Stray Cats Everywhere!

It's a rampant epidemic of strays EVERYWHERE! I literally see gangs of cats in the night, creeping on lawns, convening behind gas stations, and teaming along bushy highways!

Look at this cute little one that's managed to find a sunny sill outside my bedroom! I think I'll call him Bernard.

Love sought for... and then lost again

Drunk "confessions" are the best. They almost never say much about the person who utters them, but they make for great conversation pieces. Like for instance, this lovely tidbit I received this morning via Kik:

Captain Sexy Pants (3:14am): I want to fall in love w someone (yes Im drunk but I watched a chick flick and I want that)
Me: Best drunk Kik I'll ever get
CSP (9:44am): Oh god. I think it would have been better if I said I want love but not the commitment.
Me: And he's sober now.
CSP: Lol you say that w such a sense of loss
Me: Women around the world just sighed... a sad sad sigh

But seriously, is "love" so daunting that men in sobriety's light must run for the hills? Is it love then when passion is hampered by necessity and duty? Or is it another animal entirely? I can't say I've been in love before. I can't really say I've even come close. So I'll use what I do know to say that I love my mom. And I love my dad. And I know that if they were ever in need, and I could change that, I would in an instant. My parents never "expect" anything from me but always the utmost of me. As an almost adult, I don't ever need anything of them. It's love, I hope, that keeps them calling, and sending care packages, and submitting funny little requests (like when my dad asks me to go on blind dates with random Chinese boys).
Love isn't just a feeling and a lust for someone. It's an embodiment of your outward expressions. It's about anticipation, and consideration, and near-anxiety for someone else's needs and wants. But it's about all these things in the sense that living these things out makes oneself content and happy and loved as well. So at the end of the day, I go with Jennifer Aniston, from The Breakup. "I want you to want to do the dishes." Because then if you don't, it's just a commitment. A duty. No one wants that. Especially not Captain Sexy Pants.

My Family: A hilarious Thanksgiving Day!

I grew up in Westchester, New York, a county that by most standards is as American and white-picket-fence-y as they come. However, I don't recall a Thanksgiving turkey until I was about 12 or 13. It was at my good friend, Lizzie-Burks' house, because I spent almost every waking hour at her house anyway. I remember being anxious and uneasy about the traditions and the grace and the forks and the knives... cranberry sauce? ...everything. Cutting food into bite-sized pieces was a skill I had to wait a few more years to acquire.
It was when I turned 18 that I decided to have a Thanksgiving dinner of my own. C-meister helped with the turkey and the mashed potatos. We made biscuits and string beans too. My friends came over after their own dinners and were surprised to find a table filled with foods fit to eat. Mom and dad didn't even believe it was possible, so they brought food home from the restaurant. Jerks.
I got used to a lack of holiday spirit in my household. I got used to spending these so-called family holidays at homes of friends... good friends. Like, T-Kay for example. Her holiday events will always have a special place in my heart. She likes to think her family is disfunctional, but in all honesty, does anyone have a "normal" family, with considerate siblings, sane grandparents, and perpetually happy moms? I don't think so.
I have to say though, after losing any hope or aspirations for a family day, I couldn't have been more surprised this year. Happy tears are welling up behind my eyes just thinking about it. My dad woke me up late morning, on Thanksgiving 2010. "Heyy! Are we still going to the beach today?" with a hint of excitement and a small grin on his face. No chance I'd say no. so we packed the car, mom, dad, me and Khanster and headed to South Padre Island.
Do you know what I love about Texans? They think 75 degrees farenheit is too cold out. So our band of four stepped out into the deserted sand dunes of Beach #6 and ran to the waters. Mom collected seashells and shrieked everytime the waves crashed too close. Dad battled Khanster for king of the waves. It was a sight to see. Later, Mom, afraid of sand in the car, made us all rinse off with bottled water in the trunk(Picture Note: Khanster fighting a off foot scrub from dad). Dinner was fun. We all watched dad eat like the half-ton man and then went home for some ping pong action to work off some of the 8000 calories we consumed.

I couldn't have had a better day. Thank you family. Thank you friends. Thank you, thanksgiving days for a day to dwell on what makes my life so amazing.

The {Insert any language here} language is not my forte

My favorite parts of the day are when people call or come into a Chinese restaurant and expect staff to know Spanish. I don't just mean knowing your numbers and greetings. I mean asking about employees, what they're doing/where they are if they're not here (like I care in English either), etc. I literally caught myself trying to conjugate IR in the preterite EL form before I decided to just say, "Call back tomorrow."
On the other end of this spectrum, there's a lady here that only speaks Mandarin and Cantonese. She tried to tell me there wasn't any carbonation in the soda machine. There was a lot of hand gestures and funny noise making to get the point across. 我的中文不太好了。 Then a friend called and my uncle caught me speaking in "crazy-fast English." Apparently, it blew his mind how anyone could understand me.
In my 24 hours here, it seems that people here like to point things out about you. Like for instance:
*You're very organized. You'd be a great mom!
*You're so... peppy! Are you like this all the time?
*You smell good.
*You're very smart. You should stay in Texas for a long time! (Someone shoot me)
*I remember you from last time. You're that Chinese girl! (How do these people find me?)

(Picture Note: This is a picture of my uncle. [No, not the Mexican looking at me with the bizarre smirk.] He has NYC pride. Cool. )

Good with the bad... or just bad with the bad.

Leaving New York is so dreadful. The days leading up felt like childhood fear and loathing in Dr. Shaff's waiting room for any number of needles or poison-flavored medicine. But really, there's never actually evidence that it did anything for me. So, now after having swallowed a sweet-tasting sleepless red-eye flight and a layover in the mammoth Bush Intl airport, I'm here. I'm in a land of maybe good for me, maybe not. But I don't think I'll ever know. But one thing's for certain: I don't like the way it tastes so far.
Here's to the next few weeks where my writing will mostly be an homage to New York. I love you and I miss you!












(Picture Note: This is what I find in the lost and found in these parts. Someone must be SO devastated without it)