victoria day long weekend

This weekend was "Victoria Day Long Weekend". I put it in quotations because it doesn't mean squat to Canadians. It should be more aptly named "First Canadian Stat Holiday Long Weekend of the Year LOL Let's go to da Beach".

Andbythewei, if you haven't noticed already I have given up and used Times font for this post because it was doing wonky things and I had it up to HERE *salutes but really means to point out that the anger has risen to eyebrow level*.



This was all Saturday. I was burnt out by 7pm.



Ber and I after devouring and getting buzzed off brunch at Meat & Bread. Went to Starbucks patio to judge passerbyers.

Before going back to the car, Ber insisted we take a pic with Yaletown in the background. #faketourist

May I add that Ber almost ran over a dog and our friendship would have possibly ended in that very moment.

Nothing like arriving at the beach like a regular folk at 5:30pm...........

Taking off my shirt was definitely necessary.

Not holding onto my juicebox and straw was absolutely necessary.

Ian finished my undesired corn like a true brother.

Also refused to change poses for this shot in a very mean tone. Like a true brother.

Which is why he is not at all my brother. 

 

Boneless, juicy, marinated chicken. Which later on gave me the runs.

And not the jogging kind either. 

Gave me the runs right here. An annoyingly huge and crowded night market where the portable washrooms had 3 stalls but only one with toilet paper in which I used the last of. It gets better.

The toiliet became clogged upon my use. With a long line of impatient women staring at me as I opened the stall door to explain why I was taking eleven and a half years to finish up. Did I mention I had the runs right here?      

salty apples

I grew up with a mum as a house wife. I am grateful for it as much as she deprived me as a child from fun things (playing in the open yard, biking on the street, wearing thongs, what?). All my life she has conditioned the family to consume fruit after dinner. She would peel and cut them. The works. To the point where I am upstairs and she still brings them to me and mumbles sarcastically, “What a good life you have” almost every time. On random days I would come across Ma watching TV but not without being productive and peeling fruit at the same time. She would then store the ready-to-eats in mass amounts in the fridge.

In grade nine I had a friend named Krista come over after school. We were working on producing a small business. A social community website targeted towards girls our age, no big deal. With her ideas and my Asian Avenue HTML skills we would make it go far. We stopped discussing the business after two weeks... Anyway, as we were brainstorming Ma came to us with a platter of fruit, including cut-up apples. We ate.  Well, I ate. Krista took a bite and spat it out. I asked her what was up. She said they were really salty. I said, “What? No way. They are apples”. Then my 14 years of life flashed before me and I saw scenes of my mother soak apples in salt water. I never questioned what she was doing. She was doing mom things. I just accepted it.

For weeks on after Krista would announce to whomever was around that “WATCH OUT. SANDY’S APPLES ARE SALTY”. It was bullying to another degree. And no one would take up on my offer of apples. Some did, but only because they didn’t believe my mom would do such a thing to preserve dem apples.

Today I’m eating sliced apples that my mom left in a Tupperware knowing I’d pack it for lunch. I have no fcking clue if it’s really salty or not. I can not tell for the life of me. I want to cry. And lick my tears as it rolls down to my lips. But only to be reminded that I can’t tell if the tears are salty or not either.  

The look of salt ignorance.

grade 5 self to present self part ii

Fri August 30th/96

Yesterday my mom made me drop off Jasmine, I didn't want to because I hate her by the way she talks, high pitch and low pitched (well, maybe she's singing?). And the way she walks, dresses, her attitued. The only way when I like her is when I have Janice around. Yesterday night I went to debbie's house. Oh yah. On Wednesday August 28th/96 3:00pm (was the time necessary?) My Cousin Randy from San Francisco (what about him?!). The one who lives with Aunt Shelly's. P.S. Randy is not part of Aunt Shelly's. He has is own car and took her girlfriend to Chicago and Florida & Vancouver (hear) (*sigh* on the spelling...) + he's goin to take her to lots of places. her name is Kamico from Japan.


Tues. Sept. 17th/96

I want to dump Michelle but not because I don't like her it's because she's allowed to go to the dance and she's going to wear her braces, and I'm going to be embarrassed by her.

I really want a dog.

I didn't realize until reading this journal entry that "dumping" of a friend was even possible. Also, I'm such a little bitch to my braces wearing friend. Overall, I'm immensely entertained at how I slipped in that I wanted a dog like a true child with ADD.


Fri. Oct. 11th/96

Dear, Diary

I so surprised that Janice kissed Daniel in the cloakroom.

I saw kelly's friend on Entertainment Tonight, I wrote to Vicky, hope she writes back and I wrote to Alanis Morrisette too.

Totes LOL'd at "and I wrote to Alanis Morissette too". You know, NO BIG DEAL. But I remember this so clearly. I found her address on the back of one of those teen mags. I really wanted to give her something so I went through all my pennies and taped onto the letter the oldest penny I could find. It must've been in the 1950's. I thought she'd really like it ok. Alanis actually wrote me back. Except it was her management and instead of a letter it was a catalogue of Alanis Morissette products. My heart was broken early in life.

The true bitch.

grade 5 self to present self

 The cover is sprinkled with names of crushes I had

and key words such as "handsome", "cute", "love" and "DOGS".

 I am too lazy to flip this image. But in case you are unable to 180 your head, it says:

 "I want to thank Mrs. Lee for giving me such a present for my birthday".

It's almost as if I'm accepting "SUCH a present" as an award.

I remember when she handed it over to me it came in a matching box and the whole thing smelled like perfume. It still does. I don't still sniff it at all and especially not right now. Man, it smells fresh.

And before we begin our grammatically challenged and mispelled journey into the past,

here is a self-portrait.

Just to remind my future self what kind of inaccurate representation I was capable of.

The only possibly honest thing here is how I found it necessary to draw myself drooling.

The following excerpts include many uncomfortable grammar, punctuation and spelling mistakes. 

Nonetheless, I am fully committed to portraying my true FOB self.

Monday, 24th/96 (What month exactly? Get your shit together.)

I hate Jasmine’s family. (I have since altered the name. After reading more entries I felt pretty terrible for consistently hating on her. Shall we continue?) I hate her and her mom the most. I would of gone shopping with my dad but her mom tried made me sleep over but me and my mom didn’t. We spent all night there, we were very close because my dad came over to give me and my momies stuff but we had to register for summer school it starts at July 1st/96. SUCKS TODAY FOREVER AND EVER. (#firstworldproblems)

July Sat Sun 14th/96

Sorry that I forgot to write you (WHO?!) back but oh well. I got new stuff, I called Janice a few days ago. I got new cloths (it's clothes - I can't visualize myself getting excited for kitchen or face cloths) and shoes and jean jacket I am a aunt of 3 kids because they are my cousin’s baby (so does not make me an aunt) I got a new baby cousin J.J. Wu my aunts 4th babe (BABE). Sandy kicks but. (Self-encouragement evidently began at a young age. Too bad I didn't know the difference between "but" and "butt".)


Sat August 17th/96 (airplane) (I was on a flight, I meant to say)

I was supposed to write that I went to Hong-Kong and I went to mountain (amusement park, you dipshit) that was like Playland but better. When I went to the washroom I hooked my backpack on the hooker (HAHAHA) so I could go, when I left I forgot to take it with me. We went to another mountain , it was just the mountain across so we sat on the cable car. It had a beautiful view to it. (Grade 5 self appreciated views? I am amazed by this.) Then when we got there we ate, that was the time when I remembered my bag was gone! I told my mom, she said we’ll check when we get back. Then finally after 4 hours we got back. I quickly went to the back to check all the bathroom doors, and then it was GONE forever :(

I vividly remember checking the back of all the bathroom stall doors, hoping to find my backpack on the "hooker". My cousin, Jestina, was totes there with me that day. And I remember in between losing my backpack and confirming that it was indeed "GONE forever :(" we went on a rollercoaster ride that was so jacked with speed that when I looked over at Jestina, laughing hysterically, both our slobber came drooling out of our mouths. I imagine it landed conveniently on the faces of the people behind us. However, now my self-portrait from earlier in the post all makes sense...

that's some bitter melon soup

As many may know, I'm not too fond of ma's cooking. Mostly because it sucks in general. But also because I prefer Italian and French food. And McDix. And Church's Chicken. And, if I'm feeling fancy, Uncle Willy's welfare conscious buffet. 

There are, however, a few items that will make me run into the kitchen a little faster for. One of them being the bitter melon soup. I detest cooked melon and I refuse to consume anything bitter. Somehow, the pineapple soup base she uses blocks my mind from such fears.   

Nonetheless, one must not express an ounce of enthusiasm or a lick of praise over such surprising dishes. God knows she will repeatedly cook it and wear it out. And you will have nothing left to love including yourself.

3 Ingredients

 1/4 or 1/3 of a jar of pineapple soup base

1/4 of Charlie the chicken or 1 of Timmy the turkey's leg, CHOP HIM

1 bitter melon, chopped
(the whiter the outer layer the better, ya heard)

Instructions

Pour the pineapple soup base contents into pot, 
give it a good stare and let it boil on low heat while cooking others.

Boil bitter melon in pan of water until fully cooked (5 minutes). Drain and set aside.
Oh man, that smells like old people = bitter.

Boil Charlie or Timmy in a pan of water (5 to 10 minutes).
Drain and set him aside.

Add water to pineapple soup base so that pot is now half full.
Jack the heat up from low to max. Jack it good.

Use chopsticks/tongs to choose pieces that may take longer to cook (feet) and add those bad boys to the soup to let sit (5 minutes).

Add the rest of the chicken/turkey using chopsticks/tongs.
(Do not directly pour bowl of chicken/turkey into soup because you will also be adding unwanted chicken/turkey juice and you are really terrible at following basic instructions, gawd, you suck).

You can add more water if necessary.
As long as the level of soup is sitting above the amount of chicken.
Let the flavors take a bath at low heat for 20 minutes.

Finally, add bitter melon into soup.
  Get a taste, burn your tongue and think of ma and I.