Merry Christmas!

To make up for the past years' less than ideal amount of celebration/gift giving, I devoted a large amount of break painting Christmas cards, brainstorming and getting gifts for friends and family. With what started as a goal to be more artistic and sentimental, led to a small tinge of impatience at the length of time it takes to complete the cards and gift boxes. While I'm proud of my work, I doubt I'll have the luxury to do this every year. I hope to find a happy balance with practice.

In the end, what's most important is the memories that you build with family and friends during the holidays. My family isn't particularly festive when it comes to winter time, since we have forsaken the tree for the past few years. It's cool though; I don't really feel like I'm missing out on the Christmas experience. What we ended up doing last night was play many rounds of mah-jong, which I successfully made sure to lose each game. My mom isn't particularly verbal when it comes to her past, but it was so much fun for my sister and I to drill her a bit about how she met my dad. While she claimed not to remember the details, we were able to gather that they met at the computer lab during graduate school.

Me: "So how did it happen? Did Daddy have trouble turning on his computer and needed your help?"

Mom: "No... he just had a technical question and I was the computer assistant."

Me: "Like how at Berkeley there were students who were overseeing the lab?"

Mom: "Yes."



Sister: "Daddy, we're trying to figure out how you and Mommy met."



Dad: "I had a question about a computer program, so I asked your mom. And she just stood there for a long time, with a frown on her face." "And she's standing there, trying to figure it out."

Dad: "And I was thinking, she's supposed to know! She's the computer assistant!"



Mom: "Come to think of it, I don't know how I got that job. I just wanted something to put on my resume."

Dad: "I know, I was thinking, 'What's she doing? She's kind of stupid.'"

Me: "Really?!"

Dad: "Kind of."

Sister: "So how does that make you guys meet then?"

Dad: "Well, I was taking a computer class at the time, so I went back there a lot. It was a small school."

Oh, parents. Needless to say, they have a very happy marriage now. And I'm realizing more and more how lucky I am to have parents who have unconditional love for me and my sister, and for each other. A part of me wonders how far I would have gone in life if it weren't for that. Would I have been able to do as well? If not, where would I be now? I'd like to think I brought myself this far on my own, but it's impossible to separate it from my environment.

In seven months, I'll be in SF going to dental school. I'll probably start working with a handpiece in the second week, seeing patients in my first year. Take the board exam early in the second year, etc. It will be intense beyond belief... but I can only take it one step at a time and hope for the best.

A Thanksgiving short/blurb

It's Black Friday, and I'd almost forgotten the fight I would have to put up just to find a dinky little parking spot. (I just want to go to Coffee Bean, people--promise!) Though I love shopping, I have never understood the insanity of Black Friday bargain hunting. During Thanksgiving dinner last night, my aunt boasted about how she was going to be up at 4 AM to do some Walmart shopping. Walmart is crazy enough during the off-season (see Creatures at Walmart); I couldn't imagine what goes on in there during Black Friday.

Luckily, I found parking and made it to Coffee Bean safely. I'm sipping on a Japanese Cherry green tea latte--pure heaven! I haven't been to this Coffee Bean in ages, namely because my stalker frequents this location. Glad to know he's not here today... or so he's making me think...? :(

It's easy to forget the "meaning of Thanksgiving." Growing up, I remember something about the pilgrims making friends with Squanto, an American Indian, despite the fact that the pilgrims brought disease (amongst other things) to the Americas and wiped out several tribes. Ok, so I didn't learn it that way--but we all know it's true.

So we put together a cornucopia filled with the season's harvests and place it next to a turkey. I'm not even sure that the pilgrims really had turkey. Did you know that the pilgrims probably ate eel during their momentous feast? (See Give Thanks for... Eel? - NYTimes.) Imagine that on your dining table, in between the potatoes and the corn.

That's the beauty of Thanksgiving, though--the act of giving thanks is purely subjective. No, my ancestors didn't come to America on the Mayflower--they came by airplane. Any by ancestors, I mean parents. Our Thanksgiving dinner is celebrated with pancit and kikiam, a Filipino-Chinese variation of meatloaf, which, by the way, is nothing like the meatloaf that Bobby Flay makes. All of this variation on giving thanks makes reason for celebration even more valid.

***

I remember sitting in class, an awkward little fourth grader amongst other dorky kids, when my teacher asks us what we wanted to be when we grew up. Everybody seemed to mention a particular job or career, though it never occurred to me that we never expected answers like "I want to be a gracious and balanced friend/daughter/son/parent." I think these are aspirations that are often overlooked and rarely emphasized during adolescence. But thank goodness I was able to find a loving group of people to keep me in check because I know I can't thank them enough for putting up with my absolutely obnoxious attitude. Thank you, ever so much, for being amazing and positive influences in my life. I wouldn't, couldn't be here without you!

Grateful and full of thanks-giving,
Shopgirl.

Another chicken vs. egg analogy

lemontea: How long does rubber cement take to dry?

Shopgirl: A few hours, tops.

lemontea: So, do you think leaving the glue to dry overnight is long enough to keep the penis in place?

Shopgirl: Oh, yeah, totally. I used to use that crap all the time.

Before you go on--no, this isn't some bizarre anatomy project or piece of abstract art here. In fact, I almost wish I were speaking about a bizarre anatomy project or "piece of art." Moreover, I wish the subject was just as or more innocent than either the former or the latter.

Unfortunately, we are referring to the vibrator that lemontea's ex-boyfriend had so lovingly molded out of his own genitalia. (I'm absolutely serious.) Of course, he saw this doohickey as a treasure befitting that of a birthday present to lemontea last year.

Shortly after he had bestowed his "gift" upon her, he broke up with her for his "lesbian" co-worker.

Shopgirl: Told you, you should've glued that thing on top of his car. Reminds me of that Teletubby.

Exhibit 1: Green Teletubby.

Shopgirl: Why do you even still have that thing?

Shoes...??? :(

lemontea: Haha, yeah. I don't know, really. I keep it tucked away in a shoe box. You know, random--but Bert called me the other day and left me voicemail about how his boyfriend Ernie had wanted to see what my ex's junk looked like.

Shopgirl: That's so weird. Did you actually bring it?

lemontea: Yeah. It's a good thing he caught me before I left.

***

lemontea's ex, whom we shall henceforth know as Ken, seemed like an unassuming, well-educated, and cerebrally-gifted intellectual. Actually, I'm understating that. He's a total geek, which was endearing about him and seemed like a trait that lemontea truly prized. Though everyone's got their secret tendencies, who would have known that Ken had that much freaky-deaky to him?

I promise this has a point. Did you ever create a list of qualities that you find ideal in a mate? Don't lie. And making even just one list still counts. It's ok, I did, too. (See Gettin' ready to check you off.)

The really funny thing is that we create these lists, thinking that once we find someone who fits all of the criteria, they are serendipitously perfect.

The problem though, is that when you meet someone who satisfies "all of the requirements," what's to guarantee that the requirements are enough to sustain the attraction?

To satisfy our curiosity, we conducted a research study at Maggiano's, subject count = 1.

Shopgirl: Do you think that people learn fondness for each other and build attraction from there on, or do you think that attraction lends itself to build fondness?

Server: I don't think you can predict whether or not you'll fall in love with someone.

Survey has it, folks--you cannot fall in love instantaneously. Some of you may agree, while some of you believe that love at first sight is possible. I liken this debate to that of the chicken or the egg. What comes first--attraction or fondness?

Or maybe you've got it all figured out. But what happens when your Barbie or Ken turns out to be one of those creepy Troll dolls with the bejeweled belly buttons?

Will probably avoid looking through any of lemontea's shoe boxes, for future reference,
Shopgirl.

Saving the world, one PDF and exam at a time.

Just over three months ago, I sat propped up in bed, laptop rested against my knees, a TV remote control in the left hand, and a glass of shiraz in the other. Surely I was living la vida loca. It was my first summer vacation, and I was going to milk it in all my laziness glory. After two years of teaching inner city high school, I was spent, and I needed recovery time before med school began later that summer.

Now here I am, still propped up in bed with my laptop rested against the knees, except no TV remote control in the left, and no wine either. In fact, I don't even own a TV--not because I am trying to prove an elitist point--more so because I am too cheap to buy a TV or subscribe to cable. (Thank you, Netflix!) And on enjoying some alcohol on a weeknight? Fah-get about it! There comes a point when my body boasts, "Oh, you fancy, huh? You want that drink? Ok, drink it." At this point, I decide that I am the master of my body and retort, "It's my body, I do what I want!" and drink the crap out of my drink with much gusto and fervor. Of course, this mismatch in preferences normally ends in tragedy for my mind and body as I stumble for Advil in my medicine cabinet the morning after celebrating, post-exam.

Med school has got my entire class on iPads in an initiative to go paperless and more high-tech. Many of us have adapted to take notes on PDFs using apps like iAnnotate, Evernote, Smartnote, and Noterize. Though I prefer writing with my stylus on the iPad over taking notes on my laptop, I miss the crisp turn of a page. But if I must to save trees, then it shall be done! Well, that, and I don't have to carry an extra ten pounds of notes with me when I study.

We're currently in a testing block, where we've had about seven tests for seven Mondays in a row. Cardiovascular physiology on Tuesday, and we wrap up, just in time for Thanksgiving. It couldn't come any sooner!

As for life out of med school--well, it's pretty much non-existent. You know the time you hate when you're sitting around bored? Yeah, I miss that. In fact, I want that. I'd happily accept moments of boredom if that means that I get time to breathe. I could use it to blog, which would have been nice, since my blogging time is currently infiltrating my precious sleep time. :(

I just have to remember that break is near. I don't know if it makes me want to work harder or get lazier because it's so close. I guess we'll find out on Tuesday!

Sad that I didn't go to sleep earlier since tomorrow is going to be another exhausting day,

Shopgirl.

Who'da thought 40s and stuffed bell peppers would be inspired by the film called Douchebag?

It's Sunday night, and I should be in bed right now but will take a few minutes to reflect on recent memories. Last weekend (pre-Halloween), I was in a very rainy, cold yet still beautiful SF for a brief vacation/interview on Monday. I stayed with my close friend who I'll call CCL (for crazy cat lady), nicknamed with affection. Please skip over the next section as it is for my own record keeping of a great weekend but might not entirely make sense.
***************************************************************
Friday night: landed after 7 PM, got a ride to the city, ate dinner at Limon (Peruvian rotisserie restaurant), had vegan coconut chocolate ice cream at Birite (because everything else had eggs in it), then bar hopped in the Mission.

Saturday noon/early afternoon: meandered in the Richmond district to buy a walnut red pepper spread, half a loaf of whole grain bread (like real whole grain), and lettuce to create a simple lunch of Caesar salad (with tofu-based dressing), bread with walnut spread, and leftover butternut squash soup. Topped off with Maccha green tea... so simple but healthful feeling and pure.

Sat afternoon: played a bit of piano and made instant friends with CCL's roommate who was a piano minor and quite talented; then did a Charlie Brown dance; went to 24 hour fitness for a 2.5 hour workout (which I never do unless my friends just linger); short detour at RW's house where he showered and changed and CCL and I sampled delicious baked apples; ate pho for dinner; went to Bob's Donut shop to watch the Giants win the pennant with some local SF quirky folks; watched Douchebag and then inspired by the movie, bought forties to have at the apartment. Throughout this eventful night.... I was probably the only person in the city gallivanting the streets with running shorts on and trying not to freeze (think: 3:30 PM to 11:30 PM).

Sunday: Lunch at Pakwan in the Mission, then more Birite ice cream, then Painted Ladies in search of Full House, then working at Peet's, playing piano while CCL made amazing stuffed red bell peppers (also inspired by Douchebag) stuffed with Israeli couscous, plus roasted squash and onions on the side and brown rice. I love food. This followed by more piano playing and even some basic Chinese conversation.. which never happens.

Monday: U o P interview.... we'll see how that goes, hopefully I will know by December. I thank the stars that it was not raining since I was in a suit/dragging luggage in public transportation that day.

**************************************************************************
Now, this past weekend I did not go anywhere on both nights... which was unplanned and unintended. Despite disappointment and feelings of "meh" all Sunday, I feel much better now. Normally, my moods get worse as the weekend nears the end, but I think this weekend is the exception. Granted, on both nights I was able to practice piano (keyboard) rather intensely and began to feel reconnected with the instrument. But it was still hard to shake off this whiny feeling of not getting to go out. I'm over it now, and plan to make up for it next weekend.

It was a slow process to get over it. I slept in today, it was a beautiful day, but I wasn't smiling inside. Even after cleaning my room and kitchen, even after finally getting the knitty gritty done with the last supplemental application, riding bike along the beach for an hour, I wasn't fully perked up. It's times like these when I really struggle with what I feel and with what my brain tells me, that there's really no big deal going on so why do I feel so blah? That level of self awareness sometimes makes it harder to bounce back.

Time always helps... and as the day went on I could see more the fruits of my labor. I went grocery shopping with the intention to cook stuffed bell peppers for the whole week, cooked them, then met with coworkers to plan out a full lesson. I'm pretty happy with how the peppers turned out actually. And there's some roasted squash on the side too.

Thinking back, I got a lot of small tasks done today that I had been putting off for weeks. It feels good to know that I was so bored/alone for half the weekend that I had to just get up and do something, because goodness knows I wouldn't when I'm having fun.

Feelings make me feel weird.

Having a sudden urge for chicken noodle soup, I chasséd into the kitchen and reached for the can collecting dust in my cupboard. I plunged my hand into the dishwasher (it's where we keep clean dishes) for my housemate's can opener. Hm, not electronic, I thought. That's ok. I can bleed people--I can open a can! I would place the can opener parallel to the brim, allowing the blade to touch the very edge of the surface. Fixated upon the handle, simple, repetitive torque applied should do the trick.


Needless to say, I threw the can opener back into the dishwasher and shoved the can into the dreary crevices of my cupboard. No, seriously, I don't really know what's back there.


I had glorious, restful sleep last night, after several nights of insomnia. Of course, that means that my brain refuses to turn off tonight. It's 1:22 AM and I know I want to go to class tomorrow. Bright and early, 8 AM. I suppose I could be studying for my histology "quiz" on Monday, but that would be too productive and my brain despises productivity.


I started seeing a therapist to discuss my insomnia and my pending ADHD status. What started out as a conversation about my difficulty sleeping and concentrating suddenly turned into a survey of my commitment issues and fear of intimacy. I sulked into the leather couch and knew we weren't going to be focusing on my ADHD evaluation anymore. Feelings. Ugh, we are talking about feelings. There is no conversation topic more awkward to me than my feelings.

Therapist: Anytime you have a feeling, I want you to write it down so that we can talk about it the following week.

Shopgirl: Um, ok, what kind of feeling? A good feeling? A sad feeling?

Therapist: Any kind of feeling.

Shopgirl: Ok, because... I mean--I have lots of feelings, I guess. And I mean, when you say 'any kind of feeling,' that's kind of vague. Like, hunger. I mean, that's a feeling. And you know, sometimes I get really hungry. And when I get really hungry, I get upset because I still can't believe that I haven't eaten.

Therapist: Well, I want you focus on your deep-rooted emotions. For instance, how you feel when you feel wronged, or how you feel when something wonderful happens.

Shopgirl: When I feel wronged, well, yeah, I feel wronged. I mean, what am I... huh?

Therapist: Just write it down.

Shopgirl: Okie dokie.

I didn't want to lug my 10-pound journal and grabbed the smallest notebook I had lying around. This notebook happened to be my 4" x 8" American Medical Association spiral notebook. It even has a quick medical reference guide! That way while I'm documenting "feelings," I can memorize handy values like normal blood cell and SGPT/ALT-7 counts.

Ready to get in touch with my "feelings,"
Shopgirl.

A Whole New Mind

I got my first set of business cards today at school :). Makes me feel more official and professional, despite being on a third year teaching. Nevertheless, my first group of kids pissed me off a little, and it doesn't help to also be sick. Though not quite coughing lungs out, I feel a tenuous suppression of painful, mucusy coughs. I am frustrated at how hard it feels to teach sometimes, or when kids start acting up. I know there are ups and downs with this job, but days like this make me question whether I was cut out for this. It's part of the reason why I'm jumping ship and going for dentistry (besides finances..). Another part of me thinks that I just need more experience. I hate the insecure belief that I might not be the kind of "tough" or "think on your feet" person who could handle the stupid crap that kids would throw on me.

Still, these days motivate me to do things like get more organized with teaching and calling parents, which are things that a good teacher should do anyway.... so I can't feel crummy when it's a bit of a motivating factor. It's just hard to swallow pride to realize that I need to get better. *Sigh*

There's just SO much I want to do, with teaching and with personal goals and I feel ineffective at tackling these responsibilities because of getting overwhelmed and/or procrastinating.

Anyway, the title of this post is named after a book that I'm finishing up by Daniel Pink called A Whole New Mind. I got the book for free from my school to give the teachers an idea of how to motivate students at a design school to know what design is. I find this to be a bit of a challenge since I'm teaching math and chemistry, which doesn't quite speak to the right hemisphere. Either way, the book is great for personal reasons, and hopefully I can continue to learn how to be more innovative and creative, 2 traits that I feel particularly weak in. How to go about it is still a bit of a mystery, but at least it's in the back of my mind.

The premise of the book is that while society has typically pressured professionals to enter the professions that are very left-brained, ultimately the trend will allow right-brainers to "rule the future." The differences between left-brained and right-brained cannot be seen as black and white. There are still major connections between the two halves. For simplicity's sake, L-hemisphere is very logical, literal, and sequential, while the R-hemisphere is the creativity, synthesis, harmony, and overall big picture setter. The book isn't saying that artists will take over the world. But it says that while L-brainers have highly specialized skills, the rise of Asia (much cheaper engineerings from China or India) and automation (computers) will reduce the demand for purely L-brained tasks. Instead, people who can cross both boundaries, see connections in ways that others don't, and be innovative will be the ones who succeed.

While reading this book, I realized even more that I don't want to be a purely analytical, logical person to the point of no return. In high school, I took pride in being a science and math nerd and wanted to be unemotional and logical all the time. It's a strange desire, I know, and it was a very awkward stage. I don't think I would have succeeded anyway because I was emotional enough already. I'm not saying that science/math people are unemotional. I was just striving for knowledge and didn't want anything else to get in the way. Either way, I know that's not the way to go, and I feel too much already to ever let it happen if I wanted.

At work, I feel surrounded by so many creative and innovative people, whether it's teachers or students. And yes, I have felt insecure at perhaps being a "boring" teacher who can't think of awesome projects like so many other teachers can. I want to design my teacher website to be visually engaging and useful, and my classroom feels drab still. While I don't want to take away from the content of the class, it'd just be nice to have that extra individual touch. It's just not how I was raised, or something I prioritized until now. It means there's more catching up to do... and I hope not to be so ingrained with old ways to be hard to budge.

I can't seem to shake off this feeling that my writing is so scatterbrained...but that's just my blogging experience? Bleh.

Just want to not be sick (either with a virus or allergies, I don't even know).



P.S. Last weekend was pretty cool. Got to see Muse in concert with my sister and in a strange way, made friends with a pseudo stray orange cat - which probably aggravated allergies.

Lessons from Lil Wayne

Pillows stacked behind me, I'm propped up against the wall, with feet secure in my blanket, left hand on the keyboard, and right in a bucket of animal crackers. Playing hooky can be exciting, except when you're coughing out pieces of lung. I'm wearing cerulean pajama pants splotched with obnoxious neon blue goldfish. My granny-panties are so loose that I'm pretty sure I could use them to catch air and go gliding. My hair sits on top of my head in a bun reminiscent of a sea urchin. Of course, I tidy this 'do up with licks of saliva and a pinstriped headband. Three words: epitome of sexy.

George Hamilton

I'd been feeling lethargic for the last few weeks and thought I'd get a panel of metabolic blood work done. Good news is that I'm not anemic (I have a history of iron-deficiency anemia); bad (?) news is that I'm vitamin D deficient. Bizarre, considering that I live in Southern California, land of skin cancer and George Hamilton wannabes.

Anyway, I decided to take my doctor's advice and headed to the pharmacy. I sifted through bottles of vitamin D supplemental goodness. Gel caplets? Pill form? 400 IU? 2000 IU? I'd better ask the pharmacist.

I hunched over to the counter and asked for my prescription cough syrup.

Shopgirl: Also, could you tell me which of these bottles of vitamin D is--

Pharmacist: No, you don't want any of those. [He shimmies through the counter and promptly returns with another bottle.] You'll want this bottle instead.

Shopgirl: [I look at him blankly.] I'm sorry, what's the difference?

Pharmacist: [Blinking twice through his Mr. Magoo glasses] Well I suppose you could buy this bottle of 400 IU. But then you'd have to take it three or four times a day. Or, you could just sit out in the sun.

I wasn't sure if he was kidding but decided that his serious face called for serious action. I opted out of the lesser quantities of vitamin D and purchased my promethazine DM and Nature Made vitamin D, 2000 IU per pill, which, by the way, is five times the daily requirement.

I spent the rest of the day in a floaty haze, high as hell off of cough syrup. I passed out around 10 PM last night and woke up at two in the morning with an everlasting hacking cough. I reached over to my side table for my promethazine. No time to get a spoon, I thought. I twisted the bottle cap off and took a healthy swig. This must be what it's like to be Lil Wayne!

Lil Wayne, probably sippin' on some
sizzurp. Note that there is a "C" tat-
tooed in between his eyebrows. May-
be he forgot his initials.

I remember sitting on an airplane, reading an article about Lil Wayne and how he was addicted to cough syrup, or rather, sizzurp. Oh, that's what that is? Something about getting high off of "grape" or "cherry" flavored Robitussin or Dimetap seemed... I don't know... clever? Really? No, not really.

It's lunch time and I just took another swig of the stuff. It really is convenient not having to carry a measuring cup or spoon around. Time for a nap!

Sippin' on some sizzurp,
Shopgirl.

Insomnia: 3; Me: -2

Plagued again by my persistent insomnia, I thought I'd actually get out of bed this time and get productive.

Carey Mulligan
Vogue Oct 2010

On a rampant drawing spree, I designed my Halloween costume (Michaels, here I come!), sketched a self-portrait, and got a little fanciful with Carey Mulligan's cover on Vogue. (Please pardon the crappiness in the photo--the iPhone, despite its superior features, has the most incapable camera of its smartphone peers.)

Something about the teeter-tottering of a pen or pencil in my hand is therapeutic. Whether writing or drawing, every whisk of such a simple, yet elegant tool serves purpose. A conservative scribble denotes a harsh, solid sternness, while a flirtatious swish portrays a soothing catharsis. Every mark has intention--you control it, inputing as much energy or emotion in every curve as needed.

I was never one to focus wholeheartedly into any kind of activity, except when pursuing artistic ventures. Before I found myself wrapped up in education then medicine, I spent most of my time dabbling in art. In retrospect, I don't think that I could focus on anything longer than ten minutes, unless I was working on art. To think about it, I don't know how I made it to medical school, considering my poor memory and that I have the attention span of a two-year-old. My ADHD diagnosis is pending! No, seriously.

The time on the clock is 6:51 AM. It's time to hop in the shower and make it to class today!

Hoping for a productive day,
Shopgirl.

Sorry I'm not home right now--I'm currently pushing a catheter through an artificial penis.

"Sorry I'm not home right now. I'm walking
through a spiderweb, so leave a message and
I'll call you back!" Anybody remember that
song? No? Ok, fine.

Scooby: ...I just know that if I really wanted to make time for someone, I would.

Shopgirl: Scooby, we have a great time together, but I'm just really busy.

Scooby: I don't understand. I feel like you're avoiding me. I mean, when I ask you to hang out, it's like you're purposely trying to avoid me.

Shopgirl: It's not that I'm purposely trying to avoid you. You can't call me one day and just expect me to be free. When I tell you that I'm busy, I'm legitimately busy.

Scooby: What about when you're not busy?

Shopgirl: I don't know, Scooby--I don't have free time often, but when I do, I just want to be goofy and do stupid girly things.

Scooby: That's what I'm trying to figure out. I mean--why can't we do goofy stuff together?

Shopgirl: Scooby, you don't get it. You're demanding. We're not even committed to each other and you are already expecting too much from me.

Scooby: No, no--that's not true. I think you're being a little condescending.

Shopgirl: Huh? Scooby, please try to understand. I can't give you what you want. I don't have a lot of free time, so I--

Scooby: I do understand. What I don't get is why we can't together enjoy some of the little time you have.

Shopgirl: Because if anybody is going to get any of my free time, I want to savor every moment.

Scooby: Yeah, isn't that what we have?


No, this is not "Confessions of a commitment-phobe, Part Deux" (see "Confessions of a commitment-phobe"). Contrary to what my nearest and dearest might tease me of, I'm no ice princess. My refusal to commit is perfectly valid for this reason: I don't have much free time, so if I'm going to share any of my free time with anybody, I don't want to have to explain myself. In fact, I don't have time to explain myself.

Maybe this reason is a bit unreasonable for some, but I cannot imagine committing to someone who needed a one-hour explanation for fundamental principles I live by. In addition, my time is divided amongst many people. That makes men jealous. Most people I spend time with are men. That makes men even more jealous, but I can't help it if I grew up a dude in a girl's body.

The point is, it's not about making anybody jealous. It's not even about playing elusive or hard-to-get. This may be shocking to some, but not all women are looking for a boyfriend. (And please don't misconstrue the previous statement as something equivalent to "single female looking for a bedtime buddy" or lesbianism. Yes, I get this question often, if you must wonder.)

According to many men, I'm a difficult person to share a commitment with. My response? I'm inordinately busy and need a truly confident partner. That is--he's got to understand that while I don't have much time to give, the little time that we do share is time savored and undeniably appreciated. Please let go of your insecurities--my gratitude is real and obvious, if not explicit. I don't sugar coat--in fact, I don't have time to sugar coat.

So what about Scooby and me? We are just incompatible. Do I ever wonder if I'll meet my match? Often, but I'm not on a treasure hunt. Nor do I care for fool's gold.

Thank you for putting up with my ramble. I despise writing lengthy posts, but I know you were absolutely torn about my not posting for months. (Lucky you!)

Likely to celebrate Single Awareness Day 2011,
Shopgirl.


P.S. If you were wondering, I left my teaching career to learn the art of penile catheterization.

Friday night ramblings

I've been meaning to come back here so many times, but writing is intimidating. Somehow the thoughts in my head sound a lot better than on paper (or screen). Either way, might as well jump into it and record another moment in a fleeting life. :)

I just wrapped up the fourth week of school and have officially worked full-time for six weeks now. It's funny to hear about how the school year just started for the majority of other people, but for me, I'm starting to get into a routine. There are many kinks in my systems that need to be worked out and figuring out how to manage all the responsibilities (big and small) will always be in the works. Nevertheless, working at this new school has been one of the best decisions I've made. Otherwise I would have stagnated at my old teaching job and not learned much more except how to be more jaded with the education system. Here, I face new and different challenges that will push me to grow as a teacher and as a person. Even if this school is a transitional year to hopefully a career in health care. I'm young enough, with little responsibility to anyone else and can expend the energy and time to develop new skills.

I don't want to believe that my moods are cyclical, especially for lunar reasons, but it feels that way a lot sometimes. Either way, I feel on the uprise. Despite the racked up sleep debt and missed gym times, I feel genuinely reminded of how good my life is. It's so easy to forget that and not internalize the luckiness of it all, instead wishing for better things. While I don't claim misery, it's easy to feel blah and a lack of happiness when focusing on things that haven't worked. Part of this stems from wanting to accomplish more at work and not feeling satisfied with what I've done. There has been some guilt as to not getting up earlier to get to work, but then there's only so much one person can do. Netflix, fun reading, friends, cooking, doing anything else besides work is essential, even if I still feel a little guilty trying to fit some "me" time in.

Over the past couple months, I have struggled with feelings of loneliness and (shame to admit) frustration at singlehood. Although the freedom couldn't come at a better time, and now that I've been single longer now than ever before, I felt silly for wondering and waiting for something to come along. While I'm perfectly capable of spending my days alone or with family and friends and will continue to do so, there have been moments where I'd sit and wonder if there would be anyone out there for me. I know, people look at me and would scoff that there's many more years to go, and I completely agree. It just can get a little weird when I try making acquaintance with a stranger only to find that he is a tad younger than I am. As each year passes, then more potential acquaintances will be younger. But then, oh well.

Part of the frustrations of single-hood was not just the fact of being single, but being annoyed with always knowing that I'm watching for the so-called "one" or even just someone dateable. I mean, shouldn't I be frolicking with all this freedom of choice? No one to tell me where to go or what to do (besides work)? No one to negotiate with or compromise with? After all, if I follow society's patten, then give some years and I'll be tied to a house, kids, a marriage, and a lifelong career. Heavy stuff! And certainly not ready. So why was/do I feel ready to latch on to someone? These times will certainly be missed in the future, so why not enjoy them to the fullest now?


At least today, I feel much better about this freedom. I've been reading a lot of books lately for the time I have, and a few simultaneously. It's a random selection but gives a glimpse to different realms. I went beyond the normal taste and read Watchmen, for one thing. Perhaps it wasn't savored as much as it could have been, but I felt like my brain would rot a bit if I spent more time on it. Not to say it isn't a classic, but I doubt I'll read other comics that movies were based off of (Sin City, V for Vendetta, which both impressed me). Then there's a super girly book called "It's called a breakup because it's broken," written by the same author as "He's just not that into you." I have to say both books are enjoyable reads! Even though they have such common sense advice, it is reassuring to read it delivered in such a witty, understanding way. These books are helping me reshape attitudes towards singlehood after all. Then there's "How to Slice an Onion" and "A Whole New Mind." So many good books, so little time!

A Whole New Mind is an amazing book. It speaks to a side of my brain that I've neglected or felt incapable of culturing. Although the left and right hemispheres can be easily seen as black and white, they can't be divided so easily. It's hard to explain. Either way, I've felt very L-directed all my life and would like a change. Working as a math/science teacher at a school of design gives me a slight identity crisis (though not really). But it does give some food for thought - how do I interest a bunch of students who feel that they can't "do math or science" into believing that they can and will? How do I, as an individual, who felt more comfortable and majored science because of how her parents' backgrounds and culture set her up for it, break out of simple linear thinking and see the world in a different lens? I don't want to forsake my old way of thinking, but be able to appreciate the design and culture more in depth. It's hard. I chose L-directed thinking because while material seems very technical, it requires little creativity and I didn't have to put forth effort at improvising.

It'd be nice to know how to put together a toolbox of skills and talents into a product that says, this is me. Even something as simple as improv dancing, or just having more witty conversation, instead of choking up when someone throws a curveball at me. I guess that's what I really want. I guess that's why I signed up for more hip hop dance classes, even if it's expensive, and will hope for more chances of salsa dancing with friends, or even I dare say, an introductory class at a pole/burlesque dance studio. It's for female empowerment, I swear! And thanks to Groupon.

With a little help...

Last Thursday, I stayed at school until 10:45 PM at night. After a full day of PD, I went to Home Depot and bought paint supplies. I debated whether it was worth the money and time to paint a classroom wall, because there were so many other things to be done such as lesson planning, setting up a digital portfolio, or setting up the classroom. In the end, trying something new (even as seemingly monotonous as painting a wall) proved to be valuable in itself.

Setting up painter's tape around the bulletin boards and four sides of the wall took a very long time. And having only a ladder and radio to assist, sun was already setting when laying down the tape was almost finished. I took a much needed break with a couple coworkers, principal, and pizza and soda. At 8:15, it was pitch black outside and a wall still needed to be painted. At 9:00, coworkers left. At 10 PM, the principal walked in and said she was going to call it a night. I was about half done with the wall and wanted to finish it. I said, maybe I'll stay for another 30 minutes.

Then the principal asked, "Do you need help?"

I was already exhausted at this point, from sleep deprivation, mental exhaustion, and from being at school for at least 12 hours. But she was the principal! She clearly has a lot on her plate already, having stayed at school til late often, after many teachers have left. I didn't want to burden her with my desire for a more pleasing purple wall.

"No it's okay! I can do it."

"No, really, I'm tired of staring at the computer looking at budgets."

"Um......" (I'm really tired and would have wanted help from anyone at this point.)

"Do you have a second roller?" (She's already rolling up her sleeves)

"Um... yes, right here. Thank you so much. I really really appreciate it."

The sheer idea of a principal to stay really late at school, after a full day, to help a teacher paint a wall was just unfathomable to me. I was used to seeing administrators spend less time at school than teachers at my old school. And certainly none of them would have bothered to help a teacher set up a classroom.

We finished the rest of the wall in the next 40 minutes. It was DONE. We were the last to leave, and she managed to make it the next morning to the optional Zumba class at 7 AM at school (taught by another coworker) - when I couldn't, even though I wanted to try it too.

I'm still in awe of the fact that where my new school is still seems too good to be true.

Despite the late night, I am starting to truly understand how dedicated people can be for education. It's empowering and uplifting to see competent, intelligent, hardworking leaders at a school. It is powerful how much an environment can influence the people in it. At my old school, I was a minimalist who cut corners. Here, I see a much higher standard for quality, excellence, creativity, and fun. School is 2 days away, and it feels much less so with this night coming to a close. But never had I made a better decision at that junction earlier this year, where I almost didn't take this job.

And I'm slightly proud of having a soothing lavender purple wall. It's something that I've made personal about the room, and hopefully it can stay for some years before someone else might paint it over.

A serious problem

My head is hurting right now. Probably from screaming frustration in my car after realizing that what happened was purely all my fault, from a very stupid mistake, yet I was directing my unhappiness at other people and it probably showed. One reason I've been avoiding blogging is that I get embarrassed when feeling emo or whiny about something. I don't like to vent over the internet when anyone can see it... but then it might do some good to let out these thoughts in hopes of purging the negativity.

I've been told by friends that I'm smart, a couple even dared to say genius. It can be flattering to be called smart, and I generally want to be considered smart. But at the same time, from my personal perspective at least, it comes at a price. For me, I've developed a sort of tunnel vision and head in the clouds sort of mentality. When too many thoughts and worries enter the mind, I'm often constricting myself into a small space and not seeing the bigger picture.

Here's a list:
1. Often getting caught up in the minute details.
2. Overanalyzing EVERY possible thing, trying to second guess a person's actions or intentions.
3. Being extra hard on myself whenever a mistake is made.
4. Being socially awkward, unaware, or absent-minded.

I'm not saying that smart people deal with these things. I'm only listing some vices that my overthinking mind concluded.

While people and friends may think from my vocabulary or factual recall that I'm "smart," there's really so many levels of intelligence to be had. I used to believe that being book smart was the way to go. But now I've been doubting that more and more. Of course it's a great skill to have, to be able to read and understand difficult content. But for the first 2/3 of my life, I felt so disconnected from the real world that I'm still struggling to get on my feet with dealing with life's unpredictability and the people in it. Even after throwing myself into the teaching world in an entirely different community, even after trying as many activities as time allows, I have so much to learn. I don't even know if it's fair to blame all the "studying" that I've done through childhood and teenage years. Lots of people were book smart while growing up, or at least devoted a lot of time to doing well in school and can still fare well enough socially.

I often don't pick up subtle/obvious observations, such as a person's expressions, feelings, or tone, or simple things such as what kind of floor my new classroom had. Even after I had gone inside a couple times, when another teacher asked me if it was hardwood, I didn't know. Turns out it was concrete, but I had to go back to actually check first. I just don't pay attention to things all the time. Where is the awareness? Where is my common sense? I can remember what the word micelles means.... but I couldn't even realize that I went to the wrong field for the soccer game and didn't realize it until halftime? I mean, come on.

I wish I could have just laughed it off today. But it was an hour long waste of time to stand on a field from 9:30-10:30, hoping to run around and just have fun. But instead, I awkwardly thought that some people in this other team were the same people from the team that I randomly joined.... (I swear they looked the same, and I'm not trying to be racist), and then during the second half NO ONE wanted subs, and they ignored me when I asked if anyone needed one. Maybe my voice gave out, because I don't like shouting across a field to people I'm not fully acquainted with. Either way, I wasted an hour when I could have either gone to the gym earlier in the day, or stayed in and planned for the new school year. I felt let down by my teammates for not letting me play for even a little bit, or even acknowledging that I had wanted to play. In the end, it was my fault for not remembering the field to go to. I only remembered the time and what color shirt to wear. At the end of the game, I was upset at the team, and left with a weak goodbye. But it really was my stupid mistake.

And there's still much to be done before school starts. The classroom is a mess and not set up, and this year no one will be helping me. I want to plan out the first unit completely. PD is taking up 8 hours a day and even with the work time they give, I still feel there's more to be done outside of PD. It doesn't help that I've been getting less than 7 hours of sleep a night, esp when 7 hours doesn't feel like enough.

The sad part is, I was in a good mood before going to the game that never happened. My students during the 2nd year did better on the CST. While the overall percentage is not ideal.... 30% Adv/Prof during year 1, and then 39% Adv/Prof during year 2, to me, feels like a significant improvement. This is coming from a school that's PI 5, Title 1, a dumping ground for expelled students from other schools, has poor leadership and low teacher morale. The year before I came in, the overall school had 15% Adv/Prof in science, then during year 1 it went to 29%, then year 2 to 34%. Of course other teachers contributed to the percentage too, but to me... it made me feel that I did do something for the kids. That all the stress and time was worth it, if it could have given some of them a chance to advance in school. Now I'm just tired, not screaming like I was 1.5 hours ago, but ready for bed.

Tomorrow will be better, but I just had to say all of this.

One thing that Nick Nolte and I have in common.

It's been a while since I'd thrown in a post, but I thought that taking a hiatus from deep, meaningful reflection might do my self-confidence some much needed recovery.

Yet at the risk of more embarrassment (which shouldn't really surprise you if you've ready any of my previous Shopgirl posts), I itch to twiddle away at my keyboard once more.

Unemployed since July 2nd and returning to school on August 6th, I've spent ample time with myself, many times trying to find others to spend time... with... myself. (The only thing I actually planned on doing during vacation was sleep, lots.) I forget that most people do not have the summer off and that most people my age have "real jobs" that they must tend to on a M-F basis. (Go figure.) But anyway, the point is that hunting for friends to hang out with can really do a doozy on your self-esteem, especially if your friends (1) live far away, (2) are extremely busy, or (3) just don't like you enough to make time for you.

Humiliation aside, spending time alone is revitalizing--being lonely too much is self-deprecating. A lack in return, whether it's a phone call, email, or text message, is enough to send your imagination flying. Your brain starts to tinker and concocts the worst case scenarios possible--Did they lose my message? Are they hurt? Did they die?! Okay, maybe it's just my brain and my imagination, but you understand the paranoia, or at least a fraction of it.

It never seems to strike me that perhaps the lack in communicative followthrough is unintentional. Because for me, my communicative return is pretty darn speedy and en pointe. I feel like I have an obligation to acknowledge others in a timely fashion, at the very least enable others to acknowledge that I acknowledge them. After all, it's the very least that I would do for them. (The inner Ron Artest in me screams, "Acknowledge me!" Bonus points if you got that.)

Though this may shock you, not everybody anticipates response the way I do. It's been a hard lesson to learn, and I've swung my sharp tongue only too many times at the detriment of really good friends. I've been described as abrasive (agreed), but bless their little hearts for withstanding my steel wool exterior. (Because really, I'm quite squishy on the inside. Teehee!)

I thought a lot about my close relationships--past and present--and why it is that I go into panic mode at the thought of losing communication. I thought about all the friends I'd lost while moving continents, counties, cities, and schools. And then I came to the conclusion that the reason why I'd held my close friends so tightly with so much anxiety was because I was afraid of losing them. I didn't want to lose them like all the other "good friends" who promised to keep in touch but didn't. As a result, I learned mistrust. Years later at twenty-four, mistrust is still something that I'm dealing with. I have a hard time believing what others say and too often force myself to read in between the lines. I might just be illiterate.

We often times put up defense mechanisms to injure others in hopes that we come out unscathed. But the consequences are usually far from what's intended.

If you're wondering if this is about you, it is.

Humble and apologetic,
Shopgirl.

P.S. Nothing screams "apologetic" more than Nick Nolte's mug shot.

Fork in the Road

This week, I have been thinking and agonizing over what I will do from this point on. While I have not pulled the trigger yet, it seems that I have started to come to a verdict. The change will be a big leap. It will be a lot of work and time. It will mean less money and a shorter summer. It will mean goodbye to my friends and cutting off my establishment with current and former students. It will mean no AVID. I might have moments of kicking myself inside for not just coasting through a third year in Compton, while toiling over two new curricula, and wanting more free time and time to (hopefully) go to dental interviews.

Then again, I might just love my new place to work. I might see results within my first year at this new place, as I have just begun to see today. It's incredible, inspiring, and an opportunity.

Confessions of a commitment-phobe

SLR: You're the reason why good guys turn bad.

Shopgirl: Uh, say wha, say what?

SLR: Girls like you make good guys turn bad.

Shopgirl: I hardly believe that. You exaggerate.

SLR: Think about it. Every guy has his breaking point. He can only take so much of "you're so sweet and thoughtful, but..." and then bam! Friend status. Girls like you always want the bad guy and always shaft the good guy. You don't even give the good guy the time of day. That's when good guys decide to screw it all and forget about being so nice.

Shopgirl: You're generalizing. That's only partially true. And even if it were, I have a perfectly legitimate reason for such sheisty behavior on my part. I'm allergic to commitment.

SLR: That's bull and you know it.

Shopgirl: Sincerely, honestly true. I may have gravitated towards "bad" boys in the past because they kept me from getting bored. Nowadays, I tend to avoid the "good" guys because I'm not ready for commitment or anything that might resemble one. Trust me, I know what a good guy looks like--I just can't get caught up in something I'm not ready for.

SLR: Uh, on your choice of men--you sure about that? Sometimes I question your filter.

Shopgirl: First of all, I'm offended by that. Second of all, yes. I did date an amazing guy for years, remember?

SLR: Then why the lack in selectivity?

Shopgirl: Dating a good guy with good intentions on both ends would mean the possibility of building the foundation for something more.

SLR: And tell me again why that's a bad thing?


It's been about nine months since my ex and I called off our six-year, on-and-off (mostly on, by far) relationship for good. I took a few months to rebound, went into a reclusive dormancy, then emerged from my cave hole, ready to embrace dating etiquette with a fresh perspective. Spring was upon me, flowers abloom and birds in harmonious song.

Nevertheless, sensing even a slight whiff of commitment sends me running in zigzags. And while I can't speak for all commitment-phobes out there, I can offer a bit of enlightenment on why the sweet scent of seriousness turns putrid:

1. Sometimes, you just want to have fun. "Fun," of course, is up for interpretation. This kind of fun is not easily had when attached, 'nuff said.

2. Life constraints make an already hectic life even more difficult. Life constraints could be any of the following--life-consuming work, life-consuming school, an anorexic bank account, or all of the above for a home run in life instability.

 3. Commitment demands more emotional output from an already waning puddle. This has got to be the number one reason why commitment-phobia prevails, even after meeting the "right" significant other at the "right" time (the concept of "right," of course, is relative). Shall we break it down, in lieu of its complexity? (As if you had a choice!)

3a. Emotional immaturity. Lacks in ability to introspect, empathize, and sympathize are all examples of emotional pathology. 

3b. Emotional insecurity. This results from an inability to realize self-worth and may or may not be linked to emotional immaturity. For whatever reason, a commitment-phobe may not feel deserving of a healthy relationship with a fully competent partner.

3c. Self-destructive tendencies. This is a direct result from having emotional insecurity. Let me elaborate: Commitment-phobes, like other human beings, do appreciate the care and company of a genuine partner. However, the disconnect lies in the emotional insecurity. As the saying goes, "If it's too good to be true, it probably is." Such is the mantra of the self-destructive commitment-phobe. Rather than having a good thing taken away, willingly push it away.

Commitment is a scary thing. In fact, it's terrifying. It demands change and compromise, often times in ways that we may not be equipped to handle. Though the right person can withdraw the fear out of commitment, commitment-phobes have been known to remain in stagnant relationships for the sake of companionship.

That said, if you're currently "attached" to a commitment-phobe, I can't speak for why he or she has decided to linger so long. That's a whole 'nother conversation.

Speaking the honest truth on a more serious post,
Shopgirl.

I would make a great assassin!

A few days back, Yogini directed me to take a Myers Briggs personality test on OkCupid. If you’re not familiar with the test, what it does is categorize you into one of four temperaments (Guardian, Idealist, Artisan, Rational) and then one of sixteen personality types (enfp | enfj | entp | entj | estj | esfj | estp | esfp | infp | infj | intp | intj | istj | isfj | istp | isfp). Your personality type, summed up one of the sixteen combinations listed, is a combination of personality quirks like Introverted vs. Extroverted, Sensing vs. iNtuitive, Feeling vs. Thinking, and Perceptive vs. Judging. If my half-assed explanation was not enough and you’re offended by half-assed effort, feel free to peruse the Keirsey Temperament Sorter to get a better breakdown of the temperaments and personality types.

I took the test a total of three times from three different occasions on three different websites, out of speculation for their accuracies. Remember, I’m a scientist and thus especially appreciate experiments when data are reproducible.

I don’t remember where I took the first test or what I even scored, but here’s a sum of my most recent personality quirks:

Keirsey.com would say that as an ENTP, I am a Rational Inventor. Personally, I think that me being pegged as an ENTP is quite accurate. I’m known to be unconventional in many respects and also very supportive of marijuana legalization. The best part about being an ENTP though, is that I would probably make a good dictator, or perhaps an international spy or assassin. If that doesn’t work out, I suppose I can become an ambassador if I’ve not yet been placed under international sanctions by then.

I think I’d much rather be an ENTP than an INTP, the personality type I tested under the second time around. Here’s a summary of the INTP personality, in a nutshell:

As an INTP, I’ve been dubbed a Rational Architect, rather than the ENTP Rational Inventor. Inconsistency is the scientist’s nemesis! I almost wanted to throw my computer against the wall, but my unemotional ENTP/INTP logical nature reminded me that I just finished paying off my MacBook. So ixnay on the throwing of the computer.

I must examine these quirks more closely for thorough comparison. One consistency between ENTPs and INTPs is that both support marijuana legalization. Can’t argue with that. Both personality types still tell me that I am unconventional in thought and actions, though as an INTP I have reclusive loner tendencies and as an ENTP I can be quite entertaining. Quite a conundrum, I am!

Drawbacks of being an INTP—I do resent that I’m regarded as one who does not like happy people. That’s not true—I love happy people. It’s just that extremely happy people tend to be as happy as they are because they are ignorant and haven’t yet developed a ripe sense of cynicism. Again, let me reiterate. I absolutely adore happy people!

As a whole, I’m not sure what to make of these inconsistencies. Am I introverted or extroverted? Attention-seeking or evasive? Well, either way I would still make an excellent assassin. Or maybe I’ll consider becoming a mortician? Can I choose to be one personality type over the other? I think the advent of these test results calls for a career change!

Currently polishing my sniper rifle,

Shopgirl.

Insecurity Walls and Cold Wars

Yogini: You should say something to him.

Shopgirl: Impossible. Saying something would totally undermine my ego.

Yogini: It shouldn't be a power struggle.

Shopgirl: You're right. It shouldn't have to be a power struggle but there always seems to be one anyway.

I glanced at my phone to check for incoming messages. None. I wasn't sure what kind of response I was expecting or if my expectation was in itself a lack of any response altogether. I slid my phone aside and decided it was best to leave and let be. I turned my attention to the panda assembling the drum set on stage:

Drummer for Sanguindrake at Hotel Cafe. Yes, folks. That is indeed a panda.

It's easy to find yourself on the defensive edge of a personal Cold War. Anticipating the next move, having one-up on the opponent, yet never really accomplishing anything? Yeah, that's a cold war. I get caught up in all these stupid little games, which more or less might just be in my head, though my deluded sense of hubris would certainly argue otherwise.

It's the game of cat and mouse that men and women play. Take cat-string theory, for instance. A few years back, a guy friend of mine pointed me over to The Game by Neil Strauss, a geek to chic story of a man's journey to becoming a world-renown pick-up artist, AKA a world-class man-whore. In the novel, Strauss describes cat-string theory:

Listen. Have you ever seen a cat play with a string? Well, when the string is dangling above its head, just out of reach, the cat goes crazy trying to get it. It leaps in the air, dances around, and chases it all over the room. But as soon as you let go of the string and it drops right between the cat's paws, it just looks at the string for a second and then walks away. It's bored. It doesn't want it anymore.

I reconsidered my end of the cat-string theory. Was I the feverish feline on alert for the bait?


Yogini: If you really are friends, there shouldn't be a power struggle.

Shopgirl: I like to think that we are, that we've both moved on from our fling and are perfectly capable of having a platonic relationship, but all this ambiguity makes me feel like he's breaking up with me.

Yogini: That's silly. People don't break up with friends.

Shopgirl: Precisely. Which is why I feel even stupider about this whole thing.

Yogini: Maybe he's not over it yet. Maybe you're not over it.

Shopgirl: Me? Not over it? Yogini, you know me, I'm way too noncommittal in way too many ways to ever consider something remotely meaningful. And you know that I'm moving.

Yogini: Then why do you care so much? You have plenty of friends--why him?

Shopgirl: I don't know. For some reason, I'm drawn to him. He's intense in so many ways that I wouldn't ever anticipate from anyone, but the intensity resonates with me on levels that most people never understand. It's like he sees me for who I am, seeing through the walls I put up to purposely shut people out.

Yogini: Walls, huh? Even me?

Shopgirl: Well of course not. You know what I mean!

Yogini: Ok, just checking. Carry on.

Shopgirl: So I feel like we're on a similar brain wave, which was jolting because I felt like he could see into my insecurities. He read me like a book and asked me to read him in return, but I refused because I completely freaked out.

Yogini: So what do you think about it now?

Shopgirl: In retrospect, him reading into my insecurities is almost comforting. It's as if I don't have to put up any fronts. He knows who I am without me having to explain. That's hard to find in anyone, dating potential or friend.

Yogini: Why don't you tell him that?

Shopgirl: Are you nuts? He'll think I'm psycho.

Yogini: What've you got to lose? And besides, you're supposed to be friends right? You'd be completely honest with me, why not with him?


I reach for my iPhone and swish through the pages. Shall I send my neurotic thoughts via text or Facebook message? I opt for the Facebook message since it was going to be a long one.

A softer, yet bolder me,
Shopgirl.