What I Did on My Summer Vacation

I read every book in the Twilight series.

This isn't going to be a rant about everything I found wrong with it. One, other people have already voiced the issues I had with it. Two, I would probably eat the storyline right up if I was actually part of the target audience.

Instead, I'll use this post to make everything about me and my growing inability to suspend my disbelief.

It's not that I don't want to be sucked in. I can feel the suspense building up during certain scenes, feel myself start to slip into them and then suddenly find my heels digging in as my rational mind screams, "This would end terribly in real life."

This happened the other week during an episode of Once Upon a Time. I love the show - love it! - but "7:15 a.m." irritated me. Yes, we all know that Snow White and Prince Charming are meant to be together. Yes, I know that there needs to be more drama than he wakes up from his coma and decides to be with her.

My issue is that he never really chooses her in the non-fairytale world. He makes the choice to work things out with the wife he doesn't quite remember. OK, fine: His reasons for that were actually sound and respectable. He continues, however, to pine after Snow, which culminates into a make out session when he finds out his wife isn't pregnant.

We don't see him break it off with his wife. We don't even see him having a talk about his doubts. Hell, minutes earlier we see him agreeing to couple's counseling! Josh Dallas plays a very endearing Prince. Ginnifer Goodwin made my heart hurt with how much her Snow White obviously loves him. I could still think of only two things while watching their reunion: 1. "You're cheating on your wife!" 2. "Girl, you deserve better. He's kissing you but he hasn't officially picked you!"

I'm probably in the minority for feeling this way. I'm sure the majority of fans were cheering while I was thinking, "This is BS."

I think I'm on my way to turning into one of those old people who rants about anything mainstream and those kids on my dang lawn.

Poetry in Motion

My mom was easy to overlook. She was usually quiet, unassuming and the epitome of the docile Asian woman stereotype. I have since come to believe that this was all a cover because hen she set out to get you, she got you good. Take, for instance, the time she ruined sex and Junior Whoppers for me forever.

It was our usual Saturday outing at the mall. We stopped by Burger King for lunch. I was about to take a second bite of my burger when my mom sighed, rolled her eyes and groaned, "Your dad wanted to have sex last night."

My hands froze. I looked over the horizon of beef patty, wilted lettuce and bun to stare at my mom in horror. My appetite was completely gone.

She was oblivious to my reaction. "I was trying to go to sleep and I could feel his hands all over me."

I put my burger back on the waxed paper in which it came and wrapped it up. There was no way I could continue eating.

"Mom, I really think that you should be talking to Dad about this."

"Oh, he doesn't care," she snapped. "He thinks that he's a man and he has needs. I tried to pretend that I was asleep but - "

"Seriously, Mom, you need to talk to Dad about this. Not me. Dad." I had never felt so panicked in my life.

She frowned but stopped talking. Without looking at me, she started to nibble at her french fries. I slipped into a false sense of security.

"It's like he doesn't even think that I might be too tired after working all week and then coming home to clean. No, as soon as I lie down he thinks it's time to - "

"Mom, please. Talk to Dad."

"Your dad just doesn't know how to touch me!"

I stared at her. She looked back. She shrugged.

"What? I found your birth control pills. I know you're having sex. Why can't we talk about this?"

I couldn't answer. I felt sure that vomit would fly out of my mouth if I opened it. I just stared. She sighed.

"Fine. Are you done eating? I can't believe you waste food while you have cousins in the Philippines who are starving..."

(Next up in "Things That Traumatized My Sex Life": the day my sister started a story with, "So, my boyfriend was eating me out...")

Let's Remember Why We Go Together So Well

The short answer is that I'm the soy nut butter in her sandwich.

The slightly longer answer is that we are both vegan and have an appreciation for cute boys and soy peppermint mochas (thanks, Ashley, for informing me that these are available year round and that I only need to ask!)

The serious answer is that Ashley is a very cool chick. She's the type of person who is nice but also doesn't BS a person. This works great for me because I tend to be an over-thinker: "What did so-and-so really mean?" I really appreciate knowing people who will say that the sky is blue and not mean cerulean, aqua or tourmaline (which is not a shade of blue!) Ashley is one of those people.

She's wicked smart but doesn't have a stick in her ass. The former is evident by the way she can talk about things with understanding. The latter is evidenced by some of the pictures in her Facebook album, not to mention the way she will often indulge me by sharing pictures of her hot co-workers. (I could use a fix, by the way. That might be your next prompt. Wink, wink, NUDGE).

All in all, she's just really awesome. I'm really awesome. And together, we will attack New York and find the perfect vegan cinnamon roll.

Blogshare Post: Betrayal

The following post was not written by me and was submitted via this year's Blogshare.

I was all set to start typing out a crazy in-law story to share with you but it will have to wait for another time.  Which is unfortunate considering my former in-laws are swingers.  I mean consensual, adult, sexual choices are not within themselves crazy, but this lifestyle was common knowledge and discussed among a house full of CHILDREN.  I found it so bizarre and inappropriate. 

Anyway, that’s not my secret to share today.  There has been a lot of news coverage and outrage about a child abuse scandal involving a cover-up at a major college.  My thoughts linger there, much the way my thoughts turn to the past anytime there is news of children being harmed.

My brother and I were molested as children by a neighbor kid over a multi-year time span.  We clung to each other; terrified someone would find out and we would be humiliated further.  No one knew about it until we were adults.  Through our parents and scouting leaders we were well-versed in the danger of strangers and to stick together, but those scary warnings always seemed to involve adults and never fit our situation.  We found ourselves clueless how to address this unwanted behavior coming from a “cool and popular” older peer and felt helpless to stop it. 

I often wonder why we were targeted; or if he is haunted, like us, by what he did? What drove him to do it?  Are there other victims of his actions out there?  That last one really crushes my soul.  Not only the possibility that we were not the first or last to be violated, but that maybe if we had found a way to stand up against it we could have stopped the abuse and maybe prevented further harm to others.  Maybe the very troubled boy at the root of this could have gotten some help.  The maybes are almost as troubling as the abuse itself.

Being abused and violated is membership to a club I cannot explain to others.  It is not enough to say the experience still lingers and that it affects my day-to-day relationships and self image.  My brother and I feel guilty for not doing enough to protect the other.  In my struggle to move on and not be defined by something that happened so long ago, my knee-jerk reaction is to downplay it.  We were children unable to help each other and our assailant was a minor himself. 

My story is not the same as those you read about in the stomach-turning grand jury reports. Nowhere in the shame and rage my brother and I have dealt with do can we say the one who hurt us was an adult and should have known better.  Or there was a cover-up and no one did enough to stop it from recurring.  I cannot even begin to imagine what the pain that heartache and abandonment would feel like.  But I unfortunately know that universal feeling of betrayal.  Most of all I am at a loss if a punishment even exists that fits our “debt to society” standards when such heinous acts are perpetrated against children.

Who Do You Think You Are?

I was at a club and I was a little drunk.

My definition of drunk is different from most people's. I don't become exceptionally giggly, violent or do things "because I was drunk! Tee-hee!" For me, being drunk is the moment when I feel my thoughts become a little fuzzy and my brain-to-mouth filter becomes a bit looser. I'm still aware and in control, even if I have to work a bit harder to maintain the latter.

So, I'm at a club, drunk and dancing with the crowd to whatever band was playing. There were enough people that somebody could have brushed up against me and it would have been an accident. This touch, however, was steady and involved some stranger rubbing his crotch against my ass.

Still, there were a lot of people, so maybe I was misunderstanding? I edged forward a few feet, maneuvering around so that I was on a different part of the dance floor.

After a moment, I felt that rubbing again. I side-stepped and scowled over my shoulder. I looked right in the dude's eyes. That should have been it, right?

Nope. A moment later, he had moved to stand behind me.

I don't know who the hell he thought he was. I wouldn't even let a boyfriend do that to me in public, never mind some nasty-ass stranger.

I didn't change spots. I did reach one arm forward, seemingly as part of a dance. I then drove it back as hard as I could. I actually heard the dude gasp as my elbow pummeled into his stomach. I was happy to see him stagger off of the dance floor.

The moral of the story? Never assume that a person won't put you in your place.

Lights...Fading. Limbs...Growing Cold...

I'm still thinking of what to write for the latest prompt from Ashley. In the meantime, have a story from our last place of residence:

I was laying in bed one evening when I heard my husband having a one-sided conversation. I finally called out, "Are you talking to me?"

"No," he said excitedly. "You know how the lights in the bathroom flicker? Just for fun, I asked, 'Is there anybody there? Flash once for yes and two for no.' I didn't expect that anything would happen but the lights went still and then blinked once."

I thought it was weird in the whole "did you not see Poltergeist and the way that little girl was speaking to things in the TV" way, but noticed that the lights didn't blink so much when it was just me.

On the occasions when the lights did start to flicker, they'd stop if I called out, "Hey, it's not [husband's name]."

One night, the lights just kept going. It was late, I was tired and it felt a whole lot creepier than it was. I finally exclaimed, "Do you want me to get [husband's name]?"

The lights instantly stopped flickering. There was a pause and then a single flash.

"Fine," I said. I wrapped a towel around myself and called down the stairs, "HONEY! Your friends want to talk to you."

"Huh?"

"The flashing lights!"

"Oh! Okay!"

He came up. As he entered the room, the flights flickered excitedly.

"Did you need to talk to me?" he asked.

The lights stilled and then flashed once.

He proceeded to ask a series of yes and no questions, with the lights flashing accordingly.

We no longer live in that house, although I was briefly creeped out a few months ago when one of the bathroom lights in our current place started flashing.

"No," I said into the air around me. "We are not doing this again."

The light stopped flashing and hasn't been iffy since.

Strong-Armed Robbery

I lost my virginity to my state's arm-wrestling champion.

No, I didn't, but wouldn't that make a great post for this topic?

I was seriously drawing a blank. I even looked up a definition in hopes that I would feel inspired: Strong-arm robbery is a term used to describe a situation where the offender used any degree of force to complete the act. Strong-arm robbery is technically a term used to describe the crime of "Robbery by sudden snatching."

I wish I hadn't done that because knowing isn't just half the battle: it's that thing that said, "That is totally not going to work with the other idea that you had."

And then I realized that I was wrong.

Several years ago, a very nice looking - but irritatingly pompous - man approached me in a bar.

"I hear you like tequila," he said.

I nodded and asked, "Why? Are you challenging me to a drinking contest?"

"Sort of," he replied. "If you can drink 16 shots in a row, I will buy them for you."

We were at a club in a more expensive area of town, which meant my drink of choice was running at $7 per shot. This dude - or, as I was thinking of him at that moment, sucker - was saying that he was going to lose $112.

"That's it? I just have to drink 16 shots?"

"In a row," he said.

"What do I win?"

"If you can drink - "

"There is no 'if.' What do I win?"

"I'll pay for the shots."

I laughed at him. "That's it? You'll pay for my shots? No. You'll pay for them AND you'll do 16 shots of your own."

He laughed back. "OK, sure. If you can drink 16 shots in a row - "

"Excuse me," I said to the bartender, "but may I please have 16 shots of tequila?"

The bartender had heard everything and poured the shots with a smirk. 

"Now remember, you have to drink them one after the other," said my challenger.

I was already snatching the first shot. I downed it, put down the glass and reached for the next one. I did this 16 times and could see, over the rim of each glass, that the dude's eyes were getting wider and his jaw dropping as he realized he was in it for $224 worth of tequila.

The 16th shot went down a little harder than the others but I don't think I let it show. After a brief nibble on a lemon wedge, I said, "Thank you for the drinks. Oh, and don't forget - "

"I know, I know." He was laughing. "Bartender, I'll need 16 more shots. That's the last time I do this. Damn, girl!"

For the record, I did black out during the cab ride home (I was with trustworthy friends who were not quite as blitzed as I was), but that was many hours later and only because those 16 shots were on top of the other drinks I'd had earlier.