I needed a blog where it’s more family/work friendly. And for consistency–I don’t want to have a blog where I have one entry that talks about some new awesome video game, and then dish on my sister’s friends after that.

Not sure what I’m going to do with this site, I’d kind of like to keep it for memory. Maybe post every time I feel like blowing off some steam.

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.

Oh, and when I mean “I finally have time” I mean, I’m not playing World of Warcraft as much anymore since I finally hit level 80 for the first time.

For those who know WoW and are curious to know what I play, I play a fresh lvl 80 blood elf hunter on Blackrock server.  She’s BM for pvp, and soon to be MM for pve.

If I were to turn into a video game character,  she would be it.  I intentionally created her that way so she would somewhat resemble me.  I mean technically, I’m not just playing WoW…I’m literally in the game but in pixel format. Right? Amirite?

Thanks to my boyfriend, who COERCED me in to trying out the 10-day trial of the game, I’ve been really addicted to it for the past three months.  Though, thankfully, not as much anymore now that I am level 80.  I can finally breathe, focus more on school and this website, and shower more.

And since I’m a huge nerd for dressing up, last thing I want to mention is my Halloween costume.  I was dressed as a Victorian vampire, with crazy cat-eye contact lenses.  Here are some photos of the event, plus an adorable photo of my nephew trick-0-treating for the first time as an added bonus (he’s not even two yet!):

Jules, a MAC makeup artist, did a great job regardless.  It was crazy! I never knew that my own dork face was capable of such impeccable hotness, all thanks to Jules and her fine makeup artistry.  Here are some photos of the shoot, some of them are “actual” shoots and others were from our regular cameras mostly for fun:

Boy do I love makeup.  Isn’t it great how putting a little can accentuate features?  And putting lots of it on can really altar a woman’s face in drastic measures, capable of deceiving men? And speaking of men, I wonder if they–who are attracted to women that always wear caked-on powder, caked-on lipgloss, caked-on eyeshadow, and whatever other form of cosmetic they’d put on to their heart’s content–are aware of what might be underneath the cake-laden face.

After a couple of hours of shooting, I drove home with the makeup on.  On my way there, some guy driving next to me stared and whistled at me, and made flattering remarks.  Usually, this doesn’t happen.   And this whole time, I couldn’t help but to think, “If he only knew…”  If he only knew that the glossy lips, the rosey cheeks, the long lashes weren’t hereditary.  If he only knew that I really don’t wear makeup unless I go out for a special occasion or that I’m with my boyfriend (sorry Matt!).

If he only knew that he was actually whistling to this:

Lol

“’Scuse me, is this seat available? Mind if I take it?” He puts his hand over the top of the chair that was next to mine.

“No, go ahead.”

He pulls the chair, sits in it, and looks at me.  “You thought I was going to take it, huh? Ha ha.”

“Oh wow yeah, you got me,” I looked at him, couldn’t help but glance at his teeth.  They were like baby teeth, almost jagged at the bottom and his little baby canines were pointing towards each other. Creepy I thought. I then tried to focus on my paper, to insinuate to him that I wasn’t interested in talking, or in him for that matter.

“Name’s Tim,” he puts his hand over my paper suggesting that I shake it.

“Tiff,” I shaked it (ew). I try to look at my paper again.

As I was thinking about what to write for my paper, clearly not wanting to converse, he starts to fiddle with my keys that were on the table.

“I just want to take your keys, go to every car in the parking lot and try to open them.  And once I find your car I’m going to take it to the pound.”

(^He either said that, or  “I’m going to pound it”.  Not sure, was too weirded out to remember the exact quote)

“Oh…wow,” That’s all I could think of at the moment, I mean, what can you honestly say to that? I was at loss and was actually starting to get scared for my life.

“Ha ha I bet you think I’m a real funny guy, huh?”

“No not really…I was thinking of something else,” I really, really wanted this Tim guy to go away but without being an ass. “No offense, but I have some work to do so I really can’t talk to you.”

“W-w-wait wait, you seem like a very interesting person–and I’m sensing a really good vibe here,” He scans my body, meticulously, with his psychopathic pervy eyes from head to toe, toe to head. I cross my arms, hoping that it would somehow shield him from checking me out, “I want to talk to you, get to know you more.”

“Well…eh if you bump into me again on campus you can say ‘hi’,” I shrugged, “that’s the best I can do for ya.”

“How about I call you?” He leans in forward.

“I don’t think my boyfriend would like that.”

“But we can be just friends.”

“Still, you’re a stranger to me, I just met you a minute ago, I’m not going to give you my number.”

“We’re just friends.”

“We’re not friends, and I don’t want you to call me.”

“Is it because you’re insecure?”

With a louder, border-line booming OH NO YOU DIDN’T tone, I responded, “Insecure? It’s because I’m not that trusting, and I would never give you my number anyway because you’re coming on too strong,” I’m sure people in the library heard me.

“Fine, I’ll let you do your homework.” He walks away looking rather pissed, like a little girl who didn’t get the barbie she wanted.

After that incident I finally had the chance to do finish my paper in peace…ish. I was actually very much paranoid the whole time. As I writing, I was expecting the weird fucker to come back and attack me from behind, pulling a chunk of my hair out just so he can make a hair doll and masturbate to it everyday.

Thankfully, that didn’t happen, but yeah, he’s a creepy little sucker ain’t he?

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.

1. I went to Comic-Con International in San Diego for my second time, and I’ve finally did what I’ve always wanted to do…costume play! Yeah, that’s right, I’m a grown-up and I dressed up for a geek convention…and I liked it.

I was dressed up as the female counterpart of Kakashi from Naruto.  My buddy, Pris, was dressed as the female Joker (her makeup looked friggen’ SICK), and my other buddy, Jason, was also a Naruto character.  The two other guys, Mina (Pris’s fiance) and Matt (my boyfriend), were dressed up as humans. Original? I think so.

I had a blast.  I saw other cool geeks dressed up.  I saw lots of cool gizmos and gadgets.  And since I was dressed up, a lot of people took photos with me.  There was a point where I was alone, and just out of the blue, people, in large groups, were taking photos of me, complimenting on my costume and my red “sharingan” contact.  I never had this kind of “celebrity” treatment before, and I ain’t gotta lie, it felt kind of nice to be noticed and to have the flash going off in your face as if you were getting mauled by the paparazzi.

The downside of this experience was not being able to go to a panel, namely The Big Bang Theory sitcom.  Also, my ninja mask.  I was sweating profusely in there.  And I wore the mask prior to the convention so much (for fun) that it loosened up, and I had to tape it inside during the event. Gah.

All in all, it was fun, and I got to spend it with my closest friends.  I certainly can’t wait to attend and dress up for Comic-Con 2010. Shwing!

2. Last night, I had my sister cut a huge portion of my hair so I can give it away.  My new do is very bold and obviously, very drastic, but I’m really in love with my new haircut.  It’s different!

Do I miss it?

Not even.  Hell, I’d even cut it up eyes, but since my face is kind of prominent with a bit of a masculine touch, people might mistaken me for a dude, or a lesbian.

(Blame it on summer break. I’ve been taking complete advantage of it.

Blame it on my newly fresh boyfriend. Kind of weird to say “my boyfriend” now since I’m a noob at being a first-time girlfriend.

And blame it on the goose. That is all.)

I don’t have time to update my blog with the usual lengthy entries…but I do have time to post that picture in Vegas I’ve been wanting to post!

To make a long story short, I went to Vegas with a group of girls I didn’t know (except for one) for a bachelorette party.  One of the girls, the oldest one of the bunch, didn’t like me at all.  She would sometimes say some pretty insulting things to me, but would translate them into more of a funny and joking manner so the rest of the girls wouldn’t think any of it.  I wouldn’t find it rude had she did the same to the rest of the girls, but I noticed I was the only one who was getting picked on by her.

I don’t know what the reason is, but shit, who cares, I found an amazing photo that proves she wants me out of the picture (literally) and it’s pretty funny:

So the broad who doesn’t like me is the one who is taking the photo.  How do I  know this was intentional and malicious?

1. She doesn’t like me.

2. She was sober when this photo was taken.

3. Look how much negative/extra space is at the top. I could have easily been part of the photo if she would just angle it down like a normal human being should.

4. And most importanly, it’s how she took the photo:

If you look closely, at her reflection, you can see how retarded she looks at attempting to “unintentionally” cut me out of the photo.

Notice where the camera is positioned from her head. Notice the angle of her face. Notice how far she is bending her neck back so that she is facing the ceiling instead of the group of girls.

Way to go asshole, this is the dumbest photo I have ever seen. Even a monkey with down syndrome can take a better photo that logically makes more sense.

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*

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*