TTFN, PNS! WTF, DFW?

I spent time with my extended family last week in Pensacola, Florida on the Gulf side of the Panhandle. Pensacola’s airport code is PNS. So unfortunate. There are so many letters in “Pensacola” that is seems that better options might have been available. Was it a coincidence that we saw a weenie at the baggage claim, or is this little fella always required to be there?

On our way home, my daughter forgot to dump her water bottle before going through security. She had the choice of abandoning her $30 Hydro flask or being escorted outside to dump her water then being rescreened. It’s a good thing we had plenty of time. That $17 very large glass of mediocre wine I sipped while waiting for my criminal offspring and her police escort to return felt justified. I practically MADE $13! This was only the beginning of our travel misfortunes.

We travelled back to Portland via Dallas-Fortworth, which is SO GIGANTIC that there is a Skylink train that transports passengers among the 4.81 miles between terminals. The car was crowded, but I didn’t worry when I didn’t have anywhere to hang on. Looking at this train car, you see very few seats. The hanging-on poles are spread far apart, and there are ZERO overhead bars between the two sets of doors.

I’m pretty spry and figured the Skylink was made for standing. Little did I know that I was boarding the Knight’s Tournament ride at Legoland.

This train ride seemed intentionally and aggressively rough. I know Dallas is proud of its Cowboys, but modeling your airport train after a damn BUCKING BRONCO is taking it TOO FAR, TEXAS!! The train SWERVED abruptly and then started SHAKING like a Polaroid picture.

I stumbled and took a step backward right onto a young woman’s foot which threw me off balance even more. After apologizing, I scooted over to grab a pole so I wouldn’t maim any other patrons before we reached our terminal.

My daughter was hungry and grumpy. Or perhaps she was still processing overwhelming regret for her lawbreaking activities at the Pensacola Airport. She didn’t even have the spirit to laugh at me. I was emotionally abandoned among stoic strangers, none of whom showed ANY amusement that I was just taken completely off-guard by this ridiculously hostile train ride. There’s no shame in stumbling, but I felt alone and embarrassed. AND THEN!!! This other young woman has the fricking audacity to STAND UP AND OFFER ME HER SEAT! "Would you like to sit down, ma'am?" Who the hell are you calling "ma'am," you whippersnapper??" That made me mad. I wouldn’t have sat down if both my legs suddenly broke right under me at that very moment.

We arrived at our terminal with everything but my pride intact only to learn that our flight was delayed because a bird was stuck in the engine. Aw, poor bird.

And also blech. So gross.

And also STUPID BIRD for making our flight delayed!!

After waiting around for an hour, we learned that the plane would not be able to fly, so we were directed to a different airplane at another terminal. Back on the damn bucking bronco! But I was ready this time. And when a woman got on behind me, I knowingly offered her part of my pole. And when she politely but naively refused, I was ready to move my toes away and catch her as she tottered.

After about a two-hour delay, we finally boarded the plane. My daughter and I weren’t seated together, so I settled in for a quiet ride with strangers. Tolerance is kind of my super power, but I was tired. A lot of my patience had been depleted by the unreasonably turbulent Skylink ride and by recent close proximity to dangerous sharks for the past three days. So I was disheartened to immediately experience whiffs of periodontitis and feet. Good Lord, people! THIS IS WITHIN YOUR CONTROL! Brush your teeth and wash your toes. It’s not Rocket Science! I rubbed mint Chapstick under my nose and tried to nap.

But the young man next to me kept putting his elbow on me. Boundaries, man!! Not hogging the armrest, but actually sticking his stupid elbow into my area of the seat.

A couple of times, I gently, then not-so-gently nudged his elbow back into the only space that he had paid for. After the third time, I deliberately removed my earbuds, touched his arm and gave him my most purposeful, straight-on, you’re-in-trouble Mom Face. “You are taking up more space than belongs to you. Keep your elbow on this side of the arm rest.” I pointed to HIS side of the arm rest lest there be confusion. His mouth silently hung open like a codfish. I could tell by his eyes that he was either scared shitless OR didn’t understand a word I said. Either way, I didn’t have any further problem with this bozo.

Enter Bozo Number Two. And I DOO mean NUMBER TWO. Some unfortunate individual was DEFINITELY pooping his pants during this flight. WHY are McDonald’s and KFC and TGIFridays offered at airports?? Dear Diarrhea, please come to my party! Mint Chapstick was underqualified for this fight.

How did your mom die, kids? *sniffle and eye dab* She survived a shark attack but contracted Diarrhea-related Black Lung Disease on her flight home shortly afterward. We’ll all miss her.

And THEN there was this demon sitting behind me brawling with the back of my chair. I remember the nasty looks I got while boarding an airplane with three young kids. I give a TON of grace and space to little kids on planes. I’ve intentionally taught my kids travel manners because I believe it makes vacationing more pleasant for my family as well as for everyone around us. Imagine my surprise when I caught a reflection of the kid sitting behind me. He was at least fifteen years old, playing on a device with his head and knees whacking up against the back of my chair. I had a mind to turn around and Mom Face him, but I know better. Teenage boys are unpredictable creatures, and THIS one was clearly undomesticated. I didn’t want to arrive in Portland with my hair full of spit and biscotti crumbs.

By the time we arrived in Portland, I had used up a hundred and seventy percent of my patience; it was as thin as a wire. A kid at the back of the plane decided to yell, “Go! What’s taking you so long? It’s not complicated, people! Goooooo!!!” over and over. He was probably around 11 or 12 years old, because his voice sounded like Shaggy from “Scooby-Doo.” The day could not be over soon enough.

It’s easier to practice gratitude when you are not tired or hungry or having your personal boundaries repeatedly violated. GRASPING for gratitude, this is what I came up with:

• I am grateful that someone was checking our airplane for safety.
• I am grateful that nobody was maimed on the fucking Skylink.
• I am grateful that none of those rude little shits are coming home with me and that my kids have manners.
• I am grateful that I don’t have diarrhea.
• Oh, yeah. And I am grateful that we are home safely AT FUCKING LAST.
• And I’m grateful that my life is pretty damned good so that this kind of Radical Gratitude is mostly uncalled for.

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Life's a Beach

My daughter and I spent the weekend in Pensacola, Florida on the Gulf side of the Panhandle where my little bro lives with his family. My parents and my sister and her family flew out from California, and my son flew down from Philadelphia for a mini family reunion. We spent time together enjoying the resort pools and beautiful white sand beaches and eating a LOT of food. My brother makes friends wherever he goes, and apparently his friends who own restaurants in town worry that he may starve to death. We were served TABLES OVERFLOWING with sushi and Chinese food that we couldn’t possibly finish. The veggies in Pensacola left me unsatisfied, but the seafood is top notch.

At one of the Chinese restaurants, we witnessed a woman and her daughter ordering pad thai.  *RECORD SCRATCH*

We immediately took arms and chased her out of the restaurant brandishing chopsticks as the owners pelted her with fortune cookies.

We also traveled to nearby Alabama to experience Lambert’s Throwed Rolls. Those rolls were delicious, but what a befuddling experience! The people! The décor! The flying bread!

These Tropickles are worth mentioning. They are fruit punch flavored dill pickles; Kool-Aid dill pickles are a Southern staple at cookouts apparently. The texture was really nice: crispy and firm! However, I won’t be eating Tropickles regularly, because they’re exclusively available at selected Walmarts in the South. And also they taste terrible.

My kids were probably 2, 3, and 4 years old the first time they visited Pensacola. We were living in California at the time, where the sand is brown. During our first encounter with the Florida shore, my oldest silently squatted on the sand and put his face really close to the ground. He gingerly poked at the beach with his finger. “Is this SUGAR?” he asked with such sweet wonder that it made me laugh and tear up at the same time. It really does look like sugar.

This trip was different now that the six cousins who were there ranged in age from 9 to 20. My oldest nephew expressed nonchalant interest in my recent writing. “Is all of it true?” Perhaps he didn’t QUITE believe that one of Albert’s farts penetrated layers of wood, insulation, carpet, and plaster. Astonishing and preposterous! And also TRUE. “Are you going to blog about this?” he asked me. Depends. Does the thought of being written about makes a 15-year-old excited or terrified? He’s sweet and handsome and plays tennis like a rock star. He is not at all interesting. Sorrynotsorry.

My brother is quite a different story. While discussing this here blog, my sister-in-law informed me that my brother LEAVES HIS CLIPPED TOENAILS ON HIS NIGHTSTAND!! We are less than two years apart in age and arose from exactly the same gene pool. HOW COULD THIS BE??

I think my bro is great. If you are familiar with us both, you will know that we share many similarities, including a propensity for extreme and sometimes objectionable silliness. But when it comes to feet, we are of divided kinship. He’s disgusting. Remember when TV channels were changed manually before remote controls? OUR fancy TV didn’t have a dial, but a toggle that my brother could lie on the carpet and reach with his crooked, long toes to change channels. And when he sat shotgun in the car, he would take off his socks and put them RIGHT IN FRONT of the air conditioning vent. All his nasty vaporized toe jam particles most certainly triggered some damaging epigenetic code. Our whole family is a little “special” thanks to him. I’m definitely going to save up a jar of toenails to send to him for his 50^th birthday.

I loved seeing the cousins connect and enjoy being with each other EVEN THOUGH I caught all sorts of grief for summoning them out of the ocean in the evenings. It is NOT unreasonable for me to be afraid of being eaten by a shark. “Jaws” was released when I was eight years old. My mom tried to reason with me that sharks are very big and cannot fit in a bathtub or swimming pool, but I knew that she was not a dependable source of shark facts because of Jabberjaw. Sharks can go anywhere. They don’t even need to be in the water really. So sharks could definitely be in a swimming pool or my bathtub. Nyuk Nyuk Nyuk.

Florida’s warm Atlantic waters are home to the most shark attacks in the United States. Especially AT DUSK when I would beckon my family out of the water. Drones spotted three sharks just feet off Pensacola Beach on 4th of July weekend just a month before we were there. And then there’s this footage of a Hammerhead chasing a stingray on the SAME BEACH we were on THE DAY BEFORE WE WENT HOME.

Yet still my kids were like, “Really, Mom? You’re afraid we’re going to get eaten by a shark??” Sharks feed at dawn and at dusk. I don’t care if “sharks don’t like to eat people.” You are Chinese food. Or in the case of my nephews and niece, you are Fusion Cuisine.  I am confident that you guys are delicious. “There are lots of other people in the water!” Well, say a prayer to Jesus for those sorry folks, because their moms definitely don’t love them and are not at all concerned if they get eaten by a shark.

Travelling and family and sharks can be stressful. (Not listed in order of stressfulness) But devoting time and energy to sharing experiences is well worthwhile, especially after leaving the beautiful beach with all limbs intact and successfully digesting buckets of fried okra and sweet tea. Invest in the effort! And get out of the water at dusk. Love you! *mwah*

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Thank you for reading!

Let's Discuss a Fu Things

Albert and I just celebrated our 27^th wedding anniversary! It seems so strange, since it doesn’t seem that long at all. We were 24 and 27 years old when we got married in 1992. We have both officially been married for more years than not. We’ve had our ups and downs, and I’m grateful for ALL of it! It’s led me here today. I’m happy to be here, and happy that you’re here with me!

I used to be Lisa Natalie Ling. Isn’t that a nice name? It has kind of a singsong feel to it. Who cares if people called me Ding-a-ling or Lisa Linguine? It’s also the name of a famous journalist. You know, the lady from CNN, Oprah, and The View? She’s kind of fierce.

So as excited as I was to get married, I was none too excited to take Albert’s name. This was a time during which it was kind of uncommon for women to keep their own names, although I considered it seriously! But it would have been even more ridiculous to hyphenate: Who are you Fu-Ling? Or to take the middle-path alternative of combining the two names. “Ladies and gentlemen, Lisa and Albert FLING!” Man, this is love. Going from Ling to Fu.

*FU*

Eff. You.

It sounds like Phooey. Or flu. It rhymes with poo.

Then there was The Original Mrs. Fu. HO-LEE COW. She was the President of the Cranky Mother-in-Law’s Club. It made me cringe to be associated so closely with her. But I was in love. And I have no regrets. But DAMMMM, DANIEL! When I would hear “Mrs. Fu,” I would legit get a little sweat of panic and case the room to see if my mother-in-law happened to be lurking. This probably took a full year to abate.

Besides the whole MFIL (Mother-Fu-in-law) issue, there was all the torment associated with such a name. You wouldn’t think that such a simple-looking name would be so difficult to pronounce. Many guess “FEW.” Some will guess “FUH” as in the delicious and always satisfying Vietnamese noodle soup. Appetizing! Yet also completely amiss in this instance.

I started appreciating my acquired last name after I had kids. It’s easy to spell! Two letters. Way easier when you’re in preschool than it was for my childhood friends Ildy Modrovich or Zianne Aukstkalnis, for sure!

But for such a simple name, you’d be astounded at how often it’s misspelled. Folks like to add extra letters: Fuu, Fus, Foo. Or because “eff” sounds just like “ess” when you’re on the phone: Su, Suu, Sue, Soo.

With a last name like Fu, you NOTICE how often you’re asked to spell your last name. It gets tiresome to constantly answer a stranger’s innocent request for standard information with, “Eff You.” Doesn’t matter if you accompany it with your most dazzling, friendly smile. You can’t even start off with, “No offense but….”

I quickly learned from Albert that, when asked how to spell our last name, you say, “Eff as in Frank. You as in Uncle.”

And then you also need to add, “That’s all.”

Because after you say, “Eff as in Frank. You as in Uncle,” the person helping you often will look up expectantly waiting for more letters. Confusion and disappointment ensue. Sometimes they’ll IMAGINE more letters for you. “Eff-You-Ee?” I don’t know why, but it’s usually an extra “E” that’s tacked on. There’s probably some brilliant scientific explanation for this. Someone please take this up for a PsyD thesis! KThanks.

“No, it’s just Eff? Then You.”

“Eff-Enn-You?”

NOBODY’S NAME IS SPELLED F-N-U!!! FNU?? Come on! It’s TWO LETTERS!! Why is this taking so long??

At least three of my friends have sent me this screenshot:

This has caused real problems when trying to register online. The Scunthorpe Problem describes the dilemma that arises when internet algorithms block words that are deemed naughty…dare I say….unacceptable. We Fus are in good company with Douglas Kuntz, Craig Cockburn, and Herman Libshitz. We might feel right at home in the cities of Middlesex, Penistone, Lightwater, and Clitheroe or visiting the gardens at the Horniman Museum. And of course, SHITAKE MUSHROOMS!! No wonder it’s an all-time favorite pizza topping in the Fu Household!! Shitake mushrooms have trouble trying to donate to their alumni associations, too.

A lady from Tennessee suffered rejection after requesting a vanity license plate reading “ILVTOFU.” She was vegan, so it was probably no biggie. Vegans are totally used to facing cold rejection and being considered vulgar. I’m kidding. Vegans are people, too, and God loves all His children. But since this is MY blog, I’m just going to point out that IT IS POSSIBLE to practice veganism without announcing it. You CAN just NOT EAT whatever you don’t want to without loudly proclaiming and detailing your consumption status. For instance, I think figs look like hypoxic, strangled testicles that are filled with maggots. But they are a fashionable delicacy these days! So there’s no sense in my making a big fuss over these sickening fruits every time they’re served. Just say no, thank you. In your head. Silently. Without making a face. Stealth Veganism. You can do it! Fus Ro Dah!

In line at one of my favorite vegan restaurants, Native Foods, a woman struck up this conversation with me:

She: Have you been here before?
Me: Yes, I love this place!
She: Are you vegan?
Me: No, are you?
She: Yes, I am! You’re not vegan and you eat here? You just like the food??
Me: Yup.
She: I eat here all the time. Probably too much. I have earned, like, twenty dollars in rewards. I ate cheese last week. But I found that I didn’t like it! When you’re a vegan and then you eat cheese, it has this weird taste, you know?
Me:

Albert and I have discussed opening a drinking establishment. We would definitely name it FUBAR. 

We would NOT serve figs. But you could get a Fu Shot. Not this kind of Fu Shot.

Or a bakery called FuCupcake. What takes the edge off a fuck up? Cake!

Take that frown and turn it around! It wasn’t easy embracing my new name, but with love and determination, it’s become a TON of fun! And everybody knows YOU CAN’T SPELL FUN WITHOUT FU! This approach has helped me accept and appreciate even the most difficult of people and circumstances. Doing the work is challenging AND essential, but doing it in the spirit of the joy in growth and learning makes it just a tiny bit less FU’d.

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