What I'll miss about the nursing home

Since I moved home six months ago, I've made a weekly pilgrimage to visit my grandma at her nursing home. Despite the distinct old person's smell that pervades the entire building, I've had some great memories at the Shady Grove residential facilities. Here's what I'll miss:

1.) Looking at my grandma's pureed food and guessing what they looked like while in solid form.
2.) Having the African nurses tell me I am very tall for an Asian.
3.) Listening to old Mrs. Li beckon to me in her broken English: "Hey, young lady! Please, come here. Young woman! Come, come."
4.) Trying to tune out the old lady who continually screams: "Get away from me! I hate you!"
5.) Giving my grandma a small white flower and watching in horror as she stuffs it into her mouth.
6.) Ignoring grouchy Mr. Jennings as he calls me a "stupid bitch" and tells me I should lose my job. (Huh?)

But here is what I'll miss most of all...

Walking into my grandmother's room and watching a smile spread over her thin crinkled lips.
Listening to her laugh as I do silly dances for her.
Having the nurses tell me that grandma is a wonderful resident and one of their favorites.
Holding grandma's hand as she sips her carton of orange juice.

I love you, Popo. May you rest in peace now.

Justin is far too normal for me

If you are scratching your head concerning the title of this post, let me explain it to you in one short sentence:

Only weird guys want to date me.

Seriously.

For example, I was hit on today by an old Eastern European nurse at my grandma's nursing home. A nursing home! A repository for old people! And he had a bushy gray moustache!

Shudder.

But at least this male nurse was nice to me. When I was in Paris back in 2003, a Middle Eastern dude working at an Eiffel Tower tourist shop actually propositioned me---as if I was some kind of cheap hooker. I believe his exact words to me were, "Hey pretty lady! You Chinese? Korean? How much? You want dollars?"

Gross.

But you know what the worst part is? Even if a guy isn't hitting on me, he's still mega creepy. Case in point: while I was shopping at Anthropologie a few months ago, a middle-aged man asked me if I would help him pick out a gift for his girlfriend.

Pretty normal, right? WRONG.

About ten minutes into our conversation, the guy turns to me and says, "You're so easy to talk to! So...do you think it's normal that my girlfriend wants to be on top all the time? I mean, she REALLY likes it."

Ewwww! Get away from me you perv! What do I look like? Some sort of raunchy Ann Landers?

Goodness. Even Elmo wants to feel me up!

Honestly, how in the world did I ever snag a cool guy like Justin?

(It must be my awesome Asian-ness.)

Only in the Prov...

It's been nearly a week since my trip out to Utah, which means I've had sufficient time to digest my experiences during my brief jaunt to the motherland. During my three days at BYU, I started to notice a few things that seemed quite bizarre to me.

And I've come to one main conclusion:

There are certain things---certain events, really---that only happen in Provo.

Case in point...

While walking back to my sister's dorm room, I noticed a young man walking towards me with a happy spring to his step and a wide grin on his face. As he passed the students who crossed his path, his eyes brightened and he pronounced, "Hello! How are you? Isn't it a beautiful day?"

Whoa! Is this guy trying to sell me something?

And here's something else...

After I ordered a freshly-squeezed orange juice from Jamba Juice, the girl who worked there told me she loved my dress and then proceeded to give me a free upgrade on my order. Whoa! My brain nearly exploded from the excessive kindness.

Had I just been transported back to 1950s Mayberry? Or into the community of the Stepford Wives?

Nope, I was just in the Prov. The Happy Valley. After four years away from BYU, I had merely forgotten how unusually nice and smiley the students there could be.

Now I'm just an old unsmiling prune who lives on the East Coast.

:o)

But I still love that Jamba Juice.