Ahem.... Due to Technical Difficulties

Snarksters!!!!

My site still sucks and it's still down, but in the meantime I have wayyyy too many things on my mind to not share with you m'kay. So for a little while you'll find me back here at Blogger where all the good stuff originally started... hmm maybe it's a sign that I should stay here for a little bit.

Ok, so what would you like to hear about?

1. The kiddos and their summer adventures?
2. My workout craze -- SPIN anyone?
3. Skincare/product review?

Let me know!

Stay tuned for a True Story... on Friday...

xoxo,
Becca

I'm the Mistress of Alliteration, and I Remember....

The other day I was talking to a friend about being a thug, and maybe something about ho’s and pimps, and eventually we got to the subject of my blog. She said something to the effect of “I’ve been waiting for you start talking about you know, your story on your blog, are you going to?” I replied with laughter, and a quick answer, “well I think I want to keep it light. I’ve got so much blah blah blah blah going on right now, and I really like the humor. I guess I could go there when things settle down, but I don’t know how serious I can get.” But you see, I was lying, not on purpose, not to be mean, but really I was lying to myself.  If there’s one thing I’m really good at, it’s making up excuses, which is not to be confused with procrastination. I am after all the Queen Grand High Poohbah of Procrastination; but what I’m getting at here is actually finding a stupid reason for not wanting to do something. (I know, you’re saying, but Becca isn’t that really the same thing… well no, not really actually. Procrastinating is a lot more fun than actually making up flimsy excuses as to why you don’t want to do something that actually doesn’t have to be done…) 

I guess I felt that I just didn’t want to get into it, my sordid past (actually not very), and all the heavy luggage that goes with it (I don’t recommend trying to lift any of it).  In an ironic way I didn’t want to make myself vulnerable to you, the readers, because everyone loves a fun time gal, and NOT a Debbie Downer, right? Right. Or at least this is what I managed to convince myself.  But perhaps it’s worth a shot. If it doesn’t work I can go right back to slapstick and pirate curses, and we can just forget this whole thing ever happened. Deal?

It’s a motherfucking deal then.

So Snarksters, in an effort for you to get to know me, shall we start Familial Fridays? (Oh man, do I have a way with alliteration—no not illiterate, alliteration, dude: look it up) Hmmm…. Now where to start… We could always go the traditional route ie “it was a dark and stormy night…” or the non-traditional route, ie "sometimes you’re the statue and sometimes you’re the pigeon"… but all of that seems so convivial and trite at the moment and I’m in an erudite sort of mood (ok apologies my snark bugs, but I do sometimes use words that are difficult to pronounce because they’re rattling around in my head, but not because I want you to be more confused than you already are). Maybe we can try something more like this...

I remember.

I remember the first time he hit me. I thought it was a mistake. In fact I was sure it was a mistake because there was no way that this shining example of what it means to be a total shit bag of a human being would in fact actually raise his hand, pull it back and hit me. It was more shocking than hurtful.

I remember.

I remember being frozen between halfway sitting and halfway standing, my fork precariously balanced between my fingers threatening clattering on the floor, bleeding out spaghetti. The tingle like insect legs on your palm is what woke me up, as tears began to surge forward.

I remember.

I remember thinking, “why am I crying?” Why was I crying? The hot pools of shame wrestled their way down my face, leaving angry streaky comments in their wake. He had already sat down and had continued eating dinner. “Sit down, and close your mouth.” It was almost whispered, and thrown at my way as to suggest I was the one who had caused the interruption in our dinner routine. One more daggered glance sent me scrambling, limbs in every impossible and wrong angle to regain my composure and my seat, which only delayed the actual process of sitting down. “What’s wrong with you that you can’t even sit down.”  I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me, but it must be something.

I remember.

I remember we just kept eating. I did not utter one single syllable. I did not get up and leave. I did nothing. “It must be my fault” I told myself, repeatedly. I must have done something wrong. But what? I rewound the events before the conjecture of his hand against my skin, to ascertain what could have sparked such a discourse. We had been laughing over something stupid and inconsequential. He had asked me if I could go to a gallery opening, but I couldn’t. I had a final to study for, and eventually had to go back to my own place. I had told him I couldn’t. We argued. It was settled with his physical punctuation that I would indeed attend the gallery opening.

I remember.

I remember I felt like I had eaten fistfuls of garden dirt followed by a cement chaser.  Later there was whispered kindness, comforting embraces, and an insecure relief began to settle at my feet, like a dog thumping its tail, warming the edges of my being. I stayed on. I stayed silent.

 ************************************************************************

PHEW. That was HEAVY. And I’ve decidedly don’t do heavy anymore.  Such a burden. Really. But in all seriousness I dated a total douche bag of a human for about 4 ½ years. It/He was a large part of my adolescent life, shaping me, molding me in all the wrong ways. Things I’ve had to re-teach myself, re-learn what is or isn’t “normal.” In all of this I have managed to keep intact my sense of humor, somehow, and here I am on the other side. Definitely, defiantly defying (ohh there's that alliteration again) the statistics about being the product of an abusive relationship, what that means for future relationships, what that means to the future you.

Here’s a little bit of advice that has taken me YEARS to learn, and I’m still struggling with it:

You, YES YOU, are a person of immeasurable worth.

You deserve to be treated with respect.

You deserve to be loved in an appropriate manner.

You are capable of loving in an appropriate manner.

Snarksters, NO ONE has the right to lay their hands on you in a manner that is physically abusive. Don’t stay silent, and don’t think that this is “NORMAL.” I assure you, it’s not. Please seek help if you are in an abusive relationship and can’t leave.  http://www.bandbacktogether.com/abuse  Help and resources can be found here.

Now that we’re done with those un-pleasantries you will all be very happy to know that this weekend I’m attending the belated birthday party of Ms. VamipreS; so next week’s Conversational Mondays should be super AWESOME. I’ve promised to try to behave myself, but shit, who are we kidding? It’s me, after all.

“Pictures of last night ended up online, I’m screwed, Oh well…” (Katy Perry, Last Friday Night) I'm guessing that's summing up my weekend... how about yours?

My Shit's Fucking Real

Since we're on the topic of self loathing and the fakeness (<--new word)....

These are photos of my wedding ring, yes my actual ring. Notice the grime and the old lady hands, which is just great, since at 28 I want to have like 80 year old hands--> yuck.  I also have problem taking pictures, they always come out blurry, which is probably why my hopes of being a famous photographer have been broken like a good china plate...

Hello Granny Hands!

Good thing you went and did your
nails before you posted a picture
of your hand online.....

Now pray tell, why would I post a picture of such a lovely piece of jewelry? Well besides bragging rights.............

I have an acquaintance through a really good friend of mine. I knew her in high school, we were cool but indifferent. Well over the years my good friend got really close to this other person who we'll just call Heather for the sake of me not having to say acquaintance in every other sentence.  So needless to say at my good friend's functions there was Heather and her Husband, Mr. Stanford, as in "remember that time at Stanford..., or they say the hardest school to get into now is Stanford..." (have I mentioned I hate pompous pretentious assholes as much as I hate ignorant fucktards... they pretty much balance each other out on scale of fucking stupidity).  They are cool and polite. Distant and yet approachable. I can't really wrap my mind around them, so for the most part I ignore them, until....

Heather looks down at my ring and goes, "oh hey that's nice." I say the usual thank you, and compliment her on her wedding ring, which bears a resemblance to mine but is not quite the same. I genuinely think it's lovely. I give her a sincere compliment. She returns the compliment by saying very snobbish, "well you know it's quite old, it's been in Mr. Stanford's family for awhile. What about your ring, has it been in the family?" Wow. That's to the point I suppose. But I  brush it off, I'm practicing being nice, and I don't want to start shit at my good friend's party. So I say, "well, no it hasn't. I did pick it out though, I mean the stone and the setting."  So Heather (who's been eyeballing my bling for awhile now) says, "Ohhhh. Well, what does your husband do for a living then?" Excuse me.... WHAT THE FUCK. I swallow down some vehement cuss words, and tell her, "He's an Operations Manager." Heather is bored now or something because she says in a very nonchalant voice, "oh, I didn't think they made that much money." At this point my eyes are bulging out of my head and I'm about two seconds away from shanking the hooker right there with witnesses around. Instead my voice gets really tight and I say, "what do you mean."  Heather says, "oh, nothing. I just, well what do you do again?" I can tell where this is going, and exactly what she's trying to get at. This is a thinly veiled attempt to say "hey bitch, I think your ring is a fake because there's no way you could afford that shit." The fucking nerve of some people.  This bitch used to cry at lunch time over stupid boys and then went out and acted like a freaking whore, literally. And just because she married some yuppie white guy she is suddenly better than me? Classier than me? (<-- actually I might be willing to give her this one, because well.... it doesn't take a lot to be classier than me, but you get the point) FUCK. THAT. SHIT. It doesn't matter what the ring cost, if it's fake or real, none of that crap matters. You can't outclass me hooker, fuck that. If it's a game of words and slight insults you want to play at, game fucking on.

I say, "Well I'm an Executive Assistant for a small start up Biotech, in which I own stock, and get paid very, very well."

Heather: "oh, so you're like a secretary."

Me: "Not really, I oversee all the Administrative Operations within the company, I head the Human Resource Department, etc."

Heather: "Oh, so you have to work."

Me: "Actually I don't, I just don't want to sit at home letting my mind get stale, or thinking that you know I'm entitled to be yuppie upstart while my husband makes all the money." (Ok, ok, so I really didn't say anything past "actually I don't." But I did think the rest)

Heather: "Oh."

Me: "So anyway, I had this ring custom designed. I picked out the stone and everything. The setting is vintage Cartier, how about yours?"

Heather: "Uhh well like I said, it was in Mr. Stanford's family."

Me: "Oh how nice, so he didn't actually but it then?"

Heather: "Well no."

Me: "Oh, well the phubster bought mine, CASH. Which is nice, because you know we're not like a slave to payments for it or anything. And I had it insured, you know just in case.

Heather: "In cash?"

Me: "Yeah."

Heather: "Can I see that again?"

Me: "Actually I have to go now, the phubster's probably looking for me."  

At this point I jumped off my bar stool in the most lady like way I could (legs closed) and walked away very smugly.  So answer me this Snarksters... why are people so quick to assume the worst, or to be pretentious or just flat out rude.  First is started at the grocery store with me, and the encounters I have just keep stacking up out of my favor. It's a quandary  If I were a thinking person I might argue something about Karma, and being a bitch before, but I mean who's got time to ponder the infinite mysteries of the cosmos? Not I. Nay, not I. 

At any rate, haters, self loathers, pretentious asshole, fakers, losers all ABOUND and I am drowning in them. Which I hate. Don't front what you ain't got. That's what I say. And here's the thing about Karma, or just life in general. If you can't genuinely be sincere, and give out nice compliments now and then you're going to burn in hell. Even if you think your shit smells like roses for realz, stop to be kind, at least once a day.  You never know who's watching (like the Devil, or God for that matter), and your one act of random kindness will make a difference. You don't have to do a major "Pay it Forward" act, just something small.  Case in point, yesterday I opened the door at the Mexican taco shop for my phubster. He got the stroller stuck, and when he finally pulled it through I clapped for him, to which he gritted his teeth and said, "Really? Thank you." Oh phubster you ARE so WELCOME. It's the little things people, the little things. 

Lessons Learned:

1. My ring is fucking real. God Damn it. Challenge me and DIE.

2. How is it that 100% Asian girl, who only dated Asians marries a white yuppie guy and then thinks she's the Golden Calf. Home girl's about to get knocked the fuck off her pedestal

3. Be kind, Karma will get you

4. Stanford is not the be all and end all of colleges. FUCK THAT.

So got anything to share, got a hater you want to put on blast? Do so.... we can have a group shanking............

And in case you're wondering.... box wine did strike this weekend, but that's a post for another day because I don't know if I can handle talking about Passion Parties and Lube right now, which is another kindness I've done today. Shit I'm good at this stuff.

I'm Not A Self-Loathing Asian....

I'm just going to come right out and say it. I'm not fucking Thai. Not that I have a problem with Thai people, their language, food, or customs; in fact I rather LOVE Thai food, but that aside, NO I AM NOT NOW, NOR HAVE I EVER BEEN THAI. Nor am I Hmog (from Laos), Filipino (and why do you spell the Philippines with a "ph" but refer to the people with an "f"?), Vietnamese, or any other ethnicity from those Eastern Asian Countries below China, which is not to be confused with countries adjacent to China.

Call me Chinese, ehhh, no big deal, Japenese, I've heard that before too.  Correctly guess I'm Korean and I'll do you a song a dance right there. Where is all of this coming from....  The other day I was at the grocery store, looking at salsa (of all things), when this woman comes up to me out of no where, invades my personal space and asks,

Lady: "Hey you know that sauce."
Me: "Uh what sauce, salsa?"
Lady: "No, that sauce that has peanuts in it, and you put it on stuff."
Me: "Peanut sauce?"
Lady: "Yeah I think so. Do you know where it is?"
Me: "No, not really."
Lady: "But aren't you like, that type of Asian?"
Me: "What do you mean...."
Lady: "The kind that makes and eats that sauce."
Me: "You mean Thai?"
Lady: "Yeah, that's it, Thai."
Me: "Nope. And I don't know what isle that sauce is on either. Oh by the way, do you happen to know where the nearest KKK clan is?"
Lady: "What?"
Me: "Aren't you that type of white person?"
Lady: "What."
Me: "Yup, seems you are: totally ignorant."

I think as this point this woman turned five shades of red and made some strangling gurgling noises as she more or less ran away from me. After my last fiasco in the grocery store I was going to make DAMN sure that this time I would say something, anything. I might have gone too far.  As I related this story to the phubster later he assured me that I am really totally rude (duh), and wondered aloud if I was a self loathing Asian. What. The. Fuck. Really phubster, you wanted to go and play that card huh... FINE.  Then I asked him, "if I just walked up to you in the store and said, hey can you put your hands in my front lawn and ask the grass why it's dying, that wouldn't be rude?" (I should mention that the phubster is one sizzling hot Mexican) That son of a bitch said (with a glint in his eye), "I'm pretty sure that's a come on. And I'd certainly take you up on the offer." GAH, BARF, EYEROLL. He's so cheesy sometimes.

The point of all of this? I'm not even sure if there is a point. I just thought it was kind of funny. I mean really "self-loathing Asian?" Ok there was that one summer where I almost went blonde, and that other time where I got really tanned and tried to pass myself off as... oh just forget it. I don't think I'm that self loathing, no more than the average adoptee. What, hmm... oh yeah that's right I am adopted. Into a completely WHITE family. I've been suffering WTF looks my entire life. So you'll see now that it's totally understandable when I get touchy about being an ethnicity I'm not.  As my brother often tells me (who is also adopted), "we're just bananas, you know, yellow on the outside, and white on the inside." This is true.  For the most part our parents tried to give us cultural advantages, a couple of summers at "Korean Camp," books, information, etc on our ethnic and cultural roots, but really it just wasn't quite the same. The only thing I've managed to walk away with from all of that is a deep and pornographic love of Korean Food. I want it all.  This is ok with me. It really is. I just don't like being lumped together in that "all Asians look the same, therefore they must be the same" category. I mean, should I just assume every white person I see is Italian or Irish? Nope, didn't think so, works with Asians too. Self loathing-->no; people loathing--> Hell to the yes.

And since we're talking about loathing...

I've been reading a blog... I can't tell if it's real or not. SERIOUSLY. I don't want to link it here because if it is real and there's a ton of traffic over there because ya'll are checking it out, that doesn't look so good. But in all honesty I can't make up my mind. There's a part of me that thinks this fucking shit CANNOT be true (it's not a happy blog BTW), I Mean people don't just do that to other people, this is NOT TRUE.  And then there's that other part that's like, OMG what if it is true, this poor girl, I mean fucking sickos out there. But the writing is so advanced and articulate for her "supposed" age, which I've had to take a guess at because she doesn't actually mention her age, just talks about maybe enrolling in High School, and her home schooling studies, and if it is true then the girl's a freaking genius because her ramblings are extremely intelligent, her concepts and connections are light years ahead of her peers, and then some.  I don't know it's confusing, like that time in college when I kissed that girl... I just don't know what to make of it, it's a hot mess. I mean are there fake blogs out there? Sort of new and naive to this whole thing, I guess it's a possibility.

In the blogosphere is there blogism (kind of like racism), just judging the blog by it's category without actually seeing if it fits? There's been a couple of other things I've read lately where I've thought to myself, "self, this is going to be about xyz," and BAM, WAS I WRONG. In reality it was about vibrators, and IVF babies, and shit. Really Snarksters, I'm curious to know, is there a group of fake blogs out there floating around, am I being duped at this very moment, feeling sorry for someone who may not technically exist? I hate being duped. I will shank you.

So Lessons Learned:

1. I'm not Thai
2. I could stand to be a little more patient
3. I should not have a serious discussion with the phubster, or mention anything about lawns or grass because apparently that's a turn on for him, fucking weirdo
4. Wondering why someone would post a fake blog is really time consuming and possibly pointless
5. Restricting yourself to boozing it up on Fridays and Saturdays only, SUCKS.

So... read any good fake blogs lately? Been totally rude to someone who thought you were some other kind of ethnicity that you are, in fact, not? Share.... I promise to be nice.......