The Greeks have big families. The Italians have big families. And then there are the Chinese. Did you know that before the whole "only one child' law of China the average number of children per Chinese family was in the teens? THE TEENS? GAH! I come from British stock. British are definitely not known for their breeding.
So when a British-esque girl meets a Chinese boy and starts to bring two families together, she is in for a shock. The Engineer has a big family. And i mean BIG. His father has ten/eleven siblings (I always forget) and his mother has 8 siblings. They all have kids (some of which have kids). But not only are they a big bunch, but there are a few crazy things to add to the confusion. One: three of the father's siblings are married to the mother's siblings. This makes for three sets of double cousins. Two: they all have two names. They talk to each other using their Chinese names. They introduce themselves to me with their English names. And some of them have nicknames on top of that! Or are referred to in Chinese as 'big sister' 'little brother'. Three: they all look the same. I know I know, it is a terrible thing to say but it is true! Apparently they all share the same "Liu" nose. Great, they even admit they all have the same nose. No wonder I get confused.
The Engineer drew a chart for me when we first started dating, but only of his mother's side. A chart. He DREW A CHART OF HIS FAMILY. Complete with fun facts like: So-and-so likes to knit and wears a bow-tie, So-and-so went to Oxford Med School on full scholarship. My family is tiny. Teeny tiny small. Now that cousin's are married and having kids we are obviously growing. But growing up I had two boy cousins on each side. My parents each have two siblings. We are nothing if symmetrical in breeding.
I have been introduced ever so slowly into this Chinese clan. First some cousins, then his parents, and finally, a year into our relationship, I attend my first Chinese restaurant banquet meal for a birthday celebration. Obviously I am nervous - not only am I meeting the family, but I am the Engineer's first serious girlfriend so everyone is curious. I also happen to be tall, blonde and an actress. Not a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer - the Chinese preferred occupations - but an actress. I am a sore wart on a sore thumb.
So I am standing there, waiting to be seated when everyone arrives at the same time. Suddenly I am flocked by fifteen teeny tiny smiling Chinese ladies who all look the same introducing themselves. All through dinner they look over and smile. I catch one staring. I wonder if I have boogers hanging out of my nose.
Unfortunately, one of the siblings passed away last week and this week we are having his funeral. I was just told about an hour ago that i get to meet the rest of the family now. WHAT? That wasn't them last time? Oh no, those were extensions upon extensions. Nope, I get the meet the rest of the MOTHER'S family this week. Not even the FATHER'S side yet. GAH!
This is why eloping is such a great option. My family is perfect to come to a wedding, they fit in a closet for crying out loud. But the Engineer's family triples the guest list.
Oh and by the way, I'm making a cheat sheet :)
Gung Hoy Fat Choi or Kung Hoi Fat Choy or however you want to spell it
Welcome to 2008: the year of the Rat.
I am glad I am not a rat, not that the rat doesn't have wonderful qualities (one hopes in the Chinese view of astrology anyway) but I really can't stand rats. They are horrible little rodents with a freaky tail and the ability to send chills up my spine and send me screaming. I am a sheep. It is nice being a sheep because everyone likes a sheep. They are cute, fluffy and they make lovely sweaters.
I love Chinese New Year. I don't know why really, I am not Chinese. The Engineer is Chinese though, but I am more akin to all things Asian than he will ever be. Plus I live on the border of China town here in rainy city. So in the first week of February, all the little Chinese ladies in my building are all a twitter with excitement and can't believe it when I say 'Gung hoy fat choi". The parade is my particular favorite. My parents were in town so we all bundled up, grabbed some spectacular steam buns and prepared to watch the parade.
I love how everyone is in this parade. And I mean EVERYONE. Kids, their parents, grandparents, old Chinese men beating drums, young Chinese girls fan dancing, white kids being the dragon, sullen teens playing the part of the dancing lion/dog. There were representatives from everywhere, including a band of Haida Natives in traditional clothing. Who knew that native Canadians were a part of Chinese new year. But really, how wonderfully Canadian is that? We're all out to celebrate this holiday with no care to the colour of our skin. It choked me up a bit to tell the truth. I love that I live in a place where I could be the Lion/Dog's head if I wanted to be, wether or not I am Chinese. I also saw this family with two white parents and their two adopted Chinese kids, all wearing Chinese clothing. I thought it was so incredibly sweet that cultures are so delicately woven together and celebrated, that it doesn't really matter where you come from or what ethnicity you are, we are all the same.
The Engineer was at home watching TV. Clearly the year of the rat means nothing to him. I plan on dressing our kids up in cute little Chinese clothes to which he has already opposed the idea. But how cute would they be? I really have to put some Chinese into my Chinese Engineer.
I am glad I am not a rat, not that the rat doesn't have wonderful qualities (one hopes in the Chinese view of astrology anyway) but I really can't stand rats. They are horrible little rodents with a freaky tail and the ability to send chills up my spine and send me screaming. I am a sheep. It is nice being a sheep because everyone likes a sheep. They are cute, fluffy and they make lovely sweaters.
I love Chinese New Year. I don't know why really, I am not Chinese. The Engineer is Chinese though, but I am more akin to all things Asian than he will ever be. Plus I live on the border of China town here in rainy city. So in the first week of February, all the little Chinese ladies in my building are all a twitter with excitement and can't believe it when I say 'Gung hoy fat choi". The parade is my particular favorite. My parents were in town so we all bundled up, grabbed some spectacular steam buns and prepared to watch the parade.
I love how everyone is in this parade. And I mean EVERYONE. Kids, their parents, grandparents, old Chinese men beating drums, young Chinese girls fan dancing, white kids being the dragon, sullen teens playing the part of the dancing lion/dog. There were representatives from everywhere, including a band of Haida Natives in traditional clothing. Who knew that native Canadians were a part of Chinese new year. But really, how wonderfully Canadian is that? We're all out to celebrate this holiday with no care to the colour of our skin. It choked me up a bit to tell the truth. I love that I live in a place where I could be the Lion/Dog's head if I wanted to be, wether or not I am Chinese. I also saw this family with two white parents and their two adopted Chinese kids, all wearing Chinese clothing. I thought it was so incredibly sweet that cultures are so delicately woven together and celebrated, that it doesn't really matter where you come from or what ethnicity you are, we are all the same.
The Engineer was at home watching TV. Clearly the year of the rat means nothing to him. I plan on dressing our kids up in cute little Chinese clothes to which he has already opposed the idea. But how cute would they be? I really have to put some Chinese into my Chinese Engineer.
LA: the Land of the Crazy Plastics
I was just in Los Angeles for ten days - enjoying the sun, above seasonal temperatures, and cheap shopping. For the first seven days I was in love. I loved everything about it. Healthy eating was as accessible as botox (which is VERY). Cakes were fat and sugar free but loaded with taste (perhaps LA has some sort of legal magical drug that gives deliciousness to chocolate cupcakes?). And even the gym offered an array of exciting classes that had me going twice a day (Hello? Recess class? How can Red Rover NOT be a fun aerobic activity?).
But on the eight day my love affair started to wane. Firstly, the traffic. THE TRAFFIC!!??? GAH! When you are stopped bumper to bumper on a TEN-lane freeway you know something is wrong. When it takes you nearly an hour to get to a place that should only take fifteen, you may want to shoot yourself. And the worst of the worst is that all I had was BAD LA RADIO playing in my car. It made my ears bleed, I swear.
Secondly, the people and the icky way they make you feel. Everyone in LA stares at everyone else. They are sizing you up, or trying to see if you are someone, or comparing their blonde highlights to your blonde highlights. And a slim (athletic! Average!) Canadian girl can't help but feel like a big fat moose when she works out at an LA gym. The classes were full of stick-figured-bobble-heads. You know the type: the girls who diet SO much that their heads end up looking ridiculously huge on their emancipated bodies. Icksville. Get these girls some Sprinkles Cupcakes STAT! There was also a large number of altered bodies that made me stare long and hard at them; trying to figure out why they resembled aliens. Until I realized it was a facelift/botox/lipinjection job. One woman must have been only 34 but looked like she was 68 trying to be 34. Her horribly pulled back eyes that could barely blink and her bizarrely large lips that resembled a ducks bill made me do a funny repulsed action with my body. Luckily we were in step class so I could blame my reaction on a missed move.
The gym was full of these weirdo LA-ites. Talking on their cell phones during yoga, wearing sunglasses on the pilates machine, and paying trainers to literally move their limbs for them.
I was quite happy to land back in rainy city where it may have been rainy but at least the lips were real and the chocolate cupcakes full of fat and sugar.
But on the eight day my love affair started to wane. Firstly, the traffic. THE TRAFFIC!!??? GAH! When you are stopped bumper to bumper on a TEN-lane freeway you know something is wrong. When it takes you nearly an hour to get to a place that should only take fifteen, you may want to shoot yourself. And the worst of the worst is that all I had was BAD LA RADIO playing in my car. It made my ears bleed, I swear.
Secondly, the people and the icky way they make you feel. Everyone in LA stares at everyone else. They are sizing you up, or trying to see if you are someone, or comparing their blonde highlights to your blonde highlights. And a slim (athletic! Average!) Canadian girl can't help but feel like a big fat moose when she works out at an LA gym. The classes were full of stick-figured-bobble-heads. You know the type: the girls who diet SO much that their heads end up looking ridiculously huge on their emancipated bodies. Icksville. Get these girls some Sprinkles Cupcakes STAT! There was also a large number of altered bodies that made me stare long and hard at them; trying to figure out why they resembled aliens. Until I realized it was a facelift/botox/lipinjection job. One woman must have been only 34 but looked like she was 68 trying to be 34. Her horribly pulled back eyes that could barely blink and her bizarrely large lips that resembled a ducks bill made me do a funny repulsed action with my body. Luckily we were in step class so I could blame my reaction on a missed move.
The gym was full of these weirdo LA-ites. Talking on their cell phones during yoga, wearing sunglasses on the pilates machine, and paying trainers to literally move their limbs for them.
I was quite happy to land back in rainy city where it may have been rainy but at least the lips were real and the chocolate cupcakes full of fat and sugar.
The Tale of a Deranged non-bride planner
This blog should not be called 'The Bridesmaid Diaries' but the 'Diaries of a Deranged non-Bride' as I have become this alter-ego version of myself I have mentioned before that I really like to visualize things in my future, including my non-existent wedding, and how I couldn't decide between a barn wedding or a Paris theme wedding (or so I think - see? I've already forgotten!).
The Engineer and I are getting close to our nuptials. Well sort of. The Engineer is going to be going back for his MBA and move away from this rainy city. If he wants me to go (which he does) I may or may not have given him an ultimatum. Not a terribly mean ultimatum but a fair one: I will most certainly consider dropping my career in rainy city and galavant with him across the globe IF there is a sizable commitment from him in the form of a Tiffany's Legacy collection pink sapphire ring, or something like it.
The Engineer is fine with this all but the problem has become ME. The Engineer likes to make decisions on his own sweet time (and let me tell you, sometimes deciding between sushi or thai can take upwards of six hours). So a decision that is slightly bigger, let's say getting married for example, will take him a fair whack of time. And if I don't bug him he will come to the conclusion I want sooner than later. Unfortunately for me I am like a chinese water torture device - or so my mother tells me. I just can't drop something once I want it. I'll mention anything from cupcakes to a good book to a wedding in Disneyworld everyday about 12 times a day. It is a terrible terrible habit.
So I have tried NOT to talk to the Engineer about the 'M' word even though he is getting into all these schools and we have to choose between two major cities. And so far I am failing miserable.
We had an argument the other day about what 'elopement' means to the both of us (he is cool with eloping in our city, whereas I think eloping must be somewhere magical and exotic, not the city hall). Then we argued about who to invite (I say no to most family, mostly HIS family because there are so many of them). Then we argued about how many bridesmaids I could have (seeing as I have done it several times my number is quite high).
Behind his back I have been secretly planning several types of weddings so I can just book the day when he pops the question. And I may have asked some girls to be my bridesmaid already. And I may have discussed the locale and money with my mother already. Sheesh, even I would run for the hills if I was dating me. I am now on the elopement wagon - in either Italy or Greece. But as the Engineer points out: without a big wedding there will be no gifts and we are both owed BIG time. Ummm, not to sound greedy or anything. Whoops.
Okay, now to find that perfect pink wedding dress . . . . .
The Engineer and I are getting close to our nuptials. Well sort of. The Engineer is going to be going back for his MBA and move away from this rainy city. If he wants me to go (which he does) I may or may not have given him an ultimatum. Not a terribly mean ultimatum but a fair one: I will most certainly consider dropping my career in rainy city and galavant with him across the globe IF there is a sizable commitment from him in the form of a Tiffany's Legacy collection pink sapphire ring, or something like it.
The Engineer is fine with this all but the problem has become ME. The Engineer likes to make decisions on his own sweet time (and let me tell you, sometimes deciding between sushi or thai can take upwards of six hours). So a decision that is slightly bigger, let's say getting married for example, will take him a fair whack of time. And if I don't bug him he will come to the conclusion I want sooner than later. Unfortunately for me I am like a chinese water torture device - or so my mother tells me. I just can't drop something once I want it. I'll mention anything from cupcakes to a good book to a wedding in Disneyworld everyday about 12 times a day. It is a terrible terrible habit.
So I have tried NOT to talk to the Engineer about the 'M' word even though he is getting into all these schools and we have to choose between two major cities. And so far I am failing miserable.
We had an argument the other day about what 'elopement' means to the both of us (he is cool with eloping in our city, whereas I think eloping must be somewhere magical and exotic, not the city hall). Then we argued about who to invite (I say no to most family, mostly HIS family because there are so many of them). Then we argued about how many bridesmaids I could have (seeing as I have done it several times my number is quite high).
Behind his back I have been secretly planning several types of weddings so I can just book the day when he pops the question. And I may have asked some girls to be my bridesmaid already. And I may have discussed the locale and money with my mother already. Sheesh, even I would run for the hills if I was dating me. I am now on the elopement wagon - in either Italy or Greece. But as the Engineer points out: without a big wedding there will be no gifts and we are both owed BIG time. Ummm, not to sound greedy or anything. Whoops.
Okay, now to find that perfect pink wedding dress . . . . .
The Return
I have been terribly terribly naughty in my whole 'write more blog entries' resolution. GAH! I was on holidays - and being on a cruise I was far away from internet and my brain was full of martini goodness - but that was only a week. And then I was in the world of Los Angeles which deserves an entire blog of its own (I am pretty sure there are several). But enough about that. I am back now.
The reason I was on a cruise to Mexico was . . . . . are you ready for it? Can you guess what I could possibly have been doing? Can you? Can you? That's right! A wedding! This time I was not a bridesmaid but merely a pleb attendee. And they weren't even my friends - it was the Engineer's friend's wedding.
I have to admit that the destination wedding is my new favorite du jour. I had an excuse to leave rainy Vancouver for nearly three weeks of sun and warmth and go on my very first real vacation with the Engineer. My first vacation with a boyfriend, ever. And being at a destination for a wedding takes the boring out of what is usually a cookie-cutter format. This time there was sand, sun and adorable parasols the bride thoughtfully provided for the melting guests. We watched the sun set behind the waves and palm trees. We ate and drank under a tropical sky. And I said that if the Dj played 'Hot Hot Hot' that I would jump in the pool. So I asked him to play 'Hot Hot Hot'.
I am all over the destination wedding. Even though there was the same format of: ceremony, photos, cocktails, dinner, speeches, cake, first dance, and garter/bouquet toss, this one included private fireworks (hello! I nearly freaked out. Oh wait. I did) and a tropical oasis. So even though the cookie-cutter format was in place we were happily distracted with endless pina coladas and a mariachi band.
To to that end, I am back and Ole about weddings again!
Oh, and by the way, I was asked to be a bridesmaid for the eighth time this week. For an old old friend who also happens to be east Indian. I get to wear a saree AND show off my Bollywood moves. Watch out for fun times!
The reason I was on a cruise to Mexico was . . . . . are you ready for it? Can you guess what I could possibly have been doing? Can you? Can you? That's right! A wedding! This time I was not a bridesmaid but merely a pleb attendee. And they weren't even my friends - it was the Engineer's friend's wedding.
I have to admit that the destination wedding is my new favorite du jour. I had an excuse to leave rainy Vancouver for nearly three weeks of sun and warmth and go on my very first real vacation with the Engineer. My first vacation with a boyfriend, ever. And being at a destination for a wedding takes the boring out of what is usually a cookie-cutter format. This time there was sand, sun and adorable parasols the bride thoughtfully provided for the melting guests. We watched the sun set behind the waves and palm trees. We ate and drank under a tropical sky. And I said that if the Dj played 'Hot Hot Hot' that I would jump in the pool. So I asked him to play 'Hot Hot Hot'.
I am all over the destination wedding. Even though there was the same format of: ceremony, photos, cocktails, dinner, speeches, cake, first dance, and garter/bouquet toss, this one included private fireworks (hello! I nearly freaked out. Oh wait. I did) and a tropical oasis. So even though the cookie-cutter format was in place we were happily distracted with endless pina coladas and a mariachi band.
To to that end, I am back and Ole about weddings again!
Oh, and by the way, I was asked to be a bridesmaid for the eighth time this week. For an old old friend who also happens to be east Indian. I get to wear a saree AND show off my Bollywood moves. Watch out for fun times!
The Magic of Giving
Remember when Christmas was that time of the year that couldn't come fast enough?
As soon as December 1st arrived and our first chocolate in our advent eaten, we were rosy cheeked angels on our best behavior lest our mother get on the phone with Santa (or was it just my mother who apparently had him on speed dial?). Christmas Eve was TORTURE. The gifts all shiny and wrapped under the glittery tree taunting us with their mystery. Was it that new doll we had seen in the frosty window at the Bay? Or our favorite Disney movie? Or, in the year I was ten, a nintendo (old school) complete with Mario Brothers One, Two and Three?
I could never fall asleep for excitement. Especially because in my household stockings were placed at the foot of our beds so that I would wake up in the middle of the night and open it. I actually still get just as excited for stockings!
Now days that burning excitement and thrill is barely a flutter in my tummy. I must admit that I miss those days a wee bit - the only thing comparable in my adulthood has been the night before a big trip. My grandmother was amazing at keeping the magic in Christmas alive until her dying day. So I'm trying. And I have found that there is a new sort of magic in Christmas as we get older: the magic of giving.
As cheesy as that sounds, the 'magic of giving' has become almost, okay - as good as if not better - than getting. This year I was a terrible gift giver. I was terrible because I had no patience to wait until the big day. My gifts were FANTASTIC! They sat under my candy-like tree (it was covered in pretty pink and blue balls, snowmen on cupcakes, and ju-jube spinwheels topped with a star-shaped sugar cookie. So cute!) taunting me as if they were my nine-year-old own. I gave my parents gifts leading up to Christmas Eve, I gave the Engineer his big one on Christmas Eve Eve, and I made my girlfriend open her harmonica kit a week early. In fact, I gave away so many gifts that there was almost nothing left for Christmas morning. Oooops.
The days of not pouting or crying in case Santa might see, butterfly filled sleep, and dreamy wishing while gazing at our presents are over for me. But they have been replaced my finding joy in watching my mum's eyes fill with tears with her gift, or the Engineer actually showing excitement over his Disneyland pass. And discovering a perfect present for the impossible father: wine, wine and more wine. It really is quite magical.
And that, my friends, is the nouveau magic of Christmas. Happy Holidays!
How a Virgo Decorates for Christmas
I love the Christmas season with its’ sparkling lights, tree trimming, and wrapping of gifts. I just don’t love getting ‘help from other people – which clearly is not in the spirit of Christmas. It is technically a time for those you love to gather with glasses of wine and help you hang ornaments on your incredibly beautiful, lusciously green and robustly full Christmas tree. But screw that.
I am a Virgo, which makes me a slight perfectionist if being perfect means everything needs to be done according to Stella. I decided to get a real tree this year – and it is so incredibly beautiful. And incredibly against all Virgo rules. The things drops more pines that a Northern Boreal forest. What was I thinking? I can’t vacuum fast enough! I shleped it all the way from Ikea (which by-the-by has the best deal in town. $20 gets you a gorgeous tree, with that money going to Tree Canada AND you get a $20 coupon for Ikea! Hello! Other places are charging $60 for trees that would win Charlie Brown’s heart). Anyhoo, I stuffed the thing in my trunk (Volkswagens rule) and got it to my apartment ALL BY MYSELF. At this point I needed reinforcements in the forms of the Engineer, my girlfriend and her boyfriend who is also an engineer and best friends with my Engineer. Very cozy all around.
They were lovely and helpful, getting the tree up and trimmed so it stood just right. The boys had hockey so they left us girls to it – decorating my tree and drinking mulled wine. I thought this idea was great until she tried to wrap my lights around the tree – just wrap all helter skelter! The Engineer had done this to my mini-tree earlier (yes, I have two trees), which was appalling. Who are these people? You don’t just wrap your lights willy nilly – you have to place them in the branches so that they glitter like the fairies they are supposed to be. I don’t want to see the freaking cord??!!
And then – horror of all horrors – my friend started to hang decorations WHERVER. Just wherever??!!! GAH! No no no, you have to think about colour and size. You have to take into consideration what the ornament means to me, where I got it, and who from. Obviously the angel that I got in NYC has to have precedent on the higher branches. The bright green ball goes on the back of the tree – to balance out the balls but the colour is quite awful.
So I had to stop the madness by suggesting we wrap presents instead. Actually, she insisted on helping me with this too. I love wrapping presents. I love the precision of matching up the paper, the careful tape placing so the paper never moves, and the tightness of having a well-wrapped gift. None of that loose crap that men are really good at. And to my horror, my friend did just that! Double GAH! So I put her on bow duty, which to my relief she was amazing at.
Tthe moral of my story? If you are a Virgo and want to decorate for Christmas: don’t invite others over to help (except for putting the tree in the stand). Put on lovely Christmas carols, pour yourself some eggnog and go about making sure each detail is perfect to your own satisfaction. This is quite possibly the most rewarding way to decorate Christmas, alone alone alone.
I am a Virgo, which makes me a slight perfectionist if being perfect means everything needs to be done according to Stella. I decided to get a real tree this year – and it is so incredibly beautiful. And incredibly against all Virgo rules. The things drops more pines that a Northern Boreal forest. What was I thinking? I can’t vacuum fast enough! I shleped it all the way from Ikea (which by-the-by has the best deal in town. $20 gets you a gorgeous tree, with that money going to Tree Canada AND you get a $20 coupon for Ikea! Hello! Other places are charging $60 for trees that would win Charlie Brown’s heart). Anyhoo, I stuffed the thing in my trunk (Volkswagens rule) and got it to my apartment ALL BY MYSELF. At this point I needed reinforcements in the forms of the Engineer, my girlfriend and her boyfriend who is also an engineer and best friends with my Engineer. Very cozy all around.
They were lovely and helpful, getting the tree up and trimmed so it stood just right. The boys had hockey so they left us girls to it – decorating my tree and drinking mulled wine. I thought this idea was great until she tried to wrap my lights around the tree – just wrap all helter skelter! The Engineer had done this to my mini-tree earlier (yes, I have two trees), which was appalling. Who are these people? You don’t just wrap your lights willy nilly – you have to place them in the branches so that they glitter like the fairies they are supposed to be. I don’t want to see the freaking cord??!!
And then – horror of all horrors – my friend started to hang decorations WHERVER. Just wherever??!!! GAH! No no no, you have to think about colour and size. You have to take into consideration what the ornament means to me, where I got it, and who from. Obviously the angel that I got in NYC has to have precedent on the higher branches. The bright green ball goes on the back of the tree – to balance out the balls but the colour is quite awful.
So I had to stop the madness by suggesting we wrap presents instead. Actually, she insisted on helping me with this too. I love wrapping presents. I love the precision of matching up the paper, the careful tape placing so the paper never moves, and the tightness of having a well-wrapped gift. None of that loose crap that men are really good at. And to my horror, my friend did just that! Double GAH! So I put her on bow duty, which to my relief she was amazing at.
Tthe moral of my story? If you are a Virgo and want to decorate for Christmas: don’t invite others over to help (except for putting the tree in the stand). Put on lovely Christmas carols, pour yourself some eggnog and go about making sure each detail is perfect to your own satisfaction. This is quite possibly the most rewarding way to decorate Christmas, alone alone alone.
Team Work
This weekend the Engineer and I travelled to Seattle for what is fondly known as 'Black Friday'. Firstly, I am an idiot as I had no idea Americans celebrated Thanksgiving on a Thursday. What an odd day to have Thanksgiving dinner? Why not Sunday or Monday like we do? But this is neither here nor there, as we ended up in the States on one of the busiest shopping days of the year and what day people eat turkey is of no consequence.
The Engineer has a new job and so has relented his highschoolesque/university student look for a more mature business type professional look. Praise the lord! And I am a Buddhist. While at Nordstroms I could no longer look at his baggy, torn and worn jeans so forced him to buy a new pair of Sevens. Well, I didn't really need to force him because once he saw what a good pair of jeans can do for one's butt it was a no brainer. It was glorious! The shops bussling with people vying for good deals and Christmas presents - it just put me in a wonderful mood. Or maybe it was spending someone else's money for once.
Back at the hotel, the Engineer and I snuggled in the king-sized bed with Indian take-out and a movie rental on the huge flat-screen TV. We watched a good old fashioned Hollywood comedy before getting down to the hard stuff. That's right - porn. I have never really seen a porn and thought it would be a fun way to spice up our 'life'. After purusing the very large selection, we decided on 'Bad Teacher Bad Student'. GAH! The acting and writing was HORRIFIC!!!! And the guy was so freaking ugly! I couldn't handle it (clearly I wasn't expecting an Oscar award winner but at least some decent sentences!) so I turned it off thinking we could still switch. So I called down to the front desk and said I made a mistake - he assured me it would come off of our bill. We pressed our second choice "Horny Cowgirls" or something like that. OH MY GOD. There was no speaking in this one, just bad fiddle music with out-of-sync pleasure noises. And once again, the men, yes MEN, were brutal. Horribly gross and wearing overalls (just for the record, I grew up on a farm and no farmer I have ever met wears overalls). Not that the girls were great either. The first scene was two man one girl action that looked terribly unpleasant and actually disgusting. I couldn't help but laugh and cover my eyes. The second scene was even worse - she was in this horribly awkward position standing up with her knees together but her feet apart and her skirt halfway down. And then they started doing IT. Quite frankly, the male body whilst thrusting is not the most attractive. Nor is the close-up of the . . . . well you can fill it in for yourself. I went from laughing to almost sick - the Engineer was also quite disgusted and lay on the other side of the bed. Needless to say, the film had the opposite effect.
But this is not the worst of it. When we went to check out, we had in fact been charged for both films. When we started to dispute this, the kind girl said 'no problem - can you remember the title?". We both answered no very quickly. Then she went to the back and said, "If I yell it out to you will you remember?" Oh god. The lobby was full and I turned to the Engineer and told him I couldn't handle this. Then I asked him for the car keys but promptly motored out of there not having the patience for the keys. And I motored with my little wheelie suitcase.
I was waiting in the car when the Engineer came out exclaiming how happy he was that he could count on me for team work in sticky situations. Apparently he looked like a creepy man by himself. But seriously, I just can't handle it - remember how I told the doctor I was getting married?? The girl must have seen the titles and didn't call out the name, thank goodness. Seriously, don't ever argue porn on the bill, just let it go. But the Engineer is too fiscally responsible for that.
The Engineer has a new job and so has relented his highschoolesque/university student look for a more mature business type professional look. Praise the lord! And I am a Buddhist. While at Nordstroms I could no longer look at his baggy, torn and worn jeans so forced him to buy a new pair of Sevens. Well, I didn't really need to force him because once he saw what a good pair of jeans can do for one's butt it was a no brainer. It was glorious! The shops bussling with people vying for good deals and Christmas presents - it just put me in a wonderful mood. Or maybe it was spending someone else's money for once.
Back at the hotel, the Engineer and I snuggled in the king-sized bed with Indian take-out and a movie rental on the huge flat-screen TV. We watched a good old fashioned Hollywood comedy before getting down to the hard stuff. That's right - porn. I have never really seen a porn and thought it would be a fun way to spice up our 'life'. After purusing the very large selection, we decided on 'Bad Teacher Bad Student'. GAH! The acting and writing was HORRIFIC!!!! And the guy was so freaking ugly! I couldn't handle it (clearly I wasn't expecting an Oscar award winner but at least some decent sentences!) so I turned it off thinking we could still switch. So I called down to the front desk and said I made a mistake - he assured me it would come off of our bill. We pressed our second choice "Horny Cowgirls" or something like that. OH MY GOD. There was no speaking in this one, just bad fiddle music with out-of-sync pleasure noises. And once again, the men, yes MEN, were brutal. Horribly gross and wearing overalls (just for the record, I grew up on a farm and no farmer I have ever met wears overalls). Not that the girls were great either. The first scene was two man one girl action that looked terribly unpleasant and actually disgusting. I couldn't help but laugh and cover my eyes. The second scene was even worse - she was in this horribly awkward position standing up with her knees together but her feet apart and her skirt halfway down. And then they started doing IT. Quite frankly, the male body whilst thrusting is not the most attractive. Nor is the close-up of the . . . . well you can fill it in for yourself. I went from laughing to almost sick - the Engineer was also quite disgusted and lay on the other side of the bed. Needless to say, the film had the opposite effect.
But this is not the worst of it. When we went to check out, we had in fact been charged for both films. When we started to dispute this, the kind girl said 'no problem - can you remember the title?". We both answered no very quickly. Then she went to the back and said, "If I yell it out to you will you remember?" Oh god. The lobby was full and I turned to the Engineer and told him I couldn't handle this. Then I asked him for the car keys but promptly motored out of there not having the patience for the keys. And I motored with my little wheelie suitcase.
I was waiting in the car when the Engineer came out exclaiming how happy he was that he could count on me for team work in sticky situations. Apparently he looked like a creepy man by himself. But seriously, I just can't handle it - remember how I told the doctor I was getting married?? The girl must have seen the titles and didn't call out the name, thank goodness. Seriously, don't ever argue porn on the bill, just let it go. But the Engineer is too fiscally responsible for that.
Doctor Shame
I went to the doctor the other day with problems regarding my birth control pills. I just don't really want to be on them anymore so wanted to find out what my other options are. There aren't many that I like. In fact there are none that I like. Why can't men be on some sort of birth control pill? Anyhoo, that is not the point of this entry.
My point is that I am a big fat liar!!! These lies spill out of my mouth before I can stop them - and they come out of no where but suddenly I just can't seem to tell the truth. This happens when I bump into people I don't like or when my doctor asks me how long have I been in my current relationship. Why can't I just act like the adult that I am and tell her the truth: I have been with my current boyfriend, the Engineer, for nearly a year. But the shame of being in a pre-marital sexual relationship in the modern age makes me say: I have been with my fiance for two and a half years! FIANCE! TWO AND A HALF YEARS! Why am I ashamed? Why do I care if she thinks I am a slut (not that I am)? Why do I keep telling people I have a fiance? GAH!
I had a doctor filling in for my doctor once who tried to talk me out of birth control. She thought I should just say 'no' - and this wasn't when I was 17, try a few years ago. She was a mousy little git with brown stringy hair. Probably believed in Jesus and thought I was going to hell or she herself was so desperate for a date she tried to stop anyone else from dating. In any case, it was highly inappropriate.
But why do I feel so bad about being a non-married girl asking for the pill? I think it is the way the doctor says 'relationship' - why doesn't she just come right out and say "who are you screwing now". Vulgar as it seems, it is perfectly true. Relationship says to me dinners with wine, holding hands during scary movies, bringing ice cream over when I have a sore throat. But when the doctor says 'relationship' it brings to mind all those private things we do that have now just been made public because I am having problems with my pill. Suddenly my wonderful and happy relationship is scientific and going for an ultra-sound in two weeks.
Well, at least the Engineer laughed at my lies. Now it is two places he can't go with me . . . .
My point is that I am a big fat liar!!! These lies spill out of my mouth before I can stop them - and they come out of no where but suddenly I just can't seem to tell the truth. This happens when I bump into people I don't like or when my doctor asks me how long have I been in my current relationship. Why can't I just act like the adult that I am and tell her the truth: I have been with my current boyfriend, the Engineer, for nearly a year. But the shame of being in a pre-marital sexual relationship in the modern age makes me say: I have been with my fiance for two and a half years! FIANCE! TWO AND A HALF YEARS! Why am I ashamed? Why do I care if she thinks I am a slut (not that I am)? Why do I keep telling people I have a fiance? GAH!
I had a doctor filling in for my doctor once who tried to talk me out of birth control. She thought I should just say 'no' - and this wasn't when I was 17, try a few years ago. She was a mousy little git with brown stringy hair. Probably believed in Jesus and thought I was going to hell or she herself was so desperate for a date she tried to stop anyone else from dating. In any case, it was highly inappropriate.
But why do I feel so bad about being a non-married girl asking for the pill? I think it is the way the doctor says 'relationship' - why doesn't she just come right out and say "who are you screwing now". Vulgar as it seems, it is perfectly true. Relationship says to me dinners with wine, holding hands during scary movies, bringing ice cream over when I have a sore throat. But when the doctor says 'relationship' it brings to mind all those private things we do that have now just been made public because I am having problems with my pill. Suddenly my wonderful and happy relationship is scientific and going for an ultra-sound in two weeks.
Well, at least the Engineer laughed at my lies. Now it is two places he can't go with me . . . .
The Ring
Okay, I admit it. I am a coveter. There I said it. I - AM -A - COVETER. Of what? Oh god, the truth will set me free, the truth will set me free . . . . . I covet . . . I can hardly admit this let alone write it . . . . rings. Phew! There. Done. Oh wait. What kind of rings? Diamond rings. Are you happy? No? Okay, fine. I covet diamond engagement rings. GAH! Double GAH! Who am I? Crap, I can't help it. I love the goddamn freaking shiny rings worn on the ring finger of the left hand. I suppose I would love any diamond ring on any finger of either hand. But there is something about that damn solitaire on that damn ring finger. It says: I have a lover. I have stability (well we hope). I have a man who buys me pretty things. Shut up all of you feminist females out there!!! I am sure if I polled the Western world most women would admit that it is very nice to sport a shiny diamond that they got for FREE!!! FREE! That is the best thing about diamond engagements rings! We don't have to pay for them!!
I never used to care about diamonds until my first trip to Rodeo Drive when I was 21. On the corner of Rodeo and Wiltshire stands a three-storey Tiffany's. Being from the farmlands of Canada. I had never been into a Tiffany's - so I had to see what all the fuss was about. And as soon as that doorman/security guard opened the door for me and I stepped into the softly scented room filled with sparkle and glitter I knew my love affair had begun.
So today I may have gone shopping with some girlfriends. And we may have gone into Tiffany's. And I may have tried on a ring. Not my fault! My friend pointed it out to me as being perfect. And it is perfect - it is MY ring. No really, the ring was made for my finger, for my colouring, for my personality. And it isn't a diamond (okay it is encrusted with diamonds but they are small so who counts?) it is a 2.5 carat, PINK Sapphire. Oh god, it is beautiful. And the manager practically insisted I try it on (I screamed at it, I think he felt I should). And as priorly mentioned - I am a retard shopper who pretends I can afford the crazy price tags of things in cases. So when I saw the price of $33 000, I hardly blinked an eye. I mean the ring was soooooooo me. I have to have one (or a fake one very much like it). I think the manager thought that the Engineer makes enough money to buy me a $33 000 ring because he gave me his personal business card. I have NO idea where he got that idea.
My girlfriends supported me 100% in my love and need for the ring (okay, maybe not so much for the price tag) so what else is a girl to do but tell her Engineer? He was in the shower. The conversation went like this:
Stella: I love you
Engineer: Aww babe, I love you too
Stella: No, I really really love you
Engineer: What did you do?
Stella: I didn't do anything. (pause) not really
I won't tell you the end of that conversation. I think it ended somewhere between 'pressure' and 'don't drink wine while you are pregnant with my baby who is going to have cancer at the age of six'. All I know is that things got fuzzy and I don't have a pink ring. yet.
I never used to care about diamonds until my first trip to Rodeo Drive when I was 21. On the corner of Rodeo and Wiltshire stands a three-storey Tiffany's. Being from the farmlands of Canada. I had never been into a Tiffany's - so I had to see what all the fuss was about. And as soon as that doorman/security guard opened the door for me and I stepped into the softly scented room filled with sparkle and glitter I knew my love affair had begun.
So today I may have gone shopping with some girlfriends. And we may have gone into Tiffany's. And I may have tried on a ring. Not my fault! My friend pointed it out to me as being perfect. And it is perfect - it is MY ring. No really, the ring was made for my finger, for my colouring, for my personality. And it isn't a diamond (okay it is encrusted with diamonds but they are small so who counts?) it is a 2.5 carat, PINK Sapphire. Oh god, it is beautiful. And the manager practically insisted I try it on (I screamed at it, I think he felt I should). And as priorly mentioned - I am a retard shopper who pretends I can afford the crazy price tags of things in cases. So when I saw the price of $33 000, I hardly blinked an eye. I mean the ring was soooooooo me. I have to have one (or a fake one very much like it). I think the manager thought that the Engineer makes enough money to buy me a $33 000 ring because he gave me his personal business card. I have NO idea where he got that idea.
My girlfriends supported me 100% in my love and need for the ring (okay, maybe not so much for the price tag) so what else is a girl to do but tell her Engineer? He was in the shower. The conversation went like this:
Stella: I love you
Engineer: Aww babe, I love you too
Stella: No, I really really love you
Engineer: What did you do?
Stella: I didn't do anything. (pause) not really
I won't tell you the end of that conversation. I think it ended somewhere between 'pressure' and 'don't drink wine while you are pregnant with my baby who is going to have cancer at the age of six'. All I know is that things got fuzzy and I don't have a pink ring. yet.
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