queue swan song

it dawned on me today, speaking to her, that my days at gecko hq are down to the last week.

unlike the last position, where i was really "run, do not walk to the nearest exit" hell bent on leaving, this one feels different.

it's almost bittersweet, i suppose. i don't know.

apart from the somewhat shitty pay and the refusal of granting me the opportunities to move up, i actually somewhat enjoyed that place. absorbed a whole lot of job related knowledge, worked with a whole bunch of fun, smart and sometimes crazy individuals. i learnt the hard way that sometimes opportunities you think you deserve might not be given to you, but it's an invaluable lesson that i needed anyways.

so i get ready to bid farewell to this place. without this, i wouldn't have gone through what i went through, and i'm thankful for that. plus, i met her working there, so i guess that overrides pretty much all the negative stuff.

and so, another opportunity awaits me, a challenging one, no doubt, but it'll be fun. i've never worked downtown before, and with the subway commute everyday, it'll be a different experience.

let the battle of motion sickness begin.

acknowledgement

it's late in the night, and for whatever reason, i'm still awake.

the cat's taken 5 naps by now, i reckon. he's laying next to me, stretched out, deep in catnip land.

i look over and start talking to him. no response.

i say "dandan ah". his eyes do not open, but he lets out a little yap, letting me know that he's heard me, but chooses to continue sleeping. whatever important things i have, it'll have to wait till the morning.

i love that furry shit producing thing.

times of change

life sure is unpredictable, isn't it?

less than a year ago, i was just leaving my job, about to start a new job. of course, knowing me, i had to go on a vacation in between jobs, so i went out west, all the way to san jose.

i remember thinking about how things have changed over time, and wondering how it would evolve in the future.

in a little bit less than 10 months, grey fluff's fluffed his way down to houston, promoted to a managerial position.

over the same period of time, i realized that i could actually do something other than programming and now am on the verge of moving up slightly up the food chain.

i learnt scuba, went diving and spent my birthday smoking a cuban cigar on a balcony, looking out at the dark ocean. i guess that's how a relaxing vacation is supposed to feel like.

i realized that there is someone for me, even an self absorbed jackass like me, so maybe there's hope for us all afterall. let's hope that she doesn't wisen up anytime soon.

can't wait to see what the winds of change will bring in next.

withdrawl

time since arriving at office – 5 hrs.
time out for lunch – 1.5 hrs.
time spent in the office – 3.5 hrs.
time spent working – 0 hrs.
time spent reading about scuba stuff – 3.5 hrs.

this is what happens when you’ve checked out mentally, and already have two dive trips planned.  all you can think about is diving.  diving with seals, turtles, manta rays, etc.

the fucking scuba stuff had better be here today, or i’d be throwing a hissy fit right there in front of my house.  

omg, omg, omg, please please please let it be there.  please please please.  

logically, i know it won’t make a difference, because i’m not diving for another week or two, but still, i just want to cradle my scuba equipment and rock back and forth.

ps. i’m really not crazy.

hopes and dreams

i dream of the business finally getting sold at asking price. hope that it just gets fucking sold.

i dream of liking the new job, which would turn out to be interesting and challenging. hope that i don't get kicked out after the 2nd week.

i dream of diving, floating underwater. hope that my package comes in the mail tomorrow.

(god damn fucking slow shipping, how long does it take to ship some stuff from texas to maryland? fucking inefficient people. um, sorry about the dose of pented up anger)

i dream of things to see, places to go with you. hope that i'm not dreaming.

what i did today

mares nemo dive watch - $425

dacor viper octo * 2 – $149.90

tusa mini-pressure gauge - $56.95

tank banger - $14.50

one way ticket (IAH-BWI) - $94.80

roundtrip ticket (BWI-BOS) – $138.60

quiting your job after landing a better job and taking a week in between to go visit sister for diving and two weeks after that going on a 3 day liveaboard for scuba and thinking/starting to plan next trip to the carribean - priceless.

can i count my chickens yet?

if everything goes according to plan, the following will be my to-do list in the morning.

- find out concrete details about my new opportunity.
- hide smile, sit in my cube, hand in notice.
- buy return ticket from houston.
- buy roundtrip ticket to boston.
- buy scuba gear.

but i'm still somewhat not fully at ease. maybe it's because i haven't gotten all the details of the new opportunity yet. is it my pessimistic side that still worries about the things that could go wrong at this point?

i don't think i've ever wished for monday morning to come faster like this.

ps. for future reference, brunch isn't served on saturdays at black market bistro, and there's no red door salon in georgetown. who would've thunk that?

1/1

And I need you to remember one thing
I came, I saw, I conquered
- "Numb/Encore" Jay Z/ Linkin Park

the elation, the utter joy.
the primal yell, guttural scream in a deserted parking lot at 12:20am.
the first phone call to share my joy with someone i care for.
the 2nd phone call to an longtime buddy, chatting for almost 2 hours.

am i waiting for the other shoe to drop? i don't really care. let it drop, i say. nothing can rain on my parade today.

'tis a good day to be me.

clowning

interview 1 of the greatJobHunt2006 is slated for this afternoon.

i found this out earlier in the week, and being the ever smart person with incredible foresight, i planned on trying out my clown, i mean, interview costume beforehand.

that was days ago. sure, in my mind, i sorted out what i was going to wear, but i never actually looked at my choices physically.

until just now.

1st choice : conservative look. the combination of a lighter blue button down shirt with a dark blue tie was nixed due to extreme wrinkleness and 2 fang marks on the tie. (do i not feed the fucker enough? why would he chew on my ties?)

2nd choice : boring look. white shirt and a black tie. where the fuck is my white shirt? did the dry clean fairy steal it? i have no recollection at all.

last choice : project runway look. pink vertical striped shirt with a salmon colored tie. sure to amuse certain people, but by process of elimination, i guess that's my clown suit for the dance.

speaking of the suit, there's another disaster. apparently my efforts to get in better shape has made the suit a tad bigger. like i can fit the cat inside my jacket and still button it up with room to spare.

so i will show up at the interview with a non-conservative shirt/tie combo and an oversized suit. couple that with the fact that i'll be taking the metro, one can almost spell d-i-s-a-s-t-e-r.

can't wait.

zzzzzzz

you go downstairs to get some water, only to see the fucker taking over your pillow in your absence.

asshole.

mr. jones - counting crows

i’m sitting here in my cube, years removed from that day, and yet i can remember almost every detail.

it was a smoldering hot day, and we were returning from shopping at tysons.  My sister’s bf drove, with her sitting in the passenger seat.  I had the whole backseat to myself, and of course i just unfurled myself, spreading out across the back.  

the sun was setting, but the air was still humid and hot.  For some reason, instead of turning on the ac, all the windows were rolled down.  Wind tunneling in and out of the windows created a huge racket, but the radio was turned up, trying to drown out the commotion.  and i closed my eyes, singing along to this song in my head as i slowly dozed off amidst all the noise.

funny how a song can evoke such memories.

another one

bites the dust.

i look to my right, and see another tree crashing to the ground. from the outside, it looked sturdy. thick, lush, full of leaves. who knew that inside, it was rotting, dry and hollow?

maybe inevitably, leaves turn brown, branches snap, and luscious trees are reduced to mushroom food.

but maybe, just maybe, instead of fading into darkness, new green sprouts appear, stronger branches replaces older ones, and trees become sturdier as time goes on.

here's hoping.

conflict resolution

these days, all you hear on the news is war, conflict, bloodshed, hatred. as humans of all shapes, sizes, and color, it's fucking embarassing that we've sunk to this. people are selfish, afterall. each for their own, i suppose.

i refuse to believe that we, mankind, are only capable of so little. cynical as i am, i refuse to believe that. plus, fucking gas prices are killing me.

so, i took it upon myself to save mankind. and here, a fish puke exclusive, i'm glad to announce that after extensive research, i've come to one simple, obvious conclusion.

kofi annan, move aside.

jimmy carter, step.

enter steven seagal.

in every single straight to video movies of his, he saves the world, disabling nuclear (or nuculear, according to bush) weapons, rushes into burning houses to save the kids, dog, cat and parrot. shit, he's even a trained chef in one of his movies.

ok, so i've watched a lot of his stupid retarded movies. i know it's going to suck, but still, somehow i end up renting it. but think about it seriously for a sec. how can you go wrong with that? send him to the middle east, and everyone will stop the madness just to get rid of his pony tailed face.

do i pick up the nobel peace prize now, or will they send it to my house?

thinking

after the ass whooping i got on the links during this past weekend, it suddenly dawned on me.

i'm over-thinking this whole golf swing thing.

countless idle hours were spent visualizing the perfect (or what i perceive to be perfect) swing, and more were spent trying to figure out how to execute said swing.

but then when you're on the course and you're standing over the ball, maybe it's time to shut of your brain, swing and see where the tiny dimpled ball flies towards.

maybe sometimes we have, in our pea brains, what the perfect execution is, and we tend to overthink it, trying to get as close to it as possible. maybe we should just try and see how it turns out?

i mean, thinking was never my forte anyways.

sunday night conversations

me : dude, i feel like i'm on queer eye, except, you know, you're not gay.

tin lion : well, that and you dress better than i do.

me : um, yeah. i don't wear cutoff jean shorts.

honestly

is honesty the best policy?

so i've approached this new adventure with a "what you see is what you get" approach. no false pretenses, no costume masks. i was never really that great at acting anyways.

no matter how hard it is to tell the truth, of my past, of how i feel, of what i see, it comes out unfiltered. it's my past, my thoughts, and be it good or bad, it's part of me, and i should share it, right?

sure sounds good, doesn't it? Theoretically, it's good. very "hollywood movie"-like. but then i was sitting there this afternoon, thinking, and we all know nothing good ever comes out of that.

honesty is good, but opening up like this, isn't this just somewhat setting up myself for all kinds of pain? plus, there goes my whole "mysterious and hard to grasp" angle.

sure, it's not an optimistic view of things, but i'm sure that one has to consider the possibility. i do not pretend to know what'll happen. it's a chance i'm taking, i reckon, and no matter what goes down, i guess i can always say i did it my way.

history tends to repeat itself

so it is said, and so it shall be done.

hmm..sound familiar? well, i think i said something to the same effect.

and now, it’s time to play that game again.

a self imposed timeline gives me until the beginning of August to find a new paid web surfing position. or my vacation starts in August. place your bets now, lady and gents. either way, it should be a good month.

good times, exciting times.

Вы не должны прочитать это

can't help but be disappointed by it. don't want to feel this way, but just can't help it. somehow, maybe mistakenly, i thought that i'd get the benefit of the doubt.

not anger, not bewilderment, not disbelief, just disappointment.

it just came out of no where and punched me in the face, then head butted me in the chest (hardy har har). maybe it was just unrealistic of me to think that way.

that’s all you think of me?

summer night

before you knew it, the air had cooled down. the sun had set, taking along with it some of the heat and humidity, leaving behind a slight, cool breeze.

the small patch of grass was not a prime spot, regardless of how you look at it. But it hardly mattered, did it? she was sitting next to me, and that was enough.

the show started, we ate, talked, laughed and danced (well, she did). i held her close, took a deep breath, and all was right.

too bad the night had to end.

laa dee laa

It’s hard out here for a pimp.  especially if you have ADD like me.  and also, not a pimp.

you set out to complete a task, but along the way, every minor thing distracts you, tempting you to divert from the set path.  and you try to resist.  but your brain doesn’t listen.  it wants to surf the web, read a book, start a new task.  sometimes you win the battle, sometimes your brain does.  

but when you have oh, let’s see, 50 things constantly swimming in your head at every single waking moment (and sometimes even when you’re asleep), your ADD wins the battle pretty much every single time.

it goes like this.

ok.  this needs to be done.  let’s do it.  step 1, done.  step 2, um, shit, i gotta do that too.  let’s see.  hmm, then that pops up in your head, and your mind wanders for a bit.  crap, i still gotta finish this and start that.  and so it goes on and on and on.

half a day later, your list is still full, everything’s incomplete, still on your plate, and you feel like you’ve accomplished nothing, which is kinda true, i suppose.

so you sit there, ignore everything, and start blogging.

whoops

and so it may seem that my exit strategery i was hoping for might not matriculate. whoops. talk about counting your chickens before the eggs hatch. or counting your eggs before the chicken lays it, depending on your belief on the whole “which came first, chicken or egg” debate. anyways, i digress. fucking add.

i guess that puts me in an awkward position. almost like i dropped the bar of soap, and Bruno’s standing behind me with a grin on his face. mentally, i’ve already checked out, cruising till i drop my 2 weeks, but then now, it seems that i might have to delay my exit a bit. shit.

time to update my wonderful resume with a lot of sweet nothings and float it out to sea, in search of suckers who’ll bite.

deep conversation

i sat there, dejected.

you don’t love me. do you?
why? why don’t you love me?
i love you. do you love me? no?
well, i hate you too.

and the stupid cat just sat there staring at me for a sec, then proceeded to lick his paws.

how to effectively use your lunch hour

so i like to shop. nothing wrong with that. ok. maybe like is a little bit of an understatement. whatever.

something about shopping during lunch hour, trying on stuff in a huge fitting room that makes it even more appealing.

i wonder why.

sugar

once upon a time, someone taught me how to cook. hopeless as i was (am), he patiently showed me all the ingredients and equipment. he then showed me how to actually put said ingredients together, and using the equipment, produce an edible meal. he took it seriously, and wanted me to do the same, but me, i thought "it's only cooking. who the fuck really cares?"

of all the cooking tidbits he tried to pass on to me, the one thing that got stuck in my head was him telling me that too much sugar turns sweetness into bitterness. i never really believed it. "what the fuck have you been smoking? sugar canes?" to me, sweet is sweet. how can too much of it turn something good into its opposite?

somehow, it all made sense tonight. sometimes when you want to make something sweeter, you keep on adding sugar, and before you know it, you've gone overboard and a perfectly good entree is no longer.

gotta watch how much sugar you add to the equation, special ed.

big stride

i’m standing at the edge, looking out.

i want to jump off, based solely on the belief that when i’m about to land, solid ground will somehow miraculously appear, saving me.  but knowing my luck, i’ll end up splashing face first into a pool of dirty nasty sewage runoff.  and something will hold me down and force me to take a few gulps of it.  or something.

so i will, for now, still stand here, right on the edge, trying to convince myself to stay a bit longer, whilst longing to take the giant stride off into the blue.

come on, come on, let’s go.

leftovers

2 minutes. press start.

the light comes on, and the plate starts spinning.

i stand to the side, with another bowl in my hand. this one doesn't need to be heated up. i'll just eat that out of this bowl. i peer in and see a few chunks of avocado floating around. yummy.

i hear a popping sound. i guess it's done. i take the plate out into the living room and sit sit down.

coffee's poured from the french press. a small forkful of cold salad is taken in, followed by a piece of tenderloin.

i take a moment to savour the moment, the taste. guess it wasn't my imagination afterall.

"It's times like these you learn to live again"
-Times like these, Foo Fighters