The letter never sent

Dear mom,

I'm very sad that you passed away and that you'll never see this. I'm also disappointed that you didn't get to see your best friend or your other daughter before you died. But

• I'm glad you had your faith (even though I don't agree with it)
• I'm glad you had your friends (even if they are insane, overbearing and over religious)
• I'm glad you got to see a lot of the world
• I'm glad you and dad had 49 years of happiness and hell together
• I'm glad I was off work and able to spend time with you at the hospital
• I'm glad the foot massages I gave you made you more comfortable and even put you to sleep at times
• I'm glad I could relay your messages to dad when he was too hard of hearing to hear your soft voice
• I'm glad I could make you laugh
• I'm glad you were aware and cognizant up until the end
• I'm glad your last meal was chicken and mashed potatoes, which was what you ordered, rather than what food services wanted to give you, and that the chicken tasted like chicken
• I'm glad we had your last meal in a room with a spectacular view

You thanked me for being your daughter, but I'm more grateful for having you as a mom.

Love,

your daughter

It's a long way to the end of therapy, it's a long, long way

Strange to think I'm in therapy. We never like to think of ourselves as needing help, especially not psychological, I tend to think of therapists as residing in the world of rich New Yorkers (think Sex and the City) or the truly deranged. But here I am, going to see someone about my issues.

It's not a bad thing necessarily, a good therapist will help you take a good hard look at yourself and determine if you're going down a path you really want to go, or if you're supposed to take that path that's obscured by a few more trees. I'm looking forward to the journey of finding myself; if I was really honest with myself, I'd say I should've done this at least 20 years ago, but coulda, woulda, shoulda. Perhaps I wouldn't be as forthcoming if I had gone into therapy earlier on in life, but that could've led me down a path I wasn't ready for at the time. I'm grateful for my time so far in meeting the people that I have, making the friends I've made. So despite the mistakes and hardships, overall I'm grateful to be me.

Love is...

Remember those old cartoons? Well for me, love is gutting and cleaning fish so that the husband doesn't have to deal with it. It's more a matter of self preservation; I don't want to listen to him gagging over fish guts and blood. Actually gutting the fish was the easy part, my father in law came over to help (he gutted 4, I gutted 3) and he got one to take home for his efforts. And really, cleaning fish is nothing compared to eviscerating chickens. The more difficult part was actually determining how to cut them up.

Our kitchen reminds me a little of Kitchen Stadium, but only in that the husband and I are always battling for supremacy, although neither of us are master chefs. He likes to remind me that he's worked in restaurants before, including one fine dining restaurant. I refrain from reminding him that that was many years ago and he was a bus boy at the upscale place. My experience on the other hand, is based on watching my mother cook, reading cookbooks (or more to the point, drooling over the pictures) and watching Food Network like it's going to save my life. So we both bring something to the (kitchen)table; he's more into beautiful presentations, I'm more inclined to have a main ingredient or theme running through each dish in the meal. If we could only learn to work together in the kitchen, we'd make beautiful meals together.

Love at first bite

Thanks to my sister, I got hooked on making bread. Not by hand so much, but with a bread machine where you throw everything in and walk off and let it do its thing. Hubby bought me a breadmaker a couple of years ago and despite what his co-worker said to him ("she'll use it once or twice and then not use it again), it's been put to very good use making loaves of bread and lots of pizza dough.

More recently however, my sister turned me onto artisan bread using the bread machine. I finally made a biga, and made a loaf of Italian bread. Hubby had a slice, toasted and he thought it was manna from heaven. It will be hard to go back to regular bread after this.

Thanks sis, for inspiration yet again.

Things that go bump in the night

Call me old fashioned, but to me, tattoos are for Japanese warriors who fight to the death. Tattoos are not supposed to be cutesy permanent marks on a person's body that's going to look like goodness knows what when everything starts to sag.

A friend of ours used to date a gal who was into tattoos, a lovely gal actually but I just couldn't relate to her because I can't understand using your body as a canvas. Unlike a normal canvas, your body does not stay taut and tight forever.

If I met this gal in a dark alley late at night, I'd be looking for a quick exit. In broad daylight, I know I could take her with one arm tied behind my back because she's such a tiny thing, but at night, I'd be worried her tattoos would come to life and beat the living crap outta me.

And now back to your regularly scheduled program

I'm currently reading a book called Sex and Bacon (not the only thing I'm reading; another book is about an undertaker who solves murders, and the third book is about a sea monster terrorizing a small town who's sheriff is a pothead), written by a former porn actress. it wasn't the sex part that got me interested, but rather, what is this person writing about in terms of food and why did she get published?

I picked up the book because I needed something else to read that was non-fiction, other than cookbooks and it was there staring me in the face. This book is great in that each chapter is like a new story and so for someone like me with ADD it's possible to read it when I feel like it and not have to keep yet another storyline straight in my head.

Her writing style is like Anthony Bourdain in some sense, so not for everyone. She's blunt, swears and of course reveals things from her past life that are funny, poignant, and sometimes, for a chickenshit like me, even gross. But hey, that's what makes the world go round right?

I figured after all my whining and complaining and feeling sorry for myself for the last while, it's time I wrote something that was in some ways semi-related to the title of my blog.

The World has to come to an end

And not because the Mayan calendar says it will, although in some ways I think they were right; the world as we know it has to alter in some way and hopefully for the better.

I'm hoping that by 2012, all these so-called reality shows will just die a sudden death. The final show that got to me was "What would Brian Boitano Make" on the Food Network. C'mon are we really that starved for something to watch that they need to put some former figure skater on a cooking show? I thought the food network showed only serious cooks, but then again, they let Rachael Ray on as well, don't they? Maybe it's just time for me to stop watching tv.

Wherefore art thou, bluebird of happiness?

You know that old joke about "I want to die peacefully in my sleep like my grandfather, not screaming and yelling like the passengers in his car." I'd like to take it to a more serious note and say I want to die thinking I've lived my life how I want and not regretting a single moment. Okay, I'll regret a few moments, but overall, I hope not too many.

Why this morbid thought? Mom's dying, as we all are, but she's reflecting on it, and not in a good way. She's focusing on how all the negatives in her life, how her kids didn't embrace religion like she did (I'm crazy, not stupid), how she wasn't the best mother she could've been (the whole motherhood book wasn't on sale at the time), etc., etc. Even dad has told her, you live each day, how you want to live it is up to you. You can either be happy and grateful for what you have, or be pissy and negative, the choice is yours.

I hope that when I get to my mother's age, I won't be incapacitated with a major illness, as I know that's a big reason why she doesn't have the bluebird of happiness perched on her shoulder. But I think having the right attitude will also see you through a lot.

And on that note, I will get off my soapbox and make way for someone else.

New Year's Resolution? Nah!

I don't do New Year's resolutions, I don't have that type of determination nor memory to remember what I said I would do. Instead, I'm going to make an affirmation (is that the right term for it?) to be a more positive person. I'm not going to be a Pollyanna by any means, that would go against my very essence, but I can try and be a more happy, forgiving person. So for the 2 to 3 people who actually ready my blog, you can hold me to this.

Is Sorry really the Hardest Word?

As an asian, I apologize for everything, something I did, something someone else did, First and Second World War, it's all my fault. But it seems to me that so many people don't say sorry anymore. They can literally run you over and you can expect at the most, a grunt. So what's happening in the world? It's sad that I'm starting to get to be like them, I will stand my ground when walking, I won't move out of the way for those who're walking in my path.

I had a guy today on the bus elbow me a few good ones. I think he could feel my sideways death glare and that's the only reason why he apologized. It probably would've been more effective and a quicker apology if I had elbowed him back, but again that apologetic nature doesn't allow me to react in a physical manner, I can only fantasize about how much I'd like to beat this kid over the head with my umbrella.

Thinking of posting on Buy&Sell

Wanted: one new body. Preferably something that looks like Heidi Klum, but will take a Victoria Beckham if that's all there is available. Would like the face of Audrey Hepburn at an early age.

Willing to trade in one half-used, short body, in not bad shape and a bag of choc chip cookies. Please respond soon.

(I'd keep this one, but it's just decided to go into "that time of the month" without proper notice. I'd like to have been able to eat lots of junk food and be really bitchy for a good reason.)

Twitter: Facebook for ADD

I'm sorry I haven't written in a while, nor have I been on Facebook. I've been Twittering instead because it's so much more my style. A sentence or two is all that comprises each post and I'm meeting new people on there I'd never have thought I'd meet. I mean, I'm following GodtheFather, SeverusSnape and Hugh_Jackman of all people. Who'da thunk you'd be hanging with celebrities?

Talk about rose coloured glasses

Hubby was telling me an anecdote from work about this woman at work who’s so stupid...

(Audience shouts: How stupid is she?)

Well I’ll tell ya. She’s been living here for a while now, but her daughter’s been living in China on her own. Her daughter’s 20 years old, which is legal age by all accounts.

SW (stupid woman): I’m worried about my daughter; she’s at Granville Island by herself.

Hubby: Why are you worried about her?

SW: She’s there by herself.

Hubby: And?

SW: Well, she’s special.

Hubby: Special how?

SW: She doesn’t speak English very well.

Hubby: There are a lot of people here from China who don’t speak English well.

SW: But she’s special.

Hubby: Special in what way?

SW: She’s pretty.


So apparently the rest of us our dog meat and her daughter is the latest Helen of Troy. I will now go kill myself in shame of my ugliness.

Can I have my own planet please?

It’s amazing the mentality of many single men out there. I follow a guy on Twitter who has posted how he went down to some skanky Mexican strip bars and received lap dances galore, but then laments how he can’t meet women.

Hello, Earth to typical single male who thinks with his penis! Women are no longer sitting around (never have been actually) waiting for some guy, any guy to come along and marry them. These guys all want pure girls, but think it’s all fine and dandy to go out and do things that they probably wouldn’t want their mother to know about, let alone someone they want to sign a marriage certificate with. I admit, I’m old fashioned, but I appreciated the fact that my husband had less sexual encounters in his single life than he has toes. Way less.

And on the note of male bashing, please visit http://stupidstuffmyhusbanddoes.blogspot.com/ and share your stories with Kelly. I personally will be visiting that site at least once as week to see if I find stories where I can point at the computer and say “OMG, I know exactly what she means!”

So much Twittering, so little time

I really don't know how my sister does it. I'm now following 31 people on Twitter, and have 19 following me. That's already enough to keep me distracted from working, not that it takes much when I'm transcribing minutes. I guess that's why people have Tweetdeck, to respond directly to those twitters that are directed to them, but there are some interesting comments floating around in general.

Good food even in the 'burbs

In my econ class, someone had written about an article about how McDonald's is still making money in these hard times. The funny thing is, it's not cheap to eat at McDonald's, ethnic foods is so much better, tastier and better bang for the buck.

We went to a little Japanese restaurant the other night up by our place, where, there were actually (gasp!) Japanese sushi chefs. Hubby, being his usual conservative self, had a miso soup and chicken and beef teriyaki. He likes miso soup, who woulda thunk it? Not that this was his first time having it, but I always figured he had it because it came with the dinner box.

I on the other hand, perused their fairly extensive selection of rolls, and ordered a Fire and Rock Roll. I can't remember exactly what else was in it, but there was spicy scallops and a sweet sauce and a tangy sauce. That and the miso soup I had for a starter was the perfect meal for about $10. Beat that McDonald's!

Be grateful

I was cranky yesterday (I know, what's new) but then I was thinking, there's so much more I should be grateful for than to be cranky about. It's been a beautiful few days, I really like the people I work with, my husband will actually help with cooking and cleaning (if I let him) and I don't work in a toxic environment anymore.

Now if I could just win the lottery...

Help, help, fashion police, fashion police

Although work is a place of higher education, it obviously doesn't translate to higher fashion sense. Sitting outside yesterday with a friend, we observed the comings and goings of the students. One had on a jacket that went down past her her bum, but I think her legs were bare until her fuzzy boots started. How many poor innocent dust bunnies had to die to make those boots for her?

Another girl was almost worse, she was wearing a bomber jacket with white short shorts, dark leggings and boots. White?!!?! Unless you're in a winter photo shoot in the middle of the Arctic, trying to pose with those cute seal pups before they get clubbed to death, white bottoms are not a good look. Especially when all it does draw attention to your ass. Yet another was wearing those super high waisted jeans that I hope died a quick death. Those remind me of old men who pull their pants up to their armpits. It doesn't look good on them and it certainly doesn't look good on the young, I don't care how good looking you are, or you think you are.

And although I admire people who wear what they want, fashion or societal decrees be damned, I really don't want to see larger people wearing very short skirts that ride up in the middle when they walk. There was a girl the other day who was wearing exactly that, and even her pantyhose could not hide the fact that she had Costco sized containers of cottage cheese hidden (actually not so hidden) on her back thighs. I guess I'm just old, but I long for the days when people dressed to hide flaws, not put up neon signs pointing to them.

Hubby's antics

Our usual routine in the morning is I get up to exercise and put our lunches together and hubby makes coffee. We got a real lunchbag for him now so that he's not trying to juggle all his glass containers and coffee while getting into the car. It's a better system this way. This morning, I went to put his lunch into his lunch bag, and he hadn't even taken out his empty containers from yesterday. I chided him about that and his response was, "Musicians don't remember things, they're absentminded." That's professors you forgetful person you!

He also stole my book to read on the weekend, since I was away. The book is called "The Forger's Spell" and it's about a forger called Van Meergren who managed to fool the Nazis into thinking his paintings were real Vermeers. In fact, he managed to fool a few people, not because his paintings are as beautiful, but it's the art of illusion and deceiving people into believing what they want to believe (kinda like religion, wouldn't you say?) Anyway, hubby wasn't feeling well on Saturday, so he spent most of the day in front of the fireplace reading this book. He said he got through about 80 pages, which is amazing for a man who can't finish most books because of his lack of attention. Will wonders never cease?

rants and raves...missed

I was rather cranky on Monday, having one of those whatever can go wrong will go wrong sort of days so it's a good thing I didn't write here, otherwise, no one would visit again. I will instead, relay a funny story that happened early this morning. This is for the benefit of anyone who is passing by.

This morning, around 3:00am, I got woken up by hubby talking in his sleep. He was facing me and I was on my back. Normally, because we have a king size bed, by morning he's on one side and I'm on the other, as far away from each other as possible, but not this morning. After he woke me up with his yelling, I closed my eyes to get back to sleep. I heard him spit and I felt moisture on my face. The guy had actually spit at me!

I asked him in the morning, after we were both more fully awake if he had been having strange dreams. He said yes, that he dreamt he was having to face a 16ft. high llama that was going to eat one of our dogs (we don't have dogs in real life, so better in his dreams) so he spat at the llama. He hadn't realized that he had actually physically spat. Luckily for him I'm not too antagonistic otherwise, he would've ended up off the bed at that point.