Blogging from Burning Man

Let's see if this works.

For the first time ever, there is cell phone reception here on the playa.

It took us six and a half hours--a straight shot--from San Francisco. We probably stopped for a total of 15 minutes for the potty and fast food. I was going 90mph at times. Long straight stretches of road hundreds of miles away from Baker Beach where it all began.

Exhausted after the record -breaking time in driving here, we drank sake and wine in our RV with other friends. Then we drunk dialed burner friends from my phone.

We are chilling at ARTery camp underneath a massive shade structure, misting ourselves with the water pump, eating wasabi peas, listing the ten songs we would take to a desert island.

I'm ready for a nap.

Running Out of Here

I'm about to get the hell out of here.  My pages and pages of lists are mostly crossed-off.  I still have to get a Brazilian.  Ouchie!  Not sure if I'll make it to a garage to get my car checked out before it goes on a wild trek to the desert.  I still have to pickup more vodka for the Bloody Mary's I'll be making at camp.  And maybe I'll get in a workout beforehand?!?!

Time is running out and I'm extremely excited.  Getting texts from a friend on the playa.  How is that happening?  Does Burning Man finally have cell phone reception in the middle of nowhere?

If so, I'll be tweeting about the genius artwork, the incredible parties, the dust storms. 

Yeeehawwww.  I'm so excited! 

Burning Man, Black Rock City, ARTery....Home Sweet Home.  

Wedding Planning Update

We decided on Palm Springs almost on a whim. I happened upon the Ace Hotel through a web site listing it as one of the hottest up and coming hotels. We trekked down south during 4th of July for a weekend getaway of fun and reconnaissance. Fell in love with both the Ace and cute, hot Palm Springs.

I don't know anything about the town. What little I've gleaned was over the course of a weekend. So I've decided to hire a day-of wedding coordinator. Hailing from Palm Springs, she's going to help me with rehearsal dinner locations. She's offered up her opinion on good vendors that won't break the budget.

I thought I could do it all on my own, but I don't want to run around on my wedding day in a bridal gown lighting up candles, passing out programs, setting the tables. I've heard people say, "Don't worry about it. Just project-manage people and tell them what to do."

I can't even count on my own bridal party to show up on time! Why would I want to task anyone with wedding details?

If I didn't have the career I have, I swear I'd love to plan weddings or be a day-of wedding coordinator. Project management is my specialty, but glad I've got a local resource who will be carrying out my vision for the day.

Favorites

With over a hundred people reading my blog daily, how about a post on all my favorite things. Stuff like this makes me happy.

Favorite web sites:
Twitter (I follow Oprah, Chelsea Handler, Anderson Cooper, Suze Orman, Dr. Sanjay Gupta, Gavin Newsom, Yelp SF, Obama, Burning Man...)
Facebook
Yahoo Maps
Jumble
SF Gate's Daily Dish
People
Yelp
Craigslist

Favorite books:
The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald
Anything by Virginia Woolf (The Waves is my favorite.)
Anything by William Faulkner
Confederacy of Dunces, O'Toole
Then We Came to the End, Ferris

Favorite places to eat and drink:
Anything that my friend Patricia makes
Spruce
Foreign Cinema
Moss Room
Crown & Crumpet
Tommy's Joynt
Nopa
Whole Foods

Best sweets:
See's Candies
Kara's Cupcakes (Passionfruit is my favorite.)
Sweet Mandy B's, Chicago

Places to de-stress:
Burke-Williams
Kabuki Springs

Favorite shops:
Amazon.com
American Rag
Wasteland
LF
Urban Outfitters
Anthropologie
Zappos.com

Where to people watch:
Farmers Market at the Ferry Building
Dolores Park
Burning Man!

Favorite music:
Classical piano
Classic rock
Matisyahu
Pink Martini
Maria Rita

Best snippets of advice:
Get GPS
Try to get a hold of a Google Voice invitation
Don't waste a single minute doing anything you don't want to do.
Get another job, find a hobby, go travel.

I'll See You on the Other Side

I have a difficult personality. I stomp and scream when things don't go my way. I'm volatile. So we fight. When are fights bad and when are they normal? I don't know what's right or wrong anymore. I want to get therapy. He thinks we're fine.

I'm extremely stressed out. On Saturday, my tenant moved out. We did a walkthrough. We decided to have an HOA (Home Owners' Assocation) meeting for my condo and ended up going to a notary for paperwork we've had since 2005 which unexpectedly added to my timeframe. The side mirror of my car was swiped. I couldn't see out of the right-hand side. The seamstress underestimated my dress alteration and it was still too big.

She insisted, "That's less than size 0. Scared, I make too tight."

"Look," I fumed, "my clothes fit the same as they always have. I'm not any skinnier than when you measured me. You did the measurements. This needs to be corrected today."

I could tell she was about to ask for more money, but turned her head away in despair.

"This dress is falling right off of me! I'm coming back today at 5 o'clock and it better be fixed."

My temper landed me a $53 parking ticket when I walked out of the dry cleaner store.

On top of that, Dean and I had gotten into a fight the night before. I didn't sleep. We're fighting. I'm sleep-deprived and stressed out of my mind.

I had a meltdown. I sobbed inconsolably as I listened to a segment on NPR about people who disappear off the face of the earth, people who fake their own deaths.

Can I do that? Can I go away for a little bit? Is Burning Man the vacation I need? I need to disappear for a while.

I Need a Vacation

My head is aching. No amount of Fritos or peanut-butter Ghiradelli chocolate seems to cure the spins. I ran for an hour yesterday at an 8 minute mile clip. Didn't eat dinner, headed to Bliss bar for our Burning Man RV meeting, and consumed two glasses of Zin.

I woke up this morning with the worst hangover. I still feel like shit.

I can't afford to feel like shit.

I just sent my b-school reunion evite to another 300+ revised emails.

My tenant moves out at 9:45am tomorrow. We have an HOA meeting at 11am. My neighbor is getting ready to put her unit up for sale and we need to discuss logistics. I am in charge of the finances and I have no idea what to do with her contribution. Does it just stay in the HOA? Beats me!

I have to clean the place and get it ready for my new tenant who moves in when I'm at Burning Man. I haven't even deposited his checks. Let's hope they don't bounce like my last tenant.

I have a friend in town from India. I haven't even returned his voicemail. Yo, Anup, I'll call you soon!

Ahhh, the desert. I'm still making last minute changes to the volunteer schedule. I'm adding up the shifts. Gotta give credit where credit's due. We are loading up the RV on Sunday. Someone is actually sleeping in the RV that night so all our stuff doesn't get stolen. I need to head to Target for last minute supplies. We need at least three cases of wine. I must have Nutter Butters! I need to buy blinkies for our bikes. I should get my car checked before we start the trek, but maybe I'll just pray my trusty Honda doesn't break down.

It's Patsy's birthday and housewarming on Saturday. We will be there, don't you worry, Patsy!

I don't have time for this headache. Go away, please!

No More Ouchie!

I remember spending a portion of my precious weekends at the nail salon, wincing from the plucking, waiting for my stupid pinkies to dry while reading gossip magazines.

You know what's great about being coupled up? Sure, there's the companionship and love-dovey thing. But I love not having to shave my legs, no more waxing, no more mani/pedis. Dean doesn't care. I don't even think he notices.

I happened to mention, "Whoah, it's really time for me to get waxed. Do you want me to get a Brazilian?"

He said, "No way! I like you natural."

You might think he was joking. But I really don't think the guy cares. How cool is that? I don't think I could have been blessed with a better man. Maybe it's because he's hairy himself. I told him our daughter is going to be born with a mustache.

I shave maybe once a week. No more french manicures or pedicures. I cut my own nails. Can you believe it? I cut my very own nails! And I no longer go for wax treatments. Hoorah for natural beauty!

CK Hwang, 39 East Photography

One Week Countdown to the Desert

The thought of all the work and logistics ahead of me is paralyzing. So much so that I've been staring at this blank canvas of a post wondering what to say. I'm just so tired and overworked.

I'll just leave you with something that warms my heart: my photographer. Every email I get from him is just pure joy. He's a skilled artist, very calming to work with, and seems like a really nice guy.

Check out one of his delightful wedding videos.
http://39eastphotography.bigfolioblog.com/weblog/post/90090

CK Hwang, 39 East Photography

Altogether Now

With a bridal party that breaks out 4 women, 3 men (gender-wise); 4 Filipinos, 1 Mexican, 1 Black, 1 White (ethnically); 5 heteros, 2 gays (orientation-wise); and a future husband who is half-British, half-Italian, I think it shows that I have gone to great lengths to cultivate relationships outside of the norm and learn about new cultures. Berkeley had numerous student associations based on various cultures with a very strong, well-represented Pilipino American Association. I felt like I already knew my culture. Why associate only with Filipinos? Why take classes in Tagalog? I was attending one of the most diverse colleges in the world. Of course I wanted to form friendships with people from different ethnic backgrounds, different religions.

I constantly teased a white guy I dated who lived in the Marina. "Do you have any friends who aren't white? Besides the woman who comes to clean your place."

"What are you talking about? Tina's my friend. She's Asian."

"Ummm, she dyes her hair blonde. I probably know more Mandarin than she does. Try again."

In such a diverse area, I'm always surprised to see large groups of people hanging out together. The Indians mingle in the bar District. The fraternity and sorority alums stroll along Union Street.

My parents wanted me to read an article titled Hybrid Kids from Bay Area Parent magazine since our future kids will be mixed race. It was an interesting article featuring several multiracial families with statistics showing multiracial Americans as the fastest growing demographic group. One Caucasian mother who has a Chinese husband said that a stranger had asked about her son, "Where did you get him? I thought you could only adopt girls from China." Each featured family had similar shocking comments.

If I'm blessed with children in the future, I'd hope to expose them to many of their cultures--not just their own. I'd want them to travel and befriend people from all walks of life. I can't think of a more open-minded diverse mom than myself. Who doesn't want a pro-choice Catholic, libertarian, corporate capitalist, ACLU card carrying burner hippy to be their mommy?!

Fooled You

Dean's co-worker had a pool party this past weekend. Dean forwarded me the Evite a while back, "Baby, let's mark this in our calendar. Should be a fun time." I ignored it, hoping it would go away.

When Saturday came around, I whimpered, "Do I have to go?"

I used to be really social. I liked going to events--even by myself. I wanted to meet new people. I was trying to find my soul mate. Now that I've found him, I don't want to meet new people. I don't want to hang out with his friends. I'm old. I'm from this area. I have a lot of friends here. I have a lot of connections. The thought of mingling with strangers makes my skin crawl. I should be going out to brunch with the gazillion friends I already have. I should be entertaining at home. I should be getting ready for Burning Man, planning my wedding. I'm stressed enough as it is.

But I went reluctantly. To Walnut Creek, the burbs...where traffic getting back into the city is horrific.

When we arrived at the party, I scowled. It was a bunch of twenty-year-olds gathered around a hookah and a keg. I rolled my eyes. It's beyond my understanding when Dean thinks he can set his friends up with mine. Like any of my friends would enjoy this. Annoyed, I went over to the dinner table where there were munchies...Chex Mex, Ruffles, bean dip...the type of stuff college students serve at parties. It wasn't my scene. It wasn't my crowd. I sat down quietly on the patio furniture and tried to put on a smile.

But Dean's friends were nice. They came over and chatted with me. They made sure I had a drink. One of the hosts (also the owner of the home) commented, "I can't believe I'm 34-years-old and having a party like this."

I gawked, "You're 34? I'm 34, too. I thought I was the only one here in my thirties!" We proceeded to talk about real estate and the housing crisis. He told me about his loan modification. I told him about my work.

Then when the drinking/relay races got underway, I was giggling and heckling the teams along. I was surprised at how much fun I was having.

I'm often very snooty and set in my ways. It's surprises like these that put my opinions in perspective. Saturday was a fun day in the sun. And the weekend ended with another surprise when Dean kicked my ass in chess. I couldn't believe it.

"I thought I was so much smarter than you!"

CK Hwang, 39 East Photography


Jose Villa



Erwin Darmali, Apertura

Picture Perfect (Part II)

I spent thousands of dollars and all I got was this 20-page photo album.

During the photographer selection process, I started to become that bride who wanted the very best at whatever expense. I came across Apertura Photography's Erwin Darmali who was recently named one of the top wedding photographers. Unlike other sets of pictures I viewed, Erwin's complete wedding photos were consistent throughout hours and hours of picture-taking. I think you need to watch out for photographers who put their best shots on their web site. Ask to see the complete set of pictures from their most recent wedding. You'll notice a lot of inconsistency and lack of quality. Erwin bucked that trend. His pictures are crisp in the daytime, nighttime. They tell a story and every damn picture is a good one. But I had a hard time getting comfortable with the expense. He's good so he should charge prices that reflect his skill.

Ahhh, then I stumbled upon Jose Villa who is a god in the world of wedding photography. Hands down, I do not think you will find a wedding photographer who is better. He is the very best. His photos are light and airy works of art. For a long time, I thought, I don't care. I'll just save. This guy is amazing. I want him. But...so much money. So I kept looking.

Then I found him. The perfect photographer within our budget. Someone who sometimes works alongside Jose Villa. Take a look at his pictures, I'm sure you'll agree. Consistent, quality, and right on the money.

CK Hwang
http://www.39eastphotography.com/
http://39eastphotography.bigfolioblog.com/
http://www.facebook.com/39east

Abortion

While I've never had an abortion or been 'fortunate' enough to be pregnant, I do have a baby of fat around my tummy that must be expunged.  Yes, it's a wedding thing.  I don't want to walk down the aisle with people coming to conclusions about why we are getting married so quickly after meeting each other.

The roll of dough hovering around my belly button never bothered me before, but the thought of 100+ guests staring at no one else but me has me channeling Richard Simmons.  I'm fine with my weight.  A few pounds away from what I weighed when I finally passed my driver's license exam at 17-years-old, I'm happy when the scale lights up.  I'm perfectly fine.

Except this ring of gluttony that won't go away.  I've had it for quite some time now no matter how many races I ran or hours I logged on the treadmill.  So I gave up.  I didn't want to work out anymore.  I wanted to concentrate on work or other personal things.  I was tired of spending time being active.  I said good-bye to my gym membership.  I ceased all exercise.

But recently, I wanted to give it a go again.  I started a gym membership.  I got back on the treadmill a week ago for the first time in a very long time.  I'll admit, that sometimes during vacation, I'll feel like working out---but that has been very sporadic the past couple years.  

In my crazy mental state of wanting to prove that I could do it, I ran straight for 30 minutes at a 10 minute mile clip.  Then today I set the pace at a 9 minute mile.  In a couple days, I'll set it at 8.  Now, after a multi-year hiatus from any physical activity, I'm ready to abort this baby.

Sacred Space

Yes, I know, I even do my praying online. I have Sacred Space bookmarked which is a soothing site with a special, unique prayer and scripture for each day. The one for today hit close to home.

Lord grant me the grace to have freedom of the spirit. Cleanse my heart and soul so I may live joyously in your love.

Matthew 19:3-12
Some Pharisees came to him, and to test him they asked, 'Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife for any cause?' He answered, 'Have you not read that the one who made them at the beginning "made them male and female", and said, "For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh"? So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.' They said to him, 'Why then did Moses command us to give a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her?' He said to them, 'It was because you were so hard-hearted that Moses allowed you to divorce your wives, but at the beginning it was not so. And I say to you, whoever divorces his wife, except for unchastity, and marries another commits adultery.' His disciples said to him, 'If such is the case of a man with his wife, it is better not to marry.' But he said to them, 'Not everyone can accept this teaching, but only those to whom it is given.

Some thoughts on today's scripture
God's desire is for man and woman to come together in body, mind and soul. In the commitment of marriage, the two are deeply united. Jesus doesn't seem to give a last word on marriage and unfaithfulness here. He looks with compassion on our human faults and failings. His heart reaches out to all who are in any way connected with marital difficulties and breakup. The heart of his people must reach out also, in personal relations and in the teachings and proposals of the Church.

Restart

I cancelled our anniversary dinner yesterday at Fringale. Dean and I crashed at 6:30pm after work, nursing hangovers and emotionally-drained from the previous night's fighting.

I've never been able to brush aside my hurt feelings easily. It always takes me a lot longer to get over things. But after I wrote that post yesterday, I kept thinking about what a wonderful fiance I have and I felt horrible about not really forgiving him.

Here are just a few of the things Dean does for me.
Picks me up from work every day.
Does my laundry and dry cleaning.
Has a glass of grapefruit juice waiting for me when I get out of the shower.
Buys me chocolate and flowers.
Compliments me every day.
Wraps his arms around me every morning and suffocates me with kisses.

Today is a new day. We are planning our celebration for tonight: picnic dinner with Blues by the Bay--which is one of my favorite summertime events held every Friday evening in Sausalito.

Ctrl Alt Delete, Please

My eyes look like red marbles peaking out of insect bites. When I cry, I really cry. It's apparent. Dean and I got into a big fight last night. A fight that's always about the same thing. The first night I moved in at the beginning of the summer, he invited several of his friends over at 2:30am when I was sound asleep in bed. We live in a studio apartment. They refused to leave. Dean and I got into a huge brawl. I almost ended it. We got therapy.

Every once in a while, it surfaces. Like when I see pictures of him hanging out with those friends. Cheese! They're all smiles. I feel ill. How can my future husband continue hanging out with people who refused to leave when they saw me in my tank top and undies pleading with them to please get the fuck out. It makes me feel disrespected.

So last night, I brought it up and we fought again. From his perspective, why do I continue to bring it up? From my perspective, I don't think I've ever fully forgiven him.

Today is our 6-month anniversary from the day that we met. Happy fucking anniversary.

Max Wanger Photography

Picture Perfect

I'm going to continue on my theme of people making really bad financial decisions when spending hard-earned money on a wedding. They get caught up in the frills. They think that spending $30,000 is typical. It's normal to spend that much on a day. It's just the way it is.

Well, you know what? Segregation used to be ok, too. And slavery...that was normal.

Let's try to think outside of the box, alright? Let's try not to make an investment where the return is a photo album you look at maybe once (if at all) a year.

Next up in my wedding planning is finding a photographer. I thought I was set on an artsy photographer who was willing to discount her services. Dean pooh-poohed her pictures. Moving on.

I found someone I absolutely loved. Max Wanger who takes very cool artsy pictures. I didn't care whether Dean liked him or not. Immediately, I told Max to send over a contract.

Here was his response.

hi catherine,

i failed to mention this over the phone but it's my policy to let the other clients that inquired about the same date know that the date was about to be booked (as they had first priority). rarely does this happen, but one of the couples e-mailed back and wants to book me (i say rarely, because in this situation, the couple didn't seem too eager from their initial e-mail)...

i apologize, i was honestly not expecting them to move forward. please let me know if you need other photographer recommendations.

thanks again,
max

I was heartbroken, but I guess that's how the business works. I followed up with Max's recommendations and continued to peruse wedding web sites for photos I liked. Several of the photographers he referred were stellar, but way out of my price range--like $5,000-7,500 for basic services. You don't even get the digital files with that price!

I looked high and low. There was a great photographer from Michigan who photographed a business school friend's wedding. There was a top-rated photographer from The Knot based in Texas. There was an award-winning photographer from Seattle who called me breathless in a very young-sounding voice, "OMIGOD, I LOVE THE ACE HOTEL! You don't understand. I'll do anything to photograph your wedding. I mean, like, anything. I won't charge you travel even though, of course, I travel with an assistant. You'll get my whole package with our labor for the full day and night, all the pictures on DVD, one of my couture wedding albums. I'll even give you a discount. Another $500 or so off the package...whatever! I'd love to shoot your wedding."

That group of photographers would not be undersold.

Here is an email from one of them.

Hi Catherine,

This place looks awesome. Really, it's being able to photograph at cool locations like this one of the reasons I love my job. It seems like your style (if reflective of your venue choice) really fits the style of photography- very old-school, not too trendy and totally natural. I especially love having great backdrops for creative portraiture and we could have a field day in a place like this.

I totally understand the budget issue. If that is the only reason, I can assure you that I can resolve this. I haver never done this, but I will offer to shoot your wedding and not charge you for any travel at all. I really think your wedding will be more fun than "work". That being said, the most important thing is that you love my photography. I do not want to cone across as trying to talk you into it. I have clients from all over the country and have never offered this. It is simply that the place looks like one of a kind.

Simply tell me what your budget is and I'll meet it.

Wow, right? FUCKING WOW! I am in wedding planning heaven.

To be continued...

Ask Me!

I'm on the verge of a meltdown. I'm bloody, bloated, and bitchy.

I spent today dealing with Evite technical issues for a guest list of 500+ for our reunion.

After several months of my iPod not working, I finally made it to my 8th rescheduled Genius Bar appointment. The issue? The cord to my charger is faulty. The solution? A new charger cord. The new problem? After I walked all the way back to work in the Financial District from Union Square, I realized the idiot Genius rep handed me the wrong cord so I purchased the wrong F&(^)(*&*(&^* one!!!

I'm dealing with paperwork to get our semi-destination wedding marriage recognized within the Catholic Church.

I'm playing out in my head all the logistics I need to think about for Burning Man, the Santa Fe wedding, the new tenant who will be moving in when I'm not even there.

Thursday is our 6-month anniversary. What are we doing? Where are we going? How will we celebrate?

But...I have the cutest personal calling cards. Ask me for one!

But please, don't ask me for anything else. I am having a meltdown!

The Summer of Love (Part III and Finale)

I was a brat throughout college, dealing with the pressure of a competitive academic environment and my intellectual inferiority. I didn't have anyone to take it out on except my parents who I blamed for my retarded genes. Even though that summer was a blissful one, I treated my parents with the same disdain when they came to visit. I answered their questions with curt responses and constantly rolled my eyes. I felt awful until I watched in horror as the TA Sadie treated her parents even worse during dinner that night. "I don't know why they came to visit," she screamed. "I can't stand them." Thank God. It wasn't just me. I wasn't the only one who was rude to her folks.

But a well-loved child eventually gets homesick and I longed to return home before the end of the summer. I thought I could go ten weeks without leaving camp, but the feeling persisted as much as I wished it to go away. I started talking about it rampantly. "I really want to go home. I feel like if I go back home, then I can enjoy the rest of the summer. I just have this sick feeling. I miss home so much."

A fellow campster came to the rescue. Doug lived in Berkeley and promised to take me back the following weekend. He had a two-seater with a commitment to take Jason back as well, but when he heard my cries, he resolved, "We'll just have to make do. Even if we have to strap Jason to the back." So the three of us squished contently into Doug's car on a Friday for a weekend back home in the Bay.

Oh, yes, there's the part about falling in love. True to hormonal form, I fell in love very quickly and easily with all the cute Berkeley boys who happened to be tree huggers: nerdy, athletic, nature-loving. Does it get any better than that? I'd already made out with another camp mate on an overnight Entomology class field trip the semester before. He broke my heart when he told me he was seeing someone, then proceeded to hand me a bunch of dandelions he'd picked. The gesture was so sweet (the flowers) and honest (the truth) that I couldn't help but jump into his open arms and return his warm embrace.

It truly was the summer of love for a close-knit group of campers with shared interests, goals, and work ethic. Hookups and indiscretions played out among hollowed pine trees, darting deer, and gurgling streams. Several girls lost their virginity that summer. That was still another three years away for me, but I still got a piece of the action.

We were free to do our own thing on weekends. Mostly, we set off on camping trips. On one trip, I didn't feel like sleeping on the moist grass. Neither did Paul. So the shortest girl and the tallest guy in camp slept side-by-side in the back of a pickup truck. Everyone was sleeping except the crickets singing when we started making out, continuing until the sun snuck up. We snuck kisses throughout the weekend when no one was looking. Our last night before heading back to camp was dinner at a local restaurant with red and white checkered table cloths. Paul placed his hand on my thigh while we were ordering. Extremely ticklish, I banged my thigh up and made a crashing boom on the dinner table. All eyes were on me. My face turned red in embarrassment. "Sorry, I felt a mosquito on my leg." Paul placed his arm around my shoulder instead.

Most of the summer crushes ended that last day of camp. We learned of significant others back home. I found out when I walked into a restaurant to see Paul holding hands with his girlfriend.

The one guy who came to my rescue that summer, Doug, several years later, climbed into a dumpster behind Greek Row on Prospect Avenue in Berkeley and put a bullet through his head. It pains me horribly to write this. I started sobbing when I found out. My roommate asked what was wrong and I commented, "It's so weird. I'm not surprised. Isn't that awful? I'm not surprised."

Doug didn't love himself and you could see it in his eyes. Even among friends who loved him, he had this sadness about him---as if he were always alone. His funeral was a sad reunion of forestry camp friends most of whom I've lost touch with.

It's strange. I didn't set out to end this discussion with a suicide. I simply think of topics that come to my head. In my Facebook panel, I saw pictures of one of my forestry camp friends and I thought, "That's it. I'll write about my forestry camp experience and all the fun we had." I kept writing and this is what came out---not always what you expect, but something deep, something important. That's why I keep writing, every day, to explore the truth.

My blogs have centered around trysts, dating, falling in love, falling out of love, relationships. That's not what it's about. The most important thing is love for yourself. I don't think I've ever directly written that until now. Never stop fighting.

Wedding Highlights

The first thing I did when I started wedding planning was to document the most memorable things from weddings I'd gone to. I did it in rapid-fire fashion--whatever came to my head and jotted my thoughts down on paper.

Vicky + Brian - slideshow video
Cristina + Allan - Allan's letters, the reception speeches
Tracy + Ronan - singing at church, bussing to the reception, harp performance
Steph + Kit - rehearsal dinner, dancing
Therese + Ronnie - family
Chavonta + Daniel - sparklers
Kristen + Dean - brunch
Sam + Brett - cocktail hour, after-party, safari
Maria + Peter - bonfire
Erin + Ryan - amazing food

Notice I didn't remember flowers or color schemes or favors. Notice I didn't mention a single open bar. Granted, I'm going to have an open bar at my wedding, but this should not be the key take-away. The key take-aways for me were Allan's thoughtful handwritten letters to each of his wife's bridesmaids, Allan's little brother's speech that made me burst into tears, the talented French family singing throughout the wedding mass.

The reason I wanted to remember these things is so I could focus on what I think is memorable and what matters. I honestly don't think people are going to hone in on the fact that I don't have $1,000 worth of floral arrangements or a $500 three-tiered cake. They do not matter. I hope people will think of our wedding as a weekend getaway filled with fun activities without the pomp and circumstance. Another insight was how much fun I've had outside of the wedding (like the rehearsal dinner and the next day brunch). Again, another vote for casual, low-key, relaxed, and intimate.

A Stranger in My Own Home

I asked my tenant if I could show my place to a friend of mine who's considering moving in.  We both agreed the best time would be this Saturday when she wasn't around.  I've been fearing the re-entry, knowing that little things out of place would upset me--an anal retentive, highly-organized freak.  

As I feared, I got upset.  The bathroom light was on.  The mirrors were smudged.  Several light bulbs were dead, but not replaced.  Travel books from my bookshelves were missing.  The bedroom was a mess.  I couldn't tell whether my cleaning lady had come by or not.  I saw her signature stripes down the couches, proving she had indeed vacuumed them, but was that from several weeks ago?  The place didn't look tidy at all.

My instant reaction was to clean up a little, to dust, to vacuum.  The trimming on one of my lamps had fallen.  I wanted to superglue it back on.  But I refrained.  It's not my place anymore. This is not my home.  I tried to calm down and asked my friend to please excuse the mess when he came by.  I may own my home, but it's just not home anymore.  Home is this lovely studio in Lower Nob Hill, close to work, and side-by-side with Dean.

It's ready for a new owner in September so I'll only have a few days from when my current tenant moves out and prior to Burning Man to really do a final clean-up before I say good-bye again.

The Summer of Love (Part II)

I get jealous when I hear about people's study abroad programs. I always wish I'd gone to Paris, Melbourne, or Tokyo. My school schedule didn't allow for any overseas travel since I double-majored in Biology and English and was intent on graduating in four years. My schedule was packed from the day I moved into the dorms--including summers in school--until the day I handed in my last final paper analyzing Virginia Woolf's use of insect imagery in her novel The Waves. More than ten years later, I forget that I hadn't really missed out on that experience. I spent a full summer surrounded by unexplored terrain in Northern California.

My dad dropped me off at Mulford at the start of the summer. It was the designated meeting spot for half of us camp kids. The other half had driven up in their own cars. There was no limit as to what we could bring. "We know you're there for a whole summer, so feel free to bring whatever you need." I had a pillow, sleeping bag, blanket, backpack, radio, my dad's human-sized Navy tote bag full of my toiletries, canteen, hard hat, tank tops, sweaters, jeans, jackets, sneakers, hiking shoes, flip flops. I brought my butterfly net and killing jar. Two Teachers' Assistants (Sadie and Ren) were seniors who had spent the previous summer doing what we were doing. Apparently they were smart enough to return and help teach. They each drove a big white van full of underage drinkers and their gear five hours away to our campground in Plumas County, Stanislaus National Forest.

Most of us didn't know each other. I sat meekly, drifting between a nap and staring out the window. When we pulled up to camp, the camp director and his golden retriever greeted each of us. The campground consisted of a large kitchen and dining area, a few offices, a classroom, a restroom, large centralized one-story cabins, and a smattering of single-person tents around the perimeter. I peeked into one of the open tents and was certain I'd freeze to death in the middle of the night. A sweet girl named Yoko Chavez who was half Japanese, half Mexican asked if I'd room with her. She seemed nice enough. So we started putting away our things in our new home.

Once we were all settled, the camp director gathered us together to give us the background: meal times, recycling, chores, shower schedule, the importance of putting out camp fires. There was a phone booth at the very center of the campground. That's where family and friends could call. Whoever answered the phone had to go get you or take a message. The camp director was a Cal grad who'd taken the camp class many moons ago. He came back after graduation and never left. "You kids enjoy your night. Classes start tomorrow at 8am."

The hardest thing wasn't waking up at 7am every weekday during the summer. The hardest thing was getting up out of your sleeping bag, madly shivering, then braving the bitter cold to take a hot shower in a building not more than 30 feet away. It was torture. But after torture, there was temporary bliss, warming up in the dining room, eating delicious meals cooked with love by our very own camp chef, packing our lunches, then class. Throughout the summer, we had a total of five sequential classes: Ecology, Silviculture, Forest Measurements, Timber Resource Utilization, and Forest Resource Management. Classroom time was limited. It was usually no more than a few days of lecture, then ample field work. I've completely lost all of my forestry knowledge. It's been pushed out by Accounting, Balance Sheets, Income Statements.

I did keep my Forestry binder with my written exams and the classroom picture--a polaroid composite of every person in my class. I have such fond memories of that summer, I didn't want to throw all my learning away. What happened to my roommate Yoko? Every so often, I try to Facebook her. She has such an interesting, unique name. The person who pops up doesn't look like her at all. I wonder what's happened to everyone. What happened to me?

I became an adult that summer--a legally-drinking college student. My friends told the chef it was my birthday so she baked a very large carrot cake--my favorite. With grapes, she made the numbers 21 on top of the cream cheese frosting and the whole camp sang me happy birthday. The closest bar was the Ten-Two which we could walk to in 20 minutes. I exhibited signs of bad direction even back then when I always walked in the wrong direction and everyone hollered, "No, this way!" My friends were excited to get me liquored up on my special night. "She'll have a Long Island Iced Tea."

The bartender--a woman in her fifties--soured. "I need to see your ID."

I smiled and handed it to her. "I'm legal!"

She made a worried face. "I refuse to serve this small girl unless you all assure me she'll get home ok."

"It's ok. We're all friends and we're just up there at Forestry Camp. We got her. It's her 21st birthday. Please serve her the drink."

I pitched in, "It's ok. I'll be fine. I promise." Then I laughed, knowing it wasn't my first Long Island.

The Summer of Love (Part I)

It was spring of 1996 on the Berkeley campus. After my English discussion class on ‘The Bible as Literature,’ I was looking forward to a nap at home in the afternoon sun. When I arrived, I sorted through the mail to discover a thin #10 envelope from the Forestry Department. I knew my chances for getting into the coveted ten-week summer program in Stanislaus National Forest were slim, but maybe even acceptances came in a simple form letter.

Rejection. There were only 30 slots for the competitive program and too many qualified candidates. It was Very Sincerely signed Professor Wensel.

My nap would have to wait. I retrieved my navy blue Jansport and U-turned not only back to campus, but to Mulford—the Environmental Science & Policy Management building on the far Northwest corner. I’d had a good day and wasn’t about to let a rejection get in the way of my unusually happy spirits.

Back on academic terrain, I knocked on Professor Wensel’s wooden doorframe. A scruffy-bearded man with thick spectacles looked up from his dusty, overloaded desk.

“Hi Professor, I’m Catherine. I nervously tugged on the bottom of the yellow sixties dress I was wearing to smooth out the wrinkles. “I got this in the mail today.” I unfolded the letter for the old man to see. “I know you don’t have very many slots in the program, but I know I can do the work and I was really hoping to benefit from the summer classes. I’m a Biology major and I’m working on a minor in Entomology. I was hoping this summer would boost my chances for an environmental career after I graduate next year.” I said my peace and looked down on the hardwood floor.

He looked at me. “You know who goes to our summer camp program? Students like you. I admire you coming in here asking for another chance. You’re in.”

“Really? Really? Ohhh Professor Wensel, you won’t be disappointed. Thank you so much!” I gave him a big hippy chick hug.

A Boring Life I Lead

I am fiercely trying to organize my very chaotic life. I feel tension, stress, anxiety. I'll put a call for help out there into the world!

Home Sweet Home
I just refinanced my place for the third time in about 18 months. It was not an easy refi because the appraisal came in lower than we were hoping. I bought my place for $455,000. It recently appraised for $525,000. But my private student loan put me over the limit. We had to do a subordination of the student loan. Logistical friggin nightmare. Everything came to a close, I signed the paperwork last Friday, and now...well...now my mortgage is $1800 for a 1 bedroom with parking in San Francisco proper. Suhweet! Well worth the nightmare.

Money in My Pocket
My tenant moves out on August 22nd. I'm in a tizzy trying to find a replacement. I thought a friend of mine would be a good fit, but I think he's checking out other places as well. I need that money for our wedding! So if you know of anyone looking for a very clean, beautiful place at a killer deal (I pay for everything--all the bills plus wireless internet), please have them contact me. Click here for the Craigslist ad.

Burn, Baby, Burn
Burning Man is fast approaching. It always sneaks up on me. I am juggling the schedule for the ARTery and getting prepared for 11 days in the desert. On top of that, I'm trying to prep my fiance for his first experience, making sure he has his ticket, early arrival pass, all the little nitty things that you need to get onto the playa--since he is coming up separately. Then I leave the morning of burn day. I'm chartering a flight from the desert to the Reno airport, then to Phoenix, then to Albuquerque, then renting a car to drive to Santa Fe. I hope I don't have a mental breakdown on the way to my friend's wedding.

The Windy City: Here We Come
Before I leave, we are trying to finalize the schedule for my 5th year business school reunion in Chicago in November. It's jam-packed with events from Thursday dinner through Sunday brunch.

Getting Hitched
And lastly, I am also trying to plan my wedding.

I need to hire a personal assistant!

Wedding Party

Our wedding parties are in place. We chucked the trend of an equal number. I have seven. Dean has less. I forget how many exactly he has. It's either 4, 5, or 6.

Seven you wonder? How do you have seven bridesmaids? Well, first of all, they're not all bridesmaids. There's my sister as the matron of honor, then my six dear friends from high school. I guess a combination of bridesmaids and bridesmen?

Conrado's like my brother. We met in elementary school. I have fond memories of biking to his house after school and gorging on ice-cream.

Erika and I laughed our way through French class. We didn't learn a thing, but seemed to traipse around Paris just fine last year.

I had a crush on Marc in high school. We promised to marry each other if we were still single at 40--even though he's gay.

Cristina's my Gemini twin. We have a lot of history together, but I most enjoy hanging out in the burbs with her and her extended family (Cristina's mom, cousins, nieces) along with her two cute daughters while her husband Allan barbeques ribs!

Stephanie's the only high school friend that I lived with. We paid about $400 in rent during the dot com boom and spent many-a-night watching Mulan.

Daniel and I went on to Cal together (along with Marc and Erika) and we lived a portion of our lives at the UCSF library, studying all night long to get into grad school. Daniel's probably sorry he works near me because I always make him listen to my problems during lunch or happy hour.

My older sister Therese looks like my twin. Although we look alike, we're total opposites with Therese being a lot more talented and artistic. She juggles a household of three boys (just kidding Ronnie!) and teaches music in Atherton.

Project Managing My Wedding

Now that I've got my venue booked, I feel like everything's falling into place. It's a hotel so I don't have to find our guests lodging. There's a restaurant onsite so they're taking care of the food and bevvies. I don't have to deal with rentals of tables, chairs, linens. Our guests can take advantage of the two pools, the spa, the Vespas for rent or the bicycles you can ride around the complex.

One thing I'm struggling with when it comes to my wedding are the guests. I've got a huge Filipino family. It doesn't help when family members come up to me during family events and ask me if they're invited, if they've made the list, when should they book their flights. It's costing me $150 per person so a family of four is $600. Dean and I make good money, but we're not rich. And we certainly can't afford a gazillion families of four. As for friends, I read in a wedding book that you should invite the friends who know your parents. I like that. I think that's a good tip. Another friend of mine said she only invited people if she had actually talked to them within the past year. I like that, too. I struggled a lot with people who had invited me to their weddings, especially the ones I went to and enjoyed. I felt like I needed to invite those same people even if I don't really talk to them anymore. But a friend of mine talked me out of that. She said, "Look, you didn't ask to be invited. They wanted you there and you went. Your wedding is smaller, more intimate, and you've got a huge family!"

Next up are the fun things. I want the very best DJ. I put a deposit down on one, but still searching just in case. The photographers I've tapped are heavily discounting their rates because they all want to capture a one-of-a-kind wedding at the Ace Hotel in Palm Springs. How will we design the invitations? How can I force my little cousin to do a hip-hop routine during the reception? Should I have my dress made? What words can I use in a letter to persuade my favorite priest growing up to come to my wedding and officiate? Stay tuned.

The Things We Lie About

I lied to my mom a lot.  I got so tired of her verbal tirades, I'd simply lie.  I lied about where I was, what I was doing.  The first time I admitted I'd missed church one Sunday, she went off on the importance of going every week.  God only asked for one hour of our time every week. How can you not give an hour?  So whenever she asked after that, I always said I went--whether or not I was there.  'The woman is old,' was my excuse.  'She doesn't need to have another conniption and she gets plenty of conniptions.'  The irony of all of this is that I'm without a doubt the most consistent church-goer of anyone I know with the exception of my parents and my sister.  Ironic, isn't it?  And I was getting yelled at for missing a Sunday! 

In the grand scheme of things, I think of my lies as tiny untruths.  Sure I was lying, but I wasn't hurting anybody.  I was saving my mom from clutching her Catholic head in agony.  As for me, I know what's right for me and the truth was I was going regularly.  It's just that studying for Organic Chemistry and Physics kinda got in the way!

Then there are the big lies.  As Burning Man approaches, I think of all the ecstatic, mushroom-filled lies from the Burning past and what's ahead this year.  I think of the relationships that happened in a cloud of playa dust only to evaporate once we returned home.  My first Burn year, I accompanied my boyfriend.  The year prior, we had recently gotten together and I begged him not to hookup with anyone as I said good-bye to him before he left for Black Rock City.  He came back and confided, "I did shrooms one night with my campmates and one of my campmates gave me a kiss.  But that's all.  I promise.  I was good."  I know he was telling the truth.  I knew he would never betray me.

I never considered myself a big liar.  But I continually found myself being lied to.  

After my first Burn with my then-boyfriend, I connected with at least one person (if not several) every year and eventually came back home and dated them.  I would hear snippets about guys I used to date, guys I didn't care for anymore.  I had moved on and was most likely dating a slew of others.  But the stories surrounded me.  "Did you hear Brian broke up with his girlfriend? Yeah, that was a long-term relationship.  Five years they were together."

My ears perked up.  "Excuse me?  Did you say they were together for five years?  I dated Brian for five months.  There's no way.  I don't believe you."  But it was always true.  They'd even been living together.  Icing on my ripped apart heart.  It didn't matter that we weren't together anymore.  It didn't matter that I'd moved on.  What mattered was that he lied to me.  What mattered was now every time I thought about our brunches at Bette's Oceanview Diner, I'd think, "mother fucking scumbag."  No need to capitalize the reference to a low-life.

Do cheaters think that's ok?  Is it ok to lie to your significant other, your spouse, your children? Who does that?  Is the pussy or cock that important?  Is it really that fucking good?

I see it.  You see it.  We all see it.  It happened in college when one roommate walked in to find her other roommate straddling her boyfriend.  Suddenly, the two best friends seemed to be friends no more in the hallways and in the study hall.  "What happened with you and Anna?" I asked Jamie when we were hanging out alone in study hall.

"That bitch fucked my boyfriend Ted."  Ted was a good-looking alternative guy who lived on the all-boys floor.  He skated around campus.

"I didn't know Ted was your boyfriend.  I thought you had a boyfriend back home?"

"Oh yeah.  I guess I have two boyfriends then."

It happened in grad school when guys left their girlfriends or wives back home.  They couldn't possibly be out with the boys drinking every night.  Could they?  No matter what lies they told, business school is about 30% women so there are smart, interesting, beautiful girls who are single, waiting for their corporate counterpart.

And it happens all over the work place.  What do you really think your spouse is doing at those out-of-town conferences.  Come on!  Wake up.

I'm making the case that my lies were not as egregious as cheating lies, but it's all the same.  I was too much of a coward to own up to the truth.  It got to the point where I didn't care anymore if my mom yelled at me.  I simply held the phone away from my ear and multi-tasked.

Little untruths or big cheating lies.  What if we cared about every spoken word out of our mouth?  What if we refused to taint our lives with deception?  How would we live?...genuinely, truthfully, honestly?

Mommy Dearest

Today we celebrated Benicio's first birthday with lots of friends and family and even more food. Enough food for every guest to take something home for another meal.  Filipino gatherings--like most family gatherings--are centered around food.  Fried, caloric, fatty goodness.  Pancit, BBQ pork kebabs, mango ice-cream from Mitchell's.  My personal favorite?  My sister's fried lumpia dipped in my aunt's spinach dip.  I go to town with the combination, hovering over the table dipping the lumpia as my mom screams, "Get a plate and sit down!"

I was a happy stuffed piglet rubbing my tummy when my aunt asked, "Why do you do that?  Are you pregnant?"

I shrugged, "Maybe."  I laughed, "Who knows?  I could be.  Just in time for the wedding, eh?"

My mom glared at me and all my aunts laughed.

At this age, I like shocking my family.  Their good little straight A princess gets preggers before matrimony.  I love it.  But there's no way I'm pregnant.  I'm been on the pill for as long as I can remember.  It's never failed me before, I doubt it'll fail me now.  I know there's also this old wives tale about being on the pill for so long and eventually having a hard time getting pregnant after you get off the pill.  That's a bunch of bullshit, in my opinion.  

I'm in no rush to get pregnant.  I'm in no rush to be a mommy.  And I tell everyone this, if God pulled me aside one day and said, "No kids for you," I would not be heartbroken.

My aunt who asked if I was pregnant made it a point to tell everyone, "You know what Catarina used to say when she was a kid and a teenager?  She'd say, 'I'll kill myself if ever I got pregnant. I'll kill myself!' "

I don't ever remember saying that, but I'm not at all surprised I uttered those exact words. Sounds like me.  I know that I vividly remember wanting to get my tubes tied in high school. "Why not," I scoffed.  "I know I don't want kids.  Might as well take care of the situation now."

Despite the fact that I've been ambivalent about having children, I have very strong opinions on raising them.  Discipline is top of mind--just from genetics and my own upbringing.  There were no time outs when I was a kid.  My mom spanked us with her hard-heeled slipper.  

I distinctly remember a couple of unruly teenagers at church---a strong childhood memory of mine.  Their parents remained silent while the teens chatted loudly and yakked their gum. Twenty minutes into the mass, my mom tapped them on the shoulder and sternly said, "You need to be respectful in church."  They didn't say a peep after that.  I had a lot of respect for my mom at that moment.  I'm sure the teens did, too.  Children need discipline.  It can't be the parents following around the kids.  It's got to be the other way around.  Kids need a  strong, disciplined leader.

So when I saw my nephew Dominic purposely knock down a 13-month-old girl at the party today, I leapt to my feet, slapped that little rugrat on the floor, and gave him a big spanking. "Dominic, I saw that!  Don't you ever do that again!"  Dominic's lower lip started to quiver as he saw the anger in my eyes.  

"I want my mommy!"

"Oh yeah, you're going to get your mommy.  Therese!"  I called over my sister.  "Dominic just knocked her down."

My sister came and grabbed him by the wrist, hauling him away for another big whop.  I gave him another slap on the behind for good measure.  No kid of ours is going to get away with bad manners.  That is for sure.

The little girls mom said, "Wow, you're going to be a good mom."

"Thanks," I cried out of breath.  Let's hope the mom situation ain't for a couple years.