Friday, May 30, 2008

More Sex and the City

Feeling Catty so than usual? Maybe not. Actually, I guess I'm just feeling particularly like myself today. Go figure.

Sex and the City the movie came out today, but I am still battling the urge to watch it.

I am not finding myself feeling compelled to rush out and see it in the movie theater. This is surprising to me. I figured that once one of my favorite shows was released on the big screen, I would flock to be one of the first to see it. The build over the past few months has burned me out I think. I think the hype and hoopla has made the entire experience too cliche and my psyche is resisting it.

There is a scene in the trailer where Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha are toasting Cosmos. One of them asks, "These are fabulous! Why did we stop drinking these?"

And Carrie says, "Because everyone else started drinking them."

That is a pretty accurate way to describe how I feel I guess. Oh TBS- you and your heavily edited/censored syndicated SATC reruns...God, I know I should get over myself and my authoritative attitude about this movie...but I'm just not gonna. The biggest fans are the most critical of what they choose to be Super Fans wouldn't do the show justice if I weren't skeptical.

The impatient bitch in me is really what is preventing me from fighting the crowds this weekend, though. I have to really be DYING to face the mob on the opening weekend of the newest big movie to be released. I find myself too easily irritated by overcrowded movie theaters...all of those people scattered about with their infinite annoying's overwhelming. I can't take it. My mind goes into overdrive, and this scenario would be particularly overwhelming since I've quit smoking again.

I'm the kind of person to get annoyed when I hear someone eating their popcorn too loudly or scraping their straw up and down the lid of their drink to swish around their ice (CREEEAAAK-CREEAAAAAK, crunch crunch, swish swish, SLURP...repeat...GRRRRR!), or getting distracted by flocks of younger girls sitting together flapping their jaws at one another and giggling. If someone opens their cell phone six rows ahead of me to check a text message, I will notice and feel put out by the light it gives off. I can't help it. I inherited it from my dad.

I have a ridiculously short fuse and there is nothing I can do about it.

I already get aggravated enough by girls in groups larger than two or three (for the most part, unless they are my own friends at least), and as much as I love Sex and the City, the idea of voluntarily paying $9 to put myself in a huge shared space to watch a chick flick is a total turn off.

Sex and the City is one of my few girlie indulgences (next to sundresses and Jane Austin novels/film adaptations...shhhh), and I prefer to enjoy it from the comfort and solitude of my house, on my t.v., by myself. Films, in my opinion, are also notorious for butchering and tarnishing a good thing by making iconic small screen shows into weak movies, so I am already hesitant to see it in the first place...

I'll admit, I DO want to see it, but would much prefer to wait until next week and go see it on a Tuesday night late showing to avoid the masses. I mean, it's not like there are any surprises that I am just dying to know about with the movie. I've read up on it and followed it enough online while bored at work. I already know what happens.

We saw a late night showing of the new Indiana Jones last night and there were only like 15 people in there with us to watch it. That's the way to go- plenty of space and legroom, enough distance between parties to not hear them eat their snacks or quietly comment to one having to squish knees together so people can squeeze by for pee breaks and no one periodically kicking the back of your chair. Perfect.

When we got out around 11:30, we saw the line of dozens of chicks waiting for the midnight premiere of Sex and the City wrapped around the facility- talking loudly and high pitched and all a-flutter, snazzily dressed up, many a designer totes in hand. Many of them had obviously been drinking (probably Cosmos I would imagine...whah whahhhhh...) and were laughing about two volumes too high. All in good fun, but....

~Shudder~ No thank you. It felt nice to keep walking. You couldn't pay me to wait in a line like that.

Now, The Dark Knight (next Batman installment!), however, is a different story. I will suck it up and wait in an absurdly long line to face the masses all day long to see that one.

Call me a nerd, call me a freak ("OmiGOD, what a weirdo" to the laywoman), but a yummy Christian Bale in one of the best dark super hero film series ever made is way more worth the hassle and fuss if you ask me. THAT'S something to get all in a flutter about. I will be more than happy to camp out with the 40 year-old virgins, overweight pimple-faced comic books freaks and males of all ages and stereotypes who will drag their girlfriends and wives to see THAT premiere.


To each his or her own.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Sex and the City


I love Sex and the City. I think it would be safe to say that I could easily out SATC trivia pretty much every woman out there, because I've watched every episode of every season so many times that I have them all but memorized- and I'm not talking about the diluted, safely edited versions that TBS airs. I'm talking the gritty, R-rated HBO originals. I own them all and I value them like I do my favorite books.

Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda are very special ladies to me. When I was newly 21 years old, I had just moved out of my parents house to live by myself completely for the first time. I had returned to the "nest" for an 8 month stint to re-cooperate and collect my wits after surviving a year-long drug and alcohol binge/roller coaster ride of being completely irresponsible and immature living out on my own...being unemployed, broke, dropped out of college and suffered an emotionally devastating break up from a douche bag fraternity guy who had claimed to love me while at the same time cheating on me and lying about it for months.

After I had "healed" (for the most part...more just learned how to control myself enough to exist like a functioning adult without mom and dad's help), I had gotten a new full-time job managing a designer sunglass store and had rented a townhouse all to myself. I had sworn off men and was feeling very independent and strong and "together." Despite all of that though, there were still those moments of living alone as a single girl whose friends all had boyfriends, that life felt very lonely and empty.

I remember one night watching HBO (my one "indulgence expense" that I scraped by to keep for myself as a treat), and I was feeling particularly low. An episode of Sex and the City came on, and for the first time, I was intrigued. Although I had heard of the show before, I had never watched it.

That night, I watched the episode "They Shoot Single People, Don't They?" As soon as it was over, I put my shoes on and drove to Hastings to buy the entire second season on VHS. I didn't care how much it cost, I had to have it. I wanted to watch all of them immediately. I was off the next day at work, so I spent the entire next watching every episode of the season back to back...thus beginning the Sex and the City tradition I would continue until the day the last episode aired.

It's like the show was written for ME...and it was! For women like me of all ages. It was hilarious, touching, well-written, honest, raw, reflective, insightful and aimed specifically towards single, independent women. They were strong and confident, yet they still were vulnerable and flawed. It wasn't so much the "girl power" thing or the fashion...but more so the overall insightful nature of the show. It highlighted and focused on so many of the very things I was going through and had gone through that it spoke volumes about the universal experiences of being a female in this day and age.

I fell in love immediately.

I'm torn between feeling wary about a Sex and the City movie, and feeling excited to be "reunited" with the ladies. I would hate to watch anything that might soil the way that I feel about the characters and their story lines...I'm a pretty picky movie critic, especially when it comes to something I hold near and dear (i.e. Batman). I was concerned that since the actresses and characters are all older and aren't single anymore, the fun and wit wouldn't be there, therefore making the movie cheesy and void of any real entertaining substance.

Then I had to question if those concerns reflected something that I might be concerned with about my own existence. I too am older and and no longer single. I am no longer 21 and in the prime of my free woman status- I am married and pushing 30 now. Everything has changed. But I shouldn't go being concerned about life after younger single years being cheesy and void of any real entertaining substance. I should know better. It's all evolution.

Granted, this is a MOVIE we are talking about here versus real life- but any real fan of any show or movie gets truly attached to characters and their stories. They watch them grow and go through all of their b.s. and joys and upsets- you evolve with them.

If anything, there might just be an element about this movie that I will be able to appreciate more now that I am no longer single and no longer living a single chick's lifestyle.

Here's a good review by Entertainment Weekly (one of the only publications whose reviews I will take seriously- BURN YOUR GAZETTE movie review section. They don't konw squat).

Sex and the City.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008


THIS article breaks my heart.

You know, when I was in college and taking classes such as Minorities in American Society, and Gender, Race and Class in American History, and others, I was amazed to find how many people failed to recognize that race issues still exist so predominately in this country. So many of them were either ignorant or in denial that race issues still exist in our society today. So many of them are either blind or indifferent or just don't grasp the reality of it because they are oblivious to the world around them.

They are too distracted and programmed by our public education system to really SEE anything. Even more gross was that so many of them started out indifferent about it and remained indifferent through the courses. And these were just people in my classes. I can't imagine how many of them are out there floating around in the masses nationally.

I think those people fail to recognize that, in our parents' lifetime, segregation still existed. In our parents' lifetime, interracial couples such as my mom and dad were not legally allowed to marry (miscegenation) up until 1967. That wasn't that long ago.

As Obama gets closer and closer to the Democratic nomination, I am hearing more and more people speculating that he will be assassinated if he gets elected President of the United States. More and more people are arguing that, although sad and unfortunate, that is just the reality of the way things are.

How much more eye-opening proof do we need that racism still exists and runs ramped in this country? In our day and age, a man who isn't even full-blooded African American- a man who is HALF WHITE- can get THIS close to the presidential seat and so many of our citizens are preparing for some redneck piece of shit to kill him?

There are still people in this country who only see the color of a person's skin and the "ethnicity" of their names and feel so threatened by those aspects of that person's existence that they choose to make assumptions and decisions and conclusions based on bigotry because they are lazy and hateful and uneducated.

Those people are idiot cowards who are no higher on the food chain than feral dogs with mange.

Oh yes, we've gotten BETTER...better at diluting our prejudices and sugar coating the ugly truth: this country is not as progressive as we give ourselves credit for. It's disgusting. It's embarrassing as a nation.

People still make their bigot jokes and brush them off as just being funny and get defensive if you say they are being racist or call them out for being jackasses. They're not racist, they say. "Lighten up," racism doesn't exist like it used to- it's 2008. Civil rights happened. Everyone is blended and that ship has sailed.

Obviously, "smiling prejudice" is coming to the surface as this election year continues to unfold and exposing so many people for who they really are.

If you speak your mind and go against the grain when some jerk off makes a black or "Mexican" or Asian joke (this goes for sexist and homophobic as well), you are told to lighten up and stop being uptight. Put a muzzle on calling out verbal vomit so that prejudice and bigotry can still simmer and stew under the smoke and mirrors. FUCK THAT. It makes me angry.

I think the people who fail to recognize that not only does racism still exist, but that it is more predominantly influential than anyone wants to admit, are just people who contribute to a disease that hovers under the radar. They keep it alive.

Racism isn't exposed and out in the open for everyone to see like it used to be- BUT IT IS STILL THERE. It is just so deeply embedded into some people's minds that it is just a normal way of thinking and they are literally incapable of recognizing the context of their own words and actions and prejudices.

It's all coming out now though.

Even if Obama doesn't get elected as president, I am thankful for him and his determination and the issues and HOPE that he truly has brought to the table. It's like he's unintentionally holding a big mirror up in front of this country, in regards to race, and saying, "LOOK at what we truly are. Look at where some of us have come from, and look at where some of us remain. Look at where we could go."

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

A Decade Later, They're Still the Same

I went to my very special and favorite cousin John Michael's high school graduation for Norman North on Saturday morning- Norman North being my adolescent alma mater down South a ways. His being a part of the graduating class of 2008 marks the 10 year anniversary of my 1998 graduation.

It was weird sitting there in the Lloyd Noble Center watching a class of high school seniors go forthright with their rite of passage in the very same place that my friends and I escaped from 10 years prior to. I was skeptical to re-visit any remote element of my high school, but it did give me a new position to critique nonetheless. I see it as a useful form of research- as a fly on the wall observer- for future writing endeavors.

In all fairness, I learned that not only is high school still the same, but, despite being 10 years older, I myself am still the same in regards to my mindset on the subject. Is it immaturity or validation for an old way of thinking that I am realizing? Evolution? Proof that there are parts of people, that deep down within, that never leave high school? I'm a contradiction to myself, complaining that those people who annoyed me haven't changed, when I haven't really changed either. Go figure.

As for Norman North, the principal has changed, a rivalry has developed between North and Norman original (something which did not exist when my class graduated since ours was the first class to be split when North opened new our senior year), and the valedictorian at the ceremony displayed what I can only describe as "penis flexing" on behalf of his graduating class.

First of all, that valedictorian too scarily resembled Carrot Top. No joke. When he first appeared at the podium I swear I thought that Carrot Top had been invited as a guest speaker. Of course, it makes no sense that he would be at Midwestern high school graduation, but I wondered briefly if he was a native Oklahoman and I just never knew it. But alas, the kid was not Carrot Top.

He was just an overtly cocky, overachieving teacher's pet type. He was obviously the super-involved, quirky, popular studious guy with the red afro that was notorious in the school for his witticisms, teacher ass kissing and douchey sense of humor. "Oh he's so funny with his big red afro!" You know. THAT guy.

Basically, what his speech boiled down to was, "The class of 2008 is the best and most physically, intellectually, awesomely superior group of seniors to ever grace the halls of Norman North in the history of the universe and everyone else is dog shit in comparison." Literally. All school ego-puffing, to the extreme. No sugar coating. Blah blah blah. Not just school spirit, but EXTREME ultimate dominating school spirit. No humbleness, no modesty...just good old fashion school spirited arrogance.

Perhaps that's the staple message of every valedictorian's speech at high school commencement, I don't know. Maybe my class's valedictorian did the same, although who that person was and what they talked about I couldn't tell you. I was the asshole not paying an iota of attention, cracking jokes and giggling hysterically with the friend I was lucky enough to sit next to during the ceremony.

Do people actually care that much about their high school? Do they take it that seriously? Was it like that when I was in school? The whole idea of school spirit has always baffled me. I truly and honestly can say, I DON'T GET IT. I don't think it to be a matter of feeling "too cool for school," but rather a genuine lack of understanding of what the big deal is.

I always felt that there was so much more in the world and in life to get my panties in a wad about than my stupid high school and our football team. It all seemed so insignificant in the bigger picture then...and it still is now.

Graduation was definitely a big deal though, because it made it official that it WAS OVER. Fuck the nostalgia- BUH BYE. The nazi administration could get their rocks off by power tripping on the next senior class in their clutches.

Before the handing out of diplomas there was the seemingly endless sentimental yawn-tastic talking and reflecting, too many songs sung by the choir, and a slideshow that featured pictures of pretty much all of the same particular students over and over again.

We all know who THOSE kids were...they were clones of the same kids in every class, at every school all over the country for past decades on end. The obvious A-Lister "stars" of the school, with the occasional B-listers making the cut so that it wasn't AS shamelessly obvious who created the slideshow for the ceremony.

My brother and I counted how many times we saw the same group of girls poised together for various school events such as prom or fill-in-the-blank dress up day or whatever, and the same groups of guys doing the same. You could tell that they were the Pretty Popular Pod People by the reaction of the students. I would bet you a thousand dollars that they were pom and/or cheerleaders, football players, and other athletes and kids who believed that they ruled the school.

But that's just high school politics. It's nothing new and it never changes. No surprise.

ALL OF THAT ASIDE, I have to admit how proud I am of my John Michael for graduating. The best part of the ceremony, of course, was screaming bloody murder and scaring the crap out of the people sitting in front of us, when my brother, husband and I stood up to cheer for him, "We love you John! Whooop whooop!" You know you've made someone feel special when your voice is hoarse from a three second shout out.

He always tells me, during each of his rites of passages (driver's license, entering high school, first job, etc.) that he knows that he makes me feel old. And he does make me feel old, but not in a bad way.

I learn just as much from him as he does from me, considering I've been drilling my perspective into his head since the moment he learned to read. He called me the next day, as promised, to let me know that he was safe and had fun at his graduation parties. Then he proudly proclaimed to me that his class "partied harder than any other class at North."

Um, ok. I wasn't sure how to respond to that. So I said, "Um. Ok John. I think all classes always think that, but you go ahead and think that if you want."

I was quite excited and happy to see John Michael walk that stage and free himself from the chains of authority and stupid adolescent politics that is high school. I can't wait to see what he does with himself now that he is free to start living out of those constraints.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Cougar? Moi?

After announcing that today is Taylor's 27th birthday at work, I was promptly called a "cougar" by my male colleagues. Whatever, COUGAR.

He's only a year and a half younger than me- which SO does not put me into the cougar category. For five months out of each year, I am, by number only, 2 years older than him. I had forgotten until said cougar mentioning that up until today I am 28 and he was 26, and still, that age gap does not a cougar of me make.

I think it's funny though, the whole cougar thing (although totally getting played out). It's so interesting, our society's obsession with youth. Cougars have it way better than women had it back in the days of "The Graduate." There weren't Mrs. Robinsons available like there are these days.

Cosmetic surgery, present-day dressing younger than your age fashion leniency, America's laughable definition of "sanctity of marriage" and divorce rates, and popular media have created a whole new ball game for Cougar Power.

I think all cougars should thank Sex and the City's Samantha Jones (Kim Cattrall) for breathing new life and appreciation into the phenomena that is cougardom. Bravo!

Although an amusing concept, cougars honestly gross me out. They gross me out just as much as their male counterparts do ( the sleezy, mid-life crisis cradle robbing men with money...bleaugh). Samantha on Sex and the City is awesomely entertaining and hilarious, but she grosses me out too.

There's a difference between being a confident and sexually liberated woman and being just a flat out slutbag. Seriously. Soooo sad. In all fairness to women's lib- more power to them I guess- Go team Easy Street! But still. Yuck.

If you are ever curious to see cougars out in the wild running free and in action in the OK metro, hit up Russell's or Groovy's in OKC on a Friday or Saturday night.

It's hilarious to watch them work. It's as if there is a secret cougar handbook circulating out there to teach them the art of scoring their prey, because I've studied these womens' hunting techniques and they are alarmingly similar.

First of all, the strategy that they use is quite bold, aggressive, and definitely predatory. I suppose this is to give their targets a more clear "sure thing" vibe from the get go. They are too old to waste too much time being coy, because some younger piece of ass could saunter by and steal their limelight if they aren't careful.

Cougar BAIT, I've noticed, for the most part seem to be your more classic "stud-like" guys. You know, the guys who obviously work out and actually put significant thought and time into what they wear out on the town- think tight shirts, gelled hair, taking hard liquor to the dome. Sometimes it's beer, but from what I've observed, most of them prefer to kick it old school and go for the hard stuff like whiskey or scotch.

That's where the predatory part of a cougar's strategy comes into play: creep up on prey who is obviously at the bar to get wasted and is already noticeably lit...flirt...chain smoke...laugh at his douche bag jokes...pump him full of more drinks (perhaps even a shot or two with Red Bull in it in hopes of him fucking her like the Energizer Bunny later, should she get so lucky)...laugh at more douche bag jokes...preen his ego with compliments on his fine physique (touch bicep)...get him to the point where he's so drunk that her age lines get so blurry that the "intoxicated fountain of youth" kicks into his vision...then...when the moment is right...POUNCE!

(cue wicked roaring big cat scream, like lightening, but scarier)

Mama's got herself a nice kill of fresh meat(head). Poor guy didn't have a chance.

Cougar watching is one of the most fun kinds of people watching, if you should happen to stumble upon the right subject matter. It's kind of National Geographic-like.

When I do it I like to narrate the scenario in my head, adding a nice touch of a British accent to the mix.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

I Do Not Endorse Mail Order Brides and Bulimia

You know when you go to a website, and there are a slew of Google ads running up and down the side of the page, and then if you should happen to click on one you are taken to a place where the information isn't really relevant and there are only links hosted to other sites or ads to get you to spend money?

That's called Google Adsense.

It's seems like a good idea for people who blog, because with Adsense, you supposedly get paid every time someone clicks on one of the Google ads you post on your blog page. The ads supplied by Google are supposed to be relevant to the subject matter of your blogs and they are "designed" to coincide with your site and visitors' interests, therefore drawing in $$$ revenue for you when readers click on them.

Unfortunately for me, the subject matter of my blogs are all over the radar, with, however, the exception of the fact that I bitch quite a bit and vent about random stuff. This makes it difficult to keep the ads relevant to anything work clicking on, therefore keeping most hope for extra change out of my pockets.

I scrolled down my blog today to investigate what kind of ads Google has been posting for me, and was amused to find ads for mail order brides and links to places to go to cope with hate and finding God. Of course since my blog title has the word CAT in it, there are also links for kitty litter and other feline related things.

I remember awhile back I had posted a letter to Taco Bell one day and the ads had changed to links for Eating Disorders and Coping with Bulimia.

It kind of freaks me out, those Google ads on my page. It makes me want to write some off the wall things to see what kind of ads will pop up next, just to mess with it. Oh how my imagination goes into overdrive just thinking about the possibilities.

Just so you people know, I do not endorse mail order brides or eating disorders, and for future reference, if there are more fucked up ads on my page- BLAME GOOGLE!

I wait for the day that the Internet gets so smart that it can understand metaphors (i.e. the cat metaphor and more effective Google Adsensing), but of course when and if that should happen, computers will be taking over the planet and we will all be goners anyways. So no rush.

On a side note, here is a daily dose of CUTE. This is how I feel when Taylor tries to take the remote control and change the channel when I am watching any one of my programs:

Mad Kitty

Monday, May 19, 2008

Balls and Humanity

A friend of mine at work was at Lake Hefner this weekend with his father to enjoy a day of sailing.

Upon taking a break and going back to the car to grab something, they found that the rear windshield had been shattered. On the car was a note from a woman with a name and phone number, and a message reading that she believed her golf ball to have hit the car and to call her to get things straightened out.

So my friend and his father (who is pushing 70 by the way) call this woman, telling her how noble and honest it was of her to leave her number and take responsibility like that. Not a lot of people would have done that and they were quite appreciative.

As my friend was telling me this story, I saw a flicker of hope that suggested that perhaps mankind isn't for the most part consisting of inconsiderate jack ass morons. Little tid bits like this make me sometimes pause to reconsider my lack of faith in humanity.

BUT. The story wasn't finished.

The woman who left the note suddenly decided that the more she thought about it, the more she came to believe that it couldn't have been her ball that shattered the window...and that even if it was, there was no proof that it was her ball that broke it, and she didn't have insurance nevermind.

She didn't have insurance, huh? So that's why she left her name and phone number for the owner of the car to call her to "straighten things out."

Revocation of responsibility, check. Good karma effectively demolished, check.

Backing out of a potential good deed THAT sounds more like what I would expect from people.

If I had been my friend or his father, I would have taken the opportunity to utilize the fact that I had this sketchy bitch's number in my hot little hand. Imagine all the fun you could have with that information. I'm thinking that some skeezy men's bathroom stalls across the metro are just BEGGING to house LOVES or the Red Dog.

"Call Jane Doe at #123-4567. She smacks balls so hard that your windows will crack."

Friday, May 16, 2008

The Return of Man Boy

My husband bought himself a PlayStation 3 last night, thus introducing the triumphant return of Man Boy. Man Boy has been on hiatus for the last few months, with T starting another business venture and running the show for our house renovation. It's hard to be Man Boy when Man Man duties call.

His 27th birthday is next week and I have a hard time every year figuring out what to do for him. Saying that, it is important to point out that T is impossible to shop for, not just because he is the most tediously selective price matching shopper on the planet, but also because, throughout the year, if he wants something he will go ahead and buy it for himself.

I asked him last night at dinner what he wanted for his birthday, and he mentioned the Sony PlayStation 3. BUT, he added, they are expensive so he didn't expect me to get it for him.

FINALLY- Mr. Impossible to Shop For had thrown me a bone.

I told him that since he has been doing so much for us with the house renovation and all, he deserves a fun toy like a new PlayStation. He hadn't gotten anything like that since I bought him a PlayStation 2 five years ago, so why not?

The moment I hinted that I was ok with it, his eyes lit up and he insisted that we go to Best Buy after we got done eating...just to price them out (as if he didn't know already). Naturally when we got there, and he saw the PlayStation in all of its shiny delicious newest-Sony-toy glory, his eyes went from lit up to glazed over with sheer delirious delight.

It was as if we had just stumbled upon the Holy Grail. I almost expected him to kneel before it and hail it "Excalibur."

He was ready to buy it right then and there, but I asked him to please hold off just three more days so I could get it for him for his birthday.

"Won't it be more fun if I wrap it up? Like when you're a kid and you have to wait, then you can unwrap it and it will be that much more exciting?"

"But I want to play with it NOW." (said wistfully, with both eyes glued to the PlayStation in the glass case)

"I KNOW! I'm not saying you won't get to have one, just wait a couple of days so I can get it for you! Jeez."

"But Babe, it's for BOTH of us. It has a DVD player and we can check the Internet on it and it has Blue Ray..."

He had regressed into the mindset of a kid trying to sell his parent on buying him a new toy. I'm familiar with this approach. I've been working this angle to get what I want since I started talking, and I STILL use it. I'm the master at it. I do it to him all the time and I think he has caught on to my sales technique.

Very good, young Padawan.

So we go around and around, but his blinders were on for good. He couldn't understand that he was still going to get it, but that he needed to WAIT until his actual birthday so I COULD BUY IT FOR HIM SO IT WOULD BE FROM ME!

The impatient Man Boy itch for instant toy gratification had taken him over and he was a lost cause. I got him so far as OUT of the Best Buy, but as soon as we got home he immediately hopped online to price surf, finding it at Sam's and Wal-Mart.

"They have it at Sam's for the same price BUT you get a free Spiderman on Blue Ray DVD if you get it there."

Suddenly T was interested in owning Spiderman on DVD. I had dragged him to all three of those movies in the theater and, after each one, he had acted indifferent and had told me that he didn't think that they were all that great. Now he needed to own one.

~SIGH~ I wasn't going to hear the end of it. I told him that he should just go buy it already if he wanted it that bad. I think he just might have left little puffs of smoke under his heels, he was out the door so fast.

About an hour later he came home glowing and proudly dumped the box onto the bed. He did a little happy dance once he got it out of the box (calling it, I quote, "beautiful") and anxiously hooked his new "pet" up to the t.v. in our room.

We watched JUNO (I told him he had to rent it and watch it with me if he was going to buy that PlayStation), and afterwards, as I settled in to turn in for the night, I went to sleep to the sound of a Tiger Woods video game.

It makes me happy to see Man Boy happy and giddy like that, although now I am back in the boat where I have no idea what to get the guy who gets himself whatever he wants. I told him last night that I would get him some video games at least, to go with the PlayStation. That was something that I could get him that he would like.

Then this morning at work he calls me and tells me that he has already ordered his games off of Ebay because he got a good deal on them.

DAMN IT! His solution to my problem is suggesting that I buy him a couple of Hibiscus plants that he likes to put in planters on the back patio.

I am including this last detail of sharing his semi-feminine passion for Hibiscus flowers as revenge for making his birthday present shopping NO FUN for me this year.

Muah ah ahhhh.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Screw You Slowed Down Metabolism

One of the part-time guys in my office also works for Krispy Kreme donuts. I can't tell if he's an angel or the devil for bringing his weekly donut pilgrimages into the break room.

His generosity reminds me that I no longer have my 21 year-old metabolism, and that pushing 30 means that I have to learn this thing called "self-control" in the eating department.

I've never had to watch what I eat and I have discovered how much it absolutely SUCKS to have to watch what I eat for the sake of not letting myself balloon out of my pants. This to me means that in this aspect of my life, I am no longer able to have my cake and eat it too. Grrrr.

Of course, I could always exercise to keep my metabolism up, but exercise and I have long battled our love/hate relationship and I'm not sure I'm ready to surrender to the exercise gods just yet. I mean, I'm obviously going to have to at some point in order to keep myself at a reasonable size, but damn it if I'm not going to wait until it's absolutely necessary.

Vanity is a bitch. I wish I didn't care, but I can't deny the fact that I prefer to have reasonably small figure and I'm terrified of getting fat. I long for the days where I could eat like a horse and not have to lift a finger to maintain my weight.

Those days left me around my 26th birthday.

Why oh WHY is it not feasible to burn calories just from using my brain? My mind could burn the kind of calories that a devoted runner burns with all of the contemplating and talking to myself in my head that I do all day.

Or what about typing? I type all freaking day. That should constitute some sort of effective amount of calorie burning. The mental gears I grind all day should be sufficient enough to keep my metabolism up.

In a perfect world, it would be. But alas, this is far from a perfect world. And in this imperfect son of a bitch of a world I'm going to have to work up the motivation to kick my ass into gear and start exercising again soon. Since I'm feeling especially whiny today, it just doesn't seem fair to me that I can exert all of the energy that I do in other outlets and NOT burn enough calories to keep my metabolism up.

Ugh. I'm just not motivated and devoted to doing physical activity. I never have been. I've always rather have sat in a corner with a good book or be creating something than be out running around. I prefer to expel my energy in other ways. Even as a kid, with my half dozen cousins at my grandmother's house out running around in the country getting dirty and playing, I would be on the sidelines reading or people watching or sunning myself like a cat.

I wish that excitement for physical exercise was contagious and some overtly active person would come sneeze in my face.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Potty Talk

You know how, if you work in a building where you are forced to use the public bathroom in your corner of the institution, you find yourself bumping into some of the same people who share your "pee schedule?"

I'm thinking, usually after you have been at work for an hour or so, after your coffee kicks in and makes itself at home in your system, you naturally find yourself on a somewhat consistently timed pee schedule- therefore excusing yourself to go to the restroom around the same times every day. Of course, other people existing in your little daily grind ecosystem from throughout the general area of the building will experience the same, and it is inevitable that your schedules will coincide from time to time.

Enter...the "pee buddy."

I'm not one for small talk in the bathroom with strangers- I try not to acknowledge strangers in the restroom with anything more than an inadvertent polite nod or holding the door open for them if eye contact should be made or the situation calls for it.

Honestly, I hate having pee buddies. I find it to be very awkward. It's not like it wouldn't be weird to introduce yourself and establish some kind of off-the-wall camaraderie with one another after two or more encounters, unless something came up to force you to cross the stranger boundary (such as an emergency tampon request, which I have done before. That equals instant friends for life).

It's so quiet in small public restrooms. It's especially stale when you and your pee buddy find yourself going in one right after the other and no one else is in there. All of the timing is so in sync that simultaneous fly unzipping and pin drop silence being broken by pee streams are both almost too funny and unnerving for me to handle.

Then there's the unintentional pee race. Who's going to finish first? This is one situation where I personally don't care to win. In fact, I try to time it to where, unless they are obviously camping out in there, I finish last so we don't leave the stalls at the same time. This way they are already finished and have washed their hands and left by the time I need to emerge to wash my hands and check the mirror. I prefer to do the mirror check when no one else is around. I'm sure most of you would agree.

Also, what is one supposed to do exactly when confronted with a pee schedule "buddy" outside of the bathroom? I was put in the awkward situation of going to Payroll one day not long ago, only to find a former pee buddy of mine working the front desk.

Shit. Of course you don't verbally recognize this fact, you instead just do the odd, "knowing" tight-lipped sheepish smile thing and pretend like you've never seen one another in your life.

This particular pee buddy had farted one day when we were in there (very explosively too I might add, not just a frog ribbit) and all I could think about when she was explaining to me how my contract writing would be reflected on my paycheck was the fact that I had one time heard her rip one with reckless abandon.

It was AWFUL. The whole situation was AWFUL. I was mortified for both of us and I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I never saw her in that bathroom again. I think she started using the one downstairs and I am thankful for that.

Since women always seem to want to flock to bathrooms with their girlfriends for social time in their out of work lives, why is it so difficult to make friendly with unfamiliar women who all but become your surrogate bathroom girlfriends in the workplace?

Maybe I'm just really unfriendly and the reality is really that most women out there have no problem with making small talk in the bathroom with Jill Jane Jones from down the hall. I'm imagining your more bubbly sorority girl types have the gift up gab that stretches all the way into the loo.

Not I.

Monday, May 12, 2008

Workin' the Pole

When did pole dancing become classy? Did I not get the memo? Well, if there was indeed a memo, then I spit on that memo and die laughing at the idea. Then I abruptly stop laughing and realize that I grow even more fearful of having daughters in a day and age where society is all but advertising prostitution as a classy career choice.

I saw a commercial on t.v. the other day for some place in Oklahoma City called "A Touch of Class" or something like that, and it is a place in NW OKC for groups of girlfriends to- yay!- go get schooled on the "art" of pole aerobics. They advertise a great place to have brunch and get in the know of all things etiquette by giving lessons on how to work the pole. CLASSY.

I can't imagine a place like that serving up crustless cucumber sandwiches and tea of yester-year's afternoon brunches, where ladies wore funny hats and white gloves.

I'm thinking speedway beer and greasy chicken wings. That kind of meal just screams brunch after a long afternoon of working the pole.

I can't figure out when it became anything but trashy and sad to be a stripper. I can't figure out when that line between objectifyingly whore-like and alluringly sexy got demolished.

Not to say that I don't have a sense of humor about it- I think it would be hilarious to goof around and mock it- but I think the overall idea is dangerous to actually MARKET commercially because it gives the general dimwitted collective brain of the American female population the idea that it is CLASSY and fun to master the ability to man-handle a stripper pole.

The strip club is a pathetic place where men go to get their rocks off by paying women peanuts to give them blue balls and physically beg for chump change. Sure those chicks make ridiculous amounts of $$$, but what do they sacrifice?

As if parents don't have enough to be worried about these days- with their 7 year-old daughters wanting BRATZ dolls fashioned in street walking hoochie mama clothing and their high schoolers wanting breast implants for graduation presents.

Now they can anticipate more of them getting "professionally" trained in droves to pursue an easy money profession by stripping and be convinced that the best and most affective way to land the affection and attention of Mr. Right is with clear heels, Rob Zombie and a pole.

Obviously there are plenty of females out there who understand that those kinds of "classes" are all in good fun, but there are some seriously stupid bitches out there who see retards like Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears putting it on a pedestal and will jump at the chance to emulate them for all the wrong reasons.

There are too many easily molded female minds out there who will be brainwashed (even more so than media and film already have brainwashed them) into believing that exploiting their bodies in that manner is a good way to get attention from men.

Oh yes, attention they will definitely grab. But respect is a whole different game, and no respectable man wants to go the long haul with a stripper, or any chick who too closely resembles one.

It is disheartening to me to see people profiting off of making women lazy and uncreative in the sexual appeal department. There are so many other ways to be sexy without being so obvious.

What's next? "Girls Gone Wild 101: How to Make Sure YOU Wind up on the Next Spring Break Installment!" ?

Seriously. I think we're headed in that direction.

Friday, May 9, 2008

Why I hate The HILLS

Like, Omigod, totally. Yeah, like, seriously you know? Lauren so totally omigod yeah whatever. Like, YEAh. So like, yeah totally yeah yeah, omigod. Heidi who what like totally whatever seriously. Omigod. Whatever.

Rich idiot brainless spoiled famous-for-nothing-interesting-or-remotely-important-in-life skanks. Yeah, totally. Bitch. Fuck you MTV for enabling the masses to get more dense and shallow and pretentious and stupid than it already is by advocating glittering garbage like The Hills.

Also, ROLLING STONE magazine, I just found out that you have the HILLS' Bubble Brain no talents parading across the cover of your magazine in their underwear. How utterly creative and innovative. Who is the marketing genius who came up with this ground breaking idea? Chicks of the moment in their panties on your cover! Some higher up at your publication must have worked really hard in college to come up with that one.

If I hadn't already written you off as a worthless publication that sold out long ago and no longer has any credibility for what you once stood for, I might just think that you have really stooped to a new low. To think that ROLLING STONE once had bands like the Beatles or the Who or Zeppelin and other people with talent on your covers...those days are dead.

Shame on you Rolling Stone. Putting the chicks from the HILLS on your cover makes you as rock and roll and edgy as Miley Cyrus or those douche bag twins of that one Emo punk wanna be band who are doing the dirty with Paris and Nicole (as if that could get any dirtier).

My First Super Hero Moment

Oh, be still my heart- Robert Downey Junior is such a babe. We went and saw Iron Man last night, and I am over the moon for RDJ as genius scientist turned robot super hero Tony Stark. Multiple rehab stints were good to RDJ- he looks amazing and is in surprisingly awesome shape. I wasn't anticipating that. He also still has that saucy, mischievous charm to him that turns knees to melted butter. Yum yum.

The movie itself dragged in some spots, but for the most part I enjoyed it a lot. Good back story, pretty accurate, and just enough action to WOW me WITHOUT overdoing it (which tends to happen a lot with the super hero flicks).

I'm not quick to throw up a thumbs up in regards to super hero movies- and this is because I am very picky about my super hero movies and somewhat protective of the story lines behind the characters. Too many films have tarnished too many great super heroes and made them into jokes. Most of the movies are terrible.

But every once and awhile, gems like Batman Begins or Spiderman or X-Men and now Iron Man will come out and knock my socks off.

I am a comic nerd- I love that stuff. My brother and I used to collect Marvel comic cards- and I still have all of mine in plastic sleeves in a binder with my book collection, carefully categorized from heroes to villains to teams to weapons to...well, you get the picture.

I've always had a thing for the super hero/villain concept because I think we all have a side to ourselves that could be super hero-like (and super villain-like too, but that's a whole different blog). We all have our strong assets that make us SUPER, and if we learn how to harness them and channel them affectively, there should never be a reason to ever doubt ourselves or what we are capable of doing.

I like to think that I have my own super powers, and I think we should all remember to tap into the source of our greatest strengths as much as we can.

Growing up getting picked on and harassed by assholes, and going through spells where I felt like an outcast by even by my own friends, where I was forced to make new friends after being ditched on and off by "best friends" (you know how some of that mean junior high/high school shit can go), I became drawn to super hero comics and their stories and their characters- especially the female heroines who kicked ass and took names.

Although they were obviously fictional characters, I admired their strength and ability to overcome adversity and not tolerate anyone's shit- especially from men.

I remember one time walking home from school in the 6th grade, carrying my violin and backpack. Two dickwad guys in their black leather jackets and black Nirvana shirts and Doc Martin boots were following me close behind, calling me a "Chink bitch" and "loser gook" and things along that line.

At first I was scared and just tried to ignore them- but as they got closer I felt my face collecting heat and blood rushing up my neck- then I lost it. It happened so fast that I don't even think that I thought about what I was doing, it was just a knee jerk reaction.

I dropped my violin, screamed, "LEAVE ME ALONE!" and did a spinning back kick, which landed perfectly on the balls of one of the guys. He dropped to his knees while his friend laughed at him, and I grabbed my stuff and hurried along my way. They didn't follow me and never bothered me again.

The spinning back kick wasn't random- my dad had my brother and I in karate classes for several years so I knew what I was doing- but that was the first time I remember realizing that I was capable of sticking up for myself and that I had the ability and power to come to my own rescue if I needed it.

It didn't always work out that way in the years to come. I still got harassed and called names from time to time, but after that day in the 6th grade I felt stronger deep down inside because I always looked back to that day and was confident in my own ability to defend myself. It reminded me that I wasn't just some meek little Asian girl who could be walked all over, and I wasn't the easy target that I was commonly mistaken for by meathead guys to pick on.

Maybe this is why I feel so protective of "the underdog," and get so viciously angry when I hear people spouting out racist and prejudice things about minorities. I can't change the world, but I do have a voice and I know how to use it!

We all have a some super hero in us!

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Gambling Grandma

My grandma wants to spend Mother's Day at the Firelake Casino. I find this to be extremely annoying.

I called my mom to ask what was going on for Mother's Day this year, and she tells me that grandma wants to have lunch and spend the day playing slots at the Firelake Casino, so she is going out there with two of my aunts and grandma to spend an exhilarating afternoon watching her pump money into those obnoxious life-ruining machines.

So now I'm losing my mother for half of Mother's Day so that she can waste her gas driving out to Shawnee to watch my grandma piss her change away on the slots.

I loooooove my grandma, but I sometimes wish that she would quit egging on her own stereotype: little tiny ancient Asian grandma addicted to gambling. And my aunts and uncles and mother enable her to do so by driving her ass out there (more often than I want to admit to anyone).

Whatever happened to the days when our family would all get together at Grandma's for home cooked food, or hell, even Kentucky Fried Chicken, and actually socialize with one another and enjoy family time?

Granted, gambling is apparently what grandma wants to do for Mother's Day, and technically it IS a day reserved for her and whatever she wants to do, but COME ON GRANDMA.

It is impossible to spend any kind of quality time with anyone when they are hypnotized by the charms of a casino- this I've learned.

In a way it's cute to me that grandma loves the casino, for the same reasons it's so cute that she loves NFL football and baseball. Hearing her get all excited about that stuff in her broken English is a trip.

But this whole disregarding of family tradition in favor of gambling all day is ridiculous to me. ~sigh~ What can you do?

Monday, May 5, 2008

Happiness is a Trimmed Lawn

I spent the entire weekend gardening and doing yard work with Taylor- taking some pent up, unforeseen aggression out on my lawn. Weed pulling, transporting tools and soil and flowers all over the place, putting the hoe to work, bagging and cleaning and all that jazz- holy CRAP.

Curse words that were previously foreign even to ME came out of my mouth several times while yanking and tugging on stubborn bastard weeds (I learned it helps to coax them out of the ground with some tough love, like waiting at traffic lights that take too long). I don't even think some of the words I shouted at those weeds were to be considered English, but more like angry Cockney mixed with Okinawan that I didn't even know I knew.

Okinawans, which is what my mom and grandmother are, are gardeners by blood. It's what they do- and I think the spirit of some crazy Okinawan gardening ancestor came out of me this weekend. I absolutely loved it though. I became addicted.

I had no idea that gardening could be so fun and therapeutic- perhaps that's why my mom enjoys it so much. I have a whole new appreciation for a nicely manicured garden. My ass and forearms and legs are sore, my back and shoulders are burned, but damn it if I don't suddenly get the biggest kick out of my front and backyard garden beds.

It's interesting to me that, in the WASP nest neighborhood we live in (for those not familiar with the term WASP, click HERE), I've noticed that the only people outside doing yard work are teams of Hispanics. I have yet to see anyone who actually lives in the houses doing their own landscaping, besides Taylor and I.

Some people driving by even slowed down and were looking at Taylor and I funny as we huffed and puffed the weekend away in front (and later in the back) of our house.

"Is, is that a white man doing lawn work in this neighborhood? Is that man doing his own mowing? And who is that, his Asian gardener? We must get her number- maybe she's cheaper than our Mexicans."

Where I come from, homeowners take pride in their houses and the manual labor they clock in the process of beautifying them on the outside. My parents always spent, and still do spend, hours outside: with mom gardening and dad doing the dad stuff like mowing and edging and tree trimming and such. My brother and I used to have to rake and bag and help out (UGH). At the time it sucked, but now I understand how much we benefited from a hard day's work outside.

Where I live now, homeowners take pride in the fact that they can afford to pay someone to make their houses beautiful on the outside, and their kids don't do SHIT to help with any of it. Their lawns are all crazy nice and perfectly manicured, but most of those people didn't lift a finger to make them that way. I know that a lot of women in that neighborhood don't work and have nothing else to do (um, no names mentioned here, although I might or might not have an in-law in that boat...ahem....), yet the only part of the process they actually take part in is the dropping of hundreds and hundreds of dollars on flower shopping.

I was talking with a guy who works at the "Under the Sun" garden tent by our house, after an uptight little NW OKC WASP wife in front of me in line blessed him with her indifference and pretentious attitude (tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the counter impatiently I might add...seriously), and I asked him if he gets that a lot.

He told me that some of these women will pull up in their huge SUVs and lay on the horn until one of the garden people come up to the car. Then, without turning off the engine or getting out, they hand them a list of what they want, their credit card, and wait for their plants and flowers to be brought and loaded before the leave.

Of course, they don't garden themselves. They must have important brunches and shopping they can't miss. Heaven forbid they get dirt in those nails.

Friday, May 2, 2008

"Riiiiidin' the Storm Out..."

What's more clusterfuckish and confusing and frustrating then being stuck out in a restaurant during a potential tornado?

I will tell you. It is being stuck out in a small, family-owned KOREAN restaurant during a potential tornado. As if people running around freaking out and panicking isn't enough, a bunch of people who barely speak English running around freaking out and panicking is, to someone who speaks no Korean, a glimpse into INSANITY.

If they weren't out in the parking lot watching the wall cloud creep up on the restaurant (we were across the street from Tinker, which you know, if you were watching the news last night, is where the weather adventures all started), they were in the restaurant eating rice and noodles and trying to follow Gary England on t.v.

Taylor and I met up with my cousin Andrea and her husband Stephen around 7 p.m. at my favorite restaurant, the Korean House in Midwest City, for dinner. Of all the random days to be in Midwest City, we arrive under what would be the heart of potential twister circulation about 15 minutes before the fun would begin.

When it suddenly began to hail something awful outside, and the sirens started going off, my cousin trips out shrieking, "My car!" and she along with everyone else runs outside under the overhang to watch as golfball + size hail rains down on all of our vehicles.

I was one of a few who stayed inside, because I was STARVING, and proceeded to continue to eat the kim bap that we had just gotten (Korean sushi rolls...yummy!).

I had waited all day for this meal and I wasn't about to let some stupid Oklahoma false alarm ruin it for me.

Andrea bursts back into the restaurant with a look in her eyes like a terrified wild animal, exclaiming "We're out of here! It's like right over us!" grabs her purse and escapes back out the front, with her husband half-heartedly trailing behind (disappointed in knowing that he was leaving all of that delicious kim bap for me to inhale myself).

I hear her peel out in her Saleen Mustang and haul ass out of the parking lot. The sound of screeching tires mingling with the sound of hail slamming down onto the roof frightened the table of Korean ladies sitting next to us.

"What going on? Tornado coming?" they ask me, their eyes wide and panicked.

"We're OK, they're just freaking out," I say.

"Where it at? What we do? We leave? It come now?"

I decide to take it upon myself to act as a tornadic activity expert to help calm them down. Normally, when at home in this situation, I already have my cats in a cat carrier with my dog on a leash, armed with a flashlight and radio in my safe place, about to have a heart attack. But last night, I had to stay calm or I was going to lose my damn mind.

I get up and play "weathergirl" with the bigscreen t.v. standing by us, trying to explain to them the situation at hand, pointing out on the map where we were and what was going on. They were so attentive and listened to me so anxiously that it only egged me on and I began to believe that I actually knew what I was talking about. It was kind of fun. I knew my obsessive weather watching during storm season would pay off eventually.

Our nice Korean waitress returns with a tray full of food, looking confused because half of our party had jumped ship and I was standing by the t.v. giving a lesson on funnel clouds to the table next to us.

"You still want eat?" she asks me, while people and children around us are rushing around calling out questions in broken English and Korean to no one in particular.

"Yes!" I rushed back to my table. FINALLY. My soup has come. I have been thinking about this soup all day.

"Where your husband? He leave? He still want eat too?"

Damn it. I get up again and stomp outside to find him.

Taylor is still out there, standing way out past the end of the parking lot, almost in the street, one hand on his hip, the other shielding his forehead, watching this sick looking milky gray storm cell accumulate about a half a mile away in the sky. The wind is whipping everything around and the Korean restaurant owner's kids are frolicking about firing off questions at me, so it's difficult to hear.

Once I see what everyone is looking at, I realize the severity of the storm that never turned into a tornado...but should have.

"Should we leave?" I shout, "What should we do?"

No answer. Like most men would be, he is mesmerized by the storm and is incapable of focusing on anything else. My stomach growls angrily at me.

"Fuck this. I'm hungry, I'm going inside."

I spend the next fifteen minutes torn between making trips outside to hollar at him to come in before he gets blown away (he would only look at me blankly and ignore me) and going back inside to eat and check in with Gary England.

Eventually, after arguing outside with Taylor over "Should we stay?" "Should we leave?" for too long, I can't take it anymore and I hurriedly pay for our meal, throw it all in to-go boxes so that we can leave and speed to Andrea's house since they have a cellar.

It's interesting to me how, despite the threat of impending doom, all of the white patrons bailed immediately, but all of the Asian patrons remained for the most part to eat our kimchee and kim bap...and I wouldn't have left if Taylor hadn't frustrated me to the point of crazy with his inability to make a decision, when it was obvious that he thought we should leave.

It takes a lot to tear an Asian away from a good meal.

Tornado? Pshaw! I have rice and noodles- bring it on. That's how dedicated we are to our food and that is the kind of power that the Korean House has. It's THAT good.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

One Last Thing

Curse you, Krispy Kreme donut.

A) For your creators who, by misspelling your name, are contributing to increased illiteracy rates of future generations of humankind.

B) For taunting me mercilessly, sitting there in your box in the office break room, trying to lure me in with your 200+ calorie count charms.

C) For successfully luring me in with your 200+ calorie count charms, even though I already just ate a muffin before you decided to walk into my life.

D) For proving to me that just because there is a will, it doesn't necessarily mean that there is a way.

My skinny jeans have a bone to pick with you, and you definitely don't want to mess with my skinny jeans when they are hungry.

Damn you.

The Asian Food Challenge

I think I'm going to set a new record for myself...I am going to see how many days in a row I can eat Asian food without getting sick of it.

Not sure it is possible for me to get sick of it, but we will see. I have quite the iron stomach and high tolerance for rice and noodles and veggies and fish and all things Asian.


Since I have no kitchen as of right now, and its guttage and remodel is slowly but slowly coming together (did I mention slowly?), I am having to survive and fend for myself through outside means.

Monday it was Pho. Tuesday it was fine homemade Asian cuisine at mom's house, Wednesday was sushi, tonight it will be the Korean House (!!!!), and tomorrow I'm thinking Pho again...

I can't get enough. I am thinking that if I keep things mixed up, I can pull off quite an impressive record of straight Asian food consumption.

I want to go to the Super Cao Nguyen and stock up on my groceries, like I had been doing before my house went into remodel overdrive, but there is no point since I have no place to play.

I miss having a kitchen. I miss grocery shopping and cooking and even cleaning up my mess and doing dishes. It will be worth the hassle that I am currently dealing with, I know, but for now, figuring out meal situations is getting so old and inconvenient.

The only way I have discovered to make my dilemma more tolerable and interesting is to challenge myself to an Asian food duel...with myself.

The part of me that loves burritos and nachos, my second favorite genre, doesn't stand a chance.

Go team ME! If I'm not careful, I could very well convert the Caucasian half of my DNA to Pacific Islander (for the layman, Pacific Islander is my technical form of "Asian" ethnicity. Take note!)...then I could very well become full-blooded.

Not that I care to. I like being a Mixie! It keeps things mysterious.


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