An abundance of commas and hyphens does not require a federal bailout. It does, however, require some patience. Humor me, e-friends!
Though my livejournal, like many language isolates (including Ainu!), is essentially moribund, my cyberless life is in some aspects, and really only sometimes, decidedly not. More than a month ago, my second niece in little more than a year arrived, round headed, one eye winking like the ghost of Victor Wong, in a gush of fluid, digits and indignity. The latter not being hers so much (she was quieter than her older sister, a pinky shade of mellow to complement a pair of rowdy blue mongol buttcheeks) as it was my sister's, or mine on her behalf. Something they don't tell the uninitiated about labor is the fact that all kind of people, ostensibly medical professionals, will finger-up and ogle the ladyfruit like they paid a dollar for it at church carnival. Twice already and I'm still appalled. Though I can’t help but feel a little left out. You’d think by now with robot pandas and washing machine-dryers, some kind of technology would be available to take that over. Regardless: 3:03PM on 8/14 rolls up and some 6-plus pounds, 20 and one-half inches of feeble softness entered, gasping in the air for the first time until, finally, a yelp of surprise.
"I know what you mean," I said. "I also hope the new season of Prison Break is better, even though I know it won't be. What the hell else can they break out of?"
Turns out I was right, now bereft of the Australian or whatever eye candy from last season with a shot to the melon and nursing the ache of a Discovery Channel Shark Week that ended long ago, since Wentworth Miller – attractive as he is – only seems to substitute urgent whispering for every range of emotion. I'm back on Supernatural now and only because it revives a long-buried and somewhat shameful college lust for trenchcoat-wearing angels.( Old habits.Collapse )
I called my mom after the birth to tell her the news, played back a video I took so she could hear, and was met with another yelp. She sobbed and sobbed. Then, I wish
[gasp] I had been there
[gasp] and I can't
[gasp] I can't even --
I laughed and told her not to be a retard, said she was going to frighten the babies with all her waterlogged dramatics when she finally landed at the airport. Which she did, a month later, plus the half hour I was late to pick her up along the lonely Hawaiian Airlines curb. We found in the thick of this that Manang Esther, our aunt and Mom's oldest sister, had stroked out only hours before. And the combination of that grief and longing, that helplessness, that joy, could have swelled over the breadth of the Pacific to us and served the dozens of chocolate cupcakes she eventually took to the wake.
This, too, under the category of Hits + Misses:
"You seem like an intelligent person," he said, "I mean, you're pretty clever. So why are you here?"
Because I am not that intelligent, obviously. I am the balls at accepting textual olive branches, though, possibly on account of a newfound enjoyment of olives. A years-long frienship drama now put to rest, I guess it's probably time for me to start in on the more robust pastime of hibachi cooking.
In news less similar in subject as theme, I am also a new apartment renter and owner of a failed car. Two bedrooms, two baths and walls painted a soothing shade of khaki cannot contain my bewilderment, though it's plenty enough for the emptied quarts of coolant and H2
O. A steaming radiator or part thereabouts tells me what what I don’t need to hear: my car may be used as a sauna and a year long lease is something to despair of in ways you pretty much expect. IKEA meatballs are acceptable custom for celebration and mourning, which isn't even technically right and not the
reason, but probably one of many, why I will never work at NASA. That seems like a lot of capital letters for one measly paragraph. HERE ARE MORE!
On the day she died, my dad told us, Manang Esther had been cleaning her house and settled on the couch to rest. Her husband, out back inspecting the jackfruit trees, found the biggest one (an accomplishment, considering jackfruit is the largest tree-borne fruit in the world, growing up to 80lbs., when compared to my relatively puny and less visually intriguing niece) and brought it inside to show our aunt. She was already cold. Another accomplishment, considering Bacolod City’s average yearly temperature of 88.5°F. I imagine that, like my mom, my uncle must have found what it was like to have a really terrible and really awesome day at the same time. It's a wonder the Earth doesn't fold on itself, those kinds of forces at work on a single person.