'Don't mind if I do': The story of the Self-Deprechaun

This week was a blur and I know that sounds like every week for me but that's only because I am a junkie and a part-time wino. I cannot believe that I went out every night this week. I felt like I barely touched my bed and remember occasionally, bathing. I confess that I have not seen Babyboo awake this whole week. When I get home, she is asleep, and when I leave in the morning, she is asleep and we have not been happier in our marriage.

I am not that important but I think that I am and so it's been a whirlwind of client dinners, fundraisers, random meetings, peer pressure and other excuses to go out. I am pretty easy. So as I look upon this week, I can pretty much pinpoint when everything was ruined: let's call it Monday. On Monday, I went out with a volleyball team made up of lawyers who have a fun co-ed team for which I am the mascot. The fun starts after our games as their company pays for drinks afterwards and I simply cannot turn anything like that down. "Don't mind if I do" is the story of my life.

What started out as one beer turned into Oktoberfest. Like a 'choose your own adventure' book, I chose poorly and saw an early night turn into something epic in a matter of seconds. These lawyers were nuts! First it was tequila, then it was bourbon, then Wild Turkey whiskey and then rinse and repeat (on a Monday!). Somehow a handful of us piled into a diner so loud and obnoxious and licked several greasy plates clean like our mamma's told us to. I don't remember much but I do remember some fool in our group ordering a seared tuna to satiate himself (who orders that at a grease joint while completely wrecked?).

The best part was that the next day, one of the lawyers emailed the group and said that he stumbled into the subway to go home and before he knew it, he had passed out and woke up at 2 in the morning on the L train (a train that goes back and forth, East to West, West to East from Brooklyn to Manhattan) going the wrong way. I think he was on it for... a long time.

So now, I am clinging onto the reality that the week is over like a child to his blankie. And I am waiting until lunch time because I have insider information that one of the groups at work is going to get a decent order of food. As usual, I will wait it out and look desperate and hungry until one of them has pity on me and passes over a steak sandwich. Usually though, the colleague who has pity on me is the other Asian guy adjacent to my group who (I think) secretly gives me food because he wants to make sure that I am the fatter Asian on the floor at all times. I understand my role.

You look more Chinese than usual. (I'm Korean)

This weekend was the first one back for me at the school tutoring program in Harlem since Maui and the first regular session for the kids. The previous weeks, there had been several neighborhood events at the local park district to which the kids were committed, so the program director informed me that the kids would be extra hyped up this week to be with the mentors (Grrrreat!).

And he was right. As soon as I walked in, a motley crew of runny nosed, tantrum-throwing trouble makers, who seemed to be on a sugar high greeted me warmly (and I am just talking about the other mentors). But then the kids rushed at me as if for a punt block and swarmed like buzzing bees. Even after the program director pulled the kids off, my kids were still climbing on one another and were hanging onto my legs like anchors. It was then I remembered what it felt like to be a little more than a ‘Manny’ (man nanny) who doubled as a glorified jungle gym (a sweet feeling it was).

The welcome did not end there; the kids looked me up and down and noticed that yes, somehow I was a little more tanned than usual and one kid pointed it out in a special way for me:

"You look more 'Chinese' than usual. Did you go somewhere?" (I am Korean but I took this observation as a compliment.)

So here is a typical snapshot of a Saturday morning: In my kindergarten/1rst grade class, we usually sing some songs but the usual guitar player was not there this time and somehow I was volunteered to do my best Mr. Roger's impersonation and sing a lick or two. Relying on my amazing 'Guitar Hero' abilities and all my high school and college years of playing Nirvana covers, I fumbled through the songs but then my inner Kurt Cobain got the best of me and it turns out, the kids look at you funny when you try to make 'The Wheels on the Bus' and 'If You're Happy and You Know' more rock n' roll.

After the songs, we do stories, alphabet and math lessons and when the kids cannot stand me anymore, we let them out to play. Unfortunately, it was raining this weekend and the usual outlet to dispense of the kids' pent up energy and/or anger (going to play at the park), was not an option.

So, we chose to play some board games, which I did not mind. As I have mentioned, I selfishly viewed these Saturday mornings as a time to drown out the stresses of work and feel better about myself. Nothing is more amazing than crushing these kids in Connect Four every week or winning at spelling games when they are just learning to read.

This time around, we played Monopoly: The Here and Now Edition. This is not your grandma's Monopoly and involves all sorts of twists to the classic game: Railroads have been replaced by airports like O'Hare and JFK. Utilities have been supplanted by cell phone and Internet service. And the game pieces have all been updated: laptop, cell phone, a hybrid car (Prius), Starbucks coffee mug, jumbo jet, and even super size fries (I chose this as my piece).

Not to say the kids really understood what was going on in the game but by a roll of the dice, we were visiting some of your cities and buying up the properties: Texas Stadium in Dallas, Centennial Olympic Park in Atlanta, The Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, Wrigley Field in Chicago, etc. The funny part of the whole game was when we landed on the White House property (apparently it is for sale), the kids went crazy when I told them that we could visit Obama.

Then I said to one of the Kindergarteners, "Emil, you can date Sasha and your brother can date the older one, Malia."

This suggestion was greeted by a chorus of jeers and 'ewww's' and game time ended abruptly thereafter and I ruined the party as usual (and probably their lives).

Maui Wowee

Reunited and it feels so good. Rested and recharged, I am ready to 'Phil' your void again (whether you consent to it or not). Here are the highlights of the last two weeks in my version of an 'Aloha Mixed Plate' (a little bit of everything, so to speak) complete with two scoops of rice and macaroni salad.

We started our adventures in frigid Utah where the no booze, no dancing, and thus, no fun 'Big Love' wedding took place. It was an outdoor wedding and I had to awkwardly put my hands under my armpits to keep them warm for most of the time (okay, they are usually under there anyways). Babyboo and I had hoped that the wedding favors would be fur lined parkas or long underwear onesies. I medicated myself early and often with cold medicine (to be preventative) but one attendee went All-Madden on me and actually took the initiative to BYOB to the reception. He brought Maker's Mark and had one of the waiters hide it for him behind the buffet table (so smart and yet, so red neck). He did not even share. To me, Utah was the means to the end--sweet Maui.

In Maui, we arrived to sunny, 90 degree weather and I could hear my buttery skin starting to sizzle, snap, crackle and pop under the sun's rays. At the rental car place, the attendant there seduced me out of a pansy car and into a Ford Mustang convertible. I could not resist and despite, Babyboo's objections, I got to have my midlife crisis sports car about 5 yrs early while I still have hair.

Upon arrival at the hotel, we were taken aback by the opulence of the hotel and the fact that the front desk assumed it was our honeymoon (we didn't correct them) and we were upgraded to the honeymoon suite with all these freebies. I was used to being in the honeymoon suites prior to getting married but usually it was often with a small frat of 5 other dudes with a lot of roll-away beds (it's more cost efficient) and usually in an even more romantic place like Capri adjacent to the rooms of couples who were visibly irked by us. But this time around, I really felt like a somebody, a VIP, and a princess for the week except that everyone in the hotel called me Mr. Song (Babyboo's maiden name) the rest of the time we were there.

For the first few days, I went to the beach asking a lot of the sun to drench this man-opolis temple that I call my body with its vitamin E fruits. As many of you can bear witness, I am extravagantly pale, almost to a gleaming, glorious radiance. I burned myself early on such that I was often the insecure loser wearing a t-shirt in the water. This past week, my back went from red, to peeling off, to new pale skin! So sadly, whatever tan I had that made me look my species has been washed away or has already faded.

For most of our time, when it was my turn to pick the activities, it usually involved riding down the hotel's water slides but I found that my dreams of pushing fat kids down these slides were delusional and out of touch when it turned out that I was the only fat kid there. When Babyboo dictated our activities, she put my body through a ringer from surfing and snorkeling to bike cruising down a crater but luckily, she put us up for a couple's spa day and it was simply amazing.

Under my masseuse, Ludmila's man hands I was tenderized like a pork shoulder and limbered up like Gumby and felt so great except that the facilities had all these tempting soaking pools, saunas, whirl pools and like a lost puppy, I did not know what to do with myself except stay there for several hours. It turns out, you're not supposed to do that and I had a critical case of prune hands and became so dehydrated and overheated that I felt more hungover than I have ever felt without drinking and Babyboo had to carry me to our room.

So all in, the only thing worse than the groggy Monday back at work after a long vacation is the Sunday before, where you think about the upcoming week and wonder if committing some drastic aggravated assault and getting thrown in prison is a better short term career choice.

For now, I am just struggling to get used to wearing proper attire. One spends the entire vacation week in a thong and flip flops (I like to move it, move it) and now one is expected to wear pants all day and not drink pina colada lava flows in the sun during lunch? Who can I assault?