zhugekungming's Xanga

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Tue, 27 Jun 2006 20:27:06 GMT

"Hey Kevin, I have the car tonight. I'll go get and date and you get one and we'll double date."

10^th grade. The age of innocence. And amazingly enough we both ended up asking a girl named Lauren out. Fortunately enough, it wasn't the same one. And my friend and I to this day fondly recall that night as "The Night of Lauren." Actually we just call it Lauren. Actually anytime we even hear that name, we have to give a small nostalgic laugh. This is how the Night of Lauren unfolded.

One by one my friend picked all of us up. His Lauren, then me, then my Lauren. The food was good, but inconsequential. The movie was good, but that too was totally inconsequential. What made this day memorable was the end of the date.

My friend dropped off my Lauren first. I said my goodbyes, it was just a friendly date so no kiss. However after my Lauren was dropped off, the mood in the car changed. I mean how could it not? I was only really friends with my Lauren, but my friend and his Lauren have been heavily flirting the whole night. The situation was ripe for a kiss and both parties knew it…

Upon arrival of her house she said, "This is my house."

This was a total waste of words when you think of it. He knows it is her house. He picked her up from there for gosh sakes! I used to sit next to her in Chemistry class. I saw the grades she got back, I knew she was dumb, but not THAT dumb. Although one time we had a multiple choice test and she studied so hard for that test. She was confident to ace it. There were 5 possible choices in the multiple choice test. A random selection of multiple choice answers would have given you a 20%. She got a 26%. 6% above having a random box of skittles as her brain. And that was after 8 hours of studying. What a genius. Well regardless, I’m pretty her comment wasn’t just a mindless dumb comment. This was her method of stalling.

It is a complicated situation. See in this ever raging society of the augmented female role, you never know what is the male role and which role is the female role. Kissing unfortunately is still the man's job. And initiating the first kiss is probably the hardest. So until that changes, A girl's job is to allow a situation to arise in which a man can kiss the girl. And at the end of a date is one of those key moments where a kiss is very probable. And assuming the girl is a rational girl, she knows this. Thus it is safe to say that she is very careful of the signs she is giving. If she didn’t want a kiss she wouldn’t ever allow an open path from her lips to his. However on the contrary, even a slight hesitation or prolonged stares or even an increase is physical touching or contact is a sign to go for it.

Looking back at this 10th grade experience, her first sign was the stall. And my friend's response was perfect. He responded half a second past a comfortable pause and said very slowly, "I know."

At fist I thought this was a very dumb move, but now I think it was brilliant. I was expecting a Shakespearian Sonnet to woo her, but women aren't really impulse creatures, unless it deals with shopping. If my friend wanted to kiss her, he had the whole date to create the ambiance for a kiss. No magical word he says in the last few minutes of a date will redeem a date if it went badly. He can only ruin it with saying something stupid. That is why girls hate pick up lines. They want to be massaged into a feeling, not explicitly directed. So at the end of a date, the less a guy says the better. He has nothing to gain, but everything to loose.

That silence of awkwardness was even painful for me to watch, but come to think of it the extra amount of time (if done confidently) is supposed to add that extra sense of awkwardness. Because the girl knows she can't make the first move, it is still the guy's job. So why not take your time? It kind of reinforces the fact that it isn't her move to make. And when a girl knows she can't do something, it just enhances the wanting and need for it. It is slight reminder of the gender limitations that still prevail in the ettiquette of our society. These limitations drive girls crazy... This is the good kind of crazy though. Not the kind of crazy I saw in my Political Theory of Feminism Class. That was definitely bad crazy.

"I had a great time," she says as her eyes linger on his as she fumbles with her other hand toward the door handle.

Prolonged stares and even more lingering and more senseless chit chat. Girls seem to like that senseless chit chat thing. But in this instance it was good. It meant she really wants it. And he knew it too. He was such a genius. I had so much to learn from this guy.

And this is when he made his move. He put is arm around her, winked at her, and just puckered his lips without moving toward her.

She had waited and wanted it long enough that this was all she needed to kiss him. I was so proud of my friend! Great job! Sly devil you!

Unfortunately, during my quiet observation and with their preoccupation with reading each other's signs, they forget I was in the back seat. And one kiss turned into a very graphic make out session.

I still remember the song that played in the car while this event unfolded. It was the New Radicals only hit song. "You Only Get What You Give." It is quiet a long song for the radio, but when it ended they were still going at it.

And I started to sense that they might want to get more physical and I was worried that they might try and move to the back seat for some more room. This is when I gave a pre-emptive slight cough.

With that the girl turned red, jumped up, hit her head on the car ceiling, and bolted out the car door. My friend just sat there dazed and confused… and slightly shocked that I was still there. I told him it was ok and to go after the girl. He caught up to her and walked her to her door. Kissed her again and walked back totally embarrassed.

He got back to the car and we kind of sat there in silence.

He broke the silence with, "Do you want to sit up front?"

To that I replied, "no thanks. I'll stay back here… I know what happens to people that sit up front.”

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Tue, 30 May 2006 14:22:39 GMT

My mother got upset with me once because she found out I went to a gay club a while ago. She thought I was doing it because I was experimenting with it and questioning myself. Paraphrasing what she said, the pink shirt and purple shirt I have doesn’t really help my cause. I told her I wasn’t experimenting and I just went because my gay friends go to straight clubs with me, it is only fair I go with them to a gay club. As for the color of my shirts, I couldn’t come up with a coherent response before her eye brows furrowed. Then she went on to question how often I went clubbing (straight or gay), and any number you say to an Asian parent is too high.

Well apparently my mom is not the only one that has a lurking suspicion that I’m gay. While at the club, a gay guy came up to me and just started freaking me from behind. Some may question how I could deduce he was a gay guy without turning around and seeing him. Well for starters… Let’s put it this way. I didn’t need to turn around to FEEL he was a guy freaking me. And I the fact that I could FEEL it from behind, I knew he was… excited by dancing with me?

For the rest of the night I was dancing with my back against the wall.

But after having that happen to me, I am curious now. Not in that way, Not that there is anything wrong with it. But curious if girls feel it when random guys dance up on them? I felt it. Now I know why girls kind of freak out when random guys freak up on them. Maybe that is how the term came to be Freaking? I guess that is why I saw so many girls at the gay club, they feel safe knowing they won’t be accosted there and can dance without worrying.

*Note to guys: Lots of cute girls go to gay clubs. They put their guard down and are more likely to act favorably to your advances. Actually scratch that… Note to Self… I don’t want other guys knowing this!

Now another thing pops up in my head. Now I wonder about the girls that still love freaking with random guys… or even their guy friends. They feel it, and yet they still keep doing it? Don’t they worry when their guy friend is dancing with them and they start to FEEL it? Do they question if the guy friend is really just a “friend” or does he want more? How can they keep dancing when they feel it and not question why? Don’t they ever feel weird knowing what the guy is thinking as he is freaking them? And does their act of allowing the freaking to occur constitute a valid permission that states they are fine with possibly entertaining the perverse thoughts going through the guy’s mind? Or are they just teasing the guys by allowing it and not even entertaining the thought.

At work some of my coworkers ate breakfast together and during a lull in the conversation I asked these questions to everyone. Especially the old lady at work who thinks I’m a horrible father.

I’m going to name this lady for future references. She seems to be a topic to many of my entries. I don’t want to give her real name so I’ll create a fake one for her. And trust me, it is a very complex code that you won’t be able to decifer it… so don’t even try. For future references, I will refer to this old lady as “yggeP,” or “eiggeP” as she signs her emails.

In the middle of my soliloquy I was interrupted.

“What is freaking?” Asked “yggeP.”

“Um… It’s kind of hard to explain in words.”

“Well then show me,” replied a genuinely intrigued “yggeP.”

If she were 1/3 her age, that would be such a great dream… if only the age… and if we were not in the pews of McDonalds.

Judging by who was laughing at the table, I know who in my office is a straight up freak and who is a prude. And amazing enough, it correlates almost totally with gender. If I had to guess R values, I’d say around 0.98… give or take 0.02.

Eagerly looking for help on this one (I wasn’t sure I could talk my way out of this one) I was relieved when one of the guys answered,

“Freaking is how I conceived my last son.”

I’ve never seen a frail and pale old lady turn so red. She did not speak for the rest of the meal. Having a 60+ year old woman ask me to freak her… didn’t boost my self esteem as much as I thought it would.

Sunday, May 07, 2006

Sun, 07 May 2006 15:06:49 GMT

I've been pretty regular recently. Which is a good thing. I recall a time in the summer of 8th grade where I could not recall my last poop. Does that make sense? Well regardless, I hadn't pooped in a while and that was (as I was told) "unhealthy" or "unnatural." So I went to the doctor's office. And if not pooping in a while was "unnatural" I'm not sure what they consider natural because when I got to the doctor's office, they stuck a finger up my butt. That didn't feel natural at all.

They actually might have stuck 2 fingers up my butt. Who knows? I mean while it was happening, I wasn't exactly looking at the procedure. Even if it was physically possible, I don't think I could have with my eye lids strained shut in clenching pain.

However, looking back on it now, the procedure was really not half bad. Literaly, because one week later for my follow up exam the doctors did it again. Put both of them together and that was a really bad experience. Apparently, the idiot who examined me the first time failed to document the findings and another doctor had to redo the exam. However, before the 2nd time, I made sure the original doctor was paged multiple times in the slim chance of fortuitous hope that he decided to come to work on his day off. And to technology's disavail, our hero could not be paged. And for the second time in a span of one week, my "Exit only" became a "two way street."

I got over my constipation after pooping bricks for a few weeks. Painful bricks. With sharp jagged edges. It felt like I was pooping unpolished glass. That summer I conquered constipation I grew 6 inches. So 9th grade started and I was a 6 footer. A 6 foot tall 8th grader with 5 foot 6 inch pants. I looked like a f.o.b.

Not to further disgust you, but that was unfortunately not the last of my butt misadventues. In the winter of my senior year in high school, I had a very painful stomach ache through the night. My father thought I was faking illness to miss school (my parents obviously don't think too highly of my moral character) and knowing my extreme disdain for doctors (I had just cause after the fiasco of replicating anal data collection in the summer of 8th grade) threatened to take me to the hospital. When I refused to put up a fight, he knew I was indeed ill and started the car right away.

Upon arrival of the hospital, the doctor took blood and hooked me up to an IV. They suspected the worst and immediately set me up for an appendectomy to remove my appendix. I was horrified! I've never had surgery, a broken bone, or even stiches!

Well lucky for me, my mother is a nurse. As she looked at the charts, she mentioned something like my white blood cell count was not consistant with an infected appendix. Thus removing my appendix would not be a good thing.

THANK YOU MOM!... or should I really be grateful?

The doctor realized his mistake and determined the only other alternative to find out what the problem was, was to do a rectal exam... And despite my violent plea, the doctor would not take my appendix out instead of doing the rectal exam.

"Kevin, don't be crazy!" Is what my mother said of my plea.

You don't be crazy mom! These things hurt like hell!

As the doctor lubed up, he said I was lucky to have a mom as a nurse to catch the mistake. I could have had my appendix taken out. Yeah lucky me... After I was put to sleep and they realized my appendix was actually healthy they could have done the rectal exam while I was still passed out.

The doctor did not seem to agree with my logic. He maintains the prevented surgery and the finger up the butt was better. I fail to see his logic. Where the hell did this guy go to med school? He's rather have a finger up the butt than... well I'd take almost anything over a finger up the butt.

"I just want to let you know ahead of time, I'm not paying or this procedure." I said... I wasn't going to get screwed twice in one day.

"Don't worry. Your parents have good insurance. They will pay for it."

"I'll put a stop payment!" I warned.

"Sorry. It doesn't work that way."

"I'm the customer! Customers are always right!"

And just as I was about to receive the "butt end" of the deal a female nurse walked by. And I quickly aborted the procedure.

"Can she do it instead?" I chirped.

The doctor was puzzled and looked me very odd. I knew that look. He was thinking that I had a thing for nurses. Knowing he was thinking this I interjected,

"No... I don't have a thing for nurses... I mean my mom is a nurse and that is... yeah..."

The doctor was quite shocked I was so blunt. I was actually pretty shock I said that myself. As a matter of fact... so was my mother who had a dumbfounded look on her face.

To try and redeem my faux pas I said, "I want her to do it because she most likely has thinner fingers."

I mean he not only have huge fingers... I think he had like an extra diget on each finger, they were that huge. And if you have ever had this procedure done to you, you know each knuckle is like another speed bump. And no amount of lube can ease the impact of those speed bumps. And I was afraid his arthritic speed bumps would break my axel... Too many metaphors... Regardless.. i think you get the picture.

If I could see this nurse again today, I'd like the thank her for subbing in as a pinch hitter. Not saying it wasn't still painful, but it was a whole lot less painful tan it could have been... oh, and I made sure they wrote the damn results this time.

And after reading over this entry... I have pretty much kissed good-bye my chances of ever dating anyone that ever reads my xanga.

Friday, March 24, 2006

Fri, 24 Mar 2006 04:24:31 GMT

The only problem with living in a 10 floor apartment complex is that when you get groceries, you have to bring it all the way up to your apartment. And with so many people in the buidling, it's not like everyone can get a parking spot right infront of the building. I actually have one of the really really far parking spots. So you try really really hard to carry all of your stuff in one trip. And if Giant Supermarket is having a sale, then you have quite a predicament.

What I like to do is to repack all of my groceries so that I bring all of my perishable foods up in one trip, and then another day when I'm already using my car I'll just bring it up with me the next time. It works pretty well, I don't ever need to try and make additional trips and walk to my car for the sole purpose of getting my other groceries. Since it is cold, if i forget the occassional vegetables in my car (no I don't eat only canned veggies) the night will keep it fresh and I'll get it the next day. So it's no big deal. However, it is getting warm and I forgot some ice cream the other day... and to make a long story short... I need to clean the inside of my car this weekend.

Other than that the only other problem I had was once I stuffed my chicken legs with my soap so I didn't have to make an extra trip... and i swear those chicken legs tasted funny. My stomach seemed to agree too. And the toilet for that matter.

Regardless, I know I'm not the only one that hates making multiple trips to bring up my groceries. Today I saw a young lady try and carry a trunk full of groceries as she waited for the elevator. She had 2 plastic bags rung over each wrist and was a holding a paper bag stuff to the brim holding it in place with her chin. She lost a little control for a split second and dropped a package of what looked like diapers.

However, I saw it coming and I caught it before it hit the ground. I held it out to her. And, hating silence on the elevators, I said

"Good luck with the kid."

She looked at me all shocked and embarassed. It wasn't until after she looked at me did I really look at the package I thought she dropped. It was actually tampons.

"Oh... well in that case... good luck with not having the kid."

For some reason that didn't solve the awkwardness as I hoped it would have.

The elevator door opened and I was still holding the tampons (she had no hands to take it) and we got on the elevator. I asked her what floor.

"10"

Great... that is my floor. So I pressed 10. At this time I was seriously contemplating pressing 9 and getting off at 9 and then walking up to 10 so that I would avoid the awkwardness I knew would occur.

You see, in this wierd society of the dying chivalrous male and the robust growth of feminism also along with the fear of the predatory male... I didn't know if it was appropriate for me to offer to carry her stuff to her apartment (seeing that we lived on the same floor). I mean I just met her and I already talked about sex. I was looking like a sketchy predatory male right now. And from her body language I knew she was kind of uncomfortable with me holding onto her tampons. They were the pearl variety if you were curious.

So what is a man to do in this situation. I knew she was uncomfortable... I didn't want to offer and have her worried about me trying to pull something on her, yet as a male I felt it was my duty to be a gentleman and offer her help. Why couldn't she have dropped something else... like a can of peaches. You can't make any unexpected sexual innuendos with a can of peaches. Unless she dropped some cream with those peaches...

I decided to not press 9 and just go up to the 10 floor.

With all of this going through my head... the elevator door finally closed. I decided I would offer to help her carry her stuff up and I had 10 floors to try and regain some trust and decency in her eyes so she could trust me in being a gentleman.

I started off with trying to make her laugh (while shaking the tampons) "Are these any good?"

She didn't laugh like I hoped she would.

"Why would you need them?" Her body language closed up even more.

Atleast she was finally speaking to me. She didn't laugh, but opening communication is half the battle.

"My wife makes me run out to get them and I don't know which ones she likes."

I figure... women are a society. Any girl that sees that a guy has a girlfriend she automatically trusts the guy. He's in. He's got something to offer the opposite sex. He passed some woman's test. He can't be all bad? It's like the DMV, if you pass it in one state... you can transfer it to another state.

Well... I figure if having a girlfriend automatically puts you in the IN... having a wife would really put you in the in. However... one detailed passed my mind. I wasn't wearing a ring... which is somethign that didn't pass her keen observation.

"Where's your ring?"

The elevator light just passed floor 4... but I was already at 10 for sketchiness... Wow all that and we were only on floor 4... we have a very slow elevator.

"My kid ate it. I'm waiting for him to poop it out."

She finally laughed.

Floor 6. I got a laugh at floor 6. Phew!

"Here let me help you with those," I said as I motioned to help her with her bags.

"Oh okay. Thanks!" She handed me the bag she was balancing with her chin.

We had some easy chit chat after that. She lived down the hall from me. She asked about my kid and so I talked about Dylan. How he is 2 years old. And how he poops around the house alot and kicks alot.

I had her laughing no problem. My sketchiness was back down to 1 or 2. Maybe 3. We got to her place and I said my good byes, but I couldn't help but notice quite a few baby toys in her place.

"Hey thanks a lot for your help. Maybe you can bring Dylan over and we could have a play date." Apparently she had a kid too.

"Why would I need to bring Dylan over if we wanted a 'play date?'" Hahah jk I didn't say it, but i was thinking it.

What I really said was, "ummm sure." Yeah... not as amusing, but eh... I'm not that witty.

She closed the door and then I realized I really was in a predicament. I can lie in the office that I have a kid, but now I gotta lie to a person that lives down the hall from me! And somehow I got an imaginary wife.

I guess I better take the stairs from now on.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Wed, 25 Jan 2006 18:31:30 GMT

I was on my way down the elevator to work in my apartment building. It was very early. Although not quite as early as it should have been. It was around 7:10am. I am supposed to be at work by 7. Living only a block from work has its advantages, but sometimes the advantages give one a false sense of comfort… this false sense of comfort and convenience usually outweighs the slight advantage I have in a shortened commute time.

Say, for instance, if I lived at my parents home in Mclean it would take me 15 minutes to drive to Rosslyn. I would wake up at 6 and get out of the house by 6:30 (just incase of traffic) and arrive at work well ahead of schedule. I budget in this extra commute time and am very careful with the variables of traffic. However, since I live just a block from work now I know I can reduce my commute time to around 3-5 minutes (depending on if I get the walk light at the intersection). Proper math from an academically sound person would say I should wake up at 6:27 or 6:25 and leave the house at 6:57 or 6:55 to get to work at 7. Yet, each morning I have this false sense of security living so close to work that I usually wake up at 7, get myself out the door at 7:10 and arrive at work around 7:13 or 7:15 (depending on if I get the walk light at the intersection). So although I live much close to work now than I did a few months ago, I consistently arrive late to work because I somehow believe that I can wake up at 7 and miraculously get ready and walk to work in less than 1 minute. I’ve tried, but it never works. My hair just looks like crap every time I try the 1 minute routine.

Well I do digress. In any case. I was coming down the elevator to go to work when the elevator stops at the Lobby. Lobby in my building is floor #2. I needed to go to floor number 1. The door opens and this slightly chubby… just slightly chubby guy is trying to mack on this really cute girl maybe some 10 feet away. The guy is making the slight motion toward the elevator letting me know that he was planning on taking it and from the lack of motion from the girl I knew she wasn’t taking the elevator. The slight motion the man made toward the elevator dictates to me that the proper etiquette, I guess, for me to do is to hold to elevator for him. But I was late and he was taking his damn time.

So I did the etiquette thing of asking him “you going down?” Which really means… “will you hurry your butt up?”

And he goes, “Yeah can you hold the elevator?” Which means… well “can you hold the elevator.”

So I hold the “elevator open door” button and wait. I am already late and I’m not in the mood to wait for some slighty chubby dude throw some horrendous game at some girl who is desperately trying to get away from the conversation. Mind you. This is the second floor and going down only means going to the first floor. 1 floor. Take the stairs! Don’t waste my time right?

I look down my cell phone. 7:12. Wow! I’m late. I should be at the intersection even by “Kevin Chin Late Time.”

Back to the thought that it was only 1 flight of stairs for him to take, I decided that he could use the exercise as I let go of the “open elevator door.”

“Can you hold the elevator?”

“I’m trying. It’s not working.” I said as I pressed the invisible button next to the “open elevator door” button. The invisible button doesn’t do anything I mind you. Actually it does one thing. It makes it look like you are pressing the “open door button” when you really aren’t doing anything at all.

As the door closes the slightly chubby guy tries to reach the elevator but misses it as it closes. I could make a joke about the irony of him having to take the stairs and him not being quick enough to reach the elevator, but I’m not that mean. If you put the ironic joke together then… get a good laugh and then know that deep down YOU are in fact… really THAT mean.

As it closes I said, “Take the stairs.” And under my breath say, “You could use it.” I said it so quietly I’m sure he couldn’t hear it. Actually I’m sure only the people in the elevator could hear it. Which is probably something I should have checked before I started laughing to myself at the joke I made.

I entered the elevator so tired that morning that I didn’t check if anyone was in the elevator. Actually I never do. I’m going to work butt early and I’m not really in the mood to be sociable.

And to my shock and amazement. I learned one interesting thing that morning when I turned to see if anyone was in the elevator.

I learn that the really old conservative lady in my office that thinks I’m a horrible and neglecting father to my made-up 2 year old son Dylan… I learn that she lives in that building too. I learn that because as I was in the elevator pressing the invisible button on the elevator panel that does nothing and made my “take the stairs… you could use it” comment, she was right behind me.

Needless to say the next 3-5 minute walk to work was very awkward. I could have just burned her and walked at my own pace to work, but I kind of felt this obligation… this etiquette to walk with her because we were going to the same place. So I walked with her and what resulted was the longest strained 7-9 minute conversation ever. It was filled with awkward pauses that arise on first dates and had such arousing questions as “what did you have for dinner?” “What detergent do you use?” “Do you use the dishwasher?” It was filled with weird looks and furrowed old white judgmental eyebrows. Those judgmental eyebrows are hers… if you were wondering… I don’t judge people… especially old people or people that hold up others while throwing horrendous game at girls way above their league. It was 7-9 minute walk because she was old and walked very slow and she works on the same floor as I do… so we took the elevator up to our floor.

It was during this elevator ride to our floor that I decided I wasn’t going to try and redeem my reputation with her. She thinks I’m a delinquent and a horrible father. If I’m bad… be bad. So I am not going to try and be nice to her anymore. I’m not going to fake be a good kid. I think it would be fun to just be pure rotten to one person all day… everyday.

As we parted ways I asked her what time it was.

“7:20. Have a great day.”

And to this I replied, “Don’t tell me what to do.” And I walked away toward my office.

I knew she was staring at me in shock. I felt the eyes. So I turned around and said, “Oh yeah. And you are late” I said as I stared at my watch-less wrist. “20 minutes late to be exact. Get to work.”

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Tue, 27 Dec 2005 04:23:12 GMT

From the stories I've heard from my uncle, my father's friends, my mother, and especially from my father... my father was quite a player in his day. I don't doubt it. And as unhappy as my father is that his balding head gene will skip my generation, he gets back at me by saying his player gene also skipped my generation.

Sometimes at random times my father would test me. If we get stiffed somewhere and the waitress or the sales person is a lady, he would see if I can sweet talk my way out of being screwed. This all started in high school when he was called into the principal's office. He just sat there without saying a word letting me talk, to the female principal, my way out of suspension and just into after school detention. As much as he was upset at me for getting called into the principal's office, deep down I know he was somewhat proud that I talked my way out of a permanant record. I sometimes think he loves it when I get screwed to see how I get my way out of it.

At gatherings he is always keeping an eye on me and actually keeps track of how many girls I talk to and from body language across the room he knows if I'm doing a good job or not. He's my biggest critic... I learn so much from him. Although whenever I'm around my mom his policy always changes to "don't talk to girls until you are 25," that is always temporary until my mom is in another room.

Not too long ago I was at a family friend's wedding with my family. From across the room was this really really cute girl. And this was cute even before I had my beer. My father saw me staring.

"Kevin, I bet you can't get her number."

And with that a bet was set, and I took the challenge.

"Your goofiness can't get a cute girl like that's number."

Although a part of me believed him, I was convinced that the player gene had not skipped this generation! My generation isn't lost to bachelorhood. I need to prove to him... and to myself that I'm not the "royal goofiness" my father so speaks of. He can keep the baldness gene, but I want his player gene.

I needed a plan. Scope the situation out. She didn't have a guy with her. No wedding date is a good sign. Most likely single. Not only that, but she had wandering eyes. Wandering eyes means GAME ON! :)

How to approach now. She had a good amount of makeup on. Her dress was very... well my mother wouldn't approve, but I wasn't trying to take her home to mom. I was just trying to get her number and prove to my dad that I'm not some chump. I saw her dancing... and from that... I was convinced she was most likely some kind of freak. And that is good because, well... I don't think I need to explain my thought process on that one.

Her eyes were looking up and her posture was good. Her body language was confident. She wasn't socially awkward. She seemed like the type that is used to guys approaching her and even worse she was cute... and she knew it. The cute part is fine with me, but the fact that her body language told me she KNEW she was cute... that isn't good. That means any old pick-up line wouldn't work on her. Girls like that are used to it and take great pleasure in shooting them down. For each pick up line invented, they have one memorized to counter it.

A line like "Is this seat taken (pointing to the seat next to her)." Will be countered by something like, "No, and this one will be empty pretty soon (pointing to the one she's sitting in)." And she'll just walk away.

I know that one... not from experience.... honest... I heard it from a friend of a friend.

And the line, "Do you have any Chinese in you?... would you like some?" Wouldn't work because she was Chinese... so... yeah...

To approach her you'd have to have a really good line that is really specific to that situation so the girl knows you didn't just read some generic one off a book and practise it 100 times infront of a mirror to fake it looking natural. Not that I practise in front of a mirror......

If she's standing in line for chinese food say, "Screw General Tsao's Chicken... I want a serving of you." (this works better if you even say it in Chinese)

With all that in my head to confuse me, I saw her get up and walk toward the bar. She's away from her table. Time to make my move. Slow talking... eye contact... good posture... smile alittle... don't talk too much... pause after a statement... oh and just act natural right?

I intersected her at the free open bar. She saw me and smiled.

So I said, "Hello. (pause) Can I buy you a drink (slight chuckle)?"

"Haha. Um... it's an open bar. Drinks are free."

"Free? (look puzzled) (make some hand motions) So does that mean you are buying?"

"If it's free I'll buy," she said with a laugh.

"(scratch index finger on side of face) Well then. (pause) Get me a rum and coke... hold the coke and bring it to my table when you get it (smile and pause and walk away)." And with that I went back to my table. I turned back as I was walking and she looked at me confused, but still smiling.

She got my drink and came to my table. I invited her to sit down and we had a good chat. Made a few jokes. Asked open ended questions that allowed her to talk about herself... and fake interest in what she was saying. Smile. Laugh. GAME ON. Slow dance song came up and she grabbed me to dance with her. I passed my dad and he gave me a really wry and goofy smile. He knew I was going to win this bet. He knew I was on the doorsteps of getting the number. He lost and I proved myself tonight.

The night wound to an end and as we parted ways I made sure my dad saw as I asked her for her number. She got out her phone and we exchanged numbers. She only got a hug because I knew my mom was watching too.

As I walked back toward my parents I knew my mother would yell at me or make some negative comment (mostly likely in cantonese) on the really scantily clad chick I was dancing with, atleast I won the bet with my father and made him proud. Yet, to my surprised my mother didn't say anything negative about the girl I was dancing with. Instead all my mother said was,

"Oh I'm so glad you got to catch up with your cousin!" This was met with the roaring laughter of my father.

With a little research, I drew a family tree and figured it out. She wasn't my cousin, I'm happy to say, but... let's put it this way. The family tree doesn't need to branch too far before her and I hit a fork.

I never did use the number I got that night. Although the girl might have been upset for a few days... I think it's safe to say... in the long run, it was best for the both of us that I never did use that number.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Tue, 13 Dec 2005 23:25:14 GMT

The other day my boss told me they needed some musical interlude during the company holiday party and he asked me if I wouldn't mind playing the piano for an hour or two. I hesitated for a second because I was thinking mainly about what my date would do during that time and I was also thinking I guess I wouldn't be able to hit up the open bar until after I was done playing... I don't think anyone wants to see/hear a drunk pianist.

The boss took that second of hesitation as a sign that maybe I wasn't planning on going so he said, "If you need a babysitter I have the number of a really good babysitter you can use."

I was confused for a second. I was thinking... babysitter? Why would I need a... and then I remember that one day long long ago... Long Long ago as in probably last month.

Everyone in my office is over 35 years old. So they all have their kid problems. They talk about their little Jimmys and Janes and how their kid scored the winning goal in socceer or how their kid is thinking of going to UVA or planning on going to UVA. "Can you give us hints on how to get our kid into UVA?"

"Yeah. Don't fuck up the SATs."

No one talks about anything interesting in their weekend. No one has any stories on how they ran into a group of girls from an all girl school wearing their school girl outfits and how they mysteriously found themself in the middle of the whole group of gyrating plaid skirts and black buckle shoes. Or how that one time they got freaked up against a wall by a 6 foot lady... 6 foot wide that is... only about 5 foot tall. Or how they got hit on by a guy and girl at the same time. I spend most of the watercooler time just listening and nodding as if I could relate. I was bored. Then out of nowhere...

"Yeah my kid just hit the terrible twos and he is just pooping all over the house. Sometimes I just tape two diapers on his stinky butt to plug that thing up."

With this everyone grew silent and just stared at me. This is the 21st century. It isn't too hard to believe a 22 year old guy has a 2 year old kid?

"Oh... How is little one?" Chimed in the office maternal figure in an attempt to break the awkward tension of judgemental eyes.

"Oh little Dylan? He's doing well. He can't stop kicking and running around. Maybe one day he can play socceer with your son," I said to Wesley (whose son just hit the winning goal the other day."

"Yeah... Sure... Maybe."

The tension was still there. I caught a few quick glances at my hands. No ring finger. Yes. Little Dylan is a bastard... a kid out of wedlock. He was made out of bad choices... and right now I was feeling that making up the story of my kid was a bad choice also.

"So... how is Mrs. Chin?" Asked the 8th floor gossip.

"Oh. My mom is great."

"No. I mean your wife."

"Oh I don't have a wife. She was good enough to have a kid with, but not good enough to marry." I said giving a goofy laugh to try and get the perverted guys I know had interoffice-affairs to laugh too, but they didn't laugh. There was still quite a bit of tension.

As "time and a half" passed by at work, I forgot all about my whimsicle story of my 2 year old bastard child named Dylan. I forgot until my boss mentioned me needing a babysitter. I started thinking back and now I realized why the "old conservative ladies" clique at the office are so stand-offish with me. I started to figure why they stare at me sometimes without ever saying a word to me. I forgot to preface all my weekend watercooler stories with the fact that I had a 2 year old kid. Like that one night I told them I had a bunch of friends (one of them I'm pretty sure is a stripper on the side) crash at my place half drunk... They thought I had a kid there too! Wow I thought the stares were for being a reckless youth... instead they are because they think I am a horrible father!

Well my boss found out about it (probably from Peggy the gossip specialist) and instead of signing me up for the national convention in Florida he set me up for local training so I could stay home and watch after my kid. What to say to that? "Thanks?!" I really wanted to go to Florida! :(

Well secret Santa is coming up and I found out who has me, one of the really old conservative ladies. I have a feeling it will either be some kid toys so my kid can get lost in the toy and forget what a horrible father he has or some condoms so I don't have another bastard child. Well first thing is first... I gotta learn how to play about 1.5 hours of Christmas music and hope the old ladies don't stare at my date as if she were a bimbo.

Monday, December 05, 2005

Mon, 05 Dec 2005 14:15:31 GMT

In high school there were two cousins named Minna Chong and Jane Chong. Amongst the schoolboys, we affectionately called them the Chong Duo. The Chong Duo single handedly dominated the attention of all the Asian Males at Robinson Secondary School from the years 1997-2001. This story is about Minna Chong, the shorter half of the duo. Every school had a Minna Chong… just under a different name. Because I know how public entries happen to get into the wrong hands and the parties involved, I’ll leave the rest of Minna’s description to your imagination or it might get me into trouble.

Prom season was coming up and in an effort to make sure there was enough blood in supply for all the accidents that come around graduation, the school sponsored a blood drive. And who was in charge? Minna Chong.

Minna was a shy, short little girl and she needed to make an announcement to the whole school body during lunch to try and persuade people to donate blood. Trust me, all she needed to do was stand up there and half the school body would sign up (the male half that is). However, she was supposed to say something and was too shy to do so. So she asked me to say something for her.

I agreed of course (anything she wanted me to do I would do in a heartbeat), but I told her she had to stand up there with me. I wasn’t going to do it alone! Plus I get the whole school to see ME standing next to HER! Even better yet, when I was up there she had her hand on my arm! I was the envy of all of the guys in the school at that moment. That has to be one of the top 10… no 5… ok who am I lying to… it was the best moment I had in high school. For a moment, I was the hero of the school. I, Kevin Chin, was standing next to THE MINNA CHONG in front of the whole school to see… with her hand on my arm. All the eyes that were on me were ones of jealousy… envy… for that moment all the strangers out there wanted to be me, and all my friends hated me. In a way, I was alone… that was fine with me because atleast I was alone with Minna.

The 30 seconds I was up there were a haze. I don’t recall much of what I said, but I do remember the lunch crowd laughing. I either said something funny, or my zipper was down… I don’t remember… but there was one thing I do remember.

Someone in the crowd asked, “Minna are you going to donate blood?”

Minna said, “No I don’t meet the weight requirement.” Oh yeah… Minna was petite… and oh so cute.

Then the same voice asked, “How about you Kevin?”

I was on the line! What do I do? I hated needles with a passion… I think up until that point I have never had a needle thrusted into me without my mother standing next to me… I was a grade “A” wimp… however I needed to step up my game. Minna was there! My manhood was on the line…

And without thought I said, “Of Course!”

I mean, how are they to know if I donate or not? They aren’t looking at the list… I could just tape a cotton ball to my arm and pretend I was poked there and donated. I’ll just say I will and “forget” to go by the sign up table.

“I’ll donate a gallon,” I said with a laugh. Everyone laughed again this time I was sure it wasn’t because of my fly being down… more of the joke. I was on top of the world; Minna Chong next to me and the lunch room laughing. I was in a hearty mood. Until…

Minna chimed in, “Great Kevin! I’ll sign you up for the 2 pm time.” To my horror, she had the sign up sheet with her in the other hand… the hand not holding my arm. She let go of my arm to put my name on the sheet.

2:00 pm: Kevin Chin

I immediately stopped laughing. Seeing her write my name is her bubbly cute hand writing would have been a dream for me, but for some reason I wasn’t having as much fun anymore. “I’ll donate a gallon?” I immediately regretted that decision.

2 pm came. I walked to the nurse’s office and was hoping to see Minna there to see my TOTALLY ALTRUISTIC act, but she wasn’t there. The last thoughts going through my mind before the needle was stuck in me was, “Why am I doing this? Minna isn’t even here! I can still back out.” And with that I blacked out.

See, I did meet the weight requirement, however I don’t think that number takes into account really tall, skinny Asian males. What little blood I have in my body has to cover 6 feet of Kevin… and trust me, that’s a whole lot of Kevin to cover! ;)

I woke up around 2:15 on the floor. My legs were elevated against the wall and my head pounding like I’ve never had before..

“What happened?”

“You fainted, but don’t worry you’ll be fine now. Just drink your orange juice and you’ll be ok.”

“How about you just give me my blood back.”

“You want to drink your own blood?”

“If it will get rid of this head ache.”

“Oh to do that I’ll have to stick your other arm and give it to you intravenously.”

“Another needle?”

“Yeah.”

“Does the orange juice have pulp?”

To this day, Minna never knew I donated blood for her and passed out in the process. I would have told her, but then I’ll have to tell her I passed out... and that part I’d rather keep to myself.

Graduation came. She graduated. I did too. She went to VCU I believe (not like I’m stalking her or anything!) OK.. I know she went to VCU haha. Never spoke to her since. Was this blood donation worth it?

Let’s put it this way, I’ll donate and pass out again just to have her hand in my arm for 30 seconds.

Monday, November 28, 2005

Mon, 28 Nov 2005 05:46:33 GMT

I got a chance to meet up with a few of my old high school friends and I'm so glad I did. There are so many stories and memories I really almost forgot. It hasn't always been a smooth ride, but the memories were worth all the trouble.

One time in my senior year, my friends and I decided to skip school. It wasn't hard finding something more appealing than Ms. Hugh's History Class, with that to compare to... we found ourselves in the local Giant grocery store. However when we were walking down the aisle I spotted my mom shopping and I didn't know if she spotted me so I turned around and started walking really fast.

"Kevin?"

I guess she did spot me. So I kept walking.

"KEVIN?!"

I kept walking faster. And I don't know how she did it, but my 45 year old mother caught up to me... while still pushing her cart. She caught up to me next to the fish freezer.

"KEVIN! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Oh. Yeah. Hi mom. These are my friends. Wouldn't you like to meet them?"

"Nice to meet you Mrs. Chin?" chimed my very hesitant and confused friends.

To this my mother retorted, "Why are you here? Are you skipping school?"

"How rude... you don't want to meet my friends?"

To this still still replied, "Why are you here? Are you skipping school?"

Sweet talking my mother wasn't working... I should try a different strategy...

"Oh no mom. I we are just getting donuts for an after school meeting we have today. I have a note somewhere. You want to see it?" With this I started shuffling papers around in my pocket (knowing she wouldn't want to see it).

"Then why were you walking so fast after you saw me?"

"I saw you? I didn't know? I was walking fast because I need to get back to school! I don't want to waste my childhood being a hoodlum."

The I decided to try and divert her attention. My mom is a woman... I don't care if it's a sale at Macy's or a sale at Giant... women love to shop... and they love a sale.

"Oh wow sale on fish. Go get some."

"You hate fish Kevin."

"That's why I'm so happy to see the fish dead." The I asked the guy behind the counter, "Are your fish fresh?"

To this the guy behind the counter (who witnesses all of this and had a wry smile on his face) replied, "It says fresh on the label genius."

"Go get some fish mom. I'm going back to school."

"OH... ok... go hurry up and get back to school."

"Sure thing mom."

With this my friends and I left laughing and kind of shaken we got caught, but we slide through.

And if playing hookie at the local supermarket where all our parents shop isn't dumb... the next thing is even dumber... we decided to go next door to the mcdonalds.

I ordered my ordinary.. #2.. two cheeseburger meal (this was before the dollar menu I remind you). And when I was just about to pay.

"KEVIN!!!!"

My mother had decided to go to McDonalds too. and caught me agian... on the same day... skipping...

My mother didn't need any other words and just proceeded to beat me infront of my friends, the workers and McDonalds, and all the busy lunchhour patrons at McDonalds.

The manager asked, "Sir, is everything alright?"

I said, "NO! Call the police this crazy lady is trying to kill me for no reason."

To this my mother yelled, "I'm not some crazy lady. I'm your crazy mom. This boy is skipping school! You should call the police on him!"

To make matters worse... there was actually a cop at the McDonalds and he did come by after all the comotion. He corrected my mom (to my relief) that skipping school is not an arrestable offense. Everyone was laughing at the scene and I saw out the corner of my eye two other kids from my school skipping class too... and they left pretty quickly.

"Well this boy is a bad boy!" Is all my mother kept repeating intermitantly throughout the next 5 or so minutes.

The McDonalds manager said, "Yeah skipping school isn't good. You really need to get your education son."

And I'm not trying to stereotype people... but there is a certain low that can't get any lower than being chastized by a McDonald's employee about the importance of education. Well that and having your mother try to get you arrested.

I still had the frame of mind through all of this to ask my mother what she wanted to eat. She wanted a Fish sandwich... I ordered for her and told the manager, "put the bill on my mom's tab." This got me another slap in the face from my mom and the shocked stare and nodding head of the McDonald's manager as if to say, "look at the balls on this kid." Or maybe he was thinking "what an idiot." Regardless, I'm sure I left an impression on him.

She said I'd really have it when I got home. She would get my dad on my case.

Dinner was extremely quiet. Glares from both my parents... very long dinner... of fish... i hate fish... yet, somehow dinner ended and my mom told me that my father had a few words for me and she left.

He didn't let me talk. He did all the talking. This is what he said to me:

"Kevin... you have got to be the dumbest kid in the world not just to get get caught skipping school, but to get caught caught twice in the same day. Do the dishes, clean the table, and do your homework. How did I raise such a dumb kid?"

Friday, November 18, 2005

Fri, 18 Nov 2005 05:06:14 GMT

I had lunch with a friend today. During my lunchbreak I met her at the metro and we walked down to this chinese restraunt. I thought I knew a short cut so we took it down this secluded alley way.

Then out of no where came this lady in rags and begged for money. I was kind of scared because she just popped out of no where.

She said, "Help me sir. I have a starving child at home and she is sick. I need money to buy her medicine."

I didn't have any small bills to give her, but I didn't want to tell her that... she might try and rob me. So I told her I would get some money and I would give her some on my way after lunch.

When lunch came my friend told me not to go back because she was scared. I told her not to worry and I felt bad for the lady since today was so cold. So I went back down the alley looking for the lady with some smaller bills.

There she popped out again with the same phrase, "Help me sir. I have a starving child at home and she is sick. I need money to buy her medicine."

I said I remembered her and I pulled out my wallet.

With this, she poked something through her coat that she was pretending was a gun. I had no idea it was a gun or not, but I really wasn't willing to find out.

I gave her my wallet and the lady motioned for my friend's too.

I said, "You have mine... that's good enough."

My friend screamed so the lady started leaving.

I told my friend to stop screaming and said to the homeless lady turning away, "So there really isn't a sick child dying who needs medicine is there? I'm relieved."

With that the homeless lady turns around and we make this wierd eye contact... not the eye contact I'm used to. Not the kind where I'm trying to pick up a girl or stare down a guy... Like a horribly painful look. Those eyes were that of a human... as obvious as that sounded... It was so... humanistic... like a pair of eyes i've seen so many times, just in a different face...

I saw pain in her eyes... i wonder what she saw in mine... because i was feeling pain... not anger... or sympathy... just pain... I felt this pain in her eyes that just gutted my heart... I wish I knew more english words to describe the feelings i had for just that one second alone.

The homeless lady threw the wallet on the ground and ran away. When she was out of sight, I went back to my wallet and picked it up. I dunno why I hesitated... for some reason I didn't feel like the wallet was mine... I felt like I was robbing her... My friend asked right away, "is your money all there?" It didn't matter. I didn't want it. I don't need it. She needed it... even if she didn't have a sick child... or did she? regardless... i actually wanted her to have it... I don't feel like I deserved any of the money in the wallet... I can't explain myself i guess.

For some reason, I feel so guilty. I wish I knew why.