Boy, do I have some Tales to Tell...
I was recently asked if I had any big plans for my summer. As I stated earlier in one of my posts, I plan on working on my tan during the summer. I actually plan on making it to the beach at least once every two weeks and at least once a week to Central Park for some sunning; Central Park being less than five minutes walk from my apartment.
I have actually not made any big plans for the rest of the summer. I am going away this weekend to the Chicago suburbs for four days to celebrate my husband's nephew's high school graduation. After that, nothing else. To be quite honest, I don't want to do anything else. I would rather just spend the rest of the summer working, hanging out with my friends, playing some tennis, going to a concert or two, and doing the aforementioned tanning stints.
Summer in New York City is actually quite hazy, hot, and humid. It can be quite irritating too. Nevertheless, I love it. I love that half the City goes away on the weekends. I love watching people dash for the subways on Friday afternoons. I love watching them rush back on Sunday nights. I love watching the crowds gather at the checkout of Whole Foods. It's very frenetic and quite entertaining. At least to me it is.
After living in NYC for 13 years and spending every summer here, I am a part of it. I am a part of the stiffling humidity that bathes you in your own sweat. I am a part of the hot air, created by the incoming subway train, that blows in your face offering no respite from the underground heat. I am a part of the not-so-cool breezes blowing off the Hudson as I take that walk along Riverside Park or Chelsea Piers. I love it. I enjoy it. And, this summer, I plan on enjoying it even more. Later.
Some things I just never really understood why:
Gay men who love Fleet Week - call me what you will but I never had sex with any sailors during that week. What's the deal? What have I missed?
People who just don't drink alcohol and tell you that they don't - not that I want to be around people who are drunks but I always find it interesting when they insist on not having a drink. Ummm, all I asked was what would you like to drink. Nothing else.
People who only eat organic food - and why is it you still looked so fucked up?
Girls who wear clothing that shows off their big belly roll by having it exposed and hanging over their jeans - Not very empowering. Actually just kinda silly. And, well, just not attractive.
Angry, rich, white people - Do I even have to explain this? They always seem to look for me at work. And always doubt what I have to say.
Flip flops in a weight room - are you daring or just stupid? You obviously want to be in pain.
People who are offered a sample of something but wrinkle their nose up and ask if it's good - Sweetness, that's why we're sampling it. So you can figure it out yourself.
Ignorant, closed-minded people who live in New York City - Kids, save some money and live somewhere cheaper and homogenous.
I have more but I can't really think clearly after writing those down. Later.
On the right side of this blog, I linked to the blogs that I read frequently. Actually, these are blogs that I read always that update frequently. Or at least, update. There are some blogs out there that I still look at, once in a while. I check them with the hope that they have updated. I miss them but I do understand why they would stop. And I respect that. So, I decided not to add them to my "READ THEM" list. If they do come back, I will. And, please, check out some of these guys. They do have something to say. Later.
That saying about being careful what you wish for is true. After almost nine years of being together, I still hate sleeping alone. I know that I have the cat to keep me company but my bed just feels empty without Mike. Actually, when the kitty isn't in bed with us, I actually get up and fetch her to come sleep with me. She sometimes resists by trying to bite me but, in the end, she stays and sleeps.
Before Mike leaves on business trips, I always say that I will enjoy having the bed to myself. That I can sleep across the bed if I need to. That I can just spread out all over. And, of course, when he leaves, I dread having to crawl into that bed without him there. I know... it's a bit pathetic and downright needy. But hey, I did wish for this when I was single. And, during those nine years, I have wished that he would move over. Often.
Truth is, I hate waking up without him nuzzling into me. Or having his arm draped over my neck almost choking me to death. Or hearing the whispered words "I love you", followed by his morning breath, as I wake up.
I know... I know. Pathetic. Be careful what you wish for. Later.
When Mike got home tonight, I was about three-quarters of the way through the Will & Grace
retrospective. I wasn't planning on watching it but for some reason I just stayed. After kissing me hello, he asked, "What are you watching?" I told him it was the retrospective before the final show of the series. He said, "Really?!?! Who knew."
And he's right. Most of the people I know lost interest in Will or Grace about five seasons ago. If I happened to be off on a Thursday night and not out, I would sometimes stumble on the show and stay for a couple of minutes. Part of my disinterest stemmed from the stupidity of the Will-Grace-Leo triangle. Part of it was from the fact that Will and Jack were such a whiny queens. But mostly, it was from the not-really-interesting stories being told. Truth be told, I was no longer interested in all the crap about how the show has furthered gay life. Has it? How much? Sean Hayes can't even say whether he is gay or straight. Not that we can't figure it out but c'mon... at least commit to being in the closet. Don't give me this bullshit about it being your business. People are still being killed or killing themselves because of their homosexuality. You are a role model whether you like it or not. Public figures do have an influence on us and a responsibility to us. Or else, they would not really be public figures. They would just be clowns who we don't pay attention to.
So, as the show started, I thought, "Okay, stay and see what happens. It may actually have a couple of laughs in it." Mike turned to me and asked, "Are you going to cry?" I said, "No." And I meant it. It's not like I was watching the last episode of Sex and the City
. C'mon. Well, half way through the show, it began to get sorta interesting. And was actually quite good. Not over the top. Not underwhelming. Just right. Actually, sorta very right.
Then, toward the end. Karen and Jack sing "Unforgetable". Actually, Megan and Sean were singing to each other. And there it was. I was crying. Not bawling (like during Sex and the City
). Just tearing up. The one thing I didn't expect to do. I expected to laugh. I expected to sneer. I expected to be bored. To some degree, I even expected to tune out. But, I didn't. And I'm glad I didn't. Later.
You know that feeling you get when you have to do something that you don't really want to do? But in order to get something you want, you have to go through the process of doing this certain act even though you dread doing it? You're not terrified enough to not do it but you are scared enough to be nervous throughout the whole process?
Well, for me, the process is flying on an airplane. I hate the whole process. I hate it all.
Please don't get me wrong. I love seeing new places. Experiencing new cultures. Eating foreign foods. Meeting different people. I just hate the fact that I need to get onto a plane to experience some of the better things. I can handle packing for a trip. The rest of the process, I loathe.
I loathe waiting for the car service/getting a cab/taking a train to get me to the airport. I loathe getting my baggage examined when I check it in (yes, I check everything in, I hate people who wheel their drama on the plane!). I loathe being shoved into a tight plane seat like cattle. I loathe the take-off, the cruising at 30,000 feet, the turbulence, the ding-ding-ding of the seatbelt light, the preparing to land, the ultra-fakely-friendly flight crew, and the not-so-useful pillow & blanket. I don't mind the landing because it means that we have arrived at my destination. I loathe the rush to get off the plane. I loathe the walk to the baggage claim. I loathe the drama of transportation to my hotel/B&B. Let's just say I loathe it all.
I never really understand how some people can be so comfortable in an airport? You see them. All relaxed waiting for their flight. Reading their magazines or cheerfully conversing with their fellow travellers. What drugs are they on? And can I have a couple? I am so full of anxiety and angst that I cannot even fathom having a cocktail before the flight. I have had a bottle of wine on the plane but only because either my man has bought me one or the guy next to me did (and that only happened once when I was single). I've tried but can't even get myself near any comfort level that would be considered... comfortable.
I don't know what to do. Drugs don't really help. I've tried taking anti-anxiety ones. They do lessen the anxiety but I still am not comfortable. Sleeping pills are only feasible for me on flights longer than 8 hours. Any less and I become so drugged out, I risk the chance of being arrested for intoxication. And, if I do take them, I become so lethargic, it takes me a couple of days to recover. Not something I want to be doing on my trips.
And now, the parents have moved to the Philippines. And I am supposed to visit. The man has already stated that he will be fully drugged out for any trip to those Islands. It takes 24 hours from the East Coast to get to Southeast Asia. Great, more time in a process I loathe.
No matter how old one gets, hanging out with the parents for a couple of days sure can do a number on your psyche. I've been out West to help my parents get their stuff together. They have decided to move back to the Philippines as part of their retirement. Truth is, they moved to California to avoid the cold of the Northeast. And to be part of the camraderie that they thought existed within the Filipino community. Alas, the camraderie was not found.
The problem is that my parents (who are 72 and 69 years of age) have nothing in common with their fellow countrymen of that age who live on the West Coast. My father plays 18 holes of golf without a caddy, carrying his half-set of clubs, and walking the entire course (even if he is with people who drive carts). Most other 72 year-old Filipino males don't even play golf. My mother is equally as active with her gardening, the household chores, and going for long walks. Other Filipino women her age? Not so much. So, they tend to hang out with people who are 20 to 30 years younger. But the problem is, those people are not retired.
So, they decided that it's been a while since they lived in the Philippines (40 years exactly) and since they would benefit financially, and would also be around more active people their age, they were going to move back. Being U.S. Citizens, they have obligations to come back to U.S. Soil, so we may be schlepping to Hawaii to see them ever so often.
Anyhoo, the past four days have been spent making sure all the paperwork they need to take care of has been done. And making sure that all that they need to start their new life is with them. I went to see them off and spend some quaility time with them. And that's where it all starts... is there really such a thing as quality time with the parents? No matter how good it is, doesn't it always eventually become one big critique on your life? You're too this, you're too that, you spend to much, you don't eat enough, you should take care of yourself better, you are too fat, you work too hard, you should think of your future, you should spend more time enjoying yourself, blah, blah, blahbity, blah... and it keeps going on. Until, I just tell them that they have obviously raised two moronic children that obviously couldn't get their life straight with a ruler. Then, they realize their stupidity and shut up... for about 10 minutes.
Truth be told, I am very happy for them. They have made a decision to make their lives better and they are doing it. My parents have lived in Africa, Asia, and U.S.A. For extended periods of time. They're wanderers. This is just another part of their journey. At the airport, my father was so excited to be leaving that he almost forgot to say goodbye to my sister and me, his only two children. He still calls my sister by my name and me by hers. My mother was a bit more wary and nervous but I am sure she will settle in quite well to the lifestyle that most U.S. Citizens who move to another country get accustomed to... i.e. having maids and servants to do the work. Trust me on this, it is part of the Filipino culture.
I've been wrestling with a lot of feelings inside for the past two days. Happy for them. Sad to see them leave. Down that I can't just go visit them on a whim. Glad they won't be worried of their financial future. I'm sure, I'll be fine with it all. I think my feelings stem from my parents being at the end of their lives. They have talked about what would happen if one of them dies. My dad says that he would follow quickly if my mom died first. Mom plans on enjoying a time when she doesn't have to listen to my father. Oh, yes she did.
I need to rest my psyche. Later.
I need a hobby. Besides shopping for food, cooking, and eating. I need a real hobby. One where I don't have the chance of making into a career. No, working out at the gym is not a hobby. I used to think tennis was my hobby but I get way too competitive and don't try hard enough to dedicate time to playing. I may still play this summer depending on who's around.
I was thinking that I would do some renovations in the house this summer but that would be way to much work for a hobby. Plus, it's way too finite and expensive of a hobby.
I have no desire to knit. Or collect anything. I would do some gardening but I live in the City and I don't have a backyard. Plus, I have some plants and a window box herb garden already... and that is pretty much all I have space for.
Blogging is not really a hobby. Just something I do so that I have an outlet for my thoughts. Especially since the husband tends to tire of my rants.
I thought about purchasing a dance class card and taking some tap/jazz/hip hop classes for fun. Maybe it may spark some creativity on my part. But then again, maybe it may irritate my already tired back and knees.
I even thought about joining some sort of sports league but again, the back and knees. Plus, the only other sport I want to partake in is alpine skiing and that doesn't happen much in the summer.
So, I guess, this summer, I may take on the one thing that won't cost me much. I'll work on my tan. Can that be considered a hobby? Later.
Leave now if you plan on watching it later. I'm serious. Last chance...
Oh. My. God. I cannot believe it. They just killed my favorite character off. I was just saying how much I love that character. And... okay... last chance to leave... they killed her. Ana Lucia is gone. She was the best thing. What are they thinking? What is going on with Michael? Where the hell is this story going? I'm so confused.
Way back in the day, when I used to be part of the go-out-every-weekend-and-party-like-mad scene, I used to frequent many circuit parties and parties in general. And for the life of me, I never understood the allure of a leather harness.
I mean, I went to all types of events where someone, inevitably, would be wearing a leather harness. And someone would, inevitably, respond in favor of the harness. Come to think of it, a lot of people I knew then (and some now) loved leather harnesses.
I never understood why. Can someone enlighten me? Later.