Birthday Blog

Okay -- I wrote this many many months ago, in anticipation for the one year anniversary of my blog (this was before I abandoned it for half a year.. but any excuse to celebrate!) which explains the fervent devotion in my tone even though this is only my third post in the last six months. It also explains the nicknames, which I don't use anymore (I just got tired of making them up), and the friend I'm talking to, with whom I'm no longer in touch, much less partaking in drunken arguments with. But everyone deserves a birthday, no matter how belated, so --

Happy birthday, blog! I love you. One year ago today we started on this long, windy (as in twisty, not gusty) journey into my self-indulgent pratterings and here we are, 365 days later, going strong.

Oh? What's that, you say? You want to know how much I love you?

Fine, here is a birthday anecdote.

Once upon a time, mere weeks after your creation, I was drunk and having an argument with Tando (also drunk). As often is the case with drunken happenings, I can't quite recall the details. I do know that it was late and we were outside and there was yelling (possibly on my part) and throwing of beer cans that weren't quite empty (also on my part, maybe) and a lot of using swear words because they make me laugh (it's starting to sound like I was the only one having an argument here). In any case, after a lot of me stomping dramatically around in an intimidating fashion and defying Tando to bring up even one example that would support his cause, he cited you. And that totally shut me up. Because I had no idea he knew about your existence, let alone read you.
"W-what?" I stuttered. "You read my blog?"
"Yes?" he replied, looking confused, probably because he suddenly wasn't having to dodge flying aluminum or urging me to be quiet before the police come.
"How do you know about my blog?" I pursued.
"It's on your facebook," he said, confusion not alleviated in the least.
"Well, I didn't think people would actually notice it--"
"Then why would you put it on there in the first place--"

This was not what the argument was about.
"Anyway," he said, trying to steer us back on track, "on your blog you specifically say that --"
I put a hand on his arm and looked at him so seriously he interrupted himself. "What?"
"Did you like it?"
"Yes," he said, exasperated, "but--"

And that's about as much as I remember because I tuned him out after that and started thinking about you, and how great you are because you have always been there for me, through thick and thin and drunken, irrational posts and sober, irrational posts, and just everything. And I love you. Happy birthday, blog.

It Was Really Just Good Clean Fun

I am Mentally Incapable. It's Confirmed.

Oh man, I don't even know where to begin. Well actually I began by totally deleting the link to this blog off my facebook because that is just the kind of entry this is going to be.

So it all started with me wanting to go home for Chinese New Years. I'm pretty sure this was the catalyst because two things happen whenever I go home:

1. I get drunk the night before.

2. I have a lot of difficulty at the airport the next day.

I guess I don't learn lessons.

So on Thursday to cap off a two week period of midterms/fundraisers/dipping stuff I'm not allowed to eat in chocolate for five hours in one sitting/essays I got really drunk. I'm not going to go into details about the depths of my inebriation, but suffice to say it is a good thing I made that rule about wearing pants (or at the very least leggings) to parties way back in freshman year because I'm pretty sure at some point in the night I was not in total control of my limbs.

But this isn't really about the impressive amounts of cheap vodka I consumed or how I lost in semis in the beer pong tournament despite my amazing explosion shot to win the previous game or how around 2 AM I decided to play DJ and Maaron yelled at me for trying to put on old P. Diddy songs.

This is about the dangers of the morning after. So listen carefully, kids. You'll want to avoid the mistakes I made.

First of all - I'm not going to mince words - I looked like shit Friday morning. I had gotten home at four AM and by the time I showered (I have to shower before I get into bed no matter how opposite of sober I am - yes I am the epitome of hygiene) and dragged my dizzy self into bed it was god knows what time. And since I had a flight to catch at 1:30 I had changed my work hours that day to 8-11 and if you know me at all you'll know what a rough morning I had by the fact that I WORE GLASSES. Yes. Out in public.

The whole day was actually really comical in that kind of hazy, hungover, oh-my-god-is-this-really-happening way.

Let's list them:

1. The glasses thing. Trust me, it was serious. On top of that I was late because have you ever tried to wake up at seven after two hours of sleep while hungover? Then you understand why I didn't have time to put on make up or consider what to wear because I ended up in a pair of shiny red pants (I actually like these pants, and I totally wronged them with the rest of my outfit), this completely non-matching cream top and my Prolit sweatshirt. And purple moccasins. I basically looked like the personification of a hangover. Before I left I looked in the full length mirror by my front door and could only shake my head.

2. I had to bring my luggage to work since I was leaving straight from the office. I also had to bring the crushgrams that my co-workers bought for me. And I am so sick of hearing about them from the fundraiser that I don't want to explain but basically it was a six pack of glass soda bottles. Which I precariously balanced on my rolling suitcase while walking the four blocks to work. In my glasses. It felt like some sort of strange and strenuous dream.

3. Luckily my work is awesome so everyone sympathized and gave me different bits of advice on how to not die but THEN. Oh my god. This is kind of complicated but basically what happened was that Tando came into the office for the first time since he stopped working there, and I don't want to get into details but I was SO MAD that the one day I come into work looking like shit he happens to have an errand up at the office. When he came in through the door I lifted my head from its resting place on the table and was like "Jesus, please tell me you are joking," but nope. And I'm not saying that I look gorgeous when I step into the office everyday but I definitely don't usually look like a TellyTubby got drunk and threw up and the puke put on glasses and became me. And it's not like I'm trying to impress anyone but seriously. Talk about adding insult to injury.

4. Did you know airports had terminals? Well me and my hangover didn't. I'd never taken any airline other than Southwest from LAX, and Southwest is at terminal 1 right next to the security. So since I was already checked in for my United flight I was like "oh I'll just get off at Southwest because I'll be closer to security." Uh WRONG. United is at terminal 7. I was so confused. I literally had to text Arrow because I was like WTF WHERE AM I? And because he is the best friend a hungover girl can ask for (and has a strangely comprehensive understanding of the LAX floorplan) he directed me to the right place. It's not interesting enough to go in depth into but let me just tell you a shuttle was involved. That was how far I was from my flight.

5. The shuttle went to the ARRIVALS section of terminal 7. And there was this one other middle aged guy on the shuttle who got on and off at the same stops as I did (which helped because I was like oh hey I'm not the only one who makes these mistakes, and this guy doesn't even look hungover so he soberly made this mistake) so I started following him and he KEPT LOOKING BACK worriedly at me. I mean I was looking a mess and probably had on a pretty grim expression because I was wondering if I would miss my flight and also mentally vowing to never drink again but still after the fifth time he looked back I was starting to feel like an old-person stalker. Which didn't really help.

6. I made it to my gate in the nick of time. My flight was delayed. For two hours. My laptop and phone both ran out of batteries so I couldn't tell my dad when I was taking off. I had to pee but I couldn't because they loaded us onto the plane and THEN announced the delay. (I don't like airplane bathrooms.) I sat behind a crying baby.

Oh and on my way to the Flyaway shuttle I was telling Mango how I will never ever drink again and he gave me a baleful look and was like "you always say that. but you always do again" and I was like "oh this must be what it's like to be an alcoholic parent."

And that was my Friday. Happy Chinese New Year's everyone.

My Day Has Been as Confusing and Bad as this Blog Post.

When I woke up this morning and couldn't move, I should've known it was going to be a shitty day. I sometimes mess up my neck and have to spend a few days trying really hard not to make sudden movements with my head, which severely dampens my reaction time so if you see me this week please don't throw anything at my head because I won't be able to dodge it and let's be honest, you don't really have the money to pay for the reconstructive surgery, do you? That's what I thought.

So I had the spend the entire day turning my whole body if someone was addressing me, which you probably don't think is that weird but wait until you have to do it yourself.

So that's one.

Two?

My fantasy team is killing me. Not literally but it's getting close. Like if I drop one more place I will probably get an ulcer and in an attempt to cure it I'll probably drink a lot and then I'll get liver disease and die, and IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT CHAUNCEY BILLUPS?

My conversation with my friend Tard didn't improve my mood --

Me: my team's killing me

Tard: yes they are

Tard: I knew this was going to happen eventually

Tard: your team was doing too well

Me: I swear I'm this close to killing someone

Me: it could be you, tard

Me: it could be you

Tard: I didn't know you cared so much

Me: oh you'll find out how much I care

Me: with a knife in your kidney

Tard: wow ok

So in addition to the ulcer I may be facing jailtime. Not sure.

So that's two.

Three: the contents of my refrigerator?

Two bags of dumplings and one bag of wontons that the Y was kind enough to buy for me yesterday. Other than that, there's my flask of Svedka, a jug of water and some string cheese that, frankly, I'm a little scared to eat. Does prepackaged cheese go bad? I seriously need to get a car so that when I have a day like this one instead of writing a rage-filled blog post that doesn't even mention Taiwan or Korea (at least until now) I can just go buy some ice cream and maybe a cat because let's face it, I'm going to end up as one of those people who owns a cat and eats cookies and cream for dinner on Tuesday nights. Why is this, you ask? This is because of

Number four: I make the worst decisions a girl in my situation can conceivably make. Like if you got a puppy and put my life choices in front of it in form of those little bone-shaped biscuits I can guarantee you 98% of the time it will make a better choice than I would. And I am armed with facts and experience. Which apparently counts for nothing here.

It's times like this when I look back on my admittedly not-too-long life and muse, "how did I screw things up this badly?"

Now, I may be being a little dramatic. It's not like I have a heroin addiction and am carrying the child of a 50 year old married man whose company has just put my parents' out of business and so my whole family is depending on the income I generate as a stripper which will soon end because of the aforementioned pregnancy. So it's not as bad as that.

But I haven't exactly made some stellar choices either. Like when I look at my peers (is that a douchey word to use? I feel like it is) and some girl is graduating at the top of her class in her very competitive major and already has an internship with the biggest publishing house on the west coast that will turn into a full-time job after she's done with school and she's engaged to her boyfriend who knows how to tie his own ties and always picks her up when he says he will then I'm like hm. Maybe could've done things a little differently. Me, not her. Clearly. I bet she doesn't even like ice cream.

Like I'm always saying I want to meet some new people and do something different with my life but this is exactly the reason I don't like to actually go out and socialize or anything like that. When you meet someone for the first time, there is no warning signal that goes off and says "stay away from this person, you will become close friends and you'll give him the key to your apartment for emergencies but one day you'll wake up to find him sitting at the foot of your bed and smiling while he hums the theme from Titanic."

Something like that. Or maybe something less drastic, like this guy who sits down next to you in class one day is going to write you love songs and take you on picnics to the beach and ridicule tweens with you and eventually end up breaking your heart. Or it might even be good, like that waitress at your favorite restaurant is going to become your best friend and be the maid-of-honor at your wedding and bring you a cinnamon pretzel to keep you from fleeing the altar. BUT YOU DON'T KNOW, DO YOU?

And that just leaves you seven months later thinking back to that ill-fated first text message or first phone call or first drink sent across the bar and you're like, wow. Did I pick the wrong choice on that one or what. Should never have called her/slept with him/gotten that tattoo of her face/kidnapped his dog, etc.

But no matter how much you rethink your choices, I guess that's just life. Like as much as I may have just bitched, I don't regret things. It's like a policy of mine. I suspect most of it stems from a strong dislike of admitting I'm wrong, but no matter how you stack it, everything's considered life experience, right? Unless you keep making the same mistakes over and over again. This is why I don't re-date boys. But my point is that people are terrible and scary and probably often crazy but you're going to have to deal with them anyway. And I guess it's okay to believe the best of them even though once in a while it'll come back to bite you really hard and you'll have days like the one I just had. But now that you are armed with my wise interpretation of it, you'll be able to deal with it better, right? And a last word of advice: always sleep with a stuffed animal that has a can of pepper spray hidden in it so that if you pull the tail the pepper spray will spray out of its mouth. You're welcome.

This Post is Gonna Be So Long You're Going to Be Sick of My Writing for a Good Three Weeks so Yay! It All Works Out.

Remember me? I'm sorry. I know -- yes, you have every right to be angry. It's just that things have been so hectic, and then -- of course I care about you, how can you ask that? I know I promised to write on -- but you should understand that they needed me to -- you know, have you ever thought that maybe it's you? Yeah, I said it. Maybe you're just not supportive enough and I couldn't feel like I could talk to you. So instead of pointing fingers, maybe you should take a long, deep look within yourself and -- oh, don't cry. Here, let's just call it even and forget everything, okay? And maybe make me a sandwich? Great, you're the best.

And that's how I would apologize if I were a boy.

But anyway, hello. Apparently I have this tradition (I'm going to call it a tradition instead of an unfortunate habit because that is the kind of denial positive thinking I am capable of) of not writing for a really long time and then feeling bad and putting up a ridiculously long and nonsensical post right before I leave the country.

So yeah, I'm leaving the country! My flight out is this Thursday, right after Mango's birthday tomorrow (happy birthday fool). It's like a fourteen hour flight to Korea (I wish so hard that I was exaggerating right now) and we'll be there for two to three days before making the shorter flight over to Taiwan. I'm not scared of flying at all, but sometimes I get a little claustrophobic in the stale cabin when it's going on hour eleven and my legs feel cramped no matter how much I am intruding into the personal space of the passenger in front of me, and I've already gone through the Sky Mall magazine twice, and made a third attempt to eat the congealed lasagna in front of me and OH GOD IF I DON'T GET OUT OF HERE I'M GOING TO THROW UP OR SHOOT MYSELF. Usually I just play the most soothing music I have and try to fall asleep. Sometimes I throw up.

So anyway, there's that to look forward to. I don't really know what I've been up to the last two weeks. I've definitely been enjoying my student pass to all the UCLA basketball games, and that might have something to do with all the tall, good-looking athletic guys because it sure isn't our 3-6 record that keeps me enthralled. Anyway, our student section is called The Den (because we're Bruins -- isn't that cute?) and they pass out a newsletter kind of thing at the beginning of each game debriefing us about who the opponent is. And there's this section called "The Dirt" where they trashtalk the other team and oh my god look at this one from a little while ago:

It's like they're personally attacking me. Also I'd like to meet this AJ guy. Also I don't know why my Paint made that stupid white erasey mark. Life hates me today and GUESS WHAT THE FEELING IS MUTUAL. Okay I might be PMSing (I bet you guys are like omg why does this girl get her period every other week? but sometimes it's not that, sometimes I'm just a bitch).

Also I spent a lot of time studying and a lot of time playing video games. Speaking of which, Mango has gotten into the habit of complaining that I've become "too girly." His comments are based on the dual facts that I occasionally roll some glitter around my eyes and that I seem to fall into an unbreakable kind of trance anytime I approach a store that even remotely looks like it could be selling some sort of clothing.

This second thing is nothing new though, if you have ever shopped with me you should know this. It's like I am some sort of homing device. The second I spot something of interest I will completely zone out my surroundings and make a beeline for whatever has caught my eye. I often lose my shopping companions by doing this. But it's not my fault they can't keep up, it's not like there's a rule against running in malls. I should know. But I guess it can be disconcerting to the people who accompany me; one second we are having a perfectly pleasant conversation about whether or not it is acceptable to wear black and brown together (it is not), and the next thing they see is a somewhat possessed gleam in my eye before I take off sprinting. Sometimes I don't return for days.

This is why I am looking so forward to shopping in Taiwan. It's like one huge Ross except everything is aimed at young women who like cute things oh my god it's heaven.

Well I mean there's also a lot of weird shiz. Like I remember when I went back years ago there was this really popular chain of stores decked out in bright neon lights that my childish eyes were immediately attracted to which would be a good marketing strategy except that the name of the store was "CONDOM WORLD" and they only sold one product (three guesses what it is -- although I'm sure there were many, many varieties of that one product).

Also trendy when I was last in Taiwan were black blinged out tshirts showing a giant middle finger wearing like three rings with silver chains around the wrists. And the silver chains were actual metal chains hanging off the tshirt. So it's really more of a pick-and-choose market.

But that was a long time ago. So long, in fact, that Iz and I weren't yet allowed to wear nail polish (I know, insanity right?) whereas this time I plan to bring back a small suitcase filled solely with metallic and sparkly bottles of awesome. Jesus, maybe Mango is right.

Something else I want to do in Taiwan is streak my hair purple and get a tongue ring. Only one of these will be accomplished, and I'll give you a hint as to which one -- my parents like the color purple much more than they like punching holes into any part of the body that is not an earlobe (and even then it gets at least three disapproving clicks of the tongue). I'm trying to console myself by thinking about how I can get my ears re-pierced (this is how lazy I am -- I lost two of my earrings and didn't put in more studs for months and then when I tried: lo and behold, piercings heal, and now I just have one piercing left [if you're good at math or at least didn't get flunked out of remedial addition then you know I was supposed to have three piercings] so I'm like some sort of weird lopsided earring pirate... you know, like instead of having one eye I just have one piercing? okay never mind) and so I can finally wear cute earrings again and Iz will stop asking if the one piercing I have is "on the gay side."

So there's that.

Since we're going to Korea and none of us know anything about Seoul except that all the girls have cancer and all the boys are in love with someone who is actually their biological sister separated from birth (unless you're saying Korean dramas aren't an accurate indicator of the country's societal norms?), my mom asked if I could look something up online so that we don't get lost and never return or accidentally purchase a life-size cow made of solid gold that costs more than our house in America is worth.

So then I googled something like "korea tourist guide" and the first result was for the wikitravel article on South Korea and I was very happy because I love wikipedia and then the second search result caught my eye and it was the wikitravel article on NORTH KOREA. So naturally I had to click that one first and this is what I found:

Click to enlarge and you better do it because look how hard I worked

Isn't that awesome and weird? And terrifying?

And then I went to the Seoul page and found out I would not be entirely safe in the south either:

I'm a little nervous about my trip.

Speaking of angry, it's come to my attention lately that certain people who will remain unnamed think that I am a really angry but well-dressed person who is sincere about wanting to stab everything in sight. So I feel like I should clear this up, and not just for future litigation purposes: I only want to stab half of what I talk about stabbing. Are we good now? Okay. I tried to explain to these people (actually it was just one but I don't want to single this person out but then I was like well I don't want people to think that there is just like a horde out there who doesn't understand me so yeah it's just one person) that "it's just my writing style" and the person was like, very skeptically, "I've never heard of the writing style stabby" and I was like "well maybe you should spend more time reading and less time suggesting I look into anger therapy, yeah?" And then we ended our conversation in a completely civil manner that involved no bloodshed. See how suppressed mature I am?

Okay so I'm grouchy and don't know what to wear tomorrow and my feet are cold and my cramps feel like a stampede of thirty pound centipedes wearing soccer cleats are doing a jig in my stupid UNNECESSARY uterus so I'm going to leave before anyone reading this gets too alarmed and tries to come put me down before I can cause any damage to my immediate vicinity.

One last thing. Happy 20th birthday to my favorite tropical fruit even though I'm slightly allergic to it:

This blog loves you and dinosaurs. More dinosaurs though.

I Hate Everybody and Not Being Able to Stab.

Men are so unreliable. In the interest of not hating, I concede that there must be reliable men somewhere out there but I think they might be a myth because I CERTAINLY HAVE NEVER COME ACROSS ANY. Sorry, it's the whole anger thing again. And I'm not even PMSing so I'm considering going to a therapist or something for all these issues I seem to have.

Although I think I may be justified.
So yesterday I arrived back in Westwood via Southwest Airlines and the Flyaway shuttle, which stops like a mile away from my apartment. A mile filled with dark roads and a cemetery, just so you know. Anyway, my friend [name withheld for protection (my protection, not his, because if this person turns up in the area with mysterious eye wounds I will not be implicated)] was supposed to meet me at the shuttle stop but guess what? He didn't. And so I had to walk by the dark cemetery alone. It's a miracle I didn't get eaten by zombies. Here is a list of what I learned so that hopefully you will also be able to survive in a situation like this.

1. When your friend offers to meet you at the shuttle stop do not accept. Especially if other friends offer you a ride but your friend says "no, I'll get you because we can hang out and catch up after Thanksgiving break" so you say "okay, I'm dumb and will do that instead." And do not think you are being thoughtful by reminding him days in advance of the time you are arriving because this will not matter and he will leave you to the mercy of the zombies anyway.

2. If you pass by a fire station that has a sign proclaiming "SAFE HOUSE" don't get too hopeful because it just means that it's a place where children in danger can be dropped off and not that it's a haven from zombies. And if you stare too longingly at the fire engines that you're hoping are Transformers in disguise and will take you home then passersby will give you strange looks and walk a little more briskly.

3. If you scare all the passersby out of your immediate vicinity then no one will help you lift your fifty pound suitcase over a tall curb.

Eventually my friend got back to school and ran to find me which didn't really help with the anger but did help with the fatigue because he took all my luggage. And then he got all these pitying looks because he looked like a pack mule with all my luggage and all his while I strode briskly and angrily by him empty-handed.



So the moral of the story is that men cannot be trusted. It's actually kind of like a extended metaphor because I'm not too mad about this anymore but I am mad about something else that cannot be so easily explained away with zombies and blurry iPhone pictures. I don't even think I can stab my way out of it. So there is nothing to alleviate the anger and if you find me with my head completely exploded within the next week just rejoice for me because honestly that is probably the best-case scenario at this point.

If I Had a Tag About My Temper It Would Definitely Be the Highest on that List on the Left There.

I'm at home! I realize I am not always completely enthusiastic about this (I guess I bitched about being home a lot over summer because the day before I left I was telling Tando about how excited I was to go home, and he was like, "really?"), but this time I'm only home for like four days, which is the perfect amount, apparently. It's just enough time to eat a lot of food that is not scrambled eggs with spam and enjoy the little luxuries of life like a car and memory foam and two-ply tissues.

Today when my mom was driving with me and my sister she told us about this Taiwanese talk show she was watching, in which they had celebrity husband/wife pairs on the show. There was this one middle-aged couple where the lady was a movie star a generation ago and has since stop working and the husband was Korean (I'm not sure if that was his profession -- this is just the description I was given). One of the younger guests on the show was telling the lady about how he admired her because he watched her shows while he was growing up. Apparently this incensed the husband because he felt the other guy was implying that his wife was old and he was afraid that this would hurt her feelings. So he confronted the guy and was like "please don't speak to my wife that way" and everyone on set kinda froze and was like "uhmm" and it was super awkward and the other guy kept apologizing because that wasn't his intention.

Anyway the whole point of that was how different Iz and my reactions were compared to our mom's. Iz and I were like "omg how awkward and embarrassing!" and my mom was like "really? I think it's kind of sweet how he stands up for his wife like that.." and then our conversation became a little awkward.

So maybe it's a generational difference, because my mom is still awed by men who publicly show affection for their wives, whereas Iz and I are thinking that we'd want guys who can conduct themselves in society (and on talk shows) without creating awkward silences. Like, yes it's nice when a guy is willing to hold your hand when you're out in public or even (gasp) say "I love you" within earshot of others, but it's also awesome when they can control their tempers and not freak everyone out when you go on Maury because you're pretty sure he's the father but it wouldn't hurt to make sure and also you've always wanted to meet Maury Povich.

Aggressive guys make me skittish. This is a carryover from having grown up with the Angry Asian Dad -- you know, when everything's dandy when they're happy because they buy you presents but when they're mad you better run for cover because they'll start throwing TV remotes? But apparently I've learned to live with skittishness because most of my past relationships have been characterized by really passionate arguments, and if you've ever tried to carry out a one-sided passionate argument you know that it's pretty futile. It's hard to feel satisfied when you're the only one throwing dinnerware. I mean I guess I could try for something low-key and peaceful but I think I'm too young for that and at this point in my life my temper is kinda so bad that I need someone who's equally hot-headed or else all the suppression will cause my head to explode. Actually I think I'm perpetuating this incorrect view of myself because honestly I'm not that volatile and I don't know why every blog post ends with me talking about damaging property.

Okay this is like the lamest blog post ever but I'm writing it on Iz's computer because mine won't connect to the internet at home so I have to plug it in in the study and it's too cold to be anywhere but under covers and she's laying next to me waiting to reclaim her laptop and speeding up the process by occasionally rubbing her leg against mine and IT'S FREAKING ME OUT. GOODBYE.

Life is Stupid Awesome.

Today I got called out for my excessive use of violence in my blog. Apparently eye-stabbing isn't a widely accepted form of emotional expression? Or something. So in an attempt to repent, I've decided to try and cut out all gratuitous mentions of stabbing or kicking or even fork-stealing. Consider me reformed.

Other than that, how was my day, you ask? Well really only one notable thing happened. And I'm stretching the definition of notable. I was at work when a package arrived. It was a nice hefty size and it was addressed to me, so naturally I got really worked up and excited until I realized that the return address was Laycon's home, which means his sister/parents had sent him some goody. I was pretty sad, but in a totally non-violent way. So anyway, like the good friend I am I decided to lug the package over to Laycon's apartment, which is more or less on my way home from work.

Two things I learned:

1. Laycon's parents must have sent him goodies in the form of gold bricks because that thing is heavy.

2. I'm kind of a loser.

Elaboration: I had my arms wrapped awkwardly around the bulky box and was trying to distract myself from my not-getting-package sadness by singing along to my iPod. Unfortunately this prevented me from hearing the footsteps from behind that would've warned me I wasn't alone on the path. As it was, however, I was at the height of the song when I saw a guy hurry by. I thought about how I must've sounded to him and started laughing at how weird I am. Only I didn't wait long enough before the giggling started so what he experienced was walking by a girl in a red coat and purple eyeliner singing off-keyedly to herself while struggling with a largeish package and then, when he passed her, unexpected chuckling. Yeah, I totally understand the weird look he gave me over his shoulder.

So there's a guy walking around the school area right now convinced I'm a freak. If you meet him don't listen to his lies. You have the real story. Just kick him in the shins smile and thank him for the warning.

Anyway, by the time I got to Laycon's place my arms were sore and I was overly warm from the brisk walking and a little annoyed because Mango hadn't answered my last two calls telling him to come down and get the package. I was about to do some eye-stabbing figured he was busy with something and decided to try the door buzzer. When no one responded to me over the intercom, I considered throwing a brick through their window called Laycon. He wasn't at home, and wouldn't be for another thirty minutes. I thought about telling him where he could shove his package told him I would call another one of his roommates instead. When I called Maaron and he picked up, he didn't really know what I was talking about and kept telling me to go upstairs. I threatened to burn down their building if no one came immediately tried to explain that I was on my way home and would prefer having someone come down to grab the package so that I could continue on my way. When Roro finally came down to get the package, he received a call before I could greet him. He held up a "wait-a-second" finger and I showed him a finger too silently handed him the package before waving goodbye.

All in all it was quite an infuriating uneventful trip and I am proud to say that my non-violence streak is going strong.

Did You Miss Me?

Remember when I used to get mad? Well since I've calmed down and returned to the land of the sane, I've been thinking about that. And since I took two psych classes back in high school, I feel I'm fairly qualified to diagnose myself; I suspect I may have a little, teensy problem: I don't get sad, I get angry.

Here are some examples.

Cause: I'm making soup for dinner and I burn it and it's the last batch of ingredients I have.
Result: I get very mad. Also hungry. But mostly mad. I turn off all the lights and go into my room and vow never to eat again, just to spite food. But then I realize it would be way more of a punishment if I ate everything instead, and then I go to Ralphs and buy those cupcakes that are super on sale because they're about to expire in five minutes. Take that, food.

Cause: I find out I can't go to something fun because of a (less fun) prior commitment.
Result: I get really mad and think about how terrible commitments are and swear never to make another one and then for good measure I kick some defenseless animals to seal the deal. The last part may be a slight exaggeration but the first part is true and also explains my inability to commit. It's not you, it's my anger.

Cause: Some boy breaks my heart.
Result: I'm furious and I want to knee him in the face except that I probably still like him (because otherwise how is he going to break any internal organs of mine?) so instead I think about how satisfying it would be if I mastered his absolute favorite video game and then beat him at it and then while he's crying I secretly steal all his forks and donate them to the forkless and then when the next time he sees me he asks, "Hey, do you have any idea where all my forks went?" I reply, "Hey, just be grateful they're not all IN YOUR FACE," and leave him mystified and rueful that he ever let me get away. See, it's subtle but appropriate.

So I don't know. But now my midterms are over and the mad dash to finish three simultaneous papers on three very different topics has not yet begun, and my mom just sent me a surprise care package today, and a rather handsome knight defended my honor (and that of approximately a hundred other people sitting in his section) (yellow), and there are birthdays and holidays and even Disneyland on the horizon, and as a result I'm feeling almost... mellow.

I know, it's freaking me out too. But just thought I'd let you guys know that I didn't explode in a fit of temper and take out half of Los Angeles; I've just been too busy taking midterms, buying flasks and eating chicken with my bare hands to post. Rest assured though, I'm still working on PLWBIFEMCMEFW and soon you guys will be able to peruse through a post filled with dozens of blurry iPhone pictures showing food, dorks, anachronism and dyslexia. Don't say I didn't warn you.

The First Step is Admitting You Have a Problem.

Ughhh I am PMSing so badly. I'm sorry, I know that's way too much information for the internets but honestly if you're even slightly grossed out about that you're going to have to leave now because it's only going to get worse.

So because my body is a piece of crap or something I didn't get my period for like the entire summer and I just got back on birth control which I guess triggers the hormones or whatever shiz like that because now I have it and IT'S KILLING ME. I never used to really PMS but I am seriously throwing bitch fits left and right this time. I'm hoping this is just my body easing back into this whole painful godforsaken process and it won't happen next month because honestly I'm not going to have any friends left if this keeps up.

So if I have emotionally mugged you recently I'm very apologetic and I swear I'm not insane and if you stick around just a little longer I'll probably stop calling you names or making snide remarks about your shoes.

Like, I think it's gotten to the point where people fear me. That's right, little ol' me. Tando, who lives in a neighborhood frequented by gangsters, I'm pretty sure, is scared of me. And my cousin, who's this awesome 26 year old tough guy, recently told my mom that he's scared of me because I'm intimidating. And just last week Laycon had a dream where I was mad at him and he was so scared that when he woke up he texted me to make sure I wasn't really going to chase him down with an axe (I wasn't, it was a chainsaw). And I think Mango is starting to tremble whenever I stomp my left foot (I don't stomp the right one anymore, it's like permanently injured from wayyy back two years ago when Mango and I were arguing in the stairwell -- this was our hobby back when we were dating -- and I was very angry and STOMP! and "OUCH" and we had to cease the argument to tend to my injury).

But I don't know why they're scared of me, it's not like I'm stomping on their feet. Boys.

Non-Suicidey Things.

So last night Stuffin made an observation about how I mentioned suicide in my last three blog posts. And I feel very contrite about this because suicide is no laughing matter, and while I may joke about things like how I might have a drinking problem or at the very least some anger issues, suicide might not be as socially acceptable to write about in so cavalier a manner. Although I would like to point out that if I were really anywhere near killing myself I wouldn't be broadcasting it every other day, so this is really more a cry for help. Speaking of which, I haven't exactly received any concerned phone calls from you guys. It's like you're encouraging my suicidal thoughts. So really I think you're at fault here, not me.

In any case, though, I will try to focus on non-suicidey things. And what is more non-suicidey than life? Even better, new life. That's right, I'm pregnant. No, totally kidding. What I'm actually talking about are the two little additions to my apartment in the form of the Y's pet mice. Unless you are my landlord, in which case I'm talking about ice cream. Boy, I love ice cream. Also, when are you going to fix our kitchen sink?

So the Y got these pet mice because we recently had some mice-drama, which I may have to tell you all about another time because I think there are still legal issues pending over that whole debacle. But the end result is that we have these two mice sitting in a nice little plastic cage in our living room, and they are tiny and adorable and everyone spends hours cooing over them and counting their poops or whatever and IT FREAKS ME THE EFF OUT.

Okay, it's not that bad. I mean I'm pretty fond of creatures, but to be very honest with you I'm kind of more fond of creatures that acknowledge my existence. Like if I had a puppy that ran up to me whenever I came in the front door and fetched me milk tea when I'm studying (it's a super genius puppy) I would name it Archibald Hamilton III and love it. But for things like turtles and mice that are really really small and don't know what a human is, it kinda freaks me out to have them nearby. I don't mind them in the wild. Like when I went to Hawaii and saw fish while I was snorkeling I was like "oh cool fish!" and then I left it in its natural habitat (the Pacific Ocean) and it left me in mine (the cookie shop around the corner from my hotel) and we were all very happy.

But now the little unaware-I-exist animals have entered my apartment and I'm nervous. After all the Y went through I definitely did not have the heart to tell her she can't keep her critters here (although I did draw the line at the bedroom; I don't want to wake up and find the mice staring at me in a curious but cruelly careless manner--that's how mice stare, fyi) but I have a few reservations.

First, critters smell. Even puppies smell, which sucks. The only puppy I've ever met that smelled good was this little five month old one that had never been outside his owner's mansion and who had puppy cologne in the bathroom. But all other animals have a smell that I'm not really excited to have wafting through my living room. I'm hoping that the mice are small enough and that the Y loves cleaning cages enough that this won't really be an issue.

The main problem I think is the scratching. I CAN'T TAKE THE SCRATCHING. I'm sitting in the living room as I type this and the cage is on the end table behind me and every so often there will be a loud persistent scratching sound and I think "oh god I hope the mouse doesn't scratch its way out and end up in my hair" and it went on for so long that I turned around to say "stop it" but then I noticed the sound wasn't even from the mouse scratching, it was from it drinking from that little ball tube water drinky thing that little animals have. And so I felt really really guilty about telling it to stop drinking because I don't want it to be dehydrated, but another part of me felt like "oh my god it's going to make that sound every time it gets water?" and then I get a headache and need to rehydrate myself. With vodka.

I Don't Think I'll Ever Have to Kill Myself, Someone Will Probably Do It For Me.

So I've been listening to music a lot lately. It's because it's midterm season, and I'm sitting in front of my computer or a book all day long and it's either play something catchy or go buy a handgun and blow my brains out. No, I'm sorry. I realize I've been using a lot of suicide imagery lately and I agree with you that it's in very bad taste. Rest assured, my head is completely intact. You can refer to that picture on the right there to replace your mental image of a skull cracked open like a watermelon. Jesus, I'm doing it again.

Okay, let's start over.

So I've been listening to music a lot lately. And my top two choices today are "Empire State of Mind" by Jay-Z or "Get U Home" by Shwayze (hey, I never claimed to have a good taste in music. Unless you like these songs too. In that case, high five!).

So anyway, "Empire State of Mind' kind of makes me think about stuff. Well, the other song does too, but it's about exactly what it sounds like it's about (sample lyric: "make love to me up against somebody's car") and as much as I'm sure you guys want all the dirty details of my sex life, I'm not going to be writing about that. At least not until the next time I get wasted and decide it would be a REALLY! GOOD! IDEA! TO! BLOG! I'm an excited drunk.

So "Empire State of Mind" is about New York City, if you haven't already guessed/heard the song. Which made me think about New York City. I know, my brain is a mystery. I've been to the east coast before, to Washington D.C. (which I loved.. it was so bustling and bureaucratic, plus I once read a love story about a girl who ran a book store in Boston and was swept off her feet by a dashing lawyer, and I'm like OH MY GOSH I COULD RUN A BOOK STORE! and I realize that Boston is not Washington D.C. but for some reason I feel they are similar; also there are like museums every five steps and hot dog vendors every three and that is like combining two of my great loves), but I've never been to New York. Which I guess is weird, because I've been to San Francisco and Los Angeles of course and Beijing and Shanghai and Taipei and Tokyo and Paris and London and Rome and Venice and if I list any more cities I'm going to sound like some sort of travel braggart, but my point is you'd think I would've gone to the Big Apple by now. Or at least my family would have, since we are so big on traveling.

But we haven't, and I think there are a couple of reasons for that. First of all, it's very expensive. Like have you seen those emails or whatever, where they say what a certain amount of money a night could get you in different parts of the world? You could buy a villa in Thailand with the kind of money it'd take for you to rent out a dirty bathroom in some drug dealer's apartment in New York.

Wow, I'm sorry. I don't know why I have such a negative image of NYC. I have nothing against it, I swear. And I know a lot of people love it. I guess I just feel like it's very cold and dirty and everyone's skinny and wears black, and that is like a cocktail mix of everything that is anti my ideal living environment. Like, I would love living somewhere where it's sunny and clean and everyone's round and colorful. Oh my god I want to be a Teletubby.

Well I don't know how I can possibly recover from that, so I'm just going to end this right now.

If You Plan On Ever Going Anywhere, Just Don't Even Bother Befriending Me.

And now, for the next in my series of Things I Hate About Adulthood I present:

this exclusively adult idea of Impermanence and Mobility.

I hate it. When you were a kid your parents (if they were good ones, I guess, or if they at least read some child psychology books) tried to give you stability. Like, that's pretty basic. You went to bed at nine, you woke up at seven, you had to go sit in the corner if you were being too rowdy unless you were too rowdy while your dad was sleeping, then you had to go kneel in the backyard (this is where emotional issues and childhood knee scars come from). You saw your friends every day during the school year, you played with your neighbors over summer vacation and then you went back to school and caught up with your buddies like nothing had ever happened.

Adults cannot do this, apparently. Now, I know I'm being kind of hypocritical because whenever things get tough around here I threaten to move to Hawaii and pick up surfing and get an intense tan and marry a boy with killer abs who lives for making me fresh pineapple juice every morning. But I haven't done it yet. And it's not like I'm sitting in my room looking at one-way plane tickets online.

But apparently some people are. People I know. People who, if they left, would not only be leaving California, they would also be leaving me with severe abandonment issues. But do they consider that? Nooo.

"But," I point out. "if you leave, who am I going to hang out with on Tuesdays? We always hang out together on Tuesdays."
"Well," they inevitably reply, "first of all, that's not true. Second of all, I hate you and can't stand being in the same state as you. Even a state as big as California."
"Screw you," I say, "I hope the Atlantic Ocean swallows up Florida or wherever you're planning on going."

Alright, so that conversation is not completely accurate. More likely than not they give me some stupid response like "My girlfriend lives in Chicago and I want to be closer to her/I got offered a job in Minneapolis and it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity/I'm in love with New York and would be a thousand times happier there/My ailing mother's last wish is for me to move to our family estate in Savannah/I'm fulfilling my lifelong dream of being a shark hunter in North Carolina" or something like that.

And they're totally missing the big picture. Which is that if they leave, I'm going to have to make new friends, and I hate doing that almost as much as I hate dating. First of all, it's going to be impossible because I'll be dealing with all the insecurity issues I've acquired as a result of being abandoned in the first place, and who wants to befriend a weirdo who won't let her new friends out of her sight, even if it is to go to the bathroom?

So, to my friends who are moving away, think about it this way: you're not only leaving me a big issue-y mess and forcing me into social situations outside my comfort zone, but your actions are probably also going to get me arrested for being a stalker.

Is that what you want? Yeah, that's what I thought. Now go to the backyard and think about what you've (almost) done.

Here Comes the Bride. Why is She Holding Chopsticks?

I'm soooo excited for my friends to have weddings. I know, I'm a loser. But wouldn't it be awesome? Excuse my enthusiasm, but when I was younger and rebellious I hated all girly things, and this included weddings. Thirteen year old me would be all, "(eye roll) whatever, a wedding is just an archaic ceremony binding a woman to a lifetime of overwork and misery" before going back to wearing boy pants and reading stories about woman warriors. Did I mention my mom used to think I was going to be a lesbian? True story.

Anyway, somewhere along the line I underwent a 180 degree transformation and now 21 year old me does all the things 13 year old me never did: wear dresses, use pink nail polish, have boyfriends and a mother who doesn't question my sexual orientation, etc. I'm not saying life is better now (read: boys suck, I wish my mom's suspicions had been right, just kidding not really I don't even know anymore) but I think this totally explains my delayed and thus built up excitement for weddings.

A few years ago I went to the wedding of a family friend's daughter, and it was gorgeous. The ceremony was held on the cliffs overlooking Half Moon Bay, and the family had rented out the banquet hall of the Ritz Carlton for the reception, and it was just so beautiful that I almost cried even though the groom was a West Point graduate and all his groomsmen wore uniforms and it was kind of funny with the rifle twirling and all that.

The wedding was amazing, but it was also kind of terrible, because they are pretty wealthy, obviously, and I'm like, what are the odds that all the other weddings I go to will be this extravagant? What are the odds that my wedding, if I have one, will be this beautiful? And then I kind of curse them for setting the bar so high. So now I'm going to have to have my wedding on the top of the Eiffel Tower or something so that on my wedding day I won't look around and sigh and say, "Well I guess it's nice but I went to this one wedding like ten years ago and it was way better," thus causing my wedding planner to stab herself with the cake cutter and then everyone's going to be all concerned about sending her to the hospital and no one's going to notice my expensive dress. I can tell it's going to be a headache already.

But anyway I can't imagine what it would be like to get married, even though when she was my age my mom had already met and started dating my dad. In fact, they were probably like over a year into their relationship. And that freaks me the eff out because 1) omg I can't imagine being married, and 2) the Eiffel Tower is probably already booked through the next 25 years. And I guess there's a 3) I don't want to marry someone like my dad.

Not to say he sucks, I mean he's pretty cool as far as dads go. I mean he's okay. Whatever, this isn't about him. Well, maybe a little. Take yesterday for example. My mom comes home from work. She works the same hours as my dad, and she usually brings lunch from home whereas my dad goes out to eat every day (another unnecessary expense). But when she gets back she makes an entire dinner from scratch. I'm talking like three dishes and soup and everything. This is why I need a diet, by the way. And then after dinner's over she does all the dishes. And my dad comes home, sits down, eats, watches tv, and then smokes a cigarette in the backyard. And I'm like oh hell no. Because if this is my married life, I will be insane within the month. Insane like there will be chopsticks through someone's eyeballs.

Wow. How did this post go from me loving weddings to wanting to stab out my imaginary future husband's eyes? I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm so excited for my friends to get married because weddings are awesome and as a guest I get to have all the perks of a wedding without any of the drawbacks.

Observe:
If this is a really good friend's wedding, proceed to A. Otherwise, proceed to A' (yes that's an A prime).

A: I get to walk down the aisle anyway, as a bridesmaid or maid-of-honor or usherette or something.

A': I get to sit.

B: I get cake.

C: When I go home, I don't have to deal with a husband.

See? So everyone reading this, please get married as soon as possible and invite me to your wedding. But don't steal the Eiffel Tower idea, that's mine. And I have chopsticks.

Ask Jamerz.

The other night I was sitting innocently in the den, doing wholesome things like protecting the rainforest and saving puppies from drowning when my sister sends me the following message:

[Iz] (9:43:12 PM): why do ppl have anal sex?

As in such cases when I'm not sure what to reply, I pass the question off to one of my more eloquent friends.

Carolyn (9:43:58 PM): hey

jam3rz (9:44:04 PM): howdy do

Carolyn(9:44:06 PM): iz has a question

jam3rz (9:44:27 PM): what is it?

Carolyn (9:44:29 PM): Iz (9:43:12 PM): why do ppl have anal sex?

jam3rz (9:45:08 PM): so that they can stay pure for christ

And just like that? Question answered. This is why I have friends, everyone.

Welcome to the The List.

My dentist is on the list.
To explain, I'll have to go back to last night. Well I don't have to, but I am a talkative momo and this is my blog so suck it. Wait, sorry. I'm just a little annoyed right now. Let me explain how this is my dentist's fault.

Last night I was online, talking to people, singing along to Pandora and chewing tropical flavored gum; you know, a regular night at home, when suddenly, this happened:

Me: OUCH
Tando: what happened?
Me: I BIT MYSELF
Tando: .. how
Me: I was too enthused in my gum chewing
Me: OW
Me: damnit
Me: I did it again
Tando: ...
Tando: put some ice on it

And that was when I got this idea:
Me: omg
Me: I'm going to eat chocolate
Tando: what
Tando: no
Tando: ice
Me: the chocolate's in the fridge. compromise.

And if you know me at all what happened next shouldn't surprise you:
Tando: how's your chocolate
Me: I got pie instead
Tando: ...
Me: it's strawberry pie

So that was why my mouth was still raw and hurt-y this morning when I headed to the dentist for our bi-annual teeth cleaning. It started out innocuously enough. The dentist complimented my teeth and the lead apron he gave me to wear for the x-ray was pink, and I thought we were cool. But then. Then he took out the cleaning needle (this is a real dentistry instrument, right? my parents aren't sending me to some back alley practice?) and, under the guise of checking for cavities, jabbed me in the sore side of my cheek. Twice. The needle was still in my mouth so I couldn't really shriek, but I gave him a dirty look that very clearly said, "watch it, bucko, or that big plastic tooth model on the counter is going to suffer a very nasty accident." And my silent communication must be pretty effective because he finished up relatively quickly and jab-free-ly, and lavished praise upon my cavity-free condition, so I didn't cause a scene. But he's on the list now. And he better watch out.

Imagine what it would've been like he'd told me I did have cavities.

10 Things I Learned in Vegas (Mostly About the Properties of Rum)

1. Rum will fuck you up. Bad. Seriously, you will be drunk for seven hours and then black out for like a day and a half and wake up back in your own room feeling weak and having trouble typing when you try to update your blog.

2. This is not necessarily a bad thing. After all, you had a great time in Vegas. If only you could remember it. Did you even go? Whatever. Someone had a great time. It was probably you.

3. When you go to a Vons in Vegas on an alcohol-buying expedition (because waiting for a cocktail waitress to bring you one vodka tonic at a time is too time consuming, even if it is free) and type in your rewards number and the check-out guy asks how you pronounce your last name and you say "Wang," he'll snicker but you can't do anything about it because he's probably part of the Vegas mob, like those guys who beat up that cute guy in the movie 21.

4. In the rare moments that you are sober you and all the friends you are with will think that there needs to be some excuse to drink excessively, so you will all drive around in the 100 degree Vegas heat looking for a sports store to buy ping pong balls for beer pong, and after two hours you'll finally find a Wal-Mart and get them, and then you'll go back to the hotel room and start taking straight shots of rum and suddenly no one can find the ping pong balls, much less have enough coordination to rearrange any furniture.

5. And you will all be so messed up you forget the ping pong balls in the hotel room the next day, and on the ride home you'll wonder if you're in a stoner movie.

6. If you work in an office that also happens to contract out a nice older gentleman who doesn't mind hanging out with a bunch of drunk kids, then you will get to hang out in his Four Seasons hotel suite, which is apparently at the top of the Mandalay Bay hotel, and you will be so impressed by the view that you start drinking until you can't see it anymore.

7. Also Four Seasons hotel suites have a total of three (count 'em, three!) sinks, and if you fill these along with the ice bucket full of ice, then you will have enough cold space to store a bottle of rum and 32 cans of beer.

8. And between the four of you, you will finish 21 cans of beer in an hour and a half, although that's not really a fair way to break it down because you only had four, and one guy had like fifteen, but that might not really be his fault because according to sources the next day you kept opening beer bottles because you liked the sound when it popped, and you'd drink like two sips and pass them to him.

9. Apparently public drunkeness is not a crime in Nevada. And neither is walking around with uncovered alcohol. And this is good because you've found out that when you're drunk you totally don't need food and can get by on one real meal and roughly 300 shots of rum. It's practically like you made money by going to Vegas.

10. You love Vegas.

A Lesson in Culture

So let me say right off the bat that the encouraging part of all this is that we ventured out on a burning hot afternoon in Southern California to make the journey to the museum in the first place.

Now that I've gotten that out the way, please don't judge us too harshly for this:



Me with a large thingie that I don't know anything about because I was too busy posing like it to read the description. I think it's Polynesian. Or something.



Or this:


Mango with a slightly less large thingie because he was too afraid to take a picture with the big one. Like he literally said, "Noo what if someone's hiding in it?" And it took some browbeating to get him in position. And then afterward he gave this huge all-body shudder and scampered out of there.

In a weak attempt at redemption I would like to introduce Exhibits A and B:

Exhibit A. Me trying to look thoughtful at the courtyard fountain. Convincing, no?


Exhibit B. I don't know why Mango's thoughtful pose has to be this full body production. He insisted.


Right. In closing, I would just like to apologize to every history professor or social studies teachers I've had. Sorry. Really.

Brazilian Wax, Korean BBQ and Chinese Karaoke-- how much more multicultural can you get?

Yesterday night was the last Friday all our friends would be in town for a while, so we decided to paint it red.

After work Teenerz and I had an appointment at a small studio for Brazilians. It was her first and my third, and when the lady found out she assumed I had gotten my previous two done at her place, and thanked me for the referral. It was awkward to deny her gratitude, and also I was secretly hoping for a thank-you discount, so I kind of just glossed over that moment. At least this supported my assurance to Teenerz that the wax wouldn't be embarassing or awkward because the lady "probably saw like a thousand of it a day and she's not going to remember yours." This belief was confirmed when I semi-disrobed and she didn't yell out "aha! I've never seen that before-- you didn't refer a friend at all!"
While lying on the table in a position very few people in the world have seen me in, I wondered what possessed me to go through this incredible painful ritual over and over. I mean, a waxed body feels nice in a streamlined, clean kind of way, but it wasn't something I couldn't live without --and I certainly had better ways to spend the $27. But even when my entire body convulsed off the table in a spasm of pain, I realized I'd probably be back. Maybe it's a mental disorder.

Next on the itinerary in this night of fun was the Korean BBQ buffet. Only one out of 9 of us there spoke Korean, and as he was sitting at the other table, Teenerz, Jamerz, Tony, Mango and I were left to fend for ourselves. The futility of our attempts at communication became clear when we asked for this:


Steamed egg that is simple but that I am in love with and tried to recreate with some success in my apartment using a wok as a steamer and four chopsticks as a makeshift steam rack. I was afraid the chopsticks would melt and create a poisonous fume but Mango pointed out that they were wooden. Also the fifth time I asked for a refill of this the waitress started laughing in a scornful manner, probably because she thought we were fools for filling up on egg and not meat. You'd think she'd be grateful.
It's empty because of its deliciousness.

and received this:



Some weird cabbage thing that we didn't even eat the first serving of before she gave us the second (larger) dish.


Also everytime we asked for garlic she brought us more meat.


The last thing about this restaurant -- I found out just today that their $2 "valet parking" is just a few rotating waiters illegally parking the cars streetside and running to move them when parking enforcement appears. How can you not love this place?

P.S. Thank you, Mango, for buying me dinner. I have yet to pay for a meal at this place and in my opinion that's the best way to eat.

Finally, we went to karaoke. It was an Asian karaoke bar, so none of the music videos were actual videos featuring the artist. Instead there would be random touristy shots of things like San Francisco, boats, a woman fixing a roof and swans. These are all real examples. The best video was for R. Kelly's "I Believe I Can Fly," which featured a young black boy alternately playing with a toy airplane in his room and flapping his arms in a flying motion on a grassy field.

After karaoke we squeezed seven of us into Jamerz' compact car -- I sat in the front seat with Teenerz crouching on the floor, and the four guys sat in the back -- and slowly chugged home. It was a good night.