Screw the Sappy Story - I Want The Dirt!

Is it wrong that while the rest of the world is totally digging the story of 27-year-old Korean-American adoptee Olympic medal winner Toby Dawson's reunion with his biological father in Korea this week, I'm more interested in Toby's engagement to a woman more than 10 years his senior?

Leah Halmi is his fiancee's name. She has three kids. That's alotta baggage for someone in their twenties to take on, if I do say so myself. I mean, that's like me getting romantically involved with a man with three kids. I don't think I'm selfless enough for that. It takes a special kind of person to take on all that. You know what I mean?

A quick Google search reveals that this Leah woman makes monetary contributions to Democratic campaigns and that she's independently wealthy - but that's it! That's the ONLY information I could find. Drives me nuts. Who's the ex? I want the low-down on how these two met and how they fell in love and why he retired from skiing and is pursuing a golfing career in California instead. Does he like kimchi? Does she? Does he prefer apple juice or orange juice? Does he like his eggs scrambled or sunny side up? Nike or Adidas? And how is he dealing with this "instant family" phenomenon? Inquiring minds - ok, an inquiring mind - wants to know!

Don't hate because it looks like ddong at first glance.

It's just coffee ice cream with speckles of coffee beans. Thank goodness I got over my lactose intolerant years. Whew.

And, yes, I do like taking pictures of my food. Is it so weird that you have to point it out whenever I talk to you? If you can't shake the urge to share your two cents, feel free to leave a comment.

Pad Thai

Tofu, $0.99
Scallions, $0.10
Egg, $0.17
Rice noodles and sauce, $1.49
____________________________

Dinner for two total, $2.75

My First Lush

Thanks For The Laughs

Note to self: if you give the camera to the guy who's been drinking since noon, your pictures will be blurry.

To think that she accused Julia of perpetuating the Asian stereotype -

irony at its best.

Until next time - anywhere but Philadelphia...

...just not Beijing, because we've all been there.

Clarification on my previous post:

As a couple very wise folks have proposed, my mother was not endorsing that I partake in a gay relationship. She wants me to either (a) find a buddy, like a best buddy who would be a girl with whom I can chat wherever, whenever, and about whatever or (b) find a boyfriend. Uhm-mah has always vehemently maintained that I have no friends. Not. A. One. In fact, it's not just that I am friendless, but that I am incapable of making or maintaining any friendships at all, especially without outside help.

I confirmed this curious belief of my mother's over the course of a brief, but ever so memorable, ten minute ride home from school in eighth grade. My memory tells me that I was once *fucking* again not allowed to hang out with friends from my new school and was therefore in a miserable mood when my mother picked me up from school. Do you know what she did when I gave her the silent treatment? She lectured me on how I hadn't made any friends yet, screamed at the top of her lungs about how I am the only person to blame for not having friends, and then slapped me hard across the face when we pulled up at the next red light. All with Andy Kim in the backseat - the poor kid didn't know what the hell was happening. He had only signed up for a ride home, you know? That was the last time she laid a hand on me. It was also the beginning of my unconscious vow to get away from my family.

But enough of my twisted upbringing.

I got a great big box of chocolates today. It's a nice change to be appreciated at work, but strangely adds more pressure. And Meeshull's visiting. I don't remember the last time I had such side-splitting laughing fits. Cracks me up ^_^.

Nothin' Hits Me Like a Dose of NyQuil and Uhm-mah

My wee little cold blew up into the mother of all colds today. I went into the office for an hour this morning, after which I promptly stumbled home, chugged some NyQuil (it was the only unexpired cold med I had!) and slept all day. Seven hours later, I woke up and found this e-mail patiently waiting in my inbox.

As you read this missive, please note that uhm-mah was introduced to the concept of e-mail less than six months ago. Since then, she has been typing - albeit slowly - but typing nonetheless and in her non-native English. I've cleaned it up a little bit to make it easier to read. Let's put it this way: I sighed a huge sigh of relief when she finally started to sign her e-mails with "bye bye" instead of "buy buy."

From: Mom
To: Julia
Date: Feb 16, 2007 4:03 PM
Subject: letter

hi?
[blah blah blah yada yada yada blah blah blah] i don't know whats going on, you don't want to go korea[...] in my opinion this time is good for you to yourself introduce to relative to meet good person too. i want you meet a good friend girl or boy. time is like an arrow. sooner or later you gonna be 30yrs old. ITS OK. BUT, STUDY? OR FUTURE PLANNING? THINK ABOUT PLEASE. THANKS MUCH. MOM. BYE BYE. FEB 16TH. MOM

Yeah. Um. Did you gag when you read that, too? My mom thinks I'm a lesbian. Aigoo.

If You're Not Feeling Particularly Loved Today...

...rest assured that I love you, or, at the very least, like you ;).

I pass by a Korean-owned storefront flower market on 19th Street every day. Ever since the young ahjummah wrapped my sunflowers in ugly army camouflage paper (seriously, why?) and I refused to accept them until she changed the paper, I've been semi-boycotting her store. Plus, she had that whole "I'm an Asian woman, you're an Asian woman, so I think I'll automatically be rude to you but only after I give you the once-over" thing going on. Ugh.

Anyway, I say semi-boycott because every other flower shop in the area isn't a hole in the wall with black buckets of cheap fresh flowers; instead, selections are limited to professional arrangements priced at $40 for a dozen roses compared to their $8.99. But the entrepreneurial spirit, in honor of the holiday, jacked up their prices to $12 or $15!

And as I walked by their storefront around 5:45 today, I saw the shop packed with men. Men in black wool coats and polished shoes, rugged types with facial hair and North Face gear, and others in poofy down-filled parkas and proper snow boots; all cutely bending in perfect unison over the black buckets in search of the nicest bouquet as though the scene had been choreographed. Since when did Valentine's Day become a day when only men bought flowers?

Anybody else notice that Google forgot a letter? The green stem can't possibly pass for the "l." Looks like Google made a boo-boo! Hmm...this doesn't bode well for our future.

PB&J, The Wrong Way

Even though we grew up on processed Stroehmann's white bread in 100% good old fashioned American style, I've found this tasteless concoction of flour and preservatives despicable ever since college. It's been nearly a decade since I've eaten the stuff. Wheat, oat bran, heck, give me some flax seeds mixed with some flour and I'd prefer it any day over that white stuff.

I bought a loaf of Wonder bread for the bro this past weekend. I'm embarrassed to admit that I thought, "Well, taste buds change. Maybe I'll like it, too!" Unless he buys it at school, every sandwich that he's bit into for the past year has provided 50% or more of his recommended daily fiber intake. He was in heaven with gobs of Smucker's strawberry preserves and Skippy creamy peanut butter wedged between precious slices of Wonder white bread. I even tried a pb&j because he made it look so good.

I confirmed that white bread is quite possibly the nastiest bread on earth. How do Wonder and Stroehmann's stay in business? And what the heck is in that stuff? Don't answer that.

It's only Tuesday and nearly half the loaf is gone. It won't go to waste, I'm sure, but you got another thing coming if you think I'll bring another loaf of this grossness back into my kitchen (yes, the same one with the cup Ramen noodles in the cupboards next to the Doritos).

Old School Tunes

Little by little, day by day
Little by little in ev'ry way
Jesus is changing me...

Do you know this song? I do. I know lots of children's Bible songs. I grew up singing them so how could I forget them? Sunday School clearly did its job because lately, these lyrics, their simple tunes, and even some classic Bible tales have been playing over and over again in that infinite space between my ears .

Jesus loves me, this I know
For the Bible tells me so
Little ones to him belong
They are weak but He is strong

Yes, Jesus loves me
Yes, Jesus loves me
Yes, Jesus loves me
The Bible tells me so

Imagine that: all these years go by and then *poof* one day they all make a grand appearance to put on a little show just for me with music, chracters, props, and all. Moses floating in a basket down the river, Noah and his ark, Jonah and his whale, Eve and that apple, David with his slingshot, wise King Solomon, water-walker Peter, Samson and his hair, Rebekah by the well...all just hanging out up there in Julia Land...

Even the Korean version, after laying dormant for a decade or two, woke up recently and has been cranking out its little tune like a broken record.

예수 사랑하심은
거룩하신 말일세
우리들은 약하나
예수 권세 많도다

날 사랑하심
날 사랑하심
날 사랑하심
성경에 써있네

A Hazeled Nut in Heaven

I never thought I'd draw such a conclusion, especially not about the knock-off versions of my favoritest of all things bad for me. What am I talking about? The industry standard of chocolatey spreadable goodness, of course.

N u t e l l a , b a b y !

But when you can't get that (not because it's unavailable, but because there's just something inherently wrong about paying $6.99 for a small jar of any mass produced food item to slather atop your next slice of bread) you try alternatives.

You heard it here first: don't ever bother with the Trader Joe's brand. The texture's off and the overwhelming taste is that of oil, not to mention the goopey clear oil that gathers at the top of the jar. Shop Rite's imitation is the clear winner in my little Korean-American Test Kitchen (public television rocks). The taste is remarkably similar to actual Nutella. Aside from the generic brand labeling, it's hard to tell the difference. Perhaps it's that Shop Rite imports their product from Italy, home of the original Nutella, and that Trader Joe's elected to have a go selling glop produced in Turkey, (I wonder who got fired for making that decision), but in any case, Shop Rite got it right.

I never thought I'd say it, but forget the Nutella, buy the Shop Rite version, and bank the $4 for your next Starbucks latte.

Snow and Flakes

Although we have yet to witness the winter wonder of Mother Nature and all the glittering majesty of her almighty snowfall, the cold season has certainly fallen upon us. With wind chills in the negative single digits, there's not a doubt in my mind that frost bite is a reality, even when you live in the city. Weather.com has confirmed that we have dipped below zero tonight:

So this is what I wanna know: "Where the snow be at?!"

I mean, for the first time this season, as I brushed my hair this morning, I caught a bit of white against my jet black hair in the mirror before me. That's right, folks. I call them my winter cooties. I wouldn't go so far as to call this condition dandruff for fear of elevating its status to "serious" requiring professional medical attention, but it's definitely dry scalp. Dang diggity - that's gross.

Every fricking year when it dips below zero, this is the destiny of my dry of driest scalp. And it's simply annoying. It makes me want to plunge my head straight into a vat of Head and Shoulders: only I can't because my cheeks, neck, and nape itch red for days afterwards.

If my flakes are here for the season, don't I at least deserve some sparkly pretty snow? Please, snow gods, make this right. Cover our little section of this earth in a couple feet of snow (in the middle of a week, not a weekend, of course) so that we may all have a snow day. We so deserve one. Pretty please?

Oh, The Things Kids Say

I've been sitting on babies for as long as I can remember. I find their innocent antics darling and downright hilarious. I've always found the most delightful age range anywhere between newborn to two years. Tonight was a rare exception.

James, who is now three point nine seven years old, gave me a mini lecture this evening on why I should not repeatedly press random buttons on his family's obscenely gargantuan entertainment system. He wanted to watch a counting DVD based on Richard Scarry's characters. Since he can read and has used remote controls since I first met him at the tender age of two, he can seamlessly switch back and forth between TiVo, cable, and the DVD player. Tonight, however, when neither of us could prod the DVD tray out, he claimed that daddy had to charge the machine before it would work. Of course I knew that wasn't the case.

So all of a sudden, the next thing I know, my fingers got really button happy and James patiently watched me press random buttons on both the DVD player itself and one of their three remotes. Worried about the possible side effects of my haphazard method, he calmly took my prodding finger and guided my arm gently away from the machines and very maturely explained, "It's very important that we not push all the buttons when it's not working because daddy has a lot of work to do. That will only make extra work for him. Daddy has a lot of work and is very busy. He has to build a bathroom for mommy. This would just make more work for him so we shouldn't press anymore buttons."

And I don't know why, but I took my other hand and started to push random buttons again.

And still very patiently and gently, he stopped me and calmly reiterated, "It's very important that we not push all the buttons because it will make more work for daddy when he already has so many things to do like build a bathroom for mommy. Let's go watch my show in mommy and daddy's room. There's a tv in there."

Imagine that: the kid's more sensible than his sitter. Ke ke ke...