Well, 2009 came and went. It was one of my favorite years in recent memory. First, there was the second half of senior year, a pretty relaxing stage because college applications were done, and all there was left to do was attend senior events, hang out with friends, and wait. Then I was blessed with a chance of a lifetime to spend my next four years at my dream school. I had the most fun summer of my life: reading East of Eden, going on a road trip with friends, and not doing summer homework. The Lakers reclaimed the throne and Dodgers gave us a thrill. Oh, and I got to meet one of the most beautiful women in the world. Yeeeup.
That reminds me - I went to Katsuya again about a week ago for my friend's birthday. I really didn't have a clue what I would do if I met the waitress again. For some reason, I envisioned sitting down at a table with her and chatting for a couple minutes about our life histories if the business was slow - a scenario not feasible even with divine intervention. In any case, she wasn't there the second time around. So as of now, there is no "Hot Latina Waitress Pt. 2." Although, I must mention that a rather miraculous event happened three days after the fruitless outing. As I was eating dinner, I flipped the channel to KCAL9 News for the first time in months and caught the tail end (I just laughed) of the coverage on the New Year's festivity plans in NY Times Square. And guess which pedestrian had been selected by the news team for a brief six-second interview? Yup it was her. That's probably why she wasn't at the restaurant that night. I hope I am wrong because I don't believe in fate.
Many people have asked me what I hoped to accomplish by flirting with her in the first place. My answer is nothing. I've come to realize that you gotta give girls credit when credit is due. We all want to look good, but girls are arguably more insecure about their appearances than guys. So when I spot a choice of apparel or make-up that is particularly effective, I compliment the girl. I look for innovative hairstyles, subtle gradations of color in dresses, T-shirt designs, hoop earrings, etc. Well that night, her overall presentation was fantastic and I communicated that by asking for a picture with her. Of course, girls often take my praise the wrong way. But I can't give my compliment along with a disclaimer that I am not romantically or sexually interested in her.
I've been watching quite a few movies over this winter break, and I happened to watch 500 Days of Summer and Forgetting Sarah Marshall back to back. *Stop reading if you don't want spoilers.* I have to say I enjoyed the latter much more. I liked 500 Days of Summer 20 minutes into the movie when I was first introduced to Summer's disillusionment about love. She asks Tom the same question I have: "What does love even mean?" But from there, it really went downhill for me. Summer orchestrates one of the most heinous heartbreaks I've ever seen. I will concede that Summer told Tom early on she just wanted them to be friends. But shower sex? That sends mixed messages. She toys with his heart to her heart's content and once she is bored with him, she lets him go. Then after they've broken up, Summer tantalizes him again by dancing with him at a friend's wedding. Finally, she invites him to a party celebrating her engagement - without telling him about her engagement. What a maddening plot. If that was a true story, Tom would've never recovered from such a blow. What pissed me off the most, though, was Summer saying she believes in love again after falling for a guy at first sight. She's smoking some of that Pineapple Express shit.
The closest thing to love I've seen is parents who live their lives for children. Parents who do not enjoy their jobs, who do not have access to the American Dream, who do not have the financial stability to do what they enjoy, who know their own lives aren't going to get much better as long as they are alive. But somehow they find the incentive to keep living because they live vicariously through the pleasures and successes of their children. I don't think I am capable of such love.
