I went to the Women’s March in D.C. last weekend. Me, and 750,000 other people who felt compelled to stand up and say, “Everything you stand for is wrong, Donald Trump, and we will fight you every inch of the way.”
I could have marched in L.A., but I feel it’s too easy for Donald to write off Coastal/ Hollywood elites.
Or maybe I felt a primal desire to get in his front yard and scream. Continue reading You Don’t Get a Goddamned Cookie (#171)
In case you missed it, there was a Women’s March on Washington the day after Donald Trump’s inauguration. (No, I can’t bring myself to call him President. Since facts no longer matter, I guess I don’t have to.) The organizers had a permit for 200,000 anti-Trump protesters.
Over a half-million people showed up, with pink hats and hilarious signs.
I was one of them. Continue reading Marching on Washington (#170)
I’m not a fan of pink. I scorned the traditionally feminine color as a child, insisting that all my clothes had to be blue. This was not easy for my parents, thanks to gendered marketing. Blue dresses were tough, and a girl’s blue bathrobe was downright impossible. They gave me a boy’s blue bathrobe. I loved it.
I wanted a blue winter coat. In the midst of a bitter divorce, struggling financially, my dad didn’t have time to hunt for a blue coat (this was before Amazon). So I wore my blue bathrobe to school. Continue reading Broken Hearts & Pink Hats (#169)
My father was an authoritarian. When I screwed up, the consequences were swift. That’s how I expect justice to roll.
I got my first ticket when I was 16 in suburban Virginia. I could have contested it. I didn’t. I sniffled. I paid the ticket. I endured a weeklong harangue by my father. Continue reading Of Privilege & Police (#168)
I love tea. Before I married my coffee-drinking Chinese-American husband, caffeinated tea was my morning drink of choice.
Andy never understood. “Coffee’s the best. Even the smell is amazing!”
“True,” I agreed. “It’s like an olfactory orgasm. But the taste is so bitter, you need, like, a half cup of cream to make it palatable.”
“Is that what happened to the cream I was saving for my pasta Primavera?!” Continue reading Cuppa Trouble: In-Laws Visit, Part 3 (#167)
The holidays are over. Brace yourselves. Back to my Chinese-American in-laws!
Way back when, Jay and Sunny had just arrived at LAX, ready to spend an ungodly amount of time visiting us – in our 1,100 square foot house. With our 2 big, in-your-face-I-love-you-so-much dogs.
I never imagined the dogs would be a problem. I mean, Sunny and Jay had a small dog named Biscuit. Continue reading Night Terrors: In-Law Visit Part II (#166)
