Last night my suitemate, Rachel, and I sat down to knit. We ended up knitting…and watching TV…for 5 hours. I’m not a huge TV fan. I’m a firm believer that the less TV one watches, the better. I never watched TV all throughout college and now that I do, I don’t have cable.
However, Tuesday nights have somehow wriggled and writhed its way into my life as THE day to watch TV because all the shows I love are on that night. Last night’s shows were especially spell-binding and thought provoking.
Simpson show #1. Lisa wins a Matt Groening version of American Idol and fires Homer as her manager because he has the managing personality of Atilla the Hun. He takes on her rival as his agent to spite her, but at the last minute sabotages the kid’s show so that Lisa would win. They hug and Homer says, “I love you honey. I would do anything for you…especially if it’s easy.”
Thought: So well said, Homer. Love, then, is proven that much more if you do something that is HARD for that person.
Simpson show #2. In order to save Lisa from embarrassment at a county fair, Homer Simpson puts on a costume and pies her perpetrator in the face. From that point on, he becomes “Pie Man”, fighting evil doers by throwing pies in their face.
Thought: As an avid eater and lover of pies, this struck me as a serious waste of good pie. However, I have to admit that if I was trying to do an evil deed and someone pied me in the face, I’d definitely stop in my tracks…to lick it off my face.
The Biggest Loser finale. All the contestants, both eliminated and finalists, arrived on the show for the last time. They replayed each contestant’s individual story – the past, the struggles, and the success achieved. The three final contestants were weighed and the one with the largest percentage of weight lost, won $250,000.
Thought: Wow. WOW. Did you see those people and the way they used to look? They’re GORGEOUS. I’m not a fan of reality TV but this show is different because it did a good thing in healthy ways for people who were dying of obesity. None of them resembled the person they were before…I couldn’t hold my jaw closed…they looked so good. I know how hard it is to lose weight…it’s not just a physical war but also emotional and spiritual. A job well done, guys. You deserve to be happy and look great.
Thought: Obesity has no many health complications and implications. I imagine the realm of liabilities must have been HUGE for the show. My guess is that each contestant had to sign a slew of papers agreeing not to sue if they had a coronary during one of the workouts.
Thought: I noticed that the contestant’s family members were not obese. This tells me that all the contestants were obese because of bad choices, not bad genetics. Thus I theorize that the network specifically looked for people who were INCLINED towards losing weight and did not have to battle against genetics. Pretty unfair, but understandable. It wouldn’t be a show if people didn’t lose weight.
House. Dr. Chase is scrutinized by the board for his errors and circumstances leading to a patient’s death. Meanwhile, Dr. House continues to pursue his ex-wife who he works with but she is remarried. The board decides to allow Dr. Chase to stay on staff with one-week suspension.
Thought: What scared me about this episode was the realization that doctors are also human and therefore prone to error...especially since I am currently under the constant care of one. This is why I believe so strongly in self-education. No one will ever care about you as much as you do, so it’s up to you to educate yourself on your physical needs.
Law & Order. Three children run away from a man who is assumed to be their father. Two children are hit by a car while the third child is taken by the man. The two injured kids are treated at the hospital and questioned by the police. That’s when it’s discovered that they are fugitives from Katrina and the man was not their father, but their forced caretaker that had been sexually abusive. Police manage to track down the man and the missing third child, but the man dies mysteriously. Scientists figure out that the man died of anthrax. The investigation leads to the discovery that the girls were brought to the city in a truck carrying illegal military anthrax. The government intervenes by confiscating the girls and all the police’s information and orders the police not to tell the press. The police woman leaks it to the press anyway, and the journalist promises not to reveal his source. The story airs and the court throws the journalist into jail where he will remain until he gives up his source. He never does.
Thought: This scared me not only because of the historical context but also because of the power of the government. In this case I would argue on the side of the people. The people have a right to know that illegal anthrax is floating in their city. It makes me angry and sad that people have to be imprisoned for the betterment of the public.
Sex & the City. Carrie and Aiden are making love when Mr. Big calls and leaves a message. Carrie had cheated on Aiden with Mr. Big in the past, so this was really awkward. She tries to make it up to Aiden by suggesting all kinds of romantic gestures but he coolly brushes her off and goes off to flirt with the bartender. When they finally talk about it, he asks her never to talk to Mr. Big again, but she says, “You know I can’t. He’s a part of my life.” Meanwhile Charlotte quits her job, even though she loves it, because she thinks it’s necessary in order to raise a family.
Thought: I don’t know what I’d do if my boyfriend cheated on me, but if we weren’t married, I’d probably leave the relationship. If we stayed together, I’d NEVER tolerate the other person staying in contact with their former lover. What the hell is that, Carrie?
Thought: Is it possible to have it all? Can you have a high-class full-time job and still be a good wife and a good mother? Seems like you’d have to sacrifice somewhere, but then again there will always be aristocrats who are married with children…and I’d hate to think that their status automatically makes them bad spouses and bad parents. Hm…
Get a call confirming that I have Mono. No woo hoo. This never ever deserves a woo hoo, not even the part about losing weight.
Sleep. A LOT. Once my eyes are open I’m ready to sleep again.
Slip into my sister’s jeans and discovered that I am now skinnier than her, thereby royally pissing her off.
Convince my step-grandmother that I am not pregnant and I am, in fact, sick. And no, grandma, I can’t have a baby for you right now, but I promise that once I do, you’ll be taking care of it all the time.
Piss off the mother of the boy I was nannying for. In my fatigue and stupor, I forgot to bring her number to Jason’s house and had to email her to cancel a Saturday night nanny appointment. When she finally called, she derailed on me for not calling and ruining their night and hung up. So much for that job!
Clean up Jason’s vomit. One moment he’s complaining of a tummy ache and the next thing I know, he’s hurtling himself across the bedroom spewing chunks on our clothes, through the hallway, and into the toilet. It was the Mexican we had for lunch. Put me off tamales for life.
Ask Jason to take me out to buy “yarn and prune juice”.
Watched Matrix Revolution…FINALLY…after years of only catching the first two movies on cable. I’m disappointed; I kept saying, “What the hell is happening? I don’t understand” and I can’t believe Neo and Trinity die. I am, however, considering naming my daughter Trinity…hm…
Things I Did NOT Do Over Thanksgiving Break:
Poop. Still working on that one. C’mon prune juice, c’mon!
Eat Thanksgiving dinner. Thank you, Mono.
Explain to my sister why there were condoms in my nightstand. Her icy silence and refusal to look at me for the rest of the night pretty much convinced me that it wasn’t worth it to explain. She can assume what she wants, but if she wants to know the truth, she should be mature enough to ask.
Say no to chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream. I’m sorry, but even Mono can’t keep me from that.
Tell my parents that my internship is ending in a week and I am considering being a nanny. Not quite sure what I’m going to do yet so until then, they’re better off not knowing. Parents have a way of adding stress to stress.
See my counselor. Don’t think she would have appreciated me passing out on her couch.
Did I mention poop? Hellloooo down there, give me a break! Haven’t I suffered enough?!
22 days. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve revealed anything in my own life. That’s how long I’ve been thinking and writing this post in my head – trying, failing, and trying again to tell you what I’m going through.
I think I’m ready now.
I was born on June 18, 1983. I was perfectly healthy except for an unexplained and dreadfully slow metabolism. For the first few years, it was my mom’s problem. For the rest of my life, it was mine – my humiliating, debilitating problem.
When I was 13, I went through the Adam back-bend test with school. Eyebrows were raised so I was sent to the pediatrician, where she diagnosed me with Scoliosis and sent me home. For the next few years, my mother and I bounced from orthopedist to physical therapist, hoping for an answer to my lower back pain. Nothing worked.
I was 19 when the real pain started. It radiated from my neck, down my shoulders, into my shoulder blades, and through the small of my back. Then my joints started to ache. My parents enrolled me into a strict, life restrictive Scoliosis program in Baton Rouge. For 2 years I gave up my entire way of life and skipped vacations so I could live 24/7 in my back brace. I was put on a strict diet and exercise program with innumerable contraptions. I watched my life pass me by…with each tick of the clock, I lost a little more hope that I’d ever be normal or pain-free.
I was 21 when I decided to live. I threw all my body braces, electrical contraptions, and special pills into my closet, gave it the bird, and said, “Fuck you, I’m going to find another way.” In truth, I didn’t know if there was another way. Meanwhile, my body screamed in pain.
2 months ago I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, a mysterious disease whose main characteristic is chronic pain very similar to rheumatoid arthritis. All the pain I had been experiencing for 3 years had been from Fibromyalgia, not Scoliosis. I also fit the bill of other Fibromyalgia symptoms: headaches, fatigue, easy bruising, ear ringing, and easy irritation. I’d finally named the demon. Now I knew whom to fight. Only problem was that now I had to fight it.
1 month ago I was additionally diagnosed with Sciatica, a disease that causes pain and weakness in the lower back, through the buttocks, and down the legs. By then, I could only stand or walk for 30 minutes at a time. Any more than that would leave me limping with pain.
Around the same time, my boss called me into his office and told me he wouldn’t be hiring me onto full-time staff because he didn’t have enough work for me to do. Despite my disappointment and fear for my future, I knew that I wasn’t happy at the company. The people were kind but gossipy and often talked over me. I was also miserable because I was spending 8 hours a day staring at a computer doing nothing, waiting for my Sciatica to flare because of the hard chair and waiting for my Fibromyalgia to flare because of the computer screen glare. I had a choice: either leave the company now and be happier or stay through the end of my internship to show my resolve. I decided to stay.
3 weeks ago, Jason and I had a pregnancy scare. Needless to say, we were paralyzed with fear and regret. Days later I swallowed my fear and, with my head hung low, swiped through Walgreen’s to buy a test. Negative. Oh the relief…
2 weeks ago I started feeling much more tired than usual. It started as morning fatigue but, over the course of a week, blew up into coma-like episodes. I would wake up feeling unrefreshed and, an hour later, I would feel like I’d been stung with 5 tranquilizers. My brain would become a foggy mush; when someone asked me a question, I could barely think of an answer, let alone give it through him or her. I was dying in a prison of exhaustion and I didn’t know why.
1 week ago my jaw began to click. Then it began to ache until it gave me severe headaches. Even after the pain subsided, my jaw would dislocate when I talked. I had TMJ.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me and I knew that, if I didn’t figure it out soon, I wouldn’t be able to work at all. I was sick. Really, really sick.
By Friday afternoon, I had completely unraveled. Clutching the edge of my desk, I desperately tried to restrain an explosion. Teetering on the edge of sanity, I sent Jason a series of quick, ambiguous text messages over the phone. I knew I was scaring him, but I couldn’t help it…I was scaring myself.
Within half an hour, I’d excused myself from work and flew home where he met me with a glass vase brimming with a dozen roses and baby’s breath. (Apparently, he was already on his way to my place when I contacted him. He’d planned to drop off the roses and leave me a note as a surprise...to make up for all the Almost Flowers [see old post] he gave me. The timing was uncanny…I don’t think it was coincidence, but rather a supreme act of grace on God’s part.) My eyes brimming with tears, I flew into his arms and said, “I’ve had a bad day…”
For the next several hours, he held me close and talked softly into my ear, telling me how much he missed me and loved me. There in his arms, I felt myself unclench in the one good thing I had left in this world: love.
This morning I visited the doctor – my third visit in 3 months. Thankfully, he is a conservative and caring doctor. The physical therapy I’d undergone for a month had failed to relieve my Sciatica pain, but he still wasn’t willing to try surgery. Instead, he gave me a lidocaine shot in one of my most painful areas and then prescribed a medication for the Sciatica pain.
As for the fatigue, there are many possibilities. However, he suspects that I have…are you ready for this?…infectious mononucleosis.…fondly nicknamed “the kissing disease” or “mono”. Believe it or not, this is GOOD NEWS. Other possible causes, like Fibromyalgia, Hypothyroidism, or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, are MUCH harder to treat. At least with Mono, I know it will pass in a few months.
So I have a little more hope this morning. I have to go back in a week for more blood tests to test for the Epstein-Barr Virus (cause of Mono). Then in another month I go back to the doctor’s for more follow-up and a possible CT scan.
In the meantime, I’m nursing a persistent sore throat that I’ve had since the fatigue sent in. I’m trying my best to listen closely to my body, stay hydrated, shoot myself up with vitamins, and sleep a lot.
On a side note, I’ve decided to see my internship ending as an opportunity to reevaluate my career path. While I’m not giving up on my dream of being a copywriter, I realize that the job as a whole is very unstable. Plus, sitting on a hard chair staring at a computer screen for 8 hours a day is really taking a toll on my health. SO…last week I decided to try my hand at being a full-time nanny. I found a wonderful family with a sweet, adorable 11-month-old boy named Max. Tonight I am looking after him for 3 hours as my first “test”. I really want this job! I’ll let you know what happens…
P.S. Thanks for reading this entire spiel! Bet you’re as tired as I am now!
Due to the thought-provoking and diverse responses generated by the last post, I’ve decided to write my responses in another post, along with a short update on the situation.
Rowan – You compare “free-will” marriage to arranged marriage. Intriguing. That really paints marriage more as a business investment, like you said, than a lovey-dovey Cinderella story. Having never been married, I can’t say one way or the other. But if a serious relationship resembles anything of a marriage, then I can say for certainty that love is hard work indeed.
There are so many definitions of love, and Jason inspires a new one every day. This weekend, he inspired this one: Love is when I can say to Jason, “I can’t talk to you right now, you’re driving me crazy, so go away,” and he just laughs and says, “You’re funny”.
I’m glad you pointed out the importance of being friends with your spouse. In talking to many couples, I’ve found that the happiest are those that learned to be best friends first. I’m trying to think how Jason and I would rate on the friendship scale. Hm…I think we’re getting there. We’re slowly but surely learning to talk and share our lives over drinks instead of just burning with passion (I say that with a lot of sarcasm, just so you know).
P.S. Ah, wisdom. Thank you for the compliment. Like our favorite heroes, I hope that when each turning point in my life comes, I will not only have the wisdom to recognize the right decision, but the courage to do it.
Nervous Girl – I am the same as you; I consider all sides and try to understand each person from their angle. Some may say we are indecisive, but I’d like to think we are objective and wise. =)
Kjersten – You bring up an interesting question: When a couple with children don’t get along, is it better for them to stay together “for the sake of the kids” or split and pursue individual happiness? I’m sure that, depending on our own childhood/family experience, we each have a different opinion on this. I grew up in a torn marriage and dysfunctional family. In the case of my parents, I often think they would be better off divorced. However, I still believe in families…I believe in the power and influence of a loving family…and I always hope that families can be salvaged. I’ve known Jeff and Alice for 8 months now, just long enough to know that, in their hearts, they really love each other. Circumstance and bad decisions have come between them. I hope their family can be saved.
Mollie – It breaks my heart, too. I also believe strongly in pre-marital counseling and have made that clear to Jason. Your hope and belief in marriage exactly describes how I feel about it and how I think I WILL feel about it when it’s my turn to get married. In the face of broken situations like this, our kind of hope seems so futile. But futile hope is better than no hope at all.
You mentioned that you have friends who are also divorcing. Assuming your friends are not that much older than you, that makes me so sad…they could not have been married for long, right? And what is this “out” that your friend described to you? Why did he go “in” in the first place?
P.S. I have no answers either. Just thoughts. I appreciate all of yours.
Etchen – Where in Ohio are you from?
Nikky – Your motives for cheating on your boyfriends are completely understandable. In the same way, I disagree with you that Alice’s actions immediately make her immature and thoughtless. I think her actions make her more human. I think Alice loves her little girls and, deep in her heart, she loves Jeff. Maybe it was the pressure of being too young, too poor, too tired, too burdened, too unfulfilled…She made a bad choice and I don’t agree with it. But I think we can all remember a time in our lives when every day was night, when the whole world was crushing our shoulders, and we just needed one person…just ONE person…to lift our chins up and make us feel beautiful and worthwhile again. My heart tells me that she longs for Jeff to be that person, and my prayer is that they can come together and work on their problems so that he can be.
Kimananda – I don’t think you’re being cynical, I think you’re being realistic. However, I think the idea of “better to find out now than later” is better applied to careers, hobbies, and relationships BEFORE marriage. When it’s applied to two people who are already married, let alone share children, that just makes me sad. That doesn’t mean I think that an abusive or obviously clashing marriage should stay together no matter what. Sometimes you look at a marriage and you want to scream at them, “What are you waiting for? Get the hell out!” I just think that once you say “I do”, you should treat that as an everlasting promise or pact, and do everything you can to save it.
Daphne – I’m curious to know what your previous comments were…the ones you deleted because you hated what you said. What were you going to say and why did you hate it? By the way, thank you for your inquiry about current events; I will update everyone as soon as I get done writing my responses here…
Elvira – Yes, as you and Rowan have illuminated, situations like this are not black and white. Sometimes we wish life were like a movie with clear-cut villains; then we could root for the “good guy” and boo the “bad guy”. In real life, we look for someone to blame because it’s easier on our conscience, but the truth is that we live in the gray, and that we all have multiple personalities…we are all equipped with the capability to be the good guy, the bad guy, and everything in between.
To your comment about haste, Jeff and Alice were not in any haste to have children. Kahlan was unplanned. In they were hasty in anything, it was to have sex and do it without protection. I don’t think they’d planned on getting married that early either; I think they did it to make it easier to prepare for the new baby.
However, I agree with you that, as a nation, we are in haste for EVERYTHING. This is really sad; as a society, we have been conditioned to never be content or satisfied with who we are NOW, where we are NOW, what we have NOW. I’ll admit that, as my highest dream is to be a wife and mother, I often wish that I was in that place right now. But all it takes is a few crying kids and poopie diapers to make me glad that I’m where I am now!
Everyone - Please continue to comment as you feel fit. Don’t hesitate to share your opinion and feelings about the situation. I don’t take any comments personally; I recognize that this situation in particular is very gray and has no clear-cut answers. In the same way, please don’t be offended if I disagree with you. We’re all friends here; if we all agreed on everything, this blog would be very boring.
Update on the situation: On Saturday, I brought two girlfriends with me to Jason’s house to celebrate Kahlan’s 3rd birthday. She was too caught up in being a “true princess” (you should have seen her gawdy tiara, earrings, and necklace) and trying to smash her face in her princess cake to notice that her mommy wasn’t there. After the party, we went to Joe’s house (Jason’s best friend) for karaoke. That’s when Jeff got a call from Alice and disappeared. An hour later he reappeared, giddy and chatty - the kind of giddy and chatty that could only have meant he either had a really GREAT conversation with Alice or he had a really BAD conversation with her. Either way, he started to hose his throat with alcohol, and I spent the rest of the night wondering whether he was high on hope or high on frustration.
The next day, Jason told me that Alice called him again later than night and again the next day. We both agree she still loves him and wants to make the marriage work. However, we once again differ on how we feel about it: Jason kept saying that what she did was unforgivable and “it’ll take a while for her to earn my respect back, if ever”. Frankly, I didn’t think his respect for her had any bearing upon the situation. Plus, I don’t think anything is beyond forgiveness; if anything were, then we’d all be S.O.L. and no marriage would ever work. From what I’ve gleaned from happy couples, marriage is all about commitment and forgiveness…you commit so you forgive…again and again. Alice’s actions happen to be much harder to forgive, but for their sake and the sake of those beautiful little girls, I hope they can learn to forgive each other and themselves.
What does real love look like? How do you know when you’ve found the real thing or you’re fooling with an imposter? When is love no longer enough?
Tough questions. Hard answers. I don’t know that anyone can say what they would do in a tough situation until they were smack dab in the middle of it, facing it head on. So what would you do if, at just 22, you found out the love of your life and your wife of 3 years had been cheating on you for the last year? Would it make a difference if two precious little girls were at stake?
That is what Jeff, Jason’s younger brother and best friend, had to face this weekend. Jeff is my age. Jeff and Jason grew up in a loving home without a ton of rules or regulations. If Jeff’s anything like his brother, he’s extremely stubborn, goofy, intensely loving, clumsy with communication, and is much better at adoring his lady than cleaning up after himself. At around 6’2”, Jeff is laid-back, his blue eyes calm. He always wears glasses, his brown hair is always a different length of fro, and he always wears denim.
Alice may be small, but anyone who knows her would never dare challenge her. She and her older brother Chris grew up underneath the terror of a manic depressive mother and the whip tail end of abuse. She fought to survive and still does. Her fiery red hair and fierce expressions match her direct, no-dicking-around approach to life. When she wants to get something done, she’ll get it done herself – and fast.
Jeff and Alice met through high school; he sat behind her in homeroom. From that moment on, they were inseparable. At 19, they approached Jeff’s parents and announced the big news: We’re pregnant. A few months later they were married. Not long after that, Kahlan was born.
Kahlan is the most quotable 2-year-old you will ever meet. She’s also dramatic, chatty, and incredibly smart. Her red-red curls frame her plump ivory face and her blue eyes dance when she giggles and jumps and dances. She will never tire of talking or sticking out her tongue to everyone she meets. Her 3rd birthday is next Saturday.
Bailey, Kahlan’s little sister, is 1 year old. She’s incredibly good at falling and acquiring new bumps and bruises on her forehead. She also has a voracious appetite; while grandma and grandpa have to beg Kahlan to eat a few vegetables, Bailey’s plump little fingers are grabbing every edible food item she sees. She can count to 13 and make the sound that cows make.
A few months ago, Jeff spent the night at his parent’s house after a fight with Alice. Then a few weeks ago, he had an emotional breakdown. Jason played mediator while they explained their frustrations with each other. They agreed to separate until Jeff could own up to his responsibilities and come back to the relationship better equipped for marriage. Last Saturday, Jeff followed Alice and caught her kissing another man…an older man who was a friend of the family. This Sunday, the reap-o man came to the house to claim Alice’s Ford Focus; apparently she’d failed to make payments on the car for 4 months. Jeff’s Dad, Paul, saved the car by paying all of it off and buying insurance for it.
The Focus itself was still running fine, but it had accumulated monstrous piles of trash in every nook and cranny. Jeff combed and cleaned through the car as the rest of us looked on. Among the things he found: a note by Alice describing the mutual adoration between her and her lover. I felt so helpless as I watched him clean. His parents were shocked. But none were so devastated as Jeff. He never cried or winced. Rather, like a ticking bomb, he moved quickly, with jerks and wry grins that made you want to hug him and back away from him at the same time. At one point he looked at me and remarked, “Ain’t love grand?!” Later that afternoon, Alice told Jeff that she’d been cheating on him for a year. Moments later, they declared divorce.
Jason, who was already in a bad mood that day, fought with me about the moral in’s and outs of the situation. He was furious and devastated on behalf of Jeff; as far as he was concerned, there was no sympathy or forgiveness left for Alice. I, on the other hand, was saddened by the entire situation and felt grief for all the people, including Alice. I wondered how many sleepless nights she must have had, wondering how to open her husband’s eyes to the emptiness she felt. I wondered what drained the joy out of their marriage. I wondered what was happening the day she decided to give up…the day she decided to look for happiness with someone else. Was it raining that day? Were the children extra fussy and Jeff too absent? Was her desire to feel beautiful and treasured again too great, and the efforts of her husband too small? Or, as society portrays cheaters, is she really just heartless, cruel, and weak? I don’t know. I believe that glitches in love are the result of love misdirected and misunderstood. I want to believe that their marriage can be saved, that love has second and third chances, but I also respect their decision and acknowledge that I have never been in their situation and therefore can only surmise so much.
Once upon a time, a friend shared with me this revelation: it’s not that getting a divorce is too easy, it’s that getting married is too easy. He’s right. I don’t think many couples know what they’re doing or what they’re getting into when they get married. Choices. It always comes down to choices. Who to love, when to marry, what to say, what to do…every choice has a consequence. I just wonder…is there a choice bad enough that cannot be salvaged by a good choice? When does the bad choice of one spouse cause the other spouse to say, “That’s enough. ‘I do’ no longer.”?
Now that I’ve got my stomping out of my system (see below), I suppose now is as good time as any to tell you about the Almost Flower. What is an Almost Flower, you ask? But I don’t have to tell you because you already know what it is. Everyone has given or received an Almost Something at one point (or, if you’re extra special, several points) in his/her life. An Almost Something is a disconnect between thinking something and then doing something. An Almost Something is, ironically, almost always an excuse. “I almost said I love you”, “I almost bought the bigger diamond”, “I almost took birth control”, and “I almost jumped in to save you” all fall under this category.
An Almost Flower, then, is when instead of receiving the bountiful blue bonnets or pansies or orchids you deserve, you receive a pleading look, empty hands, and the words “I almost stopped by the flower shop today.”
I have received enough Almost Flowers to hang wreaths around my room.
It all started with one of our many fights. Jason is a very all-or-nothing person. When it came to giving, he felt that anything less than diamonds or a yacht would be insufficient. Thus, since he can’t afford either, he chose not to surprise me with anything. I, on the other hand, am completely the opposite. I’m low maintenance. It doesn’t take much to make me happy, but it does take something. Convincing Jason that I preferred flowers over diamonds and picnics over 5-star restaurants was like banging my head against a spiked wall.
The result of my bloodied attempts? He decided to think about it.
And so, time after time, he’d come home from work where I’d be waiting, eagerly anticipating my very first flower.
“Guess what?” Yes? YES?! “I almost got you a flower today.” You…almost?…got me a flower? “Yep. Flower shop was closed though.” But…but what about Kroger’s? “No way. They don’t have the best ones.”
Thus the Almost Flower was born. Every weekend there’d be a different excuse, but always the same result. I’d open my palms and he’d hand me an Almost Flower to add to my burgeoning bouquet. At one point, he did arrive with a pink rose, but only after much begging. And it was one of those nonchalant “here’s your flower, so take it” type deals, so I was still disappointed. I stuck it in one of his empty beer bottles, where it wilted within days.
This weekend started out the same way. He arrived at my place, said “I thought about getting you a flower”. I was about say “Uh huh” when he cried, “So I did!” and pulled out a beautiful, long-stem red rose.
Eureka! I closed my eyes, wrapped my fingers around the plump petals, and reveled in a flurry of flower fumes. Mmm…
Do you have an Almost Something in your life? Or are you one of those lucky gals that are spoiled rotten by your significant other? Either way, let’s hear it!
Ever since I found out that I have fibromyalgia, I've been researching it to find out what else it can cause other than chronic pain. I've been amazed at how much I fit the bill. Among other things: easily bruised, ringing in ears, chronic fatigue, and morning stiffness. What I didn't expect to find on that list? Easily irritated. What?! I scoff. I am not easily irritated. I am calm, I am serene, I am billowy willow trees and ponds with swans. I am NOT easily irritated.
Then I remember. Wait a tic. Yes I am.
Last night I went to Kroger's (mid-west grocer chain, if you don't know) to shop for food because Jason, Mr. Fancy Food, had to have a fresh, homemade American dinner. His stomach was growling for steak subs, so off I went to buy fresh steak, vegetables, and baguette for our meal while he drove the 40-minute trek to my place.
At first, I'm okay. I fumble through the bags of apples to find the least-bruised set and I circle the produce a few times to find the right vegetables. And oooh, bean and corn salsa! So far so good.
Then I notice that my prized dried fruit section is gone, which means Kroger's is STILL renovating and rearranging, which means this place will be pockmarked with empty shelves, which means my entire grocery route is foiled. Where are my dried berries?
Fine. I'll find the berries later. I'm standing in front of the meat to buy rib-eye. $10.99 per pound?! What does he think I'm made of, gold? The man wants steak. Fine. Can I get some service please? No one answers. Hello? HELLOOOO?! Silence.
I track down someone to help me, seconds before my arms would have flailed fast enough to hail down an airplane. There is rib-eye, strip...but oh!...shoulder is on sale! What's the difference? I don't get it. Someone help!
A sympathetic attendant walks me to the refridgerated aisle and hands me an already perfectly packaged 1.5 lbs of rib-eye for $5 less. I am saved. Thank you, sympathetic attendant.
Now for fat-free potato chips. Where are they? NO! They can't still be gone from the potato chip aisle! Damn you, stockers! How could you stock everything but the chips I WANT?!
Okay frozen chicken. I'm out of it and I need some more. Where is it...helloooo frozen chicken, come out come out wherever you are...I can't find it. I give up.
Jason arrives. He finds me in the frozen pizza aisle, nerves frayed and ready to split. "Hi!" He smiles. "Whatcha lookin' for?"
I...I can't find my favorite frozen pizza. They took it out, Jason! They took it out! I'm pacing. I'm pacing the damn pizza aisle and his eyes are following me back and forth, back and forth. "What do they look like, honey, I'll help you," he soothes, trying not to laugh. I don't know, I don't know! They were fat-free, they looked like Tombstone pizzas, but I can't find them now, and my back's going to hurt any minute. "What about this one?" He hands me a reduced-fat Tombstone. "Mom gets this one all the time." I take it. It looks good. Okay...
"What else do you need?" I unleash all hell. Dried fruit! I WANT MY DRIED BERRIES! They've changed everything in this place and I can't find anything I want. I can't get into my mantra because I don't know where anything is! I can't find my potato chips and I still need to get the bread and I'M GOING TO DIE!
He looked at me and, without missing a beat, said, "Don't worry, we'll find it all," and began pushing the cart calmly down the aisle. I couldn't believe someone could be so calm. As we cleared that aisle to walk down the next, I stomped my feet, hopped around, and flailed my arms in one last release of frustration. I never knew stomping your feet could feel so good.
Author's note: We ended up finding everything except for the frozen chicken (which I forgot about) and the potato chips. Oh, and dinner was amazing.
This morning, I decided to get off my honk and go for a swim at the local YMCA. Normally I'm alone, but today I walked in to find several people already swimming in the lanes, including a 30-something black man and his black girlfriend. As I undressed, the woman swam off but the man turned to me and asked a question.
"Do you speak English?"
I blinked a couple times. Was he serious? I responded with anUh, YEAH! and jumped in the lane.
He chatted at me while I swam, being goofy and trash talking. I laughed as he hassled me to compete against his doggy-paddling, then showed me "the kitten stroke" - a series of goofy paddles down the lane while meowing every 2 seconds. He wasn't a bad person, just misinformed (REALLY misinformed). So when he asked me his second question, I wasn't nearly as surprised.
"So. What are you?" Excuse me? "You know. What ARE you?" I'm American. "Yeah but you know...what's your culture? You look Vietnames 'cuz you got them slanted eyes." Of course, I knew what he was getting at, I was just toying with his ignorance. No, sorry, keep guessing. "Oh. Are you Asian?" What?! This guy had no clue. Asian is a broad term. It's like calling you African American. "Oh, I get it. So....?" I'm Chinese. "Oh okay, see a lot of them Asian folks, they got slanted eyes, right? So I guessed Vietnamese."
Before he left, he introduced himself to me and his girlfriend. "I'm Rodney," he said. Nice to meet you. I'm Leslie. "Ooooh, you got an American name too? WOW!" he exclaimed.
He walked off to the hot tub and I chuckled to myself. Aren't we colored, after all.
Race. Ethnicity. Jokes. Slurs. Affirmative action. Interracial relationships. You can’t avoid it. Sooner or later, you’ll step on someone’s toes and someone will step on yours. Do you become profusely apologetic for the rest of your life? Plead the 5th and live your life in ignorance? Where is the line? Is there a line at all?
I walked in on an interesting lunch conversation today. Ruchi, who is Indian, was questioning the political correctness of a current campaign we are designing for a restaurant chain called Oriental Wok. (One could argue that the name itself stirs dissent.) Andrea, who is white, was hyperventilating at the mere thought that their smart campaign might step on racial toes and frantically paced the floor defending her work and the campaign. The campaign sought to poke fun specifically at Caucasians who tattooed themselves with Chinese symbols without knowing the real meaning and also sought to meld Eastern stereotypes into the mix. One of the headlines read something like, “You are as ugly as arranged marriage.”
Frankly, I didn’t think the lines made much sense and took too much thought, but surely the issue of race and racial lines hit the heart of many. As a first generation Chinese American woman, I have a lot to say about this.
A temporary salve, childhood kept me innocent and unaware of racial lines. I was born in Georgia with parents who grew up in Taiwan – another world, another generation apart. Mandarin was my first language, but I had to learn English to go to school. I grew up here in Cincinnati. Despite going to a Chinese church, I grew accustomed to being around Caucasians all the time. To this day, I am more attracted to Caucasian males than any other ethnicity. (I am also uncomfortable around large groups of Asians. Weird, huh?)
Then puberty hit. And oh no – suddenly I was sucked into a whirlwind of an identity crisis. I wanted to be pretty, popular, and accepted. The first time I put on a sleeveless shirt, my mother gasped in horror because she could see the outline of my bra. I was marched upstairs to undress. I was smart, clumsy, and laughed at by the boys. Oh how I envied the popular girls…too dumb to spell their own name, but they had the guys tripping over themselves. I attributed their popularity to the fact that they were white, and it would be years before I stopped wishing for big blue eyes.
In high school, some boys at the Chinese church wore bracelets engraved with the word “Chigger”, a combination of the words “chink” and “nigger”. They defended themselves, saying that it’s okay to make fun of your own race, you just can’t make fun of another race. Was that true? I didn’t know, but I was horrified.
Over the years, girls would tell me to be happy that I’m Chinese. “The boys want you more,” they’d say. “You’re different. You’re exotic.” Was that a good thing? Should I be happy that a lot of men have Asian fetishes or should I be angry because I’m treated differently? In the same way, should I be happy that affirmative action helped me get into college or should I be angry that I’ll never know if my academics could have pulled that weight?
One of my greatest pet peeves is people who think that, just because I’m Chinese, I can’t be American. They don’t recognize the difference between nationality and ethnicity.
I’ll never forget the day Jason and I sat down to have dinner with his best friend Joe and Joe’s parents. A lover of sauce, I was drowning my steak in BBQ sauce and praising it. Rose, Joe’s mother, remarked, “Oh honey, you’ve never heard of this sauce before? Don’t worry, I think it’s an American thing.”
You could have cut the silence with a knife. “Moooom!” Joe whispered. “She IS American.”
It wasn’t the first time something like that’s happened, and it certainly won’t be the last. Take your pick – kids pulling at the corners of their eyes, playing “Chinese fire drill” on the roads (we never invented that, btw), guys hitting on me because they have an “Asian thing”, butchering my last name, asking me “Where are you from? No, where are you REALLY from?”, friends trying to “kung fu” me, the people who see Jason and I as an interracial couple before they see anything else.
Years back there was a national outcry and debate about who, if anyone, could say the word “nigger”. The topic resurfaced when Eminem became popular. And then there was that one politician who mistakenly said the word…what was it…”niggardly”?…in a speech.
I will end this post by saying that Jason, bless his heart, surprised me when he told me that my ethnicity played no part in his attraction to me. Between the two of us, I am probably the more discriminatory, since I have an affinity towards white men.
A few months ago, we were serving in the children’s ministry and sat down with our kids to listen to the children’s leader give a lesson on acceptance. “You should love everyone, even those different from you. Like, take the Orientals for example. They may be different from me, but I still accept and love them,” he preached.
My mouth hung open in a soundless surprise. Jason, equally stunned, fought the urge to laugh. Here was a white man teaching a room full of white children a lesson on acceptance by using an example about Orientals. And I was the only Asian (and minority, for that matter) in the room. To this day, Jason calls me an “Oriental” in a redneck drawl as an inside joke.
So what do you think? What is your racial story? Are there lines to be drawn? If so, where?
I. love. food. I love it. I can’t get enough of it. Short of taking a bath in chocolate silk and spritzing my pits with essence of beef jerky, I cannot live without it. It is for this reason that I have never, and probably never will, fast for Jesus. (Sorry Jesus, but you’re the one who created me.) Food is also the sole reason that I am ever cranky. (Not to be confused with being stressed, PMS, and/or in a general bad mood.) You can call me at 5am and I will answer chipper as a bluebird. You can call me names, tug on my hair, or question my sexual identity. But should you ever be so misfortunate to find me hungry, run. Run for your life or, rather, run to the nearest restaurant and warn the chef.
I’m not sure where my love of food originated. I suppose it’s only fair to give the Chinese some credit. After all, the kitchen is a Chinese family’s most prized and messiest room. They pride themselves in their dishes so much that dish-naming is an art. Every dish is preceded by its fanciful name, followed by due “oooh’s” and “ahhh’s” from the hungry spectators. Why, the Chinese love food so much, they don’t even bother with drinks. (Very opposite from American culture, yes?) Before Western culture saturated China, the drink of choice for meals was hot tea. You’ll notice that even then, the teacups were, and still are, small. Rather, the Chinese prefer their liquid to come in the form of soup. When my sister and I were little, our requests for drinks were met by scolding glares by our parents. Eventually, my dad relented and grew accustomed to ordering us tap water. If we were lucky, we got Sprite.
Still, I like to think I was born with an extra sense for food. The demands of an American lifestyle has forced me to concede on some otherwise homemade meals, but generally I like my food as homemade as time and patience allows. Above all, I have to have food – all the time, for every occasion, or no occasion at all.
When I lived at home, eating good meals was never a problem. (Hygiene was, but let’s not go there.) Either Mom or Dad would cook Chinese, and if they were feeling lazy, we’d order out…Chinese food, that is. Once I left for college, eating and eating well became an obstacle. The dining hall was in another building, their food was less than appetizing, there were no kitchens in our dorms, no room to store food, and worst of all, I had no car. Desperate times called for desperate measures. I called every single friend with four wheels so that, like clockwork, each one took turns taking me to the grocery story every other weekend. They’d help me carry all my bags up the stairs to my dorm room where I would carefully store away my precious treasures in my mini-fridge and storage bins. I washed dishes in the bathroom sink. Once, freshman year, I bought a pineapple and spent half an hour chopping away at a small sink with a pint-size knife. I lost count how many classes I was late to simply because I had to stop and buy food. My junior year, I moved into a dorm with a kitchen. I spent most of that year running between my room and the kitchen down the hall to turn this over, put more spice of that, on and on. I moved into an apartment my senior year, and it was also the first year I had a car. Spare hours, especially in times of stress, were whittled over the stove.
Now that I’m out on my own and working, I have less time and energy to cook. (Plus, Jason’s parents always give me a free meal when I’m over and that is A-OK with me.) However, I eat just as much, if not more. If anything, my eating habits have gotten more frequent and much more erratic. Observe today’s feeding so far:
2 french toasts with butter and syrup
A bowl of oatmeal with pork sung
2 butter crackers
1 milk chocolate truffle
Several skittles (only purple and red)
2 lychee jellos
2 slices of raisin bread
A handful of kettle popcorn
Now before you start gagging, a few addendums: I didn’t use that much butter or syrup, there was no sugar in the oatmeal, the potato chips were fat-free, I only used a little bit of butter and syrup, and the crackers were reduced-fat. I know what you’re thinking: “COP OUT!” But I promise I’m not. I eat what I like. I eat what tastes good to me. It just so happens that I prefer the taste of fat-free potato chips and reduced-fat crackers, and too much butter or syrup makes my stomach hurt. On the same side of the coin, I also prefer the full-fat versions of all cakes, pies, chocolates, soups, and most cheeses.
So yes, I’m a food lover. No food fetish (unless you count ketchup, GOD BLESS KETCHUP), I don’t substitute food for love, and I stop eating when I’m full (unless it’s a buffet, got to get your bang for your buck).
While we’re on this topic, I might as well close this session with a short list of some of my favorite foods:
Squash soup
Sweet potato fries
Anything with ketchup
Kettle popcorn
Corn – cornbread, corn casserole, corn of the cob, corn corn corn
Friday. 5:30 p.m. Leave work to drive straight to Cam, the biggest Asian grocer in the city. Stuck in traffic. Damn it. And all I want is a tub of lychee jellies and some pork sung to throw in my oatmeal.
6:30 p.m. Stood in horrendously long line at Goodwill, only to find out the leather jacket I want is not on sale like the rest of the items. I refuse to pay $45 for anything at Goodwill. Leave empty-handed. Make for the mall to find sexy gothic adornments for goth costume.
7:30 p.m. Am stressed beyond belief. My own internal voice has betrayed me. You’re a dumbass, it says to me. You’ve walked twice around the whole mall, you can’t decide if you want knee-hi or thigh-hi stockings, and the only people here who are close to your age are still sucking their thumb. I return the knee-his for a pair of lacy thigh-hi’s. White makeup grease, a black bra, and I’m gone.
8:00 p.m. Foraging in my parent’s house for last year’s goth costume clothes. Cursing…cursing…Ah ha! Found it! I am amazing. No, I am exhausted. My friend’s party is starting. I’m late.
8:30 p.m. I call my sister, Jen, and scream BLAKE SHELTON into the phone. “What?!” BLAKE SHELTON! YOU ASKED ME LAST WEEK WHO SINGS THE SONG AUSTIN AND I FINALLY REMEMBERED! IT’S BLAKE SHELTON! She’s laughing. She’s asks me where I’m going. I spent three hours collecting pieces for my costume. The party’s starting. I’m tired so I'm going home. She says I’m crazy. I laugh.
Saturday. 11:00 a.m. Can’t stay in bed forever. Feel strange urge to swim. Quick! Move before the feeling disappears!
12:15. At the YMCA. Pool is closed for children’s lessons until 1:00. Damn it!
12:30. At another YMCA. This is an adult facility – no children’s lessons to disturb me. Note to self: Always go to an adult facility as you are an adult. You may be wearing a lime green suit, but you are an adult. Go in peace and feel adulty.
1:00. Pant pant pant. Am gasp out of gasp shape. Screw feeling adulty. I’m going home.
3:00 p.m. I have underestimated my laziness. Aforementioned fancy dinner and costume party has turned into “make your own burrito” party at my place has turned into “eat burgers and pie” with no costumes at friend’s house. Thank God for friends.
7:00 p.m. Jason calls on his way over. He has not gotten a haircut despite my month-long sweet pleadings, threats, and name callings, such as “canopy hair” and “overgrown weed”. Rachel’s (suitemate) friend Michael arrives. I jump on the arrival of another penis as an opportunity to rant about men, their smelly feet, overgrown hair, and yet their expectation for women to lay spread-eagle for them in bed. Poor Michael.
7:30 p.m. Party is a success. We are high on burgers, pumpkin pie, spinach dip, guacamole, and fine red wine. I forget about Jason’s canopy hair. I have missed him for a week and I love him.
Sunday. 10:30 a.m. We started the morning with our usual argument: when to get up and who takes longer. Now we’re sitting in church, listening to the sermon. I am looking forward, he is looking at me. He pokes me in the arm. He sticks out his tongue. Are you paying attention?! Why is it hard for men to sit still?
12:00 p.m. I am furious. Jason continues his habit of threatening to smack me around and calling me “ugly and smelly”. I know he is joking. I know he adores me, would never lay a hand against me, and cries when he wounds me. But oh the stares we get. They don’t know he is joking. They look on me with pity as a victim of domestic violence, and they stare at him as the perpetrator. To make it worse, he kicks me as I’m talking to a sales representative at Victoria’s Secret. Now I’m furious and embarrassed.
12:30 p.m. We meet Jason’s extended family at Maple Knoll, a retirement community, for lunch. Jeff and Alice, Jason’s brother and sister-in-law, arrive with their two small children, Kahlan and Bailey. I am telling Alice and his Aunt Jeanine about Jason’s atrocities and they are shocked. Jeannine tells Jason’s grandmother. She pauses. “Not my child,” she shrugs.
We should get together sometime, I say to Alice, thinking she could understand since she and Jeff are currently separated. You know, since we’re with the brothers. She smiles and shakes her head. “Oh no, Jeff’s not that bad,” she says. “Not as bad as Jason.” I am so encouraged.
2:00 p.m. Walking back to the car. I am ranting. I am raving. I am telling him why I’m angry and what Alice said. He is pouting. “Are you mad? But I love you. I looooove youuu!” He is sticking out his lower lip. I am sighing. He deserves to be smacked, but how can I smack that irresistible face? Shit. I love him again.
4:45 p.m. Jason has gone home to study for a test. I’ve showered, painted my nails black for the big day, and now I’m ready to meet up with him. I call him. He says he has more work than anticipated. We decide not to hang out that night. I wipe away a few tears.
4:50 p.m. I’m sitting on my bed. The room’s quiet. I’ve nothing to do. I call Jason. I’ve changed my mind. I’m coming over.
5:00 p.m. Damn it! I left my black lipstick – a crucial piece of my costume – at my parent’s house. And I was just there on Friday! I am an idiot. I call dad. A miracle – he finds the lipstick. I am a happy idiot.
5:30 p.m. I walk in the door. Dad opens up his arms and embraces me in a hug. A real hug. I’m slightly taken aback. He hands me my lipstick, and I update him about my health and the two new diseases. I can already see his wheels of control and panic turning, so I tell him not to worry. It’s under control. One more embrace, and I’m out the door.
6:30 p.m. Arrive at Jason’s. How’s studying go… He’s playing a war computer game. I threaten to drop a grape into his wine glass. We watch the latest James Bond movie over spiced Tombstone pizza. He points out all the sexual innuendos. It’s amazing how many references one can make to a penis without making a single reference to a vagina. Not one.
9:30 p.m. Eh, to hell with Bond. He lays enough chicks; he doesn’t care about us. We’re going to have our own fun. He closes his eyes while I pull on my thigh-hi’s. “Whoa.” His eyes are popping, I am laughing, and we are tumbling into his sheets.
10:00 p.m. He pulls my arm across his chest until I am snug against his side. He sighs happily and I tease him for loving to snuggle so much. “I don’t know whatcher talkin’ about. Men don’t snuggle. Do you hear me? I. don’t. snuggle.” I giggle. I love you. "I love you too." Life is bliss.
