I’m Not Just Annoyin’ …

Oh no … I’m Illinoian!

Yes, as a relatively “new” person to the great State of Illinois, I could not resist putting that statement out there.

Well that — and given what my “early” birthday gift from Hubby was — it just fits to a tee (as in “tee-hee!”).

See for yourself …

Oh yes, Hubby got me one of those really cool Flip video camcorders. One that I only recently thought would be cool to have. Because really, I’m all about capturing moments in time … but I’ve always been more of the photograph type of gal, rather than an “America’s Funniest Videos” type of gal.

Except now with this cool hand-held camcorder, I can record even the funniest verbal and visual moments in time. Which now means I can take my blogging to a whole new level.

And the best part of it is … I’m the one behind the camera instead. So I can start grilling poor Hubby nonstop.

Like today. We finally got a chance to do the whole Chicago Architecture Tour on the River. It’s something we’ve been wanting to do since doing the Frank Lloyd Wright walking tour a few years back. So today was the day that we planned on doing it. The river tour, I mean.

Yep, for Independence Day we thought it would be a fun thing to do. Be able to see the skyline of Chicago at a whole other level. Except it was cold. And raining.

And it was nothing like it was yesterday when we went to the beach. And swam. And got sunburned …

Well, let’s just see what Hubby had to say about it …

Okay. That’s enough for now. Just wanted to have a little fun with my new “toy.”

Hope everyone had a wonderful 4th of July … and managed to stay dry. Unlike Hubby and me.

Happy Birthday, USA!

Hips *DO* Lie

It’s been hot lately in Chicago. I mean, I’m not complaining. Considering how just a few months ago I was complaining how frickin’ cold it was outside.

Now that Hubby’s here with me permanently, I have to admit that I’ve been using him (and our car) as my primary means to get to work. Because sometimes getting to work in a sweltery mess (when I’m supposed to be lookin’ all professional and sh*t) is not always a pleasant thing. Yeah … like I’ve always said. I don’t “glisten” like most women do. I down and out sweat. Like a hog.

I’m spoiled, I know. In many counts. But in this scenario, the fact that I get  air-conditioned door-to-door “valet” service in the morning is wonderful. That, and the absolutely spectacular view I get of Lake Michigan every morning is downright overindulgence.

So yes, that’s how I find myself getting to listen to morning talk radio on the 7 mile/20 minute ride into work every morning. And truth be told, I have missed that part of my daily commute with my previous employment.

Morning talk radio is absolute smut. But seriously, that’s how I tend to get my latest celebrity gossip. (How do you think Hubby heard about the scheduled Johnny Depp appearance?) That, and my daily laughs of stupid conversation topics. Like the worst advice your parent may have given you. Or the worst back-handed compliment someone may have said to you.

That last one was spurred by the description Marlon Brando apparently made about Jackie Onassis in an unpublished passage of his biography. If you hadn’t heard the latest news, Brando and Jackie O. allegedly had an affair about a year after JFK was assassinated. He described her as having “boyish hips” and a “muscular frame.”

Now, as a non-girly girl, I don’t find anything offensive about that comment. But I suppose if I was seen as the fashion icon of the ’60’s … it would be considered a slap in the face.

And that’s how radio listeners began to call in with various back-handed compliments they had received in the past. One woman called in saying that a blind date told her over dinner that she was “stocky” and then made things worse by rescinding it back and calling her “healthy.”

Apron Strings on them "Child-bearing Hips"

Another woman called in about a shoe salesman who told her that her legs and ankles were “pretty thick.”

So of course I had to turn to Hubby and tell him the worse compliment that I can remember being told. And that was that I had excellent “child-bearing hips.”

For the life of me, I can’t remember who had told me that. But I do remember that it was prior to marrying Hubby. Which would mean that it would be before Hubby and I even started trying to “bear children.”

And even though I do have a large-ish ba-dunk-a-dunk, which is supported by them wide hips of mine … it still stings a bit when I remember that “compliment.” Especially after all the years of my hips failing to bear those children.

D*mnit. Shakira was wrong. Apparently, hips *do* lie.

Okay, so ‘fess up, blog world. What’s the worst compliment anyone has given to you?

Emily Goes Stalkerazzi

Oh yes. The day has come.

The day where Emily takes being a fan to another level. And becomes a fanatic.

But d*mn, was it worth it!

Let me paint the picture. As I’m busy at work earlier in the morning, preparing for a day chalk-ful of meetings and more meetings, I receive a phone call from Hubby.

“I know where you need to be later tonite,” Hubby tells me. And as I question him why, he tells me, “You need to be at the AMC River East tonite.”

“Because … ??”

“Because it’s the premiere of ‘Public Enemies‘ and Johnny Depp and Christian Bale are supposed to be there.”

“Really?!,” I just about screamed, as my cubicle neighbor looked up from shuffling songs on his iPod.

“Really,” Hubby confirms.

And so that’s all I needed to hear. Hubby, the awesome husband that he is, met me after work and accompanied me to the downtown movie theatre off of Illinois Street in Chicago. And there, on the barricaded street, we waited along with the thousands of other fans.

Patience finally paid off as we started to see unmarked black SUV’s pull into the street. And a few moments later, we began to hear screams from the crowd. First Christian Bale came out to the crowd to sign some autographs. Then, after more screaming and a walk down the red carpet to the media tent … my man, Johnny Depp hit the street. And walked down to greet his fans.

Lucky me, happened to be towards the very end of the street where Johnny decided to begin his trip. And also lucky for me, I managed to be up against the barricade.

Oh yes, girls. I got face-to-face, up close and personal to the one celebrity my awesome husband once gave me permission to leave him for.

As Johnny was about three fans away from me, I tried to help this tween-age girl move up to see Johnny and get his autograph. But then the crowd around us pushed us up against the barricade. Johnny happened to notice that and paused in front of us long enough to make sure she was okay before signing her book. Then as he looked at me through those blue-tinted sunglasses, he reached out and squeezed my arm.

Seriously, people. If Johnny asked me to run off with him to a faraway island at that very moment, I wouldn’t have given a second thought. (Sorry, Hubby. But you did give me permission … )

But of course, we all know Johnny wouldn’t have done that. And in reality, I could never leave the incredible man that is my husband. Because even though he doesn’t own a Caribbean island and make millions of dollars like Johnny does … I am absolutely in love with my Hubby; the one man who allows me to go all Stalkerazzi and still loves me for who I am.

And now, for your enjoyment (and mine) …

| View Show | Create Your Own

Pot & Kettle? Both Black …

… And typically both cast iron, too.

Okay, I so hope that no one goes all Omarosa on me for bringing up that idiom. Which is funny, because I always found that saying rather silly. Well, until recently anyway.

Last week, for lack of better words, was pure H*LL at work. It was one of those weeks where anything I tried to do seemed to backfire on me. And it all came to a head on Wednesday. Without going into too much detail, I was “disciplined” in a way that I thought was unfair and uncalled for. Given that I’ve been in the position I’ve been in for a little over 5 months, I suppose there would be grounds to be concerned from the “higher up” person’s standpoint. But when I feel as if I haven’t been given the support I’ve needed or the training that I should have been given? All because it was felt that I should have had enough “previous” experience, even though I completely new to the company? And I’ve voiced these concerns over and over again? Yeah … not fair.

So after this formal “discussion” last Wednesday, I went home and I crashed. And I struggled with separating my emotions from the situation. And when I finally did, I came to the conclusion that in many ways I am similar to this same person. Both of us are driven to do the best job that we can. And even though we may have different ideas on how to do it, both of us see the same broad picture of where we need to get our team. Which means both of us are stubborn. As in “cast-iron” stubborn.

And this is where that d*mn idiom comes into play.

I mean, I could seriously say some really horrible things on here (after all, this is my blog) … but it would literally be like a slap to my own face. Because what drives me insane about what this particular person does is probably the same thing I do in return. Only, I go about it in an altogether different manner.

And thanks to all your thoughts and prayers and good vibes, I survived last week. After a wonderfully fun weekend spent with our friend “J” and our nephew in town, I did manage to get a much needed break from all that stress. And now I’m slowly making it through this week as well.

So thank you once again, bloggie world, for helping me get through a tough week. And reminding me that I am a strong person. And I can survive.

Because, if anything, that stubborn hard head of mine can probably crush more than beer cans on my forehead.

Quickly …

(Okay, so when do I ever do anything quickly.)

Wednesday’s post was vague at best … and quite abrupt, given my new “zen” attitude I was supposed to take on.

Let’s just say this past Tuesday and Wednesday the sh*t hit the fan at work. And without going into major details, the situation has literally forced me to question whether I should run back to Detroit with my tail between my legs.

And that’s the fourth time I’ve had that thought now in the past 6 weeks.

So that’s why I asked God for inner strength.

But thanks to your thoughts, your prayers, and your general support … I think I survived the worse of it, which was having to walk back into work Thursday morning with my head held high.

Because of that, I now know that I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. And I typically don’t give up readily without fully knowing that I’ve done everything I can.

And I need to remember that … D*mnit, I survived years of infertility treatments and all the rollercoaster emotions that come with it. And, despite the fact that these treatments didn’t work, I survived.

So, whatever the outcome of these next few weeks, I will survive this as well. But not without doing my absolute best.

Please … keep those good vibes coming. I will need all the strength I can get.

Spirit, Strength and Peace

Dear God,

I haven’t asked much for myself over the past so many years. In fact … if I had to pinpoint a moment in time that I stopped requesting anything from You, it would be the same day I was so angry at You for not giving me the one thing in life that I prayed the hardest for. The one thing in my life that I wanted to experience the most.

I stopped asking at that point, not because I didn’t believe in You. Or that I didn’t think You loved me. I stopped asking because, quite honestly, I just wanted to stop feeling disappointed in myself all the time.

You see, I have always been told that You only give a person what You think he or she could handle. And seeing that I hadn’t been handling the whole infertility thing so well, I thought that perhaps that was the reason You felt I wasn’t ready or prepared or worthy of being a mother.

And that is why I stopped praying for myself.

God, I know that you know that I still pray to You. And that my requests are simple at best. I pray that You look over all my family and friends. I pray that You guide those most worthy of needing guidance to find spiritual happiness somewhere.

Because, even though I am not a very good practicing Catholic, I do believe that having faith in a higher being … whether You are called “God” or “Yahweh” or if You are even a multitude of deities … it is important in finding some sort of spiritual inner peace.

Right now, God … I’m looking for some of that inner peace. And specifically what I need at this moment is some strength.

I know You have provided me with many gifts, including the love and support of an incredible man. I also know You have graciously provided me with my “second chance” in life in a new city and a new home. I cannot tell you how incredibly grateful I am for the love and support of my husband and this opportunity to move to Chicago … because it’s amazing what a change in scenery can do to one’s soul.

The strength I need right now is to maintain my self-confidence. To know that I’m doing the best that I can do in the situation I am currently in. To ignore the thoughts in my head that tell me I’m “just not good enough.” To ignore my tendency to worry what others may think about what I’m doing. To be strong in the face of self-doubt.

Please God. I don’t ask for much. But if it wasn’t too much of a bother, I’m in much need of some inner strength …

The Zen of Yin and Yang

Anybody that has ever met me knows that I have two left feet.

Okay … so the Filipina in me can, at the very least, dance to a beat. But put me in a pair of heels (or heck, even flat shoes give me problems), and I can’t even walk a straight line without tripping.

I can even fall down while laying in bed. Seriously. Okay, so that part was really caused by Hubby turning over and taking all the blankets that I was lying on top of … but nonetheless, it was ME that fell on the floor.

The other day, as Hubby and I strolled the streets of the Magnificent Mile, I contemplated how throughout my life I’ve always been at one extreme or the other. I’ve thought about how I’ve either been extremely happy or in the throws of despair. Or I’ve either totally loved my job or completely hated it to the point of quitting. Or I’ve felt completely optimistic about IVF to being downright pessimistic about my infertility.

And then I tripped. (D*mn Crocs on uneven pavement …)

After being caught by Hubby and subsequently asked how my “trip” was … I thought about the irony of my last “fall.” Tripping when contemplating how unbalanced my life is.

So after I regained my footing, I began to contemplate whether my life has always been unbalanced. Much like I’ve always had two left feet. Had I always seen things so black and white? Did I always approach life in a yin and yang type of manner?

Hubby seems to think I do not. That I tend to see things in this manner only when there is some sort of major disruption in my life. Whether it’s IVF / Infertility or work-related issues … or even any “fun” situations like moving to Chicago or traveling to different places … it seems that I try to garner control of things by seeing them as “relative” yes or no situations. Right. Or wrong.

And looking back at any “interesting” moments in life, I realize that Hubby is absolutely right. The times in my life where I’ve had no control over any situation are the times that I felt most “unbalanced. Unfortunately, it’s also those type of situations that I always tend to focus on rather than the “uneventful” peaceful times in my life.

Why think about those lazy Sunday afternoons where Hubby and I sit at the local cafe and read, drink coffee and otherwise relax? Not when I can spend the time obsessing over whether or not I’m doing a good enough job in my new boss’s eyes. Why get excited over our recent move to the Windy City and all the new places we get to explore this summer when I can worry about whether I made the right decision to move? Why think about how d*mn unfair it is that other women can get pregnant at the drop of a hat when I can think about how much of an impact I may (or may not) have made on my nephew’s life?

So after that last literal trip, I decided that I should focus on the wonderful aspect of every day life. And that I shouldn’t take for granted something as simple as Hubby catching my arm as I trip over my two left feet. Because it’s those little things … those every day wonderful thoughtful things that provide the balance that I need in those otherwise chaotic, uncontrollable moments in life.

Time Warp

There’s a radio show on the Detroit airwaves that I love listening to on any given Sunday morning. It’s a show on a station that, back in the late 80’s/early 90’s, was the first major station to play alternative music. (And when I talk about alternative music … I’m not referring to the mainstream alterna-sh*t that gets played over and over again. I’m referring to music that was only played on college radio stations or late late night on local public radio.)

Unfortunately, since a certain company took over management of commercial airwaves, we’ve been relegated to a snippet of time on Sunday Mornings where this particular station can play that kind of classic alternative music. This show, of all things, is called Time Warp.

Sunday mornings have got to be one of my most favorite times during the week. It’s the time where I can either sleep in or wake up early and relish the absolute peace and quiet of the day. It’s the moment during the week where Hubby & I can go out for an early breakfast or a leisurely brunch. And well, having the ability to listen to “my kind” of alternative music during that moment in time? Well, it caps off what I could consider a perfect morning.

Why am I bringing this all up late on a Thursday night? Well, it’s because I’m resurrecting an old post from my other blog. And I’m doing that  … well, quite frankly because I haven’t had time to sit down and write a proper post since last week.

But I promise … a new one sometime this weekend.

Without further ado … here is my “Time Warp”:

***

As You Wish …

Also known as the “Not-So-Funny Thought of the Day“

Okay, so on one of the blogs I read there was discussion of favorite movies to watch. One of them mentioned that “The Princess Bride” was one of their favorite movies.

I totally agree. That movie probably ranks as one of my top movies of all time. If it’s ever on TV and I’m randomly flipping through channels, I would always settle on watching it again.

But then I thought (again, always a bad thing) of one of the most famous lines in that movie. Yes, you know … the one that Vizzini always says when he is utterly shocked, suprised and dismayed …

INCONCEIVABLE!

Wow. In the infertile world that I live in, that’s a pretty appropriate saying …

Forty-plus Days

In the Catholic-Filipino tradition, a 9-day novena is held immediately after the death of a loved one. On the 40th day, a mass is held in commemoration of this loved one as it is believed that this is the day they’ve ascended into the heavens. It’s also the day where the act of “mourning” (wearing black, for example) officially concludes. It’s supposed to be the time where a person is supposed to outwardly “show” that they’ve began to “move on” with everyday life.

Yet another "borrowed" picture from another cousin

Except … anyone that has ever mourned the loss a love one (or heck, even the loss of anything in life — like the ability to have children, for instance) knows that grief doesn’t last for a set moment in time. Life doesn’t just miraculously get better after 40 days, several months or even years. If anything, grief is a process that must be worked through completely before a person can successfully move on.

Sometime last week was the 40th day anniversary of my Grandma Rose’s passing. In all honestly, the date escaped me. It wasn’t until I saw pictures of a celebration at my Uncle’s house on my cousin’s Facebook page that I remembered. And if the rest of my Mom’s family in the U.S. didn’t live on the East Coast, I might have been there celebrating with them. Instead, I celebrated with them in spirit; once again reflecting back on the incredible life my 99-year old Grandmother.

This past Monday, on Memorial Day of all days, I happened to get the first part of an incredible gift in my email inbox. This same cousin, who posted pictures of the 40th day celebration, sent me … along with the rest of my cousins and Aunts/Uncles in her email address book … a scanned copy of a notebook written by Grandma Rose.

About 32 pages in length and written about twenty years ago, this handwritten notebook told the most basic lifestory of my grandmother in her own words. She had left it to my cousin, who took it upon herself to scan in each page and send it to all of us.

It was absolutely wonderful to read these pages and physically see it my Grandma’s own handwriting. Many of the accounts she documented were stories that I can remember her telling me. Other stories were ones that were passed down to me from my own Mom. But reading them now … well, they brought back such warm memories of listening to my Grandma Rose tell these stories and being fascinated on how life in the Philippines was so different than my own.

For years, we had told Grandma that she should write all these stories down … that she had lived such an interesting life. While many of these stories never made it into writing, I still feel incredibly blessed that Grandma left her own legacy behind and in her own words.

Last night, after I finished reading these pages I, once again, felt this incredible closeness with my Grandma Rose. It felt as if she was right there next to me, telling me these stories like she did when I was little. It felt as if I could put my arms around her and hug her, while she read aloud to me what she wrote.

And just like that, the tears sprung up again. Because then I realized how much I missed her and still miss her. Even after these 40-plus days.

***

And because the number 40 always reminds me of this song … I have to pay homage to one of my favorite bands of all time. I have this vivid memory of being home sick one day in high school and watching “Live at Red Rocks: Under a Blood Red Sky” … so it’s this clip I had to post.

For those that don’t know, this song is based on the Bible’s Psalm 40. Which … given how spiritual my Grandma Rose was … is incredibly appropriate. Enjoy.

Keepsakes and Legacies

Years ago, I had a conversation with a co-worker about keepsakes. And when I mean keepsakes, I mean personal items that an individual wishes to pass on to a family member or friend that would appreciate the sentiment behind such a gift. It could be anything from a simple chotski to artwork, or even large pieces of furniture.

This co-worker told me the story about a bedroom set that belonged to her grandmother, which was also passed down from her grandmother from the mid 1800’s. It was a beautiful set, she told me. Very simple, yet classic. It was also something that her grandmother passed down to her, as her grandmother knew that she loved the set.

So then this co-worker asked if I ever had anything “passed down” to me from the previous generations. I admit, I had to think about it for a second. The nurse in me thought … “Duh, yeah. My big butt for instance. And my nose. And the shape of my head.” But then I realized, those were physical genetic traits that were passed down to me from my parents and their parents, etc.

The short answer to the question my co-worker asked me was no. Yes, there have been clothes passed on or an occasional headboard or shelf or table. But those were more for utilitarian purposes. Actual “keepsakes” or “antiques” (if that’s what you wish to call it … )? No. Not really.

Not having any real “keepsakes” from other family members isn’t because I come from a family that doesn’t “believe” in passing things down to the next generation. For me, I believe it’s more or less because I am a first generation Asian/Filipino-American.

Both my Mom and my Dad were born and raised in the Philippines; coming to this side of the hemisphere (separately, and not knowing each other at the time) once they were done with their studies. As they were both young, neither of them traveled with more than what they needed to live in what would be their new “home.” With that said, when they eventually met and married … there was little for them to combine once they moved to Detroit and settled into daily living. In fact, much of what they bought for their new home, again was utilitarian more than something of significant value or sentiment.

And perhaps because it’s something that women often think about, my Mom and I have had random conversations in the past about what she wants to pass on to her children. While, she has already passed on her love of books and art (along with her knowledge in science) to both my brother and me, there is one thing she’s told me is that she’s always wanted to pass on to us. And that would be those special stones or rings or necklaces/earrings that my Dad has given to her over the years; those sentimental “jewelry” pieces that she still keeps. Because, as she herself said, there isn’t much other than her jewelry that she feels she can “leave behind” for her children. Or her grandchildren.

*****

While cleaning out his side of our dresser last week, Hubby stumbled on a jewelry box. And inside this jewelry box were two rings made of Chinese gold. Other than size, these rings were identical and, if pressed into hot wax, would produce a heart-shaped “embroidered” Chinese floral pattern.

Hubby holds these rings dear to him … not because they’re made of Chinese gold and represent his half-Filipino/half-Chinese heritage. And not because they were simply a gift from his parents.

Rather these rings were something that Hubby wore when he was just a child. The first ring was given to him when he was just a baby; most likely to celebrate his birth. And the second ring … that one was given to him before his parents (who met and married in the Philippines) left to prepare a home for him and his sister in the U.S.

Both rings remind him of his youth; of his time back in the Philippines. And anyone that knows Hubby, he has always had a hard time with memories. So for him to reflect back at what little he remembers from his early years in the Philippines … well, that’s just something to treasure.

When Hubby found the jewelry box that held these rings this past Sunday, I couldn’t help but feel sad. After all these were rings that I know Hubby hoped to pass down to his own children. Those same children that would be his legacy. The children that would pass on all of his heritages; his Chinese, Filipino and American backgrounds. The children that would make up half of his genetic traits (perhaps a future comic book artist?). Those same children who would pass on his name.

As I looked up at Hubby, I knew he was thinking the same thing. And all I could say to him was “Sorry.” Yet, (and I must add, I know this is illogical … ) somehow that just never seem to be enough.

Because honestly … not only do I feel as if I’ve deprived him of the ability to be a wonderful father, I feel as if I’ve “robbed” him of the ability to pass on his traits, his skills … his legacy.