cindy's world

I have something for you plane buffs, or anyone who’s a fan of flying, or even if you’ve simply flown in a commercial plane before, or if you have seen a commercial plane in flight or in landing, or if you feel like getting a good laugh. Check out my sidebar links under “Pages,” to your right. I’ve added a new humor page called “Just Plane Funny.” I know, I know, it’s cheesy. But not as cheesy as an email I received from a coworker earlier, with the following riddle:

Q: If athletes get athlete’s foot, what do astronauts get?
A: Mistletoe!

I remember that joke from my 4th grade spelling textbook. Or it may have been on an issue of Highlights for Children. Or maybe it was printed on a woodcase pencil that we used back then. Or maybe it was in my Big Book of Children’s Jokes, which contains equally silly jokes such as:

Q: What do you get if you throw a white rabbit into the Red Sea?
A: A wet rabbit!

For smarter, at least smartasser, humor, check out the page I just told you about.

My jujitsu instructor told us some time ago during warmups (when we usually have casual class chats) that he met a guy who was being very pompous while talking to my instructor. The instructor asked him, “What do you do?”
The jerk said proudly, “I’m a rapper.”
Ever unimpressed by people’s egos, my instructor said irreverently, “Oh, you must be really busy around Christmas-time, then.”
He said the guy didn’t find it funny.
I thought it was hi-larious.

I got to catch up with a close friend yesterday on the phone. She was tossing around holiday gift ideas for her boyfriend. And then she said, “I gotta be careful what I say I want these days!” Because the last time she carelessly said that she wanted something she saw on TV, and it was close to Christmas, she ended up with a Showtime Rotisserie Grill from her then-boyfriend. I remember getting the phone call from her; she was sooo upset that it was laughable. “I have never ever gotten an appliance from a boyfriend for a Christmas gift before!” she’d complained. And the poor guy had been so proud of his gift, hinting that it was something she’d expressed that she’d really, really wanted. Recently, she happened to have caught an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond in which Ray gave his wife Deborah a crock pot for Christmas, and to top it off and make it even better, he bought her a set of pots and pans. Deborah was beyond offended. Seeing that episode did not allay her fears.

This year, she’s afraid she may have “accidentally” over-expressed her desire for a Chia Pet Herb Garden. It’s something she’d likely buy for herself if she decides she wants to cook more, but definitely something she does not want to unwrap Christmas morning. “I hope he forgot I made that comment, it was months ago,” she said yesterday. The conversation moved to bathrobes, and she mentioned she saw some really nice ones at Old Navy (?) recently when she was out shopping with her boyfriend. Then she paused. “Oh crap, I said I really liked the bathrobe and that I needed a new one, I hope he doesn’t buy me a bathrobe for Christmas!!” Hahaha!

I’m actually okay getting an appliance from a boyfriend, provided it’s something I have really been wanting. My judge got me a hand-held vacuum cleaner for my birthday a few years ago, and the staff pooled together and got me a scanner. Some other time I got a Tanita body fat scale. I was delighted every time. But then those aren’t my boyfriends. Hmm. I’ve never gotten an appliance from a boyfriend, either.

Me: *outside, waiting for Mr. W*
Me: *still waiting for Mr. W*
Me: *checking watch*
Me: *looking around, still waiting for Mr. W*
Me: *FINALLY seeing Mr. W walking briskly toward me*
Mr. W: Hi!
Me: This is you. *pointing my index finger at him, slowly bringing it closer and closer to him, until my fingertip makes contact with his arm. Then I push it a little harder.*
Mr. W: Ow. What’s that mean?
Me: You’re a slowpoke.

I bet you guys didn’t know that Jordan and I are so close that we do tons of stuff together. See this photographic proof. Rest mouse pointer over photos for captions! (You HAVE to do this, at least on this post.) Jordan’s been working hard at the gym to get into shape, and it really shows! Don’t quote me on this, but I *think* she may be taking steroids to get into such good shape so quickly. See if you can spot the photos in which she may have accidentally overdosed on her steroid treatment.

Cindy, hula dancer woman, and Jordan at a banquet in Oahu, November 2006:

Jordan, Cindy, Flat Coke & Flies, and Bat in Vegas this past weekend:

Jordan, Diana and Cindy in a San Jose night club, June 2006:

Jordan with Cindy’s coworkers and friends at Oktoberfest in October, 2005. This is actually 4 months before I officially meet her on the cruise.

Jordan, after I convinced her to stop her steroid treatment, decided to work on her tan instead on our flight out to Hawaii:

Jordan with my jujitsu dojo in Oahu at a clinic in October, 2006:

Jordan hanging out with me in my living room:

To Jordan — The good Lord sayeth: “Ask, and ye shall receive.” (I’d cite the Bible reference, but I haven’t finished reading the Bible, yet.)
Oh, and special thanks to James.

(Jordan started it! See here and here.)

…my nose is cold from having to breathe in the cold air.
…I keep sitting on my hands to warm my fingers, but all I end up doing is freezing my butt.
…when I touch my tongue to the roof of my mouth, I can feel that it’s cold, and when I put a little puddle of saliva to the roof for a couple seconds then push the pool to the tip of my tongue, I can tell that the saliva is now cold which means my nasal cavity can be used to make ice cream.
…James suggested I drink something warm, and I drank a cup of hot coffee, but that just made me pee which meant I had to get half-naked in a restroom and sit on an ice-cold toilet seat, which just made everything worse.
…I went to Jordan’s blog several times today just to cuss at her weather pixie who’s announcing that Florida was 85 degrees Fahrenheit today.
…I still don’t think it’s fair we can pronounce judgment that will take away a man’s freedom for the rest of his life, but they won’t let us change the temperature in our own courtroom. (The thermostat is sealed behind a metal cover that only the maintenance crew has the specialized tool to open.)
…try as I may, I can’t bring myself to believe I’m in Sunny Southern California. My city dropped to 39F last nite, kicking the butt of the 1994 record low of 41F. But the irony is, it actually is sunny outside.
…I’m actually considering doing some divorce cases, which always warms my heart =P
…I’m trying to talk myself into overcoming the Asian thrift gene so that I’d turn on my heater tonight. So far, the frugal side is still louder, claiming once I change the sheets, I’ll be better, and it doesn’t make sense to heat an entire two-story house when I’m only in 3 square feet of it (curled up shivering in fetal position).

Apples are just kewl, aren’t they? When I was little, I’d imagine that early peoples (like Neanderthals, I guess) who didn’t know what an apple was would be handed this red hard rock-looking thing, and be told to bite into it. They’d dubiously look at the object in their hand. “But it’s hard. And I’m thirsty.” Then the apple introducer would explain that yes, it is a solid, but as you chew it, liquid comes out that you can just swallow directly. So they’d take their first hesitating bites. *Crunch, crunch, chug, chug.* “This is amazing! And it’s sweet! Apples are kewl!”
“Yes, and it cleans your teeth, too! Feel how squeaky clean your teeth surfaces are.”
*lick lick, squeak squeak*
(Cut me some slack. I am an only child. But my Barbies and stuffed animals always had the most interesting conversations with each other.) It’s juice, that travels easily. You don’t have to worry about spillage, it’s all contained in these solid-looking cells.

Now, there are so many different sizes, textures, flavors. You like slightly more sour juice with cleaner teeth? Gnaw on this Granny Smith apple. You like crisp and syrupy sweet? Here’s a Fuji apple. Have one a day! It keeps the doctor away! As you chew and drink, chew and drink, you’re actually getting all these great tasty vitamins and antioxidants, too! Easy delivery method, no pill-swallowing required.

Plus, there’s just something about apples that helps you go poo. I don’t know what it is, maybe all the fiber goes through your system and scrapes your innards clean on its way back out.

You want cold juice? Refrigerate an apple! And altho I’m not a fan of this, you can have your apples hot, too, cut in chunks and wrapped up in sugar and pastry shells!

Apples are as kewl as bar soaps are neato!

(Read the 1st in the Miraculous Series [which may turn out to be just a two-part post instead of a whole series, I dunno yet], The Miraculous Soap Bar.)

I was just in the midst of an email exchange with a coworker. She wanted to know if I still had a copy of an email forward entitled “The Slightly Gay Male” which described the modern day “metrosexual.” She said she wanted to send it to a friend who’s in denial about his metrosexuality. There was no way I could dig that old email out, and we went back and forth on how she could bring up her archived mail and look in there, and when that didn’t work, I had the brilliant idea of telling her to google “slightly gay male” because it’s the internet, and any forwarded email can probably be found online. I know I certainly post some of my favorite forwards as “humor”, as pages linked from my sidebar.

A minute later, my phone rings. It’s the coworker. “Uh, Cindy,” she starts. “I would recommend that you do not look up slightly gay male on Google.”
“Why not?”
“Because… *hesitantly*…all this porn popped up about slightly gay male sex!”
Oops.

I was chatting with childhood friend Sandy over the weekend about how much we love Trader Joe’s whole organic food products. I’d seen this great jar of marinara sauce at Trader Joe’s, some garlic basil flavor, and had to buy it. Except that after I got it home, I couldn’t get the jar open. So I’d put it back in the cabinet. Every so often, when I’d have a craving for tomato-based pasta, I’d pull out the pot and put it on the stove, dig out the dried pasta and set it on the counter, and pull the jar of marinara out of the cabinet. And I’d struggle and fight with the jar, admit defeat, then put the pot back on the shelf, the pasta and jar back in the cabinets. Sandy suggested some ways to unscrew uncooperative jar lids. “There’s nothing I haven’t already tried!” I explained. “I’ve used a dry dish rag. I’ve used a wet dish rag. I’ve knocked the lid against the counter. I’ve had the jar between my knees as I sat on the ground. I’ve had it between one knee and the carpet. I’ve thrown my entire weight onto the lid. It freaking doesn’t open!”
“What about asking someone for help?”
“I live alone! I’m not gonna walk around outside with a jar of sauce and ask passerbys for help! And I’m not friendly with my neighbors. Besides, if I asked a guy neighbor, he’s gonna think it’s a setup to get him to play hero so I can talk to him.”
“So how often do you take that jar out to try to open it?”
“Oh, like every 3 or 4 months.”
“3 or 4 months? How long have you had it?!”
“Not that long, like a year.”
“A year! So you haven’t had pasta in a year cuz you couldn’t get the jar open? Why don’t you just go buy another jar?”
“Because I already have a jar at home, I’m not gonna buy another one, then I’ll have TWO! I don’t eat that much sauce.”
“But if you can’t open it –”
“But I’m still Asian. I’m not gonna waste something that I already have, or spend money on another one.”
She laughed and said, “Okay, I do understand that. But I just bought a jar of sauce from Trader Joe’s last week, I think it’s even the same tomato basil one, and now I’m wondering if I’M gonna have that problem.”
I said, “Well, now that I know you have the same jar, I’m bringing mine to your house and I’m gonna swap the two when you’re not looking. Then you’ll just think all Trader Joe’s jars are impossible to open. We’ll see how YOU handle it.”

After what felt like weeks of teasing us with the prospect of putting up some soap post, Jordan finally did it. She wrote a terrific soap post, inspired by the original soap post on my blog. It took a lot of poking and prodding and convincing to get her to finally put the post up, because she felt that James and I overhyped the soap post demand and now she can’t meet everyone’s expectations (but of course she never fails to meet them, and still didn’t. Fail, I mean. Not that she didn’t meet the expectations. Forgive me, it’s late. Or really, really early.). It really deserves a read, if for nothing else than to look over her great little pictures, ESPECIALLY the picture of the prison soap.

I’m posting because her first image, an animated picture of colorful soap bubbles rising up, reminded me of the first time I played with bubbles. It was kindergarten in Taiwan. The teachers took us out into the cemented yard, where they’d set up stations of plastic and metal tubs on the ground with liquid in them. There were little plastic bubble wands, too. They explained what bubbles were and showed us how to make them, and then let the kids go station to station. Apparently there was this big bustle around one particular station where the kids gathered chattering excitedly about “rainbow-colored bubbles!” I’d walked around asking what this rainbow bubbles are, and some kids said that these blow out in different colors. So I looked really hard, expecting a red bubble, orange bubble, green bubble, blue bubble, indigo bubble and violet bubble to float around. But no, it looked like the non-multi-colored bubbles at the other station to me. It was also hard to see because these cheap-ass ghetto homemade bubbles just clustered off the wand and fell in a wad to the ground if they were even forming bubbles to begin with, altho much of the time the teachers and the aids just ended up blowing soapy liquid straight into the eyes of the mob of eagerly waiting Chinese kindergartners. *blink blink* “Ooh! Ah!” *blink* “Oh!” Stupid kids.

Now that I’m an adult and have immigrated over into this country, where bubble solution is produced by actual engineers under major toy manufacturers, I wonder: WTF is the alternative to a multi-colored bubble membrane? Did they actually have black and white bubbles?!

Apparently I’m kinda angry at this time in the morning. Or maybe it’s just memories of how much I was picked on at that age. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Maybe I need to wash it out with some prison soap.