Cheers

My new favorite drink in the whole wide world is Jones Organics White Tea: Strawberry. It isn't gritty like honest tea, and it tastes like tea and strawberries. I don't have to water it down. It only has 15g of sugar in a whole bottle, as opposed to most drinks which are about 30g. Coke, I thought, had it going on with Coke C2, till I realized that they attempt to replace the rest of the sugar with Splenda. Sure there's less real sugar, but now there's a yucky aftertaste. Really, when will all these companies realize that half the sugar tastes just as good, if not better?

Not Unique?!!

The other day, I came face to face with the discovery of another Angela H. Chi in this world. How? She found me on the Face Book. She is a biochem major in San Antonio Texas who is part of a sorority. One with lots and lots of pink. Fascinating, and yet somewhat disappointing to know that my name is not unique (but then, most people have at least one other person with their name in the world).
Anyway, I'm home for the weekend in happy, pretty smelling Danbury. I never thought I'd associate Danbury with "pretty smelling," but the moment I stepped into my house, I caught a whiff of fresh air and flowers and thought to myself, "I like this a lot better than city air." But then, city air consists of garbage and car exhaust and god knows what else.
Being at home also reminds me of my loneliness. I tried calling up a few old friends today, but they never answer the phone. I guess they're just too busy or can't remember who the heck I am. It's a bit sad how life changes after you go away to college. Maybe that's what's making me so restless. I remember everyone I used to be friends with, all my orchestra buddies and classmates, and now they're just sort of...well...gone.
On another note, my boss showed me what I consider to be the best sketchbook every - moleskine notebooks. I have to get myself some for the next school year! And no, they're not made out of moles.

Grosse

I'm getting fat. Could be because Gramma's trying to stuff me like a turkey. Not that I don't like her, but I can't wait for her to leave so I can start eating healthy, on my own, without massive quantities of seconds being pushed at me every freaking day. No wonder I'm so fat, she gives me more than double what I usually eat, and being that it's Gramma, how can I disappoint her by not eating?
And no, it is not my imagination. There is definitely a spare tire around my middle that has never, in my entire freakin life, ever, ever existed! Darn you, Gramma! ARGH!
And now I'm going to go shove dessert down my throat. ARGH!

Legs, Subways and Doofus Awards

Today was fraught with horrible thoughts on my part. On the way to the subway, I picked up my usual free copy of the Metro. Today there were two stories I found particularly disturbing. The first involved a woman in Long Island hearing two thumps in the morning and returning from work to find that someone's right leg complete with socks and Adidas sneaker, as well as half a torso and part of the spine somehow fell down from the sky and crashed into the side of her house. Yes, very disgusting.
The second story I read was about a woman who got raped in the subway last night. Apparently the person who worked in the booth heard a scream but didn't investigate. One of the people driving the cars noticed what looked like a man assaulting a woman and called it in. Needless to say, by then, the deed had already been done. So me with my horrifically vivid imagination thought about how I would react if someone tried to rape me. The phrase, "You're frickin' kidding me," always seems to be the first words out of my mouth before I try to get away. I really need some form of self defense. It seems too easy for some guy to just grab me unsuspecting off the street - but then, I'm usually safely at home before the rapists start their evening lurk.
On a brighter note, Nestor sent me a most amusing email today. Apparently the company portfolios that we were busy making all last week made quite a splash over in Missouri. We won the Preferred Doofus Award for Outstanding Achievement. It involves the award for best cover, best use of color, fine fonts and most appealing and readable page layout, best use of photographs (aka "Pretty pictures: they made me drool"), technical excellence for special achievement in binding and paper quality, and lastly the highest rating awarded in the category of "Attention to Detail and Demonstrated Subtlety and Self-Restraint in Marketing." I think basically the librarians of Columbia, Missouri were telling us we went far above and beyond the norm for portfolio quality. We aim to please. ^_^

Phone Bill

It's been about two and a half weeks since I started living with Gramma. So far, it was pretty good. She'd cook food, I'd babble about the day. I'd help carry groceries. She'd read her paper. I'd surf my stolen internet.
Then, the phone bill came in. Boy, is she mad. Apparently she ran up the long distance bill with phone calls to Taiwan - around $80 this month, plus the flat rate, totalling to about $120. Never is she as scary as when she's counting her money...She practically yelled at me today and made me explain what each and every part of the bill was - much of which I couldn't explain because I just don't know the words for FCC and surcharge are. That wasn't ever part of my daily conversation, nor was it part of my Chinese school education...
In any case, it's kind of odd and surprising all at the same time. At home, Gramma would do her anger thing and yell at mom or dad while May and I ignored them, and since I'm the only one around, I get the brunt of it. Joyful. I don't think she's ever raised her voice at any of us before - well, maybe at Jon and Ling for not drinking their milk.
O and I asked my parents (and by parents, I actually mean mom) if I could go to Pittsburgh and visit my bunny and mom said yes! Woohoo! Now I just have to tell the bosses that they won't have to worry about another 13 hours of overtime...

Bored

Yes, I am bored. Today, I went out with Gramma so that I could help her get a library card. Of course, I had some self-interest in mind, I need books to read. In my massive boredom, I have actually read the newspaper, and I actually seem to read too quickly, and find my days still empty and my mind craving more entertainment. So we went to the library today. The Flushing Library has an embarrassingly paltry literary selection. It's consisted entirely of best-sellers and that Oprah list of good books to read. Most of it is in paperback, and most of it comes in multiple copies. I find myself looking at only V.C. Andrews and popular Romance novels complete with half naked men and women foreplaying on the covers. My god, is that the only stuff people want to read? Of course, once in a while, you can sift through the piles of Anne Rice and find a pretty good book. I managed to rustle up "I, Robot," which up till now I haven't had a chance to read. My brain practically inhaled the book, and now it's busily asking for more Asimov. Except that it's the only Asimov book in the entire library. Yes, I'm not exaggerating. And there's only two Bradbury books. As for the classics, like Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice, I haven't a clue if they've hidden those away somewhere.
Anyway, "I, Robot" was great. I have no clue how they managed to turn that into a movie, since the story was actually several that took place over the course of an old lady's career. I suppose they took the idea of a robot committing murder and stuffed it into some action packed story, turning that icy old woman into the voluptuous, hollywood dame that Will Smith's character will promptly fall in love with. Never mind the fact that the book states clearly that she is a plain looking woman who likes robots way more than she's ever liked humans. They always mess the stories up so badly...
In any case, I guess I can understand how crappy the library is. It is, after all, New York City, where those who want to read are rich enough to buy what they want, and those who only read a little only care for V.C. Andrews and the like. I need to go to Danbury in a couple weeks and take out as many books as I can carry back to NY.
What really pisses me off is that the cover has Will Smith on it. His character doesn't even exist in the book. The robopsychologist does all the brainwork in the book. Fine, I don't have to be a purist about it all, but I figure, as long as the very basic idea of the book is kept, then it's all right. I suppose that's what offended me so much about "the Bourne Identity." Even the meaning of the phrase, "the Bourne Identity" was completely ignored in the movie.

Lonely

My next subway observation: Yesterday, a woman sat across from me from the stop at Times Square till the stop at Vernon. The first thing I noticed was that she looked like she stepped out of the baby ward at the hospital - everything on her was pastel, including her baby yellow sneakers with lavender shoelaces and baby blue ankle socks. The second thing I noticed was that she was extremely nervous. She never sat back in the seat, rather perched herself like a giant albatross on the edge of the seat, always something ticking, whether it was the side of the mouth or her finger or her foot. Her eyes kept darting back and forth, like she was just waiting for something to happen. I'm not sure what she was waiting for, but I have a sneaking suspicion that she's deathly afraid of germs. At any rate, I looked down for one second when the contents of my bag shifted at the sudden stop at Vernon, and all I saw was a lavender figure darting out as fast as possible out of the corner of my eye. She really didn't like being on the subway.
I, as you can probably tell by now, quite enjoy the subway. There's a lot of interesting things to see. If I ever went to France, you can bet I'd be one of those people who would just sit ouside a cafe and drink Parisien coffee as I watch the world go by.
Also, I'm just plain lonely. I don't have any friends that I can hang out with here. Everyday, it's work till 6:30, leave and get back at 7:30. After that, I would eat dinner, help Gramma clean up, and then it's 9. Sometimes, I'll call my Benny-bean, but still, talking to him on the phone and actually seeing him are two different things entirely. I sit in front of the laptop with AIM on desperately hoping to see a friend pop online, but then it's 10, and if I'm ever to wake up on time, that's when I must go. Everything is very nice and structured in my day, I get enough sleep, I get enough time to eat, but I'm just lonely. What's there to do in NY? Nothing without friends, really. I can't very well go into Manhattan all alone after dark, or my gramma will freak out. I don't have time to make friends. So I'm pretty much stuck here, all alone. Lonely, lonely, lonely...

Observing

Recently, I have fallen in love with a UK band called "the Servant." Sadly, their CD is not sold in the US, though I can order it on Amazon for a mere $40. I like them, but not that much.
Today I got out of work at 6:30, just like yesterday. Both days, I waited for the subway next to two elderly gentleman, both equally wrinkled and equally hunched. Perhaps it's an advanced form of osteoperosis? I was speculating on the way home. How is it that the only two hunch-backed old men I've ever seen in my entire life appear at the same time and the same place, and yet don't seem to know each other at all? Maybe there's a doctor's office nearby? I didn't see one anywhere around the area, so unless it's extremely well hidden, I don't think that's the case. Maybe there's a support group of sorts? That's just stupid. I hate to think that perhaps it's just a coincidence. But sometimes, that's all that it is.
I also thought about body posture on the subway. One fellow that sat across from me was dressed in the ghetto-fabulous bling bling style of Puff Daddy, or P. Diddy or whatever you call him these days. Odd thing is that he sat completely hunch over, legs together as if he were riding side saddle, reading a book. Next to him was a nerdy looking Chinese guy, he looked to be 16, but is probably anywhere from 20-25 years old. He, I thought, seemed annoyingly confident, like a prince sitting on his throne, looking down on others, legs apart, arms crossed, knowing smile on the face. It took me a while to come up with that metaphor, but that's what he was - he reminded me of a young emperor in one of those cheesy, low-budget Chinese soap operas. I also saw someone my sister probably would have drawn in her sketchbook. Skinny guy, hair slicked back like Christian Bale, little sunglasses, jacket with a collar like Vash and lots of buckles on it. I guess on paper it looks pretty good, but when someone wears it in real life...well, he looked kind of silly. I doubt even Christian Bale could pull it off. Sorry, Vincent, you're just not meant to be real.