By suozib

Recently Jough and I closed on a new house. At the closing we were talking with our agent about our buyers and the topic of entitlement came up. She said that she’s noticed more and more, especially with people under the age of thirty, that they feel they’re entitled to special treatment. They exist therefore they are owed. This was being discussed because our buyers felt they were owed our curtains. We, of course, left the rods and hardware, and all the windows were covered with blinds (commonly called treatments in contracts), but we never thought it would be a big deal to take our curtains. These were ours and went with our decorations and color scheme. What would they want with our curtains? But apparently during their final walk-through it was all they could talk about. Where are the curtains? Why’d they take the curtains? Those were to be ours, we wanted them. Who takes curtains? Making us into the curtain-stealing villains everyone knows us to be (granted I have great taste and the curtains are glorious). Apparently we didn’t comply with their expectations and they were about to blow the whole deal at their closing because we didn’t leave the curtains behind. Tensions were so high that Jough and I had to make an appearance at their closing (sellers normally don’t go to their buyer’s closing) so they could be appeased. Imagine a child on the floor throwing a tantrum because you’re denying them a piece of candy.

In the end though, they didn’t get my fucking curtains.

This could be a result of the prevailing philosophy that everyone should get a participation trophy; the mentality that you’re special because you’re you. I don’t know. I’m not an entitlement scientist.

I’m not exactly sure where this sense of entitlement comes from but it’s not the first time we’ve run into it.

Consider our ex-neighbor. Shortly after we moved into our previous home (and she into hers, as we bought around the same time) her basement flooded. She called a meeting to discuss what everyone was going to do about it. Yes, everyone. She had contractors and plumbers galore come over to explore options, but these options meant us pooling cash to help cover her costs, ripping into the back of our unit to add additional drain spouts, and whatever else was needed. When we questioned the work, especially questioning what was really needed to avoid future flooding, we incurred her ire and wrath. How dare we question her. That was her response to us. How dare we talk to her like that.

Just so you are not confused,,,, you and your wife are very nasty and selfish people in which i limit all communication to a null. I am not sure, just becuase I am not married and live by myself I will let you talk to me in this way…. and I won’t let this happen. I am being polite at this point but it will not happen again.”

(That’s a direct quote from an email, the grammatical errors are hers. In case you feel I’m being unfair in calling her out on these errors, she calls herself Dr. even though she’s a pharmacist and not a physician).

So she’s saying because Jough and I are married we have no right to talk to her in such a manner (reasonable, questioning manner) because she’s single. Huh. We’ve hit crazy-town on the crazy train. All aboard.

Her narcissism grew over the years.

There was a small patch of land in the front of our units of which she laid claim to. According to the deed and survey this was common land (albeit small, but any grass in the city is worth having). She ripped it up and added astroturf. Mine. All mine. My precious <strokes grass>. We could’ve argued the legitimacy of it being common, but in the end decided against it. No need to provoke the crazy.

There are several other stories I could write about (and probably will), but I’ll skip to the end. Through 100+ email exchanges concerning a new intercom buzzer that got very heated in the end, she made several demands of us which culminated in a final email accusing me of harassment (I called her a bitch on Twitter), here’s a snippet:

At this time I have filed a harassment incident under your name with the CPD effective today: R.D. _______.1 At this time, if you come near me, or my property I can arrest you for trespassing. If you come near me in a public area, I too can arrest you since this claim will remain open by me indefinitely. This report contains a full description of you and the police will have no option  but to move forward with criminal charges.”

Clearly she has no idea how the system works, but okay. Free speech, first amendment be damned.

I guess it’s my fault for provoking the crazy. I said before, there’s no need, but in the end I didn’t listen to my own advice. See, at first, I was pretty incredulous about her behavior. I thought she was joking. Insisting this, demanding that. Surely people don’t act this way. I was wrong.

Also, I’m pretty sure she’s obsessed with us. It’s obvious she had to look us up to gain any knowledge of what we write and post. (I realize I’m awesome, but my awesomeness is for a select few). It’s funny to me how she accuses us of being nasty and rude, and yet we’ve been the ones to receive the full brunt of her nastiness and anger. She filed a harassment incident against me, and yet again, I’m the one who has had to tell her to stop emailing and contacting us. This is the very definition of entitlement, the unreasonable expectation that one should receive special privileges, or act a certain way for you.

This whole entitlement issue reminds me of an article I read awhile ago about Whole Foods.

It’s interesting how people go through life not recognizing that their feelings and rationalizations towards others are really about their own sense of themselves.

I’ve requested the report from my lawyer. I seriously cannot wait to read it. This makes me seem like some kind of badass, but when you know the petty truth behind it takes my badassery down a notch.  ↩

Talking About Noodles

By suozib

When Jough and I first started dating, he decided he was going to give up alcohol and red meat for Lent. For 40 days and 40 nights, no alcohol. No red meat. It wasn’t for religious reasons, no – the damn atheist. He took this as an opportunity to better himself, to increase his well being and overall health. In solidarity I decided I was going to give up noodles. Cold turkey. It was difficult, challenging, hard, insert synonym here ____. While it was hard for Jough to give up his vices, and where he is the lover of eggs, noodles are my first love. My raison d’être.

What is a noodle?


  1. A strip, ring, or tube of pasta or a similar dough.
  2. A stupid or silly person.

I’m talking about the former, not the latter.

Most cultures do have a form of noodle that they claim as their own, and noodles have been a part of our culinary history for quite some time. While the term noodle does include Italian/American varieties such as spaghetti and other long tubed pasta, I favor the Asian versions more. The ramens, the udons, the sobas, the lo meins, etc.

Look at this guy go:

Aside from the versatility of the noodle (tastes, flavors, dishes), what I love most about them are the different textures associated with each kind. That gummy starchy texture as you slowly bite into an udon, or the slippery crispy smoothness of a broad noodle.

I’d also like to give a quick mention to the ever delicious all encompassing awesomeness that is noodle broth, far superior to the sauce. From the anise-flavored coco-nutty broth of a Laksa all the way to the beefy porky lemongrassy scent of Pho. Oh broth, you make noodles taste so much better.

This guy knows what I’m talking about:

Since Jough and I are eating healthier, the intake of starch and carbohydrates have fallen by the wayside, ergo noodles too. It’s definitely become an occasional delight rather than frequent, but we do travel for good noodle.

Recently we went to Yusho for their Sunday ramen lunch. This is probably one of best ramen dishes I have ever devoured. It went down fast and was extremely satisfying. The broth was rich with flavor and spice, where you could taste the intricacies of the stock that revealed subtle hints of a dashi broth, bonito flavoring, and garlic. While a bit expensive for Sunday brunch, I would go there again for the experience – and the ramen.

Yusho Photo Ops (nom nom nom):

Some people might think I’m crazy for talking about Penny’s Noodles next, but I think this place does a decent job of making fresh noodle dishes. I know this isn’t a real Thai restaurant, and I wouldn’t go there for something authentic, but they put out some good tasting food. Their Hot Pepper Noodle dish is to die for. You heard me right. To-die-for. I don’t know why this recipe works for me, but it does. Maybe it’s the combination of the ingredients (wide rice noodles, egg, onions, red bell pepper, basil, and a dash of ground black pepper on top), but it works remarkable well here. Its simplicity is hard to duplicate but it is by no means a simple dish. I’ve tried to replicate it at home, but the wide Thai rice noodles (same as Pad See Ew) are hard to find outside of the restaurant business and other types of noodles won’t work as well. I guess I’ll have to continue to patronize Penny’s.

This is a fond memory:










A few days ago I was able to venture over to the Slurping Turtle (finally) and try some of their ramen. It was good, but not as good as Yusho or Wasabi.

The Tonkotsu:


An honorable mention to the Pancit. We got this one in Hawaii (came with offal of some unidentifiable variety):

I hope this post leaves you with a taste for noodles and something wholly better than Nissin Top Ramen or Cup O Noodles.

Vive La Nouille!

The Greatness of Cardigans

By suozib

I’ve always been a fan of the cardigan (and hoodies too but that’s for another post), and I’m not talking about the Swedish rock band that was ubiquitous during the ’90’s. Just commenting about the simple cardigan, a sweater-like (usually knitted) article of clothing that opens in the front, with or without buttons, zippers, or any other fasteners. Think Mr. Rogers. Or Bernadette on the Big Bang Theory.

Did you know there was a 7th Earl of Cardigan? Well, you do now, and it was he who sported the sweater (modeled after a waistcoat) making it the sensation it is today, and of course, where we get the name. After that the cardigan became the favored sweater for merchants and fisherman, keeping the cold away, but also popularizing it for modern fashion wearers.

I love the versatility of the cardigan. It can be worn with pants, but also more prevalently, skirts and dresses. Is it a sweater, a light jacket, a coverup? Why not all? It can also hide the fat, the fat bulges, and the fat ass without adding extra bulk while simultaneously being fashionable. It’s an essential everyday wardrobe staple.

With autumn coming and that slightly cooler weather (I hope) it’s time to drag the cardigans out of the closet. I’m rather fond of having cardigans in all different shapes, colors, and textiles because you only need a few to round out your wardrobe.

I don’t have any interesting cardigan stories. Nothing of late to share. What I do love, though, is that most clothing sites have a section devoted to the cardigan amongst all other types of sweaters.

All hail the cardigan!

Best Bar Fight Ev-ah!

By suozib

When I lived in Brisbane back in 2000-2001, my friends and I use to frequent a pub called the Down Under. It was the kind of place that only internationals went to: other travelers, backpackers, international students, and tourists. It definitely wasn’t a place the locals went.

One night I went there with my then boyfriend and two other American men that just recently moved into the community house where we were living. I didn’t know them that well, and meeting other Americans didn’t happen that often. I don’t recall their names now, just what they looked like.  One was short and stocky, the other tall and lanky.

We wanted to play pool, so when a table opened up, we laid out our money on the side of the table to indicate that we were there for the long haul. It was the kind of pool table that only took change in a slot.

What happened next was like something out of a movie. Three big Australians came in. Huge. Bulky. Rugby playing looking behemoth motherfuckers (or so recalls my exaggerated memory), which was rare because the only other Australians in the place were the ones serving. They approached our table and swiped our change onto the floor. “We’re playing here next. Get the fuck outta here.”


Did that just happen?

Did he just say that?

Am I about to get my ass kicked?

A few moments of tense silence and staring. Then Stocky turned and punched Lanky in the face.  He fell down, nose bleeding, blood running down his face, in complete agony. “If that’s what I do to my friend, what the fuck do you think I’m gonna do to you?”

Holy shit!

What just happened?

Did he just say that?

The dumbstruck Aussies walked out.

And that is the best bar fight I have ever been in (I count myself as an active participant).