In high school, I worked at a beauty salon as a salesperson and I was quite good for the following reasons:I listened well, asked questions, found solutions, and most importantly, knew when to say “I don’t know.” But as a resourceful being, I’d find an accurate answer.

In the past couple of years, I’ve encountered more awful salespeople than good ones. For instance, of the 15 or so car salespeople I was forced to interact with recently, only two people possessed some level of business acumen and sensibility. And if I want to be really picky, only one person was completely qualified for the job since the other wasn’t as responsive as I would have like him to be.

It astonishes me how dense some salespeople can be. Then again, they must still have their job for a reason. Perhaps the majority of their clientele are as annoyingly stupid or careless, if not more, and thus, easy to fool.

It’s easy to identify an incompetent salesmen:
- unresponsiveness
- inability to answer standard questions. I expect the cashier at McDonald’s to know whether the cheeseburger has pickles in it or not.
- irritating tendency to blather around my question instead of saying, “I don’t know.” Both responses have the same result, but one wastes less time.
- kisses your ass when he sees you, knowing very well how much he irritates you. Never addresses the source of irritation which is incompetency. Sometimes you’re forced to work with people you can’t get rid of immediately.

There are different levels of salespeople of course.. Anyone who sells a product, whether it be himself or a business, is a salesman. From retailers, to managers, to real estate agents, to investment bankers. Yes, even I-bankers are salesmen. You think mergers and acquisitions between companies come without a bit of persuasion? Sales is sales. But good god, idiots occur in all situations, just some are lucky enough to schmooze their way to the top, others by merit. I dream of a world ruled by meritocracy.

Can’t sleep still jet lagged.

Feet cold, turned on heater.

Eating leftover subway sandwich from “last night’s” dinner.

Watched “Oz..” with hubby last night. Loved it!  Well-casted, entertaining.  I want to be Rachel Weisz when I grow up. Mila Kunis, great performance too.  Same with James Franco.  And the munchkins..

I asked this guy if he was in line for the bathroom today and he shrugged his shoulders.  Nothing irks me more than a stupid, noncommittal shoulder shrug that screams “PUSSY!”  Too chicken to give me a straight answer or tell me he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.  I’d rather a person turn his back on me than shrug his/her shoulders, I think.. they’re both pretty obnoxious gestures.

Husband’s birthday coming up.  What to do, what to do…

<3

It’s 3:00 AM and I’m making a jet lagged meal–spicy green beans and chicken whilst staring at the Shin Ramen pack, rejected by my conscience.  I’m not sure if I eat because I’m hungry or bored, but I find it sad that I no longer understand the distinction or maybe they’ve evolved into a synonymous unit.

I was watching HOUSE OF CARDS when my former boss came into mind, “Heidi, who do you love more than yourself?”

“Is that even possible?”

“That’s why I love you.”

I still don’t know whether she knew I was joking, but kidding aside, just because you hear what you want to hear, doesn’t mean one agrees.  I quit about a week after that conversation, which basically summed up the workplace ethos.

Anyway, my inspiration to blog about my poker feat in Sydney is waning, so that will conclude my entry as I’ve found something more exciting to do.

bonne nuit 8]

GOALS

The beginning of the New Year begins with an annual reiteration of broken promises, new diets; a chance for one to wipe his or her slate clean and start brand spanken new on January 2nd. As though all those cheeseburgers, McRibs, tirades, greediness, and bullying up until 11:59 PM on December 31st never happened during the year and your body and all the people effected by you will magically heal at the tick of a clock. Well, that’s the hope. Like every bad habit, you can’t kick it if you don’t set a deadline. It just so happens, the tradition of renewing thyself on New Years day sets a collective deadline for all of us sedentary gluttons and meanies. And that’s why I love the New Year.

When I asked a friend what his promises were for 2013 he bah, humbugged all over the idea of New Year resolutions, claiming they were ridiculous then proceeded to rant on about why people should just strive to be better people every day instead of once a year and I don’t remember the rest because my mind drifted into a happier place soon after. I did, however, make a mental note not to ask him about resolutions anymore.

I can’t remember a year where I didn’t promise myself to eat healthily, exercise daily, be more patient, or accomplish one of my amendable life goals. So this year, I made the same resolutions I’ve been making year after year with one little addition: I will give myself little or no reason to make the same resolutions next year. I’ve got a lot of work to do, so I’ll update you in 2014.

REFLECTION

In the midst of all of life’s unpredictable current events, one should identify the existential anchors, the welcome predictability, that keeps him or her grounded. This is the easiest brain exercise for me: my adorable husband and our quadruped son.

No matter how much my actions waver or desires alter or hormones rage, I know my husband has already forgiven me before forgiveness is sought. His constant kindness is my motivation to be a better person. And every day, when I think of him, I’m reminded that I have a long way to go.

FIGHT EVIL WITH KINDNESS, ADOPT.

The statistics must have changed by now, but I read awhile back that it would take everyone in the United States to adopt nine dogs in order to empty out the animal shelters. There are numerous accounts from shelter employees who describe in heart-wrenching detail the reality of so-called euthanasia or mass killing of dogs via gas chambers. In a fairer world, there wouldn’t be any cause to play God and thus kill innocent dogs merely because they’ve been in a shelter for too long (1 month) or worse, they look unadoptable so into the kill room they go. There are accounts of dogs leaving nail marks in the concrete as they’re dragged into the kill room, writhing in excruciating pain from lethal injection until they die minutes later since there’s not enough money to sedate them first. After seeing their neighbors beg for their lives, they just know their fate when the executioner opens their cage door for the last time.

When we decided to expand our family, the obvious option was to adopt. With millions of innocent dogs euthanized every year simply for lack of city resources (i say compassion), it’s irresponsible, if not cruel, to purchase a dog while another one writhes in inconceivable pain from lethal injection or asphyxiation.

Naturally, there are so many concerns to consider before adopting an adult dog versus a puppy. Usually, the dog’s history and exact breed is unknown, temperament included, and health may be unpredictable and thus expensive. That’s the risk you take with any dog, puppy or not. First and foremost, you must be responsible for your dog—know when you need a professional trainer or vet and get him that help.  If you’re the sort who gives up easily and would rather return the dog to the pound or neglect it, then save yourself the trouble and don’t get a pet.  Like any child, you want the best for him or her and are willing to make sacrifices to ensure a happy life for the both of you.  Before even considering bringing a dog home, be mentally prepared for anything, but wholeheartedly dedicated to your new best friend.

After my husband and I agreed to adopt a dog, we spent a full month of diligent research via www.petfinder.com and nearly made daily visits to all sorts of animal rescue facilities within a fifty-mile radius—about thirty solid days of research.

Finally, we had found a dog with which we had a strong connection and decided that night we would adopt him the next morning. A short, 3-year-old squirt with a corgi body, pit bull head, and a most docile demeanor, was everything we wanted. Unfortunately, we were an hour too late that morning, because an older woman had already adopted him. I was heartbroken because we had patiently made sure not to rush into adopting just any dog and when we finally found him after all this time, he was snatched away from us. But I quickly snapped out of it, because a dog had been given a second chance at life.

That realization didn’t wash away my dismay, however. I didn’t think we’d be able to have the feeling again with any other dog. But with every disappointment, there’s a greater happiness waiting just around the corner. Literally, when all hope was seemingly lost, I met Getty. A few days later, my husband and I traveled to another animal shelter. Right when we walked into the kennels, a 5-year-old, 110-pound mastiff mix jumped up to the opening in his cage to reach his giant paws through for a pet. As we neared his kennel, he pushed his head against the fence and then melted like butter as we rubbed his ears. I’ve always been partial to big dogs, but my husband was hesitant. So we took him out for a small walk around the premises to test his temperament. He was perfect. It was love at first sight, but this time, Getty chose us.

There was a five-day holding period, because that day was the first day he was brought to the shelter. You can’t imagine my anxiety during those dreadful five days. We arrived at the shelter fifteen minutes before they opened on the 5th morning. But my heart sank when I ran to his kennel to find him missing. Hopeful, I tracked down an employee to inquire about Getty. Within those five days he had caught pneumonia and thus was quarantined in a different area. He had lost ten pounds, so he looked like a stegosaurus with his vertebrae poking out of his back. The nastiest thing was the neon green snot that came out of his nose. “If you want him, you have to take him today, but we can’t give you his antibiotics, you have to take him to a vet and get new ones.”

Without hesitation, we filled out the paperwork and took our frazzled polar bear straight to a vet. A warm bath, proper meals, medication, a comfy bed, and loving parents cured Getty’s sickness within two days.

Getty from the get-go had always been ultra loving, sweet, docile, and all around happy. But that didn’t come without some accidental giant poos and pees in the house and listening issues. We got a trainer, who trained us, really, how to become masters of the house. His approach was very Cesar Millanish. Lessons such as never letting him jump up on anything higher than the floor and consistent, good leash habits eventually put us higher on the pecking order in the house.

He had some allergy issues. His hair would fall out in clumps, gooey stuff oozed out of his eyes, weird rashes came out of nowhere, yeast made his ears stink, and his poos were a giant watery mess. A simple blood test showed he was allergic to nearly everything staple to humans—beef, chicken, spinach, etc. Now this would normally scare people away, but if you look at it logically, forgo your daily starbucks and unnecessary vodka shots, both of which you just end up pissing away anyway, then you have more than enough money to save an innocent life. Getty is gigantic, so I had to find an economical way to feed him healthy food and I did. I spend about $200/month on his food. It takes me one Sunday to spend 5 hours to weigh, portion out, and store his food for the ENTIRE month. Once a month, that’s all it takes. And now, Getty doesn’t have any of those aforementioned allergies and he’s super puppy soft. He still gets slight rashes every now and then from lying out in the sun for too long (sensitive skin), but nothing that doesn’t go away immediately by itself. Oh yah, he absorbs all his food so his poops are solid little chunks that can fit in the palm of my hand, which I would never attempt to verify by the way.

It took about a month before he started listening to us to come, stay, stop, etc. It took about a year before his separation anxiety subsided. Now, he knows this is his home too.

In return, my husband and I awake every morning to giant bear hugs and kisses. We come home to an uncontrollably wiggling butt. No matter if we’re gone 2 minutes or 2 weeks, it’s all the same to him, he’s just so happy to see us. Unconditional love is a life worth saving, right? I can’t imagine without getting emotional, if Getty had been killed because no one adopted him.  We got really lucky with Getty, he’s our anchor.

Getty’s not-so-light-head resting on my face

It’s taking me a very long to send out “thank you” cards for the wedding gifts, but i’m just about done, sort of.  I take breaks between every so many cards when I start sounding fake.  After awhile, I find myself on auto-pilot writing… which in a way defeats the purpose of personalized “thank you” notes.  I had to toss out a few because they sounded so generic.. like a grocery store birthday card.

Anyway, now that I’ve caught up on all the social networks, my break is over.  See yah.

1.  Give one gift on behalf of both of you.
2.  Lower taxes, only to have them raised again next year.
3.  People automatically think you’re more responsible or mature
4.  Friends don’t get upset as much when you leave parties early
5.  You get invited to hang out with other married couples because they assume you think alike. The exclusive married couples club.
6.  You feel younger when people refer to your husband as your boyfriend
7.  You can burp, fart, and poo safely knowing your man ain’t going anywhere now.
8.  You awake every morning with the comfort of knowing with who you will spend the rest of your life.  aww

I’m famished!  I’m craving beef stew noodles, but I can’t even explore the slight possibility of a decent noodle restaurant here until my fiance wakes up, so I’ve ordered a club sandwich and chicken fingers instead.. how dissatisfying.

Speaking of noodles.  I started getting plump, so I stopped eating noodles for three weeks and lost 5 lbs.  That’s awesome.  So now I only eat noodles once a week, sometimes thrice.  Don’t want to be too skinny. 

As I grow older, I develop a more boring but richer lifestyle.  Things like drinking don’t interest me anymore.  I still do it occasionally, but never without regret the next morning when I’m craving noodles.  I’m really fortunate to have found my lucky star, because I wouldn’t be interested in dating either.  Don’t get me wrong, I had so much fun during my single years, loads and loads of fun, but that got old quickly.  Luckily, I bumped into Mister Right when dating became boring.

Now I’m leading a life of jewels and gold.  I’m perpetually reorganizing the house, drawing pictures when there’s time, sharing most satisfying meals and conversations with my fiance, dining and vacationing with good friends, writing for pleasure, refraining from playing poker, exploring cuisines, blogging about my favorite ones, saving up for gasoline, spending my savings on gasoline, playing video games with my fiance, snorkeling with him too, spending time with our families, playing with other people’s kids, returning them when they poop.  I still don’t like shopping, listening to blather, hanging out with liars, complainers, cheaters, ulterior motivers, but I’ll do it anyway when I really need to.  People in all forms educate me.  Life is so rich and beautiful.  I’ve simplified my life by focusing on the finer things.