The price of gasoline sure ain’t getting any cheaper. Here in the Bay area, gas is over $3 per gallon. Crazy expensive. Thanks to the high fuels costs, all the airlines have now implemented new weight restrictions for economy class passengers. For United, Air China, and a host of others, international economy passengers are now limited to two 23-kg bags. Yeah, apparently weight limits don’t apply to first class, and those bastards get three bags per person.

For us po’ folk, 23 kg is down from 34 kg (~75 lbs) two years ago. I know, 34 kg is a lot of shit, and 23 kg still isn’t too skimpy. But come on, we’re US born and raised. No matter how we try to minimize, we’re still overconsuming asses, even if most of our weight goes to the books (well that and John’s clothes). Yeah, we’re nerds, especially John. We’ve been schlepping his computer books and Bukowski crap back and forth. Me? I OD’d on books a long time ago (this may explain my gradual intellectual decline post grad school…). At present, I just “read” picture books. That and dog care books.

Anyway, the good news is that I made it to California ok. United sucked: the flight was completely booked, and service was the usual bullshit. The ride was also unusually bumpy and turbulent. But hey, on the bright side, the flight was only 11 hours, and at least we weren’t flying to DC (that would require another 5-6 hours). Poor Remy and Martin though. I think Remy stayed pretty calm. Her bed was dry. Martin, I think, freaked a little, as he dribbled some in his bed.

Oddly enough, when we went in for landing, just as the wheels were about to hit pavement, the pilot cranked the gear up a notch and suddenly, we were angled upwards again. Within minutes, we were above the clouds. Wtf! I started getting a little nervous. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the co-pilot got on the mic and explained that another jet hadn’t cleared the runway. We needed to circle and re-attempt landing 15 minutes later. Whew!

We touched ground around 8:45 AM. Since I had checked in super early (3 hours ahead) with the dogs, my bags were among the last ones out. The dogs took forever to appear too. On two Smartcarts, I had two big-ass crates plus two maxed-out suitcases. It was a lot to handle, but I’m tough and those trips to the gym paid off. Arrrrr! (I’m doing my Hulk flex now). Yeah, surprise surprise: no one offered to help me (god forbid the TSA peeps break up their chit chat circle in baggage claim), so I had to leapfrog the carts every 50 meters. Took a damn eternity getting to the airport exit. And customs confiscated my large ziplock bag of dog food. Oh well, after surviving like 15 hours in a crate on a really rocky ride, I’m sure runny shits (when dogs switch diet too quickly) is the least of their worries. Anyway, my babies are living the good life now: not even two days in and they’ve visited the dog park and gotten plenty of Greenies.

I recently dug out my theater CDs, and goodness, I’m a mess now. Miss Saigon and Les Miserables. Ugh, I saw Miss Saigon probably a decade ago, and I can still remember the experience so vividly. My theater buff friend Nathalie invited me to the Kennedy Center; it was my first time seeing a professional production. At the start, I was totaly closed-minded about theater. What’s the big deal, a bunch of people singing and prancing around on stage. But two hours was all it took to reel me in. I was totally blown away, and I had the mascara stains to prove it. So yesterday, on a break from studying, I popped in CD one. Jesus, all over again, I got chills down my back. I ended up forcing myself to turn it off, because I was on the verge of a breakdown. Sigh. Blame my emotional instability on the ‘Tane.

Needless to say, one of the cool things about moving back to the States is the theater stuff– I really can’t wait. Supposedly, theater is pretty strong in San Francisco too, so I hope I catch some cool productions. Shanghai has events too, and I definitely want to check out one of the Mandarin dramas, but still, I can’t imagine really getting the full effect. My Mandarin simply isn’t good enough.

So I was checking out which cast I have for these CDs. For Miss Saigon, I have the London cast with Lea Salonga (geez, can someone be so hot?!) and Jonathan Pryce. I didn’t know, but according to Answers.com (which actually contains Wikipedia info, in case you’re in China where Wiki itself is blocked), Miss Saigon beat out My Fair Lady as the longest running musical. Interesting tidbit.

Anyway, I’ll be listening to musicals nonstop the next few weeks… just so you know, if you see me and my eyes are red or whatever.

Man, just went to the gym. The after work crowd is totally different from the after 9pm crowd. Hot, buff women, and geez, I felt like I was on speed during my workout. There was a dance/aerobics class going on, and they were listening to “Memory” in dance mode. How freaky is that? Clearly, I’m not a clubber, otherwise I wouldn’t be so weirded out by this uppity version. Either way, I suppose it was good for the gym– I really booked my ass. Still though, that’s the last time I go at that time of day. I’m all for this latest health kick, but working out high is way too much work.

I had my reading midterm first thing this morning. My weekend was full-on intense studying (er emm, cramming), and I was prepared for the worst. But today was my lucky day. Yup, I scored a 100! Awwwww yeah! Haha, a silly lil’ exam is enough to boost my ego. Oh yeah, I’m da bomb!

So one more exam to go: oral is tomorrow. Gotta cram, but not too worried about it. The worst is over anyway.

Of course I must share: everything didn’t go off without a hitch. Remember that annoying mobile phone lady I mentioned before? Well, for fuck’s sakes, can you believe that after she finished the exam early (with 15 minutes left), she proceeded to make a phone call INSIDE the classroom? I know, I shouldn’t even be surprised, but Jesus Christ, have a little consideration, you know? There were like five other people still testing. Do you think anyone wants to hear any part of your bullshit conversation? I was so annoyed. I looked around to see if other people cared. I couldn’t really tell, but I was irked beyond belief. And even the teacher didn’t say anything. Fuck it, man. Take that shit outside. Ok, so I wasn’t rude (although I should have been), but still. Goddamn moron.

I swear, the world today. Surrounded by a bunch of dumbfucks. Sometimes I really wonder how so much bad, senseless shit happens, and now, having met someone like this, I see just how many inconsiderate, self-absorbed people there are. I know, it’s just a stupid exam, but that’s precisely my point. If she can’t even have decency for something little like this, who the hell knows what other sorts of asinine behavior she’s capable of. No frickin’ wonder the world is going to hell, you know? ANYway, at least I don’t have to deal with her for two and a half weeks. Hallelujah. And did I tell you? Her boyfriend finally dropped to a class more his speed. Thank goodness, otherwise we’d all have to put up with these two irritating cuddle bunnies in class. Yeah seriously, gag me (with a spoon)!

Damn, Friday already. I have two midterms next week and then I’ll be Stateside by Thursday. I’m looking forward to the trip. I’ll feel a lot less stressed once Rem and Martin make it back to the land of dogparks. Poor things. Yesterday they had their final pre-flight checkup. The damn lab tech jabbed Remy so many times and in both legs trying to draw a drop of blood. Anyway, the official documents will be ready Monday and then off my babies go on Wednesday. We’re almost through the final hoop.

So this week was pretty hectic. Aside from my therapy sessions (that is, my blog entries), I actually got more work from Big Blue. This voice acting thing is not half bad, although the client can sometimes be a really picky beotch. You see, I’m a very matter-of-fact kind of person. Technical work suits me because it doesn’t require creativity. The scripts I get are dry as hell and chock full of technical terms and acronyms. It’s totally up my alley, because I’m kind of serious and boring that way. So this week, I recorded my shit and sent it off to the PM. The feedback from the client? Too instructional, needs to be more peppy and upbeat. Well, fuck you. Who do you think I am, Summer from the OC? I mean, seriously, you’re asking me to read about telecom applications and protocols “that allow you to add, modify, and delete accounts.” What about that reads upbeat and peppy? Ugh. Ultimately though, client demands are client demands. I re-recorded and re-recorded a million times over. Next the client complained my part wasn’t conversational enough. Here’s a sample dialog. Go figure:

Person A: I am worried about reliability and security.

Me: I understand your position. With XYZ ABC Portfolio, you are working with the most reliable, well-known brand in telecommunications services. We have a 99.999% network SLA as well as a ubiquitous, secure, and redundant network.

Yeah, as if real conversations sound like that. So all damn morning I struggled with spicing up my clips. To make matters worse, thanks to the ever-changing Shanghai weather, I awoke with some gunk in my throat. Plus, I was fighting some springtime allergies. As a result, my first redo was a bit scratchy (think Demi Moore). I actually thought it sounded nice, but then my PM said it sounded too soft and soap opera-ish. See what I mean? Mixed messages plus demanding as hell. In the end, I spent forever coughing up a lung, trying to purge Demi from my system. Gee, how big a pain would it be to have to really rely on your voice for work? I mean, how do you frickin’ maintain consistency with something that changes all the time, especially with different foods, temperatures, overall health/condition. For me, it’s nearly impossible to replicate recordings from one clip to the next. I guess that’s something I’ll have to work on; this is a pretty nice gig in spite of the silly feedback. If this turns really serious, I may have to consider insurance for my voice or something, like for those hand models. Insurance for their hands. Yeah, big girl stuff.

So now that the “success/failure” struggle is mostly addressed and worked out, time to move on to others. Others that are embarrassingly superficial and yet, still so consuming. Why am I making this information public? Perhaps today is a day for purging. Here goes…

You see, no matter how you cut it, I have shit skin. Blame genetics: I got shafted. Having wasted all of my youth (sigh!) battling this bullshit, I finally decided to go for the hard stuff– Accutane. Bring it on, baby. One of the great things about China: tons of drugs (albeit of questionable purity) available dirt cheap and over-the-counter. For example, a few months ago, I was pleased to learn that the drugstore Watson’s carries emergency contraception over-the-counter! See how the US lags behind in so many ways? My former employer, the Feminist Majority Foundation, is STILL pushing for the FDA to approve ECOTC. Fucking ridiculous, the games this administration plays.

So anyway, I’m on the ‘Tane now, as John calls it. Not the brand name drug, but isotretinoin nonetheless. This shit is like magic poison. The list of side effects is crazy: super chapped lips, dry skin, irritated eyes, nosebleeds, joint pain, bone pain, and bone tenderness. Less common side effects are mood swings, depression, suicidal thoughts, pancreatitis, osteoporosis, and a bunch of internal organ problems. Oh, and then there are the million warnings against getting pregnant. Apparently, the fetus will have serious defects and deformities… Lucky for me, pregnancy isn’t an option: barren womb forever!

So, I’ve been on this stuff for a month or so. My skin is still far from flawless, but I’ve definitely noticed some improvement. John claims to have noticed changes too, namely with my “enhanced” moodiness. Ah well, a small price to pay for better skin. You peeps with good skin man, you have no idea how good you have it. I was practically suffering from BDD, body dysmorphic disorder (which, btw, I learned about from Nip/Tuck). Yeah, we’re talking paralysis, and I’m not using that word lightly. In fact, this whole experience is making me re-examine my position on elective plastic surgery. I mean really, at the point that people are getting braces, veneers, laser surgery, growth supplements/hormones, skin meds, is it really that big a leap to go under the knife?

As my wise friend Pamela says, “Everyone has his/her own demons.” Now I’ve already acknowledged that I lead a very fortunate and privileged life… enough said. The problem is, in spite of that truth, I still overanalyze myself to death. Life is good, but sorry, I still have issues (see previous post). Clearly, there’s the family thing, an outstanding matter. And yes, I have wondered: why do I get so worked up over this parental thing anyway? They think their way; I think my way. We don’t have to agree. What’s the big fucking deal? Well, I don’t really know. I guess I have resentment issues. Perhaps I’m not comfortable with my choices, so when my parents question them or doubt them, I get upset. Maybe deep inside, I agree that I’m lame compared to his friends’ kids. Maybe I also measure success through academic pedigree, job title, and money. For example, I’m not a physician working some prestigious and intense job bringing in the big dough. I’ve struggled with not fulfilling that early childhood vision of success. I’ve fought hard to think outside the box, to go against the grain; yet, my biggest gripe about nonprofit work is that it doesn’t pay. Why do I want it to pay? Maybe because somehow earning more money legitimizes my work– to my family, to society, to myself. It’s kind of why so many people dismiss full-time housewives or househusbands: they think these people are like sitting at home watching soaps all day eating bon bons, because after all, these people are not generating income, so they can’t possibly be working, right?! Anyway, I’ve mostly accepted that nonprofit work just can’t be about the money. The money’s not going to be there. really. ever. But then everytime I get into this kind of tiff with the parents, my system of “measuring success” gets fucked up all over again. I know, I need to just stick to my guns and not worry about what they think. I’ve made my choices and decided on my priorities.

At best, my relationship with my parents is distant. It’s a long story, but basically, my parents and I have been at odds since my preteen years. Fundamentally, we share the core, trying to be honest, thoughtful, hardworking people and all; still, somewhere along the way, feminism, liberalism, and a host of other issues entered the picture and put us on a perpetually colliding course.

In a nutshell, I guess I feel they don’t really support or back my major decisions, be they academic, vocational, social, political, or familial. Over the course of ten years, we’ve learned to simply avoid the hot buttons and limit our conversations to extremely simple and mundane topics: we speak ten minutes max, once a week. That’s how our phone conversations have been since college. Sure, there’s the occasional 60-minute outlier call but frankly, at this rate, my categories are pretty set: parents are parents, and friends are friends. The groups are mutually exclusive.

Don’t misinterpret what I’m saying. I love my parents. They are kind, responsible, and generous people. Because of them, I’ve had access to so many freedoms and opportunities. I’ve never had to worry about basic survival, so I’ve had the luxury to focus my energies on goals and pursuits. I’m extremely lucky and fortunate, and I don’t want to sound like a total ingrate. It’s just that I’m not friends with my parents. Let’s just take that as it is.

So yesterday, I spoke to my parents briefly. My father is not a happy camper these days. In my family, we have this thing where every situation has a culprit. So, the latest newsflash is that Johnny isn’t doing so great. It’s his usual pattern: total brainiac, no common sense, no punctuality, no discipline. As a result, my father feels like a failure (in parenting). His explanation? All his friends have superstar kids. So-and-so’s son went to Columbia b-school. Another friend’s eldest daughter is in medical residency, the son is in some PhD program at Hopkins, and the daughter is pre-med at Harvard. Nevermind that my father, pre-retirement, complained endlessly about the inevitable demise of medicine, caused by insurance companies, lawyers, and an extremely litigious American public. I try not to take his groans about lame-o kids so personally, but it’s frustrating, for one, because I really believe everyone faces his/her own issues (whether they share/publicize their struggles is another story) and two, my father is totally obsessed with academic pedigree. I mean, yes, so is the rest of the networking world, but still. Give it up already. I don’t know. It’s like he measures everything by that yardstick: for example, if my brother’s schoolwork at Columbia is in order, my father thinks things are looking up for Johnny, that he’s a changed man. Not so. With Johnny, it has nothing to do with school. No one doubts that he’s a genius. He got a full frickin’ ride to Duke, ok? The stuff he creates– be it poetry, acting, short stories, film– it’s brilliant. But all of that is beside the point. It doesn’t really matter that what he creates is wonderful; if he misses the project deadline, the professor or manager doesn’t really give a fuck. It’s like who cares if you’re great at your job; if you don’t arrive to work on time, if your boss can’t rely on you to meet the deadline… you’re unworkable. Anyway, my emotional connection with my parents is very weak. I didn’t react to my father’s comments very well, so rather abruptly, the conversation ended. What the hell am I supposed to say? Fuckin’ A. These kind of issues are only going to grow bigger once I’m back in the States. Yay.

So last week, I had a break from school… The university organized some field trips to various cities in China. Thank god, I didn’t go. Ugh. My classmates already annoy the hell out of me for the mere three hours of class; I can’t even imagine being stuck on a bus or in a hotel with them too.

So this past week was supposed to be my time to get ahead with class and ALSO prepare for my midterms slated for the last week of April. Yeah, studying definitely didn’t happen. I was too preoccupied with my Game Night. Since moving here, I’ve always wanted to host game board parties. It’s actually rather uncharacteristic of anti-socials like John and me (Game Night did take two years to materialize), but now that I’m living it up Sex in the City style over here, I gotta get my Taboo and Cranium fix. It’s rather silly: I was just going to go low-key: games, pizza, and drinks. Well, in true fashion, I stressed out all frickin’ week, worrying about getting the apartment in order. Not like people really care, but I’ve been to other people’s homes and man, they really know how to put on a party. Everything just has that polished, put-together look. It’s all in the details, I tell you. Needless to say, I just wanted it to go well.

I had a pretty decent turnout. Although several people neglected to RSVP (don’t do it again!) and a few backed out last minute, all in all, I was happy with the outcome. We had just about enough seating for everyone, and it was games galore! Taboo and Cranium til midnight; Scrabble til 3 a.m. for the hardcore boardgamers. Yesterday was my first time playing Scrabble. The jury’s still out on that one. I think it’s a little too brainy for me.

So the party’s over and now I have no excuses NOT to study. Unfortunately, I’m stuck with a shitload of fruit and veggies (I had planned on juicing, but that ended up sounding a bit too healthy for a party). Guess this week will be detox for me.

Easter Sunday and I’m starting the week off right. Thankfully, I didn’t sleep in; I’m up and running. Did some cleaning, had a couple glasses of fresh juice. It’s almost noon now, and I’m squeezing in an entry before I crack open the books. Ok, I’d better get cramming for that quiz tomorrow.

I have to say, in spite of my earlier apprehensions, I’m quite enjoying the school thing. There’s just something about routine that my body loves and craves. Even if I don’t sleep well some days (and drag my feet at 50% efficiency), in the end I still feel like a day with routine is more productive than a day without. I suppose cutting back on sleep really adds some hours to my disposal.

It’s really unusual for me too, being part of the morning commute. All of the sudden, I’m noticing familiar faces: this prep cook (he wears a chef hat) lugs an empty dolly to the campus cafeteria at 8:25 a.m. every morning. I hear the cart rattling down the street just as I pull up to class. After class lets out around noon, on my way home, I always see these two young college gals, biking side by side on matching folding bikes. Their bikes are cutie pastel colors with baby blue mini-baskets on the handlebars. Oh Clownie, how I miss thee! If only I still had you, then I too could be one of those cute, young women. Oh Clownie, you almost elevated me to Kellie Taylor status. Ok, maybe that’s a stretch. Well, I almost believed I could MAYBE pull off driving a VW Cabriolet or Cooper Mini. Guess I lost Clownie for a reason: I’m definitely not worthy.

So back to talking about school. Yeah, I’m enjoying it still; however, I must admit my classmates are a little irksome. I don’t know what it is, but people have been getting on my last nerve. Take, for example, this couple in my class. They’re southeast Asian or something, not that it matters. So the guy is clearly in the wrong level. He doesn’t know what’s going on, and he can’t follow at all. The gal, she sits next to him: they share a book and hold hands, blah, blah. She seems more up to speed, but he’s definitely lost. Rather than move to his proper level, he stays in the class. Then, during the lesson, they basically hold their own lil’ private tutoring session (hand holding included) where the gal schools the guy… all while the teacher is talking! What the fuck? And they always sit near me! I get so annoyed, but what can I do? I can’t exactly disrupt their tender, loving Felicity study-buddy moment.

So last week, the guy didn’t show for class. The gal came in late. Just my luck, she sat next to me and asked to share my book. No problem. I’ve learned from watching Remy and Martin; sharing is a good thing. A few minutes later (let’s just call her Sonia), Sonia started text messaging the guy (I assume he was the recipient). After a few minutes of no reply, she turned to me and asked to borrow my phone: her had battery died. Fine, whatever. Take it and leave me the fuck alone; I’m in class, goddamnit. So what happened? While sitting next to me IN CLASS, she proceeded to call using my phone. Uh hello, have you ever heard of taking it outside? And the dude had that stupid “music while you wait” feature. Since she was using my phone, the volume was maxed out (I’m frickin’ deaf, ok?). Ugh. I was so pissed. I was trying to listen to the teacher, but instead all I heard was that sappy pop song (the one where the singer is some concert pianist and his girlfriend is in the hospital with some terminal illness… haven’t you seen the video?). Another classmate heard the music and was like, “Someone’s cell phone is going off…” I couldn’t believe I was an accomplice to this inconsiderate dodo bird. Jesus. No wonder I want nothing to do with my classmates. From now on, school is strictly business, man.

John’s not going to be too pleased about me sharing this kind of information, but here goes: So he’s had the runs on and off now for about two weeks. As you already know, the last week of March, both of us were paralyzed with some kind of bug. We seemed to have had different forms: I had high fever and chills; he had occasional fevers and the runs. Anyway, on arriving in San Francisco, John claimed he was immediately better. He then hit the supermarket hungry and bought a ton of food. After scarfing down some grub, the illness returned. So this past Monday, he finally went to see a doctor. The doctor made fun of my turmeric remedy; meanwhile, he himself offered no answers. He suspected the infection was viral, in which case the symptoms would pass in a few more days. Still, there was the possibility John contracted Giardia. To be sure, he suggested running tests on stool samples. Yes, samples collected over three consecutive days. Now maybe it’s my environmental engineering background that gives me a stronger stomach with these things, but puhleez, three samples into tiny plastic cups? No big deal. SOMEhow, you figure it out. Regardless, you just do it, and you figure out what this mystery illness is.

Well with John, this is an entirely different story. For him, there’s just something about the thought of touching or handling shit that totally grosses him out. I mean, come on, it’s not like I’m telling him to consume it… Jesus. So I went over with him the possible techniques for collection. Not surprisingly, he called me today and insisted (quite adamantly) he’s much better. I ask if he’s still getting sick poopies. Yes. So shouldn’t he just submit the damn samples and get it over with? Oh well, he’s on the road to recovery. A few more days, and he’ll be totally back to normal. Uh huh. Meanwhile, the sample collection window is passing quickly… Just to give you a better sense of who I’m dealing with here, guess where John ate after his doctor’s appointment? McDonald’s. I don’t even flinch anymore. After all, he’s the same dude who scarfed down a Big Mac after finishing Fast Food Nation and Super Size Me.