It is a well know fact that the Evil Twins love slurpees. In Evil Twin #2's massive archive of photographs, there are a number of them with us drinking slurpees. We do differ on our flavor selection, she prefers Blue Razz and I normally stick to Coke.
This love of slurpees started at an early age. When I was 5 years old, we lived in a small apartment in Moraga, CA. During this year, my dad was living in London and my mom worked full time. I would stay an hour later at kindergarten with one of the aides, and then my sister and the neighborhood kids would come to pick me up. On bottom of the hill there was a 7/11, that was on our way home, and some days we would stop by to grab some slurpees, or go to the bowling alley to play arcade games. Maybe I am romanticizing it in my head, but it was such an idyllic childhood.
Over the years, I have spent a lot of time in mini mart parking lots, eating junk food, and hanging out with my friends. So I was shocked when I moved to San Diego, and met 2 guys who had 1) never had a slurpee before in their life 2) never hung out in a parking lot at night doing nothing. Even stranger one was from Wisconsin and the other was from Missouri. I mean I can understand if someone from NYC never did these things, but from the Midwest?
On Saturday night, we decided to rectify this fact. I picked up NS, J, and C in my Nissan Versa (They for some reason all drive BMWs which simply is not suitable for this kind of endeavor). I played a bunch of 90s mix CDs. We had the windows down. First stop was the 7 11. We all bought slurpees, and I bought a bag of Cheetos and Funyuns. We sat in the parking lot. The owner came out and gave us a weird look, but decided not to hassle us. (A big bonus to being in my 30s instead of my teens.) At first there was excessive commentary about how all of this artificial coloring and flavors is bad for them. C's wife gave him special permission over text message to eat the Funyuns. No one could argue it was delicious. They started a game of kick the can. We spent time with a running catty commentary about the 7 11 clientele. An hour and a half had passed before we checked out our watches.
We decided to go grab some food, so we went to a local gastropub for some burgers and tater tots. I tried to explain how one time in high school a friend of mine stole a bunch of nips from a plane, and how we used to use those to put in our coke slurpees. They were flabbergasted. J being the only other normal person in the group agreed except they stole liquor from their parents and would water down their parents bottles. The bartender, who was eavesdropping on our conversation, mentioned that she used to make fake MaiTais by mixing Cherry and Pina Colada flavored slurpees with rum. We all reminisced on the stupid stuff we would do, which included driving around the town with no destination in mind. NS,J and C were all drunk at this point and thought it would be so much fun to do that. We all hopped in the Nissan Versa and drove downtown.
The guys kept shouting out the window "Hey ladies, lookin' good." I did my fake drag racing move that I learned from PeiPei, the most fun girl at Columbia. We sang along to Beyonce "Single Ladies." We did a Chinese fire drill. (However this was in a remote street that had no traffic because NS was worried the cops would arrest us. This also might explain why he never had a slurpee before.)
Sure we acted like idiots that night, but some times you got to keep the spirit of the teenage years in your heart.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
Tamales
I have lost my desire to wear a Halloween costume this year. Well actually, I was sick sick of seeing 20 something women parading in 4 inch stilettos, flared mini-skirts and and some sort of corset top and passing that off as some sort of costume. Really, a grown woman wearing a tight and short Catholic school uniform is supposed to be sexy and not actually promoting pedophilia?
Sorry, got lost in my rant. I still wanted to honor the holiday and since moving to San Diego, I have been getting in touch of my Mexican roots. I decided to make tamales for el dia de los muertos.
Preparation the day ahead:
I bought some po
rk back fat at Whole Foods. Washed it and cut it into small slices. Placed it into a 250 F oven for 5 hours. Poured off the fat into mason jars and cooled it in the fridge. That's right folks, I had my own lard for this adventure.
Also, I bought the butcher's special at Whole Foods which is the leftover cuts of meat, mainly bone in shoulder chops. I put it in the crock pot with a head of garlic, salt, and pepper. It went for 5 hours on low. For the sauce, I took some of the pork broth and rehydrated pasilla peppers with some cooked onions, cumin, and jalapenos.
All of the stuff went in the fridge overnight.
El dia de los Tamales
On Sunday, I woke up early. I did all my usual Sunday business and by 10
am, I was back in my pajamas ready for my cooking adventure. I set up a tamale assembly station on the dining table, which was moved closer to the television. While many an abuelita told me that I need to purchase fresh masa, I realized that tracking down fresh masa for my tamales was excessive. So I purchased the one
available at the MexiMart down the street.
Following the instructions on the bag of corn flour, I mixed all my wet ingredients which was leftover pork broth and water with my dry ingredients of maseca baking powder and salt. On the side, I whipped up my lard, and gently folded it into the batter.
With my batter, rehydrated corn husks, and pork filling, I went into zen mode. I assembled tamal after tamal. Flatten husk. Spread batter with spatula. Spoon in filling. Roll. Fold in sides. Tie it all together. I was a machine: a Korean-American, Mexican-inspired, football watching, pajama wearing, tamales assembling machine.
Here is the conclusion. Purchasing 2 tamales from Don Carlos Taco Shop in La Jolla is $4.56. Making my own costed $28.22 for the supplies, unknown energy costs, 4 hours of total labor with product that tastes like Don Carlos's tamales. So next year to honor the day of the dead, I am marching down to Don Carlos's, purchasing two tamales and a Pacifico with lime and calling it a day. Who knows, I might even wear a sexy pirate costume so I could look pregnant with my tamales filled belly.
Sorry, got lost in my rant. I still wanted to honor the holiday and since moving to San Diego, I have been getting in touch of my Mexican roots. I decided to make tamales for el dia de los muertos.
Preparation the day ahead:
I bought some po
rk back fat at Whole Foods. Washed it and cut it into small slices. Placed it into a 250 F oven for 5 hours. Poured off the fat into mason jars and cooled it in the fridge. That's right folks, I had my own lard for this adventure.
Also, I bought the butcher's special at Whole Foods which is the leftover cuts of meat, mainly bone in shoulder chops. I put it in the crock pot with a head of garlic, salt, and pepper. It went for 5 hours on low. For the sauce, I took some of the pork broth and rehydrated pasilla peppers with some cooked onions, cumin, and jalapenos.
All of the stuff went in the fridge overnight.
El dia de los Tamales
On Sunday, I woke up early. I did all my usual Sunday business and by 10
am, I was back in my pajamas ready for my cooking adventure. I set up a tamale assembly station on the dining table, which was moved closer to the television. While many an abuelita told me that I need to purchase fresh masa, I realized that tracking down fresh masa for my tamales was excessive. So I purchased the oneavailable at the MexiMart down the street.
Following the instructions on the bag of corn flour, I mixed all my wet ingredients which was leftover pork broth and water with my dry ingredients of maseca baking powder and salt. On the side, I whipped up my lard, and gently folded it into the batter.
With my batter, rehydrated corn husks, and pork filling, I went into zen mode. I assembled tamal after tamal. Flatten husk. Spread batter with spatula. Spoon in filling. Roll. Fold in sides. Tie it all together. I was a machine: a Korean-American, Mexican-inspired, football watching, pajama wearing, tamales assembling machine.
Here is the conclusion. Purchasing 2 tamales from Don Carlos Taco Shop in La Jolla is $4.56. Making my own costed $28.22 for the supplies, unknown energy costs, 4 hours of total labor with product that tastes like Don Carlos's tamales. So next year to honor the day of the dead, I am marching down to Don Carlos's, purchasing two tamales and a Pacifico with lime and calling it a day. Who knows, I might even wear a sexy pirate costume so I could look pregnant with my tamales filled belly.
Monday, October 24, 2011
A trip to the desert.
Since moving to San Diego, I find myself growing soft. I eat donuts with greater frequency, so my belly is softer. I take constitutionals at night without mace, so my guard is softer. And I got acclimated to the southern California weather, so my temperature core got softer.
For the past 2 weeks now, we have been covered by a marine layer. It has made me cranky and vitamin D deficient. I hated work. I hated the boy and yelled at him on the phone. I found myself feeling sad and watching a lot of Bravo TV.
I called Evil Twin #2. "I want to go to Palm Springs. It is totally impractical." Her reply, "Sounds like a great idea." Sometimes, all you need is approval to let loose. So I packed up my Nissan Versa and headed out for the desert.
Palm Springs is 2.5 hours away. I stopped at a premium outlet mall along the way. I was perplexed by the throngs of European and Chinese tourists carrying suitcases with them going gaga over Tod's driving moccasins, Judith Liber clutches, Jimmy Choo stripper shoes, Zegna ties, and Gucci scarves. I tried shopping for an hour, but then gave up. It was a sunny day 85F with desert sun. I sat with a lemonade and watched people.
My next stop was Palm Desert and Palm Springs. I took a self guided tour of Mid-century modern houses. I have no idea what this term means except I saw a lot of houses with a lot of glass and learned someone named Lautner is awesome. (I will buy a book so I could feel a little less like a country rube.) Then I went into Palm Springs itself. I saw a collection of bakelite jewelry and other costume styles of the 20s. I also drove by 3 dialysis centers. I am not sure if my eyes are just in tuned with them, or there are just a lot of people who need dialysis in Palm Springs. At around of 3:30pm, I was feeling a little peckish. I stopped by one of the italian restaurants (there are a lot in Palm Springs each one claiming to once have served Al Capone) and ate a dinner special. That is right. I ate dinner at 3:30pm in Palm Springs.
After a large meal, I moseyed onto Dessert Hot Springs. This town is in the middle of nowhere. I mean there is the desert and this small town pops up like Brigadoon. My "hotel" was a 7 room yoga retreat place. In the center of the hotel was a pool. At one end was water that came out of the hotspring and was 168 degrees and as you went down the pool the water was cooler. According to the two old lesbians (naturally) who owned the place, the minerals in the water would heal almost every ailment you would have. I laid by the pool, getting in occasionally, as I waited for my treatment. I got a scalp massage, and then was ordered to shower immediately as not to contaminate the pool or the Frette sheets (I still don't know what Frette is, but that is also on my to do list today.) By that time it was late, so I went to for a late night soak. I stared at the stars, drank some champagne I bought at Trader Joe's, and listened to two girls talk about how bitchy their friend was and how awesome LA was. I stayed in the healing waters for 2 hours before going to bed at 9pm.
I awoke at 6 am. I could not believe how trippy the night had been. Before going to bed the old lesbians told me that nothing was more magical than floating in the pool as the sun rose. So I trudged to the pool. I put some cylinder floating things under my feet. I lay there staring at the crescent moon as the sun came up and painted the normally unattractive San Jacinto mountains a perfect shade of persimmon. It was a rather religious experience.
After the sun came up, an old Brazillian couple that were staying in the deluxe room asked me to join them in some morning yoga. Why not. I got some more sun, a little more soaking in the "healing waters." By 9:30am, I was ready to go back to marine layer. I drank a shot of wheat-grass and had some yogurt and was back on the desert highway.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Evil Twin #1 is part of the 99%
When I was a junior, I had to take Contemporary Civilization with Professor Malefakis. Evil Twin #2 and I used to joke around that his name sounded evil. (Mal = Bad) Truth be told, he was an ass. He was the worst kind of bully, as he knew every possible way to get under the skin of his students. He called people names. He made one girl cry. He made one boy want to punch his face. He even tried to weird out Evil Twin #2 by asking her if she wanted a penis, when discussing Freud. Evil Twin #2, having not said more than five words all semester, was caught off guard, which is exactly what this guy wanted.
Every class he would draw a nonsensical diagram of the thought of the day. A switchback funnel was a diagram of political ideologies. Sticks was a Hobbesian view on a society. If you discount my weirdly eidetic memory for lectures, one diagram stood above the rest. It was a bunch of rectangles and the need to get rid of feudalism. The fundamental idea was this: the consolidation of goods under the control of a few makes little room for the exchange of goods, and the lack of movement of people throughout the society.
I think Malefakis and I have a lot in common. I draw terrible pictures and cannot always convey what I am thinking to those around me. My friend, who is against the Occupy movement, has been particularly snarky about it, so I desperately have been trying to explain why I think they have a point. But I might as well be drawing a bunch of rectangles for all she cares. Most statuses on Facebook have been "Occupy my bed" or "Occupy France." However, like Malefakis, I will be oblivious to the naysayers continue to spew my ideas.
Fundamentally, I love the idea of Wall Street. A company or a person with a great idea, product, or service, sells shares of itself. The company gets increased capital and they get to expand and sell their widgets to a broader audience. Fabulous.
Somehow this beautiful thing went off the rails. Only a fraction of the companies listed in the NYSE participate in giving investors dividends. At some point, all stocks became entirely based on its potential to grow. According to Morning Star, a company that is in the red but has the potential to be 4 times bigger in 2 years is worth more than one that will have a steady profit margin of 17% every year. For a company to even stay afloat in the stock market, they have to do something extraordinary every quarter. Stock prices seem to fluctuate more on rumor than fact. Also, this phenomenon meant short term solutions started having a large impact. Google can shift one of its headquarters to Ireland and for those first few quarters profits went up immensely. This increase was not a result of making a better search engine, but finding a loopholes in existing rules.
But what is the true added value for all these things? Does the actuary, who discovers they can move all their jobs to India and save the company 20% truly add value? The new class of CEOs remind me a lot of the corporate raiders of the 80's. Does that add value? According to Wall Street right now, the answer is yes. The bottom line is those changes made the company more profitable for a few quarters. Our excuse is they deserved it for being clever and ruthless. Really? We are now rewarding people for excessive greed and short-sightedness. And that does not create a better environment for innovation, which I propose is the true value we are all seeking.
But let's take a more Machiavellian approach to this problem. Not everyone can be immensely rich, nor is it bad to be immensely rich. No one wants to squash that drive and ambition. By keeping the disparity between wealthy and the rest of the population to a manageable limit, the wealthy can still enjoy their moneys without a bunch of un-showered protesters. Listen, let's aim to be more German than Greek. Just sayin'.
This morning, I went down to Occupy San Diego. The participants looked homeless. They were a lot punk kids talking about how disillusioned they were. They seemed lazy and obnoxious. I brought coffee and donuts, as it was cold and foggy today. They were totally ungrateful. But here is the biggest lesson I learned. Sometimes the biggest assholes, like Malefakis and the protesters, have a point. Wall street sucks right now, and something has to change.
I am Evil Twin #1, and I am part of the 99%.
Every class he would draw a nonsensical diagram of the thought of the day. A switchback funnel was a diagram of political ideologies. Sticks was a Hobbesian view on a society. If you discount my weirdly eidetic memory for lectures, one diagram stood above the rest. It was a bunch of rectangles and the need to get rid of feudalism. The fundamental idea was this: the consolidation of goods under the control of a few makes little room for the exchange of goods, and the lack of movement of people throughout the society.
I think Malefakis and I have a lot in common. I draw terrible pictures and cannot always convey what I am thinking to those around me. My friend, who is against the Occupy movement, has been particularly snarky about it, so I desperately have been trying to explain why I think they have a point. But I might as well be drawing a bunch of rectangles for all she cares. Most statuses on Facebook have been "Occupy my bed" or "Occupy France." However, like Malefakis, I will be oblivious to the naysayers continue to spew my ideas.
Fundamentally, I love the idea of Wall Street. A company or a person with a great idea, product, or service, sells shares of itself. The company gets increased capital and they get to expand and sell their widgets to a broader audience. Fabulous.
Somehow this beautiful thing went off the rails. Only a fraction of the companies listed in the NYSE participate in giving investors dividends. At some point, all stocks became entirely based on its potential to grow. According to Morning Star, a company that is in the red but has the potential to be 4 times bigger in 2 years is worth more than one that will have a steady profit margin of 17% every year. For a company to even stay afloat in the stock market, they have to do something extraordinary every quarter. Stock prices seem to fluctuate more on rumor than fact. Also, this phenomenon meant short term solutions started having a large impact. Google can shift one of its headquarters to Ireland and for those first few quarters profits went up immensely. This increase was not a result of making a better search engine, but finding a loopholes in existing rules.
But what is the true added value for all these things? Does the actuary, who discovers they can move all their jobs to India and save the company 20% truly add value? The new class of CEOs remind me a lot of the corporate raiders of the 80's. Does that add value? According to Wall Street right now, the answer is yes. The bottom line is those changes made the company more profitable for a few quarters. Our excuse is they deserved it for being clever and ruthless. Really? We are now rewarding people for excessive greed and short-sightedness. And that does not create a better environment for innovation, which I propose is the true value we are all seeking.
But let's take a more Machiavellian approach to this problem. Not everyone can be immensely rich, nor is it bad to be immensely rich. No one wants to squash that drive and ambition. By keeping the disparity between wealthy and the rest of the population to a manageable limit, the wealthy can still enjoy their moneys without a bunch of un-showered protesters. Listen, let's aim to be more German than Greek. Just sayin'.
This morning, I went down to Occupy San Diego. The participants looked homeless. They were a lot punk kids talking about how disillusioned they were. They seemed lazy and obnoxious. I brought coffee and donuts, as it was cold and foggy today. They were totally ungrateful. But here is the biggest lesson I learned. Sometimes the biggest assholes, like Malefakis and the protesters, have a point. Wall street sucks right now, and something has to change.
I am Evil Twin #1, and I am part of the 99%.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Adventures in Dating
Dating. Ugh. I have been dreading it, and with good reason. Unlike Evil Twin #1, who has been telling me that it's fun to date and meet all sorts of men, I am not a fan of first dates. So, I decided to ease back into the dating world, reluctantly agreeing to let a friend set me up on a blind date. I had never been on a blind date before and wasn't quite sure what to expect. Given all the warning signs, I should have been prepared for a train wreck, but naively thought it couldn't be so bad (at a minimum, I'd be able to salvage a half-way decent post out of it). I was in no way ready for how sad/crazy this poor guy would be.
Surefire Ways to Blow A First Date:
1. Send your prospective date a crazy 9 paragraph email (opening with "Greetings and salutations" then misspelling my name) about yourself, noting that you went to private schools your whole life [who cares] and you just got out of a 6 year relationship that ended because you gave your ex-girlfriend an ultimatum to get married [umm...].
2. Failing to grammar check said email. Everyone should know when to use "a" versus "an" and proper subject/verb agreement. Also, one looks forward TO something, not IN something. Signing your email, "Looking forward in meeting you" doesn't make any sense. I am a lawyer. I am unforgiving about that stuff.
3. When making plans to meet, just telling your date where and when to meet instead of phrasing things in a way that makes it clear that you are open to modifying the place/time. Personally, I like to be consulted on some level. I don't like people telling me what to do.
4. During the date:
- mentioning (again) why you broke up with your ex;
- describing yourself repeatedly as a "foodie" and trying to impress me with the places you've "discovered" (along with just about everyone else that reads eater.com);
- telling me that you bought an apartment in Bronxville for the excellent school system because you can't wait to have kids (this is perhaps better saved for a second or third date); and
- sharing that you are barely making your mortgage payments because your company has been cutting back, and you have been forced to take a part time job at Macy's to make ends meet. Then noting that the discount is great!
Honestly, if my friend hadn't set this whole thing in motion weeks ago, I would have bailed. Seeing as she took the time to do so, I felt obligated to at least show up, eat a decent meal and work on my conversation skills. I am tempted to give this guy notes on what to do differently going forward -- at the rate he's going, he's likely to scare off every lady he meets. I feel kind of bad for him.
I guess the upside of going on this date is that it made me feel far more sane and emotionally well adjusted in comparison. It also confirmed that I am right and Evil Twin #1 is wrong -- blind dates aren't for everyone.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
take your child to work day
Today is the official "Take your child to work day." The labs and office area are teaming with children. They are frightening. I caught myself saying the eff word twice and changed it to fudge just in time. I also have run over two of them today as I was trying to open the door. What can I say except that children frighten me. And the combination of children, caustic chemicals and biological agents scares me even more.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Another Year...
"This year may provide great travel opportunities. Go to places you never thought you'd go. Open your heart to new experiences, new relationships and new interpretations of what abundance is. Discover your own wealth." -- My horoscope for today, AMNewYork
Today is my 35th Birthday. As some of you may know, I love birthdays -- other people's birthdays, not so much my own. This one is especially tough. At 35, I am solidly middle-aged and am recovering from a break up that has truly put me through the proverbial emotional wringer (who knew I had so many tears to shed?). How's that for down in the dumps?
Reading my horoscope on my commute to work this morning reminded me that this year could be my best one yet. Going through each line of my fortune, I realized: (i) I have already traveled a great deal (San Antonio, Boston, Baltimore, the Turks and Caicos Islands, and the Connecticut countryside thus far (not bad for the first 4 months of the year), and Santo Domingo, DR next month); (ii) I had one of my best meals from the parking lot of a strip club (didn't expect that, but yum! pit beef!) in Baltimore; (iii) 2011 will be the year that I finally learn how to swim, so that I complete my first triathlon (that's definitely a new experience!), I am not quite ready to open my heart to new relationships, but I know I'll get there eventually, and over the past few weeks (during which I have been riding an emotional roller coaster), I was reminded that I am very lucky to have an abundance of incredibly supportive and wonderful friends; and (iv) my own wealth resides in what I already have.
So, here's to my 35th year, and to all that lies ahead. Looking forward to seeing what you have in store for me!
Reading my horoscope on my commute to work this morning reminded me that this year could be my best one yet. Going through each line of my fortune, I realized: (i) I have already traveled a great deal (San Antonio, Boston, Baltimore, the Turks and Caicos Islands, and the Connecticut countryside thus far (not bad for the first 4 months of the year), and Santo Domingo, DR next month); (ii) I had one of my best meals from the parking lot of a strip club (didn't expect that, but yum! pit beef!) in Baltimore; (iii) 2011 will be the year that I finally learn how to swim, so that I complete my first triathlon (that's definitely a new experience!), I am not quite ready to open my heart to new relationships, but I know I'll get there eventually, and over the past few weeks (during which I have been riding an emotional roller coaster), I was reminded that I am very lucky to have an abundance of incredibly supportive and wonderful friends; and (iv) my own wealth resides in what I already have.
So, here's to my 35th year, and to all that lies ahead. Looking forward to seeing what you have in store for me!
Saturday, April 16, 2011
An excuse to post an embarrassing photo.
Happy Birthday to me ... a little late. Two weekends ago, I turned 35. A frightening thought to be middle aged, sans a husband, children, pets and a steady income. I am starting to get frown lines, and the other day was wondering if I should look into that Restalin. Am already in an Obagi pact with my sister, so I feel like adding a few more cosmetic procedures.
To cheer me up, Evil Twin #2 came down from NYC. And as always the events were epic. The whole weekend started out so innocent. Two girls getting crab cakes and going to bed at 11pm on a Friday night. Even the next day was fairly wholesome. ET#2 and I, went to the National Gallery of Art to see the Gauguin exhibit. Sure he was really pervy, but it was art right? We had lunch with friends, a trip to the Cowgirl Creamery. We even had a romantic stroll around the Tidal basin to see the Cherry blossoms. Yup. The whole weekend was going to be wholesome and very middle sized city American.
It all started down the dark dangerous path of liquor , when ET#2 and I started talking about feelings. Yes, that is right feelings. And in the midst of feelings, ET#2 said such a strange thing. "Let's go have a beer with your friends at the bar." Strange, because ET#2 is not really a beer drinker. Sure a glass of wine here or there, or maybe a very fancy fruity cocktail, but not so much beer.
So we go to my bar across the street. We get greeted by everyone. Sweet. And we start on our one beer. Well that idea went totally out the window after the first lemon drop shot. It became a flurry of alcohols, and crude stories. I abandoned ET#2 with my gay closeted neighbor, and they were giggling away at stuff. My friend from down the street convinced us to karaoke with him. As you can see why things snowballed. At the karaoke bar, I was passed a number of shots called Leviticus (actually it is called vitytus, but it was a crazy night). Drinking leviticus was best described by the twenty year old barristo I know, "It is like having a million cinnamon hot bears doing a russian folk dance in your head." ET#2 and I proceeded to sing a number of duets and stumble home.
The next morning I remembered why I don't drink to excess. I wanted to poke my eyes out and rip out my stomach. ET#2 played it cool. She had on her shades both indoors and outside, and even managed some lip gloss. We both felt like this guy below except luckily both of us were too hungover to take pictures.
To cheer me up, Evil Twin #2 came down from NYC. And as always the events were epic. The whole weekend started out so innocent. Two girls getting crab cakes and going to bed at 11pm on a Friday night. Even the next day was fairly wholesome. ET#2 and I, went to the National Gallery of Art to see the Gauguin exhibit. Sure he was really pervy, but it was art right? We had lunch with friends, a trip to the Cowgirl Creamery. We even had a romantic stroll around the Tidal basin to see the Cherry blossoms. Yup. The whole weekend was going to be wholesome and very middle sized city American.
It all started down the dark dangerous path of liquor , when ET#2 and I started talking about feelings. Yes, that is right feelings. And in the midst of feelings, ET#2 said such a strange thing. "Let's go have a beer with your friends at the bar." Strange, because ET#2 is not really a beer drinker. Sure a glass of wine here or there, or maybe a very fancy fruity cocktail, but not so much beer.
So we go to my bar across the street. We get greeted by everyone. Sweet. And we start on our one beer. Well that idea went totally out the window after the first lemon drop shot. It became a flurry of alcohols, and crude stories. I abandoned ET#2 with my gay closeted neighbor, and they were giggling away at stuff. My friend from down the street convinced us to karaoke with him. As you can see why things snowballed. At the karaoke bar, I was passed a number of shots called Leviticus (actually it is called vitytus, but it was a crazy night). Drinking leviticus was best described by the twenty year old barristo I know, "It is like having a million cinnamon hot bears doing a russian folk dance in your head." ET#2 and I proceeded to sing a number of duets and stumble home.
The next morning I remembered why I don't drink to excess. I wanted to poke my eyes out and rip out my stomach. ET#2 played it cool. She had on her shades both indoors and outside, and even managed some lip gloss. We both felt like this guy below except luckily both of us were too hungover to take pictures.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Best news evah
It has often been said (by myself) that I am unruly, odd and loud, due to being the youngest child. My parents were older (close to my age now) when they had me. My sister who is 7 years older, often told stories about her parents, who seemed to not resemble mine at all. Her parents gave her shoulder rides, chased her around the yard, and had weekly zoo trips. Mine were more about Dad's napping because he has lumbego, quiet story time, and golf lessons.
A few years ago, I remember having a serious discussion with my sister. How to take care of our parents as they got older. It was one of those serious moments full of awkward pauses and awkward jokes to alleviate the tension of the moment. My parents' had living wills in place, my sister was planning on building a mother-in-law apartment in her house, and I took over some of my parent's accounts just to make sure nothing too crazy was happening. It was a very adult and somber moment in our lives.
A few years ago, my Dad was diagnosed with chronic kidney disease. He had a long history of hypertension and 70 years after birth his kidneys decided they were tired. The physicians told us there was little that could be done. None one in his immediate family was a compatible match and he was a little too old to be on the top of any organ donor list. We were told he had about 5 years. Probably, the hardest hit was my mother. She was registered nurse before she retired and took over my dad's care. But it was exhausting, and she is no spring chicken. My sister and I tried to hire a part time nurse, but they would not have it. The whole thing was spiralling. I even thought about taking a job in California, just to monitor the situation. My sister with three kids of her own, was getting overwhelmed.
I flew home for the Christmas holidays my tradition over the past 21 years. As soon as I walked into my sister's house it was chaos, kids climbing on top of me, my parents asking me about my love life, my brother-in-law asking me about work. I'll admit, I was feeling a little Grinchy. After arriving to California at 11pm, My nieces and nephew woke me up Christmas morning at 5:30am. Yup, this Emo (aunt in korean) was one grumpy grumpster.
My dad was not much better. He also was woken up by jumping children. He could not eat my mom's chocolate b-day cake (too much phosphorus) and most importantly, he had not had a good bowel movement in two days because my youngest niece likes to follow him around and stand outside of the bathroom door saying "uh oh."
Anyway, the next morning my parents left pretty early in the morning. I decided to stay, my present to my sister being watching her kids for a few days. But we got this call about an hour later. "Dad, just got a kidney. We have to fly to Kansas City."
It was like all happy made more TV movies rolled up into one. We bought my parents a ticket to Kansas City, and my brother-in-law (BIL) and I drove up to my parents' house. My parents were all a flutter when we saw them. What were the chances of a 74 year old man getting a six point match for a kidney the day after Christmas? Who knows.
On the way to airport, my dad turned to my BIL and said "twenty years, no problem."
A few years ago, I remember having a serious discussion with my sister. How to take care of our parents as they got older. It was one of those serious moments full of awkward pauses and awkward jokes to alleviate the tension of the moment. My parents' had living wills in place, my sister was planning on building a mother-in-law apartment in her house, and I took over some of my parent's accounts just to make sure nothing too crazy was happening. It was a very adult and somber moment in our lives.
A few years ago, my Dad was diagnosed with chronic kidney disease. He had a long history of hypertension and 70 years after birth his kidneys decided they were tired. The physicians told us there was little that could be done. None one in his immediate family was a compatible match and he was a little too old to be on the top of any organ donor list. We were told he had about 5 years. Probably, the hardest hit was my mother. She was registered nurse before she retired and took over my dad's care. But it was exhausting, and she is no spring chicken. My sister and I tried to hire a part time nurse, but they would not have it. The whole thing was spiralling. I even thought about taking a job in California, just to monitor the situation. My sister with three kids of her own, was getting overwhelmed.
I flew home for the Christmas holidays my tradition over the past 21 years. As soon as I walked into my sister's house it was chaos, kids climbing on top of me, my parents asking me about my love life, my brother-in-law asking me about work. I'll admit, I was feeling a little Grinchy. After arriving to California at 11pm, My nieces and nephew woke me up Christmas morning at 5:30am. Yup, this Emo (aunt in korean) was one grumpy grumpster.
My dad was not much better. He also was woken up by jumping children. He could not eat my mom's chocolate b-day cake (too much phosphorus) and most importantly, he had not had a good bowel movement in two days because my youngest niece likes to follow him around and stand outside of the bathroom door saying "uh oh."
Anyway, the next morning my parents left pretty early in the morning. I decided to stay, my present to my sister being watching her kids for a few days. But we got this call about an hour later. "Dad, just got a kidney. We have to fly to Kansas City."
It was like all happy made more TV movies rolled up into one. We bought my parents a ticket to Kansas City, and my brother-in-law (BIL) and I drove up to my parents' house. My parents were all a flutter when we saw them. What were the chances of a 74 year old man getting a six point match for a kidney the day after Christmas? Who knows.
On the way to airport, my dad turned to my BIL and said "twenty years, no problem."
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