Dinner with my parents is always a joy.

Of course, what is dinner without one of my Mom’s clever (and often disturbingly apropos) parables. My father, businessman extraordinaire, was preaching about how to take the lead on competition when my Mom suddenly interrupted him.

“Oh! Lana, I tell you a story! Okay, so! There’s a man who is running. And there’s a man who is walking. So man who is running and running, he is thinking, ‘Oh! I am winning! I am the best!’”

I nod my head in understanding. I know where this is going.

“But the man who is running doesn’t see there is a man in the sky who is flying!” She flaps her arms…apparently I don’t know what a flying man would look like.

“I get it, Mom. There’s always somebody faster than you.”

“No!” she said emphatically, “Pew, pew! Then somebody shoots down the flying man! Pew pew pew!” At this point, my Dad and I look at each other and burst into hysterical fits of laughter.

After wiping the tears from his face, my Dad added, “So the moral of the story is – learn how to shoot!”

The End.

I can’t express how much I adore my parents. They’re like talking fortune cookies – with a sense of humour.

I am compelled to share my Mom’s other pearls of wisdom (which my sister and I have begun diligently recording):

“Just avoid him. Think of him as a pile of…..shit. Just walk around it. If you try to deal with it, you end up smelling like shit too.”

“It’s not gay, it’s called style!”

“You can date a player…just don’t marry one.”

“I didn’t beat you…I hit you!”

hahaha And people wonder where I get my twisted humour – thank Mom-fucius.

Folks, let’s recall this line from my previous post on “how to turn-off the ladies”:

“Tacky bathroom photos. I love the logic behind these: “No, it doesn’t matter that I have a fish-patterned shower curtain backdrop and that I look like a half-wit trying to vogue and snap pictures simultaneously. No, it’s important that I appear incompetent in learning about the camera’s self-timer and in choosing a room that doesn’t suggest fecal festivities.”

A few weeks later, check out this picture I came across on PlentyOfFish.com:

It was almost too good to be true!!! But there it is – the tacky bathroom photo featuring a fish-patterned shower curtain backdrop. I love the expression on this guy’s face, pursing his lips in deep concentration as he tries to look cool and shoot at the same time. Do I know how to call it or what!!!! I thought to myself, I could send him a link to my do-nots on profile pictures but I decided that I wanted to leave this specimen undisturbed in his natural surroundings…for me to poop on!

Moving on.

So it’s been nearly a month since I last posted a blog. Time flys by when you’re nearing the big 3-0!

As my twenties are coming to a conclusion, I’ve been contemplating the new decade to come and what I’d like to accomplish by the end. I thought I’d share my Top 10 Things to Accomplish In My Thirties list and if anybody wants to join me on these adventures, give me a holler!

1. Explore Walt Disney World…on ecstasy. I’m sure that’s going to go over well. “Mommy! How come Mulan is rubbing herself like that against Mickey Mouse?” By the way, it would be my first time visiting Disney World. I haven’t even been to Disney Land! My childhood was deprived of anything “not educational”. Advice to parents: Let your kids have fun or they’ll end up being jailed for dryhump-attacking their favourite Disney character.

2. Become a registered massage therapist and start my own day spa for men called “Male Nourishment“. As a byproduct of this, I’m also going to invent a massage table that’s ergonomically designed for the male anatomy. Here’s a rough conceptual model of what I have in mind:

3. Script and perform a comedy stand-up routine based on true events in my life. I also want to bring attention to important topics relevant to today’s global culture. For example, women’s equality. I know when women’s equality has been achieved when we have just as many cool, empowering names for our genitalia as men do. Beaver Cleaver, Hymen Hammer, Bush Snake, Helmeted Warrior, The Zipper Ripper, King Dong – with those kind of nicknames, a penis can stand tall with pride!!! What do women have to put up with? Bearded Clam, Camel Toe, Chia Pet, oh, and my favourite – Flesh Wound. WTF? I implore the ladies (and men) reading this to come up with some new ones to encourage the vagina to bloom with self-esteem! My contribution (and I swear on my life this is my idea): The Ball Mill. Hehehe

To be continued…

My sister turned twenty-three last week yet I still see the five year old brat who wouldn’t stop playing “annoying dog” for two years. If only I had watched the Dog Whisperer back then. I would have subdued her with an imitation of his taming touch. “Tsst! Tsst!”

Seriously, I need one to use on men! Yes, yes, I think I’ve got something here.

I saw a YouTube video of a local chick that would choke men between her thighs. Picture yourself facing the crotch of a hot brunette as she wraps her muscular thighs around your neck. Then picture yourself flailing your arms and gasping for air as she cackles trying to pop your now blueberry-looking head. Geez, the new dangers of going down on a girl. Move aside, Herpes, welcome Asphyxiation!

Hm, what would you dub that move? Crotch Crusher? Muff Muffler? This is starting to sound like some new form of Kung Fu…Cunt Fu! Yes! I shall master Cunt Fu to crush men who “misbehave”. Like the guy who left a comment calling me a “narcissistic cunt”. Let’s see how that would play out:

A-hole: “My, what a narcissistic cunt you are.”
Me: “I don’t believe you’ve met my cunt before. Allow me to introduce her properly. HIYEEEEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAAAH!”
A-hole: “GASP! Please…air! GASP! Help!”
Me: “Ha ha ha! My Cunt Fu is strong! I will defeat you!”

(Of course, you’d have to imagine this as a poorly dubbed action movie.)

Side note: If you leave derogatory comments, have the BRAINS to come up with something creative (“narcissistic cunt” is actually a good example) and have the BALLS to leave your picture and contact information. There’s no power behind an anonymous coward.

Anyway, my sister’s birthday celebration began at my apartment. Funniest joke of the night:

A. spots the bowl of chocolate bars on the coffee table. “Oh! Chocolate!” He reaches over and grabs a Kit Kat bar and exclaims, “Hey, hey! I’ve got a joke!” We all turn our heads to him.

He unwraps the bar and holds it up. “Now you see it”. Then he holds it up against the bare skin of the only brown guy in the room. “Now you don’t”.

Ta dah! *bah doom ching*

Later my sister and I quibbled about whether or not the joke was racist. I argued that it wasn’t because it didn’t make any negative suggestions or statements about coloured people – it simply drew attention to dark skin. However, I would agree that performing the joke at an anti-racism rally wouldn’t be the best idea. Who knows what kind of mad Kung Fu/Cunt Fu will whoop yo a$$.

After several years of using online dating services, I thought I’d share my list of TURN-OFFs when it comes to profile pictures. Rarely do you see a profile that’s catchy and convincing, like those bigger-than-life billboards in New York Times Square; for the most part, profiles are about as tacky as those Chinese take-out menus.

Mmmm, Chinese food…

*MSN chat interruption*

A: ok, what am i thinking then

A: weird

A: your msn name changed

Me: wha?

A: it was “all thoughts are heard”

Me: i’m thinking i want some chicken chow mein

*uncontrollable laughter ensues*

I swear my sis and I are twins despite the seven year age gap. But I digress.

Picture Turn-Offs

(Oh God, I’m surprised I still have sight after what I’ve been exposed to.)

Half-naked photos that show off a half-developed body. Buddy, the ladies aren’t interested in your Jabba the Hutt impersonation. Take it to Tatooine.

Tacky bathroom photos. I love the logic behind these: “No, it doesn’t matter that I have a fish-patterned shower curtain backdrop and that I look like a half-wit trying to vogue and snap pictures simultaneously. No, it’s important that I appear incompetent in learning about the camera’s self-timer and in choosing a room that doesn’t suggest fecal festivities.”

Web cam pics. All web cams come equipped with a tool that takes fugly and transforms it to fabulous. Wrinkles disappear, teeth straighten out, double chins blend into one, it’s MAGIC…but I call it “The Grainy 120 x 80 Resolution Effect”. Hm, somehow that name seems to ruin the mystique.

Men doing fraternity shit. Lose the diaper and beer bong. Replace with spandex and baton. Trust me, it’s a step above.

Wannabe gangsta poses. True story – I came across a picture of a guy in a wife beater trying to pass himself off as a Triad member, and in the background of his room there was a Hello Kitty doll waving hi. ‘Cause every thug needs a ho.

Baby pictures that scream, “Look! I used to be adorable. There’s still hope for me!”

Half-exposed faces. Why are you cutting out the left side of your face in every picture? Are you the Joker? Phantom of the Opera? The Elephant Man? Reveal yourself! Don’t worry, I won’t come after you with a pitchfork…I might vomit in my mouth a little, but I’m sure you’re used to that.

Pictures of you surrounded by scantily-clad women. This doesn’t make you more desirable. Unless these women are related to you (in that case, you have my sympathies), you make the impression that you’re a 1. Pimp 2. Man-whore 3. Creep or 4. Douchebag. Trust me, once labeled a douchebag, there’s no way to wash yourself of it. No pun intended.

The point is that there are a lot of unrepresentative and distasteful pictures. Please, post clear, bright pictures of yourself in natural settings – barbequing at the beach, having drinks on a patio, watching porn in your office, make it real! REAL!!!!

PEACE OUT!

Yesterday evening:

P called to say, “Get your fine self over here…and wear something short.”

I hesitated in responding because it was unlike the all-class P to speak so brazenly. I responded, “You need to ask me to wear something short?” I thought, ‘Did we just meet? Remember me, the one who wears t-shirts as dresses!’

“Yeah, the boys want to make bets on how short your skirt is going to be this time.” Oh snap! The chips are on the table! Come to think of it, this should be handled as a Price Is Right bid.

“And the actual skirt length is…four inches! P, you’re the winner with one inch! Everybody else overbid! Come on up!” *dee doo dooooo dee doo dooooo* (Seriously, that Price Is Right jingle is still catchy after forty years!)

No lie, I met the boys at G’s place and a girl showed up in a t-shirt that I bought and wore as a dress last week. Killer.

Anyway, we enjoyed the usual gong show at Sandbar a.k.a. Cougarville. If you’re wondering how “cougar-ish” a place is, there’s only one test you need to run and it’s called “Spot the Leopard”. If there are more than four ladies in leopard print, you’ve just landed on the motherload.

I imagine they represent the future me if I fail to get married in the next ten years. Dressed in tacky, cleavage-baring outfits, eyeing fresh meat as if eating it would give them back their youth and beauty, making attacks with a hungry desperation.

On the other end, I could be one of my unhappily married friends. Convinced they’re “stuck” in a relationship, too cowardly to initiate change, resolved in finding temporary thrills, unaware of their internalized self-loathing.

Between the two, I’d rather be hunting than trapped.

If and when my single forties come, leopard tights I will don proudly and young men I will many hump.

Here’s news: I’ve quit drinking.

I have finally accepted that I transform into a MONSTER when I’m smashed. After enough drinks, I grope anything that moves and my dry-humping becomes a Class-3 weapon. Screams will pierce the air, “My leg! My leg! She got my leg!”

Without recollection of my actions, the only evidence has come in the form of recorded text and voice messages and accounts from friends.

One evening at D’s place:

“Hey, check out this message I got last night.” D had a smirk on his face so I suspected it was some nasty booty call. I prepared myself for heavy reflux as he turned his cell speaker on.

“D, oh my fucking God, I’m so fucking drunk! Like, I’m sooo drunk. Like, where the fuck are you? I’m so, like, fucking drunk!” This Tourette-like speech continued for three minutes and by the time it was over, I was looking at the delighted D with disgust. Clearly, this was exciting him.

I wryly ask, “D, who’s the bimbo? I didn’t know THAT was your type.”

D’s grin got bigger.

“What? WHAT! Why are giving me that face?”

“It’s you!” He burst out laughing while I underwent minor cardiac arrest. Oh Lord, what demons of hell have possessed me! I wanted to douse myself with water and scream, ‘The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!’

Okay, so I suffer the Jekyll and Hyde syndrome. Duality, dichotomy, is this not part of human nature? Do we not all have hidden within us a nemesis that reveals itself occasionally?

If anything, I’m disappointed that my nemesis is a mentally dysfunctional, infantile booby.

Wait, that would make (sober) me the complete opposite! Salvation!

Anyway, I joined the Steve Nash gym and cancelled my other gym memberships.

Time to invoke another monster – FITNESS FREAK.

I am salivating as my bro is barbequing my Mom’s infamous Korean steak. I kept hovering over his shoulder with a look of desperate anticipation. He finally waved me away, “Back off, loser! I got this.” Ah, sibling love.

I might as well pump out an entry while I’m waiting for meat divine.

Last night over dinner, I complained to the boys, “I’m having problems finding sunglasses. It’s not easy when you have no bridge and chubby cheeks!”

G responded, “Sweet. Now I have something to make fun of you with.”

I shot him my evil chipmunk glare.

I’ve been searching in vain for a pair that won’t sit on my cheeks. I’ve contemplated getting them “reduced”, a little cheekosuction action. But I can’t do it. Sacrifice a youthful face for a pair of Raybans? Naw.

On Friday night, I was ID’d at a Korean restaurant. Huh? What planet am I on? Asian people don’t ID other Asians! After the shock, I felt like I pulled off the greatest sham of the century. Even my yellow brethren can’t tell my real age. I almost said, “Ha ha! I foo’ you! I foo’ you!”

Yeah, the cheeks stay.

So last night the boys and I ended up checking out T’s new place. 22nd floor with a full panoramic view of Vancouver. P remarked, “Wow, shitty view.”

It’s odd – me with several forty-something year old white men. Whenever I’m with a bunch of dudes, to freak out onlookers, I’ll say with a thick Asian accent, “I waise pwice today! Sucky now twee dolluh! Hoo turn tonight?“ I get punched in the arm every time I do that.

While we were checking out T’s bedroom, a few jokes were cracked about my singular presence and what trouble I could get into. “Oooh, we could make your dreams come true!”

I waved my hands and yelled, “Whoa, whoa, back off, mofos!” The boys raised their hands in mock surrender and in my most serious tone, I added, “Take a number.” Hehehe

We watched UFC, and what a precise knock-out delivered by Silva! I don’t condone activities where humans willfully hurt each other. However, to watch hand-to-hand combat using skills gained from centuries of warfare, there’s something primitively alluring about it.

I think the fighters should be masked though. Think Jabbawockeez. I just find their faces distracting, even contemptible. Hide the human expression and all that’s left to watch is movement. Beautiful, dangerous movement.

Grub is on! Peace out.

A few years ago, my weblog garnered a few hundred loyal readers. I demolished it to pursue what I felt were more productive activities. Somehow that got translated to reproductive activities. I’m returning to re-build my little dynasty, and in that pursuit I hope to re-build a part of me.

Baby, I’m back.

We all have preconceived notions about who the one is going to be based on what we appreciate in others. We construct the ideal mate, a Frankenstein from “best parts”, hoping that someone will come along and be the life force that animates it. I’ve let go of that approach because I don’t want to create who I’ll fall in love with – I’d rather discover it.

There’s only one must-have – my man must have INTEGRITY.

Wikipedia describes integrity as “the virtue of basing actions on an internally-consistent framework of principles…One can describe a person as having integrity to the extent that everything that the person does derives from the same core set of values.”

I believe principles/values are theoretical guidelines for our behaviour – thus everyone has some set of principles – but integrity is the resulting merit for consistently abiding by them. What principles do I deem fundamental? Those that perpetuate honesty, loyalty, self-betterment, and proactive compassion.

I have been single for six years searching for a man whose integrity will inspire me to commit. I have met brilliant, beautiful, successful individuals, but how empty are those qualities unless complemented by kindness and honour. In my lifetime, I have only met three individuals whom I could call examples of integrity. I am very blessed to have had a 3.5 year relationship with one of them.

If I have to wait another six years, I’ll be the first person to cause self-inflicted brain damage using a keyboard on Youtube. I’ve had exorbitant amounts of fun meeting new people and dating casually, but a hedonistic lifestyle is far from fulfilling, and at this age, it’s even exasperating.

I’m ready to share my incredible life with another – upon the first encounter, I hope his integrity will open the door to my heart.