Don’t go on the freeways

“Don’t go on the freeways,” my dad said to my mom when she first started learning to drive. She had immigrated to the United States and had only taken one or two driving lessons while in Hong Kong. While in a city that required no car, she never took it onto herself to learn. But once here stateside, it was impossible to trek from one point to another without a car. And without depending on someone.

So shortly after she got her license, she went on the freeways. Because it was faster. This story was told to my sister and me as we were growing up. And some of lesson was supposed to be instilled on us Don’t be dependent. Do things efficiently even if that means taking risks.

I have always been naturally afraid of big moving things. Baseball, basketball, tennis…I was good at dodging things (dodgeball), but not hitting anything because I would rather duck. I did learn how to drive though without being too afraid, but being more stressed out when people were in the car. But in other aspects in life, I do want to find the more efficient way even if that means I’ll have drop my current method (I hope).

And so in biking though. As I was biking out of Potrero Center, I just had to walk my bike. But I was jealous of another biker who naturally just biked with traffic sliding out of the parking lot easily onto 16th. I held my breath as I finally got onto 16th…then looked for traffic. Ok after this car, no wait after that car, well just wait… Why can’t it be easier? But then I remember what my mom did. Even though the freeways were probably big and scary to a novice driver and what’s more…an immigrant driver…she did it. Why hide in fear, when it’s better to embrace and accept it? What was my fear anyway? There’s the being hit of course. But really, it was the fear that cars would get upset at me as I blocked their way.

I decided. Screw it.

So I biked with traffic. The street had only two lanes and barely enough room for a shoulder. I biked in the middle of the lane, making the car wait until I could get up to speed.

An Overview of Phases

Spring 2008: I will sew my own clothing, bead necklaces and knit my hats.
Summer 2008: I will invest wisely. I will plan and save for a wedding that is not even close to where I am now.
Fall 2008: It is important to know which people are level I, level II, level III.
Early 2009: Why do people admire girls with bubble butts and how do I get one?
Last month: My apartment will be dust-free.
Now: I don’t care what I eat. I just want it to be sweet and tasty.

Las Vegas with Toad!

I mean, how else can Las Vegas be like? My last time in Vegas without Toad and other experiences ended up in a bad food poisoning incident and tiredness, resulting in avoiding eating, seeing, smelling any salad with mayo for the last 5 years. I still gag at a mental image.

Maybe Toad magically made all the bad things to go away. Not to mention a good dose of friends and sister!

Toad and Blue Man Group

Toad and Travelocity Gnome

Toad and David Spade

Toad in Paris

Taiche, toad and spongebob!

More photos of Las Vegas!

In a quest for street food

While in Thailand, I was enamored by the prices. But more so the street food. However, during my first few days in Bangkok, I was reminded by my visit with the travel clinic. Don’t eat anything from the street, she said. So when presented with Thai iced tea, I asked for no ice and cautiously watched them. It tasted horrible. So I decided that I couldn’t do it anymore.

My first street food experience in Bangkok was ice cream. It was cheap, less than a dollar.

Bangkok street food ice cream

Then I had mango, guava, coconut, coconut pancakes…

Food at the floating market

And strange fruit that I didn’t recognized called milk fruit

Milk Fruit

Then grilled chicken, noodle soup, more fruit, more coconuts…and even fried stuff as much as I abhorred fried stuff. When I returned to San Francisco, I sulked around for a few weeks dismayed at the price and quality of food. It was either huge unhealthy portions of low quality food. Or it was high quality with an expensive price tag. Or if it was street food, it was the taco vendors that I had so many times..and the fruit cart that sometimes amused me (mango with chili powder), but it seemed so much easier to buy the fruit at the nearby grocery store.

But then I discovered street food in San Francisco.

The curry man who also had learned from cooking schools in Thailand.

Magic Curry Man

His brother who had mastered creme brulee.
Creme Brulee Cart in Dolores Park

And best of all, on my long commute, I found Amuse Boche who will appear on mornings at 24th/Mission. They were friendly people not looking to make a quick buck, but actually caring about getting quality food out and sharing that experience. It wasn’t to cover the overhead. It was purely to share something that they enjoy with the rest of the world.

I never liked hot dogs, the wasted processed meat put inside yet another wasted soggy bun. But when getting something from those recent carts, I really feel something. I make it for you, I can almost hear them say.

But for now, I am trying to figure out what I want to share with the world.

Everyone has social anxiety

I am socially anxious. And yet, I constantly put myself in situations that forces me to overcome it.

In my mind, I have this great image of me walking into a room full of people I don’t know and waltzing from person to person. Making witty small talk. Then I would continue some banter where I would meet interesting people. It would suddenly turn into a night of laughter and fun.

Some would call that having at least two alcoholic drinks. I call it simply my aspirational dream.

In reality, I walk into a room. I may be smiling, walking in hopefully for yet another chance not to embarrass myself. But then it sets in. I really don’t know anyone here. So I casually walk to the bar, put myself behind some people and look like I am busy waiting in line. When in fact, I have no intention of getting a drink. Maybe I’ll make small talk with someone next to me—how are the drinks, isn’t that dress gorgeous? Maybe it will continue for a few minutes, but then usually it usually drops off into boredom. Perhaps turning away and happily going with a friend who finally arrived. Then I would stand there alone, fancily dressed in a skirt and trendy top…with my designer flats.

Then maybe I’ll ask for water…and corral myself against the wall, trying to figure out where I could make my entrance. I look for people who are slightly standing apart—maybe the kind where I could walk into an opening. I would try once or twice, but if severely disappointed by the results, I would back up…and plot my departure from the venue.

I would talk to the other guys standing alone—the ones that look really awkward. But I know that two awkward people make awkward conversation, but I’ll try anyway and the conversation will continue tirelessly. And I start asking myself why am I the only female standing alone? Why was I the only female who decided to attend the event alone?

I will pretend to study the menu and laugh silently as I watch other people laugh together.

Then maybe I’ll walk out and forget the entire experience. And when I see that there’s a great event happening downtown, I’ll go. Because I don’t like being left out.

then tonight he said…

Okay, shower time, we would say almost synchronously over im. Then we would depart to our respective showers in our respective apartments in our respective cities.

Tonight, after he returned from a long delay, he said, “I fell asleep in the bathtub.”

I marked “Yes” immediately

Or I will mark “No” if I cannot make it. Or mark “Maybe” if there’s a definite chance that I can attend.

But if I have a so-so event conflict or indecision about the host…I stay…indecisive and mark nothing at all. Regardless of it all, I will always state something of the event. Because when asked a question, I have this innate urgency to respond.

Stupidly, I often attend any event I am invited to…because I can’t say no.

Oddly enough, Chris is the opposite. He likes to tell mark yes, no, maybe at the very last minute. Because not only does it add excitement, but if he marks it at the last minute, his name will pop up as the first name in the list.

I have met someone

There’s a funny moment that occurs when someone says, “I have met someone.”

Or the moment that occurs when a friend brings someone to an event without any prior notice and you are introduced. He or she doesn’t say “This is my friend [insert name].” It’s just “This is [insert name].”

You give a double take. As you step away, you silently draw your breath. Is that who she is—? Is that…? You don’t think the girl with blonde hair is his type? Or that the guy who rides a motorcycle with tats?