Long Lost Family

A couple years ago, I was having dim sum at a restaurant with my mother and 2 of my aunts.  During our meal I get a tap on my shoulder.  I turn around and see this Chinese guy around my age with long hippie hair.  A Chinese guy with long hair is about as rare as a Chinese person who wears a turban.  Well, maybe not but pretty damn rare.  I was sure I had never seen this guy in my life.

“Is your name _____?”, he asks.

I was hesitant but I confirmed that was my name.  He goes on to tell me with a smile that he is my cousin.  I already knew what was going on.  I have never met my father so I concluded that this hippie Chinese guy was from his side.  He said his mother recognized my mother and figured I was probably her son.

I looked over to his table, curiously wondering if my dickhead father might have been sitting there.  He wasn’t and luckily for both of us he wasn’t cause I’d might have gone over there to extort him for 34 Christmas and birthday presents.  It was my ‘cousin’s’ mother, girlfriend and older brother who were over there.  For whatever reason they decided to come up to introduce themselves and shake my hand like I was some kind of hero who got his balls shot off in a war.  I felt uncomfortable cause I didn’t feel the same warmth from DNA that they must have.

My 2 aunts were silent during the whole exchange but after, one of them blurted out something about them not being my real family.  My aunts are single and are in not so great health.  They were probably scared I might switch teams and leave their soon to be decrepit lives in the future.  When people get old their most valuable resource are people who can help them wipe their ass and chew their food for them.  My aunts aren’t old yet but they will be one day soon and they know this.

My mother was all for this reunion cause my mother is stupid like most Asian parents.  “They are your cousins!”  Seriously?  I know them as well as some bum off the street.  My ‘cousins’ ended up leaving me their email addresses on a napkin and told me to “keep in touch.”   I took the napkin but had no intention of contacting them unless if for some reason I could benefit off them.

I don’t know if it’s cultural or maybe instinctual but people can sometimes get a warm fuzzy feeling when they are reunited with long lost family.  There’s supposed to be this instant bond that happens even though you are complete strangers with no history together.  I’ve bumped into them a couple times after at the same restaurant and have avoided that place since.  My mother was always eager to meet with them after cause she’s lonely and makes poor decisions because of it.  Maybe one day I will meet my 2 half brothers when I swoop in and steal some of their inheritance.

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Making Fun of Fat People

Quite often when someone makes fun of someone else, it’s because they are different from them in whatever way.  I was always a skinny kid so naturally I would make fun of fat kids.  I verbally assaulted anyone cause I liked getting laughs, attention but possibly most of all, it made me feel better about myself.  I think one could have referred to me as a person with low self-esteem or some other term they give to people who are assholes to make themselves feel better at other people’s expense.

When you’re a kid or teenager, fat people are the minority and an easy target.  I never saw it as bullying cause I was always smaller than the person I made fun of.  My mouth was like my gun, my words were my bullets and my legs were my getaway car if I needed them.  I was a somewhat fast runner especially compared to an obese person.

Around the age of 11, I rode bicycles with a couple other kids in the neighbourhood.  One guy was really obese.  His whole family was obese too.  They all carried sweat rags in their pocket.  I found that to be the most disgusting yet mind blowing idea at the time.  It’s funny though, I never made fun of his beloved sweat rag cause I felt it would be going overboard like making fun of someone about their cancer.  To be honest, I only made fun of him being fat once.

We were standing around with our bikes one day and for a reason I can’t remember, I called him “tubby.”  He didn’t like it too much and said something along the lines that I was dead if I called him that again.  So of course I called him “tubby” again and jumped on my bike and rode off.  I thought this fat guy had no chance of catching up to me, especially since I had a bit of a head start.  I looked back and holy shit, he was gaining ground on my like a Porsche.  Being young and naive, I was unaware of how much power fat legs could have to generate so much speed.  My scrawny legs were no match even with the big weight advantage I had.  See, when you’re fat, your legs tend to get pretty strong from holding all that extra weight and once they get going the momentum builds fiercly.  I never saw him ride with so much energy before but the anger fueled his legs that were usually sloth like with a burst of turbo.

I began to worry cause I knew if he caught me he could beat the crap out of me with ease.  But the stars aligned in my favour that day cause the other guy we were with fell off his bike, hurt himself and started crying.  We all stopped and Tubby went from angry to feeling guilty.  I went from a state of panic to relieved.  I was so glad he fell and hurt himself.  Better him than me getting humiliated. I tried blaming it on Tubby saying that if he didn’t chase us none of this would have happened.  He tried to blame it on me for calling him “Tubby.”

Tubby was a pretty strong guy.  When he sucked in his huge gut you could actually see a decent set of abdominal muscles.  He would let us take turns punching him in the stomach and it didn’t hurt him one bit.  I shouldn’t have been messing with a guy who was a year older than me who hit puberty already.

In high school, there was this big fat Asian guy who I would randomly shout out “fat cat” to in Chinese.  I never had a plan B cause I never thought about consequences.  One day it was just him and I walking in the hall and I called him the magic words.  He took me by the shirt, shoved me against the lockers and said “do you have a proberum with the way I look?”  Being about 12 inches shorter than him, I replied something on the lines of “umm no.”

In grade school, it’s not uncommon for people to make fun and get made fun of.  It’s just what kids do.  They don’t have any consideration towards other people’s feelings especially when they don’t have parents to teach them any better.  Regardless, I was still a little asshole.  There’s 30 year olds who still act this juvenile cause of their shit self-esteem or some other reason. I guess everyone has their own learning curve.  Once in a while, I’ll see some of the people I mocked in grade school and an overwhelming feeling of guilt comes over me.  I should offer to let them punch me in the face.

 

fat-kid

Guns don’t kill people, they just make it easier

It’s been said that ‘guns don’t kill people, people kill people.’  I suppose this is true but without a gun, many murders probably would not happen.  You hardly ever hear of mass stabbings or mass neck snappings cause it’s too difficult and most people are too chickenshit to attempt such acts.  Give a skinny teenager a gun though, and it will give him the balls to walk into a place to unleash his rage.

When you have a gun, it provides you with the space you need to feel not threatened while being able to inflict harm onto others.  It’s a lot less personal than walking up to someone and sticking them with a knife.  A person who shoots a bunch of unarmed civilians with a gun is a coward, especially if they turn the gun on themself.  If they had any balls they would shoot it out with the police.  They don’t though cause they know they’re going to lose and don’t want to feel the pain of 100 bullets or be taken to prison to get butt raped.  Having a gun can make someone feel empowered especially when they’ve gone through life feeling like a powerless loser.

A real man would take a jiujitsu class, walk into a place and beat the crap out of everyone.  A pycho would walk into a place and stab everyone with a knife like in gladiator times.  A coward walks into a school with a gun, shoots people from 15 feet away and then kills themself.

Guns just don’t make it easier to kill other people but also easier to kill yourself.  Most firearm related deaths are suicides and not homicides.  It’s really the best way.  Anyone choosing another method doesn’t really want to die that bad or is a horrible underachiever.  I suppose for some people there can be difficulties with acquiring a firearm but for most able bodied people, it’s possible.   If you can get drugs, you can probably find someone who can sell you a gun.  Even if you couldn’t afford a gun, you should be able to afford 1 bullet.  You can take this bullet to the gun store, ask to look at a gun that uses that bullet and do yourself in right there.   A real man though, would take his life by honouring the Bushido Code and use the seppuku method.  That’s a real man.

“They say that ‘Guns don’t kill people, people kill people.’ Well I think the gun helps. If you just stood there and yelled BANG, I don’t think you’d kill too many people.”

― Eddie Izzard

22983-620x-Seppuku

 

Live Hard, Die Young

When I was younger I would hear or see stories about how people lived on the edge and paid for it with their life.  I instantly concluded that they were unlucky or idiots.  Perhaps I really equated dying young to failure in life but quite possibly it just made me feel better about myself cause I was still alive.  Maybe I was being a hater towards people who strived for greatness.

I don’t think I’m being crazy when I say most people plan their lives like they are going to live forever.  We have this belief that we’re going to live well past the retirement age of 65.  I guess there’s some truth to it if the average lifespan is somewhere in the 70’s.  As possible as it might be, it seems kind of lame to devote so much of your younger years just so  you can exist in an immobile prune like state in the future.

It seems like a shitty way to live, in my opinion.  Unfortunately, the fear of suffering usually trumps the desire to live life to the fullest.  Some people like to think they live life to the fullest but usually they are just living life to the fullest as much as their 60 year plan will allow them to.   If you knew you were going to die in 5-10 years, you would probably stop living life the way you previously intended to.  But you probably will live longer than 5-10 years so of course you should plan for that scenario?  I suppose.

There’s this Chinese woman at work who is in her 50’s.  She was telling me how she puts as much of her paycheque as possible towards her mortgage.  She went on to say how this would cut her mortgage payments shorter by 4 years.   It didn’t seem very inspiring.  The advice she gives to her son is to not spend any money on anything except for necessary bills like gas and insurance for his car.  That is such typical Chinese advice.  I told her that’s too boring.  She replied, “you have to think about the future.”  I replied, “I already know what my future is.  I’m going to die.”  She rolled her eyes.  I laughed like a wicked witch and drove off with my broom stick.

So what the heck am I even getting at?  I think for many people, the misery of life is directly related to having to live their life according to their idea of when they will probably die.  Decisions such as acquiring property, saving money, frugally spending, keeping your job, keeping ties with people you don’t really like, not getting high, all feel like a constant battle that we wage with ourselves.

If I could make a pact with myself to end my life at a certain age, I would feel free to live life to some kind of fullness.  No regrets and no worries.  Live hard, crash and burn.  Theoretically, it wouldn’t matter.  They say quality not quantity, right?

I can understand the mentallity of people who engage in professions that play with death.  They can’t fathom the idea of living a regular schmuck life.   They’d rather put their well being at risk and even risk death.  To them, how they live is more important than how they die.

 

Tattoos. Body Art or Body Damage?

A tattoo on your body is like marriage in that it’s meant to be forever.  You have options of divorcing your tattoo but it will  leave a scar and it will probably be painful and expensive.  There’s also the option of leaving your tattoo for another but as much as you try to cover it up, a bit of it will always remain.

When I was younger I thought getting a tattoo would be kind of cool but it was too much of a commitment like how death or marriage would be.  This is why I haven’t killed myself or yearned for marriage.  When that pen is about to touch your skin, you ask yourself if you should stop but once it leaves its first drop of ink, it’s like shooting yourself in the head but not fatally.  Now you have to finish the job.

Just like most things that are cool when you’re young, a tattoo can end up being not so cool when you’re older but you just say, “ya, I kind of regret it but oh well” or “I was an idiot.  I don’t know what I was thinking.”  Other times you have to defend it cause it was so stupid and you feel that it’s a reflection of yourself.  You have to convince everyone and yourself that the angel petting the snake around  your arm symbolizes your life.

What does the tattoo on your body say anyway?  I might have got ink done if there was something I thought that was worth stamping on my body forever.  A popular kind of tattoo to get done these days is one that has words.  Some verse or words to live by kind of thing.  Maybe when you’re like 60 and you’ve lived a little, you can then stamp some inspiring or meaningful words on your body and trust that you truly believe in them.  When you’re in your 20’s, you don’t know shit about how you’re going to feel down the road.  It’s like being 6 years old and getting a tattoo of Santa Claus on your chest.

Yes, I think some tattoos look cool and pretty.  Instead of getting some  huge logo permanently engraved on your skin, wouldn’t it be better to just buy a shirt with that same design?  At least when it’s not cool anymore you can throw it away.

This is one tattoo I could get behind or behind me.  There’s nothing that says ‘you’ more than a portrait of yourself.  The cool thing is your tattoo would age with you as you get wrinklier and fatter but your hair will never go gray.

Steve-O from Jackass.

steveo

 

Daily Prompt: Tattoo….You?