Asian Miracle Therapy - Seattle

I love all things Asians. I have an emphasis in East Asian studies and almost enough credits for a minor in it too. I think I’ve told this story before, but, I had a peculiar run in with an Asian man at Target when I was younger that turned me off of Asian people for a long while. He followed me around the store saying....”I buy you that” at everything I picked up. Freaked me out. Anyway. So my fascination with pot stickers goes way back.

I did acupuncture before I left St. Louis- it was in Kirkwood and the woman that answered the phone clearly was Asian, but Stephanie my practitioner clearly was not. Oh well. I let her stick needles in me anyway. It would be rude to say, I’m sorry, I thought you’d be more Asian. The acupuncture was AMAZING. I went in with a headache, which seems to be most days nowadays. She would do pressure tests and when I told her what hurt the most, that’s where she would put the pin. There were two sticking out of my face...right in my site line...freaky! She told me to practice my yoga breathing and relax. It was interesting how different places would react differently. She put one in my arm and I thought it swelled up or something, but it finally calmed down. She said she knows before I do which will react strongly. Something about the energy when the pin goes in. She uses a little tube to place the needle and then taps it in. She says take a deep breath...ok exhale...then she taps the pin. She just starts in this manner, but then just puts the pins in with a rhythm that is quick, but making sure i’m not wigging out.

I was SO hot, and you know for me, that’s pretty unheard of. Between the table heater, room heater and the fact I had pins sticking out all over me...I thought I would stroke out. But she turned down the heat, I relaxed. Practiced my yogic breathing...in out, don’t open your eyes. In out, don’t..doh...there is a pin sticking out of my face.... Eventually my body and my mind relaxed into it. I could literally feel my sinuses open up. Every now and then there would be this WOOSH of energy or draining down my entire body from the pin in the top of my head, out through my feet. Reminded me of Reiki. Then I was freezing, so I’m not sure how much of the woosh was my body trying to warm itself and what was some expression of the acupuncture. After it was over, my headache was gone. woo hoo. You have to go back on a regular basis in the beginning to try to really “cure” or limit them. The woman I went to said she had terrible headaches all the time but now has none. The next day the headache was back with a vengeance. But I’m thankful for any headache free day...woo hoo.

When I got to Seattle and Rob gave me my Valentine’s Day gift it included a package to the AsianMiracle Therapy Spa, I was very excited. Right up my alley. Their website cracked me up because you couldn’t click on any links, you had to click on “read more.” Very literal. We went in to make my appointment - it’s just up the street from our townhouse. By this point he knew he had to work on Monday instead of being off for President’s Day (shame on you Navy) and this gift turned into the Valentine’s Day plus Guilty Conscious gift. I ended up with a package that included a steam, scrub and massage, plus an hour reflexology. 3 hours of spa-y goodness when he wouldn’t have to worry about me being bored while he worked.

I made the appointment for 1 p.m. thinking...I’m going to try that Hot Yoga studio down the street, cool off, then go. Which then turned into..well I probably shouldn’t go to that yoga class for the first time and then go steam...I’ll be totally dehydrated. So I lazed around all morning until my appointment. Had I known the services were going to be so intimate, I would have spent the morning shaving, waxing and otherwise preparing myself.

It’s one of these pretty small places and it literally just opened. Modest, yet authentic asian looking decor - dark woods and dark purples. And what is “Asian” by the way...is this to imply some American prejudice? Give me a country clue...what if I spoke Chinese? Should I have tried it? In college I lived with a girl from Indonesia for a short while - she told me all Americans looked a like. Wonder what ever happened to her.

Anyway, I’m escorted to a dressing/massage room by the woman who made my appointment and greeted me by name when i arrived...nice touch. She “tells” me to put on the robe and go to the steam room. This happens with a lot of pointing and me guessing what she’s saying. I’m loving it.

There is one random pudgy, ruddy looking American man in the front on the phone when I had arrived. I was very disappointed, wondering if he was going to be my masseur. After donning my pink fuzzy robe and stepping out into the hall, I realized he was not a masseur at all, but a client - perhaps in search of the elusive happy ending - I hear giggles from another room and my suspicions grow. This I’m sure is a figment of my imagination, but it further indulges my mind picture that I’m a visitor to a very distant, very remote country and have stumbled into an ancient spa.

I finally hang around in the hallway long enough in my pink fluffy robe that she comes out of the room where I no longer think about what was happening and brings me to the steam room. It’s not a sauna..it’s a person steam table! In short order, I’m out of my robe and all tucked in up to my chin in this steam tent. Awesome. All the benefits of steam and still being able to breath. (No having to pick up your feet or run for cover when the steam starts like The Four Seasons) I want one for my house. Genius! She says she’ll check on me and then off she goes. Periodically a woman comes to check on me. Eventually someone comes and tells me to roll over. There is no holding of the towel so you can adjust, just move your flapjacks to the other side lady. I can only imagine that’s what she’s saying because I do not speak Asian, and again with the miming and interpretation. After a long long while I’m sufficiently steamed. Like I’m in a rice cooker.

The same woman comes back - I wish she would have introduced herself - or maybe she did and I just missed it. Not to beat a dead horse, but.... So I figure out I’m supposed to follow her to the next room where there is this big bath tub that I think is filled with water. She’s trying to help me into the tub and I’m a little perplexed...how am I supposed to lower all the way to the bottom? She’s giving me clear pantomime explanation of how to do it, but i’m certain there will be a big splash. Wrong. It’s not a tub filled with water, it’s a tub filled with a big aqua board that I’m supposed to lay on, which I finally do. So, here I am. Naked on a big blue board with my new friend in total control. I imagine this is what it’s like when Trisha goes to China and pays like $3 at a local spa and gets the Queen’s treatment. My new friend starts pouring water over me. Mind you, this isn’t like porn, this is like the best spa treatment ever. Then she takes what I imagined to be a scouring pad and comet, that really harsh cleaning agent my mom would use, and goes to town scrubbing every inch of me. Very little was sacred...very little. She’d scrub then splash water all over me, not just to rinse the spot she was scrubbing, but also to make sure I was not getting cold...because, believe me, she would notice. At one point me showed me a handful of something and looked all happy...it was my skin. She was scrubbing off an entire layer of my skin....steam makes it easier she informed me. This was way more pleasurable than the time I got an entire new layer of skin when I burned off a layer on our spring break trip to Florida. Ouch.

After both sides were thoroughly scrubbed and rinsed and rinsed and scrubbed, I was off to the next room. The massage bed was interesting...no separate headrest so you could breath...it was cut into the bed. They mean business. She said “medium pressure”? I think. I don’t answer because I’m trying to determine if this is a new friend or the same one who was now so intimately acquainted with me. It was my friend. She asks again...Medium Pressure? I say...Yes. Normally I say, hard pressure, but if she massages like she scrubs or the brief beating I was getting on the steam table I would be in trouble. The massage was AMAZING and I’m glad it was my same friend, because the same no bounderies rule apparently applies to massage too and by this point we were close. I believe the massage style is called Qi which must be similar to Shiatsu - they now tie for my favorite type of massage. She was digging into back and I was once again practicing my yogic breathing - breath through the pain. Deep breath. Don’t scream. Enjoy. Lovely. Relax. Ahhh.

This next part gets tricky because she has to convey to me to get dressed BEFORE I follow her into the reflexology room. Between me being mush from the massage, being a bit disoriented from the afternoon’s events and having no idea what she was saying, that was a rough one. Finally I was dressed and brought into a room with these huge leather chairs (not like the kind you see in front of the giant 4D TVs at Best Buy with cup holders), but softer than you can imagine with these large armrest where I just turned to goo as she starts on the top of my head with reflexology pressure and works her way down to my feet. Damn! Should have gotten a pedicure. That was next of my list of things to do that afternoon, but no way was anyone else touching my feet after my new friend. My feet were feeling special and no local nail salon was getting their mitts on them.

After I regain touch with reality, sadly it’s time to part ways. Even the money part was easy, especially since Rob was paying.

with so many crazy stories about so called “religion” - vatican laundering money (hey, they have legal bills!), crazies fighting for their freedom of speech to say the most disgusting things, and today declaring that christians shouldn’t do yoga - i try to focus on the essence of what religion is - it’s not about earthly trappings and ignorant people. it’s about a power, a universe, a man, a father - a whatever you want to call it - but it’s the higher power we go to for guidance, to thank, to pray, to focus, to ask for something to be given and ask for other things to be taken away.

i was raised catholic, so to me, it was a man, a father, a holy spirit - all in one. I didn’t question. i walked in israel where Jesus walked. I went to Bethlehem and was very moved knowing the angel came to deliver a message to Mary in that very field. i ate fish from the sea of galilee and it was tasty. That man, that holy spirit, that father...He’s all things - he’s in my yoga class when I am centered and I focus on my mantra...I am authentic power...positive and loving. I am authentic power because of him (or her). And i’m not some tamborine waving church goer, i’m just sure there is something else out there. something bigger than all of us. a kindness. a guidance.

i started to write tonight because i had snarky things to say in my WWJP post, but what i’m really realizing is that we are surrounded by religion every day, in every person that we meet in the tiniest of ways. when we share a look, a smile, a bit of our humanity with a stranger. Tonight i went for a long walk. I’ve had a terrible headache for 3 days and am just feeling better, so i was extra appreciative of the beautiful fall night.

I live in clayton, which i feel is safe, but there have been attacks over by Wash U at night, so i stayed away from that area and was extra cautious (i believe they caught the guy a while back). So i walked up Delmar making sure i didn’t go all the way to the bus stop by 170. Why i equate bus stops with crime, i still don’t really understand because Di used to ride the bus all the time in st. louis. Anyway I turn onto Delmar by the nursery and dang...I forgot there was another bus stop! Oh well, i semi-nervously think, it’s fine. there is one man sitting alone. As i pass by he looks up, says hello and shares this amazing sparkling smile with me. I swear he nearly twinkled. I said hello, shared a big smile and continued to smile for what i’m sure was about another 30 seconds. Then I kept walking and i passed a young orthodox boy on this way to or from the synagogue. He looked up quickly in that sort of awkward way that shy or young boys do, he caught my eye and smiled this truly delightful smile. These two encounters could not have been with 2 more different people - semi elderly man wearing a hawaiin shirt and a conservatively dress orthodox. I felt like we were 3 random people on the street, but we had a connection. A sharing of a kindness. A glimpse into what truly i believe religion is. it’s your personal power connecting you to something or someone bigger.

wwjp

what would jesus post?

With all the insane media coverage religion is getting lately (rightfully so), and the ability to share/comment so quickly, i wondered...what would Jesus post?

I’m certain it wouldn’t be hateful or judgmental. He wouldn’t go into vulgar details about his dates with Mary Magdelan or post inappropriate (yet funny) pictures of the disciplines breaking into another cask of wine.

Woah - we partied last crazy last night! i don’t know if i’ll be able to take another one of those.

Or

OMG i just back from this wedding, but they ran out of wine! they were freaking and I was like...no problem!

Or

Hey - I was walking on water!! Did anybody catch that with their flip cam?

But my favorite is a message to Peter.

did you just defriend me? what’s up with that? last week I saw you untagged me in all your picts! It’s like you don’t even want people to know you know me... lame.

it’s not about politics, it’s about people.

I live in world that is small by comparison to some. and large by comparison to others. i have family and friends near to my heart and near to my zip code. I have people I love in Israel and friends I would love to meet again scattered throughout the world. I live a relatively sheltered life.

My father’s experience in the army is represented by boxes of slides of him looking like young elvis in his uniform tucked aimlessly away in my parents’ closet. My uncle roy was in guam, and was so proud to be a soldier. At his funeral, so many years after the war was over and after his body had betrayed him, the military salute meant something to him, meant something to all of us. How proud I’m sure he was that day, surrounded by his family and getting such a respectful and admirable send off from his country.

Years ago (sounds like i’m that old lady on the titanic telling this story), I knew someone in the naval reserves. To me this meant once a month he got a haircut and went to who knows where to do who knows what. He was a cryptologist. The running joke was he could tell me what he was doing, but then he’d have to kill me. Dramatic, yet I got the impression he did important work. He told a few stories about being oversees, and he served his country because he was smart and we needed him...and I’m guessing we paid for him to go to college, but I’m not sure.

Soon it was the beginning of the war. I remember Noa’s parents preparing to potentially come to the US during the first rumblings of war in Iraq. This brought the war closer to me. But she was not rattled. For better or for worse, war had been a part of her upbringing and did not throw her into such a tailspin, as it did us.

Another friend would tell stories about being based at Pearl Harbor and being on the submarine. More than once we’d been watching the history channel about the cold war era and he would say “i can neither confirm nor deny I was involved in that operation.”

For both of them, the Navy was in their past for the most part. Rich may still show up for reserves I have no clue, and Randy speaks at graduation ceremonies every now and again. It will always be a part of who they are - but it’s not a constant presence in their daily lives.

The war happened, and continues to happen. The “theatre of operation” or whatever poetic name they have for it moves and grows. Theatre is such an inappropriate, yet perfect term for it. There are players, there are scripts, there is deception and even in the end, everyone is still a bit shaken and confused. As a sailor you are a-political. You go where the president tells you. He is your commander in chief working with the military expertise of General Petraus. Do I know he’s an expert? No. Do I pray he’s an expert? Yes. And an order, as has been explained to me, is not a suggestion, it’s an order. Even if you’re in the Navy - if you’re on the ground within the theatre of operation - you are under the control of the army. And bit of trivia - even though Tom Cruise was a pilot in top gun, he was in the navy - just in a plane instead of on a ship. Same yummy white uniform.

The theatre of the war includes many players. During Navy week recently I met a man they call elvis. he was a navy diver and he was tough, and had a tattoo of an octopus sprawled across his arms and disappearing into his shirt across his chest. i saw him demonstrate to kids, and to me, the different types of explosives the enemy uses, including which ones of ours they’ve foiled and how both sides have had to keep redesigning until now we are all using the most basic components...becoming less advanced instead of more because less chance of sabotage. he showed me a suit they wear that can sustain a 5 lb blast. I learned rarely is a blast 5 lbs, so you better be high tailing it out of there. I also saw a robot who is sent to help disarm the bombs. I saw the slight wrinkles crinkle around elvis’ eyes as he smiled and how he moved slowly and winced sometimes because his back was killing him. Wherever he is in the theatre, he is a part of the opening act. He goes in first. Diving. Dark. Cold water. To scout it out. Not knowing what’s out there. Maybe explosives, maybe hostile people, maybe a ship, but maybe just a beach, if he’s lucky. He’s seen it all. And here he is for now in the good old US of A, until he gets new orders to do it again.

The other divers schedule to be in STL were sent to Afghanistan, which conceptually meant something in passing before, but after meeting the crew that came to St. Louis and putting real faces, real laughter, real humanity to them, means so much more. The only female diver in the group is an aspiring artist and is becoming a certified yoga instructor. One guy was obsessed with Ted Drewes. (rightfully so) Sr. Chief is allergic to onions, so while he may have to leave tomorrow to defend us in enemy gun fire, he could have been taken down by the pizza at Pi. Cory let me win at tic tac toe when he was in the dive take and hanging upside, but, he disappointed the ladies at the pageant who recognized him from tv with the revelation he has a girlfriend back in virginia. Hollywood’s an early 20-something whose looks live up to his nickname and he’s a smarty, shortly leaving the navy to be an engineer. And another great guy and diver, who was one of my favorites (but i continually blank on his name because sometimes they don’t use just first names, they’re called by nicknames or ranks or last names) posed with the band and was so sweet the next day when i saw him at the air show - greeted me a hug.

Real people. Young people. Men and women who say “sir can you pass me another piece of pizza” because that’s what they do. They respect, in and out of the theatre. They follow orders. They listen. And they survive because those instincts kick in and protect them when needed. they don’t do it because they are adrenaline junkies or out to save the world with insane super hero egos, but because they are loyal and quietly brave, and this is where they are supposed to be at this moment in their lives.

But meeting all those wonderful people during Navy Week was like being at camp - you meet people you don’t live in the same city, you go back to different lives to who know what lies ahead. I obviously may never see them again, but even Rob may never see them again...ever. It made me sad, but it’s just a fact of life in the military. Some people you see again, some people you serve with again and others just disappear off the radar of life...you hope to retirement on some tropical island...but not always.

Today I went to work per usual on a tuesday. But LT Harris aka Rob, didn’t get to stay at the office doing official Naval Officer duties, whatever that may entail on an average day in St. Louis. He had to go tell a family that their son was killed in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan. And around the country 8 other units like his were doing the same terrible duty. It made my heart hurt for those families. And made the reality of the life of a sailor and a soldier even more real. I said “I’m glad you’re here and not there.”

Once Rich went to the funeral of a fellow sailor in, I think it was KC, and when I asked if he knew him, he said no, but he would hope someone would have the same respect for him. I like to think he didn’t go out of obligation, he went out of a sense of duty. And those are far different things. This duty to our country is a connection to something that is far bigger than any single person, yet could not exist without every single person playing their part.

And these people not a news story or dramatic footage to fuel the fire of heated talk show debates, nor are they just another hottie in a uniform. They are boyfriends and best friends and girlfriends and mothers and everything in between. And they are brave. And I am thankful.

“It was nice to see me in at least ONE picture from high school. But....it stands to reason because I was not ever included in all of your fun and festivities. Oh well...it's water under the bridge now”

this is an actual facebook comment from a former classmate of mine on a group picture. I honestly only knew she was in the picture by process of elimination. I’m going on record as saying if my 20 year return turns into some kind of steven king thriller...please start the police search with her.

i was talking about the reunion tonight. I’ve co-authored a book, co-produced a made for TV animated movie...blah blah. I’m an accomplished career woman living in a nice part of town, driving a nice car, surrounded by amazing friends. I’ve traveled the world and sometimes can get off a wicked serve in tennis. But what I think they see is I never even succeeded at failing at being married. I don’t have countless kids that i’ve had to fight for custody of and I’ve never attended a PTA meeting where I really wanted to just poke my eye out or spent countless hours in the early afternoon driving tiny people to practices and rehearsals.

When I was younger, I clearly remember thinking - “I’m going to grow up, be single and live in an apartment.” Not even making that up. That’s what i wanted to do. All these girls aspiring to meet someone in college and become a wife were beyond my comprehension. It was a claustrophobic, spirit stifling thought to me. Hence my 20-something near runaway bride episode.

Perhaps when I wished to be a single, free, city living apartment dweller, I was having my own “Big” moment. I should have wished to be grown up and work for a toy company. Oh wait, I got that. And I probably should have thought that through a little bit more too.

REPOST FROM 5.6.07.....Happy Anniversary Hs!

seashell cake is happiness

It was a marriage. But more than that. it was a true union. Not a big white dress and a long aisle to the tune of Here Comes the Bride(s)…but a gorgeous satin skirt and a white t-shirt ala Sharon Stone almost floating down a short staircase dodging puppies to the sound of Coldplay's Fix You…and then hushed voices saying "fade out…fade out"…it was the most imperfect perfect event I've ever been blessed to be a part of. From the 4 dogs going crazy when the caterer knocked on the door half way through the ceremony to the 20 plus friends gathered around in a house that was being ravaged by hurricane-like winds…you couldn't have asked for anything better.

Amid all the drinking, the smoking, the dance party in the living room, seashell wedding cake for breakfast and of course the laughter…it was there. The feeling of being at home. Of being a part of a new family. Of peace. Of bliss. Of comfort coupled with constant electricity. It made me realize that it's really there. This urban legend of a love story. The thing we all search for. When there is ours instead of mine and yours. When there are no questions. No doubts. No what ifs…..just what is. Family. It makes me smile. It makes me miss someone and it makes me trust in possibilities…and then it makes me smile again :)

let’s do something August 21.

that really perky girl from high school - the one that likes to gossip about everyone - just IMd me again on facebook. Save the date - August 21 - it’s our 20 year class reunion! wow...i say...20 years. Then she follows with - did you hear Mike (a former classmate of ours) passed away today? WHAT? seriously...save the date precedes this information. i’m not sure in the opposite order it would have been any better. but damn.

he had a party once. there was slow dancing in the basement. and some kind of cool lights outside. or i could have just been seeing cool lights, we drank a lot - small town, not a ton of entertainment options. he lost his temper that night about something, it was one of the very rare times I’d ever seen it. i don’t remember why though.

wow. dead. he was one of those super extremely kind kind people.

she said he still lives in washington. i couldn’t bring myself to ask if he had a family. i didn’t want to know. i wanted to pretend that he had this awesome blissful life since we last saw each other. apparently in the last 20 years he got MS or had MS when we knew him and we just didn’t know what it was. he was always very fragile and pale. when you’re growing up there are fragile and pale kids, they’re kind of labeled as odd, but not sick. not sick enough to kill you. we’re 30 freaking 7 years old. car accident - tragic, shocking even, but unexpected and very terrible things happen. dying of a sickness. unacceptable. now that’s unacceptable. i was told by someone at work today that it was unacceptable that i didn’t answer her email back right away. the best part of those psychotic encounters is the stories you get to tell about them. i’m sorry i can’t go to that meeting - i’m being unacceptable today. please don’t get too close - i’m unacceptable and Lord knows what i will do. Work is definitely acceptable - even if i’m dancing on your desk in my stilettos instead of answering your email. but dying...dying is completely unacceptable.

so what do you do? i feel compelled to go to his funeral or something. but it wouldn’t be to mourn the man that he became, but to mourn the child that he was when i knew him. (i think i was just channeling an episode of the Wonder Years) His dad was our mailman. 2 of my classmates had dads that were our mailmen...mailmans? the one recently popped up on facebook (on our official class reunion page - oh yeah - the page is awesome..(insert gagging sound), he’s married and a chef somewhere. his dad would drop off notes from him in my mailbox, which i’m sure is some sort of federal offense now. the best was a little cardboard box that contained a matchbox creme colored mercedes convertible. it was my dream car and he wanted me to have it. very sweet gesture for a 14 year old skater boy.

i guess i could send Mike’s family a card. if you’re a mailman and you live on your own route, can you just take your mail home with you at night or do you have to put it officially in the box? or does someone else drop off your mail if it’s not on your route or do you just pick it up at the office? Hmmm. i’m going to think on that one for a while. i know a girl who is a mailwoman (?) and I was telling her that my mailman was threatening not to give us our mail until we wrote our names on our mailboxes. it was like an ultimatum.....he wrote it on my mail in scratchy obviously pissed off penmanship. he posted a tiny tiny note by our mailboxes that was sooo little you almost wonder if he didn’t want us to see it so he could be like fuck it, that’s like a dozen less addresses each day. but she said she’s been bitten and chased by dogs and all kinds of crazy things - you have to do whatever you can do to deliver the mail. she said my mailman could be fired. scandal. i just want my mail, not a crazy federal employee gunning for me. so one by one we all have labeled mail boxes. and my exciting bills and american cleaner’s coupons arrive without incident.

so in conclusion to the rambling, i could start into the litany of why do bad things happen to good people. or declare that i’m going to run a marathon or proclaim a new zest for life. but instead i’m going with “what the fuck”?

i jumped on facebook this afternoon to post a few quick things...and a girl from high school im’d me. the last time i saw her was at the office when she was applying for a job, which i was frightened she would get because i had already done my time with her in high school. she did take me to see REM at the old Arena, but only because the boy she asked said no. i will forever be in her debt for that one. she is nice, but one of those big haired girls who you would think was from texas (Not that there is anything wrong with Texas - but you know the type), but she's really from Sullivan which is i guess is south of here and are known for their large KKK presence - they got in a huge legal battle a few years ago because they wanted to sponsor the highway clean up program and have their own sign.

she’s the one always dredging up those all high school photos on facebook where i have ridiculous 80s hair, giant glasses and sort of look like in owl in most of them because they are from concert choir. where are my cool cheerleading pictures? oh that’s right, she wasn’t a cheerleader. (insert bitchy high school laugh here) i wasn’t the epitome of the cheerleader. i was the crossover person - had friends in all “groups” and high school classifications, well as much as you can when there are 80 kids in your private catholic school grade level and you’re all pretty much white middle class, except for that one random baptist who got kicked out of all the other schools, and that one african american boy who was there for a while - which didn’t last long because you couldn’t even talk to him because he hated white people. total reverse discrimination. i did branch out and date that public school boy i met at the fair for a while...scandal.

Anyway, she IMs me and says..."Did you know Chris H is on facebook?" i have no idea why she’s telling me or how to respond, so i say “wow – no haven’t heard anything about him in yours’ (nor care to I should have said). She says “Well, he’s on his 3rd marriage/relationship”...i can see her sitting at her computer typing, all eyebrow raised and judgmental. At this point I want to say. Well, we can’t all marry our prom date. But I didn’t. I say – I have to go to a meeting...and log out. omg small towns. Love them for many reasons, don’t live there now for many reasons. seriously. she married her prom date - again, not that there is anything wrong with that, but don’t be spying on high school “friends” and saying stuff like that about them. she wasn’t like...he has 2 cute kids or he moved to cleveland...nope, go straight to the brand of what type of relationship or non-relationship he was in. how would you even know there were 3 ? 3 sets of mismatched kids? 3 of those insane “chris is now single” updates? no matter how far away you may get in distance and in time, you’re still always going to be someone’s definition of (high school) misfit.

did i mention she wore her prom dress on halloween this year...and went with her actual prom date...ok...i’ll let it go.