Wu Di San Bao Mei

This is an actual summary from the back of a DVD from the third-highest rated drama from Taiwan. According to my sister, this may be a bad translation, but it's a fairly accurate summary of events.



Since small, San Bao (Amber Guo Cai Jie) wish to has a sweet love before married. But, her first love dislikes she's too strong and the barbecued pork scent from her body. From that day, San Bao tries her best to cover the barbecued pork scent and keep searching the loves one. Sadly, the guy she admires runaway once he found out she has incredible strength and barbecued pork scent. Due to this, San Bao feels uneasy and she wants "Guang Ji" to bankrupt so that she can free herself from barbecued pork. However, she was greeting as "Chest Ghost" after "Guang Ji Barbecued Pork Shop" was involved in a shooting. Since then, San Bao is facing another problem. San Bao's first love rejected the San Bao lunch box she gave. So, she gave it to a boy who she saved. The boy, Sun Wu Di (Nicholas Teo) is the young master of Tenkorou. Few years later, both of them meet again but don't recognize each others and they're enemy.

I Feel the Same Way About PEOPLE

My sister told her friend about my Meow Meow dilemma--about how I can't really bond with her even though she's a nice cat who causes no trouble and hasn't even peed on my shoes yet.

"The thing is," my sister told her, "She's the least annoying cat ever and she goes in the toilet and everything, but my sister still doesn't like her."

And her friend said, "Are you talking about a cat? Because I feel the same way about most PEOPLE."

The Google Buddy

One day when we all have the internet strapped to our brains and we won't need any apparatus to consult Google, we won't remember what this is like, but today, my sister Jenny called me and her first words were:

"Where are you?"

That can only mean one thing. She might as well have asked, "Are you in front of your computer?"

Generally, I am strapped to the sofa in front of my computer 99% of my waking life. I only take breaks to make lunch and to supervise the cat as she does her business in the toilet. But today, I was doing something else for a change.

"No, I'm on my way home to visit Mommy and Daddy and Judy."

"Oh," she said. "I was hoping that you could Google something for me."

I'm her Google Buddy. A Google Buddy is someone you call so that they can Google something for you, like, "How many perfect games have there been in Modern Baseball?" (18) "How old is Kim Deal?" (48!) and, "What causes your left eyelid to swell up?" (conjunctivitis)

Jenny is my Google Buddy so it makes sense that I'm hers. Right now neither of us have iphones, which would be really great, but who needs to pay $70/month when we're on our Mom's family plan for free. Hey! There's a recession going on!

The Google Buddy has to be a person you can call who you know loves you enough to understand that you REALLY need to know what Marc Bolan's real name is right-this-minute-right-now or it will drive you CRAZY (Mark Feld). Someone who will not roll her eyes up toward the skies and blow you off because she REALLY GETS YOU.

Get in Line Westchester!

I had gotten a gift certificate at the Womrath Bookstore in Bronxville. I ordered a book there about a month ago and haven't been able to make it down there to pick it up.

They've called the house around five times asking me if I'm planning on picking up that gosh-darned book already. One time, Peter picked up and the lady from the bookstore said something like, "Is she still interested in coming to get the book?" She sounded really snide, so Peter couldn't resist and told her (very nicely even though she was rude):

"Well, she is interested, but the problem is that she's been very busy and your store closes very early."

I don't know who they expect to shop at their store when they close their doors at 6pm, right about the time when most people get home from work.

Today, I suggested to Peter that we go to Bronxville so that I can pick up that book already and we could go to lunch at one of the cute cafe/bistro type places in Bronxville.

So we went and walked around the four or five blocks around the Pondfield Road area in Bronxville and almost every restaurant we approached was full of meat dishes and maybe one or two salads. Or there would be one or two dishes with vegetables titles, but when you read the description, the asparagus is sitting on a bed of steak.

We were about to give up when we came across Wild Ginger. Now, we've already had a terrible experience at their sister restaurant Water Moon in Rye. The food at Rye wasn't good and they sat us in a plush seat where someone had spilled their entire drink onto the chair and so when I sat down, I got my pants completely soaked. And of course, when you're a girl, you don't want to be sitting in wetness for a few hours because that's the kind of environment my friend the pesky yeast infection likes to hang out in.

But, at least they served some things with tofu in it and so we went in. Then the miso soup came out and there was a red seaweed Peter was convinced was fish so he wouldn't drink it. When we ordered, I expressly asked if the meal was vegetarian and the waiter said yes. So of course Peter was grossed out to get two chicken dumplings in his bento box and a few pieces of california roll. I felt that the waiter should have been attentive to the fact that I asked for a vegetarian meal considering there were only two other diners at the restaurant at the time, but the thing is, Westchester does not cater to vegetarians and so it's probably much too much to ask for.

This is why we only go to three places in Westchester. It's so annoying to try someplace new and get upset and irritated. I don't blame the restaurants, but it's the whole Westchester vibe. In some ways, Bronxville is the epitome of Westchester, a place that's not really interested in doing a great job. When you go to a restaurant in Manhattan, most of the time, you feel like the people are trying to do their best. They take pride in the food and they want you to have a great meal.

In Westchester, there's a bit of a "get in line" attitude. As in: You want food? Well, we've got food! Get in line! What? You wanted food, didn't you? Well, didn't you get food? What do you want?

No one's competing to be the "best" restaurant around here. They're just all here, waiting for you to get hungry. They don't care that you said you wanted vegetarian. They don't care that you asked for a Coca-Cola and not Diet Coke. And THAT'S why we drive an hour into the city to get dinner.

The Meow Meow

We have had our cat for about a year now. The one officially named Emily Mortimer, but I have always called her Meow Meow. Last night, I said to Peter, "This cat doesn't have a real name."

"Yes she does. We call her Meow Meow."

"But that was sort of an interim name until I could come up with something better, something more suitable, except that I never fully believed we'd keep her and now she's stuck with this stupid name."

"Meow Meow, isn't stupid."

Well, isn't it? Sorta?

Her name isn't exactly Meow Meow since I call her, "The Meow Meow." As in:

"When did you feed The Meow Meow?"

"Did you see The Meow Meow?"

"Has The Meow Meow peed in the toilet today?"

When we found her last year, we figured we would clean her up and find a nice home for her, because we FO SHO did not want to add "cat owner" to our resume.

But she's been a very easy cat to deal with. When my friend Marisol came over and we asked her if she wanted a cat, she said:

"Hell, no. I don't want a keep a litter box."

"Oh," I said. "She does all her business in the toilet, so you won't need to keep a litter box."

"Well," Marisol said. "I don't want a cat to scratch up my stuff."

"She doesn't do that," I said. "When she wants to go scratch, she goes to her scratch pad."

While talking to Marisol about The Meow Meow, I realized that we have raised a pretty nice cat. She isn't much trouble at all. The only down side to her personality is that she isn't very friendly. She's not the kind of cat who runs up to you for pets, unless she wants to eat. But I think the reason for that is that every time we give the cat attention, our huge dogs run up to us all, "Hey! What're you DOin'?"

So why do I still have moments when I want to get rid of her?

I'll just say it. I'm not a cat person. I don't really like cats. I like going to other people's houses and petting their cats and hanging out with them for a little while, but I'm just not that crazy about them.

The Meow Meow is almost no trouble at all and that's why she's still here, but I always feel that perhaps she deserves to be in a household of cat lovers.

But then she'll look so cut sitting at the windowsill, or meow at me to ask me to watch her pee in the toilet and almost every time she goes in the toilet, Peter says, "Awww... Look at how much she loves you. She wants to go for you."

And then another day will go by. And I'm faced with the reality of having to keep her for 15 more years.

My Firsts

I got this tag from someone about my firsts:

1. Who was your FIRST prom date? junior prom:Jimmy Panageotopolous (at least I think that's how he spelled it.

2. Do you still talk to your FIRST love? My grandpa? I email him.

3. What was your FIRST alcoholic drink? Frangelico

4. What was your FIRST job? babysitter

5. What was your FIRST car? '99 Maxima

6. Who was your FIRST grade teacher? Miss Adams

7. Where did you go on your FIRST ride on an airplane? Taiwan

8. Who was your FIRST best friend & do you still talk? Vivian, she moved away when we were 9

9. Where was your FIRST sleep over? my cousin Mark

10. Who was the FIRST person you talked to today? Peter

11. Whose wedding were you in the FIRST time? My cousin Shone

12. What was the FIRST thing you did this morning? Talk to Peter

13. FIRST piercing? I don't have any.

14. FIRST foreign country you went to? Taiwan

15. FIRST movie you remember seeing? E.T.

16. When was your FIRST detention? Eighth grade

17. Who was your FIRST roommate? Yukari during my Japanese stay junior year of h.s.

18. What is something you would learn if you had the chance? Juggling

19. What was the first sport that you were involved in? Track

20. What were the first lessons you ever took? Piano/Art

21. What is the first thing you do when you get home? Take off my pants.

The Spacetime Continuum Brought to You by MLB Power Pros

Peter: So, I'll have that glass of water you offered me before.

Me: You mean, the glass of water I offered to pour you three hours ago?

Peter: Was it THAT long ago? When I'm playing this video game, I can't seem to keep track of time.

It's Different for White Folks

The other night Peter and I had dinner with a friend of mine and her boyfriend--yes, a couples date sort of thing. They are moving to San Francisco, the land of perfect weather--a place that only rains so that the city can show off its large rainbows that stretch across the entire heavens. Sometimes the city is so generous, she'll give you two huge rainbows simply because she loves you. (That bitch Chicago will only give you slushy rain/snow and hail because that's just how she rolls.)






I was telling the boyfriend that I would love to move somewhere with warm weather, but I didn't want to go out to the West Coast. I'm a bit nervous about the South because I'm Asian.

"Southern people are the nicest people you'd ever meet," he said. "They're not racist at all."

Hmmm... Southern people being racist? Where would I get a CRAZY idea like that?

I tried to explain that I'm sure that many many Southern people are perfectly wonderful, but there aren't very many Asian people down there.

I happened to have grown up in New York City, the melting pot capital of the world--and still having my fair share of racist bullying from the kids at my elementary school in Queens. So I sort of know what I'm talking about.

But he kept going on and on and on about how Southern people are great and get a bad rap until Peter said, "But you're white. Of course they're nice to YOU."

Plus, aren't Southern people nice to you to your face and then they put sheets over their heads and run you out of town?

I've been to Superbowl parties at my sister-in-law's house and their friends, the people who they claim are the NICEST people in the world--people they have entrusted as godparents to their children--start using the N-word as soon as they get a few drinks in them.

I really do hope there are less racists in the world than I think there are--that would be great. After all, we did elect a black man into office and how we're getting a woman of color in the Supreme Court. The times--They are a'changin'.

I hope we really are ushering in a new era when we can say, "Americans are the nicest people you can ever meet. They're not racist at all."

Pasty Butt? That's Not Real

Several of the little girls in the writing class I teach have chicken coops in their backyards. They told me about a phenomenon called "pasty butt." That's when the poop clogs up the hen's butt and if a human doesn't clean it up, the hen will die. 

"WHAT?" I could not believe this. "How can hens survive out in the wild then if they can die from not being able to wipe their butts?" 

The girls really didn't know the answer to this--they figured those hens would just die from not being able to poop. The girls are around 9 years old, which means that they are just fascinated with poop, farts, and burping and so many of their stories are peppered with aliens farting. 

I came home and told Peter about pasty butt.

Peter: Pasty butt? That's not real. That must be what the girl's mother calls it. 

Me: Well, what would YOU call that condition?

Peter: I'm sure there's a real and scientific name for that. And it's not going to be pasty butt.

Me: Like we go around using the scientific name for everything. Pasty butt is probably an accepted term in the chicken keeping community. 

Peter: Not likely. 

Me: Well, what would YOU call it when a hen can't poop out of her butt?

Peter: I don't know. I think I would need a few days to think about it.

Me: I'm only going to give you 5 minutes.

Peter: Uhm.... Butt Shut or Shut Butt.

Me: Right. Because THAT sounds MUCH better than pasty butt. 

Haymarket in Northampton--What Happened?

Peter and I just spent a weekend in Burlington, VT. It was mostly a trip to see what the town was about and to figure out if we wanted to move there one day. 

On the way home, we decided to stop by Northampton, since it was on the way, and have dinner at our favorite restaurant--Haymarket. We love their curry, the sandwiches, my sister loves their salads, Peter is mad for the rice and beans and banana. 

I called my sister to let her know that we were going to stop by and she was so excited--but then we got there and....THE FOOD WAS GONE!

Okay, the food wasn't gone, but their regular menu was not available and they presented us with this new fancy shmancy dinner menu and the downstairs was all covered with gauze curtains and lit candles on the tables. 

Huh? Whuh? 

WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE PLACE I LOVE!!!!????!!!!

It's like you meet this cool girl and she loves all the same music you like--like The Cure and The Smiths and The Pixies--and then one day she decides to listen to the Kelly Clarkson and then it's just a dangerous and slippery slide down to THE DAVE MATTHEWS BAND.

And then you have to look at her and realize...she's changed. Do you still want to be with her now that she's become just like everyone else?

The Haymarket host dude was really smug about the fact that they would not make the old menu--not even for someone who has traveled three hours just to get to their restaurant--and my father owns a restaurant, so I know restaurant kitchens. And he would never refuse to make something for a customer if it was in his power to do so. 

We ended up having dinner there anyway, because I have never been disappointed at the Haymarket...until last night. 

I got a mushroom risotto and Peter got something that he can't even remember and the consensus was that the food was nothing special. If I wanted to go to a nice sit-down restaurant with great food, I would go across the street to Paul and Elizabeth's. 

I know this is silly, but Peter and I spent the next two hours of our ride home moaning and groaning about what happened to our favorite place.

Why do people do that? Why do they decide to FUCK with a good thing? 

Sometimes, I Think: "Do They Know Me?"

My sister told me that the day Michael Jackson died, my parents came home from work and said to her, "I hope your sister's not taking it too hard. He was her favorite."

Although I am sad to find out that a childhood icon of mine has died, he wasn't one of my favorite artists. I never owned a Michael Jackson album (not even Thriller) and I don't know where my family members get this idea that I like him. My aunt gave me a Michael Jackson picture book biography and poster for my tenth birthday. 

I guess sometimes family members get this idea of you in their heads and they don't really take the time to really find out your true personality. We see this all the time during family events. Peter's siblings will say something like, "You were always a lazy teenager." And he'll be all, "What? I had three jobs and taking a full course load in college!" People just see what they want to see. 

Hulu is playing Prelude to a Kiss right now and it's my favorite movie because it completely demonstrates this exact feeling. Rita, Meg Ryan's character, has been transformed into an elderly gentleman (it's sort of like a Freaky Friday romantic comedy) and Rita's parents don't even realize this because they only see what they want to see. The play is one of my favorites and the movie does a good job of staying pretty close to the original script. I used to buy a copy of the play for boyfriends to see if they "got" me. Sad to say, most of the time, they never even cracked it open. 

I have wondered if it was because of this play that I became partial to boys named Peter. 

You can check it out here. It's free!