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 know. There are stars on her face.  Cute, right?

Well, maybe if  they weren’t permanent.

18-year-old Kimberley Vlaminck decided to get supposedly three stars tattooed on her face, but she supposedly fell asleep in the process and woke up with 56 stars. What a moron.

After her new face was revealed to her father and her boyfriend, Kimberley decided to sue the artist for the cost to remove all 56 stars, however the tattoo artist is making claims that she actually wanted all of those (tacky) stars.  He even mentioned that she looked in the mirror a few times as the procedure was taking place (more info  here).

Two questions that comes to mind:

-How did you manage to fall asleep when someone’s stabbing your face with a needle?

-Can I call you Starface? Like Scarface the movie, but uh only not?

I’m not buying her story.  If she was telling the truth, then this was how it probably went down on the night she got her tattoo…

Kim: “Hi I’d like to get three stars on my face, just three.”

Tattoo artist: “That can be done, just have a seat.”

Tattoo artist: *begins to tattoo a tramp stamp-I mean star*

Kim: “Hly cow that really hurts!”

Tattoo artist: “The face is one of the most sensitive areas to get tattooed ya know.”

Kim: “I see. Well, boy am I tired! Mind if I sleep until you’re done? It seems like a really good time to get a good night’s rest right now.”

*snores*

Tattoo artist: “One down and 55 more to go…”

Any tattoo artist would make absolute sure on what their clients would want for a tattoo, especially with something so awfully drastic and bold to be put on their very own face.  And Any tattoo artist wouldn’t throw stars at random places without the client’s compliance.

Despite her bullshit excuse–which I’m sure she was insanely drunk when all of that went down–I feel a little sorry for her. If it was already on a person who looked like a freak, I would be indifferent, but Kimberley, poor ol’ Kimberley, looked completely normal, like the type of girl you’d see shopping at Hollister on the weekends, and now she’s got the entire constellation eating half of her face.

CLOSED.

PLEASE GO TO THE NEXT CASHIER

Astonished, I turned around to see the reaction on other people’s face but nobody was behind me. I was the last person in line who waited the longest only to get rejected by a CLOSED sign. I stood there, just lifelessly, waiting for the cashier lady to say, “Oh I can take you since you’re the last person.”

…but no. In fact, she did the worse. She pretended I wasn’t there. I read the sign once more, then looked around to see if anybody was laughing at me, and looked at her again. No eye contact whatsoever, she was staring at the monitor.

Before the situation could get even more awkward, I quickly got over it and followed what the sign had ordered me to do: go to the next cashier.

The line wasn’t long compared to the first one since there were two people already before me. And boy, did it take forever…again. The customer who was at the beginning of the line had a shit ton of items and I believe one of their stuff needed a price check. The second customer, the one right in front me, holy shit, didn’t know how to count change or something, so he was standing there, all fucking afternoon, counting change over and over again.

As I was waiting, looking fidgety as ever ’cause I was tempted to count the change for him, the same cashier lady decided to wake up and be a freakin’ blowjob.  That’s right, she’s a gaddamn blowjob and I don’t like her.  What she did was she removed her hideous mustard barf yellow sign and said to the man waiting behind me, “You know what, I can take one more person, why don’t I take care of your stuff sir.”

I swear Ima kill somebody.

Feeling aggravated and a little hurt, I mumbled to myself, “Ughh…you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

The slow-counting change guy turns around and gives me a stubborn look as he’s counting the numbers quietly.  He then looks at the first half of his change and combines it with the other half.  Then I realized what I had mumbled had disrupted his concentration which lead him to start all over again.

Perfect.

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.

I asked him if he was excited for Halloween as to which he replied, “No, I’m Christian. I don’t celebrate Halloween.”

“Well I’m Christian, and I’m celebrating it.”

“Then that means you’re celebrating the devil.” He gives me a snotty look, following by a retarded snotty chuckle.

“Ummm…that’s a load of crap.  Have you ever done your research before?”

“I know well enough that I’m not going to be celebrating the day of the devil! Good bye.”

Halloween ISN’T a devil-worshipping holiday! Fuck! Halloween was started as an ancient Celtic festival called “Samhain”, and I believe it was the time when they honored and communed with their loved ones who have died. If you want to know more about its origins, then wiki that ish.

I hate it when people have to ruin the joy of something fun and special. I had the same thing happen to my co-worker last year for Christmas.  She asked one of our customers if he had any plans for Christmas, and so he answers, “I don’t celebrate Christmas. It is against my beliefs.”

It turns out that this guy was a “Christian” too.

The difference between I-don’t-celebrate-Halloween Christian and I-don’t-celebrate-Christmas Christian, is that I-don’t-celebrate-Christmas Christian actually did his research and willingly gave her a 10 minute explanation on why Christmas shouldn’t be celebrated.

While this had happen, I was actually in another room fixing his glasses, and all I remember hearing was that December 25th wasn’t really the day that Jesus was born. And then I heard him say, “Instead my family and I will celebrate…harvest…grain”.

Seriously, man, if he was talking to me about it, and I wasn’t so much of a pussy, I’d say, “Dude, stop being anal. Shut the fuck up and just celebrate it.”

But yeah…*note to self: if you don’t want to get stuck in an uncomfortable situation, never ask a customer what they’re going to do for the holidays.

I wouldn’t mind wearing braces right now actually (Visaline is too expensive). I really liked it as a teenager. The pain felt quite nice (I know, I’m a creep!).

The only thing I hated about it, is that, when I would talk to strangers, they would usually bring up the topic of braces, asking if it’d hurt and stuff, which is fine, but they’d also ask, “Why do you need braces for? You don’t need them.”

Can you believe that shit? I usually say, “I ono” because giving them an honest answer might make them think that I’m trying to be a smartass.

“Because braces make your teeth straight…um yeah.”

First of all, they’re strangers.  You don’t know them, and you don’t know why they’re here until you answer the door and talk to them.  If you’re not here to deliver a package or a pizza then get the hell out of my yard!

And they’re most likely crazy people.  I’ve had either very bad or very uncomfortable situations every time a stranger walked to my doorstep.

So one time, there were two 12-year-old girls who were selling candy door to door.  When they reached to my house, I already told them that I bought them from another kid, and well-actually here’s how the conversation went:

“Sorry, I just bought some candy bars off of your other friend. He came about five minutes ago.”
“What’s his name?” One of the girls asked, who looked a bit irritated.
“I don’t know.”
“What did he look like?”
“Stubby. Brown curly hair.”
“What program did he say he was from?”
“Does it even matter? I already bought the candy.”
“Just answer us lady!!!!!”

I rolled my eyes and then closed the door. Kids these days.

I had another one, except this time it was two high school guys, selling newspaper subscriptions.

I had just walked out of my car at my driveway, and as I walked out, they were already walking towards me.  It was 6PM, the sky was getting dark and I already wanted to go back in my car and lock the door, but they were already three feet away from me.

They asked me if I wanted to subscribe to some newspaper but I told them that I was already subscribed.  One of the guys kept on insisting that I subscribe anyway to help them earn “points” for school.

I said “no” and I told them that I had to go, which made the guy seem rather annoyed and impatient.  He walked up to me until he was a foot away from my face and then he said, in an intimidating and aggressive voice, “Then at least…GIVE US…A DOLLAR.”

I gave it to him.  What a real fucking douche, right?  He threatened me for a buck.

And then you have your crazy, bible thumpin’, going door-to-door, proselytizin’ Christians.  I’m not bagging on Christians, I’m a Christian too, I’m just talking about the crazy ones.

I had some spunky guy who gave me a postcard of the church which he regularly attends every Sunday, as he was handing it to me he said, “You should goto church sometime, we’ll sing and praise the LAWWWWWWWWWD TOGETHER!!!”

I answered, “Thanks, I do go to church.”

“Oh really! That’s amazing! Where?”

“St. Columban, the one on Nutwood.”

“Oh I know what that is.  That a Catholic church right? Hmm…” The spunky guy did not have his spunk anymore. “Catholic, huh? Ha…you should attend my church.  Mmmm I don’t get it.  I don’t get what they do.  What’s with confessing your sins to the priest? And the priests? Oh boy…”

A quarrel ensues.

I was just thinking about it because yesterday, I saw two older ladies (why do they always come in PAIRS?!) walking to my door.  They were holding bibles in their hands, and I think they were Protestant bibles (I had one, it came from the Gideons…that’s a Protestant bible right?), so I decided to spare them time by pretending I wasn’t home.

They were waiting for over five minutes too! Gotdamn, I must be bad at being quiet.

Religion and Christianity is just not a good topic to start right off the bat with, ESPECIALLY when you never met them before.  Like, can you imagine a stranger coming up to you and he started saying stuff like, “Hey, do you believe in Jesus Christ and that he’s the Son of God?”

Dude, just…don’t.

Sincerely,
Tiff

I also noticed that my things tend to sell if I’m in the picture (duh), so I’m thinking, man, if I just hold a Styrofoam cup of paper clips and a used travel size shampoo and conditioner, and then post it on ebay, would anyone bid on it?

To quench my perpetual thirst for answers, I decided to google “weirdest ebay items” and found out that, and I shit you not, some belly button lint is currently up for bid for $170.00 so far.

So yes, I’ve come to the conclusion that someone, at least one person, in this wacked out world we live in, will purchase my Styrofoam cup of paper clips and used travel size shampoo and conditioner. I may not get a lot of money out of it, but somebody will actually use their time to bid on MY piece of junk, and of course, little money is better than no money.

But I’ve got a better idea. When I’m done selling my real stuff (stuff that a lot of people would want to buy), I’m going to take a picture of myself putting gum in my mouth, chewing it, taking it out and putting into a Ziploc bag…because you know why? I’m going to sell it on Ebay. I swear.

I’d just love for someone to purchase MY used gum. Honestly, who the hell can say, “Yeah, I sold my used gum for five bucks on eBay..pfff.”

I’d like to be that person.