RAISIN' THE BAR
Congrats to Melissa aka Miss Suplada for finishing her bar exam this week! A 3-day long test about the law? CRAZY! MUCH PROPS TO YOU GIRL!
Friday, July 29, 2005
Thursday, July 28, 2005
THE FIRST CUT IS THE DEEPEST...AND IS USUALLY NEVER THE LAST
Can you remember the first boy or girl who ever made you feel all weird inside? That (heaven forbid we should call it this) "puppy love" feeling that often sets the tone for later defeats and/or conquests? It's funny, and kind of amusing, to look back at those moments NOW and laugh at our naivete, our lack of experience, our completely senseless (and often cheesy) acts of infatuation.
The list of oh-man-I-wish-I-hadn't-done-that incidents is endless: bringing roses to a girl after school on Valentine's Day and then seeing her get into a car with another boy (dammit that girl still owes my friend $47.50 for that bouquet!), carving out "Max loves me" on a tree trunk at school, punching your fist through a school window out of unnecessary jealousy, spending a weekend trying to memorize a song you know your crush likes and then discovering Monday morning that he's sick of hearing it, sneaking around behind your parents' backs to meet with someone at the mall, coaxing a classmate to accompany you to your dreamgirl's class if only to hand her your innocent token of love - a candybar, ASKING a girl you're at the movies with if you can hold her hand and then having her respond, "maybe a little later," searching every darn music store (during the pre-download days) for the song you and your crush slow danced to at a party, taking your friends to visit your girlfriend at school and then watching her get into a cab with someone else, letting a girl wear your $500 class ring for a week...just because, snatching the paper flower made out of napkin that your prom date/crush made at Denny's and then, while his back is turned, stick it in your purse, risking life and limb to kick it at your girl's house while she thinks her parents aren't home and then getting chased out by her dad, dedicating a song to someone on KOST or letting a song on your pager voicemail underhandedly tell someone how you feel.
All this for what? To gain the attention, and then hopefully affection of another who would later make you cry anyway? The ones who trapped us in our rooms, listening to a heavy rotation of what Bev and Melissa fondly call "slit my wrist" songs. You know what songs I'm talking about. The ones you listen to when, despite already feeling trapped in the emotional quagmire that is heartache, seek a more sadistic form of self-deprecation. LET THE PAIN REMAIN! Hahaha!
In our youth (oh man I can't even say that without welling up), early cases of heartbreak may have served as devastating trailers to the cruelty and unfairness of life's later features. We hadn't quite formed effective ways of dealing with it all at the tender ages of 10,13 or even 17 years old. Encouraging mantras such as "this too shall pass" and "good things come to those who wait patiently" mattered not to the adolescent psyche. We just wanted to cry and talk sh*t to our friends, wrote God-awful poetry or songs, and listened to our music; good ol' it-hurts-so-much-I-wanna-die sounds...
Good times...
So now the question remains "what's YOUR slit-my-wrist song?"
Can you remember the first boy or girl who ever made you feel all weird inside? That (heaven forbid we should call it this) "puppy love" feeling that often sets the tone for later defeats and/or conquests? It's funny, and kind of amusing, to look back at those moments NOW and laugh at our naivete, our lack of experience, our completely senseless (and often cheesy) acts of infatuation.
The list of oh-man-I-wish-I-hadn't-done-that incidents is endless: bringing roses to a girl after school on Valentine's Day and then seeing her get into a car with another boy (dammit that girl still owes my friend $47.50 for that bouquet!), carving out "Max loves me" on a tree trunk at school, punching your fist through a school window out of unnecessary jealousy, spending a weekend trying to memorize a song you know your crush likes and then discovering Monday morning that he's sick of hearing it, sneaking around behind your parents' backs to meet with someone at the mall, coaxing a classmate to accompany you to your dreamgirl's class if only to hand her your innocent token of love - a candybar, ASKING a girl you're at the movies with if you can hold her hand and then having her respond, "maybe a little later," searching every darn music store (during the pre-download days) for the song you and your crush slow danced to at a party, taking your friends to visit your girlfriend at school and then watching her get into a cab with someone else, letting a girl wear your $500 class ring for a week...just because, snatching the paper flower made out of napkin that your prom date/crush made at Denny's and then, while his back is turned, stick it in your purse, risking life and limb to kick it at your girl's house while she thinks her parents aren't home and then getting chased out by her dad, dedicating a song to someone on KOST or letting a song on your pager voicemail underhandedly tell someone how you feel.
All this for what? To gain the attention, and then hopefully affection of another who would later make you cry anyway? The ones who trapped us in our rooms, listening to a heavy rotation of what Bev and Melissa fondly call "slit my wrist" songs. You know what songs I'm talking about. The ones you listen to when, despite already feeling trapped in the emotional quagmire that is heartache, seek a more sadistic form of self-deprecation. LET THE PAIN REMAIN! Hahaha!
In our youth (oh man I can't even say that without welling up), early cases of heartbreak may have served as devastating trailers to the cruelty and unfairness of life's later features. We hadn't quite formed effective ways of dealing with it all at the tender ages of 10,13 or even 17 years old. Encouraging mantras such as "this too shall pass" and "good things come to those who wait patiently" mattered not to the adolescent psyche. We just wanted to cry and talk sh*t to our friends, wrote God-awful poetry or songs, and listened to our music; good ol' it-hurts-so-much-I-wanna-die sounds...
Good times...
So now the question remains "what's YOUR slit-my-wrist song?"
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Monday, July 25, 2005
Sunday, July 24, 2005
MISS RIANN
Riann was here this weekend from Hotlanta, GA and has reiterated a phenomenon I find amusing: that you often appreciate something so much more after you’ve experienced their absence. Babygirl Reyes has been in Atlanta since the end of May and she’s been representin’ her Cali roots since she stepped off that plane, impressing her predominantly Southern-raised colleagues with her infinite knowledge of everything from R & B music trivia to tagalog tidbits; all the while trying to gather research for her study as she thinks of home.
I asked her what she wanted to do Saturday night and she responded with an enthusiastic, ”I don’t care. Anything California!” So I asked her what she wanted to eat for dinner and she answered, “ANYTHING…anything California.” Hahaha! So I picked her up, hung out at Pat and Gwen’s new apartment, then we all headed to Venice for a dinner at a beachside restaurant. We drove down Venice until we hit the beach then parked at the end of the Venice Beach boardwalk. We strolled, all along searching for this infamous eatery, as we watched shops close up, vendors gathering their products, a guy in a leopard-print thong with a fanny-pack hanging on one hip and a small conga drum hanging on the other, and street performers strumming and singing their tunes. On and on we walked, hoping for a sign of this place when Cile yelled, “Oh look, there’s THIRD STREET PROMENADE AND SANTA MONICA PIER!” We must’ve walked over a mile to get to the restaurant, but it was, undoubtedly, all worth it as we enjoyed the drinks, the food, the ocean breeze, the random Euro-hiphop-techno music, the eclectic crowd and each other’s company.
After all that we went back to Pat & Gwen’s apartment to watch BOYZ IN THE HOOD and listen to Riann’s Atlanta stories and Mel and Bev’s suplada tales. Hilarious! Riann gets the Ops! Award of the evening with the following exchange. We were talking about scary movies and Riann is a self-proclaimed antagonist of such films.
Picture the living room a-buzz with a verbal myriad of horror/suspense flicks randomly shooting out of everyone's mouths: THE GRUDGE, AMITYVILLE HORROR, THE DEVIL'S REJECTS, THE OTHERS, SIXTH SENSE, etc.
RIANN: Joe offered to pay me $200 one time and I was like HELL NO! You can’t pay me to watch “Ax.”
…silence…crickets…
JOE: “SAW” stupid!
Oh babygirl, we’ll see you again soon!
Riann was here this weekend from Hotlanta, GA and has reiterated a phenomenon I find amusing: that you often appreciate something so much more after you’ve experienced their absence. Babygirl Reyes has been in Atlanta since the end of May and she’s been representin’ her Cali roots since she stepped off that plane, impressing her predominantly Southern-raised colleagues with her infinite knowledge of everything from R & B music trivia to tagalog tidbits; all the while trying to gather research for her study as she thinks of home.
I asked her what she wanted to do Saturday night and she responded with an enthusiastic, ”I don’t care. Anything California!” So I asked her what she wanted to eat for dinner and she answered, “ANYTHING…anything California.” Hahaha! So I picked her up, hung out at Pat and Gwen’s new apartment, then we all headed to Venice for a dinner at a beachside restaurant. We drove down Venice until we hit the beach then parked at the end of the Venice Beach boardwalk. We strolled, all along searching for this infamous eatery, as we watched shops close up, vendors gathering their products, a guy in a leopard-print thong with a fanny-pack hanging on one hip and a small conga drum hanging on the other, and street performers strumming and singing their tunes. On and on we walked, hoping for a sign of this place when Cile yelled, “Oh look, there’s THIRD STREET PROMENADE AND SANTA MONICA PIER!” We must’ve walked over a mile to get to the restaurant, but it was, undoubtedly, all worth it as we enjoyed the drinks, the food, the ocean breeze, the random Euro-hiphop-techno music, the eclectic crowd and each other’s company.
After all that we went back to Pat & Gwen’s apartment to watch BOYZ IN THE HOOD and listen to Riann’s Atlanta stories and Mel and Bev’s suplada tales. Hilarious! Riann gets the Ops! Award of the evening with the following exchange. We were talking about scary movies and Riann is a self-proclaimed antagonist of such films.
Picture the living room a-buzz with a verbal myriad of horror/suspense flicks randomly shooting out of everyone's mouths: THE GRUDGE, AMITYVILLE HORROR, THE DEVIL'S REJECTS, THE OTHERS, SIXTH SENSE, etc.
RIANN: Joe offered to pay me $200 one time and I was like HELL NO! You can’t pay me to watch “Ax.”
…silence…crickets…
JOE: “SAW” stupid!
Oh babygirl, we’ll see you again soon!
FUSION
When you make friends in kindergarten, you usually don't look towards a future together further than recess or the next day of school. And for the most part, the biggest things you share are a love for playtime or the distribution and/or trade of fruit roll-ups and p & b sandwiches. Having friends at 5 years old meant simply having someone at school to color next to; it meant having someone to share toys with. Having friends at such a young age taught me that I could never really be alone.
There are those rare cases, however, when the friends who pulled you across the schoolyard in the yellow plastic wagon when you were 5, are the same friends who stayed up to help you write a paper when you were 16; the ones who pulled your hair back when your 21st birthday taught you the meaning of the word hangover; the same ones who pull you out of heartbreak and despair when you're 27. When you're lucky enough to have friends who have seen you through almost three decades (eeeks!) of the best and worst that life has to offer, how could you ask for more?
You don't. But not asking for something doesn't mean you won't be blessed with it. For not only have I been fortunate to have people in my life who I've found ease and comfort in depending on; people who, over the years, I've developed special relationships that have bordered, if not gone far and way beyond a bloodless familial bond with. I've also been blessed with people who I've only known for a small fraction of a lifetime, yet who I feel like I've known forever!
The best outcome of all these different relationships? The infinite permutation of new friendships when people from every facet of your life get together and forge new bonds. TALK ABOUT SOCIAL NETWORKING! I love that an evening at the movies have gone from 8-10 seats to 16-18 strong. I love that simple birthday dinners require a massive email or evite to accommodate those who roll everywhere as deep as we do.
Yes, there are times that can be chaotic, but then again, who wants calm?
When you make friends in kindergarten, you usually don't look towards a future together further than recess or the next day of school. And for the most part, the biggest things you share are a love for playtime or the distribution and/or trade of fruit roll-ups and p & b sandwiches. Having friends at 5 years old meant simply having someone at school to color next to; it meant having someone to share toys with. Having friends at such a young age taught me that I could never really be alone.
There are those rare cases, however, when the friends who pulled you across the schoolyard in the yellow plastic wagon when you were 5, are the same friends who stayed up to help you write a paper when you were 16; the ones who pulled your hair back when your 21st birthday taught you the meaning of the word hangover; the same ones who pull you out of heartbreak and despair when you're 27. When you're lucky enough to have friends who have seen you through almost three decades (eeeks!) of the best and worst that life has to offer, how could you ask for more?
You don't. But not asking for something doesn't mean you won't be blessed with it. For not only have I been fortunate to have people in my life who I've found ease and comfort in depending on; people who, over the years, I've developed special relationships that have bordered, if not gone far and way beyond a bloodless familial bond with. I've also been blessed with people who I've only known for a small fraction of a lifetime, yet who I feel like I've known forever!
The best outcome of all these different relationships? The infinite permutation of new friendships when people from every facet of your life get together and forge new bonds. TALK ABOUT SOCIAL NETWORKING! I love that an evening at the movies have gone from 8-10 seats to 16-18 strong. I love that simple birthday dinners require a massive email or evite to accommodate those who roll everywhere as deep as we do.
Yes, there are times that can be chaotic, but then again, who wants calm?
Saturday, July 23, 2005
JUST A LITTLE SPA TREATMENT
I pride myself in the fact that my chick friends and I aren’t excessively prissy. Except for the occasional eyebrow waxing/threading and regular haircuts, we’re all pretty self-reliant when it comes to keeping ourselves groomed. But every once in awhile, it’s nice to be pampered. This past Christmas, Rochelle gifted Iya, Cile and me with a certificate for a manicure & pedicure at Harmony Nails. For 7 months we tried to find a day when the four of us were available to get primped.
Finally we encountered a Friday night. This was no old fashioned manicure/pedicure. We all sat on semi-reclining, leather massager seats with a foot sauna attached, where our tired, overworked feet were smothered in water-jet relief. And then before nail polish graced our finger and toenails, we were treated to an exfoliating arm, hand, leg and foot massage. That was after they “sanded” the bottoms of our feet and our ankles. Suffice it to say we were tickled pink, giggling almost uncontrollably at every turn of the rotating sander! But in the end it was all worth it, our hands and toes spic and span, looking oh so pretty. Haven’t felt that girly in so long!
After a dinner at a Thai restaurant and coffee at the Alcove (my new favorite place thanks to Joe and Riann), joined by Matt and Khahloh, we headed to Khahloh’s house to play with his new puppies, Little Diva and Ocho (yup, named after that dance craze in the Philippines that Cile hates. Ha ha ha…). They’re adorable, though the owner is a little disappointed because they’re growing by the day.
It was a nice evening, spent with three chick friends who don’t have the opportunity to hang out very much these days. Hopefully this rare day in a nail salon won’t be the last.
Look at Iya with Carlo's new puppies: Diva and Ocho
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I pride myself in the fact that my chick friends and I aren’t excessively prissy. Except for the occasional eyebrow waxing/threading and regular haircuts, we’re all pretty self-reliant when it comes to keeping ourselves groomed. But every once in awhile, it’s nice to be pampered. This past Christmas, Rochelle gifted Iya, Cile and me with a certificate for a manicure & pedicure at Harmony Nails. For 7 months we tried to find a day when the four of us were available to get primped.
Finally we encountered a Friday night. This was no old fashioned manicure/pedicure. We all sat on semi-reclining, leather massager seats with a foot sauna attached, where our tired, overworked feet were smothered in water-jet relief. And then before nail polish graced our finger and toenails, we were treated to an exfoliating arm, hand, leg and foot massage. That was after they “sanded” the bottoms of our feet and our ankles. Suffice it to say we were tickled pink, giggling almost uncontrollably at every turn of the rotating sander! But in the end it was all worth it, our hands and toes spic and span, looking oh so pretty. Haven’t felt that girly in so long!
After a dinner at a Thai restaurant and coffee at the Alcove (my new favorite place thanks to Joe and Riann), joined by Matt and Khahloh, we headed to Khahloh’s house to play with his new puppies, Little Diva and Ocho (yup, named after that dance craze in the Philippines that Cile hates. Ha ha ha…). They’re adorable, though the owner is a little disappointed because they’re growing by the day.
It was a nice evening, spent with three chick friends who don’t have the opportunity to hang out very much these days. Hopefully this rare day in a nail salon won’t be the last.
Look at Iya with Carlo's new puppies: Diva and Ocho
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Friday, July 22, 2005
SOMETIMES...
...there are days that feel like they were based on S CLUB 7 songs:
BRING IT ALL BACK
Don't stop, never give up
Hold your head high and reach the top
Let the world see what you have got
Bring it all back to you
Hold on to what you try to be
Your individuality
When the world is on your shoulders
Just smile and let it go
If people try to put you down
Just walk on by don't turn around
You only have to answer to yourself
Don't you know it's true what they say
That life, it ain't easy
But your time's coming around S
o don't you stop tryin'
Don't stop, never give up
Hold your head high and reach the top L
et the world see what you have got
Bring it all back to you D
ream of falling in love
Anything you've been thinking of
When the world seems to get too tough
Bring it all back to you
Try not to worry 'bout a thing
Enjoy the good times life can bring
Keep it all inside you
Gotta let the feeling show
Imagination is the key
'Cos you are you're own destiny
You never should be lonely
When time is on your side
Don't you know it's true what they say
Things are sent to try you
But your time's coming around
So don't you stop tryin'
Don't you know it's true what they say
Things happen for a reason
But your time's coming around
So don't you stop tryin'
...and other days that feel like they inspired a Green Day tune:
BOULEVARD OF BROKEN DREAMS
I walk a lonely road
The only one that
I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone
I walk this empty street
On the Blvd of broken dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk a...
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
Till then I walk alone
I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line of the edge
And where I walk alone
Read between the lines
What's fucked up and everything's all right
Check my vital signs to know I'm still alive
And I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk a...
...there are days that feel like they were based on S CLUB 7 songs:
BRING IT ALL BACK
Don't stop, never give up
Hold your head high and reach the top
Let the world see what you have got
Bring it all back to you
Hold on to what you try to be
Your individuality
When the world is on your shoulders
Just smile and let it go
If people try to put you down
Just walk on by don't turn around
You only have to answer to yourself
Don't you know it's true what they say
That life, it ain't easy
But your time's coming around S
o don't you stop tryin'
Don't stop, never give up
Hold your head high and reach the top L
et the world see what you have got
Bring it all back to you D
ream of falling in love
Anything you've been thinking of
When the world seems to get too tough
Bring it all back to you
Try not to worry 'bout a thing
Enjoy the good times life can bring
Keep it all inside you
Gotta let the feeling show
Imagination is the key
'Cos you are you're own destiny
You never should be lonely
When time is on your side
Don't you know it's true what they say
Things are sent to try you
But your time's coming around
So don't you stop tryin'
Don't you know it's true what they say
Things happen for a reason
But your time's coming around
So don't you stop tryin'
...and other days that feel like they inspired a Green Day tune:
BOULEVARD OF BROKEN DREAMS
I walk a lonely road
The only one that
I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone
I walk this empty street
On the Blvd of broken dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk a...
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
Till then I walk alone
I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line of the edge
And where I walk alone
Read between the lines
What's fucked up and everything's all right
Check my vital signs to know I'm still alive
And I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk a...
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
SWEET REVENGE
A desperate optimism has infected me these last few weeks. Though I’ve attempted in years past to uncover the healthy me who dwells somewhere inside this cholesterol and sugar-filled sloth of a body, the effort always peaks in the beginning and loses momentum QUICKLY a quarter of the way through. Next thing you know I’ve weaseled my way out of yet another attempt to lose weight.
But now I’ve got a bit more encouragement at my side from a number of sources, and the regimen has been solid these last few weeks. Still though, bitter pangs rumble inside when I walk into the gym. Damn you skinny-size 0-wearing-stepford creatures, walkin’ around in your sports bras and leggings! Apparently they’re here to either give me something to strive for, or provide me with enough angst and jealousy to whip myself into hotness so I can kick their asses someday.
There are moments though when fortune smiles on the masses who run the treadmill in warm-ups and an old t-shirt in lieu of the hip-hugging yoga pants and halter tank. Monday was one such day. I was on my way up the 4 flights of stairs (talk about work-out before you get inside!) to get to the gym and this lady, dressed in an office outfit, was all struttin’ her stuff on the way to the stairwell. I rolled my eyes, of course, and proceeded, face-down, to double-step my way up. This lady continued her swagger up the stairs ever so slowly as if she knew how angry she was making the slew of people behind her. Before I gave in to the temptation to shove her up the last flight, I looked up and ‘lo and behold, this same lady’s slacks were ripped at the seams and her freakin’ black, lacey thong and a third of her ass was sayin’ wassup to everyone who followed behind her. I was like, “woh what the heck!”
Maybe she knew it had torn, but it was just so severe (the rip) that she couldn’t have known it and STILL decide to wear it to work, could she? Should I tell her? Should I not? Midway through this battle of conscience, the guy behind the counter scanned her membership card and she was gone.
Oh well…
A desperate optimism has infected me these last few weeks. Though I’ve attempted in years past to uncover the healthy me who dwells somewhere inside this cholesterol and sugar-filled sloth of a body, the effort always peaks in the beginning and loses momentum QUICKLY a quarter of the way through. Next thing you know I’ve weaseled my way out of yet another attempt to lose weight.
But now I’ve got a bit more encouragement at my side from a number of sources, and the regimen has been solid these last few weeks. Still though, bitter pangs rumble inside when I walk into the gym. Damn you skinny-size 0-wearing-stepford creatures, walkin’ around in your sports bras and leggings! Apparently they’re here to either give me something to strive for, or provide me with enough angst and jealousy to whip myself into hotness so I can kick their asses someday.
There are moments though when fortune smiles on the masses who run the treadmill in warm-ups and an old t-shirt in lieu of the hip-hugging yoga pants and halter tank. Monday was one such day. I was on my way up the 4 flights of stairs (talk about work-out before you get inside!) to get to the gym and this lady, dressed in an office outfit, was all struttin’ her stuff on the way to the stairwell. I rolled my eyes, of course, and proceeded, face-down, to double-step my way up. This lady continued her swagger up the stairs ever so slowly as if she knew how angry she was making the slew of people behind her. Before I gave in to the temptation to shove her up the last flight, I looked up and ‘lo and behold, this same lady’s slacks were ripped at the seams and her freakin’ black, lacey thong and a third of her ass was sayin’ wassup to everyone who followed behind her. I was like, “woh what the heck!”
Maybe she knew it had torn, but it was just so severe (the rip) that she couldn’t have known it and STILL decide to wear it to work, could she? Should I tell her? Should I not? Midway through this battle of conscience, the guy behind the counter scanned her membership card and she was gone.
Oh well…
Sunday, July 17, 2005
A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME...
...if the people who live in it don't seem to be happy there. But Ryan and Ann seem to be a perfect fit in their new home and we can't be happier for them. Their Newhall dwelling place this past weekend was abuzz with backyard bbq, mahjong in the living room next to the 60-inch HD TV (that thing is so huge!) and poker in the kitchen. Could we BE any more like our adult counterparts? All we were missing was karaoke (I almost brought the magic mic with me too!). There was also some Halo 2 via Edwin’s xbox in the kitchen (guess we’re not TOTALLY grown up). And in between we entertained ourselves with Peanut (Ryan and Ann’s cutie pie Yorkshire terrier) and calm and collected Pepper, Ann’s…black and white dog (can’t remember what kind of dog she is).
Saturday evening was sure proof that we are no longer the same kids who have only AMC or Mann Theaters to patronize during the weekends. Now we go to late-twenties/early thirties birthday dinners, weddings, baby showers and housewarmings, patronizing the celebrants with gifts to help them settle into new milestones in their lives as full-fledge adults, married couples, parents, and homeowners. Looking back 10 years ago, I never would’ve imagined that such days would come so quickly.
A new home isn’t just a fruit produced by the sowing of knowledge through decades of school, or the cultivation of skill and career in the years after that. It’s an honest to goodness commitment that spans a great part of a person’s lifetime; it’s also a haven of peace and refuge at the end of a long day. If that’s not something to work for, I don’t know what else there is.
So…here’s looking to the next 10 years!
Party up in Newhall
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...if the people who live in it don't seem to be happy there. But Ryan and Ann seem to be a perfect fit in their new home and we can't be happier for them. Their Newhall dwelling place this past weekend was abuzz with backyard bbq, mahjong in the living room next to the 60-inch HD TV (that thing is so huge!) and poker in the kitchen. Could we BE any more like our adult counterparts? All we were missing was karaoke (I almost brought the magic mic with me too!). There was also some Halo 2 via Edwin’s xbox in the kitchen (guess we’re not TOTALLY grown up). And in between we entertained ourselves with Peanut (Ryan and Ann’s cutie pie Yorkshire terrier) and calm and collected Pepper, Ann’s…black and white dog (can’t remember what kind of dog she is).
Saturday evening was sure proof that we are no longer the same kids who have only AMC or Mann Theaters to patronize during the weekends. Now we go to late-twenties/early thirties birthday dinners, weddings, baby showers and housewarmings, patronizing the celebrants with gifts to help them settle into new milestones in their lives as full-fledge adults, married couples, parents, and homeowners. Looking back 10 years ago, I never would’ve imagined that such days would come so quickly.
A new home isn’t just a fruit produced by the sowing of knowledge through decades of school, or the cultivation of skill and career in the years after that. It’s an honest to goodness commitment that spans a great part of a person’s lifetime; it’s also a haven of peace and refuge at the end of a long day. If that’s not something to work for, I don’t know what else there is.
So…here’s looking to the next 10 years!
Party up in Newhall
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