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Triple A

Asian. Adoptee. Actor.

Not Quite Chocolate

I’m hardly unique in my love for chocolate, but I may be in regard to my ability to accidentally purchase not quite chocolate.

Today, after a bracing New York winter walk, I jammed myself through the doors of a “gourmet” “market” and bought myself what I thought was candy.

Well, kind of.

Sadly, this has happened before. My magpie eye sees Label! Foil! The Word Chocolate! and apparently, that’s all. I miss “-like substance” and “-ish.”

But that’s okay. I’ve already eaten some of my organic coconut palm nectar organic raw cashew pink crystal salt entity, and you know what? It ain’t half bad.

Having grown soft and unsuspecting from the consistently fine weather of LA, being in New York during a frigid February is humbling. I am newly aware of the tiny muscles in my legs that flinch every five seconds as I carefully make my way down the icy sidewalk. This should be a trademarked workout.

Staying Upright! with Joy Osmanski

And yet – earlier today I passed a gentleman who stood in the middle of the sidewalk, one hand holding up his pants, the other palmed against his back, rocking around and muttering. He smelled like cornflakes and milk.

Also – I sidestepped a nanny muscling a behemoth stroller over a slushy mountain. Her expression full of warning, I didn’t stop to help.

And then – the young woman who yanked her boyfriend off to the side, under the awning of a donut shop, and yelled “THAT’S WHAT YOU TOLD ME SHE SAID.”

Still, everyone moving forward, trying not to fall down.

And, legs aching, I sit in the warmth of a dear friend’s home, nibbling what I thought was chocolate.


Into the 14-year-old Wild

C jr has elected to celebrate her birthday in the wilderness and brought two friends eager to experience piercingly clean air.

There has been a bit of hiking, some hatcheting of kindling, some axe-ing of wood, and hill climbing. The kids blow on the fire. The dog watches through one eye, exhausted from attention.

C plays the guitar. We’re all stuffed from burgers and Doritos.

They’re planning on sleeping outside tonight, the three of them jammed into a two-man tent. Well, they’ll be warm, I say.

Still, all three of these kids holds on to a childlike point of view. Still, they have innocence in their back pockets. But they laugh at dark humor and wrestle like Greco-Romans.

Once, I asked C jr if any of her friends were into the whole dating thing yet. Oh yes, she said, matter-of-factly. Oh? I asked, assuming I would hear little stories about crushes, unrequited love, etc..

Yeah, one of my friends broke up with his girlfriend and he’s been cutting, C jr said.

I didn’t blink for a bit.

When I was their age, I was impatient to be an adult because I had no idea what that really meant. None of these kids seems to be in any hurry, and in their wisdom, they’re creating memories that will not haunt them.

Happy Birthday, C jr. Please continue to take your time.

How many is too many?

Five Minute Wednesday: A Brand New Swirl

[In which I type for five straight minutes stopping only when the timer goes ding]

We’re getting a new toilet.

Let me say that again: WE’RE GETTING A NEW TOILET!

Yes, I’m unabashedly excited. It’s gonna be an eco thing, the toilet. Uses less water. Mixes in some air. Flushing with pride we will be.

When do you get to the age when new appliances and things like toilets become very, very exciting? I’ve been there for awhile. Oh, I’ll be honest — I think I’ve always loved that stuff.

But this, the place where we are sometimes at our most alone, will be new.

For about 16 years, I dealt with the poo of two cats.

This is not inspiring, the act of scooping another animal’s refuse. At best, it was demoralizing, and since both those beasts have gone to the great catnip in the sky, I have announced, repeatedly, NEVER AGAIN.

This is a post about poo. Sorry.

But from a female perspective, it’s not something we’re raised to be able to talk about, never mind do in public. The lengths women will go to make their poo stealth is unreasonable. There are places in the world where you can play a tune in the stall to cover The Sounds.

The sounds everyone makes. The sounds that immediately remind us – we’re all in it together. Which is why I firmly

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