Homecoming wish

When I close that back door, the rest of the world is outside.

I drop the groceries on the floor; hang up my keys; change into shorts. I change Oz's pad, feed him, and attempt to play with him for a few minutes. Open the kitchen windows to let air in. Start putting away the dishes. Then, the groceries, my schoolwork, my clothes. Make my bed again.

Hungry. I raid the fridge.

I combine:

-Whatever is leftover from yesterday: old seasoned chicken (mom!), wilting okras, 1/3 can of tomato puree, some eggs, frozen lemon grass

-Some gifts I bought myself: pure butter, mushrooms

I have:

Proceed to watch the last few episodes of Grey's Anatomy. Feel guilty about drinking beer when I am on the SB diet. Dump beer out. Cry(sob) because death is sad.

Shower. Talk to Steve. Do Philosophy HW, read.

Drink chrysanthemum leaves soup. Watch Glee.

Floss. Floss again with new dental toothpick thingy. Brush up. Blog. Go to bed.

I wish I can keep this routine everyday. I want routine. I am ready for routine.

Progression 1

Its my 3rd day on the SouthBeach. Its really not bad because I know how to cook. But then its really bad cause I know how to cook. I keep thinking about all the things I could glaze in honey and cook til it crusts a golden brown. I think about the potato gratins.

Most of all, I miss Coca-Cola. How it fizzes on my tounge and down my throat. Those slight tinkles when you just got it from the fountain. And that sweet after taste you feel hollowing your mouth out, drying it up for the second sip. I miss Coke.

Dinner from last night: Porkchops soaked in Tomatoes and Peppers. Onions and Artichokes in Butter. Reduced Roasted Tomatoes sauce.

Ballet.

I don't remember when exactly, but my childhood best friend-my mother- suddenly turned into this presence that I must avoid. This fond memory I keep but a reality I hide from.

Perhaps its my rebellion or her overwhelming need to control. Perhaps its this low tolerance I have for hysteria coupled with her tendency to shriek. Perhaps its her wanting me to become a doctor and me deciding to become a business student. Perhaps its the stress: her stress of making ends meet, and mine trying to having to one day be able pick up after her obligations.

Whatever it is. It is not the one thing we both refuse to talk to each other about. My homosexuality. Steve. A future I am planning that she refuses to and snidely wont accept.

Sometimes, like today, I wake up to find her giving me evil eyes. I pretend not to see it. Nightfall, she comes home from work and screams about stuff that I threw out a few days ago in the process of cleaning. I ignore it all. I am numbly silent. I don't react. I close my door and avoid the drama. This scene is typical for us. Its usually is follows some sort of statement or proof that I am very homosexual. (I annouced a trip to Hong Kong this Fall over dinner last night.)

I remember when I was younger. When she gets home from work. My sister and I would run to the door to greet her. She would hand me her purse and tell me stories about her day. I would proceed to heat up dinner. Then she would ask me to massage her hands and tell her about my day. I looked forward to those few minutes before bed. Sometimes when I think about having kids with Steve. I imagine my son/daughter doing the same for my mother when she is older.

That is the situation. Its been like this since I turned 17. I started writing this entry hoping that I could reflect, conclude, and do grand jeté across the pages with the finally of wisdom. Sadly, I still feel the same way I do about my mother as I did 5 years ago: unbalanced and entangled.

Its time to get Juicilicious.

They, the world, has been hitting you with this message to be yourself. Ultimately, someone will fall in love with you for who you are and, with strong emphasis on, your personality. This person will see through your outer shell, either beautiful or plain, and become madly aroused by your inner charisma.

Steve once commented on how I look like Buddha when I sit due to my growing gut, eyes glowing with adoration. (I got quite angry...lol) However, now when I think about it, I use it as an excuse to engorge. That was April.It has been months since. After lunches and dinners filled with rich, cheesy, buttery goodness from the finest kitchens across the US, I am the biggest that I have been in YEARS. Every time I take that extra bite, serving, -and eventually- meal, I use the excuse he loves me anyways.

Tonight, I was sitting with my closest confidants. They tell me the truth. We laugh about it. But I know something has to be done. Owning 2 gym memberships and "exercising" at home by doing laundry via a Whirlpool is not going to bring me any closer to shape.

But I look at pics of me at the same time last year. I was -as my cousins say- juicilicious. Now, everytime I pass the mirror, I just see Bellylicious. He loves me. I love me. Being a bit over your normal waist size is not so bad. It gets bad when all you wear are drawstring pants to avoid confronting the adventures of your waist size.

Sunday, September 13, 2009, I will start my Southbeach phase 1. I ask that you keep up with my blog for the next two weeks to keep me accountable for my goals.

Why? Whats the fun twist?

I am going to try to create and cook Vietnamese/Asian recipes that will adapt the science of Southbeach to the traditions of the ricefields cuisine. :D

The GAMES we play.

This song is so adorable. Mario was my first experience with technology. The idea that I can chase mushrooms, fight monsters, spit fire, and become invincible is magical. :D

Lucky I found my star.

Have a great weekend.

Flashback

I went to this public school in Ho Chi Minh city called Minh Dao from 1st to 4th grade. My mom, a housewife at the time, took me to school everyday. My nanny would dress me in my navy blue shorts, tuck in my shirt, hook my suspenders, and tie my red scarf-- the people's party scarf--around my neck. I would hop onto the back of my mom tiny red motorbike with my skyblue PowerRangers bag. We would zoom to school.

I was so small then that everything seemed either really big or really fast...

I was NOT a pig like I am today. I refused to eat breakfast that morning. It was early. I was cranky. A bowl of beef noodle soup (Bun Bo) is the last thing I want when I really miss bed.

Now that I am older, a lot has changed. But sometimes, when I am lucky, I get a few reminders of those days.

You will make it.

Mariah Carey - Through The Rain
by duanz

TROPHY Boyfriend.

I have been thinking a lot lately about my future. About to finish up my last year of undergrad, I feel this urgency to line something up to stable-ize my life. With this impatience, I acknowledge a risk/sad possibility that there won’t be a large enough market for me to find a job. Sometimes I let it consumes me and start planning a mitigation tactic: to push graduation back a year and take another degree in something like Finance or Accounting even.

It’s a wonderful idea. It could mean I get to travel again while doing a semester in Europe.Lucrative and brimming with adventures. Gaudi. Le Louvre. Sistine Chapel. Morroco. It’s easy to follow leap onto this “mitigation” plan.

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A wise mentor once gave me a really great advice that I want to share. She instructed that, for every project that seems scary, hard, and far away. (I.e. Something like finishing a degree, a huge project at work, or paying off your mortgage.) All these things are personal but they don’t give us a source of excitement like something a bit more indulgent. This indulgence will give a sense of imagination/snapshot of the moment that we crossed the finish line.

In summary:

1. Pick an obstacle in your life that you are trying to pass that takes a tremendous amount of work.

2. Find a few big and deserving awards TROPHY for YOU give yourself only if you cross the finish line.

3. Narrow the choices down to the one with dependency and someone to keep accountability of you crossing the finish line the person to present you your trophy. (i.e. A 4 weeks’ vacation after you finish a project at work which won’t be possible unless you meet the deadline)

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As this escape arises. I keep thinking about my trophy and I intertwine it with my graduation.Lucky me, I have thought of the perfect gift for myself. I would Officially come-out to my mother. I would introduce Steve to her when he visits to attend my graduation.

Excitement: This allows me to sketch the location, atmosphere, company, menus… etc. of the “event.” I talked about it briefly with my sister this morning over lunch. And how I want to hold the dinner in the backroom of Rasoi (pictured)

Dependency: Unless I complete my degree my mother will give objections to such a relationship saying how negatively it could impact my education. Worries about my future. As a college graduate, I feel that I won’t fit that picture of the “scary” homosexuals she stereotypes.

This blog isn't about Steve. I notice that most of them have a way of relating to him. I hope it gives a glimpse of what my plans are for next year. For those of you who have the opinion that I am ungrounded.

Thinking about the future, I feel as if I am going to tip over for being so heavy with dreams anticipation. I do want to graduate. I am going to graduate.

Now the next step is to plan this soire! and graduate.

Puppy Love

Saturday morning. Its raining in St. Louis. The day is gloomy, not much excitement. Never really are any here…

Late and rushing to leave the house, I realized that we left poor Oz (our pup) outside in the rain last night. Sure enough, he was soaked when we got home. Overwhelmed by guilt, my sister and I decided that we would take him inside regardless of his flea problems. We know what he is and loves him anyways... like Julia Roberts in Duplicity loving Clive Owens.

The awful thing about love—especially when the object of your affection looks like a cute muff-ball— is that it sometime can be super tiring and expensive. human too… right babe?

Well, we believe it is anyways. I plan to spend the rest of my afternoon spraying bug spray, washing Oz, doing dishes, and if I am lucky watching my new Blockbuster.

(Sidenote: I enrolled in Blockbuster’s 2-movies at a time thing. The first rental was great, but after that there are not enough movies to watch. I also hate how they shelf movies now and all the advertisement jungle. I miss the old days of simple movies selving.)

Bo Luc Lac

Back in St. Louis now. Living at home.

The past weeks have been so crazy, I felt as if time passed by so fast. I am in a constant wired state to keep driving, chasing, ... doing things. It seems as if the task list never shrink. I check 1 to get 5 other.

Applying for jobs. 30+ in the last 3-4 days. Its crank time... or so it seems. I am impatient, anxious, and a bit on edge sometimes.

My recipe to combat this problem? A great dish I used to order everytime we go to a restaurant when I was about 10. BO LUC LAC.


Stuff: Beef, paprika, chillies(homegrown and hand-picked), chilly flakes, onions, fish sauce, garlic, oil, chardonay, salt&pepper, cayenne peppers, sugar...


1. mix the beef in oil to coat, sprinkle s&p, sugar,paprika, garlic...
2. throw is super hot pan... should cover only about 40-50% of the pan... so that it would brown... turn off heat.
3. less than 1/2 cup of chardonay (or rice wine)... and chillies (mashed with the back of a spoon)... into another pan...
4. onion chunks in... cook till soft
5. combine... add fish sauce...
6. last tasting... +cayenne peppers and some flakes...
7. serve

(I like mine a bit less saucy... so I left it on the heat for a bit longer to condense... it gets quite salty. I like it salty so I dont need soy sauce.)