Christmas Chinese Style!

The family and I flew to Houston on Christmas Eve to see my grandmother and most of my mother's siblings and their children. The airport was surprisingly scarce; we pretty much sauntered through security and throuth the gate right onto the plane. The jet was incredibly cramped. It was one of the few times my short stature came in handy. Anyone taller than 5'8" had to hunch over to walk through the aisle. The 2.5 hour flight went reasonably quickly. I busied myself by reading Paula by Isabel Allende (my all-time favorite author), writing a few thoughts in my journal, daydreaming to sappy songs on my iPod, and scrutinizing the clouds and the shadows they cast.

When we arrived in Houston, most of us had already shedded what layers we had donned to protect us from the Ohio winter. Mom, however, was less fortunate. Bitterly afraid of the cold, she'd underestimated the Houston sun and was wearing thermal underwear, a turtle neck, a sweater, two pairs of socks, and a coat. Hahaha...poor mom. She nearly passed out from the heat.

There's basically two things you can always expect when Chinese people get together: 1) Food. Constant food. Every minute of every hour that you are awake, expect to be swallowing something. 2) Hours and hours of Mah Jiang! (For those of you who don't know what this is, Mah Jiang is a Chinese 4-person game that is less of a game and more of an essential part of any Chinese household worldwide. It's usually used for gambling.)

Our arrival was anticipated with a little pomp and a lot of food. I walked in the door, said "Hi ugly!" to my cousin Henry (the one who just recovered from meningitis) and proceeded to walk to the kitchen to ask for a drink. I told my Uncle David about Jason and showed him our pictures. My uncle is extremely into alternative analysis for future-telling, so he analyzed Jason's face and quickly concluded that I'd found a man with a good heart. He asked about our astrological signs, blood types, and read my palm. Apparently there's an ancient Chinese device based on numbers and statistics that, with just a few numbers about your birth, you can accurately foretell your future career, love life...even what your spouse will look like. So...now my homework when I get home is to figure out when and exactly at what time Jason and I were born...and see how we match up. I don't believe too much in this stuff, but I think it's fun. Plus I really want to see if my future spouse looks anything like Jason.

After we all ate dinner, we took a break from food to take way too many family pictures. Then my cousin Heidi and I handed out everyone's presents. I got a red carpet-worthy gold purse, trendy sunglasses (which my sister sat on and will have to be replaced, a lot of cash, perfume, and a Starbucks certificate. I can honestly say that I actually get a bigger kick out of giving presents than receiving them. When I give presents, I put a lot of thought into what I give, and the look on a person's face when they open the gift is so priceless to me. Getting presents last night was fun, but I'm REALLY looking forward to going home and giving my family and Jason's family their gifts.

This morning I woke up and the sun was shining through the window, the sky was a strong blue, and the grass was tall and green. Not a pinch of winter to be seen. If we hadn't exchanged presents the night before, I would have completely forgotten it was Christmas! I associate Christmas with snow, grey skies, icicles, fireplaces, and lots of layers. Who woulda thunkit to walk outside in a tee shirt and cords on Christmas day?! It makes me wonder...do the radio DJ's here have to censor the Christmas songs they play? After all, lots of people here have never seen snow. What would be the point of playing songs that sing about winter wonderlands and snowflakes? I can't even begin to imagine.

I decided to take full advantage of the sun by walking around the neighborhood with Henry. It was so weird...walking around in a light shirt, sucking on red jello, fanning myself because I'm hot...on Christmas?! Just to drive the reality home, I had Henry take pictures of me striking ridiculous poses out on my grandma's lawn with the blue sky beaming in the background. I figured it just wouldn't be right if I didn't go home with proof to make Jason even more jealous.

I think the one bad thing about Christmas is the you're all hyped up, but there's really not a whole lot to do. SO...my grandma took full advantage of the situation and fed us glorified Chinese food all day with the help of all my aunts and uncles. We had "tide me over until lunch" food, lunch, "tide me over until dinner" food, dinner, dessert, and "I'm still hungry" dessert.

Speaking of...I think I'm going to have my "just before bedtime" snack. Honey teddygrahams! Mmm...

Night night! Merry Christmas!

My Mom is a Dork.

"I'm not finished with Christmas shopping yet, oh no! How far along are you?"
I'm done.
"Really?!" *leans in* "What did you get me?"
I can't tell you that.
"Why not?!"
It's a secret.
"Will you tell me?"
Did you really think that just by asking, I'd cave and tell you?
"Sure!"
So you're saying that if I asked you what you got me, you'd tell me?
"I'd at least give you a very good hint."
The answer is no.
*pause* "So did you get me workout clothes or winter gear?"
Neither.
"Neither?!"
Mother, face it, I'm smarter than you. I'm not going to tell.
"Hmmph!"
Sigh...

Weeeeeee

I thought it'd be appropriate to post some very old but still oh-so-fun pictures of myself. Three years ago, when digital cameras were THE new cool gadget to own, my friend and I decided to have a little fun with my new camera. Here's some of what we came up with.


Sunday was Jason and my 9 month anniversary. I used to make a big hullaballoo about each and every monthly anniversary. I never expected to ever seriously date ANYONE, so any excuse seemed like a good excuse for a celebration. Plus, Jason and I started off as such opposites that every monthly milestone seemed like a collosal achievement. So can ya really blame a girl for wantin' a little special lovin' each month? But with his "do we have to celebrate each one?" attitude, we've compromised and agreed not to do anything TOO special again until the 1-year mark. I'm okay with that now that I've succumbed to the reality that I AM dating and this guy is not going anywhere for a while. (All fun times, right honey?) SO...Sunday we didn't hang out, but he did send me a flower by way of his mother. Fine with me. He has cooties, anyway.

I DID get to go out Sunday night, though, and it was a blast. Jason's mother, Bev and his Aunt Cheryl picked me up to go see the musical Phantom of the Opera downtown. I'd seen the musical before, but common sense tells you that you don't turn down a paid-for $70 ticket to score even more brownie points with your man's mother. So off we went, and we had a glorious time. The musical was even more spectular and moving than I had remembered. As a great lover of music, writing, and a long-time piano player, I wanted to jump onto stage with the actors. Oh I just love that stuff. I went to Broadway last year and sat front row for Rent and Avenue Q. The first was incredible in terms of voice and acting talent. The second, I nearly peed my pants laughing. I've been adequately warned by Bev that her husband passed the "I don't care for anything that doesn't have a bullet or say MAN all over it" gene to his sons, but I'm gonna work on that. If I could get Jason to love and wear a purple shirt, I can get him to like musicals...maybe.

I had a job interview at an ad agency this morning! Oh 'twas a smashing success. I'm going in for a long round of second interviews on Thursday. I know I can't say if I have the job yet, but I suspect it's in the bag. After all, the director told me this morning that he called me to interview because, of all his candidates, my work showed the most potential. Yer damn skippy it does! I'll let you know what happens on Thursday.

Did I mention my mother is flying the whole family to Houston for Christmas? Being a natural Susie Homemaker, I can't say I care for the labours of traveling (which makes it ironic that I've traveled so much), but 70 degrees and sunny? Hot diggity dog, I'm there! I also get to see lots of my favorite relatives...but 70 degrees and sunny! Weeee! I think the worst part about winter is not being able to enjoy the outdoors nearly as much. It'll be a little weird to be walking around outside in nothing more than pants and a shirt on Christmas, but weird is a good thing. A very warm, very sunny good thing.

Get better NOW.

Last week, Jason got a call that his buddy, Travis, had been sent to the ER. As it turned out, his doctor had misdiagnosed his pneumonia as bronchitis. As a result, the bacterial infection ran into his blood, which then turned into septic shock. Since then, Travis's heart has failed 2 times and he is now sedated in the ICU where they predict he will have to stay for months to recover.

Jason was crushed by the news. I tried my best to comfort him and dry his tears. A few days later we joined a throng of Travis's friends and his family in the waiting room, where we sat for hours talking, joking, and hoping that Travis could feel the love just 50 feet from his room.

Yesterday afternoon, Jason and I paid another visit to Travis. This time we were able to see him. He was pretty sedated; they said that in sedation, hearing is the last to go, so we found Travis's swollen hands among the maze of IV's and talked to him...telling him all that he had missed, joking about his pretty nurses...I could tell Jason was fighting back tears. It's hard to see someone close to you lying in the hospital like that.

That night Jason and I went grocery shopping since my kitchen cabinets were as bare as a convent. It sounds nerdy, but we always have a good time when we go grocery shopping. We work well as a team and it's one of the few times we can go hours without arguing. I thought the day was picking up and we returned to my place feeling good and ready to rest.

Late that night, we were woken up by my phone ringing. It was my mom. At first I ignored it, but the lateness of the hour seemed out of place, so I called her back. Obviously unsteady, my mother slowly shared the news: my closest cousin, Henry, had fallen unconscious at his home in Austin and had been rushed to the ER. He hadn't woken up in 2 days. My mother didn't know what he had...something about the brain...infection...I knew her nerves were fraying so I promised to pray for him and hung up. My mind wandered from one question to the next. I'm fairly good at diagnosis, so my first thought was Meningitis. I'd done a research project on the illness in college, and I knew that there were two strains - one far more deadly than the other, but both incredibly dangerous if not caught early. Did they catch it early enough? Was he going to be okay? I closed my eyes and tried to talk to him...Henry, it's Leslie. Please wake up. Wake up! We're supposed to fly to Houston to see you and your family in a week. I haven't seen you in so long. Wake up, Henry, wake up...

At 6:30 in the morning, I woke up as Jason got up to go to the bathroom for at least the second time as we slept. I asked if something was wrong. With his eyes squeezed shut and his brow furrowed, he gripped the covers close to his chest and in a pained voice, said, "I can't sleep. I don't feel good."

I reached over to feel his forehead. Boiling hot. I studied his face, as if it could tell me what was wrong. When he said, "I want to see a doctor," I knew it was serious. I asked him to tell me everything that was wrong. It sounded like he had a bad case of the flu.

Four hours, several arguments, two long drives, and two hurriedly packed bags later, we confirmed my suspicion at his doctor's office. The doctor even added that, even though he didn't think a chest X-ray was necessary, he wouldn't be surprised if Jason also had a touch of pneumonia.

Great. I held my tongue...which held months of "take this medicine", "you need to eat better", "drink water, not alcohol", "you should see a doctor for that cough", "you shouldn't be working outside". An "I told you so" just didn't seem to cut it.

We left with 4 new prescriptions and an order for him not to work for at least another week. We drove to a Walgreens where he whined and muttered empty threats because of the long wait for the medicine. I knew Jason, when sick, was the worst patient on the planet...an egocentric shit, basically. So instead of knawing my frustration on him, I walked around Walgreens until our medicine arrived.

As soon as we arrived at his place, he flew immediately to the couch, shivering in a giant comforter. As head nurse, I wasted no time in reading all the labels on the medications and neatly popped them out and placed them neatly on a plate for him. I even bought a Gatorade bottle with a twist top so he'd be able to drink without lifting his head.

I brought the plate to him, and even then, that didn't seem to be enough to appease him. I tried to reason with him but he told me to "quit your bitchin'" and "show some compassion". Compassion?! If I wasn't catering to his every need because of compassion, why was I doing it?

Soon after my mom called to confirm that Henry had a case of viral meningitis. He was still unconscious, but it was partly because of the medicine, and they expect him to be in the ICU for several more days. It looks like he'll recover, though.

I'm so relieved that it looks like everyone will eventually recover. But I still wonder...how many people today suffer needlessly? Why is it so hard to take care of ourselves?

If you're reading this, TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOURSELF! Good health is priceless. I'll never understand why people, especially men, think they're invincible and that beer is just as good a multivitamin as any. As one who's grown up with several diseases, it infuriates me to see perfectly healthy people take their health for granted.

Swallow your pride, people. While you're at it, swallow a few vitamins with OJ!

Pretty like me.

The other day I was poking my nose through facebook.com and myspace.com. I pay next to zero attention to my accounts on both sites, but I'm always surprised what a little boredom and curiosity will push me to do.

Anyway, that night I stumbled upon a profile of a girl who used to go to my high school. Among the list of her friends was a girl that also went to my high school. She was among the "popular girls", which pretty much meant that she was thin, blonde/brunette, a cheerleader, and swapped a lot of boyfriends. I studied her profile. Wow, she'd gotten even prettier, and every single one of her male friends were tall, handsome, and looked like they'd just walked off a modeling studio. To add insult to injury, she was not only working in the same industry as me, she lived in a much warmer and exotic part of the nation.

I was jealous. Really jealous. But worse than jealousy, I had unexpectedly stumbled into the shoes of my past. For the first time in 5 years, I felt the familiar pangs of longing, loneliness, and even desperation. I found myself analyzing her every feature, hanging my head in defeat thinking I could never look like that. I compared the looks of my friends to hers. I questioned my decision to live in a nondescript midwestern city and wondered if I was compromising my youth. Have you ever felt something awful, and realized that you've felt it before? I was depressed for 5 years...every day of those years, I woke up thinking all those thoughts, loathing myself to the point where I refused to look into a mirror. And then one day I walked away and never looked back.

For some reason, just for one evening, I felt the same thing the other night. After I while I got tired of lifting up my shirt and sucking in my stomach in front of the mirror. I peered into my reflection and realized what I've known for a long time...I'm beautiful just the way I am. Who knows? If she saw me, maybe she'd find something to be jealous of.

That night, feeling so awful, I couldn't believe I felt that way every day for 5 years. Even more heartbreaking was the realization that many women STILL feel that way and haven't gotten out. Ah, comparison. It'll tear you apart.

Because I Can.

Jason's working and I have some time to kill. I've already cleaned the living room and the kitchen, so I figure a little blog time is in order. When I cleaned out his room several months ago, I found a pile of disks stashed away in the top dresser drawer. Among the old pictures I found this: Why is this old picture significant? Because Jason NEVER fully smiles. Not like that. He's insecure about his teeth so the most I ever get is a half-hearted grin that disappears within seconds. Forget about trying to get him to smile in pictures. So I live for the moments when he laughs...those moments when self-consciousness doesn't hold him back...when his eyes sparkle and his whole face lights up in a grand smile. And now I have a picture of it! Oh happy day! (Granted he was probably high and/or drunk when this picture was taken, but let's not dwell on the details.)

I rarely have the chance to post pictures because they're all stored on Jason's laptop, so here are some more. Enjoy!

Me with a moo malt at the Ohio Renaissance Festival

My friend Dave and I at my cousin's wedding in San Francisco

My sister Jen and I sitting on an electrocution chair in a wax museum
Me standing close to the SF bridge on a REALLY RIDICULOUSLY windy day
Me and Kahlan, age 3

My badass gothic self on Halloween

How to Humiliate Leslie

Not so long ago, a friend asked me, "Leslie, what embarrasses you?", to which I proudly scoffed, "Ha! Practically nothing! Not penises or vaginas! Not skidmarks or skidrow! You just bring it on, mister, bring-it-on!"

Have you ever heard the phrase, "be careful of what you wish for"? Well I apparently, I hadn't.

This Monday my doctor called and left a voicemail:

"Hi Leslie, this is Dr. R. I just wanted to let you know that your blood test results came back and nothing changed, so you don't have an acute case of Mono...Oh by the way, my daughter did a search of my name and she stumbled upon your blog. It said something like 'I love my doctor' and I just wanted to let you know that it was very sweet of you."

My doctor read my blog? My DOCTOR? Read my BLOG?

A billion thoughts passed through my mind. Which blog? (Yes I have more than one. And no I won't tell you about the other one, that would defeat the purpose of having a private blog, wouldn't it?) And what entry did he read? What did I say? Did he read anything else? Oh my god oh my god oh-my-god!

I jumped onto a computer and googled his name. On the second page, I saw what his daughter saw. I was horrified. I was mortified. I was horribly and utterly horrimortikified.

I'm normally a sweet, composed, innocent little girl. (Jason would say differently but don't believe a word he says. I deny EVERYTHING.) But on the day of that entry, I'd just come back from my first visit to the doctor...a visit that involved a rectal examination. I was also reeling and venting from a series of excruciatingly frustrating events and my mouth was not so innocent.

SO. Not only did he read about my "rectal squeeze", he read all my curses, AND he read the part about my "crush"...which was a JOKE, but he doesn't know me THAT well, so he might have thought I was serious. To make it WORSE, all the entries sandwiching that one was about farting, pooping, and there was a line about Jason grabbing my ass.

In review, my married, jovial doctor whom I see ALL the time now thinks I have a crush on him AND he thinks I'm a dirty little girl AND he's probably replaying my first visit in his mind to figure out if I really did give him a rectal squeeze. My doctor. Is thinking. About my anus.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Has anyone ever died of humiliation? If not, can I be the first one?!

* * * *

Dr. Rissover, if you're reading this, you should know that unless I'm talking about death, you should take everything I say with a grain of salt...the size of Mt. Everest. By the way, you are a fantastic doctor, and even if you don't have a prescription for utter humiliation, I forgive you.

If this is Dr. Rissover's daughter, hello! I hear you like monkeys. Your father always tells me this because I always bring in a little journal with a pink monkey on it. I'm really not this crazy. Well okay I AM this crazy but I'm really very harmless...just a little gassy.

Time To Make My Getaway...

Today is my last day at work. As of tonight I will be unemployed, but to me, it’s just another chapter in my adventure. A little scary, I admit, which is why I’m going to take this weekend to escape. A little flight before the fight never hurt anyone, right?

I’ve been thinking a lot about what my dream is for my career. Sometimes I wish my dream was much more prolific or lucrative. I’ve tried to mold and alter it so that the ending ends in 6 digits instead of 5, but there’s just no getting around it…My dream is to write. I don’t want to be a salesman or a teacher or chef or a business executive or even a nanny. I want to be a copywriter…to be someone who writes in a way that catches your attention and makes you BELIEVE.

Unfortunately, like most dreams, my dream is the road less traveled. It’s not easy to turn down jobs that mean easy money, more sleep, and more sanity. But at the end of my life, I don’t want to be one of the many people who never took a risk…who never asked “what if?” and then took a leap off the cliff.

So this is tonight’s agenda. I’m going to gather up the rest of my stuff on my desk, give hugs and sweet goodbyes to those who actually talked to me, and leave this place for the last time. When I get home, I’m going to shower, throw some stuff into my duffle, and head to Jason’s. We’re going to watch lots Comedy Central, eat junk food, and chase his little nieces around the house. Then we’ll tell each other how much we love each other and he’ll tug me into the nook under his arm where I’ll sigh and think, “It’s going to be okay. It just has to be.”