Through its highs and nadirs,
and the laughter and tears,
’twas the grandest of years.
Cheers!, my dearest of dears.
December 31, 2011
Last Year’s Toast
August 2, 2011
Obese or Not Obese?
That is the bet …
—————————————————-
Date: Tue, 26 Jul 2011 19:26:55 -0700 (PDT)
From: Carlo **** <carlo@****.com>
To: Vu, Lan
Subject: Obese or not obese
Fellow dieters:
Yesterday, in light of the binding agreement we entered into over the weekend, I went to the gym, took off my clothes, …
<pause>
(Note: The pause is so you can visualize my nakedness in your perverted minds. You’re welcome.)
Anyhow, I stripped and weighed myself. Despite our stops for greasy, fried chicken parts at Buffalo Wild Wings, and the decadent, Godzilla portions of dessert at Fentons on the way home from Lake Tahoe, I still–with much relief in my very clogged heart–weighed in at 175 lbs. Invoking the honor system , I encourage you to weigh yourselves as soon as you can and declare your current weights as well. (Don’t worry, I already pictured both of you naked, so that part is, er, covered.)
To duly document this dietary pact, here are the agreed-upon conditions:
Dieters
Carlo, Lan, and Vu
Starting Weights
Carlo = 175 lbs.
Lan = 110 lbs. (To be verified)
Vu = 185 lbs. (To be verified)
The Goal
Each person pledges to lose 7% or more of their current body weight by October 1, 2011 (Due Date). Only the weigh-in on October 1st matters; losing the 7% before the Due Date, only to regain it when Oct. 1 comes around, gets you no brownie points. (You probably had too much brownies already, anyway.)
The Prize
- If, by the Due Date, there is only one (1) Dieter who achieves The Goal, the losing Dieters will treat the successful Dieter to a one-day spa package at an establishment of the winner’s choosing. (Note: Happy endings are not included in the package.)
- If, by the Due Date, there are two (2) Dieters who achieve The Goal, the losing Dieter will treat both successful Dieters to a pedicure and a one-hour massage session at an establishment of each respective winner’s choosing. (Note: Again, happy endings are not included in the massage session. The sole loser may, however, console himself or herself to such a carnal indulgence.)
- If, by the Due Date, all three (3) Dieters–through some act of divine intervention, no doubt–achieve The Goal, we shall construe this as a propitious indication that there is hope for the salvation of mankind after all. And if, after a thorough inspection of the weighing scale used to determine the triumvirate’s success, it is verified to be neither rigged nor faulty, the achievement shall be celebrated with a communal, Dutch-treat dinner for 3 at The French Laundry in Yountville, CA.
- If, by the Due Date, none of the three (3) Dieters achieve The Goal, then dark and deprived days lie ahead for these obese and self-indulgent heavyweights. As punishment for their hedonistic tendencies, their inability to just say no to additional food portions, and, to put it simply, their utter lack of self control, they are mandated to abstain from the consumption of any baked desserts (e.g., cookies, cakes, pies) for the entire month of October 2011. The sweet taste of success does not belong to such pitiful souls.
With that said, Godspeed to you, fellow Dieters.
Sincerely yours,
Carlo
P.S. I had to forgo the succulent pork chops at work tonight. And they were free! Instead, this is my bland, unexciting dinner, and I blame and curse you two for this tragedy!
July 4, 2011
Independence Date
When they first kissed and held hands,
she expected to be wholly entranced–
to feel some magic in her heart, perchance.
But, in that ephemeral instance,
by the dictates of fate or circumstance,
the only sparks on that night of Independence,
were in the peripheral distance.
May 28, 2011
Pick me, pick me!
The curse of being picky is not that you can’t find someone to love; it’s finally finding someone who doesn’t love you back.
May 7, 2011
+1
I have dated very sparingly in the last 10 years. Quite frankly, it began as a conscious choice, but ended up as a consequence of a lack of choices.
–
It all began in 2002, I guess. Back then, I opted to revel in the silly spoils of singlehood: going out with the boys on a whim, harmless flirtations with random strangers, the countless nights at my disposal to do whatever I wanted to do. It was a lifestyle of unadulterated freedom and endless possibilities, and it was the total opposite of the suffocating 11-year, troubled relationship I had just crawled out of. The bachelor life was exactly what I needed at that point; it restored the light in my then-grim view of the world.
The other edge of that sword, however, was, and still is, the bitter sting of solitude: the unsatiated hunger for profound companionship, the unfulfilled need for someone’s sincere touch, the bottomless supply of nights with no one special to create lasting memories with. Alas, after so many years, the allure of the single life has turned into a tiresome and vacuous existence.
Of late, it feels like a prison cell I’ve been sentenced to for life.
–
There’s this pivotal scene in the 2009 movie, Up In The Air, where Ryan Bingham (played masterfully by George Clooney) finds himself asking Alex Goran (Vera Farmiga’s character) on a real date–as in a “date” date. To his sister’s wedding, no less. It was a very uncharacteristic move for the perpetually single and constantly traveling bachelor.
Ryan: “[F]or the first time in my life, I don’t want to be that guy alone in a bar. I want a dance partner. I want a ‘plus one.’ And if you can stomach it, I’d like it to be you.”
It’s a poignant scene (though if you’ve seen the movie, you know how that story went).
–
Long after seeing the movie several times, I still relate to Ryan’s sentiments completely. I have grown weary and outright teary of my somber singularity. Before the music fades and the scene turns to black, I, too, pine for a permanent dance partner.
Perhaps the story of me finding a “plus one” is written in a script that’s yet to be played out. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part. I really don’t know. The plot is still pretty much up in the air.
March 5, 2011
Me vs. Meme
Last month during Valentine’s Day, I walked under the moonlit sidewalks of my West San Jose neighborhood and felt the penetrating sting of the cold wind make its way to the marrow of my bones.
As in years past, I did not celebrate the much ballyhooed holiday with some paramour. There was no purchase of a dozen red roses, chocolates, or any other accoutrements of amore. I’d like to think that it was because I’m not one to buy into the hype–that I’m one among the growing legion of anti-Valentinos who resent the over-commercialization of the day named after some martyr whose life a few of us actually know. But truth be told, that was not the case. I did want to partake in the celebration; there’s just no one to celebrate with.
My solitary status stung even more when I realized that practically everyone in my inner circle was in a relationship. Even friends and family members whom I thought were not the types who’d be in a committed relationship were, in fact, in that enviable situation.
Perfectly encapsulated by The Weepies in a song, the thought that ran endless cycles through my brain during that cold, cold night was: They’re in love, where am I?
During the walk, the streets were noticeably dark and empty, and I realized, so was I.
December 15, 2010
Fortieth
Lo and behold, truth be told,
today, I am 40 years-old.
More streaks line my face;
and my strut has lost some grace.
But though my joints may creak,
the heart’s resilient–never weak.
While youth’s gone, as Frost foretold,
today, I don’t feel so old.
September 5, 2010
Stars Align at Starbucks
I have only seen her once before in the Starbucks I’ve frequented for years. One of the reasons I love going to that particular coffee shop was the plethora of interesting and beautiful characters I saw in its intimate setting, and she was definitely among the hall-of-famers in that regard.
Our initial encounter was a couple of months back, though I remember it like it was yesterday. We were lounging in the same sofa and happened to engage in idle chatter. I clearly recall how she twirled her hair as she sunk comfortably in the couch, how she adorably pouted her lips whenever she blew into her coffee cup, how she gazed at me with genuine curiosity when I spoke, as if I were telling her a centuries-old secret.
For those precious few minutes, she made me feel like I was the most interesting person in the world.
…
The second time our paths crossed was at the same Starbucks last week. She glided across the lounge area with a cup in hand, her long black hair perfectly framing and contrasting the angelic, pale face that crowned her svelte torso. The unexpected sight of her made my heart palpitate uncontrollably. I wondered if she remembered that day months ago. I wondered if she remembered me at all.
As she sat at the table beside mine, we exchanged the momentary smiles that strangers offer one another in passing. She did not remember me, I thought, and my shoulders drooped in unison with my spirit.
But to my surprise and pure delight, when she turned in her chair and looked at me for a second or two, she uttered, with noticeable recognition in her dark brown eyes and sincere glee in her voice, “Why, hello there!” Oh, the bliss that filled my soul at that very moment was indescribable.
She then joined me at the table and we began to talk about the typical things that fresh acquaintances chat about: work, family, hobbies. It unfolded like a perfect, casual date–romantically facilitated by fate. Or perhaps it was just fortunate happenstance. Either way, I did not care as long as we were enjoying each other’s company at that very moment in time and space.
The conversation turned to the topic of exercise, prompted by the entrance of a sculpted, tanned lady in a tank top and running shorts, whom I evaded looking at but which she pointed out. She said she’d kill for a body like hers and, in fact, started working out in an effort to lose 10 pounds, to which I reacted with a look of honest incredulity. I told her she looked great “as is,” sheepishly thinking that understated flattery will get me somewhere. Of course, what I really wanted to say was that she looked absolutely stunning. Even in her casual black t-shirt, gray flip-flops and form-hugging black sweatpants that silhouetted her calves and exposed her porcelain-like ankles, she was a glorious sight to behold. (I could not, however, bring myself to give such a blatant compliment like that. Timid as a turtle, it’s well beyond my ability to charm the members of the fairer sex with such ease and eloquence.)
We discovered that we both did yoga, and that she had actually just come from a session before heading to the café. When I asked her what her favorite pose was, she stood up and playfully showed me her tree pose: She anchored her left foot to the floor, lifted her right and rested it on the inner side of her left thigh, then raised her arms so that her palms rested against each other above her head. The vision of her in that unnatural but elegant pose was pivotal, so to speak, as it was at that exact moment when she completely enamored my susceptible heart.
“I think that, possibly, maybe I’m falling for you
Yes, there’s a chance that I’ve fallen quite hard over you
I’ve seen the paths that your eyes wander down,
I wanna come, too
I think that, possibly, maybe I’m falling for you”
Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop, Landon Pigg
June 9, 2010
This Too Shall Pass
She is unassumingly intoxicating–the kind of girl that charms your heart into submission without effort nor intent. And that is precisely what she did with mine one fine evening.
We talked; we danced; we held hands. All innocent in retrospect, but that point was moot by the time I realized it. From the moment I dropped her off at her place in the wee hours of the morning, to the minute I woke up at around noon hours later, my alcohol-fueled brain already fired off premature and misguided synapses of affection to the neurons within my impressionable psyche.
The heroine in this tale is in her mid-twenties, spirited and sociable. I, on the other hand, am inopportunely at the tailend of my thirties, seasoned and solitary. While the May-to-December angle is a convenient, more palatable and face-saving rationalization to convince my fragile ego that nothing will come of this, I know the real deal breaker. The signs are crystal clear; she just does not harbor the same feelings for me as I do for her.
“to me, you’re strange and you’re beautiful,
you’d be so perfect with me but you just can’t see
you turn every head but you don’t see me …”
Despite this rueful realization, the nascent feeling remains resilient. I have not been able to snuff it out with a dousing of vodka cocktails for that only intensifies the flame. Neither am I able to bury it deep in my unconscious for it just manages to creep back up with more verve. Fighting it is a lost cause, so I concede. I know what I have to do, as I have done it before.
I wait it out.
“sometimes, the last thing you want comes in first,
sometimes, the first thing you want never comes, and I know, the waiting is all you can do … sometimes”- strange and beautiful by aqualung
Sooner or later, time will reveal there’s an expiration date for this infatuation. Unreciprocated, it will eventually turn into a disposable emotion–one to be discarded for its silly uselessness. When that time comes I shall be free again. Free to fall for more romanticized follies. Then the cycle begins anew.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
May 12, 2010
Cupid is a Prick
I give up on the whole ordeal,
and shall file it under things unreal.
The looking around is nauseating,
and simply too excruciating.
Any hope of being with her
Like prickly roses, wither.
But just you see, as I surrender,
that’s when Cupid finally sends her.
Originally written June 27, 2007. Minor edits with this version.
