Be aggressive! Be, be aggressive!

I make sure that every other Saturday, the day after payday, is my “me” day. (Don’t you just love rhymes?) Generally, it's when I deposit my paycheck, go to Wal-Mart, and most importantly, get my nails done. Going to the nail salon is probably the most important luxury I get to guiltlessly bless myself with because of the obvious fact that I can’t do it on myself anymore—just one of the jerks of working every single day. I happen to have a very dry set of hands and toes because of excessive hand washing and the no-open-toe footwear rule as a teacher (although I tend to bend that rule when I’m working in the baby room). So thank God I found two of the best nail technicians in the world; Sheryl (who’s my manicurist) and Linda (my pedicurist). But let’s get past the dry skin and nails problem since I’m sure we all have that taken care of. I have been going to Signature Nails for about five months now and Sheryl has always been my girl even before Linda became my next go-to person. But since my resident pedicurist is relatively new, I’m going to tell you about Sheryl.

She’s Vietnamese (I’m sure y’all guessed that right), a nail technician, as mentioned, and has been living in the United States for most of her life. She also has a double Bachelor’s degree. Yes, a double Bachelor’s degree from University of Dallas and University of Texas at Arlington, no less. It’s pretty outstanding, eh? Well, yeah, super outstanding. Actually, it’s beyond outstanding, considering the fact that she’s doing my nails on a periodical basis. It’s quite a shame. I am honestly embarrassed to be paying her $5 tips for every manicure session we have. Because, truth be told, she could be in a laboratory right now, figuring out a way to cure STD, and, not to mention, earning bazillions of greens every year. So I became inquisitive with her—unhesitatingly, I might add. I asked her, “What the hell are you doing here?” I can’t remember exactly what she replied to that, but to get you to the bottom of it, she exclaimed that it’s mainly because of her thick, nasally, won’t-go-away Vietnamese accent.

How pathetic, right? So I began to rant to her face.

“Sheryl, you can’t be doing my nails forever.” She can only give me that "you’re right" grin that’s lightly concealed by her face mask. I started nagging her, like my mom does to me, about her rights as a citizen, and that she deserves to do more than just cleaning out cuticles. But I failed to make her realize something. Perhaps, after years of trying to prove her place, she just gave up on it—which is sad and utterly unjust.

Again, how does a Biology and Information Technology graduate end up in a saggy white uniform with a bottle of acetone? It’s simple. Racism, my friends. Racism, bigotry, prejudice, whathaveyous. Old, white, and narrow-minded people spearhead the corporate and medical fields in this country, which doesn’t make it any more surprising that they’d neglect a thick accented Asian girl an opportunity for a newly graduated blonde bombshell (who, for all we know, failed Math—twice!). That’s why I’ve always been very assertive when it comes to guarding my own color. It seems to be a hard task, but it doesn’t become second nature anymore when you feel like somebody is putting you down just so they can act a certain way to feed their dinosaur-sized egos. Sheryl, on the other hand, doesn't have the guts to do that. For one, she feels like her race owes a lot to this country, and two, that she doesn’t deserve her achievements after all. Very much the wrong mind set. But who am I to push her to do something that she’s not yet ready to confront?

It’s always a pleasure to have Sheryl do my nails. But even if she’s the best manicurist in the world, I still hope that one day she wakes up and decides that being Vietnamese, being Asian at that is no longer a hindrance for her to live her dreams.


But for the mean time, enjoy my big fat nails. You too, Linda! ;-)

Working like a dog.

I have worked unforgivable hours for my current job. I never thought I had this workaholic in me! I mean, money is a magnet. But I didn’t expect it to be this magnetic. I underestimated my capabilities when it comes to getting paid. I also have been complaining. My mom and I just had a minor bitch fight yesterday over some undone chores. Ok, I was probably wrong for shutting her down after a 12-hour shift. But her memory kind of spaced out when she forgot that I work every day of the week for about 6-7 hours a day (with no breaks), plus school, and that I only caught 2 hours (TWO hours!) of sleep the previous night for a paper. My mother’s getting old, I get that. But sometimes, I just feel the need to buttheads with her, as often as she wants to burst my the-world-revolves-around-me bubble.

I, for very forgivable reasons, have thought of quitting my job. First things first, my job is very noble. It’s probably one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life. But being a teacher takes its toll. Especially if you’re a Kindergarten teacher at noon, a toddler teacher by 3pm, and an infant caretaker come 5. Being a teacher slash floater is not the easiest shit in the world. Don’t get me wrong. I adore those kids like they’re my own. It’s just that, for a couple of months, I experienced working in just one classroom, with the same eight babies, everyday. And being back to the floating arena is not what I had hoped for when I gave up my position for a friend who needs the hours more than I do. [Even if it’s wrong, I sometimes wish I hadn’t told her about my wondrous job. But that’s a sin and I don’t need any more of that.]


How can you resist a smile like Blake's?
But to my consolation, I get the luxury of rewarding my own hardwork with no guilt involved. I get a couple of martinis every weekend, a good serving of fine dining, and some shopping here and there. It’s kind of a blessing to be earning and only paying one bill (and that, my friends, is the cable). So I share. And it’s not just your ordinary “share”. I basically pampered my family on Christmas that I almost (just almost) forgot about myself—which, as you know, is a rarity. I gifted my mom this patch plaid duffel bag from Dooney and Bourke; my bestfriend got a black satchel from her favorite store; and the boys (aka dad and bro) got a pair of tickets for a Dallas Mavericks home game (AND, it’s even against the team they favor most from the opposite conference). Oh my goodness. I know! How special of a daughter, sister, best friend am I?? All together now… SO special! But even if they trapped me in great debt, giving as much as receiving is ultimately the most amazing reward I could ever give myself. I know, right? I’m not so much of a selfish, histrionic, narcissistic bitch after all.


Me and mi hermano after a one-sided Mavs win.
If I was too much of a bitch, to begin with, I wouldn’t stick to a job that requires changing diapers, reading a story, playing hot potato, singing ABCs, and potty training (oh it’s my favorite!). I have been in Primrose for almost 4 months now and although it sucks the patience out of my system, I still kick ass whenever I tell my friends that I am a teacher while being a student.

PS.
I know the NBA tickets were supposed to be the boys' presents only, but my birthday was around the corner too that I just had to give myself a good view of Dirk Nowitzki too. [My mother thinks he’s hot, I’d like to prove otherwise. But he’s a good baller. Very good.]