Blogger. Be good.

I work with a very gay, very accented Vietnamese-American dude who kills me and others with the (sometimes unplanned) hilarity of his comments. He's amazing. Today, while having a very college moment in the hospital cafeteria, he shared some of his heartbreaks with us.



Now, you have to imagine a fairy thick Vietnamese accent (one that sounds almost German at times, oddly enough) and a pretty stereotypically gay voice.



Talking about how he's become less into casual sex as he's grown older: "I am not cheap anymore. I am not interested in casual sex. Unless you take me out for dinner and spend money. Then you get whatever you want, girlfriend. (Sigh) People just don't get it."



On missed chances: "I follow this guy home in my car, but the traffic must have gotten cut off or something because I lost him. I caught the fish but did not get to eat it."



Talking about a potential dream man: "I meet this CEO of big company and we got out on a date, so I tell him to meet me at my house, at the corner. I don't want him to know where I live. So I expect him to drive BMW or Mercedes Benz, but I see his car and I have nervous breakdown! It is small, two-door, nothing car. I drive a better car, girlfriend. My heart was broken."

Goodbye Dimension, hello Inspiron...



I love, no, adore Dell. I ordered my new love late Saturday night and it shipped today.

I’ve had this intense desire to spend money lately. So yesterday I made my second trip of the (long) weekend down to Union Square to hit Old Navy’s crazy clearance floor, buy new sneakers for tennis and check out the latest offerings at one of my new favorites, The Container Store. As I was riding the J-Church back to my new apartment (Aside: Oh yeah, Ben and I live together now in a cute place across from Dolores Park. It’s not a big deal.), with bags taking up the seat to my side, I stared blankly out of the dirty windows, my eyes settling on a homeless man in dirty, and I mean soiled, clothes. Like, I couldn’t smell him but I knew he smelled, if that makes sense.



Anyway, here is this dirty old homeless man in ratty clothes, and what do I see him pull out of his little plastic shopping bag? An ODWALLA! Odwalla! That shit is expensive. I don’t even buy those delightful concoctions and I am getting paid. I truly hope that man stole someone’s groceries, because spending money on an Odwalla Fruit Smoothie is not smart.



Odwalla!

Hey, you. Who are you and what kind of job can you get me? Don't be shy.

I've never been the kind of blogger who inundates readers with links. I tend to skip those traditional web logs when I'm browsing. Instead, I gravitate toward sites filled with anecdotes, whether they're sometimes vague or mostly straight-forward. I prefer to use this place as a forum for the strange observations and random thoughts that often run through my head and rarely have any place in normal conversation.



(And here's one)



When I was 19 and someone said I could easily pass for 21 (those comments were few and far between), I was psyched, but if someone told me now, as I stare at 23, that I look 25, I'd ice them big time. The span between 18 and 25 is a very strange one...

I've been working at this hospital for about four months now, but I still can't get used to opening up bills for purchased livers.



Qty: 1

Type: Liver

Amt: $25,000



Very strange indeed.

More than one month of silence can be attributed to the increasingly obnoxious inconsistency of the House of Pleasure. I'm going to give the server a couple of days to stabilize before I get back to my trite observations of pop culture and bitches like you.