dreamsong of the hour

wedding planning is driving me maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!!!!!!!!!!!

we've set a date, and it's SOON, oh so very soon...

<3<3<3<3<3

sonnet 60

Today is it? Is it today? I shudder
For nothing in my chair, and suddenly yawn.
Today I suddenly believe. Since dawn
When I got up, my muscles like a rudder
strain crosswise from this work. I rise and mutter
Something, and hum, pace, and sit down again
Hard. A butterfly in my shoulder then
Stops and aches. My stomach swings like a shutter.

As the undergrounds piston a force of air
Before their crash into the station, you
Are felt before your coming, and the platforms shake.
So light, so small, so far still, to impair
Action and peace so... risks we take make true
Maybe our safeties... come for our risk’s sake.

girl crush

love

at some point early on, i realized that love was a dumb idea. all those movies and tv shows where people say, when it's love you just KNOW, as if it's some sort of infection or disease that inflicts everyone with the same symptoms, the concept couldn't possibly be true. and after my first relationship came and went, and i started to wonder what it would be like to fall in love, or when this thing would happen to me, my ideas on love began to change. i thought love couldn't be a real thing. emotions are just a chemical reaction in the brain, and everyone is different in the way they experience the world. i decided that love was something to be decided. when i felt that a sufficient amount of time had passed or a sufficient amount of emotion had been felt, i would just go ahead and say it. because really, what did it matter? i guess in some ways i still believe this. there is no such thing as "love" like you hear in songs and read on gross candy hearts that i'm pretty sure are made of chalk. love is probably different for everyone, and i'm sure relationships can find love in different ways. but it turns out it's true what they say. when you're in love, you just know it. you can't stop knowing it, and you can't stop being amazed that you know it. i never thought i could fall in love, and while it makes me feel kind of lame like a bad r&b song, i have never been so happy to be wrong.

gettin' hitched

did you know that most people plan weddings for 16-12 months? did you know that? i did not know that. i've got about half that time. good god.

luckily, i've got a good headstart, since i already know i'll be having my wedding a chuck-e-cheese and my dress is all picked out.



exciting!!! and now i have to go make a website and roam around williams sonoma with a laser gun hunting le creuset and china. see you all at the end of spring. it's going to be tatariffic.

pomacrastination

there was an insane rainstorm yesterday, so i spent the afternoon inside seeding pomegranates and listening to npr. it was pretty swell, not gonna lie. i filled a large glass container with the seeds, and viewing the abundance made me feel like a pirate with treasure. MINE ALL MINE AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

so anyways, i used up about a third of them making chocolate chip pomegranate cookies, and i've been trying to figure out what to do with the rest of them. interwebs and cookbooks been unhelpful, so i'm thinking of trying out some sort of jelly. i have a large bottle of sparkling rose wine that i could use... but then i might not only waste fruit but alcohol, for which i'd never be able to forgive myself. maybe i'll just toss them into cheesecake brownies. while drinking wine. hm...

i obviously have a story to finish writing. you can tell because all i can think about is drinking and eating cookies. yesterday's score: 12 cookies, 7 sentences. i am in the red :(

napasaurus

occasionally i poke him to make sure he's still alive.

happy thanksgiving

bowie says, hope your turkey day was tryptophantastic!

poke me

i have the same 2 rules for anesthesiologists as i do for sexual partners: you better know how and where to stick it, and you better get it right on the first try.

in either situation, i really don't think it's too much to ask.

bowie

we adopted a 2 yo beagle over the weekend from lucky dogs animal rescue. we named him bowie. he was dumped at a high-kill shelter in south carolina and scheduled to be euthanized until lucky dogs found him. they couldn't tell us for sure why he was dumped, but they think maybe he just wasn't that great at hunting. the shelter in south carolina didn't bother to get an excuse or explanation from bowie's previous owner, but from what i've observed, it's clear that this person did not just abandon bowie. bowie is scared of hands. hands that pet, hands that feed. he can hardly eat a treat when we hold it out to him, and prefers when we drop it on the floor. after it's on the floor, he'll look around nervously, then back away, sometimes leaving it there for a few minutes before going back to find it again. other strange quirks: he is terrified of certain people, terrified to the point where he freezes up, cowers, and trembles violently until they go away. and even after they pass, he'll look back for a while to make sure they're really really gone. i've tried to calm him down with treats, but he gets too panicked to eat. said people usually fit a particular bill: tall, old, bald or balding, heavy set, and almost always white. i'm not kidding. i have a racist dog.

so this goes out to the anonymous balding fat old shit who gave my dog PTSD so extreme that he can't even bring himself to eat BACON after seeing someone who just vaguely resembles you:

i hope that you live a long life, and that it is replete with unending failure, disappointment, and heartache. and when the moment comes for you to leave this earth, i hope you lie there utterly alone, fully aware that every failure, disappointment, and heartache was caused by your own incompetence, idiocy, and overall worthlessness, and there is nothing else for you to blame.

i also hope you die of botulism.

love is a butt-shaft

i keep coming across this quote:
"They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love." William Shakespeare

now, i don't know what clicheromanticlovequotes.com site control-effed "love" to list all of these quotes together under "william shakespeare" without so much as a line break probably due to limited web design skills, but judging by the way it's spread like wildfire in that exact order across the universe of facebook, i feel there has been a mixup. in case anyone is confused, they are 3 different quotes from 3 different plays with 3 different meaning in 3 very different contexts. they don't make sense grouped together. actually, the last quote isn't even supposed to make sense on it's own. they're also all from comedies, so the seriousness with which people seem to be taking these quotes is kind of amusing to me. to clarify:

They do not love that do not show their love. ~ Julia, The Two Gentlemen of Verona
Context: silly little girl gossips with her maid about the boy she likes, and even though she won't admit that she likes this boy (teehee), she still tries to coax the maid into saying the boy likes her, because honestly what do silly little girls like hearing more than that? so julia says that if a boy doesn't show that he likes you, by... i dunno, his face exploding into a bloody pulp of poetry every time he sees you then it must mean that he doesn't like you. or like like you. her maid responds, they love least that let men know their love. as in, pompous prattling idiots who dither on and on about how much they like like you are probably just pompous prattling idiots who dither. quote's not really about true love, and neither is the play, honestly. the boy ends up dropping julia like it's hot for some other pyt before intermission. at which point the maid should have sassed, ain't no boy who keeps his heart in his codpiece worth tears, gurl, shiet.

The course of true love never did run smooth. ~ Lysander, A Midsummer Night's Dream
Context: hermia's dad says she can't marry lysander because... he's her dad and he fucking said so. and he gives her 3 choices: 1) do what he says and ditch lysander for his man, demetrius, 2) become a nun, 3) die. lysander and hermia are dismayed. hermia especially. so lysander tries to console her, the course of true love never did run smooth. NO SHIT, SHERLOCK. she's looking at a nunnery or death, which either way means she's going to die a virgin, and you say the equivalent of "shit happens"? fail. spoiler #2, he takes her to the forest and then drops her like it's hot for some other pyt. to his credit, it has to do with magic. that's probably the most important lesson you could learn from this play: you can't fight magic. also someone turns into a donkey.

Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love. ~ Adriano de Armado, Love's Labour's Lost
Context: armado is a fucking idiot. i'm not insulting him, that's what he's supposed to be. shakespeare was most likely making fun of the king of spain and his armada. armada, armado, get it? the main event of love's labour's lost is the terrifically terrible love poetry from all of the male characters. that's how the play goes. the smitten men write hilariously bad poetry, and the women laugh at them. we are wise girls to mock our lovers so. armado's quote is not supposed to be profound or romantic. it's supposed to be nonsense, stupid nonsense, because armado is stupid and a spaniard and has a very loose grasp of the english language. in fact, those 3 gems lie within a full-on soliloquy's worth of his moronic genius, which also includes the line,cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for hercules' club." haaaaaaaaaa, that's what she said.

ah, shakespeare. what a romantic.

unpackrastinate

we have been in dc for 1.5 weeks now, and for obvious reasons having to do with the fact that i am me, we are still not fully unpacked. considering i'm up at 6 to make breakfast and pack lunch, you would think that at some point in my 18-hour day i would find time to do this, but i have miraculously failed. yesterday i made an attempt, but after about a half hour of emptying a bag of clothes onto the floor and shuffling the massive pile to different areas of the floor, i was suddenly struck by a desperate need to get to the only asian market in town in order to make dinner. and in order to get to the market i needed a smartcard for the bus, and in order to get a smartcard i needed to go to CVS. and also i wanted to make pastry tart dough. so after i did that, i walked to the bus stop and gave the driver a dollar because i forgot to go to CVS. after the bus ride, i walked 4 blocks to hana market, which was closed. which was not at all problematic, since i had already gone to whole foods after yoga that morning and picked up everything i needed for dinner that night as well as for boyfriend's lunch the next day. so why did i feel the need to go to hana market? because i didn't want to unpack and my brain invented a distraction to trick me. damn brain. damn unpacked bags. but today, TODAY, i am determined to unpack everything. today is the day. i also need to go to yoga, marinate ribs, figure out what to pack boyfriend for lunch tomorrow that will one-up today's chicken tacos with guac and salsa, visit the smithsonian, finish a poem, start on sta's book, and bake a pie. but after that i will unpack everything. i swear. today is the day.

My My Metrocard

when i moved to new york after 18 years of dependence on my mother for transportation, i fell in love with the subway system. i was independently mobile and unfettered for the first time in my life. the subway system reminded me of the river ride that runs all around raging rivers waterpark. if you're unfamiliar with raging rivers, the cesspool of hepatitis, i also saw it as the city's circulatory system. if i ever found myself in a strange part of town, lost and confused, i just needed to find that glowing green globe, tap back into the system, and the current would carry me home. even after 6 years of drinking the jade nyc kool-aid, dealing with unreliable service, packed train cars, stations that stank of human feces, the deafening screech of incoming trains, rush hour, the G train, the L train, the F(uck yo mama) train, rats, suffocating underground heat, fare hikes, bedbug infested waiting benches, vomit/condoms/needles/pee on seats, pickpockets, mta strikes, delays due to a sick passenger/an earlier incident/construction, being held in the station momentarily, wrong trains running on wrong lines, trains replaced by shuttle buses...i still am and always will be in love with the new york city subway system.

now i'm in dc, with my yellow metrocard still in my wallet and a voice in my head that repeats, "Thank You For Riding With New York City Transit!" so i walk a lot. but today i took the Circulator to a whole new neighborhood, and as i boarded the bus, i felt something similar to that rush from my first ride on the N train to 8th st/NYU. the metro charges by distance here. buses are only a buck. stations are sterile, graffiti-free concrete tunnels. people use "smartcards." i miss my city and its unmistakably phallic depiction in every train car and station. the dc metro voice will never replace that overeager announcer voice warning me to be careful using electronic devices and to step over the gap. i miss the wall art, the graffiti, i even miss the rats. but i suppose i was long overdue for a new adventure. last week i left new york. today i left logan circle. tomorrow i'll buy a smartcard and let the circulator circulate me all over town. life is short, and it's a magical world. let's go exploring.

think i'll go a little but then i go far!

Sesame Street: Smell Like A Monster

diego get off me.

i am home sick. again. because god got my body out of the bargain bin. so i left work early on thursday and stayed home on friday. went to dr. chen friday afternoon after boyfriend threw my phone at me and threatened to deprive me of food and computer games until i called her. and so i called, expecting she would be unavailable anyway as per usual. apparently the way to get a notoriously busy doctor to squeeze you in for an emergency appointment is to say you are bleeding and cannot stand because being in an upright position causes stabbing pains to shoot through your abdomen. i wasn't especially pleased, but went in anyway. people have asked me before why i am so hesitant to go to the doctor, even when i feel especially unwell. for the most part, i don't consider doctors necessary. maybe it's due to my korean upbringing, which instilled in me the belief that hospitals are actually just a place to go to die. on a less subconscious level, though, i just feel like every time i go to the doctor, i come out with some new thing that's wrong with me. and this time, i may have crohn's disease. which is just fucking great.

so now i'm sitting at home, trying to get caught up on this endless list of things i have to do before i leave my job. i don't really give a shit about the company or max, but i do care about leaving my team hanging. they're good people and i'll miss them. i'm feeling much better now, after 2 days of a soup&water diet. my comfort is elevated by the cuddly animals flanking my sides, although i suppose if i'm not careful they may soon cause that level to drop. my pants stink of dog slobber and rawhide. for some reason, diego finds it absolutely necessary that his bone be pressed against my thigh as he chews. i put a pillow between us, but then he went to town licking it for 5 minutes straight, so i took it away before he swallowed the thing whole, and conceded to letting him paint my thigh with his spit covered bone. oh god, now he's trying to climb onto my sdrsaruioxzZZ

outbreak

happy shiny smiley people have always annoyed me. their cheeriness, their beaming faces, their jaunty i'm-walking-on-sunshine gaits, their uplifted attitudes. i'm not sure what in particular is so nauseating to me. it's just something about them makes me want to smack them in the face and scream, QUIT SMILING, THERE IS NOTHING TO SMILE ABOUT! and then march away with a superior scowl, holding my elitist negativity high and waving it around like the tattered black flag of a pirate ship set out to sink all the merry schooners and skiffs that don't belong on my ocean of darkness.

which makes this recent development as perplexing as it is terrible. it seems that i have been infected by the happy bug. i don't know how or when. but it's now raging through me like a plague. it's to the point where i actually annoy myself, but i can't help it. i am so happy, it's making me sick and it WILL. NOT. STOP.

:D :D :D :D

good god. i think i may have to quarantine myself until the joy devours every cell in my body and kills me to keep from infecting the rest of new york city.

the leap

i just quit my job. holy shit. i just quit my job.

eyes straight ahead. must not hyperventilate... as...
i...
fall...

The non-partisan Arts in the California Governor’s Race campaign recently launched! This campaign was started by a coalition of arts organizations around the state and already has broad support.

Our purpose is to raise public awareness and inform the 2010 gubernatorial candidates about the significance of California’s creative industries in fueling the world's 8th largest economy. (Legislative Analyst's Office, Cal Facts 2006).

Our goal is to educate both the public and the 2010 gubernatorial candidates about the important roles of quality public education, non-profit public/private partnerships, and small business in ensuring a robust creative economy.

The arts in California includes entertainment, fashion, toys, digital media, video games, books and music stores, architecture, interior design, industrial design, and communication arts, as well as fine and performing arts. Just to name a few.

The economic impact of the arts in California, in both for-profit and non-profit sectors, is paramount to California's success. California's creative economy ranks 3rd of all 50 states (California's Creative Vitality Index, WESTAF) yet California remains 50th out of all 50 states in per-capita funding for the arts (California Arts Advocates).

Here are just a few statistics about the creative sectors around Los Angeles:

* Nearly 1 million direct and indirect jobs ---one in every six in the area---- are creative-sector jobs.
* $121 billion in creative-sector sales/receipts were generated in Los Angeles County and $18 billion in Orange County.
* Over $5.1 billion in state and local tax revenues were generated from the creative sector.


With numbers like these, the importance of investing in the arts cannot be overstated. We are trying to spread the word far and wide to encourage voters and candidates alike that this is an issue that needs more attention. Please check out www.CAArts.org to find out more about the campaign. You can also find us on facebook and twitter!

If you are able to help spread the word (through your blog, facebook, twitter), it would be fantastic! If you have any questions about the campaign, please contact our field activist, Jackie Koppell, at jackie@CAArts.org or by phone at (917)817-4418,

i think i can i think i can i just dont wanna

i've been working from anywhere between 8:30am and 9pm these days. the nonprofit world is starting to look greener. yesterday we had a planning meeting from 2 to 7:30. yes, 5 and a half hours. thankfully we left the office to have the meeting at norwood club, which was an amazingly beautiful space with a never-ending supply of coffee and delicious food. if we had sat at the conference table for 5 and a half hours, i probably would have feigned an epileptic seizure to escape via ambulance.

i should not be blogging right now. i will probably be here until tomorrow morning.

5 more days until vacation. just gotta make it 5 more days. i'm going going back back to cali cali...

gone fishing

tabbed

i think i'm becoming nerdier. i blame this on working for a blog.

Firefox Panorama: How To from Aza Raskin on Vimeo.

oooooooooooh

wow

wendykim: ow

me: what

wendykim: i jammed my finger

me: so you typed out OW to me?

wendykim: with one hand

i pee my pants

get out mah face, face!

facebook just comes out with more and more nifty lifetools every day, doesn't it. i was just stalking someone's profile pictures when i noticed a pair of eyes staring at me from the corner.



interrobang. facebook is requesting that i tag my own photos now? past photos? and pulling random ones and posting them in the corner of my screen so that they stare at me awkwardly?!

it took me a double triple quadruple take to figure out what was going on, but it really gives me the heebiejeebies. i do like that it recommended "procrastinating." because that is exactly what i'm doing right now... stalking, being stalked, and procrastinating. i really need to quit facebook.

the big gay conspiracy

the bell tolls for the final hour. prop 8 is dead, and we are now left vulnerable to the big gay conspiracy. the gays have been waiting for this moment, lurking in the shadows, listening for the call................... the call to GO FORTH AND DESTROY THE VERY FOUNDATION OF OUR SOCIETY BY COMMITTING TO LOVE AND CHERISH EACH OTHER UNTIL DEATH DO THEY PART!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11!1!!!!!!!!one!!!!!!!!!!!




god save us all.

snot and spaghetti

my boyfriend bought me a pasta maker, and it is the best thing that has ever happened to me. imperia. it's super shiny and very italian-looking and even came with a user manual that includes recipes for all different types of pasta. i think i will try tagliatelle first. or this:



that's an egg yolk in there! how i love you, delicious days. how i love you, imperia pasta maker. the manual comes in several different languages, italian first. strangely, the japanese and chinese instructions also display hand-drawn pictures. the makers probably didn't know how to translate tagliatelle, and so they just labeled all of the recipes "Noodles" with an image.

i am deathly ill today, and working from home. so far i have consumed a watery bowl of campbell soup (boyfriend has obviously never seen a progresso commercial) and an entire box of creamsicles. i am so sick of spreadsheets and cells and =SUM shit. it's driving me mad. the fact that i can't breathe properly because my sinuses are infected is also driving me mad. i am engaged in a vicious struggle with my inhales, exhales, and excel. the edges of my nostrils are glowing red and the abused skin will probably start peeling soon so i look like i have boogers all over my face. CVS White Facial Tissues just aren't cutting it. i need Kleenex Extra Soft or Puffs Plus Lotion. boyfriend obviously does not understand my tissue issues.

JEEZ. sneeze.

crying wolf

sometimes when i walk around with my male friends or boyfriend or aslan, i start walking a little faster to pull ahead of them. once i'm far enough ahead, i throw quick glances over my shoulder, and clutch at my purse. and then as i pass a crowd i look behind me and say in a loud scared voice, STOP FOLLOWING ME, WHO ARE YOU!?

i've been told that one of these days a bystander would come to my rescue by tackling my prankee and beating the crap out of him or calling the cops, and i would learn my lesson. i responded that the real lesson was in the fact that no bystander ever came to my rescue, which says something about the fucked up state of people. upon further consideration though, i realize that the real real lesson in all this is the fucked up state of my mind that i would joke around about such a thing. pretty fucking terrible.

...but also pretty hilarious.

shit talkin'

just had a meeting with a pr rep from a furniture/knickknack/home decoration store. he asked if i was familiar with their brand since i was born and raised in california, and i fought the urge to say, yea you guys are the ones who fill up tj maxxxx and ross and all the brand name discount dress-for-less! stores with wooden mailboxes shaped like pigs and stone frogs dressed as butlers. he gave us gift cards, so if anyone wants a crystal tree branch candle holder or a linear clock that makes it impossible to actually tell the time, let me know. or maybe a deer head? according to the rep, deer heads are back.

psycho circus

i'm on a musical theater kick. don't understand it at all. i've listened to the rent soundtrack so many times, my ears might have aids.

hearing aids.

i suppose it's good that my daylight hours are so merry and gay because i've been having weird dreams again. over the weekend i dreamt i was trapped in a windowless library with skyscraper-high bookshelves and satan was chasing me. satan was a leather-clad man with black and white face paint, and he chased me all through the aisles until eventually i climbed up the shelves and the chase turned into a parkour video with both of us hopping from shelf to shelf. when i woke up with the dream still vivid in my mind, i said, "holy crap, satan looks like that cat guy from KISS." it turns out i need to brush up on my hard rock knowledge because i did a google image search and the guy who was chasing me looked like this:



which makes more sense since satan would more likely be "the demon" and not "the catman." i just don't get it. it's like bad music has invaded my consciousness. i don't even listen to KISS, what the hell is gene simmons doing in my dreams? i didn't even know until after my google search that gene simmons was a musician, and not this guy:



now if richard simmons had been the satan chasing me through a windowless library, i would have really flipped the fuck out.

angst in the wild

i read an article about the L train being the hot spot for craigslist-nyc's "missed connections," and i suddenly wondered if missed connections was just a new york city phenomenon. would cities without subways have a "missed connections"? what about cities without bustling public transportation systems? what about cities without bustling... anything?

hiking w dog - m4w - 28 (south anc)

---

Date: 2010-06-28, 2:07PM AKDT

---

You tried to steal my dog. You were super hot and I got nervous. Email me if this was you and I'll take you out!

• Location: south anc
• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1816061349


--------------------------------------


in case the bearded buffalo plaid you missed a connection with on the L-train wasn't authentic enough for you... alaska's got some missed connections too ;)

and for all the lonely missers and misseds, a word from the wise lolcat that i though would be fitting for you:

face time

as my time at poets & writers winds rapidly to a close, my mind is already painting over my experiences and memories with that aesthetically pleasing gloss of nostalgia. i don't fight it.

one thing i really will miss here though, stalgia or no stalgia, is my office arrangement. i have a nice work space constructed of 2 large desks that wrap around me providing a corner in which to sit and feel safe, much like a fort. my desk is in the same room as sara and tim, but since we all have little wraparound safety corner desks, we feel secluded enough to ignore each other politely and confidently blog in lieu of working. the job i am moving to does not provide safety corners. the office is a loft space, sectioned off into 3 part separated by glass doors/walls, which to an isolationist like myself make very little sense. i do not know who sits in the western glass cage. the eastern cage is the conference room. the middle cage is where i will sit, along with everyone else. there is a big table in the middle piled high with cool (perhaps also free) stuff, and on either side desks are grouped together by what seems to be a loose definition of department. what discomfits me most about this set up is that the ad department sits in the 4-desk square arrangement preferred by my elementary school teachers. all. facing. in.

as an isolationist with a terribly shaky grasp on how to properly utilize eye contact, this concerns me. so i've come up with several potential ways to handle the situation.

1) set up a cardboard cut out of a white picket fence and a row of potted plants. creates the illusion of warmth and light, while also being a wall.

2) clutter the edges of my desk with framed photos of all my friends. creates the illusion of sociability, while also being a wall.

3) position my computer so that i am cut off from everyone's line of vision, and stick large googly eyes on the back of the screen. creates the illusion of eye contact, while also being a wall.

i'm sure my options will become more clear once i actually sit down and set up.

4 more days!

measure in love

by the time i kick the bucket, my heart will be so hardened the worms will never get to me.

brilliant idea

i suggested to my bfff/bestie that alexander wang and vera wang should collaborate. she responded:

that would be AWESOME

they have like polar opposite aesthetics

it would be cool to see how it would play out

if they collaborated on wedding dresses

queen of wedding dresses + street smart hipsterdom

wahoooo

this excites me

i have no idea what she's talking about. i was just proud of myself for knowing that they both design clothes. i suggested the collaboration only because if they did, they could name their project "it takes two to wango."

BAM! and there's the english major. plenty more where that came from, ladies, call me ;)

We Are Right

CNN, 5/27: "Now that the puppet group challenged the DPRK [North Korea] formally and blatantly, the DPRK will react to confrontation with confrontation, and to a war with an all-out war," according the KCNA news agency.

the puppet group returns: "Now that the muppet dictator of DPRK has challenged the ROK [South Korea] rudely and melodramatically, the ROK will react to confrontation of confrontation with further confrontation, and to an all-out war with a nuclear blastoid galactic war of ass-whooping doom.

Ball in DPRK court."

end transmission.


BONUS: angler fish

boobies!

my sister is currently in ecuador, and she's gonna get me one of these:



blue footed bubi!

why? look at it! they've got blue feet! hilarious. the end.

happiness guaranteed

are you having a bad day? whether you were fired from your job, slapped by your mother, or run over by a unicycle, this video will make you feel better. guaranteed.

Meet the sloths from Amphibian Avenger on Vimeo.

i hope you get eaten by a manatee

"In terms of not trusting BP, there's nobody -- nobody -- who is more devastated by what has happened and nobody that wants to shut this off more than we do and learn what happened so this never happens anywhere, to anyone, anywhere in the world again,"

BP Managing Director Robert Dudley

wtf? manatees, dolphins, sea turtles, fishermen, their children, the families of the dead deepwater horizon crew members, future generations who might want to use the ocean-- oh i can think of a lot of other parties just as devastated or MORE devastated (because they're suffocating in oil) than BP. and what the fuck do you mean, "learn what happened"? you don't know what happened? let me tell you what happened. you drilled a fucking hole over a mile deep in the ocean floor where it's too deep for human beings to go! without going into more depth about the sheer absurdity of putting hazardous equipment in a place impossible for us to reach, or the fact that you didn't install a goddamn safety valve, that's what happened! congratulations! you just learned what happened!

bp's already got a bunch of crap spewing uncontrollably out of a pipe hole. you'd think they could at least shut their dumbass mouth holes.

quackery

ariane daguin's theory on why animal rights activists pick on foie gras:

"We are the easiest target in the world for a couple of reasons, one our accent, it's called foie gras, it's a French word," Daguin tells CNN.

"Two it's an organ. It's easy to say that we don't need a meat organ to survive or to live. Three, it's expensive, so it's 'elitist,' and four, it's so easy for somebody just to take a look at the photo of the funnel inside the esophagus and to say 'Oh my god, if it were me, it would hurt.' Well, you are not a duck, so it is not you, you know? But it's so easy to empathize with the duck."

i am nowhere near a vegetarian. in fact, i adore foie gras. if i ruled the world i would transplant my esophagus with a goose esophagus so that i could force feed myself foie gras 24/7 sans gag reflex. but mon dieu, ariane, if you didn't just make yourself the number one case against foie gras consumption. because it now seems like eating foie gras makes you stupider than a box of rocks.

epic fail of reason. or maybe it's just her french accent.

i've lost my apathy

human beings are fucking stupid. stupid stupid fucking stupid stupid stupid. i hate everyone and everything. when the polar ice caps melt, the oceans rise, and this oily mess floods our cities, i'm going to light a match.

http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2010/05/disaster_unfolds_slowly_in_the.html

weebie

getting me through a monday<3

late to work

today is my coworker's birthday, so i stopped by fay da bakery to pick up a cupcake. i asked for 1 red velvet. the woman at the counter brought it out and dumped it in a waxy baggie. i said, oh no, can i have a small box? she brought out 4 red velvet cupcakes in a small box. i said, no, and pointed at the cupcake: 1 cupcake. small box? she brought out a smaller cupcake. i said NO, REGULAR SIZE CUPCAKE. she gave me a blank stare. i said the baggie was fine.

then i asked if they had any candles.

gombre update

subject: preggers
So there was a bit of a misunderstanding and I'm supposed to fight within the week. Too soon. I'm still adjusting to everything so I tried to explain that my fitness is not where I want it to be. They did not understand. I slapped my stomach and said, "fat, fat." still nothing. So then I rubbed my stomach and said, "baby." Everyone laughed. Now everyone rubs my stomach as they walk by, even the little kids.

mazel tov!

ugh

fighting back the urge to stab random people in the street. on the upside i believe the stress is causing me to lose weight in my face. if i can just keep my hands away from my lips and face and avoid pressing my nose for the next 2 weeks, my mother will have nothing to criticize when she visits. except the boobs maybe, but that cannot be helped.

mac attack

that was some crazy shit apple pulled on the gizmodo guy huh? i mean what the fuck! actually wait no it wasn't apple who busted down the geek's door, it was the local police. let's get the facts straight. apple busting down a guy's door would be illegal and make no sense. they don't have some special hi-tech task force, it's not the vatican. on the other hand, the police busting down a door because the guy living behind the door committed a crime is totally legal and makes nothing but good sense. apple had nothing to do with this. so while some people are crying out against steve jobs, this blame game is just crazy spin media. so i repeat: apple had nothing to do with this. a crime was committed, and the police were on it. plain and simple. and i have to say, as a frequent loser of phones and as a citizen, this whole series of events reaffirms my belief in this great nation. american cops clearly take crime seriously, deliver justice swiftly, and slam down punishment with an iRon fist. so the next time i get slappysilly drunk and leave my phone in a cab or at a bar or on top of wth-was-his-name-again's dresser, i need not fret, confident that within a few days whoever ends up with my phone will be shitting his pants behind a broken door as police swarm his house. and that'll be AFTER he's already returned the phone to me.

stress kills

my nerves are shot. i just want to go home and hide in my bed. why won't they let me?

so sleepy. why am i so sleepy? i feel like i could sleep for a hundred years.

j AAAAAAAHH!!!!!! va

MY OFFICE GOT A FANCY NEW GLASS FRENCH PRESS THAT I USED FOR THE FIRST TIME THIS MORNING AND OH MY GOSH IT IS SO PRETTY AND COOL AND I HAVE TO PEE AGAIN FOR THE SEVENTEENTH TIME TODAY WHY AM I PEEING SO MUCH I DON'T KNOW!!!!!!!!!! !!!!! !!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!! !!! !!!!!!!!! !!! !!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!

oh how my heart longs

currently in a delicate emotional state. so i'm cooking. and pining for dutch ovens. and cooking. shh. no words. just eat.

be not afraid of shadows

i had an extremely vivid and elaborate nightmare last night. i rarely remember my dreams, and if i do they usually make very little sense and the point of view shifts from first to third person at random. sometimes i'll dream about eating a sandwich and then i'll be on a beach slapping someone with a funny hat and the transition will seem totally normal. last night was different. i remember everything in the dream, from the empty stairwell to the man with the rotting flesh who kept screaming, what is that, what is that, while pointing at the lesions on his body. and even though i woke up several times, whenever i drifted off again i would fall right back in the same story and it would pick up where it left off. seamless.

when i was little, i used to have nightmares all the time. intensely real nightmares that terrified me to the point where i was afraid to sleep. every night i would pray fervently, begging god to keep the nightmares away. god obviously had more important things to worry about, like gay people. almost every night, creatures and villains would torment me until i either woke up screaming or morning came and my mom shook me back to blissful daylight. my sleep didn't improve until i got to middle school, but as i got older the nightmares almost stopped completely. until now, it seems. just up until maybe a month ago, i slept like a rock. i could sleep through the fucking apocalypse. but recently i've been waking up at least once every night, usually with no recollection as to why. usually i'm fine, and i'll read or do laundry or clean. but sometimes i'll wake up screaming. sometimes i'll wake up with a jolt, gasping for air or pouring sweat, and even though i can't remember what i dreamed about, i can tell from the vague hint of memory that it was dark and troubling. even more strange is that i've been told i get violent in my sleep, throwing punches or elbows or whatnot. of this i have no recollection at all. i don't know what's going on with my sleep cycle, but judging from the dream last night, it seems to be getting worse. it's been a long time since i was afraid to fall asleep. the night looms ahead of me. but, at least i now have access to one weapon that my 5-year-old self did not: coffee.

i fear, i fear...

foot down, nose clear

april is the cruelest month. oh how i suffer. my intense allergies + my shoddy immune system create a constant sense of confusion over my physical state. i never really know if i'm sick, getting sick, or just standing too close to a cat owner on the subway. i am at least 10% stuffy 100% of the time. i've long been anti-anything-going-up-my-nose, but after much deliberation and dread i have finally decided to man up and do what needs to be done. hay fever, this ends now. i'm getting a neti pot. so every morning before yoga, i will be irrigating my nasal passages with saline solution, aka snorting salt water through one nostril and then shooting it out the other. not so sexy. but hopefully by eliminating the sniffling and snoring and watery eyes and baby elephant trumpeting and balled up tissues in random pockets and bags, it will make me sexier for the rest of the day.

bring it on, spring. i wanna polka.

special ed

i thought i was jaded, but now i realize i'm a damn slow learner. either i'm mentally retarded, or i'm clinically insane.

mailboxes insane me

i mailed it! i mailed i mailed i mailed! i mailed! it's in the mail! i mailed it away! hooray!!!!WE()*w90e8JyayY!yq1!1

and now we will never speak of this again. unless i win.

addiction #2

i can't stop listening to this song. i'm like a crack addict baby (what you said about mah momma?!) i'm going to eat pasta and listen to window seat until i die.

♫ window seat :: erykah badu

check it

no cooking on sunny days

yesterday i consumed approximately 5 jars' worth of pasta sauce. i cannot vouch for the exactness of my 5-jar approximation because i did not get the sauce out of jars. i made the sauce myself, not 5 jars' worth all at once, but a bit at a time, eating, cooking, eating, cooking, eating, cooking, and then hiding tomatosauce+shamefaced in my bed until sleep overtook me.

that is how i wasted one entire day, and not just any day, but one of the first terrifically amazing beautiful fabulous days of spring. i don't know why that sauce was so addicting, but this is not a story of culinary achievement. this is the story of how one girl sat on her fat ass in her ridiculously messy room all springlorious day eating her way through an entire crop of tomatoes, basil, and a wheel of brie, and i am utterly horrified. i need to forget how to make this sauce or it is going to kill me. i have no pasta left. i have no broccoli, squash, or eggs left. everything in my fridge is gone, used up as carriers for pasta sauce. all i am left with is my deep respect and gratitude for the human body's inability chew up and ingest metal spoons. oh and a tupperware of pasta sauce and broccoli in my office fridge. god help us.

i was kidnapped and then my train blew up

one of these days, i'm going to run out of excuses and will have to tell my boss: listen. i didn't wake up late. i didn't have a train delay. i didn't feel sick. i just really needed a breakfast sandwich. the kind that they have to toast and assemble. and so i am late. what. nom nom nom.

too early for this

sta: OMG i just pooed something the size of my arm

Sent at 11:24 AM on Tuesday

me: ........

Sent at 11:27 AM on Tuesday

sta: im amazed too!

finally

story almost finito. submitting tomorrow tomorrow. phalanges crossed-o.

55

saturday was my dad's birthday. he would have been 55. it would have been cute to have a cake with two hand prints in it to show five & five. we always used to forget. ironic that we don't anymore.

heppy bursday, abba

the usual ramble of nothing

what a fabulous weekend!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! just makes this dismal fucking monday even drearier, doesn't it.

i rode on the back of a bike on friday. my ass still hurts. and yesterday, my yoga class almost felt like bikram because they left the studio shades up all day, letting the sun bake the air. for whatever reason, our teacher wouldn't turn on the fan, and then proceeded to work us so hard it was like she had some sort of personal vendetta against us. a girl fainted while we were in half-lotus standing pose. it was like watching a flamingo die. my body is in great pain.

i am hailing in the kokeerees tonight. watching crazy protesters screaming obscenities among parents with small children is hilarious. also watching children of invention and mother this week. going to obah dosuh on asian cinema. go watch the trailer for children of invention. i don't know what it is, but little kids eating noodles makes my brain explode from cuteness.

ha penis

wendy: when you're in a good mood it kind of freaks me out

: it's like an alien has taken over your body

me: but i love you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

interrobang

the train was crowded as usual this morning, and i was standing very close to and facing a guy in parachute pants. as the train bumped along its track, i zoned out, losing myself in my thoughts, until out of his parachute pants the guy pulled out a pack of starbursts. and before i even knew what i was doing, i blurted, OH can i have one? there was an awkward moment of silence, but he held out the package. and let me pick a color. and i took yellow. and then i got off the train, at which point the bottom of the bag i was carrying fell out spilling the contents all over the subway platform.

and that, friends, is an interrobang.

beeswax

on my way to work i saw a large truck for "Code Shred" parked next to the goldman sachs building. the lettering on the side of the truck read: "Code Shred. Where Your Business is Nobody's Business."

the financial crisis inquiry commission recently met to do some important dithering, which actually turned out to be kind of amusing bc angelides is unabashedly out for goldman's ball sachs. after extensive questioning, bringing up all sorts of numbers and old documents, and basically smacking around the poor (in character) man like a baby's ass, chairman angelides actually begins to sound sorry for blankfein, saying as an aside: "look, the reason I press this is not to make you say 'uncle'..."

say uncle, bitch. say uncle.

anyways. i guess the point i wanted to make was just that i found the the professional "we get rid of all your incriminating evidence" truck parked so close to goldman sachs funny. and a little disconcerting.

the end.

ILL... ium. hehe

is this the face that launched a thousand snot rockets and burned countless forests worth of tissues?

-_-

i think my body may have taken matters into its own hands, as i refuse to give it sleep, and turned me into a narcoleptic. sunday night, i came home and started changing into my pajamas, but apparently never really made it through all the way. note of caution to all, it is a bad idea to fall asleep sans clothing on top of your sheets. i woke up feeling congested, which is normal, but by the time yoga ended, the congestion was only worse. i felt myself spiraling downward all through work, and now i am here, tuesday morning, sitting in bed at 11:15, getting ready to go to work 3 hours late. and blogging. so maybe like 3 hours and 15 minutes late.

ugh. i feel like death. i look like death. i sound like death. i should get a goddamn gold medal for going into work like this. or quarantined and labeled a biological terrorist. the papers will call me the snot bomber.

snuffed the huff

after 2 years and aprx 100,000 emails, i am no longer working for the huffington post. as of this morning. i think it is time to move on to new adventures... like sleeping. i've heard good things about it. so congratulations to me! i wonder if not being sleep-deprived will change my personality. maybe i'll become... nice. and cheery. and bright.

O_O

to sleep, perchance to dream. let's see what happens.

it's ok, it's the blues

I'm sentimental, so I walk in the rain

I've got some habits even I can't explain

Could start for the corner, turn up in Spain

But why try to change me now?

I sit and daydream, I've got daydreams galore

Cigarette ashes, there they go on the floor

I'll go away weekends, leave my keys in the door

But why try to change me now?

Why can't I be more conventional?

People talk, people stare, so I try

But that can't be, 'cause I can't see

My strange little world go passing me by

So, let people wonder, let 'em laugh, let 'em frown

You know I'll love you till the moon's upside down

Don't you remember I was always your clown?

Why try to change me now?

ironic

this morning i went to starbucks craving a double tall vanilla latte and a bagel. while i waited in line, i battled with my guilt over my extravagant weekend spending, and in the end, we reached a truce. i ordered just the vanilla latte, single shot. as soon as i order, the guy behind me pipes up and adds his order, and then pays for it. i was forced to make awkward conversation with him while we waited for our coffee, and the entire time i kept kicking myself for not getting everything and an extra tin of cream cheese. and black and white cookies. and a yogurt parfait. and a mug. and now i have alanis morissette stuck in my head.

dammit.

i love you, taboo

i realize you-had-to-be-there stories aren't funny to anyone who wasn't there. but they amuse me, so too bad.


team boob:

- he's a rapper. he's underground now.
- tupac?
- ...because he's dead?


team awesome:

- it's... not straight...
- leaning tower of pisa.

if taboo ever becomes an olympic sport, i would get a gold medal in guessing.


- it's white. um... black people... it's their job to get it...
- please don't tell me the word is cotton.

if taboo ever becomes an olympic sport, bev would get a gold medal in racism.

ohana

ever since i sprained my ankle, my coworkers have been sending me links to winter boots with good traction. my inbox is full of l.l. beans.

oh, hiro.

fuck yo stairs!

dim sum death

this morning i was nearly run over by a dim sum cart. i was walking by a restaurant just opening for the day, and a short chinese woman with heavy duty gloves up to her elbows was cleaning the cart out with a hose. just as i passed, the latch that was holding the wheeled cart in place snapped off, and it lurched towards me. i froze, eyes wide as sesame buns. the woman dropped the hose, which started flailing wildly, and she was screaming NO NO NO NO NO!!! 2 men in a van ran out to help her get it back to the top of the sidewalk and relatch it. luckily, i regained my senses and hopped out of the way, and the three of them were able to prevent the cart from rolling into the street. a dim sum disaster. being run over by a dim sum cart would have been a silly way to die, although i guess it's unlikely i would have been killed, just maimed. shrimp shumaimed. and then they might have offered free dim sum for the rest of my life or the world's largest pork bun. mmm.

my morning brush with death had me in a weird state the entire way to the office. when i got off the elevator, i ran into our IT guy, who looked like the sky was falling and he was the official sky-catcher. our network went down again yesterday, and so we all spent the day cleaning our desks and avoiding jason. i'm guessing he had to stay ridiculously late last night to get everything back up and running, as he always does whenever the network dies. he must be feeling pretty frazzled and irritated right now. like everything is going wrong. like he's the only one who can fix anything, and everyone keeps calling him and asking him to do every little thing... man. if anyone has a reason to go postal, it's him. which is why tomorrow, i'm bringing him some sticky rice.

sea

When I turned seven, my father gave me a conch and told me it held the ocean. The spines were worn round and smelled of brine. I held it over my palm and shook gently to release water or fish. My father took it and pressed my ear against the smooth flesh pink mouth of the shell, watching my face closely as I listened. I strained to catch sounds of the beach, but received none. I heard no sea gull cries, no laughing children or off-key melodies from an ice cream truck. I did not hear sand or surf or people on holiday. Instead, the shell breathed into my ear the muted roar of distance and open sea. When my breath grew calm, and my eyes still, my father saw that I had heard.

“For when you seek quiet,” he said, placing the conch into my hands. “When too many people and too much noise surround you, hush and listen.”

tmmi (too much morning information)

i love weekday morning sex. half-conscious, fumbly sex in the brightening dawn just before you have to do everything you have to do. it makes doing everything you have to do that day a little bit cheerier. unfortunately, this rarely happens due to shower politics and time constraints. when i think about it, it's kind of a bummer. this morning i did not have sex. instead i had a bagel that was toasted right and evenly schmeared. and you know something? it was almost just as good. so the next time your bed mate rouses you with morning-breath nothings to get some nooky when you're groggy and not having it, toast her a bagel. or just roll over and suck it up.

skin

i feel the fragility of my physical form most keenly when sick. we are contained by such expendable bodies surrounded by shadows that limit and threaten to abbreviate us. sometimes, witnessing the strife and achievement of our species is uplifting and inspiring. but when the focus shifts to the physical frame of a person, suddenly in light of the volume of a human soul, the haphazard design of the package defies logic and terrifies. to think that our shells and the confusion of the inner mechanical workings that keep us moving through our physical space could be so imperfect and splintered, all the while holding a fathomless, ever-expanding, gorgeous humanity... sends a chill through my body and causes my nonphysical self to shrink back and hesitate.

if life is a miracle, and death is a tragedy, then the gauntlet-like set up of this world is one hell of a scam.

bang bang

there was an anorexic boy in my yoga class this morning who wore neon yellow spandex tights and a tie dye tank that showed off his belly button piercing. he was accompanied by 2 female friends plus 1 of unidentifiable gender, and they giggled and whispered to each other until one of us finally told them to shut the fuck up. we all gave her a silent namaste.

on an unrelated tangent, i was considering the etymology of the phrase, "bust a cap in yo ass."

the phrase, according to urban dictionary, basically means to fire a gun at someone. "Cap" would refer to the bullet, since it's more likely that the bullet would be the thing ending up "in yo ass" than the gun itself, unless of course you got really crazy and actually fired a gun embedded inside of someone's ass, which would be rather impressive but a different kind of scenario altogether, more freakishly sexual than threateningly angry. anyways. so a cap, or percussion cap, is an antiquated piece of a gun, invented for more reliable shooting in bad weather. take it away, wiki:

The percussion cap is a small cylinder of copper or brass with one closed end. Inside the closed end is a small amount of a shock-sensitive explosive material such as fulminate of mercury. The percussion cap is placed over a hollow metal "nipple" at the rear end of the gun barrel. Pulling the trigger releases a hammer which strikes the percussion cap and ignites the explosive primer. The flame travels through the hollow nipple to ignite the main powder charge.

modern bullets now include a primer within its casing, which serves to replace the percussion cap.



before this invention, the percussion cap butted the primer which butted the ball. so, to recap. when someone feels homicidal tendencies towards you and threatens to "bust a cap in yo ass," they mean that they will pull the trigger which will cause the striker to hit the primer, or butt-end of the bullet, which will then crush and ignite, propelling the bullet out of the barrel and ultimately into your ass. but the phrase is "bust a cap in yo ass," not "bust a primer in yo ass," and as we have learned, while the design of the modern bullet technically replaced the percussion cap with the primer, the two pieces are separate and distinct. therefore, the phrase's historical reference creates a striking visual. the speaker intends to pull the trigger which will kick, crush, and explode the ass of the ass of the bullet, thereby killing (kicking, crushing, exploding) your ass. expresses the full and exact extent of speaker's rage.

fascinating.

pour me another glass

wendy: I'M HUNGRRRRRRRRRRRRRY

: HUNGRY BEAR

: must stop being such a hungry

: doesn't make sense

: no sir

me: what

wendy: nothing


in other news, i make cheesecake!

pen a cotta

work has been miserable. i've picked up pastry-making as a coping mechanism. somehow i feel wary about finding a new outlet other than writing for my angst and misery and rage. as the saying goes, the pen is mightier than the sword. now it seems the pastry is mightier than the pen. as if i didn't already suffer from lack of inspiration and discipline, the oven is killing the writer in me. huh. so i guess i should name my inner writer sylvia plath...

ok, tasteless.

oh henry

dream song 29

There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heart
só heavy, if he had a hundred years
& more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time
Henry could not make good.
Starts again always in Henry's ears
the little cough somewhere, an odour, a chime.

And there is another thing he has in mind
like a grave Sienese face a thousand years
would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of. Ghastly,
with open eyes, he attends, blind.
All the bells say: too late. This is not for tears;
thinking.

But never did Henry, as he thought he did,
end anyone and hacks her body up
and hide the pieces, where they may be found.
He knows: he went over everyone, & nobody's missing.
Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up.
Nobody is ever missing.




it's one of those days...

a public service announcement

if you are fat, balding, and harbor a penchant for shiny purple shirts, today's post is for you:

i has lonely

no more lurking in the dark corners of bars, hoping to cop a feel as a drunk girl stumbles past you to hurl in the bathroom. no more lonely nights spent spilling ezmac on yourself while flirting with could-be-females through avatar-based chatrooms. no more calculating how much jail time that pretty young thang might be worth if you followed her home.

Roxxxy is here for you. the fantasy female of many many men's dreams, this robot is life-size, hot, and lacks free will. this means incapable of saying no, throwing her drink in your face, or laughing at the size of your penis. and you don't even have to feel bad about being a pervert because the creator initially wanted to market a robot for children. so in a way you're kind of indirectly relating to kids, and not in a way that will get you arrested. double win. she's everything you could ever hope for-- the world's first sex robot, well-designed, technologically sophisticated, and remarkably life-like, down to the terrified and disoriented expression that a real woman like that would give you if you loomed over her sans shiny purple shirt and with your weiner out.

so do yourself, the gene pool, and women everywhere a favor. order your Roxxxy today.