I just thought of a list of people who still owe me money: ex-roommate, ex-landlord, ex-best friend and even ex-girlfriend. Obviously they will never pay me back. I forgive, but I never forget.

Let me show you a snake that isn’t scary.

Wanda Sykes hits it straight on: “If you don’t believe in same sex marriage, then don’t marry someone of the same sex.”

Fresh Air‘s Terry Gross conducted a very interesting interview with professor Irene Pepperberg and her unique relationship with Alex, an African gray parrot who could speak, understand, count, identify colors and develop emotion.

Five weeks ago we put in a contract for short sale property with a price above what the seller was asking for. We’re the highest offer and the only remaining buyer of the house. Both the seller and the banks have approved the price, but the short sale agent refuses to close the deal with us. She is negotiating with the second lender to lower its net so she could get more commission.

From what I understand, the owner goes into short sale to avoid foreclosure because he cannot make the payments. The banks don’t want to go into foreclosure either because it would cost them more money. In this case, it is the seller agent who is dragging on the contract because she is not getting enough commission. If she keeps dragging this out, the house will eventually fall into foreclosing.

So the increasing number of foreclosures isn’t necessary the owner’s fault, but the greedy agents. Has anyone have any experience with short sale? Is the seller agent allowed to do that even though both the banks and the seller accepted the price? Is there any regulation?

I am not a circus guy, but I enjoyed Cirque du Soleil‘s KOOZA. It was quite entertaining. Highly recommended.

I just read the entire site and signed the petition. Keep on fighting friends.

The new Change.gov is finally up. The tremendous traffic might have caused the site to hiccup all afternoon.

Ever since Dana is bearing our precious baby, I stopped taking the bus. Instead, I drive my family (Dana and the child) to work and then hop on the train. One thing I miss from taking the bus is seeing my commute friend, an African-American woman who gets up every morning and goes to work to put her granddaughter through college. In compensate, I get to hold my lady’s hand for half an hour even though the rock on her hand is a bit bothersome every time its sharpness stabs my palm.

As usual, I picked up the Express and played some music on my headphone for my Metro ride. The Express today is filled with Obama’s victory celebration and Proposition 8 controversies; therefore, I folded the paper and look out the window. The view was gorgeous. The sky was cloudy. The trees had turned yellow and orange. The strong wind knocked off the autumn leaves. The water was clear and calm. On my headphone, Quynh Lan gave a heart-rending rendition of “Cho Nguoi Toi Yeu” accompanied by Nguyen Anh 9’s bittersweet high keys. The entire scene lasted about a minute before the trained moved into the dark tunnel. I was devastated and quickly pulled out a pad and pen to recapture the moment.

As I was writing down the details, I didn’t remember the water in my regular commute. I looked up and realized that I had taken the wrong line. My little dreamy morning had ended when I had to take the malodorous train to Foggy Bottom.

Aren’t you glad McCain didn’t win? His running mate didn’t even know that Africa is a continent.