Every time I burp I taste Garlic
Big blogger facetime weekend. Though I should provide the caveat that these days, and with the convenience of being in the bay area, there are ever so many very cool people both online & off that bless me with their friendships.
Work Update
The hardest thing I’ve had to do is still, wake up before it’s light out. We’re talking about resetting a personal body clock which has for the past year stayed up until 3 and woken up around 11 or noon. Positively painful trying to keep from yawning in front of the VP in my department. Woops.
Still, I must say that it is rather exciting, the concept of being a working professional again, with real benefits, real security, and real healthcare. Please don’t remind me of how long it’s been since I’ve been to a dentist and how very very lucky I’ve been to have been relatively healthy over the last year. This gal hasn’t had health insurance in over a year. Frightening, I know. And I don’t recommend it to anyone who is currently jobless. Go sign up for a cheapass HMO or what not. It’ll be worth the comfort and peace of mind in case something should happen.
Folks are cool and within my group is even a fellow who used to work for the company that was the direct competitor of the last company I worked at. We were laid off last year within weeks of each other and concluded that both previous companies sucked major ass and could go lick hairy, sweaty, monkeyballs.
Social Update
Friday night I managed to catch up with my bible study, a few precious people that I’ve been a bit negligent of lately. I must say that it is incredibly soul nurturing to be in a community of folks that care about you physically, emotionally, psychologically, and most importantly spiritually. At the least, attendance forces me to set aside some time to look at my life in a really spiritual context, appreciate and give thanks for that which is very good in my life, and see where there is always room for improvement. Not to mention that regular attendance keeps them from calling my cel phone to ask if I’m away at a booty call. (True story, and for the record, I wasn’t).
The discussion for the evening centered around the parable of the Prodigal Son. I know, you’re thinking, big stupid fucking boring yawn. But actually it was quite an enlightening & intriguing discussion regarding family dynamics, how often we fall into describing or recognizing ourselves as either the player younger son who repents or the embittered older son who resents. The big *ding* was regarding how a struggle it is to try and be like the father in that relationship who goes through emotional reservoirs when it comes to grieving for loss, forgiving without condition, and being generous without measure. Makes you think? Hope so.
Later that evening I met up with Darling Taurean Bill, our honored guest Andy, Ernie, Laura, Kristin, Jish, Kevin, Dinah, Geno, Dave, Todd, Mena & Ben for a quick drink and some delicious trashtalk.
Geno’s got a thing for seeing me impersonate various caricatures of smokers. I think I brought down the house with my emulation of a 12 year old Japanese school girl in platform shoes chatting on a cel phone while dangling a skinny mini cigarette from her hello kitty fingernails. Plus, a thing to note.
Min Jung Sober : Snarkability Level: 4 -Verbal Diarrhea Filter: 8
Min Jung After 1 Beer : Snarkability Level: 6 -Verbal Diarrhea Filter: 4
Min Jung After 2 Beers : Snarkability Level: 9 -Verbal Diarrhea Filter: 2
Min Jung After 3 Beers : Snarkability Level: RED ALERT -Verbal Diarrhea Filter: MELTDOWN
I think I scared some people. At one point I do recall saying “Don’t be capping on the Pope, yo. The Pope is my bitch” (yeah, about 30 minutes after I’d left bible study…Oy) and at another point I said ” **CENSOREDNAMEOFA-LISTER** has a funny shaped head. I mean really, I couldn’t imagine seeing it between my thighs”
Tonight, I joined Kristin & Jish and some other lovely folks for the last beer train. The beer train is an excuse for rampant drunkenness. You meet around 2 at a bar near the Caltrain. You then get snookered, wobble your way back to the train, go down a few stops and then hop out to hit the next bar. Order a few more drinks & get even further snookered, lather and repeat. I met up with them at stop 2 in San Carlos. Let me just say that drinking beers at 3 in the afternoon is a surreal experience. It’s still bloody light & bright outside. Why folks are running around inside a dim bar drinking beer and singing along with Madonna on a gorgeous afternoon escapes me. That is until I have my second beer.
Jokingly I said to folks as we made our way from this bar to the train station “Man, it’s so bright out…normally when I leave a bar and it’s light outside it’s because I’ve passed out on a bloody bar stool. This is fricking *weird*.”
While sitting on Kristin’s lap, completely squished in Jish’s infamous Miata, someone else from the beer train handed us a bottle of mustard. “Would you like some Grey Poupon?”. Having no where else to hold the jar, it was placed gently & snugly between my knees. To myself, I concurred that it looked better there than **CENSOREDNAMEOFA-LISTER**’s head would. While hitting speedbumps, we, in unison made orgasmic moans, shouting out “oooooo, mustard” and “oooooooo, Dijon”.
Plus, oh, a bloody brilliant international incident just waiting to happen at the Irish pub while standing with tall blonde men who are sipping on Irish coffees.
Norwegian using an Irish Accent at a pub “So, how you doing, my name is Tooooour”
Moi, the guileless Korean American: “Ha, that’s a good one, no really”
Norwegian, speaking now with thick accent not from the emerald isle “My name is Toooour”
Moi again “No really… what’s your name,”
A tap on the shoulder from Swede Adonis “No, that’s really his name.”
This was followed up with an explanation to the Norwegian about how come I don’t drink milk. It’s a bit embarrassing trying to explain the effects of large quantities of dairy products to a lactose intolerant little girl. “Um… you fart a lot and get the shits…it’s not a pretty thing…very not sexy”
On another note. It’s a little weird to reconcile looking and talking with gorgeous Swede man when the words out of his mouth make you expect to see a chef hat on his noggin and chickens running rampant. “B�rk! B�rk! B�rk!”
Faisal also dared me to lick the roasted garlic left over from the plate of garlic fries we had at stop 3 or was it stop 4… $20 bucks? Sure. Bomb diggity. Easy. As I lapped up the garlic, I realized that I would be terrified to talk to anyone cute for the rest of the evening. Beer makes me burp. Beer and lots of garlic make me burp out a lethal gas that is currently being studied at the pentagon for use in terrorist retaliation. Still, that $20 pretty much funded my snookeredness for the evening. Just an fyi to folks, for your own good, if I’m talking to you, don’t be shy about passing me an entire tin of altoids and don’t make me burp for the next day or so. Yummy, but very not sexy. Very very not sexy.
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