Freaky Tuesday

Here is a conversation between my five year old and me:

"What is that?"

"A piece of candy."

(with hand held out) "You have had too much candy today. If you keep eating it, you will get sick! Give me the candy."

(candy is reluctantly handed over) "What are you going to do with that piece?"

(shoulder shrug, fist clenched tightly around candy)

"Don't throw it away! Can I just have that one last piece? Then I won't eat anymore, Okay?"

"Okay. But after this no more, mom!"

.............

I have created a MONSTER!!!

But I won't do that....

Here are a few things I won't allow myself to do on principle...

-Whiten my teeth

-Get cosmetic surgery (unless it is reconstructive surgery because of burn/accident/illness)

-Wear high-heels (mostly because I look ridiculous in them, but I refuse to look ridiculous on principle)

-Use the term "with every fiber of my being"

-Drink energy drinks

-Deep fry food

-Drive my husband's car

-Take pain medication

-Wear jewelry

.......................

Here are a few things I won't allow myself to do even though I am Asian:

-Dress up for Black Tie events.

-Blow-dry my hair

-Sit on my head

-Bleach my hair

-Wear foundation 

-Ride a bike with friends

-Eat money

I refrain...

...yet it goes against every fiber of my Asian being!

Eating Her Curds and Whey

Back when I was living with my brother and sister-in-law...

While raiding the refrigerator for a snack, I saw a bag of deli-sliced cheese.  Mmmm, I love cheese.  I looked over the package to see what kind it was.  

"Yummm.  Provolone," I thought as I ripped open the label.  I sat down, ate a slice, and blankly stared at the bag while I chewed.  My eyes initially glazed over the label, but then something on the corner caught my eye.

"It expires today!" I yelled in my head.  All of that cheese would soon become an inedible moldy mess!  As a fan of all that is curdled and pressed, I could not bear the thought of letting all of that glorious provolone go to waste.  So...

I ate it. 

All of it. 

Savoring, slice by milky slice.

And it was good.

That night, when my brother was preparing his lunch for the next day, he stood in the refrigerator doorway, touching shelves, opening drawers, shifting things, lifting things.  

Brother:  Do you know where the cheese is?

Me:  Which cheese?

Brother:  The provolone that I just bought today.

Me:  I don't know where that is, but I ate the cheese that expired today.

Brother:  We don't have any other cheese.  The only cheese we have was the pound of provolone that I bought today."

I watched him stand straight up, and then turn and look at me.  With an expression somewhere between disgust and amazement, he gaped.  "You ate a pound of cheese?!?"

Shattered Christmas Dreams...

Dear Writers of The Office,

How do I explain to my daughter that "Santa Claus is real."

It is the doll that does not exist?

Seems kind of backwards.

Thank you for ruining her Christmas.

Yours Truly

-Token Asian Friend

Remembering the shoes that Grandma made

I was driving along the freeway yesterday when I saw a billboard.  It showed a woman's bare midriff between a black shirt and pants, and written beside it were the words, "Hang Over?"  It was an advertisement for liposuction, or a tummy-tuck, or some other type of cosmetic surgery.  The thing is, the image didn't really phase me--probably because it looked identical to the midsection I see every day in the mirror...

...the one showing the battle wounds of motherhood...

...the one hinting that the owner indulges more than abstains...

...the one that I had never thought of surgically changing, until I saw this sign...

...........

On a separate, but yet related note...

These are the shoes my grandmother made.  They may look like they are just cute Asian shoes, but let me give you some perspective.

I outgrew these purple shoes when I was five years old.  They are about 6 inches long.

I was too young to remember when I last fit into these shoes.  They are about 4 1/2 inches long.

My grandmother learned how to make shoes like these because my great-grandmother, her mother, had bound feet.  

The process of binding feet began at age 3 and was a painful process of breaking, bending, and binding, and breaking, bending, and binding.  There were infections.  There were deaths.  But the price was worth it because with those small, lotus-shaped feet came the opportunity to marry well and live a prosperous life.  Every mother aspired to produce such feet from her daughters.

Barbaric, right?   What kind of society would force their women to mutilate themselves for social status?  What kind of civilization would hold this unnatural form to such high esteem that it caused not only the men to desire it, but also the women to desire perfection in it?  What culture would put such pressure on their women that they would go to such extreme measures for the sake of beauty?

And make grown women fit in the shoes my Grandma made?

...............

As I drove by that sign, the temptation flickered away as fast as it came.

Not this midriff!  

In your face, plastic surgery ad!

The Christmas Program

(Caution:  Stereotypes ahead)

The school Christmas Program:  A people watcher's dream come true.

-There is flustered mom taking care of all the kids while techno dad is playing with his blackberry/iPhone.

-There is card is full mom who spends half of the program deleting pictures from her camera instead of watching her kid.

-There is front row dad (big tall guy, should have good view of kid, right?) holding his camcorder with extended view screen a foot above his head.  Then, there second row dad trying to get a shot of his kid under front row dad's armpit.

-There is cell-phone mom against the wall with a finger plugging her other ear.

-There is social trophy mom with strut with spiky hair dad who doesn't hold the door open for the people behind him.  She perma-smiles; he never smiles.

-There is photog mom who stands on chair, squats, leans, sprawls on the floor--all to get the best shots of their kid.

-There is jungle-gym dad, who, apparently, is his kids' mobile jungle-gym.

-There is pop-up dad standing to take occasional snapshots of his kid over 100 feet away in poor lighting.  How did those pictures turn out, pop-up dad?

-There is big laugh dad with cackle mom.  They find a lot of things to be funny.

(Guess which ones we are!)

Then, there is THIS guy.

A Polynesian family with their multiple kids have saved seats for family and friends.  The mom had placed items on the seats on both sides, except for the seat she and her husband were in.  They stood up to bring their kids to the teachers.  Then, THIS guy sat down with his kid and wife in those two empty middle chairs.  Polynesian mom and dad come back and say, "Oh, we were sitting there."

THIS guy:  There was nothing on these chairs. 

Polynesian mom:  Yes, but our stuff is all around you.  We were sitting in those chairs and just got up to take our kids to the front.

THIS guy:  Well, we didn't know that.  We just sat down on these empty chairs.

Polynesian mom:  (expecting them to move, but when they didn't...) We've been saving these seats.  We just needed to bring our kids to their teachers.  

THIS guy and his wife just sat there.  They didn't even budge!  There were entire rows available, but they didn't stand up, or look around, or anything.

Polynesian dad:  Well, if we move our stuff on the other side of you, can you at least move down so we can sit together?

THIS guy:  Fine.

Then, two seconds after the sit in their new seats, THIS guy says to his wife, "How was I supposed to know they were sitting there?  Those seats were empty for crying out loud.  I'm just trying to find a place to sit."  

Three reasons why THIS guy was lame.

1) People don't usually come up to random strangers at a school Christmas Program and say, "Those are our seats" unless they really were in those seats.

2) The fact that their stuff was on both sides of the empty seats proves that they were really sitting there and intended to use the empty seats as well.

3)  HE WAS ARGUING WITH A POLYNESIAN GUY!!!  I must say, Polynesians are always nice, but it because they want to be, definitely not because they have to be.  Who in their right mind argues with a Polyesian man???  

Oh, THIS guy.

Is he???

Many years ago...

Friend:  Did you speak a lot of [Asian] growing up?

Me:  Not really.  Mostly things like, "time to eat," or "go to the bathroom," or "I am going to spank your butt."

Friend:  Really?  So your mom would never speak [Asian] with your dad?

Me:  She would, but it's mostly stuff her friends told me never to repeat.

Friend:  Your dad didn't get mad?

Me:  No, my dad doesn't speak [Asian].

Friend:  I just figured since he was Asian and married your mom that he would speak it too.

Me:  Um...my dad isn't Asian.

Friend:  Your dad is TOTALLY Asian.  

Me:  No, he's not.

Friend:  Yes he is.  He has jet black hair.  He has dark skin.  

Me:  What, so everyone who has black hair is Asian?  And of course he is dark.  He has been working out in the yard all summer.  He doesn't even LOOK Asian!

Friend:  [Token], I have SEEN your dad.  He is Asian.  He even wears traditional Asian clothing.  Remember, that night we talked to him at your house?

Me:  That was a bathrobe! 

Friend:  He speaks with an accent!

Me:  He is from the South!

Friend:  Whatever!  I don't believe you.  Your dad is Asian.  

....................

Do YOU think my dad is Asian?