Learning to Count

Just this. Yes. Everyday THIS.

Class is now in session

Look ma, I'm internet famous!

And why I save these conversations for a Sunday morning (with a Jack and Coke hangover, no less) is beyond me...

Lazy Love

Today is a day for love. Or the manufactured construct of love. I don't have time to write about that shit, though. I did, however, have time to repost some shit. ENJOY!

I have completely neglected this bitch. But don't feel bad, I've pretty much neglected e'erything else as well. As a matter of fact, dishes from my last home-cooked meal (read: the morning of Sunday, February 6th) are continuing to rot in the sink. Don't judge. I got food poisoning that night and puked so hard snot dripped outta my nose and tears streaked my face. Which leads me to today, Valentine's Day. A day for sappy sentiments and even sadder, sappier suckers. I have nothing against Valentine's Day. As a matter of fact, I've had a handful of awesomely successful Valentine's chock full of flowers and food and sex.

Today was not one of those days.

Today, I had to make a trip to Kooky Korean Doc's so that I could fish around in my own poop, so that in a week Kooky Korean Doc can tell me if I'm gonna die, or if I just have hemorrhoids. Or colon cancer. Or e.coli poisoning. (Yeah, pretty sure it's not that last one, but if it is, hooray for my new "I'm headed home soon and need to lose 20 pounds FAST" diet plan!)

So yeah, this Valentine's Day was THE SHIT!

*As much as I'd fucking love to end this post with that wildly successful pun, I can't. After I told Kooky Korean Doc about my probs, he asked me the routine follow-up questions: What did you eat? Are you feeling stress? How is your sleep? Do you have lelijun? WAIT. WHAT?

"Do you have lelijun?" he repeated. I ran the word through my Konglish Translator. Lesions? Do I have lesions?

"Like spots?" I asked, still baffled.

"You are American? Do you have L-E-L-I... I am Christian!" Kooky Korean Doc proudly proclaimed, as he pointed to the Bible on his desk.

Oh FUCK.

"Uh, no, I do not have RE-LI-JUN," I enunciated carefully. But back to the potentially cancerous growth in my intestines, if you will.

"You are happy?"

Exasperated sigh. "Yes, I am happy."

"Me! I am happy or not happy?"

REALLY exasperated sigh. "Uh, happy?"

And on it went until he pulled out a sheet of paper entitled "Seven Steps to Spirituality: Reasons Mindy's NOT Getting into Heaven", or some such ridiculousness.

*Parenthetically: I am all for religious freedom -- practice it, revel in it, bathe your damn kids in it -- but for fuck's sake please, please, PLEASE keep it at church. And while we're at it, keep it off the streets of Itaewon, everyone there is already going to hell. Oh, and my front doorstep too.

Anyway, seeings how I could never say any of those things to Kooky Korean Doc, I batted my eyes, smiled politely and said, "Religion is for church. Health is for hospital. Please, no religion here."

He sat back. He smiled. Then he asked if I was ready to poop.

Signs of the Apocalypse

Search keywords that may or may not have led *YOU* here:

Cooking with sperm

AND

Snowman of sperm

I just. I can't even. UGH.

*UPDATE. Please read this.

February, You Bitch

I want to go to bed so badly, but I just painted my nails. Ugh, why do I always do this?! First world probs, fo sho.

Also, soft core lady porn has been on permanent rotation at my house for the past three days. I'd like to personally thank Sarah Hamrick for loaning the entire series of The L Word to my roommate. (Insert sarcasm here.)

The inversion continues, but every morning I believe Erik Jones when he tells me it's just "FOG". I feel like believing his lies makes my morning commute somehow more bearable. Of course, by the time recess rolls around and the "FOG" has yet to lift, I'm cursing Erik and his bogus morning weather report. This is seriously jeopardizing our friendship, Jones.

Cabin fever has officially set in.

Goddamn you winter, GTFO.