Like a Dog After a Bath.

{WHAT IS THIS FEELING.}

So, this is a weird thing.

I feel.... good?

I've recently come down with a bout of gratefulness.  Hold on, everyone, we just don't know if it will last. 

I have no idea how this happened, and it certainly isn't like me, but the combination of everything right in my life has somehow made me smile in the mornings and laugh even more throughout the day.  It used to be that I really only laughed inappropriately to cope with my grumpy thoughts (drama).  Now I find myself laughing because I am....laughing.

I find myself to be insufferable.

The realization came about a month ago.  I don't know what spurred it, but it seemed that a few moments of clarity revealed to me that, while I don't have even close to everything that I want, I HAVE A FUCKING LOT.

I have a gainful job that I keeps me in contact with real humans that need me.

I have a killer apartment, in a killer neighborhood.

I have silly and sweet friends who always want dinner and will bring wine.

I have talents that I like.  I LIKE that I do comedy.  I LIKE that I cook.  I LIKE that I play a bit of guitar and can harmonize to the radio.  I genuinely enjoy my own company.

I have an arsenal of stories from my short life thus far.  Some will shock you, some will make you cry.  I could sit at a campfire for weeks and tell you stories about traveling the world, kissing wild men, life, death, and so much in between.

I have friends to call family, and enough family to call.

I'm sorry for the interruption of the snarky blog of complaints.  I just always make myself be honest here, and right now I am honestly the most content I have felt in years, maybe if ever.  Whatever is causing it, we should also send to the Middle East, and infuse it into goverment officials' offices.

The Silk Tape Road: Seattle Children's

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I haven't posted an installment of this blog series in a long time?  Perhaps it's because I worked at the same hospital for three years in LA, or perhaps because that wasn't the greatest work environment, and I was wary of being fired over an internet posting.

However that is, I'm ready to write about work again.

I am currently employed as a travel RN in the Peds ICU at Seattle Children's.  I was initially hired in September, and have been extending my contract every three months, and am signed on through the end of August.  At this time, I will have worked there for a year, and will have to make some decisions about where to go from there.

Top Five Questions Everyone Has Been Asking Me About Work:

1.  "Do you like this hospital?"  

I sodding love it.  I don't even know how this happened, but this is the such a great place to work.  It's well-staffed, well-resourced, and well-run.  There will always be things to complain about, but for the most part, this is just a completely pleasant job.  The people who work there are oddly and almost irritatingly enthusiastic and committed to their professions.  I honestly, couldn't have come from a more opposite environment.  The staff at Children's seem genuinely invested in creating a community, and it's just a damn breath of fresh air.

Examples:

-Every morning, when shift change happens, all of the staff that are working that day, including nurses, doctors, respiratory therapists, social workers, etc etc all gather in a drum circle.  We go around and everyone gives their name, their profession, and who they're taking care of that day.  It's so cheesy and simple, but it honestly helps so much in creating a snuggly village.

-Within a few weeks of my start date, it was announced that our manager was stepping down because of health issues.  In order to send her off well, a group of the nurses planned a goodbye party for her at a bar, complete with a live band and a pre-rehearsed flash mob.  We are talking about a BOSS, people.  How many people would do that for their boss?!  Do you even like yours?!

-Every weekend that our eldest attending doctor works, he tumbles into the nurses lounge with scads of bagels and shmear.  That's what's missing from the Middle East: simple carbs and spreadable cheese.

- The employee entrance to the hospital is, every day, a bicycle dog pile.  There are so many incentives to bike.  I just like that.  I also like seeing our administrators roll up to work in their spandex shorties and clip in shoes.

-Usually, when I have to call other departments like X-Ray, Pharmacy, or Lab, I brace myself before I dial.  These disciplines are notoriously cranky, despite having very little actual patient contact (or maybe that's why?).  Through some crazy fluke, everyone at Children's is smiling on the other line when I call.  They are just plain tickled to come do my X-Ray or draw my labs.  You guys, this is just so weird.

-There are, at any time, at least 4 baby showers happening.  I'm not saying Children's is better because people are always pregnant (which is absolutely true), but that it's better because people are always throwing parties for people.  Our bathrooms are littered with fliers for martini nights, farewell Barbecues, and therapeutic teas.

2.  "Well! Are you gonna stay?"

I DON'T KNOW.  When Sept comes, I have to either leave Seattle, take a staff position, or take a month off and come back again as a traveller.

I figure August 30th is a while away, and I don't have to think about it until it's August.  I'm keeping a very zen in my mind, you-know-except-other-crap, and choosing indecision until then.  I know, that when the time comes, and there is a suitable position available for me at this place, then I will take it.  If not, I will pursue other things.

3.  "Where else would you go?!"

I DON'T KNOW.  Such is the nature of my life, that I am plagued with options.  There are so many places, and that's why I just plain won't decide until I have to.

Sometimes I think about spending the fall in NYC, which I love and didn't get enough of.  I could fall in love with standup again, see lots of shows, and feel some real city hustle again. Other times, I think about going to Denver to live with Nick.  He's single again, and now's the time for us to really have fun and be in the same place.  Then still other times, I think about Austin or New Orleans or DC or Hawaii.  You see?  It's not good to speculate too much before go time.  I just have to go when it's time to go.

4.  Hey, I thought you moved to Seattle to stay and wash up?!

Well, yes.  I still think it was absolutely the right thing to do to leave LA and move here.  However, there is a difference between the initial coming here, and staying indefinitely.  I still just don't have a legit reason to be anywhere, and as much as I love Seattle, I don't know that it's enough reason to stop finding new places.

5.  What would it take for you to stay?

Honestly, something kinda drastic I think?  It seems like I am just the person that will require a pregnancy, a dream job, a crisis, or a good man to tumble me back to Earth.  My dreamer mentality keeps me constantly in the world of the Next Possible Thing, and I just don't know how to shut that off, or if I even should.  I am starting, more and more, to see the benefit of a home, but I just don't know where that is yet.  I can't just stay somewhere because I can't think of anything else to do.  The problem is, I can always think of hundreds of other things to do.

Pray for me.

Post Script: This list was a cutesy way of addressing my current work status, but the truth is that the #1 question everyone always asks me about work is if I ever see Russell Wilson.  The answer is yes, almost every Tuesday that I work, and sometimes other days of the week when he surprises us.  He's a darling, a love, all the patients/parents just go crazy over him, and he is now the only professional athlete that I like. 

Natural Disaster Love Machine

I can already hear the unmuffled groans and see the eyerolls from my friends as I type this, but in the spirit of transparency, I must say something about the times that I feel the most hopeful for love and sweetly anxious toward What May Come. (someone slap me)

As seasons change, and our planet squeaks and whines through the abuse of us, the inevitable result seems to be a series of natural disasters.  It seems that as civilization powers on and we burn another year's worth of fossil fuels, Mother Earth is more and more losing her patience with us.  So I guess she is lashing out in the only way she knows how.  Enter the recent years' string of natural disasters.  The hurricanes, tornadoes, mudslides, sinkholes, and earthquakes.

Now now, I know that no one really likes a natural disaster.  It can be horrible.  Lives are lost, homes are destroyed, people displaced and landscapes ruined forever.  I get that completely, and I am in no way downplaying the horrific scene painted by these events.

I am, however, a little weirdly giddy about a mild natural disaster.  I'm talking like, an ice storm, or a wimpy tornado..... a three day blizzard.  Just a small burst of weather inconvenience to change the routine of a city and force people together in unexpected ways.   I just think that there is something beautiful and fun about an entire area being compelled to look up form their tablet screens and board up some windows.  There's a buzz in the air as people all gather supplies and 'hunker down to wait'.  Friends smush together at the house with the most board games and take turns winding the hand-crank-powered flashlight.  Am I a monster??

I just think that a change in routine always brings about great stories and meet-cutes.  When such disasters strike across the nation, I am always glued to the newscasts, not for updates on the latest progress of cleanups for cloud movements, but for the human interest stories that inevitably emerge from the sandbag precessions.

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When Sandy hit NYC, the second thought I had after worrying about those little NICU babies without their incubators, was that that was the best city to be caught in a hurricane.  That huge vat of people will be huddled everywhere, and you just know unlikely pairs will all be touching each other and falling in love.   There's a reason why there's always a surge in births 9 months after a natural disaster, people!  Citizens are forced to look up from their lives and notice the people around them.  Isn't it a beautiful by-product?  I remember seeing those photos of homeowners stretching extension cords out of their houses for passersby to charge their phones, and thinking, I bet so many people are meeting and falling in love in front of a charging station.

So the next time Seattle is hit by torrential rains (that never happens), or geologists start harping about 'The Big One' rocking the Space Needle into the Pacific, y'all can come on over to my place.  I have jenga, cider, and probably the cuddliest blankets.  Bring someone cute and witty, with a great chin, along.

Favorite Texts from Nick Lately

"I just snorted in the United Club.  Thank you very much." 

 I had just sent him a photo of my face, mouth agape, so that he may compare the size of my teeth to Lisa Ling's.  I'm not sure who was declared the toothiest, but the visual of Nick snorting alongside those staunchy business elite makes me a winner for sure.

"Too loud, too touristy, too sexy, etc.  I mean, we can't help it."  

We were talking about how we were constantly in trouble and an embarrassment to all others around us on our Peru trip.  We just have the most fun there ever is to have, and people hate it.  As a public service, we don't go on trips nearly often enough. 

"Girl, the NSA is listening"  

SO maybe I made a joke about bombing his house, for dramatic effect.  He's watching out for me, while the feds are watching out for everyone else?

"weddings are stupid."  

This is a lie.  He loves them, wants a big one with yards of bunting and scads of twirling attendees on the dance floor.  I will wear a sparkly dress, and will serenade the guests as they are seated to selections of my favorite country ballads. 

"If my life turns into a romcom, I'm gonna hang myself with my Brooks Brothers tie."  

Also a lie.  He loves the smush.  He just hates himself for loving it.  That's why we're the perfect pair.  hmmphrt.

"Rather not say.  You'll be mad."  

Life has gotten a bit real for Nick in the past few months, and so of course he has me to say the awful truths about him and ask the ugly questions.  We have never had to tiptoe around each other, and sometimes it's terrible.  He knows when I'll call out his nonsense, and I know he'll tell me when I get fat.  

"whine whine whine"

We are both total wonderful-life-whiners.  Nick is a successful attorney in a great town, working at a job that he's really qualified for.  He has killer abs, pretty eyes, and enough United miles to fly around the world twice.  Nonetheless, he can't stop complaining about his schedule or commute or paralegal's business suits, or whatever it is gay lawyers complain about.  I also have it all (minus the abs) and also can't stop complaining about my failed acting pursuit, hard to find parking, or whatever it is Whatever-I-ams complain about.

"Move to Denver.  I need the ego stroke"
The biggest lie.  But, maybe?  I think about it a lot.  Maybe.

#YesItsYourFault

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For those of you that aren't participators of widespread twitter movements, there was one recently that has garnered certain attentions, and it seems like a prime subject for a sweet and mild blog opinion post.  This is my specialty, no?

A little while ago, the hashtag #YesAllWomen started trending.  It was meant to bring attention to the universality of sexual harassment experienced by women, and called women all over the World Wide Web to share their thoughts and personal filters on the matter.  Not only did a firestorm of scary stories and sweet unity surface, but a reactionary backlash from misunderstanding men and commentators as well.  The internets was ablaze with finger-pointing and ugliness, along with support and calls for change.

I added a few tweets myself, just the first thoughts that came to my mind as read through the material and pondered my own history.  It's really easy for me to scatter in all of the gross situations I've been in, knowing men to treat me like a personal fetish-y sex robot and the like.  But after a few snarky tweets, and a moment or two of realistic pondering, my new issue is that it's YOUR fault.  Yeah, whoever you are.  Man, woman, and anything else.  The harassment and hurt is your fault.  This rant is directed toward heterosexuals, but that's my experience level, so you'll have to pardon the specificity:

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Hey Gals, it's YOUR FAULT when:

You use your body only as a sex object, dressing scantily and acting lewdly in public for men and women en masse.

Hey Guys, it's YOUR FAULT when:

You take women behaving that way as a cue to react with entitlement.  Yeah, sometimes we make you see our sexy parts.  We even want you to.  But that doesn't mean we owe you anything.

Hey Gals, its YOUR FAULT when:

You talk about the men you date like they're beneath you, like butlers or pool boys.  This whole 'pussy-whipped boyfriend' phenomenon has gone way too far.  Girls are mean to guys.  It's gross.

Hey Guys, it's YOUR FAULT when: 

You talk about the girls you date like they're crazy for being interested, or wanting consistent time.  I'm not a crazy bitch if I like to know if I might see you later, or if I think it's strange that you haven't responded.

Hey Gals, it's YOUR FAULT when:

You obsess over your body and dress, worshipping models and actors for their blowy hair and perfect breasts.

Hey Guys, it's YOUR FAULT when:

You obsess over our body and dress, worshipping models and actors for their blowy hair and perfect breasts.

(Does anyone ever stop to wonder if those characters are happy, fulfilled, or productive?  Does anyone ever wonder if they like their neighbors, or like speaking in silly accents?  I only ever hear the word 'hot' in my own head, when flipping through magazines or driving by billboards.  No one ever looks smart to me.)

Hey Gals, it's YOUR FAULT when:

You choose to not invest in guy friends whom you don't find attractive

Hey Guys, it's YOUR FAULT when:

You choose to view your gal friends as useless to you, as soon as you think sex off the table.

Hey Gals, it's YOUR FAULT when: this shit

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Don't call men idiots just for being men, particularly the man you love!  It's not cute.  It doesn't make you powerful or feminist.  It makes you an ass.

Hey Guys, it's YOUR FAULT when: this shit

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Don't celebrate stupidity.  Hot trumps all?  How can we not hate you if this is what you're telling us you want?

My point here is, why all the Battle of the Sexes constantly?!  We're awful to each other, and just because one sex has historically been more wildly mistreated, doesn't make the other a lesser species now.   Hey Gals, stop being asses.  Hey Guys, stop mistreating women.  #YesAllWomen.

Movie Mojo

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This is a story about second looks.

Once, I met a guy.  I did not like him.  He and a bunch of his friends were staying in the same place as my friend and I, and we met in a common area after both parties happened to pour themselves in for the night at the same time.  As we exchanged late night conversation and notes on our journeys, I found myself increasingly irritated by his very presence.  He was your typical bro, show boat-y and loud.  He interrupted everyone, outdo-ing every story and comment.  He rambled, he over-gestured.  I could smell his overcompensation but definitely wasn't interested in finding out the source of his insecurities.  I'm just trying to have a good time, Bro.  I found myself so annoyed that I begged to bed quickly, smiling at the others as I ducked out of the room to escape.

Well, a few days later, we ran into him on our way out of town.  We had a few hours before flying out, and was headed to the airport to drop our car off.  He asked if he could tag along, as he was flying out at the same time.  Well, we're not jerks, so he piled himself and his bags into our car and came with to the airport.  Once there, we had several hours to kill before our flights, sitting at the airport coffeeshop.  During that time, he was calmer.  While he still squawked out the occasional douche-y quip, he was mostly just conversational and chatty.  As it turns out, he's been through a lot and led quite a life.  As the three of us sat there laughing and sharing stories, I hated him less and less until I really only hated him a little (the douche-y squawking).  I actually kind of had some warm fuzzies toward him, he was kinda sweet.  He teased my stubborn independence and shamelessly flirted, finding excuses to touch or say nice things.

So then, we were left alone.  My friend had silly-ly left some liquids in her carry on, and was sent back to the counter to check that bag.  So the two of us proceeded through security, and down a long escalator to the gates.  After we reached the point of splitting ways, I, in ever Mingni fashion, flippantly shrugged and told him:

 "Well, safe flight.  Nice to meet you, maybe I'll catch ya somewhere around the world..."

He suggested that we should try to meet up somewhere on another trip.  I again shrugged and told him, "I guess you never know?"  (gerd, i'm the wooooorst)

So off I walked, and as soon as I reached my gate, I groaned at myself.  Of course I shouldn't have left it like that.  We had a fun day together, and he was really sweet to me.  Damn my foolish pride!  The nagging was quite a bother, and after a few minutes (ahem, seconds) I walked back to the bottom of the escalator to where we split.  I don't know what I thought, maybe I would see him?  No idea what I would have done if I did, but I couldn't see him anywhere, and was certainly not going to chase him to his gate, so I settled my mind and decided to just wait there for my friend to follow.

Well, not three minutes later, Dr. Bro comes strolling back to the very spot I was standing.  He apparently made a quick trip to the loo and also felt the need to redo our goodbye.  I laughed and watched him squirm to make small talk, barely making eye contact as I stood in front of him, leaned against a wall.  After roughly 90 seconds of watching him not look at me, I got the message.  I also felt like I wanted to throw him a bone.  So, I backed up against the wall with my arms crossed (brattily), raised one eyebrow and barked,

"Just do it.  I dare you." (i'm still the worst here)

Dr. Bro got that message.  He lept at me and laid one on me good.  I suddenly forgot that we were in the international terminal of a busy airport, and just let this Bro grab my face and pull me close.

Maybe I just needed to be kissed.  Maybe I think all first kisses should happen in an airport.  Maybe I just kiss people I hate.  Maybe I've seen too much Love Actually.  However the motive, I guess I just thought I'd never see him again, and that (single) people should just kiss people when they think of it.  You guys, I have no answers.... just balls.

Part Time Asian

I'm so behind.

Did y'all know I went to China in January?  I spent 2.5 weeks there over Chinese New Year, visiting my family and eating things.  I had previously only ever been during the summer, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that CNY is actually the ideal time to be there.  Typically, I have to share my family's hometowns with the usual hordes of almond eyes, in addition to the thousands that go back every summer from wherever they've immigrated to.  During CNY, the bigger cities are relatively calm and less crowded, due to the millions of city workers that return home to their villages to celebrate the New Year.

This time, I spent a few days in Beijing with my mom's side of the family, eating and exploring the ancient parts of the city with my shutterbug aunt.  After a few days freezing in old Beijing's alleyways, I flew South to Guangzhou, where my dad's family lives.  There, I continued eating and added a side trip southwest to the ocean, where we made a few stops on our way to a hot spring resort.

Behold, my favorite photos from my trip to China this year:

These are from the 798 Art Zone in Beijing.  It was initially built in the Bauhaus style from East Germany as part of a Socialist Factory co-op plan in the 1950s, but has since emerged as a modern art district.  Super cool spot, could be wandered for days.

 

This gal was selling Chinese New Year noisemakers in old Beijing.  The kids all have them this time of year, and run through the streets annoying the entire city. 

 

The ice skaters in JingShan Park, next to the forbidden city.  

Piles and piles of holiday treats.  Street treats are my favorite.  I'll pretty much eat anything and love it, if it comes off of a cart parked on asphalt. 

Alleys in Old Beijing.  People still live and thrive there, even some 800 years after these neighborhoods were built.  Families sharing a small courtyard, and communal bathrooms.  Clothing hung up all over the place, bikes and furniture strewn about.  I love traveling to places that feels like another world.  This spot does it for sure. 

 In Old Beijing, people raise herd of pigeons as food and pets.  They are usually kept in big cages on the rooftops of their homes.  At dusk, after they return home from work, they release the pigeons to fly as their daily exercise.  They are trained to not wander far, and as a result, you will see these birds doing wide laps overhead.

   Old Beijing.  Dinner's in the window, and pick up some snacks from the cart lady on your way into the subway.  The big structure looming behind her is the South Gate to the Forbidden City.  

 A selfie with Grandma, because we're having Peking duck.  It's a rotisserie bird that's been chosen, carved, and brought to your table on a platter.  You eat the meat rolled into a super thin 'tortilla' with chinese barbecue sauce, cucumber spears, and scallions.




In Guangzhou now, Grams and Uncle 4 (you call your Uncles according to birth order) choosing daffodils off of the back of a bike cart, and the rows of flowers at the market.  Around CNY, each neighborhood will have its own district market, will of regional flower growers, snacks, decorations, and other festive goods.  I spent days wandering these places of commerce, and contributing to the local economy.....

 The Kaiping Towers.  There are 4 counties in southern China, where large populations of villagers immigrated to the US and Canada to work in the early 1900s.  They all came back with their fortunes from running restaurants and laundromats, and built themselves some palaces to raise future generations in.  Most were at least 4 stories, all were spectacularly grand.  These are scattered all over these 4 counties along the coast, and were a highlight of the roadtrip to our hot spring retreat.

Walkway between buildings in my Grams' building complex.  Evening light.

  

 The view from my Grams' bedroom window.  Guangzhou reminds me a bit of Miami.  It's humid, and people like to party.











Lanterns strung on every tree in the city.

 

Gray and Glory

Now, anyone who ever hears that I moved to Seattle always wants to talk about the weather first.  Before they ask about my new job and new life here in the PNW, there are always words in reference to the reputation this city has earned for the rain and gloom that dictates the majority of the year.  In these months, I have lamented to locals and transplants alike how mundane the trend is.  I've wanted to bark at all inquirers:

"SEATTLE has borne some of the best modern music of our lifetime!  Seriously, anything you like, I bet it's from Seattle.  (Other than Lucius)"

"SEATTLE is chock full of wonderful food and earth/body loving ways to get it! CSA farms! Fishermen!  Organic dairies!"

"SEATTLE is surrounded by water!  We have two highways that go over Lake Washington!  There are islands!  There are whales!"

"SEATTLE makes tons of beer!  Doesn't everyone want to talk microbrews?!  I know about IPAs!"

"SEATTLE JUST WON THE SUPERBOWL.  I see Russell Wilson almost every week, if I work on a Tuesday!"

"SEATTLE is where Grey's Anatomy is set.  I work in a hospital.  Don't you want to make some irritating reference to that?!  I'll bite!"

Months have gone by, and no one ever asks about orcas or Damien Jurado first.  They all want to talk about the gray clouds and the constant drizzle.  It drove me mad, almost as mad as the actual gray clouds and drizzle did.

Well here I go, eating my words again.

Sigh.  So, I want to talk about the weather.

The weather in Seattle is a miracle.

Let me back up.  For most of October-May, it's horrendous.  Horrendous in the mildest way possible.  It's horrendous because it's not really anything.  The weather for most of the year in Seattle is impotent, passive, and gutless.  A seemingly endless chain of mildly cool temperatures, thick cloud cover, and just enough breeze to annoy the snot out of you and mess up your hair.

On top of that, it's humid, thereby cementing the guaranteed Bad Hair Months.  You bumble around, not needing an ice scraper ever, but also not being able to roll down your windows in the morning.  Light comes in your windows during the day, but not enough to keep the lights off by mid afternoon.  Most days of the week, there will be a slight drizzle in the air for a few hours.  Not enough to count as real rain, but just enough spray to feel like your hairdresser is constantly misfiring her water spritzer into your face.

Have I bummed you out enough??  No wonder why I've been so moody and full of feelings.  I have no choice but to be indoors with them!  Now, to be fair, we have had a particularly mild winter, and I have also had lots of days outside playing in the beauty of the PNW, but more on that later.  For now, I complain.

(It could be April, it could be November.....)

I moved from LA, if you recall, where the weather is 78 and sunny for basically 300 days a year.  I could commit to an outfit 6 months in advance.  (For the record, cotton collared tank, cuffed twill pants, low cut converse sans socks, and a knitted long cardigan.  Works January-through-January.)  I always knew the sun would be out, and I could be in the hills any day that I wanted.  Honestly?  Of course I didn't cherish it.  Sure, I experienced a lot of Sun Guilt (feeling anxiety to get outside when it's sunny), but the morning discovery upon opening my door and feeling the sunshine on my face didn't exactly get me aflutter or anything.  I just put on my yoga pants and went about my day, unruffled.

Seattle will ruffle you in the most diffuse way.  It's the weeks of choosing this Patagonia puffer or that Northface fleece.  It's the constant dissatisfaction with your wiper blades, and the ever present mud on your boots.  You just bundle up and introvert, everyone does.

Here's what 5 months of dreary and inept weather has taught me:

The weather should make you feel something.

There should be ups and downs, a melody if you will, to your days!  No one will notice a note, even if it's the most beautiful note ever played, if that same note gets played every day.

But the miracle is here.  All of a sudden, there will come a day.  A day of glorious sun, where the air feels bright and virile, life giving and soul-patching.  Maybe that day was February 26th.  Maybe it was 61 and sunny.  Maybe the sun, in combination with the water, the farms, the whales, the Seahawks, and some great tunes (albiet from Tennesee) will create just the combination to make you absolutely drunk on your surroundings.  Maybe it will seem like the first time you've felt anything outside yourself in months.  Maybe, the gray impotence serves the purpose of providing the contrast to highlight glory, when it comes.

(Windows down, Sunroof back, biggest grin since September)

Favorite Texts From Nick Lately

"Do men still wear leather jackets?  I mean, I wouldn't."

He was asking for advice on a gift for his partner.  Aaron can thank me later that he did not have to feign enthusiasm at the arrival of an expensive bomber jacket that he would inevitably let the dog use to insulate his bed.  

"Got to ride upper deck biz on a new 747."

Translation:  He was upgraded on a flight from Istanbul to Denver to business class, and got to travel upstairs in a brand new plane.  My gay husband is an elite flyer, and I love the nerdy excitement he gets over flight perks. 

"Stop trying to be like Ming!"

ah hahahaha! This was in response to a message I had sent him, telling him that my sister's new boyfriend's name is Nick.  I love how he gets me, fully and loudly.  

"Perfect.  We'll have a book in a few months.  Primary target: teen sluts."

He had sent this to me when I told him that I started a secret Tumblr full of poems.  He's actually the most supportive husband outside of the Clinton couple.  He would actually market my book to teen sluts.  He would go to the mall.   

"Santy Clause don't visit the undertaker, kid."

This was in reference to a particularly serious conversation we were having about futures and getting what we want.  We were both pondering decisions, satisfaction, and how the hell we're gonna get everything we want out of this lifetime.  Doesn't seem like there are enough hours or beers, but we sure as hell can't be wastin' any more time. 

"You know the shit is real if the dude doesn't even have a tight physique."

This is basically the most profound romantic advice he has ever given me.  He's completely right.  When the shit is real, you find yourself tossing aside the checklist.  My gay knows my heart.  Come at me, bros. 

We Should Talk...

Hey guys,

Don't think I'm not aware of the 4 month blog silence.

I've been kinda uninspired by this medium.

This fall was pretty tumultuous and maybe I was too wrapped up in my nonsense to really put work into writing.

I've been cheating.

The truth is, I started a secret Tumblr page several months ago.  I don't know what my deal was, other than I just had some thoughts I wanted to say anonymously.  For the first time since I can remember, I've felt the need to keep myself and my thoughts a bit private or maybe just separate from myself?  I've been wanting to say things and process things but not necessarily under a snarky heading or with animated GIFs to accent.  So I started this secret Tumblr to post all of the things I find too annoying to let people I love read.  I'll let strangers find my rantings and yearnings obnoxious, eh?  The Tumblr is not linked to my name at all, although there is a non-identifying photo of me in its banner.  It is also entirely made of posts of poetry, or lists.  Some of it is really fun and silly, and other postings are heart breaking and wrought with way too much emotion to take responsibility for.

I hope someone out there reads it and finds it funny, sad, well-written, and annoying. 

 In that order.

Ways My Parents Tried to Make Me Like My Race.

I grew up in the whitest town in America, and often was the first Asian friend any of mine had. I hated it. I just wanted to have blonde ringlets and freckles like Shirley Temple (ah, RIP) and sing John Denver songs at the school talent show.

My parents were idiots about it. Well, my mom mostly. My dad is a eye rolling butthead, and never gave any thought to forced cultural connections beyond learning enough english to order a steak properly. My mother, on the other hand, clearly flailed with how to convince me to find pride in my straight black hair and slanty eyes. A few tactics that have proven to be ineffective:

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1. She told me that I was related to Kristi Yamaguchi. As a child of the early 90s, I was, like so many girls, completely overtaken by figure skating. I would put on the sparkliest garb I had, strap on my clunky mint green roller skates, make my dad move all the furniture in the living room, and crash around on the hardwood floors while she was on TV, trying to imitate her every axel and toe loop.

Why it didn’t work: As soon as I went and told all of my friends the crazy and wonderful connection I had with the Olympian, they all told me I was full of shit. If no one has written the book on what happens to 6 y.o.s when they are found to be un-faultily full of shit, I will. Let me tell you, finding out that your supposed figure skating cousin is the WRONG RACE (Japanese) and isn’t related to you, will ruin your year.

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2. She told me I was named after a Chinese princess. I have a name that’s really Chinese and relatively hard to say for the common white man with common (none) language acquisition skills. I just wanted my name to be Sarah, so that my teachers and I could both stop sweating through every first week of school. Or Rebecca, after the Aunt in Full House. (She had the best outfits and got to make out with Uncle Jesse). Instead of telling me to embrace my name because it was given to me by my Grandfather, it wasn’t my choice, but it’s uniquely mine, she just told me I was named after royalty.

Why it Didn’t Work: Well, even as a child, my precocious and over confident nature already predisposed me to feelings of misplaced-royalty. A kid like that doesn’t need to be told she actually is the namesake of a monarch. Really? I needed to be brought down to earth, and she just ignited my rocket fuel. I admit, that this ruse did bring me some inner pride albiet temporary. I believed it for years, until one day when I was in Jr High she casually mentioned that it was made up. I haven’t stopped having regular identity crises since.

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3. She tried to get my school involved. My poor mother was always offering to bring in Chinese food, teach the kids Mandarin, and decorate my classrooms with gold and red paper cuts for Chinese New Year. I wasn’t having any of it. Instead, I was always trying to convince them to hang Christmas lights early, write Valentine’s cards, and go camping. When my fourth grade music class was preparing for a concert celebrating the different nationalities of the world, we were being taught a song that was ‘Asian influenced’. The song was supposed to be a translation of an English song, but was so horrendously done that it was effectively asking a group of 8 y.o.s to sing “ching chang! bing bong! soy sauce chopstick!” to the tune of Yankee Doodle Dandy. My mother was wildly appalled and immediately marched me to my music teacher with an appropriate and accurate translation of the song in Chinese.

No one could sing it; they couldn’t pronounce any of it.

Why It Didnt Work: She made me the Weird Girl with the Annoying Mom who is Making Us Make Sounds We Can’t Do. While she was totally righteous in her actions, I was mortified. Afterward, I made an even more fervent effort to be white. I stopped going to Chinese school, wore my hair in a side pony at all times, and used any catchphrase that was featured on T.G.I.F.

So here we are, decades later, and I am still only starting to be okay with my name and straight hair. There are certainly days that I still wish that I was white, but what my mom might never understand is that I became cool with being Asian when I became a stand up comic and realized that my slanty ethnicity bestows me with a wealth of material that white kids just don’t get access to. Follow me to math camp!

A New Story.

{Complete Violation.}

You guys, I finally get the 'crazy bitch' distinction and I am just sick over it.  Men who call women crazy should be immediately separated from every last hair on their heads and assigned a women's department store to live in for the rest of their existence.

You make us crazy.

There's an introduction.  Classically, in my life, it happens within the construct of a gathering of people.  A music show, comedy night, a wedding, happy hour, a dinner party, a birthday, etc etc.  Maybe glances are coyishly exchanged from across the crowd, maybe not. However, the night progresses and one way or another he eventually declares himself as attracted (notice I don't say interested.  this is another word entirely.)  Well if I'm attracted as well, usually something will go down.  My sexual energy is more curious than meaningful most of the time, and I just want to know what your lips feel like.  So I find out.  I'm young! It's fun!

Sometimes there are more encounters like this in the subsequent weeks after this initial flurry of fun.  We might see each other again, exchange some conversation, have a few pints, and flirt further.  Maybe it gets a little out of hand, but good-naturedly.  Eventually, one of us loses interest or moves on and the other gets the Fade Out.  It's the Circle of Life.

This cycle is usually about 1 hour to 4 weeks in length.  Upon completion of this cycle, I usually merely roll my eyes and busy myself.  I'm not a dweller; I like to keep moving.  If I'm the fader, I hope he just assumes I met my Dude.  If he does the fade, I just assume maybe he's in a coma?  Either way, it's fine!  We weren't invested anyway!

Well, this post in particular is in existence because something different happened.  In relation to a dude, I finally felt crazy.

HE BROKE THE RULES.

In referencing the previous post of casual-relation situations, he effing broke every single one.  We spoke of a no-stress, let's enjoy each other while we can kind of a deal.  Life is weird and complex, but we clearly had an intoxicating chemistry.  Let's play science for a minute.

Well, he played too well.  This dude was on his gaaaaame.  In the few encounters we had together, he sent me into such a tailspin I could hardly blink.  When I saw him it was sweet, intimate, and wildly romantic.  He strolled me through neighborhoods in the rain, danced me under streetlights, and cradled my face in his hands.  He hummed in my ear as we soaked up gorgeous views, arms entangled and hearts pounding.

I will admit, I ate it all up.  He served it piping hot, and I could barely satiate.

Maybe it was just his nature, the aggression and passion.  Maybe he just fell into romance quickly, a muscle memory from his recent past.  Maybe he's just an ass.  But when the hard fade out hit, I went berserk.

Do guys really know what happens when they lay it on so thick and then blatantly deny any affiliation?  I didn't either, but it's dark and ugly.  My brain immediately went to A Beautiful Mind mode, a constant inner dialogue of trying to decipher the truth from my imagination.

{Do I even believe my own evidence? uh.....?}

"oh, cool.  I made it all up."

"Never happened.  No, it wasn't just you that kissed me in the rain and carried me up those cobblestone steps."

"That's just a movie that I watched once."

"It couldn't have been real, because now you can't even respond to a message or make up an excuse why you've disappeared.  We're not friends.  Nope, it never happened.  I'm clearly delusional."

So then I just went on about my life, refusing to acknowledge those strange sensations that would course through my body whenever I heard a song on the radio that I knew he liked, or I drove by the restaurant where he pulled me into him on the sidewalk.  Someone told me once that these are feelings (sp?).  Well I have now had them and surely they are not welcome here.   Not only are they wholly unwelcome, but they are an outright danger to any semblance of progress in my life.  For the few weeks following, I was so distracted at work I was writing notes down three times before I knew what they meant.  I could remember nothing anyone said to me and forget driving.  I'm already Asian, I don't need some dude making me clinically insane as well thankyouverymuch.

 My thoughts were consumed with "Was that real? Was that real?  Was he even there?  Did he see what I saw?  What if it was all me?"

So yeah, I crawled into the crazy bitch brain space.  But I was lured and locked in, alone and in darkness before I had any chance to get out.  So the next time you hear someone accuse a gal of being a Crazy Bitch, consider first how she might have gotten there.  and check her garage for bulletin boards and newspaper clippings.

Lessons from Lorelai

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In a gathering of dear friends and casual acquaintances recently, we got to chatting on our favorite TV shows growing up.  The 90s classics were all covered; the Boy Meets World, the Wonder Years, what have you.  But I couldn't help but chime in that I've been pretty formed by my exposure of Lorelai Gilmore.  As the leading lady and matron of the Gilmore Girls, she (actor Lauren Graham) navigated herself and her daughter Rory (played by Alexis Bledel) through the ebbs and flows of Rory's adolescence while running an inn in a tiny New England town.  She was a teen mom, who got her shit together fast and kept enough of a twinkle in her eye to maintain some fun and fancy in her adult years.  She's my hero, and her very spirit is one that I carry with me always, every time I flirt with an old man at a farmers market or grocery store.

What she's taught me includes but is not limited to the following:
1.  If you can't be appropriately dressed, be hot.  When the gals were late for Rory's first day at her super fancy private high school, Lorelai didn't have time to adorn her power suit before throwing the two of them in the car to get there on time.  Instead, she grabbed the first thing at the end of her bed: cut off shorts and cowboy boots.  She certainly raised some eyebrows among the country club set that morning, but hell, she looked hot.

2. Know when to pick your battles.  Lorelai had difficult, stogy parents.  The kind of parents that make you run away to a tiny town when something scary happens, because they'd be more hardship than help.  However, as Rory got older, she learned how to navigate their past hurts and somehow still manage to create a healthy relationship with her daughter.  I've recently come to terms that my parents and I won't have the kind of relationship that she has with Rory.  I'm just gonna follow her lead and choose to be amused by them, instead of bruised.  Superhero status.

3. Coffee.  She was addicted to the stuff, and a percentage of the story line of every episode emerged from Lorelai needing coffee, being on her way to get coffee, leaving from getting coffee, having to change her coffee source, waiting for her coffee at a counter, or being interrupted as she drank her coffee.  The lesson here?  Have something that you love and allow that to dictate your movements.

4. Talk Fast and Wildly.  I cannot think of a single scenario that wasn't mediated or at least commentated by Lorelai's witty banter and snarky rhetoric.  She may not have gone to college or speak another language, but she damn sure had english down pat.  I love women with sharp tongues.  I have this idea that they are more satisfied with their lives, because they know how to get the things they want.  Maybe they won't ever be invited to a G8 Summit, but they sure as hell would be the best gal to get you backstage at a Springsteen show.  Put yourself on your death bed for a second.  Which would you rather?  I say, get me straight to the Boss.

5.  She knows exactly how much shit to take from dudes.  Don't get me wrong, this girl is no damsel in distress like, ever.  But she rides the fence perfectly between (Goddess of Self Sufficiency and Low Bullshit Tolerance Who Could Drop Ya Like a Bad Cell Signal) and (Human Woman Who Falls for Right/Wrong People and Likes to Be Kissed Passionately and Hold Hands).  She falls for a teacher at Rory's school, but makes it totally cool and is open about it to everyone.  She tries to fall in love with Rory's dad, riding the wave of nostalgia and girlish affection a few times again.  She finally concedes to falling for Luke, the local diner owner that has always been there for her.  She fights it hard, but gives in eventually.  It's weird, but right.  So she cannonballs in.  She is always the bigger person, defending herself when she's being mistreated, and in turn defending the dudes when others judge too harshly.

If only she were real.