Guinea Pig

I’ve been feeling a little down lately. Typically, these low phases are triggered by some combination of depressing world news, growing responsibilities with my parents, and feelings of isolation. My typical response to too many uncontrollable factors is to obsess over personal details (factors I can control), so I was pretty full speed ahead on this big Project Me program: I was going to the gym, changing up my makeup routine, trying out some new hair/skin products, re-coloring my hair, experimenting again with my wardrobe, and then also continuing with my real estate classes.

Last weekend, Bubbey was out of town again. He headed back East for his parents’ 50th wedding anniversary. Man, we were on such a great roll this past year and I was so excited about celebrating our many milestones in 2016. But now, in recent months, J’s gotten really busy at work and he’s had to travel a lot more for the job and for his family. By contrast, I spend most of my days relatively quiet, mainly hanging out with Marty, who has his own share of ups and downs. By the time Bubs gets home, he’s chatted out and I’m barely getting started. Sigh. These are the forgotten challenges that come up when one person is on sabbatical, I guess.

After I finished managing the HVAC project last week, I started feeling like maybe it was time to get back into a professional setting, so I sent out some resumes to positions in commercial and residential real estate offices. Despite my many years in project management and specifically with handling residential real estate matters for my parents, it seems that I’ll still have to start from the beginning. I had a pretty good phone interview on Thursday for an admin role with a commercial firm, but the HR lady cautioned that it was entry level with typically 2 years before advancement to the next step… J thinks I should just focus on getting my license and then ramp up immediately as a salesperson rather than waste any time in some admin role, but he also doesn’t seem to notice that I’m quietly withdrawing into oblivion. In the very least, I figure the gig will give me exposure to a new industry, and if it’s not particularly stressful or challenging, I’ll be able to prepare for the license exam while also maintaining work-life balance.

I have a big bday coming up, and even though our Best Life weekend was partly to celebrate my 40th, I thought J and I might still do something together in addition. Turns out, he’s headed back to NYC that week. Initially, he seemed excited about suggesting that I join him for the week, but later, as the project scope and details remained nebulous (with creep likely), it seemed like he wouldn’t necessarily be around. I’m pretty good about exploring a city solo, and I considered inviting my Boston bud to meet me in New York, but I dunno, ultimately, it just sounded like too much coordination and effort. I’m trying not to be upset about it… esp after I watch the news or read about other people’s lives in developing countries (@natgeo on Instagram), I feel totally lame for even complaining. Still, it’s upsetting to feel unappreciated and undervalued– both work-wise and relationship-wise. To combat my issues, I’ve been visiting Pinterest a lot lately, trying to get inspired and motivated.

Speaking of motivation, my kit from SmileClub Direct arrived, and I created my teeth molds. There were four total– two for the upper teeth and two for the lower teeth. What an interesting kit: for each mold, you mix the catalyst putty with the base putty, lay a tube of the mixture into the tray, and cram it into your mouth. Of course, I was a crazy person, so I read every single instruction and tip beforehand, bc I wasn’t about to fuck up my molds. Two chances, beotch. I will say, usually, I have a really high threshold before the gag reflex kicks in, but shit, there were a few times when all that mouth action triggered some heaving. Nonetheless, I think my molds turned out according to spec, and today SCD emailed me saying they received my molds. I cannot wait to get my sample trays (for free teeth whitening) and treatment plan soon. I’m pretty excited to see what comes back. This remote orthodontics thing could be pretty frickin’ cutting edge, no?

On another plus side, Marty has been doing well again. Still finicky with his appetite but he’s been following me around everywhere, watching my every move, and just overall paying attention. His eyes are clear and alert, and he bounces with excitement every time we go for walks and car rides. My little buddy. What would I ever do without him.

Best Life with Best Friends

Last weekend, J and I hosted our Best Life with Best Friends in getaway in Templeton, CA. Overall, we (both natural pessimists) were happy with the weekend… I mean, sure, leading up to the event and some part into it, I did let circumstances and the planning tedium/logistics get to me (my own fucking fault!). But shit, if I step back and look at the big picture, what an incredibly beautiful setting to enjoy with our dearest friends. Indeed, it was a big group, with people at different life stages and at different levels of familiarity, but the arrangement was flexible enough that people had the opportunity to hang together and also go off and do their own thing. I appreciated how there wasn’t the pressure of having to hang out with everyone all the time. For example, my friends J and J retired to bed early or took the baby to a local farm. J sometimes just sat by the pool and worked on writing her book. When some of us went to Jack Creek Farms and Croad Winery, M stayed back to enjoy the pool and hot tub. I’m an E (ESTJ 14/16 times), but I can also appreciate sprinkling in some solo rest.

This was also our first time doing an overnight trip with kids. Initially, I had some qualms about how things might work out, but honestly, how refreshing to witness the wonderment of children! Obviously, it helps that my friends’ kids are really well-behaved. But man, watching them explore the property, visit with the goats, call out to the horses, and play in the pool, I was reminded to savor these moments and to find delight in these simple pleasures. Too often, as a planner (and occasional people pleaser), I really lose my perspective and get stuck in the details. But looking at the photos, the house really was quite a gem, surrounded by such breathtaking landscape.[FAG id=7455]

Shitfaced

While Bubbey’s been in London this week, I’ve been on puppy patrol. I know, Marty is no longer a puppy, but I still call him that. Just roll with it. So his status has been very up and down and day-to-day. One day he’ll have great appetite and energy, the next day, he’ll be lethargic and very weak. The third day, looking better again. The fourth day, shitty again.

On Wednesday night, he was especially restless, scurrying in and out of the doggie door throughout the night. I was also continuing on some weird sleep schedule, where I wasn’t falling asleep until after 3a, and then I was waking up late, like 11a. Yes, back to that bullshit schedule again. Anyway, on Thursday morning, Martin seemed particularly urgent in heading out to the yard, so I decided to track him from the windows: first my office window then quickly over to Bubbey’s office window, which gave me a view of the back part of our yard. Marty started pacing frantically from one side of the yard to the next, searching for that perfect spot. He finally squatted to take a dump, and as I had been noting since late last month, his hind legs are getting weaker. I had started extending his walk farther in hopes of building more muscle strength, but still, balancing that squat appeared quite precarious. Thankfully, he pooped without losing his footing and without falling back into the pile. Yet, to my horror, he got up and then started to move his snout all around the pile of poop!! It was as if he were trying to move dirt (except he was in the lawn) to cover it or something. He was getting dangerously close, and then bc his balance is sketchy when he leans forward too, just as his nose touched the ground, his body started like tipping forward… like ready for a full-on face plant at any time.

WTF??? I tried desperately to get his attention. I screamed from inside, banged on the window, and finally slid it open, clapping and whistling. Remember, he’s mostly deaf. Thank god he heard the whistle, put his head up, looked around, cocked his ears, and then headed back for the doggie door.

What is this covert activity??? It reminded me of that time when I came home from work early only to find Remy in the backyard eating her shit. WTH, these old dogs are seriously going loony! To make matters worse, do you have any idea how much I cuddle with Marty’s snout? I mean I am regularly all up in his grill, kissing his nose, rubbing his snout, smushing my face against his. Holy. fuck. Who knows what kind of fecal coloform I am getting all over my face, my sensitive skin, and into my mouth. Ugh, disgusting. Can my allergy-affected nose be trusted enough to sniff out shit before it’s too late? Dubious.

Project Me

Martin had a good day today: he ate some food (without meds); he didn’t vomit; and he went on an extended walk. A few days ago though, my neighbor had emailed me a list of things regarding the City’s On Call Plus service, yard waste, pet sitting, and how Marty was doing. I replied that things weren’t good and I was thinking maybe we were a month away. The next day, she replied that she and her husband hadn’t said anything to their daughter E about this. She suggested that I might start preparing E so she isn’t fully taken off guard when shit goes down. I mean, sure, I know E in that I have paid her to walk Marty during the week for the last year, but she’s 10, and I have no idea how adults communicate topics like death to kids. To be honest, I had been thinking about it, and all along, I’ve been verbalizing that he’s a lot weaker and older and not feeling well, but I dunno, isn’t the deterioration and death of a dog something the parents are supposed to interpret for her? I replied asking for her suggestion. She said E is mature for her age, and I should just “repeat over and over again that Marty is dying.” Really?

A sidebar about my neighbor. She’s a French lady. Very nice, very organized (she’s a project manager), extremely active and disciplined (just turned 50 and started competing in marathons and Iron Woman shit). Now that I think of it, she’s pretty dang direct too in her communication style. Is it a French thing or just her thing? I don’t really know. But an example of her bluntness:

Before we headed to Europe in April, I had “refreshed” my side shave. You see, my initial foray into the side shave was just a teaser. In February, I had shaved a small section from my face back to the front of my left ear. As I had mentioned in my Instagram back then, the move wasn’t nearly as dramatic as I had anticipated. So in mid April, I decided to take the shave a bit closer (number 2) and shave it farther back towards the back of my skull. Maybe by then I had already been desensitized, bc even though it was a lot more noticeable, it still didn’t feel like a huge deal. Then again, when I sent a pic to Bubbey complaining about the vertical demarcation from the old shave, he replied, “Forget the vertical line, how come the shaved area got way bigger?!?!… It’s a little extreme.” Whatever though. What does Bubbey know. So off we went on our European jaunt with my expanded shave debuting in London and Paris. When I got back, the neighbor came over with E to walk Marty. She looked at me with great horror and gasped:

F: Oh my god, what happened to your hair?!?!?!?

Me: Haha. Oh, I just shaved it.

(She was practically speechless.)

F: What did John say???

Me: He said it was a little extreme. (Shrug)

F: Well, it will grow back.

Me: Yeah it will… And then I’ll just do it again.

I always chuckle a bit when I think of that exchange. I really can’t see any of my American friends or acquaintances reacting in such a manner. But yeah, back to the Martin death thing. WTH? Weird, right? Is she tying to give E like unadulterated exposure so the girl isn’t coddled? I dunno. I don’t exactly understand it, but heck, if you want me to play the radical honesty card with a child, I’m game.

So beyond the stressful Marty doggie care these last couple weeks, I’ve been doing my very own version of GTL (S/O to Bubbey’s show Jersey Shore), except my version is Gym, Tanning, Learning. You see, when I was obsessing big time about my physical imperfections a couple months ago, I came to this realization after watching a ton of makeup and skincare tutorials on YouTube: looking good takes a lot of fucking effort. All the makeup people I follow on YouTube? Absolutely stunning and gorgeous. I mean, they’re already naturally pretty even with nothing on, but holy crap, there’s a HUGE difference in before and after. The “enhanced” version is super gorgeous. And these ladies can whip themselves ready in a flash (under 8 minutes). That said, let’s be real. They use a gazillion products AND there’s so much maintenance even beyond the makeup. Seriously, from teeth whitening gels to permed lashes to tattooed brows to shaving their faces to special shampoo… A shit ton of work and effort. So of course, that got thinking: here I am moaning and groaning about how ugly I am, and am I doing all that work? Nope. Just complaining while sitting on my ass. THE worst. So fine, time to step up my game. I have switched up my foundation to give more even, less splotchy coverage. Added bronzer for some healthy glow. And I think I’ve been over-stripping my skin, bc homegirl does a lot of skincare prep to get her acne-prone skin plump and ready before putting on any color. So now I am trying to hydrate my skin more often to see if that will help me achieve her smooth and flawless finish. I’m telling you: that shit is an art, and she is a master. I’m fascinated.

I also did some additional reading on the dermaroller, and I might be giving that up. I haven’t noticed a difference in skin texture after three uses and some papers are claiming that extended use causes serious damage. I might do it a few more times, but I won’t be re-ordering.

On Mothers’ Day, I ordered my evaluation kit from SmileDirectClub. Yes, it’s over 50% cheaper than the regular ortho and that def plays a factor with cheapie old me, but honestly, more than anything, I can’t help but be intrigued with the concept of mail-order ortho treatment. So I’m going to create the molds and see what treatment plan is proposed and then go from there on deciding whether or not to really go forward.

Fitness-wise, I’ve been going to the JCC pretty consistently. The gym just got some new ellipticals too that are making me sweat my brains out. Then I sweat some more in the sauna and steam room. I got my shower routine down. Yesterday, I changed up my exercise activity and hit up the pool (where I befriended a very outgoing 9 y/o Latina girl… Why are kids approaching me?!?). Oh and I am back on the self-tanning wagon. I still had some St. Tropez left (given to me by my gal K), so I figured I had to use it up, even though I’m sure K will insist that shit is expired. Whatdya know. Maybe the gym sauna/shower routine is working some kind of magic: No application mitt or anything, and the color is deep, uniform, and streak-free!! Yeehaw.

Yup, still studying my real estate books. Shit is finally starting to sink in. And the info is coming in handy for duties back East. I think I’m finally back on a roll! Just in time for our upcoming weekend getaway. Thank fucking goodness!

Hunger

On Friday, I met with another realtor for an info interview. We’d formally met years ago while I was at the government agency, where she had been a long time volunteer. Prior to real estate, her background was in social work then corporate finance. I anticipated a brief meetup over coffee to discuss her experiences, but holy crap, she was such a fount of information! We talked for two hours!

I felt so inspired and motivated by her discipline, organization, and drive. Since my own “decision” months ago to pursue real estate, I’d been feeling reluctant and non-committal. Talking to K though, I related to her story of wanting to work in nonprofit but realizing it didn’t pay enough to make a decent living, then later becoming disillusioned with shit leadership in her corporate job… Interestingly, she came to see real estate as a way for her to help people (through a scary process) while also personally growing and thriving. As she detailed her preparation and steps before and during the transition, she very candidly admitted that her biggest motivation was fear. As someone who didn’t/doesn’t have a spouse to rely on, she HAD to make this work. She studied really hard, sacrificed dinners out with friends, hobbies, etc., and buckled down hard. Her advice? Learn the shit, take the tests, get the license, interview with tons of real estate offices, and hit the ground running, taking every opportunity possible to keep learning on the job. I mean, I consider myself pretty damn obsessed with learning/classes/professional development, but this lady kept a regular schedule of studying at the library, plus she read every book out there on succeeding during your first year in real estate. She took every training class, paid for a mentor even. We’re talking full. on. Her initial goal was to match her corporate salary the very first year out. Then, double her salary in year two. I mean, we’re talking aggressive, right? She met both goals.

Now five years out, she is incredibly successful and she’s finally taking some time to re-balance her life. She admits that real estate isn’t rocket science, but it does take sacrifice and hard work. And for people who think it’s easy and flex schedule… It isn’t: If you want to excel, you’re working evenings and weekends bc that’s when your clients are NOT at their jobs. For me, the takeaways from our conversation were multifold. I like this concept of controlling the pace. I like that there is tremendous potential for reward. I like that the role is very much about clients entrusting you with something important, not necessarily a life or death scenario, but still important. And I like the opportunities for training and leadership development. She also said there are a lot of women in real estate, which I think I would enjoy.

But the kicker realization I had from our conversation? I need to be hungry. Not that I’m a slacker, but goddamn, I need to step up my hustle, and put some real skin in the game. Immediately, my father comes to mind. And this lady… She had such a methodical approach: she stayed with the secure corporate job, did a shit ton of research, studied on the side, and THEN made the jump. If I’m honest, my privilege and past failures make me well, less methodical, less careful, and less conservative.

No doubt, my father is THE biggest hustler I know. And I’ve mentioned before that his drive and ambition was largely tied to his family’s mounting debts and dire financial situation. Sink or swim, baby! When I was younger (through college), I hustled hard, juggling a gabillion things: school, Chinese school, clubs, music, sports, volunteering, internships. When my hard work resulted in achievements, I grew obsessed with the hustle. But in college, all of it fell apart. The hard work stopped yielding those results, and I really felt like at 20, I had ruined the great life that I had originally planned. I know, it sounds overly dramatic, but it felt incredibly serious and paralyzing. Fast forward through all the years of family drama, expectations, my disfiguring acne… Somewhere I lost my shine and just dropped out of the “rat race.” Tired of being compared to my parents’ friends’ kids who were infinitely more accomplished, I convinced myself that I didn’t want to chase “success.”

Yet now, I’m coming to realize that despite my outward rejection, I will never be satisfied with myself until I attain some form of my idea of “success.” Sure, my concept is nebulous and non-specific: Is it a number? Maybe it’s just a feeling, a feeling where I am exceptional at something and that something requires learning and expertise. I work hard for it, but ultimately, there is appreciation and compensation for that effort. Perhaps real estate is the arena where all these elements can come together. Maybe.

Friday’s meeting sparked something else inside me. Even as I have been studying the books and listening to real estate podcasts, I’ve been feeling increasingly anxious about the class tests and the license exam. (Can you tell how much college destroyed me?) People say real estate has a super low barrier of entry, but I still worry about mastering the material and passing the license exam, which is why I think I’ve been so damn noncommittal when talking about real estate. I need to be more decisive with this new path. Stop wavering or dilly dallying bc of my fears of the academics (among other things). I have to learn it. I will learn it. There is no other option. I have to be hungry.

OnStar

J has many nicknames for me, but the latest one (after “volcano”) is “OnStar,” bc doing shit for my my parents is a 24/7 kinda thing. They are relying on me more and more for everything and anything, from researching vendors and contractors to tech troubleshooting to reviewing contracts to finding things to do for out of town guests. This afternoon, I called them back and I swear, every time I speak with my mother, it’s like talking to a wall. She can’t process a damn word that I say. I mean we might as well just do FaceTime and play charades, bc clearly sharing TWO languages in common doesn’t help one bit. Five minutes today just to explain “I just returned from lunch with a friend.” Seriously. You did what? Did you host a party? What did you cook? How many people came over? WTF???? Lunch. With ONE friend. Please fucking LISTEN.

Once we got beyond the basics, I learned that they have finally started clearning out some junk. Nevermind that I’ve been telling them to do this for YEARS. My dad had his realtor (the one who sold grandma’s house) tour the house, and she said you have way too much stuff in here: get rid of the clutter and definitely clear out the furniture. Now, my parents have really nice, expensive, quality furniture and furnishings. Like solid cherry and mahagony and whatever. Legit Persian rugs and shit. Sadly, what they originally paid for stuff is irrelevant. In fact, I’ve read several articles about the baby boomers downsizing and how that process takes them way longer than expected, bc they think people will want to readily buy their quality shit and their kids will want the family heirlooms. But the truth is, lifestyles are different now. People move around; people don’t even have formal dinning rooms anymore, so there’s no use for a big ass dining room set, not to mention formal china and silver and cabinets to store and display all that crap. Still, these realities take a long time to sink in for the generations who acquired them. For example, my mother-in-law is simply sick with worry about what will happen to all the Civil War era (and other) things that got passed down to her, like the wedding china/silver from her ancestors… It IS sad, bc stuff back then was of great quality and craftsmanship. But styles change, and people don’t value old things like they used to. So yes, the stuff that was once prized is basically now just junk.

In many ways, it’s an environmentalist’s nightmare, right? The insane success of the IKEA movement: Stuff made fast and cheaply, serving a fickle generation that craves changing looks, changing designs, disposable things. Even when I was a kid though, formal dinnerware never made sense to me. Beautiful, gorgeous bone china or porcelain just taken out once a year and otherwise left to gather dust? I looked up their Noritake Barrymore collection on EBay. A huge 4-person set sells for like $150 max, and then you gotta ship that shit. Mom kept asking if I wanted to fly back. Um, no. What, so I can clean your house? I mean, it wasn’t the nicest thing to say, but I dunno, sometimes it’s annoying that I get tasked with all the shit and chores and dirty work, and then what the fuck does my brother have to do? Not a damn. thing. She insisted it was to see what I might want. I mean, other than one Scandanavian lounger that J and I are storing there and a silk rug, there’s pretty much nothing else. Now sure, I have my own shit from childhood and from Reston there. I will have to clear the rest of it out eventually. But I just can’t imagine going through everything while dealing with my mother. She claims that since I never want her clothes (minor jab), she gave all kinds of clothes to the realtor’s daughters and granddaughters. Um, I have no idea what young people would want with outdated and/or old people clothes but whatever. She insists that the realtor took the items happily. Fine. Let’s see if the youngins actually take it from the realtor. Whatever. Maybe I will go over when they are overseas and just spend a week there selling shit.

Ugh, then there’s the whole realtor thing. I’m handling the sale of one of the townhouses. As I discussed with dad, the point was to try out my realtor and if he did well, have him sell the family home. Well now it seems like they are going to go with the Chinese lady who sold my grandparents’ house. Why didn’t you just say you wanted to go with her from the start? Then, the townhouse was supposed to be empty by end of May. Moved back to mid June bc the tenants asked to finish out the school year. Now, it’s end of June. I mean, stop moving the fucking target date!! Either shit is getting done, or shit is dragging out.

Meanwhile, there is still no resolution on what to do with my maternal grandparents. They are currently living with my dad’s dad so all the oldies are in one place. But my mother says when she and dad go back to Taiwan for a month in May, her parents will be moved back to my parents’ house in Kaohsiung to live with them, and then what, the oldies move back to my dad’s dad’s place after my parents come back to the US in June? That’s what I’m saying. Fucking make a decision and go! And mom makes some comment like dad is not of strong enough health to be schelpping things and movin things. Um, yeah you’re just realizing this now? You are the one who worked him to a fucking nub!! Needless to say, I’m stressed again.

And Martin is not eating today. I went to Costco and picked up a whole case of fluids. Gave him 350 ml, so he’s conked out. Even if we tweak things to help his kidneys out, his back legs are wobbly. I hate to say it, but I think we’re down to the last month. I mean, I have been wrong before, but that’s what I’m thinking today.

Long Night, New Day

I had an awful night’s rest yesterday. Marty was appearing visibly weaker (even the neighbors agreed), and his appetite was not coming back. J and I started talking about how this setback was seemingly different… In the past, it just took fluids and/or a quarter pill of mirtazipine, and his appetite would come back with a vengeance. Not. this. time. He is also starting to sleep even more soundly than before, something I remember Remy started to do towards the end. Some sign like the body is shutting down. I couldn’t sleep. I tried to distract my mind by studying my real estate book, by reading about the Bernie sham (I support Clinton), by reading about the ethics and legality of password sharing (As much as I’m into deals and saving money, I’m not comfortable with this), by thinking about all the things I need to do (should I order Marty’s fluids by the case?). Yeah, I was up late.

Eventually, I did fall asleep, but then I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I dreamed that my grandmother had died. In my dream, the entire cascade of shit communication with my family (immediate and extended) began, rife with confusion and misunderstanding and paralysis.

This morning, we had an appointment with a contractor to talk about the heating/cooling unit for the master bedroom. I know, that project is dragging ass– mainly bc the vendors are so vague with their estimates and also, the estimates are all over the fucking place. This was my final quote though. $5500. Comparable to another quote, but $2k more than a third one. We will likely proceed soon, bc Bubbey needs his AC this summer.

After the contractor left, Marty woke up and to my pleasant surprise, he ate his food. What a fucking relief. Is he coming around again? Too early to tell. Now to see if he’ll go to the bathroom. I haven’t seen solids for two days. I was relieved with this latest bit of good news though, and then I went back to bed.

I awoke again past noon. I haven’t slept in this late in a long, long time. I still feel tired, but I gotta get moving. Gremlin juice (Diet Coke) is in order and then back to the gym. I’ve been doing the elliptical now, bc I can listen to my real estate podcasts and well, to be honest, I’m yearning for my Shanghai days of fitness when I could do cardio for 45 min easy.

Inevitable Progression

Since returning from Europe, Martin has not been well. The sitter took great care of him, but since being home, he has had a few bouts with anxiety and his appetite is waning considerably. We have resumed giving him fluids every few days, but it doesn’t seem to work the magic that it used to. He vomited a couple of times, had diarrhea, and is visibly weaker. The hind legs are starting to give out, and he is definitely thinner.

Meanwhile, my childhood friend N is at the end now with her dog. Also suffering from kidney disease, Ally has stopped responding to everything: she is not eating and she no longer has the strength to get up. N is a vet, so she knows much more about this terrible “progressive” disease. The word, “progressive” doesn’t even seem like the right term. Progressive suggests advancement in an upward direction, but really, our puppies are degenerating right before our eyes. When I spoke with N two days ago, I tried to be optimistic: Marty and Remy bounced back so many times; maybe Ally will too. But N knows better. And today will be Ally’s last. Once again, we must say good bye to a loyal and trusted friend. I remember all of our furry companions– how much they have enriched our lives. Their time with us is just never enough. Ever.

I don’t know how much, if at all, Martin will bounce back this time. I hope that, like Nathalie, I will know when it’s time. And I will have the strength to let him go.

That’s the thing about life. There is never a good time. I was wanting this year to be one of celebration not sadness. I’m not sure that things are panning out that way. I recently got approved to be a dog sitter on Rover. My idea was to specialize in caring for old dogs, thinking it would be a way for Martin to gain some company, as he does seem to do better in the presence of a pack. But now I don’t know if that will all happen in time, bc well, “progression.” Ugh.

The Volcano

Bubs and I celebrated our anniversary last night over dinner at Evvia, a swanky Mediterranean restaurant in Palo Alto. We hadn’t eaten there in many years, so when he told me he reserved a spot there, it was a pleasant surprise bc I had long forgotten about that place.

We met there on the early side: he took the train down from SF. Soon after we settled in, my blog came up… Honestly, it was a continuation from a conversation the night before, bc I had asked if he saw the pictures I posted from our Europe trip. Bubbey replied that he never sees any of my posted pictures, bc they don’t render in his reader (aggregator) app, which he uses to read my posts. I insisted that in addition to the embedded images, my post also contained a hyperlink to the album, so even if the images didn’t load in his reader, he should be clicking through the link to view the album. Back and forth. So at dinner, he said the post didn’t contain a hyperlink, and he proceeded to show me how it rendered in his phone app. See? No hyperlink. Then, he had the gall to assert that if my blog doesn’t render in the (popular) app correctly, it doesn’t meet basic industry standards. Then, I got pissed.

“If you don’t want to read my blog, then don’t read my blog!”

“I do want to read your blog. I’ve always been reading it!”

I countered, “I’m not just some random stranger whose blog you follow. I’m your wife. I don’t want you reading my blog like it’s the same as all that other bullshit and noise. The workflow is, you receive the notice in your reader that a new post went live. Then, you are supposed to click through the link within your app and read my content on its original website. Don’t do me any favors ‘reading’ my blog by just skimming it all half ass.”

I was so. fucking. livid. I’m not saying every reader should do it this way, but he absolutely should if he’s really going to follow my blog. Then, silence. Meanwhile, my brain was going ballistic. WTF!!! Thirteen years of marriage and I have to get on his case about reading my goddamn blog? Of all the compromises and shit that I do, this is a fucking no brainer. Seriously, are you kidding me? And the fact that we have discussed this before? And for the record, my blog isn’t on some Podunk blogspot platform or whatever. I use WordPress. That is industry standard, so your app is shitty and on top of that, fuck off if you can’t even be bothered.

Needless to say, our anniversary dinner was off to a great start. SMH. But in typical Bubbey fashion, he gave me a few minutes to calm down and then he changed the subject. And then we were back on track. Mostly.

That’s one of the things I learned from couples therapy years ago. I have the memory of an elephant so I remember a lot of details and my inventory goes waaaay back. My most natural tendency is to not back down and to keep asserting that I am right. If it’s any indication, Bubbey’s newest nickname for me is The Volcano. But I tried to recall all that I had learned before. I made my case; I expressed my displeasure, and that was that. Let’s still try to have a good time. And whatdya know, we did. After we got home, he gave me a card. And then, we were good again. At least we are until this same exact topic comes up again in the future… Haha. Sigh. The trials and tribulations of marriage.

Sweating with the Oldies

So it’s been three days since we returned from Europe, and we are still jet lagged, though slowly getting closer to normalcy. Bubbey started off waking up at 2 am on Monday, then 3 am on Tuesday, and now 4 am today. As soon as he gets home from work, he eats dinner and crashes. I have been doing a little better– but still waking up earlier than my usual. Meanwhile, my right eye continues to twitch like a mofo. It all started the day I arrived in London. I thought it was caused by me wearing my contacts for the long flight (10 hrs) and beyond. My eyes got super dry, but even after using drops for days and skipping contacts altogether since returning, that shit is still spasming. We’re talking two weeks now. I did my WebMD research on this and it seems that the causes are primarily stress, fatigue, wind, caffeine, physical exertion, alcohol. Hmm, I mean I’ve been cranky lately but would I say stressed? The other elements, however, do apply. But that’s never been an issue before. Fuck man, I can feel it: this is 40. I’m getting screwed again.

Motivated by yet another expiring Groupon, I decided that exercise might be the answer once again. Yesterday, I opened up my one-month membership at the JCC. That facility is fucking monstrous, linked with a big retirement community and everything. Two floors, two pools (the indoor one is heated to 87 degrees!!), two saunas in each locker room, and a shit ton of classes. Originally, my plan was to do the yoga classes and then wade around in the pool. But looking over the class schedule, I thought I would try Aqua Stretch this morning, you know, two birds, one stone kind of deal. So this morning, I was up early and made it to the 8:30 am class. I mean, I dunno what I was expecting but all old white women. Ok, well there was one younger lady (I think she was autistic) and one Asian lady. Both of whom left early and the class was only one hour! In the few minutes I spoke to the Asian lady, she said she’d just returned from Europe (I said, “Me too.”) and asked if I bought any luxury goods (like Longchamp bags or whatever that brand is) during my trip. Jesus Christ, am I the only person who’s NOT into luxury goods?!?

Class wasn’t too hard, so it was a nice intro into fitness again. I liked doing the movements in the water, but I’m not really digging the class thing (with the oldies). I dunno, I guess I’m ageist. Afterwards, I figured I would live it up with the amenities. I took a shower there, used the shampoo and bath gel, used the hair dryer and q-tips, stepped into the sauna. Fuck yeah. Granted, there are a lot of naked bodies everywhere which makes a prude like me a tad bit uncomfortable. Then again, I can’t be kept away from my free shit. Haha. I guess I also got good training/exposure to this kind of environment when I joined the fancy gym in Shanghai years ago. Back then, the bathroom/showering facilities were much nicer than our apartment, so I did all my bidness there (after working out, of course). Yeah, I was fucking fit when I was in Shanghai. Sigh.

After luxuriating in the amenities of the JCC, I went home. Dad called. He has friends visiting in May, and he asked me to research fun things for them to do. See? Fucking OnStar over here. But on the plus side, not a single mention about my career/job. This is a record, man! Not since I left SCU at the end of January. I’ve been wondering whether this is deliberate bc he doesn’t want to stress me out, or if given his and my grandparents’ health issues, he no longer believes that stuff matters above all else. I don’t know. Maybe it’s a combo of both. I haven’t even told them I am studying real estate.

My sweet friend M came over today for lunch. She’s so thoughtful. Remembers everything– she’s a tracker like I am. Brought over lunch to celebrate my wedding anniversary. She’s got a fun project going on, and she’s always so freaking disciplined with working out. Super fit and now she’s on some Whole 30 diet that’s uber hard core. She’s sitting there eating a salad while I’m packing away the chips, beans/cheese, AND burrito. That kind of willpower is no games, man. Even in the presence of pure gluttony. SMH.

Tonight, Bubs and I are going out to dinner for our anniversary. Man, can’t believe it’s been 13 years. Then again, it also kinda feels longer than that. Sigh. The wild and crazy life I gave up to be with Bubs. Sacrifices, man. My Chinese peeps better be eating that shit up, bc hell yeah, the struggle is real. 😛

Asian American Hustle

My parents are immigrants. That says a shit ton.