Rio does it again.

I love that my friends and family take pictures when they find the elusive 31. My cousin, Vanny, took this photo at the San Diego Zoo.

Today’s karaoke scorecard: Me Voy (Julieta Venegas), Hopelessly Devoted to You (Olivia Newton John, Grease), Tú, Solo Tu (Selena version), Tragos Amargo (Ramón Ayala), I Will Follow You Into the Dark (Death Cab for Cutie), and First of the Gang to Die (Morrissey). [I picked songs to fit the sad song theme. Also, I'm already making a list of songs I need to sing next time I do karaoke.]

The boyfriend shares a birthday with Tiffany. I share one with Debbie Gibson. We were meant to be…

Cindy is is equal parts Marcha de Zacatecas and Camino de Guanajuato.

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I love sweets, but I don’t crave them. I don’t sit around and think, “I need a brownie right now!” I only want a brownie at the moment Lori pulls them out of the oven. Otherwise, I’m okay.

Donuts are my exception. And even then, I’m only tempted when in proximity to a shop. I always want to stop, but rarely do (even before starting WW).

So, imagine how I felt when I got to work a few days ago to find a box of donuts and muffins on my desk. Although I’d miss the going away mini-party for a co-worker, I hadn’t missed the goodies.

Yeah. Uh oh.

My supervisor saw me eying the box.

“Please, have one!” she said cheerily.

I nodded, but didn’t grab one of the two remaining glazed donuts (my 2nd favorite behind cinnamon crumb). I sat down, logged in to my computer and began making some calls. I ignored the box until my co-worker came by an hour later.

“I know you’re trying to eat healthy, want me to move this?”

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

He moved it to the next desk out of my line of vision.

All was fine until I started to feel hungry at 3:30, a few hours after my lunch. I went back to the box, ready to give in.

All the glazed donuts were gone. I didn’t know whether to be happy or sad.

I’m not much of a pro football fan. I live in LA. We don’t have a team. Yet I can’t escape it. All around me, friends are giddy with the start of preseason play. Today, I heard virtual jaws drop on Twitter, Facebook and blogs as news broke that the Philadelphia Eagles signed Michael Vick.

Most of the reaction I’ve read so far was from people who are glad Vick is getting a second chance. They readily admit that running a dog fighting ring is deplorable and he deserved to spend 23 months in prison. Now that he’s served his time, they say, he should be able to get on with his life. The football fans like blackink and GD at PostBourgie discuss what Vick will add to the Eagles’ offense. (By the way, PB is up for a well-deserved blog award, support them!)

Of course many are upset and openly express their belief that the Eagles made a bad decision. They won’t support the team. Their new favorite team is whoever is playing the Eagles, etc.

Understandable. I like dogs too. I don’t want to see them mistreated, beaten, shocked and forced to fight ’til the death. I covered my eyes during the dog fighting scenes in Amores Perros too.

While I’m not cheering on the Eagles and Vick, I’m not mad.

I’m more confused about those who can be up in arms over Vick, but did little when it came to Luis Ramirez.
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I got this triumphant image in an email from the Sotomayor for Justice project of MALDEF. It once again made me smile as I’m reminded that tomorrow Judge Sotomayor will be sworn in as an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court.

And then — like yesterday — I found something wrong with the news and the picture. Can you guess what it was?

If you’ve looked at my weekly photo posts, you’ll notice that there are quite a few grainy MacBook Photobooth self portraits. I wasn’t being narcissistic just for the sake of it. Instead, I was tracking the changes in my face as I lose weight*.

The photos are a nice companion of the other signs of my progress: the line graph charting my weight loss from week to week; the bags of clothes I’ve removed from my closet and given to Mamá Toni to take to Tijuana; the new clothes I’ve had to buy; my endurance and strength increasing; skin clearing up as I put healthier food in my body; and unexpected cravings (e.g., my mom’s oatmeal, calabaza).

I’m not quite at my goal yet, so the photos below are not representing before and after. It’s more like before, current and in-between. As you’ll see, they’re all focusing on my face, I’ll get around to full-length photos later.

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I spent most of the weekend with Lori. We were abandoned by the rest of the family for the holiday weekend (except the grandparents and Danny, but they always do their own thing). On Saturday, her boyfriend came over and grilled some chicken for dinner. The next day, Lori and I went shopping, swimming and then drove over to the Hollywood Bowl for the Death Cab for Cutie, Tegan and Sara and the New Pornographers concert.

On the way to the show, we talked about leggings.

“I like them because I can wear a long blouse or something over them during my ‘fat days’,” Lori said. “And you can still look dressed up enough for a night at the club.”

I nodded. “I just wear them under short skirts.”

“Exactly, they’re supposed to be worn under something, not as pants. Women at the gym do that. You can totally see their chonis. They make it worse too by wearing something white, at least wear black.”

I laughed and agreed that women should ask a friend or family member to do a simple check for the opacity of their leggings.

“You should put out a notice on your blog,” she said.

“I’ll do that.”

We parked at Hollywood and Highland and started the half mile walk up the hill to the Hollywood Bowl. We followed several other concertgoers and kept up our fashion commentary.

I pointed at the couple up ahead, “I think I know what happened. They were probably getting ready for the show and he told her, ‘babe, I don’t have anything to wear tonight.’ I’m pretty sure she offered him her pants.”

“I don’t understand why guys wear such tight pants. They’re not even that comfortable. And this is coming from someone who wears tight pants and doesn’t have the same issue as guys.”

“Yeah, it’s too hot for summer. Denim doesn’t let you breathe.”

“At least they’ll save money on birth control in the long run.”

On my way to work I was listening to The Sound of Young America podcast. There was a comic (name forgotten) talking about celebrity/celebutantes being a creation of the US government. Stolen election in Iran? Send in a celebrity to do something gawk-worthy and distract the national consciousness. I laughed at the concept, and then thought, I don’t even follow celebrity gossip.

Hah. A few hours later, the news started to pour in via Facebook and Twitter. Michael Jackson was rushed to the UCLA Medical Center. Can’t you hear the helicopters?

Yeah, there was no mistaking the noise. I clicked refresh a lot of times and talked to my co-worker who had just returned from lunch. He said he saw the ambulance rushing up Westwood Blvd followed by black Escalades. The SUVs were driving wildly, “with no regard for human life,” and almost hit someone. He said, “wow, someone important must be in there.”

I left work a little after the LA Times confirmed TMZ’s statement that he had died. I wasn’t getting any work done anyway. I walked down by the hospital on my way to the bus stop. It seemed that there were as many people with cameras and microphones as those just wanting to talk about their affinity for MJ and his music. I took a few photos and then went home, listening to Bad, Off the Wall and Thriller.

The rest of the day has been reading reactions, listening to his music, watching videos and reflecting.

I remember:

How much I loved Captain EO at Disneyland. It’s much better than what they currently have there.

Being jealous that my brother and cousin both had Beat It t-shirts.

Making my mom play the We Are the World record again and again. I also loved just looking at the cover.

Doing the “Thriller” dance with the UCLA band during our Halloween halftime show at the Rose Bowl in 1998.

The videos. For a brief period we had cable at home. I remember the “Man in the Mirror” video the most.

Most of all though, I think of the fact that my consciousness of pop music began with Michael Jackson (and the Beatles).

RIP, Michael.

A friend told me to update my blog. I hope a bullet point entry is okay.

• I was really happy to see the Lakers win their 15th NBA championship. I’m happy to see two former Bruins, Trevor Ariza and Jordan Farmar, win a championship. And of course I’m happy for the veterans like Phil “X” Jackson, Kobe Bryant and Derek Fisher (swoon!). For the record, I celebrated peacefully.
• I finally went to my first Dodger game of the season. I tend to avoid Chavez Ravine due to the parking costs. However, during their series against the Oakland A’s (first one since the ’88 World Series), parking is free. I caught a game with my friend Alfred and his family. Now that summer is here, I plan to catch more games. There’s really no better way to spend a summer evening than at the Dodger Stadium (the Hollywood Bowl and bonfires come in a close second and are on the plans for this weekend).
• I wrote my last letter to the UCLA Chancellor a few weeks ago. In it, I included recommendations from my committee — made up of students, staff and faculty — on how to spend a lot of money. I’m pretty sure my term as chair of that committee will be my last student leadership position. It was quite the positive experience and I’m happy I had the opportunity to serve students on that committee.
• Speaking of being a student, I really need to get back on track. I couldn’t sleep a few nights ago as I thought of how I was going to fund my 6th year.
• I went to MEChA’s 40th anniversary dinner and after party a few weeks ago. I got to see old friends and fellow MEChistas. The event was nice and both bittersweet. It really solidified how much things have changed since I graduated seven years ago.
• Speaking of graduations, I celebrated my cousin’s graduations last week. The three sisters timed their graduations perfectly. Valerie graduated from 8th grade with a 4.0 GPA. Vanny graduated with her AA and is currently a student at Cal Poly Pomona (along with my sister). Nancy completed her bachelor’s in social work. I’m proud of my cousins.
• I skipped out on the Education school graduation. I felt bad about missing the event considering some close friends who entered with me (or the year after) were graduating. Still, I think the event would have made feel worse as it would reinforce my own educational “lurch” (read Dr Seuss’ Oh, the Places You’ll Go! and feelings of being left behind.
• Family is starting to tell me I (a) look more like my mom now and (b) look more like my sister. I think the latter is due to the fact that Lori did my makeup that evening.
• My dad recently had knee surgery. He’s hobbling around the house on crutches, but generally doing well.
• When I’m with the boyfriend, I feel quite lucky.

Sorry for the lack of updates lately. I used to write late at night, now I go to the gym late at night.

I spent a lot of time looking at myself in the mirror today. I examined my reflection in new and old outfits as I sorted through all my clothes and decided what to give away and what to keep. I found a bag of old clothes I intended to give away after a previous cleaning. I must have forgotten the clothes — all one or two sizes smaller — because I still had the bag. I pulled out my old favorite pair of jeans circa 2004, a cute paisley blouse, and some more items. The jeans were too loose, the blouse fit just fine. I kept some of the clothes in the bag and put the rest in the give away pile. In the end, I filled three bags with new-ish clothes and hung up some old clothes.

Later, I went shopping for jeans that fit and didn’t make me look like a teenage guy sagging his pants. Once again, I stared at my reflection in the mirror trying to notice the changes.

Where is the weight coming off? My legs? My thighs? My butt? My arms? My stomach? My breasts? My face?

All of the above.

My friends and family notice the changes too. Some of the comments are funny (are you doing speed?), some make me feel self-conscious (have you had to buy a new wardrobe yet?), and some confuse me.

A few days ago my tía Martha asked, “¿Estás enamorada?”

“Yeah,” I told her, not quite sure what being in love had to do with weight loss. I heard the same question once before several years ago from my roommate’s mom. Is this a Mexican saying? Does it have something to do with being so smitten or broken-hearted that you can’t eat?

There are some things that don’t change. I went shopping yesterday to search for a dress to wear to MEChA de UCLA’s 40th anniversary dinner. I tried on several dresses at a few different stores, but I came home empty-handed. I still don’t like shopping* (shoes excluded).

* Attributed to a combination of (a) not willing to pay $168 for a dress I’ll wear a few times; (b) my codo, see (a); and (c) selection sucks, especially for short women.