Stella Mania!

Jumping Ship

2009-03-26T00:09:00.000-07:00

Today was my last day at work.

As a three-year trooper at one highly respectable Fortune 100 company (which shall remain nameless) in a relatively stable environment, it seemed this day would never come. Why should it, when I had three years of hard work, dedication and a proven track record to back it up?

Everyone wants change. I desperately wanted change.

At first, I thought it a bit greedy of me to chase such auxiliary goals in this ever-so-lean job market. People I know have been riding the job search engines day and night for something, anything, to pay the bills, and here I was wanting a new, second job.

I also thought of my parents, who were just plain scared that I was going to make this bold career move and lose the new job in two months. They're very old-fashioned that way. They're still in the mindset that the first job you get is the one you keep until you can't work anymore. Dad's been a barber for 30+ years - can you blame him for thinking that?

But like the cheesy saying goes, if it's going to be... it's up to me.

Now in a transition state between one dog-eat-dog entertainment company to another, I am surprised by the calm that has nestled itself into the unmade bed of uncertainty and anticipation.

Change, ready or not... here I come.

Confessions of a Carnivore, Part I

2009-03-01T18:32:00.001-08:00

If you haven't already heard, I've given up meat. Before you get excited (or disappointed), I want to make clear that this is a temporary sacrifice, and, I still eat fish.

I also gave up cheese and excessive amounts of sugar... all in an effort to lose the chub. And I'd better say this before I sound like a snob: It's been all of three weeks.

Some observations in that short time: You can lose weight really, really fast on this kind of, um, plan. You can also lose your mind. If you're a carnivore, like the beast that I've put to rest in me, this kind of plan will suck all of the joys of life right out of whatever's left of you. You can also bet that this plan will consume your life if you let it (constantly counting calories, weighing your options, planning your next meat-less, low-calorie meal).

So when does the madness end? To be honest, I'm not sure. And the thought of that scares me more than the thought of being eternally fat because, simply put, I love meat.

The original goal was my cousin's wedding in Hawaii, where I knew I'd be seeing tons of family members I hadn't seen since I was, well, less fat. (Culture brief: In Korean culture, you're not allowed to be fat. It's just forbidden. People have been ostracized for it.) So, for the past three weeks, I tried as best as I could to minimize the appearance of said violation. The wedding was yesterday, and I think it went okay - a second aunt or somebody said something, but who really cares what your second aunts think?

Anyway, the aftermath/binge was going to ensue at the airport on the way back. I don't know, get a Big Mac or something grossly awesome. But sitting here just hours before my flight outlining the semi-success of my eating plan really makes me re-consider the Big Mac.

Following the pattern of what my favorite TV show does best, I'm going to leave you hanging. (The show is 24, by the way. If you don't know that, gosh, you should've stopped reading this a long time ago. Why would you even care what I eat?)

Did I resist that Big Mac? Or did I succumb, knowing I'd be taking two steps back toward the edge of that steep, cellulite-lined cliff?

A Series of Super-Unfortunate Events

2008-05-19T22:02:00.001-07:00

I don't believe in luck. If it's possible, I believe in bad luck even less. But in the past month, I've experienced a string of events which can only be described as such. Allow me to explain.

1. It started with a volunteer event (or, if you work for Disney, which I happen to, a VoluntEAR event. Get it? Ha, ha! Oh, we're clever). I was driving back home after this thankless, five-hour, unpaid enrichment field trip for the middle school students I help mentor. I swear I wasn't thinking these nasty thoughts as I was driving. Roomie in the passenger seat, she and I jib-jabbed down the 5 (an interstate highway for you Hawaiians) like a pair of twenty-somethings normally would when they're feeling good about life. Changing lanes at my usual 80+ MPH, I failed to see a rather large piece of debris -- an almost-whole piece of tire -- in the lane I merged into until it was too late. Mentally defeated, I made a half-ass attempt to swerve out of the way, successfully allowing the rubber monster to hit the front of my car at an undefined angle and raping the Rabbit's underbelly of its protective shield (later known as the 'skidplate'). What was left of the skidplate hung on for dear life, while the spoiler (a $160 piece!) was left behind on the 5, according to the body shop.

Who hits a runaway tire, and ends up having to pay $400 in self-sustained damages? I've imagined hitting everything from toddlers to shopping carts, but never would have seen a blown-out tire on my Things-I'll-Hit-Before-I-Kill-Myself list.

As I told a lot of my compadres, I made myself feel better by thinking about the guy (or girl, but probably guy) whose rubber broke.

The silver lining to this story: I was able to get my repairs done for half the amount it should have cost to fix. Turns out my intern's uncle owns a body shop and takes care of people who could ultimately fire his nephew. :D

2. My grandfather died.

3. I had to pay the U.S. government $1,000 in taxes. I thought I was getting $2,000 back, so that's a huge miscalculation on my part.

4. I locked myself out of the apartment while doing laundry a few Sundays ago. While that would normally be resolved with a pretty simple break-in using nothing more than a credit card, I had absolutely nothing with me. Really, I was lucky to have even been wearing a bra. My roommate, who obviously has a set of keys, was unavailable as it was Mother's Day and she was at home-home. Anyway, being the motherless, college-educated Gen-Y-er that I am, I decided to be resourceful. I checked the trash near our mailboxes for credit cards (you know, the kind that say, "You've Been Pre-Approved!" and come with a generic plastic card that have no actual information yet you cut the card in a state of paranoia). None. I salvage a piece of hard paper and bring it back to my apartment door. After much shoving, thrusting and twisting, I ditch the limp piece. It's just not hard enough.

I resort to knocking on a neighbor's door. I ask them for a credit card. They look uneasy. I ask them for a credit card they wouldn't mind me having. Same look. I ask them for anything that is plastic. Hang on, he says, and shuts the door in my face. He comes back out with a Sheraton Hotel key card and says I can keep it. Whee.

I'm pretty sure I am saved at this point. I'd broken into my apartment many times before using the swiping technique (courtesy of my formerly ghetto roommate) and had no reason to think it wouldn't work this time, when I really needed it. Slide, click... snap. Nope, not the success you'd think it was. After a succession of SCSs (I'm also sweating now) I realize I'm just going to have to call a locksmith. Which wouldn't be a problem... if I had a damn phone. I knock on another neighbor's door for dialing capabilities. Half an hour later, a locksmith arrives.

Such a sweet man, such a bad smell. I guess that's what happens when you work with metal all the time or something. It's going to be $75 for him to let me in. FINE. I'd been catching up on TiVo'd episodes of The Office and I just wanted back in! It's clear that there's a problem when he takes more than a minute to pick my lock -- this is what he does for a living, it shouldn't take any longer than that.

He finally gets in and tells me my lock's broken. Someone messed with the lock, he says. Did I forget to mention that while I was trying to get in I may have rammed my whole body (repeatedly) into the door? I split wood.

He replaced the lock, and I wrote him a check for $225. Tiko was his name, and replacing locks damaged by stout Asian girls was his game.

There is no silver lining to this story. It just sucks, period.

For those of you who actually read this entire blog, I'm flattered. I realize this was long for events that seem rather miniscule in hindsight, but you're my friend and I assume you care. Happy Monday...

I Like Options

2008-05-04T00:42:00.000-07:00

I repeat, typos are bad for business.

Auto Doo

2008-04-27T23:53:00.000-07:00

This is the greeting I got as soon as I shut the sliding door of the cab I took on the way to see Kanye West. Can you imagine -- doo at the push of a button?

Typos are bad for business.

Root Canal #2

2008-04-25T21:16:00.000-07:00

It worries me that the degree to which the tooth in question has decayed has a) surpassed the traditional fix of a filling, and b) surpassed the state of decay my other tooth was at before Root Canal #1.

Yesterday, I revisited the less-than-comfortable chair at my dentist's office. I have to say, it's amazing how much a dentist's chair resembles a chaise lounge at the pool -- only elevated, electrically operated, surrounded by sharp, shiny objects that, no matter how much are there to 'help' you, will ultimately hurt you, and not by a pool.

So as I lay there, mouth stretched wider than in my wildest days, I pictured myself poolside. It was the hottest of summers, and I was 20 pounds lighter. I wasn't perfect, but I'd clearly made progress in April, May and June. What's that you say? Oh, sunblock... someone's offering to put sunblock on me. Nice.

"Bite. Bite block. This should help you keep your mouth open." The dentist's lackey shoves a semi-solid wedge into my mouth.

The dentist proceeds to drill down to the depths of my tooth's roots like we've completely f*cked up all oil treaties with our friends in the Middle East, finds the root(s) and scrapes the heck out of the gaping cavity with things that look really similar to the pipe cleaners we were always given in Arts & Crafts. Actually, it looked less like pipe cleaners and more like the legs of a praying mantis. Yes.

After he deems ground zero completely eradicated of any roots or excess calcium, he stuffs some cotton pellets into the hole and seals it off with some temporary gunk. The lackey tells me I will gradually eat the temporary filling over the course of the next few days.

The good news is that I don't have to pay the $600 today. Short of being on a payment plan, I can choose to pay for the treatment on my second or even third visit! I am so lucky!

A Convincing Introduction

2008-04-23T23:20:00.001-07:00

After numerous failed attempts to stick to a single blog (I have six - yes, six! - unique URLs out there with themed content) I'm committing to this blog and you all are going to help me. I just need three visitors a week, two who actually stop to read and one to comment.

This blog should be easier to keep up with (for me, not you) for the very reason the others weren't. It's not themed - so you can pretty much expect my entries to be accidental and aimless.

Happy reading!