The Crestfallen Kind

I think even though we forget about them all the time, downtrodden
people never forget about us more fortunate people because they once
were like us or they have always wanted to be like us.

Just want to do something meaningful, you know? Yes, writing a novel
or coming up with the answer to the origin of the universe is
meaningful, but that's not what I'm talking about.

I just want to be nice not just to the people that have taken niceness
for granted. People in the mainstream world expect niceness out of
each other. If the receptionist talks with less than a smile, they
automatically assume that he or she is just rude. They go
complaining. Niceness is not just nice anymore. Niceness is
required; it's part of the etiquette. Common practice.

And then there are those that receive no niceness because of how they
dress, or how poor they are, or whatever their circumstance. They are
greeted not only with no niceness, but treated with no dignity. When
the days grind on you like that, you'd have forgotten what niceness is
and how it feels like by the end of the day. Well, guess what? Even
the meanest person travelled down a path to arrive at where they are;
they have reasons to be the way they are. So what about them? We go
pointing fingers at the receptionist who's stressed out? We accuse
poor people, the downtrodden, the homeless for the community's
problems? We call people we've wronged terrorists? I just wish that
I could stay quiet and watch and listen and understand.

I feel like I should be volunteering right now because I don't want to
forget.

Evolutionarily un-weird

Teddybears, flowers, chocolate and jewelry aside, exclusivity is the most valuable thing I can ever give to anyone. It represents all the opportunity costs in time, in feelings and, most importantly, in memory that I am willing to give, but can never get back -- not even when you do want to give it back.

Once you let someone in, there is no turning back. It is not just the pain, but this someone will always have a space in your mind, your memory. The places, songs, scents, words ... all that will remind you of that person. Your emotional real estate will still be occupied no matter how hard you try to pursue an eviction.
You are marked with a scar.

Formulaic

A stroll downtown
+
Lunch at Sushiland
+
Country club wedding
+
Camping
+
Doing it
+
Getting serenaded
+
Fighting and making up
+
2 swollen ankles
+
30 some odd rounds of bullet shells
+
A good night of laughter with roommates
=
Some good memories

Memorial Memories

Well, this weekend was pretty good. I mean, even despite getting mad at Brian a couple of times. I'm always the one getting mad at him, rarely him at me. I am just more particular about things.

So in short, Friday night , we just stayed home coz I was tired and was throwing a fit about decision-making. Yeah, don't ask.

Saturday was such a good day. First, we went to the Farmers' Market, where I took some pictures. Then, we went to the Saturday Market, followed by a good meal at our favorite sushi place, Sushi Land. We went home after lunch, dressed up and went to Laura's wedding at a country club. Laura is someone I work with.

The last wedding I went to, I was 10, so I really had no idea what to expect, except that I knew no one at the wedding, short of the few people from my workplace that showed up. Two of them are, well, bitches. The other was my cool boss. But who hangs out with their boss, right? No, actually, we got a table set up just for Brian and me, my boss and his wife and another couple that are friends with Laura. It was so much fun! I think we were the loudest table at the reception. Haha! Brian was dashing, a witty guy who makes things happen, such as getting us a table when there was no more seats for us left. Oh, my amazing man.

Sunday morning, we went camping at Cove Palisades. It was really nice at first ... a nice day, nice company ... until we talked about kids, the ones we don't have yet. Yeah, again, don't ask. I spent that night by myself and -- ha! -- managed to twist both of my ankles and jam my wrist in the dark and cold night while Brian was complete trashed and having fun. Not so much his fault as it was mine, but when I put those two pictures together and compare, I just can't help but to feel even more frustrated: having lots of drunken fun versus freezing half to death and twisting in pain alone. I was rather miserable. You'd think someone would have at least been curious enough to come check on me, but no. I didn't really think about this until now, but I wonder what would have happened if I had disappeared that night instead of just hurting my ankles. I mean, nobody even thought about me until late at night. Obviously, I felt quite abandoned and worse than I did orginally. (Note to Brian: in the case that I don't show up for hours, come find me. I could have fallen off the cliff or something.)

Next day, we went shooting. I shot a gun for the first time. Actually, I shot a shotgun, a rifle, a revolver and a semi-automatic handgun of sorts. It was fun. I got to take my aggression out. I'm normally somewhat of a firecracker already. Now, I really wouldn't mess with me, if I were you.

Anyway, now I'm at work. Let's hope nothing happens to me here.