I am (not) taking that math class.

At work the other day, my colleagues and I lamented about our avoidance of a (legitimate) math class in college.  I empathized — as soon as I matriculated to a liberal arts school, I made certain to fulfill the required math and science courses with classes that had as little math and science as academically possible.  This is one of my biggest academic regrets.  To this day, one of the few things I remember from my college-level science course is the day my professor decided to simulate crab sex by banging (zing!) two model crabs together.  I can’t even tell you why it was scientific, but it happened.

I will explain my aversion to math and science through, of course, a metaphor:  Say you’re a penguin raised in a nest of eagles because plausibility is not necessary for this metaphor to make sense.  One day, your Eagle friends begin to flap their wings and fly and you, the penguin, begin to flap your little wings as well.  However, instead of gliding majestically through the sky, you fall from the nest, beak first, into the ground below.  You’re all like, “Why the fuck can’t I fly, man?  I’m a fucking bird.  Birds fucking fly.”  You try and you try until one day, feeling dejected, you decide to walk thousands of miles until you find yourself in a colony of penguins.  “OMG! ”  you exclaim.  “Now I understand.  I can’t fly, but I can swim like a mother fucker.  I’m never going to fly again.  Swim, swim, swim.”

My friends, that is how it feels to grow up in a neighborhood filled with Asians — Asians going to the grocery store, Asians in their Toyotas Corollas, Asians wearing glasses in Calculus class.  Yeah, I said it.

To show you how terrible my math is, the following is a chart of how a writer solves mathematical equations:


I am starting a lemonade stand.

When you spend about 21 years of your life as a gawky, closeted lesbian, much time is passed listening to Savage Garden, watching British romantic comedies starring Hugh Grant, and voting for Kelly Clarkson on American Idol – practices that effectively delay adolescence by about fifteen years. Suddenly, you find yourself in your early 20s, thrown into the cruel cesspool that is coming of age. Here you are, at age 22, drinking klassily like a 15-year-old boy at a New Hampshire boarding school. Suddenly, you are 24 and find yourself in a scene reminiscent of the middle school dance you tried to avoid.  It has followed you to this San Francisco lesbian bar where time seems to have died at or around 1998. There is Alanis Morrisette is blaring on the Dolby surround sound. There is little to no dancing, a lot of sheepish grins and glares, and plenty of people walking around in pants that don’t fit properly – yourself included.

And one day you wake up at age 25 and you just really, really want to run a lemonade stand. It’s a beautiful temperate day in the Bay Area and you think it will be better now than it would have been at age nine in Texas – a chubby, perspiring Vietnamese kid standing alone in unbearable Houston humidity, quietly uttering “Lemonade for Sale” to an empty cul-de-sac. The thought of that pre-pubescent voice reverberating in vast nothingness is enough to launch a series of lemonade stands!

Stand 1: Lemonade named after formerly closeted 90s pop stars, sold at the San Francisco Dyke March in June of 2012

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Featuring:  The Lance Bass (Mango Lemonade), The Queen Latifah (Nectarine Basil Lemonade), The Ricky Martin (Watermelon Lemonade), and The Sporty Spice (Indeed, she is gay in all of our imaginations…Strawberry Mint).  And my partner as an extremely suave lemonade hustler.

Lemonade Stand 2: Jenny from the Block Lemonade Stand – Jennifer Lopez themed lemonade, sold at a yard sale in the Upper Haight, July 2012

Price: “Our love don’t cost a thing, thing, thing – donations accepted.”

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Featuring: “Waiting for (it) toRipe” (Basil Nectarine Lemonade) and “I’m Real (Strawberries) REEEEEEMIXXXX Featuring Mint” (Self Explanatory).

This one was inspired by my irrational love of Jennifer Lopez for introducing non-Tejano music listening ears to Selena.  As we all know, in Texas, Selena is Jesus, Jesus is God, and God is president because Barack Obama is a Muslim.*

Coming soon to Washington, DC – stand 3: Flamboyantly pink lemonades named after conservative Supreme Court Justices.

Featured flavors to be determined, but it will most definitely feature a “Clarence Thomas” lemonade with quiet, near silent tones of mint.

*Editor’s Note:  Barack Obama is not a Muslim.