So about a week into my Stateside vacay, I finally figured out what was keeping me down. At first I thought it was just general laziness or jetlag or moodiness issues. All of those certainly could have contributed to my overall discomfort, but the main problem was allergies. Turns out, I had picked the perfect time of year for the Bay area. Trees, flowers, grasses– they were simultanously pumping out the pollen, and according to the Chinese radio station, this year was especially bad due to the unseasonably wet period last month. No wonder my eyes were constantly irritated, and I was having sneezing attacks (like ten sneezes at a time). I know, I really should have put two and two together sooner…

I decided to head back to the acupuncturist. Usually, results take a few sessions; this gave my dad (the western med advocate) and John more reasons to call acupuncture a scam. Maybe, but I did acupuncture for allergies last year and thought the treatment was really effective. Before that, I had tried the pills, but they only worked to a point. The ENT doctor said Nasonex was the only thing for me, but being someone already prone to nose bleeds, I wanted other options.

I’ll admit relief from allergies seemed a little harder won this year than last. The other day, I was in the middle of a full-on attack when I entered Dr. Lin’s office for session 4. My eyes were red and watery, the eyelids swollen (Think Benicio del Toro, aka Mr. Bee-stung Eyes), the nose enlarged… I was a damn mess, and a total zombie. I suppose Dr. Lin realized I was really desperate, because she jabbed me with many more needles than usual, like five on my nose alone plus a ton around my sinus pressure points and on my hand and legs. Despite being very fine gage, those needle can really pack a punch when piercing through. But it worked! I felt ten times better the next day. Dr. Lin also gave me herbal tablets… I think the conclusion is clear: acupuncture works for allergies.

I used to consider myself a dog person. It was a label I liked, welcomed even. After meeting the founder of an online social networking/dating service (he contacted me through StarPups*Shanghai) a year ago, I realized dogs could be my filter for meeting cool people. Well, I take that back now. Why? Because there are dog people who are insane. They don’t understand that dogs are still just dogs. They pamper and baby and basically anthropomorphize their dogs to death. In other words, they fuck up their animals. And it happens a lot. Just watch Dog Whisperer, and you’ll see what I mean. It’s not the dogs. It’s their owners. Like Caesar says, “I rehabilitate dogs. I train people.” His clients are very obviously messed up, and lucky for me, many of them congregate at the dog park.

So there’s this huge 3-acre fenced-in dog park in San Mateo. The park is relatively new and was built on an old landfill (hurray for land reuse!). Last week, I took the pups there. Remy’s always been a bit uneasy initially at dogparks. Nothing really worrisome, but her hackles go up and sometimes, she flashes some teeth towards other dogs. The dogs establish their placement in the hierarchy and everything is fine in a matter of seconds. So the other day, a lady is there with her just-groomed (read: prissy) Bouvier. Remy does her thing, but he continues to show interest and prance around her. Obviously, he doesn’t feel threatened if he’s still wagging his tail, bopping around. Remy flashes some teeth then barks twice. I say “No” firmly, because I realize this isn’t optimal behavior. Of course, zippo aggression is ideal. Well, the owner throws her hands up and is like “What’s the problem?” Seconds later, Remy turns towards the Bouvier and gets down on her front paws, in play position. The lady, worried already, calls Bo to come. He ignores her and continues bouncing around Remy. I tell her they’re just playing. Do you know how she responds? “Well, I don’t want them playing if they’re not going to play properly.” What the fuck? Play properly? Are you serious? They’re goddamn dogs. What do you want them to do, shake hands first? Ask permission beforehand? And who the hell are you, the dog playground police? I mean, if you really have issue with who your dog interacts with, get control of your animal. Teach him to actually respond to his moronic, lame-o name! Fucking bitch. I was so angered by her snotty, log-up-the-ass reply. And yet, in true passive aggressive fashion, I said nothing. I just held Remy until Bo ran off. Later, Martin started playing in a group that included Bo. Remy joined in and started nipping Martin on his back. She harasses him like this all the time. This is normal behavior between the two. I don’t think freaky lady knew R&M were together, and she had his horrified look on her face like Remy was brutalizing Martin. Jesus Christ. Then, she tried to get Bo away from the group again, because attack dog Remy was involved. I mean, fine. You don’t have to like my Remy. But then don’t be an asshole either. Stop putzing around the exit gate: clear out so people can go to the damn water fountain area. She took her damn time exiting, and then she started chit chatting with some dude, who had just arrived with his dog. Then, get this: she covered her mouth and whispered to him as they both looked at Remy. Gee, I wonder what she told him. Yes, you’re right. Remy is a bloody fighting dog. She’s gonna kill your poofy, sheltered dog (who also happens to be double Remy’s size). You’d better warn the other park goers. Their dogs are in danger too.

This is exactly what I’m talking about: overprotective, psycho dog people. They’re like the people who refuse to clip the nails because the dog yelps and cries. Or they won’t spay/neuter, because the animal endures some post-op discomfort and pain. I mean, what about human pain? I cut my finger on cardboard, so should I never open a package again? These are not my kind of dog people. But they are fucking everywhere. And they only feed my misanthropic tendencies.

John’s been itching for a convertible. Before our move to China, he drove a sports coupe. Personally, I find sports cars a bit too flashy, not to mention impractical, but hey, that was his car and he was “only going to be 25 once.” Whatever, I hear that excuse no matter how old he is. So, fast forward five years and the car once again tops of our list of necessitites (actually, it ranked second to his big-screen tv). Thankfully, John showed a little self-control this time. Coming from a family of Toyota loyalists, I was very pleased when he called to report that he had purchased a used Camry. Yes, I know the choice is boring as hell, but hey, I’m almost a thirty-something; it’s all downhill from here, baby. I should mention that John prefaced his news with this: I WILL have a convertible at some point while we are in California. To that, I replied, “We’ll talk about it later.” Haha, tricksies.

So the Camry has about 90k miles on it. Last week I took it into the shop for the usual 90k-mile service: timing belt, water pump, new brakes, etc. Yeah, wasn’t cheap, but I got to testdrive a Prius, the electric hybrid. Oh yeah, I’m in Leo’s club now. Do you even have to ask? Duh! Leo DiCaprio, of course. The biggest tree-huggin’ A-list celeb out there (out of like, five). Leo and I, man: we tight. Ok, enough with the bs. I should be ashamed: clearly, my addiction to Hollywood gossip is stronger than ever, despite my living in China.

And truth be told, the Prius was a disappointment. At first I felt all cutting edge, starting the car with an on/off button (no ignition key) and shit, but that novelty wore off quickly. Toyota tweaked the dashboard, and the digital spedometer feels like it’s 100 meters away. Then at red lights, the car engine just shuts off. I don’t know, operating the car is just weird, unnatural, and counterintuitive. On top of that, its mpg isn’t all that impressive: 50 mpg or something for a car whose body reminds me of a Geo. Remember those? They were like cars the size of golf carts– no wonder they had high gas mileage; they were practically soapbox derby cars! It’s kinda cheating when you scrimp on size and materials, you know?

Ah well. I enjoyed testing out the Prius. I felt all green and tree-huggery for the day. So special… at least until I ran into about 50 of them driving around town. The onboard GPS system was cool too. Accurate directions, delivered in a calm, soothing voice with plenty of notice for upcoming turns and exits. What, us? Arguing about directions? No way. You’re reading too much into this.

John says it’s just another indication of how much I deprive my pups, but yes, Martin eats carrots– raw. He didn’t always eat veggies. In fact, it was only after I read a dog nutrition book advising that dogs get some fresh veggies that I started incorporating leafy greens, carrots, peas, and the like into their kibble. In the beginning, they never ate that stuff plain. It had to be coated with soup or gravy or oil. They spat out the uncovered bits. Then I started giving them pureed or chopped veggies, remnants from my juicing adventures. I was pleased to discover that once I mixed this slop into the kibble, both dogs were too damn lazy to pick it out. Haha, I’m tricksies. Either way, Martin still doesn’t crunch his food. I swear it’s a miracle the kibble doesn’t come out whole in his stool. I never hear him crunching; I just hear the soft Lab lips slopping around and within a few minutes, the bowl is empty again.

Now that we’re back in the States, there’s plenty of food selection for the dogs. Jesus Christ. How many different kinds of dog kibble can there possibly be? John’s work is right next door to a Pet Club, and yesterday I was in that store for about an hour looking at just dry dog food. We have them back on Wellness, except now they eat the senior formula (sniff, sniff). My friend recommended Nutro, but there’s Nutro Max and Nutro Natural Choice. What’s the difference between these two lines of the same brand? No frickin’ clue. I tried to research it on the Nutro website. One says for max performance. The other touts shiny coat and healthy skin. Must I pick one or the other? Why my dilemma? Well, you know me. I’m a cheapie, and well, Pet Club offers coupons for Nutro but not Wellness… and the price difference is significant. I know, I have too much damn time on my hands, debating dog food! I warned you that I have OCD! Anyway, in the end, I decided to stick with Wellness. The dogs seem to like it and well, brand loyalty can’t be a bad thing. (After all, Toyota has never failed me.) So for now, that’s what we’ll do… at least until Pet Club publishes their next coupon flyer.

In other news, I’ve been relaxing, chilling at home mostly. Our apartment complex has an outdoor heated pool PLUS a hot tub. Of course since I have self-image issues, I only go when absolutely no one is around. That translates to only three trips so far. I found myself a nice one-piece at Target and did my little aerobic exercises in the pool. I also tried the community gym. It’s certainly no Physical. I miss my elliptical at the gym in Shanghai. Here I have to lower my standards to StairMaster. Ugh. Aren’t I the fitness snob now?

Meanwhile, Mandarin studying is not happening. I aced my midterms, but shit, that was eons ago. Surely, my brain has reformatted and wiped everything by now. Yeah, old age really sucks. No retention I tell you. Ok well the pups are harassing me for their evening walk. Btw, take note: in Shanghai, it costs 2000 RMB (~240 USD) to license a dog. Here? $12. No wonder so many people in Shanghai don’t register… duh!

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.