Monthly Archive for June, 2007

Dot The Wannabe Horse Bandit

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What is worse than buying a stuffed toy for a baby and taking it back?

Nothing.

That’s why I didn’t do it.

Even though I wanted to so badly.

See Horsey. I named him Horsey when I picked him up at Safeway just before going to the hospital to see brand new Curtis.

See Curtis.

He is tiny. And too young to appreciate Horsey at this point.

I do not like stuffed toys. I have one Hello Kitty and Jay has a Panda bear. But for some reason, this horse stole my heart.

He even rode shotgun with Jay in the truck on the way to the hospital.

If you promise not to laugh, I’ll tell you a secret.

We, er, have three stuffed toys now.

No I didn’t steal it from the baby!

I went back to Safeway and bought another one.

We named him Clop. For Cloppity Clop Clop.

He looks a lot like Horsey.

I Have Irrational Fears, You Have Irrational Fears

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I remarked to Jay as we took a walk today that I was afraid of taut telephone pole wires snapping and cutting me in half.

“You know what you need to do? You need to start a blog called Dot’s Irrational Fears and list all these fears that are in that little head of yours,” he said. “Start with the fence one.”

The Fence One.

I have an irrational fear that chain link fences can break from the tension, recoil, and stab me in the eye.

“It’s not your irrational fears that will kill you, it’s the ones you don’t know about,” The Wiseman Jay sayeth.

“Fine, so what’s your irrational fear?” I asked.

“I don’t like to place my toothbrush on the countertop unless it’s protected in some way.”

My Other Car Is A Beetle

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I have been obsessed with this car since we moved into the new house.

I think the neighborhood kids take turns driving it. And parking it.

It’s like playing “Where’s Wally?” but with a blue plastic toy vehicle.

The car ends up parked all over the neighborhood—on the grass, on the driveway, under the porch—and sometimes, sometimes, it’s parked right behind a real car.

Right by the curb on the street.

It’s the best parallel parking job I’ve ever seen.

I want to give that kid a medal.

(Not this time though, it’s within 6 feet of a hydrant and in danger of getting a ticket.)

I know you want to know if Dot can fit in the car. Here is your answer.

Planes, Trays, And Airline Seats

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There is a reason I love flying.

And believe it or not, it’s the food.

As I’m usually starving when I get on, sawdust would taste good at this point.

But really, what I love is the little “Surprise!”

It’s like playing a meal lottery. You don’t know what you’re getting, you don’t know what it tastes like, and the dessert is always a mystery. How fun!

Admit it, it invariably tastes waaaay better than you imagined.

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I also learned a new thing called Economy Plus on this trip. It was worth every extra dollar. Hello Extra Five Inches! I’ll never slum it in Economy again.

And I know it’s two months late, but I’ve finally uploaded Singapore vacation photos!

Disclaimer: Jay was REALLY singing karaoke in that photo.

Curtis Is In The House!

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Well, well, look at what we’ve got here!

People!

Baby alert!

I have another nephew and his name is Curtis!

Give it up for CURTIS!

Made in Seattle. Born in Seattle.

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He even has his own Paris Hilton-like ankle strap monitor—see nurse attaching it to left foot—that will beep if he tries to escape the baby ward and make a run for the vending machine.

All Hail The Mighty Pig

“All roads lead to pork.”

—Anthony Bourdain in Ghana, after eating something Porkful on the No Reservations series

A Day In Portland

Some of the best days in life start out with the words, “Let’s go to Portland.”

At 8 am on a Sunday morning, it may seem like I’m hallucinating, but no, Jay is actually saying the words.

Quick Change Dot is ready in five seconds and away we go.

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I-5 South to Portland is full of interesting fellow travelers.

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We have brunch at Mother’s. An appropriately crowded restaurant on Father’s Day.

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I just like how The Oregonian didn’t even bother to come up with a name. We are a newspaper. We print. Ergo, we are Printing Press Park.

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We stumble on the city’s annual Pride Parade! Lots of lace, lots of tulle, lots of make-up. And that’s just on the men.

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Jay thought he’d died and gone to heaven when we find Powell’s Technical Bookstore, where I spy these First Generation Blasts from the Past in a corner. If it weren’t for the fact I was falling asleep by the C++ programming aisle, Jay would have stayed a couple more minutes.

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Jay in the Pearl district, an up and coming Soho-esque neighborhood. We saw a ground floor three-bedroom apartment going for 1.2 million. Dollars. U.S.

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We walk into an awesome gallery with cool illustrations and a photo exhibition on gamers and their avatars. All I can say is, 80 hours a week gaming is unreal.

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Portland has way better public transportation than Seattle.

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Jay filling up for the second time in a day. We spent 100 bucks on gas.

The next time we wake up and decide we want to go to Portland, I think we better check out the gas prices first.

Organization Is For Wimps

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My friend Daniel walked into the office recently and said, “You cleaned up your desk.”

I think it was a compliment.

You see, I haven’t really cleaned up my desk as re-arranged my mess into piles.

Kinda like this.

So what if the only place for my phone is on my old CPU and that I take notes on little post-its hidden under my keyboard?

Because people with desks like these know exactly where everything is.

I dare you to ask me.

Note To Fellow Riders: Park It Elsewhere

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If there are exactly 73 available seats on the bus you are riding on, and the next person who gets on decides to sit right beside you, do you:

(A) Shove your bag between the two of you to create a barrier and show displeasure.

(B) Get up and move to any of the other 72 seats.

(C) Do not want to hurt the person’s feeling so you pretend you are getting off at the next stop, and you actually do, even if it is not your stop.

(D) Cough really loudly and in the person’s direction.

(E) Sit and stew, and vow, for the 72nd time in your life, to never ride the bus again.

A Dot By Any Other Name Would Smell As Bacon-y

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“So how would you feel if I never took your name?” I ask Jay over dinner.

“I support whatever you do and I’ll be okay with whatever you decide,” a diplomatic Jay answers.

I’ve been thinking about my name after the case of mistaken identity and passing off as a Holland.

I told Jay that in Singapore, it’ll be very unusual for me to be a “Holland” or him, a “Ho.” It’s just the way stereotypes and perceptions work.

I mean, how many Asians do you know have ang-moh last names? Or an ang-moh with an Asian name? At least in Singapore? But here, there are far more mixed kids or adopted families that you can never assume what people look like vis-a-vis their last names.

I’ve always written under the name “Dorothy Ho,” and besides, when I introduce myself as Dorothy Ho, it reflects my cultural identity to a certain extent, and I’m proud of that.

I know very few Singaporean Chinese women who change their names after marriage. I think part of it is that no one really cares, and the other part is, it’s unheard of to change your Chinese name and mix and match your Chinese given name with your spouse’s Chinese surname.

The creation of a Chinese name is a complex algorithm of number of strokes, and sounds, and characters. Right?

Jay and I pondered the implications of various permutations and hyphenated last names, and decided, at the end of the day, it matters only if you make it matter.

It could have been worse—if he was a “Pimpin’” and I was a “Ho,” imagine what our kids’ last names could be.