I never knew until recently that men can have camel-toes too. Although with women, it's usually a harbinger of white-trashiness. I don't know what it indicates in men. So I was at a meeting at work, and we're sitting in a circle discussing who knows what, since my mind could not focus, since sitting across from me was the uber camel toe, man style. It belonged to a hipster gentleman in his skinny poly-slacks. And it was staring at me the entire time. I admit, I was openly staring the entire time, how could I not? It was taking all on my strength to not go over and shove my hands down his pants, not in a sexual way, I just wanted to move his package to one side. And he sat like that for an entire hour, no shifting in his seat, no crossing his legs, just his manbits splayed out looking like Jennifer Lopez's hindend or a balloon animal gone awry in his pants. Not having literal balls, I cannot gauge the amount of discomfort the seam of your pants reining in your nutsack causes, but I was under the assumption that the beans and frank were quite delicate pieces of equipment. So why can this guy not be uncomfortable or even a bit terrified for his manliness when his family jewels are being garroted by his clothing? I thought guys kept their packages to one side anyway, how can it be that this guy's man-parts are always front and center? (I always look now, I can't help it.) Is this from tighty whiteys? No, I never see panty lines (I check from all sides now). This is going to bother me until I actually do shove my hands down his pants and move them. So when I'm asking around for work, you'll know I did it and subsequently got fired for harassment.
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Sunday, March 30, 2008
Hey, your chocolate is in my peanut butter.
Because all of my former booty calls have either up and married, or died (yes, DIED. Two of them, and they weren't even the 60-year old.), I decided to accept a date with someone I wasn't really interested in, but I figured he was pretty easy, and me being a lazy-ass, didn't want to put a whole lot of effort into getting some action. Then it was proposed by a male friend of mine, that we should go on a joint (don't call it double, we're not in high school any more) first date. It was supposed to help with the awkwardness and stilted conversation and me running my yapper and offending my date or worse, making him cry. So I figured great, less talking for me to do, and if worse comes to worst, I'll at least have my friend to make fun of my date to. I have to admit, I'm probably not the most pleasant date, especially first date, because more often than not, I really don't care what you're saying, because when it comes down to it, that's not what you're going to be like to me five years from now, so I probably think you're bullshitting. Don't worry, I'm not setting up a foreshadow of the date. There were no 'incidents'. It started off pretty boring. Lots of small talk, my friend was desperately trying to impress his overly perky future reality show star and me nodding and smiling with dead eyes to my average white guy. Everyone was getting along swimmingly. I guess too swimmingly because some time during the night, our dates got up to use the bathroom and they never came back. The cocktail waitress had to come up and tell us that they left together and by the way, the tab was not settled. I wasn't upset so much that they left together, seeing as I wasn't terribly into the guy, it was the fact that not only did they leave us with the check, but they knew my friend and I would never sleep with each other so it was an all-around wasted night.
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Friday, March 07, 2008
I can't believe I never posted this. I thought I did. And to tell you the truth, it might have been from the super bowl from last year...
I just spent most of Superbowl Sunday watching a superbowl. Not THE Superbowl, but Animal Planet's PuppyBowl IV. For those of you not familiar with the Puppybowl, it's pretty much a bunch of dogs running around a faux stadium playing with toys and each other. Occasionally, an intern, dressed like a referee will come out to pick up poop, fill the water bowl, or take out a rambunctious dog. That's really the entire concept; puppies playing. I think it says something about my brain processes when I can watch 3 hours of programing that has no story or discernible purpose. It either means that I am completely brain-dead (an obvious possibility), or that I am so intellectually evolved, that I don't need a tangible story or obscure symbolism or a deep, emotional purpose in my visual entertainment. I can do all of that on my own while watching dogs run rampant in a stadium setting (probably not so much a possibility). Maybe, just maybe, there is some deep, esoteric, erudite connotation among the display. Perchance, Animal Planet is trying to tell us to tap into our juvenile and animalistic behaviors with reckless abandon. Or maybe, we're all just mindless and lazy and don't want to watch crappy commercials.
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Sunday, February 17, 2008
Post-Valentine's Day
I have nothing to report here, but apparently, everyone expected some kind of snarky, bitter, angry tirade about the commercialism and uselessness of the holiday. People anticipate a festering jerky to complain and gripe, but I say nay! Who can complain about a holiday that involves an excuse for sugar-laden goodness, and half-priced chocolate the day after? Not me. I received at least 5 cupcakes from people who use holidays as an excuse to bake, not to mention the mounds of cookies in the break room. So you will get no complaint from me, even though I don't have a Valentine other than my dog and Hershey's. But as not to disappoint, I give you this:Hope you all got a little diddling during the holiday.
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Friday, January 04, 2008
Hecho en Mexico I really want to be offended. I really do. But I can't.
I want to adopt this as my mascot. What the hell with the chicken?!?
Luckily, 'real' Japanese people don't go to Ensenada (at least outside of downtown), so no one can raise a fuss about this. This restaurant was everywhere. I'm going to get one of these for my roof. It will warn the neighborhood of what's inside. Too bad there wasn't the 'whore' version.
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Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Uninspired
Sorry, I know it's been a while. There's only so much of my legs that one can take before your retinas burn from the whiteness. Just goes to prove that not every one in LA is tan and buff. Anyway, there hasn't been much going on to write about, except to complain, and there's only so much of that one can take. But there is one thing to get off my chest, then I swear it will be back to 'stupid things that Jerky does'. I find it unacceptable to name your dog 'gumdrop'. That's a stupid name and you're a stupid person for calling your dog that. I don't care if you named it after your favorite dead cat. A cat can be named 'gumdrop' because it doesn't matter what you call it, it's not going to listen. But to call your dog 'gumdrop' is ridiculous, because everyone is going to hear you screaming gumdrop across the dog park and make fun of you and your dog, I don't care how big it is. I think if I ever get another dog, I'll name it 'gawd'. (Think of dog spelled backwards). Then I can scream 'hey gawd, get over here you stupid mutt!', 'gawd, stop humping!' across the park and see how many people I offend. Also, I wouldn't feel guilty when I shoved gawd's face in it when he poops on the floor.
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Thursday, November 08, 2007
Check Out My Legs!
No, this is not some call to vote again. I actually did not vote this year, I'm kind of out of the loop. So much for civic pride. Anyway, apparently people are still checking out my boobs from last year's plea to vote. I was too late on the ball this year.
Anyway, new tattoos. A friend has started to tattoo, so I'm letting her practice. It's not done, I know. That took three hours, my endorphins ran out after that time. I'll get it finished soon. Here it is right side up immediately after I had it done:
It seems a bit anti-climactic after three hours. As soon as she has a site up, I'll give a link. Support local artists, yadda yadda. She did two others on my arms, but I can't seem to get a decent picture of them yet. Maybe I'll get someone else to take them so you can check out my boobs (or rather, lack of) again.
This is not permission to avoid voting.
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Thursday, November 01, 2007
"What are you dressed as for Halloween?"
...Respectable?
(I was in a suit for an interview) Scary!
But I went back to creepy dog lady in the evening.
Trick or trick!
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Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Evil
You know I'm a bad person when I laugh at the person being interviewed on the radio who's talking about how her house has melted in the fires.
Technically, would that be considered a house?
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Sunday, October 07, 2007
Call Me Pollyanna. My optimism knows no bounds...
I bought new underwear.
(as opposed to old underwear? That would be gross. I meant that I bought new 'nice' underwear. As opposed to mean underwear? No, I just meant that I bought underwear that didn't use an entire bolt of material or that could not be mistaken for a sail.)
I am so ready to get lucky.
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Sunday, September 30, 2007
Coming of Age
I like being a grown up. Well, as much of a grown up as an unemployed , 30-something college student can be, but I'm proud of it. I'm proud of the fact that I knit and know how to make casseroles, and water my lawn. I drool at the Aerosoles shoe store and 401k's get me hot. I can't wait to be a real grown up with real responsibilities and matching knick knacks on the coffee table that wasn't from Ikea or from sunset scavenging. But I almost lost it this weekend. I went to an arcade, and I loved it. Okay, so it was a bowling alley with an arcade, I don't know if there are arcades around any more, but still, it was tons of fun. There weren't the old games of the '80's that I love, but there was still air hockey, some kind of motorcycle game which proved that I am an old Asian lady driver, and our favorite, the one we shoot lots of people. I don't own a video game console, and I haven't since my brother had an Atari and Colecovision. I think my Speak 'n Spell was as close as I got to a video game console. And I have no interest in getting one, it's not the same as going to a sticky, semi-shady arcade. It doesn't make me want to be a kid again, but I did enjoy being child-like. But that was all ruined when I decided 11:30 was way too late to still be out on a Saturday night. Ah well, it was fun while it lasted.
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Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Suddenly, I've become very optimistic...
...I bought condoms.
For no reason. Just in case.
Is the world ending?
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Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Why, Oh Why... Must you go shirtless in the grocery store? I know it's 500 degrees outside, but we're at the beach old man, it's not like it's the Valley. Seriously, it's not cool. It's gross. I do not want to touch the mushrooms after you've bent over them with your greeezy hairy chest. Nekkid in the produce section violates about ten million health code violations, and it's just plain icky. So get your stanky man-pits out of my peaches.
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Monday, August 20, 2007
(sub)Urban Jungle Don't get me wrong, I love living in the suburbs, especially after years in the barrio. I love that I know most of my neighbors and all of their dirt, and they're privy to mine. I love the fact that I know that people are looking out for my place when I'm not there, and that they all have keys to my house if they feel like playing with the dog. I love the fact that I can knock on someones door and ask for an egg or a cup of sugar and it won't sound like a pick-up line, and it also saves me a trip to the korean. You'd think after 5 years here, I'd be accustomed to life in the 'burbs, but sometimes I still can't get used to all of it. The quietest place I lived in San Francisco had cable car tracks running 24 hours a day under our window. There was also the former crack house that had shady characters knocking at our door at all hours, "Hey, hey...Where's Kyle? I gotta see Kyle. Can I wait for him here? Doesn't live here anymore? Well, can I take a shower then?", and don't forget our Mission District flat, with the stabbings, shootings, Frat boys barfing, and domestic abuse throughout the night. Not to mention the clatter and din of the depressed urban areas ringing throughout the day, the little children screaming for you to buy their chiclets, or the discordant song of the vendor selling questionable fruit, warbling "mango mango pepitonance!" So this quiet stillness of the suburbs is welcome, except for one racket that puts me at wits end. Apparently, in less-populated areas there are these things called BIRDS. They look a lot like those rats with wings called pigeons, but I've never heard an incessant clatter come from those scavengers like the noise that emanates from these things called 'birds'. I'm telling you, every single morning I awake to the twittering of these animals, and I expect them to be sparring for a chicken wing or vomit on the ground with all of the commotion they are making. But no, they are just sitting on the telephone wires or huddling in trees, making a din. And it's not just the morning, this goes on ALL the time. Where do they come from and what do they want from me? How can a noise like that come from something so small? How do you get rid of them? Apparently, long-time suburbanites greet these vociferous entities with glee. Something about heralding the coming of Spring. Yet, it's the end of Summer and these things are still going at it. If I'm going to commune with nature I want to see a damn bear, not these, these BIRDs. Get away from my window and let me sleep dammit.
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Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Idaho? No, You da Ho.
It's whoring season again. The time of year where I have to own up to the fact that I'm not really a twenty-something college student, but a thirty-something hag who's trying to pretend she's still youthful and can still shirk responsibility. So it's off to work I go, prostituting my skill as an a-hole, touring with crappy bands again. Back in my previous life I was a whore of a different sort. Whereas now I am of the wanton sort, a woman with loose morals, if you will, but without the exchange of hard currency, but in the hopes that it'll make me feel as if I was 26 again. Way back when, when I still was a woman of loose morals, but because I could be, not because I needed to be, but again without the cash involvement, I was a work whore. That did involve cash, sometimes in small bills. Now I'm travelling again, living the rock star life, going to places like the Dakotas, Ohio, and (whhheeeeee!) Wisconsin. Don't get me wrong, those places can be charming, and I realize there are places where I'm the prettiest one there, but on the road, it can be miserable. I can't eat at Waffle Houses for 3 meals a day. I need my Indian food that burns off the roof of my mouth! I must have arugula in my fish tacos! And I'm sorry, Orange Julius does not qualify as a smoothie. Call me a namby-pamby city slicker, but I've become accustomed to my creature comforts. And sitting on a bus full of stinky boys with questionable hygiene and entertainment provided by what ever you can find at Walmart, doesn't provide for a stimulating job experience.
Sometimes I wish there was a market for large, surly Asian women with huge chips on their shoulders or else I would totally become a hooker. Unfortunately, I can only pick up clients at science or Star Trek conventions and there is no repeat business there, plus, those boys don't get enough allowance to where I can make some money.
It's actually sad, but I can't wait to go back to school and away from icky rock star people. I'm getting to be a sad, sad girl.
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Tuesday, July 10, 2007
How I know I'm getting fat again...
...my necklace doesn't fit around my neck anymore.
And it's not supposed to be a choker.
Is this some secret way of killing myself passively?
Don't answer that.
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Sunday, July 08, 2007
I don't karaoke So don't ask. I won't. I don't care that I'm Japanese, and I don't care that I'm a sloppy drunk, that doesn't mean I will karaoke. Not only do I want to keep the remaining thread of dignity that I am desperately clinging to, but I have a medical condition that prevents me from karaokeing. I don't know the scientific name for it, but it involves a rod lodged permanently up my ass. So no matter what you say, no matter how much alcohol you ply me with, I will not karaoke. So stop asking. I don't karaoke.
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Monday, May 14, 2007
mystalker
Is it just me or are those Match.com ads on myspaceSOOPER creepy? No fake doctor guy, you cannot look at me like that, get that friggin' stethoscope out of my face, and you're and even worse rock star with too much eyeliner and no idea how to hold a guitar but you've got a whole lot of ick. And I'm not going to comment on you trying to be a cowboy. Stop looking at me like that. My computer is too slow to get rid of you fast enough, but look, you're on every single page, please go away, you're really disturbing, STOP LOOKING ME UP AND DOWN!
That's it, I'm staying single forever.
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Wednesday, May 09, 2007
We all know my familial relations are less than desirable, to put it lightly. To put it bluntly: my family is ten kinds of crazy. I had flowers delivered to my mother's workplace early this week for Mother's Day, and she spent the entire day gloating in front of her co-workers that her kids still think of her. And that's the specific reason I sent the flowers the beginning of the week. Oh, I'm not excluding myself from the craziness, I know I'm at least five types of crazy, that's why I get along so well with my mother. I decided to fly my mother and grandmother to Las Vegas for the day on Mother's Day. I'm not going with them. My mother than says, 'does your grandmother have to come too?' Yes mother, she is your mother, spend mother's day with her. She'd rather be by herself apparently. I also had dinner with my father a while ago. Actually, he was a dinner that I was invited to with a bunch of family friends. And he gave me a bottle of scotch. Don't get me wrong, I love scotch, and he knows it, but I just find it a bit disconcerting, a parent giving his child alcohol, even a child in her thirties. After I brought it home and wanted a little drinky, I realized I couldn't get the top off. It feels like it was glued on. Okay, so now he isn't promoting alcohol consumption, he's just being mean.
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Monday, May 07, 2007
Easter has far been over, but I still can't seem to recover. No, there were no family incidents or anything like that. And no, I'm not the least bit religious, all that Easter's supposed to mean is completely lost on me, but I do likes my peeps...mmmmmm, marshmallow and plastic. I did participate in Lent. I figure I've been depriving myself of everything else, why not add one more thing? So this year, I decided to give up my dignity, rather, what was left of it. And now that the holiday is over, I can't seem to find where I put it. So if anyone happens across a flailing, indignant mass making people feel bad about themselves, it's probably mine. I want it back, I'm not beyond begging for it.
