Update...

I'm composing my entire blog post today around an excerpt from a book I read this morning. Whilst the bulk of this post's wit will depend entirely upon Bill Bryson and his astute renderings of self-awareness, I include it as the impetus for my last post's follow-up.

Whenever anyone's ever asked me "so why are you getting surgery? what for? Sleeping? Snoring? Why, is it bad?" I always stuttered and groped around for the proper description, somewhat embarrassed and flustered for the accurate depiction of why I got surgery.

If anyone ever asks me from now on, I will now respond, word for word, with the following:

"I am not, I regret to say, a discreet and fetching sleeper. Most people when they nod off look as if they could do with a blanket; I look as if I could do with medical attention. I sleep as if injected with a powerful experimental muscle relaxant. My legs fall open in a grotesque come-hither manner; my knuckles brush the floor. Whatever is inside - tongue, uvula, moist bubbles of intestinal air - decides to leak out. From time to time, like one of those nodding-duck toys, my head tips forward to empty a quart of so of viscous drool onto my lap, then falls back again to begin loading again with a noise like a toilet cistern filling.

And I snore, hugely and helplessly, like a cartoon character, with rubbery flapping lips and prolonged steam-valve exhalations. For long periods I grow unnaturally still, in a way that inclines onlookers to exchange glances and lean forward in concern, then dramatically I stiffen and, after a tantalizing pause, begin to bounce and jostle in a series of whole-body spasms of the sort that bring to mind an electric chair when the switch is thrown. Then I shriek once or twice in a piercing and effeminate manner and wake up to find that all motion within five hundred feet has stopped and all children under eight are clutching their mothers' hems. It is a terrible burden to bear."

This, my friends, is what I dealt with pretty much since I was about, oh, twelve. I know this from vehement and vigorous agreements from close family members and friends (many of whom have shaken me awake in the middle of the night to ask if I was dead) and also from the awe-struck stares I get from fellow passengers on the Metro when I've woken up from my daily post-work-commute-nap. I know I can't be attractive; I always wake up with my mouth hanging as wide open as humanly possible, usually with drool, and my neck arched back in a manner like unto the velociraptor skeletons from Jurassic Park who fossilized in improbably and extremely uncomfortable looking positions. I can only imagine the volume of my snoring.

I knew that I most likely had sleep apnea, but it had to be scientifically proven, so I voluntarily subjected myself to the following sleep studies:

After which it was determined that I could either spend the rest of my life wearing a full-face Darth Vader mask that shoved so much air into my nose and mouth that my respiratory system involuntarily shut down, or get surgery to remove parts of the back of my throat and tongue to increase breathing. Or... snore for the rest of my life and continue to fall asleep while driving and in boring meetings.

I'll spare the photos of my mouth (trust me... it was gross) but suffice to say that while I still may sleep with my mouth wide open and vast quantities of drool, at least the snoring has stopped. Huzzah!

Facial Carnage...

So in a stroke of mandibular synchronicity, "Mr. Keng" is getting all four of his wisdom teeth ripped out of his face this coming Friday. I myself have a scheduled "UPPP (otherwise known as a Uvulopalatopharyngoplasty)/tonsillectomy/something else whose official name eludes my memory" for the 28th of September. Basically the end result is that both Mr. Keng and I will have extremely painful oral recoveries with limited food consumptions.

Fortunately, as we are not getting our surgeries at the *exact* same time, we will have time to feed each other mushy tasteless and chew-less food for weeks!!! I'm making up a list of foods, but I want to get your feedback: what should we stock up on tonight on our trip to the grocery store??

Food Tragedies...

I know we've all them: those tragic moments in life where you're gleefully anticipating the satisfaction of some particular something, something you've looked forward to, something you think *finally! I'm about to be truly satisfied!* only to have your bubble of potential euphoria burst with reality, mistakes on your end and theirs, and for lack of better expression, "BOOOOOOOOOOOO...."

Today I relate three instances of such disappointments, all food-related (because really, my life revolves around food, which all human lives should) and all within the past month. These have also all been due to my ever-continuing attempts at eating "healthier"... clearly I should just give up and succumb to a life of morbid obesity. In sequential order:

1) Wendy's Spicy Chicken Sandwich... the most glorious, euphoric item Wendy's offers on their menu. I'd been abstaining for nearly a year now because hello, it's a deep fried chicken cutlet smothered in mayonnaise. Every time we drive from D.C. to Rochester and back, we stop at Wendy's for something to eat (it's the only drive through we both like) and every time Matt orders one, and every time I have to tell myself, "no spicy chicken sandwich, it's bad for you."

Well, this past July we were driving past Wendy's for the nth time, and I had been restraining for so long, I finally caved in. So we ordered TWO spicy chicken sandwiches (mine without mayonnaise though), they gave us our food, we sped away, I merrily tore open the fake foil, sunk my teeth into the fried chicken... no spice. No taste. In fact, it was the blandest piece of fried chicken I've ever consumed. Well okay, it had *some* taste, but apparently they had given us two "Homestyle" chicken sandwiches instead of spicy. Matt claims his was "less spicy than usual" but was later finally forced to concede that they had made a mistake. As we drove by another Wendy's literally minutes later, he offered to drive in and return it, or demand a new one, but I had already morosely finished my homestyle sandwich and now could really not justify a spicy one.

Do you KNOW how awful a Homestyle chicken sandwich is, especially without mayonnaise, and on TOP of expecting a spicy beautiful mouth-watering crispy heaven? Torture I tell you. Extreme let-down. Do I have to wait another year before consuming again?

2) Low-fat Granola SUCKS.

I have a pretty boring work-breakfast regime. It's altered between oatmeal and granola-with-yogurt for the last five years. I have tried every single grocery-shelf granola out there, and recently discovered my absolute favorite: Quaker Natural Granola: Oats, Honey and Raisins. It's delicious. It stays satisfyingly crunchy in milk, not so much that it hurts the roof of your mouth, but enough so that you're not eating mush by the end. It's positively magical.

The problem is, hardly any store sells it. I have the hardest time finding it, mostly because there are like forty different grocery chains out here and they all carry different things. Every time I go to Wegmans they sell a teeeeeeny box for $5 that I grab but bemoan the absence of the large hearty boxes. I try other granola brands, only to be disappointed by their cardboard taste. I have several boxes of substandard granola slowly fossilizing in my office cubby.

Two weeks ago I was at Safeway and voila! Large boxes of my favorite granola! Glorious glorious day! As I swooped in to grab one, my eyes lit on the "low-fat" version of my mecca. Oh what the heck, I thought, switching boxes and putting that in my cart instead... it's gotta be delicious too right? It's just the healthier version, right?

WRONG. It is the most foul, disgusting granola of ALL the discarded granolas I have ever tasted. It tastes like little cardboard pellets mixed with crunchy cardboard flakes. It is vile and yucky and to add insult to injury, when I went back to Safeway and out of indignation grabbed the regular kind, and compared their nutritional value, they pack the same number of calories in each serving! The low-fat version just pumps theirs with sugar to account for lack of EVERYTHING ELSE. Lesson learned... low-fat provides no additional nutritional value whatsoever.

3) Greasy Chinese food. Let me preface with the statement that I have an *extremely* high tolerance for crappy Chinese food, and my husband, if possible (and probable), an even higher tolerance. We really can eat just about anything. Both of us had been very good about abstaining from crappy food, so for about a week we had been discussing having a "greasy Chinese food night", planning the date of said night, and where we would go.

Given that there is a crappy Chinese food restaurant about every three blocks in Alexandria, we thought we'd try the one just down the street from us. What the heck, all Chinese places are about the same middling-level of MSG-infused garlic heaven, right?

No.

Whatever you do, stay away from the Lucky Dragon or Kung-Fu-Hustle or whatever that place is in the Bradlee Shopping Center on King St. It was literally inedible. The green beans, while satisfactorily cooked to a tender crisp, were smothered in a positively alarming viscous neon-orange sweet-weird goo. Our "three-meat-special" or whatever it was we ordered that was supposed to involve chicken, eggplant and beef, was deep fried to the point where we could not tell one item from another, soggy-crisp, and also smothered in a dark brown viscous weird goo. We only ate part of it, Matt insisting that he would eat the leftovers, but as we were driving home even he was forced to concede "okay... you should probably throw that away." One greasy Chinese food glorious night, wasted... As my mom commented later when I shared our experience, "wow, it is very hard to cook that bad Chinese food!"

I should just stick to Panda Express from now on... at least it's dependably bad.

So I really could keep going... Matt reminded me of my "candied beef curry" fail this past Sunday (note: coconut cream does NOT substitute for coconut milk in curry recipes), or the cold Pizza Hut supreme delivered to our door just last night (those of you who know me know how rarely I eat pizza, Supreme being the only kind I tolerate and it was COLD!)... but I'll let you chime in now... what food disappointments have you had recently? The kind that make you shake your fist at the heavens and yell "nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.!!!!!!!!" You know what I'm talking about. :)

Being Married, Part 1...

Things that you never expect to happen in your life but now do because you are eternally joined with someone else, whose actions now directly affect you...

Having the keys to your honeymoon condo flung into the sewer on the very first day in Maine. Luckily the good folks of Portland Maintenance are friendly and showed up within fifteen minutes to fish them out. Thank you, John Emerson. We owe you a card. I also owe a future blog post the pictures I took. :)

Hearing "Thank you, Ms. Keng. Thank you, Mr. Keng" at the Safeway check-out line as we bought groceries last night; since I paid, my name came up on the bill. I giggled and pointed a finger at "Mr. Keng" all the way to the car.

Mostly, it's saying the words "my husband" in an entitled manner that still feels awkward. I confess, however, that it's way easier to say "my husband" than "my fiance", because when you say you have a fiance, the entire world squeals in your behalf and starts bombarding you with questions about your upcoming wedding. For some reason they are now socially entitled to deep personal details of your intimate life. People will break social barriers for few things: fiances, babies, and pregnant women. I feel sorry for the much-molested pregnant women out there.

The best "my husband" line came yesterday. Our garbage disposal had been making a most alarming crunching sound whenever it was turned on, and much gingerly shoving our hands around had turned up no stray utensils or other metallic objects. I finally called maintenance to have them look at it. They called me promptly to tell me they were finished, which I found unusual since a note left on my counter usually suffices. The conversation went as follows:

"Hi, this is John, I've fixed your garbage disposal."

"Oh, that's fantastic, thank you so much. What was wrong with it? We couldn't find anything in there."

"Well, it's working just fine now. I just wanted to inform you that we pulled a bullet casing out of the disposal."

"WHAT??!??!?! WHY is there a bullet casing in my sink?!??!?!"

"I don't know ma'am, I was hoping you could tell me."

The conversation continued, he being infallibly polite, I being outraged, horrified, and flabbergasted as to why there were bullets in my apartment. Had someone broken in and shot guns off and then secretly disposed of them? Had former tenants been drug dealers and tried to get rid of imposing evidence? We had already been informed by UPS that according to their records on our neighborhood, there was "no way in hell" their delivery people would leave packages on our doorstep.

The maintenance man, understandably, was quite interested in what I did in my spare time, how long I had lived there, what behaviors might lead to me, the shady tenant, dumping bullet casings in my sink. I racked my brains, because logically, anything left in my sink from a previous tenant would have been found by now; clearly whatever foreign object must have been recently--

"OHHHHHHH. OHhhhhhhhh..... oh, he is in SO MUCH TROUBLE...."

"excuse me, ma'am?"

"My HUSBAND. He friggin brought back friggin bullet casings from friggin Africa and was washing them in the kitchen sink.... he must have dropped one in there without realizing..."

"Um. Okay, well I don't know about bullet casings from Africa, but... if you know where it came from, and it's harmless, then..."

"AAAAAAAAAGGGGGH. I'm so sorry."

Not as sorry as My Husband was when he found out what had happened. Of all the things... a freaking bullet casing, Husband. Seriously. I love you...! :P

I hold up my head in shame....

I bought my first TV ad product today.

Yes, folks, all those infomercials you've seen, all those products you've mocked... I fell prey to a product and purchased it. I figured it would make a good blog entry. :) What can I say?

My Firefox opens to a multitude of pages every morning, and today I spotted an article on TV hair products and Glamour magazine's review. Recently having been exposed to the wonder of the Bumpit, as well as my friend's more recent purchase of several Snuggies, (step up, you know who you are), after reading Glamour's semi-positive review, I decided I'd throw caution to the wind and purchase... (drum roll please)... a set of EZCombs.

Yes. I was one of those poor unfortunate souls who wailed in pain every time I tried to clutch my thick, unruly head of hair up in a claw, whose hair fell loose and unkempt, who could not lean back while driving a car and beseeched the hair gods to provide me a cure. O hair gods, send me a product that keeps my hair stylish and secure whilst being able to lie in a beach chair and read books all day! EZComb, you are an answer to my prayers!

Fess up folks... what televised products have you purchased and how did they turn out???

Chickpeas or Spinach?

In my time here in D.C. I've definitely experienced things I never have before, both for good and for bad. I confess that if/when I do leave, I will be a more impatient, less likely to say hello to random people on the street, much more likely to shove little old ladies out of the way on the street, and definitely a more road enraged citizen. Those things are definitely inspiration for me to move somewhere friendlier and quieter.

I have to say though, that one thing I cling to with tenacity and ferocity, is D.C.'s affinity towards all foods Afghan. Most people who visit don't have a very wide range of exposure to the beautiful kabob, or the delicious bread and other accouterments that accompany it. Just today I read an article where yet another magical kabob restaurant has opened close to where I live. Who wants to come with me????

I LOVE KABOBS!! Every time I read about another kabob place I have to go try it out. I remember my very first kabob experience at the aptly-named "Afghan Restaurant" on Route 1; I was surprised and disappointed at the dish that came out with a piece of bread the size of Florida, topped with chunks of meat. No veggies? No decoration? No garnish?

A few months later (still a D.C. novice at this point) I was on my way to meet someone for a guitar lesson, and on a whim decided to bring, as payment, takeout from the Kabob Palace, something for which he had very publicly professed ardent love. I didn't quite understand the obsession (especially with the chickpeas; I prefer spinach myself), but thought what the heck, one for him, one for me, and thus began my journey towards kabob fanaticism...

Since then, I've begun to crave it on a regular basis. Is it heresy that when I read the Kite Runner last summer for the first time, the one thing that struck me was the protagonist's description of his native kabobs and then I wanted to eat them the entire time I was reading?

Anyway, for you D.C. natives out there, which is your favorite kabob restaurant and why? Chickpeas or spinach? What out-of-the-place restaurant do you recommend? For you non-D.C.ers, come out and eat some. Now.

for a second I thought they would be telling my eugugoly...

So I´m blogging from a tiny Internet cafe in the Dominican Republic, which is awesomeness in itself, and adventures with pictures will shortly follow, but a topic came up today that I had to ask the general public--

Have you ever fantasize about your own funeral and if you died, who would come?

Turns out a lot of people have. Don´t be shy, admit it. How have you imagined your funeral to be? Lots of grieving fans? Close friends and family? Happy music? Sentimental music? Tons of flowers? Donations given to great causes? Would you have a huge one because secretly you hope you´re popular enough to garner the masses? Or is your secret fear that nobody will show up, like the Great Gatsby of old?

Until then, I´ll be learning how to dance on the streets of Cabarete. Wish me luck!