It's been about two weeks since the last time I saw you. It's seven thirty in the morning and I'm sitting on this hedge of red bricks that is positioned in front of Special Services building, waiting for my classroom to open. You'd be proud to know that I notice dew collected on the overgrown grass below me. I view this campus in a delightfully different way now because of you. About 50 yards in front of me is the end of Business Education building and leaning on its side is the Hollywood Juniper. It is tilting away from sea breeze, with its tips pointing towards me. On our last lab assignment, Megan and I struggled to locate that juniper because for the longest time I thought it was a cypress tree. Out of respect, Megan invested trust in me, and so leading her to the wrong tree wasted a lot of our lab time and made me feel like an idiot. I'm one plant smarter because of you. Anyway, I'm back in school again, moving forward with fall semester.
As I try to locate C&L building, which I find out a few minutes ago, stands for Classrooms and Lecture, I think of you. I can rememer how articulate you are, the way you explain the corriolis effect, and how your patience and confidence in us makes me feel extremely comfortable and at ease. Your last words to me were "you're a strong student, and althought the school systems are getting harder, you will be successful with what you do, keep going". As corny as this may sound, I will never forget those words!
With the sun beating on my back and class starting in thirteen minutes, an anxious feeling builds up inside me. Standing in front of room C&L 112, I look through the opening on the door and I can see a lot of students sitting patiently throughout the room as the teacher occupies her time on the computer. Thinking that I may be late, I hesitantly open the door to rush in and sat myself down at an empty desk situating at the very front.
The teacher is female and carries a slender, petite figure with medium length hair, blonde and undone. She dresses in a brown corduroy skirt and a white button down shirt that tightly snuggles her body. She seems nice. The clock strikes 8 and she starts to introduce herself. I am having trouble recognizing the name, so I quickly raise my hand and tell her I must be in the wrong class. Checking my schedule again and thanking her, I get out of the desk and exits through the same door I came in. After checking my schedule one more time, this time online at the Watson Hall, I realize that my class actually starts tomorrow. Written on bright pink stick-it note is two different class description both in black ink and printed in caps. In red, a slim line is drawn through M &W on the first class and on top of it wrote "T and Th". The abbreviation stands for Tuesday and Thursday and apparently it was overlooked all along. Neglecting to double check my schedule before the day of class, I had wasted not only nearly 2 hours of the day, but also mental preparation .
Although class doesn't start til tomorrow, my first lesson of the semester is to pay attention to minor details! As I think of this, I think of you.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
garlic infused
An evite was sent to me several weeks ago, but I am opening it today, an hour before the start of the party. As I pull it up, the title reads " A message about END of Summer GARLIC Fest" and before I click on VIEW INVITATION, a long description of the party is written directly below it. It reads "it is hot so come early and bring your swim suite, come hungry and ready to rock!!!! See you all then!!!" At this point, I proceed to view the invitation and inside is the exact same description and following that is another message screaming, "BRING YOUR BEANO!!! All in oversized caps and three exclamation marks at the end. This is getting serious. Continuing on is a menu listing all the possible garlic dishes. Menu: Garlic infused Korean BBQ, misc roasted garlic, brown sugar, chapotle chile BBQ, sour cream bread, spicy marinated garlic, garlic chunk veggie chillie, and finally, garlic mashed potatoes. Immediately trailing that is another message "as my wheels keep turning there will be more dishes added to the list!!! I notice once again, three aggressive exclamation marks. This sums up a small example of what Lori Vu's parties will be like. A food fest would describe it more accurately. I am getting hurgry!
Anne and I arrive at this garlic fest at six thirty, just two and a half hours after the time on the invitation. As I carry the case of Stella Artoise in my hands, feeling guilty for not bringing anything with garlic in it, a nice gentleman whose name remains unknown, abducts the case and swiftly vanishes through the front door. I thank him out of relief. As we approach the open door, the chaos and boisterousness becomes more exaggerated. My excitment level continues to elevate as we pass through the front door.
Straight ahead of the door way parks the kitchen island and on it sits all kinds of food, and at a quick glance, I see pasta, garlic bread and garlic stuffed olives. There is so much food that the beautiful marble coutertop is barely visable anymore. The stove is facing the counter on the right side and on it are more delicous garlic flavored food. In a large tin container, I can tell that it is home to the garlic BBQ ribs. My mouth starts to water as I carry on through the kitchen area thinking about one summer when Lori barbequed what I thought was ribs and I devoured it without any knowledge of what it really was, ox tail. And to my surprise, I really liked it although I would never go craving for it. Between the stove and the sink is a corner that is an area designated to mixing alcoholic drinks. I realize that this is where dangerous concoctions are being conglomerated so I decide then to avoid this area at all cost. Investigating further, before participating in the fun, I cruise out the sliding door that leads to the back patio where the rest of the party is disposed. Several young kids are playing in the pool while some adults rest their behinds on the comfortable couches facing the pool and others gather devinely around the poolside, probably wishing they have the guts to join the kids. Usually, after several drinks, it magically alters your state of mind, making you feel overly confident and daring. It's only a matter of how many more drinks until the adults will join the kids in that persuasive pool. I can't wait.
Now that I've thoroughly checked out the scene and like what is going on, I am ready to get my hands and face dirty! Knowing that my main obsession is the barbequed ribs, which is being grilled by the master miss Vu, I control my urge and only pick out some wings, olives and one slice of garlic patty and a bud light that isn't quite cold enough. I sit myself down on an ottiman next to Lisa, facing Anne and Diane, and get my munch on. Minutes later, I set out in search of that barbequed ribs I've been longing for. Returning to my seat soon after with a gigantic rib on my plate, I try with all my might to destroy that thing. Not willing to dig my teeth into it and pull off the meat, I lose the battle. I gave up. After exhausting my little fingers, I pass it over to Arthur who was nice enough to take over.
The sun goes under the horizon and darkness opens over us like a black umbrella. One by one, the adults make their way in the pool and people are at their peek, talking with a louder voice, taking shots of liquor, and making moves to some cheesey 90's music. Crowding around the bar area stands John who is Lori's older brother and with his left arm raising over his head, reaching straight to the ceiling, he holds a mysterious bottle called Phu Quoc. If you're not familiar with the bottle or the name, you'd think it is a bottle of some sort of exotic liquor. It is an authentic fish sauce imported from the island of Phu Quoc, Vietnam. At the top of his lungs, he screams, "who wants a shot"? Reluctant to really find out the exact content of this bottle with a weird lable, Wayne responds, "I'll do it with you". And so the real fun begins. Digital camera in place, the two take a shot of this fishy liquid thing. Wayne takes the shot so smoothly, you could've mistaken it to be Don Julio, While John holds it in his mouth, motioning to vommitt. It does not look pleasant.
It is getting late and I have to make my way over to my brother's house where I will consume more alcohol and eat more stuff so I will say my good byes to the people I know. Once again, Lori's party is hands down, tastey, satisfying, and fun!
Anne and I arrive at this garlic fest at six thirty, just two and a half hours after the time on the invitation. As I carry the case of Stella Artoise in my hands, feeling guilty for not bringing anything with garlic in it, a nice gentleman whose name remains unknown, abducts the case and swiftly vanishes through the front door. I thank him out of relief. As we approach the open door, the chaos and boisterousness becomes more exaggerated. My excitment level continues to elevate as we pass through the front door.
Straight ahead of the door way parks the kitchen island and on it sits all kinds of food, and at a quick glance, I see pasta, garlic bread and garlic stuffed olives. There is so much food that the beautiful marble coutertop is barely visable anymore. The stove is facing the counter on the right side and on it are more delicous garlic flavored food. In a large tin container, I can tell that it is home to the garlic BBQ ribs. My mouth starts to water as I carry on through the kitchen area thinking about one summer when Lori barbequed what I thought was ribs and I devoured it without any knowledge of what it really was, ox tail. And to my surprise, I really liked it although I would never go craving for it. Between the stove and the sink is a corner that is an area designated to mixing alcoholic drinks. I realize that this is where dangerous concoctions are being conglomerated so I decide then to avoid this area at all cost. Investigating further, before participating in the fun, I cruise out the sliding door that leads to the back patio where the rest of the party is disposed. Several young kids are playing in the pool while some adults rest their behinds on the comfortable couches facing the pool and others gather devinely around the poolside, probably wishing they have the guts to join the kids. Usually, after several drinks, it magically alters your state of mind, making you feel overly confident and daring. It's only a matter of how many more drinks until the adults will join the kids in that persuasive pool. I can't wait.
Now that I've thoroughly checked out the scene and like what is going on, I am ready to get my hands and face dirty! Knowing that my main obsession is the barbequed ribs, which is being grilled by the master miss Vu, I control my urge and only pick out some wings, olives and one slice of garlic patty and a bud light that isn't quite cold enough. I sit myself down on an ottiman next to Lisa, facing Anne and Diane, and get my munch on. Minutes later, I set out in search of that barbequed ribs I've been longing for. Returning to my seat soon after with a gigantic rib on my plate, I try with all my might to destroy that thing. Not willing to dig my teeth into it and pull off the meat, I lose the battle. I gave up. After exhausting my little fingers, I pass it over to Arthur who was nice enough to take over.
The sun goes under the horizon and darkness opens over us like a black umbrella. One by one, the adults make their way in the pool and people are at their peek, talking with a louder voice, taking shots of liquor, and making moves to some cheesey 90's music. Crowding around the bar area stands John who is Lori's older brother and with his left arm raising over his head, reaching straight to the ceiling, he holds a mysterious bottle called Phu Quoc. If you're not familiar with the bottle or the name, you'd think it is a bottle of some sort of exotic liquor. It is an authentic fish sauce imported from the island of Phu Quoc, Vietnam. At the top of his lungs, he screams, "who wants a shot"? Reluctant to really find out the exact content of this bottle with a weird lable, Wayne responds, "I'll do it with you". And so the real fun begins. Digital camera in place, the two take a shot of this fishy liquid thing. Wayne takes the shot so smoothly, you could've mistaken it to be Don Julio, While John holds it in his mouth, motioning to vommitt. It does not look pleasant.
It is getting late and I have to make my way over to my brother's house where I will consume more alcohol and eat more stuff so I will say my good byes to the people I know. Once again, Lori's party is hands down, tastey, satisfying, and fun!
Friday, August 28, 2009
tea for the lady
It's late afternoon and it's moderately quiet out here in the patio of Coffee Bean. No body's around except me, the warm air and an iced cold cup of tea.
As I sit here, looking intensely at this cup in front of me, I notice that it is a traditional plastic cup, clear and round, exposing an orangey red color of the water that sits inside it, filling its way all the way up to the brim. It is just an average sized cup with a clear plastic lid covering the top, closed tightly all around. Scored in the center of the lid is an opening that tightly fits the purple plastic straw. Permanently embosed on the lid near both sides of the straw is a word "Solo" and an image of three continuous arrows pointing at the end of each other, constructing a shape of a triangle. Printed on the side of the cup is 'Ice Blended' and on the left hand corner, in a much smaller font size reads 'The Original'. Stratigically placed to the right of 'Ice' and above 'Blended' is a drawing of a cup of what appears to be a blended cappuccino with whipped cream piled on top. When I go to grab a hold of it, the strength of my fingers put an easeful indentation on both sides of the cup, slightly altering the shape of it. Through the plastic, my fingers begin to get wet and I can feel the cold temperature of the ice crawling into my finger tips. It is a hot summer afternoon.
Zooming closer, I can see water building up around the circumfrence of the cup with one particular area where a droplet is formed and it has gotten too heavy to hang on to the outside wall so I watch it elegantly slither down towards the bottom. I'm feeling hotter and hotter and the cup is appearing more and more delicous. All I want to do now is pull it closer to my lips and drink it. Eyeballing the opening of the straw and within seconds, I go for it, taking a quick slurp and its flowery taste immediately fills my warm mouth. Its immense aroma travels deep inside my throat and up my nose, allowing me to actually smell it. The excess water from the outside of the cup grabs hold of the inside of my palm. I can't control the urge to take another rather large gulp. This time, really focusing on where the cold sensation will move to. Instead of letting it naturally go down my throat right away, I hold on to it in my mouth, feeling the crispyness of its body, allowing it to tossle around and around as it plays with my togue. The perfumey taste retains my interest.
The crushed ice that once afloats the top inside the cup is gradually melting away. It looks like broken pieces of ice berge resting above the water in a fjork. I take another sip, but this time, bigger and longer and the sound of the chopped up ice hits the sides of the cup, producing a familiar sound, like a wave crashing into the side of a headland. The sweat around the outside of the cup pursuades me to press my forefinger against it, drawing two definite strokes in the shape of a letter V. This encourages me to take yet another gigantic gulp and this time, permitting the cold water to drop freely through my mouth and down my throat. I start to reminisce about my trip to New York City in the middle of winter back in 2002 to visit my friends Joe and Take. It was negative 12 degrees and several inches of snow had mounted on top of the windshield of parked cars. My friend Take, goes over to one parked car nearby and heavily presses his finger the windshield, scraping away a letter A, then N then another N and soon he has written two words 'Annibel Slut'. I think it was a nick name the made up for one of us, but I just can't recall.
As I sit here, looking intensely at this cup in front of me, I notice that it is a traditional plastic cup, clear and round, exposing an orangey red color of the water that sits inside it, filling its way all the way up to the brim. It is just an average sized cup with a clear plastic lid covering the top, closed tightly all around. Scored in the center of the lid is an opening that tightly fits the purple plastic straw. Permanently embosed on the lid near both sides of the straw is a word "Solo" and an image of three continuous arrows pointing at the end of each other, constructing a shape of a triangle. Printed on the side of the cup is 'Ice Blended' and on the left hand corner, in a much smaller font size reads 'The Original'. Stratigically placed to the right of 'Ice' and above 'Blended' is a drawing of a cup of what appears to be a blended cappuccino with whipped cream piled on top. When I go to grab a hold of it, the strength of my fingers put an easeful indentation on both sides of the cup, slightly altering the shape of it. Through the plastic, my fingers begin to get wet and I can feel the cold temperature of the ice crawling into my finger tips. It is a hot summer afternoon.
Zooming closer, I can see water building up around the circumfrence of the cup with one particular area where a droplet is formed and it has gotten too heavy to hang on to the outside wall so I watch it elegantly slither down towards the bottom. I'm feeling hotter and hotter and the cup is appearing more and more delicous. All I want to do now is pull it closer to my lips and drink it. Eyeballing the opening of the straw and within seconds, I go for it, taking a quick slurp and its flowery taste immediately fills my warm mouth. Its immense aroma travels deep inside my throat and up my nose, allowing me to actually smell it. The excess water from the outside of the cup grabs hold of the inside of my palm. I can't control the urge to take another rather large gulp. This time, really focusing on where the cold sensation will move to. Instead of letting it naturally go down my throat right away, I hold on to it in my mouth, feeling the crispyness of its body, allowing it to tossle around and around as it plays with my togue. The perfumey taste retains my interest.
The crushed ice that once afloats the top inside the cup is gradually melting away. It looks like broken pieces of ice berge resting above the water in a fjork. I take another sip, but this time, bigger and longer and the sound of the chopped up ice hits the sides of the cup, producing a familiar sound, like a wave crashing into the side of a headland. The sweat around the outside of the cup pursuades me to press my forefinger against it, drawing two definite strokes in the shape of a letter V. This encourages me to take yet another gigantic gulp and this time, permitting the cold water to drop freely through my mouth and down my throat. I start to reminisce about my trip to New York City in the middle of winter back in 2002 to visit my friends Joe and Take. It was negative 12 degrees and several inches of snow had mounted on top of the windshield of parked cars. My friend Take, goes over to one parked car nearby and heavily presses his finger the windshield, scraping away a letter A, then N then another N and soon he has written two words 'Annibel Slut'. I think it was a nick name the made up for one of us, but I just can't recall.
The water level makes its way down to the center of the cup, decreasing as if it's a swimming pool evaporating its water over a period of continuous hot days. Ice is completely melted off, making the cup look calm and peaceful. As I stare patiently at the cup, I discover a bunch of words printed on the right side and as I turn it to the left, I take notice of more words. It's written in a form of a paragraph, describing something that I don't quite care to find out. It's stuff that appears unimportant. It reminds me of myself writing this thing, the only difference is that the length of my writing is too long to fit in a space so small.
Water is running off the cup, creating a lump of water in the shape of the cup, leaving an imprint of a circle on the table beneath it. I got very curious so I grab the cup, pull it towards my chest and pop open the lid to look inside. The maroon colored t- shirt that I'm wearing reflects the color of the cup almost exactly. As I put my nose up to the cup expecting to smell a sweet flowery perfume, rather, I am stunned to discover an empty smell. As I wait a few seconds before putting it back down on the table, a faint scent of chrysanthemum reaches my nose. I wonder whether the smell would be different if this cup was hot rather than cold.
I take my last consumption, this time from the mouth of the cup instead of the straw. I quickly conclude that drinking out of the straw is much easier and cleaner as it would never spill out the side of my mouth. By now, half of the cup is empty and as I lower my head to look at it closer, through it I can see an image of a woven chair and its chrome arms and in the chair sits no one. For some strange reason, this reminds me of how badly I have to go pee. But I am too lazy to get out of this chair and go to the restroom.
I can't believe I am examing this cup like its life is depends on me. I begin to think that I'm getting bored of this cup, but luckily, my deep concentration gets interrupted by a friend who walks up to me holding a cup of ice tea in his hand. Its color is identical to mine, however, its size is twice as large and fresh ice is swimming mindlessly inside it. I can't help but think I want to stick my feet in the a cold pool. I want to close this note book and walk on out of here.
White & velvet blooms
My heart is racing and Beating out of control pulling me out of my much needed sleep this morning at 5:45.
It's been a year since I had two over grown bamboo trees removed from both sides of my garage. I've replaced those bamboos with red climbing roses, mini white roses to soften the red, and bordered with rosemarys. This year I was ready to share my space with a friend, Ann Bench, who also became my first Roomate. From fall to winter to spring to summer and soon back to fall, it was a fun year filled with blossoms and blooms.
The close-to-a-year of roomating consisted of occasional cookings, monkey cakes, confiding in each other, watching chick flicks, girl talk, mud run, church, work out, gardening, and tea time, my roomate and I are really parting. She is making a move to Utah, where she will live with her nana, and it is where she will be pleasantly surprised to find the man of her dreams was waiting for her in Utah all along. She is making the right move and her future is looking bright. I wish her all the best and look forward to visiting there soon!
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