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Last December 2013, the San Francisco Bay Area and all of its San Francisco 49er fans said goodbye to Candlestick Park.

I’m not going to regale you about how much little I know of Candlestick. Truth be told, I’m a Raiders fan. (Yeah, yeah, boo hisssss, heard it alllll before.) I’ve been to the Oakland Coliseum 20 times more than I’ve been to Candlestick. But to be fair, I went to Candlestick before I ever stepped foot in the Coliseum — and that was for my first ever baseball game which was back in the 80’s when the SF Giants still played there, too.

But I digress.

The point is, the SF 49ers used to play there. They won a bunch of Super Bowls (that’s five) while they were playing there. Joe Montana, Jerry Rice, Steve Young, Jimmy Johnson…these are names that have worn the red and gold uniform — names even those people who aren’t into sports have at least heard of.  Thus, I felt kind of nostalgic about the decision to demolish Candlestick Park and move the 49ers to Santa Clara (oh, and the drive would be further to see a game.)

But while I was nostalgic, the boyfriend was downright…sentimental. Emotional. Heavy-breathing kind of stuff.

So, as one of his Christmas presents, I bought us tickets to the last game at the ‘Stick.

Yeah, it was freakishly expensive, thank god for end of year bonuses to allow for impulse “I-love-you-this-much” moments. But I’ve got to admit, there was some magic there, especially since the 49ers were down with only 1:31 left in the game with the ball in Matt Ryan’s hand — and it was only by that one heart-stopping moment with NaVorro Bowman making an impressive pick and returning it for 89-yards that made me believe in game time magic and had me cheering like a mad diggity crazy eyes fan.  It is now famously known as “The Pick at the ‘Stick”.

Here it is from 49ers.com in sexy slo-mo: CLICK HERE.

And in not-so-slow-but-still-heart-stopping-motion:

And yes, the boyfriend was happy.

(Except it took us nearly 2 hours to get home — Caltrans…why you close 3 lanes on the Bay Bridge?!)

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Look at the HAPPY Smile on his face. =)

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Aw look, I even bought a 49er football-y beanie/scarf combo (because I forgot that Candlestick gets really cold).

On a funny note, there was this guy sitting a few seats away from us, and there was SO MUCH speculation that it was Jerry Rice…and it turned out to be MC Hammer. Haha! How terrible of us.

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Which is who? Who is which?

 

 On June 2012, I flew to Cebu, Philippines for my best friend’s wedding.

Christine and I had been friends since Kindergarten. Best friends from the age of nine till I had to move to the United States at the age of 16.  My last memory prior to moving from Cebu City, Philippines to Union City, California was going to tennis camp during the summer with Christine and squealing over how hot Patrick Rafter was.

In the years that followed, I had seen her a few times as I visited the Philippines and she came to visit the United States.

However, despite the time and distance that had separated us, I was proud to stand as a bridesmaid at her wedding to Mr. Romeo. No, literally, his name is Romeo. But we all call him by his nickname…Junie.

Here are some photos from her wedding:

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Marcus is sad that my mom is packing my suitcase. “Please don’t leave me…”

 

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The bridesmaids get their make up and hair did…

 

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I’ve never had so much make up on my face…guess it has to stand up to the weather and bright lights. I feel like a celebrity. Mwahaha!

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At Sacred Heart Parish. Full Circle since they both went to Sacred Heart Schools (one for Boys and the other for Girls).

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Filtered.

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What a Rock n’ Rollin’ Entrance to their reception!

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The Groom also served as the Entertainment that night! Lead singer status!

 

It was such a fun night. I always wondered who my friends would have been or what kind of person I would have grown up to be if I had stayed in the Philippines. If Cre and her friends are any indication, I think I would have been just fine…a little more metal in my music, maybe a little more in touch with creativity, too.

I know Cre and Junie will have an amazing marriage. They’ve already been through so much together, and have always supported each other. I believe in both of them, and they make me believe that there is a happily ever after.

Oh Herro Again…

Hello Again, Blog…

Let’s try this again…oh yeah, this means that I’m going through another change/chapter in my life — this is the first time I have ever gone ahead and quit a job without any back up plan…

I’m terrified and exhilarated at the same time.

Ask me again in a month if I’m still exhilarated, though.  My savings are finite and I can go stark crazy staying home all day.

Thus, I shall try my hand at writing and blogging again — just to keep myself busy and inspired.

Wish me luck.

Chantry Flats Hike

 

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I never knew there was such pretty hiking trails just outside of Los Angeles. Although, I had to wake up at the butt crack of 6 am, but it was completely worth it. I never really go hiking in the summer because my greatest enemy tends to come out during the summer times…the ever-so-awful evilus lizardus.

So misty mountains, cool earth, cold temperatures — those were perfect hike conditions for me.

I went with a group of my Kickball friends who are always a fun bunch.

The hike was long and surprisingly arduous (probably because half the trail was a bit slippery from the previous day’s rain). But that waterfall was a very welcome surprise and definitely worth the hike. I will be back…y’know, after summer and when all the evilus lizardus are hiding under the rocks where they belong.

DUI checkpoint

 

On Super Bowl weekend, the boyfriend and I headed to San Diego to celebrate his birthday. He flew out to SD to hang out with his friends, and I drove down after work. It is important to note that I had already gone to Palmdale to do a site inspection at a jail. So that day had already had me driving over hundreds of miles.

We went to Pacific Beach and had dinner. I had a Maker’s and Ginger.

Then, we went to the boyfriend’s old hangout bar, where I had a beer.

Then we drove to our hotel, the Keating Hotel, in downtown San Diego.  On our way there, he is directing me back onto the freeway…straight into the midst of a DUI checkpoint.  I could have told the Officer that I was not drunk. But my bloodshot eyes told a whole different story. So, he ordered me out of the car, ordered Chris out of the car. Had one of minions drive away with my car, while I followed him to some elementary school’s parking lot.

He asks a lot of questions: from basic facts about myself, to where I went to, when the last time I went to sleep was, whether I went to work, etc…It was odd. So this is what it feels like to be at the other end of a deposition.  I answered all the questions he posed at me.

Then came the physical tests.

I had heels on, and it was bloody cold. He asked me to do that heel-toe walking test. While counting up to 60. I wobbled a couple times. Oh, and did I mention that due to my sobriety, I was actually nervous?

Then came the leg raise. I had to raise my leg about 8 inches off the ground and count backwards from 75-55. Luckily, I have pretty decent balance and did not wobble.

Then he ordered that I close my eyes, and look up at the sky, hands to the side. Then count silently to “what I think is thirty seconds.”  Really??? This was possibly the hardest one. With my eyes closed, there was no visual anchor for balance. With my heart racing, I might possibly count too fast…to what I think is 30 seconds. Sigh…so I count up to 35. Not too far over thirty that it’s suspicious, but not exactly thirty either, in case I’ve been counting a little too fast.

Then there was the “follow-my-finger-and-say-the-alphabet-without-singing-it” test. I really hope I passed that. I still had bloodshot eyes. But I did my best. He asked if I wore contacts. And I said yes. He nodded and jotted some more things on that clipboard of his.

In the meantime, I’ve observed at least four people get cuffed and taken away. And several cars towed away. Did I mention I was nervous? I mean, I knew I wasn’t drunk. But man, they really made me second-guess myself.

The final test was the breathalyzer.

That was one awkward test. Wrap your lips around the stick tightly and blow. Hard. I didn’t realize I needed to blow that hard. Long deep breath in, strong breath out.  I had to try it three times, definitely nervous because I had just finished my last beer approximately 25 minutes before.  In the meantime, I see another person get cuffed and taken away. Geeeeez.

I could see the boyfriend pacing back and forth like a caged animal in the little cordoned area where all the passengers were corralled.  Did I mention I was cold. My heart was pounding so fast, but I was sweating. I was shivering — but I couldn’t tell you if it was from nerves or the cold.

Mr. San Diego PD writes my breathalyzer score on the clipboard and he walks over to someone. He gives me back my keys and walks me towards Chris. Then he gives me the patronizing speech about how I’m a girl, and I retain more water and that I was “already half way there.”

Yeah, right. I blew an 0.02.

With that, I drive away.  Me vs. the FST…I win. This time. Hopefully, there’s no next time.

 

Blirthday Blues

This year, I turned 30.

Yup.

The BIG 3-0.

I felt very…ambiguous about this birthday.

There are so many implications about being thirty. I still remember being 16 and being absolutely convinced I’d have everything figured out by the time I was 23. Because back then, 23 was so old.

Ahhh…to be 23 again.

Actually, no I was kind of stupid at 23, making rash, inexplicable and expensive decisions all over the place. But I digress.

Being thirty, well, you can feel it happen to you.  You start to realize that losing weight is harder, your stomach sure hurts after eating certain foods, your knees are kind of cracky, and the recovery time for any kind of fun activity from snowboarding to drinking copious amounts of alcohol is a lot longer than you’ve ever remembered.

Maybe it’s all mental, too. Because I’m 30, I’m suddenly noticing all of these things.

But that’s what turning 30 is all about. It’s a milestone age where you kind of take a step back from your life and give it a good, hard look. *cringe*

By 30, I was supposed to have been married. I probably should have had a kid, too. I keep hearing about all these kids born after 35 or 40 that have all kinds of medical issues. I know, I know…paranoia. I also read about how much harder it is for your body to “bounce back” from pregnancy. Ugh. Not that I’ve even fully decided whether I even EVER want to be pregnant. As far as I’m concerned, it’s not really something I want to happen to me. But I want kids. Anyone want to volunteer to be my surrogate? I’ll cook you food. *bats eyelashes*

But here I am: a newly minted lawyer, still stumbling over my words in court, still having “wtf” moments at work when I have no clue how to figure something out. Where is the amazing polished woman who had a handle on her career? Not here.

I’m in a relatively new relationship of a year and a half, long distance, no less. Where was the happily ever after? Nope, not here, either.

I’m pretty much broke with a savings account that really…is more of an emergency fund. Where was the financially stable and responsible, and knows all the ins and outs of investment woman that I thought I’d be by now? *looks around…* Um, not me.

I mean, if I really think about it, and I usually try not to, I’m nowhere near where I thought I would be by this point in my life. I don’t really know what that means. I’m not going to go into some deep and well-researched article about how there’s a shift in the concept of “adulthood” and how “30” is the new “20”.

The point is, I’ve been on this planet for thirty freakin’ years.

All I’ve got to show is…well, me. The cumulative of who and what is myself. I had to meditate and get in touch with the Buddha in me, the Tao in my life, and think about WWJD? And I’ve come to the conclusion that, I’m alright. Not perfect, but not entirely dysfunctional either. I’m good.

I’m (for the most part) happy with myself, love handles sometimes included in that assessment. I am an attorney. I’ve made great decisions and I’ve made poor ones. I’ve switched careers and taken risks. I’ve fallen in love and had my heart broken. I’ve loved and given my heart and soul. I’ve been passionate about inconsequential things like TV shows and fanfiction; but I’ve also been passionate about my family and making sacrifices for my family. I’m still pretty silly on given days, but I’ve learned that some situations require the gravity of seriousness. I am lactose intolerant now, but I still love me some cheesecake. I have traveled and I continue to develop the means to keep traveling. I have come from the poverty of not even owning my own jacket, to being self-sufficient enough to send money back home and pay my student loans and still have a modicum of fun in this life in the span of 15 years.

I am thirty years old. I’m not the thirty year old that my mother was and I certainly am not the thirty-year old that I had once envisioned I would be…but you know, I don’t think I would change anything.

Well, okay, maybe a few rash and expensive decisions, but I get to chalk it up to experience and a little point on the “never do this shit again” list.

So, you know what, I’m thirty, and I’m okay with it. (As long as I still don’t look it. Thank God I’ve got the Asian genes. I [hopefully] won’t look old until I turn 60 and suddenly shrink into an Asian grandma with a perm.)

Now, one day, when I have some time, maybe I’ll do a “Dear Silly Sixteen Year Old Me” and write down a list of what fell on the “Never Do this shit again” things, and “Definitely Make This Mistake” list.

But, for now, let me have my cheesecake.

Well, I'm Okay with being 30, doesn't mean EVERYONE needs to know about it.

Well, I’m Okay with being 30, doesn’t mean EVERYONE needs to know about it.

 

Here’s a Video of Two Dutch Guys Getting Hooked up to Electro-stimulation Machines to Simulate the Contractions of Child Birth.

Hilarity ensues.