Echo

Plug (No Brian, Not a Buttplug)

I’d like you all to put together a warm bloggers welcome to my good friend and frequent partner in hilarious crime, Urethra Doy . She finally put up a blog and this girl is about as neurotic as I am. But funnier. And won’t bore you with musings about the universe and mathematics.

But don’t be fooled. Her real name is not Urethra Doy. Nor Sareet. It is Lemonjello (pronounced LiMONgelo). And we have the same father. But different mothers. Her mom’s the slut. I hate dad.

So check her blog and check it often!

Also…

Jamie wrote a wonderful poem that really touched upon something that I have never been able to really find poetic words for–those people you meet in life with whom you just feel an INSTANT strong connection, who are just so comfortably familiar, that you feel like you’ve known them all your life even though you just met them. And whenever you’re near them, the entire universe seems to open up for you, infinite expanses of darkness filled with such depth and so rich with Truth, that it expands you beyond limits because this connection feels like undisputable proof that everything that exists really is built upon love, as an energy and vibration, that through birth and death, you never really left, and overall, there’s nothing in the long run or the big picture that isn’t okay.

The Old Souls Club . Great title. Love the eloquence and content of it, not just because I get a mention.

Everyone Loves a Dirty Sanchez…

Brian handed me his rent check a few days ago and said, “I went easy on you this month.”

I looked at the check and under “For,” he wrote, “September Rent and Dirty Sanchez.”

I laughed. “How is that going easy on me?”

Brian says, “They won’t know what it is. And if they do, they’re a dirty mutherfucker.”

**************
So usually I don’t care because I deposit his checks at the ATM. But I had to pay back my cash reserve this month so I had to see the teller. When I walked in, it was like deja vu (see Wed June 23rd Post ). So there’s the cute college boy teller that I always flirt with, and he’s smiling and shyly waving, and I’ve got a check in my hand that says it’s for a Dirty Sanchez. And I have a pretty good idea this kid will know what it is, and he looks like a good kid, too, a mama’s boy (my favorite type) who’s gonna think I’m a big, fat whore. So I’m sweating it out, contemplating waving the person behind me through if his window gets free first, but I don’t want him to think that I’m purposely avoiding him, and I’m so pissed at Brian and I wish I had anticipated this and deposited the check at the ATM and just come back some other time to pay back my reserve. Dammit. I was lucky enough to get the other teller while I chatted over the partition with college boy. But honestly, Brian. You’re killing me.

Oh I forgot about one detail. I was depositing a check for a Dirty Sanchez and $800 in cash (from Vegas). That’s why I thought this all looked really, really, really bad.

Women…It Is NOT Okay to Socialize in the Restroom!!!!!

There’s an Asian girl who works in the office across from mine. She’s in the same office as Hot English Guy Who’s At Least 10 Years Older Than Me (See 5th Post from Friday Jan 30th ) . So I’ve become wary of her because every time we see each other in the women’s room, she chats with me. I don’t mean a simple, “Hi. How are you?” as we go into the stalls. I mean, she’ll lean against the sink, and chat while you’re in the stall. Now I come from the school of thought that if I don’t know you, you should only be speaking to me in a public restroom if: a. You need toilet paper; b. You need a pad or tampon; or c. you’ve set your hair on fire and you need me to open the door so you can dunk your head in the toilet. You do not, however, stand outside my door and ask me things like, “So where are you from?” “How do you like working at your office?” “How do you think Kerry’s gonna do in the election?” GOOD GOD. LEAVE ME ALONE.

So I’ve taken to a defensive strategy. If I happen to glance out the window and see her heading to or from the bathroom, I go to the bathroom after she’s done. If I walk out the door and see her on her way to the bathroom, I hurry back into my office and hide until I see her walk back to her office. This has been a successful strategy for over 4 months. But today, I ran right into her coming out of the bathroom. Her face lights up and she says, “Oh! I haven’t seen you in here for a while! I thought maybe you’d quit your job or something!”

I’m embarrassed and scared because I’m worried that she’s gonna stick around and follow me in.

I tell her, “Oh…you know, it’s been SOOOOOOOOOO busy and I just don’t have time to go to the bathroom.”

She looks concerned.

So I continue: “Yeah…usually I just hold it all morning and go at lunchtime when I head over to the mall, or I just wait til I get home. Usually I just forget I have to go. You know…you try not to…think about it too much.”

She’s looking very concerned. “You have to be careful. That can’t be good for your body.”

I say: “Yeah but, you know, when you’re busy, you just forget to do things. In fact, I just remembered that I haven’t eaten all day!”

I’m starting to get creeped out because I worry that we’re heading towards a conversation about the health of my bladder, so I excuse myself as she’s in mid-response and luckily, she doesn’t follow me in. Yeah, I know. Maybe I’m being mean. Maybe she just likes me because I’m Asian too and she wants to be pee buddies. But please, woman. I don’t know you. Don’t talk to me in the bathroom. It’s creepy.

(An excerpt from my mystery writing project. not to be confused with my supernatural mystery script. it’s just a project i’m not telling anyone the details about. 5 particular people, on one particular day)

i can see you through the wall. you are small and curved and fit well in the palm of my hand. but i would never try to trap you like that. i would only breathe in your scent and let you wander through your own mess that you’ve made, tantalized by your willingness to make the same mistakes. tonight i went through all the old clothes in my closet and tossed out anything that looked like something you might wear. because it was too much that i may be turning into you. but please, enough about me. what about you? where has life taken you in the time since you ceased to live with the dying? you think you’ve risen to a new place that erases all memory of a past? well, don’t think twice. because i’m coming for you. and by the time i get there, you will have forgotten what it was that you thought you had.

**************
seventeen days before the end. and i can’t stop drinking coffee. you would think i would be able to rest but this whole maelstrom of mental activity makes me want to vomit and piss at the same time, to get as much of my insides out onto flat surfaces for me to examine. don’t throw up on the carpet, she said. it’s a bitch to clean up. but i’ve done it already; she just hasn’t found it yet. saturday morning will have me on a bus back to newport but it’s still friday early morning so i have time yet to set right all that’s fallen through the cracks and rotted. yes, the morning depends on me getting past the night. today it’s a little gunshy and the blackness feels resilient. true true. but there’s enough for a person to do in the dark when he’s spent his lifetime digging a bottomless tunnel.

***************
I’ve never found a single thing to believe in and here I am, sitting in line, waiting for a visit into that back of the hall examination room and I think in one morning, this morning, my life will fall apart even though some shell of me will continue seamlessly. I have not left anything but it is all leaving me. Dying is just a tunnel. Falling. And when you realize there’s no bottom, that’s when it’s time to panic. The smell of morning usually refreshes me but today it makes me sick. Today something in me will die and today, I will be the one who killed it. But it should have known. It should never have tried to seek the support of someone who’s been dying since the moment she was born.

****************
Fuck. fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. fuck you fuck you fuck you and all your fucking friends who blow out snot in the bathroom showers and piss all over the rim. Fuck you for not looking me in the eye because you think I’m a motherfucking faggot when I know what you want and I know who you are and don’t try to hide it from me because I know it’s all there. you think you’re better than me but at least I admit to what I am and you walk around pretending that you’re something else when you know that you’re as black as me on the inside. I AM black. You’ll feel me one day and you’ll know you should have never fucked with me. FUCK. fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

***************
I walk into the empty hallway and see that someone has already wiped up the mess that the cops left. An investigation is almost always messier than the crime, but I’m just elated that the crowd is gone. I never liked crowds. And the echo of silence has always carried me through the time it takes to get to the ending of a new beginning.

this is not an angry poem (seriously)

on the first
of october i will mail
you what’s left of me after you
walked out six years to the day some
hair a few teeth the ashes of pictures long since deceased
and a whole lot of grievances
that don’t come cheap that i’ve
collected for you into something
familiar like a sixty pound
(leadhearted)
rubber band ball

9/8 Recap

8:30am-5:30pm: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Came home, read an entire book. Night Train by Martin Amis. Hated it.

Whitney called. She always cheers me up. Not that I was down. I was just typing up a poem. I think when you answer the question of “Watcha doin’?” with “Working on a poem,” people automatically think you’re depressed. Which I am. I mean. Not. (No really, I’m not). Whitney made fun of me saying that she’s never met anyone who lived so much in her head. I asked her what she meant. She said, “You’re always thinking. Or you’re thinking about thinking. Or you’re worrying about thinking about thinking. Or you’re worrying about worrying about thinking about thinking.” Wow. She makes me sound fucked up.

I forgot to tell you guys a story from Vegas. When I was in the Shark Reef, there was this hispanic family with a little boy who was about 2 years old. They kept putting him up on a ledge in front of the glass to take a picture and the boy would get scared. So as soon as his mom would let go and move away, instead of jamming his thumb into his mouth like most kids that age, he would jam his finger up his right nostril, looking TERRIFIED. I shit you not. I saw him do this twice.

Today’s mood: having full conversations with people in my sleep

I think it’s ironic that my acupuncturist has prescribed me Chinese herbs that are to be taken with wine; I’m someone who, outside of specific occasions, hates drinking. Just a small amount of alcohol will make me lethargic and give me a headache (even more ironic, is that the only thing that doesn’t make me sick is good tequila straight-up). So while most people would be ecstatic if they were prescribed alcohol, I’m sitting here, glaring at my glass of wine.

I hit up Amoeba tonight to get the Muse (Absolution) album. I was listening to it on my computer up until July when our free Real Rhapsody subscription ran out, so I thought it was about time I bought it. It’s an awesome album. Great for writing at night. I picked up a Thievery Corporation album as well. Real mellow. Great for driving at night, thinking about writing.

I can’t stop thinking about how stir crazy I am. I think I’m just starved and lonely for genuine human interaction right now. If it keeps going on like this, I’m going to make demands to crawl back into the womb (speaking of, I once accidentally freaked out my brother when he was little, when I pointed to my mom’s stomach and said, “See that? That’s where we used to live.” Good times…)

I miss Rie. I miss Muskrat. I miss Ethan. Good people.

I zoned out for 4 whole hours today. While still managing to take over $2,000 worth of orders and negotiate and approve an upcoming ad campaign in a new industry. Like I went through the motions, but the “me” that makes up “me” was off somewhere, contemplating the spiritual auras of Denver and Portland and the next thing I knew, it was past quitting time. It’s starting to creep me out how much of my days are spent on autopilot, and how functional my empty shell appears to be. What if one day, I just disappear and that’s all that’s left of me? A robot under fluorescent lights? bionic knees. just give me some bionic knees

It’s almost Fall. My favorite season. Poetry season. Reflection season. Depression season. I can’t wait.

My back has gotten better except for this seperate ball of agony in my right butt cheek that showed up around the end of July. My left side killed me from last July on, and then it switches to my right. Queer. I also think it’s strange how the appearances of these pains in my ass have coincided with relationship break ups. I don’t want to sound kooky here, but I suspect that boys, on top of being somewhat idiots, really are pains in my ass.

In Vegas, my mom and I were walking around when she said, out of the blue, “I’ve noticed that black guys really seem to take to you.” She doesn’t know that while I appreciate the aesthetic beauty of black guys and tend to openly admire them, I’m too intimidated by them to date them. She followed that with, “Just be friends, okay? Don’t marry one.” So I asked her, “How about this. Would you prefer a black guy or a woman?” She said neither and I said CHOOSE and she said, “Only a white guy or an Asian guy.” And I’m like, what the hell?? (White guys are dorks!! [just kidding. But seriously]). Though this is a conversation we have just about every time we see each other. It doesn’t concern me what she thinks. I don’t think I’ve ever been stopped from doing something I feel strongly about because of someone’s irrational objection. But in truth, no one can really choose who they fall in love with; you’ll meet many soulmates during your lifetime who come in different packages from different backgrounds, and if you’re not open to who shows up, you may miss out on a soulmate connection that could turn into a very beneficial and comfortable life partnership. I’m just looking for that thing that feels RIGHT, whoever that may be with, and I’ll probably have to deal with my own preconceived notions if that person doesn’t fall under the type I had assumed. But that’s my own problem, and a challenge I look forward to dealing with.

And furthermore, I would like both my parents to stop putting homophobic notions in my brother’s head. They are so afraid of my brother being gay, that they tell him all kinds of crap to scare him straight. I spent the three weeks he was here setting him straight (no bad pun intended) that gay people are normal people and often amazing people and it doesn’t matter who they like. Asian people care way too much about reputation. They need to stop that or I’m going to commandeer my brother.

So I Married an Axe Murderer Quotes

(i love this movie…)

Stewart: (Charlie’s Dad): William! Move your head! Look at the size of that boy’s head!
Tony: Shhhh!
Stewart: I’m not kidding, that’s like an orange on a toothpick!
Tony: Shh! You’re going to give the kid a complex.
Stewart: Well, that’s a huge noggin! That’s a virtual planetoid! Has its own weather system! Head! Move!

***
Guard: Hello everyone, I am a park ranger and I will be leading you on the tour. All of the park rangers here at Alcatraz were at one time guards, myself included. My name is John Johnson, but everyone here calls me Vicky.

***
Charlie: Harriet…marry me.
Harriet: No.
Charlie: ….Please??

***
Harriet : Do you actually like haggis?
Charlie: No, I think it’s repellent in every way. In fact, I think most Scottish cuisine is based on a dare.

If I Were to Move…

I’ve made a random list of criteria for an ideal place to live (numbered, but in random order of importance):

1. Has forests and decent rainfall, yet is close to bodies of water.
2. Has seasons (preferably mini-seasons such as in the Pacific Northwest where the summers/winters aren’t as harsh as on the East Coast).
3. West of the Mississippi
4. Very intelligent and open-minded population
5. Low poverty/unemployment level
6. Low crime
7. Strong and diverse culinary sampling
8. Diverse population
9. Community-, family-oriented atmosphere
10. Good venues for live music
11. Has an NBA basketball team
12. Good gyms
13. Good 90s music radio station
14. Good hip hop radio station
15. Minimal traffic/commute to work
16. Diverse religious background
17. Strong artistic community
18. Where my future life partner resides

If you guys have any recommendations, let me know. I have some free Southwest vouchers so I’m going to be checking out cities. I already know that I love Seattle.

This was important to me…that people be educated. Ignorance breeds small-mindedness and at the very least, I prefer that the people who make up the personality of a city be educated:

http://www.census.gov/acs/www/Products/Ranking/2002/R02T160.htm

Of that list, places I’m willing to consider:

1. Seattle
2. Austin
3. Albuquerque
4. Portland
5. San Diego
6. Denver

But in honesty, I don’t think I have the guts to move. But in an ideal situation, I would love to rent out my place, quit my job and just live nomadically while I can since I’m still young and have limited responsibilities.

You know I’ve got a special rageful place for people who are predators of children.

This article is RIDICULOUS. Our justice system blows my mind.

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&e=5&u=/latimests/20040824/ts_latimes/escapesofasexpredator

Weekend Recap

There will be no weekend recap because I’m too tired to go through this weekend in overanalytical detail.

So I’ll just go through some random thoughts. I’ve been pretty random lately anyway.

First of all, I’m convinced that anyone can always get laid in Vegas. It’s a simple fact. But it’s such a vacuous experience that I don’t know what the point of it would be.

There are those who gamble for the social aspect of it, and those who gamble for the gambling/financial aspect of it. I am the former and am not compatible with the latter. In fact, I find serious tables to be a recipe for stress and losing a lot of money. I prefer tables where everyone is friendly and hoping that everyone else does well.

At whim, I bought some rolling papers on Saturday and rolled the pot that couple gave me into three huge joints. I bought a pack of cigarettes and threw out some cigs so I could fit the joints in the pack. Since pot-smoking was once a mainstay in the hippie tradition, I thought I would keep tradition alive by finding someone worthy to pass them on to. I forgot about them until Sunday, when my mom and I played blackjack between two guys from Wisconsin. They were really nice and fun. They invited me to hit up a club with them, and I wouldn’t have minded since they were really cool and non-threatening, but I wanted to call it in early that night. I thought I heard one of the guys asking the cocktail waitress for weed and I suddenly remembered my goodie box. So I asked the other guy, “Did he just ask her for weed?” The guy laughed and said, “I wish.” When my mom and I left the table, I told her to go on ahead and cash out our chips–that I was going to the bathroom. I doubled back and asked one of the guys if I could bum a cigarette. He reached for his pack and I said, no, let me borrow the whole pack. I had palmed the three joints in my hand, so I walked a few steps away, slid the joints in while closing the box in a single motion, then handed his pack back to him, telling him, “I changed my mind but left you guys a present.” I walked away, but turned around for a last look just in time to see him open the box, do a double take and close it quickly, his face lit up like Christmas. Now they have a story to take back to Wisconsin. And that makes my day.

Wherever I go in Vegas, I inevitably end up at Harrah’s, where the people are nice and fun (both the employees and the customers). And I love the Carnival Court, that outdoor pit, bar and stage with the crazy flare bartenders and the awesome cover bands. It’s like toned-down spring break there all the time, without as many stupid drunk hos and dumb frat boys. I spent most of Saturday there, going back twice. I was relieved to find one of the groups I loved to still be performing there. They played 70s funk/disco/rock, which was a nice mix. I watched them in the afternoon as my mom slept with her head on my shoulder. The band at night was an all white band that covered a range of things, from Justin Timberlake, Outkast and Tupac, to country/classic rock. I saw them and thought, I KNOW those guys are gonna be kind enough to play some Guns N’ Roses. And they freakin’ rocked it out with Sweet Child of Mine. I went with my mom again and we danced. She’s really shy, but she likes music and festive places. She really appreciates that I take her to places like this, which is sweet. It kills my game, yes, to have my mom in a bar or club with me, but honestly, I figure that when I’m older, I would love it if my kids would be willing to treat me like a friend and hang out with me. I’m not there yet, but I know it’s lonely getting old.

I think my dad was upset with me because I didn’t spend any time with him. And also because I got home at 5am and 8am on Friday and Saturday respectively, and he always thinks that when I get home really late while we’re staying at a casino, it’s because I’ve picked up a dealer and am off having sex with him, which is never true. I think I was severely irritated because he spent most of his time hanging out with my cousin and the boys on my cousin’s basketball team, which I think is so damn lame when those punks only look up to him because he buys them things, while meanwhile, he neglects his own son. There. I said it.

I think I’ve known this for a while, but just don’t want to face it yet — I want out of LA. People in LA are too neurotic. I don’t mean neurotic as in harmless quirkiness or eccentricity. I mean the dangerous kind of neuroses where people are internally damaged and play it out with their immediate environments and everyone in the vicinity. I want to go spend time in places where by sheer comparison, my quirkiness aside, I’m the craziest person in the room, and people basically have a solid, trustworthy core. Where you live should be a place where you want to live, not a place where you feel you have to cope with living in.

Neurotic people hide in cities. They are as much mentally overstimulated as they are existentially and/or emotionally conflicted so they search out an environment that is equally as chaotic or more so than their insides, so that the internal is balanced with the external and thus, their own private chaos and neediness is justified and supported. And while there isn’t a problem with neurosis itself, it can be expressed very detrimentally to the emotional welfare of others. I keep making a distinction between liking small town people versus city people (especially because I’m a small town girl myself), but I think what I really want is to surround myself with people who have inner integrity and emotional harmony. I’m sure detrimentally neurotic people can be found in small towns just as stable people can be found in big cities. But I want to be in an environment that promotes psychological wellbeing and truthfulness. I know that I’m eccentric and a free spirit, but I also know that I have a lot of inner harmony and integrity. Overall, I’m a stable, dependable person, and as much as people can deem me elusive, non-straightforward or mysterious, I doubt that anyone who has ever met me can question my sincerity and my goodwill towards fellow human beings.

I learn about life and the universe through observing people. My life purpose is about understanding people and the inner workings of life, and communicating what I observe, hopefully for the benefit of other people. But sometimes I feel that I let my romantic drive get in the way of my education of people, so that I get too close instead of remaining in the background and ensuring that I see things clearly and objectively. I have to learn to be more disciplined and not let my romantic, idealistic notions cloud what is really in front of me, creating an unTruthful idea of people and things. This has been a problem for as long as I remember. Don’t fucking touch the Muse, Shih…

I need to get a secondary business card to represent me as a writer. The card from my film company is quirkier and more targeted towards the film industry. I want another card that represents me as a more serious freelance writer putting together people-interest articles. Isn’t that such a gemini thing, having multiple business cards to represent different facets of my work? If I get another one for writing, that brings my total up to 4 different cards–one for my full-time job, one for directing/writing, one for business development and one for serious writing.

I’m taking a free online course about Forensic Science through Barnesandnoble.com . I just ordered the course book and for fun, some books on child psycho-pathology and neurological disorders. Sometimes it trips me out how heavily into spirituality I am, and yet, how heavily into science I am. I think they’re just two different languages of explaining similar things; when they contradict each other, they’re natural contradictions, not contradictions that exclude the validity of one another. But I find it beneficial to learn about science so I can have a lan
guage in which to explain more abstract concepts to people who insist that they only believe in science. Like how I think the dynamics between conscious perspectives, through a phenomenon similar to triangulation, create reality (which is inherently subjective), and the more people are gathered on a frequency, the reality becomes exponentially more subjective, thus explaining some psychological phenomenons (and pathologies) that occur in urban areas. And all this can easily be symbolized through mathematics. Pretty simple mathematics. Unfortunately, I don’t have a background in math or computer science, so I need someone’s help to help me create a program that will follow a formula to graph out what I’m talking about. I tried doing it by hand once (the dynamics between 120 people gathered in one interactive plane) but it was grueling and nearly impossible to be accurate. Anyway, I digress. I need to meet more people with backgrounds in math and science, yet are openminded and can fathom the abstract.

Sometimes, I think I am a robot.

9/5 Recap

I went to the Shark Reef at the Mandalay Bay and ran into Andrew DeClerq , formerly of the Warriors and now of the Orlando Magic. He’s one of my favorite players because he’s got so much heart and hustle, and he always finds a way to make things happen on the court. And, he always seemed like a nice guy.

(Hey Andrew! If you stumble this far, it was very nice meeting you today. I’ll post the picture sometime this week, and if you ever want someone down to earth to hang out with when in LA, feel free to contact me! Good luck with everything!)

He was right in front of me in line and I was staring at his knee brace and feeling bad that this guy must have just had knee surgery, before I realized who he was. We started talking about his knee, and ended up walking through the exhibits at the same time. He was really nice and down-to-earth, pointing out things and helping me distinguish between the different sharks. And to tell me that sea turtles are “endangered,” not “dangerous.” (haha. I didn’t think that made sense. I somehow misheard the audio). He’s a really nice guy. Very intelligent as well, which was refreshing because two days in Vegas have left me craving intelligent conversation. He reminded me of the great people back in the midwest…just so down to earth. I miss people like that…LA is way too shallow and impersonal, and Vegas is like LA’s manic, slutty cousin.

I hope his knee heals up well. Orlando may have Francis now, but I still think it’s the scrappers who win games.

The Shark Reef is really cool. I love aquariums because it’s amazing how there’s an entire universe under the sea. And it’s amazing how different species adapted in their own unique way. And it’s interesting how we’re drawn to beautiful things that can very well hurt us. Like jellyfish. I was captivated by the jellyfish. I would do anything to be able to touch them and not get one of those legendarily painful stings. But it’s the same impulse that draws a moth towards light and drives our fascination with fire. Maybe it’s even a chicken/egg type of question. Is being drawn to something dangerous for us a distinct type of attraction? And when it comes to those things that are dangerous, are they really beautiful DESPITE being dangerous, or are they perceived as beautiful BECAUSE they’re dangerous?

By the way, I think the instincts that drive a moth towards a flame and fuel humans’ captivation by fire is a microcosmic example of our physical body’s inherent need for the sun. Just the way plants will turn towards the sun, I think people also are pulled towards the sun, their survivalistic instincts dictating that they must crave the sun’s energy. And then when we started artificially creating facsimiles of the sun (ie fire, lighting technology, etc.), our inherent desire for the sun can override the risks regarding the dangers of these things and thus, explain why moths get fried by camping lanterns and why arsonists are obsessively hypnotized by flames.

I’m totally stream of consciousness tonight. Just spending time with my family in the hotel, waiting for everyone to shower with time to kill.

You know, injuries suck. I was watching Andrew walking with his brace and a slight limp and I just felt so bummed for him, because I’ve had so many knee problems from sports and they’re some of the most painful injuries and grueling recoveries a person can have. It’s also frustrating when a person is a strongly focused and intense individual and knows that psychologically, he has the mental strength to do anything, but then his body doesn’t cooperate. Injuries are just so out of a person’s control, that it’s really insanely frustrating. I really wish they could hurry up with the technology for bionic parts. Man, if I had new knees, I’d tear down that rim.

I went to Rain in the Palms last night. Danced with my boyfriend. He’s a gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous black man with the smoothest, creamiest skin. I’m not even gonna pretend I didn’t spend the whole time wishing he’d rip off his shirt.

Nerd Alert!

Yes, I can’t live without being close to a computer. I was already feeling withdrawal last night, but this morning, my mom pulled out her laptop and I immediately commandeered it.

Hey, you remember that scene in So I Married an Axe Murderer?

Tony Giardino: Excuse me sir, I’m with the San Francisco police department, this is official police business. I would like to commandeer this vehicle!
Commandeered Driver: No.
Tony Giardino: What do you mean, “no”?
Commandeered Driver: I happen to know for a fact that you have no right to commandeer my vehicle.
Tony Giardino: Please, can I commandeer this vehicle?
Commandeered Driver: No.
Tony Giardino: You’re just not going to bend on this commandeering thing are you? Commandeered Driver: No.

I love this movie! One of my favorites. (Nerd Alert #2-I can’t help saying, “Excuse me, I thought you ordered the Large…” whenever I see anyone holding one of those big supersized horse tubs of sodas.)

Anyway, I digress. Here’s my Vegas update, written in my notebook at 5:20am this morning:

Vegas: Day One

So I’m scrawling this from the bathroom floor of our suite in the Venetian tonight. This room is bigger than my apartment! It’s pretty out of control.

Flying in, I started getting a heavy feeling of dread that only intensified upon landing. Walking around with my brother, I was feeling introspective and moody, remembering things from my time here years ago that I haven’t thought about in a long time. I think if you spend too much time in this town, it brings out the worst in you.

But I did remember some things from my research time here. Like, did you know that casino managers are superstitious and they purposely hire female Asian dealers because they’re killers? Never play cards against an Asian woman. They have some sort of lucky pull for bringing in money for the man.

Anyway, my parents got in a few hours after us so as soon as they came in, I handed over Michael and took off. My cousin Parkson was here, too, but I didn’t want to hang out with him and his basketball team (they’re all here for a tournament). They’re THOSE guys. The stupid frat boys with lame pickup lines who make a dramatic point out of sniffing up every hot girl’s skirt. He tried to get me to hang out with him (they were going to a Gentleman’s Club. Yeah. Sounds like a good time for me), but every time I do, I get really annoyed with them.

So I hit the tables to find people to chat with. I met some cheesy guy named Vince from Orange County at the craps table. He was standing next to me and I was shooting really well (shot for over half an hour. If I’m around, always put money on 9). He kept touching me every time I made him some money. And he was a “High Five!” guy. The worst kind of cheese. I decided to leave to go check out the hip hop club upstairs. I was hoping to do some quality people watching, but he followed me away from the table and wanted to come with me. I gave him bad directions, but he still found me. So being the way-too-polite person that I am, I let him drink with me, though I told him that I was attached so I wasn’t going to do anything with him. We had a few shots of Patron and danced. He kept kissing my neck and I was getting annoyed so I told him I was gay and that nothing was going to happen. I was being stubborn because I didn’t want to have to leave the club just because this guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. He STILL kept trying to talk me into being interested in him, so I got really irritated and told him firmly and repeatedly that he didn’t have any kind of chance with me. He got really pissed and stormed off.

Seeing that it was 4 in the morning, I headed back to my room, but thought I would grab some food first so that I wouldn’t have a wicked morning when I woke up. There was this couple in line in front of me, and the guy jokingly asked if I was interested in fooling around with his wife. I laughed and said that she was a very attractive woman but I wasn’t into that sort of thing. We all started chatting and it turned out that we were all from LA. We ended up eating together. Very nice people. He asked me if I smoked herb. I said, on occasion, and he said that he had half an 8th that they wouldn’t be able to take with them on the plane when they left tomorrow, so I could have it if I wanted it. I said sure, so we went back to their room and got it. They smoked out of a homemade apple bong as they told me about their two young children, which I thought was really ghetto but funny. I declined a hit, because I think I wanted the weed more as a tradeable commodity (you never know what happens in this town) than to smoke, and because I thought it was funny that some random strangers were giving me dirt weed. We all chatted for a bit and he asked me again if I was sure I wasn’t interested in his wife. I said no, but I told him that if they were interested in that kind of stuff, my coworker and his wife are swingers and there’s a club in LA that really caters to it. I gave them the link to the website and left.

Some funny videoclips to get you guys through the weekend:

http://www.ifilm.com/viralvideo?ifilmid=2648319 (Judo Idiot)

http://www.ifilm.com/viralvideo?ifilmid=960775 (Some pissed off guy in a cubicle)

http://www.milkandcookies.com/stuff/triumphvsw.asx(Triumph the Insult Dog Does Star Wars Fans)

http://www.ifilm.com/ifilmdetail/2421060 (Project Redlight, the spoof off of Project Greenlight, featuring Corey Feldman. The suffering wife was the main actress in my short).

Enjoy!

Hey Melo…the name of the game is SHUT THE FUCK UP.

http://msn.foxsports.com/story/2919428

Debbie Downer

This is the infamous SNL skit where the cast lost it. Rachel Dratch plays Debbie Downer, who says the most depressing things at the most inappropriate times.

http://www.liquidgeneration.com/blog/video/snl_downer.mov

(link may take some time to open. The link automatically begins the download. Patience, young grasshoppers!!)

9/3 Midcap

I’m off to Vegas in a few hours. It’s my first time there in over a year and two years since I dropped my Vegas project. I’m there with my family so that means I’ll either spend all of my time in the arcade with Michael, at the table with my dad as he glares at me because I flirt with everyone, or at the table with my mom, cockblocking her by telling the young guys who hit on her that she’s a lesbian. I kind of want to break the routine though. When I was working on the Vegas project, I was there a lot getting the feel for the casino floor and buddying up with dealers (sometimes a little too much so). I want to not gamble, and not be so aware of that shrill siren of desperation and mania in people’s energy that’s ubiquitous out there…just see the place from the eyes of a tourist who really thinks this is Disneyland for adults. By the way, I hate that term…Disneyland for adults. That’s what my coworker calls orgy-catering swingers clubs.

My coworker’s wife just had a baby this morning! A Virgo named Guy. We gave him a hard time about him choosing the name Guy. Like, why don’t you just give him the middle name Big Dick if you want to overstate his masculinity. I don’t think you should test God that way; he’s got a wicked sense of humor. I think choosing the name Guy for your first born son nearly insures that he’s gonna be born with a vagina. But I guess for this kid, all the parts were where they should be. Darn.

If It Isn’t Bad Enough When Someone Keeps Sticking Things In You…

I went to my acupuncturist last night sans Michael since he had a “playdate” with Jake… (they went to Subway). Even though Michael usually just sits there and giggles gleefully at me lying on the table in my underwear and getting stuck with pins, it’s comforting to know that he’s in the room.

The doctor and I were smalltalking in Chinese, which was somewhat difficult because she has a strong mainland accent and I have a 6th grade vocabulary. She asked me if I had a boyfriend, why not, etc. I said I date when I’m bored, but for real connections, I’m looking for someone in particular and I don’t know who, but I figure I’ll know when I find that person. But it has to be someone brilliant, gentle, open-minded and kind, and who can keep up with me.

She asked if I like Chinese guys and guys in their 30s, and started telling me about this one guy she knows. She was rattling off in Chinese and I got really lost from my lack of decent vocabulary. But I didn’t want to be rude because she was speaking so enthusiastically, so I just kept saying, “Uh huh…Uh huh…oh really…” But then she asked me, “What do you think?” I had no idea what she had been telling me or what she was asking me, so I said, “Wow.” And then the conversation ended.

I hope that I didn’t just give her the redlight to set me up or something. The last time I had an older Chinese woman talk to me about a guy while I smiled and nodded due to lack of comprehension, it was my cousin’s grandmother, and it turned out that she was pitching reasons why I should date my cousin. (We’re cousins by marriage. But STILL.)

And now, your moment of zen …