no, not monday

where does my weekend really go? I mean, I do stuff, but there's a lot of stuff I don't do, too. Specifically, I'm thinking about the Hello Kitty Art Show that both Anita and my boss brought to my attention last week. Geez. Is it that obvious that someone like me is into Hello Kitty? Unfortunately, I missed opening night, but I might go to the Fashion Show Party in November. The great part is, that there are a lot of artists I love who have done pieces for this show. And going back to those types of art shows really brings me back to my early twenties, when tdd would go to pop art gallery shows and really live the life of a cool kid in LA. I think that was back in the Hot Hot Heat concert days where I would drive the mini van of death to and from. A time in my life before I resigned my driving capabilities and handed my life over to the drunk friends who more capable at the wheel. That's the tricky part - that part I'm thinking about is filled with memories of being young and recklessly partying. And that illusion that I could go back to those times sometimes tempts me, until I remembered where all that took me. And now, as I'm starting to integrate myself back into the world outside of the recovery bubble, hopefully, I'll be able to enjoy the same things in different ways. I'm not too optimistic. Over the summer I went out a date (for practice) and the guy thought i was really cool, but he didn't think the whole me not drinking would work out. In his email, he mentioned something about resenting me if we were in a relationship. I wanted to write back that we actually have a step for those kinds of things. Unfortunately, I just dropped the subject entirely, and we went our separate ways.

As seen on TV in the magazine.

I'm being taken out on a lot of lunches (which I honestly don't mind). My new boss asked me "what type of magazines do you read?" And I figured I couldn't really say "all the ones we get in the office that I have to tag for share of market," because I wouldn't want to reference me not actually working at work, but I really had no response for her, because I don't really read magazines. After working for various ones for the past three years, like most things, I'm incredibly jaded about magazines. That's not to stay I'm still not heavily influenced by them. The message of not being enough and compensating by material consumption is definitely on that character defect list. It's pretty frightening how I might be flipping through Good Housekeeping or O, and days later buying whatever product they endorse (either in an ad or edit mention.) I'm a sucker for mascaras. But my latest spree involved buying a magic jack, because GH had a review of SEEN ON TV things, and they gave it four stars. When I first saw it, I didn't really say "Hey, I need a magic jack." It was just one day I found myself fed up with the lack of cell reception in my apartment (not like I call people anyway) and I had a brilliant idea "hey, I should get a magic jack." At that point I didn't even remember seeing it in GH. Anyways, I bought one, a mid level portable phone (from target) and a five year plan, because it was a "deal." My phone is charging right now, so I can't make any calls to see if it actually works. (And even though I did research after I bought it saying it didn't work. But why would Good Housekeeping lie to me? (My denial runs deeper than I thought.)

But hey, I potentially may have the ability to make calls. After 8 years of living in LA, I finally have a 310 area code number (thank you Compton district!), and it's cheaper than getting a landline. I'll let you know how it goes.

Self Pity Parade

I don't have faith in the male species. There, I said it. Then again, in therapy I was talking about how I find women useless (there are exceptions of course.) Two nights ago I had a dream where someone loved me, and I wasn't ambivalent about them to the point of liking them, and things were great and everything was right in the world. The next day in my dream, I walked past the guy who was in love with me, and he was flirting with another girl and didn't even acknowledge me when I walked by.

STORY OF MY LIFE!

Weirdly enough, I was at Coffee Bean this morning and saw a guy I was actually attracted to and for the first time in a long time felt like I was open to the idea of love. Who even know who this guy is, or if he's even into girls? Will I leave the house early, so I can "visit" Coffee Bean before work? Probably not. Okay maybe.

I'm starting to get that it's me, though. There are guys who pursue me, and I find a million things wrong with them, and still moo over the fact that no one loves me. I get the fear, my judgmental nature, my perfectionism.

Today, May showed me an article about a study showing that Asian American women were more likely to have thoughts of suicide. It hit so close to home, that for a brief second I was contemplating holding an Asian American Women Anonymous. But again that circled back to women being useless, and my inability to play well with other Asian Americans.

How does this all relate? Well in this quest to find love, or at least a codependent relationship to call my own, I totally see the role I think I need to play (or what's expected of me), and I guess since I don't really know who I really am, so how could I possibly be in a relationship with someone? And maybe I'm so tired of people expecting my identity to fit some kind of stereotypical role that turns me into an object that I'm hopeless that people, not just men really don't care who I really am.

it's not supposed to make sense.

i wish everyone had a blog that they updated on a regular basis. who am i to talk, right? if everyone had a blog, instead of having that uncomfortable moment of opening up and showing your hand of emotions, it would be replaced by people just checking each other's blog to know their innermost feelings. Like reading the news. And everyone would know exactly what was going on, as opposed to guesses they make from thirty second voicemail messages you leave or vague facebook status updates.

who am I to talk, right? my entries consist of generalized feelings of angst. today's topic in the meditation book was something along the lines of not letting words take over, even if they seem like they're what we wanted to hear. I can see the point, but how would anyone be forgiven, if we can't really believe the words "i'm sorry." there i go again, thinking I'm giving people the benefit of the doubt, and allowing room for human mistakes under the true disguise of fitting noble beliefs to my warped sense of expectations. i think i think too much. or maybe not enough.

i got my haircut today at the japanese salon that's right across the street from work. Besides the awkward - fobby engrish conversation that consisted of her talking about how great it was that you could drink on the beach in japan, which turned into her asking if i liked to drink, and me vaguely telling her that i quit, and her being really confused, but me not really getting into it. i think at that point, i was just really hoping she wouldnt fuck up my hair. I feel like the relationship between hairdresser and client is completely different on tv. theres some kind of weird therapy vibe going on. i'm perfectly content sitting in silence as opposed to making small talk. although it was interesting to hear a japanese person say they like japanese american people because they still act japanese but are american. oh really? as stupid as it sounds, i can't argue with that. the more i try to deny my japanese heritage, the more similarities between me and real japanese people i see. that sure as hell doesn't mean im going to be embracing the japanese american community any time soon.

more haterade, please.

I'm an addict. I enjoy the pain and the chaos, because that somehow inspires creativity or maybe if i'm lucky, motivation to change, only to inject more drama later down the line. life is crazy. i feel like i have nothing to complain about. sure, i don't have it all together, but I know a lot of people who are in a lot worse places than i am. Things I've learned this week - after three years with the company, I am grossly underqualified to do my boss' job, swine flu is real, and there are such things as miracles. At least, I'd like to believe that what I've seen is nothing short but miraculous. Oh yeah, and when you ask the caterer to put a breakfast basket together, they come up with the idea to put a can of tuna fish in there.
I need to be in the know. I want the full story at the risk of getting my feelings hurt.

This week someone told me that they like my gumption... this week I felt confident in some of my abilities. This week was beyond and still continues to be nothing but crazy. When it rains it pours, even when half of Los Angeles is burning down.


On a side note - May and I are started a hate group against the VH1 pick up artist and all of his work.

Ambivalent about everything.

Literally, I have 7-10 blog posts that I started, but never published. Wow, never finishing anything? Story of my life, right? Maybe if I copied and pasted them altogether, I'd have a buffet of random thoughts in my head for all the world to see. The materials must not be all that great, if I never published it.

On Saturday, I revealed my past to someone, and in turn, my character defects were revealed to me and written down on paper. I felt maybe ten minutes of relief, until I started feeling incredibly shitty in every way imaginable, and to my great surprise, every character defect made itself present and accounted for, all in the matter of five hours. Looking for answers, I turned to "Understanding the 12 steps" and read that if I didn't do the first four steps thoroughly enough, I would feel even worse and have compulsions to use. Well, I definitely do feel the need to light up, but a terribly codependent, unstable relationships sounds good right about now. There's no one appealing enough, though.

Well, it looks like we've reached the limit of my attention span. More to come at some point in life...

Confidence in my writing abilities grows, and my ego explodes.

I just got this piece in the mail. It was supposed to go to Teen magazine (which folded.)

“Dear Teen Editor,
I’m submitting this to be considered for publication in Teen Magazine. If you have any questions, please feel free to call me at (number), or email me at (email). Thank you for your consideration. I hope you’ll consider it, and I look forward to hearing from you. Thank you very much.
Signed: (name)”

A pretty standard, to the point cover letter.

Here’s the absolute GOLD she submitted.

“Fairy Tail Fail

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, long ago, a fearsome dragon guarded a tower in which two beautiful princesses lived captive (forgive the cliché, which is probably plagiarized from ten different sources, but it’s quite efficient way to begin a fairy tale.) The great purple fiend encircled the tower, guarding it from each direction simultaneously and vigilantly with ten different heads. The beautiful princesses waited woefully for someone to rescue them, but were unhopeful that any hero could defeat their fire-breathing, multi-headed, serpentine sentinel.

The said ladies, named Ivy and Clover, were one day consoling each other over the loss of a young man who had charged recklessly towards his prize only to be struck dead with a flick of the dragon’s barbed tail.

‘I loved him.’ sobbed Ivy into her pillow.

‘There, there’ said Clover, rather perplexed at Ivy’s deluge of affection for this stranger, but wanting to offer comfort just the same. ‘There will be plenty of other men who will come looking for us.’

‘But my love is dead’ wailed the distraught maiden.

‘Frankly he was unworthy of your love,’ offered Clover, changing tack and offering more blunt consolation. ‘He couldn’t have been all that bright, to charge headlong into what outmatched him by a mile.’

‘Unrivalved bravery.’ Countered Ivy.

‘Marked unpreparedness.’ Said Clover, ‘Obviously no planning done at all. And gracious, did you see the state of the horse? And his clothes? One word: tacky. OMG.’

‘His unique personality was clearly ungoverned by mundane fashions.’ Crooned Ivy, her eyes misting over with adoration. (Let it be noted that Ivy kept up with every style, newest clothes, newest camera, newest phone, best iPod. Etc.)

‘Ivy,’ said Clover, not to be discouraged by her companion’s stubborn persistence. We are the loveliest ladies in the land, renowned nationwise, for our charms. The dragon agrees! The boy wasn’t even fit enough to eat. He just flicked him away.’

‘You can’t understand! You’ve never been in love!’ screamed Ivy as fresh tears poured over her mascara stained cheeks.

This statement was quite true, so Clover was forced to renounce that method and instead patted Ivy’s shoulder and helped her print out lyrics to Alanis Morrisette songs and other Emo poetry.

The tower festered with Ivy’s depression for months. Clover was braiding Ivy’s hair while Ivy whined that Clover ought to work faster and then bring her a glass of milk when the dragon gave a fearsome roar; it used the cry it reserved only for unwanted visitors.

The girls rushed to the window and a magnificent sight met their eyes: a gorgeous man in shining armour atop a white rearing stallion. The knight was heavily armed with explosives and a machine gun.

Both girls swooned at the image of masculine perfection. When they recovered, Clover hustled to finish Ivy’s hair, so she could start dressing up her own, hoping there would be a need for it in their anticipated special occasion. Ivy pretended not to care and asked for a sandwich in her sweetest, most childlike voice.

The knight took careful aim against his porphyrian foe, greanading away various heads and limbs and other necessary anatomy. Of course he made good use of the “spray and pray” mechanics of the AK47 also. In what seemed no time at all, the prince knight galloped past his defeated lifeless opponent and waited at the base of the tower.

The princesses giddy with excitement, made last minute adjustments to their appearances and skipped into the elevator. As they descended to ground level, Ivy noticed a potentially disastrous problem.

‘There’s two of us and one of him’ she blurted out amidst their happy chatter. Clover shrugged and smiled. ‘It’s quite alright’ she said. Being a princess of elevated intelligence, Ivy strongly disagreed and thought Clover quite dull for not seeing their impending predicament. However, not having the heart to explain at the moment, she resolved to let matters unfold as they may.

The prince was even hotter up close. He dismounted his noble steed and bowed to the ladies as the doors dinged and slid open to reveal them.

‘Long have I journeyed’ ‘We’re so grateful’ ‘You’re so beautiful’ ‘You’re so brave,’ yadda yadda etc. Basically, necessary pleasantries were exchanged. The prince, apparently courteous as well as hot, offered his arms to help the ladies on the horse.

Ivy mounted happily, but Clover declined. ‘No thanks, I don’t think I’ll go.’

When only bewildered silence met this statement, she continued. ‘I don’t think I’d be happy in your kingdom, ya know, just one of those things. Also marriage is sort of not my cup of tea at the moment, no offense.’

And so it was, Ivy and her knight galloped into the sunset, the exact snapshot of happily ever after and Clover headed east, into the uncertain dusk and darkness, later to meet the rising sun. After preventing the extinction of the unicorns, Clover took up such causes as freeing Tibet, sustainable energy, and the cessation of genocide in Darfur.

The end of fairy tales”


Wow, what a masterpiece. Right?

Well, I decided to take the liberty of revising the story, just a little.


(unfortunately that means more to read…)


Fairy Tale Fail
By me

Once upon a time in the twenty first century, in a faraway land that still had medieval nobility, but also wireless internet, lived two beautiful princess that lived captive in a 80 floor tower that was guarded by a ten headed, purple dragon. Their father, the king, was one of the most controlling, overprotective men in the country, and he was not buying into the whole “promise rings” chastity vow that the Jonas brother were trying to sell. In order to protect his daughters’ virginity until marriage, he had to take it to the extreme! and kept them hostage in the tower and the dragon killed anyone who came within twenty feet of the entrance, with the exception of the bull dyke UPS driver, because those iPhones and Gucci bags don’t deliver themselves. For years, the princesses waited for their knights in shining armor to come to their rescue, but no ever did, and the girls would cry themselves to sleep over Ben & Jerrys and the same Sex and the City DVDs.

On their 18th birthday, coincidentally the same day they no longer were deemed as “jailbait,” a young man, charged recklessly towards the princesses, only to be devoured by six of the ten dragon heads. Heads seven and eight ate the horse he rode in on, and heads nine and ten were anorexic.

Princess Ivy was devastated. “I loved him,” she blubbered between the sobbing.

“There, there, “said Princess Clover, who was rather perplexed by Ivy’s breakdown, but she wanted to comfort her sister just the same. “There will be plenty of other men who will come to our rescue.”

“But my love is dead” wailed Ivy.

“A man who comes so unprepared without proper weapons to slay a dragon is obviously not all that bright, and probably unworthy of your love.” Clover pointed out.

“No, he was a man of passion and unrivaled bravery.” Countered Ivy.

“More like marked unpreparedness and mild to moderate retardation.” Quipped Clover. “And did you see that obese, toothless donkey he tried to pass off as a horse? And did you see his clothes? They were so ghetto, he must be the Prince of the projects or something.”

“Don’t be a player hater.” Ivy cried. “You can’t understand my pain, you’ve never been in love.”

Clover hated to admit it, but this was true, so Clover went over and put her arms around her sister and gave her those sympathetic two pats on the back to pretend to show the other person that they care, and suggested that they print out lyrics to Alanis Morrisette and write Emo poetry on the mirrors.

Ivy’s depression festered for months, but sometimes it seemed to Clover that Ivy used her heartbreak and dramatics as a way to have Clover pamper her every needs. It was codependency at its finest.

One day, while Clover was braiding Ivy’s hair, they heard the malicious roar that the dragon made when unwanted visitors trespassed on the grounds.

The princesses ran to the window to only to have their breaths taken away by the world’s most magnificient sight. There, on a rearing white stallion and in Dolce & Gabanna armour, was this strong, muscled figure with an equally impressive machine gun.

The girls swooned as the knight took careful aim against the ten headed dragon, and started spraying rounds, severing heads and body parts left and right. In minutes, the purple dragon was massacred, and the victorious night galloped past the lifeless beast, to the tower’s doorstep.

The princesses, giddy with excitement, ran to the elevator and made last minute sprucing to their appearances before hitting the ground level. When the doors opened, there stood the knight. He bowed, and removed his helmet.

The prince was even hotter up close.
“Long have I journeyed..” “you’re so beautiful…” “we’re so grateful..” yadda yadda, etc. Basically necessary pleasantries were exchanged. The knight, apparently, courteous as well as hot, offered his arm to help the ladies onto the horse, so that they could all ride off to his kingdom.

Ivy took his hand and mounted happily, but Clover declined. “No thanks, I don’t think I’ll go.”

When only bewildered silence met this statement, she continued, “I don’t think I’ll be happy in your kingdom, ya know, just one of those things. Also, marriage is sort of not my cup of tea at the moment, no offense.”

How could words explain everything that was going on in her head. It all made sense. Her love of softball, her wardrobe being nothing but plaid. The funny feelings she felt whenever the UPS woman delivered their packages.

And so it was, Ivy and her knight galloped into the sunset in the perfect snapshot of happily ever after, and Clover went back to the tower, and manically ordered ten thousand dollars worth of merchandise, all with expedited next day UPS shipping.

Together, Clover and the UPS delivery woman, Mr. Beth, prevented the extinction of unicorns and took up such causes as freeing Tibet, fighting for sustainable energy, the cessation of genocide in Darfur, and going on tour with the Lilith Fair. And the rest was history.