As I was surfing the 'net, I came across The King's Highway, where the moral of the story really touched me. This is something I would like to teach my (future) kids someday.
Once a king had a great highway built for the members of his kingdom. After it was completed, but before it was opened to the public, the king decided to have a contest. He invited as many as desired to participate. Their challenge was to see who could travel the highway the best.
On the day of the contest the people came. Some of them had fine chariots, some had fine clothing, fine hairdos, or great food. Some young men came in their track clothes and ran along the highway. People traveled the highway all day, but each one, when he arrived at the end, complained to the king that there was a large pile of rocks and debris left on the road at one spot and this got in their way and hindered their travel.
At the end of the day, a lone traveler crossed the finish line warily and walked over to the king. He was tired and dirty, but he addressed the king with great respect and handed him a bag of gold. he explained, "I stopped along the way to clear a pile of rocks and debris that was blocking the road. This bag of gold was under it all. I want you to return it to its rightful owner."
The king replied, "You are the rightful owner."
The traveler replied, "Oh no, this is not mine. I've never known such money."
"Oh yes," said the king, "you've earned this gold, for you won my contest. He who travels the road best is he who makes the road smoother for those who will follow."
Oh the funny things you find on the internet.
Dear Technical Support:
Last year I upgraded from Boyfriend 5.0 to Husband 1.0 and noticed a slow down in the overall performance, particularly in the flower and jewelry applications that had operated flawlessly under Boyfriend 5.0.
In addition, Husband 1.0 un-installed many other valuable programs such as Romance 9.5 and Personal Attention 6.5, but installed undesirable programs such as NFL 5.0 and NBA 3.0.
And now Conversation 8.0 no longer runs and House Cleaning 2.6 simply crashes the system. I've tried running Nagging 5.3 to fix these problems, but to no avail.
What can I do?
Signed,
DESPERATE
Reply:
Dear Desperate:
First keep in mind; Boyfriend 5.0 is an entertainment package, while Husband 1.0 is an operating system. Try entering the command C:\I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME and download Tears 6.2 to install Guilt 3.0. If all works as designed, Husband 1.0 should then automatically run the applications Jewelry 2.0 and Flowers 3.5.
But remember, overuse can cause Husband 1.0 to default to Grumpy Silence 2.5, Happy Hour 7.0 or Beer 6.1. Beer 6.1 is a very bad program that will create SnoringLoudly.wav files.
Whatever you do, DO NOT install Mother-in-Law 1.0 or reinstall another Boyfriend program. These are not supported applications and will crash Husband 1.0.
In summary, Husband 1.0 is a great program, but it does have a limited memory and cannot learn new applications quickly. You might consider additional software to improve memory and performance. I personally recommend Hot Food 3.0 and Lingerie 6.9.
Good Luck,
TECHNICAL SUPPORT
& it all comes together...
On the first day God created the cow. God said,"You must go to the field with the farmer all day long and suffer under the sun, have calves and give milk to support the farmer. I will give you a life span of sixty years."
The cow said, "That's kind of a tough life you want me to live for sixty years. Let me have twenty and I'll give back the other forty." And God agreed.
On the second day God created the dog. God said, "Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in or walks past. I will give you a life span of twenty years."
The dog said, "That's too long to be barking. Give me ten years and I'll give you back the other ten" So God agreed.
On the third day God created the monkey. God said, "Entertain people, do monkey tricks, make them laugh. I'll give you a twenty-year life span."
The monkey said, "How boring, monkey tricks for twenty years? I don't think so. Dog gave you back ten, so that's what I'll do too, okay?" And God agreed again.
On the forth day God created man. God said, "Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your life. I'll give you twenty years."
Man said, "What? Only twenty years! Tell you what, I'll take my twenty, and the forty the cow gave back, and the ten the dog gave back and the ten the monkey gave back, that makes eighty, okay?"
"Okay," said God, "you've got a deal."
So that is why the first twenty years we eat, sleep, play, and enjoy ourselves; for the next forty years we slave in the sun to support our family; for the next ten years we do monkey tricks to entertain the grandchildren; and for the last ten years we sit on the front porch and bark at everyone.
Life has now been explained.
I’m getting pretty good at holding my farts in all day at work, except that when I actually get the chance to let one go, it requires much pushing and straining because I’ve just trained my rectal muscles so well.
The other day on the lone drive home, I tried to fart so hard I got a migraine.
True story.
The best thing about not having kids is the freedom to invent mandates for hypothetical/future kids. Starting list:
- My kids will be provided with balls, sticks, chalk, Yahtzee & nothing else to play with unless they come up with a compelling argument for why they need it.
- My kids will learn to play the piano, guitar & violin (in no particular order) & then I'll pay them a low wage to play for me weekly.
- Chores will be non-negotiable.
I am well aware that I don't update this blog enough to even say "I have a blog."
But I once had a blog. Those were the days, maybe.
I have this itch in the back of my throat - it feels like I should cough but I don't need to. It reminds me of this Twilight Zone episode where a guy feeling the same discomfort constantly drinks water to rid of it. At the end of the episode, the viewers find out that it's a result of a live hair that is climbing up his throat. Yummy isn't it?
Why is it that drug stores put the cough medicine in the same aisle as the condoms? Or is that only at the Walgreens in my neighborhood? I noticed that earlier today when I went to purchase Nyquil. Hypothetically speaking, if you were the cashier & you saw a guy buying Nyquil & condoms what would be the first thing that comes into your mind?
What? Eeew! No! That he's sick & needs a good nights sleep. You guys were thinking that he was going to give some unsuspecting girl an overdose of Nyquil & then bed her weren't you? You are a bunch of sick, deranged deviates...
& that's why I call you my friends! ^_^
Speaking of weird combinations, this reminds me of a conversation between Toni & I. We were having a discussion at work via msn messenger about all the weird combinations that you wouldn't want to purchase at the same time.
Not that I've given it much thought or anything but........
· KY Jelly & tissues
· tampons & tomato soup
· diapers & the newest Michael Jackson CD
· Preparation H & rubber gloves
GEEZ IT'S DECEMBER ALREADY?! This is my birthday month. All these migraines should not be happening to me! I totally own this month >:O
When I was young I remember I was really good at video games. I was also very nerdy, still. & I loved Super Mario Brothers, for Nintendo. Like the really old one with the goombas & the turtle shells.
I was always a perfectionist as a kid. If a level didn't go exactly how I wanted it to, if I didn't get enough coins or get the star or finish at a good time, whatever the case -- I'd just jump off a cliff or find the closest way to off Mario. Because it didn't mean anything & it was so easy to do, to be perfect.
It just meant being able to do something that was so easy to do. I guess that's why being a perfectionist is so difficult. You can't just reset the game.
The winners are the people who get it right the first time.
Earlier today, I opened the door for a wide-brimmed-khaki-hat-wearing war veteran at the florist.
He said to me:"If I was sixty years younger, I would buy all the flowers from that florist over there, just for you."
One of my favorite things to do is have the latest episode of America's Next Top Model downloading while I'm cooking my dinner. & then, once both are ready, I sit cross-legged on my swivel chair in front of my laptop beaming with the kind of satisfaction that only comes from watching bitchy shallow semi-attractive girls have breakdowns & complexes about their lack of posing prowess, while eating my home-cooked fried rice.
Also, I want to be the first popular female magician in the world. Now I know what to answer the next time someone asks me what I want to be when I grow up.
Think about it. There's David Copperfield. Siegfried & Roy. Houdini. Those Penn & Teller dudes.
Now what do all those people have in common? Lack of the vaginal lips. Enter me. Vaginal lips abound.
I would have hot male assistants trained in the artful skill of graceful hand flourishes & they'd throw fistfuls of glitter at my entrance. Yes. I think it is my calling.
I think my problem is that when I'm dating someone & they say to me, "Hey, let's not hang this weekend. I gotta do my own thing", I'm all like, "Sure dude" but deep-down I'm really like, "Aww, why don't you wanna hang with me? I wanna hang with you! But since you don't want to hang with me then I'll play it cool, & do my own thing too. Fine. I'll tend to my cactii or something."
This is all initially. Initially. Because once I'm actually on my own, in my own company, tending to my cactii & shit, I actually start forgetting about that other person & how much I wanted to hang with them.
& then the next time they call, I end up being all like, "Ah, you wanna hang today? Mmm nah, I really don't feel like leaving my place today, sorry. I mean, I'm just comfortable here alone. Plus my cactii are really flourishing & I have dinosaur models to make", all in sincerity too, & not at all out of spite. Well, maybe a little spite.
So what was the moral of this post? I will crave hanging out with you, but if you say no & let me remember for a second just how much I like hanging out by myself, then I will eventually forget you & happily hang with myself, so you better smother me with your love shit.
I don't know. Are other people like this too?
When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and the 2 cups of coffee.
A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, he wordlessly picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.
The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.
The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous "yes".
The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.
"Now," said the professor as the laughter subsided, "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things -- your Savior, your family, your children, your health, and your friends. If everything else was lost and only they remained, you life would still be full."
"The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house and your car."
"The sand is everything else -- the small stuff. If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you."
"Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your spouse out to dinner. Play another 18. There will always be time to clean the house and fix things that are broken. Take care of the golf balls first -- the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."
One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented.
The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked."
"It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple cups of coffee with a friend."
Before I start this blog, I just wanted to congratulate my friend Hazel on her engagement! Mark is one lucky guy! I wish many years of love and happiness for the two of you.
Okay! With that said, I have to start training (physically) for her upcoming wedding so I can fit in my dress. This means, I have about 827489237489234734 lbs to lose, soon. So note to friends: no sweets (this is one BIG problem) and no crazy carb festivals!
This weekend is an exception as I just want to unwind. But starting tomorrow, if you want to have an eating buddy, I will go with you but not join you. I will, however, watch you. Well, not in a creepy kind of way. Hehe.
Sorry! I don't have much time (I have till October!) and I need to get this done. I've set up a moderately intense schedule for working out and coupled it with a stringent diet plan. I would appreciate motivation from friends such as:
[Rizza about to eat dinner] -- "Stop eating you fat@ss!" says friend.
Okay, fine I won't ask for motivation from you all. Darn you stickly little $&*¥ !
Constructive criticisms are great but if you want to kiss my ass and lie to me, that sounds great, too. Just kidding.
Friends, don't try to tempt me or tease me during this process. I will have to punch you in the face. Love you.
I love her to death . . .
. . . but she drives me up the wall sometimes!! She has this way of saying un-nice things in a very nice tone. I can give so many examples of this. Like how she will say stuff like, "You'd be so much prettier if you were not so skinny" and then she would turn to my little sister and say, "You'd be so pretty if you lost some weight." My poor sister is only in middle school and sometimes I can't help but think that she's trying to shed some weight. Whenever I ask her if she's hungry, she'll always respond with a "No." And trust me, she's not fat.
My mother nags me about almost everything. It annoys me but I try not to act frustrated at her. She has this power to guilt-trip me and make me feel bad about things in my life. Do all mothers possess this guilt trip power?
She has never been a careful constructer of words. She doesn't think before she says certain things. She has the best intentions, but those intentions come out all wrong.
I think all Asian mothers are like this. It's in their DNA. I hope I don't become a naggy pessimistic-sounding mom some day. But how do you control and undo what you have already learned and what is psychologically instilled?
I have to love my mom though. I think I put her through hell. She told me I was always a difficult child. She was in labor with me for three days. She says my stubbornness to stay in the womb is the same stubbornness that stuck with me throughout my life.
Yesterday I spent the day with the familia. Took them out to eat and just did a bunch of bonding. Learned some things about my sisters that, up until now, I never even KNEW they were going through. Gave them the age-old "sisterly" advice. It felt good. But this post is mostly in lieu to my madre. Here are a couple of little tidbits that she does that, upon reflection, I find to be quiet comedic/endearing.
My mother has a habit of reorganizing things without your consent. Everything. An entire room in fact. I would walk out to check the mail and return to what was once my room. Or the living room would miraculously look like somebody else's. I didn't even know she could reach that high to the ceiling.
She also has a bad habit of saying "What?" or "Huh?" after I ask her something. I know she heard what I said, but it's a force of habit. So recently I've been ignoring that and just wait for that split second of awkward silence until she answers the question.
Mom also likes to baby us. A little too much. Constantly asking questions about where we're going, did we eat yet, did we have enough to eat, are we wearing enough clothing, when are we coming home, what we're doing this weekend, and when are we coming home. Did I mention when we come home?
The worst on this list? She likes to talk a lot more than she should, especially on the phone. Instead of simply saying "Do we need milk?" she would give a whole Martin Luther King-length speech:
"Do we have enough milk for cereal? You guys finish the milk?"
"Yeah, we did."
"So why don't you go and check the fridge, there might not be enough. I'll be home in 10 minutes."
"I just checked, we need milk."
"How much is left? You drink so much."
"We're out!"
"I'll get the 2% milk."
"Okay. Okay." I become more frustrated.
"Are you wearing underwear?"
"Am I wearing underwear!? Why wouldn't I be wearing underwear??"
"I was just asking. But when did we finish that gallon of milk? I'm going to get some milk now. Bye."
"Oh.. my.. god. Bye!"
There are numerous other things that I've left out, but as a safety precaution of this post being uncovered by a relative or my sisters (since, yes, they both do have myspaces now) I'd rather play it conservative. After all, I value my bed. Don't wanna come home one day and find it outside in the front yard. =)
I never noticed just how many homeless beggars there are in Jacksonville. It hits you a little bit differently though when most of these homeless beggars are elderly. It made me even sadder because if I was to look at just their faces they didn't seem very much different from my grandmother's.
A close friend and I were out one day when we saw a very elderly beggar who was picking through the garbage trying to find a meal. You could instantly tell by the expression on my friend's face that she was disgusted. Seeing her reaction I assumed that she was disgusted because the beggar was eating out of the trash. I commented that even though it was gross what the elderly beggar was doing, she was just hungry and trying to survive.
My friend wasn't disgusted that the elderly woman was eating out of the trash; she was appalled that somewhere this woman had a family and that they would let her do this.
My initial response was that even if she did have family they were probably in the same situation that she was in so they couldn't really do anything to help her. Before I could finish the sentence she firmly stated that she would sell her body before she would ever let that happen to her mom.
I was left speechless not only because who it was coming from (my friend is very proper, proud and conservative) but because I could tell by her voice that she completely meant it. At that moment I gained a whole new respect for my friend.
No poem or gift can express what love truly is better than that.
Dear local movie theater,
I arrived at your business tonight along with many others, psyched and excited to see an advance screening of the new batman movie The Dark Knight. Upon arriving at your front door, however, a manager in the process of locking up notified us that, in fact, the 12:15 AM Thursday time slated on our tickets really meant 12:15 AM Friday morning, because, and I quote, "when the clock strikes twelve on Thursday, for you it becomes Friday, but for us it's still Thursday."
Ohhhhh, that's right. Of course! Why do I keep forgetting that movie theaters operate on a different plane of existence than everybody else and therefore are exempt from the processes and functions of time? Silly me. You see, for us, in this realm of existence AKA reality, when the clock strikes midnight, Wednesday actually becomes Thursday, and it's no longer night (although it's still very dark outside, don't be fooled!), but in fact, morning. However, for movie theaters, when the clock strikes midnight, magical time fairies appear and with a wave of their wand create a time portal that teleports the theater and everyone in it to a time 24 hours earlier, and therefore, the date stays the same! So, in the universe where we exist, a 12:15 AM Thursday movie ticket really does mean 12:15 Friday. Gosh! It's so simple!
Okay, seriously now, I don't know if you people who run my local movie theater flunked out of kindergarten or what, but it appears you never learned such basic life skills as the concept of time or fairness ($5 for a soda? Seriously? I hope you choke).
With that said, please schedule and note the proper time and date in the future since it seems you operate in another dimension of reality where time fairies can magically alter the date and time. This can be quite confusing to the average moviegoer such as myself. Thank you.
Please check yourself,
Rizza
P.S. - I hate you, you, and you. I hate you all. I just wanted to see batman.
Monday through Friday [till Fall term starts]
5:15am - The first alarm on my mobile phone goes off. First warning.
5:45am - The second alarm on my mobile phone goes off. This one is aptly titled 'Rise, you lazy bum!'
6:30am - The actual time I get out of bed.
6:32am - Brush my teeth while scrutinising my reflection and poking at my soft bits.
6:35am - Take a shower.
6:45am - Get out of shower and get dressed.
6:50am - Run to kitchen, grab a granola bar, put on shoes and search for my car keys.
6:52am - The time I actually leave the house. Drive to work. Dry my hair using car AC.
7:30am - Finally get to work.
Work work work.
5:30pm - Shutdown my computer and go home.
5:45pm - Get home. Turn on laptop. Have dinner. Watch TV.
7:00pm - Do homework/study.
10:00pm - Go to bed.
Is anyone else's life as monotonous as mine?
Other than that, I don't really have anything meaningful or witty to blog about tonight. Writer's block? Possibly.
I wish I was Stephen Hawking so everything I said in my head just magically appeared in Microsoft Word. Just totally eradicate this whole laborious process of thinking and brain communicating with nerves communicating with fingers communicating with fingertips touching the keyboard. Too much of my thought gets filtered and diluted that way that by the time I see them in digital form on my screen, I no longer recognize them as being my own.
How to fix this?
Where do all the thoughts that I don't externalize onto paper or into kilobytes go?
My grandmother is THE hardest person to please. Aside from my own mother, she's one of my biggest critics.
"You weight 105lbs? When I was your age, I only weighted 104lbs. You need to lose that extra pudge.""You feel sorry for those kids starving in Africa? You're Filipino. You should first feel sorry for the starving kids in the Philippines.""Oh, you cooked dinner tonight? You should've added/used less of this and that. This tastes bad." Then proceeds to eat not one, not two, but three plates worth of food.
So, regarding the latter complaint, I decided to take her out for dinner a couple nights back. She didn't want sushi. She didn't want hamburgers. She didn't want anything spicy.
Naturally, I opted for Italian and took her to Olive Garden.
When we came home, I asked her what she thought of the food. Her reply?
"Remember when I told you how bad the toilet paper was in Johnny Carino's? It was even WORSE in Olive Garden. That restaurant is never going to make it. Why would you take me to a restaurant that provides such poor toilet paper?"
My bad, Grandma. My bad.
It used to be that when I was having a crappy day, or feeling a little down, I could go home, write and my natural determination and passion in writing would take over.
A little nerdy, I know, but I have to take what I can get -- remember, I'm sober 100% of the time.
The only problem is that my job has begun affecting my writing. Sure enough, last night I was feeling a little down, so I sat down to write. Nothing special, really; just a few paragraphs of ideas running through my head. After jotting down a couple paragraphs, I read it over again and found that my sentence structure, formatting, and vocabulary were all distinctively work-inspired.
This is a disaster, particularly when your employer is a family doctor. I can see it now...
The woman stood in the blustery winds, as a look of great consternation crossed her face. Her breasts were heaving as it was swollen from the benign abscesses that had formed. She knew that she would not be having any fun tonight as she would need to get a PAP as well, for a cyst was now growing on her anterior vaginal fornix.
Don't ask me why my mock writing sample sounds like something out of a trashy romance novel. Must be all the Jude Deveraux books I've been reading.
Moving along...
So as I was cruising MySpace, I came to a realization: 9 out of 10 profiles that I landed on had pictures of people doing something crazy while drunk, doing something crazy while clubbing, or doing something crazy while drunk and clubbing.
Go through any twenty-something female's MySpace pictures and you'll notice that their picture captions sound a little something like this:
"This is us driving to the club. It's interesting because it was taken in the car. While driving. While the vehicle was moving."
"This is us on the dance floor. OMG I look so ugly! Oh, I'm just kidding. I'm just saying that so you can comment on just how hot I REALLY look. Teehee"
"This is me and my girls making drunken silly faces."
"This is me and my girls making drunken, sexy faces."
"This is me straddling some guy, pretending to give him a lapdance and brazenly flaunting my sexuality as a statement of my feminine independence."
"Oh, this one's so funny! This is me humping a pole like a stripper. Later on that day, this guy actually told me to flash him. What a jerk!"
"This is me and my girlfriends posing with attitude. I look fat from that angle."
"This is me and my girlfriends posing with attitude. The same picture, only from a different angle because I don't look like a whale. Because you know, looking like you weight over 80lbs is SO gross!"
"This is me making out with one of my girlfriends -- because these days it's pretty much a requirement for girls to kiss and/or make out to accentuate our sexiness."
"Here's me drunk."
"Here's me drunk again."
"Here's me puking. Haha! I can't believe someone took a picture of me puking! That's totally never been done before!"
And that's just from one night. Not that you need to see any more than that, since pretty much all photos that result from a night at a club are the same as the ones listed above, only on a different night, occasion, or venue.
Sure, you may look back at these pictures a year down the line and say, "Damn, my hair looked stupid," and everyone will have a good laugh.
Then five years down the line, you'll see those pictures again. If you're stupid, you'll think to yourself, "I wish I could be that young and reckless again." But if you're smart, you'll think, "Man, I was a world class idiot."
Then ten years, a marriage, and a few kids later, you may stumble upon those pictures once more.
"Mommy, why are you kissing another girl in that picture?"
"Why is there a piece of string coming out of the back of your pants?"
"Why are your legs wrapped around some guy who isn't Daddy?"
"Who are all these people that you barely speak to anymore since you're too busy wiping my butt?"
And that's just when they're kids. Wait until they're angry teenagers.
"WHY CAN'T I GO OUT AND DRINK WITH MY FRIENDS? YOU DID IT WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG! JUST LOOK AT HOW YOU WERE IN THIS PICTURE!"
Yes, I'm targeting my own kind. But I'm just tired of girls in my age group complaining about attracting the wrong sort of attention from the guys at the clubs when they're acting the way they are in that environment.
Let me set everyone straight here: stop with the outrageous clubbing pictures. I mean taking pictures of you and your friends at the club and cheesing about how much fun you're having, is one thing. But taking pictures of you and your friends at the club with one of you half naked, two of you macking out in the background, and a girl in the corner stall puking her stomach out into the toilet, is another thing.
About 4 years ago, I took a picture of a hippo's bum when my aunt & uncle took me to the San Diego zoo. Even that's more interesting and original than all these clubbing pictures.
I seem to have a penchant of walking around with my fly down these days.
[INCIDENT 1]
KRISTEN: Hey! I think your fly's undone.
ME: Oh! Crap! Have I been walking around like this all day?
KRISTEN: I think so.
ME: Thanks for telling me! Good thing I don't have a penis because everyone would've seen it.
KRISTEN: Yeah that, or wearing granny panties.
ME: Or worse, if I had skidmarks on them!
KRISTEN: [LOL] How the hell would you get skidmarks on the front of your undies?
ME: I don't know, but I'd find a way.
KRISTEN: Like maybe if you were rubbing your crotch against a hobo
ME: Well, that's doable.
[INCIDENT 2]
CATHEE: [POINTS AT MY CROTCH] Uh, ading your zipper.
Happy 4th of July everyone!
This year has held some tribulation of times for me. I'm not going to lie and say that it's all gravy when it isn't. This brand new year has brought about so many different circumstances; different situations that hit me like a bullet. I'm thankful that I was given the strength to pull through each and every one of those situations that arose. Some of them were fairly reasonable to make it through, while others, including the one that I'm still trying to get over, seem nearly impossible at times. But pain is vital in order to grow. In order to taste the sweets of life's bounty, you must first endure the pain. Nothing comes easy. Everything is a struggle. But, that's what is so beautiful about life. It's not some cheap easy one way ticket. Life can be a bitch at times, but it's that bitch that gives us character and the strength to overcome obstacles. However, impediments somewhat seem to blind many people. Make them think that that's all there is to life, and in that blindness, they lose the opportunities that come, they don't seize moments. They're stuck in their misery, when they should be celebrating that they have solace in each and every memory.
But every person is different, and everyone handles life and its cards differently. I must say that I've grown tremendously over the past couple of months. I'm not as naive as I used to be. I've tried my best to take each experience, whether it be heart breaking, jaw clenching, or just perfect, and mold it into who I am today. Life holds no guarantees. I have to remember that. But I have to remember that things happen for a reason - even though they are unexpected. It happens for a reason, it's all part of God's big plan, and I have to stay content with that. Even though I don't know the answer. I've learned that, trying to force shit to happen, is a big no-no indeed. I guess I'm being nonchalant about everything, trying not to care so much about a single thing that happens in my life. I'm trying to be a "go with the flow-er" even thought that's not my nature. I've been guilty of letting the past dictate my future, when I should be looking at the present. The past contains nothing but lessons, stemmed from experience. It's as simple as that.
I inquire myself where I stand in life. One minute I'm in high spirits and content, devoid of one solitary concern in the world, and then subsequently, it's right back to hiding in the sanctuary of my pillows. It's somewhat paradoxical, when it gets to the bare of it all. It's a tongue-in-cheek type of world. You live your complete life; you attempt and fabricate up immunity to all surroundings; invulnerability to any source of pain, hurt, or suffering. And for a few moments in time, you're the strongest thing that the world has ever seen. But that transforms. Life changes. People change. Things change and shit happens. So in that course that change takes, something or someone modifies you, and alters your stance on life. Unexpectedly you're susceptible to every single potential infliction of pain. You don't identify where down the way that this hasty change came to pass. You don't know when the change will impede, but you know that someone or something had a sufficient impact on you to shake you up, to make you change your ethics, your morals. By giving them that capability to make you feeble, you become immensely vulnerable. Like a baby. In actuality, that's precisely the case. They've stolen the candy from the baby, because yeah, it IS that effortless. So you ask yourself, how do I know when this is going to come about? Are there signs? No there aren't, and no you don't know when it is going to occur, because life holds no rhyme or reason. Things happen in life. Whether they be good, whether they be bad. But they all contribute to the individual that we are. Experience is life's greatest lesson. I think we've all learned that. As far as trying to discontinue this implausible change from occurring… don't even try. It's going to happen. It happens to everyone. Hearts break. End of story.
No one ever said shit was going to be easy. All you can do is chin the hell up and paste that beautiful smile on for everyone to see. Notwithstanding the verity that you may be tearing up inside. Because the culture we live in does not embrace melancholy. It's seen as something bad, but sadness can sometimes be beautiful, because it is in our sadness, that we truly realize who and what we really are. Sadness is what paves the road that happiness walks along. You wouldn't have one without the other. I don't even know where I'm going with this paragraph. But I guess what I'm trying to establish is that, when life seems as if it's met it's final day, just look over your shoulder, because odds are, the person standing right next to you has it 3 times as worse than you do…
I want to take this time to thank Peter for inviting me to create an account with GMail. For more reasons than I can count with two hands, you are awesome. Thanks.
Basics:
- 1,000 megabytes (one gigabyte) of free storage
- Built-in Google search that instantly finds any message you want
- Automatic arrangement of messages and related replies into "conversations"
- And many many more! Read about it.
Conversation with the infamous Eric Cho:
Me: Have you heard of gmail?
Eric: is it for gangsters?
Me: ...
Me: LOL!
Eric: like, g unit
Eric: haha
Me: Cute cute.
Me: I’m going to copy and paste that onto my journal entry.
Eric: omg, i'm so honored
Eric: to be made fun of on your journal
As long as you know, dear. =)
Anyway, Gmail is GREAT! If you can find someone to invite you, start begging. *Ahem*
I wear friendships like clothing, to keep me safe and warm, to protect me. I want my friendships to match me and fit me and flatter me and help me on my way in life.
Some friendships are rather expensive, and require a lot of care, but they make you feel so good, while others are cheap and basic and only are kept around as long as they are needed.
I take care of my friendships because they take care of me. And if a button pops off, I will sew it back on, and I will wash what is dirty so that it lasts, but some rip and stain and can't be fixed, and just like how I throw away white shirts with bad spaghetti encounters, I will let go of a friendship that isn't working.
Some friends are for the wrong reasons. Just like the only reason you bought that shirt that was the wrong size and kinda a funny color was because someone else really cool had it, sometimes friends are only there as connections.
Sometimes people are lovely, but it just doesn't work. I have some friends that I adore, but just don't fit with anyone else. Like purple shoes, they are fun, but only every once in a while. They end up sitting in my closet. When I see a pink and yellow scarf or an orange poncho, I have to just pass it by, because they don't fit so easily in my life.
Friendships are for different times. I have different friends for working, playing and praying. But sometimes friendships get too tight or too stretched out and they don't fit.
Sometimes they don't feel right anymore. They could just be old, and you could keep them around, but there are better things out there, that fill a different need, and the old stuff just takes up space in your life. Maybe that friendship is a pair of boots, but then spring is here. Maybe it's like a corset, but you're ready to let loose. Maybe it's like a jacket you bought while you were traveling because you were so cold and you needed a pullover, but you're back home now, and you have something better to choose from.
Good friends are like bras.They support you and are close to your heart.
But every bra needs to be adjusted.
Some people have a messy closet with loads of different clothes for everything imaginable. I prefer to have a few shirts and a couple pair of pants that go with everything; that I can take anywhere.
Friends are like clothes. Don't go through life naked.
What's in your closet?
So anyway, I got my nails done today. For the 2nd time in my life. I kid you not. I don't even know how many times a month(?) I'm supposed to be doing this. Did my mom not receive a "How to be and act like a girl" manual to hand over to me when I was born?
When I went into the nail salon and told the manicurist that I rarely go to get my nails done, she looked at me like I had just cruised over from the Planet of the Apes. She looked at my nails, then with a horrified look, stared back at my unassuming face without blinking... judgment coating her blank stare.
Nail snob.
It's not like I had ugly crusty fingernails or crazy cuticle overgrowth. As if!
Anyway, so she started mowing my cuticles, weed whacking off the remaining nail polish from weeks prior and slicing off the goo that is my fingernails and man it felt so good. Likelikelike laying out on a comfy sofa eating a bowl of rockyroad ice cream, watching your favorite movie with a loved one, good. Likelikelike taking a bite out of a really, really good steak followed by a sip of 1787 Chateau Lafite good. Likelikelike creme brulee with raspberries and blueberries on top after being on a no sugar diet for a month (plus w/ your choice of a fabulous dessert wine), good. Likelikelike eating all of this and hearing yourself getting fatter and fatter but not caring because it's that good, good.
Oh gluttony.
Back to my story. So! I got my 2nd full set done. And it cost me $31 bucks (tip included).
donut understand. How???
Richard Simmon's whole wardrobe costs less than that. Hell, Richard Simmon's wardrobe+hair+makeup costs less than that.
I feel like I overpaid and I am not feeling very happy about it. (But of course once you sit down and the ball gets rollin', what can you do about it, right?) I feel like I need to sell something on eBay (maybe someone's sunglasses or sportscar?) to make up for the loss. I think those two should equal $31, right?
Anyway, I knew it was going to cost me a finger and a toe so I made sure to pay attention to her every move. Oh my stars she was quick! I told her she can slow down because I am not in a hurry (I mean hey, haste makes waste) but she said she can do it fast (and do a good job) because she has "experience." Whatever. Fast did not = good job. Fast = shitty ass job in this case.
But who am I to complain. I'm not that picky and given I've rarely gotten a manicure or full set or tips or whatever the heck I got, I didn't really have much to compare it to. But considering I am a perfectionist, I had a few problems with the job. I think I could've done a better job doing my own nails at home. With my eyes closed. Holding the tools with my feet.
After I got out, I immediately went to Sally Beauty Supply and got the items needed for my next set.
I just did my toes.
I 0\/\/\ y00, nail salon. I r0x0rz. I should open up a nail shop and charge by the finger. Yes, I am that good, good.
I just hope I don't break a nail when I go shoot pool again soon. I hate how my nails dig into my hands when I hold the pool stick too tight. (Hmm, why am I holding it so tight anyway?) But you know what? You will never hear me whining about how I broke a nail; I will peel that sucker off and hold on even tighter.
Because you know, shooting pool is like, just so much cooler than having pretty nails. Like, oh my gosh, you know? *flips hair*
Darn you genepool for making me into a woman instead of a man. Or maybe, just maybe, I was born an intersexual but my parents decided to make me into a girl instead? I mean, it is easier to make a hole than to build a pole, right?
Question: Would you have rather been born a boy or a girl?
I wouldn't mind being a guy for a week or so just to see what it's like. Although I like a lot of the things "only guys are supposed to do" and do believe I think like one at times, I do enjoy being a boob and I don't think I'd trade being a boob to be a ... uhh... ball if given the chance.
Have a great Wednesday everyone and a wonderful (and safe) weekend. Tomorrow is going to be oh-so-exciting! I am going to spend the whole day with my beautiful Catherine Molina.
I love writing about women. Why? Because it’s so easy. Every woman I encounter becomes a victim of speculation and analysis, at which point I will cartwheel home to write on my online journal. About them. Kidding.
Women can be such hypocrites. They want "fair and equal treatment" yet complain if the guy doesn't pay for dinner or open the door for them. They want a guy to treat them like princesses but step all over him in return. They whine about wanting to find a man who treats them well but turn all the "nice guys" away because they'd make better "friends" and stick with the bad ones because they'd rather swim in "the nile". They gripe about guys who treat them like beef jerky (or those who'd wronged them in some way) yet always go running back. They make fun of other girls for being sluts when they are the biggest closet sluts ever. They say money doesn't matter but say a guy who isn't so "ambitious" comes along.. he gets the boot. Ambitious is another word for "has potential to make millions to support my purse and makeup fetish (oh and don't forget the shoes)" and you know it.
Many women give other women a bad name and hence certain stereotypes are perpetuated, retaining currency as the years pass by. I have been avoiding these types of women as of late.
If you don't think what I've written here is true, then you're in denial. Doesn't mean I think every girl does this but I've seen plenty of girls who do.
Oh dear. AIM conversations I tend to have at 5 o’clock in the morning. ( Why am I still up anyway? )
JUC3NITUP1: hey
JUC3NITUP1: when you come back to LA
JUC3NITUP1: let’s go on a show
r e e z u h h h: Show?
JUC3NITUP1: change of heart
JUC3NITUP1: do they still do that?
r e e z u h h h: LOL
r e e z u h h h: Sadly no
r e e z u h h h: Let's go on blind date!
JUC3NITUP1: haha
r e e z u h h h: We can just compliment each other the whole night. You know, make each other look good.
r e e z u h h h: R: Oh my, but when the moonlight grazes your face just so, you look like the Greek God, Apollo. You put the moon’s shine to shame. *puts on her sunglasses*
J: When you lean to the right like that, your breasts look bigger. You’re a model aren’t you? I bet you are. You probably have all the guys in your hometown lapping at your feet.
R: *seductive giggle* Oh but you are such a delightful, handsome, SINGLE man! What is a SINGLE model such as myself going to do? I’m just a lonely, unattached, free agent. *bats eyelashes*
J: *sticks chest out and flexes arm muscles*
JUC3NITUP1: hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaahhahahaha LMAO oh man
JUC3NITUP1: disaster
JUC3NITUP1: hahahahaha
r e e z u h h h:: Haha then I will dump you.
r e e z u h h h: LOL jk
JUC3NITUP1: hahahahah
r e e z u h h h: So fake being together for the sake of dating others?
JUC3NITUP1: yeah
r e e z u h h h: Sounds good to me.
r e e z u h h h: =P
JUC3NITUP1: they hook you up with some hot people
JUC3NITUP1: but asian guys are not allowed
r e e z u h h h: Or we can go on elimidate.
JUC3NITUP1: only asian girls
JUC3NITUP1: eh
JUC3NITUP1: elimidate?
JUC3NITUP1: haha
r e e z u h h h: And I can pick between you and 3 others.
JUC3NITUP1: i'll keep you as a finalist
JUC3NITUP1: haha no way
r e e z u h h h: NO I’M DOING THE PICKING !
JUC3NITUP1: always 4 girls
JUC3NITUP1: 4 guys
JUC3NITUP1: the show is lame
JUC3NITUP1: the 4 girls is fun
r e e z u h h h: LOL
r e e z u h h h: Ok so we will go on Blind Date, I will compliment you and dump you.. or we will go on Elimidate and I will pick you (maybe) out of all the guys.
r e e z u h h h: Deal? Deal. K.
JUC3NITUP1: no. but deal if you're one of the girls
r e e z u h h h: Are you going to pick me?
JUC3NITUP1: but i can guarantee you'd be one of the finalists
JUC3NITUP1: if the other girl is jessica alba
r e e z u h h h: Sorry. Can't take your word for it
JUC3NITUP1: "you are elimidated"
r e e z u h h h: Oh whatever you’d be so lucky.
JUC3NITUP1: haha i know
r e e z u h h h: <-- cream of the crop baby
JUC3NITUP1: hahahaha
r e e z u h h h: Jk. I’m the fungus that grows at the bottom of it.
r e e z u h h h: The crop, that is.
JUC3NITUP1: naw
JUC3NITUP1: you'd top most guys' lists
JUC3NITUP1: unless the other girls make out with each other
JUC3NITUP1: then you lose
r e e z u h h h: Haha!!
JUC3NITUP1: ahahahahaha
Would you guys ever go on one of these shows? I think it's entertaining but I would not (sorry J). I remember Alex telling me he'd go on one of those but hmm.. what happened?
While in California, I met this one girl who knew a friend of a friend (did I lose you yet?) who went on the show and told me I should try it out (for fun). But what would be the point? I don't want to 'hook up' with these people and what are the chances I'll find someone who wants to settle down? Okay so maybe I'm not being fair to them but that's just how I feel.
Do you guys know Angelina (don’t know her last name), but I think I've seen two different shows where she is half naked, slapping (spanking) some part of her body and making out with random men in the hot tub. Nice body by the way. No wonder SO many guys request her as their date match! Hey, I'd request her too!
Just kidding.
No I'm not.
No really I'm kidding.
I think it's so sad that people resort to reality TV shows to find a mate; why can't we do it the good ol' fashioned way? (But then again, I guess most don't do it to find Mr. or Mrs. Right but Mr. and Mrs. Right NOW.) What do I mean by "good ol' fashioned way"? Well *cracks knuckles* I used to go to the library all to sit by the philosophy section so I could ask cute guys about Hume and Leibniz. Then I'd hop over to the literature section to ask cute guys about Bronte and Coleridge. Then I'd skip on over to the political theory section to ask cute guys about Hobbes and Plato (and if he was really cute, I'd add in Solon). I'd jump rope over to the local juice bar and ask what went into their strawberry banana smoothie (duh). I'd go to the gym to cartwheel my way into the cutie gymnast's heart.
Okay fine so I didn't. I'm shy.
Oh who am I kidding? I'm not.
I just don't like the idea of going into something knowing I am about to be set up with someone, pressured to boost up the ratings by acting "crazy" and "slutty" [a la dating shows].. and for what? Not my style.
Normally, I just start chit chat in class about the assignments that were given or just meet guys at parties. I've stopped dating 'friends of friends' because that can lead to all sorts of drama. And who wants drama, right?
Or I just scour the net for delicious hunks to keep for myself, talking a big game when I'm really a 300 pound hairy Armenian guy from Glendale. Ahem. ( She’s kidding right? ) Hm.. am I?
