a short story

there once lived a story who was only 2 inches tall. she was really cute.

the end.

A Nose Like Elizabeth Taylor

381 Wagonwheel Way, Bonita, CA 92002. it doesn’t exist anymore. They took away the zip code when I was in 8th grade and made it into 91902. It took me a long time to remember the new zipcode. 92002 was ingrained in my head probably because of my parents who put the fear of God in me about getting lost and being raised by a new, strange, caucasian family. If I ever got lost, I needed to tell whoever found me where I lived…right down to the zip code. I also had an ID necklace that I used to wear at all times. It was oval, silver, and one side had my information on it. the other side had Jesus etched into it. his arms are outstretched and there are little baby lambs at his feet. I bet you my parents picked it out for me. I remember thinking that his hair was so odd. Flat on top and thick at the bottom. Middle parted and wavy. Jesus, I thought, had two New Hampshires on either side of his head.

I lived at 381 Wagonwheel Way from the age of 5 to 14. I loved this house. Every room in the house had a different color carpet. Mine was light pink. My parents was peach. My brother was blue. Downstairs was magenta. The bonus room was teal. The living room was two toned because the carpet installer mismeasured the room’s width and ran out of magenta. So we took the carpet that was left over from my parents room and made a peach border. It was okay to do that back then because it was the 80’s. We had a pool in the back, a hammock in the garden, and lots of snails that made me cry because they were so gross.

Erin Cory lived across the street from me. My phone number was 619 475 1379 (easy to remember because the last four numbers were the corner digits of the keypad). Her number was 619 267 5845. It’s amazing to me that I still remember her phone number. I couldn’t even tell you the area code of my brother’s phone number now. Cell phones took over the part of my brain that remembers phone numbers.

Erin is beautiful. As a child, my mother used to always say “Erin looks like Elizabeth Taylor from National Velvet.” And she was right. Dark lovely eyes, smooth white skin, chestnuty thick hair, and red red lips that were always a little parted. She even had beautiful teeth. They reminded me of the tile in the bathroom my brother and I shared. White. Exact. She cried all the time and could cry on cue. “Erin, Erin! Can you cry? Then maybe we can spend a night at each others house again.” Erin, sensitive, beautiful, soft, sympathetic, empathetic Erin. She cried. And she didn’t cry because I asked her to…she cried because she wanted to spend the night…she cried because she was sad at the terrible thought of spending the night away from her best friend, Irene. Erin, I thought, is amazing.

My mom tucked me into bed every night when I was little. She would ask me “Irene darling. Do you have anything you want to ask God?” “Yes Oma. Can you ask God to give me a nose like Elizabeth Taylor?” I asked this every night for years. My mom would then take her forefinger and thumb and squeeze my nose presumably into the shape that she thought Elizabeth Taylor’s nose was like. I would close my eyes and be comforted that one day I would have a nose like Elizabeth Taylor. A nose like Erin Cory my beautiful, sensitive, precious best friend.

“Dear God. Thank you for allowing us to live another day in your glorious world. Thank you for watching over Irene and Steven. Thank you that they are healthy and thank you that they are happy. Please Lord, give Irene a nose like E.T.”

My eyes flew open. I felt annoyed…my mother had the tendency to turn everything into an acronym. I tugged at her arm. “Oma. Do you think God knows what you mean? Do you think He knows that you mean Elizabeth Taylor and not E.T?”

“Of course, darling” my mother would say. “Why would anyone ask for a nose like E.T?” I guess that's a fair point.

the bike lane is for bikers

one thing that really bothers me is when ppl walk in the bike lane. as if we don't have other things to worry about such as car doors, road raging cab drivers, and billowing truck fumes. oh, and bug in eye is also a good one. i could go on forever.

ppl are in such a hurry to get places in nyc. so much so that they need to shave .005% of travel time to their daily commute and leak over to areas that are not designated as their own. stay on the sidewalk! there are only, like 3 bike lanes in all of nyc. can't the bikers keep them? sheesh.

never realized my ears were deformed

you must watch this video...netti pots unite!

i mean....it's the strangest thing i have ever seen. have you ever heard of a nettipot before? it's good if you have a nose full of snot. (it says no image, but if you click on it, it will work).

i found it!

i feel like i discovered the cure for cancer. i can't believe i found the book. i read it 20 yrs ago. everyone buy it. it's really good. and should be made into a movie starring anne hathaway. i feel so happy right now. like how i felt when my friends and i successfully broke the time-space continuum and fit a 6.5 foot couch through a 5.5 foot doorway.

http://www.amazon.com/Royal-Pain-Point-Ellen-Conford/dp/0590438212/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/002-6439206-8750416?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1179417969&sr=1-1

the lingonberry mystery

i'm a little tipsy after having a few glasses of wine. and so i don't know why i'm blogging when i really should be asleep. but someone during dinner said the word "lingonberry" which triggered in my mind a book that i read as a teenager. i forget what it's called, but it remains to be the funniest book that i read according to my life level. meaning, i have since read funnier books (burroughs , sedaris, barry etc etc) but relative to my life experience, that book is the funniest. does that make sense. anyway, i'm tipsy so not that articulate. THING IS, i cannot remember the name of the book. the only thing i remember is that the female protagonist was the "lingonberry princess" and she said to the prince "i'd rather make out with a mongoose." so i typed this in google and you'd be surprised how many results come up. i mean, REALLY?

anyway. if you can tell me the name of that book, i will love you forever and ever. (the front cover has a princess who is lifting up her dress to reveal blue jeans. i know - i real hoot! but AT THE TIME, it was age appropriately hysterical).

all of you?

part of my job as a equity salesperson is to take around corporates (in this case, it was a chinese water utility company) to investors so that they can learn about the company's story and figure out if they want to invest in it. because the representatives of these companies are either the CEO or CFO of the company, we have to take them around with drivers.

last week, i was in chicago with said chinese water company. i was in the front seat and giving our driver instructions on what the day was looking like..."so after this meeting, we need to go straight to o'hare by 11 am because we have flights back to new york." then he said, "i love you?"

i was really confused by this non sequitor and obviously really freaked out. "excuse me?!" he said it again: "i love you? i love you?"

i did what any person would do in an awkward situation like this...i just gave him a "ooooookay, weirdo" look and ignored him.

it was not until well into the meeting that i realized what he really said:

"all of you?"

um. yeah. all of us. we're all going to o'hare after the meeting.

tastes like it smells

i took a bite out of a low fat brownie bar and wrinkled my nose (by the way, according to some body language experts, only women wrinkle their noses as a sign of disgust) and declared, "this tastes like SHIT."

i probably shouldn't have said that bc the little girl next to me on the subway said, "how do YOU know what shit tastes like?" kids these days.

i felt like recounting a story to her, but it wouldn't have been appropriate. so i'll write it in my blog. it goes like this:

i was around 7 yrs old & at a church potluck. it was one of those korean extravaganzas at ski beach, san diego. in addition to the actual bbq and the rice, all the families make and bring different "ban chan" or side dishes. i.e. family x and y and z all bring the spinach. and that group over there brings the kim chee. etc etc. then it's all compiled and it's fun and we eat.

i took a bite out of the spinach and chewed and chewed and chewed and the damn thing just wasn't dissolving. i DISTINCTLY remember thinking...i taste something familiar...i just don't know what. i spit out the spinach and there in my little grubby hand was a band aid. really gross i know. BUT. that was the first time i realized that things really DO taste like they smell.

tip: if you want someone to stop talking to you..

you sneeze on them. i didn't do it on purpose (my allergies are out of control) but it works.

people who wear glasses just know

so i do this thing where i put my credit cards in large bags of water and freeze them. i do this because it prevents me from making impulse purchases i.e. $1000 wallets and $300 worth of gum (both of which i have done. but the gum was from asia and who knew when i'd be back in hong kong?). the thinking behind it is that i would go home, take the bag out and while it was thawing, i would be thinking really hard about making xxx purchase.

it's worked out really well. i rarely have a credit card balance.

the other day i saw some eye glasses. they were so cool. they are blue, cat eye like, with wings on the side that have glittery jewels in them. hello kitty would wear them if she had -1.75 in each eye.

and i couldn't wait the 4 hours it takes for the ice to thaw. so i popped the whole thing in the microwave for a few minutes. and the card completely fritzed on me. the magnetic stripe crackled right off. a noxious smell overtook my apartment. it warped and writhed against the still intact ice block.

so i did the most logical thing which was to take the card and bag and ice to the store. and the girl behind the counter (unlike jim from amex who helped me get a replacement card) totally understood. because people who wear glasses just know.

porn - oh well

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to hug your own child

(i'm writing this on my parent's home computer and it translates everything into korean and i accidentally flagged myself as a bad blogger as i was randomly clicking on buttons to start a new post).
*****
i had dinner with clients on thursday night in san diego (JRDN.com - it's a really cool restaurant, right on the water, in PB). i had to take a cab home since my high school honda civic is long gone and i didn't want to rent a car.

i should have known the second i approached the car that the cabbie was a little off his rocker. he didn't unlock the door despite my incessent knocking on the window. when his brain synapses finally equated that "knocking on the window signals door is locked ergo unlock the door, moron" he started talking and did not stop until 25 minutes later.

i don't even know what he was talking about. he was speaking in clicks and clacks and the occasional hiccup. bc i didn't want to encourage him, the only words i ever said in response to his chatter was, "ARE YOU ON DRUGS?" and i was being 100% serious. i was fully prepared to do what i have rehearsed in my mind many many times before in various other situations with weird cabbies: the roll out of a speeding car onto a freeway curled up into a small ball in hopes of bouncing along to safety.

but instead, i just closed my eyes and tried to wait it out.

my parents live in the north part of san diego in a part that is currently being developed off the 56. tho i love my house, it's one of those houses that is made to look old even tho it's brand spanking new. the area itself is quiet, relaxed, has horses and no street lights. NO STREET LIGHTS.

this was a big problem for the driver. as we were driving up a winding hill, he kept on screaming "THIS IS SCARY THIS IS SCARY". He was craning his head to look at me while simultaneously looking at the road so all i could see were the whites of his eye. i think actually his eyes were pointed in opposite directions. i don't know. but i was really freaked out.

i didn't want him to know where i lived, just in case he was truly nuts so i asked him to drop me off in front of the gate where my parents live. i pressed the secret code and the big gates opened and i was just walking down our driveway with my samsonite darth vadar rollie bag. i was a little scared bc it was dark and my heels were echoing but it was so dewy and eucalyptus-y smelling and warm, so my panic was muted.

as i was nearing my house, my mom must have heard me and she came out to greet me. "Ireeeeeeeeeeeen?" she sounded little. she came out in her nightgown and cardigan, so tiny and sleepy looking. the olive trees are lit by little lamps and they cast a little baby halo around her head.

and i felt like crying or laughing. i ended up hugging her and laughing and thought to myself "this is what it must feel like to hug your own child."

observations from a plane

i'm on a plane to california right now. i have a question for the 3 ppl who read this blog:

what do seats 1a, 1b, 3d, 4c, 4d, the guy next to me and 6d all have in common? THEY ALL ORDERED TOMATO JUICE. what is it about planes that makes tomato juice, ice, and a plastic cup so palatable? i really don't think i have ever been in another situation where over FIFTY percent of the ppl around me vocalize a hankering for TOMATO JUICE. in fact, i can't remember the last time anyone ordered tomato juice sans a little absolut and a celery stalk.

this really puzzles me. isn't a plane basically the same thing as sitting on a bus? the last thing...the LAST thing, other than a sharp stick in the eye, is a cup of canned V8.

i don't get it. it's so weird.

i was smarter when i was 9 years old

when i was a kid, i had a black, spiral bound notebook, that i carried with me everywhere. i found it recently and in it were lots of ideas and drawings. mostly of dresses (1950's style, of course) and ideas (like the great idea of having a contraption that you put on the end of a tube of toothpaste so that it would flatten the tube as you pushed it up). yeah, i know it exists. but i was the first one to think of it. i just didn't have the ability to execute.

on the front of it, i wrote in sparkly gold marker "make your life extraordinary" and then put stars all over it. i remember looking at it and thinking "wait. i don't want my life to be EXTRA ordinary." (as in, really REALLY ordinary). so then i underlined the "extra" part of the word twice. i remember feeling horrified that in my attempt to negate the "Extra" part of "extraordinary", i had only called further attention to it perhaps making it somehow prophetic.

i look at my life now and wonder if i did myself in when i was only 9 years old. that somehow i had chisled in stone the fact that my life will be not only ordinary but super duper ordinary.

how depressing. i wish i were 9 again. i knew everything about everything i needed to know. tiger fish, sea anemones, how to spell "auxiliary", the capital of norway. i knew enough to know that when i was an"adult" that i would be extraordinary. now, 2 decades later, i am too dumb to execute.

2:30 am

so it's 2:30 am and i am wide awake. i don't remember the last time this happened to me, especially since starting my severely sleep deprived life on wall street 2 yrs ago.

i was actually dreaming of work when i suddenly awoke. wide awake. then i closed my eyes. then saw big gigantic snails in my minds eye. so then this time i voluntarily awoke because who wants to see that?

and now i'm unable to go back asleep and slightly bitter but more than slightly intrigued at how energized i feel after only 2 hours of sleep. hmm. weird.

i guess i'll go back to bed now and continue to be unable to sleep until right about when i need to wake up. at that point, i will probably be in the middle of the most crucial REM cycle. in the middle of the most amazing dream. in the middle of the height of cell reconstruction.

so if you see me tomorrow and i'm showing signs of lethargy, drowsiness, insaneability (made up word), and inability to operate heavy machinery, this is why.

i think i broke through my Rachel Ray addiction

it's bad for me.
it kills brain cells.
i do it in secret.
i continue to do it even tho i can feel myself growing dumber.
when ppl find out that i do it, they looked at me like i am a bad person.

by definition, c/o wikipedia (another addiction of mine) my rachel ray addiction was indeed an "engagement of behaviors despite clear evidence to the user of consequent morbidity and/or other harmful effects."

god.

i'm not even sure what it is about her show "30 minute meals" that drew me in. it started at the gym...for some reason, it was always on when i got to the gym after work. 30 minute meals fit perfectly into my 30 minute workout. there was something really weird about watching someone cook up a pot of macaroni and cheese while you were purging calories and sweat.

then, rachel creeped into my non-workout hours. maybe it's her raspy voice (female raspy voices have always been a facination of mine), my deep desire to make her over (why does she only wear primary colored shirts? they are way too tight. and her jeans are too tight. this leads to an unfortunate bulge that is reminiscent of that wrinkle in the back of a bald man's head.) or maybe it was trying to figure out what the HELL she meant by "EVOO" ("Extra Virgin Olive Oil). maybe it was her oft used thumbs up sign with her man hands that subconsiously validated deep seeded insecurities...as if rachel thinks that i'm alright. or maybe it's the way she describes mushrooms as "beefy".

i just don't know. but today i was channel surfing. and i felt the all too familiar excitement when i stumbled across rachel ray on the food network. endorphins filled my brain, reinforcing that what i was doing was a good thing.

but immediately, i got a counter feeling. my throat felt like it was closing in. my chest felt tight. i felt like i needed to sigh. i guess i finally did it. i OD'ed on rachel ray.

the last time i OD'ed on something it was Cheezits. i mindlessly ate the entire box then threw up neon orange goo 10 minutes later. i never ate another Cheezit again.

let's see if this works with ... ooh...a DVR-ed episode of The Hills...

be right back.