Friday Night Laundering.

I finally live in a building with washers and dryers. You'd think this makes washing clothes convenient, the truth of the matter is, it doesn't. One washer doesn't wash and two dryers just don't dry for shit. What does this mean for me? It means that if I want to do my laundry without fighting for a working washer or dryer, I have to do it on a night nobody else is doing their laundry. FRIDAY NIGHTS!

The first Friday night I ever did laundry in my building, a neighbor showed up as I was putting my clothes into the dryer. He had brought his dirty laundry by way of a brown paper bag. He dumped his laundry into the washer, looked over at me, and waited.

I think interacting in the laundry room or laundromat or anywhere you have to show your dirty laundry is weird. And gross. I try to avoid eye contact with people in these places as much as I can.

So of course, I do what I normally do when under awkward scrutiny, I slowed down my movements. I thought if I moved slower, he wouldn't notice I was there. But he noticed me. In broken English, "Can you...help me?" I froze mid-reach into the dryer. Maybe if I didn't move, he would think I was some kind of laundry-statue.

Him: Can...can you help? Help me?
Me: Um............um what?
Him: Please, can you help me?
Me: Yeah...what's wrong?
Him: How do I do this?
Me: ...Wash your clothes? You don't know how to wash your clothes?
Him: I never done before.
Me: Oh, well, your clothes are in. So you need to put detergent in here. And boom, you're done.
Him: Is this okay?

I kid you not, he took out dish washing soap from his brown paper bag.

I let him use some of my washing detergent and told him to return in 35 minutes. He thanked me and I returned to my laundry, except he didn't leave. As the seconds passed by, I realized he was still looking at me. So I did what my instinct told me to do. I start slowing down again and eventually stood frozen in place altogether. By now, you'd think he realized how uncomfortable I was acting but instead he broke the silence with what I figured he thought was small talk.

Him: Sorry. I've never washed my own clothes.
Me: ...haha, that's weird. What do you do when it get dirty? Buy new clothes?
Him: hahahaha, no.
Me: Are there washers where you come from?
Him: Oh, no! There are. Somebody washes my laundry for me. In my home country, my family had a maid.
Me: Oh. I see.
Him: So, what are you doing now?
Me: Drying my clothes.

I inserted coins into the dryer and picked up my basket to leave.

Him: I have to dry my clothes too?
Me: ...Yes, because when your clothes come out of that machine, it'll still be wet. So you'll need to put them in here--this is called a dryer--to dry your clothes.
Him: And, I'll need to also put soap in there too?
Me: Yeah, buddy. Soap. Good one.

In retrospect, he probably didn't understand my sarcasm because I bumped into him last week.

Him: Hey! You.
Me: Hii...me........and you.
Him: You helped me do my laundry a few months ago?
Me: Oh yeah...hi.
Him: I think you're doing the laundry wrong.
Me: What? No, I'm sure I'm not.
Him: You told me to put the soap in the dryer when I dry the clothes.

Oh dear lord, what have I done? Perhaps I need to avoid using sarcasm around people whose first language isn't English. OR the easier thing--which is to do my laundry at the break of dawn on Saturday morning so I can avoid all human contact when doing my laundry.

My Baby Brother Talks About Heaven.

CM: Do you think people can go to heaven if they only go to church once?
Me: I don't know. What do you think?
CM: ...I don't know.

A few seconds of "ummmming" pass by.

CM: I don't think you can...
Me: Really? Are you sure?
CM: No, you can't. Are there churches where you live?
Me: Of course! Tons!
CM: Do you go to church at the tons of church?
Me: Sometimes. Not always.
CM: Oohhh no. You need to go to church.
Me: How come?
CM: So when we go to heaven, we can be together as a family.
Me: But I thought you said that going church doesn't automatically mean we go to heaven.
CM: Oh yeah! I did. But you should go to church anyway because I don't think you really know Jesus.

Oh, ain't that the truth, dearest baby brother. What we think is enough is really never enough.

I don't remember being selfless as a child. Probably because I was super selfish. It was always about me and what I wanted and how I wanted others to behave around and towards me. My baby brother, however, has perfected selflessness. He's concerned about the salvation of our entire family so WE can be a family TOGETHER. Had I been the one being questioned, I would have responded that I didn't want to be alone in heaven.

When do any of us really ever know Jesus?

On Pie and Korean Guys.

Life lessons from the best.

S: Do you like pie?
Me: Yum. Pie. Yes.
S: What kind of pie?
Me: Hot pies.
S: Idiot. What kind? (starts listing off endless kinds of pies)
Me: I like apple pie.
S: Well you should eat pie then. After a breakup, I always eat a whole pie by myself with a tub of ice cream.
Me: Er...I don't think I hate myself enough to stuff myself with so much sugar.
S: Just saying. It'll make you feel better.
Me: Yeah, if you think twenty pounds in your mid-section feels nice.

6 hours later...

S: I think you should probably stop dating Korean boys.
Me: *eating my apple pie*
S: They're too emo for you.
Me: *spoons ice cream into mouth*
S: They're oversensitive and needy.
Me: I think you've watched too many k-dramas.

---

Pie doesn't make you feel good about yourself. Eating that entire pie and tub of ice cream was a horrible idea. It made me all jittery and restless. And heavy. I walked twice as slow as I normally do and my knees wouldn't stop hurting for weeks.

Also, k-dramas != real life.

On Debunking My Delusions of Grandeur.

CB: Would you ever date guy shorter than you?
Me: No. But it's difficult to meet guys taller than me.
AR: What are you talking about?!
CB: Yeah, you're short as hell. How tall are you anyway?
Me: I'm 5'4".
AR: How is it even possible to meet a guy shorter than YOU?
Me: mumbles something about not really being short for an Asian girl
CB: Um, have you met your guy friends? Most of us are clearing 6 feet.
Me: Yeah, but to me, you guys are short...
AR: What the hell?! So you want to be with a guy who's 7 fucking feet 3?

In my defense, I may have this a grandeur delusion perception of myself. More often than not, when I'm next to anybody taller than me, I will feel as if we're the same height if not taller than them. I can't explain why or how my brain justifies this.

This doesn't only apply to height.

Exhibit A:
My super-human strength: I have a dresser in my living room that needs to be removed. In my mind, I can do it by myself but every time I try to get the task done (by myself), I can't even push it into the doorway. I've pulled arm and leg muscles trying to MOVE the damn thing. Instead of dealing with it, I've left it for another day, just to be faced with the same problem when I go back to it.

Exhibit B:
My amazing alcohol tolerance: I think I'm always on god-status. And 90% of the time, it's true. I think I can throw down like nobody's business and be peachy-gory hangover-free the next morning but when I declare that I can drink like a tank, it's a disaster. I lose all control of motor and speech skills. I become one of those collapsible toys you had when you were a kid. It's as if I have no joints in my body to hold itself up. After nights of self-proclaimed awesomeness, I usually end up with a hangover the size of Canada.

Exhibit C:
My immortality, or lack of: Sometimes I'm think I'm the lovechild of Wolverine. Minus the claws. You see, my body heals like magic. I sometimes feel invincible. Of course, my delusion of grandeur makes me forget that I am still human and I can't ever heal as quickly or completely as Wolverine. Once, I twisted my ankle while running in heels. It healed nicely the first time. The second time I twisted it running in heels again but this time on cobblestone, it stayed swollen for months.

No matter how many times it might be revealed to me that I'm not as great as my mind makes it out to be, I will still wake up in the morning thinking I am the bomb-dizzle. There's really no need to call me short because I won't believe you.