Message in a Bottle

Whenever I needed to get away to clear my mind, I would drive down this stretch on PCH between Bolsa Chica and Huntington Beach with my windows down at night. I took comfort in the dark anonymity of the night. The faintly salty sea air intermingled with burning firewood calmed my spirit. Then, I would stop, just short of the bustling main street pier and park. I'd sit there with the haunting green glow of my radio as my silent companion, and I'd listen to the endless soundtrack of the crashing waves.

Tonight, I took my San Diego version of that drive. It was a detour on the way home from work or a night out down south. I found myself turning onto this road reluctantly, as I did in the past; because it meant something was weighing heavily on my mind that I couldn't ignore.

Today was the day that I knew was coming, yet I didn't know how I would react. I hadn't let myself dwell on it much because I didn't want to preoccupy the past present with the imperfect future. I got up and dressed for casual Friday as any other week, excited for the prospect of the weekend and the happy hour that kicked it off. Everything went as usual; I was in a great mood, amazingly. The VIP farewell lunch was just as it should have been, followed by a Starbucks run. Then we went back to work for a few hours knowing we would all regroup again.

Somewhere between running code and listening to my Ipod on shuffle, Matchbox 20's When You're Gone transpired through the wavelengths. My nose twitched with the ache that always preceded tears, like the swift breeze before a storm hits. I fought the instinct with disbelief and indifference. It didnt' work. I realized if I didn't want to look like a psychotic female that wasn't knocked up at work, I needed to mitigate the situation fast. I got out of my seat and briskly walked to the bathroom while trying to balance the tears that threatened to break the cohesive seal on the surface of my eyes. I turned a corner, and a trickle went down my right cheek. I quickly wiped it away with the palm of my hand and hastened my pace. Once I locked myself into a stall, the rest was history. I indulged the emtion, and I told myself I was past it. I let out a deep sigh: No waterworks allowed at happy hour.

The first happy hour was uneventful. It was intended as a formality for the peripherals to pay their respect. Awkwardly, coworkers with nothing in common tried to mingle and socialize while drinking discount drinks. The guest of honor was restless and ready to move on to the real happy hour at the regular watering hole. And so we headed over to the true happy hour, except it wasn't too happy for reasons I won't go into detail. Soon enough, the guest of honor grew tired of putting on a charade and wanted to go home. As she said her final good byes to people she saw everyday for the past three years of her life, tears escaped down her cheeks.

We hurried to the car, and I tried to convince her that tonight should go out with a bang, like the good old days sans Bug streaking. She wouldn't budge. Her tears didnt' phase me. I pretended to drive while Asian to lighten the mood and suggested ice cream. She still wouldn't budge. A few blocks later, I confessed I was craving ice cream. As a favor to me, she conceded and off to Cold Stone we went. After that I dropped her off. Satisfied that she was in better spirits I went home.


I then got on the phone and berated one of the parties responsible for the lameness of everything. This was not how I had envisioned the night for my dear friend. It made my blood boil and heavy at the same time.

Hiding behind the anger and disappointment in others were my true feelings about my bestfriend's last day at work. They surfaced as I pulled into a spot facing the ocean. In the dim melancholy glow of the radio with waves crashing in the background, my face grew hot and tears poured forth. How did I get here? It's not even that time of the month. I watched the waves break on the beach and searched for an answer. This was what the ocean gave me:

Life's like a beach...everyday the incessant waves wash a little bit of sand away as the daily grind wears us down. Once in awhile, a big wave hits and takes a heap. (I already feel the void.) Yet, tomorrow the beach will still be there just as it was the day before and the day before that, and it'll continue to be there despite the waves. The beach won't be the same, but it won't cease to exist. Life goes on a day at a time changingly unchanged.

Cool sea breeze wafted through the window and graced my burning cheeks. I watched people frolic in the distance enjoying the crisp crests of the water, unaware of my presence. Slightly uplifted, I wondered how next week will ensue.

Memory Lane

Countdown begins
The end of an era
Thanks for the memories
The start of a new future
Can't wait for the adventure

A drive to Baskin Robins
Double scoop sundae
Topped with whipped laughter
Sprinkled with chopped shenanigans

We passed the shanking shop
Remembered the pukey porch
And I never sang a pitch
But I laughed and cried at air ball

Gorilla that caused controversy
Sits lonely gathering dust
Stripped of his medals
He has aged a decade

Time takes no prisoners
I wish to be incarcerated
In moments of unstoppable snorting
Such great fun, it hurts then and now

P.P.

Have you ever worn a pair of jeans, that when you sit down the zipper area bunches up into a little mole hill? I suppose for guys, it's a bonus--more leg room. Personally I am always abhorred when this phenomenon, I call the Penis Puff, occurs. I'm not sure where the apprehension came from, but I am sure I had this paranoia at an early age in grade school. Perhaps I am afraid to look like a hermaphrodite.

*names have been changed (poorly)

can't sleep. have been trying since, oh, eightish. like an old lady. only thing is, every time i lay down to sleep, i think of something that needs to be done. something urgent, like ironing my clothes for tomorrow. or making sure my caseless cd's are not scratching one another. you know, urgent things.

anyway, going through my address book to make sure all of the addresses are written in black ink caps, i notice i bought a greeting card for a recently impregnated friend that was never mailed. something like,
we are all so excited about the bundle of joy! something something, a girl or a boy!
my exact words inside this note, which i never mailed, are as follows:

Dear Timina* and Tim*,

Congratulations on your impending child. I am so happy

that is as far as i got. i am pretty sure that after i wrote "impending child" in black ink cursive, i realized that i had wasted my three fifty. why i kept the card is beyond me. at least i can use the envelope for something else...

Brilliant Quotes of the Day

Scene: Sweltering hot, noon time in San Diego, CA. Driving around in an old car with AC that blows hot air.

"Man, I'd give my extra right leg for an ice cold lemonade, right now."

Scene: Referencing friend of a friend with regard to a conversation.

"Remember X? He's the one you gave the bad Russian to."

the beginning of the end

well, i already feel the sense of impending doom.

friday will not be a good day. my mind is continually clouded with anxiety. sure, i have created little games that i play with myself to make this feeling go away. games like countdown to news traveling. that sort of thing.

when i am having these feelings, i generally turn to friends in order to quell my fears.
some friends take advantage of the situation.
some friends act like nothing has happened.
some friends act like i am ruining their lives.

none of these has been an accurate description of the best type of friend.

the response was better than i could have expected (ever).
and i plan on practising my speech on you.
twice.

Suck it, With a Cookie

After writing the Buzz Kill entry, my dad called to chat about my trip. He asked if I had fun on my trip and if it was difficult going back to work. I answered yes to all of the above. Then, in his usual unexpected wisdom, he gave me a new perspective. He said that while work may seem like an unwelcome nuisance, and your mind and spirit is still on leave, you should think about what made the trip possible in the first place. If it weren't for my paying job and the work I put into my responsibilities, there would have been no European escapade in the first place. Way to make me suck it up with a cookie, dad.

Buzz Kill

After taking an extra day off from work in hopes of prolonging my European vacation euphoria, I went back to the daily grind for the first time today. Putting on business casual after nearly 3 weeks of jeans and sneakers felt foreign. My feet protested the confinement and discomfort of my black leather slingbacks. My first drive on the freeway was slightly overwhelming. Suddenly, I had to be an aware driver and not a passive passenger. Eventually, I started to feel better as the control of the steering wheel afforded me the sense of power I had missed.

When I finally got to work, I realized I had forgotten my work badge/key at home. Slightly embarrassed, I went to the security desk to be signed in by my manager. Unfortunately, he was not at his desk, but the security lady was kind enough to wave me in. However, that was only after she thought I was my work twin. Once inside the building, I went to my desk, greeted by smiles of welcome. I distributed the few souvenirs I could afford with the lousy exchange rate. Then I went to my desk and booted up my computer, knowing full well that hundreds of emails awaited me. It only took me an hour and a half to skim/read/delete/flag for follow up 300 emails. After a quick meeting, it was time for lunch.

My good friend from work organized a welcome back lunch. Bug was there. Lately, he's been a sort of a sell-out Nelly Futado style but in the worst way possible. Someone turned him onto designer sunglasses, but that person must have been a woman because all the overpriced spectacles he has purchased look like chicks' shades. Today's basic black Dolce & Gabbana shades were no exception. I had to hold my tongue through the entire lunch before I could snark to my good friend about the bad choice of shades. Not surprised she agreed.

After being dropped off at my office, I realized I had lost my temporary badge issued from this morning. It had broken off the clip at some point. The security guy was less lenient than the lady. I tried calling the coworker that had dropped me off but to no avail. Once again, my manager was not there. In fact, no managers were around to sign me in. I had to wait nearly 20 minutes before my manager came out to let me in. I wondered if this was a sign that I shouldn't have gone into work today.

At around 3 o'clock, I realized I was completely bored with work. I felt the same way as I did before I had gone on my vacation--that was, zero motivation. Career existentialism set in, and I pondered if it was time for a new job.

The Morning After

The morning after a nice long vacation is much like the morning after a one-night stand. You wake up, disheveled and disoriented. You have nothing to change into because all of your cute clothes were on the trip with you, and they desperately need to be laundered. And so, you're wearing the same outfit you had on the night before. Then, you go to brunch with your best gal pal to gab about the previous night's proceedings and to recover. After lounging by the pool with some beers all afternoon, you blog about the events that transpired and savor the last of the afterglow.

I'm Leaving, on a Jet Plane

As we sit in sardine like proximity of complete strangers on Scandinavian Airlines, raindrops trickle slowly down the glass pane windows of the airplane. Sabina and I are leaving Oslo; our vacation has officially come to term. We have been fortunate with sunny weather nearly through the entire trip, but on this day, our departure date, the clouds of Norway weep for us. Travis, the third of the travelling musketeers, is already en route to the UK.

I think back to the past 16 days, and I remember only good things. Perhaps it is because this trip has been filled with nothing but good memories. My snarky sarcastic side lies dormant on the sentiments running through me. Is it possible this vacation has actually made me somewhat of an optimist?

Our plane is now taxiing towards the runway, and all I can think of is the word bittersweet; how perfectly it describes the mood in my heart. The raindrops are streaming past the windows now, faster than before. It's time to go home. There's nothing we can do now to resist the G-force hurdling us farther and farther away from the foreign lands we've come to love. Well, nothing short of a terrorist like take over attempt on our part. Let's just face it, sitting in the middle and by the window in row 27 is just not conducive to storming the cockpit. I think our efforts are better spent trying to infiltrate the water closet.

This trip was special because of the characters involved. I said characters because we each played a role. Sabina was the matron navigator who, like a student council president, kept us on track. She was also the universal translator from whom I learned Norwegian from. (Her Norwegian lessons had backfired when I caught her telling her uncle that Travis and I were being childish.) Travis was the token male, who often was our bellhop. Of course, he was much more than that, he was also quite the doorman and courier for small pieces of trash and empty containers. Oh, I kid, I kid! Travis provided us with very entertaining stories from his past and unsolicited random facts about Velcro. I also shared in the entertainment role by my willingness to pose in compromising photos. And, by that I mean cheesy, touristy, slightly obnoxious PG-13 photos. On the other hand, I was the timekeeper with a watch tan badge of honor. At night, after I set the alarm clock, I become the intermediary between Travis' snoring and Sabina's protest.

Many memorable moments were had on this trip. Such an example was a miscommunication at one of our host families' house, where the hostess thought Travis wanted her to do his laundry. She was quite indignant about the request and punished him by making him sleep on the dog couch and holding his socks hostage. Sabina was the eternal klutz, and I was there to laugh at her every near tumbles and falls, like a good friend should. She was particular good at teaching us the idiosyncrasies of each European shower. We were never scalded by hot water nor frozen by icy blasts. On the occasions when we went clubbing, I told people that Travis was my adopted gay brother (but only to guys because he was salting my game).

Now that we have finally boarded our connection to Chicago, the bitter part of separation has subsided and the sweet memories are surfacing. Shakespeare said it best, "Parting is such sweet sorrow."

Final Days of the Tour

As my European vacation is winding down, I am struggling to deal with the idea of returning to the reality I call my life. While I miss the consistency of everyday life in the States, i.e. sleeping in the same bed, I do not enjoy the consistency of my vacation, i.e. wearing the same jeans for 2 weeks. I cannot wait to do some laundry.

I have learned a few things on this trip, a smidge of German , a pinch of Norwegian, and a splash of English. More importantly, I learned to relax, enjoy myself, be at ease, and laugh at my own falters. What I have not been able to disspell are questions of my life: where is it going and what lies ahead. I suppose an extended vacation is not the solution. But, I think I am going to be more optimistic and not fear the unknown.

California, here I come!