Monthly Archives: July 2010

Camping is for Bears: Live Blogging My Misery

The worst thing about this camping trip...

2:19:39 PM: We didn’t get on the road till 2 pm. Just lk “Stuff White People Like” says about camping: we stopped by friggin REI! I’m driving now.

2:23:16 PM: sayz: Camping is for Bears: Live Blogging My Misery http://goo.gl/fb/DuYyx

3:46:31 PM: Tis a good thing I drove. Parking lot half of the way. Husband wouldve died from burst blood vessel before we got to camp site. We are here.

3:47:11 PM: Best billboard ads ever: Your wife is hot… Time to get your AC fixed!

5:14:49 PM: We hadn’t got to our camp site b4 we were eaten alive by bugs. I’m going to die by bug spray or bug bites. Burka sounds lk a good idea now

5:25:09 PM: We r surrounded by giant campers. We r of course doing it old skul. The green dom is our friends’ http://twitpic.com/2ahq9i

7:54:03 PM: Camp fire. This one is going to toast the marshmallows in a second! Ok. Maybe camping isn’t so bad. http://twitpic.com/2aj4ml

9:21:54 PM: Perfectly toasted marshmallows are science and art. And retractable roasting sticks are the best buy http://twitpic.com/2ak199

I am still f awake! First it’s the loud cacophony of bugs & frogs. Now my back is killing me. I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue?

2:42:31 AM: I am still f awake! First it’s the loud cacophony of bugs & frogs. Now my back is killing me. I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue?

2:51:14 AM: At least I got my own sleeping bag. The 1st time MR only packed 3 saying I could share w youngest as a blanket. Of course it got F chilly…

2:53:50 AM: I wrapped youngest in “blanket” then shivered the whole night thinking I was going 2 die while they snored away. At least the kids can sleep

2:58:02 AM: Our friends work 4 mobile company yet don’t get our fascination w “electronic gadgets”. I’ve been sneakily tweeting. Bathroom. Car. Woods.

4:34:19 AM: Why can’t I fall asleep? Why R zippers in tents so loud? Why do birds chirp so loudly since 4 am? How long can I hold my pee/?

4:52:50 AM: MR who came back from Asia on Fri left w car @ 5am. I hope he’s not checking in Red Roof Inn… On 2nd thought, I hope he does & invites me!

5:15:43 AM: The tent smells like gym. I’ve been awake since 2. My back hurts. I need 2 pee. THIS makes me happy: http://twitpic.com/2anagg

6:13:46 AM: What’d ya know? As soon as I started to drift off, kid woke up & the day began! #NoRest4TheWicked http://twitpic.com/2anr7u

8:56:06 AM: Eating like royalty: Mountain Man dutch oven cooking. Guess I’m not losing weight this weekend. Ugh. http://twitpic.com/2ap39c

9:57:10 AM: Conquering the giant sand dune. So proud of the kids. I am “watching over” the kids. Look at them go http://twitpic.com/2aplr7

12:28:36 PM: It took MR coaxing me half way thru & disappearing on me & my oldest volunteering 2 b “Butt Pusher&qu http://twitpic.com/2aqsv9

12:31:21 PM: MR yelling “You can do it!” I made it 2 the top. So did the 3yo girl in our group. Great streching! http://twitpic.com/2aqtni

4:34:16 PM: I kept on forgetting this is not the ocean but Lake Michigan. It’s so damn hot. No umbrella. 🙁 http://twitpic.com/2asqoq

5:55:10 PM: Took 2nd shower of the day… OMFG! Houston, we have a problem! Raccoon eyes! I got racoon eyes right b4 #BlogHer10 & company shindig! F*ck!

8:03:48 PM: Now that’s a fire! But why am I still getting bitten, after 2 different bug sprays?! http://twitpic.com/2auejb

6:30:26 AM: So hot last night. Had hard time sleeping. Even fanned myself with my hand! Then it got cold. Cold & wet. Woke up shivering. Good times. Ugh

6:35:02 AM: Good thing I had sugar coma at first from these giant marshmallows. We called them marsh melons. http://twitpic.com/2aycxz

10:52:08 AM: Worst things about camping: bugs esp. bug caught in my eyelash; sleeping in hot tent & hard ground; needing 2 pee in the middle of night

10:55:38 AM: Best things about camping: big sand dune; the lake; breakfast w bacon & then eggs & pancakes made in bacon grease; camp fire; marshmallows

10:59:26 AM: Lesson learned on this camping trip: wear a hat instead of sunglasses b/c full moon face/new moon chin is better than raccoon eyes

3:25:29 PM: Finally home. Gained ONLY 2 lbs on camping trip, thank goodness! Now unpacking & then packing 4 biz trip. Can’t wait for 6am flt! NOT! -fin-

Crazy week ahead… How to keep my Tamagotchi alive?

2:59:29 PM: sayz: Crazy week ahead… How to keep my Tamagotchi alive? http://goo.gl/fb/74Hr6

3:00:14 PM: Let the live blogging begin!

3:02:08 PM: Here’s my schedule starting this Saturday: Camping till Mon. Tue 6 am flight out on biz trip. Back Thur evening. Friday 7 am flt 2 NYC. Nuts

3:12:16 PM: Thought I’d try out Twitter update. BECAUSE I naturally assume that y’all want to know what’s going on in my life. EVERY SECOND. #Egomaniac

3:14:19 PM: Camping trip will prove to be hilarious also as I hate the outdoors. There, I said it. It’s not even b/c I am hip. I am just lame and lazy.

3:24:59 PM: Did I break Twitter? Again?

3:25:49 PM: Hey @forthebirdsblog you are now in my blog post! “I am in a blog post. Look again. The liquid bread is now diamonds” #OldSpice

3:27:35 PM: Thank you @forthebirdsblog for being my confused guinea pig. ^_^

3:30:29 PM: Liquid bread is a good call, @forthebirdsblog. But “Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue.” Vodka? STAT & keep it running

3:34:51 PM: Wax on. Wax off. Now off. This liveblogging session is now off. Thank you. Bye. See you. Hello? Hello? Are you still there? Anybody?

Things I Missed

I have been back to my real life since two Sundays ago.  After a week on the beach, doing nothing, having no appointments to make, no place to rush to, I find it hard to adjust back to life in the suburbia 100%. On the first few days after The Beach, I caught myself thinking that I was about to get ready to go to the beach. I got a bit disoriented when I was driving because I was expecting to make the right turn and go into the development where the beach house was. In an almost imperceptible way, memories from the beach (even when I did not know I was remembering specifically any scene, any event, so perhaps it is more aptly an “aura”) seeped into reality as I am trying to adjust to life back to normal.

Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.

Disorientation. It happens every year after The Beach. Naturally it does get better as the week of post-coastal coital tristesse advances.

Perhaps because I now have a Tamagotchi blog to keep, I am even more self-reflective; I was caught by surprise by how I reacted with happiness to some of the things back home. Things I hadn’t realized I’d missed while I was doing The Beach… in addition to the Internet and robust Wireless coverage, it goes without saying.

My bed. Ok. Our bed. And I did consciously miss it during The Beach. At least my aching back did. A lot.

When we moved into our current house ten years ago, my husband and I made a conscious decision to get ourselves the best bed we could afford without going against our principle, “Only losers pay retail”. Considering how on average human beings spend one third of their lives in bed (i.e. 8+ out of 24 hours every day in theory), a firm and comfortable bed that allows you to wake up refreshed is one of the best investment with the highest ROI a person can make.  Our bed is one of those memory foams similar to Tempur-Pedic, and true to the marketing claim, we seldom disturb each other when we lie down or get up from the bed.  The downside of having such an awesome bed is 1) We feel like going straight to bed most of the time, and 2) We are so spoiled now that we find it hard to fall asleep, stay asleep, and wake up without kinks or aches when we travel.

.

My car.

Raise your hand if you’ve ever heard a joke about driving while female? How about driving while Asian? Now put those two together, you got? Me.

I have to write about my love for driving one day, but for now, it suffices to say that I missed my car even though we had a nice and clean rental car, a Toyota Camry, that week.  I didn’t realize that I missed my tiny hatchback. In fact, after a long absence, I tend to be hesitant when I put my foot on the gas pedal, feeling like a virgin driver. I supplied pressure with my foot tentatively and my car purred (the way a small, non-sporty car does anyway). I thought, “Oh how I have missed you!” I love the familiarity. The comfort and ease. The confidence I exude when I am behind the steering wheel of my itty bitty car.  Possibly the smallest, everyday car, used to transport kids on a regular basis within the 15-mile radius of Suburbia. The pride, most likely undeserved, I feel in my heart when I am surrounded by gas-guzzling SUVs.  Especially when I encounter a Cadillac Escalade on the road (which for some reason happens more often than I wish), I see my itty bitty superduper hatchback as a finger extended in its general direction.

Booyah!

.

Chicago. Or any other larger city with a diverse population where I will not be stared at like a zoo animal. Where I do not stand out. Where I blend into the mosaic tapestry of life effortlessly. Where I will be ignored, just like everybody else.

For one reason or another we end up in the northern most tip of OBX every year where even the groundskeepers are white.  No shit. Even the seasonal workers they employ in the stores and restaurants are of Eastern European origins.  This year, for the first time, I saw two Asian cashiers at the supermarket, and (I did not imagine this!) they looked startled when they saw me at the checkout line.

Yeah, I am going to sound like a reverse-racist but it gets on my nerves every single year on the beach, this lack of diversity. This pervasive whiteness. I am never the only person of color there because my sister-in-law is of Asian Indian heritage. (Born and bred in the U.S. of A.).  Although she laughs every time I mention how 1) this has got to be the worst week for their property value, 2) the two of us double the population of Asian descent instantly, 3) “I am going to integrate now!” before I head towards the local super market, she may not be as sensitive as I am.  I, the product of years of Ivory-Tower immersion in race theories, American histories, cultural histories, identity theories, racial politics, post-colonial literature and theories, what have you.  Every year I counted the number of people of color I saw on the beach, in the pool, in the general area. This year I saw on the beach one African American family and a family of white parents and their children adopted from Asia. Then there were me and my sister-in-law.  That’s it.  Never more than a dozen.

The staring.  The surreptitious looks.  Sometimes became too much.  Without knowing it, I became edgy, stressed, and bitter because I was on display.

I whisper-yelled at the kids to behave more than I should have done, I didn’t know then but I do now, because I wanted to make sure that THESE PEOPLE not walk away with ANY false impression of Asian people. God forbid if I were the only Asian person they have come in close contact with in a shared environment, i.e. outside of Chinese restaurants, dry cleaners, nail salons, [fill in stereotypically Asian-owned businesses]. I certainly don’t want them to draw any negative conclusions about Asian-looking people because of the mistakes I made. (Great! Now they are going to think that Asian mothers yell at their kids too much! Fuck!)

I was ON the whole time. I was on my best behavior. I made great efforts to speak with as little hint of my foreign accent as possible because FUCK if I wanted to perpetuate the stereotype of Asians as perpetual, inscrutable, foreigners in this country. (The irony of me being indeed a FOREIGNER was not lost on me. Thank you very much. And I hope you all American-born people of Asian descent appreciate my fighting this battle alongside you so please no more making fun of people speaking in a foreign accent so you can feel, you know, American…)

As soon as I stepped off the plane at O’Hare Airport and emerged from the jetway, I was greeted with faces of varying shades in the bustling gate area.  I let out a sigh of relief.  The tension in my shoulders, which I hadn’t known was there, dissipated with such force it was physically perceptible to me.   The chip on  my shoulder melted, figuratively and physically even though I hadn’t realized I’d been wearing one.  I was able to relax.  I did not become fully aware of it until I no longer felt subconsciously the need to represent.

Yup. I missed not having to represent.

What ya doin’?

If you don’t count the works that were not supposed to be mine but when it all of a sudden became mine three precious days had passed and there were only two days left to work on it.

If you don’t count the general assholery that’s thrown over the wall to my cubicle.

If you don’t count wolfing down the rest of the Sookie Stackhouse True Blood Series because 1) I needed to escape reality so much that even blogging and twittering would not do, 2) the sex and the description of it just gets hotter and hotter between Sookie and Eric, and 3) I believe I have developed an addiction to voyeurism.

.

Nuthin’ much. Really.


.

I'm going to Disney World y'all. No. Not really. I've always wanted to say that.

.

I suspect that Dilbert has been following me around at work otherwise how can every single one of these recent comics be so accurate in telling what I am going through??!!

no images were found

no images were found

no images were found

no images were found

.

Oh, yeah. I realized that using the time it took me to work on the picture of me announcing my trip to Dilbert World, I could have written a better post. Shut up. Thank you. xxoo

Sarah Connor I ain’t. Ay, there’s the rub.

I tell my kids frequently that when the dinosaurs come, RUN. Don’t wait for mommy. Because mommy will be the first one that gets eaten.

They always reply, after they are done rolling their eyes, It will not be dinosaurs in the end of the world scenario, mom. Don’t you watch any movies?

Well, dinosaur or no dinosaur, that’s not the point. The point is: Survival of the fittest, ergo, death to the weakling, y’all.

Me.

I hate reinforcing stereotypes. But I was, by the book, your stereotypical dorky coke-bottle-wearing no-extra-curricular-activity-whatsoever studying-till-dawn excelling-at-test-taking kid. I have no physical, practical skills to speak of. No physical strength. No kinetic memories of any sports. No agility. None. Nada. Nil. Null.

This lack of physical strength had not been an issue until I became a parent. When you became a parent, movies of a certain sorts ceased to be enjoyable: I sill cannot bring myself to watch “The Other End of the Ocean” and “The Changeling”. I was so distraught by the scene at the swimming pool that I failed to comprehend what happened later in the movie “Minority Report”. I freaked out over “Mystic River” because WTF if you cannot trust people who claim to be policemen. More than any other kinds of movies, I can no longer whole-heartedly enjoy disaster movies, the end-of-the-world mega blockbusters. Instead of being caught up by the actions, intrigued by the plot and storylines, and mesmerized by the big-budget special effects, my brain cells are busy calculating the chance of my children surviving the same event happening on the screen. My stomach churns at the thought of my children having to endure endless darkness and starvation, which is the least horrifying scenario of them all.

When the kids were younger, it was a lot more agonizing. I worried about what to feed them should we ever be trapped in the basement for a long period of time. How about if the baby would not stop crying and risk being discovered? What about diapers?

Now that they are older, I sense that I am becoming a liability when the world is being attacked by dinosaurs, brain-sucking Zombies, or aliens. For starters, I seriously cannot run. When I run for the train in the morning, it takes me the entire commute to get back to my normal breathing rhythm. I am such a slow runner that my husband can walk beside me while I attempt to jog. Running and I do not mix.

On top of that, I am as blind as a bat. Without my contact lenses or my coke-bottle-thick glasses, I cannot even locate the chart on the wall of my optometrist’s office. As soon as my glasses fall, as we all know, one of the dinosaurs is going to step on it and crush it like a peanut. That’s it. The end of me.

I just want my children to move on without me so I can buy them more time…

I don’t like watching disaster movies any more. It sucks.

.

.

We are on our annual family beach vacation with the in-laws this week. It is probably not a surprise that I cannot swim. In fact, I failed gym class in high school because I could not hold my breath long enough to swim the passing length of 15 feet. In contrast, Mr. Monk, my 7-year-old boy, has come a long way from being dastardly afraid of water, i.e. screaming bloody murder when his hair was being washed, to braving the waves with his boogie board all day long.

I gladly accompany him when Mr. Monk wants to swim in the ocean. I make sure that we do not get too far from the shore and that the water reaches no higher than my waist. I am not worried about the fact that I cannot friggin’ swim since my feet can always touch the bottom.

Well, they could always touch the bottom until the time when I almost drowned.

It happened so fast. One minute we were safely playing in the waves near the shore: Mr. Monk was happily swimming around me and under the waves while I screamed and jumped to keep my head above the water with each wave, the next minute I found myself under the water, my feet not being able to reach the bottom. I panicked. I swallowed water. I struggled to get my head above while sensing the impending arrival of the next wave. I could see the shore and it now seemed so far away.

What happened? How did we end up here?

The second wave submerged me under the water. I had braced for it and waited for it to subside. My head was above the water again. I could see a man no more than 30 feet away from us. And the water was at his waist. I saw Mr. Monk swimming along and he did not seem scared.

I started to peddle. To move myself closer to the shore. Inching my way. By this time I was painfully aware of my uselessness and I had determined that I needed to save myself first.

Remember the instruction the flight attendants give on the airplane for the oxygen masks?

“Make sure to put the oxygen mask on yourself first before attempting to help someone else put on theirs.”

I often wonder about that statement. How could a parent ever think of themselves first? It was an agonizing, yet split-second decision.

At that moment, I deliberately abandoned my own child, left him to his own device. I needed to save myself first so I could secure him. That realization panged me; it still does.

All I wanted was for my feet to be able to reach the bottom so I could regain control, goddamnit! I was furious at myself.

How could you have let this happen?

The third wave was coming. I knew if I let it, the wave would push me closer to the shore, and we could have been saved. So I swallowed some more water and let the pounding wave carry me in further. When the ocean retreated, YES, I felt the bottom with my tiptoes.

I stood up on my tiptoes and turned around to look for Mr. Monk. He was swimming behind me, leisurely.

“Hurry up. Come over here!” I yelled as I inched further forward by bouncing along.

He smiled at me.

“NO! We have to get back to the shore. RIGHT NOW!”

He was not listening. Now I was yelling and pleading at the same time.

“Please. COME HERE NOW!! Mommy cannot reach the bottom and I cannot help you at all!”

The man looked in our direction with a puzzled look, probably because he heard me yelling. He soon turned his gaze in some other direction since there was no clear sign that we were in any imminent danger.

As soon as Mr. Monk was within my reach, I pulled him in. We trudged onto the sandy beach.

“Hey, we need to be more careful. We have lost track of where we were headed while we were jumping in the waves. The waves carried us too far away. We got too deep. IMy feet could not touch the bottom and mommy almost drowned.”

“You almost got me killed!” Mr. Monk commented. “You were pulling me down! You should let go my hand next time. I can swim and you can’t! Mom, you should try not to be responsible for your child’s death.”

God only knows. That is one of my biggest fears ever since I became a parent.

Do not fuck up.

All of a sudden I remembered Linda Hamilton doing chin-ups in Terminator 2. I became envious of her ability to protect her child, deeply disturbed by the lack in me, and simply, straightforwardly, exhausted.

Sarah Connor, Baddest-Ass Mama

.

.

After all the soul searching and self-condemnation, I am grateful that I seem to be the only person traumatized by this event. The very next day Mr. Monk pleaded,

“Can we please please please go swimming again?”

“Ok honey. But this time we will stay where the water does not go above my knees.”

The Girl in Her

She did not want to come back the last time she was there.

She wanted to stay home. Home.

When she was there by herself, she was not a mother. She was not a wife. She was herself.

More enticingly, she was her younger self. She was a daughter. She was the much adored and lauded miracle child. The family legend.

The one who would be could have been “The Doctor”. The real kind.

She realized much to her sadness and guilt that she has not been a daughter since 1993 when she left home for graduate school. The first time she went home, she brought her American boyfriend with her.

She stopped being just a daughter to her family. She has never been back by herself ever since.

When she went home by herself, everybody treated her as if she had just left and then returned. They treated her as if she were only 24, how old she was when she left.

Time stopped.

It was disorienting.  A discontium of time and space.

You are here in the U.S. and 24 hours later, you are in a different world. The same skyscrappers. The same modern technologies. Cars. Material goods. Yet different.

Time also reversed. Her family treated her as if she were only 24. She was a daughter again. The unwed daughter. The pearl in their palms.

She looked at her parents who have aged more since she saw them last. She wondered how she could have done this to them. Rid them of their daughter. All these years of separation they seem almost like strangers, yet she remembered. It’s as if life in between simply were not there. She left. She came home. As simple as that.

Now she’s 24.

.

.

She has a pretty face. In 3 D. She knows it. Yet nowadays she does not like to look at herself in the pictures. She dares not search for her own face in them. She cannot recognize herself in any of them because the image she has of herself inside her head is different from the face that is staring back at her.

It’s like whenever you hear the playback of a recording of your own voice, you are  startled by the strangeness of it.

Is this really how I sound to other people?

Oh my goodness. I should never open my mouth again.

The girl in her is puzzled by how she could have possibly aged so much.

.

.

The girl in her did not know at first that being addressed as “Young lady!”, as in “Now, what would you like, young lady?” and “Bill, this young lady here would like an Amaretto Sour!” is actually a sign that you have passed a certain age threshold. People assume that you ought to be grateful for the subtle compliment.

.

.

She gives herself a long, uncomprehending look sometimes when she walks by office buildings with glass walls.

The girl in her is surprised by the unfamiliar physique when she looks in the mirror.

Who is that middle-aged woman? If I feel like a P.Y.T. then who is this matron with thick arms and middle bulge?

The girl in her saw the repulsion in her husband’s eyes. Just for a fleeting second. But too late. She’s seen it. You cannot unsee it.

The girl in her says, with defiance, Wow. It kind of sucks to be you because I am not changing myself for anybody but myself.

.

.

The girl in her does not know how to navigate space in real life now that she can no longer be classified as slender as her younger self.

It is as if her spatial sensory has never evolved with how her body has evolved. She keeps on bumping into corners. Door frames.

When she looks at pretty young things, she thinks to herself: Yup. I can look good in that too. Imagining her 18-year-old body in the same polka-dotted sundress.

The girl in her forgets that she no longer enjoys the luxury of youth and therefore is no longer as attractive as she remembers. This is not self pity. This is the truth as told by time.

The girl in her behaves as if she were still young and attractive and therefore she winks and smiles as one would.

Sometimes people see the sparkle.

Sometimes people don’t and are therefore startled by a not-so-slim not-so-young woman carrying herself as a young beautiful woman would.

The girl in her is saddened and disappears when she recognizes the startled look in people’s eyes.

.

.

The girl in her never really leaves. She sits by the wing. On a stool next to the stage manager’s, waiting for her cues.

.

.

The girl in her sometimes wonder when it will become inappropriate, or whether it will ever, should ever, to swing your arms while walking because you feel happy, or want to fabricate the sensation of happiness.

To look forward to a rainy day so you could walk around holding the umbrella as if it were a sword: palm open and up, with the blade pointing up and the sword against your back, and  envision yourself as a swordswoman, wandering and righting the wrongs in the world.

To dance in the rain.

To breathe deeply in the smell of rain. Fresh-cut grass. And let out a loud Ahhhhhhh——-

To roll down the hill.

To skip.

To be barefoot.

To jump in a puddle.

To say the word, Puddle, her favorite word, out loud for no reason because she likes the sound of it.

To talk to random strangers, and wink at them.

To flirt shamelessly.

To jump up and down while clapping your hands when you are excited.

To take off your shoes and throw them into the tree.

Just because.

To behave as if you had not aged since you turned 18.

.

.

This is how she sees herself when she closes her eyes.

This is how she sees herself when her eyes are wide open, as a matter of fact.

Sometimes this is the only thing that feels real.

The girl in her.

Celebrate my birthday this Sunday? Have a Slurpee from 7-Eleven and a Solar Eclipse on me!

That’s right, peeps. I’ve got you all FREE Slurpees AND a Solar Eclipse on my birthday because that’s how I roll…

You do need to get to the Southern Pacific Ocean in order to view the Solar Eclipse though you will thank me when you are staring at your own feet taking a sip from a tropical drink with an umbrella on top.

.

Outings for Slurpees at 7-Eleven have been a cheap thrill for my kids, so maybe the less mobile amongst you can take advantage of this other FREE gift that I have got you. It is a great family bonding ritual. And you don’t know how awesome the brain freeze you get from a Slurpee can be until you watch this video.

.

I am pretty sure there is no added hallucinogenic inside Slurpees. They are simply awesome on their own.

.

.

Perhaps sharing the same “birthday” with 7 Eleven has made me partial to this chain store since I was little. It does not hurt that 7 Eleven is one of the ubiquitous convenience stores in Taiwan. Where my parents used to live, there were three 7 Eleven’s within easy walking distance. Where they live now? There is one right outside the alley. And this IS perfectly normal. In fact, it is expected:

“Boasting more than 9,100 convenience stores in an area of 35,980 km² and a population of 23 million, Taiwan has Asia Pacific’s and perhaps the world’s highest density of convenience stores per person: one store per 2,500 people… With 4,665 7-Eleven stores, Taiwan also has the world’s highest density of 7-Elevens per person: one store per 4,930 people.” (Source: What else? Wikipedia of course)

The amount and array of goods you can find inside a 7 Eleven in Taiwan is astounding, especially the food. Drinks. Snacks. HOT food: Dim sum. Steamed buns. Bentos. Tea eggs. Hot dogs. For Chinese New Year, they even “cater” the entire meal of 10 courses!  Whenever we visit my folks in Taipei, visiting 7 Eleven becomes a daily ritual. The boys, all three of them, have a great time figuring out which beverages out of the 158,826 varieties will be better than the last one they enjoyed.

Because the corporation that owns the 7 Eleven franchise in Taiwan also owns a large bookstore chain, you can order books online and pick them up from your local 7 Eleven, quite often on the very next day! In fact, you can pay all the municipal fees such as water, gas, electricity, parking fees, traffic violation and parking fines, telephone bills, credit card balances at your local 7 Eleven and any other convenience store.

They put the CONVENIENCE back in Convenience Stores.

More than anything though, 7 Eleven aspires to being a people pleaser. Wow. Sounds like somebody I know! Your local 7 Eleven strives to have available anything that you could ask for: spirits, courage, a star, a good feeling, and they will bag it for you…

.

.

.

That’s what I would like for my birthday. A good feeling bagged to go.

You did not heed the warning from the man in Chinatown

There. You did it again.

Remember in the movie Gremlins? No water. No food after midnight. And of course the rules were immediately broken, WTF that nobody EVER EVER listens to those who live in Chinatown? Seriously? monsters were created and hijinks ensued.

Do not feed a closeted egomaniac.

.

You never heed the warning.

.

.

Blame this raging Navel Gazing post on Silvia @ A Bourbon for Silvia and Trish @ Patty Punker. They gave me water and fed me food after midnight. So to speak…

.

.

So after they broke the feeding rules, they now want ME, the monster they have created, to follow some rules… Fine. You have to at least obey your own Dr. Frankenstein(s), eh?

  1. Thank the person who gave you the award.
  2. If you have never visited A Bourbon for Silvia, please do. “From here – Under the water” is one of my favorite posts. Ever. It makes you want to go skinny dipping. Not in a drunken teenager and Imma gonna live to regret it way. But in a good, self-realization way.

    If you have never visited Patty Punker, please do. She has a foul mouth and is proud of it. But underneath that hardness is one of the softest and truest heart. (Now she’s going to kick my ass for saying this about her…) Her “wtf work bathrooms” is epic. She’s my kind of working woman.

  3. List 7 things about yourself your readers do not know.
  4. Awww. You want me to talk about myself? No. I can’t possibly. I clearly do not like to talk about myself and that’s why I have a friggin’ blog!

  5. Award 5 bloggers who you’ve recently discovered.
  6. Well, this has to wait until I am done talking about myself! Because this post is all about me. ME. ME!!!!!

    *Cue maniacal evil laughter* <— For real. Do NOT click if you are at work!

.

.

It took me a while to come up with things that I have not shared with you already…

  • Ok ok. This is a good one: I am an oversharer. And then I feel guilty for oversharing because I don’t want to burden people with my oversharing. Rinse and repeat.
  • I am full of contradictions. I am a Closeted Extrovert and a Closeted Introvert rolled into one. Implosion any minute now.
  • I am hormonal all the friggin’ time. I swear I am affected by the movement of the orbiting Moon.  I never fake cry. I can force myself to cry. And when I cry, it is for real.
  • This is going to make me sound crazy, but I am the most self-deprecating egomaniac ever. EVER!
  • Like Patty Punker and Wicked Shawn, I *heart* polka dots, so much so that I created a tumblr dedicated to polka dots in May.
  • I may have minor OCD, as evidenced by my obsession with going through ALL pictures with polka dots in them on google (current count: ~5,900,000). Once I start a task, I cannot stop until I am done. The way I deal with this? Start nothing. Can you see how blogging is seriously affecting my mental health? There is no end in sight to this thing!
  • I am cynical and gullible at the same time. Or maybe I am just an idiot who has been lucky so far. My brother once told me that he could hear the music by twirling a cassette tape with a pen through one of the holes. I believed him. I was in junior high then, and coincidentally I was the Valedictorian-equivalent in my class.

.

.

Sadly, the time alloted for me to talk about myself, again, has come to an end, today. Now on to passing this award on to five beautiful human beings I have recently met…

Ok. Pause. One more thing you need to know about me…

  • I suffer panic attack whenever I need to do something like this: choosing, and by this act of choosing, excluding others. THIS has got to be the hardest part for me as a blogger. If I read your blogs, that means I think you are beautiful inside and out. I have very limited time so I am very selective. I may not be by for a while but it is because I have decided to have more sex. Or the attempts any way…
  • Another thing you need to know about me: I am a sneaky bugger. I have figured out that if you tell people you cannot do something because you need to have sex, people will understand. Oh god, please do not let my kids read this. Or my blog in general.
  • *Cue maniacal evil laughter* <— Seriously. Do NOT click if you are at work!

.

.

Here are five of the beautiful bloggers that I would like to introduce you to, if you didn’t know them already:

Mature Landscaping – Southern and liberal. Come on. You know you want a piece of it!

IslandRoar – I swear it is because she is a good writer and not some ulterior motive for being invited to Martha’s Vineyard one day…

Fuck Yeah, Motherhood! – Anybody that uses single motherhood and long-hour job as an excuse for not parenting well should read this blog. She makes it sound so easy even though you know it cannot be easy.

here where i have landed – She came from Asia to the US around the same time I did. She lives in beautiful downtown Chicago. She is a working mom. Not hard to see why I lurv her, eh?

Bar Mitzvahzilla – Jewish and liberal in Arizona. She is fighting a good fight there!