Happy Valentine’s Day! Hello?

So I don’t know how your Valentine’s Day (or Singles Awareness Day as the Facebooks are reporting), started, but mine started out rough.

Jim and I basically screamed at each other all the way into work because we were both annoyed with the clusterf*ck that was the discount hysterectomy office err, The Humane Society, where he took Lula this AM. We pulled up to my office, I got out, he looked the other direction, I slammed the door and stormed up to the tenth floor, late, because of said clusterf*ck.

As I tried, desperately to move from relationship suicide to Legal Secretary mode, the following ideas of things to passive aggressively email to Jim ran through my mind (per usual, they go from irrational to, less irrational):

1. why don’t you f*ck off, pissy pants

2. yeah, I’m going to have to bail on dinner, I have math homework

3. there’s a card on the counter for you, it describes how I felt about you yesterday

4. (assuming/hoping I received flowers today) are these ‘I’m sorry’ flowers? No? Click.

But before any of that actually came to fruition, Jim contacted me, called a truce, and I remembered how desperately in love with this man I am. That’s the beauty of love and commitment. You can hate someone's guts and know you’d die without them all at the same time! And it’s completely normal and sane! 

Right?

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Since it is the holiday season, I see a lot of little ones. They have a lot to say. A lot of funny stuff to say:

1. Charlie (my BFF’s 2 year old) at 6 am: Where’s daddy?

Momma Steph: Daddy’s in bed.

C: Daddy in bed?

MS: Yes.

C: Daddy in bed with Dawn ma rie?

Daddy from the bed: Daddy wishes!

She did this the next morning as well, BTW.

2. Jim’s department is hiring, and he is on the hiring committee. The other day they were discussing candidates in a meeting when it became clear that a candidate’s letters of recommendation were missing, or, gasp, not sent! That night, Jim’s colleague Matt went home and had dinner with his wife and 4 year old son, Isaac. He retold the story about how they at first thought that the candidate didn’t have any letters of rec. Isaac was very saddened by the thought that someone would have no letters.

Isaac: NO letters today? How can he have NO letters today??

He then took out paper and crayons and proceeded to write letters of recommendation for the poor sap. The funny thing is, he thought he needed actual letters; just random letters of the alphabet.

3. Our niece, Lilly talking about her old dog (and my new-ish dog), Molly:

When I was a baby, I tried to ride Molly. She jerked me off like a bull!

4. Our niece, Eva pooping on the potty (such a big girl!): I pooping babies!

My brother, Vince: Babies, huh? You all done now?

Eva: No! I got more babies in there!

5. Our nephew, Vinny losing his shit because he got books for Christmas, much like this kid: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sv4Hpz-GI3g

Ocean Beach, ghettofabulous

Oh man I love Ocean Beach, CA. Not the one near San Francisco (too cold), the one in San Diego. The affectionately dubbed, “Berkley at the Beach”, Ocean Beach.

Yeah it’s a beach town with several of its streets ending at stair cases/maneuverable cliffs that lead down to little pockets of paradise. There is a dog beach, a great surf break, a pier for fishing, and numerous bars and restaurants. All of this is super cool, obviously. But what makes OB my favorite little beach town is the attitude. It’s lazy, happy, easy going and perhaps not the cleanest of beach towns. It’s main street hostel and laid back environment make it a hot spot for homeless youth. There is a lot of curious smoking action going on along its famous Sunset Cliffs. I’m not really selling it, am I?

Good.

Ocean Beach is not nearly as crowded with tourists, drunk ass spring breakers, or many inland San Diegans because of its “hippy” feel…and the fact that there is really only one way in and out. Sure, there are multi-million dollar homes, some gentrification and yuppie presence, but there are way more happy,  content, surf babies of all ages.

In my tenure in San Diego, OB is where I ended my stay, and also where I wish I had spent more of my time. This past weekend I went back to OB to (finally) witness its annual Christmas Parade. It was glorious.

The “floats” were flatbed trucks or gardener trucks jam packed with very happy folks.  There were clear winners such as the Big Lebowski float or the decked out fire engines. 

 
But there were way more OB style floats that just made me so happy I could cry (and that may have been Adrienne’s sherbet punch at work). There was a brigade of old VW bugs all lit up, a tween band playing Bob Marley in the back of some dad’s truck, a double decker bus that simply said, “we just wanted to be in the parade”, and a samba dance line all decked out in sexy Santa costumes. 

Kids in their pajamas, dogs with antlers, parents with red cups. It was just so stinking joyous.

Are you going to brog about this, honey?

Let me begin with a short disclaimer:

Everything that seems racist and/or derogatory toward Asian Americans in this post was inserted by a real live Asian American. Er, maybe not actually inserted but definitely inspired by…and not in that way, SHE MAKES THIS SHIT UP HERSELF, DAMNIT!

My friend Emily had her bachelorette party last weekend and it totally rocked. Literally, it effing, rocked! We went to the Bridge School Benefit in California http://bridgeschool.org/concert/index.php and jammed to the likes of Norah Jones, Santana, Dave Matthews Band, Arcade Fire, Eddie Vedder, Neil Young, Mumford and Sons and Beck. I highly recommend you go next year.

This is a concert that benefits The Bridge School for disabled children. The musicians who play are presumably not paid and since they only play about 5 songs each, they are so casual and goofy and seem to be incredibly comfortable. It was absolutely magical.

And on that note, aren’t old friends just magical? It’s been a rough couple of months emotionally for me and falling into the arms of old friends may have given me a new lease on life. I’ve met some amazing friends here in SLC that I know will become “old friends”  but for now, there’s nothing like a trip to good old California to feel loved…

Awesome funniness that went on:

Emily is a chemist who loves boba tea. She loves all tea actually. She’s also Taiwanese and finds the fact that she fits all Asian stereotypes absolutely hilarious. We all wore t-shirts that said something about love for Chemistry or boba. 

Numerous times throughout the weekend we would find that we had segregated ourselves: Asians in the kitchen, white folk in the living room,  Asians on one picnic blanket, white folk on another. Personally, I think the Asians found us white folk a bit bland…

Emily revealing that her betrothed has an alter ego, a black man named Devin…for whom he has an email address…

Sarah making Emily an awesome cropped t-shirt from BJU, and then Emily creating it’s tagline, “Here at BJU, we have short attention spans”.

The Starbucks barista who drew a picture of a beaker on Megan’s cup in honor of her "I heart chemistry shirt".

Dave Matthews telling us that we all look “Deeeeelicious tonight” and that “it’s not just the wine”.

The fact that we are so old we all fell asleep watching Bridesmaids, of all films, on the night before the concert.

Here we are in all our boba’d glory.

This Was All I Needed To Remind Me That I DON’T Want To Teach Adults

Last night I had to give a presentation in my English Language Learner Assessment class. I knew my lines, was passionate about the subject matter and was ready to blow my classmates minds!

Then I got up there and looked at the practically scowling faces staring back at me and completely choked.

Seriously, they were all looking at me with scowls on their faces. If they weren’t looking at me, they were texting, or looking at their watches or, and I just can’t believe this, they were actually talking in their small groups, talking OVER me!

It took everything I had not to walk right over to the prime talking-while-I’m-talking suspect and say, “HEY! REMEMBER WHEN I GAVE YOU MY UNDIVIDED ATTENTION DURING YOUR PRESENTATION?”

As I instructed them to work in small groups on my (super well thought out and awesome) planned activity I turned to our professor and said, “I don’t know how you do this”. She laughed and told me I’d get used to it and that it was the end of the day and so I should expect people to be tired.

As I wrapped up I asked if there was any burning questions. Blank stares. Then I asked if they all just had a burning desire to get the hell out of here and I FINALLY saw some life in their eyes as they shuffled out of the room.

Yeah, But She Really Doesn’t Look Spanish So…

If you can’t tell, I have Utah pride. I moved here with my feet (slightly) dragging and a verbal confirmation from Jim that we’d be outta here and back in sunny California within a few years.  BUT, Utah is pretty awesome. More specifically, Salt Lake City is pretty awesome. I’ve met wonderful people, I’ve met wonderful Mormons, I’ve explored the wonderful outdoors and I am able to own a home, damnit!

That said, I have seen reasons why the rest of the country thinks Utah sucks. These instances come rarely but when they do, they leave me so flipping shell shocked.

Instance 1 – (this is actually hilarious) When the lease on my Honda was up, Jim and I bought a used 4Runner. On the recommendation of the dealership, I called an independent insurance agent who could get a "killer rate".

In addition to her sounding like I was completely ruining her day by offering her my business, our conversation went like this:
 
Lady: Drivers license and Social?
Me: blablabla
Lady: Any accidents or tickets on your record?
Me: No
Lady: Do you drink alcohol?
Me: WTF? (that was in my head), Yes.
Lady: Well I can tell you right now you won't qualify for the company that gives the best rates. They only offer insurance to those who 100% abstain from alcohol.
Me: …

Can you discriminate based on a (legal) habit? I mean, it isn't like I have a DUI; I'm a law abiding citizen for crying out loud. I told my cube mate, "Welcome to Utah" she said. I told Emily, "Welcome to Utah" she said.

Instance 2 - I was having dinner with a few people, one of which had just adopted an adorable little Latino girl. He’s been pretty open about the process, heart ache and ongoing difficulties involved in adoption (not to mention the adoption of a child who is already 4). This particular day he was telling us about how he and his wife and their new little girl were out to eat and were getting all kinds of stares. He said it dawned on him that the starers (who he mentioned were Hispanic) were staring at him because his little girl is not white. I found it appropriate to then ask him if they were experiencing any other issues surrounding the fact that he and his wife are white, and the little girl is Hispanic. For example, are they interested in teaching her about her heritage?

“She’s not Hispanic, she’s Spanish”

“Sorry, Spanish. Are you guys being guided on how to go about preserving her heritage now that she is in a white household?”

“She doesn’t know anything about her heritage. She doesn’t speak Spanish, her mother never taught her anything. So no.”

“Yeah but, there’s research that supports the importance of non-white children adopted into white homes being exposed to their natural heritage”

“No, we’re not doing that”

“Don’t you think she might ask one day why her skin is different? Or, that her classmates might ask her?”

“Yeah but she doesn’t look Spanish, she looks just like my wife”

He then pulls out his iPhone and shows me a picture of a gorgeous, almond eyed, brown skinned little girl. Who looks nothing like his white wife.

Look, I genuinely like this person, but I couldn’t help but feel frustrated at this conversation. The tone it took was one that implied I had offended him. Meanwhile, another friend who is not white, has a Mexican husband (who was adopted by white parents, BTW) and biracial children is sitting there seemingly not offended or surprised that this conversation had turned to this tone.

I didn’t walk away thinking this person was racist or intentionally culturally insensitive. I walked away saddened that some people in this Wonder Bread White state literally do not see color. We have a big Latino population here…and if everyone could just get over it and step over to the West side of the temple, they’d be engulfed in all the rich culture it has to offer.

Maybe I’m Not The Sexy Scooter Queen I Thought I Was

I was scooting home yesterday in this beautiful, if not slightly dreary fall weather when an unfavorable altercation happened. Not that pocket pool was a favorable altercation or anything.

It is to my knowledge that when stopped at a red light, behind a long line of cars, you may not block any intersections. Am I right or wrong on this one? 

So, at a four way intersection, near a school mind you, I intentionally did not pull into the intersection, but waited for the red light (nearly a mile ahead of me) to turn green. The cross traffic had stop signs, we did not.

As I am sitting, waiting patiently, allowing cross traffic to continue I heard someone honking. I turned around, didn’t see any drama and then faced forward again. I heard some more honking and, “move that motorcycle!” Hmmm, I turned around again and through my dark, cool motorcycle blue blockers, still could not tell who the hell was yelling. 

The light a mile ahead turns green, I inch into the intersection. A white Oldsmobile, two cars behind me makes a screaming left turn. As he does this, his shot gun passenger leans out the window and says, “learn how to drive, bitch”! He said it just like Dave Chappelle says, “I’m rich, bitch!”

Um, WTF? Per usual I sat there, mouth open and promptly thought of a bazillion things I could have shouted back once they were out of sight.

My potential comeback options went from rational:

“I was simply obeying the law”

To confrontational:

“Why don’t you learn how to follow the law, bitch!”

To psychotic:

“DO YOU KNOW THE DAY I HAD TODAY MOTHERFUCKER?!”

I then started to cry, called my friend Steph and made her share a bottle of wine with me after work.