Geisha School Dropout

Now We are Six (plus 25)

So today is my birthday!  To celebrate, Tim and I are going out to grab some Ethiopian food tonight.  That's it!  And I'm very happy.

I guess this quiet haze of contentment stems from the fact that I finally kept a promise to myself: I started working out a couple weeks ago.  The first couple workouts were fine, the third left me curled up on the floor, dry-heaving and almost soiling myself, and the fourth was almost...enjoyable?  Dare I say that out loud? 

For someone who is as sweat-averse as I am, making it even this far is a huge milestone.  I meet with my trainer on Mondays and Wednesdays, and she, the former ballet dancer, has re-introduced me to parts of my body that haven't received any attention in years.  Ow!  Hello, abdominal muscles!  Oof!  Nice to see you again, triceps, what's shakin'?  But apparently, the pain is a good thing.  Healthy people have such fucked up moral codes, don't they?

I don't have any specific weight loss goals in mind, I'm mostly doing it to feel healthier and have more energy.  And so far, the only progress I see is that I can do a few more crunches before I pass out.  But I'll be sure to post a picture of my 6-pack next month.  LOL!

Here is this year's music dedication to myself.  The bastards disabled embedding: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=veN2gyCEj8s

I Wasn't a Poet, and Didn't Know It

 

I was cleaning out some files over the weekend and found an old journal chronicling September-October 2001.  I was living in my parents' house, recuperating from my latest clash with psychotic depression (sounds scarier than it actually was, basically depression + paranoia).  I was apparently *so* psychotic, I wrote horrible songs with lyrics that make my eyeballs bleed.  So of course I had to share!  Check it out:

Sail Away

You say you'll reach the stars when you don't even get out of bed
Watch the world spin by you as you live through the dreams inside your head
What are all those sounds outside your window?
What are all those sounds outside your window?
You'll never know, you'll never know

You sail away, hide from yourself
You sail away, you sail away
From it all

I see you, you look so cool, your skin is oh so crystal clean
Now disinfect yourself, don't touch your face, you don't know where it's been
What makes your black eyes seem so hollow?
What makes your black eyes seem so hollow?
They're like open graves, like open graves

I don't know whether to slap you or to hide you
All I know is I hope I won't be like you

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Untitled

As I lay on the ground
The sky looks so astounding
If I just take a step
From the cliff that I've made
Close my eyes, take a breath
Blow a kiss at the moon
I might look and see
What's up there for me

I write all these words
So one day you'll find them
And then when you read them
Throw your head back and laugh
Then reach back, hold your head
Hold your head and weep for me
And you'll be just fine
You'll be just fine

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Do any you guys have similar records of when you were young and thought you were deep?  *head hanging in shame*

Rock of Ages

It's no secret that I worship at the altar of The Rock.  No, not that former-wrestler-turned-Disney-star guy (although I do admit he is one delicious morsel), but good old-fashioned rock 'n roll.  And if you asked me who the rockingest band of all time is, I would undoubtedly scream, "DEF LEPPARD, BABY!!!!"

Dude.  Dude.  Don't even argue with me on this one.  Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, Guns N Roses?  They're all a bunch of flamboyant, makeup-wearing, retired theatre nerds, more into their costumes than their musicianship.  Def Leppard is straight-up testosterone-filled, no bullshit, bash-your-head-in-with-a-pipe-they-welded-themselves Brits.  No contest, sorry Ozzy.  Not only does Joe Elliot have the ultimate metal voice and amazing range, but all the other band members are great singers and musicians in their own right!  And hello, what other drummer rocks the kit with one arm and a pair of the fastest-moving feet in the business?  They did their homework and created a sound that seamlessly combined bluesy rock like Zeppelin with glam-twinged stadium rock like Queen. Duuuuude, trust me on this one, there's no one that comes close!

Exhibit A, one of the best tributes to Rock 'n Roll ever written:

Exhibit B, one of the best tributes to blow jobs ever written:

I can go on, but by now you guys are probably too overwhelmed by the awesomeness. :P Anyway, Tim and I got to see them last weekend at Verizon Amphitheatre, and holy Moses, it was a religious experience.  It was the first time for both of us, and we were both screaming and throwing up devil's horns and dancing in ways that were probably illegal in Irvine.  The members of Def Leppard might be almost as old as my mom, but they can still WAIL, man!  I now have a vision of the 50-year-old I want to be.  I want to be the 50-year-old that fucking SHREDS.

Big Girl, Hot Pants

I've never understood why clothing advertisers always put the skinniest girls on the planet in their clothes and expect normal people to make a buying decision from that.  How would a size 14 girl know what the clothes looked like on her when they're always displayed on bodies that would look thin and tall in ANYTHING because, well, they're thin and tall?  And I'm not even talking about the self-images of all the girls and women out there subjected to this nonsense (although I definitely have shit to say about that); I'm saying clothing manufacturers probably miss out on a lot of business because normal-sized and bigger-sized women just don't bother shopping in places that apparently only cut their garments for supermodels.

So the other day, a few friends were joking about wearing a particular pair of American Apparel hot pants to our upcoming mama reunion, and although I was joking along with them, my heart sank a little since I assumed I wouldn't be able to get a pair that fit my hefty ass.  I went to their website to see what the shorts looked like so I could possibly replicate them via a plus size store, and lo and behold, they had them in XL.  Now I knew the letters "XL" don't really mean much, since one man's XL could be another man's M, so I looked at their size chart and saw that it was supposed to fit a 33-35 inch waist.  I'm bigger than that, but I figured, the waistband was elastic, why not give it a try?

So today I got my package in the mail, slapped the shorts on, and lo and behold, they fit.  They're super-tight and indecent, but hey, they looked just as scandalous on the size 0 girl.  They're hot pants, that's their job.  And goddammit, I'm going to spread the word! 

Here is my own personal American Apparel advertisement, as porntastic as their usual ads, but bigger.  Much, much bigger.

 

I know there are a few people who will look at this and lose their lunch over my big ol' thighs, but I think most people won't care that much.  And maybe a few more people will find it a relief to look at some big ol' thighs in the sea of chicken legs.  I don't care how the numbers break down really, because the one man I wanted to impress liked them a hell of a lot.  And Tim loved them too.  (What, y'all don't dress skanky for the UPS guy?)

My First White Hairs

You're probably wondering what the hell you're supposed to be looking at right now, but I'm too excited to wait for a better camera to come my way. I've avoided the whitening of my hair thus far, after my first year of teaching, after the births of my first and second children, after the Bush Administration and all the other events people warned me about. But here they are! My first white hairs. Oddly, they are not on my head, but they stand erect out of my arm like rogue warriors. But I'll take what I can get. I haven't been this excited about my body since I sprouted breasts!

Look Mom! I'm a Kimchi Mama!

I am strutting like a cock on top of a henhouse!  Here is my introductory post on Kimchi Mamas.  I'm so excited to join this group of moms, and be sure to commend them for making an excellent choice in the comments. 

Just kidding...I think everyone is a little nervous about having such a loose cannon on the blogroll, so I'll be on my best behavior there.  :P

Things have been pretty quiet around here.  The Riley mourning comes and goes in waves, but I can already feel myself getting better overall.  Here's some pictures of the kiddos to thank you all for being so supportive and loving.

I Hate to Brag, But...

I am just overwhelmed and truly honored, I had to share.

http://news.cnnbcvideo.com/index.html?first=Julie&last=Kang&mr=1&nid=Y3jU9SsiYMczvdypOjLXODEwODEzNzY-

Sit Tight

I just got some bad news: an old friend has died.  Our relationship was a complicated one, so this is hitting me in a weird place.  I might be gone for a few days.

To bide the time, you can stare at this for 10 minutes a day.  It really does look like me!

(Taken from Horkblog)

I've Been Pwned

Lately Tim has been getting really agitated by my speaking style.  I am the Cerberus who guards the gates of Intelligible Discourse:

One head only says "Like".

The next, "You know".

The last head says other words, but it upspeaks.  That's referring to my way of speaking?  Like I was asking a question?  Even when I'm actually teaching you something?

All three combined make me sound like you should not take anything I say seriously?  Because, like, you know, I talk like I'm pre-menarche?  As in, like, not what a 30-year-old Mom should, like, say? 

I'm working on it, but it is harder than quitting cigarettes, carbs, and sex all at the same time.  Getting rid of all my verbal crutches is especially impossible when I'm nervous in any way, because then I just talk faster and change my mind mid-sentence and pretty soon my audience has no fucking clue what I'm trying to say at all.  Poor Tim, I can't just email him what I really mean.

Anyway, here's poet Taylor Mali totally putting me in my place:

A Few of my Favorite Things

Despite Little Miss Emimoo desperately trying to ruin my nights and dampen my good spirits through flying food and supersonic screechiness, a blood-filled tumor causing my middle finger to swell up and blush in various shades of purple, and a slew of other responsibilities competing for control of my sanity, I shall now share with you a few reasons why I am still relatively happy and giddy.

1. March Madness and the WBC

A little unknown fact about me: I love college basketball.  I especially love The Big Dance every March, and I participate in an NCAA men's basketball tournament bracket pool every year.  And every year I lose really badly.  But this year will be different!  I really feel like I have it in the bag this time.  Click through to see it full-size and please ignore all the red already:

From Bracket 2009

If your bracket does not look like mine, then you are going to lose.  To ME.

And to put the icing on the professional sports spectator cake, part of this year's World Baseball Classic is being held in southern California!  Last night I got to watch Korea vs. Japan at my parents' house.  Let's just say that I was screaming and throwing dried squid at a Sony television when a Japanese pitcher hurled a fastball into the brain stem of one of our players.  Then I got mad at my parents for buying a Sony instead of a Samsung.  I get really, really, REALLY jingoistic when it comes to Korea vs. Japan on anything, and to a lesser extent, Korea vs. USA.  I trash-talk and spew racist epithets like the Occupation and the Korean War are simultaneously still happening.  Take it from my poor husband, who unfortunately is both Japanese and American, whose face gets all scratched up during World Cup, WBC, and Olympic years.

DAE HAN MIN GUK MAN SAE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2. Fruit Punch

I have recently rediscovered this magical elixir.  Now they have all-juice varieties which aren't nearly as sketchy as the powdered Red Drink of my youth.  But let's face it, all-natural crack is still crack.  Lots of last-minute shit on your plate and you feel like you're going to cry, explode, or beat a bitch?  Go to the fridge and take a hit.  Instant sunshine and happiness.  Don't give it to your kids, though, I think the shit causes cancer.

3. Unbelievably cute baby shoes, I HAZ DEM

If Emily is going to be a bratty 2-year-old, might as well have the shoes to match, right?

4. Spring Blossoms

All around the city, stone fruit trees are beginning to blossom.  From the bright magenta of the peach trees to the whisper pink of the almond trees, petals are bursting from lifeless branches.  Mother Nature absolutely pwns any human technology every spring.  I can barely suppress my urges to burst out in song, like "SAKURA! SAKURA!  YAYOI NO SORA WAAAAAAA!" but then I remember that I hate Japan right now.

5. Vicodin in Bed

Mommy's Little Helpers.  The best thing about having a pyogenic granuloma on your finger is that it hurts so bad, doctors give you Vicodin.  I don't go to sleep anymore without popping one.  And it makes the nighttime Emily care so much more manageable.  She wakes up about 4 times a night complaining about too much blanket, not enough blanket, too much snuggling, not enough snuggling, too much fluff in the pillow, you get the picture.  I used to get mad, now I smile like the Virgen de Guadalupe and can honestly tell her she's such a good, beautiful, flower of a girl and Mama loves her, even as she kicks me in the face.  Ah, the precious little moments of motherhood!