Hey Friends,
No I didn't forget you guys. Well, actually... come to think of it, maybe I did. You see, I've moved on... to a new blog site that is. And if you delight yourself in other peoples craziness please go on and bookmark this new site http://chronicdelirium.tumblr.com/ . Go on... Do it.
I promise it delivers on the laughs.
See you there.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Pretty bird
Just when you think you fly, a Ford comes along and gobbles your ass up.
I really hope that's not a native bird, or Lehias hood is in big trouble.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Man Down with The Mean Band
There are a couple things I know for sure about myself. Number 1, I am mento! Number 2, I am not prejudiced. So it's no wonder that my mento-ness knows no prejudice. Whether it's a crack whore on a San francisco street or a hot established band, everyone pretty much gets the same service of mento- ness.
Such was the case this weekend. I had been working like a dog, doing doubles all week and wasn't going to see a day off for 14 days. I wasn't all that bothered since I play for a living but regardless by Friday I was in dire need of some "me" time. And by "me" time I reAlly just mean a strong drink! One of my favorite friends Rico From Oahu texted me that day and told me he was on island for a night. Perfect! I thought to myself. An excuse to rage center stage!
I was stoked because Rico is one of my favorite characters in life and he travels with a very popular band, so I hardly get to kick it with this dude, but when I do- I know I'm always in for some witty laugh sessions. Rico is named so because simply put he's suave. Rico suave! One of those cats that can charm the panties right off a girl and make them think it was their idea. He's just that charismatic and magnetic and it runs in the family. Rico is cousin to one of my girls from high school who got more game than LeBron James. I've seen many a beauty fall for Ricos rapier wit and infectious personality. It's just addicting. The thing I love the most about Rico, and the rest of the band is that they can really appreciate mento, so me and all of my ridiculousness happen to fit right in without having to dilute any of it to keep social graces or whatever.
Anyhow, that night me and my favorite Asian diva Vera Wang met up with another bandmate Babyface at a bar. Babyface is also cousin to my girl and is the baby of the group and someone I knew before he had hair on his balls. We picked up Babyface and headed straight to their hotel room where Rico was napping to give him a much needed pimp slap. He was in my hood for one night only and there was no way he was going to be napping during my party time. When we got there Rico was already dressed along with the rest of The Mean Band. They're gig was in an hour and they were starving. Of course I talked them into eating at the Korean bar Vera Wang and I were heading over to anyway. They followed suit and didn't have time to eat bc Mama San was too busy making food for a drag show. Bad mama san! Bad!
Anyhow, they were off to their gig and I was left with another local celeb and friend Cameron to drink. Vera had split after her bud cookies made their way into her blood stream and shut down her brain and with it her slanted eyes, but luckily for me, Horny Mchornerson and a few others joined the party. Suddenly, we had a table of dads, brothers, daughters, classmates, teammates, and birthday girls taking shots like we were 50 cent.
One thing lead to another and we got Cameron to sing "man down" on stage with the band, little did I know that would turn out to be my anthem for the night.
What followed after that was a sequence of inexplicit raging and debauchery. After the show had ended a group of us had somehow ended up on the roof of the birthday girls car giving each other not so luxurious and not so calculated cheap champaigne showers. How we happened NOT to get arrested by the 12 Cop cars that filled the parking lot is beside me, but somehow we knew it was time to move out. It was all good since The Mean Band was just about finishing their show.
We headed over to their hotel room. From there i can recall only the most insignificant of details: The Samoan security guard trying to kick us out of the parking lot; Me trying to convince the Samoa security guard that he really didnt have to do that; The both of us arguing; The both of us coming to a compromise that we could sit out by the street like $2 dollar hookers; Some baseball boys walking home from a bar; Talking about how much I hated the baseball boys at my college; Seeing the Mean Band pull into the parking lot in mini vans and giggling about it; Ditching baseball boys; Hanging out by the pool; A longboard beer in my hand; A solo walk on the beach/make myself puke session; The creepy eyes of a Filipino beach walker that kept pacing back and forth me. And This is where I came back to mild consciousness. Those creepy eyes got me. It looked like he wanted to penetrate me, and without my consent too. Like he might actually prefer it that way. I was spooked to say the least and darted off the beach as fast as my drunk legs would allow. I ran to the boys and told them about rape eyes on the beach but could barely get through the details. Man Down, I thought! I was done!
I plopped myself on a chair in one of the empty rooms to watch some late night vh1 and cross my fingers that the floor would stop fucking spinning beneath me but I was out of luck. Finally when I felt like I could socialize again I went out onto the
Lawn where all the bandmates and groupies were hanging out. Babyface was giggling and cart wheeling like a 8 year old school girl.
"Hey", I thought out loud, "I wanna laugh! I can cart wheel too." I said like a bonafide bratzilla.
I could swear I heard Ricos voice challenging me, "no you can't."
Anyone who knows anything about me knows never to challenge me, my competitive nature is like Mike Tyson, I'll bite off your ear before I loose.
"yes I can!" I exclaimed as I hurled myself into the air for a drunken cartwheel. What I was not quite expecting was the damp grass that had been soiled by the sprinklers only moments earlier. As my body came around for a landing my feet flew under me like a virgin ice skater and smack I landed on my bare ass, in front of a band full of witty motha fuckas.
Shit! I thought as I lay on the floor laughing at myself. That was NOT what it looked Like in my head. Immediately roars of laughter came from all around me and there was really nothing else to do but laugh at my ass that was now exposed to the soiled grass.
"Man down!" I yelled, maybe just in my head, I can't remember.
The Mike Tyson inside me heard the laughter and thought one thing,
"I CAN do a cartwheel! I CAN." I had turned into a drunken little engine that could right before their eyes.
"I know I can. I'll show you." and off I went cart wheeling. This time I landed it perfectly.
I jumped up and yelled exuberantly, "see!!! I told u guys. I can do it."
But they were still laughing at me.
"what the fuck are you guys laughing at? I can cart wheel. I may be a little drunk and underestimated a few details in my first attempt but I was just warming up. See I landed it."
They weren't fazed or even slightly convinced by my last perfect cart wheel, so I I did it again.
Wham!
Another perfect cart wheel. But these fuckers were still laughing.
"what the fuck?" I thought out loud. Suddenly the breeze of the ocean air became apparent to my previously numb body and that breeze was moving through my body from my bottom half. I looked down and realized what all the laughing was about. I had seemed to have underestimated another minor detail of the cart wheeling.... The fact that I was wearing a dress and a pink lacy thong. Oh shit Keo, not again! I was like a deer at headlights except I was a drunk bare ass at laughing boy band.
There I was with my dress up at my waist staring in utter confusion at why I was standing there in front of a group full of guys in my underwear. How in the fuck did that just happen, I thought? Pull it together keo, I know you're cooler than this. Dammit, this was strike three for me with this band. While I knew half of the band previously, the others I met in their first trip to Maui. That time I picked up Rico and we met the rest of the band at the hotel parking lot to cruise and toke. As I was walking up to the group of talented and unsuspecting musicians the drummer Kunta came straight to me and practically yelled, "you're black!"
He wasn't asking, he was telling. I was a little taken back by his accusation but not at all shocked, this kind of stuff happened to me all the time, plus i'm pretty jaded to crazy by now.
This being our first meet and greet i tried to minimize my stinging blunt response and said "no I'm not!"
"yes you are!" he demanded again.
"ugh.... No I'm not!" I was starting to get a little irritated. Who the hell was this guy trinna tell me I'm black?
But he persisted, "yes you are! Your built like a black girl."
I didn't know at all what the fuck he was talking about and just replied "I'm pretty sure I'd know if I was black. And I'm not. But it's okay..." I continued, "people think I'm black all the time because I have rhythm like nobodies business."
For a moment there was silence, even the stream of Ricos pissing in the corner stopped for a second, then there was a loud roar of laughter. I guess they thought that was funny. I just thought it was facts.
"I like you" Kunta said, "your funny. You made me laugh within a minute of meeting you. You must be pretty cool."
"cool... Yes! Black... No!" I responded.
I cruised with them for a few hours talking about a whole lot of hilarious nothings. Holy crap all these guys were classic. I couldn't believe it... ALL of them were classic. Or as my royal fuck up of a friend Biggie Smalls would say, these guys were classical. A band full of traveling, talented classical characters, i could barely believe it, but it seems to be the case that characters are like centipedes, where theres one, there's always another close by. It was refreshing! Hardly anyone in Maui is classic like this, And I was reveling in the moment. No one in Maui usually gets my humor, but this was an all night give and take. It was phenomenal! As the joints were circulating the laugher just got more and more heavy. As I took ahold of a joint and went to inhale it's majestic green smoke, my body revolted and exhaled instead. Exhaled the burning bud flame out of the joint wrap and down into the abyss that is my clevage. The rest of the boys were standing around talking and waiting for the joint to come back around and i didnt want to embarass myself by making a scene and sticking my hand violently down my shirt to retrieve the burning flame. Though my exterior was composed, my insides were freaking out and my breasts were on fire! Shit! My plan was to non- chalantly fan it down my shirt before anyone noticed, but like most of my plans, this one went awry. I could feel the lit flame burning down my breast. I started nonchalantly fanning but the fanning wasnt working and the flame started burning down my chest and now my stomach. As the burning sensation ensued my fanning became more aggressive an pronounced. I was starting to do exactly what i didnt want to do: i was making a scene and i knew it because the guys all started staring at me in silence with a confused gaze. The burning continued and I was now jumping in the air from
Foot to foot fanning my top and gyrating my back and butt back and forth to create movement. At this point it was pretty obvious that I wasn't going to get away with NOT making a scene so I quickly scratched that plan and focused in the bigger issue at hand, not getting a 3rd degree burn.
I kept gyrating my butt back and forth like a single ladies back up dancer, but the stubborn burning bud would not quit and i couldnt understand why. It was then that it occurred to me that I was wearing one of my many infamous bodysuits and that the flame was stuck inside. It was then that I lost my shit!
I started yelling and jumping from foot to foot amidst gyrating and fanning "ahhhh.... Ahhhhhhh"
Now all the boys were in stony shock. Rico was so confused he had to get a better footing and started shifting his weight from foot to foot until his feet were shoulder width apart and his arms were crossed against his chest. His head was cocked in confusion, brows crunched wondering what the fuck I was doing. If I had to describe what I looked like, it could most closely be compared to the people at my childhood episcopalian church at the alter when they were being overcome by the holy spirit or simply, abrupt and unexplained lunatic jumping.
I was finally starting to make progress and could feel the fire moving down my body suit toward my leg hole. When it was close enough i swung my leg around and did a Michael Jackson kick. As I landed the kick the red hot flame bud landed on the street floor.
A circle full of irie eyes followed the flame, looked up at me, who was know panting for air and staring down at my burning nemesis, and let out a group, "whoa"!!!
"did that just fall out of your shorts Keo?"
I just nodded with a traumatic glare.
Again roars of laughter... And this time I joined in.
"so that's what all that bouncing was about."
I nodded and tried to change the subject so that maybe they'd forget for a moment what a crazy I might be and maybe for a while they did. Until of course the next time I saw them in Oahu for their Halloween show and I showed up looking like an exact replica of Selena. But that's a story we'll save for NEVER.
Let's just say that this next time we hang out, I'm keeping the champaigne showers to a minimum and doing cart wheels in my bodysuit!
Until we meet again.... Man Down!
Such was the case this weekend. I had been working like a dog, doing doubles all week and wasn't going to see a day off for 14 days. I wasn't all that bothered since I play for a living but regardless by Friday I was in dire need of some "me" time. And by "me" time I reAlly just mean a strong drink! One of my favorite friends Rico From Oahu texted me that day and told me he was on island for a night. Perfect! I thought to myself. An excuse to rage center stage!
I was stoked because Rico is one of my favorite characters in life and he travels with a very popular band, so I hardly get to kick it with this dude, but when I do- I know I'm always in for some witty laugh sessions. Rico is named so because simply put he's suave. Rico suave! One of those cats that can charm the panties right off a girl and make them think it was their idea. He's just that charismatic and magnetic and it runs in the family. Rico is cousin to one of my girls from high school who got more game than LeBron James. I've seen many a beauty fall for Ricos rapier wit and infectious personality. It's just addicting. The thing I love the most about Rico, and the rest of the band is that they can really appreciate mento, so me and all of my ridiculousness happen to fit right in without having to dilute any of it to keep social graces or whatever.
Anyhow, that night me and my favorite Asian diva Vera Wang met up with another bandmate Babyface at a bar. Babyface is also cousin to my girl and is the baby of the group and someone I knew before he had hair on his balls. We picked up Babyface and headed straight to their hotel room where Rico was napping to give him a much needed pimp slap. He was in my hood for one night only and there was no way he was going to be napping during my party time. When we got there Rico was already dressed along with the rest of The Mean Band. They're gig was in an hour and they were starving. Of course I talked them into eating at the Korean bar Vera Wang and I were heading over to anyway. They followed suit and didn't have time to eat bc Mama San was too busy making food for a drag show. Bad mama san! Bad!
Anyhow, they were off to their gig and I was left with another local celeb and friend Cameron to drink. Vera had split after her bud cookies made their way into her blood stream and shut down her brain and with it her slanted eyes, but luckily for me, Horny Mchornerson and a few others joined the party. Suddenly, we had a table of dads, brothers, daughters, classmates, teammates, and birthday girls taking shots like we were 50 cent.
One thing lead to another and we got Cameron to sing "man down" on stage with the band, little did I know that would turn out to be my anthem for the night.
What followed after that was a sequence of inexplicit raging and debauchery. After the show had ended a group of us had somehow ended up on the roof of the birthday girls car giving each other not so luxurious and not so calculated cheap champaigne showers. How we happened NOT to get arrested by the 12 Cop cars that filled the parking lot is beside me, but somehow we knew it was time to move out. It was all good since The Mean Band was just about finishing their show.
We headed over to their hotel room. From there i can recall only the most insignificant of details: The Samoan security guard trying to kick us out of the parking lot; Me trying to convince the Samoa security guard that he really didnt have to do that; The both of us arguing; The both of us coming to a compromise that we could sit out by the street like $2 dollar hookers; Some baseball boys walking home from a bar; Talking about how much I hated the baseball boys at my college; Seeing the Mean Band pull into the parking lot in mini vans and giggling about it; Ditching baseball boys; Hanging out by the pool; A longboard beer in my hand; A solo walk on the beach/make myself puke session; The creepy eyes of a Filipino beach walker that kept pacing back and forth me. And This is where I came back to mild consciousness. Those creepy eyes got me. It looked like he wanted to penetrate me, and without my consent too. Like he might actually prefer it that way. I was spooked to say the least and darted off the beach as fast as my drunk legs would allow. I ran to the boys and told them about rape eyes on the beach but could barely get through the details. Man Down, I thought! I was done!
I plopped myself on a chair in one of the empty rooms to watch some late night vh1 and cross my fingers that the floor would stop fucking spinning beneath me but I was out of luck. Finally when I felt like I could socialize again I went out onto the
Lawn where all the bandmates and groupies were hanging out. Babyface was giggling and cart wheeling like a 8 year old school girl.
"Hey", I thought out loud, "I wanna laugh! I can cart wheel too." I said like a bonafide bratzilla.
I could swear I heard Ricos voice challenging me, "no you can't."
Anyone who knows anything about me knows never to challenge me, my competitive nature is like Mike Tyson, I'll bite off your ear before I loose.
"yes I can!" I exclaimed as I hurled myself into the air for a drunken cartwheel. What I was not quite expecting was the damp grass that had been soiled by the sprinklers only moments earlier. As my body came around for a landing my feet flew under me like a virgin ice skater and smack I landed on my bare ass, in front of a band full of witty motha fuckas.
Shit! I thought as I lay on the floor laughing at myself. That was NOT what it looked Like in my head. Immediately roars of laughter came from all around me and there was really nothing else to do but laugh at my ass that was now exposed to the soiled grass.
"Man down!" I yelled, maybe just in my head, I can't remember.
The Mike Tyson inside me heard the laughter and thought one thing,
"I CAN do a cartwheel! I CAN." I had turned into a drunken little engine that could right before their eyes.
"I know I can. I'll show you." and off I went cart wheeling. This time I landed it perfectly.
I jumped up and yelled exuberantly, "see!!! I told u guys. I can do it."
But they were still laughing at me.
"what the fuck are you guys laughing at? I can cart wheel. I may be a little drunk and underestimated a few details in my first attempt but I was just warming up. See I landed it."
They weren't fazed or even slightly convinced by my last perfect cart wheel, so I I did it again.
Wham!
Another perfect cart wheel. But these fuckers were still laughing.
"what the fuck?" I thought out loud. Suddenly the breeze of the ocean air became apparent to my previously numb body and that breeze was moving through my body from my bottom half. I looked down and realized what all the laughing was about. I had seemed to have underestimated another minor detail of the cart wheeling.... The fact that I was wearing a dress and a pink lacy thong. Oh shit Keo, not again! I was like a deer at headlights except I was a drunk bare ass at laughing boy band.
There I was with my dress up at my waist staring in utter confusion at why I was standing there in front of a group full of guys in my underwear. How in the fuck did that just happen, I thought? Pull it together keo, I know you're cooler than this. Dammit, this was strike three for me with this band. While I knew half of the band previously, the others I met in their first trip to Maui. That time I picked up Rico and we met the rest of the band at the hotel parking lot to cruise and toke. As I was walking up to the group of talented and unsuspecting musicians the drummer Kunta came straight to me and practically yelled, "you're black!"
He wasn't asking, he was telling. I was a little taken back by his accusation but not at all shocked, this kind of stuff happened to me all the time, plus i'm pretty jaded to crazy by now.
This being our first meet and greet i tried to minimize my stinging blunt response and said "no I'm not!"
"yes you are!" he demanded again.
"ugh.... No I'm not!" I was starting to get a little irritated. Who the hell was this guy trinna tell me I'm black?
But he persisted, "yes you are! Your built like a black girl."
I didn't know at all what the fuck he was talking about and just replied "I'm pretty sure I'd know if I was black. And I'm not. But it's okay..." I continued, "people think I'm black all the time because I have rhythm like nobodies business."
For a moment there was silence, even the stream of Ricos pissing in the corner stopped for a second, then there was a loud roar of laughter. I guess they thought that was funny. I just thought it was facts.
"I like you" Kunta said, "your funny. You made me laugh within a minute of meeting you. You must be pretty cool."
"cool... Yes! Black... No!" I responded.
I cruised with them for a few hours talking about a whole lot of hilarious nothings. Holy crap all these guys were classic. I couldn't believe it... ALL of them were classic. Or as my royal fuck up of a friend Biggie Smalls would say, these guys were classical. A band full of traveling, talented classical characters, i could barely believe it, but it seems to be the case that characters are like centipedes, where theres one, there's always another close by. It was refreshing! Hardly anyone in Maui is classic like this, And I was reveling in the moment. No one in Maui usually gets my humor, but this was an all night give and take. It was phenomenal! As the joints were circulating the laugher just got more and more heavy. As I took ahold of a joint and went to inhale it's majestic green smoke, my body revolted and exhaled instead. Exhaled the burning bud flame out of the joint wrap and down into the abyss that is my clevage. The rest of the boys were standing around talking and waiting for the joint to come back around and i didnt want to embarass myself by making a scene and sticking my hand violently down my shirt to retrieve the burning flame. Though my exterior was composed, my insides were freaking out and my breasts were on fire! Shit! My plan was to non- chalantly fan it down my shirt before anyone noticed, but like most of my plans, this one went awry. I could feel the lit flame burning down my breast. I started nonchalantly fanning but the fanning wasnt working and the flame started burning down my chest and now my stomach. As the burning sensation ensued my fanning became more aggressive an pronounced. I was starting to do exactly what i didnt want to do: i was making a scene and i knew it because the guys all started staring at me in silence with a confused gaze. The burning continued and I was now jumping in the air from
Foot to foot fanning my top and gyrating my back and butt back and forth to create movement. At this point it was pretty obvious that I wasn't going to get away with NOT making a scene so I quickly scratched that plan and focused in the bigger issue at hand, not getting a 3rd degree burn.
I kept gyrating my butt back and forth like a single ladies back up dancer, but the stubborn burning bud would not quit and i couldnt understand why. It was then that it occurred to me that I was wearing one of my many infamous bodysuits and that the flame was stuck inside. It was then that I lost my shit!
I started yelling and jumping from foot to foot amidst gyrating and fanning "ahhhh.... Ahhhhhhh"
Now all the boys were in stony shock. Rico was so confused he had to get a better footing and started shifting his weight from foot to foot until his feet were shoulder width apart and his arms were crossed against his chest. His head was cocked in confusion, brows crunched wondering what the fuck I was doing. If I had to describe what I looked like, it could most closely be compared to the people at my childhood episcopalian church at the alter when they were being overcome by the holy spirit or simply, abrupt and unexplained lunatic jumping.
I was finally starting to make progress and could feel the fire moving down my body suit toward my leg hole. When it was close enough i swung my leg around and did a Michael Jackson kick. As I landed the kick the red hot flame bud landed on the street floor.
A circle full of irie eyes followed the flame, looked up at me, who was know panting for air and staring down at my burning nemesis, and let out a group, "whoa"!!!
"did that just fall out of your shorts Keo?"
I just nodded with a traumatic glare.
Again roars of laughter... And this time I joined in.
"so that's what all that bouncing was about."
I nodded and tried to change the subject so that maybe they'd forget for a moment what a crazy I might be and maybe for a while they did. Until of course the next time I saw them in Oahu for their Halloween show and I showed up looking like an exact replica of Selena. But that's a story we'll save for NEVER.
Let's just say that this next time we hang out, I'm keeping the champaigne showers to a minimum and doing cart wheels in my bodysuit!
Until we meet again.... Man Down!
Monday, May 23, 2011
Letting shit go
chronicdeliriumedit
Letting shit go
Life has been teaching me a lot about surrendering and letting go of the things that we want and desire so much. Lots of times we can get so caught up in desiring a particular outcome that we try to control every detail that “should” make us arrive at that outcome. But the lesson here is not about control but more about letting go of that control, surrendering it rather to a force that is larger than ourselves. The point of the matter is, is that we CANNOT control the things that are out of our parameter of control. We cannot control the future and the way that others will treat or react to us, but we do have the power to affect those very things. All we can do is our best- and when you’ve done all that you can and you can’t do anymore that is when you surrender it. And give it up to the Almighty, the divine. And once you can do that, once you let go and offer up your faith, trust and belief in the greater force, that force will respond with your intended outcome. It is the way of life, it is forgiveness, and it is blessings.
Believe me, it’s easier said than done. It’s never easy to give up and let go of something you’ve wanted so much for so long and are so close to getting and can’t quite grasp. It is in fact the most difficult task in life I believe, the act of letting go. All that time and effort of wanting and desiring something and being so invested in attaining it that the thought of letting all that attachment go is more than difficult. But forcing the outcome was never in the plan, it’s not natural and cannot act accordingly. But once you Can let go of the fact that you have no control over the extraneous details of life and that the universe operates not by your control but by a power greater than yourself, everything will fall into place naturally as it should. Most times that intended outcome will naturally manifest itself as it always should have and was always intended to. It’s nature to do so, and we mustn’t mess with nature. In fact if we look deep into nature and really listen, you would arrive at the same lesson. There is nothing like the grandeur of the grand canyon, the power of the ocean waves crash, or the majesty of a sunset to really put your being in perspective in this world. Raw Nature has a way of making us feel small and minuscule in respect to things: and it is exactly the way we should feel. Because in reality we are small and minuscule in the scheme of things and we must never forget that the universe operates by a higher, greater power than our feeble minds are even capable of understanding.
And so be it. Tell yourself, I am surrendering it. Letting it go, bc I have no control over it. It was something i had been waiting, praying, and wanting for SO long, and tried so hard to make happen and make work, but it was just forced and there is really nothing left for me to do at this point than to surrender it. I gave it my all, and that’s all that I could do. So I’m letting it go. And I’m just going to be…. Naturally, and I know I will be blessed. If it was really intended for my life than I trust that it will come to pass in it’s own time, but if not then so be it. I will move on and i have faith that my life will go on in the direction that it was always intended to.
If u think about this process conceptually, you’d see that it works best psychologically as well because all that worry and wanting and unnecessary energy won’t have to be exerted. You’ll be free. You’ll be able to make room for better in your life by making space where once that worry slept. It’s a win-win situation. Letting go allows you to be free of the wants that were possessing your being. Things so desired that the mere unrequited love not met from that desire robs your being of merely being, if that makes sense. If it doesnt, read it again more slowly until it sinks. It robs you of being your authentic self and thus living authentically. It is only when we live authentically are we truly joyful and aligned with our purpose in the world. Living authentically allows us to merely be naturally and undoubtedly puts us on a path to our natural and intended outcome in life. Either way, if u live your life authentically, you will always be doing and living with integrity and self truth- and in turn will always do things wholeheartedly, passionately and at your best. When that happens, the blessings in your life will flow because you are now living with the flow of the universe and the flow of life. U will ultimately be on a path toward your purpose and your intention in the world without even trying, but by merely being because you will be living your truth. And when that occurs EVERYTHING else that you’ve ever really unconsciously wanted or desired for your life will come naturally to you and will fall into place because you are in line with the universes purpose for you and your life. Everything will seem to come so easily for you because you won’t even have to try, all you’ll have to do is just be.
Awww…. And there really is no greater joy in the world than simply being yourself.
So how did I arrive at this deep philosophical understanding, one might ask? Well, a combination of predetermined existential tendencies, a deeply culturally rooted upbringing, a psychology degree, millions of hours of Oprah, tons of reading and a whole lot of living and learning the hard way.
And then there is my connection to nature. Raised in a culture, education and lifestyle that fostered the human-nature connection, I have always been slightly more attuned to nature than your average iPhone owner. Simply, I listen to it, was raised to do it, so I give it an opportunity to speak in my life.
A couple days ago that happened. It seems to be the case that my closest friends and I psychicly travel through life and it’s lessons at the same time, perfect for us to lean and support one another I guess, either way I refuse to believe it a Coincidence. Anyhow, for a couple weeks a couple friends of mine had all been struggling with different issues in their life ranging in depth and importance, yet at the core of every issue was the common denominator that was the lesson of letting go. We talked and talked and talked, over analyzed and talked some more about our problems, like most women do. We ruminated in the details of each individual situation until we got tired of hearing each other bitch, to which point we all laughed and told ourselves to SHUT UP and let it go!
Then we talked about letting go over and over again and still couldn’t quite grasp the actual physical and emotional act. It was still merely a theory and a philosophical idea to our consciousness.
And just when you need it, just when you ask, is precisely when you receive what you need. A couple days into it and ago, I was swimming on the shore with a little girl. In my pursuit to amuse the both of us I sent us on a quest to find shells, knowing full well that the beach in which we were swimming was all but shell less. As we were playing in the surf I caught a glimpse of the most amazing black and white stripped, thin pointed shell. I had never seen a Shell quite like it in all my beach going life and gasped when I spotted it. “What is it?” asked the Little girl. “A shell! The most beautiful shell I’ve ever seen. Oh my gosh. I want to have it.” Just as I jumped up to grab it in the sand a wave came and swished sand over it covering my view. When the sand cleared I was in a frenzy trying to find where my newest object of desire had gone. I seen a glipse of it in the sand and again hurdled toward it. In my attempt to attack it I had stomped a large sand cloud over my view again and it was lost. At that moment I was defeated because I knew that I had lost it to the big ocean floor with that stomp. Thinking about how ridiculous it would be for me to pursue my attempt at finding a shell the size of a baby’s pinky finger despite it’s rare beauty had sunk in. I was a little irritated with myself too, I couldn’t understand why I’d stomp like that. I mean, I knew the sand would do that, but I was in such a frenzy to possess that shell that I wasn’t thinking and acting straight. I took a big deep breath and said, “aww… I lost it. …… Oh well.” and continued on swimming and playing with the little girl in the surf. It was after all a ridiculous attempt and I was over it. I tried and it was obvious that it just was not going to work out for me. About 10 minutes and a few sand ball fights later, the same little girl and I were back in the water. As I pushed myself up of the bottom of the ocean floor something poked me in my left hand. “Ahhh!!!” I shrieked melodramatically. “what?” the little girl jolted? It was obvious I had frightened her. “something just stabbed me in my hand and it really hurt.” “what was it?” she asked. “well… I don’t know.” as I stuck my hand back into the sand where it had been stabbed only moments earlier to give this inquisitive little girl an answer I pulled out the sharp object without even turning my head to look for it and had already had the word “thorn” at the tip of my tongue ready to be blurted out. But as I pulled out the supposed “thorn” and placed it in front of my face, there it was! The beautiful sharp black and white shell that I had been in search of 10 minutes and a whole lot of sand clouds earlier. There it was in my hand, coming back to me. I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by it’s rare and spectacular shape and color, and the way that it had come to be in my hand at that moment. It was crazy. I had seen it in my reach, wanted it so badly, tried painstakingly to get it, got pretty close, but couldn’t quite grasp it. And in my failure to get it I just let it go and went on with my day without a worry. And just as I had forgotten all about it, there it was- poking me in my hand, as if it were a magnet being pulled directly into my possession. It was crazy, and another thing I refuse to pass off as a coincidence.
And it HIT me.
I mean really HIT me. Aha! I thought. I get it. I finally get it.
That’s it! That’s what letting go is. That’s what letting go feels like. That’s what it’s like to want something so badly that the mere thought of possessing it makes you think and act out of character and end up blowing it trying to force it. And that’s what happens when you can really let go. It finds it’s way back to you, naturally. If it was intended for you to have it, you will… Naturally. The right way. And that’s the way of the universe. If we can align ourselves with our authentic purpose in life, listen to nature, and surrender our deepest toils, the things and outcomes that we want can and will find it’s way into your life… Naturally. Because like that shell those very things are alive (turns out the shell had a living sea urchin living in it).
It gives a whole lot more meaning and value to being yourself, at all times. Not pretending, not forcing, not trying even… Just being, simply. Because what im learning is that when you can do that habitually, you can have everything youve ever dreamed for in your life, without effort. You can live your best life and not have to try.
Because if you’re trying, you’re not being. I know- too good to be true huh? Dont try?! Not advice one hears often in this lifetime but believe you me it is freeing.
So that’s where I’m at. Back to myself, my authentic self, the one that was there long before life experience and pains and tribulations affected my personhood. That childlike authenticity… Thats where I’m at. Arriving at my truth.
Letting shit go
Life has been teaching me a lot about surrendering and letting go of the things that we want and desire so much. Lots of times we can get so caught up in desiring a particular outcome that we try to control every detail that “should” make us arrive at that outcome. But the lesson here is not about control but more about letting go of that control, surrendering it rather to a force that is larger than ourselves. The point of the matter is, is that we CANNOT control the things that are out of our parameter of control. We cannot control the future and the way that others will treat or react to us, but we do have the power to affect those very things. All we can do is our best- and when you’ve done all that you can and you can’t do anymore that is when you surrender it. And give it up to the Almighty, the divine. And once you can do that, once you let go and offer up your faith, trust and belief in the greater force, that force will respond with your intended outcome. It is the way of life, it is forgiveness, and it is blessings.
Believe me, it’s easier said than done. It’s never easy to give up and let go of something you’ve wanted so much for so long and are so close to getting and can’t quite grasp. It is in fact the most difficult task in life I believe, the act of letting go. All that time and effort of wanting and desiring something and being so invested in attaining it that the thought of letting all that attachment go is more than difficult. But forcing the outcome was never in the plan, it’s not natural and cannot act accordingly. But once you Can let go of the fact that you have no control over the extraneous details of life and that the universe operates not by your control but by a power greater than yourself, everything will fall into place naturally as it should. Most times that intended outcome will naturally manifest itself as it always should have and was always intended to. It’s nature to do so, and we mustn’t mess with nature. In fact if we look deep into nature and really listen, you would arrive at the same lesson. There is nothing like the grandeur of the grand canyon, the power of the ocean waves crash, or the majesty of a sunset to really put your being in perspective in this world. Raw Nature has a way of making us feel small and minuscule in respect to things: and it is exactly the way we should feel. Because in reality we are small and minuscule in the scheme of things and we must never forget that the universe operates by a higher, greater power than our feeble minds are even capable of understanding.
And so be it. Tell yourself, I am surrendering it. Letting it go, bc I have no control over it. It was something i had been waiting, praying, and wanting for SO long, and tried so hard to make happen and make work, but it was just forced and there is really nothing left for me to do at this point than to surrender it. I gave it my all, and that’s all that I could do. So I’m letting it go. And I’m just going to be…. Naturally, and I know I will be blessed. If it was really intended for my life than I trust that it will come to pass in it’s own time, but if not then so be it. I will move on and i have faith that my life will go on in the direction that it was always intended to.
If u think about this process conceptually, you’d see that it works best psychologically as well because all that worry and wanting and unnecessary energy won’t have to be exerted. You’ll be free. You’ll be able to make room for better in your life by making space where once that worry slept. It’s a win-win situation. Letting go allows you to be free of the wants that were possessing your being. Things so desired that the mere unrequited love not met from that desire robs your being of merely being, if that makes sense. If it doesnt, read it again more slowly until it sinks. It robs you of being your authentic self and thus living authentically. It is only when we live authentically are we truly joyful and aligned with our purpose in the world. Living authentically allows us to merely be naturally and undoubtedly puts us on a path to our natural and intended outcome in life. Either way, if u live your life authentically, you will always be doing and living with integrity and self truth- and in turn will always do things wholeheartedly, passionately and at your best. When that happens, the blessings in your life will flow because you are now living with the flow of the universe and the flow of life. U will ultimately be on a path toward your purpose and your intention in the world without even trying, but by merely being because you will be living your truth. And when that occurs EVERYTHING else that you’ve ever really unconsciously wanted or desired for your life will come naturally to you and will fall into place because you are in line with the universes purpose for you and your life. Everything will seem to come so easily for you because you won’t even have to try, all you’ll have to do is just be.
Awww…. And there really is no greater joy in the world than simply being yourself.
So how did I arrive at this deep philosophical understanding, one might ask? Well, a combination of predetermined existential tendencies, a deeply culturally rooted upbringing, a psychology degree, millions of hours of Oprah, tons of reading and a whole lot of living and learning the hard way.
And then there is my connection to nature. Raised in a culture, education and lifestyle that fostered the human-nature connection, I have always been slightly more attuned to nature than your average iPhone owner. Simply, I listen to it, was raised to do it, so I give it an opportunity to speak in my life.
A couple days ago that happened. It seems to be the case that my closest friends and I psychicly travel through life and it’s lessons at the same time, perfect for us to lean and support one another I guess, either way I refuse to believe it a Coincidence. Anyhow, for a couple weeks a couple friends of mine had all been struggling with different issues in their life ranging in depth and importance, yet at the core of every issue was the common denominator that was the lesson of letting go. We talked and talked and talked, over analyzed and talked some more about our problems, like most women do. We ruminated in the details of each individual situation until we got tired of hearing each other bitch, to which point we all laughed and told ourselves to SHUT UP and let it go!
Then we talked about letting go over and over again and still couldn’t quite grasp the actual physical and emotional act. It was still merely a theory and a philosophical idea to our consciousness.
And just when you need it, just when you ask, is precisely when you receive what you need. A couple days into it and ago, I was swimming on the shore with a little girl. In my pursuit to amuse the both of us I sent us on a quest to find shells, knowing full well that the beach in which we were swimming was all but shell less. As we were playing in the surf I caught a glimpse of the most amazing black and white stripped, thin pointed shell. I had never seen a Shell quite like it in all my beach going life and gasped when I spotted it. “What is it?” asked the Little girl. “A shell! The most beautiful shell I’ve ever seen. Oh my gosh. I want to have it.” Just as I jumped up to grab it in the sand a wave came and swished sand over it covering my view. When the sand cleared I was in a frenzy trying to find where my newest object of desire had gone. I seen a glipse of it in the sand and again hurdled toward it. In my attempt to attack it I had stomped a large sand cloud over my view again and it was lost. At that moment I was defeated because I knew that I had lost it to the big ocean floor with that stomp. Thinking about how ridiculous it would be for me to pursue my attempt at finding a shell the size of a baby’s pinky finger despite it’s rare beauty had sunk in. I was a little irritated with myself too, I couldn’t understand why I’d stomp like that. I mean, I knew the sand would do that, but I was in such a frenzy to possess that shell that I wasn’t thinking and acting straight. I took a big deep breath and said, “aww… I lost it. …… Oh well.” and continued on swimming and playing with the little girl in the surf. It was after all a ridiculous attempt and I was over it. I tried and it was obvious that it just was not going to work out for me. About 10 minutes and a few sand ball fights later, the same little girl and I were back in the water. As I pushed myself up of the bottom of the ocean floor something poked me in my left hand. “Ahhh!!!” I shrieked melodramatically. “what?” the little girl jolted? It was obvious I had frightened her. “something just stabbed me in my hand and it really hurt.” “what was it?” she asked. “well… I don’t know.” as I stuck my hand back into the sand where it had been stabbed only moments earlier to give this inquisitive little girl an answer I pulled out the sharp object without even turning my head to look for it and had already had the word “thorn” at the tip of my tongue ready to be blurted out. But as I pulled out the supposed “thorn” and placed it in front of my face, there it was! The beautiful sharp black and white shell that I had been in search of 10 minutes and a whole lot of sand clouds earlier. There it was in my hand, coming back to me. I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by it’s rare and spectacular shape and color, and the way that it had come to be in my hand at that moment. It was crazy. I had seen it in my reach, wanted it so badly, tried painstakingly to get it, got pretty close, but couldn’t quite grasp it. And in my failure to get it I just let it go and went on with my day without a worry. And just as I had forgotten all about it, there it was- poking me in my hand, as if it were a magnet being pulled directly into my possession. It was crazy, and another thing I refuse to pass off as a coincidence.
And it HIT me.
I mean really HIT me. Aha! I thought. I get it. I finally get it.
That’s it! That’s what letting go is. That’s what letting go feels like. That’s what it’s like to want something so badly that the mere thought of possessing it makes you think and act out of character and end up blowing it trying to force it. And that’s what happens when you can really let go. It finds it’s way back to you, naturally. If it was intended for you to have it, you will… Naturally. The right way. And that’s the way of the universe. If we can align ourselves with our authentic purpose in life, listen to nature, and surrender our deepest toils, the things and outcomes that we want can and will find it’s way into your life… Naturally. Because like that shell those very things are alive (turns out the shell had a living sea urchin living in it).
It gives a whole lot more meaning and value to being yourself, at all times. Not pretending, not forcing, not trying even… Just being, simply. Because what im learning is that when you can do that habitually, you can have everything youve ever dreamed for in your life, without effort. You can live your best life and not have to try.
Because if you’re trying, you’re not being. I know- too good to be true huh? Dont try?! Not advice one hears often in this lifetime but believe you me it is freeing.
So that’s where I’m at. Back to myself, my authentic self, the one that was there long before life experience and pains and tribulations affected my personhood. That childlike authenticity… Thats where I’m at. Arriving at my truth.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Hot bitches and their boobs
I love nothing more than a foreign holiday revolving around the consumption of alcohol. So come St.Patties day I dust off my old green threads and regress back into a sloppy college co-ed. This year a wonderful Irish pub on the south side was the locale for my great demise. I was working all night and ended up playing the game no one wants to play: catch up. By the time I arrived, everyone at the pub was beyond a mess and in the stage of drunk I like to call the “Lovers Lane”. You know that point of drunk when the “I Love You’s” start rolling off your tongue faster than Japanese at a rice sale. The moment I walked into the oversized pub I was feeling love from EVERYONE in there. I quickly found my friends hanging out at the upper bar and I approached with speed and tenacity: I was 5 hours late and it was “Go Time”. I callously shrugged off hugs and hellos and headed straight to the bar saying nothing but three little words:
“Irish Car Bombs?”
While my friends looked at me hesitantly they were in no condition to comprehend let alone disagree with my intense desire to consume alcohol. While I turned to order I was unaware that a Chris Angel show was taking place behind my back. Poof. It was real life magic here in Maui. In an instant, 8 people had pulled the most impressive disappearing acts ever seen by my slit retinas. I wasn’t all that bothered, I mean-I was parched after all; I figured I could handle 8 drinks, right? Honestly I was more concerned about the bill than the idea of consuming all that poison, so I turned back to the bartender to see if he had started mixing.
Shit. Mixing had ensued. Guess I’d have to drink it alone. An eternal optimist I thought inevitably this would turn out to be a loose-win situation. Lose, Money. Win, Drunk. Boo, wallet. Yay, Beer!
Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see my friend Osh-Kosh staring blankly into my eyes. Again I repeated those three little words:
“Irish Car Bombs?”
She continued to stare into my eyes with zero reaction to my inquiry. I decided to stutter,
“Irish Car Bombs?”
Osh-Kosh intensely stared into my eyes. Osh-Kosh is one of the brightest and shiniest bulbs in the tanning bed, a capable young woman, so the staring and lack of reaction honestly startled me,
“Are you okay Osh-Kosh?” I asked.
Now this was a statement Osh-Kosh knew well. “YES” she practically yelled back at me, “I JUST NEED WATER. CAN YOU ORDER ME WATER?”
Oblivious to how inebriated Osh-Kosh really was I yelled back in her face amidst fist pumping “HELL NO H2O! HELL NO H2O!” I was ready to party and had little time for poopers.
“Seriously, I NEED water!!!!” she snapped.
Crap. She was serious. I stopped yelling but the jumping and fist pumping ensued as I turned to the bartender to add water to my drink list of Irish Car bombs and vodka tonic. He didn’t look too pleased and ignored my water order multiple times.
As I looked to Osh Kosh behind me to break the news that the water was not likely to come her way I turned to meet her blank glare, cocked head and a handful of boob in her right hand that was now jiggling with the tap of her hand.
“Uh-“ I was baffled, what the hell is she doing with all that staring and all that boob? “Osh Kosh… what are you doing?” I asked, bewildered.
“My boobs….” She started, “they’re fuckin flat tonight. They look like fucking pancakes.” Boob jiggle, followed by three consecutive boob jiggles.
Now Osh Kosh is a tiny hot Lolita with a pair of the most glorious natural racks known to humanity, and they are nothing close to pancakes. I don’t know what to say. I’m at a lost. I’m starting to evaluate whether she’s one of those annoying beauties that fish for compliments. I had a classmate like that in boarding school who I constantly contemplated strangling in instances like this one. She looked like she walked straight out of a Victoria Secret magazine, and this was in high school, when most teens still had braces and didn’t know what to do with their hair let alone their face. This bitch was perfect from day one. No pores, sultry waved hair, beautiful skin tone, and an absolutely perfect curvaceous body. Too bad the poor bitch had the self-esteem of a pound dog. She was a bonafide fisherwoman throughout high school always fishing for any compliment she could conjure, and I just got straight annoyed with her shenanigans and finally starting agreeing with her that she looked fat and ugly in just about everything she wore. Poor girl believed me and went on a cereal and veggie only diet, and started covering up her victorious breasts with little boy tees from Savers and was practically invisible to guys radar by senior year. What a loss.
Is Osh Kosh fishing? I couldn’t really be sure.
I stare in disbelief, looking at our outrageous and populated surroundings.
Looks like I’m about to find out.
She looks down at her “pancakes” and continues to jiggle at an increasing pace, “Pancakes Keo. Pancakes.” She looks up at me in all seriousness and asks politely while simultaneously jiggling her boob with each word and almost chocking up on her words as if she might just cry, “Would you like me to make you pancakes Keo?”
I began blinking rapidly as I usually do when I’m a bit confused, “Ugh- no thanks, I’m actually not that hungry for pancakes” I respond, giggling patronizingly to myself at the amusement of intoxication. Hah, drunken people are a hoot.
Suddenly I see Osh Kosh’s eyes widen and she darts towards the bar.
Our order is ready and she gulps her water and lime in 2 swigs.
Irish car bombs check, beer, check. Vodka tonic????
ALL RIGHT. Where the hell is my vodka tonic? There is just no way, no way, no way, that I am even slightly capable of ingesting this putrid drink without my vodka tonic. Suddenly I see pancakes bouncing up in the corner of my eye, it’s Osh Kosh and she’s spitting up and gagging in my peripheral. What’s with her now?
“How’s that water?” I ask.
She looks like she might just hurl out the words but somehow she mutters, “I must be really sick because even this water takes like its alcohol.”
“Give it here!” I order.
I take a sip and giggle to myself as I give it back to her, “Tastes like water to me.”
She gulps the rest of my vodka tonic in two sips and sprints out of the bar, probably to puke pancake mix and Aunt Gemima Syrup. It’s the last I see of Osh Kosh that night and my vodka tonic, but somehow I survive.
Osh Kosh’s pancake tirade can’t help but take me back a few years when I had gone out to dinner with another very hot tamale of a friend I have, her boo and my love interest of the season. The four of us had gone out to dinner and drinks and had walked over to a small grungy beach bar known for it’s even grungier cat litter they so rashly threw at the entrance of the bar and tried to play off as sand. I was never a fan.
It was a slow night in there, which was perfect for us because the four of us were getting wasted FAST. At the time, I couldn’t tell you who the worse drunk of the four was. My friend Cholula is named so because she’s HOT sauce, in both looks and attitude. A little 5’1’ mama with banging legs, great boobs and a hilarious reaction to alcohol, she’s one of those people that were born for confrontation. It’s not that she likes it, or even seeks it out really. But rather, confrontation seeks her ALL of the time- and I’ve never known her to back down, Not Ever.
I was back from college for a break and in probably the worst phase of my drunken co-ed rage that could last weeks at a time, coupled with an insatiable thirst for adventure and a filter-less mouth and we have a calculation for disaster. My love interest at the time was back home from college too and let’s just say the last time he was back he got tazed in the eye, broke his arm, and crashed his car. Cholula’s lovah was no better. The first time I had met the strapping lad; Cholula’s insisted that we do a chug contest. He ingested his full beer in one fluid gulp. It was the most impressive maneuver I had ever seen in all my liquid consumption years. I still don’t really understand it. I liked him instantly. Anyhow, a drunken foursome mess stumbled into the kitty litter infested bar that night.
While me and my boo were talking toward the side of the bar, Cholula and her lovah were trying to order drinks at the bar. My drunken intuitions and Cholula’s cobra neck snapping in my peripheral signaled a problem. I turned to see Cholula lips pursed; one eyebrow raised staring at the bartender. I missed something pivotal, and now I knew it because in a split second Cholula turned Puerto Rican on me. As I continued to stare in I realized that Cholula and the bartender were fighting about her lovah. Uh Oh. I started to pay attention. Cholula had just snapped a witty comment I could tell and started leaning her hotness over the bar. The disgusting blonde, sloppy 30-something bartender was obviously enraged and needed to snap back quickly, her eyes darted from side to side, as if she was searching for a comeback comment in the corners of the room, but she couldn’t muster up anything quick enough so she blurted out the first thing she could think- a compliment. “Well… you can just get outa here with those fake boobs of yours.”
Cholula was practically on fire when she grabbed her double D’s in both hands rubbed them together all the while leaning over the bar, smirked and yelled back,
“Oh baby, these are ALL REAL!!!” and started laughing demeaning.
The bartender was defeated and she knew it. Again she darted her eyes left to right looking for the next comeback hidden in the kitty litter walls,
“THAT’S IT!!!!” she yelled, she couldn’t take anymore of this, “YOU’RE OUTA HERE!!!” Her umpire impersonation was impressive but her comebacks were not. I honestly started to feel bad for her because the bar was shutting down anyway and it was obvious that her insecurities about the skin folds she was trying to pass off as boobs was more obvious than her orangutan tities hanging out of her halter-top. I walked calmly to Cholula at the bar to get her from the bar lest she leap over it and start pounding this poor bartender with no boobs and worse no wit. As I made my way over, slightly giggling to myself about how hilarious it was that she had tried so hard to make a hit at my friend but really just complimented her instead, the bartender turned to me with her rage and practically shrieked with pure uncontrollable anger and frustration, “YOU TOO!!! YOU CAN GET THE FUCK OUT” She continued to the bouncer, “GET THEM THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!! AHHHHHHHHKKKK.”
She was like a fem-bot malfunctioning.
Oh hells no. Bitch just misstep. For a split second I blacked out, and then I heard the words, “FUCK YOU AND YOU’RE FLAP JACK TITTIES!” stream out of my mouth at an uncontrollable pace. Oh shit.
A bouncer had pounced on me faster than a Filipino at a garage sale.
And at that point I was calm and started walking out of that bar. On the way out Cholula couldn’t help but yell out her hysteria,
“Ahahahahaha. Flap Jack titties. Now that’s good!”
Honestly though, her “boobs” had the consistency of a pancake, there was nothing left to be said.
Hot bitches and their boobs I tell you.
“Irish Car Bombs?”
While my friends looked at me hesitantly they were in no condition to comprehend let alone disagree with my intense desire to consume alcohol. While I turned to order I was unaware that a Chris Angel show was taking place behind my back. Poof. It was real life magic here in Maui. In an instant, 8 people had pulled the most impressive disappearing acts ever seen by my slit retinas. I wasn’t all that bothered, I mean-I was parched after all; I figured I could handle 8 drinks, right? Honestly I was more concerned about the bill than the idea of consuming all that poison, so I turned back to the bartender to see if he had started mixing.
Shit. Mixing had ensued. Guess I’d have to drink it alone. An eternal optimist I thought inevitably this would turn out to be a loose-win situation. Lose, Money. Win, Drunk. Boo, wallet. Yay, Beer!
Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see my friend Osh-Kosh staring blankly into my eyes. Again I repeated those three little words:
“Irish Car Bombs?”
She continued to stare into my eyes with zero reaction to my inquiry. I decided to stutter,
“Irish Car Bombs?”
Osh-Kosh intensely stared into my eyes. Osh-Kosh is one of the brightest and shiniest bulbs in the tanning bed, a capable young woman, so the staring and lack of reaction honestly startled me,
“Are you okay Osh-Kosh?” I asked.
Now this was a statement Osh-Kosh knew well. “YES” she practically yelled back at me, “I JUST NEED WATER. CAN YOU ORDER ME WATER?”
Oblivious to how inebriated Osh-Kosh really was I yelled back in her face amidst fist pumping “HELL NO H2O! HELL NO H2O!” I was ready to party and had little time for poopers.
“Seriously, I NEED water!!!!” she snapped.
Crap. She was serious. I stopped yelling but the jumping and fist pumping ensued as I turned to the bartender to add water to my drink list of Irish Car bombs and vodka tonic. He didn’t look too pleased and ignored my water order multiple times.
As I looked to Osh Kosh behind me to break the news that the water was not likely to come her way I turned to meet her blank glare, cocked head and a handful of boob in her right hand that was now jiggling with the tap of her hand.
“Uh-“ I was baffled, what the hell is she doing with all that staring and all that boob? “Osh Kosh… what are you doing?” I asked, bewildered.
“My boobs….” She started, “they’re fuckin flat tonight. They look like fucking pancakes.” Boob jiggle, followed by three consecutive boob jiggles.
Now Osh Kosh is a tiny hot Lolita with a pair of the most glorious natural racks known to humanity, and they are nothing close to pancakes. I don’t know what to say. I’m at a lost. I’m starting to evaluate whether she’s one of those annoying beauties that fish for compliments. I had a classmate like that in boarding school who I constantly contemplated strangling in instances like this one. She looked like she walked straight out of a Victoria Secret magazine, and this was in high school, when most teens still had braces and didn’t know what to do with their hair let alone their face. This bitch was perfect from day one. No pores, sultry waved hair, beautiful skin tone, and an absolutely perfect curvaceous body. Too bad the poor bitch had the self-esteem of a pound dog. She was a bonafide fisherwoman throughout high school always fishing for any compliment she could conjure, and I just got straight annoyed with her shenanigans and finally starting agreeing with her that she looked fat and ugly in just about everything she wore. Poor girl believed me and went on a cereal and veggie only diet, and started covering up her victorious breasts with little boy tees from Savers and was practically invisible to guys radar by senior year. What a loss.
Is Osh Kosh fishing? I couldn’t really be sure.
I stare in disbelief, looking at our outrageous and populated surroundings.
Looks like I’m about to find out.
She looks down at her “pancakes” and continues to jiggle at an increasing pace, “Pancakes Keo. Pancakes.” She looks up at me in all seriousness and asks politely while simultaneously jiggling her boob with each word and almost chocking up on her words as if she might just cry, “Would you like me to make you pancakes Keo?”
I began blinking rapidly as I usually do when I’m a bit confused, “Ugh- no thanks, I’m actually not that hungry for pancakes” I respond, giggling patronizingly to myself at the amusement of intoxication. Hah, drunken people are a hoot.
Suddenly I see Osh Kosh’s eyes widen and she darts towards the bar.
Our order is ready and she gulps her water and lime in 2 swigs.
Irish car bombs check, beer, check. Vodka tonic????
ALL RIGHT. Where the hell is my vodka tonic? There is just no way, no way, no way, that I am even slightly capable of ingesting this putrid drink without my vodka tonic. Suddenly I see pancakes bouncing up in the corner of my eye, it’s Osh Kosh and she’s spitting up and gagging in my peripheral. What’s with her now?
“How’s that water?” I ask.
She looks like she might just hurl out the words but somehow she mutters, “I must be really sick because even this water takes like its alcohol.”
“Give it here!” I order.
I take a sip and giggle to myself as I give it back to her, “Tastes like water to me.”
She gulps the rest of my vodka tonic in two sips and sprints out of the bar, probably to puke pancake mix and Aunt Gemima Syrup. It’s the last I see of Osh Kosh that night and my vodka tonic, but somehow I survive.
Osh Kosh’s pancake tirade can’t help but take me back a few years when I had gone out to dinner with another very hot tamale of a friend I have, her boo and my love interest of the season. The four of us had gone out to dinner and drinks and had walked over to a small grungy beach bar known for it’s even grungier cat litter they so rashly threw at the entrance of the bar and tried to play off as sand. I was never a fan.
It was a slow night in there, which was perfect for us because the four of us were getting wasted FAST. At the time, I couldn’t tell you who the worse drunk of the four was. My friend Cholula is named so because she’s HOT sauce, in both looks and attitude. A little 5’1’ mama with banging legs, great boobs and a hilarious reaction to alcohol, she’s one of those people that were born for confrontation. It’s not that she likes it, or even seeks it out really. But rather, confrontation seeks her ALL of the time- and I’ve never known her to back down, Not Ever.
I was back from college for a break and in probably the worst phase of my drunken co-ed rage that could last weeks at a time, coupled with an insatiable thirst for adventure and a filter-less mouth and we have a calculation for disaster. My love interest at the time was back home from college too and let’s just say the last time he was back he got tazed in the eye, broke his arm, and crashed his car. Cholula’s lovah was no better. The first time I had met the strapping lad; Cholula’s insisted that we do a chug contest. He ingested his full beer in one fluid gulp. It was the most impressive maneuver I had ever seen in all my liquid consumption years. I still don’t really understand it. I liked him instantly. Anyhow, a drunken foursome mess stumbled into the kitty litter infested bar that night.
While me and my boo were talking toward the side of the bar, Cholula and her lovah were trying to order drinks at the bar. My drunken intuitions and Cholula’s cobra neck snapping in my peripheral signaled a problem. I turned to see Cholula lips pursed; one eyebrow raised staring at the bartender. I missed something pivotal, and now I knew it because in a split second Cholula turned Puerto Rican on me. As I continued to stare in I realized that Cholula and the bartender were fighting about her lovah. Uh Oh. I started to pay attention. Cholula had just snapped a witty comment I could tell and started leaning her hotness over the bar. The disgusting blonde, sloppy 30-something bartender was obviously enraged and needed to snap back quickly, her eyes darted from side to side, as if she was searching for a comeback comment in the corners of the room, but she couldn’t muster up anything quick enough so she blurted out the first thing she could think- a compliment. “Well… you can just get outa here with those fake boobs of yours.”
Cholula was practically on fire when she grabbed her double D’s in both hands rubbed them together all the while leaning over the bar, smirked and yelled back,
“Oh baby, these are ALL REAL!!!” and started laughing demeaning.
The bartender was defeated and she knew it. Again she darted her eyes left to right looking for the next comeback hidden in the kitty litter walls,
“THAT’S IT!!!!” she yelled, she couldn’t take anymore of this, “YOU’RE OUTA HERE!!!” Her umpire impersonation was impressive but her comebacks were not. I honestly started to feel bad for her because the bar was shutting down anyway and it was obvious that her insecurities about the skin folds she was trying to pass off as boobs was more obvious than her orangutan tities hanging out of her halter-top. I walked calmly to Cholula at the bar to get her from the bar lest she leap over it and start pounding this poor bartender with no boobs and worse no wit. As I made my way over, slightly giggling to myself about how hilarious it was that she had tried so hard to make a hit at my friend but really just complimented her instead, the bartender turned to me with her rage and practically shrieked with pure uncontrollable anger and frustration, “YOU TOO!!! YOU CAN GET THE FUCK OUT” She continued to the bouncer, “GET THEM THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!! AHHHHHHHHKKKK.”
She was like a fem-bot malfunctioning.
Oh hells no. Bitch just misstep. For a split second I blacked out, and then I heard the words, “FUCK YOU AND YOU’RE FLAP JACK TITTIES!” stream out of my mouth at an uncontrollable pace. Oh shit.
A bouncer had pounced on me faster than a Filipino at a garage sale.
And at that point I was calm and started walking out of that bar. On the way out Cholula couldn’t help but yell out her hysteria,
“Ahahahahaha. Flap Jack titties. Now that’s good!”
Honestly though, her “boobs” had the consistency of a pancake, there was nothing left to be said.
Hot bitches and their boobs I tell you.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Potty Mouth
While I could never call myself a woman of my word, from time to time I like to surprise myself and others by following through on a promise. Hate is a fuel perfectly suited for a venomous person like myself, so it's no wonder that I can't seem to turn off the fiya that are my delectable rhymes. This one was inspired by a few shit faced losers and the thoughts that happen to coss my mind when thinking of them. So just as promised, a lil lyrical snack to chew on.
Potty Mouth
Pirate hooker bitch
Back stabbing little snitch
Shit faced loser
Pussy drunk boozer
Turd licking twat
One-way parking lot
Fuck friend Frank
Catholic nun spank
Sucking Sodomy Seth
English morning breath
Piss face poop
Hot turd soup
Vagina monologues
Awkward dialogues
Flack jack tities
Little dick minis
Bitch tits McGee
Asparagus shishi
Dickwod Douche
Kangaroo Pouche
Neddle dick coat
Homosexual cruise boat
Shit bunk dope
Pube infested soap
Lame mass text
Geriatric Sex
Cunt bitch copy cat
Armpit titty fat
Ass burger mold
Integrity sold
Brown nosing kiss ass
Dead loser shit last
Stink port a potty doo doo
……. Thinking of You =)
Tsunami Warning
8.9 Tsunami hitting Japan, major Tsunami warning in Hawaii set to hit the coast at 3:01a.m.
11:59pm Dad refuses to acknowledge that our house near the coast in not "coastal" enough and decides to leisurely make a sandwich...... Typical.
12:00am Mom and I leave his ass with his longboard.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Blindsided BJ
When I lived in San Francisco there were too things I just had to get used to: Public Transportation, and Crazy Ass motha fuckas. Anyone who has ever been to the city of sodomy knows that the streets are home to thousands of residents young and old, short and tall, lovers and fighters, and all equally fucking crazy and reeking of their own piss. It was something that wasn’t easy for a Maui girl to get used to, but it’s amazing what an ipod, some tupac and loud earphones can do. Crazy was just part of everyday life in San Francisco and the longer I lived there, the more jaded to Crazy I became. I frequently was engaged in outrageous and irrelevant conversation on the bus and in the streets. I’ve sat on the bus next to a woman with a grocery bag full of her own piss, to another woman yelling profanities at the Chinese woman sitting in the seat across from her wearing a Dentist mouth cap like she was roaming around an Anthrax attacked city in China. While the white woman blamed those dirty Chinese for all the nasty diseases they brought to Americans, I sat there getting more and more annoyed with the woman’s voice. Sitting through 15 minutes of that kind of lunacy drove me insane. Finally at my stop, I lowered my tupac, empowered and a little bit gangster, I stood up and yelled in the woman’s face “Shut the fuck up already you crazy bitch!” And then darted as fast as I could off the bus like a little bitch, less she throw a bag of piss on me, or worse, spit in my face.
With a daily dose of that level of crazy, still by far, the craziest thing I encountered in that city was undoubtedly a crack head lying lifelessly on a side street near the place where I volunteered.
The last year of my college career, I did my practicum work at a Blind Institute, teaching Art Classes.
And Yes. No need to re-read that statement over and over again. You read it correctly the first time. I taught ART CLASSES to the BLIND. Tons of people can’t get passed this point in the story, and wondering how and why I would do such a thing. And let me tell you, it was pretty easy. I mean, there were little expectations. I mean shit, they were blind, and secondly, I used a lot of detailed verbal direction. Plus, the the idea that I could direct a student all the while recreating some of the most famous paintings with penis’ for bodies without anyone knowing was too hard to pass up. Not that I ever did- but the idea alone was freeing.
By the second semester, the primary Art teacher, Phoebe, who was exactly the kind of character you’d imagine to be teaching art classes in San Francisco to a bunch of blind people, had entrusted me to teach the class alone on Wednesdays. The instructor, Phoebe, was really not much different from the infamous character Phoebe on the hit-show Friends. In fact, she dressed exactly like her and said the same sort of stinging random comments to the students that resulted in the perfection of my silent laugh. This lady was classic and I loved her for it. One day she had told one of our students Mira, who was infamous for talking 3 inches from your face with her offensive bad breath, in a kindsi sedated voice “Mira, if you don’t mind me asking are you having trouble finding your toothbrush?” This lady was wild.
Mid-way through the semester a new young volunteer we’ll call Jada had started volunteering in the class as well. When Jada volunteered, I was stoked. She was young and hip and we got along famously. She and I both loved art, dancing and making our own jewelry- and did all of the above during the classes. Most of the 2 hour class Jada and I spent sitting at opposite ends of the class facing each other, making our own art projects and rudely talking to each other over the class.
One of those days, she and I couldn’t help but notice a woman lying out on the street below us. The art class was located on the second floor of a building and had large windows for walls that perfectly over looked the side street.
Jada, amidst making her own earrings yelled to me, “OMG!!!!! Can you SEE that? Is it dead?”
Now, it’s sort of frowned upon to say a statement like “Can you see that” in a room full of blind people, and then watch as all their heads tilt upward like a sick game of heads up seven up, but this was serious. I mean- I never saw a dead body before and I started to think differently of that statement, there is a first time for everything.
Jada and I were frantic and both stared down at the lifeless body below us wondering if we should call the cops. The body was in a split like position with her entire torso lying on the ground with her arms sprawled out. Either this was a dead man or a homeless yogi, but Jada and I were pretty sure it was the former.
“Maybe we should call the cops.” Jada yelled again.
The class began to stir. People were getting worried. Usually it’s polite for the “visually capable” to describe to the blind folk what’s going on, to make them feel comfortable and included. So I began my attempt to diffuse the situation and include the visually disabled,
“Just to let you all know, there’s a crack head outside the window and it might be dead.”
Damn. I’ve never been good at sugar coating, or worrying about what others thought but crap this was socially conscious San Francisco, practically everything was taken in offense. Was there was a crack head sitting in our class offended? Probably, but this was no time to be worried about the logistics. Oh hell- this was panic mode. Short and to the point is sort of my thing anyway.
Jada and I watched as a man walking down the street approached the lifeless body and started kicking it to wake it. He kicked the body a few times and I knew we were looking at a dead man. Oh fuck. Did I just discover a dead body? Now what? Years and years of watching unsolved mysteries flooded my mind and I started hearing the dreary tone of the jingle.
Then suddenly…. the beast awoke. “AHHHHHHHHHHH” Jada and I yelled in unison. The class was blind- sided (Sorry…. I couldn’t help myself). They all jolted in fear. It was obvious that the class was worried and wanted to be filled in as to what we were screaming about. For all they knew it could’ve been a crack head terrorist attack.
“Holy Crap. What is that? Is it a…” Jada was searching for descriptive options for the beast “a… a…” she found it, “a man or a woman?”
“It’s a crack head!” I yelled as if I were Tokyo town Asian extra seeing Godzilla.
“Yikes!” Jada responded in disgust.
The illusion of breasts signaled that this beast was in fact a woman, but that was the only signaling we’d get. I mean this woman had the body of OJ Simpson, and a face like Charley Murphy. She had scabs up and down her arms, was sporting navy sweat pants, mis-matched socks with hotel house slippers. Girl had better days.
Jada and I watched as the man kicking the street hooker gave her a lil som’t som’t. The street hooker took that som’t som’t put it in a glass pipe and started smoking it right there on the street.
“OMG. Is this really happening?” Jada yelled. Jada was obviously new at this blind thing, so I decided keep the rest of the class informed as well.
“Yeah looks like it. She’s smoking crack.” I said jaded. I wasn’t all that impressed, I mean it was after all a crack head, and this was crack she was smoking- this was her SOUL FOOD.
While we were a little relieved that we didn’t have to report a dead body to the cops, and a little jolted by the witnessing of crack smoking, we were nowhere ready for what was to follow.
The street hooker in all her crack glory got up off the ground and started her very own crack influenced performance. It looked like a crack head Charley Murphy had eaten Beyonce. Crack head Beyonce started shimming and kicking down the alleyway. SHIMMY KICK AND SHIMMY, DROP IT LOW, AND BOUNCE DAT ASS. AND SHIMMY AND KICK AND SHIMMY AGAIN.
What the hell was going on?
Jada and I started laughing hysterically watching the Crack Head Beyonce shimmy her way up to the window of a parked car, look at her reflection and sexily shake her goodies like she was in the Single Ladies video. Crack Head Beyonce shimmy, kicked and shimmied her crack head ass for a good 45 minutes, with her crowd of 2 laughing hysterically from the upper balcony seats surrounded by a room full of paint covered and annoyed blind students.
“Oh my god. LOOK!” Jada yelled. Realizing the word she had just yelled in the room full of blind people she shamefully caught herself, sighed and covered her mouth, adding, “Whoops. Sorry.”
Jada was awful at being conscious of the “visually impaired.” This was exactly the kind of situation they brought up in the introductory class about working with the blind. Blind people just want to be treated like everybody else and saying something like “Look” and then taking it back with regret is more embarrassing than saying it in the first place. I mean- did she even take that class or what? I was starting to question her professionalism and whether or not this was gonna be a good fit for her. I mean I was a pro at treating the disabled equally. In all my games of solitaire and poker, ask me how many I lost to a blind person? That’s right- ZERO! Just cause you’re blind or a 12-year-old boy with the mental capacity of a 4 year old doesn’t mean the rules of the game change. No Freebies. Equality, remember.
But still, I liked Jada, a lot, so I was willing to over look the mishaps. Plus I got too distracted to even think about being conscientious.
“There’s a guy walking down the street” she chuckled.
Jada and I watched as a tall black man in a baby blue matching velour sweat suit and a head full of cornrows walked down the street. When crack head Beyonce noticed him walking down the street she shimmied and kicked her way over to the man with an intense look of seduction in her eyes. I thought I was gonna vomit a Van Gogh. The man continued walking in her direction but looked around to see if there was anyone else seeing this. Little did he know, there was. When he thought there wasn’t he smiled for a second as the disgusting crack head started rubbing up on him.
At this point I couldn’t control myself. I was laughing hysterically watching this man enjoy a little daytime booty shake from a disgusting crack whore. I tried filling in the class, “The Crack head is dancing up on an unknown bystander.”
Again I watched as the man looked to his left, then to his right, pull out a $5 dollar bill and give it to Beyonce. Beyonce, a true professional, grabbed the $5 dollar bill, sexily stoked it over her body and her mouth licking it seductively and tucked it into her stained white wife-beater. I swallowed the hot pocket coming up into my throat before it became projectile vomit. But it was just getting better and better.
Suddenly the man in the velour suit pulled down his sweat pants and whipped out his dick.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I shrieked. “ARE YOU SEEING THIS? ARE YOU EFFING SEEING THIS RIGHT NOW? HE JUST WHIPPED OUT HIS DICK.”
Jada yelled back to me in true female form louder and louder with every word, “OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD. YES YES YES. IM SEEING THIS. IM SEEING THIS. IM SEEING THIS.” Further validating my soccer coach’s theory that women in moments of extreme emotions must yell everything in 3s.
Crack head Beyonce wasted no time. Bent down and started giving the most grotesque crack head blowjob in the history of crack head blowjobs. Now, I wasn’t very familiar with crack heads, or their way of blowing a job- but the sheer physics of this technique was debatable. Crack Head Beyonce, with the Cornrows shaft in hand, opened her disgusting mouth, stuck out her tongue like a kid tasting the rain, and swiveled her head back and forth at an unnatural pace. She did this repeatedly for about 45 seconds.
When I saw this I just about lost it. I jumped up on the table and started yelling and simultaneously jumping on the table. Looking at the scene in front of me, then at Jada, then at the scene again, and then at Jada again all the while yelling in disbelief and in 3s,
“ARE YOU SEEING THIS? ARE YOU SEEING THIS? (Occasionally including a curse word) ARE YOU FUCKING SEEING THIS? AHHHHHH. AHHHH. AHHHHH.”
Jada and I were now having a yelling competition. Looking at each other yelling “AHHHHHHHHH”
Then looking at the crack head blow job in front of us, “AHHHHHHHHHHH”
Then looking at the classroom full of blind people who couldn’t see this madness and yelling, “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”
I couldn’t believe how this had all panned out. I mean first dead crack head, then a crack head smoking crack with a room full of blind people. Then the crack head Beyonce performance, and now a crack head Beyonce performance of a blowjob. My body and my vocal cords couldn’t take anymore. I was exhausted with disbelief.
Finally, Cornrows pulled up his velour pants and started walking down the street like nothing had happened. The Crack Head Beyonce Shimmied on back to her starting point, pulling out the $5 dollar bill she had just made, waving it around like it was a thousand dollar bill, rubbing it all over her body and giggling like a disgusting Charley Murphy look alike. Minutes later the crack started wearing off and Crack Head Beyonce sat her ass back down in dead man’s pose.
Upstairs Jada and I were finally settling down and lowering our voices, trying to bring the class to an end. I couldn’t help but be endlessly grateful for Jada’s presence I thanked her catching my breath, “thank” breath “you so much” breath “for” breath “being her today” BIG breath. “No one” breath, “would’ve believed me” breath. Breath breath breath.
Till this day, I’m in shock at the events that took place that faithful day and grateful beyond belief that there was someone “visually capable” there to witness it with me. Oh San Francisco!
Thursday, February 10, 2011
For Lucifer
There's nothing better than a little Hate Poetry to relieve mental strain from the most irritating of characters in your life. This one is dedicated to a particular character I like to call Lucifer (for obvious reasons). Everyone at a given time in their lives, has a Lucifer, one of those straight evil fuckers that will stop at nothing to inject you with their evil shit. There comes a point when you just can't take their shit anymore, and I warn- this was that point for me.
I often exercise my negative emotions via words and rhymes. So this wasn't my first rodeo. It's safe to say I'm a full fledged cowgirl when it comes to this type of expression. But usually.... i'll write it and toss it, with no intention of sharing it, simply because it can get a little hasty and indecent and a whole lot of REAL. I never had any intention of ever sharing my jab of words, yet it seemed the Universe wanted otherwise.
A few hours after writing it, I randomly ran into a group of friends and we decided to get a drink. On my way back from the bathroom my best friend Crusty the Clown said, "You know there's a paper in your back pocket that's falling out. Just wanted to let you know in case it was important."
I chuckled thinking of how absolutely insignificant that paper actually was, "Nah-" I replied, "it's just some hate poetry."
I didn't realize that anyone else at the table had been listening to our side conversation when another friend Bruiser inquired,
"Hate poetry? Ooooooo Eeeeeeeee. Do share with the class."
While I tried to play coy and insist I was too shy to share my writing, Bruisers persisted with his lil' asian girl squirms and squeaks. Soon the rest of the table joined in too, and a quiet table chant began starting soft "read it.... read it.... (and progressively getting louder) READ IT, READ IT." It was at that point that a popular local restaurant turned into the Player Haters Ball. This one is dedicated to all of you who are dealing with their very own Lucifers.
Remember: Like Ludacris says, "Drink some prune juice and let that shit go."
"Anger, Bitch"
The straw just broke over the camel's back
Your two faced shit is fuckin whack.
That faked sincerity- it needs work
Whenever your around- Evil lurks.
If you're here, who's running hell?
Zack Morris, Save me by that bell.
Cause the more I see, the less I know
The more I think, Bitch you wanna go?
Trinna pacify me with that glazed over glare
I be taking earrings out and pulling back my hair.
On your mark, set, Ready to rumble
Machine wash, permanent press- Tumble.
Wild, wild, west, this beast ain't tame,
Hold up playa-get a load of my game.
I'll play the cat, you play the mouse
Now sit back, relax, and Eat this round house!
Ahhhhhh........ the sweet sensation of release. I just about got the shi shi shivers.
Goddamn I feel so much better! But not better enough for that to be the end.... stay tuned, more hate poetry to come.
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