It's been hard getting into the Xmas spirit this year. As I've told several people, the Holiday campaign is the worst thing Best Buy could ever do to us. Work has been crazy, with no sign of slowing down.
My sister and brother-in-law invited my family and his family over for Xmas. There was tons of food and a enough wine to make some of us a bit tipsy after the first hour. Charlie ended up busting out his rapper-wannabe moves, which was pretty hilarious.
We ate lots and opened presents afterwards. After the parents had gone home, we ended up playing "catchphrase," which is like that "Password" gameshow. It was fun.
Merry Xmas everybody!
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Have Yourself a Very Chinese Xmas
With my dad gone for Xmas, Tim and I took my mom out on Friday night for dinner at Daniel's Broiler and a movie.
Dinner was good, and we went to see "Memoirs of a Geisha" at Pacific Place.
The director pretty much used the same cast from "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon." I guess he figured moviegoers wouldn't notice that all the Chinese cast from "Crouching Tiger" all of a sudden became Japanese, and just as suddenly acquired the matching Japanese accent that made them said "pRease" (instead of "please") and "rife" (instead of "life"). I genuinely understand that the director wanted to make the movie more "real" by doing that, but the damn accent made it hard to understand what the characters were saying. I think he should have either done it all in Japanese with subtitles for authenticity's sake (which I know would be impossible in this case, since the cast was, as I mentioned above, Chinese, NOT Japanese) or in English, so that people could actually understand the dialog.
Overall, I liked the movie, despite the fact that it got horrible reviews. It was a bit slow at times, but the cinematography was amazing, and the the plot, which for the most part follows the best-selling book (according to Tim) was good. After the movie was over and the credits started rolling, I realized that the solo cello pieces were played by Yo Yo Ma. I concluded that they pretty much rounded up all the famous Asians they found to make this movie.
My mom was going to spend the night at my place, and as we were walking back to the apartment, we saw this cute, small Chinese girl screaming at what we think was her boyfriend. She was obviously mad and didn't care that we were spectators and she was the spectacle. Since my mom was there, we asked her to translate whatever threat the seemingly sweet, but obviously crazy and mad girl was yelling to the poor boyfriend. It was: "If you do this again, you will DIE an UGLY DEATH!" We thought that was pretty funny and Tim was thankful that despite being Asian, I am not a bitchy Asian. He is a lucky guy indeed.
It was hard to sleep at night, as my mom is a much worse snoorer than I remember. Not only that, like all old people, she gets up at the crack of dawn. That morning was no different. She got up at around 5am, and tiptoed to the bathroom, laptop under her arm, lest she would wake me up (I live in a studio). At 8am, I wake up to find her sitting on the toilet in my bathroom, playing MAH JONG on Yahoo! Games.
Dinner was good, and we went to see "Memoirs of a Geisha" at Pacific Place.
The director pretty much used the same cast from "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon." I guess he figured moviegoers wouldn't notice that all the Chinese cast from "Crouching Tiger" all of a sudden became Japanese, and just as suddenly acquired the matching Japanese accent that made them said "pRease" (instead of "please") and "rife" (instead of "life"). I genuinely understand that the director wanted to make the movie more "real" by doing that, but the damn accent made it hard to understand what the characters were saying. I think he should have either done it all in Japanese with subtitles for authenticity's sake (which I know would be impossible in this case, since the cast was, as I mentioned above, Chinese, NOT Japanese) or in English, so that people could actually understand the dialog.
Overall, I liked the movie, despite the fact that it got horrible reviews. It was a bit slow at times, but the cinematography was amazing, and the the plot, which for the most part follows the best-selling book (according to Tim) was good. After the movie was over and the credits started rolling, I realized that the solo cello pieces were played by Yo Yo Ma. I concluded that they pretty much rounded up all the famous Asians they found to make this movie.
My mom was going to spend the night at my place, and as we were walking back to the apartment, we saw this cute, small Chinese girl screaming at what we think was her boyfriend. She was obviously mad and didn't care that we were spectators and she was the spectacle. Since my mom was there, we asked her to translate whatever threat the seemingly sweet, but obviously crazy and mad girl was yelling to the poor boyfriend. It was: "If you do this again, you will DIE an UGLY DEATH!" We thought that was pretty funny and Tim was thankful that despite being Asian, I am not a bitchy Asian. He is a lucky guy indeed.
It was hard to sleep at night, as my mom is a much worse snoorer than I remember. Not only that, like all old people, she gets up at the crack of dawn. That morning was no different. She got up at around 5am, and tiptoed to the bathroom, laptop under her arm, lest she would wake me up (I live in a studio). At 8am, I wake up to find her sitting on the toilet in my bathroom, playing MAH JONG on Yahoo! Games.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Kids Say the Darnest Things
Tim and I are back from AZ, after spending three days around 5 kids, all under 3 and 1 8-year old.
1) This one comes from Mckenzie, Tim's little niece from Tennesee (who asked me if my name was Kelly or "MISS Kelly").
I took her to the bathroom to go potty. Mckenzie sat on the toilet for two seconds, got up and said: "I'm done." I'm like: "What do you mean, you're done? You haven't even gone!" to which she nonchalantly replies: "It just won't come out!"
2) Upon hearing me call Tim "Timothy," Drew (Tim's son) asked me: "Why do you call him "Timothy? Is it just to humiliate him?" (he obviously thought Tim was Tim's real name and made it known that he thinks "Timothy" is an ugly name.
1) This one comes from Mckenzie, Tim's little niece from Tennesee (who asked me if my name was Kelly or "MISS Kelly").
I took her to the bathroom to go potty. Mckenzie sat on the toilet for two seconds, got up and said: "I'm done." I'm like: "What do you mean, you're done? You haven't even gone!" to which she nonchalantly replies: "It just won't come out!"
2) Upon hearing me call Tim "Timothy," Drew (Tim's son) asked me: "Why do you call him "Timothy? Is it just to humiliate him?" (he obviously thought Tim was Tim's real name and made it known that he thinks "Timothy" is an ugly name.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Into the World of White Peeps
It's true. By marrying Tim, I have fallen deeper into the abyss of the world of white peeps. Not only will I carry the name "Sale" and have a jar of pickles in my fridge, but now, I will also have one of those cheesy studio-made portraits; or worse yet, I will be the subject of one of those lame pics that people put in gold picture frames right next to little glass bells and Hallmark Precious Moments figurines.
It all started when Tim apologetically told me that next week, when we go to Arizona for a pre-Xmas weekend, we would be taking a family pic. That in itself made me cringe. You see, Asian people would never SPEND the money to have a real photographer take a professional picture. Not only that, my Asian peeps are too reserved and awkward to pose in front of a studio camera.
And tonight, I just found out that I will have to comply with a strict dress code, namely two sets of choices: jeans or khakis and white or denim shirt. When asked "WHY, oh WHY" it would have to be that way, we were told that "it looks better when everybody looks the same." Sometimes I wonder if they remember that I'm Asian.
It all started when Tim apologetically told me that next week, when we go to Arizona for a pre-Xmas weekend, we would be taking a family pic. That in itself made me cringe. You see, Asian people would never SPEND the money to have a real photographer take a professional picture. Not only that, my Asian peeps are too reserved and awkward to pose in front of a studio camera.
And tonight, I just found out that I will have to comply with a strict dress code, namely two sets of choices: jeans or khakis and white or denim shirt. When asked "WHY, oh WHY" it would have to be that way, we were told that "it looks better when everybody looks the same." Sometimes I wonder if they remember that I'm Asian.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
The case of the maroon turtleneck
When I worked at a well-known software company, my friend Lauren and I would amuse ourselves by making fun of all the geeks and the odd things they do. We would also call out all the "visual offenses" (as Lauren called them) we saw. We would dream of metal detector-type machines that would be installed in front of all building doors, sounding off alarms for all geeks that wore socks with Tevas or Taz-mania slippers. For the worst fashion offenders, however, such as those wearing red (Dolce) leather pants, skinny 9-inch ponytails of greasy hair, 1980's high-top black Reeboks or had their last names tatooed on their arms, a mini-cage would drop down from the ceiling, thus imprisoning those who are a menace to the fashion world and the social world in general.
When I started working at an advertising agency, I was relieved to see that I was going to be surrounded by the new JCrew/Banana Republic fall collection and an occasional Dolce and Gabanna ensemble (not the leather pants though).
So you will understand my shock when somebody, SOMEBODY showed up at work with nothing less and nothing more than a maroon turtleneck underneath an oversize Cosby sweater! I was speechless, perplexed, offended, indignant. Since then, the maroon turtleneck/Cosby sweater duo has made several other (unwelcomed) appearances, much to my dismay.
When I started working at an advertising agency, I was relieved to see that I was going to be surrounded by the new JCrew/Banana Republic fall collection and an occasional Dolce and Gabanna ensemble (not the leather pants though).
So you will understand my shock when somebody, SOMEBODY showed up at work with nothing less and nothing more than a maroon turtleneck underneath an oversize Cosby sweater! I was speechless, perplexed, offended, indignant. Since then, the maroon turtleneck/Cosby sweater duo has made several other (unwelcomed) appearances, much to my dismay.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
The Proposal
Ok, so everybody knows, Tim proposed and now I FINALLY have my ring. The way Tim proposed was very well thought out and romantic, and I was really happy about how he did it. However, after listening (ok, it was more like eavesdropping) to his conversation with his mom, where he recounted the details of the big night, I was very disappointed by the story. Girls know that "the proposal" is all about the story, and to listen to Tim tell "the story," one would think that it was a lame proposal. Not only that. During his non-chanlant account of "the story," he purposely omitted several details that prove that I, Kelly, KNEW that he was on to something. So I believe it is important for me to retell the story of our proposal and let the world know that I knew. Throughout the below narrative, you will find the words "I KNEW/SUSPECTED/THOUGHT" inserted into the instances, where I, Kelly Chow, knew/suspected/thought that this was going to happen.
Last week was a tough week. The last three weeks, actually. We have been working on the launch of our client's biggest campaign of the year, so with a short week (due to Thanksgiving) and an important campaign, I found myself very stressed out.
And Tim, of course, didn't help the situation by bugging me about leaving work early on Wed, so we could head out to the Baker cabin for Thanksgiving. He wanted me to leave at 4:30, which I told him was impossible. The little stinker IM'ed me and told me he was stopping by my office. Miraculously, I was able to wrap up my work and get ready to be picked up.
I had told a friend of mine, that I KNEW how Tim would proposed, and to prove my clairvoyant powers, I was going to e-mail her all the details of my future proposal. I never got around to do this because work had been so busy, but I KNEW.
It was right before I left work, that I almost messaged my friend to tell her that I THOUGHT it was going to happen that night.
Tim had told me that we were going to meet up with our friend Brian, so that I could give him a bag that he needed for his trip to Thailand (Brian and his gf were leaving town that night). Tim said we were going to meet him at the market, which made me inquire (because I KNEW): "Why is Brian meeting us at the Pike Place Market?" It seemed to be an odd meeting place, since neither Brian nor his gf lived close to the Market. Tim's response was: "Because he's getting some food there," to which I asked: "Why does he need to get food for Thaliand?," Tim (a bit annoyed): "Because....he wants to get it for the plane, ok?" I decided to drop it. A guy can't know you're smarter than him, but I KNEW. I know Tim wanted to kill me at that point, but since he was going to ask me to marry him, he figured he'd put up with me.
Anyhow, upon arrriving at the market, Tim said we were going to rendezvous with BJ in front of the butcher's. Now, THAT's what I call a highly suspicious meeting place." So I had to ask: "Why at the butcher?" No response. The little wheels in my head started moving, and I was trying to remember if the butcher's was anywhere close to Maximilian's, the French restaurant where Tim and I had one of our first big dates. He had told me a while ago that he would propose at a place that had meaning to us.
We got the the butcher's but no sign of Brian. Suspicions risen again, so I finally said: "Brian is not coming, is HE? What are you up to, Diesel?" (because, that's right, I KNEW).
Diesel confirmed that BJ was not going to show up, but that he had arranged for us to have a cooking class with Willy, the restaurant's chef.
It was a really awesome experience. We went to the kitchen with the chef and he showed us how to make salmon with wine/butter sauce (which as it turns out, was the same meal Tim and I had when we had our date there). We also made green beans and our favorite, foie gras. 45 min into the class and almost done with our meal, Tim excused himself to go to the bathroom. I was helping the chef with the finishing touches, when Tim tapped me on the shoulder and when I turned around, said something to me (which I am not allowed to reveal, he says it's between the two of us), got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. My answer was "OF COURSE" ("yes" is just overrated).
The chef then had us follow him into the restaurant, where we ate the meal we had just cooked. I then saw my brother, then my dad, then my mom. My whole family was there! As it turns out, Tim had invited my family and close friends to a little reception on the second floor of the restaurant. It was lovely, and I'm glad I got to share that special moment with the important people in my life.
After the party died out, we headed up to Baker with our friend Corinne. It would have been a perfect night if it hadn't been for the two emergency stops we had to make, so that I could puke. I am convinced it was the one whole pound of butter that was in the wine sauce. But hey, it tasted good.
Last week was a tough week. The last three weeks, actually. We have been working on the launch of our client's biggest campaign of the year, so with a short week (due to Thanksgiving) and an important campaign, I found myself very stressed out.
And Tim, of course, didn't help the situation by bugging me about leaving work early on Wed, so we could head out to the Baker cabin for Thanksgiving. He wanted me to leave at 4:30, which I told him was impossible. The little stinker IM'ed me and told me he was stopping by my office. Miraculously, I was able to wrap up my work and get ready to be picked up.
I had told a friend of mine, that I KNEW how Tim would proposed, and to prove my clairvoyant powers, I was going to e-mail her all the details of my future proposal. I never got around to do this because work had been so busy, but I KNEW.
It was right before I left work, that I almost messaged my friend to tell her that I THOUGHT it was going to happen that night.
Tim had told me that we were going to meet up with our friend Brian, so that I could give him a bag that he needed for his trip to Thailand (Brian and his gf were leaving town that night). Tim said we were going to meet him at the market, which made me inquire (because I KNEW): "Why is Brian meeting us at the Pike Place Market?" It seemed to be an odd meeting place, since neither Brian nor his gf lived close to the Market. Tim's response was: "Because he's getting some food there," to which I asked: "Why does he need to get food for Thaliand?," Tim (a bit annoyed): "Because....he wants to get it for the plane, ok?" I decided to drop it. A guy can't know you're smarter than him, but I KNEW. I know Tim wanted to kill me at that point, but since he was going to ask me to marry him, he figured he'd put up with me.
Anyhow, upon arrriving at the market, Tim said we were going to rendezvous with BJ in front of the butcher's. Now, THAT's what I call a highly suspicious meeting place." So I had to ask: "Why at the butcher?" No response. The little wheels in my head started moving, and I was trying to remember if the butcher's was anywhere close to Maximilian's, the French restaurant where Tim and I had one of our first big dates. He had told me a while ago that he would propose at a place that had meaning to us.
We got the the butcher's but no sign of Brian. Suspicions risen again, so I finally said: "Brian is not coming, is HE? What are you up to, Diesel?" (because, that's right, I KNEW).
Diesel confirmed that BJ was not going to show up, but that he had arranged for us to have a cooking class with Willy, the restaurant's chef.
It was a really awesome experience. We went to the kitchen with the chef and he showed us how to make salmon with wine/butter sauce (which as it turns out, was the same meal Tim and I had when we had our date there). We also made green beans and our favorite, foie gras. 45 min into the class and almost done with our meal, Tim excused himself to go to the bathroom. I was helping the chef with the finishing touches, when Tim tapped me on the shoulder and when I turned around, said something to me (which I am not allowed to reveal, he says it's between the two of us), got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. My answer was "OF COURSE" ("yes" is just overrated).
The chef then had us follow him into the restaurant, where we ate the meal we had just cooked. I then saw my brother, then my dad, then my mom. My whole family was there! As it turns out, Tim had invited my family and close friends to a little reception on the second floor of the restaurant. It was lovely, and I'm glad I got to share that special moment with the important people in my life.
After the party died out, we headed up to Baker with our friend Corinne. It would have been a perfect night if it hadn't been for the two emergency stops we had to make, so that I could puke. I am convinced it was the one whole pound of butter that was in the wine sauce. But hey, it tasted good.
Seattle Half Marathon
What possesses people to get up in the crack of dawn, get dressed and spend the next 2-4 hrs running in the rain while the rest of the population lies dormant, enjoying the last day of the Thanksgiving weekend? The Seattle Marathon, of course.
And what in the world possesses me to get up in the crack of dawn and run for the next 2 hrs? A free t-shirt, of course.
Having run the Seattle half 3 times, I have (humbly) appointed myself a Seattle half veteran and do hereby leave behind some advice to those that follow me:
1) WEAR DEODORANT. You are running for a long time and perspiration is only natural. What is NOT natural, however, is a complete disregard for your fellow runners when you decide not to wear any deodorant. You do not want to be preceded or followed by a whiff of foul smell. You might think that with all the runners around you, nobody will know what the source of the stink is, but do not be mistaken: you will be the subject of mean anecdotes and violent derision following the event.
2) HONEYBUCKETS ARE FOR WUSSES. Novices risk making their PR by waiting in long lines for the honeybucket. Novices, watch closely: "Wh...what was that silhouette that just popped out of the bushes? Or..."What was the flash figure that just sprinted out of...(could it be?) somebody's front yard?" That, my friend, were Seattle half veterans. They understand that bushes are convenient, flexible and cleaner than honeybuckets. And besides, it's an enjoyable experience (see my previous blog about the Nike Women's Marathon)
3) People are running, but THEY CAN STILL SMELL (see #1 above), SEE, AND HEAR YOU. I witnessed something in today's marathon that was quite disturbing. A sexagenarian, in a moment of excitement, announced to his friend that he wanted to "have sex right here, right now." PEOPLE, if you're running on the I-90 bridge you are NOT confined to the safe quarters of your own home (and I suspect even in your own home you should not say such things if you're over 60); other runners can very well hear what you're saying, even if they're passing you fast.
I hope you can learn from my experiences. Another advice worth following is ACTUALLY TRAINING for the half. I did this one after not having trained for over a month. Sure I'm proud that I finished it, but am I happy with my time? NO! So now it's back to training for the next one...Vancouver, perhaps?
And what in the world possesses me to get up in the crack of dawn and run for the next 2 hrs? A free t-shirt, of course.
Having run the Seattle half 3 times, I have (humbly) appointed myself a Seattle half veteran and do hereby leave behind some advice to those that follow me:
1) WEAR DEODORANT. You are running for a long time and perspiration is only natural. What is NOT natural, however, is a complete disregard for your fellow runners when you decide not to wear any deodorant. You do not want to be preceded or followed by a whiff of foul smell. You might think that with all the runners around you, nobody will know what the source of the stink is, but do not be mistaken: you will be the subject of mean anecdotes and violent derision following the event.
2) HONEYBUCKETS ARE FOR WUSSES. Novices risk making their PR by waiting in long lines for the honeybucket. Novices, watch closely: "Wh...what was that silhouette that just popped out of the bushes? Or..."What was the flash figure that just sprinted out of...(could it be?) somebody's front yard?" That, my friend, were Seattle half veterans. They understand that bushes are convenient, flexible and cleaner than honeybuckets. And besides, it's an enjoyable experience (see my previous blog about the Nike Women's Marathon)
3) People are running, but THEY CAN STILL SMELL (see #1 above), SEE, AND HEAR YOU. I witnessed something in today's marathon that was quite disturbing. A sexagenarian, in a moment of excitement, announced to his friend that he wanted to "have sex right here, right now." PEOPLE, if you're running on the I-90 bridge you are NOT confined to the safe quarters of your own home (and I suspect even in your own home you should not say such things if you're over 60); other runners can very well hear what you're saying, even if they're passing you fast.
I hope you can learn from my experiences. Another advice worth following is ACTUALLY TRAINING for the half. I did this one after not having trained for over a month. Sure I'm proud that I finished it, but am I happy with my time? NO! So now it's back to training for the next one...Vancouver, perhaps?
Mystery Bag
Somebody left a mysterious bag on my kitchen counter. I opened it today, thinking it was something GOOD, but I was in for a very unpleasant surprise.
Somebody left me a bag with an empty yogurt bottle and a pair of underwear.
Sombody left a mystery surprise bag on my kitchen counter, and I don't like it.
Somebody left me a bag with an empty yogurt bottle and a pair of underwear.
Sombody left a mystery surprise bag on my kitchen counter, and I don't like it.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Revenge of the Dorks
This weekend Tim and I went to LA for Sara's wedding. Sara is a good friend of Tim's from H.S., and on top of being nice and cute, she apparently was the first non-mormon Homecoming Queen in an almost all-mormon high school.
The wedding was nice and simple. It was in a little Spanish-style courtyard, and the groom, a musician, played the piano and sang for his bride.
After the ceremony, Tim and I found ourselves at an empty 8-person table. For about 30 min we were the only people at the table. To make matters worse, Sara's grandma took pity on us and invited us to sit with the 60+ year-old crowd. We gracefully declined, secretly hoping that at least one other person would sit next to us. After about 40 min, the restaurant contingent showed up. These were the groom's restaurant colleagues. Our table companions were quite the collection of characters. A vegetarian chef named Mijon and a waiter whose claim to fame was his supposed friendship with the guy who supplies pot to Bellingham snowboarders. There was also Brian (or was it Ryan?), a hot videographer who was working on a British reality show.
Anyhow, there was also a girl, let's call her Dirty Bird. Dirty Bird put the moves on Tim as she reminisced about their post-graduation trip to Mexico. She kept asking Tim if he remembered how they all slept in the car together (which is an odd question, because she ended up hooking up with some guy down in Mexico and spent the night somewhere else), and blah, blah, blah. In a shocking moment, she revealed she was actually engaged (and introduced her fiance), all the while flirting with Tim.
After one of the dances, Dirty Bird, who had been eyeing Tim, approached him from the back and caressed it. Now you might be thinking I'm overreacting, but I knew dirty Bird was up to something. Right before we left, Dirty Bird rushed towards Tim, grabbed his hand and took him to the room next door. After about 10 min Tim came back and told me that she insisted on getting his e-mail, and how great his gf was, and blah, blah, blah. What can I say, Dirty Bird was shady.
Tim was flattered, of course, as guys always are. They all need their ego stroked instead of being put in their place, where they deserve to be. Anyhow, apparently Dirty Bird didn't like Tim in H.S. because he was a bit dorky. So imagine Tim's satisfaction to see Dirty Bird again after 10 years, 50 pounds heavier, engaged to a baffoon with a premature receding hairline, having had a kid out of deadlock and desparetly trying to seduce him. That was quite the revenge.
This weekend Tim and I went to LA for Sara's wedding. Sara is a good friend of Tim's from H.S., and on top of being nice and cute, she apparently was the first non-mormon Homecoming Queen in an almost all-mormon high school.
The wedding was nice and simple. It was in a little Spanish-style courtyard, and the groom, a musician, played the piano and sang for his bride.
After the ceremony, Tim and I found ourselves at an empty 8-person table. For about 30 min we were the only people at the table. To make matters worse, Sara's grandma took pity on us and invited us to sit with the 60+ year-old crowd. We gracefully declined, secretly hoping that at least one other person would sit next to us. After about 40 min, the restaurant contingent showed up. These were the groom's restaurant colleagues. Our table companions were quite the collection of characters. A vegetarian chef named Mijon and a waiter whose claim to fame was his supposed friendship with the guy who supplies pot to Bellingham snowboarders. There was also Brian (or was it Ryan?), a hot videographer who was working on a British reality show.
Anyhow, there was also a girl, let's call her Dirty Bird. Dirty Bird put the moves on Tim as she reminisced about their post-graduation trip to Mexico. She kept asking Tim if he remembered how they all slept in the car together (which is an odd question, because she ended up hooking up with some guy down in Mexico and spent the night somewhere else), and blah, blah, blah. In a shocking moment, she revealed she was actually engaged (and introduced her fiance), all the while flirting with Tim.
After one of the dances, Dirty Bird, who had been eyeing Tim, approached him from the back and caressed it. Now you might be thinking I'm overreacting, but I knew dirty Bird was up to something. Right before we left, Dirty Bird rushed towards Tim, grabbed his hand and took him to the room next door. After about 10 min Tim came back and told me that she insisted on getting his e-mail, and how great his gf was, and blah, blah, blah. What can I say, Dirty Bird was shady.
Tim was flattered, of course, as guys always are. They all need their ego stroked instead of being put in their place, where they deserve to be. Anyhow, apparently Dirty Bird didn't like Tim in H.S. because he was a bit dorky. So imagine Tim's satisfaction to see Dirty Bird again after 10 years, 50 pounds heavier, engaged to a baffoon with a premature receding hairline, having had a kid out of deadlock and desparetly trying to seduce him. That was quite the revenge.
Friday, November 11, 2005
My greatest recent discovery...
While grocery shopping the other day, I stumbled across what could possibly be the best snack food EVER: Cheetos Puffs White Cheddar
As you can see, this is not your regular Cheetos. First off, it does not come in a ghetto bag, but a very elegantly designed package. The puffs do not look like they were color-sprayed at Chernobyl either. Instead, it's all-natural, as the package says.
I bought one bag with the intention of making it last for weeks, months even. However, I couldn't resist and opened it right at the store. After that I just couldn't help myself. I tried hiding it from myself, but my memory is too good, so that didnt' work either.
The bag is now empty, after 2 1/2 days.
To learn more about one of the greatest achievements of mankind, check out the Cheetos website.
While grocery shopping the other day, I stumbled across what could possibly be the best snack food EVER: Cheetos Puffs White Cheddar
As you can see, this is not your regular Cheetos. First off, it does not come in a ghetto bag, but a very elegantly designed package. The puffs do not look like they were color-sprayed at Chernobyl either. Instead, it's all-natural, as the package says.I bought one bag with the intention of making it last for weeks, months even. However, I couldn't resist and opened it right at the store. After that I just couldn't help myself. I tried hiding it from myself, but my memory is too good, so that didnt' work either.
The bag is now empty, after 2 1/2 days.
To learn more about one of the greatest achievements of mankind, check out the Cheetos website.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
I found a kindred spirit
I don't know his name, and honestly, I can't quite remember what he looks like. I don't know anything about him at all, except for the fact that he lives in my building.
So while riding the elevator together, he enthusiastically announced to his friend: "Laguna Beach is on tonight!" I was touched. I felt a connection. I knew I had to say something, especially because his friend's only reply was a disdainful: "You are soooo weird..."
So I said it: "Well, Laguna Beach is actually a great show. " And he smiled at me. I found a kindred spirit indeed.
I don't know his name, and honestly, I can't quite remember what he looks like. I don't know anything about him at all, except for the fact that he lives in my building.
So while riding the elevator together, he enthusiastically announced to his friend: "Laguna Beach is on tonight!" I was touched. I felt a connection. I knew I had to say something, especially because his friend's only reply was a disdainful: "You are soooo weird..."
So I said it: "Well, Laguna Beach is actually a great show. " And he smiled at me. I found a kindred spirit indeed.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Vancouver getaway
So this weekend Erica and I "surprised" Tim and Brian and whisked them away for a couple of fun days in Vancouver. "Surprise" in quotes because time after time Erica's and my big mouths ruined yet another little nugget we had carefully planned and vowed to keep it a secret.
First, Erica told the boys to reserve the weekend of the 5th, because we were going to surprise them. Now excuse my ignorance, but doesn't that totally defeat the point of surprising somebody? I can't say much, because a couple of days later I was on the phone with a friend trying to figure out when we could meet. When she mentioned last weekend, I told her I was going to Vancouver with Tim, not realizing that Tim, who was sitting next to me, was rather confused by hearing about plans he was apparently included in, but not aware that he was participating in.
And as if these two big mouth incidents weren't enough to make this a less-than-surprise weekend, I found out that Tim had told Brian that we were going to Vancouver--something I SPECIFICALLYL told him NOT to tell Brian. But who am I to talk anyway?
Anyhow, so we took the train to Vancouver. We passed the time (it is a 4-hour train ride!) drinking mimosas, eating, reading and sleeping. But we foudn out Brian was doing more than that. He was, in fact, eavesdropping on a conversation that two teenage girls who were sitting behind us were having. Apparently, one of them was talking about how she dreamed about losing heir virginity to the sound of "What is love, baby don't hurt me, no more." Under different circumstances, good ol' BJ would have fullfilled this teenage girl's fantasy by giving her a lap dance while singing "what is love" (out of tune, of course). Instead, however, he apparently was quite disconcerted by the racy talk these two high-schoolers were having, even though he recalled the details of this conversation quite vividly and retold them with great excitement.
It was a cool trip because we walked around areas we don't usually go to. We visited several Chinese pharmacies in Chinatown full of displays of flying lizards, shrivelled seahorses, slimy sea cucumbers, etc. Contrary to what you may think, none of this made us lose our appetite and we grabbed lunch in Chinatown, running the risk of having any one of these obscure ingredients added to our meal. Afterwards we walked along Robson street and then went back to the hotel for a quick rest before we got dinner. Erica had brought an extra suitcase which she stuffed with parts of her fondue set, fruit and chocolate. Only thing, she forgot to look up a recipe for making fondue. It turned out quite alright, and we pigged out again.
We went to a tapas place for dinner and ended up at an Irish bar by our hotel.
The next day was nicer, but we were lazier, so we got a late brunch and walked for at least 5 miles to go to MEC, which is a Canadian version of REI. All that walking was worth it because I got me a cheap pair of long underwear!
We had to take the bus back, and when going through customs, Erica, loaded with her plastic supermarket bags, was stopped by customs. The sweet girl tried t
o tell them that she'd really like to keep the grapes because they were organic and she was really going to eat them. She got away with that, but no way the customs guy was letting her keep her sweep peas.
So this weekend Erica and I "surprised" Tim and Brian and whisked them away for a couple of fun days in Vancouver. "Surprise" in quotes because time after time Erica's and my big mouths ruined yet another little nugget we had carefully planned and vowed to keep it a secret.
First, Erica told the boys to reserve the weekend of the 5th, because we were going to surprise them. Now excuse my ignorance, but doesn't that totally defeat the point of surprising somebody? I can't say much, because a couple of days later I was on the phone with a friend trying to figure out when we could meet. When she mentioned last weekend, I told her I was going to Vancouver with Tim, not realizing that Tim, who was sitting next to me, was rather confused by hearing about plans he was apparently included in, but not aware that he was participating in.
And as if these two big mouth incidents weren't enough to make this a less-than-surprise weekend, I found out that Tim had told Brian that we were going to Vancouver--something I SPECIFICALLYL told him NOT to tell Brian. But who am I to talk anyway?
Anyhow, so we took the train to Vancouver. We passed the time (it is a 4-hour train ride!) drinking mimosas, eating, reading and sleeping. But we foudn out Brian was doing more than that. He was, in fact, eavesdropping on a conversation that two teenage girls who were sitting behind us were having. Apparently, one of them was talking about how she dreamed about losing heir virginity to the sound of "What is love, baby don't hurt me, no more." Under different circumstances, good ol' BJ would have fullfilled this teenage girl's fantasy by giving her a lap dance while singing "what is love" (out of tune, of course). Instead, however, he apparently was quite disconcerted by the racy talk these two high-schoolers were having, even though he recalled the details of this conversation quite vividly and retold them with great excitement.
It was a cool trip because we walked around areas we don't usually go to. We visited several Chinese pharmacies in Chinatown full of displays of flying lizards, shrivelled seahorses, slimy sea cucumbers, etc. Contrary to what you may think, none of this made us lose our appetite and we grabbed lunch in Chinatown, running the risk of having any one of these obscure ingredients added to our meal. Afterwards we walked along Robson street and then went back to the hotel for a quick rest before we got dinner. Erica had brought an extra suitcase which she stuffed with parts of her fondue set, fruit and chocolate. Only thing, she forgot to look up a recipe for making fondue. It turned out quite alright, and we pigged out again.
We went to a tapas place for dinner and ended up at an Irish bar by our hotel.
The next day was nicer, but we were lazier, so we got a late brunch and walked for at least 5 miles to go to MEC, which is a Canadian version of REI. All that walking was worth it because I got me a cheap pair of long underwear!
We had to take the bus back, and when going through customs, Erica, loaded with her plastic supermarket bags, was stopped by customs. The sweet girl tried t
o tell them that she'd really like to keep the grapes because they were organic and she was really going to eat them. She got away with that, but no way the customs guy was letting her keep her sweep peas.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Halloween 2005: Fright Fest - Part Un
Meet the Sales - Our parents meet for the first time.
The Asian parents meet the white parents.
Things my parents should have never said to Tim's parents:
1) Mom to Tim's mom: "Wow, you're so WHITE! I went to Brazil for only one month and look, I'm so tan."
2) Mom to Tim's mom, who's from the south (as if the above wasn't enough): "Yeah, when I lived in the south, every time I went to town, everybody would look at me and go: 'Look, look at that Chinese girl!' Nobody there had ever seen a Chinese person."
3) My dad to Tim's dad (who was in the military for about 20 years and a pilot Vietnam): "Oh, Vietnam...what a terrible war..."
Meet the Sales - Our parents meet for the first time.
The Asian parents meet the white parents.
Things my parents should have never said to Tim's parents:
1) Mom to Tim's mom: "Wow, you're so WHITE! I went to Brazil for only one month and look, I'm so tan."
2) Mom to Tim's mom, who's from the south (as if the above wasn't enough): "Yeah, when I lived in the south, every time I went to town, everybody would look at me and go: 'Look, look at that Chinese girl!' Nobody there had ever seen a Chinese person."
3) My dad to Tim's dad (who was in the military for about 20 years and a pilot Vietnam): "Oh, Vietnam...what a terrible war..."
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Halloween 2005: Fright Fest - Part Deux
So for Halloween this year, I decided I was going to get some use out of the pleather pants and bright red wig I got on eBay last year. If you are not aware of last year's tragedy, suffice it to say that despite all our preparation and rallying, Tim and I fell asleep BOTH Halloween weekend nights and missed all of the parties we had planned to go to. So yes, I was going to be Alias (Jennifer Garner) again.
Tim, however, could not recycle last year's costume because it was so...2004. He was going to go as Napoleon Dynamite. But alas, he had much bigger plans for this year: he decided he was going to be a little Japanese schoolgirl.
So Brian (who was also looking for a last-minute costume), Tim and I headed over to Target. Brian ended up getting a kid's size Superman (bodysuit) costume, which was tight on the crotch area and gave him an instant wedgie. He was happy. Tim was going cheap, so he got some plaid boxers that he turned into a plaid skirt. He accessorized with a pink Hello Kitty purse (only 2.99 at Target) and some fuzzy Hello Kitty slippers (only 17.99 at Target)--which to my dismay, he says he will actually wear again when he goes up skiing at the Baker cabin. A whole costume for only 20 bucks; now that's what I call a deal!
I told Tim he should wear a T-shirt where he wrote something in really bad English, but he said that would be racist. Go figure. His whole costume was un-PC anyway. but I suppose even the guy has morals.
Our first stop was Gabe’s party, where we ended up sitting in the backyard by the fire. There was no dancing, even with the keg Gabe got. There was, however, a lot of women in black costumes and very few men. Very strange.
Next we headed over to Tarah’s party. There was a lot more cleavage at that party and a lot of women. We met a guy that was dressed as a Katrina survivor, who was waving a little flag made out of an oversize pair of underwear. I guess he could get away with it because he was, in fact, from New Orleans. I guess it’s like Tim being able to get away with his little Japanese schoolgirl costume only because he has an Asian girlfriend. I must say, however, that I was offended by the several people that acted all skeptical every time I explained to them that NO, the Hello Kitty stuff Tim was wearing was NOT mine. It was HIS.
Anyhow, a couple of hours went by, and I found myself watching the Katrina survivor teaching my pop-uncultured friend words like “bling” and “ghetto-fabulous." I knew it was time to go home.
And so we did. Another Halloween was over.
So for Halloween this year, I decided I was going to get some use out of the pleather pants and bright red wig I got on eBay last year. If you are not aware of last year's tragedy, suffice it to say that despite all our preparation and rallying, Tim and I fell asleep BOTH Halloween weekend nights and missed all of the parties we had planned to go to. So yes, I was going to be Alias (Jennifer Garner) again.
Tim, however, could not recycle last year's costume because it was so...2004. He was going to go as Napoleon Dynamite. But alas, he had much bigger plans for this year: he decided he was going to be a little Japanese schoolgirl.
So Brian (who was also looking for a last-minute costume), Tim and I headed over to Target. Brian ended up getting a kid's size Superman (bodysuit) costume, which was tight on the crotch area and gave him an instant wedgie. He was happy. Tim was going cheap, so he got some plaid boxers that he turned into a plaid skirt. He accessorized with a pink Hello Kitty purse (only 2.99 at Target) and some fuzzy Hello Kitty slippers (only 17.99 at Target)--which to my dismay, he says he will actually wear again when he goes up skiing at the Baker cabin. A whole costume for only 20 bucks; now that's what I call a deal!
I told Tim he should wear a T-shirt where he wrote something in really bad English, but he said that would be racist. Go figure. His whole costume was un-PC anyway. but I suppose even the guy has morals.
Our first stop was Gabe’s party, where we ended up sitting in the backyard by the fire. There was no dancing, even with the keg Gabe got. There was, however, a lot of women in black costumes and very few men. Very strange.
Next we headed over to Tarah’s party. There was a lot more cleavage at that party and a lot of women. We met a guy that was dressed as a Katrina survivor, who was waving a little flag made out of an oversize pair of underwear. I guess he could get away with it because he was, in fact, from New Orleans. I guess it’s like Tim being able to get away with his little Japanese schoolgirl costume only because he has an Asian girlfriend. I must say, however, that I was offended by the several people that acted all skeptical every time I explained to them that NO, the Hello Kitty stuff Tim was wearing was NOT mine. It was HIS.
Anyhow, a couple of hours went by, and I found myself watching the Katrina survivor teaching my pop-uncultured friend words like “bling” and “ghetto-fabulous." I knew it was time to go home.
And so we did. Another Halloween was over.
Monday, October 24, 2005
San Francisco Marathon
15,000 women and 150 men. I don’t know what would happen on an island with 15,000 women and 150 men, but in San Francisco, they all ran.
It was the highly-publicized Nike Women’s Marathon (although, as one might expect, this turned into a co-ed race after somebody—some GUY—sued).
Tim and I arrived in SF on Saturday at around noon and went straight to the hotel. After getting food, we headed to Union Square to pick up my marathon packet and check out the Expo. There were several hundred women lined up to get pedicures, massages, etc. Feeling intoxicated by too much estrogen, we decided to go back to the hotel and rest up before we got dinner with Tim’s dad’s cousin, aunt Lynn and her husband Doug.
At around 5pm, Lynn and Doug arrived at the hotel and took us to dinner in Little Italy. By that time I was sick of eating pasta, but oh well, I figured it was the last night. It was really good though. We ended up going to an Irish bar for a drink. I got water again. Lame. At 9pm we called it a night, so I could get enough sleep. Lame again.
At precisely 5:45 am on Sunday, the alarm went off and we got our wake-up call, all at the same time. I got dressed and ate my usual oatmeal, and we were out the door by 6:20 to join the masses of what Tim likes to call cult-ish runners at Union Square. The place was packed.
I heard the gunshot, but as it happens in any race, I didn’t start moving until a couple of minutes later. It’s funny that every runner knows that, and yet, they all pretend to be running when there is no room to run nor walk. The sight of 15,000 geared up runners pretending to run is quite ridiculous, but if you don’t believe me, go to a race and watch how everybody runs in place for like the first couple of minutes because there’s nowhere to go.
I felt pretty good at the start of the race and was about 3 minutes ahead of my usual pace by mile 6. The hill on mile 3 was not so bad, and I felt pretty confident. But then it happened. Mile 7. Hill. Mile 8. Hill. Mile 10. Hill. I suppose I should be thankful that unlike 2004, we didn’t have to run up cable car hills, but I’m not. 3 hills within 4 miles really sucks, and by the time we reached the 12th mile, I was running out of steam. I knew I was getting close to the point where marathoners and half-marathoners got separated, and I started debating whether to finish 13 or go all out. I decided to get my 90 dollars worth and go for it.
What happened after that is hard to say. Between mile 14 and 20 I think I just ran. Somewhere along there, I saw Tim, and he gave me an orange. Then I ran. It was hard, but I ran all of the way, except for the bathroom breaks. After training on a trail with bushes along the way, I got quite used to the convenience of just pulling down my pants and peeing. So despite the honey buckets throughout the course, I made 4 bathroom stops behind several bushes along the way. I’d like to think it is for the convenience, but I’m afraid that I secretly enjoy the thrill of getting caught while squatting.
Anyhow, after 20, I knew I had to finish it. It was at this point that my irritation for Team in Training reached its limit. I know they raise tons of money for cancer, etc, etc but they are by far the most irritating group of people at any race. Not only because of their matching outfits, but also because they are always screaming in an attempt to keep each other going. When you get so many of them together, all you hear is several hundred people in their matching purple outfits yelling for 26 miles. It is quite annoying, ESPECIALLY when you’re tired.
But by far, the most irritating thing they do is repeatedly scream “you’re almost there.” When you still have 6 miles to go, you are NOT almost there. When you have 4 miles to go, you are NOT almost there either. Same goes for 3 and 2 miles. Even 1 mile. When you’ve been running for 4 hours, you don’t want to hear people getting your hopes up like that. Especially me, because I always save a sprint for my glorious finish. Say “you’re almost there” and a hallucinating Kelly will start sprinting only to find that the finish line is still a quarter of a mile away. And then there is NO glorious finish. And NO glorious picture. So for that I really resent it when people say I’m almost there when I’m really not.
Team in Training aside, I must say the race was pretty fun (when you take out the painful part). The course was beautiful. We ran from Union Square and along the coast, past Fisherman's Wharf, past the Presidio, around Golden State Park, down and up again on the Great Highway. There were also several hundred people that came out to cheer their family and friends, and that was very cool. I had people cheering me on: “Go orange!” (because of my orange t-shirt) and “Go Portland” (because I was wearing a t-shirt from a Portland race).
And after all of that, I was done. Tim met me at the finish line with a (half-eaten) box of fries.
We got a cool t-shirt and a Tiffany’s necklace (which is very exciting indeed for somebody who has a bf that doesn’t believe in brand-name jewelry).
We flew back the same day. Now it’s back to the usual post-marathon ritual: binging on junk food (because after 26.2 miles you really think you can eat whatever you want), walking down the stairs backwards (because walking down the normal way hurts too much) and thinking about the next one.
15,000 women and 150 men. I don’t know what would happen on an island with 15,000 women and 150 men, but in San Francisco, they all ran.
It was the highly-publicized Nike Women’s Marathon (although, as one might expect, this turned into a co-ed race after somebody—some GUY—sued).
Tim and I arrived in SF on Saturday at around noon and went straight to the hotel. After getting food, we headed to Union Square to pick up my marathon packet and check out the Expo. There were several hundred women lined up to get pedicures, massages, etc. Feeling intoxicated by too much estrogen, we decided to go back to the hotel and rest up before we got dinner with Tim’s dad’s cousin, aunt Lynn and her husband Doug.
At around 5pm, Lynn and Doug arrived at the hotel and took us to dinner in Little Italy. By that time I was sick of eating pasta, but oh well, I figured it was the last night. It was really good though. We ended up going to an Irish bar for a drink. I got water again. Lame. At 9pm we called it a night, so I could get enough sleep. Lame again.
At precisely 5:45 am on Sunday, the alarm went off and we got our wake-up call, all at the same time. I got dressed and ate my usual oatmeal, and we were out the door by 6:20 to join the masses of what Tim likes to call cult-ish runners at Union Square. The place was packed.
I heard the gunshot, but as it happens in any race, I didn’t start moving until a couple of minutes later. It’s funny that every runner knows that, and yet, they all pretend to be running when there is no room to run nor walk. The sight of 15,000 geared up runners pretending to run is quite ridiculous, but if you don’t believe me, go to a race and watch how everybody runs in place for like the first couple of minutes because there’s nowhere to go.
I felt pretty good at the start of the race and was about 3 minutes ahead of my usual pace by mile 6. The hill on mile 3 was not so bad, and I felt pretty confident. But then it happened. Mile 7. Hill. Mile 8. Hill. Mile 10. Hill. I suppose I should be thankful that unlike 2004, we didn’t have to run up cable car hills, but I’m not. 3 hills within 4 miles really sucks, and by the time we reached the 12th mile, I was running out of steam. I knew I was getting close to the point where marathoners and half-marathoners got separated, and I started debating whether to finish 13 or go all out. I decided to get my 90 dollars worth and go for it.
What happened after that is hard to say. Between mile 14 and 20 I think I just ran. Somewhere along there, I saw Tim, and he gave me an orange. Then I ran. It was hard, but I ran all of the way, except for the bathroom breaks. After training on a trail with bushes along the way, I got quite used to the convenience of just pulling down my pants and peeing. So despite the honey buckets throughout the course, I made 4 bathroom stops behind several bushes along the way. I’d like to think it is for the convenience, but I’m afraid that I secretly enjoy the thrill of getting caught while squatting.
Anyhow, after 20, I knew I had to finish it. It was at this point that my irritation for Team in Training reached its limit. I know they raise tons of money for cancer, etc, etc but they are by far the most irritating group of people at any race. Not only because of their matching outfits, but also because they are always screaming in an attempt to keep each other going. When you get so many of them together, all you hear is several hundred people in their matching purple outfits yelling for 26 miles. It is quite annoying, ESPECIALLY when you’re tired.
But by far, the most irritating thing they do is repeatedly scream “you’re almost there.” When you still have 6 miles to go, you are NOT almost there. When you have 4 miles to go, you are NOT almost there either. Same goes for 3 and 2 miles. Even 1 mile. When you’ve been running for 4 hours, you don’t want to hear people getting your hopes up like that. Especially me, because I always save a sprint for my glorious finish. Say “you’re almost there” and a hallucinating Kelly will start sprinting only to find that the finish line is still a quarter of a mile away. And then there is NO glorious finish. And NO glorious picture. So for that I really resent it when people say I’m almost there when I’m really not.
Team in Training aside, I must say the race was pretty fun (when you take out the painful part). The course was beautiful. We ran from Union Square and along the coast, past Fisherman's Wharf, past the Presidio, around Golden State Park, down and up again on the Great Highway. There were also several hundred people that came out to cheer their family and friends, and that was very cool. I had people cheering me on: “Go orange!” (because of my orange t-shirt) and “Go Portland” (because I was wearing a t-shirt from a Portland race).
And after all of that, I was done. Tim met me at the finish line with a (half-eaten) box of fries.
We got a cool t-shirt and a Tiffany’s necklace (which is very exciting indeed for somebody who has a bf that doesn’t believe in brand-name jewelry).
We flew back the same day. Now it’s back to the usual post-marathon ritual: binging on junk food (because after 26.2 miles you really think you can eat whatever you want), walking down the stairs backwards (because walking down the normal way hurts too much) and thinking about the next one.
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