We often forget the grand task our fathers are burdened to bear. They can only show strength - as it's unforgivable for the head of household to appear weak - but be conscious and empathetic when we cry. Lest we not forget that our fathers came home with sore backs and tired feet from working enough to keep us warm and sheltered.
Travel and Protection
Respect and Honor
When your mother coddled and protected you, your father nurtured your sense of independence and survival.
When your mother insisted you join teams and clubs, your father worked tirelessly to provide the means for you.
When your mother gave you a seed and helped you cultivate it and watch it grow, your father taught you to take it by its stalk and tear it down and use it to nourish one thousand other things.
Your mother taught you to carry peace in your body to settle the unruly. Your father taught you to put up with bullshit only once.
He is the gear that shifts you from resolution to determination. You cannot make your own family without carrying the weight and the honor of his name. And you can't look in a mirror and not see him looking back, assessing his work.
Your father granted you shelter.
Conditioned your strength.
Made you fearless.
Except for spiders.
Rooted your stability.
Demanded your integrity.
Made you better.
I knew this would happen. Pop
up holiday event for a client
who wanted a rock n'roll theme.
Custom built entrance trellis,
rock idol step & repeats, custom
guitar bar, drumsticks as center
pieces.
My department did a $25 limit Secret Santa holiday party today. My belly is full.
Here's how Secret Santa is supposed to work, people.
You write down something that you want that costs under $25 and place it in a box with a pile of other ballots. The person who pulls your slip has to get your wish for you. I couldn't come up with anything I needed so I wrote "hygiene kits for the homeless" and underneath that, I listed various items for the kits like toilet tissue, toothpaste, etc. I was hoping my Secret Santa would find it kind of fun to choose what they wanted to go in the kits. Maybe they'd even want to do it again on their own.
Unfortunately, my Secret Santa turned out to be Sandra, a 64 year old hoochie mama who thinks she's still 25, aka the laziest receptionist in the universe. Instead of doing any of that, she just gave me $25 in cash.
Sigh.
I've donated most of my shoes but I still have one very full closet to go. I've been using this free instant sale app called Wallapop. Basically you take a photo of the item you're selling, the first person who responds wins, and you meet them somewhere for the sale. It's a pretty swanky app, really. Just time consuming. So let's try this... I have 4 pairs of almost new shoes available, size US 6.5 regular. Each pair is free to a good home as long as you (1) take care of it, and (2) will actually wear it. If you're in the US, I'll ship them for free. If you live halfway around the damn world, you'll have to spring for shipping.
Unless you live in Japan, in which case we can arrange to meet somewhere.
Treating the fam to dinner at The Whitney. We are definitely thee most ghetto table of customers ever. It's like Beverly Hillbillies-meets-stereotypical Japanese tourists. I just spent my entire paycheck on beef wellington and roast duck and chocolate souffle. Aaand as I typed this I forgot I was in public and burped really loud.
Friends who visited me with coffee routinely every morning now look the other way when I wave hello. People have completely omitted me from their lives.
Kristyl barely talks to me at work and only responds to my texts after work.
I have made new friends. Not because I'm losing the old ones, but because I sort of do anyway. But even they treat me as though I come with an expiration date. Like I'll spoil soon.
Not sure what I might have done to avoid it, but the very glaring reaction has left me feeling sad and alone. People who've been my rock are now distancing themselves.
I was putting some party groceries in my trunk and an SUV that was parked in front of my car backed into my car. The force of the hit rocked my car and knocked me a few feet back and onto my butt and hands.
I guess that still qualifies as a car accident?
Long story short, the driver was genuinely sorry, she begged me let her call 911, it was Halloween and really dark and rainy, my Vulcan ears were glued on too tight, the back of my Uhura dress was soaked, she admitted that she didn't look behind her first because "there wasn't a car here when I pulled in". Between her and her boyfriend (who was in a Jason costume) fussing over me, and me shaking like a leaf, and what I guess was shock (I was incoherent and in a fog?) it was too much and I insisted that I was fine.
Until I got home. Whatever that bone is down at your butt...tail bone?...it kinda hurts. A lot.
So I'm sitting in the corner of a hotel lobby kneading my sunburn and cursing myself for not using sunscreen earlier today. And for being hopeful that swimming while on your period would be like manna to sharks.
Sigh.
Sitting in the corner of any given crowded room gives you an awesome vantage point.
"All inclusive" = Free booze and food
wherever you turn.
Case in point: I'm watching this married couple waiting in line to check in to the hotel. She looks tough. They're like that middle aged WASPy American couple. He works 80 hours a week and tells his wife he's golfing when he's actually cheating on her. She complains about life and cooks meatloaf on Thursdays.
Yeah, that couple.
A slim/blonde/attractive (take your pick...they're all the same, right? #bittermuch) woman walks by. My eyes dart back to the couple because I'm nosy and I want to read both the husband's and wife's reactions to this ostentatious disruption of reality.
The wife is busy checking her purse for something, so she's missing all of the action. The husband, however, is immediately aware that a hottie is in his field of vision. He does a quick glance, and we know what's going to happen next. He's going to find some way to look again and take in her entire body, then he's going to store all that data...the size of her boobs, the shape of her butt, what she probably looks like naked...and quickly return to whatever he was pretending to do. But it'll be sooo smooth and quick.
I love this part. I call this highly-evolved, stylized cognizant method of ogling "The Shifty Eye". It should have it's own theme music, really.
Okay. It's about to go down. As I'm texting this, he's already turned away from his wife to "check his texts". Now, let's observe how smoothly he pulls the Shifty Eye...
This is awesome. It's like watching a NatGeo promo with the driving background drum beat and the way-too-serious voiceover guy...
Okay, he's "texting"...and "texting"...aaaaaand
BAM! He pulled it off without a hitch, ladies and gentlemen! He just glanced up very directly at the hottie, practically mentally undressed her, stamped the image and stored it in the appropriate folder in his brain and returned to "texting"...all within like 5 seconds.
I seriously want to put down my phone and write "10" on my napkin and hold it up for him, but I don't want to call him out and disrupt his natural habitat. I wish I'd recorded it. It's a thing of beauty, really.
Seriously. Men are amazing creatures. Whenever a man pulls the Shifty Eye, it's like watching the marine biologist guys try to catch a whale on camera. You know they're going to surface at some point. But to watch it in action is awesome.
They think they're so slick and shady and entitled. But really, this is proof that they're only as slick as the length of rope their wives give them. In watching the wife, she's busy getting their papers or credit cards or whatever's in her ridiculous giant purse, so she isn't minding the environment. The woman is completely unaware that a private fiasco just went down in his pants.
Heh..."went down".
Men are great social chameleons. They'll be whatever you want them to be, as long as the room's colors don't change too quickly and give them away.
I found him hiding under the impatiens in the backyard after work today. I don't know what he is, but isn't he beautiful? It's hard to make out in the video, but it looks like he's wearing iridescent wrought iron wings.
Rewatching the video, I love how it looks like his little legs are pushing my hand open. He was all, "Back up off me, bitch. I can't breathe."
And eww, this video reminds me to make a public service announcement: Don't bother buying the new DIY nail gel colors. They're supposed to last for 2 weeks like the salon treatment with the UV light, but they start chipping away the very next day. Seriously, just get them done at a salon.
I want to do something outdoors, but no forced spider encounters. I could bogart my way into a random family picnic at the park, but that only works when Kristyl is with me because she blends in easier than I do. lol
Yeah, we've done it a few times. The trick is to pick the picnic with the biggest group of people. And if someone asks you which side of the family you're on, just say you're Uncle Joe's granddaughter.
Like a glove.
Also wedding receptions. But you have to time it so you get there after the cake is cut.
So I want to do something but don't know what. Gym, did that yesterday. Swimming, too crowded. Park, spiders. Roller skate, too crowded. Bike riding, crazy Sunday church drivers. By the time I finish this list, it'll be midnight. Problem solved.
My sister made this meme of
my mom and posted it for
every relative in the
universe. She thinks
it's funny. I think imma
punch her in the face.
Okay, ladies. The boys are distracted for a bit. Let's talk real talk.
Let's talk about period blood flow. Does your period ever flake out on you? This month, mine came a full week late. Further proof that my mother was actually right, and that my eggs really are drying up. Which means I need to pop some grandkids out within the next couple of years.
And here's another question... On the 2nd night (which is, as you know, the worst night, right?) I got home really late from work. I ate some popcorn, took a shower and passed out in my bath towel. I literally could not wake myself up enough to get up and put on a pad. I actually mumbled, "Oh, PLEASE don't mess up these sheets. I love these sheets.... ZZzzzzzzzz..."
Guess what...I woke up the next morning and...nothing.
So what does this mean, leadies? Is it physiological? Is period flow a mind-over-matter thing? Omg.
Oh, speaking of controlling our bodily functions, there's this new app called RunPee.
So you know how you go to the movies and right when the good part is starting, you have to go pee? It's a big fiasco. Well there's this sweet new app called RunPee. This app is badass, ladies. You tell the app what movie you're watching, the app syncs with the movie and then tells you the best times to go pee. Omg, right??
I supposed I could've shared the RunPee tip with the guys, but...honestly, screw the guys. They pee standing up.
Next thing: Two years ago my friends paid a male dancer to pull me on stage for my birthday. I was pissed at them - mostly humiliated that they paid for it, and he poured hot wax on me after I told him not to. I learned after that there's a special wax for kinky stuff...this wasn't it. My chest was red and sore for a while after. So I kinda lashed out at him by calling him a name. As mentioned in a previous post, I saw him again last year, and he definitely remembered me.
I saw him again two days ago at this snobby neighborhood supermarket that I usually stay away from. The customers are really snobby. Even the cashiers have attitudes. But it's the only place that sells my favorite bottle of moscato. Apparently, he lives in the neighborhood. And for whatever reason still remembers that I called him a name. Is that odd, or am I wrong? He must get insulted at least once in a while on the job.
I mean...he is short. He's like 2'4". Okay, not really.
So I apologized with more humility this time and explained that I was really angry with my friends and took my anger out on him.
Missin' N'awlins.
Then he went into this whole rant about how his new girlfriend is twice as hot as me and how she knows how "f*ckin' big" he really is.
I was standing behind him in the check out line while he continued his rampage. I was so confused. I think I might have dropped my shopping basket. lol
*shrug*
So now I feel even worse. I feel bad for calling him a name, which was childish and careless, and then for getting him all riled up again the other day. Should I have left it alone?
Speaking of strippers. ladies...Magic Mike XXL.
Two words.
Cheetos. And water.
You're welcome.
Illegal in-movie recording. #loveit
Yeah, I've seen it twice. Jealous?
If you're in the metro Detroit area, there's a new shoe store in Madison Heights that sells pretty pumps for...TEN DOLLARS!! Omg. I still managed to spend $82 there. They have men's shoes, too. I'd tell the guys but...screw the guys. They pee standing up.
Next question. Why do we have to work harder than men to be acknowledged at work? I mean REAL acknowledgement. Like pay raises or inclusion.I have 5 huge projects happening right now that I'm solely responsible for. I'm planning/executing every facet of:
employee talent show (next week)
employee lunch with the CEO (tomorrow)
employee health fair w/26 vendors (two weeks)
managers' yacht cruise for 200 managers and +1s (Monday)
...I can't even remember what else atm
All of this involves all sorts of communication, branding, posting, phone calls, triple counts, and don't even get me started on the yacht fiasco.
The only cool thing about not having time for friends is that my phone stays charged for days. Waking up to a phone on an almost full battery when you didn't charge it is like a small little win for the day. Sigh.
A coworker in another department and I report to the same exec. He's constantly in the exec's face. He'll resolve some little issue, like helping an employee fix something, and he'll spend hours in the exec's office bragging about what he did. He interrupts my meetings with the exec, he sits down at our lunch table and talks about his day. It's really obvious, and I'm not sure why the exec puts up with it.
Other than because he's a guy?
Seriously. If we did that - stalked our bosses and complained about our days - we'd be seen as whiny, moody, high-maintenance.
But my coworker? In the past year, he's received a raise, an employee recognition and a promotion.
Double standard, ladies. Seriously. Wtf.
A guy I use to be interested in had a girlfriend all along. How'd I find out? Cause I'm a stalker.
SMH. He was lying the whole time.
Well, he's a guy. So...yeah.
I can't stand my BFF's boyfriend. He's cheated on her numerous times. All of his friends are fully aware of his shenanigans. And he's sort of blatant about it.
Exhibit A
Boyfriend has a motorcycle accident and is taken to the hospital. One friend contacts my BFF, unaware that another friend has contacted the other girlfriend. Both show up at the hospital, and fireworks ensue. Boyfriend pleads with BFF to take him back, and - to my befuddlement - she does.
BFF and boyfriend go on vacay, and BFF complains to me that boyfriend texts someone else the whole time. And he only posts pictures of himself or with other tourists - not with her. Turns out he was texting the other girlfriend the whole trip and adding that he was on vacation with his buddies...not the BFF.
Exhibit C
He's been in and out of jail, he's in a gang, He has way too many guns - all illegal. He has a stupid temper.
I can't stand him. And she's well aware of that fact. She knows I want to twist his testicles into balloon animals. So she keeps us separate. Which sucks because I lose my best friend for a lot of the time.
I don't care that he's 6'2" or brags about his auto-whatever guns. I'm not afraid of him, and it only takes one second for me to go from 0 to 60 when I'm in protective mode. I'd like to say I stole that trait from my Father, but alas, it's all my mother's. She's like a little chihuahua.
But it's the BFF's life. Not mine. It's her fate to make.
Yesterday at lunch, I asked her for the hundredth time to help me understand why an insanely beautiful, strong willed, independent, smart woman like her would ever want to be bothered with this clown.
And then she gave me "the look". It's the look she gives me when she has to explain something about the world to me. Finally, she got all exasperated and said, "...because he has a big d*ck."
We often forget the grand task our fathers are burdened to bear. They can only show strength - as it's unforgivable for the head of household to appear weak - but be conscious and empathetic when we cry. Lest we not forget that our fathers came home with sore backs and tired feet from working enough to keep us warm and sheltered.
When your mother coddled and protected you, your father nurtured your sense of independence and survival.
Travel and Protection
Respect and Honor
When your mother insisted you join teams and clubs, your father worked tirelessly to provide the means for you.
When your mother gave you a seed and helped you cultivate it and watch it grow, your father taught you to take it by its stalk and tear it down and use it to nourish one thousand other things.
Your mother taught you to carry peace in your body to settle the unruly. Your father taught you to put up with bullshit only once.
He is the gear that shifts you from resolution to determination. You cannot make your own family without carrying the weight and the honor of his name. And you can't look in a mirror and not see him looking back, assessing his work.
Your father granted you shelter.
Conditioned your strength.
Made you fearless.
Except for spiders.
Rooted your stability.
Demanded your integrity.
Made you better.
It's hard to dress kyoot when the weather is ridiculous.I bought a really cute tank top, but I can't even show it off because it's too cold to go without a jacket.
I thought this was June. So why is it 68 degrees??
Hung out in Canada last night. Saw a Rob Thomas concert and won $165 at Caesars Windsor...wooot! and checked out The Foundry Pub (omg, the 12-bacon bbbbbbbblt!).
Sooo...$163 to the first person who helps me change my identity and run away so I don't have to move back to Japan...
Clearing out some basement stuff. There's a little storage pantry under the stairs that I forgot was ever there. Turns out, it's a treasure trove of swank.
Look at what I found last time!
Ready the fire department, people... It. Is. On.
I found an old box of hulled walnuts. My father used to drive us into the country to pick walnuts that had fallen from the trees onto the dirt roads. I think you aren't supposed to crack them immediately...I believe they're too soft or something, so you have to store them for a few seasons until they're dry. When they're ready, we would use a hammer on the sidewalk to crush the outer hulls because the hulls are like cement. lol We had walnuts to snack on for months. Wow.
Anyway, no idea how long these have been in that room. I calculate at least 15 years. I dumped them in the alley thinking the squirrels would have a feeding frenzy, but I think even they know the nuts are too old.
lol I considered titling this post "Deez Nutz". But the phrase loses it's effect if you can't see me grabbing my crotch as I say it.
In other news, I made the mistake of showing this Vacation remake preview to the Ladies at Lunch. Let's just say that they drained my battery just from rewinding the clip to 1:58 several (hundreds of) times. I should've just continued to drool over it in silence.
Sigh. Okay, just...just fast forward to 1:58.
It's okay. I'll wait...
Picture it: Table full of women, all tilting our heads to the right at exactly 2:08.
And then we all ran to the slurpee machine. lol
'nuff said.
We threw a movie party for our employees' families. Nothing interesting to report about that. Um...kids are messy (just had a flashback and shivered) so I switched out the nachos and cheese for mini hot dogs. The a/v boys decided to use some static image they found on the internet instead of the movie trivia PowerPoint I'd sent them. I spent like 3 hours on that stupid thing! Anyway, once my ego deflated back to it's normal size, everything else was fine.
Quick, condensed version.
What other light fare can I offer...?
Ah, my arch nemesis, Lisa. She's Filipina, her hair looks like Medusa's, her mascara is ridiculous, and she dresses in sweaters and skirts and sandals with no stockings. I wear suits and heels. She shows off her gargantuan gaudy wedding ring, but flirts like she's single. I'm the super-private "Ice Queen". Seriously. Other than our shared race, dark hair and general size, it's clear we're different people. But apparently we're the same person since everyone calls me Lisa, and her Mia.
Idiots.
Anyway, we see each other once a month for a marketing meeting. Two Asian women in one room is apparently an abomination, and everyone waits to see if we'll do a magic trick. If we dare sit together, their heads will explode.
Lisa once made a snarky comment about Detroit. Thus, she is now and forever my arch nemesis. The bane of my existence. We speak only when in the presence of others. When no one else is around, we do the "sharks testing prey" thing.
So last meeting, Arch Nemesis Lisa forgot to bring something and she tried to show everyone using her janky Apple laptop. And failed. So I opened my laptop and said with feigned aggravation, "*sigh* I'll take care of it. Using my Toshiba. Which is made in Japan. So we know it'll actually do what it's supposed to the first time around."
Rereading this, it's completely narcissistic. I'll leave it for now, and hope my next post doesn't come off so whiny.
----------------
Technically, I was supposed to move back to Japan after college, get married, have children. I've been stalling for time ever since. I could always thwart my mother's half-hearted attempts to remind me of my familial responsibility. A new career opportunity, some community commitment, our property here needs attention, new friends. Whatever works for a few months.
My brother has sighted a chink in my armor. The threat of discarding my Otosan's old things that I would most cherish. It's the best way to turn me into a giant sobbing mess.
spider monkey.
For every stall I give him, he throws away something that belonged to my Otosan. Yeah, in that order. Not an exaggeration. He plainly states that he will, and then he follows through. A phone call to my mother from work the next morning always confirms it.
I don't find long term value in jewelry or property or karu or 401k plans. The most valuable assets for me are seemingly insignificant possessions.
Like the fishing rods my Otosan used to teach me to catch hamachi along with an early lesson in humility and perseverance: If we didn't catch anything that day, we wouldn't eat.
Or the rusty used canoe I helped Otosan seal when I was 8, now neatly stored in my mother's shako.
Decidedly irrelevant possessions like these are rare and priceless because...
Sigh. I believe that each item holds within it a small piece of a person's spirit. If I fish using my Father's tackle, his spirit will sing to me. I won't just be fishing; I'll be spending an afternoon with my Father.
And a chance casual conversation with my brother (also my HOH) about spring cleaning showed him how important those things are to me, and gave him the opportunity to use them like a jagged knife.
He is so much like my mother - clever and singularly focused. My diversion trick doesn't work on him. He won't be distracted from a point. Who knew the skinny boy sobbing on my parents' bed with fresh welts on his back would grow up to become so power hungry?
That reads exactly like the back story for every villain in every superhero movie. Ever.
But also, I'm faced with my own kegare. With every stall, I'm plainly stating that I value my freedom more than I value my Father. And my brother gets to twist the knife just a little to the left.
When you wake up in the morning in a strange bed and double-check your reflection in your phone and realize you look like a cross between Basquiat and Gojira...
Random thoughts here that have nothing to do with the heavy load on my mind, but needed to go somewhere. Three things that are swimming around in my brain in that way my thoughts do. Right now, it "looks" like three widescreen movies spinning around in a circular motion. The fan belt effect again. So I gotta get them out, and then the loop will stop.
The loop in my head. Perfect circle courtesy Starbuck's amazing coffee cup.
I'm very casual about relationships in the way that I can never have too many friends. And I will do whatever it takes to make you happy. But when a more personal relationship threatens to expose my heart, I end it. It's too intense. And if I shed my decorum, things could get ugly. Even I don't know what's under all this. And possibly might put the real me on full display. So I shy away.
I'm a storefront display.
If you find me in Second Life, don't be afraid to say "hello". I'm not online chasing guys. I don't even flirt in SL. If I wanted attention, I'd go out somewhere. Actually put some effort into it. I'm not lazy, and I don't have canker sores.
Okay, no, I don't actually know what canker sores are, but they sound gross.
My point is that I don't have a problem actually leaving my home to meet people. I don't use SL to hunt for emotionally-stunted men who feign alpha stances but can't even get their own shit together let alone help guide someone else's shit. Gone are the days of pining for closeted yellow fever freaks who pretend to see more in me than just the shape of my eyes or my pedigree against the overlay of a 1920s stereotype.
I'll be building. Or at a group discussion. Or in a whole 'nother window with SL in the background. If it's late, possibly sleeping and forgetting my mic's open. No, really.
