I need to throw out the stinking milk on February 14.
That’s all.
.
.
.
.
Don’t forget February 14!
40 Replies
Red Envelopes
For Chinese New Year, instead of wrapped-up presents, children are given cold hard cash inside red envelopes for good luck.
We are a practical people.
I still remember the excitement on Chinese New Year’s eve: after the big dinner, my parents would call me to their bedroom and hand me a red envelope. My parents never bought me any presents partly because birthday celebrations for children had not been a popular concept although people do celebrate the elder’s significant birthdays such as when Grandma finally hits 80 and hasn’t kicked the bucket yet, and partly because we were not poor but not wealthy either.
That New Year’s Eve red envelope was IT.
Of course, every other adult that you see during the 15 days of Chinese New Year is expected to give you a red envelope. The more relatives and friends your family have, the more red envelopes you get. The more red envelopes you get, the higher your net worth becomes, that is, until your mother takes them all away, “I will save it for you!”
Of course, you never see that money again.
I am embarrassed to admit that, at least during Chinese New Year, you DO have a favorite aunt or uncle, the one who’s known to give out generous amount in their red envelopes. As soon as you wake up on the first day of Chinese New Year, you try to figure out WHEN you will be visiting them by asking your parents indirect questions such as,
“When are we going to visit this or that uncle/aunt?”
And then deny vehemently when your mother accuses you of wanting to visit them simply for the big, fat red envelope you know you’ll be getting.
You also will try and hide your disappointment when your mother strikes some stupid deal with an aunt of yours to NOT give red envelopes to each other’s children.
I don’t remember much from my childhood but I do remember counting the money vividly. It was a ritual in itself.
It was of course never polite to count the money right then and there and therefore I would stash the red envelopes away, in the pocket of my jacket, in my fuzzy poodle purse, in my oversized Japanese-style wallet, in my closet. (It has happened more than once, I believe, that I lost my red envelopes. The memory is fuzzy now because it was rather traumatic and I am pretty sure I have blocked it off…) The whole day the thought of those envelopes and HOW MUCH MONEY in each of them lingered, the way the burnt smell of exploded fireworks did, and those envelopes surely felt like they were burning a hole inside my pocket. I waited till the end of day to spread out all the red envelopes on the bed and counted out my loot. I took my time to take all the bills out, feel each one of them, take in the intoxicating smell of crisp new bills. I then return the money into the red envelopes, careful not to crease the bills. I remembered who gave me which red envelope by looking at the different design on each of them. This was important because later my mother needed to know who gave how much so that she could make sure to reciprocate next year. It’s amazing how she would remember the next year even though she did not take any notes when she was going through my red envelopes after Chinese New Year.
It was like a tacit agreement between us: She would grant me the pleasure of keeping the red envelopes and counting the money every night, and I would turn them all over when this was over.
Once I tried to stash away one of the red envelopes, and my mother asked coolly, “Aunt So-And-So did not give you a red envelope this year?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged with the studied casualness of a method actor, “I probably put it somewhere… Oh, yes, here it is.”
I never tried to fool her again.
Now in hindsight, as in right at this moment, I could have stashed away a hundred-dollar bill (40:1 Currency exchange rate, people, don’t get too excited) from at least some of the red envelopes. She would probably have never sensed anything wrong.
Nah. She would probably have caught me anyway.
Good times.
Being here by myself, I don’t really do anything special for Chinese New Year with my own kids. Although part of me felt guilty for sucking at bringing Chinese New Year magic to my children, some part of me felt this was merely nostalgiz playing an unfair trick. After all, according to everybody back home, Chinese New Year is not the way it was any more. Nowadays people take advantage of the 5-day holiday and travel abroad so you can hardly find anybody to visit during that week. Many overseas Chinese would also tell you that going back to Taiwan during Chinese New Year is the worst timing: your relatives and friends are probably out of the country, and most of the stores and restaurants are closed.
Perhaps because of its convenience, the tradition of giving children red envelopes remains, and it is the only Chinese New Year tradition I am consciously keeping. It was satisfying watching Mr. Monk’s eyes light up.
“You mean, you are just giving us this money?”
“Yup. This is Hong Bao. Red Envelope. It is for good luck.”
“Wow! You mean I get to keep the money inside?”
I wanted to say, “And I am not taking it away from you when Chinese New Year is over.”
But it was late at night and this would entail a long story.
.
.
Nostalgia is like a grammar lesson: you find the present tense, but the past perfect!
— Owens Lee Pomeroy
.
.
What do you know? Someone managed to kill my nostalgia for The Most Awesome Chinese Tradition aka Red Envelopes…
.
The Chinese caption accompanying this picture says, "Kids, don't litter the envelopes otherwise the Monster, Year, will come after you!"
.
Way to go rabid environmentalists for killing the happiness that comes with getting free money from every adult in your life!
Sundays in My City – SNOW! (What else do you expect?)
On February 1, 2011, at around 3 o’clock in the afternoon, snow started coming down together with the wind, fast and furious. The fortunate ones were able to stay in their own houses, waiting for the blizzard to end.
Before the sun came out again, the snow had stopped but the wind continued. When those fortunate people woke up on February 2, they were greeted with the aftermath of the blizzard and they picked up the shovels, started up their snowblowers and went to work.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
“What we’ve got here is a failure to communicate.”
.
As an agnostic, I do acknowledge a higher unknown force. But I also know that the earth revolves around the sun and that the tides are created by the moon's gravitational pull. Incidentally, my second-grader knows that too.
.
.
Just so we are clear on this: Mars has TWO moons, discovered in 1877...
.
.
But, Wait, There is more!
Inspired by Vapid Blonde’s brilliant idea in her comment, that Papa Bear’s words when read out loud could sound almost like a children’s book, I present you with these…
.
.
.
Blame it on Chicago Blizzard 2011
I failed to call my parents on Chinese New Year’s Eve again.
I used to blame it on miscalculation of time zone differences between Chicago and Taipei.
This year I am gonna blame it on the 3rd largest snowfall (20+ inches) Chicago has ever seen.
We had to shovel in the blizzard almost every hour yesterday.
.
Mr. Monk vs. Chicago Blizzard 2011
.
.
When I finally got up this morning, it was already 8 am (i.e. 10 pm in Taipei), and this is what I saw outside the window:
.
.
.
Sigh.
I wanted to go right back to bed and hibernate until the snow melted away on its own, oh, say, a month from now. (Did I tell you that we do NOT own a snow blower? Out of principle? The Husband’s. Not Mine, thank you very much).
Still I dragged myself downstairs. I had to make the call, knowing that I had missed the opportunity to call during the Chinese New Year’s Eve dinner, arguably THE most important meal for every Chinese, when all my families got together. Getting my call when everybody was together having Chinese New Year dinner would make up, to a >0 extent, for the fact that I was not there physically. But I had missed the golden window. Sure enough, I found my parents back in their apartment.
“Your brother wanted to call you at 8. But I told him not to because it would have been 6 in the morning your time. Your father wanted to wait for you to call but then it got too late, we had to come home. Your father was tired.” Mom said.
Sigh.
Since I have a flair for the dramatic, I felt I had ruined Chinese New Year and I was more than happy to ignore it. If I did not mention it, my kids would not even notice that Chinese New Year has come and gone. So why bother. I’ve had enough to do all day.
At 5 o’clock, the guilty conscience finally got a hold of me.
“Hey, how about we go to a Chinese restaurant tonight. It’s Chinese New Year’s Eve.” I said to The Husband. “And how about you invite the two Chinese co-workers of yours who are here by themselves? It would make it feel more like Chinese New Year having dinner with them than with our children who would undoubtedly whine about the food.”
The roads are still treacherous and not many cars were outside. Almost all stores and restaurants were closed, including McDonald’s. Thank goodness for the cliche “Chinese restaurants are always open” because it is true.
I am glad that I made the last minute decision to have some semblance of a Chinese New Year’s Eve: We made it to Chef Ping’s and for once it was not crowded; I got to order a shrimp dish AND a whole fish; I did NOT eat one single piece of the stupid General Tsao’s Chicken that we have to order every single time for the kids; I said Happy New Year in Chinese to more than a dozen people in the restaurant and it made me feel so much better, that Chinese New Year is not ruined after all.
I am really deprived, I know.
When I came home, I saw the email from Amanda who told me that her kids get a day off tomorrow for Chinese New Year because that is how they roll in San Francisco. And she sent me this picture of a fellow Taiwanese celebrating Chinese New Year. She at least made Mango a hat. I guess I need to get it together.
I need to go find some red envelops to give to the boys tomorrow. I was supposed to give it to them on Chinese New Year’s Eve. Oh well. They would have had to kneel and kowtow to me and The Husband and wish us long life and stuff before we gave them the red envelops anyway.
I was supposed to buy them new underwear too. I guess what you don’t know won’t hurt you.
Here’s to The Year of the Rabbit!
In case you are wondering what 2011 holds for you according to your Chinese Zodiac signs, here it is.
And for some of you, you’d be excited to know that for the Vietnamese, this year is indeed The Year of the Cat. Yes, that song is for real.
Now… who wants to look at The walking Bunny again?
What is missing here?
This week according to Chicago Tribune
.
.
Oh, who cares about Chinese New Year right?
.
.
Honestly, I would not have been so indignant if they hadn’t made such a big deal out of Nathan Lane’s 55th birthday as “THE BIG THING” for February 3rd. Nothing against Nathan Lane: Love him in The Birdcage. And it is very easy to forget about Chinese New Year when you are not surrounded by other Chinese people; I myself have done so a few times and forgot to call my parents even. But come on. It is not even his 60th! I even checked to make sure that I didn’t miss the news of his untimely demise. So the Chicago Tribune folks sat around in the News Editing Writing Brainstorming Room and Nathan Lane’s 55th birthday is what they managed to come up with.
FAIL.
.
.
The year of the Rabbit is coming whether Chicago Tribune acknowledges it or not. Beware of Angry Bunny. Just sayin’
.
Mass at 5
Warning: According to my Blog Advisory System, this post is rated RED for The Touchiest of All Touchy Subjects. I wrote it last week but did not have the heart to publish it because I was worried about losing readership. In the end though, I have got to do what feels right by me and I apologize if when you get to the end you are like, WTF? I did not sign up for this!
My 8-year-old, Mr. Monk, cried during his Religious Class last Saturday because he wanted to attend Mass and his parents, we, have not managed to take him on a regular basis.
Mr. Monk, unlike his elder brother, is prone to taking things 100% and to the extreme. He takes everything that people say in, personally and seriously. He obeys authority figures (his parents not included, alas) with a fervor: whatever they say, you have to follow. He had already come home crying before that because the priest had told them, “Your parents promised to bring you up Catholic and they have to bring you to Mass every week.” Because that’s not how we operate in this household, he has been really troubled. The other shoe has dropped. This twice-a-year-Catholic thing is not going to work for him.
He really wants to BELIEVE, and there is no compromise. He seems to have a hard time understanding “grey areas”. To be 100% honest with myself, I’m worried. Now that Mr. Monk is convinced this is the right way (because OTHERWISE why would we, his parents, send him to RE every Saturday morning?!), he perceives my being a non-Christian as an anomaly. He brings up my being non-Christian more often than I am comfortable with since ideally, I would have liked it to be a non-issue, the way it has been with his older brother.
I do not agree with everything the Catholic Church has to teach and I am not sure about the whole “Immaculate Conception” thing (and I will simply leave it here). Out of respect for my spouse, I do not discuss Jesus with our kids. The old testament part, however, I have no problem discussing it with them, myself being an English Lit major in my youth and all.
I wish, with all due respect to my marriage, that I had given more thoughts to this whole Interfaith thing before I said yes. I did not expect it to be so complicated since I am agnostic; I had expected it to be conflict-free since, heck, I believe in every god, deity, fairy, spirit there is. Growing up in a Chinese society, I was immersed subtly and not so subtly in Buddhist and Taoist teachings and beliefs. The concept of Karma has been driven into my subconsciousness since day one. More importantly, there is no judgement passed. No concept of Sin. No concept of Grace. No threats of going to hell for non-believers.
Back to the story about last Saturday… After RE, the Catechist, Mrs. G (G being curiously a common German Jewish surname) told me, “I could tell that he was trying to be brave, but he was crying and said that he didn’t go to Mass… but he wanted to…” Because in my previous email communications with Mrs. G I had told her how much I appreciate her openness and how she made me want to bring the kids to Mass even if I have to do it by myself (since my husband travels a lot), she gently pointed out, “This is great and just gives you more incentive to bring him to Mass!”
We ended up talking about Interfaith families and how I didn’t realize it’s going to be more complicated than I have expected. I stopped short of telling her I am uncomfortable with the Church because of the whole anti-gay, anti-abortion stance. I simply asked her, “The church. This church. The sermons are not too ‘radical’ right?” She got what I was trying to ask, and she wrote me an email:
I’m obsessing about our conversation (I do that sometimes!)… God makes everyone perfect in His eyes. I can only tell you that the Catholic Church does not teach that they are damned or bad. They see all people as sinners in need of God’s forgivenss, so really we are all in the same boat… Mass is not a time where anyone delves into the “tough” topics like, homosexuality, divorce, politics, etc. It is a time for worship and praise of God. It is a time to come together as a group of people from all different backgrounds, circumstances, and “sin” status (Ha!). There will be no finger pointing. No one will look at you and say, “Clearly, she doesn’t know what the heck’s going on.” You don’t have to pretend to, so don’t worry! Your boys will help out. They’re wonderful people because YOU care so much about their development. Religious or not, you are bringing them up in the right moral way. You are sharing and showing the love that God has for each and every one of us… yes, you too! God loves agnostics too!
I fell in love with Mrs. G right then and there, despite her being a devout Catholic, and I decided to take the kids to the Mass at 5 o’clock that day.
THIS I could deal with, I thought to myself.
If all Christians were open to a calm discussion with open stance the way Mrs. G is, I could stop worrying about this whole Interfaith thing. Maybe they are. Maybe it is not as complicated as I thought. Maybe it is just me.
Unfortunately for me and for my sanity… at the end of the Liturgy, the second Intercession offered by the Deacon was “Let’s pray that the anti-abortion law will be upheld, they are fighting for it in D.C. right now, that we will continue to uphold the sanctity of life.”
I was completely caught off guard and could not believe my ears. Did he really say the “A” word when there were so many children present? I am not the sheltering kind of parents but I certainly do not wish to have to explain to my young children what abortion is. I was also utterly confused because of the “anti-abortion law” that he mentioned. As far as I know, Roe vs. Wade still stands. Did I miss something? Was I caught in some twilight zone?
When I went home, I realized I was an idiot because that day, January 22, marked the 38th anniversary of the Supreme Court’s Roe vs. Wade decision, and two days before that John Boehner introduced the “No Taxpayer Funding for Abortion Act” that would codify the Hyde Amendment by permanently prohibiting taxpayer funding of abortion across all federal programs.
And yes, I believe, this is the touchiest of all touchy subjects that will convince many Christians to vote against Democrats no matter who is running for Prez on the GOP ticket in 2012. This country’s future is going to be fought over the right to our wombs. Imagine that.
.
.
I am so friggin' confused myself!
.
I made this Venn Diagram for a post more than a year ago and, I have to admit, I am still as confused as ever. Back to Square One. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.
Things I learned today
.
I will never ever be able to fold a fitted sheet perfectly no matter how much time I spend on it. Fitted sheet, consider yourself folded.
.
.
.
Checking my email is never going to be “QUICK”. I will always spend more than “Just one minute” when I log in my email account. I will be tempted to click on the links in the emails and it will always take longer than I think to read and comment on a blog post. And when you forget about your child’s lunch, he will hunt you down and demand lunch, but in a nice way that actually makes you feel even shittier.
.
.
.
Corporate brand image does not necessarily mean Caution and Stodgy and Prim&Proper. “Inappropriate” innuendos are allowed in official press release; sometimes it makes it a WIN.
.
.
"Clipart - Housewife Washing Up at the Sink Whilst a Man Sits in an Armchair Reading a Newspaper"
.
My husband has blue hair!
I’ll take the one on the left to go
.
I am letting it all out today.
What you are looking at is my butt. Well, half of my butt: I had to crop the top of my butt off so you cannot see my muffin top. Ok, so technically, I am not really letting it all out today. Just half out.
I took these pictures when I went to a Warehouse Sale for 7 for All Mankind. Because it meant the potential of buying jeans that did not have any stretch capability in them and allowed my muffin top to hang over the low-rise top like an over-risen bread dough for a whopping… WAIT FOR IT… 20 to 30% off, I proceeded to get jiggy with it, struggle wiggle out of my clothes, and strip nekkid right inside the Union Station. Only to notice later that there was a camera pointing right at the makeshift dressing area.
.
.
Did I scream and run away when I noticed the security camera? Nah. First of all, I took a picture of it. (Of course!) Then I felt sorry for whoever had to sit there and watch. Besides just at that moment, I noticed that my butt looked different in the two types of mirror they had there (as you could see for yourself): my problem area, as many of the diet programs would call it, looked decidedly less wide in one mirror than in the other. I was very excited about my discovery: My own magic mirror! I stared at my own butt, the one on the left, with appreciation. I committed it to the memory vault for future emergency use.
No. I did not buy the mirror on the left. I tried but they wouldn’t let me. The guy just looked at me like I was crazy.
What? Oh. Duh. Of course the one on the left is my real butt. That’s my story and I am sticking to it.
.
.
Like all of you here, I am obsessed fascinated with and intrigued by Search Terms.
Compared to some of the search terms that led people to the other blogs out there, Yes you know who you are, the ones that led people here are lame.
“Tiger balm in ass”. Funny but not jaw-dropping eye-popping funny. I don’t even want to know why people searched for that. OUCH.
I am also worried that people may actually be disappointed when they come to a page on my blog and realize that it is NOT what they have in mind, for example, when they typed in “Wedding Invitation” and they saw THIS.
Anyway, I have been noticing a trickle of people searching for “People of Walmart” AND “Muffin Top Belly” and landing on an old post of mine written when I first discovered People of Walmart with uber excitement.
It showed up again today.
Muffin tops.
Yeah. I have a big one of those myself. I KNOW that me getting rid of my muffin top would be one of the Top 10 Wishes on my husband’s wishlist. I don’t understand. I see my muffin top as a safe guard for our marriage. There is NO way I would want another person in this world to see my muffin top. So there goes the risk of me having an affair. Just sayin.
Food for thought.
You are welcome.
.
.
p.s. For more exciting key words that REAL people ACTUALLY used for their Internet searches and frankly, that make you worry about humanity, Elly over at BugginWord does a weekly column on Search Terms that led to her site (I like calling these things “Weekly Columns”, it makes us all sound more sophisticated, with our cardigans and fountain pens and stuff…)
Sundays in My City – From Dives to Skyscrapers
.
.
.
p.s. Obviously backdated so it appears to have been published on a Sunday. These pictures were taken a week before but I have been to lazy busy to do anything about them.
.