Simple Rules.

{photo credit}

This isn't uncommon.  You meet someone, but things are immediately complicated.  One of you isn't entirely available, location is a hassle, or you're just not into each other enough to make it legit.  So you fall into a casual half-life, seeing each other occasionally without a definition of what you mean to each other or where you're going.  The idea of the Two of You is likely doomed from the start, so instead you entertain the distraction of a Someone to scratch your back and bridge you to wherever you're really going.  Now, I'm not saying this is an innovation in the human condition or anything, but we all do it, and I don't know why certain practices aren't universally understood.  So I shall impart my wisdom. 

Here's what needs to said:  when in casual dating encounters, responsibility is on both parties to remain emotionally neutral and relationally distant.  

My proposed guidelines, or the Let's Have Fun, but..... List:

1. Keep the details.  I don't want to know the sordid specifics of your family dynamics, and I'll spare you the comprehensive list of my food allergies.

2. No ex girlfriend talk.  I don't want to compare myself to your Goddess that Got Away, or think about you using me to fill the her-shaped hole in your life.  We're using each other to feel good, not inadequate.

3. Be polite.  At the very least, we are both people who know each other.  Don't be a d*ck.  Respond when I reach out, leave when prompted.  I'll do the same, and remember that you're still a person.

       3.a. Get over yourself.  I am NOT TRYING TO WIFE YOU.  I know we aren't in a relationship.  I know this isn't going there.  You don't have to intermittently be an ass just so I don't fall in love with you.  Eyeroll.   

4. Keep our mouths shut.  We probably know some of the same people.  We're keeping it light, so let's not broadcast our silly flirtation to the masses.  Do YOU want to explain this?

5. Don't. Get. Romantic.  This is the most important.  I am really well evolved to keep emotions at bay, be light and breezy, but it takes some effort, man.  So we both have to be realistic.  Romance clouds the confines of what this isn't, and confuses us both.  No calling it a date.  

                                          It's not a date.  

The Skinny, Fat, and Smelly.

I've been staring at this screen for an embarrassingly long time, just staring at the sentence 

"I've been staring at this screen for an embarrassingly long time..."

A lot has gone on, guys.  I just can't know where to start and which events are the most important to jot down on this silly little outlet.  After a series of several thousand desperate distractions, I remembered this email I sent to a friend in September.  He had noticed some strange photo patterns on my Instagram, and just sent a "hey, what's going on with you?" text message to find out my deal.  He got way more than he asked for, and I am now gifted with a quick and dirty synopsis of my current state of being.  If you have the patience, this is the recap (mind you, this was written in September.  Should've posted it then.....):

Hey Hey-

6 months ago:

I start to feel.... itchy.  I've never been great at staying put anywhere but LA has been providing needed stimulation and distraction for three years.  I love the standup and my improv team.  I become obsessed with hip hop dance classes.  I also start to loathe my job and coworkers.  Not sure where I want to go or what I want to do, but just feeling discontent.  Tried distracting myself with new activities and people, and it works for a minute.

4 months ago:

I start hearing that 4 years in LA is the point of no return.  I sweat.  I think maybe what I need is a change in neighborhood.  As much as I loved my little place, I spent all of my time in Silver Lake and Echo Park.  I already had arranged a month off of work in July, so I figured I'd pack up all my stuff before I left and find a new place when I got back.  New start, etc etc.  I start telling people that I'm just waiting to be pulled somewhere, in a new direction.  I toy with getting certified in yoga, going off the grid and volunteering on a medical ship in Africa, writing a novel, dating comedians, etc etc

3 months ago: 

My friend Adam makes me read this book, "The Defining Decade".  It's basically a book speaking of the cultural phenomenon that defines our twenties as a throwaway decade, and how that's a load of crap.  Our thirties are NOT the new twenties, and being happy in your middle years comes from learning how to not be an assface and make anything of yourself in your twenties.  My discontent flares into full on existential crisis.  Conveniently, my intended month vacation to Europe trip falls apart.  I end up needing to be up in the Northwest for a few weddings in July, so I decide to take the time to do a long drive up there, take the 101 along the coast, run on my aunts farm, play in canada, unplug my devices and plug my ears, etc etc.

2 months ago:

I pack up all of my shit and leave it in my friends garage.  I set out on my road trip, just blaring Mariah Carey and bawling my bloody eyes out.  The drive is beautiful, and I reaffirm my love for the NW, and come to terms with the fact that I might just want to end up there. Its everything I love, and the place I want to be when I get old and ugly.  One major takeaway from the book is that if you know where it is you want to end up, GO.  Don't wait to get what you will want eventually.  Go get it now.  I get up to Seattle, hike in the mountains, wade in the water, and just decide I'm ready to be back here.  The fear of shame in leaving LA kept me there for a while.  I let go of it in July.  If I have to choose between being 'right' or being happy, I EFFING CHOOSE HAPPY! 

So I sent a breezy email to a few of my travel nurse recruiters, asking them to just let me know if anything in Seattle or Portland comes across their desk.  No rush, but think of me.  I immediately get a response for Seattle Childrens', which is a dreamy top 5 facility.  I submit for the position but don't hear anything.  I dont stress, wasn't in any rush. 

1 month ago:

I'm on my trip, darting all over the NW to get to all of the events I was committed to.  Had made several plans and re-plans to see my grandma over the span of 2 weeks.  Lost passport, surprise concert tickets, plans and fall aparts pushed and pulled me to finally go and see her on a Friday.  She passed away pretty suddenly that Sunday night.  She was feeling weird after a colonoscopy Friday night, pain came and went all day Saturday, and I finally just took her in late that night.  She had been bleeding from her spleen, and required surgery to stop it and clean out the blood in her abdomen.  She did great in surgery on Sunday afternoon and crashed 2 hours after coming back from surgery.  I was in her room and watched them code her for way too long.  My family was devastated.  I have never felt so much like I happened to be exactly where I needed to be in the world.  I extend my trip another 10 days to attend her funeral.  Hollywood has never seemed so vain or futile.  

Right after she passed, I got a cold call from the nurse manager at Seattle Childrens'.  We talk for an hour, and she offers me a job and surprises me with day shift, which I was not expecting.  Crying again.  Snotty and giggling at the same time.  

2 weeks ago:

I come back from WA to LA, with a dopey grin on my face the entire way because I just feel so damn good despite all the devastation I had just been through.   On my first day back to work, I hand in my two weeks and can hardly be bothered from then on. 

Last week:  I packed all of my shit in LA into a pod, to be stored til I find a place in Seattle.  My friend Coco comes to LA for an OC wedding, and makes the drive back up with me.  

We spend two nights on the Lost Coast, this crazy wilderness conservation area in NorCal. Google it, it is utterly breathtaking.  We hiked and swam and changed our brains forever.  Another night in Salem, OR with my sister, and then Coco and I met our third bestie Molly at the Gorge in Washington.  Dave Matthews does a three day concert series there every year on Labor day, and Molly is a tour manager who was working there that weekend.  We spend yesterday swimming in the Columbia River and hanging out backstage at the most incredible concert venue in the country.  

Today, I was up before the sun and sat on the edge of the river canyon, watching the sunrise and humming DM songs.  We hung out with Molly and the kids, caravan-ed to Seattle, and stopped by a sparkly lake for a swim to round out the trip. 

Tomorrow, I start at Childrens'.  I am exhausted but never happier.  I need to be here.  I also have been starting to think that maybe I do want to meet a dude and have a throng of screaming half-Asian babies in the more-near-than-far future, and maybe that dude should want to be in the NW, also?  So I should be here.  

I just reread all of this and cant believe how fucking wordy I am.  SORRY JOE, YOU ASKED FOR IT.  Let's still be friends even though if you've made it this far, you're probably so annoyed with me that you're currently online, trying to ruin my web reputation.  Leave those pics alone, JOE!

So that's the basic story.  Guess what.  I still have no idea what the hell I'm doing.  As is my life mantra, I have no answers.  Just balls.  

Love Love Love. 

Favorite Texts From Nick Lately.

People should know about these communications with my gay husband, no?

"You shall buy me a few drinks" - I left some stuff at his house when I visited over Easter weekend.  He mailed them to me, and this was his payment in lieu of.

"Peggy is about to get slapped" - Nick is a big deal attorney and he has a big deal secretary whom he only appreciates when I remind him to.  I don't know her name, we call her Peggy.

"Doing a juice cleanse, wish me luck" - I've been harping at him about smoothies and juice for years.  He's into it, now!

"I think I'm buying a Prius today.  I'm so gay." -Just the most precious angel I've ever known.

"Decided to get a much nicer one" -Now THAT'S the GAYdicator, amIright?!

I hope every guy and girl out there have a gay husband with which to correspond in such love. 

My Superclose Cousin Ren

What if....

the way Renee Zellwegger looks....

....is the most elaborate Asian joke there ever was??

I mean, I am as genetically Asian as a girl can get, and I still have to squint in order to impersonate her.

You think she is just sitting at her house, laughing at how no one has accused her of it yet?  She just traipses around Hollywood with those slanty-ass eyes, booking those white girl roles and subliminally bragging to the real Asian girls??  If this is true, it's genius.  Evil genius, but brilliant nonetheless.  

I Cut the Power.

SO, for all of you unaware out there, let me just explain to you a little bit about Being an Asian Girl:  

{illustrated by me, all rights reserved. ha.}

We are not known for our bodacious bods.  The truth is, the bust and butt of my clothing is often full of nothing but air, and my beach looks can only be described as "She Might Be Carrying a Load Back There/Hey Diaper Butt".

So we can't share closets with Beyonce, and sometimes our bodies are compared to that of 12 y.o little boys.  But hey, we have HAIR.

{photo source}

Every gal has her source of power, and for us slantys, it's usually all tied up in our shiny straight locks.  It's always sleek, grows like crazy, and requires no de-frizzing.  As long as my hair is clean, it's done.

Well, then I went and did this:

I cut off my source of power.  What can I say, it was a crutch.  Now I really have no physical feminine wiles to display; I'm gonna have to be liked for my personality.  Gulp.  I can't even pretend like I had the idea; I was only inspired when I sat down in Coco's chair for my usual reshape and she asked if we should really just do it.  

Well of course we should!  After all, the benefit of taking risks is usually not in the result of taking it, but in the practice of rocking your nerves, ya know?  I wasn't so much interested in having short hair; I just wanted to make myself feel weird about it so that I can continue learning to tolerate feeling weird.

Let me tell you, I sure ain't gettin fat with this haircut.  Having above-chin hair means that you lose the option of having a supple neck and face.  I just keep remembering that if I get fluffy, I might look like this guy:

{photo source)

                                                     .......and thereby lose powers completely.  Double Gulp.

A Vulcan's Nipples are like Humans.

This is why LA is so cool for twentysomethings, and way too cool for kids: when you go see the new StarTrek film on opening weekend at your neighborhood landmark theatre, your ticket gets ripped by Spock, crazy nipples and all.  Such a tender moment.

So My Husband has a Boyfriend.

{Here we are, watching his BF Aaron do yardwork}

Hey Gals!  Unattached with no prospects?  Yearning for male company without the threat of sexual exploitation?  You need a Gay Husband.  My Gay Husband is the best and I bet you want to know why:

1. He likes to do most everything I like to do.  We love to travel, hike, eat great food, ride bikes, gossip about all of the crazy bitches we knew in college, and argue over which men are more attractive than other men.  
2. He's super handy to have around.  When we went to Peru together, he knew enough Spanish that I never had to worry about getting voluntarily sold into slavery through language barrier induced miscommunications. 
3. He claims he doesn't want kids, but I know he would spoil the crap out of mine.
4. His sister is the same age as my sister, so the "This is the Annoying Thing my Sister is Doing Lately" conversations are basically endless. 
5. He'll tell me when I'm being a dumb wench, and I need that.  I tell him when he's being a snobby brat.  He needs that, too.  

Our Math was Always Wrong.

{circa 2001}

{circa three days ago, 2013}

Well aren't these two a pair?!  Terry Lynn and I have been basically inseparable since 9th grade, when we were paired to learn Trigonometry together.  I admit that I still don't know the difference between sines, cosines, and tangents (BAD BAD ASIAN), but I definitely ended that year with a new best friend.  Since then, we have been through:

1.  Three full length NSYNC albums (No Strings, Home for Christmas, and Celebrity), and all subsequent solo ventures by Justin Timberlake
2.  .....the heartbreak when Lance Bass came out.  He was our fave!
3. The sensation of her epic 16th birthday party.  Everyone at school came, I wore platform white sneakers, she was the belle.
4. Both of us leaving our tiny little private Christian high school, in favor of public funding to head straight to Eastern Wash U for our Jr and Sr years of high school.  We got in lots of trouble.
5. Both of us getting arrested at 4am on the side of a highway during the first snow of the year.  She was indignant, I was devastated that my political career was then over before it ever started or I had ever wanted one.
6. A few engagements to the wrong dude on her part, a few terrible dating stories on my part.
7. A period where we couldn't even like each other, and basically only communicated through our maintained relationship with her mom, whom we always shared no matter what.
8. A reunion and a shared apartment as full on post-grad adults.  Frequent congratulations to each other and reassurances that we already knew Everything.
9.  The birth of my goddaughter. When she told me, "Soooooooo, we have something to tell you...", I snorted and barked "what, you guys are pregnant."  Isn't that such a sweet story?
10. Seeing each other less and less, as I started to run around the country and world more and more.....
11. Picking up right where we left off, every single time.
12. Getting fat (see multiple chins in first photo)
13. Getting fit (see single chin in second photo)
14. Showing her that old photo and she groans, "I see why my mom kept telling me my eyebrows were too thin....."
15. Watching her finally meet the Guy, sighing with relief that he's not like All the Others.
16. ..... and in November, standing beside her as she marries that dude!  I bet I won't even cry.

oh NO.

Mom at age 24.  As endless as my ability to squawk about how I am my own person, that the Chinese people DO have variations in their faces and I'm so much more a evolved human than any other Fresh Off the Boat immigrant.... there's no denying that that's my nose up there.  and chin.  and ears.  Grooooooaaaaann.

I Spelled Sequoia.

I finally got my ass into the mountains and camped in California!  Over Memorial Day weekend, a few lovelies and I wound our way into the Sequoia National Forest for a few days of gourmet camp food, fireside singalongs (no, we really did that), and fricken freezing nights.  We had brilliant sun during the day, but the nights were below freezing.  I slept in two pairs of socks, my Uggs, a sleeping bag, and a heavy blanket.  At an altitude of 5500 feet, I guess that's fair.  It felt so great to get out of LA for just a minute, and reestablish that I am totally the kind of girl that can poop in the woods and like it.  Dirtball for life!  Fellas, please make an orderly line and leave your gifts at the door.

Extra Extra Read All About It

The headline reads:  Maid of Dishonor appalls unsuspecting wedding guests; wears otherwise classy dress scrunched up at her hips.

When questioned, she squawked that she needed the added range of motion in her legs that the restrictive sheath silhouette could not provide.  Furthermore, she blamed the wedding DJ for playing beloved hits from the 90s that she could not merely shuffle ladily-like to.  She cited reasonable logic in her decision making, as children had not been welcome at the celebration, and thus were not in danger of being influenced by the surface area of her exposed thighs.  It should be noted that all of the fun guests were understanding, but the boring people took offense.  At the end of the night, the MoD showed remorse only that she would look like a giant hair scrunchie in all of the wedding photos, and it will probably lead to her dying alone in her impeccably furnished beach house.  

An Immigration Story.

{Can I Instagram on this thing?}

As a post grad, Dad was thrilled to get to come to the States as an exchange student to the University of Minnesota's graduate school.  

This was a huge deal; he grew up during the Cultural Revolution, and was the first person he or anyone he knew had ever heard of that was able to leave China.  Literally no one he had every encountered had ever had any reference for moving beyond the Land of the Not Free.  

So when he made his travel arrangements, he had to get the flight information to the university staff who were coming get him.  Dad had no idea how to place an international phone call; didn't even know it existed as an option.  So he sent the UM Dept of Agriculture a telegram, detailing his arrival time and flight number.  A TELEGRAM!  Like Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman!  This was 1985!

He got on the plane (requisite small amount of cash in his pocket) and arrived at MSP, looking around expectantly for someone who might be looking for him.  Nothing.  After a while of waiting, no one was there for him.  So he wandered over to the payphone area of baggage claim, busy with bustling travelers calling family and making plans.  He spots a young mom trying to place a phone call while keeping hold of a rambunctious toddler running circles around the phone booths.  As he tells it, he strikes a deal with her through a series of pantomimes and broken Chinglish:  he will watch her kid so she can place her phone call, and then she will help him call someone to come get him.  The arrangement worked perfectly, and dad was able to get ahold of the professor who was in charge of him.  Two weeks later, this same professor comes by my dad's desk in the research lab where he was working.  He chuckles, and drops the telegram my dad had sent in front of him.  He told him it was the first telegram he had ever received.  Ha!  Isn't that embarrassing?!

What My White Uncle Taught Me About Travel

There’s something very significant about the first time you leave your country without your parents.  Likely, you are of an age where your parents’ habits and principles are familiar to you; you might already know how they will want to experience the trip.  You know what will thrill them, what will annoy, and what they’ll want you to remember.  

In contrast, when you embark on a trip without your parents, the opportunities for new and unfamiliar are just that much more wide.  Enter Steve and Terry Foster, my adopted Aunt and Uncle whom I was gifted the opportunity to experience Thailand with for my first sans parent international trip, several years ago.  While I embarked on this journey with all of the know-how from my father tucked safely in the carry on appropriate compartment of my brain, the lesson that I use most every day of my life since then came from Uncle Steve.  

Uncle Steve taught me what it means to observe.  Sounds rudimentary, right?  It’s no revelation that international travel is a shock to the senses.  Everything you see, hear, smell, and touch is different, and you can experience it all almost by default.  Simply existing in another place will force you to live through the new and unfamiliar.  For someone raised in a Western society, a busy Asian marketplace will provide enough stimulation to fill a stack of travel journals.  So seeing new things is a given.  Whatever else you pick up, is your own responsibility.  

The first memory of this on my radar came a few days into our Thailand trip.  We were gathered with our group of students, debriefing and recounting.  Steve sat up and started to speak.  Now Uncle Steve is a pretty serene person, he’s not one to chatter about, so when he speaks up, I listen.  He said (something like) this: if he had one gift to give our generation, it would be the ability to observe.      We can be in the most incredible places in the world, but the experience of it lays in noticing.  It’s something that you can do always, and has the greatest potential to teach you.  Keep your head up, look at things.  Touch them, ask questions.  Take note of things you see that are different, or don’t make sense to you.  They make sense to somebody, and you should know why.  When you’re on a bus on your way to something, don’t just merely be on your way.  You’re already away from home!  So you are always already Somewhere!  Look around!  There’s no such thing as killing time when you travel.  It’s all noteworthy.  

At the time, I thought it was a beautiful sentiment but obvious.  Well duh, OF COURSE I am observing things!  My eyes work!  I am watching in front of me!  I am having the best time!

But then these words would hit me like this:

We are walking on the street on our way back from the night market.  We had just filled our bellies with food off the street carts, delightful buns, stews, noodles.  The storefronts were closing down as we gingerly sidestepped past locals wiping tables, stacking chairs, and locking doors.  We walk past a noodle cafe, similar to one we had stuffed our faces at, hours earlier.  A Thai woman had propped an assortment of plates, bowls, and cutting boards on the sidewalk up against her the wall of her restaurant.  She was rinsing the food off of them with an old garden hose.  There were no soap suds in sight.  She smiled at us as we avoided her murky water, and we kept walking.  As soon as we moved past, Steve let out a chuckle and said, “Those’ll probably be the plates we eat off of tomorrow.  Anyone else still using Purell?”  You see, Steve sees things, he considers them, and he finds meanings in what he sees.  Observation.  RIGHT?!

On the same trip, we were all sitting around the breakfast table as Steve approaches.  Being a farmer most of his life, he’s always first up and on this trip he had usually made a lap around the block and through the morning market by the time the rest of us emerged from our rooms, bleary eyed in search of thai coffee and a mango lassi.  This particular morning, he was all grins and giggles as he slid in next to us.  He had been to the market, and noticed a group of Thai men his age sitting around.  He saw that they were just hanging out, having breakfast and chatting before they went off to start their workdays.  They saw him there, and in ever Thai people fashion, waved him over to share in their breakfast potluck and social hour.  A regular Ol’ Boys Club, on the other side of the planet.  When this happened, I really perked up.  Well SCOFF!  I wanna sit around with the locals, be in their club and giggle together!  Why the hell wasn’t I at the market, making the most of my time there?!  Steve laughed as he quickly pointed out that had I been with him, neither of us would have been invited.  No girls at the Ol Boys Breakfast Meeting.  The missed opportunity was not a waste, however, because it didn’t take me but a mere moment to realize that these things happen because he paid attention to where he was, and who was there.  Uncle Steve has no throw away moments.  He observes. 

After this, I couldn’t stop noticing Steve observing.  He’s the first to remember street names, the first to recall what the corner bodega carries.  He picked up the rules of all the playground games the local girls played, and never failed to spot the Thai monks we loved so much, walking on their way to the temple every morning.  He could tell you exactly what time they would start appearing, the direction they went, and when they started their walk back.  He saw patterns in the way people conducted business, and how the school children interacted with each other.  The way he noticed everything was intoxicating, and I started picking up on his habit.  I gleefully began to realize that the simple skill of observation adds meaning to everywhere you go.  It’s pretty powerful stuff.  

I have a hope: 

After I die and I greet the Notorious G.O.D. at the pearly gates, I hope I’m exhausted.  I hope that I show up worn, wrinkled, muddy, greasy, and gigglin’.  I hope I’ve run myself ragged, spending a lifetime collecting observations and allowing the internal shifts to steer me to all corners of the wide world.  I hope the Lord tears open the door and laughs at the sight of me, shrieking “Geez, you look TERRIBLE!  You must want to sit!”  I hope He pours me a gin and soda, we sit on the couch, and wants to hear me retell all of these stories.  I hope He’s proud as I recount all of the things I saw, people I hugged, and weird things I ate.  

What My Asian Dad Taught Me About Travel

My dad, among so many other things, loves making the distinction between what it means to “Know How to Travel” and to “NOT Know How to Travel”.  Among my childhood memories, there are a smattering of times that I remember being in trouble for being of the latter category.  Mr Sun, you see, has been a Seasoned Traveler for decades, and to travel with him, is to get nonstop lessons in “Knowing How to Travel”. 

1.  You carry your own bag.  So don’t ever bring anything you can’t carry.  If you ignore this advice and pack a bag you can’t carry, you’re still carrying it.  

2.  No complaining.  Ever.  Complaining accomplishes nothing, gets you nowhere faster, and only makes things worse.  He grew up in communist China.  If you have something to complain about that tops that, submit in writing later on your own time. 

3.  Eat whatever there is.  Especially if it’s weird.  Weird food is usually even more delicious than not weird food; it had to overcome its weirdness for anyone to ever want to serve it.  Especially while travelling, there is no such thing as a diet.  THE VERY WORD "DIET" MEANS FOOD.  That's typed in all caps because it's been yelled in my face.  

4.  If you ever hold up a line for ANY reason, you will be left there.  There is no excuse for ever holding up a line.  By the time you get to the threshold of a line, the very truth of having a line exist means that you have stood in said line and watched several people get through.  You should know what to do, and prepared for your moment.  If, for example, you experience a sneezing fit while in line and inevitably hold it up due to a compromise in your health, you will be skipped in line.  If you are then still able to see and hear, you will see a Chinese man roll his eyes and mutter under his breath, “Some people just don’t Know How to Travel”. 

5.  Consider the value of your time.  As a first generation immigrant from China, the easy assumption to make about my travel education would be that Price Trumps All.  We’re a race of penny pinching money savers, right??  Not so, young grasshopper.  Mr. Sun makes it very clear.  Travel time is finite.  The opportunity to acquire money is not.  Nothing is worth wasted time.  Spend the money, save the time.  Bribe the taxi driver to wait for you so you don’t have to waste time finding a cab back.  Throw the security guard a few bills to keep the gate open a few minutes longer.  Money is a fluid aspect of life, time will run out.  

Up and Over

I'm moving!  After 2+years at my darling guesthouse in West Hollywood, I have decided it's time.  I LOVE this space so much; but the location just isn't ideal anymore.  Most of my friends live on the East Side of LA; the UCB theatre where I am studying and watching improv is on the East Side, the recreation I like is on the East Side.  Instead of spending so many hours in my car constantly getting over there every day, it's time to just wake up over there.  It's a weird thing for me; and I'm sure I will regret giving up my backyard/garage parking/in unit laundry, but time and nearness is what I'm after.  I haven't found another place yet, but will be moving out of mine at the beginning of July.  Ala votre to new starts and fresh spaces!

Weird. Word. Woof.

Isn't this a weird hood ornament to have on your car? 

This is what I've been thinking lately.  People all over think I'm a real weird.  Friends and strangers alike think it's odd that I seem to be such a contradicting personality.  I am so outspoken and social, yet I lose my mind with loud crowds and shopping malls full of people.  I am the most non-committal being Ever; not being able to plan trips more than a few weeks ahead, yet I own a house have been maintaining a mortgage since I was 24.  I love LOVE men, and yet I only can stand to keep up with one for a little over 72 hours.  I can make Big Decisions just with nothing but a snap instinct, but DAMN, I can never decide what flavor of gelato I want.  

Also, people think LA is weird.  It's so sunny and warm, but there's constant smog and the temp hardly ever reaches swimsuit weather.  There's so much innovation here, but the roads are disastrous and the prominence of strip malls gives the impression that there's no one in charge of urban planning for this city of 4 million.  Beautiful people are aplenty, and yet the obsession with beauty also makes you cringe as you pass horrendous altered faces and plumped body parts. 

What I've realized lately, is that I will always need to live somewhere WEIRD.  We go together.  I can't ever make up my mind about the direction of my efforts, the taste of my expression, or the depth of my interests.  I need classy and trashy, sassy and gassy.  

VIVA LA WEIRDOS. 

Why Travel Matters.

The thought first occurred to me as I shifted my weight and winced at a tingling knee in my airplane seat on a 747, bound for Lima a few years ago.  I had a backpack and a few friends, ready for a month in Peru.  Since then, the same thought seems to wander into my mind frequently whenever I’m en route Somewhere.  It bothers me, and I’ve never quite settled on an explanation and thus have spent a lot of time pondering. I’ve many a time sat in cramped quarters on my way somewhere, wondering how I would explain the behavior of travel to a martian.  “Well, people who live in modern societies pack up a small fraction of their belongings, get in various modes of transportation for hours and hours, convert their money and forgo many personal hygeine rituals, just for the experience of Being Somewhere.”  Ha!  I mean really, all that travel is is simply existing in another location for a little while.  At the core, you’re just breathing the air in another location, occupying space somewhere else.  The protons, neutrons, and electrons, that make up your body are simply conducting their processes in another place.  ISN’T IT SO WEIRD. 

On a very concrete level, it can be argued that travel really doesn’t accomplish anything.    Nothing is produced, nor eliminated.  When you go back to wherever you came from, you really have nothing to show for the money and time you spent.  People in your circle can peruse your photos, admire your trinkets, and hear your retelling of stories, but no one will ever Get It.  SO why?  We do we do this?  It’s expensive!  It’s inconvenient!  You look terrible for most of the time!  Diarrhea!

Well, the closest I have come to any sort of logical reasoning is this:  while I may not have anything to show for what I did while I was gone, I can certainly vouch for shifting.  Shifting in my mind, in my decision making, in my priorities.  Shifting in my perspective, in the things that I appreciate, and in my mood.  These shifts have led to huge changes, big decisions, and alterations of what I do, what I think, and what I love.  Life satisfaction is all in the shifts, and that’s why travel matters.    

Sweat that CYCLE

A recurring cycle in my life:

1st: I see dance performed brilliantly.  

2nd: I am moved by the majesty of movement and music

3rd: I feel remorse over my lack of dance ability

4th: I think I lost my chance.

5th: I hate my parents for pulling me out of dance class as a child (note: they refused to buy the sequined recital outfits and were further convinced of the stupidity of American culture and child rearing.  another time....)

6th: What can only be described as an Ache starts to build in my esophagus and SOUL

7th: I lose sleep over this ache

8th: Something Shiny crosses my eye line

9th:  .....What was I aching about?  I'm hungry.

YOU GUYS I BROKE THE CYCLE AT #8!  I've been taking hip hop dance classes in Silverlake and I'm Obsessed.  This GROOV3 class is mainly a cardio dance class, but it's also mainly the most fun dance party ever.  There is a live DJ in the studio, whom never stops the HITS, Y'ALL.  Benji is the best, and I'm just sleeping so much better, knowing that I am fulfilling just a tiny bit of my untapped dance potential.  

Benji asked me to be profiled for his GROOV3 newsletter a few weeks ago, and filmed an interview of me for the site.  I'm warning you, I could not tolerate how annoying I am, and have not even seen this video in its entirety.  However, others have gotten laughs out of it so I just don't care if you all see how annoying I am as well.  

Purple Blog Monster

I've basically been a blogger nightmare, eh?  I go to Africa in November, I blog in March.  Compile a blog to-write list THIRTY items long, sit on it til June.  

What can I say?  I've been really busy trying to swallow all of the nonsense that I create for myself; making new friends and monochromatically dressing from the waist down.  

Love you all; thanks for sticking with me.  

Oh and, LINDSAY LAVIN.  EXCUSE ME, I HAVENT REALLY BLOGGED IN A REGULAR FASHION SINCE 2012 AND I HAVE BARELY HEARD A PEEP OUT OF YOU.  EITHER YOU GOT MARRIED AND YOUR PRIORITIES TOOK A NOSE DIVE, OR YOU'RE TRYING SOME REVERSE PSYCHOLOGY BULLSHIT, TRYING TO MAKE ME FEEL LIKE YOU DON'T CARE IF I KEEP MY BLOG UPDATED.  CHECK YOUR CONSCIOUS AND ADJUST.  I NEED YOU TO PROD ME TO REACH MY POTENTIAL.

addendum: I have received word from Mrs Lavin that the nature of her silence was of the latter scenario.  she has been reprimanded. 

City Life: Africa Style

Just some things I wanna tell you about Africa, poorly collected and type-vomited out to you.....

Money is everywhere.  You can see it in the shiny bank revolving doors, and the gleaming shop windows.  The grocery stores are stocked with produce and shiny bags of snacks.  People carry designer bags and drive luxury cars.  There is no deficit of funds here.

However, only certain people have it.  As much as there is a wealth disparity worldwide, it is HUGE here.  I was constantly noting the farmers/laborers carrying bundles and holding children while walking alongside the highway, past shiny shopping centers and car dealerships.  No one else seemed bothered by the disconnect, as far as I could see.  The poor are dirt poor, and the rich are FILTHY rich.  It really doesn't take much (by my standards, of course) to make a living there, but if you aren't born into support and resources, it's a steep and arduous climb.

Africans know how to eat, quantitatively speaking.  I'm not making a joke about not starving in Africa, but people there know how to put food away.  Whenever I shared meals with locals, I was shocked and ultimately jealous about the serving sizes they heaped on their plates.  They don't, however, really know how to eat vegetables.  I was there for a month, and really only had access to real vegetables when I cooked them myself.  Otherwise, you'll be hard pressed to find a real veggie on the menu, let alone offered to you.

sidenote: also- everything is so SALTY.  My poor kidneys were in revolt this entire trip, constantly trying to clear my body of the pickled-person state I was putting it in.  Yikes,

There are no Asians.  I must un-cheekily report to you that Janni and I were a sensation wherever we went.  We would both report that alone, people would stare intensely and without abandon, but only some would engage.  Together, we were basically the Kardashians.  Locals came up to me and proclaimed that they had never seen an asian live in person before, and gee golly some of the men made sweet sweet comments about our body parts and faces.  I can still hear them turning their heads to sing "hel-loooo, ladies.", as we walked by.  In Durban, my taxi driver told me that to him, I was like a perfect apricot.  He had never seen a slanty before.  Sometimes, it's fun to be a novelty item.  Other times, it's just plain harassment.

Put on the Red Light!

You know, I like to do things.  I like interaction.  I like creating connection.  So, my friend Matt who is on my improv team and pretty similar, told me recently that the back of his credit card says “ask for a high-five!”.

WELL.  That’s important, I wanna play!  Also, I can do better!

So, I came up with that right there. 

Now, I am not (so) delusional to do this as any sort of showcase for my vocal or musical abilities.  I merely think it’s fun to put yourself in situations.  I collect stories.  I don’t take myself so seriously.  I think it’s funny.  

Mostly, people don’t pay attention and either swipe my card without so much as a glance, or preemptively ask for an ID without actually reading what it says on that strip.  Due to the lack of attention it brings, I hardly ever remember that I've done this to my Most Used Credit Card.  

However, there have been a few times that prudent employees will notice, look quizzically glance my way, and/or raise an eyebrow.  I slightly sheepishly remember my own game of Chicken with myself, shrug my shoulders, and ask if they have a request?

The most memorable have been:

"Proud Mary" -the very first time I was asked, at the worst place in LA to make an ASS of yourself.  Cafe Gratitude is a vegan restaurant in a trendy neighborhood that I LOVE, but that also demands an air of anonymity and disgression.  People keep their heads down, their voices low, and try to give all the celebs their space, ya know.  So when the server returned with my card and informed me that her manager has asked her to request the Tina Turner hit, I had no choice.  I belted out a chorus and verse to a completely unappreciative crowd of H-wood Somebodies in their shades and floppy hats.  Coco and Jae, one of whom is a touring musician turned music producer, the other a music connoisseur with the voice of an angel,  offered NO HELP.  Not a single yeah yeah yeah, no buh-duh-dum-dums, no harmonies.  NO, the two of them were doubled over laughing so hard that their musical faculties had completely left their bodies.  

"The Theme to Full House"- this was the greatest.  A man working at Bloomingdales said that his young daughter had just discovered the show via reruns on Nick at Nite.  I sang him every damn word of that song and he recorded it to play for his little girl when he got home that night.  

"Roxanne"- this one happened today.  I walked into a music store to buy a present, and the homey behind the counter noticed my card.  He gave the request to his coworker, who had helped me pick out my gift.  The dude chose this Sting song, after thinking for too long.  I seriously, only knew:

 "ROOOOX-Anne!  You dont have to put on the red light!  Roooox-aaaaaanne, (put on the red liiiiiiiight) Roooooox-aaaaanne, (put on the red liiiiiiiiight)....."

By the time I wailed those lines out, we were all laughing so hard I had to wipe tears from my eyes and sweat from my lip.  I noticed a guy standing by the bongos, with his back toward us whom turned at the racket.  He grinned at the ruckus and yelled over, "That's ALL you know?!"  But when I say guy, I should just say American Idol Winner.  Woof.  

Jurassic Parkish

These are a few of the non-baboon species I encountered while in Africa.  I should note that I didn't get to see lions or giraffes, which bummed me out pretty badly.  The safari we had slated in Zimbabwe was in this awesome park where we could camp and wake up amongst the rough, but due to heavy rains and the season, it got flooded out the week before we went.  Heartbreak central.  But these are my favorite animal shots nonetheless:

This guy was on a tree at Refilwe, in Lanseria outside of Johannesburg.  Janni will roll her eyes, but I swear everything in Africa is a dinosaur.  The animals are just so BIG and unlike anything I have ever seen before; they can't be normal.  Rock dassies are just the cutest little nuggets!  This pair was at Tsitsikamma National Park, outside of Storms River, South Africa.  They scurry up over the rocks and live the crevices of really high cliffs.  Huge families crawling all over and peeing everywhere.

This baby lamb was captured also at Refilwe, as part of the property.  The herd had just produced three babes, and I caught this one in action.






This monster was also caught at Refilwe, waggling across a field to the river.  HUGE.  Easily 8 ft long.  DINOSAUR.  DINOSAUR.





Mr. Penguin hung out by me for awhile, amongst his peers at Boulders Beach on the Lower Peninsula, outside of Capetown.  Shortly after this photo was taken he was found engaging in a violent altercation with another male suitor.




Ok, I don't like birds.  I ESPECIALLY dont like birds that are as tall as a monster truck with beaks the size of my face.  But seeing this ostrich family just hanging out in the wild was, pretty cool.  You see that little baby underneath?  Barely visible, but he's there!  DINOSAURS.




This was at the top of a hike, and is clearly a dinosaur.  No other explanation.







Baby warthogs in Zimbabwe.  Warthogs are classically hideous, but we happened to be in Africa while all the animals had babes, so the babes make the warthogs forgiveable for being warthogs.






Tell me THIS doesn't terrify you.  They're MASSIVE DINOSAURS.




Smellyphants are my eternal favorite, and yes they are also dinosaurs.  But they're also really playful and smart.  This young adolescent was digging and pooping at the bank of a river, where we were on a boat.


Crocodiles are apparently lazy dinosaurs.  They sit on their eggs for a month, and don't eat during that time.  They also don't clear the trash water bottles from their nest area, which is just poor housekeeping.  Zambezi River, Zimbabwe

I still don't like birds, but the guides we were with lost their beans when they saw this red owl.  They told us that they hadn't seen these guys for over 6 years, so I guess he's kinda cool and pretty.  For a dinosaur.


AH these beasts were terrifying.  We were on horseback in Zimbabwe, and the guide told us that they are by far the most aggressive and dangerous animal in the park; that they will attack for no reason whatsoever.  They are extremely skittish and apparently it was a big deal that they were there.  As soon as we got here, this one on the left immediately got up to stand and glared straight at us.  I was paralyzed in fear, and the guide was whispering at me to "GET YOUR PHOTO. DO IT NOW. NOW. NOW. NOW"  Even he was scared of dinosaurs.

This bird is probably not a dinosaur, and I don't really like it.  However, it's a good shot I took in Lesotho, and the guide was super happy to see him, so here he is.