On Beer and Yoga

Two things I've learned to appreciate after starting a chapter as a teacher.

Yoga came first, with a free Spectrum membership. Vinyasa Yoga Flow on Saturday afternoons for an hour became a weekly habit in October 2008 and helped save me from the sustained stress that was/is my teaching career. The instructor, Chantal, is a middle-aged French woman with a gentle, rich voice that brought me to see the power of mental relaxation and meditation in breaking the clusterf*** of work. Since then, I've moved on to other classes on other days (Power Yoga on Wednesdays, and sometimes Yoga Basics on Tuesdays), Cycling (been a while actually), and Cardio Core (Mondays and/or Thursdays). I also began listening to KPCC because Chantal recommended it, and have been a huge fan ever since.

My first yoga class ever happened in middle school, when my parents signed me up for a free first class. All I remember is downward dog, which had made me sweat back in the day because I was out of shape, and awkwardly clenching my lips shut at the last part of class when the instructor and all the other adults (no one was even close to my age) intoned "Ohhhhhhhmmmmmmm" about three times. I thought it was so boring and never wanted to go back. Of course, life was easier back then.

But now, the beauty in building balance, flexbility, and strength while listening to New Age-y, Indian drums/sitar/vocalizing music is just so awesome. I almost get a zen-like, euphoric high just from gathering internal energy and stretching into a pose that I wouldn't have thought to have been able to do. I never knew that breathing correctly was half the battle with holding a pose, or doing a shoulder stand was possible. Shoulder stands aren't even that hard. I can't do bridge, or head stand, or some other crazy one where you balance on your arms with one leg wrapped around one elbow and the other leg extended somewhere else. It's just so satisfying to hold the body weight in a way that stretches you, yet makes you sweat and relax at the same time. Maybe some remote Thai heritage I might have, connected with the Buddhist spirituality, had something to do with this powerful love.

It would be neat to be trained as a yoga instructor. I tell people that I'd like to sign up, though it's about two grand and 5 months' committment. I'm playing it by ear in the mean time.

Last Tuesday I also tried meditation for the first time. I haven't done it since but it has helped me distance emotionally from what goes on at work. Not to say that I'm invulnerable. Today's school day with 4th period was like a bad day from my 1st year. The kids were absolute demons today.

I seem to live a life full of extremes. I chose a teaching job partially because I knew the challenges would help me grow and I wanted to make a difference (and an office job sounded boring). While yoga has been an excellent means to unwind and be mentally stronger, beer has also become another outlet.

I had been dry most of my life. Up until I was at least 20, I had not even one sip of ethanol. Even in the latter days of college, I still couldn't handle the taste well enough to enjoy it. But now, it can really enhance a meal or a night out. Teaching just changes everything. For once in my life, I've noticed an increase in tolerance, which has never happened before. At least I have resolved to take a short break to keep the body healthy, and because my friends are tuckered out.

I've become more of a hedonist lately, but it's a part of survival.

Namaste (and bottoms up),
lemontea

Greener Grass

Although I vowed soon after college that I'd be single for the 2 year TFA committment, it was clearly broken early on. The intention behind this broken vow was to take time away from all the drama that in retrospect is so silly and not worth the lost time. But that was all lessons learned, I should hope.

For the past few months I've been working on becoming more my own person, discovering my strengths and trying to improve on weaknesses. Finding the small, subtle pleasures in the outside meanderings along the beach. Having chance meetings with strangers who offer a sliver of their life experience that is often so different from mine. Enjoying long obnoxious singing in car rides from work. Cooking and baking. Not holding myself back from goals or desires.

Despite all this and more, I hate to admit that there's been this niggling restless feeling in the back of my mind. As much as I strive to be Miss Independent, I often fall back into my old habits on wanting something more. I've felt trapped in relationships before, and it's not missed. I just want to appreciate this independence fully because goodness knows that now is the best time to do absolutely anything.

Living in LA has its perks because I have a strong network here and family. However, I'm convinced that it's not the place for me in the long term. I should be grateful that I hadn't come across a real winner of a guy here because I fall hard for people. Unfortunately I've also become much more cynical towards men in LA. I'm not saying all men are like the vapid, superficial ones I've met lately. They're just somewhere I haven't been, and I should be happy to not be more distracted. I don't want to be looking, and relationships are intimidating now, yet I can't stop wondering and waiting sometimes.

A slow learner when it comes to social situations, I at least am willing to continue striving for a happy balance between desires.

"Haven't met you yet" by Michael Buble comes to mind. What a great song!

You must not know 'bout me, though I think Beyonce (and the Ghetto Tooth Fairy) might.

I don't usually blog out of frustration, but it's been brought to my attention that my kindness or love of a jolly good time might be misconstrued for fragility or lack of a backbone.

Don't get it twisted.

In behalf of the Ghetto Tooth Fairy and all the misunderstood out there, please get a life and stop with the egocentrism. Furthermore, what you seem to find so endearing about my sugary nature might actually be my cynicism snickering behind my sweet smile.

It's not that I'm not upfront with what's on my mind or that I'm unreasonable to great extents. I do believe that when entering social contracts with one another, certain obligations ought to be met. Am I the Social Contract Police? No, that's silly (and so is the Ghetto Tooth Fairy!). But do be courteous and do your very best to meet your obligations to one another. And what if you fail to meet these obligations? Well there is nothing wrong with being upfront and honest with the circumstances of the occasion.

I think that eloquence in language and communication as a whole is often misinterpreted as beautiful, flowery, floaty language that functions to sugar coat the matter at hand. On the contrary, the kind of language described is anything but eloquent. Rather, it is deceitful and offensive to the listener or recipient of the message as it assumes a lesser cognitive ability of the recipient. Eloquence in communication is conveyed when the message is delivered in a concise manner, all the while capturing a tone that is subtle yet worthy of empathy as to engage the recipient completely with the moment of that message.

Spewing out thoughts about how we ought to communicate to each other (just sayin'),
Shopgirl.

Gettin' ready to check you off!

Date: So, tell me about yourself.

Shopgirl: Um, that's kinda vague. Care to elaborate?

Date: Ok, tell me about your activities, your interests.

Shopgirl: Haha, are we filling in a questionnaire about me?

Date: Ok, how about your family? Where are you from? You're so exotic.

Shopgirl: I'm from Southern California.

Date: No, where are you from?

Shopgirl: Uh, Orange County?

Date: No, like, where are your ancestors from?

Ok, hold it right there. So maybe I can be a little difficult on first dates, but  after reading that thread, you can't blame me for being cynical.

Don't get me wrong. I get excited and nervous about first dates too. I pay careful attention to how I do my hair and make-up, how much skin I want to show (or cover up), if I want to wear the "cute" or the "sensual" perfume, and even how the height of my high heels might convey a sneak into my sly nature.

Expectations of myself for the night include playing the cute, coy role. I typically don't like to reveal too much about myself on the first date because I'm too busy observing the minute things he does and says so that I might get a better glimpse of his character. Expectations of my date? Very simple. I'd like him to be himself and mindful of personal space.

You might be wondering what's going on my my head as I closely people watch my date. Am I going through a checklist in my mind?

Has a job? Check. Lifetime goals? Check. Is he wearing Ed Hardy? Uh-oh, d-bag alert. Either that or poor fashion sense. I'm putting an exclamation point next to that one.

Yes and no. These thoughts aren't necessarily part of the checklist I govern by. But then again, I don't have much of a standing, firm checklist nowadays.

Not to say that I didn't have checklists before. They're things we all develop, as if to narrow our searches down to the perfect mate. Think Weird Science. You plug in your preferences and out pops the "perfect" man or woman.

These lists, whether or not you admit having them, are dynamic things. They change with age, experience, perhaps status change. Take for instance, my ever-changing picture of the ideal mate:

Elementary School Cutie:
1. Pushes me during recess.
2. Wears awesome LA Lights shoes.
3. Loves tag, handball, and teatherball.

High School Hottie:
1. Has a car.
2. Athleticism of some extent.
3. Knows how to get booze.
4. Good at jumping fences.

College Stud:
1. Smart.
2. Funny.
3. Athletic.
4. Has a real major.
5. Planning to graduate within 4-5 years.

Post-college Preferences:
1. College-educated.
2. Has a job, or better yet a career.
3. If criteria #1 or #2 are not met, must currently be in grad school.
4. Smart, funny, athletic.
5. Loves science.
6. Reads often.
7. Between 5'10" and 6'4" in height.
8. Wears properly-fitting clothing.
9. Wears cardigans.
10. Prefers Apple over Windows.

Current Preferences:
1. Can hold a conversation.
2. Eccentric and artistic.
3. Smart, funny, athleticism is a plus but not necessary.
4. Knows how to shut me up.
5. Likes the outdoors.

I think nowadays, what I tend to look for in an ideal mate are general characteristics rather than specific personality traits and mannerisms. It's easy to think that you know exactly what you want, feeling young, spry, and perfectly capable of achieving ambitions you'd set forth to accomplish.

Out of college, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted (hence, the exhaustive list). When I found men who had met those specific criteria, they were lacking in many more ways that I wasn't willing to compromise--like integrity, honesty, willingness to becoming emotionally capable.

Nowadays? I don't know. I do feel like it's absolutely necessary to find a man that I can respect. Does that mean that this man needs to have a particular degree or job? Not at all. Just don't let me step on you.

An open, more humble me,
Shopgirl.

What we owe each other.

For millennia, mankind has tried to devise all-encompassing schools of ethics in attempts to define what is just and unjust, agreeable and disagreeable, worthy of social praise and worthy of social ostracism. Schools of metaphysical thought were some of the first formal constructs that defined guidelines from which its followers were expected to abide by. Each modeled the creation of the universe and our presence in this world. They discussed our obligations to ourselves and to others, or lack thereof. (One might call some of these social constructs religion.) Written documentation of such guidelines and a growing literacy amongst followers facilitated dispersion worldwide.

Meanwhile and in some cases soon after (and in other cases much later), the buildup of empirical evidence on the known universe and the physical properties of this world led to a revolution that allowed science to take precedence over older (and some would argue obsolete) schools of metaphysical thought. We dropped questions regarding metaphysics and instead directed our focus to the present state of society and how to remedy its shortcomings.

We thought more about what we owed to ourselves, our partners, our friends, our families, our neighbors, our communities, our nations, and to our international counterparts. Suddenly our perceptions of such obligations required stronger cognitive effort to take into consideration things like political correctness, diplomacy, and pre-nups.

The funny thing is that throughout these years of thinking, though we have an idea of what's right and what's wrong, nobody can completely agree on how to make a universal set of morals. Take this cartoon on Utilitarianism, for instance:

What exactly makes people happy? And in the same regard, who are these people, exactly? Do things make us happy because we have arbitrarily associated happiness to such things, or do they have an intrinsic happiness factor inherent within them?

*****

One of my good friends was recently diagnosed with a serious chronic infection. I may be one of the only people that he's told. Nevertheless, I haven't seen him in months. I want to see him, believe me--to comfort him, help him run errands, do silly stupid things with him, just to offer some sort of strength and support--but any form of contact with him always turns into failed attempts.

I told him that I would be open to him when he's ready to talk or just hang out. I can't help but wonder if the reason why he's avoiding me is because facing me would mean having to face his illness. Heck, even I'm having a hard time accepting it all.

I want to be there for him, but it's not easy being there for someone who is too preoccupied with himself that he can no longer show compassion or show appreciation for or towards others (uh, ok, by others I mean me). Needless to say, I can't even imagine what's going on in his mind. As empathetic as I can try to be, I lack the insight because I lack the understanding.

All I can do is remain receptive and go along my merry little way. Though it's hard to be merry with this constantly looming in the back of my mind. How are you? Where are you now? How have you been?!

*****

What do we owe to ourselves and to our friends? Altruistic behavior, in a biological sense, has been documented in several animal species as a means of contributing to the survival of the community at one's own expense. However, all this begs the following questions: How much is too much and how little is too little?

We enter social contracts like friendships, assuming that the relationship exists for the benefit of both parties. Yet, how much benefit is one party getting if the other feels like the unwilling recipient of the two girls one cup smoothies (bonus points if you got that)?

Trying to end on a somewhat positive (though admittedly disgusting) note,

Shopgirl.

Crazy moms bring up sane children.

The picture on the right is a screen shot from The Joy Luck Club (1993), a  movie based on the novel by Amy Tan. The book depicts four Chinese women and their journeys to the US as well as the culture disconnect they experience from their American-born daughters.

I remember seeing this movie when I was in elementary school, thinking, "Oh my God, all Asian moms are crazy. I knew it." I felt a sense of relief--camaraderie even--with all the misguided and culturally frustrated Asian American children growing up with neurotic Asian mothers.

My next encounter with The Joy Luck Club occurred during my senior year of high school when I read the novel for Advanced Placement Literature. I read every word thoroughly, annotating each page with questions and revelations. By the time I finished it, the front cover had fallen off and the binding unglued from excessive bending. Something about reading instead of watching at this older age allowed the plots to resonate much stronger with me. I remember peering over at my mom during reading breaks, wondering about her story to America and the traumatic event she left behind. "There must've been some trauma," I thought, "How else would she have turned out so psychotically strict? Amy Tan knows."

*****

My grandaunt's wake took place last night. After the prayer service were the eulogies from her children. My uncle was last to take the podium, telling a poignant tale of his dynamic relationship with his mother in his quiet, raspy voice. While I can't capture every perfectly stated word or poised pause he conveyed in the eulogy, I'll do my best to share what I can from my memory.

Not too long ago, Michael Jackson, arguably the greatest entertainer of all time, passed away. I remember watching the news and listening to an interview with one of his children. "My dad is the greatest dad in the world," he said. The child must've been around ten or twelve years old. I wondered what that all meant--what exactly is "the greatest dad in the world" and what kind of understanding does a child have about the greatness of his or her parents?

I thought about my own relationship with my parents, my own relationship with my mom. I think that our perceptions of what the "greatest moms in the world" seem to us go through four stages, each marked by a certain age or accomplishment.

In the first stage, we're young children. We think the greatest moms in the world are the kind that don't make you eat your vegetables and allow you to eat candy for breakfast. We think they are the kind that play with us all day long and then have the time and energy to read us stories to bed.

The second stage occurs in the teenage years. We think the greatest moms in the world are the ones who don't nag us about our grades and don't ask us questions about our friends. They don't punish us when we arrive home too late or may not even do much punishing at all.

In the third stage, the greatest moms in the world don't meddle with our business. You see at this stage, we think we know everything. We are already well-educated and working, making our own money. We think we know better than our moms, so we want them to leave us alone and stop bothering us.

The fourth stage is when we are mature adults. I think I'm at this stage. It's at this stage when we realize that the greatest moms in the world don't do what we as their children think they should. They aren't their children's greatest friends. What's difficult about being a great mom is that they have to accept that they may do many things that their children will resent. They tend to sacrifice themselves, including approval from their children, to be the best mom they can.

Thinking back about my mom, I still don't think that she's the greatest mom in the world. I think she's better than that. I don't know if anyone can accurately describe what the greatest mom in the world would be like. What my mother has done for our family and me is beyond anything that I can ever conjure up.

I sat next to my own mother as I listened to this eulogy. I put my arm around her and leaned in closer to her, thinking about all the times we bickered about all the things that could be bickered about.

I hate to say this, but as morose deaths in the family can be, they tend to bring people together. My grandaunt was known to be the backbone of her immediate family, reminding everyone to keep in touch and bringing everyone together with her delicious cooking. In death, she brought together feuding family members as we all reunited for her funeral this morning.

Thinking about you, Lola (grandma in Tagalog),
Shopgirl.

Creatures at Walmart keep me up at night.

The creature above is just one of many depicted at People of Walmart. While I worry why a hospital in-patient is wandering the public isles, I worry more about where the opening of her gown is. God forbid she flash anybody with the goodies underneath.

Though I must say, I cannot say the same for the gentleman below. Apparently, he has decided to leave very little to the imagination.

Maybe I didn't want to know that he had a perfectly tan body, but he sure didn't give us the chance to make this decision, did he? Unfortunately, the sight of his quasi-nude body has led me to ask another question that I know you will all regret--what the heck is holding up his pants?

It's almost 1 AM and I'm online checking out news on Walmart. No, this is not a common occurrence for me. I hate that I'm still on my computer (1) constantly refreshing my Facebook News Feed to see who else is up, (2) checking mindless Internet garbage for mild entertainment, and (3) playing the same soundtrack (Where the Wild Things Are) for the last three hours. (Sorry Karen O, I love ya, but this must soon end.) What's worse is that I've got to be up for work in T-minus four hours, and none of this awake time is being utilized to do anything productive.

Numbing my mind is how I cope with stress. I was never the kind to mourn with strong outbursts of emotion, mainly because I'm not sure I know how to. And then thoughts of sleep present their own problems as they remind me of the awful nightmares I've been having lately. So until I figure this all out, mindless Internet garbage it is!

See y'all at Walmart,
Shopgirl.

Spilling through the front door

After a busy but blissful spring break, I partially dreaded going back to school this morning, bracing myself for the crunch time before CST. I probably saw the copy machine jam with paper bits at least 20 times today, and the other one in the library has been out of commission since before spring break. While admin pretends that teachers can magically conjure up 150 copies a day, I played it cool and said, "I won't let this get to me." I've come to school with a giant protective mental bubble that built up over the past 11 days, not wanting to break down at the beginning. It's lasting pretty well so far, considering how it took 20 min to get maybe 100 pages copied.

I also find out that half the 8th graders will be out either today or tomorrow for a field trip. This takes 2 full days of instruction, when I want to give a test on Friday and review CSTs the next 2 weeks. I'm still testing on Friday. I can't delay anymore. Moreover, the school decided to change our 50 min periods to block scheduling for those 2 weeks. While I see the benefits of block scheduling, it should have been done EARLIER in the year and NOT right before testing. The adjustment period to this schedule change would take much too long and throw the students off.

First period rolls around, and in the first 5 minutes I find that last night's rain leaked into my classroom and left a puddle in my room, with more dripping happening. In the span of about 10, 15 min I call the office, only one custodial staff is available and might stop into my room. Then he comes in a few minutes later, then one of the admin comes in with a booming voice and all of my kids are distracted. Then they mop it up and leave, and then I get another phone call asking if they came. I am happy that someone had come in to address the problem, but the leak has happened before and nothing has been fixed. Thankfully LA doesn't rain much.

2nd period: I get a new student. She seems sweet and intelligent, and it's a constant reminder that I could be getting a new student anytime. Last year, I had a new student for the last month of school. Secretary calls to ask me to sub a class during 6th. My bubble is still here. Trying to remain zen and calm and not angry at all the interruptions and asinine announcements from the principal.

The day actually turned out really well though. A bunch of kids turned in their extra credit projects from spring break, and after school I found out two very hardworking, smart, sweet students of mine got accepted to King Drew Medical Magnet school. It's the first notice I've heard this year that some of my students are going to a school that's not Compton High. So many of my students deserve something better, and I don't know how to help them. CAMS sucks for accepting almost no students from my school. Compton kids really have few choices for high school unfortunately.

Honestly though, if the kids are good, which they were today, I can handle the outside idiocy a lot better. Even the BTSA meeting after school ended early, and I was able to get my car from the body shop (yay for a new bumper). Went to Cardio Core at Spectrum and felt like my body went through a processing facility, but it feels good to survive a class (I had felt like I was being hazed, along with being amused at sliding down the bosu because of a very sweaty leg that was the only thing balancing me on it... har har). Mom cooked an awesome stir fry noodle dish and packed some for lunch tomorrow.

Sometimes moving stuff between my parents' home and my personal place is a pain. With barely functioning legs, I barely lugged my backpack/laptop, purse, lunch bag, 4 inch thick DAT study book, spiral notebook, BTSA meeting handouts, taxes file folder, and tote bag full of gym clothes/toiletries all in one trip! On the walk from the car to the house, I dropped the BTSA handouts which spread all over the lawn like an awkward middle schooler's textbooks, at which point my DAT book and taxes folder fell while bending over to pick up the handouts. After picking up the mass in an armful and spilling it on the front porch, I blindly searched for the house key in the dark, and kicked/dropped everything inside the house. More papers fell, and in frustration I yanked at the taxes folder, whose elastic band hit my hand pretty hard in the process. Like when you're kicking or throwing inanimate objects and they get their revenge on you? It was like that.

It actually felt comical looking at all the spillage at the end. It was a long day, but the kids were sweet (well and some weren't there), the gym kicked my ass but I survivied, and my taxes are done. To me, the pile of junk that I've accumulated from day to day life is one indication of a busy life. While it gets stressful and sleep deprived, at least I can say that I'm tackling the world while young and energetic, to experience and do as much as possible. And that feels so good.

You're only artsy if you kill yourself--that's hot.

Late last December, UniqueDaily.com posted up the Top 10 Reclusive Artists. Their list is as follows:

   10. Cormac McCarthy
   9. Terrence Malick
   8. Bill Watterson
   7. Harper Lee
   6. Emily Dickinson
   5. Stanley Kubrick
   4. Syd Barrett
   3. Thomas Pynchon
   2. Greta Garbo
   1. J.D. Salinger


Whether or not you agree with this list is debatable. Personally, I don't consider an artist a true recluse unless he or she commits suicide. There's no better way to pursue seclusion than to disappear from the world entirely, leaving behind all of one's organic remains of course. Unless one requests cremation as to pulverize anything human about the body. But even then, requesting cremation would require contact with the outside world. Not to mention that once cremated, one's ashes have a better chance of being distributed, which would further deter from complete seclusion. Is it possible to annihilate one's remaining matter completely? We've been taught that matter can neither be created nor destroyed. Though I suppose that we can juxtapose such matter with anti-matter to completely destroy oneself + remains, assuming that one has access to it. Does accepting the absurd start to become absurd at any point?

I was recently involved in a fling with one I might describe as a tortured artist. Intelligence, talent, and freedom from normative inhibitions are qualities that often breed attraction and intrigue from those who observe. The departure from norms adds a sort of mystique to such a persona. In short, yes, some musicians are hot by virtue of their artistic capabilities and tortured souls (Note: SOME). No, I'm not a groupie. And no, I don't cry when Dashboard Confessional comes up on my iPod. And yes, I do own Dashboard Confessional music.

I normally try to avoid anything that smells insincere, especially men who try too hard to enamor women with their status, profession, and/or godly physiques. It's just not cute--save it for the bro-hos and dimwits, please.

And yet, something about the tortured, reclusive artist keeps me interested. (No, I'm not insinuating that tortured artists pose insincerity. I'm merely implying that some try pull off the persona for the sake of appearances.) Perhaps it's a puzzle that I feel demands my attention to be solved (as if you can solve a person). I can't help but wonder what's behind those wild, unruly eyes. Give me a hint of crazy and I want more. Maybe I'm a little crazy too and crave something similar, as to provide me with some sort of insight into my own sporadic, misunderstood reclusivity.

Before you jump the gun and assume that this man is just playing me, fine--I'll admit that this is a possibility and hence quite problematic for my ego. Yet, despite popular belief that I'm a radical feminist/man-hater, I do believe that there are some men who offer redeeming qualities, thereby providing some salvation to the rest of their gender.

So what's a girl to do? I'm not worried. I think that the beauty in these kinds of relationships is the ephemerality of it all. It's all so short-lived, that all one can do is enjoy it for its current value. Never mind all the strings attached because there are none.

Freedom lies in letting go of worldly attachments and accepting consciousness as a prize in itself. Yet suddenly, I feel like cutting (ok, terrible joke and total misuse of an otherwise elegant concept--duly noted).

Enjoying the beauty in my day off from work,
Shopgirl.