The little voice is starting to get louder. Abort! Abort! I think it says. The calm voice says, there's a perfectly good explanation for this. Just ask and you shall receive. Little voice says, sure you shall receive an answer, but is it the truth? Calm voice says, you will have to be the judge. My voice says, I am a terrible judge of character, so I'm pretty much screwed.
I've smothered the little voice so much I'm surprised it's still there. So if it doesn't seem right, maybe it's just not right. When is too late, too late? When you have to set a deadline or even have a shadow of doubt.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Random Thoughts
I was slicing open a lemon and noticed this particular lemon had quite a lot of seeds. My mind naturally wondered, how did that happen? What would cause so many seeds in one lemon? Of course, the first answer that came to mind was that it was a slutty lemon. Just had to put this one out there....
I've been getting some ambiguous texts from members of the opposite sex. They appear to be checking in texts except, we're not a couple nor are we dating. The contents are pretty inconsequential, kind of like John Mayer's Twitter updates. I am tempted to reply with, "Please state the purpose of your text going forward." But instead, I reply with more asinine content.
I was just told by someone of similar ethnic background that my cultural heritage brings her "comfort."
I'm racking my brain for outside-of-work social activities that everyone can enjoy, even without alcohol. Speed Jenga comes to mind, but that would require some work on my part. Then I thought, but who doesn't like drinking? Unless you are deathly allergic. I think non-drinkers may have missed a crucial developmental stage in their lives. I would certainly make sure my kids drank and are strong beer pong contenders, That is, once they have reached legal drinking age.
I was having a pretty Australian day, i.e. I thought I was starting to sound more Aussie. I was doing the inflections and pronouncing some of the words just a bit more funny. My buzz was killed when an Aussie came up to me and point blank asked me if I was American because they could detect my accent. It's odd to be told that I have an accent when it used to be that I didn't have an accent, even though English is my second language.
I've been getting some ambiguous texts from members of the opposite sex. They appear to be checking in texts except, we're not a couple nor are we dating. The contents are pretty inconsequential, kind of like John Mayer's Twitter updates. I am tempted to reply with, "Please state the purpose of your text going forward." But instead, I reply with more asinine content.
I was just told by someone of similar ethnic background that my cultural heritage brings her "comfort."
I'm racking my brain for outside-of-work social activities that everyone can enjoy, even without alcohol. Speed Jenga comes to mind, but that would require some work on my part. Then I thought, but who doesn't like drinking? Unless you are deathly allergic. I think non-drinkers may have missed a crucial developmental stage in their lives. I would certainly make sure my kids drank and are strong beer pong contenders, That is, once they have reached legal drinking age.
I was having a pretty Australian day, i.e. I thought I was starting to sound more Aussie. I was doing the inflections and pronouncing some of the words just a bit more funny. My buzz was killed when an Aussie came up to me and point blank asked me if I was American because they could detect my accent. It's odd to be told that I have an accent when it used to be that I didn't have an accent, even though English is my second language.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Not so Manic Monday
How good is this? A bank holiday to extend my weekend. It's for all the hard work banks have put in for the global financial crisis. And before you throw something at me, I am totally kidding. I think this was in place back in 1912 through some parliamentary act. You know, back when people worked really hard for their money counting money, putting it in bags marked with dollar signs, and risking bank robbers that looked like Johnny Depp. It reminds me of the "freebie" days back in grade school when it was a non-holiday no-school day for the teachers and students. I am actually looking forward to Monday.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Latin Explosion
I went to a "Mexican" restaurant for dinner last night. I use quotes because I don't think they exist in the Land Down Under. My tour guide was an Aussie who saw my eyes light up when I heard the words "Mexican food." After a bit of scavenger hunt in Surry Hills via taxi, we found Cafe Pacifico. The entrance to the establishment was crowned with a red neon sign, under which was a set of stairs and red walls leading up to a door with a pot holder duct taped to its edge to prevent the door from making loud slams when shut. I felt like Alice in Wonderland about to see what was the bottom of the rabbit hole.
As I opened the door it creaked eerily like a haunted house, then before me a puppet tied to a lever to the door ascended while another puppet descended. To our right was the receptionist counter where they informed us our table was not yet ready. As we headed to the bar to wait for our table, I took in the decor. The restaurant was dimly lit, tables had free standing candles. There were barn like beams in the ceiling and the walls were lined with kitschy latin paraphrenlia ranging from Frida Kahlo to bull fighting matadors. It was like a ho-down meets dia de los muertos fiesta; in other words, it was like TGIF meets El Torritos.
The bar had an extensive and excellent selection of Latin spirits, ranging from Cachaca to Tequila. This is where the confusion lies. I think the word "Mexican" loosely translates to Brazilian/Cuban/Spanish/Mexcian in the restaurant and perhaps continent. It took me a while to find the margarita section. I was happy to learn they served old fashion margaritas on ice but they still shook it like a cocktail; I'll let that slide. It was a bit on the sweet side but still by far the better margarita I've had out here. Dos Equis (pronounced Dos Ee-kwis here) was a disappointment. I swear they must import stale Mexican beers out here, or they don't know how to keep it fresh.
The menu looked promising, and I went with the shredded beef burrito. It arrived on a super hot plate that scalded, just like the Mexican joints back home. On it was the burrito covered with melted cheese and a red sauce topped by a very generous globe of sour cream topped with a single olive (olive? really?). The burrito was then bordered by a pool of refried beans flagged with a single tortilla chip and a pile of spanish rice with what appears to be a small wedge of orange, almost just like home. The table was set with a small bowl of chips and salsa, not as generous as back home but at least it was free. The salsa was good, had a sneaky kick to it, and it was perhaps the best part of the meal as the beef was devoid of any real flavor. Too bad the salsa came in such controlled portions.
Part way through our meal one of the waiters brought out a slice of chocolate cake with a sparkler lit on top. He delivered it to the birthday girl at the table next to us with a giant sombrero to be her momento. (Getting pretty damn home sick at this point). Then the waiters started throwing colorful streamers throughout the restaurant, some even caught on fire from the candles but it was under control. Then out of nowhere our waiter delivers shots of unsolicited tequila and sangrita. (I'm in love).
To wrap up this chimichanga, Cafe Pacifico was a little bit of home and everyone else's latin moms combined. I am not sure if they were confused with what the definition of Mexican was, or they were the one-stop shop for a taste of everything latin. While I still don't understand why it's so hard to find decent Mexican food outside of the States (when you can always find a decent Japanese place anywhere on the globe), I at least now know one place in Sydney to get my margarita and salsa fix.
As I opened the door it creaked eerily like a haunted house, then before me a puppet tied to a lever to the door ascended while another puppet descended. To our right was the receptionist counter where they informed us our table was not yet ready. As we headed to the bar to wait for our table, I took in the decor. The restaurant was dimly lit, tables had free standing candles. There were barn like beams in the ceiling and the walls were lined with kitschy latin paraphrenlia ranging from Frida Kahlo to bull fighting matadors. It was like a ho-down meets dia de los muertos fiesta; in other words, it was like TGIF meets El Torritos.
The bar had an extensive and excellent selection of Latin spirits, ranging from Cachaca to Tequila. This is where the confusion lies. I think the word "Mexican" loosely translates to Brazilian/Cuban/Spanish/Mexcian in the restaurant and perhaps continent. It took me a while to find the margarita section. I was happy to learn they served old fashion margaritas on ice but they still shook it like a cocktail; I'll let that slide. It was a bit on the sweet side but still by far the better margarita I've had out here. Dos Equis (pronounced Dos Ee-kwis here) was a disappointment. I swear they must import stale Mexican beers out here, or they don't know how to keep it fresh.
The menu looked promising, and I went with the shredded beef burrito. It arrived on a super hot plate that scalded, just like the Mexican joints back home. On it was the burrito covered with melted cheese and a red sauce topped by a very generous globe of sour cream topped with a single olive (olive? really?). The burrito was then bordered by a pool of refried beans flagged with a single tortilla chip and a pile of spanish rice with what appears to be a small wedge of orange, almost just like home. The table was set with a small bowl of chips and salsa, not as generous as back home but at least it was free. The salsa was good, had a sneaky kick to it, and it was perhaps the best part of the meal as the beef was devoid of any real flavor. Too bad the salsa came in such controlled portions.
Part way through our meal one of the waiters brought out a slice of chocolate cake with a sparkler lit on top. He delivered it to the birthday girl at the table next to us with a giant sombrero to be her momento. (Getting pretty damn home sick at this point). Then the waiters started throwing colorful streamers throughout the restaurant, some even caught on fire from the candles but it was under control. Then out of nowhere our waiter delivers shots of unsolicited tequila and sangrita. (I'm in love).
To wrap up this chimichanga, Cafe Pacifico was a little bit of home and everyone else's latin moms combined. I am not sure if they were confused with what the definition of Mexican was, or they were the one-stop shop for a taste of everything latin. While I still don't understand why it's so hard to find decent Mexican food outside of the States (when you can always find a decent Japanese place anywhere on the globe), I at least now know one place in Sydney to get my margarita and salsa fix.
Cue Music
(Sorry K#, you'll have to bear with me on this funny feeling one).
I know that look.
I've seen it before.
I've seen it on him before,
and I didn't believe my eyes.
Then, it was gone in a blink.
Then, it was Katie Perry's Hot N Cold.
I know that look, too.
It's one I've given and received.
It's a question to be answered,
but I choose self preservation.
The query eats away at what remains.
The query remains.
Then, it was Lady Gaga's Poker Face.
Then, it was the Killers' Change Your Mind
that breaks down the walls,
that breaks down my soul,
that breaks my spirit to no more.
Frustration, Confusion, Disappointment, Realization.
It's the same cycle.
It's the same circle
getting smaller and smaller to a point
until there's nowhere else to go.
We're all the same,
or I am blind.
Someone send in the clowns.
All that's left are sirens of silence.
I know that look.
I've seen it before.
I've seen it on him before,
and I didn't believe my eyes.
Then, it was gone in a blink.
Then, it was Katie Perry's Hot N Cold.
I know that look, too.
It's one I've given and received.
It's a question to be answered,
but I choose self preservation.
The query eats away at what remains.
The query remains.
Then, it was Lady Gaga's Poker Face.
Then, it was the Killers' Change Your Mind
that breaks down the walls,
that breaks down my soul,
that breaks my spirit to no more.
Frustration, Confusion, Disappointment, Realization.
It's the same cycle.
It's the same circle
getting smaller and smaller to a point
until there's nowhere else to go.
We're all the same,
or I am blind.
Someone send in the clowns.
All that's left are sirens of silence.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I Got Nothing
What can I say? I got nothing. I'm not being a slacker, but ever since my trip home I have been having major blogger's block. Not that life hasn't been interesting. One of my coworkers got quarantined in China for Swine Flu, that consequently resulted in my whole work area to be disinfected. Just last week I managed to embarrass myself at the gym by nearly slipping off the treadmill. I have not yet gotten back to my old pilates routine, but I did try kickboxing, again, I managed to hurt myself there, too. I also got to go to my first AFL game which is Aussie rules football, not to be confused with Rugby Union or Rugby League or American Grid Iron. Oh and E moved closer to the city, and now I have a frequent rider pass to the Monorail (yes it is just like the one in Disneyland). So it's not for lack of material... perhaps just lack of time to think of semi-entertaining blogs to put forth the events in virtual space. Have I lost the ability to blog? I've heard about this happening to middle-aged men...hmm.
With that said, I am now resorting to a shout-out to the special peeps. Miss you guys and the babies related to you. You know who you are, you're the only people who might still read this.
Can't promise something better, but I will try harder. I am under some censorship here as I learned recently that Australia does not have the freedom of speech.
With that said, I am now resorting to a shout-out to the special peeps. Miss you guys and the babies related to you. You know who you are, you're the only people who might still read this.
Can't promise something better, but I will try harder. I am under some censorship here as I learned recently that Australia does not have the freedom of speech.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Don't Drop the Baby
I'm not a great baby person. In fact, I'm pretty sure babies are afraid of me, and without specific instructions, I'd probably drop them out of incompentence. Then I saw my old roommate's baby boy and all bets are off. I don't think my biological clock's alarm is going off, but I thought, if this cool couple could have a baby and retain their identity, maybe it's not so bad afterall. Besides, they have an adorable legacy to grow up in their footsteps.
I am kicking myself for forgetting my camera, but believe me, this baby is cute not because I know his parents, but he is really cute (especially when asleep). I wonder if I am missing out on something as the jokes go around the table at the couples. My only comeback is I'm still working on a donor. No, I'm not looking for the sympathetic look or the "You'll get there some day," encouragement. I'm pretty sure I'll be the cool aunt/babysitter, just not the next one to produce another playdate. With that said, I am really happy for my friends moving on to the next stage because they are really good friends, and I've missed them in Oz. The baby's just a bonus =).
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