Two tumbling weeds

Going with the flow like a tumble weed carried by the wind, flying freely and happily in mid-air, open to hit a light pole in its way or settle peacefully on the side of the road is essentially our nightly dinner plans since the apron got hung.

This evening, we are blown to Aztec Mexican Restaurant in Fountain Valley and settle peacefully for about an hour.   Two tequitos, two mini tacos, two Budweisers, and some chips & salsa make for a deliciously ripped off dinner special offered tonight.  It filled our cravings and hit the desperate spot, but the quality and price ratio didn't make any sense to us.  The best part about our meals was the refreshing, thirst quenching and ever so satisfying Budweiser.  We paid the bill with a big smile and  hope the wind doesn't blow in that direction ever again.

 We tumble off to Ralph's to pick up some munchies and a movie and aim to land at our house where we can get comfortable and watch "Young Adults".  The movie was hair-pulling and agitatingly slow.  We squeal and shriek in agonizing pain at every word vocalized by the main character.  There is no possible way to relate to her.  Her character is immoral and no body in their right mind should leave a loving live-in boy friend, a successful job in the big city to go home to their small home town to try and rekindle with an old boy friend who is now happily married and have a newborn. It is  just wrong.  We endured the  pain, finished the movie,  and finally understood the hidden message.  It wasn't as bad as we had thought and for what it's worth, we understand how it can make our lives a little bit better.

 Tomorrow we will tumble some more, flying aimlessly, open to settle or hit anything that is in our way.  We will enjoy it, and we prefer it this way for now.

My flavored chair

If I try to tally up all of the meaningful, important tasks that needs to be completed during my week of spring break, the result would be quite disappointing.  There are some tasks I skipped over, others I haven't gotten to, and yet some extra credits I never expected to do, but did.  Needless to say, I haven't fulfilled any goals I have laid out for this week.

Two tasks I can check off  (more than once)  are "doing nothing" and "blogging" from the list.   Another one I can  check off is to get acquainted with the kitchen, but next to it is a side note that says, "failed miserably".  And when the kitchen isn't  accepting my creative flavors, I take it straight to the salon, where this creative release can take place and where my clients can fully benefit.  And today, I take it out on Jamie Miller.

  Miss Miller and I go way back. When she needed a stylist who is willing to transform her mid-back length to a modern bob eight years ago, she chose me.  When her work friend needed a new hairstylist to take care of her hair needs, she referred me.  Today, in the early morning, I received a text message requesting a new look and attached was a photo of a Chanel ad campaign with a model sporting a modern pixie cut -it was a text message from her.  I was honored.

 Since we are both busy with our own clients, three thirty is the only time that fits both of our schedules.  With hair washed, combed and caped, she settles into my chair as if she is an official client.  Gathered around us are some of my favorite salon- mates. The energy from the crowd rises like the Staple Center hosting a Prince Concert, loud conversations floats all around us, as I open with a first cut - clean and precise.  This initial guideline led me to finish the entire head without any mistakes. Having most of her blondest blonde wet hair piled on the floor, I power dry her hair to shape it against her head, making it more visible and easier to detail to its finished look.

 Melting both Gennifer Goodwin and Michelle Williams styles together, we have created Miss Miller's unique, one-and-only sassy short.  She wears the style better than anyone I've seen, with complete confidence and sex appeal.   Tonight, I will go home, make hot wings, pasta salad, and finally hang my apron for a while.  If I'm not creating in the kitchen, I know "the chair" will always be there to feed my creativity.

Please turn the page

As I pop my upper body out of bed and reach to turn on the light, I finish up the last sentence on page 13,179 of my autobiography, I lick my right forefinger, turn the page,  and continue to write at the 7:09 AM mark.  Dan is standing in front of the mirror, fixing his hair over and over again and admiring himself with pouty model-like lips, and I remember  today is  day two of having absolutely no obligations, at least none that really matters in my book anyway. It's like taking a sick day from the office except I'm not sick and I don't work in an office.

 Clear broth made from one whole chicken - a 4-pounder- with carrots, onions, star-shaped noodles and herbs I found in the spice cabinet, is leftover chicken soup that feeds the purpose for this morning's let's-get-spoiled-all-day day.  Miranda July is helping me through this nonchalant day and I am grateful for her.

 My legs feel tired and restless.  How is this right when all I've been doing is  a ton of nothing.  My body is not much better either, it feels like an over cooked noodle, ready to dissolve at a gentle touch of a tongue.  I care very little about this issue and go about my day. 

A phone call comes through and it is the cable guy informing me about his arrival in fifteen minutes.  I get myself off the couch, place Miranda facing down on the glass table and freshen up the living room area so that it doesn't smell like chicken soup but rather "super orange" window cleaner.  The guy, slender and fairly short -  well compared to Dan everybody is short - dark skin and quarter inch long hair that was probably cut in his bathroom using a guarded electric razor, is delicate and speaks very slowly as if he is slightly "special".  His electrical knowledge seems to be that of someone with their Bachelor's Degree. Or just someone who was well trained from the DirecTv company themselves.  He is bright and I am confident he will make us happy.

  I'm sitting in a wicker chair in the family room, reading a California State University of Fullerton packet, I can hear the first sound coming out of the tv and it is The Price Is Right.  The tv is working! Juan Tellez Jr., who has been replacing new cables and configuring satellite for over two and a half hours has successfully gotten picture and sound.  He clearly knows what he's doing. He calls me over to educate me on the endless features that DirecTv seems to offer and probably less than half of which we know exists.  I can hear the passion and excitement through his voice and my undivided attention and extreme interest fuels him even more.  I am being  overloaded with information, some of which went over my head.

 After a reviving shower, I make myself a greeny drink, sit myself back on the couch, and turn the channel to, you guessed it, Bizzar Food with Andrew Zimmer, "Mongolian" Travel.  Mongolian's gruesome goat's head delicacies, carcass soup, and milk cured fried up in its own fat has turned even my favorite refreshing drink into something of a molding milk.  I gagged at every gulp I take.  I have never been more disgusted and grossed out.   I suck up the nausea, morning-sickness-feeling, and no, I am not pregnant, I finish my drink.  I pick Miranda up from the table and dig my face between the pages once again. It isn't even noon yet, but so far the day his been satisfactory and nonchalantly beautiful. And in just a few hours I will yet turn another page.

Homemade chicken soup

As of last night, after a 15-minute phone call to a DirectTv technician resulted in a three-day shot down of our service, an 8 AM to Noon service appointment (tomorrow), and a useless twelve-dollar reimbursement.  We are cut from any broadcasted shows or movies for three days. Since operating the Play Station isn't my cup of tea, I am decapitated from all dvd's too.

 So this morning, I sip on my yummy coffee and stare off into space, with silence all around me, making me aware that I am trapped! The Blackberry Play book is useful for research and reading emails, but typing up anything on there requires twenty extra fingers and patience made of steel.  The only computer accessibility  is way back in the beatlab where computer utilization is only fun when Dan is around and Deejays his favorite jams from Spotify.  Now I can truly understand his frustration with being poorly connected throughout the house, especially when we are paying top dollar every single month.  

 Looks like I will be spending some time out of the house today, but I can't think of what to do. My 11 O' Clock standing nail appointment will kick start my day, then I suppose I can browse the asian market for produce I've been dying to roast, blend and drink.  And while I'm at it, i can hang a right at the green sign that says "Fresh & Easy" to redeem my $5 off coupon with purchase of $25 that expires tomorrow, and I have to remember it doesn't apply to dairy products. I never understood this restriction, and each time I use this coupon, I read and re-read this restriction, hoping they will change it but they never do.  Even though  it bothers me, I never do anything about it and shop anyway. 

 With a trunk full of produce, rib-eye, prawns, eggs and fresh fruit, just to name a few, I park the car in the garage in reverse for easy unloading. There is no way I will make it through a full day at home without tv, so I make my technical call to my personal IT, mister Dan Sheahan.  Within less than three minutes over the phone, he voice directed me to successfully play the Movie, "Titanic".    This movie always managed to make my heart hurt and my dreams become nightmares, yet I never deny it whenever there is a chance to watch it. This time, it happened to be in the pile of DVD s that I had randomly grabbed from the movies cabinet.  I do admit, I've never watched this movie alone. And today is the first. 

 While chicken noodle soup made from scratch with one whole chicken is simmering on the stove and cooked pasta noodles is cooling, my deserving body is resting on the couch, and my attention is now given to this 3-hour long movie.  I'm not too worried about this DirectTv shananigan, I'm just going to focus and enjoy having absolutely no obligations until 8AM tomorrow.

Bouquet of colorful humanitarians

Often times we get too self absorbed, become sucked into the world of materialism and forget about the less fortunate. When it does dawn on us, our guilty conscience forces us to give a dollar to the man who stands on the side of a busy exit off the 405 freeway holding a 'homeless' sign. We hardly plan ahead or purposely do something good for the sake of doing something good.

 This morning, if you follow the yellow tide dyed balloons after you've parked your car in the parking structure, you will find yourself  at the Hampton salon where home stylists are donating their time and talent to raise money to fill containers of hope that gets shipped to all parts of Africa.  Loud  music, mountains of bagels, donuts and cookies, assorted gourmet coffee and cream, and champagne, are just the bare essentials to jump start the Container Of Hope Fundraising event hosted by our very own Hampton Salon, and coordinated by Alex Abston and Lindsey Carter.

 Generating eight hours of beauty and fun, concession stands selling hair accessories and custom jewelry add tones of color and festivity throughout and the salon.  For those stylists who aren't too cool to do free haircuts or willing to sacrifice one day away from their family, pitched in to serve either a four-hour or eight-hour shift, and in my case, I will be scissoring from 8AM til noon.  

 With bright blonde hair, dense, but soft and fragile on the ends, Chandra, a loyal client's friend, requested that I cut her hair without shampooing.  So smoothing the hair with several strokes using my comb, I start and end the haircut in one single snip. That is record for being the easiest haircutting donation I have ever done.

 To change up the pace, I am given Shirley who has jet black hair, stiff & straight, and length reaching the middle of her bum. Instead of wanting a small trim, she salivates over a complete make-over, shortening of half the length, accentuating with soft layers all around and fringe swept to the side. Exceeding her expectations, she gives me her trust and future business - expecting to make herself a future appointment for a body wave perm.

  Little Elle, a 10-year-twin, ice-hockey-player, petite and dainty, closes my day with bouncy curls and a bright smile.  Her glimmering hazel eyes sparkled as she smiles and thanks me.  After four haircuts, half a donut, champaign, and endless mingles with the walk-in clients, I have laid the perfect pathway for my day. 

 Arriving home to an empty house, I knew right away that Dan is out to run a few errands.  This is my chance to squeeze in some "me time".  In less that 15 minutes, just enough time for me to slip into around-the-house sweat clothes, Dan comes barging in, and in his hand is a gorgeous bouquet of flowers.  Extending his arm straight at me, he says," just to say I love you".  when all else fails, give a dollar to the man holding a homeless sign or better yet, a bundle of colorful flowers will do the job.   This act of kindness will hold you over for a little while.

Bladed lips

 Crusty, scaley lips are never  comfortable, what's worst, they are undeniably unattractive when kissed by a man with softer and gentler lips.  So to maintain sexiness, you better soften up or your lips or they will be traded out.  I wake up this morning with some bladed lips, and my master plan is to  soften them at all cost.

 Today I struggle to beat the short arm on the clock, and  with each tick working towards the number 9, I am held firmly at the house, unable to make my 9:30 appointment on time for reasons I wish I can control. I decide to voluntarily surrender to time and everything else that is evolved around me, and in the mean time, I will keep applying moisture to treat these crackling lips, turning them into irresistible creme brûlée.

I rush home after a short day at work to doze off for a well-needed twenty-minute nap before we head to Mahe Restaurant in Seal Beach where we will meet Dan's aunt  Sue and uncle Ken.  I haven't yet met a relative of Dan's who isn't warm and welcoming. They  were all of that and more. This sets a great tone for our family reunion oriented wedding taken place in a few month.

 Conditioning my lips are taking a positive effect and I can already feel the results.  These lips will be revamped and transformed into ultra soft and luscious , making them undeniably sexy and kissable again.

Banging bangs

After indulging in a banging transformation taken place at the salon, my cousin Van agrees to a happy hour cocktail and some small plates at Charlie Palmer, a restaurant inside of Bloomingdale's at South Coast Plaza. We found a high table farthest away from the entrance, underneath a 70-inch flat screen, and to settle ourselves in, we climbed into the wooden stools, mimicking  two 2-year-old little girls being picked up by our parents from under the armpits and adjusting their warped  behinds to fit into a booster seat.  We apparently left our legs at home today.

 And with an appetite of two hungry hippos, we rage the menu not minding the limited space our table is capable of holding.  On top of the table is a framed list that offers a large selection of small plates and in a black folder are a variety of cocktails and wines to choose from.  Allowing my cousin to have first look at the food list, I chose my wine - a Pinot Noir.   As I tell her my first pick from the menu- a pulled pork lettuce wraps, I ask for her pick, and with great enthusiasm she points directly at Confit Duck gizzard. My facial expression was that of a little kid being fed purée broccoli and spinach soup, regurgitating as her mom spoons it into her mouth.  We both burst into attention grabbing laughter, agreed to it and added  several more dishes to our order from Roxy, the waitress.

 In addition to the gizzards, plates of prochiutto with chicken liver pâté and pork liver pâté, bacon wrapped dates and flat bread pizza all arrive shortly after the order was taken. We are ready for one wild happy hour.   Rush hour traffic off the 91 freeway is always bumper-to-bumper before 7PM on a Friday evening, still having at least another hour to kill, we drive over to XXI for a quick shopping spree before she hops on the freeway and head into the sunset - or to Palm Desert.

  Van, reluctant to head out without getting caffeinated, we navigate through the parking lot to find a Starbucks, where a coffee was successfully bought and hopefully drank during her 3-hour mini road trip.  Wish I could've gone with her, for a min vacation.  My cousin's banging transformation made my day a special one.

smell of chardonay floral dress

Today I curl my hair with a wand, which is my favorite styling tool at the moment -I find that it is the easiest way to polish hair in very little time - dress myself in a red dress with delicate floral prints and a short-length & light-weight jacket to go over it like a cardigan, and knee-high boots to compensate the shortness of the dress. The grey color from the jacket and boots were meant to soften the red floral dress, which I think is doing just that. The smell of spring time finally dominates my senses this morning and I am ready to start the day.
My schedule is filled up at the salon, starting with Andy Truong at 9AM followed by Kathy Baily then I will wrap it up and head straight to my second exam in the Lewis Build. Once the exam is completed, I head right back to the salon where I will close up at 7PM.
Kathy's hair took 15 minutes longer to finish than I had planned, so with her permission and going against my own work ethics, I leave her in my chair to flat iron her pixie hairstyle. Parking became increasingly difficult as I am pressing for time and with no time to spare for a quick review of the test, my nervous system heightens.

My laziness and "this class is too easy" attitude is surely catching up to me. Muscles tighten in my neck as I try to understand a related rates problem referring to the pythagorean therom. I circled the best answer I knew and moved on to the next. And even though I mastered differentiation on all of the homeworks, I blanked on number 15. This exam has brought me back to earth and grounded me - no longer will I be too good to study.

The smell of Spring fades and the fruity Chardonay takes over. I arrive home after partaking in a few more hours of work. The sliding door from the family room is unlocked and slightly open. For the first time, Dan commuted using his mountain bike, headed to our neighborhood park where he hoops with 13 others - every Thursday. All I can think about is his arrival home soon, when he will cook up a frozen DiGiorno's pizza to perfection. And our bottle of wine opened and aired, we will munch, drink, watch American Idol and try to forget about the day.

Whether I like it or not, Spring is here and I am free from any math obligations for one full week. The only numbers I care to count is how many glasses of wine I will intake tonight, and loving every single one of them.

Permission to graduate

"Excuse me, where is the Graduation Office", I asked politely.  A young man with skin as flawless as a baby's butt, who sits behind an information booth at the Watson Hall, eager to help, answers, "see that grey wall over there, go pass that and it will be on the right."  "Thanks", I replied with gratefulness.

While I recognize the deadline for this application was missed by six days, I am hopeful that someone in this office is having a good day; that they were hugged, kissed and loved by their spouse before leaving the house this morning, and in their lunch bag, they found a heart-shaped truffle and a note saying "I love you".  This is the kind of day that would fully benefit others around them, specifically mine.

The lady at the window has a homely face, hair is rich dark chocolate and unkept, skin is perfectly roasted and a smile so warm, I knew this could be the one who got hugged this morning.  And she was!  It could very well be my desperate voice and saddened eyes that made her heart soften. I'm not sure.  But she granted me the application.  I grab the 3-page stapled form and a pen decorated with some cheesey paper origami and found myself a seat to carefully fill it out, without making any mistakes. Worried that she may change her mind, I power through the form and walk back up to the window.

My warm-hearted lady was replaced by two different ladies whom already seem to know my scammed motive.  One lady quickly glanced at my application and said in a tone of authority, "I see that you are a Business major, in the future, you should meet all deadlines, but this time we will accept it."  Appreciative, I keep my mouth shut, nodded and thanked her.  A rush of unwelcomed obligated responsibilities poured all over me.  I couldn't resist the thought to print a banner that says, " Attention all majors other than Business, you are free to be late on all deadlines and all future meetings, especially the important ones, and everything else in your life".  

Yes, it was a sensitive subject because if the lady knew anything about me, she would know my work ethics and my obsession with being on time to everything.  But I let it not effect me in a way that takes the best of me, instead I will blog my anger away.  I agree with the importance of meeting deadlines, but if you are going to do something nice for someone, please refrain from making them feel guilty or belittling them. It really defeat the purpose.

Regular sized slushy

I could have prepared eggs and toast or cereal and milk or a veggie omelets, instead, grilled hot dog placed along the slit of a bun is dressed with mayo, tomatoes, relish and catchup makes its way on my plate this morning.  It is not an item you can find on a breakfast menu at any restaurant,  however, when served with a cup of coffee, I'm up for anything the fridge has to offer.  This is by far one of the weirdest breakfast food I've ever prepared at home.  That's not to say I don't like weird food because I do.  Dan would rather starve than settle for anything out of the ordinary.

 I was notified by dedicated Facebookers that today is the first day of Spring.  From what I can tell through the window, it is bright and sunny and the temperature is just perfect where I am sitting - on the floor at the coffee table located in front of the tv. There are flash cards and lecture notes scattered all over the table top while my butt is numbing and legs are cramming underneath it.   My parents are anticipating their 7-day-Caribbean Cruise next week, making their first stop in Houston, and departing on Thursday. So tonight my haircutting duty is requested at the Truong's for quick touch-ups and  trims.

 Megan, my 8-year old  niece welcomed me to her house with a Slushy Magic, a make-it-yourself-slushy with any flavor of your choice.  Just add your  favorite soda,  she chose Mountain Dew, and instant flavored slush equivalent to a Slurpy from 7-Eleven, is ready to cool your mouth. It was thoughtful and tasted refreshing as we both bundle up under a fur throw while we look at her newly created blog from her dad's laptop.

 Leaving  my mother's house is never easy, bags and bags of home cooked meals gets smuggled into the trunk of my car.  I never have enough hands to manage the bags full of food.  It's like going grocery shopping to last a week, but instead of using a cart, you push around only your hands. The items over flow and you fumble uncontrollably.  That was me leaving my mom's house.

 I'm now on the couch once again, with Dan next to me watching "Just Go With It", as I flip through note cards to prepare for my exam on Thursday.  I'm not quite confident with the material, but that's because I haven't quite invested adequate time to studying.   I am satisfied with my day so far,  school, food, family and Danny to end the night. What else can I ever ask for.

Print me a mango & a comb

I went to bed last night having wedding invitations lingering in my head. I opted for the enticing bed rather than finish up the last couple of prints. The completed invitations would have saved me the frustration this morning.

The beautiful, 3-month-old Canon printer was working divinely when I turned it on at 7:00 AM and printed some practice sheets, but on the last run, it decided to get paper jammed and took its last breath in my presence. I strongly felt the printer was remorseful of my decision to leave it last night when I chose my bed over it. I tried everything I could to revive it, I even tried to throw it against the wall, nothing worked. That was the end of my printing excursion. I packed up all of the stationary and prepared for plan B, whatever that may be.

My coffee cup is filled to the brim, making it my second cup for the morning, and eggs heating up in the stove oven. If I couldn't get the damn invitations to print, the least I could do is get something to eat. This will fuel my body and get me ready for a hairstyling meeting that is waiting for me at 10AM, followed by a visit to the photography studio to secure our date, and finally the tailor.

I was introduced to something new today. It is a new invention that takes haircutting to the next level. Over the years, haircutting industry encompasses lines and sections, precision and classic cuts, editorial & commercial, avant guarde, as well as fashion integration. But it neglected one segment of the foundation that even Vidal Sassoon was missing. Focusing mainly on the "the missing link", is Joaquin Regalado's genius invention, the engineering aspect of hairdressing -The Comb.

I've seen The Comb once before, but never as closely and well examined as I did today. It is approximately 8 inches in length and its architecture is no different than the conventional comb, its unique leveling tool is built into the comb to provide accurate haircuts that require measuring of 0 degree, 45 degrees, and 90 degrees relative to the ground. I am now the proud owner of The Comb and a couple of education DVDs.

This is a beautiful tool and it is something that I am currently intrigued about and will spend the next few weeks studying it, becoming more familiar with it, really owning it, and using it on my clients. I will then decide how I like it and whether it is something I can integrate into my client world as well as the creative world.

It is 3:00 pm and there are a couple more things I'd like to complete before Dan's arrival home at 7:30pm. My printing frustration escalated even more compared to this morning. And I have conluded the printer was cheaply produced, and I am determined to not blame myself for once. I am now craving a ripe mango that is cooling in the veggie draw. The rest of my day remains at home and I'm looking forward to it and can't wait to see Dan later.

A Skill I do not own

It's just a few minutes past 1PM, the house is empty, the dishes rinsed clean of spinach & mushroom omelette that was served with a little too much salt, stacked in the dishwasher, and one completed math homework abandoned on the dining room table, I make my way to the couch for a mini break. "Autumn in New York" is my movie of choice, realizing that I may not have time to finish the entire movie, I watch anyways.

Laying on the couch I laid on last night when I listened to the beating rain, instead, I hear the wind roaring loudly like the sound of Dan's voice when DirectTv isn't operating at its best, encouraging the trees to dance aggressively, almost out of control. I can see through the open shutters the leaves from those trees swinging at each other in a rhythmic melody. And the pleasant music from the movie is a perfect complement, making me feel relaxed, yet uneasy.

I daze off for a moment, critiquing my current cooking skills and plotting ways to improve on a skill I never had. I have read a hand full of recipes, know about some common spices, and even how to prepare foods to be cooked on the grill, but apparently this is only enough to satisfy my own taste and no body else'. Rachel Ray's 10-minute meals will only hold us over, but it is a meal prepared with experience, knowledge, and time that will yield maximum happiness to a family. I am determined to gradually improve.

Soon the wind will subside, the movie will end, the floor will be mopped, countertops will sparkle, and math homeworks will be completed. But before my cooking skills will be polished, we will head to Sit n' Sleep and Macy's home store to do some detailed investigation on some of Dan's favorite mattresses made by Stearns & Foster. By the end of the day, we would have laid on every single type of S & F from Luxe Estate to Luxury Latex.

I'd like to end this blog with a quote from the movie, "Food is the only beautiful thing that truly nourishes".

Rain Drops Fallin'

"Rain Drops Keep Fallin' on My Head", written by Hal David and Burt Bacharach in 1969, is for some odd reason the first song that welcomes itself into my empty mind. I haven't heard this song on the radio, nor has it been played on Spotify. I am not sure the reason for its visit, and I don't care. My day happens regardless.

It is 82 degrees ferinheight and sunny in the midwestern part of the U.S., but 54 degrees in the west coast with heavy rain showers lasting the entire weekend. This type of weather behavior is unusual and almost alarming. The weather has switched its roles, playing the part of its opposite, rather than sticking to its predictable forecast patterns.

Thanks to this odd swap of weather, we put on a lazy mood, drive ourselves to the nearest restaurant, Mimi's Cafe, where Dan enjoys a plum sauce pork chop and I enjoy an asparagus chicken asiago spaghettini, accompany by a New Castle and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. No dishes to wash and no clean-ups, just a reasonable gratuity is all it takes.

Being given a break from the heavy rain, we head over to Alberton's to grab a couple of half-gallon Dryer's ice cream, a couple of 12-pack Guinness, and a few essentials before heading home, where we will nest and watch a movie.

After fiddling with a number of movie channels, we arrive at "Hall Pass", a comedy starring Owen Wilson, where he gets a hall pass from his marriage to do whatever he wants for a week.

This movie entertains us for a couple of hours, while being occasionally interrupted by the rain drops blastin' on the skylight in our kitchen. It is loud and disruptive. This made me think of the song that came into my thoughts today. Laying near the window, I can clearly hear each drop hitting our house beneath it, washing way all the dirt and residue accumulated over the years, cleansing it thoroughly, and feeding the plant life surround the house in the meantime. The movie ends and the entertainment officially begins to the wee hours of the night.

Madness happens at Fuddrucker's

Today I wake up owning only 5 hours of sleep, tiredness takes over me as I feel the subtle Madness rumbling around me. The house is quiet, and through the cracked door, I can hear Dan's conference voice, probably checking off his list of meetings for the day so he can flop himself on the couch and indulge in the twenty basketball games that are all showing simultaneously, and for twenty four hours straight. It is only 8:00am.

DirectTv provides hundreds of channels, most of which are in high definition and each channel is always available to watch at any time of the day. But today for some reason, it decides to freeze for a minute or two. Apparently, the two minutes of freeze time occurred this morning, and I am certainly notified of it by a loud frustrated scream in the living room that travels to the opposite end of the house, reaching the master bathroom where I'm resting over a porcelin toilet. This is when I understand the seriousness of what today will entail.

It is two days into a four-week college basketball championship tournament, and if you have a husband or a boyfriend or a brother, you know this day is as important to a male gender as it is to a female gender giving birth to her first child. This is when men can be men, fill in brackets, bet on their favorite teams, and drink til they can't remember your name. there are countless places that host this special event,NCAA, formally called "March Madness", such as St. Louis, Las Vegas, and New Orleans just to name a few. This tournament has naturally evolved into a

holiday celebrating men and their skills of 'guessing'. With the exception to every rule, Dan for example, has his teams well studied and carefully examined over the years, tracking their scores and records, so his choices are more valid than most of his fellow competitors.

For me, my day is far from madness. March is no other than another month of the year, and it is one month closer to my big day. Today will be easy. A little homework to catch up on, a tasty beer, and dinner with the family. The only madness I will create today is my personalized, killer burger that will happen at 7:00pm at Fuddrucker's in Lake Forest.

Season my day with a sprinkle of time

A note taped to the outside of a blue door that I consistently enter every Tuesdays and Thursdays at 12:45pm had the words "class dismissed" written on it. I am free for the day. Two and a half hours of class time can now be spent doing anything my heart desires.

I've told myself weeks on end that when things start to slow down and I have freed up some time, I would revisit the gym. And this is the first thing on my to-do list today and it is my priority. I'd like to believe that class cancellation is merely a gift of time. Someone above is definitely listening to me and I am lucky enough to recognize it.

Before heading to the gym, I stop by the house to dress myself in some comfortable gym clothes. Pulling up to the drive way, I gave my attention to the lawn and notice it needs some watering. I walk around to the front of the house, and located near the front door is a switch to turn on the sprinkler. A big plastic bag labeled UPS is sitting on the door mat and I knew right away the content that is stuffed inside of it. I have been craving it like I occasionally crave the stuffing of a turkey during the holidays. Just a day prior, in the break room at work, Lori asked me about this package, and my response to her was, "it's been a month and a week and the package hasn't arrived and I haven't received a reply to my concerning email a week ago". I'm excited to text her in a few minutes that it has arrived!

Trying not to be overtly excited, I do a few more things around the house before opening up the package. Inside the package was a lizlock bag protecting a white dress. My hands began to shake and I notice my heart beating faster than normal. Feelings of nervousness and excitement travels throughout my body, and my hands become firm as I straighten out the dress and spread it on the floor.

I can hardly visualize myself wearing it, contouring the shape of my breasts, waistline, and hip. It is almost too beautiful for me. The flowing train is elegant and breath taking. I am more than pleased. This can't be my dress! I couldn't resist the temptation of putting myself inside of it so I can feel the smoothness of the satin wrapping itself around my body. Through a mirror that is being blocked by a table and a chair, I can still make out the shape and over all look of this dress. It is stunning.

I will need my mother and sister Amy to give me a hand in tightening up the sash in the back of the dress in order to see it's true shape and appreciate the crafted details on the dress.

I just finished a fresh veggie drink that I made, and now I am getting ready for the gym. It's barely 2:30 in the afternoon and the secret ingredient that made my day special is time.

stuffy room & ice cold beer

I must have pinched a nerve in my back last night when I climbed on top of Dan to give him a kiss. But the pain in my lower back didn't keep me from weaving in and out of dreams last night.

I can remember one so clearly it feels like I was really there. I was in a small room, it had high windows some of them were closed and others were half open, bright florescent lights, and several rows of mix matched chairs that were awkwardly arranged throughout the room, occupying it from wall to wall. Filling each chair were a mixture of people, all of which were no different from the other. There was a long table placed against a wall near the door, there was nothing on it. The room was stuffy and warm. It was like being sardined in the Underground in London during rush hour and having to be squeezed next to man wearing a suit that hasn't been dry cleaned in years and the odor from his underarm attacked all of my senses.

Sitting almost center amongst the chairs is me, on one side is someone I thought I knew and on the other side is a stranger. In fact, no body in the room looked familiar. At the very front of the room are a row of four chairs facing us and in the chairs are four random people, one sharing a survival story and the other three fueled questions to help with the flow.

The brightness of the room intensified, making me feel like I was on the operating table and the surgeons were performing medical procedures on me while I was awake. It was almost terrifying. The smell was getting worse. I zoned out of the room for a little while as I looked down on my lap, at a notebook that has in it my hand-written notes from a Business Calculus class, I read it. I read it with hopes that I would do well on my midterm next Thursday. I started to envision getting all 19 problems wrong. I was obviously not ready. Losing interest of these math problems, a voice from behind me became clear, it is a girl, and even though I couldnt see her even when I turned my head, she sounded young but not naive, probably in her early 20's. She talked about her own survival story, describing her failed liver and pancreas and nearly died. She explained in details and although I couldn't remember the details, I could remember the pain in her voice. She said clearly that even though she would probably be better off dead, she would still choose life over death if given the choice. Once her voice faded, everyone stood on their feetwith back against the four walls, pushed all the chairs to the center, and held hands as the room began to vanish.

It is now 6:19pm on a Wednesday evening, daylight is still beaming through the shutters, the tv is turned to a movie that is showing its credits, fresh guacamole is chilling in the fridge, boiled eggs cooling on the stove, washed spinach is drying off in a colander, and grilled veggies are roasting in the stove oven along with grilled steak and chicken wrapped in tin foil. A light dinner and a greeny drink are coming right up.

As for me, I'm sitting on the couch, with my buttock pushed slightly near the edge, and feet resting on the coffee table, I glance at a beer -Independent Full Sail Amber- wearing a St. Louis Cardinal koozie and it is standing at a reachable distance next to my feet. I grab it and take a slow sip, filling my mouth, enjoying the bubbly texture while its flavor hits my taste buds. I am finally whining down. Life is amazing in my neck of the woods.

My parents are Artists

Sometimes during my sleep, flashed images from my childhood crawls into my dreams and it would be so vivid it makes me feel as if I'm reliving it. It's always hard to tell whether it is a dream or that it actually happened. And these images are random and in no particular time frame. Sometimes it all gets meshed together and becomes one incident, not able to tell where one ends and the other starts.

One night, after I went to sleep, I remembered when I was eight years old, tall and slender, dressed in a matching outfit that my mother sewed with her own hands and with skin so dark it looked as if I was from a different race, I was a tomboy. I played with only boys. I had one girl friend, but Since I hardly knew English it impeded the growth of our friendship. That feeling still resonates inside of me from time to time.

My mother always sent us (my two brothers and me) to school on a full stomach and with fresh clean clothes to wear. She went out of her way to wake up early, fix us something to eat because she knew even then the importance of breakfast. It was usually left over Vietnamese food she made the night before. Her and my dad would drive thirty miles to Fresno once every couple of weeks to pick up some Asian herbs and spices to make meals that resembled Vietnamese food. It was good. It was good because she made it. After breakfast, she would tie my hair into a tight pony tail. It was so tight it looked like I had a facelift at the age of eight, but it had to last the whole eight hours at school because I was more rough than most girls my age.

One morning, after my brothers had left the house and headed out for school on their bikes and my mother had finished my hair, there were a few minutes to spare until I had to head out myself. I heard my dad spoke loudly to her. I could tell it wasn't his normal voice and I could tell everything wasn't ok. I was eight. I wasn't smart enough to know what was happening. But the tone of their voices told me everything.

I remembered back at the refugee camp in the Philippines where we shared a 15 by 15 feet of living space in a huge warehouse that appeared to be the remains of what was once a building and the walls and roof top above us were made of tin. The ground was made of dirt and we were separated by neighboring families with only a sheet of fabric hung on a liner. One day, after the sun had gone down and I was coming home from a long day playing with the kids, knowing I was late for dinner, I ran as fast as I could. I collided into an older lady who had in her hands a pot of hot water. It poured all over my tiny body and hours later, my parents found me laying up against the tin wall in fetal position, holding myself tight. Even then, they told me everything will be alright, and took me to the hospital. Their kind voices were comforting and I felt safe. That night, I skipped dinner.

Their loud voices explained our weekly visits to multiple garage sales and the flea market that was located 10 minutes from where we lived. My overly worn second-hand Nike shoes with velcro bought from the flea market for a quarter was worn to school every day, and when I came home each day, my feet stunk so bad even I couldn't bare the smell. It was like something died in it. And when we bought expired food at the grocery outlet and grew our own herb garden so we could have fresh produce, were the reasons for their loud voices. Still they told us we were ok. My mother made the best dinners, filled the table with delicious meals every night at 7. We all knew to be at the dinner table at the same time each night. No excuses. This was where we exchanged stories from our day and laughed. It was one thing we proudly shared and looked forward to. When dinner was over, we were all stuffed and went to bed content and happy. My parents are not artists, but their paintings made us feel protected.

As I wake up from my sleep, I look around my room and noticed it is bigger than the space we all shared in the Philipines, on the shelf were 30 pairs of shoes I now own, all bought brand-new some even unworn, pressed dresses all lined up neatly with velvet hangers, and blouses organized by the style. My parents have their own closets and clothes hung according to the seasons, and while I'm just one city away, I no longer have them to paint me another picture.

My parents' paintings have laid a foundation for me to live a life filled with abundance. I've held these silent lessons tight and when I dream of them, I wake up being reminded that everything is going to ok.

Today, I met with Joaquin Regalado.

$100 steak is cheap

A dinner plate, made of stark white ceramic and a product of HouseBeautiful, sits elegantly against our glass dining table in front of me. As I sit here waiting for Dan, I admire the delicious edibles that are placed on the plate, filling every square inch without a single touch of artistry but rather a smother of love, team work, and unity.

To the right side of the plate lays a seductive 12 oz. Rib Eye grilled to medium well. It was seasoned with a drissle of worcestershire, cracked black pepper, sea salt, and Dan's favorite Lawry's steak seasoning. The dark grill marks branded diagonally across the steak gives it the look of a five-star restaurant. The heart of artichoke, buttered potatoes, asparagus, and okras sets an ideal accent while emphasizing the formality and tastiness of the steak. And to garnish off the unplanned placement of each item is the greenest and perfectly grilled broccoli I've ever seen. This was our dinner for tonight.

It was a dinner made by overcoming our years of independence, reducing egos, and collaborating cooking experiences (or lack there of). The pleasure I got from each bite was unlike anything I've ever prepared by myself. The charred heart of romain suddenly tasted delicious and I craved for more even after I finished it. The slightly burnt potatoes were masked by its buttery flavor. This isn't a $100 steak house, but beats any 12oz Mastros could have ever prepared. This is merely an appetizer to our five course meal. Get ready for a menu no other five-star restaurants can beat.

Trim me to your heart's content

I was gratefully adopted from a hardware store called Home Depot when I was less than a foot off the ground. I have since found a place I call home, grown near the side walk, in a quiet neighborhood in the city of FountainValley, and I'm surrounded by happy blooms as well as discouraging weeds.

Over the years, despite the inevitable and harsh weather, I've spurred tall and luscious. I'm about 6 feet tall, have multiple stems, and thick foliage. Compared to my relative, the trees, I have smaller leaves, each in the size of a penny, and they are densely structured next to one another. When healthy, its natural luster that can be seen from street. The brilliance of each leave exudes an over-all glow like the Flecher Jones Motor Cars' sales lot. Each reflecting off the other, making for powerful dances when encouraged by the wind.

My life span is long and durability is the name of my game. I can be shaped to something as simple as a round ball or as intriquette as a dolphin or a dragon. I can only become these desired shapes through heavy-handed wackings and consistant trimmings. Each thoughtful strike will build my shape, making it more defined and distinguished.

Today is the first day of daylight savings and if you're free, I ask you to come out to the yard, examine my shape and wack at me if you think I need it. I will embrace the tools you use and once you are done, I will mature into a shape that is alluring and every person who walks by your yard will turn their head.

The ground I play on

For some, work is a means to make

money and pay the bills, for others work is a place to escape their hectic home life, but for me, work isn't work, it is a playground. Most of the time I feel guilty for going to work because stereotypically, it is a place where one works really hard to earn a few bucks.

Today is Saturday and is the fourth and last day of my work week. With Diane Lau being my first client at 9 o'clock, my day heads in the right direction. Diane has gorgeous locks of dark expresso hair and when pressed straight with a flat iron, enhances its glass-like texture and bounces effortlessly to her every movement. With her wedding approaching in several months, and engagement photos next weekend, we have been nourishing every inch of its length, keeping it long and voluptuous.

Our goal today is maintain the shape of the layers while accentuating its fullness and body. I begin the haircut with a strong foundation by developing a defined base line then following it with soft interior layers. After working the foundation to my satisfaction, I reach for the powerful TGR 1800 watts blow dryer and start to create sexy curls. Understanding the stubborn straight texture embedded in each strand,I choose a brush that is strong enough to soften its stubbornness - an inch and a half metal brush.

From the nape, I section off 2 inches of hair, just enough to wrap it snug around the curvature of the brush, slowly applying maximum heat to the hair. Rolling the brush gently between my palm, the hair gets evenly separated over the brush, wrapping itself around it, blowing until the shape is built to my liking, and to finish off, I swing the entire brush counter clock-wise before releasing it, giving a perfect S-shape to the hair. Allowing that section to cool completely, I make my way up the head shape and drop down another section of hair.

Many sections later, her hair is full and soft curls dominate her style. This is when she says with great excitement, "this is exactly what I want for my engagement photos next weekend". Voila, we have discovered the look she didn't even know she wanted when she first sat down in my chair.

This is my first client of the day and it is a typical day at the "playground". It is where I do my best work, socialize with my best people, and leaving with a sense of confidence I could have never found doing anything else.

A new take

Dan and I attended a funeral today. I've had a couple of close family members pass, but neither of which did I have the honor of attending, so today is officially my first.

There are no words that can possibly illustrate the essence of spirituality from the Buddhist rituals during the three-hour service. It was emotional. It was empowering. It was calming. It brought me closer to my old friends. It brought me closer to my current friends. It brought me closer go my family. It brought me closer to Dan. But more importantly, it brought me closer to compassion.

Thank you for sacrificing existence on earth in order go give us valuable lessons. You will always be remembered.

A lending hand

I love your ability to hold me for as long as our faces will melt together with sweat brewing between our cheeks. Your arms are wrapped tightly around me as silence comes between us and your heart beat is the only thing I can hear. The sound is comforting, but the rhythm is not what I'm used to. Each beat is followed by the next and its vibration utters stories of the past. I want to extend my arm, open my palm inside your body and grab all that I can. As quickly as I can, the warmth of my hand will indulge your meshed flesh as I extract it right out of your body. Removing the heaviness that has been built up inside, giving you a sense of weightlessness.