My Trip to Washington D.C. - A Book Report by GiGi, Age 3

Because I said I would, the following is my brief little account of my first time in Washington D.C.

The above is a map of Washington D.C. (I'm so gosh-darned clever).

This is a picture of a room similar to the one I stayed in. It is important to my non-important story:


Instead of telling you about the horrendous food I ate, how deathly ill I was (I blew my nose so much that I came in to work today lookin' like I got a cocaine nosejob), how I almost got jumped by a line cook for ordering "egg whites only," how I was only in the office a couple hours a day, how I decided not to visit any national monuments nor witness the Immigration protest, how I hate that you can still smoke in bars/restaurants there (my raw nostrils were a burnin' to say the least), and how I got wasted with a couple of my more-reliable colleagues, I'm going to tell you about a stupid statement one of said colleagues made. Oh yeah, I've written about this guy before. He's the one who employs the disgusting drunken mantra containing the quip, "I am the naan and I am the Beyond." (Bonus: Upon second inquiry, he still maintains that it works!).

Anyway, I was telling him and another guy about how cool my hotel room was. (And, it really was cool: leopard print carpets and orange walls in the hallways, red velvet curtains, an old-fashioned refrigerator acting as the mini-bar, Wax lips available for consumption in the mini bar—you know—just in case, lavish pillows, etc...)

My first thought was that it looked like some kind of retro Ethiopian whorehouse. So, naturally, that's what I told them. The naan guy immediately and pointedly asked me: "Why are you sterotyping?"

I replied: "How am I stereotyping?"

Him: "Well, you're being racist."

Me: "Umm - No, I'm actually not. If mentioning the word 'Ethiopian' is offensive to you, then perhaps you're a racist. Calling someone or something 'Ethiopian' is not an insult, it's an unbiased statement of condition."

Him: "Nevermind."

Me: "Seriously, why is calling something 'Ethiopian' insulting?"

Him: "Nevermind. Nevermind. Nevermind...."

Me: "Do you have something against Ethiopians?"

Him: "No, don't worry about it. Seriously, nevermind."

Anyway, that was about the gist of our short conversation. But, length and depth aside, it caused me to recall a passage from Toby Young's book, How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. In this book, Young, who's from London, recalls attending Harvard for a 1987 summer journalism program. He goes on to talk about how this was absolutely the worst time to be in America for his purposes, due mainly to the 'political correctness epidemic' that was going around.

To briefly quote him: "The entire student body seemed to be afflicted. The prevailing orthodoxy was that concepts like "truth" and "beauty" had no place in contemporary education. The idea that a person could transcend the influence of his race, gender, sexual orientation and socioeconomic status to achieve a kind of bird's-eye view of a subject was completely false."

To further his point: "Universities aren't there to hold up mirrors to students, affirming their identity as women or homosexuals or African-Americans. They're there to challenge them, to teach them that these arbitrary facts about themselves are irrelevant when it comes to answering the most important question of all: How to lead a good life?"

So, I guess all of this is to say that I wasn't describing my hotel as such to the 'naan and beyond' guy to affirm it's identity [Ethiopian]. No, no, no—I was saying it to challenge him, to teach him that this arbitrary fact about the hotel is irrelevant when it comes to answering the most important question of all: How to lead a good life? [Partake in the Wax lips in the mini-bar, you poor sap].

And, so ends my book report.

I'm just wondering if any of you knew that...

"The Hugh Hefner E! True Hollywood Story starts at 8," really means, "I want to watch a History Channel documentary about Jesus and Judas?"

It's true. I had no clue either until the other day when I walked into the house at 10 minutes 'til 8 (having planned my day around watching it) and announced my intentions to my remote control-hoarding roommate and his girlfriend.

He replied, "I've already seen that, like, twice."

First off, maggot—no you haven't, because it's a new True Hollywood Story. (Hello! Any true fan knows that 8 pm Sunday evening is reserved for the new THS's!)

Second, I don't care if you had seen it. I haven't and I want to. So, why don't you go on ahead and curtsy into your room with your chick and watch the TV in there? I would do the same except that I don't have a TV. And I can't breathe because there's no windows in my room. And, my room is the size of most peoples' closets. And, well, I hate you. Do I really need any other reason? The mere fact that I expressed interest in the show means you need to make concessions to let me watch it, seeing as how making such concessions would require no more than you changing locations in which to snuggle. Puke. Proceeding to flip around until you found something that vaguely catches your interest (Jesus versus Judas!) is not what I am implying. You clearly had no 8 pm plans, asshole.

And, third—while I'm at it—I'm beginning to hate your girlfriend too. My suggestion is one that I, in her situation, would have suggested to my disgusting, spineless, "I'm the king of my domain," insecure boyfriend. She is beginning to remind me of my grandmother—who, when my grandfather would wrongfully degrade someone with his limited opinions—would sit closed-lip like a good 1950s housewife, even though she most likely had a better solution.

And this, my dear, is why you let him yell at you to the point of tears (Bonus: In front of Cesar and I!) last weekend for no good reason other than he's trying to make himself feel like a man. Or, as Chosen would say: "He's like one of those lizards that puffs up its neck to intimidate people."

As you can tell, my roommate and I are getting along famously again.

Corrections

Life Regurgitated stands corrected on two accounts of improper reporting. Apologies have been extended to the affected parties.

1) BIGmammajamma versus BADmammajamma

"Remember when you posted part of my email in your thread that was titled, in part, Death to Gilmore Yeats? Yeah, you called me BIGmammajamma instead of BADmammajamma. I'll admit, I have a big ass, but damn Gigi. I thought I meant more to you than that. Tiny little tear..."

So, for the record and going forward, Badmammajamma shall prevail.

2) April 11, 2006 - Unintended Perjury

From yesterday's post: "Anyhow, I'll be back to NYC this afternoon and I plan to have something up by 4 or 5 p.m. I'll tell you about DC and how the restaurants suck and Maryland Crab soup is not good and how I despise people smoking while I eat and about the retro Ethiopian Whorehouse decor in my hotel room and, and, and..."

So, I actually did intend to update yesterday, but my shitty DELL computer (which has been no less than a piece of shit since Day 1 - never buy one) would not allow me to access ANY blogs or my sign-in site. It was the most disgusting thing I've ever experienced, which should indeed indicate to you the level of my neuroses. I could get on email, I could check my tracking, but I could not get on Blogger. I'll be buying a new computer within a week probably (Oh, oh, oh - and since I'm broke, it will probably be a DELL, because they have a corner on the market due to their justified cheapness. Bastards! Now that is the ultimate in disgust).

Anyway, that's why I didn't update. Now that I'm at the office, I'll do so intermittently during the day. Promise.

Hi from DC

I feel so loved. I've received quite a few emails from people asking where I am - Am I okay? You are too kind!

I'm great. In DC for work right now and I've had no access to computers (well, at least ones on which to do what I consider "real work," where "real work" is defined as writing my blog and checking Gawker to the point of insanity). There's one computer in the hotel lobby and 10 seconds - really - after I sat down to write and order a new bikini, some long-haired blonde guy came in and queried, "Do you know how long you're going to be?"

I barked at him, not only because I was pissed, but because he was clearly a doormat who wanted to be walked upon. I mean, couldn't he see that I was picking out which Brazilian bikini I wanted to flaunt around in like a whale next weekend when I go to Miami??

"No, I don't know. I just sat down."
"Well, I just, umm, just need to check the movie schedule."
"Come back in 10 then."

I think I scared him off, because he didn't come back. Unfortunately, I was so disturbed by his neediness and doormatness that I couldn't sit and think properly. Really though - producing these profound thoughts necessitates an untainted think tank of sorts. My experience was ruined.

Anyhow, I'll be back to NYC this afternoon and I plan to have something up by 4 or 5 p.m. I'll tell you about DC and how the restaurants suck and Maryland Crab soup is not good and how I despise people smoking while I eat and about the retro Ethiopian Whorehouse decor in my hotel room and, and, and...

Oh yeah, I won't be describing my day at the Immigration Protest because, quite frankly, I'm way too lazy to get up and witness history in the making.

Okay. Bye.

Books & Magazines My Roommate Keeps in the Bathroom

Otherwise known as: Books my roommate thinks are the perfect read while taking a shit.

-The Meteropolitan Opera 2006-2007 Season Guide - you know, because he loves the opera. Not to mention, the opera schedule is a titillating read—as is the back of a shampoo bottle or tampon box.

-The Sommelier's Guide to Wine (which he—yes, HE—used to have standing upright on the counter ledge for decoration). This screams class and sophistication as do the empty bottles of Sky Vodka that also serve as decor in our fine abode. And these bottles are not "blue," they're "lapis lazuli." He keeps one good bottle of wine (Nero D'Avola, 2004) in the house at all times for looks, but when it comes to actually drinking wine, he gets the extra large bottles with the screw-off tops. I'm so not kidding.

-Ernest Hemingway: The Short Stories. I guarantee this was a gift. It's a paperback and the spine bears no crease. The end.

-Trump World magazine, which is, by far, the worst magazine ever, but my roommate is in real estate and so is Trump, so, well, I guess it all makes sense (it doesn't make sense).

Magazine I keep in the Bathroom:

Us Weekly

I keep it real, yo.

Remnants from this week:

I know. I know—I've been a complete and utter slacker this week. My posts sucked, my life was boring, my ego was tame ... What else? Oh yeah, I skipped a day. I deserve to be fired. Hmmm, this sounds vaguely similar to the email I'm about to write my boss, explaining why I didn't get a damn thing done this week. I really didn't. Something about this week was off (not to say I usually get anything done at work). So completely off. I'm sick of blaming all of my problems on PMS, but hell, better it than me. I'd rather make use of an innocent scapegoat (PMS) than taking blame for the obvious (sometimes I'm just an insecure, bitchy, pile of waste). So, sue me.

That said, here's what you missed:
[And as my dad would say: "I didn't miss it, I just didn't see it" —implying that he could have indeed died happy without knowing any of it, this, or that]

-First off, I had a funny conversation with D today over IM. He's been talking about moving to Miami together, so I told him that I did a quick job search and there isn't too much out there for me. Then I had this brilliant idea that I could stay with my company and just work remotely. But, can I get everything that I need to accomplish done from home? Hmmm. We explored my day at work to answer just that:

Can I...
Check Gawker like a fiend? (check)
IM with friends? (check)
Put posts up on my blog? (check)
Check my tracking shamelessly, only to find that only about 30 ppl love me daily? (check)
Scheme with friends on how/when we're going to start a business to save us from our pathetic realities? (Check)

Given the above stats, I'd say that working by remote is indeed a possibility. Miami here I come!

-Chosen is a sick bastard. This is how he ended one of our emails yesterday:
"Side note...I think the concept of repeatedly neutering an already neutered cat is very funny."

-Advertisers: Assuming that commentors are the same as advertisers, I'd like to thank the following parties for playin': Bufflo, Truth, Chad, Morris, Lucas (who was formerly Truth), and A Concerned Fan

-Good Blogs: Now I don't usually sway attention from myself, nor do I usually find a blog that I genuinely like, but I have to give credit where credit is due. I happened upon two (two!) great blogs this week:

Logged Hours and I Hate You, New Guy Who Sits Next to Me

Both shall get a link, indeed.

-D's Desperate Housewives Contribution: D rarely reads my blog, but evidently when he does, he's pretty bored by it. So, last night he said he had a great idea for an entry—you know, something to spice it up a bit. Huh? He decided that it would be wonderful if I discussed the phenomenon of desperate housewives, in general. And, um, yeah—what exactly does that have to do with me. Nothing? Well then, it has no home on this site, which is pretty much just about me. Not, of course, because I'm as impressed with myself as I come off to be, but because I want people to think I'm as impressed with myself as I come off to be. It makes them mad and hateful, and, for some reason, this makes them come back for more madness and hatefulness. Yes, all 30 of you, coming back for more! So, in a nutshell—no Desperate Housewives thingy. Sorry, D.

-I like when I find posts about me on other people's blogs. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and stuff. Here's one I found today (By the way, mad props to Blue Toilet Duck for the shout out):

On the bastardly site i visit, this girl GiGi posts her past stories about being a whore, her words not mine BTW, to it, there is a link to her EVERYDAY blog. while not OVERLY interesting [moderator's note: Contrary to what it might seem, by "not OVERLY interesting," he really means "REALLY DAMN INTRIGUING" You know—FYI], its JUST interesting enough to keep coming back, plus her writing style is ACE...boy im using that word alot today, but i digress....so ive found myself every other dayor 3 checking out what is going in in GiGi's life, a total stranger who apparently lives in NYC, that, i will never meet.

its funny how that doesnt seem at all strange to me. but, it doesnt. anyways, blogs kinda remind me a tad of teh game "the sims" if you get too involved it would ake up ALL your time. reading many blogs, which, i dont do, would take up LOTS of ones time, and, leave them little time with which to fill there own blogs with interesting stuff for people to read. So, hence, i pick and choose.

but, GiGI's is quite entertaining, a girl ill never meet with the same kinda of world thinking ihave, she talks a few times about going to a nail salon, where the ladies speak chinese while they do nails, chatting back and forth to eachother, and, GiGi is convinced they are plotting against her.

now, when i tell people that when anyone speaking a different language comes into my store and talks to each other in a language they KNOW i dont get, its OBVIOUS they are saying something about you, cause, otherwise, 3 people in close proxemity, 2 speaking a different langugae, they ARE....why wouldnt they just speak ENGLISH?

and people cal me paranoid. LOL does that make GiGi paranoid as well? Perspective is yours.

Its nice to see that people ARE curious about what the other people in the world are doing and thinking.

anyways, if you all have a sec, check out GiGi's blog. its not quite as entretaining and Rant filled, and, YES hate filled as mine is, but, still, its quite a good read.

http://regurgitatedlife.blogspot.com/

P.S. tell her i sent you, just for shits and giggles, since, well, she has no fucking clue who i am...LOL....

Alright, all—as I mentioned before, I'm off to write my boss a similar plea for forgiveness. As D would have me say: "I've been a very naughty girl and I deserve to be spanked."

Green Tea is the Culprit!

And to think I was at a loss for an explanation for the phenomenon that is:

Chinese Women Talk a lot of Trash.

The answer came to me in the form of a poor grammar-infested, haphazardly-written email. I mean, revelation:

From: Rucker Odessa bnlsq@racingseat.com (feel free to spam her)
Date: Apr 6, 2006 10:02 AM
Subject: Why Asians drink Green Tea?

What is Green Tea?
Green tea has been part of the traditional Asian diet for centuries.
Asian peoples have long believed that drinking green tea daily is the key to a long and healthy life.
Now it's a proven scientific fact: green tea's natural active ingredients enhance human health, increase longevity, and aid in WEIGHT LOSS.
Green Tea is the healthiest way to loose weight by enhanced caloric burn, increased metabolism, and oxidizing visceral fat.

Two Unfortunate Names I Gave to My Childhood Dolls:

Cabbage Patch Kid: Cybil Heady

Teddy Bear: Forsythe

Karma would have it that I, too, be cursed with a weird name. For those of you who know my real name, you know that karma has again prevailed (although the chicken comes way before the egg in this story).

I don't know why I just remembered that, but I thought I'd share...

Dots & Crunchberries for the faint of heart

I should tell you about the mystery of the green & yellow Dots.

Someone brought in a box of those Dot gummy candies to work the other day, and like anyone else with a sensible and refined pallet, I dug through the sticky mess to seperate the unsavory greens and yellows from the scrumptious reds and oranges. Then it occured to me, like it has many a time before this, that the company would be better off ditching the Simple Green-flavored imposters in favor of providing a box of reds and oranges. I remember when Captain Crunch cereal made such a move, getting rid of the yellow rectangular pieces and producing a cereal that was purely crunchberries. Pure genius! I mean really, who has time to cut through the shit? And when you really think about it, people are only getting half a box of edible candy/cereal. I say, give the people what they want!

So, after eating a handful of the reds and oranges, I went back for a second helping. There before me, was the evidence of a freak phenomenon: the greens and yellows were all gone! Could it be that someone actually likes them? No way. 'Ha,' I thought. 'Someone probably couldn't take the pain anymore, so they took matters into their own hands and threw the greens and yellows away! What a gem!'

I checked the trashcan. Alas, it wasn't true. Someone actually ate them. Could it be? I guess so. Maybe that explains why Captain Crunch discontinued their all-Crunchberry cereal. I should've known: most people do not lie where I do on the pallet bellcurve (far right, in case you were wondering).

Chinese Women Talk a lot of Trash, Episode 4

So, Cesar (from here on out, "the skeeze") just got a job at a magazine.

(Woohoo!)

One of the people with whom he interviewed was this girl - Chinese - that he would be replacing. She came off as a nice girl at first, but in the end, she fit the bill just like the rest of 'em. Regardless, the skeeze came home raving about her; saying that when the others left the room, she told him to ask for x-amount instead of the y-amount he was going to ask for (where x>y).

As it turns out, the skeeze ended up asking for x, but only got a little bit more than y, mainly because his bosses overheard their soon to be ex-employee informant spreading high salary propaganda and instilling greed into our skeeze. While her intentions might have been good (and very often Chinese women do have good intentions, they just manifest themselves as trash talk), the skeeze had absolutely no chance of getting the money he requested. Not a big deal. At least he got the job.

However, his new colleagues have since informed the skeeze of our Chinese woman's tendency to talk a bit too much trash. Hmmm, who woulda guessed?

Amongst what seemed one of many faults was the girl's inability to take instruction. She would often claim, "I don't have to take anybody's advice. I'm the only graphic designer here, so nobody else understands what I'm doing!" A pretty self-righteous statement for someone whose old templates contained innacurate dimensions, and whose files were what the skeeze deemed 'amateur.' On top of that, he compared her old layouts side-by-side with those of the junior web designer and, needless to say, the junior's had more merit than his art director counterpart. But still, not too big of a deal.

The skeeze saw another girl's name following his own on what was obviously an interview schedule. He asked his new colleague, "So, how did Gina interview?"

The colleague explained that when the Chinese girl found out that another girl was interviewing, she called her up and told her it was not a good place to work.

Did she know her? Nope. She just wanted to talk trash.

I'm tellin' ya, Chinese women simply have a compulsion toward trash-talkin'. At least in this situation, the skeeze got a job out of it.

'Chinese Women Talk a lot of Trash' is a continuous series. To catch up on your reading, venture here.

New Age Tips for Stopping a Stalker

Someone just found my site by typing the following words into google:

"How + to + stop + a + stalker"

It's a scary thought to think that someone is looking for advice on how to get their stalker to stop stalking (thusly meaning he/she is being stalked).

But, it's even scarier to think that the advice this person will find on my blog is to befriend the damn guy; to write him emails when he ceases stalking—telling him you miss his constant, un-requested presence. Accordingly, it is also very wise to post your stalker's correspondence regularly as to further perpetuate his mal-intentions.

Good luck!

Thank you for being a friend. Err, nevermind.

All I asked you do is sign my petition and you've failed. Miserably. At least I know who my real friends are now. Here are *three* people who wrote in, saying they didn't have blogger accounts. Hmmm? I didn't realize you had to. I'll have to check my settings. That's all for now, but I'll be back later today.

1)

So, you have to sign up to be a "blogger" to sign your petition. I am way to busy to fill out all that crap (even though, I must be honest...I didn't even look at all in intaled:). So, cut and paste my comment/petition sign up:

Dear D,

She is fine. Move to NYC.

Love, Courtney

It's too bad you don't have any REALLY good points like you would if you were trying to convince him to move here to California. i.e. No snow. Chicago and NYC seem so similar. If he likes big annoying cities with too much traffic...it would be a perfect match. Plus, round the clock ass...DUH? Is it even a question.

2.)

I'd love to sign your petition sweetheart but unfortunatly I don''t have a blogger account. I do 100% support your petition for D to move to New York He can go back to Chic for the weekends.... sorry have juyt had a few drinks so excuse the typos...

HAVE A LOVELY WEEKEND

MUAHHHH

3.)

For your petition, I'm one hundred percent in support of Men making rash decisions for beautiful women that they care about! This is my official signature, on record, in support of your boyfriend moving to the strangest city I've ever lived in.

It's raining in Bahrain today. ...and odd and suprisingly nice event!

Please sign my petition. Thanks.

I don't have much to report today, seeing as how last night consisted simply of D arriving and then dinner at Artisanal. So yummy. Carpaccio of Hamachi, Truffled Trout and Lamb with a dried caper rub or something like that.

I promise that next week will be a lot better than this week. Cesar laid it out flat for me: I'm slippin'. Sorry about that.

Details and apologies aside though, I have serious matters to deal with here:

I want to start an online petition for D to move here, seeing as how - oh - I can't live without him.

No big deal.

So, I'm going to need your help. Now that my comments are open, why don't you be a dear and travel down yonder to write a little note to D telling him that he should move here?

Here are the roadblocks:

-He owns a place in Chicago (very nice - for what he pays there, he could get a small, yet nice studio here. BUT, he could sublease it for a year or so then move back to it. Problem solved.)
-He hates NYC (minor detail)
-His dad is sick (This is the only one that makes me feel guilty asking him to move)
-All his friends are there

Here are the upsides:

-I'm here.

Shit, so maybe the scales are tipped a bit more toward Chicago. But, I just want a year. Oh yeah, and I don't want him to move in with me so comments regarding how shitty it is to move in together don't apply.

Thanks all. I'm sure this will be really effective, as are most petitions.

ha ha.

Comments finally open... and other mediocre updates

Here are some tidbits from life lately, in case you are interested and stuff.

D will be at my house in approximately 8 hours: Yayy! This news is great enough to have its own whole entry. Alas, I realize that it might not be interesting to anyone but me. And if it were, that would be kind of weird anyway.

A new dis from a new magazine is in the works: I submitted work to another household magazine (to be revealed after I get dissed), which means I should have a fresh denial letter for you all soon. I could possibly publish a coffee table book if I receive enough of these. Actually, that's a pretty good idea (which I am copywriting right now, by publishing it publicly - so get off it). If any of you have some denial letters from any magazines other than MAD, CRACKED, JANE, or McSweeney's, send them my way. I'll start an archive and give you credit for it if I ever do publish it. I'm serious.

I went out with Cak last night: She finally told me the whole story on her lousy, cheating boyfriend. The cheating episode she has always alluded to was not, as I thought, played out with some random chick. No, no, no - even worse. Three weeks after he and Cak started dating, the dirtball boyfriend went on vacation with his WIFE (to be fair, they were seperated, but still...), and got her pregnant! That is why Cak is so insecure. But this is not an excuse for her insecurity. She's a dumb ass for going back to him. Wow.

Today in Chosen: I haven't mentioned Chosen at all lately, which probably explains my surge in traffic (and by "surge in traffic," I mean 20-30 visitors/day). I got a text message from him the other day that said he slammed his finger and probably wouldn't be able to update his blog this week. I volunteered to guest blog for him and contributed this idea for my guest post. The little bastard loved the idea so much, he went ahead and wrote it himself, despite his pancaked finger. At least he gave me credit though. In addition, he sent me a follow-up text message last night:

"5 hours at the hospital yesterday, a tetnus shot, minor finger surgery, then back to the office at 9 pm with a numb finger. Regurgitate that biyatch!"

Well played, Chosen!

*By the way, Chosen just read his post and was dismayed that I didn't mention he just got accepted into Harvard's MBA program. Well, he did. Go Chosen. In his own words: "Btw...just got into Harvard yesterday! Go me. I am so smart" Then he asked me to guess what movie his quote was from.

Roommate on his best behavior: My roommate contacted me shortly after I wrote yesterday's post and asked me if I was plannig to move out. I told him the deal and he broke down saying the reason he hasn't been talking to me is because he's seriously depressed about his job situation; that he's broke and 30 and can't seem to get a job. Now call me a wimp, but I felt bad. Especially because I posted the 8 or 9 different career paths he mentioned. Needless to say, I'll probably be staying in my apartment.

Greetings from my SuperStalker: Now, it might seem a little odd that I've developed a friendly relationship with my SuperStalker, but trust me, what they say about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, is pretty right on. Thusly:

"Sorry about my lack of communication. I know we had agreed on a SLA (Stalking Level Agreement), and I have not been meeting it lately. I've been too busy being creepy in real life, to take my efforts online."

My Glamorous Job: One of my new pen pals told me that my job sounds glamorous. I hope I have not given anyone else that completely misconstrued idea. My job is so not glamorous.

Today in Cesar: Cesar should be getting a couple of job offers today. Neither of those will be glamorous either. However, he will now have less time to criticize my blog. Jerk.

Ex-Boyfriend's New Girlfriend: I promised you all the other day that I would return for comment on the fact that my ex, M, is dating a girl who has vision problems. This was part of Cesar's big campaign for me to "spice up the ol' blog [because it's getting boring]." However, the situation does not interest me enough to respond by saying rude things about how the only way he could get this new chick is if she can't see him. Plus, that would just be wrong.

Alright. That's all from me. Oh yeah, comments will be left open from now on, so feel free to, ummm, comment.

The Apartment Hunt: Day 1

The apartment hunt is officially on.

As mentioned previously, I hate my roommate. So, instead of moping around and feeling sorry for myself (which, coincidentally, is what I did Monday and Sunday), I've decided to take matters into my own hands. You see, I'm not on the lease, so treating me like shit is a not a wise decision on his part. I should also pat myself on the back for a few of the [many] other kind gestures I've made that similarly make me wonder what his problem is: Hooking him up with my friends in the legal field when he mentioned wanting a job in that area, referring real estate clients to him knowing that he works on commission only, and maintaing an overall sunny disposition to which he returns home to daily. Not to mention, making sure there is always coffee and cream, buying the toilet paper twice in a row without mentioning that—"yo, it's your turn, jerk"—and taking out the recycling even though none of it is mine. Do I want a cookie? Maybe. At the very least, a scrap. Mainly because these are things that don't usually bug me, but might drive him to insanity if he were in my position. He's OCD. No joke.

I should have known early on in the game that Ken was going to be a problem roommate. His previous roommate mentioned—casually and on several different occassions—that Ken was moody. But, my apartment is killer, so I didn't want to hear it. None of it.

All of this brings me to my apartment hunt. I went to look at a studio last night a few blocks up from me. The landlord's asking $1,275/month, which is actually quite reasonable, but not something that I would currently pay. I told him to call me if he'll take $1,150 for it. After all, the view out the window is a McDonald's. I didn't even know that place still exhisted. Of course, I am one of the biggest food snobs you'll ever meet, so this isn't as odd as it sounds.

My friend Jewels and I are going to look at a 2 bedroom on the upper, upper westside that costs $1,250/month, i.e. $625 each. For that price, I'm not too concerned whether I like the place or not. I don't care if there are cops permanently trolling the block at night—you know, because of "recent incidents." And I don't care that the crappiest subway line in NYC is the only one that ventures my way. I'd be saving $500/month, which would be put toward trips to Brazil and the like. Not a bad trade off at all.

These and a few other 'maybes', are what I found after my first day of looking. When I returned to my building last night, my neighbor told me that Ken knows I'm looking to move out. Upon entering my apartment, and in a shocking turn of events, Ken was actually being pleasant. By pleasant I mean, greeting me upon walking in the door, speaking, and making jokes. Yes, yes, you might think that greeting your roommate and talking to your roommate are obligatory duties, but it has been 2 weeks since he and I last spoke. Evidently this is a talent he can turn on and off at will because once he heard that I might be leaving, he—ta da—is no longer a mute. Oh, and this morning he made coffee and put my favorite cup and a spoon out for me. He is really, really making a compelling effort here.

But, no—I can not fall for his momentary charms! He did this last time I threatened to move out and I fell for it. He's not going to change! I must remain strong. I can not take him back. I am too good for him. It's over!

New Reader Bio (With Foreword): #3 in a Series

Before you get to meet Paulina—a non-trash talkin' Chinese woman*—I have to extend a little apology. You see, Cesar and D both think I'm getting a little boring lately; depending too much on other people's letters and correspondence for material. Cesar said, "G--you're really slipping lately," and D commented that, "Baby, I'll read anything you write. No matter how good or bad...or boring," both of which made me feel just a bit tingly inside. After all, I love when people think I'm lazy and boring.

Anyway, Cesar really thinks it would be a good idea for me to broach the subject of my ex dating a supermodel with seeing disabilities (that bastard has always had a knack for achieving the impossible. I hate him for this. He deserves no happiness in this world). Cesar also suggested that I write about the time I was interviewing for a publicist position with Time Warner Books and right after my would-be boss shared in on the fact that some of her author clients have demands such as Chilean Seabass for their dogs, I rolled my eyes and said, "Whatever—who the hell do they think they are?" But, that's about the gist of the story, so there ya go. Well, that, and the fact that I don't currently work for Time Warner Books, I guess. All of this is to say, I'll be back sometime today to bitch about the ex. And, maybe I'll add a dash of bitters to the roommate situation. That's that. This is Paulina. Make her feel at home.

"You are very welcome to post that picture I sent. Glad you like it (although you really don't have to be polite sugar pie). The totality of it is actually nude. Hehe"

Name: Paulina Lilian Chow
Born: Friday 26th April 1985
Sign: Taurus sun, Cancer moon, Libra rising
Occupation: Proprietor and principal beneficiary of Aid for Struggling Students / High Priestess for Catholic Appreciation of Tantric Living
Skills: Pouting and getting my way
Collects: Sexy lingerie, older men
Vices: Fantasizing about God then cheating on Him with my boyfriend and loving it

*A rare breed, indeed. But, not one that does not exist, evidently.

Chinese Women Talk a Lot of Trash: A Polite Rebuttal

Advance thanks to Paulina, who—since writing—has learned that exploiting stereotypes is fun for the whole family!

Actually, Paulina is the latest in my list of Pen pals, which brings me back to 4th grade when I wrote regularly to a girl in Senegal. Ah, those were the good ol' days.

As for having anything against Chinese people, I don't. I just think it's pretty damn funny to place blame on an entire culture for the actions of only a few. To be fair, I invite you to return the favor. If you have any unfair generalizations about Spanish, Puertorican, German Jews, bring 'em on!

On that note, I'm going to get my eyebrows waxed again this week... You know what that means, right? Another fun episode of Chinese Women Talk a Lot of Trash will be hitting your computer screen soon.

That's enough from me. I'll pass the mic to Paulina*:

GiGi-

I checked out your blog, which I enjoyed reading very much until I got to the posts "Chinese Women Talk A Lot of Trash". Now, I am Chinese myself and though not particularly patriotic, nor fussed about political correctness, I must say that it sounded like you were making quite an unfair sweeping generalization there. Then again, I don't live in New York so I wouldn't have the chance to verify whether or not your Chinese female population are the most enlightened bunch. Although I am quite determined to show you that not all Chinese women talk trash through this communication (I could not find a guestbook to sign on your site so excuse me for intrusively writing you an email as such)!

Hope you are not going to take this as an accusation because it really is not (well, perhaps you would think I am talking trash here, too). It will be nice to hear from you. Keep posting.

Best regards,
Paulina

*Paulina's 'new reader bio' will be up shortly.

I Hate My Roommate

Instead of telling you exactly how much I hate him, I'll give you a list of occupations he's threatened to pursue in the last 3 months (He's 29 years old, mind you):

1) Lawyer (transactions, not litigation)

2) Personal Shopper (But one who only caters to women who are visiting NYC from out of town, over 40 and are accompanying their husbands who happen to be here on business)

3) Interior Designer (He's straight. It just won't work out)

4) Police officer (Thinks he'll jump in and start as a lieutenant because he has a law degree)

5) Fireman (Instant chicks, bra! Yeah, pass the beer bong, dude!)

6) Real estate office manager (He has a job offer but won't commit...because he's getting younger daily and has other options on the table. I mean, really...)

7) Author - you know, like of a *novel* (I really hate him for even mentioning that option)

8) Husband of a Rich Woman (Duh.)

I'm sure there are more, but he disgusts me way too much to give him any further thought. On that note, if any of you live in Manhattan and have an extra room available, like, now - email me. I might be interested.

In completely unrelated news, I'm thinking about opening up the blog to comments here soon, so keep visiting. I haven't yet this far because I was getting too many advertisements. I'd like to keep out the riff-raff too, if you know what I mean. I'm running a classy establishment here. Wink, wink.

Carrie's Voodoo Box Regains its Umph.

I mentioned my friend Carrie's useless voodoo box a while back. She's had some problems with guys, confidence and money as of late. And, quite frankly, the box in which she has placed so much faith (not to mention, a lock of hair) has failed her like a religion for way too long. Well, evidently, it has stepped up to the plate and reclaimed its manhood, because this is the text message I got from her on Friday morning:

On my way 2 San Fran. 2 nights. 2 suitcases. 1 containing 5 pairs of high heels. Money 2 burn. Hold me back. Lady on the loose!

There's no moral to this story. This is just an update. Have fun, my bestfriend and sister!

A brief summary of me (by someone who is not me!)

My new friend*, Chad, in Bahrain summarized my site like this:

• Life Regurgitated for your Chewing Pleasure
  Because she writes great, delivers a marvelously bitchy wit, and takes photos of the back of her head!

Can you really ask for more than that? No, no—you just can't.


*Anyone who links to me is automatically my friend. Really. Keep that in mind—all of this can be yours. We can even go shopping on the weekends, grab a relaxing coffee drink or eat multi-flavored rice puddings with multiple scrumptious toppings. Yummy.

How I Know I'm a Geek...

It wasn't ever a question in my mind that I'm a geek, but these 4 incidents confirm the fact if ever I'm in doubt.


1) I get along with geeky people:

At last night's dinner meeting, I met a group of people who I usually only work with over email as they are based all over the country. Over email they are dry, dry, dry. But, over a cocktail bar they were quite different.

2) I enjoy geeky ideas:

I got lucky with my table selection. The guy and girl I was sitting next to indulged in the hosted bar probably even more than I did. The girl was a bit younger than me, but heads up her company's division, so it was great to hear her talking about the hot little numbers in the crowd. She kept on spotting wedding rings, which is a practice I don't yet partake in. But that's because I'm taken myself, so a guy's status doesn't affect me. We were all pretty surprised by the good looking turnout and we shared tidbits of gossip we knew about the others. Evidently we have some lushes, some cheaters, some geeks, some kiss asses, etc... The usual stats for a meeting. Since we're in publishing, it wasn't long until we had created a future gossip magazine about our organization. It's title will be:

Can I have some of your meat? You can have some of my fish.

Perhaps a bit long, but very appropriate. These were the lines passed between myself and one of my new colleagues.

3) I thought this was funny:

The above mentioned colleage is an Indian guy who recited what he considers his most promising pick-up line duet. It is usually performed with one of his white friends, but he improvised:

White guy: I am the sugar
Colleague: And, I am the spice

Colleague: I am the curry
White guy: And, I am the rice

Colleague: I am the naan
White guy: And, I am beyond... (Here, the speaker puts his hands out as if to symbolize endless possibilities).

I asked him if that really worked for him? He said it does, but I have my doubts.

4) My Sister Told Me So:*

"I have been so busy that I have not been able to read your dailyblog...until now - WHO THINKS YOU ARE UGLY??? What a fag. He is probably the ugliest person you have ever seen, thus the need to hide behind acomputer and make (lame, I might add) judgments about others. Although,this is kind of a tricky situation for you...your rebuttal must have been hard as everything we hate about him; rude, cyber friend junky, dork, funny but not...are all the things that make you great. LOL. He just needed some damn material. You know the feeling. If given the chance...he'd fuck. FORSURE. hahahahaha, anyway. That was not the best picture of you either."

*This is the last time Mr. Yeats will get play on my site. He got a lot of cyber-ass from me this week.

Greetings from Grenada, Death to Gilmore Yeats and a SuperStalker Funeral Update.

Since I'm stuck in meetings all this week, I must hash out some more trusty emails from my archives.

Trust me though—this isn't some haphazardly-organized crap collage. Rather, it's a very rigid, *themed* crap collage. That's right, the theme is Death. But, I'm not talkin' death in a goth way. More like death in a rebirth sort of way. Symbolic. Kinda like Jesus rising from the dead, only not nearly as deep. That said...

In the first scene, we encounter Cesar and his girlfriend, Candie. Candie is about to embark upon the dissection of a dead body for one of her med school classes in Grenada (it's a country, evidently). The following scene finds us with bigmammajamma, a fellow commentator for The Bastardly, who similarly dispises Mr. Yeats and wishes him dead. Finally, we hear from my SuperStalker who writes from the toilet in his hotel room—it being his temporary lodging while attending an out-of-state funeral.

Scene 1

Cesar: "We went out to dinner last night. There isn't much in the way of restaurants, but the food was good, spicy. We're going to have some wine after Candie gets back from playing with dead bodies today."

Candie: "Hey GiGi. It's Candie now. It is so fun to play with dead bodies. They are the delight of the day and night. Actually, I got to look at dead mens' peepees today... aaah the joys of dead men... I don't think that I am going to let [Cesar] come back to NY. He is too cute for that place. Have a great day GiGi."

Scene 2

"So, I saw the little interaction between you and Gilmore on the bastardly comments of the bastardly lady of the day. Wow, I've already said bastardly 2 times. Make that 3. Anyway, don't sweat his comments. Gilmore is a sad specimen of a human being who usually spends his time making horribly nasty comments about whoever happens to be under fire. However, he usually confines his comments to being a disgustingly bigoted racist asshole.

"All of his posts include his lovely racist diatribe. I'm just trying to show you how he is a completely vile human being. I usually call him out on what a piece of shit he is. The Lena post is, most likely, the only instance in which I agreed with him. You know, about the girl seeming like she was super impressed with the fact that she was smoking weed. Anyway, hopefully, looking at these other posts will give you more fodder for making fun of him on your blog. By the way, I started reading your blog last week after I saw a link for it on the bastardly and I think you are hysterical. I love your new line about the strap-on balls. Classic. I'll have to use it on my husband sometime. Additionally, I think you're pretty and that the people that commented yesterday were just being assholes. Oh, if you do decide to look up Gilmore Yeats' lovely comments, I post as badmammajamma. Keep up the good work on your blog and don't worry about the shitheads!!"

Scene 3

"Your blog is still very dear to me, and although bitchy, I think I like your style of bitchiness. If it were possible, I would never leave my room. It is so much safer, then having to deal with the outside world which is full of strange people...

"Funerals are funerals, glad you have avoided going to one. Most of its just small talk around a dead body with the undertone of trying to compare oneself to another to see whose life is less crappy! The only good thing is the car ride which gave me time to think up 4 new Mass Questions to send out to people. So far I've been hitting up the religious blog rolls, but have been getting back scriptures as responses when I ask for advice on my "lesbian" relationship. Go figure. Expect one of the Q's to be posted next week if I can get enough responses.

"The usual is going on with me. Just work drama and sleep deprivation. Fortunately there is wifi in the hotel. Oddly enough the strongest signal in the room is while sitting on the toilet.

Some ladies are here, and I never refuse a lady in need ;)"

People think I'm ugly!

Woohoo!

Click HERE for the resounding evidence

This is some good material, for sure. And yes, it's true. I am a pretty heinous individual. Yawn.



I mean, really? How could anyone think that I (refer to my picture above*) am anything less than stunning?

I'm especially fond of "Gilmore Yeats'" comments. Gilmore, by the way, is an internet blog-writer psychologist by trade. He or she or whatever it is diagnoses the internet's finest writers—uh hem—via comment boards and open forums. I have my opinions about this but, hell, I'll let Gilmore have its day. Here is the first of its 2 comments (I've bolded the especially telling symptoms it has pointed out):

"Wow. Gigi is suffering from what’s called “delusions of grandeur”. Gee, I wonder if she hangs out with ugly dudes who worship her, because she’s average looking? I’ve seen it a hundred times. I feel bad for her. She obviously has nothing meaningful in her life, and has to rely on attention from others to be satisfied with herself. I hope she can live past 40, but with the impending anorexia and requisite drug addiction for her needy/depressed personality type, she’ll be lucky to see 40 (Though she looks 45).

I mean, seriously, we’ve all seen this type of girl. Men do not take them seriously because they present themselves so poorly and sluttily. Sure, you have a few orgasms from a few drunken one-nighters, but you will be one lonely, sad, disheveled pile of human debris in a few years. The clock is ticking, she’ll never have kids, or a family. Guys don’t want to marry a skank.

Gil out."

Hmmm...Is that you Dr. Phil? Nope. It's Dr. Gil!
Isn't that just precious?

Then Gil returns for one last sentiment: "I pray for your death with every string of my soul."

That is some seriously deep shit. It prays for my death. Prays? Like, to God? Wow! (And to think, I usually just ask for money and stuff...)

Ironically, someone who accuses me of "having nothing meaningful in [my] life," spends its time posting novel length comments on random internet sites. Looking for new clients? Could be.

An interesting tactic, indeed. Maybe even a respectable one. After all, everyone's gotta pay the bills somehow. My hat goes off to you, Dr. Gil.

Now, be a dear and hook me up with some Prozac and some other of your sweet goodies for the mind. I'm in the market for some depression meds. You just ruined me. (Wink, Wink) Woe is me...

*Update: Thomas Westerburg writes, "I can't believe you let Gilmore get to you! And then you post a picture of his mother! That's low."

There's a difference between letting someone get to you and being at a loss for good material. And, I must say, this is definitely good material.

Chinese Women Talk a lot of Trash, Episode 3

On our way from Union Square to SoHo this weekend, my sister conned me into stopping at some tented jewelry kiosk to look at some rings. As you might expect, the guy working there surrounded us like a fly on shit, making sure he could assist us and maybe even seal the deal on some of his goods.

Calm down, already.

I saw him walk away and pass off his babysitting responsibilies to a woman colleague. She—a heavyset, flannel shirt-wearin', Chinese bull dyke—stood almost on top of me with her hands behind her back, adding non-requested commentary to our conversations (Does this method really work for you? I tend to doubt it).

It was annoying threefold:
1) No one invited her to our party
2) My sister and I don't exactly come off as criminals
3) The bull dyke could have stood another 3 feet back as to not smother me, and still manage to catch us in our stealing act, had stealing even been our intention.

It wasn't. We weren't planning to run off with a plastic rings treasure chest.

My sister and I didn't refrain from our terse commentary (that which narrates all of our adventures) due to present company. I asked Rachel if she liked a necklace I picked up or if she thought it looked cheap?

"Yeah, it looks like you got it here," she replied.

Nuff said. We were in a tent, after all.

I then pulled a ring out of its little velvet cubby, only to realize that it was huge.

I commented that, "This is for a guy's big toe."

That's when the Chinese bull dyke stepped in. She had obviously heard enough.

"Not all people are as fortunate as you. People come in all shapes and sizes. We have to make jewelery for everyone."

What I thought: Geez, you really told me, lady. I feel so bad for making such a heartless comment. You are so benevolent and I -- I am just a stuck up, self-centered American whose knowledge is limited only to my tight knit, group of petite cronies. The rest of my day will be spent in guilt, while your day will no doubt be spent basking in the glory that results from having enlightened such a simpleton being, such am I.

What I said: "Yes," I replied. "And you've made sure to make a ring for a guy's big toe. So, what's the problem?"

What I should have said: Refer to "What I thought."

At that point, I stopped looking at her jewelry. There was no reason for me to buy anything from her. Hell, we were surrounded by about 20 other tents having exactly the same sweat factory-produced goods. That simple economic detail in mind, she should have backed off and agreed with me that, yes, the ring could fit on a big man's toe... because it could. Instead of sharing hatred, we could have shared a cup of tea; perhaps a little chuckle. This seems the more appropriate response seeing as how the comment was for the sake of jest and our own entertainment, not for her offense nor listening pleasure. Furthermore, if she wouldn't have been right on top of me—employing a stance that assumed guilt despite the existance of a crime—our dear bull dyke here wouldn't have even been privy to a comment that was never intended for her listening pleasure.

Despite the content though, I do have to give her credit for talkin' her trash in English. The previous offenders did all their trash-talkin' in Cantonese and Mandarin. Vietnamese? Maybe that too.

After giving it some thought, however, I don't think this woman knew a lick of Cantonese, Mandarin or Vietnamese. Unfortunately, her inclination to talk trash in English was simply by default.

'Chinese Women Talk a lot of Trash' is a continuous series. To catch up on your reading, venture here.

New Reader Bio: #2 in a series of (hopefully) many

Contrary to popular belief, this is not your typical self-centered blog. No, no, no - I'm building a community here. It is a family-oriented, self-helping, positive energy-filled ... umm, cult.

The next person in contention to drink the punch will be:


Name: Thomas S. Westberg
Born: Year of the monkey
Sign: Libra
Hair: Thinning gracefully (yeah right)
Eyes: Bloodshot
City/State of Residence: Purgatory
Occupation: Burnout... no, Producer/Songwriter
Skills: Tracking people down, cooking
Vices: Alcohol, expensive things, gambling, reading
Collects: Pornography, animal hides (no relation between the two)

Remember to say hi to him when you trip over him, his 6 wives, and his 46 kids on your way to the communal bathroom at night. He's a congenial lad, for sure.

Stay tuned: Another episode of Chinese Women Talk a lot of Trash is coming soon to a neighborhood near you!

Shameless Self-Promotion: Who? Me? Never.

I'm a simple woman with simple needs. It doesn't really take too much to please me. Just say nice things about me and I'm a happy camper. Hell, it saves me the time I would have wasted doing it myself.

A new reader (whose Bio I will post later in the day) mentions dear GiGi while pontificating upon a current fashion trend that he would prefer dead.

So, without further ado:

Sausage is what you get

[Click on the title above to visit his blog]

Since I'm obviously busy doing other things (being multi-talented is a pain in the ass I tell you), let me point you in the direction of another great(er) blog:

regurgitatedlife.blogspot.com tells it like it is. Hostess GiGi's got some mean writing chops, she can kick ass when needed, but also take it like the bitch she is.

In other news... I'm still waiting for the "boots on the outside"-phenomenon to die and go away. While it doesn't affect me directly, I wonder if these girl know that it requires 1. a great ass, 2. a suitable pair of jeans, and 3. a great ass, to pull it off without looking like a sausage.

People looking for grillz find me instead.

This person, however, was looking for fake, cheap grillz. Not the high end, blingified grillz D and I are wearing below.

Oh yeah, I sent the grillz picture to my friend who works for Nelly's clothing company, Applebottoms. She forwarded it to everyone in her office except Nelly. I guess she doesn't have confidence in my ability to star in a rap video, but I won't let her opinion spoil my dreams.* Hopefully someone in her office will notice my blatant potential and pass it to the right person. Sigh. So close, yet still so very far.

That's all. Thought I'd share.

Visitor Detail Visitor \ 71.255.178.90 Date Cable/DSL Verizon Internet Services Continent North America Country United States 640x480 State / Region Massachusetts 32 Bit (16.7M) City Boston Enabled

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*I don't want to be in a rap video.

"My New Line" gets a rave review. In Related News: I'm tired and drunk.

A fan with refined taste and a craving for the finer things in life, writes in regarding my new line.

Now, I know I'm being really lazy, and perhaps even a bit greedy, for just posting his letter instead of telling everybody about Jewtopia, the hysterical and stereotype-infested off-Broadway play that D and I went to see last night (Yes, I firmly embrace stereotypes as a source of humor). But, the letter is a good one and let's just say D and I over-indulged last night. I despise going out on school nights, but like I tell D, I have to be heavily drugged to put up with him, so, well, yeah... I'm pretty not sober right now.

On that note, here's the letter:

GiGi,

I don't know if you've seen Ray (the movie), but there's this scene where two of the chicks in the band trade pleasantries:

Ray Charles: From now on we're gonna sing a four part harmony. Ethel, I want you to sing alto. Margie, I want you to sing tenor. Pat, soprano, and Mary Ann, bass.

Mary Ann Fisher: I ain't no bass. I'm a soprano.

Margie Hendricks: I'll sing bass. Where we come from we can sing anything.

Mary Ann Fisher: We talking about singing, sugar, not hog calling.

Fathead Newman: Oh that's cold.

I don't know, I guess you actually have to be watching the movie, and maybe do some time in the ghetto (which I did), to fall off your chair laughing at the execution of that last line. Today's blog entry produced a similar reaction.

"Do you want me to strap on some balls and be the man in this relationship? Because I will."

Brilliant. Hilarious. And, fuck, that's cold.

Sincerely,
real342 AKA bufflo AKA the name in the From: field

My New Line

Okay, I'm telling you my new line for when you're man is misbehaving like D was the other day.

I should mention that D and I get along great and don't usually argue. Also, I'm not self-righteous enough to use this line regularly, but on occasion, a man is entitled to a proper status report.

Now that the disclaimers are out of the way, here's a brief background clip.

I mentioned before that D is the friend of a guy I dated 4 years ago. Well, we haven't told my ex yet and the other day I was thinking that, hell, maybe we should go ahead and take care of that. D didn't want to though because he's the one who will have to handle damage control. Both he and my ex live in Chicago and my ex is not at all understanding about these things. He's extremely conservative, etc... Plus, D is friends with all of my ex's brothers, who are similarly stubborn and hardheaded. They are a different kind of people, to say the least.

Well, when the subject came up, I was PMS'n, which I do very well, and I refused to drop the topic. D argued that he didn't want to say anything yet because of the above. We went back and forth--me bitching because it won't make it any better if we wait a year. D bitching because he's the one who's going to have to deal with it.

Then came the line:

"Do you want me to strap on some balls and be the man in this relationship? Because I will."

D was furious. I thought I'd kick him while he was down and throw in a little: "You act so macho, but you can't even take care of this. Literally, where are my strap-on balls?"

I calmed down after this, because really, I'm not ready to lose my ex's friendship. I actually even feel bad about this situation - not because it's necessarily wrong, but because it would hurt him.

But, all of that is gushy and besides the point. The point is this: Every time D opens up his mouth and spews out the wrong comment, I just ask him where my balls are. He shuts up pretty quick. I really suggest you try it out, or, if you're a guy, don't provoke its removal from the arsenal.

D and I got grillz

Okay, not really, but isn't this funny? I went through the whole online grillz catalogue to pick out these babies. I wanted the most bling possible so that my mouf would be sparklin'. I told D that I know all them hoes is going to try and creep up on his ass, but he's gotz to be loyal to his shorty. (I am so not ghetto, it hurts)

D comes into town in two hours, so I'm all flustered. I have a new line I'm going to share with everybody tomorrow. It's really an effective way to piss the boys off. It was with great chagrin that I discovered it, so come back soon, ya hear?

Chinese women talk a lot of trash

Episode #1

My dad and I were in China Town walking around. Dad needed a little water so we stopped into a random grocery shop.

"How much for a water?" asks my dad.

"5 dolla," answers the lady.

Now, obviously my dad knows this is overpriced, but he's dying of thirst so he pulls out the cash.

As he does so, the ladies begin speaking to one another in Cantonese, straight-faced and monotone -- as is oft the case when they're talking trash. Of course they wouldn't expect that my dad -- light-haired and fair skinned -- speaks fluent Cantonese.

So, when he hears one of them say: "This stupid American is actually going to give me $5 for a bottle of water," he responds in Cantonese, "How much do you usually charge?"

They laugh in embarrassment and give him the water bottle for free.

Episode #2

Yesterday I went to get my eyebrows waxed. While I was there, I decided to get a pedicure. I was sitting right next to someone else who was getting a pedicure so our two ladies were speaking to one another throughout in some Chinese dialect. If what my lady said to me was in any way a reflection of their conversation, I imagine their conversation broached the following topics:

Try to upsell her. She's a dumb, rich American.

[Upselling then ensued. I fell for it, opting for the "mosturizing pomegranate" pedicure, which was no more than some salty stuff slabbed on my legs and rubbed around. In my defense, the girl next to me had a much better lady who was massaging every little individual toe. That's what I thought I was getting sold on.]

Ha! She fell for that. Now offer her the 10-minute massage.

[Offering of the 10-minute massage took place. I declined. The girl next to me fell for it]

Your girl has hairy ass legs.

[I really do. I told D that I can tell how long he's been away by the length of hair on my legs. He thought I was kidding. I wasn't. Anyway, I told the lady I was going to go home to shave before the pedicure and she insisted I stay now. She wanted to lock this deal down, baby! Big bucks!]

Offer her the 10-minute massage again. This time employ the sullen puppy-dog look.

[Again I declined. Chinese puppy dogs aren't my cup-o-tea. Plus, if my "leg massage" was any indication of what the 10-minute massage was like, I was out.]

These ladies were of a very non-discreet breed. I have to give some credit to my dad's ladies. If he didn't speak Cantonese, we would have had no idea they were talkin' shit. As for mine, they were basically pointing at my legs, laughing, and talking shit. Very subtle, ladies. I'm sure I'll be back.

Premature Conclusion

Stuff like this makes me kind of wonder about those Chinese symbols people get tattooed on their backs. I imagine that they don't really say "Tranquility," "Strength," or "Independent." Probably something more along the lines of "This dumb American thinks this symbol means 'Tranquility,' 'Strength,' or 'Independent.'"

Chinese Women Talk A Lot of Trash