Oh my. I have been meaning to write.

And yet, I have not. I am happy that summer is upon us. There is nothing quite like enjoying fresh summer fruit in the warm glow of sunlight. :-)

Do you realize how painful such a task is?

(The following banter is adapted from an email I wrote to a friend, a very white friend with white Ivy league educated parents.)

My mother, my very intelligent mother whom I believe I have inherited all of my cognitive abilities from, is verbally sabotaging herself on electronic paper and asking, no wait, demanding that I correct it for her. If this were a friend, I would explain to her that she needed to try harder, that the present attempt was so lacking that I could not edit it because I was unsure about what she means to say. But, this is my mother and I somehow cannot say this to my mother.

The concept of adjective and adverbs and past and present tense, all of that is so foreign to Chinese people. In Chinese, there is really only one verb tense. It is not present nor past nor past perfect nor future. It just is. "I eat now. I eat yesterday. I eat tomorrow." The added time marker indicates the tense. It is in times like these that I wish my parents grew up in a country that had been colonized by the British. Their English skills would be so much better.

Really, my dad's English is pretty good. The guy has been translating church talks from English to Chinese since I was in grade school. My mom, my mom is just a whole different story. Her English is probably not that bad. She can verbally communicate just fine. But, when it comes to writing, she turns into this helpless teenager who has resigned herself to defeat, the state of helplessness that is so much more perceived than real.

And the result? Well I, the least busy of all of her kids, and strangely enough also the least patient, am assigned the task of making it all better--of trying to understand what exactly she wants to say, and then saying it correctly.

Oh wretched Earth, why me? Like my uncle always used to say "Woe is me; woe is me; I am woe, and woe is me." He grew up in Hawaii. His English is good.

Suit shopping

Earlier this afternoon, I was at Nino Ferretti with four friends, a bride, a groom, and two of his groomsmen.

4 yr old girl: My name is Bella.
26 yr old girl: Your name is Anna?
4 yr old girl: No, my name is Bella.
26 yr old girl: Your name is Bella? That is a pretty name.
4 yr old girl: What is your name?
26 yr old girl: My name is C__.
4 yr old girl: (pointing at best man) What is his name?
26 yr old girl: His name is J___.
4 yr old girl: (pointing at groom) What is his name?
26 yr old girl: His name is A___.
4 yr old girl: (pointing at groomsman) Is he your boyfriend?
26 yr old girl: No, he is not.

I really wanted to ask the little girl why she did not ask me for the third friend's name and instead asked if he was my boyfriend or not. Her mom called for her before I got a chance.

It all started with a smile

Three Saturdays ago, I stumbled into yoga a few minutes before 6:30 am. A strange dream had awoken me that morning. In a sleepy haze, I found myself nudging past a tall man filling out a yellow card. While mustering up the energy to legibly write both my first and last name on the sign in sheet, I was hit with the realization that some guy had chosen Saturday's pre-dawn class to start his Bikram yoga journey. That is pretty much unheard of.

I saw him again the next morning for the earliest class of the day, a more reasonable 9 am for Sundays. I was surprised to see him again so soon. Lots of people never ever make it back, and only the extremely brave return the very next day. For the second consecutive morning, he smiled at me both before and after class. Two days later, I went to the 4:30 afternoon yoga session hoping to see him. He was not there.

The following Saturday morning, I sprang up from bed when my alarm rang for the 6:30 am class. I had a really late Friday night, but was energized by the possibility of seeing hot yoga guy. Sadly, he was not there. Yoga practice was especially painful that morning. I spent the greater part of the ninety minutes trying to resist the urge to yawn. I could not concentrate, thoughts of how stupid it was to come after only fours hours of sleep spawned feelings of regret and resentment.

The next morning I somehow made it again for morning yoga. I couldn't sleep and showed up mostly because I had already consumed the calories that I would be burning off. To my delightful surprise, hot yoga guy was the last person to enter the heated room that morning. I probably had a silly grin on my face. When class finished, I gathered my things and walked out, smiling at him when I caught his eye.

I had lunch with my college roommates later that day, one of whom practices at the same yoga studio. On the car ride to the restaurant, I was telling her about hot yoga guy. She commented that there was a good looking guy at the Saturday 9 am class just the day before, noting a particular resemblance to former Laker Rick Fox. I immediately burst out into laughter because I had yet to make the connection. She was spot on.

This whole past week, I have been thinking about hot yoga guy. I mentioned my fascination to a co-worker and she encouraged me to approach him next we met. I quickly explained to her that he was likely better left in my imagination. There, hot yoga guy is good looking with a great smile, witty, intelligent, single and most importantly, into me. I know better than anyone else that I had created this persona to make my weekend morning yoga classes a bit more enticing.

Yesterday, I ended up sleeping in after yet another late Friday night out. I made it to the 9 am class, again mostly to burn off calories I had already consumed. I was barricaded by a large number of Asian mothers, not really the hard core yogi types that frequent the pre-dawn class that I am accustomed to. Hot yoga guy was again the last person to enter the room. This morning though, he totally ruined my conceptualization of him. He not only walked in disoriented but also had unsexy bedhead--the "naturally more voluminous on one side due to being smashed for many hours" look. Then, after almost every pose in the last half hour of class, he grabbed his handkerchief and blew his nose. He just seemed sickly and disheveled, not hot at all.

I was sitting in my car about to start the engine when out of the corner of my eye I saw a guy walking down the stairs. As he reached the landing, I turned over and was surprised to see him looking into the car. He nodded his head as to acknowledge me and again fired off that sensational smile. I reciprocated.

I forgot to mention that he has hazel eyes. They sparkle in the sunlight. I selfishly hope he unknowingly redeems himself on the hotness meter the next time we meet. Either way, his novelty will likely wear thin all too soon. If he becomes a regular at the studio, I will learn of his name and the many other things that make him more him and less the funny sexy do-no-wrong persona that I have conveniently assigned to him. Then, I am left with just me to motivate myself to get out of bed for all those mornings of plain old heated and humid yoga.

I dated a Brahmin...

And all I got was this t-shirt.

My friend's little sister just started her own t-shirt company. I am planning to have one of these screened in a very large size so I can sleep in it.

I came up with the concept when I was writing an entry about my most recent beau. I put the finishing touches on it earlier today, but have opted to not publish it because it turned out much more sentimental than I had first intended.

As I was lying in bed last night, unable to sleep because of large dose of caffeinated beverage late in the PM, I thought to myself how hilarious it might be to print a large number of "I dated a criminal defense attorney... And all I got was this t-shirt" t-shirts on behalf of the many guys my sister will start and stop dating this coming year.

My sister knows I love her. :-)