I didn’t give that nights plan much thought. Dinner, a movie, Cold Stone, sounded like a fun filled night right? and certainly it started that way. They wanted to eat at the hibachi and I obliged. Now I don’t much fancy our little Japanese eatery. Other than the fact there there is a bevy of attractive Asian staffers there the place offers little more than a “cheap” (prices not so cheap) “exotic” thrill for the white suburban folk that patronize the place. On any given night you will find swarms of happy white families gathered around the flat top grills, cheering and making quite the stir when the chef ignites the grill in blaze of flame and smoke. My personal favorite is the little volcano they make out of an onion, it really is rather amusing.

On this particular night my the companions and I sat opposite a rather stunning Asian(Japanese I think) woman in her 20’s and her dorky (way out of her league) boyfriend. Now no offense to those out there who like to have a go with white companions. I would be remiss to even harbor the thought that love can not be found outside ones own race, religion, creed, however this particular couple was quite the mismatch. And despite all of the theatrics going on around me I could not stop fixating my thought and gaze upon the show taking place directly across the table from me.

Like I mentioned she was very beautiful, gorgeous even. She possessed that quint essential Asian beauty, you know the kind you see on those calenders that hang up in every Chinese take out across America. He was probably studying to be a doctor. I could just tell by conservative style, his bad hair cut, and his lack of personality. (not to say that this describes med school students) However in Rochester you can tell who goes to the U of R for medicine, they just have a particular presence about them. And really that is the only way a guy like him could land a girl like her. Man how I loath this town. But I digress. Back to the show. I found it very amusing that he had ordered a cold sake in the traditional wooden box whilst she had ordered a bottle of warm sake for herself. As she sat there pouring shot after shot she would stop and critique the way in which he was approaching the whole dining experience. With the same look of amusement a child has on his first visit to the zoo this man had while partaking in the hibachi experience. She kept telling him to keep his elbows in as he lifted his sake box to his mouth. “Two hands, two hands, no no no, like this….” were the instructions she would give her counterpart and she slugged down another shot of sake. Maybe annoyed, maybe just eager to share a bit of culture, you decide.

Now I am no expert with chopsticks, but I’m not total shit when it comes to eating with them. Our friend across the table on the other hand was a sight to behold. I will confess rice is not my favorite thing to tackle with chop sticks and even a seasoned pro must think at times that a spoon is really the way to go when it comes to eating rice, but I could not help but smirk as I watched him try and eat his rice. She on the other hand was graceful and composed, almost angelic in the way she ate. I recall a scene in the movie “The Last Samurai” where Taka the love interest of Tom Cruise is eating rice with chop sticks. Its a beautiful act and our lady friend played the role brilliantly. He kept fumbling around, helpless to the mystic eastern powers that are chop sticks. Very hilarious indeed. I can only imagine what the sex is like. Why do you do it I wonder. Why waste your time with this guy. I am not trying to say I am a better alternative, but I am. This was just a thought though and I figured I would share it. So Tim one more time get back on track, why did you write this post in the first place? Surely it was not to describe your obvious infatuation and subsequent disgust with your dinner partners. Your right well lets get on with it then.

The last movie I walked out on was “Munich”. The reason I left that movie was due to the shaky camera work. I get motion sick and had to go puke my brains out. I liked what I saw though. After our wonderfully ethnic dinner my comrades and I went to the movies. We had settled on seeing “Juno” earlier that day, and it wasn’t until Jules called and I told her of my plans that the wheels got turning. I had seen the previews and it looked rather funny and although I knew it revolved around a mother relinquishing her child I guess I had not given the plot much thought. Jules had said that a lot of blogs she had read had suggested the theme of the movie and how it was conveyed was bit off kilter. As far as portraying adoption was concerned I felt the movie was a bit rough. I know the author of the script had admitted to not knowing much on the subject and subsequently decided a bit of research on the subject was not necessary. But hey what do you expect from an ex-stripper.

I had made my way through the bulk of the movie relatively unscathed, and it was not until the last ten minutes or so that the I got smacked by the emotional adoption truck. After birthing her baby, Bleeker the father of the child comes to the hospital bed and crawls in with Juno and they embrace. Rather sweet huh? Well the movie slowly pans in on Juno and Bleeker as she goes into a narrative. The gist of what she says and I’m paraphrasing was, neither she nor the father had any desire to hold let alone see the baby. They just wanted to forget it ever happened and live happily ever after. (collective awwwwww) Like I said it hit me like a Mack truck.

One equal part embarrassment, one part not wanting to have to explain myself, before the tears came out I excused myself. (dodgey hibachi food is good for something) The tears started to come down as I wondered to myself if my mother had been so nonchalant about giving me up for adoption. I wondered if she just wanted to get on with it in the same manner our little Juno had expressed. I wondered if she ever held me or if she had walked off into the sunset so cavalier like. My body tingled and head spun. I wanted to find some remote corner to go curl up in and cry. I wanted my mommy. Not my adoptive mother but my real mommy. I wanted answers and I wanted reassurance, I wanted to be consoled as only a mother can a weeping child.

It’s just a movie I told myself. Its not real and they are only actors playing out a script someone else had written, they are fictional characters. But these feelings, my feeling are all so real. Adoption is real. Loss and pain are real. I know the the writer of the script was just trying to tell a story about a witty teenage mother and her decision to relinquish her baby, but did she have to be so callous. Maybe I am over-sensitive and was making mountains out of mole hills, but I couldn’t help it. All of these things I keep tucked inside of me are very real and very lethal. It has been quite some time since I have discounted these feelings, I find it in bad form to ignore what are my inherent truths. I feel at this point in my life I have a better understanding and relationship with what lies beneath, and little by little I come closer to the calm which I seek.

I returned just as the credits were about to roll. I am sure my face was flushed and my eyes were a bit puffy but movie theaters are dark places thank god and I don’t think anyone was the wiser. My friends asked what was wrong and I said that the food had not agreed with me and that was that. Pheww another awkward conversation about my adoption issues averted. We all left without saying much. I told them I thought the movie was alright and that it had its moments and went we all our separate ways. It was late and as I lie in bed unable to sleep I wondered if I will ever be at peace with what this is. What role will adoption play in the rest of my life. Will movies always leave me in such shambles or will I be able to take what I see at face value. I’m not sure, but the one thing I do know is that strippers should really do their homework before they write screen plays.

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