Vacuums don't clean houses. People clean houses.

For Christmas I bought myself a small Eureka vacuum and after using it a handful of times it started smelling like extreme [EXTREME!!!] burnt rubber. I will add that it had smelled a little like that when I first opened it, but I figured it was just "new vacuum smell". Yeah, I know, I know. It smelled horrible. I turned it off, called Rich, and he witnessed a spark explosion coming from the back, when I demonstrated it to him.

So now I have to call the company and hope that they will give me a new one. It's been about a month. I hate talking to reps because I always seem to invite them to try to sell me something. Ah well, I really liked this vacuum, even with the smell, and the filter that spit dust back in your face when you try to clean it. I wish they'd tell you, in detail, exactly what you need for the phone call, like vacuum serial number, invoice and receipt, social security number, mother's maiden name, and credit card to order a lifetime's supply of filters.

"A book worth reading is worth buying."

When we lived in Florida, I went to the library so much (daily) that I racked up quite a bill on toll and gas. It probably would have been cheaper to buy the books than getting free library books. When we traveled around in Maine, I only had the sparse choices that the homes we stayed in had available. When we moved back in with my parents, I reread many, many of my books that were in storage.

Then, for my birthday, my husband bought me an Amazon Kindle 3. He also bought me a cover that has a retractable light, so I can read in the dark. It hearkens back to my youth, reading books via flashlight until the wee hours of the morning. I love the fact that I can read the first chapters of the book before I purchase it. I love that I can get free books that are no longer under copyright. I love that I can carry around hundreds and hundreds of books without worrying about the weight, or the storage, or rummaging through them all. I know this  sounds like a commercial for the kindle, but honestly, if you loved reading and haven't had the time, you'll find that it will rekindle your love.

A man can't ride your back unless it's bent. - MLK Jr.

Growing up in the Bronx, I didn't understand how racism towards blacks could still be around because the majority of my classmates were black. I, being neither Latino, white, nor black, was the minority. I've been called "chink", and kids pulled at their eyes while I walked by. But for the most part, those were small incidents that didn't stop me from having friends of every ethnicity and gender.

I don't know how I would be any different if I grew up in the midwest, west coast, or the Philippines. I've been told that it's hard to pinpoint where I am from if you didn't know me. Sometimes this worries me because I see it as being "generic", but other times it's good to be able to blend in. I make friends easily and can adapt to things quickly. I like to imagine that if I didn't look like I do, I would have been a great girl version of Jason Bourne (Bourne Identity), blending in with different cultures, speaking dozens of different languages, spying on what every country needs spying on. Or maybe I just thought Matt Damon was cute?

Now I wanted this post to be have enlightening insight into life as a minority, living amongst minorities, and I end with talking about Matt Damon. What I wanted to add is that, in my own experience, I've found that growing up with other ethnicities, as opposed to growing up in a mono-culture with the same faces looking back at you, interesting but not satisfying because I never got to see the day-to-day of other peoples, or my own. Even my own "culture" has been watered down since I grew up in America. I've been, for a lack of a better term, "whitewashed". My culture has little to do with where I was born, but much to do with where I was raised and the experiences that I have had. I don't know if it's good or bad.

"I'm A Unitard!"

Nothing makes my Sundays better than getting new episodes of The Simpsons. I'm really glad that The Simpsons are on Sunday because, although I haven't been in school for 8(?) years, there's still that lingering dread that accompanies Sundays. Sometimes I have to stop the impending panic attack and remind myself that I don't have a test, project, or homework due on the morrow. In fact, I don't ever have to go to school again if I don't want to.

Maybe I would have dreaded Mondays less if I had that yellow family to look forward to on Sunday evenings. Instead I was expected to go to bed by 8 o'clock, just as soon as Andy Rooney stopped whatever it was he was complaining about. I didn't get to watch The Simpsons and Married With Children until I was much older (or sneaked a peek at reruns), because they were examples of dysfunctional families.

Luckily, I could read Stephen King by flashlight, and delve into easier subjects like alcoholism, incest, rape, murder, possessions, and the occasional killer clown.

"Life is too short to sleep on low thread-count sheets."

I haven't been sleeping well lately. I don't get to bed until past midnight and I spend the next hour or so tossing and turning, trying to get my legs to stop twitching, and my mind to start drifting off and stay there instead of getting to dream-state only to be bombarded with an idea. And it's not even brilliant, million dollar ideas either, just "oh I should call the vacuum manufacturer". Then I get woken up by a cat meowing for some reason or another several times during the night.

I haven't changed my routine drastically; I started an exercise regimen only five days ago, and I have been sleeping badly longer than that. I don't seem to have any trouble with overheating or freezing at night, and I can shut my mind off. It's just that it turns on by itself when I close my eyes. I'm tired during the day. I don't drink caffeine. I'm just restless. In life and mind, and now it's affecting my sleep.

Stewing

Spent some time today at Stew Leonard's buying meats, fruit, and vegetables. What really annoys me with Stew's is that they could be super with their baked goods and pre-made foods, but instead they use conditioners, flavorings, and other additives, that aren't necessary. For the prices they charge, they can afford to have all-natural foods available to their costumers. They supply us with cheeses and meats that are from animals that do not have hormones or antibiotics, and are labeled free-range. The produce is local and they do have some organic choices. So why not their baked goods and already cooked options?

Shop Til You Drop

I don't like to shop for shoes, and clothes, and accessories. Once, my husband (then boyfriend) and I walked out of a store, many years ago, he gasped "but you didn't buy anything?". I think that was when it dawned on me that I may be a little defective in 'women's shopping'. It was not a subject that I took in my all-girl high school.

I get antsy when I have to shop for clothes. Don't get me wrong, I love looking at all the "cute" dresses and shoes, but I think the problem is dealing with trying them on, and changing, and staring in the mirror, then finding something else to try on, then having to change back. So boring. When it comes to clothes, I look for the quickie shop. In and out under ten minutes, not a hair out of place.

I don't know if it stems from having to sit around waiting for my mom to try on her 20th shoe, or that I just wear one "outfit" (jeans, t-shirt, sneakers), that makes me so speedy when it comes to buying clothes and shoes. But just ask my husband, I am a closeted designer (pun intended). I parade around, in the comfort of my home, with new "fashions" that I have come up with. I know why people don't look good in outfits, and I can make it better. I just don't like shopping...

for clothes. I do, however, love to go food shopping. I like to handle fruits; smell them, pinch them, tap them, caress them. I like to look at the freshness and quality of meat, the veins of fat running through a steak, the pinkness of salmon. I like to see different types of breads and check out cheeses. I like to imagine how these foods would be in a dish.

No wonder I used to go to the supermarket everyday.

Snow Man

There is one thing, and one thing alone, that will make my husband jump out of bed at six in the morning: shoveling snow. I have met people (me) who prefer having a winter over not, but I have never met someone who gets a thrill over picking out his very own shovel, and then using it. He actually gets disappointed if it's the feathery snow because it just blows away in the wind and doesn't have that satisfying girth, weight, and crunch when stepped on and picked up.

It's not just snow though, he would be perfectly happy being paid to dig holes in dirt or sand. But there is a certain sense of excitement when it is snow. He has stayed out for four hours, digging, and throwing, without a jacket.

What always makes me laugh, internally, is the imagined competition he has with the neighbors. He shovels, then comes indoors and surveys his handiwork against the neighbors and, of course, finds theirs lacking. He also get frustrated at other peoples' technique. Forget about if they are outside before he is, his rage could probably melt the entire neighborhood.

The Driving Force

When I turned 16 the only thing that was on my mind was how angry I was not to get into the Driver's Ed Class. This was due to the fact that I was born one day after the cutoff date. Oh how I raged. I went to the driver's ed teacher, I pleaded with my vice-principal and principal (neither were "pals"), I spoke to my guidance counselor, and griped to my parents, all to no avail. Eventually, I got to do outside classes and managed to get my license a few weeks after my friends got theirs, which, to me, was better than waiting 6 months.

Here I am, 14 years later, actually contemplating a life without a car. This thing that has been part of me and something I've equated with freedom and adventure, has almost become a hassle, a dead limb that needs to be trimmed off. It's been nearly two months since I last put gas in the car, and every time I have to drive it somewhere I have to listen to its squeals, and grinding moans, and worry that it will fail while I am far from home.

Is it just time for a new car? Or is it time for no car?

Watched Like A Hawk

In October I had had enough of Rich and decided to go to Atlantic City to take time for myself and to sort through my 'options'. (Options being, should I go to California or somewhere else?) I did it in a sneaky fashion; leaving while Rich slept and while my parents were out. To this day I am monitored closely on all sides.

Because my mom didn't find out until later that evening that I was gone, she is the one that takes special care to keep a close eye on me. She continually asks me if I am okay, and if she hears me sniffling immediately tries to see if I am crying. Today, I decided to go out early to pick up a few things at the supermarket, so I went out to start the car, and when I came back in she was waiting to pounce, with questions of concern.

I tend to keep things to myself since I've been taught (and continually taught) that if I were to share my feelings I only end up getting yelled at, or have my actions analyzed. Is it me or is everyone else's family the type to help you "fix" your problems, instead of just sitting there listening patiently and understandingly? What's the point of being an adult, especially when everyone knows they can have you (me) run the house and yet still treated like a child in other areas of my life? What/where's the disconnect? How can I begin to fix this and achieve full adulthood?

'A Journey Of A Thousand Miles Must Begin With A Single Step' - Lao Tzu

I'm currently reading Celandine (The Various II): Touchstone Trilogy (I link to the UK version because I much prefer their cover art to the U.S. version), and there is a bit of it that has to do with a wearisome, danger-filled journey. This made me think of my favorite books and how much dangerous traveling was done. Examples follow: The final Harry Potter book, a lot of going back and forth all across England, looking for hallows and horcruxes. The endless march across Middle Earth in the Lord of the Ring series. The Narnian travels, fleeing from the White Witch, marching through forests, etc. Lyra's quest that takes her to different worlds, and different sceneries, in the His Dark Materials trilogy.

Now that you caught my drift...

I understand that journeys are literal and metaphoric ways for the characters to "grow up". The passage of time and the escapes from danger caused by the journeys change the characters physically and emotionally. They learn to rely on their own judgment and to trust their friends and fellow travelers.

So the question is, would I, sitting here on this watery rock that travels about at 67,000 miles per hour, feel any sort of transformation if I were to be part of an odyssey?

Bittersweet Episode

A few days ago I made chocolate chip cookies, but following America's Test Kitchen's advice on the chips, I used Ghirardelli's Bittersweet chips, because they claimed that the taste was better than Nestle's semi-sweet chocolate chips.

I made the first two batches from my original dough, but the third batch I added more chips, at someone else's advice. Turns out, we all preferred the first two batches, because the intermittent bittersweetness of the chips was much more preferable to the more constant flavor with more chips added.

Now, I like experimenting with flavors but I have been cooking for 22 years and watching food shows since Marin Yan and Julia Child, albeit only baking sparsely in those early years, however, I would like to think that I almost have a sixth sense when it comes to flavor pairings. I intentionally placed less chips because they were too big, and because they weren't too sweet. I do put less Nestle's chips in as well, but I did skimp on the Ghirardelli's more than what I do with the other brand.  I also understand that if we hadn't added more chips then we'd never know that we liked those more than the last batch. But I did know. I knew I wouldn't like the more aggressive approach with the chocolate. Just like I knew that grapes and peanuts would be a great combination, like peanut butter and jelly.

Needless to say, I did think the bittersweet chips were too bittersweet, in general.

Dirty Winter

Everyone seems to equate winter with words and ideas like "pristine", "white", "clean", and "serene". I, on the other hand, think of musky, unwashed bodies. Yeah, I tend to shower less during the winter because smells are mostly masked by the cold and the layers of clothing.

In the wintertime I go into "pseudo-hibernation", this is a state not unlike my average state throughout the year, however with a slight decrease in activity. I figure if I do less action, and everyone knows that colder temperature retards bacterial growth, I am good for not showering for at least three days. Also, another factor to add to this, is the seemingly quick state in which air turns from steamy hot to chilly cold as soon as you step out of the shower. I call this the Chill-Shower Effect. One can do many things to stop this, but in the end, the effort really is not worth it. Hence, the every-3-days solution.

Unfortunately for me, I live with someone who also practices this method, and my research has found that this method can only be done by those who live alone, or at the very least do not sleep with others who shuffle around a hot quilt at night, causing warm, pungent, air to come wafting into your face.

I think in the future I will tackle the subject of why humans/animals like their own musk but are turned off by others who also have a certain tang...

Keep warm.

Segundo of Gold

So for a while now I've been toying with the idea of writing a mystery series based on my grandfather, who was a police detective in the Philippines. I mentioned this to my parents and they were ecstatic and immediately began to ply me with his escapades, which is all well and good, but when it doesn't appear in the story will they be confused and upset? I have a niggling suspicion that they think it is going to be a biographical account of his life on the police force, instead of the quirky, slice of life, fictional series that I had in mind. I am only taking my grandfather's vocation and name, I may add a few of the funnier anecdotes that people have told me about, but other than that it'll be truly fictional.

I can claim that my fear of family disappointment and disapproval has crippled me from ever writing it, but I can thank my debilitating laziness for this. You're lucky you even got this much out of me.

He Ain't Heavy... (Well Maybe A Little)

My brother has finally gone back to his apartment three hours away, after spending about two weeks here with the family. Our relationship has been always fluctuating between friendship and disagreement. Having a gap of 6 years between us means he continuously has the job of catching up with my views and thinking, which he never can or does. I keep expecting someone who is at my maturity level and he probably keeps expecting the same.

The last time I lived with him full-time was when he was 12. It's been 12 years since, and he's lived this teens mostly as an only child. I don't want to debate and discuss the psychology of it all. I just came to say that I had a nice visit with him, but I'm still waiting.

Outings: Boxes, Toothbrushes, Fruit

This has become more of a to buy list than an actual blog, but as I was eating my egg today I realized that I was pre-planning my blog topics, and I could see that this would become aggravating in the near future. So, "to-do list" it is.

On the agenda is a lovely trip to CVS (maybe) for toothbrush heads, Home Depot (definitely) for moving boxes and packing material, and Stew Leonards (definitely/maybe) for fruit. The enjoyment comes with NY driving, and I am half sarcastic and half in earnest over this. I just reread my mantra for positivity, which goes something like: "You can always choose to see things in the positive light".

But have you seen NY drivers?

Why So Serious?

I won't go into why I decided to buy skin products that were supposed to smoothen skin and lessen pores' appearance (hint: 30), but I decided to add it to my daily routine. My program is as follows:

Twice a day, I lather my face for five minutes. In even circles I round my cheeks, past those pesky freckles, onto my forehead, down my little nose, and onto my chin. But here's the thing, I force myself to like it, to savor every second of those micro-beads sloughing off dead skin cells. In actuality, I make my cheeks puff up for 10 seconds then my mind takes over and I smile for the rest of the time, enjoying myself immensely. I smile whilst I peer at my face myopically in the mirror, I smile even if soap gets in my eyes. I think of smiley thoughts like kittens hopping into boxes, and big plates of spaghetti and meatballs, and raindrops on roses, and maybe even a nice canter in the Swiss Alps singing my lungs out over the hills being alive etc. 

Smiling decreases blood pressure, makes you relaxed, and boosts your immune system. It makes you feel good and makes you look younger. One of the secrets to the fountain of youth is relishing life, so I'm gonna keep with the regimen because I like the way my face looks and feels, and because I like how those 5 minutes makes me feel. Hey, I still get asked for ID when I buy lotto and wine, how 'bout you? 

Anecdotal Evidence: I May Be Possessed By A Spirit

It didn't register until new year's eve, when my mother and I were in the kitchen cooking a few dishes to celebrate the new year with, and she started to sing softly behind me. I realized that she was singing "Alleluia" from the Gospel acclamation portion of mass. Like an M. Night Shyamalan flashback sequence I saw all the pieces, that I had blinded myself from, come together.

Back story: I had stopped going to Catholic church for a while and continue to mix and match different religious themes to fit my spiritual needs. I was brought up with Catholicism (in schooling and churching) but I had the option to go through the sacraments or not, so while my friends wore white and bowed before priests and confessed their sins, I sat in the pew watching, thinking we were too young to dedicate ourselves to one church. 

I keep my religious views from my family, who don't really care, but I believe that they (my mom) secretly wish I was more traditional when it comes to mass, prayers, and belief system. But the flashbacks caught me off guard: the night my mom asked me to read the newsletter from the church, the Catholic Journal carefully/carelessly placed near my kitchen chair, the several discussions of bible passages, the request that I pray at night, the frantic call to see if I would like a $400 nativity scene, the time when she gave me a kiss on the top of my head and a whispered "Amen", the eerie singing behind me. I am convinced that my mom is convinced that I am possessed by a demon. 

That, or she just wants me to accompany her to church on Sundays so we could laugh at the priest's off-key singing. I'll take the dramatic option please.

Pre-battle confessions from the annals of January

Today I shall tackle an 8 foot giant with nothing more than my bare hands! Maybe a couple of boxes (two) too. Yes, the great Tannenbaum will be slain, which isn't so hard since it's been dead for many weeks now... so I should say it will be plucked of its fineries and lain in a fine white cloth made of plastic.

It took me a few weeks to create this monstrosity, and the idea that I can undo it all in a few hours makes me a bit anxious. Thankfully, I had the good sense not to decorate the rest of the house, and didn't succumb to the temptation of decorating the bushes and trees, and gutter. I will march to battle in a few hours, after tea and biscuits, of course, and maybe time spent on toiletries and such. I do not look forward to the task ahead for my reward is meager; a handful of striped minties, the threat of gashes from broken glass, and tiny, dried needles needlessly poking at me from all sides. Not to mention the general melancholy that goes hand-in-hand with the end of holidays and slushy, dirty snow, melting en masse outside.

Goals and Resolutions

In keeping with the tradition of new year's I've decided to try my hand at a few resolutions. Namely to lose weight, write the "great American novel", and to keep a daily journal. I'll begin the first two tomorrow... but today, today will be for my daily journal. The blog name comes from the phrase: "Today is the oldest I've been and the youngest I'll ever be."

Welcome 2011 and the following 364 days.

I'm getting over a cold/sickness which is very disappointing, not because I'm sick at the beginning of a new year but because I haven't been sick in over 4 years! Ffffuuuu!! I don't even know what to do with myself. I trudge on but it's very annoying not to taste anything, or experience things to the fullest. I try not to medicate either, believing that sickness comes from sadness and stress, so I find things to amuse myself and keep laughing and jolly. But it's time to brush my teeth and continue watching The Twilight Zone marathon.