Last weekend was no fun! We spent the entire weekend furniture and carpet shopping. Both of which are on our not-favorite list of things to do. But we had lived with the same sofa and carpet for 14 years, and they are both desperate for retirement.

On Saturday, we dragged ourselves through various furniture stores. We walked upstairs, downstairs, paraded by numerous designer showrooms, and nothing caught our fancy. No sofas even had the appeal to slow down our pace. No salesperson bothered us with offers of help, because they all knew better than to waste time with customers that lacked an obvious buying signal.

Late that afternoon, we ended up at a furniture store that makes custom design sofas. The owner was a very nice man, and he spent over an hour with us, helping educate us to learn that he can make a couch to our exact liking. The size, shape, firmness, and the fabric. After going through 3 large binders of their fabric samples, we left his store feeling good about having the perfect new couch.

On Sunday, we went carpet shopping. This was even less fun than furniture shopping. The large showroom at the carpet store was headache-inducing. We had a hard time picking out a color. We were much too focused on getting the right color, as our salesperson busied himself with attempt to sell us on the quality and brand of his carpets. Finally he let us take 3 color samples to fuss over at home, and we scheduled for one of his guys to come over and take measurements.

We contemplated a great deal more at home, finalizing on the exact design and size of our sofa, and putting the 3 carpet samples under different lighting and sunlight to compare our feelings for them.

I am happy to report that we have reached a decision. And then it hit me…

We want our new sofa to look just like our old sofa, and we want our new carpet to look just like our old carpet!!!

We must be the world’s most boring couple.

I went to Peet’s Coffee & Tea last Saturday to buy coffee beans. As it turns out, Peet’s was celebrating their Founder’s Day that day. They had a table set up, offering not only fresh-brewed samples in tiny paper cups for customers to enjoy immediately, but also packaged samples customers could take home. With my purchases, I received a free coffee card and a $5 Peet’s gift card, an extra reward for coming in on Founder’s Day.

Peet’s enjoys a cult-like fan base among coffee drinkers, and I count myself as one of them. I am a complete simpleton when it comes to my few passions. When I go to the restaurants that I frequent, they can count on me to always order the exact same dish. This is no different with my coffee habit. For years now, I have been a die-hard fan of their Major Dickason blend.

That Saturday I decided to branch out. I wanted to try a different blend to honor their founder, and I asked for help.

A thin young Peet’s barista sporting sideburns answered my questions with much enthusiasm and very high energy, aided by probably too many cups of coffee that morning.

After a lengthy lecture on their various exotic beans, the American, the African &Arabian, Sumatran…, I settled on the French Roast. Boring! Hey, I love bold, strong coffee.

If he was disappointed with my choice, he didn’t show it. He congratulated me, and said that the French Roast is their darkest roast. Bless his heart!

Old habits are hard to kick, and I picked up a bag of Major Dickason just in case. I headed to my car feeling happy.

As I drove home, all this coffee talk reminded me of my favorite memory of coffee.

When my family came to America in the early 1980’s, it took months before we were able to move out of my uncle’s two-bedroom apartment and into a gloomy one-bedroom apartment right on a busy and wide boulevard in East Los Angeles. Family friends came and gave us gifts to help us get settled.

One family friend stopped by and gave us a bag of whole-bean coffee.

Only my father was excited by that bag of coffee. He drank green tea every day, and now that he was living in America, he wanted to attempt this American rival to green tea.

The bag of coffee beans was an inconsiderate, if not downright, horrible gift. We had no coffee machine, and certainly not the fancy extras of a bean grinder. Even worse, we didn’t know that a machine was even needed to make the coffee.

The coffee beans sat on our table for a few days, as my father debated with himself on what to do with them. Then he arrived at a decision.

“Coffee and tea are kind of similar…I want to use the same method to treat the coffee!” Dad.

“You want to pour hot water on it, and just soak it?” me. Then added, “I don’t think that’s going to succeed.”

“Hem….you might be right. Those beans are much tougher than tea leaves. I am going to use water to cook them.” dad.

“That might work.” me.

He got out a pot, poured water into it, dumped a bunch of beans into the water, and then turned on the stove.

He gave the beans one heck of a cooking.

“Still not done cooking?” me.

“They are just not turning black!” dad.

I always find myself chuckling when I think about my dad’s cooking of the coffee. He has never developed a taste for coffee since. I, on the other hand, despite such a humble beginning, have managed to turn into a coffee snob.

Related post: The world’s worst husband-to-wife Christmas gift EVER

We are home!

“Jenny! You are right! My dad is a dragon,” my cousin yelled from across the table.

“That means he can’t be turning 70. He is 72!” I beamed like an idiot.

I have a special talent for broadcasting other people’s frivolous blunders at the most inopportune moments. We had just sat down at my uncle’s 70th birthday party banquet.

My sister and I flew down to Los Angles last weekend to celebrate the tail end of Chinese New Year with our parents, and our cousin flew from New York to host her father’s 70th birthday party that same weekend. It was an awesome affair to see all our extended family that concentrated in Southern California.

My mind wandered off from the festivity and went on to do simple math instead. My uncle is one of the three dragons in our family. Since this is dragon year, he can not be 70. There are twelve signs, so your sign comes around every twelve years. His age has to be in multiple of 12 during his own Chinese zodiac sign.

I have spent many afternoons this past few years helping my children with grade school math. I have become extremely good at simple math. He has to be turning 72 at his 70th birthday banquet.

My cousin’s grand gesture as a good daughter frazzled…her party is tardy by two years.

Luckily, we are a family of good humored people. We laughed, and ordered our elders Tsingtao Beer.

It was a fine banquet. My usually stern faced uncle looked visibility happy. He said that he had never celebrated his birthdays before. He was just happy to have a party. Candles that displayed the wrong numbers did not tamper with his high spirits.

That night, my sister and I crawled into bed well after midnight. We usually share a bed when we visit our parents together, just like when we were little. I was very sleepy, but we fell into a deep philosophical conversation about age and birthdays.

“Our uncle said that he never celebrated his birthdays before. Could this really be true?” me.

“Probably. Maybe he can’t remember. Because all the cool birthdays happen early in life.” sister.

“Like our kids’ birthdays?”me.

“No. I mean, you look forward to turning 16. Because you can get your student driver license.” sister.

“True.” me.

“Then 18. Because you get to be an adult.” Sister.

“But then you realize that 18 is not quite it. What you really need is to be 21.” sister.

“Yeah! 21!” me, alert briefly.

“But then, they won’t rent you a car until you are 25. So, you WANT to be 25.” sister.

“After 25, there is no more good age to look forward to.” sister.

“You are such a downer.” me…..“You are forgetting senior discounts.”

I unwrapped a pound of Peet’s Major Dickason’s coffee beans from my husband for Christmas.

What is so wrong with this gift, you ask?

Is it because this isn’t some shining jewelry?

No. I do not fancy jewelry.

Is it because this gift pales in comparison to the fancy cars with bows on top that couples on TV surprise each other with during Christmas?

No, hubby and I have a long tradition of not buying gifts for each other during holidays, and even birthdays. We both hate shopping.

Is this because I don’t drink coffee?

No, I drink coffee every day.

Is it because he bought me the wrong kind of coffee?

No, I am a huge fan of Peet’s Coffee. Major Dickason’s is my favorite brand.

So, what’s MY problem?

Hmm…let me explain this away…

I BOUGHT THIS BAG OF COFFEE FOR MYSELF just earlier on the same day!!!!!

A nicely wrapped gift under our tree from me to him must of caught him by surprise, and he panicked. Then wrapped this perfectly new bag of Peet’s coffee he found on the kitchen counter.

Whoever came up with the fine idea that it is better to give than to receive should have issued an exemption for people like my husband, whose common sense is in short supply.

What did he receive from me?

This expensive and incredibly tasteful Tommy Bahama short-sleeve Polo Shirt.

He is so getting a lump of coal from me for Christmas next year. Heaps of them!!!

I was busy in the warehouse yesterday mid-morning, when I got a call from a friend.

“Jenny! Would you like to eat lunch today?” Elly.

I readily accepted the lunch invitation. I like to eat lunch everyday.

Half an hour later, Elly pulled up in her big Mercedes to pick me up. She wore a pair of huge designer sunglasses that hid most of her face, and had her hair tied up into a ponytail behind her baseball cap.

“I am taking you to a Korean restaurant today.” Elly said coolly.

We usually eat at Korean restaurants together.

“Oh, great! I am going to try something totally different today.” me

“What does that mean?” Elly threw me a look.

“It means I am not going to eat Korean BBQ beef again. I want to try something different. Maybe I will order what you order…” me babbling.

“I don’t know…” shaking her head.

“YES! I am tired of BBQ beef. I will have what you will have for a change.” me, rebellious.

We arrived at a small family-owned Korean restaurant earlier than the usual lunch hour. The tables were scantly filled, with a handful of Korean-looking patrons.

We got the same dish. I don’t recall the name of the dish, but it was rice, with beef, vegetables, eggs, and it was delivered to us sizzling hot in a thick hot clay pot.

“Hey, I like this.” I was pleased with my meal.

When the noon hour approached, the lunch crowds filed in, and the little restaurant filled up quickly.

I noted that Elly grew quiet, but I ignored her, and carried on a one-sided conversation with her all by myself. Then she spoke.

“Why do you eat so slowly!” Elly. It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation.

I had one minor problem with the lunch: it was the hot clay pot that it came in. The pot kept the food super hot, so I had to air each bite to avoid burning myself.

“Because it is hot!” I shot back, pointing at the clay pot.

“He, he, he…” she covered her mouth, and laughed.

She recovered, then surprised me with, “Okay, are you done? We have to go.”

“No, I am not done! Why do we have to go?” I was barely half way through with my lunch. And she was not done either!

Ignoring me, she waved our waiter down, asked for the bill and two boxes.

“I am still eating…” waving my chopsticks at her.

The restaurant was very small, before I know it, the waiter came back with the bill and two boxes, and Elly immediately handed him her credit card. At least the witch was paying!

I had an incredulous look on my face, and Elly addressed it. She instructed me with tedious detail, how to take the rest of my lunch home, how to cook it, and how to eat it with great pleasure at home. I watched her lips moving, and wanted to scream at her. I KNOW how to reheat leftovers!!!

I bit my tongue, as I dumped my lunch into the to go box. I didn’t want to wage a war in the restaurant.

When we made our exit, I kept my temper in check. I concluded that she must have some shameful urgent matter to attend to, and forcing the explanation of her abrupt behavior might embarrass her.

As we walked together on the sidewalk back to her car, she tapped my arm suddenly.

She had my attention. She then pointed to a coffee shop with a charming outdoor seatting area across the street.

“Hey, let’s go have coffee. You pay for the coffee.” Elly.

“YOU HAVE TIME FOR COFFEE! Then why can’t I finish my lunch?!” I was reduced to shouting in public.

“Oh! He, he, he….” Elly, then continued, “Did you notice the big table of people sitting right next to us?”

There was a huge long table next to us, and a big group of people did sit down there during our lunch.

“What about them? You know those people? Is one of them your enemy?” me, sounding irritated.

“No! I don’t know them. But they are SO annoying! I lost my appetite.” Elly.

“What did they do?” me, much more calmly.

“It was the way they talked. I couldn’t stand it. I just had to leave.” Elly.

“What did they say? And why were you listening to other people’s conversations? I hardly noticed them.” me.

“You are oblivious!” Elly, “It was a couple of women in that group, oh, their voice.”

“You are that annoyed with people’s voice?!” me.

“No! They kept asking their waiter those stupid questions about Korean dishes.” Elly.

I paused for a while…and took a deep breath.

“Let’s get this straight. You are offended…. because some white women asked their waiter questions about Korean dishes that you thought were stupid.” me, looking straight into her eyes.

“YES!!!” Elly answered with unrestrained excitement. She must be thrilled that her demented rationale could be seemingly understood by another human soul.

I held on to my stomach, and burst into laughter.

Have you ever looked at your friends, and wondered what made them friends?

Elly is deeply flawed. She conducts herself in defiance to logic regularly. Abrupt and erratic behavior are her norm. And her worst trait didn’t even surface in our botched lunch. Yet, I can look past all that, and appreciate the great humor and comic relief her presence often creates. Untamed laughter are good for the senses.

She has even better reasons to call me a friend. She knows the next time she rings me, I can be expected to not only answer her call, but be happy to eat lunch with her again. I tolerate her madness with ease.

We walked into the coffee shop, and ordered our drinks. Then she found a table outside, and sat there like a queen, waiting for me to bring her the coffee. I brought the coffee out, and we immediately settled into stimulating women talk.

“Do you ever check your husband’s phone and email accounts behind his back?” Elly.

“No.” I answered dryly.

“Because you totally trust him?” Elly.

“No. Because I might bore myself to death.” me.

HA, Ha, ha, haaa….

“Men with Kids are at lower risk of dying from cardiovascular disease!!” I happily announced a headline from my internet browser to my husband.

Hubby looked up briefly from his Nintendo DS, and sneaked a thumbs up at me, then immediately refocused his attention back to the DS. Our baby’s DS.

We hesitated a great deal before buying the DS for our baby last Christmas, and the DS was presented with a host of restrictions, such as finishing homework, Chinese homework, piano practice, various chores, etc. before playing with it, along with a long lecture on the importance of not becoming addicted to it.

The children complied with our DS rules beautifully. They suffered no addiction. But the husband did! As soon as the kids are in bed, he picks up the DS and plays with it for hours, often past midnight, ignoring the TV screen, me, and my laptop.

“It seems the kids should give you heart attacks. Especially in their teen years.” My common sense was against this headline.

Silence from him. He continued to play his favorite kid’s game.

“How do kids help keep you from getting heart attacks?” talking more to myself now.

I was just about to click on the link to get to the bottom of this, when hubby piped in.

“The kids are good at keeping the wives preoccupied.” he said without taking his eyes off the DS.

“Ha, ha, ha….that must be it!!” me, enlightened with my eyes wide open, then pointing my finger at him, “YOU annoy me all the time! And I don’t do anything about it, because I am just too exhausted to pick a fight with you!”

Hubby smirked triumphantly at the DS.

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