HAVING MY COOKIES (AND EATING THEM, TOO)

There is nothing that can come between me and my Nutter Butters. I kid you not.

Recently, my 5-year-old niece was over, and she decided to "hang out" in my room as I was cleaning and putting things away. She started picking through all my things: DVDs, CDs, magazines, pens, and even picture frames that sit on the window sill. I was barely paying attention to her when I noticed that I had a "snack pack" of Nutter Butters on the side table beside my bed. I honestly didn't think anything of it, until I noticed Lexie making her way toward it.

All of a sudden, a slight panic set in, and I sort of slowed my pace with the cleaning to see what Lexie was doing. At first, I instantly thought that she wouldn't even pay it any mind. My bro and SIL do an amazing job of teaching the kids about what's good for them, and what's not. I figured that cookies aren't generally a part of my niece's favorite things to eat. But in a second, a flashback came to my mind: The last time I was at my brother's place for dinner, my SIL had brought Lexie with her to pick-up food. When they returned later, I remembered that Lexie asked her mom if should could "...have my cookie after I eat my dinner?" At that realization, I looked at my niece as she moved in what seemed to be a slow-motion-like fashion. She reached out for the pack of cookies on my nightstand, and I turned white as a sheet.

At this point I had to make a decision in case she decided to ask if she could have them. Being her Godfather & uncle, and knowing in my heart that I love my niece to NO end, I figured that I'd just suck it up and give her the cookies if she asked. So in that brief instant, I knew that was what I was going to do. Here is how the conversation went:

Lexie: "Ninong, what's this?" (I noticed the wanting glint in her eye.)

Wen: (Pretending to not have been paying attention...) "What's what?"

Lexie: "This." (She was waving the pack at me at this point.)

Wen: (Non-chalantly) "Oh, those are my medicine cookies for my cough." (Add a fake cough here.) "When I eat it, yucky medicine comes out. It's so gross."

Lexie: (Immediately putting them back on the side table.) "Oh..."

I'm evil, I know. And I felt even more evil for lying to her! But then she got on top of my bed, and started jumping gleefully. Usually, I'd give her the look, and she'd get off the bed immediately. But I decided that she deserved this round since I terribly lied to her just so I could have my cookies... and eat them, too.

WHY, SNOW? WHY?!

Growing up as a kid, I remember when I used to love the forecasting of snow. When snow would actually happen, I'd wake-up early to turn on the TV and check the listing of school closings to make sure that Prince Georges County Public Schools would make the list. In those days, that kind of small-time victory always made life better. That continued through college as well when classes would be cancelled, and I'd spend my days couped up in my dorm watching soaps, eating instant ramen, and contemplating on whether or not I should crack open the books...all while snow fell outside my window.

These days, the real world reality of snow makes me cringe. While it's beautiful to look at, it definitely can come with a price -- especially if you're in an area where the handling of snow has yet to be perfected. Handling snow is a science that the Metro DC area has not come to embrace as well as other areas in the northeast or midwest have. In DC, a foot of snow will shut things down, and essentially keep you locked up indoors. I, for one, fear cabin fever. While I do encounter days when I wouldn't mind kicking back and staying in, I find that it's always when I have no choice than to be couped-up indoors that I want to roam free.

Last night, the snow just started to fall as I parked my car outside my parents' house. I had just worked a 10-hour day, and spent another hour or so doing cardio at the gym. I figured that since it's the last weekend before Christmas, I'd drop my stuff off at home, hop back into the car, and head out to the mall. When the snow began to fall, I wasn't deterred. In fact, it only fueled my fire to get out even more. So I put my stuff away, changed clothes, and grabbed a quick bite... and despite my parents' questions on my crazy decision to step out in the snow, I grabbed my coat and keys, and headed back into VA. The drive was cake... Just like driving on a rainy day.

I got to the mall & made my rounds: hit up the sales, and left with two pairs of pants, a sweater, and a wine stopper. Score! I was absolutely happy that my ambition came with much reward.

It wasn't until I left the mall that the worry started to set-in. Just as I drove outside the parking garage, I had noticed that the snow had already blanketed most of the local roads, and there were cars already pulled off to the side of the road with blinking hazards on. I stopped in front of the ice rink at Pentagon Row for a second to take in the scenery: snow falling upon a holiday themed square full of lights, Christmas trees, fake snow flakes, and everything else that you come to associate with the holiays. It was the perfect scene, and I was quickly reminded that I am home. For a quick few minutes, the road treachery escaped me and I found myself in a state of bliss.

Then the worry came back just as quickly as it had left. I could hear the violins, which were playing in my mind, come to a screeching halt. So I slipped on the slush as I made my way back to my car (Umm, aren't Uggs supposed to be good in the snow?! Not so much.), and made a conscious effort to take the freeway home in fear of the snow-laden streets.

Thankfully, the freeway was free of debris for the most part. But at many points, the traffic went along at 1 MPH, which I was fine with. I was super worried that someone would try to be a superstar and slide past me at 5 MPH, and possibly hit me - or someone else - along the way. So what ended up being a 20 minute drive to the mall turned into an almost hour-long drive back home via 395 and 295.

Once I was home safe, I settled back in to warm-up. I opened a bottle of red, had a couple of glasses, then I fell asleep with the knowledge that come morning there would be more snow for me to enjoy. Yay.

And so now I am here at home, annoying myself with cabin fever. My mom is cooking something obviously Filipino. The smell of garlic is wafting through the house, and is seriously enveloping me despite the fact that I took a shower this morning.

I feel like I'm 13 again, and I don't know whether to laugh about it, or prepare myself for the noose.

I'll laugh. For now.

PS: Snow, why couldn't you have waited to fall on Sunday night instead?

GET YOUR MIRACLE ICONS... AT BARNEYS (?!)

With the holidays here, I get a ton of emails from retailers enticing me to buy the next big thing ---whether it has to do with electronics, entertainment, food, or fashion. In my inbox today, I got a blast from Barneys New York. This e-blast featured some of the season’s “hot” items. Among them I noted a pair of argyle socks, skull caps, jackets, and miracle icon jewelry.

What is “miracle icon jewelry” you ask? Well, from what I saw it looked like a metal-struck pendant of Our Lady of Charity… complete with fake burnishing and “natural”-looking wear-and-tear. If you’re Catholic, then you totally know what I’m talking about. It’s those “miraculous” medals with images of saints, or angels, or Jesus, Mary, or whomever else you can think of. You know – the kind of little metals that you find being sold outside a pilgrimage cathedral in Europe or South America, or even at the gift shop at the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in downtown DC. These usually-75-cents-a-piece trinkets are now being sold for $75 at Barneys.

Two thoughts go through my head:

#1 – I don’t like when people wear rosaries or metals with saintly images on them for fashion. I don’t even wear a chain with a cross hanging from it. It’s just not my style. But I guess some people find it chic enough to sport. But how weird is that? For me, I feel like wearing a bracelet with a pendant of St. Bernadette dangling from it would make me feel awkward if I were running around town getting sloshed on the weekends. Maybe it’s my Catholic guilt that makes me think that way (or the time my mom almost beat the crap out of me as a kid because I wore a rosary around my neck as if it were just some random accessory). I shrug.

#2 – Why the hell didn’t I think of selling my old icon-charms to Barneys? And I know I have these lying around my old room somewhere – on door knobs, in drawers, or in boxes. I could’ve made a killing with Barneys selling these under-a-buck pendants for just shy of a Benjamin each.

Well, whatever. If anyone’s interested in sporting the next hot thing in fashion, then I’ve got your miracle icon pendants. Holler for your dollars.

(Ha.)

END-OF-THE-WEEK LAUGH

OK, so it's not exactly Friday... but it's close enough. I stumbled upon this video last night after I decided to make an out-of-the-blue search for the seriously hilarious video of a former Miss Teen South Carolina botching her special Q&A portion of the Miss Teen USA Pageant. I'm sure all you internet junkies know the one; it was only circulated like FOREVER times.



Apparently, Pace University's freshman class (last year, maybe?) decided to immortalize Miss Teen SC's moment through a musical (or musical number, rather). It is easily one of the most hilarious things I've seen in a long time.

Enjoy!

I GOT YOUR CRAZY!

I know that I live in an imperfect world. In fact, I am very much prone to running into some crazy shit. Sometimes I think I'm a magnet for embarrassing moments, awkward situations, and sheer craziness in all forms. To me, it makes for a more interesting life. Why not laugh every now and then, right? Laugh at yourself, laugh at others... it's all relative.

Los Angeles could single-handedly reign as the 'Crazy Capital of the U.S.' I say this with the utmost respect. I've seen crazy people everywhere I've been. Back home in Washington, DC, I've been enveloped by 'crazy' from the most posh of places, to the ghettos of Southeast DC. In NYC, I've bumped into 'crazy' many a times (or watched as 'crazy' actually bumped into stationary objects; yes). Chicago's got 'crazy,' too... as does Boston, Philly, oooh -- and San Francisco. But I have to say that L.A. takes the cake. In L.A., 'crazy' doesn't even need to take the form of a physical person, or an action, or a feeling. It can take the form of a hand-written add posted on a freakin' electric pole:


I'm still kind of in a state of shock after this. The Lakers? Todd Bridges? 4 or more planets in Capricorn?

Someone please call this number, and tell whoever answers that you're a reincarnation of 'Tootie' from Facts of Life, and you've got 3 planets in Virgo that want to mingle with his 4 planets in Capricorn. Oh, and tell whoever is on the other line that you love the Phoenix Suns.

WTF?!

THE WANT LIST

As of this last day of March 2009, here is what's on my "want" list:

L-R/Clockwise from the top: Navy Single-Breasted Trench (Topman), "Billy" Bootcut - The Boss Wash (True Religion), Oval Sunglasses (Prada), Wool-Blend 'Kaleidescope' Cardigan (Adam), 1839 Dove-and-Crown Tee (Ralph Lauren), Ago Zip Boot (John Varvatos)

LIFE (IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT)

A lot can be said about people who don’t believe in the saying: “Life is what you make it.” I could go on and on about this subject, and I could probably create a long list of people that I know who may be guilty of falling into the trap of not making their life experience work for one reason or another (myself included, at times). But I’m not going to do that. Instead, I will babble about my own take on the mantra-cum-cliché, as it applies to me, myself, and I. Let’s begin…

I come from the Washington, DC area. I was born in Bethesda, and grew up in Ft. Washington –both of which are located on opposite ends of the Capital Beltway in the neighboring state of Maryland. I spent my first few years after birth in Jacksonville, FL – the result of my dad’s career with the U.S. Navy… but I was way too young to remember too much about that. I am the product of a Mid-Atlantic upbringing, which is a good thing (at least I believe it to be). Growing up just 10-minutes outside of DC, I was exposed to everything you could possibly imagine: wealth and poverty, racists and non-racists, liberals and conservatives, blacks and whites (and Filipino, in my case… growing up in Ft. Washington/Oxon Hill), yada-yada-blah-blah-blah. I was lucky to have grown up in such a progressive-yet-transient city like DC, and I’m proud to say that I’ve experienced that city like no other. While a lot of my friends were content with hanging out in the suburbs, I found myself always venturing off into the city to do anything from random grocery shopping to museum hopping, dining to lounging, observing the diverse architecture to just hanging out at someone’s pad. One thing’s for sure, even though I am a product of suburbia, I have realized that suburbia is not for me –not for long term, at least. I appreciated the fact that DC was a mini-NYC: fast and upbeat, but not completely overwhelming. DC is less edgy than NYC, but strikes high in classiness.

Just shy of my 30th birthday, however, I decided that I had enough. While the DC area was “home,” I was finished. I had consumed every bit of energy and life that the city had to offer me, and I craved change. NYC, Chicago and Los Angeles were the top three on my list. I easily gave up on NYC because I felt it was too much of a cakewalk being so close. Chicago would’ve been a nice change of pace, but the idea of a lake winter scared me shitless. Los Angeles wasn’t my favorite choice, but I knew it would be the safest because I had family and friends that were already there. So one day I decided to quit my job, let everything go, and just start anew. Los Angeles became my “new home.”

While I didn’t have a hard time adjusting, I certainly spent my first couple of months treading the line between hating it and missing home way too much than I needed. I was that guy who kept comparing L.A. to “home.” I was that guy who always had to call out how things in L.A. were so not the same as how things were back in DC (looking back – it’s kind of like “duh…” that’s obvious). I was that guy who thought that I was above everything and everyone around; hating on the food, the style and fashion, the lack of this or that or whatever else there was that I could think of bashing. Then I made my first trip back east just three months later (for my niece’s 1st birthday), and I realized that I wasn’t giving my new home the chance that it deserved. While I loved visiting home, I was swept away with the realization that too much of the same thing would only keep me from spreading my wings. I was being too closed-minded about my new surroundings, not owning up to the fact that if I had moved back home right away, I would’ve probably eventually died from the ultra-conservativeness that “nurtures” DC. While I love DC (and my family/friends) with all my heart, I had to learn to love L.A. just the same.

And luckily, I have.

While I miss the confined claustrophobia of big, bustling cities (NYC, Chicago, San Francisco), I feel a certain sense of freedom living in a place that is as sprawling as L.A. In Los Angeles, no one really gives a fuck about what you do, how you look, or where you’re going to have your next drink. You can be Hollywood-ed out, or you can be a beach bum… you can be a corporate peon, or you can work for yourself… you can wear Ugg boots with whatever you can think of (and look completely ridiculous doing so), or you can be as fashion conscious as those who care. No one cares. That’s the bottom line. And those people who do care couldn’t survive here very long.

I hate when I come across people who tread that fine line that I once did, and can’t seem to let go of what they’re used to. Instead of embracing what’s laid out before them, they kick and scream about how much they hate what they do, or where they’re doing it. All I have to say to them is “get over yourself, and step out of your damn soapbox.” I am a firm believer that you can make any place home if you only try. You may have reasons for disliking a place, but you can’t really blame a place for your experience being so “lame.” The cards are in your hands, and you deal with them as you do. It’s not where you do what you do, it’s HOW and WHAT you do what you do.

I have no sympathy for people who can’t seem to break out of their comfort zones, and blame everything but themselves for their poor experiences. I know that not everyone will experience life in the same way that I do, or find a similar appreciation for their experiences and/or surroundings… but there’s a lot to be said about those who feel the constant need to convince themselves that something isn’t cool. Perhaps it’s not the place or the experience that’s warped, but themselves.

I’d rather them admit that more than anything.