who's the ECL?

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Portland, Oregon, United States
I'm not BAD evil, more like devil's food cake evil.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

A Hot Day, and a Funny Sister

Today is the first hot day in Portland. Portland explodes with people when it gets sunny and warm--I am always amazed when I see so many people out walking, running, cycling...I mean, where the hell were these people two days ago?

Anyway, my sister sent me an email today with a link to a video, and both are too funny not to share:
ECL's sister writes: this is a funny clip! by the way, according to stacy's reference below, did i ever tell you the story where i got so drunk i thought i was dying so i called the fire dept? if not, remind me to tell you AND include the mcdonald's story. ha ha!!!

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Stacy
Date: May 21, 2007 10:31 AM
Subject: 911
To: ECL's sister

Couple things to consider while watching this clip:

1. You're not the only person who has ever called 911 thinking they were dying from drinking too much (or in the case eating too much)
2. Just be thankful you are not in law enforcement

(I would pay big bucks for the recording of your 911 call or better yet a video of your McDonald's drive-thru snafu the next day.)


I don't know the story my sister is referencing, but I do know that during my senior year in undergrad my parents called me up to tell me that they had sent my sister MY birth certificate so that she could get A FAKE ID.

What the hell kind of parents do that??

I can't wait to call her up tomorrow and hear her story about drunk dialing 911. Nice!

Monday, May 28, 2007

Well, It Happened

courtesy of the london grill, originally uploaded by jensteele.

As of 9:55 am yesterday, I'm now officially 34.

My friends are the best friends EVER--they made sure I had a great birthday. And the fun doesn't stop yet--Monday is the Stooges' Day Out, so we are going to keep on celebrating...having a birthday on a three day weekend is AWESOME.

Hope your long weekend is equally as fabulous!

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

On Turning 34

The day is fast approaching when my life clock ticks forward one more year.


You know, I sometimes wish I could shut that damn clock up. I mean it. SHUT UP, STUPID CLOCK!


34 really isn't that bad. It really isn't that old. I really don't have much to complain about.

Except for that clock.

I can get all metaphysical about that clock by reminding myself that the female principle, the Yin, of this world is the physicalness that makes this world seem real. The female principle is all about time, and beginnings and endings, physicality, dense, heavy, slow, cold, dark, mystery, unknown. Yin is the bowl that holds the eternal, Yin is the Mother that is constantly giving birth to time, Yin is the Earth that the Heavens are constantly trying to reach.

So that stupid clock ticking away, is really just the Yin principle acting itself out through me, a woman, a carrier of the Yin principle, an agent of time and the conduit for the gates of life and death, the beginning and the end. Like all women.

*Tick tock, tick tock*

Sigh. Isn't there a quiet mode for that thing??

** All About Gemini--from Astrology.com

Gemini is the most lighthearted sign in the zodiac, hands down. The Twins' circle of acquaintances is as varied as their interests, so they see an awful lot of invitations. Of all the reasons we love to have our Gemini pals around, their wit comes first. These folks find humor in absolutely everything, and their ability to say what's on their minds in an extremely entertaining fashion is world-famous and well deserved. These word-wizards and storytellers are able to uncannily impersonate anyone and anything at the drop of a hat. That includes accents, gestures and subtle idiosyncrasies that no one else would ever notice -- but then, if Gemini were a business, its motto would be 'Details-R-Us.'

True to the nature of its ruling planet, Mercury, Gemini is also quite communicative. So during those rare times when these talkative Twins are actually alone and not chatting on the phone, IMing with a friend or answering their voluminous email, they're probably on the phone or the Internet, or poking away at their Blackberries with a vengeance. If not, Geminis will manage to keep those restless minds active by doodling or solving puzzles and word games.

As for the dualities this sign is famous for? They're all true. In reality, there are a lot more than just two sides to the average Gemini, and each facet of this versatile sign has a fascinating story to tell. All that being said, it's easy to see that the one thing they just can't stand is being bored, tied down or isolated. 'Variety is the spice of life' is this sign's very own motto, and Gemini lives every second with that motto in mind.

So if you're a Gemini yourself, you know this all boils down to the fact that you can't stand being in a rut -- especially when it comes to relationships. Your sign has been called fickle more than once, but that's not fair. The Twins are perfectly capable of being faithful, as long as the person they're with is witty and interesting enough to keep them interested. No, it's not an easy task, but it's well worth it. Life with a Gemini is full of constant activity, endless movement and even more fun. And you can bet they won't scatter their affections if they can find someone who'll be willing to at least try to keep up. Gemini, whether you're a friend or a lover, you're one of the main reasons life on this planet can be fun for the rest of us -- so accept our thanks for just being you.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007


My future husband won Dancing With The Stars!!

I would like to believe that it was my votes that turned the tide for him.

Congratulations to Apolo Anton Ohno (and his dance partner Julianne Hough), and Apolo, give me a call when you're ready to settle down.

Note: for all of you people who are coming here for this photo, you can find the original shot here.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

The things you learn when you come home.

I spent the weekend at my parent's house and alas, no real chance to post. I wrote this Sunday night, May 6.

I am at my parent’s house in sunny California this weekend. My sister came down from San Francisco to spend the weekend here as well, and tonight her boyfriend drove down for a family dinner.

Mom made lamb, using fresh herbs from her garden. She roasted new potatoes and steamed asparagus. She laid out a fresh plate of tomatoes, cucumbers, and avocado. Dad opened a pinot noir and we ate outside next to the rosebushes and orchids.

The wine loosened my mom’s tongue, like usual, and out flowed this story about her father, and her, and me. I don’t remember her father very well. He died in the Philippines when I was in the first grade. For a while he lived in the bay area and mom had told me several years ago that she and I would go visit him every week in the old person’s home he lived in while he was here. I don’t really remember going, but I do have a sort of still picture in my mind of an old, bald, Pilipino man sitting across from me, leaning a little forward on his cane, with a look of sorrow and an imploring expression, like he had just asked me to do something really really important and wanted me to understand completely and say yes. The still photo in my mind gives off the impression that there was a large chasm between him on his chair and me across from him—one that would never be crossed, no matter how much he may have wished it.

Tonight I learned that he had a stroke when he was 59. He had another stroke some years later and soon developed Parkinson’s disease. He shook so bad that he couldn’t eat, or stand on his own, and mom got him into a treatment study that Stanford was doing. She said that three times a week, while dad was at work, she would drive down to Santa Clara to pick up her father and take him to Stanford for his treatment. I was about 1 ½ years old, and my sister was a newborn. Mom would haul the three of us there and back.

Stanford put him into a treatment study which mom said helped my grandfather, to the point where he could walk again and feed himself.

Then mom said that the side effects of the treatment began to manifest in her dad as crazy. I guess one night he tried to kill my grandmother because he thought she was an intruder. My grandmother I guess called the cops. Mom says the next morning she took us down to see what had happened, and that when she walked in, her dad started hitting her about with his cane. Mom did all she could to protect us from him.

He ended up in a brand new residential senior living institution. That’s where we would go see him every week.

Mom says the whole ward would know when the Angeles daughter was coming—that was mom—because she’d bring her kids with her. I was always decked out in the latest goofy outfit my grandmother made me—apparently everything I ever wore as a little child my grandmother had sewn by hand for me—which always had pockets. Apparently I would stuff my pockets full of candy so that when we got there, I could give all the old people candy. I wouldn’t leave the house until I got my pockets all stuffed with candy. Mom says that most of those people never got visitors, so they were all excited when we would come by, and they would stand there with their hands out while I would place candy in each of their hands. Mom says many of them would cry. Mom says she would cry. Mom says that I would ask after my grandpa’s roommates when I didn’t see them, and I would have to be told that they had died. I guess that happened a lot. Knowing myself, I probably took my job really seriously. Knowing myself, I probably understood how important it was for me to give all those lonely old people candy. I was about 2 years old.

I’m sad that I don’t remember any of that. I’m sad that all I remember of my grandfather is a frozen image and a sense of loss. He was an educator and loved history; he dreamed of coming to the US and seeing the historic places. He loved WWII history and wanted to see Europe. It was a sad thing that when he finally came to this country he was a broken old man in a wheelchair, and he never got to travel like he had dreamed.

My mother didn’t get along with him very well when she was growing up. He was a very domineering and controlling man, my mother told me. Mom is very stubborn and headstrong so you can guess how many times they clashed. One of my aunties, mom’s older sister, told me once that he wasn’t as strict or terrible as mom makes him out to be. She told me that every Sunday he would get all 9 of his children together and have them sing. He taught them to harmonize and my auntie said that was one of the best memories she has of her childhood.

After a couple of years in the nursing home, his head seemed to have straightened out and he told mom that he wanted to die at home. Home being the Philippines, in the house he had built for his family.

The youngest daughter was still living in that house, so she agreed to look after him. Two years later, he passed away.

There is a lot of sadness in my life right now. There is a lot of loss and grieving going on. There is a lot of heartbreak and hurt right now in people around me. I feel kind of like the eye of the storm. I am trying hard to hold down the center and bring as much love and healing to the hurricane that I can. I didn’t realize how much my heart could break in response to another person’s grief. I don’t know why my mom started talking about her dad tonight. I do know that I needed to hear her story about him, and that adding him to those being grieved seems right.