The Funtasian

This isn't my definition. I came across this and it cracked me up...

Asian mothers are the worst of Asian parents. They are the ones, in particular, who bitch slap you if you get a B+ and force you to wear the cheap clothing they buy.

They are the ones, in particular, who ignore all your A's in your report and punish you for just one B.

It is the Asian mothers that usually buy cheap clothing for their kids, and the writing on the clothing makes no sense at all. To make things worse, they put mothballs in the closet to make the clothes smell like shit. So, you're wearing a shirt that makes no sense, and smells ridiculous.

Asian mothers are worse than Asian fathers. At least Asian fathers are laid back a little bit more and can tell properly if your report card is good or not.

 

Stay tuned for some scary food insight of my life at age five tomorrow on "Inside the FLIP Side"

I was starving for real food. Like a pancake or a chocolate chip cookie even.  Of course in the seemingly never ending torture that was my life, I was told I could have a pancake, but they would be made of meal worms. EW! How 'bout I kill your pet turkey & eat that, I know how. 

I was terrified of everything they fed me. I sniffed ALL my food very carefully.  I looked to see if it had eyes or if it squirmed. I would stare at long lengths.   Unless I saw it cooked in a frying pan myself with no weird ingredients I was not swallowing it.  I mastered chewing my food and spitting it into anything that would hold it, feeding it to the pigs later on.  For all I knew they could've been eating their own.  I could've started an epidemic...Mad Piglet Disease.

There was an ice cream man that would cross over the bridge by the river. (You know the river...where my future demise would take place) I wanted this ice cream.  How bad could it be?  Can you really screw up ice cream?  I should've known better.

I made my older cousin take me to the bridge because I knew the ice cream man would circle around ringing his little bell over and over. Im gonna get me some ice cream! <<steals more change & runs>>

Here I am thinking I am going to get some strawberry, chocolate or vanilla. NOPE. No Breyers within an 8500 miles radius.  I would have settled for Pathmarks no frills brand at this point.  The only flavor this ice cream man had was "UBE". Let me give you a little run down on what Ube is. Plain and simple it's a yam.  Not just any yam. This yam's bright purple, like Grimace from Mcdonalds.  What does it taste like? A freakin' raw potato. What kind of ice cream was I getting? Bright purple yam ice cream that tasted like a root vegetable. There were no sprinkles from this ice cream man. No cherry dipped cones either. This was clearly not Carvel.  

I had brought plenty of change so I made my cousin keep buying me more purple ice cream. It was terrible, but I was sure it wasn't cooked on a dung oven and it tasted better than beady eyed shrimp heads on a stick. When my cousin told me she was out of change, I whipped out all the change I had hidden in my pockets. HA HA HA...

Did I mention that I was Lactose Intolerant and only supposed to have goats or soy milk? Purple yam ice cream and my digestive track do not play well together and there was no stopping them. I will never forget being bellied over in pain from the stomach cramps.  Way before there were Skittles, I was already shitting a rainbow of color.  Uhhh.  It was purple and it was in my pants. 

See you next time on "Inside the FLIP Side" ;)

 

 

 

  

I often think I suffered from some form post traumatic stress syndrome after I came home from the Philippines.  I mean how else could I remember every little detail of my dreadful time there?  I have had nightmares for years that I am drowning in rice patties, eaten by carabao, strangled by snakes, squashed by the piglets mother and eaten all the pets I have ever owned.  I swear, I am NOT bitter...

My brother would never remember being in the Philippines.  I am not sure whether to feel sad for him because of all the wonderful (gag) culture he missed out on or joyous that he wasn't tortured in such a way that my life was changed forever by the experiences back home.  He never left my mothers lap in the Philippines...oh those damn shackles & springs on his legs.  They saved his ass a whoopin, although I doubt anyone would wack a little Fama prince.

I couldn't wait everyday to sneak off to the candy lady.  I would steal all the change that fell off my dresser and rolled in between the bamboo before anyone else could.  I was closest to the floor besides my brother and he never stepped foot on the ground so I got first dibs.  Plus, if I was going to get a broom whoopin everyday, I should at least get paid for it...in large amounts of sugar.  Grandma knew all my hiding spots anyway.  My cousin ratted me out.

Waking up tangled in a mosquito net every night and not being to able to go pee because I was terrified of what was lurking on the floor are what those nightmares were made of.  The gigantic cockroaches bigger than my face & creepy little lizards who ran up, down & thru the bamboo.  I am sure Godzilla, Mothra and Gamera were also close by.

The river outside my shanty had no guard rail and it was a long rocky way down.  If you fell off the edge, the giant crocs were going to eat you.  At least thats what I was told.  My Uncles threatened to throw me over the edge numerous times. The crocs had laid their eggs on a big pile of crap in the middle of the river. I tried to hit the eggs with rocks to kill the baby beasts that may or may not be having me for lunch.  I tried so many times and never hit them once.  My Uncles continued their scare tactics.  Ok fine, you full breed mofos, two can play at this game.  So, I grabbed a piglet and brought it over to the edge as leverage against my would be assasins. If I go the little piggy goes. If the little piggy goes, you starve.  MUAHAHAHA.  What a smart little half breed I was holding that piglet over the edge until...

You see your Grandmother holding two brooms and yelling your name.  Who the HELL gave her back up??

Til next time...I'll see you on the FLIP side...

Turn your volume up and try not to pee your pants like I almost did.

There wasn't much to do as far as fun during my stay in the land of rice patties & mosquitos. I was pretty much screwed during the day going to school. Til the stuck up nuns kicked my American ass to the curb. I dont remember how many days I was actually in school before I got the boot. Probably soon after I told the other half breed in the class that she was crazy for being in the Philippines when she was half American and should plan her escape to the states. I asked her "Why are you still here?  This place is disgusting!  You must get out while you still can!" I was sure she was brainwashed.  She told on me.  I should've carried the broom with me, just handed it off and bent over for my daily broom beatings.

I had never seen people use umbrellas when it wasn't raining out. My aunt who brought me to school everyday, often whipped one out and walked every where that way.  I thought she was crazy. Then again, I thought they were ALL crazy.   I refused to walk underneath.  The sky was not falling.  I wondered if everyone else thought she was crazy too because it was not raining. What did I know?

At night the men would gather by the pig sty for their night caps.  They didn't always know I was there.  I covered myself in mud so I  wouldnt get bit by the giant size skeeters and even better they couldn't see me.  I was the original Arnold Schwarzenegger from Predator except I was covered in pig shit mud hiding from my Grandmother. When the broom wielders weren't around, I would grab a chair and hang out with them. For no other reason than I was scared of what was lurking in the house full of Famas and what they would try and feed me off their dung ovens.  I should have been more frightened about what was lurking just above my head outside.

Everyone was an Uncle or a Kuya(elder boy relative).  I couldn't keep up with their names. There were too many of them and they seemed to multiply daily.  They all looked alike.  When they sat outside one always had a long stick. I thought he had a limp or something, but that wasn't what it was for. There I was caked in mud hanging with my little piglet friends when he would wack the trees. I would hear things land. Coconuts, I thought.  I really didnt know what was landing or where. I didnt really care til one landed right next to me. A BIG ASS MOTHER FUCKIN SNAKE!

I screamed and scared the drunks out of their chairs and was told NOT TO MOVE...yea ok buddy.

What five year old listens?? Not this one. I threw a sacrifice at the snake, a piglet and ran right into my Kuya who lifted me off the ground, shook me and said, "Be careful Jeannie, it rains & pours snakes here and they are poisonous!"

Rains & pours snakes?  Somebody give me a freakin umbrella...NOW!

Have you ever fought off a broom with an umbrella while you are covered in mud with a piglet in your arms?   No?   I have...teehee

See you soon on "Inside the FLIP Side" ;)

 

 

 

When I was younger, my brother Ben & I never wore shoes. I hated them. My father said we had "Rice patty feet".  I could walk on rocks, climb trees, anything and I never flinched.  Must be an Asian thing.  I couldn't tell if he was insulting me or he was just jealous that his feet were too soft.  Must be a white thing.

Ben was too young to remember our time in the Ghetto Jungle.  He couldn't run anyway because he was strapped to a board and had Forest Gump shackles on his legs.  All I did was run. Run away from the broom, run from my Uncles who tortured me daily, run to the candy lady, run to my mother begging not to leave me with her broom wielding mother.  So one day, I ran all the way to the beach.  To get to the beach though, you had to run through the rice patties.

There I was, five years old standing in a labyrinth of rice patty squares that led to a beach.  Only problem was the Water Buffalo were always in my way.  They would just stand there dropping their swirls and twirls shit on the pathways that led me to the beach.  If I wasn't hopping buffalo shit, I was crawling under the buffalo itself. How I wasn't kicked in the head, knocked into a patty to drown, or impaled by a horn is beyond me.   

My mother would tell me stories of her childhood and how she had to collect the hardened buffalo chips for the family. She told me how sometimes it didn't always look hard and she would wind up with buffalo shit all over her because it was soft and would fall apart after picking it up. My poor mother.   When my uncles found out I was running through the rice patties, they would tell me another story. How my dinner every night was going to be cooked on a buffalo dung oven.  OMFG! This is why my mother collected dung?!  I chose to starve to death from this point on.

Being five, full of imagination & a will to survive in this god forsaken land, I decided that if there was no dung to be found, there would be NO OVEN MADE OF SHIT. So I ran barefoot to the rice patties as often as I could sneaking buffalo dung back into the rice pools. I was NOT eating off a shit oven! I'd rather die, but I bet they had really good crops of rice that year...

 See you tomorrow on "Inside the FLIP Side" ;) <----------- not a winky face, that's half a chinky face!

When I wasn't being tortured at Catholic school by ruler wielding Tagalog only speaking teachers and nuns, I was at my grandmothers shanty by the river walking turkeys in circles. This was not by choice. She begged my mom to leave me with her. She should have just cut to the chase and said, "My broom misses Jeannie's pu-et(ass)". I spent more time running from the broom than time with my Lola(grandmother). God, I hope she doesn't find out I hid the broom under the bed...

My uncles weren't all that bad, but I couldn't understand a word they said. Between their broken english and thick filipino accent it was hard to communicate so I nodded alot & awkwardly smiled. I took defeat and asked one of my younger uncles to teach me more tagalog. He was fun. He taught me all the bad words. I realized later on that this was just another form of getting me in trouble. The broom was found and I was chased once again for telling my Lola off. Tagalog style. My uncle will pay. Im going to steal his dinner and set it free. Here, piggy piggy piggy...

While my english was perfectly fine, my tagalog was definitely in need of help. I could have sworn my mother said she was going to a party when she spoke to the Fama-ly. As the elders headed for the bus stop, I used to my half ninja like skills to wriggle away from my cousins who were holding me back from joining my mother. I was mighty strong for a wee little Flip. Hahaha, I got away.  Im going to the party!! I'll deal with the broom later.

My mother didn't realize I was on the bus til it was too late. She didn't hear the screams of my cousins yelling to stop the bus. My mom and Aunt "Slants" were NOT happy to see me at all. They mumbled about how I shouldn't be going to the "Party". Too bad ladies, I was going and I was thrilled about it. Why were they all shaking their heads?

As we departed the bus I saw a lot of people at this party. It was hot as hell in this little house and it smelled really bad. What kind of Filipino food were they cooking at this party? It smelled worse than a burning goat.  Lots of candles were lit, but someone should tell them they weren't working. I was hungry. As I made my way through the house. People were crying. I don't like this party, but I need food. Finally, I saw my Mom and Aunt Slants looking at a table wrapped in pretty lace and satin. I found the food & geesh the food really stinks here. I ran up to the table, but I was too small to see the food. So, I used my half ninja like skills again. I grabbed the table and kept jumping to see. My Aunt Slant kept swatting at me to cut it out, but I was determined even though it stunk like shit in there. This party SUCKED. I moved to my mothers left and took one more giant leap as I grabbed the table for leverage. The table rocked forward just a bit. Enough for me to see that I was NOT at a party. This was NOT a table of food. This IS a WAKE and I just saw my first DEAD body...

Can't a girl just get an eggroll?

See you tomorrow on "Inside the Flip Side" ;)

 

 

 

 

Before my mother hoarded Fama's in our home, most of them lived in the Philippines and I guess dragging your family around the globe to visit her people was a must do.

It was going to be my second trip back "home" as my mother referred to it. I deemed my her crazy because my home was in Yaphank.  I was not going anywhere especially that shit hole (yea yea, I know. There's plenty of beautiful places there, but I have never seen them so they can't possibly exist) and if i was, I was going to make it very very difficult. Never underestimate a five year old half breed who doesn't want to leave her kindergarten crush at Christmas to live in a shanty on the side of a river with a pig farm AND go to catholic school. Oh and even worse, I was forced to go to church every damn day. They sold colorful popcorn at church. I refused to step inside without the popcorn. This pissed off the natives. I received a lot of slanty side eyes. Whatever, I chew loudly.

First attempt at sabotaging the trip back home...the PASSPORT PHOTO. I wiggled and fidgeted. I kicked my feet around. I wouldn't look at the camera. I played with my pig tails. Then the good news came. The pictures couldnt be used!! With good news comes bad news. They used my baby picture from the first trip back "home". FUCKERS

Hmmm I must try again..."They will never get the small pox vaccine in me".  No vaccine, no Phillippines. I keep forgetting I'm only five and little. Little with ninja like skills. Two parents, a nurse's assistant, Nurse Ratchet and the Filipino Pediatrician(Well played Mom, getting one of your own) held me down on a chair while I screamed til my eyes swelled shut and they put the horrible burning blue poison small pox vaccination on my back so I couldn't reach it. When they were done, I hopped up and said with a smirk, "That didnt hurt at all".   I think the broken blood vessels all over my face was enough to stave off a beating when I got home. Someone should have warned me that the vaccination area would swell, itch & scab so badly I would take my shirt off constantly and show everyone my big nasty scab. Well, not much has changed in 35 years except I dont need a vaccination to remove my top at any given time.

I was five and fresh out of ideas. Guess I was headed to Shanty Town. My brother Ben was just a baby when we went to see the Fama-ly again. Ben was named after my mothers father so we needed to bring the second Half Breed Fama back "home". So its Prince Benjamins fault...he will pay for this.

The plane ride was long and I was not happy to be in a giant tin can 30,000 feet in the sky built by the lowest bidder. What's a girl to do? SCREAM...LOUDLY til we landed in Japan. My dad bought me markers & origami paper to shut me up. Stupid, Stupid man. Now I can pass my "HELP! I have been kidnapped from Yaphank" note onto a Round Eye. OK one little problem. I was 5 and couldn't spell words like kidnapped or Yaphank and the only Round Eye on the plane was my dad. SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!

After what seemed like 17 days on a plane we landed. There were no terminals, you are just dumped out onto the hot tarmac. This didnt surprise me at all. It was 5000 degrees, I was in HELL and I was never getting back to Yaphank (the lesser of two evils).

Tomorrows Installment of Inside the FLIP side..."Daddy why dont they name their dogs here?" , I didn't kill the chickens, I am NOT going back to that school. See you on the Flip Side ;)

What is a Fama you ask? Its a little bit of loco, with a dash of even more crazy and a whole lot of skeletons but it is my family and half of who I am. My mother is one of 13, well 14 really, but whos counting. 14 brothers and sisters meant lots of Famas running loose without weekend passes. My mother was the only sibling to marry outside her culture & hence the first Half Breed Fama was born.

Having an Asian stay at home mother meant being raised Asian. I was spoken to in Tagalog. I learned to cook Filipino food at an early age and I ate what was in the "Mystery Pot" for fear of being forced to eat something worse like Balut or Pigs Blood. (yea im puking in my mouth a little too right now)

For as far back as my elephant memory can remember, there was always a Fama or a whole Famaly hiding, I mean taking refuge, I mean living in my home. I started to refer to it as the Fama Half Way House of Horrors. They were completely taking over and I was scared I would never see a baked potato ever again.

I often went down to the lake behind my house to catch dinner with my Uncle because thats what the natives do back home. He didnt like catching fish with a pole so one afternoon he went into my Grandpas workshop and came out with a spear gun he hand made. He liked to shoot from the "trees". Tarzan meets Magyver by way of Manila. My brother thought it was the coolest thing ever. I thought this man is one egg roll short of Lucky Chans combination platter.

Now remember, I am half white and chose freely on which country I wanted to be on any given day. Having all these Famas in the house with their babies and what not meant I was greatly outnumbered by the Bruce Lee look alikes so I pulled the white card often. As I got older my Tagalog was lacking and told them it was rude to speak in tongues in front of an American. Sometimes their language got so advanced I could only listen for my name but I learned the faster and louder they spoke meant someone (usually another Fama) was coming to town and they were bringing more Famas to live with us. It also meant my Dads white man does a Filipino accent wasn't going away anytime soon and he sucked at it.

My only refuge from this madness was going to school but then the unthinkable happened. My mother got a JOB and not just ANY job.

DUN DUN DUN...

My mom was now the freakin CAFETERIA LADY at my elementary school. Yea my mouth was agape too and not from her just being the lunch lady but from the smell of tator tots that wofted off her body daily.

...to be continued with "No Jeannie's Not My Dawtuhh, She Adopted"...Inside the Flip Side

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For those of you who follow my 181 day nightmare of waking my eighth grader for school, I'm putting the entries from Facebook into a new blog post. If you haven't read them, here they are so you can catch up.

Day 1...As always Sydney aka fire breathing sleep monster is a complete and utter joy to wake in the morning. Good luck moms & dads. This sucks.

Day 2...My 615am back to school mornings:

Me: Bye Mad Love you
Mad: love you too
Cut to 6:40am
Me: Syd...Syd...Syd... Repeat 50x
Syd: making some unearthly groan/growl
Me: Runs & retrieves cross, wooden stakes & a poptart for leniency. Hides 

Day 3...Waking up Sydney for school can only be compared to going after Medusas Head. DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT...