my life is like a movie

...only a bad one. I am going to rant about work. Just warning you.

I had another long work week this week, made even longer by getting sick late in the week. I worked during the weekend and left the office well after midnight on Monday trying to finish two proposals that were due on Wednesday. This was made even more difficult by the fact that my direct supervisor informed me that he could not be in the office on Tuesday so I would have to finish without him. He and I do not have an easy relationship. He relies on me far more than I think is appropriate and I feel that I spend a lot of excess time and effort on work that he has not properly thought out. I was not exactly surprised when by the time he left on Monday night that a lot had not been worked out and I was uncomfortable with being left with so much responsibility but I sucked it up and forced myself to be very precise and resourceful. I finished the last proposal and sent it to print at 5am on Wednesday and went home to shower before returning to the office to do one last look through before printing. When the supervisor returned to the office at 9am, everything was waiting for him to pass to the clients.

Another coworker had stayed through most of the night assisting me and later in the morning we commiserated over being exhausted. He suggested that we ask for compensation leave. "What is that?" I asked. Apparently our office has a policy that if you work a significant portion of overtime you can ask to take some time off from work. In all of my all-nighters at this office I had never been made aware of this policy. We went to the supervisor to ask to leave in the afternoon. He did not directly say no but he told us in so many words that even though this was an office policy, "others" might frown upon me leaving work early. I told him that I was quite tired and he made some weird sighing noises and said that he was just concerned of how this would be perceived by the director. So was that a no, I asked. He never did outright say no. As I walked to my desk, my coworker told me that the supervisor was weird. The director has personally allowed the coworker to take leave on many occasions of staying overnight to work. He was pretty sure that most of the staff respected this policy but I was not willing to take the risk.

I didn't think anything of it until we all were leaving for lunch. As we were standing in the lift lobby, another of the supervisors asked my supervisor how Disneyland was. Wait, what?! I was sure that I was hearing incorrectly. I turned and saw my supervisor looking uncomfortably in my direction. "It was okay," he said very, very quietly to the other supervisor and immediately began speaking in Cantonese.

I could feel my face burning. I was furious! I stayed up all night finishing two proposals that were his responsibility so that he could go to Disneyland on a weekday? And he was "concerned" over how it would look if I took the afternoon off to catch up on my sleep? Then I thought to myself, I bet that coworker was correct about the director granting leave without prejudice and supervisor was just keeping me around to do more work. When I returned to my desk after lunch, I emailed the director and asked for compensation leave. I received a two word reply: go now.

As I was packing up, supervisor approached with a stack of work for me. He asked where I was going and I told him that I was taking my earned compensation leave. "I have some things I want you to look at before you go," he told me. Then he made me sit at the conference table. He was getting too comfortable laying out the paperwork and I quickly realized this was not going to be quick, not that he cared at all. But then, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds, the director walked by the conference room. "What are you doing?" he asked. Supervisor actually got flustered. He started to say what he was making me do and then changed to say that we could discuss it tomorrow. I didn't wait around for him to start up again once the director's back was turned. I followed the director out of the conference room and made a beeline for the lift. Unfortunately I was already coughing and sneezing as I got into the lift. By Thursday morning I was wrecked. I finished the rest of this week in a fog.

He did not go gentle into that good night

SB informed me that he was going to a trade show in Paris for a little over a week. This was not a great shock, as I had been hearing bits and pieces of his plans as he was making them, even if he never quite got around to telling me when he was going. Well, he left on Friday and boy does he know how to make one heck of an exit...once he got around to informing me of said exit.

So on Thursday he said that he was leaving on Friday. It was late Thursday, around 11pm to be precise. This was promptly followed by a poorly disguised attempt to convince me to pack for him while acting like he was just asking for advice on what to pack. We spent an hour sorting out "military-trade show-salesman-reputable businessman" wear, and then weeded out the clothing with missing buttons and threadbare crotches. Didn't we buy him four pairs of pants and several shirts two months ago? Ah, but those were all in the mountain of laundry that he never got around to laundering. At about 1 am I protested that I had an 8:30 meeting and crawled off to bed. I could hear him flailing around for a few more minutes before he crawled into bed and made me promise to help pack before his flight. Then he flattened me against the wall and snored away.

On Friday evening he asked me to meet him by the printer's shop after work. I assumed that he wanted to grab a bite to eat before going home to pack but boy was I mistaken. He had over 40 kilos....let me repeat...OVER 40 KILOS of brochures and samples that he needed me to help him load into a taxi. WTF??!! I was wearing a pencil skirt and heels. I was not happy. He got stink eye. When no taxi was to be seen (what does one expect at 7:30 on Friday night?) he had me lug two boxes of brochures down three blocks until we fortunately flagged down a cab. Then I dragged the boxes up four flights of stairs in our walk-up and collapsed in the middle of the living room, not at all dramatically. And I certainly was not dramatic when I saw the condition of my beautiful heels.

I helped SB get the rest of his luggage packed and realized that we now had 80 kilos of samples, brochures, clothing, and etc. in two suitcases and one enormous backpack. The limit is 22 kilos. SB had this idea that he would pay some overweight luggage fee and be on his way but I was concerned that Air France was not going to let such egregiously overweight luggage onto their plane, excess fee or no.

And this is where I shall tell you that I could almost believe in supernatural events and karma because the cosmos always seems to allow my SB to pass on sticky situations. SB's friend, Tom, rang us up as SB was getting me to reweigh everything (because if I stand on the scale long enough, the luggage will lose 60 kilos) and told him that he had heard from another friend that SB was going to Paris and guess what? Tom was flying out on Cathay fifteen minutes later on Friday and wanted to share a ride to the airport. So SB asked him how much luggage he had and Tom responded that he was only bringing a carry on. And this is how Tom's business class, frequent flyer, VIP self ended up with 40 kilos of luggage. Now SB only had to pass 40 off as 22. Well, I got my revenge. We checked 22.6 into the flight and he carried the rest in his carry on which no one bothered to weigh for compliance with the 8 or so kilo limit. As I was kissing him goodbye at the gate I sternly told him to stop hunching over because everyone would know he had on an 18 kilo backpack. And then I watched him walk stiff legged into the terminal as I cackled with glee. "Have a lovely time in Paris and buy me presents!"

Ahem...onto my soapbox

According to a recent report by the World Health Organization, AIDS is the leading cause of death and disease in women aged 15 - 44 worldwide although maternal mortality is a close runner up, accounting for 15% of adult female deaths.

And yet the Catholic church still won't let you use birth control...because they believe in life.

well, at least I have boobs

One year and three brand changes later, I am still dissatisfied with my birth control options. I miss my old tricylen. I went from one brand causing me to put on almost 15 lbs in six months to another that reduced my sex drive to that of a giant panda. I couldn't believe that SB even wanted to instigate sexy time considering that I looked a bit like a giant panda as well. I finally settled into Yaz, which has the lowest hormones of all the birth control I investigated. Who's paying attention to all those news stories about women dying of blood clots, anyway, when I'm finally feeling good about myself?

One side effect of almost all birth control pills is that they reduce the ability to gain lean muscle mass by as much as 60%. I can personally attest to this. I used to put on muscle rather quickly, especially during rugby season. I feel as strong as before, but I don't have those obliques sticking out of my sides or the arms that used to make my roommate jealous. I would attribute some of the missing muscle to the fact that I still need to lose those last 8 lbs that I put on last year and perhaps the muscle is lurking somewhere beneath the fat, but I can see that I just don't have it when I flex in the mirror and nothing major happens. The good news is that my desire to see muscle has kicked up my workout routine and so the weight is slowly dropping off. Nothing drastic, but I am losing about 1/2 lb per week. By the time SB gets his proposal together I shall be similar to my original size, albeit softer looking. At least SB is enjoying the boobs. Actually, I am also. I have spent more than a few occasions skipping around the flat, telling SB to check out my rack. I have never really had boobs before so I can be forgiven for my narcissism. I come from a family of mammorific women and yet I never quite graduated from my original bra. But all good things must come to an end and these shall disappear when I get in shape. The other day I told SB to kiss them goodbye because I was ramping up my workout and he literally tried to do so. Dork.

Rio

I found out some very sad news tonight. An architecture student has died "unexpectedly." He took a leave of absence two years ago, right before I finished my thesis. I was so busy at the time that I never spoke to him. Before Rio there was another student, from Hong Kong, who took his life after failing his thesis.

I wish that I could go back in time and tell these young men that nothing is ever so big. What seemed unbearable to me when I was in my teens and twenties is a forgotten memory. Don't ever think that it is too late because it doesn't have to be. We should all allow ourselves room to grow.

the sound of a wall crashing down

Being the more verbose of the two of us, I was easily pulling ahead in our ongoing debate. I was happily mortaring up the latest brick in my growing wall of defense when he pulled out this response:

"I am not saying that we should have children but if we don't I will, on some level, feel like a failure by Darwinian standards."

Oooh, burn! Now I have to rebuild. Perhaps an essay on how Darwinian standards are outdated in an increasingly fragile ecosystem.

who's going to carry the pig?

SB and I attended a remarkable wedding this weekend. It was quite the banquet, with three hours of cocktails, during which the bride and groom stood in the same place and took hundreds of photos, followed by a 13 course dinner and live band. I was exhausted and I imagine the bride and groom were also, even though you never would have known it from their glowing smiles. The event almost made me rethink my plan to elope to the nearest register.

Up until this weekend I had almost convinced SB of my plan. I sweetly described the scene of us strolling leisurely through the botanical gardens where I used to walk every week with my family 20 years ago on our weekly return from mass at St. Josephs. We would then make our way to the historic Rawlinson House where we would be quickly and easily married. I even found out that the US does not require registration of the wedding and would simply acknowledge our union as long as it is legal under HK law. Piece of cake!

SB is not against my proposal, but I can see that he is still leaning toward a more formal event. He still wants a formal engagement with a shiny ring, followed by a wedding in his beloved Adirondacks. He is even more keen now that he knows that I don't care where we get married. Since I could not talk him into my plan, I tried to talk him out of his.

"You realize that if we do the big blowout in the woods, then my family will want a hometown reception as well?" He nodded. "I think it's going to be very costly...and not just financially."

While we would be having the typical American wedding in the Adirondacks, my family event would have to include our Vietnamese heritage. Our traditions are very similar to the Chinese. This means that SB would have to show up at my parents' house with his groomsmen and be put through their paces by my family. My father would demand proof of his devotion. My mother would want him to show his gentle side. My ong ba ngoi (grandparents) would be so excited that they would have no demands. But my sister...I cackled gleefully at the thought of my sister's demands.

My sister and I are as dissimilar as two sisters can be, but we share mutual fierce love for each other. While I am a bit of a tomboy despite my shoe addiction, my sister is very feminine. She is a doting nurse practitioner who always smells like flowers. She loves to go dancing, doesn't consume alcohol, always looks pretty, and can somehow manage to endear others while being a diva. When she met SB, she expressed a mixture of delight and horror. She thought he was handsome and funny and appropriately crazy about me but she was appalled by how "manly" he was. "He needs to treat you better," she lectured me, "You should be his princess." She seemed disappointed when I told her not to hold her breath for him to start showering me with presents like her boyfriend did. And while she was at it, she shouldn't hold her breath over me turning into a princess either. SB does buy me flowers and presents, just not every week. And if he recited poetry for me I would probably never have sex with him again.

Yes, if SB wants the princess wedding, he will have to deal with my princess sister. I gleefully described to him how I imagined that she would put him through his paces. She would demand money and presents from him, proof of his ability to sustain me. She would inspect the groom's entourage to make sure that they were committed to assisting him in caring for me. His family would have to carry a large feast to show how much they would offer for me. And you know how these Asian weddings are.

Someone in his family would have to carry the pig.