Century Gothic

This is my 100th post on this blog. I don't know if that's a lot, or if it's one of those, I don't know, milestones waiting to happen. It's like driving 100,000 miles in your car. It's probably going to happen, but you take note of it anyways.

I wish I had a car, though.

Or maybe it's like reaching a certain age. Like when I turned 20. On that day, I noticed that I felt special, even though I had convinced myself that it was just another day and any uniqueness was simply a matter of perspective, that billions of others saw it as another day. Still, that day was unique to me, even if I publicly denied it.

Like New Year's. We have an arbitrary calendar, with an arbitrary beginning and end. So really, the beginning of the year could have started anytime. I guess we just need that day, a day to remind us that there's still hope for the future, that life isn't some unending and mundane linear progression, that if time can start afresh, so can we.

But look at me, running on with my sentences.

This is my 100th post. I should be writing about something profound! Something U-NEEK!

Or I could just sit here and stare blankly at my computer screen, switching my tab occasionally to Facebook, and continue my AIM conversations.

Or I could talk about what's on my mind. When your love life is this stagnant, sometimes writing about it is the only outlet. I don't know if I want to talk about my love life (or lack thereof) but I do want to talk about the perceptions of my relatives and their love lives, especially those Baby Boomers.

My Aunt Van has three kids, Henry, Bridgette and Christopher. Chris is in third grade so his time will come, but Henry is in his mid 20s (I'm being a bit generous, here) and Bridgette is a senior in high school. Naturally, my mom likes to talk about boys with her, and as anyone with a parent knows, talking to people who are 20 years older about relationships is not only a lost cause, but may incur permanent psychological damage.

Once, we started talking about how strict the family was, how only Vietnamese, Catholic options are allowed into the family. But my aunt wanted to clarify a bit further while still pretending to be opened minded.

My aunt says, "Bridgette, you can date anyone, as long as he's Vietnamese or Vietnamese and Catholic."

"So you're just saying she can date Vietnamese guys?" I ask.

"No," she replies. "Actually, she can date other Asian boys too."

We listened and she continued. "Japanese, okay. Korean...maybe. Indian, okay as long as he's rich. But no Chinese."

What?

"No Chinese, I said!"

Apparently, Vietnamese people are still mad at the Chinese trying to invade them 2000 years ago. My mom and my aunt then got into a big rant about how Chinese people always oppressed Vietnamese people. Talk about a grudge.

Recently, Bridgette visited the West Coast and Andy, aka Leroy (long story) took her on a tour of a few schools. My mom, being the classy matchmaker she is, suggested they get married. Pure tact.

But they were good sports about it...until we had our family reunion. We kept giving Bridgette a hard time about it and I think she was truly annoyed. But when has that ever stopped the ever-endearing Nguyen family?

We got to talking about couple names. Henry and his girlfriend Thu are HenThu, which I thought sounded like "hentai" (Mat: You've ruined their couple name forever Andrew. FOREVER.) and my grandparents' couple name is "Ong Ba." Yeah, we were really creative on that one.

But the best one would have been Leroy and Bridgette.

Ledgette.