My Booty Hurts

So I had a car accident. Sort of. 

I was putting some party groceries in my trunk and an SUV that was parked in front of my car backed into my car. The force of the hit rocked my car and knocked me a few feet back and onto my butt and hands. 

I guess that still qualifies as a car accident?

Long story short, the driver was genuinely sorry, she begged me let her call 911, it was Halloween and really dark and rainy, my Vulcan ears were glued on too tight, the back of my Uhura dress was soaked, she admitted that she didn't look behind her first because "there wasn't a car here when I pulled in". Between her and her boyfriend (who was in a Jason costume) fussing over me, and me shaking like a leaf, and what I guess was shock (I was incoherent and in a fog?) it was too much and I insisted that I was fine.

Until I got home. Whatever that bone is down at your butt...tail bone?...it kinda hurts. A lot. 

Per my mom's advice, I tapped tiger balm and lavender oil - the same stuff I used on my brother once after my father whipped him - to my back, My mom said I had no idea what I was doing and helped me start over from scratch.

Aaaand I forgot about my tattoo and my mom saw it.  

Dammit. 

It is literally a matter of moments before she tells my brother.

And so it begins.

#killmenow

Back to Bleh

I gained 3 pounds in New Orleans. I'm so pissed.

I don't understand. I did a ton of walking every day. I ate, but mostly light stuff and stuff I couldn't pronounce like "beignets". 

It has to be the alcohol. I was certainly very liberal with the, eh, libations. 

Can alcohol make you fat?

OMG. 

Kotoshi

At Greektown Casino with K-Dubs. I won like $72 at a quarter machine...SCORE! A guy at the table games taught me how to play poker. 

Well, not really. I'm still confused. 

Currently, I'm eating alligator voodoo and grilled snapper at Fishbone's (New Orleans-style food) thanks to a really nice guy with (apparently) way too many casino comps on his card. There is so much food on this table. KDubs damn near demolished the plate of oysters before I could snag one.

When I look at all our pics together...the ones in my phone and on my desk, even this one from the same time last year...

Wow...we're really getting old. We've both changed so much.

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.

50 Shades of Ow

Had a dream last night that I was staying in a hotel room with a little yellow tabby cat. And I couldn't find anything to feed him, or a plate for water. Then I dug a chunk of salmon out of the garbage for him.  That was all. Just random.

Phoebs swore a 3rd trip would relax me.
Remind me to punch her in the ovaries.

My spleen. It haz dropped out.

My jelly donut is all pushed up into my twinkie.

Pixl filter for iPhone.
www.detroityoga.com

I'm getting mad heat for the Iggy Azalea post. Like I told an untruth.  I'm sorry, but...she is white, yes? And she is from Australia, right? And she's pretending to be Da Brat, right?

Yeah. I was all wrong.  Look. Don't go all "stage mom" on me because I prefer the real thing. If you think Figgy is a real rapper, then you've probably never received a rude glance when you walked into a room full of people, or had to fight harder than someone of another race for a job, or had to drop to the floor to hide from gunshots every night.

Lucky. Must be nice to be you.

Want more? Bring it, bitches. I'll win every time.

1.19.15 Dailies

MONDAY

Today's a paid holiday for Amurrkan peeps. MLK Day, fools!

Been oot and aboot with Canadian bestie Shilah.

Why do Canadians like to wake up so early? I think its the free health care.

And their general refusal to answer the phone when their girlfriends call from overseas in the aftermath of a damn quake and are desperately trying to reach them to hear someone they actually recognize and speaks English but they don't answer because they're busy looking for their next victim...

Sigh.  Okay, I'm back.

Got a scientific formula for you: Ice skating + brunch + shopping = Broke/Tired

Floor length skirts make you look amazingly thin. BUT you can't wear a layer over it, like a jacket or belt. 

If you didn't know this, ladies, you're welcome.

If you did know but didn't tell me, I will murderize you.

FRIDAY

I checked out The Boy Next Door tonight with the bff. I didn't expect much, considering JLo's last big film was the horrible Enough, but The Boy Next Door was actually really good.  I don't know who the guy is that plays the guy next door, but he was effectively hot and menacing. He is a beautiful man. The sex scene was omg.  And the audience agreed. The best part about seeing new movies like this with an audience full of women is the constant cat calls. The second best part is that the few unfortunate men in the audience have to suffer through the women offering lude suggestions to the people on the screen. 

 

Right now, I'm sitting on a sofa away from the madness at V. I'll be honest. If we weren't in a sectioned off area, and I didn't promise to enjoy a glass this wine, I would've been outta here a long time ago.

 

 SATURDAY

:(

 

I punched a clown.

 

Standing in line with random groups
of strangers, pre-felony assault

In my defense, it happened inside a four story haunted house. The "world's largest haunted house", Erebus, to be exact.  And I had just been buried alive - they lock you alone in a small closet in total darkness and pour those plastic balls over your head until they fill up the closet and you can't move or breathe. And also, a giant spider grabbed me and I turned and ran smack-dab into a wall and possibly blacked out. And also I think I peed a little crawling through a shaky tunnel to get away from an axe murderer. Lastly in my defense, the clown literally jumped out from the corner I was just about to turn into. He was covered in blood and tried to attack me with a hatchet. I could feel his breath on my cheek. That was too close. And I thought he might be a red spider. So I punched him. And simultaneously screamed in his face, and then said something like, "Now fade to black on that, bitch."

I don't know what that means.  It just felt right.

Sigh. I may go to jail.

Listen. Fight or flight. It was either him or me. I saw him walk out of one of the emergency exits holding his nose. He'll be aiight.

 

#stayinclassy
#filteredtodeath
#erebus
#glitteronmyknuckles






 

On Book Covers

When I was 12, I wrote this story about a beautiful woman whose special powers were activated when she looked at you. Like Medusa, sort of. Every vampire in the world wanted to enslave her while they figured out how to steal her powers. Her powers caused all sorts of chaos in the vampire world. They fought constantly for ownership, sometimes killing each other's entire clans for the chance to kidnap the woman. They would almost kill her during the throes of their constant fighting, lock her up, hire special doctors to study her.  She hated her existence. Whenever she was close to death, some self-serving vampire would rescue her from it again. She would plead with the vampire to let her die, but the vampire would be so focused on using her powers to become the leader that he didn't notice how flawed and broken she was inside, or how her warped sense of self was turning her powers dark.

Some folks think the highest achievement we can hold is physical beauty. Not our own beauty - which is matchless and perfect - but our own beauty as it compares to the general standard of beauty.  Supermodels are defined by it. People spend their entire relationships performing grave disrespects to their partners because it's all covered under the "but he/she's hot" clause.  Superficially, a compliment about your appearance (for the sake of my rant, let's say the person isn't referring to your sense of style, or your sweet ass shoes.) is fantastic. It's a great resource as a quick attention whore fix.  And because it tends to be the thing by which we're most judged, we proudly take false ownership of it.

But  let's apply a little Spocktitude logic to this.

Our appearance is a genetic mash up of our folks'. That's why we're all beautiful. Our bodies are like giant fingerprints - all uniquely branded and made just for us from them.  Even among twins, our skin and lines and curves, or smile, our "beauty" - and in this way, we are all uniquely beautiful - are all thanks to them. 

When it comes to attraction, how you look shouldn't "make-or-break" matter. What should matter is what you do with your body. How you care for it. How you treat others. How you find ways to improve your life. How you appreciate the ingenuity of Star Trek. And all those things can't possibly be recognized by a stranger who tells you you're beautiful. 

I want...I wish people would dig deeper. I want to be acknowledged as a decent person. I want to own the composition of my parents' hearts: humility, poise, strength, curiosity, independence, integrity. 

 

I'm just realizing (as I type this) that my father may have had this in mind when he use to tell me,

 "If you didn't earn it, it isn't yours."

I always thought he was talking about my grades. He would stop the old Dodge in front of my high school and make me repeat it before getting out to head to class.  Hmm.

Diagram on personal identity measures
from "Promise of Potential"
(Jodi Davis)

 

As usual, I'm distracting myself from my own rant. I had this whole thing about guys and their loins here. But this is way too long already.

 

By the way, not just the girls. Guys, too. Charm and character replaces physical attractiveness any day in my opinion. Note my recent scent-marking on my own TV. I referred to the actor as "Downey Jr. sexy".

 

If Colin Farrell walked up to me, my nether region might light the sparklers and fire up the grill and bake a cake and blow up the balloons and call over the girls and throw confetti around, but I wouldn't introduce myself with, "You're hot." Although I have seen a great deal more of him in...um...other, more documentary-style films. Okay bad example all around.

 

Btw, the character in the story I mentioned earlier isn't a character representation of me. She was yoroppa hita. Blond hair, green eyes, tall. A representation of what I recognized as the western (and now, eastern) standard of beauty.

 

So, you think someone is physically attractive?  That's great. But who are they on the inside? Is he a good person? Is she a bitch?  Does he work hard? Is she nice to people? Do you care?

 

"Promise of Potential" author Jodi Davis defines "identity" as a collection of all things above and below our surface. Social classifications, preferences, gifts, talents. I've been working on a post about surface vs. hidden classifications for a while. But for the sake of this post, the key point is that we are the sum of our experiences and choices. I think that's a quote from somewhere.

 

Sigh. I keep changing my point. I started this post wanting to explain my perspective on the one thing...then it evolved into a whole other thing...now, my point is something completely different. It's really difficult to stay focused for this long because, although I'm typing 100 miles per minute, I'm a visual learner and my thoughts come to me in images which is why its difficult to explain things sometimes...also, the series finale of True Blood is on.  So far, not impressed. Out like a lamb, it seems.

 

My ramblings are getting longer. It's like some kind of senility.  Look. If you're reading this post, chances are you already know I'm a little bit strange.   No point in sugar coating it.  Seriously, could you imagine going anywhere with me? You'd have no idea what I was talking about the entire time.

 

My new point is this: Don't use physical appearance as the reason you decide to get to know someone or not. (That's the grandfather of "yellow fever", btw.) You might be ignoring a whole lot of really good people. And that wouldn't be fair to you or them.

 

Physical characteristics simply aren't the true barometer of a person's worth. In the end, I want to be remembered for beautifully carrying the best features of my parents' hearts.  Not their bodies.

 

 

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

 

Best Saturday nite ever.

Cupcakes, wine and SVU reruns. Yes. 

 

 

OverLorde

I'm over Lorde and her incessant lyrics about her general disdain for pomp & society when she's beautiful AND rich.

Shut up, already. Or stop making catchy songs about the ostentation, little Miss "socially observant".

#wishihatedit

#pleaseremovetherepeatbuttonfrommyipod

On being nice...

My good friend and coworker is unhappy with me because our waiter Chris, from our favorite spot, is super nice to me when we come in. 

She's "felt some type of way" about this for a while, but her snide comments in front of Chris today were close to embarrassing.

It's honestly a really stupid thing to be pissed about. She has lots of friends both at work and outside of work.

So Chris use to work at the carryout counter, but he was just promoted to waiter. Which is great.  Well, my coworker always dines in, but I usually do carry out.  So Chris and I have a more relaxed relationship.  He calls me by name, he brings extra pico when I order the quesadillas, he knows I like sugar on my glass rim instead of salt, and spends extra time at our table harassing me about stuff.

It's what people who take pride in their work do.  He understands that great customer service = happy customer = more money.

And I tip him double what she does. Which apparently makes her angrier.   But he hooks me up. 

Circular logic.

Now that I remember it, she also insisted that I let her give me a makeover, after a few people complimented my suit and hair (ouch! To Bobby pins).

She's acting odd.

Bitches be cray-cray.

I just passed an elderly customer with a thick white beard I wanted to brush standing in an aisle, staring off into space. My "guest needs help!" alert went off and I doubled back to ask if he was okay.

(My dumb co-workers share a running joke about me checking on every elderly customer I pass. There's even a stupid girly walk and and an arm-touch and a stupid phrase that go along with it. It goes, "Is everything okaaaay?" In a squeaky voice. It's really stupid. And I don't do that.)

So the older customer stared at me for a moment and focused, and said, "Yeah...I was just looking at that.".

My chance to practice a little customer service!

So I moved in closer and started pointing things out. "Well, that's the food court area.  See that big group eating there?" And the ATM machines are to the left, there. There's a Starbuck's, also. I can show you the way if you like?"

He looked at me like I'd sprouted a second head and said, "I was just looking. GEEZUS!"

lol

My mailman keeps writing notes on my mail. "Please salt your porch." "Please remove ice from your driveway."

Chinese guy.

I'm shoveling and salting and skating to clear a path for his lazy ass every morning. So I taped a laminated note to my mailbox: "Dear Mailman - My father was also a mailman for 20 years. But he never complained. I salt the porch after every storm. Don't like it?  Bring your own damn salt." I signed it in kanji.

Off to Toronto!  I like to harass my pilot or dare him to do something. Or her. Are there female pilots?

My same coworker is going with me. This should be interesting.

Out with the Old.

2013 was an interesting year. Exciting and bittersweet.

I transferred to a new position at work in 2013, which was a promotion and a raise. I think the executives trust me with morale-related tasks. Its a nice feeling.

 

I met a lot of great new people in 2013, simply by biting the bullet and striking up conversations with random strangers. I spent New Years Eve with two new friends who didn't know each other until I introduced them. So we're all new friends to each other.  I realize that (a) you seriously can't judge a book by it's cover, (b) you can trust a real friend with your darkest secrets, and (c) a real friend will see beyond the topical.

 

2013 also brought new perspectives on intimate relationships. Specifically, that I'll never find anyone like my father. Because men simply aren't made that way anymore.  They crumble with the weight of it.

 

I finally get that I'm not over being abandoned while overseas and dealing with my family during the quake.

 

I learned that acts of kindness aren't truly "selfless" unless you perform them without the intent of watching them play out.  You can give money to the homeless, or buy presents for families, but waiting for the homeless person's reaction, or throwing a big party for the families, watching them open their presents...I realize now that it's a sort of selfish need for gratitude. If you truly want to give, do it even when you won't be there for the "thank you".

 

My grandmother's death felt like a ton of bricks being dumped on my head. I'd become so close to her after she came to live with me after the quake. She became my priority in all things. She was my reason for waking up so early, for learning to shop for groceries on a budget, for reading nutritional value labels, for rushing home after work, for learning about proper medical care and prescription coverage, for treating doctors like medical students instead of gods, for finding honor in placing someone else's life before mine, for putting my job in its proper perspective.

 

I still can't stay in her room for longer than a moment or two. Around this time last year, she was doing something to make me laugh. I bought a metal filing cabinet to hold important things like photos, deeds, medical stuff, and anything of hers. It sits at the window in her room. I go in, file away the bills, and always (like an idiot) turn to face the bed, and run out crying, remembering that I could've done more.  There's always more.

 

I read over my resolutions from last year, and they read like pompous bullshit. I don't know what brand of crack I was on then, but it would take a village to accomplish those things. I'll never live up to those challenges.  At least, not in the span of 365 days. The things I want will take a lifetime to attain. 

 

So as I look out at the huge snowflakes falling on the side from the kitchen window of our big empty house, I recognize the humility of my regret, I appreciate and all my imperfections, I timidly consider my hopeful expectations for the new year, and acknowledge my everlasting need to be better.

Super-ego

Huge effort to stop deleting random rant posts.

Cover Hog

 

 

 

 

Birthday Shoes :)

My neighbor is the nicest lady. She use to care for my Obaa during the day while I worked. She keeps saying I should get back into running before work. She gave me some badass Nikes. Nikes are usually hard to size, but these actually perfect.  So I went for a run this morning.  Which was more like a swift walk/random stumble.  I'm old.

 

Gravity was amazing. Like, surprisingly amazing. Going by the trailer, I wasn't expecting much, even with my two favorite stars in it. My coworker Eric (who works in the Surveillance Dept. and isn't supposed to converse with anyone) kept stopping by all week demanding that I see it. Eric is super shy and not at all intimidating, so I knew it had to be something special.  And it didn't disappoint.  And I'm so happy that Sandra Bullock is finally starting to get the recognition she's deserved since Love Potion #9. 

Also, if I can pre-spend the karma points I rake up in this life, I'd like to special order Sandra Bullock's ass for the next one.  Please and thank you.