Must Post

Back at work. It's a quiet office. Cold. Temperature-wise, not people-wise. I'm only here for four days so I can't screw it up too badly. The computer setup is dual screen. I've never worked with two before and I wish I'd never had the opportunity. I can feed my internet addiction twice as much. Blogger in one window, Slate in another. CNN in one window, Fox on the other. E-mail on one window so I can constantly, obsessively monitor it.

I've definitely toned down my e-mail and internet reliance since Blake joined me in Florida. The two of us are more inclined to sit in the living room and watch TV, game or read. My love of just hanging out with him outweighs my need to check my e-mail. Plus, my mom's computer is down right now so we don't e-mail once or twice daily anymore.

My neices and nephews are sending me good old-fashioned letters. I love it. I wrote them letters because I absolutely LOVED getting mail as a kid. Even now I like getting mail. So, instead of calling them (which would result in many awkward silences), I write letters. It's awesome and is always informative and hilarious. I love kids. Probably because I am one. I mean, I act like one... but I guess I also look like one.

Oh, that reminds me of a story.

Last week I went with Blake to muster and then we went and looked at futons for Tiegen's Thanksgiving visit. The base is open, but the exchange isn't open until 9. So we're sitting in a parking lot filled with old people. The refill prescription place is next to the NEX so at 9 a ton of people got out of their cars to get their stuff. It was like a mass migration of the elderly. Anyway, Blake and I were crossing the parking lot and there was an old man walking towards us in the other direction. Some people, you can just tell are going to talk to you and this guy definitely had that vibe.

He was very... weathered looking, kind of hunched over in that old man sort of way. He said hello and stopped right in front of us, literally blocking our bath. He was a very close talker. He looked at me and looked at Blake and smiled and said to him, "You have a very beautiful wife." To which I thought, thank you, but, I'm standing right here. Then he said to Blake, "I can tell from looking at her, you didn't get her from here." Whoa. Seriously?

Blake said, "yeah, I just got her from China. She looked a lot hotter on the internet, but she was on sale, ya know?" Just kidding. Both of us gave an awkward laugh. I know you're old, mister, but don't assume someone doesn't speak English or is a mail-order-bride. So I told him that actually Blake and I grew up together, though I was adopted. But I think his hard-of-hearing-ness made him believe I was speaking in a foreign language because he continued addressing Blake as if I was speaking Klingon. Then, he turned to me and said, in that slow tone people use with people who don't speak English, "I can tell you, you are now in the best country in the world." Then he smiled as if he'd just told me the secret of life and hobbled away.

Now, I find it very hard to be mad at that guy. If it was someone my age, you can bet I would be angry, but he was old. My grandparents are old-fashioned like that. They never had a problem with me being another race, but just from their tone of voice and choices of words when speaking about another race, you can tell they were raised in another time. Nothing really offensive, just... slightly awkward.

Also, I can't be mad for another reason. There are quite a few couples around that are foreign wife/American husband. I guess I can't blame the guy for assuming, though it's not generally a great thing to go around doing. I know, Blake and I look like those other couples, but I was raised in America and frankly, I have a better handle on the English language than he does (sorry honey). When you think about it, he only had about a year more in America than I did, so we're on pretty even footing. Yes, we do have a running joke that I am high-maintenance because I am "imported goods," but really, I'm not high maintenance (more like medium maintenance). I am, however, imported goods, and sometimes it's hard to keep that in mind, being raised in an entirely caucasian family and having no memories of Korea.

So, to you old man, I say this: thanks for the compliment. I'm just going to forget the rest of that conversation.