Chris won’t let me go to Costco on my own anymore. After two trips accompanying me to Costco last year, he still won’t admit he loves exploring the aisles and seeing what new goods are for sale there, but I know he loves it even if it won’t admit it out loud. On average since I’ve gotten my dad’s Costco card, I’ve gone about once every three months, and so we were due for a visit this time around. He insisted that I couldn’t go by myself, that he needed to be there to help me… whatever that means.

He did his thing, scrutinizing potential carry-on luggage rollers carefully, walking up and down the candy aisles in search of his much beloved Maltesers, which I happened to find the very first Costco trip I ever took on my own when he didn’t accompany me on Veteran’s Day in 2017. My husband is so cute when he really likes something but won’t admit it out loud. But I could just tell he was enjoying himself.

Then, when I was in line to pay for our relatively small number of purchases, he got into the ready-made food line to get me my nostalgic chicken bake. When I arrived at the table to meet him, he had also gotten a slice of the infamous Costco pizza. “I wanted to see what it tasted like,” he said. His Costco curiosity was peaking. “Tastes like Dominos,” he eventually said between bites.

You know your love is really getting real for Costco when you want to eat the food there and stay there in order to eat it.

Last summer, when I finally got my much coveted Instant Pot, I was a bit too ambitious and thought that I could handle doing something more complex in the IP than just boiled eggs or steaming rice, so I decided to make vegetable biryani as my first Instant Pot experience. Needless to say, it was probably the worst choice I could have made, as I used the pot for sautéing, ended up overheating the pot with the dreaded and then not understood “burn” signal, and then created an inedible brown mush out of all my spices and three cups of basmati rice. Chris freaked out and thought it was an Instant Pot issue and suggested we even return the darn thing.

So today, I was a bit apprehensive again of using the Instant Pot for biryani. But if so many other Indian cooks have mastered endless biryanis in their Instant Pots, even my same model, then why couldn’t I? This time, instead of browning my spices and chicken in the pot, I did this step separately on the stove. I caramelized my onions over the stove, as well. After browning my marinated chicken, I then dumped it into the pot with some of the onions, the rice, the water, and cooked it to pressure. And it all turned out perfectly this time. I probably should have gotten extra long grain basmati rice and caramelized the onions for much longer, but taste-wise and appearance-wise, this is what I was hoping for. I guess second time’s the charm. At this rate, biryani could easily go into a regular rotation, especially if we aren’t always marinating and using meat!

Tonight, we went to see the show Good Friday at the new location of the Flea Theater. We used to go to the Flea all the time, as they are one of the many independent theaters in New York City that are known for pushing the envelope with more controversial themes and imagery. The show’s general story is that it depicts a school shooting here in America, but one that is actually perpetrated by a woman. It touches upon issues around sexual assault, gun violence, school shootings, and society’s general sexist attitudes against women.

Oftentimes, when we read or hear about school shootings in the news, we tend to hear the same pathetic story all the time: the shooting has been perpetrated by men, always white, who were isolated, depressed, a bit “different” from their classmates. It was a “lone wolf.” It was a hermetic man. He didn’t have many friends. Whatever you want to call it, that’s how the mass shooter is characterized. I’m not saying that there needs to be justification for a mass shooting because nothing can justify killing multiple human beings with a spray of bullets. But there’s never really a known motive for the mass killing other than the potential depression or psychotic state of the man perpetrating it. In this show, there was: a woman who was repeatedly raped by a whole team of male rugby players at her school and wanted to get revenge.

I don’t really know if this is something I should be admitting publicly on a blog, but when I realized her motive was for revenge for getting gang raped, I kind of thought… well, in that case, maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe men really do need to reap what they sow and take responsibility for their hateful anti-woman actions. Maybe they really do need to have the fear of death instilled in them to prevent them from perpetrating such disgusting acts that we all are aware happen every single day.

Yesterday morning, after chatting with Teledoc, I had to go to Duane Reade to pick up a few prescription medications I was prescribed. And as I walked in, I had completely forgotten today was Valentine’s Day until I noticed a hoard of people gathered around the Valentine’s Day Papyrus card display, all frantically trying to choose the best card to give their partners. Then, as I entered the doors, all three of the people who exited and walked past me were carrying Duane Reade bags, where I could see that all they purchased was a Valentine’s Day card, bright red or pink and gold.

The heart-shaped Valentine’s Day candy box stand was nearly depleted. Even the cards were almost all gone, even the plain Jane looking ones. This is the mad rush for everyone to fulfill the stupid Hallmark need to have a commercialized day to prove they appreciate their significant other when they probably don’t do enough of that the rest of the year. But hey, all power to the companies who reinforce this desire. If I want to give my baby a card, I will make it. Take that. No more money for them.

Once I hit 30, I knew my body was going to start changing, if it didn’t already start changing in my late twenties. At around 26, I could feel my metabolism slowing down, as I could not eat as much without gaining weight, which meant that I had to exercise twice as hard to keep the physique I wanted. That was also when I had to train myself to start eating less, especially at lunch time. Then in my 30s, I started noticing the skin on my face and neck changing, indicating my maturity and that I wasn’t my twenties’ self anymore. I don’t necessarily have wrinkles, per se, but there’s definitely a matureness to my face and neck that I certainly did not have when I was in my twenties.

So a few of my friends and I started statements with, “you know you’re getting old when…” The latest for me? Well, that happened today. In the midst of one of my coughing fits, I stopped coughing and felt a sneeze coming on. When the sneeze came, I blew so hard that somehow, I managed to pull a muscle in my lower back, resulting in back pain pretty much every time I move. And it only got worse every single time I would cough, as the pain would be re-ignited. So, you know you’re getting old when you can sneeze so hard that it can pull a muscle in your body.

This actually happened to one of my friends. Her muscle was so distorted that she had to go to a massage therapist to get the knot out. I hope I just need tiger balm, stretching, and rest for mine, though.

After work today, I went home to eat dinner and start packing for my visit home for the next week and a half. I don’t know why packing to go back to San Francisco is so annoying and tends to take me longer than any other packing. Part of it is because I don’t really know what the weather will be like since it’s so unpredictable, and the other part of it is that I usually bring gifts home for my parents and friends, and I have to sift through all the things I’ve collected since the last trip and make sure I don’t forget anything. That process is really annoying. I also get annoyed thinking about what my mom will say about what I bring her back. Sometimes she seems satisfied, while other times, she asks, “That’s it?” as though she was expecting more things or other things. That’s certainly not the most grateful answer/response, but well, that’s who she is.

Then, I have to think about all my parents’ new dietary restrictions. In theory, they love Tim Tams, but my mom has been told she is pre-diabetic, so she’s avoiding most sugars, even cutting out rice and bread. The bread part wasn’t an issue; the rice part certainly is. My dad complains about pretty much anything that isn’t a vegetable or fruit since his bypass surgery. But he will still eat most things. In those cases, I usually ignore his complaining.

We’ll see how this round of gifts are received this time.

Yesterday, I had my first rigorous workout since coming back from Vietnam and getting over my cold. I’d been exercising the last two weeks, but I was definitely doing less strenuous routines and also running at slower paces to get my body back into the rhythm of morning exercise. It’s still been a struggle to get up in the morning, especially knowing how cold it is once I leave my bed and bedroom, but I’ve been trying.

But it felt good to work out. Before 10am, I already had over 7,500 steps logged on my Garmin, and I felt energized the way I did before our trip. This is when exercise gets addictive — the feeling you get after of accomplishment and renewed energy. Nothing really beats that feeling of getting your body active and feeling like you did something good for it. It also helps me think more clearly throughout the day, too.

Now, I just need to keep pushing myself to wake up early enough to work out and get to work on time. The usual winter challenge… mind vs. body…

At work, we were sitting around the lunch table today when one of my colleagues was complaining about people on the subway who enter the subway car and do not actually move in. When multiplied by hundreds, what this ends up resulting in is hoards of people crowding around the subway door, creating the fake appearance that the car is full, when in fact, the middle of every single car has plenty of standing space. And don’t even get me started on the seats that are empty in the middle that no one sits on. If you want to create more space… then people need to sit down in those seats!

“You know who’s a New Yorker and who’s new to this city or a visitor when you see people crowding around the doors,” my colleague said. “Real New Yorkers don’t crowd by the doors.”

I don’t know how you define “real New Yorker.” I’ve been living here 10.5 years, and I don’t do that. I end up annoying people by saying “excuse me” and pushing my way into the center of the car. In fact, I don’t see enough people being aggressive enough to do that. So I don’t really think what my colleague is saying is true. If anything, New Yorkers have a reputation of being all in it for themselves, so if that is truly the case, then by definition, the behavior crowding around the doors would be in line with that.

I’m happy to push my way through the subway car, though. If anything, I’m doing everyone else a favor by getting in and making use of the real space in the middle that actually exists.