Chinese Boys

I love these boys. I love the fact that they make fools out of themselves and do it well. I love the fact that their friend sits behind them in almost every single video they make playing some first person shooter game while these guys just lip sync right behind him. If I was a young girl, these would be the kind of Chinese boys I would wanna date. I like nerds, what can I say?

I have never dated a Chinese boy before - wait, not true, I dated one guy who was half Chinese and half Guyanese, so never a pure breed. Doing so would've only made me more Chinese and more accepted by my parents - and I certainly didn't want that when I was a teenager! But I always fantasized what it would be like to date someone who knew my language and understood the way my family runs. Someone who appreciated the "Sunday herbal soups that cures everything from zits to cancer" or the "Must have the number 8 in everything" - Address, Phone number, wedding date, license plate...and the list goes on. Being with someone of my own race and culture meant not having to calm my man down when he sees the black chicken-head and all, sitting pretty in the soup pot or explaining how important it is not to look disgusted when Mom and Dad burp loudly at the dinner table or telling him that he must eat the very unrecognizable and unappetizing piece of meat that my parents keep giggling about and are very secretive about until after he gulps it down or how it's important to be at every family event no matter how busy we are lest I'm looked at as an ungrateful, and unappreciative daughter. Sometimes its very hard to have to explain every bit of custom and thought process that goes on in my family, then afterwards, pray that the man got it, during. Even worse still, to have to persuade and push when the explanation just isn't enough.

Being in an interracial relationship came easy for me in the beginning. Being so against everything Chinese when I was young made me assimilate very easily into other cultures. It was also quite easy being accepted as an interracial couple here in New York. But as I got older and "the man" became heavily involved with my family - it wasn't as easy for me. Suddenly I was forced to discuss and debate about issues that just came automatically with me and my family. I mean, come on, there are so many other obstacles and issues you face in a relationship but now to have to explain the odds and ends about your culture? All in all I guess it isn't so bad and truly, "the man", tries his best and my parents love him! But it was a tedious time and sometimes continues to be:
"Yes, Chinese New Year is at the end of the month"
"Yes, we HAVE to be there for the first day and the last day"
"Yes, we HAVE to give out red pocket money now"
"Yes, you HAVE to kowtow to our ancestors and all the random and numerous Gods and Goddesses I can't name."
"Yes, you will HAVE to listen to her beg the Gods to not punish her anymore with her ungrateful daughter and son-in-law who still hasn't given her a grandson"

The 4 Meme

Lauren sent me a questionaire...

I had to dictionary.com "Meme" tho....I'm a little stoopid.

Ok...

4 Jobs I had
1. Volunteer at St. Mary's Hospital for Children at age 14 for children who were regular outpatients. They had various illnesses and disabilities. I was there to play with them, help them do homework, and help with dinner. This was the time when one of the kids ran around telling everyone I had chinese eyes and proceeded to stretch his eyes out. I felt very guilty for weeks for wanting to smack him -even though I didn't.
2. Volunteer at local YMCA for a Saturday program for developmentally disabled children and adults. This is when I realized not all programs geared for special needs individuals were necessarily great when the coordinators of the program barely showed up on time if at all. Also, I fell in love with the MR adults, whom one of which told me I was pretty every day. Oh yes, and finally, this was during the time I got introduced to the Autism population and my job.
3. Staff Trainer for afterschool autism program.
4. Program Coordinator for autism program for preschoolers.

Four places I lived
1. Somewhere in Manhattan - though I barely remember this...wait no, I don't remember it at all.
2. Flushing
3. Bayside
4. Astoria

Four Movies I'd watch again
1. Brain Candy -Gotta love the Kids in the Hall
2. Pirates in the Caribbean - LOVE THIS MOVIE!!
3. Willy Wonka - the old 70's Gene Wilder version
4. Kill Bill Volume 1 - I love Lucy Liu!!! "The price you pay for bringing up either my Chinese or American heritage as a negative is... I collect your fucking head. Just like this fucker here. Now, if any of you sons of bitches got anything else to say, now's the fucking time!"

Four TV shows I love to watch
1. Real World/Road Rules Challenges - I like seeing the old timers get old and still manage to score some more 15 minutes.
2. The Daily Show - when I get to catch it.
3. The Dog Whisperer - I LOVE HIM. I WANNA BE HIM. I'm the ALPHA MALE!!
4. Seinfield - never gets old.

Four of my favorite foods
1. Steak - drooool....
2. Macaroni and Cheese - the cheesier the better!
3. My dad's fried rice - there ain't nuthing like it!
4. Peaches - straight from the can!

Four places I'd rather be right now
1. Crete, Greece
2. Venice, Italy
3. St. Lucia
4. Vancouver

Is "the man" more Asian than me?

Like every good Asian, when Memoirs of a Geisha came out, I couldn't wait to head to my local theatre and see people that look like me on the big screen. Every Asian movie that makes it into mainstream Hollywood suddenly brings out my AZN Pride. So perhaps I was a bit biased when Memoirs came out, particularly with the all-star cast that it did - the all-star Chinese cast. I really didn't think much of the popular Chinese actresses being casted to play Japanese women. In fact, it has always been the norm for me to see an Asian role being played by any Asian, no matter where they hailed from. I didn't realize how much of an issue it was to the Asian community until I read about it. But, hey, I thought, they're just actors playing a role and if they do it well, well that's all that matters, right?

The cinematography was beautiful and I thought the actors did a fine job. It certainly wasn't spectacular but I thought it did a great job exposing Japanese culture and their customs. Though not worth all the anticipation spent waiting for the movie to come out, I wasn't disappointed. And yes, I continued to throw my fist in the air and chant "Azn Power! Azn Power!" (Ok, I didn't quite do that, but I thought it!)

But of course "the man" ruined it for me. He said "Japanese women don't act like that! They're subtle and quiet! I hated Memoirs!" I have to admit, the fact that "the man" was telling me that the movie was all wrong because they didn't portray Asians accurately, pissed me off. I mean HEL-LO, White Boy, you look nothing like me! And if they weren't accurate, well I would know that of all people, dammit! I mean that's just part of my being Asian default powers. But truth be told, I don't know how Japanese women act...hell, I think the last movie I watched with any sort of Japanese character in it was in Kill Bill volume 1. I knew there was a good possibility that he was right, but I played my "the-white-man-has-brought-us-Asians-down" card anyway and said "How do you know that's how Japanese women are?! How do you know that's just not the way white people portrayed the Japanese?"
"Well, either way, that's not how the book represented the geishas!"
Oh. Right, the book.
I did read the book - just sorta skimmed some parts.... Although, the author isn't Japanese, so I still may have a card to play yet....hmmm.

But "the man" follows up with: "Anyway, I think living in Chinatown, being married to a Chinese woman, and being assimilated into your Chinese family, gives me a bit more insight on Asian culture than most people, don't you think?"

Bah! I think I'm running out of cards to play....

My car is a killing machine...

I ran over a grounds dove bird yesterday.

It just wouldn't move - and I thought if I drove slow and kept him targeted for the middle of my car, everything would be fine. But nope it stood there.

And then...

I felt....

the bump....

and I looked in my rearview mirror and saw a flurry of brown and white feathers....

I was not happy.

Neither was my best friend who was listening to me freak out as a recorded message on her answering machine 20 minutes after the fact and thought that I was having some sort of mental breakdown.

I am a killer.

On being Asian

I was hard-assed, or so I thought I was in high school. Somehow I thought that wearing Doc Martens, flannel shirts, and sporting a punk hairdo made me tough, different and respected. But truthfully, I was already respected and widely accepted in a variety of groups in my high school – the geeks, the gangsters, the drama club, the rockers, the punks, the Whites, Blacks, Jamaicans, Hispanics, Jewish…all except Asians. My easy assimilation into my diverse group of friends had made me an outsider within my own. This was the group that didn’t require excessive primping in the mirror to get the black eye make up just right, or hiding the excess splotch of manic panic purple haze dye accidentally left on my forehead or getting the grunge look just grungy enough – I was already Chinese, I should’ve been accepted by default! But their rejection hurt me so much that it resulted in me being devoid of anything Asian except for the things I couldn’t erase; like my facial features and my family (despite how hard I wished them away).

One day, my drama club friends and I decided to risk the public bus ride home after school planning to stop by a store three stops further from our usual stop. We filed into it with what seemed like our entire junior class and were immediately shoved to the back. The bus was, as usual, rowdy and chaotic, and I, as usual, took on my typical silent, gruff, and despondent act and began muttering incoherently about the state of the government, the world, and my cheap parents whose weekly allowance had left me with only one jar of manic panic midnight blue. I mean, that would never be midnight blue enough with one jar! My friends stood alongside me, nodding every four to five seconds interspersed with “Yea, fuck that shit!” for nearly half the bus ride home.

It wasn’t until I was tired of my own innocuous ramblings that I looked up to survey the kids around me. There were 10 jocks in the front, 8 metal heads on either side, two heavy set black girls in front of me and just towards the side of me were 2 small and meek looking Asian girls overly accessorized in pink and all things cute, with a serious case of acne. Meek Asian girl number 1 (closest to me) had a walkman in her hands while meek Asian girl number 2 sat staring blankly into her folded hands. Suddenly, one of the heavy set black girls sitting next to meek Asian girl number 1 said to her:

“Yo, why ya face like dat?”
“Huh?” she asked in obvious confusion.
“I said, why ya face be all fucked up like dat? Too much pawk fried rice?”
Meek Asian girl number 1 removed her headset and a dark flush began forming under those zits while her friend shifted uncomfortably and continued to stare at her hands.
“Whatchoo don speakah no engleeesh? Didchoo eat too much pawk flied lice?”
The two fat black girls’ bodies began heaving spasmodically and began emitting shrill shrieks between wheezing which I took as laughter. A large lump began to slowly form in my throat.
“Girl, you should do sumfin ‘bout dat shit!”
The asian girl gave a weak smile and a shrug while her friend seemed to have successfully turned her folded hands into two very large patches of white skin.
“Yo, whatchoo listnin to?”
“Chinese music” The asian girl quietly replied.
“Lemme hear” The black girl said and grabbed the headset and walkman out of the girl’s hands and immediately began pumping her hands up in the air while squeezing her eyes shut and screaming;
“Ching Chong Chow!”
Her other friend continued spastically heaving between gasps of air.
“Awww shit girl, no you didn’t!”

The Asian girl began to pathetically plead for her walkman back adding that her stop was coming up. Coincidentally, it was my stop as well and I couldn’t wait to get off, vowing never to ride the bus home again.

“Aww, hey, I’ll give it back to you girl. Lemme borrow it – I like dis shit. I’ll meet you on the third floor tomorrow at fourth period and give it back, aiight?”
The Asian girl continued to plead and as the bus began rolling to a stop, both her friend and my friends began nudging us to leave. Her friend successfully began ushering her out despite her desperate attempts to grab for her walkman now being tossed between the two fat girls, while I stood there facing the fat black girl in a rage. Suddenly, I screamed;
“Yo, why ya body all fucked up like dat? Too much flied chicken!?”

I snatched the walkman out of her hands, and ran off the bus as quickly as I could, because I’m tough like that. Once the doors of the bus closed, I continued to scream at her through the window with all the possible racial slurs I could think of when I realized with utter horror that both my drama club friends were black. Unfortunately, my mouth just wouldn’t stop. When the bus finally rolled away, I turned and hastily shoved the walkman back into the meek Asian girl’s hands and faced my friends, still cursing under my breath. My two friends nodded their heads and said “Yeah, fuck that shit” and we walked to the store

C is for Crass...

I am biting off of Lauren from SketchLABC and using the alphabet to inspire the fucking creativity out of my brain and drawing hand... While Lauren creates images that are made of sugar and spice and everything nice, I, on the other hand, have a perverted and foul brain and create things that are made of frogs and snails and puppy dog tails. (Sometimes it even bothers me that I work with children) The only safe sketch I have so far is "C". I created this picture in honor of my sister's mother-in-law who absolutely repulses me - particularly during mealtimes. Somehow, this woman manages to fling food everywhere -left, right, up and down- while chewing. Not only does bits of masticated food surround her like a Jackson Pollock piece (though certainly not as aesthetic), it is plastered up and down her face, arms and hands - the very same hands she uses to fist a bowl full of shrimp cocktail sauce later. Before every huge family event, the man and I hatch complicated plans to secure our meal from the buffet table before she gets to it and thwart anyone's plan to have us sit anywhere near her. Oh yes, this one definitely goes out to her.

Like mother, like daughter...sorta.

In attempt to spark up the ole brain of mine, I have started to draw again, read a little more, practice the piano again, work on websites and web design again, take pictures again, think a little more...do I feel any smarter? No, not really. In fact, instead, I feel quite overwhelmed and stretched thin. I used to do all this at once but without work and without school. Enrolling in two programs (principal certification and behavior analyst certification) is no easy feat and work keeps me up at night, like tonight. I know what my potential is when I throw myself into one thing completely and I know when I start to fail when I start doing everything - the hair starts being pulled, I start running around in circles, I don't know where I begin and where I end and ultimately, I drop the ball somewhere. Something gets neglected and something suffers.

I am a lot like my mother who needs to be in constant movement, who always has an agenda. Only my mom was tyrannical about how her schedule was followed and we all had to follow it. My parents worked Monday through Saturday and when Sunday followed - boy, did I dread it. Come Sunday morning my mom would stand at my room door and shout at me at 8am with,
"Aiya, why you still sleeping? You so lazy! Get up! Get up!"

Literally 5 minutes later she'd follow with,
"What? You plan on sleeping all day, you lazy good for nothing! Get up! Get up!"

And 2 minutes later,
"Aiya!! Still sleeping!?! Get up! You have to vacumn, do the laundry, visit grandma, buy groceries, make breakfast, wash the floors, clean the bathroom, walk the dog, bathe the dog, fold and put away the clothes and mow the lawn! You so lazy! Aiya! Get up! Get up!"

She'd also follow all this with sucking her teeth, shaking her head and walking away with disgust. We knew we were in real trouble if she began performing the first task on her schedule by herself because she would start crying and muttering under her breath,
"Good for nothing daughters. Why am I so unlucky to have such ungrateful children? Why they treat me like this? Why they so lazy? All my fault...all my fault... I did something wrong in past life/to ancestors/to gods..."

If we got her to this state, well, that was the end of any kind of enjoyable Sunday for the rest of that day - and possible for the rest of the week.

Although I'm sure my mom had other things in mind while acting this way, I don't want to be someone who is in constant motion for the sake of being in motion. There has to be a functional and enjoyable purpose for me. So any type of cleaning activity is really out of the question for me. But I do feel like I have to do something productive with my time. I just wish sleeping would be a productive activity for me right now....sigh.

Beyond ABA,,,

Sometimes its hard to remember that working with children with autism is not just work. It's a child's life, more than just my desire to decrease/increase this or that behavior. A child's life, someone's baby...

Several years ago, after providing a single mother a tour of my school, I left off stating that her child would be placed on our waiting list for September and I would call her if we accept him. The child was a gorgeous two year old with the biggest grin on his face. However, mom still had him in a stroller and he could not and would not walk. Several weeks later, we were able to accept him to the school not only for September but I was able to push it for the summer term as well. The mom was ecstatic and later sent me a card thanking me for taking him in so early. Her gratitude was so sincere and warm and I was appreciative but never really gave it much thought. His first day of school was filled with so much tears that we could barely do anything with him - much less teach him to walk! But we were so determined and kept on with him for weeks with him crying like that. By my last year there, he did in fact learn to walk - run even! and learned to make a close approximation of the sign for "car" and learned to imitate the sound "Ah". I felt a great deal of pride in myself, my program, and my amazing and dedicated staff. Although I knew our hard work had helped send this little boy on a start to a better path in life, I wasn't thinking about him but at our success with him. It wasn't until the last day at my job, this mother pulled me aside and said to me with tears in her eyes, "Do you remember when you told me that you were able to take him in early? I was so happy, I cried. You've changed his life and I could never thank you enough for what you've done". Although that small action was no great feat, did not involve a complicated treatment plan filled with reinforcement schedules, shaping, extinction, or fading, nor twenty five hours a week repeating the same drills over and over, I was filled with a sense of humility. It struck me right there that this child was more than MY job, more than MY sense of pride, more than MY program and staff, this was someone's child, a little guy who was deeply loved, who holds, unknowingly, the dreams and hopes of his mother - with or without the ABA.

It's an uncomfortable feeling when I realize I have become too clinical, too administrative, and not humane enough. And every so often, when I truly do forget, something happens to just kinda smack me in the face and say "Hey stoopid, look at this child and not at the graphs!"

Festivus for the Rest of Us!

Yesterday night was our annual celebration of Festivus between my closest and dearest friends. Yes, I'm talking about Festivus as inspired by Frank Costanza on Seinfield. For Frank, it began as a struggle with a man over a doll they were both trying to purchase for their children; the doll in the end was destroyed and Frank realized that there must be a better way than all of this commercialization during the holidays. Thus was born, Festivus. The history of Festivus is actually true and was developed from one of Seinfield's writers whose father found it through researching ancient European holidays.

Our history with Festivus really began when we all realized we were dirt poor and couldn't afford gifts for each other. So we all made some excellent non traditional grub, slapped together a Festivus pole and drank to severe inebriation. Of course, along the lines of the traditional Festivus activities, we did have our "Airing of Grievances" - which involved mostly people we hate at work and family. Some choice grievances:
"To (boyfriend) who has taken seven years off my life!"
"To all the people who work for me - well except the fifteen year old, he's cool"
"To (friend at the table) who broke my (friend's boyfriend as mentioned above)"
"To (me!) who ruined my mother's meatball recipe!" - (well that was obviously from the man, apparently my meatballs should not have been fried first therefore making them too dry. Screw you, the man!)
"To my in-laws who drive me crazy" - wife
"To my in-laws who drive me crazy" - husband

We did however veer from traditions by playing Pictionary instead of the "Feats of Strength" which is certainly much easier on our backs but harder on our wrists! After all the high stress cooking I did for my family this year, ungrateful looks during gift exchanges, and the coolness of my family once feeding is over, well let's just say, I look forward to Festivus next year.

Journey to intelligence...or A.K.A. How I never made it

So I didn't become a little bit more educated, cultured, or refined. Instead, I drove around the block for over an hour desperately looking for a parking spot and cursing every driver who found one in front of me. Now don't get me stupid, I did, at about 30 minutes in, look for a garage but even that was full. I realized stupid people like to go to the museum on holidays. So after what seemed like the 150th time going around the same blocks within a 3 block radius of the museum, getting closer to hitting pedestrians leisurely crossing the street despite the "Don't Walk" sign every time, cursing obscenities under my breath each time a cab cut me off and viewing the outrageous line down the stairs of the MET and around the block, I said "Screw this, I'm going to the MoMa!"

So with my pursuit of feeling just a tad bit smarter, I drove with gusto - "Ha Ha", I think, "I've beaten the game!" (Of course, after over an hour of looking for parking - I think I really lost than gained.) I entered the garage immediately, walked to the MoMa, and warned that brain of mind - "Watch out now, you are going on overload!"........

And almost instantly I got shoved by a large family from Wisconsin with blonde hair, followed by a German couple and a large giggling pack of Japanese girls sporting boots made for astronauts who are about 8 feet tall. Well then....

I strongly believe that if one goes to the museum the following must be adhered to:
1) You must go alone
Going with a group of people distracts me from taking in what the piece has to offer me.
Going with a group of people keeps me from wandering to where my eye takes me.
Going with a group of people makes me want to rip my hair out every time the statement "Well, I could've fucking did that with one hand tied behind my back while taking a shit" is said.

2) You must go when it's not crowded. For reasons, check rule number 1 above.

I love art and to me, art captures the artist's very thoughts and emotions - the way they think at that moment in time, the way they feel, the way they see it.... I enjoy immersing myself into a piece and completely understanding, even if it's just a fraction of a second, what someone else is thinking. A person only understands what is in their own mind; at times it's hard to believe that other people are actually real because I can never get in there and experience what they feel myself. It's like I'm starring in my very own play and everyone else is just a prop. But viewing art makes me realize that I am not alone....that I am not the lead in this drama sometimes comedy...and that sometimes, I'm just an extra standing around in the background.

So I did spend the time battling my way to look at pieces with pretentious artists and art lovers like me. It wasn't the ideal way I would've spent at the MoMa but it wasn't a total loss.

Later I went to the village, but in between that I decided it would be a good idea to get lost driving around in Central Park and get lost driving around Columbus Circle (Goddammit why don't they have a sign that tells me where Broadway begins again?). I met up with my best friends and we went to a fantastic southern style restaurant called Mara's. It was absolutely fantastic; homey comfort food with great service. Since we were all sporting some kind of camera (be it on the phone or an actual camera), I decided that we should only take pictures of liquids that night - a liquid theme if you will. Unfortunately, since we were drinking, we ended up taking pictures of our beer...a lot of pictures of our beers. Any creative juice in us was completely wiped away by the alcohol and unfortunately taking pictures of our beers in various states (like in our mouths, like pouring another glass) seemed like the creative thing to do. Hmmm... Afterwards, we headed to a comfy little dive bar and did our usual "ask each other a million questions that start with WHAT IF - " for the rest of the night.

So my battle with my brain has ended - although I didn't have that heightened experience of feeling cultured, smarter, or wiser - I did learn this: Never expect anything - just go and do it. Oh, and I learned that my best friend got caught having sex in a car by a cop.

Onward brain!

I'm out! I'm out! I'm out!

It's surprising to see the amount of bloggers out there - a community that I have been a part of for a long time. I have several websites out there and prolly signed up for many easier web publishing systems like livejournal, blogger, myspace....etc. and have created websites but every so often I find the tempting urge to find another private space to rant and rave. Ok, this is going to be the "it's ok for the friends and the man" blog. Ah well...there goes my public privacy. But truthfully, what isn't a blog without an attention seeking author behind it?

So I'm married now.

I feel I'm getting dumber by the minute. I have finished reading a friend's blog and decided that my lack of productivity and creativity (aka "sitting around eating, sleeping, and farting") has really screwed me. So I'm going to take this day off to head out to the Museum and be all "edumakated" and shit. Ha Ha! Yes! And then - I shall be genius.

I forget I have my moblog too which will surely help in documenting the slow return of my brain...I think.

Mmmmm...Wedding Cake...

I really like this for a wedding cake. It's different and will definitely go with the red and gold decor at the restaurant. Only problem is I'm getting the cake for free so I don't know if they will be willing or capable of making something this elaborate. The man says it doesn't look that crazy, he says it looks pretty simple to him (I'd like to see him make it then!) but we'll see. I'm getting scared.... just six weeks to my wedding.

Can you believe this?!

This pic is from Mcdonald's celebrating Asian heritage month (when was that?!). Do you see what Mcdonald's can DO TO YOU?! That boy is a chub! After watching Supersize me sometime in June, I have not stepped foot in a Mcdonalds. I didn't really go in there that much before but I did go in there about once a month or so. After watching the documentary, I realized how manipulative Mcdonalds advertising is.

I love their "Black history month" and "asian heritage month" commercials when the people who own Mcdonald's look like this

What a crock of poo.

But they do have the best french fries....sigh.

Tweeeeeeee waaaaah!

I am a bit less angry than I was yesterday. Why? I don't know, I've had a pretty rotten day today but I don't know, maybe it was the Pepperidge Farm Chocolate Chunk Milk Macadamia Cookies that help lighten the mood. Yesterday, the man actually DENIED me from buying these cookies because "they're too expensive! Whaddaya pay 3 bucks for like 4 cookies? Put 'em back". I was like Woah the man, hold on there, you mean these 3 bucks is gonna decide whether we're having this wedding or not? So I bought them today when he wasn't looking.

As requested (or rather pleaded), today I decided to turn into Über bitch. Yes, I walked over to my all-in-one cheap ass chinese wedding store and was ready to FLAME away! But of course, the person I needed to deal with was in Boston and I was left with the nice girl who does hair and makeup whom told me "Wow, you've lost weight!" So I politely told her my schpiel and asked her to relay that to the evil people who own the place and went back home somewhat dissatisfied. There was so much I was ready to say with at least 8 fucks and fucking and at least 1 bitch-ass-muddahfuckah-money-hungry-shit interspersed in there...

After that I laid around the couch for a bit hoping I'd fall asleep and forget that I had another prior engagement...a classmate of mine begged me to come visit her so that I may evaluate her autistic child and help her deal with his aggressive behaviors. Now, normally, I would be quite willing to do this without a seconds thought but it wasn't the fact that she wanted me there for free, it wasn't that my car broke down and I had to borrow a car from a friend, and it wasn't even the fact that it's my vacation - I shouldn't be working but planning my wedding. No, it was the fact that she lived all the way out in Staten Island - nearly an hour away from me on a good day. So yes, I told her I would come today, borrowed my friend's car which was about a step up from my car (it runs) and left promptly an hour before my appointment. Of course, she wanted me to come during rush hour traffic and of course the car I have doesn't have air conditioning and started to overheat, so I'm cranking on the heater about every 10 minutes, sweltering. But I get there. I ring the bell. I wait. I ring the bell again. I wait. I think to myself "Hmmm, something just ain't right". I call and I get the answering machine. It takes time for my brain to fully absorb what was happening. Then... "Oh shit!" I call a last time to let the answering machine know that I'm leaving, ya fuckahs! and then called the man. I ramble "I don't understand" and "What the hell" repetitively and then went back in the car to go home. Only... it takes two hours to get back because Staten Island is a hell hole and didn't believe in any kind of logic when constructing their roads.

Despite it all, I came home, eventually, listened to a little Shooby Taylor, did my own little "tweee-wah" and " sidily doot-en-doot splaw" to nothing at all, and decided life was ok..........
For now.

NYC Teachers Suck! Trust me I know...

On August 24th, Gothamist, Jen Chung writes :

"The City announced a new $36 million program that will team over 5000 new teachers with 300 mentors(veteran teachers) to help the new teachers better acclimate to the NYC public school system and, more importantly, retain them......Gothamist sincerely hope this program succeeds, because if there's one thing that's critical to building the city, it's making sure all children have the opportunity for a great education from teachers who do care. We've heard too many stories about veteran teachers who don't care or new teachers who burn out because the schools don't give them support. We wish all NYC school teachers, new and old, the best for the new school year."

Oh if they only knew the truth...

It doesn't matter how much you care...

Having just finished an accelerated teachers program, I firmly stand by my promise that NO CHILD OF MINE WILL BE ATTENDING ANY NYC PUBLIC SCHOOL SYSTEM. The program I went to was a joke, I admit it. It is a program that will basically give you credits for your money and was truthfully created to get our teachers who were already in the system quickly certified. Sure, you may have to do a little time but what they call "graduate work" is suitable for a freshman in college. I can't say I'm proud that I went through the very same program but my situation is different. Teaching children with autism using ABA is quite different from the educational standpoint. I have also been doing it for over ten years. The teachers in my program were either currently working as teachers or will soon be and many of them were morons. Some were like me, but many of them would just shock you at how stupid they were. And the stories they would tell about the system....oh lawd have mercy! Take one beautiful example, a union rep basically said to us if we hit a child for whatever reason, LIE, no matter how nice the principal is to you, LIE, otherwise you will never work again. Thank god I don't work for the public school system.

The NYC department of education spends it's money on titles and salaries. That's all. It really doesn't give a damn about the kids. There are teachers out there who don't HAVE BOOKS! Don't have books for crying out loud! The special education system is worse. They believe in placing children in the "Least restrictive environment" which is basically saying place this child where they can just adequately make it. Their teaching fellows program was a total joke and truthfully, there's just not enough people willing to sacrifice their sanity to teach for the Department of Ed. And quite frankly, Bloomberg has no business changing the educational system the way he did. He has successfully turned it into a fucking business and not a place of education.

God help the children.

Let the wedding disaster begin...

My all-in-one chinese wedding shop called me tonight to let me know that my copy of my designer wedding dress that's currently being made in Taiwan will be about 250 dollars more than what they originally quoted me for. Now, suffice to say, I should expect what I pay for but I am starting to get extremely nervous and they are now telling me that they will have it ready in the middle of next month. I'm getting married October 10th. As the man said once I screamed bloody murder (after I hung up the phone of course, because I'm a wuss), "they're gonna rape us and it will be too late to do anything about it".

I really need to turn into a bitch. Right Now!! Oh God turn me into a bitch NOW. I WANNA BE A BIG BALL OF BITCH RIGHT NOW!
*squint squint* Am I a bitch yet?
Ok, I'm gonna march in there tomorrow and tell them I am going to be on fucking TV and if they want the publicity they better fucking get my dress here in proper condition the way I wanted it at the price they quoted me for or I will have no problem going somewhere else despite the fact that my wedding is in less than two months! Please, Please, Please, let me have the balls to do that.

The T.V. producers think it's great that they might be able to catch me seeing my dress for the very first time. Goddamn fucking media.

Sigh.

Mumbo Jumbo and schtuff...

Every night some kid rides this miniature motor bike up and down the street. I ventured out to try and snap a pic of him but he was too far away from my phone. I couldn't use a real camera lest he see me and decide to join the other punks in my neighborhood who like to pass their time throwing eggs in my driveway. I don't know why I've been target for this as the man and I rarely talk to anyone in the neighborhood - it's a typical thing living in NYC, you may live on top of each other but you don't have to know each other. I don't know what kind of gratification this kid gets out of zooming up and down the street at midnight. I would've thought by now that the novelty would wear off and it certainly isn't getting him any ladies, after all he does look like an oversized circus clown riding a trike if you ask me, but nope, he's been doing this all summer, every night. I wanna pelt him with eggs...but from far away, from somebody else's house, wearing all black....

Favors

Black Lychee tea to give out for my wedding. It's so fragrant. It has a very heavy bitter taste but yet slightly sweet. Get it at TenRenUSA. The tins have glass tops and cost $150 bucks for 300 on ebay.

I'm an animal loving freak....

Or so the masses say. People think the amount of energy and money I spend on my cats is absurd. More than often, many of my friends mouths gape in disbelief followed by the repetitive shaking of the head and sucking of the teeth when I tell them my story about my cats. To some degree, I understand why they feel that way. I grew up with a family who treated animals as pets and only pets. They were at first a novelty, then an annoyance, and then as they got older, a burden. My parents never took our animals to the Vet - it was absolutely ridiculous to them that anyone would spend more money on an animal's health then on their own.

The differences between "hard-core" animal lovers and I are many. These are my beliefs:

1. I fully admit that keeping my animals are selfish.
   
2. I fully admit that spending money to keep my animals alive are selfish.
3. I would never keep my pet alive if they were suffering or were lacking quality of life. As it is, my cat Doo Doo (he came to me named that way), is still running, beating up on the others, eating like a dog, bringing me toys, and snuggling and biting my ear after two different bouts of cancer.
4. I feel that if I take them away from their natural environment then I have a responsibility to give them a loving home. My pets give me unconditional love...I owe it to them to give them all I can.
5. I would not choose their lives over mine. I can't take care of them if I'm not healthy.

Despite the fact I am a bit upset that their medical bills have dipped into our wedding fund, I don't question or doubt my actions. My wedding is one day, one day that doesn't have to have all the glitz - it is just a selfish event that ends before I know it. That doesn't mean I don't want it, but it does mean I'm willing to give up some of it to save my cat - something that means much more to me.

Now I must untangle the mess in my hair that my cat Pee Pee kneaded (well I have Doo Doo, I might as well have a Pee Pee!) while I was sleeping.

Soak it up!

Work starts for me next week. It will be a new job but an old job. I will be returning to an agency I worked for for over 8 years and resigned the sorta cush job I originally left my old agency for two years. My experience in the world of autism and applied behavior analysis for over ten years and my recent Master's degree, has made me extremely valuable in the field. I am still pretty uneasy about my decision to change jobs (and regret even doing so this summer since I feel like we're swimming in debt). I completely turned around the whole program at the place I recently resigned at - making it a real ABA program and I even began to make a name for it as well. It drives me crazy how money-hungry agencies are. The demand for ABA services are increasing rapidly with the onslaught of children being diagnosed with autism. Agencies, despite the capability and expertise to meet these demands, still set up ABA shops. The result; a poorly run program, children who suffer, families who suffer, and a bad name for ABA. Even worse still, is the fact that ABA Early Intervention is becoming more and more in demand and teachers all-over, special ed or not, experienced or not, early childhood or not, are rushing to receive the lucrative pay agencies are willing to shell out for them (anywhere from 35 -130 an hour to be exact...still makes me kick myself in the head for not doing that). My previous company, recognizing me as" the" expert in ABA (which I didn't want to be), had me training previous high school math teachers/general education teachers/idiots to work in their ABA Early Intervention program. It went against everything I believed in. And finally, at my exit interview, they tried to persuade me to stay yet in the same breath claimed I was "TOO ABA". It was this lack of support for my field that finalized my decision to leave my agency and, sniffle, to say goodbye to my office, the painstaking energy I put in to my program, my kids - 5 of which we successfully transferred out of an ABA classroom and into a larger less intensive special ed class, my staff, and the unlimited use of the fax/copier (damn I miss it!).

Despite the lack of support, I did learn quite a bit, albiet on my own, in the past two years. I came in with 8 years of ABA experience but what I learned in these past two years surpasses that combined. I also got to learn the NYC education system quite a bit (Damn if I ever allow my child into the public education system!), and really, I just grew as a person. I will miss that growth and worry that I may not continue to do so.

Anyway, my scars on my arms (from kids scratching and biting me) have faded nicely, mainly thanks to the sun, but September just means new scratches and bite marks. Which really doesn't go well with a white wedding dress. But hey, that's me. The man tells me that I'm such a guy - I've got bruises and marks all over me. But it's better than having a "girly-girl" whose constantly primping in the mirror. Still not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.