Daddy long leg

Guess it's time to get back into writing.  I'll take my queue from Stephen King, who writes for at least an hour a day even if he doesn't want to or have any good ideas.  The good ideas come out when you write.  NaNoWriMo is coming up and I need to take on that task.

I feel like the Daddy Long Leg with my kids the other day.  We had it in our hand and pulled it apart, leg by leg until it was just a body.  Soo stagnant.  Gotta write!

Sexual Chocolate

I don't know what it is with women and chocolate.  But Janie told me it's better than sex.  Which is pretty awesome for my self esteem because no other time in life have I ever lost to chocolate.

There's got to be a secret to not letting my self esteem be on the low end of the stick.  I thought it was funny the other day I was talking with a group of women at work and they were all telling me how wonderful their husbands were because they were helping with the house and etc.  Then since I was feeling particularly cocky, I said, "Yeah I cook pretty much all the meals and do the grocery shopping."  Then they all looked at me and said, "I wish my husband would cook for us, that piece of shit."  I was like, "Whoa whoa whoa! You guys just 10 seconds ago told me how good your husbands were, what the hell?"  

That was weird because in a way I felt that there was a moving line in trying to do the right thing in a family.  And my other co worker told me that women are very insecure, like, all, the, time.  Something something about the grass is greener on the other side?

So yeah, self esteem, it's something that I wish I could have without it being chipped away by people or life or trying to make homemade pesticide out of tabasco sauce that shrivels up your garden.

Psycha boo boo

I like to trick people into thinking I know what I'm talking about.  I'm like Shawn Spencer, I have heightened observational skills but want you all to think I'm a writer and am hilarious at the same time.  But the reality of my life is that I think too much and too hard on things others don't.

I'm kind of selfish I've realized.  After conversations I'm always like, "Aww man, I should have said this."  Or "I hope I didn't say anything stupid."  I've been thinking lately that this is ridiculous.  Because that's selfish of me.  Who am I to think people are thinking about me after a conversation if I'm out of sight?

I'm sensing something here, maybe I uncovered something about you too?

Confidence, now in pog form!

I am not a confident person.  In fact, I got beat up 7 times in middle school.  All different people but the same situation.  Their punch would be coming at me in slow motion like in a movie and I'd be thinking, "Dang, I need to do something so I don't get hit."  While I was thinking about that, their punch would land perfectly on my chin, chest, eye, ear or lip.

I'll be honest, I'm a biter when it comes to fighting.  And I'll kick you in your Planters peanuts if I feel like I'm trapped and there's nothing else for me to do.  I thought I had fighting figured out though because in mid 90's the Bruce Lee story entitled "Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story" came out and I was so pumped when I watched that movie.  He just kicked peoples' asses, i.e. people at a party, angry cooks, and that demon thing that was a manifestation of his doubts, insecurities and fears.

Which maybe I have an inner demon that keeps me from being confident.  I hate not knowing things and I hate being perceived as if I don't know something about a subject.  Yet  I haven't seen any inner demons bust down a cubicle wall when I'm daydreaming or listening to music on Youtube though.  There is one hefty dude down the hall that is always giving me the evil eye when we pass each other, I have my hunches.

The guy who thought of Jesus during sex

When I was really into going to church all the time and scared of hell and scared of being a disappointment to others, I was considered godly.  I kind of put two and two together of what godliness looks like in the Baptist scene.  As I started to think on my own and develop some opinions I noticed there's wasn't any room to be fond of anybody who was different.  I remember being in a Sunday school class and a guy who was very intelligent and passionate about God started explaining things and everybody else in the class dismissed it as not really on track because it wasn't our doctrine or what we were used to.  Because a difference in opinion to a Baptist is heresy.  But the guy was nice.  Really nice.  He was a movie theater worker and had the personality to greet people.

I talked with him once during the sermon, we skipped it and had time to talk.  It was fun but things got weird because he started telling me about his sex life and not that that scares me but I didn't really know him.  And he said one thing to me to which I had 2 responses to.  He said, "I just wanna think of Jesus even when I'm having sex with my wife."  And I was like, first off, "No," and secondly, "No."

Because it's things like this that make people think Christians are wacky and they are wacky when they think things like this.  Can't we just enjoy sex as sex instead of thinking of a stereotypical guy with a beard and long flowing robe who pissed off religious people of his day?

So yeah, even with my Baptist upbringing, I think as I'm on this side of church that people in general are weird.  But I realize I say this while I'm looking in a mirror.

Knowing is 1/32 the battle

I recently connected with my father on Facebook and it's crazy because it wasn't an easy thing to message him.  I wasn't really sure what to say.  Like was I going to say, "Hey...ummm...what's new?  How's the past 31 years been?  I know how to shave."  But in the moment I felt like I over did it.  I tried the approach like everything's been fine and we've known each other.  I called him Pops in the message.  And I typed what I typed and after hitting the send button.  I was like, "Oh crap, I hope I wasn't too forward."

But it's funny because I know where I get my hunger for knowledge and my trait of telling really long drawn out jokes where there's like three subplots involved and you would have had to read Plato's Republic and then at the end when I reveal the punchline, I'm the only one who thinks it's funny.

You know how when something's on your mind before you go to bed you dream about that thing?  I had a dream I was playing chess with my father and in the middle of the game when I moved my piece I looked up and saw him reading a tome of some sort and it turned out to be the dictionary.  And I asked, "Why are you reading the dictionary?"  And he looked up, cleared his throat, and said, "This is a story about everything."

Hardee's

Some things that were constant growing up in a single parent home was Ramen noodles and rice every night and not having the newest NES games.  And then there are the bad things.  Like when your mom makes you stay in the car while she works.  Oh did I mention my mom is crazy?  I do love her.  But she is a Grade A bitch.  And I don't see that changing in this lifetime.

Let me back up a little.  My mom always worked at restaurants as a waitress.  And she always dragged me there and I had to sit in the areas that were out of the way from customers and/or management.  I was like Yoda, always having to stay hidden.  I felt more like a wack-a-mole.  Because every time I came out of my area, my mom would yell, "I told you to take a nap!  Get back to your area!"  My only saving grace at this Irish pub my mom worked at was a bartender who used to give me maraschino cherries and quarters to play table top Pac-man.  

When I got a little older, she worked at a buffet.  And this is when she started making me stay in the car because she didn't want to pay anybody for childcare.  That or she was hoping I'd get kidnapped.  Then she wouldn't have to worry about me.  I guess either way she didn't have to take care of me.

But I remember having a sleeping bag and some Tiger electronic submarine game.  I beat it.  When it got dark I'd use a flashlight to see those digital shapes.  My mother didn't pack any food because God forbid she provide some kind of sustenance for me.  And after awhile, I started getting out of the car and roaming the stores.

During one cold night I had my heavy coat and went in a store and stole some raisin yogurt snacks.  I hid them under my coat and walked out.  I think the lady working there knew I was stealing but she didn't say nothing.  Maybe she was lazy and/or just didn't give a shit.  But it worked in my favor.

Feeling more ballsy.  I wanted more.  Like a hamburger at the Hardee's close by.  Oh nice burgers.  And in order to get those, I had to steal my mother's silver dollars she collected.  I was in second or third grade but I had an appetite like a sumo wrestler.

My mother thought if she kept me in the car I wouldn't get in trouble at home.  I'd try to speak up and say, "All I'm going to do is play Nintendo."  But she didn't care.  She'd just do what she wanted to do.

I came up with weird things to pass the time.  I would play through Super Mario Brothers 3 from start to finish in my mind.  As I just typed that I can't believe I memorized all the levels but I did.  I read a lot of those Encyclopedia Brown Mystery novels which were awesome.  So there were things I did to keep myself from going insane.  But what was the most insane and crazy and retarded was that I didn't think this was wrong.  I didn't know any better and it was normal to me.  I knew something wasn't right.  But you kind of go with the idea that your mother won't screw you over.  But I guess that wasn't the case.

I wonder if my mother ever thought about what she did and said to herself, "Oops, permanent damage there.  And there.  Oops, have fun going to therapy for this." 

White Sheep

Who would be the opposite of Rosa Parks?  Lenny Smith, a generic white boy who's a janitor at a Chick-Fil-A?  Because that's who we felt like one weekend at a hotel my wife and I stayed at.  We felt like a Lenny Smith in a sea of jazz loving black people.  We went to a hotel and we were the only white people in the hotel.

There was a jazz band playing later that Friday night and we just came back from dinner and I really wanted to stay and hear the music.  But we went to the lobby and all eyes were on us.  It wasn't a "What are you doing here Whitey?" kind of look.  More like a, "You're out of place, but we appreciate your business."  It's a weird feeling to be nervous and calmed by Sade type music.  My wife felt out of place, so we decided to get the hell out of that lobby and go up to the room and watch some analog tv.

The hotel gave us a card to redeem for two free drinks and later in the night I asked if my wife wanted to use them.  We pretty much looked at each other and said, "I'm not going back down there and feel out of place."  I left the "We're Asleep" sign on the door knob until our check out at noon the next day.

National Harbor was a fun atmosphere overall.  Cold.  If you're looking for ice cream though, there's a Ben & Jerry's stand.  But it's a shitty little hot dog looking stand.

  

The Mauneys

My mom, brother, and I would always go to the Mauney’s for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners.  I think the Mauney’s were friends of people who let my mom live with them when she came to the States from Taiwan in the 70’s.  I’m not really sure since my mother never explained things to us and I think it was because she thought we didn’t deserve to know anything.  That or she didn’t think my brother and me were important enough to know anything like that.

When we arrived, we’d get out of the car and my mom would sternly say, “Go to the door and knock, bring this dish Charlie.  And Dulles, take this flower arrangement.”  It was always awkward going up to the door and being greeted with my mother still dillydallying at the car.  She always made things harder than need be.  I’ve always thought, “What’s the difference?  Why can’t we just go to the door at the same time?” 

Mrs. Mauney’s daughter would open the door and let us in.  Then we would be surrounded by older adults that we had nothing in common with.  This is quite possibly the point in my life where I got my disdain for small talk.  My brother and I would be bombarded by a slew of conversations like, “How’s the weather Bonnie?”  “I picked up this great dog calendar for you Jeanette.”  “Taste this mother, was I supposed to put sugar and milk in the rice?  Or just butter?”  There wasn't a Nintendo in the house or anything to pass the time for Dulles and me.  We had to succumb to watching Unsolved Mysteries.  Robert Stack's voice is still so vibrant in my mind.  Probably because he was also the voice of Ultra Magnus in the 1985 animated Transformers movie.

And what's disturbing is that holiday's are supposed to be about joy and family time, but with my mom it was about being ignored at these get togethers.  It was her way to show off in front of other people and telling people how bad my brother and I were.

Once at a Thanksgiving dinner at the Mauney's my mom got everyone in a circle like a Boy Scout campfire and talked about how I spent 40 cents on an ice cream sandwich.  I actually thought I did something wrong but at least Martha, Mrs. Mauney's daughter stepped in and contended for me.  "If he wants to get a 40 cents ice cream, let him get a 40 cents ice cream, there's nothing wrong with that."  In my head what I was thinking was, If I want to get a fucking 40 cents ice cream, I'll get a 40 cents fucking ice cream. Okay, maybe I didn't think that at the time, but that's what goes through my head now.

Hello, I'm Charlie Chang

Hello, I'm Charlie Chang.  I know, my name sounds fake.  I promise you, I'm telling the truth.  I've always had this underlying feeling that people think my name is fake because whenever I introduce myself to someone, they look at me, cock their head like a dog and kind of say and ask, "Charlie Chang?  Oh." 

Or I talk to an older person and they all inevitably tell me about a tv show featuring a detective named Charlie Chan.  Even though 9 seconds earlier I specifically pronounced the "g" sound on the end of my last name.  I think a lot of white people lump all Asians together.  Or think similar sounding last names are all the same.
  

So yeah, that's my name.  I'm really glad you stopped by.  I have so many ideas for books, a book on my 6 years of college life that could include the story of the girl who wanted me to finger her on an elevator, which the building was only two stories.  I don't know how far she wanted to go and plus that was a lot of pressure on me.  I have some ideas on a book about religion and a zombie book.  But I figured that I'd just write my story for now and let it be that.  If any of those things and ideas enter into this blog, I will gladly welcome them.

So enjoy.  Pop some popcorn or something.  Or get some coffee.  Because we all know popcorn and coffee go together.