Will they get along?(!!!)

Imagine bringing your partner home to meet your family over Christmas.

… for the first time after everyone knows that you even have a partner.

Now, imagine getting extremely sick, fever and emergency room visit and all, and being buggered up in bed the entire time after the first day and a half.

Let’s hope your partner likes your family and vice versa, because they’re spending all the time together, and without you.

How terrifying that could be, but also how true a test of the match.

So far, we really like him, so it’s all good on our end… he even survived and participated well in game night fun with us all… super bonus for us.

We’ll just have to see if he ever comes back… ;P

Post-a-day 2018

Table Troubles

We spent a good chunk of today at or around the international airport, but it was actually a really good day.  One of the best parts was the delightful misunderstanding at lunchtime.

Now, to understand the significance of part of it, you must first know what happened yesterday.  My mom, my stepdad, my stepsister and her boyfriend, and I went to lunch at a restaurant in The Galleria.  My mom and stepdad went in first, while we kids went to look at a Lamborghini just outside the doors.  When we filed into the restaurant, we saw them heading up the stairs, and followed.  They told us up top that the waitress downstairs had told them to pick a seat anywhere, and had specifically mentioned that whether upstairs or downstairs was of no importance – it was open seating.

However, a waitress was rather snotty with us when we mentioned this upstairs, after asking kindly if a certain table could be wiped down before we sat down at it.  She declared that we needed to check in with the hostess (but would not help us find the hostess, even when we asked kindly) and that there was a wait time, and we could not pick our own seats.

About two minutes after finding the hostess, we were seated at the table we had originally found (and then requested).  And the guy setting the table was unfathomably slow, leaving us all standing, watching, as he finished setting the flatware.  (Not sure why anyone was bringing us to a table that wasn’t ready yet, but it just made us laugh at how ridiculous it all was.)

We were quite nice to everyone, keeping always in mind the fact that it was a holiday and that we were grateful for their being there.  A good handful of the people at this place seemed just ready to throw things at people for the simple defiant act of existing.  Nonetheless, we got our table and, eventually, food and all, and it was a good time all-in-all.

Now, fast forward to today, lunchtime.  We found a Mexican place that was near the airport – and I mean Mexican, not Tex-Mex, and not non-Mexicans who claim to have Mexican food and whatnots – and was open.  My stepdad went in first, while we all parked the car.  My mom, my stepsister and her boyfriend, and I all walked in in a row as another family was leaving, excusing ourselves in Spanish as we bumped paths and all (I meant it, when I called it a Mexican place.).  As I walked in behind my mom, I saw my stepdad standing next to a table just two over from the door.  He said that the lady told him that we could sit there, but he was going to the bathroom now.

So, we all slide into the booth and begin discussing whether there might be bleach in the cleaner (because the table was still damp from being cleaned and smelled a bit of bleach, but my mom had on black long-sleeves, and so wanted to be cautious about touching the table, if there were bleach in the cleaner), when a lady comes to our table and, in English, apologizes, but this table is already for another family.  Could we please wait just a minute over here?

I turned to my mom, and asked her what their deal was with tables right now, and she could hardly fathom it herself, giving a genuine I have no idea.  So, we stand up, the boyfriend telling the lady in Spanish not to worry and that we were completely okay.  We wait to the side for perhaps 45 seconds.  Then, the lady tells us that, okay, you can sit in this booth (the one just next to where we had sat down, and that was almost exactly the same).  So, we sit, and comment how it is drier that the other table was.  I sniff the table, and my stepsister fusses at me not to do so, but I explain that I was merely smelling for bleach, and she laughs.

My stepdad eventually returns, someone comes and takes our drinks orders (in Spanish, of course), and then the original lady comes to take our drink orders.  I notice passively that no one ever sat at the table next to ours.  We tell her that someone already had done so, but we are ready to make our food orders, however (all in Spanish, of course).  Then, before taking our food order, as she looks at all of us, she says something surprising.

Apparently, since she spoke to my stepdad in Spanish originally, it was a non-compute that the rest of us would be the family with him.  Though the boyfriend is from Mexico, he has blue eyes.  I am dirty blonde and blue-eyed, and my mom is sort of a brown-haired, brown-eyed, older version of me.  My stepsister just kind of blended in with us, since we were the majority look of our little group.  So, we were the foreigners, so to speak, and clearly weren’t the family of the original guy who’d asked for the table a few minutes ago.  She didn’t explain all of that, of course.  We deduced that.  But she did say (in Spanish) that she had thought that we did not belong to the gentleman to whom she had given the table, and so she told us that the table was taken by someone else.  But, upon seeing that that same gentleman was at the new table, she realized her mistake.  So, she apologized for it a few times, and we all enjoyed a good laugh at the whole thing.

No one ever ended up sitting at the table behind us, until the last few minutes that we were there, when a single man sat down to wait for someone or something briefly (so it seemed).

So, those were our adventures with table miscommunications this week.

Post-a-day 2017

St. Patrick’s Day

Today has been St. Patrick’s Day.  In Japan, however, it couldn’t have been a more standard, everyday kind of day.  People hadn’t even heard of it when I mentioned that St. Patrick’s Day was today.  Crazy.  

Still crazy, I guess is better to say.  I know that my holidays and celebrations are either nonexistent or incredibly differently celebrated here in Japan.  That in no way changes this to-the-core experience of oddness, like a cat’s hair being brushed up the wrong direction (but while it sleeps) – it’s just weird, I guess – at the fact that something with which I so strongly identify just doesn’t exist here.  It creates a sort of sensation that, because no one around me knows about any of these things, these things – these holidays and celebrations – don’t exist for them, thereby making it as though a whole bunch of the bits that make up me don’t exist either.  In other words, with these holidays missing, going unacknowledged, it is as though parts of me are going missing, too.  One holiday at a time, ya know?

I wonder if I’ll be a super-celebrator of all of our holidays once I’m back in The States… not only would that make sense, but it would be totally fun.  😀
Post-a-day 2017

Mardi Gras

Tomorrow is Mardi Gras and my birthday.  This is the second time in my life that the two events have coincided.  It just so happens that people haven’t even heard of Mardi Gras here in Japan, so we can let alone the idea of their celebrating it.  I am throwing an impromptu dinner tomorrow night (decided it this afternoon), and am only certain of two guests (a Canadian and a Japanese friend).  Not my favorite kind of Mardi Gras bash, but it’ll still be nice, I think.  Nonetheless, this will be one of my most simple and uncelebrated birthdays yet.

The last time my birthday coincided with Mardi Gras, I was in ninth grade, and we had arranged with a friend of my mom’s to go stay at his place on one of the main parade roads in New Orleans for Mardi Gras.  Unfortunately, that was 2006, and Hurricane Katrina cancelled those plans for us.  

We instead grabbed my childhood best friend, and went down to Galveston for some all-you-can-eat pancakes and a good ole parade.  It was nothing like New Orleans would have been, but it was still wonderful, and it started a tradition.  Almost every year since (we must exclude the year I was studying in France), my mom and I have gone to Gaveston for Mardi Gras.

Which makes it totally weird that there is literally nothing around here for any Mardi Gras merriment… happy birthday to me?  (There’s got to something good for me to get out of all of this.) 😛
Post-a-day 2017