Geisha School Dropout

Give Him Something to Believe In

(You're welcome for the Poison reference.  You can watch the music video here.)

Isaac has been convinced lately that he is a bad kid.  He does have a mountain of evidence, since everyday we get on his case about something: for forgetting his jacket at school, for splashing in the puddles after we told him 5 times not to, for interrupting us when we're talking, etc.  It's not like we are totally hard on him, but he's taking the reprimands more to heart now, and even more disturbingly, he rejects positive feedback.

Anyway, with the holidays quickly approaching, Isaac asked me one day if he was on Santa's nice list or naughty list this year.  I asked him what he thought and he said without any doubt that he was naughty.  "Oh I dunno, Isaac, Santa doesn't care if you do naughty things from time to time, he just looks for whether you WANT to be good or not."  But no, Isaac said he doesn't even want to be good.  So all I could promise him was that I'd email Santa and maybe if he had time, Santa would write me back and let me know.

Coincidentally, my blog friend Renee alerted me to these free videos from Santa. She lives in Canada, so the URL for us Amurcans is http://portablenorthpole.tv/home. The video is very well-done, and you can customize it with your child's name, your hometown, and you can upload a picture and tell Santa what your kid wants for Christmas, among other things.  Even cooler, if your kid's name is common enough, Santa will even SAY his/her name, which is ultra-magical.  There are even separate versions for younger and older kids, as well as teens and adults who could handle actually being on the Naughty List.

So Saturday morning, I excitedly woke Isaac up and told him Santa had something to say to him!  He looked so nervous, bless his heart!  And the video started, and when Santa said, "Can you hear me, Isaac?" he stammered, "Y-y-yes, Santa!"  There was no room for skepticism when Santa showed him on a map that he knew where we lived; Isaac was thoroughly convinced. 

Then, when he saw his picture and his name in Santa's book, he started to cry.  And when Santa confirmed that Isaac was indeed a good boy because he tried extra-hard this year to be nice to his sister, Isaac started bawling with shock and relief.  When it was done, I asked him if he wanted to hear Santa's message again, but he said no, he didn't want to bother Santa during the busiest time of the year.  And we hugged and kissed and snuggled and laughed.  He was absolutely transformed.

I was deeply moved as well!  I guess we've gotten to a point where Mom and Dad's approval doesn't appear to be completely unconditional anymore, and since we don't worship a God or any other impartial judge of character, Santa just rose to the occasion and did so beautifully.  I learned that Isaac needs a "From a Distance, the World Looks Blue and Green" type of all-seeing, all-loving, all-forgiving eagle eye in his life in order to have a sense of self separate from us.  That is some major food for thought right there.

You can watch Isaac's video here!

The Benz Conundrum

Because I live a sadistically charmed life, a 2001 Mercedes-Benz E320 now lives on my driveway.  Anyone who knows me even a little bit should understand why I consider this a (relatively minor, admittedly first world) problem.  I like to Keep It Real, I'm not really into bling, especially considering I grew up as a SoCal Korean girl.  I also try not to usher in environmental apocalypse whenever I can, so I definitely would not normally drive a gas-guzzler.

However, despite my bohemian leanings, here It sits.  (Yes, I named the car It.)  It actually belonged to my mom, and when my dad finally gave into her 5 years of nagging and upgraded her to an S-class monstrosity, they assumed they'd trade It in.  However, the dealer tried to screw them over and only offered $4,000 for it, which they found to be just plain disrespectful.  So they offered it to us for the same price, knowing our VW was on its very last of its 9 lives.  And when we hesitated, they said "Fine!  $2,000, now take the damn car and get outta here, you thieves!"  So, here It sits.

My friend RJ couldn't help but dig in a few zingers:

I am definitely not a Mercedes-class person (i.e., monocled Lady Moneybags).  In fact, just this morning, I had to offer the banh mi lady an IOU because I didn't have $5 cash.  I'm a regular, so she knew I'm good for the amount next time, but man, I was mortified as I drove away from Paris Baguette in a fucking Benzo.

Now people who drive similar-ranking luxury cars acknowledge my existence, and it just feels unnatural.  The fact that we drive similar cars does not guarantee we have anything more in common, especially value systems.  I don't want to know the hideous thoughts you harbor regarding Mexican immigrants, for example (keep in mind that I don't consider all drivers of luxury vehicles to be blowhards, just the ones that now approach me and say weird shit).  And no, I'm not interested in your mutual fund simply because we are standing next to each other at the car wash, unless your shares come in $5 increments and you can give one to the banh mi lady.

I considered buying a bumper sticker that says "This car only cost $2000," but that would be pathetic.  I also considered selling the car, but I know it would hurt my parents' feelings, as in, "What?  Even a discounted Mercedes isn't good enough for Miss Self-Righteous Booty over here?"  (Please don't answer that question.)  So for now at least we are stuck with It, and hopefully I'll get to a point where I won't feel so uncomfortable and look at It for what It is: a car with a working electrical system and windows that actually open and close correctly.

Exotic on the Speaker

Did I say I was down yesterday?  Well that was before I heard THIS:

That chick on the mike, Rye Rye?  Just amazing.

  

On another cool note, I have been quoted!  My opinion-spewing on Spc. Alexis Hutchinson caught the attention of BlogHer's political director, Morra Aarons Mele.  One of the tastiest morsels from Ms. Mele's piece:

The Army says it is exploring all options and will "do right by the situation." I hope so. But what Hutchinson faced is what so many women deal with daily: a boss who doesn’t get it, or just doesn’t care. A lack of options for an affordable, trustworthy place for your baby to go while you’re at work, a family far away, and zero options to work and have a baby. No mother should have to choose between providing for her family and foster care.

When Mama Plays...

This is Julie Kang, reporting live from Birthdaypalooza 2009!!!  There are currently 8 women staying over at our modest 1300-square-foot house celebrating 5 birthdays. 

Sooooo...what do 8 females do in Southern California when left to their own devices and get stuck at home because the hostess is sick?  Well, first they all coo over said hostess and help her clean up her own mess.  I love my girls.  Then they do this:

$20 union suits and $1 socks courtesy of Tarjhey!  Is that some bomb-ass fetishistic shit or what?

Oh, where are Tim and the kids, you ask?  Well, they are staying over at my parents' place and drove down to Legoland today.  Does Tim rock?  Oh hell yes.  And all 8 of us will simultaneously show our appreciation tomorrow in one big make-out session.

An Open Letter to Serena Williams

Dear Ms. Williams,

Not a lot of people know this, but I played some tennis back in the day and I love the sport.  I have always been a fan of yours (and your sister's), and have had the honor of watching you play on several occasions.  Always a delight.  But wow, you have just rocketed yourself past the world of man to become an astronomical object, a celestial body.  Literally.

Holy Moses, lady.  You are Wonder Woman.

I know there will be some trolls out there saying "OMG WTF FAT."  Please ignore them.  Do not allow their brain-curdled exclamations get within 100 miles of your gorgeous ears.  They are maggots.  There will also be some people who will say "Finally!  A real woman's body with real curves!" but they are naive in their inclusivity.  *I* have a "real" body.  It does not look like yours.  Yours is the body of a gladiator; a body that comes once in a millennium and only from a lifetime's love for sport combined with an otherworldly work ethic, and should be worshiped and celebrated as the divine ideal it is.

Please keep doing what you're doing, preferably in the buff.

Sincerely yours,
Julie Kang

(Image from Just Jared)

Google Voice No Habla Espanol

One of the cool perks of Google Voice is that they write down your voicemails so you can archive them, search for them, basically use them like email.  I haven't been able to use that functionality because no one knows my Google Voice number, but someone accidentally left me a message on my account the other day.  My language skillz have atrophied since I stopped living with Spanish-speaking illegal immigrants (that's another story altogether), but I'm pretty sure I'm better than Google.

Here is a line-by-line analysis of the voicemail transliteration.  The Google version is on top, followed by what I believe the lady actually said.

My idea, so you might be on the court deadline
Maria, soy yo, Mariana, como te va?

and if that we think wanted to know whether to get some of the
Bien.  He esta ahorita encontre tu numero de telefono.

day on Monday the 30th.
Queria llamarle ese dia

I don't know inquiries tile when I came up on things.
pero no lo habia encontrado.  Dame una llamada cuando

Temple tickets of this and I'm gonna leave you a
tengas tiempo.  Se que eres una persona MUY

call.  Talk to you know but no Cadillac in.
ocupada, pero, um, no te voy a quitarle

Most of the info.
mucho tiempo.

Okay, Hi, this is in the new it's been a lot of people. I guess.
Okay?  Ojala que estes bien, y espero que hablo contigo pronto.  Pues, adios.

PS: If you Google Image Search "no hablo espanol" you get a bunch of shirts like the one above, basically telling Spanish speakers that THIS IS AMURRICA YOU BETTER SPEAK ENGLISH HURRRR.  We sure do keep it classy, no?

Pound the Pain Away

BANG!  This is Julie Kang, reporting live from Long Beach, where BANG!  a plumber is BANGBANGing at her washer.  His name is Bruce, and BANG! he is this adorable roly-poly ginger-haired Russian man who looks BANG! just like Harold Zidler from Moulin Rouge.

This guy right here in the middle

Anyway, BANG!  Although he's here to replace the circuit board, he just asked me for a hammer because BANG!  BANGBANG! he apparently broke his on the washer.  How one breaks a hammer I cannot say, but BANG! it is definitely not gracefully.

Also occasionally he will BANG! let loose in what sounds like cussing in Russian.  Oh, if only I was a BANG! Russian fly on the wall, then BANG! I'd know what he's saying.

However, BANG!  For some reason, the banging has cured BANG! my headache.  So I thank you, Bruce, and hopefully BANG! we'll get through this BANG! together with both our dignities intact.  And BANG! hopefully you don't break another hammer or my washer BANGBANGBANG in the process.

On another note, we got a postcard in the mail from Isaac's kindergarten teacher, Mrs. K.  It totally made my day:

 

Dodger Day Line-Up

This past weekend we attended Stanford Family Day at Dodger Stadium.  I could pretend that it's rewarding to connect with alumni in such an LA institution, but in actuality no one talks to each other because they are too busy stuffing themselves with all-you-can-eat Dodger Dogs and crudites. 

The Dodgers played the Marlins and got their butts undeniably whooped.  We stayed until the 5th inning when the score was 9-0, which was in stark contrast to last year when Manny hit a home run on his first at-bat and the rest of the team actually knew how to field.  Still, the kids could only handle 3 innings last year, so at least we have improved, and at this rate we can probably watch an entire game by the time they graduate high school.

There was another stark contrast: how much the kids had grown since last year.

Exhibit E:

2008	2009

Exhibit I:

2008	2009

Can you guys see any differences?  I think both kids lost a little bit of their baby cheeks.  Also, Isaac's face has developed some more dimension and Emi looks like she got a nose job.  I swear to you though, even when living in southern CA, dangerously close to Orange County, I will not allow Emi to have a nose job until she is at least 8.  

Which reminds me of this hilarious video:

Wedding March Redux

I was prepared for this to be cheesy, but much to my surprise I was bawling by the end of it. There is just so much joy and love in the air, you can't help but get caught up in the celebration. Best wishes, Jill and Kevin, in your new life together! I hope every day is that happy!

So sweet! *sniff* I need a hug.

I've Been Pwned

Lately Tim has been getting really agitated by my speaking style.  I am the Cerberus who guards the gates of Intelligible Discourse:

One head only says "Like".

The next, "You know".

The last head says other words, but it upspeaks.  That's referring to my way of speaking?  Like I was asking a question?  Even when I'm actually teaching you something?

All three combined make me sound like you should not take anything I say seriously?  Because, like, you know, I talk like I'm pre-menarche?  As in, like, not what a 30-year-old Mom should, like, say? 

I'm working on it, but it is harder than quitting cigarettes, carbs, and sex all at the same time.  Getting rid of all my verbal crutches is especially impossible when I'm nervous in any way, because then I just talk faster and change my mind mid-sentence and pretty soon my audience has no fucking clue what I'm trying to say at all.  Poor Tim, I can't just email him what I really mean.

Anyway, here's poet Taylor Mali totally putting me in my place: