So I finally prevailed in my feud with Crate & Barrel. Despite their initial refusal to repair my popped sofa buttons, I continued to push back, and ultimately, customer service agreed to re-attach my seven buttons on the Petrie sofa. The day after I returned from Palm Springs, the furniture repair guy made a house call. Now, part of my case for requesting repair was that I don’t have kids and my dogs NEVER get on the furniture, so there’s no reason why these buttons should keep popping off. To not appear like a fucking liar, I spent FORever on Monday night and Tuesday morning trying to get Muddy Waters’ stains out of the chaise. But turns out, when the guy arrived, I also wanted to ask his recommendations for stain removal, meaning I had to bring it up. Matt was a big, heavyset guy (I actually thought my new sectional might break with him sitting in the middle of it!)– super nice and cool. First, he admitted that buttoned furniture are THE WORST. If there are buttons anywhere, they will come off. He said some customers have beautiful, super expensive tufted leather couches (think Restoration Hardware) and the buttons come off in no time with very minimal wear. See? He totally corroborated my claim that they just fall off for no reason without any abuse! Second, he himself has a 7-y/o German Shepherd who stays in a very defined area of the house except when there are fireworks. Then, the dog goes totally berserk. So he totally empathized with Marty behaving out of character, triggered by fear. We chatted it up the whole time he was here: it took him 90 minutes to reattach all the buttons. Now, that couch is ready for sale. Yippee! First, Craigslist and the neighborhood list. Then Ebay.

As for the chaise part of my new sectional, it’s mostly back to normal. It seriously took me hours and endless reapplications of this super potent, stinky drycleaning solvent. I’m sure I blasted all remaining brain cells, but in the end, I’m happy with my progress. Two nights ago in the middle of the night Marty was having his anxiety issues and he tried again to get on the (re-cleaned) couch, so for now, I am keeping a close eye and covering the furniture with all kinds of things, including big bubble bubble wrap. I know, NOT optimal in the long term, but I’m hoping we can get his issues under control in the next few days and return to normalcy after that.

This morning, I was awoken again by a call from Dad. He and mom had just flown into SFO, but for the last travel leg back to Maryland (SFO-IAD), they were on separate flights (long story). In other words, Mom has to fly solo today (which she has never done EVER). Basically, she was freaking out about having to wait without my dad for her flight and what if… they change gates or she misses the announcement or blah, blah, blah. Again, paralysis by paranoia. So Dad wanted me to call her closer to her boarding time to guide her on the phone before getting on her flight. WTF, are you for real??? I mean, as someone who is all about self-sufficiency, I’m thinking Jesus Christ, enough with the goddamn hand holding! But as usual, they sound stressed, they already feel bad about waking me up and asking for help… so fine! I try calling her Taiwan mobile as a test, but it doesn’t go through. I think her phone only works in Taiwan. I guess the universe helped me out there. Mom, you’re just going to have to figure it out on your own.

In related news, J and I went to a play last night called Tokyo Fish Story. Despite my many recent duds (esp with K), Goldstar pulled through last night. Incredibly well-acted and well done. First, I’m not gonna lie: it was kinda bizarre to see Asians in a play. That whole Oscars so white thing is real. Very minimal representation of Asians in theater. But I digress. Anyway, the story was vert poignant, and it really struck a chord with me, hitting on themes of Asian culture, showing how starkly those values contrast even across generations in the same culture. It reminded me of the internal conflict that for so long, I didn’t even recognize or attribute to growing up Chinese-American. But even thinking about how much my parents rely on me now, how much they expect from me, and how I feel obligated to help them even if “helping” feels more like “enabling”– the latter of which conflicts so strongly with my own personal values of self sufficiency and empowerment… The play addresses the concept of respect and how in Asian culture, respect often equates to conceding and acquiescing and never challenging your elders. As J and I walked back to our car, I realized that so much of my youth was spent rejecting and denying my Asian-ness. And now, as I’m on the brink of 40, I finally am realizing how I am a blend of so many things. All these years, I wasted energy trying to categorize myself into neatly defined boxes, be they personality types or some other kind of label (What kind of car would I be? What kind of love language am I? What is my dress style?). Ultimately, I am a complex amalgamation of many things. I’m American-born Chinese and I like that I speak Mandarin. I’m happy that I know how to play the zither, that I enjoy Chinese language films, that I know how to make dumplings and roast duck… Usually yes, I’m an ESTJ but sometimes I’m ISTJ or something beyond both of those types. Some days, I dress like a cowgirl. Other days, I feel more edgy/rocker. Still other days, I prefer heels and a classic sheath dress. For some reason, I was so concerned about consistency in presentation, as if that uniformity somehow equated/attested to my character or integrity. But the truth is, being blended and complex (and unpredictable) is largely what it means to be human. Bubbey once told me he loved how I continued to surprise him. I hope my recent self acceptance pulls up a chair and stays for a while.