the only thing worse
than bad memories
is no memories at all..
[dismemberment plan]
11.29.2004
Annnd...... It's Back!
Winter is coming upon us, and in some kind of biological cycle, I find my body totally preparing for some bullshit hibernation schedule, like I'm some kind of motherfucking grizzly bear or some shit. I've got massive padding and insulation, especially in my ass and my thighs, and this morning I counted an extra chin. The feeling of my flabby stomach folding over my belt is back, too. Fuck!
This morning I got up and made a power breakfast of frozen vegetables and two fake sausages... and some RAMEN. Fucking ramen. What was I thinking? Ramen is basically flour and oil packed together, e.g. carbohydrates and fat. The worst of the fucking worst.
I then put a few clementines in my schoolbag and went to work, where I immediately shoved the three clementines, one after the other, into my mouth -- within 15 minutes of my arrival.
Feeling not-too-bad yet, to my left, I heard a RUSTLE-RUSTLE-RUSTLE shakey sound. It was my boss, Jack, holding a box of Munchkins in his hand above his head, shaking the damn thing at me like it was a bag of doggie treats, and I was a big fat poodle or something. He may as well bent over at his waist, put both of his hands on his knees and called out: "C'mere! C'mere girl! Mmmmm you love deese widdle sugar lumps dontcha? Dontcha?" and rubbed behind my ears. BUT I AM NOT A GOLDEN RETRIEVER.
It was seriously kind of embarassing though -- everyone at work has become used to me freaking out over Munchkins, and sometimes they even stop working just to watch me stuff them in my mouth and then try to smush as many of them as I can between my fat, sorry fingers so I can hoard them at my desk in a big powdered sugary mess.. and then immediately cram them into my mouth one after the other, too.
Within half an hour of Jack shaking the Munchkins at me, taunting me -- making the little dough balls rustle with joy, the one Siren song that I can't resist (I do look like a big fat shipwreck, after all) -- I had eaten probably over a dozen of those little fuckers. My fingers were sticky with sugar, glaze, and jelly, and my shirt had a big smudgy ring of powdered sugar across my chest.
I sat there at my desk for a while, with powdered sugar and cinnamon pasted to my cheeks and jelly in the corner of my lips, with my jaw slack and my tongue hanging out a little. The sugar coursed its way through my veins and suddenly, my brain flatlined completely. Instead of clopping around from my chair to the copy machine in my office high-heels that I keep stashed under my desk, I kept my sneakers on and let all the papers pile up, thinking, "Oh yeah, I'll just get them before I'm about to leave for home. Fuckit. Dammit why are there no more chocolate ones!"
I began to get really retarded, too. While talking on the phone, I started feeling short of breath. Since I have to call our customers to collect money, I leave a lot of voicemails for people. I heard myself saying something like, "Hi, I'm calling from *GASP GASP HUHHHH_HUHHHH_HUHHHH* [insert company name] about a few... *HUHHHH.... HUHHHH....* unpaid invoices? Give us a call back, our number is ###-###-##... #.. #...." and the last few numbers trailed off and up into a hypersonic squeal-whisper, like the kind that comes out when you have only a last wisp of air in your lungs but you don't want to stop and take a breath, so you squeeze it all out. ... It was really fucking disturbing.
Plus, when the phone rang, instead of putting the receiver to my ear, I was so sleepy that I accidentally punched myself in the eye with the mouthpiece.
Soon enough, I went from being mildly lethargic to completely incompetent. I started typing like my mom and my eyes glazed over. When the phone rang, I kept stuttering and saying our company name weird.. Like with a Spanish accent for some bizarre reason -- Instead of saying "digital," I'd say "dee-hee-tahl." What the fuck! And I'd usually say "One second, please" before putting people on hold, but now I was saying "Wan say-conn, plea." What the fuck was going on??
So I got back to my dorm, made a quesadilla that I ate with salsa, and while I was eating that, I got to thinking.. And saw a startling pattern in my recent habits;
Let's review a few key symptoms:
I thought back to a strange concocction I found myself eating last week -- a corn tortilla, toasted in a standard toaster, with peanut butter and jelly.
There's a number of reasons why this seemingly disgusting combination was consumed:
1. It's actually not that bad,
2. One of my cunt-bag suitemates ate or threw out my bread,
or
3. I am the embodiment of the essence of a Mexican man living inside of the body of a Korean girl.
Okay WAIT.
Wait wait wait. Before you think that's ridiculous, go back and read the evidence presented above.
After all, I have been overwhelmed at times by the strange animalistic urge to scream, "AY YAI YAI YAI!!!!" along with a mixture of chittering noises at somewhat "questionably attractive" young ladies while staring them down with big, hopeful eyes -- especially in dark subway stations. I also found myself comparing the Munchkin box rustling shaking noise to the sound of maracas; and of course, most compellingly perhaps, my inexplicable love of comically oversized foam sombreros.
Once again, I'm not sure where this post is going, exactly, but the tone seems to be leaning towards some kind of resolution, here. I don't know. I mean, all I know is that my pants are feeling tighter, my thighs look like stuffed sausages again, and I'm turning into a big, fat, pathetic, sloppy shit. As of this moment, as I'm typing this, I have already consumed at the very least 100 peanuts, some chocolate chips, and a bag of popcorn. I'm getting fatter and fatter, and contrary to common belief, it's not all going to my tits and my ass, but it's really making my armpit fat bulge and jiggle. My Sans-a-belt is looking better and better. When I sit down in a chair, my tits rest on top of my mountainous belly, slightly slopping to the sides. I have trouble breathing when bending down to tie my shoe, and clingy sweaters look just horrible on me.
Most shocking discovery made during this magical journey into lard land:
I can tilt my head forward so that my chin is completely enveloped in neck fat.
This is a very short, scientific, causational post.
CAUSE:
EFFECT:
Cause: I guess that's what I get for wearing hideous, pointy, pink high heeled shoes -- with socks, no less. Plus, I had about 20-30 extra pounds strapped on my back because I had to lug my laptop and school books around all day.
Effect: A blister the size of a giant mutant lima bean. -- HOLY SHIT!
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go pop this motherfucker.
(***If you're grimacing at the computer screen, trying to keep down the bile at the back of your throat, don't say I didn't warn you. Because I DID.)
I really don't understand how my mom is still in one piece today -- The things she gets away with each day are fucking ridiculous. I think the fact that she's a small, cute Asian lady with severely broken English is what holds her head over the water; there's really no other explanation.
Honestly, if my mother were a large, angry white woman with a fuzzy mustache and excessive knuckle hair, going about her everyday business as usual -- giving people the finger when they cut her off, cutting people off like it ain't no thang, pushing a shopping cart straight through (into) groups of slow old people at the grocery store, taking as many food samples as she can stuff into her mouth at once no matter how many people are behind her, farting as loudly as possible whenever and wherever she damn well pleases... chances are, her SUV would have been run off the road and battered with a tire iron a long, long time ago.
People are just too easy to give her the benefit of the doubt, just because she vaguely resembles some kind of charming Sanrio bobblehead figure.
"Awwww, she's just a little fat Asian lady.. She doesn't really know what's coming out of her filthy, vile mouth.." -- I can see that very idea passing through the minds of the dozens of insulted waitresses when my mom loudly complains that there's "really nothing to eat here," right to their faces. So instead of a pot of hot tea hurled furiously in her face, we instead get an uncomfortable, nervous smile and an increased risk of uremic poisoning from all the piss that's probably in our food.
That is not to say, however, that there haven't been any repercussions to her crassness. I'm pretty sure that when she said she would only get the more expensive perm as long as she didn't have to leave a tip, the hairstylist purposely made her look like Don King stuck his dick into a wet electrical outlet.
And I'm pretty sure that her co-workers are organizing some kind of massive, fat, angry coup against her. If you haven't been to a hospital lately, let me just inform you that all nurses range from being pretty fat to morbidly obese. Every one of her co-nurses is on some kind of diet, and all they do during their shift is eat fried chicken and egg rolls and talk about how much weight they've lost. And since my mom adheres to her mantra of "In my home country, we no lie," when someone lifts up her scrub top to show off her flabby stomach and says "I lost 5 pounds!" she doesn't hesitate to shoot back an "Are you sure? Your big stomach still make me want throw up," and playfully knocks the wind out of them with a swift punch in the gut.
Some of it isn't her fault though. Some of it is just plain ignorance. My mom still gets confused with questions that start with "Do you mind if ...?" especially since Koreans are instilled with the idea that saying "no" and disagreeing with someone is something to be avoided at all costs.
"Do you mind if I borrow this pencil?"
".... Uhh... I uh... YES."
"Do you mind if I turn on the TV?"
".. Ahh... n? Yes."
This gets confusing sometimes for both parties. Like when people bring in stacks of pictures of their babies and wave them in her face, saying, "Isn't she cute? Isn't she precious?" without missing a beat, she'll say, "Yes, she so ugly too! ...And fat."
But it's cool. My mom's really cute, so people just assume that she's old fashioned or mildly retarded. I'm glad that she doesn't really understand English, because it makes it that much easier to shake my head empathetically over her shoulder at the rage-aholic coming towards us on the dirt shoulder of the New Jersey parkway swinging a tire iron, and say, "I'm sorry. She's special," without hurting my mom's feelings. Then we curl up into fetal positions, covering our skulls with our hands and our vital organs with our legs, do the tuck-and-roll, and roll into the woods, through the shrubs and trees, and roll away to safety and freedom.
I've really been so fucking lucky these past two years at school, because both years, I've had unbelievably nice roommates. I've heard lots of horror stories from my friends about their awful, completely insane roommates, and I'm really grateful that I have never woken up to sounds of humping in the next bed, have never come to my room to find a circle of hobos smoking up on the floor, have never had a lit cigarette thrown into my bed... I really consider myself to be lucky.
If you don't believe me when I say my roommate is the coolest person ever, check out this poster in the background:
That's right. A baby in a top hat with the caption: "Where's the party??"
A baby. In a top hat.
IN A TOP HAT.
Yeah anyway.
I really have nothing more to say right now -- I haven't been home in about a month so I have no amusing anecdotes about my crazy, troubled mother and people haven't been jerking off while sitting next to me lately (that I know of), but if anything develops, you'll all be the first to know.
So, this will keep you busy until then, maybe.
One of my favorite Pixies songs:
[Peek-a-Foo]
