/me hits "Repeat" through tears

Have you heard Sam Smith's rendition of Whitney Houston's "How Will I Know?" I swear, this man could sing a grocery list and make it into platinum poetry.

His voice is the audible version of the kind of love I want someone to have for me. Does that make sense? It's so pure and strong and sharp...and real.

But that doesn't exist anymore. The last of those men are our ancestors. Replaced by men watching booty-bouncing videos or looking to fill their Asian chick quota or quick to anger or fleeing on a whim or deciding if you're hot enough to hold the door open for.

Okay I generally keep that stuff to myself but #bittermuch & I've been vomiting since last night, so cut me some slack.

The ol' "Shifty Eye"

So I'm sitting in the corner of a hotel lobby kneading my sunburn and cursing myself for not using sunscreen earlier today. And for being hopeful that swimming while on your period would be like manna to sharks.

Sigh.

Sitting in the corner of any given crowded room gives you an awesome vantage point.  

"All inclusive" = Free booze and food
wherever you turn.

Case in point: I'm watching this married couple waiting in line to check in to the hotel.  She looks tough. They're like that middle aged WASPy American couple. He works 80 hours a week and tells his wife he's golfing when he's actually cheating on her. She complains about life and cooks meatloaf on Thursdays.

Yeah, that couple.

A slim/blonde/attractive (take your pick...they're all the same, right? #bittermuch) woman walks by.  My eyes dart back to the couple because I'm nosy and I want to read both the husband's and wife's reactions to this ostentatious disruption of reality.   

The wife is busy checking her purse for something, so she's missing all of the action.  The husband, however, is immediately aware that a hottie is in his field of vision. He does a quick glance, and we know what's going to happen next.  He's going to find some way to look again and take in her entire body, then he's going to store all that data...the size of her boobs, the shape of her butt, what she probably looks like naked...and quickly return to whatever he was pretending to do.  But it'll be sooo smooth and quick. 

I love this part. I call this highly-evolved, stylized cognizant method of ogling "The Shifty Eye". It should have it's own theme music, really.

Okay.  It's about to go down. As I'm texting this, he's already turned away from his wife to "check his texts". Now, let's observe how smoothly he pulls the Shifty Eye...

This is awesome. It's like watching a NatGeo promo with the driving background drum beat and the way-too-serious voiceover guy...

Okay, he's "texting"...and "texting"...aaaaaand 

BAM! He pulled it off without a hitch, ladies and gentlemen! He just glanced up very directly at the hottie, practically mentally undressed her, stamped the image and stored it in the appropriate folder in his brain and returned to "texting"...all within like 5 seconds.

I seriously want to put down my phone and write "10" on my napkin and hold it up for him, but I don't want to call him out and disrupt his natural habitat. I wish I'd recorded it.  It's a thing of beauty, really.

Seriously. Men are amazing creatures. Whenever a man pulls the Shifty Eye, it's like watching the marine biologist guys try to catch a whale on camera. You know they're going to surface at some point. But to watch it in action is awesome.

They think they're so slick and shady and entitled. But really, this is proof that they're only as slick as the length of rope their wives give them. In watching the wife, she's busy getting their papers or credit cards or whatever's in her ridiculous giant purse, so she isn't minding the environment. The woman is completely unaware that a private fiasco just went down in his pants. 

Heh..."went down".

Men are great social chameleons. They'll be whatever you want them to be, as long as the room's colors don't change too quickly and give them away. 

People watching at it's finest. Cheers!

Warmth + XXL + Day to Nite

So this male coworker.

He gives me this really warm greeting when we pass. He greets me like I rescued his mother from a burning building. His whole demeanor changes,  By the time we've passed each other, it feels like he just gave me a big hug. 

No, it isn't the flirty look. The "I'm imagining you naked" look guys do when they see a random woman under the age of 50.

Nope, this is more like the look your grandmother gave you when you graduated from high school. It's hard to describe, but it's definitely a "Hello, Mia...I'm so glad for what you've done for me" greeting.

I only realized it this week. But he's been doing it for a while. I watched him discreetly today in the lunchroom. He mostly only greeted the people in his department, but from what I could see, they were just greetings. Like normal people. I cut through the tables to greet him on my way to put up my tray, and he actually put his fork down and again greeted me like I'm a long lost family member, and like he was just wasting time eating until he could greet me.

So I'm trying to think back to something we could have both been involved in. Maybe a community outreach thing. Or maybe I let him jump in front of me on the freeway.  Idk. But it's driving me crazy. It's kind of uncomfortable to get a "thank you so much for waking up this morning and gracing me with your presence" greeting from a guy I don't remember doing anything for.

Idk. I'm dying to ask him what's up, but I'm afraid of the answer. It'll either be, "Well, you saved me my life...don't you remember?", or "Um...what look? Are you crazy? Psycho."

Headed to see Magic Mike XXL with the ladies. I'll see all you ladies there lol

Hey, here's how to go from "worker bee" to "night owl" in 5 minutes:

1. Replace suit jacket with cropped bolero or clingy jacket.
2. Remove pantyhose.
3. Replace work pumps with T-strap peep toes.
4. Unwind twisted hair bun and scrunch until hair is really foofy.

Also, worst butt dial ever.

/me facepalms

Chinese Americans trying to talk ghetto.

Really?

You know y'all needs to stop.

You're Chinese.

/me shrugs

Deal with it.








#thug4life
#poppincaps
#deeznuts
#actuallyfacepalmed

It's definitely this city.

Aimlessly wandered Bourbon Street in an attempt to try all the popular "take out" drinks and collect all the cool cups. A cute and funny and charming and quite persuasive Irishman wouldn't give me back my phone until I agreed to have breakfast with him. 

Thank goodness for filters.
*Courtyard
*Wacky bed decor
*Room service
*Ominous streets...my fave!
*Remnants of hand grenade/diner

It was circa "North by Northwest" charming. 

I'd had 2 hurricanes and a hand grenade (bestest drink ever!) at that point, so the teeny local diner on the next corner with all of 3 tables did just the trick.

He looks more Italianish than Irishish. Actually, he looks exactly like the actor in Age of Adeline (great movie, btw). He has that manly scruff and the super thick longish hair that looks like a silk sheet. It's sort of uncanny. 

I'm calling him O'Brian.

And he has the boyish nervousness of a guy who doesn't have something scripted to say to a woman. He was unsure how to take charge of the conversation. And his inquiries were hesitant. It's beyond refreshing. And I'll bet the technique has garnered him a gaggle of thots. 

Or maybe it's this city.

I'm not gonna lie. At 1am, there are lots of flirty guys around with alcohol-induced courage, armored with a variety of pick up lines.  I would think that a woman walking alone in New Orleans would mean that there's something wrong with her. But apparently, it only means she's been separated from the protection of her pride.

But O'Brien's kind of concentrated "I see beyond the fact that you have a vajayjay and you smell clean" focus and affected obsession works for me.

Or maybe it's this city.

He does have really nice lips.

And in the whole 4 hours, not one "I've dated (and/or love) Asian women" reference.  

However, he had no idea who Jean Luc Picard is.

Sigh. Some things just can't be taught.

Damned city. They let anyone in.

Side note: A dude wearing a Star Wars t-shirt told me to come over and touch his lightsaber. Probably his 20th attempt to be clever that night. I told him I'd like to borrow it so I could shove it up his ass and watch it light up.  His buddies were still teasing him by the end of the block. 

I am not a Stencil.

Random thoughts here that have nothing to do with the heavy load on my mind, but needed to go somewhere. Three things that are swimming around in my brain in that way my thoughts do. Right now, it "looks" like three widescreen movies spinning around in a circular motion.  The fan belt effect again.  So I gotta get them out, and then the loop will stop.

The loop in my head.
Perfect circle courtesy Starbuck's
amazing coffee cup.

I'm very casual about relationships in the way that I can never have too many friends. And I will do whatever it takes to make you happy.  But when a more personal relationship threatens to expose my heart, I end it. It's too intense. And if I shed my decorum, things could get ugly. Even I don't know what's under all this. And possibly might put the real me on full display. So I shy away. 

I'm a storefront display. 

If you find me in Second Life, don't be afraid to say "hello".  I'm not online chasing guys. I don't even flirt in SL. If I wanted attention, I'd go out somewhere. Actually put some effort into it. I'm not lazy, and I don't have canker sores.

Okay, no, I don't actually know what canker sores are, but they sound gross.

My point is that I don't have a problem actually leaving my home to meet people.  I don't use SL to hunt for emotionally-stunted men who feign alpha stances but can't even get their own shit together let alone help guide someone else's shit. Gone are the days of pining for closeted yellow fever freaks who pretend to see more in me than just the shape of my eyes or my pedigree against the overlay of a 1920s stereotype.

I'll be building. Or at a group discussion.  Or in a whole 'nother window with SL in the background. If it's late, possibly sleeping and forgetting my mic's open.  No, really.

Say 'hello'. I'm right there. And I have nothing to hide.

So in the amount of time it took me to write all that, I forgot the third thing. But hey, and I can think again now. Sweet.

Journaled for posterity.

More Californication. Chasing a cute guy up a hill.
And failing.

WORST PICK-UP LINE EVER:
Guy: "You ladies got all your gear?"
Me: "I'll gear you."
Guy:"..."
Bff:  "Seriously?"
Me: "Shut up."

One for the Sadists

More Californication.  I have so many pics and videos that I had to make room for more.

My gf and her daughter hung out on the pier in Venice Beach while I "surfed"...heh,

Okay, it wasn't really surfing.  I rented a surfboard from a surfer guy who looks like Matthew McConaughey on crack and lied to the instructor about my vast surfing experience.

Eh, for the record, I have none.

It's a 12 min long video, but ClipStitch only allows for 10 second clips.

Here's the complete summation of the humiliating occurrence:

Clip #1: Mia paddles out with a new friend and thinks, "Meh. I'll just wing it."

Clip #2: Upon sighting the 12th giant wave approaching, Mia pees herself - I actually peed myself! - and gets knocked over like a pin.  (Yes, that's me screaming with a mouth full of water. lol)

Clip #3:  Mia says, "Oh, HELL no" and books the hell back out of the water, sees random dude smirking at her abasement, and "surfs" the last 1 inch of water before the shoreline, looks back at dude like, "I'm awesome, right?", then falls off and loses her board.



Edit 04/23/15 - The bff says it was a whistle, but I still think it was me. I screamed that loud at that precise time. Also, men are arseholes. That is all.

The Double Standard is Alive & Well, cheers.

Third comment already. Wait...this just in. Make that the forth. 

Why is it that whenever I post a photo with a man, he must be my boyfriend? Why can't he just be someone I know?  What does it say about me that I can't stand next to a man? Am I a slut who can't control myself around the opposite sex? Do you think that I'm so sheltered that I fall for the first guy that pops up? What's wrong with you people? Or what's wrong with me for thinking that you'll assume that maybe I don't hiss at men when it's time for photo ops. And what does it say about you?

I figured that anyone who bothered to read the post would see the event decor and people behind us, connect the dots, and realize that it might be one of the ROSE Awards finalists. But that's the conundrum, isn't it? You have to actually read the post.

This is why I never post photos of me with men. And why I will never ever post a date photo. Or maybe any photo of me ever. Or maybe anything super important in my life. 

Interesting. I post photos of me with women all the time. Why don't you assume we're lesbian lovers?

You see where I'm going with this?

#overit

#sofrustrated

Meow

Sooo...who's the new guy? On some new show called "Rush" on USA.

 

Cute, but more "Downey Jr. hot" than "Clooney hot". Lanky, unassuming, super sexy. 

/me stretches awake and sniffs the air in the general direction of the TV.

#stalkingtheTV    #howYOUdoin    #agirlcandream

On my windshield.

 

 

 

Maybe from an IT guy (or girl). Because they're amazing at coding, but not as amazing at writing stuff.

 

 

 

 

 



Clarifications

1.  No, I didn't have a baby. That is my late friend's baby, taken just after birth last December. The photo was posted for the baby's grandmother. The "don't, just don't" caption was added for Kristyl, who, I knew, would start up again with the "you should have a baby" thing.

 

2. The "wars & women" was tongue-in-cheek. I thought that was obvious, but I suppose it could also read as a serious rant. I do believe that men aren't always the best leaders. I believe that, in many ways, a man is weaker than a woman. Particularly with regards to physical burden (ever watch a man get a paper cut?), faithfulness and perception. I do think it's unfair that we have to carry the weight of everything "organic".

 

As I typed that last sentence, I paused to chug down two more Midol tablets...in honor of this fine day...a holy day...my favorite time of the month.  Cramps Day.

 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to my bed to lay in the fetal position and cradle my stomach for the rest of the night.

 

That is all.

Once again, the girl gets it.

So, scientists plan to eliminate (the ancillary health risks from) mosquito bites by genetically removing the female mosquito from the whole damn process.

Robot gets a girlfriend.

Really?  That's where we are. Mosquitos are causing fiascos...hey, let's just get rid of the girl chromosome.   

I call "BS".  This is "Biblical Principles 101" all over again. How come we always get the blame?

God tells the woman, "Don't touch the damn fruit on the tree." Freaky (but empathetic) talking snake says, "God's just having a bad day. He's just playin'. Take all the damn fruit you want." 

 

So, God says, "Didn't I tell you to back up off my fruit?". God gets mad at the woman.

 

...who, let's just assume, didn't have a ton of experience dealing with shady snakes....

God doesn't get angry with the snake...well, not really...I mean...he got Hell and all, but...

God doesn't get angry with the man, who...actually, wait...where was Adam when all this went down, anyway?... Seriously... its not like he had an appointment for a job interview or anything. 

So typical.  Men cause the drama...but they're somehow magically "away" when you need back up...



Money?

 And God's logical solution...the logical solution...is to punish every woman ever to eternal pain and suffering and faux inferiority?

That doesn't make sense.

And so now, we're stuck with the competitive salary inequality and the sore boobs and the bleeding and the cramping and the chocolate and the random cry fests and the pushing of mutant vampiric creatures out of our bodies after they've sucked the life out of us leaving us with 18-year headaches and depression and stretch marks and husbands who are "busy job interviewing"...

And we have to like pink.  Regardless of our skin tone.

It's ridiculous.

Thanks a lot, Christians.  Nothing like insurmountable lifelong guilt.



Don't. Just...don't.

And then, wars.  Don't even get me started on wars.  Wars are escalated chest-thumping contests. "Mine is bigger than yours."  The world is overrun with leaders of the male persuasion.



If our nations were run by dames, there would be no war. Contrary to what you see on Love & Hip Hop Atlanta (interestingly, those fights are always over a man...and don't pretend you don't watch it), we ain't got time for that. We would be too busy fixing our predecessors' messes. Mending relationships with other nations. Being social. Hoping the other leaders will like us. Even if it's fake and we hate the other leaders' shoes... But never war. 

There would be no reason for social conflict. We wouldn't throw people into exile or persecute sects or proclaim genetic superiority. Well, not aloud, anyway. 

And if a leader accidentally pressed the red button,  the "offended" nation would benefit from an international trade surplus thanks to all the shiploads of flowers and cupcakes and Louboutins in apology.

About the 2k swim in Mass., I haven't quite made it beyond that 1k swim stretch. My body just doesn't seem to embrace that level of endurance. I klonk out 1 mile. By "klonk out", I mean that my arms and legs get too heavy to lift.
 

My late friend's mother knows someone who will race in my place. A guy, of course. He'll probably blast right through the finish line.  No transfers needed - I registered in her name.

I'm disappointed that I can't conquer all, but I'm excited that someone will still race in her name. And for a cure for cancer. I'm working on other ways to honor my promise.

Some friends and I acted as servers for an event where a four diamond restaurant provided two families in need with a fancy five-course dining experience.  I wanted to list the menu items here, but honestly, there was so much food, I can't remember everything...or which course they went with.  It was family style, so we brought giant plates of each item out, and helped the families sample each item.  Plus a birthday cake to celebrate one of the little girls' birthday. I saw the kids from both families talking to each other. I wonder if they'll connect again.

There were two banquet captains there to coach us and make sure we didn't break anything (me mostly). Left me pooped. 

 

 

 

Well, merde.



BTW, Canadians... "poo-TAWN"?
Just French fries and gravy.
Get over yourselves.

Canadians detect my Midwestern accent at the first syllable. Unlike Amurrkans, they hear a "distinctively eastern Asian twang" (not my words). 

 

Though, just now, I wonder how much of that is influenced by the visual, and the comparison to members of Toronto's huge Chinese population.

 

I certainly blend in here. To the "Asian is Asian" many, at least.  Makes me feel comfortable, but insignificant. Also reminds me of my ex's terminal case of Yellow Fever.

 

 

"Better Angels"

 

This is my most favorite, best episode of the entire series so far.

 

The "Shane vs Rick" alpha male showdown finally comes to a head. The "surprise" moment could've gone down a whole different way, but the storyline and the fans love Rick.  Truth be told, Shane would have been a much better leader.  He kept the group safe at all costs. I'll always be in the minority on that one.
 

From Shane's wiki page, "Shane better recognized the reality of the world after the zombie outbreak and was able to adapt to it in a more severe and arguably better way than other characters like Rick."

 

I miss Shane.



 

 

 

 

 

 

Names Do Hurt

The stripper guy from my birthday weekend. I ran into him today. Well, I didn't recognize him, I'm embarrassed to say. 

It's strange. He didn't remember why I fussed at him ...he wouldn't have remembered me at all. There were a hundred women there that night, and each one was way more excited to be there than I was.

But he remembered me because I called him "short stop". Or something similar.

And now I feel bad. Proof that names really do hurt.

And also, he's was like 5'4".
 

 

 

And on the other side of the coin...

...uh...

What just happened? 

Ow, my head.

C'mon, Wolverine. I thought we talked about this.

Does your Man have "Yellow Fever"?

Do you suspect your partner of having "Yellow Fever"? Does he "only date Asian chicks", and refer to us as "the hottest women in the world"? He may have Yellow Fever.

Here's how urbandictionary.com describes "yellow fever":  A term usually applied to white males who have a clear sexual preference for women of asian descent...

That's the nice version.  Here's my own definition:  Yellow fever is the act of some clown...typically an agendaless beta male who can't exert himself outside of the world of anime and jpop...who is solely attracted to women of a specific or random Asian ethnicity based on old skool stereotypes and self-perceived importance. His charismatic deception makes you think you're an individual to him, but you're really just a tiny, broken-English speaking, nail buffing, super quiet in bed baby-maker.

Below are the symptoms of Yellow Fever. Add the points up truthfully, and then check the score card at the bottom.

1. Does your boyfriend refer to you as "oriental"? Does he think you're a rug?

+/-   5 points

2. Does he refer to his penis as "Godzilla"?

+/-   5 points

 

3. Is he a Republican?

+/-   500 points

4. Does he like Star Wars?

+/-   20 points

5. Does he have an insatiable appetite for all things "oriental" (i.e., cultural studies, learning kanji, etc.), because he thinks it makes you-so-horny?

+/-   5 points

6. Does he get a woody at the thought of living amongst the huge Chinese population in Toronto?

+/-   5 points

7. Does he froth at the mouth at the thought of you dressing as Sailor Moon for Halloween?

+/-   5 Points

8. Is he a huge fan of "Transporter"-type movies (white guy saves sweet, innocent, subservient AF from the big bad men)?

+/-   5 Points

9. When you first met him, did he use any of the following phrases: "I love oriental women", "sucky sucky", "but your eyes aren't that squinty"?

+/-   5 Points


10. Did he date an AF before you, and then (while you were in the aftermath of a massive damn earthquake in Japan and frantically searching for your family members, and called him incessantly) avoided you for months, and then (when you came home and tried to reconnect, he'd already) traded up for a shiny new AF?

+/-  500,000 Points

So, how'd you do?

0 points: Does he have a single brother?

10 points: Eh, you're cool.

20 points: Aww, I wanna pinch his little cheeks.

30 points: Okay, wait...

500,000 points: Run. Run fast.


This post is for Iram, who dared me to write a Cosmo-style sex & romance quiz. This is a lighter take on Yellow Fever. For a more serious discussion, check out Mishfish13's blog post. Preach on, sistah.

http://mishfish13.com/dating-2/why-yellow-fever-is-not-ok/

Seriously, folks. It's okay to date anyone of any race. I've never dated an Asian man. Not that I've had 100 dates. But I don't actively seek out men of a specific race. Because doing so would mean I think something's wrong with all the others. And that's just dumb.

300: Rise, bitches.

300 sets of abs...oh, lawd!

 

So how hard was it, really, for the chick who plays Artemesia(sp?) in 300: Rise of an Empire (a.k.a., "A Sea of Abs") to accept that role?

 

"Um, yeah...so you'll have to stare at men's abs all day, you'll have to wear what appears to be the ancient Grecian version of badass Chanel gowns for the entire movie, you'll get to boss men around...oh, and you have to do the dirty with the hot leader guy with the beard that goes all the way around his neck...but you do get paid for it. And I guess you could keep the gowns if you want."

 

Really????

 

Seriously. They could've pay me in chocolate and [deleted...cannot believe my mother caught that].

Tried to sit on Kristyl's lap,
but her giant boobies were in the way.

#ijs  #kristylapproved  #jugs

et tu, Kmart?

VDay ridiculousness at Kmart, even.

Home of the blue light special.

Really?

Valentines Day, my dear people, is a cheesy fiasco of useless expenditures somehow morphed by the media and candy companies and jewelers and engravers with "love lasts forever" imprints in various cursive fonts into a misrepresentation of the value of love and passion.  

Well, here's a clue, folks. Love does not last forever.

It's a fake holiday. Stupid people use it to validate their fake love as real love.

Second Life partners use it. And cheating husbands. Basketball players. Canadians. Narcissists. Lonely housewives who watch too much daytime TV. 

Here's another clue. Real love is painful and sweet and naive and haughty and unconditional and warm and soul-piercing and uncomfortable and pure and heavy. It doesn't need a birthday. It's all-encompassing. And weighty enough to deserve respect and celebration every day.

I will personally continue my crusade against Vday politics.

I will knock over every box of chocolates from every desk I pass (after I've eaten all the good ones). And I will walk around with chocolate smeared all over my face and my suit jacket and swear that I don't know what happened to it.

I will personally set fire to every vase of roses that arrives through our security office, which is just next to my office.

Oh, I'll do it.

Of course, the dimensions of my crusade may skew a bit depending on the amount of good pieces of chocolate (not the gross ones) I discover along the way.

#bittermuch?

el Lunchero (that's Spanish)

British dealer guy always compliments my shoes. Every day. Even the same ones two days in a row. 

#thankgodforshoefetishes

 

 

Edit 01/08/14: Hey, listen. It's a close-up of a pat of rice that's on top of spinach lettuce, chickpeas, two tomato slices, a boiled egg, and a tuna steak on the side and garlic bread.  It's not a giant plate of rice! lol