the only thing worse
than bad memories
is no memories at all..
[dismemberment plan]
5.24.2005
UGH! UGH! UGH!
Note: this post, made in a moment of complete frustration, was originally titled, "Shut UP, Mom, You Big Awful Woman. That Goes For You Too, Dad" but was changed to the current one because I felt bad. I love you Mom and Dad! ;)
Being at home is GREAT. No, really, it is. Despite [1] the 3+ hour commute I have to endure on the way to my 13 hour work shift at two different reception jobs (yes, my ass is growing quite large thanks to half of an entire day of sitting on it); [2] having to look at my dad's awful, wrinkled, beady-eyed, petulant face before he either [2a] opens his tartar-enameled mouth to start yammering away about things like New York scam artist tricks I shouldn't fall for or [2b] shoves newspaper clippings about the accomplishments of other young Korean girls in my fucking face every breathing second; [3] getting annoyed at my mom whenever she unscrews the lid on the jar of kimchi that's been sitting in our refrigerator for the past 10 months therefore unleashing a dank, other-world smell throughout the entire house; and [4-99999+] among other things that make me want to drown myself in the toilet; it's nice to be out of New York and living with my awful, crazy, Asian family for the summer.
I can tell that my parents are making a conscious effort to be more lenient and less overbearing than usual these past few years. My mom has a long history of calling me things like fat, ugly, disgusting, and "not her daughter." My personal favorite saying of hers is when she told me that even though I was "dressed like cheap, fat, pros-ti-tutory (prostitute)," I was still "unfit for even truckload of Mexican migrant workers." Thanks, Mom. But like I've said in the past, far from being hurt from these things that come out of her fat, stupid mouth, I'm actually glad that she takes these vulnerabilities and throws them in my face like a pan of hot, boiling grease. Otherwise, I don't think I'd ever feel much motivation to change my sedentary, lazy shit ways -- in fact, I'm certain I wouldn't.
So while I'm glad that my mom brings to attention the fact that I am a big slob every time she looks at my spare tires hanging over the waistband of my skirts and my bloated, saggy boobs hanging out of my shirt, I don't understand why she feels the need to completely sabotage my efforts to lead a healthier lifestyle. I'm not even kidding.
While at school, before I went through a couple of.. "bad" months throughout which I was binge drinking and stuffing my big, awful mouth with comfort food (Chinese food and pasta), I did alright. I ate a lot of salad, didn't touch rice or pasta much, and was a pretty determined vegetarian. And I felt great. And I didn't look too bad most of the time, either.
Now that I'm at home, my mom (who works the night shift as a nurse, god bless that hard-working woman) wakes up around 1 in the afternoon, insists on cooking something so she and I can eat "as a family" (my brother and dad rarely eat with the rest of us). It's cute, and I'd hate to hurt her feelings and turn down her maternal instinct to make food for her kids.
The problem is, however, she makes ABSOLUTE SHIT most of the time: Deep fried, tempura battered chicken. Deep fried, tempura battered fish. Fried pork, swimming in its own boiling filthy grease. Sometimes, she even makes a stew from the leftover fried pork and pours the boiling, filthy grease right in with it. This is all accompanied by a big scoop of white rice, and there is always two different kinds of ice cream for dessert. During the first week of my NJ to NY commute, she packed my lunch for me and sent me off with a greasy paper bag filled with cellophane-wrapped rolls of a childhood favorite of mine: sushi handrolls... filled with fried SPAM.
Just the other day, my mom looked at my outfit for work and gave me the "eye" that said, "You look like flabby hooker." I gave her the responding "eye" that said, "EAT SHIT MOM" so she backed off for a moment. Then we both clumsily piled into the car (we're both rather unweildy people) and drove off to the train station.
She looked at me in the passenger seat with a criticizing eye and said, "unless you losing at least 20 pound, you nothing special. You too fat. Your clothes look reedee-Q-lous (ridiculous) and your skirt so short. You flashy penty (panties) to everyone who want to look, and why you always so late for work? YOU TOO FAT YAEJINA!"
And with that last resounding wailing scream, she threw a paper bag at me with the lunch she packed for me inside: An entire stack of rich, chewy, sugary Fig Newtons. I'm surprised those FUCKERS WEREN'T BATTERED AND DEEP-FRIED, MOM.
My dad, in his frail old age, is really backing down. He stopped beating us with umbrellas and knocking over bookshelves on top of us (I vaguely remembered being pinned under a few volumes of Encyclopedia Britannicas, presumably volumes E-J, when I was small and young), and instead uses the typical Guilt Trip tactics all Asian, miserable immigrants use on their miserable, heavily-burdened children. "You know, I and your Umma leave all our family and money in Korea for you and your brudder." "I filled with joy because you do well in school. You are doing well in school, yes? You no skip class or fail? ARE YOU HIDING SOMESING FROM APPA???" "You know, I and your Umma die pretty soon. NO DISAPPOINT US."
It's kind of cute when he tries to let me make my own decisions. Wait, did I say "cute?" I meant "utterly frustrating." My whole struggle in trying to convince him to let me live in NY for the summer to eliminate the hassle of traveling to work every weekday and also maintaining somewhat of an active social life -- all came to an end after he told me to "do whatever I thought was right" in a voice that sounded like he was going to either [1] start crying or [2] wake up my sleeping mother with a violent shake and annoy the shit out of her for being so liberal with me and therefore ruining my life forever.
Even earlier today, we were out trying to buy an LSAT book (to study for the law career that he chose and put upon me to attain) at Barnes and Noble. Feeling particularly generous, he motioned at the large array of textbooks and said, "Look through them and pick any book you want." After thumbing through half the shelf, I picked up the "LSAT For Dummies" text. "You sure you want this one?" "Yeah Dad. Let's go." "Why you want this one? What about.. Barrons textook? That one good." "No, I want this one. Let's go." ::Looks at the book:: "I don't like that thing (he was pointing to this: for the record). Pick different one." "LET'S GO DAD." ::Flips through pages:: (reading chapter title out loud:) "To Guess or Not To Guess? Why they want you to guess?? Why they not teach you enough get question right? Why they want you to guess??? I do not like this book." Then he squatted down and started pulling other books off the shelf in a huff. I don't know, I don't think this situation counted as "pick any book you want." But I gritted my teeth, shut my mouth, and automatically went into silent angry-daughter-robot mode, picked up the book, grabbed my dad's arm, and walked up to the counter to pay for my book.
I wanted to kill the fat, pimply, mousy, middle-aged woman behind the cash register. Instead of sensing that I wanted to get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible, she asked, "Do you have a B&N membership card? Save 10% with each purchase." "NO THANKS. JUST THIS PLEASE."
I felt a tugging sensation at my right hip as I was swiping my credit card, and when I looked over, it was my timid father pulling at my shirt. "Why you no want to save 10% with each purchase? That is $2.00. Why you no sign up for membership now?"
I ignored him (still in angry-daughter-robot mode), got my receipt from the pasty pimple yeti in a saggy sweater, and started walking towards the car. He walked behind me, his stocky, short legs almost breaking into a sprint to catch up with me. "Can't we go back and save 10% now? Why you no want to save money? Why you don't want to save $2.00???"
I took the membership pamphlet from him that he had somehow gotten his hands on, and pointed out the fine print at the bottom that said, "Only $25.00 a year for membership." My frugal-to-a-fault dad was shocked, aghast... his dreams of saving 10% on his purchases was violently dashed to the point where I felt bad for him. Clutching the brochure in his tiny fist to his chest, he said with choked-up emotion, "Let's get out of here, Yaejina. ... You so smart."
We drove home in silence, my dad still visibly upset over the "scam" Barnes and Noble tried to pull on him, and I sat beside him with a smile on my face and the "LSAT For Dummies" book on my lap, never to be opened again.
In preparation for an interview (which I will go into greater detail at a later date), an esteemed colleague of mine and I held a rather successful photo shoot.
I haven't had an all pictures post since March of 2002 (the photos no longer even show up -- I was still using shitty free webspace), so here are a few fruits of our labor.
In other news, I'm sure you will all be delighted to hear that my mom is still completely crazy and a dirty immigrant. She uses her old country guilt tactics on me to make me feel like a complete colostomy bag of shit.
I have final exams on Monday and Tuesday, the two days that fall directly after Mother's Day. I felt bad enough knowing that I wouldn't be able to cut into valuable study (re: drinking) time by going home; plus, I'd want to celebrate a day in honor of my mom when I'm not all riled up with stress.
She called me all day today, even though I tried avoiding her phone calls. On call #7 I picked up.
"Yaejina, it okay to stay at school for study. You get all A, yes? You no fail class, okay? Do not worry. Everyday is Mother's Day okay, Yaejina?" "Aww, Mom.." "You got card for Umma right?" "Yeahhhhh.." (I didn't..) "Yah! You even remember our home address?" "MO-OOOOM.." "Okay okay. You come home for summer? You spend summer with Umma okay? ... You hang out with Umma FOR LAST TIME."
Now what in the hell did she mean by that? "For last time?" What the fuck?
[Peek-a-Foo]
for the record). Pick different one."
