Oh baby, baby!

Though I probably already mentioned this, I get a lot of ‘what kind of Asian are you?’ from various strangers. Most recently a customs agent told me I look like his old (prior, not age) Japanese roommate.

In fact, one of my most fond memories (they are few and far between) from my 21st birthday celebration was being hit on and having said [asian] dude say, verbatim, “so, what kind of Asian are you?”

He lost interest immediately after I said, “I’m not.” Who does that?!?

Anyways, this questioning often left me wondering if maybe, just maybe, I was adopted. You see, I am actually part Native American. And my parents were always like, the documentation proving that was lost, which could have totally been their way of covering up the fact that they really got me from overseas. My cheekbones are apparently reminiscent to those of Asian descent – but of which country, no one is ever all too sure.

Since I’m a little bit crazy (you are too), this adoption-theory was totally plausible to me. At 28, I still hadn’t seen a picture of my mother pregnant or in the hospital or me swaddled in anything. Plus, people always say things like, “omg you must get your Native American genes from your dad” except that I don’t. My mom is a blonde-hair, blue-eyed all American lady. And since the supposed gene comes from her side, this really left room for doubt.

Anyways This morning when I wasn’t working because of an ‘IT disruption’ day (a whole other story) I was digging around in my storage unit and found two lone pictures in my grandma’s old dresser (don’t ask). The first was me at 4-months looking really, really Asian. Like big time Japanese. And the second was my mom, in the hospital bed holding me!

PROOF! PROOF!

I feel like I should carry it around in my wallet so I can say, “see! Not adopted, thanks for asking” to random strangers. A passport of my heritage, if you will.

(And yes, I realize a photo is not a) a passport or b) documentation of my descent – but thanks for thinking so little of me, asshat.)

That time I got lost: Toronto

I was lucky enough to get to go to Toronto this past weekend for work. There was a big event and it was the first my company participated in in Canada, so off I went.

Knowing my propensity to get lost, I opted to take a 6am flight out in order to get in earlier. I had never been to Toronto (woohoo, new city!) and even though 6am flights are my arch nemesis I sucked it up.

Did I get lost? Boy, did I ever.

I was in charge of bringing all of the sample product to the event, and I didn’t trust a 20-something even team to rent a van on my liability-watch, so I rented a full-size SUV. Now, I haven’t driven an SUV since the death of my dear friend Barney, a 1991 Ford Explorer, let alone a full-size SUV ever.

I ended up with a fully loaded Dodge Durango with less than 7k miles. I am so baller.

Rango was parked next to a pillar, naturally, and thanks to the side sensors (what rental cars HAVE THOSE?!?!!@#$) I navigated my way out of the parking garage.

Then I got lost 8 times. Even with a navigation system and a google maps print out, I somehow ended in a clover-like pattern first going north then west back south and then north again only to realize I needed to go west.

This went on for about 2 hours.

It’s important that you know there are signs that say “Toronto” and I chose not to follow them and instead listen to my nav system. It’s also important I tell you that I input the wrong address into the nav so it kept taking me OUT of the city rather than in.

My natural sense of direction took me to a Target, so I took a break from being lost to do some perusing. Targets are new to Canada, and this one happened to be quite deserted. (Note: Walmarts are also fairly new, but when I stopped of at Walmart it was like half the city was there. I couldn’t get out fast enough.)

I asked my checker at Target, “how do I get downtown?” and he said – get this – “hmm, I don’t know” and had to ask someone else who also didn’t know and so SHE had to ask SOMEONE else who didn’t know. This left my completely baffled as I was right off the freeway and, don’t these people LIVE HERE?!

It also made me feel slightly better about myself. And my directional abilities.

I gave the GPS one more try and ended up at my hotel almost THREE HOURS after picking up my car. Google maps told me it should only take 20 minutes.

So, that was pathetic.

I had some work to finish up and was so completely exhausted from waking up at 3am (again, 6am flights suck) that I couldn’t pull it together to go get food. To make matter worse, I was starving and having trouble making decisions.

I landed on ordering Thai food from this little spot on the next block that said they would deliver. I also looked like I hadn’t showered in 24-hours because I hadn’t, and if you know me you know that’s gross. My food (FRIED spring rolls, pad see ewe and coconut sticky rice – because my order needed to total $25 and also, yummy!) showed up around 930pm EST and by then I was completely ravenous.

I settled in to watch a marathon of Randy to the Rescue and I Found the Gown on TLC and realized that they DIDN’T GIVE ME SILVERWARE. No chop sticks. No fork. Nothing.

And even though the front desk SAID they would send up a fork they didn’t, so I still went ahead and ate my whole dinner, all three ‘courses’, with my fingers.