Each weekend I come home to Garden Grove to do my laundry at my parents house (the same house I lived in since I was 6) since it grosses me out to use the communal laundry services in the basement of my apartment building in LA. Which by the way, every now and then, because the supplemental back elevator is used while the main lobby elevator is being repaired, and because people on every floor, including the basement floor, presses all the buttons, I ride down to the basement then stopping at each floor before reaching my floor, the seventh. There was this one time I got into the elevator from the first floor, shut the squeaky doors of the elevator, expecting it to go up, in fact went down a floor to the basement instead. Well, this is an old-fashioned building with an old-fashioned elevator that required you to open the doors, then promptly shut them before it heads to the next floor. To my surprise (and disgust) there was a guy sleeping the basement! I only saw his feet and part of his pants, but either way, it just didnt look right…ew gross. Continuing on, so for the past 2 months, this has been the routine, come home to do laundry. Which is nice, not only because of the convenience of not having to watch the washer and dryer loads, or the sense of “visiting” my family after a week-long stress-fest at work, but it’s actually the food that I grew up eating everyday for the past 23 years and 3 months, that now, I crave all the time, but only get once a week. I never thought that I would have the same hankering for Vietnamese dishes my mom has made for years the way I do now. I remember when I would get so tired of it and eat out at American, Mexican or Italian style restaurants just just to give my pallette a change of pace. Silly me, now working in LA, there is that kind of food everywhere, on a weekly, if not, daily basis provided by the company and/or clients. Unlike most people who count the days until the weekend just that have a break or to vacation, I count the days before I can eat a full meal that will satiate me, mind, soul, and tummy. Each week it alternates between savory yummies like, wantons, vermicelli and eggrolls with bbq pork, mung bean soup, fried rice, her special chow mein, sautéed green beans in a garlic sauce, grilled pork chops, sweet and sour and spicy soup and plenty other dishes (I’m getting to hungry thinking of more to blog about). This is home cookin’, made with love.

Mildly digressing, now.

We went to a bbq last night, late in the evening. It was at a house of friend of a friend of his in HB. Nice neighborhood, however, no parking whatsoever. We had food, booze and fireworks. There was a 3month old there as well. Sleeping on his tummy in his little cradle. Later that night, it was feeding time and his mom was just about to burp him after we got back from watching the fireworks set off at the pier. We walked in to see this tiny guy sitting hunched over his mothers right hand with a towel tucked under his chin. It was too cute and the sight of this little person, nearly rolled up perfectly in a tiny ball instantly reminded me of my rolly polly days.

Seeing this, set my ADD mind into full overdrive and I began to think of my babies that were still out in space somewhere waiting for the right time to come down. And that right time wouldn’t (shouldn’t) come until I’m secure and stable by my own means. Also, having that father figure would be important as well.

Then, thinking about that, sent my mind onto another tangent.

One of our friends recently asked us out to dinner with his new gal pal. This was a first for me to see him looking at a girl with googly eyes, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and just plain enjoying this girl’s presence all she so recently meant to him. I was happy for him, but I couldn’t help but wonder, if while he’s creating this new relationship into possibly happily ever after, would he soon forget me?

I went outside about 15mins ago for a smoke at work, saw a rolly polly crawling on the patio and began to reminisce. I remember when my family lived in our old apartment in Buena Park. I was about 5 years old. I was fascinated with these strange animals, how when I would pick them up and touch their little legs, they would curl up into a tiny ball, protecting it’s pale grey underbelly. I would wonder all the curious things children thought about any new animal they’d encounter, where they’re going, what they eat, if and how they talked to one another, etc. Each afternoon, I would sit outside on the grass and wait to see one crawl from the edge of the lawn onto the cement, going about it’s business. Those were carefree days when I had all the time in the world to do absolutely nothing and not be worried I was ruining my life sitting idle.

Those days were left behind and are non-existent nowadays.