Random Re*meme*ergence

I know, I KNOW! You people are blog vultures. Can’t you let a blogger hibernate in peace?

Okay okay… Well, what better way to reemerge than to start with a meme? I was tagged for the Random meme awhile back (by Kim, Hedgehog, and Angela), and I figured this is the best way for a slow re-entry. So, here goes:

Rules: Once tagged, you must link to the person who tagged you. Then post the rules before your list, and list 8 random things about yourself.

1. It has come to my attention that some of you actually absorb the shit I write on my blog and may have come to the incorrect conclusion that, when talking about one of my high school classmates in all of his glorious Hello Kitty gear, I was actually talking about an ex I mentioned in a past entry. Let me set the record straight: while C-Diddy is a great and funny guy, we did not date. The ex about whom I was talking shall remain nameless. He does have a movie coming out based on him, but it’s not an air guitar documentary. And that’s all I have to say about that.

2. I am so paranoid from watching Dateline and reading about kidnappings that when we stayed in a hotel over Thanksgiving, I kept getting up in the middle of the night to make sure the twins were still safely asleep in their bed. The more I got up, the more insomnia set in. Yes, I realize this does not bode well for my future in parenting, nor my future in sleeping.

3. My ideal man can best be described as a cross between Clark Kent/Superman, Maximus Decimus Meridius, Jason Bourne, and Coach Eric Taylor (you know — minus the kryptonite allergy, non-bathing, assassin, and lack of emotional availability during football season thing). I think I got pretty damn lucky with G. He’s sort of the civilian amalgam of my imaginary cinematic boyfriends.

4. I am vain enough to admit that I want Dr. 90210 to get rid of my muffintop. I am also vain enough to admit that I would never, however, show it on reality TV.

5. I love using tools. G and I once renovated our basement by ourselves. We framed, drywalled, laid down flooring… I wouldn’t want to do it all the time, but I’m glad I can. I’m too cheap to pay someone else to do it, even though they can do a much better job.

(We painted a room together too, with a special ‘linen’ effect. Because we made it through that experience, I know we can make it through anything. We were close to throttling each other’s necks. No joke. Painting a freakin’ room.)

6. I was once Fan of the Game at a Pirates game. My big round head was up on that Jumbotron, cluelessly stuffing a hot dog in my face before my friend Marcus poked me and pointed at the screen, then suggested that maybe I stop eating for a second.

7. Despite the fact that I worked in my parents’ jewelry store since I was ten years old (dude, Korean child labor laws are non-existent), I own very little jewelry. The only jewelry I wear regularly is my wedding ring. My sister also wears very little jewelry. FingKASIL is seriously perplexed by the lack of bejeweled fingers and necks in our family. I guess we got tired of it after being surrounded by it all of our lives. Too bad my parents didn’t own a Baskin Robbins or an Internet café. My life would be so much healthier right now.

8. I am severely incapable of remembering directions.

As a bonus (and if you got this far reading these boring details about me): These videos will never stop entertaining me. Go forth and enjoy.



Did you see Ellen showing these clips too? She begged someone — anyone — to produce this show in America. Dude, if this ever comes to American fruition, I’m so grabbing Superha and dragging her silver laméd ass with me to TetrisTown. Nina, get your silver condom costume ready!

I’m not going to tag anyone since so many of you have done this meme already, and I know some people don’t like to be meme’d anyway. But in case Momomax feels like getting off her pregnant duff, or FingKASIL feels like sharing, I tag thee. Maybe FingKASIL will share her move-to-CA rented truck story. It’s a good one.

Hope everyone had a fantastic holiday— er, December… and, er, November too.

See you in ’08!

Rockin’ In The Free World

Mama Nabi passed this Rockin’ Blogger badge to me. Thanks MN! (I love that the chick on this badge is wearing a do-rag and is a 50s depiction of a cleaning housewife. Oh how far we’ve come!)

MN is one of my fave Rockin’ Bloggers. She drops f-bombs like no one else. Much respect. More importantly, she makes me think… and on occasion, rage for her. I think I get a lot of aggression out just commenting on her blog. It’s samgyetang for my soul.

Moving along… I’m passing this on to:

diapers, budgets & paint: Kim was the first person (outside of my family) to read/comment on my blog. That makes her, like, family. She’s smart and sweet and has one of the adorable-est kids in blogland. (Well, honestly, all of these bloggers do…) [edited to add: forgot that Kim is taking a break right now, so take your time, Kim!]

Snickollet: I don’t know how she does all that she does. Inspirational. Period.

The Lotus Life: Lien makes me think too. A lot. Her introspections/observations are invaluable.

shiksa, please.: My f’ing kickass SIL (FingKASIL)… she’s kosher. Okay, not completely, but she’s f’ing funny and how lucky am I to have her in my family? She’s my free therapy. Doc Shiksa is in.

Chicken And Cheese: I picture myself sitting down with a big mug of coffee someday and her first published novel. It will be eloquent and thoughtful and it’ll make an impact. Just wait.


Here are my five random thoughts regarding Feminism:

1. Respect each other’s choices, extreme or not. If I want to practice AP, leave me the fuck alone about it. If I want to let my child cry it out, leave me the fuck alone about that too. If I want to work full time, work part time, or work at home taking care of my kids, why the hell do you care? My decisions have to do with me, myself, and I, and with G and my kids. No one else. If you want to ask questions, feel free, but don’t ask in a way to put others on the defensive.

2. I hate that some women think they need to act a certain way around men. Blech. If I think a guy is a disgusting pig and has crossed the line, I’ll tell him. If I want to laugh because a guy is f’ing funny, then I’ll laugh. If you’re going to giggle whenever a guy says anything stupid, then turn around and give me a dirty look because I’m friends with that guy, then fuck off. You’re an idiot. I can’t help it if you’re a tool and he thinks so too. Stop laughing at his dumbass jokes and pretending to be a ditz. He knows you’re faking it.

3. One of my goals for my daughter is to make sure she is confident in any situation. I don’t want her to second-guess herself ever or have anyone else second-guess her because she is a female.

4. One of my goals for my son is to make sure he never passes judgment on a girl/woman because she is female (or for any other reason for that matter). Unless that person is cruel and evil. Then — go to town, my boy.

5. Sometimes I go with G to meet with a male professional (e.g. a mortgage broker). On occasion, that professional will not look at me unless I ask him a question directly. He’ll look at me while I ask my question, then turn to G and answer it. This bugs the shit out of me. I can’t figure out if it’s because I’m female, I’m Asian, I smell, or all three. Whatever the reason, it pisses me the fuck off. Dudes, if you do this, check yourself. Because we’re making assumptions that you may not want us to make. I will say this: Female professionals have never done this to me. Ever. I won’t take my business to a female just because she’s female, but I will if she’s good at what she does and she looks at me when she talks to me.

(Another long post. Sorry fellow bloggers. I don’t know how to write short posts. Working on this…)

Anyway, go on… you have meme homework now!

Weirdmama: Korean Edition and Random Blogging Thoughts

My last ‘weird’ post made me realize that some of the weirder things about me are Korean-based. So I thought I would write an addendum. I’m not sure if these are limited to Koreans, or open-ended to include all Asians, or just limited to my family. So feel free to share, plead the Fifth, or point your finger and laugh.

* Behold my eargasm tool. G thinks this is really weird. And he’s normally very open to new things. While he tries not to make me feel weird about it, I sense some sort of ‘ick’ feeling emanating from him. So I’m driven to go underground with it. It’s taken out of hiding during me time. If you don’t know what it is, click here. (This may gross you out, so consider yourself warned.)

And, did you know that Asians have a different earwax gene than Americans? Who knew?

* While I wouldn’t say I’m fanatical about this coveted dishrag, I do admit I extol its benefits to G. My Dad went to Korea last year and brought back no less than 50 of these (per my sister’s request) to hand out to all of our Eemohs (aunts). (I don’t understand this. I’m told they can’t find these here in the States. Is that true?) At Thanksgiving, they each grabbed as many as they could and ran towards their respective purses and bags, holding them tightly in their arms and giving the rest of us sideways warning glances in case we felt inclined to tackle and wrestle them. My cousin casually asked her mom if she could have one, and after hesitating, Eemoh threw one at her and quickly darted away before my cousin decided to get any greedier. Part of the reason I’m dedicated to these silly little things is for the sheer reason that my Eemohs love them so much. And I love my Eemohs. They are so f’ing funny.

* My cousins and siblings and I geekily entertain ourselves by applying English conjugations to Korean words. On a related note, G loves the Korean word for fart: panguko (I’m sure that is phonetically incorrect) and has taught it to the kids. When they fart now, I ask them if they need to go to the bathroom and they reply, “No, I just panguko’d, Mom!” or “I’m just panguko-ing, Mom!”

[Ok, why or when they started calling me Mom instead of Mama or Mommy, I have no idea. It kills me but also makes me laugh.]

* When I first lived with G, it became very apparent how much I use chopsticks. For everything. To cook hot dogs in a pan. To smear mustard on said hot dog. To flip steaks. To mix batter. Beat eggs. Get that crumb that fell between the stove and the counter. Change a light bulb. I kid. But really—is there anything for which these things can not be used? (No, of course using chopsticks isn’t weird. But G used to think my many uses for them were a little odd. But hey, now I see a convert turning those hot dogs with chopsticks too.)

The following are not so much weird things about me per se, but some of the weirder things my parents have taught me (or tried to teach me):

* Fans will kill you if you sleep with them while they are on. Oh Lord, what is UP with this one? Anyone else have to deal with sleeping in sweltering heat as a kid? My mom or dad would turn my fan off in the middle of the night and if I woke up to protest, they would quietly scold me and mutter something about death and this extremely dangerous habit.

* Hot water is dirty. It’s okay to rinse food off the dishes with hot tap water, but not okay to rinse soap off the dishes. Only use freezing cold water for that.

* Every week, the Korean newspaper would confirm yet another household object that was going to give me cancer. It’s a miracle we didn’t live in a bubble, but I’m not sure if my family would have survived without our cancer-inducing TV. Apparently, there was a limit to how much of that nonsense we would really listen to. Why are Koreans so paranoid? (Not related to cancer-inducing products, but related to the Korean paranoia: I love this entry by citymama on Kimchi Mamas and what she says about her mom and the insurance company. Hysterical. And classic.)

And finally…
* If you don’t always have toothpicks in your home, you’re not Korean (Asian?). I have a box of toothpicks that are used for two things, and only when my dad comes to visit: his teeth, and to poke into fruit after dinner.


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These are just my random thoughts about blogging… I had a private blog for awhile, basically to keep our families and friends updated on the twins. And as much as I love sharing their stories, and think they are damn adorable, I needed another outlet. One where I can curse and vent while also exploring my Korean roots. After having kids and already being somewhat of a loner, I now may be borderline-agoraphobic. Living in the suburbs certainly doesn’t help. One of my closest friends keeps me company quite often—over IM. Thank God for her. With my built-in iSight I can share the latest progress (or lack thereof) on my muffin top, and I can occasionally see one of the cutest little baby girls—ever—living on the other side of the country. It’s almost like we’re back in boarding school living next door to each other in the dorm. Almost.

So thank God for the Internet. I am totally and utterly addicted to it. I have been hooked on email since freshman year at my techie college. I remember my senior year, when I sat down and discovered Netscape. (How totally nerdy am I that I even remember this?) I was late for class, and deep in the proverbial rabbit hole. Obviously, it was nothing back then like it is now. But still, it was fascinating. And I was hooked.

I think I stumbled upon my first real blog affair several months ago when I found Kimchi Mamas. You see, blog friends, I have become incapable of making decisions without the Internet. And that means all of you (yes, all five of you and the other billions of people who are not listening to me) have input. At the time, I was consulting the Internet to see how early other moms gave their kids kimchi. Because I desperately wanted to have some kimchi. And I wanted the twins to start loving kimchi too. As soon as possible. But I wasn’t sure if it would make them panguko and give them suhl-sah. So I had to turn to my friend, the Internet. Anyway, I found myself digging down that rabbit hole and somehow coming up for air at Kimchi Mamas.

From there, I kept going. And going. And now I am finding a great community. Not only Koreans, but all kinds of different people—moms, dads, and other random people or interests that make me laugh, smile, or cry. I love it.

But… I still feel a little lost. There is blog etiquette to be learned (so I hear). There’s a blog language too. (Meme? What’s a meme? I had to wikipedia it.) And there are certain manners you need to uphold while leaving comments. Right now, I’m just trying to catch up on all the blogs I have just recently found, and continue to find everyday. But last week, I left a comment for Daddy in a Strange Land, asking him if one of his ‘weird’ meme habits was a Korean thing, and was embarrassed when he reminded me that he was hapa Japanese-Jewish. Rut ro. Then the other day, I tagged Mama Nabi, and she told me that she had recently done this meme. Double rut-ro.

Yes, yes, I admit it. I hadn’t read everything on their (your?) blogs, and what I had read, I got all mixed up. In my search to help me find my Korean roots and digging deep into that blog abyss… well, you all started to look the same.

Ok, bad joke. Anyway, I apologize if I offended or offend. I didn’t mean to. If I am missing other etiquette rules, please share. I want to comment on the posts that move me (and there are certainly quite a few) but I’m not sure if I’m opening mouth, inserting foot. Am I? Or is this just more Korean paranoia?

Weirdmama

Uh-oh. Kim has tagged me with the Six Weird Things meme. Since I’ve already written about my overloaded sense of smell, here are the other ‘weird’ (and as Beloved said, it’s all relative, right?) things I can think about myself:

1. I am somewhat of a germaphobe, but it is selective germaphobia. I’m totally paranoid in a public bathroom—more so than the normal human being (or so I’ve been told). Part of the reason I’ve held off on potty training is because the idea of bringing the kids into public bathrooms triggers my gag reflex. And then my mind wanders and I picture all the people who walk out without washing their hands, and that one time my friends and I walked into a bar bathroom and there was a pile of shit on the back of the toilet seat, and then I go on to remember Britney walking barefoot out of a gas station bathroom. And then I vomit a little in my mouth.

2. When I was younger, I would stay up all night reading, and it was somewhat of an obsession. I would lie on my side and hold the book with one hand, then lift my other arm straight up in the air so that when it dropped, I would hit myself and wake up. And then continue reading. These days, I still like to read or do crossword puzzles before bed. I’ll read until the book falls out of my hand, or the pencil drops on my face (G has pulled plenty of books off my face late at night. I like to believe he thinks it’s one of my endearing qualities). But thankfully I haven’t resorted to literary self-abuse in my adult years.

3. I don’t like other people’s feet touching me. Period.

4. I suffer from ornithophobia (a fear of birds). To be honest, I don’t really like anything flying towards me, but since I’m not usually in the vicinity of bats or flying fish, birds are at top of the list. It takes a lot of convincing for me to attend a picnic. And when we go to the beach, I am maniacal about exposed food. If I see someone near us setting up a grill like it’s the freakin’ Fourth of July, I immediately start packing up. A friend of mine once told me that during a picnic at the beach (oh horror of all horrors), a bird swooped down and grabbed the sandwich out of her three-year-old’s hands. This image gives me nightmares at night. I’m sure this phobia stems from watching The Birds at a young age. If I see a bird coming towards me, my mind dims to black and footage starts rolling of a black crow pecking at my skull; my brain unravelling and spilling out of my head like gray-mattered worms. Picture Isaac, the painter from Heroes, and his eyes rolling back when he paints the future. I’m pretty sure that’s how I look when a bird comes within 20 feet of me.

5. I like burnt toast. When I was little, I used to beg my mom to burn my toast for me, and she always refused. I don’t intentionally burn my toast anymore… not every time anyway.

6. For as long as I can remember, letters and numbers (in my mind) have had genders, colors, and personality traits. When I learned that this was not the norm, I—and the other people whom I shared this with—assumed it was due to an overactive imagination. But I recently discovered that there are others who do this, and it has a name: synesthesia. I think these characteristics helped me in math and spelling and I’m sure other subjects as well. Still—G thinks this is very weird.

(I know this only calls for six but…)
7. G wants me to add that I have freakishly strong forearms.

I’m tagging bokumbop, Mama Nabi, and my friend who I’m waiting on to start her blog. You know who you are. Stop pretending to file your papers. You and I both know you’re just cruising the Internet and waiting for your next visit from Meredith, Christine, and McDreamy. You officially have your first assignment. I would love to tag our other friend, but her baby is newer than yours, so I’m excusing her.

Bring it, people!