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Category Archives: Personal

It can only get better…right?

January 31, 2010

Oy, I really wish I could get back to updating this site on a regular basis again but life has been pretty shitty for me. It’s the kind of shit where you’d actually go to your blog at least once a week to try to conjure something up but all you can write about is how shitty your day went, and you don’t want to pile your site with shit lest it put readers into a shitful mood.

Nah, I’m not about that, but I do miss writing here a lot. I just wish I wasn’t such a fucking baby.

But enough of that, so one of the things that’s been stressful for me is not being able to find/get a job. I’m running low on money to pay for the bills and boy does it suck.

Luckily, my sister’s mother-in-law informed me about a job opening at a medical home for old folks where she works at. When I found out they needed a Vietnamese receptionist, I declined the offer because my Vietnamese is generally pretty bad. Heck, the main reason why I quit my last job was because the communication barrier between the Vietnamese-speaking patients and I. It’s a huge thing that I cannot tolerate.

The mom-in-law said it didn’t matter as long as I knew the basics of the language. All I’m going to do really is to look cute, greet the customers and answer “basic” questions. Nothing to it. Teehee.

So after a couple of minutes of her pushing me to go for the job, I’m thinking, okay it shouldn’t hurt to go in for an interview, I mean after all, I can understand and speak simple Vietnamese, I know how to say “hi” to people, and hands fucking down I can look cute.

I drive up there and four-five minutes later upon arrival, I’m in the boss’s office to get interviewed. I find out that his name is Ryan. Ryan, Ryan, Ryan…I kept repeating to myself, since I’m terribly…terribly bad with remembering people’s name.

(Kind of off-topic: I use mnemonic device for remembering people’s names now and it’s been fantastic! Like, for Ryan, he has Seacrest hair. Yup. Message received)

Five minutes later, in comes his assistant, Clark.

(Mnemonic device for Clark: Picturing him to throw his hispter-lickin’ black thick-rimmed glasses out the window and rip open his dress shirt in a dramatic slow-mo baywatchy manner, revealing the insignia of Superman. Gawd, this mnemonic device thing is fucking amazing!)

So we’re all talking and so far, it’s going fantastic. There was never any kind of awkward silence, I’m making them laugh, we all share some common things, I mean this ball is pretty much rolling.

Well…that is, until, Clark brings up, “We know that you’re applying for a receptionist job, but we’re hoping that you’d also be our official translator for doctors and patients…you are comfortable with that, right?”

“Yep,” I nodded. I know! Really dumb answer, but I was completely thrown off. I thought this was basic gawddamnit.

Ryan cuts in, “That’s great. Hey…why don’t we bring in one of our Vietnamese worker to test her out.”

“Sure!” I nodded some more. Dumb, dumb, dumb…

A Vietnamese employee was brought into the office to put me on the spot by having a casual conversation with me in Vietnamese as the two men watched. He spoke really fast, and really Vietnamese that I wasn’t able to catch on most of the thing he blurted out. He asked me when I moved to the states and I was trying to tell him that I wasn’t born in Vietnam, I was born here.

He turns to the two men and informs them, “She say she was born in Vietnam and move here when she was five.” Five minutes prior to that, I clearly stated to them that I was born in Massachusetts and moved to California later. Gah!

After my failed conversation with him, the man lied for some odd reason and told them that I was an excellent Vietnamese speaker. Ughh (I later found out that that man was a good friend of the mom-in-law. Ha).

After all of that, Ryan tells me that I got the job. Yeah…yay. I’m screwed. I’m not sure how I’m going to handle with the whole translating for doctors and patients deal…

Doctor, “Tiff, can you please tell this patient that he has respiratory arthritis in your native language?”

Tiff, speaking in Vietnamese, “You’re screwed, dude.”

The next day, on the way to my boyfriend’s place, I got rear-ended. I was stuck in traffic, everyone was going 5-7 mph, except for the totally obliv driver behind me.

It wasn’t a severe car-accident (thank gawd) but let me tell you, the terrifying part about this was knowing it was going to happen, before it happened. Three seconds to be exact. And not being able to do anything about it.

This is basically my thought process when I looked at my rear-view mirror:

There is a big black SUV charging at me. *Whiplash* Fuck.

Also posted in Wtf – 8 Comments

The boypren exposed!

August 12, 2009

Some of you guys have asked about who my new boyfriend was, so let me just embarrass him by discreetly posting a photo of the hunk of meat…

POW! Yes that’s him-NO not the freak with wings but the cutie on the left. Some stats about Matt:

Pros: He can tolerate my constant burping and belching, but I’m holding in my farts…for now . He is about as geeky as I am, though probably a lot geekier. He plays the guitar. He speaks English, French, and LOLcat fluently. He knows how to beatbox. He likes zombies and video games.

We go to fun and exciting events together such as attending concerts, zombie walks, conventions: E3, Comic-Con, and soon Blizzcon. And most importantly, we go on quests and fight big bad monsters together on World of Warcraft just about every night. Romantic? I think so.

Cons: He enjoyed the Dawn of the Dead remake more than Land of the Dead, and he needs work on impersonating Arnold Shwartzenagawera.

I think I can live with that.

26 Comments

My first time in Vegas

June 23, 2009

I’m back from Las Vegas and boy does it feel good to be back here. I guess I did have fun, but it was a different fun, a kind of fun I wasn’t exactly use to…because I’m kind of a geek. And uh geeks find funnitude in video game conventions and zombie walks, not partying in Vegas.

So where do I start?

The person who invited me was my brother’s fiance, Huong, for her bachelorette party. There was going to be a total of 10-11 girls that were going to Vegas with us, and I didn’t know any of them. Terrifying.

Since my last encounter with a group of females wasn’t the exactly the best time I had, I was a little hesitant on going, but it was for Huong and I had a 101 Things to tackle, one of which happens to be going to Vegas (I’m still determined to complete 101 things).

The girls, surprisingly, were nice and I got along with them very well…except for one (of course there’s one). I mean, we CAN get along, but she was very rude to me. I even have a photo taken in Vegas that actually proves her distaste for me. But to avoid any potential stupid girly drama, I’ll go more into detail after the wedding (this Saturday).

For now, I want everybody to have fun when my brother and his fiance tie the knot.

So for the first night in Vegas, we wanted to check out Thunder Down From Under. The tickets were sold out, but we found something else, something more patriotic…

American Storm. I know, very intimidating.

The show was hilarious. I was thoroughly entertained with their choreography–it was something you would see out of a cheesy 1998 boyband music video. Their movements were very stiff and robotic. Very bad dancers they are, but who cares right? They’re American Storm.

After that, we went to Club Tao and I got really fucked up…for the first time. So fucked up that I had no recollections of that night. According to the girls, I was very hyper and in total party mode. I talked a lot. I held up the rock/horns sign a lot and yelled, “I love rock n’ roll!!!!” and “I love Metallica!!!” I danced with a lot of guys, but half of the times, I’d push kept pushing them away so I can dance with myself. I sent drunken text messages to the guy I’m seeing and professed my love for him. And apparently I got kicked out of the club for being so ridiculously drunk.

I guess that’s how you’re suppose to do it in Vegas, but I certainly wouldn’t want to do that again ha, I REALLY don’t.

The next day, I was really out of it. I slept for the whole day to regenerate for the bachelorette party, but I was still tired and I felt sick. The photos that were taken on the second day (the one where we’re all wearing pink) actually looked like I was having fun. I was pretending to have fun because I didn’t want to ruin the night for the girls. But truthfully, I wanted to go home and sleep.

(for more Vegas photos click here)

So did I have fun in Vegas? No not really. It was OK. I could’ve probably had more of a blast if I never took so many shots of patron, and it could’ve been better if one of the girls wasn’t such being a dick to me.

Speaking of dicks, the only thing I really enjoyed about Vegas was molding playdough into a dick as part of the bridal shower game. But I guess none of the girls shared my kind of sense of humor, because they didn’t like my penis with the hairy testicles. They were really grossed out by it. Oh well, you asked to create the most realistic looking man package, and that’s what I delivered. *shrugs*

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THIS SUMMER IS GOING TO KICKASS.

June 14, 2009

If I’m not updating this blog as usual starting today, then it probably means I’m having a kickass time doing kickass stuff.

Now what might be some of those kickass things I will be doing that’s so kickass for the summer you ask?

Well, I’m decorating my new bedroom (hey I consider that to be kickass thanks). I want my bedroom to scream…ohhh I don’t know…five-year-old girl with a sick and twisted fucked-up mind? Mebbe. I bought a bedroom set that’s actually meant for younger girls (lol); it’s really adorable, has a pure cottage-vintagey taste to it, however, I’m planning to add certain things that will add a touch of creepiness to it, just a touch (An understatement? Mebbe).

I’ve already purchased two adorable plush taxidermy from T&A Friendly for my wall:

Next week, I will be going to Las Vegas for the first time for my brother’s fiance’s bachelorette party. Part of the trip includes seeing Thunder Down Under, which I am a little nervous by, just ’cause I’m not so much turned on by male strippers. I think they’re gross. I rather, very much, check out female strippers as oppose to seeing a squad of male strippers completely stripped of their manliness-doing awkward stripper dance routines to which I consider is more feminine.

Then there is my brother’s wedding. And I get to have their place in Santa Ana all to myself for a couple of days when they’re at their honeymoon. There will be lots of furniture shopping, museums to check out, and foods to eat.

Lacuna Coil show in Hollywood with my kickass friends. Three goals I have for the show is to:

1. Rock out really hard with friends.
2. Not get hurt.
3. To add more deadliness into a deadly mosh pit by performing a roundhouse kick of death (but that could conflict with goal #2 wouldn’t it?)

And the best of all, Comic-Con and Video Games Lives in San Diego! Will be dressing up as the female counterpart of Kakashi from Naruto!!

So there you have it, my kickass plans for the summer. And if I’m not blogging as usual, you can look at these tasteful photos that was taken recently at Cheesecake Factory restaurant. My beauty will surely keep you occupied entranced until the next entry…

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My milkshake brings all the geezers to the yard?

May 30, 2009

Last Thursday was my very last day of Vietnamese language class. I sat in the hallway, right outside of the classroom, with about ten other of my classmates as we waited for the teacher to test us on our Vietnamese dialogue individually.

As we were waiting, I was telling half of them about a story how I was asked out to lunch by a 50 or 60-year-old man on school campus last year, and how it grossed me out. It grossed them a little out too (I am 21 years old for those who don’t know). Few minutes later, one of the classmates, Caucasian man in his late 40’s-possibly early 50’s, walked out of the classroom, looking refreshed as ever now that he had gotten his finals done and over with.

He walks towards us and says, “Well, I’m done, it was a pleasure having you guys in my class.”

“Yeah, thanks, you too,” The four of us replied (not in the exact words and time of course).

He turns to me, not looking quite refreshed as he was a minute ago, and starts to blink excessively.

Please don’t do what I think you’re going to do. Please.

He opens his mouth, and after a few stutters, he ask, “Do you-do you think I can get your information?” He hands me his notebook and pen, “I want to keep in touch. And you wanted to take drum class…and so do I.”

I was right. My worst fear of taking this class with him always sitting next to me came to reality. He asked for my number. And not only that, it was witnessed by everybody in my class, whom I just informed–just a few minutes ago–about the other old head who asked me out to lunch last year.

Fucking-a, can this get anymore awkward?

I sure as hell did not want to put my number down for him, yet at the same time, I really didn’t want to embarrass him in front of our classmates either. He’s actually a nice guy. If he was a perverted, horny, dirty-mouthed little fuck, I wouldn’t give a shit. But he isn’t. And I didn’t have the balls to give him back his notebook with an empty page.

Okay, think. Think. Think. I was given a notebook and pen without a gotdamn choice. What could I possibly write down in his black book that would benefit both of us?

I scribble my information down and handed him back his notebook. He looks at the page, his facial expression didn’t change.

It was my email address.

“Well thanks,” he stares at the page, then begins to study it as if it was an encryption to my phone number. After realizing what I had written down for him probably wouldn’t suffice, he takes his wallet out of his back pocket and hands me his business card, “here’s my card, call me.”

Boy I sure hope there’s a working block feature on Gmail.

I wouldn’t have written that recent incident if it didn’t happen that often, but it does, and I’m sad. The average of a young guy (20-30 age range) hitting on me irl is equivalent to getting flu shots: once a year (exaggeration not included). However, the average of a 45+ older white man is, believe it or not, roughly five to eight times a year. *Also, I hope I didn’t offend anyone but I say white because they have always been white..and older.

I don’t know why I attract them, older men. I probably smell like death, or the complete opposite, I exude some kind of magical scent of Asian persuasion that only works on 45+ year old males. Still, I’m perplexed.

Maybe it’s because I talk too much. I’m known to carry very long conversations with strangers of any age, size, and ethnicity as long as the topic interests me-but the strangers I talk to are always a lot older. I guess old people got a lot to talk about. And I guess, the longer you’re willing to listen and converse with them, the more they think you’re attracted to them.

Then again, I tend to display subtle hints or signs to show that I’m not interested…but then again, I don’t think men, of any age really, is capable of reading hints from the opposite sex anyway.

Have I dated any of them?

Yeah, twice, it was weird.

Just kidding.

In all honesty, I can’t date a man who’s old enough to be my father, simply because I don’t think I can relate to somebody who has already gone through at least 20 years of life, 20 years of life of which I haven’t even lived through yet.

Even if they were talented, rich, sexy man beasts like Brad Pitt and Viggo Mortensen–gawd are they sexy–I still wouldn’t do it. I just can’t relate. To relate, ‘least for me, creates connection and bonding, therefore I can’t date older men.

Also, if they had a daughter around my age, there’s a chance she and I would end up becoming one another’s BFFs. Kiss and tell would be a little awkward.

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Women in large packs give me the heeby jeebiez (Just a little rant)

May 26, 2009

There are a lot of things I find scary or intimidating at first glance, some of which includes spiders, cops, people who work at Hot Topic, roller coasters and…women in large groups.

Just to clarify, I’m not scared of women, individually, but more like seeing groups or “cliques” of women who I don’t know all too well. Yeah call me a wimp, I don’t care, but boy do they scare me!

Before I entered college, from kindergarten to high school, there were some people (or kids back then) who picked on me, taunted me, harassed me, basically tried to make my life a living hell.

The frequency of boys who bullied me was random. They usually picked on me whenever they had the chance, sometimes they had friends with them, sometimes they didn’t. The girl bullies, on the other hand, were consistent and would always come in packs only during lunch time, and sometimes P.E. depending how many girlfriends they had in that class. I hated it. I’ve always hated them more than the boy bullies because the girls always had their own little backup. You can punch a boy and maaaybe have him punch back at you, but you can’t punch a girl without having five more punches–the other five pulling your hair–coming at you.

Females, of any age, have this sick proclivity to pull the rest of their girlfriends in to their own problems, literally. The only time they feel indestructible and heroic is when they have their girlfriends standing right beside them as they try to tear down one single girl whose completely alone. Take their clique of girlfriends away and you have one poor and defenseless sobbing idiot.

Yesterday, for Memorial’s day, my older sister really wanted to take me to a picnic that her friends were having, so I went. It was a bit nerve racking for me because she had a lot girlfriends, and again, meeting groups of girlfriends can be intimidating for me when you are your own backup.

We were a few hours late, but as soon as we arrived, all of her girlfriends greeted her and hugged her, and when they were done, they looked at me and looked away immediately as if they pretended nothing was there…but something was there, ’twas I standing there waving, waiting for somebody, anybody to wave back but nobody did…doh!

It was such a gawd awful way to start the picnic that I already wanted to leave. But after eating my plate, alone, I decided that I wanted to go up to the girls to, you know, talk. It was really terrifying for me seeing as how dreadful they looked as a single, cohesive group never leaving each other’s side, but I worked up the courage to walk up to them and this is what happened:

“Hey, so how are you guys liking the food?” I asked in a friendly tone

They looked at each other, chuckled, and then continued to eat, as if nothing was there…again.

Unfuckingbelievable.

Bunch of ungrateful, discourteous women, who are at least eight years older than me, acting like teenage girls.

So instead of trying to make conversation with them, I talked to some of their boyfriends, who were kind enough to actually talk back, they also showed me where the yummy foods were hidden. I also took very boring pictures of the park to kill time. When there was nothing left to do, I tried to make convo again, when I saw one of the girls get up to get food by herself:

“You and your friends are very quiet,” I smiled.

There was a slight look of shock in her face, she turned to look at her clique of girlfriends, and then looked at me and said, “I-I-uh-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just getting food.” She continued to put food in her plate.

Yet another failed attempt to make normal conversation, except this one, actually talked…with hesitance and stutters and nonsense! Only because she was alone, and didn’t have her girlfriends standing behind her ass to give her that confidence to shun me completely.

You girls are funny.

Ugh. I don’t know anymore, it’s 2 AM and I probably not making any sense anymore lol. It just saddens me how they can judge so quickly without even talking to me. It saddens me how I had to waste 2-3 hours of my life. It saddens me how that little incident reconfirms why I should be cautious of women and their pack. And it saddens me how my very own sister likes to interact with them.

Also posted in Wtf – 18 Comments

Procrastination at its best PART DEUX: When will I ever grow up?

May 24, 2009

I just kind of realized how immature I am.

Like, farting is hilarious. I always get a kick out of listening and telling true fart stories to people. Farting and then passing it to your friend via waving-hand motion is really satisfying.

Naked artsy people make me giggle–but I try to giggle on the inside since it’s not really nice to laugh at naked artsy people. I took a life drawing class last year, and it took me a while not to look like I was trying to hold my breath (from laughing) every time a model disrobed in front of the class.

I like pressing buttons, more specifically, unfamiliar buttons, buttons I’ve never pressed before (omfg), just to see what it would trigger. The anticipation is the best part, but sometimes the outcome of pressing a button can be really anticlimactic, aka the one’s that doesn’t work.

And the worst of all (I cringe as I begin to type the inevitable), I own guns…toy guns. Though uh I really don’t feel like explaining what I do with them.

Oh yeah true story, when the workers were cleaning out my bedroom for renovation, the cute younger one came up to me with a box and asked, “Did you want to keep these with you?” Confused, I glanced at the box and noticed that he was holding a box of my toy guns. If there was ever a time I wanted to kill myself, it would be that time.

And the point of all this? Nothing really, I just don’t want to work on my finals. Carry on.

PS – I am still screwed.

Also posted in Wtf – 12 Comments

My Sleepwalking Résumé

May 12, 2009

I posted a new entry last night, went to bed, then realized I forgot to add in something. So used my phone to try to edit a few things while I was in bed, but ended up deleting the whole entry on accident.

*Note to self: Never try to use Wordpress on your Sidekick.

So where was I? My garage. Last time, I wrote about how annoying it can be to live in a garage with my parents. This time, I have something new to stress about…the weird and unexplained things that goes on in here.

First, my mom’s 400 dollars went missing. The weird part is she never loses anything, especially 400 bucks, and she said knew where it was. Then again, I’m not the one who lost the money, so I can’t tell you how certain she was.

Second, I bought a headband and that went missing too. The weird part is I never wore it. It has always been sitting in a basket on top of the vanity desk, until three weeks later, I woke up and automatically noticed that my headband disappeared. About two days ago, I found the headband just under my bed. How did it get there? I’m not sure, the only people who are here besides me are obviously my parents, but they didn’t take my headband.

Third, after I had written the last entry, I turned off all the lights and went straight to bed. Later in the day, my mom had told me that she was woken up in the middle of the night because the lights were on. The weird part? Light switches were on.

And today, my dad told me he was woken up just last night because he heard my feet shuffling and claimed that I was walking back and forth way too much. Again, the weird part, it ain’t me! (/queue scary music)

So what could be the cause of all of this? I’d love to say that I’m in a haunted garage, but my parents have been really freaked out lately, so I wouldn’t want to scare them. “Haunted” also makes it sound intriguing and scary, but since I’m someone who watches the show “Ghost Hunters” religiously, I’ve learned that before you can call a house haunted, you would have to find a more logical explanation(s) first for the weird occurrences.

The only “logical” explanation I can think of really at the moment is somebody’s doing it in their sleep.

Out of the three of us living in the garage, the one who has the most and only witnessed cases of sleepwalking (or sleep dancing, I’ll explain later) is…

(/hangs head in shame)

Yeah, it’s me. If sleepwalking were to be a talent and/ profession, I’d have a legitimate resume for it.

Well, wait, whatdoyaknow! I do have one:

(click for bigger size)

My parents would be proud.

Also posted in X-files – 10 Comments

My parents are driving me kerr-rRAaZy!

May 11, 2009

Because of the renovation, I’ve been living in the garage with my parents for three weeks already and I…just…can’t…fucking…take it anymore. Really, I tried to keep my cool. I kept it cool for the first few days but gees, I cannot tolerate with the way they’ve been treating me.

They treat me like I’m their mentally retarded daughter.

Seriously. That’s my only problem. I wish I was trying to be funny, but I’m not. I’m being treated like a person who suffers from mental retardation.

For instance, my parents will repeat the same stuff to me over and over and over and over again…

Dad: They just put the tiles in today, you can’t walk in the kitchen.

Me: Yeah, I know, the guys already told me.

Dad: Oh? Ok.

(30 minutes later)

Dad: Remember not to walk in the kitchen.

Me: I know.

(one hour later)

Dad: Don’t take a single step in the kitchen.

Me: Yeah, I know! Sheesh.

(five hours later)

Dad: You can’t walk in the kitchen.

Me: (head explodes)

They always restate the obvious…

Me: Wow it’s cold! Oh btw, I’m going to go out tonight.

Mom: Make sure to wear something warm.

Me: Nah…I think I’m going to go with a white fitted wifebeater so everyone can see how long my nipples will harden.

Another thing that really pushes my mentally retarded buttons is how they’re trying to put a curfew on me. It’s really weird. First of all, I’m 21 years old, I’m a woman, aright? And second, before the renovation, I had no rules, I had no curfews, so for them to coerce (yes coerced, dad used anger and intimidation on me to get me to sleep earlier, and mom used “but it’s mother’s day” excuse) me into hopping into bed on my “assigned” time is just really obnoxious…

Mom: I want you to sleep exactly at 12.

Me: No.

Mom: Please? For Mother’s Day?

Me: Why?

Mom: Because it will be good for you.

Yeah…wish I made this stuff up. I really can’t wait to get out of here (the garage that is!).

Also posted in Wtf – 9 Comments

How I’ve been managing since the renovation

May 7, 2009

Since Friday, April 23, 2009 I have not been inside my house due to renovation, well actually the only two exceptions are the garage and the bathroom, but other than that, nothing’s livable. I can’t sleep in my own warm and cozy bedroom, I can’t sit around and watch television in the living room, and I can’t cook stuff in the kitchen until everything is completely finished and free of poisonous fumes.

My siblings that live with me are currently staying at their significant other’s/in-law’s houses. My parents and I, on the other hand, have not moved at all. Believe it or not, we’ve been doing everywhere we typically do in the house, right outside of the house.

This is the result of being too poor to book a hotel…the result of having Vietnamese parents who have never assimilated into American living culture…and the result of not having a boyfriend with a place to crash:

Our sink for hand washing!

Our kitchen sink for dish washing!

Our dish dryer rack for dish drying!

Our stove for meal cooking!

Our bathroom for getting stuck in!

And this is where I sleep…in the garage!

I swear these aren’t pictures from random spots of third world countries, this has been my way of living for the past two weeks. For the first couple of days of living like this, I really hated it, especially sleeping in there with all of the insects, and wearing the same clothes most of the time (left my clothes in the drawers, drawers is sealed tight with multiple sheets of thick plastic, I didn’t know!), but I don’t mind it all now, and hey, ‘least we still have a shower.

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