So Dirty, You’d Think it Was Old

Came home with pressure in my head from the 10 or so hours of flying. It’s been bothering me a few days. I feel as if there is a humongous plug inside my deeper nasal caverns. So what do I do? I try to clean it out with nose sniffer things, pick it out, blow the shit outta my nose. Today I tried again to blow out the pressure and instead of blowing out a wad of boogies (what I thought was causing the strain), blood begins to ooze out of my nose. Now, usually when I get nosebleeds, the best thing to do to quickly put a stopper on that gushing river of red is to blow out the blood clot. That’s exactly what I did. Except the blood clot decided to fly down onto my chest and onto the neckline of my jersey dress instead of onto the paper I had smashed into my face. EW. And the bleeding STILL did not stop, so I blew again, and more blood splattered across my skin and a bit onto my neckline. The tissue was INMYFACE.

I spent the better part of the lunch break at home dousing the blood with hydrogen peroxide to get the blood out and then throwing in a load of delicate and gentle wash.

Then it occurred to me:

I spend so much time trying to improve on my outward appearance I forget to maintain my insides.

A couple of weeks ago (before Hawaii), I spent the better part of my 15 minute commutes home inexplicably crying. During runs, I’d find myself oddly emotional and feeling the need to let out a good weeping, complete with body-racking sighs and hiccuping.

I spend LOTS of time trying to look stylish and pretty, choosing just the right clothes, jewelry and accessories and make up. I can sit online for hours perusing fashion blogs, fashion network sites, reading fashion ‘zines to brush up on the latest trends and how to modify them so I don’t look like a trend zombie, and the like. But I don’t spend much time thinking about what’s going on inside myself. I don’t try to explore or tinker with the inner machinery that works my body or my head. I don’t read or feed the brain that so feverishly used to devour new novels with broad ideas. In fact, I hardly try to figure out why I was so painfully emotional for days on end. I cower and hide from it, hoping those things will bury themselves under the vast number of stimuli I constantly immerse myself in.

Even now, other than this realisation, I will spend little time to expound. I have too much work to do. There are emails to catch up on and blogs to read. Maybe I’ll do it later, after I iron tomorrow’s outfit.

Back in the Saddle, but not exactly riding forward into the sunset…

Let’s just say I’m back in the swing of things, but not exactly excitedly riding forth into the vast horizon. I’m quite set on the idea of moving to Hawaii when we graduate from our respective situations: me, school; N, job… If he doesn’t get into the MBA Program at Michigan.

AND if our wedding doesn’t cost us house and home. Note: this does not mean we’ve chosen a date and started writing things in stone. Trying to plan a wedding whilst trying to graduate is exactly what creates crazy in people.

I’m sorry I haven’t posted any photos or any thoughts of our trip. I’m quite busy just trying to readjust to being here and not on vacation mode. I also started school the day after we landed, so it’s pretty much impossible to run, cook dinner, clean up the house AND write the blog with the few hours I get at home after 4 hours of commuting and attending classes (following the 9 hours of working). I’ll get on it at one point.

In other news, I looked at job listings in Hawaii, and found that there is more opportunity in my line of work than there is in Detroit, and with better pay (slightly). If I become a dedicated reading/language/literature teacher/tutor, the benefits and pay are even higher. I think I should focus that way and continue my writing. The cultural heritage in Hawaii is much easier to find than here in Michigan, and I feel more welcome and at home in Hawaii than I do here. Here, I am a foreigner. There, I am a local. Here, I am exotic. There, I blend in. Here, I get asked what country I came from. There, I get asked what neighbourhood I live in. Here, I’m asked if I’m Chinese, Japanese, or Korean. There, I’m confirmed as either Hawaiian or Pilipina. Here, I am asked stupid, quizzical, ignorant questions about my heritage and food habits. There, I get no strange, way-ward glances, or confused stares. If there is one place other than Southern California where I feel like, at least on the surface that I belong, it would be in Hawaii…

Anyway. Whatever. I’m whining.

Big Announcement

First actual blog post of our trip (photos coming later, promise!)… No Internets here at the Seaview Suite; the owners are older and don’t know their router isn’t working. So I.m blogging on my phone.

Yesterday, hardest hike and distance of my life: nine or so miles of the treacherous Kalalau trail along the Na’pali coast (google for more info–if you ever brave it, it it will be the hardest thing you ever do, I promise). On our way back after about 5.5 miles of single track seriously hard, muddy, move-2 inches-off-the-trail-and-you-plummet-to-a-horrible-horrible-death-among-the paradise-cliffs, N started running far ahead of me, leaving me panting and frustrated and slipping over muddy rocks and roots to catch up.

I finally caught up to chew him out along one of the switchbacks on the trail, overlooking the aquamarine jewel waters washing onto Hanakapiai beach. He was fiddling with his Camelbak and I was prepping myself to rip him a new one. He spun around and in his hands was a silver little box. Sweaty, muddy, and grinning nervously ear to ear, N knelt on a slippery, red rock, opened the box, and said, “So, you think this wait was worth it?” At that point I burst into tears and he had to hold me until I regained verbal capability. About three or four minutes later, N said, “I didn’t get your answer!” To which I hiccuped, “You didn’t ask the Question!”

He got on his knee again, and asked, “Will you marry me?”

I started crying again. “The answer is Yes.”

“Well it’s gotta be.”

Finally, fourteen months after buying their engagement and eternity diamonds (for her), August 27th, Nathan Andrew L and Mae Ko M, got engaged to be married. The wedding will take place Spring 2010 (probably).

Ahhhh, yes, it was worth the wait!

Prep: The things you do before a long trip reveals how really fucking OCD you are.

So much to do. Only so much caffeine I can drink before it’s time to go and … Oh Oh Oh.

The Beloved and I will be on a plane by noon tomorrow, kissing the sticky, oppressive heat of the Midwest goodbye, and blinking sleepily as we fly into the darkness of the West. We will make a brief stop in Hell-A and it will be another flight over my old Ocean from my Old Shore to Honolulu. From there, we will hop aboard a small commuter flight to Lihue, Kauai. We will rent our little Green Mobile (Aveo - Smallest car I could find) and driving clear across the isle to the little VRBO condo with close to 360 degrees of view of the surrounding waters, beach and neighbourhood.

I will try my utmost to update you on my experiences running and experimenting with hot weather fashion (I don’t venture into the sun much on account of my condition–sun exposure can make lupus victims quite sick), and any other thoughts and tangents that strike my fancy. Hoo boy, I am so nervous.

I am a nervous wreck before travel. Remind me to double medicate myself before I get on the plane tomorrow. I tend to swell and stiffen and ache and lose mobility in almost all joints on any plane ride longer than two hours.

I think I’ve gone through the house and done everything I can possibly think of.

-Are the plants watered? Check.
-Refrigerator temperature turned up to save energy? Check.
-Thermostat turned to 82F, A/C on to prevent mold? Check.
-Clothes put away, rooms tidy for our cleaning friend? Check.
-Plants prone to withering under bright light brought out of line of direct sunlight? Check.
-Water heat lowered to save energy? Check.
-Reminded mum in law to come over to water plants thrice while we are gone? Check.
-Will it actually happen? Debatable.
-Toiletries capped with plastic wrap and then bagged in Zip-Locs? Check.
-Running clothes folded and packed? Check.
-SPF 70 in hand luggage? Check.
-SPF 50 in suitcase? Check.
-Make up and hair shit sealed and stowed? Check.
-Check lists checked and double checked? Check and … not yet.

Am I forgetting to check on something? Am I forgetting to forget? Am I forgetting that this is going to be a vacation, and I should just chill the fuck out? Check. It’s not a real vacation if I haven’t had a super maxi freak-out, which, so far has not yet happened. My office has been too shitty to really let that occur.

I think I need sex, to buy new make up, play some Final Fantasy XII, or just break down and sleep.

Someone save me from myself. My eyes are so dry it hurts to blink.

Two words

Stuh.
Resssssssssssssssed.

Travel Bug

In just slightly more than forty-eight hours, we will be en route to the lush, verdant island of Kauai, Hawaii.

Never before have I looked more forward to a trip. Never before have I felt so stressed about the trip and the time preceding it. Never before have so many people pinched, poked, pressed and prodded me about a vacation (everyone assumes I will come back engaged, I try not to care, because this is about relaxation, but their constant speculation bothers me–I’m not a celebrity who belongs in a tabloid). Never before have I had so much to wonder about.

This is my first long vacation in years, and I’ve never, ever been to Hawaii. This will prove to be fun and interesting, and I will try to keep you all abreast of my running, fashion, beach, and other sundry adventures! (If the place has wi-fi.) If not, I will try to blog via iPhone, but that will prove tedious and tiresome.

I’m excited, and frightened, and stressed, and frustrated at the same time. Please, no engagement ponderance. It vexes me to no end. Kthx.

**EDIT**
I am hating my job so badly right at this moment, I seriously cannot wait until 3:30 when I can say “Peace out” to this motherfucker of a job. I am so stressed. Thank Jesus or the volcano gods for Hawaii.

Sundays are a Mofo

Wore this outfit to run errands Sunday afternoon, and while it didn’t occur to me at the time, the perfect title for that kind of Sunday is a line from the Eels song “It’s a Motherfucker.”

It’s a motherfucker, getting through a Sunday.
Talking to the walls… just me again.

Granted, the song is a sad, lilting melody mourning the loss of love, wrought with dejection and loneliness. The delicate piano notes ring gently and almost sweetly, but with a longing on sustained notes. It’s strange, how, something so sweet and innocent and painful could have such a harsh title.

Anyway, whatever. This has nothing to do with music. Sunday, in particular, really was a motherfucker. Foul of mood, lupus strain of neck, and stressing significant other fuming in other room at my prostrate seeming relaxedness (which in reality was lounging with extreme pain and a 48 hour old headache which my meds were not doing anything to ameliorate). It was a day. He went to fix his Apple Powerbook Titanium at the mall, and I went to Trader Joe’s to bulk up our seriously pitiful pantry.

Having spent the entire day lying on the couch or on the floor with a pillow propped up under my neck to try to sleep away the pain in my neck and head, I had no idea how hot it really would be outside. Jersey cotton on this day was kind of a misjudgement. I felt like the colours of the day were fading and melting, bleeding into each other. The haze of the sky melted and sagged into the colours of the road which ran and soaked into the colours of the buildings and wilting trees. An orange, sticky, sweltering concoction of nature. Ugh. It was gross.

I came home, and we went to see The Dark Knight, where I celebrated that Katie Holmes wasn’t in it.

High waist pencil skirt, American Apparel.
Vneck, American Apparel.
Stripe tank, Urban Outfitters.
Shoes, Jeffrey Campbell.

Beauty is Earth Deep; What I Wore Today: pop of colour, bit of nude

I purchased a light pressed powder at the local beauty store for my upcoming vacation to Hawaii to use in lieu of my usual SPF pressed powder foundation. My face is a combo skin type, with an incredibly oily T zone. The oil that surfaces on my nose by the end of a non-made up, non-blotting day is so slick and shiny, it could probably power your engine for the next three months and much cleaner than those synthetic special concoctions designed for Premium engines they try to pawn off on you. Yes, it is that bad.

Anyway, I’m a loyalist. I’m like those women who used to purchase from Mary Kay back in the day when the company used to make those gold and pink compacts out of PVC plastic, and it wasn’t to support Breast Cancer research. Loyal. Brand loyal. My mum used to swear by Mary Kay and then when she found out that they’re not that great and stopped selling them (who could, when everything they gave their sales reps was pink or an unflattering pastel fake snake skin mauve?), she signed onto the gospel of Clinique, and then later onto M.A.C., for its vogue, sleek midnight packaging, and the promise of a new lipstick with every six used containers brought back. She is still a loyal M.A.C. and Clinique girl, and she will never go back to anything else. She is old school like that, loyal to a fault, unwavering in her support, and unfaltering in her faithfulness.

Though her motivation for switching to M.A.C. makeup was the lure of a freebie, I praise her inadvertent Green-ness in her beauty choices. M.A.C. pretty much was using this bait of a free product to hook new customers and keep them, however, this programme was popular and advertised by any M.A.C. counter attendant before being “Green” was a trend. Bring back any 6 used/empty M.A.C. cartons, containers and get a free lipstick or something. What an idea! The used containers would go back to the manufacturer to be re-fashioned into new ones made of out of like, 40% post consumer recycled content.

Bravo! Unfortunately, I hate MAC products, the consistency and the way the MAC “Experts” at the counters pile the shit on my face. I hate the way the make up feels against my horribly combo skin and by 8PM, the powder I’d applied at 8AM has congealed. Nope. I switched.

Enter Stila Cosmetics. While they do not have the obtrusive and self-promoting green-washing problem like a lot of cosmetic companies do, I did notice that all of Stila cosmetics do come in 100% recycled brown paper boxes. It doesn’t say anywhere on the website that it is an eco-conscious company, but many of their products are re-fillable and made from a recyclable plastic or metal.

Now, this company actually makes colours that compliment my hard-to-match, hard-to-shop-for darker Asian skin. To go to another would entail hours and hours and hours and lots of wasted dollars on testing out other manufacturers, which would thereby entail my heart breaking and my mouth cursing everyone in the world with easily matchable skin (i.e., white people) for whom the majority of make up is made. No, no, no. That just wouldn’t do. So, in my constant quest to make ecologically-conscious and responsible choices, I had to write Stila to ask them if they had a programme similar to MAC’s, so that for the most recent purchase, I could return the plastic to them in order for the circle to be closed, as I couldn’t reduce or reuse it, so it would have to be recycled.

Good afternoon,

I noticed Stila’s packaging is made from recycled paper. Some of your products are not reusable, such as a the pressed powders or blushes, and I was wondering if Stila has a program to send back used, empty makeup containers (like MAC’s recycling program), so that we can all be pretty but ecologically conscious.

I am a loyal Stila customer/user, and would like to be eco-conscious/responsible in all areas of my life including my beauty routines and products.

Could you kindly advise if Stila, Corp. has such a program?
/etc, etc.

You get the idea.

To me, beauty is also earth deep. It isn’t just about what you put on your face, or how you package yourself with your clothes. I think beauty should be about the greater good you try to affect on the world. How you carry yourself should also resonate with greater consequences in the world around you. This life you’re living isn’t just about you. Even in small choices we make, it takes us a step closer to ugly or a step closer to beautiful. If I spend this much money and put this much effort into my face, the least I can do is make sure the money I pump into my face doesn’t damage the planet, but in fact, gives back to it in some way. We are all connected, and I think the highest extent of this connection is that we’re all living on Mother Earth, and how we treat her and each other reflects what level of beauty or ugliness we have within us.

That said, my outfit today was made out of cotton, a highly renewable source and… my outfit was not green. :(

I thought I’d be a bit funky today and not match any of my accessories at all. Plus, I don’t have a nude coloured belt, so it doesn’t work, anyway. I really adore this tent dress, I do. It’s got give, and it flatters me, even though I’m a waif with a larger than average chest. The material is soft and airy, but thick enough that I can wear it into Fall (which I can’t wait for), and it’s got unexpected details that thrill me (i.e., bold pleats at the neckline, hidden pockets). The slash painted plaid is pretty bold, but I really like it for its assertiveness without being aggressive. The length is longer than I like, but when I put on a cinching belt, it goes back to being work appropriate, so I might just have to forgo the whole tailoring thing until I’ve finished working that job.

It was cold this morning, about 64F, so I threw on a lightweight scarf and some sheer tights, which came in handy inside, though the temperature soared up to just sub 80F. I threw on my nude shoes to break them in for the wedding during the up-coming Hawaii excursion. They’re more of a Fall trend, nude shoes with jewel tones or an LBD, but I figure, hey, they match my skin colour almost exactly, who the hell cares, really?

A potential back to school outfit, but considering most of my classes are held in a sweltering dungeon with no AC (yeah, attending classes in an old historically marked building is totally ace and by ace, I mean sucks donkey balls), I might not be wearing this until late October, when the weather in Michigan cools considerably. (And shortly thereafter becomes so frigid, it is considered unwise to go outside without pants, closed toe shoes, socks, and a hefty coat.)

Dress, Vera Wang VS. Quilted belt and scarf, H&M. Zen jade rose ring, Urban Outfitters. Nude Frill platforms, Jeffrey Campbell.

Hi, Hello, Wanna Give It a Go?

I have no idea where that title came from.

I had so many things I wanted to say today, but the afternoon swallowed them up. I went home, and on the way, the song I’d been repeating and repeating whilst I googled the lyrics and mentally sang along decided to replay itself in my head. Very loudly. A screeching descant above my evening newscast on NPR.

Now I feel you gone
‘Cause I know what side you’re on
And it’s not mine
And it’s not mine

It reminded me that I am my own worst enemy, and that I am constantly my own undoing. I am not my own fan, and I’m hardly ever on my own side. (Quite a juxtaposition from my cheery optimistic post last week, eh? But a lot of the times, ’tis too true. I wreck myself before I check myself. I turn the clock back to a few months ago, when I was buried in wretched self-doubt and turbulent self-sabotage. And I’m doing it again.

Tried to run 4 miles to N’s mum’s house, and after hauling 2 miles in 21:04, I crashed… started walking. The song began to replay in my head once I began to walk.

I walk the line between now and then
It’s deep sea diving, with no oxygen
Guess I went somewhere to hide
Far behind my eyes
I willed you there to see,
But you never came for me

But mile 3, I was crying freely, sobs that came up with a gurgle and a choking sigh, and then an anguished hiccup between huge tears. I sat down along the busy road under a pine tree and cried for a good fifteen minutes, without knowing the why or wherefore. All I could hear was this terrible, truthful, almost innocent yet accusatory, “I know what side you’re on, and it’s not mine,” singing at me. The face on the other side of that childish, sad, accusation, was a ten-year old me, scrawny at the ankles and tangled of hair. It was painful, and even now, I am tear-free, I still want to crumple into a ball with my face stuffed against my pillow and bawl my eyes out.

I have no idea. I only know my inner moppet is trying to tell me something about my mental situation, and it’s very, very sad.

(And so was my run.)
–Song, “Orbiting” by the Weepies

Dashed 2: What I wore and they hated/What I ran and he loved it

I mean this in a few meanings of the word.

1. Chictopia kicks my ass. Apparently I’m not fashionable enough for the trendoids of the world and it makes me sad. None of the outfits that garner oohs and ahs here (albeit plain to some, and interesting to others), are ever responded to. While there are some seriously unstylish people who dress their body in terrible ways who get into the style gallery and I get panned. It makes me sick to my stomach. I should never have signed up on that site to begin with.

2. Yesterday I sprinted the last bit of the 2.5 mile run with N and I got down from 8 min pace to a 5:45 pace for a good 3 full blocks (that’s a good 150 metre dash). N had a bit of a hard time keeping up for a second, I think. I at least surprised him! I haven’t run like that since track in junior high school. It is cool to know I still have it in me.

Here are the outfits that got panned. One is milquetoast yes, but IMO, it’s in the details that make it good. It got into the style gallery and then it was rescinded by someone. I don’t know how that happened! One is skanky ish, but it was for clubbing! And specifically noted! AUGH. Someone is seriously mean on the Style Council, voting down a bajillion new photos! I thought democracy in fashion was supposed to make people nice!

Work, Clubbing, Work

I’m going to bed.