Nailed It!

As I was leaving the gym this week, I passed by a little girl who was just arriving with her family. She was probably seven years old with these delicious, delicate curls and wearing a sweet summer dress. It wasn’t surprising to me that she had her head down. Many people walk around staring at their phones. I do not understand this. People CROSS THE STREET while looking at their phones. This makes no sense. Sit down or pull your body over to the side if you want to pay attention to your phone. Seriously, YOU COULD DIE! Like this man who didn't see THE BEAR walking toward him.

ALSO do the same WHEN YOU ARE EATING SAMPLES AT COSTCO. Although blocking the aisles at Costco isn’t QUITE as dangerous as crossing the street with your nose stuck in your phone, it will make me twice as mad.  Run-over-by-a-car injuries vs. Ankle contusions after I not-exactly-accidentally run into you with my cart full of Boom Chicka Pop. This is modern day Natural Selection.

As I avoided the oncoming child, I saw that she didn’t have a device in her hand. She had a little pink nail clipper and SHE WAS CLIPPING HER FINGERNAILS. As the kids say these days, this got me feeling some type of way! OK, I keep a pair of baby nail clippers in my purse. Remarkably, they are the same clippers I bought for 99-cents when I was pregnant with my first baby in 1997. They are tiny and sharp. After my kids outgrew them, I popped them in my purse in case of a Fingernail Emergency. But if you have a TOENAIL Emergency, like if a tiny corner of your toenail keeps getting caught on your sock and you might LOSE YOUR MIND if you take ONE MORE STEP? Well, sucks for you. Put on your big boy or big girl or big non-binary panties and wait until you get home. That’s nasty.

Kids learn from parents. Sometimes. One of these days, my kids will notice how I elegantly bring my cup to the sink when I’m done with it instead of leaving it any damned place in the house that it happens to be, and they’ll go, “Wow! I want to be JUST AS REFINED as my mom!” I wonder whether that little girl is related to lady I see in the locker room clipping her toenails. Barf me out! Gag me with a spoon!

Clipping nails is as essential as picking your nose, but you don’t do these things in public because it’s UNSANITARY and BARBARIC. Public places include your cubicle at work. WE CAN ALL HEAR YOU, SHARON! And by the time you’re my age, you’ve had at least one revolting roommate who leaves nails on the sink or by the couch so that your feet are alarmingly and disgustingly impaled just as you are getting ready to sit down to watch TV.

I played piano through high school, so my nails were always clipped short. In junior high and high school, I LONGED to have long, polished fingernails like the cool girls. AS IF this would have made a dent in my dorkiness! I would try to sneak-grow them out, but Mrs. Helen Batteiger would have NONE of it. The moment she heard the telltale clicking on the keys, she stopped the lesson and made me clip my nails right there with the pair of nail clippers she kept in her studio. Busted.

So by the time I quit piano lessons in college, I immediately grew out my nails and compulsively polished them every week. I didn’t do great my freshman year in college, but my nails looked FLY! Many years later, I splurged on acrylic nails for my wedding. I had no idea that your fingernails are essentially GROUND HALFWAY OFF and replaced with a veneer. My fingertips were sore for days. Then of course I peeled them off after our honeymoon and was left with ragged, paper thin fingernails to begin our life together as man and wife. That was probably the end of my Fussy Fingernail Stage. I decided that it was too much trouble.

When my kids were in elementary school, I was walking with this mom at the beginning of flip-flop season. She was agitated. “I’ve GOT to get some polish on these toes!” Huh? Her toes were just regular. Plain. As God intended. But I understood that this woman had very different priorities than I. Another morning, she had lamented that she hadn’t had coffee yet. She was fully dressed, had make up on, and her hair was brushed. Like brushed brushed. AND SHE HAD NOT HAD COFFEE YET. I knew at this moment that this woman was not trustworthy. So her expression of urgency at polishing her toenails only added to her fishiness.

Little did I know that my mani-pedi days were not finished. Babies are useless and do not clip their own nails. As a matter of fact, there is TOO LITTLE DISCUSSION about how much nail clipping you’re going to do as a parent. "Use nail scissors on your infant." Are you fucking kidding me?? And DO NOT get me started on those little kids who have long nails with visible dirt. It’s way too gross.

Have mercy on me.

I used to line my kids up and clip them all on the same day. In case you’re counting, that’s SIXTY LITTLE FINGER AND TOENAILS, none of those sixty being mine. I’m pretty certain that I kept this up much longer than necessary. I remember one of my boys asking me so sweetly to clip his toenails when he was about twelve. TWELVE. Those feet are big and smelly and not so cute by that age. “You do a better job than I do,” he pleaded. I’ve had a lot of practice, kid.

My sister sent me an article about this man from Louisiana who has kept all his nail clippings in a jar since 1978. It all got started when he put the first set of clippings in a jar instead of in the trash can....and then he just kept going on like that. HE KEEPS THEM ON DISPLAY IN HIS HOME but hides them when company comes over at the request of his wife. Let's clarify that....his EX-wife.

He ONLY cuts his nails when they break so this jar is full of LONG-ASS TALONS. I alternated between squeezing my eyes shut in horror and not being able to look away. I hope you don't get nightmares.

Here is another sweet and very funny story about a prank involving jars of nails. It got started when a friend told another friend about a prank that his great uncle played on his grandpa. All humans in this story are MEN. Are you surprised?? After hearing this story, this guy started saving his nails so he could mail them to his friend ala grandpa. And once his family and friends heard about his project, they started saving their nails to contribute as well! It really is touching AS WELL AS gross. A perfect combination IMO!!

Move over, Corncob Pipe and Button Nose! Introducing Smiley Face and Toenail Nose! I’m totally going to do this to someone in my family. WILL IT BE YOU?? Heh heh heh…..

Every reasonable person is going to maintain some level of nail hygiene. You wouldn’t want someone NOT to do it. HEY! All you grungy kids with black crud stuck under your nails, DON’T WAIT TOO LONG to get a trim! This screwball waited SIXTY-SIX YEARS to cut his gnarly nails and totally wrecked his hand. He carried his HAND around town in a SKI BAG. Can you imagine eating dinner in the presence of these twisted claws? *gag* What's for dinner? Foot-long sausages again??

In case your mama never taught you to clip your nails in private and throw them in the fricken trash, consider yourself schooled, turkey. Take care of your bizness and don’t be grody.

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Locker Room Talk

When does being naked get complicated? My kids used to LOVE being naked, just completely bare-assed uninhibited. They called it “nuding.” It’s a verb, usually used as a present participle or a gerund, as in, “I’m fine. Just nuding.” Or pointing and laughing at a guy jogging through the park with his shirt off, "BAHAHAHA! Look at that guy! HE'S NUDING!"

My kids were entirely comfortable going au naturel at home at all times. I launched Naked Manners around the time they were 8, 9, and 10 years old. I wasn’t very strict; nobody ever got in trouble for intermittent streaking. I was mostly concerned that visiting friends would get surprise peep shows. In retrospect, I was less concerned with the children’s embarrassment than with getting in trouble with their parents. Parents can be a drag.

My oldest son was the LEAST demure. Shutting the bathroom door was an absurd extravagance he had no time for. I tried gentle reminders. I tried shutting the door FOR him. I tried yelling and charging him money every time I saw his butt. Nothing worked. Duh. Love and Logic, anyone? Give me a break. I was just a beginner at the time.

One afternoon, I was putting towels away in the kids’ bathroom and walked right into the middle of Turd Time. “Hi, Mom.” At that moment, my child was totally unconcerned and unapologetic while MY SOUL WAS IN DANGER OF BEING CRUSHED WITH DESPAIR! The Holy Spirit knew that I needed encouragement and presented me with an idea. I calmly put the towels away and left. A moment later, I returned with my camera and snapped a picture of my sweet son as he baked his keester cakes.

Me:  “I just figured that if you didn’t care to close the door, it would be OK for me to take your picture.”

Sweet Child of Mine: “DON’T put it on Facebook!”

Goodness, there’s QUITE ENOUGH crap on Facebook.

By the time my kids got to high school, they all rowed crew, so they wore spandex every day. In case you are not acquainted with rowing spandex, it’s VERY short and snug. It’s also usually not QUITE sturdy enough to keep the beans and franks from spilling out all over creation. No matter how famished my kids were after practice, I refused to serve dinner until the boys put on shorts. “Put your wiener away before dinner, please.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been as comfortable being naked as my kids are. Everyone has their own personal set point for comfort in the raw, I suppose. For instance, one of my dogs likes wearing clothes; the other does not. Here is a picture of Ollie with Buddy-the-Nudist.

In the gym locker room, I tend to limit my nudity. I used to get dressed as quickly as possible until I turned 40 and stayed entirely too hot to get dressed right away. Perhaps this is what Bryant McGill was referring to when he said, “All discomfort comes from suppressing your true identity.” So to stay true to myself, I now feel free to remain as naked as necessary.

I admire women who are so comfortable being naked. To an extent. I kind of feel like some people are TOO comfortable being naked. There’s a woman at my gym who exercises in the locker room after her shower. Naked. She and her big, fake boobies. Now, I have nothing against fake boobies, but sometimes they can be startling when seen in the wild. I regularly observe this woman applying lotion while doing squats. Not parallel squats, mind you, but plie squats. I try VERY HARD to avoid looking at her. But one day I could not avert my eyes aggressively enough to escape witnessing her transition from Naked Squats into FULL WARRIOR POSE. Ohhhhhmmmmmm.......... 

I guess it’s a good thing she didn’t go into Down Dog. Or at least that I didn't catch that show. Namaste.

I’m kind of quiet by nature, working things out with conversations in my head as I get dressed for the day. I know I’m not the only one. But while my brain conversations are inaudible to outsiders for the most part, others talk to themselves out loud. One morning, a woman only wearing a towel burst into the room where I was sitting.

“It’s so HOT in here! Aren’t you hot? Oh, my God, it’s SO! HOT! I don’t know how you can stand it. I’ve got to get out of here!”

And just like that, I found myself alone again in the quiet of the sauna. Frankly, it WAS pretty hot in there.

Then there are women who talk TOWARD me, but not really TO me. A stranger started this conversation with me:

She: Whew! I'm so tired!

Me: Oh, yeah. Me, too.

She:  I didn't sleep well last night.

Me: That's always hard. 

She: My husband has been complaining about a weird smell in our bedroom, and we've looked everywhere for it and can't find where it's coming from. I've washed the sheets, changed the pillows, vacuumed twice, and he still complains. Honestly, I think it's HIM that smells.

Me: 

Another time I've been stumped for a response:

Excited Woman:  “Are you Korean? I saw you at the track meet!!”

To be fair, I WAS at a track meet that week. But ALSO to be fair, WHAT the WHAT???

And one more: A woman swiveled me around by the shoulders and exclaimed, "Is that a picture of China? You're Chinese, right? Is that China? IT LOOKS LIKE CHINA!" The picture she was referring to was this design on my jacket. You tell me if it looks like China.

Then there are bewildering conversations I overhear, such as the woman telling her friend that she’d forgotten her underpants. Now, I have BEEN there. So many times, in fact, that I keep a pair of Emergency Underpants in my gym bag at all times. But the amusing ingredient of this story is that this lady was Phillipino, so she said, “I bore-got my bantee.” AND THEN she laughed SO LOUD and went on that she just wore “no bantee” for the rest of the day.

I have heard this same woman talk about her husband who drinks too much beer and doesn’t appreciate her cooking. Her husband also doesn’t like her using her laptop in bed, so she sleeps in a different room now. Wow, maybe it was cold of me to laugh about her bantee.

Speaking of underpants, I followed a fellow into the gym one morning just as his underpants plopped out of his bag. "Oh, no!" I called out. "You dropped.....something." He turned around and scooped up his skivvies. He only made BRIEF (get it??) eye contact and didn’t say anything to me. He seemed embarrassed. But nothing to be embarrassed about, Bruh. At least you're not naked right now.

Little by little over the past fifteen years at this gym, I've become progressively more comfortable with wearing nothing but a smile. My unsuppressed true self is grateful for my miraculous body that baked three beautiful, delightful humans FROM SCRATCH! Who the hell cares what anyone else thinks of my body! AND ALSO my opinion of others' bodies is relevant to nothing.

Let loose. Bare it all. Accept your body and unclothe your true identity. ENJOY NUDING!! However, there's no need to get aggressive with your breast implants. AND PLEASE. Remember to put your wiener away during dinner.

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It's a Gas

This post is divinely guided. As I quieted my mind to get in touch with my true spirit, I set my intention to select a blog topic for this week.  I heard God whisper to me, “Pull my finger.” It seems that my true spirit is indeed timeless! And perhaps stuck in a perpetual juvenile state. So if you’ve come here today looking for inspiration, may I recommend expiration instead.

Growing up, there was often open, sometimes disgusting, always hilarious conversation about all digestive topics. Very early on, my brother recognized that, in smelling a fart, one is literally inhaling poo molecules. You get to choose how: through your nose or through your mouth. To this day, audible farting during meals really gets my hackles up. You’re seasoning everyone’s food with your poo! You should not do that!! Just keep it quiet and nobody will get hurt. I know, it doesn’t make any sense. I’m no Ruth Bader Ginsberg, that’s for sure.

Tooting has intrigued and entertained me since I can remember. I had a friend in junior high who could fart on command. She called them “Artificial Toots.” She would get down on her hands and knees and kind of arch her back and stick her butt up in the air and let it rip. It was EXTRAORDINARY!! I tried and tried on my own to accomplish this feat at home but could never cultivate the talent. After several months of diligent effort, I gave up. I have accepted that I will never be a competent Artificial Tooter, juggler, or hip hop dancer. I’m comfortable with that.

Also in junior high was a warm day I was sitting on a cinderblock wall with my girlfriend. I was wearing my favorite sundress, which was white and decorated with colorful hot air balloons. Cherokee wedges were all the rage.

But I was rocking knock-off  rubber-soled wedges. You see, my mom would not allow me to wear such a high heel and didn’t find value in spending $40 even for a pair of shoes as dazzling as these. My mom is notorious for spending as little as possible on clothes. “Look at this jacket! It was marked down to $15 at Ross, so I waited until Senior Tuesday, and by that time it was on the clearance rack for 50% off, so I bought it for $6.75!” My mom always looks great.

So….sundress with hot air balloons, knock-off Cherokees, AND gold-rimmed aviator glasses….not SUNGLASSES, mind you….legit, glasses. And materials weren’t as sophisticated in 1980, so they were T.H.I.C.K.  Coke bottle glasses. So retro.

This ensemble was made complete by my aggressively feathered hair. My straight, heavy, Chinese hair is not easily manipulated. I used to spend an hour curling my hair and carefully coating it with hair spray. By the end of the day, the curls sagged and kind of stuck straight out of my head like open cabinet doors.

All this is to say that I was looking FOINE that afternoon when a cute boy approached us. We were all friends, and he was smiling. Teasingly, he grabbed my shoulders and pretended to push me off the wall while simultaneously pulling me back toward him so that I wouldn’t actually fall. I was surprised and let out a little yelp. Simultaneously, I blammed out a GIANT fart. *POOT!!* It was loud and airy and most certainly heard for miles around. Forty years later, this trauma is seared into my memory. This guy and I are friends on Facebook. I wonder whether he remembers this. Perhaps we will all find out.

Yoga farts test me, because I have to focus SO HARD on not giggling. It’s natural! They can’t help it. Do people get embarrassed when they step on a duck during yoga class? It just seems to happen so often. I guess it means they’re relaxed, but for Heaven’s sake. Sometimes the effort not to laugh causes tears to leak from my eyes. Namaste.

A historically significant fart in my life occurred UPSTAIRS in my house, and I heard it from the kitchen DOWNSTAIRS. To be fair, I don’t think that the fart was actually that loud. Albert must have been sitting on the floor packing or folding laundry, and the sound traveled through the floor. Through many layers of carpet and padding, insulation and wood, and whatever else a house is made of. Kind of remarkable, don’t you think? When I understood what I had heard, I was FLATTENED by tears of laughter. I had to sit on the floor, and my dog got a little worried. Naturally, I texted Albert immediately that I had heard his fart. He loves it when I recognize the little things he does.

The times that I DON’T find farts funny are when Albert farts me awake. I wake up grouchy. SOME of my sisters and daughters may even say that I wake up angry and violent. Farts are NOT FUNNY while I’m sleeping. Farting MYSELF awake is usually preceded by dreams of bees or other insects trapped in my pants before I become lucid. It’s frightening and terrible.

I’ll end this post with my favorite fart joke.

            Q: Why do cherry trees smell bad?

            A: Because George Washington cut one.

Everyone farts. Don't be ashamed! But also don't get mad at me if I crack up. I have no control over myself.

Thanks for reading! I’m truly honored that so many of you take time to read about the kooky thoughts that occupy my mind. I hope my posts bring you joy. And that you’ll still be my friend after learning about what’s REALLY going on inside my noggin.

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How Do Chinese People Eat Soup?

I was in first grade when a kid named Matthew told me this joke:

Matthew (with his palms together as in prayer): “Open the refrigerator.”

I separated his hands.

Matthew: “Take a Coke.”

I pretended to take a tiny Coke from between his palms.

Matthew: “Drink it.”

I drank my tiny, pretend Coke with a loud slurp.

Matthew: “Close the refrigerator.”

I put his palms back together.

Matthew moved his hands to stretch up the corners of his eyes:
“Me Chinese. Me play joke. Me go wee wee in your Coke.”

At that moment, Mrs. Lagomarsino walked by and Matthew got BUSTED. Mrs. L admonished him, “Matthew. Is wee wee a nice word?”

I thought nothing of it. Matthew and I had a giggle. That’s how it was in 1973. My brother and I were likely the only Chinese people in that school in Camarillo, CA.

In third grade, Douchey David Meyers called me “Chinky Twinkie.” When I complained to Mrs. Shields at recess, she scolded ME. “Well, what would you LIKE him to call you?”

A lot of this has been on my mind with the recent explosion of so many social justice movements. Me Too. Black Lives Matter. LGBTQI Equality. I LOVE that these issues are coming to light, but I often feel conflicted about many discussions and observations around race and gender equality.

My son and I were at the mall last week and noticed rainbow flags and banners in practically every store. I wondered aloud whether these demonstrations were sincere or whether businesses were appropriating LGBTQI issues for self-promotion. My super insightful son acknowledged that businesses are never purely altruistic. His view was that, if he had been oppressed and persecuted for so long, the bold, open support would probably be welcome even if businesses were profiting.

So I am glad that there is conversation and education, especially since the topics are difficult and sometimes uncomfortable. How do we start a conversation? Also what’s the best way to respond when someone asks questions of us? How do we prevent hurt feelings? What will the other person think of me if I ask a question or provide my point of view? It occurred to me that we are ALL on one side of an issue in some regard, depending on backgrounds and experiences.

Jacob Tobia, author of the book, “Sissy,” introduced me to a new term: Gender Chill. Their preferred pronouns are they/their/theirs. (Courtesy surpasses grammar. I am SO UNCOMFORTABLE as I write this!) Anyhoo….THEY stated that gender should be respected but that we should also be able to laugh and joke about it; humor needs to be part of the conversation.

They hit on the essence of my unease around many social justice movements. John Cleese eloquently clarified the difference between seriousness and solemnity. You can have a completely delightful conversation about a very serious issue, and it will be most connecting and effective if you’re not somber, glum, and BORING about it.

In the spirit of humor, here are some of my favorite non-disparaging “racist” jokes.

Chinese jokes (OK, maybe they’re a LITTLE disparaging, but they are absurdly silly):

Q: Why don’t Chinese people like to barbecue?

A: Because the RICE keeps falling through the grill.

Q: How do you blindfold a Chinese person?

A: Dental floss.

Mexican jokes:

Q: What do you call two Mexican guys playing basketball together?

A: Juan on Juan.

Q: What do you call a Mexican guy with a squishy foot?

A: Roberto.

Indian joke:

Q: What does an Indian man give to his wife on their wedding night that is long and hard?

A: His last name.

African joke:  Give a Nigerian a fish and he’ll eat for a day. Teach a Nigerian to phish and he’ll become a prince.

It would be inauthentic for me to state that I have ZERO problems with other genders and races. Know why? Because I have plenty of experiences with arrogant, thoughtless folks of EVERY gender and race berating me, tailgating, and blocking the damn aisles of Costco S-L-O-W-L-Y munching on samples. You be you. But don’t be a jerk.

Gender Chill. Race Chill. I want to understand your perspective, and I’m willing to share mine. Let’s get to know each other! I’m open to any honest question, but please note that I do not speak for all Chinese people. Or all moms. Or all Alaska Air Mileage Plan members. I won’t get offended or mad, but I WILL set you straight and give you my opinion if I feel you are genuine. I will also DEFINITELY make fun of you if you ask me ridiculous questions like what the “Oriental” flavor of Top Ramen tastes like or whether I know the Lee Family from Beaverton.

Let’s be serious about these important issues, but there’s no need to be solemn.

We are all unique individuals. And we are ALL created perfectly.

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