On Blood And Guts And The Ultimate Fragility And Vanity Of Man.

The title has nothing to do with this entry.  Or maybe it does. 

I think the point of sibling teasing is to get ready for other people.  I think in order to realistically deal with people, we need to have cracks, to already be a little bit damaged.   Like, “These are the people who are supposed to love me.  And they keep harassing me.  If I can put up with this, I can definitely put up with strangers making fun of me.”  I don’t mean bullying, which is conscious maliciousness, but just the every day grim, slow soul staining meanness that some people don’t even know they’re being a part of.

Anyway, the sibling teasing shouldn’t be wholly malicious, something a few minutes of alone time and the promise of pizza, can shake off.  Anything more than that isn't teasing, and falls more in the painful realm of bullying.

Daniel graduated from sixth grade today, the end of grade school.  It’s a metaphorical change, and a physical change.  To help him get ready, I’ve been incorporating the words penis, testicles and vagina into my daily speak, so often he doesn’t even blush anymore.  We’ve been trying to get him to swear, but so far he’s resisted.  Pubic hair is mentioned to him with curiosity and regularity.  (So, buddy.  Any of those pubes coming in yet?)  And on a more fatalistic note, Daniel is our last chance at getting a childhood right.

But sometimes I worry.  Have I taken it too far?  Has threatening to steal his eyebrows while he sleeps and fashion fashionable eyebrow wigs out of them, too much?  Will he have a fear of small furry caterpillars, as he ages?  Will he look back at his childhood and only see torment and misery?  Does he know that we never did anything out of pure meanness, and that it was just light-hearted, and if we were ever too mean, that it was careless and we regret it?

Children are pliable and resilient.  But, weird things set people off.  Example, I can speak Ilocano fairly well, but I rarely ever do, since I was told by Brother 1 and 2 (Daniel being brother 3), that when I spoke Ilocano, I sounded funny.   Of course I sound funny.  It’s a different language and I barely have anyone to speak with.  It wasn't spiteful, just a casual observation, but it was big enough to make me stop speaking it, all together. 

I’d like to hope that Daniel will fondly remember the shrill shouts and whistles every time he went on stage.  I hope he doesn’t resent all the frantic waving and gesturing every time he performed, or the orgy of cameras flashing for his attention.  That he never has to tell a therapist of the burning shame of being the only sixth grader with a giant portrait of himself, grinning to greet him as he received his certificate, or that instead of leis he was adorned with Mardi Gras beads, a pool floatie and an inflatable crown.  I hope he was a little bit proud that he was the only one whose family wore shirts and stickers proclaiming themselves to be #TeamDaniel.

That when the sea of mad hormones comes rushing into the city of his brain, the deluge of teenage-hood rears its ugly head, that he doesn’t hate us too much.  That my overenthusiastic affection didn’t hurt him.  That it didn’t make his scared of life.  And that maybe he had a little bit of fun.  

Trying to even out those cat posts. . .

I am worried our dog Tita hates me.  She came to us named, and we tried to change her name to Ichigo and Mowgli, but when it came down to it, her name on all her paperwork is Tita Dog.  It is more a description of what she is to us (sister dog), than an actual name.  (Yes, I know Tita also means aunt, but in the context of being in Hawaii, it also means sister.  Not to be confused with a titah, which Tita might also be, but we’re her family and can’t notice that kind of thing.)

I sing her songs, tell her what a great job she does at eating and laying around, laugh when she farts, hug her a lot  and cuddle with her.  I let her know how jowly she looks, and how much we love her jowls.   She’s a good, even-tempered dog.  Although she is very barky, she gets along with children, not fussing when they pretend to ride her or use her as a pillow.

Often, Tita presents me with her butt, and looks over her shoulder, as if to say, “Yes, you may pet it.  It is a great honor petting my butt, you know.  I shall allow you to do so, because you are my esteemed human.”

She often lies down wherever I am, not begging for attention, but sighing heavily from time to time.  I used to think this meant, “OH!  My life is so hard!” or “OH! I will just lay over here not being pet while you look at whatever you’re looking at, which is not me.  And do whatever you’re doing, which is not me, as well.”  Sometimes, when we’re in the kitchen, she’ll lay directly in my way, “Oh, if only I had thumbs so I may help you!  But alas, I do not.  I will lie here and focus all my energy on growing thumbs.  Don’t mind me.  Unless you want to feed me.”

Then, I read somewhere that dogs don’t actually like to be pet or hugged or sang at. 

Without her being able to verbally agree to her treatment, we can’t figure out if she actually likes us and thinks she’s part of the family, or if she loathes us and it just putting up with everything because we provide her with shelter and food.  But I can’t stop treating her this way, because what if she likes it and DOES feel like part of our family and stopping would mean ostracizing her?  “Oh, that’s our dog.  Don’t rub her our call to her.  We don’t know if she consents to that type of treatment, and we’re just ignoring her because we love her and want her to be happy.” 

When she presents her butt for rubs, is it because she likes her butt being rubbed, or is it because it is the place that burns the least when I put my filthy meat hands on her?   All those goofy sighs now have a more insidious meaning, “When will I be free from this torment?  Is sweet death my only release?”  Are my songs detailing her great ability to find a place to poop or generally about how great and good-looking she is, torturing her?

I’m worried that the personality that we’ve projected onto Tita (goofy, sweet, a little simple and prone to mild bouts of depression), is completely wrong, and we’re projecting something that upsets her/completely non-descriptive of her actual personality.

I don’t know.  But, II find comfort in reminding myself that she’s never tried to wriggle out of my arms while I hugged her (then again, she could just be putting up with it since we feed her), and that every time she’s escaped, she’s always come back home.  

Parasailing and Sharks. Shark-sailing.

I wish horoscopes were more specific.  Something along the lines of “Don’t go parasailing today.  You will board the ferry-zodiac wrong, slicing your leg off on the propeller.  Mothers will clutch their children to their chests and men will vomit at the sight of the frothy red water.”  That’s some speculative fortune-telling I could really get behind.  However, if that had been my horoscope today, it would have been wrong. 

Today I went parasailing.  I won’t go into how beautiful Maui is, because everyone knows this, and it gets tiresome describing deep greens and blues.  Also, it makes people hate you. 

Anyway, this isn’t about Maui.  This is about parasailing and sharks.

I didn’t see any sharks, but it would have been awesome if I had.  I like sharks.  I know they’re potentially dangerous, but lots of things are potentially dangerous.   Life is dangerous.  Being in the water, at all, is dangerous.  

Anyway, my mental image of sharks is usually one of dopey gloominess.  Yes, I’ve got sharp teeth, but so do those fucking orcas everyone loves so much.  Why doesn’t anybody love me?!

So, while I was treated like a human kite, I imagined all sorts of sharks.  Giddy sharks, impersonating dolphins, leaping out of the water.  Lazy doe-eyed sharks, circling my shadow.  Parasailing is a lot quieter than you would think, and in this space sharks yelled for my attention. 

Those jet-skis slicing through sapphire water, leaving bubbling foam in their wake?  Super sharks speeding around, frenzied by the anticipation of fresh meat.  Those were sharks that woke up early, drank black coffee and were constantly checking their smartphones. 

I had to pee and the harness was digging into the fleshiest part of my thigh.  The boat pulling me along jolted, causing my harness to swing.  The sharks paused, waiting to see what would happen.

I imagined a new species of polka-dotted sharks with beady eyes.  I thought about baby whale sharks, pink and happy-faced.  A tiger shark was swimming sheepishly back to Kihei, a little embarrassed she had gotten lost. 

The parasail made a false descent, letting me dip my legs in the chilly water, the sharks snapped and snarled, frustrated and confused, as I ascended back into the air. 

Covered by an overcast sky, surrounded by heavy grey clouds and warm air filling my lungs, I imagined my descent and my final shark encounter.   It would mean certain pain and doom for me, but what an image!  A tourist, on his honeymoon (before the experience he had been playfully teasing his new wife about dumping her into the water, she laughed as she slapped at his arm, the physical contact left them feeling mutually electric), would describe it to reporters as such:  I went to Maui for my honeymoon, and I saw a gigantic (fucking gigantic, bigger than a car!) great white leap out of the air and devour a lady while she descended from parasailing.  My wife sobbed into my chest as I watched the woman’s twisted body crumple and listened to her gargled screams.  The boat jerked as the enormous shark tugged at her still harnessed body.  It wrenched off her remains and dragged them into the deep, dark grey-blue water.  Afterwards, the water was so still, so flat, so clear, you could hardly believe it had happened at all.  

Another Question Dump Because These Are Easy

What’s your best cold remedy?

If you could punch one author, who would it be?

To do you have an easier time relating to the hero or the villain in movies?

What’s your best drunk story?

How do you feel about the gender binary?

How tall do you think Hugh Jackman is?

How would you kill Wolverine?  (He’s got like, that crazy skeleton and healing abilities, remember?)  It needs to be detailed, not just “Drop him in a volcano.”

The beach or the mountains, and why?

Which is cuter, Kapibarasan or Mameshiba?

Where’s your favorite restaurant, why and what do you order?

What do you do on long plane rides/car rides/trips?

What type of pollution would  you be?

Dwarves versus dragons?  Support your answer.

Where’s the coolest place you’ve ever been?  What made it cool?

What is your “geekiest” hobby?

How do you feel about crepes?  (Dating-wise, this is a dealbreaker for me)

Who is the least important character in The Legend of Zelda?

Do you have any personal ghost stories?

What’s the weirdest date story you have?

What is the ultimate condiment/What’s your favorite condiment?

Do you follow any youtubers?

Your friends/family suddenly announces they NEED to stay with you for a few days.  What’s the first thing you hide?

Would you be comfortable sharing your browsing history with me?

Questions Dump

It's like when writers jot down all their ideas, except these are questions.

I like asking people questions and I like writing lists. 

What’s one kind thing you did today?

What is your favourite color, described in detail,  terms of experience and situations? (ex.  My favorite color is pink, specifically the pink of the clouds during the Maui sunset.  Not the deep pink, but the paler pink, the one that looks like electric cotton candy)

What is one of your least favorite color described by sensation?  (ex.  I hate that dark blue feeling with spikes, when a your phone rings, and it’s a phone call you need to pick up, but don’t really want to)

If you had describe your personality via a scent, what would you smell like?

You know when it’s late at night and you’re alone, and even though you’re a rational adultduring the day time, sometimes you still feel like there’s a monster under your bed/outside your window/in your closet.  What does that monster look like?

What your favorite sandwich?

Which fictional character do you relate with, the most?

If you went by your middle name (And if you’re going by your middle name, I guess first), how do you think our life would be different?

If you had to describe Maui (or your favorite place) by a scent, (or collection of scents), what would it smell like?

What your favorite food?

If you were a Tolkien character, what race would be affiliated with and why?  (As an aside, I REALLY like the Ents, but I would probably be a dragon.  (Even more as an aside, so aside we’re in the other room, I think Smaug is a great positive role model.)

How do you feel about ice cream for breakfast?

If you could be a part of an anime, which anime would you be part of?

Can you eat just one potato chip?

If you have a significant other(s), and if you had to describe your as precious stone, what would they be AND why?