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.

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

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]

I’m pretty certain I’ve become one of those annoying dog lovers who bring their dogs into shops, uninvited. I’ve contemplated putting my pup through therapy training so he can wear a yellow vest and thus make me feel less self-conscious. I don’t know what’s happened to me–I don’t even ask for permission, I just walk him in acting like everyone loves dogs. Partially because he’s oh-so-adorable but simultaneously menacing due to his size, I get a kick out of people’s mixed urges– to run or to pet.

Anyway, I’ve been into an art supply store down the street three times this week with him and they haven’t said anything yet,so I guess I’m OK. It’s probably because I’m the only customer they have, or so it seems. Either way, it’s really funny whenever we walk into the store and there’s a dead silence of fear, dread, uncertainty, or all of the above. “She buys a lot of paint from us,” is what they must remind themselves.

What they don’t know is… My pup is the biggest love bug, at least around me. But I’d rather people fear him than deal with random blabber mouths who think having a cute dog is an excuse to strike banal conversations with me, even if I do have all the time in the world. Kinda anti-social of me, I know. But if Christian Bale or Jim Sturgess were to pet my dog… I digress.

I downloaded a new kindle book that I’m praying will captivate me (unlike the 4 other partially read books on my kindle). It’s called….(switching to Kindle app because I forgot)….FALL OF GIANTS by Ken Follett. I’ve read a few of his books, most of which are really good; some, not as interesting, but to each her own.

I wish Jane Austen or Oscar Wilde were still alive. I’ve drained them of all words and have none left to read. Then Michael Chricton had to pass away. I swear, where’s the justice in this world. Fifty Shades of Grey came and went in three days. And George RR Martin takes so damn long to write just ONE book of A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE. He as two more books to go and it’s killing me this slow pace of his. I wish I could sprinkle some fairy dust on his fingers so he could write faster. Never rush the genius they say… Who says? I don’t know, just made it up. But I’m so impatient I really want to know what happens and whether the dragon queen prevails and Arya falls in love with the King’s bastard, and Tyrion becomes hand of House of Stark… So many unanswered questions! It’s the worst feeling for me– to NOT know, is purgatory.

Anyway, the really sucky part of today is that in 6 hours, I will be sitting on a dentist chair getting my first (and last hopefully) ever root canal brought upon by excessive lemon water drinking. Or so that’s what my dentist says. I USED to drink (before getting diagnosed with a crater of a cavity) 5-8 cups of lemon water per day. Apparently, the acid eroded my teeth in 6 months since my last check-up (flawless) and now I have to get a few holes filled. I’m so bummed. Terrified. I’ve heard countless horror stories about root canals.

I hope I find a happy place. Good night blog it was fun while it lasted.

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

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

Nervous on the little plane

Only in Afrika is there ever a Rhino on the runway. Upon landing at the first drop-off en route to Kruger National Park via Johannesburg, a ranger had to shoo away a wondering rhinoceros from the runway. Then, as the plane ascended back into the sky towards our “transfer” strip, instead of skyscrapers and freeways, I saw a giraffe. Awesome.

The flights from Jo’burg to Kruger National Park brought upon memories of playing with my matryoshka doll—where each piece revealed an increasingly smaller version of the wooden toy. Only, in this case, the planes got smaller and the pilots, younger. At the “transfer” location, or should I say, long-rocky-dirt-road-in-the-middle-of-bushes, my husband and I along with another couple switched to an itsy bitsy six-seater plane. More like, six-baby-seater plane. It was hard enough to ignore the youth of the pilot from the first plane, let alone this boy, who looked as though he should have been doing donuts in his 4×4 versus flying four adult passengers to their lodge. In the middle of the “bush” one is a beggar not a chooser, so off we went into the air for a forty-minute flight.

An extremely windy day made flying feel something akin to riding a tugboat in the North Shore of Hawaii. If that analogy doesn’t help, then imagine taking a waterproof cardboard box and sitting in it in a wave pool at a water park. Or whatever. I got really airsick. But I tried my very best to focus on the beautiful serene scenery instead outside my  window, which helped immensely. What didn’t help is when I glanced at the pilot, I saw him reading a piece of paper while flying, hopefully not a pilot’s manual. Fortunately, we landed before I barfed.

Overall, I was impressed by both pilots’ smooth landing ability. Very impressive indeed considering the unpaved landing strips.

After my husband and I took a nap at the lodge, we met in the lobby for our long awaited SAFARI! WoohoO! Ever since I was tiny, I’ve been a National Geographic/Discovery Channel nut. Well, Discovery Channel before all those reality shows sprang up.

After a quick teatime, we left the lodge at 4 PM ish. Our first of many sightings were impalas. Apparently, they’re at the very bottom of the mammalian food chain, but are proliferative creatures, “fast food,” as Joe put it, so there are enough of them left to carry on their genes.

Got off the Rover to take a closer look at the rhinos

Then we saw two badass rhinos grazing in the distance. Armed with a gangsta rifle, our ranger and tracker lead us on foot towards the rhinos so we could have a better look. They were young, so not as massive, but still deadly as ever. To avoid getting caught, we crept up downwind so they couldn’t smell us. Maybe they did but didn’t care for smelly humans. Who knows. But I sure as hell was nervous. Even scarier was the ranger’s words of wisdom as we neared the rhinos, “remember, if they charge at us, stand your ground.” Yah, right. I admired the rhinos as much as I could whilst looking for climbable trees and thinking of contingency plans. But I have to say, when we returned to the safety of our rover, I felt raw, freer, and pretty damn good about my “oneness” with nature. Perhaps it’s because I wasn’t rammed in the butt by a pissed off rhino—would have brought new meaning to oneness.

Our backyard view at 4:30AM

Our backyard view at 4:35AM

I felt so lucky that I got to awake every morning to a sparkling sunrise on a river with bellowing hippos and baboons in my backyard.

At 5:30 AM, we embarked on our morning safari with Andrew and Brian. Andrew was trained as a senior level tracker. Previously worked as an anti-poacher along the borders of South Afrika. One of his final tests was surviving 25 days in the bush with only a knife. The other was to pass every tracking test with 100%. He had to take it three times because the previous two times he scored 98% and 99.5%, respectively. An “A” just doesn’t cut it in the bush. And I thought Asian parents were hard.

And Andrew was good. Driving at about 15 MPH through Kruger’s green foliage, Andrew lifted his hand to halt the rover and instructed the ranger, Brian to reverse. He had spotted among all the trees a she-leopard lounging in the grass in the distance and her kill, an impala, tucked firmly up in a tree. It was an amazing sight. As we drove closer, my muscles started to tense thinking it was unnecessary to view her from such a close proximity. Apparently, she was one of the few leopards in the area accustom to the tracking team since childhood.

“How do you see all the animals?”
“You just look for a feature that stands out among the bush,” Andrew said. Just like that huh? Darn these useless eyes of mine.

Leave it to me to forget my camera at home. Used my iphone instead the entire time. Zoom feature sucks, so I leveraged my binoculars. (LEOPARD'S IMPALA KILL)

Leopard's Impala

She-leopard seen through my binoculars

Waterbucks, impalas, zebras, elephants, Pumbas (wart hogs), and giraffes were aplenty—a positive result of animal conservation programs. We went from snapping every small movement at the beginning of our safari to taking zero pictures. Spoiled.

The day’s safari was a real treat, especially with the leopard encounter.

I requested spaghetti with olive oil and garlic. Chef hit it on the nail.

Impala

Pumba, ostrich sausage, chicken, and palenta

raw impala

Scallops for dinner. Not so bush-like but were tasty

We returned to the lodge for a much-needed lunch and nap from jetlag, but didn’t awake in time for the afternoon-night safari. However, we did make dinner! Woohoo, equally important. Now dinner was the icing on the cake. We joined Brian and Andrew for an outdoor BBQ of “exotic” meats—impala, wart hog, ostrich, and good ol’ fashion beef. As dinner commenced, some of the staff members announced their arrival with a traditional tribal (forgot which tribe, starts with an “s”—darn this shallow memory) call. They made their way around the hearth and began singing a cappella while taking turns dancing, females vs. males. There’s nothing more real and energetic than watching a tribal dance. It has to be the truest blend of heart and soul. Kind of comical was when the dance ended and everyone returned to his or her respective duties like nothing ever happened.

Adolescent lions.. there are 17 lions in that grass but you can't see them!

Territorial Male lion

Scanning the territory

The following morning was our last night in the bush at Kruger National Park. We awoke again at 5:30 AM. Brian was adamant about finding lions for us during our stay since that was top on our list and find lions he did. He had scouted for lions before he picked us up, so we drove straight to the area and fortunately, they were still there. We watched about 4 or 5 adolescent lions feed on a wart hog in the tall grass. When we left, we discovered from other safarists (I don’t know the right word), that the pride had moved and when they did, seventeen (not four) lions had emerged from the tall grass. Talk about camouflage! No wonder the adolescents weren’t worried about our presence—mamas and papas were close by. “come on, I dare you to come closer.”

As luck would have it, we spotted a lone male lion, a gigantic lion at that, lying down in an open field of grass. He was part of a coalition of male lions who survey their territory every day. Awesome.

Impala in its live form

water buck toilet seat butt

Hippo in the backyard as scene through binoculars

Horny bull

Wildebeests

oh, just a big black beetle on the curtain

On our way back to the lodge, Brian stopped by the tree to see if the she-leopard was still there and there she was! Almost in the same position. This time, he drove straight up to her. We were about 10-12 feet away. She was so comfortable that the animal lover in me really wanted to walk up to her and pet her. Fortunately, I didn’t.

We returned to the lodge for a quick nap and packed. Said our farewells and returned to Johannesburg. But just before we reached the landing strip, we came across a few baboons.

Baboon cleaning her man.

Baboon

Zebra traffic on the highway

City life will never be the same for us..

Now we’re in Johannesburg. The people are really nice. I love the male chivalry here “ladies first,” but after experiencing, albeit for only 2 days, the grandeur of nature, life back in the city seems monotonous, fabricated, unnecessary! Not sure if I’d say the same if I were in the wild for a month, but I definitely miss it. Brings about memories of camping and hiking at national parks during my childhood—a once forgotten innocence. I’ll definitely be making an effort to experience nature more often. Whatever that means. Haha

Both my husband and I (I love writing that), can’t seem to find much information on Johannesburg. When we asked people for recommendations, they all responded with, “umm, Johannesburg is usually a transit type city,” or “(pause…) there’s a good nightlife?” Haha. We’re spending two nights here so we can at least see what the city looks like. There must be some great eats here even though there’s hardly anything really reliable on the internet.

I’m really keen on trying Kapitan’s Indian food. It’s been in business for almost 80 years and Mandela used to frequent this place. If Mandela likes it, must be good.

Excited what our adventure in Johannesburg will bring us today.

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.

KATANA

My katana is twenty-four inches long.

Blade down, thrust up

It sings its single motion song.

My saya quenches its twenty-four inches thirst.

The tip, sinks down

A dance day after day rehearsed.