So, you know that I’m not the most politically correct person—at least not like my BFF, UCLA co-ed and
unrepentant moron future rocket scientist Alexandra Wallace, so don’t take this offensively. I don’t mean it toward any of my friends. I mean it toward random people I don’t even know in the library, so you guys are not the problem.
The problem are these hoards of entitled, racist white people in America who think their shizz don’t stink and that they deserve to be here (i.e., in Amercia) more than anyone else, and that it’s OK to anonymously commit hate crimes on peeps who don’t look like them or, god forbid, don’t speak English like they do, and blame immigrants and people of color for things that have nothing to do with us.
To all of the racist, sexist, misogynist haters, I quote my girl Alexandra quoting the Asians in the library, “Oh, ching chong ling long ting tong, oh!” Little did Miss Wallace realize that what she said roughly translates to, “You might think you have the upper hand, but I still have a few ancient Chinese secrets up my sleeve, which includes placing a thousand-year curse on your unchecked-privileged ass that ensures you and your family will experience 50 generations of misery, so whatevs.”
Also, two unanswered questions:
- What’s up with UCLA and all of its anti-Asian haters? Like, of all the universities in the entire world, there are only two that I would absolutely forbid my kid from attending: UCLA and Yale. Because both are hotbeds of extreme douchebaggeriness.
- And what’s with LAWeekly and its ridiculous, completely inappropriate use of a photo of cheerleaders to illustrate a story about hate crimes against Asian women? Did the photo editor simply do a Google search for “UCLA” and “hot ladies,” and snatch the first Flickr image he could find? Because you know the photo editor at LAWeekly is a dude. Or maybe just a really, really stupid woman.
Doesn’t everypony know that Ching Chong means, “I love you?”
Hey everypony! Look what I got in the mail today: the supremely talented abcurts made a super-awesome, super-kawaii watercolor portrait of the Busy-Lazy boys! And he did it in, like, less than a week!
Abcurts has an Etsy shop, so you can commission a custom super-awesome, super-kawaii watercolor family portrait of your own, too!
A few Christmases ago, I bought the boy an awesome Hess Toy Truck with a Jet Plane. That was back when the boy was way-deep in his Cars phase. Even though he has pretty much outgrown his love of cars and Cars, for some strange reason, the boy continues to lurve is Hess Toy Truck. Like, when he gathers the toys that he wants to bring with him on vacation or on a playdate, he’ll fill his backpack with LEGO, DS games, and that damned Hess Toy Truck.
Since Hess is a client of one of my company’s sister agencies, we usually get first dibs on each year’s new truck. This year’s setup is a Hess Helicopter and Rescue Truck, and it’s spectacular. I picked one up for the boy this afternoon. Even though it’s not technically on his wishlist, I’m sure he’s gonna love it. If not, I’m happy to add it to my ever-growing collection of shizz.
At the train station this morning, I kept seeing random stickers for something called Get Lost Alot. It thought it was propaganda for some new-fangled travel site, which, when you think about it, is a brilliant name for a travel site, amirite?
Turns out it’s propaganda for some kind of clothing-slash-art-slash-lifestyle brand. I have mixed feelings about my thwarted brand expectations.
At least their Tumblr is purty.
Happy (you gotta be in it, to win it) Mustache Wednesday!
Thanks for the recommendation, Kayla! The Busy-Lazy boys are fans of dystopian sci-fi, so we’ll check out the Westerfeld series! (Although the boy’s idea of dystopia is decidedly—and appropriately—first-grade-level stuff.) If you haven’t read it yet, you might like Super Sad True Love Story.
Last year, we had a lot of snow.
Oh for cripes sake!
Innocently mention something about what to get a lazy dad for Christmas and suddenly Google’s hivemind decides to serve up ads on all of the webpages that I’ve been visiting today for shizz that I only (half-jokingly) suggested I would want.
Seriously, Google AdSense, I don’t want an over-priced, fancy-schmancy watch. In fact, for Chinese people, it’s bad luck to receive a watch as a gift. You’re always supposed to buy your own watch because getting a watch as a gift means the giver is buying you a fixed amount of time, meaning they want you dead, yo! Besides, who wears watches these days? I always carry a watch with me, and it’s called my phone.
As for the other awesome gifts for your own lazy dad, obvs they are perfect. One does not joke about computers and cameras and stuff. I’m not gonna lie, I’m totally stumped about what to buy the boy and busy daddy for Christmas. We already have Too Much Crap in our house as it is. I say, Bah humbug to Christmas!
And what’s with famous “journalists” and their uncontrollable, seemingly insatiable appetite for plagiarism? Sheesh.
Last night while I was
shoveling snow off of the sidewalk, cooking dinner, doing a load of laundry, helping the boy with his homework, washing the dishes, cleaning the bathroom minding my own beeswax, I heard busy daddy yell from the living room, “COME HERE, HURRY!” In a panic, I dropped what I was doing (which was nothing, really), ran into the living room, and asked busy daddy, OMFG, what’s the matter!?! And busy daddy was all, “That’s what you need!!!” And I was all, What!?! And busy daddy pointed to the TV and said, “That.”
The that busy daddy was referring to was an infomercial for some kind of all-natural miracle cure for skin tags. In case you didn’t know, in addition to an overabundance of freckles, I am also
afflicted with the lucky bearer of numerous skin tags. I usually get them behind my ears, on my neck or under my arm. While they are unsightly, they are a nuisance more than anything else. Every so often I will complain about them, thus busy daddy’s she-mergency call for me to write down the URL for the skin tag miracle cure from the TV.
On the odd occasion that I’m within a four-feet radius of my father, he will simply swoop in and cut the little suckers off my body. But I’ve been living with skin tags for my entire life, so at this point I’m kind of like whatevs about them.
Speaking of tags, I was tagged by three lovely ladies to state 10 random things about myself! I’m sure everypony is waiting with baited breath to find out more random shizz about me since my near-constant oversharing has left so much to the imagination still. I do, however, still have a few tricks up my sleeve. Here goes:
- Despite my near-constant talk about twerking Christian Louboutin stilettos, I’ve never actually even held a pair of Louboutins in my entire life, let alone worn heels. My preferred footwear are much more pedestrian. Sorry to shatter the illusion.
- I have a lazy eye, so when I’m tired (which is pretty much my constant state of being), it looks like I’m a bit cross-eyed. And everypony knows that crossed-eyes are wicked fierce.
- I used to name all of the scars on my body after continents. Because I have a lot of scars on my body and they are shaped like continents. Get it?
hate really dislike going to the movies. Actually, I’ve probably said this random fact before, but it bears repeating. I don’t like going to the movies because I hate really dislike crowds and the smell of popcorn makes me want to vomit until I die. True story.
- If I could only eat one dish every day for every meal for the rest of my life, it would be lamb stew. Because I lurve lamb stew.
- I’ve been maintaining a separate, super-secret, password-protected blog about my real feels related to open adoption (in general) and our disruption (specifically). I probably need to stop posting shizz over there, but it’s stuff I really can’t share with the general public.
hoard buy DVD box sets for TV shows that I think I will watch one day, but I actually never watch them.
- I’m not very good at keeping in touch with friends, mostly because historically I felt as if people only liked me because I always picked up the tab or because I always worked around their schedules, so when I stopped picking up the tab all of the time and started asking them to work around my schedule, they didn’t seem as interested in being friends with me anymore.
- Despite my misanthropy, I’m actually a really happy person. Really.
- I’m pretty sure that my next job will be working as a stay-at-home dad. Because I
want to spend the day watching my stories and eating bonbons and shizz I’m really pretty good at being a house husband. And dad, of course.
The weather in the city was more wet and rainy than snowy, but out in the suburbs, it’s a veritable Winter Wonderland. My walk from the train station to the Busy-Lazy Shack was—at times—a treacherous slip-n-slide on the sidewalks.
It’s days like this when I say to myself, Guurrl, why you gotta wear four-inch Christian Louboutin stilettos All the Damned Time? Then myself responds, Because Louboutin is fierce, twerk it out! And then I say to myself, Self, you are a moron. And myself says, Don’t hate me cuz you ain’t me! And then I say to myself, Actually, I am you, idiot. Then myself says, Shut up, stoopid, the neighbors are staring at us!
So then I shut up.