Premature ejaculation?

Passengers, welcome to Flight 021709; this is your pilot speaking, Ms. Hap. I am equal parts amazed, excited, overwhelmed, grateful, and humbled by the tremendous responses that I received from my fledgling post. If I recall correctly, having one's cherry popped is a typically uncomfortable experience, and yet, in the blogging world, yesterday felt more like a multiple orgasm than awkward rite of passage. Thank you guys so much, for taking the time to read a lengthy first post, and for more than that, for letting me know that you recognize that there is talent under my troubled surface, that you saw yourselves in some facet of my own life (even in the flawed parts), and that you would be back for more. I am typically a far cry from a nervous wreck, or someone who doubts my strong suits (as writing has always been), and yet the influx of activity that took place on my blog the past couple of days and your sung praises have made me feel like I'm sitting on a verbal hot plate—either about to be muy caliente or to boil over and fizzle out. For my sake and yours as well, I'm hoping that I didn't prematurely ejaculate with yesterday's work, and am actually working toward a climax and not having to towel off my leg instead already. Haha, ahhh, the sexual connotations have been rampant in this intro, but then again, don't find it strange, this is all "coming" out of my warped tour of a mind.

(random sidenote: I have a DvR'ed episode of American Idol (guilty as charged) que paso'ing in the background as I'm writing right now and I just teared up when the legally blind piano kid made it onto season 8. Oh, little emoootional basketcase me, and it's not even those seven days this month. Sigh.)

My day was pretty standard fare: a skipped 8 a.m. Shakespeare class (lo siento Dr. S), being vaguely comatose until about 2:30 p.m., and then putting in the daily grind @ Umi, where I legally hustle the most amazing clientele ever for some dinero to pay for my bills and vices, and usually more along the lines of my vices. But hey, my credit's improving people, albeit at a snail's pace. The most pressing matter that was served up to me today came from my dad asking me if I felt up to singing "amazing grace" at Gram's funeral on Thursday. It's not a matter of the song (one of my faves), or my voice (not Mariah's, but genuine and on-key), but more the situation. "It's what she would have wanted Han, you know she so loved your voice." As if it's that cut-and-dry, that straightforward. Your grandma was your biggest fan, she's gone now, and so in her honor you will sing. And sing I will, although my vocals have been ravaged lately by a months-long cold this erratic Indiana weather has gifted me, and although I am already reverting mentally back to a few summers ago when I sang at my Inay's funeral in Seattle, putting a lifetime's worth of emotions into Celine's "Because you loved me," (although a few keys lower), only to lose it the last 20 seconds when I cast an ill-timed sideways glance at my grandma, which provoked rivulets of tears to begin meandering down my cheeks, which eventually gave way to me choking up so bad that I literally whispered the final words ("I'm everything I ammmmm(sob) because you loved meeeee" (trails off). So yeah, everyone was touched at Inay's service by my added human element to the song, but I frankly don't know if I have it in me to risk that sort-of breakdown again. I feel like I've been crying for the past half year and the prospect of doing even more of the same, and this time, with a wider audience than the normal one, or two, or three people that see my mini-meltdowns all the time is weighing heavy on my heart and mind. But for you I will Grams, for you, I will.

(random sidenote 2: "I just have two words with a hyphen for you—'sold-out arenas'"—Paula Abdul to a Season 8 contestant. Oh my, you do the math. Keep eating that valium Paula.)

And now for the 60-40.

1. Good- I haven't totally fallen apart like I had feared I would following Gram's passing. I've still worked the past two nights and put on a brave face, even managing to allow myself to succumb to a handful of genuine belly-laughs at and with my co-workers.
   
2. Good- My espanol is improving with each passing dia. I aspire to being tri-lingual in the next five years (English (which, I've sorta mastered), Spanish, and Tagalog (anything for you Mom), and gracias to the boys @ mi trabajo for teaching me the business. Even the really silly, totally inappropriate stuff. Yo quiero hacer cosas malas contigo. Ayyy papi.
   
3. Bad- I'm convinced my face is never going to get back to anything resembling its relatively peaceful state circa 2007 and before. I break out like it's the standard and not the occasional exception, and honestly, I think it's God's way of saying, "I forgive you, I always will if you ask, but don't think for a second I'm going to let you out-and-out sin all the time and not take your vanity down ten notches."
   
4. Good- At least he [Dios] hasn't messed with my legs. At least my showpieces are yet unmarred.
   
5. Good- Baby Sib (who I will refer to as one of her many nicknames- Karma) started running yesterday following a helluva freshman entrance onto the varsity basketball scene, which is positive b/c she hates running with a passion, and I'm convinced only does so because she doesn't want to send dad and I into a tailspin and because she's addicted to success. The girl's gonna set some high school records this year and I cannot wait.
   
6. Bad- Karma, at 15 years old, has the boobs that I'll have to have paid for someday, or cough up the money myself. What kinda hormones are in foods today anyway and how did I miss that lunchbox? Sigh again.
   
7. Bad- I'm still way behind on homework and instead of cracking into it, I'm catching up on my dvR. But seriously, I'm grieving, and Gossip Girl and ABDC trumps King Henry the 4^th anyday of the week. Sorry 'bout ya.
   
8. Good- A co-worker of mine (Sum-Sum) told me she wanted to talk to me about some personal issues later on in the week because she knows I'm going to lend her a solid listening ear and even more solid advice. And she's only known me for less than 2 weeks. I dig you too kiddo.
   
9. Bad- Tatiana on American Idol is still haunting my mind and time with her gratingly annoying presence. Please America, vote Danny or Anoop this round of 12, please. She's killing me.
   
10. Good- I'm around to blog yet another day.
    

    Xoxo to all, and to all a good-nite.

    Free Blog Counter