I spoke too soon.
Moms do get sick. I guess I have the flu now. Or its nephew, 24-Hour Flu-Like Virus. I didn’t stop feeling beat up this morning, in fact, it only got worse, so I drove home at lunch time and have been in bed since then. Now I’m awake, eating soup. I hope to God I don’t start puking my guts up. But I don’t think I will, because I feel voraciously hungry instead. I think my body knows what to do. Eat the virus out.* Ache it out. Sleep it off.
Random Stuff
I admire people who make things.
I keep wanting to take extra pics for my own Flickr page, but I haven’t done so yet. Haven’t remembered to take my camera around. I could use the cell phone, but actually, no, I had to stop that because I get charged, like, 5 cents a photo, and last time it added $20 to my bill.
I’m waiting for a university to pay me. I’m waiting, waiting for good news. Waiting for a star to fall… Can’t remember who sings that song. Also, there is a song about waiting by John Bon Jovi that I couldn’t stop thinking about in the workplace cafeteria today. Sometimes I think about lyrics that mean what’s going on in my life.
How do you say hot dog in Spanish? I tried to say it today but the words wouldn’t come to me. My boyfriend thought it might have literally been perros calientes, but I don’t think so. Try it and see:
Me: Tienen perros calientes hoy?
Hamburger lady: No, pero [points to Vietnamese food station next door.]
My boyfriend: No, they only have cat today.
Speaking of racist stereotype humor… I’m gonna try to tell y’all a funny conversation we had the other day. Background: My boyfriend was born in Vietnam, so it’s okay for him to say stuff about Vietnamese people. I am Latina and White, so it’s okay for me to say stuff about my own peoples, too. Also, when we are together, it’s okay for us to make observations about each other’s people… as long as they’re funny. Okay.
So we were in Houston’s VietnamTown area, eating at this place we always eat at. And, next to that place is a place called Cyborg Tax. And, as it often does, the mere existence of Cyborg Tax got on my boyfriend’s nerves.
Tad: That’s so stupid. Who the hell would name their tax place that shit?
Me: I think that’s a bad-ass name for a tax place. Anyway, it was probably an old Asian couple, and they didn’t speak English too great, so they asked one of their kids to pick a name. They were like, [poorly mimicking Vietnamese accent] “Jimmy, what good name for our store?” And Jimmy was like [miming kid playing on Playstation], “I don’t know. How about cyborg?” And they were like, “What’s that?” and he was like, “It’s something really cool.”
Tad, shaking head in disgust: No. That’s not how it happened. Here’s how it happened. [Re-does my skit with brilliant, spot-on Vietnamese accent and Americanized teen voice:]
“Jimmy, you help with store. What we name it?”
“Uh… How about Cyborg Tax?”
“Cybog? What that?”
“You know… Like Arnold Schwarzenegger in the Terminator.”
“Oh, I like that! He a Republican!”
See how my boyfriend’s funnier than me? But, actually, I bet I’m funnier than him when it comes to making fun of my own people. Someday we’ll have to have a big, racist Joke Off* and see.
* Ha, ha, that sounds dirty.
