i'm going to take a brief break from my usual anti-romance writing and present to you things i do to make awkward situations all the more awkward.
but if you read the title, you probably already figured that out.
anyway.
1. walking in the rain back up to my internship office, i turned the corner and found myself face to face with a middle-aged man who was mid-swing in what looked like an umbrella-rain-dance-a-la-Gene-Kelly.
and instead of joining in [as i should've done, in retrospect], i stared for a few seconds before finally offering a friendly smile.
too late.
he took off without another word, ashamed.
2. i was eating breakfast in an elevator when i noticed yet another middle-aged man was watching me. mouth full of food, i tried to strain a smile.
it felt like a Grinch smile.
he looked away.
3. "I'm yoh mommy, I'm not gonna like any boys you girls bring home."
"Well, that's lucky for me!"
"GIRLS, TOO."
[this one wasn't actually entirely my fault, but it's fun to share.]
4. "You know, relationships and, uh, all that, that stuff that go with them, they're tough."
"...Yeah. I dunno, Daddy, I just don't know...what...to do...with girls."
"Me neither! I had no idea til the wedding night."
"...Gross."
5. [shortly after #4]
"I don't know how to go about being affectionate either."
"Okay."
"You know, haha, one day, I told your mom -- I was kidding around -- 'Wanna go upstairs, to our room?'"
"Um."
"And she said, haha, 'You gonna hap to seduce me first.' Hahahaha Of course, I didn't know how."
"Gross."
6. I drunkenly ran into a cute girl at a party. Didn't know how to carry on a conversation, as usual.
So, instead, I said, "Put your arms up like this!"
She did.
And I went in for a Sneak Hug.
7. I was 5, talking to my best friend.
"I'm not saying I LIKE girls, I'm just saying that if I was a boy I'd like Kate."
"Um..."
"So if YOU were a boy, which girl would YOU like?"
"...I don't know..."
"C'mon...you've never...thought about it?"
"No."
"C'mon! I won't tell anyone. This is just make-believe."
"...Vickie, I don't know."
"GAH! You're lame!"
8. playing Life with my sisters and my younger cousins, to whom I wasn't Out yet. it was my turn.
"'Stop. It's your wedding day!'"
"Okay, so you get to put someone else in your car."
"...Make it a pink one."
"...Why?"
"I dunno. My husband could like pink. Or maybe I don't want to get married. Maybe I just want to go through life with my best friend."
::silence::
"...Okay. Here's your pink piece."
[later, my turn again.]
"Yay! My...best friend...and I are adopting twins!"
9. [Someone tells a bad joke.]
Me: Bwahahahahahaha!
Cousin Angelina: You laugh too much.
Me: ...[internal suffering]...Bwahahahahaha...!
10. someone in my 12th grade English class told a bad joke about the book we were discussing.
having only gotten a few hours of sleep the night before, delirious, i replied, when the laughing stopped, "That was nerdy. We are nerds."
11. in my 10th grade English class, discussion turned to the topic of bullying.
i raised my hand.
and proceeded to go into a 10 minute tirade about the evils of bullying.
and started to cry.
a lot.
everyone was stunned and silent.
"I-I-I don't know hahaha why I'm crying hahahaha boohoohoooooooo! Hahaha! Boohoo! Haha! PMS! Boohoo!"
--
if there're more, you'll be the first to know.
Showing posts with label comedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label comedy. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
38. whoa. that was stupid. [for those i've repelled with awkwardness.]
i don't pick up on signals.
whenever i privately fantasize about pseudo-romantic rendezvouses [haha the plural for rendezvous makes me laugh], i fancy myself the pursuer; but in real-life situations, whenever i decide to take a plunge into the murky depths of Romance and Lesbian Night-Clubs, i'm the wall-flower, praying to Jeebus that someone will pick up on the fact that i'm too terrified to make the first move.
Big Spoon dreams with Little Spoon attitude.
actually, not even Little Spoon attitude.
just Inexcusable Idiocy.
i have that special curse, sometimes gift, where months - years, even - after the fact, i can remember the smallest details of situations gone wrong.
maybe it's because i'm constantly blaming myself for my inability to "connect," and i feel the need to dissect events that haunt me with hopes of improving myself, guarding myself against future failures.
or maybe it's just because i'm well aware of the fact that God seems to have purposely and purposefully armed me with a talent for carrying out almost cinematically ridiculous acts for the entertainment of others, and i'd feel guilty if my hilarious pain wasn't offered up for someone else's joy.
anywho.
after reading a number of drunken journal entries (that are far too embarrassing to put up here, even for me), as well as bitterly looking back through a slightly more socially aware microscope, i've decided to address certain happenstances and apologize to those who have fallen victim to my debilitating social-ineptness.
and to help those of you who find yourselves in similar circumstances.
1. one night, i was in bed with someone i was actually beginning to like.
like, like-like.
meaning that i didn't know what the fuck to do about it. granted, we were, as i said, already in bed together, and, as such, you'd think that any awkward tension was obliterated; however, being that i was just waking up from a drunken stupor and was therefore once again aware of my own inhibitions, we were back at square one.
so when she started to shiver, while on her side, facing away from me, my first thought wasn't, Oh! She wants to cuddle! Thank God! as it should've been, because lord knows i would've jumped at the chance.
instead, i felt guilty that she was so cold even though she was already under the covers.
so as quietly as i could, i went and found another blanket and covered her with it.
genuinely thinking that this was the most thoughtful and correct course of action.
...yeah.
2. not too long after #1, in the same evening, that is [yes, i know, poor whoeversheis], i went to the bathroom, convinced she was still asleep. when i returned, she was almost entirely on my side of the bed.
i figured she just moved in her sleep, so i did my best to un-awkwardly maneuver myself so that i was at least partially on the mattress, still worried i might disturb her.
but she wasn't even completely asleep, and when she stirred a bit i hesitated before asking, as politely as possible, "Um...would you mind, like...moving over a little bit?"
and i discovered just a second later that there was no polite way to ask that.
and i realized several months later that it might have been another one of those signs.
3. the next morning ["Holy shit, Vickie, seriously?!"], when we were in front of her building, there was a brief, tense moment of silence. suddenly, she lunged at me with a kiss. i was so taken aback i only managed to summon enough consciousness to nervously laugh and say, "Okay. See you later!"
walking away, i was already slowly dying inside.
4. moving on to another unlucky lady:
out of the blue, she asked me out.
surprised and sincerely interested - being that this was the first time anyone had been forward enough to do so - i consented.
the date went well. very well.
but when i realized that i might actually really like her, in true Vickie form i retreated to my inner fortress and shut down.
so, at the end of the night, when i was dropping her off and she asked, so directly, if i wanted to kiss her, i was overcome with two thoughts: the first, Oh my God. She already knows me well enough to be this direct. I feel so exposed.; and the second, Uhhhhhhh...
unfortunately, the second thought found its way out, filled the air with unnecessary tension, and i convinced myself that i fucked things up and there was no way in hell she was still into me.
so no, we didn't kiss.
and yes, i do use, "Uhhh..." as a legitimate form of communication.
5. "I like you, Vickie."
"Aww. I like you, too!"
"Oh, man. 'Cos last year, when I told my friends about it, I finally decided to make a move on you at the next USC party, but you had just officially gotten with someone else."
beat.
"Oh! You meant that like!"
6. when a girl invited me over to her place for a night of SNL, i figured she just wanted to be friends.
i had only very recently Come Out, so i was desperate for comrades.
and when she inched so close to me on the couch, to the point where she was practically sitting on one of my arms, i wondered if that was just how lesbians bonded.
7. Text: I'm stuck in traffic - I could really use some entertainment ;P
My reply: Oh...that's unfortunate. I'm sorry. :/ LA traffic sucks.
8. "Oh, man, I really wanna dance right now!"
"Go for it - I can't really dance."
---
and this is just a small sampling, mind you. i have 3 journals worth of bitter introspection and regret.
it always amazes me just how wonderfully and relentlessly i fuck things up.
if you have been on the receiving end of my clueless anti-whims, please know how deeply sorry i am.
talking to people on a one-on-one basis has never been easy for me; that middleground, between acknowledging that i can be too guarded only to discover, in an effort to remedy that flaw, that i'm also susceptible to word vomit, is yet to be charted.
try as i might to prevent myself from putting up my walls, keeping a wary eye on myself more than on the situation at hand, i tend to grasp for any possible thought to keep things going. and more often than not, all i find is that no matter what, being myself around people who interest me is tough; i either don't open up enough, or i try to be so exposed that the words that fly out of my mouth, like shrapnel over a promising conversation, are false.
so, again, i'm sorry to those i may have hurt or deterred.
i can honestly say that it's not you, it's me.
Monday, January 31, 2011
37. don't put the cart before the horse. but here are some things i'm going to teach my kids or nieces and nephews [if they're ever to exist.].
i do a lot of wishful thinking.
like considering having kids someday.
even if i don't, and i commit myself to a life of hermithood, here are some things i might prioritize, based on observations and personal experiences/preferences:
1. the difference between "your" and "you're."
mama didn't [won't] raise no fool.
2. the differences between "their," "there," and "they're."
3. good storytelling, oral and written.
the written part of which will be enhanced by their knowledge of the aforementioned distinctions.
4. puns.
5. to take PepcidAC to avoid Asian Glow when drinking.
6. to not laugh like a monster, as my sister tells me i do.
(i.e. BWA-hahahaha)
7. rudimentary social skills.
the responsibility of which will be placed on their other mother's shoulders.
or, if i'm single, those of their aunts.
...better yet, family friends.
8. to be unafraid of telling bad jokes.
9. though i'd probably still prefer it if they mastered the art of joke-telling.
10. to recover after accidentally blurting out some unflattering detail about themselves.
or doing something stupid.
11. to actually not be afraid of doing something stupid in public, which will be aided by the Recovery Lesson.
12. Black, Yellow, Brown people are okay.
13. the White ones, too.
14. and Europeans.
15. foreigners and immigrants, in general.
16. it's okay to be straight.
and bi, trans, and, obviously, gay/lesbian.
17. eat whatever the hell you want.
there's nothing wrong with having more to love.
18. i'm probably going to be that annoying mother who tells their kids they're beautiful and amazing and that i love them on the daily.
even in front of their friends.
19. don't be afraid of grandma.
20. old school Nickelodeon was way better in my day.
you can watch my DVD collection instead of that new crap.
21. it's okay to cry during sports movies, no matter what Aunts Olivia and Annie say.
and mommy's friends.
22. it's okay to write cringeworthy journal entries.
in a few years you'll probably laugh at them/yourself and wear them as a badge of honor.
23. if you laugh first, no one else has the chance to laugh at you.
24. even your bad ideas are probably good ones if you're willing to laugh at yourself.
25. Harry Potter is a way of life.
26. don't be so afraid of your feelings for other people that Asian Glow comes out while you're un-inebriated.
or you run away.
and avoid them.
27. hugging/human contact can be a good thing.
28. in fact, most people would probably tell you that it IS a good thing.
29. having feelings isn't a bad thing, even if i sometimes make fun of you for it.
i only do it out of love.
30. don't be afraid of wishful thinking.
31. don't be ashamed of your taste in things.
even if no one else really understands why you love The Village so much.
--
and that's all for now.
i'll probably be working on this for the next 50-some-odd years.
like considering having kids someday.
even if i don't, and i commit myself to a life of hermithood, here are some things i might prioritize, based on observations and personal experiences/preferences:
1. the difference between "your" and "you're."
mama didn't [won't] raise no fool.
2. the differences between "their," "there," and "they're."
3. good storytelling, oral and written.
the written part of which will be enhanced by their knowledge of the aforementioned distinctions.
4. puns.
5. to take PepcidAC to avoid Asian Glow when drinking.
6. to not laugh like a monster, as my sister tells me i do.
(i.e. BWA-hahahaha)
7. rudimentary social skills.
the responsibility of which will be placed on their other mother's shoulders.
or, if i'm single, those of their aunts.
...better yet, family friends.
8. to be unafraid of telling bad jokes.
9. though i'd probably still prefer it if they mastered the art of joke-telling.
10. to recover after accidentally blurting out some unflattering detail about themselves.
or doing something stupid.
11. to actually not be afraid of doing something stupid in public, which will be aided by the Recovery Lesson.
12. Black, Yellow, Brown people are okay.
13. the White ones, too.
14. and Europeans.
15. foreigners and immigrants, in general.
16. it's okay to be straight.
and bi, trans, and, obviously, gay/lesbian.
17. eat whatever the hell you want.
there's nothing wrong with having more to love.
18. i'm probably going to be that annoying mother who tells their kids they're beautiful and amazing and that i love them on the daily.
even in front of their friends.
19. don't be afraid of grandma.
20. old school Nickelodeon was way better in my day.
you can watch my DVD collection instead of that new crap.
21. it's okay to cry during sports movies, no matter what Aunts Olivia and Annie say.
and mommy's friends.
22. it's okay to write cringeworthy journal entries.
in a few years you'll probably laugh at them/yourself and wear them as a badge of honor.
23. if you laugh first, no one else has the chance to laugh at you.
24. even your bad ideas are probably good ones if you're willing to laugh at yourself.
25. Harry Potter is a way of life.
26. don't be so afraid of your feelings for other people that Asian Glow comes out while you're un-inebriated.
or you run away.
and avoid them.
27. hugging/human contact can be a good thing.
28. in fact, most people would probably tell you that it IS a good thing.
29. having feelings isn't a bad thing, even if i sometimes make fun of you for it.
i only do it out of love.
30. don't be afraid of wishful thinking.
31. don't be ashamed of your taste in things.
even if no one else really understands why you love The Village so much.
--
and that's all for now.
i'll probably be working on this for the next 50-some-odd years.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
36. the world is a lonely place. and i hate emo, so don't worry. emo as in feely, not as in Korean aunt.
whether you're coming out as gay, nerdy, trendy, a Belieber, a knitter, etc., the world can and probably will be unkind.
it's amazing the lengths we're willing to go in order to find that sense of community, and how desperate we are when we're harboring so many secrets.
whenever i think back to my days in the Lesbian Closet, it's hard to believe that the person experiencing all those woes existed in the very same body that carries me today.
and some of the things i did to hide myself now strike me as ridiculous:
1. dating boys.
2. throwing on a parka after swim practice and sprinting through the locker room instead of lingering around to shower and change with my teammates.
because, well, girls made/make me uncomfortable.
3. when a girl i was deeply in love with at swim practice offered to let me touch her abs as she was laying down, and we were alone on the deck in just our swim suits, i panicked and blurted out that i had to use the bathroom.
4. telling my parents, at the age of 8, "I know everyone thinks I'm a lesbian, but I just want you to know that I'm NOT."
5. laughing and nodding a little too rigorously when friends commented on a boy's frumpiness.
6. blushing whenever someone asked me what boy i was crushing on.
which actually worked well, as everyone tended to misinterpret the reasons behind my shade.
7. reading Jane Austen novels.
--
and when i finally started to deal with the gay thing and decided to look into the larger community, as well as to more fully accept it, kind of:
1. i googled "gay nerds" and found a forum that featured topics like "Hott Spock" and "Willow, Will-WOW."
i felt "connected."
after watching episode after episode of The L Word, it was nice to see that not ALL lesbians were wildly attractive, articulate, well dressed women.
2. watching The L Word on mute on the basement TV when everyone was asleep.
3. i avoided that girl i liked all the more.
too many feelings to deal with.
4. watching Ellen.
5. looking at colleges that were as far away from home as possible.
as well as their respective LGBT resource centres.
6. hugging people more often.
this seems a little irrelevant, but lemme tell you: when you're so determined to keep that Gay Secret, somehow you irrationally believe that your gayness can be discovered through osmosis or something.
--
but now that the gay thing's all done and dealt with, i laugh, really, at how melodramatic i made everything seem.
my Coming Out process was really anti-climactic and unexpectedly funny.
awkward, yes, and painful at times, but still easier to cope with than anticipated.
so now i find myself finally dealing with all sorts of things that were kept on the backburner: my inability to open up; my overall awkwardness; my nerdiness; my addiction to food; my weird insecurities.
it's almost as if my bored subconscious is trying to refill the big Worry Void that Coming Out left in its wake with whatever it can find.
my biggest concern nowadays is coming to terms with my awkwardness/social skills.
Lesbianism is so passe.
it's amazing the lengths we're willing to go in order to find that sense of community, and how desperate we are when we're harboring so many secrets.
whenever i think back to my days in the Lesbian Closet, it's hard to believe that the person experiencing all those woes existed in the very same body that carries me today.
and some of the things i did to hide myself now strike me as ridiculous:
1. dating boys.
2. throwing on a parka after swim practice and sprinting through the locker room instead of lingering around to shower and change with my teammates.
because, well, girls made/make me uncomfortable.
3. when a girl i was deeply in love with at swim practice offered to let me touch her abs as she was laying down, and we were alone on the deck in just our swim suits, i panicked and blurted out that i had to use the bathroom.
4. telling my parents, at the age of 8, "I know everyone thinks I'm a lesbian, but I just want you to know that I'm NOT."
5. laughing and nodding a little too rigorously when friends commented on a boy's frumpiness.
6. blushing whenever someone asked me what boy i was crushing on.
which actually worked well, as everyone tended to misinterpret the reasons behind my shade.
7. reading Jane Austen novels.
--
and when i finally started to deal with the gay thing and decided to look into the larger community, as well as to more fully accept it, kind of:
1. i googled "gay nerds" and found a forum that featured topics like "Hott Spock" and "Willow, Will-WOW."
i felt "connected."
after watching episode after episode of The L Word, it was nice to see that not ALL lesbians were wildly attractive, articulate, well dressed women.
2. watching The L Word on mute on the basement TV when everyone was asleep.
3. i avoided that girl i liked all the more.
too many feelings to deal with.
4. watching Ellen.
5. looking at colleges that were as far away from home as possible.
as well as their respective LGBT resource centres.
6. hugging people more often.
this seems a little irrelevant, but lemme tell you: when you're so determined to keep that Gay Secret, somehow you irrationally believe that your gayness can be discovered through osmosis or something.
--
but now that the gay thing's all done and dealt with, i laugh, really, at how melodramatic i made everything seem.
my Coming Out process was really anti-climactic and unexpectedly funny.
awkward, yes, and painful at times, but still easier to cope with than anticipated.
so now i find myself finally dealing with all sorts of things that were kept on the backburner: my inability to open up; my overall awkwardness; my nerdiness; my addiction to food; my weird insecurities.
it's almost as if my bored subconscious is trying to refill the big Worry Void that Coming Out left in its wake with whatever it can find.
my biggest concern nowadays is coming to terms with my awkwardness/social skills.
Lesbianism is so passe.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
35. friend-flirting vs. flirting-flirting. WHO WILL WIN?
if you've been following along with this blog, you're probably well acquainted with the fact that i'm kind of an idiot in matters of the heart.
not kind of.
...and not just of the heart.
if you're currently being Notes-to-Self-deflowered, well, i just told you.
you're welcome.
and now that that's established, and everyone's caught up, let's move on.
once, when i was complaining about the fact that i'm either the last to find out about other people's feelings towards me or i'm branded as the forever-friend and nothing more, my less-mushy/sympathetic sister told me two things: 1) "hahahahahaha Your love life makes me laugh"; 2) "Be wary of the difference between friend-flirting and flirting-flirting."
What the hell is "friend-flirting?" i wondered.
she told me that when someone wants to be friends with another - just friends - he/she takes an approach similar to the one they'd take if they wanted things to be romantic.
it's more toned-down, slightly less forward.
it's all about talking and getting to know someone.
hanging out, bonding, goofing off.
"So...what's flirting-flirting, then?"
my mind was blown.
"Well, I mean. If you just wanna be friends with someone, you're less likely to try so hard you make an ass of yourself, right? It's less forced. More natural."
no.
no, that's not the case.
unfortunately, for so long i was trapped in a shell that now, whenever i sense any inkling of a connection with someone, i become overzealous in my endeavours and end up making an ass of myself anyway.
in fact, i'd argue that when i first meet someone, any idea of possible romantic feelings is the farthest from my mind.
my primary goal when i meet someone is to be able to force myself to go beyond my shy borders, choke out any potential thoughts, feelings, and interests, rather than resort to my usual, safe, reserved nature.
to be friends.
apparently, this is the wrong way to go about things.
nobody else seems to feel this way.
which means that on more than one occasion, looking back, i'm sure i've come across as something of a creeper to a number of people.
or an asshole.
like that one time when a friend unwisely assigned me the role of her wingwoman, and, try as i might to encourage her target to hang out with us, my multiple texts/invitations/urgings probably only made it look as though i was the predator.
bad friend-flirting.
or that time at Game Stop when a friendly guy came up and struck up a conversation, and i thought it was perfectly acceptable to reciprocate, only to find out that he was hitting on me.
"Are you single?"
"Uhh," with sudden realization, "I am, but...I'm also a lesbian."
[i'm still not sure why i decided to let him know that i'm also a lesbian.]
more bad friend-flirting.
other examples include more times when i've inadvertently led someone on, only to upset them and burn bridges: bridges i didn't even know were burned til much later when a close friend chastises me for my foolishness.
there are times when, apparently, i'm too good at friend flirting.
or i'm bad at it, sometimes crossing that line.
...i'm not sure if that thought process was easy to follow.
oh, well.
in terms of flirting-flirting, well, i'm still working on this.
sadly, once i've decided that i've somewhat succeeded, in any small way, in friend-flirting, as well as the fact that i'm actually deeply attracted to whoever's fallen victim to my awkward friend-woos, things become more complicated.
not because i'm ambiguous or because i "play the game."
but because i do exactly the opposite of those things.
everyone's playing Halo.
i'm still stuck on Parcheesi.
while, apparently, i've been practicing my friend-flirting for a number of years, my flirting-flirting's been put on the backburner.
or i've just got a totally different perspective on how it should all play out.
i was raised in a Korean household, meaning i was always taught that people can and should be as blunt and unrelenting as my mother.
also, dating/flirting/extracurricular social life were all big no-nos in our house, so i didn't get much of a chance to get out there in the first place.
also, there was that whole Closet debaucle.
anywho.
whenever i try to flirt-flirt, i find myself battling inner-demons: those instincts of just throwing everything onto the table instead of showing my cards in moderation.
i blush, laugh too loudly, make awkward, sappy admissions.
basically, my wooing abilities carry with them the power to scare any lesbian away.
a true gift.
navigating that line between friend-flirting and flirting-flirting is hard.
impossible.
i either go too far, or not far enough, or too far without realizing it and regretting it later, or just make an ass of myself.
to those of you i might have frightened away - and what're the chances, really, of you completely avoiding me only to occasionally read my blog - i apologize.
i have the social skills of a very confused kindergartener.
creeping you out was never on my to-do list.
i should probably take to being clear in my intentions whenever i try to hang out with people.
"Hi, I'm Vickie! I'm not hitting on you right now, I just want to be friends."
or.
"Hi, I'm Vickie! I'm actually hitting on you right now, but please let me know if I go too far so I can make a note of it for future friend-deavours or girlfriend-deavours."
sad.
this is gonna be a long road.
not kind of.
...and not just of the heart.
if you're currently being Notes-to-Self-deflowered, well, i just told you.
you're welcome.
and now that that's established, and everyone's caught up, let's move on.
once, when i was complaining about the fact that i'm either the last to find out about other people's feelings towards me or i'm branded as the forever-friend and nothing more, my less-mushy/sympathetic sister told me two things: 1) "hahahahahaha Your love life makes me laugh"; 2) "Be wary of the difference between friend-flirting and flirting-flirting."
What the hell is "friend-flirting?" i wondered.
she told me that when someone wants to be friends with another - just friends - he/she takes an approach similar to the one they'd take if they wanted things to be romantic.
it's more toned-down, slightly less forward.
it's all about talking and getting to know someone.
hanging out, bonding, goofing off.
"So...what's flirting-flirting, then?"
my mind was blown.
"Well, I mean. If you just wanna be friends with someone, you're less likely to try so hard you make an ass of yourself, right? It's less forced. More natural."
no.
no, that's not the case.
unfortunately, for so long i was trapped in a shell that now, whenever i sense any inkling of a connection with someone, i become overzealous in my endeavours and end up making an ass of myself anyway.
in fact, i'd argue that when i first meet someone, any idea of possible romantic feelings is the farthest from my mind.
my primary goal when i meet someone is to be able to force myself to go beyond my shy borders, choke out any potential thoughts, feelings, and interests, rather than resort to my usual, safe, reserved nature.
to be friends.
apparently, this is the wrong way to go about things.
nobody else seems to feel this way.
which means that on more than one occasion, looking back, i'm sure i've come across as something of a creeper to a number of people.
or an asshole.
like that one time when a friend unwisely assigned me the role of her wingwoman, and, try as i might to encourage her target to hang out with us, my multiple texts/invitations/urgings probably only made it look as though i was the predator.
bad friend-flirting.
or that time at Game Stop when a friendly guy came up and struck up a conversation, and i thought it was perfectly acceptable to reciprocate, only to find out that he was hitting on me.
"Are you single?"
"Uhh," with sudden realization, "I am, but...I'm also a lesbian."
[i'm still not sure why i decided to let him know that i'm also a lesbian.]
more bad friend-flirting.
other examples include more times when i've inadvertently led someone on, only to upset them and burn bridges: bridges i didn't even know were burned til much later when a close friend chastises me for my foolishness.
there are times when, apparently, i'm too good at friend flirting.
or i'm bad at it, sometimes crossing that line.
...i'm not sure if that thought process was easy to follow.
oh, well.
in terms of flirting-flirting, well, i'm still working on this.
sadly, once i've decided that i've somewhat succeeded, in any small way, in friend-flirting, as well as the fact that i'm actually deeply attracted to whoever's fallen victim to my awkward friend-woos, things become more complicated.
not because i'm ambiguous or because i "play the game."
but because i do exactly the opposite of those things.
everyone's playing Halo.
i'm still stuck on Parcheesi.
while, apparently, i've been practicing my friend-flirting for a number of years, my flirting-flirting's been put on the backburner.
or i've just got a totally different perspective on how it should all play out.
i was raised in a Korean household, meaning i was always taught that people can and should be as blunt and unrelenting as my mother.
also, dating/flirting/extracurricular social life were all big no-nos in our house, so i didn't get much of a chance to get out there in the first place.
also, there was that whole Closet debaucle.
anywho.
whenever i try to flirt-flirt, i find myself battling inner-demons: those instincts of just throwing everything onto the table instead of showing my cards in moderation.
i blush, laugh too loudly, make awkward, sappy admissions.
basically, my wooing abilities carry with them the power to scare any lesbian away.
a true gift.
navigating that line between friend-flirting and flirting-flirting is hard.
impossible.
i either go too far, or not far enough, or too far without realizing it and regretting it later, or just make an ass of myself.
to those of you i might have frightened away - and what're the chances, really, of you completely avoiding me only to occasionally read my blog - i apologize.
i have the social skills of a very confused kindergartener.
creeping you out was never on my to-do list.
i should probably take to being clear in my intentions whenever i try to hang out with people.
"Hi, I'm Vickie! I'm not hitting on you right now, I just want to be friends."
or.
"Hi, I'm Vickie! I'm actually hitting on you right now, but please let me know if I go too far so I can make a note of it for future friend-deavours or girlfriend-deavours."
sad.
this is gonna be a long road.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
34. My mom is deep.
what's this? a second blogpost in just 24 hours?
huzzah!
i've recently received some good news, so i'm in a giving mood.
this post is inspired by a new find of mine, Tiger Mom Says, so it features some pretty impressive tidbits of advice my mother's graced my sisters and me with over the course of our lives.
here we go:
1. "You will not play the flute. You will play the saxophone like my favorite artist, Kenny G."
2. "What is Swarthmore? I know what Harvard is. Not Swarthmore!"
3. "You don't need a boyfriend. You need to become a well-rounded person. Special in everything so that you can host Saturday Night Live someday."
4. "Why are you going to social work school? Why does everything have to be the hard way with you?!"
5. "Why are you going to be a teacher? Why does everything have to be the poor way with you? Don't you want to own a boat someday?"
6. "You won't sing. You play instrument and learn real skill."
7. "University of Chicago? Why you going so far away for state school not even as good as UVA?"
8. "You think B+ is okay? B going to take you to community college!"
9. "You want to join drama club? You make enough drama at home with your grades!"
10. "Japan? I can't talk to you anymore."
11. "Don't cry; it makes you look guilty."
12. "Speak up; shy people weird everyone else out."
13. "I knew you were gonna grow out of the lesbian thing like your grandma grew out of the lesbian thing."
14. "Nobody puts my baby in the corner."
15. "You wanna go to college to get job being funny? I'm funny, why don't you pay me? You can't? Exactly."
huzzah!
i've recently received some good news, so i'm in a giving mood.
this post is inspired by a new find of mine, Tiger Mom Says, so it features some pretty impressive tidbits of advice my mother's graced my sisters and me with over the course of our lives.
here we go:
1. "You will not play the flute. You will play the saxophone like my favorite artist, Kenny G."
2. "What is Swarthmore? I know what Harvard is. Not Swarthmore!"
3. "You don't need a boyfriend. You need to become a well-rounded person. Special in everything so that you can host Saturday Night Live someday."
4. "Why are you going to social work school? Why does everything have to be the hard way with you?!"
5. "Why are you going to be a teacher? Why does everything have to be the poor way with you? Don't you want to own a boat someday?"
6. "You won't sing. You play instrument and learn real skill."
7. "University of Chicago? Why you going so far away for state school not even as good as UVA?"
8. "You think B+ is okay? B going to take you to community college!"
9. "You want to join drama club? You make enough drama at home with your grades!"
10. "Japan? I can't talk to you anymore."
11. "Don't cry; it makes you look guilty."
12. "Speak up; shy people weird everyone else out."
13. "I knew you were gonna grow out of the lesbian thing like your grandma grew out of the lesbian thing."
14. "Nobody puts my baby in the corner."
15. "You wanna go to college to get job being funny? I'm funny, why don't you pay me? You can't? Exactly."
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
33. hot damn i'm stupid.
I wouldn’t call myself a cuddle connoisseur.
Addict, yes, but my limited experiences don’t match up to those of my well handled utensil contemporaries.
But don’t worry: this isn’t going to be a too-long self-deprecating piece overridden with annoying insertions and lacking in embarrassingly silly and valuable learning-tidbits.
If anything, I’m proud of the progress I’ve managed to make over the past few years since my very first Spooning experience.
[Which was, I’ll say now, one of the most terrifying but enlightening experiences of my life.]
When I was in the process of sailing to the island of Lesbos, armed only with Birkenstocks and flannel - or the superficial knowledge of the lesbian being - sex was the last thing on my mind.
Raised in the clutches of a South Korean and a Dominican Army Colonel, who taught my sisters and me that handholding counts as a base and hugging leads to sex, zero attention was paid to the goings-on of my south of the border interests.
At the beginning of my sophomore year of college, the only thing I was concerned with was making my very first batch of gay friends.
So when a fellow, however more-experienced lesbian invited me over to her place to watch SNL instead of going partying with the other gays I met at one of my first-ever LGBT meetings, I didn’t take it to mean anything more than, “Yay! I have a new lesbian friend!”
When we got to her place, she switched the TV on, offered me a glass of wine, and told me to make myself at home on her 4-person couch.
Hospitable, I thought.
She sat at one end and I absentmindedly found myself at the exact opposite end.
As the show wore on, though, I noticed that the gap between us started shrinking.
Well, I guess that WAS an oddly huge space.
And when it got to the point where she was practically sitting on my right arm, and I awkwardly gripped onto the armrest with my left, I wondered if this was just how lesbians bonded.
After the show ended we talked a bit, but at 2am I felt that I’d intruded too long.
“Well, it’s getting pretty late...I should probably get out of your hair.”
“No, it’s too late for you to try to get home,” she said sweetly, “but you can sleep here.”
I hesitated before privately applauding her generosity.
She disappeared into her bedroom, and, assuming I was supposed to sleep on her couch, I made myself comfortable.
But, seconds later, she returned.
“No, no, you can sleep in my room.”
I hesitated again, an unfamiliar tingling going down my spine.
I ignored it.
...She probably has a futon.
And then it occurred to me that I might be sleeping in very close quarters to someone else for the first time.
Please, for the love of God, have a futon.
I followed her into her bedroom, which was devoid of futon; just a red sportscar bed, with high walls to prevent escape.
...Falling off.
I didn’t sleep that night, especially with her body pressed into my back.
Instead, I laid rigidly on my side, my nose touching the bed’s wall.
After, my friends abused me for my cluelessness and urged me to, “Go for it.”
Given that this was the very first time someone of the same-sex was showing interest in me, I was a little eager to see where it went.
The more Spooner and I talked, the more I appreciated her patience and intentions.
She was kind, knowledgeable, encouraging, and understanding.
I confessed things I’d never shared before, and found myself in the new position of wanting and being able to pursue a completely open and sincere relationship with someone, even in non-romantic terms.
Finally, a connection.
We hung out a couple more times, holding hands, me continuing to spout out awkward sappy lines and thoughts.
It was a nice, strange feeling, all those firsts.
Sharing firsts, hugging firsts, handholding firsts, flirting firsts.
Later, when she asked me what I was going to be up to over the weekend, I blurted out the fact that my roommates were all going out of town and I was probably just going to have quiet nights-in with some movies and food.
She said she wanted to keep me company and I, being slightly more savvy by this point, conceded.
When she arrived, I gave her my obscenely full binder of movies and told her that she could choose.
I didn’t expect her to pick the raciest movie in my collection, Y Tu Mama Tambien (which, if you haven’t seen it, is about 85% porn (but, of course, I only own it for its artistic value)).
But she did.
I put the movie on, we ate, and eventually we found ourselves on the couch.
It was my first intentionally-cuddling experience.
She laid across my lap, and the fact that this was physically the closest I’d ever been to someone didn’t escape me.
I relished it.
Though I still had no idea what I was doing.
My hand was around her waist at the beginning of the film, but as the minutes trickled by I noticed that, somehow, my hand was mysteriously finding its way further up her body.
And my heart was up in my throat.
I tested it, concentrating on my hand to make sure that I wasn’t the one responsible.
Sure enough, I was positive that it wasn’t me.
And I was positive that it wasn’t going to stop any time soon.
And, sure enough, I was very much aware that the latest part of the body that I was touching wasn’t flat like the rest.
Like some X-rated Ouiji board, my hand found its way to a new revelation: real-life second base.
I panicked.
My hand was as stiff as my back had been on our very first night together.
And it stayed that way all the way through the end of the credits.
Finally, we got up and moved, commented on how late it was, and agreed to get to bed.
Wait, MY bed?! I thought to myself, trying hard [and probably failing] at keeping my face neutral.
We went into my bedroom, and, unlike Spoon Mishap #1, I was very much aware of the event’s significance.
She climbed onto my too-high bed and I clumsily followed suit.
She laid down, fully relaxed, and I tried my best to do the same.
She was on her side, facing me, while I concentrated very deeply on the various cracks in my ceiling.
My heart rate accelerated; I could feel it fighting its way through my chest.
I couldn’t help thinking that she was quietly watching me.
So close.
This is it, a small voice told me.
Wait, what is “it?” a more urgent and anxious voice asked.
Desperate, I wracked my brains for the few potentially telling clues I picked up during the past few weeks.
Nothing came to me.
I decided to attempt to subtly watch Spooner for hints; maybe she knew what this was all about.
It was an impossible task, I discovered, as I slowly craned my neck as carefully as possible, trying to get a glimpse of her.
She caught me, though, and I knew it.
Tensed even more.
I thought I sensed her smiling.
I tried to breathe.
The jig was up; I surrendered and strained a smile at my own awkwardness before facing her.
A long pause.
This IS it.
“Here,” she whispered, placing a gentle hand on the back of my neck, pulling me towards her.
Closer.
Oh, God, I thought, and, Please don’t let me be bad at this.
I’m pretty sure I was, but I couldn’t have really cared less.
In a lot of ways, I was more preoccupied with the fact that it was happening, period.
Here it was: a testament to the progress I made in Coming Out of both my shell and the Closet.
Close.
I’m still very much an idiot when it comes to all matters of of showing affection; I’m either too timid to show the truth or I’m overzealous and end up mucking things up.
And now Spooner’s off to greener pastures, I’m sure, and I’m still navigating through this mess that is my timidness.
But I’m closer, I think, to figuring things out: laughing at my poor choices and learning from them.
At least, that’s what I’m starting to tell myself.
Every time I stay true to my cluelessness and muck things up.
::Sigh::
Addict, yes, but my limited experiences don’t match up to those of my well handled utensil contemporaries.
But don’t worry: this isn’t going to be a too-long self-deprecating piece overridden with annoying insertions and lacking in embarrassingly silly and valuable learning-tidbits.
If anything, I’m proud of the progress I’ve managed to make over the past few years since my very first Spooning experience.
[Which was, I’ll say now, one of the most terrifying but enlightening experiences of my life.]
When I was in the process of sailing to the island of Lesbos, armed only with Birkenstocks and flannel - or the superficial knowledge of the lesbian being - sex was the last thing on my mind.
Raised in the clutches of a South Korean and a Dominican Army Colonel, who taught my sisters and me that handholding counts as a base and hugging leads to sex, zero attention was paid to the goings-on of my south of the border interests.
At the beginning of my sophomore year of college, the only thing I was concerned with was making my very first batch of gay friends.
So when a fellow, however more-experienced lesbian invited me over to her place to watch SNL instead of going partying with the other gays I met at one of my first-ever LGBT meetings, I didn’t take it to mean anything more than, “Yay! I have a new lesbian friend!”
When we got to her place, she switched the TV on, offered me a glass of wine, and told me to make myself at home on her 4-person couch.
Hospitable, I thought.
She sat at one end and I absentmindedly found myself at the exact opposite end.
As the show wore on, though, I noticed that the gap between us started shrinking.
Well, I guess that WAS an oddly huge space.
And when it got to the point where she was practically sitting on my right arm, and I awkwardly gripped onto the armrest with my left, I wondered if this was just how lesbians bonded.
After the show ended we talked a bit, but at 2am I felt that I’d intruded too long.
“Well, it’s getting pretty late...I should probably get out of your hair.”
“No, it’s too late for you to try to get home,” she said sweetly, “but you can sleep here.”
I hesitated before privately applauding her generosity.
She disappeared into her bedroom, and, assuming I was supposed to sleep on her couch, I made myself comfortable.
But, seconds later, she returned.
“No, no, you can sleep in my room.”
I hesitated again, an unfamiliar tingling going down my spine.
I ignored it.
...She probably has a futon.
And then it occurred to me that I might be sleeping in very close quarters to someone else for the first time.
Please, for the love of God, have a futon.
I followed her into her bedroom, which was devoid of futon; just a red sportscar bed, with high walls to prevent escape.
...Falling off.
I didn’t sleep that night, especially with her body pressed into my back.
Instead, I laid rigidly on my side, my nose touching the bed’s wall.
After, my friends abused me for my cluelessness and urged me to, “Go for it.”
Given that this was the very first time someone of the same-sex was showing interest in me, I was a little eager to see where it went.
The more Spooner and I talked, the more I appreciated her patience and intentions.
She was kind, knowledgeable, encouraging, and understanding.
I confessed things I’d never shared before, and found myself in the new position of wanting and being able to pursue a completely open and sincere relationship with someone, even in non-romantic terms.
Finally, a connection.
We hung out a couple more times, holding hands, me continuing to spout out awkward sappy lines and thoughts.
It was a nice, strange feeling, all those firsts.
Sharing firsts, hugging firsts, handholding firsts, flirting firsts.
Later, when she asked me what I was going to be up to over the weekend, I blurted out the fact that my roommates were all going out of town and I was probably just going to have quiet nights-in with some movies and food.
She said she wanted to keep me company and I, being slightly more savvy by this point, conceded.
When she arrived, I gave her my obscenely full binder of movies and told her that she could choose.
I didn’t expect her to pick the raciest movie in my collection, Y Tu Mama Tambien (which, if you haven’t seen it, is about 85% porn (but, of course, I only own it for its artistic value)).
But she did.
I put the movie on, we ate, and eventually we found ourselves on the couch.
It was my first intentionally-cuddling experience.
She laid across my lap, and the fact that this was physically the closest I’d ever been to someone didn’t escape me.
I relished it.
Though I still had no idea what I was doing.
My hand was around her waist at the beginning of the film, but as the minutes trickled by I noticed that, somehow, my hand was mysteriously finding its way further up her body.
And my heart was up in my throat.
I tested it, concentrating on my hand to make sure that I wasn’t the one responsible.
Sure enough, I was positive that it wasn’t me.
And I was positive that it wasn’t going to stop any time soon.
And, sure enough, I was very much aware that the latest part of the body that I was touching wasn’t flat like the rest.
Like some X-rated Ouiji board, my hand found its way to a new revelation: real-life second base.
I panicked.
My hand was as stiff as my back had been on our very first night together.
And it stayed that way all the way through the end of the credits.
Finally, we got up and moved, commented on how late it was, and agreed to get to bed.
Wait, MY bed?! I thought to myself, trying hard [and probably failing] at keeping my face neutral.
We went into my bedroom, and, unlike Spoon Mishap #1, I was very much aware of the event’s significance.
She climbed onto my too-high bed and I clumsily followed suit.
She laid down, fully relaxed, and I tried my best to do the same.
She was on her side, facing me, while I concentrated very deeply on the various cracks in my ceiling.
My heart rate accelerated; I could feel it fighting its way through my chest.
I couldn’t help thinking that she was quietly watching me.
So close.
This is it, a small voice told me.
Wait, what is “it?” a more urgent and anxious voice asked.
Desperate, I wracked my brains for the few potentially telling clues I picked up during the past few weeks.
Nothing came to me.
I decided to attempt to subtly watch Spooner for hints; maybe she knew what this was all about.
It was an impossible task, I discovered, as I slowly craned my neck as carefully as possible, trying to get a glimpse of her.
She caught me, though, and I knew it.
Tensed even more.
I thought I sensed her smiling.
I tried to breathe.
The jig was up; I surrendered and strained a smile at my own awkwardness before facing her.
A long pause.
This IS it.
“Here,” she whispered, placing a gentle hand on the back of my neck, pulling me towards her.
Closer.
Oh, God, I thought, and, Please don’t let me be bad at this.
I’m pretty sure I was, but I couldn’t have really cared less.
In a lot of ways, I was more preoccupied with the fact that it was happening, period.
Here it was: a testament to the progress I made in Coming Out of both my shell and the Closet.
Close.
I’m still very much an idiot when it comes to all matters of of showing affection; I’m either too timid to show the truth or I’m overzealous and end up mucking things up.
And now Spooner’s off to greener pastures, I’m sure, and I’m still navigating through this mess that is my timidness.
But I’m closer, I think, to figuring things out: laughing at my poor choices and learning from them.
At least, that’s what I’m starting to tell myself.
Every time I stay true to my cluelessness and muck things up.
::Sigh::
Thursday, December 30, 2010
31. poor eating/sleeping habits = weird-ass dreams.
i rarely remember dreams.
the few i do remember are all strange, vivid, or hilarious.
or all three.
i know that, apparently, i talk in my sleep.
i occasionally manage to laugh myself awake.
sleep with my legs sticking straight up or crossed.
etc.
here are some examples:
1. in high school, while reading The Importance of being Earnest for English, i dreamt that i sat on a pouf at a small coffee table.
the room was dark, except for the spotlight pointed at the pouf across from me, and on a plate of cucumber sandwiches.
i reached out and ate one.
two.
several.
and so on and so forth.
occasionally, a friend of mine - or at least a familiar face - came along and sat across from me, sharing the sandwiches.
nobody spoke.
the guests filed through, one by one.
and that was it.
i've never had a cucumber sandwich in my life.
i'm not even sure if my imagining of said sandwich was at all accurate.
2. i was walking around with some friends.
eventually, a friend pointed out my funny walk.
everyone else chimed in and teased me.
i kept trying to laugh along, secretly hurt.
i said, "Haha I don't walk like that..."
aloud.
in real life.
and woke up when i overheard myself say "that."
3. i ran into someone i know by acquaintance - someone very pretty, relatively popular, though generally absent.
certain events took place that i can't remember, but at one point we found ourselves in a big king-plus-sized bed.
fully clothed, don't worry.
and she turned over so i could big-spoon her.
i seized the opportunity.
though, for some reason, i didn't really know what i was doing.
she gave me instructions and i was eager to follow them.
and that was it.
for the rest of the dream, until i woke up, i dream-spooned.
and that's about the raunchiest my dreams have ever gotten.
4. it took place during WWII.
i was at a concentration camp, as a Nazi, but after witnessing a heinous crime i decided that i was batting for the wrong team.
i resolved to escape the camp and find allies to enlighten them and end the war.
for the majority of the dream, i ran across the countryside, evading dozens of Nazi trucks, planes, tanks, and infantrymen.
5. i was at an airport, trying to check my bags in.
for some reason, the agent kept telling me that the bags couldn't go through.
i got angrier and angrier.
before i realized, "Hey! This is a dream!"
and my bags magically went through.
and then i gloated.
and woke up.
6. i was dead, in heaven, and someone i had feelings for while alive came up and joined me, after getting hit by a car: an accident i tried to prevent and consequently faced "judgment."
as i was the first person she thought of after dying, i was sent to her as her Guide.
i took her around heaven, showing her the ins and outs.
at around lunchtime she said she was hungry, so i asked her what she was craving.
"I dunno," she replied, "Chinese?"
"Perfect! For that we can go to B-Town."
"B-Town?"
"Buddhism Town. It looks a lot like Chinatown."
"Isn't heaven just for Christians and Catholics and...whatever?"
"Well, I mean...heaven's infinite, right?"
"Right..."
"So why can't there just be room for everyone?"
7. i was doing a stand-up gig.
my joke, "Overly political lesbians look at my color and go, 'Ooooo.' Koreans and Latinos look at my gayness and go, 'Eeeesh.' Straight guys take it all in and go, 'YESSSS.'"
i laughed myself awake.
8. i was in a classroom.
everyone else was working on some craft project.
i was listening to a certain someone give something of a lecture at the whiteboard.
the entire board was covered in her handwritten lists and sets of rules.
she cracked tons of jokes - none of which is coming to mind - and when a professor tried to interrupt, i stood up next to her.
she and i teased each other for a little while.
eventually, she rebutted by punching me in the crotch.
i doubled-up in laughter and pain.
a bystander asked, "What happened?"
the culprit replied, "I punched her in her doormat, that's what."
Do people really call it that? i thought to myself, Also, that didn't hurt as much as usual. ...Hey! This is a dream!
i proceeded to laugh even harder.
to the point where i woke myself up.
actually laughing out loud.
---
that's all i've got for now.
i'll keep you posted in case anything really embarrassing comes spilling out of my subconscious.
the few i do remember are all strange, vivid, or hilarious.
or all three.
i know that, apparently, i talk in my sleep.
i occasionally manage to laugh myself awake.
sleep with my legs sticking straight up or crossed.
etc.
here are some examples:
1. in high school, while reading The Importance of being Earnest for English, i dreamt that i sat on a pouf at a small coffee table.
the room was dark, except for the spotlight pointed at the pouf across from me, and on a plate of cucumber sandwiches.
i reached out and ate one.
two.
several.
and so on and so forth.
occasionally, a friend of mine - or at least a familiar face - came along and sat across from me, sharing the sandwiches.
nobody spoke.
the guests filed through, one by one.
and that was it.
i've never had a cucumber sandwich in my life.
i'm not even sure if my imagining of said sandwich was at all accurate.
2. i was walking around with some friends.
eventually, a friend pointed out my funny walk.
everyone else chimed in and teased me.
i kept trying to laugh along, secretly hurt.
i said, "Haha I don't walk like that..."
aloud.
in real life.
and woke up when i overheard myself say "that."
3. i ran into someone i know by acquaintance - someone very pretty, relatively popular, though generally absent.
certain events took place that i can't remember, but at one point we found ourselves in a big king-plus-sized bed.
fully clothed, don't worry.
and she turned over so i could big-spoon her.
i seized the opportunity.
though, for some reason, i didn't really know what i was doing.
she gave me instructions and i was eager to follow them.
and that was it.
for the rest of the dream, until i woke up, i dream-spooned.
and that's about the raunchiest my dreams have ever gotten.
4. it took place during WWII.
i was at a concentration camp, as a Nazi, but after witnessing a heinous crime i decided that i was batting for the wrong team.
i resolved to escape the camp and find allies to enlighten them and end the war.
for the majority of the dream, i ran across the countryside, evading dozens of Nazi trucks, planes, tanks, and infantrymen.
5. i was at an airport, trying to check my bags in.
for some reason, the agent kept telling me that the bags couldn't go through.
i got angrier and angrier.
before i realized, "Hey! This is a dream!"
and my bags magically went through.
and then i gloated.
and woke up.
6. i was dead, in heaven, and someone i had feelings for while alive came up and joined me, after getting hit by a car: an accident i tried to prevent and consequently faced "judgment."
as i was the first person she thought of after dying, i was sent to her as her Guide.
i took her around heaven, showing her the ins and outs.
at around lunchtime she said she was hungry, so i asked her what she was craving.
"I dunno," she replied, "Chinese?"
"Perfect! For that we can go to B-Town."
"B-Town?"
"Buddhism Town. It looks a lot like Chinatown."
"Isn't heaven just for Christians and Catholics and...whatever?"
"Well, I mean...heaven's infinite, right?"
"Right..."
"So why can't there just be room for everyone?"
7. i was doing a stand-up gig.
my joke, "Overly political lesbians look at my color and go, 'Ooooo.' Koreans and Latinos look at my gayness and go, 'Eeeesh.' Straight guys take it all in and go, 'YESSSS.'"
i laughed myself awake.
8. i was in a classroom.
everyone else was working on some craft project.
i was listening to a certain someone give something of a lecture at the whiteboard.
the entire board was covered in her handwritten lists and sets of rules.
she cracked tons of jokes - none of which is coming to mind - and when a professor tried to interrupt, i stood up next to her.
she and i teased each other for a little while.
eventually, she rebutted by punching me in the crotch.
i doubled-up in laughter and pain.
a bystander asked, "What happened?"
the culprit replied, "I punched her in her doormat, that's what."
Do people really call it that? i thought to myself, Also, that didn't hurt as much as usual. ...Hey! This is a dream!
i proceeded to laugh even harder.
to the point where i woke myself up.
actually laughing out loud.
---
that's all i've got for now.
i'll keep you posted in case anything really embarrassing comes spilling out of my subconscious.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
30. Korean grandmas are a dying breed. Relish those visors and animal print shirts while you can.
i love Korean Grandmas.
especially my own, but generally i find that Korean Grandmas are the kick-ass sort who flip society the bird from behind their too-large shades with their animal print shirts and permanently sour-puss looks.
as if to say, "Epp you, modahn day nohms, I habuh my own agenda. And dis is my regime's uniporm."
the other day, though, it hit me: after the current generation of wise-cracking, battle-scarred grandmas...disappear...they'll be gone forever.
at least in the US.
think about it.
all that sass came from decades of walking through war-torn streets, learning not to give a damn, and perfecting the art of practical "fashion."
the socks in sandals for comfort, warmth, and full range of motion for those toes.
the animal print, for urban camouflage.
the visors, so the sun won't blind them as they get up to their shenanigans.
like scowling at passersby.
muttering Korean obscenities about them.
haggling.
speed-walking.
nowadays, the up and coming generations of Koreans in the US have become way too trendy.
at least, too trendy to even consider tossing away their - i-don't-even-know-what-their-chosen-articles-of-clothing-are-called-because-i'm-so-frumptastic - in exchange for the Korean grandma fad.
it makes me sad to think that my own grandkids (if they're to exist) will never know what it's like to go Ajimah-spotting.
being waved at in that little way only those grandmas can do, where the hand and forearm almost spasm in unison, and the lady responsible purses her lips in what's supposed to be a friendly smile.
no old ladies to reach out, uninhibited, and pat them on the head.
no little 'fros.
they'll all - mostly - speak English fluently.
i feel like i have a responsibility to future children.
like when i'm old, i have to take on the challenge of keeping the Korean grandma phenomenon going.
learn to speedwalk with my hands clasped behind my back.
purse my lips.
wag my finger at questionable strangers.
overfeed my grandchildren.
clap my hands whenever i laugh.
examine things a little too closely, disregarding the concept of "personal space."
i owe it to my grandkids.
no one should have to miss out on the Korean grandma.
this is a call to short, stubby arms.
the kind that are generally stiff, even and especially when they randomly reach out and yoink you into a hug.
Grandma - Halmony - even though you can't read English, this one's for you.
for all those little slaps you gave my mom whenever she slapped me.
for being the only adult blood relative i had to tell me from the get-go that i should, "Grow up. Go to collegey. Be comedian."
for being you.
i salute you.
love you.
teach me your ways.
especially my own, but generally i find that Korean Grandmas are the kick-ass sort who flip society the bird from behind their too-large shades with their animal print shirts and permanently sour-puss looks.
as if to say, "Epp you, modahn day nohms, I habuh my own agenda. And dis is my regime's uniporm."
the other day, though, it hit me: after the current generation of wise-cracking, battle-scarred grandmas...disappear...they'll be gone forever.
at least in the US.
think about it.
all that sass came from decades of walking through war-torn streets, learning not to give a damn, and perfecting the art of practical "fashion."
the socks in sandals for comfort, warmth, and full range of motion for those toes.
the animal print, for urban camouflage.
the visors, so the sun won't blind them as they get up to their shenanigans.
like scowling at passersby.
muttering Korean obscenities about them.
haggling.
speed-walking.
nowadays, the up and coming generations of Koreans in the US have become way too trendy.
at least, too trendy to even consider tossing away their - i-don't-even-know-what-their-chosen-articles-of-clothing-are-called-because-i'm-so-frumptastic - in exchange for the Korean grandma fad.
it makes me sad to think that my own grandkids (if they're to exist) will never know what it's like to go Ajimah-spotting.
being waved at in that little way only those grandmas can do, where the hand and forearm almost spasm in unison, and the lady responsible purses her lips in what's supposed to be a friendly smile.
no old ladies to reach out, uninhibited, and pat them on the head.
no little 'fros.
they'll all - mostly - speak English fluently.
i feel like i have a responsibility to future children.
like when i'm old, i have to take on the challenge of keeping the Korean grandma phenomenon going.
learn to speedwalk with my hands clasped behind my back.
purse my lips.
wag my finger at questionable strangers.
overfeed my grandchildren.
clap my hands whenever i laugh.
examine things a little too closely, disregarding the concept of "personal space."
i owe it to my grandkids.
no one should have to miss out on the Korean grandma.
this is a call to short, stubby arms.
the kind that are generally stiff, even and especially when they randomly reach out and yoink you into a hug.
Grandma - Halmony - even though you can't read English, this one's for you.
for all those little slaps you gave my mom whenever she slapped me.
for being the only adult blood relative i had to tell me from the get-go that i should, "Grow up. Go to collegey. Be comedian."
for being you.
i salute you.
love you.
teach me your ways.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
27. i have weird thoughts.
i've been going through my mini-journals, trying to dig up something of a comedy bit i could offer up to my loyal readers.
nothing terribly long or detailed caught my eye, though - at least, nothing intentionally funny and long and detailed - but i did come across various random ideas i thought i'd share to pass the time and avoid studying.
here we go:
1. My mom's nickname in high school was Barracuda.
Mine was Waddles.
Something skipped a generation.
2. I really don't like that whole "Butch/Femme" thing.
Mostly because I have no idea which one applies to me.
I'm like a Butch/Femme combo.
Homeless.
A Bumme.
3. For the joke about The First Time: Gestures.
Slowly start reaching hand out as if to grab something, at last second, just after finally touching whatever, suddenly pull away.
Scared.
"Oops! Haha! ::shudder:: Oops! ...Yours or mine? ...Hahaha...?"
[Proceed with awkward, ashamed gestures.]
4. I hate being in the friend zone. I mean, if there's one thing I like about myself, it's my taste in women.
But hot damn.
And you get so desperate you start doing desperate things.
Like playing chauffeur or buying them things.
Being their wingwoman.
That's probably the worst, actually.
Except, luckily for me, she has no idea that I'm actually a terrible wingwoman.
5. PMS Goggles.
6. ...Also, last night's dream featured an all-out spoon-fest with ____ ____.
Random, but lovely.
Until I woke up to find out that none of it happened.
Still, though.
Dream ____ ____ knows how to cuddle.
7. Speaking in terms of spoons.
I'm way too effing lazy to be butch or femme.
I'm okay with just being bumme.
Fetch.
A surprise big spoon.
8. Waiting for Godot spoof: Waiting for Jaffar.
Magic carpet.
9. Hm. I should try to find a way to unite Drunk Vickie and Sober Vickie.
Confident Vickie and Lame, Whiny Vickie.
Gross.
I'm lame in real life.
10. Whatever [in regards to being called a "perv"].
Last week I totally considered spooning as "getting some."
11. "Playing for teams."
The lesbian team playing in flannel jerseys.
12. BAH.
13. I didn't know I was weird 'til my mother told me.
14. I come from a long line of terrifying women.
And I take after my dad.
15. Impelled to write a short story entirely in my mother's voice.
Which might accidentally become an entire novel, given the superfluous verbal additives that're sure to arise.
16. My "game" is more like Parcheesi.
Seems like everyone else is playing Halo.
17. I like how Disney thinks it got the whole Asian peoples covered with Mulan.
They needed about 20 movies to show us the different kinds of white people who're out there, but Asians needed just one.
nothing terribly long or detailed caught my eye, though - at least, nothing intentionally funny and long and detailed - but i did come across various random ideas i thought i'd share to pass the time and avoid studying.
here we go:
1. My mom's nickname in high school was Barracuda.
Mine was Waddles.
Something skipped a generation.
2. I really don't like that whole "Butch/Femme" thing.
Mostly because I have no idea which one applies to me.
I'm like a Butch/Femme combo.
Homeless.
A Bumme.
3. For the joke about The First Time: Gestures.
Slowly start reaching hand out as if to grab something, at last second, just after finally touching whatever, suddenly pull away.
Scared.
"Oops! Haha! ::shudder:: Oops! ...Yours or mine? ...Hahaha...?"
[Proceed with awkward, ashamed gestures.]
4. I hate being in the friend zone. I mean, if there's one thing I like about myself, it's my taste in women.
But hot damn.
And you get so desperate you start doing desperate things.
Like playing chauffeur or buying them things.
Being their wingwoman.
That's probably the worst, actually.
Except, luckily for me, she has no idea that I'm actually a terrible wingwoman.
5. PMS Goggles.
6. ...Also, last night's dream featured an all-out spoon-fest with ____ ____.
Random, but lovely.
Until I woke up to find out that none of it happened.
Still, though.
Dream ____ ____ knows how to cuddle.
7. Speaking in terms of spoons.
I'm way too effing lazy to be butch or femme.
I'm okay with just being bumme.
Fetch.
A surprise big spoon.
8. Waiting for Godot spoof: Waiting for Jaffar.
Magic carpet.
9. Hm. I should try to find a way to unite Drunk Vickie and Sober Vickie.
Confident Vickie and Lame, Whiny Vickie.
Gross.
I'm lame in real life.
10. Whatever [in regards to being called a "perv"].
Last week I totally considered spooning as "getting some."
11. "Playing for teams."
The lesbian team playing in flannel jerseys.
12. BAH.
13. I didn't know I was weird 'til my mother told me.
14. I come from a long line of terrifying women.
And I take after my dad.
15. Impelled to write a short story entirely in my mother's voice.
Which might accidentally become an entire novel, given the superfluous verbal additives that're sure to arise.
16. My "game" is more like Parcheesi.
Seems like everyone else is playing Halo.
17. I like how Disney thinks it got the whole Asian peoples covered with Mulan.
They needed about 20 movies to show us the different kinds of white people who're out there, but Asians needed just one.
Friday, December 3, 2010
26. i'm the Toro Slut. and hugging leads to sex.
i know i must be bad in bed because the cuddling that ensues afterward is my favorite part.
i'd do anything for a good cuddle.
the sex part is really just the vehicle to get me there.
"Wanna go back to my place and...cuddle? Oh, you wanna have sex first. Well. Okay."
i mean, i don't have much experience to base this on.
i've been with 2 people, kind of.
still more than my 2 sisters combined.
which actually makes me the Toro Slut.
2 more and i've got my parents beat, too.
not that i'm creepy enough to keep up with these stats.
unfortunately, the second i turned 20 my mother transformed into an awkwardly explicit stranger who advised my sisters and me to, "Not wait until marriage. Oh my gahhhh. Biggest mistake."
this was a complete turn around from the person who, after catching Olivia hug her 7th grade boyfriend, sat down with my dad and warned us that, "Hugging leads to sex."
our dad cried.
Sex is evillll, i gathered, so i knew i had to avoid it at all costs.
i used to count hand-holding as its own base.
1st: hand-holding.
2nd: kissing.
3rd: touching.
Home: it.
and i felt this way until my second year of college.
i didn't get to my 2nd til i was 19.
but then i started spooning.
er, got over my fear of spooning.
because, for all intents and purposes, spooning is the laying down version of hugging.
[insert story of first spooning experience.]
so once i got the hang of it, i was hooked.
but then i found out that it wasn't that easy to come by.
being that, for the typical person, spooning comes as a consequence of other, less-innocent acts, but for me is the overall purpose for those less-innocent acts, i'm kind of an outsider.
i don't know if i've ever had that feeling of wanting to "sex" someone.
when i first saw Easy A, i thought to myself, "Oh, man. I bet she'd be a really great little spoon."
it's weird how strong this need to cuddle is.
i'm cuddle-horny.
corny.
"Boy, would I wanna cuddle HER bones. Just get right up in there and SNUGGLE."
my libido is stupid.
or it would be if i had one.
meanwhile, i have to get over myself and accept that, when i go out to clubs or parties, not everyone i meet is gonna be all up for hooking up in a purely - literally - Biblical sense, where legs are clapped shut and the only thing i'm looking for is a good cuddle.
i'd do anything for a good cuddle.
the sex part is really just the vehicle to get me there.
"Wanna go back to my place and...cuddle? Oh, you wanna have sex first. Well. Okay."
i mean, i don't have much experience to base this on.
i've been with 2 people, kind of.
still more than my 2 sisters combined.
which actually makes me the Toro Slut.
2 more and i've got my parents beat, too.
not that i'm creepy enough to keep up with these stats.
unfortunately, the second i turned 20 my mother transformed into an awkwardly explicit stranger who advised my sisters and me to, "Not wait until marriage. Oh my gahhhh. Biggest mistake."
this was a complete turn around from the person who, after catching Olivia hug her 7th grade boyfriend, sat down with my dad and warned us that, "Hugging leads to sex."
our dad cried.
Sex is evillll, i gathered, so i knew i had to avoid it at all costs.
i used to count hand-holding as its own base.
1st: hand-holding.
2nd: kissing.
3rd: touching.
Home: it.
and i felt this way until my second year of college.
i didn't get to my 2nd til i was 19.
but then i started spooning.
er, got over my fear of spooning.
because, for all intents and purposes, spooning is the laying down version of hugging.
[insert story of first spooning experience.]
so once i got the hang of it, i was hooked.
but then i found out that it wasn't that easy to come by.
being that, for the typical person, spooning comes as a consequence of other, less-innocent acts, but for me is the overall purpose for those less-innocent acts, i'm kind of an outsider.
i don't know if i've ever had that feeling of wanting to "sex" someone.
when i first saw Easy A, i thought to myself, "Oh, man. I bet she'd be a really great little spoon."
it's weird how strong this need to cuddle is.
i'm cuddle-horny.
corny.
"Boy, would I wanna cuddle HER bones. Just get right up in there and SNUGGLE."
my libido is stupid.
or it would be if i had one.
meanwhile, i have to get over myself and accept that, when i go out to clubs or parties, not everyone i meet is gonna be all up for hooking up in a purely - literally - Biblical sense, where legs are clapped shut and the only thing i'm looking for is a good cuddle.
25. i'm hotter than the platypus.
one of the meanest things anyone's ever told me was when my ex, during a talk about talking, said, "I don't think we need to talk. Just the physical stuff - being around each other - is enough."
i mean, knowing her, she meant it in a romantic kind of way, but for someone whose biggest fear is not being able to say the things that're on my mind without sounding stupid, for someone who wants to finally be able to open up and share things with someone who's more or less obligated to listen, that's a pretty crappy thing to hear.
it was weird when i found that out about myself.
i never really saw myself as the kind who would be the one in the relationship to want to talk.
the Little Spoon.
but throughout our relationship i found myself saying things like, "Don't you wanna talk about it?" and "We never talk! Let's share things!"
after a little while, hearing my echo, i realized, "Hot damn. I'm THAT lesbian. Crap."
i wasn't always like this, though.
when i was little, i was perfectly happy being the quiet kid.
i didn't know i was weird til my mother told me.
then again, she had my sisters first, so it wasn't a huge surprise to find that my shyness threw her off.
she was used to getting calls from elementary school teachers who explained, time and time again, that my sisters were way too chatty and knowledgeable for their own good (as they were both the kind to tell the others how babies were made and how babies were unmade. abortion. in the 2nd grade.).
when i came along, she was sure the calls would stop.
as a baby, i never so much as whimpered for food.
so one day, when i was in kindergarten, and a teacher actually did call home, my mother was taken aback.
she came into my room to talk to me.
"Beekie?" she said, sweetly.
"...Yes?" the unusual gentleness in her voice was a little unnerving.
"Ah you unhappy?"
"...No...I don't think so...why?"
"Yoh teacha call to tell me dat she's worried because uh you habn't said a word in 6 months."
Is that strange? i thought.
"Beekie," she started again, "You hap to staht talking, okay? Oddawise people gonna sink yoh weird. Nobody like shy people, okay? So work on dat."
i was horrified.
it didn't help that, as i was growing up, i had my sisters to compete with.
they were flippin' verbal beasts.
they've always had something witty or passionate or eloquent to say about anything you could think of.
they can make a flippin platypus sound poetic.
no offense to the platypus.
but i mean.
i'm hotter than the platypus.
on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being the platypus and 10 being, like, Kate Winslet, i'm at least a bulldog.
like a 4.
but maybe i'm not giving bulldogs enough credit.
the way they walk.
always like they're headed someplace with a purpose.
doot-doot-doot-doot-doot-doot-doot.
my walk's a little less doot-doot-oriented.
for as long as i can remember, really, i've waddled.
less a doot-doot and more a whop-whop.
i don't hate my walk anymore, though.
not as much as i did when i was a kid, anyway.
little kids are ass-holes.
i used to get teased to no end.
kids'd follow me around the playground, mimicking my walk.
call me Waddles.
i'd always play and laugh along, like it didn't bother me, but Little Vickie had feelings, too.
once, when i was about 10, my dad noticed that i looked a little down.
"Whatsamatter, Vickie?"
"Oh, nothing," i sighed.
"C'mon, you can tell me."
"Well...I waddle."
"...And?"
i sighed in despair again.
"Go on," he added, hastily.
"The other kids tease me, but I can't help it."
"Oh, well, Vickie, that's no big deal. You know, one of the greatest comedians of all time waddled."
being that at this point i'd already been telling anyone who'd listen that i was going to grow up and be just like Ellen Degeneres, this was a pleasant surprise.
"Really?!"
"Yeah!"
he went out and rented Charlie Chaplin's The Gold Rush and watched it with me.
the second that little tramp waddled his way into frame, i knew i was in love.
that i'd found my kindred.
i was obsessed.
the following Halloween i dressed up as the tramp.
all of the kids in the neighborhood had no clue who i was, but the old people treated me special.
slipped me extra candy.
gave me high-fives.
greeted me with a, "Hey, Charlie!"
things were going great and my waddle was the last thing on my mind.
until i got to the last house.
the little old lady who lived there greeted me with a big smile and, like the others, several extra Snickers.
i was feeling good.
i turned and made my way down her path back to my parents.
"Hey!" she cried, suddenly.
i turned back around, expecting more praise.
"You even WALK like him!"
i don't think she knew it was unintentional.
for a second, my heart sank with the memories of my playground bullies, but then i remembered my Chaplin.
and waddled on.
i mean, knowing her, she meant it in a romantic kind of way, but for someone whose biggest fear is not being able to say the things that're on my mind without sounding stupid, for someone who wants to finally be able to open up and share things with someone who's more or less obligated to listen, that's a pretty crappy thing to hear.
it was weird when i found that out about myself.
i never really saw myself as the kind who would be the one in the relationship to want to talk.
the Little Spoon.
but throughout our relationship i found myself saying things like, "Don't you wanna talk about it?" and "We never talk! Let's share things!"
after a little while, hearing my echo, i realized, "Hot damn. I'm THAT lesbian. Crap."
i wasn't always like this, though.
when i was little, i was perfectly happy being the quiet kid.
i didn't know i was weird til my mother told me.
then again, she had my sisters first, so it wasn't a huge surprise to find that my shyness threw her off.
she was used to getting calls from elementary school teachers who explained, time and time again, that my sisters were way too chatty and knowledgeable for their own good (as they were both the kind to tell the others how babies were made and how babies were unmade. abortion. in the 2nd grade.).
when i came along, she was sure the calls would stop.
as a baby, i never so much as whimpered for food.
so one day, when i was in kindergarten, and a teacher actually did call home, my mother was taken aback.
she came into my room to talk to me.
"Beekie?" she said, sweetly.
"...Yes?" the unusual gentleness in her voice was a little unnerving.
"Ah you unhappy?"
"...No...I don't think so...why?"
"Yoh teacha call to tell me dat she's worried because uh you habn't said a word in 6 months."
Is that strange? i thought.
"Beekie," she started again, "You hap to staht talking, okay? Oddawise people gonna sink yoh weird. Nobody like shy people, okay? So work on dat."
i was horrified.
it didn't help that, as i was growing up, i had my sisters to compete with.
they were flippin' verbal beasts.
they've always had something witty or passionate or eloquent to say about anything you could think of.
they can make a flippin platypus sound poetic.
no offense to the platypus.
but i mean.
i'm hotter than the platypus.
on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being the platypus and 10 being, like, Kate Winslet, i'm at least a bulldog.
like a 4.
but maybe i'm not giving bulldogs enough credit.
the way they walk.
always like they're headed someplace with a purpose.
doot-doot-doot-doot-doot-doot-doot.
my walk's a little less doot-doot-oriented.
for as long as i can remember, really, i've waddled.
less a doot-doot and more a whop-whop.
i don't hate my walk anymore, though.
not as much as i did when i was a kid, anyway.
little kids are ass-holes.
i used to get teased to no end.
kids'd follow me around the playground, mimicking my walk.
call me Waddles.
i'd always play and laugh along, like it didn't bother me, but Little Vickie had feelings, too.
once, when i was about 10, my dad noticed that i looked a little down.
"Whatsamatter, Vickie?"
"Oh, nothing," i sighed.
"C'mon, you can tell me."
"Well...I waddle."
"...And?"
i sighed in despair again.
"Go on," he added, hastily.
"The other kids tease me, but I can't help it."
"Oh, well, Vickie, that's no big deal. You know, one of the greatest comedians of all time waddled."
being that at this point i'd already been telling anyone who'd listen that i was going to grow up and be just like Ellen Degeneres, this was a pleasant surprise.
"Really?!"
"Yeah!"
he went out and rented Charlie Chaplin's The Gold Rush and watched it with me.
the second that little tramp waddled his way into frame, i knew i was in love.
that i'd found my kindred.
i was obsessed.
the following Halloween i dressed up as the tramp.
all of the kids in the neighborhood had no clue who i was, but the old people treated me special.
slipped me extra candy.
gave me high-fives.
greeted me with a, "Hey, Charlie!"
things were going great and my waddle was the last thing on my mind.
until i got to the last house.
the little old lady who lived there greeted me with a big smile and, like the others, several extra Snickers.
i was feeling good.
i turned and made my way down her path back to my parents.
"Hey!" she cried, suddenly.
i turned back around, expecting more praise.
"You even WALK like him!"
i don't think she knew it was unintentional.
for a second, my heart sank with the memories of my playground bullies, but then i remembered my Chaplin.
and waddled on.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
24. holy libido!
it's embarrassing, that fluttering feeling i get in my tummy when i'm Googling and catch things like, "Emma Stone is a lesbian."
guilt.
and hope.
but.
i don't know if i've ever had that feeling of wanting to "sex" someone.
when i first saw Easy A, i thought to myself, Oh, man. I bet she'd be a really great little spoon.
my libido is stupid.
or it would be if i had one.
sometimes it feels like i gotta Pokemon that shiz.
catch it, i mean.
evolve it.
give it a cute name like Libidomon or Friskymon and bust it out of an undersized ball when the right grooves are playing and for the kind of person my Gym Leader warned me about.
...in the meantime, i have to get over myself and realize that, when i go out to bars or parties, not everyone i meet is going to be all up for hooking up in a purely - literally - Biblical sense, where legs are clapped shut and the only thing i'm looking for is a good cuddle.
it's weird how strong this need to cuddle is.
i'm cuddle-horny.
corny.
so much so that when i see someone like Emma Stone i say, "Boy, would I wanna cuddle her bones. Just get right up in there and SNUGGLE."
hot damn.
maybe i should pay someone.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
15. Listen to Your Mother. Even If It Hurts.
sometimes i get the feeling that my mother is so supersaturated with advice that she can't help but occasionally explode with too much information.
and when you have to explode with too much information, very little attention is paid to how said information is shared.
or even what.
sometimes, it doesn't make sense at all.
other times, it's surprising just how much it actually does make sense.
and my mother tends to use any excuse to release some of her tension.
like awkward lulls in conversation.
or when you're already down.
in this case, it was after watching The Notebook.
as she and i were the only two at home for a weekend, we decided to have a movie night.
when the saptastic movie was done, i looked over and was surprised to see just how much my mother obviously secretly enjoyed it.
she sighed.
"So," she said, "what did you sink obah dah moobie?"
"...I dunno," i answered, "It was pretty cheesy and predictable."
"WHAAA?!"
i'd touched a nerve.
"Whaddyou mean, 'predeeeectaball?!' What to predeeect? Dey old!"
i shrank into my corner.
"DEY OLD!" she repeated, "What to predeect? Dey lib-uh, dey lub-uh, dey DIE!"
i was 15.
and, until that moment, full of hope.
like awkward lulls in conversation.
or when you're already down.
in this case, it was after watching The Notebook.
as she and i were the only two at home for a weekend, we decided to have a movie night.
when the saptastic movie was done, i looked over and was surprised to see just how much my mother obviously secretly enjoyed it.
she sighed.
"So," she said, "what did you sink obah dah moobie?"
"...I dunno," i answered, "It was pretty cheesy and predictable."
"WHAAA?!"
i'd touched a nerve.
"Whaddyou mean, 'predeeeectaball?!' What to predeeect? Dey old!"
i shrank into my corner.
"DEY OLD!" she repeated, "What to predeect? Dey lib-uh, dey lub-uh, dey DIE!"
i was 15.
and, until that moment, full of hope.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
11-12. Put Down That Donut. And Don't Answer the Door.
moving to Mexico City midway through my high school career was hard.
so hard, in fact, that in what felt like no time at all, i started to get...soft.
not in an emotional way.
...or just in an emotional way.
but in an, "Oh, my Jeebus...what happened to my biceps/abs/single chin?!" kind of way.
my inability to speak and make friends in the beginning was probably furthered by the fact that my mouth was perpetually full of raw teenaged angst: angst which took the form of many a donut.
soon enough, i was carrying the flabby weight of my emotions everywhere i went.
most people were tactful enough to let me quietly wallow in my own misery.
no one seemed to think it was necessary to fan the flames of my Juggernaut-esque spiral into heftiness and anger.
except my mother.
of course.
when we moved to Mexico City, it was because of my dad's new job as a defense attache for the US Embassy.
as such, he and my mother had to regularly attend fancy dinners and events, where they'd have to dress up in fancy tuxes and gowns.
him the tuxes, her the gowns.
but my mother, being the cheap-o Korean that she is, was reluctant to go out and spend thousands of dollars on new dresses.
she found a solution.
one night, as i was laying in my bed, recounting all of the miserable facets of my life (which was bound to meet a premature end, either by my own doing, or by that of my cholesterol), a knock came at my door.
i sighed and stayed still.
another knock.
"Beekieeeeee."
the sweetness in her voice made me suspicious.
i didn't move.
"Beekieeeeeeeee."
a little more urgency this time.
i sighed again.
got up.
slowly opened the door.
and immediately regretted doing it.
standing in the doorway, a big smile on her face, was my mother...wearing my 10th grade homecoming dress - the likes of which would've, at this point, only fit around one of my thighs.
my jaw dropped.
eyes widened.
stomach growled.
"I need to borrow yoh mirroh," she said in her playful, "innocent" voice.
"...Huh?" was all i managed to say.
"You hab-uh dah biggest mirroh in dah house, and I need to see eep-uh dis dress look good."
silence.
"What do you sink?" she asked, as she slowly turned on the spot, lifting her arms above her head and striking a pose.
i tried to ignore the sudden hunger pangs.
"Do you sink dis make me look goooood?" she said, posing with every syllable, "Huh? How about dis?"
i closed the door.
"Hey!" my mother shouted from the hallway, this time in a more familiar tone, "I need to borrow yoh mirroh!"
i stood and continued to stare blankly at the door.
my stomach growled again.
she knocked.
and kept knocking.
finally, i sucked it up and reopened the door.
and walked out.
and downstairs.
into the pantry.
---
*note: my mother is actually South Korean...*
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
10. Beware of Working Gays.
a little while ago, Governor Bob McDonnell, of Virginia, passed a measure that excludes the LGBT community from an anti-discrimination law.
but be cool, my babies: surely there's a reasonable explanation for this.
several.
probably.
i mean, it's a law, right?
the thought process probably went something like this:
1. gayness is a choice.
2. gays make bad choices.
3. if they were smart, they'd wanna keep overpopulating the planet.
4. crazies.
5. crazies don't belong in the workplace.
6. they belong in asylums and closets.
7. gays look better in uniforms/suits/pantsuits.
8. it's harder to make hospital gowns as flattering as pantsuits/suits/uniforms.
9. lack of sunlight wouldn't do them any good, either.
10. they'd be pale.
11. and powerless.
12. unless they were vampires.
13. in which case, they'd just be pale.
14. then we'd know for sure that they were evil.
15. it's science.
16. God invented science.
17. but He didn't invent gayness.
18. they belong in asylums and closets.
19. plus, i'm pretty sure they'd be checking us out all the time.
20. distracting.
21. science.
Monday, April 12, 2010
9. Never Walk Alone. On a Playground. In Daylight.
seriously.
it's common sense.
and nobody had to really tell me about it.
i found out on my own.
once, when i was in second grade, my class was walking across campus to the PE building when i decided to lag behind a bit to stop at the water fountain.
i wasn't bothered when my class disappeared around the corner; honestly, what's the worst that can happen on a playground?
but as i drew back from the fountain and took just two steps, i found out exactly what.
in a flurry of hair, pink light-up sneakers, and frills, a mysterious force socked me right in the stomach and pushed me onto the ground.
for the first couple of seconds, i was sure only of two things:
1. i'm on the ground.
2. there is a weird hip thrust action going on.
and it was over as soon as it started.
briefly, i managed to catch a small glimpse of my attacker: a girl i only knew by face and reputation.
the second grade weirdo.
i laid there for a bit longer, trying to let the recent events register.
a third thought popped into my prematurely lesbian-aware mind: How did she KNOW?
slowly, i sat up, stood up, re-oriented myself, and made my way towards my PE class.
when i rounded the corner, my teacher ran up; suspicious, probably, because of the disheveled state of my hair and clothes, and the look of pure confusion and wonder on my face.
"Vickie!" she said, "What happened? Where were you?"
i looked up at her, speechless.
i wracked my brain for the right words.
i wasn't even sure if there were any words in the English language that could completely do the story justice.
and then i remembered the James Bond movies my sisters let me watch.
and the Dawson's Creek and Titanic.
i tapped into my no-no vocabulary.
i came to my senses.
"She," i started, still hesitating, still trying to fully register what had happened, "Sh-sh-sh..."
"...Yes?!"
"She...HUMPED me!"
she stared.
"She...what?" she whispered.
"HUMPED!" i repeated loudly.
"Shhhhhh" she said, urgently, "What do you mean by 'humped?'"
thinking that she wasn't quite on my level of vocabulary, i decided to help her out by demonstrating.
"Humped!" i said again, thrusting my hips, "HUMPED!"
she immediately grabbed my shoulder, "Stop that!"
i suddenly remembered why that word was in my no-no list.
i thought i was in trouble, or that no one would understand.
then, out of nowhere, a classmate of mine, a girl, came out from behind the teacher.
her face was streamed with tears and it was obvious that she had been listening the entire time.
my teacher and i considered her for a shocked moment before she finally managed to sob, "ME, TOOOOOOOOO!"
so, really, i learned two important lessons:
1. never walk alone.
2. i'm not the only secret lesbian in second grade.
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