My Chocolate-Coated Glasses

Escape Plan

2009-02-28T19:40:00.000-08:00

We've all had those days when things go unbelievably wrong. Unbelievably, inconceivably, everything just goes awry.

What to do?

Pray?

Stay home for three days?

Go out and have a good time with friends, regardless?

Get a pedicure?

Cut your hair?

Get an intense workout from the gym?

Work your ass off?

Read your favorite book?

Go shopping?

Talk to someone on the phone for 6 hours?

Surf the internet?

Play with your baby?

Go out with someone else?

Hit a pillow?

Throw a tantrum?

Watch a Brad Pitt movie?

Listen to U2?

Been there, done ALL that.

Doesn't change the fact that we still have to deal with the problem for it to go away.

So just do it. Deal with it. Finish it.

Chalk it up to experience.

And forget about it.

Smile, people! Lighten up! Don't take it so seriously!

Life is not about where you are, or where you're going. It's about the ride!
Bumps and potholes, air pockets and big waves, are part of it!

So just suck it up and brace yourself for that bad turbulence, the humongous traffic, the sea-sickness over troubled waters.

"This, too, shall pass."

We may not see how rough the travel ahead might be.
But we can certainly be better prepared next time: if not how to deal with the road ahead, how to pick ourselves up after a crash landing.

Control Freak-ing Out

2009-01-14T23:59:00.000-08:00

Recently, I have had the grand privilege of teeter-tottering on the line dividing the sane from those who are not.

Okay, I may be exaggerating. Just a little bit.

It's just one of those times when I lost my cool.

Which, for me, is BAD.

Melodrama?

First, let me orient you to MY take on what losing one's cool means.

Losing your cool, for me, is not the equivalent of losing your temper. When you lose your temper, sure, you've lost your cool. But you can lose your cool without even getting just a tad bit irritated. You can lose your cool when you're happy, sad, frightened, embarrassed, surprised, enamored--name a human emotion, and that's a venue where you can lose your cool.

Second, losing your cool is NOT the exact opposite of being stoic. When you're stoic, you are indifferent and unaffected by emotion. I believe that it is possible to fully, entirely, and satisfactorily express how you feel without losing your cool.

Third, the operational definition of "cool" is relative. My idea of "cool" might be completely different from the next person's. What may be cool for you may not be cool for me, and vice versa. When I jump up and down for joy in a public place, or laugh hysterically at a stupid joke, others might think I've lost it. For me, it's cool to express how you feel, as I have earlier said, so in my world, I'm still "cool" even if the world thinks I'm crazy to have to hug the parking attendant because I found an empty slot on the lot.

Lastly, losing one's cool is like showing the public a flash of mortality underneath that divine exterior. When someone's lost their cool, they become vulnerable fledglings, weaponless warriors, susceptible individuals who can be preyed upon by anyone and anything, weaklings rendered at the mercy of those who are stronger and more powerful, like paraplegics being thrown without life vests into the deep, murky waters of the sea!

Wow. I never thought losing one's cool could be such a big deal for me.

Now that I think about it, what IS the big deal anyway?

Is there something wrong with letting people in on the big secret that hey, I'm human and I can only go so far as to control myself, but enough is enough and I just have to let everyone know that I can't take it anymore and I just have to explode and express myself in a way that isn't cool, not even for me?

Is there something wrong with giving evidence to my humanity?

Well, thinking about it NOW, after all is said and done, and nothing can really be done about anything anymore anyway:

No. There's no big deal about losing my cool.

I have LOADS of cool!

No matter how much "cool" I lose, I have tons more where that came from!

Now THAT's cool.

WTF?!?!

2008-11-06T09:00:00.000-08:00

Isn't it funny how life throws you a curve ball, right when you least expect it, and you don't have your wits about you to know whether you should catch it or duck?

Here I am, minding my own business, when BAM!

I neither caught it nor ducked.

I just stood there and allowed the curve ball to hit me.

I thought I was already way past these curve-ball phases in life.

I keep telling myself, curve ball after curve ball, that that was the last one EVER to catch me unaware. Next time, I say, I'll be alive, awake, and alert enough to see these curve balls coming. I'll prepare myself with a bat to hit that curve ball out to center field, or a mitt to catch it on the fly, or a helmet so I can protect myself from being hit where it hurts.

But apparently, as the universe would have it, these curve-ball life phases can neither be outgrown nor avoided. And they can never be predicted.

Each and every single time, I get hit.

For some reason, I am neither awake nor alert, and I have no idea where my bat, mitt or helmet was at that instant when that curve ball hits me.

I'm just always left to ice away my bruises and recuperate from the aftermath of the trauma that is getting hit by the curve ball of life.

And all is well again. Until the next curve ball hits.

And I realize: I may not always have my bat, mitt, nor helmet ready. But it seems I know exactly how to find my ice bag to help relieve my bruises. I know where to lie down so my head won't spin so much. I know exactly which cabinet to look in to get my pain medications.

I know how to recover. Without even thinking about it.

And so it goes.

Life throws you curve balls. But only if you know how to play the game.

Don't want to get hit? Sit the inning out and watch the game from the dugout.

But you're sure to miss out on a LOT.

Murphy's Law

2008-03-03T04:23:00.000-08:00

Last weekend, I cooked for about 15 people to celebrate 3 birthdays. It was actually pot luck, but my contribution was to be the only one that's home-cooked on the table, so there's some pressure. That and the fact that people actually asked for that-dish-I-make-that-they-like-so-much-but-they-can't-remember-the-last-time-they-ate-it pasta dish. I also decided to make dessert.

The pasta is a cinch to make. So is dessert. Before I started doing anything, I already had my game plan squarely in my head, because I was already planning for this for the past 3 days. I visualized myself doing everything seamlessly, from the marketing and groceries, to the food preparation, to the cooking, and to the final presentation. I saw myself with about 2 hours to spare for fixing the table, the place, and myself up before everyone arrives. It was hardly a challenge.

This was NOT to be the case.

That fateful morning, everyone who's supposed to help with the grocery shopping and other errands was either sick or had an emergency to attend to, there was no parking at the wet market, 3 trips had to be made to the supermarket for "additional ingredients," people had to wait about 30 minutes for my pasta to be served, and the dessert, although yummy, didn't quite make it and died on the plate due to lack of refrigeration.

Everyone had a GREAT time, they all loved the pasta, they can't get over how yummy the dessert was, even if it looked more like porridge than anything else--and there I was, trying hard not to wail and sleep, smiling but dazed, smelling like garlic and bananas.

Everything that could go wrong DID go wrong. But that won't stop anyone from enjoying good food & great company.

What the @#$! is Crown Lengthening?!?

2008-02-21T19:47:00.000-08:00

So here I am, still thinking of what to do about my tooth.

I quickly replayed the horrible monologue of the also-a-dentist husband of my regular dentist, and the words "crown lengthening procedure" flashed back ominously.

What the @#&! is a crown lengthening procedure?!?

According to a dentist friend (whom I don't go to--you don't let your friends look inside your mouths, right?), crown lengthening is a procedure which involves the removal of gum tissue, bone or both to expose a tooth more. It is usually done when a tooth needs to be restored, but there isn't enough tooth above the gum line to support a filling or a crown. It can also be done to treat a "gummy smile."

REMOVAL OF @#&!ING GUM & BONE?!?!?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Crown lengthening is done by a periodontist under local anesthesia. The periodontist makes incisions to flap the gums away from the tooth, exposing the tooth's roots. If necessary, the periodontist may remove some bone to expose more of the tooth using a combination of chisel- and drill-like instruments.

CHISEL & DRILL?!?!?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Going To The Dentist

2008-02-18T04:01:00.000-08:00

Remember how I chipped my tooth a while back?

I went to the dentist to have my molar checked and it seems the problem was bigger than I thought.

After an x-ray was taken of my tooth, it became apparent that not only did I chip my molar but I actually FRACTURED it, and the fracture line went BELOW the gum line this time.

This means that replacing the tooth now would be a more complicated and MORE EXPENSIVE process, because another post would be needed, and I would have to undergo oral surgery before the posts, and eventually the replacement tooth, can be put in place.

Ayayayay!

I asked my dentist, "So can you just give me a cleaning for now?"

So she proceeds to annihilate the eons worth of tartar and calcular deposits around each tooth.

While she was killing me softly with my mouth open and immobile, she was discussing with me how the oral surgery would go, how it was kind of complicated, how she could do this procedure, but she'd rather just refer me to the more able hands of her also-a-dentist husband.

So I just nod, right? I mean, what CAN I say? She has her hands halfway in my mouth.

So when she got to my upper teeth, she proceeds to tell me that it's true what they say, you lose one tooth for every child that you bear; that after her first child, she herself underwent a root canal procedure, which her very able husband performed, not to worry about her husband, and her husband will come in to take a look at the tooth after she's done.

All I could think of was: So dentists have teeth problems too?!

When she was finished, her husband DID come in, sat down, clucked, and said, "We have to do a crown lengthening procedure because we can't put posts on what remains of that molar."

I said, "So how much would that cost?"

And they gave me a ballpark figure, including the replacement tooth and everything else.

And I said, "OK, thanks, I'll think about it."

And that's what I did.

And that's what I'm still doing up to now.

Something Came in the Mail Today...

2008-02-12T03:14:00.000-08:00

Last week, a box from overseas arrived, filled to the brim with lots of goodies. It was sent October of last year in time for Christmas, but obviously, thanks to the ever-reliable postal system (ever-reliably SLOW & LATE, that is), it arrived just after Valentine's Day.

The box was opened and it smelled like apples and brand new leather shoes.

Everything was individually wrapped in plastic bags and labeled with yellow Post-Its. The lotion and shampoo bottles were wrapped in Scotch Tape like there was no tomorrow so as to prevent spillage; the soap was packaged in bricks of 20s; the chocolates were placed in Ziplock bags that were Scotch-Taped and again wrapped in another plastic bag that was wrapped with packaging tape; all the crew neck shirts had a city's name on it; the toys were all identical and all came in packs of 5 or 6; there were about 23 packs of tube socks and about 14 packs of underwear; there were high quality, leather and rubber shoes that were brand new and fit no one; there were dozens of perfumes, lipsticks, and makeup, all in their mini, trial-size versions; and of course, there was the letter from the relative who sent the box, complete with instructions, which things are for whom (as if the labels weren't enough), and the "we hope everybody's OK" added as an after-thought.

During the handing out of goodies, it easily becomes apparent who the "leaders" (most of the time they are self-appointed) of the family are: the loud uncle, the overbearing aunt, the cousin who just graduated from med school; they usually have the honor of reading out the names on the Post-Its and the others are relegated to arranging the goodies into piles according to the families they belong to. Then there are those that are left to putting the goodies in the piles into plastic bags and labeling them for doling out. All this time, the kids are just itching to find out what they got.

In the midst of all the adrenaline, it's nice to see that beneath the mad scramble for the hand-outs of a more fortunate kin, is the experience of FAMILY.

The opening of the box is made into a family event, a reunion where potluck lunch is served, EVERYONE is present (perhaps for fear that they be given the stuff that no one wants if they're not there for first dibs), there's a grand production number out of cutting open the packaging tapes...

On the one hand, it's all sad & silly, really. It is, after all, a shameless display of materialism.

But on the other, the box is JUST AN EXCUSE TO GET TOGETHER AS FAMILY.

We can always get these things for ourselves. But it's not always that we have our entire family with us to share the joy of receiving.

Bereavement

2008-02-06T21:05:00.000-08:00

Last night, I attended a necrological service.

It was for someone I knew only fleetingly, but I felt a great loss.
I weaved through dozens of bereavement wreaths taller than I was to get to her, and when I finally saw her, she looked so peaceful.
I walked to her husband. He looked like he was on auto-pilot. He was shaking hands, receiving hugs, smiles, and words of sympathy. Then it was my turn. I didn't know what to say. He said, "Hey, you're here, thank you so much for coming." I just mumbled a, "We'll be praying for her," and awkwardly gave him a hug.

I remember when I was on that side of the fence.

You never really feel your loss until you're all alone.

You think plunging into the ocean of your daily activities will be enough to make you forget about your loss for a while, but it doesn't work.

You turn to God and to other people, and you find comfort & strength.

But your loss won't really go away.

It CAN'T go away.

Because nobody can replace anyone else. EVER.

Each person is unique, and this is true for the way that each person touches the life of someone else.

We just have to stop being selfish and accept the loss.

Yes, stop being selfish.

While I was going through the grieving experience not so long ago, I realized that people who grieve GRIEVE FOR THEMSELVES.

EVERYBODY does SOME good in their life. If you think about the one who passed away and how they lived their lives, how they shared themselves with everyone else, how they touched the lives of people around them, you'd realize that they ALL lived a FULL life.
Furthermore, they have completed their predestined assignments. They have accomplished their missions in life. They're done.
Why grieve for them? At work, during an exam, while in line at the doctor's office, do we EVER feel bad for someone who finished ahead of us?
I don't think so.

We grieve for ourselves, we who are left behind, we who find it difficult to cope with the loss, we who can't stand the pain of missing someone whom we will never see again.

But no one REALLY goes away forever. As long as their memories are kept alive in our hearts and minds, the things we learned from them preserved and upheld, the good they have done seen as inspirations to better ourselves, they are made IMMORTAL.

Let us grieve, but not for the ones who have passed on.

They are now in a much better, happier, peaceful place with Someone who loves them even more than we do.

The Beatles in Outer Space

2008-02-04T17:40:00.000-08:00

Have you heard about this new NASA "project" to transmit a Beatles song into space?
According to the Associated Press, NASA is going to transmit the Beatles song "Across The Universe," composed by Paul McCartney & John Lennon, from its giant antenna in Madrid, Spain. NASA downloaded an MP3 of the song, the original version of which is just under 4 minutes long, and will transmit it digitally to Polaris, otherwise known as the North Star.
If some being from Polaris wanted to hear the song, it would need an antenna & a receiver to convert the transmission back to music, much like people receive satellite television. AND, Polaris would have to wait 431 YEARS before they actually receive the transmission, because Polaris is 2.5 QUADRILLION miles away.
The launching of the music into outer space celebrates the 40th Anniversary of the song, the 45th Anniversary of NASA's Deep Space Network, and the 50th Anniversary of NASA.
This idea was hatched by a Beatles historian, and after being approved by Sir Paul, Yoko Ono, and the companies who own the rights to the Beatles' music, which includes Apple, well, it's going to happen today, February 4th at 7 p.m. EST.

Reportedly, Apple happily gave its permission because it was "always looking for new markets."

ON POLARIS?!?! Come on!!

Hey, if NASA was a willing participant in all this, maybe they can send Vilma Santos' cover of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" into outer space! Maybe to Betelgeuse or Aldebaran or some other star of note?

P.S. Don't you just love Ringo's hair?

Chipping My Tooth

2008-02-03T22:12:00.000-08:00

I accidentally bit into something hard over lunch today and chipped my tooth. It was one of my molars.
It wasn't an unadulterated, pristine molar, but nevertheless, it had my DNA on it.
That tooth had seen better days. The reason why it's in such a fragile condition is that most of it has been rehabilitated by a root canal procedure when I was still in grade school.
Can you imagine going through a root canal at the age of 10?
Well, anyway, I wised up after that and that was the last filling I ever had.
But a while back, after almost two decades of being part of my mouth, my filling decided to just leave me. It just upped and left. Sure, there was some abuse on my part. I was chewing gum at that time--the LAST gum I'll EVER chew, I'll tell you that--then it just decided to divorce me and stick to the gum I was chewing. No final words, no goodbye letters stuck to the fridge.
Seeking much-needed solace, I went to my dentist and she told me, "If you're not in pain and your bite is the same, we don't need to do anything right now. Your tooth looks fine."
Fine?!? I think. It has a big hole where all the food I chew disappear into and I have to excavate with a soup ladle afterwards, and you tell me it looks fine?!?
But outwardly I say politely, "Is there any way we can fix it, like fill it or something?"
Well the dentist proceeds to tell me that other than the filling, a part of my tooth chipped off and since it was a molar, I have to have it capped, and in order to do that prosthetics have to be used and posts have to be installed, blah blah blah, blah blah blah (at this point i was just staring at her face mask and how it moved when she talked). Then came time for her to tell me how much it costs to cap one tooth, and well...
That was some how many years ago and, you guessed right, I just lived with what remained of my tooth after that. She is my dentist after all, and I believe her. I go to her for regular maintenance anyway, so my tooth MUST be okay.
But today, a part of my tooth decided that hey, it can't live like this, that was too hard a thing to accidentally bite into, and besides, it's had it with the soup ladles! So it decided to break off and gain it's freedom. It is now nestled in tissue paper, which I unceremoniously threw in the trash. Goodbye, disloyal tooth chip.
Now, I find myself setting up an appointment with my dentist, and knowing how prices have soared, I know I'll be forking over much more money now than I would have then.

And that's how life is.
NOTHING LASTS FOREVER. Not your filling, not your tooth, not even the prices of the caps for your tooth. Not even your dentist lasts forever.

Life is change. And change comes when you least expect it.

Lesson learned?
NEVER chew gum.

P.S. Don't believe everything you read, either.

Sentimental Value

2008-02-02T19:13:00.000-08:00

For the past 3 weeks or so, my mom had the storage area in our house turned into a spanking new kitchen. As a result, all the stuff that was stored in that area had to be taken out.
All the things that we've collected over the past 27 years that we were living in that house, all the items that we labeled as "keepsakes" and not "junk", all the objects that we judged worthy of occupying space on our shelves and not for giving or throwing away, were all lined up to undergo a re-trial: yes, they survived the first, second, third, even fourth general cleaning sessions, but will they survive this one?
All sorts of things were on parade--3 dozen mugs; a Popeye tumbler, McDonald's plates; a Hello Kitty tray; a Humpty Dumpty Fisher Price pull-along toy; a Moulinex blender given as a gift that was still in its wrapping and still had the tag on; 8 tea sets; 3 French presses; thousands of Tupperware and other plastic containers; hundreds of Mills & Boon books; innumerable shoes and clothing; et cetera.
All sorts of things, all of which we didn't even remember we had. But at one point in our lives, we just couldn't bear to part with them, we just couldn't bear to let them go, we just couldn't bear to put them into the trash bin, or let someone else make good use of them.
No.
We'd die first before we let go of that My Melody Spoon & Fork set circa 1979.
For some, these "keepsakes" may translate to a fortune on ebay. Others may see them as signs of an underlying psychiatric disorder.
But for many, these things are souvenirs of precious memories, of a time when life was simple and the only thing complicated was trying to wake up before the school bus arrives.
Memories which we are not ready to let go of just yet.

I know I'll always have my memories. But I won't always have my Pacman water game circa 1981. So while there's space on my shelf and no harm is being done, I'd still like to keep it. And the memories that go with it: the puddles on the wooden floor, the 2-player game rules my brother and I set up even if the game is for one person only, the constant reminders from my mom to clean up the mess we made, and my dad quietly shaking his head in the background. Indeed, those were the days.

Randy Jackson Versions 1 & 2

2008-02-01T00:06:00.000-08:00

Speaking of American Idol, my brother and I got into a discussion about one if its judges. Correct, it was about Randy Jackson, otherwise the title of this post would've been different.
ANYWAY...
We were debating about whether or not Randy Jackson is the brother of Michael Jackson. I say no way, he says way. "He's part of the Jackson 5!" he says. Even his girlfriend got in on it. They even showed me a Wikipedia article on the Jackson 5 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Jackson_5), and well, after reading this:

Randy unofficially began performing with the Jackson 5 in 1972, playing congas. He became an official member of the group in 1975, replacing Jermaine when the Jackson 5 moved to CBS Records and officially changed their name to "The Jacksons". (He is the brother the musician and record producer Randy Jackson, who serves as a judge on the television series American Idol),

I thought I was beaten.
But I just can't be beaten by my kid brother.
No way.
So I crept out from the hole where people who were proven wrong in trivia go to and Googled it up.
Thank God for Google.
The Randy Jackson of American Idol is NOT the Randy Jackson of the Jackson 5. Apparently Wikipedia screwed it up. Or at least mushed it up. (Sorry, guys, to be so judgmental of your work. I mean it did stir up some sort of confusion. Among my brother, his girlfriend, and myself, at least.)
Randall Darius Jackson was born on June 23, 1956 in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and is a Grammy Award-winning rock, bassist, singer, record producer, and Emmy Award-nominated television & radio personality, now best known as a judge on American Idol. This is how he USED to look like:
And after gastric bypass surgery, this is how he looks like now (although I think he gained a bit more weight in season 7):
The Randy Jackson of the Jackson 5, on the other hand, was born Steven Randall Jackson on October 29th, 1961 in Gary, Indiana. He was nicknamed "Little Randy", he was the ninth out of ten Jackson children to be born, (one was stillborn) and is the youngest son in the Jackson Family. He joined the Jackson 5 in 1972 at the age of 11. After The Jacksons split in 1990, Randy Jackson formed his own band, Randy & the Gypsys (sic), but this group lasted only 1 record, and he laid low afterwards. In early 2005, as his brother Michael was fighting a child molestation case, Randy became the manager of all of Michael Jackson's business affairs and was even appointed CEO of MJJ Productions. But after Michael's trial, Randy Jackson was no longer needed by MJJ Productions, and so goes his story.
This is how he looks like:
So now that it's clear, I hope this debate, however trivial and irrelevant to the more important concerns of our daily lives, may now be laid to rest.
Thank you, Randy Jackson. And you too, Randy Jackson.

"I Am Your Brother"

2008-01-31T03:48:00.000-08:00

Can you believe the hype that this guy is getting?
I mean there are seemingly hundreds of versions of his song on the web now, it's crazy!
But I am SO happy for him.
After all, how many of us have the chance to actually fulfill our life-long dream?
I mean, yes, a lot of us are very happy where we are right now. I know I am. But are you doing what you really dreamed you'd be doing when you were a lot younger and less realistic?
Well if I was living my dream, then darlings, Brad Pitt would be walking on bended knees towards me right now, apologizing for the fact that he wasn't able to cook my eggs just the way I wanted them this morning. Hmmm.
*Sigh* So much for dreams...
Moving on..
The fact is that no, not all of us get to see the moments that we keep playing so many times over in our heads. But this guy, Renaldo Lapuz, got to wear his all-white pimp outfit, got to sing the song he composed on worldwide television, got to hear the words "hit record" about his song from Simon Cowell, and got to dance with Paula Abdul, Randy Jackson, and Ryan Seacrest. He even got a hug from Simon before he left.
Everybody thinks he's one great guy.
And he entertained THE WORLD.
Not bad huh?
Congratulations, Renaldo, and thank you for again reminding us that hey, dreams do come true.

Why This Title?

2008-01-31T02:30:00.000-08:00

The first title I picked out was a loooong one, and I couldn't find an appropriate url address for it. It took me about 163 "sorry, this address is unavailable" warnings on the screen, then I became quite hungry. Then it just came to me like the craving I was suddenly having. "I'm so hungry, I'd like ANYTHING with chocolate on it please," I said to myself.
And there you have it.
Chocolate-Coated Glasses.
Incidentally, I STILL haven't eaten anything yet and I'm STILL quite hungry, but I got so excited over the fact that I FINALLY found an available url that, well, my craving would have to wait. Besides, just thinking about the loooong walk downstairs to the fridge is enough to dry up my salivation for chocolate. The Meiji. The Nestle. The Noka. The Ferrero. The Godiva. The Hawaiian Host. The Guylian. The Lindt. The Cadbury. The Ghirardelli. The Hersheys. The Van Houten. The M&Ms. The Milo.
Correct.
The Milo.
I have no patience to make it into a drink. I just spoon the powdered Milo into a mug until it is 3/4 full, then I just spoon the powdered Milo into my mouth. Mmmm.
And Milo IS Chocolate. Or at least it TASTES like chocolate.

I know what you must be thinking.
No, I did not name my blog as such because I am a chocoholic and this blog is all about chocolate. Although I LOVE chocolate--who doesn't?
And no, even if I write like this, I don't speak with an English accent. (Somehow, I imagine Roald Dahl narrating my thoughts as I write them down. Maybe even Peter O' Toole?)
No.
As is evidenced by my blathering, I am just hungry. Compounded by the fact that it's two in the morning and I have been chronically sleep-deprived for the past 10 or so years--all of that makes for one odd blog title. :)