MinJungKim.com

Going through the Motions Of Having Emotions

A gaspy sigh of a start to a new feature.
Monthly Audio Blog.

Here.

Too Much Poonani

#1. Vagina Monologues
Wow. Went last week and had an incredible time with my pal the Gorgeous Man. (He looks like he belongs in a boyband. But he’s 29)
3rd row seats center, to boot. And free tix. Does it get any better than that? I mean, if you break it down to the lowest common denominator, we’re talking about free pussy for 2 hours up close and personal.

#2. HBO Real Sex re: the Poonani Poets
Wow. It’s very weird having unlimited cable access in the privacy of your bedroom at late hours of the night. Information on how to deliver the “Heart Beat of America” among other interesting tidbits. HBO has more educating programming than Skinimax me thinks.

Conclusion:
I am sooo undereducated.

Belly Button Love

I’m pretty vanilla when it comes to fetishes but there’s something quite simple that puts me into a purring state of absolute bliss. After a load of dishes are done in the dishwasher, I pull out a piping hot bowl and press the bottom to my belly button. It’s deliciously toasty warm for a good 6 minutes or so and it puts me in a swooniliciously delightful place of Zen. My housemates caught me doing this the other day and gazed upon me as if I was a freak.

“What? I only use the bottom of the bowl. Not the part you’d eat out of.”

They raised an eyebrow at me as if to say “Uh…kay..sure, you freak.“

I turned back to the dishwasher and then grabbed a plate. It has a larger flat surface that stretches across my whole belly quite nicely though I feel most at comfort with a wide soup bowl on my navel. I ignored their confused glares at me, tilted my chin towards the heavens, and closed my eyes with the plate clasped in my hands over my abs.

Everybody’s got their odd little thing, right? I just happen to have doozies of them.

You should try it some time and tell me what you think.

List of Annoyances #432

* People who introduce me as if they have known me forever (when they don’t) as “oh, and this is Min Jung…she’s sort of a writer or something.”

* People who presume that a woman with a blog that has reasonably healthy traffic must have that volume because they post pictures of their tits. Right. They of course wouldn’t have that traffic because they’re a regular & consistant writer or have been blogging long enough to to have that kind of regular volume or readership…so let’s just say that they must have big tits online. My A- tatas surely drive all the traffic to this site. Yeah.

* People who treat me with inconsideracy and follow it up with duplicity who get tweaked when I challenge them to hardball. I am not afraid to bring it. Or to execute on it. Fair is fair, but I didn’t start this.

* Not having the opportunity to have another glass of chilled Momokawa Ruby Tokubetsu Junmai Sake at last night’s birthday party (toasted with a bunch of UM alumni with a rousing rendition of “Hail to the Victors”. Yes, we’re annoying that way.)

* Feeling the disparate qualities between intimacy & emotion become more and more dettached. Life’s weird that way and I am finding my life trickle somewhere between a sitcom & a pornscript. It ain’t right, yo. It ain’t right. (And no, I’m not going to talk about it here).

Cheese

So I was shopping for a dinner party earlier this afternoon at whole foods and needed to pick up a nice roquefort to crumble into my salad.

Cheese Guy: “Hey.. how you doing today?”
Me: “Just fine, thanks.”
Cheese Guy: “I just wanted to say that you’re totally well coordinated today. I mean it looks really good.
Me: “What, the sunglasses & the sweater?” (Both fuschia/purply)
Cheese Guy: “The ear stud, the sweater, the lipstick, the sunglasses…it looks good. You look good…now you can go out to your friends and tell them the Cheese Guy thinks you’re hot. HOT.“
Me: “Uh…thanks” (grin)

Now if I were one to pimp for pepperjack like I pimp for sushi, I might have dawdled to check out the smoked gouda. Alas, the flirtation of the Cheese Guy is mistargetted towards a gal who is lactose intolerant.

so much to say, so little time
Is it fair to say:

it is weird running into old college friends who read your blog?
it is weird to run into former uhn nees (big sisters) from college who read your articles in magazines and confess these things while more shitfaced than thou?
is it weird to say that you actually respect the c cup women that you held in extreme reservation before?
is it weird to say that you miss someone you barely know but you understand and are an adult about circumstances
is it weird to still be distant and cool to x-factors from eons past at social situations where you feel dressed more hootchie than you would like and less presentable than you’d like to gather yourself to be?
is it weird to feel… odd in our own skin …even after 3 beers and a couple of triple woots. To the bartenders, I lied to and told them it was the latest hip drink and they should stock up on vanilla coke…(hee)

I plan to be naked and asleep soon.
Goodnight.

Is it ok to say that…

I’m a little bit tweaked that my long distance calling service, after 6 years of good account status & service, will be discontinued after the weekend? It’s not my fault and I’ll leave it at that.

Need an excuse to be drunk & stupid & say the wrong thing to the cutest person in the room?

The Triple WoOot (invented today by yours trully & Dan)
Vanilla Coke
Frangelico
Kahlua
Vodka

Garnish with little paper umbrella with girls panties printed on them.

Voila.

Today I find fascination with Language

By no means do I study etymology. But I find it amusing how folks choose to use language to express themselves.

I have the snobbish opinion that folks who use “dope” as an adjective tend to fail to recognize themselves as appearing like one.That’s like using “too” or “wow, like” or “rilly”. Not that I don’t sound like a ditz when I’m speaking to folks or hem and haw and um, and giggle and say whatevs or slang with regular frequency, but the older I get the more I recognize how language is much more than just words. It is inflection, posture, tone, volume, and accent. It is timing. It is the lilt in speech that determines sarcasm or earnest expression. It is a sensitivity to language, both in terms of low context (just the words and what they mean) vs high context (taking into account body language, eye contact, and empathetic guages of the situation) that determines the connection between people or the painful disconnect between others.

My father and I don’t speak in the same language. And I don’t just mean that literally as in he speaks Korean and I speak English because we both know that I suck at foreign language comprehension and facility so we speak in English at the most basic level with each other. I find the tone of my voice being more expressive, open, and warm with him. I mimic and echo his pidgin accent and speech. It’s not intentional and not meant to be interpreted as condescension. I have just learned to modulate the frequency, speed, and style of my communication with my father so that he doesn’t feel the need to struggle to express himself with me. Our conversations are not sophisticated. They revolve around the weather, health, work, and how come I still don’t have a proper boyfriend. However language, if anything, at the most literal level, though clumsy and unsophisticated, never fails to relay the intentions and affections between us.

My brother and I don’t quite speak in the same language either. Perfect English. He takes the tone of authority and knowledge. He knows that the inflection of nagging will turn me off. I reflect a tone of either resignation, indifference, or supplication to make the conversations as painless as possible. I love my brother, I really do. But we will probably never be able to connect at a visceral level, even with our perfect capacity for contemporary diction, business terminology, and expansive vocabularies.

An elderly yet sprightly nun in France could speak German, a dialect used by north African sheep farmers, French and Arabic. She could speak pidgin English. Last year in September, she and the other nun would stand behind their chairs before every meal, bow their heads gently, close their eyes, clasp their rough hands with each other, and sing grace. In Latin. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever experienced and no words in my vocabulary, no tools in my writing skills, no expression, absolutely nothing that I own or have power over, could ever express with complete glory the gorgeous experience of those moments or how much I envied the purity of their love and thanks for the almighty. The voices of Angels, even that phrase sounds so trite. It was completely breathtaking.

And language, I find fault with. Because so often I fail to express with precision and accuracy the tumbleweeds rolling about in this poor little head.

Vow

Today I make a vow of tenderness. Of kindness. Of charity. Of patience. Of forgiveness. And of being human and present and real to all who cross my path today. Today I make a vow to pause before I express myself in a manner that might be arrogant, distasteful, disrespectful or unkind. Today I vow to make myself be as human and empathetic to others as I hope that they would be for me. Today I vow to restrain my crankiness and not allow my emotions to reign over or take precedent over the emotions of another. Today I vow that I will do all that I can to be good. I vow not to aspire to the supernatural or holy, but to be human, in the most basic and significantly honest way possible. Today I vow to breathe deeply of the goodness capable in humankind and to release all residiual stains and scars and crimes that otherwise chip at my soul and my being. Today I vow to be as good as I can be and nothing more. And certainly nothing less.

Do you vow?

Damn it all to hell # 43289863

This shit is unpardonable. (link props to UberChick)

Hate crimes are shitty.
Sexual assault is shitty.

Hate crimes combined with sexual assault if beyond shitty.

As one who has experienced both the above (though not in combination) I can only say that sometimes the world is pretty shitty.

Hate Crime #1:
I am 8 years old. I have been excused from class to go to the bathroom. The hall monitor stalks me through the halls while singing David Bowie’s “My Little China Girl”. He threatens to pull off my panties & make me cry. I run to the bathroom to cry and forget to pee altogether.

Hate Crime #2:
Ruthann S. a girl from my 3rd grade class refuses to hold my hand during folk dance classes. She says I’m dirty. I don’t smell nearly as bad as stinky Clara (who’s white and known throughout school as being from the thuggy white trash family). Still, the teacher refuses to admonish her and I decide that I have no rhythm and sit out for the rest of that class. I decide that I hate polka anyway.

Hate Crime #3:
My cousin’s exboyfriend is beaten to death by laid off auto workers. Yes, we’re talking about Vincent Chin. I am told that I may not go out with my friends and am not allowed out of the house after dark.

Hate Crime #4:
During the summer of 1988, it is the extreme automotive recession and ford cars boast bumperstickers with a huge mushroom cloud over a message that says “Nagasaki, Hiroshima? Made in the USA.”. I am accosted in the mall and told “Fuck you, you Jap. My family’s losing jobs because of you.” I respond “Fuck you, I’m Korean and my dad works for General Motors.” Then I run like all hell.

Sexual Assault Crime #1:
Mercifully there is only a one time incident and I’d still rather not talk about it though I don’t deny it’s occurrence and I’d like to believe it hasn’t still scarred me overmuch. Shit happens and I’ve learned to forgive myself and even forgive him. It was not a good way for a girl to lose her virginity. 1992 was a very bad year. Between my mother’s death, failing classes, my father’s appendicitis, my brother’s move across seas, and my episode that this event references, well…it just didn’t seem like the year could have gotten much worse. Except, oh yeah, I had to take organic chemistry.

What’s the matter with the world? I can’t tell you anymore. I’m just very scared and tremendously overwhelmed by the ugliness in it sometimes.

No Salt & Peppa Please

Is it alright to not want to talk about sex today? I mean seriously, I’ve about had it with anyone & everyone wanting to talk about sex. What’s hot, what’s good, what’s in, what does it for them, which positions, how to demonstrate, skills, fur pies, bisexuality, curiosity, peaking, drugs and sex, etc. Of course, this post will probably result in even more search results where “Asian Girl” and sex lands you here. As if it weren’t disappointing enough that most of the time when I write about sex here, it’s about the lack, thereof.

Everyone wants to talk about it. Everyone wants to “help” each other on it. Everyone wants it. Fine. Truism. Fair enough. But for those of us who want to manage and maintain a modicum of dignity and privacy on the matter, much less security on the subject (because yeah, it’s just one more thing to add on my list of insecurities regarding inadequacies etc) that I’d really rather just leave to conversations that #1. Definitely stay offline. #2. Definitely stay within a realm of privacy & trust. #3. Definitely keep me from being distracted with the general activities and requirements that are set upon me by my daily life.

Our contemporary culture is so oversexualized. We have G-strings made for elementary school students. And that’s just symptomatic for our times where sex is the end all be all of our culture and conversation. The knowledge of sex and sexuality, once it becomes recognized leads us to focus only on that and fail to recognize other attributes of analysis for much of anything else.

Of course, this being all stated by a woman who needs to replace her batteries. *sigh*.

One month ago or so, I declined from posting this comment.
“I think I’m hitting my sexual peak today. While driving alone, one of my nipples got suddenly hard and I’m not sure why.”

This trend or cycle that I’m on may lead me to further mischief and irresponsibility if I’m not ever mindful of it. Man, do I sound repressed or what? Actually I’d like to believe that I’m not totally so. Just trying my best to keep the subject of sex & sexuality within reasonable boundaries. Yes, boundaries. I am still a woman of faith. I’m still a woman of responsibility and independence. And yes, I’m still a sexual creature, there’s no denying that. However the boundaries for allowing sex and sexuality to become a foci of my life right now seem rather unreasonable since I’m not in a relationship that affords me the luxury of both emotional/spiritual/intellectual and physical intimacy. And that’s the whole point of sex isn’t it? It’s an expression in physical affection of what is ideally the affections of the heart and mind. Being who I am, I can’t comfortably separate the two though I’ve tried on occasion in the past. It just doesn’t seem to work for me and I grow more and more dissatisfied or disillusioned and jaded. For what it’s worth, it’s a temporal expression that is equal to fun. But as I’ve discussed in the past, fun does not equal happiness and happiness should be the end goal for each one of us, right?

Aiyo. So much to think about today and so little time to afford it.

Beware the Kissing Bandit

Kissing Bandit: “Oops, I did it again.”
Moi: “Oh no, now what?”
KB: “It’s not like I enjoy being bad…I’m just so damn good at it.”
Moi: “You’re telling me. So who’s the victim this time?”
KB: “Not telling. Too potentially complicated for words.”
Moi: “Really?”
KB: “Yeah. Let’s just say that I am definitley bi curious but made out with a boy with a ponytail last night.”
Moi: “Well, k? Like gay men date Asian Women before coming out of the closet, you had to make out with a sysadmin or rocker before you…”
KB: “Yeah. Something like that.”
Moi: “Bloody Brilliant.”

Poetica Spontenaium

I am drunk from my own astonishment
Lightheaded from comprehension
Wobbly with interpetations
and too bewildered to respond.

My gutt is a flutter with dizzy hornets dancing solstice
And you look at me and say
“What?”

re: the blog meetup?

Good company makes up for poor attendance.