friends by dissociation

When I first logged on to the wonderful world of social networking via facebook, twitter, and an incomplete linkedin account- I felt as if my hip factor multiplied exponentially. Everyday was a new friend request, an added follower, and an opportunity to catch up with people I haven't spoken to in decades. DECADES! In a matter of months- I'd gone from having 5 friends to an astronomical 472. Without thinking twice- I racked up a slew of acquaintances, friends of friends, and became rather chummy with a handful of high school students. (I can't help it if my daughter's friends find me fascinating!) Admittedly, I enjoy updating "what's on my mind?", melt when I see family photos, and have had fascinating IM chats with people all over the world. For a girl who thought her friend making days were over- this virtual opportunity at "getting to know you" without the hint of an awkward conversation or a forced air kiss is absolutely delightful.

But let's face it- there is a downside to letting 400 people you barely know into your life. I've actually run into FB "friends" at weddings and street corners and without so much as a glance or even a faux 'hello'- we continue to remain as anonymous in person as we do online. So, the question is...how many friends do I have? Well, I'm glad to report that it's more than 5 but much, much less than 500. It's been rather lovely getting reacquainted with old acquaintances whom I'm certain we'd exchange more than a fake kiss and a forced smile. As for the rest...I suppose that's who the delete button and privacy settings were made for. And you- who's got your back? Do tell...

i got a feelin'....

I recently returned from a very short but much needed 4 day trip back east. As the plane landed, my husband lifted the shade to reveal a dark, rainy, miserable day- from which I beamed a smile that only the sight of the Parkway, my best friends, and my entire family could induce. Home at last! As we stepped off the plane, my husband and I tried to keep pace with thousands of over zealous travelers who darted and weaved in and out of airport rest rooms, restaurants, and on and off those godforsaken travelators. And though I was tempted to get right back into the Jersey swing of things- I thought to myself, "What's the rush?" Surely, I was in no hurry for this vacation to end or to text my tearful good-byes, and certainly, I was in no rush to rush back to Hawaii. So, with a deep breath- I vowed to soak it all in. (both the rain AND the memories)

As predicted- the trip was a whirlwind. Many vodka crans downed, plenty of babies kissed, and all too many moments wishing it would never end. Like dinner at Komegashi with my BFF's, a cousin brunch filled with laughter and longanisa, a beautiful, heartfelt wedding in the middle of a storm, cocktails with my siblings, and a quick trip into Chinatown for some Wonton Garden. Most people are perplexed, even downright annoyed that I'd even consider trading in the sunny, blue skies of Hawaii in exchange for life in the armpit of America (that's right- Jersey, baby!) but truthfully, at least for me- it's not always about location, location, location. And you- where does your heart pull you? Do tell...

truth is stranger than fiction (or is it?)

As I got into the elevator with our dog, Phifey a curious Asian man asked in broken English, "How many time you take out dog?" Before the door could open I cheerfully blurted, "Ususally 3 or 4 times a day". Immediately, Phifey shot me a look of disbelief as I began to blush at an apparently innocent yet little (white) lie. "WOW!", he said stunned as I tried to change the subject by asking if he had any pets. Shaking his head with a vigorous "no", he appeared appalled as he calculated the number of times I ride the elevator on a daily basis. And just as I was about to explain that, "pets are really no trouble at all and that in theory- I'd like to take my dog out 4 times a day but realistically...well, you know, it was more like twice and sometimes, most times it's 3"...the elevator doors shut. There I was- mouth ajar, Asian man perplexed, and Phifey...let's just say she got all 4 walks, a romp on the beach, and extra kalbi bones with dinner.

So why do we do it? The exaggerating and stretching of the truth, that is. Lucky for us and I mean ALL of us- turns out that little white lies are more common than you think. Whether we're saving face or sparing feelings- the truth is, the truth hurts. And so what if I fudge the number of days I actually go to the gym or fib about how fabulous my overweight co-worker looked in a tank top? Researchers say that embellishers use their "fiction" as a way of some day becoming self fulfilled and that positive biases can be beneficial. Hell! If that's the case then, next year- you can find me on the New York Times best sellers list, hosting a show on Oprah's OWN network, and out walking my dog 5 times a day! And you- what white lies do you tell? Do tell...


my due diligence while clearing my conscience:
We're All Lying Liars: Why People Tell Lies, and Why White Lies Can Be OK - US News and World Report

my own worst cynic...

On a never ending quest for answers about myself- I've consulted everyone from family members to fortune tellers and have been thisclose to figuring things out, but at the present moment...still no cigar. In an effort to save face and a few hundred bucks (psychics aint cheap)- I've now turned to some free, anonymous methods of advice seeking via the Honolulu Weekly's horoscope page, Martha Beck, and egads...Men's Health magazine. Between an astrologer, a life coach, and a witty men's magazine writer- it's safe to say that I'm hardly the glass half full kinda gal that I thought I was. My natural instincts towards snarky commentary, pessimism, and an overall distrust toward the general population was what I believed to be the epitome of a Jersey girl. (insert FIST PUMP!) And there's nothing wrong with that! 

However, through the years I've noticed an increase in skepticism, eye rolling, and paranoia...all of which can make for a very lonely existence. I recently read an article about successful people and their unwillingness to be cynical. I thought perhaps I misread the piece and deemed it bullshit until I re-read it again and yup, it said "unwillingness" to be cynical. But, who doesn't have doubts? Who doesn't second guess? Who in their right mind totally believes in all the bullshit they say? Well, apparently- successful people do. And with that said, I'm off to work on an attitude adjustment and go find some optimism. And you...want to come? Do tell...

there's no place like home...(click, click, click)

When I lived amidst the misery and cold of the east coast, I often fantasized about warm weather living. Convinced I had seasonal affect disorder- I'd blame my foul disposition on dirty, slushy snow and my less than attractive figure on a severe case of hibernation. Finally fed up with dreading winters and rationalizing that bulky sweaters and mittens were indeed, sexy- my family and I pulled the trigger and moved to Hawaii. For the past four years, I've yet to detest the months of November through April and haven't purchased anything heavier than a t-shirt since 2006. Any given day is a day at the beach and thanks to this stint in paradise- I unfortunately, may have lost any and all rights to bitch and moan about anything.

But truthfully, as we all know- not everything is what it seems. Sunshine and gorgeous blue skies don't necessarily equate to pleasant dispositions and syrupy sweet friendliness. In fact, I've met quite a few miserable curmudgeons who've made me question whether the weather has anything to do with happiness or is it simply just a state of mind? After taking a stab at this island locale- I've come to realize that certain things never get old like the sound of crashing waves and warm tropical tradewinds. However, for someone who's accustomed to changing seasons, the fast pace of the city, and speed walking just to use the restroom- I must admit, the constant constants of island living can get pretty stale. And while the lush landscape certainly helps to brighten the mood- there is no guarantee that happiness is just somewhere over the rainbow. And you...where's your happy place? Do tell...

deny...deny...deny!!

Last night, I devoured an entire bowl of spaghetti with seafood drenched in garlic oil for my brother-in-laws birthday dinner and I must admit- I felt undeniably content yet obscenely bloated. It finally occurred to me that this was the kind of self denial I'd seen posted all over Facebook earlier in the day. I saw everything from giving up on chocolate to refuting negative self talk and decided, "How bad could it be?" As usual, I was fashionably late for the start of the Lenten season but clearly willing, or at least, thinking about making the sacrifice. So, I sat at my desk and devised a short list of things I simply can't do without. In no particular order since they all rank the same, my list looked like this: coffee, vodka, Bravo TV, and pasta. There was a time in my 20's when cutting carbs would've been the equivalent to nixing caffeine and alcohol in my mid 30's but that's just ridiculous! So, I officially bid adieu to the likes of penne and ziti...today, on day 39.

Evidently, I'm no angel. You know, being late for Lent and all. But, I did owe it to myself to delve a little deeper into the benefits of self denial. Obviously, a month without pasta would flaunt the effects of less belly bulging and visible cellulite- but I wondered...how and when would I begin to see the spiritual repercussions? This fast/sacrifice/temporary loss of sanity wasn't just about being pleasantly surprised when I stepped on the scale, right?  Wasn't this about giving back and letting go of what we over indulge in? If that's the case- then along with heaping plates of linguini, I'm throwing in excuse making and procrastination and having them all take a nice, long hike. Well, at least one that lasts 39 days, that is. And you- what are you giving up? Do tell...

this post is dedicated to our kuya Romey! Happy forty...ooops, I meant thirty something!!! Aloha.

en garde...

I don't mind the occasional garden variety rumor, some of which happens to be true but mostly, for entertainment purposes only. Like when Bennifer imploded and Manniston bit the dust- reports of their super star love affair gone awry hit newstands before they could even comment with a, "no comment." And as sad as it is to see poor Jen (Aniston not Lopez) single, yet again...I suppose that's just how the celebrity cookie crumbles. Recently, as the target of speculation and innuendo, I couldn't help but to empathize with the Brangelina's of the world. (without the money or fame, of course). Thanks to a little creative embellishment, I was unexpectedly fodder for versions of the truth and blatant lies that swirled dizzily throughout the coconut wireless which FYI-  is the island equivalent to the mainland grapevine. To put things in perspective, my husband's philosophical response to rumors is, "At least we're relevant enough to talk about." And yes- while that is true, I can't help but feel a much more emphatic, "WTF?!" kind of response.

After a few deep breaths and a couple glasses of Cabernet, clarity began to set in about people who ignore the truth. While spinning webs about the rest of us, I'm sure even the most prudent of gossipers clearly have issues with honesty in their own lives. Sadly, anyone who takes a remote interest in my simple life or enthusiastically asks 3 or more questions at any given time- is automatically demoted to the "do not tell" list. Nowadays, I have little desire to expand on my rolodex of friends but I can always assure this, you can count on me to tell you like it is...and that's no lie. And you, do you keep it real? Do tell...