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.
Showing posts with label embarrassing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label embarrassing. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
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::
Monday, January 3, 2011
32. Coming Out means you go through a second phase of adolescence. or my parents are just overcompensating.
before i Came Out, i seldom said a word about crushes.
or myself.
nobody - my parents, in particular - knew a thing about my taste in...anything.
i kept to myself, opted to impersonate my mother rather than offer up my own thoughts and feelings.
as such - that is, after shipping off to college and the island of Lesbos - after practicing trial-and-error for as long as i have (emphasis on the error), i'm realizing that these feelings of uncertainty and dumbassness and self-absorption in the context of relationships and self must be akin to those my hetero peers mucked around in several years ago.
after you Come Out of the Closet you Dive Blindly Into a Dark, Complicated, Terrifying Bedroom.
and, well, world, i guess.
if i was the kind to tap into that level of sappiness.
which i'm not.
aloud.
anywho.
my understanding of Involved Parenthood of Hetero Teenagers is that mom and dad are so nosy they can't help but say and do embarrassing things in the pursuit of buried, angsty feelings and preferences.
at least, that's how it goes in movies.
with the parents constantly making assumptions and causing their spawn to blush or throw unnecessarily emotional fits.
being that my parents were under the impression that they managed to raise three of the most a-sexual, pure young women imaginable, none of the Toro girls faced much interrogation growing up.
it was only when one of my sisters accidentally let some key piece of information slip that my parents became curious.
for me, that curiosity or concern for my love life didn't come about until i Came Out, and my parents were suddenly aware of the fact that, contrary to 18 some odd years of denial and silence, i actually DID have some kind of "drive."
so those cringeworthy conversations came about.
but instead of being completely agonizing, looking back i'm pretty sure it was all hilarious.
1. just months after i Came Out, my dad and i were at Borders partaking in some Daddy-Daughter Bonding Time [as he called it].
at one point, he called me over to the calendar rack - a crazy look in his eye.
"Pssst, Vickie! Hey, Vickie!"
"...Yes?"
"Come over here!"
"What is it?"
he pointed.
right at a Sports Illustrated calendar.
i blushed.
"Oh...um...great, dad. Awesome."
"You know what I JUST realized?" he asked, in one of those non-whispers-that-was-supposed-to-be-a-whisper.
"What?"
"When I say things about women, you could be thinking the SAME THING."
afterward, when i tried to change the conversation, my dad was determined to uncover my taste in women.
and was excited to find that i was, in fact, my father's daughter.
i was nauseous.
2. at Bath and Body Works, during yet another Daddy-Daughter outing, my dad caught me looking through some scents.
"Whacha got there?"
"Hm? I dunno. Nothing. Just looking."
he grabbed another bottle of the same scent and sprayed it.
sniffed it.
"Hm...Maybe not that one."
"Okay."
"'Cos you know, women like scents. If you wanna get girls, you have to have your own scent. So make it a really good one."
i stared.
"Here! This one's pretty good. I'll go pay for it."
3. my mother doesn't like too many people.
actually, for the longest time, i wasn't even sure if she liked me all that much.
but i digress.
one day, my oldest sister brought her boyfriend over for the holidays.
after, while my mom and i were in a car together, i asked her what she thought of him.
"Eh, I don't like him."
"Really?" i asked, "He's so nice, though! And Olivia likes him a lot."
"I know. But ugh. Beside, I'm yoh mommy. I'm gonna hate any boy you bring home."
"Ha! Well, that's lucky for me!"
at the red light, she stopped, looked me square in the eye.
"Girls, too."
and i knew that she was finally okay with my gayness.
4. i was lamenting the fact that i was single and clueless and hopeless.
my mother's words of comfort were a little uncouth.
"You know, iss actually kinda lucky you're a lesbian."
"...Why?"
"Women tend to like awkward, nerdy people better. Eben the pretty ones. Look at me and yoh daddy."
5. i told my dad that i'd drunkenly gotten a girl's number, but that i wasn't sure about giving her a call.
he was pumped that i shared this with him.
"Ha! You and I ARE alike!" he exclaimed, "When I was your age, and I'd get home from some party, I'd find girls' phone numbers IN MY CLOTHES. It was crazy, but I didn't know what it meant. My friends were like, 'Man, you should totally call her.' And I'd be like, '...Why?' It was hopeless. Ha! It's nice at least ONE of you girls took after me. Nice for me, not for you."
6. my mom told me she was a little surprised by my first girlfriend.
because she had always hoped i wouldn't pick someone like my mother.
i didn't see the resemblance til after that conversation.
and then it was all i saw.
7. the usual talks about how i'm a "wonderful girl, of whom no one is deserving."
gross.
and this is all i've got for now.
or myself.
nobody - my parents, in particular - knew a thing about my taste in...anything.
i kept to myself, opted to impersonate my mother rather than offer up my own thoughts and feelings.
as such - that is, after shipping off to college and the island of Lesbos - after practicing trial-and-error for as long as i have (emphasis on the error), i'm realizing that these feelings of uncertainty and dumbassness and self-absorption in the context of relationships and self must be akin to those my hetero peers mucked around in several years ago.
after you Come Out of the Closet you Dive Blindly Into a Dark, Complicated, Terrifying Bedroom.
and, well, world, i guess.
if i was the kind to tap into that level of sappiness.
which i'm not.
aloud.
anywho.
my understanding of Involved Parenthood of Hetero Teenagers is that mom and dad are so nosy they can't help but say and do embarrassing things in the pursuit of buried, angsty feelings and preferences.
at least, that's how it goes in movies.
with the parents constantly making assumptions and causing their spawn to blush or throw unnecessarily emotional fits.
being that my parents were under the impression that they managed to raise three of the most a-sexual, pure young women imaginable, none of the Toro girls faced much interrogation growing up.
it was only when one of my sisters accidentally let some key piece of information slip that my parents became curious.
for me, that curiosity or concern for my love life didn't come about until i Came Out, and my parents were suddenly aware of the fact that, contrary to 18 some odd years of denial and silence, i actually DID have some kind of "drive."
so those cringeworthy conversations came about.
but instead of being completely agonizing, looking back i'm pretty sure it was all hilarious.
1. just months after i Came Out, my dad and i were at Borders partaking in some Daddy-Daughter Bonding Time [as he called it].
at one point, he called me over to the calendar rack - a crazy look in his eye.
"Pssst, Vickie! Hey, Vickie!"
"...Yes?"
"Come over here!"
"What is it?"
he pointed.
right at a Sports Illustrated calendar.
i blushed.
"Oh...um...great, dad. Awesome."
"You know what I JUST realized?" he asked, in one of those non-whispers-that-was-supposed-to-be-a-whisper.
"What?"
"When I say things about women, you could be thinking the SAME THING."
afterward, when i tried to change the conversation, my dad was determined to uncover my taste in women.
and was excited to find that i was, in fact, my father's daughter.
i was nauseous.
2. at Bath and Body Works, during yet another Daddy-Daughter outing, my dad caught me looking through some scents.
"Whacha got there?"
"Hm? I dunno. Nothing. Just looking."
he grabbed another bottle of the same scent and sprayed it.
sniffed it.
"Hm...Maybe not that one."
"Okay."
"'Cos you know, women like scents. If you wanna get girls, you have to have your own scent. So make it a really good one."
i stared.
"Here! This one's pretty good. I'll go pay for it."
3. my mother doesn't like too many people.
actually, for the longest time, i wasn't even sure if she liked me all that much.
but i digress.
one day, my oldest sister brought her boyfriend over for the holidays.
after, while my mom and i were in a car together, i asked her what she thought of him.
"Eh, I don't like him."
"Really?" i asked, "He's so nice, though! And Olivia likes him a lot."
"I know. But ugh. Beside, I'm yoh mommy. I'm gonna hate any boy you bring home."
"Ha! Well, that's lucky for me!"
at the red light, she stopped, looked me square in the eye.
"Girls, too."
and i knew that she was finally okay with my gayness.
4. i was lamenting the fact that i was single and clueless and hopeless.
my mother's words of comfort were a little uncouth.
"You know, iss actually kinda lucky you're a lesbian."
"...Why?"
"Women tend to like awkward, nerdy people better. Eben the pretty ones. Look at me and yoh daddy."
5. i told my dad that i'd drunkenly gotten a girl's number, but that i wasn't sure about giving her a call.
he was pumped that i shared this with him.
"Ha! You and I ARE alike!" he exclaimed, "When I was your age, and I'd get home from some party, I'd find girls' phone numbers IN MY CLOTHES. It was crazy, but I didn't know what it meant. My friends were like, 'Man, you should totally call her.' And I'd be like, '...Why?' It was hopeless. Ha! It's nice at least ONE of you girls took after me. Nice for me, not for you."
6. my mom told me she was a little surprised by my first girlfriend.
because she had always hoped i wouldn't pick someone like my mother.
i didn't see the resemblance til after that conversation.
and then it was all i saw.
7. the usual talks about how i'm a "wonderful girl, of whom no one is deserving."
gross.
and this is all i've got for now.
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.
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, March 31, 2010
4. Get a Prescription for Ritalin.
a train of thought i recorded several days ago, when i was supposed to be studying. or weeks. i can't count.
1. McGonagall was Dumbledore's fruit fly.
2. ...Dumbledore was totally McGonagall's lesbro.
3. if the Three Broomsticks had a Witches' Night...
4. ...or a Wizards' night...
5. ...or if Hogwarts had a GSA.
6. if witches and wizards bother with practicing safe sex...
7. ...Protego!
8. why didn't Harry accio the golden egg?
9. why didn't Hermione ever bitch-slap Harry/Ron?
10. is transitioning for a witch-to-wizard or wizard-to-witch easier?
11. ...is there a spell for that?
12. what if you're a witch/wizard who identifies more as, say, a centaur?
13. why can't i get a degree in Witches Studies?
14. i don't know what to do with my life.
15. i can't even get this paper done without getting completely distracted.
16. is there a potion for ADD?
17. i bet i have undiagnosed ADD.
18. it'd explain a lot of things.
19. like that time i randomly blurted out the number 2 when, apparently, the professor had asked, "What percentage of the world is Asian?"
20. i wish i was more Asian.
21. only sometimes, though.
22. except when i'm applying for things.
23. i feel like people grade Asians harder.
24. it's lucky i have an ambiguous name, that leans a little more toward the brown side.
25. it actually sounds almost British, til you get to the last name.
26. i wish i was British.
27. i'd like to raise my kids in the UK, just so they'd speak in cute accents and call me "mum" or "mummy."
28. "mum" is probably one of my favorite words.
29. my second-favorite is "fancy."
30. my absolute-favorite is "douche."
31. "douche" is a magical word that i refuse to use too much, because i worry that i'll get tired of it.
32. it's a noun.
33. and an adjective.
34. onomatopoeia.
35. French.
36. i wanted to learn French more than i ever wanted to learn Spanish.
37. when i'm at a Mexican/Mexican-themed restaurant, where the menu items are Spanish-y, i have to pep myself up in order to say the name properly.
38. usually, i still panic when it's my turn to order and end up saying things with hard r's and a slight valley-girl accent.
39. whenever i think back to particularly embarrassing moments, my body literally convulses.
40. laughing out loud actually helps keep the convulsions under control.
41. so i sound crazy rather than look crazy.
42. i laugh in all situations.
43. it got me kicked out of a haunted trail once, because, when something jumped out at me, i jumped, panicked, and laughed long and hard out of anxiety.
44. i also stare at people uncomfortably when i'm feeling especially awkward.
45. or when i'm plucking up the courage to say something to them.
46. especially if they're very pretty, or at least interesting-looking.
47. one of the nicest compliments i've ever gotten is, "Vickie, you bring out the weird in people."
48. i still don't exactly understand what that means.
49. holy crap.
50. it's 2:23 in the morning.
1. McGonagall was Dumbledore's fruit fly.
2. ...Dumbledore was totally McGonagall's lesbro.
3. if the Three Broomsticks had a Witches' Night...
4. ...or a Wizards' night...
5. ...or if Hogwarts had a GSA.
6. if witches and wizards bother with practicing safe sex...
7. ...Protego!
8. why didn't Harry accio the golden egg?
9. why didn't Hermione ever bitch-slap Harry/Ron?
10. is transitioning for a witch-to-wizard or wizard-to-witch easier?
11. ...is there a spell for that?
12. what if you're a witch/wizard who identifies more as, say, a centaur?
13. why can't i get a degree in Witches Studies?
14. i don't know what to do with my life.
15. i can't even get this paper done without getting completely distracted.
16. is there a potion for ADD?
17. i bet i have undiagnosed ADD.
18. it'd explain a lot of things.
19. like that time i randomly blurted out the number 2 when, apparently, the professor had asked, "What percentage of the world is Asian?"
20. i wish i was more Asian.
21. only sometimes, though.
22. except when i'm applying for things.
23. i feel like people grade Asians harder.
24. it's lucky i have an ambiguous name, that leans a little more toward the brown side.
25. it actually sounds almost British, til you get to the last name.
26. i wish i was British.
27. i'd like to raise my kids in the UK, just so they'd speak in cute accents and call me "mum" or "mummy."
28. "mum" is probably one of my favorite words.
29. my second-favorite is "fancy."
30. my absolute-favorite is "douche."
31. "douche" is a magical word that i refuse to use too much, because i worry that i'll get tired of it.
32. it's a noun.
33. and an adjective.
34. onomatopoeia.
35. French.
36. i wanted to learn French more than i ever wanted to learn Spanish.
37. when i'm at a Mexican/Mexican-themed restaurant, where the menu items are Spanish-y, i have to pep myself up in order to say the name properly.
38. usually, i still panic when it's my turn to order and end up saying things with hard r's and a slight valley-girl accent.
39. whenever i think back to particularly embarrassing moments, my body literally convulses.
40. laughing out loud actually helps keep the convulsions under control.
41. so i sound crazy rather than look crazy.
42. i laugh in all situations.
43. it got me kicked out of a haunted trail once, because, when something jumped out at me, i jumped, panicked, and laughed long and hard out of anxiety.
44. i also stare at people uncomfortably when i'm feeling especially awkward.
45. or when i'm plucking up the courage to say something to them.
46. especially if they're very pretty, or at least interesting-looking.
47. one of the nicest compliments i've ever gotten is, "Vickie, you bring out the weird in people."
48. i still don't exactly understand what that means.
49. holy crap.
50. it's 2:23 in the morning.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
3. Don't Cry. It Makes You Look Guilty.
i hate stereotypes.
slammed the door shut.
and sure enough, i was "at fault."
lesson: learned.
and she never mentioned the accident ever again.
just about the only thing i hate more than stereotypes is realizing that i fit some of them.
...i'm an Asian woman driver.
that being said, you might find it hard to believe that, throughout my entire driving career, i've only ever gotten 1 ticket (for parking) and i've only been in 1 accident.
granted, the accident was a stupid one.
but i learned a lot from it.
back in high school i was still under the impression that a.) stereotypes count for nil, and b.) yes, i can in fact use some sort of Jedi/Martial Arts/Yoga extra-sensory perception that allows me simultaneously drive and operate a cell phone.
and one morning, i was proved wrong.
we were stopped in traffic.
the car in front of me - a brand-new Mercedes - inched forward.
as i was looking down, trying to figure out how to work my poor-man's version of the iTrip, all i saw out of the corner of my eye was the sudden movement of the red brake lights ahead of me.
i accelerated.
and heard a crunch.
and, immediately, started to cry.
not because i was in pain.
or because i might have damaged the car.
and not because i was embarrassed.
but because images of my angry, Korean mother flooded my mind and i could already feel the raw sting of a bare hand on my stupid ass.
...or a flyswatter...
...or a flyswatter...
... and i could already hear the foreign obscenities ringing in my ears.
but i had to call her.
she was the only one at home.
so, sobbing, i pulled over to the side of the road, got out, walked up to the other car to make sure they were alright, and pushed "Call."
"Mommy?" i said, pitifully.
"...Yes?" she already sounded suspicious.
"I...got into a accident."
a long pause.
"What KIND obah acceedent?"
i tried to choke back some snot before replying, "...Car..."
"What KIND obah acceedent?"
i tried to choke back some snot before replying, "...Car..."
a long, angry sigh.
"Where. Ah. You."
i told her.
she yelled through the phone and assured me she'd be there soon.
i waited.
after about 10 minutes, i saw her car pull up behind mine.
the door opened slowly.
she got out.
slammed the door shut.
her feet crunched loudly on the pavement as she made her way toward the passenger side of my car.
still sobbing, trembling, i opened the window and looked up.
her hand was raised and pointed, and she looked ready to scream.
i'd never seen her so pissed in my entire life.
she had Angry/Non-inebriated Asian Glow.
she had Angry/Non-inebriated Asian Glow.
but she hesitated.
considered me a moment, in my most pathetic state: puffy-eyed, shaking, not a dry spot on my face.
spring and fear-induced snot dripping down to my chin.
spring and fear-induced snot dripping down to my chin.
...a crease between her eyebrows relaxed a little.
she sighed again:
and sure enough, i was "at fault."
lesson: learned.
and she never mentioned the accident ever again.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
2. I'm a Little Weird.
here are 22 things about myself to wet your pallet.
and to help me burn off the 3 cups of coffee i just had.
1. 1 cup of coffee is more than enough.
2. i have very little self-control.
3. especially when it comes to donuts.
4. i'm also very partial to redheads.
5. and puns.
6. and women.
7. before i came out, i was sure that my lesbian-ness was dead obvious.
8. until i moved to LA.
9. and seriously considered shaving my head and getting "tats."
10. i've been afraid of needles since birth.
so much so that, at the age of 5, no less than 4 nurses had to hold me down after i managed to escape to and hide in the other end of the clinic.
11. the only Korean i know i learned while sitting shotgun to my mother.
12. and after bringing home B papers.
13. the first quiz i ever failed was in geography, and i had to label each state in the US.
14. in the 5th grade, i cried after i found out that, because everyone who scored better than me on a diagnostic geography quiz backed out, i had to participate in the upcoming Geography Bee.
15. the boy i sat next to in the Bee felt so bad that he whispered 1 or 2 of the answers to me.
16. i still lost.
17. in the Spelling Bee, of the same year, i was so nervous i misspelled my third word, "Barnacle."
18. i spelled it with a "u."
19. my mother tried to console me by saying that my loose tooth made my "a" sound like a "u."
20. to this day, i cringe whenever i see/hear the word.
21. ...i just cringed.
22. i tend to find comfort in donuts.
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