Back in mid-October, my best friend and I were in Lagos, drinking copious amounts of liquor in the middle of week (it was a Wednesday, I think). We were approached by three Italian guys (we’ll call them Ben, Al and Joe) who were dead-set on talking to us, even though only one of them spoke a decent amount of English, and neither Mali nor I speaks Italian.
We chatted with Ben, the fluent English speaker, while Al stared longingly (creepily) at us, trying to join in on the conversation despite our lack of a common language. But he was polite enough to us, so we were willing to oblige, at least for as long as our large drinks would last.
That was until Joe decided to join the fray.
Exiting the NY Metro, checking for texts on my iPhone. Out of nowhere, some homeless guy yells at me: “Get rid of the smartphone, and maybe you’ll find a husband!”
ugh i got back to the office and found out a bird pooped on my bag
i know which bird too because i looked up
and saw a freaking bird fly away
I don’t know why, but I just find this incredibly funny (tinged with sympathy, of course!) this morning.
In other news, USPS has been a royal bust for me lately, what with losing my outgoing packages and mistakenly informing me of an incoming package at the local branch pickup window and then telling me, with no remorse whatsoever, that said package, which I took time off work to pick up, is not there.
(Speaking of “game,” if USPS workers could adopt some customer service attitudes and even pretend to care that they do such a shit job at their shit jobs, maybe they wouldn’t be so deep in the red and universally hated around the world. Just a thought.)
February’s off to a smashing start.
So I had two incidents in mind that I wanted to share here and had written up a blurb for, but was having a difficult tying them together. And then something happened at work that’s been bothering me a good deal, although it’s taken me some time — and a good deal of discussion with various fellow-Asian-American friends — to put form to why I’ve been feeling so bothered since last week.
The incident took place at the end of the day last Friday. Three white coworkers were chatting about 10 feet away from me, discussing the red lights shining at the Empire State Building (which we have a prime view of from my office). Incidentally, I was trying to join in on the conversation by asking for more details about the lights, but they didn’t hear me, and then THIS gem happened instead:
Lady 1: It’s Chinese New Year-themed. They’re having some firework lighting at 6 to 7, I hear.
Man: You know, I don’t understand why Oriental is suddenly an offensive term.
(There is an awkward pause as ALL THREE GLANCE SIDEWAYS AT ME. I pretend not to listen, but am in fact listening quite intently.)
Lady 2: Yeah, I know…
Lady 1: It’s just one of those things.
Lady 2: I personally don’t think it’s such a bad term, but you have to be sensitive.
Man: No. This is one of those cases where people are just overreacting. You can’t be sensitive about everything.
Lady 2: (trying to be conciliatory) Well, I don’t mind not using the word.
Guy: I do. I like that word. It sounds very (emphatically gesturing) mysterious, and fantastical.
Lady 1: The Orient Express.
This photo seemed mildly relevant. ©Irene Park
In the spirit of getting things going again, right away, here’s my first story in eight months:
So last week, I’m standing on the subway after a regular humdrum day, feeling fairly blahzay because lately, no matter how many hours I sleep, I’ve been too exhausted to make my face presentable to the world, let alone get to work on time (daily oops). That day, I’d actually gotten up early enough to groom my brows, but I’m still doing my best to face away from people because one look in the mirror shows me I’m still looking gaunt and frazzled.
I’m minding my own business, bobbing my head heedlessly to some ’90s Mariah on iTunes, when I hear a voice behind me.
“Excuse me? Excuse me?”
So, having been in a relationship (and a bit hesitant to write about the particulars of that) for a while now, as well as being generally and substantially busier trying to build myself out careerwise (being that this is now my last year before the big 3-0), I’ve been just a little MIA from my blog (clearly). But I haven’t forgotten about my writing, and I haven’t forgotten about my readers, albeit a small handful you all are. (That’s not to say any less about how grateful I am for your readership — please forgive your host, and keep returning even if the updates are slow!) Continue reading
After a few rocky months of uncertainty and disharmony, Boy and I have suddenly found our way back to happy love zone. This means that we’re again spending most evenings and weekends at home, rather than out and about. (This is also why I have no recent love games stories.) This has also been the perfect impetus for one of my latest (excessively numerous) hobbies: gardening. (I’ve also been on a massive DIY binge, but that’s another story for my next entry.) Plants, as it turns out, really liven up and boost the lovely factor of a home.
They’re also a lot more labor-intensive than you’d think.