April 2002 Archive

Idiots.
After the LA riots you were supposed to see race matters as BEYOND black & white.
10 years and we’re back at square fricking one.

I actually survived the bday party.Detailed update forthcoming.
If you were there, I hope you had fun.
If you weren’t there. You missed out.

*phew*

28 & 1 day.

So how’d I celebrate my bday?
Low key. Working, & cleaning. Answering phone calls from loved ones. Laughing at emails and lovely cards that I got. Thinking about the thank you notes I need to send to kind folks who got me stuff, and trying not to be annoyed by the fact that my brother called me, from in town, and asked if my birthday was on th 25th…

“Uh, no Mike, it’s today”.
“Crap”.

We couldn’t meet up as he was heading back to NY. He was only here for a short business trip and had prior engagements to meet with his dude friends (but not his sister on her birthday *cough*).

Dad forgot to call me too, but I left him a message at home.

“Daddy, this is your trouble maker daughter. She’s 28 now. That’s right pops. She’s old. And she’s *still* not married. < giggle giggle > You still love her though don’t you? Even though she’s just causing you trouble all the time? No? Well, I love you anyways Daddy! Talk to you laters!”

And oh yeah, I got myself a nice little infusion of Gorgeous.
Nikas, of Color Colors,, the most rock star stylist in the world, made me feel absolutely fabu after giving me a gorgeous lowlight, highlight, tint & trim today. He does amazing things with razor cutting hair and is an outstanding colorist that can rock Asian Hair beyond measure.
If you’re worth it, and you know you are, then consider calling him up for an appointment.

Yes, it’s a Cuz It shot, and it shows off the hair more than it does my face which is fine.
I’ll feel more photogenic again after I relocate my cheekbones. Me thinks they might be somewhere under my bed.

Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about how I’ve been fantasizing about having cigarettes and scotches with David Sedaris. where we debate whether it’s more charming to be neurotic, Asian, & Catholic, or neurotic, Gay, & a new yorker.

Happy Birthday To Moi.

In this photo, I am turning 2 and it is my first birthday celebrated in the US.

I am now 28 and I still sport pigtails & pouts.

Huh.

So this is what the dark side of the 20s looks like.

Lick & Stick

Earlier today, I was confessing a secret fantasy of mine to a coworker. No nothing kinky. But embarrassing none the less. When I was a little girl, I hoped one day to be famous. So famous in fact that painters would fly in from italy to paint my toes. So famous that a cast of my face would be put in the Smithsonian. So ridiculously beloved by the world, that I would reach the pinnacle of fame that I, Ms. Min Jung Kim, would have her very own postage stamp. (It would be cooler than abba’s)

Not just a collectors item, the Min Jung stamp would be used internationally to allow my grandeur to hit all shores. I could delight in the notion that presidents, prime ministers, famous actors, brilliant scientists, talented writers, professionals, millionaires, etc… could see my face daily in their mail, if not lick and stick it on an envelope directly. I’d bear with my stamp love letters, murder confessions, precious manuscripts, and photos of delicate memories. I’d be so beloved that instead of the regular postmark, a discreet smooch stamp would be used instead. It would be stamped on my left cheek.

All proceeds to go to the Min Jung research facility in random acts of whimsy.

My stamp would never be used for bills, for solicitations, or for insincere written dialogue. But only for the purest expressions of humanity in all it’s hideous and gorgeous glory.

Ahh… and then

I turned 9.

Overheard today:

Conversation between three lovely young men (with fiercly sculpted eyebrows) that look like they belong in a boyband.
A: “So how’s it going with that dude”
B: “It’s ok… it’s just… well”
C: “What? Spit it out, girlfriend“
B: “It’s just that… like he’s holding back”
A: “And…”
C: “I already know where this is going.Blah blah blah blah blah blah “
B: “Huh?”
C: “You’ll be intrigued for the next thirty seconds with mister mystery boy until you discover that he’s really *just* boring”
B: “… ….”
A: & C: Hi Five each other and clink bottles of Smirnoff Ice
B: “…I hate you.”

Burn Baby Burn
You rock.

William Bechiom http://www.webpiper.net
Tahnee Hutchens http://www.faceted.org
Tom Clancy http://www.localnine.com/
David Edwards http://www.rovidica.com
Eric Soroos http://www.wiredfool.com/

All I want for my birthday is for folks to pray for PEACE in the mideast.
Encouraging to know that activism is alive and well in the bay area? #1, the aggressive and speedy response by APIAs on the internet in response to the gross error in cultural sensitivity and judgement by Abercrombie & Fuck.

#2: While driving in to SF this morning, I spotted two guerilla activists signs posted up on top of the billboards that usually host narcisistic and trite advertising for brands like The Gap or Ann Taylor or um..MLife.
One said “US should stop Aid to Israel” and the other said “Rally in Dolores Park 11:00″
(My memory is pretty bad so forgive me if I misquote).

I’m not much for politics and I can not demonize one side of the war or the other. I will say though, that when people cannot see sunlight for fear of being shot, when people, like you and me, who should be doing something insignificant and droll like watching TV or knitting, or getting drunk, or what not, are strapping themselves to vehicles of death and destruction because their emotions have become so taut with the conditions of their lives, then all that a little girl can do, thousands of miles away, is to pray. A lot.

Say you’ll pray for peace.

Snootery be damned.

Imported French pork liver pate with burgundy wine and mushrooms is no more than the second cousin of spam.
Try it warmed over rice with furukake sprinkled on top and I’m sure you’ll aggree.

Counting Down
I have six days left to be 27.
I better go out and get a wee bit shnookered tonight.

Additionally, I have about 9 days to live. For surely, on the ninth day, I shall die. Of embarrassment. For with confidence, I acknowledge that I will do something utterly stupid and regrettible at the huge birthday bash, hosted at the love shack, and co-fabulousted by fellow April Taureans Beloved Bill & Incorrigable Annie.

I think to myself, that there are worse ways to die. (but barfing through my nose really shouldn’t be one of them)Did I invite you? Are you coming?

This is the worst kind of karma.

In my comments:
MJ, you should be careful about what you sow- years ago, you hurt one of your ex’s deeply by treating him like a disposable person whose time and consideration for your needs were equally disposable. We’ve dated for several years now and though he is not angry at you, I feel sad that you are experiencing what he once felt. He’s a kind, terrific guy that I plan to marry with glee. You’re a great girl and I only hope for the best for you. Please be gentle and civil with the ones that you think are not worth it… I promise it’ll come back around and you’ll be treated like the gem that you are. (hope this ex-in-law msg doesn’t freak you out!) Best of everything to you-
Marzipan | 04.16.02 – 09:55 pm

Marzipan, why yes your mesg does trip me out.
I wish I knew who you were referring to so I could apologize appropriately to the ex. If, you’re right, and I mistreated someone shamefully, then perhaps I get what I deserve. *sigh* That Catholic guilt kicking in.

In my mind, I only like to count three boyfriends. Perhaps that is rude of me. But only three really won my heart enough to be considered boyfriends at the time and in the limited rosters of xfactors that have influenced me when it comes to my relationship details.

#1. I hold in tremendous esteem as he was the best first boyfriend a girl could ever have. I think he’s grand and I wish him all that is blessed and marvy. There are few other men that I know of that I’d bother to drive 13 hours each way for in a weekend, for an innocent bunch of kisses and holding hands and hugging trees.

#2. My best friend whom I adore tremendously. I like to believe that I was good to him though we both know we’re better off as friends than not.

#3. Fucker. And for reasons I care not to disclose, he really wrecked me for a long time and I have taken an extreme amount of time to heal myself and the damage that our relationship caused me.

I really don’t know what to say other than…gee. Email me so that I can *not* be a bit tripped out by the fact that an ex-factor’s fiance reads my blog.

Oh please fucking stop.

I am not your last hurrah.
I am not the girl you can drink shots with but won’t take home to meet your mother. I loathe the fact that some guys think I’m datable, fuckable, but not marryable.

You know what? FUCK YOU.
I’ve had enough of it. The fun girl. The party girl. The girl you don’t have to take seriously. And especially the condition of her heart? When she dares unlock it from her adamantium box? The girl who’s feelings you can treat as disposible because she’s strong and has opinions and can’t possiblly be hurt by your inconsideracies.

You know what.
Shit hurts.
And it hurts even girls like me. Girls who know that they have more balls than you do to do the right thing, to say what they think, and be fearless in expressing what they feel. Honestly and without reservation or omission.

Sins of omission are still sins, you know.

FUCK YOU.
I am tired of being the girl that guys want to be the other woman. Or feel that they can treat carelessly.

I want to be *THE WOMAN*.

And you know what? I know I *am* more woman than you can handle.
You pussy.

Men with girlfriends who still want to flirt with me, men with serious interests on the side, married men too, men who find me interesting enough to want to be with but not enough to step up and be real and honest to, with tremendous disclosure that speaks from the heart. Men who are afraid to be trully and earnestly *present* to the other person, passionate about their drives, and who are not afraid to have a girl with tremendous emotional and psychological/spriitual depth really swoon for them.
Men who fear challenges, fights, opinions, differences, and growth.

You know what?
FUCK YOU.

I’m tired of this bullshit. I’m going to be 28 at the end of the month and I don’t need your lame immature and selfish dicks who can take the emotions of another person and treat them so frivolously. I’m too smart for that and when I see someone holding back, I don’t need you to tell me that something else is going on.
I sense it. I know.

So be happy with your little life. Feel the shame of being less than really human to another person. A person that you think that platinum bullets couldn’t wound.

But it does. Are you proud of yourself? Why is it so hard to be a person of genuine character? Apparently too challenging for the masses.
Go back to your Maury Povich and leave me the fuck alone.

I don’t need the waste in my emotional bandwidth.

Frenetic.
That’d be my weekend in a single word?
Some highlights?

Friday: Bible study and interesting porkchops

Saturday: Work stuff, picking up a diva at the airport, more work stuff, making a camisole and train out of paper, sushi and smack talk, and boogying at the caf� while being walled in by live action porn.

Sunday: Driving amok, visiting with F. & Princess Chantal, saggy breasts at a Korean sauna, odd convos, writing frenzies, attempts at caf� hopping and freezing my tuckus off outside, and chilling by the fireplace, all atoasty.

I’m more tired from my weekend than I am for general monday-ness.

I am sooo Mean.
There are few things as viciously satisfying as being able to sidle along next to your evil x-factor at a party, assess his dress and demeaner which hasn’t evolved much since 1997, and be able to whisper in his ear “Honey, you need a mint.”

Someone Kill Me Now
Sunshine, the irripressible ghetto booty bible study pal, emails me today to let me know that she’s now engaged to Alex…our very own local and lovable Dr. Shorty. (Don’t you dare tell him I ever referred to him as that). (Note, not the same Dr. Shorty that my dad was trying to set me up with. That chap is in Ohio. But they are indeed both Korean, Catholic, Doctors, and very nice men)

Other idiotic meanderings of my brain?
. . .
What would happen to you if your life were a really really really really *really* cheesy Korean soap opera but, you know, with classic Min Jung style added into it?

Why, that’d be like trying to flirt with a lit cigarette that accidentally goes down your completely absent cleavage…leaving the person that you are trying to be charming in front of, the split second to decide whether they should do nothing, or pat your chest out vigorously. In this situation, as is typical scenario with yours trully, there is no right answer. Smoooth. Smooth as chapped rhino butt in January.

*sigh*

I have small ouchie from the cig burn on my left bittie. Grief.