Rhinebeck

Peter and I are going to Rhinebeck in a couple of weeks--mostly to get away from it all--or rather, get an hour and a half away from it all. So if anyone has any good suggestions for something to do up there, I would appreciate it.

We're planning on having dinner at the Culinary Institute up in Hyde Park, which should be interesting, since it's run by all students. I've been reading Trip Advisor ratings to no avail since the reviews are mixed--it's the craziest thing--it's all:

"Hate it! The students are IDIOTS!"
"Love it! "The students are GENUISES!"
"Hate it! My food was cold!"
"Love it! My food was perfect!"

I guess it depends on the random group of students who happen to be there at the time you visit.

A few years ago, Peter and I drove up to Hyde Park on a lark and I told my mom and she said:

"Oh, yes! Hyde Park! That's where the culinary school is and FDR's old house."

The strange thing is that my mother doesn't know anything about anything most of the time, and yet she'll randomly know something about an obscure place up in the middle of New York State. When I asked her how she knew about this place, she said:

"Well, you know, when our Japanese friends come to visit, it's one of the tours. They go up to visit FDR's home and have dinner at the culinary school before they come back down to the city."

Anyway, that's about all I know about the area also.

Christmas Tree Shops Don't Sell Christmas Trees

While my sister and I were in Albany (Did I mention that I went to Albany?), we went to the local mall to place a reservation at the Cheesecake Factory--unfortunately, there was a huge line and the earliest reservation was for 9pm--so we had two hours to kill.

It took us about six minutes to traverse the whole mall, considering we didn't want to purchase any candles or greeting cards. At the tail end of the mall, there was a place called Christmas Tree Shops and Jenny wanted to go inside.

"But I don't even like Christmas Trees," I said.

"Oh, come on! I went inside that Halloween Store you wanted to go to," she said.

Reluctantly, I walked in the store with her...and I found one of the most AWESOME places on Earth!

I found cookbooks for $5.
I found bags of organic whole wheat rigatoni for $1.65.
I found a shower mirror/radio for $5.

Then I heard Jenny yell, "Utz! Utz! $1 for UTZ!"
She stocked up on bags of Utz selling for $1 each.
Jenny also found a basket for transporting her baked goods for $4.
Jenny found a tea towl to cover her basket for $1.

We spent 2 whole hours browsing through this story and I couldn't find ONE Christmas Tree.

It was kind of upsetting because I've seen these stores whenever I've gone to the mall in Paramus and there's one in Hartsdale, but I assumed it sold Christmas trees and never went inside.

"It's terrible marketing," Jenny said. "This is exactly the kind of store we like and we didn't know about it."

It's true.

The next day, while we were driving back home, I told Jenny, "You're gonna be mad because there 's a Christmas Tree Shop in Amherst and you didn't know about it the whole 4 years you were there."

She said:

"FUCK!!"

"Uhm, okay," I said. "I knew that I was going to get a reaction like, Ooooooh, No Way! or Too Bad!, but FUCK!!? You're taking this really badly."

The Best View in Albany

I'm in Albany with my sister Jenny--she's on a business trip and I've been working on a fellowship application. We're staying at a local hotel and I was disappointed with the fact that our hotel room's window looks out onto the hallway. That's strange, isn't it? What's up with that?

When she mentioned that to a friend of hers, he said, "Why's she disappointed? That's probably the BEST VIEW IN ALBANY."

Word.

No offense, Albanians!

Everyone we've met here is unbelievable super-nice and friendly.

Northern Beans Gone BAD

I have been trying to be better about cooking--I really have--but going out to eat is really one of the only things Peter and I look forward to doing. When both of you work at home all day, it's not only about being too lazy to cook, but it's a reason to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE.

However, because we're trying to save money, I am trying to cook more. And since Peter is a vegetarian, I feel that he should start adding more bean-eating to his diet because pulses are good for you and we must support the pulse farmers of America.

The only problem with beans is the soaking. That means that you can't willy-nilly think of something to cook 30 minutes before dinnertime. It means that you must have soaked the beans overnight, with the intention of cooking the beans the next day.

A few days ago, I put a bag of Northern beans in a metal bowl and filled it with filtered water to let the beans soak. I then proceeded to forget all about said beans for THREE WHOLE DAYS AND NIGHTS.

We came home the other day to the most horrible SMELL. This smell was the most godawful smell that ever was released onto the earth. It was a smell worse than cat pee. It smelled like the regurgitated bowels of three hundred devils, devils who really FUCKED UP and did a whole bunch of BAD SHIT while they were on Earth.

Peter went over to the bowl, lifted the lid I had put on it and said, "What the HELL IS THAT?"

"Oh! It's the...uhm...northern beans I was going to make for you a few days ago."

Those beans went bad. I mean, they went so bad, they went to another realm of bad, the realm known as PURE EVIL.

Not only did it smell like the depths of hell, but they were fermenting and forming a disgusting foam--the kind that SATAN probably bathes in. And of course, since this was ALL MY FAULT, I had to get rid of it, almost throwing up twice in the process.

All this because it's much cheaper to buy dried beans and soak them overnight instead of the handy-dandy canned beans. Suffice it to say, I will be buying more cans of beans.

Northern beans, when you go bad, you go VERY VERY BAD.

When I Die, I Want to Come Back with YOUR Life

When the property manager came through to inspect our apartment (because of the leak in the ceiling), he saw that Peter was sitting on the sofa in front of the television and he asked Peter, "What is that, a video game?"

Peter said, "It's MLB Power Pros."

The guy looked at him for a moment and then said, "When I die, I want to come back with YOUR life."

After he left, Peter said, "Hey, I don't blame him. I love my life."

I Don't Think I Should Win the Lottery

About a month ago, I was in the kitchen with Peter and I happened to look up at the ceiling. What I saw made me SCREAM. I saw this dark brown THING, which I thought was a bug, but when Peter saw what I was looking at, he said, "Oh SHIT!!"

I'm a bit overdramatic, but Peter always has his shit together, so the fact that he was freaking out did NOT make me feel better. Basically, what I thought was a bug was actually a small brown MUSHROOM growing out of the corner of our ceiling. Not only that, but we noticed that there were bumps forming all along our wall.

Apparently, our neighbor upstairs had been doing some "work" in his bathroom and had been taking showers in his untiled bathroom. Right. So who knew how long the water had been leaking down our wall.

To make a long story short, he fixed up his bathroom, called his insurance company and we were awarded $2,000 for the damage, which was really great because it cost about a quarter of that to actually fix the problem.

However, the day after we were told we were going to receive 2 grand, we discovered that the roof of the garage was totally kaput and rain was pouring down the walls. The cost of the damage? $2,000.

Hmmm.

It seems that every time Peter and I get a chunk of money somewhere, something goes wrong and instead of being able to put it into our savings accounts, we have to shell it out to fix some stupid thing or another.

I'm almost afraid to pay the lottery. I mean, what if we win? What horrible thing would happen?

All this damage to our apartment and our house seems to be coming from water, so I wondered if there was some Chinese feng shui thing we could do to prevent this from happening.

I called my mother and asked her if there was something I could do, burn some magic papers in a bowl and mix the ashes with water and pour it over my head? (Okay, that's something I ACTUALLY did a few years ago because my mother told me it would bring me luck...and she had already paid the fortune teller some money to get the magic papers, so I HAD TO do it. And the thing is, I was afraid not to.)

Her reaction was something I totally did not expect. She said:

"WATER? That's GREAT! Water problems are a GREAT SIGN! It means that you and Peter are going to be coming into A LOT of MONEY! Water problems are GOOD LUCK!"

When there was a fire in our building a few years ago, my mother said that fire was also good luck.

What's wrong with these people?

Buy One Get One All Over Your Feet

I took my sister out to lunch today for a "first week at work" celebration. She started her very first full-time job this week helping people in need apply for food programs in the city. We headed out to a Mexican restaurant and I had the enchiladas, but since I am anti-beans, Jenny asked me to request the beans on the side so she could have it. When I told the waiter, he looked at me kind of funny and said, "But they are ALREADY on the SIDE of the plate."

I explained that I would rather the beans be in its own plate--actually, if it were up to me, beans would be on another planet. My hatred of beans has gone back as far as I can remember and even my mother will testify that, as a toddler, I would patiently pick out the azuki in the rice and beans she made one-by-one, flicking them on the floor.

After lunch, I thought it would be a good idea to take advantage of Jamba Juice's buy-on-get-one-free coupon. We drove over to 86th and Lexington Ave and boy, was it hectic. There were about 17 cops milling all around, so I didn't want to be caught double-parking. As I came back around the block, I called Jenny, and when she went to pick up her phone, her Jamba Juice fell to the floor and splattered all over her foot.

When she got in the car, I saw that she only had one Jamba in her hand, which was mine. I felt really badly about it and had a lot of elder sister guilt about it. Thoughts like, "Why did I CALL her?" "I should have gone through my lesson of how to carry Jamba Juices! I know she's almost twenty-two years old, but that lesson got passed over!" I was well-taught by my Chinese parents that any fault or defect of a younger sibling and any failure they may come up against in life is MY FAULT because I DIDN'T DO MY JOB PROPERLY.

Their job was to put food on the table and a roof over our heads and my job was to make sure that my sisters were raised right.

Jenny tried to assure me by telling me that she didn't even feel like having a delicious juicy treat. And HEY! You can turn this tragedy into a semi-funny blog post.

Too Much Information

The internet is a great thing, but at one point pre-internet, you would lose touch with a friend and occasionally hear news about them through a third person and you would be glad to know how they were doing.

Now, you can find their personal blogs on the internet, especially personal blogs told from the point of view from their children.

I got a phone call from an old boyfriend of a friend and we were talking about another friend who had a baby a few years ago--did you get that Internet? 3 people! This is what I call making Peter happy and not using first names of our friends who may get upset to be mentioned on my anonymous (perhaps soon to be non-anonymous?) blog.

Whenever any man calls me, Peter is convinced the dude is trying to see if we're still married. Y'know, 'cause the divorce rate is 50% and you never know... Although I think it's sweet that with all the young single girls in the world, Peter thinks that some guys are still holding a torch for this boring and married old lady.

Since her name came up during that phone conversation, I googled my old friend and found this personal web blog that is told from the point of view of her child. The whole blog is all, "Mommy is so wonderful. She's so beautiful and talented and kind."

Okay, so it's kind of strange if she's the one posting that she, herself, is wonderful from the point of view of her child, but it may be even slightly more disturbing if it's the husband posting the entries. I mean, why does he have to constantly stroke her ego? Is anything going on?

And that's not the strangest thing.

They do this thing.

They do this thing when they travel with their child.

They fling him high up in the air and take pictures of him "flying" in front of national landmarks and historical sites.

I know that any description of these photos will not convey how comical they are, but I don't feel right about posting them because that's a violation of privacy...even though these people have posted them ON THE INTERNET for all the world to see. I still don't think it's right.

Peter thinks that we will probably do a million things to our children that other people would criticize and that's true, but that's not going to stop me from talking about my friends behind their backs when they put Coca-Cola in the baby bottle (fine, I don't know anyone who does that).

Anyway, it's just way too much information than I need to know about my old friends from college.

Thanks internet.

Eric Bana Sucks...Energy

The other day I was listening to NPR and the host was interviewing Eric Bana and he was describing his character in the Apatow movie "Funny People."

"I play this guy who sucks all the energy out of the roomKSHHHKSHhhkKshhhhh."

Not only is he a movie ruiner, apparently, he also sucks all the energy out of the RADIO because NPR went all static and I couldn't listen to the rest of the broadcast.

This confirms it. Eric Bana sucks.

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!