others. Would it be nice if it were different? Yes. Would it make my life much better if it were different? No. I think my life is at it's best already. I also know how my family thinks. I don't want them to do anything they don't want to. They feel the same way for me.
Mike wishes he had "not really in-laws since it isn't legalized". He knows that it won't change. He wishes it were different. He says so. Sometimes I think it would make him very happy. It would make me happy. No. Correction. It would make me happier. Later.
Sometimes I scare myself. I just did three loads of laundry, baked a chocolate cheesecake, and updated my blog. I'm about to head to the gym to lift AND I work from 2:00pm to 10:30pm. Is that scary? Or is it just me? Later.
The other day, my friend Janice and I went shopping at Old Navy. It was particulary a good day to do this since the "blizzard" had hit, most people were staying home, AND there was a major sale on almost everything.
The big dissapointment: my thighs do not fit into any regular cut jeans/cords/pants. What? Do American men have NO thighs?
Now, I have to admit that Old Navy has no consistency when it comes to size. Even within the same style and color of the item. So, I tried on a different pair and still no go with the thighs. I felt like I was going to rip through the pants like the incredible Hulk.
Dejected, I tried on a pair of Carpenter pants - the one's that are wider through the thigh - and they fit. Damn my thighs. No matter what I do at the gym, they are just too thick. At least, I have the calves to go with them. But for once in my life, I would like to be able to wear some skinny pants and look like a rock star. Later.
No matter how old you get... No matter how jaded you become... No matter how many times it happens... SNOW DAYS ROCK! From the moment the store opened at 8:00am today, it was packed. We closed early at 8:00pm. The shelves are almost empty. Team Members were talking about how there is nothing in their backstock to put on the shelves.
But who cares. We got out early. When they made the announcement over the store system, people cheered. Not the customers. We are even opening an hour later tomorrow. Which means I don't have to be in until 9:00am. I was told to call our hotline before I go in. We may even open later.
Ahhh, snow day. I'm sleeping in. Later.
So...
Let's say you've decided to start doing more cardio. And, let's say that you decide that this time, you are going to bring your discman (because you are just too frugal to buy an iPod). Okay, you get on the treadmill and push play on your discman. The music starts and you begin your power walk.
You're listening to Victor Calderone's E=VC2 which has some songs that remind you your fabulous self... back in the day. The second song on the cd comes on and you begin to walk faster with more determination, arms pumping, sweat dripping. A few minutes later, a song comes on that opens a flood of wonderful memories. Memories of feeling beautiful, young, and invincible. Your mind begins to replay some good times in your life... back in the day. You can feel yourself smiling. You can feel yourself just moving to the rhythm. Your arms have dropped to your side. There is a sway in your step. You begin to realize, you are strutting on the treadmill.
Does this happen to anyone else? Or is it just me?
Later.
I am trying to remember something. Actually, I am trying to remember if I ever found anyone's physique inspiring. I certainly find some physical accomplishments inspiring. For example, I am inspired by people who can do back-handsprings on a balance beam. I am inspired by people who can run a marathon. I am inspired by people who have amazing flexibility and rhythm. But, to find someone's muscularity/physique inspiring... I never have.
In all the years that I worked at the gym, I have never found muscularity inspiring. I can appreciate the work that goes into building a certain body type. Honestly, I kinda find people who build large muscles boring. Do you know the kind of dedication it takes to do that? You have to eat a certain way, work out a certain way, live a certain way. You have to "live" the gym and we all know how much character and culture can be built there. People who avoid cake or cookies are definitely boring. The phrase, "I don't eat carbs.", makes me want to wretch. No sugar in your diet? Then you must be tasteless.
Then there are the people who are in constant search for a six pack. It's in the beer cooler in the last aisle. Try the Delirium Noctornum - the hoppy sweetness is well-balanced with the chocolatey finish. Six-pack abs are the ultimate in sacrifice; unless you are genetically-blessed. Anyone who achieves it is either cutting out a major food group or has inherited some gene. Don't get me wrong. It's achievable. But you have to make sacrifices. Like bread, for instance.
It just all seems so futile, so self-centered. Please, by all means, keep in shape. Absolutely, go to the gym and stay healthy. Definitely, eat properly... most of the time. Sugar is not your enemy. Enormous amounts of sugar is. Unless you are allergic or have dependency issues, then have some cheese or a glass of wine. It's okay. Fried food is not your enemy. Super-sized fried food is.
And please, please, please, above all else, don't brag about how you have sacrificed your enjoyment to build your muscles. You sound very boring. Let alone unattractive. Later.
As my 35th birthday approaches, I have been thinking of doing something I have always wanted to do. I figure it's about time. I have always wanted to do this. I am thinking of making this a birthday present to myself. I've accomplished a lot of other things I set out to do. I got my degree in Electrical Engineering, got a job for a large electrical utility, quit, and went on to do other things. I weighed 220 pounds, began exercising, went all the way down to 145 pounds, started lifting weights, and have put on quite some lean muscle mass, and now weigh 184. I went to culinary school, graduated, cooked for a big restaurant, and still work in the food business. Not that I plan to accomplish anything big with what I want do for myself. I have always just wanted to get professional help to see how far I can go. Or at the very least, see if I can actually do it. I want to buy myself some
singing lessons.
I have always loved to sing. When I was little, my dad would play his guitar and Mom & I would sing along. I remember singing
My Funny Valentine,
My Way, and
Killing Me Softly. I still memorize most of the lyrics. And I still get teary when I hear these songs. As a teenager, I was forced to take piano lessons. I begged for singing lessons instead. But being Asian, I had to take some sort of musical instrument. It's in Chapter 5 of the Amer-Asian Child Handbook. Right after studying for a professional degree which is right after the chapter on excelling in the sciences. To this day, the only thing I can play on the piano is Chopsticks. Heh heh heh.
So, I think I will find some unsuspecting voice teacher to take me on for a few lessons. Just so that I can learn to breath properly when singing, read music better, and hit the right notes. Maybe even perform at an open-mic or something. Maybe I'll even use those three songs as my goal. I'd like to sing them for my parents some day. And not make the cry in agony. Later.
Last night, I went out for drinks and snacks with
the person who inspired me to blog. It was fun. It was also fun to see how much we have evolved from "running around town" to "hanging out and having some beers". It was still fun. And, as always, he always has some remarks that you laugh at but are wary about:
Tsunami, it's the new Ethiopia. Tasteless? Funny? Not sure? All the above? Just wondering.
I have the day off, so I am going to go take my second step class of the week, do some grocery shopping, and cook my special tuna noodle casserole for my sweetness. Laundry too. Just call me Domestic Man. Later.
It's a nice day in New York. The new year seems to be starting off quite well. Work has slowed down a little. I may actually get to spend more time at the gym. Now, if only this gigantic cold sore and head cold would just go away.
I feel shitty. It's that hazy feeling of having a cold but no coughing or congestion. My head is feeling stuffy. The cold sore is in full bloom with just enough of an itch to be irritating. I know, I know... too much information.
I still am going in to work. I am sure that this cold sore will be my ticket to staying away from doing customer service in the front of my department. I get to be in back, away from it all, just producing. This is a far cry from when I was teaching group exercise classes full-time when I would show up no matter what. I even showed up to teach class the day after 9-11 with a severely pulled calf. And all with a smile. :)
For some reason, I don't feel like I need to call in sick at this new job. I need to explore that more before I say why. Maybe I really do like this job. Later.
