You know those days when you watch your children, and you're in awe of the kind of people they are? You can see the compassion and thoughtfulness that fuel them? You get a brief glimpse of the kind of thoughtful, compassionate adults they will be? Of all the things they will accomplish? The positive Changes In Society they will make? And it makes you smile?
Well, today was not one of those days. Today I saw the other side of my kids. The bickering, argumentative "HEY, MOOOOOVE!!! No - YOU MOVE!!!" kind of kids. In order to paint a crystal clear picture for you, let me share with you our dinner conversation this evening.
Harry (H): You know, we haven't had Sloppy Joes in a long time. These are good.
The Boy (TB): These should be called Sloppy Katies, because she's a slob! (follow with incessant giggling)
Katie - aka Pre-Teen Drama Queen (DQ): Be quiet, Christopher. Just because I don't have OCD like you doesn't make me a slob.
(TB stops laughing, opting instead to burn holes through DQ with his eyes)
Me (Me): So we had a conference call at work today.
H: Really? What was it about? (said with mock interest)
DQ: Stop staring at me, Christopher!
TB: Make me!
DQ: Oooh, look at me, I'm Christopher, and I think I'm soooo smart. I'm so smart the only thing I can do is stare at my sister and say 'make me!'
TB: That's right - I'm so smart I get straight As - what kind of grades do you get, Katie? Not straight As!
H: Is this ground turkey? Because the meat looks funny.
DQ: You get straight As because you're in THIRD grade. Like that's hard...
Me: Yeah, it's turkey. We've eaten it like this a million times.
TB: Did you get straight As in third grade? NO. So I guess that means you're STILL dumb.
H: Well, I didn't say it was bad, I just happened to notice it didn't look like ground beef.
DQ: Whatever. Jerk. (directed toward her brother, not her dad)
TB: I know you are but what am I?
Me: Well, no, you didn't say it like you didn't like it, I just thought it was weird you were surprised by it, because we hardly eat ground beef anymore.
DQ: Right, Chris. SO mature (followed with exaggerated eye rolling)
H: Well, yeah, but I just never really noticed it before, I guess.
TB: (laughing)
DQ: STOP IT!
TB: Stop what?
DQ: Laughing! You're all " HUH HUH HUH" (makes crazy facial expressions while simultaneously leaving mouth open and snorting)
H: (viewing his pride and joy): Boy, I sure wish we were out in a restaurant so that everyone could see our kids like this.
Me: Yes, because they're AWESOME. I'm so proud.
Fast forward to bed time. Harry and I are on the couch, watching the last few minutes of Dodgeball, when we hear this:
DQ: Christopher, give me the toothpaste!
TB: Get YOUR toothpaste! This is mine!
DQ: Mine's gross. Just GIVE IT TO ME (this is squealed at an impossibly high pitch - so high the dog has actually hidden his head under a blanket in an attempt to keep his little doggie eardrums from bursting)
TB: No! I'm not giving you my toothpaste so you can make it all nasty by getting your HAIR in it!
Harry and I look at each other. And at the same time ask ourselves the 64 thousand dollar question: "How does she get her hair in the toothpaste?!"
DQ: I'm not going to get my hair in it, just let me have some so I can BRUSH MY TEETH (this time the dog whines and actually puts his little doggie paws over his head)
TB: You want some? HERE!!!
Then a blood curdling scream followed by maniacal laughter.
I walk into the bathroom to see my dear daughter with toothpaste covering her ENTIRE toothbrush and her wrist and The Boy laughing like a loon.
The dog has run away. Harry has suddenly become deaf. And, after banishing the children to their rooms, I closed my eyes and tried to find my happy place.
I'm off to watch Lost, where at least the people on that island only have to deal with murder and possibly mass destruction.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
Let me 'splain
Just a quick note to say that I'm posting some of my older blogs here so they're all in one place. And yes, they are all fabulous. Just like me, of course.
Helloooo Kitty!
After several years of serious, serious consideration, I finally did it. I got a tattoo. While most people would think this was not a big deal, especially the ones already tattooed several times over (and by several I mean more than one), this was a big damn deal to me. Those of you that are keenly aware of my inability to make any kind of non life-threatening decision can well imagine the kind of mental debate that raged for years over this.
I was obsessed with whether or not I wanted something permanent on my body. Then with where to get it. I'm a big-picture kind of gal, so it was important to me that it not be in a place that would eventually end up...drifting, or in a place that could get...larger...over time. Throw into the mix the fact that I wanted it to be in a place I could see (what's the point of having one if you always have to rely on someone else's opinion as to how it looks?), but also in a place that wouldn't be too painful to get done, and I wasn't left with a whole lot of tattooing room.
I had ruled out places like the sides of my shoulders (I'm always reminded of old school bikers sportin' heart tattoos with the word "MOM" stenciled across it), my hips (see aforementioned drifting and enlarging concerns), or my hands or feet (OUCH!). So that pretty much left somewhere on my legs. Since they're pretty "meaty" (you already know that story), the drifting/sagging factor is relatively low and if they get any bigger I'll have to shoot myself; all that was left was leg location.
If I got it high enough on my leg that it could be covered by shorts, then chances were pretty good no one other than Harry would ever see the damn thing, because believe me when I tell you the size of my thigh is an acquired appreciation. Anywhere around the knee region was out. My knees are one of the few visible bones on my body, and I wasn't willing to endure that kind of needle-to-bone suffering. Besides, getting a knee tattoo is just weird. A lot of folks suggested the area just above the ankle bone, but again, that's one of the few areas not protected by a generous layer of...insulation. So I finally (finally!) decided on the upper right side of my calf. Nothing too big, nothing too small, something in the 2-3" range. Now I was ready to get tattooed, right?
Silly, silly people. That just solved WHERE I would get the tattoo. I still had to decide on WHAT I wanted to have permanently inked to my body*. It had to be something I loved, something I would never get sick of. Something that I would always have fond memories of or always enjoy. I briefly toyed with the idea of getting something that had my kids' names on it. For a while I seriously considered two little dolphins (who doesn't love dolphins??) - one pink, one blue - jumping out of some waves with Katie and Christopher (respectively) written on them.
But then my paranoia and superstition kicked in and I was worried that if I did something like tattoo my kids' names on my body something bad would happen to them (hey, you should know by now that my neurosis runs deep & wide), so that went out the window. Don't even get me started on what would happen if I tattooed Harry's name on me.
Then one day as I was ordering more Hello Kitty purses (I'm Asian and female, if I don't have an unhealthy obsession with all things Hello Kitty they take away my Chinesey-ness), it hit me: what are the two things over which I obsess the most? Hello Kitty and roller derby! Eureka!
So I sent a quick message to my friend (and fellow Hello Kitty obsessor - yes, she's Asian too) Elli asking her if she could come up with a cool Hello Kitty-derby girl tattoo. Harry had come up with a rough concept of what I wanted, but I wanted her to put her creative spin on it. She of course agreed (again, how do you say no to Hello Kitty?), and Harry and I were on a road trip to Kentucky to pop my tattoo cherry.
Why Kentucky? That's where Elli lives and works. And your first time for anything should always be with someone you trust. So we showed up (after a seriously fun practice with the ROCK derby league - they are the sweetest people EVER) and Elli showed me what she had in mind.
I finally believe in love at first sight. She was beautiful. Tough, cute and totally derby girl through and through, yet still very much Hello Kitty. Perfect.
When Elli was ready to start tattooing, I was incredibly nervous. The tattooed folks I polled about pain ranged in scale from "not that bad" to "hurt like a motherfucking BITCH" - but everyone emphasized "make no doubt about it - it HURTS." Great. So I lay down with my leg exposed and braced myself for the pain. And I secretly hoped I wouldn't sob like a baby or (God forbid) ask her to stop all together and have to walk away in shame with a partial Hello Kittty tattoo stuck on my leg as a permanent, humiliating reminder of the day I became a chicken shit.
Elli said, "Okay, I'm going to start now," and the machine kicked in and the sound of drilling (all I could imagine was a dental office and images of root canals and teeth extractions immediately came to mind) filled the air. I held my breath. Clenched my teeth. My hands were curled into tight fists. I squeezed my eyes shut. All in preparation for the impending (possibly unbearable) pain.
And it wasn't that bad. I mean, everyone's right - it does hurt, but it's not so horrible that you can't hold a conversation or think coherent thoughts. In fact, there were a few moments where it was actually kind of peaceful and relaxing. Like a massage almost. And there were a few moments where I really did have to clench my teeth and keep from yelling out loud. Thankfully those were short lived.
When it was all said and done (roughly 90 minutes later), I had a beautiful, permanent reminder of my favorite obsessions. And I'm hooked. I'm already planning my next one. It'll be on the upper side of my left calf. Because I can't walk around all lopsided with only one tattoo on one leg, you know. That'd be weird.
*yes, it really is exhausting being me.
I was obsessed with whether or not I wanted something permanent on my body. Then with where to get it. I'm a big-picture kind of gal, so it was important to me that it not be in a place that would eventually end up...drifting, or in a place that could get...larger...over time. Throw into the mix the fact that I wanted it to be in a place I could see (what's the point of having one if you always have to rely on someone else's opinion as to how it looks?), but also in a place that wouldn't be too painful to get done, and I wasn't left with a whole lot of tattooing room.
I had ruled out places like the sides of my shoulders (I'm always reminded of old school bikers sportin' heart tattoos with the word "MOM" stenciled across it), my hips (see aforementioned drifting and enlarging concerns), or my hands or feet (OUCH!). So that pretty much left somewhere on my legs. Since they're pretty "meaty" (you already know that story), the drifting/sagging factor is relatively low and if they get any bigger I'll have to shoot myself; all that was left was leg location.
If I got it high enough on my leg that it could be covered by shorts, then chances were pretty good no one other than Harry would ever see the damn thing, because believe me when I tell you the size of my thigh is an acquired appreciation. Anywhere around the knee region was out. My knees are one of the few visible bones on my body, and I wasn't willing to endure that kind of needle-to-bone suffering. Besides, getting a knee tattoo is just weird. A lot of folks suggested the area just above the ankle bone, but again, that's one of the few areas not protected by a generous layer of...insulation. So I finally (finally!) decided on the upper right side of my calf. Nothing too big, nothing too small, something in the 2-3" range. Now I was ready to get tattooed, right?
Silly, silly people. That just solved WHERE I would get the tattoo. I still had to decide on WHAT I wanted to have permanently inked to my body*. It had to be something I loved, something I would never get sick of. Something that I would always have fond memories of or always enjoy. I briefly toyed with the idea of getting something that had my kids' names on it. For a while I seriously considered two little dolphins (who doesn't love dolphins??) - one pink, one blue - jumping out of some waves with Katie and Christopher (respectively) written on them.
But then my paranoia and superstition kicked in and I was worried that if I did something like tattoo my kids' names on my body something bad would happen to them (hey, you should know by now that my neurosis runs deep & wide), so that went out the window. Don't even get me started on what would happen if I tattooed Harry's name on me.
Then one day as I was ordering more Hello Kitty purses (I'm Asian and female, if I don't have an unhealthy obsession with all things Hello Kitty they take away my Chinesey-ness), it hit me: what are the two things over which I obsess the most? Hello Kitty and roller derby! Eureka!
So I sent a quick message to my friend (and fellow Hello Kitty obsessor - yes, she's Asian too) Elli asking her if she could come up with a cool Hello Kitty-derby girl tattoo. Harry had come up with a rough concept of what I wanted, but I wanted her to put her creative spin on it. She of course agreed (again, how do you say no to Hello Kitty?), and Harry and I were on a road trip to Kentucky to pop my tattoo cherry.
Why Kentucky? That's where Elli lives and works. And your first time for anything should always be with someone you trust. So we showed up (after a seriously fun practice with the ROCK derby league - they are the sweetest people EVER) and Elli showed me what she had in mind.
I finally believe in love at first sight. She was beautiful. Tough, cute and totally derby girl through and through, yet still very much Hello Kitty. Perfect.
When Elli was ready to start tattooing, I was incredibly nervous. The tattooed folks I polled about pain ranged in scale from "not that bad" to "hurt like a motherfucking BITCH" - but everyone emphasized "make no doubt about it - it HURTS." Great. So I lay down with my leg exposed and braced myself for the pain. And I secretly hoped I wouldn't sob like a baby or (God forbid) ask her to stop all together and have to walk away in shame with a partial Hello Kittty tattoo stuck on my leg as a permanent, humiliating reminder of the day I became a chicken shit.
Elli said, "Okay, I'm going to start now," and the machine kicked in and the sound of drilling (all I could imagine was a dental office and images of root canals and teeth extractions immediately came to mind) filled the air. I held my breath. Clenched my teeth. My hands were curled into tight fists. I squeezed my eyes shut. All in preparation for the impending (possibly unbearable) pain.
And it wasn't that bad. I mean, everyone's right - it does hurt, but it's not so horrible that you can't hold a conversation or think coherent thoughts. In fact, there were a few moments where it was actually kind of peaceful and relaxing. Like a massage almost. And there were a few moments where I really did have to clench my teeth and keep from yelling out loud. Thankfully those were short lived.
When it was all said and done (roughly 90 minutes later), I had a beautiful, permanent reminder of my favorite obsessions. And I'm hooked. I'm already planning my next one. It'll be on the upper side of my left calf. Because I can't walk around all lopsided with only one tattoo on one leg, you know. That'd be weird.
*yes, it really is exhausting being me.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Let's get this party started!
Okay, so first things first. I should make a few disclaimers so there is less confusion when you read things from me. So my first blog is really more of a "Ten things you should know about me" sort of thing. Don't like it? Move on. You won't hurt my feelings.
1. If you can't catch from the name of my blogspot where I'm from, you're too stupid to be reading this, so stop now before you hurt yourself.
2. I'm a disoriented (get it? No? See #1) adopted chick from a crazy family full of other adopted chicks (and one dude) and as a result, I am only Asian by genetic structure, not by actual practice or knowledge of it.
3. ^ That totally makes sense to me. Sorry, I have no "translation" button. Despite all evidence to the contrary, technically English is not my first language so I use that excuse whenever I don't make any sense. Deal with it.
4. I'm obssessed with roller derby and it'll take anyone with 1/4 of the computer skills I have to figure out where & for whom I play, or what my derby name is. You probably won't even have to do any searching because I'm fairly certain I'll bring it up myself at some point (or points) over the course of blogging.
5. I hate fakers, liars, cheats and hypocrites. If you are any of those things, you will, at some point, be the target of my blogs. Don't like it? Quit being a loser suckass douchebag.
6. I actually have a filter, but I use it so much at work that I have to turn it off whenever I'm not working so it won't break at a very inappropriate time.
7. I have 2 kids. They are awesome in every way.
8. I'm married to an equally awesome man.
9. I'm totally, completely, artsy-fartsy/crafty-challenged. Like beyond Special White Helmet challenged. It's both sad and frightening and I do not volunteer for anything crafty for just this reason.
10. I'm a walking, talking, neurotic, contradictory mess but I'm good for a few laughs and a swift kick in the pants.
If you're still reading this, welcome aboard the Seoul Train. It's a wild and crazy ride!
1. If you can't catch from the name of my blogspot where I'm from, you're too stupid to be reading this, so stop now before you hurt yourself.
2. I'm a disoriented (get it? No? See #1) adopted chick from a crazy family full of other adopted chicks (and one dude) and as a result, I am only Asian by genetic structure, not by actual practice or knowledge of it.
3. ^ That totally makes sense to me. Sorry, I have no "translation" button. Despite all evidence to the contrary, technically English is not my first language so I use that excuse whenever I don't make any sense. Deal with it.
4. I'm obssessed with roller derby and it'll take anyone with 1/4 of the computer skills I have to figure out where & for whom I play, or what my derby name is. You probably won't even have to do any searching because I'm fairly certain I'll bring it up myself at some point (or points) over the course of blogging.
5. I hate fakers, liars, cheats and hypocrites. If you are any of those things, you will, at some point, be the target of my blogs. Don't like it? Quit being a loser suckass douchebag.
6. I actually have a filter, but I use it so much at work that I have to turn it off whenever I'm not working so it won't break at a very inappropriate time.
7. I have 2 kids. They are awesome in every way.
8. I'm married to an equally awesome man.
9. I'm totally, completely, artsy-fartsy/crafty-challenged. Like beyond Special White Helmet challenged. It's both sad and frightening and I do not volunteer for anything crafty for just this reason.
10. I'm a walking, talking, neurotic, contradictory mess but I'm good for a few laughs and a swift kick in the pants.
If you're still reading this, welcome aboard the Seoul Train. It's a wild and crazy ride!
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