My last day in West Lafayette will be Monday. So for any one who wants some of Jean, will have to squeeze it in before the counter is at zero! I hate to say it is coming to an end... but it is. On a side note. Does any one want a Table or a Couch?

So now that I am officially off to my first big girl job in Singapore, there are some after college studying I have to do, and items on a list that must be checked off. I was awake at 4 am when I got the message from my employer saying they have given me the go-ahead in 'principal' and would like me to come in when I can. Yes, I have been waiting for this e-mail for the last month or so, but the fact that I hadn't known when it was coming, and the fact that I don't think I've said my goodbyes to some people around me sort of made it such that the reaction I had to the news was less joyed, and more-- Well, not scared parsay...

'Shocked.' Shocked is a good word. 

It was like someone rolled up my visa papers, and smacked me across the face with them. Don't get me wrong, I'm completely ready to start working, do things, be a constructive member of society. I am so proud and thankful of this job that I have. It's just... well those who know me know how I feel about surprises-- aka, how I hate them. 

I lay awake for hours last night. Slept for three. Then woke again and couldn't go back to bed. I ended up taking a walk in the rain, I stomped about the puddles in the boots that have walked me a hundred times around my beloved campus. Today was abysmal, the gray clouds had rain in them, but refused to pour; they just blanked the entire town in a perpetual twilight. Where yesterday spotted a sun that sweltered, today felt like a hot and humid wintertime. 

There are things I need to do now, namely to prepare myself to be a working woman. No more games, no more american-kid loose tongue, no more selfishness... Dude, I should be a grown up; lord konws I'm old enough to be:

I can't fail in my first six months of company trial. If I don't prove to them that I can do what they hired me to do, it would reflect poorly on me, USA education and the contacts who so generously provided me with this opportunity. I just have to learn and avoid the things that would likely get me fired.

I like being a kid. I like having the spirit of a kid. But when it comes to work-- REAL work, I would like to think that I can portray myself as mature, intelligent and professional. I suppose I should look up business etiquette too, but for now until I learn more of Asia's professional attitudes, I should at least dress the part. I want to be the snappy, all american business woman.

One thing I've noticed about Singapore is that it is a very progressive city. More than progressive, it has to always be changing; they never stand still. This is amazing and pertinent for modern development, but I find it can be much too busy for me. Just remember to relax, I suppose I should remember that I am an American and still live like one. Just have to keep myself aware, respectful, and distant from the temptations of foreign big city living.

Somewhat related to the prior item, I have to remember that I will be in a place that is easy to spend money. I know that I have taken this job because of the experience and not the pay, but I do have to remember that money is an easy thing to part with. I don't want to succumb to big city materialism. This is especially a threat to me, who doesn't currently, but has the inclination to spend frivolously.

Stay active, stay fit, especially in an apartment with an atrophied old lady. There will be lots of sun, swimming and walking. I just wish I could justify buying an Iron Gym with me. I don't want to get into the 'Eat a lot, exercise a little' mentality that comes with stressful work. I suspect I shall be doing more BodyRock stuff with the amazing Zuzana.

And finally. I have to try and retain who I am, and the goals in my life that I still plan to attain.  Moving to Singapore may have put a kink in the path I had planned for my life; but just because the path was changed, doesn't mean I won't end up in the same place. How you reach a life goal should be flexible otherwise how will anyone ever seize opportunity?

That's all for now. Wish me luck, fortune, love, peace...or something stupidly sentimental. And in the years later when we are re-united, ask me what I learned. I will miss you Purdue, Indiana, my Heart, and those who I have since learned to love. Will you miss me?

<3 Jean.

I masturbate like a man-- once or twice a day, dude. And with enough time to get the things done that need doing. And it's not that I'm particularly nympho, I just like how it feels and that's it. Most of my life I just assumed this was normal until a game of hotseat sort of revealed that more than one of my gallpals have never ever  fingered themselves. 

"I just never felt the need to," one said.

I was reading somewhere that women require a lot more 'coaxing' to get in the mood. You gotta stroke their ego, buy them chocolates, give them presents and after gaining enough affection points, the lady will reward you with the appropriate amout of bedroom time. Me,  I've never associated that kind of affection with sex rewards-- Sometimes I just get horny driving to the bars. Okay, so I'm exaggerating, but it can get pretty ridiculousness. 

A guy told me that a lot of girls now are turning to porn for the fem' power: that it is more a statement to feminism than an expression or outlet for a sex drive. He said that some of them aren't even turned on by it. I couldn't imagine watching porn for anything other than to get turned on... What kind of expression is it sitting in the confines of your tiny bedroom with a bunch of girls huddling around the telly watching nekky boobs? It sounds kind of like some sort of demented dungeon group torture.

Web MD (Which, I know is not a real MD but i'll take my sources where I can) compared the sex drive between men and women and I have decided that the girls who provided the source material were monumental prudes. I mean come on only 40% of women have ever masturbated? That's got to be a lie. And I'm sure that girls fantasize of sex just as often as boys do.  I can barely fathom how it can not a part of one's sexual health routine.   

So here are some questions I have to ask every girl who is willing to answer my questions.

1) Do you really not think of sex at least once a day? If you don't then how often does it come to mind?

2) If you're in a relationship, how often do you want to have sex with your partner? How often would you actually have sex with your partner? Doesn't it suck to have sex when you're not in the mood?

3) If you're not in the mood and someone sprung surprise sex on you-- how long does it usually take before you get into it?

4) Do you ever just want to get laid by someone hot who you care little about?

5) How often do you masturbate? Do you think that your need to is run by your biology, or is it something you learned to do through cultural or societal norms?

6) Is it really unusual to get turned on by porn?

Or am I just strange?

So my little Netbook has been having such a myriad of hell lately. I blame it on  that bottle of water I so gracefully poured on to my keyboard back in SG. Turns out my proxy was set ridiculously high, and I could only get on to SSL secure sites, which, BTW is like...  virtually just G-mail and Paypal. After d'ucking around with the Chrome settings and proxy servers and firewalls and pulling out half of my hair and throwing the computer across the room; I finally decide to give up and send an e-mail (through my G-mail) to my mom complaining about said problem. I then check to see if Hotmail is SSL updated and it is.... then magically.... my internet starts working. 

I have no internet at home anymore, I had canceld it before I left for Sing; which turned out to be a very prudent plan. Despite it being an inconvenience at home, it saved me 90 dollars and has forced me to expedite the moving process. I have so far found homes for a fifth of my things that need homes. I'm still gonna work on emptying stuff out but it's looking good. I kind of wish I didn't take home my red paint... I could seriously use some paint time. Oh well; DARKSIDERS HERE I COME!

I spent the night in a new bed last night; which was better than couch time, which is what I had expected to be sleeping on last night. That was nice... except I woke up with a little kink in my neck. My bed is currently (and will be for what the internet tells me is approximately a week) getting air dried after an unfortunate incident with memory foam and 300-600 ml of liquid, namely-- alcohol (OOPS!). Turns out, Memory Foam mattresses are basically giant sponges... Heavy giant sponges. Since my room is in the sunset area of the apartment and I had wanted to sun dry it the next day, I tried to move it into the living room. I tell you what; moving a queen sized memory foam mattress is nothing like moving a queen sized any other type mattress. After hefting it as far as the front door, I had developed a brand new understanding and appreciation to the shit ants have to put up with. In the end it didn't even help, so within two hours, I hauled it all the way back to my room. Things to note for future Mem.Foam matress movers:

• Friction between carpet and mattress foam acts like Velcro. Lift, gotdamnit
• Do not fold the thing lengthwise if your weight cannot provide enough resistance to counteract the spring force of folded mattress... unless you want to fly.
• Do not lift from the middle; A queen-sized mattress does not fit laterally through a door frame.
• When lifting vertically, do not raise lowest part above your ankles: Top of mattress won't fit vertically under the door frame. 
• When sliding across the carpet, trash bags are a clever idea, but the plastic rolls away every foot-- so get a lot. 
• USE YOUR KNEES!
• If it starts falling toward you... run like shit! or be prepared to crawl from under flatness. 
• Hydrate

Though I digress. overall, the experience was worth it. 

Unlike this parking ticket that I just watched WestLaf police tape on to my car window. Soot. 

I think am really going to miss this place.

Some cartoons are totally worth it. Even if it's over ten years old.

Terry: "Mmm. What are you eating? it smells...." *spies Talia* "Gorgeous"

Bruce: "You don't cheat death, you whimper in fear of it."
Ra's in Talia's body: "Silence!" *Smack*
Bruce: 'Uh!' *Flinches* "... And you hit like a girl." =] <-- with that smiley

Batman: "Lady, that is the sickest thing I have ever seen." (about Ra's' body snatching his daughter Talia) "You're creeping me out."
Bruce: "You? She kissed me."

I had this dream where I was drinking water from a cup filled with broken glass. I sifted through it with my tongue. Though the shards were malicious looking when I spit them out, I felt no scratches when I swallowed them in. There was just a soft slow lump for each piece of broken glass. I should have been horrified but instead I was instilled with a calm logic. The water in my mouth became a dark red wine, and I drank it carelessly. That was when you woke me up, your husky voice shaking me out of the dark nightmare. 

"Jean," you say barely audible. I roll in my bed and tangled desperately in my blankets, "were you dreaming?"

I can't respond, paralyzed by fear and hope and all those that run in between. In the black, I hear your shadow closes the bedroom door and you approach my bed. Although I have wanted so much to hear you speak to me, I feel a fear grip me so intensely and I shake in terror. Your huge figure hovers caringly by my bedside and I beg with you silently to come join me, wrap your arms around me, tell me that you thought of me, worried about me and came over to comfort me. 

I quell the hope knowing you wouldn't and soon your apparition dissolves into my bedroom wall; I’m left naked and plain with no warmth. 

I struggle to stop the tears that had formed from the not surprising knowledge that you had only been a dream. Only a dream of you would care to ask me such an insightful question without reserve. I lay there dejected, struggling between sleep and awake when you pull up the covers and sit next to me. Another night terror of you puts his hand on my shoulder through the comforter and I shake knowing that this too is likely just a wish. Your presence fills my body with disappointment and excitement all at once and I fight the hope of your reality by locking up and sensing your movements and your caring caress without my own movement. I want this from you more than anything but the hope is too great that I struggled to wake up.

Your touch disappeared your presence in my heart lingered but again, I ruined my dream.

I try not to cry in my bed, curled up and abandoned-- feeling more hopelessly alone than I had in years. The sadness was blurring the line of my sleep and my awake when you opened the door, lie down next to me, wrap a huge loving arm around my shoulder. Another ghost. Another wish. I feel you like I felt the other dreams, and I need you to be real, but I know full well that to hope you are would just melt into a madness. You don't need to say anything to me. Just turn me in your arms and pull my face into your perfect, soft chest. Wrap your fingers around my fingers, grip my shoulder with your warm hands, I feel you tuck your chin on my cold temple and your body twisted around my naked rib. I clung on to that dream, smelling you, seeing you, feeling you-- missing you. I clung on and you clung back, crushing me gently-- I imagine what it would be like if you were really here, (let my heart believe that you are) and I want so much to believe that when I wake up, I'll still be in your arms. I almost allow myself to believe that this is no dream. 

I don't know why, maybe because I was praying that you were actually there for me, but I forced myself awake again. I clung on to you in hope even as you faded in my arms. I wanted to bring you back; your arms in my dreams were at least soothing to my unhappy nerves. But the damage was done and the floating disappointment fluttered around in the dark night. 

I turned back around and blinked at the empty wall to process my despair. In the pitch of the night, that’s when I heard you shake out a sheet, the ruffle was deep and short. 

"Jean" you said in your deep and calculating voice. "I'm sorry." 

Your ghost crawls into my bed with me, lifts his arm to drag me into his hold, but my love and hope for you is too great, and instead of sitting and giving in to this twilight fantasy, I close my eyes and let the dream fade into a real sleep deep in your embrace. 

I don't know when my dream of you left me to wake up alone that night. 

--Dream Diary: 11 05 01

So funny story--  I was feeling particularly lonley for my Ex and by happenstance, he was online so I said hi and he was being typically distant. That obviously disappointing and compounded by another thing that had noting to do with him and later ended up in an unpleasant confrontation-- I found myself feeling more hopelessly alone than I have ever felt in years and all I wanted to do was sit down and cry. Unfortunately, I had to do something productive today, like go into the office to sign paperwork, so i told myself "You've had years to cry about how he has treated me; you better focus on doing your job for one day-- then you can go back to being a mope."

In the thirty minute taxi ride to work, I sit in the back fluctuating between convincing myself that 'he's being a selfish jerk who doesn't treat me like the girl who's supported him for years and that he'll regret not sticking with me when I become rich and successful' and "Why can't you just make him see, God? Why can't you just give him back. I'll never meet another like him; so perfect for me except in the single facet that he doesn't love (or even like) me. And besides I'm going to work in the middle of nowhere and I'll not have the time or resources to meet anyone at all. You suck, God..."

Flash forward.

I get paperwork from my HR Representative. Among the literature is this pamphlet for a company paid 2 year membership for a social club. I filed it away for me to read later and she went over payment and leave and stuff --

Flash forward again after that was all done, I let myself feel sad again and I'm sitting around feeling pitiful, crying about my hurt feelings and being lonley and blah blah when for some unknown reason, I decide to review my paperwork. It was partially in hopes that it would give me something else to distract me about mine loneliness-- Among it is the paper for the social club. So I flip it over and read more in detail about what it actually is without much interest for it. Turns out, it's not a social club -- par say but:

A membership to a dating service

I sorta looked at it then looked up and was like:

"Okay God, HA HA. Very funny."

--------------------

I've heard it said that the path of God is a difficult one. I've heard that he litters your way with so many stresses, strains and trials just to make you stronger. But in the last few weeks I've learned the opposite. When he really wants you to go somewhere, he makes it so EASY.

The path that the Lord choses for you is freakin' paved. He sets you this perfect road out in front of you and says,  "Hey, this is yours. Go. NOW."

The only part that makes it hard is seeing another path that you would prefer to take. And deciding to go that way means God has to flatten a dirt track so that when you finally realize that you screwed up, you can find your way back to the place you're meant to be. I'll admit, my plans didn't take me this way-- So many of the things I have in my head for the path to my perfect future has to be abandoned by taking this route-- but there was no doubt. I'm suppose to go this way-- away from my desires and toward that which the Lord has pointed me to.

And my friend will tell you; I'm not a good Christian and usually I don't act very religiously.  But whenever God tells me to go somewhere and He's obvious about it; What choice do I have other than to pick up and follow Him? He lets me goof around 364 days in the year, on the one day He tells me to do something, I should bloody well do it.

Have you ever been led to the path the Lord has laid out for you and not taken it?

"In it my grandmother was sick. She had been hallucinating and saying things the way she had been last night. My mother told me that I was to bring her to the kitchen; that that was what she had requested and so that was what was going to happen. She had said that her mother’s delusions were disturbing the birds, some half a dozen or so canaries.

When I walked into the living room of the house, I should have been first struck with the fact that it looked like a drawing room from an olden type town house. What struck me instead was that my grandmother’s canaries had been moved, and where their small reed cage had been stood a large metal-barred cage. They looked like a large cat cage, the metal bars only vertical with only two levels of horizontal bars. In the cage sat two rows (1 row 12 another row closer to 8) of sulfur-crested cockatoos all of which were completely bright yellow. They were sleeping such that their heads were tucked under their wings. Not a single one was awake. They shifted slightly, and wavered with breath, but otherwise, they could have been dead.

I moved quietly as if to let them sleep and looked for the canaries I had expected to see. They were placed by the door, all six of them awake and perched frighteningly still on their rattan perches looking at the other birds.

‘My mother must have bought more birds to keep my grand mother company. Lively things in a room with a dying person could boost cheer,’ I thought, as I turned to my grandmother’s bed in the living room. To my shock, instead of an emaciated woman, I saw a giant blue and purple bird. It lay there looking sick and slow, with wings too fat to fly, a neck too long to hold its head up, and legs that were nothing but sagging purple skin on ostrich long bird legs. I told my mother that my grandmother was not here and that she should come and see this bird that replaced her, but my mother wouldn’t leave the kitchen.

“Bring here here, and don’t fool around.” She called, as if I was fooling around to begin with.

“Mom.” I screamed, attempting to portray this current crisis.

“Stop making a fuss.” She poked her head into the room and I indicated to the wheezing bird.

“Look!”

“That’s enough,” she said looking very frustrated at me, “Bring her here and stop being a fool.” Though she saw the bird, she acted as if I was being unreasonable and then turned to return to the kitchen.

I decided that fighting with my mother would not be useful so I began to lift the bird into the wheel chair, she felt the way my grandmother felt. Frail and spidery—the soft feathers reflected on my grandmother’s melting flesh and its lanky legs shook the way my grandmother’s bony legs shook. In less time than I anticipated, I wheeled the bird to my mother with a dwindling determination to show her error but when she saw it she simply thanked me and proceeded to carefully usher the dying avian through the door. Pushing her through the doorway was like pushing her through a transforming gate; within a blink, the bird’s shape became my grandmother’s and she disappeared into the light of the kitchen.

For that second, I was not surprised. In fact, in a second, I was instilled with a certainty that I had been hallucinating. Whatever it was that was causing my grandmother to see things in the house, was causing me to see things. I turned around, and the room was my grandmother’s living room again; it was dark and filled with lifeless stuffed toys. Both birdcages were gone, and there lay a flat and empty unmade bed.

I dreamed I woke up then, and couldn’t move from my bed. I couldn’t even think about it. All the while, in my dream and in real life, I could hear my grandmother wailing sickly in the living room next to me."

-- Dream Diary: 09 15 05

So my brother was trying to get a new ticket so that he can go to Australia and aparently here is my brother's conversation as we hear it.

Operator:  "Your confermation number: M as in Malaysia. S as in Singapore. K as in Koala. ...."
Brother:  "Okay okay, can I give you my e-mail now? R as in Russell. G as in Gong. O as in Ong.... ???"

Apparently he's done this before too, in front of his boss. 

Operator: "Who is the appointment for?"
Brother: "Chris. C as in chicken, H as in ham, R as in radish, I as in ice cream, S as in salad..."
Chris:  "Russ...?"
Brother: "?!.. ha ha ha. Sorry, I'm a little hungry."