April Fu

Hey, all you cool cats and kittens! Welcome to Week Two of Shelter-in-Place! There is a lot of social media FOMO going on with parents feeling HashtagBlessed to finally have some down time with their kids. As an Empty Nester, I’ve got my college kids at home. I LOVE having them home. HashtagReallyNoNotReally.

They don’t belong here. Not at this age and not at this stage. Watching “Tiger King” with their parents. That’s a big bag of NOPE.

They belong out in the world with their friends and with adults who are brilliant and caring and, most essentially, not their parents. But I am feeling grateful that they are excellent people and that we have a house that allows each of us to have adequate personal space, EVEN IF my personal space is the 30 square feet of my walk-in closet. No joke. All my Zoom/FaceTime Happy Hours take place at The Fu Closet Cocktail Lounge. Seating is limited but drinks are all on the house.

I don’t know how much FOMO my kids feel. Our family is a little….ummmm…different. And that’s something that you don’t really realize until you spend some significant time in the world. Until that time, your family is just a fact. Like how our dogs thoroughly participate in family conversations. They ask questions and express opinions. Oftentimes, they are so brutally honest as dogs tend to be, unabashedly advising a Fu of annoying behavior as the rest of us stand aghast at the brazen canine candor. My kids are discovering that not all family dogs engage in such complex discussions.

But this week our dogs are feeling a great deal of compassion for Chris. You see, Chris will be celebrating his 21^st birthday on Thursday, April 2, 2020. With all his friends on Shelter-in-Place orders and all the bars and restaurants closed.

He’s our True Blue April Fu.

I should have made myself a damn t-shirt every time I got pregnant. Why do people even think this is funny?

NO. I am not going to name my baby
Kung
Toe
I Pity Da
Little Bunny Fu

Those are not even names. So stupid. With a last name like Fu, Albert and I were definitely mindful of the names we bestowed upon our children. We would never be parents to Adam, Juan, or April. Christopher seemed to be a perfect name. Classic and heroic. We didn’t anticipate this:

Or this.

Bless you.

He might have been March Fu; my contractions started coming every five minutes on the evening of March 31. MY DAD REQUESTED THAT I NOT HAVE MY BABY ON APRIL 1! Albert and I headed to the hospital where I was monitored for a few hours. The contractions subsided, and we were sent home. I experienced exactly ZERO contractions on April 1. Best April Fool’s prank EVER, Chris!

Soon after, I was at my mom’s house for lunch and had just put Alex down for a nap when I felt a familiar squeeze. My mom used to work as a midwife and wanted to take me to the hospital right away, but I wasn’t ready to go. Albert’s last patient was at 4pm, and I thought I could probably hold out for a few hours before heading to the hospital. My mom tried everything to convince me to go to the hospital.

“You’ll be more comfortable laboring in the hospital.”

“You’ll be less anxious with the nurses helping you.”

“I’ll get your bag and then drive you to the hospital.”

And finally, the most significant justification?

“Don’t have your baby here! I just had my carpets cleaned!”

After a chat with my doctor, Albert cancelled the rest of his afternoon and came to pick me up. My first son, Alex, popped out in about 45 minutes, so my doctor advised us to head straight to the hospital and he’d meet us there.

It was about 4pm on Good Friday 1999, and the 101 North was extra packed going from Camarillo to Ventura. One of our ObGyns had warned us against having the baby in the car. “You’ll never get the smell out.” He told us of the time his wife started labor panting in the car, and he threatened to pull over and deliver the baby on the hood if she didn’t hold it in.

The traffic was crawling. Albert made the executive decision to drive the rest of the way to the hospital on the shoulder of the freeway. I was pretty uncomfortable as we walked into Labor & Delivery, but they were ready for me and checked my cervix.

9.5cm

It looked and sounded like chaos that ensued. My nurse started yelling to the desk nurse to call Dr. Coyle. It was coincidental that “A Baby Story” recently aired with a local ObGyn named “Terry Cole” who also had privileges there.

“She’s at Nine-point-Five. Call Dr. Coyle!”

“Who?”

“Dr. Coyle!”

“Dr. Cole?”

“No, Dr. Coyle!”

“Terry Cole?”

“No! Dr. Coyle! C-O-Y-L-E!”

My eyes were screwed shut by this time, but Albert tells me that Dr. Coyle briskly strolled in a few minutes later from his office across the street. He calmly tucked the bottoms of his pants into his socks and gowned up. Up went my legs as he broke my amniotic sac. Then the real show started.

Fortunately, the pain didn’t last long. Chris arrived just a few minutes later. 7 pounds, 10 ounces at 4:30pm.

From the moment Albert and I walked into L&D to the moment Chris was born: Seventeen minutes. He arrived so quickly that he created his own vacuum. Perhaps this explains his aversion to these handy cleaning gadgets? His whole face was deep purple and many vessels in his eyes were broken. His little head was a giant hickey, and his little bloodshot eyes made him look like he was turnt 24/7 for about a week.

I asked Chris whether he was disappointed to be spending his 21^st birthday this way. “Not really,” he told me. He is choosing to regard this as an interesting life experience. So many people tell stories about their 21^st birthdays, getting shitfaced with friends in bars and not really remembering the day. Few people will have the opportunity to tell the story of turning 21 during a global pandemic.

What a lovely, positive attitude! Sorry you are quarantined and celebrating your 21^st birthday with your squarents, Son. We’ll try to make your day fun and memorable.

I hope that you and your family are staying in and staying safe during this crazy time! Thank you for reading!

SSBD

It seems like a million years ago that I was at the gym. It’s the greatest place! The excellent fitness classes with friendly, encouraging instructors. The very nice people I meet there. The diligent, helpful staff. The sparkling water dispenser. Oh, and also the kooky convos I overhear in the women’s locker room. Physical fitness was not a high priority growing up, but this is the place I learned how nourish my body with exercise. I learned that physical strength heightens my emotional strength and vice versa. Sometimes when I felt emotionally spent, it was reassuring to know that my body would not fail me.

For years I have enjoyed spending some time in the sauna after a (super-quick shower and a) workout. It is a rewarding time of quiet. I have always had cold fingertips and tootsies, and I think taking a sauna helps with circulation. And I swear it keeps me well by inducing a faux fever and bathing my nose and throat in warm air. But mostly it feels great.

Usually I have the whole sauna to myself with maybe one or two other ladies. But recently there have been a certain group of ladies congregating in there and I’m about to tell you all the reasons they make me blood red mad.

First of all, they wear clothes. No biggie, you think? WELL. While I’m not one to traipse around the locker room with all my lady parts on display, I do go into the sauna just wrapped in a towel. Imagine arriving to a black-tie event wearing only shorts and a tank top and you might grasp my perspective. My level of underdress is not obscene or crossing any line, but I feel out of place. In the sauna. Where you are not supposed to wear street clothes. Buckle up, I’m just getting started.

Second, they talk. Which I don’t love but OK. I understand that some people like words a lot more than I do. They are moms of small children, and I remember that time in my life, craving connection and understanding from other moms and often needing to vent about crappy children. But they talk SO LOUD. Actually, they probably just talk regular, but in the sauna it sounds very loud. And they don’t sit NEXT to each other, but in opposite corners of the sauna, so ALL OF THEIR LOUD, STUPID WORDS fly all around all over me.

To be very honest, I wouldn’t mind as much if they talked about something interesting or funny, like the woman who spilled all the tea about her husband and didn’t wear underpants. But these women drone on and on about the most inane topics. There have been times I’ve spotted them in there, turned around, and skipped my sauna for the day. The anguish, amiright?? I practically have to get extra sparkling water AND a free cup of coffee just to recover from this trauma.

The topic of the day for these boring sauna invaders?

SALAD. 

"You know what I do sometimes? I put those little fake bacon bits and bleu cheese crumbles and chop up all my veggies. It’s SO GOOD! I get the bacon bits at Safeway."

"I usually look down on bag lettuce, but sometimes I buy it. I get the really small chopped up lettuce for taco salad sometimes. I prepare it just with my taco meat? And I put some sour cream on top? And some beans? And then I chop up a tomato? And that’s it!"

"One time? I cut up some zucchini kind of thick? And I put it in my air fryer! And right before it was done, I took it out! And then I sprinkled a little parmesan and salt on it. Oh, my God. It was SO GOOD. It tasted like……CHIPS!"

OH. EM. GEE. The two of them blathered the entire time like this. I love a good salad, but mixed greens rarely warrant such prolonged discussion. There were two other ladies there with me, eyes closed, silently wrapped in towels. Were they as annoyed about this as I was?

I comforted myself with the fact that none of my friends are such snoozers. I can’t imagine that any of my friends would ever drone on like drags this way! And we all indulge in real NON-ZUCCHINI chips with our margaritas like normal people who have their priorities straight. 

I reached for gratitude in the fortune of delightful friends. Breathing deeply, I enjoyed the warmth and mentally banished microbes from my oro- and nasopharyngeal passages.

And then it struck. A fetid, putrid, heavy stench. My eyes flew open. My zen was shattered. WHO DID THIS?

I covered my mouth and nose with my towel but even the plush terry was no match for this fetor. The heat of the sauna only intensified the reek, and the airtight space left no escape for the millions of poo molecules that I could feel creeping up on me. If COVID19 had a smell, this would definitely be it! And yet the salad convo continued uninterrupted. HOW DOES ONE TALK ABOUT FOOD AT A TIME LIKE THIS?

As I abruptly left the sauna, I was 350% percent certain that the malodorous offender was ABSOLUTELY one of the two Salad Sisters. Excessive uncooked roughage, mixed with bleu cheese crumbles and fake bacon bits? That shit will GAS YOU UP. It’s called YOGURT, People!! Give it a try before you get fined by the EPA. 

I considered the fact that there was no pause in the wearisome conversation. Most folks need to take a little *hmmp* to cut a muffin while speaking. So perhaps it was the woman who was not speaking at the time? Or perhaps so much salad just allows you to rip a stinker with little-to-no effort. Just slides right out.....

Now that the gym has shut down temporarily and we’re all doing our part to stay at home and keep our human collective safe, this Sauna SBD seems like a distant, disgusting memory. I appreciate our civic leaders and business bosses who are making these difficult decisions. It takes the burden of decision off my shoulders and takes choice away from those who clearly don’t understand the seriousness of these circumstances.

I hope you are all taking good care of yourselves and your families. Stay home if you can. Wash your hands often. Get lots of sleep. Eat your veggies. Knock back a yogurt from time to time. Drink water. Smiles and laughter are even more contagious than this stupid virus. Light always wins over darkness. Spread the love!

Thank you for reading!

Slight Change of Plans

The whole world seems to have gone bananas. This virus is serious, you guys. We all need to do our parts to keep each other safe. Try considering this as a beautiful excuse to slow down and stay home! Maybe I’m looking on the bright side of discovering just how super boring and insignificant I am. I didn’t have any vacation plans that needed cancelling. I don’t have an important job that requires me to be present or even to work from home. Not that much changed in my life except that I am missing my fitness classes at the gym. That actually could get dangerous with time. When I got cranky with my kids, they used to tell me, “Whoa, Mom. Maybe you need to go work out.”

So I’m taking on the responsibility of helping folks lighten the heck up. This as a VERY SERIOUS situation, but that doesn’t require anyone to be such a freaking asshat. It is frustrating to lose a chunk of personal freedom, but it is absolutely not the end of the world that you are being asked to wash your filthy hands for a change. Asians are still waiting on you to learn to take your shoes off in the house. *Aack* And staying home is not so bad. It would be far worse for you to get sick or to know that you were responsible for making someone else sick. This is a terrible disease. Do not mess around!

Last week, Albert asked me to take his dad to his hearing aid appointment at Costco. Praise the Lord, he agreed to get new hearing aids! This man can’t hear shit, and it can get puh-ritty loud and wacky trying to talk with him at times. “WHAT? YOUR NAME IS ERNIE?? I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU ARE AN ATTORNEY!”

Albert asked me to take his dad to the appointment because Albert works at the VA Medical Center and is in contact with lots of folks from all over the area. His dad is in a senior living community which is now being tightly controlled. This virus has the potential to devastate a senior community. Oh, wait. I told you I was going to lighten things up. Ready for another Costco story?

I brought my FIL to Costco for his hearing aid appointment on Thursday, March 12. Governor Kate Brown declared a state of emergency in Oregon four days earlier. That was the day that everyone ate a bunch of cocaine all at the same time and decided they needed toilet paper. People are so weird. What’s with the toilet paper? When I was young, I visited the village where my dad grew up. Ain’t no such thing as toilet paper there. We immigrant families are definitely not throwing shade, but we ARE giving you some almond-shaped side-eye.

Things had settled down a bit by Thursday, but earlier that afternoon, the Governor asked all large gatherings to be cancelled, and that riled folks up again. By the time I arrived at the appointment with my FIL, the lines at Costco were stretched halfway to the back of the store. After his appointment, my FIL asked whether we could “pick up a few things.” What did he want? Some frozen blueberries, some frozen mini wontons, and two polo shirts that were $4 off. Rather than have him stand in that long line, I offered to go back later that night and pick up his things.

When Albert and I went back later that evening, we were surprised at the carnage. We wanted to see the zero toilet paper with our own eyes. The bottled water was wiped out, too, WHICH IS SO MONDO BIZARRO! This is not Flint, Michigan, people! Kleenex—that was still available. Also baby wipes. I guess folks aren’t really as desperate as they make out to be in the butt-wiping department.

The pallets of Cuties were completely empty. But big, regular oranges were still available. We picked up some cheese and an apple pie. We know what’s important. I posted this picture of a shelf completely emptied of mini naan and hilarity ensued. “Don’t try going to Costco for bread. There is naan.”

It’s all gaan.

Better curry up and get some.

WHAT AM I SAMOSA DO NOW??!!

Curl up in a corner and chai yourself to sleep…

Okla Dhokla. Chaat seems to be my only option.

Dosa, folks!

Maybe you should curry favor with the Baker.

I could offer to tikka his masala.

If you do, you’ll be sari.

Wait. Is this still happening? We need to chaat.

OK! Hello, Dalia!

Are they using that as toilet paper??

That would make a huge masoor.

….and I don’t want Naan of that at all…

Caste your GIF’s elsewhere.

OK! GIFs, get thee be-Hindi me!!

Ghee, why didn’t I think of that one?

“Be the change you want to see in the world.” I recently learned that Ghandi didn’t actually say this. So I’ll leave you with another quote from a couple of other mystic scholars, Bill and Ted: “Be excellent to each other.” This, too, shall pass. Take good care of yourselves and the people around you.

Thank you for reading!

Well, Shut My Mouth

Albert and I had dinner with my FIL last night at The Springs and were joined by a lady who had just moved in earlier that day. What an honor it was to be chosen to share her first meal in her new digs! She was escorted to our table by her daughter who had been helping her mom move in since early that morning. The daughter and I briefly met eyes and shared a smile. It was clear that we were being entrusted to be friendly and kind so her mom would feel welcome before spending her first night in unfamiliar whereabouts. It reminded me of ushering my preschoolers into new groups many years ago. Testing the waters. Checking out the situation. Sharing a little bravery. And then letting go.

Oh, no, I worried for a fleeting second. I know that we LOOK very normal and sweet, but YOU guys know, right? We can be a little weird and a little….MUCH, especially if you’re kind of tender and basic.

Unless they are wearing leather vests or have cigarettes hanging from their lips, most White women over 65 seem tender and basic to me at first glance. I know. Racist, right? I needn’t have worried. She was from New York where she had a career as a pediatric nurse. After spending a little time talking, I felt pretty confident that this woman would not be repelled even if we started discussing Indian Beer or the Fu Family method of christening new spaces.

My relief tricked me into letting my guard down to the concern that should never leave the tippy-top of my mind while dining: Grody Eaters. You know, smackers who are so loud that you can hear them from the next table. Ugh, so many sights and smells. 

There was once a man seated right in my eye-line at a restaurant whose pants were just WAY TOO SMALL. Most of that mealtime was spent willing myself not to look in the direction of his ample buttcrack. I turned my chair at an angle but my body kept forgetting and straightening the chair. Before my brain could remind my body of the peril, my eyes would naturally rest forward and catch site of the man’s open back door.

Watching someone eat is mostly nasty anyhow. The crunching and chewing and mouth contortions are inexplicably unsettling. Unless it’s puppies. Here is a super cute vid of Buddy and Ollie eating apples. It’s crunchy, slurpy, open-mouth mastication. And it’s not at all nauseating. Dunno why. I wonder if dogs think that watching other dogs eating is yucky. Maybe they think that watching people eat is super adorbz.

In my experience, Chinese people are notoriously…ummm…over-stimulating to eat with. You have probably heard that slurping is a compliment to the chef. Have you seen Chinese people really eat rice? I was in high school before I discovered how alarming this is to some White People. A man at a Kiwanis meeting told me how he visited China and “saw people bring the bowl right up to their mouths and shovel the food in!” Ummm….OK, White Man. Erryday at my house. You clearly haven’t tried my mom’s gravy. That shit is gold and you don’t waste it.

My mom grew up in lean times of war, so food was scarce. She told me that it was like bragging if you walked around town with oily lips and chin, because it meant that you had enough food to eat. So using napkins to wipe your mouth was not a thing.

My family is not exactly known for our genteel manners, but we all learned how to eat with our mouths closed while I was growing up. If you visit any legit Chinese restaurant, you will see this is not so in many other families. Loud talking and flying bits of food are commonplace. All Chinese food is See Food.

Seeing a mouth full of chewed food grosses me out. Even worse is watching someone talk with a piece of food stuck on their face. If it’s close to their lips, it dances around and taunts me as they speak.

And then even worse than THAT is getting food sprayed on me while someone is talking. Like, one piece, OK. It was a mistake. I’ll live. But have you ever shared a meal with someone who was so unaware that you are continually pelted with food?

One time our family shared breakfast with one such person, and poor Audrey kept getting scrambled eggs spattered on her. It was summertime, so she was sleeveless. She was adept at avoiding most of the projectiles, but I saw one sizeable chunk of huevos rancheros land right on her perfectly tanned arm.

It would have been kind of funny. Except Audrey is a barfer. Her tummy is especially sensitive during a meal. And so is Albert. He gags practically every morning as he brushes his tongue. Why so aggressive, Bro?? Our breakfast companion was on the verge of setting off an upchuck chain reaction, like Lardass in the blueberry pie eating contest in Stand By Me. Lard-ass! Lard-ass! Lard-ass!

Last night at dinner, I saw a little blob of mayo on my FIL’s cheek and glimpsed some of the ruminated poached salmon that our new friend was enjoying before remembering to avert my eyes. My eyesight has never been great, but it’s getting even less reliable recently. That little change of life worked out just fine for me last night as I enjoyed my cioppino. The red wine probably didn’t hurt to allay my aversion either. I thought about investing in these Mouth Curtains and handing them out. Do you think folks would be put off?

With COVID-19 freaking everyone out, it’s refreshing that people are finally starting to wash their hands. IT'S ABOUT TIME, PEOPLE! Maybe it will be announced soon that chewing with your mouth closed can also help prevent spread of disease. Duh.

I hope you and your families are all staying healthy! Thank you for reading! You can subscribe here to get new posts delivered right to your email inbox.

Dude, Where's My Car?

My FIL invited me up to his apartment to try some of his new “Indian beer.” I politely refused. I don’t care for IPA’s and will only drink them in dire emergencies. Like when I’m out with Albert's dentist friends. Oh. Em. Gee. They are some smart dudes, but they are GIANT SNOOZERS. I just keep on drinking and smiling while Albert pats my hand and regularly checks my face. He keeps careful track of my eyes to discern how much more time he can spend with his buddies before I start blurting embarrassingly.

It’s not even that I’m so inappropriate, but those wet blankets don’t appreciate my humor and I’m left just cracking myself up. Now I know that YOU, my friends, would laugh right along with me when I start cracking myself up. I LOVE when my friends are thinking of something SO FUNNY that they can’t even get the words out! But this uncontrolled behavior tends to make the humdrums uncomfortable.

One time a guy was telling me how he came into his current job. He had worked in a completely different field in the past, then he did some travelling and learned some languages and ended up in an extremely niche position. I was impressed and amazed at his experience and pulled out my very best Irish Brogue. “So you have a very particular set of skills? Skills you acquired over a very long career?”

It’s funny, right?? But I got crickets.

Anyhoo...back to the invitation to enjoy some Indian beer. My FIL wanted to tell us about how his walker got stolen.

Uh-GENN!!

He moved into a senior living community about four months ago. Now that more people have moved in, there have been a rash of walker thefts! Know why? Because everyone has the same walker. Kind of like when I had the exact same blue Honda Odyssey EX minivan as my friend, Elizabeth, back when our kids were in elementary school. We even had the exact same scuff on our bumpers where we both took a little bit of paint off the sides of our garages. WE ARE GOOD MOMS and were probably distracted because we were being SO ATTENTIVE to our children! Don't judge.

Anyhow, I was frustrated many times when I was unable to unlock her van door with my key fob. And there were times I saw HER standing in front of MY van jabbing at her fob as well.

Or that rainy day I actually GOT INTO a stranger's minivan outside JOANN Fabrics. After sitting in the driver’s seat, I noticed some unfamiliar sunglasses on the console and figured that one of my kids got it as a garbage prize from that horrible, dreaded gift wrap fundraiser that they did at school every year. And THEN I noticed that my key didn’t fit in the ignition. What was happening??

PEOPLE. You should always lock your car doors to prevent access by near-sighted women who have recently been overwhelmed at JOANN’s. Honestly, are SO MANY FABRICS really necessary??!!

The walkers always get boosted from the dining room. The first time, my FIL couldn’t find his walker after dinner and alerted the waitstaff. The waitstaff called the Foods Director who alerted the Concierge. It was a Senior Living APB, and the whole joint was on high alert.

Know where the walker was found? Outside my FIL’s apartment door. Someone realized they took the wrong walker because my FIL’s name was on it, and kindly returned it to him.

This past week, someone tried to heist his walker again, but THIS TIME the culprit was caught red-handed. This brazen bandit made his attempted get-away by walking right past my FIL as he supped. The nerve! But he didn’t get away with it. “Hey! That’s my walker!”

To prevent this mix-up from happening again, I put some yellow tape right on the top to make my FIL’s walker look unique. Like racing stripes! As I was doing this, he brought out some other décor. Strings of beads from their Mardi Gras party and a lei of blue flowers from the grand opening celebration of their new swimming pool. That would be very fancy! But Albert was worried about the peril having too many dingle-dangles and nixed the idea.

I find all of these escapades delightfully hilarious. Maybe because it’s not MY walker that’s getting swiped. And because I don’t drive a minivan anymore. And because my friends aren’t boring.

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