Tag Archives: is it me

The Cuckoo and The Choo Choo

I am at the train station again. The one with the Starbucks.

I come here almost every Saturday morning when the kids are in Religious Ed. Free babysitting provided by the Catholic Church. That’s the least they could do for me really.

When I was waiting for my non-fat Venti latte, I heard “Hi, Mrs. Absence!” and barely recognized A, a boy who lives in the house across the street from us. I was pleasantly surprised for surely most kids his age (13, the same as my oldest) would have preferred to slip by without having to say hello to a neighbor lady whom his family does not socialize with other than “Hello!” when we chance to see each other outside. When I walked into the train station with my coffee, my oatmeal, my laptop and my iPhod, I realized that he was with a group of a good size, comprised of fathers and children. One of the fathers whom I have never met before explained that A’s grandfather organizes such a group outing for the dads every year around Valentine’s Day so their wives could have a grand day off.

[A’s mother does not work outside of the house. Both kids are old enough to take care of themselves and are away from school between 8:30 am and 3 pm. They have house cleaners that come every other week. What will she be doing today that is going to be different from her Monday through Friday? I cannot help but be curious…]

The stranger dad asked, “So are you going downtown today?”

I wondered what he made of me: me in my Aerosmith t-shirt, jeans, black boots, thick black eyeliners, and a choker necklace at 9 o’clock on a Saturday morning, oh, and I just noticed now, no wedding ring. (I often leave my ring at home together with my bracelet and watch. I get allergic reactions from metal easily…)

“To the Auto Show?” He added. Perhaps that’s somewhere he would rather go instead of the show they are taking the kids to?

“No.” I had not realized yet that it might have sounded odd to people that I come and hang out at the train station. I joked, “I am not going downtown. I am trying to get away from the kids,” taking for granted that he would know what it was like, what I meant.

Of course he did not. He looked downright uncomfortable, not knowing how to respond to my impromptu confession. Laughing awkwardly, he said, making a sweeping gesture towards the kids in his group, “Getting away from the kids? Sorry about that then.”

I laughed. “No, no. I am not getting on the train. I am not going anywhere. I am just here.”

He looked puzzled. “Here? The train station?” His eyebrows arched. Was that a cloud of horror passing through his eyes?

“Yes, I am here for the Starbucks. You know.”

Judging from his quizzical eyebrows, I doubted that he did.

I was baffled. What’s wrong with being at the train station? I thought.

At this moment A’s dad made his way across the train station and spotted me. “Hey! What are you doing here?” I gave him a hug and told him in mid-hug, “Well, I am coming with you guys!” Feeling sorry for the confusion visible in his face when I released him, I quickly added, “Just kidding. I am just here at the train station.”

“The… the train station?” He looked so confounded as if I had told him that I had been there for, oh I don’t know, a rally for the democratic party. Actually, he would probably have been able to understand that. It is this “hanging out at a train station with no specific purpose by myself” that caught him off guard I suspect.

“You know. They have a Starbucks here,” I added with an emphasis, “The ONLY Starbucks in town.”

“Surely there is a Starbucks closer to our houses, no?” He insisted, unconsciously attempting to steer me away from the train station perhaps.

After I rattled off the alternative locations, he concurred that this is indeed the closest Starbucks we’ve got.

“But…” He still could not let it go, “The train station?”

“Well, you see, when the train leaves, there will be nobody here. It is quiet and very nice. The Starbucks is here. And there is free Wi-Fi.” I could tell that he was not convinced that this was the most logical choice, or a logical choice at all, so I shrugged, “Well, I am strange this way in case you haven’t figured that out after more than 10 years…”

Now it’s his turn to reassure me my normal-ness. “Nah. Nah. You are fine. You are fine.” We both chuckled.

Fortunately the bell started ringing to announce the arrival of the commuter train.

“Have a nice day downtown!”

“Enjoy the train station!” He said, and I thought I detected a tinge of the kind of tone that people use to someone who insists on, say, rummaging through a junk yard. “Have fun at the junk yard even though I cannot for the life of me understand WHY but hey this is a free country so go for it!”

I did. For another hour until I had to pick the kids up. But I could not shake my own puzzlement over how they were so befuddled and possibly, amused.

So my dear Soren Lorensens, do you know, what is so strange about hanging out at a Starbucks inside an empty train station?

What is missing here?

This week according to Chicago Tribune

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Oh, who cares about Chinese New Year right?

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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.

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The year of the Rabbit is coming whether Chicago Tribune acknowledges it or not. Beware of Angry Bunny. Just sayin’

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Thanksgiving is over. We can be snarky again.

F I N A L L Y!

Ok. I am joking. Well, maybe 50%. I am most likely kidding on the square, as is my MO.

I have been thinking about being thankful, for all the right reasons, like everybody else around Thanksgiving time.

When I went to the grocery store across the street for the fourth time in two days yesterday afternoon, I asked the cashier lady what time they would be closing.

“7 pm. Why? You want to come back again?” She laughed.

“No. I was complaining to you about coming here so many times, but then I remembered that you are still working on Thanksgiving Day, so I am kind of embarrassed for being a whiner.”

Somehow I couldn’t get our brief exchange out of my head.

How many times have I complained to a cashier in a store about my day? To the teachers at my kids’ childcare center? To a salesclerk? To the person behind a counter, any counter? To all these other people earning minimum wages (or hopefully higher) and lousy healthcare / retirement benefits (if any) who probably at that moment just wanted to wring my neck but were able to wear a plastic smile because their jobs required them to?

Here are what I am thankful for, for the not so politically correct reasons:

I am thankful that working for me is a choice and not a necessity.

I am thankful that though I work, I do not carry the stress as a sole bread earner.

I am thankful that I am able to treat my work and responsibility as the “second” income and therefore I am not as stressed out as my husband.

I am thankful that my life is comfortable enough that I can afford to be plagued by angst, ennui and neurosis.

I am thankful that my reality affords me to worry about ideology.

I am thankful that I can afford to be generous.

I am thankful for not having to think at all in order to come up with things that I should be thankful for.

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I promised that I’d be snarky in the title so I cannot possibly let you down. Here it is…

I am thankful that Sarah Palin proved yet again that she has no business commenting on political issues or any other serious issues.

“Obviously, we’ve got to stand with our North Korean allies.” — Sarah Palin on Glenn Beck’s radio show

(Yes, I’ll admit: it took me a while to try and work this gem into this post…)

Cold Turkey (A Pictorial)

I have not been motivated to write real posts for a while now because I find lately my stats dispiriting, to say the least…

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Turkeys. Reason why most people visited my blog lately...

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I am kind of not motivated to write a real post... Gobble gobble

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Oh well. This kind of provides me with a great excuse to show you this picture I took when I all of a sudden saw something really interesting happening on my bookshelf at work.

I think I am going to report them to HR.

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I swear. I did NOT stage this. I simply caught them in the act. I suspect they've been doing this for a while now right above me all this time...

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Or, I could talk about how famous people on Twitter actually talked to me today.

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By “famous people” I meant whichever staff member from Comedy Central’s InDecision happened to be in charge of Twitter today. By “talking to me” I mean “Direct Messaging” so I was like the Booty Call that they were ashamed of being seen with.

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And this is why we all need to have a blog: to make sure that we always, ALWAYS, have a way to have the last word.

There. You. Go.

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We can’t be friends if your name is Doug

Since I have started telling you English words that I simply have a hard time pronouncing, I thought I’d mention this:

What is up with the name DOUG?

I tried and tried and so far I don’t think I’ve managed to pronounce this name correctly. It sounds somewhere in the spectrum between “dog” and “da-g”. People are always going, “Huh? Dog? What?” Seriously? If I am talking about a person, WHAT OTHER NAME is there that sounds remotely like DOG other than DOUG?

One of the guys living in our street is named Doug. So far I have been referring to him as “so and so’s husband” and “so and so’s dad”. If I have to get his attention, well, I hope that day never comes because I really don’t want to be calling him “DOG!”

Yes, I am obsessed. It really bothers me that somehow I cannot master such a simple word. When I go to a social occasion, I actually consciously hope that nobody I meet there is named Doug. And keeping my fingers crossed, so far, nobody at work has this name. KNOCK ON WOOD! It would not look good if I constantly refer to a colleague as “Dog”. HR will come-a-calling soon.

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You can get this shirt along with the others from, where else? Cafe Press, the purveyor of .... everything Doug

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Next Up: Why I never order VANILLA ice cream or request MANILA folders…

Pumpkins and Corn

Our annual ritual in the fall (and yes, I know some of you hate FALL like a Sunday…) is to visit the pumpkin farm. To be honest, the reason we go back every year is for the best apple cider donuts made fresh there.

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The above is part of the Sundays in My City weekly blog-link event hosted by Unknown Mami.

Unknown Mami

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The following is the usual crazy stuff I blog about here…

Now, I am going to show you a picture that my husband took with his Blackberry. He claimed that he took it for me because it is blog-worthy. Sigh. This is true love, people! After all, when we saw the trailer for Red, I said, “Isn’t that …?” He said, “No, that is not Larry David. That is John Malkovich.” I said, “How do you know I thought that was…?” He said, “Because I just do.”

Anyway, this all sort of explains why we are made for each other even though on most days we are ready to choke each other (and not the sex-related kind).

“How do you tell if a pumpkin is male or female?” He asked, out of the blue.

“Hmmm.” I started wondering whether I had missed the biology class in high school when they talked about the sexes of fruits.

“Here.” He pushed his phone towards me, showing me this picture. “It’s when they have balls.”

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I guess I should apologize for ruining the magic of pumpkins for you. Fine. I’ll talk about corn then.

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Speaking of corn. When I first came to the U.S., I had trouble pronouncing some very simple words such as my own name and “corn”. I would make the word sound like something in the spectrum between “cone” and “comb”. It was an issue since I was going to a school surrounded by friggin’ corn fields. My boyfriend (now husband) taught me how to say “corn” by asking me whether I could say “porn”. And I did. Correctly. So now you know what I think of first whenever I say the word “corn”…

Corn with beard

What? Oh. I am very sorry for ruining CORN for you.

Is it just me? Every time when I see a corn maze, I immediately think, “Children of the Corn!” That is why I never go into the corn maze and I wait at the exit anxiously for my family to come out. Alive. And I pay special attention to my kids to make sure they don’t have any murderous intentions other than the usual on-going scheme to kill us slowly by annoyance and frustration.

After I’ve forever ruined corn fields for you, look at this picture again. Doesn’t it look ominous? Ok. Fine. It is just me then.

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Corn maze

This is 100% innocent. I swear.

Dear Soren Lorensens,

I know I have not been a good blogger: for one, I haven’t managed to respond to the comments you kindly left me so I don’t go into yet another bout of depression thinking that nobody loves me. I have also not been leaving comments on your blogs. I am killing my Tamagotchi here.

I finally have some time now to surf the Interweb without people walking by seeing my monitor (which is conveniently facing the frigging door!!!!). The office is empty. Yes, between gallivanting around Boston as if I were single again and hanging out with you guys online, I CHOOSE YOU! (Take that, Pikachu!) However, I feel it is my duty to bring your attention to this commercial for a new fangled weight training product.

I saw it today at a sports bar (for a work function, I swear…) magnified manifold on multiple giant HD TV screens. I burst out laughing but then quickly caught myself.

Is it just me?

This is absolutely innocent. Really. Honest to god. I mean, they show this in prime time. On ESPN. In crowded bars. Frequented by manly men. But why do I feel dirty?

(Watch especially Sec. 35 and onward. Oh my lord)


The Highlight Reel

Who’d have thought that a post titled “Warning: Do Not Read This If You Are My Husband” would pique my husband’s interest? The man normally does not read my blog posts. He is content to read the ones I forward to his email inbox. But I forgot that he does read my tweets, esp. when he is trapped on the runway after landing. So out of the blue I received this IM from him:

Cocoon? WTF? LOL!”

BUSTED! Ugh.

This weekend as we sat through the previews before the movie started, he commented as if he were merely continuing a discussion that happened just minutes ago, “I cannot believe you did not include Daniel Day-Lewis!  Wasn’t he in The Unbearable Lightness of Being?” which was based on my favorite book by Milan Kundera.

“Well, I did not want to have sex with Tomas because he is an unfaithful womanizer!” So it is true: I ended up choosing the “five fictional characters that I would gladly hump” based on the potential of their leading a Happily Ever After with me. So predictable. So stereotypically… eh… woman.

“Well. I still think you should have included Daniel Day-Lewis on your list.”

“I will find you!” I blurted out the greatest line from The Last of the Mohicans as I remembered how hawt Hawkeye is. Hawt and loyal. Which just make him so much hotter.

We looked at each other and made an ill attempt to recite, “I will find you. No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you,” the line that brings me to tears every time I think of it. I swooned from the vision of Hawkeye behind that waterfall.

“See? I told you. You should have included him on your list.”

“FINE! If you are so good at it, why don’t you go make your own list?”

Next thing I knew, he had a pad of paper on his lap and a pencil poised in mid-air, looking rather pensive. He put down Number 1 without any hesitation and then jumped to Number 3. This man KNEW who Number 3 on his list should be. Seriously?! As he was stuck on Number 2, the movie we were watching was wasted on him.

Served me right for forgetting that I was dealing with a compulsive list maker. There are pieces of paper with miscellaneous lists scribbled on them hidden all over the house. Too bad he is not a compulsive task finisher. Just sayin’…

Here is the list (the original email text even!) as painstakingly put together by my husband, with my approval. The man has great taste after all… *cough cough* though I was a bit sad that Jessica Rabbit did not make the list.

1. Catherine-Zeta Jones in Entrapment (if you have seen the movie, you know the scene)
2. Gymnast in Blue Thunder
3. Jessica Alba in Dark Angel
4. Michelle Pfieffer as Catwoman, or LadyHawke.
5. Devil’s Advocate — the one Al Pacino wants Keanu to lay at the end… (Christabella, played by Connie Nielson)

Groups
1. The girls of Austin Powers (all three at once) (Elizabeth Hurley, Heather Graham, Beyonce)
2. The Fly girls from In Living Color

If you are scratching your head wondering about the “Gymnast”, no worries. The man was thoughtful enough to include a link to a self-explanatory photo:

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Kind of NSFW…

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Nothing is really showing…

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May also make you feel very bad about yourself…

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Or make you hot and bothered…

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You have been forewarned…

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"This is what you do when you have a super duper high-tech helicopter: You hover outside of buildings where there are naked women doing aerobics."

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Dear @Wired. Meet Georgia O’Keeffe.

In addition to Threadless Tees, I also try to seem young and hip and on top of things by subscribing to Wired Magazine. Although I have been caught in this conundrum of inadvertently outing myself as an old fart by actually subscribing to the print edition. Seriously, who subscribes to print editions of magazines any more? And since I am in the confessional mode, I may as well tell you that I still buy music CDs. Yup. I am single-handedly supporting the dinosaurs.

That being said, until the day I can sit in the open (in my own house, mind you) reading without being bothered, I will always prefer papers to hard metal/plastic. They are just a lot easier to read in a locked bathroom, with the fan on to drone out the incessant, “Mom. Mom. Mommy. Mommy. Mom. Mama.”

As always, I was happy to receive my latest Wired. I skipped the important article on Sergey Brin’s search for a cure for Parkinson’s Disease and tore immediately into the shopping feature (Shut up!). I saw this and my inner 16-year-old boy made me choke on my cocktail:

ETA: Of course the Product of the Month is a super duper $2,000 sub-woofer for your home theatre, Beolab 11 by the revered Bang & Olufsen.

You said it. Not me.

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Ok. Not to be sexist or anything, I am going to guess that the department that worked on testing, rating and writing about the 39 summer gears is mostly male. So nobody snickered or doing a Beavis & Butthead’s “Hehehe.” Is it just me? Really? I am very impressed.

Let me break it down for you…

You know Georgia O'Keeffe?

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Georgia O'keeffe. The artist famous for you know who-who...

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Come on! I cannot be the only one...

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In order to drive my point home, I have taken the liberty to dress the “Tulip” up…

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Ta da!

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Oh please please please don’t let me be the only one…

CODA on 7/7: I am happy to report that after almost 1 month, I am finally “vindicated”… This picture is now on Wired.com and the comments proved that well, it does not take any imagination to see this fancy sub-woofer as a, eh, modern piece of art…