Geisha School Dropout

Time for Something Squee

I have no real reason to post this video of my kids singing Happy Birthday to their Grandpa.  It is a pure fluff piece, but to me it is such a perfect snapshot of each kid's spirit (at least, what their spirits are right now).  

Emi is the consummate performer running the show.  She doesn't let Grandpa's polite smalltalk derail things, she has a specific script in her mind and she's going to STICK TO IT.  Of course, she doesn't show any diva antics on-camera, perish the thought!   And Isaac is once again dragged into doing something he feels uncomfortable about, but does it anyway, but with a little bit of grumbling and obsessive futzing-with-a piece-of-plastic-hanging-on-a-string thrown in just in case you didn't get the memo that he doesn't feel great doing this.  But he's doing it, are you HAPPY, Mom???

And of course, I adore them both, just the way they are, right now, but that doesn't stop me from chuckling at them and their antics.  So here it is, a real Mang moment of zen:

Squee!

Oh, and in case you're wondering, our chicks are doing great!  Our original Araucana perished, but her replacement is much more robust.  They're practicing their scratch-and-peck skills as I type, as well as running around the box with their wings up.  I think they're trying to fly the coop!  Anyway, I think I will name them for real when they are at a relatively stable point, when I'm not afraid they're just going to keel over any second, but for now their working names are:

 

I hope you have a fantabulous 4th of July weekend!  

PS: My weight loss has slowed, but I'm down 16 pounds!  I am now at my breastfeeding-Emi weight.  10 pounds more and I'll be at pre-Isaac-pregnancy weight, then 20 pounds after that I'll be at college weight.  Egads, that sounds like a long way to go.  But I'm still low-carb, my blood sugar is almost normal, and I feel pretty good.

Hell Hath Frozen Over

What do I see before me?  A fashion spread in a mainstream magazine that highlights the actual curves of plus-size models?  Do I see this gorgeous woman actually thrusting her tummy OUT as she reaches over to grab her stiletto heel instead of the standard suck-in?  I am DROOLING here!!!!!!!!

This actually reminds me of a funny anecdote:
When Tim and I were first dating, he invited me over to the house he was staying in to drink some La Fin du Monde beer.  After polishing off one bottle (which is 750 mL, the size of a wine bottle), I suddenly became very aggro and before I knew it I made us both get on our knees in his front yard facing Emerson in Palo Alto, and I DEMANDED he kiss my belly in front of the whole world.  Very odd, that beer.

Thanks to Jezebel for the scoop (click through to see more beautiful pics), now excuse me while I go out and purchase 10 copies of V Magazine.

FMP

 
FMP = Fuck My Pancreas

I've been feeling down lately.  It is very likely now that I have diabetes.  There are a couple more tests to go, but I can market my piss as the latest natural soda, there's so much sugar in it.

Now I know how I'll most likely die.  That is a strange feeling, let me tell you!  And although chances are I'll be fine for many years to come (especially if I lose some fucking weight, which up to this point is the one thing on earth I can't seem to do), it makes me choke when I utter sentences in the future tense and makes tears well up when I talk to my kids.

FMP.  Seriously.  Just goatse the useless motherfucker and call its mom to drive it home.

But!  When life hands me lemons, the Geisha School Dropout makes sugar-free lemon cream pie (can you eat cream as a diabetic?).  I will now bestow upon you a gift my friend gives to me quite regularly: the Joyful Meditation.

5 things that were good:

1. Emily has just amazed me with her vocabulary growth.  Just yesterday she was bossing me around a coloring book, "Color the monkey, mommy!  No!  Color him RED!  I don't want a blue monkey.  NO DADDY, MOMMY DO IT!"  She Tarzan, me Smitten.

2. Tim and I had our first parent-teacher conference and Mrs. K proclaimed Isaac to be quite the star pupil!  He is strongest at math, but his reading is coming along nicely, and he is making friends and having fun.  Whew!  One really cute way she tracks student progress is this monthly story they have to write with an accompanying picture.  For September, Isaac drew Mrs. K and wrote "I like Mrs. K."  For October, he drew a beautiful black cat and wrote, "I like cats.  I like Halloween bcs I cn se th mun is shin."  (because I can see the moon is shining)  Isn't that cute?  The kid is trying!

3. In the same vein, Isaac recently wrote me a card that says "I hop u gt wel swn" and a picture of my head sticking out a little cocoon of blankets.

4.The kids have been introduced to "Pee Wee's Playhouse" and they LOOOOOOVE IT.  And to be perfectly honest, I've been enjoying the DVDs as well.  The man is a genius, and I will actually see him live in January, hooray!

5. Wow, 4 good things about my kids!  :)  Seriously, things at home are smooth sailing compared to previous quarters.  I declare the familial recession to be over; good times, here we come.

3 things I did well:

1. I am continuing to work out, albeit a bit irregularly because of my bronchitis thing.  Some days I feel like I can breathe and some days I can't, but I've been going to the gym 2-3 times a week for a few weeks now.  W00t.

2. I am religiously volunteering every Thursday in Isaac's classroom!  It is so much fun.  Today I taught the kindergartners the valuable game of "Jump Over the Wriggling Snake" using a jump rope.  I actually got admonished for riling the kids up when recess was about to end, but fight the power!!!!!

3. Ever since I got The News that I may be one step closer to Wilford Brimley (for reference, see below), I've been really good about observing what I eat.  I generally eat well and will be even better now; I think I'll be okay.

 

2 things I am looking forward to:

1.This Saturday I am going to be representing the Kimchi Mamas at BANANA, an APA blogger symposium at USC.  Apparently it will be filmed, so future generations will get to witness the ever-elusive Outspoken Overweight Korean Female in her natural habitat.  Please come!  Lots of famous online personalities will be there, including Angry Asian Man and Hyphen Magazine.

2. I love the conversations we have in the comments section.  It's like our very own symposium!  Now that explains why I'm drunk on Ouzo and wearing a bedsheet pinned at my shoulder.

Sigh, I feel a bit better now.  Do you?

Now We are Six (plus 25)

So today is my birthday!  To celebrate, Tim and I are going out to grab some Ethiopian food tonight.  That's it!  And I'm very happy.

I guess this quiet haze of contentment stems from the fact that I finally kept a promise to myself: I started working out a couple weeks ago.  The first couple workouts were fine, the third left me curled up on the floor, dry-heaving and almost soiling myself, and the fourth was almost...enjoyable?  Dare I say that out loud? 

For someone who is as sweat-averse as I am, making it even this far is a huge milestone.  I meet with my trainer on Mondays and Wednesdays, and she, the former ballet dancer, has re-introduced me to parts of my body that haven't received any attention in years.  Ow!  Hello, abdominal muscles!  Oof!  Nice to see you again, triceps, what's shakin'?  But apparently, the pain is a good thing.  Healthy people have such fucked up moral codes, don't they?

I don't have any specific weight loss goals in mind, I'm mostly doing it to feel healthier and have more energy.  And so far, the only progress I see is that I can do a few more crunches before I pass out.  But I'll be sure to post a picture of my 6-pack next month.  LOL!

Here is this year's music dedication to myself.  The bastards disabled embedding: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=veN2gyCEj8s

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)

Big Girl, Hot Pants

I've never understood why clothing advertisers always put the skinniest girls on the planet in their clothes and expect normal people to make a buying decision from that.  How would a size 14 girl know what the clothes looked like on her when they're always displayed on bodies that would look thin and tall in ANYTHING because, well, they're thin and tall?  And I'm not even talking about the self-images of all the girls and women out there subjected to this nonsense (although I definitely have shit to say about that); I'm saying clothing manufacturers probably miss out on a lot of business because normal-sized and bigger-sized women just don't bother shopping in places that apparently only cut their garments for supermodels.

So the other day, a few friends were joking about wearing a particular pair of American Apparel hot pants to our upcoming mama reunion, and although I was joking along with them, my heart sank a little since I assumed I wouldn't be able to get a pair that fit my hefty ass.  I went to their website to see what the shorts looked like so I could possibly replicate them via a plus size store, and lo and behold, they had them in XL.  Now I knew the letters "XL" don't really mean much, since one man's XL could be another man's M, so I looked at their size chart and saw that it was supposed to fit a 33-35 inch waist.  I'm bigger than that, but I figured, the waistband was elastic, why not give it a try?

So today I got my package in the mail, slapped the shorts on, and lo and behold, they fit.  They're super-tight and indecent, but hey, they looked just as scandalous on the size 0 girl.  They're hot pants, that's their job.  And goddammit, I'm going to spread the word! 

Here is my own personal American Apparel advertisement, as porntastic as their usual ads, but bigger.  Much, much bigger.

 

I know there are a few people who will look at this and lose their lunch over my big ol' thighs, but I think most people won't care that much.  And maybe a few more people will find it a relief to look at some big ol' thighs in the sea of chicken legs.  I don't care how the numbers break down really, because the one man I wanted to impress liked them a hell of a lot.  And Tim loved them too.  (What, y'all don't dress skanky for the UPS guy?)

Lessons Learned in Japan

1. Japan has weird post-apocalyptic nanotech insects. 

Check out this ladybug, the colors are reversed!  It looks like one of those souped up Honda Civics!

And this moth/dragonfly/robot hybrid creature looks just like a hummingbird.  WTF.  (A quick Google search identifies this as a "Snowberry Clearwing".  I say it's the return of Mothra.)

2. We are a 3-futon family.  What that means is Tim and I get crammed onto one while the kids roll around their futons, then onto the bare tatami, then eventually crash into the shoji screen doors, waking up the entire house including the soul of Tim's grandmother living in the shrine closet behind us.

3. It is never too early to educate your children on the atrocities done by the Japanese imperialists in Korea.  Look at our poor little Emily weeping at the Emperor's Gate over her conflicted ancestry!  

Actually, Emily's misery was entirely her own. She was apparently so traumatized by this point, she was clinging onto her pacifier, blankie, AND a stuffed animal for comfort at all times, and could not even bear to stand on her own two feet anywhere.  Every time someone spoke to her in Japanese she would bawl.  Very embarrassing for us, but there was really nothing we could do at that point other than drag her wailing ass with us everywhere.

4. Japan has no lack for cute-crazy-quirky things to distract you with.

Even the cemeteries TOTTEMO quirky DESU!!!!!!!!!!

Cemetery cat guards your eternal soul between naps.

Knit caps for the three stone Buddhas

5. Japanese people never exactly mean what they exactly say.  For example, from the beginning, my MIL almost always introduced me with "Doesn't she have nice skin?  And she's so smart, you can talk to her about anything."  I recently found out what she actually meant is that I'm ugly and lazy; like if I was actually good-looking she would say I was beautiful, not point out the only non-vomit-inducing characteristic about me, and the reason why I'm so smart and good at conversation is because I sit on my ass all day reading shit and not catering to people's needs.

A more positive example occurred when we were at Shibuya Station to board the Narita Express.  We had 40 minutes before the train departed (they run every hour), so Mo, a friend of Tim's, offered to take me shopping to buy some souvenirs since up to that point we hadn't had the opportunity.  I asked for Hello Kitty, and she said "We have 10-15 minutes to get there, then 10-15 minutes shopping, then 10-15 minutes to get back."  That sounded really tight to me, so I asked her if she was absolutely positive we have time, and she cheerfully said "YES!  Of course!" 

So off we went, through the maze underground, then above ground, until we arrived at the shop, and I shopped my little heart out.  I asked after what seemed like 5 minutes if we needed to leave, and I was always greeted with a confident smile and a "We have time!"  When I finally checked out, Mo was frantically texting her mom, who was with Tim and the kids back at the station.  When I asked what was wrong, she smiled and said, "We must run."  It took us 15 minutes walking at a brisk pace to navigate to the store, now we had less than 10 minutes to make it back.  Holy Jeebus.  I actually RAN, folks...ran through the turnstiles, past salarymen who cracked up at the 100-kg behemoth dragging $200 worth of Hello Kitty crap behind her, clutching onto the waistband of her falling jeans, while Mo, in hot pants and kitten heels urged me to "run a little fast, please."  Once we reached the platform with a minute to spare, I had to stop, I was so winded.  I glared at the conductor, who glared back, waving his white-gloved hand in a "HURRY UP HEIFER" motion, daring him to close the doors on me.  He didn't.  Tim was cracking up too hard to lecture me, and I spent most of the ride trying not to vomit.  This was a hard-earned lesson to not trust a word Japanese people say, and helped me resolve to start some kind of exercise routine if I got back home in one piece.

The Must-Have Accessory for Summer: Me!

The folks at Bacardi Israel sure know how to sell to women: pit them against other women and prey on their insecurities!  In their latest marketing campaign, Bacardi educates us on how to look absolutely flawless this summer: get a bevy of ugly girlfriends!  Then for sure you'll be the hottest girl at the party.  Genius.

If you flip through their digital booklet, you'll see that they are surprisingly inclusive in their definitions of ugliness: there are 2 fat girls and 2 skinny girls; blonde, redhead, olive, and brunette.  Their descriptions of these girls leave little to the imagination:

• Sally -- 97 kilograms of femininity, strength, and double chins
• Daisy's aquiline nose and tangled eyebrows will make you the most desirable piece of meat around the grill
• Wendy is the right accessory for you!  Including horse-like features, a noticeable limp and super-active sweat glands
• Lucy's rubbing thighs, magically combined with a sticking out jaw and drooping breasts, will turn any trip to the mall into an unforgettable experience.  Shop like never before, with your own freckled pile of cellulite!

And to top it all off, check out the cover girl:

Holy crap, look familiar???

What makes me the most upset is that these girls are all dolled up and look like they're having such a great time, as if being "ugly" also makes you so naive and stupid as to not realize you're being used to make your "friend" feel better about herself.  Ugh.

My question is this: is this ad campaign from outer space, created by people who are so out of touch with reality as to think women will be inspired to drink more sugary pseudo-beverages from this hateful crap, or do women really think like this?  I really hope it's the former.

(Thanks to Jezebel for the heads-up and the image.)

My Halmuni

One of the highlights of our Korea trip was visiting my last surviving grandparent, my mom's mom, who I call halmuni.  She is 95 going on 50, and although her hearing's on the outs, she's still as sharp as a whip.  Don't let these pictures fool you: the lady looks like a sweet 85-pound bundle of cuddliness, but she will cut a bitch when it comes down to two things: heaven help you if you try to help her in any way, or if you're fat.  Unfortunately for me, I am guilty on both charges.

After bowing to her and seeing her chuckle as the kids did the same, she grabbed my arm like a vise and mumbled, "Something this thick should be a leg!"  I giggled nervously, saying yes, I will lose weight.  "Yes you should, you look pregnant for goodness' sake!"  Then she slapped my thigh and chuckled at the sound it made. 

Later on in the visit, she got up really quickly from the ground, like super-ninja-fast.  So I instinctively reached over to help her and she karate-chopped my hands away, again mumbling, "Don't hurt yourself."

My halmuni kicks ass.

My mom, my uncle's wife, my uncle (older by 16 years), my grandma, and my aunt (older by 12 years)

All pain, all gain

"Don't worry!  It only hurts a little bit the first time, but after that, it's nothing!"  My mom assured me last week when she told me she made me an appointment for some sort of Korean weight loss body massage.  Mind you, this was after she told me she had it done to her face and it hurt so bad afterwards she couldn't handle the pain of a rubbing a powder puff on her skin.

I nervously checked in for my 1:30 appointment today at "Jennifer Skin Care."  They knew who I was before I said a word.  "Oh, you must be Mrs. Kang's daughter.  Wow!  You're bigger than I thought!"  Jennifer eyed me up and down, with a glint in her eye which can only be described as "hungry."

I stripped down and climbed onto a massage table...covered in 2 layers of thick vinyl.  I felt like I was the hired "entertainment" at a sex party.  Jennifer called over her "unni" (big sister) and the two of them got to business.

How would I describe their method?  They basically grab a handful of fat (or what they think is fat, but is actually nerve endings) and forcefully run their thumbs/elbows/rolling pin (no I am not joking) up and down about 20 times in the same place until you call uncle.  The goal was to rub the fat against your bone, generating heat, dissolving the softened fat, and hopefully pushing it to be processed as waste.  Yeah, the science really blew my mind too.  They also used some kind of vacuum device that would grab a small piece of skin at a time and they ran that over my entire body, so it was like a gigantic Indian Burn.

What killed me was that they made no allowance for pressure points, so sometimes my leg would start twitching and cramping up while they press the pressure point behind my knee again and again and again.  The most painful areas were my kidneys, which were kneaded, knotted, and switched places multiple times, and the rolling pin across my spine.  This whole process took two and a half HOURS.  Needless to say, I was crying by the end of it.

They played good cop/bad cop to try to make me laugh all throughout.  Jennifer was good cop and her territory was my upper half, and she'd coo to me to let her know if it hurts too much and she'll back off.  Well, she never did, but at least she was apologetic about it.  Unni was bad cop, and she was the one pushing all the pressure points in my legs. When I begged her to ease off, she'd say it's the fat that's hurting so it's good for me.  However, Unni had one interesting method that didn't hurt me physically and never failed to make me laugh.  She'd fist my upper thighs at a good steady pace, hurling insults at them, and asking me how in the world did I ever get this fat?  My mom is skinny, why didn't I listen to my mom?  Just the thought of getting fisted for real by someone this grouchy made me lose my shit, but then again I was probably certifiably insane by that point.

I tried to meditate and get to my happy place.  There was some ocean sounds CD playing in the background, and by then the combination of sweat/massage oil/vinyl had me sliding all over the place, so I imagined I was swimming in the ocean.  Swimming la la la, hear the waves, but then HOLY JESUS a shark has taken a large bite to my ribcage and I am going down down down okay think of something else...Guantanamo!  I imagined I was held captive and these women were trying to pump information out of me but I was valiant and remained silent.  Then I thought about waterboarding, and how that supposedly only took 15 minutes.  I imagined being waterboarded, because then I would have been done by then.  It sounds fucked up, but that was the only happy place that helped me at all.

Anyway, 2.5 hours later, I was given respite and they did a cool-down massage which immediately kicked in the Stockholm Syndrome complex and I felt so, so grateful for these two benefactors who gave pain but have now taken it away.  I cried extra tears of gratitude.  I got to change back into my clothes and my ordeal was done.

Actually, no I wasn't done.  Once I got to my feet, I immediately wanted to hurl and faint at the same time.  I was seeing stars and I dropped to my knees in their lobby.  They let me back on the massage table and sleep it off, but after an hour I was still fucked up, alternating between shivering and blacking out.  Jennifer and Unni attributed it to the fact that I had too much fat, and they activated a bunch of it, and my body was getting used to the extra blood flow.  I thought (and still think) that I was going into shock, but hey, I'm not an MD nor a Korean massage therapist.  There was no way I could have driven home, so I called my mom.  She gave me a few sips of Coke and I felt okay enough to crawl to her car.  She drove me to her house, yelling at me for being a big embarrassing pussy, and helped me into her living room couch while I tried to remain conscious. 

As we drove off, I remember Jennifer and Unni waving cheerfully at us.  "See you next Tuesday?" they cried.  "Yes!  She will be there, same time!" my mom yelled out the window.  I just rolled my head to the side and dry-heaved.

I'm feeling better now, after some fluids and dinner.  And I have to admit, my belly has gone down considerably.  It's most likely from sweating so much, and I'd much rather get wrapped in seaweed and relax under a heated blanket to get that effect, but I'm definitely intrigued despite of the aching pains and blossoming bruises I am feeling right now.  Maybe I'll even try it again next week.  After all, it only hurts the first time, right?