For Hire (Originally posted on Facebook 10.27.09)

I got laid off today.

No, no, it's okay. Before you gasp and express your shock, disbelief, and profuse sympathies, don't worry. I am actually more than okay.

Nothing prepares you for that phone call, though. Nothing prepares you for the audible hitch in your boss' voice when she says, "Can I see you in my office, please?" How they hem and haw in front of you as soon as the door closes with a definite click. She was very sweet, almost endearing, in the way she laid me off. What surprised me most was my lack of fear. I took the news like she was telling me it was going to be windy outside today. There was no seizing in my heart, no clammy hands, no waves of panic, no tears of WTF am I going to do now?

Instead, I sat there and consoled my boss.

I consoled her because, between the two of us, she was sadder with the fact that they could not afford me anymore. I actually felt bad for her and the company. I get to walk away and look for a new job. She has to stay and deal with dismal sales, delays in shipment, and the everyday drama that comes with running your own business. I get to go home and watch Law & Order reruns until I fall asleep on the couch, with bits of Doritos Cool Ranch still clinging to my chin.

The ride on the way home felt surreal. Traffic did not bother me, and as reality set in, I felt like I was floating. As I entered the valley, I was expecting the waves of fear and panic to set in. But, no. Nothing. Instead, to celebrate my brand new and still jumping unemployment status, I went to a McDonald's drive-thru and ordered a Quarter Pounder with cheese meal with Hi-C orange drink to boot. Hey, I'm already unemployed, so, cut me some motherhonking slack. I ate that burger, inhaled those fries, and slurped that Hi-C like a fat chick about to enter a Jenny Craig weight loss convention. Yup, everything was and still is definitely good.

Of course, in a few weeks, I just might be singing a different ditty. Maybe by then, I will already be climbing the walls, crying massive amounts of tears due to desperation, and already well deep into the depression that has claimed so many people during this godawful recession. But for now, I'm okay. I have already sent out my resume, already applied for unemployment, and tomorrow, I will start alerting my freelance clients that their favorite copyscribe is now available for full time opportunities. And if you hear of something, be a friend and let me know, hhmmkay?

For now, I will enjoy the lightness in my heart, my fearlessness, my bravado, and the confidence that no matter what adventure I will be soon be embarking on, God and his given talents will see me through.

Now, where's the remote? Oprah's almost on...

Growing Old(er)

Randy and I grabbed a quick bite in one of the hipster joints that line Ventura Boulevard. The place was teeming with attitude -- bored Hollywood wannabes waiting for their cheese and fruit sampler plates, emaciated, pale-looking vegans waiting for their macrobiotic salads (no egg or dairy, please) and of course, the most annoying of the lot, trust fund teenagers who drive BMWs and whose weekly allowance is probably more than what I earn in a month.

The seating was communal and as Murphy's Law would deem it, we ended up sitting with the most obnoxious of these insufferable twats. All throughout our meal, we were subjected to an endless tirade of Ohmigods, shutups, and youknows. There was of course, the copious amounts of kissing and cringe-inducing public displays of affection. All of them had iPhones of course, and throughout the precious time we shared, breathing the same air, brushing elbows and eating grilled paninis with caramelized shallots, they were taking pictures of the place, tweeting their meals and talking about how school sucks. (I should feel good a little, I guess -- at least these monsters are getting an education).

They were loud and unapologetic about it. They were annoying and didn't give a rat's ass that they were. They spoke in singsong tones that I abhor, they made spectacles of themselves while the rest of us "adults" gave them dagger glances but didn't say anything, and instead busied ourselves with finishing our meals so we can skulk off outside where peace and sunshine and decent, intelligent conversation can all be found.

Then it hit me.

I have become a grown-up.

And not just any grown-up. I have become the disapproving, dagger-glance throwing and ultimately, judgmental grown-up that I used to laugh at just years ago.

Wait! I wanted to yelp. I used to be one of you! I used to be loud and obnoxious and all those wonderful, cool things. Bars used to throw us out, even ban us. I hated school and it was just a venue to get drunk, get wasted, throw up and fall into a deep stupor -- only to repeat the process the next day. And the next day. And the day after that. Over and over and over and over again.

And now, it's over.

Now, I can't even sit through a 10:30 screening of a movie. At around 10:45, I start nodding off. I don't drink, save for a few sips of wine during dinner parties and get togethers, I've stopped smoking and I can't even remember the last time I've been in a bar, let alone getting banned from one. I go to work, I pay my bills, and I worry -- about money, the economy, my health, my future and oh, just about life in general.

I am an adult. Somehow, life crept up on me and I became an adult.

As I was listening to their disjointed conversation, I also heard snippets of my former self. The underlying need to be accepted, to be looked at, to be taken seriously. Maybe if I talked a little louder, people would think I'm extra cooler. Maybe if I cussed and laughed hysterically, people would see how anti-establishment (such an adult term!) I was and how defiant I could be in thwarting authority.

As I listened I realized how pathetic, how lost and how idiotic I must've look to other people.

So, to all the people I have offended, disgusted and turned-off with the sorry soils of my wasted youth, please accept my sincere apologies. Please find comfort in the fact that I had my stupid phase at the appropriate age. I would like to think I am a better, saner, and more tolerable person to be around with these days. I suppose I can also take comfort in the fact that in a few years, say in about 10 or 15, the rascals who annoyed me this afternoon will be throwing the same dagger looks at the next generation of twats. What goes around comes around, my friends. What goes around comes around. And bites you in the ass big time.

So, I'm older and not cool anymore. I can deal with that. Just don't rub it in too much -- at least not just yet.

And oh, comb your hair, clean your room, read a book for a change and for crying out loud, stay off my lawn.

Why I won't vote for McCain

So, this it.

The day before elections.

I am giddy, nervous, prayerful and a tad scared all at the same time.

I have kept close watch on the campaigns, slowly weeding out the candidates before I settled soon enough on one.

It is no secret this stepmama is for Obama. And I guess, like everyone else, we are all sick and tired of hearing all the reasons why. Suffice to say, he is a good man and he has my vote no matter what. He has lead a steady campaign. Having been trained in advertising, I like that. Just like disgustingly huge fonts with all the colors of the rainbow, with matching 15 exclamation points can make any ad person cringe, a single-minded campaign with clean lines and minimal copy can make any ad person's head turn.

Instead, let me tell you why I won't vote for McCain. Now, just like in the case of Obama, I know we are all sick and tired of the reasons why. The fact that he lies through his teeth, his sorry choice for a running mate, the way he says one thing and refutes it at any given time whenever it suits him, his corny old man jokes, the fact that he looks like a gnome with his short arms, trying in vain to wave to the crowd, the fact that a vote for McCain is just another vote for the Bush regime... sure, sure... I agree that all these are true and are all reasons why I will never vote for him.

But let me tell you the real reason why I will never vote for McCain.



McCain makes me want to go to sleep.


That's it. Every time I see him go up the stage, I feel an immediate sense of lethargy come over me. When he starts to speak, I want to curl up on the couch and snuggle deeper into my throw. When he tries to act all defiant and starts throwing barbs at his opponent, I feel my eyelids get heavy. I feel no sense of urgency, no reason to get up from my comfy couch and be part of a movement that will heal this country. His words drag and drone on, just like the way Ben Stein monotonically roll called "Bueller... Bueller..." in that movie. There is nothing inspiring or uplifting about McCain. When he's done talking, all I want to do is ask him to take a nap -- after he drinks a glass of milk with some B12 pills, of course.

This country needs new blood to be pumped into its veins and say what you want, but I don't think there's any more new blood to be drawn from a snarl of 72 year old veins. This country is too sick, too desperate and too tired to be let down yet again. We all have been asleep for the last 8 years. I think it's high time we all start waking up to smell the coffee and watch the sun rise again.

And that, my dear readers, is the reason why I will never vote for McCain.

Pockets of Happiness

Ever have one of those days where everything is just all right?

Today is one of those days for me.

I was driving to work this morning when out of nowhere, a wave of happiness gushed all over me and was immediately followed by a hum of peace. It was a really powerful emotion that started as a frisson from the middle of my chest and like a shot of whiskey, proceeded to burst and flow languidly through my veins. It was a heady, delirious and calming experience.

For the first time in a long time, I feel happy; a storm just passed and the sun's rays are slowly filtering in again through my life's vertical blinds.

God gave me a nudge and a wink today as if to say: "What did I tell ya, kiddo? Told ya it wasn't going to be that bad..."

My stitches were taken out yesterday. No more surgeries. No more drugs. No more pain. I have come out wiser and more vigilant when it comes to my health.

Randy and I are moving to a bigger place by mid-August.

I got two freelance writing jobs coming up. I'm praying there will be more and these would be constant.

I just got a haircut that I absolutely luuuuurve. I haven't said that in a long time about a haircut and yes, my stylist Myra, is pure rock star.

We are moving out, moving on and slowly, with patience, hope and hard work, moving up.

I am exhilarated, excited, fearful, hopeful and humbled with what is to come.

I am blessed.

I am grateful.

I am happy.

Misery

Last month was not the best of times for me.  And sad to say, it will carry on until the end of July.

Mid-June, I was suffering from foot pain that became excruciating to the point that I was limping and could not get out of bed. Yeah, fun times.  A trip to a podiatrist merited therapy and a shot of steroids right smack in the softest part of my foot.  A little known fact about me:  I am deathly scared of needles.  Pointy, sharp, metal things sticking in my skin with the syringe sticking out and wobbling are enough to make me pass out.  Well, the gods are cashing in on their sick sense of humor and I am their hapless and helpless guinea pig;  for I am the human pin cushion and my most dreaded nightmare is playing out right in front of me.

To add insult to stinging injury, I went to the dentist early June to take advantage of my dental insurance.  "Oh, goody", I thought oh, so naively.  "I can have my pearly whites cleaned."

Wrong!

The frigging dentist took one look at my not-so pearly whites and declared:  "Off you go to a periodontist!  You, you shameful wench, have gum disease!"

I was dumbfounded.  Periodontist?  What for?  I'm quite regular and I do get my period like clockwork every month.  And what does that have to do with my teeth, pray tell??

Well, corny jokes aside, I schlepped my way to the periodontist's office which in my opinion, is the first portal to hell.

The tall, imposing doctor probed and poked, pushed and heaved, grunted and clucked and finally announced:  "You need periodontal surgery."

Oy.

I won't go through the sordid, cringe-worthy details.  I'll just let you google "periodontal surgery" and you can cringe on your own private time as you read about this procedure that would make grown men whimper and call for their mommies.  Hell, I know I did.

There are two (yes, two) surgeries.  I had the first one last Thursday.  The second one is in the works and will commence in two weeks. Surprisingly, the pain was a non-issue and dare I say it, bearable.

What got me was the constant pumping of drugs into my system.

I have been on antibiotics for the past three weeks.  Three times a day of what seems to be constant pill popping.  Prior to surgery, I was on Ativan.  Post surgery, I took Vicodin -- which was why the pain was a non-issue and bearable.

Last Sunday, my body surrendered to the effects of this daily pharmacy cocktail and I was brought to the ER for chest pains and shortness of breath.  The doctor said I had an anxiety attack, that could have been brought about by the fact that I'm just not used to taking meds.  

Half of my face was swollen, I looked like a puffin, I couldn't eat, I couldn't open my mouth, I couldn't sleep and to top all that, I couldn't breathe.

Yep.  Mazal Tov.  

Today, I had my stitches taken out.  I am a whole lot better, thank you very much, but still, I am miserable.  I am still on the antibiotics, I still can't fully open my mouth and the cherry to top this tall, sad sundae is that I'm always hungry.

And I mean, always.

I have no habits to break in my life.  I don't drink, I stopped smoking three years ago and I think it has been fairly established that I cannot do drugs.  One of my greatest pleasures has been cruelly snatched away from me.  I miss food.  I miss eating food.  I miss closing my eyes and savoring a morsel of steak or sopping the last bit of sauce with a hunk of warm, crusty, french baguette.  

There is no pleasure when I eat.  I am literally eating just to get through the day.  After five days of pudding, soups and oatmeal, I am ready to tear my hair out.  Today, I tried eating a grilled cheese sandwich.  Halfway through the whole thing, I gave up.  I couldn't taste the soft, gooey, warm cheese oozing from in between the buttered and perfectly toasted bread. All I was aware of were the awkward chewing and the immediate swallowing just so my gnawing hunger would be satiated.  Where, I ask you, is the pleasure in all that?

I am still on meds and I suspect, they add to my sense of malaise and overall feeling of defeat.  I wake up at odd hours at night and for the rest of it, I am left channel surfing.  I miss feeling well and upbeat.  I miss going to my boxing classes.  With my feet on the mend, I cannot even venture and go out for a brisk walk.  I feel weepy at times and quite sad with the fact that I have three more weeks of this.  I am losing weight and normally, this would be cause for celebration.  I cannot enjoy the loosening of my clothes though, because it came at such heavy a price.

When this whole thing started, I comforted myself with the fact that I will have the Vicodin and other sleep inducing drugs to knock me out and lull me into a painless stupor.  I was wrong.  You can have the Ativan and the Vicodin -- hell, I'll give you the whole bottle for free.  Just give me back my warm pie crusts, my caramelized onions, my greasy fried chicken, my crunchy nougatine, my rich carbonara, my sweet and salty caramel with fleur de sel... fuck, just give me back my sense of taste, my appetite and all the wonder and happiness that come with it.

This whole exercise has made me wonder how people can get addicted to these drugs.  Call me stupid, but how in God's name do you enjoy this crap?  I see no pleasure in being sad all the time.  The little respite I get from the pain after taking these pills is no prize compared to the overall sluggishness I feel.  Why would anyone subject themselves to this lonely, slow and ultimately, pleasureless state?

I cannot wait for the day when I can finally stop taking these little suckers.  In two weeks, I'll be going under the knife again.  I say, bring it on.  Bring it on and let's get this over and done with.

Screw pain.  Screw being sick.  I just want to be well again.

After this whole experience, I am realizing that no matter what happens, I will always choose to be happy.  In whatever pant size, I will always choose to be happy.

I will always choose life and all the calories that come with it.  Loose pants and shirts be damned.  

Oh, Happy Day

Today, it begins...

Four Fathers

I sometimes laugh at life's ironies.

There was a very colorful, crazy and admittedly, tiring period in my life, where most of the men who entered it (willingly or unwillingly is another topic altogether) left much to be desired. Or was it I desired them and they didn't desire me? Anyway... let's just say that it is quite safe to surmise that my bad streak of luck when it came to the male of the species is well-documented and witnessed by a bunch of friends. And thank God for these friends for they were the ones who cried with me, warned me, left me out in the cold when I didn't heed the warnings and took me in again and embraced me when I realized the sheer stupidity of my actions.

And thank God I am singing a different tune these days. For all the men in my life now are angels and have made my life so much richer. I have great, no, fantastic relationships and I'm not just talking about the romantic kind. I have a beautiful marriage, a strong bond with my only male sibling and I have two guardians who mean the world to me.

And they are all fathers.

So, today, the day where we honor the other half of our foundations, this is my twenty-one gun salute to these men who are my everyday heroes, my sources of inspiration and the reasons why my life's joys are brimming.

Bibi, thank you for giving me Christopher. I have an instant son whom I'm proud of and I am prouder to be called his stepmom. I cannot wait for us to have one (or two?) of our own. I love you.

Japot, I am proud of the kind of father you have become. Although it stings at little that at 28, you already have two and I have zero, thank you for giving me two of the most wonderful little girls any auntie can be proud of. I love you.

Daddy Freddy, I miss you everyday. Thank you for welcoming me with open arms to your family. I know the greatest honor I can give you is to love your son and I intend to do that all the days of my life. Save me a fried egg sandwich. We will be in Georgia soon. I love you.

Dad, thank you for allowing me to be the person I am destined to be. Thank you for allowing me to fall, for allowing me to fight for my sometimes questionable decisions and for staying on my side of the ring even if those decisions proved to be indeed, questionable. Thank you for your quiet pride, your humility and above all, for teaching me that in this life, all you need are a sense of humor, gratitude and kindness and if you have all those three, then you're going to turn out just fine. I love you next-time daddy. I love you, I love you, I love you.

To all my friends who are fathers or a father figure to someone, have that extra bottle of beer (or wine), that extra piece of pie, that extra scoop of ice cream, that extra slab of barbecue or whatever it is that places an extra inch of grin on your face. And we promise today, the kisses will be more heartfelt and the hugs will be a tad tighter than usual. God knows you all deserve it.

Happy Father's Day.

Equality

"Our state now recognizes that an individual's capacity to establish a loving and long-term committed relationship with another person and responsibly to care for and raise children does not depend upon the individual's sexual orientation."

-- The California Supreme Court overturning the ban on same sex marriage

Today, the law did us right.
Today, we have redefined what a family is and learned that it can never have just one definition.
Today, shrieks, cheers, tears and shouts of triumph filled a San Francisco courthouse.
Today, my heart swells with pride for all my dear friends who have made this their cause.
Today, I laugh, cry and shout with them.
For today, love became truly universal.

And today, if only for today, we have shown what it truly means to be equal.