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. :-)

I <3 the list of Craig

Below is an email I sent in response to a C/L ad for a floor lamp.

-----

I love your lamp. To be honest, I have already exceeded my furnishings budget for the month with a side chair purchase. So, my husband will likely frown if I bring this home. However, I love the lamp so much that I thought I would email to ask if you would be willing to sell the beauty to an admirer who will give it a good home. I think $140 is the maximum I am going to be able squeeze by him.

If it is already sold or your offer is too low, I understand.

Thanks for reading,

-----

The part about the husband and the side chair are not as accurate as they could be, but I really did exceed my monthly furnishings budget. I felt really guilty when I received a response from the seller saying that he would be willing to sell the item to such a "compelling story." That feeling simply evaporated though when I arrived to pick up the lamp and was met with a Maserati parked in front of a multimillion dollar home. Walking into the house to find the lamp next to a few thousand dollars worth of Le Corbusier furniture made me feel like I should have offered a much lower price. I still paid the $140, but inside I was kicking myself for discounting my story telling skills by at least a whole extra $20 worth of savings.

On daughters and marriage

My mother came home from church this past Sunday to find me watching a TED.com video of Elizabeth Gilbert discussing genius. She stood by my side for a few minutes before she wandered off into the kitchen. When the video finished, she causally strolled back into the study. The following conversation ensued.

MA: So, Whitney is getting married in May.

ME: Oh, cool. (Thinking to myself, I already read about it on Facebook.)

(MA walks away for about a minute and returns.)

MA: I was wondering when my own children would be getting married.

ME: What are you talking about? Ge (means older brother in Mandarin) just got married last year.

MA: Well, I mean, when will my own daughters be getting married?

(I roll my eyes at the computer screen thinking that it is too soon to be having this conversation. I turn to face her.)

ME: Well mom, I think you might be to blame for this. You know, when you give a girl a good education that enables her to find a job so she can pay for her own mortgage and buy most of the things she wants and needs, she really is a lot less compelled to compromise. I mean, goodness gracious, arm a girl with an American passport and a self-sustaining income and she gets out of hand, she doesn't feel like dealing with all the problems that relationships can bring, and she isn't ready to sell her independence to any guy who comes along. I don't know what to tell you.

(MA walks away after letting out an audible grunt, as to signify disapproval. I smile and return my attention to the computer monitor.)

This brings me back to what Uncle Larson, the husband of the woman who babysat my siblings and me the summer of 1989, said to me the last time he saw me, "Never settle, you hear me? NEVER SETTLE."

As good of an update as any

On swimming.

I have been trying to learn how to swim for the past few years, enrolling in classes at local community colleges as my schedule permits. I still have yet to master the whole coming up for air business, which as one might imagine is quite an obstacle in the swimming for distances longer than a few yards game.

In the recent trips to the gym, I decided to use a kick board to keep myself going. I got to a point where I could swim the distance of one lane without stopping, usually struggling to reach the wall while feeling light headed. Twenty minutes into one of these "swimming" sessions, I decided to go without the kick board and discovered that me sans the aid swims much faster, even accounting for the times I stand up for air. It is exactly like my friend the triathlete said, "Using a kick board is like putting a bulldozer in front of a Honda Civic, it slows you down."

Two days ago, I started taking "breaks," where I only use my legs while going down the lane since my upper body fatigues much faster than my lower body. As I calmly glide through the water, I imagine that I am snorkeling in Cancun with colorful fish swimming beneath me. And although the only treasures I really ever see are abandoned hair accessories, this swimming in the pool business is turning out to be quite a relaxing exercise for me.

the Nikkei

I began investing in stocks when I was 16.

This morning, I read that the Nikkei had dropped 1.4% today, bringing the total year's decline to 14%. I did not think much of it until I realized that we are currently seven weeks into the new year.

I have been reading "The Age of Turbulence" by Alan Greenspan. I highly recommend it. This book continuously reminds me why I fell in love with economics as an undergraduate. Strangely enough, it makes me feel hopeful about the future of this country.

"American by choice"

I just finished reading the transcript of the Inauguration address and I must admit that my heart is swollen with pride. This sentiment is not so much rooted in the fact that this country elected its first black President, but rather because finally, after so long, I have reason to feel hopeful once again about the nation's direction.

When I was returning from lunch earlier, I heard the phrase "American by choice" used by a caller on the radio. I thought it to be quite profound. I suppose I fit under this category since I was born a citizen of a different country.

For so many decades, people have flocked to this nation for the possibility of greatness, my parents included. But in the past few years, I myself have wondered about the attainability of mass prosperity in this country's future. Yesterday, for the first time in a long while, I felt overwhelmed with hope. I could not help but feel that a nation capable of electing such a seemingly intelligent and inspiring man might have enough collective know how to reestablish once again its prominence in this world.

So really, I am very much an American by choice. I may not have had much say in the matter to immigrate as a toddler, but I am she who has decided to stay.