pajama kid

most kids stay at home on saturday mornings, either to sleep in from a busy week of school and recess, or to sit in front of the television with a bowl of cereal watching cartoons.

but not pajama kid.

pajama kid forgoes the age-old tradition of Saturday morning cartoons and comes to Starbucks with his mother. He wears his floor length navy-blue fuzzy bathrobe, complete with fuzzy teddy bear slippers and his stuffed spotted leopard shark snuggled nicely in his left arm. His red hair epitomizes the meaning of "bed-head."

I watch pajama kid with great interest and amusement as he bounces up and down with excitement, his eyes gleaming with pure joy as his mother orders him a Venti vanilla bean frappuccino with whipped cream. He holds his mother's hand tightly and snuggles his messy little head in his mothers arm--completely unbeknownst to him that his warddrobe and fuzzy slippers make him stick out like a sore-thumb. Not that he would care. Oh, the days of blissful ignorance.

I find this whole situation endearing and I'm not entirely sure as to why. Maybe it's because I like that it seems that the kid is not being held to the same social standards that I find myself bound and obligated to uphold--i.e., he gets to wear his pajamas to public places and I don't. I admire his mother for risking her reputation of being a "good mother," by taking her kid to Starbucks and ordering him a vanilla bean frappuccino at 9:00 in the morning. And I would like to give her the benefit of a doubt that this ritual is not a regular occurence--judging from the excited/spastic nature of the child in question and his obvious endearment of his mother. But I like this "ritual," or this tradition, where for one morning the child and his child-like nature is exemplified, nurtured and adored, by allowing space for his natural affinity for soft, fuzzy things and sugary foods.

Another hole in my nose...

This morning, I woke up fully determined to get my nose pierced. So, shortly after work, a friend and I headed over to Nothing Shocking (a Christian tattoo/piercing parlor in downtown Fullerton) to get it done.


the after-picture:


...I know you can barely tell in this picture. If you look closely, it's on the left side of my nose. It seems like I should've had a nose piercing all along. I'm quite content with it. Though I doubt that my parents will be. Being old fashioned and quite close-minded when it comes to things like changing one's hair color and piercing one's nose, I know that they won't be very happy. I'm sad about that because my parents will assume that it is a latent act of rebellion, which isn't true. I'm 23 years old. I am living on my own, in a house four hours away from home. I'm a big girl.

I know that my parents will eventually get over it. They were able to adjust to the fact that my hair is reddish-brown instead of it's original black. It's only a matter of time.

...till then: Viva La Nose piercing!

[edit: if this nose piercing will cause too much grief for my parents, i'll remove it. keeping the bling on my nose is not worth a lifetime of dissension]

Happy Boxing Day (or at least that's what the Canadians say).

if it weren't for Jesus, the Christmas season would really be anti-climactic. I am sure the "holidays," as the rest of the world prefers to call it, is pretty anti-climactic for those unfortunate enough to live life without Christ. I mean, after weeks and weeks of preparations and thousands of dollars spent on presents, it's all over in one day. ONE DAY. eyuck. The thought of it makes me shudder. All the more reason why people need to know about Jesus. They need to released from the disappointment they are probably feeling now. Christians know, or at least they should know, that the celebration of Christ is a 24/7, everyday, ongoing celebration. Because Christmas, the birth of Christ, means.... God wins.

My pastor is going to have his seventh child (yes...seventh) within the next few days. Hopefully. I definitely want to be around for that. In my eyes, the Micus are like an extended family. I mean, I make home movies of the kids, for the kids. That pretty much means, I'm sort of like part of their family. This is them:
yeah. The kids are half filipino. That explains why they are so good looking. That is also probably why they are so loud and crazy and full of energy. I love them. I am really excited as to what baby number seven will be like. Or what they'll name him/her. I still say Micah Moses Micu is a good one.... (i'm being facetious, of course...)

So other than the Micu's having another child, I've thought of more good reasons for staying home:
1.) I'm enjoying the time spent with my brothers.
2.) My parents make the best filipino food. So it's been nice eating home-cooked meals.
3.) I am really, really low on cash. Being at home means I have a better chance of NOT spending money.

I think that making lists is another way that I am avoiding making a decision. My therapist says that I am a very indecisive individual. She actually asked me if i thought I was indecisive, and I answered, "Maybe? I don't really know..." Way to give myself away, eh?

Anyway, that's all for now.