I’m a little freaked out.

Early Monday morning, at 3:30am, I woke up. I saw Toby laying on the ground in my room, and I reached over to set my alarm (I had forgotten to do it before I went to bed). As I was doing that, I heard some noises outside my window. Noises, like a person stepping in leaves and plants. OUTSIDE MY WINDOW. My window was half-open, with the blinds down; it had been cool that night, so I decided to leave the window open.

The noise was coming directly from outside the window, which was only a foot or so from my bed. I swear to you, it sounded like a person walking up beside my window. I sat up in bed and Toby growled. He never does this. He got up and trotted over to the front door.

The noise continued.

I got out of bed and turned on the hallway light.

The noise continued.

I went to the front door and turned on the porch light, and walked back to my room.

The noise stopped.

I was seriously freaked out. I woke my Dad up and told him what I heard. He went outside with Toby to check things out –> I felt a little guilty about this. My Dad isn’t the most hardy guy anymore; I basically sent him out there to be attacked. With my dog, no less. But I wasn’t going out there!

Of course, he didn’t see anyone. He turned on the flood lights in the front and back, but found nothing.

Then he told me to go back to sleep.

I DON’T THINK SO.

I understand that whoever/whatever it was, was no longer outside (I hoped). The lights, along with us, had scared them off. But, I don’t know, there’s something about thinking that an attacker is outside your window…it just wakes you up!

Dad stayed up in the living room for an hour or so, but I couldn’t go to sleep. Even though we had closed/locked all the windows, I just didn’t feel safe. I was panicked. I barely slept until I had to wake up at 6am.

In the morning, I went outside to take a look outside my window. I looked at the leaves and plants/bushes, but couldn’t really determine if anything looked off.

It wasn’t until about 3pm that afternoon that the exhaustion insanity kicked in. I started coming up with “solutions.”

1. Get a rifle. Yes, I need a weapon. I need something to scare the hell out of someone. They open that window and I’ve got a barrel pointed at their head. Like I told my boss, “I’m a democrat, but I will SHOOT YOU IN THE FACE!”

2. Get a shotgun. My boss rightly pointed out that I should get a shotgun instead. Rifles just shoot one bullet at a time, while shotguns spray bullets…or something like that. Yes, shotgun it is.

3. Lay some dirt out below my windows. That way, if the creep does return, I have some proof that it’s a person (you know, if the plan to shoot him in the face doesn’t work out/I don’t wake up in time).

4. Fix the sensors on the flood lights. We have flood lights in the yard, but the stupid sensor doesn’t come on if you’re in front of my window. Helpful. Not.

5. Get a better (actual) guard dog. Toby is the worst guard dog in the world. He didn’t wake up until I did, and when he went outside all he did was pee. Worst. Ever.

One theory I have? There’s a neighbor, across the street to the left of us. He’s a Prison Guard – yes, I’m applying all the stereotypes to that statement. He’s quiet, keeps to himself – don’t talk to anyone, doesn’t have people over, always has the blinds closed. When the trio of hurricanes hit a few years ago, and a dozen trees fell in the neighborhood, one fell in his yard. My dad and some other guys were out there cutting it up with chainsaws – the guy didn’t even come outside to help or say thanks. Weird, right? Well, he has a in-law apartment out back. A few years ago he rented it out to a lady. She stayed for less than a week. While she was moving out, she ran into the neighbors next door and told, “you wouldn’t believe what he’s got in that house. You wouldn’t believe what he does in there. I’m not staying” AND SHE DIDN’T SAY WHAT IT WAS! Worse? THE NEIGHBORS DIDN’T ASK HER! What is wrong with people??

So yeah, I’m convinced he’s a killer/rapist and was stalking me.

That said, last night went ok. I wasn’t that freaked out, but I didn’t sleep that well. My Mother’s take on it “HAHA, you are chicken! HAHAHA!” Asian Moms = Most Supportive.

I think I’m gonna get that shotgun.

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Unlike the 30 Rock quote I’m referencing, I actually didn’t picture a black burglar. In my mind, crazy attackers are always white and middle-aged. So I do believe in stereotypes 😉

Tracy: I’m telling you, Dot Com, old-school racism is back.
Toofer: How can racism be back when we elected a black president?
Tracy: Barry Obams is the one who brought it back!
Toofer: So you’re saying that racism is back because white people no longer feel sorry for us?
Tracy: Hey, something’s going on. You know what I saw last night? A Slomin’s Shield commercial with a black burglar!
Dot Com: That’s not good.
Grizz: Come to think of it, I saw a white judge on Law and Order last night!
Tracy: Oh yeah, it’s back on! Get ready, son. All you’ve ever known is your affirmative action job and Queen Latifah CoverGirl commercials.

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Didn’t want to let the day pass without giving a shout-out to Miss Anna Howard Shaw, famed American suffragette. Today marks the anniversary of her birth. Special thanks to Liz Lemon for that piece of trivia, courtesy of Season 4’s episode, “Anna Howard Shaw Day.” They’re nothing if not direct at 30 Rock.

Oh, and I also think there’s something else happening today as well – Saint Valentine, anyone?

I know who the lilies are from, but not the tulips. Hmm.

I think I did pretty well, considering I’m single 🙂

The Grammys!

I was a little worried for LL Cool J.  I mean, it’s stressful enough hosting an awards show – even if it is just the Grammys – but then with Whitney’s death, I can only imagine what they had to do in the last 24 hours to adjust the tone of the show.

I have to say it now.  I can’t look at LL and not think of his alter-ego on 30 Rock; he plays the fictitious rapper/producer, “Ridikolus.”  Tracy is forced to host The Source Awards as a favor to Ridikolus, after Kenneth makes the mistake of not letting him into Tracy’s party.

It’s a great episode.  Anyways….

DRESS TIME!

The Grammys is more laid-back than other awards shows, and is know for having “unconventional” outfits.  This makes it really hard to pick worst-dressed, because there are just so many cray-cray outfits out there!

Let’s start off with some “High Notes” :

Carrie Underwood’s dress was my favorite.  And while the front was beautiful, it was the back that I found particularly gorgeous.  Also loved the back of Taylor Swift’s dress – beautiful structure.  Julianne Hough, who along with Ryan Seacrest were my Best Dresed Couple, had a sexy mesh/zip-zag number.  Kate Beckinsdale was a close second for my favorite – short dresses are perfect for this venue and I loved everything about that one-shoulder piece.  OMG, can we just clap for Kelly Osbourne!?  She went from being worst-dressed a few weeks ago, to this gorgeous, flattering gown.  And I know she has purple hair, but I actually like it!  It reminds me of an 80s cartoon character – does anyone remember this girl from “Moon Dreamers?”

Ok, let’s move to the “Flat Notes”:

I didn’t love them, I didn’t hate them….well, mostly I didn’t hate them.    Corrine Rae Bailey’s skirt intrigued me, but it just wasn’t executed properly.  The thing about Taraji’s gown is that it looked good on TV, but I just hate the fabric when I see it in pictures.   Alicia’s neck piece was cool, but I wish she had paired it with a better dress.  Paris’ gown is actually really nice which 1) is NOT like Paris  and 2) is too sophisticated for the Grammys.  Adele stuck to her usually uniform, a black dress that covers her chest.  I mean, she’s already said she’s not out there to put on a flashy show, that she’d rather people focus on her voice.  And?  Mission Accomplished.

Finally, my “Low Notes”:

Fergie’s dress was a hot orange mess.  I mean, others have pulled off similar looks so I know it can be done, but this was a total fail.  Just looks tacky.  Robyn.  Really?  She looks like she tried to make this as unflattering and ugly as possible – which is exactly why it doesn’t work.  Way to go with your construction platform boots – you’re dumb.  Sooki is dressed like herself…which was enough to earn her this worst-dressed slot.  Hate the bow, hate the fabric, hate the mixed prints…hate it all.  Finally, this girl – I had to look up who she is (I guess that might have been her point?).  SASHA is from Russia; perhaps this look is normal there?  I mean, it’s just ridiculous, I can’t give it much more time than that.

Speaking of RIDICULOUS…

Nicki Minaj is a fool.  I like her songs, whatever, I’m sure she’s an alright girl.  But this “act” isn’t making any statement, other than the idea that kids these days be trippin’.

Funniest Seating Arrangement!

Poor Miranda Lambert.  ‘Ole Lady G is giving her the death stare.

I was surprised to see Adam Levine singing something as wholesome as The Beach Boys –

especially after he arrived with that prostitute…

(SIDENOTE:  My mom was standing over my shoulder while I was writing this.  She saw the pic above and says, “Who’s that?  Dress sexy.  You know them?”  “No Mom, I don’t know them.”  “Yeah, not your friends, skinny people.”  HA!)

I was disapointed in Katy’s outfits, both on and off-stage.

This looks like it was made from the same shitty plastic material as my Halloween costumes from the 80s.

On Aging Well –

These women are gangster.  Gwyneth is younger than Jane, sure, but god she looks fantastic.  She’s one of those people that looks better with age (SEE: Jennifer Aniston).  Whatever microbiotic eating, yoga exercising regime she’s got going on, it’s a winner.  And Jane Seymour!  Damn.  That is all.

On Aging…well, let’s just show her –

Oh Cyndi.  I have no idea how old you really are.  I’m not even sure how old I think you are, but it’s not good.  It’s not good at all.

One final scene from the night.  When J-Hud took the stage, we all knew it was coming, but I still got serious goose bumps.  I thought she did a great job.

Despite everything positive/negative that’s been said, and will be said, about Whitney’s life, I just really appreciate what she added to my childhood.  I was 5 when she became famous, and her music was part of the soundtrack of my life.  Both happy and sad memories – I’ll always miss her for that.

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

What about that Suge Knight reference, you ask?

Kenneth: Mr. Jordan, I have a message for you from a Mr. Ridikolus.
Frank: Ridikolus, the hip-hop producer. Isn’t that the guy that bit Suge Knight?
Tracy: Yeah, yeah. He bit Suge Knight. He held Raven-Symone over a balcony. Made Rasheed Wallace cry. Dude is crazy. I don’t want him calling me.
Kenneth: Oh, he didn’t call, Mr. Jordan. He gave me the message after I wouldn’t let him into your party the other night.
Tracy: What?!

CUT TO CLUB SCENE, NIGHT BEFORE

Ridikolus: (on cell) I’ll call you when I get inside.
Kenneth: I’m sorry. This is a private party.
Ridikolus: Hold on. We’re with Tracy Jordan.
Kenneth: And Mr. Jordan himself said, “Don’t let no one in who’s not on the list ’cause this mess is gonna get raw like sushi.” So haters to the left.
Ridikolus: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. What’s your game, man?
Kenneth: Boggle.
Ridikolus: Come on…but you know what? You tell Tracy Jordan that Ridikolus-

CUT TO PRESENT DAY
Kenneth: “Is gonna eat his family!”
Tracy: Excuse me, won’t you? (runs off)

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[DISCLAIMER: This is a long, drawn-out post, as it stands right now.  I’m having trouble being succinct, and so I feel like I just went on about twelve tangents below, trying to get to a point.  Hopefully I’ll re-read this in a couple of days and figure out how to make the post read better. For now, I just apologize.  I thought it was more important to just put something out there and try to fix it later.  I’m sorry :)]

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I have fuzzy-head.

That’s what I use to describe the feeling I get when I stop talking my anti-anxiety medication.  If you don’t decrease your dosage properly as you wean yourself off, you end up feeling strange.  Specifically, I often lose my train of thought, feel sorta ill all the time, and have headaches – it’s like you’re walking around in a fog, as though you have cotton in your brain.  Hence, fuzzy-head.

I started talking a low-dose of an anti-anxiety pill about 9 years ago, not long after I graduated college and moved to Boston.  I started having acute anxiety, sometimes coupled with panic attacks, when I went out at night.  It eventually got to the point where I could only go to work and home; everything else made me fill with panic.  This wasn’t practical, so I finally got some help (it didn’t hurt that I worked at a hospital at the time).  After describing my anxiety, I was prescribed Celexa, which is a combination anti-depressant/anti-anxiety.  I started taking them.

And it made a world of difference.

You see, I suffered from anxiety throughout my childhood, although I really wasn’t aware that what I felt was true panic/anxiety (and not just some “phase” that all children go through).  I just thought I had issues.  It started with not being able to sleep by myself.  Sure, plenty of children go through this stage, but most have it conquered by age 4/5.  They learn coping mechanisms at first, and then they become comfortable on their own – one step towards independence!  Unfortunately, that’s not what happened with me.  I didn’t learn to cope with it.  My parents thought it “wasn’t a big deal” and that I would “grow out of it.”  My mother had to stay with me each night while I went to bed, and usually for a few hours after that.  If I woke up and she wasn’t there, I went into a pure panic, physically.  I would become sick to my stomach with fear, start rapidly breathing, dry mouth, eventually make myself dizzy…all the signs of a panic attack.  I didn’t learn to cope with my anxiety then, and it followed me throughout my childhood and into adulthood.

I think this is why I get really frustrated when I see parents allowing their children to sleep in their beds, for far too long.  It’s very important to teach your children to become comfortable with being separated from you, and with being alone.  To conquer that fear.  It really bothers me, because I don’t want any child to have to deal with the anxiety I had growing up.  You miss out on a lot – sleepovers with friends, overnights with grandparents, extended school trips, etc.  And while I grew out of needing my mother right there with me each night – although it took YEARS – I needed to be in my house to fall asleep most of the time.  To this day, I am bitter about not being able to go on my 8th Grade Field Trip to Washington, DC.  Very bitter.

The strange thing is that the separation anxiety I had would come and go throughout my years growing up.  Some years I would be fine spending the night at a friend’s house, other years I wouldn’t be able to go to the movies without getting anxious.  It was hard to deal with, because I just didn’t know what caused it, or what would trigger it.  That alone led me to have anxiety that I might have anxiety (vicious cycle of over-thinking).

So, back to Boston.  Right away, I felt relief with the Xanax that I was given in the interim period until my Celexa took effect.  Xanax was the first miracle drug I found – it was such an amazing feeling to find something that would take away the anxiety, the fear – in what felt like an instant.  Twenty minutes and I went from pure, in-a-sweat-and-feeling-dizzy-and-ill, panic to feeling calm.  Twenty minutes.  It was like discovering paradise.

Once the Celexa started working, all the (unwarranted) anxiety slipped right out of my life.  I was no longer trapped by it.  It was freedom.  At first, I really couldn’t believe I had lived so long with the anxiety.  I was actually really pissed that my parents didn’t do the little research it would have taken to get me help.  Looking back, I can partly see how didn’t realize it was that bad.  I guess I kept a lot hidden, out of shame/embarrassment.

For several years, I took the little pill and lived a much fuller and happier life; and I never really thought much of it, the need for medicine.  Then came the day that a lot of people experience, when they are dependent on a drug to cope with an issue.  They start believing they are cured.  They start thinking they don’t need the pills to get the same effect.  That they’ve permanently changed something in themselves.  Yes, I started thinking I didn’t have anxiety anymore – and I didn’t, because of the medicine in my system.  However, I believed that I didn’t need the medicine to keep this feeling going.

I also believed that I shouldn’t need a drug to deal with (what I thought) a purely mental issue.  That I should be able to cope with it on my own, no drugs needed.  I felt weak in needing a chemical in my system to deal with a feeling I was having.

It was those thoughts that led me to stop taking Celexa the first time.  And I wasn’t smart about it, I didn’t decrease slowly enough.  I halved my doses a few times and then stopped altogether.  I got serious fuzzy-head.  To the point where I only lasted a couple of weeks before I had to go back on the medicine.  I simply couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus, and just felt really lousy.

The next time I stopped taking my pills was recently, about two months ago.  This time I did a gradually decrease in dosage; there were much less withdrawal symptoms.  It took a long time, but I’m mostly back to normal.  Well, back to my normal – which just means that I no longer feel sick from not taking it.  There are still some lingering affects, though.

Most noticeably, I feel raw with emotion all of the time.  Meaning, little things can set me off and I feel like I’m going to tear up and start crying.  Not necessarily bad things, either.  I can see something happy or sad or funny, and still have the same reaction – tears.  It’s sorta scary.  For someone who used to NEVER CRY, it’s very strange to see a commercial or listen to a song and start feeling “verklement!”

But here’s the issue, friends.  I’m unsure what to do.  Should I go back on the pills to feel more emotionally stable and without anxiety (I am starting to feel some anxiety, recently), OR should I continue pill-free and try to find ways of naturally coping with my emotions, no matter how strong (and unjustifiable) they are?

It’s hard for me to make a decision because I’m just not sure what to think of the anxiety itself.  Is it purely a brain chemical-imbalance, or is it simply a case of mind-over-matter?  I’m leaning towards both – that it’s a mixture of the two – but there’s no way to half medicate myself.  I do want to learn to cope with my emotions.  However, I believe that I have a naturally tendency towards unjustified anxiety.  And the anxiety is strong enough that it interferes with my life.

One of the downsides to taking medicine is that it might be making me numb to my real emotions. I wasn’t without emotion when I was taking them, but I certainly didn’t feel the “raw” emotion I feel right now (but who knows if that is even my “normal,” or simply a lingering after effect of the drug).

The point is, I’m confused.  And I thought I would share it with you all 🙂

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

ADDENDUM:  So, after trying to compose the above post, for a good two days, I finally finished.  It was then that I decided to watch this TED Talk, that my friend Melissa blogged about last week.  It has to do with vulnerability and how this one factor is the difference between those who truly feel connected with others and believe themselves to be worthy of love (yes, I know how cheesy that sounds).  Melissa summarizes the talk well:

“Connection is why we’re here.” This is the crux of the matter, says Brown. Basically, human beings are wired to be connected toward one another. What keeps us from connecting? Shame and fear…things inside us that we feel if we expose, someone will not love us. (The “I’m not good enough” feeling.) BUT, in order for deep, meaningful connection to occur (if you’ve forgotten already, that’s our whole purpose on this planet- to connect), we must be vulnerable…we have to allow ourselves to be seen. Truly seen. Deeply seen.

In her research, Brown discovered that people who have what she refers to as a “sense of worthiness [towards being loved]” are separated from people who don’t by just ONE factor. The factor is: They *believe* they’re worthy. That’s it. That’s the only variable. The way these “whole-hearted” people live revolves around four main areas: the courage to be imperfect, the compassion to be kind to yourself first (and then to other people), the connection that results from that authenticity. And finally, vulnerability. Letting go of who you”should be” to be who you are. These people fully embrace the concept of vulnerability, even though they don’t talk about it as “comfortable”, just necessary. They realize there must be a willingness to take risks where there are no guarantees and invest in things that may or may not work out. Even if it hurts.

And here’s the part that got me.  Brown talks about how we numb our pain through addictions like drugs, pain, and alcohol.  How there is no way to numb just the bad feelings, that you also close yourself off to the possibility of joy and happiness.

And THAT is what reinforced the idea that I should keep pushing through without the meds….now I’m just doubly confused.

You should watch this talk – it’s long (20 minutes, which is long for an internet video), but it’s solid.  Really good stuff.

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

Ok, so time for something light and funny (that doesn’t cause me any tears).  In Season 1 we meet Tracy’s physician, Dr. Spaceman (pronounced “Spa-che-men”….or something like that).   Tracy’s about to go on “Conan” and has stopped taking his meds, which makes him act certifiable.  Dr. Spaceman to the rescue!

Liz: Hi, I work with Tracy Jordan, and I think he’s having a reaction to some of the medication you’ve put him on.

Dr. Spaceman: I was afraid this might happen. You know, he’s on so many different neuroleptics and tricyclics that there’s no telling how they’ll mix. But, what can you do? Medicine’s not a science.

Liz: What exactly are you treating him for?

Dr. Spaceman: There’s not really a name for what Tracy has. Basically, it’s erratic tendencies and delusions brought on by excessive notoriety, and certainly not helped by my wildly experimental treatments. Boy, I’m being awfully open with you, Miss. I should not have taken those blue things.

Liz: So, is he dangerous?

Dr. Spaceman: No, he should be fine; so long as you keep him away from bright lights, loud music, and crowds. You know, I’ll call in a prescription for something to settle him down as soon as possible…do you need anything for yourself?

Liz: What? No! Just where can I pick up Tracy’s prescription!

It was my mother’s birthday last week – on either the 1st or the 2nd, depending on how you choose to celebrate.

See, for the first 18 years of my life, I thought my Mom was born on the 2nd.  You know, Groundhog’s Day.  That’s when we’d give her her card and gifts, buy her a cake, etc.

Around the time I went to college, my Mom revealed the following.

MOM: You know it’s not my birthday today.  (Today being the 2nd)

ME:  What?

MOM:  It’s not my birthday.  I was born on the 1st.

ME: WHAT?

MOM:  Yeah, I was born on the 1st.

ME: What are you talking about, Mom??  Your birthday is the 2nd!   We’ve been celebrating it on the 2nd my entire life!

MOM: No, it’s on the 1st.  Ask your father.

DAD:  Yeah, it’s on the 1st.

ME: WHAT??  Why didn’t you ever tell us that?  We’ve been celebrating it on the 2nd forever!

MOM: I just thought you forgot.

ME:  EVERY YEAR?!

Oh, she’s for real.  Her birthday is indeed on the 1st and she never bothered to correct us.  Ever.  And my Dad?  Well, he probably just wasn’t aware of what day it was when we were celebrating.  I’m guessing it wasn’t a big deal that we were celebrating on the wrong day, because birthdays aren’t a big deal at my house.  Or celebrating anything, actually.

Judging purely by photos, I had my first birthday party when I turned 4.  Four.  Let that sink it.  In today’s over-celebratory generation, especially with children’s birthdays, this would be criminal.  I can tell you of multiple people I know who’s children’s 1st Birthday parties cost  more than all my birthday parties combined.  I don’t even have to ask my parents why I didn’t have a party before that age, I already know what the answer is:

1.  Third child syndrome – After the first kid, things go downhill in the celebration department.  Sure, my bro has pics from his 1st birthday, but by the time I rolled around, it was old news.  This goes for any milestone event: walking, first words, etc.  Just not as exciting as you hit it the third time around.  ALSO, pictures were not a priority for my parents.  My Dad took all of them – to this day, my Mom STILL can’t operate a camera (I know, she’s ASIAN, how can that be??).  There are very few pics of me as a baby/toddler.

2.  Babies Don’t Know It’s Their Birthday – This I kinda agree with.  There’s no need to go overboard on a party for a baby who’s not really cognizant of what is going on and will never remember this moment past it happening.  Yes, I realize I give my dog presents on his birthday (and treats), but I don’t go overboard.  And while I’m sure my brother had a first birthday party, I can guarantee you there wasn’t a petting zoo involved.  Or a circus in the backyard.  I realize that type of hyped-up partying has only come about in the last 10 years or so, but I wanted to bring it up because of how ridiculous I find it.  So anyways – no harm in giving the baby some cake and gifts, but anything much more than that and it’s being done for the parents (perhaps to show-off to other parents?).

3.  Maybe I had a party and they forgot to take pictures? (see #1)

At any rate, birthdays are not a big deal with the ‘rents.  My Dad doesn’t like holidays or parties or celebrations (or groups of people, or being social…this could go on and on) and my Mom is very laissez-faire about the whole thing as well.   I can totally see her just going with the flow when we gave her stuff on the 2nd.

SIDENOTE:  My oldest brother texted me on the 2nd, to ask which day her birthday was.  Yes, it’s still a problem for us.

Dates have never been a strong suit for my Mom.  She’s forgotten my birthday.  Twice.

The first was when I turned 18.  Eighteen, pretty big deal, right?  I had been planning my birthdays since I was 12 – so I already had something to do that day.  Nothing big, just going to Blue Springs with some friends.  That morning as I was getting ready to leave, my Mom and I got into some little argument.  I don’t remember what it was about.  But I said something along the lines of “Do you have ANYTHING you want to tell me?”  “No.  What are you talking about?”  I left for the Springs.

When I got home I talked to my Dad on the phone and told him “your WIFE forgot it was my birthday.”  (Yeah, I pulled that on him.  Much like when parents argue, “I don’t know, he’s YOUR son!”)  I think that made him feel bad.  They ended up buying some spongy cake for me, and we had some people over.  No circus, no petting zoo, no balloons even 🙂

My Dad must have felt extra-guilty, because he bought me a present.  99% of the time, my parents give us money for any holiday/birthday.  They never know what to buy us, so they don’t even try.  However, that year my Dad bought me a gift.  A new phone for my room.  It had Caller ID on it.  Pretty fancy for 1998.

The second birthday my Mother forgot was my 25th.  In her defense, I was living in Boston at that time.  How was she expected to remember her only daughter’s birthday when she wasn’t even living in the same state? 😉

So my Mom actually called me on the day of my birthday, letting me be fooled into thinking she remembered.  However, she soon revealed her actual reason for calling: the cat had died.  Mittens, our ever faithful calico, whom my Mother found hanging around the Garden section of K-Mart back in the mid-80s.  She was our “Blue Light Special” cat.  Our consolation prize pet, since we weren’t allowed to have a dog (we had one, but my parents gave him away on Thanksgiving.  Another story for another night).  Anyways, Mittens was around 19 years old at that time.  She had led a good life.

My mother explains to me on the phone:

MOM:  E-Mitt died today  (remember, she adds “E” to everyone’s name).   Yeah, I went outside this morning and looked and there she was lying in the grass.  I went over to her and noticed she wasn’t moving!  I touched her, hard as a rock!  We buried her behind the shed.

ME:  It’s my birthday, Mom.

MOM:  Oh, yeah!  I knew it was one of these days!  Happy Birthday.  How old are you?

Yeah, no big deal that we celebrated her birthday on the 2nd all those years 😉

30 Rock had a live episode last season.  One of the storylines is that it’s Liz Lemon’s 40th Birthday (her birthday is October 14th  we find out, the same as one of my best friends), but everyone had forgotten.

Liz:  Are you sniffing paint?

Jack:  Of course I am, Lemon. Men need alcohol. It gives us the ability to hit on women and later, when we’re married, to tune them out. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. This is the worst day of my life.

Liz:  YOUR LIFE?  Of YOUR LIFE?

Jack:  Oh god.  How are we going to make this about you?

Liz:  It’s my birthday, Jack!  It’s my fortieth birthday and no one remember!

Jack:  Damn ye, she-beasts!

Liz:  What?

Jack:  You and Avery, you lay these traps for me to fail. Lemon, I’m sorry I forgot your birthday. I’m not myself right now. Please accept this, uh… thousand dollars as my gift to you.

Liz:  I’m gonna accept this on principal, but it doesn’t change anything.

I don’t think my Dad is ever going to leave the couch.

Everyday I come home from work and it’s the same scene; Dad, laying on the couch, watching television.  It’s been six months since I moved back, and the picture has not changed. Not one bit. He hasn’t made any efforts to start exercising be active  – not the gym, not a trip to the dog park with Toby, not even a walk around the block. He hasn’t made any attempts to join any groups or volunteer, things that might help him socialize and feel useful.  He doesn’t even spend his time working on things at the house – inside or out.  He is rooted to that couch, much like the ugly paisley cover my mother made for it.  He only leaves it for a few things – to go to the kitchen, to the bathroom, and out to check the mail.  Honest.  I’m not kidding.

Well, he does leave the house for one other reason – doctor appointments and to get his prescriptions.  And for those trips, those very rare trips, he bitches and complains about it for a solid amount of time before he has to go. God help you if you try to get him to pick-up something other than his meds at Wal-Mart; I mean, it just takes so much out of of him simply to go to the pharmacy.  It’s not worth the drama to even mention it to him.

I don’t think my Dad is ever going to leave the couch.

He says he’s depressed.  He says he has no interest or motivation to do anything.  That all he wants is some “peace” in his life.  Peace from all his worries.  That he is tired, exhausted, and he “doesn’t feel like it.”   What is “it?”  It is anything and everything.

But is he willing to do anything to make things better?  No.  No he’s not.

So what do you recommend for the depressed?  Drugs?  Therapy?  I’ve tried both.  Drugs – he just doesn’t believe they’ll work.  That’s it.  Nothing else beyond it.  He doesn’t want to take them because he doesn’t believe in them.  I tried telling him that there’s nothing to “believe in,” it’s not like the Easter Bunny, it’s not something you necessarily need to have faith in.  The drugs are real – they have real chemicals in them, that react in your bloodstream produce a reaction, to have affect.  No need to believe, really.  Just try it out.  And after almost five months of being home, I got him to start taking some.

Therapy – well, this one’s a real frustration.  Here’s my Dad’s take on therapy:

That’s right.  Therapy is for people who don’t have real problems.  Yes, you heard him.  People with real problems, like himself, the therapists can’t do anything for them!  They can’t make sure he has enough money to live off of, to pay his medical bills, or cover him during an emergency.  They can’t give him good health, and they can’t get rid of any of the thousands of problems he has.

Did you know that?  Did you know that therapists don’t MAGICALLY SOLVE ALL YOUR PROBLEMS?  I mean, good god, look at all the time I’ve been wasting talking to that non-problem-solver.  All the money I threw away.  Had I know they weren’t there to solve REAL PROBLEMS….well, I could have saved me some money.

Jack: I believe that when you have a problem, you talk it over with your priest, or your tailor, or the mute elevator porter at your men’s club. Then you take that problem and you crush it with your mind vice. But for lesser beings, like curly haired men and people who need glasses, therapy can help.

So I asked him, does he think everything going to counseling – people like me – have fake problems?  That we sit around feeling sorry for ourselves with our pretend issues?  No, he doesn’t, he really doesn’t think about what other people are doing in therapy, he just knows that his issues cannot be helped by a therapist.  Well let’s see, what do you think:  depression, anxiety, panic attacks, compulsive behaviors/thoughts…how would one deal with these things?  Perhaps there are ways to COPE with these feelings?  Perhaps THAT’S why people go to therapy?

I know, I know I’m preaching to choir with most of you – but it’s just so damn frustrating.  And you know what is the most frustrating?   That the other main reasons he doesn’t go to a psychologist is because he “doesn’t have the money to waste on that crap!” (You know things are getting heated when Dad pulls out “crap.”  It’s the equivalent of most of us saying “bullshit.”  Not shit, but all the way to being angry enough to say bullshit.)  Because your sanity, and the possibility of having some peace in your life, isn’t worth a co-pay?

I don’t think my Dad is ever going to leave the couch.

And it makes me angry.  Every single day, I get a little more pissed off when I get home.  Because I know; I know that he’s not done anything to change his life’s outcome (and never has).  I walk in that door and can barely make eye contact when I see him on that couch, it angers and disappoints me so much.

He makes a real effort to be bright and cheery (for him, anyways) when I get home.  He does.  He tries asking about my day, tries talking about Toby and how lazy and ignorant he is, tries chatting me up about the latest in the news, or what documentary he’s seen on NetFlix or Hulu…and it kills me that I don’t want to talk to him.  That I have no desire to feed into this sad, pathetic life he’s created for himself.  On that couch.  That I want to jump up and down, and yell and scream for him to do something, anything, but I can’t.  I just can’t do it.  I am just too tired.  I’m at the end of a long day, and the end of a long struggle, with him.

So I engage.  I engage in the Jeopardy competition.  I engage in latest documentary he’s watched.  I engage in laughing about how stupid Toby is.  Simply because I know it brings him a little peace, a little happiness.  Even if it doesn’t do anything for me.

And I can’t change him.  I can’t make him do anything.  So I’m left with little choice but to try and fit myself into the small world that he’s created to live in.  A world that has shut most everything out, but an ugly, five-foot couch.

And for today – for tonight – that’s all I can do.

I’m sorry to bring you guys down with this post; it’s quite the follow-up after last night’s superficial rant on fashion, no?  Well here, I’ll make up for it a little.  The 30 Rock episode I referenced is from Season 5, “Chain Reaction of Mental Anguish.”  In it, Liz gets some cheap (free) therapy from Kenneth, who is turn has to get some from Jack.

Jack, who I quoted earlier, needs no therapy – or so he says.  Click on the link below to be taken to an awesome scene, where Kenneth reveals how he ate his “father pig.”  It’s a real treat 😉

http://videos.nymag.com/video/30-Rock-Chain-Reaction-of-Menta/player?layout=&title_height=24

Since I don’t have cable, I wasn’t able to watch the actual SAG Awards.  I am only able to cover the dresses from photos – which, as we know, can be quite different from how things look on film.  That being said, I’m going to judge away like I saw both!

I’m just going to be crazy (cray cray) and start with my favorite: Sofia V’s magenta gown.  What won me over with her dress was the color, honestly.  The cut is stylish and flattering, but it was the way the rich bold magenta looks on her skin that really did it for me.  I included the second shot because I wanted to show you a ponytail done well, as opposed to this next number.

Yeah, this is just the worst.  Sky blue and red? Bad color combination in my opinion.  And the velvety/satin look of the fabric, along with the Hawaiian print, is too reminiscent of the mid-90s.  To add insult to injury, she throws her hair back in a shoddy looking ponytail.  She needs to ride this out to the “Secret Life of the American Teenager” prom.

Look!  It’s a Glee Smash-Up!

Amber looks hot in this, except for the GIGANTIC bow, which is awful.  Love Dianna’s look, especially the color (and a lot of women were rocking the braids last night).  Jenna = Worst. Asian. Reprentation. Ever.  This rainbow mesh is a true mess and I won’t even get into the cut-out sides!.  Jayma – Beautiful dress.  Love the cut, love the material, love the color, love the back (look it up), love everything.

And Lea, dear sweet Lea.  I kinda feel like this is our fault.  Casting you in a role where you play the dorky, unpopular glee girl.  Putting you in the ugly catholic school girl socks and skirts.  We did this to you.  It only makes sense that you would start reacting to the overwhelming response to the show,  to you.  In order to shed that dorky persona (remember that awful Lady Gaga outfit she wore?), you had to rebel.  You had to go ALL THE WAY.  Now, the Golden Globes gown was far more outrageous, but this one is still over-sexified.  Yup, just created that term.  And not just the slit (although that is a major part of it).  It’s the entire way she’s carrying herself; the come hither looks.  It’s just too much.  Relax, girl – you can be sexy.  We believe you.  Now go put some socks on.

Here are a few more disappointments.   Busy, I don’t need to say anything about – but I will.  GOD AWFUL.  Michelle’s dress is a nice cut and shape.  The problem for me is the material.  As my friend Jen pointed out, and I totally agree with, red lace looks cheap.  Always.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone wearing it, where it looked good.  Just a universally bad idea.  Rose, I hardly recognized this Bridesmaids actress.  She actually looks a lot like Minka Kelly.  So yeah…the jumpsuit.  I  mean, first off – JUMPSUIT.  Super hard to pull off.  And I just didn’t feel it here.  Perhaps if it wasn’t completely covered in sequins/beads, it might have worked.  But the entire look is so Vegas – you just know Celine is going to bust this out at some point in her show (if she hasn’t already).

So they’re not wearing the same dress, but they sure look identical.  And why is it that I love the look on Katrina but not Julianne?  I’m not sure.  I mean, the white does look good with Katrina’s hair, but it’s not like it looks bad with Julianne’s.  I guess Julianne does have a slighter pink hue to her skin tone and it blends too much with her dress; Katrina’s slight tan looks perfect against her white dress.  A perfect example of how the same dress just looks better on one person – a “Who Wore It Best,” if you will.

More white (and black) dresses.  All of which I disliked.  Actually, forget Amber’s dress, it was her Bride of Frankenstein hair and make-up that was outrageous.  Jolie was reminiscent of her Billy Bob goth days in this dress, the fabric of which looks really cheap.  Judy Greer takes us 180 degrees in this dress, which serves as the exact opposite of Lea’s sexed-up gown.  Sorta a 70s, Partridge Family look.  Blossom’s dress had an awful fit up top – and the bottom of the dress doesn’t match the style of the top of the dress, to me.  Kristen Wiig dress was so-so; it’s the metal choker that just sealed the deal on ugly.

All of these are great.  I don’t have much to say about them, just wanted to include some pretty-ness….

….before I brought you the finale.

HOT MESS OF THE NIGHT

I don’t know, people.  Firstly, my friend didn’t even recognize little Brittney from Glee.  I think the outfit was just blinding them from looking at the person wearing it – good news for Heather Morris.  And as much as I made fun of Shaliene for wearing a mid-90s outfit, this is more like 1990 and ten times worse.

What do you think?  Donna Marten or Kelly Kapowski?  I mean, there are just so many horrible elements to it – mini skirt, sheer overlay, pleather(?) sides, bad off-the-shoulder.  It just didn’t stand a chance.

Well, I wish I’d seen the actual ceremony.  Why?  Oh, just one reason:

Tina and John presenting together!

You know, I might just have to start expanding my awards show repertoire.  There’s only a few major awards shows.  Even 30 Rock knows this: they featured the Kids’ Choice Awards in Season 3.  Jack and Jenna attend to promote her new Janice Joplin biopic….er, I mean, Jackie Jormp-Jomp (there was an issue with buying the rights).

Jack:  No, Jenna, I want you on the PR warpath. If there’s a red carpet, I want you on it talking up the movie, starting Monday.

Jenna: The Kid’s Choice Awards? Fine, I’ll set aside my feud with Raven-Symoné for one day, but she knows what she did.

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

Child Reporter: Whose Mom are you?

Jenna: Thank you!  Well tonight’s about having fun!  I’m wearing Taylor Dayne for Express.

Ahh, Winter Madness has arrived….up North.  Yeah, down here in Flor-da, we’re doing just fine with our 80 degrees, sunny-all-the-time weather.  Actually, it is a bit warm.

My friend, Melissa, writes about her detest of winter clothing on her blog this week.  The endless layers, the fact that sweaters and boots do nothing to make her feel sexy… I had to laugh.   She reminded me of winters past, spent in Boston and DC.  Hell, I even wore a sleeveless dress – with flip flops! – this week in her honor.

I spent the last nine years living outside of Florida – I was in Boston for six years and DC for three years.  But not all at once.  It was more like this:

FL -> Boston –> DC –> Boston –> DC –> FL

I get a little restless sometimes.  But I like how I went full circle!

What I took away from my time there, one of the things anyway, is how damn long the winter is.  I distinctly remember my first winter in Boston; it was my first real winter.  The first snow?  It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.  I had never seen snow falling (I saw it once, but it was already on ground, not as fun), so this was A BIG DEAL.  My roommate, Beth, and I ran outside at 6am, high on excitement.  We were those people.

We lived in an apartment complex, right on the Green Line (city living), where there was only a small median between the sidewalk and the streets.  We were playing in the snow, with no gloves, video taping the experience.  God, being a Floridian who laughs at tourists at Disney with their crazy-ass outfits and Mickey Ears, I know exactly how ridiculous we looked.  However, it was awesome.  I’ll never forget it.

colder than you think.

So, some thoughts on Real Winter:

1.  Layers are ANNOYING – Besides being an unexpected expense (who knew how much coats were!?), clothing in the winter is a pain to go out in.  While it might be 15 degrees out, it’s nice and warm in the bars/restaurants so you end up taking off 75% of your outfit and trying to sling it over a chair.  Or, you have to check it – and being from FL, I had never checked anything before.  So I was skeptical about leaving my stuff with strangers and then tipping them to keep it.  However, the worst was when you were out with nowhere to sit and you end up throwing your winter gear in a big pile with a dozen other people (your friends, strangers, homeless people), and just hope that your shit doesn’t get grabbed by the wrong person.  Or worse, stolen.  I lost my FAVORITE coat at an Irish pub in DC.  I left it laying in a corner with other people’s stuff and when I went to leave, the jacket was nowhere to be found.  “Maybe someone confused it with theirs?” you might say.  You would be wrong.  It was a PURPLE wool jacket and it was LARGE – no average girl is going to grab that thinking it’s hers.  To this day I’m certain a large pretty boy walked out of that bar with my fancy purple coat on.

Oh, and walking home with no coat in January?  NOT FUN.

2.  College Girls (and slightly older) still dress like strippers. – Hey, I’m not gonna lie.  When I was 22 in Boston my friends and I walked out of the house in mini skirts and tube tops.  Just throw a jacket and scarf on, you’ll be fine ’till we get there.  Yes, and that works…up until a point.  That point being when it’s: FIVE degrees, the wind is blowing UPWARDS, you are basically naked from the waist down (who needs tights under this dress??) and in high-heels trying not to break your ankles on the cobblestone next to Fanueil Hall.  Once you do that a few times (hey, some people are slow to learn), you’ll give up your dreams of being sexy in the winter.  

4.  Snow is RULL Cold –  Snow is so pretty, you just want to lay in it (see above).  But beware, that is frozen water.  Yes, obviously one should know this.  But when you’re caught up in the seeming fluffiness of it all, you’ll throw yourself down into a Snow Angel, without really thinking about the ramifications.  Namely, that frozen water going down your jeans.  COLD!

And don’t touch it with your bare hands.  Beth and I were so stupid on that one.

4.  It’s long.  Really long.  –  As excited as I was to experience snow and cold and all that jazz, I kinda forgot about how long it stays cold.  I mean, months and months of cold weather.  My birthday is in June, so I figured that the weather would be awesome by then.  Nope. I clearly remember going to a beach on my first birthday in Boston; it was cold and foggy and windy and wet.  I was not impressed.  I think this was the point where I went from being “Miss Mary Florida Sunshine,” (a co-worker called me this) to an Angry Northerner.

3.  Seasonal Affective Disorder is REAL – Being “Miss Mary Florida Sunshine,” I had the pleasure of growing up in a city where it was sunny 99% of the time.  You noticed when it cloudy for more than a day – it was strange.  I mean, even when it rained, the sunny was out like 15 minutes later; sometimes it even rained in the sunshine!  So adjusting to this Winter Madness, not easy.  Not only is cold out, but it’s DARK.  I went from being in school in FL – where I was outside a lot of the time, to working all day in Boston – where I hardly ever got outside during the day.   To leave the house when it’s gloomy out and come home when it’s dark…it gets to you.  I could feel the sunshine draining right out of me.  It got to where I didn’t want to do anything but snuggle up on the couch, with my warm (fattening) foods and not move for the night.  I eventually started to force myself to go out – the layers! – but I certainly wasn’t happy about it.  After 4 years in Boston, my doctor told me I had low Vitamin D levels.  You know, the same Vitamin D that you get from being out in the sun.  I remember glaring at him, saying “OH REALLY?  I WONDER HOW THAT HAPPENED?!”  I wasn’t really depressed at that point, so much as I was officially an Angry Northerner.

5.  When it’s over, it better be over.  – See, we’ll take the winter.  We’ll tough it out for those four six months.  But when it’s supposed to end, when it’s supposed to be Spring/Summer, it sure as hell better be nice out.  That first day of Spring, when it’s warm (47 degrees) and sunny (you can see a glimmer of sun) for the first time in half a year – people will BUST OUT into the city.  They will put on those running shorts, throw the kids in the strollers, and camp their un-tanned asses on The Common.  And they will be so happy.

Which is why they do not take bad weather, outside of Winter, well.  If it even looks like it’s going to rain, they pitch a fit.  At first I didn’t understand.  It’s only a little rain, it’s just DRIZZLING.  But they acted like a Hurricane had planted itself into a perfect fine July day.  And you know what?  They should.  After six months of being stuck inside, they deserve that sunshine!  Give them the sunshine!  (Especially when it’s June and your birthday)

All of that to say, I do miss the Winter from time to time.  Especially when I see people posting about the fun stuff – first snowfall in the city, skiing at Sugar Loaf, ice skating at The Frog Pond, watching it all from a warm fire indoors with some hot chocolate…SNOW DAYS!  I even miss my scarves 🙂

Liz Lemon has a couple of complaints about January; namely, how it impairs her ability to judge men.

JACK: Good morning, Lemon.

LIZ:  Ugh. I hate January.  It’s dark and freezing, and everyone’s wearing bulky coats.  You can do some serious subway flirting before you realize the guy is homeless.

Work is awful.  Everyone’s snippy and tense.

JACK:  Well, the lack of sun makes people depressed.  It’s called seasonal affective disorder.

LIZ:  Oh, is that where the word “sad” comes from?

JACK:  What?  You think “sad” is an acronym invented by psychologists?

Watch it here!

Growing up bi-racial has its pluses and minuses.  I realize I’m not the first generation of mixed-raced children; I think this really began a couple of decades before me, about the time that President Obama was born.  It was very rare back then, especially between a black man and a white woman.  By the time I was born in 1980 it certainly wasn’t unheard of, but it was still a relatively new topic for our society (especially in the more conservative areas).

My (white) grandparents used to worry that we would be picked-on because we were bi-racial (they should have been more worried we’d be picked on for being nerds).  I was surprised to know they felt that way, because I never experienced any “real” harassment growing up.  I say “real” because, well, I’ll just show you:

Could I *be* wearing anymore pink?!

Yeah, this was basically child abuse.  Anyone who sends their bi-racial (with a tendency to be confused for multiple races) child out, looking like this, should be arrested.

It was awful.  I was in 2nd grade and showed up to school wearing this – the kids had a blast calling me “Eskimo!”  And as much as I loved that coat – pink! – I hated being called an Eskimo more.  I think I wore it to school a total of two times.  Don’t worry, it never got below 50 in Florida, I didn’t actually even need a coat.  Especially one with a faux-fur hood (NO ONE NEEDS ONE OF THOSE).

Also, you don’t have to say it; there’s nothing wrong with being an Eskimo, I know that.  But when you’re 7 and being called anything and laughed at…well, it’s no fun.

I think one of the advantages I have is being able to shift in and out of different ethnic groups easily.  I feel comfortable hanging out with any group of color (wow, that sounded RACIST).  Why?  Because most people have a hard time figuring out what I am.  It usually goes a little like this:

So…what is your…..where do you….where are you from?

Normally, I just mess with them and say “I’m from Florida” with a straight, I’m-not-sure-what-you-meant face.  Yeah, I know it can be an awkward question to ask someone.  However, it doesn’t bother me at all.  I actually find it hard to believe that many would care being asked their background these days.  I always explain,

I’m an Alabama Asian.  My Mom is from Thailand and my Dad is a white guy from Alabama.”

Where’s my PC medal??

Yup, I can pass for many races: Hispanic, Hawaiian, Native American, (half) black, and most any kind of Asian (let’s me honest, no one’s confusing these hips & thighs with being Japanese…so tiny!).  I mainly get get confused for being Hispanic, dare I say Mexican, and have had countless people speak to me in Spanish.  Both Hispanics and whites do this….AND black men trying to hit on me in DC.

HOLA, SENORITA! COMAS ESTAS??

Sigh.

So, back to the advantages.  I can mix it up with most peeps.  When I moved to Boston (the second time), I started working for an inner-city charter school.   Later on, one of my co-workers confessed that they thought I was black when I applied.

We saw your name – “Kristina Jones” – and thought you were one of us!

Yeah, I have a black girl’s name.  Kristina, with a “K,” and the last names Jones?  I see it.  I do.

When I arrived, though, they thought I was Hispanic.  I can’t blame them.  The celebrity I most look like?  America Fererra, of “Ugly Betty” fame.  I once dressed up as her for Halloween.

I might have gone a little overboard. Might.

Did I mention that I also worked for a Hispanic organization?  Yes.   And when my boss asked if I spoke Spanish, I  casually replied, “un poco.”

I’m nothing if not smooth.

So, as a result of looking like several minorities, I end up being accepted by all.  I feel lucky that I don’t feel out of place, or uncomfortable, around any group.

Growing up, I actually felt like I was totally white.  This was helped by the fact that my classmates and friends were mostly white, my extended family (on my Dad’s side) is all white…I was a reflection of what was around me.  It was never a problem, me believing I was white.

That is, until I thought about acting.

No, I never seriously considered acting, but there was that hot second when I desperately wanted to be in movies like Little Women or Anne of Green Gables, or on “Little House on the Prairie.”  (Yeah, I’m a “Little House” fan.  What?)  I was obsessed with books and movies and shows that took place in the past.  Problem was, I didn’t exist during those times.  Sure, part of me existed…but the me that I saw in the mirror – well, it certainly wasn’t getting me a role in Gone With the Wind.

So yeah, that was the main downfall of my minority status.  I couldn’t find fame as a period actor.  I’ve led a tough life.

Back to that idea of being a reflection of your surroundings.  I listed to a great speech Junot Diaz gave when he was visiting the Hispanic organization I worked at.  He was speaking to our staff about growing up Hispanic in America.  He mentioned that one of the reasons he writes is to put his reflection out there.  See, he grew up not seeing himself, or his people, reflected in the media.   The TV he watched, the movies he saw, the books he read – they were void of Hispanics characters and references.  When you don’t see yourself in society, you don’t feel like you belong.  You feel like an outsider.  It’s a loss of self, of identity.  He wanted to create something that was a reflection of who he was, so that others might see themselves in it.

And that totally resonated within me.  I felt that way growing up.  Sure, I was apart of, and accepted by, my white community, but I always felt a little slighted.  I always wished there were things out there that spoke directly to me, who I was.  Whether it be on TV, at the movies, in the books I loved.  There’s only so much Sweet Valley High you can read or “Full House” you can watch without wondering where you are in all of this.

For a long time I wished I looked like the way I felt.

Over time, this feeling has changed.  It’s been a combination of things – mainly, getting older and becoming more confident in myself and liking what makes me different.  Also, it’s been what Junot talked about – seeing my reflection in society.  Seeing different minorities portrayed over the various media, it’s made a difference.  It’s given me something to identify with.  It’s made me feel welcome in my own country.  I know that sounds cheesy, and a bit dramatic, but it’s true.  There’s nothing quite like seeing something and thinking “that’s totally me!”

Like this scene from Season 5 of 30 Rock:

I should have auditioned for that!

Until recently, my Mom thought that voicemail was the same as an answering machine.  As in, the message that you are leaving is being played out loud somewhere.  She knows that my brothers and I all have cell phones, so I’m not quite sure where she thought these messages were being aired – did she think that it played out loud even if we didn’t answer?

So, for many, many years, my Mom would leave voicemails for me in the following manner:

(NOTE: My Mom calls me “Na.”  She cuts off the first part of my name, Kristina, and just uses the last two letters.  Classy.)

MOM:  Hellooo!  Naa!  Are you there?  Pick up the phone! Hello?!  Naa!  Where are you?  This is your Mother!  Pick up the phone!  Hellloooo?? Na!!!  (CLICK)

Very funny to listen to – my friend, Luis, LOVES to call and leave messages where he pretends to be my Mom.  I tried telling her for a long time I can’t HEAR the messages when she is leaving them, but she continued doing it.  And if you didn’t call her back right away, she would leave more messages – each one escalating in tone.  There was no avoiding my Mom, even when I lived 1,000 miles away; the woman would find me.

Her phone etiquette leaves something to be desired.  She tends to end her conversations abruptly – as in, she doesn’t say goodbye, she’d just sorta hangs up.

ME: Hey Mom, I’m over at Megan’s house.

MOM: You at e-Megan’s house? (My Mother puts the “E” sound in front of all my friends’ names, don’t know why)

ME: Yeah.

MOM: Ok.

(CLICK)

Now, she wasn’t mad at me or anything, she was simply done with the conversation.  I sometimes wonder if this is a Thai thing; she was born and lived there until she was 23.  Perhaps there’s a whole different set of phone rules there.  At any rate, she’s mostly stopped doing this, once I mentioned how it could be taken as rude, by some people.

When my friends used to call for me, my Mother would sometimes “flip the switch” on them.

MEGAN: Hi, is Kristina there?

MOM: Who is this?

MEGAN: Umm, Megan.

MOM: E-Megan?! No, she not here.  I don’t know where she is.  Do you know where she is?

MEGAN:  Umm, no, that’s why I was calling you.

MOM: If you see her, tell her to call me!

(CLICK)

Classic Mom, turning it back around on you.  At first my friends were taken aback by her phone mannerisms, but they’ve grown use to it – either than, or they have no idea what she’s saying anyways 🙂

Today’s quote comes to you from Season 1, Episode 9: “The Baby Show.”  I love this episode because we are introduced to Jack’s Mother, Colleen.  She is critical, overbearing, and opinionated – she is, in fact, awesome.  She and Jack’s relationship is probably my favorite on the show.  In this scene, Collen calls Jack….and gets through.

Liz: How long is Jack going to be?
Jonathan: He’s still on the phone…Area code 407?! Oh no! When did this happen?!
Liz: 407? Is that bad?
Jonathan: It’s fine! It’s going to be just fine!
Jack: [yelling] Jonathan! These cheap phones keep on shattering!
Jonathan: [to Liz] You can go in now.
Liz: No!

Jack: Who let 407 though? Jonathan, we have drills for this!
Jonathan: Liz distracted me!