Ah, I had a nice weekend. Saturday, Nicole and I drove up to Anthonyís condo. While at Anthonyís, I unpacked my bag of cosmetics and offered them to Nicole, so she could do my makeup. Pleasantly surprised, she was happy to experiment on my face with whatever products I could offer her. I have an intense rusty, orange color that I really wanted to try, so she put it on me. That, coupled with the olive green top I had on, my normally light brown eyes turned green! How bizarre. It was a total happy accident.

Nicole looked at me thoughtfully and said, ďYour dadÖ heís the one whoís white, right? He has green eyes, doesnít he?Ē

I answered, ďYeahÖĒ

She pumped her fist, ďYES! I called it!Ē

While I do like the idea of color changing eyes, Iíve always been in the camp of wanting the really rich, dark brown eyes, like a real Asian, just like Iíve always wanted the straight black hair. Rather than being the greenest eyed, most red-headed Asian most people will ever meet. But, Iíve long ago determined that there are tougher rows to hoe than not being born with ones preferred hair and eye color.

We ordered pizza and then left Anthonyís for a concert. After a lovely concert experience, waiting in line for autographs, chatting, hugs and kisses with the musician, we grabbed a cab. Anthony needed to stop by a birthday party of a client of his.

While in the cab, I asked if she was holding the party in her apartment (thinking about the size of most Manhattan apartments). He said no, itís being held in a hotel. It turns out itís a trendy, crazy expensive kind of place, and sheís having it in the penthouse.

Nicole looked at her cargo pants and t-shirt and asked what the people in this party might be wearing and asked exactly WHO in the entertainment business is holding this party, anyway? Weíre not going to be walking in on Nicole Kidmanís black-tie event wearing street clothes, are we?

Anthony assured us that no, it wouldnít be anything like that, but also admitted to having no idea what style of party it would be. Nicole put her foot down. She was absolutely NOT WALKING INTO THAT PARTY DRESSED IN THOSE CLOTHES. Sheíd wait in the lobby, no big deal. They argued about it the entire cab ride. I thought it was hilarious and I couldnít help myself from not helping at all by joking about how funny it would be for us to arrive at a black-tie affair in these clothes.

As for me, of course I wasnít dressed to do anything other than go to some small indy-type concert, but that didnít bother me much. I just didnít feel like going to a party full of people that I donít know, and have no business knowing. I liked the idea of waiting in the lobby.

Once we got there, Anthony tried one last time to convince her, and she refused to get into the elevator. I saw my opportunity to not go to a party and chose to back her up. Anyway, since we didnít feel like being harassed by bell-boys wondering what we were doing skulking around the lobby, we decided to walk around outside. It was a gorgeous night, anyway.

After wandering around a bit, we had someone take our picture. Hey, why not? Then we wandered past a Sephora. We couldnít resist popping in to look at all the pretty cosmetics. Eventually, we walked back to the hotel and there was Anthony outside. He had quickly tired of the party and came down to look for us. Luckily, he wasnít waiting too long. I hadnít heard my phone ring when he called to say he was done with the party.

After going back to Anthonyís condo, we sat and chatted until we couldnít keep our heads upright.

Sunday was such a beautiful day!

I didnít do much. Since I am naturally an early riser, I was up before anyone else. I made tea, showered, and ate leftover chex mix and m&mís for breakfast (what?). Then I hopped on Anthonyís elliptical to take an easy stroll in his living room next to an open window with the breeze and sunlight on me.

Once Nicole was up, she quickly dressed and we chatted while she worked on a knitting project and eventually convinced me that I should really try knitting. After Anthony made his appearance, we said our goodbyeís and drove home.

The rest of Sunday afternoon, I was too tired to do much. I chatted with Adam, we ate and I fell asleep on the sofa the rest of the evening.

Iím not sure why, but it just felt good. Itís nice to get away from home for a little bit, and get into a different city. I think being in New York kind reminded me that even though Philadelphia is no New York, New York is no Philadelphia, either. I like where I live.

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Iím just adding to the bottom of yesterdayís post, since I forgot to post it and itís easier to do this than post two in a row.

So, anyway. Is it sick that I find it comforting that my life isnít the only one thatís a total suck fest? Maybe it is. Maybe if I could sum up more compassion for the billions of people who have it worse than me, I wouldnít think my life is a total suck fest.

Iím not in the best mood today. I was in a bad mood when I woke up, but what really pushed me over the edge was that I was rear ended while sitting at a stoplight again. This time, there was no damage thankfully, but it wasnít exactly a little love-tap, either. My shoulders and neck are a bit sore because I was already feeling tense and stressed out before it happened.

I got out of the car and a young woman with knock-off of knock-off sunglasses, and I-wish-I-were-Gwen-Stefani-hair got out. Thereís also a kid in the passenger seat, probably about 3 or 4 years old. She said to me, ďI donít know what happenedÖ. Did you back up?Ē

I inspected my bumper, saw there was no damage and said, ďIts fine.Ē She asked me if I backed up again, and I said, much more rudely than I normally say things to strangers, ďI DID NOT BACK UP!!!! I WAS JUST SITTING AT THE LIGHT!!!!Ē in my mind thinking, ďWTF!?!?! My car is an automatic!Ē Itís not like it can unexpectedly roll backwards.

Women who drive with young kids are often worse than people who text message while driving. Theyíre constantly doting on them, screaming at them, unwrapping treats for them or handing over toys. I often wonder why they think itís more important that the kid get his treat right now over something, like, not killing him in a car wreck.

This bit of bias that I have against women who canít leave their kids alone while driving was really what added fuel to my fire. I just knew she must have doing something with that kid when she hit me.

Neck hurts a little, shoulder hurts some. Iíll probably be better by tomorrow. The girl may be crying to her husband about the nasty woman she rear-ended today. Other than that, no damage.

Oy. Iím trying to figure out what to do with my stress level thatís way above manageable and has been for awhile. A couple of weeks ago, I finally went to an ENT to find out why my ears have been hurting for the past year. Iíve been waking up with huge headaches and terrible ear pain. He inspected my ears and they tested my hearing. His diagnosis was that my ear pain is being caused by stress and tension and that nothing can be done about it.

My hearing is perfect. I have the hearing of an 8-year-old (his words). Well. I guess this explains why I leap an inch off the bed whenever someone 2 blocks away thinks about opening the fridge at 3 AM.

At least no one can accuse me of not hearing something.

I feel like being a bit gossipy now. So, I have a few friends that always have had tough luck in love.

Let me stop for a minute to talk about myself here (because, hey, itís my diary). I grew up as somewhat of a lightning rod for the opposite sex. Now thatís over and Iím a bit washed up. My near constant stress has not done me any favors. Yes, at 33, and Iím bitter about it (making me ALL THE MORE attractive), too, but thatís beside the point.

Despite my bitter feelings, at least there was a point in my life in my life where I was able to experience the reassurance of yes, I am attractive and people like me. I am not going to die with no human companionship and ten cats. My most meaningful relationship will not be with my career (A nearly 40 year old coworker once confided in me that exact fact about herself).

However, I have friends who are my age and older and still looking. By that, I donít mean that they are between relationships, either. I have a friend who dates a lot. He goes out maybe once a week searching for Miss Right and continually comes back empty-handed. Even a second date is rare occurrence. Third dates are almost unheard of. However, about three years ago, he dated a girl for around a month or six weeks, Iím not even sureÖ because it was three years ago.

Awhile ago, I had learned that he still kept a photo of this girl in his wallet. I didnít think too much about it because I know him and thatís the kind of guy he is. However, more recently, I thought about it again, and started thinking about how ODD that is.

Iíve been in the same relationship for two years and I still havenít gotten around to carrying around a picture or putting one on my desk or anything. I donít even carry pictures of my cats!

This guy dates a girl for a month and not only gets a picture to carry around but then doesnít get rid of it after he breaks up with her?

If I watched TV, I could probably name some TV show where this could be an episode. I can imagine a scene where I have a talk with him, saying, ďYou NEED to get rid of this photo! It makes you look crazy!Ē

Part of me is a little envious. I almost wish that my life were THAT atypical. Also, wouldnít there be something oddly comforting about a life that never changes? Maybe itís because I really enjoyed being single and think back on that time fondly.

Iím not supposed to know about this photo. He showed Adam and made him promise that he wouldnít tell me. Why me? Most likely because I know the history of the relationship and the only one who can call ďinsanityĒ on the matter.

Yeah. Donít ever tell a guy a bit of gossip and tell him not to tell his girlfriend. Heíd have an easier time hiding the fact that he has committed a violent crime, than keeping any gossip from her.

I know that men like to claim that they arenít a bunch of hens, but people are people, and all people like to discuss other people, especially if itís odd or slightly eccentric. Itís not socially acceptable for men to gossip with each other, so they gossip with their wives, girlfriends and female relatives. Most of the men in my life have been the most gossipy gossips Iíve known.

Iíve been often finding myself too anxious and depressed to go to karate, even. I donít know if I need a change of hobby or something else. My interest in yoga has been getting stronger again. Iíve built up quite a bit of muscle, but I havenít really gotten rid of my extra fat. Well, I havenít gotten rid of enough where I can comfortably fit into my old clothes. I think that subconsciously, I donít buy new clothes because thereís something deep in the recesses of my brain that says that fat girls, too depressed to go to karate, donít deserve new clothes.

Youíll get new clothes when you can fit into your old clothesÖ erÖ

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Tuesday, Oct. 06, 2009 at 5:30 PM