Echo

I had my birthday dinner at Houston’s with my father who was here for the mediation regarding the condo. He told me that Michael got him a father’s day present, and the card said, “You’re the #11 best dad in the world.” I’m sure it’s a typo, but I’m curious as to who the top 10 are.

“Julia P. S***. Happy 26th Birthday.”

Thank you, Michael J. S***.

I hate drunk hos.

Thanks, everyone, for an awesome party last night! And thanks especially to Calvin for the…”show.” I saw hip gyrations and think my brain shortcircuited from pleasure overload, because that’s the fuzziest point of my memory.

We had 3 disposable cameras going around the party and I’m pretty terrified of what’s on them.

I’m psyched about the party tomorrow. It should be a blast. I’ve set my drink limit beforehand at 3 drinks, but I doubt that’s gonna hold…my cousins are coming and they know how to provoke my competitive streak with drinking games. Since I have low tolerance to begin with and my cousins and I are having dinner at the bar before the party, I’m just hoping that I’m still conscious by the time people start showing up.

In other news, Peyote buries his own doody. What a considerate little neat freak.

Ah, Big Ben. That beautiful, beautiful, beautiful specimen of Man. Every single muscle sculpted in that lean, chiseled body that is as graceful as it is powerful. Many have wondered why I am so completely fascinated with him and I think I should explain.

No, he’s not handsome. In fact, he’s a frightening looking fellow. Though his fro is bomb, the hairdo is better looking than the man. But what is incredible about him is the fact that he looks like a marble statue come to life. It makes any aesthete’s eyes tear up from the sheer beauty of the human body in its top form. It’s the same way a person will admire a stealth jet or a Lamborghini or some other well-crafted machine. Something inside this person just becomes awestruck and goes, “fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

And on top of that, he’s got reflexes that are inhuman. The way his arm shoots out and rips the ball out of the air and into his body is like watching something being primally devoured. It simultaneously freaks me out and excites me.

This will be the last drink I have before my birthday party on Saturday, as having spent a week and a half in a country where everything is either fried or cooked in lard or fried in lard has made my body resent me like an albino love child that I keep locked up in my attic. Er…a hypothetical albino love child that I keep locked up in the attic. I mean.

I plan to detox all week with green tea and fresh fruits and veggies so I stop getting winded just by looking at stairs.

I’ve noticed something today, as the sun travels through Gemini and the lot of us celebrate birthdays. I’ve noticed that a lot of geminis have a lot of friends of the opposite sex. My cousin B has a freakin’ harem of girls but they are all truly and literally, just friends. And he treats them chivalrously. My roomie Brian has a hoard of girls and you could argue that, well, you would expect that he would be surrounded by a hoard of girls. But I tend to have a lot of male friends that are just that, with neither history nor intention of moving into anything more, and it seems that I could give many examples of other geminis I know who also have an unusually large number of strictly platonic friends of the opposite sex.

So in examining this phenomenon, I theorize that the reason for this is that Gemini, being the androgynous sign that encompasses both male and female, will strive for the company of the opposite sex not as a sexualized member of the opposite sex, but as an ungendered peer. Thus, Gemini men can fit in with a group of woman in a non-sexually threatening way by understanding and embodying certain female principles, and vice versa.

Speaking of Gemini birthdays…happy birthday to Brian who is off to Boston! He’ll be back on Saturday in time for my party, which rocks. I guess people who have hotmail aren’t getting the evites because they just go into junk mail folders. That sucks.

Rattle rattle, drunken rattle. The problem with rarely drinking is that it takes very little to get you drunk.

Oh, my mom, who is very modest in expression, gets fiery when she’s stressed. So as we were in a hurry to get all of our baggage downstairs where a cab had already been waiting for half an hour, she suddenly screams (in Chinese…I’ll translate), “WHICH SON OF A BITCH TOOK MY CAMERA?!?” That was the funniest thing I’ve ever heard her say. If you knew her, you would understand why this statement is shocking.

Did God create us before we created him? Or did we create him before he “created” us? Discuss amongst yourselves.

Goodness.