Tag Archives: Miscellaneous

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It’s All In Perspective

Parenting brings out different ideals and morals in a person. You see things in the way you hope your child will see them and are more aware of the things you say. With my first child, I definitely learned to watch my language at least in speaking out loud. You also learn that every action you perform, they learn. They learn everything from you, but I think that mostly you learn from  you children.

With my new addition growing inside, I notice that I’m more aware of certain issues this time around that I didn’t need to worry about with my first. My first son is a majority, a white male. My son waiting to enter the world will likely have more challenges we’re both going to have to walk through for the first time, since this society is still a society that struggles with race issues and people who are different. My unborn son will have to hold his head high while slurs are tosses at him because he’s Asian. They’ll hold the skins of their eyes and make a squinty face to imitate him, and mispronounce words because that’s what they see on TV.

Even more, I think about the internment that took place in World War II. I think about the terrorist attacks and how that made our country view Muslims. I get scared thinking about those things, because it makes me wonder what happens if we end up in a war with North Korea. I worry that my children and husband will be taken away just because their lineage is Korean. I worry they’ll get thrown down stairs, have eggs tossed at them, have our house vandalized because we live in a closeted xenophobic society. And by closeted, I mean hidden as well in the closet as Clay Aiken was.

More logically, laws similar to the one being discussed about immigration in Arizona and how if they become widespread how that will affect my family. I would’ve said before who cares if they want to pass a law they think will work though it will probably make racial profiling acceptable. Now I sit there and think, “how do I feel that a law like this means that my child can be pulled over just because he’s Asian and needs to prove that he’s American. Do I need to make him carry around his birth certificate so some tough guy cop doesn’t bully my child?” Lawmakers say that it won’t increase racial profiling, but that’s like saying it just seems like anyone with tan skin and a beard gets stopped more at airport security.

I hope for the sake of my children that I’m being skeptical and paranoid. Maybe things will change between now and then, and maybe I don’t have to worry about the cruel world I’m bringing them into. I can hope that I raised them well enough to not retaliate violently and stand up for themselves in a positive way. Mostly, I can hope that the world is a little more tolerant in the future.

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It’s a Cruel Cruel World

There are some moments in life when I sit back and think about how awful I am. This has nothing to do with self-esteem, it has everything to do with the awful things that roll through my mind. The worst part about the things that cross my mind is that I have a hard time not saying it aloud. I often think I’m just not wired right in the head. My lack of empathy for certain circumstances makes me feel awkward and horrible. Not horrible because I thought it, but because I feel like I should feel guilty. Luckily, I can take comfort in the fact that no matter how awful I am that there’s always someone worse than me.

The first moment it hit me that I was a little off was when I was a Junior in high school. My English teacher was trying to explain the idea of a tragedy to us by asking us if it was a tragedy that a girl runs across the street chasing a ball and gets hit by a car and dies. After a few people, she turns to me and asked me if I thought it was a tragedy. “No, it wasn’t a tragedy,” I blurted  out, realizing what I had said without really thinking about it. “No? Why not?”, she asked with a stunned or appalled look on her face. “Because if she was too stupid to look both ways first, it was going to happen. That’s not a tragedy, it’s natural selection.” I figured I was already in everyone’s “crazy bitch” category, so why not just finish my thought aloud. Lucky for me, I think the teacher thought I was trying to be funny and let me off the hook without much more than an appalled look. That was the moment I realized that I was an awful person.

Eventually I learned to at least try to keep my mouth shut with age, though some days were more trying than others. There are some occasions with people I trust where I don’t care. The other day we were driving back from my son’s baseball practice, I saw a person on a bike towing a full bag of trash without a helmet cut off a SUV. Obviously, the truck won and he was on the road in pain. People got out and pulled out their cellphones, hoping for this kid. I looked at my husband and before I knew it “What the heck did he think would happen trying to cut off a SUV? And without a helmet? Seriously…” I ranted on about stupidity.

I know what you’re thinking if you haven’t stopped reading yet: you think that I need help or no wonder you barely have friends. You’re probably right, but the thing I’ve learned is that most of the time I just say what everyone else was thinking. Does it make it worse that I say it out loud or that you kept it in?

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There, I Closed My Eyes

Every month, I find myself sitting in the doctor’s office waiting for my turn. I would list this as one of the biggest annoyances of this pregnancy. I understand the point of it, it’s a precautionary act to make sure everything’s fine. Well, logically I understand the point. I’m a normally bitter and sarcastic person, and this act though necessary tests every bit of my core. For me, in my irrational and angry mind, this isn’t only unnecessary but it’s also a waste of time. I hate wasting time.

It’s nice to be there so often that the receptionists know my name and I can just sit down in peace. It’s not nice to be there having to use the bathroom but being unable to because you need to pee in a cup when you get in there. It’s definitely even more uncomfortable to shift positions and realize that you can’t sit comfortably in any of those chairs and you know that even though your appointment is in 10 minutes,  you’ll probably be sitting in that chair for another half hour at least. Or if you’re lucky, they’ll let you sit in the exam room in uncomfortable silence on an uncomfortable and cold table. Then, you go through all that to have your physician say “are you feeling ok? Any bleeding or fluids leaking?”. Then when you respond with a simple “no”, they say you make your job easy and lay you down to hear the heartbeat. I almost feel like this could be easily accomplished with a video conference call while I stay home in my pajamas with my lovely Boppy. That’s not even the worst part for me.

I’m like every other woman on the planet, I have issues with  how I look. All these flaws I build up in my head only get worsened by the pregnancy. Pregnancy glow doesn’t exist, it’s not a compliment when people say you have it. It’s really just oil building up that’s going to end up in a horrible rash of acne. There’s nothing exciting about it. Then, there’s the weight thing. I’ve never been large, even though I admit I’ve always thought I was bigger than I actually was. That changes when you’re pregnant; you really are large. At my recent visit, I even admittedly refused to look at the scale while the nurse weighed me. She didn’t judge, which made me happy that I’m probably nowhere near the only one who just didn’t want to know. Now today, I’m scarred by the number. In my head, I look like I’m about to pop and will never lose this weight. I know it’s illogical, but I can’t  help but to be obsessive about how “big” I am.

I share this story because I know I’m not the only pregnant person in the world that takes one look in the mirror and doesn’t feel a joy but feels an insecurity. Honestly, it’s tiring reading about how awesome it is and I don’t think enough people come out and admit that they feel a certain way. I’m not saying I’m not happy about this bundle of joy, but don’t make us feel like bad people because we don’t “glow” the way you think we should. Pregnant women should be able to come out and say it’s not always peachy without fearing what people think.

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How to Deal With Your Gamer Partner, and What Perks You Get

First I’ll start by saying you get a 2 post day today, because the feverish me that wrote the Pax East part 2 must’ve forgotten to hit the “Publish” button. My apologies and lesson was learned, I’ll be more sure that I publish what I meant to. No need for you to have to suffer 2 posts in one day again, right?

My husband and I are gamers, in recent months though where we were both evenly hardcore in our playing habits. However, sitting at a computer for hours playing hurts my fat pregnant back so I’ve drastically cut down even with my beautiful panda beta invite. (Note, I’ll probably get back into it when I get Diablo III and they make my priest fun again in Mists of Pandaria.) My husband is in love with the new Mass Effect 3 multiplayer, and he spends much of his free time. At first, this bothered me because I wanted to not be sitting around while everyone one else was having fun. Then it let me see a side that I was never able to empathize with before: the wife or girlfriend who doesn’t game. They don’t understand how to deal with their partner, and most importantly they overlook those perks of having them preoccupied.

I had a weekend I was looking forward to all these fun things that we could do. Eventually, the weekend rolled around and it was a special weekend of Mass Effect 3 goodness that I didn’t pay enough attention when he explained it. That weekend involved him playing his game the entire weekend while I alternated trying to find comfortable positions to relax in, slowly getting irritated at my boredom. Then I realized that I wasn’t sure why I was upset. Imagine all the things I want to spend my weekend doing that he hates! I went to the bedroom and watched Netflix streaming all weekend of things I wanted to and he would never watch with me. Is it embarrassing to say I spent a weekend watching Secret Life of the American Teen with a box of tissues? Maybe, but more importantly was it as fantastic as I’d hope? It sure was ladies.

The point is, so what if your partner plays video games obsessively and sometimes ignores you? Do you really want him to spend all his time doting on you? This is the opportunity you should embrace. You know how you really wanted to see but he wanted to see and you fought about it? Remember that next time he’s too busy killing Brutes to acknowledge you and get that DVD. Also look at it another way, if he’s that intend on finishing goals that a pixelated man sets out for him, imagine his determination in goals he sets for himself.

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More Pax: Belated Day 2 and 3 Post

Note: I wrote this last week and failed to realize it never posted. Now it is.
When you get that much geek in one spot, trying to get online anywhere is difficult and why one reason this post is so late. The other reason was that I was afflicted with a minor case of the “Pax Pox” or “Pax Flu”, the general illness we all know we’re walking into when you pile 75 thousand or so people into one space. Worth it though, it was really worth it.

With day 2, our first mission of getting a Jonathan Coulton autograph for our son was more simple than we thought. In the ever popular “Bandland”, he was already seated and greeting fans. My husband bought a “Skullcrusher Mountain” shirt and asked if he would sign the starry-eyed 9 year old’s Pax badge. He nearly fainted and spent a good hour later excited about this, and making the evening’s concert even more exciting for him. “See that, that’s JoCo. I met him and he signed my badge.” The autograph thing joined another level of excitement for both my boys, when in the expo hall we saw Tycho himself! I’m not sure who was more excited about the signature, it was a proud moment on my son’s badge.

Day 2 was the big concert for our son, he was so excited. Despite many attempts to fall asleep, he made it the entire time. If you haven’t seen it, I recommend going to YouTube and checking out the Paul and Storm and Jonathan Coulton parts of the concert. Especially the Paul and Storm part, you’ll never look at Game of Thrones or those ASPCA commercials the same way again.

Day 3 was less eventful, we did a last tour of the expo hall and demoed some more games. For all people who want to attend for the first time next year, my advice is simple: demoing games and the lines are better on Sundays. Our son’s favorite game was Primal Carnage, a multiplayer game where you play a dinosaur and eat people. What about that game isn’t for a boy to love?

My closing thoughts were that personally, it wasn’t as good as it has been. I blame that on the general interest of my taste in games, only 3 video games caught my eye and the remake of the Game of Thrones board game wasn’t as thrilling as I’d hoped. I did see an interesting board game called “Zpocalypse” that I’m sure will end up in our board game arsenal. The Secret World looks like a really fun mmo, which is another game worth mentioning. I will note that I didn’t mention Borderlands too, as with a 9-year-old, demoing it wouldn’t have happened, however the game play looked fantastic and I can’t wait for that either. As for something new, our family has found a new hobby that interests us and we can’t wait to start: painting figurines for board games and the idea of making our own little adventure set.

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Big News in a Smallish Big Town?

This morning we woke up to news of a shooting and standoff in our city. No, this post isn’t about the shooting. I have no wish to be one of those “wanna-be” bloggers that writes about a tragic situation for my benefit. Nothing ever really happens where I live, maybe one murder every 10 years which I bet is better than most places. Watching the news this morning, I realized one thing: news-people are seriously questionable. I know, I don’t hide my distaste for journalists, but it always amazes me watching them.

Of course all our local news channels did hours long breaking news broadcast of this event, why wouldn’t they? It was huge, especially in a city like ours. I didn’t mind they spent 4  hours reciting the same information, they didn’t know anything else to report but they knew the locals were going to sit in front of that television screen biting our nails, wondering what would happen and how this would end. I didn’t even mind they showed the same aerial view and street footage while saying “we don’t want to give too much away”. It was really just the simple expressions on their face that bothered me.

They had a look of “thank god something happened in this place, we actually get to report something”. I don’t like the idea of a something on this scale or worse happening and having the “trustworthy” people on the screen look like this was great for their boring career. Fine, it probably is great for your boring career, but what does that even mean? You’ll still be in that same small city local news and looking back and remembering that day there was a shoot out down the road from us. By down the road, you mean down the highway and off the next exit. Yeah, those were the glory days.

I don’t know why I even bother watching the news anymore, I have a smart phone and the internet. I think these newscasters are just holding on slowly because soon the internet will replace us all. Enjoy your job newscasters, soon we’ll just rely on small-town news websites and blogs to get our news.

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You know you’re _____ when ____.

Just a quick reminder to keep up with me and my family while we’re enjoying the sights of all that is geek at Pax East next weekend. Follow me on Twitter as well for up to the minute musings of the weekend as well.

My first comment getting into the core of today’s post brings me to a man getting arrested for reading the bible aloud in public. I don’t care that he was reading it loudly in public and I won’t argue whether he should be arrested, because honestly I don’t know the entire story and the news never tells us the whole story. My quick comment to this is that I bet if it was a Muslim reading from his holy book, he’d be lucky if he was just arrested. The more more likely consequence for him would be a one way ticket to Guantanamo with a terrorist label and a public cry of sleeper cells in Smallville. You know you live in an hypocritical and racist society when that is the first thought that crosses your mind.

Last night, I had two very weird dreams, which I’m told is a common side effect to being pregnant. Lucky for you, I’ve learned something from both, so you get to read about both of them. My first dream has me at Home Depot, waiting in line to buy one item. Behind me is no other than Republican Nominee Mitt Romney, who proceeds to try to cut me in line. I know, first hint it was a dream was that Mitt Romney would never be inside a Home Depot. I ended up calling him an unpleasant word, and he said “That’s why I never wait in line behind a Roman Catholic.” I then pointed out “Then how come Santorum keeps beating you?” You know you’re watching too much political “news” when you have dreams about the candidates.

The hilarious dream seems to fall into a series of interesting food dreams. Last week, I had a dream that I went out for ice cream, and the Glee cast were the servers. A few days ago, I imagined waking up to an unlimited buffet of Chipotle tacos. Last night, the dream lead me to dreaming of pickles, glorious and delicious pickles. I remember very vividly how delicious all the treats were and remembered how I didn’t care the Glee staff served me ice cream, I just remember how awesome the ice cream tasted. You know you’re fat and pregnant when you dream endlessly of various types of food.

So keep those interesting stories in your mind to laugh at me for later. Also remember, Pax East next week.

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Reeses

Before I begin with the post, I’d like to tell my readers of a format change for next week. My usual attempts at a Monday, Wednesday, and Friday blog will not exist next week. However, I will be enjoying geekdom in Boston, as I attend Pax East as I have since it started 3 years ago. What does this mean to you, my readers? This means my 3 days will occur Friday-Sunday, (the 6-8). Even cooler than that, if you happen to be fans of everything geek as I am, I will be covering my weekend with videos, blogs, and live tweets from the event. I may even consider running live streams for certain events, but I’ll revisit this before my leaving. I hope that you enjoy it, because I know I’ll enjoy sharing it with you.

Now, the post. The embarrassingly and true story of Reeses.

Shortly after graduating college, I had a bit of a battle of just not feeling right. I didn’t have a place, as I had decided I’d rather do anything but teach and I had a degree almost as useless as one in philosophy or liberal arts. I felt alone, out of place, and I didn’t feel good about myself or anything else. My boyfriend (now husband) had ignored me as I had a rule that no food was allowed in my room. I hate crumbs in the bed, and it ruined my disorganized “feng-shui”. He didn’t listen of course, they never do, and left the bag of Reese’s Cups opened and prime for mouse fodder. And mouse fodder it was.

At first, I was scared of the mouse. The OCD me only thought of the germs and bacteria this mouse and its feces probably carried, and I wanted nothing to do with it. Then, I named him Reeses, and refused to have him killed. I had grown attached to that diseased and disgusting little rodent, and he was my only friend. I talked to this mouse, this ugly little thing as if he were a person. I didn’t care he was a diseased little rodent, and I would probably scream if I saw it and refused to touch it if it came near me. But he was my closest and dearest friend… ok, I can’t be sure it was actually a he, but I’ll just go with it. I look back in shame though, I had actually gone so low in my sadness I had befriended and personified a house rodent. Either way, he was almost as comforting as the crazy little squirrel who threw acorns at my window to prevent me from sleeping the sad away.

Reeses’ story didn’t end well, he ended up in a mousetrap baited with a Reese’s Cup. I learned my lesson too, I don’t think I ever want to feel that alone that I befriend a diseased and ugly rodent. That’s why I’m glad I have dogs, Zoey might eat poop and Tank might have perpetual “derp face”, but at least they aren’t house mice. Somehow it’s more acceptable to become friends with poop eating dogs than peanut butter cup eating mice, but at least I can cuddle with one of my cat sized mooshy dogs when I feel like I’m about to make friends with a rodent. And remember readers…. People can be rodents to.

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The Lies They Tell

As I put on my new maternity clothes, finally accepting the fact that you actually get bigger while pregnant, I commented the evil comment all women blurt out. I said “I look fat in this.” “You’re not fat, you’re beautiful and pregnant”, my husband responded with a kiss. It was that moment I realized something I hope all women realize: of course they lie to us, they don’t want the evil wrath of an angry woman. I don’t understand why we get mad for lying about the silly things to make us feel better, and mad if they don’t lie. Poor men can’t win.

I don’t mind if he lies about the silly things, I appreciate hearing the lies of “the most beautiful girl ever” and the like. I don’t like the “do I look fat in that?” lie, I don’t want to go out looking fat and stupid. Luckily, he tells me the truth and it works out well. If you want to go out looking terrible because you’d rather be lied to, have fun with that.

The real point is, we love our partners because they are willing to lie to us about certain things so we don’t feel down about ourselves. We want certain lies to make us feel good about ourselves, and we shouldn’t get mad at them that they love us enough to lie. Sure, he’s right that I’m not fat and it’s just a baby, but that doesn’t make it any less sweet that he’s willing to say that. Even though, let’s face it, I really do look fat. (You have to love that awkward stage where you look fat, not pregnant. I’m definitely going to mess with people.) I feel sorry for those men who can’t win that fight. Appreciate them for being willing to bite their tongue, because we all know sometimes it’s hard for them to be quiet when they should. Maybe, you can turn and lie to them and see how they feel about it. “What bald spot, sweetheart?”

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Happy Drunk Day

Happy Drunk Day!

I realized when instant messaging became a staple to interact with your friends that sarcasm doesn’t come across in text. A harmlessly witty comment intended for humor, not offense, is taken completely wrong. Eventually I realized that it’s not just a misunderstanding of textual content, it’s a lack of humor on the readers’ end as well. I make this point so that readers can read it and understand what I’m about to post has half truth to it, but the completely bizarre and outrageous is being written for amusements. It’s purposely ridiculous and toes the line offense because I intended it to be humorous. My other posts should have carried a similar warning, but I assumed that it was obvious where my jokes and beliefs differed. I did place the warning here because I am about to write something that may offend an entire culture, my culture. With that said, don’t read on if you offend easily or if you think I easily offend.

I’m Irish. With a name like Brianne Kelly Malloy, it’s hard to pretend I’m anything but a little pale, freckled Irish girl. Now, with marriage giving me a new last name and fantastic make-up to cover my freckles, I can hide in a corner on St. Patrick’s Day and pretend “those aren’t my people”. I can make a turkey TV dinner, while the rest of my family eats their boiled dinner. Boiled dinner makes me ashamed of being Irish. Most other cultures seem to have such delicious tasting food. No, not my people, we get boiled dinner or corned beef and cabbage. I’ll pretend I really am Asian that day, and pass.

Then, there is the real problem with St. Patrick’s Day. We may as well rename it “Drunk Day”, because that seems to be the only reason all people, Irish or not, celebrates a day for my culture. I fear my kids are going to learn that to be Irish; you have to be drunk and eat smelly and disgusting tasting food. I’ll sure pass along Irish pride to them. This brings up a good point in my head though; maybe the food tastes so bad because my people are too drunk to realize just how awful the food is. Us proud Irish should stand up and be proud of our rich and fascinating culture!

We should celebrate that our families survived the Potato famine that the government unleashed against the poor, knowing they were too silly to grow another vegetable to live off of. Or was it that turnip shouldn’t exist as food so they’d rather starve than grow it? Either way, we overcame the adversity of not having potatoes and having the English hate the Irish Catholics. Our rich culture of drunk and disorderly conduct, and rugby and Braveheart, oh… the Scottish get that one.

Ok, I give up. I suppose there’s a reason we’re only known for terrible food and being drunk. The first step is admitting the problem, and the second step is acceptance. I accept that I’m stereotyped a certain way because of my heritage and I find it funny. If you can’t laugh at yourself, you can’t laugh at anything.