When someone won't get the hint?

I'll be honest and say that I never thought there would be a time when I wouldn't want to have someone's undivided attention placed on me. Allow me to paint the picture.

I met this young lady a few years back when I attended a church (largely because a good friend of mine attended it) and gave a demonstration with my friend at this church. At the time, many people came up and said they were happy with that demonstration. I thanked them for their enthusiasm and hoped that one or two might be interested enough to join us for a more serious instruction. As it happens, this young woman came up and in a stuttering, shy voice expressed her interest in seeing more. We talked some about this and it became clear she wasn't really interested in learning more. We concluded our conversation as other people came to talk to me. I promptly forgot about the meeting.

A few months went by, and I stopped by at the church again. This woman came up to me and in a halting voice, asked me if I was still doing the activity I had demonstrated. I said I still did. She again expressed interest in seeing us do another demonstration. I knew at the time that we would not be doing anymore demonstrations because funding for this activity had dried up. I told her that it wasn't likely and left it at that.

Every time I visited, if she was there, she would come by and ask me the same questions. I was getting concerned about the attention she was directing to me. I tried to politely end the conversation each time by speaking in phrases and sentences that left no room for a rejoinder. As you can tell, I was and still am not interested in this young woman.

Fast forward to the present: She has stopped attending the same service that I go to when I visit, so I am relieved to not have to be so rude any more. However, she has enrolled in the college that I am attending. And it so happens that our paths cross. She has made several attempts to enjoin me in conversation, and again I have resorted to my previous tactics to end the conversation sooner rather than later. My fellow students do nothing but watch in amusment as I squirm every which way to end the conversation. I am finding that I avoid my habitual paths to avoid bumping into her.

I am beginning to learn what it feels like to be prey rather than predator. I have determined that I don't enjoy it one bit. My friends tease me about my new girl friend and all I can do is grit my teeth while trying to think of some quip that will allow me to change the subject. Too bad it doesn't work. They enjoy watching my discomfort for them to let the issue drop.


What else can I do besides being a total jerk to get her to stop being interested in me? I feel that asking her to stop is kind of like beating up a one year old child for wanting to smile or kicking a newborn puppy. There is some horrible irony in this, but I can't see it.

The curse is off!

Well, I did it. I apologized to my friend. And he said it's ok! Yay!

The curse I laid upon myself will hopefully evaporate like a puff of black sulfurous smoke. Then anything that happens will merely be my bad luck.

Wow, has NYC ever changed!

So, earlier today, I was standing outside of Columbus park, holding my cousin's 18 month old daughter in my arms and thinking: "Wow! They took out all the wooden play sets and put in metal ones!" She liked to watch and hear traffic go by rather than play on the swing sets. I think she is already on her way to becoming a manhattanite. And she's already exhibiting vegetarian tendencies.

I don't know how long ago the play sets were replaced, since I hadn't been there in a few years and when I had last been inside Columbus park, I was the tender age of eight or nine (with the occasional visit in my early teenage years). I didn't spend much time in the area, especially since the start of Bloomberg's term, so walking around came very much like a rude awakening of what's gone on in the past four years.

The police presence is nearly overwhelming. Mayor Mike was serious about there being security in numbers. I've never seen so many patrol cars in one small area. Besides that, to see how much the traffic pattern has gotten disrupted in the city's attempts to "terror-proof" the area. The Bowery goes from three lanes of traffic to one lane when all traffic is diverted to the right onto Worth St. I used to park in that parking lot over by the Brooklyn Bridge and the police hq that is now barricaded up with a manned booth and concrete barriers. Ah well. Part of the price we must pay to be free of terror's dark and fearful grip.

It was also amusing to see the excessive LOHO realty marketing while getting off the Williamsburg bridge and going down Allen St. It took me a few moments to connect LES with lower east side. The main reason being that I was wondering who the heck is Les and what is he doing painting the buildings with his name? Yeah, I guess you have to live there to catch on quicker. It could have been worse, I suppose. I could have flagged someone down and asked them this dumb question.

I can easily imagine that this new emphasis on the L.E.S. means that the crowds from Chelsea and the village will start edging over. It will be interesting (in every meaning of the word) to see how things turn out. I admit it will be very wierd for me to see the hip and trendy walking down the south end of Allen St. What the heck, why should I care, I don't have to live there. At least as far as I know.

Pinned by my choice of colors?

It's been a terrible weekend for me. The tab for repairing my car was more than two of my weekly unemployment checks. I was thinking of losing some weight, however this is a bit much for even me to handle. It's hard to admit even semi-anonymously that I have no idea what to do next. This is probably the first time I have ever been in such dire financial straits (I can now buy a brand new near luxury car with the credit card debts alone).

I went out last night with the intention of having a relaxing night to perhaps momentarily forget that I am more than flat broke. Instead, I spent the entire evening preoccupied by my finances while nursing the one bottle of beer I allowed myself.

Amazing how the span of 24 hours can change one's mood from feeling good to downright in the dumps.

Enough of this depressing lamenting about my situation. I need to remind myself that there is a purpose to saddling myself with all this debt. Financial surety as an employable engineeer. Not that this greatly assuages my worries today. Two years is still enough time for Murphy's law to kick in. Perhaps a good night's sleep will change my perspective.

On a semi-unrelated subject, while writing this blog article, I was surfing and found this website. This is part of the results from that test:

Personality Analysis:
The existing situation is disagreeable. Has an unsatisfied need to ally himself with others whose standards are as high as his own, and to stand out from the rank and file. His control of his sensual instincts restricts his ability to give himself, but the resulting isolation leads to the urge to surrender and allow himself to merge with another. This disturbs him, as such instincts are regarded as weaknesses to be overcome; he feels that only by continued self-restraint can he hope to maintain his attitude of individual superiority. Wants to be loved or admired for himself alone; needs attention, recognition, and the esteem of others.

Feels that he is receiving less than his share and that there is no one on who he can rely for sympathy and understanding. Pent-up emotions make him quick to take offense, but he realizes that he has to make the best of things as they are.

Wants to broaden his fields of activity and insists that his hopes and ideas are realistic. Distressed by the fear that he may be prevented from doing what he wants; needs both peaceful conditions and quiet reassurance to restore his confidence.

Urgently in need of rest, relaxation, peace, and affectionate understanding. Feels he has been treated with a lack of consideration and is upset and agitated as a result. Regards his situation as intolerable as long as his requirements are not complied with.

Your actual problems:

• Wants to be valued and respected, and seeks this from a close and peaceful association of mutual esteem.


• Needs to achieve a stable and peaceful condition, enabling him to free himself of the worry that he may be prevented from achieving all the things he wants.

It is uncanny how well this description captures the essence of my feelings and personality so easily. My reaction was: "WTF? Picking a semi-random selection of colors and they can read your mind?"

Who needs a pshrink when a website can surgically take your feelings apart and lay them out in such concise words? Worse yet, it lays out clearly the probability of having a successful relationship. No one I can rely on? Ouch. There goes the trust aspect. Insists that his hopes and ideas are realistic? That is an underhanded way of saying that these hopes and ideas aren't realistic. And here I am seeking adoration and attention as exhibited in my first post. I think I will pick up the shattered remenants of my easily dissected ego and do as it says: Take a nap.

I'm feeling good.

I just had my hair cut earlier today and I went out for a few hours. It felt great to see so many women turning their heads and giving me a lingering look. If I didn't have an appointment to get my car worked on tomorrow at the crack of dawn, I might have done something about those looks. Ah well, at least I can go to sleep in a good mood.

Battle of the soccer moms

In this corner, we have one Toyota Highlander in tan, weighing 3750 lbs, with a record of 0 wins and 0 losses and being driven by soccer mom #1. In the other corner, we have one Chrysler Town and Country in forest green, weighing 4238 lbs, with a record of 0 wins and 0 losses and being driven by soccer mom #2.

Ok, only clean hits are allowed, no blind siding and no hits below the belt. *Ding* *Ding*

Yup, I heard the dull crunch of car hitting another car and caught in my rear view mirror the image of soccer mom #1 who made an ill advised left turn on to the street I had turned into being crushed by soccer mom #2 who didn't slow down fast enough. What made this woman think she could somehow use the draft of my car making that left turn would protect her from the oncoming soccer mom #2? Needless to say, the image of two very large vehicles colliding plays through my mind and the only thought is:

Stupid soccer mom! What were you thinking? You could never have made that turn after me. You should have waited until after that minivan passed.

Granted, I may have skirted danger myself by making the left turn in the first place, but what was soccer mom #1 thinking? I barely had enough room to make the turn before soccer mom #2 made it to the intersection. What form of daftness makes one think, "Oh, that little black car made it, I will follow him onto that street even though he almost got hit by that green minivan?" So instead of waiting, yielding right of way like a knowledgable driver would, she gets t-boned instead.

I admit that I am not a perfect driver, but damn it. I know when to stop and let someone else go so that I don't get into an accident. I know what right of way means. It means not forcing a left turn in the face of traffic. Is it a coincidence that these were both female drivers? I don't know enough to say. It makes one wonder where the spatial judgement was when she made the turn.

On the other hand, on my return trip from the supermarket, I see another female driver in her black Camry with her right turn light flashing, doing twenty miles per hour over 500 feet away from the nearest intersection. And then she makes the turn at the intersection and then decides that now is a good time to come to a complete stop in the middle of the road with two cars behind her.

Huuuuullo? This isn't the supermarket aisle. It is not ok to stop in the middle of the road. Heck, it isn't ok to do that in the supermarket aisle either, but at least there you won't get killed for doing it.

I wonder what would happen if every driver were required to go through the driver's road test every ten years to renew their license? And if you didn't pass, you had to re-take the entire test again before being allowed to drive? Add to that, changing the resultant fine for driving without a license to something like thirty to ninety days in jail and a $2000 fine for the first offense. I think it would put an end to a lot of idiot drivers that roll through stop signs and forget to yield right of way on the roads. And as an added bonus, it would get all the geriatric ward bound drivers off the roads. *sigh*

Ok, I am done with my delusional episode now. Oh yeah, back to the bout: Both contenders lose out and end up with 0 and 1 records.

Now looking for a...

I might as well weigh in on today's gas prices with a short blurb about to how it affects me. (Yeah, I am self-centered. This blog is about me anyway. So, sue me. Not that I have more than a few pennies to rub together anyway.)

Coffee. Ahhhh. The ambrosia of the sleep deprived. Local coffee places (ie. D'n'D, Starbucks, etc.) are now charging $0.10 to $0.65 more per cup. I hear you get horrible headaches, serious constipation and the shakes when you go cold turkey off caffeine. I may soon experience this first hand. It won't be pretty.

I doubt that there will any chance that we will see the price drop below $2.99 for regular in the coming six months. With yet another hurricane hitting the area yet again that produces 25% of our fuel (according to a local paper, which I don't feel like finding), prices will undoubtedly rise past $3.99 rather than drop. Gone are the days when $10 could fill your entire tank. (Does this make me an old man to remember such a time?) And now I'm hearing that Rita, the latest disaster to hit the gulf coast, is now a category 5 storm.

I think that this unemployed, re-educating-himself student will have to ditch his ride. I can't afford $40 fills anymore. I'll have to see if there is such a thing as mass transit out here where I go for my education. Or perhaps a motorcycle. I was looking at this interesting one from Honda or maybe this one from Kawasaki. After I recovered from my sticker shock, I started looking in my price range of $1500. Nothing to be had that resembles a cruiser. Even this one on craigslist would be nice. Oh if I had money.

Interesting.

From The Collaborative International Dictionary of English v.0.48 :

Interesting \In"ter*est*ing\, a.
Engaging the attention; exciting, or adapted to
excite, interest, curiosity, or emotion; as, an
interesting story; interesting news. --Cowper.
[1913 Webster]

That is the euro-centric definition of the word "interesting" as according to Webster's Dictionary circa 1913. In geek/programmer/hacker parlance, "interesting" means something difficult and challenging to do. However, my favorite definition of "interesting" is from the asian culture.

Interesting, adj., - As in "May your life be interesting." Drawn from the ill wished meaning that you will never know a moment's rest from the constant drama in your life. As in you will become a neurotic, emotional, broken down person who is accused of suffering from A.D.H.D. and possibly from nervous tics as well. --credited to me

I don't know exactly where I am going with this as I change the genre of music I am listening to from the less than stimulating music being played on local radio stations to something less mainstream. Yup, I am listening to swing aka big band music. Good bye Kanye, Jay-Z and Mariah, I'm now listening to Louie Prima.

Not that I can dance if my life depended on it, but it's great background music as I attempt to focus on wading through the mountain of work. Perhaps it's because I want to make my life a bit more interesting in the european sense of the word. Heh.

You look like you need a hug.

So, should I give you one?

You see someone walking past you and you can see that she really is down and needs a hug. Do you:

a) walk up to her and give her a great big ole bear hug,

or

b) keep your eyes where they belong and keep on walking?

Perhaps it's because I don't have decent social skills, but this little dilemna has crossed my path a few times and I still don't have any idea what I should do. Do you walk up to a complete stranger and hug them when you can see that they need it or note it in your head and walk away? I can say that I have chosen option b each time.

Yet, somehow their downtrodden looks still bother me. Is it the culture I live in, that nice self-protecting combination of being an introvert and raised in New York where the fear that they're more likely to scream that they're being raped rather then thank you for the hug, or is it because there is something wrong with me? Hah. I think I asked the same question twice.

I wonder if these feelings are an aberration and I should just ignore what is likely an unnatural and habititual desire to smother people in unwanted bear hugs. Perhaps I am being oversensitve. (That BS about girls wanting sensitive men is merely an excuse they give so that they do not have to say that they have no physical desire for you! Make an observation at any local event or hangout. Do the girls go after the jerks or the nice guys? You decide. Full disclosure: I am an embittered nice guy who actually listened to what girls said they wanted. What baloney!)

What would you do?

Edit: Today (being 9/21) a major radio station has a skit about giving random people hugs. Totally coincidental, but amusing, nonetheless.

Can we say "Jail bait"??

I suppose there are any number of guys who get this:

You schmooze your way into a $500 a ticket fund-raising gala where champagne is served in crystal glasses and you see this stunning vision of a woman. *cues in jungle fever music* She's a pretty blonde (out of a bottle) with brown eyes standing in about 5'7" and a tomboyish figure. The most obvious attribute (and likely the one that caught my attention) is her well endowed chest. Can we say all-natural? (How do I know, you ask? Just read on and you will understand.)

She's wearing a black blouse of a type that clings in the right places and displays her attributes without showing large amounts of flesh. Her skirt is a white, salmon and black angled slashed striped skirt. It is of a kind of skirt, that in the simplest (and least flattering) description, would be if one imagines that they made a tablecloth of the material and in the colors she was wearing last night then cut a hole in the middle. Yeah, I have no idea what style of cut that skirt is called, and I just made it hard for anyone who reads this to imagine her as pretty without sniggering. Anyway, enough with my terrible descriptions.

So, you see this vision, then uncharacteristically decide to discard your wallflower habit and introduce yourself to her. She's receptive! Bonus! Fastforward past a few glasses of champagne and she opens up some. Okay, she becomes very, very talkative. And while you are sipping your champagne, she lets it be known that she is enjoying her time there and she is the ripe age of sixteen. *cue in sound of needle sliding off record* YES! One followed by a six.

I somehow managed not to spew my mouthful of champagne (quit it with those innuendos) onto her blouse and work hard at extricating myself from our conversation. Then I moved immediately to the other side of the room and down a couple more glasses of champagne. I try to work myself into a few more conversations with other groups of ladies and I end up standing at the edge of these conversations. Largely because they are talking about things I know nothing about and since I do know that you look smarter if you keep your mouth shut.

Two hours into the night at this gala, realizing that the prospects of meeting someone here were slim, I notice at my elbow this young female again. And she is as talkative as ever. Now I notice that a number of aforementioned ladies are now looking at me. Not good, not good at all. Somehow, I make my excuses and then removed myself from that gala. I was home by midnight.

I tell you, it seems that curse I cast upon myself is fully in effect. So, am I the only one with this sort of luck? Please tell me I have company in this. Pretty please?

It's official, I am an ass.

Yep, it is indeed true. I am an ass. A friend of mine who is (and continues to be) really nice to me screwed up and instead of commiserating with him, I laid on the guilt and made him feel really, really bad. It's one thing to act like a total ass and be a loser. What really is terrible about this is that immediately after I said it, I realized that I was an ass to him. So, not only was I acting the ass, but I knew that I was acting as an ass!!! Ouch. Yes, I am officially registering to the world that I am an ass and a complete loser of a friend.

And if that's not bad enough, I have been an ass two days running. The first time was to a fellow student who kept pumping me for the answers that he should have known himself. You don't get to be a third year engineering student if you don't know what you are doing. (Yet somehow, there this guy is. How sad to be him when he goes into the Real World (tm) and everyone around him discovers how much of a lowlife he truly is.) So, I don't feel bad about being an ass to him. Now, back to my good friend.

I should apologize to my friend, and I want to. The unfortunate thing is that by the time I see him next, I will probably have forgotten. So, as a reminder, as well as being a form of atonement, I am posting this. This post will casts its accusatory finger at me and cast aspersions upon my head until I apologize to him. Hopefully, I can return soon and post a follow up that will negate this curse upon myself. Wish me luck.

Since we're on the topic of girls...

Since we're on the topic of girls, let's open Pandora's box yet again and see what comes out. My personal experiences being somewhat stilted by a 4 year stint at a company that lionized my personal time to the extent that I hardly got to go out at nights, I still can't help but observe that they (namely that other species called the opposite sex) are the most distracting things on the face of this earth. Yet they still manage to be a PITA when it comes to getting their attention on yours truly. I should probably narrow this diatribe to the subgroup of that other species that I see wearing what used to be considered underwear a mere five years ago. I admit that my eyes have gotten quite the exercise this summer after joining the masses of unemployed this year. Heck, I discovered that women do go commando far more often than I suspected. (Thank you, thank you, and thank you again to the young woman who nonchalantly sat cross-legged in a skirt at a table directly in my line of sight when I am trying to eat food! I could barely concentrate on keeping my mouth closed as I chewed. It made my day.)

Before I learned about the simple yet complex joys of making 5 dollars last for three meals, I was cooped up in a windowless office with colleagues whose fashion sense focused soley on less than revealing clothing thanks to a puritanical dress code at this company I once worked for. (Does this count as a run on sentence?)

Back to the point. Why do females get uncomfortable when us poor beknighted guys stare at them? I would observe that wearing a top that only covers the front side of your body is not because you want to be cooler. Or wearing pants that have words sewn to the posterior because you don't want us to try and read those words. ADMIT IT!! You want us to notice you! Why else would you be wearing that miniskirt that is one inch lower than your crotch?

Perhaps I begin to understand, it is because you want us to notice you like a pack of slobbering dogs, panting to see what else you might reveal as you stalk away in a huff because we did stare (admittedly with our tongues hanging out, panting away, all the while standing in a puddle of our own saliva) but, you don't want us to do more than stare. And it usually is the males of a species that are the peacocks. Hah!

So, is it really true? Are women who wear such revealing outfits just really attempting to give men nothing more than a bad case of blue balls? Is it nothing more than a passing moment of sadistic pleasure because of the fact that you can still "wow them" with the hints of more flesh hidden by thin strings of cloth? Or is it the need to show more flesh merely due to the fact that current fasion trends leave a girl no choice but to wear skin tight spaghetti strap tank tops and fluffy, pleated mini skirts?

I don't know. Perhaps someone from that other species could enlighten me. As I wait for someone do so, I will gladly pass the time staring at yet another skirt that is too short to be decent. Eyes, don't fail me now.

Please Read.

Some things I want everyone to understand about why I choose to add someone to my blogroll:

• The reason I add someone to my blogroll are based on several reasons.
• This doesn't mean that I am not reading your site on a regular basis.
• A reason I add a blog would be because they are regular posters (ie. once a week).
• Another reason is becasue they present their blogs without being obscene.
• Yet another reason (YAR) is because they are friendly to commenters.
• YAR is because they use proper gramatical english (good spelling is optional).
• YAR is because they write about things I don't get to experience.
• Yes, I am living vicariously through their posts. =p
• Lastly, I put them there because I think they are interesting enough that other readers may be interested in reading them.

Thanks for reading this. If you would like me to start reading your blog, please email me. If you meet several of the above reasons, I will eventually add you to that list.

The Parole of a Shy Person.

By cultural (asian) upbringing and natural tendency, I am a very private person who prefers to live an isolated lifestyle inured from the bigotry, violence, and outright meanness that living in the American society entails. And while I live inside my plastic bubble, I can't help but see how much my social skills have eroded. I can't complete sentences in any meaningful way or enunciate words that I know the meaning of. I fear that I have begun to sound like a dullard. Perhaps it is because I must spend so much time learning the latest slang that isn't (ain't?) anywhere near grammatical english. Or is it because I have to dumb down my words because teenagers can't put together a more descriptive sentence that doesn't include the misuse of the words fuck or mad, and not knowing that "they is" isn't correct. (Sorry, I heard a very lucid radio interview with Kanye West about helping hurricane Katrina victims and that is the only thing he used incorrectly. Kanye, the correct thing to say is "they are".)

So this is more of an expirement to see if I can retain my mental agility that allowed me to communicate at a level where I received laudatory acclaimations such as "You write and speak like a NY Times reporter." Then again, I think the memory of a pretty young lady that I thought was out of my league in my advanced english class reading my paper in a peer review session saying that she "never knew I could write like that" may be another ego enhancing reason to get the "skills" back.

Beyond that expirement, it also is an attempt to break out of my habitual need to zealously guard and isolate my life to the exclusion of even my closest friends. I feel the need to release my inner self from within my isolated shell to express what I truly feel and think. Fully guarded in my suit of armor named Anonymity, of course. Who knows, perhaps I can divest my inner self of that earthen bound shell.

Before I forget, I also need to thank one angry and decidedly disturbed girl for her darkly ironic approach that gives me the courage to consider this adventure. (Somebody ask her what Mr. Right's height is supposed to be. Asians don't have green eyes without augmentation.)