My dad is sorely outnumbered in our family, but manages to deal with the women in his life with relative ease. The three of us can be intense in our own ways, and I wear the crown as the stubborn one. I refuse help until absolutely desperate (but hardly ever hear a "I told you so"). Most times my dad already anticipates that I won't succeed (i.e., fail), but he'll let me figure that out on my own. When it comes to things that I love or am passionate about, my dad happens to be my most earnest supporter. The latest? He's actually indulging my idea of owning a Vespa. It's my mom that I won't be able to convince. Boo.

Happy Father's Day, Dad! :)

The guy at the counter yesterday asked for my name after I made my order. I hesitated since the usual name I give is actually my last name because my first name always gets butchered. However, on this occasion I was with a friend and decided just to say my first name so that I wouldn't have to explain myself (complicated, I know). After I said my name the guy at the counter paused and looked up. Then he smiled. He said that he had a friend by the same name. Later on he told me that he was going to give that friend a call since hearing my name made me think of her. I hope he was able to reach her.

I'm glad that my name brought up someone positive. Like if someone ever introduced himself as Demetrius to me, I would immediately think of the kid who bullied me in kindergarten. (Apologies to all the Demetrius-es out there. I will try to get over it if we should meet.)

"A good name is to be more desired than great wealth."

The woman that sat next to me on the shuttle bus yesterday told me she runs in Ironman races. I felt embarrassed telling her that this is just my second marathon and my goal was just to finish? She told me that she hadn't run only a marathon in awhile, and that her goal was a sub 3-hour finish. Another man on the bus said he runs marathons practically every week. I was feeling slightly outclassed.

My first marathon was five years ago. Like a mother who forgets the pain of childbirth, I signed up for my second go at 26.2, but not without some hesitation. It's a lot of work to train, and my version of training this time around proved just enough, but not to any serious or elite level.

Despite this, there was maturity to be had this time around. The miles did not intimidate me - not because I was overly confident, but because I knew that there's always more than just me that fuels these races. I had the experience of my first marathon to remind me of this.

I fought through pain in my left shin to finish the race in a time that bested my first marathon. The pain caught me by surprise because I had pretty much trained injury free. But I had a supporting roadside cast that pushed me, told me I looked good, and was present when I needed it the most. I almost missed it, but there was also a guy running with a shirt that had Phil 4:13 on the back. A man carrying a sign with this same verse proved pivotal during my first race. Recalling the past has a way of informing your faith for the present! I teared up at one point, assured I was going to finish this test of endurance again, but not without some obvious Help.

We agreed amongst ourselves that the three of us all had to run our own individual races - I am proud that my dad and sister were also amongst the finishers yesterday!

Despite trying to be as calculated as I can with what I say, there are times when I regret the things that come out of my mouth. This probably happens more often than I can think of. Last week something I said came back to bite me, which made me feel really bad that I had ever said it. The day I had made the comment I honestly wasn't thinking, and from what I remember the day had started bad already. Not that this is an excuse.

So I'm reminded that I am to be mindful of my tongue, and its capacity to speak loosely without thought of its potency.

"Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue keeps himself out of trouble."

Recently, I got a new cell phone. It's been over a month now since I got it. It's red, touch screen sensitive, and slides up to reveal a keyboard which transforms my texting habits. Super slick. But...I'm still using my old cell phone. I've been accused of being archaic by certain family members, which only fuels my stubbornness in refusing to switch.

I'm not sure why I hold on to using my old phone. There's something comforting about my flip phone that I really like and can't imagine giving up. It's not that I'm not familiar with the new phone - my sister has the same one and I've played around with it. I know it's nice.

Sometimes I feel I almost need to have things wrestled away from me before I realize the freedom of letting go. It's a lack of faith to believe that there is anything better, really. If you don't see me sporting a new phone the next time you see me you have permission to pry the old one out of my hands.

The DMV is not my favorite place.  However I made the trek out today because after so many times renewing via mail you have to go in-person.  I was not happy about this, especially after several frustrating attempts of not being able to schedule an appointment online.  However, I was pleasantly surprised by my visit today- in under 20 minutes I was done!  Incredible.  The lady at the counter applauded the fact that I waited to sign my application (obeying the directions to STOP and sign only when instructed by a DMV employee).  Then she remarked that I was just a little kid in my old photo (which I took to be a compliment - because uh, of course, I look so sophisticated now compared to then!).  Then she wished me a happy birthday.   Good customer service can seriously change one's attitude. 

Later today I was reminded of my own former customer service days when the guy next to me at Java Beach saw my Ann Taylor commuter mug and commented that he had never seen an "Ann Taylor" mug before (and joked that he himself had one from Talbot - I laughed).  I explained that yes, I used to work retail back in the day.  I got the mug because I sold the most sweaters during a promotional weekend.  I was really a miserable salesperson.  But if anything it taught me how to deal with people.  And we all need to learn to do that a little better :)

Today my savior came in 6+66.  Before you denounce me a heretic, let me explain.  These are the numbered bus routes that got me home during my evening commute on a day in which MUNI trains went awry (yet again).  Today was not the best day for this to happen (when is it ever?) but I decided to choose my own adventure home, mostly because of impatience.  So I hopped on the 6, not knowing exactly where I would be getting off.  It happened to drop me off precisely at the stop for 66, which conveniently takes me within 1 block of home.  A successful reroute!

I never wish for things to go awry, but realize that I shouldn't always expect things to work exactly how I want them to each time.  That's Joe MUNI teaching me life lessons once again.

I walked into Uncle Benny's yesterday and saw that the ghetto green booths that I absolutely loved were taken out!  In their place were nondescript wooden chairs and tables.  A few months back I survived the name change from Happy Donut (thank you JJ and KF for bearing with me) and was satisfied to still have my chocolate old fashioned donuts.  I was further helped by an impulse decision to visit the Happy Donut downtown by my work one morning.  I walked in thinking that it would be a happy reunion with my familiar "Happy Donut."  But when I looked in the glass case I noticed there weren't any chocolate old fashioneds!  Flustered, the woman behind the counter asked what I wanted. I asked for chocolate old-fashioned.  "No, we have buttermilk old-fashioned...same, same!" she declared with her Vietnamese accent.  I can't believe I allowed myself to be convinced of that, but I was so distraught that I wasn't thinking clearly.  It was so not the same.

So I will still be an Uncle Benny loyalist.  Even without the ghetto green booths.  I can deal.

I broke with tradition this week and started playing holiday music before Thanksgiving.  Christmas always seems to sneak up on me, so this year I decided to get ahead of the game.  I have a feeling that my efforts will somehow end up in vain. 

I have a lot to look forward to, so maybe it's good that the holidays are rapidly approaching.  Our family is headed down to our Socal for our annual Lee celebration.  It's a fact that I have only spent one Christmas in San Francisco - my idea of Christmas is always 70 degrees, palm trees, and over the top lawn decorations!  This Christmas however there will be a slight break in tradition- my sister and I are getting on a plane on Christmas day to Paris!  From la-la-land to Paris.  Art + good food = 1 happy me :-)

I just learned today that I am slightly above the average age for the oldest team currently in the NBA (San Antonio Spurs).  How did that happen?

Some people say that "age ain't nothin' but a number."  But I beg to disagree in some regard.  I think with age comes value, and it does matter if you're x age or +10.  Maybe that's why I get offended when people think I just graduated from college, or that I look younger than my sister.  My plea to those who think I'm younger: "But who just looks more mature?"

I'm realizing however that maturity is not easily had.  I see this every time I find myself on similar paths I have gone down before (of the destructive sort).  I'm convinced that while I'm never back at square one, I am reminded of everything that is still not right with me.  But it creates in me a certain longing for when things will be.  This thought, I must say, has taken me years (maturing!) to embrace.