Reggie, not Bush, Tree

This is our Asian Money Tree, Reggie... We are hoping Reggie will hold up to his given name (Asian Money Tree) and start pumping out some cash flow.
We have had him for one week.

And we have already managed to kill half of him :(

Beside Reggie, we are growing grass (names not given yet) for Cowbell. The grass is not supposed to bring in any income, but we have high hopes.

Salt n Pepper

My first puppy was a white poodle named Dandy, but I renamed her "Salt" when we got a new dog named Pepper. I didnt tell anyone but her.

I wonder if she cared.

Relationships and Shoes

Have you ever noticed how much relationships are like shoes? I never really thought of the comparison either until today when playing “broken record” with a dear friend. (you know the broken record game: person questions break-up (again) and you just repeat what they already know (again) over and over and over, waiting for the day when they actually “get it” and pull the plug) We have all been there, but this time it dawned on me… Relationships are kinda like shoes, either they fit or they do not. If they do not fit you try desperately to “fix” them, you buy insoles and no slip padding, but no matter what you do they never fit just right and in most cases it’s nothing but a temporary fix, so you never know what day they will decide to start slipping again. In some cases you can take an almost perfect shoe and add just a little something to them and POOF, they fit perfectly! It’s kinda like magic if you ask me, and like magic, it’s rare.

In some cases this works for relationships, maybe the relationship just needs a little tweaking to get the fit just right. But take note, it takes two shoes to make a perfect pair.

Whatever the situation, the comparison of relationships and shoes fit together rather nicely (pun intended :). Timing can also be an issue, you can shove a tired pair of shoes in the back of the closet for years and then one day, somehow, you try the shoes on and they fit even better this time around… You have no idea why, but they just do. Sometimes a little break is all you need.

Out of all the shoes you own, I bet you only have one favorite “go-to” pair that fits just right, absolutely perfect (if you have more than 1 pair of perfect shoes, I hate you). Yeah sure, you have lots of shoes that “fit” but never as well as that ONE pair. Same goes for relationships, you may have many relationships or just a few relationships but only one of them will really fit you.

Working out a bad relationship is like shoe shopping. You walk into a store and they have this one fabulous pair of shoes that you just have to have. Everyone around tells you they look great and will "totally go with everything"! But they are one size too small, you try them on again and again in hopes that somehow someway they will just magically fit. No matter what though, they don’t. But you buy them anyway, in “hopes” that you’ll figure it out or that maybe your feet will shrink. You’ll do anything to make the shoes work. But all you do is just regret the purchase, and every time you open the closet door you are reminded of them, there they sit beautifully in idea but miserable in logic.


I hope everyone gets their perfect pair of shoes. And if you already have them, then make sure you take good care of them. Resole them if you have to, polish them, treat them well. Because I don’t know many things better than a perfect pair of shoes.

Back By Not So Popular Demand

Sorry I have been MIA for a few months! Something I realized when you leave a job that makes you want to take a tiny pick axe to your own eye balls for a job that you actually enjoy (as crazy town as this place can be) you tend to have a lot less to bitch about. Or at least less bitching to document, and let’s be honest, that’s all a blog really is, a place for you to bitch as creatively or as non-creatively as you wish. But for the sanity of my very patient boyfriend, I am going to use this blog as my "creative" bitching outlet once again (you can thank me later). Because, let’s face it, I am a woman and women have an infinite number of things to complain about. We are just wired that way, we can dissect a perfectly normal and calm situation and turn it into a chain of thought that ends with you running down the street crying, half naked, wet with Cheetos in your hair. (long story)

Oh yeah, I said boyfriend… Many of you already know, but for those of you that don’t, let me introduce to you Jamie V aka the bastard that signed us up with Time Warner.

The culprit:

Old People and Time Warner

Old people love McDonalds breakfast, and when I say love, I literally think it’s the only thing they are living for at that point. I watched a woman, let’s say she was about 160 years old, count out all her pennies to pay for her coffee yesterday morning. After the senior discount, McDonalds coffee really doesn’t amount to much, so the counting of the pennies part isn’t the bad part. It’s the time it took her to take each penny out of her purse, decide whether it was an actual penny or not and then move at whatever the opposite of the speed of sound is to get the penny to the counter (imagine this 95 pennies later). I really, really just wanted to pay for it myself and get it over with, but the last time I did that for an old person I got yelled at (live and learn). I did ask really loudly “DO YOU GUYS STILL STOP SERVING BREAKFAST AT 10:30!?” (mind you, it was 6:12am, but you never know and I don’t know what this ladies intentions were). Ok, this may have been a little harsh, but my time is valuable (as you may know, I have to leave my place, to go another place, to make money, to pay for the place I just left, so I can store my things at night, so people don’t steal them while I sleep) plus I get really cranky when I don’t eat; so my actions were pretty justified. I think.
Finally, after my immature (yet totally justifiable) temper tantrum, I got served… and then I got my breakfast. *(very few people will get that last statement, but if you did, please see attached form to claim your prize).

I was told yesterday by a wise and talkative man, that if you take care of your body you can live to be about 120... Ummm… No. Thank. You. At 28, I can barely remember where I parked my car, my back hurts and I have migraines, and I can’t drive (this could also be due to the fact that I am half Asian, but that’s not the point here). Anyways, what are you going to do different from 88 yrs old to 120 yrs old? Personally, I get bored easy, I am lucky if I make it through just a regular Wednesday, not alone thousands of Wednesday’s (I am no mathematician, but I am pretty sure thousands of Wednesdays equals 120 years, or so). Don’t get me wrong, I lead relatively exciting life, but you have to REALLY be able to entertain yourself if you are going to live that long, and to be honest, I don’t know if I am up to the challenge.

Also, I hate Time Warner.

And I bet old people hate Time Warner too.


*Prize Claim:

Balls of Fire

You know that unreachable burning ball of fire in the sky?

Well, apparently it is in charge of your entire life; from what I have experienced, studied and surveyed: we are going to keep this whole “time” thing around for a bit.

Speaking of time, I was “late” today (mind you, I got to work at 7:03am). It’s Friday and frankly, I’m effing exhausted. Every morning, including this morning, I am racing against time to get past traffic, traffic lights, bad drivers, and people who apparently get awards for maintaining a speed 10 under the speed limit... I say “late” with quotations because I feel like the term “late” is relative, I mean, who is to say what is and is not considered late. The sun I guess, ultimately that was our original source for time telling. Now, it’s your boss, your parents, the person you are meeting for lunch, the bank, your blind date; all these people have control over whether or not you are technically considered late for something. My boss is very particular about punctuality. Well, punctuality (which, I am surprisingly pretty good at) stresses me out. It really stresses me out, what if I am on my way to work and I suddenly have the urge to pee or order an Egg McMuffin? I am 28 yrs old and I am so concerned about all this abstract time talk that I have to put restrictions on my life choices (and dammit, I love me an Egg McMuffin in the morning). There is such a bad stigma with being late, I should consider suing people who spread the word of my tardiness for defamation of character.

Along the lines of my feelings towards being considered late are my feelings towards what is considered “early”. I think I get up very early, but then I get into work and I’m all like “Good morning, man it’s early!” and they reply “EARLY?! I’ve been up for hours! I’ve already had breakfast, ran 3 miles and took my kids to school!!” (I don’t know what school starts at 6am, but whatever). Then I’m all like “Ok, Mister Judgmental, wtf does that mean to me? Do I owe you an award or something? Because I already gave out 2 awards this morning to the people going 10 under the speed limit, so I'm fresh out of awards buddy! And just because you were up a few hours ago doesn’t mean that this is not MY early time... jerk” but I think that, I don’t say it.

Personally, I think I only obtain complete functionality between the hours of 10am and 2pm anyway. Before 10am I am tired, right in the middle I am hungry, and then right after I am busy regretting my lunch choices (see, if I would have been able to get that Egg McMuffin I wouldn’t have over indulged during my lunch). I should suggest to my boss that I only work those hours, but I don’t think it really works like that (no pun intended).

Anyways, It’s 8:40am on Friday, who knows if this post even makes sense, I know it can’t possibly be funny. My funny hours are between 7:00pm and 7:15pm on Wednesday’s and personally I think I peaked in my mid 20’s.

Either you are or you’re not.

Me vs. Craigslist

OK, maybe not me versus the actual site itself, but the creepy con-artist breeding community that lies in the background; preying on the innocent and feeding off of "Missed Connections" in hopes to be re-connected with “girl in red volkswagon who turned left that one day”. Craigslist has made me skeptical of everything internet. Don’t get me wrong, Craigslist has treated me well on more than one occasion. There was that one time in the summer of '05 when I wanted some extra "going out" money, so I sold my Family Guy DVD’s. Creepy buyer called me for 3 months straight asking me things that creepy people ask... I had to change my number. Well maybe that was a bad example of the good CL has brought me. Hmmm.. Well, there was also the time when my long distance boyfriend and I broke up so I sold my webcam, I bought it for $60 and sold it to creepy guy #2 for $75, I was pretty excited and the sale was totally worth the 100's of XXX rated emails I recieved from creepy guy #2 for the next year and a half.

Most people are repulsed by the graphic posts, such like “guy with 9inch penis who seeks place to put it”, but you know, I say kudos to you “guy with 9inch penis who seeks place to put it”!!! At least you are being honest! What I do not give kudos to is being sent to a fake interview where I show up and they put me in some weird room with 10 weird people, make me watch a 2 hour "company" video and then proceed to initiate me into their cult.. THAT’S what I do not like… At least if I would have responded to “guy with 9inch penis who seeks place to put it”, I would have known what I was getting into.

Now that I am no longer on the ultimate job hunt (Woo Hoo!), the ultimate apartment hunt has been occupying my time (*sigh* it's always something). Apartment hunting on Craigslist is just about as bad as the job hunting on Craigslist. Here are my main issues: First of all, NO PICTURES, really?!?! IT’S REAL ESTATE, show me some damn pictures so I don’t waste my gas driving to your shithole apartment that you claimed was “recently updated and really cozy”- IT’S A GARAGE WITH CARDBOARD OVER THE DOOR!! If you would have just said it was where you used to park your car, or HAD A PICTURE I would have known and I wouldn’t have spent the afternoon angry and out of gas. Second of all, when I put “$1500” as my desired price, do not try and trick me with “$1500” in the headline and then when I click on you it states “$1500 a week!!!!”- A) That’s not a steal and B) You don’t think I am going to notice that I am actually paying quadruple the amount of rent I intended?! I’ll just be all like “oh, you want more money- here rape my wallet, apparently I just throw money around" And last of all, do not tease me with “Downtown loft $489 a month!” and show me some awesome picture of a sky rise I would give my first born to live in (literally, I would have to give my up first born – have you seen how tiny those places are?). I know it’s not really $489 a month, you can’t rent a parking spot in CA for $489 a month. So what are you? Are you bored and just taking pictures of really nice lofts to trick people? If so, tricking them into what? (People kill over things like that, so you better watch yourself). OR are you really in collaboration with the Craigslist fake job postings and this is just another avenue for you to lure me into your cult?

Either way,

All I really want is a nice place to put my things at night so no one steals them when I sleep. So all I really ask community of Craigslist is this, Just be real.

Because either you are or you’re not.

btw: I google imaged "being tricked into a cult" and this is what I got. You're welcome:

Some Mush Mash... (eh shit, it happens:)

What is success to you? Success to me is being able to tell your grandchildren a really great story. Something moving, something real, and something passionate... Not just that you have sold 15,000 machines that can copy paper images onto other paper images, or that you've done every single thing that your boss has ever delegated to you; but that you have thought outside the box, leaped without knowing you'd land on something soft, and took a risk knowing that only the greater risks reaped the greatest rewards... "Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty well preserved body, but rather, to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, “WOW, What a ride!”

I hope we all get to wake up and do something pretty damn cool tomorrow.

Chickens and Eggs

I think my female doctor is worried that I may be running out of baby eggs... Which worries me that I may be running out of baby eggs. I mean, I definitely do not want babies right this minute (hell, I'm still trying to support our free-loading cat) but I would at least like the option of babies some day...

Maybe my dad really does have a point when he constantly is reminding me that I am no longer a "Spring Chicken" (I'm not even quite sure what that means, do spring chickens become undesirable after they reach a certain age?) I'm not sure, but he says that to me A LOT. Maybe I should freeze my baby eggs just in case something goes down, and the world decides they need my offspring for something world changing. Like curing stupid. But then that would piss me off because I would have had to live among idiots my whole life and I'd be like "Oh NOW people do shit that makes sense... Awesome."

Anyways, so I will keep this short because I have to go to the store and buy vitamins that will some how "preserve" my baby eggs or something like that, I kinda stopped listening to my doctor right after she got all judgmental on me.

Hmmm... I bet this is yet another conspiracy Target has to get me in there to buy a bunch of shit I don't need.

Or possibly folic acid sales are down.

OR... I bet she talked to my dad.

To the Bitch at Blockbuster

Ok, you aren't really a bitch. You are actually really sweet and very helpful at times. I assume though, that this is all a cover up, and really you have a conspiracy with the restaurant down the street that always screws up my "to go" order. Combined, the two of you use your powers of food and entertainment against my weaknesses of food and entertainment to see how many of my nights you can single handedly ruin. It's bad enough that I am spending yet another night behind the TV, and yeah, maybe I should get out of my PJ's to come visit your store. But let's be honest, Im at blockbuster for a reason... And it's not because I am feeling exceptionally motivated that day. Anyways...
To the Bitch at Blockbuster:
PLEASE STOP WITH THE MOVIE SPOILERS!! Seriously, wtf do you have against me and my love for facebook status induced movie choices! You are all Judgy McJudgerson every time I check out. I get social anxiety just walking into the store to pick out my movie of the night thanks to you...
You: Oooooooooh.... You are going to watch THAT movie tonight?
Me: Ummm.... Apparetly I am. I just over paid you for it.
You: Oooooooooh... Well, it's not that great, I mean, I watched it and it had really bad acting, buuuut maybe YOU will like it. Good luck!
Me to myself: [You are lucky I am too lazy to sign up for Netfix bitch]

This is not the first time your antics have spoiled my viewing pleasure. There was 500 Days of Summer where you told me the ending and Paper Heart where you told me the ending and Perfect Getaway where you also told me the ending... I HATE YOU.
I am going to get a job at your favorite restaurant and right after you eat your meal I'm going to be all like " Oooooooooh you ATE the glazed duck?? Why you hate animals so much?!" and you are going to be like "Who are you?" and I'm going to be all like "Don't worry I am here to help" and you are going to be like "Why are you sitting at my table?" and I'm going to be all like "Shit, you ate the goat cheese salad too? You know it causes premature hair loss!" and you are going to be like "Excuse me, my husband and I are trying to enjoy our dessert, PLEASE leave our table" and Im going to be all like "WELL ENJOY THE DESSERT BITCH, CAUSE I POISONED IT! NOW STOP RUINING MY MOVIE NIGHTS!" And then I am going to stab you with your fork so we're even.

Love..........Dad

I apologize to any readers that have not had the opportunity to meet my father. The only thing you really need to know about him for backstory is this: He is Malaysian, he has an accent, he is hilarious and he wears a Scottish kilt and bagpipes in a band. I will write a non-dad related blog later on. But for those of you that do know Larry, enjoy!

This all started when I was telling my sister about how I think our father may have accidently set his email signature as “Love...........Dad”. And maybe we should make sure that he hasn't been sending out his work emails ending in “Love.........Dad”.

A day later she got this:

[Please insert Malaysian accent]

Stephanie,
 
I mailed your stuff last night from UPS. They said it should be there in San Diego by Monday.
 
Here is the tracking number:1z291X9903
 
Love you..........Dad.

So, I wanted to see if his “.......” were consistent; and this is what I found:

Lorraine,
Here is your reservation.
Love.............Dad

The following emails are about me sending my dad out to find the Louie bag I want in Thailand. The trend of his emails continue... I think they are amazing. Also, he is yelling at me because I flooded his email with a dozen or so pictures of the EXACT bag I want... (I can’t help that I am a girl that knows exactly what she wants!) He apparently did not find the abundance of pictures humoring.

Lorraine,
I got it. Will try to find one.
Love...........Dad.

Lorraine,
I seen enough of the bag you want. Hope I can find it here. I am now in Changi Airport in Singapore. The time is now 2:00am My flight leave at 9:00am for Kuala Lumpur. I have over 9 hours layover. It's been a very long flight from Pittsburgh.
I love you.............Dad.

Lorraine,
Finally made it to Penang. Uncle Kenny and Aunt Kathy are here. Uncle George will be here by Thursday since he missed his flight on Saturday to fly here with me. Will keep you posted on your bag.
Love.............Dad.

Hey! Girls,

See if these are the purses you like. Please choose the one you like.
Lorraine, the guy said that he will have the bucket purse by tomorrow.
Let me know ASAP.

Love.............Dad.

Lorraine,

Aunt Kathy is here. She is the one who picked out the purses. She know the quality and she said it looked and feel very good. Do you wear watches? They have designer watches like Rolex, Omega, etc. They looked good. I have bought a few for myself yesterday at the market. So far, I have done nothing but eat, eat, and eat. Every night we have been invited out to dinner and eating all the delicious local foods. Your Aunt Kathy has been trying everything too. So far we have ben lucky, no stomach problem.

Will keep you posted.
Love.................Dad.

Lorraine,

It's not me. Uncle Kenny and Aunt Kathy are the shoppers. I got the Louie Vitton handbags. You guys will have to pick out which ones you like.

Having fun so far. Aunt Kathy is going home on Sunday. We will be doing more eating and eating. It seems that is all I have done since I got here other than shopping. I am not complaining, the food are great and so cheap.

Uncle George made it today. He is with his mom and Dad now but will be at the hotel soon. I can't wait. Just kidding. I will have to hear his bitching for the next few days. Uncle Kenny's girlfriend is coming in tonight too. We are all anxiously waiting to see and meet her. She is from Thailand.

Love.............Dad

You get the point.

Rain in San Diego

I love the rain. I speak highly of the limited downpours here in Southern California mainly because I am so spoiled with perfect San Diego weather, that I actually get excited when it rains. Its something different. I get even more excited when it thunders ("thunders" is a word, right?). But my enthusiasm (and urge to immediately build a porch swing) quickly plummets as I realize that the glorifying sound of thunder I thought I heard, was actually our garbage man clearing out all the dumpsters on my street. Hmmm... Whatever. I am sure I wasnt the only one that made that mistake today. This is also coming from a girl that thought she heard a baby being abused outside her window every night for a week, when in fact, it was just a male cat trying to court our female cat. Surprisingly, those two things sound eerily familiar. So make sure you check into any situation throughly before calling child services.

Oh well, live and learn I guess.


PS: I tried to google image a picture of "rain in San Diego" since outside my window is just someone else's window, and this is what I got: So... Enjoy!