My boyfriend tells me I’m action-packed, I certainly can’t argue with that.

BOING!

Last Saturday was my brother’s wedding, and obviously everybody had a blast.

However.

One of my brother-in-laws, Vincent, got really drunk, and after the reception, I walked outside and and found him sitting on the curb, with his head down, waiting for chunks to come out.  My sister (his wife, Asia) and my other brother-in-law were there trying to comfort him, they were talking to him, patting and rubbing his back and then out comes the Wedding Singer holding a roll of paper towel.

“I got him, I got him,” The Wedding Singer sat next next to Vincent, patted his mouth with the paper towel roll, and started to rub his back.  My other brother-in-law starts to back off. “I take care of him.  He need to sit here for a while before he can get into the car.”

More back rubbing and massaging ensues, the Wedding Singer looks up at me as I stare in utter confusion and then frantically asks me, “Water. He need water. Can you get it for me?”

“Yeah,” I answered.  I ran back to the restaurant looking for water.  The waiters seemed very occupied cleaning up the area so I grabbed the nearest and cleanest looking glass of water from one of the tables. I walked out of the place and found the Wedding Singer in the middle of a conversation with Asia.

“Everyone go! Go! I take care of him!” He takes the cup out of my hands while talking to my sister, “He my friend. I will help.”

“I’m his wife,” Asia giggled, trying to make the situation less awkward, “And I’m not going anywhere without my husband.”

So we all stayed, waiting for Vincent to puke, while the Wedding Singer caresses his back some more and uses the water to help clean his mouth.

During this time, NOBODY thought of anything.  We just thought the Wedding Singer was being really, really helpful and really, really weird, until…

*BLERHHHH!!!*

Barf galore, barf on the ground, barf on the curb, and barf on the Wedding Singer’s arm.

“It’s OK. I take care of him.  Everybody go,” he motions his hand suggesting us to go away.

He was ok with it. He was much more concerned with us going away so that he could be alone with my brother-in-law then his arms, covered in the thickest, smelliest smellin’ shit puke ever.  And that’s where it hit me and my sister.  We looked at each other, mouth wide open, and we knew exactly what we were thinking…

This guy is dead horny and he wants my sister’s husband, badly.

After the puke fest and realizing the Wedding Singer’s disturbing motives, my sister and I both helped Vincent up.

“Thanks for helping my husband, we’re going home now.”

“Wait, he should sit here longer.  It’s not good to bring him into the car rye now,” The Wedding Singer grabs a hold of Vincent’s shoulder, “You guys go. I do it myself.”

“Dude, you’re not getting ass tonight. Sorry.” I told him.  Without saying a word, he released his grip, and that was the last of the Wedding Singer.

Geez, what a creepfuck.  If I had taken a photo of him, I would have most certainly posted it here to warn people, like what people do when they find sexual offenders, because I have no doubt in my mind that he does this in every–if not most–weddings. I mean, the guy was already equipped with a roll of paper towel, how strategic can you get?

So I have to warn any Vietnamese people from Orange County who are planning to hire Vietnamese wedding singers/bands. I know that there’s a shitload of them out there in this county, but if you HAPPEN to hire a band and one of them has buzzed hair, wears glasses, and speaks terrible English…keep an eye on him after the reception.

*shudders*

I just had one of the worst pouring gas experience, ever.

Last weekend I headed to the gas station which ended up getting a little bit packed. I parked behind some guy’s car, who was in the middle of pouring gas, but as soon as he was done, he decides to clean the inside of his car! He’s taking junk out and putting them into the trashcan. After waiting for an extra four minutes I realized the man has a shitload of shit to throw away and wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon, so I looked for another spot, and from where I was looking, it looked empty.

I drove to that spot only to find a fucking gawddamn car hogging up all the space because his car was parked exactly between two pumps sitting beside each other. I waited for a whole minute and a half, looked at the car’s owner, and he looked at me, but looked away as if nothing was wrong. Before I could ask him to scoot his car up a little further so I can pour some gawddamn gas, the man who was cleaning out his car was gone, and his spot was available.

I drove back to my original spot and finally was able to pour gas. As I was waiting, I noticed that it took a little bit longer than usual, two seconds later, the gasoline starts to overflow! And when I mean overflow, I mean there was fucking fuel shooting out of the pocket, and it was getting all over my legs and feet. Now this was pretty weird because when you’re pouring gas and the tank gets full, you should hear a click and everything automatically stops, right? But mine didn’t, it kept on going, and LOTS of it.

I’m not panicking at the moment, I took the nozzle out of the filling entry and it’s STILL running. Remember the scene in Zoolander where the guys were having a gasoline fight? Yeah it looked something like that. Except only one person was holding a running nozzle, and I did not have orange mocha frappuccino that day.

Turns out that the latch that locks your handle so it could run by itself, was jammed, and I wasn’t able to unlock it. At this point, I’m panicking like a little bitch. I drop the nozzle and run inside to get the cashier, as the running fuel continues to spread throughout the floor like a fucking disease.

“Dude my thing is overflowing, you gotta help me, there’s gasoline everywhere!” These weren’t my exact words, I was too nervous and too scared at the time to remember what had actually happen.

The cashier man looks at me with a blank face, then in his heavy Mexican accent he belches, “Wath do you think you’re thrying to pool aye? You theenk iz funny huh? You theenk iz real funny!”

Oh my gosh, he doesn’t believe me.

“No, no, no, it really is. You gotta check it out, my thing is overflowing! It’s everywhere on the floor!”

After a few desperate attempts of convincing the cashier that I got Old Faithful running right outside of the store, I’m like fuck it, I bolted out and noticed a man at my station, trying to turn off the nozzle which I had failed to stop.

When he finally got it to stop, he said, “You better go now, someone might drop a cigarette!”

Taking my savior’s advice, I sped off, fast, before a cigarette could even be lit. Hands were trembling like a leaf, feet reeked of gasoline, and couldn’t stop thinking about the terrorizing thought of pouring gas again.